by R. A. McGee
“Give me a few minutes to get ditch the uniform and then you guys can come in.”
Porter and Ross sat on the hood of Ross’s car talking about the turn of events. They knew things had swung in their favor, and they wanted to make sure they capitalized on it this time. Several minutes later, a patrol officer came out of the side door and drove away in a marked unit. Rivera appeared behind him and waved them in.
“No one else here?” Porter said.
“Nope, just us. Everyone else is gone for the day. I told the patrol guy I’d need help transporting Michelson to jail, but that he could bail for a while and take a break. He’ll be back in an hour or so.”
“Great. Nobody else showing up?” Porter said.
Rivera shot him an exasperated look. “You know nobody else would show up to help me. Besides, once I write the report up, it’ll look like we’re holding him for minor charges. Nothing for anyone to get excited about.”
“Good. Remember, keep the cameras in the interview room off. We don’t need this recorded.”
“They’ll be off,” Rivera said.
“Do you have his phone?”
“Michelson’s?” Rivera said. “In his property bag. Why?”
“You’ll see. Just grab it,” Porter said.
Rivera went to a long table that spanned the length of the wall near the evidence room and grabbed a see-through plastic bag. She tore open the end of it, slid out a smartphone, and handed it to Porter. He thumbed it to see that it worked, but found it password protected. Porter nodded and stepped into the interview room alone. Ross and Rivera went into the adjacent room, to watch the interview through a two-way mirror.
Porter pulled a chair away from the table and sat across from Candy Man.
“This should be good,” Ross said.
Fifty
“Mr. Smith. It seems I was incorrect about your occupation.”
“Clive Michelson? Really? I’d go by Candy Man, too.”
“You cut me to the quick, Mr. Smith. It occurs to me, it does not seem fair that you know my real name but I am still in the dark as to yours.”
“The name’s still Smith. Sorry to disappoint.”
“Fair enough.”
“Clive, I want to let you know something. Everything we say in here is off the record. There is no recording software running at this moment.”
“Likely story. Forgive me if I choose not to believe you.”
Porter leaned over and slapped Michelson with an open hand. When he had righted himself in his chair, Porter delivered a backhand that stunned him. Michelson’s cheeks both burned bright red.
“I don’t want to hurt you, Clive, but I had to prove a point.”
“That there are no recordings being made of this conversation? Point made. If we were being recorded, you would never do that. I would have your job and a sizeable sum from the city.”
“Exactly. Hopefully you believe me now.”
“I do,” Michelson said, hand on his cheek.
“Moving on. Clive, are you aware how screwed you are?”
“I have a small inkling.”
“I thought you might. You are going to get your federal probation revoked. That’s bad for you. You’ll get, what, twenty-four months?”
“A fair estimate,” Michelson said.
“But twenty-four months isn’t all that bad, is it?”
“It is not. You would be surprised at how comfortable federal prisons can be.”
“They’re much nicer than state prisons. A white-collar guy like you, it’ll be a pretty easy piece of time,” Porter said.
“We understand each other.”
“See, here’s the thing,” Porter said. “I still need to find that little girl. I think you are going to find it in your heart to help me.”
“I am not sure why I would do that. It is best if I don’t involve any of my… other activities… into this. The only reason I will entertain this discussion is because I know this is off the record.”
“Nice that you believe me now.”
Michelson rubbed his face again with his uncuffed hand.
“Call me crazy, but I think you want to tell me where the girl is.”
“Crazy.”
Porter smiled. “What happens when the FBI finds out about all the kids you’ve trafficked?”
“How would they find out about that?” Michelson said.
“Before we get to that part, let’s think of the logistics. The FBI will head up the investigation against you. Maybe ICE will run the investigation since they get involved in human trafficking cases, but let’s face it, the FBI wants all the glory they can get. There’ll be a large task force.”
“Naturally.”
“I’m sure your victims span many states. The state agencies will have to be involved. Once they start finding bodies, then the states will each want you to be tried in their state. No doubt some of the states have the death penalty.”
“No doubt,” Clive Michelson said. He looked uncomfortable, and it had nothing to do with his smarting cheeks.
“Some of these states come after you with the death penalty. Maybe they get it, maybe they don’t. Hell, I’m no judge, I couldn’t pretend to know.”
“I very much doubt anyone would give me the death penalty. I have not killed anyone.”
“I believe you, but the law doesn’t work that way. It’s pretty easy to rope you into a conspiracy to commit murder charge. Didn’t you tell me you helped facilitate the removal of bodies from one of your clients? That you handled… how did you phrase it… ‘disposal?’ Smells like a conspiracy to me. Besides, the states all have their own laws. There’s no telling what kind of shit you’ll get charged with. It kind of makes me excited.”
Clive Michelson was silent for several moments, then found his smug look again as he spoke to Porter. “This is a very nice yarn, but you are forgetting one key thing. There is no evidence I had anything to do with any children. What you know and what you can prove are two different things.”
