by Glenn Trust
“What’s your hunch?” When Mike Darlington had an idea, hunch or not, it paid to hear it out.
Mike laid the remote on the table and sat back, rubbing his eyes. “Followed up on the ID we found on the victim, Carl Stevens. Found his grandmother in Campo, a little town in central Florida. He lived with her. She said Carl was a driver, made deliveries up the east coast.”
“Who’d he drive for?”
“She didn’t know exactly. She’s old and was having a hard time with the fact that her twenty-five year-old grandson had a bullet in his head”
“Understandable.”
“Yeah. I had the local police there to help her through while I talked to her on the phone. They knew Carl.”
Sandy raised an eyebrow. “And?”
“He’d been in trouble with law when he was younger.”
“When he was younger than twenty-five? How much younger?”
“About eight years younger, when he was seventeen. Possession of marijuana, sold some joints to some friends.”
“Okay, so now Carl has cleaned himself up and is making deliveries up the east coast, but we don’t know who he worked for.”
“That’s about it, except that she knew he drove a van, saw it in the driveway a couple times before trips. She wasn’t sure about any names on the van but said there was a picture of a wrench on it.”
“A wrench? You mean like a tool?”
“Yeah. She described it as a big wrench. She couldn’t tell more than that.” He took a breath and sat back. “One other thing. Carl’s work as a delivery driver paid pretty good. He had saved over a hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Was gonna move out in a few months and build a house.”
“You confirm that?”
“Yep. Police in Campo found the account at a local savings and loan. Small operation and Carl was one of their largest depositors.”
“Drugs.” Sandy looked at the paused image on the television. “He was running drugs…for someone.” He nodded at the screen. “So what’s this?”
“My…thought…was that if he’s running drugs, we might see him at one of the rest areas.” He looked at the Sheriff’s smile. “Longshot, I know, but we know he had to be coming through the county, headed up the east coast, up I-95. Thought I’d give it a shot.” He nodded at the screen. “So I start going through the security videos from the rest areas in the county and fifty miles each way. There’s only three. This one is just north of the county line on I-95. Comes real close to the coast. I found this.”
Mike leaned forward with the remote, backed the recording and then hit play. The camera that must have been on the restroom building looked down on a small car, backed into a space. A man leaned against the front bumper looking out towards the coast. After a minute or so, a van pulled into the lot, drove directly in front of the camera and parked a couple of spaces away from the small car. Mike paused the playback.
“See that?”
“Son of a bitch.” Sandy leaned forward, looking closely at the image. As the van passed the man leaning on the car, the side was facing the camera. Clearly visible were the words ‘Sylvester Plumbing’, and to each side of the words was the image of a big wrench, a pipe wrench. “That’s good damned work, Mike.”
“Thanks, but there’s more.” Mike hit play.
The man in the van got out, went to the restroom and then returned a couple of minutes later. He said something to the man at the car but the man just kept looking off to the east, towards the coast. Suddenly, the screen turned white; the images washed out, invisible.
“Son of a bitch.”
“Yeah. Sunrise. The sunlight hits the camera lens, and you don’t see anything.”
Some movement was discernible, but it was impossible to see what was happening. When the sun had risen high enough that it did not shine directly into the camera, the image was restored. The parking lot was empty.
“He was high jacked. The man leaning on the car?”
“I don’t think so. It looks like they spoke. They knew each other.” Mike rubbed his palms over his eyes. “I think it happened while the sun washed the camera out. It was planned that way.”
“Professional.”
“Yeah. Then they take them to the pine woods here in Pickham County and kill him.”
“What about the other?”
“I don’t know. Maybe they let him live...maybe he was in on it, set the other guy up…maybe we haven’t found his body yet.”
The same thought occurred to both for the second time that day. Roy Budroe was around.
Sandy put his elbows on the table, staring at the television. “Play it again.”
