“I had to check her ID once. I just don’t remember her last name. But her first was Rebecca.”
“Thanks, Cole. Please keep it quiet, though.”
He turned to leave. A thought occurred to me.
“Wait, Cole.”
I opened my phone to the picture of Jackson Morgan that Leo sent me. “Have you ever seen this man around?”
“Yes, he’s one of Dr. Kerry’s security men.”
“Thanks. If you think of anything, please let me know.”
Cole left me alone in the room with my thoughts. I walked out onto the balcony. I felt stupid for not asking Cole the first night if he knew Lauren, or Becca. I wasn’t sure how to think about her now. I decided that I met Lauren, and the girl that kissed me in that booth was Lauren.
By the time I was halfway through my third drink, the sun was setting. My room faced the east, so there was no sunset view. I watched as the stars began to peak through the purple sky. Each one growing brighter as the purple darkened to black.
With two and half bourbons in me, I had a decision to make. The hour was too early to go to bed, but I had waited too long to call Lindsay to go out. Besides, I knew a lot more now than I had two hours earlier. Really, the decision made itself. Order two more bourbons and watch the stars.
Another knock interrupted that thought. Rising from the chair, I drank the last of the bourbon and walked to the door. When I opened the door, Lindsay stood on the other side wearing a red coat that I thought seemed awfully warm for tonight.
“I think I left my lingerie here,” she said dropping the coat in the hallway to reveal her entire body.
Maybe the three bourbons slowed my response time, but I just stared for a full second longer than I should, enjoying the view.
“Are you going to invite me in?” she demanded.
Who am I to leave a lady out in the cold dressed like that.
13
Whoever designed this hotel did not take into consideration hangovers and long nights. The east facing windows brought the entire glory of the sunrise into the room. I wasn’t sure the glass wasn’t magnifying the light. Lindsay was still in the bed. After three nights, we were getting very familiar with each other. At least, physically.
I got up gently so as not to wake her and went into the other room. It was after seven, which is pretty early for me. Three empty wine bottles sat on the table. I had ordered up room service, making Cole come up no less than five times before he got off his shift.
The evening was not just pure debauchery, although the right amount was certainly there. Lindsay and I sat up drinking wine and talking until four. Well, our talking would be interrupted with long stretches of not talking.
I ordered coffee and sat down at the computer.
Dr. William Kerry was an easy search. Pages of articles came up as soon as I hit enter. Kerry was in his late sixties. He was, for lack of a better term, Alabama royalty. Kerry was born in Anniston, Alabama in 1950. He graduated from the University of Alabama in 1971 going on to medical school in Birmingham. He was a successful surgeon, who in 1984 began investing in industry all over the state. He bought a steel factory in 1988 that was struggling to overcome a labor force issue. An organized labor strike was called off weeks after the purchase was made. Under Kerry’s ownership, the labor force was reduced and the plant was automated.
By the mid-1990’s, Kerry invested in a publishing company. After three years, the other owners each sold their share of the company to Kerry. The publishing company became a media company that fell under a newly incorporated entity, Nala Communications. Kerry was listed as the President and CEO. Nala Communications began acquiring media outlets, television stations, radio stations, and newspapers. The Shoals Daily Journal was bought in 2002 by Nala Communications.
Kerry didn’t stick with just media outlets either. He bought resorts and golf courses. Kerry, himself, was the founder and head of at least three corporations. Crimson Investments was structured as the parent company. Nala Communications and another company, Rankin Incorporated, fell under Crimson Investments. Rankin seemed to be the resort side of his operations. Rankin Inc., most recently, had purchased five hundred acres on the border of Alabama and Tennessee. The company press release was short, saying that the purchase was for a future project.
Kerry, himself, was pretty private. He was married to Virginia Adams Kerry. They met at the University of Alabama in 1970. They were married in 1974. Angela Kerry was their daughter, born in 1984.
Angela was the only one I could find on any social media. She had a Facebook and an Instagram account. While her Facebook page was only visible to friends, her Instagram wasn’t. I scrolled through the pictures she had. Most were tagged in Africa, where it seemed she moved to become a missionary. She had a couple of links in the comments on a few pictures directing people, who wanted to help fund her work, to go to the Christ’s Directive website.
Christ’s Directive was a missionary group that’s goal was to follow Jesus’ last words in the book of Matthew, “Go ye therefore, and teach all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.” The group was sponsored by an arm of the United Methodist Church. Based out of Macon, Georgia, it focused on three campaigns. One missionary group was working in Papua New Guinea, one near Manaus, Brazil, and one in Liberia, Africa. The work that the group focused on was education for the youth and integration into the culture. The galleries of pictures on the website showed kids in classrooms, doctors working with indigenous people, and groups building different structures.
Angela Kerry was shown in one picture working with a Liberian woman in a garden. The caption stated, “Angela, the team lead, helps Musu build a rainwater catchment to irrigate crops.”
“Did last night scare you to do God’s work,” Lindsay said in my ear.
I scooted back from the table, and she sat on my lap.
