Vile blood, p.13
Vile Blood, page 13
“The officer asked about them. Their activities and where they were that night. The father said his son mentioned to him the next day that the girl had gotten a ride home after cleaning up the kitchen. He said his son told him they watched an NBA game on the TV in the den and didn’t hear Izzy leave.”
“They could have given her a ride home. Except she never made it home.”
“Uh-h-h.” It was clear this scenario hadn’t crossed Peterson’s mind yet. “I guess so, Cap.”
“Go on.”
“The old man said Bill talked a little bit about the game the next day. Mentioned the final score and the teams playing.”
“Is there anything in the notes indicating the father was a big basketball fan?”
“No. Nothing there.”
Husto rubbed his chin. “So, Bill made it a point to talk about it the next day. As if he and his buddy had really watched the game. A clever alibi. If it was an alibi. No other witnesses to know if they were at the house the whole time.”
Husto nodded.
“Okay, Peterson. I don’t know how useful the info will be yet. But there it is.”
“No bombshell, huh?”
“Sometimes it’s a real bomb. But it’s defective and doesn’t explode. Still a bomb, though.”
Peterson nodded back, not quite understanding the captain’s analogy.
CHAPTER 81
Husto had a talk with Chief Wilson, explaining what he had recently discovered.
Wilson sat back, a frown on his face, listening intently.
When Husto finished, he exclaimed, “We’re talking about a harebrained accusation of something that happened thirty years old against a sitting mayor, for Christ’s sake! Last time I checked he was still my boss!”
“I know. Not politically expedient, that’s for sure.”
“Hell, Cliff, the man could be making it all up, as far as we know. He’s facing probable jail time, and he’s desperate.”
“Yeah, I thought of that, Chief. But he knew the exact license plate of a vehicle that was owned by Smithson. I’m not a mathematician, but the odds of that are astronomical. Plus, he described the murder and rape in a highly believable way.”
Husto glanced out the window, chewing his bottom lip. “Look, none of this remotely rises to the level of verifiable evidence needed for the courtroom.” He looked back at Wilson. “But assuming it is true, the perpetrators have evaded justice for a heinous crime.”
“Another thing, Husto. The other man in the car might have been somebody else besides Jackson, right? This Smithson fellow didn’t tell you who that other person was, now, did he?”
“No,” Husto admitted. “But he was with Jackson at the Jackson home when the girl left for the night.”
“We also don’t even know if this particular girl was the victim in question. It’s all speculation and conjecture.” The chief stared at his second in command, shaking his head.
Husto was silent.
“All circumstantial and loosey-goosey, Cliff. Proceed with real caution on this one. You’ve got real fish to catch, not minnows you’re just gonna have to throw back.”
“Yes, sir. I wasn’t planning on doing any more on it. Just wanted you to know what I found. I like to keep you informed at all times.”
The chief’s agitation quickly abated. “Understood.” Wilson rapped the desk with his knuckles. “Besides. We have a similar murder case still staring us in the face we haven’t solved yet. Let’s get that one squared away before we worry about decades-old cold cases, shall we?”
“Yes, sir.”
He had his marching orders.
CHAPTER 82
The chief has a point.
Back in his office, Husto leaned back in his chair and mulled over the plethora of cases he and his men were handling. Dozens of new, yet-to-be-solved high-profile homicides and violent assaults arrived in his in-basket each month.
Major burglaries. Heists. Home invasions. All forms of theft, embezzlement, and white-collar crime that often included some form of violence, causing his teams to have to coordinate with the Cyber & Financial Crimes division.
Carjackings and automobile theft where physical assault occurred.
Some fraud and blackmail crossed over into his domain. All rapes and sexual assaults. Domestic violence and abuse. Huge drug raids and sexual predator dragnets in which his men assisted Narcotics and Vice, as needed.
A handful of key kidnapping cases every year. With the internet, cybercrime was becoming a bigger problem.
And incidents of international or domestic terrorism were on the rise, too.
CHAPTER 83
When the call came, the mayor was between meetings.
The last one had been a routine session with the city council. The next appointment was with KHOU CBS Channel 11. Specifically, to talk about how his ‘Business First’ policies differed from those of his opponents.
He hustled through the large lobby, nodding brisk greetings at people along the way, quickly shaking hands twice, before he found a deserted hallway.
“Listen! I don’t have time for this bullshit. I’m in the middle of a heated election right now. You deal with this. You put a stop to it. Or else. Understand?”
“But I can’t—”
“Shut up and listen! I don’t care what you do. Just make…it…go…away. Or make yourself go away.”
“Whadda you mean, Slick? We’ve been friends since junior h—”
Click.
Part Seventeen
Loser’s Grudge
CHAPTER 84
Someone had leaked to the press. Again. Specifically, to Jay Southerly.
