Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Moira rose to her feet. “And you owe us an apology.”
Whitcomb sneered. “That’ll be the day.” He gazed at the group eating breakfast. “Where are Joy and Precious?”
“Not back yet. Don’t you have a job to do? Standing guard?”
He shot Moira a look of pure hatred and left the bunkhouse. They let out their breath and relaxed.
“I’ve never liked him,” Yolanda remarked. “Captain, can’t we request a different guard?”
“We’ll have to wait and see if Colfer is replaced. At the moment, it’s better to have an enemy we know than one we don’t know.”
“Is Whitcomb our enemy?” Susan asked.
“It’s just an expression,” Moira replied. “It means you’re familiar with him. You know what he’s about.”
“Yeah, he’s a first-class asshole,” Barbie declared.
Their heads swiveled in her direction. She hardly ever voiced her opinion about anything.
“What?” She shrugged. “It’s true, isn’t it?”
Everyone chuckled. Breakfast ended on a much lighter note than when it began.
After they tended to their chores, some of the women went outside to play basketball or to smoke. Another group started a game of cards in Bunkhouse B. Tawny, Yolanda, and Terrin wandered away from the others to have a private conversation.
“So, what’s the deal, T?” Yolanda asked.
“You’ve heard about some inmates disappearing or dying of drug overdoses?”
They nodded.
“It has something to do with Warden Stoltz, Judge Cohen, and Perry Jones, the public defender. Whitcomb’s name has come up, too. That’s why he needs to stick around.”
“What are they doing?” Terrin wanted to know.
“I’m not sure yet. But Lucy died from an alleged overdose shortly after she contacted me. Lucy wasn’t an addict.”
“She knew somethin’ she wasn’t supposed to,” Yolanda guessed.
“Possibly. And I believe the fire camp is part of what Stoltz, Cohen, Jones, and Whitcomb are doing.”
“Drugs. It’s always about drugs,” Terrin declared. “Under the former warden, they weren’t coming into the prison.”
“That’s what we think,” Tawny agreed.
“What do we do now?” Yolanda and Terrin gazed at her expectantly.
“We watch out for the others. And we wait for the next piece of the puzzle to fall into place.”
After lunch, Tawny ran a martial arts session. It helped release their excess energy and tension. She assigned them partners and had each pair practice sparring as she moved among them, correcting their form, making suggestions, and praising their technique. In the middle of the session, a police car drove into the yard. An officer opened one of the back doors, and Joy and Precious jumped out. The group rushed to embrace them.
While they led Joy and Precious into the bunkhouse, Moira stayed behind to speak with the officer. Joy and Precious appeared pale and tired, with dark circles beneath their eyes. They plopped down onto chairs, and Yolanda handed them bottles of water.
“Are you hungry?” she asked. “I could fix you something to eat.”
“Nah. We’re good. Mr. McAdams brought us lunch before we were released,” Joy replied.
“What happened after the cops took you?”
“Could we talk about this after we take a shower? We stink,” Precious stated.
“Yeah, sure.”
Precious grabbed clean clothes off her bunk and went into the bathroom. Joy did the same but took her bundle to Bunkhouse B to shower and change. When they joined the others twenty minutes later, their color had returned, though they still bore the physical signs of their ordeal. The dark circles remained prominent beneath their eyes, and their movements were slow. Yolanda set a plate of homemade chocolate chip cookies in the center of the table, and everyone nibbled on them as they listened to Joy and Precious’ story.
“That mean sheriff, Sheriff O’Grady, sent four of his goons to haul us to jail after he heard about Colfer,” Joy began.
“He swore he’d make us pay for killing a corrections officer,” Precious continued. “He put us in two different rooms and hounded us to confess and turn on each other.”
“We were dyin’ of thirst, had to pee, too, but he wouldn’t let us. When we complained, he said we didn’t have any civil rights because we’re already prisoners of the state.”
“Sheriff O’Grady said he could do what he wanted with us.”
Tawny’s gut twisted with disgust as her respect for the sheriff diminished.
“The verbal beatdown went on for hours,” Joy said. “And then, wham! Just like in the movies, that bigshot lawyer, Cameron McAdams, swooped in to save us.”
