Michael Lister - Power in the Blood

“You’ve already done that. Maybe you could set some new goals for yourself.”

He slammed the door, and I felt a wide grin slowly spread across the width of my face.

“Tell me I was correct in assuming that was your ex-father-inlaw,” she said.

“None other,” I said, unable to keep from grinning.

“What an ass,” she said in disgust.

“He didn’t exactly get to see your best side either,” I said.

“I thought my ass was my best side,” she said with a smile.

“Not exactly what I meant.”

“I guess not, but he’s not going to see my best side. He’s not going to come within a mile of it. You two are working on the same case?”

“Actually, we are working together on it.”

“You don’t seem too together.”

“We are as together as we are going to get.”

“Now,” she said with a warm smile, “how can I help you solve this case?”

“What?” I asked. “What happened to it being bad for me?”

“Well, this time you’ll have me to help you, and I’m going to help you solve this thing before that obnoxious bastard does. So, how can I help?”

“Tell me all you can about Johnson,” I said.

She did.

“Do you know for a fact that Jacobson was Johnson’s pimp?”

“As much as you can know such things for facts. They were both assigned to me.”

“What was his job assignment?”

“Outside grounds,” she said, seeming not to catch how odd that was.

Inmates who worked outside of the institution did so because they were deemed to be a low escape risk. It had to do with their custody, their release date, and past history (had they ever tried to escape before?). It was a gamble, and it was the responsibility of their classification officer.

“Outside the gate?” I asked. “Are you sure? That can’t be right.”

“What do you mean?” she said. She must have been really distracted.

“I find it interesting that he works outside the gate and he tries to escape in the trash truck on his day off.”

The greatest risk and highest percentage of escapes occurred with those who were working outside the gate. Breaking out of the institution was difficult, but once you were outside, well, you had a chance.

“Nobody ever said they were smart,” she said. “But I see what you mean.”

“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.”

Oh, my God , I thought. I was covered in his blood. Think. Do I have any sores, open cuts, wounds. Think. Focus. Father, please protect me. Don’t let me have AIDS. Let me live to serve you longer and to find love again.

“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.”