by Unknown
It wasn’t hard to understand why someone would come out here to commit murder. It was quiet and secluded. There were enough natural predators to destroy most, if not all, of the evidence. And if anyone started looking where they shouldn’t it would be easy enough to arrange an accident for them.
Taylor headed back to the farm to make sure Farrah was okay. Surely, Jones and Edwards wouldn’t be so stupid as to harm her. He caught up with her, as she was changing farm implements. “I came to tell you I’ll be back this afternoon.”
“Don’t bother. Mr. Winthrop and his crew bugged out of here just after you did. I don’t know what you said to him, but thanks.”
“Are you and me okay?” Hanging out with Farrah was the closest he’d come to a real relationship since his wife died. He didn’t want to lose that friendship.
“We’re good.” She nodded. “I suppose I was just missing Ted last night. I sat up and studied the charts after you went to bed and even learned a few cords.”
Taylor knew she was lying. Ted didn’t have a damn thing to do with it. But that wasn’t his main concern. He wanted to see her again. “I’ll be seeing you around then.”
“Yeah. I guess.” She went back to work.
Taylor drove to his office feeling like he’d just lost his best friend. The evidence box marked Morgansville Case File sat on his desk with the original seal on it. He closed the curtains that surrounded the glass walls of his office and cut the seal on the box. No wonder, the state’s attorney never had an arrest made. They got zilch. A few surveillance photos, a list of names, some paint chips from the so-called accident involving Daniels’s transport, and an inventory of drugs. It all added up to a couple of deputies dealing drugs. That wasn’t what he wanted them put away for.
He pulled the personnel files of Edwards, Jones, and Winthrop. While he was at it, he decided to check on his three friends. They were talking about a fishing trip that wasn’t successful. Hold it; they were all working this week.
The paint chips matched a black 2008 Chevy Tahoe. Winthrop drove one of those.
Taylor checked with his insurance company to see if Winthrop had any work done recently. He brought in his vehicle to a body shop the day after Daniels’ escape with some major front-end damage.
He called the insurance company.
“Baskin’s Home and Auto. How can I help you?”
“This is Sheriff Taylor of the Morgansville Sheriff’s Department. I’m investigating an accident involving one of my deputies. Deputy Jarrod Winthrop.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you know the whereabouts of those damaged parts?”
“The garage is holding them for us pending further investigation.”
“Can I get those parts?”
“Of course, Sheriff. Shall I call Deputy Winthrop and tell him to pick them up?” the insurance lady asked.
“He’s out on another call and can’t be disturbed. I’ll be right over.” Taylor hung up the phone and took his gym bag with him making sure to lock his door as he left. He sprinkled the doorknob with a light dusting of talcum powder in case someone got curious.
The garage was nice enough to wrap up the damaged grill and right front fender from Winthrop’s Tahoe and supply some very nice photos. There were flecks of white paint on the damaged parts.
He took everything back to his office and called the county forensics team. Once they confirmed the paint did belong to the transport van, Taylor called Commander Phillips.
“Phillips here.”
“Have you identified the voices on the tape yet, sir?”
“Yes.”
“They wouldn’t happen to be deputies Jerrod Winthrop, Neal Edwards, and Patrick Jones, would they, sir?”
“How did you know, Taylor?”
“The paint chips from Daniel’s transport vehicle match the paint from a 2008 black Chevy Tahoe. Deputy Winthrop drives one of those and brought it in the day after Daniels escaped. I’m faxing you copies of those insurance photos right now. You’ll notice there is some white paint on the grill and right fender of his Tahoe. The county’s forensics team matches the paint from the Tahoe to the paint on the transport vehicle. I am also asking for permission to bring my new friends in for a little sit-down.”
“Permission granted.”
“Would you like to join us, sir?”
“Set the computer up so I can observe the entire area.”
The computer was set up on the filing cabinet. Taylor handpicked five deputies, including Carla Bowman, to have on hand in case someone took exception to his little meeting.
