Power in the Blood (John Jordan Mystery)

by Michael Lister

  “Why not?” I asked in surprise. I had asked her to test Anthony Thomas for drug use.

  “I didn’t have to. I know that Captain Skipper has him on all kinds of drugs,” she said. Her voice quivered slightly.

  “You two don’t look very surprised,” she said.

  “We’re not,” Anna said.

  “He’s been doing all kinds of shit at night when no one’s around to see. He uses inmates to do his dirty business. He’s a sick prick, and I want him stopped.”

  “Why are you just now coming forward?” I asked.

  “And why to us?” Anna added.

  “I’ve been scared, okay. He’s got a lot of people working for him and some inmates who will do whatever he says. They’d kill for him.”

  “Believe me, I know,” I said.

  “That was just a taste of his brutality. You’ve never met anyone like him. He’d kill me if he knew I were here. I need some help.”

  “And why me?” I asked.

  “Listen, a lot of people know you’re looking into that murder, and when you found out about Tony, I knew you were on to something. I want to help you so you can put him out of commission. I can’t do it. I’m not strong enough, but you are. And you have the inspector’s help. What are you going to do?”

  “I was just asking myself the same question,” I said. “Why don’t you tell us what Skipper’s been doing, and we can go from there.”

  “What he’s been doing is whatever in the hell he wants. He’s got free reign over this place at night. He treats people like animals and inmates worse. He uses drugs and favors to get them to do whatever he wants. But he doesn’t have to use too much because they’re so powerless and defenseless anyway. They’re human,” she said with conviction.

  “I agree,” I said.

  “I agree that some of them are human,” Anna said and smiled.

  She looked at Anna. “You know what it’s like to be a woman . . .”

  Anna smiled and said, “Ah, yes. I guess I do.”

  “We’re vulnerable in a place like this. We need men who can protect us from some of these less-than-human men around here—not just inmates either. Men like Skipper. They’re more dangerous than the inmates. They make me scared. He even makes the inmates worse than they have to be by all the shit he pumps them full of. Besides, this whole place is one big boys’ club. If you don’t have a dick around here, you don’t get dick done around here. Don’t you agree?” she asked Anna.

  “That this is essentially a boys’ club? Yes, I do agree with that,” Anna said.

  “I mean, my God, what are all these damn towers around here except huge phallic symbols?” Strickland said with a mean laugh.

  “I have to agree with that, as well,” Anna said to my surprise and then added, “And what about the batons the response teams use?” There was the slightest hint of sarcasm in her voice.

  “Exactly,” Sandy said.

  “What else does Skipper do?” I asked, trying to get her back on track.

  “He supplies drugs, fixes disciplinary reports, changes job assignments, gives canteen, and arranges special visits at night, too.”

  “What do you mean?” Anna asked.

  “I mean, if one of Skipper’s drones misses his missus, Skipper will have her come in and have a conjugal visit with him. What they don’t know is that he has a few conjugal visits of his own with their wives after they are locked back up. He never lets any ugly ones in.”

  “If inmates are having conjugal visits, it’s only through Skipper, because we haven’t had legitimate ones in years,” Anna said.

  “And half the people who come into the infirmary,” she continued, “do so because of Skipper. Many of them give up their manhood and even humanity for him because it beats having him harass or kill them, and he still treats them like shit.”

  “How do they make him money?” I asked, playing dumb.

  Actually, I wasn’t playing.

  “He sells them out to fat-cat faggots who get off on other men and weird shit like that. They hurt these men, abuse them, emasculate them, violate them in ways you can’t even imagine, and no one ever knows.”

  “You mean outside of the prison?” Anna asked.

  “That’s exactly what I mean,” Sandy said.

  “Do you know who his customers are?” I asked.

  “Only rumors, but there can’t be too many of them out here in Mayberry RFD.”

  “Is there anybody else involved in this?” I asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Are any of the administrators involved?”

  “How could they not be? I mean, I don’t know. But, how can he do all of this without them knowing?”

