by Rick Outzen
He continued, “The hospitals and banks are being pressured to pull their advertising from the paper, and the sales staffs at the Herald and the TV stations smell blood in the water.”
“I just got a new set of credit card checks, screw ’em,” I said. “There is more to all this. The Arts Council embezzlement, Sue’s suicide, the petition drive. They are all related somehow. I can feel it.”
Gravy shook his head. “You are stretching this. Maybe you need to back off some. Surely there is some environmental or public education issue you can investigate.”
He wasn’t smiling. “The state attorney’s office wants you to come in for questioning. They threatened to file obstruction of justice charges against you, but I told them that was bullshit and you did their work for them finding the note.”
“The note is real,” I said. “It is a suicide note. I don’t know who wanted me to have it. The bartender at New World Landing can verify that he handed it to me. Hell, I’ll take a lie detector.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Gravy said. “You embarrassed the state attorney when you published the note without forewarning him. People are pressuring him to not cut Hines any deals so he’s looking for any excuse to put your ass in a jail cell. Remember the scathing column you wrote about what you called his ‘selective’ prosecution of cases. You can’t count on his coaching memories to rescue you. You burned that bridge.”
He paused to watch a brunette walk by in a little red dress. “The state attorney and the judges have been waiting for you to slip. If you don’t come in voluntarily, he will issue a subpoena forcing you to appear. If you fail to appear, he will have you arrested for contempt. This could move very fast. In the next forty-eight hours, this could all explode in your face.”
I didn’t say a word. Just sat and drank my beer. Gravy gave me time to let it all soak in, but I had no intention of backing down. The “justice gene” wouldn’t allow it.
“Tell me about Stan Daniels,” I said.
“Daniels is Mr. Pensacola, former United Way chairman, former chairman of the Pensacola Bay Area Chamber of Commerce. Hell, Stan Daniels is the former chairman of everything,” Gravy started. “His firm does defense work representing corporations against guys like me.”
He grabbed another slice of pizza and said, “I don’t think he has been in the courtroom in over thirty years, but he doesn’t need to go to court. His minions handle the dirty work.”
I asked, “What do you know about his sister Celeste and her disappearance?”
“I wasn’t even born until a year after Celeste Daniels went missing,” said Gravy as he waved to the waitress for another round. “The nuns at Catholic High used her disappearance as a warning for how dangerous the world can be for teenage girls. Everyone assumed she was killed by some drifter. Why?”
“Bo Hines and Jace Wittman both dated her.”
“So?” he asked.
“Hell if I know what it means but I will soon.”
Another short skirt walked by the table. Gravy was becoming too easily distracted. Too much competition. I needed him to stay focused.
I said, “I stopped by The Green Olive before the press conference.”
“What?” Gravy asked turning away from eyeing the bar crowd. “You didn’t mention Eva Johnson, did you? Her attorney will kill me if you messed up their lawsuit.”
“No. I did have a brief conversation with Tatum, but Eva’s name was never mentioned,” I said. “But the most interesting tidbit I got was from a waitress. Bo Hines and Pandora Childs were regulars at The Green Olive.”
Gravy put down his pizza slice. I relayed what the waitress had shared.
He said, “Hines may have been cheating on his wife. So what?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “What I do know is we’ve got to make sure Hines’ trial happens. Maybe the affair was the secret.”
“Maybe, but still a stretch,” Gravy reasoned.
“Yeah, that’s right. Maybe Harden didn’t look in the right places or Hines and Childs hadn’t hooked up yet. I don’t know.”
“Without testimony from Childs, Sue’s note won’t have the impact you thought,” said Gravy.
“No shit. I feel like we have all these puzzle pieces,” I said. “But I don’t know for sure if they are part of the same puzzle.”
I took a long sip of beer and continued, “My sources tell me the shit is hitting the fan this week. It involves porn, the dark web—whatever the hell that is—underage girls, and maybe Monte Tatum.”