“Flo, can you call deputies Edwards, Jones, and Winthrop and tell them to meet me in my office?”
Taylor leaned the damaged parts to Winthrop’s Tahoe against the filing cabinet. On his desk sat the FDLE’s evidence box, the deputies’ personnel files. He taped the insurance photos to the curtains of his office along with the pictures of Stevenson and Morales. Three small metal chairs replaced one of the nice leather visitor’s chairs. Taylor called in another dispatcher to sit at Flo’s desk.
Flo marched into Taylor’s office. “What is going on?”
“I made you a promise.” He motioned to the leather chair. “The good chair is yours.”
Flo scanned the room from floor to ceiling. “What’s all this?”
“Visual aids.” He gestured toward the laptop on the filing cabinet. “I believe you already know Commander Phillips.”
Winthrop came into the office. “What is all this about, Sheriff?”
Taylor stood up. “Do you have the report on that three-day breaking and entering investigation of yours?”
Winthrop slapped it on his desk.
Taylor read over the report. “For all our safety, please hand over your weapon.”
Winthrop’s face turned red and his voice elevated. “What in the hell are you doin’?”
“Deputy Winthrop, I am asking you to please surrender your weapon butt first. If you do not do this willingly, I will compel you to do so.”
Winthrop handed over his weapon. “Would you like my shield too, Sheriff?”
“Not at the moment. Please take the seat next to Flo.”
Edwards and Jones showed up.
Jones took a seat. “What’s up, Sheriff?”
“Gentlemen, please surrender your weapons.” Taylor stood up. “Butt first please.”
With the guns locked in his desk, he sat down. “Thank you for your cooperation, gentlemen. “Now we need to have a little talk. I’m not sure what the protocol is in a situation like this, so I’m just gonna ask if anything seems familiar to any of you.”
“No, nothing,” they all answered.
“How about you, Flo? Do you recognize anyone or anything?”
Her eyes narrowed as she stared at him. “Should I?”
“What’s wrong, Deputy Winthrop? Don’t you recognize the fender and grill to your own vehicle?”
Winthrop stared at the vehicle parts. “That’s not mine.”
“Hum. That’s not what your body man and insurance company say.” He handed Winthrop a copy of the insurance report. “The pictures hanging around here show the truck it came off. The peculiar thing is, there’s no accident report. Why did you leave the scene of an accident, which by the way resulted on the deaths of two guards, without calling for help? That’s a big no-no.”
Taylor started dropping photos on his desk. “Deputies Edwards and Jones, you might recognize yourselves dealing drugs in these surveillance photos. And I also have something for your listening pleasure.”
He played the 911 recording of the murders with the background noise enhanced. “The FDLE agents begged for their lives as a pack of murdering sons-of-bitches tortured them. What makes it even worse is, those sons-of-bitches wear badges.”
Taylor pressed the button on his intercom. “Deputies please come in.” He released the button. “Gentlemen, please surrender your shields. Jerrod Winthrop, Patrick Jones, and Neal Edwards you are being charged wi
th…” he read off the charges one-by-one. He tossed Flo his handcuffs. “I always keep my promises, so pick one and cuff him. And deputies, make sure they are Mirandized and kept separated. We don’t want any prefab stories.”
*
The next morning, Taylor came in to interview his suspects.
He walked into the interview room one. “Hello, Mr. Jones. How did you sleep last night?”
“Lawyer,” Jones said.
“Okay.” Taylor smiled and headed for the door. “Have a nice life.”
“Is that it?” Jones’ eyes widened as he fought back his laughter. “You really are a rookie.”
“You asked for a lawyer, so yeah.” Taylor shook his head up and down as if to agree with himself, then shrugged his shoulders. “It’s not like I need a lot of answers to send you to Death Row anyway.”
“D-Death Row?” Jones’ eyeballs bulged out as he gasped.
