There were three men in plain suits and one lieutenant colonel in uniform. They spent hours in the warden’s office. Olivia was called in last.
The gray-haired lieutenant colonel with tired eyes watched her across the desk. “Officer Carter, tell us exactly what happened.” She repeated, word for word, what she had already told Collins.
Her voice was even, without emotion. “Did you enter the cell?” “No. The door was locked from the inside.”
“Did you hear shouting?” “Yes. Three or four shots, then a yell, then silence.” He nodded.
“Where did the inmates get the weapons?” “The zip gun was found with Savel.” “The service pistol was likely taken from a junior officer.
We’re checking that now.” The lieutenant colonel was quiet a moment. “You responded quickly. Good work.”
“You have the command’s thanks.” “Just doing my job.” He dismissed her.
At 11:40, Olivia stepped onto the yard. The inmates were lining up for work. None of them looked at her for more than a second.
Even the ones who usually nodded hello dropped their eyes fast. The silence in the unit had changed. It was not animal fear anymore. It was understanding.
Best not to test her. That evening at 8:05, she locked herself in her room. She took out old letters from her sister.
There were three of them. The latest had come about a month earlier. She laid them on the table beside old photographs.
In the pictures, her sister Ellen stood smiling with the children in front of their house. Tommy was on the swing. Maggie stood beside him with a doll.
Olivia looked at the pictures for a long time. Then she stood and walked to the stove. Opened the iron door.
Struck a match. Touched the flame to the corner of the first letter. Fire took the paper quickly.
She held it until the heat bit her fingers. Then dropped the burning scraps into the stove. She waited until the paper turned to gray ash.
She did the same with the second letter. Then the third. She burned the photographs last.
The flames jumped brighter when Maggie’s smile caught fire. Olivia shut the stove door and sat down on the cot. She looked at her hands.
They were clean. Steady. Then someone knocked. “Carter,” came Major Collins’s voice.
She stood and opened the door. Collins stepped in and shut it behind him. “It’s clean,” he said quietly.
“The state team is gone. Official finding is internal inmate conflict. Nobody’s digging.”
“Thank you, sir.” He studied her for a long moment. “How are you holding up?”