  “That brings up a good point,” I said. “How long has this been going on?”

  “He’s been crooked from his mother’s womb,” she sneered.

  “He’s been doing all these things the entire time he’s been here?” I asked.

  “Well, maybe not all these things, but he’s always broken the rules and gotten away with it. And, no woman could ever have done that. I’ll bet you that.”

  “How do you know all of this?” Anna asked.

  “Because I’ve been around. I keep my mouth shut and my eyes open.”

  We were all silent.

  Finally she asked, “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to look into it. Gather some more information and maybe even a little evidence, and then turn it over to the inspector.”

  “Well, I’m going on vacation. I don’t want to be here when all of this hits the fan. I told you, he scares the hell out of me. The reason I wanted you to know all this is that I’ve been watching out for some of the inmates that Skipper has been using and I won’t be here to do it for a while. I’m especially worried about Anthony Thomas in DC 101. If Skipper was willing to kill Johnson, I’m sure he would kill Thomas.”

  “You think Skipper killed Johnson?” I asked.

  “Yes, of course. Have you been listening?”

  “Do you know Russ Maddox?” I asked.

  “The banker? Yes, I know of him. He died recently, didn’t he?”

  “Yes. Do you know of any connection he may have had with Skipper?”

  “No, none. Do you think Skipper murdered him, too?” she asked, her voice full of excitement and interest.

  “I don’t know. I’m just looking for a connection. You knew so much about everything else I thought you might know if there’s a connection.”

  “Well, I don’t,” she said rising from her seat, “but I wouldn’t be surprised. Anyway, please hurry and take care of this. There’s a lot of people at risk, yourself and this pretty lady included,” she said, motioning towards Anna. “And, watch out for Tony and all the men in confinement, okay?”

  “I’ll do what I can,” I said. “But, up until now, that hasn’t been a whole lot.”

  When she left, Anna said, “She’s right, you know. Something has to be done about Skipper. It’s not safe around here. Not that it ever was, but you know what I mean. What do you think?”

  “I’m not sure. You’re the better judge of women, but something wasn’t right. Why, after all of this time, would she come forward?”

  “Maybe she sees the net being drawn in around Skipper and feels confident that she’s going to be safe. Who knows?” Anna said.

  “I don’t,” I said, “but I plan to find out.”

  My head was hurting, and the cut under my chin felt like it was gaping into something the size of the Grand Canyon. I was about to say things couldn’t get any worse when the phone rang. When Anna said that it was for me, I knew instantly the foolishness of the thought I had just had. I just didn’t realize how extremely foolish it was.

  “You have three minutes,” Tom Daniels yelled into the phone, “to have your ass in the superintendent’s office. I told you if you stepped out of line, I would bury you. Guess what? You dug your own grave. Now, I’m gonna dump a load of dirt on your ass!”

&nbs
p; Chapter 34

  When I arrived at the superintendent’s office, Edward Stone sat behind his desk, Tom Daniels and Pete Fortner in front of it. The three men looked as if they were sitting in a surgical waiting room, preparing to receive bad news. The only thing inaccurate about that analogy was that, unfortunately, the bad news was for me.

  “Have a seat,” the superintendent said, his voice low and flat.

  I sat down between Daniels and Fortner.

  Edward Stone looked over at Tom Daniels once I was seated.

  Daniels said, “Chaplain Jordan, we’ve received some very serious allegations concerning your conduct while an employee of the Department of Corrections. We’ve made the decision to suspend you without pay until a thorough investigation can be conducted. However, we wanted to give you the opportunity to respond to the allegations before you are made to leave.”

  I was in shock. I couldn’t speak. In fact, I found it difficult to swallow. Maybe it was because of all the cotton in my mouth. My mind raced down dark streets and alleyways searching for an incident or the source of the allegations. I could find none. Every street was empty. Every alley deserted. My mind said, It’s fabricated. And, then it said, Of course, it’s fabricated, but who fabricated it and why?