“You’re right, Candy Man, I can’t prove anything. I have no evidence. Except this.” Porter reached into his pocket and pulled out Michelson’s smartphone. “You and I both know there’s plenty on this phone to lead investigators in the right direction.”
Michelson laughed his ugly, haughty laugh again. “To think I was actually starting to be concerned. If all you have is my smartphone, you have nothing. You can’t even open it with the encryption.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“Mr. Smith, I went to an Ivy League school for computer science. When I was arrested I was one of the five best hackers on the planet. What do you think?”
“I think technology is never as good as people think it is. Remember when the FBI asked Apple to open a terrorist’s phone for them? Apple told them to screw off, but it only took a couple weeks for the FBI to find some nerd in a basement who could figure out how to break into it.”
Michelson looked around nervously.
“So you do remember that? I’m guessing they can figure out how to open just about anything nowadays. One of these law-and-order judges will be glad to sign a warrant to get this phone opened. Unless…”
“Unless what?” Michelson said.
Porter leaned in and lowered his voice. “Unless you tell me where Danisha Hill is. If you tell me, I see no reason I can’t let you have your phone for a few minutes before it goes into evidence. What you do with it is up to you.”
Clive Michelson took Porter’s meaning. If he could have access to his phone for a few minutes, he could wipe it of everything. Like a fresh, new phone. Porter figured Michelson’s employers would appreciate him killing any sort of trail into their enterprise.
“I have a strict policy about client confidentiality.”
“I remember. Just think about how some of those powerful clients of yours are gonna like their names being dragged into the open. All over the news. I’d be surprised if you even last long enough to go to trial. Plenty of acc
idents happen in jail.”
“I was just realizing that in this limited case, I believe I can make an exception.”
“I thought you might see things my way,” Porter said.
“All I have to do is tell you where the girl is, and my end of the bargain is upheld?”
“Yep.”
“Then consider our deal struck,” Michelson said.
“Start from the beginning.”
“The beginning is a long way back. Let me make this quick. The client who purchased your girl is a businessman who lives in the state. He has more than enough money to afford my services and has used them often.”
“He buys these girls, rapes them, and then gives them back to you?”
“Mr. Smith, this man doesn’t rape young girls. He subjugates them. He likes to keep young, black girls as his slaves.” Michelson smiled.
“Slaves?”
“He is a rancid racist. It offends my European sensibilities, but his money spends. He doesn’t have the heart to kill them, so once they grow up he sells them back to me at a reduced rate.”
“No one notices this?” Porter said.
“He lives in quite a compound and leaves very infrequently. The girls stay in his house and never come outside. Other than some hired security, no one else ever sees the inside of his compound. This collector’s taste is so particular that when Hector Quintana texted me about his girl, I knew instantly he would be in the market. It also helped that he was somewhat local. I prefer to avoid moving children across state lines.”
“Girls?”
“I’m sorry?” Michelson said.
“You said ‘girls.’ How many kids are we talking about?”
Michelson thought for a moment. “I believe he only has one right now. But there have been several over the years.”
Porter just wanted to say something witty or insulting, but he had nothing. The thought of a little girl trapped in a compound made him ill. “Where is he? How do I find him?”
“His phone number and address are in my phone. If you would permit me to open it, I will be glad to give it to you.” Candy Man held out his hand.
Porter smiled at him. “I’m not sure I’m ready to give you this yet. Our last deal gave me trust issues. Give me the code and I’ll open it myself.”
“That doesn’t work for me. No one gets the code. People breaking the encryption is one thing. That will take time and I can implement contingencies. I cannot have you swimming through my phone at will.”
“How about a compromise? Use your thumb to unlock it. Direct me to your client’s contact info and I’ll lock your phone. Once I verify the info, I’ll give you your phone.”
“This doesn’t seem like it is the smartest plan for myself,” Michaelson said.
Porter shrugged. “You said you used to work with the mob. I wonder how they’re gonna feel when some don gets outed over this? What am I saying—I hear they’re a forgiving bunch.”
Michelson exhaled, long and slow, then stuck out the out the thumb of his free hand. Porter stood, walked around the table, and seized his thumb, holding it still on the home button. The phone unlocked.
“Go to contacts. Scroll to 147.”
Porter looked. All the contacts were numbers. No names or letters at all. He scrolled to 147. “You remember all these numbers?”
“I have a very good memory. You’ll see a phone number and a series of other numbers.”
“Is that latitude and longitude?”
“Very perceptive, Mr. Smith. That is the location where I drop off and pick up for this particular client.”
“Understood. You don’t mind if I check this out before I believe you?” Porter said.
“Naturally.”
Porter read the number out loud, then the latitude and longitude. He waited a moment, then repeated the information. Then he leaned back and looked at Michaelson.
“You got to the bookstore awful quick tonight. Where were you coming from?”
“Driving distance.”
“You were already close, huh? Brokering another deal somewhere?”
Michelson closed his mouth and looked down at the table. Porter just sat, looking at Michelson. After a few moments, he looked up, studying Porter’s face, but as the silence lengthened he appeared to grow more uneasy.
