JJ09 - Blood Moon (13 page)

“You should let him help you,” Anna said.

“I don’t know that you’re not involved. I don’t know you. I could’ve gotten killed tonight.”

“It doesn’t have to be one of those,” I said. “It could be one of a thousand different things I know nothing about. Those two are just obvious from what I know about you and what you’ve told me about your case.”

He didn’t say anything.

“I’m willing to look into your case,” I said, “see if I can help you. But I can’t do it if I lose my job and go to jail.”

“I don’t understand,” he said.

Anna squeezed my hand. “You risked so much for me.”

“Are you gonna work with me to get you back into the institution, in your uniform, and back into your dorm? Not gonna say anything? Not gonna sabotage what I’m about to try?”

“I won’t. Helping you helps me. I don’t want to be out here like this. I don’t want to do anything to risk spending even one second more than I have to in there.”

“I hope you’ll remember that,” I said.

“Whatta we gonna do?” Anna asked.

“See if we can get him back in before the service is over in the chapel. Get him changed and back in the dorm. Then get Emmitt Emerson out.”

“You should tell us what you know,” Anna said. “Let us help you. We owe you.”

“You already know,” he said. “If you think about it. It’s all anybody’s talking about.”

We didn’t say anything. I didn’t know what he was referring to.

“A certain . . . investigation going on right now.”

“Into the death of Hahn Ling?” I asked.

“No. It involves a group of officers.”

There were always investigations involving correctional officers, but there was only one he could be talking about.

Three correctional officers were under investigation for a use-of-force incident that led to the death of inmate Reggie Dalton.

If found guilty, Officers Marty Perkins, Lewis Milner, and Sergeant Jack Kirkus would be fired and arrested on charges of official misconduct and manslaughter or murder.

The incident involving twenty-eight-year-old Reggie Dalton, who was serving a twenty-year sentence for drug trafficking and armed robbery, was being investigated by Rachel Peterson and her office, with additional assistance from FDLE.

There were a lot of questions surrounding the case, but video footage from both the use-of-force camcorder and the prison surveillance system seemed to exonerate the officers and demonstrate they did nothing excessive. However, one crucial video feed from the surveillance system was missing and the camcorder recording appeared to have been stopped and restarted, leading to questions of whether the equipment involved had malfunctioned or been disabled.

The footage showed Dalton being belligerent, yelling obscenities, refusing orders, antagonizing the officers, and eventually slinging feces from his cell. A chemical agent was used to subdue the inmate, and on the way to the decontamination shower, he somehow broke free and assaulted the officers. He was eventually subdued again, but shortly after collapsed and was taken to the hospital. He died en route.

“The Reggie Dalton case?” I asked.

“Ain’t sayin’ anything else. Said too much already.”

My phone vibrated in my pocket.

It was Merrill.

“Hey.”

“Your dad, some deputies, and one of his investigators just arrived. Ambulance takin’ Taunton back to the hospital. They gonna interview him there. Me, here or the sheriff’s department. While I was waitin’ on ’em to get here, I might have searched the kid’s pockets for ID, and between his wallet, business card, and his website, which I might have glanced at on my phone, discovered a few things.”

“Like what?” I said. “Hypothetically.”

“Like his name is Karl Jason. Like he live in Tallahassee. Like he a thespian and not a thug. He a theater adjunct at TCC and audition a lot. Does a lot of theater. Been in a few local commercials and student films. Had a small role in Victor Nunez’s last joint.”

“Thanks man.”

“Just ’cause he a actor don’t mean he was actin’.”

“True.”

“But it probably do. He most likely hired to play a part.”

“Most likely,” I said. “And that would explain some things.”

“And call some others into question.”

“How are you feeling?” I asked Anna.

We were still holding hands, still driving toward the institution.

“I’m okay,” she said. “Really. I need a shower in the worst kind of way, and I’m tired––haven’t slept well without you. I’m emotional, of course. It’s been an ordeal, but . . . I’m okay.”

“I’m so . . .” I started, but got choked up. “I’m so happy to have you back.”

“I missed you so much,” she said. “Part of me thought I’d never see you again. I thought . . . there’s no way they’ll just let me go. But . . . I knew if anybody could save me . . .”

