by Brenda Novak
Gabrielle let her breath seep out. No wonder Hansen felt so comfortable in his job. She remembered the “survivor” speech he’d given her in his office after the fight yesterday and did a mental eye roll. I’ve been workin’ here since college, nearly fifteen years, and I’ll be workin’ here in fifteen more. It’s only the weak who have to worry, the young, the old, the fairer sex… As though being related to the warden had nothing to do with his longevity!
“So the warden knows Hansen is abusing his power?” she asked.
Bell took a drink of her Pepsi, then played with the condensation on the outside of the can. “Abusing his power? That’s subject to interpretation. So far, no one’s been killed or seriously injured.”
“So far? ‘So far’ acknowledges that it could happen in the future,” Gabrielle said, finishing her tuna sandwich. “Randall Tucker’s injuries might not be life-threatening, but I’d call them serious. And they could’ve been much worse.”
Bell grimaced, took another drink of her Pepsi and adjusted the ponytail that held her long dark hair off a rather plain face. “He’s an inmate. Life on the inside isn’t supposed to be pleasant. You want pleasant, work at a day care, that’s Hansen’s philosophy.”
“Is it the warden’s?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t asked him. We have a chain of command here.”
“Will it do any good to go to the lieutenant?”
“Are you kidding? Whitehead and Hansen spend their weekends together barbecuing and drinking beer. You could try one of the captains, but I doubt you’ll get anywhere with them, either. Or the assistant deputy warden, for that matter.”
“Then the warden is our only option.”
“Believe me, he’s no option.”
“So you don’t want to do anything?”
“What can we do?” Bell demanded. “Our jobs are tough enough as it is. You know what it’s like being a woman in a place like this. We make waves, and we won’t be around long.”
“But what Hansen’s doing is serious and you know it. Tucker could’ve been killed! I could have been killed trying to stop something that never should have happened in the first place. Next time, it might be you or someone else—unless we do something.”
“Listen, I’m not involved in what Hansen’s doing,” she said, growing angry. “I just put in my time and collect my paycheck so I can feed my little boy. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“We can’t close our eyes just because we’re women,” Gabrielle replied, finally understanding why Bell had opened up to her in the first place. She’d thought they could commiserate because they were both women and therefore fighting the same battles. But she’d wanted Gabrielle to come to the same conclusion she had—that she was justified in ignoring the guards’ abuses—so she’d feel better about avoiding responsibility. Bell wanted her to say, “Yep, it’s not our problem, nothing we can do.”
But Gabrielle didn’t agree. Someone had to stop what was going on, and she sure as hell knew it wouldn’t be Brinkman, Roddy or Eckland. “We could see the warden together,” she suggested. “I’m not excited about going over Hansen’s head anymore than you are, but if we—”
“No.” Bell shoved away from the table and stood, glaring down at her. “I’m not a whistle-blower.”
“Do you realize what could happen if we don’t?”
“I don’t care. I need this job.”
“But—”
“Forget it. I’m sorry I said anything. I think the others are right. You’re nothing but trouble.” She threw her can in the trash and stalked out.
Gabrielle sat with her lunch wrappers spread out on the table in front of her, staring after the other woman. She felt more alone than she ever had in her life—and she was used to feeling alone. No matter how many people surrounded her growing up, she’d always remained detached, a guest in her adoptive parents’ home, an outsider looking in. She’d married David to escape the emptiness, but even that hadn’t worked. When she’d left him, she did it believing there had to be one place in life where she’d fit, in a down-to-the-soul kind of way, but she was beginning to think she’d never find it.
At least she wasn’t going to find it here, at the prison. Especially if she ratted on Hansen.
She pictured Randall Tucker’s face when he’d finally looked up at her while playing Scrabble. He was a hard, unfeeling man. He hadn’t been very receptive to her help. And he probably was getting exactly what he deserved. Why risk anything for him?
Dropping her head in her hands, Gabrielle pressed her palms to her eyes. Why? Because it was the right thing to do.
