Divine Rebel

by Tom Wallace

  I feared that Todd would be too weary to speak with us but I was wrong. He actually seemed pleased when we walked into the room. I think he was relieved that the weight of his family’s pain had been lifted. Another reason why he was eager to chat was the presence of my daughter. He kept his attention focused on Angel, even after I introduced her and we were seated.

  “How are you holding up, Todd?” Anne asked.

  “Same as I was yesterday, same as I will be tomorrow,” he said, wistfully. “What’s the reason for this visit? Is something up?”

  “Nick has some questions he’d like to ask you.”

  Todd shrugged and said, “I don’t know how much more I can tell you than I did the first time you were here. But, yeah, go ahead, ask away.”

  “Todd, have you been able to recall anything at all about that night?” I said. “Anything?”

  “No. It’s all still a blank. Sorry.”

  “That’s okay, Todd. Then let’s go back to what you do remember. Back to when you first walked into the Legion. What about the bartender? What can you tell me about him?”

  “He was a big burly dude with one of those droopy mustaches. I forget what you call them.”

  “Fu Manchu,” I said. “What else can you tell me about him?”

  “Nothing. He didn’t speak to me at all.”

  “Who ordered the drinks?”

  “Rabbit.”

  “Did the bartender make an issue of selling alcohol to you?”

  “Not to me, he didn’t. And I don’t remember him hassling Rabbit about it. Maybe that’s because they’re good buddies.”

  “Did Rabbit talk to anyone else while you were there?”

  “Rabbit talks to everybody.”

  “Did he have an especially long conversation with anyone?”

  “If he did, I wasn’t aware of it.”

  “I want you to close your eyes, Todd, and go back as far as your memory allows concerning that night in the Legion,” I instructed. “Let your mind float around the place. Try to remember the sights, sounds, smells. Do you recall seeing anyone there that night that you were familiar with?”

  Todd kept his eyes closed and was silent for nearly a minute before finally saying, “No, I don’t…hey, wait a minute. I do remember seeing some people I knew. The Lucketts. Brenda and Richard. They were sitting with another couple at a table against the wall.”

  “How do you know the Lucketts?”

  “Their daughter Kelli was in my class at school. We hung out together quite a bit back then. I met her parents when I would go pick her up at their house.”

  “Do they live in Central City?”

  “Greenville.”

  I turned to Anne and said, “Do you know them?”

  “Does Brenda Luckett work at the library?” Anne asked Todd. When he nodded, she said to me, “I don’t know her well, but we’ve spoken on several occasions. She’s a very nice lady.”

  “Where do they live, Todd?” I said.

  “On the corner next to the old Greenville high school.”

  “We should go talk to them.”

  Anne looked at her watch, said, “The library is still open for another couple of hours. We should go there instead and talk to Brenda. Then later this evening we can talk to Richard, if necessary.”

  “Yeah, that’s a better plan, Anne,” I admitted.

  “What are you going to ask the Lucketts?” Todd said. “I mean, I don’t see how they can help.”

  “Maybe they can’t help, Todd. But I want to ask them who they saw at the Legion while you were there. Hopefully, they’ll give us a name or two. Perhaps they won’t. But it never hurts to ask.”

  When we stood, Todd said, “Thanks for coming by, and thanks for believing in me. I don’t know if I killed Luke or not, but I would like to know for sure either way.”

  Anne said, “You stay strong, Todd. Hang in, but don’t let your hopes get too high. We’re fighting a long uphill battle, one we’re not likely to win. But who knows? Stranger things have happened. That’s why we’ll continue to fight for the truth.”

  ~ * ~

  When we were in the car I wasn’t reflecting on our conversation with Todd. My thoughts were on Russell Barker, the man we had seen with Perry Jackson and Dorsey McElwain at Philly’s earlier today. There was something about the man I couldn’t quite pin down. He possessed a certain quality that eluded me, that I couldn’t put a finger on. Was it arrogance, a sense of superiority, or simply supreme confidence? Maybe it was a combination of all three. But one thing I did know for certain…he was not someone to be overlooked or dismissed. He carried himself like a man who easily wielded power.

