by John Farrow
‘Who’s involved?’
‘Doi flipped a switch,’ the warden informed him. ‘She has a knife at Courtney’s throat. You understand the dynamic here. A woman who took a hatchet to her own daughter is holding a girl about her daughter’s age at knifepoint. She’s in a helluva state. Both of them are. We’re out here because Doi demanded we back off or she’d harm Courtney. Or kill her. Still, I couldn’t order a full retreat. Then Quinn, your friend—’
‘My friend,’ Cinq-Mars said in a hushed tone. This was not something that other ears should be hearing. Too late now.
The warden tried to correct herself. ‘You know what I mean. The prisoner you once arrested. She tried to intervene.’
Cinq-Mars looked at her. ‘How did that go down?’
‘She got hurt.’ Quickly, she explained that, ‘It’s not too bad. We were able to treat her. Doi let us do that. Quinn could have come out with us but said no. She devised some cockamamie excuse to stay behind. She’s good, your girl. She didn’t leave us any room to argue.’
‘Sounds like Quinn, yeah. I’ll wring her neck.’ He was wolfing down his breakfast sandwich.
Paquet whispered a further explanation: ‘I was willing to retreat if I still had one of our own on the inside. Doi threatened serious shit if we didn’t back off. I couldn’t permit that. An impasse. Quinn had a suggestion, that we back off if Doi agrees to let you come in and update them on the situation.’
‘The situation.’
‘Who killed who. Hey, Doi agreed to it. Apparently, you’re the one she wants to see anyway. This is now up to you, Sergeant-Detective.’
‘No hint of pressure, nothing like that.’
Paquet nodded in sympathy with his mood. ‘We’re right behind you if things go south, although it means a bloodbath if that happens. We can end it fast, but not without serious damage.’
‘Lovely.’
‘You didn’t sign up for this, Sergeant-Detective. I wouldn’t be honest if I said I wasn’t twisting your arm. But for the record I’m not forcing you. You don’t have to go in there.’
‘That’s not true. I have to go in. Tell me about Quinn. Is she bandaged up?’
‘She is.’
‘The cuts are serious? Big bandages?’
She jerked her head up with the odd question. ‘A fair amount. Why?’
‘She’s mobile? Maybe limited but mobile?’
‘I’d say so.’
‘Then bring me fresh bandages, please, and a nail.’
‘A nail?’
‘Four to six inches long. Whatever you’ve got. Quickly.’
iii
Cinq-Mars stepped into the house-unit’s compound carrying his paper coffee cup. He had never been beyond the segregated kitchen previously, so the layout was new to him. The premises appeared empty and shockingly quiet. He walked through the vacant common area to the sleeping quarters and sized up the scene there. The quarters were arranged as an octagon, except for the openings where he had entered from the common space and the entrance opposite him for the communal showers. With one exception, the women were arrayed around the room on bunks. To his left, which Cinq-Mars designated as twelve o’clock, Doi sat on her bed. Courtney, the exception, was on her knees on the floor facing him, with Doi’s shockingly large knife at her throat. The knife was bloodied. Small cuts were apparent on Courtney’s chest above her left breast where her blouse was torn. Quinn sat cross-legged, off-center near the middle of the room, also bloodied.
‘Quinn, you OK?’
‘Peachy,’ she said.
Cinq-Mars addressed Doi for the first time. ‘I want to check her wounds, see how’s she’s doing.’
‘Her fault what happened.’
‘Could be. Not arguing the point.’
Doi considered her options. Finding none that mattered. ‘Yeah, sure. Go ahead.’
Cinq-Mars knelt beside Quinn and they shared a glance. He put his coffee down on the floor. Her wounds were more than superficial. ‘Really deep’ she said of one wound. That one likely required more than stitches, but the bleeding was contained with bandaging and pressure. She was handling the pain.
‘I need to change the dressing,’ Cinq-Mars announced. ‘Will that be all right?’
He requested permission from Doi to let her know that she was in charge, that he was respecting that reality and ceding authority to her. The woman’s grip on Courtney was a tight one. He could see in the younger woman’s eyes that she feared death as a likely outcome, and before that end arrived, perhaps unspeakable pain. With one hand, Courtney was holding on to Doi’s wrist. Her other clutched her own tummy, as though trying to contain the freak-out of emotions seizing her there.
