Killing The Blood Cleaner (16 page)

“The State has a training program for law library clerks. It lasts three days and covers all sorts of legal subjects and the law library,” one of the inmates offered. “It is part of the Court Orders.”

“They had the first training program years ago and even brought in a professor who went on to be the Dean of the Georgia law school. They videotaped his presentations and we still use it. It is on the Georgia Court System,” Chester added. “Lawyer Fitz Davis and a paralegal from the Attorney General’s office in Atlanta do the training now,” he continued.

“Yes, I know Mr. Davis well,” Jack said with a slight frown. “How do you pick the inmates who get trained to be law library clerks?” he continued as he looked at some of the pleadings on the desk and wondered how many inmates could really understand these legal terms.

“Well, they need to be smart and read well. They also need to be somebody we think will follow the Court Orders. And, they need to have a really long sentence because it costs a lot to train them,” Chester replied. Jack looked at the very pleasant clerks in front of him and wondered what crimes they had committed to allow them to qualify.

Captain Jamison interrupted and pointed to a side door, “I think we need to move on to the kitchen. I’m getting hungry and pork chops are on the menu.” In a few minutes they were inside the huge kitchen of the prison.

Jack looked out at the large space with surprise at the cleanliness of the operation. Even though the room was filled with inmates working on the noon meal, the floors were shiny and spotless and the rows of stainless steel ranges and metal cooking vats gleamed in the bright lights. A small, bald, portly man in a cook’s apron, worn over a maroon jacket with a thin black tie approached them. Captain Jamison reached out and shook his hand enthusiastically.

“Harold, this is the new doctor, Dr. Randolph,” the Captain said. Then he said to Jack, “Harold Timmons is the Kitchen Manager and he keeps things right.”

“I’ve never seen such a clean kitchen. This is much cleaner than the kitchen at the CDC,” Jack said as he shook the man’s hand.

“Well, we have got a lot of really good help and we put them to work,” Harold replied modestly. “Years ago, before the Court Order, things weren’t like this. The kitchen and the whole prison were filthy and the inmates’ lawyers were complaining that they were idle. After looking at the problem, somebody in Central Office figured that if you had enough officers to supervise, there wasn’t any reason these prisons couldn’t be spotless. The cleaning supplies don’t cost much and cleaning gives the inmates something to do,” he continued.

“So now we have ten inmates assigned just to keep the floors cleaned and waxed in the kitchen. We have another ten to take apart the grills and hoods and clean and shine them on a weekly basis. We have another five for general cleaning and sanitation,” Captain Jamison added.

“I don’t think that would be possible in the private sector,” Jack said.

“A lot of officers bucked at first because it meant more work for them. But now, I think everybody can see the benefit of using all the manpower we have,” Captain Jamison said.

“Is it hard to get the inmates to work?” Jack asked as he observed the vigorous activity around him.

“There are a few slackers, but they get moved out in a hurry. For most inmates, prison is boring and they are looking for something to do,” Captain Jamison replied as they walked through the kitchen. “Also, the kitchen is a prize job assignment.”

Jack noticed one inmate at work at a stainless steel table, rolling and cutting fresh dough while two inmate assistants filled his creations with fresh blueberries from a large metal tub.

“That’s Henry Jansen. He used to be the pastry chef at a big hotel in Atlanta. It seems there was an unfortunate confrontation with his wife one evening. Now we get the benefit of Henry’s artistry,” Harold said quietly as they admired the inmate’s technique with flour and dough.

“It doesn’t hurt to have these fresh blueberries that we grow here at the institution by the ton, either,” Captain Jamison said as he scooped up a handful of the glistening berries, tossed them into his mouth and directed the group towards several large grills which were loaded with fresh, pink, pork chops. “We raise our own hogs, so pork chops are often on the menu. I like the breaded ones best,” he continued.

“We also have a non-pork menu every day for the Muslim inmates,” Harold added as he pointed to another grill on which hamburgers were being prepared.

“I really wasn’t expecting a kosher dining room,” Jack said, looking at the burgers steaming on the grill. The group walked over to a section of the kitchen where masses of fresh collard greens and carrots were being prepared for cooking in several large stainless steel vats.

