[Deborah Jones 01.0] Miami Requiem

by J. B. Turner

  Deborah’s stomach knotted. It had to be Richmond’s men. Who else knew? Was it one of the goons sitting in the private dining room at the Ritz-Carlton who’d tried to frighten her father to death? It was smart. Threats don’t leave any physical trace.

  ‘Luckily I had some aspirin with me.’

  Deborah remembered her mother had attended a first-aid course after her father had had the stroke.

  ‘Doctors say it probably saved him. But he’s not as strong as he used to be.’ She turned to face him and leaned over to stroke his peaceful face. ‘God bless him.’

  Deborah was engulfed by waves of guilt. Was this Richmond’s way of getting to her?

  He’d warned her in no uncertain terms. But she’d ignored those warnings. All of a sudden, her father’s sleepy eyes opened as if he’d heard her voice.

  Deborah leaned across the bed so he could see her. ‘I’m here, Daddy,’ she said, gazing down at him through a film of tears.

  Her mother pecked him on the forehead and smiled at her daughter. ‘I think you need some time together, don’t you?’

  Deborah nodded and her mother left the room. Deborah looked into her father’s eyes. ‘I came as soon as I could, Daddy.’

  It had been nearly a year since they’d last spoken. A Christmas dinner, stilted and strained.

  His drugged eyes were heavy.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘If I knew that my work would result in this, I’d never have started.’

  Her father didn’t say a word. His steady breathing and a low background hum from the medical equipment were the only noises.

  ‘I know we haven’t been close for a while. But I’m here to say I love you and I’m here for you.’ She squeezed his hand like she had done when she was a little girl. It was their secret code. I love you, it meant.

  His eyes misted over. When he spoke, his words were more slurred than she remembered. ‘Your mother looks after me so well. Don’t know what I’d do without her.’

  Deborah wiped her eyes. ‘Oh Daddy, I’m just glad to see you alive.’

  ‘Best hospital in Mississippi. And it’s run by Baptists.’ There was a twinkle in his eyes now and a smile crossed his handsome unshaven features. It was the first time she’d ever seen him not closely shaven in her life. ‘I have the Lord to thank as well.’

  Deborah averted her gaze, no longer a believer.

  ‘Look at me,’ he said. ‘Can you ever forgive me, Deborah?’

  She thought her heart was going to burst. ‘I’ve nothing to forgive you for, Daddy.’

  ‘I’m a foolish old man. I turned my back on you when you needed me.’ The tears spilled down his face and ran past his twisted mouth. ‘My beautiful daughter. I don’t know what to say, I’m so ashamed.’

  ‘Hush now, Daddy‌—‌you’re getting yourself all riled up. You need to rest.’

  ‘Foolish pride, that’s what it was. My pride and joy had been damaged, and I turned my back on you. All I was thinking about was how our friends and neighbors and my congregation would react, knowing that you’d been raped. About how the people at the NAACP would react. I knew it would all come out. It always does. And I was scared. Scared what they’d think of you, scared what they’d think of me. Stupid pride. What I wasn’t thinking about was to support my beautiful daughter when she most needed it. When she most needed it. I’ll have to live with that for the rest of my life. I’m a simple man who doesn’t understand much about the secular world. Bars, nightclubs, young people.’

  ‘Please, Daddy. You don’t have to‌—‌’

  ‘All I know is my church, my wife and my God. But I forgot the most important thing. My child. I forgot that you needed me to be there, and all I was thinking about was my position in society.’

  ‘Daddy, you don’t have to explain.’

  ‘Oh, I do. You want me to tell you something else?’

  Deborah nodded, her heart breaking.

  ‘I thought it was God’s way of punishing you for choosing a secular path far away from us.’ Her father had wanted Deborah to attend Mississippi College in Clinton, the second-oldest Baptist college in the United States. ‘But those are the thoughts of a fool. A pious fool whose pride was destroyed. I should’ve taken you up in my arms and hugged you, like I used to.’

  Deborah squeezed his hand again. ‘That’s in the past, Daddy.’