Cinq-Mars set about to change the dressing.
As he did so, Quinn’s eyes widened.
She nodded imperceptibly, for his benefit alone. She understood what he had just done.
‘I want her to sit up on a bed, all right?’ Cinq-Mars requested.
Doi consented with a stipulation. ‘Not near me. She attacked me, that one did. She had no business interfering.’
‘For your own good, maybe. You’re in some trouble now, Doi, isn’t that right?’
Cinq-Mars escorted Quinn in the opposite direction and had her sit on the same bed as Abigail, between her and Malka in the next bed over. He again tried to speak to Quinn with his eyes. She seemed to grasp the message conveyed.
Abi may have noticed their silent communication and Cinq-Mars noted that. He looked more directly at her to evaluate the young woman’s status. She seemed to revel in the chaos, which would be her way. Her expression confirmed that the situation was potentially dire, that in her opinion Doi may have gone completely around the bend. All this conveyed with her expressive eyes.
‘So! Doi!’ Cinq-Mars turned on his heels abruptly to confront her. ‘What the hell is this about? What’s going on here?’
Doi took the knife from Courtney’s throat, aimed the blade at Cinq-Mars across the room. ‘Your fault, you bastard! We’re living here! Trying to. How do we live like human beings – like human beings! – when somebody is killing us? Who dies next? Me? How do I sleep at night when a woman in this room killed Flo for no reason and I don’t know who she is? Who killed Isaure? Why? You’re supposed to tell us that. You. What’s going on? Tell us who killed who, so we know. Then get the killer out of here! Get her out now!’
Cinq-Mars returned to the middle of the room, ostensibly to retrieve his coffee from the floor. He picked up the cup and sipped through the small opening in the plastic lid. ‘Getting cold,’ he said. ‘You don’t mind, I’m going to polish this off. I’m barely awake. I got a feeling I’ll need the caffeine.’
Doi returned her knife to Courtney’s throat, so close the girl had to recoil back against her.
‘How about you relax your grip a little,’ Cinq-Mars suggested. ‘If you do that, Doi, I’ll go around the room. Talk about everyone. See who might be guilty and why, or why not. See if that helps your mood. Courtney’s very frightened, Doi.’
‘Like I give a big fat shit.’
‘Come on, Doi, you don’t talk that way. It’s not natural for you. You’re a mother. I know, you regret what happened to your daughter. People make mistakes. That was a mistake. You agree, right? You don’t want to make the same mistake twice. Did it do you any good the first time?’
‘This little scamp,’ Doi said with bitter undercurrent.
‘She didn’t put you here, Doi. She wasn’t the judge or the jury. She didn’t arrest you. You brought that on yourself. Now come on, relax the knife a little. I’m not saying to let her go, not yet. I know you’re not in the mood to do that, but how can I talk about my investigation if you’re about to slice an artery? You know? It makes me nervous. You can understand that.’
Although Doi took her time, she let the hand wielding the knife to ease off. She dropped that hand to the girl’s lower ribcage, and with her free arm maintained her grip on Courtney’s neck. The compromise indicated that D
oi was willing to negotiate, that she still had her wits about her.
Cinq-Mars surveyed the room. Putting Doi and Courtney at twelve o’clock placed Temple at two and Rozlynn at four. At six o’clock Abigail sat with Quinn. Malka was seated at eight o’clock and at ten Jodi was close to Doi and her captive. His eyes went around the room and paused briefly on everyone. ‘Hmm,’ he demurred. Then seemed to settle upon a strategy, or at least a way forward. ‘OK.’
He was surprised by the quietude of this arena. These were, for the most part, women who’d been through violent episodes as participants and as witnesses. The blood shed by Quinn and to a lesser extent by Courtney did not shock them, yet they were seated apart and compliant with Doi’s decrees. She must have ordered them to their beds, and the specter of a young woman having her throat sliced open in front of them made them obey.
‘OK what?’ Doi disrupted his meditation.
