Broken is the Grave

by Candle Sutton

  Mr. Buzz Cut put his arm in front of her and shifted his body to block her from view.

  She couldn’t see.

  What was happening? Had the prisoners taken over? Were they, even now, descending upon her with shanks made from toilet paper rolls?

  She didn’t even know if such a thing was possible, but couldn’t inmates make weapons out of anything?

  The sounds of scuffling, grunts, and heavy breathing told her nothing.

  She had to see what was going on.

  What she’d do if they were coming at her with homemade weapons was a mystery, but if she was going to die, she wanted to face it head-on.

  Buzz Cut was too tall for her to see over his shoulder.

  She gingerly leaned sideways, peering around him.

  A flurry of movement. Guards shoving one inmate through an open door. More guards wrestling another inmate that same direction.

  It was hard to foll–

  One man turned his head toward her.

  His face filled her vision, consumed her thoughts.

  She’d know that face anywhere.

  It was him. The man who had tried to kill her. Twice.

  He’d found her!

  Twenty

  Bethany jerked back, her breath coming in shallow gasps.

  He hadn’t seen her.

  At least, she didn’t think he’d seen her.

  Jesus, I don’t want to die!

  She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to still the trembling that attacked her limbs.

  What was he doing here? How had he known she was here?

  Fear numbed her mind.

  A door slammed. Her legs almost buckled.

  A hand closed around her arm.

  She gasped and jerked away, looking up at the face of her attacker, fully expecting to see the man who would kill her.

  All she saw was Buzz Cut, who stared at her as though she’d lost her mind.

  “Tha-that man!” It was all she could manage. Her gaze drifted to the now-closed door and refused to move.

  Would it burst open? Would he reappear? Would he kill her as the guards and cameras watched?

  “Nothin’ to worry about.” The guard’s voice reached her ears. “Just a little uprising, but we’ve got it under control.”

  Easy for him to say. He didn’t have someone trying to kill him.

  “Ma’am.”

  She tore her attention from the door to look at him.

  “We need to keep moving.” He didn’t touch her again, but jerked his head toward the end of the hallway, past the door where the men had disappeared.

  Yes. Keep moving. Get away from the door where the man could pop out at any moment.

  The hallway felt impossibly long.

  She cut a wide swath around the door as they passed, just in case it opened and he was there.

  The door remained closed.

  As they progressed down the hall, she glanced over her shoulder. Once, twice, a third time, each time expecting to see those beady eyes, thick eyebrows, and cocky swagger.

  Nothing but empty hallway.

  A series of beeps sounded in front of her as the guard swiped his badge and entered a code.

  The door buzzed and he pulled it open. She quickly stepped through.

  Two minutes and a few doors later, she stood in the lobby.

  The door slammed closed as Buzz Cut reentered the secured part of the prison.

  Her pulse pounded inside her head and her heart felt crammed in her throat. All she could see was the man’s face. Without a hoodie or a ski mask, it was the best look she’d gotten at him yet. She could hardly wait to sketch him out and give the cops an updated drawing.

  Once her hands stopped shaking, anyway.

  She looked around the lobby. Only a few people, so few she could count them on one hand.

  Her eyes drifted over them, noticing them but not really seeing them.

  No sign of Zander.

  Where could he be? And what would she do if he didn’t show up soon?

  ₪ ₪ ₪

  “Warden. Thank you for taking the time to speak with me.” Zander extended his hand to the large African-American man in front of him.

  “Detective.” Isaac Humphreys smiled, but ice lingered in his chocolate eyes.

  No pleasantries filled the momentary silence as Zander sat in one of two chairs facing Humphreys’ desk.

  Zander forced a relaxed pose, even as all his nerves stretched tight. “I wanted to discuss an inmate with you. Marty Bell.”

  A blank look met the name. Humphreys slowly shook his head. “I don’t know all the inmates’ names. You understand.”

  “Of course. Bell is assisting with an active investigation and there’s a credible threat against him.” Okay, so credible threat was stretching things a little, but he needed to ensure the warden’s cooperation. “I’m hoping you’d move him out of general population for a short time.”

  The calls he’d made after leaving Bethany had, not surprisingly, not resulted in the immediate action he’d hoped.

  Morgan was working on it, but he knew from experience that it would take time.

  Judging from Humphreys’ apathetic expression, he wasn’t worried about a threat against an inmate, either.

  “This… credible threat…” Humphreys paused, no doubt for dramatic effect. “I take it you have a name?”

  “If I had a name, I’d have you focus your efforts on the threat instead of the target.” Zander forced a mild tone.

  “Then what evidence do you have that this supposed threat even exists?” Humphreys raised his gray speckled eyebrows.

  Marty was scared and Zander’s gut told him it was with good reason.

  Too bad Humphreys wasn’t likely to take his gut instinct seriously.

  No, he’d have to do better than that.

  “Bell is a material witness–” At least Zander hoped he was – “In an ongoing investigation. There are desperate people who are concerned about what he knows. He’s already been attacked in the last few days. Do you want a dead inmate on your hands?”

