Stayed home from work. Sick.
“Hold on a minute, Kathy.”
Are you OK?
No. Vomiting. Fever is back.
On my way.
“Can we talk again later? I have to run up to Alpharetta to see my wife.”
“Claire? I thought you two were divorced.”
“Something like that. Can we talk about this later?”
“Sure thing.”
Hampton collected his backpack, hurried to the elevator. His feet hadn’t moved that fast in a long time. He called Claire from the car as he sped up Georgia 400.
“I feel really dizzy,” she said. “I can’t stand up.”
“Just lie down, baby. I’m coming.”
* * *
The house was quiet when he arrived, and there was no sign of Claire. Hampton began checking the rooms, one by one.
“Claire! Ruby Claire!” he called out. “Claire!”
He heard the sink water going in the master bathroom and poked his head inside. He found her wearing her kimono, slumped over on the tiled floor, wedged between the toilet and the double vanity. Hampton shut off the faucet. He shook her, but she did not wake.
“Claire, baby, wake up.”
He shook her again, this time with more force. Her head flopped and her body was limp. Hampton checked and found a weak pulse on her neck.
“Nine one one, what’s your emergency?”
“Please send an ambulance. My wife is unconscious. She might’ve fallen, I don’t know. She’s been sick with fever and vomiting.”
“Your name, sir?”
“James Hampton Bridges. It’s 2204 Easthaven Place, Champions Overlook subdivision.”
“A unit is headed your way, sir. Is she breathing?”
“I think so.”
Two paramedics dispatched from a North Fulton firehouse entered the house less than seven minutes later. Hampton met them at the door and directed them to the bathroom, where Claire was still splayed out.
He watched one of them apply chest compressions and cup his mouth over Claire’s, forcing air into her lungs. She didn’t respond.
“Don’t leave me, baby,” he kept saying. “Don’t leave me.”
FORTY-FIVE
“Dr. Overstreet, please!” Hampton yelped. “I need to talk to her!”
A patrol officer from the overnight detail pinned him, knee to back, facedown in the grass. A second cop stood two or three feet away, pointing his service revolver, while another attempted to apply handcuffs.
“Please!” Hampton screamed again.
“Do not move! Stop resisting! Stop resisting!”
Blue strobe lights lit up her living room window. Victoria flipped on the outdoor lights and waited inside. Hampton’s polo pullover was ripped at the collar. A shoe fell off in the scuffle. Victoria could see the crack of his pale ass.
“Son, do you know what time it is?” Marsh said. “You couldn’t wait for morning to call the office?”
“I’m sorry, I tried,” Hampton cried out, hawking up more blood. “I’m really sorry. I need to see her.”
“It can’t be worth all of this.”
The reporter was bucking and thumping his chest against the ground, his legs kicking wildly. His body suddenly went limp.
“Okay! Okay!” Hampton relented.
The cuffs were snapped on. Victoria stood at the bay window, arms folded and stone-faced. A patrolman patted him down and another searched his backpack. Hampton was still on the ground, talking in rapid bursts now, and appeared to be shouting. It was not yet first light, and Victoria, still hazy, could only guess what he was saying.
Hampton fucking Bridges. What in the hell are you doing in my yard?
She walked outside in her bare feet. Marsh was standing in the driveway, dressed only in a pair of scrub pants, giving a statement to one of the officers.
“Morning, gentlemen,” Victoria said. “How did he get by you?”
Before any of the officers could answer, she said, “Never mind, tell it to your section chief.”
She turned her attention to Hampton. “What’re you doing here, Mr. Bridges?” Victoria said. “Is nothing sacred? You’re going to mess around and get yourself hurt out here.” Her voice was stern, not with anger but imbued with pity.
“We’ll book him on trespassing and assault, ma’am,” the officer said.
“That won’t be necessary. He’s harmless. Uncuff him,” she said. “Give him his shoes.”
Hampton stood up and said, “I’m sorry, Mayor Dobbs.”
