What Else Would You Have Me Be?
Chapter 5
It was almost noon when Nate's phone rang, and he had it on speaker
phone even before the woman on the line finished explaining that their
call would be recorded, that the county would assign a lawyer for the
defense if no other options are forthcoming, and a dozen other small,
routine details. She sounded bored- probably did this a hundred times a
day- but after a few excruciating minutes, Eliot was there on the line.
"Hey, guys. I didn't kill that guy." He sounded like he
didn't know where to go from there, but Nate was already covering it.
"Hi Cody,
he said, either reminding Eliot of the alias he was using, or reminding
him to stay in character. "We saw the papers. Are you okay?"
"I'm fine. Locked up, they just got done charging me. Preliminary hearing is next week Tuesday."
"No
worries. We've already arranged for a lawyer, her name is Tara Carlyle
and she's on her way. And in the meantime, we're going to do
everything possible to help you out, okay?"
"Yeah," Eliot said, and Alec could hear the thousand questions Eliot wanted to ask, but couldn't.
"Weird,
man," Alec knew that he was disguising his voice to sound more
incredulous than he was, but maybe he could get some information.
"What's it like, they got you locked up inside, or are you out in one of
those tent things they got out back?"
"Got my own cell, at least
until they bring someone else in," he said. "They're only letting me
outside for an hour or so on account of me not admitting to somethin' I
didn't do. Aren't going to let me have any visitors besides my lawyer,
at least not until after the first hearing, seein' as how they're not
wild about me not talking."
"Keep it up, Cody,' Sophie
instructed. "They're probably just trying to intimidate you. We're
going to rearrange a few things to cover the work assignments for this
week without you, but I'm sure once the hearing's come and gone you'll
be back with us."
"Yeah, okay. Cool. Wish I could be there. But it looks like I gotta wrap this up, so…"
"Be careful, man," Alec said, as the others expressed similar sentiments, and it was Eliot who hung up first.
---
"You can't be serious," Sophie said, glaring at Nate. "We've got to get Eliot out- we can't leave him hanging on murder charges because of a job.
"We
can't run a job to get Eliot out right now anyway, at least not the way
we usually would. Arlington, and who knows how many others here in
town- know our faces, that's why Sophie's got Tara flying in from
Seattle- and if we blow our covers, we're not going to get another shot
at him."
"And in the meantime?"
"In the meantime, we get
information. Prepare for the worst. I want us to know every inch of
the grounds so that if it comes down to it, we can get him out of there
ourselves. I want a clean getaway, new aliases. We're probably going
to need to fake his death as soon as this is done. I want to never come
back here again. Is that clear?"
"Yeah, I hear you," Alec
nodded. Despite himself, it didn't sound so impossible when Nate
spelled it out like that. "What do you need us to do?"
"Yeah, when do we get to break in?"
"I'm
hoping it doesn't come to that, Parker," Nate warned, but grinned.
"Though we need you to start researching the buildings for when we
inevitably do, so you and I are hitting libraries and country records
for the next few days. Sophie? I need you to keep working the sheriff,
and if you manage to make inroads with a few of the deputies, so much
the better, and stay in the loop with Tara. Hardison?" Nate actually
had the temerity to look apologetic.
"I know, man. Everything else."
"You let us know if there's anything you need."
"Right. What're you going to do?"
"Today?
Sophie and I are going to keep tracking down more of Santiago's
family, track down Branson and find out if any of them have heard
anything. Tomorrow, I'm handling services at the church, and Sophie's
going to round up support for the foundation. I'm going in Monday
morning to spread the good word to the inmates, though I doubt I'll be
able to see Eliot, though I'll see what I can do. In between, I expect
we're going to be running around like panicked chickens, but let's try
and keep our heads on, all right?"
"They run even after their heads have been cut off," Parker said, and Nate rolled his eyes.
---
By
Sunday night, Alec had built two new identities for Eliot, strengthened
all the others, and did a little finessing to keep the back door open
into the County servers- they were more trouble than anything the FBI
had ever come up with, gotta love that agency independence. He had a
live feed of every addition and modification to every database in the
department. He already had crawlers running through the system
gathering data for Santiago's case, so it wasn't so hard to enter
Eliot's into the program.
