by S. D. Tooley
“Jezzus, Sam. What is this?” Tim stared at the pictures on the screen. He had used Preston’s password and accessed the lock-and-key file.
“Oh my god,” Sam gasped. “No wonder he only needed one set of those pictures. He scanned them into the computer.” She placed a hand on Tim’s shoulder. “Do me a favor and forget what you just saw,” Sam pleaded. “What did he program this computer to do? Can you tell?”
Tim’s fingers flew over the keyboard. A list appeared on the screen. “It’s programmed to send a full set of what’s in this file to every major newspaper, television station, and ...”
“He planned on sending the pictures to every rag sheet, too.” Sam pulled Hap Wilson’s affidavit from her purse along with her father’s summary. She had planned to leave them on Preston’s desk for him to find in the morning but thought of a more devilish plan. She pointed to the piece of equipment on the two-drawer filing cabinet next to the desk. “What does this thing do?”
“That’s the scanner. You place the sheets in there and it scans it into the computer.”
Sam smiled. “And you can delete what he currently has in there?” When Tim nodded, Sam said, “Wonderful.”
She heard two raps on the door to the bedroom.
Poking her head around the door, Jackie announced, “All ready for you.”
The two women struggled with the dead weight of a sleeping Preston Hilliard. They got the top half of him into the bed, then swung his legs up and over.
Jackie positioned Preston, removing enough of his robe to prove he had nothing on underneath while still leaving vital parts covered. Sam slipped out of the blue dress, revealing a royal blue teddy.
“Have the camera?” Sam asked as she crawled into bed next to Preston.
“All set, girlfriend. This is going to be soooo much fun.”
Preston was propped up by three satin-covered pillows. Wrapping one of his arms around her shoulder, Sam leaned her head back, positioned the necklace so the lightning bolt pendant was in full view, then moved Preston’s right hand to her upper thigh.
Jackie snapped pictures as she giggled. Sam moved Preston’s head to her chest, pressed his head in close, and repositioned the necklace so it wasn’t covered.
“Now lean your head back and close your eyes like you are in complete ecstasy,” Jackie suggested.
“Oh, please. I’m going to puke.” But Sam did it anyway. “You are taking two sets of everything, right?”
“That’s right. One set for you. And one set that we are going to leave right here on his dresser.”
The women dressed quickly, covered Preston with the bedspread, left one set of pictures on the dresser, and returned to the study.
“All done?” Sam asked.
Tim grinned. “This is some of my best work ever.”
Chapter 67
“Yeh, baby. I’ll be home shortly. Abby’s packin’ us a late snack.” Frank winked at Abby as he spoke with Claudia on his cellular phone. “Did you tell Justin I’ll read him two stories tomorrow since I missed out tonight? ... Okay, Sweetheart. See you soon.” He hung up the phone and joined Jake at the counter.
Jake stirred his coffee with deliberation. He and Frank had deposited Lincoln Thomas and his luggage in Carl’s suite. Lincoln’s signed affidavit confirmed what Hap Wilson had written about Mushima Valley. Carl needed time to figure out his next step. Until then, he had instructed Jake to still not share any information with Sam.
“Did Sam say when she’d be home?” Frank asked Abby.
“She said she was going to see a friend of hers — Jackie.”
They heard voices at the back door, laughing, school-girl giggling.
“You should keep the dress, Sam. You never know when you and Preston might have another date,” Jackie said.
When they reached the doorway to the kitchen, the two women stopped. Frank, Jake, and Abby stared in amazement.
“Jackie,” Abby said suddenly, her eyes taking in the short length of Sam’s dress. “I don’t believe you’ve met Jake Mitchell and Frank Travis.”
“My, my.” Jackie stretched her long talons toward them. “Hello, boys. Why didn’t they have guys like you when the cops busted me in my youth?”
Frank smiled broadly, finding it hard to peel his eyes from Jackie’s well-endowed figure, Donna Summer hair, and appealing smile.
“What’s this about Preston?” Jake asked abruptly.
“Preston. I almost forgot.” Jackie reached into her purse and pulled out the pictures.
“NO!” Sam said quickly, but she was too late. Jake grabbed the pictures.
“WOW! Frank yelled from over Jake’s shoulder. Abby leaned over the counter to have a look, then turned away, a smile spreading over her face.
The necklace was in plain sight in all of the pictures. It was difficult for anyone to tell that Preston was not in control of his faculties.
Jake threw the pictures on the counter yelling, “SHIT!” He leaped to his feet. “You better tell me this is the only set.”
“Uh, oh.” Jackie took one step backward. “I think this is my cue.” She pointed at Sam’s feet. “My two-hundred-dollar shoes, girlfriend.”
“Three hours ago they were worth one hundred and fifty,” Sam argued, stepping out of the royal blue heels.
“Inflation, baby.” Jackie gave a wave of her hand to the guys saying, “Nice meeting you.” To Abby she said, “Nice seeing you again.”
Frank raised a finger as if a light bulb switched on in his head. He looked at Jackie and asked, “Do you deal blackjack by any chance?”
