East of the Sun

by Trey R. Barker

  Later, after roll call, she said to Rory, “There’s blood on the walls.”

  Rory looked at her.

  “In my dream house. The sun rises in the west because Mama danced to ‘East of the Sun,’ and there’s blood on the walls.”

  “Whoa . . . hang on. What are you talking about?”

  Jace shivered. “It scares me, Rory.”

  In the locker room, with no one else around, Rory held Jace’s hand. “That dream can’t scare you; you’re Jace Salome, Super Worm.” She squeezed her hand. “Maybe you have that dream because you feel locked down here. It’s that house and it’s the go-between so maybe it’s your brain telling you that you want to go to the road and get out of the jail.” She cracked an impish smile.

  Jace shook her head. “This is serious, Rory. I don’t think that’s what it’s saying.”

  “I do. You want to get out of here and see what real life is all about. You may not realize it yet, but you want to go to the road. Your mama didn’t just dance in Zach City, right? She went all over west Texas? On the road? See what I’m saying? What’s more . . . you want Von Holton’s job and someday you’ll have it. You may also want world peace and free Skittles for life, but that can probably wait.”

  Jace, anxiety flooding her like a white-hot tropical disease, shook her head, muttered that Rory was a doofus, and left. Jace was assigned floater status tonight, which meant she’d spend the night moving from place to place helping with minor problems. If there were none, and usually nights were quiet when it came to the floater’s position, she’d be able to catch up on her paperwork.

  If it were quiet, she would figure out exactly what the footage from the bodega meant; footage that had a man Jace recognized, though she didn’t know from where, going into the courthouse about ten thirty the night Inmate Bobby was killed and coming out less than a half hour later. Night-time light around the courthouse was spotty, and the betweens were filled with a darkness that was perpetually deep, regardless of moonlight. The tall buildings kept the spaces between streetlights and building lights hushed and dark. On his way in, the man had stumbled and as he tried to regain his footing, he’d stepped into light from both the building and a walkway lamppost. His head was turned slightly away from the camera but it was a good picture of his face. Bibb would probably be able to grab a good still from it.

  The footage didn’t prove the man had killed Inmate Bobby, or even that he was in the tunnel. But it did prove that someone who was obviously not Dr. Ernesto Cruz had entered the courthouse after hours.

  How’d you get Cruz’s access code?

  Why did you kill Inmate Bobby?

  One of the second-shift detectives Jace had gotten to know had worked a case two months earlier that involved a 64-yearold man trying to have sex with a 14-year-old girl. The girl had been texting the man, whom she’d met on social media, and had gotten scared by the sheer volume of sexual talk. She’d told her mother everything and her mother had come to the sheriff’s office. The detective had taken over the girl’s account, texted the man as the young girl, and had been there to make the arrest when he showed up for a scheduled date, his truck full of candy and condoms and sex toys.

  After the arrest, the detective interviewed the man and he’d claimed he was there to save the young girl, just as he had the other two girls, from making bad decisions in life. He’d gone silent at that point, perhaps realizing what he’d said. Immediately after he’d bonded out, the 64-year-old had gone home to Lubbock and shot himself to death.

  The questions in that case, including who the other two girls were and how many others there might have been, immediately became null. There was no defendant, therefore no charges, therefore no case. The search warrants for the defendant’s electronic devices were quashed, the subpoenas to internet service providers were dumped, and any information was basically put in the case file and forgotten. The detective had been furious and had told anyone who cared to listen, and quite a few who didn’t, that the justice system was wretched indeed if it wasn’t even interested in other possible victims.

  Was that Inmate Bobby’s death? Killed to stop questions? Questions, with unknown answers, crawled on Wrubel’s and Inmate Bobby’s deaths like maggots. Questions about drugs inside the jail, about buying and selling among johnnies and maybe staff members, about prescription drugs smuggled in from Mexico. And over it all, Dr. Cruz and his new jail contracts.

  Or was the first half of the equation as simple as Inmate Bobby killing Wrubel for profit? And if that was the case, what about the second half of the equation? Who killed Inmate Bobby and why?

