by J. W. Lucas
“Were you ever in the service Daryl? Any combat experiences?”
“Does the Roxbury neighborhood in Boston count?”
He laughed and shook his head. “I’ll have to think about it.”
Mandy and Sarah came out into the yard and we said our goodbyes.
As I started up the Challenger Eddie tapped on the window and I lowered it. He leaned in and asked quietly, “What would we be searching that barn for?”
“Susan’s car,” I whispered.
He nodded. “Yes. Let me know when.” Mandy and I headed out to the resettlement center.
We were about five minutes away from the Petersons when an incoming call identified as “GOVTRESTRICTED” flashed on the console screen. I didn’t recognize the ID but pressed the accept icon, anyway.
“Richardson? Meisner here.”
“Yeah, I’m here. What’s up?” I answered, my curiosity peaking.
“I got your email. Where did you go to law school Richardson?”
The question surprised me, but I answered. “UCONN, why?”
“I read your affidavit drafts.”
“And?”
“I have to say, not bad! I had to flesh them out as you said, but I think they’re strong enough to get the warrants. I have a meeting with a Judge tomorrow at nine. I’ll call you when the warrants are issued.
I must admit, I was pleased with myself, but I was dying to know something. “Mr. Meisner, out of curiosity, where did you go to law school?”
“Yale of course! I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“What was that all about?” Mandy asked with a puzzled look.
“A little professional rivalry, I think, that’s all”
“I don’t think I’ll ever understand you lawyer people,” she said, shaking her head.
We pulled into the resettlement village at two-fifteen. My first impression was it reminded me of Boy Scout summer camp.
Chapter Sixteen
We met Linda Sturgis in her office. She was a matronly looking woman, her desk was piled with paperwork, the office sparsely furnished. Mandy introduced me, and Linda motioned for us to sit in the two old wooden chairs across from her desk.
“Mr. Richardson, Mandy tells me that you’re a Federal lawyer, is that right?”
“Yes, I’m a former Assistant US Attorney; I’m currently a consulting attorney with the Department of Justice in Washington.” “I need to clear something up right up front. We are an ecumenical non-profit community-based charity that was formed to assist refugees from oppressed countries. All of our clients are in this country legally; we are not a sanctuary organization, per se.”
“I understand Ms. Sturgis, and I assure you that I’m not here to question your client’s immigration status.”
“Then why are you here Mr. Richardson?” she asked in an obvious challenging tone.
I glanced at Mandy and saw that she was obviously uncomfortable. “I’ve been asked to make inquiries into the murder of Susan Peterson and the shooting of Judge Forrest Moran,” I explained.
“And what possibly could be of Federal interest in that?” she asked.
“Violation of civil rights, obstruction of justice, governmental corruption,” I answered tersely, and let that sink in with her.
“And how can those things possibly be connected to our program?” she asked, her tone not surrendering any sharpness.
“The Federal government has received information that alleges Susan Peterson’s murder was related to her work at this center. The source alleges that one or more of your clients have become or are drug dependent, without your knowledge. It’s reported that Susan became aware of this and learned the identity of the drug dealers. I’m investigating to determine if in fact that was the case, and more importantly, I’m here to offer my assistance in keeping your clients safe from more harm.”
“I’d like to believe you Mr. Richardson, but with everything that’s happened in Ethan Falls the past few weeks I don’t know who to trust or what to believe anymore.” Before I could respond, Mandy spoke up. “Linda, Daryl has explained to me far more information about all of this than he can tell you. I’m scared by what I’ve learned. And I’m devastated to think that Susan was murdered by a drug dealer. We’re here to help, and I mean that. But you need to show us some cooperation because I honestly believe that your clients and your whole program are at great risk. I mean it Linda; you’re headed for a nightmare if you don’t help us.”
I don’t know if I was more shocked or surprised by Mandy’s moxie, but I had no doubts about her sincerity. “What do you want from me, Mandy?” She asked bluntly.