He'd crashed, hard, in front of the television after dinner.
---
Monday,
he'd woken early, and maybe because there wasn't anything else to throw
himself at, he started hacking his way back towards DC again. And he
found it.
The police were looking into the warehouse fire again.
And
three new faces had appeared at McRory's, though rarely at the same
time, and they seldom passed more than polite, distant nods. Each sat
alone, nursing no more than two drinks as they ignored their newspapers
or watched traffic outside. Each had a cup of coffee or glass of water
when their drinks were gone, stretching out their stay. They chatted
with Cora and the rest of her staff, though so far, Cora hadn't called
to warn them that something was up.
But she wasn't watching
them like he was, and she didn't have face recognition software running
for three hours and still coming up blank.
"Nate," he said, watching the face recognition run, hoping for a breakthrough. "I think we might have a problem.
"Actually, Hardison, we've got two. Arlington's canceling Wednesday."
"Well at least that means you'll survive the week," Alec sighed.
"I'll grab the others on my way over."
---
"So what's going on with Arlington?"
"The
family of the deputy he killed scheduled the funeral for Thursday, and
he's insisting that it would be in poor taste to go to a big party in
the meantime."
"You mean he's actually got a heart?"
"Or a good political advisor," Sophie sneered. "We're back at square one."
"We're back a few weeks, is all," Nate said, but he didn't look very confident. "Hardison? What do you got?"
"I've
got three guys watching McRory's," he said, pointing out the stills
he'd isolated from the feed, still running in the background. "So far
nobody's been upstairs, but-"
"Yeah, no. That's not ideal."
"How much you keep there?"
"Not much. But we don't need them getting comfortable."
"So what are we gonna do from here?"
"We can't exactly go back home," Parker pointed out.
Nate
thought about it for a long while, pacing the room. "But we are going
to need to get them gone. And we need to get Eliot out, bring down
Arlington, and, in case everyone's forgotten why we're here, we've got to exonerate Jeanine Santiago."
"So how do we do all that?"
"Sophie? You heard from Tara?"
"She's already heading in to see Eliot."
"Okay.
Parker, you're with me. Sophie, Hardison? You're staying here, but I
want regular contact and your systems up and running for whatever we
need."
"They always are," Alec muttered, trying not to sound indignant.
"Parker
and I will go deal with these guys, and hopefully, we'll be back by
Wednesday night, but in case we're not, Sophie, I need Ms. Trewlaney to
work the event solo, and I'll tell the warden you're taking over
prisoner outreach."
"As far as plans go, Nate, that's a little vague."
"I've
got a long flight to come up with something better, and I'll call as
soon as we're on the ground. Unless you've got a better idea?"
The three of them were silent.
---
Holding
the phone to her ear, Tara waved through the glass, not yet coming
inside. She was turning away, but Eliot could see the surprise on her
face.
Surprise wasn't good. It meant that something was changing.
Eliot flexed his knuckles and tried to remain patient. Change didn't mean things were getting worse.
But when she sat down in the chair on the other side of the class, she was looking nervous.
Things are getting worse.
"Hello, Cody. My name is Tara Carlyle. I've been retained by Mr. Papadokalis to see you through this entire matter."
"How is Jimmy, anyway?"
"It seems he's been called away on business back home. Said there were some issues with oversight on one of his property investments. He's taking it up with parks and recreation, so he'll be gone for a few days."
Someone was watching his condo, and Nate had gone back with Parker to check up on it.
"Not
that it matters," Eliot replied, glancing up at the cinderblocks.
"It's not as if I'm going to be doing a whole lot of entertaining in
here."
"No, I suppose not. Though if you'd like, I can petition
the warden to allow you visitors once we've made some progress. As it
is, he's willing to sign the paperwork that will allow you to attend
services in the chapel, should you so choose. "Shall we get down to
business?"
"Sure."
"Talk me through what happened the
other night. Everything you remember." She set a digital recorder on
the table in front of her. "Of course, everything you say will be held
under client privilege, so please, speak freely."