GABRIELLE LET HER CAR IDLE, hoping the air-conditioning in her late-model Honda Accord would stave off the incredible heat that shimmered up from the asphalt. The magnificent Arizona sun was melting into the horizon like butter, creating streaks of red and gold far more vivid than anything she’d ever seen in Oregon. But Gabrielle hadn’t come to watch the sunset. She was parked across from a Spanish-style stucco house on the other side of town, waiting for Naomi Cutter, her birth mother, and hoping for something else: the courage to approach her.
Sitting in her car seat in the back, Allie clapped her hands and kicked her feet. They’d taken this drive several times already; Allie loved the movement of the car, loved seeing everything fly past her window. But it wasn’t as joyful a ride for Gabrielle. Watching her birth mother arrive home from wherever she worked during the day, gather her things from her silver Toyota Camry and enter her small, neat house at 1058 Robin Way was a bit like pressing on a bruise—it hurt, but Gabrielle just couldn’t leave it alone.
Today she’d knock on the door and demand to know why her mother had given her up, she decided. David was right. She needed to get it over with. Her adoptive parents had told her that Naomi had been having financial difficulties, but she’d also been twenty-four at the time, old enough to figure out some way to keep them together.
As a child, Gabrielle had made up plenty of excuses for her mother. Naomi had cancer and was going to die. She’d placed Gabrielle in a good home so she wouldn’t be sent to an orphanage, or some variation along those lines. But Naomi was only in her early fifties and looked alive and well. Other than the somber expression she wore, and a certain weariness in the way she moved, she seemed perfectly healthy and capable.
Gabrielle noticed the sound of a motor and checked her rearview mirror. Sure enough, her mother’s silver Camry was coming up from behind.
Without so much as a glance at the Honda waiting just past her house, Naomi turned onto her drive and pulled into the garage. A moment later she appeared carrying her purse and a bag of groceries, which explained why she was a little later today than usual, and walked out to the mailbox.
Now, Gabrielle told herself. There wasn’t any point in waiting. It had already been far too long.
She paused, trying to visualize approaching the woman in the black pants and short-sleeved button-up blouse and telling her who she was, then shuddered at what her mother’s reaction would probably be. A blank look, followed by recognition, horror and finally repugnance. Gabrielle had imagined the scene at least a million times, hoping her mother would smile or show some hint of regret for what they’d lost. But if Naomi felt any of the emotions Gabrielle did, they wouldn’t have spent twenty-five years apart. Her mother wanted nothing to do with her, never had, and in Gabrielle’s imagined confrontation, the question Naomi always asked first was “How did you find me?”—as though being found was the single worst thing in the world.
Gabrielle didn’t think she could bear the rejection. It was easier to live with not knowing, wasn’t it?
No, she’d come this far. She had to know. It was time to deal with the past and to put it behind her.
Bracing for whatever would follow, she shut off the ignition, got out and started to unbuckle Allie when another car pulled up and parked in the drive.
“Mom! Hey!” a tall blonde called from the shiny red convertible.
Naomi
turned and the weariness that had existed in her demeanor immediately fell away. “Hi, honey,” she said, smiling in obvious pleasure. “What a nice surprise. I thought you had too much work to make it today.”
“Are you kidding? You said you made me a German chocolate cake. I couldn’t miss that.”
Gabrielle realized she wasn’t breathing. She stood in midmotion, transfixed, watching as this beautiful woman stepped out of her car and embraced her mother—their mother. Gabrielle had been right. She had more family than just Naomi. She had a sister, and there could be more….
Longing made her knees weak, and she put a hand on the car to steady herself. What would it be like, she wondered, to someday walk up to this person and smile that easy smile—the smile that denoted familiarity beyond friendship—and say, “Hi, sis, how was work?”
“Was traffic bad getting here?” Naomi asked.
The blonde shrugged. “I was visiting a client in Chandler, so I didn’t have that far to come. And traffic’s never bad this late, unless there’s an accident or something. How was the Historical Society today?”