“I want to see Yo-Yo; I want to talk to him about Susan.” “Absolutely not! He’s very fragile Mandy,” Linda sharply rebuked the request.” You know that he just got out of the hospital.”
“Yes, I know Linda, but if he’s so fragile why would you want to stop us from trying to help him? You and I both know that he was drug dependent, and we both know that the source of those drugs was probably Farhan. So, who are you protecting, Linda? Yo-Yo, or yourself and this program.” This time I was shocked. This was a side of Mandy that I didn’t see coming, and she wasn’t about to stop. I sensed there was no love lost between the women, but I hadn’t a clue why.
Mandy wouldn’t let the issue drop. “I want you to know that Daryl just finished leading an investigation of human trafficking in Boston. His work led to the arrest of many important and wealthy people who were victimizing the mentally handicapped or homeless or drug-addicted children to satisfy their sexual fantasies. Those people are wretched and evil, and that same kind is targeting your young clients with their drugs. Now damn it, face reality and let us help you!”
She had raised her voice and was almost yelling, and I don’t know whose breath was taken away more by Mandy’s outburst, Linda Sturgis’ or mine
“All right! All Right!” Linda said loudly, announcing her surrender. “You can see Yo-Yo, but I warn you, if anything happens to him I am holding the two of your responsible.”
“Linda,” Mandy said firmly, “I want you to show Daryl some of the pictures that Yo-Yo has drawn. Do you have any? Linda paused for a moment; I could see that she looked pale from Mandy’s dressing down.
She answered softly. “Yo-Yo destroyed everything when we confronted him about using drugs. The only picture he didn’t was the one he drew of Susan.”
“Do you have it?” Mandy asked, not backing off woth her assertive tone.
Linda got up from her desk and pulled a folder out of an old filing cabinet. She opened it and took out the picture and handed it to Mandy. I was stunned not only by how truly beautiful Susan was but by the quality of the artwork. I saw that Mandy’s hand had a tremor, and I took the picture and put it down on Linda’s desk.
“Absolutely brilliant work,” I said with honest admiration of his talent.
“He drew that in less than fifteen minutes,” Linda said. “As I told you, he destroyed all of his art supplies. Now, all we’ve been able to scrape up is a few colored pencils and some copier paper. It’s really sad.” Mandy stood up.
“We have a gift for Yo-Yo. Daryl let’s go outside and get it. Linda, please tell Yo-Yo that he has visitors.” Linda and I did as we were told. We went out to the Challenger, and I opened the trunk.
“Are you angry with me?” Mandy asked, turning to me.
“No, I’m surprised but grateful that you spoke up. I was drowning. You were pretty hard on your friend though.”
“Friend? Hah! I told you I knew her pretty well; I didn’t say that I liked her.”
“What do you mean?” I asked. She shook her head and said “No, some other time,” and we walked back into the Center. As we got to the door I stopped and asked her, “Nervous?”
She looked me in the eye, took a deep breath and said, “No, I’ve got this.”
We went into Linda’s office and Mandy asked her for the drawing of Susan. She gave it to her and led us to what looked like a day room. Y
o-Yo was sitting quietly at a small wooden table and didn’t look up to acknowledge us. I was told that he was seventeen, but he was small and frail. I would have guessed he was only twelve or thirteen. Mandy took the shopping bag from me and went over to the table and pulled a chair up close to him. I sat in a chair against the wall nest to Lina’s chair my eyes fixed on the boy.
“Yo-Yo,” Mandy softly said,” my name is Mandy. Your friend Susan was my friend too.” He didn’t acknowledge her.
“Yo-Yo, I know that you speak English, and I know you can understand me.” No acknowledgment.
“Susan is gone, she’s in Heaven. You know that, don’t you?”
I noticed a slight stirring in the boy and he looked to the side to avoid Mandy.
“Yo-Yo, before Susan went to Heaven she asked me to give you a present. I have it in this bag. I want you to have it.” The boy looked up and over at the bag at Mandy’s feet. She took the box out of the bag and laid it on the table in front of him. He put his hand on top of the wooden box but still wouldn’t look at her.
