Ben Doggett was snoozing on the couch. It was a lazy Sunday afternoon. The first Sunday of the summer. His fitful attempts at sleep the last few nights had been mostly unsuccessful and he hadn’t rested well since he had become involved in the buying and selling of drugs.
Buying and selling drugs. He still couldn’t believe he had fallen this far.
The words played over and over in his mind, keeping him from sleep at night and keeping him nervous and restless during the day. His confrontation with Tony Nail hadn’t helped matters. Ben still felt an overwhelming sense that his life was caving in around him. Sometimes it was hard to pinpoint what was worse: The gambling. The sordid secretary sex. The impending failure of his marriage. His sudden decision to become involved in drug trafficking to try to make ends meet. Or all of it. Probably all of it.
Ben tossed and turned to the sound of another Rangers’ baseball loss on TV. His slumber was interrupted by Angela.
“Ben? Ben … wake up! Now!”
He could tell from the sound of her voice she was troubled. Not just troubled, but mad. Really mad. As he approached consciousness he began to wonder what terrible aspect of his new life she had discovered now. Was it his new side job? His lover? Or did she somehow come across his gambling debts?
“Sit up, Ben, we gotta talk,” Angela said.
Oh brother, he thought. This can’t be good. It never had been good whenever Angela demanded they talk.
“Ben, listen to me: Tawny answered the phone today. It was a woman asking for you. She recognized the number. It was Shanna. Why would she call you on the weekend, Ben? Are you having an affair?”
“Say what?”
“Are you sleeping with Shanna?” Angela asked. “Your secretary?”
“Are you crazy?” Doggett said
“Shanna never calls you on your cell phone from her cell phone. On the weekend. You’re gone all the time, at weird times. You don’t have any explanation for where you’ve been, you don’t go where you say you’re going, and … “
“I would never sleep around on you, Angela. I can’t believe you would think so little of me,” Ben butted in.
“ — and the emails, Ben. I found the emails you two have been sending each other. How you wanna try to explain these?”
Angela threw a stack of fifty emails at her husband. He read over the evidence she had collected, but he didn’t have to; didn’t want to. He knew what they all said. In fact, just looking at them was painful, especially with Angela sitting right in front of him. Ben was busted. He searched the depths of his mind trying to figure out what he would say to her when he finally finished pretending as though he was reading them.
Because he could think of nothing, he wisely chose to say nothing.
Tears formed and spilled out of Angela’s eyes.
“I want you out of here in an hour,” she said. “Take all your stuff with you and just get out. Act like you’re never coming back because right now, that’s how soon it’ll be before I’d ever think about letting your sorry butt in my home again. I can’t believe you would do this to our marriage. It makes me sick. You make me sick! I’m gonna leave here and go across the street to JoDelle’s and in one hour I’m gonna look out that window, and you better be out of here. You better get going. You’re wasting time.”
Doggett could say nothing. He had no defense. None. He felt completely helpless and as low as he had ever been in his life.
He walked down the hallway and passed his daughter. She said nothing. She didn’t have to. The look of disgust on her face said it all.
Doggett walked into his bedroom, and began to pack his suitcase.
“How could you be so stupid?” he heard the question come from behind him. It was Britton. “How could you pull apart our family like this?” his son asked.
“I’m sorry,” Doggett finally said
“That’s crap. You’re sorry you got caught. Just get out and stay away from Mom. Me and Tawny, we’ll keep you away from her.”
An hour later Ben had packed a bag and said his goodbyes, or whatever they amounted to. It was obvious Tawny and Britton wanted him in the house even less than Angela did. It was what pained him most, knowing his kids seemed to hate him, too.
Doggett scooped up a few personal items in his at-home work area, grabbed a couple of books and tucked a Bible in his briefcase, just in case he decided to get right with Jesus during his little layover away from the family. It wasn’t likely he would ever crack open the Good Book, but it never hurt to bring it along in case he had himself a little God moment.
Doggett never considered himself much of a religious man but occasionally he did have lapses in his imperfect self that let a little of the Lord’s light in. He never could tell when that might happen again, which is why he would often tote his Bible along for the ride just in case the spirit struck him.
It took Doggett a couple of trips to load all his belongings into his car. There were no offers of help from the children and certainly none from Angela. When he bid them goodbye, the three of them sat together, teary eyed in the family room in front of an old sit-com, something they stared at blankly to try to ease their collective pain. They said nothing. They didn’t look his way as he walked down the hall and out the front door for the last time.
As he pulled out of the driveway he thought about what he had done to his family. And to himself. He wondered how he would recover. He knew Angela and the kids would. They would have each other and they could bond together during this ordeal. He had no one. Well, almost no one.
A variety of plants hung from the rafters on the porch of the first-floor apartment that Shanna Riley called home. It was just her and Snuggles, her Chihuahua. Doggett hated the name Snuggles, but even more so when it was applied to a yapping little Chihuahua.
Doggett walked slowly up to Shanna’s front door and rang the bell.
