“What else can you tell me about him?”
“As you can imagine, he spent a lot of time in confinement for physical contact with other inmates and drug use.”
“By physical contact, you mean sexual contact, right?”
“It sure wasn’t fighting. Did you see how small he was?”
“No. I don’t recall ever having seen him. Probably didn’t spend a lot of time in the chapel.” But I had seen him-his eyes, his lifeless black eyes.
“Well, he was in the beginning stages of AIDS.”
“Do you think that’s related to his apparent escape attempt?” I said finally, realizing that Anna was staring at me.
“Yes, possibly. I don’t know,” she said. She must have noticed my sudden agitation. “You came in contact with his blood, didn’t you?
The chances that you could have it are so small you shouldn’t even
worry about it. Okay?”
“Okay. I’m not really worried,” I lied.
“Good. You shouldn’t be. Now, why did you say apparent escape attempt?”
“It seems to me that had he really wanted to escape, he could have from his job much more easily than the way he chose. Besides, he sat there in that bag and heard what the officer was doing to all the other bags. He had to know what was coming.”
“You’re thinking suicide?”
“I’m at least considering the possibility-all the possibilities. But suicide is one of the least likely. There are much better ways to commit suicide.”
“What are the other possibilities?” she asked, her voice rising in excitement.
“About a thousand others, but the one I’m thinking about seriously is murder.”
“Murder? That’s ridiculous,” she said.
“Maybe so, but I feel that I must consider it, until I know otherwise.”
“Sure, that’s good investigating procedure. Keep an open mind . . . but-”
“It’s good theology too,” I interrupted.
“Yes, I guess it is. But you have a reason for seriously considering it. What is it?”
“Let’s just say that everybody at this institution knows how that garbage is checked, and it would be a great way to hide a murder or have one committed.”
“Interesting. I never thought of it that way before. So, you think somebody killed him and then put him in the garbage bag so that he’d be dumped somewhere or get stabbed and it would look like he was killed trying to escape.”
“I just think that if it were an escape attempt, he would have lost his nerve there at the end.”
“Maybe. Maybe the officer had been paid to miss that bag.”
“Maybe. But if he were, that meant he knew the inmate was in there, which meant he knew he was killing him. Which means that he deserves an Oscar for his performance.”
“He was shaken?” she asked.
“He was shaken and stirred,” I said.
“Sounds like you’ve given this some thought.”
“A little,” I said, and then we fell into silence. It was a comfortable silence. After a couple of minutes, I said, “What can you tell me about Jacobson?”
“I was wondering when you would get to that,” she said with a smile that said she knew something that I didn’t. I saw that smile a lot.
“I can tell you that not only was he Johnson’s pimp, but he was also in the infirmary with Johnson on Monday night.”
“What?”
“Yeah. And, they had a fight. Tuesday morning Jacobson was taken to confinement and locked up, and Johnson . . . Well, you know what happened to him.”
“What time was he placed in the box?”
“Log indicates that it was around six thirty in the morning. Of course, those logs are never exact.”
“No, but it’s probably close to the actual time, which means he could have killed him and bagged him before he was taken away,” I said.
“Maybe, I don’t know. Seems to me that whoever did the deed would have to actually put the bag on the truck or run the risk of whoever did load the bag discovering what was inside it,” she said.
“Very good point,” I said. “There’s something else too.”
“What’s that?”
“It may not mean anything, but then again, who knows? He was locked up before the shift change. And yet, it was close to the time of the shift change. Too close.”
“What do you mean?” she asked, genuinely interested.
To have a woman like Anna Rodden genuinely interested in anything you say is more than most men dream of.
“I mean, from what I’ve seen, if something occurs that close to the shift change, the officers leaving save it for the officers just coming in.”
“That’s true,” she said. “God, you’re good. Do you really think you can handle it better than the Stone Mountain thing?”
“Time will tell, but I think so. I think that I’m a different person. Besides, I have you and Merrill.”
“If you need someone to talk to, you know where to find me.”
“Thank you.”
“I haven’t done anything yet.”
“Oh, yes, you have. You’ve listened, you’ve given me some much-needed female attention and perspective, and, most of all, you’ve made my day by telling off Tom Daniels.”
“You know I love you. Always have. We share something very special. And, you don’t have AIDS.”
“I know. I love you too. And thanks again. You were amazing.”
“Was there ever any doubt I would be?” she said with a small chuckle, pretending to be kidding, which she was not.
Chapter 5
Potter Correctional Institution was its own little world-a society of captives with their own social order, classes, economy, and laws. In this world, I was a stranger. PCI was my job; it was their home. I spent eight hours a day there; they spent twenty-four. I needed a guide. There were less than three inmates out of fifteen hundred that I felt might actually help me. My first choice was the inmate assigned to the chapel to assist me, Mr. Smith. I was told during orientation not to call any inmate mister or sir, but I made an exception for Mr. Smith.
Mr. Smith was old, exactly how old I wasn’t sure-I don’t think he was either. His back was slightly bent, causing him to bow forward a little as he walked. Being a black man in America had bent, but not broken this man. As he walked, with his head down, a small bald spot could be seen right at the very crown of his head. He was raised in the old Southern school of repression, in an era when a black man was to be seen and not heard-seen working, that is. We had developed a good relationship since I had been at PCI. After returning from Anna’s office, I decided to ask him to explain a few things to me about life on the inside. When I returned to my office, however, there were several inmates waiting to see me.
On an average day, I have contact with over a hundred inmates, twenty of whom usually came to my office
