by Jim Riley
"What is this all about?" The bewildered man asked.
"It's all in the paperwork. You can save us some time and the disruption to your property if you will tell us where to find a couple of items."
"I don't have a clue what you're talking about," Thomas replied. "What are you looking for?"
"The rifle you used to take a shot at Jimmy Gill, Drexel Robinson, and Donna Cross," Samson answered. "Also, the paperwork for your secret bank accounts in the Cayman Islands."
"Do what?" Thomas exploded. "I didn't take a shot at anybody. And why would I shoot at Jimmy Gill or those other people? Something is wrong here."
"If you'll stand aside, my men can conduct the search," Mayeaux stated.
"I'm calling my lawyer," Thomas shouted.
"You might want to call the criminal attorney. It looks like you may need one."
Mayeaux rammed past the confused consultant, followed by four other officers. One of those took Thomas by his elbow and led him outside. He remained by George's side while the others began searching the various rooms, sheds, and barns on the property.
Niki, Drexel, and Donna remained in her new Ford Explorer. They could not legally assist in the search of George's property, and did not want to take any actions the courts could rule would exclude any of the evidence found.
Another car arrived. and two people got out. One computer tech went straight to the desktop in George's office.
"Don't see many of these anymore," he commented. "Everybody has gone to laptops or minicomputers in their telephones."
"Only the people under forty," the older technician said. "I still like to look at a big monitor. Actually, I like to look at two of them."
"That's because porn looks a lot better when you blow it up," the younger computer geek laughed. "Not easy to get a hard-on by pictures the size of your watch."
"I used to get a woodie looking at the lingerie section in the old Sears catalog. Doesn't take much for me."
"That was back when you still got woodies," the young geek countered as he powered up the desktop.
"How long will it take you?" The second man asked.
A few minutes. It looks like every file is password protected."
The youngster made the keys hum.
"It won't take long at all. Can you believe this idiot has an Excel file called passwords and he has every one of them listed? Some people shouldn't be allowed to play with toys smarter than they are."
The second technician began rifling through the paperwork in the file cabinet.
"At least, he is organized. He has a separate file for every bank account."
"Anything interesting?" The geek asked.
"I would say so," the old man answered. "He's got one labeled secret Cayman account. He couldn't have been more obvious if he left a trail of breadcrumbs."
"Look at this," the geek whistled.
"What is it?"
"Looks like our man enjoys the company of little boys," the geek answered. "At least, he likes looking at pictures of little boys."
The older man looked over the geek's shoulder and stood silently for a second. All the jocularity was gone, replaced by intense anger.
"We ought to take the bastard out back and string him up by his nuts."
"I don't know if this is admissible," the geek countered. "We're supposed to be looking for bank records."
"We discovered it in the course of our search which means it goes by the plain sight rule. If it is in plain sight, then we can use it against him no matter if it's covered by the subpoena."
"This is going to get hairy," the geek moaned. "I've got a feeling I went too far."
"Why?" The second man asked.
"The file was password protected and named pictures. I was curious more than anything else. I didn't have a good reason to open it."
"It could have been pictures of bank account statements. You couldn't have known it was child porn until you looked."
"And that is exactly the problem." The geek said.
Chapter Ninety-One
The two officers outside started with the big red barn. Inside, they went to the tool room and emptied every drawer. They found nothing of interest. They searched the individual stalls, turning over the cow dung and smelly straw, only discovering this was not an activity they wanted to become a habit.
Then they discovered a hidden room behind the tool area. The only access was through two loose boards. The bigger of the two officers tried to squeeze through, but his girth formed by too many early morning doughnuts, was too much of an obstacle.
The smaller man stepped in with no problem. Only one step inside the enclosure, he froze and gaped at the scene before him. There was a table with leather straps and stainless steel buckles in the center of the room. A cage about five feet high and four feet in diameter suspended from the ceiling.
Various instruments of bondage hung on the walls. Handcuffs. Leg irons. Masks. Ropes. Chains. Whips. Lashes. Paint and crayons piled up on a table. Beside them stood a bucket of feathers. Next to the feathers an array of knives, clippers, and snips was laid out in an array.
"What you got?" The big man yelled.
"Some weird stuff," the small guy replied. "The kind of stuff you hear about, but never see."
The big fellow could not contain his curiosity. He yanked a third plank away and held his gut in while he pulled himself into the room. For a couple of seconds, he said nothing, just staring at the vast assortment of adult bondage paraphernalia.
"This is a sick puppy," the big man said.
"No doubt about that," the small man answered. "He's definitely got a screw loose."
"Screw, hell." The big man's voice boomed in the little room. "He's got his whole rudder missing. He lost it somewhere a long time ago and doesn't have a clue where it is today."
Each man moved around the room, careful not to displace any object even though they wore latex gloves.
