Deadly justice, p.22
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       Deadly Justice, p.22

           Darrell Case
 

  “I'll tell Superintendent Dishon you're here,” the secretary said picking up the phone. A prim, grandmotherly type, Allison thought she would look more at home with a pair of knitting needles. She reminded Allison of Ruth Johnson. She smiled at Allison. “Mr. Dishon will see you, now.”

  Dishon's office must have been the envy of every corrections superintendent in Indiana.. The walls were paneled in rich dark oak and lined with prints of Van Gogh’s works. Floor -to -ceiling bookcases on two walls held books by well- known authors. Behind a massive desk, a pudgy man in his 40’s rose to his feet. Self consciously, he smoothed his thinning salt and pepper hair with his left hand as he held out his right to Allison.

  “Agent Stevens, I'm Richard Dishon, superintendent of this excellent facility.” The hand he extended was soft, plump. Allison took it thinking it was like shaking hands with the Pillsbury Doughboy. Dishon's eyes, however told a different story. “I'll bet he's hard as nails,” she thought.

  “Please have a seat,” he said, indicating one of two chairs made from wooden slats. Allison did a double take. They looked out of place. She tested the chair. It was surprisingly comfortable.

  “We have a furniture factory at the state prison in Putnamville. Just one of many items made by Pen Products.”

  “Yes, very nice,” Allison said absently as she consulted her notes. “Now, Mr. Dishon, about the death of Allan Roe, I understand you were working late last night?”

  “Rich, please.”

 
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