Inside (17 page)

She hoped that nothing on her face revealed her personal interest in this situation. “Great. Glad to hear it,”
she said, but as far as she was concerned, Wallace hadn’t taken care of that other business at all. A woman had been shot and killed. Trinity Woods was dead because he hadn’t taken Virgil’s warnings seriously enough—although she had to concede that maybe it wasn’t
entirely
fair to blame Wallace. The Crew had no reason to murder the babysitter. They’d done it to make a statement, which was taking the situation further than
she’d
expected it to go, too. She was just angry at Rick because she’d called him herself this morning, twice, and he hadn’t bothered to respond. He knew it would leave her worrying about what she’d revealed, yet he’d contacted Fischer instead.

Did that mean he was more upset with her than she thought? It was a pretty safe guess. But there wasn’t anything she could do about it. She considered telling the warden what she’d told Rick, but decided it was too late. Since she couldn’t convince the associate director to call off the investigation, it wouldn’t be wise to make any more of an issue of it. That would only leave Virgil friendless in an environment she could help him navigate.

For better or worse, she was suddenly committed to secrecy. And celibacy.

“There’s just one thing,” Fischer said.

Setting her cup on the table, she waited for the warden to continue.

“You haven’t said anything about this to anyone, have you?”

The gravity of his tone caused a trickle of fear. “You mean what we discussed at the library?”

“Yes.”

“Of course not, why?”

He thought for a minute, then shook his head. “It’s nothing.”

“You think word of it has gotten out?”

“A couple of the C.O.s have mentioned that there’s added tension in gen pop. I’m wondering why.”

It could be anything; it didn’t have to be word that the CDCR was trying to infiltrate the Hells Fury. So why had Fischer’s mind gone in that direction? What
wasn’t
he saying? “That’s
all
you heard?”

“That’s it.” He shrugged. But he’d gone to the trouble of finding her to verify that she’d kept her mouth shut. He could’ve called her later, at her office. Was it because he wanted to see her face when she answered?

“Did you check with Frank Rosenburg and Joseph Perry?” she asked. “I did.”

“And?”

“They claim they haven’t breathed a word to anyone.”

Was that true?
Shit!
This was exactly what she’d been afraid of. “And you believe them?”

“Of course. Just like I believe you.”

She didn’t have the chance to say more. Sergeant Hostetler had arrived with Buzz.

Nodding a quick goodbye, Fischer opened the door for them and slipped out as they came in.

Peyton was tempted to tell Hostetler that she could handle the interview alone. She was interested in more than a few cursory answers on top of what she could read in Buzz’s C-file, and she figured he’d be more likely to open up if Hostetler wasn’t standing guard at the back of the room. But she couldn’t act out of the ordinary. He’d be able to tell something was different and so would the staff.

“I have a problem,” she announced.

Buzz glanced over his shoulder as if he thought she had to be talking to Hostetler.

Peyton walked around the large table. “That was meant for you.”

Because of food allergies and irritable bowel syndrome, Buzz had trouble gaining weight. His hollow eyes indicated that today wasn’t one of his better days. But his illness didn’t make him safe. He had a restless nature that made her fear he might be too unpredictable for her purposes. With tattoos covering his bald head, even part of his face, he looked as hardened as he probably was.

How would he react if she put Virgil in his cell?

He was smaller than Virgil. That, she liked. She wanted Virgil to be able to win if his cell mate ever attacked him. Of course, she thought Virgil could handle most men, as long as he knew what was coming. But there wasn’t much anyone could do to avoid getting shanked while sleeping.

“I’m sorry to hear you have a problem, Chief Deputy,” he said. “I really am, but there’s nothin’ I can do to help you.”

She arched her eyebrows. “You don’t even know what’s wrong. Why don’t you sit down so I can explain it to you?”

He did as she asked but bounced his knee as if he could hardly stand to be in the same room with her. “No offense, but I’d rather not get involved. I can’t do you any favors, you hear what I’m sayin’? I’m gettin’ out soon. I wanna serve my time and go. You understand.”

