Though I would have liked to extend the conversation, we’d already reached the reception desk and I had time for just one more question.
‘What about an inmate named Jarazelsky, another ex-cop?’
‘Pete Jarazelsky was a horse of a different color. He took protective custody around six months ago.’
Deputy Warden Frank Beauchamp’s businesslike smile was firmly in place when I walked into his neat office. His grip, when he offered his hand, was equally businesslike. ‘So, you’re here to interview Pete Jarazelsky,’ he said as he pointed me to a chair and resumed his own seat.
‘Actually, I’m here to learn anything I can about David Lodge.. What do I call you? Dep? Deputy Warden?’
‘Frank’ll do.’
‘OK, then I’m Harry.’ I paused long enough to offer a manly nod which he returned. ‘One thing strikes me as a bit strange, Frank, about Lodge. He was an ex-cop and I thought ex-cops went someplace where they could do easy time. Not places like Attica.’
Beauchamp wagged a finger in my direction. ‘Well, you’re partly right, Harry, and partly wrong. The system does maintain a minimum-security facility out on Long Island, a kind of honor farm. Celebrity prisoners, including cops and politicians, usually get sent there. But Lodge was never eligible because he was a violent felon.’
‘And that’s why he came to Attica?’
Beauchamp shook his head. ‘Lodge started out at the Cayuga Correctional Facility, in Moravia. That’s medium security. He went into their protective custody unit and stayed for almost two years.’
‘I can understand why he went into protective custody, given that he was cop,’ I said, ‘but not why he came out.’
‘Protective custody is nothing more than segregation. You stay in your cell twenty-three hours a day, you get an hour for exercise, you get two showers a week. After a while, even the yard looks better.’ Beauchamp picked up a chunk of quartz crystal lying on top of a stack of papers and stared at it for a moment. ‘When your lieutenant called me yesterday, I went through Lodge’s file, lookin’ for an answer to your question about how Lodge got to Attica. Turns out, he was transferred from Cayuga more than four years ago, but his file don’t say why. So what I did was call over to Cayuga, ask a lieutenant I know, a huntin’ buddy, for a heads-up.’
I leaned forward and laid my elbows on the desk. ‘Now why,’ I asked, ‘do I think this is gonna be good?’
Beauchamp’s brown eyes were sparkling and his smile was back. We were two cops exchanging stories now, which is exactly what I wanted.
‘Seems like a month after Lodge came out of segregation, a man named Jimmy Fox, a white supremacist from Syracuse, was killed with a shank. A month after that, Lodge was on his way to Attica.’
‘You’re saying Lodge killed Fox?’
‘The administration’s snitches kept naming him, but he was never charged because there was no evidence.’
‘Then why the transfer out of medium security?’
Beauchamp sneered. ‘Let’s just say, in the correctional system, we have ways to punish offenders without putting the state to the expense of a trial.’ He returned the crystal to his desk and leaned back in his chair. ‘Now I expect you’re gonna ask me about the motive. Why would Lodge kill Fox?’
‘It was right on the tip of my tongue.’
‘Well, it goes like this. When you first come into the system, no matter who you are, somebody’s gonna test you, see if maybe you wouldn’t mind becoming a victim. That’s just the way of it.’
‘And David Lodge, he passed the test?’
‘That’s the word I got.’
We were interrupted at that moment by a uniformed officer who told us that Pete Jarazelsky was waiting in an interview room down the hall. Beauchamp waved him off, then asked, ‘Anything else I can do for you, Harry?’
‘Yeah, Jarazelsky. An officer told me he’s in protective custody. Was somebody after him?’
Beauchamp laughed. ‘Old Pete, he’s a work of art. He snitched out so many inmates, the whole prison wanted a piece of his ass. Now I don’t know who finally caught up with him, but he took a serious beating right before he went back into protective custody.’
I nodded. ‘Seems like a good reason to spend twenty-three hours a day behind bars. But let me ask you this: Jarazelsky was sent up for burglary. How’d he end up in Attica with David Lodge?’
‘No mystery there, Harry. It was the luck of the draw, simple as that. Pete asked for protective custody right out of the box, just like David Lodge, only instead of being assigned to Cayuga’s unit, he was assigned to ours. The way the state sees it, if you’re in protective custody it doesn’t matter what prison you’re sent to. If you’re protected, you’re safe.’
‘Until you ask to come out.’
That brought another laugh, then an explanation. ‘When Jarazelsky couldn’t take being alone with himself all day, he asked to go into population. It was his bad luck that the population in question was the population of Attica.’ Beauchamp rose from his chair and stepped around his desk. ‘But there is one other person you need to see after you finish with Jarazelsky. Lodge was a trustee his last year with us. He did office work for our psychiatrist, Dr Nagy. From what Nagy told me, they got pretty close.’
When Beauchamp offered his hand, I knew my time was up. I had no complaints. Inspired no doubt by Lodge’s celebrity, Beauchamp had definitely gone the extra mile. Still, I made one further request before I left his office. I asked if he’d assign one of his subordinates to compile a list of David Lodge’s visitors over the past two years and fax it to me.
NINE
If it had been up to me, I would’ve interviewed Nagy first, leaving Pete Jarazelsky to simmer. But Jarazelsky had been brought to the administration building all the way from C Block as a courtesy when I might have had to interview him in the bowels of the prison. The least I could do was accommodate Beauchamp’s schedule.
The starkly functional room Beauchamp had chosen for the interview had been designed for small conferences. A sound-dampening ceiling and two banks of fluorescent lights above, a long table surrounded by upholstered office chairs on wheels, a polished tile floor. Two flags, of the United States and the State of New York, stood against a cinder block wall.
When I came through the door, Jarazelsky’s dark eyes jumped to mine. I returned his gaze, hoping for a peek into his heart before he composed himself. No such luck. His eyes immediately dropped to the table, leaving me to make the first move. He was wearing an orange jumpsuit and his wrists were cuffed to a leather belt at his waist. For a moment, I considered the grand gesture, asking the guard to unlock the cuffs, but decided against it. This wasn’t an interrogation and I wasn’t going to get hours and hours to wear him down.
I finally introduced myself as Detective Corbin, then took a seat across the table and stated my business. I was here to investigate the murder of David Lodge. I deeply appreciated his voluntary cooperation. I looked forward to any assistance he might offer.
‘Hey,’ Jarazelsky said when I ground to a halt, ‘me and Davy, we were tight. I’m talkin’ about on the street, back in the Eight-Three, and up here, too. So, any way I can help, I’m happy to do it.’
Jarazelsky was a short, unimposing man with jug ears and a drooping nose that fell to within an inch of his upper lip. His dark eyes were large and slightly bulging, his mouth slightly open as he watched me intently. He’d now made point number one, confirming Ellen Lodge’s claim that Jarazelsky and her husband were prison allies.
‘When was the last time you saw Lodge?’ I asked.
‘A couple months ago.’
‘Months?’
‘Well, see, I got into a beef with some niggers and hadda take segregation. It’s only temporary, though.’ He leaned across the table, his voice dropping in tone and volume. ‘I know Davy woulda looked out for me, but I didn’t have the heart to jam him up after he got his release date.’