“Sir, what would you like us to do with the witness?” The officer asked shaking him from his trance.
“She still seems to be in a state of shock, though she is coming around. Have the paramedics cleared her?”
“Yes sir. Nothing serious.”
“Good. See to it that she's driven home. I want to ensure she arrives back at her house safe and sound. She can retrieve her car tomorrow.”
As the officer walked away, Sampson began to pull at that thread once again. He stood back in the center of the room and closed his eyes.
The deceased, who had been removed while he spoke with Tina, still played vividly in his mind. He could see her restraints, her distraught eyes, the chilling wound above her eye. He could see how her body had been jarred by the impact of the bullet. But what he didn't see was the string. That element that bothered him during his first viewing. He decided to move on.
As he began to move from Samantha to the wall, it hit him. The white object in the picture frame. His eyes shot open and he took the four long strides it took to cover the distance. He immediately looked to the bottom left hand corner of the picture frame. There he noticed the same shape he saw in his mind. He reached into the inner pocket of his coat and extracted a pair of gloves. He slid his fingers into the glove, never taking his eye from the object.
With a snap, the latex glove was snug over his fingers and against his wrist. Not wanting to disturb anything else, he carefully slid the object from the picture frame. The object was a white 3.5-by-2-inch business card. At least it should have been a business card. The front was blank - later on he would debate with himself if it was the front that was blank or the back. However, on the back there was one solitary object. An object he recognized. And under the object was type written "Five Days".
December 10th – 9:20 p.m.
Sal watched anxiously as the officers milled around outside the apartment. He watched as a young lady, maybe in her early 30s had been escorted from the ambulance into an apartment next to the crime scene – a witness perhaps. He would need to check into this later. For now, he and the crowd held their collective breaths as the coroner began to wheel the body from the apartment. Of course, the body has been neatly tucked away inside a heavy duty 36-by-94-inch body bag therefore onlookers wouldn’t see anything of value. However, this didn’t assuage the anticipation of the gathered assembly.
Distantly he could hear a woman sob into her gloved hands. Looking to his right to identify the origin of the sound, he noticed an elderly man in his mid-60s. With his right hand he tapped his fingertips to his forehead, then to the center of his chest. In a deft fluid practiced motion he finished the cross by tapping the front of his left shoulder followed by tapping the front of his right shoulder. He arched his hands together and concluded by whispering to himself, Amen.
Miss Makeup, who was still standing next to Sal exclaimed, “Samantha! Oh Lord, my dear Samantha!” The words were right, yet the actions were all wrong. She spoke the words without an ounce of compassion as her eyes danced around looking for the nearest camera. Sal had seen many horrible things in his life as a journalist, but this utter lack of human compassion made him sick to his stomach.
It took a few moments, but the pair wheeling the gurney secured Samantha’s corpse into the van. Sal watched as the red lights dimmed and shrunk exiting the scene. With the coroner’s departure the crowd began to disperse. The woman who had been sobbing was now being comforted by the elderly gentleman. As her shoulders bounced up and down with her outpour of emotion, he gently patted and rubbed her back in alternative motions. Queen Makeup left disappointed that she would not be giving the interview of her life this evening. Good riddance, Sal thought as he watched her walk away.
Movement from the corner of his eye caught Sal’s attention. The detective, he assumed it was the detective as he was given deference by the others on the scene, was exiting the apartment next door and walking back into the crime scene.
“I need to find a way to speak with this detective,” he said, smoke vapors dissipating with each word. His phone vibrated again in his pocket. Jane. He unlocked the phone, tapped the notification and read.
Sal! Where are you? You are not answering my text. Let me know you are ok… and don’t forget my milk.
Sal knew if he didn’t respond soon, things could escalate fast. Jane had come back into Sal’s life earlier this year after they had previously called it quits. On the day they met for the first time in ages, Sal had been kidnapped by a psychopath – Terri Buckley. Sal was being used as a pawn in a horrible revenge plot hatched by Terri against her former partner in the FBI Donatella Dabria. Donatella was able to save Sal; however, Terri had never been located. Jane feared Sal was still in mortal danger from this woman, this Terri Buckley, but Sal didn’t think so. Terri, wherever she was located at the time, was more concerned with her revenge against Special Agent Dabria, than ending the life of Sal Grandson. Nonetheless, he figured he better let her know that he was ok before she sent a SWAT team looking for him. Sal typed his message.
Following a lead. I’ll be back shortly. I have your milk.
“That should cool her jets for a while.” However, he knew he would hear all about how he stood her, and the Cap’n, up so that he could follow a lead on a story.
The witness was being led out of apartment 633 a tad steadier on her feet than she appeared when she entered the establishment. She was more or less walking under her own power, although the officer held a steady hand close to her person in case she lost her balance.
The scene was beginning to clear as the officer took the witness away in a squad car. Sal, accustomed to working in both crowds and alone, began to feel the first sensation of the cool weather with the absence of the collective body heat. He needed this detective to make an appearance so he could make his move.
