First Degree Innocence Page 2

  It was hard to decide which was more annoying, the grating of the baton or the woman’s tone. Recalling yesterday’s treatment, she listened to the little voice inside her head telling her she’d better comply. She pulled her stiff body to a sitting position and dangled her feet over the side of the bunk. The ugly face she expected to see leering through the bars was gone. Ogden’s raspy voice echoed in the corridor as she moved on, rousing other prisoners.

  Carrie rubbed her eyes and stretched her arms over her head. Her mouth opened in a wide yawn. She glanced around the empty cell, consumed by isolation and loneliness. The judge might as well have sentenced her to life, because that’s what looking at ten years seemed like. Her fate was determined by the minimum time someone had to serve when involved in the commission of a crime that involved a firearm. Listening to the prosecution harkened back days when her mother read her story and Carrie had no idea how the tale would end.

  She blew a breath through pursed lips. She didn’t have a black hat to pull a rabbit from, or a magic wand to wave. There was no one to miss her, or to call on. Her mother was dead and… well, who knew where her father was? When her parents divorced, he married his girlfriend, moved away, and totally forgot Carrie ever existed. She had no idea how to contact him even if she wanted to. Her ironic chuckle sliced the silence when she compared missed holidays with her dad to her current predicament. What had seemed like major issues a few months ago were now nothing but small potatoes. Squaring her shoulders, she resolved to deal with her fate.

  The blasted clanking of steel doors drew her thoughts to the present. What was the routine in this place? God, she didn’t want to piss off that old crone again. What she wouldn’t give for a good romance novel to whisk her away to another time and place.

  Her stomach rumbled. She sniffed the air and tried to get a hint of what was being served for breakfast. Instead, a dank mustiness invaded her senses. Hoping the smell was the cell and not the food, she slid off the bed and flinched when her feet touched the floor. She needed socks.

  She snagged her extra pair from her laundry bag, perched on the edge of the bottom bunk and pulled them on. But something didn’t feel right when she stood. Glancing down, she realized her big toe had found a hole. She groaned. Everything about this place was horrid. Susanna was wrong. Hell didn’t hold a candle to prison.

  While Carrie peeled off the holey sock and replaced it with one in better condition, a ruckus drew her attention to the hallway. The serving crew was a few cells away, delivering breakfast, and the catcalls and jeers about the food echoed off the block walls. Bothered less by the noise than a bladder begging to be emptied, she eyed the stainless-steel toilet and shook her head. There was absolutely no privacy. She dropped her pants and sat. The earlier coldness of the floor against her feet was nothing compared to the icy welcome her bottom received. Shivering, she finished, flushed, and yanked up her pants, then went to the basin to wash her hands. She searched for a hanging towel but discovered another absent convenience and wiped her hands on her pant legs. This definitely wasn’t the Ritz Carlton.

  A crew of six inmates rolled a giant silver-colored box to the front of the cell. The contraption resembled a refrigerator, but when opened, revealed shelves of food trays. Evidently it was a warmer of sorts. She waited anxiously for her breakfast, willing to eat pretty much anything. A correction officer placed a key into a slot in the door and dropped a little window, just wide enough to pass the tray. Carrie grabbed the sides and tried not to spill the cup of ebony liquid she assumed was coffee. She curled her lip at the oily sheen floating on top.

  Perched on Susanna’s bunk, Carrie rested her tray on her lap and took stock of scrambled eggs, a little runnier than she liked, a piece of toast, buttered while cold so that the spread didn’t melt, and three peach slices devoid of juice that had overrun its compartment and turned the toast soggy. It didn’t matter. Sustenance trumped taste in this case. Using the giant spoon provided, she dug in but scowled at the disappointing flavor of fruity eggs.

  She was just taking a drink of her acrid brew when a guard ushered Susanna back. The squeal of the opening door made the hair on Carrie’s neck bristle.

  “Welcome back.” She stood and placed her empty tray on the top bunk, then turned to smooth the wrinkles out of Susanna’s blanket. “I hope you don’t mind that I sat on your bed.” Best to be polite, she thought.

