Vindicator

by Denney Clements

  Franklin’s press aide had handled Emery’s request for an interview by setting up this dinner date – the only time the governor had available before he flew back to Denver. The governor’s handlers were at a table across the crowded room.

  “So it really hurt when she tore into me over the Kiowa water deal – which was a fair deal – in such a personal and public way,” Franklin said. “Like all successful politicians, I’ve got a thick skin. But she really got to me and I handled it poorly. The dam collapse already had me pretty rattled. Three people are dead, for God’s sake. There may be more. And the property damage could be billions. We may never be able to rebuild the dam. The local tourism economy is ruined. Dozens of jobs will disappear. She makes light of it, but it’s horrible. And it happened on my watch.

  “Mabel and I go back a long way, back to when she was the minority leader in the Kansas Senate and I was chairman of our Senate Ways and Means Committee. She would give me political advice – it really helped me out in my Senate re-election campaign six years ago and my campaign for governor two years ago. She’s a much better tactician than I am. She really knows how to connect with voters.”

  “Why do you think she said that today?”

  “Still on background?”

  “We need to get back on the record.”

  Franklin eyed Emery a few seconds. “I’ll say this. She’s got a tough re-election campaign. This fellow Jung, the Republican, is giving her fits.”

  “Steve Jung has a laser focus on problem-solving, unlike the current governor. Hodge came into office with some good ideas – improving public schools and getting health coverage for the working poor – but couldn’t get the Legislature to work on any of them. She’s got nothing to show for her first term.”

  Franklin smiled. “Some voters don’t care about results, just spectacle. Jung might well make a more effective governor than Mabel, but he’s doing well in the polls because, as a pro-lifer, he appeals to religious Republicans and because moderate pro-business Republicans like his analytical abilities. And because he’s been a strong DA back there in Wichita, from what I’ve heard, the law-and-order crowd loves him. That’s a hard combination to beat in a reflexively Republican state like Kansas.”

  The governor tugged at his chin, sipped some beer, and added, “Of course, she’s pro-life, too. And she’s attractive, too, in her own way. Those fierce eyebrows, those strong facial features, that short iron-gray hair, that all-muscle fireplug of a body that fairly radiates energy and drive. Voters like that. They know her better than they know him. She’s got that massive power base in East Topeka from her legislative days. And it doesn’t hurt that the Republican senator from southwest Kansas, Vernal Barnes, switched parties to run for lieutenant governor with her. Somehow she converted her worst legislative enemy into a friend. That'll draw in some GOP rural voters on Election Day.”

  “So you’re saying she said those incredibly tasteless things today as a publicity stunt to boost her chances at the polls next month?”

  “Yes.”

  “But I don’t see how pretending there’s good news in the dam disaster helps her. Most of the voters live in the eastern third of the state. They don’t have a clue – or care – where their water comes from. They wouldn’t base their votes on what she said today – unless it’s to vote against her for her crassness.”

  Franklin shrugged. “I don’t think her little stunt at my expense makes sense, either. But I gave up trying to fathom Mabel’s heifer-in-a-china-shop approach to politics a long time ago. All I know is it’s worked for her thus far.”

  “So is there anything to this sabotage theory? What are the law enforcement folks telling you?”

  Grimacing, Franklin said, “I’m not going to get into that, even off the record.”

  Natascha Schroeder, Hodge’s press secretary, waylaid Emery as he was unlocking the door to his room at the High Plains Inn. The sky was trending toward twilight.

  A freckle-faced red-haired waif with the heart of a pest exterminator, she demanded, “Where the hell have you been, Emery?”

  He did not like this woman. The only good part of the Examiner’s order that he work from Wichita was that he no longer had to contend with her. Back when she was a state government reporter for the Topeka Ledger, Schroeder filed a sexual-harassment complaint against her boss, Terry Conklin, then the Ledger’s senior Capitol correspondent. Conklin, one of Emery’s best friends, was openly gay, so the charge ultimately got nowhere.

