by Robin Lamont
“That’s not right, but … the reality is D&M is the only thing in Bragg Falls keeping us above water.”
Jude felt uncharacteristically petulant. “Well, having heard about what’s going on at the plant, maybe drowning would be the best thing.”
“Look, no one at D&M is supposed to talk to you or any of your animal rights friends. And if somebody breaks rank, they’re gonna get fired and they won’t get another job at any Marshfield location. Then somebody … like Daniel Vargas and his wife … have no job, no income. They’re back in Mexico living on the street. Is that what you want?”
She drew deep from her reserves of patience. “What I want,” she answered evenly, “is to prevent animals from suffering the kind of brutality that we would never accept were they not animals raised for food. It’s bad enough that the pigs you slaughter live their entire lives indoors in filthy pens or metal crates where they cannot even turn around. You’ve got people beating these scared animals with pipes, sticking electric prods into their eyes and mouths. Just today a downer hog was chained to a forklift and dragged across the ground. The poor animal was in agony.”
Emmet rubbed an uncomfortable hand across his mouth and said gruffly, “I suppose Daniel Vargas told you that.”
“Are you telling me those things don’t happen at D&M?” challenged Jude, refusing to be trapped.
“We conform to industry standards,” he said stiffly.
“Which if most people were aware of, they would find abominable. Your friend Frank Marino knew that.” For the first time Jude saw doubt cross Emmet’s face. She had been wondering how much he knew when he had blurted out, I know about Frank contacting you, and I know about the videotape … if he really did make one. Did he in fact learn about the video from Frank or from someone else? She hadn’t told anyone except Verna ... and Daniel, just now. Jude jumped in with both feet and asked, “What happened to his video? Did Bob Warshauer get it from him or is he still looking? Because I guess D&M would do just about anything to keep Frank from giving it to me.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Emmet challenged.
“I find it pretty coincidental that your friend died just days after contacting our organization.”
“Whoa, lady,” said Emmet. “It’s one thing to be an animal lover, it’s another to be a paranoid militant. You’re giving yourself far too much credit. Frank committed suicide. That’s what the evidence says, that’s all there is to it, and if you go around preaching anything to the contrary you’re gonna be in a world of trouble.”
He seemed more flustered than angry, yet Jude instantly regretted blurting out her suspicions. She had assumed the friendship between him and Frank went deeper than his loyalty to Marshfield. But on second thought, that idea was naive, and she had to admit that she didn’t know anything about Emmet Chapel. She steadfastly maintained eye contact and said, “Well, just for the record, no one has told me anything tonight about D&M that I didn’t already know, so I trust there won’t be any recrimination. There are federal protections for whistleblowers, you know.”
It was a bluff – whistleblower protection for a private company employee like Daniel Vargas was a long shot. Emmet Chapel probably didn’t know that, although with the smile that began to play around his mouth, she couldn’t be sure.
“I’ll remember that, Miss Brannock.”
“And don’t call me Miss Brannock or Lady. My name’s Jude.”
“Jude. As I recall from my Catholic education, the patron saint of lost causes.” The half smile broke into a grin.
She wrenched open the Subaru hatchback and motioned for Finn to jump in, then threw over her shoulder, “We’ll see about that.”
Chapter 16
Verna Marino had rarely felt this helpless and angry. Her chapped hands shook as she rinsed the last of the dishes and placed them in the drainer in the church kitchen. A few of the other ladies from Bible study were chatting as they cleaned up. It had been a week since she lost her husband and her finances were in desperate shape, yet they went on and on about their meaningless recipes and disagreements about the placement of the church flowers. She wiped her hands on a towel and tried to shake off her un-Christian attitude. After all, the group had been very kind in the aftermath of Frank’s death; she couldn’t expect them to mourn with her indefinitely.
Besides, what was really bothering her was Patty Warshauer. Verna caught sight of her getting ready to leave. She had to say something.
“Patty, wait a minute,” called out Verna. “I need to talk to you.”
Her friend hesitated, then accompanied Verna into the refectory away from the other women. “Bob is waiting for me,” said Patty impatiently.
“Why the cold shoulder tonight?” asked Verna.
Patty opened her mouth to protest, but Verna interrupted, “Please, did I do something to make you angry? Because if I did, I apologize. But don’t think you’re sparing my feelings by not saying what’s on your mind. Honestly, it hurts worse to get the silent treatment.”
Heaving a pained sigh, Patty looked first at the ceiling and then capitulated. “Bob told me that Frank was filming operations at the plant and he was going to turn the film over to some animal rights group. If you must know, we feel … betrayed.”
“I had no idea, Patty,” Verna insisted.
“Really? I didn’t think Frank kept any secrets from you.”
“Well, obviously he did, because I knew nothing about it.”
Patty pressed her lips together in disapproval. “Verna, I’m sorry for your loss, you know I am. But there are a lot of people in this town who need D&M jobs. And behind everyone’s back, Frank calls some animal rights activist who breezes in to try and shut down the plant. What do those people know? These young, hoity-toity yuppies from Washington who think they know what’s right and wrong. We are a community here.”