His phone vibrated again. Without pulling the phone from his pocket, he was acutely aware who was on the other end. It was Jane, no doubt in his mind. Taking a deep breath he reached for his right pocket to retrieve the phone. At that moment, the detective emerged. He released his grip from the phone and instead fished his Mead notebook from his pocket along with his favorite pen.
“Detective. Detective! Sal Grandson from The Sal Report. Just a moment of your time if you would.”
The detective didn’t break stride.
“Come on, Detective. I already know the victim is Samantha, she lives at 631 Sapphire Ave., and it’s a single homicide. I’m willing to fill in the rest if I must, but I prefer to have an accurate account of what has transpired.”
The detective slowed but did not stop.
Sal, pressing his luck and playing a hunch, “It was the boyfriend. He is responsible. Am I right?” Sal didn’t know if Samantha even had a boyfriend; however, he had a better than 50 percent chance of hitting the nail on the head.
To this last volley, the detective stopped. “Mr. Grandson, I remember you. You reported on the case of the missing kids from Driftwood Springs.”
“Yep, that’s me. Guilty as charged. How about you giving me a bit to work from.” His New York slang crept back into his voice.
“Mr. Grandson, at this moment we have no comment.”
“Do you know why Samantha has been murdered?”
“No comment.”
“Are you going to apprehend the boyfriend?”
“No comment.”
“Well at least tell me your name. There can be no harm in that, and it’s bound to come out tomorrow anyway.”
The detective paused, sighed, “Sampson. Detective Carl Sampson.” With that he carried on in the direction he was headed.
For a mere amateur, one would think Sal had struck out; however, this was not the case. Sal confirmed the victim was Samantha – he could find her last name later. She was the only victim. This was indeed a homicide, otherwise the detective would have made a show of denying this fact. He was also 69 percent sure a boyfriend was a person of interest. Furthermore, the dete
ctive without realizing it was giving away signs to the truth.
In the book The Body Language of Liars by Dr. Lillian Glass, an FBI body language expert and behavioral analyst, the author lays out signs of deception. Things such as repeating phrases and words. Touching or covering one’s mouth. Staring without blinking and several others.
These traits Sal realized can be used in questioning law enforcement when they do not want to answer any questions. When Sal asked the detective, “Do you know why Samantha has been murdered?” the detective quickly changed his head position shifting from right to left. The detective likely didn’t realize he had done so. Nonetheless, Sal noticed it. Sal knew this slight motion combined with the “No comment” response, indicated that it was a lie. The detective was saying the rehearsed comments used by so many in law enforcement when they want to obfuscate the truth, “No comment.” In reality he was saying to Sal, “Yes, she has been murdered.”
The other question, “Are you going to apprehend the boyfriend?” was a little harder to decipher. Sal realized he asked a question that didn’t lend itself to a clear-cut answer. The boyfriend was a hunch, one Sal still believed would bear fruit, but it was a lazy attempt and he knew it. Sal noticed the detective’s breathing changes and the raising of his shoulders. However, both of these could have been attributed to the dropping temperatures surrounding them at the moment.
Nonetheless, Sal felt he gained some insight. Some insight that would help him – his phone vibrated again in his pocket. In response to the rhythmic vibration in his pocket Sal quit basking in his victory and headed for his car.
December 10th – 9:30 p.m.
Veronica King reached her cruising speed of 72 mph as she headed north on I-77 from Uptown Charlotte to her home in Huntersville, North Carolina. She engaged the cruise control feature and began running through her presentation that she stayed late working on that evening. King, the Chief Operating Officer of Global Insights Security, was a rising star at the company. She began her career at GIS right out of college and never looked back. Her superiors saw that she exuded the aptitude not only for the intricacies of high-level security algorithms and techniques, but also had a sound business mind for both strategy and operations. Her stock continued to rise when she was asked to present her findings of a malicious bug working to infest their network, and thus the network of the companies they were being paid millions of dollars monthly to protect, to the CEO, Edward Stein.
The members of the senior leadership listened with rapt attention as King outlined the threat they were facing and the aggressive approach she recommended to combat the threat. Stein; however, seemed to be in another world barely paying attention to the presentation at all. At the conclusion of the presentation, she received unanimous approval to execute her plan – a plan that succeeded without a hitch and a new star was born.
King went through a series of executive training classes, all organized and paid for by GIS, and within seven years she had elevated to the role of COO. She was well on her way to being groomed for the role of CEO in five years, but King’s excitement had been tempered.
Meeting with her boss, CEO Edward Stein, late one fall evening as they finalized the next year’s fiscal budget, Stein made a nonchalant comment that completely floored Veronica.
"You know Mrs. King, we will need to continue our expansion into the Midwest. Our market share in that region is what, 23%?"
"22% sir."
"22% right you are. To achieve the budget and growth we have planned for next year, we will need to obtain three more points in that region. Make sure that Mark has a solid plan to grow and maintain that growth."
"Will do. Anything else before I head out?"
"Just one more thing. I know the board has been grooming you to one day take my spot, to be my successor. To one day lead the company my granddaddy started as a security for the rich folks of this city. Then when my daddy took the helm, he saw the opportunity to add security to financial institutions. Once I took the helm, I saw an opportunity to move into the digital realm and that, Mrs. King, is where we sit today. I have no doubt that you will find some next avenue that we can take and the company will be successful."
