by Robin Lamont
“On his computer. He’d download each day’s footage on his laptop.”
“The same computer Sheriff Ward brought to you the day I was here?”
“Yes, but I looked and the video is gone. It’s like it was wiped off.”
Jude leaned in close to the crack in the door. “But the pain killer prescription and the research about fatal doses of oxycodone – that was on the computer. Do you think that really was Frank’s doing?”
“I don’t know,” Verna grieved. “He felt like such a failure when he got caught, like he’d let everybody down, and almost worse than losing his job, he was afraid he’d lose all his friends. At first I thought maybe it was too much for him. But he was a fighter, and in my heart of hearts I don’t believe he would leave me and Sophie like that.”
“If they weren’t Frank’s computer entries, who put them there?”
Verna’s answer came out haltingly, “Marshfield. Someone. I don’t think Bob Warshauer is smart enough to do something like that, but it’s a big company.”
“Could the Sheriff’s office be involved? Could they have erased the tape from Frank’s computer?”
“You’d have to ask them.”
As if Jude herself had summoned the patrol car with her question, a blue oscillating light swirled out of the darkness behind her. She looked over her shoulder to see one of the County Sheriff’s cars pulling up behind hers.
“I’m sorry,” said Verna. “I had to call them. I … I made a deal with Bob and I’m not supposed to talk to you.”
“A deal? He offered you money?”
Two deputies exited the patrol car, mirror images as they adjusted their trooper style hats.
“Don’t you get high and mighty with me,” hissed Verna angrily. “We don’t have Frank’s income, the life insurance won’t pay … what do you expect me to do? I have a child to think about.”
Jude remembered her last visit to Verna and the mess in the house. She had precious little time. “Did Frank make a copy of the video? Is that what you were looking for the other day?”
Verna looked beyond her at one of the deputies who was peering into the back of the Subaru, his hand lightly resting on his service weapon. The other deputy started toward Jude.
“Did you find it?” breathed Jude.
“Jude Brannock?” asked the deputy as he came up the steps. He knew very well who she was. “Brannock?” he repeated more forcefully. “You’re under arrest for harassment. Come with me.”
“Just one second, please,” Jude begged.
But he had already gotten out the handcuffs.
Verna’s frightened eyes appeared through the slit in the door and Jude caught a glimpse of her shaking her head. No, she hadn’t found a copy. Jude persisted, “Could Frank have given it to somebody? His friend Howard Bisbee? Emmet Chapel?”
“Put your hands behind your back.”
She closed the front door, but Verna’s voice came through loud and clear, “I don’t know anything about that. I can’t help you.” Whether it was directed at her or for the deputy’s benefit, Jude didn’t know. She put her hands behind her as he slipped a plastic cuff around her wrists and tightened it. “Let’s go,” he commanded.
The deputy took Jude by the elbow and steadied her when she tripped on the second step, “Watch out,” he warned, “it’s slippery.”
Yes, it is, she thought. Ever since she arrived in Bragg Falls – slippery and perilous.
Chapter 23
Sheriff Ward’s keys jangled while he searched for the right one to open the cell door. Jude remained seated inside on a cot bolted to the wall, trying not to appear too eager. She couldn’t be sure, but from the exasperated look on the Sheriff’s face, he had probably been on the phone with Elizabeth Crowley, the attorney for The Kinship. Elizabeth – no one called her Liz – had that effect on a lot of people. As if by magic, she could pull legal arguments out of thin air, making opposing counsel flip through statutes in a fruitless effort to make his or her vanishing case reappear. Even when her motions and briefs were on shaky legal ground, she often got what she wanted simply by showing up. The long legs and flawless skin were combined with an elegance and grace that were downright intimidating … a vegan goddess.
“You’re free to go,” said Ward tersely. But he dragged his feet opening the cell door.
“You spoke with our attorney?” Jude asked.
“I did. I could have kept you overnight, but at this point, I don’t know which one of you I’d less want to deal with.”
Almost sympathetically, Jude said, “Elizabeth’s tough.”
“I’m sure it’s a necessity since you animal rights people must end up on the wrong side of the law pretty often,” said Ward. “But she’s not the reason you’re getting out. Verna Marino has decided not to press charges.” He opened the cell door and stood aside to let Jude pass.
But she didn’t move. “Can I talk to you?” she asked.
“You gotta be kidding.”
Hearing from Verna that the video had been erased from Frank’s computer raised questions about Ward’s connection with Marshfield and what, if any, involvement he had in Frank’s death. But a part of her believed that Ward was on the level and since she was already in deep, Jude decided to swim out even farther. “I’m not convinced that Frank Marino committed suicide,” she stated flatly.
The implied accusation hung in the air like a stink bomb and Ward moved into the cell as if he could block it from passing through the bars. He leaned against the wall opposite the cot and crossed his arms. “This better be good,” he said, his teeth clenched.
“I told you about the videotape that Frank made at the plant. Well, I think he got something else on the tape besides the systematic animal abuse that’s going on inside.”
