Chapter One
It was July in Bay Springs, a small East-Mississippi town. The strongest movement of air came from the wings of flies, which buzzed about his face, as if trying to gain a sip from the salted rivulets which emerged incessantly from his brow. The newly ordained preacher licked his lips nervously, then said, "But, John, I've not talked to a prisoner in my life. What do I say to a murderer?" He lowered his head, almost in shame as he waited for his superior's reply.
It was quick in coming, "Never mind; God will tell you what to say. Have you lost your faith already?" He smiled at the red-faced young man standing in front of him.
Shaking his head in denial, the minister with the almost boyish face that belied his thirty-three years stuttered, "N-no, it's not that. I don't even know what the inside of a prison looks like."
"Then it's time you learned." The Reverend Lee patted Glen's shoulder, then continued, "You'll do fine. I have confidence in your ability." He started to walk away, but then he turned back and said, "Oh, by the way, we're also counting on you to go to Nicaragua with us in September. You will go, won't you?"
A contingent of fourteen church members was scheduled to leave in a few weeks. Their flight would end in Bluefields,Nicaragua and they would be on their own from there. They'd be working in the jungle amidst God knows what.
"Yes, of course." Glen knew they would stay two weeks in Nicaragua, ministering to the natives, though he wasn't quite sure what that entailed.
"Then it's all settled. I'll make sure your name is on our travel list. Sister Susan will make all the arrangements."
Glen stood as if he were carved from stone and watched the Reverend walk away. He wondered how he had gotten himself into this. What would Jan say when he told her? Prison. Nicaragua. What could he possibly do in Nicaragua? Fight off the mosquitoes?
Glen remembered studying in school about the building of the Panama Canal a little farther south, and so many of the workers on that project having contracted malaria. If God wanted him to go to that mosquito-infested world of filth and poverty, then so be it. He licked his dry lips, then bowed his head, "Forgive me Father. I am ashamed. I am your servant, Lord; lead me where you will."
His confidence restored he walked out to the parking lot and drove home thinking about how he would break the news to Jan, his wife of less than a year. She was a devout Christian. They'd met in church. She'd always seemed to find some reason for detaining him after the services. He always enjoyed their friendly exchange of conversation, and one Sunday he offered to buy her a cup of coffee afterwards and she accepted. They'd been married a short while later. He knew she would understand. What he wasn't prepared for was her reaction to the news.
That evening at the supper table, after he had asked the Lord to bless their food, Jan listened carefully to him, then said, "Maybe I can volunteer to minister to the female prisoners. We can be a team."
Glen hadn't counted on this. Take his wife into a prison where there were murderers, rapists, and the lowest of earth's scum? How could he? A voice spoke to him, "My son died on the cross to cleanse all sin. What you do unto the least of them you do also unto me."
* * *
The sun was just setting on Wednesday when Glen and Jan entered the prison walls and heard the clang of the steel doors behind them. Stunned at the sights and sounds they stood for a moment and stared at the bars. It seemed so inhumane that people were actually locked away in this dreary vault. It was cold. He thought of John the Baptist in a dank dungeon. Gray walls and steel bars made it seem colder than it actually was. And the smells. Fear. Depression. Revulsion. Despair. How the prisoners must feel, he thought, as he followed the warden to a large room where a small group of male convicts waited. He could see they were eager for a kind touch from another human being. Eager to hear a friendly voice.
Glen began, "God loves you."
The hour was up all too soon. Prisoners crowded around to shake his hand and thank him for coming. They asked when he would be back again. He promised he'd be there every Wednesday. Their joy at these words was a sight to behold. "I'll keep you in my prayers. Until then remember, God loves you."
One convict asked, "How can God love me? I've committed the most awful sin. How can he possibly love someone like me?"
Glen hugged the man and repeated, "God loves all men. He loves you, too."
Jan had much the same reception in the chapel with the women prisoners. As Jan waited to be let out of the prison two women were brought in. They were a mother and daughter. Both had been arrested for prostitution. The daughter was quite young, but she looked old. It was easy to see they'd had a hard life.
Jan said to the women, "God loves you."
The young woman began to cry, saying, "I have AIDS. If God loved me he wouldn't have let me contract AIDS."