King eyed him with gratitude and acceptance.
He lowered his voice and spoke sternly, "However, Mrs. King, it’ll be a cold day in Hell before I allow a woman to run the company my granddaddy built, that my father nurtured, and that I've grown. As long as I draw breath on this earth, you will never sit in my chair. My daddy's chair. My granddaddy's chair."
He paused, looking Veronica square in the eyes. She was thunderstruck and felt her mouth had gaped as her jaw muscles gave way.
And as if he hadn't said anything remotely sexist at all, he finished by saying, "Make sure Mark’s plan is on my desk by the end of the day tomorrow.”
Recalling that day brought disgust and hatred toward her boss. She recognized she had two options. One, she could look for employment elsewhere. She had been sought after by numerous security firms across the country. She knew she could pick up the phone, place a call, conduct the perfunctory interview and land the job. She knew that two companies had offered her just that. But Veronica was loyal. She was loyal to her team, her career, and her passion. But at the end of the day, those were not the things preventing her from picking up the phone.
Her main reason for not picking up the phone was simple - she would not run away from this son of a bitch. She would not, under any circumstance, let him and his old-school mentality win.
So, she was left with one other option. She would have to convince the board that now was the time. Now was the time for her to take the reins of GIS and lead them into the next quarter century. It was a risk, she knew, but if all else failed and she gave it the old college try, she could fall back on numerous other offers brewing.
Veronica King had no intention of failing. The board meeting would be held tomorrow afternoon. Since her encounter with Stein she marked her calendar for this day. The day she would make her play to usurp him from his position, in his granddaddy’s company, and watch that smug look erase from his face when the board approved.
Veronica pulled into her garage and killed the ignition.
"Veronica, old girl, there is no turning back now. Once you play this hand you'll stand atop the mountain, or you'll be out on your ass."
At that moment Veronica did not realize the truth she spoke into the atmosphere. At the board meeting there would be no turning back.
Chapter 3
December 11th – 7:45 a.m.
T he sun rays at dawn of this crisp winter day knifed through the still air illuminating the master suite at 1812 Garden St. The rays danced across the slender brown cheek of Jasmyn Thompson creeping desperately toward her eyes. The faint heat of the rays caused Jasmyn to stir, but once the light fell across her closed eyelids she turned away from the window. In doing so she wrapped her arm across the hairless chest of her husband, drifting soundlessly back to sleep.
However, Marcellous Thompson lay on his back staring at the daylight scrolling across the ceiling preparing to fully illuminate the room. For the last hour Marcellous lay motionless in this position thinking through the future. Thinking through the baby his beautiful wife was carrying in her womb. Thinking through the madness that gripped their community only a few months prior and how no child, or parent, felt safe until the ordeal had come to an end. He lay there thinking through the lengths he would go through to keep his child safe – to keep his wife safe. But through it all, he thought about how lucky he was to have Jasmyn and to soon have a little person calling him Daddy.
As the sun continued to illuminate the room and the band of sunshine crawled up Jasmyn’s back toward the intersection of their tangled forms, it would only be a matter of time before she was fully awake. For the Thompsons, today was a big day.
The couple had an ultrasound scheduled with Jasmyn’s OBGYN, Dr. Prince. Marcellous liked Dr. Prince. She had a warm engaging smile, cool caring eye
s, and an excellent bedside manner that put her patients at ease. It’s no wonder she was one of the most sought-after doctors in the area. A neighbor within the community brokered the introduction and Jasmyn bypassed the extended waiting list. Sometimes it pays to know the right people, Marcellous mused. This ultrasound would be the ultrasound. Jasmyn was now far enough along to determine the sex of the baby. The couple had gone through countless cycles of, yes, we want to know the sex of the baby – to no, we want it to be a surprise when he or she arrives. They decided they would sleep on it one more night and make a firm decision in the morning before the appointment.
Breaking away from his reverie, Marcellous looked down to the resting face of his wife as the sunlight bathed her in an endless glow. Moments later Jasmyn scrunched her nose in an effort to push away the sunlight – he always loved it when she did that. Once she realized this would not help, and she had nowhere else to run and hide, she would awake. Right on queue her eyelids began to flutter until they were completely open providing Marcellous a glimpse into her deep brown, enchanting eyes.
She smiled that sleepy, uninhibited smile of one who has recently awakened. “Hey honey,” she said in a voice still filled with sleep. “Have you been watching me, mister?”
“Nah, babe, I just opened my eyes to witness you staring at me. Are you thinking about taking me out in my sleep again?”
“Depends, are our life insurance premiums paid up to date? If not, I can hold off another month or two.” She leaned forward to give him a peck on the lips. “By the way, don’t forget we have our appointment with Dr. Prince this morning.”
“Is that today?” Marcellous asked in mock surprise. “I’m scheduled to play golf this morning and the team needs me.”
Hour of Reckoning (Donatella Book 2) Page 3