[2017] The Whistleblower Onslaught

by David P. Warren

“If I need one, I'll have someone get it while we talk. In the meantime, you aren't going anywhere.”

  Snider stopped and looked at the car, now just a few feet away. He looked back at Lee, standing by the curb staring back at him. “You don't want to do that,” Lee said. “You won't make it.” Snider continued to stand and stare. Lee said, “How far do you think you'll get? I call this in, and there's cops all over you in two minutes.” No movement. “All I want is a little information. I am not after you. Got it?”

  Snider nodded but said nothing.

  “Let's go inside and talk. You cooperate, and I am gone in ten minutes. You don't, and this ends badly for you.”

  Snider turned and walked toward the house. Lee followed. The inside was dark. Darkness composed of windows were blacked out and ancient, wood dark. Snider turned 180 degrees and looked at Lee. “What do you want?”

  “I've seen a lot of your work. I know that you are pretty good.” The man said nothing. “I'm looking for one of the dirtbags you helped.”

  Suddenly, a fist flew at Lee's face. He sidestepped the punch, feeling it graze his chin, and hit Snider hard in the gut, causing Snider to double over, and then smacked him in the face with an uppercut. Snider fell to the floor.

  “Okay, fucknut, you've made your choice. Let's go.”

  “Wait,” Snider said, climbing to his feet. “What do you want?”

  “When I got here I just wanted a little cooperation. Now I might want to put your ass back in jail.”

  “You don't understand, man,” Snider said, still trying to recover normal breathing. “The people I work with are like sources are to reporters. I give up someone I worked with, my business is gone man; no one's gonna come back to me.”

  “I understand,” Lee said. “Reporters go to jail for their sources. I assume you're willing to do that as well?” Snider said nothing. “I don't care. I'm going to find this guy with or without your help. So if you want to go to jail while I look for him, I'm okay with that. But if you do help me, he'll never know how I got to him, and you stay a free man.”

  “Can't help you, man.”

  They stood face to face, and Lee looked into the man's eyes so he could see the reaction as he spoke. “I know you papered Jerry Anders.” There it was. The momentary flash of acknowledgment in his eyes. This was his guy.

  “I don't know who you are talking about.”

  “You know exactly who I'm talking about.” He paused, watching carefully, but now the man's face was impassive. “You don't owe this dirtbag loyalty, man. You want to go to jail for an asshole that kidnapped kids?”

  “I don't know who you mean, man.”

  “You know that there is a little boy barely alive because of this fucking scumbag. You want to be an accomplice to this prick?”

  “I don't know this guy, man. Now get out and leave me alone.”

  “The FBI is on the way,” Lee said, in one last attempt to break through.

  He shook his head. “They were here this morning. I told them the same thing I told you. I have no clue who you're talking about. I've seen a little on TV about him, but I don't know him, man.”

  Lee stared at the man for almost a full minute, and then said, “You are going down. And when you do, I want you to remember when you could have avoided it all. When I came here I wanted Anders, not you. Now I'm coming after both of you.”

  Lee slammed the door as he walked from the house. As he walked past the Corvette, he glanced back at the house to make sure he wasn't being watched, and then he slipped a GPS up in the right rear tire well. He looked back at the house and waited. No reaction, so he walked to his car. He sat in the car and watched the house for fifteen minutes, but Snider did not come out. Lee started the car, and as he pulled away, dialed his phone.

  Sandoval said, “This is my personal cell. I don't want you calling this number.”

  “Sorry, I must have forgotten that you are sensitive about that. How fast can you meet me at the same coffee shop?” Lee asked.

  There was a moment of silence while she considered her response, and then Sandoval said, “I can be there in an hour.”

  “Okay, see you then,” Lee said.

  * * *

  We get the message that Dr. Mitchell wanted a special meeting at noon today, rather than waiting for our normal end of the week meeting, and we are scared. I put my arms around Lisa and hold her tight, but neither of us can find words. We spend the next two hours with Joey and then walk to Dr. Mitchell's office. Upon arrival, we are directed into an adjoining conference room, where Dr. Mitchell and another man wait. They both stand and shake hands with us.

