Escape Clause

by James O. Born

  “Not at his house. Needs to look more like a chance encounter, but he’ll figure it out. Maybe a bar or something.”

  Janzig gave him a big smile with a third of his teeth either missing or starting to rot. “I’ll take care of it, boss.”

  Norton smiled. “I never doubted it.”

  Tasker hustled after his phone call. A call that bothered him, not because of what was said, but because he didn’t know who had complained. It had to be someone with some juice for the director even to bother to call. He was showered and heading out the door in a matter of minutes after he’d hung up the phone.

  The five-minute ride to Manatee gave him a chance to calm down and dissect the call. Maybe the chief of Gladesville had called his director, but that didn’t make sense. First, the local chief would’ve talked to him personally, and second, the chief of Gladesville didn’t have the influence to make a director for FDLE call like that. Something else was going on around this place and Tasker was going to find out what.

  Renee Chin had five correctional officers sitting in the library, down the hall from her office. She also had an officer who wanted to be an inspector doing some research at a nearby table, with instructions to report anything unusual he heard. Renee had been a correctional officer and a sergeant so she knew how protective you became of one another. This might be the first time any of them realized they were under investigation. That was her favorite tactic: Call everyone involved at once. Don’t give them a chance to compare stories until you had a way to listen.

  She had them wait not only to let them stew, but to give Bill Tasker a chance to be involved. He said he’d like to see how in-house investigations were conducted. It was now almost nine and he wasn’t in yet. She might have to start without him.

  She reviewed the time sheets and entry logs. There were four officers in that area of the building, two in lockdown and two in the psychiatric ward. She would focus on the two in the ward. They would’ve been in a position to let Linus Hardaway out and point him in the right direction. She could talk to Linus, but it would be a few more days of medication before he could speak coherently.

  A knock on the door brought her attention up from the entry logs. FDLE Special Agent Bill Tasker stood in the doorway as casual as he always was. Dressed in Dockers and a polo shirt, he didn’t fit in around the crew cuts and uniforms.

  He said, “Sorry I’m late. Can I still sit in?”

  “You bet. Have you given any thought to the Luther Williams situation?”

  “I have. You say the Aryan or someone else could’ve set Luther up, right?”

  “It’s one possibility.”

  “Or he could’ve killed him and made it look like an accident?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Why don’t you let me talk to him? Just feel him out.”

  “I can do that. I’ll hold my report on the autopsy for a few days.” She stood and walked toward him, felt like kissing him but recognized this as a place of business and passed by to the hallway. She called into the library for the first officer and waited while the gangly young man stood and came down the hallway, his eyes so wide it looked like he thought he was going to the electric chair.

  Luther Williams had gathered a lot of information in the last two days. He wanted to make sure no one thought he had anything to do with the Aryan Knight’s death. He had the only viable witness, Moambi, the dishwasher, working right in the admin building with him, and when he approached the admin gate to report for his work assignment, they let him through without a second thought. His concern was the mounting suspicion that the damn Aryan Knights were getting ready to make a move on him. But at least the prison officials were as blissfully ignorant as ever.

  Now he felt even more confident, because the four correctional officers that Inspector Chin had waiting in the library had nothing to do with the kitchen. They were all lockdown officers and wouldn’t know anything about the death.

  Still, he might have to move up his plans. If the remaining Aryan Knights decided to do their own investigation, he might have to do a lot of things. One definitely included annoying the good Captain Norton. That was a man who needed to be taught a lesson. While Luther had never been a schoolteacher or even pretended to be one, he’d hold a class for that vicious son of a bitch. Maybe he could find a use for the FDLE agent after all.

  Tasker had sat in on three interviews and let Renee do most of the talking. He had talked to three of the officers in relation to the Dewalt death. It was routine, but they had all been on duty in the psych ward or lockdown the day Dewalt’s body was found. Tasker didn’t believe any of them had any useful information, but he’d learned he was only human and could make mistakes. He wasn’t like the cops on Law & Order or CSI. His instincts were good but certainly not infallible. His assessment of Daniel Wells before he had become a fugitive and caused Tasker so much anguish had been as wrong as wrong could be. Now he usually kept an open mind even after he had interviewed people on a case.

  He was impressed by Renee’s ability and instinct for interviews. Most people think that you ask questions and whatever people say happened is what happened. Tasker had learned over many hard years that people rarely say what they mean even if they don’t mean to mislead you.

  The body language of this last correctional officer, a tall youth of twenty-four named Lester Lynn, made him look guilty. He fidgeted and wouldn’t look directly at either of them.

  Tasker sat back to let Renee question the young man as effectively as she had interviewed the other three. She had led the others down a line of questions and was satisfied, like Tasker, that they had nothing to do with his unfortunate encounter with Linus Hardaway. There was something different about this young man. He couldn’t put his finger on it, as Renee led him through the opening questions, then led him to his job that day.

  “Where were you assigned?” asked Renee, keeping her eyes on him, watching for the telltale signs of lying: twitches, pauses, swallowing. Courses like the Reid School of Interviewing ingrained them in students’ heads.