Tara was good
at prompting him with the details, leading him through exactly what she
needed him to say. He admitted to stealing the car that had been found
on the edge of Arlington's property, even followed her eyes as she
adjusted her blue jacket to identify the car's color.
"Witnesses
say that you appeared inebriated," Tara prompted, shaking her head just a
bit. If this recording was going to sound solid, he needed to sound
reluctant, even nervous, and so far, he'd been playing along a bit too
well."
"I don't know, maybe," Eliot said. "Yeah. Maybe I was
drunk enough to… accidentally get in the wrong car. I got lost.
Realized I was weaving all over the road, so I pulled over. I don't
know. Saw some lights, was gonna see about getting to a phone,
calling…someone, I don't even know who. Just wanted to get back to the
hotel."
'And what happened when you arrived?"
"I don't
know. There was a lot of shouting coming from inside the house. I was
going around to the front when these guys came out the back, talking
real quiet. I didn't know what was going on, I just needed a phone.
But when I went to talk to them, they just freaked. Next thing I knew, they were arresting me."
"You
must realize a gun was recovered from the scene, that your prints were
found all over it, and that they've got gunshot residue samples from
your skin that indicate you'd fired it."
"I didn't, ma'am. They forced the thing into my hands. I was already cuffed, and they were, like squeezing my hands so I'd pull the trigger."
"Are you certain?"
"Yes. I. I've never even shot a gun before."
Tara
winked, but as she leaned over the table, her voice was serious. "I'm
afraid that if I'm going to represent you, you're going to tell me everything.
And unfortunately, yours is not the only case that I'm working at the
moment, so I'm going to come back Friday afternoon." She pushed herself
up from the table, reaching for the recorder. "I'll go set up the
visit right now. Meanwhile, I suggest you use the time to give some
serious consideration to the information that you're willing to give me.
It is your ass on the line, after all."
Eliot rolled his eyes. It didn't take remembering his role to manage the expression. "And if I don't?"
"Well? I'd suggest prayer."
---
Oddly enough, actually having been charged with a crime seemed to open a hell of a lot of doors, if only inside the jail.
Maybe
Tara had finessed it, maybe they had better things to do than keep him
in lockdown, but instead of going back to his cell after the meeting, he
was led out to the mess. From the looks of things, the crowd was
thinning out, and he grabbed a tray and went down the line, getting some
beef thing in a greasy gravy, salty mashed potatoes and mixed
vegetables that tasted a bit off. The roll was stale, to hard to even
bother eating, but he inhaled the rest while sitting at an otherwise
empty table.
The movies always got it wrong. There were no
gangs staring him down, nobody trying to steal his food or turn him for
cigarettes- apparently that particular economy had probably gone out
with the smoking ban. Nobody was fighting or shouting or even looking
up from their trays, mostly.
It didn't give him much chance to
start a conversation, but he counted faces, made a point to notice which
guys were sitting together and which ones weren't. There was still a
network in place here, he just needed to find a back door in.
The realization that he was thinking like Hardison was jarring. It wasn't homesickness- Hardison wasn't home and he wasn't thinking about his house out on Hough's Neck, but.
Gone.
He just wanted to get out of here before the hammer came down. And
right now, Tara was out of play until Friday. Hardison was the only one
working on it. Presumably.
Part of Eliot wondered if he could
even count on that much. For all he knew, Hardison was spending all his
time monitoring comms on the other side of the country, making sure his
girlfriend was safe.
Which, yeah. That needed to happen too.
There really wasn't much Hardison could do right now. All the hacking
in the world wasn't going to wipe this away while the players- an entire
sheriff's department- were still in the game.
Eliot just needed to be patient. And find out everything he could while he waited.
---
The
guards came through to sweep everyone out so the next shift could come
in- apparently he'd showed up during the second lunch shift. The other
inmates were all filing out towards Tent City, but he was led back
through his already full cellblock. When the guards came through to do
count, McTeague, a heavyset guard with a beard and a bald spot, informed
him that in the future, he'd be eating with first shift.
"How long until the yard, boss?" Big Dumb and Ugly sounded agitated, across the way.
"Two hours, Trent," McTeague said, already heading back down the block. "Why you always asking?"