The guard ushered Jan out quickly and she joined Glen who was waiting for her outside.
In the car Jan's tears flowed freely. "Sixteen, and she has AIDS. We have to do more. This isn't nearly enough."
Glen's hands trembled as he tried to insert the key into the ignition. It slipped out of his hand and landed on the floorboard. He realized he was too shaken to drive the sixty miles back to Bay Springs. He took a deep breath, then got out of the car so he could search for the key.
Finding it finally, he got back inside the car. They sat there in the brightly lighted parking lot for several minutes staring at the prison gate, imagining what it must be like to be locked up day and night, day after day, year after year. It was a dark night. No stars were visible through the cloud covering.
Glen felt a choking sensation as though he couldn't breathe. Claustrophobia. How do they cope with only one hour of sunshine and fresh air per day for exercise, he thought, while the rest of the world is free to come and go, to move about as their lives and desires demand? Freedom! How sweet it is.
Glen pulled Jan close, whispering in her ear, "We're so lucky. We have each other. Are you ready to go home now?"
"I was just thinking. If we have a daughter--"
"I know." He wouldn't let her finish. Glen knew what she was going to say and he couldn't stand the thought. "We'll bring her up right. She'll have a good life." He pushed the key into the ignition and gave it a twist with his thumb and forefinger.
The engine came to life forcing Glen to turn his attention back to the present. They rode in silence, listening to the noise the tires made on the pavement. Such a mundane noise, irritating really, but it was the sound of freedom, and it was as sweet as a heavenly choir.
* * *
Jan was just putting breakfast on the table when the phone rang. She heard Glen's voice say, "Oh hi, John. Yes, it went fine. Jan and I were a little shook up afterward, but--"
There was silence from Glen for several minutes, then he said into the phone, "Sure, we'll talk about it later. Right now I have to get myself off to work. Jan's waiting for me to come and eat breakfast with her."
Glen hung up the phone and took his seat at the kitchen table. As he picked up his coffee cup he looked around the room. Suddenly he realized it was very colorful. He'd never noticed the color before, having taken it for granted.
Now he said, "You've done wonders with this room." His eyes swept the blue and white checked wall covering just above the base cabinets of light blue, then up to the matching wall cabinets which had decorative stencils on their doors, the blue marbled tile on the floor, the checked cloth on the table that matched the wall covering. The white marble work surface on the cabinets, the cheery curtains hanging on the windows. It had rained sometime during the night but the early morning sun shone through the curtain giving the room an opalescent glow.
Jan's voice brought him back to the present. "What? I haven't done anything to this room. It was this way when we bought it."
Embarrassed, he grinned and said, "Funny how I've never noticed the colors before."
"It's quite a contrast to the prison, isn't it?" Jan peered at Glen over her coffee cup, then setting it on the table she continued, "What did the Reverend have to say?" She laid her fork on her plate and waited for his answer.
"John? Oh! He just wanted to make sure that we don't get too close to the prisoners. We're supposed to remain impartial, not showing any favoritism. Prison officials wouldn't like that."
"Oh! I'll keep that in mind. Gotta rush now and get ready for work; I'm running late. I'm scheduled to show a house first thing this morning. I don't want to be late for that." She pushed a curl off her forehead and began clearing off the table.
"Yeah, me, too." He took the last sip of coffee and handed the cup to Jan, who put it along with the others into the dishwasher and turned the machine on.
Taking one more appreciative look around the room Glen made a vow to be more attentive to his surroundings in the future. Such a small thing to him, but he wondered how the prisoners could stand those hard, cold walls, barren of any color and human warmth.
* * *
All day as Glen hung the steel that would form the framework for the new manufacturing plant going up he couldn't help but think about the prisoners. These steel beams, as hard and unyielding as they are, have to be warmer and softer than those prison walls. He couldn't get that thought out of his mind. And that razor wire that enclosed it all.
Glen shivered in the noonday sun, then remembered he hadn't fastened his safety belt. Five inches of cold steel between him and the ground didn't bother him nearly as much as the memory of those cold prison walls.
He had sometimes noticed some of his fellow workers looking at him oddly. They just didn't understand this calling that he had. They sometimes joked and made fun of him, but he didn't care. He knew why he'd been put here on God's earth and he was going to live up to His expectations no matter what. Let them laugh. Some day they'll wake up and see the light.