22. Someone For Everyone
“I done told you not to call me while I’m here.” Lonna MacIntyre held the phone close to her mouth and turned away from the customers at Pete’s Place.
“Had to. It’s all over the news…I’m scared, Lonna, for you…for us.”
“What’s all over the news?”
“You know damn good and well, what. Them boys that was killed here in Valdosta today…one missing.” Vernon Taft took a deep breath trying to calm himself. “I know it’s him behind it.”
“You don’t know shit, Vernon.” Lonna walked into the back storeroom, phone held tightly against her ear. “And if you did, you best keep your mouth shut.”
Vernon Taft and Lonna MacIntyre had known each other since the eighties when Vernon was running drugs up and down the Interstates, and Lonna was pulling tricks in Atlanta. They met one night in a bar in College Park and took up together. After a while, she quit charging him.
He had been young and ambitious, saving his money to get out of the drug business one day. He was going to go legitimate and take her with him. That was before he started using the same drugs he was running. Over time, he had turned into the wreck of a human being he was now.
These days, Vernon lived with his sister in Valdosta and stayed as far away from Pete’s Place and Roydon as possible. Before that, he had been managing the StarLite motel in Roydon for Budroe.
He had been given the job as a favor to Lonna. Then one night, a killer had come through with one of his victims. Vernon saw him, and George Mackey had snagged him as a material witness.
It didn’t matter that the murder of the girl had nothing to do with Budroe. What mattered was that Vernon had talked to the law and Budroe had doubts about whether he could be trusted. When Budroe had doubts about you, the only course of action was to disappear, if you wanted to stay alive. Vernon definitely wanted to remain among the living.
But he still carried a torch for Lonna, after all these years. In her own way, she carried one for him too. They would sneak away whenever possible to be together. There was a time when Lonna had been a knockout. She managed to avoid Vernon’s problems with drugs, but the life of a working girl on the streets had taken a toll. Now, about the only one who would have Lonna was Vernon. He was the link to her youth, her beauty and the dreams they had once shared.
She was annoyed that he had called her at Pete’s Place. Roy Budroe might not have trusted Vernon, but he trusted Lonna completely. Vernon calling her put that trust at risk.
“Lonna, I’m scared for you.”
“You’re scared…you’re scared for me…” Her voice was mocking. “Why don’t you grow a pair Vernon.”
“It’s just…well, I care about you Lonna, you know that.”
“You care about your own ass. That’s what you care about.” She walked out the back of the storeroom into the night air and away from listening ears. “I’ve got a chance to make some real money here, Vernon. Roy trusts me, is gonna cut me in big time.”
“Let’s go away somewhere, anywhere, Lonna. Just you and me.”
“I’m warning you, Vernon, you ruin this for me and I will fuck you up.”
Vernon was silent. In his way, he actually did love her. Maybe it was because no one else would have him, maybe because they had been something long ago. Whatever the reason, his concern for her wa
s real, and his concern for his own ass was equally real. Lonna was right about that.
“All right, Lonna. Just be careful. I know Budroe is behind whatever’s going on. He may be away, but he ain’t out of business, I’m not too slow to figure that much out. The GBI or OSI boys come down on him again and you’re likely to get caught up in it, maybe for good.”
What Vernon didn’t tell Lonna was that he had cut a deal with George Mackey during the OSI investigation of Budroe’s sex slave business. He had given George what he knew about the operation in exchange for a promise that they would not go after Lonna. A promise from George was as good as gold. But George was in jail now and his promises were there with him.
“Look Vernon.” Lonna’s voice softened. “It’s like when we was young and you were gonna make all that money running drugs and then we was goin’ to go away. You let me have my shot at some money and you and me will go away…but not yet.”
“All right Lonna.” It took a while sometimes, but eventually Vernon could figure out when to shut up.
“I’ll call you soon. We’ll go somewhere, spend some nights together. You’d like that wouldn’t you.”