Ward just stared at her.
“You have to understand, part of what we do is getting footage of this kind of institutionalized cruelty, and there’s plenty of people who don’t want to see that come to light. Folks around here have made that very clear to me. But Frank discovered something potentially more damaging to Marshfield, something that went beyond the industry’s systemic abuse. He as much as told me so. And Marshfield was aware of it. They found out what he had – I don’t know how – and tried to coerce him into giving up the video, his camera, everything.”
“Did he give it to them? Whoever them is…”
“I think he probably did.”
“So if he gave them what they wanted, why murder him?” Ward cracked his knuckles, decidedly unimpressed with her theory.
“They couldn’t be sure there wasn’t a copy made. And if there was, only Frank could authenticate it. The video loses value in court without testimony about how, when and where it was made–”
“I’ve been in court, Brannock, I know what authenticate means. You may think that because you’re from the big city that we’re hicks down here.”
“You didn’t let me finish,” insisted Jude. “Without Frank, the video could well have had evidentiary problems at a trial, but it doesn’t mean it would fall flat in the court of public opinion. In a few days, the state legislature is going to pass a bill that makes it a felony to record or distribute photographic evidence of animal abuse at places like D&M. All well and good for Marshfield long term, but as soon as that bill goes to the Governor for his signature, the media’s ears will be up, and if they’re not, my organization and some others will make sure they are. We hand over footage of the kind Frank made, a lot of people are going to look real bad. Marshfield can protest that it was fabricated all they want, but the proverbial shit will have hit the fan.”
“So what are you saying?”
“I’m saying that Marshfield cannot let anyone get their hands on a copy of Frank’s video – particularly me.”
Ward pushed himself away from the wall and for a second, Jude worr
ied he might strike her. But he simply leaned into her, the muscles in his jaw twitching as he ground his teeth. “And what makes you think there is a copy of this alleged videotape floating around?”
She’d couldn’t discern if his demand was arising from a police officer’s natural desire to get to the bottom of things or from a corrupt need to find out what she knew so he could take it back to Marshfield. Either way, there was an intensity in his eyes that stopped Jude cold and she felt her confidence wane. “I surmise that there is … uh, someone searching my hotel room,” she stammered. “… the threats to me, my dog…”
His eyes burned into her as he said, “We did a thorough investigation that will hold up in any court of law. Frank Marino committed suicide and you’ve said nothing to make me think differently. You and your whole organization – you make a living at conspiracy theories. You got something solid, give it to me. Otherwise, I don’t want to see you again.”
With that, he strode angrily down the hallway, leaving such a trail of hostility that she hesitated to follow. But after a moment, she figured she’d better take advantage of the open cell door and get out before he changed his mind.
* * *
The Sheriff’s final words should have hastened her departure from Bragg Falls, but she wasn’t leaving without Finn. Jude went back to the motor inn, parking her car around the side where it couldn’t be seen from the road. After double checking the chain on the door, she called in.
“Elizabeth sprung you from the slammer, eh?” asked CJ. “Any news on Finn? Gordon says he’ll send someone down if you need. Finn’s our hero, you know.”
“Thanks, but I’m not sure that more activists in Bragg Falls are going to help.”
“Whatever you need. Listen, I learned something. I did a check on that company PharmaRX where Frank allegedly bought the pain killers. It’s legit, well legal anyway, a Mexican drug dispensary. Anyone can go on line, fill out a form and they’ll have one of their so-called doctors authorize a prescription. I verified Frank’s purchase, but here’s the thing … there’s no confirmation that the order was actually filled and shipped. I did a little scam on the shipping department and they had no record of anything going out to Frank Marino.”
“What does that mean?”
“It’s not conclusive, especially since most of the people operating the company don’t speak English. But it could be that the oxycodone that killed Frank didn’t come from PharmaRX and that someone down there got paid off to enter a phony prescription request into their computer. That entry might be enough to throw the cops off if they decided to look into it. Speaking of computers, did you ever get a chance to look at Frank’s?”
“No, but I found out from Verna that she saw parts of the video on his computer shortly before Frank died. When the Sheriff returned the computer that the cops found in the car, the file was gone.”
“Somewhere in there it got erased,” concluded CJ.
“I guess. So…”
“Frank could have erased it … or someone in the Sheriff’s office. You did tell me that he showed up awfully fast when you were taking photos of the plant. How did he know you were there? Could be D&M is cozy with the local Sheriff.”
Jude recalled how defensive Ward had been when she hinted at foul play in Frank’s death. “It wouldn’t be the first time,” she said somberly.
“Let me add one more thing,” broached CJ. “It’s possible to use a restore option to backdate new input.”
“Give it to me in English.”
“Okay. The order to PharmaRX purportedly sent from Frank’s computer? The searches that Frank did on oxycodone? I’m speculating, but if someone who knew what they were doing got their hands on his laptop, they could make it look like he placed the order and did the searches before he died, when in fact the information was input at a later date.”
“You mean input after he died. How could they do that?”
