Woozy and hurting, Emery could only murmur, “Thanks, sweetie.” As they moved the six blocks or so between Rahman’s clinic and the house on Courthouse Street, he realized he’d been resenting her for making him feel like a disruptive force. The departure of the resentment unmasked an undercurrent of well-being. “You can’t imagine what a relief it is to have your unqualified support,” he said.
“Actually,” she said, as she parked the big Mercury in her driveway, behind Juwan’s Civic and the Dodge pickup, “I think I can. I feel relief, too, and happiness. Let’s get married right away.”
Elated, he said, “Great. We’ll get the license and line up a minister on Monday.”
“Deal.” She leaned over for a kiss, grimacing. He leaned over to meet her lips, nearly keeling over from dizziness. The left side of his head throbbed with pain. As they separated, she giggled. “Between my sore rib and your head injury, we’re a mess. Let’s get inside so we can both lie down.”
“Together, I hope.”
“Together, but no funny stuff. Neither one of us is in good enough shape for that.”
“I think someone is monitoring this computer,” Sadie said the following afternoon. She was trying to figure out why Emery’s Dell laptop, which she’d set up on the table in the study, was operating sluggishly. “What do you think, Ju?”
Juwan said, “See if you can find a hidden icon for monitoring software. Right-click the systray, then left-click ‘properties’.”
She did as her lover said, then exclaimed, “Aha.”
“What?” said Emery, who was lying on the couch across the room.
“Here’s an icon for a program called Cyber Watchdog Pro.” She turned to Juwan. “Is that a program you're familiar with?”
“Yep. It’s an off-the-shelf program employers install to monitor what employees do on their computers.”
Emery struggled to his feet and pulled up a chair beside Sadie. “How on Earth did that get on there?”
“Where did you get this computer?” Juwan asked.
“From the last newspaper I worked for, when they laid me off. But I don’t think the Examiner’s IT people installed the monitoring software. Word around the newspaper was that management monitored what individual employees were doing at the network level.”
“That makes sense,” Sadie said. “Installing monitoring software on individual machines would have been redundant and really expensive.”
“So who else could have installed it?” Juwan asked, his brow wrinkling.
“No one I can think of,” Emery said. “The day they let me go, after I bullied them into letting me keep the machine, I took it to the newspaper techs. They removed the proprietary software and gave it back to me. I’ve had it with me ever since – wait a minute.”
“What?” Sadie and Juwan demanded.
“The only time I didn’t have it with me,” he said, looking at Sadie, “was when the FBI pulled in your mom and me, over in Los Llanos. It was in my motel room for about two hours until they let us go. Could they have ...”
“Occam’s Razor,” Sadie interjected.
“Those bastards. They’ve been monitoring everywhere I’ve been on the net ever since that day.”
“It’s worse than that, J-2,” Juwan said. “They’ve been monitoring everything you do on this computer since they installed that software, through the Internet. It picks up every keystroke. Just be thankful this computer doesn’t have a webcam, or they'd be watching you and listening to you, too.”
“Oh my God,” Emery said. “I feel violated.”
“You want Sadie to uninstall that software?” Juwan asked. “I can show her how to do it.”
“I can do it without your help, you chauvinist pig,” she replied. But she was smiling.
“Sorry, Sade,” he said. “I didn’t mean to insult your intelligence.”
“No,” Emery said. “If we remove the software, Dan Deal and the FBI will know we’re on to their dirty tricks. I’d rather not alert them. But if there’s anything you can do to make it run faster, that would be good.”
“I see what you’re saying,” Sadie said, “but won’t there be times when you don’t want the FBI to know what you’re up to?”
“Well, I have this other laptop, the one I bought for your mom to use. Would you mind going through it, too?”
Chapter 34: Wedding Day
December 11, 3 p.m.
Pastor Edgar Ziegler married Carol and Emery the following Saturday afternoon at the Ouimet Presbyterian Church. Because both bride and groom had recently sustained injuries, the ceremony was only 20 minutes long. But, as Emery reflected late that evening, Carol asleep in his arms, the ritualistic joining of his life with hers had created an emotional bond far stronger and than the bond they'd established as unmarried lovers. They now shared an awesome responsibility for one another, at once glorious and frightening.
