by Thomas Scott
He was still thinking it through when he looked out the window, lost in his own deluded thoughts, and noticed something odd. Someone was in the trailer across the way, two spots down. That trailer was vacant and had been for some time.
A sudden flood of panic ripped through him. Were they on to him? Were they watching him? He moved over to the side of the window and cracked the blinds…just a fraction. There was movement. He could see it. He glanced at the roof and saw a thin trail of steam rising from the furnace’s exhaust stack and when he did the panic grew stronger. He ran to the other side of the trailer and looked toward the park entrance. There was a water and sewer truck parked across the exit lane of the park’s main drive. He counted six men. None of them were doing anything, which, even Decker had to admit didn’t necessarily mean anything, especially with a water and sewer crew. But it was the way they weren’t doing anything that bothered him. They all stood next to the rear of the truck and looked like they were looking in every direction except his trailer. That could only mean one thing. Cops. And probably a SWAT team, at that.
He took out his field glasses from his gear bag, inched up to the window as close as he dared and took a quick look. When he did, his heart sank. Definitely cops. He could see the outline of the armor they wore under their clothing. In addition, they all wore black combat boots and tactical gloves.
But why were they just standing there?
On the television he heard rather than saw the governor and his contingent as they walked up to the podium. He grabbed his tactical vest, already loaded with a handgun, extra ammo, and his K-bar. He moved to the back of the trailer and checked outside. The angle was bad and he couldn’t see the front entrance or the other trailer…the one that was supposedly vacant. But that meant they couldn’t see him either.
Virgil was in his truck, headed toward Decker’s residence. He’d had an emergency service replace both side windows the previous evening—it had cost him a small fortune, but it was worth it given the cold. Virgil thought if felt like it might start snowing any day now. With a little luck they’d yank Decker from his trailer without incident and let him sit in lockup for a few hours after he was processed. Virgil needed the time because he was meeting Sandy at the doc’s for one of her weekly checks…they were that close now. Wyatt was almost here, and the thought both thrilled and terrified him. His phone chirped at him. He grabbed it off the dash and said, “Jonesy.”
“I got every last one of them,” the ADA said. “Had to give away a few handshake deals to the doctors on future speeding tickets, though.”
Despite everything that was going on, Virgil had to laugh. “I’m surprised everyone didn’t ask for something.”
“They were smart about it. They knew if they asked in front of everyone else then everybody would want something and that my answer would have been no. I mean, you can’t start giving away the farm on this type of thing. So they sort of hung back until everyone else left before they asked. I’ll tell you something else too…these guys were at opposite ends of the table and they both knew what the other was thinking. I watched it happen. They did it with a look.”
26
Kreg Gordon, the house sub-committee chairman, and J. Connor Westlake were together at Gordon’s house. They sat in the library and Gordon was nervous. Westlake could see it. There was a thin line of perspiration on his upper lip reflecting from the light of the television and it looked like a translucent pencil mustache.
“I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you quite so anxious before, Kreg,” Westlake said.
“Lot on the line.” Gordon sat forward in his chair and rubbed both eyes with the heels of his hands. He pulled a bottle of scotch and two glasses from a desk drawer. “Drink?”
“Thank you, no. It’s a little early for me.”
“Suit yourself. The press conference is about to start and the governor may as well show up holding a shovel. His political career is about to die.”
“Then why do you look so nervous, Kreg. Maybe it’s because you know everything is not in order.”
Gordon froze, his glass of scotch caught halfway between the desk and his mouth. It looked like he was about to propose a toast. “What are you talking about?”
“Your man, Decker? You’ve lost control of him.”
“The hell I have. Decker does what he’s told.”
“Then maybe the problem is with you. Either way, he’s decided to take matters into his own hands.”
“Meaning what, exactly?”
Westlake reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope. “I have contacts at every level of the court system. My people go in ahead of me and set everything up. It’s easier than you might imagine. It probably wouldn’t be if government employees were paid a little better. Your state is no different from any other. It’s one way we stay in front of our competition.”
Gordon was annoyed with Westlake’s dramatics. “Yes, yes, you’re good at what you do. I already knew that. If you weren’t, you wouldn’t be sitting here right now. What’s the problem with Decker?”
“This,” Westlake said. He tossed the envelope on Gordon’s desk. “Apparently Decker is tired of waiting, or he senses a weakness in you. He’s taken matters into his own hands. That’s a copy of the paperwork he filed with the court. He’s seeking custody of the boy, something you told me he wasn’t going to do until we had everything else in order. I’ve managed to clean all the originals from the system. It wasn’t easy, even for me.”
Gordon set his drink down and snatched up the envelope. “What? That’s insane. I specifically told him not to do that until—”
Westlake didn’t let him finish. “Well, he specifically didn’t listen, Kreg.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
“No, I’m afraid you won’t, Kreg. That particular ship has already sailed, as they say.”
