Gotta love New Mexico.

Grateful to have Neil’s cell number thanks to a resourceful Cookie who’d pretended she was a reporter wanting to do a story on him for Santa Fean, I let it ring until voice mail picked up. Then I disconnected and called again. And again. This went on for several minutes before Neil picked up, sounding annoyed as hell.

“Yes,” he said, his tone ice-pick sharp.

“Hey, Gossett!” I said as happily as I could. “How’s it hanging?”

“Same as always.”

“Ah, a little to the left?” I didn’t really know that, but how could I pass up such an opportunity?

“Who is this?”

I was hurt. I really was. Or I would’ve been if Neil and I had been friends. We were more like old high school acquaintances who had zero need to communicate except when we did. Like now.

“It’s Charley … Davidson … We went to high—”

“I know who you are, Charley. How’d you get this number?”

“Oh, that. So my assistant called your assistant and pretended to be a reporter—”

“Never mind. What’s up?”

“Did Reyes have conjugal visits while he stayed at your establishment?”

He cleared his throat and softened his voice. “How is he?”

“Free.”

I really did like Neil. Not in high school, but he’d grown up a lot. I had to give it to him. He’d always had a soft spot for my man while he was in prison for a crime he didn’t commit. He’d kind of had his back as much as a deputy warden could have an inmate’s back. But he knew Reyes was different. Special. Destined for bigger things.

If he only knew the half of it.

“May I ask why?”

“He’s paying child support on a child who is five years old, so unless you released him for the occasional boys’ night on the town, he was having conjugals.”

“He wasn’t,” he said to the sound of a sizzling grill in the background. “Not exactly.”

I frowned, suddenly worried. “What does that mean?”

“It means that he didn’t have any conjugal visits.”

“So, he could have? New Mexico allows them?”

“Not anymore. They were offered for about thirty years, but the state did away with them in 2014. And there were strict requirements. Most inmates had to be married before their conviction to even be considered, then there was a lengthy application process. So, I can assure you, Farrow didn’t have conjugal visits.”

“But?” I really felt a but coming on.

“But … yeah, that doesn’t mean the child can’t be his. There was a situation with a female CO.”

“What?” I asked, taken aback.

“Three, actually, but this one in particular … oh, and a female former deputy warden, so four, I guess, and those are just the ones that I know of.”

“This isn’t real.”

“But from what I understand, he didn’t initiate contact. If that helps.”

“Oh, my god,” I said. “My husband was a manwhore even in prison.”

“In his defense—”

“Gossett,” I said from between clenched teeth.

“In his defense,” he continued, charging forward like he did in football, “I’m not sure there was ever any sexual contact. Relationships between COs and inmates were strictly prohibited, not that it didn’t happen, but Farrow kind of kept to himself. He got plenty of attention, from both sexes, but from what I could tell, he didn’t seem all that interested.”

“Really?” I asked, that ray of sunshine hitting me in the gut.

“Then again, it’s hard to keep an eye on them 24-7.”

“Thanks.” Disappointment threatened to rip out my heart.

“No problem.”

“Okay, let me just ask, were there any situations where an inmate got a female CO pregnant?”

He hesitated long enough that I knew the answer before he said anything. “Female COs got pregnant and took maternity leave all the time. Most of them were married. But there was one. We’d heard a rumor she’d been seeing an inmate. When we questioned her, she confessed that it was an inmate who’d knocked her up, but refused to give us a name.”

“What was her name?” I asked, my heart sinking deeper by the second.

“Davidson, I can’t give you that information. You know that.”

Damn. I thought I had him.

“My mushrooms are burning. Are we finished?”