by David Bishop
Linda nodded and they walked out. When they reached the door, Mr. Creswell stood beside it. “Goodnight, Sir. Ms. Benson.”
After returning to town and parking side by side in the hotel parking lot, they walked to the Stop By Bistro where, in low voices, they decided on a course of action they would put into play beginning tomorrow morning.
Chapter Twenty-six
I didn’t say it was your fault, I said I was Blaming you
WEDNESDAY
At ten in the morning, Linda was in Hildy’s condo, sitting at her kitchen table across from Dixon Wardley. The butterfly bandage was gone from Dix’s lip which was still swollen and the flesh above his lip purple. While they talked about how his recovery was coming along, Linda helped Hildy carry a carafe of coffee, a pot of tea, and a plate of croissants along with butter, strawberry preserves, and orange marmalade to the table.
Without comment, Linda put a stack of tapes in the middle of the table. Hildy and Dix turned toward her. His face remained blank while Hildy raised her untrimmed eyebrows, engaging the substantial wrinkles in her forehead.
“What are these?” Dix said.
“Obviously, they’re tapes,” Hildy began, “but tapes of what?”
“Most of these were recorded in Billy’s office above the bank,” Linda said. “His voice is unmistakable. There’s a man I don’t recognize in a couple of the tapes. Maybe one of you will.”
“What? The Nixon tapes?” Hildy asked. “Did Billy record his own wrong doings?”
Linda shook her head. “These were recorded without Billy’s knowledge or consent. He’s not aware of their existence. He’s been in control for so long he feels secure and, apparently, doesn’t have his office swept for listening devices.”
“Who arranged these recordings?” Hildy asked.
“Why would whoever it is give them to you,” Dix added, “a woman most people think only came to town a few days ago?”
“To get these I had to agree not to disclose my source to anyone.”
“Not tell us?”
“Not tell anyone. That was the condition. Without my agreeing to that, we wouldn’t have these. The information they contain is vital.”
“I don’t know,” Hildy said. “Is this right?”
“Listen,” Linda said, “Billy controls the law and the muscle, and we are left with little more than conniving to achieve our ends. We want Billy to fold his hand and sell the businesses he uses to leverage the town. To a significant degree these tapes give us the smoking gun.”
“You have a point,” Dix said, nodding his head slowly, slightly. “We can’t do it by the book. Billy owns the damn book.”
Hildy curled her lips to the inside of her mouth, and shrugged. “What are you suggesting we do, dear?
“First, listen to these tapes.”
The teacher looked at Dix. No words were spoken, their expressions were enough. Linda slipped in the first tape and pressed the play button. Over the next half hour, the three of them sipped and chewed and listened. The sipping and chewing stopping now and again, replaced with narrowed eyes and open mouths, sometimes glances at one another. When the tape finished, Dix spoke.
“Legal issues could challenge the right to use these in a court of law.”
“Early on,” Linda said, “Hildy asked if your objective was to have Billy arrested and incarcerated or if our objective was to force Billy to do what we demand in order to stay out of prison. That if we sent him to jail, he would first hire someone to run his businesses until he got out. Then, once Billy served his time, everything would go back to how it is now.”
“Ah, but, the threat of jail becomes the toothless tiger if Billy realizes we may not be able to use the tapes.”
“It’s also possible these tapes can convince some of his accomplices to cooperate to save themselves from charges. Their testimony may provide admissible proof—and we don’t as yet know that the tapes can’t be admitted. At some point we’ll need an opinion from Denton Austin. But let’s not lose track that our goal is to convince Billy, not a court. There’s the media, if the tapes were leaked. We may convince Billy’s wife, Martha, to come forward after she hears what Billy says about her, not to mention his discussion of other women. You’ll hear it all. The state banking department would likely take control of the bank or pull Billy’s license, or whatever the correct terminology is, so he can no longer own or operate the bank. Martha was romantically involved with Carlos Molina. If she thinks her husband killed Carlos or had Carlos killed, she might be willing to testify, at least to provide other corroboration. In short, we’ll squeeze Billy from all sides.”