  Except Big Carol said Wrubel wasn’t selling.

  At nearly midnight, Jace saw Von Holton. He was headed to the Pulpit and passing through the jail to get there, a sheaf of papers in his hand. He gave her a neutral stare.

  “Good evening, Detective. How goes your case?”

  “Fine, Deputy, just fine.” A bit of color leaked into his cheeks and he licked his lips. “I made some missteps but I’m on track now.” He handed her one of the pages. “Bobby’s outgoing calls. Nothing all that interesting.”

  It was a computer printout from Balsamo in Records. It listed every outgoing phone call Inmate Bobby had made. That was standard procedure. None of them were recorded because trusties generally had looser restrictions. Regular inmates had every call recorded, and huge red lettered signs at every phone in the pods announced the recordings. The numbers and names of those called were all provided by the phone-services company, which charged what Jace thought to be exorbitant rates for inmates to make calls.

  Perusing the list, Jace saw an end user identified as “pharmacy” four or five times. Her gut tightened. She took out her cell phone and texted the number to herself.

  “What’re you doing?”

  “Just answering a text from Rory.”

  “Don’t understand people being so glued to their phones. Guess I’m just old.”

  “I guess.”

  He cracked a vague smile. “If I were in charge? No cells in the jail at all.”

  “Guess you should run for sheriff, then.”

  He eyed her, seemingly unsure if she was poking him, and took back the page. “Thanks for your help on this thing, I appreciate it. Glad it’s done.”

  “Yeah? Bobby killed Wrubel and then himself?”

  Walking away, he nodded. “That’s about how I see it.”

  Then you’re not seeing very well.

  “Hey, Croft, how’s it hanging?”

  “Low and left, Bogan, low and left.”

  Rory laughed, stuffing as much genuineness into the thing as she could. “Well, not that low; I mean, they only dropped last week.”

  “Funny girl. Why you in my pod? I thought you were in A tonight.”

  “Traded with Jimmson. He was floating and I had some things needed doing.” She cocked her head as though deep in thought. “I got a question for you.”

  “Yes, I will go out with you, but you have to wear some sexy boots. And a gunbelt.” He paused. “And nothing else.”

  “Wow, there’s an image. I’d probably give you a heart attack and then I’d have to do mouth-to-mouth.”

  He stared at her, his expression completely flat. “I’m good with that.”

  “Uh-huh. So you were in ad-seg a few nights ago? The night before they searched Bobby’s cell?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Anything funky that night?”

  “Funky how?”

  She gritted her teeth. She’d wanted to do this quietly, but Croft, nice kid that he was, wasn’t the brightest knife in the cookie jar. “I don’t know. Anyone odd in or out? You now those trusty cells . . . open all day. Like a freakin’ flea market in there sometimes.”

  He laughed. “My mom used to run a flea market. Called it a trading post.”

  “Yeah, huh. So anyone around?”

  He turned toward the computer in the jailer desk, double-checked the locked cell doors. His partner tonight was Laimo
and she had run to the break room to grab her dinner. When he looked back at Rory, his brows were knitted.

  “Well, we had some plumbing issues so the shit-man was here. Sheriff came in a couple times looking for someone to clean up the front lobby. Dr. Cruz came in once, looking for Bobby.”

  Rory kept her face even and neutral. “Yeah?”

  “Bobby wasn’t around but his cell was open. Doctor said he had to drop some meds. Bobby had an allergy or something. I don’t remember. Cruz said he was going to wash down Bobby’s house with some new cleaner and see if that helped.” His frown deepened. “Don’t remember anything else.”

  “Okay. Well, thanks; I appreciate it.”

  “Wha’choo doing?”

  Rory grinned. “You know how Jace is always hammering the sheriff for his cigars?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Well, I’m her little cigar spy, keeping tabs on the man.”

  Croft laughed. “Well, ain’t no cigar stank in here, though the wash Cruz used ’bout killed me.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Smelled like Pine-Sol.”

  “You don’t like the forest, Croft?”

  “Hell, no. Gimme the stink of cows any day.”

