The Dirty Secret (42 page)

“Because Jack is dead. Dead men have no constitutional rights, and the State must determine whether his death was criminal or accidental. Moreover, as executor of Jack’s estate, I’m authorized to obtain his records. Tabatha, on the other hand, is quite alive and protected by the Fourth Amendment. Thus, the State cannot access her private records under these time constraints without a search warrant.”

“Which requires ‘probable cause,’ huh?”

“Yep. And the circumstantial evidence alone doesn’t rise to that level.”

“Why can’t you just use that Power of Attorney again?” Dave asked.

“Because Jack is
dead
,” Rikki shot back. “When Tabatha signed the Power of Attorney, she authorized
Jack
to do certain things on her behalf; not me. The POA does me no good.”

Dave scowled. “What a pain! We’re almost certain Tabatha has been bribed, and there’s not a damn thing we can do because we can’t
prove
it. But how can we prove it if we can’t get access to her house or her email?”

“It’s a catch-22,” Rikki admitted.

The sound of footsteps approaching caused them to turn around just in time to see Magistrate Chuck Flowers stride into view. “I’m not interrupting anything, am I?” Flowers asked with a grin.

“Nah,” Rikki said. “I’m catching up on my backlog, and Dave graciously agreed to help me chip away at it while he’s in town.”

“Well, that’s thoughtful,” Flowers remarked. “I wouldn’t be here on Saturday afternoon, myself, if not for a mental hygiene petition. Some nut has voices telling him to cut his penis off with a steak knife. Now I’m supposed to figure out what to do with him, and I don’t think the Supreme Court would appreciate me asking him if he needs any A-1 sauce.”

“Probably not,” Rikki chuckled.

Flowers stuck his hands in his pockets. “I just figured I’d stick my head in and see what was up. You kids have fun. I’ll be downstairs dealing with crazy people if you’re bored.”

“Thanks, Your Honor,” Rikki called. A moment later the stairwell door slammed shut.

“I wonder why we didn’t hear that door open earlier,” Dave said.

“Probably because he was being sneaky,” she replied. “He may be a good Democrat, but he’s kinda
shifty
, if you know what I mean.”

Dave shrugged. “Seemed nice to me.”

“Yeah? Well, Luke Vincent appointed him to that position when another magistrate retired. Does that change your opinion?”

“He’s a lying, malevolent piece of cow dung, then. I’ll ask the sheriff to keep his one good eye on him.”

Rikki laughed loudly. “Twisted, twisted,
twisted
. What am I going to do with you?”

Dave cocked an eyebrow. “I’m just happy you’re
talking
to me again. Anything beyond that is gravy.”

***

Magistrate Flowers walked into his office, locked the door behind him and picked up his phone. After four rings, a man gruffly answered, “Hello?”

“Dick Bowen? This is Chuck Flowers up in Pleasants County. How ya doing?”

“Not bad. To what do I owe the pleasure of this call?”

Flowers leaned back, hoisting his loafers onto the desk. “I just overheard an interesting conversation in our prosecutor’s office. I don’t know what’s going on, and I don’t
want
to know what’s going on. But if anyone you know is trying to influence Tabatha McCallen’s vote on Monday, they should know what I overheard.”

“I’m all ears.”

CHAPTER 93

MARTINSBURG, BERKELEY COUNTY, WEST VIRGINIA
SATURDAY, DECEMBER 13, 2:25 P.M.

“The wife and daughter are away for the weekend,” Vasquez said. “That means the Boy Wonder is the only one home.”

Petrenko nodded. “It’s still daylight, but I say we go for it.”

“I agree,” Vasquez said.

As Petrenko reached for the door handle, his phone started playing the
Deliverance
theme. Vasquez looked confused.

“It’s Bowen calling,” Petrenko explained as he answered the call. “Hello, Dick.”

“Howdy, Yuri. I’ve got a bone to pick with you. You have a minute?”

“Now’s not a good time. Can I call you back?”

Bowen mumbled something, then said, “It’ll only take a minute, goddamn it.”

Petrenko clenched his jaw. “Fine. You have 60 seconds. Go.”

“If Senator Wilson’s campaign is still conducting operations in West Virginia, they’ll be more likely to succeed if I know about them, as I have access to certain resources that might remain unutilized if I’m outside the loop.”

“What’s he saying?” Vasquez asked impatiently.

