“It’s a mix of fly ash and bottom ash.”
He didn’t really know what that was, and it must have shown, because she continued:
“It’s byproducts from a coal mine. Heavy pollutants. That’s not good, and it’s also weird.”
“Weird how?”
“Well it’s not usually dumped this way. I don’t mean it’s not against regulations – it is. There are both State and Federal requirements regulating how this stuff has to be disposed of. I mean more… Look. It’s very toxic shit. It makes no sense to dispose of it this way. It’s leaked by pipes and it’s collected in special reservoirs. If someone pollutes with this stuff, and it does happen, it leaks into a main river or a stream. Moving it in drums and dumping it is strange. Why would anyone do that?”
Paul shook his head. Why indeed? He cleared his throat.
“Can it be cleaned?”
“Some of it. A lot of it, maybe, if you have a lot of money. But that’s not a simple job. You’d need earth-moving equipment and large pumps in case any other ponds – or, God forbid, the groundwater – was affected. It would take teams of guys working for months.”
“What the hell is it? I mean, you said the name, and that mines produce it. And it was a Sutherland Ridgefield truck. But I’m still…”
She held up the single sheet.
“If you are going to sue them, I have to warn you that Sutherland Ridgefield does not fuck around. They have a simple legal strategy. An oldie but a goodie. They don’t fight to win. They fight to keep going. They don’t have to win, they just run out your budget. But if you are going to go that way, then you will need this document. It is legally accepted as evidence. It is a formal, lab tested, duplicated measurement of all the compounds on it.”
Paul looked at the piece of paper, but he didn’t take it.
Meg open the page and looked at it. “You have to read it for yourself, because it’s in a grid and there’s all kinds of specific ratios and quantities. But I’ll just read you the laundry list.
And then Meg read the words in a deadpan tone.
“Arsenic. Barium. Boron. Cadmium. Chromium. Cobalt. Lead. Mercury. Thallium.”
Paul shut his eyes. When he reopened them, he realized he’d been biting into them.
“I’m so sorry, Paul.”
As if she’d just given him a bad diagnosis.
“No, uh, thanks Meg. I’m very glad you could provide me with that.”
He extended his hand and she gave him the piece of paper, but held on to it for a moment to make sure he was okay.
“What are you going to do?”
Paul stood up.
“I want it to be cleaned as best as physically possible. And I will start as soon as my attorney says it’s okay. But then I’m going to get the money back from Sutherland Ridgefield.”
Meg stood up too. “Well, Paul, that’s the thing. It’ll be somewhere in the region of a quarter of a million dollars, maybe more. Hell, half a million.”
“I have no choice here. This is not just my land. This land belongs to the people of this area, as a gift to them and to me, from Reuben. It’s not negotiable, it will be cleaned. But it must also sting whoever is responsible. Because this will not happen here, or anywhere else, again. Not on my watch.”
“It’s admirable. And I’ll support you. But you’re in for one hell of a fight.”
“Nothing new there,” Paul said.
He gave Meg a warm hug, to make sure she didn’t think he blamed her or was angry at her for sharing what she did.
After she’d left, he sat down on the desk, taking that sheet of paper and looking at it, closely, in detail.
But Meg’s Laundry list was clear. It was neatly printed in a single column.
The trees give oxygen and the streams provide the stuff of life. The woods feed multitudes of species, provide a livelihood. They created tourism and beautiful moments and all kinds of activities for the people in the area. All people. And what do they do, these primates? Why… Arsenic. Barium. Boron. Cadmium. Chromium. Cobalt. Lead. Mercury. Thallium.
If it was public land, it could be bribed away. Blind eyes could be turned. There was no incentive for anyone to act as protector or guardian. But that would be the big mistake that Sutherland Ridgefield made. Because this land was the private property of Paul Draker.
He stretched, then sat down and phoned Tom Hamilton.
Tom Hamilton represented the Cro’s Post Estate. Paul met him at one of Reuben’s New York penthouse parties – him and his wife, Darlene. Hamilton looked like a preppy college professor. He had a neat side path and an affable manner. And Tom Hamilton in private conversation was about the nicest, most bland person you could ever hope to meet. But Tom Hamilton turned into an attack dog once you hired him to do litigation.
Hamilton’s firm was not cheap, and he would come with a full team of specialists in different legal arenas. He would have assistants and private investigators. He would orchestrate the various parts of this.
“Tom Hamilton,” he answered, in that unassuming, wholesome voice.
“Hey Tom. Paul Draker. That thing we spoke about? Yes. I think we proceed. And here’s the deal. Criminal first. Then civil. And if we run into the slightest bit of postponement or dallying, I’d like to get the Department of Defense involved. Their soldiers and personnel train on this land, and the actions of the company out US military lives at risk. I would also like to get the various law enforcement agencies involved, since they train here too. I want back what I spend on cleaning it up – and yes, I’ll wait for your greenlight, but make it a fast one. And then, when all of this is done, I’d like Sutherland Ridgefield to compensate me for my time.”