We fell silent a moment, something beyond words passing between us.

The night grew darker, but only the night.

Before us, the moon looked like a petri dish with black mold overtaking it. Beneath it, the prison glowed more brightly in the darkness.

“We’re almost there,” I said to Cardigan in the rearview mirror. “Sure you don’t want to tell me more?”

“Yeah, I’m good.”

“The name Karl Jason mean anything to you?”

“No. Why? Should it?”

The three of us walked toward the control room. Slowly. Deliberately.

When we got close I veered off and went over to talk to Randy Wayne Davis through the document tray while Anna and Cardigan walked straight to the gate and waited for me.

Randy Wayne looked at me with wide eyes, a quizzical expression on the tired face beneath his raised eyebrows.

“He got to feeling better,” I said.

He shook his head and frowned. “It’s a miracle.”

“He left his Bible and notes in the chapel,” I said. “I’m gonna take him in to get them and check on everything.”

“And Anna?” he asked. “She feeling better?”

“She is. Thanks. She needs to grab a few things out of her office too.”

“Oh hell,” she said on cue. “I forgot my keys. Can you grab me a set?”

“She forgot her keys,” I said. “Can I get a set for her?”

He looked suspicious and a little annoyed, but he located the keys, logged them out to me, then popped the lock on the gate for us.

We walked through both gates and toward the chapel, something I honestly believed I’d never do again.

Unlocking the front door to the chapel, I stepped aside and let Anna and Ronnie walk in first.

The service was still going strong in the sanctuary. The officer watching from the back turned to look at us, but when I waved he looked away.

We went into my office and they sat down while I stepped into the bathroom and checked on Emmitt.

He was still out, but seemed to be rousing a bit, mumbling and moving a little.

I grabbed Ronnie’s inmate uniform from the floor and closed the door behind me.

“Change behind my desk again,” I said, placing the pile of clothes in my chair and stepping out of the way. “Quickly as you can.”

Without wasting any time, he hopped up, went around behind my desk, and began to change––seemingly unselfconscious in front of Anna.

“What now?” Anna asked.

I moved over to her and began rubbing her shoulders.

She added, “I got my keys in case you wanted me to look up anything or pull any files.”

“I know you don’t feel like any of that,” I said. “We’ll get Cardigan safely back to his dorm and wait until Emerson’s wife can come get him, then we’ll get you home––into a warm shower and soft bed.”

“I’m good. Really. Happy to help. I have a change of clothes in my desk. I’ll clean up and wash my hair in the sink and I’ll feel good as new.”

“But––”

“I know you want to work it, try to figure out what’s going on. I’ll help you. If I get too tired or to feeling bad, I’ll let you know and we can go home. I promise. I really am fine.”

“You sure?”

“Positive. I want to know too. Too keyed up to sleep.”

“You’re perfect,” I said.

“Perfect for you.”

“Okay,” Ronnie said, placing Emmitt’s clothes and shoes on my desk. “I’m done.”

I picked up Emmitt’s pants and began to go through the pockets.

“You think I took something?” Ronnie asked, his voice equal parts hurt and indignation.

“Not doing my job if I don’t make sure.”

“What the hell is
your job
, exactly?” he asked.

I opened the wallet. Emmitt’s debit card was missing.

When I looked up Ronnie was holding it out to me. “Had to try. Sorry.”

I continued searching. The toothpick was missing too.

This time when I looked up, he was holding out a five dollar bill.

“Hadn’t gotten to that yet,” I said. “I was at the toothpick.”

“What if that’s the only thing that keeps me alive?”

I held out my hand. “Why not just give me everything? Save some time.”

He handed me the five, the toothpick, a nickel, and a picture of Emmitt’s wife, a pale Pentecostal woman with no makeup, bad skin, and unfortunate features.

“Really?” I said.

“Beggars can’t be choosers. You ever heard that?”

As I was returning the items to Emmitt’s wallet and the wallet to his pants, the phone on my desk rang.

I slid past Ronnie to pick it up.

He walked around and sat in the empty seat across my desk beside Anna.

“Chaplain Jordan.”

