Termination Man

by Edward Trimnell

  But Kurt did not threaten me—not then, at least.

  “You’ve worked in corporate security in the past, haven’t you?” he asked.

  Indeed I had, and Kurt was already aware of this. I had completed a two-year stint in corporate security between my undergraduate years and earning my MBA. This wasn’t a uniformed security job; this was high-end, white-collar security. I tracked down embezzlers inside a large bank. The skills that I acquired on this job were among the ones that I later honed and put to work when founding Craig Walker Consulting.

  “Yes. That was different, though. I gathered evidence against white-collar criminals. I would have no idea of how to defend Shawn against charges of assaulting a fifteen-year-old girl.”

  I thought about adding, “as much as I would like to,” but thought better of it. There was no way for me to affect sincerity about defending Shawn Myers.

  “I have confidence in you, Craig,” Kurt said. “You’re the sort of man who can adapt to dynamic situations, and rise to the challenge as needed.”

  “Thank you,” I said, suspecting that I had just stepped into a trap. Kurt’s words of praise were generic; but there was clearly another meaning behind them. I suspected that Kurt would interpret my obligatory nod of thanks as an assent to some sort of a campaign against Donna Chalmers and her daughter.

  Of course he would, because that was the way he operated. Like his other subordinates, he would regard me as a tool to accomplish his will.

  “Why don’t you see if you can’t brainstorm something?” Kurt said. “No pressure at the moment. I’m fairly confident that Bernie can put this situation to bed if it doesn't escalate. Probably this woman is only after a payoff. But you never know; if this goes south we might need some backup in the future.”

  Before I could answer Kurt leaned forward and clapped me on the shoulder. “Thanks again, Craig. I know we can count on you.”

  I was about to add a caveat of my own—anything that might turn Kurt Myers from the idea that I was willing to participate in whatever he was scheming. Then his cell phone began to ring.

  He paused to answer it. “Bernie? Ah—that’s good. Well done. Yes, we’ll talk later.”

  Kurt closed his cell phone and returned it to his pocket.

  “A bit of good news,” Kurt said. “Shawn has been released by Dave Bruner. Bernie doesn't think that anything more will come of this.”

  Chapter 41

  Donna Chalmers was confused. And more than a little angry.

  She had made an official complaint to the police chief of New Hastings, trusting more or less blindly that the justice system would do its thing. But now she had the feeling that she had stirred up a hornet’s nest in vain. From what she had been told, she gathered that Shawn Myers had evaded any responsibility.

  Sitting in the office of the county prosecutor, she hoped to receive some answers. It seemed that this was not simply a matter of punishing Shawn for what he had done. It was going to be more complicated than that.

  Of course it was…Hadn’t she known that all along?

  “Ms. Chalmers,” Tim McKnight said. “I want to assure you that the only concern of my office is to make sure that justice is done here. And if what you are telling me is true, then your daughter was wronged and a crime has been committed.”

  Tim McKnight was the chief prosecutor of the county in which New Hastings was located. She had already met with Police Chief Bruner on two occasions: the first time when she filed her complaint against Shawn Myers, and the second afterward, after she had found out that Shawn had been questioned, and not arrested.

  During both meetings, Bruner had been noncommittal. The police chief had expressed concern over “whatever your daughter might be going through.” Donna wasn’t stupid; she could read the subtext. Bruner was implying that Alyssa might have made more of the situation than it actually was. When Donna reiterated what she had seen, Bruner brusquely replied that her testimony had been noted. He also added that while there was no physical evidence of what was “allegedly done to Alyssa,” Shawn Myers bore several welts and bruises that “were consistent with an attack with a mop handle.”

  And to add insult to injury, Bruner had asked to her to submit the mop handle as “evidence.”

  “Evidence of what?” Donna had objected.

  “Evidence that will help us find out what actually happened in that hallway,” Bruner had said.