“What do you want?”
“They tried to kill my wife,” Hampton said, lowering his head in submission.
“We’re still on that? First, you said I tried to kill you,” Victoria said, rolling her eyes, “and now you’re saying somebody went after your wife? Now, why on earth would anybody want to do that?”
“I thought maybe you would know.”
“Get his ass out of here.”
“Wait, please. I need to show you something. It’s in my bag.”
“You’re trying what’s left of my patience, Mr. Bridges. I don’t have time for your schemes.”
“Please. Let me show you.”
“Fine.”
“It’s clear,” a patrolman said, tossing him the bag.
Hampton dug inside and pulled a piece of origami from an interior pocket. Victoria noticed his hands trembling.
“She told me that if anything ever happened to her, I should bring this to you.”
Victoria couldn’t see what he was holding at first. She stepped closer and immediately froze. Her eyes widened. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.
“Who gave you those?” Marsh asked.
Hampton didn’t respond.
“Answer him!” Victoria shouted. “Where did you get them?”
“Her name is Chanel Burris. Ma’am, I think you know her as Malik Townsend.”
Victoria paused and said, “Handcuff him and bring him inside.”
“Ma’am?” an officer said in protest.
“I said put the cuffs back on him and bring him in the house.”
“I can wake the girls and take them to Rosetta’s,” Marsh said.
“Honey, I think we need to stay here.”
* * *
Hampton was seated in the living room, handcuffed to a high-back king chair when Pelosi arrived fifteen minutes later. The SOC team pulled up, two by two, in separate cars. The overnight detail was dismissed.
“There’s a squad car on Miss Rosetta’s house,” Pelosi said. “We also locked down your Aunt Kick’s house, as a precaution.”
“Thank you, Sal,” Victoria said. “Do you think that’s enough?”
“We’ve taken other measures.”
“Understood.”
“What about my wife?” Hampton said. “She’s at North Fulton Hospital in ICU.”
Claire was on life support with ethylene glycol poisoning, he explained. The attending physician said it was touch-and-go. There was major organ damage, but she was conscious now.
“We’re there,” Pelosi said.
Hampton was confused.
“What does that mean, you’re there?”
“It means we’re there,” Pelosi said.
Hampton hadn’t slept all night, he said. Claire had been sick for several days.
“We thought it was a stomach virus or food poisoning. I was hoping she was pregnant. She seemed to be getting better, then she sent me a text at work yesterday afternoon. I got there as fast as I could. She was unconscious on the bathroom floor when I found her. The doctors initially thought it was the flu.”
“Your wife ingested antifreeze, Mr. Bridges,” Pelosi said. “Any idea how that happened?”
“Claire didn’t have an enemy in the world.”
“But you do.”
Hampton swallowed hard.
“Whoever tried to kill your wife put antifreeze in something she drank. Who’s been in that house other than you?”
“Sure, why not?” Pelosi said. “It’s not like you’re going anywhere. I’ll put a bullet in your head if you try, and the way I see it, you can’t run very fast.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Hampton said with a deep sigh.
“It doesn’t take much,” Marsh said. “Two to eight ounces. It usually acts within twenty-four hours. She’s still alive and that’s a good sign.”
Pelosi placed a bottled water on the table in front of Hampton.
“Drink up,” Pelosi said. “We’re going to be here awhile.”
“I didn’t poison my wife.”
“I know you didn’t,” Pelosi said. “Mr. Bridges, do you have keys to her house?”
“Yes.”
“Hand them over,” Pelosi said. “Delacourte, head out there now. We need every glass in the kitchen. Check the dishwasher and the trash. Pull every container of liquid in the refrigerator.”
“Her address is—” Hampton said, before Pelosi cut him off.
“We know where she lives.”
“Roger that,” the SOC officer responded. “What if I run into Alpharetta or Fulton County PD?”
“Call me,” Pelosi said.
“Wait,” Marsh said. “How long did you say she was sick again?”