“Again, we grow all the vegetables at the institution. And we don’t use any pork products when we cook them,” Harold said as the inmates looked at them without expression and continued their work. One of the inmates busily slicing the collards with a large knife had a huge scar running sideways across his face. On his muscular arm was a tattoo of the Virgin Mary.

“Is there a problem sometimes, with these knives?” Jack asked as he watched the inmate makes short work of mounds of collards with the knife.

“We have a lot fewer problems than we used to. Now the Classification Committee at the prison makes sure that the inmates they put down here are people they are pretty sure won’t cause a problem. Generally, the officers on the committee know all the inmates well and we haven’t had much trouble. I guess it is sort of like high school teachers knowing who the troublemakers are. Also, we are real careful now with tool control since it is part of the Court Orders,” Harold said as he pointed to a large board on the wall of the kitchen. On the board, each knife, cleaver, and other piece of edged equipment was depicted in black shadow form on the board. Below each shadow were hooks on which the tool was to be placed to match up with the shadow. Most of the shadow tools were empty, but there were a few in place, neatly matching up with their shadow outline.

“The Court Order requires us to keep the shadow boards anywhere in the prison that tools are used. The Judge had a security expert go around the prison and make recommendations. Now it is rare for us to lose a tool since we have the shadow boards and do a daily Missing Tool Report,” Harold said.

“I can see it would be easy to detect if something is missing,” Jack said as he looked at the board.

“When the Judge first ordered this, some of the older officers groused that we really didn’t need it as we always got the tools back after few days. Of course, a lot of times they were sticking out of the back of somebody when we found them,” Captain Jamison said, as Harold shook his head at this remark and announced, “Is everyone ready for lunch?”

They moved to the Staff Dining Room which was a large, brightly lit room directly off the kitchen. Food was served cafeteria style and there was a salad bar off to one side. It was only eleven, so the room was almost empty except for one officer and a maintenance technician wearing a tan jumpsuit.

“You go first, Dr. Randolph. Today your lunch is on us. But don’t get to too impressed as it is only a dollar,” Harold said, handing Jack a tray.

“I take it that the staff eats the same food as the inmates,” Jack said as he looked across the assortment of food.

“That is right. Except maybe a few times a year there might be something special for the staff,” Harold replied.

“That way, they can’t poison us as easy if they don’t know whether they will be eating it or not,” Captain Jamison pragmatically added.

Jack and the others loaded their plates with pork chops, steamed vegetables and cornbread muffins and then sat at a table at the rear of the room. Jack made sure that he got two of the blueberry pastries.

“Did you have any questions about anything you have seen so far?” Tacy asked with a quick smile.

“I do have one question. That one inmate in the law library seemed to be working on some government forms. Are they tax forms?” Jack asked.

“Oh that’s Quentin Schubert. But those are probably not tax forms. The inmates used to do a lot of tax returns for the officers and for each other. But the Commissioner and the Judge cracked down on that. Mail to and from the IRS is logged and under certain circumstances can be opened. Outgoing mail to the IRS is stamped as coming from the prison. Now the new game is immigration forms, green cards and the occasional passport application from a dead person. We have also had a few problems with them refinancing somebody’s mortgage in Atlanta and having their mother or somebody show up at the closing to pick up the money. Also, I would be real careful about what you put in the trash or else you may find that your credit cards are buying all sorts of interesting stuff. We confiscate their materials if it is blatant, but we have to be careful not to be messing with their legal papers,” Jamison said with a laugh.

“I’m sure that is all good business these days,” Jack said as he took a bite of the blueberry pastry. “This tart is so good I’m worried your baker may never make parole,” he continued, enjoying the warm flakiness of the pastry.

“Tacy, where else should we take the good doctor today?” Captain Jamison asked.

“I think we should go to the school and gym and end up with the dogs and the State house he’s been assigned,” she said.

“Aren’t we missing L and M buildings?” the Captain asked.

“I’m not going into M building as long as Henry Kirk is here at the prison,” Tacy said with a shudder.

“I got you,” Captain Jamison replied. “We can follow up with the bad boys another day.”