  ‘My heart was broken into a million pieces. But it’s back together now that you’re sitting here, beside me.’ He stroked her hand. ‘You never turned your back on me. And that tells me everything I have to know about you.’

  Deborah wiped the tears from her father’s eyes. ‘I wish this had never happened to you. I feel this is my fault.’

  ‘I don’t blame you for what these men did. Listen to me. Do not be swayed by what has happened to me. Do your job. They are simply trying to intimidate you, by getting at me. But it’ll take more than idle threats to send me to my Maker. I’m not ready just yet.’

  Deborah wanted him to rest, not talk.

  ‘Remember I told you many years ago when you said you wanted to be a journalist, about that quote by Edmund Burke.’

  ‘Yes, Daddy.’

  ‘Well, think about it now.’

  All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing.

  ‘Anyone can be intimidated. But it takes a stronger man or woman to look evil in the face.’

  ‘I’m scared, Daddy.’

  Her father tried to sit up. ‘Dig deep and find the strength that the Lord gave you. It’s something we all have.’ He laid his head back down on the starched white pillow and took hold of her hand. ‘I read all your stories on the Internet. Even that one about Ricky Martin. That surprise you?’

  Deborah was unable to look him in the eye. It had taken two long years for him to lift the burden of guilt she’d felt.

  ‘Your story on William Craig brought a lump to my throat. And I understand your reasons for doing it.’

  Deborah kissed the back of his hand.

  ‘But what happened yesterday to me was only the start of it. If you are to proceed, be prepared to look into the face of evil.’

  • • •

  Later that evening, as Deborah sat alone at her father’s bedside, mopping his brow with a cold cloth‌—‌after ordering her mother home to get some rest‌—‌a visitor arrived. It was Sam Goldberg.

  ‘You didn’t have to come all this way,’ she said.

  Goldberg pecked her on the cheek. ‘Course I did.’ He looked at her father. ‘What’s the latest?’

  ‘Seems like he’s over the worst, thank God.’

  ‘Deborah, if I’d known the investigation would’ve resulted in this, I’d never have given the go-ahead.’

  ‘No one could’ve foreseen anything like this.’

  Goldberg paused for a few moments as if reluctant to say what was on his mind. ‘That’s why I’m taking you off the investigation. It’s for your own safety.’

  ‘I thought we’d already been through that?’

  ‘Deborah, we’re in uncharted territory. Fachetti or Richmond‌—‌or whatever his goddamn name is‌—‌isn’t going to stop. He’ll go after you. This was just a warning. The next time he’ll kill you.’

  ‘This is my investigation and I’m going to see it through.’ She sounded tougher than she felt.

  Goldberg shook his head. ‘Look, I spoke to Harry Donovan about this before I left, and he agrees. We don’t want anything else happening to you or your family.’

  ‘I can’t believe I’m hearing this.’

  ‘Deborah, it’s my duty as managing editor to protect my staff. I know this isn’t easy for you to accept, but it’s for the best.’

  ‘If you honestly think I’m gonna just forget about Mr Craig and everything I’ve uncovered, you better think again.’

  ‘The hospital is ringed by Feds, Deborah. They’ve advised us on this.’

  ‘What’s it got
to do with them? Are they running policy at the Miami Herald?’ It was a bitter remark that didn’t do her any favors.

  ‘It’s got everything to do with them. They think you’re at grave risk. You can’t go back to the office until this blows over. You’ll have to do what they say. And yes, that means protection in a safe house.’

  ‘Sam, try and look at it from my perspective.’ Deborah felt her neck flush. She’d called him Sam. ‘This case is not just about doing some fine investigative journalism and getting a pat on the back, nice though that is. This has got to be about saving Mr Craig. And myself. Otherwise, what’s the point?’

  Goldberg’s expression softened. ‘You’re not going to be satisfied if I move you back to features when this is all over, are you?’

  ‘I want to get back to the office and work on this story now.’

  ‘It’s too dangerous.’

  ‘If I agree to be protected by the FBI, what’s stopping me working the story using e-mail, cell phone and laptop?’

  ‘I’ve asked Larry Coen to take over the investigation. The decision’s been made.’