“Uhhh ...” Jackie glanced sharply at Sam, then said, “Gotta go.”
“She was at Preston’s, wasn’t she?” Frank asked Sam after Jackie left.
Jake’s eyes narrowed. “Tell me you weren’t dealing blackjack, that night, too.” Sam didn’t reply.
Feeling another argument brewing, Frank slapped Jake on the back saying, “Uh, later.” He picked up the container of cake, thanked Abby, and left.
Sam had never been on the receiving end of Jake’s interrogative scowl before. His face was such a mask of contradiction — one minute grinning, mischievous, ruggedly good looking; the next minute menacing, frightening, threatening.
She felt the air move as Abby slipped past her and disappeared down the hallway. The sound of an owl hooting drifted in through the patio screen. Sam folded her arms in front of her and waited.
“What were you trying to do? Blackmail Preston into admitting he killed Hap Wilson?”
“I don’t need to.” She noticed Jake was wearing her father’s arrowhead necklace and leather wristband but before she could say anything, he lifted up one of the pictures, his tight grip crimping one of the corners.
“Just look. You know he’s going to see the pin.”
“That’s the plan.”
He slapped the pictures on the counter again. “You are dealing with a dangerous man. If Preston is involved in Hap’s and your father’s deaths, he went through a lot of trouble to cover his tracks. He’s not above making sure his secret stays dead. I think that intruder who tripped the perimeter alarm the other night was Preston’s handyman.”
“You’re getting paranoid.” Sam turned and headed toward the study.
“Don’t walk away from me.” Jake followed her.
“Who gave you the right to give me orders in my house?”
Jake glared at Sam’s punked hair, her bright eye shadow, the thick lipstick. “Go wash that shit off your face.”
Her mouth gaped. “Excuse me? I thought my father passed away.”
“I thought his daughter grew up.”
Sam bolted up the stairs to her bedroom, noticing that Abby’s bedroom door was conveniently closed. Where was she when Jake was at his worst? She took a hot shower and washed her hair.
Dressed in sweat shorts and a sweat suit top, she ambled back downstairs. The lights were off in the dining room. She stretched out on the window seat and gazed up at the night sky. S
he felt bad about her argument with Jake. Part of her wanted to say it was none of his business where she was tonight. A larger part was flattered that he was concerned for her safety. She cursed herself for giving him such a hard time. Something was tugging at her heart. She found herself wanting to know all the secrets about his scars that Abby wouldn’t tell her. At what point had she started caring what he thought? She wasn’t sure. All she knew was that she did.
Her fingers played with the lightning bolt pendant. Memories of her father flooded back, like how he used to cuddle on the window seat with her. He had died needlessly. And she had been too young to properly mourn him. She thought of the little girl she had no memory of, waving at her father, and watching him destroyed trying to uphold what he truly believed in -- the truth.
Tears fell freely. She didn’t hear Jake enter the room. Nor did she feel his presence when he sat down next to her. But she felt his arms wrap around her and pull her against his chest.
“I don’t need to be held,” she sobbed.
He buried his face in her hair and whispered, “I do.”
Chapter 68
Preston slammed the pictures on the bar. Cain picked them up and studied them. He had no reaction, no smile, no sneer. He never had much reaction to anything. He was like a mindless robot. Cain’s enormous biceps protruded from his short-sleeved knit shirt. He folded his arms like a palace guard waiting for orders.
“I was set up last night, goddammit.” Preston had awakened with a dull headache and a vague memory of Jackie’s voluptuous body. But not much more. He had stumbled from the shower, opened the drapes and blinked back the bright sunlight. It was when he was fumbling through his underwear drawer that he saw the pictures on the dresser. Four pictures of him in bed with an attractive woman, sand-colored hair, wearing an electric blue teddy cut high enough to make her legs look as long as the state of Florida. Him, a state representative, nuzzling his nose against her ear, nibbling at her breast through the teddy.
“I should have had you take care of Sergeant Casey weeks ago.” Preston paced like a caged animal. “What the hell is she up to?” He balled up his right hand and pounded it into his left palm. “Nobody blackmails Preston Hilliard.”
“When you told me she was working on the Hap Wilson case, I followed her, found out where she lives. But her place is guarded too well. Too many people there.”
“Jezzus, Cain. What were you thinking?” Preston wrapped a hand around Cain’s thick forearm and squeezed. “You only act when I tell you to act.”
“Sorry.” Cain picked up one of the pictures and studied it. He brought it closer, then said, “Did you see what this woman is wearing?”
“What?” Preston barked. He pulled the picture from Cain and studied it. He walked over to a table drawer, pulled out a magnifying glass and held it over the picture. “This better not be what I think it is.” He looked at the enlarged necklace, the lightning bolt shape. “Goddam, sonofabitch.”
“What about the black woman who was here last night? Do you want me to look her up? Apply a little pressure?”
Preston waved his hand. “No, no. I need to think about this. We need to proceed carefully.” Preston cocked his head in thought. “Sergeant Casey was here with Monique the night of my reception, I’m sure of it. Must have been wearing a red wig. Shit,” he muttered. “What if Governor Meacham hired them?” He rushed upstairs to his study with Cain close behind. He opened the wall safe and pulled out papers.