“Several days. Three or four, at least,” Hampton said, thinking back. “It started late Sunday night.”
Pelosi looked at Marsh plaintively. The doctor shrugged.
“Hard to say. I’m a heart surgeon,” Marsh said. “Could have been administered in small doses over time. It had to be consistent, though, so the body wouldn’t have time to break it down. Somebody wanted her to suffer.”
“Or watch you watch her suffer,” Pelosi said, tipping his head toward Hampton. “The target was you, Mr. Bridges. I’m sure of that. Whoever did this didn’t want to kill your ex-wife. They wanted you distracted. What are you working on right now?”
“I can’t say,” Hampton said nervously.
Pelosi got in his face and barked, “Mr. Bridges, I don’t have time for journalistic ethics and neither do you!”
“You’re investigating me, aren’t you?” Victoria said.
Hampton looked down at the carpet and rubbed his damp hands together. He’d sweated out his armpits, and his face was misty like he’d run a country mile.
“My head hurts,” he said. “Can I get something for my head?”
“It’s me, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, something like that.”
“Spit it out, goddammit!” she shouted.
“Fine,” he said. “I’ve been looking into the League and your connections to Virgil Loudermilk. I have been tracking political donations going back thirty years.”
“My records are clean.”
“As a whistle,” Hampton said. “But you and I both know better than that.”
“You want my help, then start talking,” Victoria said. “If you think you’ve got something on me, I will personally drive you over to GBI headquarters and drop you at the curb.”
“Chanel is missing,” he said finally. “I put her on a train to Flint. She was staying with my mother. She got spooked after Haverty turned up in the Chattahoochee and took off on her own. The last time I heard from Chanel, she was in Chicago at a coffee shop.”
“How long ago was this?” Pelosi asked.
“Almost a week ago. I gave her money for a hotel and a new burner phone, but she never checked in. I need to find her.”
“Why did she tell you to come to me?” Victoria asked.
“Never would say exactly,” Hampton said. “She told me you were the only person who could save her life.”
“I haven’t seen Malik in years,” Victoria said.
“Her name is Chanel. She told me about the League and all the money,” Hampton said. “She told me about that transportation bill and said that’s why Congressman Hawkins was killed. Somebody sent him a message.”
“What kind of message?” Pelosi asked.
“One of those red paper birds,” Hampton replied. “Chanel got one too. I helped her get out of town.”
“That’s probably the only reason she’s still alive,” Pelosi said. “If she’s still alive.”
Hampton broke down sobbing. “Ma’am, please help me,” he muttered. “Help me find her.”
Victoria nodded to Pelosi, giving him the go-ahead.
“We’ll do what we can,” Pelosi said. “I’ve known Chanel for many years. She’s special to me too.”
Marsh uncapped a bottle of pain relievers and handed Hampton two gel caplets.
“Tell me everything Chanel said. Walk me back, minute by minute,” Pelosi said. “Don’t leave anything out.”
“I can’t do that.”
“You can and you will,” Pelosi said.
Hampton stood up and paced the room, gesturing with his hands as he recalled the events in specific detail from the moment he first met Chanel. When he was finished, he scanned the room.
Hampton said, “The tapes are in my backpack.”
“We believe you,” Victoria said. “I have the paper god that was sent to Congressman Hawkins. I found a second one in my brother’s clothing. They are exactly like the one you showed us.”
“Paper god?” Hampton said. “You know who did this, don’t you?”
“I may be the only person who can stop him.”
“Loudermilk?”
“Unfortunately, we aren’t that lucky,” she said. “Believe it or not, there are bigger devils in the world.”
They traded knowing looks.
FORTY-SIX
Virgil was knotting his tie, watching from an upper window as three Ford Excursions and a blacked-out Ford Taurus pulled into the parking deck entrance below. He’d been expecting them. His lawyers were stationed in the conference room. Wearing a pair of simple khakis, a plaid button-down shirt, and some nicely broken-in leather loafers, he’d forgone the pretense of putting on socks.