  Deborah felt her mouth go dry. ‘When was this decided?’

  ‘Last night. Ongoing stories will be handed over to his crime reporters. He’s happy to continue your investigation and I’ve assigned two extra people to help because we’re running out of time. But Larry wanted me to stress to you that you can call him anytime for updates. I’m sorry, Deborah, but it had to be done.’

  ‘I need to be part of it.’

  Goldberg went quiet and began pacing the room, occasionally glancing at Deborah’s father. She noticed how tired he looked and realized that the story and its ramifications were affecting him as well.

  ‘Okay, work on the story,’ he said eventually. ‘If you must. But you will be in protective custody until this thing is over. That’s the deal.’

  Deborah knew that she didn’t have a choice. ‘Okay.’

  Goldberg held her hand again and smiled. ‘We’re going to get through this. All of us. Trust me.’

  28

  The following morning, at the senator’s sprawling Naples home, the mood among O’Neill’s advisers‌—‌forty-eight hours after the revelations first surfaced‌—‌was edgy as they drank coffee, watching CNN coverage of the affair.

  Outside the main entrance to the gated community, journalists, photographers and TV crews had laid siege to the man at the center of the storm. All the major papers‌—‌the New York Times, Washington Post and LA Times‌—‌had gone big on the story that morning and followed up the Herald’s allegations.

  On TV, political pundits and commentators speculated on the scale of the crisis that had engulfed O’Neill and said it threatened to derail both his election campaign and Craig’s execution.

  Away from the prying eyes of the press, O’Neill and his people were trying to find a way out of the quagmire.

  O’Neill sat on a black leather sofa, papers on his lap. He wore a blue pinstriped suit, black shoes, white shirt and a blue tie. The plasma TV was on and the sun streamed in through the windows. He gazed across the bay as he fielded questions from his chief spin doctor, apoplectic at the turn of events.

  Hal Lomax said, ‘Jack, are you telling me that you didn’t cover up Joe’s rapes?’

  CNN experts in the background filled a brief silence. Lomax held up that day’s Miami Herald. ‘They’re calling for you to be put on trial. And if that isn’t enough, they say Deborah Jones’s father is in protective custody after death threats. What’ve you got to say about that?’

  O’Neill shot Lomax an angry look. ‘I’ve told you, it’s a smear campaign.’

  ‘Jack, these claims are fucking insane. It can’t go on.’

  O’Neill picked up a packet of Marlboro from a newspaper-strewn coffee table. He shook out a cigarette, lit up and looked around at the rest of his advisers. ‘Politics is a dirty business, folks, as we all know.’ He inhaled deeply and blew the smoke away from them. ‘In Florida, it’s dirtier than anywhere else. You know that.’

  ‘Jack, this comes back down to one thing,’ Lomax said. ‘John Richmond. The guy’s bad news, I’ve said that before. He’s got you messed up in shit so deep you’ll soon be choking on it.’

  ‘Leave John out of this. He’s a trusted friend…’

  ‘Jack, wake up. It’s time for a reality check. Richmond’s rotten. Accusations of flaky land deals in the Everglades are one thing but this is way out of control. Christ, they’re saying he heads up the Mob in Florida. And if that’s not enough, they say he’s one of the leading crime-syndicate figures in the States. Jack, you told me he was a businessman.’

  ‘He is.’

  ‘Look, I’ve had every journalist in the western world on my back since this story broke. They want a line and they’re outside the gates. I tell you, they’re gunning for you.’

  O’Neill picked up his mug of cold coffee and gulped it down. ‘You think they’re gonna stop my career after all these years? You think those guys at the gate had to fight like I fought to get where they are? Not a chance.’

  ‘Let’s get this straight, Jack. You’re saying there’s nothing in these allegations? You seriously expect us to believe that?’

  O’Neill glanced at Jodi Perkins, his legal adviser. Her face was impassive. This pleased him. Loyalty was important, after all. ‘None at all. Look, Hal, I’m the one who should be angry, not you. They’re dragging my name through the gutter. And I’m sure as hell gonna do something about it.’

  ‘What . ?’

