by Glenn Trust
“I was nervous. I’ve never been involved in anything like this before.”
Puckett’s brow furrowed in curiosity, as if seriously trying to understand James, assessing him. “Nervous? Why?” His gaze penetrated through Stanton James, trying to see what was beating inside, wanting to see his throbbing heart and the blood pulsing feverishly through his arteries, wanting to get inside and know him for what he really was.
That gaze made James even more nervous, because what he was, was a coward. He knew it, and he knew he could not let them know it. He also could not stop fucking talking now that the floodgate had been opened.
“I was just nervous. I mean, what if someone finds out? What if they see who is behind the…the things that are happening?”
“You mean the murders of Marswell and Somerhill, and the others? Is that what you mean, Stanton? Say it for what it is…the murders.”
“R-right. The murders. I mean we could all go to prison…worse even….I have a family… a real estate business…I’m in the state senate.”
Puckett snorted out a laugh. “You are in the state senate because we made sure that you got the seat vacated by Prentiss Somerhill. Then you brought us the man that killed him, shot him three times through the chest while he sat on his back porch. It is too late for second thoughts now, Stanton.”
“I know, I know.” James dropped his head into his hands shaking it back and forth as if to shake out a bad memory. Why had he become involved with these men? For the senate seat? To be somebody important? To impress his father? It all seemed foolish now…and dangerous. Yes, very dangerous. “You’re right, I have to be strong…stay with the plan.” He looked up at Puckett who regarded him with a look of curiosity and…something else. Pity perhaps? Or revulsion? It was hard to see the look clearly through his tear clouded eyes.
Puckett stood up abruptly, as if he had made a decision. “Good then. You understand that we are all committed here. No one breaks ranks, right? We stay together in this.” He walked over to the desk and reached out his hand. James cringed as the hand touched him and gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. He had expected something worse.
Walking back to the entryway, Puckett called over his shoulder, “We’ll be in touch, Stanton. More plans to make, and you are an important part of the project going forward, your seat in the state senate and all. Be available.” He turned to look at James still sitting behind the desk, head in his hands.
Sensing that Puckett watched him, James looked up and nodded. “I’ll be ready, just tell me what to do.”
Puckett smiled the wry smile again. “We will, Stanton. We will. Just be ready when the call comes.”
With that, Puckett opened the front door and walked out into the spring morning. Striding briskly down the quiet residential street, he found Bud Thompson around the corner, behind the wheel of the big super duty pickup. Bud seemed to enjoy driving it, and Puckett didn’t mind having him chauffeur. Puckett got in the passenger side, and Bud cranked the engine and drove slowly through the neighborhood back to the main street.
Seeing the wry smile still on Puckett’s face, Bud Thompson simply nodded.
32. Guess What
Bob Shaklee jerked the phone up, annoyed. It was the third call in the half hour since his meeting with Somerhill in the lobby. He had work to do. The Somerhill - Marswell connection was puzzling. The two men seemed to have nothing in common, other than the fact that they had spent the last year working for, and opposing, the same candidates in this year’s election. It made no sense. Different sides of the aisle working for and against the same candidates. Party did not seem to matter. Shaklee knew that understanding the connection would unravel the knot they were working on.
“Hello, this is Shaklee.” He tried to keep the annoyance out of his voice.
“Good morning, Agent Shaklee.”
Glancing up at the clock on his wall, he verified that it was, in fact, still morning. “Morning. Who is this?”
“Elizabeth Crestline, from the governor’s office. Do you know who I am?”
Everyone at the GBI knew who Elizabeth Crestline was. She was the governor’s liaison to the Georgia Department of Public Safety. She had come in like a tornado a year and a half ago, cleaning house. It was a budgetary matter, nothing personal she had assured the department heads at the group meetings she held around the state. For the senior staff that had been cut from the various public safety departments, it seemed very personal.
“Yes, I know who you are, Ms. Crestline.”
