Keith and I had broken into Basal and were being given a quick tour by Michael Banning, the warden’s assistant, and no one was stopping us. All was at ease.
The inmates were hanging out in small groups over card games, or wasting time alone, when we entered the common area, but we managed to attract most of their attention. I did, that is. All of the guards I’d seen were men; I was a woman. A cute blonde with teacher glasses. It made me wonder if the warden knew something in particular when he’d suggested that there were men here who’d like to get to know me better.
“The yard’s through that door,” Banning was saying, motioning across the large common area. “Think of the layout as like a compass cross and you won’t get lost. Administration behind us, that’s north; infirmary, cafeteria, recreation, et cetera, directly opposite, south; commons, the largest wing, to our right, west. And the privileged wing, east.”
“Privileged?” Keith said. He’d left his coat and his briefcase with the receptionist. Everything we needed was on me, under my loose slacks.
“Essentially an honors program for qualified members who earn certain privileges. Best accommodations in the state.”
“I see. And segregation?”
“Below the administration wing. If you need access, just let me know.”
“We will,” I said.
“Of course. You’d like to go there first?”
“Yes,” I said.
Keith glanced at me. “Give us half an hour to conduct a few interviews among the general population first.”
“Of course.”
Something was wrong, I knew it in my bones. Sicko was still out there, and we didn’t know who he was.
Danny was in here and we didn’t know where.
His name wasn’t on the roster given to us by the warden’s assistant, and in my mind that meant he must be in the hole. I had to get to Danny. I had to see him. I had to speak to him and give him the letter, but we couldn’t ask for him by name because that might raise suspicions.
We also had to get to Randell, and his name was on the register, cell 134 in the commons wing.
“Right,” I said.
Banning glanced between us, then motioned at the south wing. “Our milk stock’s behind the cafeteria. You sure you won’t need me to accompany you? It would make—”
“That’s generous of you, but it’s better for us to maintain the integrity of our inquiries,” Keith said. He lifted the stapled roster already opened to the third page and marked off a few names. “If you could please inform these inmates that we’d like to speak to them in their cells, we would appreciate it.”
He handed the clipboard to Banning, who quickly scanned the list. “Watkins, Collins, Randell. I can assure you of their full cooperation.”
“No assurances needed. Just have them report to their cells as soon as possible. We’ll take it from here.”
“Of course.” He handed the roster back, lifted his radio, and passed the instructions on to a CO, who came back over the air and informed Banning that members Collins and Randell were in the wing and would be in their cells. Watkins was either in the hard yard or the privileged wing. They would track him down immediately.
“The staff all knows you’re here,” Banning said, and handed the radio to Keith. “The prison is yours. If you need anything, anything at all, just call on that channel. We’ll have a special response team standing by, but I wouldn’t worry—you’ll find our members to be cooperative in every way. We’re very proud of our program.”
“I’m sure you are.”
Banning didn’t seem eager to let us go, despite all of his assurances. He finally nodded. “Well then. I guess I’m done here.”
Keith nodded once, dismissing the man as anyone accustomed to authority might. I was a basket case under my short blonde wig and stony mask, but Keith’s training as a sheriff kept our cover smooth.
The warden’s assistant turned and left us on our own.
“Where’s Danny?” I whispered, keeping my eyes forward.
“We’ll get to him. First things first.”
“Then Randell first,” I said. We’d planned on getting a few samples of milk first and then interviewing a couple of random inmates to put up a good show before zeroing in on Randell and Danny. But Danny’s name wasn’t on the register, and that changed everything for me.
“Agreed,” he said.
“I don’t like it.”
“Just stay focused. We’ll find him. Let’s go.”
I walked next to Keith as we headed through the huge domed atrium, struck by just how different Basal was compared to what I’d seen of Ironwood. New and clean, for one thing. Ordered and quiet. My experience visiting Danny was always filled with prying eyes, chattering wives, and families in a crowded visiting room. Kids crawling on the dirty floor, crying.
Basal looked more like a casual resort. The inmates were called members and dressed in neat dark blue slacks and tan shirts. The guards all wore black, cleaned and pressed. If they had weapons they were hidden.
I took it all in, but my mind was buzzing with images of Danny. I was scanning for him, searching every face and coming up only with winks, smiles, and scattered comments as we passed.
“Welcome to Basal, honey. Any time, baby.” None of it was loud or obnoxious, just isolated men reacting to a woman. I expected nothing less. If anything, their natural behavior took some of the edge off my anxiety.
I glanced over my shoulder and saw that Banning was talking idly to a CO by the door to the administration wing. Danny was below them in the bowels of the prison, I was sure of it. I wanted to grab Banning by the collar and demand he immediately take me to the member named Danny Hansen who wasn’t on their roster.
I wanted to throw myself into Danny’s arms and tell him that I had come to save him. That I’d found a way to get him out of here. I’d found the judge whose son Danny had killed. The man would help us, because I’d heard his confession and would tell the world of his own crimes if he didn’t help us.
The commons wing was a long hall with two tiers of cells on one side and a guard station on the other. The station was unmanned. Was that normal?
I didn’t have time to worry. We were suddenly there, not only inside Basal, but twenty yards from a cell on the ground floor with the numbers 134 stenciled in black above the barred door.
Two members leaning on the upper tier railing watched us idly as I followed Keith toward Bruce Randell’s cell.
“Nice,” one of the men muttered.
The whole thing was utterly surreal. The towering gray walls, the barred cages for convicted criminals like Danny, the raw power of incarceration in the great state of California reinforced by billions of dollars and millions of tons of concrete.
And there we were in the middle of it all, audacious enough to think we could walk in and out with impunity. Just like that.
I slowed and trailed Keith as we approached the door to Randell’s cell, unsure how I felt about seeing Danny’s enemy.
We had to make Randell our friend, because it wasn’t enough to put him on notice that we were going to bust his chops wide open if he touched one hair on Danny’s body. We also had to convince him to take our side. We might have gotten the keys to the prison, but we needed the keys to the warden and to Danny.
Keith spoke before I could see who was inside the cell.
“Bruce Randell?”
No answer.
I stepped up and saw a large man with a pitted face and light hair staring over a book from the lower bunk, unimpressed.
Keith showed the man his badge. “We’re with the inspector general’s office and we’d like to ask you a few questions.”
Randell sat up, immediately more amenable than he’d initially appeared. Naturally. Among other things, OIG stood alongside prisoners by investigating their grievances. He stood and dropped the book onto the bed.