Justice (The Galilee Falls Trilogy) Read online

  There’s nothing in this file to help me locate him, which is all I care about. Hell, the only real way we’ll find him without relying on luck, is to tie Justice up on the bridge and wait for Ryder to slime his way toward him. This scenario brings a smile to my face.

  I pull out the file the warden’s secretary gave me with the list of people who had any contact with Ryder. The poor, overwhelmed thing had to go back and get me the complete list. She only had the names of people with direct contact. One theory I came up with was he left notes in his sheets, and one of the people in the laundry delivered them. Farfetched, but possible.

  People from the library where he had books delivered, cleaning crew, guards, medical personnel, even the secretary of Dr. Qwan, the list is close to forty people. For a man in solitary confinement, there were a lot of people he had access to. The good news is Conover and I only have to interview a quarter of them. We took the interesting ones for ourselves.

  Officer Dwayne Conover, one of my trainees from years back, with his rumpled brown suit, skinny frame, and gaunt face steps back into the room with two cups of coffee. “The warden’s coming,” he whispers as he rushes in.

  Warden Gilbert Myers, a stocky man with shiny bald head, more than fills the door when he walks in. Right now he’s the second most hated man in the city: the man who let Alkaline escape. I wonder what they’d say if they found out about my part last night. I’d feel for the guy, but since we got here, he’s done nothing but make my life a living hell. The bastard yelled at me for not granting him access to the crime scene, for my constant demands of files, for him to call in personnel on their day off, even for wanting to interview him “like a common thug.” It took a lot but I kept my mouth shut. I need him. I can respect the office even if I don’t the man.

  “Yes, Warden?” I ask with a faux sweet smile.

  “Willie Lopez just got here,” he says. Lopez is the supervisory guard in the Hardcore Block. “And the press conference is in half an hour.”

  Ugh, I had hoped Harry was kidding about that. I hate talking to the press. They always ask questions we’re not allowed to answer, and mine is the third of the day. First the police commissioner and mayor had one an hour ago, and then right after that Alkaline’s victim, socialite Grace Pickering, the woman who he kidnapped, raped, and who ultimately led Justice to him, had one. Finally, mine in half an hour. If it bleeds, it leads.

  I know Grace. She was one of the first people Justin introduced me to. They dated for about a month years later. Sweet girl until Ryder became obsessed with her. After the trial she withdrew from the society scene, only coming out to a charity event here or there. I sure as hell hope we have people outside her penthouse in case Ryder wants to rekindle their old flame.

  “Thank you,” I say. “Come get me when it’s time. Send Lopez in.”

  “Fine,” the warden says with a sneer before walking away.

  “What an asshole,” I mutter.

  “I’ll bet he gets fired,” Conover says.

  “Oh, yeah.”

  Just as I locate Lopez’s file, the man himself steps in. Latino, medium height and build inside a brown Correctional Officer’s uniform, with black hair cut very short. He’s a few years older than me, but not by much. Without a word, he sits across from us and folds his arms on the table.

  “Officer Lopez, I’m Det. Joanna Fallon, this is Officer Dwayne Conover. Thank you for meeting with us today.”

  “You were the one who chased him last night, right?”

  “I am.”

  “Thank you. I just left Stu Moore’s wife and four kids. They had to sedate his mother. I’ll help anyway I can.”

  “I appreciate that.” I open his file, scanning it. “So, it says in your file you’ve been on Ryder’s block for four years, the longest of any other officer.”

  “Yeah,” Lopez says. “Most last about a year, if that. Those assholes freak out even the hardest hard ass. Me and Stu were the old timers.”

  “And only you, Stuart Moore, Logan Dodd, Ralph Marinello, Garret Leon, and Marcel Akwambe worked the block?”

  “Sometimes, if someone called in sick we’d swing another guard in, but that hasn’t happened in a couple months. For the most part, it’s two shifts of two guys, twelve hours each. Since the prisoners are confined to their cells all day, we just watch them on the monitor and do a visual sweep every hour.”