“Damn, Walker, the hits keep coming,” said Gravy. “Did Eva Johnson give you any worthwhile information?”
“She was very helpful. Tatum is a slimeball. How big of one? Yet to be determined.”
He took a bite of the pizza, wiped the sauce off his chin. Only Gravy would find sauce in an almost sauceless pizza. I drank my Bud Light. The staff gave us extra attention, wanting to make up for the fight last week. New beers appeared before we finished the ones on the table.
“Are you going to be able to help Bree?”
I shook my head. “Too early to tell for sure. I haven’t quite found the right pressure point, but we need to see how this week plays out.”
Gravy said, “Remember, Tatum’s a vindictive bastard. He backed off after his lawsuit was thrown out by the judge. If you take him on again, you could be creating another lifelong enemy, something you don’t need.”
“He’ll have to get in line.”
When I got back to the loft, someone had painted in blood red on the gray metal door, “Murderer.” Living downtown, doors and walls were regularly tagged. I got out the gray paint, and Big Boy watched me repaint the door. No need for the staff to see this kind of crap.
The dog stood guard while I worked. Maybe he was getting a little worried, too.
26
At 4:00 a.m. my cell phone rang. Alphonse Tyndall said, “It’s going down now. Might want to have someone outside Central Booking.”
I called and woke up Teddy. “Ted, I hate to ask, but the cops are busting a big porn ring. Need you over at Central Booking. Get photos of everybody going in.”
I could hear Mal in the background asking what was happening. Teddy shushed her before agreeing to go.
Bleary eyed, Teddy came into the office at 7:00 a.m. with Mal in tow. I had coffee and bagels on the counter.
“They arrested about a dozen people,” said Mal. “A few faces you might recognize.”
Teddy loaded the memory card from his camera on his Mac. Monte Tatum’s disheveled mug was among the photos.
Mal said, “The deputies said that there would be a press conference at the county courthouse at 11:00 a.m.”
I immediately wrote on the blog.
BUZZ: PORN RING BUSTED
Early this morning, law enforcement rounded up what may be a national pornography ring run out of the Pensacola area. Several people arrested, including at least one local bar owner. A press conference is scheduled for 11:00 a.m.
Teddy and Mal picked out the four best photos, and Teddy began to edit them for the paper. We still needed the week’s issue completed and to the printer by 6:00 p.m. Fortunately, all the editorial had been copyedited and approved. Only two ads were outstanding.
At the staff meeting, we agreed to pull one news story, a profile of the new president of one of the hospitals. Instead, I would attend the press conference and complete an article by 2:00 p.m.
At the courthouse, the media gathered in Courtroom 601. Sheets covered two easels near the podium. Florida Department of Law Enforcement agents prevented us from peeking under them. Someone had tipped off CNN, and they had a crew from Atlanta in the room.
Florida Attorney General Charles Gore walked to the podium, flanked by State Attorney Newton, Sheriff Frost, Tyndall, and several law enforcement officers.
Tall, slim, gray-haired Gore said, “This morning we arrested thirteen men and women associated with a national pornography operation that generated millions of dollars exploiting women an
d children.”
The FDLE agents pulled back the sheets, revealing poster boards with photographs of those arrested. Tatum’s mug shot wasn’t there. Good thing I didn’t mention him in the blog post. At the top of the boards was written “Operation Cherry Bomb.”
Gore explained Operation Cherry Bomb had begun a year ago when police in Miami found a large porn site, Deb’s Playpen, populated with photos and videos of teenagers under the age of eighteen. Agent Alphonse Tyndall gained administrative access by anonymously posting photos with a computer code hidden in the file.
“It’s really cutting-edge police work,” said Gore. “Once he gained administrative access, Agent Tyndall attached the code to other photos on the site. Every time a website visitor clicked on an image, their computer also downloaded extra data that reported back to us the computer’s true IP address and type of operating system.”
