Divine Rebel

by Tom Wallace

  “Probably wouldn’t hurt if you did.”

  Anne’s fingers began typing on her cell phone. Seconds later, mine dinged, indicating her message had been received.

  She walked Angel and me to the front door, shook my hand, and gave Angel a hug. “It was good meeting you, Sam,” Anne said. “I’m just sorry it had to be under these dreadful circumstances.”

  “Well, dreadful times have a way of becoming good times,” Angel said.

  “That was a very California-like thing to say,” I told Angel, once we were outside. “Almost Zen-like.”

  “What can I say? I’m a California girl.”

  Thirteen

  As we stood on the corner waiting to cross the street, Angel suddenly pointed toward the courthouse entrance, and said, “That big guy in uniform. He’s the asshole who bullied Todd, isn’t he?”

  “Yeah, that’s Perry Jackson,” I said, as we watched Perry disappear inside the building. “And I’m not leaving town until he talks to me.”

  “Now?”

  I thought about Angel’s question. My plan was to speak with Mark Robinson, the county attorney, to ask him for more background information about Sharon Anderson’s murder. But that plan might have to be put on hold for the time being. I feared that if Perry got word I was in the courthouse, he would leave rather than meet with me. I’d had enough of him dodging me.

  Not this time, Perry, I said to myself.

  “Yes, now,” I said to Angel.

  We crossed the street, climbed the steps leading to the courthouse, went inside, walked down the hallway, then down the stairs to the lower level where the sheriff’s department was located.

  When we entered the office, the same deputy who had previously lied to me about Jackson leaving for a bogus family emergency looked up at us with disdain on his face. Unfortunately for him, he was in no position to lie a second time. Perry Jackson was clearly visible standing in his office.

  “I’d like to speak with Sheriff Jackson,” I announced.

  He shifted his attention from me to Angel, keeping his eyes on her longer than I thought appropriate. His were the eyes of a predatory animal. I had no doubt what thoughts were running through his head. The same thoughts every scumbag has when he looks at a beautiful woman.

  “Sheriff Jackson,” I repeated. “Tell him I’m here.”

  The deputy, his nametag identified him as McElwain, cut his eyes at me, snickered, and slowly got up out of his chair. He ambled into the sheriff’s office, stayed there for less than a minute, came out, and motioned us forward.

  Perry Jackson sat behind his desk, the scowl on his face an indicator that he was none too pleased to greet visitors. Especially these two visitors. I sat in one of the two chairs opposite his desk as McElwain closed the door and departed. Rather than sit in the chair next to me, Angel opted to remain standing. I took this to mean she wanted to look down at the sheriff. Her desire to feel dominant had kicked in.

  “Well, you finally got your wish,” Perry Jackson said, sarcastically. “What was it you wanted to talk about?”

  “Todd Brown,” I noted.

  “Nothing to discuss. That’s ancient history.”

  “Maybe so. But I just finished watching the tape of your interrogation of Todd. There are a few points I’d like you to address, beginning with how you treated Todd.”

  “Why? Do you have a problem with how I handled it?”

  “Yeah, Sheriff, I’d describe it as terribly unprofessional.”

  “But effective. Todd confessed.”

  “Only because you bullied him into saying what you wanted him to say,” Angel said, forcefully. “You intimidated a frightened, confused kid. That’s shitty.”

  “And you are—?”

  “Samantha Gabriel.”

  “My daughter,” I interjected.

  “A feisty feline, a tempestuous tiger. Are you an angry pussy…cat?”

  Angel’s body tensed and she stepped closer to the desk. Her hands balled into fists. Sensing she was ready to erupt, I grabbed her arm and gave it a gentle squeeze. This wasn’t the time for an all-out war.

  “Cool down, Angel,” I whispered. “I’ve got this.”

  Angel removed my hand from her arm, took a deep breath, and let her rising tide of anger subside. She was quiet, but still trembling.

  “In your interrogation of Todd, there were several important details you failed to address,” I said to Jackson. “I’d like to discuss those with you, if you don’t mind.”