Ten minutes later, neither has spoken, each absorbed in his own thoughts.
"He is torturing people in here," the big man opined.
"No doubt," the little man agreed. "The problem is we can't do a damn thing about it."
"What are you talking about? We have him dead to rights. A fella doesn't keep this kind of stuff around for Bible study."
"But none of it is illegal," the little man said.
"The hell it's not. The last time I looked, it's against the law to hold someone against their will and torture them." The big man countered.
"Who do you see being held against their will?"
The big man hesitated.
"Nobody right this instance. But we both know what's done in a place like this, and it ain't pretty."
"No," the little man said, "we suspect that is what Mr. Thomas uses this chamber for, but we have no proof."
"You know it and I know it. What other proof do we need?"
"Some that will put this sick puppy away for a long time. Something that is obvious."
"What's that?" The big man asked.
"Look at the size of that contraption over there," the little fella pointed to a corner of the room. "Look at the size of the cage. The same with the cuffs and the shackles. This piece of human waste is torturing kids."
Chapter Ninety-Two
After informing Samson about their find in the barn, the two men systematically searched the other outbuildings. It was hot, sweaty work. Both tried to concentrate on the task, but their minds kept wandering back to the torture room. The thoughts of what might have happened in that place cast a black cloud over the investigation.
Two other officers discontinued the search of George's house and joined the two officers inspecting the buildings. One was the only female detective on the job. She had been relegated to following her partner around, taking notes and plenty of photographs of anything of interest. The pair had not yet uncovered anything that would be helpful in any prosecution of Thomas.
George's attorney arrived while four of the officers were stil
l searching the outside structures, and Mayeaux was inside with the other two. The attorney whispered in hushed tones to his client, and then charged into the house.
"I demand you leave at once," he announced as soon as he got inside.
Mayeaux did not bother to look up.
"And I demand you keep your voice down, counselor. Your sick client already makes me want to puke. I don't need it from you too."
Dale Zuelke did not back down. He strode directly in front of the massive Chief of Homicide.
"This is an injustice. This is a violation of my client's rights. I demand you cease-and-desist immediately before you cause grave damage to my client's sterling reputation."
"I'm a hell of a lot more worried about the kids he has pictures of and that he may have tortured in his barn that I am his reputation, which right now smells like two-week-old milk." Samson turned his head to look at the attorney.
"Pictures? Boys?" Zuelke sounded confused. "My client said you were looking for a rifle and some bank documents. He said nothing about any pictures of the torture of juveniles."
"Then you had better go back outside and have another discussion with your despicable client. You might tell him what they do to pedophiles where he's going to end up." Mayeaux was not smiling.
The attorney sped off in a huff, conferencing with George Thomas behind his car. An animated discussion ensued. Thomas kept looking at his feet while Zuelke yelled and flailed his arms. At the end of the discussion, Zuelke returned to Mayeaux's side.
"My client knows nothing about the rifle mentioned in the search warrant," he said.
"I guess he doesn't know squat about the four million he embezzled either," Mayeaux retorted.
"There could have been a slight misunderstanding about the money. That's all he's willing to say at this point."
"My lawyerese is a little rusty, but let me take a shot. Your client will plead guilty to the money he stole from the campaign if we turn our heads about all the other stuff."
"I do not believe you will ever be able to present any of the evidence obtained by an illegal search in any court in this state."
"It was all in plain sight. It did not have to be enumerated in the warrant," Samson responded.
"According to Mr. Thomas, a certain file was separate from any bank accounts and password-protected. Only by extending the search beyond the parameters approved by the court did you stumble upon it."
"I reckon you're about to tell me the room in the barn was password-protected?"
"I haven't seen this room, but from what I'm told, there is nothing illegal in it. The only things you found were devices utilized by consenting adults for their own pleasure."
"Do you expect me to swallow that crap? That piece of scum didn't have pictures of consenting adults on his computer."
"Again, those pictures will never be introduced as evidence because of your sloppy procedures."
Mayeaux's face turned beet red. The veins in his massive arms looked like they were about to explode. His hands clenched in tight fists. Zuelke took a step back, trying to decide if he should run or let Samson hit him and face a huge lawsuit. He decided no lawsuit would be good for him if he was not alive to see the outcome.
Just as he turned to flee, his heart sank. He saw an officer emerging from a small shed. The officer held a bolt action rifle.
"Hey, Chief," the officer shouted. "This looks like the one we're looking for."
"Where did you find it?" Mayeaux asked.
"Under a pile of cardboard boxes. We almost missed it. He did a pretty good job hiding it."
Mayeaux turned back to Zuelke.
"So your client doesn't have a clue about the rifle? Isn't that what you just told me?"
Zuelke opened his mouth to respond, then decided against it. He plodded back to George Thomas and another energetic conversation occurred. But only one side was energetic. Thomas hung his head and said nothing.