“Yeah, Lonna, I’d like that.” Considering that Lonna MacIntyre was the only woman that would get close enough to touch Vernon Taft, he would like that a lot. He hadn’t been laid in months, since the last time she had managed a few days away from Pete’s Place.
“All right. Goodbye then.” She disconnected the call and turned back to the door.
“Hey, Lonna.” Big Luke McCrory stood at the end of the building.
Shit! Lonna forced her heart from her throat back down into her chest, wondering how much of the conversation he had overheard. “Hey, Luke. What you doin’ out here?”
“Just got back from the job. Came out back to take a piss.”
“Oh.” She reached for the back door.
“Saw you on the phone. Sounded kinda personal.”
“It was.”
“Anything I can do?” He unzipped his pants.
“No, just an old boyfriend. Everything’s fine.” Shit, shit, shit. She pulled the door open and went inside thinking, goddamn you Vernon Taft, if you fuck things up for me you won’t have to worry about Roy Budroe. I’ll kill you myself.
Big Luke splashed pee in the dirt and on his boots, considering what a fucking strange place the world was. Lonna MacIntyre had a boyfriend. Who’d a thought. Must be true, what they say. There’s someone for everyone. He stood there shuddering at the relief of pissing and at the thought of someone actually shacking up with Lonna.
23. Make Your Case
Trenton Peele was chomping at the bit to be George Mackey’s attorney. He had watched George’s walk through the press and media lines the day before, and wanted to kiss the big deputy. It was perfect, Mackey the hero, above it all, above the mad rush of the press, above that little pissant of an Attorney General. Trenton Peele was salivating over what he was going to do to Colton Swain when he got Mackey in front of a jury.
High powered and high priced, Peele’s services had been arranged behind the scenes by Pamela Towers and paid for by an anonymous group Towers called George’s friends. In reality, many people had come forward privately to offer assistance and see that George was adequately represented by counsel. The most senior prosecutor in the state, the attorney general himself was handling the prosecution. They wanted to ensure that his defense was mounted by someone more experienced than a first year public defender who had just passed the bar.
When overtures to provide backing had been made directly to George, he refused them all. That was when Towers stepped in and made the arrangements. She worked for the governor and Jesse Bell had a vested interest in seeing that the case was handled correctly.
Whether Mackey went down as guilty or not, was not as much a concern as seeing that the arguments and defense shed the most positive light on the governor’s administration. They wanted someone who was articulate and artful and who was anxious to cut Colton Swain’s dick off in court and hand it to him. They wanted Trenton Peele.
The truth was that Peele would have taken the case pro bono. He had his own aspirations for the attorney general’s office and facing him in court would be the equivalent of the Lincoln-Douglas debates, Georgia style. That the fees were being paid behind the scenes only added to his zest for the case.
Mackey had met with Peele three times in the past months, discussing the case, and what had happened in the woods. There had been no arrest at that point so there had been nothing else to do, but wait.
Now there was something to do. George was escorted into the courtroom by Bill Twilley and John Simpson. Having successfully transported him to Macon, they were now assigned to watch over him during the trial. Twilley released the handcuffs and the two agents took seats behind George.
Peele waited at the defense table. He shook hands when George was free of the handcuffs.
“Good to see you, Deputy.”
“Wish I could say the same.” George smiled the patient, resigned smile that was becoming his trademark during the ordeal.
“All rise.” The bailiff called the room to order. “The Superior Court of Bibb County, State of Georgia is in session, the Honorable Jason Downes presiding.”
Preliminary hearings are normally quiet, procedural affairs with only the judge, the defendant and the attorneys present. The judge, usually a magistrate in Georgia, hears the prosecution’s case, their probable cause for the arrest and sets the bail amount if the case is bound over for trial. The preliminary hearing in the State of Georgia’s case against George Mackey was held in the Superior Court of Bibb County and was anything but a quiet procedural affair. The room was packed with spectators and press.