“Oh, you know I like working at the museum. They need volunteers so badly. Today someone donated some dental instruments that date back to the 1880s. Should go well with the chair we already have.”
“Great. Here, let me get that for you.” She took the bag of groceries Naomi carried and began to follow her to the house.
Gabrielle knew she should say something, catch their attention. But she felt like such an outsider, as though she was watching them through the front window with her nose pressed to the glass. She had no idea whether she’d be welcomed. Whether they’d invite her to come any closer.
Allie whimpered, frustrated that she hadn’t been set free after the promising motions Gabrielle had already made, but Gabrielle couldn’t move. Approaching her mother would be difficult enough when they were alone, she decided. She couldn’t do it with her sister there and the two of them laughing and talking. Unless…unless one of them looked up. She’d do it if they noticed her, she promised herself.
She stared after them, willing them to give the slightest indication that they’d seen her. But neither of them even glanced in her direction. They were too caught up in each other. Their voices dimmed as they neared the house, the door opened and shut, and they were gone.
A truck rattled past on the street, windows down, its single occupant visibly sweating. Gabrielle let her breath go and closed her eyes. It was over. It was too late.
Allie started to cry, letting her know she wasn’t happy about this strange neglect, but Gabrielle felt too numb to comfort her. She tugged mechanically on the car seat to make sure she hadn’t loosened the strap, then slid behind the wheel, still hesitant to go anywhere when what she wanted was inside. If she could only witness whatever her mother and her sister did when they were together, see the house, gain a sense of who these people were so she could know more about herself…
Her mother was married, or at least she lived with a man; that much Gabrielle knew. She’d seen him pass in front of the windows before, wearing a plain white T-shirt and holding a can of beer or soda. She guessed he was retired, spent most of his time doing yard work and watching television. But today she could see nothing. The blinds were down to keep out the sun.
Gabrielle started the car, adjusted the air-conditioning vents and gazed off to the other side of the road, where sand-colored desert spread in front of her as far as the eye could see. It gave her the impression that her mother lived on the edge of the civilized world. Paloverde trees, palm yuccas, mesquites, cacti, brown parched earth, it went on for miles and miles….
Go home, she told herself. You have plenty of other things to worry about for one night. And it was true. The warden’s secretary had responded to her phone call, informing her that he’d agreed to see her. They had an appointment first thing in the morning.
“I’m sorry, babe,” she said to Allie, “I’m as disappointed as you are. But we’ll do it someday. Someday soon, I promise. Now let’s go home and give you a bath.” Shifting into Drive, she made a U-turn and headed back to her trailer.
WARDEN CRUMB reminded Gabrielle of Jack LaLane. Five feet ten, or so, he was nearly sixty but took great pride in his appearance. Even though he wore a suit, Gabrielle could tell he had the body of a much younger man and, while his hair was gray, he’d managed to retain most of it.
“How’s our new corrections officer?” he asked, flashing her a poster smile as soon as his secretary showed her into his office. Their appointment had been scheduled for seven o’clock, but he’d kept her waiting almost an hour.
“I’m fine,” she said as the secretary withdrew and closed the door.
Crumb didn’t get up, but he waved to a seat across from his desk. “Would you like to sit down?”
Gabrielle perched on the edge of an upholstered chair and took a deep breath to ease the tension in her stiff muscles. She might become a pariah among her peers, but she was doing the right thing—wasn’t she?
She knew David wouldn’t think so. He’d asked her to lie low, and she’d lasted only two days. But someone had to take a stand, even if Hansen was the warden’s nephew.
Crumb rested his elbows on the arms of his high-backed leather chair and laced his fingers together. “What can I do for you?” he asked, his blue eyes sharp and focused on her face.
Gabrielle swallowed against the dryness of her throat and told him what had happened in Cell Block 2. She mentioned Hansen and the others allowing the fight to continue, Tucker’s injuries and Hansen’s refusal to call the doctor. As she spoke, she expected a look of surprise or dismay to cross the warden’s face, but his pleasant expression never wavered.