  “Been any disturbances?” Conover asks.

  “Not really,” Lopez says. “Chameleon faked a seizure about a week ago, but we immediately subdued him.”

  “What about Ryder? Anything out of the ordinary with him in the last three months? Anything at all?” I ask.

  “I’ve been wracking my brain since I found out, but nothing,” Lopez says, frustrated with himself. “They keep him pretty doped up, so he’d either sleep or read. That’s all he’s pretty much done since he’s gotten here.”

  “Were any of the other guards particularly attentive toward Ryder?” I ask.

  “We’re not allowed to talk to them beyond basic commands. The last guy who spoke to him was fired a year and a half ago. His name was Dylan Gunderson. I have no idea what happened to him.”

  “Who reported him?” Conover asks.

  “I did.”

  “What did they talk about?” I ask.

  “The weather, I think, but we have a zero tolerance policy,” Lopez says. “He was just an idiot. And besides, he doesn’t have access to the prison anymore.”

  “You seem to know the block better than anyone,” I say. “Any theories as to how he got out of his cell? How he contacted the outside world to set this up?”

  “The security cameras didn’t show the escape?” Lopez asks.

  “The ones on your block were hacked into,” Conover says. “The past week’s footage was destroyed. We have techs figuring out how it was done.”

  “So how did the cell door get open?” I ask.

  “If he didn’t burn through it, someone had to open it. Only way,” Lopez says. “He could have faked a medical emergency, hung himself, any number of reasons for them to go in there.” Lopez leans forward, arms still on the table. “You have to remember, we thought this guy was neutered. There was nothing to show otherwise. He was a model prisoner: quiet, obeyed orders, nothing physical. I wished they were all like that.”

  “Who gave him his drugs?” I ask.

  “We did. One of the guards on duty. Every meal he took them, and we watched him take them. Checked under his tongue and cheek. The stuff for the acid came in liquid form. There was no way he could have pretended to take that.”

  I jot “switched liquid how??” on my pad. “Who had access to it?”

  “Dr. Landry, our prison doctor mixed it, brought it to us, and we gave it to him once a day at dinner.”

  “So either one of the guards or the doctor’s staff switched it,” Conover offers.

  Lopez’s face falls. Now him I feel for. I couldn’t imagine what I’d think if Cam or even Mirabelle was accused of helping a psycho escape. You’re supposed to be able to trust these people with your life, you against them. I’ll let this idea sink in before making him confront the hard truth. I clear my throat. “Do you have any theories on how Ryder could have communicated with someone outside the prison?”

  Lopez comes out of his own head. “Um, what?”

  “We believe that someone was waiting for Ryder outside the prison,” Conover adds. “How would he be able to do that?”

  “I don’t know,” Lopez says, still in a daze. “He received letters, but someone went through them before he got them. The only other items he was able to bring into his cell were books and newspapers, but they never leave the prison. We toss the cell once a month, but he never had anything out of place. I don’t see how else, unless he had a go between.”

  I meet his dark brown eyes. “So, you know these guys. You work with them. Anything we should know about them? Or you?”

  “They’re good men,” he says with little enthusia
sm. “They do their job.”

  “Any make unusual purchases lately? Acting weird?” Conover asks.

  “Not that I know of,” Lopez says with no conviction. This is the first time he’s lied.

  I smile sympathetically. “I know you don’t want to jam up your buddies, but you and I both know this was an inside job. Whoever organized it is responsible for the death and crippling of two of your friends. Logan Dodd lost his hand. Stu Moore lost his life. Who knows how many more Alkaline is going to hurt before we catch him. Please. Anything you know.”

  Lopez shakes his head and falls back in his chair. With a sigh he says, “Garrett’s wife just had another baby, and they’re hurting. Ralph likes to gamble, but I don’t know how much he owes and to who. Marcel and Logan, as far as I know, are clean.”

  “What about Officer Moore?” Conover asks.

