The Boy from the Woods(85)
“Would it be too melodramatic if I answered ‘to find the truth’?”
“Definitely.”
“Then the answer is prison,” Strauss said. “We’re going to prison.”
CHAPTER
THIRTY-THREE
What do you mean, prison?”
Saul Strauss kept both hands on the wheel. “Why is everyone so anxious to find me?”
“The better question might be, Where have you been?”
“I have enemies, Wilde. I’m sure that doesn’t surprise you. So when a calculating fascist like Gavin Chambers, who is working for a pill-popping nihilist like Rusty Eggers, comes a-knocking, I don’t make myself too available, you know what I’m saying?”
“I know you’re not saying where you’ve been.”
“Why do you care? Why does Gavin care?”
Wilde didn’t see a reason not to tell him. “Crash Maynard is missing.”
“What do you mean, missing? Wait, is that why that tape was released?”
Wilde said nothing.
“And, what, you guys think I have something to do with this?”
“Do you?”
“Yeah, right, I’m hiding Crash Maynard. How many armed men does Gavin have guarding that family anyway?”
It was, Wilde thought, a good point. “How did you find me?”
“Just now? I have a guy watching the Maynards’ place. By the way, who the hell calls their house ‘Maynard Manor’? Is that not the most ostentatious, over-the-top, obscene…I mean, if you wanted evidence the rich are too rich, I would make that place Exhibit A. Anyway, my guy tailed you here.”
“And you were in the area?”
“I needed to see you.”
“To take me to prison?”
“Yes.”
“I have to be back at the Maynards’ by eleven thirty.”
“This won’t take long. I hear Hester interviewed Arnie Poplin.”
“You hear a lot of things, Saul.”
“That I do. I assume Hester believes him now.”
Wilde changed subjects. “The other night at the hotel bar, why were you so interested in Naomi Pine?”
“I wasn’t. I was interested in Crash Maynard.”
“Who is now missing.”
“You didn’t believe me, but I told you. The Maynards have damaging tapes.”
“And they’ve been released,” Wilde said.
“Yeah, I watched the news,” Strauss said, “and the reaction. No one cares that Eggers kissed a teenage girl, except those who’d never vote for him anyway.”
They crossed the Tappan Zee Bridge and headed north alongside the Hudson River. If Strauss was being straight about going to “prison,” Wilde had a pretty good idea where they were going.
“Sing Sing?” Wilde asked.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I need you to see for yourself, Wilde. I need you to understand.”
Less than an hour from Manhattan, the Sing Sing Correctional Facility was one of the most famous prisons in the world. Built in the early 1800s, Sing Sing hid in plain sight. If you were one of the many commuters on the Metro-North train to Grand Central station, your daily journey actually bisected Sing Sing. If you took a boat up the Hudson, you’d see Sing Sing perched atop an otherwise enviable plot of land overlooking the river. The notorious electric chair “Old Sparky” had executed over six hundred people inside Sing Sing’s walls, including the alleged Soviet spies Julius and Ethel Rosenberg in 1953. Supposedly, Julius was strapped to Old Sparky first and died quickly. Then Ethel was led to the same chair where her husband had so recently perished—what must that have been like?—but her execution had complications. Witnesses said it took several attempts to kill her, that her heart kept beating despite repeated electric shocks, that smoke started rising from the top of her head.
Wilde had no idea why Saul Strauss was taking him here.
Strauss parked the car in Sing Sing’s visitor lot and turned off the ignition. “Come on. This won’t take long.”
Strauss had clearly called in a few favors, so they got to move ahead of the line. They emptied their pockets and walked through the metal detector. The visiting room looked like a school cafeteria on steroids. There were tables and chairs—none of that behind-glass stuff you saw on television. Prisoners were being openly embraced by loved ones. You expected adult spouses, partners, parents, siblings, but mostly the visitors were families with young children. Lots of children. Some spent time in the multicolored “family center,” which looked like a daycare or preschool classroom. There were board games and picture books, crafts and toys. Others went outside and hung on the playground.
The guards assigned them a table in clearly marked Row Four right by the prisoner entrance. They were told to sit and remain seated until their inmate joined them. Wilde wanted to ask for details, but he’d gone this far and figured that he’d let Strauss play it out. There was a buzzing noise, and the door to the actual prison slid open. The inmates poured in and hurried toward their families. Wilde looked at Strauss.
“Our guy will be last,” Strauss said.
Wilde didn’t know what that meant, but he would learn soon enough. After the line of men (Sing Sing Correctional was an all-male facility) receded, one final man entered—via a wheelchair. Wilde understood why they were seated near the front.