  Susanna’s hair hung in dampened strands; dark circles ringed her eyes. “Not at all, but I plan to be napping in it very shortly. It was so damned hot in that kitchen, I thought I was going to die from heat stroke.”

  “Funny. I’ve been freezing here.” Carrie wrapped her arms around herself for emphasis.

  “That’s another of the quirks in this place.” Susanna kicked off her shoes, turned, dropped her pants, and sat on the toilet. “I don’t think the cells have thermostats, but you can bet it’s comfortable in the guards’ lounge.”

  She didn’t miss a word while a steady stream of urine tinkled against the steel bowl.

  Carrie turned her head away.

  “Speaking of lounging,” she spoke to the wall, “where do they expect us to sit? We don’t even have a chair.”

  “A chair? You’re kidding of course.” The toilet flushed and Susanna kept right on talking. “The warden figures it might become a weapon. Even the bunks are bolted to the floor. Did you notice you didn’t get any sharp utensils with your meal? I guess we should be grateful they give us a spoon and don’t make us eat with our hands.”

  Carrie felt foolish for being so prudish. There was just something odd about watching a stranger pee.

  “You can look now.” Susanna must have sensed Carrie’s discomfort.

  With a sheepish grin, her gaze shifted back to her cellmate.

  “You’ll get used to it,” Susanna added. “I felt the same way at first, but now if I have to go, I go. No one thinks anything about it.”

  She washed her hands, brushed them against her shirt tail, then gestured to her bottom bunk. “And I don’t mind if you sit here… as long as madame’s not sleeping, we can use it as our settee.” She held up a crooked little finger and chuckled.

  Susanna seemed so nice. Curiosity niggled at Carrie. What had her new friend done that landed her in “the joint?” It was probably too soon to ask. Better to start with a safer question. “What do we do with our trays?”

  Susanna stretched out on her bunk. “Just set them by the door. The second kitchen shift will be by to pick them up.”

  Carrie placed her tray on the floor and turned. “Before you go to sleep, can I ask you a few more things? They ought to give inmates some kind of handbook so you know the expectations. I sure don’t want to give that guard, Ogden, anything to hold against me.”

  With arms crossed behind her head, Susanna gave a nod. “That old bitch can make your life hell if you let her. Just don’t admit she’s getting to you or she’ll never stop riding you.”

  With no place to sit, Carrie leaned against the bars. “She must have had a field day with me yesterday. Everything she did and said got under my skin.”

  “So, what do you want to know?” Susanna guided her back to her previous question.

  “Is there a schedule? Do we get to shower? You mentioned recreational time. When do….”

  “Whoa, that’s more than one,” Susanna teased.

  “I’m sorry. I just feel so lost.”

  “I totally understand.” Susanna propped herself up on an elbow. “Between breakfast and lunch we stay in our cells. If you have visitors, you can ask them to bring books or magazines, or if you have money in your belongings, you can ask the guards to apply it to a commissary account. That way you can buy what you want.”

  “Anything?” Carrie widened her eyes.

  “Anything… as long as it’s on the approved list. After the breakfast trays are picked up, they start shower rotation, and then serve lunch. At three o’clock our block gets to go to the rec room for two hours. Then it’s bac
k in the cell for dinner. Visitation is between six and seven on Mondays and Wednesdays, and on Sundays, we’re allowed to go to the chapel for a generic religious ceremony. And that, my dear, about sums up your list of activities.”

  “What’s in the rec room?” She hoped for something exciting like a wide-screen television.

  “Let’s see…You can check out playing cards, watch TV if you can see through the snow, or get a book from the library cart. There are weight benches and free weights, and in the far corner there’s a stack of games people have donated. If you want some fresh air, you can go outside and play basketball if you like. Just make sure you stay close to me and watch out for Jet.”

  “Jet?” Carrie raised her brow.

  “Jillian Duke. They call her Jet. She thinks she owns the joint, and likes to flex her muscle for all the newcomers.”

  “Is she a body builder or something?”

  “No, in this case muscle means control. Just remember what I said. Stay close to me.” Susanna pulled up her blanket and turned to face the wall.