Eliot
glanced over at Trent's cell, noticed the new addition sitting
shell-shocked on the edge of the lower bunk, sitting defensive and
frozen, like he was trying to be invisible. Eliot thought about calling
out, asking his name, or starting a conversation with Trent to distract
him, but it didn't seem wise. Trent had gone back to the magazine he
was reading, anyhow.
He had to find something to read, something to pass the time, soon. In the meantime, he started to stretch.
---
It
was still raining, and there was a persistent drip coming through the
kitchen ceiling that represented the height of their entertainment for
the past two days. Thurston hadn't made a move yet, and Eliot was
starting to wonder if the guy was actually that afraid of getting his
thousand-dollar suit wet, or he knew that he was being watched.
Eliot
switched out the pan again, dumping the water down the sink and setting
the timer on his watch. He'd have to do it again in two hours.
Unless, of course, something actually happened.
But
it was looking increasingly unlikely. Chapman was still staring out
through the window, and he could hear Howler on the radio, checking in
from his post on the other side of Thurston's block. Still nothing.
He
still had three hours before it was his shift at the window, but his
options for the meantime were slim. He was exhausted, but he'd barely
moved in the past twelve hours, hadn't burned enough energy to sleep.
The television would just lull him into a coma before his shift started,
and it was bad enough listening to it playing low in the background.
He wasn't hungry, and anyhow, their options were slim. They'd ordered
out yesterday, though, and there was no need to alert Thurston that his
neighbors were suddenly take-out fanatics. Pasta and canned sauce.
Cold cuts and bread from the deli down the block. Not a lot of options,
and he wasn't sure he was hungry.
He wandered back into the
bedroom with a cursory "shout if you see anything," nearly getting a
response from Chapman. Apparently he was starting to feel the
exhaustion too, which at least meant he wasn't talking up that woman
he'd met in Cairo anymore, or the expression on Colonel Workman's face
when he went over the edge of the building in Havana. Eliot had been
there. He didn't need to hear about it.
The tenement's bedroom
was a dark, moldy smelling room with nicotine stains on the window and
stains on the carpet, but Eliot had managed to sweep a portion of the
floor clean- much to Chapman's amusement- and he sat down, undoing the
button on his fly, as he began to stretch. Arms and back first, then
legs.
It wasn't as if it were absolutely necessary. He was
just doing a few sets to keep the blood flowing, not prepping for a
full-scale attack on a secured bunker. It passed the time.
He
could still hear the water dripping in the kitchen, and figured that if
he got the chance, he'd take out Thurston himself, just for putting him
through this.
---
The yard was hot, dusty and dry
when he finally got out of his cell, blinking against the sunlight, and
Eliot hadn't realized he'd had it so good. His cell wasn't the most
comfortable, but it was much cooler than it was outside. He had
to stop that line of thought, though. Next ones down the line would be
actual contemplation of how long he'd be there- from what he'd gathered,
it could be a while- but accepting that wasn't going to do him any favors.
There
was a pathetic looking basketball hoop- missing the actual hoop- stuck
in the dirt near the building, and a weight set that a few guys were
using despite the heat. A few of the cons were walking the perimeter,
stretching their legs, but most gathered in groups of three or four,
shooting the breeze.
It was the only wind out there.
Eliot
followed the general clockwise procession around the yard, keeping
enough distance that he could hear what was happening all around him,
and counting paces just for the hell of it.
The exercise yard
was bordered to the north by the jail's southern wall, and to the east
and west were the two subdivisions of Tent City. Both the yard and the
subdivisions were surrounded in razor wire, with about ten feet between
them, creating a corridor where guards armed with tasers patrolled
unimpeded. On the outside were two or three more razor wire fences, and
beyond that, the desert, where one of the chain gangs was out digging
holes.
Each subdivision appeared to be housing about forty or
fifty inmates. The walls of the tents were rolled up to let the
nonexistent breeze through, and Eliot doubted very much that any of the
residents were as enthusiastic about yard time as the ones living inside
were. They slept on cots and though there were fans and a radio
playing, somewhere, it looked more like a refugee camp than a jail.
At least until one looked at the people sitting in the shade, most of whom were staring back at him.
