by David Clark
The confidence drained out of the Dean right before Jordan’s eyes. There was no snappy come back, or quick claim of innocence. He was on the ropes, and he knew it. A push here, and shove there, would send Dean Wilson right where Jordan and the others wanted him. Not admitting his guilt, which he shared some guilt in the overall crime. They wanted him to rollover on the others involved in this scheme. They needed him to give them enough evidence to yank the others to a similar room and start narrowing down who was truly responsible for the girls’ deaths. Then they would worry about the other lesser offenses of just being some of the biggest loads of shit that walked the planet.
There was a simple knock on the door, and Jordan stood up deliberately and opened it. There was no conversation between him and Detective Kendal, just the passing of a vanilla folder with a stack of paper inside, just like he had asked for. The stack was just the perfect size for what he needed. He closed the door and sat back down, looking at the shrinking violet that sat across from him. It was time to turn up the heat a little and wilt him further. Once wilted far enough, he would offer him nourishment in the form of a deal.
Every page in the stack was blank, but that didn’t stop Jordan from flipping through them, pausing longer on some as if reading larger areas of text. The folder and its contents were kept from Dean Wilson’s view, but it had his attention. There was a slight strain of his neck and eyes to see if they could see the contents. After the last page, Jordan let the folder close, and he dropped it on the table. Not from a height that would risk the pages slipping out and destroying his little ruse, but enough to slap in the quiet room. “Still want to say you don’t know the girls?”
Dean Wilson gave a rather nervous looking nod.
“Based on some of the messages we pulled from that phone, you liked Beth in that red bra and panty set you bought her and liked to be talked dirty to. Seemed you enjoyed being the Dean and her, the dirty little schoolgirl. And Marie, well, I am not even sure I can bring myself to repeat what is on that page. I am sure there is more, that is just what I picked up with the scan, Roberto, isn’t that what you had them call you?”
Dean Wilson had picked up a noticeable shake as he sat there listening to Jordan. He didn’t answer the last question with a true answer. What he did say was the one phrase Jordan didn’t want to hear. “I want my attorney.”
Jordan knew the drill at that point. There was nothing more he could do and stood up and left. Detective Andrew Kendal met him in the hallway with a pat on his shoulder. “Almost had him there. When his attorney shows, we can lay our cards on the table and throw the deal out there.”
“Yea, we have to hope his attorney will go for it though.”
“It’s a risk, but it’s our only play left,” agreed Kendal. “It’s late, chances are his attorney won’t come in until tomorrow. We are going to put him in holding for the night.” Two officers passed by with the defeated man, his hands handcuffed behind his back as they led him to the elevator at the end of the hall. “Go back to the hotel and get some rest. I will call you when his attorney shows up and we can talk to them together. I am going home myself.”
“All right, I’ll probably head back up here 8’ish so I am here when he arrives,” Jordan said. He wanted to make sure he was there when the attorney arrived, to make sure there was no chance the locals would talk to them without him.
“Sounds good.” Detective Kendal turned and walked back the other way down the hall toward the world of cubicles that they called an office, and Jordan headed toward the same elevator that he just watched Dean Wilson board. When the car opened, there was no one else in it. He stepped in and rode it down to the lobby. Megan sat there in one of the many chairs organized along the wall. She had stretched out in one and managed to nod off.
“Come on. Let’s go back to the room,” Jordan whispered as he tapped her on the arm. She stirred and looked up at him, confused. A gentle and caring tug on her elbow brought her to her feet, and she stumbled up with Jordan’s arm around her.
Back in the room, he sat down on the bed next to Megan and the toll of the day called for him to pay its debt. That and the relaxing sound of the deep breathing next to him pulled at his eyelids. He didn’t try to get undressed, and just kicked off his shoes and pulled the bedspread back and slipped underneath. Sleep came without a great recap of the day's events. There was no pondering on what the next day would bring. There was no time for that before the world faded to darkness and his breathing joined the deep and relaxed breathing of the woman lying next to him.
Jordan wasn’t sure how long he was asleep when the sound of his phone shattered his peaceful slumber. Something of an acquired skill enabled him to go from fully asleep to fully awake in seconds. When he answered, his voice was fully awake and Megan had roused up next to him.
“Agent Blake,” he answered.
“Jordan,” Andrew Kendal said from the other end. He sounded sleepier than Jordan. “Sorry to call you so late. Not sure what happened, but they just called me. Mr. Wilson is going crazy screaming he wants to talk to us. Said he started about an hour ago and won’t shut up. Can you meet me?”
All Jordan said when he hung up was, “On my way.” His shoes were on and his hand made a pass through his hair before heading for the door.
Megan was up on her elbows, squinting into the light created by the light in the alcove by the door. “What’s wrong?”, she said sounding exhausted and on her way to a yawn.
“Dean Wilson has changed his mind and wants to talk without an attorney. Detective Kendal said he has been screaming for us for the last hour. I am going to go and see what he has to say.” Jordan thought for a moment as he watched Megan swing her legs off the bed. “Megan, stay here and get some sleep. There is nothing you can do.”