Petrenko hit the mute button. “He’s whining and wants to know what’s going on.”

Vasquez scoffed. “Ha! Everything he’s touched has turned to shit. The hillbillies should step aside and let the Big Boys handle things.” Yuri nodded and unmuted the phone.

“The prosecutor thinks Tabatha McCallen has been bribed to vote for Senator Wilson on Monday,” Bowen continued. “I need to know if that’s the case. The prosecutor’s a Democrat, and I could call her and tell her to back off.”

“I appreciate your offer to help,” Petrenko asserted. “But access to our current operations is on a strictly ‘need-to-know’ basis. Unfortunately, you don’t meet that definition right now. If we decide your expertise in managing the local officials is needed, we’ll call.”

Bowen mumbled something again, a tad harsher this time. “It’s your dance card. I’m just trying to help. Don’t come crying if things go wrong.”

“I’ve been forewarned.” Petrenko hung up and turned to Vasquez. “You ready for this?”

Vasquez nodded. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Then let’s hit it. As the rednecks say, ‘
Time’s a’wastin
!’”

ST. MARYS, PLEASANTS COUNTY, WEST VIRGINIA
SATURDAY, DECEMBER 13, 3:30 P.M.

Rikki stretched out on her couch, facing the television. Her mother walked in and gently rubbed Rikki’s forehead. “How are you feeling, daughter?”

Rikki smiled wearily. “A little run down. But all things considered, not bad.”

Madhani walked around the couch. Rikki lifted her legs, giving her a place to sit. “As tired as you are, you haven’t been this lively and happy in a long time. This new job must agree with you.”

Rikki pondered the question. “That’s part of it, but I think it may also be due to how much I’m enjoying spending time with David again. It’s so strange, but I didn’t even realize how much I had missed hanging out with him and laughing until he reappeared in my life.”

Madhani beamed. “Have you told him how you feel?”

Rikki shook her head. “No. What would be the point? So much has happened between the two of us, and it’s been years since we dated. Besides, once this case is over, he’s heading back to D.C. to become Jonathan Royal’s chief of staff or something. It’s not like he’d come back to St. Marys just for me.”

Madhani patted her daughter’s thigh. “You’ll never know if you don’t ask.”

Rikki pursed her lips but said nothing. The awkward tension was punctured when the phone rang. The prosecutor swung herself off the couch and answered it. “Hello?”

“Madam Prosecutor,” Sheriff Vaughn greeted. “I’m looking out my back window and I see your car in the driveway. Why aren’t you at the courthouse fighting crime?”

Rikki chuckled. “Settle down, neighbor! I’m taking a break. Have you run down your buddy at the FBI?”

“Well … I’ve got good news and bad news.”

“Give it to me.”

“The good news is he’s willing to help us out. I’ll shoot you his email address so you can send him that picture.”

“Okay. And the bad news is?”

“He won’t be back in town until tomorrow afternoon,” Vaughn said. “In the meantime, keep your eyes peeled for Rooskies and let me know if you see any lurking around.”

“I don’t think I have to worry about anybody coming after me, Sheriff.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Vaughn shot back. “Never put
anything
past a Roosky.”

“Aye-aye, sir!” Rikki giggled.

“And stop hanging around Dave so much. I think that smart ass is rubbing off on you.”

CHAPTER 94

11 SUNNYSIDE CIRCLE
MARTINSBURG, BERKELEY COUNTY, WEST VIRGINIA
SATURDAY, DECEMBER 13, 4:45 P.M.

“You’re not as stupid as you look,” Vasquez sneered. “It took you a while to come clean about stealing this election, but I’m glad you wised up and cleared your conscience.”

Marcus Boley lay in a pool of his own vomit, moaning and coughing and clutching his testicles piteously. Petrenko kicked him in the crotch again for good measure. Marcus promptly cried out and dry-heaved again.

“No marks to the face,” Vasquez softly told Petrenko. “We want the world to know Mr. Boley is making this statement
voluntarily
. Isn’t that right, Boy Wonder?”

Marcus wallowed on the kitchen floor, struggling to breathe. Once oxygen returned to his lungs, he sobbed loudly but nodded.

“Good,” Vasquez said, strolling into the dining room. “Bring him in here and put him in front of the camera. We want this done quickly.”

Petrenko roughly grabbed Boley and dragged him into the dining room. Kicking him in the small of his back, Petrenko said, “Get up and sit down.
Now
.”

