“What has been done? Did you know about this?” I asked, looking at Edward Stone.
He frowned at me again. Again deeply.
“Not much has been done, as you would expect, because the grievances have been written by inmates. It seems that on a couple of occasions, he was reprimanded by his supervisor,” Daniels continued.
“That’ll teach him,” I said.
Stone frowned at me again. The man was nothing if not consistent.
“You both know what it’s like. We get grievances on staff members all the time from inmates. All some inmates do is write grievances. So, they are very often not believed or, at best taken with a grain of salt. And remember, this may still be a case of a good officer being abused by some lowlife inmates. Good officers and staff get written up all the time. It’s almost impossible to know. There’s nobody in the entire department who has not been written up by some inmate at some time or another for something.”
Both Daniels and Stone could tell that I didn’t like what was being said. Stone frowned at me.
Daniels said, “What?”
“Nothing.”
“What is it? You thinking, ‘Poor, pitiful inmates. Another example of how they’re abused by the man.’”
“I was thinking how high a price we all pay for the abuse,” I said.
“There’s no evidence that he abused them,” Daniels said.
“No. I mean the abuse by inmates of the grievance procedure. Because of the abuse of some, all suffer. Because so many of them lie and misuse the system, none of them are believed. So, those who are abused are not believed because of all those who cry wolf.”
“Yeah.” He sounded surprised to find himself agreeing with me.
“However, Inspector, continued and consistent reports of abuse by an officer should be treated quite differently from the rare or even the occasional one. How many charges of abuse has he received?” Edward Stone said.
“Twelve,” Daniels said.
“How many years has he been with the department?” I asked.
“Not quite two.”
“That seems like a lot of smoke for there not to be a fire somewhere under there,” I said.
“I agree.” Stone also sounded surprised to be agreeing with me. “Watch him very closely, Inspector. If he’s guilty, I want his ass,” Stone said without emotion. He turned slightly towards me. “Please excuse my language, Chaplain.”
I merely nodded.
Daniels started to say something, but I broke in. “Were any of the grievances filed by Johnson?” I asked.
He nodded.
Edward Stone’s eyebrows peeked several inches above his glasses.
“Maybe you could call the chaplain at his old institution and ask him about Shutt, Chaplain,” Stone added.
“Sure,” I said. I then stood to leave.
“I’ve got more,” Daniels said after he let me get almost to the door.
I sat back down.
“About the sleeping pills,” he said, “the doc said they were not given by syringe or with food. It seems as if Johnson just took the pills himself. Some of the capsules were not even fully dissolved yet.”
“Suicide?” Stone asked, his voice sounding hopeful.
“Who knows?” Daniels said. “But at least a possibility.”
“But that rules out the medical staff and the officer, though, right?” Stone said.
“No,” I said. “It’s just another piece of the puzzle that may or may not lead to a possible solution.”
Daniels frowned at me. Then to Stone he said, “It probably does remove the suspicion from the employees, yes, sir. Then again,” he continued, “who better to give a patient pills than a member of the medical staff or the officer who helps them.”
“But you’re the one who said,” Stone said.
“I know, and it may still hold up, but none of this is cut-anddry. It never is. Sometimes things look a certain way and they are not. Sometimes they are.”
“They are, however,” I said, “almost never what one expects.”
Chapter 21
The air in confinement was ten degrees hotter than the air outside and lacked the breeze. The body odor hung in the air like a fog. It was so thick as to be almost visible. There was very little volume to the noise, only the occasional yell or scream, with a small but steady hum of voices sounding like bees at my ear. It was too hot to be loud-the heat had zapped the inmates’ energy, drawing out their poison.
The officer at the desk, a thirty-something-looking guy with wavy black hair and a slight Latino accent, said that Thomas was in cell 155. When I reached his cell, he was kneeling at the tray hole as if he had expected me, which he probably did. The inmates’ ability to communicate with each other, even in lock-down, was amazing.
“Anthony, how you doing?” I asked.
He shook his head slightly and stared up at me, trying to focus on me. His movements were slow and unsteady. When his eyes finally came within the vicinity of mine, he grinned with way too much familiarity.
“Hello, John,” he said. It was the first time an inmate had ever called me John.
“How are you feeling?” I asked.
“Top of the world. Top of the fuckin’ world.”
“It appears you may have even left this world,” I said.
He didn’t respond.
“How is Molly?” I asked.
“Molly. Molly. Molly,” he said and zoned out again. Actually he was zoned out when he said it. “Molly is my wife, but you, you are my true love.”
“Me?”
“Sure you are. I really love you, man.”
“Do you have a girlfriend here at the institution?”
“I have lots of friends.”
“Like who?”
“Ike was my friend, but he’s not my friend anymore. He’s dead. He’s like way out there, man.”
“What can you tell me about Ike?” I asked.
“He was,” he said and then paused, “my friend.”
“I think we’ve established that. Anything you can add to the fact that he was your friend?”
“He was a good friend. He was a real sweetheart. I wish they didn’t kill him.”
“Who killed him?” I asked.
“That pigfucker Skipper. If he didn’t do it, he had it done. He’s . . .” he seemed to drift further out again.
“He’s what?” I asked.
“He’s . . .” he said in a near-whisper. “He runs this place. He’s the skipper of this ship.”
“What makes you say that?” I asked.
“He does what he wants to, man. He uses . . . abuses . . . nooobody can stop him. Stoned’s scared of him, too . . . unless he’s working for him,” he said and then looked off into space as if to contemplate a deep thought. “My name should be Stoned, too.”
“How about Molly? Does Skipper use or abuse her?”
He began to cry. At first just small tears and then, gradually, bigger and bigger ones. “That fat bastard