There was no protest as she slipped back under the covers and rolled over. She was still for a moment, but as Jordan flicked off the light, he saw her spring up in the bed. He flicked the light back on. “What’s wrong?”
“Where are the girls?”
26
For just after four in the morning, the Richmond City Police Department hummed with activity. Most of the noise was complaints about the few hours of sleep they had before being called in. Each complainer had a coffee cup in their hand that contained a liquid they hoped brought them back to some semblance of being alive.
Jordan walked through the zombie mass and passed the break room where most were huddled waiting on another pot of coffee. He didn’t need it like they did. He didn’t even feel he needed his usual energy drinks. The adrenaline of the job was enough to keep him going. His first stop was the room with the monitors. As he had hoped, they were on, and Dean Wilson, or the shell of the man that used to be him, was already positioned in the room in his jail issued orange jumpsuit. His head was down against the table. His arms dangled freely. At first glance, Jordan thought he was asleep, but most people don’t mumble to themselves like a mad person unless they were awake. There was further evidence of the bad night he had. Tufts of what was his full head of black hair were missing. Ripped out, root and all, in what appeared to be handfuls. Blood soaked white gauze bandages were taped on the back of his neck. Jordan had seen some crack in jail before, but never to this extreme.
A knock on the door frame pulled Jordan’s attention from the video feeds. “You ready?”, Detective Kendal asked in between sips of coffee.
“Yep,” Jordan said as he backed away from the monitors.
“They say he screamed for hours. The medical staff had to restrain him while tending to his wounds. I talked to him when they brought him up, just to ask if he wanted to talk to us without his attorney present. To me he seemed rather lucid when he said he waved all that stuff and wanted to tell us what he knows,” Andrew explained as they walked down the hall to the room. “And before you say anything, I had it all recorded, so if anyone questions his sanity during that statement, they can review.”
“Good.” Jordan knew the recording would help if
they were challenged. Based on what he had seen on the monitor, even he was questioning the man’s mental stability. The explanation why, waited for them just outside the interview room door, which Detective Kendal opened and offered to let Jordan enter first, but Jordan motioned for him to go ahead. “Bad girls,” he mumbled to the three ghostly images that stood next to the door with devilish grins on their faces.
Dean Wilson kept mumbling when they entered. An odor of fresh urine filled the room. Neither of them said anything about it as they pulled their chairs back and sat. Jordan kept his chair where he pulled it back to. The smell made his eyes water.
“Mr. Wilson, you wanted to talk to us?”, started Andrew.
The mumbling continued for a few seconds until something audible was uttered, “Yes, just make them stop! Make them stop!”, he explained with his head still pressed against the table.
“Make who stop?”, Andrew asked. “There is nobody here but us. Just you, me, and Agent Blake.”
“The girls. The girls that died. The girls that I... I...,” he swallowed deeply and lifted his head up, exposing two more pads that were soaked through with blood. One on his forehead and another on his right cheek. “The girls that I did bad things with.” Dean Wilson appeared to choke on every word of that confession.
“Well, Mr. Wilson. The only way to make them stop is to clear your conscience, and tell us what you did, and what you know. Once you do that, you will feel all better. You can trust me on that. Many a person has sat right where you are now, with the weight of guilt pressing them down in that chair. The only way to release it is to tell us.”
Jordan knew it wasn’t guilt pressing on what was left of that man’s sanity. It was the three girls, which now stood just behind Detective Kendal as they watched the proceedings. They had obviously done a number on Dean Wilson during his few hours in jail. Jordan could only hope they hadn’t gone too far and destroyed the man to a point of not being able to help them. “Dean Wilson,” Jordan said, using the man’s title to add some respect. “The detective is right. You can let it all go just by telling us what you know.”
“All right,” Dean Wilson said, and he placed his hands on top of the table. All ten fingers tapped at a furious pace. It was faster than Jordan thought human fingers could move. “I want to say first that, none of this is my idea. I didn’t start it. I didn’t create this little club. I am nothing more than a member.”
“Noted,” Detective Kendal said.
Dean Wilson looked to Jordan for his agreement, and Jordan nodded. “We pay a due and get certain privileges.”
“Privileges?” asked Detective Kendal.
“Oh, come on. You guys already know. You read the messages,” he said, looking at Jordan.
“The girls?”, Detective Kendal asked, probing him to go further.
“Yes, the girls. Girls. Guys. Whatever you want. If you pay enough, they will find it. The most common ask from what I could tell were girls, college age. I wasn’t on the inside like I told you before, but what I figured out on my own is they started off working the room at local parties. If you liked the look of one of them, you just pointed them out and then the arrangement was made. You could have as many dates as you wanted with them, as long as you paid, but nothing was exclusive. A girl that may have been yours on Thursday was with someone else at an event on Friday. That was how it worked.”
“Is that how it worked with Beth Ryan?”, Detective Kendal asked.
“Yes.”
“What about Maria?”
“Sort of. I saw her with someone else and mentioned her. Two nights later we attended the Labor Day gathering at the James River Club,” Dean Wilson said. His fingers increased their pace on the table.
“And Sharon?”
