12
Bridget followed Vera down the hallway. Lost in thought, she pondered how to help the women. She couldn’t force them into sessions with her, of course, but she would need to find some way to give them an outlet for their emotions. She rounded a corner, trailing in the wake of Vera’s heels. Smith’s death would be devastating to them—it wasn’t simply something that they would accept easily.
She stumbled, quickly sidestepping to prevent herself from running hard into Vera, who had abruptly stopped and was now facing her.
“Vera?” Bridget asked. “Are you—”
“You had no right to say that!” Vera hissed vehemently.
“What?” Bridget was taken aback. “What are you—”
“Franky Doyle!” Vera exclaimed, again interrupting Bridget. “You basically just flaunted you relationship to the women—your illegal relationship!”
“Governor,” Bridget stepped back, holding her hands up in placation, “Franky is no longer living with me. She is not in violation of that aspect of her parole—”
“It’s you!” Vera cried. “It’s you, not Franky, who’s in violation! Have you forgotten that you treated her while she was in Wentworth? Have you forgotten that you are still an employee of this prison? Do you understand the legal ramifications of this—the potential lawsuits, if anyone found out, not to mention the obvious ethical issues at stake? For fuck’s sake, Bridget!” Vera turned to face the wall, slapping her hand against it. “You know that prisoners can’t legally give consent!” She turned back to face Bridget, her expression livid. “And Doyle may be out, but she’s still on parole—or have you forgotten what parole is? It means that she’s still a prisoner, serving the remainder of her time on the outside. And you are an employee of her prison! It is illegal for you to have a relationship with her!”
Bridget’s could only stare at her. “I hadn’t…” she swallowed. “I hadn’t thought of it that way,” she admitted. “I had fulfilled my ethical and professional obligations when I stopped treating her. And being on parole meant that she was out…”
Vera rolled her eyes. “Why did you think I was so upset when I first found out?” she asked, exasperated. “Did you think it was only because you had betrayed my trust?”
“Well…” Bridget didn’t continue.
Vera looked away, shaking her head. “Good to know you think I’m that pathetic.”
“You’re not pathetic,” Bridget stated sharply.
Vera sighed, running her hand over her tightly coiled hair. “The point is that you have to keep this relationship secret. This is not a relationship that should exist.” She looked closely at Bridget. “Do you understand?”
“Yes,” Bridget nodded emphatically. “I understand, Vera—really, I do. And I’ll make sure that Franky understands, as well. And—oh no,” Bridget groaned.
“What?” Vera asked warily.
Bridget gave her a level look. “Ferguson,” she stated.
Vera felt her stomach flip over. “What about Ferguson?” she asked slowly.
“She knows. She knows about Franky and I—I don’t know how,” she said quickly, before Vera could ask, “but she knows, Vera. She made that clear.”
“And did you acknowledge it, when she asked?”
Bridget dropped her gaze, contemplating. “No,” she said finally, looking up. “No, it was all on her side—she said that she could smell her on me, and then later, after Franky had left, she mentioned that she couldn’t smell her any more.”
“Smell her on you?” Vera asked. “What is she, a bloodhound?”
Bridget chuckled. “That’s almost word for word what Franky commented, too.”
Vera frowned. “Thank you for that. Well," she sighed. "You’d better hope that Ferguson doesn’t have any real evidence of that relationship.” She paused. “Who knows how she’d use it.”
They stared at each other.
“Fuck,” Bridget stated, “the Freak’s coming after us.”
***
Joan stared down at the business card in her hand.
Hayley Jovanka, Journalist, Ten Eyewitness News.
“Optics,” Channing had said.
Smiling, she dialed.
***
Back in Vera’s office, Bridget gathered the completed list of grief strategies and programs she had just devised with the Governor. She watched as Vera leaned back in her chair, exhausted.
“Vera?” she asked, hesitating. “There’s one other thing I think you should know…”
“What has Franky done now?” Vera asked flatly.
“No, no,” Bridget smiled. “Nothing like that. But… it is serious. Have you heard from the hospital? How’s Novak?”
“Still in critical condition,” Vera replied. “It looked like she wasn’t going to make it, but then she suddenly regained consciousness, if only for a moment. The doctors are just waiting, at this point.”
Bridget nodded. “I saw that you listed the cause as an overdose.”
Vera stiffened. “Yes. Smith found her. It was fairly obvious, what with her history of drug abuse…”
“Has no one considered that she was given a hot shot?”
Vera’s eyes narrowed. “What, exactly, are you getting at?”
Bridget regarded her levelly. “It was Ferguson,” she stated. “Smith told Franky earlier today. Ferguson apparently gloated about it.”
Vera swallowed, her heart beating rapidly. “And does Franky have any proof?”
“No,” Bridget stated, defeated. “But—wait! She had to have gotten out of Protection somehow, right? Have you checked the CCTV feed?”
Vera shook her head. “I did. There’s nothing.”
“Nothing?” Bridget asked, puzzled. “The camera didn’t show her leaving Protection?”
Vera hesitated. “The camera didn’t show anything,” she said finally, “because the tape has been wiped.”
“What?” Bridget exclaimed.
Vera nodded miserably.
Bridget leaned forward. “You have to go to the police, Vera. You have to tell the Board—”
“The police already know about our camera issues.”
Bridget sat back hard against her chair. “You know what this means, don’t you?” she murmured softly.
Vera stared at her.
“Ferguson has an accomplice among the guards.”
Vera’s gaze dropped to her hands. “I know,” she stated quietly. “I know.”
“It could be anyone, Vera,” Bridget emphasized, unwilling to let it drop.
Vera nodded, sighing.
Bridget looked closely at her. “It could even be you.”