  Donna had dutifully retrieved the mop handle and submitted it to the New Hastings Police Department. She hadn’t bothered to wipe off her fingerprints. It was indisputably the mop she used to clean the floors at UP&S; her fingerprints would be all over it.

  But she had wondered, as one of Bruner’s deputies affixed an evidence tag to the mop handle: What if the police detected fragments of Shawn Myers’s skin and blood from the grain of the object? How would that affect her case? Did that give her daughter’s attacker an advantage? There were certainly no incriminating fingerprints where Shawn had groped her daughter’s body, after all.

  “I wouldn't worry about that,” Tim McKnight said after she recounted this chain of events and her fears. “Any case I might prepare against Shawn Myers would include the admission that you struck him with the mop handle—in the defense of your daughter.”

  “And for the record, I’d strike him again if I had the chance,” Donna said. “Right now, I wonder if I shouldn't have hit him a few more times. I’ve been told that Shawn Myers was only questioned, not arrested. Does that mean that he gets off scot-free?”

  “Not at all, Ms. Chalmers. Sometimes the process works in reverse. There may not be enough evidence to charge a person with a crime initially—when the facts are unclear. It may take time to assemble enough evidence for an arrest warrant. I can tell you this, Ms. Chalmers: Shawn Myers has been asked not to leave the central Ohio area without informing Chief Bruner of his whereabouts.”

  “I’m a bit confused by all this,” Donna said. “I thought that when a crime was reported, the police were supposed to handle it. But Police Chief Bruner seems to have washed his hands of the matter. I get the distinct impression that he doesn’t want to talk to me.”

  “It’s a bit complicated,” McKnight said, artfully dodging her concerns about the motives Police Chief Bruner. “My office cooperates closely with the police departments within the county. When a crime is first reported, the police department with jurisdictional authority—in this case, the New Hastings Police Department—works with us to determine whether or not there is enough evidence to charge an individual with a crime. Then we work together to prepare the case for prosecution. It’s kind of a joint effort.”

  “That’s good,” Donna said. “Because I’m more than a little disturbed to find out that the man who attacked my daughter is out running around right now—rather than behind bars, where he belongs.”

  “I’ve spoken with Police Chief Bruner; and I’m giving this case my full attention,” McKnight said. “Also, I want you to know that I have a fourteen year-old daughter myself,” He gestured to a framed photograph on his desk: a teenaged girl in a varsity soccer uniform. “And you should know that Chief Bruner has a daughter, as well. She’s a bit older than Alyssa. But still—neither one of us wants to see a man get by with assaulting a young girl.”

  “I sense a ‘but’ coming,” Donna interjected.

  “Okay, fair enough: The complication is that we have two very different interpretations of the events that occurred in that hallway that night between Shawn Myers, you, and your daughter. According to your statement, Shawn Myers sexually assaulted your daughter. Then you proceeded to beat him off with the mop handle. But according to Mr. Myers, he and Alyssa exchanged words over the quality of the janitorial work being done. Mr. Myers claims that Alyssa began to swear at him, then you joined in, and the situation finally escalated to you attacking him with the mop handle.”

  “But that’s a lie!” Donna burst out. “He’s lying! You’ve got to know that!”

  “Ms. C
halmers, I didn't witness the confrontation. But of course I have my opinion. And let’s say—just for the sake of argument—that I believe your side of the story. I have no evidence to support the charge that Shawn Myers sexually assaulted your daughter. On the other hand, there was physical evidence to support the claim that you struck Mr. Myers with the mop handle—a fact which you do not dispute.”

  “So where does that leave us?” Donna asked.

  “That’s what I’m working on, Ms. Chalmers. One thing that will be very important is the testimony of your daughter. I know that you gave the statement to Police Chief Bruner; and I can understand your wanting to shield her from this, to avoid traumatizing her any further. But I have to tell you that given the lack of physical evidence, a more detailed statement from Alyssa will be necessary in order for us to move forward.”

