ADX Praxis (The Red Lake Series Book 3)

by Rich Foster

  Hill only met the man once, when he was interviewed for his job. Van de Meer’s role in government was obscure, but Calder could tell by the nature of the questioning that Van de Meer was involved in national security and by inference also intelligence. He suspected it was the CIA or the DIA. It was definitely not the FBI because Hill knew their liaison agent to the Bureau of Prisons.

  After being offered the job of warden Calder was sworn to secrecy then given a deeper briefing. What these instructions came to were, any requests from Mr. Van de Meer’s office were orders, not suggestions. Behind their use of words about “duty and honor” Calder sensed an implied threat, unpleasantness might abound if he failed them.

  There were occasions for the two men to speak over the past ten years but they were few. Van de Meer made Calder Hill’s skin crawl. He felt some trepidation as he picked up his cell phone and dialed.

  The call bounced around through untraceable relays before it rang in D.C. on Van de Meer’s desk.

  “Something’s come up;” Hill said nervously.

  “What?”

  “Our staff doctor asked why he has not seen the men on D Block.”

  “And?”

  “I told him they were seen by a doctor employed by BOP rather than by contract employees like himself.”

  “Anything else?”

  “He wanted to know why we had no medical records on file in case of an emergency.”

  Sitting across the desk, from his boss, Clemson saw Van de Meer silently mouth the word ‘shit.’

  “Tell him that is an excellent point. The Bureau of Prisons will have those files downloaded ASAP.”

  “One more thing,” added Warden Hill, expecting an explosion from the other end of the phone. “The doctor is not the only one who looked in the files. Someone accessed three D Block prisoner’s records from the medical clinic computer.

  The expected tirade did not come. Claus simply said, “No problem. I’ll see that those files get to you.”

  Chapter 13

  Winter broke in Red Lake. Spring worked to make itself known. The weather grew mild. The earth warmed and dark patches of soil showed through the melting snow. Small buds formed on the shoots of trees. Blades of seasonal grass poked out of the ground. Birds built nests, readying themselves for courtship and spring. Garden bulbs sprouted and the days grew longer.

  Despite the adages usual progression, March came in like a lamb but went out like a lion. All month the dirty roadside drifts shriveled in the sun. Snow melt ran in rivulets across the roads, into culverts, and downhill to Red Lake. People shed their down jackets like animals molting winter fur.

  Then the last day of the month a storm dropped down from Canada. The bottom fell out of the thermometer. At ten o’clock it was fifty degrees in Red Lake by eleven it was nineteen. Sleet fell. As the temperature dropped below thirty-two the roads became icy and treacherous.

  Throughout the afternoon a blizzard of heavy wet snow accumulated on the ground. Snowplows redeployed from the county road yard, dropping sand, plowing snow, and slowing traffic that was already at a crawl. Ice accumulated on transmission lines and tree limbs. Some fell, knocking out power to numerous homes. The police fanned out across Red Lake to direct traffic at inoperable signal lights.

  Eddie left the prison after pulling overtime to offset repair work on Lisa’s car. Now at six o’clock it was dark. He started up his truck and rolled out of the parking lot. The roads were marginally plowed. Eddie switched into 4-wheel drive and headed home. Two miles south of the prison he ran down a long straight away. The snowfall abated and he instinctively picked up his speed. Ahead was a yellow warning sign for a curve. He was lifting his foot off the gas when he saw the headlights coming straight at him. He swung the wheel over toward the shoulder but the idiot in his lane was turning the same direction. He tried to hit the brake but caught the gas pedal with his boot. There was the flash of bright lights, a brittle crash, before the truck went airborne off the snow bank, and then the world went dark.

  Eddie was late much to Lisa’s annoyance. She tried his cell phone but it went straight to message. She called Marie’s but he had not been in. Irritated about his dinner that would soon be cold or over cooked, she gave up and called the children to the table.

  Secretly she fumed. Perhaps it was only the weather but Eddie behaved strangely of late. He spent time alone on the computer. When she asked what was up, he secretively, answered, “You’ll see.”

