by Glenn Trust
Crestline knew Klineman completely, or at least his type. The next logical question that he had been poised to ask, - why wouldn’t the task force report their activities to the governor’s office - that question evaporated from Klineman’s consciousness at the promise of support from the governor and ‘others’.
“I understand,” the sheriff said quietly.
“Do you?”
“Completely. You, and the governor, can rely on me to report any task force activities to you. I am afraid, though, that such activities are unlikely in Pickham County. We are a long way from the capitol and the Somerhill’s home.”
“I know, Sheriff. It does seem unlikely. But best to be prepared, don’t you think?”
“Absolutely. I agree completely,” Klineman replied, a little disappointed that he would probably not have an opportunity to report anything to Crestline or the governor.
Elizabeth Crestline, governor’s liaison to public safety, gave a cell number to Sheriff Klineman, who dutifully printed it neatly on a notepad he took from his jacket pocket.
Disconnecting the call, she considered the possibility that the task force would end up in Pickham County. She knew something about Bob Shaklee and Sharon Price’s reputation. They had worked together on a number of high profile cases, and the word was that they would not stop until they had followed every lead and unraveled the investigative knot surrounding their cases. Andrew Barnes had a similar reputation in Atlanta. Add to that the fact that Clayton Marswell was one of his heroes, the word on the street was that Barnes would find Marswell’s killer, no matter where that led him.
No, she thought, there will be a call from Sheriff Klineman. Probably several before this was all…she sought a word she could use later with the governor…before this was all settled. The governor’s liaison nodded in satisfaction at the word. Settled would work perfectly. She wondered how long it would be before Klineman called. She doubted that the wait would be very long.
34. Let’s Call George
The governor’s task force assigned to finding the killer of former State Senator Prentiss Somerhill sat around the conference table that had become their operations center. Files were scattered around the surface. Andy Barnes had a copy of what had been ‘The List’, and was meticulously comparing it to the appointment book he had taken from Judge Marswell’s home office, making notes of names and dates and times of meetings with the judge.
Shaklee read through the case notes of both murder investigations looking for an obvious link. There did not seem to be any. In fact, the most obvious link was that there should have been no apparent connection between them, but both had died under questionable circumstances within hours of each other.
Sharon Price sat at the laptop computer she had placed at the end of the table, peering intently at files on the small USB drive she had brought and used to download files from Somerhill’s computer. Pulling her copy of ‘The List’ close, her eyes began moving rapidly from the laptop screen to the list and back.
“I think I have something.”
Barnes and Shaklee looked up, waiting. Sharon stared hard at the list before speaking, confirming for herself that she had, in fact, found something of interest. When she was sure, she spoke.
“Come look at this.” She turned the laptop so that the screen was visible to the others.
As the two men watched, she clicked open a file labeled ‘Term Limits’. A list of documents scrolled down the screen. There were hundreds. As they watched, she went to a particular one titled ‘Correspondents’. Clicking again, the document opened and the list appeared. It was the same list that Sharon had taken from Somerhill’s desk.
“I’ll be damned,” Shaklee said. “Good job, Sharon.”
“What the hell is ‘Term Limits’,” Andy asked, leaning over Sharon’s shoulder to peer more closely at the list and holding the Marswell appointment book near the screen for comparison.
“Near as I can figure, it is a blog.”
“A blog?” Shaklee asked.
“Yes, Bob, a blog. You know a place on the internet where people post thoughts, ideas, positions on topics.”
He gave Sharon a look that said ‘smartass’. “I know what a blog is Sharon. What’s it doing on Somerhill’s computer, and why is the list included?”
“Well, that’s what I’ve been sitting here trying to figure out.” She closed the document and clicked open another on the screen. “See this one, it speaks of a movement called ‘Vote Them Out’. Seems a lot of people are interested in it.” Again, they leaned over her shoulder trying to see the document and follow her explanation. “I’ve been sitting here all morning trying to piece it together. The problem is the link between Somerhill and Marswell, right?”
Barnes and Shaklee nodded, listening.
“Two well respected men with large political and public followings,” she paused and looked up making sure the others were following. “Well respected, but from completely different sides of the aisle. So what is the connection? That’s the problem.”
“We know that, Sharon. Get to the point.”
Looking up, she gave Bob a look that said ‘back off’, which he immediately understood. Knowing Sharon, he decided it would be in his and the investigation’s best interest if he did just that. He simply nodded his understanding and apology at Sharon. Bob Shaklee was not the task force leader for nothing. He knew when to shut the fuck up, or at least could read it on Sharon’s face, and figured it was the right thing to do at the moment.
“All right, here goes,” she said turning her head back to the screen. “Took me a while to get my brain around it. The list is the evidence that solidified my thinking on it.”
