by James Hunt
Kerry was frisked at the entrance of the club. She had left her revolver in the car, and once the security guard determined she didn’t have any weapons on her, she was escorted inside. The music was loud, the bass thumping in time with her heartbeat. Strobe lights flashed, and even though it was the middle of the day, there was still a decent crowd inside.
Most of the clientele looked like they were college students or vacationers on holiday. A few people looked like they were playing hooky from work, and most everyone acted like they were on some sort of drug.
Kerry drew some quizzical glances from the patrons inside, along with the staff. She was used to those looks. She didn’t know how not to look like a cop after almost twenty years on the force.
Cutters was in the back of the club in a private room. There were a few girls inside with him, all of them half-naked, but there was nothing happening. They were sitting around, chatting with one another while Cutters was on his phone.
Again, Kerry was frisked by Cutters’ personal security team—three guys this time—and Kerry noted the cocaine on the glass table by the couch where the girls sat.
The moment Kerry entered, the girls stopped chatting and turned their attention toward her. They were young, pretty, with nice bodies. But it was a forced pretty, the kind of manufactured look that some girls thought was attractive. Kerry never understood the appeal for it.
“Who’s this bitch?” A redhead asked and snarled at Kerry while the others laughed.
“That one’s not taking off her clothes,” a brunette with a butterfly tattooed between her breasts said.
“She probably sleeps in a turtleneck,” sneered a bone-thin blonde with massive fake breasts.
Kerry paid none of them any mind. She was here for one thing, and that thing was currently invested in whatever was on his phone’s screen.
“It’s done,” Kerry said.
“Good,” Cutters replied. “I’ll call you when I have something else for you.”
One of the security guards reached for Kerry’s arm, but she pulled away before he could touch her. He made a second aggressive move toward her, and Kerry pinned his arm behind his back, and that was enough to draw everyone’s attention toward her.
“And what do you think you’re doing?” Cutters asked.
Kerry shoved the security guard forward and released him, but the shove didn’t push him very far. He was almost six and a half feet and weighed near three hundred pounds.
“I want something out of this,” Kerry said.
Cutters tilted his head to the side. “You already got something. Or are you forgetting the deal you made in exchange for the information about the Greeks on your last case?”
“That was the old deal,” Kerry said. “And as far as I can tell, we were even the moment I handed your tip over to the VICE detectives. If you want me to remain invested, I’ll continue to need some type of encouragement.”
Cutters smiled. “You want me to pay you.”
“I can’t be the only cop on your payroll,” Kerry said. “And if this is something that is going to be a part of my life for the foreseeable future, then I want to make the most of it.”
Kerry wasn’t sure if her plan would work but having access to the money source could get her foot in the door to uncovering more substantial evidence against Cutters. She might not be able to intimidate a man like Cutters, but she could most likely persuade one of his lower-level workers to provide details about his organization.
“How much?” Cutters asked.
Kerry hadn’t thought of a specific number, so she quickly made one up on the spot. “I think an extra five grand a month would be sufficient to start with.”
Cutters laughed and clapped his hands together. “Well, look at you. I’m glad you’re starting to embrace this. I have to admit it’s easier to keep people under control once they have a steady stream of income. I think that amount is more than fair.”
Cutters snapped his fingers, and one of the security guards handed him a business card along with a pen. Cutters scribbled something down onto the business card and then handed it to Kerry.
“That’s the name of a man who will get your account set up,” Cutters said. “Tell him the amount you told me, and everything will go smoothly.”
Kerry pocketed the card. “Thanks.”
“And if I could make one suggestion about what to do with your new funds,” Cutters said. “You might be tempted to invest the money into some sort of nest egg or pack it away for a possible escape, but it would be a waste. Because if you were to ever burn me, it wouldn’t matter how much money you had stashed away. Because I would find you. And then I would hurt you and your family.”
The room remained silent as Cutters spoke. Only the faded bass from the music club could be heard through the walls.
Cutters said nothing else and returned his attention to the phone. The same security guard who she had immobilized earlier stepped forward again, his body language suggesting that it was time to leave. Kerry didn’t say anything else; she turned around but made one final passing glare at the three women on the loveseat.
A part of her hated them, but a larger part of her wanted to help them. She knew that none of them had dreamed of doing this kind of thing when they were little girls. Somewhere along the way, life continued to hand down nothing but terrible options for them to choose from. Or maybe it was all self-inflicted, and they had come from very nice homes. Either way, this was no life for anyone to live.
Outside, Kerry squinted from the bright glare of the sun. It had been so dark in the club that even the few minutes she was inside had caused her eyes to grow lazy. She reached for her sunglasses to help shield herself from the brightness and returned to her car.
Once behind the wheel, Kerry examined the business card Cutters handed her. It turned out not to be a business card at all, merely the shape of one. It was a blank scrap of paper, and the name written on it was for Arthur Myers.
A quick search for Arthur Myers online revealed a middle-aged man with a small accounting office. He boasted that he specialized in small business taxes and family tax returns. The number listed on the business card was different than the one listed online, and Kerry figured the man had a separate line for his affairs with Cutters.