  Soon after, Schroeder left the Ledger to become the media handler for Hodge’s first gubernatorial campaign. After winning the election, Hodge made Schroeder her press secretary.

  “It’s good to see you, too, Ms. Media Manager,” Emery said, working some mockery into his voice. The Statehouse reporters thought her fancy title insulting and she knew it.

  To his surprise, she smiled meekly and said, “Sorry, Emery. I came on a bit too strong there. I get irritable when I can’t find the people I need to talk to.”

  “I’ve noticed that. Why are you here?”

  “I wanted to talk to you about the governor’s extemporaneous remarks at the press conference today.”

  “You mean her insensitive outburst at a time of death and possible terrorist treachery?”

  “Look, just go easy on her, OK? This rough re-election campaign has gotten her a little stressed. And you know how strongly she feels about that bi-state water deal. The AG should have given her a role in the negotiations instead of publicly spurning her request and calling her an interloper. The jerk-off humiliated her.”

  “I’m just going to report it like it happened, just like I did in the blurb for the web site.”

  “Do you have to mention it at all in the story for the newspaper? That would be unfair. She didn’t know the terrorist thing was going to come up.”

  “Come on, Natascha. You know better than to ask me that.”

  “You're the same old blockhead asswipe you always were, aren’t you?” She sighed. “All right. Just go easy on her, OK? See ya.”

  She strode across the parking lot to a white Impala sedan with the standard dark blue on light blue Kansas tag. The county code in the upper left corner read “GR” – not one he recognized. A male, big of frame, was waiting in the shadows behind the wheel. He started the car as Schroeder got in.

  Strange. Having no patience for long road trips, Hodge had flown out here from Topeka in the state’s Citation jet, her new million-dollar toy. In such situations, Emery knew, staffers usually ferried in state cars for the use of the governor and her entourage. But this was a private automobile.

  As the Impala backed toward him, Emery flipped open his notebook and wrote down the tag number.

  Upon calling Sarantos’ nighttime counterpart, Ellis Eckes, for last-minute strategizing, Emery learned that the editors had canceled the Hodge story. They’d relegated her outburst to a sidebar based on his earlier web story, and were leading the morning newspaper with a wire story on “the dam-terrorism angle.”

  “Excuse me, Ellis, but what angle? Some so-called news web site puts up an unsubstantiated story and we’re taking it as holy writ?”

  Eckes, who was maybe 28, replied, “That’s old-think, Emery. You know how it works now. Once it’s on the net, we have to publish something about it. Otherwise, we look clueless. Besides, we’re punching it up with some of the background from your story. That stuff about the dead kid is priceless. That photo you took of his body in the tree was terrific. You’ll get a contributing credit. You can take tonight off unless you can come up with fresh material. But if you do, it would have to be something really juicy. Your web story on the governor’s charming episode was a dud.”

  Indignant now, Emery snapped, “That story was well researched and properly sourced. And nobody writes spot news better than I do.”

  Ellis chuckled. “Maybe so, but it hasn’t made the web site’s most-popular list yet and probably won’t. I don’t think it got even a dozen hits. If it mak
es you feel any better, though, the video you shot of the Hodge-Franklin incident is getting a lot of hits. We’ve also posted it on YouTube. That Colorado governor’s red-face sputtering was priceless. What a fool. And Hodge comes off as mean and clueless. Great stuff. If it goes viral overnight, which could happen, you’ll be a video star – for a little while anyhow. That would boost your standing with the big bosses – make them believe you do understand the new-media environment.”

  “Swell,” Emery responded.

  Another chuckle. “By the way, Pete wants you to drive back first thing in the morning. Try to be back in the newsroom by 4.”

  “I’m supposed to have a day off after I get back,” Emery protested.

  “Forget it. We’re short-staffed, remember. The cutbacks? We’re lucky to still have jobs.”

  “I’m not so sure about that,” Emery muttered as he snapped his phone shut.

  Chapter 4: Carol

  October 12, 9 p.m.