  Rory turned to leave, then turned back. “Oh, yeah, who was in here the night of the search?”

  “Smit. Second shift.”

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  “Smitty, it’s Rory.”

  “Seriously? It’s like . . . I don’t know . . . three in the morning.”

  “Hell, I figured you’d just be getting home from some hot date.”

  “We never left. I’ve got one of your cohorts right here.”

  “Yeah? Who’s that?”

  “Shhhh . . . super secret.” Smit laughed quietly. “She’s in the bathroom. Rooster County detective.”

  “Well, since there’s only one Rooster County dick who’s a female, and that one is married, I’ll assume you have some other county investigator in your house.”

  “Assume all you want, but I can tell you she’s quite good at . . . ah . . . investigating things.”

  “Whoa. Way too much information.”

  “My house, my phone call, my information. What do you want?”

  “You were in ad-seg the night of the search of Bobby’s cell.”

  “So?”

  “Anybody go into that cell before Jakob locked it down?”

  There was a long silence but behind it, Rory could hear Smit’s wheels turning. Then she heard a female voice, whispering. “Yeah, now that you mention it. Kerr did.”

  Rory was confused. “What was he doing in there?”

  “I don’t know. I asked Bobby if Cruz had found him and he didn’t seem to know what I was talking about so I told him that Croft had told me Cruz was in his cell with allergy meds or an allergy wash or some shit. Bobby freaked out and left. Kerr came in . . . I don’t know . . . fifteen minutes later or something, asked where Bobby was. I told him the little bit I knew and he got weird, too. Eyes all crazy—he’s goofy anyway—and then popped a call at the phone and disappeared and like an hour later, boom!, you guys hop a squat in Bobby’s cell.”

  Rory chewed her lip. “Thanks, man. Get back to your . . . whatever.”

  Click and he was gone.

  CHAPTER 39

  It was just after three in the morning. The jail had been quiet since lights out. Trusties had moved about the facility, carefully watched by both guards and Sgt. Bibb in the control room. Jailers traversed hallways almost with anonymity, heads down, conversation quiet. Few road deputies were even in the jail. Their jobs were outside, in their squads and at their off-site posts. They didn’t want to be in the jail with its oppressive atmosphere.

  Inmate Bobby’s death was still fresh, a raw, open wound. Some deputies whispered amongst themselves that any time a convict suicided out it was a public service but most deputies were shaken. Bobby and Wrubel had been liked and now were inexorably linked, the why almost a forgotten matter.

  For Jace, the night was filling out forms and signing sheets. She had escorted some trusties from place to place, had filled Rory in on Von Holton’s information about the phone numbers.

  “A pharmacy? That many times?” Rory wrapped her mouth around a chicken burrito.

  “Yep. I want to know what pharmacy and why. Any meds he needs, as an inmate, are in the medical pod.”

  “So call and find out who it is.”

  “I’d bet Cruz Medical. All the calls were during the day and they’re all on the trusty phone.”

  “Which means no recording.” Rory grinned. “Sly little Bobby, trying to get around us.”

  “I’d bet he was looking for Dr. Cruz.”

  Jace told her friend about the video footage and Rory was both surprised and intrigued. The news stopped her in mid-chew of the last bite. “Who the hell is it?”

  Jace shook her head.

  “I want to see it. You didn’t tell Von Holton, did you?”

  “Only you.” Jace unzipped her uniform shirt and pulled the disk out. Jace had looked at it four or five times, the few minutes that were on there, and still she had no idea who the man was. After handing it to Rory, she said, “I think that’s who killed Inmate Bobby.”

  “I’ll take a look. Gotta get back. See ya.”

  When Rory was gone, Jace called the pharmacy number from Von Holton’s list.

  “Hello and welcome to Cruz Medical. Our offices are open Monday through Friday, 8 a.m. until 4 p.m. For the pharmacy, please press 9 now. If you know your party’s extension, please enter it at any time. For general voice mail, please press 0 and leave . . .”

  She hung up and headed to medical. “Control from 479.”