“Ben? What a surprise. A pleasant surprise. You OK?” Shanna asked.
“Angela found out about us,” he said. He walked inside Shanna’s front door. “It didn’t take much. When Tawny picked up your phone call that sent Angela on her little fact-finding mission. She found all our emails.”
“I’m sorry, Ben. I feel horrible. And embarrassed. I never wanted this to happen,” Shanna said.
“The phone call alone I could have explained away, but I’ve been gone too much lately, and what’s weird is all those times I’ve been away have had nothing to do with us being together,” Doggett said. “And the emails. The emails are what killed the whole thing. I doubt there’s even a chance to put anything back together with Angela after she’s read all that was in the emails. It would take an amazing woman to be able to forgive that.”
Doggett shivered with disgust thinking about his wife’s reaction to the often suggestive language used in the communiqués between him and Shanna.
Doggett didn’t know why he came to Shanna. Habit, maybe. Or perhaps he knew she was the only person in the world today that would have anything to do with him. Her place was probably the last place he needed to be now. Yet it also felt like the only place he had to go. So he let himself stay. And Shanna didn’t discourage him from being there. At her young age, and with her reliance on him as both a partner and the father-figure she’d never had, she wasn’t about to let him leave now. Not in his darkest hour. She reached over and caressed his cheek and told him again how sorry she was. Her soft touch would lead to a warm embrace and a deep kiss to soothe his soul. What came next neither of them had the self-discipline or desire to keep from happening. Not now.
The two of them would fall asleep in each other’s arms that night, and for several nights thereafter. Doggett felt dirty and despicable on one hand. Their daily dalliances were all that kept him from total despair, but after awhile, he would find that even a physical relationship with his mistress turned his stomach. He gre
w more and more detached from Shanna and his daily attempts at reconnecting with his family, although they were all unsuccessful, continued. A week into his new living arrangement, his cell phone rang. It was the first time it had since the day Angela kicked him out.
“Ben?” the man said. “Beau Martin here. I need you at central office downtown tomorrow morning at eight. Can I count on you to be here?”
“Yes sir, Beau, I’ll be there.”
Great, Doggett thought. Another day of worrying about what this was all about. But this was the reality of what his life had sunk to: constantly concerned about where the next shoe may fall. Did the superintendent want to discuss his infidelity with his wife? The arrest of his head custodian? His gambling addiction? Or all three?
When Shanna came home that night after pulling her part-time summer shift at Target, she found something new. She would soon not know what she hated more: Doggett’s sudden rough behavior during sex, or the once-foreign smell of alcohol on his breath.
Alex arrived at Garrison’s office first thing Monday morning. It had been over a week since Nail’s arrest in the Junior Walker murder. The defense debriefing would likely take the better part of two hours and she came prepared. Coffee, Advil, her iPad and an assortment of notepads. Tony and Garrison joined Alex in the conference room.
“I spent some time with investigators in Odessa this weekend,” Garrison said. “The deceased was a known drug dealer. A lifelong Odessa resident with a textbook-length criminal history. And he was into everything, not just drugs. Attempted sexual assault, agg assault, burglary, theft, theft by check, theft by deception. You name it, if it was illegal, he had at least dabbled in it, often much more than dabble. Walker took what wasn’t his and he did it a lot. Those in favor of capital punishment would say he got what was coming to him.”
“How long since he’s had a drug rap on his sheet?” Alex asked.
“Three years. Mostly petty stuff in between.”
“Sounds like he was running low on cash, or selling to get money for his next high,” Alex speculated.
“You knew the man?” Garrison asked Tony. “Newspaper says his name is Junior Walker. OPD had several different aliases for him.
“I knew him,” Tony said. “I ministered to him several times.”
“How long had you known him?” Garrison asked.
“Goin’ on five years probably,” Tony said. “He’d always been high strung. Never could trust him much. I’d sometimes feel uncomfortable around him so I didn’t often see him if I was by myself.”
“Don’t blame you,” Garrison said, chewing on the end of his pen, a nervous habit when interrogating clients. “Good decision on your part.”
“Seemed like lately he had been acting a little more irrationally. I’d seen him high a few times, but lately it felt like a lot more. He was actually less violent when he was high; friendlier,” Tony said. “There’s a hundred just like him in West Odessa, Garrison, but I remember this guy because he was so big. You don’t forget the big ones. And he was always open to hearing the Word, it was almost a comfort to him, it seemed like.”
“How’d you come to get to know him in the first place?” Alex asked.
“I didn’t know him when I was younger, but he grew up in Midland. Basketball player at one of the high schools. Went to Stephen F. Austin Elementary. Came from a good family.”
“Stephen F.?” Garrison said. “That’s where you work, right?”
“Yes, sir. Weird coincidence,” Tony said.
Tony spent the remainder of the morning bringing Garrison and Alex up to speed on his ministry and on his years since he’d gone straight. And of course the years when he wasn’t straight.