  Other odd events occurred. One day she found a paper beside the desk, with names she did not know written on it. She put it on the desk, the next day it was gone. Another time she felt as though someone entered the house while she was away. There was nothing definite but she believed thing were shifted, drawers disturbed, papers moved. She wondered if Eddie might be cheating on her. But with whom? And when?

  By ten o’clock he was still not home. Lisa raged. All it took was one lousy phone call. Her imagination ran wild, creating improbable scenes, events completely outside Eddie’s character, all to avoid the worry that something bad may have happened to him.

  By one o’clock she was on the phone to the prison. Eddie checked out after his shift. She tried Marie’s again but nobody answered the phone. With rising anxiety she tried the hospital ER and the police but there were no accident victims matching Eddie’s description.

  Lisa tossed and turned all night alternating between what she would say when he got in and fearful fits she might not ever see him again.

  Throughout the night the county plows worked to clear the roads. Toward dawn the storm passed on through. The Red Lake valley lay under an undulating blanket of white.

  Frank Bloom rubbed his eyes as he ran his plow north to Upper Cransden. At the prison he turned around and headed back south, toward Red Lake. An occasional 4x4 passed him heading north. His blade sliced the deep layer of snow off the pavement and piled it up on the bank. He yawned, weary from ten hours staring into the blur of falling snow. Now the morning sun hit his eyes, silently urging him to close them and sleep.

  He was two and a half miles south of the prison on the outside of a hard curve. Down in the water something glinted in the sun then resolved itself into the bumper of a vehicle. Only a foot or so of the rear quarter panel stuck above the gentle lap of the water.

  Frank stopped his plow in the road and clambered out. The snow bank on the shoulder had a couple low spots. Down the bank there were subtle depressions, which looked like the parallel lines wheels would make. But he did not see any footprints coming up the bank. He climbed back into his cab to call it in.

  A half hour later several Sheriff’s cars, a tow truck, and the coroner’s wagon blocked the roadway.

  Two Deputies directed the light morning traffic. The crash site was marked off with yellow flagging disturbed only by a winch line that was walked down the bank. Fifty feet from the crash a diver worked his way down to the water’s edge and then south along the shore until he came to the vehicle. He went in. A few moments later he came up and held one finger up in the air.

  “So, we got a body,” said Patrick Egan to no one in particular. He was lead detective for the Sheriff’s Department.

  Egan put one finger up in the air and circled his hand, signaling for the diver to hook the vehicle to the towline. Shortly, the tow truck winch began to whine. The steel cable drew itself taut. Slowly the vehicle appeared to back itself out of the lake. Once it was clear of the water the tow stopped.

  “You want me leave it there to check it out, or should I bring it up?”

  Egan looked around as if disgusted. “We aren’t going to find anything under this snow. Go ahead and bring it up.”

  The pickup crept up the hill. Water gushed and then dribbled from inner places. A dark form lay pressed up against the windshield where it probably drifted then settled after the impact. As the truck reached the flat the body slid off the dash toward the seat.

  Egan pulled on latex gloves. When he opened the door the last of the water gu
shed out around his feet. “Check him out,” he said to the coroner. “I’ll run the plate.”

  In his unmarked car Egan called in the plate to the station. While he waited an ID, the coroner and his assistant laid the body out on a gurney. The coroner made a cursory inspection. He moved the deceased’s head side to side. Then he emptied the dead mans pockets, putting their contents into zip lock bags.

  A moment later Casey radioed back,

  “DMV shows plate LCW 499 on a Ford pickup. It is registered to Edward Ames of Red Lake.”

  The coroner walked over. He opened the cruiser’s passenger door and set several baggies on Egan’s car set.

  “No obvious signs of violence. Neck appears to be broken. I’ll know more when I get him on the slab.”

  Egan waved his hand in assent. He didn’t care much for the coroner; the man carried an aura of grief.

