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“Who gave y’ all this numbah?”
“Uh, Charlene Walters,” Barrie replied. “May I speak with her please?”
The only response to her request was a phlegmy laugh punctuated by nasal snorts.
“Is Ms. Walters the
re?”
“Yeah, she’s here. But this phone is off limits after lockdown.”
“Lockdown?” Barrie looked up at Gray, who registered the same surprise as she. “Exactly where are you?” she asked.
“Central Corrections. Pearl, Miss’ippi.”
“Is Ms. Walters an inmate there?”
“She is that—for a helluva long time too. How come y’all’re calling her?”
“Who am I speaking with, please?”
The man identified himself as a guard who just happened to be passing by the pay phone when it rang. She asked if it was possible for her to speak with the warden. “This time o’ night? You a lawyer or what?”
She finessed her way around a direct answer and conveyed to him how vitally important it was for her to speak with a prison official, stressing that the matter could not wait until morning. “Okay,” the guard grumbled. “Gimme the numbah where you’re at. If he sees fit, he can call you back.”
Barrie would rather have had the warden’s number, but she settled on giving the guard the number of the pay phone. When she hung up, Gray asked how an inmate in a Mississippi prison would know about her.
“The SIDS series was fed to a satellite. It could have been aired on any TV station in the country. Apparently a station that goes into the prison ran it. Prisoners frequently get fixated on celebrities. Although I know it’s a stretch to think of me as a celebrity.”
“Why is it ‘vitally important’ that you speak to her tonight?”
“It isn’t,” she admitted. “Most of her messages consisted of calling me an idiot. I’m just curious to know why she thought so.” Gray’s eyes were narrowed in concentration. “What?” she asked.
“I was just thinking. Both David and Vanessa are from Mississippi.”
“You’re right, they are,” Barrie said, grabbing the telephone receiver on the first ring. “Hello, this is Barrie Travis.”
“Deputy Warden Foote Graham.”
“Thank you very much for calling me back, Warden.”
“No problem, ma’am. How can I he’p you?”
She identified herself as a broadcast journalist in Washington, D.C., and told him about the repeated calls from Charlene Walters.
“She pesterin’ y’all?”
“No, it’s not that. I just wondered why Ms. Walters would be calling me.”
“There’s no tellin’ what Crazy Charlene might do.”
Barrie looked up at Gray, who was intently gauging her facial expressions. She frowned, shook her head, and rolled her eyes. “Crazy Charlene?” she repeated for his benefit.
“Yes, ma’am. Seventy-seven years old, but Charlene’s still full of piss ’n’ vinegar.”
“Seventy-seven? Good Lord, how long has she been in prison?”
“She’s a lifer. No parole. Been here since I came, and that’s going on eighteen years. I think she’s outlasted everybody. Nobody remembers when ol’ Charlene wasn’t here. She’s sort of like a… what do you call it? A mascot. She’s a leader. Well liked by the other inmates. And quite a character, too. She’ll give you her opinion on any subject whether you ask for it or not.”
