Bobbi

I stood in the corridor with Officer Turner, waiting to be taken in for an interview. With my eyes fixed on a piece of floor tile, I nervously rocked back and forth on the balls of my feet. The thought of someone dying while under my watch was devastating.

I had no idea what happened for sure, but I had my suspicions. After reading Tate’s book about Becker, I was reluctant to give any kind of opinion when questioned. According to the police officers in the book, opinions became facts when there was nothing else to rely on.

“How long have you been here, Madden?” Turner asked.

“Four months.” I looked up. “Four and a half, actually.”

I guessed him to be around fifty years old. Still in great physical shape despite his age, he still resembled the Marine he once was. He ran his hands through his closely-cropped hair and then looked me over. “Why’d you take the job?”

“I like helping people. Always wanted to be a cop, but I can’t meet the requirements.”

“Helping people?” he chuckled. “Never heard that one before. At least not here.”

Unlike Perry, Officer Turner was calm throughout his day to day activities. What little I saw of him led me to believe he enjoyed his job.

“How about you?” I asked.

“I retired from the military. I didn’t want to be a cop. I was sick and tired of being shot at. This was the next closest thing.”

I forced a smile and gave a nod. “How long have you been here?”

“Here? A year. A Federal Corrections Officer? Sixteen years.”

“Oh. Wow.”

“Care to listen to what I have to say about this?” he asked.

I wanted to talk to someone about it, I knew that much. I let out a sigh. “I’d love to hear it.”

“Do you know what Darin Wheatland was in for?”

“Meth?”

“He was in for meth charges. He was charged with rape. Him and the other three that were brought in with him dragged a bartender into the alley behind her bar and gang raped her. Then, they kidnapped her, took her to a shack in Arizona, and took turns raping her while they smoked meth. When the meth ran out, they left her to die. She wandered two miles through the desert, naked and barefoot. She stumbled onto highway 10, and was picked up by a family who was going home from their vacation in San Diego.”

“Oh my God,” I gasped. “That’s awful. How do you know all of that?”

“I ask around. There’s always what we’re told, and then there’s the truth. To get the truth, you need to talk to the arresting officer.” He shrugged. “They don’t mind.”

“So he was here for rape, but no one knew it?”

He chuckled. “That was going to be my point. It’s obvious someone knew it. He was cutting a deal with the DA to get the rape charges dropped. It’s no secret that the legal system has holes in it, but prison justice is blind to loopholes, legal restrictions, and limitations. Inside the walls, the men get no less than what they have coming to them.”

“In your opinion, he deserved to die?”

“There’s really only two forms of justice here. Being beaten damned near to death, and being killed. Considering the options, he got what he had coming.”

“Did you see who did it? What happened?”

He pursed his lips and shook his head. “I saw nothing. You?”

“Between you and me? I saw some movement. There was a group of men that--”

“You saw nothing,” he said.

“Well. I didn’t see what happened, but I saw--”

“If he cut a deal to get the charges dropped, the legal system would have failed. That poor bartender would have lived her life wondering if there was something that she did wrong that caused her to be raped. If it was the clothes she was wearing. The way she talked to them.” He pursed his lips and shook his head. He inhaled a long breath through his nose, and then looked at me as he let it out. “As far as Darin Wheatland is concerned? Justice has been served. You. Saw. Nothing.”

The warden’s door opened. Officers Stallworth and Frank walked out.

“Turner! Madden!” the warden barked. “Get in here.”

We walked into the office.

The warden was in his early sixties, bald, and wore a gray mustache that made him resemble a walrus. Dressed in navy slacks, a light blue shirt, and a navy jacket, he looked like a mustachioed used car salesman.

He waved his hand toward two empty chairs that faced his desk. “Have a seat.”

After I sat, he looked right at me. “Officer Madden. Other than having a man killed while on yard duty, how’s your evening been?”

“Splendid, Sir.”

He looked at Turner. “Yours?”

“Just shy of splendid.”

“Outstanding. One splendid, and one damned near so.” He glanced at each of us. “What happened out there? I’ve got a dead man with a severed carotid artery, two jailhouse shanks, and a blood stain the size of my wife’s Buick in the center of my yard. But, so far, no one saw a thing.”

He fixed his eyes on mine. “Did you see anything?”

The only thing I’d seen was Tate and the leader of the AB’s, Tinkle, walking toward Wheatland’s group immediately prior to his collapse. Telling the warden about it would undoubtedly leave Tate Reynolds to suffer the same fate as Becker Wallace.

I straightened my posture and looked him in the eyes. “No, Sir.”

“Nothing at all?”

“No, Sir.”

His eyebrows raised. “Anything stand out as being odd? Did one of the inmates rush toward him prior to his untimely departure?”

“No, Sir. Not that I saw.”

He shifted his eyes to Turner. “Anything?”

“I was standing post four,” Turner said flatly. “As a group of inmates walked past the non-affiliated whites, I saw the red-haired inmate reach for Wheatland’s neck, and then he walked away. Wheatland collapsed immediately following.”

He stood and shook his head lightly as if distraught by the situation. “I ran to the center of the yard. After dissolving the crowd and securing the inmates, I took Wheatland’s pulse. At that point, he was deceased.”

“The red-headed inmate.” The warden shuffled some paperwork on his desk. “Would that be Haney? Richard Haney?”

“Yes, Sir,” Turner said. “It was Haney.”

“They found an identical shank in his cell. Were you aware of that?”

“I was not.”

“Well, they did.” He clapped his hands together. “Looks like we’ve got our man. My logic is that he made two of them, and if this didn’t work, he’d try again tomorrow.”

“Have you reviewed the surveillance video?” Turner asked.

“I have not. It’s being converted to a readable file as we speak. Based on what you saw, I suspect we’ll charge Haney with murder. That is, if the video produces nothing more.” The warden stood. “You’re dismissed.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

We walked into the hallway and turned the corner. Halfway to the observation station, Turner broke the silence.

“The other two will stand trial for that rape. After this, the DA won’t cut a deal with either of them.”

“What happened today, everything, this is the way it’s supposed to happen? I need to get used to this?”

“It’s impossible to change what happened to that girl. Bringing the men to justice is all the system can offer. Justice was served.”

I continued walking without commenting any further. It was going to take time for me to process everything. Reading about the acts of vigilantes was much different than witnessing them.

Turner was right about one thing, and that much was certain.

Justice was served.