The Last Innocent

by Rebekah Strong

  “They weren’t playing were they?” Thad leaned forward glued to the screen. Luke didn’t move, his chin tucked down listening but not watching.

  The camera attempted to cover both speakers but kept returning to the dark haired Onessa.

  “I object to the ‘clause’,” Onessa bent his fingers into air quotes, “that benefits a small group of greedy people. we are to protect our natural resources except when Senator Twomey's developer friends benefit. A gaudy sprawling tourist destination right up next to miles of inter-coastal waterways and wetlands? That I cannot get behind.”

  “We cannot afford to fall back on paranoia and rhetoric when job growth is sluggish at best.” Twomey wagged a finger at his opponent.

  “This bill was designed to stamp out competition.” Even on a 55-inch screen Onessa’s six feet two were impressive. His green polo and khakis were a stark contrast to the Senator’s pinstripes, even though Twomey had loosened his tie on seeing his opponent’s casual garb.

  Cheers and boos erupted in the crowd. Someone shouted in the back. “Gentlemen,” chimed the moderator, trying to regain control. The camera gave up trying to keep track of who was speaking and panned out to cover the whole scene.

  Twomey’s round face went pink. “Commercial development will bring jobs and financial growth to the area. Tax revenue for schools and social programs that have been sorely hurtin’ in these hard times.” He finished with an emphatic head shake that made his chins jiggle.

  A murmur of consent and a few loud “hear, hears” rippled through the crowd and scattered applause broke out. A few booed loudly.

  “Yes. Jobs.” Henry Onessa answered with a smirk, “A retail resort area will bring an influx of jobs to the area. Minimum wage jobs. I don’t know that gambling our precious wildlife for employment that doesn’t pay a living wage is a smart risk.”

  “Gentlem…” Lisa Cho was drowned out as she attempted to regain control, but the crowd was rowdy. Twomey seized his chance while she was distracted telling off some hecklers behind her.

  “First, any development will certainly bring minimum wage jobs, but also corporate jobs. And havin’ supported a young family on a cook’s salary, I’ll testify that a minimum wage job is better than no job at all. But I suppose if you went to Harvard, you don’t have such worries like where next week’s groceries are comin from.”

  “Gentlemen, please,” Lisa raised her manicured hand trying to restore order. Applause and whistles ricocheted off the cinder block walls.

  A stunned look disappeared on Onessa’s face for a moment, then he took a graceful step to the side of his podium and leaned against it. All noise ceased as he commanded the stage. Even Twomey leaned in.

  “It is true, the citizens of this hard-hit area have felt the pinch, but so has everyone else in our state. And our nation.” He brought his voice up a little, “But we must be slow to deal away what is most precious. If we are to protect our resources, then we protect them from every threat, even if that threat enters the highest bid.”

  Senator Twomey opened his mouth to speak but loud applause and whistles drowned him out. He closed his mouth and glared at his opponent as a bead of sweat broke loose and rolled down his temple. Half the crowd was on their feet. The other half sat stone faced.

  Lisa seized her chance. “Gentlemen, that is time.” Her voice cracked over the speaker even though five minutes remained. "We will now take questions from the audience,” she said before anyone else could speak. Lines had already formed behind three microphones set up in the aisles.

  A dark-haired woman in a business suit stepped up to the microphone labeled # 1.

  “Microphone one, go ahead, ma’am,” Miss Cho said.

  “Yes, my question is for Senator Onessa.”

  Henry Onessa flashed his trademark smile and looked at ease, now holding his mic.

  “Is this debate even relevant? You have both stated your intention to run for U.S. Senate. Will you have time to see this matter through to the end? And how will your campaign for the U.S. Senate election this fall affect your efforts on this bill?”

  Henry Onessa leaned forward. “What’s your name, ma’am?”

  “Laura Randall.”

  “Well, Laura. We are scheduled to vote on this bill in two months. Until I am elected to Congress, I serve Georgia first. I have made it clear to my staff that while the assembly is in session, this, not my campaign, will be top prior…” He trailed off as two men begin shouting profanities at each other.

