by Glenn Trust
“Okay, then,” Lee said turning his eyes back to the sheriff’s car. “He’s faced away from us, probably napping, waiting for his shift to end. Just pull away from the corner slow, and let’s get out of town for a while.”
“That’s it?” Quince said while complying with Lee’s instructions. The old tan pickup with rusty fenders that they had procured from Roy Budroe rolled smoothly from the curb and headed away from the Wright’s street.
“Naw, that ain’t it. Let’s go find some breakfast somewhere. Chill for a while. Come back later and see what’s up.” He looked down the street as Quince pulled the pickup away from the corner. “Wright’s gotta come home some time. We’ll wait and find him, and then do what we do. Week from now, you’ll be fishing in the Atlantic, and I’ll be partying down in Florida.”
Down the block in front of the Wright’s home, the deputy on security detail was roused by the sound of a vehicle moving. Looking up, he glanced around and into the rear view mirror. Seeing nothing, he pulled his jacket more tightly around him and closed his eyes wishing daybreak and the end of his shift would come.
58. An Unpleasant Sensation
Hopping across the room in her panties and bra, one leg half in her slacks, Sharon grabbed the vibrating cell phone from the dresser and answered. “Morning, Bob. A little early for your call.” Turning, she saw George smiling appreciatively from the chair by the table, taking in her half-clothed, half-naked body.
“I know, Sharon. Things are breaking. You up and dressed?
“Getting dressed,” she said, returning George’s smile, his eyes still focused on her body.
“Good. We need to talk and regroup. Hang on while I conference George in.”
The look of concern that crossed her face caught George’s attention. She motioned with her phone and mouthed words to get him to make sure the ringer was off. He just smiled back, focused on the curve of her ass under the panties.
When the cell phone in his shirt pocket began playing “Beer for My Horses” at full volume, the smile vanished. He fumbled with the phone trying to get it out of his pocket and turn the volume down, Sharon giving him an impatient look that said, ‘come on, Mackey, you dumb ass.’
“Uh…hello,” he said, trying unsuccessfully to sound normal and unconcerned and agreeing with Sharon that he was a dumb ass.
The three men sitting around the conference table in Atlanta could not suppress their grins although they said nothing. George’s country music ringtone had come through loud and clear over Sharon’s phone. He sounded just a little too nonchalant and controlled. If they had planned to keep secret their night together, they had just failed.
Sharon shook her head at George with a resigned look that said, ‘okay, we’re caught, and you’re still a dumbass.’ George mouthed back the words, ‘I’m sorry’, then grinned and shrugged. They were burned and they knew it. There was nothing to be done about it now.
In Atlanta, Bob thought, good for them, and then shook the smile off his face. There was serious business to discuss.
“All right, everybody on?”
Stepping into the bathroom and closing the door, Sharon said, “I’m here.”
“Here too,” George said softly, wondering why they didn’t just come clean and admit they were together in Sharon’s room at six in the morning. Probably some GBI rule about fraternizing with the locals. He smiled to himself thinking that he was going to have to give Sharon some shit about that. Then wondering about the call, he asked, “What’s up, Bob? Why the call so early?”
“Got a call from Savannah PD this morning, early.”
George’s attention level went up by a factor of ten. “And?”
“Rubin Martz is dead.”
“Shit!” He took a deep breath trying to remain calm. “What the fuck happened, Bob? Savannah PD was setting up some sort of security surveillance on him.”
“He was killed not long after your visit. Looked like a straight robbery at first. He was closing up and was confronted by the perp at the door. Security cameras picked it all up.”
“You buy the robbery story?”
“No. Neither does Savannah PD. Turns out the cameras caught the guy in the store several times during the day. One time while you were there, George.”
“Son of a bitch.”
“He was wearing a ski mask during the robbery, but his jacket and shoes, height, way he walked, all of it was picked up and recorded. It was him. He’d been in looking for a ring for a woman he said, according to the sales clerks.”
