He picked up the manila folder and the keys from the desk and walked through the hallway until he was stopped by the locked, metal door that led to the lobby. He knocked on it and the receptionist remotely unlocked it. He nodded at her as he walked by, then went through the door and out into the sunshine.
Now he had lost Dillon. He didn't know what was happening to Travis. He didn't know where to go next. He had hoped to leave the folder safely in the hands of a police officer, but he still had it in his own. He got into the rental car and headed toward Jim's house. He turned onto the loop and accelerated up to speed. At a light, a black car pulled up beside him. He glanced over. Two men were in the front, but didn't look over at him.
He drove up the long driveway to Jim's house and went inside.
“Where's the other fella'?” Jim said, meeting him at the door.
“He got arrested,” Christopher said. “Arrested for murder.”
“Arrested for murder you say? He didn't seem like the kind of man who would do something like that.”
Christopher shook his head. “He didn't. He didn't murder anyone. But he's caught up in this same mess I'm in.” He looked at Jim for a moment. “I can't stay here any longer. I've got to go somewhere else. I just don't know where. Maybe I'll head to Texas.”
Jim studied him for a moment. “What's this all about Bro. Chris?”
“I don't want to tell you just yet. It might put you in danger if you know too much.” He sat at the oak kitchen table and slapped down the manila folder. “I just need you to trust me on this.”
“Well, okay.” Jim set some bread, lettuce, cheese and sliced turkey in front of Christopher. “Here, it's past lunch time. Make yourself a sandwich and you can have some energy to figure out what to do.”
“Thanks,” Christopher said, putting together a sandwich.
Jim sat down across from him. “Stay here tonight and you can go tomorrow. I think that's the best idea.”
Christopher didn't answer. He ate most of his sandwich and wondered if he should get in the car and get out of there or just stay put. He didn't want to endanger Jim, but the thought of being out alone terrified him. “Okay,” he said after a while. “I'll stay one more night.”
He sat on the couch that afternoon, watching game shows. He wanted to leave. Jim kept talking about his days working for the electric company. Christopher fought to pay attention. A little after three, he couldn't stand it any longer and called the police station again. He left his cell phone number with the dispatcher and a message for Isaac Goodman to call him as soon as he could. That was all he knew to do – to try again. Since he had broken radio silence, he figured he would call Rachel too. He called her number at the warehouse and checked on her. After he disconnected from her he decided to leave his cell phone on. He didn't have the charger for it and didn't know how long it would last, but if Detective Goodman called back, it had to be on. Then he waited.
A little before six, Jim went into the kitchen to fry up his usual supper: bacon, eggs and pancakes. Christopher sat on the couch and turned the television to a local station to watch the news. Since he normally watched channel three at home, he turned it to that channel. The lead story was about Dillon's arrest and finding the body of Joseph Wilson. Christopher turned up the volume and sat upright on the couch. He had seen the reporter before. Her name was Jayna Allen and she was very aggressive and confident in her stories. She would make the smallest issues look like national emergencies. She wouldn't take no for an answer and was fond of putting her microphone in the face of politicians and officials and making them tell it like it is. She was young and attractive, with flowing, brown hair, piercing eyes, and a demanding manner. Christopher could tell by looking at her that she had no interest in staying at that hick station very long. She was just waiting for he chance to move to a big city or into network news.
She was live on the scene where Joseph's truck had been retrieved earlier that afternoon. She spoke about how officers had been looking for his body for a couple of months and there had finally been a break in the case. The station showed footage of the truck being hoisted up the side of the mountain and a coroner looking inside it. More footage showed a covered body being taken into a waiting vehicle. In the video, deputies and police officers stood by and watched. Then they showed Dillon's mug shot. Christopher was sad to see him. He looked so defeated.
The camera showed Jayna's face again. “Dillon McGee, a security guard for Morgan Retail in Springfield, was charged today for the murder of Morgan Night Manager Joseph Wilson,” she said. “McGee was also involved in a recent shooting in the store where one man was killed in cold blood near the pharmacy counter. Here with me now is Springfield Police Detective Isaac Goodman.” The camera pulled back to show Isaac standing behind and to the left of Jayna. She held her microphone between them. “Detective Goodman, what can you tell us about this arrest today?”
“Dillon McGee turned himself in to the police department this morning,” he said. “He told us he knew where Joseph Wilson's body was and that he had taken part in this murder. He brought us out here and showed us the truck and the body. We booked him into the jail just after two this afternoon.”
Jayna put the microphone to her own lips. “Do you have a motive for the murder? Did Mr. McGee give any reason for it?”
“I can't discuss any motives at this time. I'll let you know as soon as he has been indicted and we have more information on the case.”
She turned back to the camera and it zoomed in on her. “McGee is being held on a million-dollar's bond at the Greene County Jail on murder charges. Tonight at ten, we will have an exclusive interview with Walter Gray, the manager of the Morgan Retail Store on what he thinks could be a possible motive. For now, this is Jayna Allen, Action News.”