  “What is the actual function of a magistrate?” I asked Anne.

  “Primarily, they are responsible for handling the county’s budget,” Anne said. “They are the ones who appropriate funds to most county offices, including sheriff, county court clerk, jail, and the highway department. I’m certain there are others, but I can’t name them. Here’s an example: Say you need a street in front of your house paved over, your magistrate is the person you contact. He then recommends to the highway folks that the job needs to be taken care of. That’s basically how it works.”

  “Who do magistrates answer to?”

  “The physical court.”

  “What kind of money are you talking about?”

  “I would estimate the county’s budget is in the neighborhood of thirty million dollars. That’s based on the county’s tax rate, which the county sets. And that doesn’t include the school tax, which is a different matter entirely.”

  “What’s the length of a magistrate’s term? And how much do they make?”

  “Magistrates are up for re-election every four years,” Anne said. “And they don’t get rich at the job. I would say their salary is between eight hundred and a thousand dollars a month. Plus expenses, of course.”

  “How many magistrates are in Muhlenberg County?”

  “Five. Why the sudden interest in magistrates, Nick?”

  “Because Russell Barker intrigues me. Maybe it’s because he strikes me as a guy who makes plenty more than a thousand bucks a month. Could be I’m aiming in the wrong direction, but I think he’s worth a serious look.”

  “Nick, I don’t know Russell any better than I know Isaac Newton, but I don’t see him as a killer,” Anne said, as we pulled in front of the library and parked. “I think you’re making an insane stretch with that one.”

  “Maybe that just means he’s clever enough to keep from getting caught,” I said, after we exited Anne’s car. “I can’t explain it, but he’s not a righteous guy.”

  Anne looked at Angel, and said, “Sam, is your father always this cynical?”

  “If he’s not cynical or skeptical, how can he be expected to find the answers he’s looking for?” Angel replied.

  “That’s a good point, Sam,” Anne said. Then to me: “Your daughter is very insightful, Nick. You should be proud of her.”

  “I am proud of her.”

  “But heed this warning, Nick,” Anne said. “If you do go after Russell Barker, be prepared for some blowback. He won’t be pleased if he finds out he’s being investigated.”

  “Good to know,” I said, entering the library.

  A conservatively dressed woman with short auburn-color hair sat at a table demonstrating to an elderly lady how to thread microfilm into a microfiche machine, an ancient dinosaur that I thought had long been extinct. The woman, who looked to be in her forties, walked quickly toward us, wearing a smile on her face. She went straight to Anne. I assumed, correctly, that this was Brenda Luckett.

  “It’s great seeing you again, Anne,” Brenda said. “And quite a pleasant surprise. How can I be of help to you?”

  “Brenda, this is Nick Gabriel and his daughter Samantha,” Anne said. “Nick is a writer… he’s originally from Central City… and he’s in town to research a possible book about the Luke Felton murder. If you can spare a couple of minutes, he wo
uld like to ask you a few questions.”

  “About a murder?” Brenda said, her demeanor trapped somewhere between surprise and terror. “I don’t see how I can possibly be of any assistance regarding a murder.”

  I said, “We just came from talking with Todd Brown at the prison, Brenda. He claims to have seen you and your husband in the American Legion on the night of the murder. Were you there that night, and do you recall seeing Todd?”

  “Why, yes, we were there that night. And I did see Todd. He came in with Rabbit.”

  “Were you surprised to see Todd there?”

  “I wasn’t surprised to see him there, but I was surprised that he was allowed to stay. Chet, the bartender, has a very strict rule when it comes to underage kids wanting to drink. He keeps a tight lid on whom he does or does not sell alcohol to.”

  “Why do you think he lifted that lid and served alcohol to Todd?”