“Mr. McAdams threatened to sue the pants off Sheriff O’Grady and the entire department for what they done to us. Next thing we know, we had bottles of water and were escorted to the bathroom.”
“He made sure we were treated with respect until we were officially cleared when our fingerprints weren’t found on the rock.”
Precious gazed at Moira, who’d joined the group sitting at the table. “Thanks, Captain, for defending us. No one believed us when we said we didn’t do nothin’ to Colfer. He was a good guy, even though we called him ‘Stoneface” behind his back, and we liked him.”
“You’re welcome. But I’m curious about what happened out there. Did Colfer say anything before he disappeared?”
“Just normal conversation,” Joy replied. “But he was checkin’ his cell phone a lot like he was expectin’ a call or text, somethin’ like that.”
Tawny frowned. She didn’t recall seeing Colfer’s cell phone near his body. Perhaps it had been in his pocket at the time of his death. If it wasn’t bagged as evidence, then the murderer took it. “That’s a clue,” she remarked nonchalantly and bit into a cookie. “Maybe Mr. McAdams should look into the cell phone angle.”
“Happens in the movies all the time like that,” Joy commented. “At least that’s what Bette used to say.”
Silence descended as they remembered their former inmate.
“Anyway, Captain, we ‘preciate all you done for us, but me and Joy, we talked it over, and we’re not cut out to be firefighters.”
“Yeah, we figured Stoltz is gonna pull us out anyway, so we’re quittin’ on our terms.”
Their announcement startled everyone. Protests went around the table. Yolanda and Terrin shot concerned expressions at Tawny.
When the furor died down, Moira asked in a subdued tone, “Is there anything I can say to change your minds? Because I believe you have what it takes to be firefighters.”
Joy and Precious glanced at each other and shook their heads. “No, ma’am.”
“All right, then. I’ll call Warden Stoltz, inform him of your decision, and arrange for transportation back to CIFW.”
“Don’t bother,” Whitcomb declared from his stance near the door. “I’ll take them back to prison. You’ve got five minutes to get your shit together.”
Tawny didn’t like the arrangement, but she couldn’t prevent it. Joy and Precious took his warning seriously and started shoving their meager belongings into their pillowcases.
As Joy passed by Tawny, she grabbed her arm. “If Whitcomb asks you about Colfer, say you don’t know anything else, and Mr. McAdams warned you not to discuss it further. Got it?”
“Yeah.”
“Tell Precious, too.”
She nodded and hurried to the truck Whitcomb had driven to fire camp that morning. Everyone followed them, and they shared hugs and wished each other well. As they watched Whitcomb drive away, Joy and Precious stuck their heads out the windows and waved a wild goodbye.
A sense of foreboding descended on Tawny like the shadow of a gray cloud moving across the sky and covering the sun. She shivered and tried to shake the mood away, but it had seeped into her bones. Something wasn’t right. She only hoped Joy and Precious would be okay.
Whitcomb eyed the two women in the rearview mirror. “You’re a pair of lyin’ bitches. You might have fooled the great and powerful Cameron McAdams, but not me. I know you offed Colfer.”
Joy and Precious clutched hands.
“What, no denial?” he taunted them “No snarky comeback?” He paused. “Oh, I see. You’re giving me the silent treatment.”
Whitcomb returned their silence, more frightening and intimidating than his biting sarcasm. When they drove through the electronic gate at CIFW, it slid shut in silent mockery of their brief taste of freedom. Sweat beaded on their foreheads and dripped down their backs and between their breasts, so intense was their mutual fear. As Whitcomb escorted Joy and Precious to Warden Stoltz’s office, they clung to each other, unaware of what awaited them.
Warden Stoltz stood in front of his desk, arms folded across his chest. His navy-colored tie hung loosely around his neck, and the sleeves of his light blue dress shirt were rolled halfway to his elbow. His stern, unforgiving expression did not bode well for them. Whitcomb shoved them into a pair of chairs in front of him.
“I gave you an opportunity to improve yourselves, and you threw it away at the drop of a hat.”
Joy opened her mouth to protest but shut it. She and Precious were on the losing side of this situation, and she suddenly regretted quitting the fire program. There, she felt safer surrounded by people who had her back, especially Tawny, than she did behind these walls, these bars. Her heart beat an erratic rhythm, and she risked glancing at Precious. The terror in her eyes petrified Joy.