“I thought you said you were going to verify my information.”
“I am.”
“You are just sitting there.”
“Correct,” Porter said.
“Why?”
“I’m trying to decide if you’re telling me the truth before I go check for myself. You can’t imagine how frustrated I’ll be if I believe you’re giving me good intel and it turns out you’re lying,” Porter said.
“I assure you, it is—”
Porter cut Michelson off. “Maybe I’m just sitting here deciding whether to kill you or not. I’m leaning towards the former. You’re a shit human being. There are no cameras here. I could tell everyone you attacked me.”
“Now wait a minute—this is not part of our arrangement, Mr. Smith.” Michelson had gone pale and began to sweat. “I don’t think this is right at all. You must rethink your plans.”
“I don’t have to do anything but stay brown and die.”
There was a knock at the interview room door. Porter answered, opening the door just wide enough that his head could fit out. Candy Man wouldn’t be able to see who he was talking to or hear the conversation.
“The phone number and address check out. Property belongs to some rich guy. I’ll tell you the rest when you come out.”
“Thanks, Rivera,” Porter said.
“Porter, you can’t let him wipe that cell phone. We need it to try to—”
Porter closed the door, cutting her off.
Porter turned to look at Candy Man, who had grown more ashen and was trembling slightly. “Relax, I’m not going to kill you, stupid. My people were listening to the entire conversation. They checked your address out while I was sitting with you. Two-way mirror. I was just killing time.”
“You appear to be a man of your word. I was not worried at all,” Michelson said.
“Sure you weren’t,” Porter said. He sat back down opposite of Michelson, holding up the man’s cell phone. “A deal’s a deal. You gave me info about my girl, I let you wipe your phone. Here you go.” Porter handed Candy Man’s smartphone to him.
Candy Man reached his free hand out and grabbed the phone. There was a smug look on his face, as if he had always known he would get out of this situation. As if he had won. But when he went to pull it away from Porter, the phone wouldn’t move. Porter had the phone in a vise grip and didn’t release it.
“You know, on second thought, I don’t think I am going to give you this back.”
Panic washed over Clive Michelson’s face. He pulled harder, but it was no use. The phone was going nowhere.
“Mr. Smith, we had a deal. I must insist you honor it.”
Porter smiled an easy smile. “Insist, huh? That’s pretty good, Candy Man. It’s not gonna happen.”
Candy Man released the phone. “I suppose I should have never expected you to honor our deal. The most likely outcome would be for you to renege.”
“I suppose that makes me a reneger, doesn’t it?”
Candy Man didn’t find the humor.
“You can blame it on the fact that I think you should be in prison for what you did to these kids. You could blame it on the fact that you took my money at the coffee shop. But honestly? I just don’t like you.”
Clive Michelson sat perfectly still, stewing in his anger.
Porter wasn’t sitting still. He stood, gathered the phone, and looked down at Michelson. “Mr. Michelson, I have to let you go now. Good luck in prison.” Porter stepped out of the interview room into the hallway.
Fifty-One
Moments later, Rivera and Ross burst out of the monitoring room.
“I thought you were going to give him that phone,” Ross said.
“Me too,” Rivera said with a frown. “I was about to kick your big ass.”
“I’m not letting Michelson off the hook. He needs to fry for the things he’s done, but I had to give him a little hope. I knew I couldn’t get him to move if he didn’t think there was something in it for him.”
“Aren’t you worried he’ll tell his lawyer you conned him for information?” Ross said.
“Not especially,” Porter said.
“Why not?” Ross said.
“Even if he tells his lawyer and they bring it up to a judge, it won’t matter. Information relating to the Danny Hill case will be considered ‘fruit of the poisonous tree.’ Since the information was obtained illegally, anything we find out with that info isn’t admissible in court,” Rivera said. “Any charges for the Danny kidnapping will be a no-go.”
“As long as whoever investigates the case gets a court order to open his phone, everything else in there will be fair game. If he even mentions it,” Porter said.
“Why wouldn’t he?” Ross said.
“I worked a case once involving a local sheriff’s office. For years they had been arresting drug dealers and keeping part of the product for themselves,” Porter said.
“The dealers never said anything?”
“Hell no. Could you imagine their lawyer in court? ‘Actually, Your Honor, my client had ten kilograms of cocaine, not four. Please amend the indictment to reflect the change.’ Of course they didn’t say anything. No one will admit to doing any more than you can prove they did. The only reason anyone found out about the drugs is that one of the officers who wasn’t in on the scheme found out and told us. If not, those cops would have been stealing people’s drugs forever.”
“It wouldn’t make sense for Candy Man to say anything about Danny?” Ross said.
Porter shook his head. “Nah. He’ll go down for everything on the phone, and he isn’t even going to mention Danny. I’ll bet he doesn’t even tell his lawyer about it.”
Rivera had several pieces of paper in her hands. “This is what I came up with for an address. Looks like it’s over in Lakeland somewhere.”
Porter took the papers and shuffled through them. “Otto Schmidt. Why does that name sound familiar?”