  Lester’s protruding Adam’s apple didn’t make it hard to tell when he swallowed. It rose and dropped like the ball in Times Square on New Year’s Eve.

  “I was, um, I was assigned to the hatch and relief over to lockdown. I been at the hatch for almost a year now.”

  That was the first time Tasker had heard that phrase and he just looked at Renee.

  She said, “Some of the COs refer to the psychiatric ward as the ‘booby hatch’ or just ‘the hatch.’ ”

  Tasker nodded, surprised he hadn’t seen the obvious, if ignorant, connection.

  Renee stayed on her subject. “You had that assignment the whole shift?”

  “Yeah.” His eyes darted slightly as he answered. He shifted in his seat again.

  “From eight that morning?”

  “Yeah, I said the whole shift.”

  “Who assigned you?”

  “Sergeant Janzig. He was in charge of lockdown while the captain was on leave for capping that boy who run off.”

  Tasker caught the name of the sergeant whose print was on Dewalt’s pendant. Was this just another coincidence?

  Renee continued. “So you were in the area about noon when Linus Hardaway attacked Agent Tasker?”

  “I guess. I mean, I heard the control room officer screamin’ over the radio about a fight. By the time I got there, Mr. Tasker was sittin’ down and poor old Linus had been beat stupid.”

  Tasker flinched slightly at the characterization of his defense.

  “Was that the first time you saw Linus that day?” asked Renee.

  “I guess.”

  Renee sighed and rose from her seat. If Tasker didn’t know better, he’d have thought she was about to strike the arrogant shithead. Then, remembering her action on Rufus Goodwin, he got ready for contact. Instead she walked to a neutral corner of the room.

  She said, “You guess that was the first time you saw him?”

  He shrugged.
r />   “How many inmates were in the psych ward that day?”

  “I dunno, five, maybe six.”

  “And you didn’t take the time to check on each of them at least once before lunch?”

  “Is this a job evaluation or something? If it is I think I might need me a PBA attorney.”

  Renee stepped closer. “You might need someone, but it won’t be an attorney.”

  The young man flinched, apparently familiar with Inspector Chin’s ability to kick ass.

  Tasker stood quickly to diffuse the situation. He stood his ground against a withering glare from Renee.

  She took a breath and said, “Lester, how long you been here at Manatee?”

  “Almost eighteen months.”

  “What assignments have you had?”

  “General for the first few months and the hatch since then.”

  “Did you like working general assignment?”

  He shrugged his narrow shoulders. “I guess.”

  “Where do you want to work?”

  “Sergeant Janzig and the captain have been letting me try the control room on the weekends. They say I do a good job in the hatch and I can transfer.”

  “Is letting Linus Hardaway out doing a good job?”

  “I didn’t let him out. I told you that.”

  “If you’re telling the truth, then why are you sweating so bad?”

  The correctional officer said, “You make me nervous. I don’t feel like I can talk.”

  Renee let out her breath and looked at Tasker, who nodded. “Okay, Lester. What if I take a break and you talk to Agent Tasker alone for a little while?”

  Lester nodded. “Okeydoke.”

  She looked at him and said, “He’s all yours.”

  Tasker waited for her to clear the room and shut the door, just a little too hard. He grabbed his chair and scooted it closer to Lester, hoping to take advantage of his obvious role as good cop.

  “So, Lester, is there anything you’re more comfortable telling me than telling Inspector Chin?”

  The young officer smiled. “You bet.”

  “What’s that?”

  “She has got some nice titties.”

  Tasker knew the interview was over, but at least he’d gotten the young man to tell the truth.

  twenty-three

  The sun was just disappearing behind the sugarcane field to the west of Tasker’s apartment. He was now the only resident—the other two had finished their jobs and left. He stretched his legs in front of him as he relaxed in the shaky Adirondack chair on the front porch. He had just cracked an Icehouse beer. By Gladesville standards, Icehouse was an imported beer. It was not unlike a Friday night at home. He did not intend to visit the prison or work on the case over the weekend, just have fun with his daughters. If he accomplished that, he’d have to point it out to Donna on Sunday night.

  What a week he’d had: the murder, the attack, the call from the director. He was looking forward to Monday. He’d find a quiet moment to feel out Luther Williams on the death of the inmate in the kitchen. Nothing formal or overt. Maybe just get a feel for his reaction to the question. He was already locked up, it wasn’t like he could flee the charges. Renee had agreed that it was a good move prior to her official investigation. He smiled at the thought of her. She had said she might come by this evening, just to check on him. He had told her the girls would be here but she was welcome, and she’d seemed interested. He smiled at the thought of Donna and Renee meeting. It would be the first time Donna had actually seen a woman Tasker was interested in. To his knowledge, Donna had never met her match.

  Tasker watched from his porch as Donna and the girls pulled up in her familiar minivan. She was right on time, at least for her. She had said she would bring the girls around five-thirty. It was now after six. He didn’t care about the details as he saw the two blond heads pop out of the passenger side of the van and make a beeline for him. They both hit him at once, almost knocking him down. Donna was her reserved self, fifteen feet behind the ecstatic girls.

