by Robin Mahle
Nick had witnessed that sort of behavior before, the type displayed so prominently in Shalot. Others who had grown obsessed with a victim, particularly one whose case had reached the level of attention Katie’s had. The media was so good at creating back stories, true or false. They could make one seem like a saint or a sinner with just a few well-placed words, photos, and video footage. He watched as they all had put Katie on a pedestal last year, admiring her for her strength and resolve to capture the man who had killed young children and tried to end her life as well. She deserved the praise. He knew that better than most, but the attention risked exposing her to people like Shalot.
The three arrived at the front desk of the office and it could not have been more obvious that they were cops.
“Can you tell me if Mr. Lewis Branson is working today?” Nick asked.
The burly-looking man flipped through a binder that lay open on his desk. “Looks like he just came in.” He looked up at Nick. “And you are?”
Nick retrieved his badge. “I just need to ask Mr. Branson a few questions.” He turned and extended his hand toward Gibbons and Myers. “They’re with me as well. We won’t be long.”
The man’s eyes narrowed. Nick thought he might have had reason to be concerned that the federal authorities were at his door, but he only turned away, heading into a back office. It was presumably the office of the gentleman who operated the place.
“Can I help you?”
This was the guy in charge. White-collared shirt, blue tie, navy dress pants. “I’m here to speak with Mr. Branson in connection with an ongoing investigation in San Diego. I, along with Special Agent Myers and Detective Gibbons with San Diego Police, would like to have a quick word with him. Is he available?”
The boss grabbed a radio from the front desk. “Can you send Lewis up here, please? There’re some people that want to talk to him.”
The radio cracked a moment later. “He’s on his way.”
“Please, have a seat. He’ll be right up.” The boss turned back toward his office, but not before casting a curious look at the federal agents.
Lewis Branson emerged from the back of the building, wiping his hands with a paper towel.
Nick thought he looked different from the picture. Less confident. Thinner. Not even remotely like a leader, but maybe that was the point. According to Myers’ research, they didn’t believe in leaders.
“Mr. Lewis Branson?” Nick asked.
Myers and Gibbons rose from their seats.
“I’m FBI Special Agent Scarborough. This is Special Agent Myers and this is Detective Gibbons with San Diego Police.”
“You’ll forgive me for not greeting you properly. I’ve been working on a forklift this morning and, as you can see, grease isn’t easily removed.” Branson turned up his blackened palms. “What’s this about?”
“Mr. Branson.” Nick looked around at the growing number of workers who happened to be in the area. “Would you mind stepping outside with us for a moment? This is a somewhat delicate matter that I’m sure you’d prefer to keep to yourself.”
Branson’s mouth thinned until his lips turned white. “Of course.”
Nick led the way through the front door. A small concrete-formed table with adjoining benches was just a few feet away. As the group sat down, Nick wasted no more time.
“Mr. Branson, are you acquainted with an Edward Shalot or Shaun Hudson? Both live in San Diego.”
Nick watched the man carefully, reading his shifting expression. He was convinced that Branson knew the men, simply by the way his eyes widened almost imperceptibly. It was the look of recognition.
“I think I’ve heard the names, but I can’t recall from where.” Branson’s brow furrowed as though in deep thought on the matter. “Why? Did something happen to them?”
“No. They’re fine,” Nick replied. He didn’t like that Branson made no mention of the fact that Shalot’s name had been in the news. “What do you know about Discordianism, Mr. Branson?”
“I’m sorry?” He paused. “Discordianism?” All color had drained from Branson’s face. “I’m afraid I’m not familiar with that term.”
“It’s a religion, of sorts. One that seems to have attracted the men I asked you about.” Nick was about to go against his own advice, retrieving the file that contained a picture of Branson at the rally. “You sure you’re not familiar with it?” He slid the photo in front of Branson.
Myers tossed a glance to Gibbons, and then shifted it to Scarborough. But Nick pressed on, ignoring her obvious attempt to get him to reel it in.
