by William Mark
He sat down at the end of one of the few tables inside the small dining area that was scantily decorated with random pictures and Florida State University paraphernalia. The sandwich was good, and he added a chocolate chip cookie to his order for a pre-celebration. As he finished reading the local paper while waiting on his editor to call him back, he noticed it was nearing eleven o’clock on the West Coast. Mason grew impatient. It shouldn’t take this long, he thought.
Finally, his phone rang; he left the tiny restaurant in a rush and headed back toward the hotel.
“Hey, Ed. Jesus, what took you so long?”
“Uh, hey Tony. Sorry about that. I need to talk to you about the article.” His editor had always called him “Tone” with his best attempt at an Italian mafia accent. Calling him Tony actually caused him concern.
“Did you like it?”
“Yeah, of course I did. It’s good shit, very intriguing….”
“I know it has a lot of bite, but this is just the beginning. If I can track down any more stories like this, I mean, I think they’ve been at it for a while, and obviously they’re good at covering their tracks. The possibilities are endless.”
“Yeah, that’s good Tony, real good.”
There was an awkward pause over the phone. Mason knew something was wrong because his supervisor hated talking on the phone, and yet, he was dragging out the conversation.
“What’s the problem now, Ed? For fuck’s sake, I’ve been on this project for over a year.”
“I know kid.” His heavy breath blew through his end of the phone. “We’re not going to run the story.”
Mason didn’t notice that he had actually stopped walking.
“Come again?”
“Can’t print the story, Tony. I’m sorry. It’s out of my hands.”
“The fuck you can’t! Don’t do this to me now Ed, come on? What the hell?”
“Came down from the top. I went in fighting. Like you, I smelled a series of articles, and yes, hopefully you could dig up some more stories, but it’s a no-go.”
Mason begged his editor to reconsider and even asked to speak to the higher-ups. It was all for nothing. The decision was final. He asked if Alexis Vanderhill had anything to do with the decision not to print. He explained she didn’t but when Mason demanded a reason, all his editor would say was that it was out of his hands. Mason called him a gutless douche bag and hung up out of frustration. He quickly dialed another reporter to get a real answer.
After a quick ring, the expectant female voice answered.
“Hey Tony, what’s up?” She sounded busy.
“Hey, can you tell me why the hell Ed killed my story; it’s fucking gold, and I’m getting shit on for no apparent reason!”
“Oh, that was yours?”
“Yeah, what the fuck?”
“I don’t know the details but that came in from the top dude. I mean, Ed left out of his office like death had come knocking.” This gave Mason confirmation that the decision was made above his supervisor’s head. He would have to apologize later, but for now, he had to figure out who axed his article.
“Fuck me. Okay, call me if you hear anything.”
Mason made it back to his hotel room to pack his things and get to the airport. He had to hurry up and get home to straighten this mess out. The more he thought about it, the more he knew Alexis Vanderhill had something to do with killing his piece. The article was built on more than just a scared kid from a wealthy family. This time around he made sure what he printed was backed up by provable facts that he had painstakingly checked. He was certain this scoop was beyond the reach of Alexis Vanderhill. He thought about farming the story out to some other paper, but that would probably be a decision with harsh consequences. He vowed to get to the bottom of this catastrophe and get his story printed.
Chapter 38
Within the Unit at the Leon County Jail, there were a few offices for the shift supervisors, a bathroom for jail staff only, and a multi-purpose room that over looked the recreational yard in the center of the jail. At times, one could watch the inmates play basketball, volleyball, or just socialize and soak up the outside air. The Unit sat between the inmate pods on each end of the jail, each floor a cookie cutter of the other. The multi-purpose room was mainly used for interviews with the inmates or meetings with their lawyers. Curt sat impatiently at the table in the multi-purpose room and ignored the sounds of the early morning basketball game outside of his window. He was awaiting the inmate to be brought to the Unit.
Following an awful night, Curt had grabbed his trench coat and flown out the door in search of answers. He needed answers, and he couldn’t get them from Josh. He needed them from Gregory. He knew Josh was too fragile, and the statement he made was inconclusive, but his instincts were on overdrive. He knew there was something important that he was missing.
Before entering the jail, he removed his Glock from his holster. It’s a secure facility, and not even law enforcement officers were allowed to carry weapons inside. It was actually for their protection since the inmates heavily outnumber the officers inside the jail. Before he stowed the gun away, he stared at it in his hands. Such a simple and deadly creation, he thought. The men responsible for taking his son deserved to die, and for a moment, before entering the jail, he asked himself if the answers he sought were more important, enough to allow them to live.
Instead of going through the front of the jail, Curt went through Releasing to avoid the red tape, metal detectors, and cameras. The alternate entrance was on the side of the jail by the sally port where all arrestees are initially brought in and booked. There are holding cells for each gender and transfer cells for those who are housed for longer stays. Releasing was the last stop before leaving the jail.
Curt entered through the small lobby to Releasing and flashed his badge to the deputy working the desk behind the thick, bullet-proof glass. The deputy, accustomed to detectives using this avenue to see inmates, waved him on at the sight of the badge without verification.
