I started with the same questioning, but got an entirely different reaction.
“Kyle Johnson,” she repeated when I asked about him. “You know his nickname was Crazy Kyle, right? Well, you don’t get a nickname like that without a reason.”
“Then I take it you know something about the reason behind it?”
“Well, not personally,” she said. “I’ve heard things, though, for years now. I’ve got several friends that got on the wrong side of Crazy Kyle and ended up in hospitals or jails.”
“You’re saying he did abuse his authority as a deputy sheriff?”
“I’m saying anyone who got on his bad side was either going to get arrested, beaten or killed. I don’t know for sure that he ever killed anyone, but there are rumors. Him and the sheriff both.”
“Him and the sheriff? Are you telling me that Sheriff Branson does the same kinds of things?”
“Same kinds of things? Well, I know that the sheriff has shot and killed five people in the last year, and I’ve talked to people who were there when some of them happened and they say there was no reason for him to use his gun. What does that tell you?”
“Do you know anything about people being arrested on bogus charges? Drug dealing charges, that sort of thing?”
She leaned forward conspiratorially. “Okay, now you’re getting somewhere. I don’t know for sure if it’s true, but one of the deputies told me that they always have a few ounces of pot and some meth hidden in their cars, just in case they need to have a reason to take somebody in. If you talk to the people in our jail that were put there on drug charges from our county, you’ll find out that some of them are people who wouldn’t ever have a reason to sell drugs. I mean, yeah, I know that sometimes people get involved with them anyway, but I know some of these folks, and I’ve never believed they were selling drugs.”
I nodded, making notes of everything she had told me. “Janice, do you know anything about sexual harassment going on within the sheriff’s office?”
Suddenly, her face became guarded. “I’ve—I’ve heard stories. Nobody’s tried anything with me, but I think that’s because of my dad. He and the sheriff were friends for a long time, so I think maybe I’m sort of off-limits.”
“Interesting,” I said. “What kind of stories have you heard?”
She shrugged. “What kind do you think? I’ve heard that some of the girls who work here have to help ‘relieve’ some of the stressed-out deputies, and there are a couple of kids in the world who bear a strong resemblance to one or two of our deputies. That tell you enough?”
“Can you tell me who is involved? Which of the deputies are doing these things?”
“Well, Kyle did,” she said. “I walked in on him and Marcia Walker, she’s one of the jailers. Now, I don’t know if he was forcing her, she seemed to be having a pretty good time. The only other deputy I know for sure is involved is Ross Levens. Jackie Cheney, she’s another one of the jailers, she came right out and told me he’s the father of her little boy, and that he blackmailed her into sex.”
“Janice, if there’s so much common knowledge about it, why is it no one has ever come forward? Why is it still going on, and no one’s done anything about it?”
She laughed, sarcastically. “Are you kidding? One girl tried to come clean a couple years ago, and now she’s sitting in prison doing twenty years for dealing drugs. Nobody’s going to talk; they all know what would happen. Branson would back up his deputies, even make sure there were records that say the deputy was nowhere around when it happened. Then the woman gets arrested, and they make it sound like she’s the biggest criminal in the county. Nobody’s going to talk, that you can bet on.”
“Are you sure of that? Is there anyone you can think of who might be willing to go public?”
“Oh, hell, no,” she said. “Most of the women who work here are married—they’d end up divorced, most likely. Then there’s the criminal charges. Nobody’s going to risk going to jail over having to put out a little bit, no matter how much they may hate it.”
“Okay, let me ask another question. Can you think of anyone who might have wanted to kill Kyle Johnson, anyone who might have followed him that night and done it?”
She glanced at my notepad. “For a list like that, you’re gonna need a bigger notebook. I think just about everyone who knew Kyle wanted him dead, but I don’t think anyone ever had the nerve to try. He was just too tough, and he had that badge and gun. Besides, if anything happened to him, just like you’re seeing right now, Sheriff Branson would destroy whoever did it. Wouldn’t matter if it was self-defense or not; he’d make sure they went down for murder.”
