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Safe Room Ch. 04

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This story is part of an ongoing series. The chronological order of my stories is now listed in WifeWatchman’s biography.

Feedback and constructive criticism is very much appreciated, and I encourage feedback for ideas.

This story contains graphic scenes, language and actions that might be extremely offensive to some people. These scenes, words and actions are used only for the literary purposes of this story. The author does not condone murder, racial language, violence, rape or violence against women, and any depictions of any of these in this story should not be construed as acceptance of the above.

Part 16 – Red Crowbar, White Mountains

“This is Bettina Wurtzburg, KXTC Channel Two News!” shouted the lovely redheaded reporterette at 7:00am, Monday, May 8th, from in front of City Hall. “Channel Two News has learned that a complaint has been filed against the Town they’ll find something else to whine about and move on. But if we take this girl to Court, the story crops back up. And if they file a lawsuit, the story crops back up. So I am going to suggest taking that deal, but insisting that there not be a lawsuit against the Commander as well as the County.” All eyes went to me.

“I will not apologize.” I said clearly. “And there had better never, ever be an apology issued on my behalf. I will publicly humiliate anyone who attempts to do so.”

“Commander,” said the Chief, staring me down, putting on his most authoritative Cavalry Officer’s voice, “even if you think you did no wrong, you need to think about what’s in the best interest of this Police Force.”

“With all due respect, Chief,” I replied, my eyes boring right back into his, “I am acting in the best interest of the Force. Even if I wanted to, if I were to offer an apology, or one was offered on my behalf, they’ll use that against us. They will file the lawsuit, and say the apology is an admission of guilt. And they would win. No sir, I will not apologize. It’s up to the D.A. to decide to pursue or not pursue the charges, and to deal with Chase, Lynch neither could I. Where were you, Commander?”

I was incensed at being asked that so disrespectfully by a subordinate, and said “I was out of Town, Captain, on personal business. I informed my boss, the Chief, that I would be out of the jurisdiction, and I had no obligation to inform any subordinate Officer of my actions. I have nothing more to say about it.” I don’t know if it was the fire behind my eyes or my crowbar tapping in my hand, but Captain Briscoe said nothing more.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

But I do have an obligation to tell my readers where I was. After my meeting with Todd on Saturday, I went to City Airport and caught a flight to Boston, Massachusetts. Renting a Ford Mustang GT with a fast, powerful motor, I drove north, into New Hampshire.

It was evening as I arrived at my destination, a large mansion in the foothills of the White Mountains. I gave my name at the gate, and somewhat to my surprise I was admitted. Driving to the front of the house, I could see in the dimming light güvenilir bahis that the lawn and bushes were beautifully manicured. The garages were to one side, and in a shocking contrast to the peaceful serenity of the rest of the scene, an ambulance was parked there.

A butler, a tall slender man of my own height, but far more advanced in age, admitted me into the hallway, then led me through a couple of halls to a large room in the back left corner of the house. As I entered, I saw to my left a wall that was a huge lattice of windows, not unlike the Cabin’s back wall, with a view of Mt. Washington in the far distance. On the back wall were five large paintings of several men, the leftmost being a man in the uniform of a Confederate General, the others becoming progressively more modern. On a long shelf below the paintings were several porcelain urns, that held the ashes of most of these ancestors.

It was easy to see the others were descended from that General, and they were all antecedents of the man who had risen from his chair behind his desk.

“Ah, Commander Troy,” said Wallace Bedford, “I must admit that I am surprised and humbled that you have visited me here in my home.” He did not sound very humbled.

“I apologize for the intrusion, Mr. Bedford,” I replied, “and I will take up as little of your immensely valuable time as possible. I need to speak with a James Rutledge, formerly of my Town I don’t envy you your job.” I replied, to some chuckles amidst the enormous tension in the room. “But seriously, I recommend you wait and see if this girl shows up for her hearing. If she doesn’t, throw the book and the kitchen sink behind it at her. If she does and offers to plead ‘nolo contendere’, offer to reduce the charges to a misdemeanor, and go from there. If she pleads ‘not guilty’, then it’s up to you how far you want to negotiate, and to what.”

Part 17 – Not Well Prepped

Back in my office after that ridiculous meeting of politicians posing as Officers of the Court, I called in Cindy and Teresa for the ‘Angels’ meeting.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“I’m about ready to have Bettina put into a boxing ring with me.” said Cindy. “Blood will flow. What in the hell was that about this morning? That was the most dishonest piece of journalism I have ever seen.”

“It was right up there.” I said.

“Honest to God, Don!” Cindy exclaimed, unable to hold back. “You have solved some of the biggest crimes and taken down some of the worst criminals any County should ever have to see. You eliminated Pastor Westboro when no one else possibly could have, and you’re on the verge of taking down one of the worst national white supremacy groups in this Nation’s history. You’ve done all you can to make these people’s lives better and safer, and you’re the one sitting here with your back just about cut in two. And that bitch Bettina has the fucking nerve to make it sound like you are the fucking dirtbag criminal?”

“That’s the Press.” I said. “Totally dishonest, totally on the side of wrong. The side of right doesn’t get ratings.”

Cindy türkçe bahis did not want to hear that. “Don,” she said angrily, “is it really worth what you’ve gone through… your back, your three days of torture, your family almost killed several times… is it really worth it to go through this for that bitch reporter and people who just don’t care themselves?”