“Sharon. I saw her serving at a few parties, and then on another guy’s arm.” His fingers stop, and an evil smile cracked across his pained face. “I remember that red sequined dress she wore that night. That was when I knew.”
“Knew what?”, Detective Kendal asked.
“That she had to be mine next,” said Dean Wilson, shocking the calm that had come over him right out of the room, sending his fingers back into their furious pace.
“Is it safe to say, these were more than just escorting someone to a party?”, Detective Kendal asked. His hand held, moved in circles while he asked, and then paused, and waited for the answer to be placed on it.
“Were these sexual encounters?”, Dean Wilson asked, but no one answered, creating an awkward silence that appeared to eat at the Dean.
Maria spoke to Jordan, “It was all about sex and only sex. That was all they cared about. How we looked naked and what we were willing to do. If we said no to anything, they threatened to hurt or kill us until we agreed. Everything else was just a cover. You believe us, don’t you Jordan?”
He couldn’t answer her directly. Not without the others thinking he was the one in the room who had lost his mind. There was no doubt in his mind what the girls had told him was true; what did they have to gain by lying to him? It was something he had figured out long ago. The dead were probably the most trustworthy witness that ever existed. “Dean Wilson, we all know the answer to that, but the only way you can help yourself and us, is to tell us.”
Jordan felt a cold hand on his shoulder, but it didn’t cause him to shiver. The touch, and hearing the words, “Thank you,” warmed him.
Dean Wilson still didn’t yield. Instead, he looked all around the room while his hands fidgeted on the table, and his right leg bounced.
Jordan felt a cold wind sweep across the room. This one sent a shiver through all three men, but there was more than just a shiver in store for Dean Wilson. Sharon stood behind him now, with a look of disappointment on her face. Her hand roamed above his head. It outlined the shape and down the sides. His ears, his neck, and then his shoulders. His body twisted and flinched as she did so. When she plunged her hand through the center of his back and out the front, he lurched up out of the chair screaming, “Yes! God Yes! Dammit! Yes. It was about sex. Everything. This whole thing is about sex. Jesus.”
“Sit down!,” ordered Detective Kendal, and Dean Wilson did, but not without a glance behind the chair to make sure no one, or nothing, was behind it.
“Yes, it was all about sex. We paid to have sex with the girls,” he said calmly, but then exploded. “But that was it! Nothing about this was supposed to get someone killed.”
“Okay, believe it or not, we believe you had nothing to do with that, at this point,” Detective Kendal stated.
Jordan jumped in, “But we need your help to find out who is responsible. Now you said when you saw a girl you liked, you pointed her out. Who was your contact? We already have a long list of those who had been with the girls, but we need to know who was a member, as you called them, and who was in control.”
Dean Wilson stared off into space like a man deep in thought.
“Dean Wilson, do you understand what I am asking?”, Jordan asked. Hoping what Sharon had done to him hadn’t fried him in some way.
“Yes, but hang on.” His fingers stopped their erratic drumming on the table, and for the first time that night, he was the picture of calm and reverence that he was in the theatre with Jordan and Megan just hours ago. “So that is what happened?”, he asked no one in particular.
“Dean Wilson, what happened? What are you talking about? We need the name of your contact.” Detective Kendal interjected.
“Why the girls were killed. Gentlemen,” he said, addressing both Jordan and Detective Kendal. “If you truly know the names that are in this circle, you know they are some of the wealthiest and most powerful in the region. Not all could go on with something like this hanging around, if you get what I mean?”
“We do, and that is the theory we have too,” Jordan told him. There was no point in not telling him that now. It may go a long way to developing the trust they needed for him to tell them what they need.
“Do you have a piece of paper and a p
en or pencil? I can give you all the names you need.”
Detective Kendal reached into his jacket and pulled out a small spiral pad with a pen stuck in the spirals and slid it across the table. It stopped just before the edge of the table next to Dean Wilson’s hand. He flipped through it until he found a blank page and then began writing line after line of names. Some Jordan could read upside down from where he was. Most of those matched the ones the girls had given Megan, but some were new. “The first name you want is Malcom Frances.” Dean Wilson started the name, but Maria, Beth, and Sharon all joined him in saying the last name. “He is the one we would contact once we saw a girl and arranged everything.
“Did he recruit the girls too?,” Detective Kendal asked.
“I don’t know,” Dean Wilson answered while he continued to write. “If he didn’t, I am sure if you start with him, you can find who did.” With that, he finished filling up two pages of names. A total of twenty six in all. When he slid it back across the table, Jordan saw Malcom’s name at the top of the page. Next to it was a phone number and address. Detective Kendal grabbed the list and ran out of the room, leaving Jordan at the table with Dean Wilson.
“You know Agent, I do feel better.”
27
Jordan sat in the interview room after Dean Wilson was led out in shackles. It was a quiet place for him to sit and also gave him an opportunity to talk with his friends. Not that he could openly have a conversation. The cameras were always rolling, but he could act like he was taking notes while he listened to their responses to his written questions. The most important question on his mind was the list. Was the name of the man who first approached them on the list? Only the girls would know that for sure. Luckily for Jordan, all three were able to confirm it was, and that name didn’t surprise him. He wrote it down on his pad and circled it twice.