“Well, you set the specified program back to an earlier date … you really want me to explain how to do it?”
“Not really. But I do want to understand what you’re implying … that someone might have doctored Frank’s computer to make it look like he was contemplating suicide?”
With that troubling question still hanging in the air, Jude promised to check in later. She shut off the lights and sat on the bed, trying not to imagine her life without Finn, trying to forget the slow march of helpless creatures driven through an assembly line of pain and fear, trying not to think about the impenetrable wall of power and secrecy behind which the Marshfield corporation operated.
She wasn’t aware of having dozed off until she heard rapping on the front door. She sat up on the bed and glanced at the clock. It was almost midnight. The knock came again and she swung her feet over the side and tiptoed to the window. Through a slit in the curtain she saw a man at her door. She recognized the slope of his shoulders and drew back, her mind racing.
“Jude, it’s Emmet Chapel,” he said softly.
Could he possibly know something about Finn? She opened the door as far as the chain would allow. Emmet stood framed in the doorway, hands dug deep in his jeans pockets.
“Is this about Finn?” she asked.
“Who?”
“My dog.”
“No … no. Can I come in?”
“No,” replied Jude. But her voice, even on the single syllable, wavered. The investigator in her was now wide awake.
“Five minutes. Please, I just need to talk to you.”
Jude slid the chain off its track and opened the door. He walked slowly to the bed and sat on the edge as she turned on the overhead light. The stark glare magnified the lines in his face and the gray at his temples. He held up his hand to shield himself from the unforgiving light and Jude switched it off, leaving them barely illuminated by the glow of the streetlights straining through the thin curtains. She perched warily on the desk opposite him.
“How did you know where to find me?” she asked.
“Everyone knows you’re here.”
She barked out a short laugh. “Great. What do you want?” she asked.
When he looked up, she could see the longing in his eyes and her apprehension came flooding back, not because she felt threatened, but because she felt the same longing.
“You shouldn’t have come,” she said.
He nodded, but made no move to leave. “I needed to see you,” he breathed.
Jude put up her guard although he looked as worn to the bone as she felt. “I thought we covered this,” she said harshly. “I’m not in the business of human salvation. I barely keep my head above water doing the work I do. Besides, someone stole my dog who I love very much and to be honest, I’m just hanging on right now.”
“Do you know who took him?” he asked.
“No.”
“I’m sorry,” said Emmet. “Maybe I can help.”
“Maybe you can. Why don’t you start by telling me about Frank Marino.”
Confusion creased his brow. “What are you talking about?”
Jude felt reckless, as though she were speeding through a dark tunnel, unwilling to slow down until she saw daylight. “Were you with him the night he died?” she asked.
“Yeah…” Emmet replied uncertainly.
“In the car.”
“What car? You mean his car when he took an overdose? Christ, no! I was with him at the Lazy Cat. I never saw him after that.” When Jude continued glaring at him, Emmet exclaimed, “What are you implying? That I had something to do with Frank’s death? Are you crazy, he was my friend.” Emmet’s injury seemed genuine and it took a moment for him to see where she was going. “You still think Frank was murdered, don’t you?” He dropped his head in his hands. “The video … that goddamn video. Well, it wasn’t me,” he said, his words muffled.
“It crossed your mind that they killed him, tho
ugh, didn’t it?” asked Jude.
A grieving sigh escaped through his hands and he shook his head. She didn’t know if it was because he didn’t know anything or because he wouldn’t say.
“Are you okay?” asked Jude more gently.
“Could I have some water?”
She went over to the kitchenette, filled a mug with tap water and brought it over. He took it gratefully and drank. “Frank was right, it’s very bad there,” he finally said.
“At the plant? I know.”
“No you don’t,” he said. A bit of light caught his eyes and in them a look of desperation. “Something happened today.”
He didn’t speak for a long time, and when he did, his voice sounded hollow. “I had to put Tim Vernon back on the stunner. The new kid couldn’t handle the pressure and was slowing everything down. I thought Vernon was going to be okay, I really did. But at the end of the shift, this guy named Crank and another kid drug in a sow from outside. No one knew why she couldn’t walk, it didn’t look like she was disabled – she just looked used up. I heard Crank yelling, trying to get Vernon over to where the sow was laying to stun her. Vernon was blowing them off, saying he wouldn’t leave his area and stun a pregnant pig. And Crank gets in his face and calls him a ‘bullshitter,’ says he doesn’t know what he’s talking about, which is the wrong thing to say to Tim Vernon. I didn’t really hear what else they said … it all happened so fast. But before anyone can stop him, Vernon takes his hunting knife and goes over to the hog and slices her belly open. And he’s right. There’s piglets spilling out onto the floor and they’re alive!
“That might have been the end of it, but Vernon points his knife at Crank and says, ‘What did I tell ya, asshole?’ and starts to walk away like … nothin’ happened. Maybe Crank was juiced, but he jumps Vernon from behind. By the time we get him off, they’re both cut bad and it’s all a bloody mess.”
Jude put her hand over her mouth.