  A moment of silence passed while Daniels flipped through a few papers in an open file folder on his lap. The silence was maddening. My mind continued to race chaotically. Images flew at me like rain at a windshield; I couldn’t focus, each object a rapidly moving, overexposed blur.

  “We received a call,” Daniels began again, “charging you with forcibly having sex with a the wife of an inmate in the chapel and then had her husband locked up and threatened in order to keep her silent.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” I said.

  As if I had said nothing, Daniels continued, “She is demanding the immediate release of her husband from lockup and an investigation. She’s putting a lot of pressure on Tallahassee.”

  “I don’t believe this. There’s not one shred of truth in any of this and you know it. You’ve already made the decision to suspend me and to investigate without even asking me or looking into it further.”

  “Tallahassee knows that if it’s true,” Stone said, “there will be hell to pay in the press, so they want to say they acted quickly.”

  “The press?” I asked.

  “She’s threatened to call the press,” Daniels said. “We don’t know if she has or not.”

  “I still don’t get it. Why are you treating me as if I’m a criminal? I’ve done nothing wrong. It’s just so absurd. Does the department always respond this way to idle allegations? I mean, anybody could say anything. How can you suspend someone with no corroborating witnesses or evidence?”

  “If you’ll recall,” Daniels said with a knowing smile, “we found female pubic hair and vaginal fluid on the floor of the chapel. I know you. I know how you are. This time, you’ve been caught.”

  Stone said, “Inspector Daniels, we are not going to make this personal.”

  “But that’s exactly what it is. This wouldn’t be happening if he didn’t have a personal vendetta against me. Mr. Stone, I am the one who asked for the tests to be conducted. I haven’t done anything wrong,” I said.

  Fortner spoke up, “This is not just personal. I would do the same thing based on the woman’s testimony and the evidence we have. It looks real bad for you, pal.”

  “So far, all we have is an allegation and evidence that requires an investigation,” Stone said. “So, if you’re innocent, we will clear the whole thing up. Guilty or innocent though, you had better retain a lawyer.”

  It was happening again. My mind raced back to Atlanta and the painful experiences of losing my marriage and my church. My whole body tingled, as if it had been asleep and I was just getting the feeling back. I was floating in a black hole, suspended above the abyss. There was no gravity, nothing to hold on to. I was powerless. I was lost.

  “So, that’s it,” I said. “You don’t want to hear my side of what’s going on here. Evidence I might have to contradict all of this?”

  “Now is not the time, Chaplain. Let these men do their jobs. If you are innocent, it will all work out and we will owe you an apology. But, as they say, it does not look good for you right now. You have done an excellent job here, and I hope, even pray, that this is some kind of horrible mistake, but if it’s not, we are going to move forward with prosecution to the fullest extent of the law.”

  “When was this alleged to have happened?” I asked.

  “I can’t say,” Daniels said.

  “How can I offer a defense if I don’t even know with whom or when I’m to have done this?”

  “Chaplain, now is not the time for defense,” Stone said. “I will have an officer escort you over to your office to gather your personal things.”

  “FDLE will send an investigator to talk with you. If you’re innocent, it’s in your interest to cooperate,” Fortner said.

  “Remember,” Daniels said, “do not leave town. Do not attempt to contact anyone involved.”

  “I don’t know anyone involved, because I’m not involved,” I stood up and walked out.

  Chapter 35

  The radio was on, but I didn’t hear it. The heat was stifling, but I didn’t feel it. The scenery was pretty, but I didn’t see it.

  My mind was frantically searching for something, anything, that could make sense of what was happening. I didn’t understand how or why or even who was behind all this. I wondered if the allegations were related to my investigation or if they would have happened anyway. I was clueless. And yet I couldn’t help but feel as if the answer were in my mind, somehow encoded in all the data I had collected.