Christopher was stunned. Dillon had been charged with murder. There was no mention of Morgan killing its people. No mention of anyone else being charged in Joseph's murder. They were nailing Dillon with the whole thing. He went to the supper table and tried to have a normal conversation with Jim, but he was distracted. He had to see that interview at ten. He counted down the minutes until it came on.
Jim had the television on the wrong station when ten o'clock finally came. Christopher asked if he could change it to channel three. Jim nodded and the two of them sat and watched. Jayna had the lead story again. First she did a recap of the finding of Joseph's body and the arresting of Dillon, then she cut to an interview she had recorded earlier in the day with Walter Gray.
On camera, she asked him if he had noticed anything about Dillon that would make him think he was capable of something like this.
“Well, you never know what a man is going to do,” Walter said. He was sitting at his desk in his office, wearing a nice suit. “He was a security guard, so he was always having to run down people who stole from the store. I guess you could say he was used to violence. I don't know what set him off in this case, though.”
“Did he have any enmity toward Joseph Wilson that you ever saw?”
“No, I never saw anything like that, but Dillon is a Marine and a trained killer. If he ever decided he wanted to kill you, I guess it would be easy enough for him to do it.”
“Do you think robbery was a possible motive?”
Walter tried to look sophisticated. “I don't want to speculate on what the motive may have been, I just know we are sad for the Wilson family. He was a good and pleasant worker here at the store and we are going to miss him a lot.”
She may have asked him another question or two, but Christopher didn't hear them. He was reeling from what he had heard. Walter was laying the whole thing on Dillon. He was acting as though he were innocent of it all, and as if Dillon were a trained killer who had taken down an innocent man. Christopher could feel his heart racing. He tried to calm himself.
He sat in silence for the rest of the newscast. The weather man mentioned rain the next night. Christopher tried to focus on what they were saying, but he just could
n't. He wondered what Dillon was going through. Then he thought of Travis. He didn't even want to think about that. He hoped he was still alive. And he knew he was next. They were not going to stop until they got to him. At least now he knew where Isaac Goodman had been. He had been talking to the media.
Then a thought hit him. Why not go talk to Jayna Allen? Why not go to that television station and get her in on this? She was itching for a big story and he had one for her. He decided that if Isaac didn't call him by nine in the morning, he would head to the television station and ask for her.
*****
Travis leaned against the metal door and put his ear against it sometime Thursday afternoon. He was trying to hear any sound outside. Nothing. The Morgan bodyguards had brought him to the corporate headquarters and locked him in a closet. There was no chair, so he had to sit on the floor when he wasn't listening at the door. The air was stuffy and smelled of ammonia. He had been there for more than thirty hours. A guard came and checked on him every few hours, letting him out to go to the restroom and even bringing him some fried chicken strips from a nearby restaurant. The floor was cold and he had slept little on it last night.
He had been so comfortable on the train, before they grabbed him and transported him back here. One of the guards had been so furious when they couldn't find Dillon and Christopher, he wanted to throw Travis from the aircraft, but another guard reminded him that Charles wanted to talk to him and he had backed off.
Travis couldn't get rid of the vision of Charles taking him up to his office balcony and throwing him off of it when he got there, but what scared him most was that Julia was home alone and he couldn't warn her.
Footsteps. A guard opened the door. “Mr. Morgan is busy today. He told me to keep you here until he comes back into town tomorrow.”
Travis looked up at him. He had just been sentenced to another day in this closet. He nodded.
“Do you need to go to the restroom?”
“Yes, thanks.” Travis looked again for any weakness in the guard's defense. There had to be a moment when he could escape, but there just wasn't. In a few minutes, he was back in the closet and the guard was locking the door. “Hey, can I get a chair to sit on?”
“I'll see,” the guard said through the door. In a little bit, he came back and gave Travis a metal, folding chair.
“Maybe a magazine or something,” Travis said, seeing that his first request worked.
“I'll see what I can find.”
But the guard left and didn't come back. Travis stood the rest of the afternoon and listened to the door. He could hear voices and footsteps, but when evening came, it grew quiet in the hall and no more light came under the door. He was alone. He wondered if he could kick the door open.
Light spilled under the door. He heard footsteps. It was nearing midnight and someone was coming toward him.
The door opened and a bodyguard that Travis had never seen came into the room. He was wearing a dirty, red ball cap and holding a thick, Denver Metro phone book. “Mr. Morgan doesn't care if he sees you or not,” the man said. “He just wants some information.”
Travis didn't know if he was bluffing, but his demeanor terrified him. The man pressed his face close to his. Travis could smell cigarettes on his breath.
“Mr. Morgan wants to know who all is in on this little scheme.”
Travis backed up, but there was nowhere to go. He sat down hard on the chair and didn't speak.
Suddenly, blinding pain. The man had hit him on the head with the phone book. It knocked him unconscious for a second. He could see stars in front of his eyes, the room went dark for a moment, and his head and neck hurt like fire had been poured onto him. He struggled to retain his senses and to keep from vomiting. He couldn't speak if he wanted to. He wanted to hit back, but knew that might be a fatal mistake. He grabbed the edge of the chair with both hands and held on.