“You here to see an inmate?” he said through the small speaker just below the glass.
“Yeah, following up on a case.” Curt hoped the vague answer was enough to pacify any curiosity beyond the quick exchange.
“No guns or knives right?”
“Nope!” Curt opened up his trench coat to reveal an empty holster. He patted himself down for added effect. The deputy hit a button on the wall, and soon the steel framed door buzzed and drew open for Curt to pass through. The door rolled slowly shut, and the clank of the internal lock echoed off the concrete walls. Another door opened behind him, allowing access into the jail. He stepped through and walked down the long hallway that led to the housing units and jail pods. As he passed under the watchful eye of the camera system, he subtly reached his arm behind him to the small of his back, adjusting the Glock .40 inside of his waistband. His intentions weren’t clear, why he brought the gun, not even to him. But, he wanted it with him anyway as he came seeking answers.
Voices spoke just beyond the multi-purpose door and out in the hallway leading back to the pods. The Unit door opened and a male voice said, “In there.”
Curt looked up to see Glenn Gregory make the turn into the room. He walked with a slight limp, and the left side of his face was a brilliant collection of purple and green shades of color, reminiscent of the beating he endured only a few nights before. His eye was still puffy and swollen with a small slit between his eyelids that allowed him to see out, and his face was covered by a patchwork of bandages. He hesitated at the door and looked back at the deputy who escorted him to the Unit. Gregory thought the conspiracy to further torture him for more information would run deep and extend to the jail as well. After seeing the deputy look at him with indifference, he sat down in the room, knowing anything was better than hanging out in the pod with the other inmates. Once they learned he was an accused child molester, the beatings would be more severe than what he had received from an angry father.
; Anger settled in Curt’s mind as the man sat down across the table. He took a deep breath, feeling the hard edges of the Glock in his waistband push against him, and he focused on why he was there. Answers.
Gregory looked around the small barren room and was drawn to the window that overlooked the rec yard.
“I need answers,” Curt said pointedly.
“Why should I tell you anything?” He motioned to his face. The injuries were clear exhibits of his obvious reluctance.
“Because you’ve done enough to my little boy. He’ll be scarred for life, so try and be a decent human being for once. Doesn’t that mean anything to you? I want to know why you took him from me!”
Gregory looked away, avoiding eye contact and the consequences of his despicable actions.
“Well, you can’t fake another car crash in here. If you beat me, there will be witnesses, so…I think I’ll just have my day in court.”
Gregory leaned forward to scoot out of his chair. Curt quickly reached up and took a strong grip on his shoulder and shoved him back down in his seat.
“I’m not done! I came to get answers, and I’m not leaving until I do.”
“I told you, cop, I’ll have my day in court.” He leaned back in his chair with the same smugness he had the day Curt waited for him in the apartment.
“I’m not here as a cop. I’m here to get answers. There’s no recordings here, no Miranda. I need answers to move on, don’t you see?”
“Whatever. You can’t trick me like that. This room is probably bugged.” Gregory looked up at the ceiling, studying the air vent as if there was a listening device installed prior to his coming to the unit.
“You seemed to know who I was the day we met. How did you know me? I’ve thought and thought, and I’m positive we’ve never crossed paths. Is that why you took him, to get at me for some reason?”
Gregory rolled his eyes at Curt’s stubbornness and remained silent.
“He said the man took him and brought him to you and Helton. Is that true? Is someone else involved?”
Gregory’s face changed slightly, showing a hint of concern and worry. Curt saw it instantly, and it validated what the boy had said.
“There was, wasn’t there? Tell me now, dammit! Who the hell else is involved?”
“Hey, I didn’t say shit, cop. You won’t get me to say anything else, so stop wasting your time.”
“No! This is my kid I’m fighting for, so just be a fucking man for once. Tell me what I need to know!”
“I am a man, dammit; fuck you. I’m not telling you anything, so either get on with the beating, or leave me the hell alone!”
Curt held back the overwhelming desire to leap across the table and smash his bruised face against the beveled edge of the table, but the deputy had heard Gregory getting loud and looked through the small window in the door to make sure everything was alright. Curt shot him a look over Gregory’s head, indicating things were copacetic.
Curt reminded himself of the loaded Glock in his back waistband but decided against pulling it out for now. Too risky for him to pull a gun on an inmate, no matter how deserving, but more importantly, it wouldn’t guarantee him the answers he needed. If he shot him, the answers would die along with Gregory, and he had proven time and again that torturous coercion wouldn’t persuade him.
“I told you; I need answers. I need to know why he was taken. Who is this other person?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, so talk to my lawyer. I think I’ll start talking to him about harassment charges, maybe even a lawsuit.”
His threats were meaningless. Curt had heard this same type of threat from numerous suspects he’d snared in his investigative webs over the years. They didn’t faze him; they only confirmed that he was on the right path. It clearly struck a nerve, but the mention of a lawyer sparked a new angle to take.
