PART 3: THE LOVE-LOVE JOB -- Preparations
While Wynn left for Sudurba and Cassidy sent instructions to Alban and Rebecca, Edan made arrangements for a trip to the prison where Samuel Wells perished, Brystead Correctional.
First, he contacted Gale Crawford – a family friend and ICN Special Agent who was part of Governor Arkland’s special security team – and asked him to reach out to the prison about setting up a meeting between The Warden and himself.
A couple of hours later, Gale called to confirm they could meet the next day, provided Edan completed the necessary paperwork, security clearances, and pre-meeting briefs. Edan used the remainder of the day to handle those logistics and departed for Brystead on a private flight the following morning.
He came down in Brystead’s shared airstrip hours later and met with officers sent to escort him to the facility.
The car drove through winding country roads between wheat fields to the more imposing, fortified structure of Brystead Correctional. Barbed wire fences sliced the horizon, and guard towers loomed over. The building projected a sharp form against the backdrop of the distant rolling hills.
Inmates in light pink jumpsuits labored in the distance under the watchful gaze of armed supervisors. Some tilled the soil in secure, fenced-off agricultural plots while others maneuvered wheelbarrows loaded with fresh produce.
They passed through a gated checkpoint, where armed guards scrutinized Edan’s credentials before waving him through. Once in, imposing walls eclipsed the sun and cast long, cold shadows.
I’ve made it to my destination without any complications, Edan messaged as the car parked in a space near the administration building. Thank you for sending a request ahead.
It’s my pleasure, Gale Crawford replied. Please do not hesitate to contact me if you require further help. Best wishes in your investigation.
May Lady Ljura smile upon us both in our respective endeavors, Edan replied, smiling before stepping out and following the officers to the warden’s office.
Hopefully, all is as it appears, he thought as they proceeded through the hallway. The bleak reality of suicide, as unsettling as it was, would be easier to handle than the alternative.
Upon stepping into the Warden’s office, a sweet aroma drifted into Edan’s nose. It was, to be sure, another flourish meant to dazzle – as was the entire room.
Awards glinted from a polished oak bookshelf while framed photos featuring a well-dressed, dark-skinned man rubbing shoulders with politicians and celebrities adorned the wall.
Sunlight streamed through the elegant drapery and painted golden patterns on a spacious desk made of rich mahogany. The desk itself was uncluttered, its surface gleaming in a way that suggested meticulous care. Anchoring the scene was a nameplate with letters etched in gold that read “Warden Theodore Blanc.”
“Mr. Cain, it’s an honor to have you here!” the man behind the desk said, his voice deep and robust.
Dressed in a pristine white suit tailored to accentuate his shoulders and de-emphasize his rounded belly, Theodore Blanc rose from behind the desk and advanced with a practiced smile. His trimmed, salt-and-pepper beard framed his jovial face while his eyes twinkled like a salesperson who’d just closed a deal.
“I hope the journey here was uneventful,” he continued as he stepped out from behind the desk and extended his hand.
Edan grasped Theodore’s outstretched hand and registered his callused hand. “It was indeed. Thank you for the escort, Mr. Blanc.”
“The pleasure was all mine.” Blanc sealed his words with a firm but not overbearing shake. “And forgive me if I’m overstepping, but might I interest you in some tea? I’ve already brewed a chamomile/lavender blend for you. The calming properties of the two will rejuvenate you.”
With a flourish that carried a touch of theatricality, Blanc gestured toward a nearby polished tea cart. A fine porcelain teapot and cup rested on it, neighbored by sugar cubes and lemon slices arranged on a crystal plate.
“Your generosity is most welcome.” Edan lifted the teapot, poured the golden liquid into the cup, and raised the tea to his lips. The warm tea passed his lips, and the layered notes of chamomile and lavender unfurled like a fragrant bloom. “I must say, this tea is exquisite! A perfect blend of flavors.”
“I’m thrilled to hear it,” Blanc said, puffing out his chest. “I believe that a man’s skills are a tool he can use to shape his life, no matter where he is. Mine have served me well as both a chef and a warden.”
“The journey from chef to warden is not one often taken. I’m intrigued to hear more. But first, there is an urgent matter that we must attend to. May we speak of Samuel Wells?”
