Chapter 16 - Poison in the Prison Infirmary
The York Correctional Institution infirmary was quiet during the third shift.
Eleanor sat on an observation stool near the dispensary window, holding a damp cloth to her wrist.
She had intentionally scraped her arm against a jagged wire fence during evening yard time—just enough to justify a trip to medical.
Across the room, Officer Jenkins sat at the control desk, sipping coffee from a thermos and reading a paperback thriller.
Eleanor observed every detail.
The schedule taped to the wall. The camera blind spot near the supply closet.
The heavy ring of master keys resting beside Jenkins's elbow.
Suddenly, a loud thud echoed from the adjacent triage room.
Jenkins jumped to his feet, drawing his baton. "Stay right there, Vance. Don't move."
He pushed open the door to the examination room.
Inside, an elderly inmate lay convulsing on the linoleum floor, white foam bubbling at the corners of her mouth.
"Medical emergency! Code Blue in triage!" Jenkins yelled into his radio, kneeling down beside the seizing woman.
Eleanor didn't panic. Her eyes darted straight to the unattended control desk.
The desktop computer was unlocked. The prison’s landline phone sat off the hook, waiting for a dial tone.
Eleanor moved silently across the room, her rubber-soled prison slippers making zero noise.
She didn't touch the keys. That would trigger an immediate lockdown.
Instead, she snatched a blank visitor log slip and a black pen from the counter.
With practiced speed, she typed a seven-digit access code into the state prison registry system—a sequence she had memorized while Trish was talking about her clemency hearing.
The screen flickered. A private inmate transport manifest appeared.
*VANCE, ELEANOR — SCHEDULED TRANSFER: MAXIMUM SECURITY PSYCHIATRIC UNIT, CHESHIRE. DATE: FRIDAY, 0400 HOURS.*
Eleanor’s heart skipped a beat.
They weren't keeping her in general population.
Arthur’s lawyers were having her declared criminally insane to seize every offshore asset under her name.
Behind her, Jenkins was shouting into the intercom: "Where is the damn medical team? She's choking!"
Eleanor closed the browser window instantly.
She picked up the desk telephone, tapped *9* for an outside line, and dialed a number she had never written down.
The phone rang twice. A man's raspy voice answered.
"Speak," the voice whispered.
"The game is compromised, Thomas," Eleanor said, her voice a cold, urgent hiss. "Arthur found the Cayman slip. The feds are at the precinct."
A long silence followed on the other end of the line.
Then came a low, bitter chuckle that made the hairs on Eleanor’s neck stand up.
"You were always careless with paperwork, darling," Thomas Vance replied. "Don't worry. The Friday transfer will never reach Cheshire."
The heavy double doors of the infirmary burst open.
Three medical technicians and two armed guards rushed in, pushing past Eleanor toward the triage room.
Eleanor slammed the receiver down and stepped backward into the corner, wrapping the damp cloth around her arm once more.
Her eyes gleamed in the harsh white light.
May you like
The board was set. And the king was about to be taken.
***
