"No, ma'am, they're not."
"Lost my husband too. In an accident," she said quickly. "And my daddy in a mine cave-in."
"God, that's awful."
"Yeah, life is just awful, ain't it?" she said sarcastically. "What can I do for you?"
"I was hoping you could tell me something about my dad."
"I never met him," she said immediately.
Annabelle studied the woman closely without appearing to do so.
Okay, that was a lie.
She looked over at the stack of boxes.
Shirley said, "Got a lot of work to do."
"I'm sure. I'm really worried about my father."
"Somebody told me he was heading out of town."
"Who was that?"
"Don't recall. Probably heard it over at Rita's."
"You're friends with Abby Riker?"
At that moment an interior door opened and Judge Mosley ambled out. He wore a suit and held his driving cap in one hand.
"Shirley, I'm-" He broke off when he saw Annabelle. His smile was instant.
"Well, who is this?"
Annabelle shook his hand and felt his fingers linger just a beat too long on hers. She explained who she was and why she was here.
"Ben seemed to be a very interesting man," said Mosley. "I wish I'd gotten to know him better. I hope you find him. Well, I have to be off."
"Up to the prison, Judge?" said Shirley.
"That's right." He turned to Annabelle. "I go up there once a week and resolve disputes between the prisoners and the guards. And there are many, I'm afraid."
"I'm sure."
"Rehabilitation is the key," he said. "Although not many of the folks at Blue Spruce will ever see the light of day as free men, they still deserve some respect and dignity."
"That's what Josh thought," blurted out Shirley.
They turned to look at her.
She reddened. "My husband. He was a guard up there." She glanced at Annabelle. "He's the one who died in the… accident. He thought you should treat folks with respect regardless of what they've done, prisoner or not."
"Exactly," said Mosley. "I would be the first to admit that Howard Tyree is not exactly sold on that concept, but that's why it bears repeating. And my weekly presence I hope lets everyone see that common ground in fact can be reached."
"Howard Tyree?" said Annabelle sharply.
"He's the sheriff's brother," answered Shirley. "The warden up at Dead Rock."
Mosley smiled at Annabelle. "Its official name is Blue Spruce, but folks 'round here call it Dead Rock."
Shirley snapped, "They call it Dead Rock because a bunch of miners got trapped in a cave-in. Never could get to them. Sealed up in there and they built a damn prison on top of them. And one of 'em was my daddy."
Tears smeared Shirley's mascara while Annabelle and Mosley looked politely away. The judge finally said, "Mining is a very dangerous business."
"I can see that," replied Annabelle.
"Well, good day, ladies."
After he'd gone, Annabelle rose. "I guess I'll let you get back to work."
"Sorry I couldn't help you," Shirley said gruffly.
Oh, you already have, lady.
CHAPTER 65
STONE AND KNOX were kept in the restraints for nearly six hours and slept the whole time. The guards who came to take the pair back to their cells seemed chagrined that they'd navigated the ordeal so easily.
They were dressed back in orange jumpsuits and hauled back to their cells. Each man had to exercise considerable self-control in the face of the guards' taunts. Knox had to bite the inside of his lip while Stone just stared straight ahead unblinking and telling himself that an opportunity would present itself if he were patient.
An hour later, they were strip-searched again, cuffed and shackled and led to the cafeteria, where the cuffs were taken off so they could eat.
Knox's belly was rumbling as they sat down at an unoccupied table. They stared around at the sea of other prisoners. Quickly counting, Stone arrived at nearly five hundred inmates, with well over three-quarters of them black, while all the guards he could see were white.
Some of the prisoners stared back at them with an array of expressions that ranged from curious to indifferent to hostile. Only a few people were talking. Most focused on their meals. Knox looked down as his food was slid in front of him.
After the attendant walked off he said to Stone, "I wonder if they have a nice cabernet to go with this slop?"
"Humor, Knox, I like that. Helps the time go by. What do you see out there?" He indicated the inmate population.
"Sorry asses just like us, only we haven't committed any crime. Correction, I haven't committed any crime."
Stone took a bite of his food with a limp Styrofoam spoon that was the only utensil provided. "You've seen the insides of prisons before, haven't you?"
"Yeah, but not as an inmate."
"So what's different? Think about it."
Knox looked around. "Well, they seem a pretty quiet bunch to be the baddest asses in the land."
"That's right. Subdued, beaten down, scared. Anything else?"
Knox stared at one group closest to them. Four men, all black, who sat there idly prodding their food and not bothering to even look at each other.
Knox squinted at them, following their lethargic movements and glassy eyes. "And drugged?"
"And drugged. We know they have enough pills to do the job."
"Do you think that's where the pill shipments are coming? Here?"
"No. That stuff was all for street sale probably in New York, Philly, Boston, D.C. and other big cities up and down the East Coast. They probably just use a little overflow to knock these guys down."
"Drugging prisoners involuntarily? That's got to violate about a million rights."
Stone suddenly bent down and started shoveling food in his mouth. Sensing why, Knox immediately did the same. The footsteps came up behind them and stopped.
"Manson, are the new prisoners adapting to our routines?" Howard Tyree said to the burly guard standing next to him.
Manson had an eye patch over his right eye. And as he glanced up Stone knew why. Manson was the one he'd hit in the eye with his belt.
This is just getting better and better.
"It's taking some work, but we'll get them where they need to be, sir."
Stone watched as Manson curled and uncurled his fingers as he stared at Stone with his one remaining eye. The man's look was one of unconcealed homicidal intent. He lifted his billy club out of its holster and stuck its end against Stone's jaw and pushed.
"This one here will take a little extra work, but we'll get him to understand our ways."
"Good man," said Tyree.
When Manson pulled the club back he did it in such a way that a jagged edge of the wood tore at Stone's face. It started to bleed, but Stone didn't make a move to wipe it away.
Tyree said, "You know, at most supermax prisons the prisoners eat in their cells and recreation time is only done one inmate at a time. But here at Blue Spruce we're a little more liberal than that." He surveyed the deadly quiet room. "Here, we allow our inmates to experience some human touches. A nice meal together, some camaraderie."
Tyree placed a hand on Stone's shoulder and squeezed lightly. Stone would've taken the bite of the rattlers in the mine over this man's repulsive touch. Yet he didn't flinch and Tyree finally released his grip.
"And because of our compassion and understanding on points like that," Tyree continued, "sooner or later they all learn our ways. But I'd be the first to admit that the route can get bumpy at times."
As he walked along with a wall of guards every inmate stared down at his plate, as though it was the most wonderful cooking they'd ever seen.
These guys are not only drugged, they're terrified, thought Stone, because they know this guy will kill them, and there's nothing they can do about it.