“What are you looking for?”
“Good, they’re still here.” He clutched the envelope marked A.M. in his hand. As he started to put it back, he hesitated. Curious, he checked the contents of the envelope and found the baseball cards.
Chapter 69
“What do you mean she went to Preston’s last night?” Carl demanded.
“That was my reaction, too.” Jake looked at the two agents who stood at attention while Carl interrogated them.
“She must have been in disguise,” the older of the agents explained. The two looked like the Blues Brothers, one short, one tall, dressed in dark suits.
“It might have been the car with the youth,” the younger agent added.
“Youth?” Jake questioned him. “What youth?”
The older agent shrugged. “A youth showed up on a bike and then left in a car driven by the African American woman.”
“Glasses? Nerdy looking?” Jake asked. The agents nodded.
“We didn’t think ...” the young agent started.
Carl held up a hand to silence the agent. Then swung his hand around to point at the door. “You inform the two idiots who are on duty right now to keep their eyes peeled on Casey’s entrance. And if I catch anyone napping again, they’ll be assigned to a cow pasture in Hebron, Indiana.”
After the two agents sulked out, Carl exhaled, shook his head.
“What on earth was Tim doing there?” Jake rubbed the back of his neck.
“I don’t know why I post anyone at that house. From what I hear, you spend almost every night there.” Carl cast a suspicious glance toward Jake.
“That night I injured my head, Abby insisted I spend the night so she could monitor my condition. I just got into the habit. Besides, she’s a great cook, a great woman. What can I say? I love her.”
“Are we talking about the mother? Or the daughter?”
Jake ignored the comment, saying, “I wouldn’t bother posting a surveillance on Sam. Tim already alerted her that she’s being watched.”
“Wonderful.” Carl lead him down a carpeted hallway, past the kitchen, around the corner into the library where Frank was pouring himself a cup of coffee. They convened around an ornate, cherry wood conference table. Reference books and encyclopedias lined the wall-sized book case.
Carl snapped open his briefcase and pulled out a report. “I was faxed the autopsy results on the three bodies found in Mushima Valley. As you know, they were positively identified as Booker J. Jones, Calvin “Bubba” Leeds, and Shamus “Shadow” Lewis, Jr. Jones and Leeds were shot in the back. Lewis took one shot in the back and two to the back of the head. All bullets retrieved were U.S. Army-issued forty-five caliber.”
Jake shook his head in disgust as he read the copy. “Have you convinced President Whittier to go public?”
Carl bent his head to where he peered over the top of his glasses. “You have to understand, this is a very sensitive ...”
Frank slapped the autopsy report on the table. His words were slow, forced, his mouth forming each syllable. “Three black men were shot in the back by U.S.-military issued guns. The killers are identified both in this affidavit and in Hap’s. Everyone thinks these kids are deserters. And here they are, victims of a racially-motivated assassination. For godsake!”
“I know.” Carl looked to Jake for assistance.
“It’s out of Carl’s hands, Frank.”
Frank’s head swiveled, his eyes sweeping the ceiling as if looking for written answers or inspiration. “What about Hap’s sister, Mr. Underer? She’s counting on you to clear her brother’s name. And Lincoln. He went out of his way to make sure the guilty parties are punished. How are you going to reward him for his efforts?”
“You’re a friend of Jake’s, Frank, and it was on his word that I’m sharing any information at all with you. But nothing,” he raised a warning finger at Frank, “goes out of this room.” Carl let his comment sink in before continuing.
Jake stood up, peeled off his navy sportscoat and walked over to the window. He peered down at the traffic heading toward the Bishop Ford Freeway — rush-hour traffic heading north to the Loop or east toward the Indiana steel mills and office buildings.
He was having a hard time concentrating. He kept seeing satin sheets and royal blue teddies. His instincts were in overdrive and something told him Sam was unstoppable.
“If I had it in my power to change things,” Carl continued, “I would. I call every day to try to convince President Whittier that releasing this information
is his only option. But you’re detectives. Let’s face it. What have we got? Lincoln’s word against a highly powerful senior state representative whose distinguished war record has been documented in history books. Do you know what the press would do with this? They’ll question whether Preston’s opponent put Lincoln up to it. They can write it to sound like Lincoln is the one who aided and abetted the deserters. We need a signed confession. And I doubt we’re going to get it from Preston.”
“Well, maybe someone will have to force him to do the right thing.” Frank began naming black congressmen and church leaders. “Don’t fuckin’ sweep this under the rug.”
“The President is worried about race riots,” Carl explained.
“Race riots, hell. He’s worried about the election.”
“Jake, give me a hand here,” Carl pleaded.
Jake turned back from the window, studied the worry lines creasing Carl’s forehead. Carl was intelligent, fair. Hated the bureaucracy of the job. Jake had no doubt that Carl was tormented by a choice of following orders and doing what was morally and ethically right.
Jake pointed to a copy of Samuel Casey’s report saying, “Did you notice the reference to Samuel giving a copy of all of this to a trusted friend just in case something happened?”