Hope you're entertained, 'cause I'm about to lapse into a coma.
If
his suspicions were correct, Tent City was where the nonviolent
offenders were kept, the local equivalent of minimum security, and many
of them were watching the cons' circuits of the yard with undisguised
curiosity.
They were doing a better job of it than the guards
were, too. It was their agitation that Eliot was starting to pick up on
first, and when he turned to walk along the western edge of the yard,
he could see why.
Back over by the basketball hoop, a crowd was
gathering, something was going down. Eliot wasn't the only one jogging
over to get a better look.
Trent had his new cellie backed
against the wall, flanked by two associates to prevent him from
escaping. He was winding up to throw another punch when one of the
guards, blowing a whistle, sauntered over to put an end to it.
Only he didn't, he was just watching. Like it was a football game or something.
The
new guy was doing what he could. Now that he wasn't curled in on
himself, it was clear that he worked out, sometimes, though he clearly
wasn't a fighter. His hits weren't connecting and he was using a whole
lot of energy trying to shove his way past the three. The bleeding cut
above his eye wasn't doing him any favors, either. His nose was probably
already broken.
Eliot made his way to the front of the crowd, still trying to decide whether or not to get involved.
Another
punch to the nose- blood spurting everywhere, spattering Trent, soaking
into the ground- was all Eliot needed. He stepped forward, keeping his
hands visible and his eyes on Trent's associates.
And just like
that, it was over, though it had nothing to do with Eliot. Two more
guards had fought their way through the crowd and had their tasers out.
Surprisingly,
that was enough. Trent backed off and his friends followed suit. As
they moved back, the new guy slid down against the wall, rubbing at his
face.
"You alright?" Eliot asked, glancing over to where the
guards were rounding on Trent and his cronies, telling them to get on
the ground.
"Me? Oh, I'm wonderful," the man rolled his eyes,
wincing as he tried to catch his breath. "In case things weren't bad
enough, yeah?"
"Guess not." Eliot reached out a hand to help the
guy up, not particularly caring if the ridiculous clown suit they'd
given him to wear got a little blood on it. "I'm Cody," he said, after
reminding himself. "In the cell across from yours. What's your name?"
"Priestly. Donovan Priestly." He was a little shaky on his
feet, but for all the hits he took, he seemed lucid enough. "Yeah.
Seen you earlier. Thanks," he said, and if he'd been meaning to
continue, he was cut off by the sudden appearance of a guard, who shoved
Eliot out of the way and backed Donovan back into that same wall.
Eliot clenched his fists, but let it slide.
There wasn't much he could do, anyhow.
---
After
the fight, the block had gone on lockdown, and Eliot didn't see Donovan
again until Thursday, when McTeague ushered him back onto the block
from the medical wing. Instead of putting him in Trent's cell, though,
they stopped in front of Eliot's.
"Cody, you're getting a new roommate. I take it you two have met?"
"Yeah,"
he replied, stepping back into the cell as McTeague opened the door,
keeping his face neutral. Trent was still across the way, well within
glaring distance, and lockdown wasn't going to last forever. As soon as
it ended, Eliot needed to get out and get some information beyond what
he'd been hearing through the bars. He needed to actually start making
some contacts. Useful contacts.
Donovan wasn't likely to be on that list any time soon.
"Lockdown's
being lifted after dinner tonight," McTeague said, turning to glare at
Trent. "I see any more shit, I don't care who starts it, you're all
heading to isolation, got that?"
"Yes sir," Trent said from his cell, sounding suitably upbraided.
"Well, until then, I'll leave you two to get to know each other."
---
The worst thing was, Donovan wanted to talk.
Wanted to know what Eliot was in for, and hell, it didn't matter, so
he gave him the overview, explaining that he was framed. Donovan didn't
look like he was buying it, though, and was more than happy to let the
conversation be turned back on to him.
"I think I killed this
lady, I don't know," Donovan winced, prodding thoughtlessly at his nose
and looking mostly like the shock was just setting in again, like he was
just remembering how doomed he was. It set Eliot's teeth on edge just
looking at him. "She just ran out from between two cars and I didn't
see her. I freaked and ran. It was stupid. Heard about it on the news
this morning, and. Yeah. Turned myself in. Fuck, I probably should've
run, you know?" He dragged a hand through his hair. "I'm so screwed,
man."