“I remember him,” George said. “Kept leaning way over the counter talking to the clerk.”
“So, why doubt the robbery?” Sharon asked.
“You mean other than the fact that he was the next on the list?” Bob said a bit sternly, implying that the answer was obvious, and Sharon should know that.
Never intimidated by bluster and attitude, not even from Bob Shaklee, Sharon continued. “No, Bob,” she said calmly and firmly, “I understand the improbability of it being a straight robbery. Savannah PD must have something more though. They weren’t all that receptive to George’s visit, especially the investigations commander. They were skeptical. Why the change?”
As usual, Sharon was right, and Shaklee knew better than to doubt her questions and analysis. “Sorry, Sharon. Fair question.” The papers shuffling as he went through his notes could be heard on the cell phones in the hotel room in Everett. “Okay, here’s what we have. The exterior cameras picked up the rental car that the perp had been driving in and out of the lot all day. Picked up yours too, George. Savannah PD was able to get a picture of the tag on the perp’s car and traced it to a rental agency at the airport. The rental agency had the name, credit card number, and driver’s license information of the person who rented it.”
“You think it’s real?” George asked.
Perry Boyd chimed in on this. “Well, it’s a real person, at least. Checked him out. Name is Terrell Perkins. Had some minor scrapes with the law, been in juvenile detention, but nothing too serious. Either he’s had his ID ripped off, or he is making a move into the big leagues. Either way, it’s something to follow up on. Address is an apartment on the south side of Atlanta. We’ll be checking him out this morning.”
“You think he might be dumb enough to use his own ID?” Sharon asked.
“Well, if they were all geniuses, we wouldn’t catch near as many of them,” Boyd replied with the standard police officer line. “But no, I don’t think they are dumb. There’s something more that we haven’t put our finger on yet.”
“Might not be dumb or a genius,” George said thoughtfully, going over everything in his mind.
“Speak, George,” Shaklee said bluntly. George had started putting things together in his head and that usually had a way of leading in the right direction.
“Well, I’m just saying that, it could be dumbness or maybe inexperience, but there is someone calling the shots, leading this whole plan, with the list and all. That person is definitely not dumb. That person is professional and experienced and determined.”
“And successful,” Sharon added. “At least to this point.”
“Right,” George continued. “Successful. And success might make them arrogant, overly confident. I think they are not dumb. I think they are confident, maybe arrogant about being able to pull this off, the murders.” He stopped for a second, thinking. “That might be their weakness.”
“Arrogant and confident to the point that they feel protected, insulated,” Andy Barnes said. He thought for a moment. “And powerful,” he added. “They are in a position of power. The power makes them arrogant, smarter than us…they think, at least.”
“Maybe they are. They’ve been calling all the shots so far and we’ve just been playing catch-up,” Shaklee said. “So, where’s that lead us?”
Andy shook his head. “I don’t know the answer to that, but it’s some place higher than I think we would have expected.”
“I agree,” Ge
orge said. “This is definitely not a group of disgruntled city council members getting even for losing their seats. This has got to be directed from someplace higher, much higher.”
“Right.” Sharon spoke quietly, thinking it through with the others. “High up and with a lot to loose from a shift in the way business is done.” She added a final thought, agreeing with George. “And powerful…very powerful.”
They sat quietly, wondering what their little task force had gotten into. There was the uncomfortable feeling that they were being played by whoever was behind the murders.
“One other thing,” Boyd added. “A state senator, Stanton James, was killed yesterday. Traffic accident on a mountain road above Dahlonega.”
“So?” Sharon asked. “I don’t remember him on the ‘Term Limits’ list.”
“He wasn’t. He is the senator who took Prentiss Somerhill’s seat when he resigned for his reasons of principle.”
There was a moment of silence as they each considered how this information fit into the puzzle. Somerhill’s replacement in the senate was dead now. Why? He was not part of the ‘Term Limits’ group.
