My law license hung on the wall in a simple black frame.

It was the same license that Ethan had told me I would never use again.

My phone rang.

The display showed Detective Sullivan’s office number.

I pressed the speaker button.

“Natalie,” he said.

“Hello, David,” I said.

“The transfer van is leaving the county jail in twenty minutes,” he said.

“They are going to the state facility today,” he added.

“Thank you for letting me know,” I said.

“Do you want to be there?” he asked.

“I do,” I said.

***

The county transfer station was located in an industrial area near the river.

The gravel yard was surrounded by a high chain-link fence topped with razor wire.

The wind off the water was cold and tasted of salt and diesel fuel.

I stood by the front gate, my hands tucked deep into my coat pockets.

A gray transport bus with steel bars over the windows was idling near the loading dock.

The exhaust pipe blew thick white smoke into the gray afternoon sky.

The heavy steel door of the jail slid open with a loud groan.