Chapter 10
The warden's office was the next logical step in Ashe's morning venture. Warden Chase had had a crucial hand in Grub's transfer. She had acted as Ashe’s liaison when it came to dealing with the powers-that-be. She had conversed with the key people. She had shaken the right hands. And she had whispered in the right ears. She had stuck her neck out, more than once, because she had faith in Ashe's expert opinion.
In spite of popular beliefs, due to movies and television, where most popular beliefs tend to give birth, the warden of a prison is not God or a god in the facility. They also have bosses to answer to, like the state government. And the state government was often a difficult branch to bend, stern and stubborn against the strongest winds.
Even though she was not a god, Ashe was often glad to have Warden Chase on his side. The alliance had come in handy a few times during his time at the prison.
The door to the warden's office was always closed but never locked. Ashe paused in front of it. He always had a habit finding himself in front of many types of closed doors, he realized, especially at the current moment. Some locked. Some not. Some sealed. Some not. He had long ago found himself in the habit of going through the multitude o closed doors, locked or not, sealed or not, sometimes even though he was told, with no uncertainty, to keep out. The doors to a crime scene. The doors of the mind. Many, many other types of doors. One day, he figured, he might find himself going through a door that he damned sure better have stayed out of. And then he remembered that he had already found that door. It had been the door that had led him to Steven Reynolds.
Before he could knock, Ashe heard a voice call for him to come in. Warden Chase must have seen his shape moving through cloudy glass of her office door. “You can come in, Dr. Walters. Didn't expect to see you so soon,” she said, sounding as professional and dominant as she could muster. “Now come and sit your cute booty down and tell me how awesome we both are.”
She then laughed.
Warden Chase was petite, yet her personality stood taller than most men. She was obviously overcompensating, Ashe had concluded upon their first meeting, because she was a small woman in the world of prisons, the realm of masculinity and aggression. She felt the need to be louder than any man or else she would never be fully heard or respected. Her hair was a dark black and it was always in a tight ponytail. She never wore skirts, only dark slacks. If she was not his boss, Ashe may have thought her laugh and obviously flirting to be attractive. He considered the idea. Perhaps he had found another door in which he would never cross the threshold.
Would not or could not?
“Did you just come from Grub's cell?” she asked.
“Yea,” Ashe replied, sitting down in a chair on the other side of her desk. “Got here early. Couldn't sleep.”
“Sleep? If you’re having a hard time sleeping, I know the perfect remedy.” Warden Chase laughed again. “How is Grub? The Lonely Mile treating him well?”
“Better than Han would be treating him if he were still in Population,” Ashe replied. “I would ask you to for another session with that man, if I didn't already know how the last session ended.” With a baseball bat to the head. “There is no helping that guy. True and honest psychopath. I am just glad to get Grub out of his cross-hairs.”
“How did Grub take the news? Is he glad to be getting transferred?”
Ashe thought about it. “He took it the same way he takes any news…with child like confusion.”
“And your still sure that this is the right move?” she asked.
“Absolutely,” he replied. “I have no doubt in my mind.”
“Good enough for me,” she resolved.
He considered ending the conversation, leaving the office, and going about his day, but he consistently and nearly religiously thought about Scott. He thought about the journal. And he thought about the thin dusting of powder that he noticed at the bottom of the black and gold container, which might be residue from some kind of drug.
Drugs can make the brain malfunction in many different ways, the psychologist knew. There were certain types of drugs which were designed specifically to make a person change their behavior, sometimes in such extremes that the person became someone totally different. These drugs were both legal and illegal, dispensed by both drugs dealers and psychiatrists.
Had drugs changed Scott?
“I need to talk about a couple of other things, while I am here,” Ashe told Warden Chase.
She perked up at her desk. “Hit me.”
“I need to make some changes to my first two appointments,” he replied.
“How so?”
“I am supposed to have a session with Kentucky Jim in about 20 minutes,” Ashe began, “but I think it should be rescheduled two weeks from now. He is doing real well at coping with his anxiety...to the point that he hasn't had any kind of outbursts for a few months. There is no need to see him so frequently any more. Once a month should be alright...for the time being.”
Warden Chase must have already had a blank piece of paper on her desk, because she immediately began to jot things down. She paused and simply said, “Okay.”
“As for Foxy,” he continued. “I mean...Ms. Taneesha Jones.”
“What about her?” the warden asked, failing to hide smirk.
“You need to consider contracting from outside of the prison to take over her case,” Ashe continued. “And then maybe you should seriously consider my request for another on site professional...female, to take over the female population of the prison.”
“The higher-ups are still considering the request,” she replied. “They mumbled something about finding money in our pathetic budget. The women of this institution too much for you to handle, Dr. Walters?”
He sighed. Years ago, back when Ashe was still dividing his time between the prison and consulting with the YPD, there was more than just a single forensic psychologist working. The prison had two part-time mental health professionals who answered to a lead on-sight psychologist, Dr. Hadmira. Ashe was one of those part-time employees, along with a woman psychologist, Dr. Jennifer Goodwin.
He didn’t go full-time at the prison until Susanne’s death. After his wife’s murder he decided that the catacombs of that particular stone prison would make a fine final resting place for his tired bones. It was a decision he stood behind, even when he didn’t fully understand why. He had to stick with it. What else was he going to do?
Not even six months after the decision, the Wilson Maximum Security Prison lost important funding and, after the forced retirement of Dr. Hadmira and the extermination of Dr. Goodwin, Ashe found himself the solo psychologist, left behind to deal with long hours and a mountain of work. It was exactly what he had hoped, but he should have been slightly more cautious what he had wished for.
“Foxy...Ms. Taneesha Jones,” the psychologist continued, “keeps trying to bribe me with sexual favors.”
“It what way?”
He sighed again.
“Last session...she said that if I signed a recommendation for her to be allowed time on the Yard again, she would give me the...‘best blow job of my boring life.’ End quote.”
“You make a note of it in the record?”
“Of course.”
“Why didn't you mention this to me before?”
“So many things going on.” He shook his head. “I thought I could still be professional and objective,” Ashe began, “but I don't see how that would be possible. I am too uncomfortable in the situation and need to dismiss myself before any ethical questions arise…real or make believe. If that is alright?”
“If you would like,” Warden Chase agreed, scribbling another quick notation. “That is the session after Kentucky Jim?”
“Yea.”
Warden Chase jotted.
“I will make sure the guards leave them in their cells. An
ything else?” she asked.
“I need another session with Mr. Barrett.”
The warden stiffened.
“When?”
“Today,” Ashe replied. “One o'clock should be good?”
“Why so soon?”
“I came close to scratching the surface with him,” he replied. “I need to touch the pan while it is still hot...so to say.”
“Promise me something first,” Warden Chase , putting on her serious face. “Tread lightly with this one. This is not some low life from the streets. This one is different. My professional and friendly advice is for you to be very, very careful. Okay?”
Ashe was taken aback but was not completely surprised by her response. Franklin Barrett was different than an inmate like Kentucky Jim or Foxy…Ms. Taneesha Jones. “I am always careful.”
Letting out a stiff breath, she agreed. “Okay. One o'clock.”
“Thank you,” Ashe replied. “I will be out of my office for a few hours. I have some personal issues to handle.”
“Anything that I can help with?”
“Nope. I need to deal with them on my own.”
Ashes to Ashes Page 11