In groups of four, we were led to the cellblock. After being locked down for thirty minutes or so, our cells were searched.
After putting up quite a fight, Red was led away by the goon squad, professing his innocence as they dragged him off. My guess was that they found the other shank under his bunk. I felt no remorse for what happened to Gravy, or for what was sure to happen to Red.
A numbness washed over me, leaving me incapable of doing much other than simply thinking about what had happened, and how I would handle my future if things went awry.
I had no idea how long it would take them to view the surveillance footage, or to interview the ‘witnesses’. I knew if I was identified as the killer that my remaining days would be spent behind the walls of a Federal Penitentiary.
It wasn’t what I wanted, but it was what I was willing to give to save my family from the evidence that sealed their fate.
Chapter Two Hundred Twenty-Two
Bobbi
I stood in the corridor with Officer Turner, waiting to be taken in for an interview. With my eyes fixed on a piece of floor tile, I nervously rocked back and forth on the balls of my feet. The thought of someone dying while under my watch was devastating.
I had no idea what happened for sure, but I had my suspicions. After reading Tate’s book about Becker, I was reluctant to give any kind of opinion when questioned. According to the police officers in the book, opinions became facts when there was nothing else to rely on.
“How long have you been here, Madden?” Turner asked.
“Four months.” I looked up. “Four and a half, actually.”
I guessed him to be around fifty years old. Still in great physical shape despite his age, he still resembled the Marine he once was. He ran his hands through his closely-cropped hair and then looked me over. “Why’d you take the job?”
“I like helping people. Always wanted to be a cop, but I can’t meet the requirements.”
“Helping people?” he chuckled. “Never heard that one before. At least not here.”
Unlike Perry, Officer Turner was calm throughout his day to day activities. What little I saw of him led me to believe he enjoyed his job.
“How about you?” I asked.
“I retired from the military. I didn’t want to be a cop. I was sick and tired of being shot at. This was the next closest thing.”
I forced a smile and gave a nod. “How long have you been here?”
“Here? A year. A Federal Corrections Officer? Sixteen years.”
“Oh. Wow.”
“Care to listen to what I have to say about this?” he asked.
I wanted to talk to someone about it, I knew that much. I let out a sigh. “I’d love to hear it.”
“Do you know what Darin Wheatland was in for?”
“Meth?”
“He was in for meth charges. He was charged with rape. Him and the other three that were brought in with him dragged a bartender into the alley behind her bar and gang raped her. Then, they kidnapped her, took her to a shack in Arizona, and took turns raping her while they smoked meth. When the meth ran out, they left her to die. She wandered two miles through the desert, naked and barefoot. She stumbled onto highway 10, and was picked up by a family who was going home from their vacation in San Diego.”
“Oh my God,” I gasped. “That’s awful. How do you know all of that?”
“I ask around. There’s always what we’re told, and then there’s the truth. To get the truth, you need to talk to the arresting officer.” He shrugged. “They don’t mind.”
“So he was here for rape, but no one knew it?”
He chuckled. “That was going to be my point. It’s obvious someone knew it. He was cutting a deal with the DA to get the rape charges dropped. It’s no secret that the legal system has holes in it, but prison justice is blind to loopholes, legal restrictions, and limitations. Inside the walls, the men get no less than what they have coming to them.”
“In your opinion, he deserved to die?”
“There’s really only two forms of justice here. Being beaten damned near to death, and being killed. Considering the options, he got what he had coming.”
“Did you see who did it? What happened?”
He pursed his lips and shook his head. “I saw nothing. You?”
“Between you and me? I saw some movement. There was a group of men that--”
“You saw nothing,” he said.
“Well. I didn’t see what happened, but I saw--”
“If he cut a deal to get the charges dropped, the legal system would have failed. That poor bartender would have lived her life wondering if there was something that she did wrong that caused her to be raped. If it was the clothes she was wearing. The way she talked to them.” He pursed his lips and shook his head. He inhaled a long breath through his nose, and then looked at me as he let it out. “As far as Darin Wheatland is concerned? Justice has been served. You. Saw. Nothing.”
The warden’s door opened. Officers Stallworth and Frank walked out.
“Turner! Madden!” the warden barked. “Get in here.”
We walked into the office.
The warden was in his early sixties, bald, and wore a gray mustache that made him resemble a walrus. Dressed in navy slacks, a light blue shirt, and a navy jacket, he looked like a mustachioed used car salesman.
He waved his hand toward two empty chairs that faced his desk. “Have a seat.”
After I sat, he looked right at me. “Officer Madden. Other than having a man killed while on yard duty, how’s your evening been?”
“Splendid, Sir.”
He looked at Turner. “Yours?”
“Just shy of splendid.”
“Outstanding. One splendid, and one damned near so.” He glanced at each of us. “What happened out there? I’ve got a dead man with a severed carotid artery, two jailhouse shanks, and a blood stain the size of my wife’s Buick in the center of my yard. But, so far, no one saw a thing.”
