by Tom Wallace
“Yes.”
“Now it’s must-see TV. Great. I’ll provide the popcorn.” She laughed out loud. “My pal Dorsey, the big porno star. Who would’ve thunk it?”
Twenty-six
Russell Barker’s house was located two miles from downtown Greenville on several acres that had once been rich farmland. Calling Russell’s place of residence a house was doing it a great injustice. It was by any assessment a massive three-story stone mansion that would not be out of place in such wealthy enclaves as Palm Beach, Malibu, and the Hamptons. The entire estate probably cost twelve million bucks at the very least, or a substantial chunk of the money Russell received following his first wife’s death.
The main house was located at the center of the full estate. Also, on the grounds were a covered swimming pool, a tennis court, a putting green, a guest house, and a garage large enough to accommodate a fleet of vehicles. A circular driveway with a stone water fountain in the center snaked its way around the front of the main house. I had to give Russell credit…he had put his fortune to good use, whether he came by it as the result of an accident or by committing murder.
Greg pulled his car behind a red Porsche convertible, killed the engine, and the three of us got out. When turning onto the property I was surprised by the absence of a gate. In my experience, virtually every house this large had one in place as a means of keeping out those not deemed worthy of setting foot on holy grounds, which included about ninety-nine percent of the population. Looking around, I was also surprised by the lack of security cameras. Only two were noticeable, but that didn’t mean there weren’t others hidden from view.
The next surprise came when Greg pressed the buzzer and moments later Russell opened the door. I fully expected a maid or butler to perform that task, not the owner of the place. But there was Russell wearing a purple jogging suit over a white undershirt, with a pair of white sneakers rounding out his leisurely clothing ensemble. Russell stood about five-ten, with snow-white hair and cobalt-blue eyes. He looked to be in very good physical shape, a requirement no doubt for any man who knew he was going to be filmed performing sex acts with much younger participants.
Initially, Russell seemed genuinely perplexed when Greg introduced himself, but then I saw a flicker of recognition in his eyes when he noticed me standing behind Greg.
“What an eclectic trio of visitors,” Russell commented. “A federal agent, a local boy who went off and conquered Hollywood, and an absolutely stunning young woman, who, I must confess, is like a rose between two thorns. What an honor to have such distinguished guests. How can I help you?”
“If you could spare us some of your time, I would like to ask you a few questions,” Greg said.
“I doubt you know this, but I was once the sheriff of this county. As a proud former member of law enforcement, I am always more than happy to assist in any way I can. Please, come in.”
Russell led us into the house and down a brightly lit hallway that appeared to be the length of a football field. There seemed to be no end to it. Along the walls, there were several framed pictures, all of which could have been originals, and if they weren’t, they were near-perfect reproductions. After we passed a winding marble staircase that led to the second floor, Russell branched off and took a left into his library. I’m not sure the Central City Public Library could match the number of books in this massive room. Three floor-to-ceiling bookshelves were crammed full with hardbacks and paperbacks of all shapes and sizes. How many of these books had Russell actually read? I wondered. Not many would be my guess. And what about Dottie? Could she be the reader? Not likely, given that so much of her time was spent being recorded by her husband while cavorting with fellow sex partners. It’s difficult to read when one is busy engaging in sex.
Once we were all seated around an oak table, Russell said, “Okay, Agent Harkins, fire away with your questions.”
“Would your wife happen to be available?” Greg asked. “If she is, I would appreciate it if she could join us.”
“I’m afraid she’s not here at the present time.”
I pegged this as a lie. That red Porsche parked out front had to be Dottie’s. Since the car was here, that meant she was also here. Either Russell didn’t want her with us, or Dottie declined to make herself available.
Russell’s smugness dissipated slightly when Greg placed the CD on the table. At the very least, it caught his attention. But I have to give Russell credit. He showed no outward signs of concern or apprehension.
“One of mine?” Russell asked Greg.
“It is.”
