Why is he lying? "If they demolished yesterday, I bet the rug with the blood on it is still in a Dumpster. It's blue."
"I believe they emptied the Dumpster this morning." Machik frowned. "I fail to see why you're so interested in this issue."
I'm interested because you're lying. "Two men were killed in that room. I know. I was there. It's a crime scene."
"Natalie, Ron Saunders's murder was a tragedy for us, the first of its kind at this facility. My wife and I, as well as the warden and his wife, Elena, attended his funeral this morning. Now we have to move on. We have a prison to run. This was a crime scene, but the murderer is dead. There's no one to prosecute." Machik stiffened. "We have another crime scene in the RHU-which, by the way, we are preserving, for at least another day or two-and that's where we're devoting our resources and efforts. Understand?"
"I understand," Nat answered, but she didn't. She didn't understand why Machik would lie about the scheduling of the construction, or why they'd want to cover up the room in the first place. None of it made sense. She said, "Did you hear that Barb Saunders was burglarized?"
"Yes, I did. Terrible shame." Machik turned to Angus. "Now. Angus. If you're here for Willie Potts, he's waiting for you. He's got to be back in his cell in fifteen minutes."
"Why?" Angus frowned. "We just got here."
"We're moving him." Machik checked his watch. "Folks, I've got work to do. Tanisa, please show Angus and Natalie to Mr. Potts."
"Yes, sir." Tanisa motioned to them.
Angus turned to Machik. "Joe Graf in today?" he asked.
"No. He deserves the day off, don't you think?"
"Sure," Angus answered, meeting Nat's eye.
Chapter 18
“Sorry about the delay, Willie," Angus said. He introduced Nat and set down his accordion file on a white Formica table, one of six built into the painted cinderblock wall. The tables stuck out in a line, and at each were plastic bucket chairs on either side, more fast-food restaurant than prison except for the uniformed CO. standing against the far wall.
“"Sail right," Willie answered, nodding. He sat behind a wrinkled manila folder. "How's your lip, Angus?”
“Fine. Where were you during the riot?”
“Hiding under my desk."
They laughed, and Angus turned to Nat. "Willie works in the processing room, which used to be across the aisle."
Willie added, "They got us down the hall now, trying to hook up all the computers. It's crazy. All those wires, like spaghetti."
"Why they stripping you out, Willie?" Angus asked, as he opened the folder, went through the papers, and pulled out an affidavit.
"My cellie's having some problems with the Mexicans."
Angus turned again to Nat. "A strip-out is when they take all the inmates belongings out of his cell, either to search for contraband or move him. I think I told you they move the inmates around, to cut down on gang rivalries. No chance for a fight, but no chance for a friendship, either."
"I'm my own friend," Willie said. "That's the best policy."
"I hear you. Okay, we don't have much time. I prepared this affidavit along the lines we discussed. It's what you told me last week. Why don't you read it and sign it?" Angus slid the paper to Willie, addressing Nat again. "Willie was picked up for his second DUI and is just about to finish up his stint."
Willie looked up. "I got eleven days left."
"He completed the alcohol rehab program here and now he teaches it. He's been clean and sober for how long now, pal?"
"Six hundred and eight days."
"Congratulations," Nat said, wondering what it was like to count your life in days. Days of sobriety. She was lucky, addicted only to books.
"We're filing an appeal for Willie on Friday, to get him pardoned, so his record won't show his DUI conviction. His experience in the office qualifies him for a number of jobs on the outside, but he needs to get his driver's license back so he can drive."
"This looks great, Angus. You got a pen?"
"Hold on." Angus rose and said to Nat, "Excuse me. Be right back. They're not allowed to have pens, and neither are we."
"Sure." Nat shifted as he left, then realized she was sitting alone with a prison inmate. Two days ago, this would have scared her, but after the riot, it didn't. Ironic. "So, you must be so thrilled to go."
"I can't wait. See my wife and kid, my grandmom." Willie beamed. "But I got no regrets. This place did a lot of good for me, and so did Angus. He helped me get the job in the office. I learned Microsoft Word and Excel, too."
"What do you do there?"
"I keep all the records, so they know when everybody's bit is up. and also infirmary visits, dental, write-ups, what have you."
Write-ups. Where had she heard that term? Then she remembered. Graf had said that just before the riot, he and Ron Saunders had had the inmate in to talk about his write-up. "What's a write-up?"
"When we get disciplined, say. They write us up."
"Do you, in the office, get a copy of a write-up each time an inmate is disciplined?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Please, call me Nat. How does that work?"
"The CO. fills out a form and gives it to me through the window in the processing office. I log it in, and that's it." Willie shrugged his shoulders, knobby in his thin T-shirt.
"Then the CO. tells the inmate?"
"No, the other way around. The inmate gets the write-up first, before the CO. gives me the other two copies. I log it in and file one in the disciplinary file and the other in his inmate file."
Nat tried to remember what Graf had said. "Then does the CO. talk to the inmate about it?"
"Sometimes. They bring him to the security office, make sure he understands what the deal is."
Hmm. "Do you remember seeing a write-up for an inmate who was killed during the riot?" Nat had forgotten his name. She'd been so focused on Saunders, no other death mattered.
"Ramirez?"
"No."
"Upchurch?"
"Yes. Did you get a write-up for Upchurch, maybe the same day of the riot or the day before?"
"I don't think so, off the top of my head.”
“Do you usually remember the write-ups that come in?”
“Mostly. This ain't that big a place. No gangstas except in RHU."
Nat remembered something Graf had said. "Did Upchurch ever get written up for marijuana?"
"Upchurch, a write-up for weed?" Willie squinted, confused. "I don't remember that. He got written up for insubordination, runnin' his mouth."
Why would Graf have lied about that? "Did he get written up for insubordination right before the riot?"
"I don't remember, not off the top of my head."
"Did he get written up a lot for insubordination?" Nat thought back. Graf had said Upchurch was a troublemaker.
"All the time."
"By Ron Saunders?"
"No." Willie glanced behind him, but the CO. stood well out of earshot, against the wall in the corridor. "Upchurch had no problem with Saunders. It was Graf used to write him up. Graf was always in his grille."
Whoa. "More than the other C.O.s?"
"Oh, yeah. Picked on him."
"How do you know that? Did you know Upchurch?"
"No, he wasn't in my pod. I knew his name on account of his write-ups, from Graf."
"How do you know that Graf picked on him, and not the other way around?"
"Most of these C.O.s, they're all right." Willie checked over his shoulder, then leaned closer, lowering his voice. "But if Graf was the one got killed, nobody woulda shed a tear."
"So why would Upchurch kill Saunders and not Graf?" Nat whispered, but just then Angus returned with Tanisa and a male CO., interrupting the conversation.
Angus handed Willie the pen. "You got a minute to sign. They need you at your cell."
Rats! Nat bit her tongue. Angus had the worst timing in legal history.
"Okay." Willie accepted the pen and signed his name.
"Do you have any questions?"
"You think it'll work?" Willie stood up and handed the affidavit to Angus, who took it and slipped it back in the folder.