He thought about the games some of the workers played on other workers. Some of their games were destructive. He'd seen marriages fail because of them. Once a wife had found a pair of women's panties that someone had planted in her husband's pocket. Oh how they'd laughed about that.
Glen thought about the drunken binges some of his fellow workers went on and wound up in brawls and then in jail for the night. Those things weren't for him. As their supervisor he often talked to them trying to get them to change their bad habits, but they only laughed at him more.
They knew their jobs and they were good workers. Most of them usually showed up on time and got the job done. He hated to fire people, but sometimes it was necessary. He couldn't tolerate someone showing up with a hangover. Safety of his crew was his first responsibility and he took it seriously. This was no playground and he wouldn't tolerate any signs of irresponsibility from any of his crew.
Hearing a loud noise, Glen quickly glanced at the crane just in time to see it swinging out of control. There was no one standing where Smokey had been working just a moment ago. He looked down to see Smokey splayed grotesquely on the ground, a steel beam lying on top of him. Glen rammed a bolt home, just enough to keep the beam he was working on from falling, then he shimmied down an upright beam.
By the time Glen reached the ground there was already a group gathered around the injured man. He pushed his way through the crowd, calling, "Has anybody called for an ambulance?"
"It's on the way, but I think it's too late. I think he's gone," someone from the crowd said.
Glen wrapped his fingers around the man's wrist. He felt a weak pulse. Rising on his feet, he shouted, "Move back everybody. Give him air. He's alive. Let's get this beam off him."
Everyone hurried to help. The ambulance arrived, siren screaming, just as they got the beam moved off him. There was nothing more to do but stand and watch as the paramedics took over.
As the ambulance careened around the corner, lights flashing and siren screaming, on its way to the hospital with Smokey, Glen looked around at his motley crew. "Okay, guys, gather around. I want to know what happened?"
At first no one would speak. "I know some of you saw what happened. I want to know. I have to go and tell his wife."
Still no one would speak out. They all stood around as if in shock, their faces displaying sadness. Every man knew it could just as easily have been him, Glen thought.
"Okay, go home. Take the rest of the day off; we'll take this up tomorrow. So think about it. Remember what you saw and be prepared to tell me about it tomorrow. I have to report this to the brass, you know. And some heads may roll because of it. I just want to make sure we get the right ones."
Glen stood back and watched the men straggle toward their respective vehicles and drive off. When he saw the last one leave he took out his cell phone and dialed the number to the office.
"We just sent Smokey Simkens to the hospital with what appears to be serious injuries." He paused a moment, then added, "No, I didn't get any details from any of the men as to how it happened. No one would admit to seeing anything. I'll try again in the morning. All I know is that somehow a steel beam fell on him. I was on the top checking out that new guy's work and didn't see it happen. The men have been dismissed for the day. I'm going now to tell his family. I need his address, and give me that telephone number, too, while you're at it. I may need it."
* * *
Jan was in the kitchen preparing supper when Glen got home. She took one look at him and said, "Bad day at work, huh?" There was no mistaking that sad look on his face.
"Yeah, Hon, bad day. One of the worst."
"Wanna talk about it?"
"Not much to say, really. We won't win the safety award this month, for sure. Had a serious injury. He's alive, barely. I'd rather forget about it now, if you don't mind. I'll have the Occupational Safety and Health Administration to deal with all day tomorrow. They'll be swarming all over the place looking for the slightest thing out of kilter."
He sat down at the kitchen table resting his head in his hands. "They've probably already started the investigation. I expect Brentwood has already notified them."
Jan set a cup of coffee in front of Glen, then asked, "Will he survive?"
Raising his head and lifting his eyes to meet hers he replied, "I hope so, but it's bad. I hate to think what will happen if he doesn't."
Jan poured another cup of coffee for herself and sat down at the table beside him, "Has his family been told?"
"Yes, that was the hard part, telling his wife. They have two young children. Cutest little tykes you ever saw. Carla was too upset to think straight after hearing the news. I helped her find someone to look after the children, then I took her to the hospital to see him. That's why I'm so late getting home." He paused a moment, then continued, "Poor Smokey. He's still in emergency. He's in critical condition. Crushed skull, broken ribs, punctured lung. It'll be a miracle if he comes out of it."