  After some minor settling in, the girls were out the back door to explore the area nearest the cane field, which was as far as the outdoor floodlights reached.

  Donna joined him on the rear porch and even accepted a beer.

  She flopped in the chair next to him. “This is nice. Maybe we can have a few minutes without a prison alarm going off or someone being murdered.”

  Tasker winced at the insinuation that Gladesville was unfit for the girls. “I was upfront about Professor Kling’s death. Believe me, it bothers me, too.”

  “I know. And I also know you’ll be with the girls the whole time they’re here.”

  “Every second.”

  “I just worry, that’s all. I was afraid Emily might take the news about the professor badly since the bank shooting.”

  “You said you told them that the professor died, not that he was murdered.”

  “I did. They were upset, but they had only met him that one weekend. They were worried about Billie.”

  Tasker nodded.

  “Why didn’t you tell me Billie is a girl?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Just curious. Seemed like a detail you might add. Something like: ‘Billie, this beautiful girl who works for the professor. ’ That sort of thing.”

  “Did the girls say she was beautiful?”

  “They described her. I concluded beautiful.”

  Tasker smiled to himself.

  “Is she?”

  “What?”

  “Is she beautiful?”

  He considered the question and answered honestly. “Yes, yes, she is.”

  “Are you seeing her?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Haven’t had the time.” He left it at that and looked out at the girls as they cut in and out of the shadows. As he was about to mention that Billie was in her twenties, he heard someone on the front porch.

  “Hello?” drifted back.

  He sprang up, recognizing Renee’s smooth voice.

  He looked at Donna in the chair and said, “I’ll be right back.”

  At the front screen door, Renee stood in a pair of tight jeans and a white tank top. Tasker managed to keep his eyes in his skull and thought, This should be good.

  She smiled. “I’m not interrupting, am I?”

  “Not at all.”

  “I assumed, since you’re the only one living here, that you had guests.” She looked over her shoulder at the tan minivan. The glow from the single light in the front parking lot gave her light brown skin a rich color.

  “Yeah, my ex is dropping off the kids. Come out back and meet everyone.”

  “You sure?”

  He smiled. “Oh, I’m sure.” He led her through the apartment to the back porch and his ex-wife, still in the chair.

  “Donna, this is Renee Chin. Renee, Donna.”

  Donna stood and said, “I remember wondering if you were a Chinese man when Bill said he was going to meet someone named R. A. Chin. Boy, was I wrong.” She extended her hand.

  “Bill doesn’t talk about his work out here?”

  “He forgot to mention you.”

  Tasker just smiled. This was exactly the reaction he had hoped for. Even though it was petty and immature, he acknowledged it and felt quite satisfied.

  Sam Norton stood on his porch, enjoying the Saturday morning chill and the fact that his two daughters were sleeping in the spare bedroom. A whole weekend with them while their mother was off with that damn Sun-Sentinel reporter. The guy had written some sort of half-assed mystery novel and was traveling around to promote it. Norton laughed at such foolishness. He was careful not to taunt her about the relationship or the impending divorce. He still harbored hope that they might work it out. They had overcome a lot together. Not many of his family members had approved of the interracial marriage after he had met her while on vacation in Daytona. A tall, sleek black girl with a New Jersey accent. At first his dad hadn’t know
n what was more disturbing: that his boy had married out of his race or that he’d married a northerner. They didn’t call them “Yankees” much anymore, but his family sure didn’t have much use for anyone from New York or New Jersey. Especially if their name ended in a vowel or their skin was more than two shades darker than their own.

  After six years and two kids, maybe his family had been right. He hoped it was just a phase and that she’d come home to him one day. Of course, if that day was soon, he’d have some serious explaining to do to the other woman in his life, and maybe to his wife, too. He’d do what he had to do, like always. But he wouldn’t be happy about it. He thought about his wife and smiled. He did have a weakness for certain types.

  Hannibal, his German shepherd, came trotting back from his favorite grassy area near the main perimeter fence. Not only did that keep his little land mines away from the house, it let the inmates know that wherever Hannibal was, the boss was not far behind. Hannibal wasn’t a work dog. He was too unpredictable. Usually he’d listen to Norton, but there had been times his instinct got the best of him. The worst incident had involved an inmate who had been cutting the grass near the officers’ housing. He’d made the mistake of running when he saw Hannibal trotting out the door in front of Norton. By the time Norton had had the dog under control, the inmate had lost his left hand and three fingers from his right. Norton still chuckled at the sight of the yard man with no usable hands. Luckily, he had put the fear of God into the inmate and he’d never made any kind of complaint. Now he had a cake job delivering bedding and knew not to say anything.

  Norton’s youngest, Lanya, crept out the front door toward her father in a long T-shirt that went all the way to the ground, covering her feet. Her light brown, kinky hair waved off her tiny head in tiny spirals. Her eyes were still at half-mast.

  “Papa?”

  “What?”

  “You got a girlfriend?”

  He paused and looked into her dark eyes. “Why would you ask that?”

  She shrugged. “You got ladies’ things in your closet.”