Marsha reached out for the cake, unsure in her own mind why she was doing it. The phone ringing took her by surprise so much that she almost screamed.
The display showed an outside number – area code 202. Washington, DC. That was never good. Marsha sat upright, took a deep breath and picked up the receiver.
“Hi there, you’re through to Marsha in processing.”
“Hello, Ms Worthing. Tara Mansall from the Federal Bureau of Prisons here.”
Marsha was taken aback by the woman knowing her second name. “Oh, hello.”
“Yes. As you know, Congress has instructed us to undertake a review of State-level private prisons, and we’re doing a thorough audit of your facility.”
“You are?” Marsha winced at the shock in her own voice.
There was a pause at the other end of the line. “Ehm … no. I’m sorry. I misspoke.”
“We’re being audited?” repeated Marsha.
“No, forget I said that. What I meant is that I have a query about a particular cell in your system.”
“I see.” Don’t say it. Don’t say it.
“Yes,” said Tara Mansall. “Cell 429.”
Damn it! “I see. What is the issue?”
“Well, according to our records it contains two prisoners. One DM83421212 – a Carlos Breida. And DZ12543897 – Calais Fant.”
“One second, please, Ms Mansall.” Martha typed the details in to the system to pull up the file. “Yes, that’s what I have too.”
“Yes. Our problem is that we can find no record of Calais Fant.”
“Really?”
“Really. In fact, he doesn’t exist. I don’t have to tell you that we here at the FBP take a very dim view of favouritism being shown to individual prisoners. Like, say, being given their own private cell.”
“I … I … Of course. That should absolutely not be happening.”
Damn it. She had not wanted to do it. Back when they’d first opened, Steve Trisk had come to her and asked to add the guy to the system. He’d all but said that the warden knew about it. It was something to help the prison run smoothly. Keep a certain dangerous individual separated from the general population. It had only occurred to her after the fact that there had been no email. There was not one piece of paper that had her doing this at someone’s request. This was bad.
“This is serious,” Tara Mansall was saying. “I’ll be honest, my boss is looking to make an example of someone for just this kind of behaviour. You probably saw that thing in the newspaper last month.”
“No.”
“Well, it was bad. Real bad. Fell right into that liberal narrative about a lack of oversight of private prisons. Made us look asleep at the wheel.”
“Oh.” Images of having to clear out her desk were running through Marsha’s mind. She needed this job. It came with real good health insurance, even dental. It could be worse, though: it could get criminal.
There was another pause at the other end of the line before the woman spoke again – this time in a lower register. “Look. Marsha, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“One administrator to another, I get it. We’re not always in charge of stuff, but that doesn’t mean we don’t get left holding the can. My boss can be a bit much, and I don’t want to get anyone into trouble.”
“I appreciate that.”
“So …” Another pause. Marsha realised she was holding her breath. “OK. Maybe we can help each other out here.”
“Sure.” Marsha’s throat was dry. She was imagining being perp-walked out of the office while Pam handed out cake.
“You can fix this on your end. And we can forget I ever mentioned there being any kind of audit.”
“OK.”
“I’m looking here. You’ve got one new prisoner coming in today. DF12395438 –Anthony Rourke.”
“Yes,” said Marsha.
“Let’s say he’s assigned to the cell and we chalk this up as a weird little glitch in the system that you and I figured out.”
“Absolutely. That seems like the easiest solution.” Marsha sagged back in her chair, relief washing over her.
“But, Marsha – this is important. Somebody might look at the records in a couple of weeks. Mr Breida and Mr Rourke had better be in that same cell. I cannot emphasise that enough.”
“I understand.”
“I’m being serious now, Marsha. This was just a friendly chat but … Let’s just say that the glitch has disappeared and it’s not coming back. I’ve no interest in talking to a grand jury.”
“A grand jury?” Marsha could hear the panic in her own voice.
“Not if we fix the glitch, Marsha. Let’s get that done and we’re all good. OK?”
“Absolutely. Leave it with me.”
“Good. So, if anyone asks – I called you, and you told me, unbidden, that you’d just found this glitch in the system and that you’d filled it with this Rourke character.”
“Right.”
After a quick goodbye, Marsha put down the phone in its cradle, and left her hand resting on it. That was it. From here on out she wasn’t doing any favours for anyone. She picked up the receiver and put it down again. No. This was a conversation that needed to happen in person. Like the original one had.
She stood up, smoothed her blouse and headed out of her office, slamming the door shut behind her.
A moment later she re-entered, closed the door softly, and shoved the sinfully delicious slice of hate cake into her mouth.
Chapter Seven
It was like any other waiting room, only worse. The plastic chair on which Bunny sat wobbled around so much that it felt as if all four legs were somehow shorter than the others. He’d ask to move, but the guard behind the Perspex wall didn’t give the impression that he was overly concerned with the “customer experience”.
In the guy’s defence, he seemed to be entirely distracted by the revelation that not only did he have ears, but he could also compare and contrast their contents if he were to stick his pinky into each one. Bunny hadn’t wanted to watch, but the dude was the only show in town.
The stench of disinfectant gave the impression that the room was cleaned regularly and