  “I can’t say for sure, but maybe it’s because…well, Todd does have something of a wild reputation. You know, drugs, drinking, that sort of thing. Could be it wasn’t the first time Todd was in the Legion. I’m only there three or four nights a month, so maybe I missed him during those times he was there.”

  “Did you see Todd speak with anyone other than Rabbit? Or did anyone else speak with Todd?”

  “You really ought to be asking Richard—that’s my husband—these questions,” she said. “I was sitting with my back to the bar that night. I only saw Todd because Richard pointed out that he was there.”

  “What time will Richard be home tonight?” I said.

  “He won’t be. Richard is a drill sergeant in the Army Reserves, and is at Fort Knox. He should be home this Sunday.”

  “One final question, Brenda. On that night, do you remember seeing anyone you didn’t see on a regular basis, whether that person spoke with Todd or not?”

  Brenda took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “God, that was so long ago, and it’s not like I’m all that much of a regular, so don’t hold me to this, because I might be wrong,” she said. “It could be I have my trips to the Legion all mixed up. Having said that, I do recall seeing one person I had never seen there before.”

  “Who was that?”

  “Dorsey McElwain.”

  My heart skipped about a dozen beats when I heard that name. A rush of air escaped my lungs. My blood pressure spiked. Was I overreacting? Probably. But the body’s impulses sometimes have a mind of their own. Yes, I had to resist jumping to a conclusion that in all likelihood might be thinner than air. There was no logical reason for me to take such a leap. But sometimes logic flies in the face of logic, if that makes any sense.

  However, if Dorsey McElwain was at the Legion that night, well, in my mind that makes it a whole new ballgame. True, McElwain might be more innocent than a newborn baby. Maybe he was just there like everyone else… to knock back a few drinks. And it’s just as likely that Brenda Luckett was wrong and McElwain wasn’t even at the Legion that night. Or she did see him, but on another evening. Those are possibilities that can’t be dismissed.

  And yet…

  What if he was there that night? What if he was responsible for “doctoring” Todd’s drink with a nasty concoction of drugs combined with alcohol that ripped away his ability to remember what occurred that fateful night? McElwain, Perry Jackson, maybe even pal Rabbit, were they involved in the murder of Luke Felton? I had no way of knowing for certain, but I damn sure was going to find out the truth behind what transpired that night.

  If Todd was innocent, and if the law couldn’t prove it, then it fell on my shoulders to get him out from behind those prison bars and back with his family.

  Nineteen

  “Everything possible to be believed is an image of truth.”

  When I was still toiling in Hollywood as a script doctor, I rewrote a huge chunk of dialogue for an A-list actor portraying a tough homicide detective. In the film, which was really little more than a glorified potboiler, I was somehow able to sneak in this William Blake quote. Both the actor and the movie’s director later told me it was among the best lines that had even been written for a movie. In fact, they were so moved by the line that they were positive I would get an Academy Award nomination, which was impossible. I wasn’t even listed as one of the screenwriters when the movie was released. I realized at the time that their nomination prediction was total bullshit. That’s why I didn’t feel guilty for not informing them that I swiped the line from Blake.

  The reason I bring this up now is because Blake’s words were, to quote the Prophet Jeremiah, “…in mine heart as a burning fire shut up in my bones, and I am weary with forbearing.” Jeremiah then goes on to conclude his dark prophecy with “and I could not stay.”

  It would be folly for me or anyone else to disagree with Jeremiah’s words, but can the same be said about what Blake told us? The more I thought about this, and as unhappy as it makes me to disagree with Blake, in this particular instance I think he might be wrong. At least, when it relates to the Todd Brown case, and to what I’m hoping to accomplish. Just because I believe in Todd’s innocence, how close am I really to an image of truth? Conversely, I, like Jeremiah, am “weary with forbearing,” while his “and I could not stay” is a directive I might be wise to follow.