“You were dragged to jail under suspicion of murder and committed an infraction that put my reputation and the fire program at risk. If not for Captain Finnigan’s connections, you’d still be in Sheriff O’Grady’s custody, waiting to be charged with homicide.”
The unfairness of it all loosened Joy’s tongue. “We were sent into those hills to find a missing hiker. It wasn’t our decision to split up. That’s on Colfer, God rest his soul. Some homicidal maniac bashed his head in, but it wasn’t me or Precious. Instead of throwing shade at us, you should be lookin’ for the real killer.”
“And I resent you accusin’ us of throwing this opportunity away,” Precious spoke up. “You planned to pull us out anyway, right?”
His lips narrowed into a thin line that in no way resembled a smile. “You’re so right. Not only had I intended to throw you out of the fire program, but now I’m throwing you into solitary for an indeterminate length of time.”
Joy and Precious leaped to their feet with such force that they knocked over their chairs.
“No! You can’t do that!” Joy cried. “We have rights! We have a lawyer, Mr. Cameron McAdams! I demand to call him!”
Warden Stoltz’s mouth broadened into a sinister smile. “Rights? You demand to call your lawyer? I don’t think so.” He waved a hand. “Take them to solitary.”
Precious screamed and tried to bolt. Whitcomb stopped her with one powerful punch to her face. He handcuffed her as she whimpered in pain, then secured Joy’s wrists with another set of handcuffs.
On their way down to the bowels of hell, other inmates gawked at them. When one of their friends intervened and demanded to know why they were being taken to solitary confinement, Whitcomb shoved the woman against the cinder block walls.
“Get out of my fuckin’ way, or you’re next.”
Like frightened cats, Joy and Precious struggled against being forced into those tiny cells. Joy bucked at Whitcomb, twisted and turned and tried to run. Precious bawled and pleaded for mercy. Whitcomb slapped them until they stopped resisting. Joy’s cheeks burned, and her ears rang. Once inside their new prison with solid doors and walls, they slid their hands through a slot so Whitcomb could remove their handcuffs.
“Enjoy your stay, ladies.”
Their broken, bitter sobs echoed down the dimly lit corridor.
Whitcomb was in no mood to deal with Stoltz. Working for the network was becoming too complicated now that the DOC had required them to reinstitute the fire program. Controlling the women outside the prison posed a whole new set of problems, like the murder of Gary Colfer. Who the hell was he anyway?
That was Stoltz’s first question when Whitcomb returned to his office and closed the door. “Who the fuck was Gary Colfer?”
“How the hell should I know? He was already on the bus when we took the women to the fire camp. I thought he was one of us until he let it slip that he had search and rescue experience. That’s why I called it in.”
“Did you kill him?”
“Fuck no.”
“And you’re sure Joy and Precious didn’t either?”
“Absolutely sure. They’re not killers. Besides, their fingerprints weren’t found on the rock used to crack his skull open, and I doubt any DNA evidence will be linked to them. And any hair or fibers will be coincidental.”
“It doesn’t matter. Joy and Precious are loose ends and must be eliminated.”
Whitcomb lifted a brow. “Mickey, I don’t think that’s smart. Remember, their lawyer is the Cameron McAdams. He’s famous for bringing down drug cartels. You know he’s going to keep tabs on them.”
Stoltz huffed in annoyance. “Yes, an inconvenience we can ill afford. Whoever Gary Colfer was, the network murdered him so stealthily, I can hardly believe it happened. And we can’t risk Joy and Precious recalling a stupid detail they overlooked.” He shook his head. “No. They must disappear. Immediately.”
“Drug overdose?”
Stoltz considered it. “No. No one will believe they overdosed in solitary. Inject them with enough fentanyl to kill a horse. Then we’ll remove the bodies after dark. If anyone asks about them, we’ll give the usual excuse that they transferred.”
“You won’t be able to fool Cameron McAdams with that excuse.”
“No. But the network will protect its interests.”
And Whitcomb intended to protect his. A tidy sum of money sat in an offshore account in the Cayman Islands under an alias with a fake online profile. After he stumbled onto the network by asking too many troubling questions about drugs coming into the prison, they offered to bring him on board. Only the money made it worthwhile to him.
