Helpless (19 page)

“Not feeling the support right now, Adriana,” Tom said under his breath.

“It’s there for you,” said Adriana. “Just not everybody.”

The two made their way to the front of the room, where school board appointees and representatives sat. Tom felt their eyes on him all the way to his seat. He understood that these people didn’t need any evidence to convict him. All they needed to hear were the words
sex
and
coach
in the same sentence for it to be true. Understanding their reaction didn’t make it easier to endure.

Angie Didomenico approached Tom, while Adriana found her seat a few rows behind his.

“Thanks for being here,” Angie said, giving Tom’s right arm a strong squeeze.

“As long as everybody left their torches at home, I should be fine.”

“I know you will be.”

Angie brought the meeting to order. Things seemed to settle down after that. The board agreed to add kitchen staff to better clean pots and pans for kids with nut allergies. Adriana presented her PLC report crisply and without much discussion. They debated longer and more intensely over several ways to ease parking lot congestion at the high school. Tom kept silent throughout the meeting.

At ten till ten, Angie slammed her gavel and the meeting concluded. Tom felt a modicum of relief that his quick escape plan had proved an unnecessary precaution. He texted Jill.

Green.

He texted her again. Pick you up in ten.

She texted back. Green.

Very funny, Tom typed.

Tom opened his car door, and the darkness around him ignited into a bright frenzy of red and blue strobe lights. Two police cruisers from the Shilo PD pulled up, boxing in his car. Brendan Murphy emerged from one of the police cars. Officer Rich Fox was with him, as well as two other uniformed police officers, whom Tom didn’t know or recognize.

Tom’s eyes scanned in all directions for an escape. It was instinct, his navy training kicking in.

Distract and evade.

But no retreat was available. Not without inflicting casualties.

Murphy approached, and Tom observed his hand on the butt of a weapon. People from the board meeting heading for their cars stopped to watch the spectacle unfold.

“Turn around! Hands on the hood of your car! Feet spread wide!” Murphy shouted at Tom.

Tom did as he was told.

Murphy took hold of Tom’s arms and pulled them behind his back. Tom knew better than to resist.

“Tom Hawkins,” Murphy said, “you’re under arrest.”

Murphy recited Tom’s Miranda rights.

Again.

Tom felt handcuffs secured around his wrists, locked tight. Amidst the flashing lights, Tom spotted Adriana standing close by, watching. Her face was frozen in a horrified expression, and she appeared to be crying.

Tom glanced over his shoulder, back at Murphy. “What are the charges?” he asked.

“Possession and trafficking of child pornography,” Murphy said.

“What the ... What are you talking about?”

“Let’s go,” Murphy said.

Murphy grabbed hold of one of Tom’s arms, while Fox took the other. Together they escorted him to a waiting police cruiser. Tom could almost feel Murphy’s pleasure as he shoved him into the back of the cruiser.

Tom’s thoughts quickly turned to panic. Not for himself, but for Jill. He finally understood what this was all about.

“Murphy, listen to me,” Tom pleaded. “I can’t leave Jill alone. She’s not safe. I’m being set up. Somebody wants me out of the picture so they can get to Jill. I’m telling you, you’ve got to find Kip Lange. He’s doing this to get me out of the way. Please! Brendan, you’re making a big mistake here.”

Murphy crouched low so that Tom could see his face through the cruiser’s open rear door.

Tom could see he was smiling.

“No, Tom,” Murphy said. “Remember what I told you? Guys like you always screw up. The only mistake made here was you thinking you’d get away with it.”

Tom closed his eyes and thought of Jill. In his mind, he saw her not as the teenager she was, but as the little girl she used to be. He remembered her in jeans and a plaid cowboy shirt. Her long hair tied in pigtails. A fourth grader with two missing teeth. Face full of freckles. Her knee skinned up badly and her bike a bent wreckage. Tears rolling down her eyes. Back then, he could make it all better. He had cleaned up the cut. Put the bandage on it. Kissed the knee. Now he couldn’t do anything to help her.

He couldn’t protect her anymore.

He was helpless.

Chapter 28

R
ainy met Sergeant Brendan Murphy in his office. Murphy was going to bring her to Tom Hawkins, who’d been processed and transported to one of the interrogation rooms.