He fixed his eyes on mine. “Did you see anything?”
The only thing I’d seen was Tate and the leader of the AB’s, Tinkle, walking toward Wheatland’s group immediately prior to his collapse. Telling the warden about it would undoubtedly leave Tate Reynolds to suffer the same fate as Becker Wallace.
I straightened my posture and looked him in the eyes. “No, Sir.”
“Nothing at all?”
“No, Sir.”
His eyebrows raised. “Anything stand out as being odd? Did one of the inmates rush toward him prior to his untimely departure?”
“No, Sir. Not that I saw.”
He shifted his eyes to Turner. “Anything?”
“I was standing post four,” Turner said flatly. “As a group of inmates walked past the non-affiliated whites, I saw the red-haired inmate reach for Wheatland’s neck, and then he walked away. Wheatland collapsed immediately following.”
He stood and shook his head lightly as if distraught by the situation. “I ran to the center of the yard. After dissolving the crowd and securing the inmates, I took Wheatland’s pulse. At that point, he was deceased.”
“The red-headed inmate.” The warden shuffled some paperwork on his desk. “Would that be Haney? Richard Haney?”
“Yes, Sir,” Turner said. “It was Haney.”
“They found an identical shank in his cell. Were you aware of that?”
“I was not.”
“Well, they did.” He clapped his hands together. “Looks like we’ve got our man. My logic is that he made two of them, and if this didn’t work, he’d try again tomorrow.”
“Have you reviewed the surveillance video?” Turner asked.
“I have not. It’s being converted to a readable file as we speak. Based on what you saw, I suspect we’ll charge Haney with murder. That is, if the video produces nothing more.” The warden stood. “You’re dismissed.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
We walked into the hal
lway and turned the corner. Halfway to the observation station, Turner broke the silence.
“The other two will stand trial for that rape. After this, the DA won’t cut a deal with either of them.”
“What happened today, everything, this is the way it’s supposed to happen? I need to get used to this?”
“It’s impossible to change what happened to that girl. Bringing the men to justice is all the system can offer. Justice was served.”
I continued walking without commenting any further. It was going to take time for me to process everything. Reading about the acts of vigilantes was much different than witnessing them.
Turner was right about one thing, and that much was certain.
Justice was served.
Chapter Two Hundred Twenty-Three
Tate
I’d spent the entire night pacing the cell and exercising. A man never knows how he’ll process something as sensitive as murder until it happens. Oddly, my decision to kill Gravy didn’t haunt me through the course of the night. My concern was not knowing how Officer Madden was doing. The thought of my actions causing her grief was more disturbing than the act itself.
The sound of the cell door’s food slots being opened warned me of her approach. Concerned with my future, but more worried about her welfare, I stood in the center of the cell and waited.
“Reynolds, it’s time for…” Her eyes met mine. “Oh, I didn’t see you. It’s time for breakfast.”
“How’s my favorite prison guard today?”
She laughed. “Considering who I work with, that’s not much of a compliment.” She pushed the tray through bean hole. “I’m doing well. Just a little tired, how are you?”
“I think I might be tired as well.”
“Surprised me that you weren’t exercising,” she said. “I think this is the first time I caught you slacking.”
“I finished about an hour ago.” I reached for the tray. “My internal clock must be off. I had a tough time sleeping.”
“Because of what happened?”
It wasn’t because of what happened. I hoped she could find a way to view Gravy’s death as being part of the atrocities of being a prison guard and nothing more.
“I don’t know,” I said. “Not really.”
“What, then?”
“I was just worried about you, I guess.”
“That’s sweet. I’m okay. I didn’t really see anything, and I didn’t look at him afterward, so…” She shrugged. “It was kind of like seeing it on the news. It wasn’t that big of a deal. I told my dad about it, though.”
“What did he say?”
“He said he got what he had coming. Pretty much what I figured he’d say.”
I found the remark odd. “What do you mean? What he had coming?”
“He was charged with raping a girl. Did you know that?”
I let out a sigh. Lying to her wasn’t something I really wanted to start doing. “I did.”
“I found out last night,” she whispered. “I thought about it for a while, and then called my dad. He said prison justice takes care of what the legal system isn’t allowed to.”
I chuckled. “Your dad do time in the joint?”
She chuckled. “No. But he despises the legal system when it doesn’t work. He screams at the television sometimes. When cops get away with murder.”
“Sounds like a good man.”
“I told him about your first charge. He said they arrested you for wearing a kutte and having tattoos.”
“I like him already.”
She smiled. “He’s easy to like.”
“But you’re okay?”
“I’m good.”
Naturally I was curious about the surveillance footage, and if they’d found out anything in reviewing it. Not so much so that I was going to ask.
“You were right there,” she said. “Are you okay?”
“I’m okay.”
“Did you see what happened?”
“I watched him die,” I said, not really knowing why I chose to bring it up.
“Oh. Wow. That didn’t bother you?”
“I didn’t sleep all night, but I don’t think that kept me from it. Like I said, I was more worried about you than anything.”
