Killing The Blood Cleaner

Killing the Blood Cleaner

A Novel

by

Davis Hewitt

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Killing the Blood Cleaner

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Copyright © 2013 William Davis Hewitt
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Version 2013.11.20

Killing the Blood Cleaner

A Novel

by

Davis Hewitt

ONE

It did not matter that Dr. Amy Bridge had turned from Georgia Highway 189 into Georgia Maximum Security Prison outside of Lester, Georgia, hundreds of times in her three-year career as the prison doctor. Each time, the massive gray structure with its soaring guard towers and miles of tall, chain link fences topped by shining razor wire startled her as it rose mightily out of the flat Georgia pine forest like a heavily armed castle. She pulled her powder blue truck under the guard tower and pressed the black communications button on the ground level monitor.

“Beulah, it’s just me,” the doctor said with a wave to the black female guard whose broad, smiling face appeared at the window of the tower, high above the truck.

“I will let you in this time Dr. Bridge, but only if you promise to stay out of trouble,” Beulah replied in an electronic crackle on the monitor. The heavy steel crossbar in front of the truck slowly rose to allow entrance into the compound. Dr. Bridge turned her vehicle to the left and into the employees’ parking lot. Even though it was seven in the morning, the hot June sun had already heated the thick air, which she immediately felt as she stepped from the air conditioning of her truck onto the pavement of the parking lot. She breathed in the warm air deeply and looked up at the cloudless blue sky. She was not expecting it to be her last day.

An inmate trusty in a bright orange uniform was busy sweeping the walk to the entrance, occasionally stopping to remove a piece of trash.

“Good morning, Dr. Bridge. I’m going to come see you today for my arthritis,” the older, black inmate called to her.

“We will get you fixed up, Jimmy,” she replied, with a smile, thinking to herself how she wished every inmate patient were as decent as Jimmy.

The entrance to the prison was guarded by a long concrete tunnel which led to the main Administration building. She had often thought it looked like an elongated igloo as it rammed toward the front of the older building. The entrance to the tunnel was the entry point past a second, sixteen-foot fence, again topped with razor wire. The black metal entry door to the tunnel was further garnished with two gray security cameras mounted at the top of the fence.

As she approached the door she waved again to the tower and Beulah Burns smiled, nodded and pressed a button. Dr. Bridge heard the loud metallic click which indicated that the electric lock in the door had been opened. She grasped the silver steel handle and pulled the heavy metal door open to enter the tunnel. The door closed behind her and locked with the same metallic click.

She made her way down the tunnel which was brightly lit by recessed lighting protected by bulletproof glass. She walked past four security cameras, each with a small brightly lit red light to show she was being monitored in her progress through the tunnel. She thought to herself that this was like being in some sort of futuristic subway station.

As she reached the end of the tunnel she stood in front of a huge gray door made of steel with a small window of thick, bulletproof glass. The guard on the other side of the door looked at her and nodded. Again, the metallic click was heard and she pushed on the door to enter the Administration building of the prison. It was the only original structure in the prison compound and had been built in 1938.

She entered the vast rotunda which was a marvel of WPA architecture and art from the thirties. She stood on a clean and polished mosaic floor. The thousands of ceramic bits created the State Seal of Georgia underneath her feet. The front wall held a huge Soviet style mural showing white inmates laboring in the fields watched over by clean-cut white officers wearing thin black ties with their blue uniforms.

The guard stationed in the rotunda was a middle-aged white officer with a touch of grey in his well-styled hair. He gave Dr. Bridge a long, approving glance, taking in her blonde hair, her fortyish athletic figure and her elegant, low black heels. “The Warden wants to see you, Dr. Bridge. I don’t think it is anything urgent, though,” he said with a slight sigh, looking her over, top to bottom, again.

“Thanks Ben. You doing okay?” she said, knowing, like everyone else in the building, that Ben Johnson’s young wife had recently left him for a major at Fort Stewart.

“Yes, ma’am. It is always good to see you,” he said, appreciating her comment and hoping that, perhaps, there was more to it.

She turned and walked to the Warden’s office on the right side of the rotunda. The Warden’s outer office was large with tall ceilings graced by intricate plaster moldings and an ancient red leather couch and armchairs for the benefit of visitors. On the wall above the couch was a massive, illuminated, oil portrait of one of the Confederate generals responsible for losing the battle of Atlanta. Behind an antique wooden desk was seated the Warden’s secretary, Darla Cooper. She was a hefty, red headed, older woman, much more formidable than the guard outside.

“Warden Hammond will be with you in a minute. He is still dealing with Arnold O’Berne, the inmates’ class action lawyer from Atlanta. That always takes a while when they go over all of Judge Valentino’s Orders on the prison,” she said, briskly pointing to the closed door of the Warden’s inner office. Behind her, on a credenza, a fax machine was grinding out its latest message. Mrs. Cooper stared as an inmate trusty entered the office, who was then directed by her pointing finger to a large trash bag full of shredded documents. The inmate silently picked up the bag and left the room. Mrs. Cooper walked over to the fax machine and inspected the documents received.