Even though the wedding was hastily planned, with invitations sent as a mass e-mail apologizing for the short notice, supplemented by a local phone tree organized by Rose, Emery was thrilled that so many of his friends and family members journeyed to Ouimet for the occasion. His parents, Peggy and Joe Emery Sr. flew into Denver from Cleveland on Friday and rented a car for the 150 mile drive southeast to Ouimet. They’d booked two nights in the nicer of the town’s two motels.
Here for the day from Wichita were Arthur Cushing, Pete Sarantos, Kendra Wendell, Marcus Tyler and Martha Jean Hutcherson, all of whom brought spouses or significant others. Terry Conklin, who, as he told Emery ruefully, was between relationships, drove down alone from Topeka. He was staying at the town's other motel.
Angela Brun – whom Emery, in full no-hard-feelings mode, also invited – sent “sincere regrets” by return e-mail that she could not attend. At the end of her message, Brun wrote, “We need to talk. Call me when you get a chance, please.” Intrigued, Emery sent the message to his “loose ends” folder.
J-3, who’d agreed to be best man and bought a suit for the occasion, came down from Lawrence with his girlfriend, Shirrone McKeesy. She was a gorgeous Nubian princess who happened to be the granddaughter of one of Emery’s oldest friends, Ed McKeesy, the chief custodian of the Kansas Capitol.
The couple rode in the Grand Prix with Stiggy, whose given name turned out to be Marvin Edward Harris. Shortly after their arrival, he told Emery he’d fallen in love with the Grand Prix and offered him an even trade for the Dodge pickup. Emery had invested the pickup with talismanic power – its low bed had given Aaron Renke a clear shot at the noggin of Ken Davis. He accepted the deal on the spot. They would handle the title-swap later.
Virtually everyone Carol, Rose and Ted liked in Ouimet – this was far from everyone in the town but still a lot of people – also attended the ceremony, including Renke, who served as Emery’s other usher. Ted’s Keepers of the Plains cohorts, Harry Percy and Craig Ledbetter, drove in for the event; because Emery had gotten them sprung from the FBI back in October, they were among his biggest fans. However, like Ted, they didn’t admire Emery quite enough to wear neckties to his wedding. Sadie and Rose, along with Betty June Palmer, the Ouimet economic development director, and Sarah Brodke, assistant manager at the Farmers and Ranchers Bank, served as Carol’s bridesmaids.
The little church, with seating for maybe 150, was filled to capacity, with a few late arrivals standing in the vestibule. No one had to stand outside – a good thing since a blue norther, fresh in from Saskatchewan, had the town in its frigid grips.
The reception, held on the first floor of Carol’s house, was officially non-alcoholic but still boisterous. Two cute Ouimet girls, Sadie’s contemporaries, stood with Stiggy drinking punch in the front parlor, oohing and aahing over his tattoos and ascertaining the current cost of piercings, hardware included, in Kansas City; Emery sincerely hoped their mothers were out of earshot, though, technically, the girls, being older than 18, could go as Goth as they liked.
Joe Sr., a retired independent insurance salesman who
worked part-time, was working the rooms, letting his new acquaintances know that some of the companies he represented were admitted to sell personal and commercial insurance in Kansas. He could help them with their needs. Twice, when Emery wandered within reach, Joe Sr. pulled him in for a bear hug, telling his new friends, “I’m so proud of this kid. He’s got his own business now, he’s making money and he’s not afraid to face down the bad guys.”
J-3 also garnered several grandfatherly bear hugs. The kid seemed apprehensive when he introduced Shirrone to his grandpa as the girl he loved, but Joe Sr. honored her with a kiss and hug, too.
