president, blow up a bank with the people in it, or dismember a dozen babies, and you'll end up here. There are a hundred and fifty cells, and there's a waiting list. Surveillance is constant, and the prisoner-guard ratio is high. Security is airtight; we're talking meals slid under the doors, steel doors and entry codes mat change randomly. You can't go in, but I'll have him brought out.'
He pressed a buzzer, and the TV cameras rotated with a low whine. Several minutes later a giant red-haired deputy opened the door and squinted at us suspiciously. Montez talked to him in a near whisper. The redhead listened and disappeared behind the door without comment.
'We'll wait in there,' said the social worker, pointing to the interview room. He guided me past hushed, furtive conferences, which stopped as we walked by, resumed
when we'd passed. The lawyers looked as shifty-eyed as their clients. One of them, a washed-out-looking man in a polyester suit, sat stoically as the prisoner across from him, a small, balding mulatto with thick glasses, called him a motherfucker and railed on about habeas corpus.
'Court-appointed,' said Montez. 'A joyful assignment.'
Several deputies carrying walkie-talkies patrolled the room. Montez waved one over. He was dark, rosy- cheeked, soft-looking, and prematurely bald. The social worker explained the situation to him, and he stared at me, nodded, and unlocked one of the glass rooms before stepping back out of earshot.
'Any questions?' asked Montez.
'Just one, but it's a bit personal.'
'No sweat.'
'How do you cope with working here full-time?'
'There's nothing to cope with,' he said evenly. 'I love my work. The paper work gets to be a bit much, but it'd be that way anywhere else and a damned sight more boring. In this place no two days are ever the same. I'm a movie freak, and I get to live pure Fellini. That answer it?'
'Eloquently. Thanks for the education.'
'Anytime,'
We shook hands.
'Wait here; it'll take awhile,' he said, glancing at the balding deputy. 'Deputy Sonnenschein will take care of you from this point.'
I stood outside the glass room for several minutes as Sonnenschein strolled the interview area. Finally he approached in an awkward, rolling gait, as if his body were segmented and only loosely connected at the waist. His thumbs were hooked in his belt loops, and his holster flapped against his flank. Under the thinning hair was a curiously childlike moon face, and up close I saw that he was very young.
'Your patient should be here any minute,' he said. 'It takes time to get through High Power.' He threw a backward glance at the glass room. 'I've gotta search you, so let's go inside.'
He held the door open and entered after me. Inside were a blue metal table and two matching chairs, bolted to the floor. He asked me to remove my jacket, checked the pockets, ran his hands lightly over my body, returned the garment, inspected my briefcase, and had me sign a logbook. I noticed that Souza had visited at eight that morning. Mainwaring an hour earlier.
'You can sit down now,' he said.
I did, and he took the other chair.
'You're here to try to dim cap him, right?' he asked.
'I'm going to talk to him and see.'
'Good luck,' he said.
I looked at him sharply, searched for sarcasm but found none.
'What I meant was - ' His walkie-talkie spit and cut him off. He listened to it, then put it to his lips, rattled off a few numbers, and said everything was ready. Rising, he walked to the door, put his hands on his hips, and stood watch.
'You started to say something,' I reminded him.
He shook his head.
'See for yourself. They're bringing him in now.'
AT FIRST I couldn't see him. He was submerged in a phalanx of deputies, all of them huge. The red-haired giant who'd stuck his head out the door to the High Power unit led the way, checking me out and scanning the room. When he gave the okay, the rest of them entered, moving in concert like some massive tan arachnid that parted slowly to reveal the shackled boy in its grasp.
I wouldn't have recognised him had he passed me on the street. He'd grown to six feet but didn't weigh more than 130 pounds. The yellow pyjamas hung loosely on his spindly frame. Puberty had stretched his face from sphere to oval. The features were regular but ascetic, the bones peaking sharply under a thin tent of flesh. His black hair was still long; it hung down over his forehead and fell in greasy clumps upon bony shoulders. His skin was the colour of parchment, shadowed with unearthly overtones of grey-green. Black stubble lightly dotted his chin and upper lip. A large, florid pimple blossomed from one hollow cheek. Both eyes were closed. He gave off a sour smell.
The deputies moved with silent precision. Meaty hands remained clasped around sticklike arms. One pair propelled him to the table. Another sat him down. Wrist and ankle cuffs were secured to the stationary chair. It left him in an awkward position, but he allowed himself to be manipulated with the limp passivity of a marionette.
When they were through, the redhead came over and introduced himself as Sergeant Koocher.
'How long will this take, Doctor?' he asked.
'It's hard to tell before I talk to him.'
'We'd prefer that you keep it to one hour maximum, and we'll be back to pick him up in sixty minutes. If you need more time, let Deputy Sonnenschein know beforehand. He'll be right outside.'
Sonnenschein frowned and nodded assent.
'Any questions?' asked Koocher.
'No.'
He signalled to the others, and they left. Sonnenschein was the last to exit. He remained on the other side of the glass, arms folded across his chest, positioned at an angle that allowed him a clear view of both the glass room and the interview area. I turned from him to the boy on the other side of the table.
'Hello, Jamey. It's Dr. Delaware.'
I searched the pallid face for signs of response, found none.
'I'm here to help you,' I said. 'Is there anything you need?'
When he didn't answer I let the silence simmer. Nothing. I started to talk, softly, soothingly - about how frightened he must be, how glad I was that he'd reached out to me, how much I wanted to help.
After twenty minutes he opened his eyes. For an instant 1 was hopeful that I'd broken through. Then 1 looked at him closely, and hope scurried back into its burrow.
His eyes were filmed over and unfocused, the whites a soiled-linen grey shot through with red. He was looking at me without seeing.
A trickle of drool seeped from the corner of his mouth
and flowed down his chin. I took out a handkerchief and wiped it away, held his chin, and tried to snag eye contact. It was futile; his stare remained vacant and lifeless.
Lowering my hand, I placed it on his shoulder. The movement caught the corner of Sonnenschein's eye. He wheeled around and stared sharply through the glass. I gave him an everything's okay look, and after a few seconds he relaxed his stance but didn't avert his gaze.
Jamey remained motionless. His pyjamas were sweat-soaked. Through the moist fabric he felt stiff and cold; I might have been touching a corpse. Then abruptly he sucked in his cheeks and pursed his lips, blowing out rancid air. His head lolled, and he shuddered. The tremor coursed its way from his core to my fingertips, faded, and repeated itself. So abrupt was the surge of energy that I had to restrain myself from pulling away. But I'd made that mistake once before and wouldn't let it happen again.
Instead, I intensified the pressure of my fingers. A sobbing sound rose from deep within his abdomen; his shoulders heaved, then slumped. He closed his eyes again, and his head swung pendulously before dropping to the table. He lay there, cheek to the metal, mouth gaping, breathing nasally and heavily. Nothing I said or did roused him.