“But a woman can’t testify against her husband,” Hildy said.
“Again, we’ll need Austin to opine on that point,” Linda said. “However, for the moment, I think the law is that a woman can’t be forced to testify against her husband. She can do so voluntarily. At least I think so.”
“I’d heard rumors,” Hildy said, “about Martha and Carlos, but nothing I can prove.”
Linda pointed to the tapes. “With these, we win in the court of public opinion and maybe in a court of law, but that’s our last resort only if we can’t convince Billy to avoid embarrassment and possibly jail. It’ll depend on how many others we get to turn on him. I can tell you he is not liked by those who do his bidding. The person who provided these tapes told me it won’t take much to get some of his underlings to rat him out—the phrase that person used.”
“Okay,” Dix said. “What do you see coming next?”
“I’ve listened to all these tapes, twice. I suggest you two settle in and listen to the rest of these before we discuss what to do next. That should take you the rest of the day and into the early evening. After that, we’ll get together and decide what comes next.” Linda looked back and forth between the two of them until Hildy and Dix both indicated their agreement.
“Tomorrow? Same time? Here?” They both nodded again.
“No one else is to be told these tapes exist. Not until we decide on a plan of action. Agreed?” They both nodded yet again. “Hildy, keep these tapes with you until tomorrow.”
Linda left.
After spending a leisurely lunch in The Drop and walking around town, Linda went to the train station and inquired about her choices in trains if she decided to leave, which she did not, at least not yet. She wanted Billy to get the message that Carol Benson, the visitor to Cranston, might leave soon. Tired from her late night at the casino with Ryan, she returned to her room and took a nap. She anticipated another late night. Ryan planned to have a private chat with Sheriff Reginald Blackstone and had invited Linda to participate. Linda had no idea what Ryan had in mind, but she was eager and excited to do it. Something had to give soon, and Reggie the bully could be the weak link.
* * *
“What the hell is this?” Billy hollered.
“The court clerk dropped it by a few minutes ago, Mr. Cranston. It’s from Judge Merkel.”
“For Christ’s sake, I can see that, Samantha.”
“I figured you’d want it right away, sir. It’s marked confidential.”
“I see that too. It’s on the damned envelope. Do you know anything beyond the obvious?”
“No, sir, I wasn’t about to open it. It’s marked personal and confidential.”
“Get out,” Billy bellowed while sliding his letter opener behind the glued flap.
Once Billy’s secretary left and he perused the content, he dialed Sheriff Blackstone. “Reggie, what do you know about our Judge resigning?”
“What? He can’t do that. We only have one judge and elections aren’t for four more months.”
“He damn well can. And, more importantly, he has!”
“Has he already left?”
“The bastard is bailing on us effective Monday. He has appointed Denton Austin to complete his term.”
“Well, fuck me, Billy. Austin is an attorney we ain’t never been able to control.”
“No shit
, Sherlock. You see the judge more often than I do. He ever say anything to you about this?”
“Not a frigging word, Billy. Not one. I had no idea. What’re we gonna do?”
“Not much we can do before elections. Till then we need to keep things under the radar. What we damn well know is we can’t expect that son of a bitch Austin to be sensitive to our needs the way Judge Merkel has been. I’ll talk to you later, Reggie. I got some thinking to do.”
* * *
“These tapes are dynamite,” Hildy said. “Judge Merkel’s own words hang him. These taped conversations with Billy Cranston show the judge to be Billy’s advocate, not an independent trier of fact.”
“If this one tape got out,” Dix said, holding it in two fingers, “it’d blow the sides off this town. My guess is this one will lead to appeals of several of Judge Merkel’s past decisions. That means reversing those rulings and taking away the benefits Billy got from them. With the reversals Billy will likely face substantial monetary losses.”
