by William Mark
“So, you guys drag me down here and accuse me of some serious shit just because I’m a convenient target. I know my history. I know what it says and what you guys think of me, but I can explain all that shit. Misunderstandings is all that was, all a bunch of misunderstandings, and this…this is police harassment!”
“Relax, Brian. You were asked to come here, and you agreed. You know where we stand, and if you have nothing to hide, you have nothing to fear, and should have no reason not to cooperate fully.” The detective, out of view of the camera, spoke confidently. Pittman did not recognize his voice.
Pittman watched closely and was standing only a few feet away from the screen. The monitor room door opened, and in walked a younger female detective from the Special Victims Unit. He had seen her talking with Polk before. She was simple and pretty.
“Hi, how are you?” he said, while keeping his eyes on the screen.
“Fine, sir. How are you?”
“Good, good. Are you on this case?” he asked, pointing to the screen.
“Uh, yeah. I mean, we all worked a part of it. I wasn’t in the unit when it initially broke, but since we got the new evidence and this guy, we’ve all been working non-stop.”
“I bet, I bet. So the evidence this victim brought in, it was her underwear?”
“Yeah.”
“Aren’t there some integrity issues with her bringing it in so late in the game?”
“Actually, she mailed them to herself the day after it happened, and it’s been sealed since. That was pretty smart in hindsight. I mean, it’s not ideal, but with the postmark, it will stand up in court as being untampered. I only wished she had done it earlier. Maybe we would have caught this guy back then.”
“Yeah. Possibly.”
“Well, I need to get going. FDLE is coming to take the evidence to the lab, so I need to meet the tech in the lobby.”
“Okay, don’t let me keep you.”
“Thanks, nice meeting you.”
“You too.” Pittman turned back to the television screen as the young detective left, but as soon as the door clicked shut, he poked his head out to see her walking off toward the lobby. Pittman stepped out and looked around. He didn’t see anyone paying him any attention, so he quietly followed her out.
She walked down the stairs and out to the front lobby. Pittman hung back in the hallway but was stopped by a uniformed officer of rank that he didn’t recognize. The door behind him read “Watch Commander.” He explained to the cop that he had stepped out to make a phone call and had gotten turned around. He was shown his way back to the lobby by the unsuspecting cop. Pittman saw the detective meet with the FDLE evidence technician and then step to the elevator to head down to the property and evidence room in the basement. Moments later, the young detective returned with the evidence package in hand. She looked around the lobby for the FDLE tech, unaware that he had stepped outside.
While she stood there, Pittman watched and thought furiously on how to turn this into his advantage. He had to react soon, for his window was rapidly closing. He paused when he saw the young detective answer her cell phone. Her body stiffened, and she immediately spun around and headed back toward Pittman. He turned and ducked down the intersecting hallway and into a small break room to avoid being seen. She sped past the hallway, completely unaware of the Senator, while holding the evidence package in hand.
He followed her back upstairs and into the Criminal Investigations Division. He checked his watch and grew impatient as he had somewhere to be, but this had to be dealt with first. He visually followed her head, just barely showing over the cubicle walls, to her desk in the corner of the Crimes Against Persons section.
“Senator, over here!” Polk shouted over the top of the cubicle farm. Pittman was startled by the Sergeant’s voice. His head shot up, and he addressed the Sergeant walking towards him.
“Sorry, I had to step out to make a phone call.”
“That’s okay. I wondered where you went. We’re taking a break right now. This guy’s playing hard to get.”
“I’m sure you’ll break him. Just keep at it.”
“Yes, sir. That’s the plan.”
“Listen, give me a call when you guys are able to make the arrest, and I’ll be honored to do the press thing; you know, put a positive note on this down time.”
“You don’t want to hang out, see how it ends?” Polk sounded disappointed.
“No, I have to hurry up and get down to my press conference. Big day for me. So if you’ll excuse me.”
“Okay, well….”
“If you need to get back to the case, I understand. I can find my own way out.”
“Alright, I’ll call you when we’re done here.”
Pittman shook the man’s hand and headed toward the door while placing his cell phone to his ear. There was no phone call. He stood at the door until no one was in sight. He quietly backtracked through the division and over to where he saw the younger detective go with the evidence. This was his only window.
As he crept up quietly to the corner cube, he heard her talking loudly on the phone. Her back was turned, and the evidence was sitting on a chair behind her. With a lightning fast move, Pittman snatched up the small brown evidence package and stuffed it inside of his suit jacket. He walked back to the front of the division and quickly made his way toward the lobby. He barked at Stephens to get up from his seat.
“We need to go, and go now.”
He motioned for his assistant to get the car started so that they could make a hasty exit.
“Let’s go, Jeremy. We’ve got to get down to the press conference.”
Pittman beat the assistant to the door and opened it up himself. He continued to snap at him to start the car and get moving. Pittman settled in the backseat as his assistant got in and cranked up the car. He kept watch on the front of the police station, expecting the building to suddenly come alive and trap them inside.
“LET’S GO!”
