“I honestly don’t know. Why?”
She smiled that smile from ear to ear and shrugged as if to say,
“I quite agree.”
“So, I gave Ron my full attention and just a hint of thigh and he sang like a Pointer sister.”
“A Pointer sister?”
“They’re making a comeback.”
“I wondered where they had gone. I figured they found a man with a slow hand and just couldn’t quite get back on the road anymore.”
“I think he left them. Anyway, Ron told some tales, and one of them was about an inmate who was having an affair with one of the nurses.”
“Thomas?” I asked
“Thomas,” she said. “So I wondered how he figured into all this.”
“I don’t know how or if he does really. Did he say which nurse it was?”
“No. I don’t think he knows. He was just showing off and probably feeling me out as to whether or not I would go with an inmate.”
“I see. Well, what now?” I asked. “You’re going to be extra careful. Lock your doors; don’t go anywhere alone. Play it safe.”
“And you,” she said, “are going to continue your search-that is, if you are handling it as well as you seem to be.”
I stood to leave. “It is no illusion. So far, I’m okay. But you go right on asking because it makes me feel looked after.”
“I try,” she said.
“No,” I said. “You succeed.”
Chapter 19
Back in my office, I sat entering all of the information I had about the murder into my computer when Merrill Monroe walked in.
He didn’t knock, which meant he had asked Mr. Smith if anyone was with me. He would have knocked otherwise. He walked in and took a seat in the same way he did everything, with natural rhythm-like he was made to do it. I knew it to be over a hundred degrees outside, but not because Merrill showed any signs of it. He moved and looked as if he had just come in from an invigorating walk in the cool, crisp air of a fall morning.
“’s up?” he said when he was seated in front of me.
“Got me,” I said. “You’re looking at the man who knows the very least about the way things work around here.”
“It
“Yeah, I’ve certainly proven to be lightning quick so far.”
“You doin’ okay. Got a lot of people talkin’. Something or somebody goin’ to snap. Just keep pourin’ on the heat, puttin’ on the pressure, and eventually the cooker gonna explode.”
“The very fact that people know I am investigating lets you know how poorly I’m doing.”
“Well, it can work to your advantage,” he said, instantly losing his dialect. “Have you rounded up the usual suspects yet?”
“Yes, and the butler did it.”
“He’s black, too, isn’t he?”
“Of course. Come to think of it, there is really only one suspect of African descent.”
“Everybody’s of African descent. We were the first people on Earth.”
“I should have said that there is only one black suspect so far.”
“The nigga’ got a name?”
“Name and a number,” I said. “Allen Jones. Inmate who works in the infirmary. He’s not really a serious suspect. He has no motive that I can see, but he was there and in charge of handling the garbage. He also has access to a typewriter. Most inmates don’t. But Anderson says he didn’t take the trash out on Tuesday. Speaking of which, what can you tell me about Shutt?”
“Not much,” he said. “He’s pretty new. Seems okay. For a white boy, I mean. He a suspect?”
“Yeah. He picked up the trash, and he’s the one who actually did the deed.”
“Shook him up like hell, too, though, didn’t it?” he asked.
“Maybe. Did you ever see
“Did Spike Lee make it, or was Denzel in it?” he asked.
“No,” I said.
“Then, no,” he said as if stating the obvious.
“Well, anyway, it’s about this lady who goes crazy for this married man she had an affair with. Threatens his family-tries to kill them, even boils their pet rabbit. Anyway, for the longest time, I thought Glenn Close, the actress that played the crazy woman, was really crazy-scary, you know. But a few years later, I saw her in another role, and I was convinced that she was a saint. There are some good actors in this world, and they aren’t all in Hollywood.”
“Who else?” he said, shaking his head at my Glenn Close analogy.
“Jacobson, of course.”
“Of course. But do you really think he’s the one?” he asked.
“Don’t know. Not ready to rule him out yet. He’s very smart. And, then there’s Skipper.”
“He’s probably involved somehow. He’s a mean bastard. Bad to the bone, and not in the good way either. Anybody else?” he asked.
“Anybody who was in medical that night-Anderson, Strickland, even Skipper was there. Or anybody else, for all I know.”
“You’ve really narrowed it down, haven’t you?” he said, shaking his head sadly. “Got a motive?”
“Seems to be either sex, drugs, or rock ’n’ roll. Or something else maybe.”
“You really good at this shit, Sherlock,” he said with a wide grin.
“Aren’t I, though.”
“What about racial? Victim
“That’s true. See, I really am clueless. There’s something else, too, that I wanted to talk to you about.”
“I all ears, boss,” he said with a big smile.
“All teeth,” I said. “It’s about Anna. I think she might be in danger. I’ve been getting threatening letters and I think they’re about her.”
“Have you told her?” he asked.
“Yeah, but I could tell that she didn’t take it very seriously. Would you help me keep an eye on her?”
He didn’t say anything, but his nod and the expression on his face told me he would.
We were silent for a few minutes. Through the thin chapel walls I could hear a group of inmates having an argument. And, although I couldn’t hear what the argument was about, I could guess. Most of their arguments were about either religion or football. Then I told him about Molly Thomas and her experience with Captain Skipper.
“What do you think of correctional officers?” Merrill asked when I finished my story.
“I think most of them are good people doing a very difficult job with little resources for little pay.”
“You don’t think they’re all like Patterson or Skipper?”
“No, of course not. But, I don’t think they’re all like you either. I know there are very few Skippers or Pattersons in the department-maybe just the two. What concerns me even more is that there are very few Merrill Monroes in the department. The department’s in such a hurry to fill positions that they’re compromising