  Humphreys waved a hand in the air, the florescent lights glinting off the diamonds embedded in his wedding band. “No one is dying here. But unfortunately, fights break out. That’s what happens when you put a bunch of violent men in the same room.”

  “You think it’s coincidence that he was attacked now, when he’s been talking to me?”

  “I think it’s a leap to assume an isolated attack means someone is going to kill him.”

  “What makes you think the attack was isolated?”

  “What makes you think it wasn’t?” Eyes narrowing, Humphreys stared at him. “What case did you say you were working on?”

  He hadn’t said and there was no way he was going to. “I can’t discuss an ongoing investigation.”

  “Hmmm.” Humphreys leaned back in his chair. The firm set to his lips told Zander what was coming before the man even opened his mouth. “And I can’t act on something as flimsy as a prison altercation and an inmate’s paranoia. Now if you have any real evidence…”

  Zander held back the frustration that threatened to spill out of him.

  “I didn’t think so.” A hint of satisfaction lit Humphreys’ dark eyes. “Come back when you have some real evidence, then we’ll talk.”

  Zander knew a dismissal when he heard one, but he wasn’t quite done. “If anything happens to him because you didn’t take this threat seriously, I’ll be back to hold you accountable.”

  Not that there would likely be anything he could do about it.

  Too bad Humphreys knew it, too. “If you’re done, I have things awaiting my attention.”

  “There is another matter.”

  The lights flickered, then went dark. If not for the daylight streaming in through the window behind Humphreys, the room would have been darker than midnight.

  Like the rest of the prison must be.

  Bethany. She had to be terrified.

  Guilt
chewed at him. He never should have left her alone.

  But how was he to know there’d be a power outage?

  Humphreys cursed softly. “The generator will kick in soon.”

  As if on cue, a few lights sputtered overhead.

  Pushing up from his cushy leather chair, Humphreys gestured for the door. “I need to see to this.”

  “Do you need a hand?” If the inmates went wild, Humphreys could probably use all the help he could get, right?

  Humphreys shook his head. “My men are trained for situations like this. The best thing you can do is get out of the way.”

  Okay then. He’d get out, all right. After he found Bethany. “I came with someone. She was visiting an inmate.”

  “She’ll be in the lobby. Protocol. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

  Zander headed for the door. He wouldn’t be getting any information on James Summers from Humphreys right now.

  Maybe not ever. Humphreys hadn’t proven to be the most forthcoming.

  Outside his office, Humphreys turned to his secretary, a silver-haired woman whose ramrod posture spoke of a military background. “Show him out, will you?”

  “This way, detective.” She didn’t wait for him to respond before leading the way toward the door.

  Maybe he could get some information from her. What, he didn’t know, but he sure hadn’t gotten much out of the warden.

  He fell into step beside her.

  Their shoes slapped the vinyl flooring as they strode briskly down the hallway. “You worked for the warden long?”

  “I’ve been here longer than this warden and the one before him. Twenty years now.” The clipped words invited no further conversation.

  Well, he was used to talking to people who didn’t want to speak to him. “You must like it here.”

  “Liking has nothing to do with it. It’s a job.”

  “How is it working for Warden Humphreys?”

  A slight faltering in her step and the shifting of her narrowed eyes made him think she didn’t appreciate the question. “Fine.”

  “Does he run a pretty tight ship?”

  “Has to. If you don’t, the inmates will run right over you.”

  Hmmm. She hadn’t exactly said that Humphreys did run the place well. An oversight? Or intentional wording? “How long has he been doing this?”

  “He’s been here almost eight years. Previous warden only lasted three.”

  She swiped her badge and pushed open a door. “Here we are, detective.”

  Was that relief in her voice? He scanned her face, but it revealed nothing. “Thanks.”

  A curt nod was the only response she offered before turning. The door banged closed behind her.

  A quick scan of the lobby found Bethany in the far corner, arms crossed over her chest.

  After collecting their personal effects from the guard, he joined her. “You ready to go?”

  She nodded, curls bouncing around her unusually pale face.

  A shudder moved her body. Didn’t she normally have more color in her cheeks? In fact, now that he looked more closely, she seemed half a step away from passing out. “You okay?”

  “Let’s go.” The tremulous words made no attempt at bravado.

  Something had happened to shake her. Was it the power outage? That could be unnerving in a place like this.

  He doubted she was going to tell him as long as they were inside here. Maybe in the car.

  She led the way out the door.

  Sunlight bathed them as they stepped outside. After the dimness of the prison, the sun was like a warm embrace.

  “I saw him, Zander.”

  Him? “Who?”

  She spun toward him. Moisture glistened in her eyes. “The man! The one who attacked me! He was here, Zander. Here!”

  A chill zipped down his spine. “Inside?”

  “Yes! He was right there. I–I don’t kn–now if he saw me, but he was right there!” Several tears dripped down her cheeks.

  If the man was an inmate, then it meant she was finally safe.

  But if the man wasn’t an inmate, he was either a visitor… or a guard. In which case, she was anything but safe, especially out here in the open.