“Not at all. Celibacy is not the life for me.”
Lindsay pressed her lips against mine gently. She had a keen talent for letting her bottom lip plump out as it touched mine.
“I really enjoyed last night,” she said.
I grinned. “Oh, me too.”
“You know, I don’t want you getting too attached. I really like you, Max.”
“But?”
“But, I don’t want anything serious. I’m not looking for a relationship.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t become too attached. Besides, I don’t think I’ll move here.”
“That would be good, because I don’t plan to stay here.”
She kissed me again, pressing her breasts against my bare chest.
“Do I smell coffee?” she asked.
“You do, room service delivered it awhile back.”
“I hope you put pants on before you opened the door.”
“Nope, why deny the world my glory?” I joked. “I did cover up with a towel, if that makes you happy.”
“What do I care?” she said. “I don’t have anything to wear out of here.”
“Guess if we can’t get dressed, then we can’t very well leave the room.”
“It is Saturday. I don’t have school today.”
“Awesome,” I said with a smile.
“Don’t get too excited. I have to work this afternoon.”
“Oh, you have a job?” I didn’t mean to sound surprised. Sometimes the filter in my brain doesn’t work well.
“We all can’t be rich, spoiled kids. Some of us have to work.”
“I didn’t mean it like that. Just that we haven’t talked about it.”
She kissed me again. “No worries, hun. I wait tables over at Ed’s Barbecue on the weekends. My scholarship pays for school and books. This just gives me my partying money.”
“Do you work all night?”
“I get off at eleven. But I’ll smell like pork.”
“I’ll make sure I have some sauce.”
She jumped up and straddled me. She wrapped her arms around
my neck and kissed me. Her hips moved in sync with her lips, and my eyes rolled back in my head. She pressed against me, biting my neck and ear lobes. When I thought I couldn’t take it anymore, I lifted her. Her legs still wrapped around my hips, I took three steps to the couch where I laid her down.
“No,” I whispered as I kissed my way down her breasts and stomach. “My turn.”
I think I heard her giggle, but only for a second.
14
The lobby of the Marriott showed a poster advertising the Florence Flower Show in the convention center. I considered stepping over to find Warlow, but decided that for now she could stay in the dark as far as Kerry was concerned.
Finding Kerry’s address was simple. He was the most powerful man in the state, and his wife was, apparently, quite the homemaker. The Kerry’s had a home on Wilson Lake, which is the next section of the Tennessee River. They also had a condo in Montgomery and a beach house on the Gulf. All three homes were featured in an article in the Alabama Homes and Garden Magazine. Luckily for me, the magazine kept digital archives of their stories.
While the magazine didn’t give the address, I could distinguish a lot from the pictures. There was a photograph of a three tiered boat dock that Mrs. Kerry would use to host the occasional outdoor event. The bright red railing of the dock along with its size made locating it on a satellite map simple.
I was parked outside the house before noon. Mostly waiting. I certainly didn’t know what might happen.
I called Leo while I was waiting.
“Sup,” he said.
“Your articulation leaves nothing to be desired.”
“Aww,” he said, “you thinks I talks good.”
“Get this. I spoke, yesterday, to a reporter up here. I thought she might be able to help look into Morgan.”
“She liked the story?”
“Yeah, especially after her editor told her to stay away from it.”
“Really? Why?”
“She had done some minimal research on Morgan before we met for lunch. When she got back, he told her to stay clear of the story.”
“That’s quick. Who got to the editor?”
“That’s were things get interesting. I, somewhat, identified Lauren. She also went by Becca, and she was the sometimes mistress of a Dr. William Kerry.”
“I never heard of him. Who is he?”
“Me either, but he seems to be the most powerful man in Alabama. He also owns the newspaper here.”
“What are you doing then?”
“Sitting outside his house. Waiting.”
“Do you think he is involved in the kiddie porn stuff?”
“I don’t know. Morgan seemed to be one of his security people. Could be his own little fetish.”
“But we don’t know yet,” Leo said. “I’m coming there. I bet you piss someone off soon.”
“You do know me so well.”
“I’m going to get some supplies. Do you have room in the bed for me?”
“Dude, you would scare me in bed. I get the feeling you don’t even know what a safe word is.”
“Safe words are for pussies,” he said and hung up.
Two hours passed, and no one left or entered the house. I couldn’t tell if anyone was even home. I felt somewhat stupid. What if they were at the beach house, and I’m sitting here watching an empty house.
Facing a conundrum, I wasn’t sure which way to go. The safest course of action was to wait. I, however, have no patience. I needed to stir the pot. Like Leo said, I needed to piss someone off.
How much control does someone like Kerry have? He has the paper. What about the police? Or the prosecutor that tried to convict Morgan?
I pulled up the information Leo sent me on Kerry. The charges were brought against him in two different counties: Lauderdale and Colbert. It didn’t take long to figure out that the Tennessee River divided the two counties. Florence was in Lauderdale County, north of the river. Since I was already on the other side of the river, I decided to look up the prosecutor for Colbert County, James Farrar.