  Patrick picked up the bag containing the deceased’s wallet. He pulled it out. A BOP badge was attached to one side, on the other a driver’s license for Edward Ames. He slid out of the vehicle and walked over to the gurney. He drew down the zipper on the body bag. The face was pallid, bluish and slightly bloated, but there was no doubt that it was the man on the license.

  He pulled the zipper up closing off the deceased from the land of the living. In his car he picked up his cell.

  “Morning Sheriff. I’ve got a positive ID on a body we found in a pickup this morning.”

  “Anyone we know?”

  “Not me. A fellow named Edward Ames.”

  “That sounds familiar but I can’t place it.”

  “The guy was a guard at Praxis. Probably hit the curve too fast last night and went off the road.”

  “Bingo. I remember now. I stopped him for speeding a couple of weeks ago. Evidently, the warning didn’t stick, I should have written him up.”

  “You want me to go see if there is anyone at the house?”

  “No. I’m on my way into the office. I’ll get the address and go out there in twenty minutes. Go ahead and wrap up the accident site. When you finish go out to the prison and find out when the guy left.”

  Gaines followed events as he ate breakfast. He came into the station early. The building was low and nondescript, having more in common with a mobile home than was desirable. In the lot he heard the ID on the radio. The name was vaguely familiar.

  In the entry he stomped his feet knocking off snow. From down the hall he heard Casey working the radio. Behind the service counter, Deputy Jimmy Hughes toiled over a computer keyboard. An attractive woman seated beside the desk.

  As Gaines passed he heard Jimmy ask,

  “When did you last see or hear from him?”

  “Yesterday, before work.”

  “And how do you spell his name?”

  “Ames, A,M,E,S. First name is Edward but everyone calls him Eddie.”

  Wrong tense, Gaines thought to himself.

  “Jimmy. Why don’t you bring the lady into my office? I think I should talk to her.”

  Internally Jimmy bristled at the Sheriff pulling rank. However, a couple minutes later when the woman collapsed in grief he felt relief that he did not have to deal with whatever tragedy befell her.

  Chapter 14

  Spring returned to Red Lake. The late snow melted in time for Eddie’s funeral.

  Detective Egan’s report was finished and filed before Eddie was. The police determined that it was an accidental death. Due to the snow there were no skid marks, but the body was free of suspicious trauma. The autopsy revealed Edward Ames drowned in lake water probably after striking his head. Perhaps, the coroner observed, the victim might have lived if he were wearing a seat belt.

  Lisa spent the days running up to the funeral in a mixture of shock, disbelief and shame. The things she once meant to say to Eddie about his absence would never be spoken but brought more anguish when she thought of them. It seemed impossible that he would not walk in the door any minute. Or that she would certainly wake up and find his death a horrible dream.

  Her mother came over from her house to watch the children and help with funeral arrangements. She never particularly liked Eddie. The only sorrow she felt at his death was to see her daughter and grandchildren’s grief.

  It was a warm afternoon when Eddie Ames was laid to his eternal rest in the Red Lake Cemetery. The grass was verdant, the sky blue, the flower arrangements aromatic, and a nearby white sculptured angel stood guard over the graves.

  Lisa wished it were cold, gray, and sleeting to match the darkness in her soul.

  Friends came and co-workers from the prison, relatives and people from church. Some verbally eulogized him while others silently remembered him. The minister read the service for the dead, culminating with “in certain hope of the resurrection onto the life eternal.”

  Lisa barely kept her composure when they lowered the casket into the earth. She and each of the children dropped a small handful of dirt into the grave. Then it was over.

  Lisa’s mother hurried off, taking the children with her. There was a reception at her house to receive the mourners. Lisa stood at what seemed an abyss and stared into the open grave while nearby cemetery workers impatiently waited the opportunity to finish their work.

  Failing to find words she simply said, “Oh Eddie,” and quit the grave. As she walked slowly toward the car park, she read epitaphs or the occasional name. One, Clara Belson, struck her as familiar but she was at a loss from where. It wasn’t a friend. Perhaps it was the same as one in literature.