Despite his gang ties, he hadn’t been much of a behavioral concern in the past several years. His desire to sidestep her and stay out of trouble made her think he
might actually work. It wasn’t like she had a lot of men to choose from that she considered safe. Everyone in Pelican Bay was there for a reason.

“Of course I understand.”

He relaxed slightly—until she continued to speak and he realized she wasn’t about to back off.

“But that still leaves me with a problem.”

Adjusting his position, he squinted at her. “What do you want from me?”

Peyton sat on the edge of the table. “There’s some sort of unrest in gen pop. It’s subtle, but…you know why I’d be concerned about that, right?”

“Of course. It’s your job to keep things under control.”

“That’s one way to put it. Another is that I don’t like it when people get hurt. So I’m hoping you can tell me what’s making everyone so…uptight.” This wasn’t the approach she’d planned to use. She’d been thinking of telling him that someone claimed he was making threats of bodily harm. But the warden’s visit, and what he’d said during that visit, had created an opportunity to put Virgil in Buzz’s cell, and make Buzz believe it was
his
fault.

“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ ’bout,” he complained. “There’s nothin’ happenin’ in gen pop. If there was, I’d know about it.”

“That’s why you’re here.”

Realizing that he hadn’t made it any easier to maintain a low profile with that comment, he flushed. “There’s nothin’ to tell.”

“So why are you nervous?”

He wiped his palms on his jeans. “If you were me, you’d be nervous, too. Meeting with you isn’t good. I don’t want trouble.”

“I don’t want trouble, either. That’s why I’m asking for your help.”

“But helpin’ you
is
trouble. I ain’t no rat, Chief Deputy. If you think that, you got me mixed up with someone else. You hear what I’m sayin’?”

“Letting me know what’s going on in gen pop is ratting someone out?” She rose to her feet. “Now I’m really worried.”

The teardrop tattoo on his cheek stretched and shrank as he clenched and unclenched his jaw. Only twenty-eight, he was too young to have spent as many years in prison as he had. “I didn’t say that.”

“What are you saying?”

“The guys are jittery, that’s all. You know…it’s the fog, the cold. Winter ain’t the best time to be in the joint.”

“So you won’t tell me what’s going on?”

“I
can’t
tell you anything. One wrong word and they’ll call me a snitch. That’s a death sentence. You know it as well as I do.”

“Fine. If you won’t do me one small favor, I won’t do you any favors, either.”

The knee that’d been bouncing stopped, and his eyes sharpened. “What?”

“Transfers are coming in tomorrow afternoon.”

He shook his head vigorously. “That’s got nothin’ to do with me.”

“Now it does. There’s a man who’ll be joining us, someone the good folks at Corcoran are tired of dealing with.”

“Behavioral?”

“Yes.”

Buzz jumped up. “Don’t tell me—”

“He’ll be your new cellie.”

“Ah, man, no! I don’t want a new cellie. I’m good the way I am. I have one month left, one month! What am I gonna do with some badass causin’ me grief?”

Hostetler growled for Buzz to calm down, but Peyton waved the sergeant back.

“He’ll need someone who’s capable of setting a good example, someone who can show him how to stay out of trouble. You’re the perfect candidate.”

“Just put him in the SHU.”

“If he doesn’t behave, that’s exactly where he’ll go. But we’re going to give him a chance to be a stand-up guy. You know how it works in here.”

“That’s the problem,” he grumbled. “I know how it works.”

“We could make a deal, if you’d like….” She let her voice trail off, and he shook his head again. “No way.”

“Fine. Then you’ll meet your new cell mate tomorrow.”

He muttered some profanity under his breath, but Peyton didn’t react because she couldn’t really hear it. Then Sergeant Hostetler came forward to lead him out.

Once they were gone, Peyton returned to her seat, cautiously hopeful. She’d found Virgil a Hells Fury cell mate she felt somewhat comfortable with, and she’d set up a context for his insertion into the prison. If she’d pegged Buzz accurately, he’d complain to high heaven—everyone would be expecting Virgil when he showed up.

A moment later, a C.O. by the name of Gibbs appeared in the doorway. “We got a challenge coming in, huh?”

How had he heard? The door had been shut. He’d
probably tried to listen in. But…maybe not. Life at the prison had a certain rhythm and the slightest change put everyone on notice.