  It’s as if a switch is flicked inside our ally. One moment he’s slumped in the chair, and the next he’s all but reaching across the table at Conover, face contorted with rage. The young man instinctively leans back. “You leave Stu Moore the fuck out of this! You leave his wife alone, you leave his kids alone. Do you hear me?”

  Conover’s speechless, but I maintain my calm. It takes a lot to make me flinch. Conover will get the same tolerance after a few years. My gut is shouting at me, though. “Officer Lopez, please calm down. We didn’t mean to offend you.”

  “Stu Moore was my best friend,” Lopez snarls. “I’ve known him for ten years. I got him his job here. I’m godfather to his youngest. Don’t you dare do anything to insult his memory. He died a hero, and I won’t let anyone say otherwise.”

  “Yes,” I say. “He did. I’m sorry if we offended you.” I stand up, extending my hand to the still steaming man. “Thank you again for meeting with us. If you could send Officer Leon here when you get back to the block, I’d appreciate it.” Lopez forcefully shakes my hand, glares at Conover, and stalks out. With a sigh I sit back down. “I thought he was about to punch you.”

  “Me too,” a still shaken Conover says. “What was that about?”

  “Could be grief, could be something else. My guess is a little of both. Not that he’d ever tell us. At least not today.” I shut the Lopez file, and pull out the file on C.O. Garrett Leon. “So, what have we learned so far Officer Conover?”

  Ever the eager student, Conover’s face lights up at the chance to show his stuff. “Not much. Just background about the guards, right?”

  I cluck my tongue. “You disappoint me, Officer Conover.”

  His face falls. “Why?”

  “There’s an old saying my Uncle Ray told me. It’s KISS: keep it simple, shithead. We just narrowed the suspect pool down to six.”

  He considers this. “It had to be one of the guards. There’s no one else.”

  “Correct. But why?”

  He thinks for a moment. “Because…the more people who know, the more chance of one of them screwing up.”

  “We’ll make a detective out of you yet,” I say with a proud smile. “Three cardinal rules in the detective racket: easiest solution is usually right, follow the money, and the spouse always did it.” I pull out my pad to write everything down. “We need to look at this in the most logical way, chronologically. He convinces one of the guards to start sending out his letters, either through charm or more likely through cold hard cash. We never found all of his bank accounts, so he’s probably got millions stashed away God knows where. So Ryder bribes him to not only act as go-between, but to switch out his medicine. The same guard probably messed with the security system too.”

  “So we’re not ruling out Moore or Dodd?”

  “No, if anything they just became our prime targets. Maybe Ryder faked a seizure, or maybe he was simply let out and messed with the security system himself.”

  “But why kill Moore if he was helping him?”

  “Loose end.”

  An obese man with a huge belly and balding red hair steps in dressed in a guard uniform. Officer Leon, I presume. He sits without a word, and I begin questioning with Conover occasionally interjecting. He has nothing new to add.

  “You just had a baby, right?” I ask.

  “Yeah. Our forth,” Leon answers.

  “Wow. Four. That must be hard on a guard’s salary.”

  “That’s why I’m in Hardcore. Better pay.”

  “Still,” Conover adds.

  “My wife’s family helps when they can.”

  By now he should be acting defensive, or at least glaring at us, but he’s not. He’s too calm, which either means he knows he’s caught or is too dumb to know what we’re hinting at. From the rest of the interview, I glean it’s the latter. Did Ryder take advantage of that? Would he trust his escape to this man? The famous gut says no.

  “Did James Ryder pay you to help him escape?” Conover asks.

  The guard’s face twists into a look of disgust. “No, sir. That guy scares me. I didn’t even like looking in his cell. He has acid for blood or something.”

  I believe him. We’ll double check, but he’s not our accomplice. “Did any of the other guards like him?”

  “I don’t think so,” the giant answers.

  The door swings open, and the Warden pokes his made up face in. Make-up on men is unnatural somehow. “I need you for the press conference,” he says.

  Great. “On my way.”

