‘To hell with your caseload, lady, I need you to get me out of here.’
Her face flushed. ‘I can understand that, but I need your statement and time is of the essence. I’m due in court in two hours. So please begin.’
‘Are you due in court for my hearing?’
‘No, that’s tomorrow. You won’t be attending. The prosecution will put forth their case and we’ll put forth your rebuttal. From the evidence presented, the judge will decide if it’s to go to trial. So the sooner you tell me your story, the better.’
‘Is that how it’s done here? Surely I’ll get my say in person?’
‘Sorry, things are done differently here. You’ll get to attend during any trial only if you are needed to speak. As I said, I’ll be putting forth your side of things. Now please, I really don’t have time to waste.’
Angelica shuffled on her chair, her agitation clear from the expression on her face. She sat back in her chair and covered her mouth with her hand as I gave her a shortened summary of what had happened. When I finished, she shook her head.
‘Do they know about the bodies at the barn?’
‘I don’t know. I didn’t tell them anything other than that I wouldn’t speak without advice from a lawyer. Besides, he didn’t want to know about my kidnapping and escape.’
‘This Leandra woman, the one who is a witness to the events at the barn and who killed one of your assailants, where do we find her?’
‘I honestly don’t know. I can tell you where I last saw her, but she’ll be out of the country by now.’
‘No matter. For now, we have to concentrate on the charges at hand. The incident at the barn complicates an already complicated situation. We’re going to have to get the judge to get the prosecution to widen their investigation.’
‘So do you think the judge will release me?’
‘Not on the forensic evidence. It looks as though you’ve terminated the alleged culprits, so it’s going to be a mess. Have the US authorities interviewed you yet?’
‘No, but they will, according to the consul. She just didn’t say when.’
‘Under the circumstances, I don’t want you talking to them until I’ve had a chance to work out how to play the strategy in your case. In any event, I’ll want to be present.’
‘Are you thinking it will go to trial?’
‘My honest opinion – yes.’
‘Let’s say it all goes wrong and I’m found guilty. What am I looking at?’
‘We have a long way to go before we need to consider a sentence.’
‘Yeah, but what’s the worst case scenario?’
‘Worst case – seventy years.’
Chapter 48
The Paper Trail
With my restraints removed, a guard ushered me out into the prison yard. Surfer sat to one side of the gate, his back to the wall.
‘How’d it go, bud?’
‘What?’
‘Your visitor?’
‘That, oh yeah. Consul and my lawyer, that’s all.’
‘You don’t look pleased.’
‘You got that right. I’m far from ecstatic. I was hoping for family.’
He sprang to his feet and dusted his jeans with his hands and then we walked the yard together. ‘Wife or girlfriend?’
‘Wife, but maybe it’s too early to expect her to be here.’
‘No worries. I’m sure she’ll turn up to visit. My girlfriend should here in the next few days to bring me some money.’
We arrived at the stairway and Surfer stopped.
‘My head’s burning, man.’
‘You sick?’
‘Nah, I just know I’ve seen you somewhere before and it’s driving me crazy.’
‘I doubt our paths have crossed.’
A hope clung to me that he’d drop the subject. If he’d seen the news report and my mug shot, I prayed that my beard growth gave me some disguise.
‘I don’t know, man. It’ll come to me.’
He turned and continued walking up the stairway.
‘What happens here at dark?’ I asked, in an attempt to take his mind off the subject.
‘Lockdown.’
‘I thought the guards left the prisoners to run the block?’
‘Well, yeah, to a point. They come in as soon as the light drops and we have to be in our cells. Then first thing in the morning, the guards come in and open up and we go down to the yard for two rolls of stale bread and water. The next thing we see of them is lunchtime when they dish out the food.’
‘I thought they didn’t provide food and you had to buy your own?’
‘They provide subsistence foods, usually rice, beans and some shit that’s supposed to be chicken. If you want a decent diet, you have to pay the guards to do your shopping and they’ll add twenty percent to your check. If you need drugs, see me.’