“Do you think that might be what happened? That he was killed in self-defense?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know what happened,” she said, “but I always sort of figured that if anything ever happened to Kyle, it would be because someone just got fed up with him, or else they got lucky when he cut loose on them. I don’t know who this guy they’ve got in jail is, but all of us saw the tape of him kicking the gang bangers’ asses, and I figure if Kyle jumped on him, then Kyle probably just bit off more than he could chew.”
I thanked her for her openness, and let her go.
She was the only one of my staff interviewees who actually opened up willingly, though a few other women did admit to me that sexual abuse was happening. They all claimed it was happening to someone else, however, and no one was willing to give me names.
It was time to start talking to the deputies and jailers.
And also time to take a hot shower. I needed to relax. Otherwise, I might just have to kill someone myself.
Chapter 22
Breakfast in the SHU always showed up at six thirty in the morning, and I got my rec time at seven. I would get my shower, then watch TV and switch out books until eight, when I had to go back into my cell. On the fourth morning, however, as I went back in, the jailer called me over the intercom by the door.
“Jones, get ready,” the voice said. “You’re going to see the prosecutor this morning at eight thirty.”
“Okay,” I said, “I’m ready whenever you are.”
The announcement took me by surprise, because I hadn’t expected to see the prosecutor again for some time, and I was hoping that Agent Decker would find something on the sheriff before that happened. Maybe, I told myself, that’s what was going on, and I was about to find out that the charges against me would be dismissed. A split second later, I realized just how silly that sounded, and I was sure that many inmates had had similar fantasies.
I wouldn’t have to wait long to find out, though. It was actually only about fifteen minutes later when they told the man in the day room to go back into his cell, then three jailers came in. My food slot opened, and I was instructed to squat down with my back to the door and put my hands back through it. I did, and felt the handcuffs clamped on, then stood again while they opened the door.
Two of the jailers took me by the arms, and I was walked down the hall to the interview room. I had expected to go back to the courthouse, but they took me into the room, un-cuffed me and told me to sit in the chair at the table.
I sat there for about ten minutes, and then Stephanie, my attorney, came through the door. She smiled when she saw me, but I could tell there was something that was making her nervous.
“Ms. Cooper,” I said. “Is something happening?”
“Sal, there’s been a new development. Did you hear that they found another body in the house that burned down?”
I nodded. “Yes, the FBI agent came to tell me about that. Is that what this is about?”
She smiled again, sadly. “I’m afraid it is,” she said. “Mr. Vaughn has decided to charge you with the second murder. His logic is that their initial theory is that you killed Deputy Johnson and then set fire to the house to try to cover it up, so that makes you culpable in the death of this second man. He’s withdrawn his plea offer.”
I stared at her. “But that’s
ridiculous,” I said. “Have they determined how the man died yet? The last I heard, they were waiting on autopsy results.”
She was nodding her head. “Yes, and they just got them last night. I don’t know why it took so long; normally, they would get them back a lot quicker, but something happened at the Medical Examiner’s Office that put it on the back burner. It turns out that this man died from a single gunshot wound in his chest. I guess, from what they said, the bullet nicked his aorta, so he bled out slowly, and internally. Medical examiner says it probably took him ten or fifteen minutes to die, but they’re sure he was dead before the fire started.”
“No soot in the lungs, then,” I said. “That’s what agent Decker said they would be looking for.” I looked up at her. “So now it looks like there was a gun involved. God only knows how crazy this will get before it’s over, but this doesn’t change anything for me,” I said. “I still want to go to trial.”
She shrugged and sat down across from me. “Well, like I said, Vaughn is withdrawing the plea offer he made the other day. I imagine he’s going to offer another one to you, but it won’t be as good as that one. I hate to say this, but just the fact that they have two bodies is going to work against you with a jury.”
