Helpless (29 page)

Marvin didn’t flinch. “What is it you want me to do, Tom?” he asked.

Tom gave a pitiable laugh and threw his hands up in the air in a show of defeat. “You’re my
lawyer,
Marvin. What is it I want you to do? I want you to prove that I’m innocent, that’s what.”

“And if we lose? Are you ready to face that possibility?”

“We’re not going to lose,” Tom said. “Because you’re going to fight for me and we’re going to win. If it’s not Lange setting me up, then we need to figure out who else it could be. When I was a SEAL, I never went on a mission believing I was going to fail. I went knowing with every fiber in my being I was going to succeed. This is a battle I can’t lose, Marvin. I need to know that you’re going to fight for me. I need to know that you’ll take this all the way.”

Tom’s eyes narrowed on Marvin. The pencil spinning about Marvin’s fingers fell to the floor. Marvin held Tom’s hard-edged stare with his own unblinking eyes. Then he smiled.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” Marvin said.

Tom let go of the breath he’d been holding. “So what’s our next move?”

“Well, police brought the FBI into this case,” Marvin said.

“So?”

“So, I suggest that we do the same.”

Chapter 43

T
he Shilo Wildcats won the Thursday night football game against Cumberland by a score of 37 to 17. Rainy Miles hadn’t come to watch football, though. She’d come to talk with Tanner Farnsworth.

After the game, she spotted Tanner in the parking lot, hanging out by a red Mustang.

Nice car,
she thought.

Tanner was out of shoulder pads and into his street clothes. He was also surrounded by a group of a dozen or so other teenagers. As a collective, the group seemed to be competing with each other for top prize in the Most Uninterested Teen contest.

Dressed in dark jeans and a suede jacket, Tanner radiated the sort of magnetism that drew the girls’ glances and kept the boys hovering nearby. He was tall, well built, and handsome, coolly detached in a way that suggested he was the leader of this pack. Through her investigative work, Rainy had seen her fair share of boys like Tanner Farnsworth. One of them had passed around a naked picture of Melanie Smyth.

Rainy stepped out from the shadows and approached the group. Their expressions all said, “You’re not thinking of talking to us, lady.” But as she neared, that hostility dimmed as one by one they stopped paying attention to her. It was as if by tuning out this stranger, they had somehow become invisible to her. Of course they hadn’t. They just wanted to be.

“Are you Tanner Farnsworth?” Rainy asked. She tried to sound friendly, but years spent arresting people tainted most everything she said with a hint of menace. The other boys took a few cautious steps in retreat, leaving an island of space around her and Tanner. He was tall, and Rainy had to crane her neck to make eye contact.

“Who are you?” Tanner asked.

“Agent Loraine Miles. I’m with the FBI.”

Rainy flashed her badge and studied Tanner’s expression for any sign of a tell. Rapid blinking. Head turning. Eyes averting her gaze. A hand to the face, throat, or mouth, some reflexive gesture to scratch away the invisible itch of guilt. Tanner did none of those things. Even so, Rainy’s internal radar blinked out the word
creep
like a neon sign.

“Weren’t you at our school?” Tanner said.

Tanner produced a cocky smile that Rainy disliked intensely. It suggested that he recognized her as an adversary, and that awareness brought him a degree of pleasure.

“Yes, I was,” Rainy said. “I’d like to talk with you about Lindsey Wells.”

Tanner’s cocky armor began to crack. “What about her?” he asked.

Rainy had already sent a preservation request to Tanner’s cell phone provider. Any evidence against him would remain on the servers.

“Are you two dating?”

“We were,” Tanner said. “She dumped me. I guess she prefers older men.”

“When did she dump you?” Rainy asked.

“A couple days ago. Are you here to investigate why we broke up?” He smiled a wry, unpleasant grin. The boy’s arrogance was as repulsive to her as what she now believed he’d done with Lindsey’s pictures.

“Did Lindsey Wells send you any pictures of herself?” Rainy asked.

“What sort of pictures?”

“You know what sort of pictures, Tanner. Ones she’d want only her boyfriend to see.”

“No,” he said.

“Would you be willing to submit to a consent search?”

“What’s that?”

“Something that would let me check your phone. See what information and communication you’ve got stored there.”