"Least it was an accident," Eliot shrugged, wishing that
Sophie were on the line, telling him how to respond. "They think I did
the deputy on purpose."
And that had done the trick.
Donovan clearly didn't want the reminder of who he was sharing a cell
with, and was quiet for the rest of the afternoon. Eliot caught him,
once or twice, catching quick sidelong glances. Wary, as if he were a
bomb just waiting to go off.
At least Hardison had just ignored him.
After
a few hours, they were all released for dinner, which was disgusting-
the chicken tasted more like fish than anything- but the lockdown was
over, he could stretch his legs on the block a bit, even if he hadn't
managed to shake Donovan yet.
When the announcement came over the PA to say that services were about to begin, he remembered Tara's words, and got up.
"You religious?" Donovan sounded surprised, a little nervous at the prospect of being left alone.
He
bit back his first response, that he wasn't anybody's port in the
storm, but held back. "Gotta believe in something, right?" And Eliot
wasn't lying. Right now, looking at Donovan's bruised face, seeing the
reminder of how shitty things could get in here, he needed to believe
that right now, in the chapel on the other end of the building, Sophie
was waiting.
---
She pulled it off well, going over the
reading from the Bible like she was born to it- and for all Eliot still
knew about her, maybe she had, but it was making Eliot impatient. He'd
grabbed a seat up front, earning a grin that Sophie hadn't even tried
to hide, but she was keeping it cool.
There were a dozen other
guys in here, sitting in three rows, and as she led the discussion from
her chair up front, she seemed to be giving each of them her full
attention.
Closing her Bible, she began the discussion,
handling most of it herself. The crowd wasn't particularly responsive.
Thankfully, though, she didn't single Eliot out for comment. He really
hadn't been listening.
There was a flash of humor in her eyes as her last attempts at conversation fell flat, and she finally began to wrap things up.
"Before we go back to our naps"
she smiled, and Eliot twisted in his seat to see the guy in the next
cell over being shaken awake, "I would like you all to promise me that
you'll meditate on what we discussed here this evening. And if you
would like to go over what we've read, you'll find the Bibles on the
book truck where they always are. I've prepared a list and made copies
for everyone. See me on your way out if you'd like a copy.
Eliot
hung back, making a show of stretching, but the guards were there and
would easily see his hesitation, so he got in line to file out. The guy
in front of him accepted a copy in resignation, and Eliot affected the
same stance, feeling a shift of paper underneath his copy, something
folded, slightly thicker."
"Thanks," he said, slowing down. "How often you do this?"
"Tuesdays,
Thursdays and Saturdays, and I also attend the afternoon service with
the Pastor. You should come back next week, we're starting an
informational series on resources for adapting once you've been
released."
"Don't know. Looks like I'll be in here a while."
"Now,
no thinking like that," she grinned again, and it felt real even if it
looked deliberately vague. "I'm sure you'll be out more quickly than
you think. In the meantime, read this. It'll help."
Eliot
walked out before the guards could say anything, before he could do the
stupid thing he was thinking about. Hugging Sophie wouldn't go over so
well. Not here. But he really wanted to.
---
He
grabbed a paperback from the cart in the hall, not even looking at the
title beyond checking to make sure it wasn't some bodice-ripper thing.
It didn't matter. He had something more important to read.
The note was folded in four, and he shoved it inside the book as he made his way back to his cell.
"How
was it?" Donovan asked, and Eliot gave him Sophie's printout while
holding up the book. "There's a cart down the hall, think you've got
time before we're in for the night."
"Good idea."
With Donovan gone, Eliot climbed up on the top bunk and, keeping his back to the bars, slid the note out again.
Eliot,
You'll
hear tomorrow from Tara, but there's two hundred in your commissary
account should you need it, though I've been past, and cannot imagine
what you would do with candy and bubble gum, but I suppose that's the
new economy now. Unless, of course, it's another humiliation tactic
courtesy of our dear friend the sheriff.
