Chapter 6 - The Girl in Cell FourJail smelled like bleach, old fear, and metal.
Cora sat on a narrow bench in cell four with her cuffed hands resting in her lap and Nero’s howl still ringing inside her skull.
She had been questioned for three hours.
The detectives asked the same things in different voices.
Why was the sedative bottle in your room?
Where did the cash come from?
Who paid you?
Were you angry at Mr. Thorne?
Did the dog attack you?
Did you poison him because you feared he would be put down?
Cora answered until her throat hurt.
“I don’t know.”
“I didn’t put it there.”
“No one paid me.”
“I wasn’t angry.”
“Nero never attacked me.”
“I love that dog.”
The last answer made Detective Harris lean back in his chair.
“You love a dog owned by a man like Damien Thorne?”
Cora looked at him through exhausted eyes.
“Nero doesn’t know what Damien owns.”
Harris stared at her for a long moment, then closed his folder.
“You understand how this looks.”
“Yes.”
“It looks like a broke kennel worker got paid to poison a dangerous dog. Maybe by someone who wanted to embarrass Thorne. Maybe by someone who wanted the dog gone.”
“I didn’t.”
“Evidence says you did.”
Cora leaned forward as far as the cuffs allowed.
“Then the evidence is lying.”
Harris did not smile.
“Evidence doesn’t lie, Miss Walsh. People do.”
She thought of Victor Pike.
Of Nolan Greer.
Of the photograph under her pillow.
Of Ruth Pike’s grave beneath the oak tree.
“Exactly,” she said.
After questioning, they put her in cell four and told her arraignment would be in the morning.
Cora had no lawyer. No money for bail. No family to call.
The only number she knew by heart was the estate kitchen line, and she doubted police allowed calls to kitchens.
At midnight, a guard stopped outside her cell.
“You’ve got a visitor.”
Cora stood too quickly.
“Mr. Thorne?”
The guard snorted. “No. Lawyer.”
A woman in a cream suit entered the visitation room five minutes later carrying a leather briefcase and the expression of someone who had never been impressed by a man raising his voice.
“I’m Evelyn Cross,” she said, sitting across from Cora. “I represent Damien Thorne.”
Cora’s hope faltered.
“Then you represent him, not me.”
“For the next seventy-two hours, I represent you.”
“Why?”
“Because Mr. Thorne told me to keep you breathing and out of prison, in that order.”
Cora almost laughed. It came out like a sob.
Evelyn opened the briefcase. “Tell me everything. Not the short version. Not the polite version. Everything.”
So Cora told her.
She told her about the first day, the glass room, the metal bowls, the storm, the leather strap, Nolan’s warning, the photograph, Ruth Pike, the poisoned food, the crow, the charity dinner, the power failure, the hooded intruder, and Nero collapsing in the mud.
Evelyn took notes without interruption.
When Cora finished, the lawyer tapped her pen once against the page.
“You should have told Mr. Thorne about the reflection immediately.”
“I know.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because Mrs. Arden said it would make him look backward while Pike moved forward.”
Evelyn’s eyes lifted.
“That sounds like Agnes.”
“Agnes?”
“Mrs. Arden.”
Cora had never heard anyone use her first name.
Evelyn closed her notebook. “Listen carefully. The police are not your biggest problem.”
Cora stared. “I’m in jail.”
“Yes. And jail is currently safer than the estate.”
That silenced her.
Evelyn leaned closer. “Someone framed you with access to your room, the medicine cabinet, the delivery schedules, and police channels. That means this is not just Pike from outside the fence. He has help inside.”
“Nolan?”
“Nolan has vanished.”
Cora’s stomach tightened. “Vanished how?”
“As in Mr. Thorne’s people cannot find him, and that almost never happens.”
The almost chilled her.
“What about Nero?” Cora whispered.
Evelyn’s face softened slightly. “Alive. Critical but improving.”
Cora covered her mouth.
For the first time since the arrest, she let herself breathe.
“He tried to stand after they took you,” Evelyn said. “Dr. Bell had to sedate him for his own safety.”
Tears spilled down Cora’s face.
Evelyn waited, then slid a tissue across the table.
“There’s something else,” the lawyer said. “Mr. Thorne wants you to know he does not believe you did it.”
Cora pressed the tissue to her eyes.
“Then why didn’t he stop them?”
“Because whoever planned this wanted him to react violently. If he had, the story would become mafia boss obstructs police after employee poisons dog. You’d disappear under that headline.”
Cora understood.
It still hurt.
Evelyn stood. “At arraignment, we ask for release. The state will argue you’re a flight risk. I’ll argue you have nowhere to go.”
“That’s depressing.”
“It’s useful.”
Cora almost smiled.
After Evelyn left, Cora returned to cell four. She lay on the thin mattress and stared at the ceiling.
At 3:12 a.m., footsteps stopped outside her cell.
She opened her eyes.
A man stood beyond the bars.
Not a guard.
He wore a deputy’s uniform, but something about him was wrong. The shoulders were too tight. The cap sat too low. His right hand rested inside his jacket.
Cora sat up slowly.
“Miss Walsh,” he said.
Her blood turned cold.
She knew that voice.
She had heard it once through her bedroom door.
Nolan Greer.
“Don’t scream,” he said.
Cora screamed.
The sound ripped out of her with everything she had.
Nolan cursed and stepped back, but the jail erupted instantly. Guards shouted. Lights snapped on. A door slammed. Nolan ran.
By the time officers reached the corridor, he was gone.
But he had dropped something.
A small envelope.
Inside was a photo of Nero lying unconscious in the mud.
On the back:
Confess, or the dog dies before sunrise.
When Evelyn returned at dawn, Cora handed her the envelope with shaking hands.
The lawyer read it once.
Then again.
Her face went very still.
“Do you know what this means?” Evelyn asked.
Cora nodded slowly.
“It means Nero is still in danger.”
“No,” Evelyn said. “It means whoever framed you is scared enough to visit a jail.”
By nine o’clock, Cora stood before a judge.
The prosecutor argued she was dangerous, unstable, and had access to powerful criminal associates. Evelyn argued evidence had been planted, the defendant had no record, and a threatening intruder had entered the jail hours earlier.
The judge looked irritated by everyone.
Bail was set impossibly high.
Cora’s knees nearly gave out.
Then Evelyn stood and said, “Paid.”
The courtroom turned.
Damien Thorne sat in the back row in a black suit, one bruised-looking scratch across his cheek, his expression colder than winter.
He did not look at the judge.
He looked at Cora.
And this time, when their eyes met, he gave one small nod.
Not comfort.
Promise.
Cora was released just after noon.
Reporters shouted as Evelyn guided her down the courthouse steps.
“Did you poison the dog?”
“Are you Damien Thorne’s girlfriend?”
“Were you paid by a rival family?”
Cora kept walking.
Then a black SUV door opened.
Damien sat inside.
Evelyn hesitated. “You can go somewhere else.”
Cora looked at the city street, the cameras, the strangers waiting for her to cry.
Then she looked at Damien.
May you like
“Take me to Nero,” she said.
For the first time, Damien Thorne smiled without hiding it.
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