"I'm glad you did that. You're a sweetie. Is there anything else we can do to help?"
"Probably not tonight, except pray. Maybe you could check on her tomorrow if you can find the time."
"Then I'll put supper on the table. You'll feel better after you've had a good hot meal. I've made your favorite meatloaf."
"Smells good. What's for dessert?" He patted her on the behind and pulled her down on his lap and kissed her gently on the lips. The phone rang. Jan got up to answer it, but Glen caught her hand and pulled her back down on his lap, saying, "Let it ring. I don't feel like talking to anybody right now. I just want to hold my wife a little."
His lips brushed the top of her head, then found their way back to her lips as she twined her arms around him and snuggled close.
The answering machine picked up the call. "Glen, I saw what happened today. That beam slipped off the crane. Must not have been tied down right. Just wanted to let you know. Sorry I didn't speak up earlier. I didn't want the others to know."
Glen pushed Jan off his lap and rushed to get the phone, but the connection was already broken. More crestfallen than ever now, he sat back down, resting his head in his palms.
Neither of them spoke for several minutes, then he lifted his head and said, "That voice sounded familiar, but I can't quite place it. Did you recognize it?"
"No, but it must be one of your crew. Who else would know about it?"
* * *
Four o'clock came much too soon. Glen had barely gotten four hours of sleep. He dreaded going to work today. He sat on the edge of the bed for several minutes collecting his thoughts.
He had to find out what caused yesterday's accident. He wondered how such a thing could have happened. Andy was a well-trained crane operator. Well, he'd get to the bottom of it this morning he thought as he zipped up his jeans, then slid his feet into his steel-toed boots and laced them up.
Taking his hard hat off its hook in the closet he walked toward the kitchen where the clatter of pans told him Jan was already preparing breakfast.
The phone rang just as Glen reached the kitchen door and he grabbed it.
"Hello," he said curtly into the mouthpiece, not wanting to waste any more time. He yawned waiting for the voice on the other end.
"Glen," Brentwood's secretary said, "Charles wants you to come into the office before going to the construction site."
"Is he in a good mood?" Glen could tell by the sound of her voice that he wasn't, but he asked anyway.
"He's a bear. Don't tell him I said that, though." Her usually cheerful voice sounded glum.
Wonderful, Glen thought. With both of us feeling out of sorts it's bound to be a great day.
"Bad news?" He yawned again and ran his hand over the stubble on his face. He hadn't wanted to take the time to shave. Besides maybe he'd let his beard grow to shade his face from the hot sun.
"Very, but I'll let him tell you about it."
"Thanks, Joyce. Tell him I'm on my way." Glen groaned inwardly, reminding himself to tread softly.
He hung up the phone, then slammed the hard hat on his head and called to Jan, "No breakfast for me this morning. I have to go now." He was already walking toward the door.
Jan ran after him, "Not even a cup of coffee?"
"Not this time, Hon, the old man wants me in the office. Joyce says he's in a foul mood. Must be worse than I'd thought." He gave her a quick peck on the cheek. "I'll see you later. Bye now."
The sun was just peeking over the treetops in Meridian when Glen pulled into the spot next to Brentwood's car. He was soon standing in front of Brentwood's office. The door was open and he could see Charles pacing the floor. Charles turned and saw him just as Glen lifted his hand to knock on the open door.
"Come in, Carlisle. I've been waiting for you." He spoke sharply, then walked behind his desk and sat down. Removing a smelly cigar from his mouth and snuffing it out in the ashtray on his desk, he said, "Sit." He motioned Glen to a chair facing him.
"Any word on Smokey?" Glen sat, wishing he'd at least had a cup of coffee at home.
"He's gone. We lost a good man yesterday. We're in a heap of trouble. I understand you were on the top when this happened. What were you doing up there?"
"I'd gone up to check on Otis, the new hire. He was having some difficulty getting a beam into a tight spot and I stayed to help him out."
"And you didn't see what happened down on the ground?"