“Why is the accident suspicious?” George asked. “Beyond the obvious, I mean. Could it have been a traffic accident?”
“Could have been,” Boyd replied. “There are some things that don’t add up, but it could have been.” Now Boyd could be heard shuffling through his notes as he described the accident that had killed James and the driver of the logging truck. He ended by explaining, “James’ left wrist had marks on it as if he had been bound. The driver of the truck that hit him had a broken neck, but in reconstructing the accident, the State Patrol is having a hard time determining how the neck was broken. It wasn’t a whiplash break, as you would expect. He was struck with a hard object across the back of the neck. They can’t find any objects that would have done that. Also, the truck didn’t have any mechanical problems, at least not before the accident. There was no reason for it to roll down the mountain and into James’ car, unless the driver lost control, was unconscious…or was already dead.”
Boyd paused, allowing everyone to consider the implications of what he had just related and then added one final piece of information. “One more thing. The road he was driving leads to a cabin owned by PT Somerhill. He was a couple of miles from it.”
“Jesus!” Sharon’s voice was incredulous. “These people are arrogant beyond belief. They have no concern for this investigation or what we might think.”
“I believe,” Bob said, “that they don’t care at all about what we think. They are only concerned with what we can prove, and in that regard, they are pretty safe, since we can’t prove anything about anyone. They have not given us much to work with.” He shook his head and added, “Hell, they haven’t given us anything. We can prove nothing. We have nothing.”
“Except Terrell Perkins. Maybe their first real mistake, relying on a rookie,” Boyd said. He looked at Bob. “We know where he is, and we are going to pay Mr. Perkins a visit.”
Shaklee nodded. “Yes, we are.” Looking at Andy he said, “You still head down to Everett this morning. Things are breaking faster than we thought. Be nice to stop at least one of these murders. We need to follow up quickly with the other potential targets, quickly.”
“Potential, hell,” Sharon said. “So far, they all seem like pretty certain targets.”
“Fair enough,” Bob said. “George, get Rince to the airport and on his way to pick up Andy. Sharon, you get the Wright family to safety and find Porter Wright. Captain Boyd and I are going to visit Terrell Perkins. They may have been just a bit too arrogant this time.”
Ending the meeting with their assignments, they had a feeling of purpose that offered some comfort. But lingering over the group as they separated to their tasks was the uneasy feeling that they were not in control of the investigation. There was the unshakable sensation that someone was looking over their shoulder.
59. As Far Away As Possible
George watched Sharon walk to the Wright’s front door as Rince clambered out of the back seat and into the front passenger seat. At the door, she was met by Naomi Wright, still red eyed and holding a tissue. George could see the Wright children standing behind her in the entryway. Looking back, Sharon gave a quick smile. He lifted his fingers from the top of the pickup’s steering wheel in a small wave as she disappeared inside the home.
He looked over at Rince. “About ready, there?”
“Ready. Let’s go. Need to be in the air in half an hour.”
“Roger,” George said with a smile. “Let’s get you airborne.”
Ten minutes later after dropping Rince at the small Everett airfield, he turned the pickup towards sheriff’s headquarters. Ronnie Kupman was meeting him there to be briefed. If George was lucky, he would not have to deal with Klineman while he was there. After last night, he was feeling pretty lucky.
“We need a warrant.”
“Yep,” Shaklee said, pulling a warrant affidavit blank out of a desk drawer, sliding it across to Perry Boyd. “Question is who we can trust to sign it. We need confidentiality. Nothing’s changed in that regard.”
Boyd smiled, pulling a pen out of his shirt pocket. “I’ve got that covered.” He began filling in the blanks on the warrant affidavit from information in his notebook. “There’s a judge, we’ve worked together before. I trust him.”
