Life Sentences (7 page)

How much blame, Pilar wondered, could be placed upon Maryann for Chad’s behavior? How much are any of us independent of our parents’ influence? She remembered the newspaper photograph, that handsome face, the searing gaze, those intelligent eyes. That was the question, wasn’t it — how did that man become a murderer?

Pilar pulled the blanket up to her chin.

“But,” she jumped when Lorrie shouted, “how can we blame Chad for feeling betrayed and hurt by his own family?” She raised her fist into the air and slammed it against the bed as though Pilar caused the betrayal to happen.

Pilar pulled the blanket away from Lorrie’s fist. “I know how Chad feels,” Pilar confided. “My father abandoned me, too. I hate him, but I’m not going to kill every man that reminds me of him.” She tried to laugh. “Even if I’m tempted.”

Suddenly Lorrie changed her tone. “Just be sure you’re not taken in by Chad’s charms like the rest of us.” Her voice was cold, secretive. “And don’t forget, you said I was lucky.”

O
N THE LAST TRAINING DAY
, Pilar clutched Lorrie hard to her chest. If she let go, Pilar was afraid Lorrie would spin out of control, then crash to earth in flames like a meteor. Yet, despite Pilar’s urgent desire to help Lorrie, she also feltan intense pressure to get as far away from her as possible. One thing Pilar knew for sure, though, was that somehow she herself embraced Lorrie’s history — and Chad’s.

“N
ICE ASS, LADY
,” an inmate called out.

Pilar winced at the catcall as she bent forward to grab her briefcase from the Mercedes’ front seat. When she straightened and self-consciously brushed her slim linen skirt in place, Pilar noticed Warden Max Whitefeather watching her from the lobby window. Whitefeather licked his lower lip and stepped back into the shadows. It was stupid to have worn a hip-hugging skirt.

When she wrapped a matching jacket over her shoulders, another inmate yelled out, “Show us your tits.” Several other men chuckled as they lock-stepped to a prisoner transportation bus idling near the sallyport.

Though the air was unusually cool for early August, Pilar’s hands were moist when she gripped her briefcase. She knew that if she acknowledged the men, even with a slight tilt of her head, she’d only encourage more insults. She kept her head held high and chin forward. Yet her eyes shifted slowly toward the voices. With a trembling hand Pilar reached for the door handle just below the words Hawk Haven Prison, etched in the glass. She hesitated. Then, Pilar turned and faced the taunting men.

Pilar focused on an officer standing at the front of the bus. He leveled a shotgun at a line of men chained together wearing orange jump suits with Michigan Department of Corrections printed across their backs in large black letters. Ankles clad in iron, the prisoners shuffled by the officer and awkwardly climbed the stairs. Pilar knew from training videos that once they boarded the bus, another officer would guide each prisoner to a seat, unhook him from the tether, and handcuff him in place to a steel eye bolt welded to the chair.

As Pilar laughed at her concern over what that group said to her, she noticed the armed guard never flinched when prisoners insulted him. Even the unarmed officers appeared menacing in their black slacks and gray shirts, colors Pilar associated with the likes of Darth Vader. When one unintimidated prisoner spit on the guard’s uniform shoulder, the officer lodged a shotgun butt in the offender’s groin. The injured prisoner tumbled to the ground. The others linked to him crumbled as well. They cursed as they pulled the first man from the top bus stair.

A flash of light drew Pilar’s attention away from the cascading inmates to the gun tower perched on the rooftop just above the sallyport. The ever-vigilant tower officer lifted his M15 automatic rifle and aimed it at the confusedpile of orange bodies. Then, he pointed the rifle into the air just above the human mass and fired a warning shot. The report sliced the air.

Pilar flinched and sought refuge inside the lobby. She leaned against the door, hyperventilating, and damned her faintheartedness. The smirking front desk officer raised the forefinger of his right hand to the side of his head like a salute and asked, “Dr. Brookstone, I presume?”

Pilar regained her composure and faced the officer. She stretched to her full 5’8″ height, back-board straight and snapped, “Yes.” She tossed her hair away from her face and chastised herself for the second time that morning. She should have secured her hair in a clip at the nape of her neck so she’d look professional.

The officer started at the unexpectedly loud response and stated, “You’re expected. The warden is waiting in the auditorium with the other ‘fish’.” His eyes roamed over Pilar’s body.

