And a Puzzle to Die On (14 page)

Halfway down page ten Cora found something new.
WARDEN COMMENDS PAROLE BOARD
. The article began,

Cora clicked on the heading to bring up the article. The article continued,

Cora wasn’t reading the article.

Cora was staring at the picture that accompanied it.

The picture was captioned “Parole board gets high marks.”

The caption then identified the five men and women in the picture.

Four of them Cora had never seen before.

The fifth was Dr. Jenkins.

Warden Prufrock was surprised to see Cora again. “Miss Felton, I can’t understand what you’re doing here.”

“Working for Darryl Daigue.”

“But you asked for me.”

“Yes, I did.”

“Why?”

“I like your office. It’s much cozier than that visiting room. No Plexiglas. No telephone. And you gave me a cigar.”

No cigar seemed forthcoming this time. Warden Prufrock sat behind his desk, his fingers laced together, a frown on his lips.

“Miss Felton, I have no time to play games. I’m a very busy man.”

“I know. I Googled you.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Please, Warden Prufrock. You have a computer on your desk. Surely you Google.”

“You mean an Internet search?”

“Now we’re talking the same language. I’m not sure if it’s Mac or PC, but we’re talking it. Anyway, I did a Google search and read up on you, and there was one article in particular I wanted to ask you about.”

“Which article was that?”

“The parole board. You commended them. Which, I guess, is commendable. Anyway, I thought it was a nice gesture. You thanking the board publicly and all. I was wondering if you happened to know them.”

“What?”

“The parole board. I wonder if you know any of them. Personally, I mean.”

“Now see here—”

“Oh, bad tactic, Warden. Don’t you ever question any prisoners? An evasion is a dead tip-off. It doesn’t deflect the question. It merely makes for more questions. So I take it you know the board. Personally, I mean.”

“Miss Felton, I don’t care if it’s an evasion or not, I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. I don’t even know which parole board you mean.”

“Oh, well, is your computer on? I’ll find it for you. Google your name, and I’ll show you the article.”

“I have no intention of Googling my name. Miss Felton, I don’t owe you anything. But I must say, you are one of the most amazing women I have ever met. You come in here and adopt the position I owe you an explanation. When the reverse is true. Miss Felton, what are you trying to prove?”

“Actually, I’m trying to
disprove
something.”

“What?”

“Do you happen to know Dr. Jenkins?”

“He’s on the parole board, why?”

“Do you know him personally?”

Warden Prufrock threw up his hands. “I don’t know how to answer that. I know him because he’s on the parole board. I know him because he’s sometimes tended to a prisoner. I don’t play golf with him, if that’s what you mean.”

“Or have him for dinner?”

“Miss Felton, I’m married. I don’t invite young men for dinner. I don’t know what you’re getting at, but whatever it is, you’re wrong.”

“Fine. I’m sorry to bother you. Answer me one more question and I’ll leave.”

“What’s that?”

“Did Dr. Jenkins ever consider Darryl Daigue for parole?”

Warden Prufrock’s mouth fell open. “What the hell!”

“Did he?”

“I have no idea.”

“Well, that’s mighty strange, Warden. Darryl Daigue is serving a life sentence without possibility of parole. And you can’t tell me for sure that the parole board never heard Darryl’s case?”

“You don’t understand.”

“I certainly don’t. Just what does
without possibility of parole
mean?”

“Exactly that.”

“Then why would Darryl Daigue
ever
go before the parole board?”

“Just because a prisoner has no hope of parole doesn’t mean his behavior with regard to parole wouldn’t be evaluated. The parole board might assess the prisoner with no intention of letting him out.”

“Was that done in this case?”

“I would have to check my records.”

“Could you do that?”

“Not right now. Things are not filed in that manner. Did such-and-such a parole officer evaluate such-and-such a prisoner. I’m going to have to look up the prisoner’s records, cross-check them with the records of the board. I’m not even sure how to go about it.”

“Perhaps I could help you.”

“No, you couldn’t!” Warden Prufrock realized he’d spoken a little too harshly, softened it with a smile. “Miss Felton, I don’t think you’re aware of the responsibilities of running a prison. A warden is under a microscope. If an investigative reporter wants a story, I will be portrayed in the worst light possible. If the people don’t like what they read, I can be replaced.”

“You’re worried about your job?”

“Not at all. I am concerned with doing it right. Look here, you’re an intelligent woman. Suppose you read in the paper that I had allowed a private citizen with no standing whatsoever to come in here and browse through the prisoners’ records with free access to the prison files? What would you think of that?”

“Why would that bother me?”

“Suppose your husband was in jail.”

Cora smiled and nodded. “Warden, you’ve finally come up with something I can relate to. I’ve had a number of husbands I can imagine in jail.”