  Donna paused for a moment to consider this. She wanted to protect her daughter; and now it appeared that her actions might only prolong the ordeal for Alyssa, without punishing the man who had harmed her in the first place. But there was really no choice, was there? She couldn't let Shawn Myers get away with it. Moreover, if there were no consequences for him, he would feel free to victimize other girls in the future—he might even make another attempt at Alyssa.

  “Alright,” Donna said. “If that is what has to be done, then so be it. I’ll bring her in here so that you can talk her, if that’s what’s needed.”

  “Good,” McKnight said contemplatively, nodding. “That’s good.” McKnight seemed to be engaged in his own internal debate, deciding whether or not to broach a particular topic. Finally he spoke, accentuating his words with a careful, measured tone.

  “We need to make sure that we have a solid case, Ms. Chalmers, given the potentially high-profile nature of this situation. TP Automotive is seen as something of a white knight in the local community, you know.”

  For a moment, Donna wondered if she had understood the prosecutor’s statement correctly. But she had understood him; and she couldn't believe what she had heard.

  “So what are you saying?” she asked. “Are you telling me that Shawn Myers gets special treatment here? Is that why he wasn't arrested?”

  “Please, please, Ms. Chalmers. I can assure you that no one is receiving—or will receive—any such special treatment. All the same, we don’t yet have enough evidence to charge Shawn Myers with a crime.”

  “That’s not exactly what you said,” Donna shot back.

  Tim McKnight glanced up to make sure that the door to his office was still closed, that no snooping assistant or wandering citizen was standing in the doorway. Security was fairly lax in the county government building; people had wandered into his office more than once in the past. The admin stationed at the desk outside his office—the one who was supposed to screen his visitors—was famous for her lengthy cigarette breaks.

  “Ok, Ms. Chalmers. You’re a parent—just like me. That gives me some sense of what you’re going through. So I’m going to give this to you straight. I don’t want the words that I’m about to say to come back on me. Know this: If you repeat this to anyone, I’ll deny that I said it.”

  Donna already found McKnight’s conspiratorial tone more than a little unusual—definitely not the sort of talk she had expected from a public official. However, there was no one else to appeal to—at least not here. She nodded for him to continue.

  “If we can build a solid case against Shawn Myers, I’ll take this case to court with everything I’ve got. I’ll see that Shawn Myers is prosecuted to the full extent of the law—no matter what it costs me, or the county.”

  “What are you talking about?” she asked, incredulously.

  “Come on. Ms. Chalmers. You know exactly what I’m talking about. TP Automotive is presently the most powerful economic interest in the county. Fifteen years ago we had six automotive plants in the county, making components for the Big Three in Detroit, and those Honda plants over in East Liberty and Marysville. In the intervening years, four of those plants have closed down and moved to Mexico or China. Now we’re down to two. TP Automotive has just saved one of those plants from bankruptcy; and one of TP Automotive’s executives has expressed interest in the other one, which has been losing money for the past five years. Do I have to tell you who that TP Automotive executive is, Ms. Chalmers?”

  “Let me guess: Kurt Myers.”

  “That's right: The father of the man you’re accusing of assaulting your daughter. And he’s already made veiled threats to the effect that he won’t be bringing any more TP Automotive money into a community that supports false accusations against his company’s management team. He’s even hinted that TP Automotive might decide to liquidate its stake in UP&S. That would mean the closing of the plant, and the loss of a lot of jobs.”

  “So you’re basically telling me that this comes down to a choice of local jobs, local livelihoods for local families—or justice for my daughter? Is that what you’re saying?”

  “It might. And if it comes to that, Ms. Chalmers, I’ll gladly choose your daughter over those families. But only if we have an airtight case.”

  “Great. So you’re telling me that it has to be one or the other? You either punish the man who attacked my daughter, or you allow a few thousand people to keep their paychecks. And from what you’re saying, there are any number of ways that Shawn Myers can wiggle around this in court.”