Farrar was easy to find. His home address popped up in the first search. Twenty minutes later, I was knocking on his front door.
A young boy, maybe twelve years old, opened the door.
“I’m looking for James Farrar,” I said.
“DAD!” the kid yelled.
“What is it?” a voice responded.
“Someone at the door for you?”
I cringed. My mother would have been beside herself had I answered the door that way. Gentility was a thing of the past, along with chivalry, respect, and pecan pie made with something other than corn syrup.
A lanky man came to the door. He was easily over six feet tall and skinny. Not the work out or diet skinny. Genetics had every bit to do with him.
“James Farrar?” I asked.
“Can I help you?”
“I know this isn’t office hours, but I’d like to ask you a question about a Jackson Morgan.”
His eyes widened. “No, I don’t want any part of this.”
“Sir, I just need to know a few things.”
“I got it. I’ll stay clear.”
“Mr. Farrar, I’m not hear to threaten you. I want to know who pulls his strings.”
Farrar stepped out onto the porch and pulled the door closed. “Look, I don’t want anything to do with Morgan. I pray I never see his name show up in my office. If you value anything, you won’t be looking at him, or who pulls his strings.”
“I value justice.”
“That’s bullshit. Pardon my language,” he said. “Value justice. Sounds great until you have a family. I don’t care about what Morgan did, does, or will do.”
“Did you know he’s making child porn?”
Farrar stared at me.
“Yes, with kids younger than your son.”
He shook his head. “Who are you?”
“My name is Max Sawyer. I plan to drag whoever is behind Morgan and whoever is making these videos into hell.”
“You’ve seen them?”
I furrowed my brow. “Let’s say that I am aware of their existence.”
“Then my suggestion is you find a federal prosecutor and someone at the FBI to talk to. I don’t want any part of him.”
“It’s Kerry, isn’t it?” I asked.
“You think you know a lot don’t you, Mr. Sawyer?”
“I know enough.”
“Do me a favor, Mr. Sawyer.”
“What’s that?”
“Try and get killed on the other side of the river.”
15
Farrar seemed scared, not bought. Although, that could be equally dangerous. I drove back to the hotel. At the moment, it seemed like I needed to regroup my thoughts. Leo would be here soon, and I needed to get him a room. I didn’t want to spoon with him when there were better options.
The vehicles in the hotel’s parking lot doubled this morning. The weekend made this hotel a popular destination. I parked the truck and walked in behind three golfers returning from a round somewhere.
The front desk had a small group of people crowding the clerk, a young woman with jet black hair. One man seemed to be raising some Cain. I stood back waiting for them to finish.
“I want to know why I can’t have my room!” the voice boomed through the lobby.
The desk clerk answered diminutively, “I’m sorry, sir. We had no reservation for you. That room is occupied.”
“Then move them out. You have other rooms for them.”
“We can’t just move them.”
“Where is the manager?” the voice yelled.
“He’s not here right now.”
“Call him and tell him I’m waiting!” he screamed.
The group consisted of three couples it looked like. The screamer was definitely the alpha of the group. I was about ready to step up and help him remove whatever stick he had lodged in his rectum. Watching people like this made me happy I never worked in the service industry. M
y respect for the human race was waning this week.
The clerk was on the phone at the other end of the desk.
One lady in the group said, “Bill, we can get by in another room.”
“The hell we can. I want the suite.”
The other two men seemed to give the agreeing grunts of subordinates who are too afraid to face the rage of the alpha. The alpha turned toward me, and I, immediately, recognized William Kerry. I couldn’t suppress a grin. Fate was on my side.
I knew what room Kerry was raging to get. I had it. I waited to see what happened.
The clerk hung up and stepped down to Kerry’s group. “Dr. Kerry, I have to find the guest that’s staying in the suite and offer him other accommodations. I’m sure that we can convince him to move. We won’t be able to have the room ready until we can move him. We have your other rooms ready, and we can store your luggage here. Will that be okay, sir?”
“Just find this guy. I want to get to the room.”
The clerk responded, “As soon as he returns to the hotel. We are going to try and contact him now.”
I decided my time to interject had arrived. “Excuse me, while you are waiting, can I be helped?”
The clerk looked at Kerry who begrudgingly gave his approval.
I stepped around the group and smiled at the clerk. “Hi. First, I’m really sorry,” I whispered so only she could here.
She furrowed her brow, “Can I help you?”
“Yes, I’m Max Sawyer. I need to get an additional room for the week.”
Surprise rang across her face. “Mr. Sawyer, I was about to call you.”
“I figured. Do you have another room available?”
“Yes, sir. My manager would like to offer you a free stay to move from the Presidential Suite to one of our other suites.”
“Oh, I’m super happy in my suite now. In fact, I’ll just be needing another room.”
Her eyes darted back to Kerry and then to me. I felt sorry for her. This was going to be a crappy day for her.
“But, sir, our manager has authorized me to offer you a full refund on your whole stay, and a week’s stay in the future.”
Crimson Blood (Max Sawyer Book 4) Page 8