“Good. I am calling on behalf of the governor.” No wasting time on small talk, wouldn’t be cost efficient. She continued in her businesslike manner, “We are forming a task force, and we are placing you in command.”
“A task force? What does that mean?”
“It means, Agent Shaklee…Bob, may I call you Bob?” She paused for only a second, not waiting for his permission to use his given name. “It means, Bob, that we, the governor, wants you to get to the bottom of the Somerhill murder quickly. Killing state senators and getting away with it is not a precedent we want established.”
“What about Clayton Marswell?”
The phone became very quiet. When Crestline spoke, her voice was measured and calm, different from the forceful, businesslike tone she had a minute earlier. “What about Marswell?”
“Clayton Marswell, superior court judge, I’m sure you’ve heard of him. Hero of the civil rights movement.”
“Yes, I am familiar with Judge Marswell.”
“He was murdered yesterday. Close to the same time as Senator Somerhill. We think there might be a connection.”
Again, the pause and the deliberately measured tone in her voice. “Why do you think so? What connection?”
For a moment, Bob Shaklee thought of mentioning the list and the work they had been doing jointly with Andrew Barnes, Atlanta Homicide. The change in Crestline’s phone demeanor and voice when he had mentioned Marswell had his investigative antennae twitching. Something was not right, so he simply said, “Not sure. Just an investigative hunch, I guess, but we want to follow it down.”
“Okay, fine.” The decisiveness was back in her voice. “Follow your hunch, but keep us informed at all times of all progress. Right?”
“Understood.”
“Who do you want on your task force, Bob? We have some suggestions that may be of use to you.”
“For now I want the lead agent on the Somerhill case, Sharon Price, and…” He wondered how this was going to go over. “I want Detective Andrew Barnes, Atlanta Homicide, he’s lead on the Marswell murder.”
“Barnes?” Again, just a slight pause and then the businesslike voice was back. “Okay, Andrew Barnes. I’ll clear it with his superiors. Who else?”
“That’s it.”
“That’s it? You and two others? You have the full resources of the Georgia Department of Public Safety, Bob. I think you should make use of them.”
“Well, unless you object, I suggest we start small and figure out where we are going. There may be no connection between Somerhill and Marswell. I can call in those state resources as needed, can’t I?”
“Of course.”
“Then that’s how I want to pursue this. I will ask for the additional resources once we have a game plan and know where we are going in the investigation. No need to have people running in circles. Could actually cause more harm than good.”
“Yes, I see your point. Okay then. Start with Price and Barnes. Let me know who you want as things move forward, and I will clear it for you.” She paused before adding, “I will be your contact here, Bob. Call me with updates on progress and any needs you may have. Daily Bob…the governor does not like to be kept waiting and is very interested in this case.”
“Understood. I will be in touch regularly.”
“Good. One more thing. Don’t talk to the press. We’ll handle that.”
“Fine with me. We don’t need the distraction.”
Crestline ended by g
iving Shaklee her private cell number to contact at any time. A minute later, he had walked down the hall to the conference room.
As the door opened, Price and Barnes looked up from the files and notes scattered across the long table. They were sorting and comparing the information on the two cases and following up on the names on the list and in the dead men’s appointment books.
“Hey, guess what. We’re a task force,” he said simply.
“Cool, I’ve never been a task force before,” Andy Barnes said matter-of-factly, waiting for Shaklee to explain.
Sharon Price, on the other hand, with her usual ‘cut the shit’ expression plastered across her face said, “Spit it out, Bob. What the fuck is going on?”
33. Standing At Attention
“Call for you, Sheriff.”
Richard Klineman looked at the phone on his desk in annoyance. Taking an agitated breath at the interruption, he spoke into the speakerphone. “Who is it?”
“Don’t know, Sheriff. Private caller. Cell phone probably.” His secretary, Cheryl Pearson, seated a few feet away just outside his closed office door waited patiently. Sheriff Klineman usually was annoyed by calls, unless they were from some political supporter or someone he could do a favor for and win over as a supporter.