“Do you mind telling me where you got it?”
“Dorsey McElwain’s house,” Greg said. “Have you heard what happened to him?”
“Yes, Perry Jackson phoned me a few minutes prior to you showing up. He told me Dorsey was dead. That’s too bad. He was a decent kid.”
“Did Perry give you details concerning Dorsey’s death?”
“No, he did not. But I’m assuming it was a suicide.”
“Why would you make that assumption?”
“Remember, Agent Harkins, I was the sheriff for almost twenty years, so I’m familiar with the statistics. The suicide rate among law enforcement personnel is very high. Why? Are you saying Dorsey didn’t take his own life?”
“Dorsey McElwain was murdered, Russell. Someone broke his neck.”
“I hope you don’t suspect me of killing Dorsey.”
“Did you?”
“I most certainly did not,” Russell replied firmly. “Like I said, Dorsey was a decent kid. I would never do anything to harm him.”
“Where were you last night between eleven-thirty and one-thirty?” Greg inquired.
“Right here in this house. And I have several friends who will vouch for me.”
“I’m sure you do. How well did you know Dorsey?”
Russell pointed at the CD. “Have you viewed what’s on it?” he asked.
“Yes, I have.”
“That sums up how well I knew Dorsey. Aside from his participation in our adventures, I didn’t have much interaction with him. All I can tell you is what I’ve already said—he was a decent kid. If you really want to know more about him, I would suggest talking to Perry. They were close.”
“What’s your relationship with Perry Jackson?” Greg said.
“Well, I hired him and we worked together for several years. But we rarely had much contact away from the job.”
“Did he participate in your adventures?”
“Oh, no, Perry would never go in for that kind of fun.” Russell picked up the CD and looked at both sides. “Obviously, Dorsey was on this one. Did you identify the others who participated with him?”
“Your wife and Sharon Anderson.”
“Just as I suspected. Dottie and Sharon were Dorsey’s favorites. He always asked for them.”
“I take it from your comment that Dorsey was a regular.”
“For the past three or four years, yes, that’s true.”
“How long have you been entertaining in such a way?” Greg wanted to know. “And how many people are involved?”
“Oh, we’ve been entertaining for ten or twelve years now. Number of participants? There has been a revolving door over the years, but I would estimate the figure to be around a hundred, give or take a few. You may not approve of what we do… most people don’t… but there is no law against consenting adults enjoying themselves by having sex.”
“It is against the law if any of those individuals, consenting or not, is underage,” Greg pointed out.
“You need not concern yourself with that, Agent Harkins. I monitor the age of each new participant with a sharp eye. That’s a role I take very seriously.”
“But Dottie does recruit from the college, doesn’t she?”
“You’ve obviously done your homework. My compliments, Agent Harkins. Occasionally, yes, Dottie does find individuals at the school, usually females, who are willing to participate. But the ones she does r
ecruit are all over twenty-one. You have my word on that.”
“How many CDs do you have?”
“That’s hard to say. My guess would be three hundred, maybe more.”
“Your first wife died, didn’t she?”
I thought that was an odd question for Greg to ask at this time. The only reason I could come up with was that he sought to break Russell’s rhythm by tossing him a curveball. If the question was meant to rattle Russell, it didn’t work.
“Yes, she died in an explosion,” Russell said calmly. “My son also perished that day. What does her death have to do with anything?”
“Did she participate in these adventures when the two of you were married?”
“No, never. She was not that kind of woman.”
For once, I believed Russell. These so-called sexual adventures…orgies to most folks… began after he married Dottie. Their union served as the genesis for what was currently going on. The age difference undoubtedly caught up with Russell, who was no longer the stallion he’d once been, and it forced him to find alternative venues for Dottie’s sexual fulfillment. Group sex, either as participant or voyeur, obviously did the trick for both husband and wife.
“Isn’t it true that your first wife was rich?” Greg said.