“Of course. However, I’m afraid there isn’t anything more I can offer than what’s already on record. The body has been taken care of, and the cell cleaned.”
“Could there be any camera footage from the night in question that I can analyze?”
“Any footage from that day is no longer available. Our system has a limited capacity of around seventy hours, so it has been overwritten. While the cameras can be useful, their primary purpose is to intimidate.”
Edan’s eyebrows pinched together.
“I want to make sure you’re aware of the positive tradeoff of this,” Blanc continued, his eyes widening. “Rather than investing money in more cameras or storage, we channel the funding into the culinary rehabilitation program I established. Cooking and food can be transformative, and the skills learned in the program help inmates reintegrate into society.”
What an inventive strategy! Edan mused. The weight of his argument couldn’t be easily dismissed – especially if they could guide lost souls back on the right path. It was not unlike his time overseeing Protech, his old security firm, though he leveraged his employees’ pre-existing competencies.
“Your empathy and understanding are truly admirable,” Edan said, nodding. “It is rare to find someone who recognizes the humanity and potential within those who have stumbled in life.”
Blanc’s eyes twinkled anew as a gratified smile stretched across his face.
“And that is why I transitioned from the culinary world to my current position. Food can do more than sustain life. It can be a catalyst for change and transformation. It breaks my heart to think of what Sam could have accomplished had he learned that lesson before he…”
Blanc's proud posture slacked while his smile dulled into a wistful expression. A pang as acute as a needle prick stabbed Edan’s chest.
“Were there any signs that he might not live long enough to learn such skills?” Edan asked.
“It’s difficult to determine… Sam’s stay here was brief. From what I have learned, he was often feeling down. Nevertheless, his spirits seemed to lift when he was visited by a girl…”
“Girl?”
“Her name was Mariposa Ramos. She claimed they were friends. Although, one can’t help but wonder if more was going on between them. Why else would a girl visit a man in prison?”
Mariposa… Edan stroked his beard, wondering if Cassidy knew who she was. “When was the last time Miss Ramos visited him?”
“The day before his passing.”
Edan kept stroking his beard as if he could extract wisdom from its strands.
Miss Ramos’ visit brings a new dimension to this tale. Did she hold the missing piece in the puzzle of Samuel’s fate? It was an avenue worth exploring, but not the road that required immediate attention.
“Might I be able to examine the crime scene photos?” Edan asked. “There’s something I wish to verify.”
“Absolutely,” Blanc said before pivoting around and seating himself in his chair.
Blanc navigated his computer like a maestro, with rapid keystrokes and efficient mouse clicks. Once he found what he sought, he looked up and beckoned for Edan to join him.
Edan approached the monitor, which displayed a series of high-resolution photos taken at different angles of Sam’s cell. The first showed the entire room – a stark, sterile space made even more haunted by the presence of a scrawny body hanging from a makeshift noose fashioned from a bedsheet.
A muted tremor coursed through Edan’s fingers while his jaw clenched. No matter how often he faced death, such visuals never lost their sting.
Edan sucked in a breath and then narrowed his eyes. “Might it be possible to examine a photo after he was lowered?”
Blanc clicked an image with Sam’s face clear. His brown hair lay flattened against his forehead, and a few stray strands clinging damply to his fair skin. The light freckles that once gave him a boyish charm stood stark against his pallor, making him look almost ethereal. Deep, horizontal streaks with erratic depth and varying width ran across his neck.
A slow frown etched its way across Edan’s lips. “May I inquire about the education and experience of the coroner who conducted the autopsy?”
“Is there an issue?” Blanc asked.
“The marks on his neck are not consistent with suicide. Notice how the ligature marks are inconsistent in depth and width. If this were suicide, we would expect the pressure to be more even. Also, take note of the angle. If it was a hanging, they would be vertical, not horizontal, as we see here. This is more consistent with strangulation. Finally, the depth indicates that a significant amount of force was applied. This would not be expected in a suicide, as one would lose consciousness quickly. Sam would simply lean into the bedsheet noose and gradually lose consciousness.”
Blanc’s mouth opened as if to object, but he remained silent, opting to massage his temples in small, tight circles instead.
“I wonder how the coroner came to their conclusion,” Edan said.
“…I’ll call for him right away.”