She fought to keep from smiling, but only prolonged the inevitable. Her mouth curled into a grin. “Have you heard about your charge? If they’re dropping it?”
“I haven’t. Hopefully I will today.”
She crossed her fingers and raised them to the window. “You owe me a ride and a coffee.”
I raised my hands over my head and stretched. “I can’t wait.”
The thought of spending time with her away from the prison was exciting. For many reasons, I’d been out of the relationship game for years. Unlike many of the men, I wasn’t a man whore or a player, I simply felt I couldn’t afford a girlfriend.
The decision wasn’t based on finances alone.
For many reasons, I now viewed things differently.
“Okay. I better go,” she said. “I’ll keep my fingers crossed that you get out of here today.”
I crossed mine and touched them to the glass, hoping my level of excitement to spend time with her wasn’t all for naught.
Chapter Two Hundred Twenty-Four
Bobbi
Perry stomped into the observation station with a sheet of paper in his hand. Upon reaching his work area, he attempted to throw it amongst the mess of paperwork that was smeared across the surface of his desk. Instead of landing where he intended it to, it was caught by a gust from the air conditioning system. As it floated toward the floor, he kicked at it, missed, and all but fell on his ass.
I laughed silently at the sight of his idiotic behavior. “Everything okay?”
“You can go get your boyfriend and walk him to the gate.” He reached for the piece of paper that had fallen to the floor. He crumpled it in his hand and then waved it in the air. “Just got word they dropped his charges. Wonder who he’s paying off.”
I struggled to hide my excitement. “I’m sure the chief of police is on his payroll.”
“Wouldn’t doubt it.”
I was thrilled that Tate was being released, and even more so that I was going to be the one to tell him.
I stood. “You really want me to do it?”
“You bitched last time that you didn’t get to say goodbye. Take him to the gate and give him a big hug.”
I turned toward the door. “I’ll give him one from you, too.”
“Don’t bother.”
Briskly, I walked to Tate’s cell. When I reached it, he was doing sit-ups. It was painfully obvious that he’d spent a lifetime sculpting his body, but I wondered if his regiment was different when he was at home.
“Is that all you do?” I asked.
He jumped to his feet, stretched his hands over his head, and popped his back. “What else am I going to do in here?”
I turned the lock on his door. “Write another bestseller?”
He gave an apologetic shrug. “Fingers cramp writing with a pencil.”
I pulled his cell door open. “How about writing it from home?”
“They dropped the charges?” His eyes widened. “Seriously.”
“They sure did.”
He glanced around the cell, and then realized he had nothing to take with him. He turned to face me and grinned. “I’m good to go?”
I stepped aside and waved toward the cell block. “As good as it gets.”
He brushed the wrinkles from his khakis and walked through the door. “How’s your schedule in the next few days?”
I pushed the cell door closed and locked it. “I don’t have a schedule.”
“What do you mean?”
I started walking toward Receiving and Discharge, and he followed, step for step, at my side. “I go home at 3:30, exercise, read, and wait for my neighbor to come over.”
He gave me a cross look. “He neighbor, or she neighbor?”
H
e seemed jealous. Not terribly so, but enough that his jaw tensed and his eyes thinned.
“He neighbor,” I said, somehow remaining straight-faced as I spoke.
“What’s his story?”
I strolled toward the door as if we were on a leisurely walk along the beach. “Oh, nothing much. He comes over with low calorie snacks.”
He paused and shot me a look. “Your neighbor brings you snacks?”
I nodded and kept walking. “Low calorie snacks.”
In a few steps, he caught up with me. “Low calorie snacks? And, that’s it?”
“Sometimes he stays and talks.”
“Then he leaves?”
“Eventually.”
“How long does he stay?”
We reached the door that led to R&D. I pushed the key into the switch, turned it, and waved my arm toward the open door.
He motioned toward the door. “Ladies first.”
“You walk in front of me,” I said. “It’s policy.”
“Oh.” He chuckled. “Right.”
He passed through the door and paused. I caught up to him, and we walked side by side to the discharge desk.
“Personal effects for Tate Reynolds,” I said.
“Twice in a week,” MacMillan said with a grin.
“I like the food,” Tate said.
“If you knew what was in the oatmeal, you wouldn’t eat it.”
I laughed. “He loves the stuff.”
MacMillan walked to the back of the cage and quickly returned with a clear plastic bag. He dumped the contents on the counter, and then read from the sheet of paper that accompanied it. “One pair of blue denim jeans. One leather belt with buckle. One wallet with driver’s license. One straight razor. Two hundred and seven dollars in US currency. Two black beaded bracelets. One leather bracelet. One black plastic watch, G-Shock brand. Two sterling silver ear rings. One white ribbed tank top. One pair white socks. One pair black lace-up leather boots. One cell phone, LG brand.” He looked at Tate. “Look like we’re square?”
“Yep.”
I looked at his phone. “You carry a flip phone?”
“I do.”
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