There was a chuckle on the other end.
“You’re the boss.”
“Prognosis?”
“They will stall for two weeks. Then they will want to quickly talk to you. Then there will be about a three-month lull. Then they are either going to play along, or play against us. When they do either of those, you have the full resources of Hamilton, Cohen and Chow for as long as this case takes, to the level it is taken.”
“How’s Darlene?”
“Great. She misses…”
Paul realized he was about to say “you guys” –, meaning Reuben and Paul.
He spoke quickly: “Your gut feel, Tom? Think they will play along?”
“It really is impossible to tell. Our job while they stall these first two weeks is to find out any information that could be useful in any eventuality. We’ll be prepared as anyone can be, whatever happens. And I’ll run it so that it takes up as little of your time as possible.”
“Thanks, Tom.”
“Hey, Paul?”
“Yessir.”
“What are you doing for Christmas?”
“Why?”
“We’d love to have you over.”
It would be a good way to process whatever lay ahead. A wholesome little family dinner, maybe with Tom and Paul talking in his study after the meal but before dessert. No doubt talking about the case. And then to go sit down and watch their kids open gifts, a nice shot of normalcy to help the shop talk go down easier.
“Maybe,” Paul said. “Thanks a lot. You know I adore your family. Let’s play it by ear for now. I just have some things I need to get done my side.”
“Sure. But do let me know if you change your mind. We’d love to have you.”
“Thanks, Tom.”
Before he hung up, Tom Hamilton left Paul with a single message.
“Don’t worry Paul. I’m on this. You get what you want, soon, or I will rip their guts out.”
Chapter 4
Keys
Dr Joseph Stein’s office was located close to FMC Devens’ intake and processing center. He wasn’t the warden, but he had more sway than most of the other middle-m
anagement types – because he ran the facility’s main claim to fame. The program was known as SOMP-R, the Sexual Offender Management Program – Residential. It was him who ran the group hug and individual therapy sessions. He knew the prisoners better than most of the other personnel, and he was now the one thing between Brad and freedom.
Brad could tell that Stein was doing his best to handle the event as officiously as possible. Stein tried very hard not to betray his fear of letting Brad out. But there was nothing he could do about it now, and he dared not say anything to Brad that might sound prejudicial.
He kept his poker face well. He even seemed friendly enough behind his outdated wire-framed spectacles. But having spent a lot of time being observed by the good doc, Brad did some observations of his own – and he could read Stein like a book.
Still, Brad kept his own cool, sitting in the chair across from Stein’s desk. He felt giddy with excitement. But he wouldn’t say or do anything that could justify Stein holding him any longer. All he had to do was sit through Stein’s contrived exit interview, the same way he sat through all those countless hours of sessions.
The two men watched each other across the desk: Stein with that stupid, typical shrink expression on his face and Brad smiling, but not too broadly.
Stein was looking at his notes. Brad couldn’t see the details, just his scrawl reflected in his glasses.
“Are there going to be any steps you take to ensure you integrate well into the community?” Stein asked.
Brad pretended to be considering his answer carefully. He thought he saw a flash of irritation in Stein’s eyes.
It was typical prison psychobabble. Two guys sitting across each other, neither one believing a word the other was saying.
“I suppose I’ll just enjoy time with my family for a while. Then consider finding appropriate employment.”
Stein actually smirked when Brad mentioned family. He tried to disguise it as a smile afterwards, but it was clear from the one just one side of his mouth pulled up towards his beady little eyes.
Stein was nowhere near the intellectual equal of Brad. He thought he was smart because he held two doctorates. Perhaps the one in Medicine made him smart enough to memorize and improvise a bit – but his one of his degrees was in Psychology, so he couldn’t be too smart.
Then again, it didn’t take a genius to figure out that Brad could not possibly care a great deal about his father too much. And while he never said as much, he wished he could kill both the bitch wife and her two little whores.
“Two points you raise there. Maybe we can just hover there a bit, if you don’t mind.”
“Hover away, doc.”
“Family. Your setup was a bit non-traditional. You have the two sides to your family. Your mother’s side, poor people, as you called them in Group. And your father’s side. He never married your mother. And once, in a session when we first started working together, you explained how the way you grew up, and I’m quoting your words here, ‘among the hillbillies until you were ten’ and then ‘whisked away to go live with Ivy League snobs’ may have contributed to your delinquency. I wonder if you feel this is still the case.”
Clever little trick. If Brad was planning on spending time with them, and they did contribute to his delinquency, what’s to stop him from fucking some undeserving but complaining bitch after his release?
“I think I spent a lot of time angry at everyone else for my own mistakes. My childhood living arrangements were not ideal. And moving from my mother to my father did confuse me. And I never really felt welcome in his household. But I spent a long time thinking. And I’ve forgiven my father. He had a one-night stand with a white trash woman on a business trip. It’s not like either of them planned to have me. It wasn’t ideal, but some people have it far worse. It’s okay now. I’m okay. I’m okay with them. What I do with my future is up to me.”