  Rec time wasn’t sounding so good. Carrie chewed her bottom lip and glanced around the cell again, looking for something to occupy her time. A book, a magazine, a pamphlet… anything. There was nothing. Susanna’s even breathing told Carrie her bunkmate was already asleep. Using the foot rail, Carrie crawled up to the top and stretched out. A nap sounded like a good idea. At least it was safe… she hoped. She wriggled between the sheets, plumped her makeshift pillow, and exhaled in a sigh. It was so quiet, she heard her own heartbeat.

  * * * * *

  “What? Who… stop.” Carrie’s brief nap ended with someone jabbing her in the side and calling her name. “Lang, get up. Hit the floor.”

  At first she thought it was a dream, but the shouts grew louder and the poking more intense. Peering through squinted eyes, she lifted her head to see four guards standing in the cell. Susanna, her blanket wrapped around her shoulders, stood against the wall, still looking half asleep. A uniformed arm reached up and snagged the mesh laundry bag from beneath Carrie’s head and promptly dumped the contents onto the floor. Another hand snatched away the blanket and her top sheet. Her mind spun like a rotor, trying to make sense of the chaos.

  Swiveling to dangle her legs over the side, she prepared to get down. Before she could, Ogden grabbed her arm and yanked her with such force that she landed in a heap on the cold cement floor. The woman cackled, standing with hands on hips and feet apart like a member of the Gestapo.

  Carrie looked up at the guard with questioning eyes, but her only answer was that annoying slap, slap, slap of Ogden’s baton against her palm. The woman’s lip curled into a sneer. “Thought we’d welcome you with your first contraband search, Lang. Get up and over there against the wall with your ‘cellie’… and strip. You know the drill.”

  God, did the cruelty ever end? Carrie eyed the bevy of guards destroying her cell. What contraband could she possibly have hidden? She hadn’t been in the cell for more than a day. They took everything she owned and locked it up when they processed her. How much of this treatment did a person have to bear?

  She glanced at her cellmate, heat creeping up her neck. Her blanket heaped at her feet, Susanna stood naked with eyes forward, hands to her sides, her bare feet resting on the pile of clothing she shed. If modest, the woman showed no signs.

  “Move it, Lang. We don’t have all day.” A different guard than Ogden poked a baton in the flesh of Carrie’s upper arm.

  She wriggled out of the elastic-waist pants, letting them fall. Following Susanna’s lead, she used them as a buffer between her feet and the icy floor, continuing to disrobe. She tried to act natural, but it wasn’t easy with goose bumps and pebbled nipples. Unaccustomed to prying eyes, it took everything she had to keep from shielding her body with her arms. Ogden’s frigid stare made the room seem much colder. Carrie tried to visualize the sandy beaches of Maui, thankful that only female guards had access to the women.

  Like a programmed robot, Susanna kicked her clothes out in front of her. Despite wearing gloves, the guard on the other side of her immediately snaked a baton through Susanna’s pants, holding them up as if contaminated. Using two fingers, she shook them, then dropped them back to the floor. She did the same with each of Susanna’s other articles while the other three guards tore the beds apart, went through their toiletries, and scattered belongings across the cell. Letters, stamps, and writing paper flew everywhere.

  Mimicking her cellmate, Carrie stepped off her clothing and allowed each piece to be searched. She eyed the socks on the floor, wishing the guard would finish so she could put the anklets back on her frozen feet. Expecting another invasion of her body, her heart raced, but the four officers left her and Susanna standing nude amidst a chaotic mess.

  Carrie grabbed her clothes and dressed. As she balanced on one leg to pull on a sock, her gaze moved to Susanna. “Does this happen often?”

  “Sometimes they bug us more frequently than others. Whenever they get a hair up their ass to make us miserable, they do a cell check.” Susanna pulled her shirt over her head then flicked her long hair out of the collar. “You’ll get used to it.”

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t think I’ll ever get used to having someone order me to disrobe, and then leer at me like I’m a piece of meat. What exactly were they looking for?”