“That’s the latest.” She smiled as if it was business as usual. But she had no idea how they’d pull off what they were attempting to do. Especially now. The warden had spooked her with his talk of changes in gen pop. If the inmates had been tipped off, they’d be more watchful than ever. And that kind of tension could lead to anything….

J
ohn Hutchinson was the last person Peyton wanted to see, especially now, just before she left the prison. Today she’d worked fewer hours than she normally did, but her long nights over the weekend and the stress of what was going on in both her personal and professional lives seemed to be taking a toll. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this exhausted. Shelley had gone home an hour ago. She wanted to follow her assistant’s example and head out—preferably without speaking to anyone.

But she could tell by the look on John’s face that there was no way to avoid this encounter. ISU had delivered the bad news.

“Can I talk to you?” he said, his voice clipped.

She’d stood the moment he poked his head into her office. Reluctant to deal with the high emotion inherent in this particular situation, she almost said it would have to wait until tomorrow and reached for her purse. But she felt too obligated to everyone who worked at the prison to walk out on a C.O. who was this upset. The time she and John had spent at dinner last night, and the other two meals they’d shared, only heightened that feeling.

Resigning herself to staying another few minutes, she drew in a deep breath. “Of course. Come in.”

As he entered, his jaw jutted forward, telling her just how upset he was—as if his taut posture and tone hadn’t already communicated that.

“Lieutenant McCalley has spoken to you?” she said.

“He has.”

Assuming he’d take the seat opposite her, she sank into her chair. “I’m sorry, John.”

Obviously agitated, he remained on his feet. “He came to you, then? You know about this?”

“Of course. We met this morning. After a careful review of the details, I had to agree. You deserve to be suspended. You made a mistake, a serious mistake.”

“But I didn’t mean to hurt anyone!”

Was that true? The testimony of the witnesses contradicted him, which had come as a surprise to Peyton. She knew some of the C.O.s pushed the limits sometimes. She wasn’t naive about what went on here. But she’d never expected such behavior from John. “You went too far. What if Bentley Riggs had died as a result of that kick?”

“He didn’t. He’s fine—fine enough to be talking smack to everyone around him about how he’s going to come after me someday.”

She refused to let him cloud the issue. Riggs wasn’t on trial here. “He fell and cracked his skull when you kicked him. And there are… Never mind.”

“There are what?”

She wasn’t sure she wanted to get into this part. But she felt she owed it to him to back up her decision. So she finished her statement. “People who claim you used the fight as an excuse to unleash your aggression.”

He threw up his hands. “Are you kidding me?
Who
said that? Other inmates? Like they’d ever come to
my
defense.”

“Not just inmates.” That was the shocking part….

His eyes turned so cold she nearly shivered. She’d never seen him like this. “So…Rathman? Ulnig? My fellow
officers
—they claim I was out of line?”

“I’d rather not go into who said what. No one likes what has to be done, least of all Rathman and Ulnig. But we talked to everyone, those most likely to defend you and those most likely to accuse you. You got a fair shake.”

“How can it be a fair shake when you think I ‘unleashed aggression’ and
tried
to hurt an inmate?”

There were times when they all wanted to hurt an inmate. They wouldn’t be human if they didn’t get angry when they were physically or verbally abused. It was not being able to overcome that reaction that became the problem. “If I truly believed that, I would’ve insisted on dismissal. You know I’ve done it with others. So you’re still getting the benefit of the doubt.”

His knuckles whitened on the back of the chair. “They were fighting, Chief Deputy. I had to stop it and stop it fast.”

“The fight was over, John. Almost everyone agrees you’d already split them up. It’s your intent we couldn’t quite figure out, and that’s why we decided on suspension instead of termination.”

“If I hadn’t acted, those two would’ve gone at it again.”

“But you had help by then. And someone heard you say you were going to teach ‘this bastard’ a lesson.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“There were two witnesses.”

“Oh, come on,” he said with a groan. “You’ve been a C.O. You know how it is. Once your adrenaline starts pumping you simply…act.”