The man leaned in. “Just tell me who all knows about this.”
“Just me.” Travis' head pulsed with pain. “Just me and the two men I was with Tuesday.”
The man pulled a thumb-drive out of his front pocked and showed it to him. “What about this, then? What about this little stick I found in your kitchen the other night?”
Travis looked up at him. His eyes growing large.
“Oh, that's right.” He twirled it in his hand. “Your pretty little wife in Telluride gave this to me.” He leaned even closer. “Right before I cut her throat.”
Travis lunged at him and knocked the flash drive out of his hand. He had never been filled with such hatred and rage. He threw his weight into the man and shoved him backward to the floor, then beat at him about the face with his fists. The man regained his composure and threw Travis off of him. He jumped to his feet, grabbed Travis, and pushed him back to the chair. Travis fought to keep from going into shock.
The man pulled a knife out of his pocket and put it against Travis' neck. “This is the knife I used on her. This very one.” His voice was even and menacing. “Now I'm going to kill you with it if you don't tell me what I want.”
Travis couldn't speak for a moment. Then he mustered the courage to utter sound. “I told you. Just the two men and me.” He shook his head and felt the blade against his throat. “She didn't know what was on this. No one else does.”
The man pulled the knife away and put it in his pocket. He picked up the phone book and hit Travis again. This time Travis fell to the floor. The man stood over him. “Mr. Morgan is going to be here tomorrow. He wants to talk to you.” He turned to leave. “And after he talks to you, I'll come see you again.” He walked out and locked the door behind him.
Travis couldn't get up from the floor. He convulsed, sobbing, until finally, exhausted, he slept.
Chapter Nineteen
Christopher brushed his teeth and put on one of the new sport shirts he had purchased when he and Dillon went into town their first night back in Missouri. It was nearly nine Friday morning and Detective Goodman hadn't called. Christopher was going to the television station to see if Jayna Allen would talk to him. He hoped he could catch her before she went out on some other news story. If so, he would simply have to ask for another reporter. He borrowed Jim's car, thinking it would be safer for him to drive into town.
He knew where the station was and drove up to the front door. He went into the lobby, carrying the manila folder, and a receptionist greeted him from her desk. The lobby was open to a second floor. Televisions on a media wall showed all of the local news stations in town, with channel three showing on the largest screen in the middle. A morning talk show was on and it was the only monitor that also had sound. Decorative lighting illuminated the lobby and spotlights lit portraits of many of the past and present reporters and anchors. Christopher recognized most of them. Jayna's was near the receptionist's desk.
“My name is Chris Forrest,” he said to her. “I would like to speak to Jayna Allen please. I have a story idea I think she might be interested in.”
The receptionist looked at him skeptically. “So, you don't have an appointment?”
“No, but I think she will be interested in this story.” Christopher held out the manila folder.
“I'll see if she's back there.” The receptionist pushed buttons on her phone and spoke to someone in the news room. She looked back at Christopher. “She's out of the building, but they expect her to return shortly. Would you like to wait?”
“Yes, thank you.” Christopher took a seat in front of the television screens and watched the talk show and waited. After nearly an hour a second show came on and he continued to watch.
Finally, Jayna came into the lobby and stuck out her hand. “Sorry to keep you waiting. I hear you have a story idea.”
Christopher stood to his feet and shook her hand. She was even prettier up close and in person than she was on the screen. He cleared his throat. “Yes,” he gestured to his folder. “I have something you might be interested in.”
“Come on back to my desk and
we'll talk about it.”
He was relieved that he was getting to talk to her, glad they hadn't already sent her to Branson or Joplin or somewhere. He followed her through the lobby and up some stairs, then into the newsroom. People were rushing about the large open room. A white board covered one wall with assignments written on it in dry erase markers. Reporters were sitting at their cubicles, typing on computers or talking on their phones.
Jayna didn't have an extra chair at her cubicle, so she reached over and got one across the aisle from her space and gestured to it. “Please, have a seat.”
Christopher sat in front of her. She was wearing a button-down shirt and a knee-length gray skirt. She had on glasses, but Christopher had never seen them before. She was very attractive to him, but looked really young in person. She looked so young, in fact, that he wondered if he was making a mistake telling her such a big story. She held her reporter's notebook in her lap. “So, what's the big story?”
“You interviewed Walter Gray yesterday at the Morgan store, right?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I want you to know that Dillon McGee didn't murder anyone.”
She stared at him, waiting for more.
He cleared his throat. “Morgan Retail takes life insurance out on its workers, did you know that?”
“I've heard of that,” she said. “It's pretty standard these days.” She cocked her head. “In fact, the station has that insurance on me.” She shrugged. “Go on.”
He handed her the manila folder. “I have proof right here that Morgan has been murdering its people to collect their life insurance.”
She looked him in his eyes for a moment, then opened the folder and began to study the lists of names. “Okay, so how is this proof?”
Christopher pointed to the second list. “If you'll check, you'll see that the first fifty or so people on this list have died this year. The rest of them are going to die.”
The Dead Peasants File Page 17