  O’Neill dragged heavily on his cigarette. ‘I’m suing.’ He watched their faces for any sign of dissent as the smoke filled the air. ‘We’re goin’ after Sam Goldberg, Deborah Jones and all those rats. I’m gonna bring them to their knees. They can’t get away with this.’

  Lomax seemed satisfied. ‘We can deal with that.’

  O’Neill felt his body relax. He gazed at the modernist pictures on his wall.

  Damn awful. His wife had picked them at some fancy galleries in the Hamptons. She was probably in one right now. He could see her leafing through brochures as she tried to keep her mind off things. She was good at burying her head in the sand, but as long as her mind was elsewhere, that was all that mattered.

  O’Neill turned to Jodi. ‘You finished drawing up the statement?’

  ‘We can issue it to the press later this morning.’

  ‘Let’s hear it.’

  She cleared her throat and tucked some of her blonde hair behind an ear. ‘“As a result of intense media scrutiny following an unfounded series of articles in the Miami Herald regarding myself, my dead son and my business associates, I feel it is necessary to clarify my position. With immediate effect, I am resigning my position on all Senate committees to devote time to clearing my name and that of my son. My family has been put under appalling pressure because of the bizarre allegations made in this newspaper. My lawyers are preparing the groundwork to commence proceedings against the Miami Herald forthwith.”’

  O’Neill crushed the end of his cigarette in an ashtray. He looked around the group approvingly. Glasser, his focus-group and numbers specialist, just nodded. O’Neill looked hard at Glasser, who sat with reams of computer printouts and graphs on his lap. ‘What’s the latest on our private polling?’

  ‘Your numbers are heading south, big time, Jack. Telephone canvassers say, overwhelmingly, that Craig should be moved off death row.’

  ‘Percentages, Bob.’

  ‘Single figures.’ Christ, it was meltdown. ‘But it might be a blip.’

  ‘Before I forget, Jack,’ Lomax said, ‘we’ve had a request from Oprah for Rose to appear on her show. You know, heartbroken mother of murdered son opens her heart. Admittedly, that was before the latest story.’

  ‘I don’t know if she’ll feel up to that. Rose is kinda wary of the press, as you can imagine. She’s upset by the allegations.’ O’Neill turned to Jodi Perkins. ‘You can und
erstand how a mother and wife must feel, right?’

  She nodded sympathetically.

  ‘Can you ask her?’ Lomax was persistent. ‘I think it would go a long way to getting the family viewpoint across.’

  O’Neill couldn’t see Rose agreeing to that. She was a very private person. ‘Leave it with me.’

  ‘You know what I think we should do?’ Perkins said.

  The senator shrugged.

  ‘Keep your head down, act dignified and both you and Rose stay off TV. Let justice take its course. After Craig’s dead, who gives a shit?’

  O’Neill lit up again. ‘Indeed,’ he said, and turned to face Lomax. ‘We need a media strategy to counter these allegations. And quick. What do you say, Hal?’

  His media man took a sip of his coffee. ‘My advice is straightforward. I’ve listened to what you’ve said, Jack, and I apologize if I came across as a non-believer‌—‌’

  ‘Perish the thought,’ O’Neill said, sarcasm in his tone.

  ‘Look, there’s only one way to deal with such an onslaught and that’s attack. It’s the best form of defense. I must say that I disagree with you, Jodi. I say you should get out there, do the news shows, do the circuit, do the TV interviews, go coast-to-coast, national, cable, every goddamn thing.’

  Jack O’Neill was incredulous.

  ‘We’re not gonna hide away. That’s an option, but it’d be the wrong one. Come out fighting. Tell Larry King, Barbara Walters and all the rest the heartache you’re facing. Say it’s the ultra-liberal elements in the media who are against the death penalty. Lay it on thick.’ Glasser and Perkins nodded. They saw the value of Lomax’s media experience. ‘Jack, you’re gonna pitch yourself as the small man versus the unseen corporate behemoths. America will love it. Remember Clinton, when he and Hillary went on TV and faced down the doubters? Well, I want you to take the fuckers on by showing your human side.’