Thirty seconds ago, Gordon felt like a man at the top, in charge and in control of his own destiny. As chair of the sub-committee looking into Bradley Pearson’s botched prison privatization scheme, Gordon knew an opportunity when he saw it. With Charlie and Martha Esser out of the way, the money from their portion of the fracking operations would go directly to the state—through his committee. It wouldn’t be enough to get them out of the red—Gordon didn’t care about that. That would be someone else’s problem down the line.
What he cared about was wiping the smug look off the governor’s face and positioning himself for a run in the next gubernatorial race, a race that would be backed in full by Westlake and his consortium…but only if Gordon helped the deal in Shelby County go through. Gordon, who knew of Decker’s desire to get his kid—and the pension money that went with it—had used Decker to take care of Martha Esser, eliminating obstacles and creating confusion along the way.
“That son-of-a-bitch is going to ruin everything,” Gordon said.
“What did you tell him?”
“Only what he needed to know…that the kid comes with the pension money.”
Westlake was staring at a framed photograph on the wall. In the photo a much younger Kreg Gordon was dressed in a three piece suit and was shaking hands with Ronald Reagan. Gordon was beaming at Reagan. Reagan, on the other hand, wore a cowboy hat and jeans with a flannel shirt, his faced turned away as if he might be having a conversation with someone just out of view of the camera’s lens. His grasp of Gordon’s hand appeared to be no more consequential than that of a waiter handing him a napkin or a piece of junk mail addressed to ‘Occupant.’ Westlake took the photo from the wall and held it in his hands.
“What are you doing? Put that back.”
“Decker was useful, Kreg. But he was useful to you, not me. Letting you use him instead of bringing in our own people was a mistake. I accept responsibility for that.”
“What are you saying?”
Westlake picked up the remote and turned the volume up on the television. “I’m suggesting that you sit down and shut up. I want to hear this.”
Gord
on, who had never had anyone speak to him in that manner was outraged. “Now you wait just a goddamned minute,” he said, pointing his finger at Westlake. “Just who in the hell do you think you’re talking to? You’re in my home—”
Westlake held up his hand to silence Gordon. “You know what the difference is between guys like you and guys like me, Kreg? Guys like me know how to insulate themselves.” Then, as if to clarify his point: “We use guys like you to do it.”
On the television, the governor and a small group of people were gathering around a podium. There was a blue curtained backdrop with the flags of the United States and the state of Indiana behind them. Westlake turned the framed photo of Gordon and Reagan over and pealed a small electronic device from the back, then smashed the framed photo against the corner of Gordon’s desk, breaking the frame in half, pieces of glass flying everywhere. He walked to the rear corner of Gordon’s desk, reached underneath and pulled a similar item out and inspected it before placing both listening devices in his pocket. He pulled two more from their hiding places, one from a bookshelf and the other from the underside of a small table that sat between two leather chairs.
The look on Gordon’s face was beyond disbelief. “You’ve bugged my home?”
“Don’t look so surprised, Kreg. Even though it’s fairly obvious, I’ll answer your question. Yes. We bugged your home. And your office. Decker’s too. Boy, he sure lives in a dump, doesn’t he?”
“He got a divorce. She took everything he had,” Gordon said, surprised that he felt it necessary to defend Decker’s living situation.
“Maybe he should have hired a better lawyer. Someone who knows how to think more strategically, someone more like, well…me.”
Gordon picked up his phone. “I will not stand for this. I am going—”
Westlake yanked the phone from his hand and placed it back in the cradle. “You’re going to what, Kreg? All the bugs have been removed. There’s no proof they were ever there. My people have taken care of everything. And I do mean everything. We’ve got you and Decker on tape. It makes for great listening…all the planning, the strategy, the…killings. All ordered by you. Boy you really strung him along, didn’t you? Hanging the kid’s pension payout in front of him. It’s the one thing you did well. Too bad you didn’t keep a closer eye on him.”
“What, I’m supposed to have him followed around twenty-four hours a day?”
“Why not? We did. Are you aware that he’s been under police surveillance for the past few days?”
“What?”
Westlake lifted a finger to his lips and made a shushing noise and pointed at the television. “I really do want to hear this. You do too, whether you know it or not. Your future sort of depends on it.”
Cora LaRue stood in front of the microphone, the governor just to her right. “For those of you who might not be aware, my name is Cora LaRue and I’m the governor’s chief of staff. The governor is here today to make a statement regarding some operational issues surrounding the Major Crimes Unit and to clarify some details that seem to have somehow been twisted into something other than—”
One of the reporters wanted to get the jump. “When you say twisted, are you referring to the arrest warrant that has been issued for one of the members of the MCU, the governor’s—”
Cora wasn’t having it. She spoke right over the reporter, the gravel in her voice leaving no room for misinterpretation. “Here’s how this works. I’m making a brief introductory statement to tell you why we’re here. The governor will give you the details. There’ll be no questions at the end, and there’ll be no interruptions. Is everyone clear on that?”