I raised an eyebrow at his last comment as we entered the cell. The other inmates were already inside, lying on their bunks. Thankfully, Surfer struck up a conversation with one of them and I climbed onto my bunk. Whoever had had the bunk before me had removed his pictures from the wall, leaving lumps of Blue-Tack dotted around. The inmate in the top bunk next to me was writing a letter.
‘You got a sheet of plain paper to spare?’ I asked.
‘Sure, take two.’
He handed over two blank pieces of copier paper. As a child, Dad had taught me how to fashion paper patterns by folding the paper and tearing out shapes, so I thought I’d try it to pass the time. If nothing else, I thought the distraction would take my mind away from my grave situation.
No amount of picking at the folds of the paper could get the thought out my head that seventy years stuck in this, or any other hell hole as an ex-law enforcement officer, meant death would stalk me every second of every day. That’s was a high price to pay for someone who’s innocent and who would die before the end of the sentence.
The light faded. Figures slouched past the cell door, like the March of the Zombies. No one spoke. It was as if the prisoners were pre-programmed to return to their cells. Five minutes and then heavy booted footsteps followed along the gantry. Four steps and then the clang of a cell door closing in an unholy rhythm that grew ever closer. A guard appeared at our door, took a cursory glance inside, and then slammed the door shut before he moved on.
The light flickered on in the cell and conversation resumed. I re-started teasing and tearing at the folds in the paper. Carefully unfolding the paper, I held it up to admire my handiwork. It wasn’t exactly a photograph, but the paper-chain figures of the representation of Mary and me and the kids brought on a smile.
I leaned over and took a blob of Blue-Tack off the wall, rolling out small balls between my thumb and finger. As I pressed the paper chain to the wall, a voice called out.
‘What the hell you doing up there? It’s snowing down here.’ Surfer’s face appeared over the mattress, and he flicked paper from his hair. ‘Man, that’s cool. Wife and kids?’
‘Yeah.’
‘You miss them?’
‘Sure do.’
‘Listen, I know it’s hard, and it always digs at you, but try and be strong. You’re gonna have to learn to deal with the pain. You know kids can visit and if they’re old enough they can write letters?’
‘I don’t think I’d want them to see me in here. You got kids?’
Surfer roared with laughter. ‘Probably, but not sure how many.’ His eyes glazed and he turned away. ‘Seriously, I have a daughter. She’s three years old – name’s Jenny.’
His head disappeared and I heard him settle onto his mattress. As I lay there staring at the paper chain, I must have lived my life with them over a dozen times. I couldn’t help but feel guilt at all the things I should have said and done with them, but hadn’t.
The light went out and I closed my eyes, hoping for sleep. It wasn’t just the angst of my situation that prevented me from sleeping; the stench in the cell overpowered my senses. I buried my face in the mattress,
but the odour of years of sweat – from which there was no respite – made me want to vomit.
Nine hours later, after a night filled with tossing and turning, I stared at the ceiling sensing night turn to day. The sound of what I assumed was one of the guards rapping his nightstick on the cell-door bars, before throwing open a door, cut through the silence. Rat-a- tat-tat, rat-a-tat-tat. Banging and clattering followed, with a rumble of conversations.
‘Come on, get ready to hustle, or you’ll be left with crumbs. Grab a tin mug.’ Surfer said.
My cell buddies were already standing in line at the cell door when the guard arrived and opened it before moving on. I jumped off the top bunk and followed. The sound of the guard’s nightstick was lost in the throng of footsteps outside. For a dog-eat-dog society, I was surprised by how everyone lined up at the breadbaskets. I stooped and picked up two rolls, then peeled off to join Surfer in the water line. Surfer hadn’t exaggerated when he said the bread was stale. One bite told me anyone with dentures would be struggling.
‘Why didn’t you see the consul yesterday?’ I asked.
‘No need, I know the ropes.’