I shook my head. “It doesn’t matter. I didn’t kill these people, I’m sure of it. To be perfectly honest, I’d rather go to death row than do ten or fifteen years for something I didn’t do, and then try to make a life on the outside for myself. I’ve been talking to people, and that’s no way to live.”
The door opened, and Vaughn stepped inside. He nodded at Stephanie, then sat down in the chair beside her. “You bring your client up to speed?”
Stephanie nodded at him. “Yes, I just told him. What are we doing here, Steve?”
“Well, I’m still interested in saving the state a lot of time and money,” he said, “so I thought I’d try to make this easy on your client.” He turned and looked at me. “Jones, if you will plead to two counts of manslaughter, I’ll agree to a sentence of forty years. Keep your nose clean, and you could be out in as little as ten, maybe fifteen.”
I laughed at the irony. That was exactly what I had said I didn’t want to do, ten or fifteen years for a crime I didn’t commit. I shook my head.
“No, thanks,” I said. “No deals. I’d rather take my chances with the jury.”
“Jones, you don’t have a chance. There’s no way in the world a jury is going to fail to convict, not when I got two dead bodies in a house that burned to the ground after they were murdered. It’s going to be obvious to them, since you are the only person that was found inside the house by the sheriff, that you have to be the one who did it.”
I looked at Vaughn. “The only problem with that is that I didn’t kill them. You think you’ve got a solid case, and I understand and respect that, but the fact is that I know things you don’t know.”
“You do, do you?” Vaughn asked. “Well, unless one of them is the provable identity of the real killer, I’m still feeling pretty good about the case I’ve built against you.”
I shrugged. “Then, when we get in front of the jury, we’ll find out which one of us is right.”
Vaughn looked up at Stephanie. “Counselor, I think you need to advise your client.”
She smiled sweetly at him. “We already had that discussion,” she said. “He wants to go to trial. That’s his right, under the Constitution, and I’m prepared to give him the best possible defense.”
“What defense? He was found kneeling over one of the victims with blood all over him. Even with his amnesia story, even if the jury buys that, I’m going to get experts in to testify that amnesia can be brought on by traumatic guilt. He killed two people, then blocked it out. That’s not a defense, that’s not even a mitigating circumstance. It doesn’t change the fact that he’s guilty.”
“We’ve still got the facts we discussed the other day,” she said. “It’s physically impossible for my client to have killed Kyle Johnson. Johnson would have been dead, or at the very least unconscious, before he got up the stairs.”
“That’s his story,” Vaughn shot back. “It isn’t borne out by the facts that we have. Sheriff Branson caught your client kneeling over Johnson as he died. There’s no proof he was ever in the basement, let alone had come up from it at that moment. I can shred that story in no time flat. I’ll get a conviction, and he’ll get the death penalty.”
“Not with me defending him, you can’t. Steve, by the time this goes to trial, I’m going to have a lot more to work with than I have right now. You can count on that.”
The two of them went back and forth for a couple of minutes, but then Vaughn turned his eyes back to me. “Last chance, Jones,” he said. “I’ll drop it to thirty years for a plea. Take it or leave it.”
“I already told you, no deal.” I crossed my arms over my chest, to tell him I was done talking about it.
Vaughn got up and left the room, in what I would have to call a huff. Stephanie giggled as he slammed the door, but then she sobered and looked at me. “You heard what I said, that I’d have a lot more to work with by the time we go to trial, right?”
“Yes, Ma’am, I did,” I said.
“Well, you better hope and pray I was right. As it stands right now, Sal, I’m not seeing a whole lot of hope.”
I grinned at her. “Just hang in there with me,” I said. “Agent Decker is digging into the sheriff, and I got a lot of confidence that he’s going to find something.”
Stephanie picked up her things and left the room. A few moments later, the jailers came and cuffed me again, to take me back to my cell.
