When he didn’t see the Sheriff’s pickup, he drove on, wondering if the body could belong to his parolee, and if it was Dickey Hinchey, how he’d ended up dead in a Rosedale park.
Vagrants like Dickey, with no family, died all the time, but few mourned their passing.
Chapter 9
The doctor saw Cole Hansen quicker than he expected. Usually it was weeks, if not months, before an inmate got an appointment to the clinic. Long enough to either be cured or dead of whatever ailment they had. Where was the usual bullshit politics and delay?
He puffed up a bit. Maybe debriefing was the right decision. Maybe it would be all right if he took the deal prison admin offered.
Cole admired Dr. Jones. She didn’t play favorites, but he knew she liked him. She was what his older sister would call an “old soul,” a person who was born gentle and kind.
Not that she looked gentle, mind you, – or old. She had a severe expression to her face that overshadowed her wide smile and sympathetic gray eyes. She wore no makeup on her pale face and pulled her thick brown hair into a tight bun at the back of her neck.
Rather than making her look hard, though, one loose curl tugged from the knot and made her seem approachable. The doc’s eyes were ... safe.
Escorted to the SHU medical ward by two officers, wrists and feet shackled, Cole waited patiently for the doctor to appear in the examination room. It was uncomfortable, but he’d long ago given up the idea of comfort, and at least his hands were cuffed in front of him.
“Hello, Mr. Hansen.” Dr. Jones smiled as she entered the exam room. “What’s wrong this time?”
She observed him without waiting for an answer, noting the sweaty palms and moist forehead, taking in the pallid color and jittery eyes. “You’re not looking so good today.”
Cole always had a lot of stomach trouble, a condition that became more severe with his hurried transfer to the SHU. He’d used that excuse, along with a complaint of migraines, to request the medical visit.
Dr. Jones leaned against the wall, eyeing him neutrally. She never seemed afraid of the inmates when they visited her. Never alarmed or disgusted with the signs and symptoms of their degeneracy.
“Even so, you’re pretty healthy, Mr. Hansen. Sleeping troubles, too? Or – ?” She cocked her head to one side in invitation.
Cole coughed, cleared his throat, and looked uneasily around the room. He jerked his head, motioning her to come closer. There was no privacy anywhere in prison, even with the shrinks, counselors and medical personnel.
“I need to make a decision,” he whispered when he was sure his voice was low enough not to be overheard if there were hidden microphones in the room. “But – but I’m kinda nervous.”
A startled look crossed her face. For an inmate to express fear rarely happened. The whole system of bully or be bullied was built on macho bravado. Dr. Jones lay down her clipboard and leaned her ear next to Cole’s mouth, placing her stethoscope on his exposed chest.
“What are you worried about?” she murmured quietly.
Cole coughed and took comfort from the placid depths of her calm eyes. “I – I wanna drop out,” he stuttered.
Her hands froze a moment. She didn’t pretend not to understand the term for snitching. “Why would you do something so dangerous?”
After a long pause, a flicker of understanding clouded those storm-swept eyes. “You didn’t do it, did you?” she said. “You didn’t kill that man.”
Of course, she would’ve heard all about the fracas that resulted in murder in the yard. “No – no, ma’am, I didn’t.” He straightened his back in a semblance of pride.
Sucking in his cheeks to produce saliva, he edged the note he’d retrieved in the SHU corridor to the front of his teeth. “I’ve got something – you know, just in case I – I don’t ... ”
He willed her to look up at him. When she leaned over to place the stethoscope higher on his chest, she twisted her head to glance at him and he spat the sodden note neatly onto her knuckles.
As smoothly as a professional card player, she palmed the note, and it disappeared from sight. She waited a long moment, contemplating the situation, and even though she hadn’t glanced at the note, she urged, “Do it, Cole.”
She placed one capable hand over his linked ones, pretending to take his pulse, her breath a sweet sensation on his cheek. “If you didn’t kill that man in the yard, you need to debrief. Set the record straight.”
She tightened her grip in encouragement. “You’ve got to get out of the SHU, Cole. You won’t survive there. You – you’re not ... brutal enough.”
She smiled wanly and straightened up, patted his shoulder, and walked to the door. “I’ll prescribe acetaminophen for the pain and something to help you sleep,” she said as smoothly as if they hadn’t been talking about Cole Hansen putting his life on the line for a system that didn’t give a shit whether he lived or died.
Chapter 10