Tyndall found that the Web server was physically located in a Pensacola-based hosting service, Lightning DNN. While the team had access to the website, they didn’t know the identities of the users and their passwords.
With a judge’s approval, the Child Predator Cybercrime Task Force staked out the home of one Lightning DNN employee, Wesley McKee, who was also tied to a film company that was secretly shooting porn videos in the area using amateurs. The film company uploaded the videos to Deb’s Playpen.
“At five this morning, we picked up McKee, Cecil Rantz, the owner of Happy Cumings Films, and their accomplices,” said Gore. “We have their computers, laptops, and portable hard drives. We also have what we believe is the master list of all 27,000 users of the site.”
The reporters pelted Gore and Tyndall with questions. They didn’t answer many of them, saying the investigation was still active. More documents would be released after the grand jury indicted the individuals and later at the trials.
I said, “Mr. Gore, Walker Holmes with Pensacola Insider. What has been the involvement of local law enforcement agencies?”
Sheriff Frost’s face turned red. He stared at me, willing me to die. Not quite sure if I knew about his brother’s secret.
“They have been very cooperative,” said Gore. “Without their manpower, we couldn’t have made all the arrests in less than three hours.”
I said, “Our photographer was at Central Booking this morning. He took photos of people not included on your boards.”
The attorney general looked a little flustered. He glanced at Newton, Frost, and Tyndall. I had mentioned something he didn’t want to answer.
“Mr. Holmes,” he replied, “the officers gathered up several people, not all were charged. A few were witnesses cooperating with our investigation. We ask that you use those photos very carefully.”
I didn’t let up. “Do you consider McKee and Rantz the leaders of this operation?”
“Yes, but we do expect more arrests in the upcoming days,” said Gore. “We’ve only begun questioning the men and women arrested today.”
The other reporters stared at me. I had made it clear I knew more than them about this. They didn’t like being scooped. Tyndall wasn’t happy either.
As I walked out, a Florida Department of Law Enforcement agent stopped me.
“Mr. Gore would like to meet with you tomorrow,” he said as he handed me a business card. “He will be here the rest of the week.”
“My attorney will contact his office,” I said. Gravy wasn’t going to like getting another phone call about me.
Frost pounced on me, dragging me into a hall away from everyone else. Towering over me, standing inches from my face, he whispered, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
His breath smelled of cigarettes and coffee. I stepped into him, stood as tall as I could. “My job.”
The sheriff stepped back. He looked like he wanted to throw a punch. I braced myself.
“You’ve blamed me for your brother’s death,” I said, matching his temper. “We know he was caught up in this porn mess. They were blackmailing him.”
Frost grabbed my arm and pulled me into an empty office. “You print anything about Amos and this shit, and I’ll sue you. I’ll own your paper and your ass.”
Slightly bigger than a closet, the room had a desk, phone, and two chairs. The court system probably used the windowless room for interviews or temporary workspace. If Frost wanted to pound me, no one would see it.
“Your brother came to you for help,” I said. “You left him out to dry. You could have prevented the suicide, and you know it.”
That took the air out of him. “You think you have it all figured out. You don’t understand crap and can’t prove anything.”
I said, “Not yet, but somebody always talks.”
“Not in this case,” said Frost as he straightened his tie and smoothed the lapels of his jacket. His voice was calmer. “Besides, what purpose will it serve? Other than destroying the name of a good officer. My brother wasn’t perfect, but he did a lot of good in this community. Anything you publish will hurt his wife and children, not me.”
Words eluded me. No quick, snappy comebacks came to mind. I stood staring at the sheriff.
“Holmes, you are such a hard-ass. Your personal feuds are leaving a trail of dead bodies, and you stand there not giving a damn about anyone or anything other than your crappy little newspaper.”
“There’s nothing personal about any of this,” I retorted. “It’s about the truth.”
“Keep telling yourself that,” said Frost. “Repeat it in front of a mirror over and over again, and maybe you will start to sound convincing.”
