A staff member dressed in a white shirt and blue tie walked into the room and smiled.
“Welcome to Basal, deputies.” He reached out his hand. “Michael Banning, assistant to the warden, at your service. I understand you’d like to inspect our milk.”
Keith took his hand. “Just a random inspection, no cause for alarm. We’d like to get started if that’s all right with you. We have another appointment today.”
“Of course.” He offered me his hand and I didn’t want to take it, but I did. “I’m guessing you’re Julia.”
“Deputy is fine,” I said.
He grinned wide. “Well then, Deputy it is. The warden is on his way down. Can I get either of you anything? Coffee, a soda?”
“This isn’t a social call, Mr. Banning,” Keith said. “The warden will be notified of our findings when our investigation is complete. Now if you wouldn’t mind, we’d like to get started.”
“Of course. But I’m sure the warden would feel he’d insulted you if he didn’t greet you himself. It’ll just be a minute.”
I don’t know what came over me at that moment—maybe my fear of meeting the warden, maybe my aversion to waiting one more minute for anything when it came to Danny. But I looked into his eyes and spoke with simple authority.
“Do you know how much evidence can be burned in a minute, Banning?”
Banning. Not Mr. Banning, or Michael, just Banning.
He flashed another grin. “Of course. It’ll just be a moment.”
Before I could make another pass at setting him straight, the door crashed open and a tall man wearing round glasses and a black suit walked in.
“Who do we have the pleasure of assisting today?” he boomed.
This was Marshall Pape, warden of the Basal Institute, I was sure of it. Danny’s greatest enemy.
My demons vanished, fleeing the sudden rage that boiled in my gut. I wanted to walk up to him and slap him in the face and demand he take me to Danny immediately, but that would have only made our break-in a disaster.
I stepped forward and spoke before Keith could. “OIG, Deputies Somerset and Wishart. Thank you for having us, Warden. Nice place you have here. As my partner was just explaining to your assistant, we have another appointment, so if you could help us keep this as simple as possible, we’d be grateful.” I considered stopping there but kept going. “Nothing to worry about—we just need to take some random samples of milk and question some of the inmates about spiking. I’m sure you’ve heard of the recent issues with the Prison Industry Authority. Point us in the right direction so we can get out of your hair.”
Keith watched me, masking his surprise at my monologue, I’m sure. The warden looked down at me with a kind face, if a bit long in the nose. I wasn’t sure if his smile was forced or if he truly found me amusing.
“Right to the point. I like that.” He slid one hand into his pocket. “It is a nice place, isn’t it? We take a lot of pride in what we do here. You have my full cooperation. No one is more eager to root out any irregularity or misconduct, I can assure you.” His eyes turned to Keith. “You’re not from this region. I know most of the deputies.”
“We’re out of the main office. Thank you for your help, Warden. We’d like to get started.”
“Of course. Michael will take you to our conference room and call up any staff or members you wish to interview. Samples of the milk can be taken from the kitchen.”
“The conference room won’t work,” I said. “We’d like to question the inmates in their cells. It’s less formal and more direct. We’ll need a roster.”
His grin faltered. “Of course. You didn’t bring your own records?”
“Policy requires we use the most recent, which would be yours,” Keith said.
“Yes, of course.”
A moment of silence hung over the room.
“Well then, Michael will be glad to take you wherever you wish to go. My prison is yours.”
“Thank you,” I said. “But we won’t be needing an escort.” I looked at the assistant. “Get us a roster and show us around. We’ll take it from there.”
Another beat of silence.
The warden dipped his head. “Michael? You heard the deputy.” He started to turn, then faced me again. “Please be careful, Ms. Wishart. We have a number of men here who would love to get to know you more personally.”
He smiled at both of us, and then walked back out the door.
“So then”—Michael Banning clasped his hands together—“follow me.”
Just like that.
But it was never just like that.
33
DANNY HAD ENDURED punishment and he’d suffered pain, but he’d never been taken to the edge of himself as he had over the last thirty-six hours. There was no escaping that cell, no refuge from the excruciating pain, no reprieve from the warden’s place of punishment. If he’d been weaker, he might have passed out, but he could not, and he now regretted his strength.
His body seemed to react without his will engaged. He’d never screamed as he had on that table. His muscles had never locked up so fiercely or shaken so violently without soon submitting to his control. But there in deep meditation his physical torment was beyond him entirely, and his body could only revolt in the most strenuous terms.
All of his attempts to muscle his mind into a calm, meditative state failed to attain the peace he sought for more than a few minutes. There in the darkness behind closed eyes, he searched for and found light, but it was fleeting, stamped out by raging pain.
He refused to surrender to the pain. Neither could he surrender his mind. But all of his attempts to step beyond it failed him far more than they aided him. Unending misery was his only friend in that place of torment.
If they hadn’t cinched the leg straps so tightly, he might have shaken loose from the restraints. The only reason the bit didn’t break off in his bone was because it was flexible, like a very thin cable.
The doctor had taken many breaks, one that lasted nearly six hours, presumably to sleep. But as Danny quickly learned, the breaks only intensified the experience. After thirty minutes of grinding he found that his body began to shut down his nerves of its own accord. The doctor would withdraw the needle from his shin, calmly lay the device on the table, and sit for a smoke or leave the room for ten minutes before resuming his task with the calculation of a brain surgeon.
Initially, Danny had found the break welcome, but the first time the bit returned to the tiny hole in his shin and made contact with his inflamed nerves, he understood their intentions. The pain was even more intense than before and only seemed to increase each time the doctor repeated the cycle. His anticipation of that pain was its own kind of torture.
Bostich had left them after the first hour and checked in on several occasions, each time muttering words that Danny could hardly hear much less digest in his condition.
The ordeal jerked his mind back to the pain he’d inflicted on his victims before taking his vow of nonviolence. He’d never tortured anyone—he didn’t have a sadistic bone in his body—but he had used painful force. It was true that each of those he’d confronted were guilty of heinous crimes, but while lying on the table in convulsing agony he wished no pain on the guilty, because he knew his own guilt. Weren’t all guilty?
He lost track of time. His life descended into cycles of suffering marked by the doctor’s insertion of the bit into one of several holes he’d made in Danny’s shin. There was no end; there was only more. At some point he began to forget that it would end. Minutes felt like hours, and hours like an eternity.
Danny was strapped to the table, alone in the room, a shell of himself when the door opened once again. He didn’t open his eyes or demonstrate his fear. He’d salvaged that much control over his body.