“Come on in, boys,” he whispered to himself as he watched them enter the building.
There would be no arrest, he surmised, but there would be a volley of questions, and he was well prepared to answer them. The ginger-haired avenger led the way.
“Good morning, Mr. Loudermilk,” he said, stepping into the penthouse suite of offices. “I’m Special Agent Jason Clearwater.”
“Good morning, Agent Clearwater, it’s good to finally meet you even under these unfortunate circumstances. Shaun Haverty was a friend of mine. But I guess you know that.”
“I suspect you will fill me in.”
“Absolutely. I’ve got nothing to hide,” Virgil said. “At least not an indictable offense. Come on in the conference room. Rest a spell.”
The questioning went on for two hours. There were six agents in all and three attorneys, including Virgil.
“I hired him to perform some private duties. He was a security consultant for my family. Everything was by the book,” Virgil said, “Nothing wrong with that, right?”
“I need to ask you about some of those duties,” Clearwater said, taking a side chair. “Let’s call them extracurricular activities.”
“Oh, you mean that little package I sent to the mayor?”
“Tell me about that.”
“I’ve always liked Victoria. Her husband was running around on her, and I thought she oughta know.”
“You admit to hacking her husband’s cell phone records?”
“Heavens no,” Virgil said with a chuckle. “Haverty did that on his own. It was an ugly piece of business, I must admit. But that ain’t what I paid him for.”
“I’d ask him, but he’s dead,” Clearwater said. “And leaking that 911 tape to a reporter. Did he do that on his own?”
“Wasn’t my doing,” Virgil said. “I asked him to take a few pictures, that’s all. If he was here right now, he would tell you that.”
“Only he isn’t.�
�
“I fired him the minute I found out,” Virgil said. “I sent Haverty an email and told him how disappointed I was in his untoward behavior. He was always a bit overzealous.”
“And you have this email?”
One of Virgil’s lawyers slid a printout across the table.
“This is time-stamped the morning the Times-Register story was published,” Charlie Stewart said blithely. “And this is a copy of the server records.”
“I’ll need his hard drive,” Clearwater said.
“You’ll need a warrant,” Stewart interjected.
“Mr. Stewart, when I need to produce one, I will,” Clearwater said dismissively. “Mr. Loudermilk, tell me about Reclaim Atlanta.”
“Not much to tell you,” Virgil said. “I testified in a hearing earlier this week. It’s all on the record. I’m sure you can get the transcript.”
“We had an agent in the courtroom.”
“Is that so?” Virgil said. “And what, pray tell, did this agent learn?”
“You’re a smart man, Mr. Loudermilk,” Clearwater said. “I’ll let you think about that.”
“You’re not from around here, are you?”
“Does it matter where I was raised?”
“Well, see, that says it all,” Virgil said. “You didn’t end that sentence in a preposition like a Southerner would. Now, tell me, where’bouts you from?”
Clearwater shrugged and said, “Seattle.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“Meaning what?”
“You think we Southerners are stupid, don’t you? You wound up down here, working out of sunny downtown Conyers, Georgia, because you couldn’t find a job anywhere else. I’m sure the FBI has plenty of openings. Why didn’t they hire you?”
“Mr. Loudermilk, we pulled a body from a river last week. The man was an officer of the law. You must know that we will turn over every rock to find out who put him there.”
“I expect you will,” Virgil said.
Stewart stood up and said, “This interview is over. Unless and until there is a warrant, there will be no hard drive.”
“Mr. Stewart, take your seat. We’re searching his residence right now.”
Virgil was immediately uncomfortable. “Which one?” he asked.
“All of them. Blackland Drive, Ball Ground, and Sea Island. Here are copies of the warrants,” Clearwater said, sliding an envelope onto the table. “Now, about that hard drive. I have a warrant for this office and everything in it. That includes every file and computer.”
Paper Gods Page 29