  Dr. Mitchell then says, “You remember Dr. Santos? He is the neurologist who has helped us with Joey's situation in the past.”

  “Do we have progress?” I ask, unable to wait any longer.

  “Unfortunately there is no appreciable change in Joey's condition despite everything we tried.”

  “So what do we do now,” Lisa asks, squeezing my hand as she speaks.

  “We think it's time to take Joey off life support,” Dr. Mitchell says.

  For a moment, we take this as good news. “So he no longer needs assistance?” I ask, feeling hopeful.

  “I wish that was the case,” Dr. Mitchell says. “But the truth is very different.” He pauses a beat, confronting the fact that there is no good way to say what he is about to say. “In truth, there is no longer hope. We just don't think this is going to get better. We have used the medically induced coma in every way possible, and there hasn't been any significant recovery. It has been as long as it can be, and we are at that point when it is time to face the news that Joey will not recover. Dr. Santos and our entire team have been consulting with me on this, and we are all of the same opinion. We just wish we could give you some better news, but you need to know the truth.”

  The room is silent.

  After a couple of minutes of digesting this, Lisa says, “What happens when you disengage the life support machines?”

  “Joey will pass pretty quickly.” His eyes are sad as he says this. “I'm so very sorry.”

  I momentarily put my head in my hands. Then I look up at Lisa, who looks lost. I take both of her hands in mine. I look back at Dr. Mitchell and say, “So what do you want us to do?”

  “You'll have to sign the documents allowing us to remove Joey from life support.”

  “And what if we don't.”

  “Then at this point, nothing will happen.” He furrows his brow as he searches for the right words, and then says, “We have tried everything we can for as long as we can. At this point, it is not good for you to continue this, and there is no expectation Joey can recover.”

  “I assume you and the others on the team are in full agreement, Dr. Santos?”

  He nods and then says, “I'm so sorry.”

  “We're not ready to give up,” Lisa says.

  I nod. “No, we're not.”

  Dr. Mitchell takes a moment and then says, “I understand how hard this is. If we thought that there was any other way …” he let his words trail off and then added. “Now it's really just a matter of acceptance.”

  Dr. Santos nods in accord, and we sit there feeling lost and desperate as we begin to recognize that what we have so long feared is becoming a reality. “I encourage you to talk further before you reach any conclusion. You know we have tried everything, and there is just nowhere to go from here,” Santos says. “Take some time and discuss it.”

  We nod and leave the room with our hearts broken but not ready to face this.

  * * *

  The three of them sat at the same table but this time with coffee in front of them.

  “What did you want to tell us, Mr. Henry?” Sandoval said.

  “I wanted to share information. You interested?”

  Sandoval frowned. “Not our job to share information with you.”

  “Have I mentioned that we are on the same side here? Anders kidnapped two children and hurt one of them badly. Isn'
t that what matters to all of us?”

  “Do you have information?” Edmonds asked.

  “Look, I'm trying really hard to work with you. You want to share or not?”

  There was only background music for a few moments, and then Sandoval said, “Okay, what do you want to share?”

  “Did you get anything from the pictures of Anders you put on television across the country?”

  Sandoval shook her head. “Nothing that helps. We got a thousand or so calls with sightings from Anchorage to the Philippines. None of them turned out to be Anders, but we have to spend the time to check out every one of them.”

  “I understand,” Lee said. After a moment of reflection, he said, “You guys interviewed Burt Snider this morning. What are your thoughts about him?”

  “I don't hear this as you sharing with us,” Edmonds said.

  “I talked to him, too. I want to know what you think.”

  Sandoval nodded to Edmonds and then said, “I think he's the guy. I think he set Anders up with a new identity.”

  “I'm sure of it,” Lee said.

  “How?”

  “I saw it in his eyes.” He waited a moment and added, “Did you get anywhere?”

  “No. He denies even knowing Anders.”

  “Can you search his place? Maybe there's evidence of his business on site.”

  “Not enough probable cause to get a warrant.”

  “Hmm. That didn't stop you bugging my car, as I recall.”