“Another Court Transfer Order from Central Office in Atlanta. It looks like Judge Valentino is going to give them all some kind of hearing. The Court sends the Order to the Attorney General’s office in Atlanta. They look at it for a day or so and then they send it to Corrections Central Office. Central Office lets it sit for a while and then they fax it to us. By that time we are a few days from the hearing,” she said as she read the fax and dialed the phone.

“Jimmy, we got an Order from Judge Valentino sent from Central Office. We got four inmates going to Court in Brunswick on Friday, this week. You come up here and pick up the Order and arrange for the transfer van,” she commanded quickly into the telephone. “You can also pick up these shanks for the disciplinary hearings tomorrow. You will need them for evidence,” she continued as she pulled a large, clear plastic bag from a desk drawer. Inside the bag were four homemade knives, one metal, two made from carved and sharpened wood, and one especially sturdy stiletto knife made from plastic. Each knife was carefully tagged for use as evidence.

“I would be careful about handling those,” Dr. Bridge commented.

“Don’t worry. I always have them cleaned with bleach. We don’t need the fingerprints. There are always plenty of witnesses,” Mrs. Cooper replied.

The door of the Warden’s inner office opened and Warden Greg Hammond, a six-foot, red faced, balding man with bushy black eyebrows entered the outer office. He was dressed in a dark green suit which was garishly accentuated by a neon green tie. The Warden was accompanied by a short, thin, fortyish man wearing a rumpled blue suit which clashed with his luminous red hair and eyebrows. The thin man stopped and peered at the plastic bag.

“Darla, the Warden tells me that you are down to only four stabbings this month. Is this the evidence?”

“Yes, and fortunately none of these were really serious. Just a few stitches in disputes over gambling debts and one M Building altercation,” she replied.

“Four stabbings a month. That’s probably even with your old High School in Atlanta, Arnold,” the Warden commented.

“Maybe slightly better, actually,” Arnold replied, still eyeing the plastic bag. “I guess one of these involves the sally port?”

Darla nodded and pointed to the metal knife. “Yes, this is the one where Officer Lucas thought he would speed things up by opening both sally port doors at the same time and running a herd of them through the metal detector. With that many going through at one time it didn’t catch this little metal knife which then figured in our altercation,” she responded with irritation.

“Arnold, I have fired that officer. Everybody knows that it is bad security practice and a violation of Judge Valentino’s Orders to have both sally port doors open unless it is an emergency,” the Warden responded.

“And the State Merit System will put him right back to work when he files his appeal. You may get a month’s suspension to stick if the Attorney General’s office gets fired up,” the lawyer said as he picked up the metal knife and examined it closely.

“Arnold, unfortunately, you are probably exactly right. That would be the State Merit System protecting the rights of government employees. Darla, you make sure that Mr. O’Berne gets to see all his inmate clients. And you make sure that there is plenty of security. I don’t want his wife suing us if one of them gets unhappy,” the Warden commanded with a smile. “Arnold, here is Dr. Bridge,” he continued.

“Yes, we correspond regularly. Every time one of my folks has a medical problem,” the lawyer replied. “We have also gotten to know each other very well as we deal with Judge Valentino’s Medical Monitor, Dr. Price, and his regular reports on your compliance and of course, noncompliance,” he continued.

“I wanted her to drop by in case you had any problems with medical,” the Warden stated.

“My problems with medical are that you need about two more doctors and four more nurses. But that is something that I have to take up with Judge Valentino. After I have talked to my clients I’m sure I will have some specific questions for the doctor,” the lawyer replied.

Dr. Bridge squinted at the attorney and stated crisply, “We are just doing the best we can. I think the Medical Monitor’s most recent report to the Judge showed a bit of improvement. Let me know if I can help with your individual clients,” she replied, exhaling.

“How are the renovations to the Medical Unit coming?” the lawyer asked in a more conciliatory tone.

“We have modified the examining rooms to provide more privacy and better security. We have redone the pharmacy formulary to comply with the Judge’s Order on medications. We have also hardened security on the controlled drugs in the supply room. Entrance now is by palm identification only and the Warden and I are the only ones with the combination to the controlled drugs safe inside,” she replied.

“Palm identification? Now that we have the security up to the Juan Peron level, I assume we won’t be having any more overdoses for drugs pilfered from medical like last year?” he asked.

“Hopefully not, and that system kept Mr. Peron’s secrets for as long as he lived,” she replied, smiling at the attorney’s reference to the Argentine dictator’s famous office safe and the subsequent removal of his hands from his corpse. She noted the Warden, frowning, obviously mystified by this obscure historical banter.

“All right folks. We all need to get back to working on the chain gang. Arnold, if you would like to tour the medical renovations at the end of the day that would be fine. Darla, I need to talk with you for a minute in my office,” the Warden stated. It was clear that this comment amounted to a dismissal of all involved, and Dr. Bridge turned to leave toward the Medical Unit as two officers arrived to escort Mr. O’Berne throughout the prison.