question about Mr. Tussaint’s death. In the early stages of the investigation, another inmate told the SFPD cops that a guard had gone off on Mr. Tussaint and beaten him to death. The next time the inmate got interrogated, he changed his story, saying he’d gotten it wrong. The guard had hit Mr. Tussaint a couple of times in self-defense, but it wasn’t really a beating. And since there were no other witnesses, the case never got off the ground. It obviously wasn’t much of a priority. I’ll take responsibility for that, since assigning priorities is my job. But the fact remains. Bad stuff is going on at the jail, and it needs to end. We were hoping to bring in somebody from the outside who’s unknown around here. Frank thinks that ought to be you.”
Maria nodded. “I’m flattered and very interested, but I’m a little concerned how the rest of your office is going to take it.”
“How’s that?” Farrell asked.
“If I come on, it kind of implies that whoever handled those cases didn’t do a thorough job, doesn’t it? If somebody like me got ahold of one of these—say Mr. Tussaint—on the rebound, whoever had it first won’t be happy. Plus,” she added, “if we’re going to question our inmate witness again, he’s probably already been talked to, or worse, by the guards. That’s why he recanted, obviously. They threatened him. So you’ll have to get him protected and out of the population, and as soon as you do that, you’re in the sheriff’s face. All on the off chance that this guy might have seen something he wants to talk about again, something that might get him beaten or even killed.” She paused. “I’m just saying that this doesn’t strike me as a casual decision. You’re opening a big can of worms.”
• • •
A NOTHER ROUND OF drinks later, the conversation turned to the overdoses. “Black heroin in the jail,” Farrell said. “How do you think it got there?”
“How do you think it got there, sir?” asked Maria.
“There had to be guards involved. But as Frank here will tell you, he’s already talked to the sheriff about it. Mr. Cushing, too, was appalled by the evidence of drugs in jail, but he was pretty sure it was some of the defense lawyers or shrinks visiting their clients or patients, since it couldn’t be any of his guards, and the family and friends didn’t get any physical contact with the inmates. The lawyers and psychiatrists, they hide it anywhere—briefcases, pockets, you name it.”
Maria chuckled. “He didn’t really say that? Professional people were bringing it in?”
“Sure. They have no respect for the law, those guys. Some of the lawyers—I bet you didn’t know this—accept payment from their jailed clients in drugs, then sell it to their other clients out on the street.”
“Sure, I’ll bet that happens all the time,” Maria said with heavy irony. She turned to Wes expectantly. “So . . . what do we do now?”
“Well, if you’ll take it,” Wes said, “I’m offering you a job as a DA investigator. You have a police background, you speak Spanish, and Frank tells me you’re perfect for the job, which he never says about anybody. But this first assignment is going to be absolutely confidential and, frankly, damned dangerous. We want to get you inside the jail to find out what’s happening to these people. I want to be sure you’re okay going after these guys.”
“Are you kidding?” she asked. “It would make my year. We’re the good guys, aren’t we? If we don’t have the guts to take on the bad guys, who will?”
Wes nodded appreciatively and looked over to Dobbins. “That sounds like the right answer to me, Frank. How about you?”
“It’s why I called her in,” Dobbins replied.
“All right, Maria.” Farrell held out his hand. “Welcome aboard.”
20
A T SEVEN-THIRTY, WHEN Hal came back into the house after dropping Warren off at the airport, the tenuous truce between Ruth and Ellen that had held
Maria nodded. “I’m flattered and very interested, but I’m a little concerned how the rest of your office is going to take it.”
“How’s that?” Farrell asked.
“If I come on, it kind of implies that whoever handled those cases didn’t do a thorough job, doesn’t it? If somebody like me got ahold of one of these—say Mr. Tussaint—on the rebound, whoever had it first won’t be happy. Plus,” she added, “if we’re going to question our inmate witness again, he’s probably already been talked to, or worse, by the guards. That’s why he recanted, obviously. They threatened him. So you’ll have to get him protected and out of the population, and as soon as you do that, you’re in the sheriff’s face. All on the off chance that this guy might have seen something he wants to talk about again, something that might get him beaten or even killed.” She paused. “I’m just saying that this doesn’t strike me as a casual decision. You’re opening a big can of worms.”
• • •
A NOTHER ROUND OF drinks later, the conversation turned to the overdoses. “Black heroin in the jail,” Farrell said. “How do you think it got there?”
“How do you think it got there, sir?” asked Maria.
“There had to be guards involved. But as Frank here will tell you, he’s already talked to the sheriff about it. Mr. Cushing, too, was appalled by the evidence of drugs in jail, but he was pretty sure it was some of the defense lawyers or shrinks visiting their clients or patients, since it couldn’t be any of his guards, and the family and friends didn’t get any physical contact with the inmates. The lawyers and psychiatrists, they hide it anywhere—briefcases, pockets, you name it.”
Maria chuckled. “He didn’t really say that? Professional people were bringing it in?”
“Sure. They have no respect for the law, those guys. Some of the lawyers—I bet you didn’t know this—accept payment from their jailed clients in drugs, then sell it to their other clients out on the street.”
“Sure, I’ll bet that happens all the time,” Maria said with heavy irony. She turned to Wes expectantly. “So . . . what do we do now?”
“Well, if you’ll take it,” Wes said, “I’m offering you a job as a DA investigator. You have a police background, you speak Spanish, and Frank tells me you’re perfect for the job, which he never says about anybody. But this first assignment is going to be absolutely confidential and, frankly, damned dangerous. We want to get you inside the jail to find out what’s happening to these people. I want to be sure you’re okay going after these guys.”
“Are you kidding?” she asked. “It would make my year. We’re the good guys, aren’t we? If we don’t have the guts to take on the bad guys, who will?”
Wes nodded appreciatively and looked over to Dobbins. “That sounds like the right answer to me, Frank. How about you?”
“It’s why I called her in,” Dobbins replied.
“All right, Maria.” Farrell held out his hand. “Welcome aboard.”
20
A T SEVEN-THIRTY, WHEN Hal came back into the house after dropping Warren off at the airport, the tenuous truce between Ruth and Ellen that had held
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