Go-Between

Chapter Twenty-Eight

“Well, here we are.” Caitlin grinned at the camera. “Prepare yourself.”

Michelle followed her onto the convention hall floor.

“Caitlin, can you hold up a minute? I want to get a few long-shots of all this.”

The convention floor was huge, lit by fluorescent lights and ambient glow from displays in the booths that formed a maze across it. There was no natural light here, it was sealed off from the outside world like an indoor shopping mall or sports arena, its own disconnected environment, the constant chatter of the crowd forming an oceanic, discordant roar.

Michelle got her shot and half-jogged to catch up to Caitlin, who stood next to a booth for a company advertising itself as “The Next Generation in Correctional Healthcare.”

“Ready?” Caitlin asked.

Michelle nodded. They’d stopped at a Best Buy a couple of miles from the convention center on their way from the airport and bought a Rode mike, some memory cards and an extra battery pack for her dSLR. A camcorder would have been better, but the camera would do, and at least Michelle already knew how to use it.

“So, the prison industry in the United States is big,” Caitlin said. “State and federal governments spend around seventy-five billion dollars a year on corrections. We’ve got a total inmate population of two point three million people, which in terms of both the number of prisoners and as a percentage of the population, is the biggest in the world. We’re five percent of the world’s population, and we have twenty-five percent of the world’s prison population. That’s right-we’re number one.”

She paused. “You got all that?”

Michelle nodded.

“Let’s walk a little, okay?”

“Sure.”

Michelle followed alongside Caitlin as they moved down the row of booths. There were booths for food service. For secure payment systems. For vests that promised “ultimate stabbing protection.” For tactical weapons, security cameras, prison architects, prison plumbing fixtures, drug-testing kits. Phone systems, correctional software, correctional pharmacies, prison ministries, sheriff’s associations, insurance companies.

Caitlin halted again. “So I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about this. Wondering, is it really true that we just commit more crimes in America? And if so, why is that? Is this”-she made an open-palmed wave at the convention floor around her-“helping us fix that?”

They walked a little farther. Caitlin stopped in front of a booth for substance-abuse software. “Well, one thing I learned is that about half of the folks behind bars in state prisons are there for non-violent crimes. Ninety percent of federal prisoners are there for non-violent crimes. You know how many of those are there for drug offenses? About one quarter of the people held in US prisons and jails. You can add another seventeen percent who say they committed their crimes to get money for drugs. Around sixty-five percent of prisoners have some kind of drug problem. Only eleven percent of them get treatment for it.”

She really was good at this, Michelle thought. The way she pulled up all those facts and figures without sounding rehearsed or rushed, how she faced the camera with an easy charm.

“Here’s something else,” Caitlin continued. “I was talking to a representative from a correctional officer’s union the other night, and you know what he told me? More than half of all male inmates have at least one significant mental health problem. With women? Seventy-five percent.”

She held the camera’s gaze and said: “There are more seriously mentally ill people in the Los Angeles County Jail than in any psychiatric hospital in the United States. Three times more people with serious mental illness incarcerated than in hospitals.” She shook her head. “Now, that’s a lot of numbers and percentages I’m throwing out here. But to me, they all started adding up to the same thing.”

She paused. “Maybe we aren’t doing this right.”

By now they’d reached a huge display for Prostatis: Responsibility. Efficiency. Dignity. was written across the back of the booth, lit by dramatic spotlights.

Michelle’s heart beat faster. Standing in front of display was Randall Gates, shaking hands with another man in a business suit.

“Keep filming,” Caitlin said in a low voice. She pasted on a smile and headed over to Gates.

“Caitlin!” Gates gave the other man’s hand one last pump and a good-bye pat on the shoulder. “So nice to see you here.”

“Hi, Randy,” she said brightly.

By now, Gates had caught sight of Michelle and her camera. “What’s this about?” he said, still smiling.

“I haven’t exactly decided yet.”

“Should we go have a little sit-down?” he said in a low voice.

“A sit-down? Is there something you’d like to discuss?”

“Maybe not with…” He turned to Michelle. “Could you…?”

“No, she could not,” Caitlin interrupted. “If there’s something you want to say to me, why don’t you just say it?”

“I…” He hesitated. Michelle zoomed in on his face. She watched his jaw tighten. His eyes flicked in her direction, then back to Caitlin. “I’m just a little confused about some of what I’ve heard coming out of the San Francisco event.”

“I can imagine,” Caitlin said. “And I’m still thinking it all through, to be honest with you. Why don’t we table that sit-down till I get back to Houston and take it up at the next board meeting? We can call a special one if you’d like.”

“I would. The sooner the better.”

“Then we’ll do that.”

“Good.” He hesitated, his eyes flicking at the camera again as though he couldn’t help it, and then back to Caitlin. “I hope you know that I take my responsibilities as a member of the board very seriously.”

“Of course I do, Randy,” she said. “I know just how much Safer America means to you.” She gave his arm a friendly squeeze. “We’ll catch up later, okay?”

Caitlin turned back to Michelle. “I’m gonna walk down this aisle. Why don’t you hang back and get a shot of me doing that?”

“Will do,” Michelle said.

As Caitlin walked away, Michelle could sense Gates moving closer.

“Just what are you doing?”

Michelle gestured after Caitlin. “What she just asked me to do.”

“Shut that off.”

Something in his voice made her put the camera down. She looked at him. His face was tense, the lines around his mouth rigid.

“You’re supposed to be looking after her,” he said, staring hard at Michelle. “The fact that you’re going along with this makes me wonder whose side you’re really on.”

Christ. Was he actively working with Gary? Did he know about her, about Danny?

Was this a threat?

She stared back. “I’m Caitlin’s employee, Mr. Gates. It’s my job to do what she asks me to do.” She started to raise the camera, then stopped. “And just so you know… I am looking after her.”

She wasn’t in any position to threaten Randall Gates. But she hoped he knew that she meant every fucking word she’d just said.

By the time she got Caitlin in her sights again, Caitlin had gotten caught up in the traffic where two rows crossed. Michelle took a moment to zoom in on her. She wasn’t sure if it would be a good shot or not, but Caitlin was smiling and making conversation with several in a crowd of young women in some kind of uniforms-police explorers? Junior correctional officers?

There was one woman not in a uniform standing just to Caitlin’s side. Something about her felt familiar. Thirty-ish, a little heavy, baseball cap over brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. Michelle zoomed in on her.

A gold necklace with a Tinkerbell charm.

Carlene.

“Shit,” Michelle said. She lowered the camera and ran.