  “There is only one detail that really matters…Todd confessed to murdering Luke Felton,” Jackson said.

  “Ah, there’s much more than that, Sheriff.”

  “Such as?”

  “What about the murder weapon, the knife? Why didn’t you ask Todd about it?”

  “Wouldn’t have done any good. You saw the tape. Todd claimed he couldn’t remember anything about that night.”

  “Did you search for the knife?”

  “Why waste time? I had his confession. That was good enough for me.”

  “But weren’t you the least bit curious to know for sure whose prints were on the knife?”

  “Todd’s prints would’ve been on the damn knife. He knew that. That’s why he confessed.”

  “What if Todd’s prints weren’t on the knife?”

  “Are you telling me you believe someone other than Todd Brown killed Luke Felton?”

  “I’m saying I’d like to know for certain. Wouldn’t you?”

  “I know for certain,” Jackson said. “And I can’t help it if you don’t. That’s your problem, pal, not mine.”

  “How did Todd get home from the murder site? His house was six or seven miles from there. That’s a pretty long trek to make in the middle of the night. Did he walk, hitchhike, what? I think that’s an important question that needs to be answered.”

  “I don’t care if he walked, ran, hitchhiked, or caught a ride on Superman’s cape. It doesn’t matter. All I know is he was at home asleep in his bed when we showed up the next afternoon. He had Luke’s ring and Luke’s blood on his clothes. And if that’s not enough evidence to convince you, let me remind you that Todd’s driver’s license was in Luke’s car. Goddamn, man, when you add all that up, how can you possibly doubt his guilt?”

  “It’s not the outcome I question, it’s the process used to arrive at that outcome that troubles me,” I said.

  “You need to get over it and accept the truth.”

  “Todd’s car was found the next morning parked in front of the American Legion, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Todd wasn’t a member, and he was too young to go inside, so why do you think his car was parked there?”

  “Because that’s where he probably hooked up with Luke Felton.”

  “Once again, I have to ask: Why would an eighteen-year-old kid hook up with a sixty-eight-year-old man? What could they possibly have in common?”

  “Why are you so interested in this particular case?” Jackson asked, avoiding my question. “Hell, you’re just a writer. You aren’t a cop, don’t wear a badge or carry a weapon. Why do you have a bee up your ass for this case?”

  “Because I’m a huge fan of justice, that’s why.”

  “What are you saying? That justice wasn’t served in this case? Because if you are, then you’re that lone voice crying in the wilderness.”

  “Quoting Isaiah…That’s very good, Sheriff. I’m impressed.”

  “I’m no dumb hillbilly. Believe it or not, I have read a book or two. You’re not the only intelligent guy to come from around here.”

  “Tell me about Sharon Anderson.”

  “She’s dead.”

  “What can you tell me about her case?”

  “Not much. The FBI came in and took over almost from the very beginning,” Jackson said.

  “Almost from the beginning? Does that mean you were in charge for a while?”

  “Yeah, for the first day. I went to the crime scene and identified the b
ody. Her purse was in the car, and her driver’s license was in the purse. I ran her plates; the car was in her name. Then the next day the Feds showed up and booted me aside. That ended my involvement.”

  “Who contacted the FBI?”

  “I couldn’t tell you. If you want answers to those questions, check with that agent. His name is…hold on, it will come to me.”

  “Greg Harkins.”

  “Yeah, that’s it.” Jackson leaned back in his chair and put his feet on the desk. “Do you remember Billy Hughes?”

  Talk about a surprising out-of-the-blue question. “Vaguely. Why?”

  “The two of you had a fight in the alley behind the movie theater when you were teenagers. Billy was a big, strong kid, yet you beat the shit out of him. Means you must’ve been pretty tough.”

  “That was ages ago. Why bring it up now?”

  “Billy is my cousin,” Jackson said. “When I saw the damage you inflicted on him, I decided to hunt you down and give some payback. But Billy’s mom reminded me that I was much older than you, and that an adult can go to prison for beating up a minor. You got lucky. Because of her, I cut you some slack.”