After lunch was finished the group moved to a large cinder block building on the courtyard. Once inside, it was clear from the ringing bells and the numerous bustling classrooms that the school was an integral part of the prison. Indeed, it could have been a school anywhere except for the numerous roaming correctional officers and the uniformed inmates that made up the student body.

“The Corrections Department is the largest provider of adult education in the State. We’ve got everything being taught from remedial reading on up. We used to have college courses, but they got canceled because of politics. Folks didn’t like paying for their children to go to college and inmates getting a free college education. So now we pretty much concentrate on the fundamentals. An inmate can get a High School Certificate if he works at it,” Captain Jamison explained as the group peeked inside a classroom. The class was American History and a formidable, middle-aged black woman was in charge. She was lecturing about America’s involvement in the Spanish-American war. Occasionally, she would direct a question to a particular student to make sure everyone was following along. Looking at the faces of the inmates, Jack saw the healthy level of disinterest in such faraway events that could be expected of any high school student.

“Are there any classes on trades? Or do they just make license plates?” Jack asked.

“Oh yes. There is lots of vocational training, plumbing, carpentry, electrical and such,” Captain Jamison said as he moved down the hall toward a double door. Once past these doors, Jack could see a large room where several instructors and small groups of inmates were working on projects of various types. Near each group there was the shadow board for tools similar to those he had seen in the kitchen.

They stopped at an area where two inmates were constructing brick walls and brick mailboxes. The sand mortar was designed for practice and tear down. Jack was surprised at the quality of the brick structures and the interest of the inmates as they worked, compared to the group studying the Spanish-American war.

“Can they get jobs when they get out of here?” Jack asked.

“The construction trades don’t care what you did as long as you show up sober and know what you’re doing. But the best training we got is down the hall. The folks that learn how to do it make decent money when they get out. And they always get a job right away,” the Captain said as he moved the group to another room across the hall.

In this room the instructor was a fortyish black man wearing a white coat. At two tables beside him were four inmates working away on various dental appliances.

“Mr. Jackson, why don’t you tell our guest, the new doctor, about your false teeth class,” Captain Jamison said. The instructor looked up with a look of slight irritation to the reference to false teeth.

“Doctor, this is our dental appliance workshop. I teach the inmates to make bridges, mouth bits, and yes, some false teeth. Once they have certified here they can work for any dentist in the State,” the instructor said.

Jack looked at the devices being created by each of the four inmates along with the models and tools on display. “I have heard from my dentist friends how hard it is to find techs that can carry out their designs. I’m sure there’s a lot of demand for this work,” he said, picking up a device and examining its wires and intricate plastic construction, as the inmate artisan smiled with pride.

“All right, doctor, you can refer Billy to your dentist friends when he gets out. But Ms. Tacy wants to go look at the musclemen,” Captain Jamison said.

“Yes I do!” Tacy said with a bawdy toss of her blonde hair.

“I am sure the musclemen will also be looking back,” Jack said, as he looked at her lean figure.

The gym was at the back of the compound, just inside the fence, and directly under a guard tower. It was a large structure made of brick with a new metal roof. Inside was a basketball court and in the corner was a weight area. There were two inmates on the basketball court shooting hoops under the bored watch of an older white officer. In the weight area was a large collection of free weights and several weightlifting benches. In this area were three inmates who were hard at work with weights. Occasionally, the gym officer would glance over to check the activities in the weight area.

Captain Jamison led the group around the edge of the basketball court to the weight area. Two of the inmates were twentyish, black males with athletic builds that could have passed for well exercised college linebackers. The third inmate was something different. He stood six foot four with close cropped blond hair. In each hand was a dumbbell which weighed twenty five pounds. He lifted them over his head from a standing position, butterfly style, as though they were made of paper. His chest heaved under his shirt which appeared to be pasted to his body. On one bicep was a bright green tattoo of an alligator. Jack could see that the knuckles of his massive right-hand had the word “Mom” brightly tattooed in red ink. The left-hand had the word “Dad” brightly tattooed in blue ink. The tattooed alligator shined with sweat and appeared to slither slightly on the inmate’s arm. Jack noticed that Tacy was enjoying the show, including the bulge on the inmate’s sweatpants which had enlarged exponentially upon her arrival.