‘What about a lawyer?’
‘Today, hopefully. But I don’t rate my chances too high this time. I’m gonna try pleading ignorance.’
‘Ignorance? I thought you only got two choices.’
‘Ignorance, innocent, it’s all the same. All I can say is someone must have stashed the dope in my truck when I was at a rest stop on a sleepover. I’m not worried about doing time, I’m more worried if the MS-13 crew in here find out I owe them money for the consignment.’
‘So you hadn’t paid them?’
‘No, me and my big mouth talked them into giving me the stash on account. What did your lawyer say about your chances?’
I began to wish I’d not started the subject. ‘It’s too early to tell.’
‘Yeah, these things take time.’
I filled my mug with water and walked over to a wall in the yard. We both sat on our haunches, our backs to the wall. It sounded as though we both needed to watch each other’s backs, but for now, everything in front of me seemed like a threat. The only thing I knew was that Surfer might be the enemy on the outside, but having seen him handle himself, my time in there was going to call for keeping my enemies close.
The other cell buddies joined us in conversation. All I could do was laugh and shake my head in the right places. Still, at times their anecdotes were amusing and passed the time.
A new intake arrived through the gate. Two men with Cobra tattoos were greeted with high fives from their compatriots.
‘You don’t say much,’ Skunk said, aptly named and in need of some serious deodorant.
‘Nothing much to say. You’re doing all the talking that needs to be done.’
‘When we get back to the cell, you know it’s your turn to slop out the piss bucket?’ Skunk said and gave me a grin.
‘Why me?’
‘Because you’re the new kid.’
My stomach was already struggling with my breakfast. I wasn’t optimistic about its not erupting when I emptied the bucket.
‘Anyway, what’s your name? We can’t keep calling you new kid.’
Tension pulled at my chest. I searched for a name. ‘Razor.’
‘Razor, how come?’
‘Because I cut throats,’ I said and drew a finger across my throat.
It felt stupid to come out with a street name, but I figured impressions were everything. Everyone in our crowd seemed to “Big” themselves as part of the survival mentality and now I’d joined them.
A scuffle broke out in the yard, a welcome distraction. I jumped to my feet. A group of Cobras were facing off against a group of the Perez crew. One of the Cobra gang stabbed the index fingers of both hands in the air gang style and danced around on his toes. I couldn’t hear what he was saying, but some of the Perez crew were holding back one of their men. His face was bright red and contorted in anger. Skunk slunk off in their direction.
Surfer tugged at my wrist. ‘Stay out if it. Skunk will report back.’
Big Guy stepped into the fray, exchanging words with the Cobras. They walked away from the unlikely peacemaker, strutting and grinning. Skunk returned and I dropped back to my haunches.
‘What was it about?’ Surfer asked.
‘Perez is dead, and a Cobra was mocking one of the Perez crew.’
‘Did they say who killed him?’ I asked.
‘Some American kidnap victim shot him during his escape.’
Damn it, I thought, if Stony’s parting words weren’t coming back to haunt me. I dropped and sat on my hands, hoping nobody would see them tremble. A spell in solitary was becoming more attractive.
Surfer shot me a quizzical look and stroked his chin.
Chapter 49
From Bad to Worse
Four guards, all carrying automatic rifles, entered the yard. I’m not sure if it was out of disdain, respect or fear, but the inmates stepped aside to leave a wide path, like the sea parting for Moses. One of them signalled to Big Guy and then turned to me.
‘Visitante.’
Pleased as I was at the revelation of yet another visitor, I felt uncomfortable walking alongside Big Guy. At the same time, I felt relieved at walking away from Surfer’s company, before he realized how he knew me. When I looked over my shoulder, Surfer’s eyes followed me. He stood akimbo, still stroking his chin and appearing deep in thought. We both stood passively as they shackled our wrists and ankles and then led us through the second gate. Taking a sideways glance, Big Guy stared at me.
‘You don’t fit,’ he said.