  The warden glances at the guard, lips pursed in annoyance for whatever reason, before walking out again. I wonder if the guy ever smiles. Probably only when he’s ripping into people. I’ve encountered his type way too many times not to know the signs. If he did ever smile, he won’t be doing it again for quite awhile.

  “Officer Leon, thank you for your time. If we have any follow-up questions, we’ll contact you,” I say with a smile.

  “How long until you think you’ll find him? Will he come back here if you do?” he asks, noticeably scared.

  “I have no idea.”

  “Oh. I hope he doesn’t. Can I go now?”

  “Sure,” Conover says.

  Leon leaves without another word, off to guard the rest of the freaks. I don’t care how much it pays, if I had four kids there’s no way in hell I’d even come within a mile of this place. Hope after all this Office Leon comes to the same conclusion.

  “He didn’t do it,” Conover says.

  I stand, and toss on my suit jacket. “Nope. But we’ll treat him as a suspect until we have proof otherwise.” I pull down my vest. “How do I look?”

  He eyes me up and down. “Good. Any idea what they want you to say?”

  “The usual. ‘No comment’ or ‘We can’t release that information.’ While I’m gone, I want you to keep culling through the fan letters. I’m sure it’s a dead end, but better safe than sorry. This shouldn’t take that long.”

  Warden Myers waits at the end of the hall, arms folded. Not a man who likes to be kept waiting, even for a minute. Up close I can see the pancake make-up covering his entire face with a hint of blush on the cheeks. I probably should have done some touch–up, but it’s too late now. Don’t want to keep my adoring audience waiting.

  “This your first press conference?” I ask as we walk toward the front of the prison along with his secretary and another guard.

  “Yes,” he replies gruffly.

  “Do you have a prepared statement?”

  “Of course,” he snaps. “I’ll do the talking. You’re just there to back me up.” He already has flop sweat and shaking hands. I’d be nervous too if I were him. Right now I’m walking beside a scapegoat about to be slaughtered on national television, and he knows it.

  “It’s your show,” I say.

  He ignores me the rest of the walk. Instead he rehearses his statement. Not that it matters what he’s going to say. He’s already been tried and convicted in the court of public opinion. The jackals are amassed in the parking lot, twelve deep with their vans and equipment scattered around. It’s not just the locals either. No, our blund
er will be broadcast worldwide through BNN and LBC, among others. Now I really wish I’d put on make-up.

  The sacrificial altar, or podium with several microphones attached, waits for us just outside the glass doors. Two guards standing watch by the door nod at us for solidarity. We nod back. The warden takes a deep breath, and then his trembling hand opens the door. He’s probably a good poker player. His face remains expressionless as he walks up to the microphones with me and the guard a few inches behind him.

  “I have prepared a brief statement, and then I will take questions,” he begins, voice neutral. “I’d like to begin by giving my heartfelt condolences to the families of the guards who were injured or killed in last night’s attack. Officers Moore, Dodd, and Dr. John Qwan were trusted and respected members of our community. Moore had several commendations for valor, and Dr. Qwan served in his position for over ten years. What happened to them is a tragedy, and all our thoughts and prayers of our staff are with their loved ones.

  “There is no excuse for what happened last night. We failed to do our jobs, even though every safeguard was in place and followed to the letter. What happened was a fluke, and we are already taking measures to make sure it does not happen ever again. The prison is cooperating fully with the investigation into this event. Thank you.”

  Immediately, a cacophony of voices starts. I can barely understand a word until the warden points to someone. The reporter shouts, “Have the other prisoners been moved from the obviously unsecure area?”

  First blood drawn. “I cannot comment on the location of inmates due to security reasons. But let me stress, this was an isolated incident. There hasn’t been an escape in three years, and there will be none from now on.”

  The reporters clamor until Myers chooses again. “How do you respond to Grace Pickering’s demand for not only your job, but those of the mayor and commissioner?”

  “As of this time, I have no plans to resign. This was an isolated incident, one that will not be repeated as long as I have my post.”