I began, “You—”
But Frost cut me off and jabbed his bony finger into my chest. “Tell it to Amos’s wife and sons. Tell it to Bo Hines. You aren’t from here. You don’t understand how things work in Pensacola, and you have to be stopped. There have been too many casualties.”
I knocked the sheriff’s hand away. “We will continue to report the news.”
“Not for much longer,” said Frost as he headed out of the room.
I sat down in the chair and stared at the drab gray walls. Had I fallen into the Pensacola trap and let grudges drive my reporting? Was I any better than Frost, Wittman, or Tatum?
As I walked back to the Insider office, Bree called.
27
“Walker, Mal told me that Monte Tatum had been arrested for child porn,” she said. “Is it true?”
This wasn’t a conversation I needed right then. We had a paper to get out. “Tatum wasn’t included in the press conference, even though Ted and Mal saw him at Central Booking this morning.”
Bree’s voice trembled. She was about to cry. “What does that mean? The bastard gets off free?”
“I don’t know, Bree. Give me a couple of hours to get my paper out and sort through this. You around tonight?”
“Yes, I’m going to a lecture at the library. Should be free about eight.”
“Text me when it’s over. We can meet at Hops or Intermission.”
Back at the office, I called a quick staff meeting to fill them in on the specifics. The absence of Tatum’s name on the arrest list surprised Mal and Teddy. Mal’s face showed that she felt a little guilty that she had said anything to Bree.
“You saw the photos,” she said. “They perp-walked Tatum.”
“Yeah, but we don’t know for what,” I said. “Listen, we will hold Tatum’s photo. We’ll get answers soon. First, I need to finish the article.”
Mal said, “That’s the only piece we’re waiting on. Once I send the pages to the printer, Teddy and I are going to bug out. Our day started early.”
“No problem.”
The article on Operation Cherry Bomb went smoothly. I put on my headphones and listened to Norwegian composer Edvard Grieg’s piano concertos. I didn’t need any more words in my head.
Once Mal sent off all the pages to the printer, she and Teddy left. I texted Tyndall to see if he could meet for drinks. We agreed to meet away from downtown. Tyndall suggest
ed Satchmo’s, an old club on the west side that opened at four o’clock but didn’t have many customers until seven.
Satchmo’s had been around since World War II. It’s where the African-American veterans congregated when they came home to a segregated Pensacola and had evolved into the unofficial American Legion hall for the black community.
The blue cinder block building had no windows and a purple door. I wasn’t sure it even had a back door. The only light inside came from the neon beer company signs and the bathroom lights when the doors opened. The jukebox played only Nat King Cole, Louis Armstrong, Billie Holiday, Charlie Parker, Jelly Roll Morton, and other artists from that era.
Erlene was tending the bar, and Alphonse sat at a table by the jukebox. Satchmo’s carried only Budweiser, Bud Light, Miller, Miller Lite, Colt 45, and Heineken. All bottles, nothing on draft. I ordered a Miller Lite.
Alphonse was nearly invisible in the dark room, except for his white shirt.
I said, “Nice show today. You came off the hero. Not a bad start to your sheriff’s campaign.”
“You almost blew it with your questions,” he said over Charlie Parker’s “Embraceable You.” “My boss called a meeting and dressed us all down about leaking information to the media.”
“Does he suspect you?”
“No, Gore doesn’t understand my roots in the community. He thinks the leak came from the state attorney’s office.”
“If he only knew I’m on their shit list, too,” I said laughing. “I was surprised Gore gave so much detail on the investigation. He made you look good, but did he go a little too far?”
“Gore wants to run for governor in four years,” said Tyndall. “He likes these theatrical presentations. You can expect more of them around the state.”
The bar was empty. Erlene was setting up for the day, but kept an eye on our beers.
Alphonse asked, “What is your deal with Monte Tatum? My aunt told me that when you are on someone’s ass, you don’t let go. She said you wouldn’t let the officer off the hook for killing my cousin, even though there was no money in it for you.”