“Your lawyer, huh?”
“Yeah.” Gregory leaned back with a sense of empowerment.
“Who is that, by the way?”
“Donald Carruthers.”
The mere mention of the name irritated Curt. He’d arrested plenty of scumbags who were responsible for terrible and heinous acts to women and children, yet Carruthers found a way, on occasion and against Curt only once, to get his clients acquitted from serious charges. During a trial they had together, he questioned Carruthers during a break about his conscience and the ability to sleep at night when defending such depraved individuals. His reply was simply, “If it were you, wouldn’t you want me to pull out all the stops and fight like hell?”
It seemed to be different in Curt’s eyes. The defense for his actions was that they were necessary, and those of the wicked are inexcusable, but the attorney had a point. If he found himself in trouble and with Tony Mason’s article still floating out there, the possibility was high, he would want the best representation he could find. Carruthers was considered one of the best, and it came with a costly bill as well. His shiny Beamer convertible and a beach house on St. George Island were evidence that business was very good.
However, Curt knew Carruthers was defending Gregory and Helton soon after they were formally charged. He figured by his answer that Gregory didn’t know the latest update. Curt had used the supervisor’s computer to look up a few things on Gregory’s case docket while waiting for him to be escorted to the Unit.
“He is, huh?”
“That’s what I said.” Gregory looked confused by the confidence behind Curt’s inference.
“Okay.” Curt turned the tables on him and leaned back with his own brand of smugness.
“What?” Curiosity got the better of Gregory.
“Well, if he’s your lawyer, then you should know.”
“Know what?”
“That he filed a Motion to Sever and a Motion of Conflict.”
“Conflict? Sever?”
“Yep.”
“C’mon, what are you talking about?”
“It means, he’s about to dump your ass. He is severing you and Helton to have you both tried separately, and then the motion of conflict means that he can’t be your attorney and Helton’s for the same case. I thought you were a paralegal? Shouldn’t you know about this kind of stuff?”
Gregory looked on astonished and in stunned disbelief. Curt watched as his mind raced, and he read the fear in his eyes. He knew exactly what Curt was talking about, somewhere deep down. Curt could see Gregory getting angry as he thought about the new information and what it meant for his sake.
“I am. I know what it means, but that doesn’t make sense, to sever the case?”
“They do it all the time. It’s to make it harder on the state. To make them prove the case on each individual and not the case as a whole. I mean, it was you on the video in Tallahassee. It’s your law firm that handles adoptions. I mean, it’s not that hard to figure out who the mastermind is in this operation.”
Gregory leaned back again, but the smugness was now replaced with deep concern. He folded his arms and immediately started chewing on his fingernails.
“Didn’t tell you that, huh?” Curt asked.
“Guess not.”
“So, how does a paralegal, who lives in a rented apartment complex, driving a six year old Honda, afford someone like Carruthers in the first place?”
Gregory looked away again. He stared out of the window and into the outside world he no longer knew.
“Helton has less money than you. I checked, but yet—”
“Are you done?” Gregory spat angrily.
“No, because I need answers, and you are too stupid to see that you are getting sold out. You are disposable to whomever you are protecting. They’re already cutting ties to you, and your loyalty no longer means shit to them. Don’t you see that?”
Gregory thought hard about what Curt was saying. His distrust for the man who fractured multiple bones in his face and nearly castrated him was strong, but he could hear the truth in what he was saying. He silently fought his way through
several debates waging in his head as Curt watched patiently.
Gregory needed more proof and remained skeptical. Curt didn’t blame him. Curt excused himself and went back to the supervisor’s computer, pulling up the court docket for Gregory’s case and printing it out. He underlined the two motions that were filed the day before. After he presented Gregory with the proof, he quickly read it and leaned back in the chair for the last time, completely defeated and lost. His thoughts swirled out of control, and he just stared blankly out of the window, wondering if he’d ever see the light of day again as a free man.
“I never met him, never really saw him.”
“Who? The man that brought you Josh?”
“Yeah, he knew Toby from somewhere. We met behind some store late at night, and the kid was drugged or something, so I put him in my car while Toby dealt with the guy. Toby didn’t tell me his name or anything. I was just excited about having….” Gregory stopped his thought as he noticed Curt was now standing over him.
Curt swallowed his anger and desire to further pummel the man. “So, you never saw him, never spoke to him?”
“No. Never dealt with him again. But Toby knows him somehow.”
“How did you know who I was?”
“The guy apparently knew a lot about you; told Toby you were a cop and to steer clear of you and Tallahassee.”
“He knew a lot about me?”
“Yeah. Enough about you being a cop. Whoever it was also has a lot of power too, because we had forged adoption papers and other documents later that week.”
“Where is that paperwork? I don’t think they found that.”
“I don’t know where Toby put it…his place probably.”
Curt hoped the paperwork turned up in the search of Helton’s apartment and its existence just hadn’t gotten relayed to him. They might not have realized the value of the paperwork and that it could lead them to another conspirator…the one who actually kidnapped Josh.