Judge Downes called the docket. George’s was the only case to be heard that day.
“Mr. Swain, please proceed and make your case.” Judge Downes was known as a man of few words, a strict adherent to courtroom procedure and the law.
Colton Swain began by making an opening statement for the reporters packed into the room. Judge Downes was about to interrupt and end it when Swain called his first witness. The members of the press scribbled away furiously, tape recorders whirring to capture every word Swain uttered.
The witnesses were primarily state forensics experts and investigators working directly for the Attorney General’s office. Their case was simple and straightforward. The evidence, according to them, showed that George Mackey had, in fact, pursued a murder suspect into the woods in Rye County. When he confronted the suspect, he did not try to arrest him or take him into custody. He executed him. The suspect was not armed at the time he was shot, and could not defend himself.
On cross-examination, Trenton Peele asked only a few question for clarification, making notes for use in the trial that was sure to be coming. When Swain was finished with his evidentiary presentation, Downes turned to Peele.
“Mr. Peele, do you have any witnesses to call.”
Just one, Your Honor. The defense calls Robert Shaklee.”
There was a buzzing hum from the gallery and press in the room. Everyone knew that Bob Shaklee was next up on Swain’s list. When Bob had been sworn in and taken his seat, Peele began.
“Mr. Shaklee, what is your employment.”
“For the moment I am on administrative leave from the governor’s Office of Special Investigations. I was the Director.”
“Administrative leave because of the issue before us, I assume?”
“Yes. Until the case is resolved by the courts, the governor felt that it would be best for my deputy, Andrew Barnes to manage the office. I concur completely with that decision.”
Peele nodded somberly, a saddened expression on his face. “Yes, a very unfortunate matter, I must say.”
Colton Swain sat seething. He saw what he was going to be up against during the course of the trial and he was not happy. This was supposed to be his show. Peele had a reputation of stealing shows, and he was making a good s
tart today.
Peele continued. “Before you were the Director of the OSI, the Hunters, I believe is how the media refers to your team…” He nodded and smiled over his glasses at Shaklee. “Where were you employed?”
“I was a senior agent with the Georgia Bureau of Investigation.”
“And during your tenure with the GBI did you have occasion to look into the shooting by George Mackey of the wanted killer in Rye County?”
“I did.”
Shaklee’s testimony lasted another hour, during which Peele asked for his analysis of the various pieces of evidence the state had presented. In general, Bob confirmed each piece of evidence until it came to the conclusions the state had presented. He did not consider George’s shooting of the suspect an execution or a murder. George Mackey was in hot pursuit of a dangerous felon known to have just killed a Rye County deputy and who had seriously wounded a man at the scene after abducting and raping a young woman.
“So according to your findings, as a senior agent of the Georgia Bureau of Investigation, in charge of investigating the shooting, was this a murder?”
“The shooting raised questions, as all police shootings do. It happened in the heat of police combat. In my opinion, it was absolutely not a murder.” Bob Shaklee looked across the room into George’s eyes. He meant what he said. He wanted George to believe it for himself.
“Thank you Mr. Shaklee.” Peele looked at the bench. “Your Honor, the defense rests its case in this preliminary hearing.”
Shaklee’s testimony had been the defense’s version of a statement for the press. Peele had only been more artful about it than Swain. The reality was that the outcome of the hearing was not in question.
Judge Downes recessed court for one hour. He had already made his decision. There was no doubt in anyone’s mind that the state had made a case sufficiently strong to send the matter forward to trial where George’s guilt or innocence would be established. George knew it, Peele knew it and Bob Shaklee knew it. The hearing was a formality, the first round.
When Judge Downes returned, court was called back into session. He looked down from the bench at the defense table. “Mr. Mackey I am going to find that the state has presented sufficient probable cause to bind the case over to the Superior Court of Bibb County for trial. Bail is set at one hundred thousand dollars.”