“I ran into a bad group of people,” Tony admitted. “Never knew him then, don’t know if he left Midland and came back like a lot of people do. But there’s plenty of bad people to run into. There’ll never be a shortage of the wrong crowd, even in Midland, believe it or not. I got hung up on crack for a couple years, smoked some dope, drank a lotta juice. But I found the Lord about five years ago and my life turned around overnight.”
Alex and Garrison studied the notes they’d taken and looked at each other.
“Tony, with all due respect, I have to toss this out for discussion,” Alex began. “Juries have a built-in skepticism meter. They will doubt you when you bring God into the conversation unless they can completely believe in you and your profession of faith. A lot of people claim they find the Lord even when they don’t have the first clue about where to even begin to look for him.”
Garrison sat back and half smiled. He knew Alex didn’t know of the stories Tony had in him of the good things he had done, random acts of kindness galore. But he never shared those. Garrison knew Tony lived by the Scriptures, especially the one that advises you not to go shouting from the rooftops or with trumpets blaring about all the good you’ve done. Only God needs to know. Garrison was pretty certain he didn’t know half the good Tony had brought in his years since he found God.
“I’m sorry. Miss Wallace, I don’t go tooting my own horn much,” Tony said. “God said you can receive your reward here or you can receive it in heaven. I’m saving mine for a better day.”
“You’ll need to toot a little more about yourself if we’re to convince the jury of all this goodness of yours,” Alex said.
“How ‘bout I fill you in over lunch today?” Garrison asked Alex. “Tony has some work to do for me on the case and should probably get started. I’ll fill you in on all you need to know.”
“Thank you for agreeing to help me,” Tony said before leaving. “And for letting me help you out a little to pay back the bail money you fronted me.”
“You’re welcome, my friend. Now … get to work,” Garrison said, smiling and shaking Tony’s hand.
Garrison turned to Alex.
“You want to grab a bite?”
“Tony’s a good guy,” Garrison would later tell Alex at lunch. “I know in reality we’re all capable of violence. But I think there’s also an exception to every rule. Tony’s that exception. I’ve seen him up and down. He’s a textbook case of missed opportunity, but he’s also a perfect example of how you make the most out of what you have even if you don’t have a lot. Tony lost everything when his daddy died without a will. He took it hard for awhile, got messed up in the Odessa drug scene, but when he pulled himself out of it, he’s been good ever since. We’re all entitled to at least one big screw up in life, especially if we learn from it and make something of it. Tony did that.”
Alex was listening to Garrison’s convincing argument.
“I’d like to believe you,” she said.
“Well, if you’re going to work for me on this case, you really have no other choice,” Garrison said.
He studied her for a moment and noticed something was bothering her.
“What is it?” Garrison asked.
“If you worked where I worked, had been to the places I’ve been and seen what I’ve seen, you hear everything. People can look you straight in the eye and deny. But you believe them — or want to. Deep down you don’t but you still try to convince yourself they’re good people. I’ve seen ‘bad’ too many times. I’m not sure who or what to believe any more, so often I choose to not believe anyone. It’s what happens when you go down the road I’ve been down.”
It was the first time Garrison had seen this side of his new employee and he knew when he saw it that it was going to be a hard hurdle to clear.
“When Maria and her boys died I went into hiding for a while,” Alex recalled. “My superiors at DEA advised me to. I drove to a larger city in Argentina and stayed there, like I was told to. Two weeks later I got a call. A Latino male told me there was an SUV waiting for me in the parking lot. He told me to get in and drive west into Chile to a place called Valparaiso. It’s a 500-mil
e drive. The director of DEA’s regional office where I was headquartered told me to make the drive in one day, and to take no longer. Don’t stop for food, slow down or look at anyone.”
“So, no problems along the way?” Garrison said.
“No, remarkably,” Alex said.
“But when I got there and checked into a small hotel near the docks, what happened next I still can’t explain.”
Garrison stirred his coffee and kept his eyes on Alex.
“Only four people knew my cell number,” Alex said. “My boss at DEA regional, my husband in Fort Worth, my daughter, and Maria’s mother in Aguileres. My phone rang that first night in Valparaiso. The voice on the other end said, ‘The two kilos of cocaine you are interested in, in Argentina will arrive in Valparaiso at the end of the week.’”
“And who made that call?”
“Well, it wasn’t my daughter,” Alex said. “Maria’s mother was oblivious to anything in the drug world. She was totally devoted to the Church in Argentina. That leaves DEA and my husband. Don’t know between the two of them who would have been connected at the time. As I said, no one really had intimate details about where I was going or what I was doing. My first hunch is that DEA planted a car, but I can’t be sure.”
“You get the caller’s number?”
“Blocked.”
Garrison had heard the rumors of an interconnectedness in the drug world. He had always chosen not to believe them. They say cops always have the best drugs. DEA knows where to get the best drugs. And how to get them.
“How clean was your DEA director?”
“So far as I could tell, he was clean,” Alex said. “And I know where you’re going with that. As far as I know the people in my office had no ties to the cartels. That’s fiction stuff as far as I’m concerned.”
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