“Mr. Branson,” Myers quickly interrupted, “you’re not in any trouble here. We simply want to know if you are acquainted with these gentlemen. One of them is currently in custody in relation to a murder investigation. Perhaps you’ve heard it on the news? A young woman by the name of Lindsay Brown was attacked and killed in her home last week. It appears as though Mr. Shalot was the last one to see her alive.” Myers caught sight of Nick’s disapproving stare. “We would like to know if you are also a part of this group in which he often participated, we thought you could give us some insight that might help our investigation.”
Detective Gibbons wasn’t about to step on the toes of these apparently dueling federal agents and so he decided on another approach. “Mr. Branson, do you come down to San Diego often? Would you be able to provide information as to your whereabouts last Thursday night?”
“I’m sorry; am I being charged with something?”
“Not at all, sir. We’re just ruling people out at this point. There are a lot of people involved in this investigation, Mr. Branson. It really is in your best interest to cooperate fully. If you don’t answer our questions, we’ll have no choice but to request that you come down to my station and make a statement. Now, I’d prefer it if we could avoid that and just get to the heart of the matter right now.” Gibbons eyed the windows lining the front of the building. Several people had positioned themselves in a manner as to get a better look at the happenings outside.
It seemed Branson noticed this as well. He quickly turned back. “Okay. Look. I know them.” He held his hands up preemptively. “I’m sorry I was hesitant before, but I’m sure you can understand how intimidating this is. “Edward Shalot was a part of our small group, yes. But he was always standoffish, never really assimilating to the lifestyle.”
“Lifestyle?” Scarborough asked.
“Yes. It’s a long and complicated story, but Discordianism follows a theory of chaos and with that comes a lifestyle that most people wouldn’t understand. But as I said, Shalot wasn’t like the rest of us.”
“Do you believe he was predisposed to violence?” Myers asked.
“Maybe. I don’t know. I didn’t get to know him very well. Some of the women in our group, well, they didn’t care for him much. Got a little too rough. That’s not really our thing.”
“Mr. Branson, I’m not going to lie to you; we believe there may be people in your organization that might have something to do with the Highway Hunter. I trust you’ve heard the name?” Nick didn’t wait for a reply. “We are confident one of them is Edward Shalot. What we want to know from you is that if you believe anyone else in your group might lean toward the same tendencies as Shalot. Do you understand my question?”
“Yes.” Branson appeared to harden his stance. “You think I’m involved with people who are killers. Does that sum it up?” At this, he was becoming defensive. “We’re not freaks and murderers, you know. We just choose to live differently than the rest of you do.”
“I’m not suggesting…” Nick started.
“Yes, you are. Look, I don’t believe any of my members are capable of murder. Edward Shalot is different and I’ve been working to put distance between us because, frankly, the man is obviously insane. Hell, maybe Shaun Hudson is involved. I don’t know. It’s clear you’ve got reason to suspect that he is. But Agent Scarborough, I can assure you, we do not condone violence and certainly not murder. I can�
��t explain how Shalot could possibly interpret our faith in such a manner. It’s not what I preach and not what any of my followers believe.”
Nick continued to study Branson’s features, searching for meaning behind his words. “Okay. Well, thank you for your time, Mr. Branson. That’s all we’ve got for now. But if we have any further questions, can we count on your help?” Nick asked.
“Of course. Anything you need. I have to get back to work now.” Branson pushed up from the table and headed back inside the building.
Once Branson had disappeared, they returned to the car.
“He’s trying to throw Shalot under the bus. He was nervous, I’ll tell you that much.” Nick turned on the ignition.
“I thought you weren’t going to go on the attack?” Myers asked.
“Didn’t you see the look in his eyes? He was lying. I had to make him aware that I knew he was lying.” Nick’s voice elevated just slightly to make his point. “Dammit. I feel like we’re going in circles here. What do we need to bring this guy in? He’s behind this. Has to be. I’m sure he and Shalot met in Colorado long before any of this started.”