I hate the way that
sounds, that bit about the commissary, as if you're going to need it.
But the fact is, you may for a while, at least until we can get up to
the court date. We're monitoring their every move, and Tara's brought
me a list of witnesses to start leaning on. The trial will be the best
way to take Arlington down, but if things begin to get hot in there, you
let Tara know tomorrow. I'll see you on Saturday and Nate will be
there Sunday.
Love, Sophie
PS. I nearly forgot- Tara has petitioned for you to be allowed visitors. She'll tell you about it at your appointment.
Underneath was Hardison's scrawl.
Hey
man. Hope you're cool in there, we're doing what we can. I'm going
over the jail roster to see who's who in there, and seriously- maybe you
already know, but if you meet a guy named Martin King, you avoid the
hell out of him. He's up on trial next week for serially murdering a
bunch of co-eds, and I know you could take him, but who knows, with the
hair? You might be close enough to his type. Far as I can tell on your
block, Miller is down for the take, but McTeague and Salvo are new,
still doing things by the book. Keep an eye out. See you next week.
Peace.
---
Alec had been reading everything he could
find on the Maricopa County Jail, and not liking any of it. On the plus
side, the facilities weren't those of a federal supermax prison, though
he saved satellite images of the grounds in a folder along with the
plans for the original building. With tent city taking over much of the
expansive grounds, there was more barbed wire than brick, but that only
meant that eyes were everywhere. Crowd control was going to be more of
a hands-on endeavor. And from the looks of it, the county really liked getting their hands on the inmates.
According
to the complaints on file, Arlington had set up chain gangs, actually
had the inmates out in the yard digging and backfilling holes and
breaking rocks. Somehow, the jail managed to get away with giving their
inmates- even those who hadn't gone to trial, who hadn't been proven
guilty- moldy, spoiling food for meals and often denied them medical
treatment, all on the grounds of budgetary concerns.
Alec was feeling ill even before he got to the worst of it.
The
guards managed to squeeze their duties in between bouts of humiliating
the inmates. There were several accounts of inmates being forced to
stand in the middle of the yard while the guards took turns hurling
insults and jokes at them. The standard issue uniforms were black and
white striped scrubs, and according to several accounts, the men's
underwear was uniformly died a pastel shade of pink.
It was
odd, knowing that Eliot was hanging out in pink underwear, and at some
point, Alec was going to tease him mercilessly about it, but he wasn't
the type to kick a man when he was down. Eliot needed to get out of there, first.
Tara
was setting up a slow and steady legal attack, but she was going to
have her work cut out for her. Best case scenario, she and Nate would
come up with a way to get the charges dropped. Most likely? The
charges would be downgraded to manslaughter. Worst case? Eliot would
get to choose between lethal injection and the gas chamber, and they'd
have to break him out. Either way, it was going to be a lot easier
busting him out of the jail than it would be to bust him out of prison.
So they needed to be ready.
He
began going through the lists of names. Tara had brought back a few
from Eliot, but Sophie, counseling several of the prisoner's as part of
the church outreach, had managed to bring back a staggering
number of names. Combined with the jail roster, there were about three
hundred he had to go through, not counting the residents of the women's
facility on the southern side of the grounds.
He'd entered them
into his system, bounced it back to JARVIS for processing, looking for
guards with massive debts, and screening the inmates. Those with
promising outside connections were being put in one column of the list,
the dangerous ones in another column.
It had been Sophie's idea.
"We cant be in there for him, but we can at least try and get him in contact with some trustworthy people," she 'd insisted.
"Ain't
like he can't handle himself," he'd replied, toying with the room
service menu. "Hell, he's probably running the place. And you know
we're just going to end up busting his ass out anyway."
"Which
would be much easier if he had allies of a sort on the inside. Nothing
needs to be carved in stone, but right now, he can't trust anyone."
She'd paused, waving a hand before adding, "In there. Whether you like
it or not."
And she'd given him this look, like she was getting ready to be disappointed, preparing to argue her point.
Like Alec wasn’t going to do his damned job.
He got it. Like she'd said. Eliot needed people he could trust out here,
and with Nate and Parker back in Boston, Sophie playing Trewlaney, and
Tara out of commission until Friday, as of right now, it was down to
Alec.
