“Officially, they’ll tell you we do random drug screenings. Unofficially, most of them are conducted after we receive a tip from another inmate. Of course, after an inmate tests positive once, he is watched more closely.”

“How could Johnson have had more than one kind of drug in his system when the tests done on him in both Confinement and Medical came back negative?”

She thought about it for a moment.

“I can only think of three possibilities. Inmate somehow faked the test—traded urine with someone or something like that. It was an honest mistake by the officer doing the test. Or, someone was looking out for him.”

We fell silent a moment.

I tried to process and piece together all the information I had received recently.

“Have you received any threats lately?” I asked.

She smiled. “You mean in addition to the normal stuff?”

“Yeah.”

“No. Why?”

“Just curious,” I said.

“You’re never just anything,” she said. “Especially just curious.”

“Just be careful.”

“I always am,” she said.

“Extra careful for a while, okay?”

She nodded slowly. “Okay.”

I told her about the notes I’d been receiving.

Before she could respond, her phone rang.

She answered it.

“It’s for you,” she said after putting the call on hold. “Says it’s urgent, but she’ll only talk to you in your office.”

“Who is it?”

“Molly Thomas.”

“Okay,” I said, standing. “Will you give me a few minutes to get to my office, and transfer it?”

16

When I got back to the chapel my phone was ringing. Fumbling with the keys, I rushed in just as it stopped. I sat down at my desk and less than a minute later it started again.

“Chaplain, this is Molly Thomas,” she said in a soft voice.

Molly Thomas was the devoted wife of an inmate here at PCI named Anthony Thomas. She was devoted enough to her husband and their relationship to move up from South Florida when he was transferred here. She rented a small trailer in a trailer park not far from mine and visited her husband six hours every Saturday and six hours every Sunday.

“Hey, Molly. How’s it going?” I asked.

“Not very good right now. I was wondering if I might talk with you?” she asked hesitantly.

“Of course, you know that,” I said.

“Not over the phone.”

“Why don’t you come to the institution this afternoon? We can meet in the administration building.”

The administration and training buildings were the only ones not behind the fence.

“Can we meet somewhere in town?”

“There’s a conference room I use sometimes at the sheriff’s station. We can meet there if you like.”

“I . . . I can’t really meet you there either.”

“How about the Methodist Church on Main Street at one o’clock?”

“That would be great.”

“I’ll see you there.”

After we hung up, Mr. Smith ambled in with some inmate requests and passes for me.