“Three,” he continued, “this is my investigation, and you better stay the hell out of my way. Four, I’ll be watching you-hoping, even praying, that you screw up. Five, when you do, and I know you will, I will personally bury your ass.”
“Six,” he hesitated. He looked desperate to find a sixth point. “Six,” he said again, “don’t forget one through five.”
He stood up and walked out. As he reached my door, he began to whistle. I recognized the tune. It was “Amazing Grace,” the song he knew to be my favorite hymn. He had threatened me in my own office, and now he taunted me with a song that was sacred to me. I’m not often right, but when I am, I usually am in a big way. I had been right in a big way: this was not going to go well.
Chapter 4
In an institution like PCI, there are all kinds of inmates. There are those who received a DUI and resisted arrest, those who sexually abused children, those who committed murder, rape, or theft-the last usually in the pursuit of drugs. There are inmates who are very dangerous and others who are themselves in danger in open population. Putting all these various individuals in one institution is a very precarious endeavor. Some of them are violent; some are not. Some of them are escape risks; some you couldn’t make leave. Others need close medical or psychological supervision. And, all inmates must be assigned a job that they are qualified to do, even if it’s picking up trash.
The department that is responsible for giving inmates a security evaluation and a job assignment, as well as determining whether or not they are a risk or are themselves at risk in open population, is the classification department. Since Inspector Daniels made it clear that he did not want me working with him, and because the feeling was mutual, I decided to conduct a little inquiry of my own, beginning with a classification officer named Anna Rodden.
Anna Rodden, God bless her, was Potter County’s only true feminist. She was intelligent, strong, spiritual, and beautiful. The last she tried to conceal behind the first, saying, “I do not wish to be judged by the shape of my ass, but on my true assets.”
I once asked, “And once you’ve been judged on your true assets?”
“Then one may, if one is so inclined, evaluate the shape of my ass, which I must admit, is truly an asset” was her reply.
Anna, who in many ways was like my sister, was in fact my sister Nancy’s best friend all through school. She had always been successful at nearly everything she did, with the exception of hiding her beauty. In fact, her attempt at repression made the subtle fire of her sensuality smolder. Her sexuality, buried just beneath the surface, threatened to make men lose their religions and, in the process, find new ones. Judging by her husband’s expression of eternal bliss, it was not an idle threat.
“Anna,” I said after tapping on her door.
She was seated behind her desk wearing a sleeveless white silk blouse, a fire-engine red skirt, with the matching jacket draped over the back of her chair. Her long brown hair was gathered in a single long ponytail at the nape of her neck held by a red-and-white bow. The white of her shirt made her olive skin look even darker. She was dark in other ways too. She was, like most women, dark and mysterious, only more so. As she looked up from her work, I was again amazed at the depth of her seemingly bottomless brown eyes.
“John,” she said, sounding happy to see me. I loved the way she said my name. “Come in. How are you? I heard what happened yesterday.”
“I’m okay, really. How are you doing?” I asked.
“I’ve certainly had better days. Escape attempts produce a shipload of problems and paperwork, but when the inmate gets killed in the process, it produces an oceanload.”
“Was he one of yours?” I asked.
“Unfortunately,” she said with a quick shake of her head and roll of her eyes. “Which means everyone from central office on down wants to know why I didn’t know he was an escape risk. Like I’d be willing to read his sick little mind if I could, which I obviously can’t, because I thought he was an institutional man.”
“I don’t see how you do it all,” I said. And then added, “And so well.”
“Don’t do that,” she said shaking her head but smiling at me.
“What?” I asked, shrugging as if unaware I had done anything.
“Don’t give me compliments or understanding. I can’t afford to be distracted.”
“Whatever you say, but a little understanding never hurt anyone.”
“Thanks,” she said and then put her pen down and stared at me.
“What is it?” I asked, resisting the urge to wipe my face.
“I’m just so proud of you. . . . Serving her the way you do agrees with you.” As long as I had known Anna, she had only referred to God in the feminine form. “You’re really doing what you were created to do now.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“
“If you weren’t married . . .” I said and let it hang there like a dream.
“Are you dating yet? Found anyone special in Potter County?” she asked.
“Yes, to the second question, but she’s married. As to the dating, I’m not quite ready yet, but almost.”
“Don’t rush it. That’s the worst thing you could do. Take care of you for now, and worry about a
“I don’t feel like I’ve rushed it. If anything, I’ve been dragging my heels.”
“No, I guess you haven’t. Still, you can never be too careful these days. Especially considering what you’ve been through. Probably best to let me pick someone out for you.”
“Could you please? If she won your approval, she would most certainly have mine.”
“Well, I’ll keep my eyes open.”
How could such an extraordinary woman work in a prison in a one-horse county? Living in Pottersville, for Anna, had to do with a promise she made to her grandmother just before she died. Working in prison is the result of a promise she made to herself when her younger sister was murdered. Besides, it was temporary. She was in the final stages of finishing her law degree from Florida State University. I had every suspicion that she was going to be the toughest prosecutor that our state would ever see. She was as strong and as tough as she was beautiful. And, though she acted like she needed her husband or me in her life, the truth was she did that for our benefit. I was grateful nonetheless.
“Listen, I’ve got this little problem I need some help with,” I said.
“Name it,” she said, sounding excited at the prospect of helping me.
“Mr. Stone has asked me to look into what happened yesterday. Unofficially, of course.”
Before I had finished my sentence, she was shaking her head rapidly. “No, I won’t help you. You are already doing what you were meant to do. You are called to be a minister, not Father Brown, Bishop Blackie, or Brother Cadfael,” she said, using my favorite fictional ecclesiastical sleuths against me.
“But . . .”
“But, nothing,” she snapped. Her eyes had narrowed and seemed to glow. “Surely you haven’t forgotten what Atlanta was like. Is your sobriety-your serenity-not worth whatever it takes?”
“It is, but I think I’m ready. Besides, this is nothing. Just a simple inquiry, that’s all.” I said it with so much conviction I almost convinced myself.
“I will not help you with something that will really wind up hurting you.”
“I was told not to tell anyone about this. I decided that I had to tell the two people here that I would trust with my own life.”
“Well, if Merrill is the man I think he is, he won’t help you either.”
“What do you suggest I do?” I asked.
“You’re going to tell Stone you can’t do it,” she said without hesitation.
