She clicked on the display bar, and in another few seconds a facsimile of the article flashed on the screen. It was a Lifestyle article in a Sunday Metro section. Antoine James, while serving a ten-to-fifteen sentence at Pelican Bay for armed robbery had been stabbed and killed in a prison squabble. He had kept a journal detailing the unsettling story of life on the inside, alleging a routine of forced snitching, racial attacks, beatings by guards, and perpetual gang violence.
She printed the article, closed out of CAL, and spun her chair back across to her desk. She leaned back in her chair and rested her feet on a stack of books. She scanned the page.
“From the moment they process you through the doors, life in Pelican Bay is a constant war of guard intimidation and gang violence,” James had written in a black composition book. “The gangs provide your status, your identity, your protection, too. Everyone pledges out, and whatever group you belong to controls who you are and what's expected of you.”
Cindy's eyes raced further down. The prison was a viper's nest of gangs and retaliation. The blacks had the Bloods and the Daggers, as well as the Muslims. The Latinos had the Nortenos in their red headbands and the Serranos in their blue, and the Mexican Mafia, Los Eme. Among the whites, there were the Guineas and the Bikers, and some white-trash shitbags called the Stinky Toilet People. And the supremacist Aryans.
“Some of the groups were ultra-secret,” James wrote.
"Once you were in, nobody touched you.
“One of these white groups was particularly nasty All max guys, serving violent felony time. They'd cut a brother open just to bet on what he had to eat.”
Adrenaline shot through Cindy as she stopped on the next sentence.
James had a name for the group Chimera.
Womans Murder Club 2 - Second Chance
Chapter 57
I WAS JUST FINISHING UP for the day - nothing further on the four victims and the white chalk still a mystery - when I got a call from Cindy.
“The Hall still under martial law?” she quipped, referring to the mayor's moratorium on the press.
“Trust me, it's no picnic on the inside either.”
“Why don't you meet me? I've got something.”
“Sure. Where?”
“Look out your window. I'm right outside.”
I peered out and saw Cindy leaning on a car parked outside the Hall. It was almost seven. I cleared my desk, called a quick good-night to Lorraine and Chin, and ducked out the rear entrance. I ran across the street and went up to Cindy.
She was in a short skirt and embroidered jean jacket, with a faded khaki knapsack slung over her shoulder.
“Choir practice?” I winked.
“You should talk. Next time I see you in SWAT gear, I'll assume you have a date with your dad.”
“Speaking of Marty, I called him. I asked him over tomorrow night. So, Deep Throat, what's so important that we're meeting out here?”
“Good news, bad news,” Cindy said. She pulled off her knapsack and came up with an 8 x 11 envelope. “I think I found it, Lindsay.”
She handed me the envelope, and I opened it: a Chronicle article dated two years ago about a prison diary Hellhole, by someone named Antoine James. A few passages were highlighted in yellow. I began to read.
"Aryan... worse than Arvan. All max guys. White, bad, and hating. We didn't know who they hated worse, us, the '' they had to share their meals with, or the cops and guards who had put them there.
“These bastards had a name for themselves. They called themselves Chimera.”
My eyes fixed on the word.
"They're animals, Lindsay. The worst troublemakers in the penal system. They're even committed to carrying out each other's hits on the outside.
“That's the good news,” she said. “The bad news is, it's Pelican Bay.”
Womans Murder Club 2 - Second Chance
Chapter 58
IN THE ANATOMY of the California state prison system, Pelican Bay was the place where the sun don't shine.
The following day, I took Jacobi and “req'd” a police helicopter for the hour's flight up the coast to Crescent City, near the Oregon border. I had been to Pelican Bay twice before, to meet with a snitch on a murder case and attend a parole hearing for someone I had put away. Each time, as I flew over the dense redwood forest surrounding the facility, it left a hole in the pit of my stomach.
If you were a law-enforcement agent - especially a woman - this was the kind of place you didn't want to go.
There's a sign, as they process you through the front gate, warning that if you're taken hostage you're on your own. No negotiations.
I had arranged to meet with the assistant warden, Roland Estes, in the main administrative building. He kept us waiting for a few minutes. When he showed up, Estes was tall and serious, with a hard face and tight blue eyes. He had that clenched-fist unconfidingness that comes from years of living under the highest discipline.
“I apologize for being late,” he said, taking a seat behind his large oak desk. “We had a disturbance down in O block. One of our resident Nortenos stabbed a rival in the neck.”
“How'd he get the knife?” Jacobi asked.
“No knives.” Estes smiled thinly. “He used the filed-down edge of a gardening hoe.”
I wouldn't have had Estes's job for a heartbeat, but I also didn't like the reputation this place had for beatings, intimidation, and the motto “Snitch, Parole, or Die.” “So, you said this was related to Chief Mercer's murder, Lieutenant?” The warden leaned forward.
I nodded, removing a case file from my bag. “To a possible string of murders. I'm interested in what you may know about a prison gang here.”
Estes shrugged. “Most of these inmates have been in gangs from the time they were ten. You'll find that every territory or gang domain that exists in Oakland or East L.A. exists here.”
“This particular gang is called Chimera,” I said.
Estes registered no immediate surprise. “No starting with the small stuff, huh, Lieutenant? So what is it you want to know?”
“I want to know if these murders lead to these men in Chimera. I want to know if they're as bad as they're made out to be. And I want to know the names of any reputed members who are now on the outside.”
“The answer to all of that is yes.” Estes nodded flatly.
“It's a sort of a trial by fire. Prisoners who can take the worst we can dish out. The ones who have been in the SHU's, isolation, for a substantial time. It earns them rank - and certain privileges.”
“Privileges?”
“Freedom. In the way we define it here. From being debriefed. From snitching.”
“I'd like a list of any paroled members of this gang.” The warden smiled. “Not many get paroled. Some get transferred to other facilities. I suspect there are Chimera offshoots at every max facility in the state. And it's not like we have a file of who's in and who's not. It's more like who gets to sit next to the Big Mother fucker at mess.”
“But you know don't you? You know who's in.”
“We know.” The warden nodded. He stood up as if our interview had come to an end. “It'll take some time. Some of this I need to consult on. But I'll see what I can do.”
“While I'm here, I might as well meet with him.”
“Who, Lieutenant?”
“The Big Mother fucker. The head of Chimera.”
Estes looked at me. “Sorry Lieutenant, no one gets to do that. No one gets into the Pool.”
I looked Estes in the eyes. “You want me to come back with a state order to get it done? Listen, our chief of police is dead. Every politician in this state wants this guy caught. I've got backing all the way. You already know that. Bring the bastard up.”