  I was driving my rusty old S-10 in the direction of town—a direction, not a destination. I needed some time to air out, to think for a while. I had canceled my date with Anna and Merrill to watch the videos. I really didn’t feel like it, and besides, I was no longer on the case. I was a chaplain without a church and an investigator without a case. I was lost, and I didn’t know who to turn to for direction. Laura had enough going on without this, and we were too newly together. Anna and Merrill were still at the prison, a place I would not be allowed in—by phone or in person. My dad was involved in a prisoner transfer. So, I drove.

  I considered calling Susan to ask her to get her dad to back off. I hadn’t talked to her in over a year and had no desire to do so now, but I was desperate.

  I pulled into the Jr. Mart parking lot and used the pay phone. She was not home. Thank God for small favors. Her answering machine said, “We are not at home right now.” I wondered who the “we” was, but only for a minute. Whoever the “we” was, they were entangled and endangered. Even in the midst of my present crisis, my heart found the grace to rejoice to be free of Susan and the sickness that was our marriage.

  I got back in my truck and continued to ride. I thought about going to my dad’s place or the state park, but in the end I just drove.

  I drove for an hour or more, most of the time not aware of where I was. I needed a destination. I didn’t have one. My truck, which was approaching ten years old, didn’t have a low-fuel light. However, I knew from experience when it was almost out of gas. When I looked at it, for the first time since I had been driving, it was at that point. I figured I had just enough gas to get back to town. Then I realized that I didn’t know how far town was because I didn’t know where I was.

  I slowed and pulled off on the shoulder to get my bearings. I was at Potter’s Landing, which was about ten miles south of town.

  I began to make a U-turn, waiting long enough for a white Ford Bronco to pass by, but it didn’t. It slowed and pulled off the road at an angle blocking me from the front. It was Matt Skipper, and he was not alone. Three other men were in the Bronco with him—all white, all COs, although not in uniform. One of them was Shutt. I could tell by their expressions that this was not a social call.

  I jammed the gear shifter in rever
se—it ground in protest—and punched the gas pedal. I began to move backwards, although not very fast because my truck had some carburetor problems. I did move away from them, though, and that was the point. When I looked over my shoulder, something I usually do before I start to back up, I saw a car approaching in my lane. The car, a green Buick, was maybe twenty yards away. I jerked my steering wheel hard to the right, and in a few seconds I was off the highway again. I slammed on my brakes just before plowing into a rather large pine tree.

  I thought about flagging down the Buick, but as it got closer, I could see that it was an elderly couple. There was nothing they could do, except let me use their car phone, if they had one. I had a fleeting thought of the luxurious car and car phone I had in Atlanta. I missed them both, but mostly the car phone at the moment.

  Once the Buick passed, I gunned it back onto the highway and headed toward town. Skipper was close behind. In a matter of seconds, he had caught up with me, my old Chevy no match for his new Ford. He pulled up beside me in the left lane, not a problem on the desolate road. He swerved away from me going to the edge of his lane and then swerved back and slammed into me.

  I tried to steady the wheel, but it was no use, both of my right-side tires went off the road. The truck bumped and bounced hard on the uneven ground of the shoulder. I resisted the urge to jerk my steering wheel back toward the road. Instead, I slowed and eased back on. Skipper was maybe ten feet in front of me now, still in the left lane.

  I wanted to stop. I wanted to go in the other direction. But to get any help at all and not run out of gas, I had to continue toward town. Glancing at the gas gauge, I knew I wouldn’t make it. My tank and perhaps my life were not even half-empty. I looked up again to see Skipper slowing to match my pace.

  As he did, I sped up and passed him. I downshifted, which was the only way to get any power out of my little truck, and floored it. I gained speed, but I lost precious fuel.

  In less than fifteen seconds, Skipper caught me again. This time he came up from behind. When he caught up with me, he didn’t slow down. He hit me hard from the back. I was thrown forward in a classic whiplash motion and realized that in my disorientation at the afternoon’s events, I had failed to buckle up. Needless to say, I remedied the situation.