“I have been a C.O. so I sympathize with the difficulty of the job. But that doesn’t change what happened. You can’t let your temper, or adrenaline or anything else, get the better of you.”

He scratched his head in apparent frustration. “Think about what you’re doing. If the papers get hold of this they won’t just vilify me. They’ll go after the institution.”

Peyton was very aware of that. She’d seen it before. In 1992, a mentally ill prisoner smeared himself with fecal matter and refused to bathe, so the guards dragged him from his cell and forced him into a tub of hot water that left him with third-degree burns on the lower half of his body. And that wasn’t the only incident in Pelican Bay history of which she wasn’t proud. There’d been other allegations of torture, other lawsuits through the years. But since she’d begun working here, she’d been doing her best to improve the reputation of the prison, and she did that by keeping the guards as honest as she could. She didn’t want Pelican Bay to face another dark moment like the one in 1992, not after all her hard work. And not because John couldn’t control his temper.

“ISU and I had to take that into consideration, too,” she said. “What you did could cast us all in the same bad light.”

He glared at her. “Wait—you’re punishing me as some sort of insurance, so if it does become public you’re in the clear?”

Growing impatient, she got to her feet. “I’m punishing you because you deserve it.”

“No. What happened in those few seconds could’ve happened to you or anyone else.”

She didn’t think so, but there was no point in arguing. The next time he acted up, if he did, he’d be fired. He needed to understand that. “You’ve got a second chance, John. You should be grateful.”

“Grateful…” he repeated with a bitter laugh.

“The suspension is only two weeks. My advice is to enjoy the days off and come back refreshed and ready to do a better job.”

“That’s easy for you to say. You’re not paying child support or trying to support two households on what a guard makes.”

“You’ll have some time to prepare for the financial loss. Your suspension won’t start until next month. Other than that, there’s nothing more I can do for you. I’m sorry.”

For a few seconds, she thought he’d mock her by saying,
I’ll bet you are,
or something similar. But then he made an attempt to improve his tone and demeanor. “I’m sure you did what you could for me.”

Peyton didn’t like this response any more than she liked his accusations. He kept trying to create a bond between them she couldn’t allow. “I did what I’d do with anyone else under the same circumstances.”

“Of course.” He managed a wry smile, the kind that was intended to hide the emotion behind it but was quite obvious in revealing his self-pity. “You’d never pick favorites. You’re always so…
careful.
”

“I’m fair,” she clarified.

“Right.”

She thought he’d go. What more was there to say? This event had strained their relationship. She doubted he’d be bringing her any more dinners. But he continued
to stand there, tapping his long fingers on the back of the visitor’s chair. Then his attention shifted to the pink rose Virgil had given her, which she’d put in a tall cup of water on her desk.

“Secret admirer?”

Peyton didn’t know why she’d brought that flower to work. She’d kept the card, too. She certainly wasn’t doing a very good job of forgetting about Virgil in a romantic sense. But his apology was important to her. Probably because her house wasn’t anywhere close to the motel, which meant he’d had to walk for hours. “No. Just a spot of color.”

“From where?”

“I bought it on my way to work.”

“Nice.” He adjusted his utility belt. “So how’d things go last night?”

“Things?”

“After I left. You said you had a lot of work to do.”

Where was he going with this? “I made some progress. Why?”

“It’s difficult to be under so much stress all the time,” he said.

What he’d done to Bentley Riggs didn’t make her job any easier. “I’m coping with it.”

“Good to hear.”

Finally he headed for the door, even waved as he left, but Peyton could tell it was a front.

They were no longer friends.

Virgil had no idea how he’d be received. In some ways, this was the last place he should’ve come. And yet…it was the only place he wanted to be. He couldn’t go back to the motel. Not before dark. Subtle though it’d been, he’d sensed a heightened interest in him from the
people in the front office. It’d started when he’d turned the maid away and the manager had called to see if he was okay.

Why wouldn’t he be okay? There shouldn’t have been anything to indicate otherwise, nothing to trigger her concern. Other people refused maid service if they had enough towels. So why had Michelle Whatever-her-name-was become so damn inquisitive? She’d even made a joke that people were starting to question her about the mystery man from the CDCR.