  Sandoval shook her head. “Look, I see this the way you do. I think he's the guy, but I can't toss his house without a warrant, or the bust gets tossed.”

  “So you need someone else to get you enough to establish PC, right?”

  “Well. We need PC. We are not telling you to act to get it for us.”

  “Now that we all agree who has the information on Anders's new identity, maybe someone can provide you with PC that you can take to a judge.”

  “Wait. What are you going to do?” Edmonds asked.

  “Nice talking to you,” Lee said, standing and picking up his to-go cup of coffee.

  “You know that you're not authorized to do anything on our behalf, right? And you are not authorized to interfere in our investigation in any way,” Sandoval instructed.

  “Understood. I'll be in touch.”

  * * *

  “Hello, Mr. Winslow. Have you had a chance to talk further with Mrs. Winslow?”

  “Yes, and we are not ready to act yet.” Act—a euphemism for ending the life of my child. I feel my heart race as I speak. “We can't give up on Joey. We just can't.”

  There is an awkward silence. After a time, Dr. Mitchell says, “I'm afraid that the time for hope has come and gone, and now we have to deal with reality.”

  “No, Dr. Mitchell. We are not ready to take any action.”

  “I understand your wishes, but think about the fact that this is not best for you or Joey. It is time to think about letting him transition.”

  “We will continue to talk about it and pray about it, Dr. Mitchell, but as of now, we want Joey to remain on life support.”

  “Yes, sir. I understand,” the doctor says softly. “We will talk again soon.”

  “Thank you, Doctor.”

  * * *

  Jerry put a $200 bet out and waited. He drew a five and an eight. The dealer had a queen showing. He took a hit and drew a queen of his own. That left only $100 of the $2,000 he started betting with two hours ago. He drew an eleven and pulled another hundred from his pocket to go down for double. The dealer had a six showing. He drew an eight, putting him at nineteen. The dealer flipped his down card and revealed a four. His next card was a king and Jerry was beaten again. He stood up and walked away from the table. This was his third outing in three days. He lost $3,000 the first time, $1,000 the second, and another $2,100 here. He realized that he had to stop before his rainy day money was all gone. He was falling into old habits, and he knew that his addictive personality would do him in if he let it. He had to stay away from the tables.

  Jerry looked at his watch. He had to be at work in two hours, so that would be a distraction for a while. Then what? Maybe he needed to move away from Vegas and get far away from places that permitted gambling. Maybe he should go to Missouri. A guy he did time with was from Missouri and said it was great. Another new start might be the answer. As he walked down the street, he suddenly found himself thinking about Joey Winslow and hoping the kid would be all right.

  Jerry felt the weight of being alone. In his former life he had spent a lot of time alone, sometimes going for days without speaking to another human being, but he could always reach out to Vickie or one of the guys he met in prison if he needed to talk. Now there was no one. It also weighed on him that he might never see his sister again, and Vickie was the one who had always been there for him. She stood by him when they were kids and when he got into trouble as an adult. He cared what she said, and he wanted to please her, but he just couldn't deal with a third conviction and twenty-five more years in prison.

  * * *

  We sit at the breakfast table. Lisa and I have coffee, and Katy has a bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios and orange juice. With her big blue eyes open wide and moving from Lisa to me and back again, she casually asks, “Is Joey going to die?”

  Even after all this time the question is heart-wrenching and soul-crushing. I look at Lisa, and she stares my way in pained desperation. I already know that the pause has been too long as I say, “We don't know, honey. We can't be sure.”

  She nods as she processes this information. “Are you guys going to die?”

  “Someday,” Lisa says. “When you are grown up and have a family of your own. But we want to be around to meet your kids and their kids too.”

  Katy had a look that suggested that she was now worried about that, too. If her big brother could suddenly die, maybe her mom and dad could too. “Joey and I talked about being grown up and still spending time together. Maybe going to the pool or a movie. Joey said we could go see a movie rated R because it's so scary. I hope we get to.”