“Chaplain, it’s Randy Wayne. I just got a call from B Dorm. Did you call an inmate Cardigan up earlier this evening? They can’t locate him now.”

“I did and he’s still here. We’re wrapping up now if you want to send someone for him.”

“But you left the institution,” he said. “How––”

“He sat in the service while I was away.”

“Oh. Okay. Are you sure everything’s okay? You’re acting odd tonight.”

“Just tired. Thank you. I was just about to walk Ms. Rodden down to her office. You want me to escort Cardigan to the center gate?”

“Thanks. I’ll have someone waiting for him.”

I placed Emmitt’s clothes in the bathroom with him, and Ronnie, Anna, and I were on the move again.

The night we stepped out into was different than the one we had been in earlier.

Darkness covered the face of the moon and shrouded the earth. The eclipse nearly complete, the moon was now beginning to turn red, its circumference rimmed with it, its face blushing crimson.

When we reached Classification, I hugged Anna and kissed her. “Lock yourself in. I’ll call you when I get back to my office. When you finish, call me and I’ll come get you.”

“Love you,” she said.

After she was inside and the door locked behind her, I walked Ronnie the rest of the way.

“I’ll check on you in the morning,” I said. “If you need anything or change your mind about telling me what you know, have your dorm officer get in touch with me.”

He nodded. “Okay.”

“Thanks for your help tonight,” I said. “I won’t forget it.”

“Just get me out of here and we’ll call it even.”

Back in my office, I called Anna at her desk.

“I’m fine. I’m gonna clean up, change, then see what I can find out about Cardigan’s case. I’ll call you when I have something. Let me know what else you need me to do. And go ahead and dress Emerson. I don’t want to be there for that.”

Which was what I was doing when Dad called.

“Merrill filled me in,” he said.

“Thanks for trusting and helping me,” I said.

“Is Anna okay?”

“She is.”

“Told you Chris’s gunshot wound wasn’t self-inflicted,” he said.

“But you suspected me of doing it.”

He laughed. “Can’t get ’em all right.”

We were quiet a moment, Emmitt beginning to moan a little in the background.

“How’d you do it?” he asked.

“What?”

“Get the inmate out. Were you able to get him back in without anyone knowing?”

“Yeah, he’s in. Can I tell you how I got him out a little later? Still trying to wrap things up here.”

“You bet. We’re interviewing Merrill and Chris, but it’s a clean shoot. Self-defense. Glad they were here. Wish it could’ve been me. Soon as I have a positive ID or any info on the shooter, I’ll let you know. Name’s Karl Jason according to his driver’s license. From Tallahassee. We’re searching for the one who ran. Got a few roadblocks set up, but nothing so far.”

When we hung up, I returned to dressing Emmitt, a challenge in the small, narrow restroom.

As I did, I thought more about the kidnappers’ motive and how everything went down. If it really did have something to do with what Cardigan saw or knew about the Reggie Dalton case, then the threat was inside the prison and Ronnie was still in danger.

I stopped dressing Emmitt again, stepped over to my desk, and called the control room.

“What can I do you for, Chaplain?” Randy Wayne asked.

“Can you have the OIC call me?”

“He’s up here now,” he said. “Hold on a minute and I’ll feed the phone through to him.”

“Captain Lloyd.”

“Captain, it’s Chaplain Jordan. I’ve been counseling with an inmate tonight, Ronnie Cardigan from B Dorm, and I’m worried about him. Can you have him watched overnight until I can meet with him again in the morning?”

“We talkin’ SOS cell, PM, or Confinement?”

“He’s not suicidal. I’m just concerned about him. He may be in some danger from somebody in the institution––another inmate or even a staff member. I’m not sure. I just want to make sure he’s protected until I can figure out more.”

“You got it. I’ll call down and have it done now.”

“Thank you.”

“Y’all ’bout to wrap up the services in the chapel?”

“Yes. Just a little longer.”

When we hung up, I called the control room right back. It was busy.

I waited for a few moments, then called again.

“Forget something?” Randy Wayne asked.

“Need an outside line,” I said.

“Number?”

I withdrew Rachel Peterson’s card from my wallet and gave him her cell so he could log it. As soon as I did, I could hear a dial tone. I punched in her number.