which is exactly what I wanted.
‘Seems like a month after Lodge came out of segregation, a man named Jimmy Fox, a white supremacist from Syracuse, was killed with a shank. A month after that, Lodge was on his way to Attica.’
‘You’re saying Lodge killed Fox?’
‘The administration’s snitches kept naming him, but he was never charged because there was no evidence.’
‘Then why the transfer out of medium security?’
Beauchamp sneered. ‘Let’s just say, in the correctional system, we have ways to punish offenders without putting the state to the expense of a trial.’ He returned the crystal to his desk and leaned back in his chair. ‘Now I expect you’re gonna ask me about the motive. Why would Lodge kill Fox?’
‘It was right on the tip of my tongue.’
‘Well, it goes like this. When you first come into the system, no matter who you are, somebody’s gonna test you, see if maybe you wouldn’t mind becoming a victim. That’s just the way of it.’
‘And David Lodge, he passed the test?’
‘That’s the word I got.’
We were interrupted at that moment by a uniformed officer who told us that Pete Jarazelsky was waiting in an interview room down the hall. Beauchamp waved him off, then asked, ‘Anything else I can do for you, Harry?’
‘Yeah, Jarazelsky. An officer told me he’s in protective custody. Was somebody after him?’
Beauchamp laughed. ‘Old Pete, he’s a work of art. He snitched out so many inmates, the whole prison wanted a piece of his ass. Now I don’t know who finally caught up with him, but he took a serious beating right before he went back into protective custody.’
I nodded. ‘Seems like a good reason to spend twenty-three hours a day behind bars. But let me ask you this: Jarazelsky was sent up for burglary. How’d he end up in Attica with David Lodge?’
‘No mystery there, Harry. It was the luck of the draw, simple as that. Pete asked for protective custody right out of the box, just like David Lodge, only instead of being assigned to Cayuga’s unit, he was assigned to ours. The way the state sees it, if you’re in protective custody it doesn’t matter what prison you’re sent to. If you’re protected, you’re safe.’
‘Until you ask to come out.’
That brought another laugh, then an explanation. ‘When Jarazelsky couldn’t take being alone with himself all day, he asked to go into population. It was his bad luck that the population in question was the population of Attica.’ Beauchamp rose from his chair and stepped around his desk. ‘But there is one other person you need to see after you finish with Jarazelsky. Lodge was a trustee his last year with us. He did office work for our psychiatrist, Dr Nagy. From what Nagy told me, they got pretty close.’
When Beauchamp offered his hand, I knew my time was up. I had no complaints. Inspired no doubt by Lodge’s celebrity, Beauchamp had definitely gone the extra mile. Still, I made one further request before I left his office. I asked if he’d assign one of his subordinates to compile a list of David Lodge’s visitors over the past two years and fax it to me.
NINE
If it had been up to me, I would’ve interviewed Nagy first, leaving Pete Jarazelsky to simmer. But Jarazelsky had been brought to the administration building all the way from C Block as a courtesy when I might have had to interview him in the bowels of the prison. The least I could do was accommodate Beauchamp’s schedule.
The starkly functional room Beauchamp had chosen for the interview had been designed for small conferences. A sound-dampening ceiling and two banks of fluorescent lights above, a long table surrounded by upholstered office chairs on wheels, a polished tile floor. Two flags, of the United States and the State of New York, stood against a cinder block wall.
When I came through the door, Jarazelsky’s dark eyes jumped to mine. I returned his gaze, hoping for a peek into his heart before he composed himself. No such luck. His eyes immediately dropped to the table, leaving me to make the first move. He was wearing an orange jumpsuit and his wrists were cuffed to a leather belt at his waist. For a moment, I considered the grand gesture, asking the guard to unlock the cuffs, but decided against it. This wasn’t an interrogation and I wasn’t going to get hours and hours to wear him down.
I finally introduced myself as Detective Corbin, then took a seat across the table and stated my business. I was here to investigate the murder of David Lodge. I deeply appreciated his voluntary cooperation. I looked forward to any assistance he might offer.
‘Hey,’ Jarazelsky said when I ground to a halt, ‘me and Davy, we were tight. I’m talkin’ about on the street, back in the Eight-Three, and up here, too. So, any way I can help, I’m happy to do it.’
Jarazelsky was a short, unimposing man with jug ears and a drooping nose that fell to within an inch of his upper lip. His dark eyes were large and slightly bulging, his mouth slightly open as he watched me intently. He’d now made point number one, confirming Ellen Lodge’s claim that Jarazelsky and her husband were prison allies.
‘When was the last time you saw Lodge?’ I asked.
‘A couple months ago.’
‘Months?’
‘Well, see, I got into a beef with some niggers and hadda take segregation. It’s only temporary, though.’ He leaned across the table, his voice dropping in tone and volume. ‘I know Davy woulda looked out for me, but I didn’t have the heart to jam him up after he got his release date.’
‘Right.’ I rolled my chair back a few inches and crossed my legs, but made no further comment. I wanted to see what Jarazelsky would volunteer.
‘Anyway,’ he said after a moment, ‘I knew Davy was goin’ to his old lady’s house. He told me he was gonna stay there while he looked for a job.’
‘Do you know where he planned on looking for this job? Did he contact anyone before he left Attica, maybe some of his old buddies at the Eight-Three?’
Jarazelsky shrugged. ‘I can’t say for certain. He could’ve.’
I opened a notebook and wrote my own name three times, then looked back up. Between the bulging eyes and the jug ears, Jarazelsky’s face had a bat-like quality, especially when he tilted his head down. Although his appearance also had a menacing aspect, I sensed the wariness of a small mammal caught in a trap. Whenever he shifted his weight, the chains that bound his wrists and ankles rattled softly.
‘Tell me what David Lodge was like,’ I said. ‘What did he do with his time? Did he have any hobbies? Like to write letters? Play basketball? What’d he talk about when you were alone?’
‘He lifted weights,’ Jarazelsky said after a moment.
‘That’s it?’
‘What can I say? Davy was pretty quiet. And he was never my cellie. We mostly got together in the yard. But you could take this to the bank: Davy was nervous about his release. The guy he clipped, Clarence Spott? Well, Spott’s brother, DuWayne, took over the crew after his brother’s passing. I was still at the Precinct when this happened, so I know what I’m sayin’. DuWayne put the word out that he wasn’t gonna sit for his brother gettin’ murdered by no honkey pig.’
This time, Jarazelsky’s eyes gave him away. He was searching my face, gauging my reaction. Having confirmed (without prompting) the second element of the widow’s statement, he wanted to know if I was buying his story.
‘Are you telling me that Lodge was directly threatened by DuWayne Spott?’
‘Like I said, Davy was real quiet. It wasn’t always like that. Back at the Eight-Three, when he was still drinkin’, he was pretty much out of control.’
Jarazelsky hadn’t answered the question, but I let it go. I wasn’t all that interested in his tale because it didn’t address the point Adele had raised in Sarney’s office. How would DuWayne Spott know that David Lodge was going to his wife’s house upon release?