“He meant no harm to anyone, he was just–”
“He was spying on us!”
Verna bristled at her friend’s self-righteous scorn. “Well, if he was … he was just trying to do the right thing. You’ve never worked inside the plant – I have. And what is happening to the animals is not very Christian, in my view.”
“Then re-read your Genesis, my dear. ‘Every moving thing that liveth shall be meat for you; even as the green herb have I given...’”
“That doesn’t give us the right to abuse them.”
The refectory door opened, letting in a burst of manure-scented air. “Oh, there you are, Verna, I was looking for you.” It was Bob Warshauer. He strolled over and put an arm around his wife. “Did you girls have a nice time tonight? Say, Patty told me about Frank’s insurance policy. I am so sorry. I’m sure he didn’t think about that before…” He gave his wife’s shoulders an affectionate squeeze as they exchanged a sympathetic glance. “But I’m glad you’re here. The company feels a responsibility to his family. So I spoke with corporate and they want to grant you six months of Frank’s pay as a way to recognize his many years with Marshfield.”
Verna tried to read his expression. What was Warshauer up to?
“I had to pull a few strings, so I was wondering if you’d do us a favor,” he was saying. “Don’t talk to Jude Brannock anymore. She’s only here to cause trouble, and we really don’t need any more trouble, do we?”
There was no negotiation behind Warshauer’s gaze. Perhaps a warning, but most certainly a payoff for her silence – just the kind of thing Frank would have thrown back in his face. But her husband had chosen to leave life’s decision-making to her, hadn’t he?
“Thank you, Bob,” said Verna. “That’s very kind. And not to worry, there won’t be any trouble from our end.”
***
Jude got back to the motel around nine. She turned off the ignition and sat in the car, listening to the ticking of the motor as it cooled; the last thing she wanted to do w
as to go inside. It wasn’t just that the Lysol-sprayed bathroom and cigarette-stained carpet reeked of loneliness, it was also that more work awaited her. She still had to make some notes on her conversation with the Vargases while it was fresh in her mind. Every waking minute that she documented animal torture meant navigating a thin line. On one side was the emotional connection with animals that fueled her passion, on the other side was the work ethic that often required her to turn that emotion off just to continue functioning in the face of so much pain. There were times she wondered how much longer she could walk that line.
Shaking off the self-pity, she got out of the car and opened the back for Finn. The anemic light over her motel room door had gone out, so she fumbled in her backpack for the key. But it turned out she didn’t need it because the door was partially open. Jude froze and listened for any sound coming from within, then pushed against the door and let it swing open. She reached in to feel along the inside wall for the light switch.
Oh God. The room had been trashed: the covers stripped from the bed, drawers opened and the contents deposited on the floor. Jude stood surveying the chaos while Finn took his own inventory, sniffing suspiciously around the room. Right away Jude found that they’d taken her laptop and the camera, the two most valuable items. She tried to think of anything on the computer that might be damaging to the organization or to any witnesses. Luckily, she hadn’t yet transcribed her interview with Daniel and Abelina, and no one else, she thought wryly, was talking. There wouldn’t be much in any event. For this very reason, she brought a “clean” laptop on each new assignment. CJ was adamant about transferring or deleting files to ensure the investigators did not carry around any unnecessary information. The loss of the camera, however, was infuriating; it contained the downer photos and was even more expensive than the computer.
Cursing under her breath, Jude began the tedious task of putting things right; she folded her clothes and put them back in the drawers and cleaned up the bathroom, which had also been ransacked. From the closet she retrieved her backpack and hauled it over to the bed. Still inside were her camera lenses, chargers for the computer, and an extra battery. But when she fished into a small zippered pocket for the flash drives on which she backed up her notes and photos, she found they were both gone. Jude sat down hard on the bed, fingering the straps on her backpack.
The whole picture wasn’t making sense. On the surface it looked like an ordinary burglary. The intruder had gone for the computer and camera – both re-sellable pieces of equipment. But now to learn they’d also taken the flash drives, in and of themselves not worth much … what was that about? Jude could not help but keep coming back to the video. Earlier in the evening, Emmet Chapel had let slip that he knew about it, in which case management above him probably did as well. If Marshfield suspected that Frank had somehow gotten her a copy, they’d definitely want to look on her computer and backup drives. Maybe this was the way they had done just that, making it appear to be a random break-in.
Unanswered questions kept Jude’s mind reeling. Before she went to bed, she double-checked the chain on the door. Then she lay in the dark, knowing that sleep, normally hard to come by, might be almost impossible this night. What in God’s name had Frank recorded? Ever since she had come to Bragg Falls she couldn’t escape the doubt she felt about his death. But now the suspicion was hardening into a word that could change everything – murder – a word that lodged like a cold stone behind her eyes, lingering until morning’s light seeped around the edges of the window shade.
Chapter 17
The County Sheriff’s Office occupied a nondescript brick building about a mile outside the town center. It was marked by two flagpoles planted in the grassy strip out front, one with an American flag, the other flying the red, white and blue blocks of the state flag. Both hung limp in the motionless air.