Jeremy jumped in his seat, scared by Pittman’s demand. He backed up and sped out of the small, drive-thru parking lot and onto East Seventh Ave. Pittman held his stare on the building as they passed by. Once his assistant made the southbound turn on Monroe Street, he let out a sigh of relief and smiled, thrilled with himself.
Chapter 51
Tony Mason arrived at the press conference early and grabbed a coveted seat in the front row. There were news reporters setting up cameras in the back while the talking heads worked their phones. Butterflies were doing barrel rolls in his stomach. It was an odd sensation in his world of skepticism and harsh realities, but then he knew something the others didn’t. He was ready for some form of fireworks when everyone else was prepping for a mundane political announcement piece.
A young female reporter eyed Mason sitting alone, dressed casually in jeans and a Dodger t-shirt and sat next to him. She carried a small cloud of perfume with her and dressed in an off-white blouse and black skirt with heels.
“Hi, I’m Samantha Wallace. I’ve been covering the political beat for a while now, but I haven’t seen you around. You’re a reporter, right?”
“Yeah. Tony.” They shook hands. “I’m with the LA Times.”
Samantha blushed. She was still a small town girl from the panhandle, waiting for her big break. She was thrown back by the unexpected presence of a major West Coast paper.
“Oh, wow! What kind of following does the Senator have in LA?”
“Oh, I don’t write the political beat. Not enough blood and guts for me.” Mason let the woman hang intentionally as he sat aloof, waiting for her to take the bait.
“What beat are you on?”
“The crime beat.”
Reporter Samantha Wallace cocked her eyebrow in confusion. She wasn’t getting anywhere with this arrogant jerk from LA, so she wrote him off and checked in with her boss. Mason smiled at himself when he knew she wasn’t looking.
***
“Head downtown. There’s some big construction goin
g on where they’re building a new park, down there where the old Centennial Park was.”
“Yes, sir.” Jeremy Stephens was wrought with guilt and felt the pendulum swinging back toward his neck. He kept his mouth shut at this point and obeyed what Pittman told him.
Pittman checked his watch. The press conference would start in ten minutes, but he needed to get rid of the evidence. He held up the small manila packaging with the red evidence tape on its edges. It was very non-threatening from the outside, but within, it contained his kryptonite and that could destroy everything.
He tugged at the corner and ripped open the package. He had to see what he had carelessly left behind. Pittman opened it up and peered inside. A small pair of lacy, pink underwear sat stuffed in the bottom crease.
“That’s all, huh?” he said to himself.
Pittman looked around and saw they were nearing the park. With all of the construction going on, he could easily dispose of the damning evidence where no one would ever think to look or possibly link it back to him. He looked back down at the underwear. Images from that lustful, power-seeking rampage flooded his mind. He remembered Mirra Teal well. Thoughts of her never went away. She was his first and held a special place in his mind. He felt himself get aroused and flushed in the face, remembering her pathetic pleas for help. He rolled down the window to let the wind cool him down.
Pittman drew a long breath of the outside air and felt refreshed but he was still turned on. He could no longer deny the temptation. He wanted to feel Mirra once again.
He reached in the manila envelope and removed the underwear. They hung loose in his hand as he looked them over. He felt himself breathing heavily, reliving that special night. He rubbed the panties in his hand to get a good feel of the soft fabric. He loved the fact that this garment once touched her most private of areas, and now, he was in possession of it. He put the underwear directly under his nose and inhaled deeply, taking in its scent and the essence of Mirra Teal. Thoughts of keeping it clouded his mind, but it had nearly cost him everything. He had to get rid of them. He would get more, he told himself in consolation.
“It’s just ahead, sir,” Stephens broke Pittman out of his lascivious reverie.
Pittman looked out of the window and saw a large construction dumpster by a dirt access road. It was already filled to the top with trash and debris which meant it needed to be emptied soon. It was perfect.
“Go over there toward that dumpster in the back.”
Stephens maneuvered the Town Car around the park and found an opening where they could access the dumpster. He read the clock in the dash and noticed they had less than three minutes to get to the press conference. He reminded Pittman to keep him on point.
“I know that, dammit. But we have to get rid of this damn thing, or we’re both fucked.”
“Right.”
“Here we are. Want me to do it?” Stephens offered.
“No, I’ll do it. Call ahead and let them know we’ll be at the press conference in just a bit. Tell them to start the new commercial or something to stall.”
Pittman jumped out of the car with the panties and envelope and walked over to the dumpster. He looked around the vast open area that was going to be a large urban park for Tallahasseeans. The coast was clear, and he climbed up on the side of the large metal container and stuffed the evidence inside a dried-out paint bucket. He pushed it farther down in the refuse to hide it even further. He hopped down, wiped his hands, and got back in the Town Car. It was gone. It was over.
***
Mason checked his watch and saw it was nearly the top of the hour. The room was full of media and campaign supporters abuzz with the excitement of Pittman’s announcement. The microphones atop the podium were checked one last time for sound, and two large screens on the front wall came to life.
A sinking feeling had started to settle in the pit of his stomach. He felt that he was being played for a fool. He pulled out his phone to call Alexis Vanderhill and declare war with no limits on her and her team. Before dialing, he stopped as her words from a week ago echoed in his head.