If Kerry could turn Myers, then she could potentially find a thread that would lead to some of Cutters’ more profound and substantial investments. She didn’t need to find everything, just something big enough to catch Cutters’ attention.
Hopefully, that would be enough.
11
“You have to be kidding me.” Jim stood with his hands on his hips, staring at one of the junior district attorneys who assisted the DA on cases, who had just handed him back the official recorded statement from Donnie Smerconish about what Samuel had done to him five years ago.
“Jim, this is two conflicting statements we have on record,” the assistant DA said. “That’s not enough for a judge to issue a warrant.”
“But this is a new statement of omission,” Jim said. “This warrants investigation.”
“I’m not disputing that it warrants an investigation,” the assistant DA said. “What I’m telling you is that’s not enough evidence to provide a search warrant. Is it suspect? Yes, but that’s not enough for a judge to sign off on it, and it’s not enough for me to be willing to use what few favors I have within this department to help you.”
“I’m on a time crunch here,” Jim said. “Couldn’t you tell the judge that for the sake of—”
“Jim,” the assistant DA said. “I’m sorry, but I can’t.”
Defeated, Jim watched as the assistant DA returned to his office. He stared down at the written statement Donnie had provided at the station. Jim had come straight down to the courthouse to file for the warrant, but he had been so gung ho about getting down here he hadn’t given much thought to the actual credence of the evidence he was providing.
Jim had fallen into the dangerous trap of allowing h
is emotions to guide him instead of the evidence. He wanted to nail Samuel for what he had done, but there was a reason detectives couldn’t submit emotional “good feelings” as evidence. What Jim needed was cold, hard proof. And in order for him to obtain that, he would need to catch Samuel breaking the law. So Jim would watch him like a hawk.
Jim drove over to the afterschool program where Samuel was currently teaching and found a parking spot that would allow him to view the inside of the gymnasium from the road. While he was waiting, his phone rang, and he saw Nate calling. He didn’t have any positive updates for his friend, but Nate had called him five times already, and Jim knew he couldn’t ignore him for much longer.
“Hey, Nate,” Jim said.
“What’s going on?” Nate asked. “I’ve been trying to get in contact with you for the past hour.”
“I’ve been doing some interviews and following up on leads,” Jim answered. Jim paused for effect, hoping that Nate would take that as positive news, but his friend wasn’t satisfied.
“And?” Nate asked. “Do you have any updates?”
“Nothing that I can tell you about right now,” Jim answered. “But I’m making progress.”
“Progress?” Nate asked. “Why can’t you tell me what’s going on?”
Jim knew that arguing with his friend wasn’t going to lead anywhere productive. So, he decided to change the subject. “I’ve been trying to get in contact with that girl you dated. She hasn’t returned my calls. Is there any way you could get her to contact me?”
“Probably not,” Nate answered. “The breakup wasn’t amicable.”
“Well, if you could try, that would be a great help,” Jim replied, hoping to give Nate something to do. “Listen, I’m in the middle of something. I have to go. But the moment I have anything you need to hear about, I will call you. Okay?”
Nate grumbled on the other end of the phone, but he eventually replied with an “okay.”
Once the afterschool program ended, Jim didn’t find anything noteworthy during his stakeout. He stuck around and waited for Samuel to leave and then tailed the man as he drove off.
Jim remained two car lengths back to make sure he remained inconspicuous. It had been a while since he had tailed someone like this, but it was like riding a bicycle. Samuel made a few stops before he returned home, going to the convenience store and picking up what looked like a jug of milk and a bag of chips that he munched on inside his car. He then stopped at the bank, made a deposit, and then went to a gas station outside of his neighborhood and filled up his tank.
The rest of the drive, Jim noted how Samuel never drove faster than the speed limit, never ran a red light, and always came to a full and complete stop at every stop sign.
When Samuel finally arrived back at his house, he parked in the driveway even though he had a two-car garage. The house was in a middle-class neighborhood, and Jim was surprised how Samuel was able to afford the place on a single salary. He was not listed as married, but he could be living with a roommate.
But there was no other car in the driveway, and Samuel struck Jim as a man who enjoyed his solitude. Most pedophiles did. It would make it easier for him to conduct whatever affairs he deemed too scandalous for public view. Jim parked his vehicle on the side of the road several houses down from where Samuel lived and waited until Samuel entered the house before he shut off the vehicle.
Jim waited, the seconds ticking away quickly. If there were anything Jim hated more than some of the bureaucracy of the department, it was wasting time sitting around. What drove Jim insane was the fact that Nate’s son could be in the house at this very moment, waiting to be rescued.
“Come on,” Jim said. “Give me something I can work with.”
It was another ten minutes before Samuel stepped out of the house again. He had changed from his school uniform into a plain black shirt, jeans, and sneakers. He also had a hoodie tucked under his arm and a pair of sunglasses even though it was now cloudy and overcast, and it wasn’t particularly cold. The outfit was something that someone might wear if they were trying to conceal themselves.
When Samuel backed out of his driveway, Jim restarted his pursuit.