“Cindy, you okay?” Teresa asked Cindy, peering at her friend. That got Cindy to take a breath and calm down a bit.

“I dunno.” Cindy said dispiritedly. “I just see this guy in pain, then getting shit on by everyone.”

“I appreciate what you’re saying, and your feelings about it.” I said. “But it’s the cross we agreed to bear when we put these badges on our shirts. So… let’s get to work putting criminals in prison, particularly the ones that killed Tim Burris…

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“They’re here.” said Cindy at 10:00am. “Melissa Burris is in I-A, and Jeffery is in I-1. Both have their lawyers present.”

“Okay.” I said. “While we’re talking to Melissa in I-A, have Jeffrey brought to I-B. Post extra guards as needed.” Cindy left.

I went and got Joanne, Theo, Teddy and Jerome. Joanne was going to interrogate Melissa with me while the others watched in the anteroom.

Joanne and I went into I-A, where Tina Felton was waiting with her. As we sat down I said “Okay, Melissa, I am going to re-read you your rights.” I did so from the card, then held the card up to the videocamera that was recording the interrogation.

“Melissa,” I said, “did you volunteer for night shifts at the hotels you worked?”

“Sometimes.” said Melissa. “It’s quieter, easier.”

“You weren’t put on night shifts as punishment? For inferior work? Maybe for formal complaints against you based on racial issues?

“Trumped-up lies.” said Melissa.

“Several times?” I asked. “Forcing you to move to new jobs pretty constantly and quickly?”

“Some people don’t want to work when they’re told to.” Melissa said. “They use their race to get back at those of us who do try to work, and who ask them to actually earn their pay.”

“Have you ever been a part of, or supported, groups dedicated to white supremacy?” I asked.

“No.” said Melissa. “More crap made up by black employees trying to get ahead by gaming the system.”

“So maybe you realize that if blacks riot and start looting, like they did in the Watts riots, you might need a prepper plan?”

“No, just Police willing to use their Government Guns to shoot the (blacks) dead.” Melissa replied. Wow, I thought to myself. By the way, she didn’t use the word ‘blacks’, there…

“I see.” I said. “Okay, Melissa. No more games. No more lies. You knew about Tim’s prepper shelter under the house, did you not?”

“No.” said Melissa.

“Melissa,” I said, “lying to Police is a Class D felony in this State, carrying up to ten years in prison. Now I think you are lying to me, and I think I can prove it to a jury.”

“Do it, then.” Melissa said. Tina leaned over and whispered something to her. Then Tina güvenilir bahis siteleri said “That is not an admission of guilt.”

“Melissa, where were you on these dates?” I stated the various dates Tim’s logs had shown him to be doing shelter tests.

“I don’t remember.” said Melissa.

“Come on, Melissa.” I said. “You were in the shelter with Tim, weren’t you?”

“If you think that, prove it.”

“I will.” I said. “You actually put into your divorce complaint that Tim did not provide you adequate sex. You were so pissed at him for not giving you sex that you put it in the divorce complaint! Amazing!”

“And the point is?” asked Tina Felton.

“The point is,” I said, “that Tim would get so excited while doing prepper tests that that was the only time he was sexually aroused. Excuse the language, but he could not get it up any other time, which is why he had a Viagra prescription. But in that shelter, and especially with nothing else to do, he got hot and horny playing his little prepper/survival games. And since that was the only time you could get sex from your husband, Melissa, you were eager to go down there with him, so you could get him to make love to you.”

Tina was in shock, but I’d seen in Melissa’s eyes that I was very close to the truth, if not spot-on.

“And considering that Tim’s shelter was poorly constructed and just about worthless as a real emergency shelter for more than a day or two, sex was truly the only reason you had to go down there with him.”

“I’ve already made my statement concerning that.” said Melissa, showing some brains for once. “If you think it’s otherwise, you prove it.”

“Oh, I will. And furthermore to this point, Melissa,” I said, “we have some interesting data from the cellphone pings. Your cellphone disappeared from all cell towers in the Nation during those times Tim logged his shelter tests. That’s because you forgot to leave it upstairs, and took it down there with you.”

“Oh,” I continued, “we have Jeffrey’s statement that Tim completed his shelter about a year and a half ago, which corresponds to Tim’s log entries. And you had not left your husband then. I just have trouble believing you didn’t know about it… and so will a Jury.”

Melissa said nothing, just shrugged her shoulders.

“Oh, one other thing.” I said. “We’re still going through Tim’s logs. Do you think we’re going to find entries that you went to the shelter with him?”

Tina leaned over and whispered something to Melissa, then said out loud to me: “If you have proof like that, get an arrest warrant and let’s go to the hearing with it.”

“Okay, I will. Stay here for now.” I said. I got up and walked out, Joanne following.

“All right, let’s go see Jeffrey again.” I said. I went into Interrogation-B, finding Jeffrey with his attorney Bob Berry.

“All right, Jeffrey.” I said. “Let’s stop playing around. Melissa denies knowledge of Tim’s shelter, she denies knowledge of his activities, she’s all but putting it all on you. And you know what? You’ve admitted you knew about his shelter. You’ve admitted you were in there. You said you were an employee of the University Museum, but that’s only a transient, part-time position. Your recent trip to Europe was not paid for by the University, and we will find out who did pay for it.”

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