“Yes, but does he trust you?” Shaklee said, as Boyd filled in the affidavit in neat block letters, listing all pertinent information, name of the suspect, location of the suspect, and the probable cause that would allow them to arrest Terrell Perkins in his home despite his fourth amendment rights, provided the judge agreed. Watching Boyd, who clearly was at ease and doing what he did best, Bob Shaklee felt certain that Mr. Perkins was going to have a surprise visit just as soon as Boyd completed the affidavit and the judge could be found.
Boyd looked up. “He trusts me.”
Pulling the cell phone from its belt clip, Captain Boyd punched a speed dial number. After a few seconds, the call was answered.
“Morning, Judge. How are you?” Boyd paused, smiled and nodded at the response that came back over the phone. “Good, good.” Another pause and a smile and then he said, “I have something for you. All in order, but it must remain confidential.” He nodded again. “Good. Be there in an hour.” He disconnected and replaced the phone on his belt.
“Someone you know,” Shaklee said smiling.
“As a matter of fact, yes.” Boyd replied. “Virgil Turnfeld, Fulton County Superior Court Judge. His son was shot down in a drive-by outside a friend’s house. He was at a party, just standing there talking with his buddies. Car comes up; perps open fire. The son goes down with two others. They survived. He didn’t.”
“How’s he tied to you?”
“I caught the perps. Wasn’t hard. Everyone knew who did the shooting. All the kids at the party knew who it was. Turns out, they shot up the wrong party on the wrong street. It was graduation night, lot of parties going on that night. Franklin Turnfeld was just standing on the curb bullshitting with his friends. He never saw his eighteenth birthday.”
Shaklee nodded without speaking. Bad shit happens to good people. It was a fact of life. You learned to deal with it or you found another line of work. You weren’t going to change it.
“Shot one of them executing the arrest warrant,” Boyd said, finishing the story of his history with Judge Turnfeld. “Two more serving life without parole. One on death row at Jackson state pen.”
“The one you shot?” Shaklee asked, suspecting the answer.
Boyd shrugged. “He never made it to trial.”
“So, we can trust Judge Turnfeld,” Bob said, with a nod of his own.
“We can,” Boyd said, continuing his work on the warrant affidavit.
Fuck, George thought as Sheriff Klineman pushed his way through the door into Ronnie Kupman’s office. He looked at Ronnie. Ronnie looked at George. Klineman looked at them both.
“Were you going to invite me to this little get together, Chief Deputy?”
“Sheriff,” Kupman’s posture took on that of a weary parent, tired of dealing with a truculent child. “George was just bringing me up to speed on the activities of the investigation he is involved with. I had planned to brief you as soon as we were done here.”
“You didn’t think I might want to hear the briefing first hand from one of my prize deputies, who seems to be the favorite of some members of the GBI?”
“I didn’t think about you at all,” Kupman said shaking out of his weariness and sitting up straight to look the sheriff in the eye. “I was focused on George’s report and how that might impact us here in Pickham County. Prioritizing the guest list for scheduled briefings did not occur to me.”
Stiffening at Kupman’s remarks, Klineman turned to George. “Let me have it, Mackey. I want to hear your briefing from the beginning, now.”
Looking George in the eye, Kupman shook his head slightly as a warning that said, ‘just give the briefing and get the hell out of here, George, before you make things worse.’
George took a deep breath and then explained to the sheriff where they were in the investigation, what actions they had taken, and those they were going to take, sort of. As it turned out, he did forget to mention that, while they were still searching for Porter Wright, they actually were pretty sure they knew where he was, at the cabin in the swamp. He also accidentally left out the connection between the deceased Rubin Martz, Savannah jewelry storeowner, and the murders, as well as the possible targets in Brunswick and Valdosta. In short, George Mackey’s briefing gave the sheriff about as much information as he would have gathered from a serious reading of the morning’s Atlanta newspapers.
When George was finished, Klineman said simply, “That’s it? Two days wasted and that is all you have to report?”
Mackey shrugged. “That’s about it, Sheriff. It’s a pretty tough case.”