“You can say that again. Do you know anything about how Linda got hold of these?”
“You heard her. We’re being helped by someone she’s promised to keep confidential.” Dix moved his cup of cold coffee toward the center of the table next to the plate that still held one last croissant.
“You didn’t . . . you’re not Linda’s helper, are you?”
“Not me, although setting up these tapes couldn’t have been all that hard. It was brilliant. Billy’s arrogance and overconfidence makes him vulnerable to this kind of thing. He’s never had any real opposition. I doubt he’d ever consider that anyone would dare bug either his office or the casino. The tapes of his meetings with his sheriff and his judge will cook his goose.”
The retired schoolteacher rubbed her hands together. “Whoever’s helping her will have to come out of the closet at some point.”
“Not if there’s no trial,” Dix spread his hands, his forearms against the edge of the table. “As Linda reminded us, our objective is to take our town away from Billy. Strip him of his control, not put him in jail. If that’s how it goes down, these tapes’ll never be formally introduced as evidence. The threat is turning them over to the state authorities, to the media, and to the losing parties in some of these law suits the judge egregiously swung Billy’s way.”
“Not to mention giving them to Billy’s wife. You think we have enough here to convince Billy to fold without due process?”
“What we’ve heard so far will hurt him bad, cost him a lot of money, but . . . no.” Dix shook his head. “I don’t think this would make him surrender. But, we’ve got three more tapes we haven’t listened to. Let’s not try to decide that right now.”
Hildy’s phone rang. “Excuse me.” She went to pick it up. She listened, became animated, but didn’t say enough to reveal what it was all about. She hung up and returned to the table.
“Well doesn’t that beat all?”
“What?” Dix asked.
“That was a lady, a former student, whose part of my network. She works at the District Court. Judge Merkel has resigned, effective Monday. He said he turns sixty-six this Sunday and it’s time to go fishing.”
“Who’s going to replace him?”
“My caller didn’t know.” Hildy said, “Maybe we’ll need a special election.”
“Kansas district judges are appointed by the Kansas Supreme Court.”
Always the teacher, Hildy said, “Usually, that’s true, but Kansas counties have the right to opt out of the appointment process and elect their judges. Cranston County did that many years ago.”
“Which Billy engineered so he could hand pick a judge he controls – Merkel.”
Hildy didn’t speak, just nodded. “Poetic justice, in part, Billy may be hanged with his own rope. It’s started, Dix. I can feel it. The first domino is Merkel’s resignation. You figure this tape we just listened to about the judge and some of his rulings will be released right away?”
Dix ran his open hand over his mouth and down off his chin. “I don’t think so. But I’ll bet Judge Merkel has heard it. I figure it’s what convinced him to resign immediately. Whoever the hell is helping Linda played it for the judge. That’s my guess.”
“We can’t figure that out now,” Hildy said. “We have more tapes to listen to.”
Chapter Twenty-seven
And the Good News is the Bad News
Sheriff Reginald Blackstone walked out of his office and around the building to where he parked on the side. There was no designated parking space there, but enough room for one car. No one questioned his right to park wherever he chose, a perk of being the sheriff. He got in his squad car and started the engine. He reached for the gear shift, and then grabbed his neck.
“Aaargh.”
What he thought was the end of another long and difficult day was about to get longer and more difficult. Unconscious, he slumped forward. A hand from the back seat stopped him, pushing him sideways away from the steering wheel and horn.
Ryan Testler stepped out of the backseat, opened the front passenger door, picked the sheriff’s hat off the seat and tugged the sheriff’s jacket off. Next, he grabbed the man’s thick officer’s belt and pulled him over onto the passenger seat, fully clear of the steering wheel.
After pausing while a lone car passed by, Ryan slipped on the jacket and hat. He walked around the car and got in the driver’s side. The engine was still running. He reached over the seat to get a blanket from the back and spread it over the sheriff. To keep everything looking routine, from the parking lot Ryan turned right, the direction the sheriff took each evening when leaving the station to head home.