“Even if we can prove that, we’re no closer to finding out who the others involved are. Jameson is still waiting on a positive match from the sample in Phoenix. If that comes back and we’ve got a name, we’ll be able to determine if that person is a part of Branson’s group too. In my opinion, that would be enough to bring Branson in, voluntarily or not,” Myers said.
“Don’t go working yourselves up too much just yet. This isn’t over. I say we drive to the guy’s house and check it out.” Gibbons slouched down in the back seat.
“We can’t do that. We don’t have a warrant,” Nick replied.
“Who said anything about a warrant? I’m just saying we ought to check out his neighborhood. The kind of place he lives in. You know, just have a look around. And if it so happens that the place is unlocked, then so much the better.”
Nick eyed Gibbons through the rear view again. Only this time, a half-cocked smile crossed his face.
19
THE CALL HAD come when Agent Scarborough arrived in Oceanside and now it was time for Marshall and Agent Jameson to catch up to Shaun Hudson.
“The kid should be getting out of his first class of the morning. Should we head over to the campus and pick him up?” Marshall said.
“Sounds good. You want me to track down Ms. Reid?” Jameson asked.
“No. I think you and I should handle this. I’m not sure she needs to be there. The guy might get a little aggressive and she doesn’t need to be around that.”
Jameson shrugged his shoulders. “Okay. You ready to go?”
Marshall grabbed his keys, leading the way toward the front of the station.
The doors of his car were unlocked remotely and Marshall tossed his coat into the backseat, sliding behind the wheel. Jameson entered the front passenger side.
“Nice car.”
“Thanks. Just a little beefed up from the standard department-issued Ford, but I like it.”
“So, you were the one who worked with Scarborough to find the man who kidnapped Katie?” Jameson asked without hesitation.
“Yep. That’s me. Scarborough’s a hell of an agent. You’re lucky to be working with him.”
Jameson gripped the handle above the passenger door window. “He is. I don’t think the guy actually sleeps, though. He’s probably one of the most dedicated agents that I’ve had the pleasure of working with.”
“I hear you may get a break on the case in Phoenix?” Marshall pulled into the south parking lot of the campus.
“It might be another day or two, I don’t know, but yeah, we got a sample that didn’t match the victim and they’re running it through CODIS and we’re praying for a hit.”
“Let’s hope you get it before the next victim.” Marshall looked at Hudson’s class schedule. “According to this, he should be in building C104. I say we wait for him to come out.”
Jameson nodded, opening the passenger door. “I could get used to this weather.” He placed the sunglasses on his face. “If I was at home right now, I’d be scraping ice off my windshield and raking up a pile of leaves from my driveway.”
“Where’s home?” Marshall asked, closing the driver’s side door.
“Alexandria.” Jameson straightened his tie, smoothing it over his shirt. “There’s building C over there.”
The two made their way to the building and stood outside. It would be another twenty minutes before Hudson was due to finish. Marshall retrieved his cell phone and began scrolling through his emails. So far, nothing from Katie. She’d been left out of the loop with regards to Hudson and Lewis Branson. It wouldn’t sit well with her and it was only a matter of time before he would hear about it. But there were times when her involvement might lead to situations he’d rather not put her in. This was one of those times.
Gibbons had let her go off on her own to talk with Hudson the other day. Marshall wasn’t happy about that and felt that Gibbons had put her at risk. Katie wasn’t a trained officer. If something had gone wrong, if Hudson had turned violent, she would have had zero protection. Was he the only one who understood that fact?
Jameson glanced at the time. “Kid should be coming out now.”
They stood watch outside the double doors, waiting for Hudson. There was another exit on the opposite side, but they took their best guess assuming that Hudson would head out this way toward his next class, kitty-corner to the building they were at now.
Hudson emerged through the doors and didn’t spot them at first. Marshall quickly approached.
