She shook her head. “Not really. Nothing that would explain—”

“How about just anything about him.”

“He was kind of small. Slightly effeminate. Got bullied. And worse, I think.” I nodded. “I heard he had a pimp.”

“Really, who?”

“Jacobson.”

She nodded. “He’s been in to see us a few times. I try to avoid him. He’s . . . unbalanced. So he was . . . That really pisses me off. The shit this place does to people. A little sweet guy like Ike. Wish I’d’ve known. Jacobson. Sick of . . . Tell you what, if you’re not a criminal when you get here, you’ll damn sure be one when you leave.”

Her eyes glistened, and I was touched by her compassionate anger.

We were silent for a moment, her enjoying her cigarette, me enjoying the day.

“Wait,” she said. “They were together in the infirmary the night before . . . Ike was killed.”

“Anything happen between them? How did Jacobson wind up in Confinement and Johnson . . . in the back of that truck?”

She shook her head and shrugged as she gazed into the distance. “I really don’t know. It was a relatively quiet night. They were the only two we had in the infirmary that night. In the early morning hours of Tuesday—five maybe—they started yelling at each other, and before too long Jacobson was on top of Johnson punching him in the face. The officer on duty, Officer Hardy, wasn’t at his desk, so Captain Skipper and I broke them up and separated them. He told them to go back to bed and he would forget about it. I’ve never seen Skipper do anything like that before. Told them if they did it again, he was going to write them a disciplinary report and send them to Confinement.”

“Where was Officer Hardy?” I asked.

She shook her head and gave me a frustrated expression. “I have no idea where he goes. He wasn’t where he was supposed to be.”

“What days does he work?” I asked.

“Hardy? Thursday through Monday, but Monday night was his last night for two weeks. He’s on annual leave now. Pretty convenient, huh?”

“Why was Captain Skipper down here that night?”

“I think he came to take a statement from one of the inmates involved in an incident earlier that night, but he wasn’t here.”

“Which inmate?”

“Thomas, I believe.”

“Anthony Thomas?”

“Yeah. You know him?”

“I’ve worked with him some. Where was he?”

“No idea. But he’s in Confinement now. Skipper locked him up for not being where he was supposed to be.”

“How long did Skipper stay?” I asked.

“Not long at all,” she said. “Left when he couldn’t find Thomas.”

“What happened next?”