  Foolishly perhaps, I had wedded myself, heart and soul, to finding justice for Todd. But what was justice in this case? What if Angel nailed it when she wondered if maybe justice was already staring us in the face, and Todd was guilty of murdering and dismembering Luke Felton? Every shred of evidence points in that direction. Even Todd acknowledged that he may be Luke’s executioner. What gives me, a second-rate script doctor, the audacity to believe I can magically turn all that evidence topsy-turvy and prove Todd isn’t a killer?

  You want an example of chutzpah? Well, look no further. There it is.

  I can’t decide whether to laugh or cry at what can only be called an absurd quest. Cry would probably be the best bet. And yet, I cannot bring myself to walk away until a resolution, good or bad, is found.

  My immediate quest, however, was to locate Angel. I phoned several times and she didn’t answer. Same thing when I sent text messages. I walked down to the breakfast area thinking she might be there. She wasn’t. Then I went back to her room and knocked on the door. No response. Feeling a rising combination of fear, panic, and desperation, I went out back to the parking area. Her car was gone.

  Now I was officially worried. I know she boasted about having a brown belt in Krav Maga, and how she could take care of herself in a dangerous confrontation, but none of that did anything to drive away my deepening concerns for her well-being. To me, she was still my seven-year-old daughter who needed her father’s protection.

  Where in the hell could she be? And why did she leave without informing me?

  ~ * ~

  Back inside the motel I hurried to the front desk and ask if either of the two ladies on duty had seen her. Neither one had. But a maid standing nearby heard my question. She came over and told me that, yes, she had seen Angel leave about an hour ago.

  “I had just finished cleaning a room when I saw her leave,” the maid said. “She went out the back door, got in her car, and drove away.”

  “Was she alone?” I asked.

  “I didn’t see anyone with her.”

  “Did she appear to be frightened or stressed in any way?”

  “She seemed perfectly normal to me. Have you tried phoning her?”

  “She’s not answering.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t worry too much if I were you,” she counseled. “She’s probably just running some errands. I’m sure she’ll be back in no time.”

  “I hope you’re right,” I said.

  My concerns were hanging around like a bad cold as I walked back to my room. Sitting on the bed, I did my best to steady my nerves. My best failed to get the job done. Only then did I realize I was shaking all over. I was so caught up in my thoughts that I failed to notice that a late-morning
rain had begun to fall.

  When my phone buzzed, I was praying the call was from Angel. It wasn’t. To my surprise…and disappointment…the caller was Mike Tucker. Oh, shit, was my first thought. His call launched a different set of nerves into overdrive. Was Mike calling to let me know he was wise to what had gone on between me and his wife? Surely not, I said to myself. Karen was too intelligent to share details of that misguided tryst with her husband. At least, I had to hope she was that intelligent.

  Bracing myself, I decided there was no reason to delay gauging Mike’s demeanor. Why wait, right?

  “Hey, old friend,” I said, aware that the tone of his reply would tell me all I needed to know. “Are you back in town?”

  “Got back about an hour ago,” he replied, sounding his usual chipper self. “How’s the research coming along? Making any progress?”

  “An inch here, two inches there, but I’m still moving forward,” I said, breathing a sigh of relief. “Listen, Mike, since I’ve got you, I could use your advice on a matter of some importance.”

  “Okay, how can I help?”

  “I want to interview Dorsey McElwain, but not in the presence of Perry Jackson. Any idea how I can make that happen?”

  “Definitely. Dorsey works out every evening at the Convention Center,” Mike said. “That’s where the old high school building was located. He usually gets there between six and six-thirty, exercises for about an hour. Sometimes he’ll stay longer if he goes into the gym and runs laps. It will take a death in his family or an emergency involving the sheriff’s department to keep him away. You can talk to him then.”

  “That’s perfect. I’ll try to catch him tonight,” I said. “One more thing, Mike. What can you tell me about Russell Barker?”