From the start of Rainy’s interactions with Murphy, the oversized police sergeant had given her the creeps. He stood too close to her, almost hovering. He would touch her when he talked. A tap on the shoulder. A pat on the arm. She didn’t like the way he kept looking at her, either. But the man had provided her with one incredibly useful service. Thanks to Murphy, she had one possible answer to her ongoing investigation into James Mann. Hawkins, she now believed, had sold Mann the images she’d categorized as sexts. But Murphy’s usefulness had just about run out, so one more touch, another lecherous stare, and he’d come to regret those octopus arms.

“We’ve moved Hawkins from our holding cell to the meeting room.”

“Thanks for making it possible.”

“Hey, a favor for a favor. Your man Carter is really quite the wizard. He unlocked the whole shebang.”

“I’m assuming you’ll want to be present when I question him.”

“Nah. We’ll be watching through the two-way. You do your thing, Agent Miles.”

He tapped her on the shoulder, then touched her on the arm.

“Sergeant Murphy, do you have a problem keeping your hands to yourself?” Murphy stammered but could not speak. “I didn’t think so,” said Rainy.

Rainy followed behind a silent and stoop-shouldered Murphy as he led her down a well-lit corridor with blue-painted walls. They stopped in front of a closed door marked
MEETING ROOM
in stenciled black lettering.

Murphy opened the door. His sullen mood fell away, and he returned to his former cocky self, albeit without the touches. “Crap this guy was into, don’t feel you need to go easy on him,” he said. “I know we’ve got cameras and two-way glass and whatnot, but we can shut those off and turn our backs. You just give the word.”

“Thanks. But this won’t take long. Close the door on your way out,” Rainy said.

Tom Hawkins rested his handcuffed hands upon a heavily gouged table dividing the small concrete room. Light from powerful fluorescents danced off the two-way mirror. The room behind it, Rainy knew, was kept intentionally dark to allow the officers inside proper viewing. Murphy wanted to record the interview for the New Hampshire DA’s office, but Rainy had denied the request. It was against department procedure to record any interrogation without the approval or presence of someone from the US attorney’s office.

Hawkins would probably be tried by the state, not the Feds. FBI resources were under constant strain. With the type of images and the quantity found on Hawkins’s computer, it was doubtful Tomlinson would allow Rainy to bring him up on federal charges. He’d much prefer to let the state take the resource hit in prosecuting the crimes. But she was here to see if Hawkins could help her with her James Mann investigation. It would be good to get to him before he lawyered up. It never failed to amaze her how much information perps revealed when given a chance.

She tried to make an assessment of him based on behavior. It surprised her that Hawkins had no trouble making eye contact. In fact, his eyes followed her into the room and watched her take the seat across from his. They were cold, though, with touches of gray that reminded her of a wolf.

Training told her to steer clear of on-the-spot reading. Evidence trumped gut instinct every time. But the way he looked at her was not typical. Usually, the men Rainy interrogated gave her the shivers, as if they were broadcasting their sickness on an FM frequency she picked up in stereo. But for the life of her, Rainy couldn’t recall a single instance where she found one of these men attractive. That was, until she met Tom Hawkins. Hawkins was ruggedly handsome, and easy on the eyes.

Stop it, Miles,
Rainy silently berated herself.
Look beyond his looks.

Rainy returned her focus to the mission. She was here to obtain information. She hoped Hawkins wanted to share his side of the story. With luck, he would talk. Rainy reached into the pocket of her suit blazer for her badge, making no conscious effort to conceal the holstered weapon she carried. “I’m Special Agent Loraine Miles, from the FBI,” she said.

“Where’s my daughter?” asked Tom.

Rainy handed Tom a cell phone. This was part of the deal she’d agreed to so that Tom would talk. She watched Tom key in a number. The handcuffs didn’t get in his way. He put the phone to his ear. He waited. She listened.

“Hiya, Jilly-bean. It’s Dad... . No, I’m fine.... Don’t worry.... Everything is going to be all right.... Yeah, yeah, stay with Lindsey. That’s fine.... No, the police car is outside because I asked them to keep an eye on you... . Right, the guy in the woods ... No, I don’t think you have anything to worry about, but I’m not taking any chances.... You stay strong, okay? ... I’ll see you real soon.”

