MY SKIN’S ALREADY CRAWLING before I get anywhere close to the county jail’s visitor’s room.
Visiting the prisoner is a Corporal Act of Mercy, and I’ve certainly been in this situation before. In fact, while I was at Our Lady of the Mount, I was part of a group of brothers that visited the state prison on a monthly basis.
But those men were strangers and I knew neither them nor their victims. Richard Davenport is different. I know him better than I’d like to, and have also met way too many of his victims, one of whom is Gladys.
We’re waiting in the cinderblock room with no window, one door, a single metal table bolted to the floor, and three chairs. Even though the temperature in the room is moderate, there’s a chill of foreboding in the air as the time of our meeting approaches.
I look
