Chapter Sixteen
Rikers Island maximum security prison is a sprawling complex sitting squarely in the East River, between Queens and the Bronx. Surrounded by water and only accessible by a long service road, it was one of the world’s largest correctional facilities housing the most colorful, and deadly, of New York’s offenders.
During my time as a New York cop, I’d been inside Rikers at least twenty times. I’d even helped out the governor on a case, saved his daughter from a very bad situation; a favor I now called in to bypass the red tape and days of paperwork.
However, I’d never had reason to visit the maximum security wing before today. Entering through the heavy mechanical doors a little after four in the afternoon, I could taste the tension in the air. The melancholy gray walls and