  As soon as it was socially acceptable Lisa left her mothers house. The people who came, fueled by alcohol, were already past mourning. The soft murmurs of the bereaved steadily became the casual banter of those who would go on living.

  When Lisa arrived home she found the rear door forced open. Pry marks marred the jamb. After calling 911 she nervously waited in her car for their arrival. Two deputies checked the house, it was clear, but it had been rifled. The Ames’s computer was missing, so was a small amount of money on the kitchen counter. Eddie’s wallet the one the police returned only the day before was also missing.

  “It happens Ma’am,” said the responding Deputy. “Two or three times a year we get a burglary during a funeral. Scum bags read about it in the paper and figure nobody will be home.”

  Lisa was at a loss for words. She felt victimized and violated. Deputy Conners went out to the garage. He came back with a sheet of plywood and nails.

  “I’ll nail this over the door. It will secure your house for the night, Ma’am.”

  Lisa silently nodded, tried for a smile of thanks, but failed. She closed the kitchen door. A cacophony of nails being driven into the jamb followed. A couple minutes later the remaining patrol car pulled away from the front curb.

  Chapter 15

  Harry Grim was a private eye by way of a profession. If he was driven toward professional success he would have moved to a large city that offered more violence, cheating, divorce, mayhem, and general need for a PI’s services. However, he preferred to pass as much time as possible out on his boat, hiking in the mountains, or tout fishing a stream. Harry was content to live in Red Lake.

  His office was on the second floor of the Edison Building. Formerly belonging to the power company, the gray stone building was now let out to numerous independent firms. From his window Harry had a clear view of the back side of the City Fire Station and beyond that the harbor.

  His girlfriend and sometimes secretary was Paula Lindstrom. She was a lanky lassie of Scandinavian extraction. Her blond hair, blue eyes, and hard curves sent a small quiver through Harry every time he saw her. There were few things Harry cared about should he lose them, but he would kill for those he did. Paula was one.

  They had been an item for two years. People were prone to ask, why they didn’t get married but neither of them was inclined to answer, so the question was moot.

  Harry was tying an Adams dry fly at the small workbench in his office Paula was busy honing her nails pr
eparatory to lacquering them a lapis blue. She carefully stroked as Harry with equal care drew his line with a tweezers.

  Harry heard the outer door open as though a client might be in the offering. He heard their muted voices.

  “I’d like to see Mister Grim.”

  The voice was nice. Not as good as Paula’s, but one he wouldn’t mind listening to.

  “I’ll see if he’s available. Who may I say is calling?”

  He missed the name but the phone on his desk immediately rang.

  “Lisa Ames would like to consult you.”

  “Send her in.”

  His new client was as good as her voice.

  “Coffee anyone?” Paula asked from his office door.

  “Yes please Miss Lindstrom,” Harry said.

  Behind the clients back, Paula wrinkled her nose at him.

  “Have a seat Mrs. Ames,” he said by way of invitation.

  “How did you know I was married?”

  “I noticed your wedding band.” Harry hoped this was not a cheating husband; he disliked bursting into cheap hotel rooms with a camera.

  “Actually, I am recently widowed,”

  Lisa settled herself on the cowhide sofa. Harry believed social expressions of sympathy were unnecessary and meaningless, so he let it pass without comment.

  “How may I help you.?”

  “I want you to investigate my husband’s death.”

  “What do you hope to learn?”

  “I don’t know. The police said it was an accident, that he went off the road in a snowstorm.”

  “Maybe he did. Why do you think there’s more to it?”

  “I don’t know. Something was bothering him. Whatever it was it made him excited.”

  “But you don’t know what or who?”

  She shook head “No, but someone broke into our house during the funeral.”

  “Lose much?”

  “We don’t have a lot to steal. They grabbed our computer, some loose money on the kitchen counter and my husband’s wallet. They left my jewelry box which did have a few gold chains in it.”