Chapter Ninety-Three
Friday night
Linda's Chicken & Fisher's
"Did he give it up?" Niki asked, a Cajun fried chicken liver resting on her fork.
"He pretty much admitted he stole the money from the campaign. He still denies having any knowledge about the rifle," Samson responded.
"Do you believe him?"
"I honestly don't know," Mayeaux picked up a crispy chicken wing. "He may be holding out on that to have something to bargain with on the other charges with the pictures and the torture room."
"Will you be able to get those charges in? From what I overheard, his attorney sounds like he has a good case for throwing all of it out."
"Overheard? Is that the same as snooping?"
"I'm a private investigator. If I didn't snoop, people wouldn't pay me. It's what I do for a living." Niki dipped the liver in a hot sauce and popped it in her mouth.
"We'll get the stuff in the barn in for sure. It was discovered in the normal progression of the search."
"But you can't charge him with owning a cage."
"We think we found blood under the hay. We turned several samples over to the lab and asked them to run it against the DNA of any reported missing kids," Samson said.
"I hope you don't find any," Niki said.
"Huh? We're all hoping we do."
"But that would mean your worst fears have come to fruition. Think about those kids."
"I try not to think about them," Mayeaux put the wing back down without taking a bite. "I try to think about all the kids that won't to be tortured by George Thomas in the future."
"I can see that," Niki said. "What will happen to him?"
"He's under arrest for embezzlement and three counts of attempted murder."
"Three?"
"Donna and Drexel were shot at after he missed Jimmy. That makes three counts."
"Will he make bail?"
"Not sure," Samson answered. "He won't until Monday morning at the earliest. No judge is going to give up his golf game to help that scumbag get out of jail early."
Chapter Ninety-Four
Friday Night
Central
The Sheriff's office's
George Thomas could not believe his world had collapsed in a matter of minutes. He could not imagine how anyone had discovered the money. But it wasn't four million dollars. He had taken about ten percent of that amount. He tried to conjure sensible explanations for how the rest of the money ended up in his secret account, but had no idea where to begin.
And the rifle? Where did it come from? How could he explain it showing up in a shed? Again, he drew blanks.
The only good news was the arrest records did not mention the photographs or the torture room. George knew what happened to people like him in jail. If that information reached the other inmates, the torture room would look like a playground.
Facing these consequences, George had few regrets. He knew his interests were different than other men, but he also believed his country was reinforced by its diversity. He could plead down the money charges and get the gun charges dismissed. Then he would have to be more careful when fulfilling his deepest desires.
The receiving officers treated him fair enough. They did not mistreat him even during the strip search. His clothes were taken and replaced by a pair of boxer shorts, a green and white jumpsuit, and some rubber sandals.
They led him back to a crowded holding cell. He was the only white face behind the bars. He was also the oldest.
"Hey, Bro," a tall, thick inmate approached.
"Hi," Thomas replied, trying not to stare.
"Why you here, Bro?"
"Trumped up charges. Same as you fellows." George's attempt at humor did not go over well with the cellmates.
"You making fun of us, Bro?"
"Not in the least. Let's just say–"
"Let's not, Bro. We hear you been doing some nasty stuff with childrens."
George's heart stopped. So did his breathing. He turned oyster white, a combination of yellow and white that turned
his skin cloudy. He looked at the others, hoping for some assistance.
From the looks on their faces, and the tension in their bodies, George knew he was in deep trouble. He whirled to call the guard, but saw the officer's back disappear through a huge gray door. He heard the key locking it from the other side.
'So what you got to say, Bro?" The thick man asked.
"I–I'm here because I took some money I wasn't supposed to. I'm not here of about any kids."
"Ain't what we heard."
"Come on, guys. I'm not like that."
The first blow called George above his temple and knocked him to the sticky floor that reeked of urine. A kick to his ribs followed, pushing all the air out of his lungs. Then fists and kicks pummeled every part of his body. He was barely conscious when the inmates ripped off his jumpsuit and his shorts. He made a concerted effort to block out what followed next.
Chapter Ninety-Five
Friday night
Linda's Chicken & Fish
Mayeaux's cell vibrated on the table. He had put it on silent mode but kept it on. In his position, new developments might arise in any case at any time.
After a brief one-sided conversation, he placed the phone back on the table.
"That was the office," he told Niki.
"And?"
"And George Thomas committed suicide a few minutes ago. He hung himself in the cell."
"That makes no sense. Did they put him in an isolation cell?" Niki asked.
"He was in a cell with a bunch of other guys."
"And they just stood around while George killed himself?" Asked Niki. "You don't believe that any more than I do."
"I believe justice is blind. Sometimes it doesn't go through conventional processes, but it is still justice in its purest form."