  “Anything they can use against you.” Susanna knelt to retrieve her personal items. “When I first got here, I managed to smuggle a few smokes out of the kitchen.” She stood, clutching old letters to her bosom like they were written on gold parchment. “Either someone ratted me out or the guard’s timing was impeccable, but no matter, I drew a week in solitary. The time seemed more like a month once I got there, and I vowed I’d never do anything to put me in the hole again.” Susanna bundled her stuff together and tucked it back beneath her mattress.

  Solitary? Carrie’s mind flooded with visions of movies where prisoners lay among their own body waste while rats teased them from the corner of a dreary cell. She wrinkled her nose at the thought. “What happens in solitary, or do I want to know?”

  Susanna shrugged. “Maybe telling you will scare you enough to keep you from risky behavior.” She paced off a small area. “This is the size of the cell they put you in. There’s nothing in there except a cot and a toilet. I wasn’t even given my toothbrush and paste. They took my clothes and gave me a paper gown to wear, and I wasn’t allowed to shower the entire time. I did get a blanket every night at lights out, but they collected it first thing in the morning after breakfast was served. I didn’t speak to another soul for the duration, and the closest I got to another person was when my meals were shoved through the door. I was warned if I spoke, my time there would double. It wasn’t fun.”

  Carrie shook her head. “All that for a few cigarettes? I guess it’s a good thing I don’t smoke.”

  “This is a smoke-free environment, but it doesn’t have to be cigarettes. It can be anything you do or say to piss off a guard. Just watch your step.” Susanna ducked her head, remaking her bed. When she finished, she crawled onto her bunk and propped herself against the wall, her knees bent and her arms crossed like she was cold. “Okay, I’m out of your way. It’s your turn. I wonder how those bitches would like it if I tore their beds apart.”

  Carrie perched on the bunk’s end rail and flipped the bottom sheet across her mattress. She hunched down to see Susanna. “You think they could at least give us another blanket… or a mattress pad. I wonder how they’d like sleeping on crappy, dirty plastic.”

  “The truth, my dear, is that they just don’t give a damn.” Susanna flicked her hand in the air, assuming a haughty pose. “After their shifts are over, the guards go home to their own cozy little beds. They don’t give a shit about your comfort.”

  Carrie straightened and grunted in annoyance when the static electricity in the blanket kept the sides adhered to one another. “Damn, I hate this.”

  “You might as well get used to it. T
his is your life, Carrie Lang.”

  The idea of an appeal always lingered in the back of her mind, but so did the advice of her counsel when he explained she had a weak defense and could expect the same outcome from a retrial. Any feelings of hope were always washed away by her empty wallet. Private attorneys didn’t come free.

  With a sigh, Carrie abandoned the bedding, slid to the floor and crouched next to Susanna’s bunk. “Well, if this is my life, perhaps you’d better tell me more about Jet. I don’t think I can stand anymore surprises.”

  Chapter Three

  Carrie finished making her bed and crawled onto it. She hung her head over the side, peering in at Susanna, buried in the darkness of her own little cavern. “You seem to know all the quirks in this place. If you don’t mind me asking, how long have you been here?”

  Susanna ran her hands through her hair. “Seems like I’ve been here forever, but it’s only been three years. You might say I was at the wrong place at the wrong time. I made the mistake of hooking up with a guy who had a drug problem.”

  “That’s too bad. I can’t imagine doing drugs. I don’t even like to take an aspirin.”

  “He didn’t just do them.” Susanna chuckled. “He sold them.”

  Carrie flinched at her cellmate’s casual attitude. “Did you know—?”

  “Of course I knew,” Susanna snapped. “It just didn’t matter to me. I thought he was the love of my life. But when the cops raided our apartment, he so gallantly pointed the finger at me and said I was the one dealing.” Bitterness accented her every word.

  “That just sucks. Couldn’t you prove differently?”

  Susanna rolled her eyes. “It didn’t matter. I was an accessory and, as far as the judge was concerned, as guilty as Doug. I only wish I could forget the look on his face when I testified against him.” She released a long exhalation. “Can you believe I still cared about him after what he did?”