"No, sir, I didn't. I saw the boom swinging out of control, but Smokey was already lying on the ground, having been knocked off the structure. He was just a few feet away from me seconds before, and then suddenly he was gone."
"You know nothing about how the accident occurred?"
"Not first-hand."
"What do you mean? Not first hand? Isn't that what I pay you for, to oversee the crew?"
Glen thought, Joyce's comment that Brentwood was a bear this morning was an understatement, but he chose to ignore that last comment. "I had a caller last night at home. Unfortunately, before I could get to the phone he'd already hung up, but he left a message on the answering machine."
"A message? Well, come on; spit it out. Don't keep me waiting. Who was it and what did he say?"
Glen thought, OSHA must have found something seriously wrong with the operation of the crane. Then he remembered Smokey hadn't fastened his safety harness. He remembered how he had almost forgotten to fasten his own safety belt.
"He didn't identify himself, but he said he saw the accident." Glen spoke calmly.
"Is that all?" Charles picked up the still smoldering cigar and stuck it between his lips. He puffed on it trying to get it to come back to life, but it was no use. He jammed it into the ashtray again. "Damn, can't keep one of these things lit!" His hand shook nervously.
"There was more. Unfortunately, I don't know what to make of it. He said he saw the steel beam fall from the crane. I can't imagine how that could happen." Glen kept his voice quiet and even in an effort to avoid upsetting Brentwood further.
"Oh it happened all right. OSHA found that right away. It was one of the upright beams in the structure that was being lifted. It had nothing to do with the operation of the crane. It was a beam that had not been fastened securely in the latticework structure. Somebody didn't do the job right. If that latticework had been built right the beam couldn't have fallen out of it. I want to know who worked on that structure. His head is going to roll. We can't have careless people working here." Charles picked up the dead cigar again and struck a match to it, never taking his eyes off Glen.
When the cigar glowed red, he blew a puff of smoke in Glen's direction. Glen coughed, nearly choking on the second-hand smoke. Charles continued, "When you find out who's responsible fire him. I want him here in this office before noon to pick up his walking papers. Send the rest of them home. We won't be working today."
"Andy operates the crane. He's well trained. He's not careless--"
"Nobody's perfect! He must have been lax to let this happen. Find out what happened and get back to me on it. I can't have negligent people working for me." He slammed his open palm on the desk.
"I'll get on it right now, sir." Glen stood up to leave, but Charles called him back.
His voice softened a bit as he said, "You've been doing a good job, Glen. The company appreciates that. Keep up the good work, but try staying on the ground more. Let the others handle the top as much as possible and keep an eye out for things like this." He puffed on the cigar, then snuffed it out again. "By the way, have you had breakfast?"
"No, not even a cup of coffee."
"Neither have I. Let's go and get a quick bite. We'll both feel more like facing the day with some food in our stomachs." He checked his watch. "The crew should be here by the time we get back." He pushed his chair back and they walked to the parking lot.
The restaurant was a few blocks away. Their food had just arrived when Charles' cell phone rang. He listened for a moment. Glen watched as Brentwood's face turned ashen. He waited until the connection was broken, then Charles said, "It looks like it was more than an accident. OSHA has called in the police and they suspect foul play!" Charles drained his coffee cup, then pushed away his untouched plate of food and said, "Let's go. We won't fire anybody just yet, after all. You're not to tell a soul about this latest development."
They drove back to the worksite to find the crew just getting there. Charles called them all together.
"Men, we'll not be working today out of respect for Smokey's family. I'm sorry to tell you that he passed away this morning around 3:00 A.M. I want all of you back here on Monday. Keep yourselves available in case the authorities want to question you about the accident. Be thinking about what you saw and heard and be ready to tell us all that you know about the occurrence. We don't want this to drag out any longer than it has to. We have a deadline to meet on this building and we can't afford any long drawn out shut down. I expect your full cooperation, and I won't tolerate anything less. Any questions?" Brentwood waited, but there were none, so he continued, "That's all. You may go now. All except Andy."
The men straggled out chattering among themselves. Charles turned to Andy and said, "I understand you were in charge of the crane at the time of the accident."