  “What’s wrong?” Emery asked his visitor, who seemed agitated.

  “The FBI is what’s wrong. They got my brother Ted,” she growled. “I'm Carol Clark and Ted is Ted Brody. He’s big in the Plains Keepers movement.”

  “I've heard about that group. Back-to-basics environmentalists. Restoring the High Plains grasslands and buffalo wallows.”

  Nodding, she swallowed some of the whiskey he’d given her. “And restoring prairie waterways to their natural state. Ted, my baby brother, is one of the leaders in the Kansas-Colorado chapter.”

  She had knocked on his motel room door a few minutes earlier, just as he was getting into the bourbon. Though hollow-eyed and frantic, she was a good-looking woman, a little shorter than his 5 foot 7, not young but younger than he, slender, dressed in jeans, a white blouse and a tan jacket. Her hair, cut short, was brunette and curly.

  “How did Ted get tangled up with the feds?” he asked. He sat at the foot of the bed, she at the desk chair. Their knees were a yard apart.

  “The bastards pulled him in last night. They think the Plains Keepers blew up the Gunderson dam. They called him a terrorist. If my mom and I hadn’t been with Ted when they came to our house, he would have disappeared into the federal gulag.”

  “What?” Emery sputtered. “Last night? So there is a terror investigation? That 'act of God' stuff is a lie? … Hey, why I should believe you?”

  “I’m telling you the truth, though I don’t blame you for being suspicious. This whole thing with the dam is just so bizarre.”

  “Monstrous, too. At least three people are dead.”

  “What’s monstrous is the FBI blaming Ted and his friends for murder and terrorism. They sweated him and two Keepers all day today, trying to get them to admit they were responsible. They wouldn’t let me in to see him.

  “But even though they told me we couldn’t, we got them a lawyer. We're going to contest their detention in federal court, but they're telling us that months could pass before there’s a hearing. The Patriot Act apparently allows this. It’s not the real America any more.”

  “How did you find me?”

  “I saw you walk into the sheriff’s office this morning,” she replied. “I was in my car across the street near the town park. I deduced who you were from the Wichita Examiner parking decal on your windshield – that and the byline and your photo on the story about the dueling governors on the Examiner web site. I read it on my laptop while I was eating at La Hacienda. I was alone at a table behind you. I followed you out here after you finished with the governor. It took me awhile to work up the courage to knock on your door after your earlier visitor left, you know, the cute redhead.”

  Not amused, Emery demanded, “So did the Keepers blow up the dam? At heart they're just crackpot environmentalist extremists, right?”

  She reddened and leapt to her feet. “You're as big a pig as the FBI.”

  He held her eye, his eyebrows raised. She slumped into the chair.

  She said, “You can be nasty, can’t you? The Keepers are mainstream conservation activists, like the Sierra Club or Audubon Society, only with a narrower focus. They’re brash but they’re not into terrorism. This isn’t their style.”

  “Where were they when the FBI picked them up and where are they now?”

  “They got Ted at my house, over in Ouimet, Kansas. They took him to the Los Llanos jail, where he’s been ever since.”

  “Los Llanos? How do you know that?”

  “Because I followed them over here. Two agents, a man and a woman, in dark suits, came in a black Chevy Suburban with one of those blue and white federal tags, at about 9 o'clock. We were winding down a birthday party for my mom, who lives with me.

  “They’d already been to his place, a room he rents there in Ouimet. They took his computer and some paper files. They wouldn’t say where they were taking Ted. But I tailed them at a distance – not hard to do out here on the Plains, especially at night if the sky is clear. No way was I going to let those bastards make Ted disappear.

  “When I got to Los Llanos, I spotted the Suburban at the jail. Same tag. I could see it under the security lights. I slept in my car last night. This morning, I called around and found out the FBI had Ted’s partners, Craig Ledbetter and Harry Percy, in custody, too, here in Los Llanos. Craig lives over near Syracuse, just east of the state line. Harry’s from Garden City. I think the FBI grabbed them all because they’ve made so much noise about freeing the Kiowa and other prairie rivers from federal dams. It’s no secret they despise the Corps.

