Birdy Waterman 01 - The Bone Box

ratted on anyone and no one has ratted on him. He’s taught at least a hundred inmates how to read; sent money—and he don’t have much—to a cellmate’s family. He’s not perfect, but he’s as close to decent as I’ve seen in this hellhole,” he said, his eyes lingering over another guard and an inmate in belly chains down the corridor. A mother who’d moments before had been calmly playing cards with her son was now convulsing in tears as she moved toward the exit.
    “My boy is being raped by his cellie! Why don’t you people stop it?”
    It was hard not to look at the woman, but Birdy faced the sergeant. “He didn’t tell me he was dying,” she said.
    “Of course not. He’s not the type.”
    “What’s that supposed to mean?”
    “Tommy’s not one to make someone do something they don’t want to do. He could tell you he’s got months, weeks to live and you’d get all in a tizzy and try to help him because of that—not because you thought he was innocent.”
    “What kind of medical care is he getting?” she asked. “Maybe I can help.”
    Sgt. Holloway shook off her offer. “No offense, but don’t you deal with dead patients? No disrespect intended.”
    “None taken,” she said. “And yes, I do, but I also know doctors who actually deal with patients who are living. I know several very good oncologists in Seattle.”
    “Look, I’m sure you do,” he said. “If you think that because he’s a con, he’s not getting the benefit of a cancer doc, then you’d be wrong. The state legislature has made it sure these guys get the best care possible when it’s serious. Mantra around here is that medical care for cons is gold-plated. No more lawsuits coming at us because someone croaked before their time.”
    “I see,” she said. It made sense to her. The whole world seemed to spin on making sure no one got sued, or if they did, they couldn’t lose.
    “Do you?” he asked, a little pointedly.
    “Can I talk to him again?”
    “Too late for today. Next week though. You staying in town?
    Birdy shook her head.
    “I can give him your number and he can call you collect. Visiting hours are over until Tuesday.”
    “I don’t have my purse,” she said. “You don’t happen to have a paper and pen?”
    Holloway put his fingertips to his lips and smiled. “Don’t tell the other guards, but yes I do.” He pulled a scrap from his pocket and a stub of a pencil.
    Birdy took it and wrote as he called out his number.
    “Do me a favor,” he said.
    She stopped writing and looked up, her eyes locking on his. “What?”
    “Don’t let him down,” he said. “The guy deserves better than that.”
    “He’s in prison for killing a girl,” she said.
    “So the jury concluded. But do you think—even for a minute—that the man you sat with today killed someone? He’s a decent human being,” he said. “Better than most by far.”
    “He’s helped a lot of people,” she said, searching the guard’s eyes.
    “I know what you’re getting at and you’re right. I’m one of those. Your cousin has taught me more about being a compassionate person than anyone. I’m here as a guard because of him. Some are here to punish, but I’m here to help. So I’m asking you—for him, please, help him.”
    “You sent the letter to me,” she said. “Didn’t you?”
    He looked down at the gleaming floor. “It was the only thing I could think of doing. He wasn’t going to ask you. But if you could have seen his face when he got word that you’d asked for a visit, you would know that I did the right thing. Man, he was so happy. And you know what else?”
    Birdy shook her head. “No, what?”
    “You’re doing the right thing,” he said.
    “I still don’t know what, exactly, I’m doing. I’ve looked over the evidence file. I didn’t see anything that can help him.”
    Ken Holloway looked around. “It isn’t for me to say,” he said finally. “But I will anyway. Your cousin once let it slip at a meeting that relationships sometimes aren’t all they seem. He said, sometimes you trust the wrong people.”
    “What does that mean? What wrong people?”
    “He said that the girl wasn’t all that he thought she was.”
    Birdy stood in the silent corridor. Was he referring to her? How she didn’t stand up for him? How could she? She had told the police what she’d seen even though her mother and father told her to keep quiet.
    Or was he talking about Anna Jo? And if it had been Anna Jo,