‘I’ll start with you,’ Cinq-Mars announced. ‘Why you might be the guilty party, and also why you might not be. Ready?’
‘No problem,’ she said. ‘I’m not guilty.’
‘You know if you’re guilty or not. I don’t. I don’t have that luxury. Instead, I’m forced to rely on what I learn and what I put together. I’ve spoken with each of you, as you know. I’ve also investigated every one of you, which you don’t know. I’ve talked to your families, to most of your arresting officers, to authorities in places where you used to live. I know more about everyone here than you think I do.’
‘Rumor and hearsay won’t pay for that coffee,’ Abi objected.
‘Speak when spoken to, Abigail. Not until.’
‘Fascist.’
She garnered a laugh or two. The majority weren’t interested in her remark.
‘Button it,’ Cinq-Mars warned her, and for the moment she did.
‘Doi, try not to take it personally. I will be equally hard on everyone. I approach my investigation with the advantage of knowing that one of you did it.’ He deliberately built drama in his movements in the center of the space, for an aspect of his strategy was to keep the women in general and Doi in particular attentive, if not entertained. At that moment he could not prevent her from harming Courtney, so needed to distract her from that rash impulse. ‘Quinn wasn’t here then. Otherwise, one of you, or more than one, murdered Flo. I ask myself, Doi, over and over again, if it was you. Just like I’ve asked that question of everyone else.’
She shook her knife at him, just to the side of Courtney’s nose. ‘What’s your answer? It wasn’t me. You know that, right? If you don’t know that you don’t know nothing.’ Her tone suggested that she had doubts of her own, although she would surely know if she was guilty.
‘You’re capable,’ Cinq-Mars pointed out. He paced within a small quarter, enough movement that she followed him with her eyes, concentrating more on him than on Courtney. ‘In a one-on-one battle, in a fair fight, then yes, Flo would have handled you quite easily. You’re not light, you’re not weak, but you’re no match for a brute like Flo. But this was not a fair fight. A garrote around the neck incapacitates a victim very quickly. Oh, there are ways and maneuvers to help yourself, but you need training for that. Flo, as almost everyone would do, brought her hands to her throat to try and take the wire off. The autopsy showed that she got the tip of her right index finger inside the wire. Doing that spelled her doom. It’s a common reaction, of course, just not one that does the victim a speck of good. So, you’re capable, Doi. Everyone here is. I’m sorry to be crass but you hacked up your daughter in a pique of temper, now you’re holding Courtney hostage in a fit of rage, apparently brought on by your anxiety. No longer can you fall back on being a benign older lady who would never do such a thing. You’re doing it right now. You’re violent right now. So it is possible that you killed Florence.’
‘I’m innocent,’ Doi maintained meekly. Many in the room sensed that she could as easily confess guilt.
Cinq-Mars opened and closed his palms in a gesture of conciliation. ‘I have reason to think so, too, Doi, that you’re innocent. Before we consider that part, it’s my job to take into account that you were the one who found Flo. I can place no one at the scene of the murder more directly than you. You were there. We know that. The only issue, was Flo already dead or did you kill her? Due to your proximity, you’re easily perceived as the guilty one. Due to that one fact I suspect that some people here think that you are the guilty one. They could be right. What you’re doing today doesn’t help change their minds, does it?’
‘You fucker, I’m innocent!’ Adamant, this time, pointing the knife at him again. ‘I’ll split open her gut if you say different. I’m sick of this place!’
Cinq-Mars appeared to retreat and took a step back to emphasize his contrition. ‘Doi, there’s no need to take it out on Courtney. Or me. Remember, I’m walking everyone through this process. You first, that’s all. You want to know who the killer is. So do I. We have that in common. Maybe we’ll work it out together. Go over the facts. For now, calm down, we have a lot of ground to cover.’
‘You said,’ Abigail interrupted, and Cinq-Mars gave her a look, but she persisted, ‘you said you would tell each person why she might be innocent. How does that apply to Doi?’
This was helpful. Not merely as a reminder to Cinq-Mars to do so, but it showed a measure of solidarity among the inmates for the cause of Doi’s innocence. Feeling that she had people on her side might help her stay calm.