  “Anyhow, I passed the word on where they were being held. Someone in the movement called their lawyer. He’s Tom Bernier from Wichita, who got here this afternoon.”

  “I know Bernier,” Emery said. “He made a ton of money suing polluters; does a lot of pro bono work for environmental groups; big donor for the Democrats, including Gov. Hodge. He helped me with my divorce.”

  She nodded. “I see. Well, Bernier doesn’t work pro bono for the Keepers. He charges them the non-profit rate. He also helps them raise money.”

  “I take it you’re not part of the group.”

  “That’s right. I used to help Ted’s chapter out by keeping the books, paying the bills, tracking down federal and state regulatory filings and the like. But I never had much appetite for environmental activism, and after my husband died I gave it up as an exercise in futility. I have to concentrate on survival.”

  “I am sorry for your loss,” Emery said.

  A tear escaped her left eye. “He worked for the grain elevator in Hugoton. Ted called it working for the enemy – the big corporate farms and the agribusinesses that feed off them. Mike was killed in an accident about 18 months ago – fell into the elevator when they were dumping grain into it. Smothered.” She shuddered.

  “How awful.”

  “Forty three years old – same age as me – and still doing hard physical labor like he was a kid. I guess I’m still angry at him for putting himself at risk like that. He was the manager, for God’s sake. Didn’t have to be up there.”

  She sighed. “He never really grew up. He left me in a huge pile of manure. No insurance, no bank account to speak of, a 16-year-old kid to raise. Now she’s 18 and a freshman at Fort Hays State. I had to move my mom in with me to cover the bills and Sadie’s expenses. I handle billing and research for the local co-op to bring in some money.”

  She sniffed and wiped her nose and eyes with a tissue from her purse. “Sorry for the tears – more for self-pity than for him. Not very attractive. I do miss him.”

  Emery smiled. “Don’t get me going about self-pity. My ex-wife … Well, never mind. But I can empathize.”

  She smiled back and tossed off the rest of her whiskey. “I need you to help us out. Some publicity might be enough to shame the FBI into releasing Ted, Harry and Craig.”

  “I can’t publish anything based just on what you’ve told me,” Emery said, realizing as he spoke that this was not really true. His employer’s standards had declined.


  She nodded. “I sort of guessed that. But can’t you confirm what I’m telling you?”

  “I tried to reach Deal of the FBI and Sheriff Cowan after dinner. They're not taking press calls. And I’m supposed to drive back to Wichita in the morning.”

  She could not hide her disappointment. “You really don’t believe me.”

  “No, that’s not it,” he protested. … “Wait a minute. I’ve got an idea.”

  Reaching past her, Emery pulled the thin Los Llanos phonebook from the desk drawer. His arm brushed hers – electric. Wow.

  “Who are you calling?” she asked.

  “Better you don’t know.” He sat on the bed and thumbed through the directory until he found a home number for Alfonso Martinez. He retrieved his cell phone from the desktop.

  Then he put it back. “I need to find a pay phone.”

  “I think there’s one out by the road.”

  He scribbled down the Martinez number, put on his glasses, collected five or six quarters from his loose change and opened the door. She followed him outside, scanning the environment.

  They found the pay phone at the edge of the motel property under a streetlight. As he lifted the receiver, she asked, “You want me out of earshot?”

  “Not necessary. Keep an eye on the street, please, and let me know if you see something suspicious.”

  He dropped some quarters into the coin slot and punched in the Martinez number. After four rings, the chief deputy answered with a gruff, “Hello.”

  Emery identified himself.

  “Why are you bothering me at home?” Martinez demanded.

  Emery relayed what he’d learned from Carol, leaving her name out of the narrative. “All I need is for you to confirm that the FBI pulled the three guys from the Plains Keepers in for questioning, that they’re in your jail, that the dam disaster was sabotage and that there was a domestic terrorism investigation in progress as of yesterday evening.”