Boley slowly stood and Petrenko pushed him down into a chair at the head of the table. A digital camera connected to a small, sophisticated-looking microphone faced him.

Vasquez returned with a wet washcloth, a hairbrush, a towel and a freshly-pressed golf shirt. “Clean yourself up. It’s show time.”

Once Marcus was deemed presentable, Vasquez sat down within arm’s length of the camera. Petrenko burned holes into Boley with his eyes and cracked his knuckles.

“Are you ready to unburden your soul?” Vasquez asked wryly.

Boley glared at him, but nodded, placing his right hand on the table in front of him. It appeared to be fidgeting nervously.

“No funny business,” Petrenko warned, as he tapped the pistol holstered beneath his left armpit. “Just spill your guts and we’re out of here.”

Vasquez held up his finger, drawing Boley’s attention. After focusing the camera, he hit the remote and pointed directly at Marcus. “We’re rolling,” he mouthed.

“My name is Marcus Boley,” he said, his right hand quaking slightly as he pointed to his chest with his index finger, then slowly moved both of his hands downward and rested them on the table. “I am the Berkeley County Clerk. By my actions, I have illegally influenced the presidential election results, causing Governor Royal to be credited with hundreds of votes that were not cast. In so doing, I have thwarted the will of West Virginia’s voters and stripped Senator Wilson of five electoral votes she should have won.”

Vasquez de-activated the microphone with the remote. “I’m impressed. You
are
a quick learner. Now explain exactly how you deceived everyone, and we can let Congress decide how to deal with this mess.”

“And don’t forget, Boy Wonder,” Petrenko spat. “No doctors, no cops, no calls to 911. You can’t remember
anything
about the people who recorded your statement. Deviate from that script an inch, and not only will you watch me kill your wife and daughter; I’ll also tie down your sister, jam a gag in her mouth, then spend a week ass-raping her until she bleeds to death or dies from dehydration, whichever comes first.”

Right hand continuing to twitch, Boley’s lower lip quivered and he nodded twice.

“Now then,” Vasquez said. “Where were we?”

CHAPTER 95

ST. MARYS, PLEASANTS COUNTY, WEST VIRGINIA
SATURDAY, DECEMBER 13, 7:05 P.M.

“Your move, David.”

Dave scanned the chessboard, trying to figure out what trick his father had up his sleeve.
Why in blazes did he move that rook over
there
? Delicately fingering his knight’s head, Dave hesitantly lifted it from the board and moved it to another position without actually letting go of the piece. Seeing his dad begin to smirk, Dave reconsidered the move.

“You’ve been spending a lot of time with our new prosecutor,” his dad said without looking away from the board. “How’s that going?”

Dave scowled and asked, “What are you trying to do? Throw me off my game?”

“Like I’d need to
cheat
to beat you,” his dad guffawed.

Finally deciding he could safely move a bishop without imperiling his king, Dave did so. “It’s been good. She’s so witty and gregarious. We have a lot of fun together.”

His dad nodded, moving a knight toward the middle of the board. “That’s important. Everyone eventually gets old and fat. Life’s more tolerable if you enjoy the company of the person you’re with. God knows you never had that with your ex-wife.”

“You don’t have to remind me,” Dave muttered, staring at the board.
What the hell? What’s he trying to pull with that knight?
“I’m just glad that long national nightmare is over.”

Glancing over at his dad, Dave noticed he seemed to have virtually no stress in his life.
Did that stem from choosing the right mate? Or was he just lucky enough to be born that way?

“Tell me something, Dad.”

“Okay,” his dad replied, his fingers dancing atop a pawn.

“When you were dating Mom, did you ever do anything stupid?”

His father cocked an eyebrow. “Well, son …
Stupid
is a relative term. One man’s stupidity is another man’s highest level of intellectual functioning.”

“You know what I mean. Something you look back and say, ‘That was
boneheaded!
’”

“Well, would you consider breaking up with your mom ‘boneheaded?’”

Dave gasped. “Are you kidding me?”

“I’m afraid not. You see, we’d been dating about six months. I was young and feeling trapped, so I told her I needed my space and broke up with her.”

“Wow,” Dave remarked. “I had no idea.”

“Well, fathers don’t typically brag about their own stupidity. In any event, your mom handled it very maturely. No crying or screaming like a lot of women; she graciously wished me luck and went on her merry way.”