Inside (Bulletproof 1)
Page 59“What do you know,” he muttered, slapping the steering wheel. Coming to the Redwood Inn was going to pay off, after all. When he’d decided to watch the place to see if he could figure out what was going on with the CDCR, he’d never dreamed he’d see action quite this early. He’d thought Peyton might return later and had wanted to see what she might do, or try to catch a glimpse of the person she’d come to visit last night.
But this was the next best thing. Especially since the wait hadn’t been that long, barely an hour, and he’d been surfing the internet for much of that time.
Hoping to strike up a conversation with Wallace—and get a look inside the room—he climbed out and hurried down the walk.
The blinds were drawn, as they’d been since John had become aware of this particular room, but he knew Wallace was in there. Pasting a friendly smile on his face, one he hoped conveyed enough awe and respect, he ignored the do not disturb sign dangling from the knob and knocked.
“Who is it?”
Wallace sounded nervous, suspicious, as if he was reluctant to open the door.
John found that strange, too, especially here in Crescent City. For all the hardened criminals housed seven miles away, this had to be one of the safest cities in America. There was probably more law enforcement per capita than anywhere else.
“It’s Sergeant John Hutchinson, sir.”
“Sergeant John who?”
Had Wallace heard about the Bentley Riggs incident? John didn’t see how he could, not so soon. It looked as if Wallace had just gotten into town. He certainly hadn’t been at the prison earlier when John had received the bad news.
Clearing his throat, John spoke louder. “Hutchinson, sir. I’m a C.O. at the prison. We met once, almost a year ago?”
The delay was so long, John believed Wallace wasn’t going to respond. He stood there, feeling awkward and uncertain, and wondering if he dared knock again, when he noticed a curtain fluttering in his peripheral vision. The associate director had come to the window.
What was wrong with him? Was he afraid to answer?
Waving to reassure him, John waited another second—and then the door opened.
“What can I do for you, Sergeant?”
Brisk and to the point—the associate director didn’t seem pleased to be interrupted. So John upped the wattage of his smile and changed the excuse he’d prepared. Instead of saying he’d stopped to let Wallace know what a difference his leadership was making, he decided to ask for his understanding and support over the Riggs debacle, because even if he hadn’t heard about it yet, John had no doubt he would eventually, in a report if nothing else. If he broached the subject himself, he’d at least have the chance to convince the associate director that he’d acted without malice.
“I was driving by when I saw you turn in.” He motioned to the street and the traffic streaming along it.
“And?” Grooves of impatience were etched in Wallace’s forehead. Obviously the man was in a hurry.
John swayed to the side, trying to see if there was another person in the room, but it appeared to be empty. An army-green duffel bag sat on the bed, stuffed to capacity and zipped shut. It didn’t look as if it belonged to someone who dressed in expensive, tailored suits like Wallace did, but John couldn’t imagine why Wallace would be packing up another person’s belongings.
“What incident is that?”
The gravity of John’s tone had piqued his interest, so John took great care to describe what had transpired in a more favorable light than Wallace would probably hear from anyone else. “I feel terrible about it,” he finished, “but I really don’t believe my actions were out of line, sir. I was just doing my job.”
“And there are witnesses to corroborate your story?”
There were witnesses who should’ve supported him and didn’t, which angered him. He would’ve lied for any one of them. “There should be. Two other C.O.s came over to help once the fight broke out, but everyone seems to have a different version of it.”
“Then I’m not sure what you think I can do.”
“I was hoping you could convince the chief deputy warden to revisit the issue. I don’t deserve to have this on my record, sir. I’m a damn good C.O. And I can’t afford the loss of two weeks’ pay. I’d never use more force than necessary. If I hadn’t kicked Bentley Riggs he wouldn’t have stopped fighting.”
“Punishing a man for doing his job doesn’t send the right message,” Wallace muttered.
“Exactly. Next time there’s a fight, I’ll be so afraid of getting into trouble I might end up on the floor with a cracked skull myself. Or worse.”
“We can’t tie the hands of our guards,” he agreed. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Sorry, I’ve got other plans.”
John wondered what those plans might be. “No problem.” He nodded toward the duffel on the bed. “Can I help you carry any of your stuff?”
“I’ve got it.”
“You sure?”
“Positive.”
“Okay. Have a good night.” He returned to his truck, even drove out of the lot so it would look as if he’d moved on. But he waited down the street to see what would happen next. Then he followed the associate director all the way to Peyton’s house, where Wallace, carrying that duffel bag from the motel and a nice piece of rolling luggage, went in but, oddly enough, didn’t come out.
John watched until all the lights in the house went off before realizing that Wallace must be staying the night.
At least now he knew how Peyton had been getting her promotions. And she thought she could fault his behavior? She was a whore at heart, just like his ex. Women were so full of shit. They only did what benefited them.
But he still wasn’t sure what the man who’d been staying in room fifteen had been doing in town, how he was connected to Wallace and Peyton, or where he’d gone.