  “Based on how you treated Todd Brown, I’m surprised you did.”

  Jackson slammed his feet on the floor and leaned forward. “We’re done here,” he snapped. “You and your daughter have a nice day. Mac will show you out.”

  ~ * ~

  We left without speaking. Angel was still steaming and I can’t say I blame her. What Perry Jackson said to her was nasty and uncalled for. She had every right to be pissed. Me, I was simply dissatisfied with Jackson’s responses to my questions. They were little more than hollow and repetitious echoes of a story he had convinced himself was true. I didn’t share that belief with him.

  In the hallway leading to the stairs, Angel said, “So, Dad, you were a real tough guy, a badass, right?”

  “Not really. I just chose the right opponent. It kept my winning percentage high and my injuries low.”

  At the top of the stairs, Angel said she needed to make a pit stop in the rest room. When she went inside, I leaned against the wall to wait for her. Moments later, Karen Tucker came out of Mike’s office. She noticed me standing there, smiled, and began fast-walking in my direction.

  “I can’t believe this,” she said, taking hold of my arm. “I was just thinking about you. We need to get together soon for more drinks. When can you come over?”

  The rest room door opened at the exact moment Karen asked that question. I prayed that Angel didn’t hear it. But she would have to be practically deaf to have not heard it.

  “This is my daughter, Samantha,” I said, taking a step back from Karen. “Samantha, this is Karen Tucker.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Samantha.” Karen turned to me. “Your daughter is extremely beautiful, Nick.”

  “Yes, she is,” I replied.

  Angel eyed Karen suspiciously but asked me, “How do you two know each other?”

  “Her husband, Mike. Remember, I told you he’s an old friend.” I shifted my attention to Karen. “You were coming out of Mike’s office. Is he back in town?”

  “No, he’s expected back sometime Saturday. I was in his office to pick up some papers I need to sign.”

  “We should be taking off, Karen,” I said. “It was good seeing you again.”

  “When Mike does get back, you two will have to join us for dinner one night.”

  “Give me a call. We’ll be there,” I said.

  Angel was already halfway down the hall when I left Karen. I caught up with her and we descended the steps to the street together in a silence that continued until we were in the car.

  “God, Dad, I cannot believe you,” Angel said, buckling her seatbelt. “You are incapable of change, no matter how many promises you make. You slept with your best friend’s wife? How slimy is that?”

  How the hell did she know that? I started the car, fully aware that she was far from finished.

  “I came here because you told me things would be different. And like the idiot I am, I believed you.”

  “It was only one time,” I said. A lame defense, I’ll admit, but what else did I have to offer?

  “One time, five times or ten times…what difference does the number of times make? You want to know the correct number? Zero.” She paused to catch her breath. There were tears in her eyes. “I should never have come here. Doing so was a mistake. If I had any sense at all I would pack my things tonight and head back to California.”

  “Don’t do that, Angel. Please, I’m begging you. Having you here, spending time with you, it’s the best thing that’s happened to me in twelve years. Stick around. Give me one last chance at salvation.”

  “Like you really care about salvation. You of all people. Salvation for you is only a highway leading to a more glorious place. On Golgotha, you wouldn’t simply be nailed to the middle cross. You’d be hanging there wondering what it takes to gain entrance into Paradise.”

  “That’s a rather negative view.”

  “Yes, but in your case it happens to be true. Paradise through salvation would be too mundane, too common for you. No, you aspire to be like Elijah. Your dream is to ascend into heaven in a chariot of fire.”

  “No, what I want, all I want, is to be close to my daughter again.”

  “Well, I’ve got breaking news for you, Dad. I can’t speak about Paradise, but your actions are not getting you any closer to your daughter.”

  Those were the last words she spoke for the rest of the day. Back at the motel, she went straight to her room and closed the door. I desperately wanted to speak with her, to continue pleading my case, but I doubt it would have done any good. Once again, I had blown a good thing.