“This is yours now. You make beautiful pictures. Susan wants you to make more beautiful pictures for her.” Mandy reached over and unlatched the lid, opening the box. Yo-Yo’s eyes widened as he saw the art supplies, and he softly placed his hands on the pencils and chalks.
“Yo-Yo, I want you to see something,” Mandy said as she picked up his drawing of Susan and put it on the desk. I glanced over to Linda Sturgis next to me and she looked like she was hardly breathing.
“You made this picture of our Susan. She was beautiful. You put her beautiful face on this paper.” Yo-Yo gently placed his hand on Susan’s face. I looked over and I could see a tear running down Linda Sturgis cheek.
“Yo-Yo, please draw a picture of me. I want you to make me beautiful like Susan.” For the first time, the boy acknowledged her. He looked at her face and I saw a small smile start to form. He stared at Mandy for at least thirty seconds, and from my angle it seemed like he was looking through her. He slowly reached into the box and took out a large sketch pad and a thick pencil. Mandy moved her chair back from the table until she was facing him at an angle and sat up straight in the chair. She swept her hair away from her face and formed a perfect seductive smile.
We watched as Yo-Yo began to draw, slowly at first, then faster and faster. From my distant vantage point I could see that he was drawing Mandy’s portrait. His pace increased, and he dropped the large pencil and I could see that he was using the chalks. I must tell you, what I was seeing was incredible. Not once did he look back up at Mandy’s face. Yo-Yo worked up to a feverish pace for about ten minutes and then abruptly stopped. He sat back in the chair and looked down at his lap. Mandy stood up, picked up the picture and brought it over to Linda and me.
It was a surreal moment. Yo-Yo had made Mandy’s portrait incredibly three dimensional and lifelike.
Mandy went back to the table, pulled her chair close to Yo-Yo and reached over to his hand. He flinched at first and then relaxed. “Thank You Yo-Yo, you made me look beautiful,” she softly said. For the first time, he looked up to her face and smiled. I heard Linda Sturgis gasp as she saw how he was responding to Mandy.
“Yo-Yo, before Susan went to heaven a man hurt her. I think that man is the man that gave you those needles in your room.” Mandy softly said.
The boy pulled his hand away from Mandy’s and hunched over in a sullen pose.
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” she comforted him. “That man made you very sick. And he hurt our Susan. I want to find him, but I don’t know what he looks like.” Yo-Yo looked up to Mandy’s face.
“Did Farhan’s friend give you the needles?” He slowly moved his head up and down.
“Yo-Yo, I need you to help me. Please make me a picture of Farhan’s friend, the man who gave you the needles.”
The boy didn’t move for a full minute and never shifted his gaze away from Mandy. I don’t know where she found the strength to wait him out, but she did. Suddenly, he picked up the large pad and began drawing, this time his pace was furious. I could hear Mandy softly encouraging him as he drew. He reached for colored pencils and chalks, and when he finished with one he threw it down and grabbed another. After about ten minutes he abruptly stopped again and sat back in the chair, his eyes looking to his lap.
Mandy took the picture from the desk, looked at it and said, “Yo-Yo, is this Farhan’s friend?” I saw him nod his head yes.
“Yo-Yo, is this the man that gave you the needles?” Again, he nodded yes. Mandy got up, leaned over and helped Yo-Yo put his supplies back in the box.
She put the sketch pad in front of him and said, “This is yours now. You can draw pictures of anything you want. Thank You for my beautiful pictures.”
I saw Yo-Yo gently touch the box, and he looked up and smiled at Mandy. I heard murmuring and looked over and saw that Linda Sturgis was quietly praying. Mandy walked across the room and handed me the drawing of Farhan’s friend. It honestly looked like a photograph.
“That’s Sheriff’s Department Detective Manning. I recognize him from the hotel bar.” The look on her face was pure anger, and she walked out of the room without speaking. Linda Sturgis and I stood up; she turned to me and said, “What we just saw was a miracle. I am so sorry that I doubted you and Mandy.”