Pilar recognized the insulting term “fish,” a derogatory expression for someone new. She arched her right eyebrow and checked the officer’s name tag. “You were correct the first time. Call me Doctor Brookstone,” she instructed in a harsh, sarcastic tone, “Officer Leonard.”

The unflustered officer smiled and motioned her through a steel security gate into a small enclosure. “After you, DOCTOR Brookstone.”

Why was it, she wondered, the jerks were always goodlooking? She jumped when the gate struggled to close behind her, and noted the mocking grin on Leonard’s face.

“Put your briefcase down,” he ordered.

Pilar looked in the direction of his nod. She placed her newly purchased calfskin case on a stainless steel table bolted to the wall. A sour liquid stung her throat. She swallowed hard and forced it back down while Officer Leonard rifled through the briefcase like a cop looking for drugs.

“Routine search,” he said. “You’ll get used to it.” His face brightened. He commanded Pilar to spread her legs apart and lift her arms out to her side level with her shoulders. He lowered his eyes to the slit in Pilar’s skirt that exposed the section of her left thigh two inches above the knee.

Pilar glanced at him, wrinkling her face into a disdainful question. Ignoring her, Officer Leonard circled behind Pilar. A heavy scent of Stetson cologne filled the cage. As he completed the shakedown his fingers combed through Pilar’s hair down to the collar of her silk shirt. He pressed the seams and massaged his way across her outstretched arms and then back to her breasts.

Paralyzed, Pilar faced the bars of the gate that shut her away from the outside world as Officer Leonard caressed her breasts and slid his hands along her thighs into her crotch. Pilar’s eyes burned as she strained to keep the tears away. She was too new to know if that was a normal search or one given to all “fish” to put them in their place.

When he finished his exploration of her body, Leonardyelled, “Gate Two.”

An officer, beads of sweat formed on his upper lip, pushed a button. He was seated inside the bubble, a small room to the right of the gates, and screened behind bullet proof glass. He had watched the shakedown and winked at Leonard to show his approval. Gate Two slid open with the same uneasy effort as gate one. Leonard motioned Pilar to follow another officer who waited nearby. Pilar felt Leonard’s scorching stare as he watched her walk the corridor that took her behind the walls.

A
S
P
ILAR ENTERED THE
auditorium, Warden Whitefeather was being introduced. He stood in front of two rows of newly hired “fish” officers. He was shorter and stockier than Pilar remembered from their interview. His crooked smile greeted Pilar. “Doctor Brookstone,” he nodded. “Take a seat here.” He pointed to the one right in front of him.

The new male and female officers of varying ages and racial and ethnic backgrounds studied Pilar as she moved to the first row, the one they avoided. She took deliberate steps to control her nervousness while twelve pairs of eyes followed her. Pilar’s heels, the only noise in the auditorium, sounded like hail hitting a metal roof. Painfully aware of her unsteadiness, it seemed like hours before she finally sat alone in the center of an empty line of chairs.

Whitefeather tossed his charcoal-tweed sports coat into the chair next to Pilar. Its sleeve brushed against her arm. Pilar blanched when the warden clapped his hands and shouted, “Let’s get this orientation over.” He loosened his tie, unfastened the top button of his white, synthetic shirt and rolled up his sleeves.

The officers fidgeted with their own ties, shirt cuffs, and buttons. Pilar tugged her skirt over her knees. Warden Whitefeather eyed the motion when she tucked her legs under the seat. As he regarded her, the warden barked like a drill sergeant, “Some of you won’t make it.” His eyes moved to Pilar’s face. His voice echoed in the nearly empty assembly hall.

Though certain that the remark was directed at her, Pilar couldn’t let on that she was humiliated. Instead, she elevated her chin and stared the warden down.

He grinned, then looked at the others. “I don’t know which of you, maybe a third, won’t be here this time next year.”

While Whitefeather waited for a few to clear their throats and change positions, he examined Pilar. He pushed his thick salt and pepper hair away from his forehead. One stubborn tuft returned to its place above his right eye.

“Prisoners have all day to watch you, to find your vulnerabilities.” Pilar felt she was the only person in the room. Whitefeather finally looked away and checked each face in the audience. He appeared to note who would be a prisoner’s target. “Be aware of the set-up.” His eyes settled back on Pilar.