Husto had another short and highly uncomfortable meeting with a furious chief. It had to be someone within his department or within the DMV. Or maybe Chuckie.
If they found out who, that person would be severely reprimanded at the least. Or more likely fired.
When Jay Southerly got hold of the salacious car plate info, he immediately researched who had been the closest friends of Smithson in high school and college. The mayor’s name had been among those that turned up. Soon, this new gossip was spreading like wildfire within the campaign staffs of White and Rodríguez. The rumors had reached the voters.
A vehicle belonging to Smithson had been possibly identified by an eyewitness as being present near the likely site and time of the murder of the infamous MBT Jane Doe some thirty years ago. And Jackson had cleverly been named one of Smithson’s closest friends at the time.
The newspaper article was intentionally vague. Careful to point out that not enough evidence was available to reopen the case or to press charges. Neither Smithson nor Jackson was alluded to have been present at the scene of the crime.
Just the car. Belonging to Smithson.
But the damage was done.
Again, Southerly was ‘scrupulously deceitful.’ He cast a sly net of suspicion without stepping over into slander.
The mere mention of Jackson’s name in an article about the infamous MBT Jane Doe unsolved case wreaked havoc with his campaign.
Husto called on Chuckie personally to ask if he’d been the snitch.
“No, Captain. I swear it on my grandmother’s grave. I didn’t know who the two guys were that night. I only knew what the license plate was. I read that article in the newspaper and was shocked like everyone else about the mayor’s name being listed. You know?”
CHAPTER 85
It seemed that the dirty, insinuating allegations about Jackson had only accelerated and multiplied in the two weeks since Smithson had talked to the police.
Purnell had even indirectly alluded to the rumors in her last TV spot. And Rodríguez, who had been making veiled suggestions about Bill’s character and policies for months, used the MBT Jane Doe angle to great effect. The story gave him extra ammunition.
Bill Jackson’s seemingly safe lead of five months ago had already begun tightening as August and September had worn on. Now, though, with the shocking revelation about his friend’s car being spotted at the scene of a notorious murder, it was rapidly disappearing.
Completely.
Right in front of his disbelieving, enraged eyes. All within a seven-day span.
And the voting precincts opened tomorrow morning.
CHAPTER 86
Tuesday, November 3
The election was tight. Too damn tight! Especially after all the months of intense campaigning and well over a million dollars spent. Or nearly a million and a half spent, to be exact. Forty percent more than he’d spent on his first campaign.
In the meeting room located in the back of the huge hall, Bill Jackson was cursing under his breath as he watched the returns coming in. The midsized room functioned as his inner sanctum, the command center, with all his senior advisors and campaign leaders surrounding him.
He’d always felt hosting his campaign headquarters by using the mayoral office and rooms at City Hall was a bad idea. He needed to be insulated from councilmen and their staffers and other eavesdroppers there, many of whom would be glad, he sourly believed, to see him lose.
“How the hell did that plain-looking dyke, with not an original idea in that pea brain of hers, ever get ahead of me? Shit!” He turned around to shake his head angrily at Mayhill, his campaign manager. Mayhill acknowledged his boss’s glare with a defensive shrug.
Jackson continued ranting to himself. “She’s got no fucking personality. Talks in a damn monotone. Like it’s all memorized. No ability to speak at all, off the cuff. Bullet points and spreadsheets are all she knows.”
“William, please,” whispered his model wife, standing slightly behind him. She looked around quickly at the campaign staffers standing next to them and beamed her perfect Pan Am smile, reassuring them that, of course, her handsome, successful husband would be victorious. Once again.
How could he not be, with a woman like me beside him? she smugly believed.
“A glorified bean counter with a dress and lipstick on,” he grumbled some more, this time in a softer voice.
Yeah. It shouldn’t have been this close, he fumed.
Not after nearly three thousand volunteers had gone house to house in key voting areas. Done so every weekend in October. Knocked on doors. Left flyers forced into the hands of the residents, or placed inside mailboxes, or hung around doorknobs.
Not after all the programs and innovations he’d somehow gotten passed through a mostly uncooperative city council in just his first term. And there was so much more he wanted to do. So much left undone in his agenda!
‘Vote Jackson. The safe choice for a return to prosperity.’ That’s what the headline on the little leaflets proclaimed.
The mayor sat, tired, a bit dejected, watching the election news and getting reports from his campaign team as the long day drew to its close.
He’d had an early lead in the morning.
But by midafternoon, his female opponent, Abigail Purnell, had taken the lead.
Outside the campaign meeting room, in the large public auditorium beyond where his rank-and-file supporters had gathered, Mayor Jackson was all smiles and fearless enthusiasm and platitudes when he made his appearances.
However, as the final votes came in, Purnell held the lead at 32 percent. Jackson was second at 29.3 percent. Rodríguez came in third at 27.5 percent. And the rest of the votes were distributed among the two other candidates.