“First,” she continued slowly, as if trying to reason it out for herself as much as for the two investigators standing behind her. “Somerhill resigned for reasons of principle, so he said. He then launched a campaign to explain those reasons to anyone who would listen. A lot of people listened, at least outside of the political establishment. For months, he was interviewed and made appearances on every television and radio news and talk show across the state. I saw him a couple of times on the Sunday morning news shows myself. Apparently, he was articulate and popular, and the media loved him. The files on his computer are full of his editorials and opinions and media reviews and responses. He was tracking them to see how effective the campaign, the movement, was.
“Judging from some of the media requests for interviews in the files, they also loved the fact that, after every broadcast, their ratings went up. They actually commented to him about it to entice him to do more interviews. His appointments show that he took advantage of those requests, but his notes indicate that he was not comfortable with the media hype.
“You must remember that people loved him too, or, at least, his message. It was a simple enough message. I guess that’s what made it all the more appealing. Even I paid attention to some of the things he said.” Sharon took her eyes away from the computer screen and looked up at the two men. They were listening intently and waiting for her to continue. They did not interrupt. Even Andy Barnes, new to the group, was quickly becoming familiar with her volatile nature. He was also learning what Bob Shaklee already knew. Sharon had the ability to dig beneath the obvious and sort out bits of information until they made some sense.
“Vote them out. That was it, remember?” The two men nodded, although she did not look to see if they acknowledged. She was lost in her train of thought and oblivious to everything else. “Simplicity itself, and effective. Media outlets, print, and broadcast repeated the message daily. They still do, at least up until Sunday when somebody put three rounds through his chest while he napped on his back porch. Now, the main story is his death. The ‘Vote Them Out’ message has taken a backseat.”
“Okay,” Andy said, taking advantage of her pause. “So clearly, he had made some political enemies, maybe a lot of political enemies.”
“Very true,” Sharon said. “Even a long-term sheriff like
Harvey Grizzard in Hinchfield County is going to have a hard time holding on to his seat. He wasn’t very happy with Somerhill.”
“So, are you suggesting that Grizzard may have had something to do with Somerhill’s death?
“No, actually not. I think Sheriff Grizzard was pissed off that the seat he had won and held so long may be snatched away from him by a popular movement to clean up government. He is pissed because he feels he has been a good public servant, long-term or not, and by all accounts, he has. No, people in office, like Grizzard, are not happy, but I doubt that any of them would be complicit in a murder to remain in office.”
“Why not?” Andy still had a question, but wanted to let Sharon work her way towards it.
“Well, first of all, most of them are decent people. Harvey Grizzard is a decent man, just a pissed off decent man.” She looked up at Barnes. “Risk and reward. Studied about that at the University of Georgia when I was in business management, before I changed to criminal justice. Too much risk and not enough reward at the lower levels of political office. To say that the political establishment was not happy with Somerhill would be an extreme understatement. They were livid that one of their own, a lifelong participant in the political system, had turned on them. Even worse, the movement that he and others sponsored had gained momentum and threatened the careers and livelihood of every elected official in the state. But murder is a different matter. They would not be able to conceal it for long. Too much suspicion.”
“Who, then?”
“Someone with enough money and power to stay isolated from the actions of the killer while orchestrating the murder. Someone with a lot to lose from the ‘Vote Them Out’ movement.”
“Someone very arrogant,” Shaklee interjected, the look on his face thoughtful, considering and absorbing for analysis everything Sharon had said. “It would have to be someone so secure, so confident and so arrogant that they felt they could control events and avoid detection. Someone who felt they were smarter than us and untouchable on top of that.”
“Right,” Andy added, lost in his own analysis of the information. “Any idea who that might be?”
Shaklee shook his head. “Not at the moment, but someone in a very high position, someone above suspicion. Someone with power, or money…probably both.”
Ready to ask his question, Andy looked at Sharon. “The connection to Marswell. You said you found it?”
She smiled and nodded, ready to bring the analysis full circle. “Somerhill’s files are full of memos, emails, messages between members of the group. They used the ‘Term Limits’ blog to comment and post their positions. Not the kind of blog most people would join, but still it had a significant following, as the list of names indicates. Marswell was a key contributor. In fact, many of the positions that Somerhill articulated in the media were initially developed and posted in the ‘Term Limits’ blog by Clayton Marswell.”
Andy considered this. Marswell had been one of those behind the civil rights movement who wrote and developed arguments and positions. His thinking had been critical to the movement. It was a role that suited him. Still there was a problem with the analysis.
“I can buy into your entire theory, except for one small point.” He waited for Shaklee and Price to pull out of their own thoughts and give him their attention. “The theory on the table requires us to accept that Clayton Marswell and Prentiss Somerhill turned their back on their entire political life. Party, causes, positions they had held from their early years. Seems a bit of a stretch.”
Sharon nodded. “It does. I agree. But, we still have two bodies. That’s a pretty big piece of evidence too. This is the only connection. The ‘Term Limits’ blog posts show that, as divided as they may have been in their political careers, they had joined to oppose something bigger, something more worrisome than the struggles of the past.”