Twenty minutes later, Ryan stripped the sheriff naked and plopped him onto a chair inside a building. The sheriff moaned incoherently when his naked body made contact with the cold metal chair. Ryan put a hood over the head of his prey. Then he used the man’s police-issue handcuffs to hold his arms behind the chair. The short chain in the cuffs looped around one of the vertical metal supports of the chair back.
The sheriff was naked and secured in a small area framed by blankets hanging from cords attached to the side and rear walls, a fabric chamber a little larger than fifty square feet.
To the side stood a small table covered by a pillow case on which he placed several items. On the wall facing the sheriff, near the ceiling, a bright light hung on a nail. Turned on, the light would shine directly on the sheriff’s face. On the wall just below the light, straight ahead of the metal chair which held the still incoherent, but now squirming sheriff, a series of pulleys held six wires. Each wire draped over toggle hooks Ryan put in the ceiling roughly halfway between the wall and the sheriff’s position. The wires were all of sufficient length to reach the sheriff, with some give in each.
Raw carrots dangled from the ends of three of the wires. A small metal ring encircled each of the carrots. The other three wires disappeared through holes cut in a wood shelf positioned over the sheriff’s lap. Like a larger version of the tray on a child’s highchair, but it was far from that, as the sheriff would soon learn.
Ryan expected Sheriff Blackstone to come around soon. He was already babbling with drool exiting from the lower corner of his mouth. Another injection would put the sheriff out too long and further delay the recovery of his sense of feeling. Ryan needed the sheriff’s senses to be acute.
Movements in the hood which remained over his head suggested the sheriff was coming around. His head lolled to one side. Suddenly, the sheriff brought his head upright. The fabric over his nostrils sucked in each time the sheriff gasped for air. The outline of the sheriff’s mouth enlarged. He was breathing through his opened mouth. He rotated his face from side to side. Part of this was trying to get a grip on where he might be. What he might expect. By whom he had been captured. Why he had been taken. Anything he might discern, but he heard only quiet.
Sheriff Reginald Blackstone grew still, very still. He was listening to his own voice. His body grew rigid
. His head tilted back, listening.
Ryan was playing a tape of the sheriff talking with Billy Cranston, the two men discussing the murder of Carlos Molina. In the taped conversation, the sheriff stated his opinion that Billy shot Carlos for having an ongoing affair with Billy’s wife. Or for drawing attention by spending too lavishly the money Billy had paid him for smuggling marijuana through the county. The sheriff indicated he would attempt to contact the smugglers to encourage them to continue to use the roads through Cranston. In return, they would pay Billy who would pay the sheriff a third.
Ryan stopped the tape. “Interesting, eh, Sheriff? Some heavy shit there and there’s more, a lot more. I’ve got you and the judge breaking the law to do Billy’s bidding. Another tape has you and Mud, from The Drop, muscling people to shake them down for payoffs, including breaking into Dixon Wardley’s home and beating him senseless. Your boss is a criminal as well as a selfish, mean son of a bitch. And you’re not only a dirty cop, but a spineless jerk. The way you tolerate Billy Cranston talking to you, belittling you, it’s disgusting. You can’t like playing Billy’s fool, his idiot. Why do you put up with it?
“Ah, Billy’s okay, I guess.” The sheriff spoke with his head lowered.
“Enough! We aren’t going to get very far if you continue lying. If you ever want out of here, start speaking the truth. Until you do, you’re staying right where you are.
“Okay. Billy’s a prick, a no good, spoiled, rich asshole, all right? But he controls who gets to be sheriff. I don’t much like him, but I like the job. That truthful enough?”
Sheriff Blackstone moved his head from one side to the other, wiping sweat from his chin and lower cheek onto the inside of the hood that remained over his head.
“Take this damn thing off, will ya?”
“Not just yet. When you’re ready to tell the truth about this stuff . . . maybe then.”
“I’m giving it to you square.”