“That’s usually where they send cop killers.” Taylor nodded. “Don’t worry about the confinement. I’m sure, once the district attorney plays that emergency services tape, some judge will advance you straight to the head of the line.” He slammed the interview room door behind him.
“Take Deputy Jones back to his cell, and bring in Deputy Edwards. I’ll be back in a while. And make sure they pass each other in the hall.”
As Taylor headed back to his office, Flo stopped him. “May I have a word, Sheriff?”
Taylor left his door open for her.
She followed him in, shutting it behind her. “Why did you ask me if I knew these two?” She snatched the taped up pictures of Morales and Stevenson from the curtains.
“I didn’t ask you if you knew them. I asked you if anyone or anything looked familiar to you. For your information, it would have made a much more compelling lie if you had just admitted to seeing them around town. They would have been hard not to notice if they were as flashy as you say.”
“Thanks for the tip. Do not ever pull a stunt like that again.” She turned around and left.
Taylor got a little chuckle out of Flo’s reaction. Time to visit prisoner number two.
He took his time going down the hall. He tapped on the interview room door before he opened it. “Hello, Deputy. I hope you’re enjoying our hospitality. I guess you heard about the lab techs identifying all the voices on that tape. If you would like to make a statement too, now’s the time to do it.”
Edwards rattled the chains of his shackles. “What did you mean by too?”
Taylor sat down and took out his notebook. “I meant if you want to tell me anything that might save your life, go ahead and do it.”
Edwards leaned across the table. “What did Jones tell you?”
Two guards forced him to sit down.
Taylor drew his eyebrows close together and looked at the door. “Him? You know what he’s all about. I’m more interested in hearing your side of the story.”
“What do you have to trade?” Edwards asked.
“Me?” He pointed his thumb at his chest. “Nothing. The D A. does all the trading around here. But I can promise you won’t get the chair.”
Edwards ran his fingers through his thinning salt and pepper hair and squirmed in his seat. “Florida doesn’t use that chair any more.”
“Needle? Chair?” Taylor shrugged. “Dead is dead. What difference does it make how they kill you? Death Row will be easier than the general population anyway. I hear ex-cops and child molesters don’t do so well there.”
Edwards wrung his hands and flexed his fingers as beads of perspiration dampened his forehead. “What about Winthrop?”
“Does Winthrop make you nervous?” Taylor crossed his left thigh with his right foot and laced his fingers behind his head. “I thought you guys were fishing buddies.” He stared at Edwards, as the corners of his mouth turned upward. “I was thinking about bringing him in here so you two could reminisce about old times.”
“No,” Edwards snapped.
“What’s wrong, man? Does Winthrop scare you? You’re a cop. You’ve gone up against worse.”
Edwards bowed his head. “There is no one worse.”
Taylor uncrossed his legs and leaned forward on the table. “Would you care to elaborate?”
“Those two agents on your wall. He did the cutting.” Edwards’ bottom lip started trembling, trying to stop the demonstration of weakness. “He’s a sadistic, old bastard.”
“What else did he do?” Taylor shouted as he stood up.
“He gave the kill orders.” Edwards stared at the metal table. “He gave all the kill orders.”
“You said all the kill orders. How many were there?”
“Ten, not including those agents.” Edwards started crying. “They’re in the swamp.”
Taylor dropped his notepad in front of Edwards. “Write it all down and I’ll make sure you and Winthrop aren’t cellmates.” He took an ink pen out of his shirt pocket and tossed it on the table.
Edwards stared as the ink pen hit the table with a spat, and then rolled around.
Taylor slapped the table. “I said to write it all down.”
Edwards wrote down his confession. The words Winthrop gave all the kill orders leaped from the page.
Taylor tapped on the door. “Take him back to his cell, and bring Winthrop in.”
He studied Edwards’ confession while he waited. He heard Winthrop screaming, “Get you damn hands off me,” and opened the interview room door. “Come on in, Mr. Winthrop. I trust you had a good night’s rest.
“Lawyer,” Winthrop said.
“Well, that was quick.” Taylor shut the door behind Winthrop. “Have a seat.”
