He released the curtain and continued down the length of his desk.
“We have three populations in our sanctuary. The commons wing is occupied by what’s called the general population at other institutions. A smaller privileged wing is for those who reject deviant behavior and demonstrate sincere progress. And then we have the meditation floor, what you might think of as administrative segregation, or the hole. It’s a travesty that inmates aren’t rewarded for good behavior in most prisons, wouldn’t you agree?”
“I can see that.”
“It’s an equal travesty that they aren’t punished for deviant behavior. In our sanctuary reward is both earned and coveted. Do good and you will be richly rewarded. But fail me and you will suffer. As the book says, ‘An eye for an eye.’ Isn’t that how it works?”
Danny’s mind was still on how Pape seemed to know so much about him. Typically a warden knew only what was in a prisoner’s file, which rarely held all the details of his crime. In the warden’s careful vetting process, he had obviously dug much deeper. Everything he’d mentioned was a matter of record somewhere.
“I asked a simple question, Danny. Please answer.”
“You would like my true opinion?”
“Would I have asked for it if I didn’t?”
“Then I would say an eye for an eye is best replaced by forgiveness, love, and mercy.”
The warden nodded. “Yes, you would. We may have challenges, you and I. But in the end, you will see my wisdom. We don’t have an orientation period. You will leave me and go straight to the commons, where you will either learn the way things work on your own or be helped along by my staff. A handbook in your cell will lay out all of our rules, but let me highlight a few I’m partial to.”
He cleared his throat and brought the back of his hand across his lips as if to dry them, then placed his fingertips on the desktop.
“Foul language is not permitted under any circumstance. It only reinforces learned behavior. Violence of any nature is strictly prohibited unless approved by me. Any form of sexual conduct is strictly prohibited unless I deem it to be appropriate. This includes any form of homosexuality, masturbation, or inciting lewd discussion. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Some of the rules may seem pointless. I would advise you to follow them all to the letter. They’re in place to help you learn obedience, regardless of the nature of that obedience. Any infraction will be grounds for swift disciplinary action in a manner I see fitting. Is that clear?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” He pressed the button on an intercom to his right. “Shari, please send Bostich in to transfer our new member to the commons.”
He returned his attention to Danny. “As I’m sure you know, priests on the inside are often misjudged by others. They will see you as scum, an understandable sentiment. One of our members, a lifer named Bruce Randell, has a particular dislike of your kind for good reason and will try to make your life complicated. He’s not a kind man. I assume you will stay clear of him?”
“I will do my best.”
“I doubt your best will be good enough. Randell is a violent man.”
“And yet he’s in your prison.”
The warden smiled. “Yes, well, I do make exceptions to the rules when it suits our collective goal. A wolf or two in the sheep pen keeps everyone on their toes.”
Danny had kept his former occupation to himself at Ironwood, because a priest in prison was too quickly suspected as a sex offender, the worst possible classification among prisoners. Even the most hardened criminals refused to tolerate rapists and pedophiles.
It was senseless that a murderer could so harshly judge a rapist, but the society called prison had its own code, as unflinching as any law.
It was ironic that Danny’s first victim had been a sexual predator.
The latch on the door hummed and snapped open. Bostich stepped in and looked at Danny. The man was in his thirties and wore a buzz cut, black slacks, and a black short-sleeved shirt. His hair was bleached, if Danny was right. Yellowish brows hung over dark eyes, which were an oddity in his pale, blotchy face. The man was average height, but strong, with thick fingers.
His eyes skirted to the warden. “Sir.”
“Take our priest to his quarters,” Pape said.
“Yes, sir.”
Danny stood and walked to the door. He knew nothing about Bostich other than that he was likely the primary enforcer at Basal. Already, he didn’t like the man. But this was his old judgmental nature rising. He set his disfavor aside and offered Bostich a nod, which was returned by an unflinching stare.
“Oh, and Danny…”
He turned to face the warden.
“There’s a rapist in our sanctuary who continues to insist on his innocence. A dense young man named Peter Manning. I want you to see to him, help him understand his true wretchedness, the first step toward rehabilitation. Can you do that?”
Danny hesitated. “I will do my best.”
Pape tapped his fingertips on the desk and smiled. “Surely you know how to handle people who harbor dark secrets. How you handle Peter may very well determine how it goes for you in Basal. Hell is a miserable place, Danny. Take care not to join Peter there.”
3
AS I SAID, my meltdown really began with that first breathy phone call.
The priest is going to die.
Danny. He was talking about Danny. I stood rigid for a count of three and then I was flying toward my bedroom. My first thought was of the nine-millimeter—the gun in the back of my closet, the one I hadn’t touched in three years. But my determination never to touch it again was already halfway out the window, because the nine-millimeter was the only thing I had that could blow a hole through the head of the man who’d just spoken to me on the phone. I wouldn’t hesitate if it meant protecting Danny.
I made it to the edge of the bed before my mind caught up. I didn’t need a gun; I needed Danny. And Danny was in prison.
I spun around and hurried back to the phone, thinking that Danny was probably already in transit to Basal. The images of that overturned transport van winked on, then off. Too neurotic. Impossible.
The phone was harping its disconnect alert when I snatched it off the counter. I got a dial tone and with a shaking finger dialed the all-too-familiar phone number for Ironwood State Prison, whispering reason to myself.
The line began to ring. I scanned the walls of my condo for holes and a peeping eye. But I would have noticed; I was too observant in my own environment to miss something so obvious. Who would want to watch me? One of Danny’s old enemies. Or mine. Ghosts from the past, that’s who.
Calm down, Renee. Take a deep breath.
“Ironwood State Prison.”
“Yes, can you connect me with the warden?”
A pause. I sounded like a frantic girlfriend or wife. The prison probably got them all the time.
“May I ask who’s calling?”
I calmed my voice as best I could. “Renee Gilmore.”
The phone clicked, then began to ring through to the warden’s office. In prison, the warden might be God, but to get through to God you had to get through his secretary who, in this case, went by the name Susan Johnson.
“Warden’s office.”
“Thank God, thank God.” Still way too hyper. “I’m sorry, this is Renee Gilmore and my…a friend of mine is incarcerated there. Danny Hansen. FX49565. He was scheduled to be transferred today.”
“What can I do for you, Ms. Gilmore?” Her tone was flat, the kind you might expect from someone trying to cope in a prison stuffed with twice as many inmates as the two thousand or so it was built to hold.