  “This is where it gets fun.” Luke said.

  The camera swung back and forth trying to find the source. Thad squinted at the screen as it zoomed in on two middle-aged men trying to put each other in a headlock. Two beefy police officers pushed through the stunned crowd.

  “He’s right, you know,” yelled an unknown man.

  A chorus of boos answered him. Garbled yelling answered the boos.

  The candidates looked at each other, all disagreement forgotten. The older man waved off Onessa’s inquisitive look. Scattered applause crackled as some collected their things and tried to beat everyone else to the parking lot. Others held fast in the microphone lines.

  A moment later shouting erupted and a woman screamed. A circle formed around two women shoving each other as the camera zoomed out. Thad’s jaw dropped as the lens caught a middle-aged man aiming a folding chair at a group of teenagers taunting him. Mothers grabbed babies from strollers and darted to safety as shoving matches broke out around them.

  The video blipped to a news reporter huddled beneath an umbrella against the same drizzle flicking onto the camera lens. “It was an intense town hall meeting that took place today at the Fleetwood High School Auditorium. A huge crowd turned out despite the weather to question their representatives about the bill that is up for a vote soon before the state legislature.

  “Senator Cecil Twomey's brainchild, this bill would ban development within a several mile radius of protected land areas. The veteran Georgia state senator claims his bill will protect the environment. Popular Freshman Senator Henry Onessa opposes it on the grounds that the language allows for several key commercial developments within the protected areas, and that this language could benefit a select few developers and discourage competition.

  "Both Senators are gearing up to run in the special election for the U. S. Senate seat to be vacated by Senator Roth following his cancer diagnosis. One of the key battleground areas is this southern Lowcountry region, home to hundreds of thousands of acres of protected wetlands.

  "Polls show them neck and neck, so it will be interesting to see how this plays out. Tiffany.”

  “Alright, Susan. Thanks for the report and stay dry.” She laughed at her own joke, and the soaked woman on the video monitor nodded and grinned.

  The blond newscaster turned to her slightly orange co-anchor. “When is this rain going to stop, Paul?”

  He flashed a neon smile at the wrong camera. “Soon I hope. George, how about that forecast?”

  The TV clicked off and Luke dropped the remote on the table.

  Thad whistled. “Why didn’t I hear about that? That’s insaneballs.” He opened his laptop and started typing furiously.

  Luke eyed a group of suited men making their way past the conference room. When they slowed to peer through the window at the pile on the conference table, Luke recognized most of them immediately. He swiveled so he could watch them.

  As the most influential people in Atlanta filtered down the hallway, Luke sat slung back in his chair locking eyes with every man that walked by. Most looked away within seconds. The only man that didn’t was the tall imposing city attorney. He held Luke’s gaze so long that Luke wanted to pound him into his penny loafers.

  “They’re going to Simon to try to keep a lid on this. Sharks are circling. They can smell the blood in the water,” said Thad, glancing from Luke’s relaxed form to the window.

  “He’ll tell them to pound sand down a rat hole.”

  “I guess
we'll see if Simon owes them any favors.”

  "Won't just be Simon. They’ll call in every favor and get as many judges and lawmakers on their side as possible. We can forget about a search warrant in this town.”

  “You’d think they would want us to find out what happened in that apartment.”

  “Twomey's problems are over. They’re in damage control mode right now. All they care about is saving their skin and probably that bill.”

  “Which is gonna cost someone a ton money,” said Thad.

  Luke pointed a finger at his partner. “Bingo.”

  “So, they’d squash an investigation about their friend’s death because it might lose them money?”

  “Welcome to politics.” Luke held his index finger and thumb like a gun and pointed it at the door. He closed one eye like he was aiming. The Mayor’s face appeared next in the large square of glass. He scooted away looking scandalized.

  After they passed, Luke turned and sat forward. “That explains why he might call an environmental lobby. But why hide it? The bill’s been getting some attention since his death hit the papers this morning. From what I can tell it prohibits development of any kind within, I don’t know, a few miles from any designated protected wetlands lands or historical areas.”