  Alone in my room, I sought to escape those dark feelings by firing up the laptop and beginning work on an early draft of what I hoped would be the first chapter of a book about the Brown-Felton murder case. I knew from experience that whatever I wrote tonight would undergo great change in the future. I was once told that good writing is rewriting. I have no reason to doubt that statement.

  Well into the second page, I realized I wasn’t writing an actual chapter; I was filling the pages with notes, thoughts, and further investigations I wanted to pursue. None of it was of much substance, and in reality, it didn’t keep me from thinking about Angel, who I was almost certain had already packed and was prepared to leave at sunrise in the morning. The realization that she might leave hit me like a ton of bricks.

  Sadly, I feared my hoped-for wall had been obliterated.

  Fourteen

  In the hollow of another sleepless night, my thoughts rambled from place to place before finally settling on something Angel had said prior to her mother’s funeral service in Carmel. Angel told me that no matter what, Kate, my ex-wife, had never stopped loving me, and that she would always forgive my indiscretions. Even though I had not seen or communicated with Kate since our divorce, I didn’t doubt what Angel told me. Whether I deserved it or not, and I surely didn’t, Kate had and would always love me unconditionally.

  The question was…why? What was in Kate’s nature that allowed her to overlook my failures as a husband? To forgive my transgressions? Her capacity for forgiveness certainly didn’t rub off on Angel. Forgiveness from her? Forget it. She crucified me, and rightly so. To me, that seemed more natural than Kate’s way of looking at things. No human has the right to extend absolute forgiveness, just as no human deserves absolute forgiveness. That doctrine dates back to antiquity. None of the great religions believes in the concept of total forgiveness. They all have at least one unpardonable sin on the books. Commit that one and you’re beyond help.

  In hindsight, I could see that Kate was both a saint and a fool to love such an undeserving man as me. I also realized that I had been blind to just how lucky I was to have had her as my wife. Her death ended any hope that I had of redeeming myself in Kate’s eyes. Hindsight may be twenty-twenty, but time never reverses direction
. It only plows straight ahead.

  My immediate plan for the day was to speak with Greg Harkins, the FBI agent working the Sharon Anderson murder. I phoned his office at nine. A man answered and identified himself as Greg Harkins. I didn’t know if Greg’s answering meant his was a one-person office, or if he was the first employee to arrive. It didn’t really matter either way.

  I gave him my name, let him know I was a writer, and that I was doing research for a possible book. He took all this in before responding.

  “A book about—?” he inquired.

  “Todd Brown’s murder of Luke Felton,” I said.

  “Ah, yeah, the kid. I heard about that. He confessed right away. That’s a lucky break for law enforcement. But I had no involvement in that case, so I don’t think I can be of much help to you.”

  “Actually, I’m calling about a case you are involved in… Sharon Anderson’s murder. I’d like to know what you can tell me about that.”

  “What’s your interest in that case if you’re planning to write about the Felton murder? They aren’t connected.”

  I wasn’t sure I agreed with that assessment, but I kept my suspicions to myself.

  “I’m not insinuating that they are connected,” I said. “But Sharon’s sister Heather recently paid me a visit and asked if I would look into it. I’m doing it more as a favor to her than anything.”

  This was a lie.

  “Yeah, Heather phones me about every two weeks,” Harkins noted. “Poor kid. She’s seeking answers I wish I had. But at the present time, I don’t.”

  “Making no progress, huh?”

  “At the moment I’m running in quicksand.” I could hear the frustration in his voice. “How much do you know about the Anderson murder?”

  “The basics,” I said. “She was found in her car, her head was missing, and the car was partially submerged in a pond. That’s about the extent of what I know. What else can you share with me?”

  “Since she had been beheaded, cause of death could not be determined. There were no marks of any kind on her body, so the coroner couldn’t be sure if she was deceased prior to having her head cut off, or if the beheading was the cause of death. God forbid that wasn’t the case.”