Everything else could wait until after the job.
JARVIS
was running in the background, bouncing updates to his laptop every
half hour as it sorted through the roster and booking forms. So far,
everything had been as expected- too many people in jail for what would
normally be ticketed offenses, too many thugs in high security, and not
enough information in the reports to tell him much of anything about
their personalities.
Sophie had stopped by twice, so far, to
check up on him, but he still couldn't hack a guy's head. The updates
were useless, and even going back to the incident reports wasn't telling
him much. He'd have to move on to something else, soon. But he read
on. There was still the chance something might pop out.
So maybe he wasn't really expecting to see what came up on the screen next.
He crosschecked with the hospitals and police department, just to be sure.
It
didn't make any sense. There was something hinky with arrestee number
20110284. Grabbing the case number off the booking, he went back into
the initial report, but everything looked in order. The numbers were in
sequence, the forms filled out correctly. The case had been opened in
December of last year. No warrants had been issued, the case looked
like it had gone cold until yesterday.
Only. Hang on.
He checked the files he'd copied off the servers earlier in the week. And checked them again.
There'd
been no record of any such case before yesterday, not with the courts,
not with the police department, and not with the sheriff's office.
There'd been nothing from the hospitals, either.
Case numbers were assigned automatically, in the order in which they were entered.
Only this one, apparently from December, had been entered just last night. Two hours before the arrest had been made.
Someone had hacked the system.
Running 20110284 through JARVIS, he found nothing. No bank statements. No phone or property records. He went back further, way further than he should've had to, and it was all sounding a little too familiar.
Donovan Priestly had been born- and died- thirty-seven years ago in a Washington DC hospital.
---
Between
the insomnia and Donovan's tossing and turning, Eliot hadn't gotten
much sleep, though he dozed through most of the morning. As predicted,
Donovan stayed close through lunch, and again out in the yard, trying to
make conversation in awkward fits and starts. He'd relaxed a bit,
filing the space with rambling stories that would've been amusing were
they not so transparent.
Donovan was trying to ingratiate
himself, trying to get Eliot to like him, kind of like that woman Sophie
had talked about who was telling the sultan all those stories. He was
trying to prove to Eliot that he was entertaining, that he was worth
protecting.
To be fair, it passed the time. All through lunch,
he'd talked about backpacking through Europe after college. By the
time they'd made it out into the yard, he'd moved on to some nightmarish
Super Bowl party gone awry due to the sudden appearance of his boss.
Eliot
mostly kept quiet, not wanting to give him the illusion of interest,
not quite irritated enough to tell him off. It was hard going, though.
Donovan was so freaked that Eliot didn't have the chance to run recon on
much of anything. Beyond identifying the guards that Hardison had
mentioned- Salvo was the younger one, shaved head, in good shape, and he
didn't look like he was suffering from burnout yet, and Miller was
older, with a ridiculous flat-top crew cut and a permanent scowl- he'd
wasn't going to have much to tell Tara when she arrived at three. Not
unless she wanted to hear about Donovan getting stranded in Dublin for
three weeks due to a problem with his visa.
Eliot redoubled his
efforts, taking inventory as he began a second circuit of the yard,
Donovan's voice still droning in the background. Exits from the yard
included the one heading back into the jail, and two leading out to the
tents. All three were locked, with guards stationed nearby, and another
two roamed the yard. One guard for every ten inmates, and all were
armed with tasers. The firearms stayed on the other side of the fence.
Miller had been the first one at the fight, yesterday, but hadn't
reacted right away, waiting for Salvo and the others before going in.
Probably a minute, two tops.
The searchlights were off, now, but
they seemed to be everywhere, and those fences would take time to get
around. Going through the yard wasn't a solid option, he'd have to
check the mess, next.
Donovan went silent next to him, and Eliot spun to see what had caught his attention, muscles tensing, preparing for a fight.
It
was nothing, just a guy standing in one of the tents. But then he
raised a hand like he was about to wave, angrily, and Eliot recognized
the gesture even before he stepped out into the sunlight.
It was Hardison.