Klineman considered having Cheryl take a number and tell the caller he would get back later. He was engaged in important matters at the moment. The important matter being the speech he was drafting for the Everett Business Association’s annual dinner on Friday night, where he was to be the keynote speaker.
Reconsidering, however, as Cheryl knew that he would, and as he always did, he said, “Okay, put them through.” You never knew. It might be one of his affluent constituents who did not want to be identified for some personal reason. If nothing else, Richard Klineman was sensitive to the desires of his customers, which is how he thought of his Pickham County constituents, especially the more affluent ones. So as always, annoyed or not, Sheriff Klineman picked up the phone and answered using his ‘dignified, professional, but courteous because I don’t know who the hell you are, and I may not want to piss you off’ voice. “This is Sheriff Klineman.”
“Sheriff, this is Elizabeth Crestline. Do you know who I am?”
Klineman sat up abruptly in his seat, nervously taking a more formal pose as he held the phone. His reaction would have made Crestline smile had she seen, but she didn’t have to. She knew that her phone introduction had had the desired effect. It was evident in the nervous tone of Klineman’s next words.
“Why, uh, yes…yes, I know who you are.” Alone in his office, Klineman’s back was ramrod straight, as if at attention on a parade ground.
“Do you have your cell phone, Sheriff?”
“Yes.” Klineman reached unconsciously to his belt, feeling for the phone in its case.
“Give me the number and then go outside. I will call you on your cell phone in five minutes.”
Klineman did as instructed. As he walked from his office, Cheryl regarded the look on his face curiously. She had seen that look before, mostly on young boys called to the principal’s office when she worked at the Everett Elementary School. Sometimes, not knowing exactly what they had done to displease their teacher, they would sit nervously on the metal chairs across from her desk waiting to be called into the office behind the closed door. The look was the same. Klineman, nervous and apprehensive, but not knowing exactly what might be wrong. As he passed, she looked down and smiled. Might be an interesting day, she thought.
Richard Klineman stepped through the front door and walked across the parking lot. A couple of deputies coming into the building moved aside, saying good morning to their sheriff. He simply nodded and kept walking, obviously distracted by other matters. Exactly five minutes after the first call, his cell phone chirped.
“This is Sheriff Klineman.”
“Sheriff, are you alone?” He recognized the voice that had identified herself as Elizabeth Crestline.
“Yes, I’m alone.” Shit, what’s wrong now, he thought frantically, going over everything that had been going on in Pickham County of late. Not being one to accept fault readily, if fault could be laid elsewhere, he immediately wondered which of his deputies had done something to prompt a call from the governor’s liaison to public safety. Images of George Mackey and a few others floated in his mind, annoyingly. If Mackey was to blame, there would be hell to pay, and Mackey would pay it.
“Tell me exactly where you are.”
“Outside, across the parking lot. No one around.”
“Good.” Crestline knew that Klineman had complied with her directions without seeing. She knew the type. Klineman would not have it in him to object to her instructions or ask questions. He would comply and wait nervously for what was to come next. That understanding of his personality made her smile. She liked her job, at least this part of it. “I want to brief you on some…activities that may be taking place in your county, Sheriff.”
“Okay.” Still at attention, Klineman stood nervously awaiting the ‘briefing’.
“Have you heard about the killing of Prentiss Somerhill?”
“Somerhill?” Klineman’s mind raced frantically like a schoolboy being quizzed in front of the class. “Somerhill…” he said, drawing the name out, stalling for time. It was almost there, right on the tip of his tongue, or brain. Both were very close in proximity and usage.
“Yes, Sheriff. Prentiss Somerhill was killed on Sunday afternoon at his home. A rifle shot.”