  —go ahead—

  “Medical outer, please.”

  The door popped almost immediately. Jace let it close completely behind her and didn’t bother to radio for the inner door. It popped but she didn’t move.

  —Salome?—

  The dream, with its go-between, flooded her head when she stepped in. This hadn’t been the go-between where she fought, but they were all the same, built exactly the same, smelled exactly the same—

  Like a forest because we use industrial Pine-Sol on everything.

  And felt exactly the same as her dream.

  —Salome? The inner is popped. Get in there. Now—

  In this go-between, she could almost feel the tiny house; the shotgun shack with bloody walls and used condoms on the floor and syringes like trashy knickknacks and an early morning sun coming from the wrong direction, putting her and the house on the east side of the sun, and music to go with that wrong-direction sun. She’d been in the go-betweens before, thousands of times, but right now, something gouged at the back of her head about that house.

  —Salome. Now. Get your ass moving—

  “Huh? Oh. Right.” She opened the medical-pod inner door and closed it firmly behind her.

  Big Carol watched her with cautious eyes.

  “I thought we could talk some more.”

  “Said I didn’t want to.”

  “Yes, but you know as well as I do that Inmate Bobby did not kill Dr. Wrubel.”

  “Don’t tell me what I know. Besides that, on the phone two damned days ago you said it was Bobby.” She sat behind the counter and hadn’t come out, or even stood, when Jace came in.

  “Excuse me. I’m sorry, that’s not what I meant.”

  Carol stared, her face as blank as the midwinter sun.

  Jace changed tacks. “Tell me about Kerr.”

  Carol blinked rapidly, surprised. “Kerr? You think he’s in this shit? Idiot. You couldn’t be more wrong.” She turned away, shaking her head. “Why all you jailers all think you’re smarter than Dick Tracy.”

  “Carol, I don’t—”

  She turned back, her face as red as a serving of beets. “Kerr is a good man. Getting his life back together.” She pointed to the medical pod. “He’s got a job and when he gets done with his sentence, Cruz is goi
ng to hire him full time. Ain’t that what we want? Offenders to become productive members of society and all the rest of the shit you guys spew? That’s what he’s doing.”

  Jace bit down her anger, tried to keep her voice calm. “I don’t think he’s mixed up in this at all. In fact, he’s helped me quite a bit.”

  Carol’s anger dissipated. “What?”

  “Yeah.”

  The nurse straightened the desk of papers before moving them aside. “Helps me, too. Loves all this paperwork. Well, maybe doesn’t love it, but can do it, bless his black little heart. Nothing I hate worse.”

  “What all can he do?”

  “Basic vital signs. Temperature, heart rate, blood oxygen, but paperwork, too. I think he’s trying to make himself indispensable so Dr. Cruz will have no choice but to hire him. Pretty smart plan. He knows the supply schedules and inventory control programs backward and forward. Anytime Dr. Cruz checks it, it’s perfect.”

  —medical outer—

  Jace turned, surprised at the anger in the voice. Through the inner-door window and then the go-between, she could make out Dr. Cruz standing in the hallway. He raised his portable radio and barked into it again.

  —I said medical outer. Now—

  With another pause of a few seconds, Bibb finally popped the door. Cruz strode through, one hand gripping the radio tightly while the other held something to the side of his face. Before the outer door had closed he yanked on the inner door.

  —damn it . . . medical inner—

  —procedure says once the outer is closed I can—

  Cruz yelled so loudly that Jace and Big Carol heard him through the inner door. “I don’t care about procedure. I need supplies and I need them now. Get this door open or I’ll have your job.”

  —nine days out of seven, you can have it. I’ll open your door when the other is closed—

  Cruz crossed the go-between in three angry steps, yanked the outer door closed. Almost immediately, the inner door popped. He came through, his face red and shaking. He slammed the portable radio on the counter next to Big Carol and disappeared into the first exam room. The two ladies heard cabinet doors opened and slammed closed, drawers jerked open, the supplies in them bouncing about and spilling to the floor. Cruz muttered curses and banged more doors. After a minute or so the pod got quiet.