“I don’t think I would.”

“No. I didn’t think you would, either. Did you encourage her to take pictures of herself and send them to you?”

“Nope.”

“Do you know that constitutes a crime in the federal system? You could go to jail. Or were you one of those boys who weren’t listening at my talk?”

“I was listening,” Tanner said.

Rainy could see that she’d punched another small hole through his defenses. She was within her legal rights to question Tanner, a minor, without his parents present. But she wondered how much more she could press him before he figured out he was under attack and asked for a parent or attorney to be present. In truth, she’d love for that to happen. It became harder to hide the truth once a suspect officially entered the system.
Go ahead and lawyer up,
Rainy thought as she decided to push ahead with the informal interview.

“So if you were at my talk and listening, you’d remember how much hard time you’ll do. Fifteen years. Maybe more. And that you’ll be registered as a sex offender.”

“What is it you want from me?” Tanner asked.

“The truth. Any idea why Lindsey thinks that you did something with those pictures?”

“You’re the cop.”

“FBI.”

“Whatever.”

“So, any ideas?”

“I told you, I don’t have a clue. She dumped me, remember? If she said anything to you about any pictures, it was probably just to get back at me. Don’t ask me for what. I’m not the one getting Tom-a-Hawked.”

Rainy grimaced. “I’m assuming that’s your crude euphemism for sex,” Rainy said.

“Euphe-what?”

“Never mind,” Rainy said with a dismissive wave.

Two people approached Rainy and Tanner from the right. One was an older man, tall and handsome, the way an ex-athlete might look years after the glory days. The other was a boy near to Tanner’s age. They looked too much alike for them not to be father and son.

“What’s going on?” asked the man.

“Hey, Mitchell, Mr. Boyd,” Tanner said. “This is an agent from the FBI. She’s asking me about Lindsey.”

The older Boyd’s unflinching expression would have befit a statue. The younger one’s appearance was much edgier than Tanner’s: short hair with gelled spikes, a silver cross earring in his right ear.

“What’s up with Lindsey?” Mitchell asked. The boy’s expression darkened the way threatening clouds dim a sunny day.

“This is a private matter between myself and Tanner. It doesn’t concern anybody else.”

“Well, did he tell you what you wanted to know?” The older Boyd placed a hand on Tanner’s shoulder. “Tanner’s like family to us. If he’s in any trouble, I’d like to know.”

“Tanner’s a big boy,” Rainy said. “He knows what trouble he’s in.”

Roland stayed quiet for a long second. The kids circled around them again. Anyone watching from a distance would have expected to hear shouts of “Fight! Fight!” coming from the circle’s perimeter.

Roland unexpectedly extended his hand. “Forgive my manners,” he said. “My name is Roland Boyd. This is my son Mitchell.”

Rainy shook Roland’s hand. His grip was strong; the handshake professional.

“Well, if there is anything we can do to help with your efforts, you just let us know.”

“I sure will,” Rainy answered.

Something about the conversation struck Rainy as peculiar. Tanner didn’t come across as someone with a great deal of respect for Coach Hawkins. He sure as heck didn’t sound like an underling talking about the boss who allegedly paid him good money for naked pictures of Lindsey Wells.

Chapter 44

F
or several tense moments, nothing was said. Rainy had to get her audio recording equipment running. This session would be taped. She got approval from the front office to record it because the AUSA assigned to the James Mann case wasn’t available to hear it first hand. Marvin had to agree to let Rainy record the session before she even considered the drive north. In exchange, Marvin promised no legal maneuverings that might delay the federal deposition of Tom Hawkins in connection to their case against James Mann.

“We both have something to gain,” Marvin had told Tom when explaining why Agent Miles was willing to participate in the discussion.

“Just a reminder that we’re on the record here,” Rainy said after she positioned the microphone closest to Tom. The digital recorder’s red light blinked in front of Tom in a threatening way.

She still wants to intimidate me,
Tom thought.

“I’ve got nothing to hide,” Tom said.

“You understand that everything you say here could be admissible in a court of law?”

“Understood,” Tom and Marvin answered together.

Rainy nodded subtly. “What is it you’re looking for from the FBI?” she asked Marvin. She rolled the sleeves of her jacket up to her elbows. Tom noticed that she wasn’t wearing any rings.