“Yes, she came from an extremely wealthy family,” Russell answered. “I am not comfortable talking about her, Agent Harkins, other than to say it was a dark and difficult period in my life. So, if you don’t mind, let’s change the subject.”
“Sure, not a problem. What can you tell me about Sharon Anderson?”
“Very little, other than it’s a real tragedy she was taken from us. The woman gave good head.”
Sharon Anderson had been beheaded, but I doubt Russell saw the terrible irony in his statement.
“Sharon didn’t just die, Russell,” Greg said. “She was murdered. Do you know who killed her?”
“I do not,” Russell said, pointedly. “Why don’t we stop waltzing around like two drunken dancers crashing into each other, Agent Harkins? What you really want to know is did I murder my first wife for her money, and am I behind the murders of Sharon Anderson and Dorsey McElwain? Isn’t that what you’re asking me?”
“Were you involved in those homicides?”
“No, I was not. And for your information, my wife’s death was ruled an accident.” Russell stood. “I have given you more than enough of my time. If you have further questions, you can ask them with my attorney present. Now, I don’t mean to be rude, but we are finished with this meeting. Follow me. I will show you out.”
As Russell opened the front door, I said, “One final question, Russell. Has Rabbit ever participated in your adventures?”
“Rabbit? Are you joking? The Virgin Mary has a better chance of being invited to participate than Rabbit does. You can watch my CDs until the end of time and you won’t see Rabbit on any of them. No, he did not participate.”
This was the second thing Russell said that I believed.
~ * ~
“How much of what Russell said was true?” Greg said. “Some, all, none?”
“He’s a perverted lying scumbag,” Angel answered, though the question was directed at me. “I can’t say what’s true or not, but I can promise you he knows more than he told us.”
“I don’t think there is any doubt about that,” Greg agreed.
We were sitting in Philly’s Restaurant killing time before departing for our next mission…to hunt down and question Rabbit. It had taken a good deal of persuasion on my part to get Greg to finally agree that talking to Rabbit might be worthwhile. Greg was hesitant, arguing that when he questioned Rabbit about the Sharon Anderson murder, he determined Rabbit was evasive, and that he lacked information which was beneficial. I countered by reminding Greg that he had more information to throw at Rabbit now than he had back then. However, the big selling point came when I informed Greg that Rabbit was terrified of certain unknown people, and now with Dorsey dead, those individuals would have no qualms about coming after him, which could very well be sooner rather than later.
“I can point to one thing Russell lied about,” I said. “Dottie was in that house. I’d bet she heard every word that was spoken.”
“I’m having a difficult time determining her role in all this,” Greg admitted. “I doubt she’s involved in the murders, but that doesn’t mean she’s clueless as to who did commit them. I’d love nothing more than to get Dottie in a room and grill her. See how she handles the pressure.”
“She would most likely recruit you to join their adventures,” Angel said.
“You really despise those people, don’t you, Samantha?”
“Yes, Greg, everything about them.”
Greg looked at his watch, said, “It’s almost three-thirty. How much longer do we wait before we look for Rabbit?”
“We’ll leave at four,” I said.
“Where do we start?” Angel asked. “At the American Legion?”
“No. Jimmy Martin was kind enough to give me Rabbit’s home address. He lives in a small house on Reynolds Street. We’ll start there.”
“If we do locate him, he’d better not waste my time playing the artful dodger again,” Greg said.
“We won’t allow him to waste our time, Greg. We’ll scare the truth out of him.”
Twenty-seven
Our timing couldn’t have been more perfect. As we turned onto Reynolds Street, Rabbit was leaving his house and walking to his car. Greg parked on the street in front of the house, which I thought was a tactical mistake. Had I been driving, I would have pulled in behind Rabbit’s car, thus preventing him from leaving until our vehicle was moved.
When Rabbit saw us coming in his direction, his entire body began to shake uncontrollably. He had always been nervous and fidgety, but this was different. It was almost like his body had been seized by a sustained spasm. I knew he would be less than thrilled to see me show up accompanied by a federal agent, but I never expected this extreme reaction.