Stein did not look at Brad as Brad spoke. Instead, he kept his head tilted down, looking at whatever stupid generalizations he’d scrawled in his notes.
“So you take ownership of your crimes. That’s progress. That’s good, Brad. But I’m still curious how you think, or thought if you no longer do, that they contributed to your delinquency.”
“I guess I never had any positive role models. I guess things never felt stable and secure for me. So I learned a bad lesson early on – that the world was competitive. And that I was going to have to aggressively pursue whatever I wanted.”
Stein glanced up.
“Not that I’m excusing what I did. Again, I’ve made my peace with my past. I’m just saying it didn’t help that there was not particularly good role modelling or even parenting going on. I had some negative tendencies which I might have controlled.”
Stein nodded, turning over a page of his notes.
“Good. Glad you brought that up. The negative tendencies. But we’ll circle back to that. First let’s chat a bit about suitable employment. I’m curious what you’d consider to be suitable.”
Brad sighed.
This was bullshit. Stein couldn’t keep him here for hours asking stupid questions and pretending that any of his pseudo-scientific questions would achieve a damn thing – hours, maybe minutes before Brad’s release.
All this psychobabble. All this trying to dig around inside his head, to understand his so-called crimes. To understand motives and mental calculations. When the truth was simple. Primal. Biological. He wanted to put it in those bitches and so he did.
The best thing about being out of the cage would be never to have to pretend to try and understand himself again.
“Well… I guess I’ll never fit into the family business. Nor could I go and finish a degree. I’ve put my family though enough. I have to find something that I can do that I enjoy. Maybe work on a yacht or something.”
“A yacht?”
“Sure. California. Surf and sun.”
Stein’s pursed his lips. Then he flipped the page back over.
“Okay. Then let’s just talk about what you call, tendencies.”
Brad felt the anger push up inside him. He sat through three years and two months of pretending to give a shit. He served his time. It wasn’t fair to keep him inside unnecessarily, when he’d given them so much.
But at FMC Devens, someone was always watching, and Stein was watching him now. While he was walking out of here today no matter what – but any notes that Stein put on his record could still make life on the outside harder, or more uncomfortable for Brad.
So, he breathed out deeply.
Shrinks were almost easier to manipulate than regular people. They thought their studies made them smart. They thought of their discipline as science. They were nothing but cons. So, con them.
“I raped three girls. Most men don’t do that. Clearly, there was something wrong with me. Maybe part of it is genetic. Maybe some of it was the lack of stability in childhood. Maybe it was that I never learned how to channel my energy or control my urges. But I paid for those crimes. And I’m not about to make those mistakes again.”
“Mistakes?”
That Jew motherfucker was going to really make him work for it. Fine.
“Crimes. I won’t commit rape again.”
“And your urges?”
Brad leaned back.
“Your program really helped me. I will use all the tools and techniques I learned here.”
“And if things get hard, you will reach out?”
“I will.”
Yes. Because after finally getting out of 24/7 observation and control – all that lost time, potential and experiences, the first thing Brad would do is pick up the phone and call up Dr Stein.
He must be out of his fucking mind to believe a word of any of this.
Stein shut his notes, placing the file next to him. He removed his glasses, rubbed his eyes, then looked up and stared a
t Brad.
Brad did not flinch.
“You’re leaving today. You are registered as a sex offender now. You will be checking in with your local police station once a week. And you have access to me, or the support center here. We’ve worked together quite a bit during your time here.”
Brad lifted his hands, as if to say, so what?
“But I think you and me know each other well enough not to bullshit each other. Here’s the thing Brad. Your behavior has been exemplary. You say all the right things. You go through the motions. But I think letting you go is a mistake. I don’t trust you. And I think anyone who believes you are not a danger to society is a fool.”
Brad smiled broadly. Maybe Stein was getting as tired of his own games as Brad was.
“Well, doc, that’s just the thing. I’m not applying for early release. I’m not asking for favors. The law sentenced me, and I served my time in full. Thanks in no small part to you. But I’m about to walk out of that door. And you can’t stop me, legally.”
Stein nodded slowly. “Yup. You got that right. No argument from me.”
“You tell all your inmates you expect them back in here? Doesn’t that fuck with your recidivism?”
Stein smiled, genuinely this time. “Not all the inmates, no. Just the ones who are psychopaths.”
“That’s a strong word.”
“But a fitting one. It’s not just the rapes. Don’t get me wrong, I think anyone who rapes is a lowlife piece of shit. But it’s the violence with it. Two of those girls still have nightmares. One won’t ever be able to conceive after what you did. And you haven’t fooled me, not one day. I know what you are, Mr. Jensen. I know exactly what you are.”
“I could call your statements slander.”
“Could you? Sure you could. Still, though. I know you don’t respect my field, my work. But I’m pretty hot stuff in my field. And the courts listen to what I have to say. And if I’m asked, by anyone, what I think, I will tell them all the same thing. You are a sexual predator and a psychopath. And you represent a danger to women everywhere you go. Even after your sentence.”
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