  “Yeah, we hope you get to as well, sweetheart,” I say. I feel like a truck just backed over my heart. In self-defense, I change the subject. “Do you have your backpack packed and ready to go to school?”

  “Yep.”

  “What are you talking about in school?”

  “Words and numbers,” she says, putting a big spoonful of cereal into her mouth.

  “What are you doing with words and numbers?”

  She crunches for a few moments and then says, “We're spelling the words and subtracting the numbers.”

  “Sounds interesting,” I say.

  She shrugs. “I guess so. It's really pretty easy, at least till you get to real big numbers.” She takes another bite. “Mrs. James says we're going to learn to write a short story.”

  “Wow, that's great,” Lisa says. “What are you going to write about?”

  “About me and Joey and all the stuff we want to do.”

  Shoot me now.

  * * *

  Lee looked at the readout from the device and saw the route of Snider's Corvette over the past two hours. First was an address on Ventura Boulevard and then one on Saratoga Street. He put the addresses into an app he had for such purposes and saw that the Ventura Boulevard address was a liquor store. Not much help there. He fed the Saratoga Street address into the app and came up with a self-storage facility. Much better.

  Lee gathered up the tools he would need and then headed toward the storage units. The first task was to discover which unit had been visited. He drove to the Saratoga Street address and found a long, wide driveway leading to a gated chain-link fence. There was a keypad on the left in front of the gate for driver access and a small office to the right. The sign out front said “Last Frontier Storage.” Lee parked the car in one of two vacant spaces in front of the office and walked inside.

  There was a long counter as he entered. A thin-faced woman with large ri
mmed glasses sat at a desk behind the counter. “Can I help you?” she asked in a voice that suggested more annoyance than desire to help.

  Lee advanced his best smile. “Yes, I hope you can. My brother asked me to stop and pay his storage bill for next month because he will be traveling. Can I give you the money?”

  “Sure,” she replied, now smiling herself. “What garage number?”

  Lee paused a moment and then said, “Oh, dear, I don't remember,” putting on a concerned expression.

  “It's okay,” she said, helpfully. “What's his name?”

  “Snider. Burt Snider.”

  She moved a mouse around and looked at the monitor for her computer. “Here it is, Burt Snider.” Now Lee knew that he wasn't using an alias for access to whatever he kept here. She paused and then said, “That will be $150.”

  “Okay,” Lee said and handed her the money.”

  “Let me just print out your receipt.” She punched a couple of buttons and a printer whirred to life across the room. She walked over and picked up the document and handed it to Lee. “There you go. You're all set.”

  Lee smiled and said, “Thank you for your assistance.” He glanced at the receipt and did not see what he hoped for.

  “Something wrong?” she asked.

  “Well, if you could just put the unit number on the document so that my brother's receipt is complete, I would really appreciate it. He's kind of a stickler.”

  “Sure,” she said, grinning. She wrote on the document and then said, “Unit L 117. You're all set.”

  “Thanks, again, ma'am. You have been most helpful. Maybe I can write a good review of you and your facility online.”

  “That would be great,” she said. “You'll find us at FrontierStorage.com”

  “Great, and what's your name?”

  “I'm Lilly, manager here.”

  “Well, Lilly, I will mention just how helpful you were.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Snider,” she said, grinning. “And don't forget to come see us for your storage needs.”

  “I wouldn't go anywhere else,” he said, smiling. “Bye now.”

  Lee walked out to his car and waited. It took about ten minutes before another car drove up to the gate. The driver entered his access code on the keypad and the gate swung open laterally. The driver moved through the gate and Lee followed closely. There were rows of storage garages with building letters identifying each. Lee drove straight ahead until he found building L and then turned right, between the buildings. He found #117 and parked near it. He climbed out of the car and saw what he expected, that the garage was padlocked twice. He pulled bolt cutters and fresh locks from his tool bag. He snipped each of the padlocks and threw them in his trunk. He got the replacement locks ready. If he was about to set off an alarm, he would simply explain that his brother had given him the key to fetch something from storage, but he had failed to punch in the code to prevent the alarm going off. He could then show them that he indeed had a key to each of the two padlocks for the unit.