“You suspect my client has somehow supplied material to a person or persons being brought up on federal child pornography charges.”

“I’m not here to discuss my caseload,” Rainy said. Tom saw the patience and interest drain from her eyes. “You said you had information for me,” she reminded Marvin.

“Have you done a time line of the two cases?” Marvin asked her.

“Not sure what you’re getting at.”

“I’ve reviewed a lot of the D.A.’s discovery materials,” continued Marvin. “Forty girls, ten from Shilo. Tom personally knows some of those girls, but not all of them. How did he get these girls to give him their pictures?”

“No evidence exists to prove that he couldn’t have procured the images in question,” Rainy said. “There is plenty of evidence to suggest that your client is in violation of numerous federal laws specific to child pornography material. Now, if your client is interested in working with the federal government, perhaps we can help to broker a deal with the state.”

“Deal?” Tom said.

Rainy ignored Tom, directing her attack toward Marvin. “You know we haven’t ruled out federal charges against your client, either—”

“But isn’t that double jeopardy?” Tom interrupted. “You can’t be tried for the same crime twice. Can you?”

“Double jeopardy has a separate sovereigns exception,” Marvin explained. “In the American federal system, states and the federal government are considered separate sovereign powers.”

“At this time,” Rainy continued, “the quantity and nature of material found in your client’s possession haven’t generated enough federal interest to pursue the matter independent of the state’s case against Mr. Hawkins. But that could change—quickly, too. Like the direction of the wind.”

Marvin smiled at Rainy, who was seated directly across from him. Tom disliked the feeling that he wasn’t even a presence in the room, but he was even more curious about where Marvin was taking this conversation. Instead of objecting, he remained a silent observer.

“I’m not here to get my client into any trouble with the federal government,” Marvin said. “You’re free to depose him for your case. I already promised you no legal tap dancing there. But when you do depose him, he’ll tell you what he’s been telling me from the get-go.”

“Which is?”

“That he’s being framed for something he didn’t do,” Marvin said.

“What are you asking me to do here?” asked Rainy.

“All I’m asking is that you look at this case through different eyes.”

“Such as?”

“For starters, don’t you think it’s a little too convenient that you bust James Mann, and a few days after you come to Shilo, you bust his supplier? I would think that would give a seasoned investigator such as yourself a moment’s pause.”

“Is that what you think?” Rainy said.

“Do you know what the longest hitting streak is in baseball, Agent Miles?”

“Joe DiMaggio,” Rainy said without hesitating. “Fifty-six games.” She looked at both men, who seemed genuinely surprised by the quickness of her answer. “My mom got me into baseball,” she explained.

“Well, the probability of that streak happening again has been mathematically proven. Guess how many years, statistically speaking, it will take before a streak like that happens again?”

“Fifty?” Rainy said.

“Try five hundred,” Marvin replied.

“And your point is?”

“The probability of your coming to a small town like Shilo to make an ID of a girl and days later uncovering the supplier is more remote than that streak being broken in our lifetimes. That’s what I think.”

Rainy shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t see how baseball and the case against Mr. Hawkins—”

“Tom, please,” Tom interrupted. He wanted Rainy to use his first name so she’d be more inclined to view him as a person, not just a case. Rainy, in response, flashed Tom a look as if to say he’d always be Mr. Hawkins to her.

“I don’t see how baseball and the case are related,” Rainy finished.

“I’ve done some digging of my own into James Mann,” Marvin said. “The guy was about to become president of a major pharmaceutical company. Seems as unlikely a person to be procuring these images as my client is to be distributing them. That just makes it even more bizarre. Three times more unlikely to happen than the next DiMaggio, I’m willing to bet.”

“There is no typecasting for these crimes. You know that.”

“No, but there is instinct. And I’m asking you to keep an open mind here. These men don’t even know each other.”

“The Internet makes friends out of strangers all the time,” said Rainy. “Look, I appreciate what you’re trying to do, Mr. Pressman. I realize that it’s your job to believe in your client’s innocence. But we’ve looked at the evidence against Mr. Hawkins. One of the top computer analysts in my squad even helped your computer forensic guys crack the encryption code.”