“Shaun Hudson?” He already had his badge out.
Hudson was clearly startled by the unexpected presence of a cop. His face turned a sickly pale and he looked as though he might faint at any moment.
“I’m Detective Marshall Avery with San Diego Police and this is FBI Special Agent Dwight Jameson.”
Jameson pulled his badge. “We would like to question you about your relationship with Edward Shalot, the man in custody for the murder of Lindsay Brown.” Jameson stepped toward the kid.
“Okay, okay. You don’t need to put cuffs on me. I’ll go with you and answer anything you need.” Shaun noticed a growing number of students hanging nearby.
“You’re not under arrest, Mr. Hudson. Not yet. This way, please.” Marshall placed a hand on his shoulder and pointed him in the direction of the parking lot.
“Look, I’m telling you, I don’t know anything about Shalot other than what you already know.” Hudson leaned against Marshall’s car.
“You work in Student Records, is that right?” Marshall asked.
“Yes.”
“We know you gave Shalot the files of another student, but what we really need to know is who instructed you to falsify his transcripts so that he could attend this school?”
In that moment, a call came in on Marshall’s cell. He retrieved the phone and noticed it was Katie. “I gotta take this.” He stepped away from the car while Jameson continued with Hudson.
“Hey, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was heading to see Hudson with Agent Jameson.”
But before he could continue, she stopped him.
“You’re with Shaun Hudson now? Oh my God. Detective Gibbons just forwarded me an email from the officer working on the phone records from the news station. Said he was in the middle of talking to Branson and asked me to look into his findings.”
“Go on.”
“It’s Shaun Hudson, Marshall. Just like we thought. He’s the one who’s been passing along the information, trying to point us to Shalot.”
“Son of a bitch.” Marshall looked over his shoulder. “He’s the goddamn source? Shit.” He rubbed his head, thinking of how he was going to handle this.
“Marshall?”
“Yeah. I’m here. He works to get Shalot into the school and now he’s handing over everything he can to convict him? I gotta go sort through this. Agent Jameson’s ta
lking to him now. I need to get back over there. I’ll call you later.” Marshall ended the call and walked back toward them. “I hear you like to gamble, Shaun.”
Hudson looked at him. “Sometimes, yeah. Doesn’t everyone?”
“No. Not everyone.” Marshall looked to Jameson, trying to convey that he was onto something. “You owe anyone money right now?”
“No. Look, I don’t know what you heard about me, but I told Agent Jameson that I didn’t make up any transcripts to get Edward Shalot into this school. I mean, shit, I don’t have that kind of authority to get into those systems.”
“Well, that doesn’t matter much right now, but I did just get some very interesting information. Why don’t you tell me about your relationship with that reporter from Channel 9 – what’s his name? Marc Aguilar?”
At this, Shaun Hudson lost all color and couldn’t swallow the lump that had risen in his throat.
“Come on, Shaun. I know you were working to put the blame on Shalot for the death of Lindsay Brown, feeding Aguilar all sorts of dirty secrets about him, but what I don’t know is why, or who directed you to do it,” Marshall continued.
“We know you and Shalot are involved in some group led by a guy named Lewis Branson,” Jameson said.
Hudson’s eyes momentarily widened at the mention of Branson. “It’s just some stupid game. That’s all it is. No one takes the shit seriously. We get our rocks off once in a while and laugh and joke around. The whole thing is based on some great cosmic joke.”
“Tell that to the victims of the, what do you call it, Law of Five?” Marshall moved in close. “Enough of the lies, kid. You and I both know you gave Shalot a false background. Made it look like he graduated from Connecticut. Then decided it was okay to hand over the personal records of a student to him. A student who also happens to work for the San Diego Police. A student who happens to be my fucking girlfriend.” Marshall grabbed the neck of Hudson’s t-shirt. “Now tell me who instructed you to set him up? Was it Branson? Did you owe him money and he said you’d be even so long as you hand over some useful information to that reporter?”