Darryl Daigue looked worse. Cora found that hard to fathom. The first time she’d seen him he’d looked an absolute fright. But now there was a bruise over his left eye and a scab on his chin. He limped as the guard ushered him into the visiting room, sat him in the chair.

“What happened to you?” Cora asked him, once he’d picked up the phone.

Darryl snuffled. His lips twisted into a sneer. “Cut myself shaving.”

It occurred to Cora that the prevarication was probably true. Darryl had a faint nick on his right cheek that could have come from a razor blade. Still, it was only a half-truth. The whole truth was, he’d cut himself shaving
and
been beaten within an inch of his life.

Cora didn’t press the point. “I have bad news. Ricky Gleason’s dead.”

Daigue frowned. “Ricky Gleason?”

“The counter boy. The one whose shift you took.
The one who went off with Anita Dryer.
That
Ricky Gleason.”

“Oh? He’s dead?”

“That’s right. He can’t confirm your story anymore.”

Daigue’s grin was diabolical. “He can’t deny it, either.”

“Look here, did you know he was dead?”

“No, why should I?”

“Aren’t you curious how he died?”

“What difference does it make?”

Cora waited.

Daigue said, “Yeah, sure. How’d he die?”

“Car accident.”

“Tough luck.”

“A couple of months ago. Got drunk, drove off the road.”

“Shouldn’t drink and drive.”

“That’s sound advice. You ever have a parole hearing?”

“I don’t get parole.”

“I know. I was wondering if you get hearings.”

“Sometimes people talk to me.”

“You mean a group of people? In a special room?”

“I don’t know how special. They sit down. I sit down. The guard stands up. They ask questions.”

“What kind of questions?”

“Dumb questions. Am I sorry? Do I repent my crime? Do I apologize to the victim? Victim’s dead, for Christ’s sake.”

“What did you say?”

“What do you think I said? I didn’t do nothing. I should be sorry I didn’t do nothing?”

“What did they say?”

“Who cares? They got no power over me.”

“Uh-huh. I’d like to run a few names by you.”

“Why?”

“Why not?”

“Good answer. Shoot.” Darryl Daigue began to pick his nose.

“Ricky Gleason.”

“I gave you that name. He was the counter boy. He killed Anita.”

“How come you didn’t tell your attorney that?”

“I did.”

“How come he didn’t use it?”

“He’s stupid.”

“Uh-huh,” Cora said. “Cindy Tambourine.”

Darryl frowned. “What about her?”

“Who is she?”

“A girl.”

“I could’ve figured that. Anything special about this girl?”

“Had big knockers.”

“That wasn’t exactly what I meant. What was your relationship with this girl?”

“Oh, here comes the moral lecture.”

“Cindy was your girlfriend?”

“Yeah? So?”

“What happened to her?”

“What happened to her? How the hell should I know? I’m in jail, for Christ’s sake.”

“She ever visit you in jail?”

“No.”

“You’re pretty sure about that one.”

“No one visits me in jail. Except you. Why don’t you leave me alone, lady?”

“Got a couple more names to run by you.”

“Jesus Christ!”

“That wasn’t one of them.”

“What are you, a comedian? We’re done talking.”

“Dr. Jenkins.”

Darryl Daigue had started to hang up the phone. He brought it back to his ear. “Who’d you say?”

“Dr. Jenkins. You know him?”

“Yes, I know him. He’s the doc. Little weasel.”

“You don’t like him?”

“I’m in pain. I want Percodan. He gives me aspirin with codeine. Aspirin with codeine, for Christ’s sake. You can practically get it over the counter.”

“So Dr. Jenkins is tough on drugs?”

“Goddamned Nancy Reagan. Now, the old doc, he was okay.”

“What happened to him?”

“Got old, I guess. Or died. First thing I know, this young punk’s in here reading the riot act, cutting off the supply.”

“Tell me something. This Dr. Jenkins. He ever on your parole board?”

“How the hell should I know?”

“Well, if you were there and he was there …”

“Like I give a good goddamn. You done, lady? I got a really busy day ahead of me.”

“One more name.”

“Who?”

“Valerie Thompkins.”

“Never heard of her.”

“Marvin Fleckstein?”

“You said
one
.”

“Humor me. You heard of Fleckstein?”

“No.” Darryl curled his lip insolently. “Can I go now?”

“I don’t see why not.” Before he could hang up, Cora added, “If you don’t mind a word of advice?”

Darryl Daigue stared at her as if she were some loathsome bug he was about to squash. “What’s that?”

“Be real careful shaving.”

Dr. Jenkins walked into his waiting room to find seven patients perched uncomfortably on and about a couch made for two, and Cora Felton seated alone on a couch for three. The good doctor leaned over, had a brief whispered discussion with his receptionist, then straightened and said through gritted teeth, “Miss Felton?”