‘Yeah, the jeans are too short.’
‘Smartass, don’t fucking disrespect me. You seem too clever to be in here. I’m watching you.’
He growled out some phlegm and spat on the floor in front of me. Skilfully shuffling around the green slime, I saw two suited guys sitting on a bench ahead. One of them with his back to me rose from his seat and dipped his hand inside his jacket. He turned and whipped out his ID. Special Agent Doug Walters, FBI. I didn’t need any introductions.
‘I wasn’t expecting you.’
Big Guy stopped and shot me a look before a guard tapped him on the shoulder and he moved on and through a door.
‘Thank God you’re here,’ I said, praying Walters had put our spat behind him. ‘Have you come to get me out?’
‘It’s not that simple. Let’s talk inside.’
There was intelligence I wanted to feed them. It was hard to know where to start, but my priorities came to the fore.
‘How’s Mary? Is she coming to see me soon?’ I asked as I shuffled around the table and sat. The guard closed the door. Walters sat opposite me, but with only two chairs, his buddy had to stand.
‘Mary’s in shock and under sedation, but she’s going to be fine,’ said Walters.
‘Does she know what’s happened to me down here?’
‘Yeah, she knows everything.’
‘She’ll know I’m innocent. I guess you want to know about the kidnapping, how I escaped and ended up in here?’
Walters didn’t reply, but held his hand out to his partner, who handed him a file.
‘Ah, yes, the kidnapping. We’ll come to that. First, you’ll be pleased to know we’ve put pressure on the authorities here and they’re going to transfer you to a facility where you can have a cell to yourself. The bad news is we don’t know where and when. From there hopefully we’ll get to extradite you to the U.S.’
‘Hey, less of the “extradite” business.’ I laughed. ‘Surely you mean free me to the U.S.’
My excitement waned, replaced with a tightening gut. His expression remained sombre. I looked at his partner for some solace, but he simply lowered his head and inspected his shoes.
‘No, I meant what I said about extradition.’
‘What? If this is a joke, you’re not funny.’
‘This is no joke. You got careless.’
My mouth gaped open. He wasn’t making sense.
He opened the file and slid a photo across the table. If this wasn’t a joke, I was mindful of my lawyer telling me not to speak to them. All I could see was a photo of me holding the Detroit newspaper, with the bedsheet in the background. I said nothing, but inched it back to him.
‘And the significance is what?’
He took another photo from the file and pushed both back to me.
‘Take a look and tell me what you see.’
I inspected the second picture, noting the date and time stamp. It was a grainy picture from a CCTV camera of someone dressed in a black SWAT type uniform, holding an automatic assault rifle across his chest and wearing a ski mask. My eyes were drawn to his bandaged wrists and left hand. The hand bandage was stained. I noted a mesh fence and behind that, a pile of cocaine bricks framed the background.
‘Where was this taken?’
‘Oh, I think you know the answer to that.’
‘I know the second picture isn’t me. Sure, it’s similar bandaging to the one where I’m holding the newspaper, but I was held captive in a rainforest at the time of the second photo.’
‘And you have someone to give you an alibi?’
‘Why would I need an alibi? But yeah, if you can find her, she can testify to our whereabouts on that date. She was captive with me and we escaped together, but we got separated just before my arrest.’
‘Girlfriend?’
‘Nothing of the kind. You know I’m married.’
‘Oh, yeah, married. According to Mary, things haven’t been very rosy this past two years. It seems to her like you’ve been living two separate lives.’
‘What the hell does that mean? You’re twisting her words. It’s nothing we couldn’t work through.’
He sighed and slid another photo across the table. ‘Try this one.’
The picture was the same guy as in the second photo, but he’d almost removed his mask with one hand, while placing his left hand on a counter. Whoever it was looked remarkably like me. Walters handed me another photo of the clothing I’d been wearing when I was arrested by the Mexican police. My eyes popped in disbelief.
Deadly Journey Page 28