Andy nodded. "Yes, I was operating the crane when the beam shifted and fell. I tried my best, but I couldn't control it. When I saw the beam shift I tried to abort the lift, but it didn't work. It just went out of control. Nothing I could do." Andy's face was red and he looked down at the floor as if he couldn't look Charles in the face.
"You didn't notice anything wrong when the latticework was loaded?"
"No, everything looked fine to me. If it hadn't I would not have tried to lift it. I would have aborted the whole operation then and there."
"But you didn't."
"No, because as I said, it looked fine. It was only after the load was about to be dropped that I noticed something wrong. By then it was too late. Smokey was hit by the beam and knocked to the ground. It was a horrible sight. I'll live with that the rest of my life."
Charles' voice softened a bit as he spoke, "I know Glen here has the greatest respect for your abilities. I trust his judgment." He stopped long enough to pat Andy on the back. "You've been doing a good job for us. We're not accusing you of anything. We're just trying to find out what went wrong and why so that we can take steps to prevent such a tragedy in the future. I hope you understand that. We'll be talking to the rest of the crew. I don't want you to think you are being singled out. It's just that since you were operating the crane we thought we should start with you first. It seemed that you would know more than anyone else about what happened."
"I wish I could help more, Smokey was my friend."
"You've helped more than you know. But if you should remember anything else be sure to let us know immediately." Charles turned to Glen and said, "Have the mechanic check the crane for a malfunction before using it again."
Glen dialed some numbers on his cell phone, then spoke into it, "We need you over here right away to check out the crane for any malfunction in the lifting operation." He paused a moment, listening, then said, "Yes, as soon as possible." Breaking the connection, he said to Charles, "He'll do that this afternoon."
Turning back to Andy, Charles said, "You may go now, Andy. Thanks for your cooperation, and don't be too hard on yourself. If Smokey had fastened his safety harness he might still be here with us."
When Andy had gone Brentwood put his hand on Glen's shoulder and said, "Let's go get that breakfast now; I'm famished." He checked his watch, then continued, "It'll probably have to be lunch now. I've got a feeling it's likely to be a very long day."
Once seated in the restaurant Charles let out a very long sigh. "I need this break. I've been going at it since the call this morning shortly after three A.M." He looked across the booth at his companion. "You don't look much better than I feel."
Glen ran his hand over his face, remembering that he hadn't shaved this morning. He could imagine what his beard looked like now. He must look like some tramp. "No, I'm not feeling any better than I look. Didn't get a lot of sleep last night myself."
"We may not look any better, but we'll surely feel a lot better after some coffee and food." He Charles glanced around the restaurant. "Where the hell is that waiter? Have they gone on strike?" He drummed his fingers on the table top, continuing to glance around. At last, catching the eye of a waitress he motioned to her.
She nodded her head, then brought two menus. "We'd like some coffee right away, please," Glen said to her. She nodded and left to get the coffee. Soon two mugs of hot brew sat before them. They both took sips of the coffee, then placed their order.
When the waitress was gone, Brentwood asked, "Who worked on that lattice? It seems to me whoever built that lattice has a lot of questions to answer. How is it possible that one beam from a latticework with several beams in it could fall and kill a man? Why just one? Why not the whole structure?"
Glen's brow furrowed as he thought for a moment. "Whoever did it knew what he was doing. It has to be someone with a lot of experience to build a latticework and tie it onto the crane in such a way that it could happen that way. But if he wanted to kill somebody why did he take that chance? Why didn't he rig it the sure way so that the entire structure would fall? Would that be too obvious to the crane operator? Only Andy can answer that question. We'll have to talk to him again."
The waitress began to set their food in front of them, so the men stopped talking.
As soon as she was gone Brentwood said, "Could it be Andy they were trying to kill? Did they kill the wrong man? That's a scary thought. We'll have to keep a close eye on everybody."
Glen dropped his fork and it clattered to the floor beneath the booth.
Stunned, Glen could only mutter, "I hadn't thought of that. But it did cause Andy to lose control of the crane. I've never seen him lose control of a load. He's a very skillful crane operator."
The waitress brought another fork. Then Glen continued, "My God! It could have been a lot worse. It could have killed two men! Or more, given the right circumstances. Can some loony-bin type have a grudge against the company?"
©2002 LaVonne Boruk Copyright All rights reserved