Jude took a seat in the waiting area, as directed by Belva Hinson, the hawk-eyed administrator at the front desk, who tartly informed her that Sheriff Ward was on the phone at present. While she waited, Jude was audience to two deputies who escorted a teenager from the holding cell in the back. Still too young to shave, the boy rubbed away some snot from the peach fuzz on his upper lip and hung his head. The officers handed Belva paperwork and chatted over his head as if he were an inanimate object. Jude began to bristle at their lack of empathy when one of the deputies put a fatherly hand on the boy’s shoulder and said kindly, “Come on, Romeo. Let’s get you arraigned and back to your momma before lunch,” reminding Jude that first impressions could be deceiving.
A few minutes later, Belva lifted the bifocals she wore on a cord around her neck and used them to point to a short hall behind her desk. “He’ll see you now. But he’s got to be in court in a half hour, so make it quick.”
Sheriff Grady Ward sat behind his desk looking quite unlike the man on the ridge with a gun in his hand. Still well-turned out with his snowy hair and mustache neatly combed, but no uniform and no gun, today in a business suit and tie.
“Thanks for seeing me,” said Jude, taking a chair on the opposite side of his desk.
Ward gave a small grunt, outwardly none too happy that he had agreed.
“Somebody broke into my hotel room last night. My camera, my computer, and a few other items were stolen,” she said, getting right to the point.
“Did you file a complaint?”
“I thought I should come see you first.”
“Miss Brannock, I run this office. If you want to file another complaint, talk to one of the deputies or tell Mrs. Hinson outside and someone will get over to the Motor Inn to take your statement.”
His reference to “another complaint” ruffled Jude, as it implied that being a victim of two crimes in such close proximity was an inconvenience. Moreover, she hadn’t said anything about staying at the Motor Inn. But then again, it seemed everybody in town knew. “I gather you’re aware of the damage done to my car yesterday,” she said.
“I am,” replied Ward, his eyes shifting to a report on his desk.
“Did anything come back on the blood?”
“It’s pig blood.”
“No surprise there,” said Jude. “You know, between what they did to my car and the break-in at the motel last night, I get the feeling that I’m not appreciated here in Bragg Falls. I understand the general antagonism, but my investigation of violations at the plant does not warrant harassment, not to mention burglary, which I presume is a felony in this state.”
“And just what is the nature of your investigation?”
“Frank Marino contacted me a couple of weeks ago. He had made a videotape of the ongoing abuses to the hogs at D&M, a ton of footage, and was going to hand over the video to our organization.”
“And that would be…”
“It’s called The Kinship.” Ward’s eyes did an involuntary roll, and Jude chose to ignore it. “Frank and I spoke on a couple of occasions. He had witnessed systematic animal cruelty at the plant and was tired of management doing nothing about it.”
“So did he?”
“Did he what?”
“Did he give you this alleged video?”
“No. Apparently he killed himself before he could do that.”
“I detect some sarcasm, Miss Brannock. I gather you disagree with the medical examiner’s conclusion?”
“I just have some questions,” she sidestepped. “For instance, did anyone on your staff find a minicam or spy camera in Frank’s car?” Ward stared with a look that said he had no intention of answering. “Alright, how about his computer?” Jude pursued. “I know that was in his car because I was there at the Marino house when you brought it back to Frank’s wife. Frank used a minicam to take video inside the plant, and the only way to view the video would have been to upload it onto a computer.”
“And your question is…”
“Did you find such a video on his computer
?”
“No, I don’t believe my tech person mentioned anything,” he answered finally. “Something like that she would have pointed out.”
“Are you certain?”
“Well, if what you say is true, that there was a ton of footage, that would be a very large file and it would have stood out like a sore thumb. I have only your claim that Marino made a video. I haven’t heard anything about it, and I hear about most everything that goes on around here. Even if he did make such a recording and intended to give it to you, he can’t now. So I would suggest that your business is done. You can go home.”
“You have to admit the timing is pretty odd.”
Irritation crept into Ward’s voice. “I don’t have to admit anything. You want to play Nancy Drew, go back to wherever you came from and do it there. But not in my jurisdiction.” He recalled giving her precisely the same admonition in the woods the other day and muttered to himself, “Jesus, this is like déjà vu.”
“So you won’t reopen the investigation into Frank’s death?”
“Brannock, get the hell outta here,” said Ward disgustedly. “And if we catch you trespassing on D&M property or harassing the workers, I’ll lock you up.”
***
One of the hanging bodies twisted as it swung on the moving rail that pulled it further down the line. The hog had just had his carotid artery slit and a fine spray of blood hit the side of Emmet’s face as he passed. He swore out loud and lifted his arm, smearing the sweat and blood from his cheek. The sticker didn’t notice and wouldn’t have heard him over the din anyway; he was drenched in blood from his thick apron down to his plastic covered boots and was on to the next one. It only reminded Emmet of how glad he was that he didn’t have to stick hogs for a living anymore. He’d hoped that becoming a supervisor would have kept him away from the kill floor, but it seemed like he was always down here, one problem after another. His boots tacky on the red concrete, he made his way past the stun station, where the new Hispanic guy was struggling with the tongs.