  “Thirty miles,” Thad read off his screen. “Thirty miles of some very desirable real estate.”

  “Of course, there are a few exceptions written into the bill.”

  Thad snorted, “No doubt benefitting the poor and needy.”

  “Very good, Grasshopper. A monster from what I read.”

  “Wilson Corporation,” interjected Thad. He read his screen for a moment then whistled. “Their market share in Georgia alone is close to thirty percent of the commercial real estate market, but they’re nationwide. The founder is one of Twomey's closest friends and forty-seventh on Forbes’ wealthiest people in America list.”

  “The initial numbers for one of their proposed developments are a billion. Billion and a half maybe. Good thing you didn’t take that bet,” said Luke

  “Come on,” said Thad, “The day this shit doesn’t happen you can strap on your ice skates and go to hell. This is standard political backscratching. The evidence, Luke. We don’t have any evidence that supports foul play.” Thad shut his laptop and looked at Luke. “That said, either way we need to be careful. A dead politician is shark infested territory, and you’re swimming outside the rope by even thinking murder.”

  “He’s calling prostitutes and environmental lobbies on his burner phone. I know why he’s calling prostitutes…"

  “Dinner and intelligent conversation?” said Thad.

  “Let's go pay the grieving campaign manager a visit.” Luke stood and reached for his jacket.

  Thad sighed, “Prostitutes or lobbies. Both are going to chum up the waters.”

  Luke pulled on his jacket and looked at Thad.

  Thad sighed. “It’s shark week.” He rose and grabbed his own suit coat.

  Luke's phone buzzed and he popped it off the belt clip. “Agent Marshal. Perfect. We'll be right there."

  “Change of plan. The ME is ready for us.” Luke tightened his tie.

  “We should take her some flowers.”

  “You should let me do the talking.”

  “Don’t bet on it,” grinned Thad.

  SEVEN

  Doctor Berne raised a stern brow over her glasses as she watched Thad slouch in his chair. Her hair was pulled into a tight bun, its youthful blond tone contradicting the deep wrinkles on her face. Agitated pacing pulled her attention away from Thad.

  “What do you mean the results are inconclusive?” Luke couldn’t believe what he heard.

  “I didn’t say they were inconclusive. I said they were unusual.”

  “What’s the difference?” Thad instantly regretted speaking.

  Down went the nose and a harsh gaze shot over the half-moon readers. “Unusual means out of the ordinary. Inconclusive means,” she leaned forward, “I don’t know.” One corner of Thad’s mouth turned up in a half smile. Then he realized he didn’t know if she was joking and cleared his throat.

  Luke stopped pacing and exhaled. Sandra had never let him down. Sandra Berne was the best medical examiner in the industry. She knew more about the human animal than most people did about their breakfast cereal. What she didn’t know, she always found out. She liked saying that the distance to the truth was shorter from a dead man’s lips.

  “What did you find?” Luke sounded defeated.

  “Well, the COD was definitely asphyxiation. The good Senator hung to death, there’s no doubt about that. Nothing on the body was inconsistent with what you found on the scene.”

  “Then why aren’t you ruling it a suicide?”

  “I’m ruling it a suspicious death and not a suicide,” she leaned back into her chair and touched her fingertips together, “because it was strange…”

  “What was?” Luke cut her off.

  Now she eyed Luke over her glasses. She waited a moment before she answered to make him pay for interrupting. Chastised, Luke cut short the tirade he felt coming on. If he pushed her too she’d wind him up even more. Age hadn’t softened her at all.

  “What was strange was the large amount of narcotics in his bloodstream.”

  “Drugs are common in suicides and there were needles at the scene.” The words were out of Thad’s mouth before he could stop them. He sunk deeper into his chair.

  The doctor’s eyes twinkled, and her nose twitched, but her face remained stern. “That is true, Agent Aulden, narcotics and alcohol both are very common in suicides. However, the long-standing rule is that alcohol is generally present without drugs, not the opposite. Especially when the vic is not normally a user.”