“Corruption,” Bob said. The others turned towards him now, listening. “The ‘Vote Them Out’ movement’s basic premise is that the system of government is corrupt and that almost no one entering public office could resist the corruption.”
“That’s right,” Sharon said nodding in agreement. “The posts by the group on the ‘Term Limits’ list show that they did believe that corruption and the inability to limit the terms of career politicians was a significant threat to the system. A bigger threat than party differences.”
The look of skepticism faded slightly from Barnes’ face. “I heard Judge Marswell speak about that at a community meeting last year. It was the kind of thing you couldn’t really disagree with. Corruption is corruption, no matter whose side you are on.”
“Right,” Bob added, “and Marswell was an idealist. He was dedicated to causes he felt were right in themselves, regardless of who agreed with him.”
Andy nodded again, thinking it through and coming to grips with the possibility that his hero of the civil rights movement had allied himself with the opposition in a different cause, but one that he must have believed in. “Okay,” he said finally. “Marswell and Somerhill are linked. They were working together, as hard as that is to come to terms with.”
“Andy,” Bob said mildly to his new colleague. “You might consider that it is equally difficult to think that Prentiss Somerhill had united with Clayton Marswell.”
Barnes looked at Shaklee and smiled. “Guess you’re right. Must be about as hard for some ‘Georgia cracker’ out in the country to think that Somerhill had betrayed them.”
“Keep in mind, Andy, that those ‘crackers’, as you call them, are now mostly supporting the movement that Somerhill and Marswell were advocating. ‘Vote Them Out’.”
“All right,” Andy said in agreement. Both sides of the political aisle have to come to grips with the fact that two of their leaders, and others, had united in a cause, agree with it or not. “Any suggestions on where we go from here.”
Sharon picked up a copy of the case file from the table, thumbing through the papers. “As a matter of fact, I do have a suggestion.” She looked over at Bob Shaklee. “The ‘Term Limits’ blog is based down in Everett, down in Pickham County. I think we should call George.”
Shaklee nodded. “I think you’re right. Don’t know who else we would bring in down there. Not sure who else we could trust.” They became quiet.
“George? Who’s George? Let me in on the plan.”
“Sorry, Andy,” Bob said. “George is George Mackey. Deputy down in Pickham County. We worked a murder case with him last year.”
Barnes’ eyes narrowed for a moment and then he nodded. “That’s right, I remember. The GBI worked some serial murders down in Pickham County. That was you?”
The two nodded.
“You chased the guy up to north Georgia, to the mountains somewhere, and then caught him before he could kill his next victim. Killed him in a firefight, right?”
The GBI agents nodded again. “Actually, we got lucky, and it was George Mackey who actually caught him and killed him in a firefight. If there is anyone we trust in that part of Georgia, it is George Mackey.”
Andy Barnes nodded his understanding. He had been in tough spots in his police career. Spots where the actions of another officer on the scene were the only reason he had gone home at the end of the shift. The bond of trust that developed from those experiences was sometimes difficult for civilians to understand. It was not to Andy Barnes.
“All right then,” he said. “Let’s call George.”
35. Busy Day Tomorrow
The almost full sphere of the rising moon glowed brightly between the branches of the trees. Rodney Puckett and Bud Thompson sat in aluminum lawn chairs on the porch of Puckett’s cabin by the small lake. They had returned after their visit to Stanton James, and had shared a supper of fried bass and catfish with Lee and Quince. Now, they sat sipping bottled beer, waiting.
Sim Lee and Bill Quince had departed after the meal. Quince drove the pickup they had come in together, while Lee rested his head against the passenger window, asleep before t
hey had gone half a mile. The two were headed south. It was a seven-hour drive to Everett.
“We clear on the plan?” Puckett spoke without looking at Thompson, lifting the bottle to his lips.
“Clear as can be.” Thompson turned his head towards Puckett. “You have doubts?” The look on his face evidence that he was not pleased by Puckett’s inquiry that seemed to question his ability or commitment. Whichever it was, he did not like it.
“About you, no.” Puckett continued sipping his beer and ignoring Thompson’s look of displeasure. “The plan has to go perfect though. No problems or foul ups. Has to be an accident, or, at least, look like an accident. Know what I mean?”
“Yeah, I know what you mean.” Big Bud was getting annoyed. “What part of ‘I’m clear’ don’t you understand…or believe?”
Puckett looked over, a little surprised. He was not accustomed to being questioned by a member of the team, but then Thompson was new, and clearly different from the others. More like Puckett himself. That could be dangerous. He would bear watching, but for now, it was time to reassure the big man. “I understand, Bud. I believe you. Just talking out loud, for me mostly. I do that, going over things in my mind, making sure the plan is perfect. Nothing left out. Nothing forgotten. No chances.” He took another sip from the beer, then continued, “It’s important that he trusts you.”
“I know.” Bud stared into the deepening dusk filling the surrounding woods. Tall Man – that was the silent nickname he had given Puckett – better get to the point.