Drawing that kind of attention was
not
something he needed. With less than twenty-four hours to go before he was incarcerated at Pelican Bay, it was smarter to stay out of town entirely. He’d had a long walk here, his second trip in one day, and he’d already been waiting on Peyton’s deck for two hours, but in the forest, there was no one to see him or question him.

After what had happened between him and Peyton last night, however, he doubted she’d be pleased to find him on her property. The flower and the card he’d bought were gone, suggesting she’d found them, but that didn’t mean she’d forgiven him. Chances were she wouldn’t want to see him. He’d been too callous yesterday. Sheer frustration had welled up and taken over, frustration and other emotions, but his inability to cope wasn’t her problem. She probably thought he was some kind of monster with no feelings.

He wondered what she’d think if she knew it was just the opposite. She tore him up inside, made him feel
too
much. The sudden influx of everything he’d been missing had knocked him off balance, and because he hadn’t adjusted to the real world yet, his behavior was out of whack.

For the millionth time, he remembered the moment
he’d felt his medallion hanging between her breasts. There’d been a brief exultation that coincided with his body’s release, quickly followed by such a wave of self-recrimination he’d hardly been able to stand himself.

The sound of an engine brought him to his feet. Peyton was home. He walked to the stairs to make his presence known so he wouldn’t frighten her, but it wasn’t Peyton. It was Rick Wallace. Even in the dwindling sunlight, Virgil could tell the difference between Rick’s state-issued Chevrolet Impala and Peyton’s SUV.

After parking to one side of the drive, Wallace got out and retrieved his briefcase from the backseat. Virgil nearly called out to him. But he was a little annoyed with Wallace. He’d tried to reach him half a dozen times today, but Wallace hadn’t bothered to return one call. Was it too much to ask for an update on his sister?

Wallace didn’t care—about him
or
Laurel. He was using Virgil to advance his career. Nothing more.

Wallace got halfway up the stairs before noticing him. Then he startled so badly he nearly fell.

“What the hell?” he growled, clinging to the handrail.

Virgil stepped aside so that, once he recovered, Wallace could climb onto the deck. “You couldn’t return my calls? Let me know Laurel’s okay?”

“I’ve been busy.”

Virgil had a feeling it was more than that. Wallace wouldn’t even look at him. The guy had gone to ridiculous lengths to impress him on Friday. Virgil wanted to laugh when he remembered how he’d bragged about his life, his job, the money he was making. Today Wallace seemed like a completely different person, almost…morose.

Why was he so upset?
Had something happened to Laurel?

“You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?” he asked. “Laurel’s safe? She’s okay, right?”

“Of course. She’s miles away from Florence in a safe house with a U.S. marshal. Her and the kids. No one’ll find them, let alone hurt them.”

“Can I talk to her?”

“No.”

Anger tugged at his restraint. “Why not?”

“It’s better to have no contact until this thing’s over.”

Better for whom? Not for him. Or Laurel. Not if they could communicate safely. And Virgil believed they could—at least until he went inside. “I could use a pay phone.”

Wallace held up his hands. “Listen, I’m exhausted, okay? So just…back off.”

Virgil folded his arms. He’d expected Wallace to ask how he knew where Peyton lived and had planned to explain that she’d brought him out here to go over some information on the Hells Fury. That was true. His first visit had been very innocent, although the situation had changed since. But Wallace didn’t ask. And that made Virgil even more uncomfortable. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” Wallace acted beleaguered, as if he’d had a bad day.

“Travel too stressful for you?”

The associate director glared at him. “Among other things.”

Virgil felt no sympathy. From his perspective, Wallace had a damn good life. He’d certainly portrayed it as ideal on Friday. Even if he knew Virgil had been with Peyton, he had no right to be upset. He was married.
He should be thinking about his wife, not Peyton. “You haven’t asked me what I’m doing here,” he pointed out.
Or how I found the place….

The malevolence that came over Wallace’s face surprised Virgil. What the hell was wrong with the guy? Virgil hadn’t liked him much, but he hadn’t felt any animosity between them, either. Now, suddenly, they were enemies?

Wallace knew about Peyton. He had to know. But how?