Jim tailed Samuel from his house to a shadier part of Seattle on the city’s Southside. It was an area known for crime and drugs, but Samuel never struck Jim as an addict. He assumed that the schools and programs where he worked required drug tests, not that those tests could be altered or switched.
Eventually, Samuel slowed as he neared a standalone building at the end of a cluster of high-rises that had decayed over the years from neglect. Samuel drove between one of the high-rises in the small, unmarked building and then parked in the back.
Jim was forced to stay on the main road, finding a space across from the small, standalone building. If he would’ve tried to follow Samuel into the back, he would’ve easily been made. All Jim could hope for was that Samuel walked around to the front entrance.
But after fifteen minutes, Jim feared he had lost Samuel. There could’ve been another exit on the backside of the buildings that Jim couldn’t see. He wasn’t as familiar with this part of town as he was others.
Just when Jim was about to get out of his car and proceed on foot, Samuel’s vehicle emerged from the narrow, one-lane side street and pulled back out onto the main road. He was now wearing the hoodie and sunglasses and drove rather quickly away from the building.
Jim nearly lost Samuel’s vehicle when he tried to make a U-turn and he was blocked by traffic. Samuel was several car lengths ahead of him, and Jim had to break the speed limit in order to catch up to the man, which made him more noticeable.
Just before Samuel’s vehicle disappeared, Jim managed to sneak through a yellow light and caught up. Afraid that he may have drawn too much attention to himself, Jim remained farther back, but Samuel showed no sign he was aware that he was being followed.
Samuel drove for another twenty minutes or so and then merged back onto the highway. They headed even farther south outside of the city. Jim had no idea where they were going, but after almost forty minutes of driving, Samuel exited the highway into a little town. They drove through a small but quaint business district and then through a neighborhood.
Jim was definitely out of his jurisdiction at this point, but he wasn’t going to give up. He was convinced that Samuel was about to commit a crime, and he wanted to catch the man in the act.
Eventually, the neighborhood opened up into a large park. The kind that had baseball fields, large open areas for picnics, trails, and several tennis and basketball courts. It was a massive recreation area, and it was fairly crowded when they arrived.
Now that they were in more of a centrally located area, Jim hung back again, making sure he gave Samuel enough space to think he was still alone.
At first, Jim thought maybe Samuel had some other gig coaching a team here, but that wouldn’t be helpful in obtaining a warrant. Maybe Jim’s gut had been wrong about the man, but then he remembered the way Harry had looked at Samuel in the principal’s office when they were speaking. Not to mention Donnie’s confession.
Kids typically didn’t lie about the sort of abuse Donnie had received. If anything, kids didn’t go into all of the details of what happened to them. It was just too painful to think about, and after everything an abused child had experienced, reliving those memories was something they desperately wanted to avoid.
Jim was forced to get out of the vehicle and walked through the park. He kept to himself and saw that Samuel had driven past the baseball field and toward the picnic areas. He parked next to a tree where there were no other vehicles in the vicinity.
Jim hung back a second, waiting to see if Samuel would step out of the vehicle, but the man never left the car. Jim frowned, unsure of what he was doing, but as Jim walked closer toward the vehicle, Jim noticed a playground from Samuel’s point of view in the car, and on the playground was a cluster of at least a dozen children.
There were parents ne
arby on benches, talking casually and sipping coffees or iced beverages. So what was Samuel’s plan here? Was he looking for a new child to take? Had he already disposed of Nate’s son?
Jim decided that he had enough of waiting, and he circled around so that he could approach Samuel’s car from the rear.
The windows of Samuel’s vehicle were tinted dark, and it made it difficult for Jim to see exactly what he was doing from the back. Jim had his hand on the butt of his pistol, but he hadn’t removed it from the holster. He tensed, ready to pull at a moment’s notice, but he didn’t want to jump the gun too soon.
From his many years on the job, Jim had seen a number of things that had soured his stomach. It was the nature of his line of work that he saw some of the worst humanity had to offer. And when Jim saw what Samuel was doing in the driver seat of his car, he felt a surge of rage course through his veins.
Samuel had exposed himself in the seat of his car and was pleasuring himself at the site of not just the children on the playground but also pornographic images of underage minors that he had laid out on the steering wheel.
Before Samuel noticed Jim was standing nearby, Jim smashed the car window with the butt of his pistol, startling Samuel and the crowd at the playground.
Unsure if Samuel had any type of weapon on him, Jim slammed Samuel’s head into the dash, causing a break along the man’s forehead, and blood gushed over his face. From there, Jim unlocked the door, ripped open the vehicle’s door, and flung Samuel out of the car into the pavement.
“What the hell is going on?” Samuel asked, disoriented from the blow to the face and partially blinded from the blood in his eyes.
It took all of Jim’s composure not to beat the man within an inch of his life, but he remembered that Donnie still deserved his justice, and there was still a missing boy that needed to come home.
“Samuel, you are under arrest,” Jim said. “You have the right to remain silent.”
Jim applied the handcuffs and penned Samuel’s hands behind his back as he continued the rest of the Miranda Rights. The entire time, the group around the playground had consolidated to a single point, everybody watching Jim as he arrested Samuel for his indecent exposure.