“Who’s in control isn’t always obvious.”
Mason eased back in his front row seat and exercised his lesser virtue of patience. The two screens came to life, and Pittman’s new campaign logo appeared. It was sharp and had the expected title of “US Senate” displayed along with his name in red, white, and blue lettering. Some members of his campaign clapped and cheered.
Comments from the crowd began, and Mason looked around watching their reaction. Out of the corner of his eye, a pretty, blonde woman with a ponytail stood in the back. They locked eyes, and Mason made no effort to look away. Rachel Goodwin, he remembered. Her presence was a good thing for this supposed story Alexis promised, but he was getting impatient. He noticed Rachel was standing next to a smaller, brunette woman. She was plain and obviously apprehensive about being in this place. Rachel spoke to her and hugged her from the side. Mason was immediately intrigued and wondered who this woman was.
The lights dimmed, and the crowd was told that the Senator would be arriving momentarily. The dual screens came to life, and Mason turned around in his seat to watch the show.
***
Stephens pulled out of the construction site and paused as he thought about the best way to get back to the press conference. He made a couple of turns to get back to Monroe Street, but the car suddenly stalled, and the engine died. He felt the power steering give out and the brakes stiffen. He stood on the brakes feeling the car roll to a stop.
“What the hell?” Pittman barked.
“I don’t know. It just died.”
Stephens turned the ignition, and the engine just sputtered and coughed back. He stomped on the gas hoping it would help, but the engine still sputtered.
A tiny ring sounded somewhere in the car that struck both Pittman and Stephens as odd. Pittman ignored it and leaned up between the seats to assist Stephens with the car.
“When’d you get this thing serviced last?”
“Last week, like you told me too. I don’t know what’s wrong.”
“Well, get it working for God’s sake.” Pittman’s tone was full of irritation.
The tiny ring chimed again; this time it was a bit louder.
“And what the hell is that noise?”
“I have no idea.”
It sounded again. It was much louder and rang continuously. Pittman leaned back in the seat and zeroed in on the source of the noise. It was coming from the passenger backseat pocket. He reached in and pulled out an iPad. It was ringing. He didn’t recognize it as his but opened it up anyway.
Pittman pushed the button bringing the iPad screen to life. The face of Curtis Walker filled the screen and sent shockwaves through the Senator’s body.
“Hi there, Thomas.” Curt’s face was serious.
“Curt? What the hell is this? I thought you were in jail? How’d you get out?”
“I never went.”
“I don’t understand. What do you want?”
“I want you to confess to the rapes of Mirra Teal and the other eleven women from Tallahassee and Panama City.”
“I have no idea what you are talking about.”
“You will also confess to the kidnapping of my son, Josh Walker.”
Pittman met the request with a conceited laugh full of contempt. “You are insane! I will do no such thing.”
“Sure you will. You are guilty of those crimes. If you have any decency, you will confess. There’s plenty of evidence against you.”
Pittman looked up from the iPad and snapped at Stephens to get the Town Car started and moving. He knew this was a ploy from a desperate man who had no idea that the evidence was now gone.
Confidently, Pittman answered, “No, there’s not.”
“Okay, I’ll admit you were very careful, and the evidence against you is slim, but that’s why you’re gonna confess.”
“Not a chance.”
“No?”
“No. Go to hell!” Pittman looked up again, “Jeremy, get us the hell out of here.”
“I’m trying.”
The car’s engine was still stalled, and a series of clicks replaced the sputtering.
A low rumble started to reverberate inside the Town Car, and Pittman felt it vibrating his feet. It caused a mild panic to wash over him. He looked out of the window and didn’t see any trucks or cars around, but he instantly realized that the Town Car had come to a stop over a set of railroad tracks. Suddenly, the doors to the Town Car locked on their own. Now, the panic turned into the full blown version.
“What the hell is this, Curt?”
“It’s fate Senator, that’s what it is. Time to Confess!”
“To what? I’ve done nothing wrong, and we both know that you can’t prove otherwise.”
The rumble grew louder. Pittman saw the smoke from the train’s exhaust billowing from above the tree line. He tossed the iPad to the side and tugged at the door handle. He pulled at it repeatedly to no avail. He slid across the backseat and tried the other one with the same luck. He slammed his fist against the window in an attempt to break it, but the reinforced safety glass took the beating. Pittman reared back and punched the glass as hard as he could. His knuckles smashed against the solid glass that remained intact. He howled as the sharp pain of defeat resonated through his hand and up his arm.
“Fuck!” He flung his hand wildly, trying to shake off the pain.
Curt’s voice yelled out from the iPad screen, “Confess, Senator!”
Pittman grabbed up the iPad and looked at the screen. His face was red hot with fury.
“Listen to me. I’m not confessing to shit because I did nothing worthy of a confession! You can stop your little game here and admit this is some ridiculous ploy.”
“No, you listen to me! That train is less than half a mile away, and it will be on top of you in less than two minutes. You don’t have much time.”
The rumble had grown to a steady rolling of thunder. The train’s whistle blared in the short distance, and it was loud and unmistakable.