“Yes, yes.” Relief poured from his voice and into the phone. He remembered the article in the Atlanta paper that he read each morning, or scanned at least, for anything that might be useful to him in his ‘community relations’ efforts. There usually wasn’t much. In this case, he had barely read and then moved past the story about Somerhill’s death. A state senator killed on his back porch in the northern part of the state was of no consequence in Pickham County. “I remember,” he said, trying to impress Crestline with his recall of the facts. “He was shot while sitting on his back porch. Hunting accident.”
“Yes, well it may, or may not have been, a hunting accident. That is under investigation.”
“Right.” Klineman stood, still at attention, listening intently, trying to get his brain around why Crestline had called. He was not having any success.
“That brings me to the reason for my call.”
No one watching would have thought it possible for the sheriff to stand any straighter, but somehow he managed, looking like a Marine recruit in boot camp, pulling his heels together and pushing the arm, and hand not holding the phone straight along the seam of his trousers. It would have been comical, but for the deadly serious expression on the sheriff’s red face.
“The governor has formed a task force to look into the matter.” Pausing, she waited for comment or question from the sheriff who had not spoken. “Are you still there, Sheriff?”
Klineman shook himself from his trancelike boot camp attentiveness. “Uh…no questions. Somerhill retired from the state senate last year. I remember…”
“He resigned, not retired,” Crestline broke in, and the sheriff went back to attention waiting for permission to speak. “Are you familiar with the work he was doing?”
Klineman, along with virtually every other elected official in the state, was familiar with Somerhill’s activities. Most of them, including Klineman, were fighting for their political lives and many would not survive the fall elections, turned out to pasture by an aroused and pissed off electorate. Reading about Somerhill’s death, he had scanned the story, smiled a sigh of relief, and moved on, not unhappy that one of his tormentors would no longer be able to do so. “Yes, I know about his work.”
“Good. Then, I am certain you can appreciate how sensitive this case will be, and how important to bring it to a rapid close.”
Even Klineman, self-serving to the end, found it interesting that she did not mention apprehending and prosecuting the killer. A rapid
close. The politician in him was completely familiar with that desire. But there was still enough law enforcement officer in him to wonder at the lack of mention of the killer, bringing him to justice, protecting the people, and so on. In short, the typical political pandering was absent from the conversation. Klineman was astute enough to realize there was a purpose in its absence. His mind went back to Crestline’s last words. “Right, a rapid close. I understand.”
“Do you?”
“Why…uh…yes, I believe so. But…” Klineman paused and swallowed before inserting his first real question and thought into the conversation. “But, why are you calling me? Here in Pickham County?”
Crestline had known that this question would come eventually, even from someone as disinclined to confront and question as Klineman was. She gave the planned explanation. “I am calling a number of senior law enforcement officials around the state, Sheriff.” She paused, allowing the phrase ‘senior law enforcement official’ to sink into Klineman’s ego. “You are obviously, one of those senior officials on my list. As the sheriff of Pickham County, we want you to be our, mine and the governor’s, personal contact there in Everett.”
“Well, of course, Ms. Crestline. That goes without saying. I would be happy to be your contact here. I doubt that the task force will find any reason to come to Pickham County, but feel free to call on me for anything.” The Sheriff was feeling a bit more confident now that she had gotten to the point of her call, and it did not involve some negative issue in his department.
“We will do that, Sheriff, and thank you. I am going to give you my private cell number and ask that you personally report to me any activities by the task force in your county.”
The phone was silent again as Klineman considered what Crestline had just said to him. Finally, even he had to ask, “I’m sorry, Ms. Crestline, but am I to understand that you want me to report on the task force activities in Pickham County directly to you?”
That’s what I just said, dumbass, she thought, shaking her head to herself. Speaking into the phone, she said “That is correct, Sheriff.” Pausing for effect and so that he would listen carefully to her next words, she continued, “I assure you that the governor and others will be very appreciative of your assistance in this matter.” Another pause, “They will, in fact, be extremely supportive of you and your efforts in Pickham County.” She did not have to say which efforts. For a man like Klineman, there was only one, right now and always. Reelection.