Once I was back inside, I sat on the bunk and thought about the whole conversation. One thing that bothered me was that Vaughn had offered me a deal on what he claimed was two cases of murder that was almost as good as the first one, and when he found out I was going to stand firm on my decision to go to trial, he had dropped it back to where we’d begun. That was enough to tell me that he wasn’t nearly as confident as his bluster was trying to portray. He knew something, something that told him there was a chance that I would beat him in court.
If I was right, and I was sure that I was, there would be at least one more offer before we actually went to trial. All I could do was sit there and hope that Agent Decker found what he was looking for. I was sure that there was some way to prove my innocence, but I had no clue how to go about it.
I stopped worrying about it, and picked up a book. It was a fantasy novel, one of those big, thick books about elves and sorcerers and people who were really wicked with swords. I started reading, and was only a third of the way into it when lunch came.
I put the book down on my bunk, and got up to accept my tray through the slot. I set it on the table while I collected my cup of Kool-Aid, then sat down to eat.
When I popped off the cover, I was surprised to see a folded piece of paper on top of the grilled cheese sandwich. The paper had picked up some grease, but when I unfolded it, it was quite legible.
I know that you are innocent, it read. I know how to prove it, but I can’t do it while you are in there. I am arranging a way to get you out, but don’t tell anyone. You can’t trust anyone in there at all. I will let you know when it is time for you to leave. Flush this note.
My heart began racing, as I read the note four more times. I knew it by heart after the first time I read it, but my eyes wanted to keep going over it to be sure that it was real. I hurriedly got up and flushed it down the toilet, then sat down to eat so that no one would wonder what I was doing.
It seemed I had an ally. But even more so, a sense of real hope.
Chapter 23
I had only talked to two of the deputies when Sheriff Branson came barging into the interview room.
“Just what the hell is going on here?” he demanded. “Aren’t you supposed to be gathering evidence on Kyle’s killer? Why are you harassing my staff?” He looked at the deputy I’d been speaking to. “Aren’t you on duty? Ge
t your ass out in the car and on patrol.”
The deputy slowly got to his feet, and left the room. I looked up at Branson. “Sheriff, I’m just covering all the bases. Learning a few things about Deputy Johnson, and about how this office works. Frankly, I’m hearing things that make me wonder if Johnson might have contributed to whatever situation resulted in his death. Nobody seems to know why he was in that house that night, including you. Neighbors all say they never saw any squad cars around there before, and incidentally, just what happened to his car? Why wasn’t it found at the scene?”
Branson swallowed hard, and I knew I had struck a nerve. “His car? His fucking car was left at a gas station a few blocks away. I found it the next day, and took a deputy with me to pick it up. It’s back in service.”
“Back in service?” I asked. “Why wasn’t it gone through by CSI? You may well have destroyed evidence that could help prove what really happened that night. As for why he was there, I want to see the file on every investigation he was involved in. One of them has to have some mention of that house, and maybe we’ll find out who our prisoner is that way.”
“Wait just a damned minute, what the hell makes you think you can come in here and start barking orders? You seem to have forgotten that this is my jurisdiction, and you are here at my sufferance. One phone call to the governor’s office, and you’ll be…”
“I’ll be taking over this investigation,” I said. “I’m going to be blunt with you, Branson. I know damned well that you know a whole lot more about this case than you’re telling me. I strongly suspect you know our prisoner’s identity, but for some reason you don’t want to admit that. Why is that? What was he involved in that you’re trying to keep quiet? And just what was Kyle Johnson’s role in it all?” I got to my feet. “Want to know what I think? I think our prisoner is an innocent man, but he’s somehow involved in something that you need to keep quiet. I think you sent Kyle Johnson out to his house that night, maybe to shut him up, or maybe to put some other kind of pressure on him.”
Thriller: I Am Sal - A Mystifying Crime Thriller (Thriller, Crime Thriller, Murder Mystery Book 1) Page 14