Heat filled Pilar’s face. Why did he single her out? Sheneeded to determine what indicators she had displayed in that short time to make people think she was vulnerable. In training she had heard the warden’s wife had died. Killed by a drunk female driver. Was he upset with all women at that moment?

“Some of you,” the warden waved his right hand in an arch across the front of his slight middle-aged paunch, his intense eyes moving from one face to another, “will leave of your own free will. Others will be fired for a variety of reasons from drug abuse to,” he hesitated and glanced at Pilar again, “improper relationships with prisoners.”

It took every bit of Pilar’s energy to stay still and not react with a nervous twitch or movement. Though desperate to challenge his obvious accusation, Pilar also knew that the orientation wasn’t the time or place. Pilar looked from the warden’s round stomach to his face. Despite the obvious physical differences, she saw only her father. The rest of the orientation was a blur.

O
NCE IN THE INFIRMARY
, Pilar collapsed into a chair, glad that her office was part of the prison’s administration building rather than inside, beyond the security gates. Yet, she was curious about the security risk. So many inpatient rooms faced the parking lot with nothing more than locked windows to prevent an escape. Pilar shrugged. How silly! No one had gotten out of Hawk Haven in its one hundred-year history. Besides, there was no place an escapee couldgo. The prison was in the middle of the Hiawatha National Forest in the UP, the Upper Peninsula.

Built in the late 1800’s, Hawk Haven looked like a state hospital from a Dickens’ novel. The still-occupied warden’s house, a reminder of past days when most prison administrators lived on grounds, sat to the left of the Gothic administration building. Both buildings were incorporated into the thirty-foot concrete wall, an ominous perimeter protected by razor ribbon, electronic detection system, and eight gun towers. It was almost too hard for employees to get out of there let alone a prisoner, unless, of course, an inmate exited through an infirmary window.

Pilar had more pressing concerns than a possible escape. She laughed at the absurdity of her position: Could a debutante from Grosse Pointe Shores work in one of the toughest prisons in Michigan caring for rapists, murderers and child abusers? She was going to give it one helluva try. And the first thing she’d do was figure out how she came across as susceptible to Whitefeather.

As Pilar removed a department manual from her briefcase, she thought back to her six weeks in training. Remembering Lorrie’s cautions, it seemed an uncanny coincidence that Pilar would have trained with someone who knew Chad Wilbanks, a serial killer.

Pilar retrieved her stethoscope, the last item in her attache. Then, she lifted a white lab coat from a wall hook, caressing it as though the coat were a symbol of honor. Maybe the coat would erase any misconceptions about her. Pilar had one arm in the sleeve when someone knocked. The door opened before she could acknowledge the caller. An African-American woman poked her head through the opening and announced, “I’m Jane Carson, day shift nurse. Your first patient is here.”

Pilar nodded. “I’ll see him in the exam room.” She walked through the door, but stopped as she searched the long, impeccably clean corridor, lined with closed doors and smelling of disinfectant and old gym shoes. Pilar turned to the nurse. “Where’s the exam room?”

Nurse Carson chuckled in a good-natured way. “We have several, but he’s in number three.” She pointed down the narrow hallway. “By the end of today, you’ll be well acquainted with each room.”

“Why’s that?” Pilar asked.

“The word’s out about the new good-looking female doctor, so our clinic call is higher than normal. They knew about you a week ago.” Nurse Carson giggled like a girl. “Boys will be boys, locked up or not. Besides, sick call gets them out of their cells.” Her eyes shone like two small suns and lit up her dark face. “You’ll get used to the attention. We all do.”

Pilar watched Jane Carson return to the nurses’ station. She had to be one of few African-Americans who worked in the UP. She was short, maybe 5’2″, a little on the plump side, in her late twenties, with classic good featuresrather than prettiness. Her black hair was cut close to her almost perfect skull. Her noticeably buoyant personality captivated Pilar.

A
FTER A MORNING OF
checking pulses, heart beats, and sore throats, Pilar had just enough time to eat an apple from an infirmary tray before Nurse Carson appeared at the door. “No rest for the weary, I’m afraid, doctor. Your first patient for this afternoon is here. And he’s a doozy.” She handed Pilar a file. “In here for natural life.”