Peggy, meanwhile, was getting to know her new daughter-in-law and her son’s new mother-in-law. At one point, she took Emery aside and whispering, “I like this one better than that first girl you married, you know, the one who betrayed you. Carol is not only prettier than the other one, but she really adores you. She’ll never dump you for money like the other one did, though the other one did give you a beautiful son.” Emery, wondering whether his mom really had forgotten Alice’s name, kissed her and shooed her back in Rose’s direction.
Cushing, Tyler, Conklin and Sarantos, he noticed shortly thereafter, were talking animatedly while smoking cigars on the back patio, which the garage sheltered from the howling north wind. When Emery wandered out to join them, the sages fell silent.
“It’s not nice to keep secrets from the groom,” he said.
“Seems Miss Wendell’s story last week on the firefight at your condo complex has spawned a disagreement between these representatives of the old and new media,” Tyler said. “Pete and Arthur want me to mediate.”
“And me as well,” Conklin said, “though I’m not even a journalist any more. As far as I’m concerned, Joseph, you can do no wrong.”
“Bullshit,” Cushing exclaimed, pushing his fat, foul-smelling maduro toward Emery’s face. “I’m mystified how a story that should have gone to the Spotlight, the one about the police raid on your condo eight days ago, ended up in the Examiner. I asked you that last week in an e-mail, you may recall, but you never answered.”
“Well, he did nearly get killed by the goons,” Sarantos said, “so I can understand why he hasn’t gotten around to replying.”
“So how did you get that story?” Cushing demanded.
Before Sarantos could reply, Emery said, “Because I fed it to Kendra, on background.”
“You traitor,” Cushing exclaimed. “Why didn’t you feed it to me?”
“If I had, who would you have given it to?”
“Um, as it was a Friday night and we were shorthanded then, well, you would have been the logical one to report it, on your blog. So why didn’t you write it yourself and send me the link?”
“Because I was frightened and exhausted that night and wanted only to get back to Carol, Arthur. I just could not handle it. The story needed to be told in complete context, so I fed it to Kendra, whom I knew could handle it.”
Tyler nodded. “And she did.”
“If I’d felt up to handling it myself, I’d have done so. But I just couldn’t.”
“We get it, Joe,” Cushing said gently. “It’s OK.”
“Thanks, Arthur. I do love you the best, you know,” Emery said, winking at Sarantos and Conklin. “If you’ll excuse me, it’s time for another kiss from my wife.”
He walked back indoors. He found Carol, resplendent in her form-fitting ivory wedding suit, talking to Betty June and Sarah in the front hallway. “That time again, eh?” she said as he approached. He took her in his arms and kissed her, receiving the slightest brush of tongue in return.
Now, suddenly enervated, he wandered off toward the study and sank wearily to the couch. Kendra Wendell wandered in a few minutes later, sat next to him and asked, “Ever think about taking in new investors for The Vindicator?”
“No,” Emery said, startled. “Why?”
“Oh, I might be interested in joining a venture like yours or else creating one of my own. I don’t plan to stay at the Examiner much longer. None of us who has any talent does. They’re paying us peanuts to do twice the work the old guard reporters used to do. We think more entrepreneurially than your generation did because we have to – though it’s ironic that an old guard guy like you is showing us the way. You’re our paragon.”
“Well, thanks,” Emery started, “I, uh …”
“Don’t answer now. Just think about it. I could raise the money,” she said. Then, spotting her girlfriend, Sally Moon, a willowy law student at Fairmount State, chatting with Sadie, Juwan, Shirrone and J-3 in the dining room, she smiled, rose and joined the group, taking Sally’s hand. Stiggy, Emery noted, had disappeared with one of the Ouimet girls, the slender, red-haired one, Janey Gussett, who’d told Emery her mom was Emma, the nurse at the clinic. He hoped Janey knew how to take care of herself.
Nonplussed by Wendell’s business proposition, Emery arose and walked into the kitchen to get a swallow or two of water. He found Renke pulling a longneck Coors out of the refrigerator. “I thought there might be something a little more refreshing in here and I was right,” the sheriff said.
“Is there one in there for me?”