“Maybe you didn’t hear me, but I said I want a damn lawyer.”
The man was built like a tank and out weighed Taylor by at least forty pounds. Bulging biceps and tattooed arms coupled with frying pan sized hands. His jailhouse uniform strained at the shoulders and loosened at his narrow hips. A receding hairline made less noticeable by crew cut short hair shined under the yellow light bulb. The whole look was one of a bad-ass who could handle anything coming his way.
Taylor pulled out a chair for him, making sure it rattled against the concrete floor. “Maybe you think I should be scared of you, but I ain’t. Now sit down.”
The older man flopped down into the chair. “I still got nothin’ to say.”
Taylor sat down across from him. “I know. I just enjoy your company, Jerrod.” Once again, he casually crossed his ankle over his thigh and laced his fingers behind his head.
Winthrop rested his elbows on the metal table. “Is this method of interrogation outlined in your detective’s manual?”
“I don’t have one.” Taylor looked at the ceiling as if finding something up there amusing. “Anyway, I can’t interview you not until your lawyer decides to show up. Nope, I’m just thinking about your detailed report of your investigation into the B and E at the Mathews’ place.”
“What about it?”
“Nothing. It was a page and a half of nothing. You discovered nothing missing. You didn’t find any reason for it to happen.” He unlaced his fingers and leaned forward. “But I did.”
Winthrop looked Taylor in the eyes. “And what did you discover, Sherlock?”
Taylor met his gaze and smiled. “The reason for such a thorough investigation. You were looking for the knife your boys used to carve up Morales and Stevenson. And since I made you wrap up your little fishing expedition, I’m guessing you didn’t find it.” Taylor got up. “I’m getting bored. Think I’ll let you hash all this out with the district attorney. Good bye, Mr. Winthrop.”
Once in the hall, Taylor instructed the guard not to let Winthrop talk to anybody but his lawyer.
Chapter 15
Farrah waited at the bus stop. Two weeks passed since she last saw her brothers. She couldn’t believe how much she missed them.
Jess was the first to arrive.
“Jessie.” Farrah virtually accosted the boy, as he made his way th
rough the crowd of sunburned boy scouts and their emotional parents.
“Cut it out, Farrah.” He pushed her away from him. “The guys are watching. You don’t want them thinking there’s something freaky going on in this family.”
She grabbed his knapsack. “What’s odd about me missing you?”
“You’re my sister, duh. I’ve got to get my duffle bag. You stay here.” He pushed his way through the crowd and to the rear of the bus.
Farrah watched the boys, and how they reacted to their moms hugging them. Some took it like sons, while others bowed their heads in embarrassment. None were hugging their sisters. “Point taken,” she mumbled.
Jess came back to where he left her. “Are you going to do my laundry?”
“We wouldn’t want the guys thinking there’s something freaky going on in this family, would we?” She mussed his unkempt hair. “Go throw your junk in the back of the van while I wait for Alex.”
An hour later Alex’s bus arrived. He didn’t give her the chance to do the girly-hug thing. He dropped his gear, threw his arms around her, and slung her around in circles a few times. “There, the mushy stuff’s out of the way, let’s go eat.”
Jess punched his brother in the shoulder. “How did you know what was comin’ up?”
Alex hit him back. “Mom trained me.”
Jess folded his arms across his chest. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Alex winked. “There are some things a man has to learn for himself.”
“Grab your junk, Alex.” Farrah jumped behind the wheel of the minivan. “We’re going to Millie’s.”
*
Millie Jackson was born in Lukenbach, Texas. She decided to stay in Morgansville when her then boyfriend left her stranded after an argument. She walked into what was then a little family owned diner with a broken boot heel and everything she owned stuffed into a sports bag and a huge purse.
The diner was looking for waitresses and two years later Millie had saved up enough money to make a serious down payment on the place. She and the owners struck up a deal in which she was to pay it off out of a percentage of the monthly profits.