Tom handed the phone back to Rainy. His eyes were burning with rage.

Now she got the shivers.

“Is your daughter all right?” Rainy asked.

“She’s scared.”

“You can help,” said Rainy.

“How?”

“Talk to me.”

“What’s this got to do with the FBI, anyway?” Tom said.

“Well, I was hoping you could tell me that,” Rainy said.

“I’m not playing games. Get specific, Agent Miles.”

“I want you to tell me how you came to know James Mann, and how you got the images the police found on your computer.”

“I don’t know a James Mann. And I don’t know what images anybody found.”

“Don’t make this harder than it needs to be, Tom,” Rainy said. “You know as well as I do that cooperation will be taken into consideration at sentencing.”

“I won’t be convicted. I’m not guilty of anything.”

“We have the images, Tom. Forty girls. Hundreds of images. Were the pictures taken with cell phone cameras?”

“I’m only speaking to my attorney.”

“We’ve got the computer logs that show a lot of cash payments. Did you get paid for sending these images?”

“Are you my attorney?”

“Did you coerce the girls into giving you these pictures? Were you having a relationship with all of them or just the one?”

“I’m only speaking to my attorney,” Tom repeated.

“How did you recruit the others in your ring? Craigslist? Some other message board? How many people do you have working for you?”

Tom said nothing. He’d gone statue on her.

Rainy sighed, pushed her chair back, and stood up from the table.

“Suit yourself. Last chance from me. Judges like it when a felon cooperates with the Feds. Doesn’t do you much good to put up walls, Tom. Why not just tell me the truth? I can’t promise you’ll do less time, but I’ll put in the good word. Tom, think about your daughter.”

Tom was looking down at his hands. He picked his head back up.

“She’s all I think about,” Tom said. “Look at me. I’m just a father desperately worried about my daughter’s safety. I’d cut a deal with you in a heartbeat if I could.”

A twinge of sadness, sudden and unexpected, overcame Rainy.

She had come to Shilo ready to extort Tom’s cooperation but was leaving with a new question.

Could this seemingly genuine and decent man really be so evil?

Chapter 29

“
Y
our lawyer’s here. Let’s go.”

Tom rose from a small cot pushed flush against the concrete wall of his eight-by-twelve jail cell. He rubbed his eyes, because somehow he had fallen asleep. He still wore his street clothes, but they’d taken his shoelaces and belt.

Two uniformed police officers stood guard outside Tom’s cell, while two others entered with shackles and handcuffs jangling from their hands. The officer putting cuffs on Tom’s wrists looked only a few years older than the kids in Jill’s class. The guy who secured his ankles was Rich Fox, the father of a girl he coached.

“What time is it?” Tom croaked.

“Eighty thirty in the morning,” Fox said.

“How long are you going to keep me here?”

“Hell, Coach, you’re gonna be here all weekend. Can’t get you an arraignment until Monday.”

“I have a daughter. She can’t be left alone all weekend.”

The shackles closed about his ankles with tiny clicks.

“Child services has been contacted. She’ll be fine. Worry about yourself right now, is my advice.”

Four officers escorted Tom out of his cell and down a long corridor.

Memories of his arrest lingered. The smell in the backseat of the police cruiser, skunk beer and cigarettes masked poorly by a pine tree air freshener, stood out above all others. What was it Murphy said between cackles from the police radio?
Not only are soccer players pussies, but they’re stupid pussies, too.
Tom said nothing in reply. He just stared blankly out the front window, through the grime on the Plexiglas divider, which made Murphy feel safe to taunt him.

They brought him to a room that looked similar to the one where the FBI agent had tried to pry a confession out of him. Only this room didn’t have a two-way mirror and wall-mounted cameras. At least here his conversations would be private. Here he still had some basic rights.

Tom took a seat and rested his handcuffed hands on the wood table. His lawyer would occupy the only other chair. Tom locked his fingers together and waited. He hadn’t hesitated about whom to call for representation.

Tom let out a relieved breath when Marvin Pressman stepped into the room. As before, the man’s rumpled suit appeared to have been slept in. Marvin hoisted his lawyer’s briefcase onto the table and took his seat across from Tom.