“I can understand how you might be concerned by what you saw,” he said when she finished. “But fights break out in prison all the time. It might be easy to blame the other guards for not paying more attention to who doesn’t like whom, but those kinds of things change, depending on which way the wind blows. Today two men might get along perfectly, tomorrow one might slit the other’s throat with a homemade knife. We’re dealing with hardened criminals here—rapists and murderers. That’s just how things are on the inside.”
“But Hansen and the others did nothing to break up the fight,” Gabrielle repeated. “They didn’t even report it.”
He chuckled softly. “There probably wasn’t any need. Prison life isn’t always as…straightforward as they paint it in training, you know. Give yourself some time to learn your way around before you panic and cry wolf.” His smile widened until his teeth glinted in the sun streaming in through the window that overlooked the prison yard, but his eyes had grown cool, and Gabrielle was no longer fooled by his friendly manner. He’d been prepped by someone—probably Nephew Hansen—before she arrived. He hadn’t shown one iota of surprise at her story. He’d taken it in stride, as though he’d heard it all before, then he’d dismissed it.
“I’ve spent nearly forty-eight hours thinking about what I should do regarding this incident, Warden Crumb,” she said, refusing to let him invalidate her feelings or her opinion. “I’d call that concern, not panic. I’m concerned that Hansen and the others would allow a man to be injured. And I’m concerned that they’d deny Tucker medical treatment for those injuries, injuries that should still be looked at, by the way.”
The warden’s smile finally faded at her persistence, and he leaned forward. “Are you a doctor, Officer Hadley?”
“No, and that’s why—”
“Then perhaps you should keep your medical opinions to yourself. I don’t appreciate you going around trying to stir up trouble in my prison. You’ve been here less than a week, which is why I’ve been willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. But one week hardly qualifies you as an expert on anything. I’m not going to let you tell Hansen how he should be doing his job, and I’m sure as hell not going to let you tell me how to do mine. So I’ll reiterate what I tried to say before. Let it go.”
; Gabrielle stared at him for several seconds. “That’s it?”
“More or less. Tucker’s a troublemaker. Even if Hansen was at fault, it would be difficult to blame him or anyone else when Tucker gets into so many fights.”
Gabrielle remembered the grudging admiration in Hansen’s voice when he’d said that Tucker could take two or three men at a time and seriously doubted Tucker deserved full blame for all the fighting. Entertainment value, possibly even gambling, played at least some role in those incidents, she felt sure. But she had no proof. “So you’re not going to do anything about it?”
He began to straighten his desk. “The only thing I’m going to do is transfer Tucker to Alta Vista and let them worry about him there.”
Gabrielle’s spine stiffened at this announcement. Alta Vista was a private prison that housed some of the most violent criminals in the country. For Tucker, it was definitely a step down, and she got the distinct impression it was all in the name of sweeping Hansen’s actions under the rug. Better to transfer Tucker, claiming he was a behavioral problem, than to risk a scandal. “Alta Vista?”
“It’s near Yuma, not far from the California border.”
“I know where it is,” she said. “When’s he going?”
“Monday.” He smiled. “And you and Eckland are driving him.”
CHAPTER FOUR
WHAT THE HELL was going on?
Tucker stood straight, jaw clenched, as he tried to keep the pain shooting up his arm from showing in his face. Eckland had barged into his cell at six-thirty, half an hour before he usually had to get up, and strip-searched him. Then he’d put him in handcuffs, leg irons and a belly chain and he’d cuffed his broken hand so tight the bracelet was cutting into his swollen wrist.
“Move it,” Eckland said, prodding him forward and out into the corridor. “We need to get an early start.”
“Where we goin’?” Tucker asked, breaking his rigid silence. Wherever it was, he seemed to be the only inmate making the trip. The others were still in their beds, though a few craned their necks to peer out at him when they heard the jangle of his leg irons.