Cohen, Stoltz, and Jones didn’t know where he hid his profits, and he preferred to keep it that way. He assumed they also stashed their drug money in offshore accounts. These days, with cybercrimes at an all-time high, it was best to bounce the money from bank to bank. Before he returned to the fire camp, he’d stop by his place and move his money. Hell, he might even cash it out and disappear. He wouldn’t put it past Stoltz to do the same.
“When do you want to take care of our problem?”
“Tonight.”
“I’m heading home, but I’ll tell anyone who asks that I’m returning to the fire camp. I’ll meet you down in solitary at midnight.”
“In the meantime, I’ll contact the network and request a hacker to control the closed-circuit security system.”
Whitcomb nodded and left Stoltz’s office. As he passed Wendy’s desk, he smiled. “I’m on my way back to the fire camp.”
She returned his smile and continued punching the keys on her laptop. He often wondered about the nature of her job because she never seemed to be doing anything constructive. And Stoltz sometimes complained about her being a nuisance. Her perky attitude annoyed him.
Whitcomb was halfway to his apartment when he received a call from Stoltz. He pressed the green phone icon on the dashboard display. “Yeah, go ahead.”
“Change of plans. OD after they’re released from solitary.”
“That’s going to be a hard sell.”
“They’ve been disgraced. Accused of murder. Kicked out of the fire program. We’ll plant drugs in their cells and invent an excuse for how they got there.”
Whitcomb remained skeptical. “Sounds iffy to me.”
“It’s a direct order from the network,” Stoltz snapped.
“All right, all right. No need to get testy with me. Just let me know when so I can come back and get the job done. Unless…unless you’d like to do it yourself. See what it feels like when you stick the needle in their arms and watch the fear cloud their eyes before they roll back into their heads.”
“You sick bastard.”
Whitcomb chuckled. “So are you. You think I don’t know what kind of fantasies you’re having about Ginger?”
Stoltz hung up on him. Whitcomb grinned at how easy it was to rattle the warden.
In his apartment, Whitcomb popped open a can of beer and settled at his table for two with his laptop. He cracked his neck and rubbed his palms together in anticipation of creating magic by moving his pot of gold to the end of another rainbow. He opened an account at a bank in Sweden with twenty-thousand dollars he transferred from savings, then made a second transaction that emptied his current balance at the Cayman National Bank. When he saw his treasure populate his new account, he promptly closed the old one. The great thing about online banking was that you didn’t have to explain to a nosy employee the reason for your decision to close an account or transfer money. Smooth and easy. No questions asked.
Whitcomb reached for his phone and ordered Chinese food. After it arrived, he opened another beer and sat at the table. As he ate, he contemplated what he’d been doing, the risks he’d been taking, and concluded the next run would be his last.
He didn’t like or trust Cohen, Stoltz, and Jones, and running drugs for a nameless organization without face-to-face contact bothered him. His cache would last him the rest of his life, especially if he invested a portion of it. Besides, the situation was becoming far too complicated and risky. Stoltz might dismiss Cameron McAdams, but Whitcomb viewed him as a formidable opponent. As soon as he learned about Joy’s and Precious’ demise, McAdams would bring the full power of his name and authority down upon those responsible. Whitcomb hoped he’d be long gone by then.
He drained the last of his beer and stored the leftover Chinese food in the refrigerator, though it would be rancid by the time he returned to his apartment for the weekend. Whitcomb showered, dressed in a clean uniform, packed a bag, and wondered what firestorm awaited him at the camp—no pun intended.
Quiet prevailed. None of the women were in sight. A guard Whitcomb didn’t recognize stood outside Bunkhouse B.
Oh, shit! Not another one!
Whitcomb climbed from the cab of his truck and approached the unfamiliar guard. “Hey, I’m Carey Whitcomb from CIFW. Who are you?”
“Macintosh. A mutual acquaintance sent me.”
“Okay. And did the dearly parted Gary Colfer know our ‘mutual acquaintance’?”
“No.”
“Any idea who he was?”
“Not at this time.”
“So, what’s the plan?”
“The runs start tomorrow.”
“With whom?” Not Ginger. I don’t want to see her broken yet.
“The weakest among them.”
Whitcomb smiled. Perfect.