She walked over to Yo-Yo’s table, sat down and put her arm around him. I walked out to the hallway and could see Mandy standing by our car; her gaze was to the heavens. I went outside to her and said thank you and kissed her on the cheek. I put the drawing of her and “Farhan’s friend” in the trunk. She didn’t say anything as we got into the car and drove off.
We were about ten minutes into the drive back to North Bellington when she finally spoke.
“Did that help, Daryl?”
“Absolutely. You were incredible with that boy.”
“Before you saw the drawing, did you think that Manning killed Susan?”
“Yes,” I answered. “Now we’re one step closer to proving it.” “Good.” She said. “When you arrest him, please make him suffer.” She was silent for the rest of the ride.
As we got about ten minutes from the hotel, I told Mandy that I had a four-thirty meeting, and she asked me to drop her off at her condo. I parked in the lot and reached over for her hand. Her palm was sweaty, and she looked drained.
“Are you okay? I can change my meeting if you want me to stay with you” I asked.
“No, go to your meeting. I’m going to go lie down for a while. I’ll see you when you get home.” She got out of the car and I watched until she went inside the house. As I drove away, I thought that I may have pushed her too hard, but what she had done with Yo-Yo was incredible, beyond belief.
I arrived at the hotel right at four-thirty and went into the lounge.
Sitting at the bar, Sgt. Jon Michaels wasn’t hard to recognize. He was built like a pro-wrestler, his long dark hair and five o’clock shadow gave him a biker look. He was dressed decently enough for the hotel bar, but I couldn’t picture him ever wearing a business suit, or for that matter, a Trooper’s uniform. I approached him and asked, “Jon?”
“Yeah, Daryl?” I nodded, and we shook hands. His grip was
stronger than Eddie Petersons. “Grab your beer and let’s sit at a table,”
I said. We sat down and almost immediately my waitress friend Tammy appeared. “Light beer or VO and Coke?” I told her the beer.
Jon Michaels started our conversation, “Okay, let me tell you who I am.” He was a wealth of information. Over the course of a few beers he filled me in on drug trafficking in upper New England, the dramatic increase in deaths from opiate overdoses, and an alarming rise in the manufacture, sale, and use of methamphetamine. With ten years under his belt working undercover narcotics case, he said his team’s efforts were hardly putting a dent into the flow of drugs, and now they were seeing a flood of opiate pills hitting the streets. He told me that he had been given an overview of our case.
&nb
sp; “So, Daryl, what’s your plan?” he asked. “I have a squad of six undercovers that we can use; all of them are solid, lots of experience.” I told him that our job was to work on Susan Peterson’s murder and the shooting of Judge Moran.
“It makes sense that there could be a connection, have you spoken
to the Judge?” he asked.
I told him about my interview at the hospital, and the Judge being assigned to investigate the lack of progress in Susan’s case. I explained the anonymous letter and the allegations that it contained, and my meeting with County Exec Donnelly.
“That man’s as dirty as they come.” He responded, with a sour look on his face.
“How so Jon?”
“You said the letter mentioned the survivalist camp? That’s a front.
They’re a radical militia group that Donnelly and Hunter are supporting. My take is that they’re going to use them to disrupt the Governor’s campaign for re-election,” he explained, and continued.
“Two of my undercovers busted a militia guy a few months ago on possession with intent ot sell narcotics. He was facing ten years in prison and wanted to make a deal. He said he was only living at the camp for a month, but he was squealing like a pig, talking about the automatic weapons they have, training on causing civil disturbances, trying to stir up trouble to make the State look bad. Rumor is that Hunter gave them the automatic weapons and some jeeps and four by fours that he got with Federal grants.”
“Anything come of that Jon?”
“I passed the info up the chain,” he answered. I got a call from a Captain in our Intelligence Unit two days later, and he said the guy was so strung out that they didn’t find him credible.”