  Thad shifted in his seat.

  Luke stopped pacing unaware he had started back up. “There was no alcohol in his tox?”

  “None.” Sandra pulled off her glasses and let them hang by the silver chain around her neck. “That’s rare.”

  “How rare?” demanded Luke.

  “Well, let me put it this way. I’ve been Medical Examiner for thirty-two years, and I have only ever seen that quantity of narcotics consumed without alcohol a handful of times. All were accidental overdoses in junkies with extreme addictions. Every other time large doses of drugs were present in the toxicology, so was alcohol. Every time. You simply don’t see these results with any regularity.”

  “How much was in his system?” demanded Luke.

  “Enough to disorient him.”

  “Unconscious?”

  “Possibly.” Her eyes dropped to Thad who tried to make himself as small as possible. She spoke like a teacher addressing a class. “Alcohol lowers inhibition enough to make drugs seem like a good idea if they’re presented. Drugs usually follow alcohol. The cart to a horse.” She looked back up at Luke who stood rooted. “Like I said, nothing groundbreaking. Just a little strange.”

  “Strange enough to avoid calling it suicide,” Luke said.

  “There’s nothing that speaks to homicide, if that’s what you’re asking. I’m not one to dismiss things, but anomalies do happen. It seemed pretty cut and dry except for the blood work.”

  “Cut and dry,” Luke muttered. He hated that phrase.

  “What’s bothering you, Luke?” She sounded motherly.

  He raked fingers through his hair and scowled.

  “I don’t have answers if you don’t have questions,” said Sandra.

  “How was it taken?”

  “Intravenously. I found a small prick mark in the crook of his right arm. Plain old crack. A little low brow for a Senator if you ask me, but maybe it’s all his prostitute had. Have you found her yet?”

  “The girls in the pictures have alibis,” mumbled Thad when Luke didn’t answer.

  “What about the scrape on his head?” asked Luke.

  “A small contusion. Can’t tell you much more than that. It was clean. He probably hit his head on the wall. Or
getting into his car. Or walking into a cabinet door.” She shrugged, “I’m sorry.”

  She sounded genuinely sorry. Luke felt bad. Their friendship went back to the academy where she taught several classes, and he'd received the glares for speaking out of turn. He eased himself into the chair beside Thad and leaned toward her.

  “You've failed me, Sandra.” He smiled at her.

  “Pssh,” she waved her hand and smiled back. “Listen, I couldn’t in good conscience list this as a suicide because of the strange tox results, but that’s as deep as it goes. I know you hate wishy-washy answers, and I hope this doesn’t spin you too much. Wish I had better for you. I really do.”

  She leaned back into her chair and put the well-chewed earpiece of her glasses into her mouth while she studied him. “You need to be careful, Luke. He,” she gestured through a picture window at the large room with surgical metal tables and bright fluorescent lighting, “was a well-connected man. I don’t know that even you’ve navigated this kind of jungle before.”

  Luke stood. Thad jumped up beside him relieved to get going. Sandra stuck out her hand to Thaddeus first who shook it firmly but didn’t make eye contact. She winked at Luke.

  “Oh, I almost forgot. ‘doha’ and ‘chaud’ were written on his hand. My UVIR camera was able to pick up most of it, but the last word is a partial. Ink is surprisingly hard to get rid of, but this ink was too degraded to make out the entire word.” She took a folder from her desktop and handed it to Luke. “Here are the photos. Mean anything?”

  “Nope,” Luke grinned. “You’re the best.”

  #

  A banner proclaiming, “Vote for Twomey, Vote for Values” lay on the floor of the campaign office. Two solemn employees wheeled a cart loaded with boxes over it. The upscale storefront office was mostly empty. Only a few unemployed staffers remained to pack up their desks.

  The campaign manager closed the office door behind Luke and Thad to block out the noise. He seated himself gingerly behind a cluttered metal desk.

  Bartholomew Duncan looked much older than his fifty-two years. Not that long ago his white-flecked hair had been brown. Purple bags hung under his eyes, and months of take-out protruded from his belt line.