  He turned her, putting a hand to her back to propel her forward. “Let’s get to the car, then I want to hear all about this.”

  The trek across the parking lot seemed impossibly long.

  When they were in the car with the doors locked, he turned to face her. “Where did you see him?”

  “In the hallway.” She pulled in a deep breath. “There was some kind of fight going on with the prisoners. The guards were moving a few of them.”

  “While you were right there?” He’d never worked in a prison, but that seemed like a serious safety violation.

  “I–I don’t think they knew I’d be there. I’m not even sure if any of them saw me. It looked intense.”

  Probably was. “So, he was one of the inmates?”

  “I…” She shook her head. “I don’t know. It was kinda dark and I just saw his face for a second, but I know it was him.”

  It had been less than twenty-four hours since someone had taken shots at them in the parking lot. Even if the shooter had been arrested last night, which to his knowledge hadn’t happened, there was no way he’d be at the prison already. A holding cell downtown, sure, but not the prison.

  Which left only one option that Zander could see.

  A guard.

  A knife twisted in his gut.

  If it was a guard, the man had access. To files, records, the fact that they’d been here today.

  If it was a guard, Marty was as good as dead.

  In fact, that would explain Marty’s fear.

  It made sense. Horrible, deadly sense.

  Did the warden know? It would sure explain his reluctance to speak if he was in on it.

  Whatever “it” was. Aside from murder, he didn’t really know what they were dealing with here.

  All he had was the tip about the counterfeiting. And that may or may not be connected.

  They needed to get out of here. Before someone found a reason for them to stay.

  He started the car and shifted into reverse.

  As he put miles between them and the razor-wire topped walls, he mapped out next steps in his head. “We’ll check out the guards working there. See if any match your sketch.”

  “I can do an updated sketch. If that would help.” A hesitant pause hung between them. “You really think it’s a guard?”

  “I hope not.” He released a pent-up breath. “But I don’t see how it could be anyone else. You said it was in the secured area, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “And he was in the middle of the scuffle?”

  “Definitely.”

  “Well, if he’s an inmate, he couldn’t be out last night and in there the next day. Doesn’t leave us many options.”

  Once he dropped her back at the boat, he’d check the prison records. Only this time he wouldn’t be looking at inmates.

  “Marty said they were coming for him.”

  Zander jerked his head toward her. “They?”

  “He didn’t specify. Just told me to be careful who I trusted.”

  Cryptic, but did anyone ever come out and say what they meant? “Anything else?”

  “He said we needed to know about block G. Whatever that means.”

  “Probably a cell block. I’ll look into it.”

  “He also said there’s a big operation there. That some of the guards and inmates are involved.” Her breath hitched. “He thought maybe James was in on it, too.”

  Could be motive. It’d be harder to keep tabs on James outside the prison. Maybe they thought he’d turn on them.

  He needed to get Marty out of there. Find out what else the man might know.

  Assuming Marty survived the day.

  ₪ ₪ ₪

  Go.

  The Father’s call was as clear as it had ever been, following Zeke
as he left the boat, caught the bus, and disembarked by the church on Cathedral Avenue.

  The Father hadn’t given him a lot to go on – yet – but Rafe’s face fixed firmly in his mind.

  This was about helping Rafe. That was all he knew, all he needed to know.

  If the last time he’d seen Zander’s childhood friend was any indication, Rafe could use the help.

  Zeke stood in the middle of the sidewalk as the bus pulled away.

  I’m here, Father. Now what?

  He listened.

  Traffic roared behind him. A few female voices chattered to his left.

  He focused upward.

  Since the fall, he sure was more easily distracted. He knew the Father hadn’t changed, that the Father still spoke to him as always, but he had a harder time quieting his own mind to listen.

  Right.

  The word settled above the din.

  He headed down the sidewalk to the right.

  Several minutes of zig-zagging down streets and alleys brought him to a liquor store.

  A few scrawny men with tattooed arms, straggly hair, and dirty clothes assessed him with sunken eyes.

  If only they knew what would really make them feel alive. It sure wasn’t the liquid in the bottles they clutched.

  He longed to stop and engage with them, tell them that they didn’t need alcohol to truly live, but he felt the Spirit’s prodding. He needed to keep moving.

  Time was running out.

  His breath snagged inside him. That thought wasn’t his own.

  Rafe needed help and needed it now.

  He stepped into the alley running alongside the store.

  A second passed before his eyes adjusted to the dim light.

  About twenty feet ahead of him, a brick wall capped the alley. To his left, a graffiti tagged dumpster emitted a foul stench he didn’t want to identify. To his right, sagging boxes and broken-down cardboard ran the length of the building.

  Nothing moved. In fact, there was no sign of life at all.

  Father?

  The Spirit nudged him down the alley.

  Where was Rafe? Maybe on the other side of the dumpster? He peered around the hulking, putrid metal.

  Nope, not there.

  Inside it?

  He lifted the lid and looked in, drawing back as spoilage and decay assaulted his senses. Holding his breath, he turned for another look.