Rabbit closed his eyes and took several deep breaths in an effort to calm his breathing and slow his racing heartbeat. He’d done exactly the right thing, I thought, given what was soon to take place. The next few minutes were sure to be difficult for him, possibly even life-altering, but I had no desire to see my old friend keel over from a stroke or a coronary.
When Rabbit opened his eyes, he looked at Greg, then at me. His shaking and his breathing were closer to normal, but the look on his face was one of great sadness. I couldn’t swear to it, but I thought I saw tears in his eyes. He knew what was coming.
“Dammit, Nick, what the hell are you doing here?” Rabbit asked. “I begged you to stay away and leave me alone. I don’t have anything to say, yet you not only show up, you bring the Feds with you. Unfucking believable.”
“We have to talk, Rabbit,” I said. “There is no avoiding it.”
“Why? Do you have more of your lame-ass questions for me?”
“I don’t, but Greg does.”
“Yeah, I remember him from three years ago. When he questioned me then, he didn’t stop for three hours. I don’t have time for that nonsense a second time. So, here’s what he can do with his questions… shove them straight up his ass. With all due respect, of course.”
“Remember what I recently told you, Rabbit?” I reminded him. “About how you need to get out in front of the story before the story gets out in front of you? Well, this is your chance. And you’d better not blow it. The walls are going to crumble, Rabbit. If you are on the inside looking out, you’ll be crushed in the rubble.”
“I don’t have anything to say to you, Nick, or to the FBI.”
Greg stepped forward and said, “On the contrary, Rabbit, like it or not, you are going to answer my questions. You are a material witness to three homicides I’m in the process of investigating. As such, you have an obligation to speak with me. It’s beginning to drizzle, and I have no desire to get wet, so let’s all go inside your house and remain d
ry. You lead the way, please.”
“You are going to get me killed, Nick,” Rabbit said, pointing a finger at Angel. “Just like your daughter got Dorsey killed.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” I snapped.
“Hey, you’re the smart guy, Nick. You figure it out.”
“Inside, Rabbit,” Greg said, taking charge before I could defend my daughter. “No more talk until we are inside the house. Now, move.”
The interior of Rabbit’s house bore a close resemblance to Dorsey McElwain’s. There was a small den, an even smaller kitchen, two tiny bedrooms, and a bathroom. About the only discernible differences were Rabbit’s house was messier than Dorsey’s, and his TV was older and much smaller. Of course, Rabbit, unlike Dorsey, had no need for the large-screen TV, since he didn’t star in any of Russell’s homemade sex movies.
There was no couch in the den/TV room, only a love seat that could comfortably accommodate two people, and a single wooden chair. Rabbit sat on the love seat, and Angel took the chair, leaving Greg and me standing. I asked Greg if he wanted me to bring in two chairs from the kitchen, but he said no, he didn’t mind standing. I decided that if he was willing to stand, so would I.
Once we were settled in, the expression on Rabbit’s face changed from sadness to defiance. He was bracing himself for a battle of wills against Greg and me, certain in his belief that he could outwit both of us. Or perhaps he counted on outlasting us. Either way, I knew he was fighting a losing battle. Greg wasn’t leaving without getting some answers.
“Who are you afraid of, Rabbit, and why are you fearful of them?” Greg asked.
“I’d rather leave names out of it,” Rabbit replied. “As for the why? That’s easy. I don’t want to end up like Dorsey McElwain.”
“Know what troubles me about you, Rabbit?”
“No, I don’t. Why don’t you tell me?”
“On the one hand, you claim to be in possession of such a vast amount of knowledge about these homicides that it puts you in danger of being killed if you share what you know with me. And then you turn around and tell me you don’t know anything, and you don’t want to talk with me. Sorry, Rabbit, but you can’t have it both ways.”