A shiver crawled up her spine. Not only had Bennett been convicted of murder, he’d been convicted of killing someone very close to him. That made her uncomfortable, whether the jury had been mistaken or not. There had to have been a reason he was convicted in the first place.
When Simeon’s piercing blue eyes lingered on Peyton yet again, she sensed that he understood the revulsion she was feeling—that he expected it and resented it at the same time.
“Who really killed your stepfather?” she asked.
When he merely smiled, Wallace filled in the blank. “His uncle. He’s being held at Solano State in California, awaiting trial. He also has a mother in L.A., where he was raised, who might’ve put her brother up to it. There’s some circumstantial evidence to suggest it, but no real proof, so she’s never been charged. The only other member of the family is a younger sister who is now a divorced mother of two, if that helps. Any other information you might need, Chief Deputy?”
Yes—a lot. If his mother had persuaded her brother to kill her husband, how was it that Simeon had gone to prison? Wouldn’t his mother have come forward to stop it? Did she just let it happen? Or had she and her brother framed him? Question after question sped through Peyton’s mind. But she saw no point in pursuing the answers. Warden Fischer was going to do this with or without her agreement. Why make their mutual boss any angrier? She’d heard the sarcasm in Wallace’s response. “No,” she said.
“We’ll be ready for him on Tuesday, then.” The warden motioned toward the door as if he expected Wallace to leave before him, but Wallace didn’t budge.
“One more thing.”
At his somber tone, everyone perked up.
“Bennett’s true identity and everything else about Operation Inside is top secret. Everything. Do you understand?”
“You have nothing to worry about,” Fischer assured him. “When we get back to the prison, I’ll make sure every member of my staff understands the sensitivity of the situation and their responsibility regarding it.”
“No.” Wallace shook his head. “You won’t tell your staff. The only people who can know are the ones in this room.”
Fischer scratched his sagging jowls. He seemed to be catching on to what Peyton had understood all along. “You’re saying we can’t even tell the C.O.s working in gen pop?”
“That’s what I’m saying.”
“Then…how will they protect him?”
Parting his jacket, Wallace hooked his thumbs inside his belt as if posing for GQ. He wanted to be director of the CDCR someday. He’d never actually voiced that aspiration, not to Peyton, but it was obvious from the way he tried to impress those above him and how unyielding he could be to those below. “They won’t do more for him than they would for any other inmate,” he said.
“But—” At last the warden started to argue, only to be overruled.
“Treating him differently, pulling him aside to ask how things are going, showing him respect the others aren’t entitled to—that’s what will get him killed. One knowing look could be enough.”
The warden buttoned his coat. “The way you’ve got it set up doesn’t provide much support.”
As Peyton had already mentioned….
“It’s our only choice,” Wallace said. “We can’t risk a leak.”
“I promise you, my staff is completely trustworthy,” Fischer insisted.
Wallace’s wedding band wasn’t nearly as impressive as the heavy gold and diamond ring he’d bought to celebrate his recent promotion. Once again, Peyton noticed it as he lifted his hand to gain everyone’s attention before the warden could add anything else. “There are 1,400 employees at this prison. I’m not accusing anyone, but we all know that drugs, messages, weapons come in and out. For that to occur as frequently as it does, some of your staff have to be acting as facilitators. One word of warning to the Hells Fury and…well, I don’t have to tell you how fast the truth would spread and what could happen as a result.”
A frown creased Fischer’s heavily lined face. “So this investigation will include convicts and employees alike?”
“That remains to be seen, doesn’t it?” Releasing his belt, Wallace closed his briefcase. Then he and Simeon Bennett walked out.
Peyton heard their car start while she, Fischer, Rosenburg and Perry stood staring at one another. Finally the warden asked Rosenburg and Perry to excuse them for a moment, and the two men went out to wait in the van.
Bracing for a tirade, Peyton leaned against the door she’d shut on the heels of Rosenburg. She thought her boss was about to chew her out for being uncooperative during the meeting. He generally didn’t hesitate to let her know if he disapproved of her behavior. Because they were so different in their philosophies, that happened more often than she would’ve liked. But this time he surprised her.
“You don’t like the idea of this investigation, do you, Peyton?”
She’d already made that clear. “No, sir.”
“You don’t think Bennett can handle it?”
“I’m not sure anyone can. You know what it’ll be like if he’s labeled a snitch. The Hells Fury won’t demand proof. Suspicion will be enough. I’m afraid we’ll have blood on our hands before the week is out.”
He sat on the edge of the table. “One way or another, it’s going to turn into a can of worms,” he admitted. “But…if he could break the stranglehold of the Hells Fury, everyone will be better off.”
She couldn’t deny that. Measuring her words so she could speak the truth without undermining her integrity, she said, “It would be nice to put a stop to Detric Whitehead and his organization, yes.”
“We have no choice except to comply. You understand that, don’t you?”
After being in heels all day, her feet were beginning to hurt, but she resisted the urge to sit down. She didn’t want to appear tired or weak. She worked in a prison, had to prove herself every single day. “And why is that, sir?”
“You heard Wallace. He presented his plan as if we had some input, but we didn’t. The decision was made before he ever asked us to meet him here. Even the governor is set on it.”
Securing the flap of Wallace’s manila envelope, she bit back the accusation that he could’ve tried harder to refuse. “So…what do you suggest we do?”