CHAPTER 87
Wednesday, November 4
There would be a runoff.
A runoff between incumbent Mayor Bill Jackson and the current city controller, Abigail Purnell. Saturday, December 12.
Damn!
The mayor started the morning in a bad mood. Of course, he knew there would have to be a runoff with no candidate getting fifty percent or more of the vote. But hearing the announcement officially on the news had made him explode.
The call came in at 11:42 a.m. to the mayor’s office. When Jackson found out who was calling, he immediately bugged out of the meeting just beginning and hurried back to his office to take the phone.
“Good morning, Mayor.” The voice was unusually upbeat and friendly.
“Yes?” The few seconds he waited until the voice spoke again felt like an eternity.
He still held out hope of grinding out a win with the help of many of the supporters of the number-three candidate voting for him. After all, he was a family man, had real business experience before entering politics, and was (in his mind) a proven leader.
Versus the lesbian with no business bona fides.
“I’ve thought it over, Jackson. Prayed about it. Long and hard last night. And again, this morning.”
The mayor held his breath. “Yes?”
“And I’ve decided to throw my support to Abigail.”
He…he just called her by her first name! The asshole!
“In my mind, she has a lot more character and ability than you do. It’s the best choice for the citizens of our great city. And I’m sure voters will be of the same mind come December twelfth.”
“You’re one sorry-ass son of a bitch, you know t—”
Rodríguez had laughed, then hung up.
Rodríguez publicly announced his support for Abigail Purnell in a widely watched televised concession speech broadcast on the evening news.
In the aftermath, Jackson tripled his advertising spending over the remaining five weeks and doubled down, touting his business experience and results. His campaign team pulled out all the stops. He personally called in all the remaining chips from old associates and allies to promote his reelection with all the resources at their disposal.
Would it be enough?
CHAPTER 88
November 5–December 11
The state’s unemployment rate had risen to 8.3 percent in October, up from 5.2 percent a year ago.
The political party in power always received the blame when times were tough. Now a nationwide recession was going on. And the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina, including the devastating flooding, saw as many as 250,000 people from New Orleans land in Houston after the disaster.
Some 111,000 were still in Houston a year after the storm, and the number returning to New Orleans had slowed to a crawl in the intervening years.
Mayor Jackson knew it would be a tough political battle.
CHAPTER 89
December 12
He lost.
The lesbian won.
There would be hell to pay!
CHAPTER 90
Saturday, January 2, 2010
Jackson sat stewing in the immaculately appointed spacious office he had set up in his house. The door was shut. Strict instructions had been given to both his wife and the one daughter still at home to give him some privacy and quiet.
He didn’t blame his loss on himself. Oh, no! Based on his many positive political accomplishments and pristine public behavior, he hadn’t done anything wrong.
It was all that damn gossip. Base innuendos. Unproven, unsavory accusations.
In the eyes of the law, which should be all that really mattered, he was as pure as a newborn babe. Innocent until proven guilty.
That was the way it was supposed to be.
He thought back over his life, slowly sipping at the rather large tumbler of iced whiskey. Touching on events that had shaped his destiny, for good or for bad. His desires both filled and unfulfilled. Past connections. The fateful years at Harvard. His business and career ever since.
Now he felt his life was ruined.
Ruined by betrayal.
All his efforts coming to naught.
His mood became blacker the more he drank and brooded. Finally, he decided on a course of action.
Yes. It was the only way. The more he thought about it, the more he became convinced.
And then?
Then…he could start fresh. A new chapter. Reinvent himself, if necessary.
His immediate prospects might have been dimmed. But his future still glistened with possibilities.
He was a fighter, he told himself.
CHAPTER 91
Monday, January 4, 2010
How best to proceed?
He cackled with pleasure. The first stage of his plan had succeeded far better than he had imagined. But now it was time to take the final step.
He might use his agent again. He had more than enough money to make it attractive for the greater risk involved.
He’d used him before. He might trust him. One more time.
Or he had other assets at his disposal. Or he could even take care of it personally.
Yes, this was a delicate operation. The last step had to be planned out to the nth degree. After all, this wasn’t just some two-bit whore. It was a man of means. A well-known individual within his community and business circles.
He smiled with grim satisfaction.
Hell was coming.
Part Eighteen
Cat and Mouse
CHAPTER 92
He’d made up his mind.
He would handle it. Personally.
He might still involve his man. But so much more satisfying if he did it, he thought. That way he would know for certain the deed was done and finished. Forever.
Vengeance would be so sweet.
Plus, that way, if anything happened, it would be his associate who would likely be linked to the act. Just in case. He was glad he’d checked the schedule. That meant no hard alibi.
If the authorities found anything, it would be his word against the other’s.