“I believe there is.” The sheriff pulled out another longneck.
Emery twisted off the cap. As he and Renke clinked the necks of their bottles together, he said, “To sharp-shooting sheriffs.”
Renke grimaced. “Let’s drink to peace instead.”
“To peace,” Emery said. They re-clinked their bottles.
“I have to tell you, Joe, that man, Davis, might have been the lowest form of human scum, but taking his life has been haunting me.”
“I was knocked out at the time, but from what I’ve heard, you didn’t have a choice. He made the choice when he leveled the shotgun at you.”
“Yes, true, but it takes a long time to grow a man, even a bad one like Davis, and killing a man is so easy, just a few pounds of pressure in the trigger of my Winchester .30-.30 and boom, a projectile whizzes through his brain faster than the speed of sound, and he’s dead.”
“Yes, but it was either you kill him or he kills me. I’m glad he’s dead, Aaron. I’ll do anything you need me to do to help you get past this, including postponing my wedding night so we can talk this out today. I wouldn’t blame you if you were angry with me for making the hyenas eager to see me dead, which put you in the position of having to kill one of them.”
“Maybe there’s a little rage about that bottled up in my heart,” Renke said with a wry smile. “Let’s not try to figure this out now. It’s your wedding day.”
They downed their beers in companionable silence.
As they hid their empty bottles in the trash and prepared to rejoin the reception throng, Renke said, reaching into his suit coat’s inner pocket, “I almost forgot. Here’s a copy of Kan-Tel’s application to our town council for its WiMax operating subsidy. The council, unfortunately, accepted the proposal without insisting on more detail about the company’s inner workings. Neither they nor the town manager know much about the folks who run Kan-Tel.” He handed Emery a sheaf of papers.
“Thanks, Aaron,” Emery said. “I’ll work through this next week, in hope something jumps out at me.” He tucked the papers into the pocket of his suit coat, wondering whether he’d be able to summon the initiative to return to The Story. He was weary and sore and wanted only to spend time with his wife.
Chapter 35: ‘Outsourced Activities”
December 13, 10 a.m.
The Story, of course, did not stand still just because Emery had taken time off to recuperate from an attempt on his life and to get married. Four days before the wedding, Gov. Hodge, back from China, announced that she had accepted the resignations of Revenue Secretary Harold Ramsey and Agriculture Secretary Eunice Swindle, effective Dec. 15, because both were under investigation for corruption and abuse of power.
“Normally, Kansas fair play would dictate that I suspend Mr. Ramsey and Ms. Swindle, with pay, pending the outco
me of the investigation,” Hodge said in a written statement that purportedly explained her decision.
To keep the FBI dumb and happy, Emery was reading the statement on his Dell computer. He’d decided to work while Carol was checking up on things over at the co-op.
“But because our attorney general seems hell-bent on defaming my administration,” Hodge continued, “these good public servants have decided it’s better if they resign. They want me to begin my second term in January free of any potential taint. I appreciate their consideration. In keeping with Kansas standards of decency, I have given Ms. Swindle and Mr. Ramsey enough time in office to collect one more paycheck and to plan for smooth transitions in both departments. With their departures, the so-called scandal with which the attorney general has attempted to saddle my administration is at an end.”
Emery re-read the statement, struggling to dispel the fuzz with which his time off had coated his critical faculties. He marveled at the governor’s brazen presumptuousness. Anyone who’d been paying attention could see the loose ends still in need of tying up. So he opened his blog, clicked the “new post” button and wrote:
HODGE TOO QUICK TO DECLARE SCANDAL OVER
Commentary by Joe Emery
Last week, Gov. Mabel Hodge kicked two Cabinet secretaries, Eunice Swindle of the Agriculture Department and Harold Ramsey of the Revenue Department, to the curb. Then she declared “the so-called scandal with which (Attorney General Mike Harmon) has attempted to saddle my administration” to be over.
All thoughtful Kansans can say in response to her declaration is: Not so fast, Mrs. Hodge. You still have some explaining to do.
Vindicator Page 18