Booth choked back a 'motherfucker' that surely would have led to some diabolical punishment.
'I warned you to move your ass. Now, finish up. We got other guests in this hotel.'
Booth dodged in and out of the freezing water until all the soap was off. His clean clothes were in his cell at the other end of the security tank..He wrapped as much of his shivering body as he could in a towel that barely covered his Private parts and huddled his shoulders as he walked past the fags, psychos and snitches who shared the security block with him.
Booth hated his new situation. At least he had human beings to talk to in Whitaker. The security block was for prisoners who could not be allowed to live in the normal jai 'I population: escape risks, homosexuals, ultraviolent prisoners and informants. Booth hated queers, was scared to death of psychos and considered himself different from the other snitches, but he was going to have to stay in this madhouse if he expected to live long enough to trade Gary Harmon's freedom for his own.
Booth's cell was long and narrow and contained a sink, a flush toilet and two bunks, but he was the sole occu i pant. As soon as the guard saw that his prisoner was inside, he closed the moving bars electronically. The guard never entered the security block unless there was an emergency.
He patrolled the long corridor on the other side of the bars occasionally, but when it was shower time, he stayed in his chair and used the controls to open and close the bars of each cell as each prisoner's turn to shower arrived.
'How you doin', Kevin?' a voice asked as Booth was getting into his underpants. Booth paused with one leg raised and looked through the bars. The prisoner who had spoken to him was a slender young man with pale skin and a blond crew cut. The only distinguishing mark on his body was a swastika tattoo on his right forearm.
Booth noticed the tattoo at the same time he noticed he milk container concealed under the prisoner's bath t I towel. The young man kept his easy smile as he tossed the contents of the milk container over Booth's naked body. Lighter fluid, Booth thought as a lighted match followed the liquid through the bars and transformed him into a human torch.
Peter ran as fast as he could along the jogging trails i in Wishing Well Park, pushing himself to exhaustion in the hope that his brain would be too busy working on his oxygen supply to concern itself with Gary Harmon. But Peter's brain would not cooperate and images of bloodencrusted hatchets dominated his thoughts.
The feds used a system for determining sentences that allowed judges almost no discretion. If he was convicted under the Federal Sentencing Guidelines, Kevin Booth would do a lot of federal time without the possibility of parole.
There was, however, a motion for reduction of sentence that the prosecutor could make if a defendant turned in someone. In cases like Booth's, this system created tremendous pressure to lie about the criminal involvement of an innocent person.
What troubled Peter was the possibility that Gary might be guilty. Gary would not state unequivocally that he did not kill Sandra Whiley. He claimed he drank so much that he did not have a clear memory for the hour or so when the murder was probably committed. Did he kill Whiley and repress the memory or was he simply lying? Peter could not believe Gary was capable of sustaining a lie for this long, but Peter had read about repressed memory. He had a hard time buying into the idea that someone could witness a murder or be sexually abused and have no memory of the event, but he knew it happened. Maybe a person with Gary's IQ was more susceptible to that kind of thing. If he had not killed Whiley, how was he able to tell Dennis Downes that the killer used a hatchet and how was he able to tell Kevin Booth where the murder weapon could be found?
There was no endorphin rush during his run and Peter reached his house depressed and exhausted. He had barely caught his breath when the phone rang.
'Mr. Hale?' a shaky voice asked.
'Gary? You sound upset. Has something happened?
Why are you calling?'
'I said I had to talk to you. I said I wanted to call my lawyer.'
'That's good, Gary. You did just what I told you to do, if you were in trouble. Are you in trouble?'
'They say I burned up Kevin. I didn't burn him.
Please tell them I didn't burn him.'
'Calm down, Gary. Who says you burned someone?'
'That lady lawyer and Sergeant Downes,' Gary gulped in a voice close to tears.
'Are Sergeant Downes and Becky O'Shay with you?'
'Yeah.
'Put Ms. O'Shay on the phone.'
There was dead air for a moment. Peter heard Gary saying something he could not make out. As soon as O'Shay took the phone, Peter said, 'What's going on?
Why are you questioning Gary?'
'Kevin Booth was set on fire in his cell in the Stark O'Shay answered, her rage barely under control.
jail, 'Unfortunately for your client, there was a fuck-UP.
Booth's still alive.'
'You don't think Gary was involved, do you?' Peter asked incredulously. 'He's not bright enough to plan something like that.'
'We'll soon find out.'
'How will you do that?'
'Sergeant Downes and I are going to question Gary.'
'I can't let you do that. You two shouldn't be anywhere near Gary without my permission.'
'This is a totally different crime, Peter. You don't represent Gary on this.'
'The hell I don't,' Peter said, losing his patience.
'Now, listen, Becky. I want you and Downes out of there.'
'Don't tell me what to do,' Becky answered angrily.
Peter did not want to upset O'Shay. He still had hopes of going out with her. But protecting Gary was crucial.
'Damn it, Becky. I'm Gary's lawyer. I can tell you what to do in this case.'
'Why are you afraid to let Gary talk to us?'
'Are you nuts? You're prosecuting him. Downes arrested him. I don't want either of you within a mile of him. Now, get Gary back to his cell immediately and don't you dare ask him any questions. If I find you have, I'll move for a mistrial. You know what you're doing isn't ethical.'
'I don't think you're in any position to discuss ethics, Hale.'
'What ... what do you mean?'
'Do you think I believed for one moment that story about quitting Hale, Greaves to get out of the rat race?
I called a few friends in Portland. They knew all about the way you lied to judge Pruitt and lost that case for that crippled woman. You're pretty famous.'
Peter felt sick. 'Look, Becky he started, but O'Shay had already hung up.
Donna's doorbell rang at nine-thirty. She wondered who was calling so late. She smiled when she found Peter on her doorstep, but the smile faded as soon as she saw the expression on his face. Peter usually looked as if he had just stepped out of the pages of a menswear catalog, but tonight his suit was rumpled, his tie was askew and his hair was a mess.
'What's wrong?' she asked as she stepped aside to let him in.
'Everything. Where's Steve?'
'He's staying overnight in Salem. He has a business meeting there about Mountain View, tomorrow.'
'Damn! That's right. I forgot.' Xi 'Is this about Gary? Has something happened?'
Peter nodded. 'You know the inmate who's going to say Gary confessed?'
'Yes' 'Another prisoner set him on fire this afternoon.'
'They can't think Gary's involved.'
'Becky and Downes tried to question Gary without me, but he remembered what I told him about demanding a call to his lawyer if any policeman tried to talk to him. I went down to the Jail and they backed off.
They're grasping at straws on the torching, but something else has come up.