‘Right you are.’ He scratched the back of his neck, as though giving the matter deep thought. ‘Doi, let’s face it, you come across as a sweet old lady. Old by the standards in here, anyway. The guards are only half your age. I have a sense and also reason to believe that Flo’s death was gang-related. I’ve heard evidence on the outside to that effect. If so, that leaves you out of it, right? Not your milieu. You’re high and dry that way.’
Doi nodded aggressively. She liked that explanation.
‘Next, continuing clockwise, let’s move on to Temple.’
‘What about Courtney?’ Doi asked.
‘I’ll go around the room and get to her at the end.’
‘Yippee, it’s my turn,’ Temple jumped in, to help the proceedings along by pushing any objection from Doi aside. ‘You want I should say I’m innocent, too?’
‘Don’t bother. We’ll assume everyone’s innocent until proven otherwise. Though in lieu of comprehensive proof, I’ll accept a confession at any time. How’s that?’
‘You won’t get one of those out of me.’
‘I figured as much. But Temple, you must admit, you’re a likely candidate.’
‘How come?’
‘You’re a match for Flo physically.’
‘Nobody would say that.’
‘Closer than anyone else here.’
Heads nodded around the room. Cinq-Mars pressed that advantage. ‘Also, you’re gang-connected. Flo was close to the Hells. You were, too. But the Hells are undergoing a schism, a split, pending a war that you know about. You’ve thrown in with the Alliance, which I hear may soon be absorbed into the Rock Machine. The Hells had a score to settle with Flo, for throwing acid on one of their own. You’re in the process of being at war with the Hells since you’re aiding the Rock Machine to procure guns and explosives. Temple, that’s rough trade. Won’t help in front of the parole board, you know. Now, if the Rock Machine or the Hells gave you a directive to take out Flo, you’d have trouble refusing that.’
‘If,’ Temple said in her own defense. ‘If.’
‘If,’ Cinq-Mars conceded. ‘Nevertheless, given your size, your tough background, your gang connections, and the fact that Flo was supposed to spend her time inside intimidating Abigail—’
He paused, as if in deference to the sharp intake of breath he heard go around the room.
‘Except,’ he continued, ‘that didn’t happen. Abigail took care of that by befriending Florence, which was confusing to her, which derailed Flo from her intended purpose, something the He
lls Angels were not happy about. That made Flo vulnerable to retaliation from her masters. They may have decided that between the acid-throwing incident and being insubordinate by leaving Abigail alone, by being friendly with her for God’s sake, that she deserved to die. You see, Temple, from my perspective, either section of the gang may have issued the order to terminate Flo and asked you to carry it out. That makes you look awfully guilty to me.’
‘Innocent as the driven snow,’ she remarked, and smirked.
‘We’ll see. You admitted to me that Malka was out of your sight from time to time that day, which tells me that you were out of Malka’s sight. Others may not have noticed your comings and goings. That gives you opportunity, and I believe that we’ve established motive.’
‘Did you do it, Temple?’ Doi asked her.
‘No, did you?’
‘What sets Temple up as innocent?’ Abigail chimed in again.
Cinq-Mars shrugged. ‘It can’t be said of too many inmates here, but it can be said of Temple. She has no record of violence. She trafficked in weapons, that’s true. Not good. But did she ever fire a gun herself, or wield a knife? No. Driven snow, she said. In one sense, she may be right about that part.’
Temple imitated a muscleman pose flexing her biceps, which drew nervous laughter from the other women.
‘Next,’ Cinq-Mars announced, ‘we have Rozlynn.’
iv
‘Ah, Rozlynn, it can’t be Rozlynn, right? She’s First Nations. She’s not involved in your white man’s bullshit. She’s not a gang member. She doesn’t get involved with much of anything, stays quiet, keeps to herself, why would she be choking Flo to death? We saw what she did in the yard brawl. Roz wasn’t beating people up, she was pulling women off each other. A peacemaker.’
The spiel garnered general acceptance around the room. It couldn’t be Roz. Cinq-Mars paced as he spoke, and the eyes of the women, in unison, followed him. Even Rozlynn kept her head up, listening.