The governor stepped forward, placed his hand on Cora’s shoulder and gently moved in front of her. He waited until he had everyone’s attention. “As most of you know, I campaigned on lowering crime in our state, specifically major crimes. The MCU was my idea and my way of sending a message that corruption of any kind, especially from within the ranks of our own state’s government would not be tolerated. Has it been successful? Yes. But that’s not to say it hasn’t come without cost, both personally and professionally. Eight months ago I not only discovered that Bradley Pearson, my former chief of staff—a man who’d been both a colleague and a friend—was a part of the problem I was trying to fight. When Bradley was killed I discovered that he had betrayed me, betrayed our friendship, and betrayed this office. While the MCU was working with me to fight corruption within our state’s government, Bradley was working against me. Doing so led to a series of events that culminated not only in his death, but the death of one of the MCU’s finest officers, Ed Donatti.
“Officer Donatti was killed in the line of duty. Period. His family is owed by the state his pension and death benefits, benefits that have been withheld by members of our state’s legislators as a bargaining chip as leverage against me for no other reason than political gain. It is gamesmanship at its worst. And if that wasn’t enough, while the legislators of our state have been doing everything in their power to withhold the funds due to Ed Donatti’s family, tragically, Ed’s wife, Pam Donatti was murdered in her own home, leaving a young boy without any family whatsoever. I know that most of you here today already know everything I’ve just told you. I also know that you’re probably aware that an arrest warrant has been issued for Detective Murton Wheeler, a former special agent with the FBI and current member of the MCU.” The governor paused for effect, the clicking of camera shutters the only sounds in the room. “Let me be perfectly clear. Detective Wheeler has been framed for the murder of Pam Donatti. The MCU and Metro Homicide have evidence that support this theory, evidence that completely exonerates Detective Wheeler. As such, the warrant for his arrest has been vacated and Detective Wheeler has been taken off administrative leave and will be returning to duty within a matter of a day or two.”
The governor glanced at Cora, then he smiled and said, “Perhaps a quick question or two. I think we have the time.” The smug, ‘I-told-you-so’ look back on his face.
Every reporter in the room began shouting questions at him. The governor held up his hands to quiet the reporters. “You’ll have to forgive me, I almost forgot. As the murder of Charles Esser is tied directly to the fracking operations down in Shelby County—something I’ve been against since its inception, by the way—I’ve ordered the state’s attorney general to include that operation as part of the ongoing investigation. As such, the state has filed a motion to halt all drilling procedures down along the Flatrock.”
The reporters didn’t care about Charlie Esser. That was already yesterday’s news. A lover’s quarrel gone bad. “What about Martha Esser’s murder?” one of the reporters shouted out.
The governor let a mask of confusion cross his face. This was the part he and Cora had rehearsed before the start of the briefing. “I’m sorry…Martha Esser? I think you’re confused—”
Cora leaned over and whispered in the governor’s ear, then stepped back. The governor continued. “My apologies. I thought we’d already released this information. Apparently we have not, so I guess you’ll hear it here first. Martha Esser wasn’t murdered. While an attempt was made on her life, thanks to the heroic efforts of some highly skilled medical personnel she is alive and well, recovering from her injuries. Her attacker tried to kill her in the hospital with a lethal injection of some sort. Fortunately the doctors were able to revive her. Mrs. Esser is cooperating fully and has identified her attacker. The MCU and other agencies are positioning themselves as we speak to apprehend the suspect.”
The reporters shouted more questions, but the governor held up his hands, thanked them for their time and walked away.
Out in the hallway: “You’re sure the Esser’s didn’t have any heirs?” the governor asked.
“No kids, and no other blood relatives, Mac,” Cora said. “Becky’s taking a deeper look, but there’s nothing there. Nothing to worry about.”
“Good. I’m going to be in enough trouble if the press finds out I just
lied about Martha Esser being alive.”
“We’ll spin it…somehow. And keep your voice down. If they hear you right now your career will be over.”
Becky came around the corner and gave the governor a hug. “Thank you.”
The governor hugged her back, his right hand about a half inch too low on her back. “It’s my pleasure, Becky. We take care of our own.” Then he smiled his thousand watt political smile and said, “My God, I love it when beautiful young women hug me.”
Cora looked down the hallway. “Jesus, Mac, let’s go, huh?”
27
Westlake clicked off the television, took out his phone and pressed a button.
“What are you doing?” Gordon said.
“Calling for my ride.”
Gordon heard the car doors and looked out the window. “You need two cars? Who are those men? Why are they here?”
Westlake sat down on Gordon’s couch like he didn’t have a care in the world. It was an act that indicated anything Gordon said or did had little to no consequential value whatsoever. “Have you ever heard the expression ‘You win some, you lose some, and some are rained out?’”
Gordon picked up the phone. “I don’t understand what’s happening here.” He picked up the phone but couldn’t get a dial tone. His cell phone wasn’t on his person.
“Categorically, it covers just about everything, doesn’t it? This one looks like a rain-out to me. The governor just said so. The Flatrock’s history, but I’ve won before and I’ll win again. You, Kreg, on the other hand, probably won’t.”