  McKnight raised his palms in a hands-off gesture. “I’m merely trying to make you aware that we face an uphill battle here, Ms. Chalmers. I would be doing you and your daughter a disservice if I didn't tell you that there are political considerations. At the end of the day, though, your daughter’s testimony—combined with your own—will count for a lot. We don't have an airtight case, but we will have a case. You can bet that Shawn Myers is squirming right now. If he’s convicted, he faces jail time, and the end of a very promising corporate career.”

  Chapter 42

  It was dark by the time Alyssa arrived home from school. The street on which she and Donna lived was older and comfortably residential, a working class neighborhood that clung to respectability even though it had seen better days. And the house was within easy walking distance of her school.

  She had stayed late for a meeting of the French club. The club was planning a trip to Paris next summer. The mere thought of Paris conjured up a panoply of mental images, all of them inviting. She saw herself riding up the elevator of the Eiffel Tower, walking along the Seine at dusk, and having lunch in one of the open-air cafes for which Paris was so famous. And of course there would be the opportunity to practice the French that she had learned in nearly two full years of study. Since beginning French her freshman year, she had managed to acquire a solid working knowledge of the language. She was by no means fluent—not yet—but she had earned an A in French every single quarter.

  Then she came down to earth: Whom was she kidding? Given her mother’s finances, she knew that any notion of going to France in June was probably a vain hope. But then she remembered that old saying: Where there’s a will, there’s a way. She was good about saving her money; it might be possible to raise the money needed for a summer trip to Paris if she picked up an extra job somewhere.

  She now had time for such a job. She would not be helping her mother clean the offices of UP&S any longer—not after Shawn Myers had attacked her. Donna had informed her that she would need to give an official statement to the county prosecutor. That was sure to be nerve-wracking. She didn't want to tell an adult man she didn't know about how she had been groped by another adult man whom she barely knew.

  Think of Paris, she thought. Just think about Paris. Someday you might get there.

  She began the walk up her driveway, pretending—half fancifully—that she was walking toward the entranceway of le musée du Louvre. The museum had originally been a palace that belonged to the French monarchy. During the French Revolution the majestic, imposing structure had been transformed into a museum, which had been its func
tion ever since.

  She imagined herself passing through the glass pyramid that dominated one section of the museum’s vast cobblestone plaza. The museum—and the pyramid—had been prominently featured in The Da Vinci Code.

  These were her thoughts as she used her key to let herself into the empty house. Her mother was cleaning the UP&S plant tonight, and wouldn't be home until much later. I hope Shawn Myers doesn't make trouble for her, she thought. But maybe Shawn Myers was too wrapped up in troubles of his own. Being questioned by the police had to be scary—even if you were a powerful man like Shawn Myers, who had far more money than her mother ever would.

  The interior of the house was dark. There was a large floor lamp by the door—an ancient contraption that had belonged to her grandmother. It held four 60-watt light bulbs. The floor lamp was activated by the light switch just inside the front door.

  Alyssa flipped the switch. However, the expected flood of light did not appear.

  This was odd. She flipped the switch several more times. Nothing.

  The front drapes were drawn; but the streetlamp in front of the house cast enough light through the gauzy material to enable her to discern basic shapes and shadows in the living room. She fumbled around until she found the little knob on the floor lamp. She turned the knob. No light. Then she tried the wall switch again. Still nothing.

  “I unplugged the lamp,” a voice said.

  She heard a click, and a little wedge of light cut the darkness from the far side of the living room. There in the living room of her mother’s house, Shawn Myers was sitting in the big recliner that faced the television set. The little flashlight that he held in his lap was pointed upward, so that its beam of light formed an inverted wedge, illuminating his face. Shawn was smiling at her. His face made her think of a Halloween jack-o-lantern.

  “Hello, Alyssa,” he said. “I hope you had a pleasant day at school.”