Justice(20)

“What about Ryder? Anything out of the ordinary with him in the last three months? Anything at all?” I ask.

“I’ve been wracking my brain since I found out, but nothing,” Lopez says, frustrated with himself. “They keep him pretty doped up, so he’d either sleep or read. That’s all he’s pretty much done since he’s gotten here.”

“Were any of the other guards particularly attentive toward Ryder?” I ask.

“We’re not allowed to talk to them beyond basic commands. The last guy who spoke to him was fired a year and a half ago. His name was Dylan Gunderson. I have no idea what happened to him.”

“Who reported him?” Conover asks.

“I did.”

“What did they talk about?” I ask.

“The weather, I think, but we have a zero tolerance policy,” Lopez says. “He was just an idiot. And besides, he doesn’t have access to the prison anymore.”

“You seem to know the block better than anyone,” I say. “Any theories as to how he got out of his cell? How he contacted the outside world to set this up?”

“The security cameras didn’t show the escape?” Lopez asks.

“The ones on your block were hacked into,” Conover says. “The past week’s footage was destroyed. We have techs figuring out how it was done.”

“So how did the cell door get open?” I ask.

“If he didn’t burn through it, someone had to open it. Only way,” Lopez says. “He could have faked a medical emergency, hung himself, any number of reasons for them to go in there.” Lopez leans forward, arms still on the table. “You have to remember, we thought this guy was neutered. There was nothing to show otherwise. He was a model prisoner: quiet, obeyed orders, nothing physical. I wished they were all like that.”

“Who gave him his drugs?” I ask.

“We did. One of the guards on duty. Every meal he took them, and we watched him take them. Checked under his tongue and cheek. The stuff for the acid came in liquid form. There was no way he could have pretended to take that.”

I jot “switched liquid how??” on my pad. “Who had access to it?”

“Dr. Landry, our prison doctor mixed it, brought it to us, and we gave it to him once a day at dinner.”

“So either one of the guards or the doctor’s staff switched it,” Conover offers.

Lopez’s face falls. Now him I feel for. I couldn’t imagine what I’d think if Cam or even Mirabelle was accused of helping a psycho escape. You’re supposed to be able to trust these people with your life, you against them. I’ll let this idea sink in before making him confront the hard truth. I clear my throat. “Do you have any theories on how Ryder could have communicated with someone outside the prison?”

Lopez comes out of his own head. “Um, what?”

“We believe that someone was waiting for Ryder outside the prison,” Conover adds. “How would he be able to do that?”

“I don’t know,” Lopez says, still in a daze. “He received letters, but someone went through them before he got them. The only other items he was able to bring into his cell were books and newspapers, but they never leave the prison. We toss the cell once a month, but he never had anything out of place. I don’t see how else, unless he had a go between.”

I meet his dark brown eyes. “So, you know these guys. You work with them. Anything we should know about them? Or you?”

“They’re good men,” he says with little enthusiasm. “They do their job.”

“Any make unusual purchases lately? Acting weird?” Conover asks.

“Not that I know of,” Lopez says with no conviction. This is the first time he’s lied.

I smile sympathetically. “I know you don’t want to jam up your buddies, but you and I both know this was an inside job. Whoever organized it is responsible for the death and crippling of two of your friends. Logan Dodd lost his hand. Stu Moore lost his life. Who knows how many more Alkaline is going to hurt before we catch him. Please. Anything you know.”

Lopez shakes his head and falls back in his chair. With a sigh he says, “Garrett’s wife just had another baby, and they’re hurting. Ralph likes to gamble, but I don’t know how much he owes and to who. Marcel and Logan, as far as I know, are clean.”

“What about Officer Moore?” Conover asks.

It’s as if a switch is flicked inside our ally. One moment he’s slumped in the chair, and the next he’s all but reaching across the table at Conover, face contorted with rage. The young man instinctively leans back. “You leave Stu Moore the fuck out of this! You leave his wife alone, you leave his kids alone. Do you hear me?”