NO GOOD DEED (15 page)

Jim held the camera with his thumbs and first fingers. “It looks old. I don’t know much about cameras. What if I break it?”

“The thing looks like it’s made it through some rough times, I doubt a few pictures in the park will be the end of it.” Jessie slid her seat forward and started the car, pulling out when it was clear.

“Fine.” He turned the camera over. “Do I just push the button here?” Jim held his finger over one of the gadgets on top of the device.

“Yep.” She eased against the curb, stopping the car. “Here we are. Have at it.”

He sighed and exited the car; he had better things to do than take pictures. Hopefully there weren’t many exposures on the film. Might as well get started. The sooner he used it up, the sooner he could get do some more investigating. He had a few of Taylor’s friends he wanted to chat with before flying back to Charleston in the morning. Lifting the camera, he snapped a picture of Jessie as she came around to his side of the car.

He shot photos of trees, the slide, a swing, and even a butterfly that landed on a bench. Jim didn’t want to admit it, but it was kind of fun to try and find something to photograph. The goal was to simply take random pictures just to use up all the frames, but he couldn’t help trying to find interesting subjects. It seemed like such a waste to just point the lens anywhere and click the shutter button.

Jessie followed him, making suggestions, and when she mentioned taking a picture of a wildflower poking through the slats of a boardwalk surrounding the play area, he tried to suppress a grin. If the guys on his team could see him now, lying on his belly trying to get a good picture of a flower.

In fifteen minutes, he had used all the frames and handed the camera back to Jessie. “Well, that was fun,” he said, his voice dry.

She raised an eyebrow, the corner of her mouth quirking. “I think you need to get out more. It seems like you have a natural eye.”

Jim felt his face heat up. “I think you’ll discover differently when the pictures come back. They probably aren’t even in focus.” He sat on a bench, leaning forward with his hands loosely clasped, absently watching a couple of little boys have a sword fight with sticks.

Jessie sat beside him and rewound the film, taking it out when it was complete. She made a show of holding it up for him to see and putting it in the canister. Jim shook his head and hid a smile. Maybe he would buy a decent camera and learn how to use it. It had been fun.

He stood and twisted, getting a kink out of his back. “Now what?”

Jessie handed him the canister. “There. You keep it. I wouldn’t want you thinking I switched rolls somewhere. Maintain the chain of evidence and all.”

Jim rolled his eyes, but took the film. “Fine.”

“Now, we get it developed. I know a place that should be able to do it in a few hours.”

After dropping off the film, Jessie took him back to his hotel and agreed to pick him up after she got off work. They’d go together to get the prints. In his room, he dug out the numbers of Taylor’s friends and tried calling them. None were home, and he left a short message, saying he would get back to them later that day. Then, with nothing to do, he stretched out for a nap. It had been a long day already.

* * *

Jessie tapped on the glass counter. Jim felt a surge of apprehension and shook it off. Her nervousness was rubbing off on him. The same guy who had promised to develop the prints earlier came from the back room, a film envelope in his hand.

“Here you go.” He set the envelope down and looked from Jessie to Jim, his face twisted in disgust. “I know it’s police business, but there’s some seriously disturbing pictures in here.” He rang up the purchase. “Don’t you guys normally have your own lab people develop film for you?”

Jessie snatched up the envelope. “Yeah, but like before, this is a special case. We need to keep this quiet. Will that be a problem for you? I suppose we could go elsewhere if we need to...”

“Oh, no ma’am. I can handle it.”

Jim had to hand it to her, she had the young guy puffing up his chest, no doubt feeling important to be part of an ‘investigation’. Amused, he turned to Jessie, about to crack a joke about how awful his photography skills were if the photos scared the poor guy, but he bit the comment back when her face drained. “What?” He circled behind her to see the photo in her hand. “Damn it!”

Jessie swung around, her face twisted in fury. “Doing
this
to a person is how you keep our country safe?”

Jim snatched the print out of her hand to take a closer look. There was no mistaking what was going on. Taylor lay stretched on his back, cellophane pulled tight around his face except for his nose. A hand, just visible at the top of the picture, held a pitcher of water, the stream shone silvery as it poured onto the cellophane. The man’s eyes were wide with fear and the tendons on his neck stood out as he strained to get away. Sickened, Jim closed his eyes and swallowed.

Jessie glared at him and the guy behind the counter stood mouth agape at her comment. Jim sent him a hard look, then gripped Jessie’s elbow. “Can we take this conversation out to the car?”

She jerked her elbow free and marched ahead of him, slamming the door.

Jim took a deep breath and turned to the guy. “Look, I’m sorry you got involved in this.” Pulling his ID out, he flashed it in the young man’s face. “It’s imperative that you don’t tell anyone about what you’ve seen and heard. Understand?”

He nodded, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. “Sure. Not a word.”

“Good.” Jim grabbed the envelope of photos, exited the shop, and climbed in the car beside Jessie. The implication of what the photo meant sank in. At first, he had thought it was an old photo of the time they had water-boarded Taylor, but then he recalled that they hadn’t used cellophane. He hated that method, feeling like it was going too far. Bill was a fan of it though. Insisted it was a more compelling technique, very effective on the more reticent prisoners and had produced some actionable intelligence when he had used it on another detainee.

Jessie sat arms crossed, her face a mask of loathing as she watched him. Jim tried to form an explanation but couldn’t come up with one. “I just want you to know that I didn’t order this. I gave explicit instructions that Taylor was to be left alone until I returned.” He wasn’t sure why he wanted the woman to believe him. Even if he had ordered it, he had the authority to do so and didn’t need to explain his decisions to a civilian.

“So, you’re saying that you believe the photos weren’t planted?” Her voice rose, and for the first time, she looked at him like he was human.

Jim shrugged. “I don’t know what the hell is going on with this picture.” He hesitated, not wanting to admit to any of this. “The one time we did that, we used another... method. Maybe it wasn’t us.”

She narrowed her eyes, her tone skeptical. “Not you? What does that mean?”

“Taylor has a couple of agencies questioning him.” He was fairly certain that FBI didn’t waterboard, but sometimes guidelines were...bent. Maybe this was one of those times.

“Do all the others use this method as well?”

He’d hoped she wouldn’t think to ask that question. It was time to end the discussion before it went any farther. “Listen, I can’t discuss this with you.” It was bad enough that he was even here talking to her. He was in line for an official reprimand if his superiors found out he was talking to a civilian about any of this.

She raked him with a scathing glare and then stared out her side window. They sat in tense silence for about five minutes, and he had his hand on the door handle ready to step out, when she turned to lean against the door, tucking one leg up under her. “I’m not exactly sure how it works, but I think the picture comes first, then Mark has the dreams. Maybe it fills in the details.”

Jim suppressed a sigh. If she wanted to focus on the unlikely, no, make that the impossible, then he’d go along with it for now. At least it got her off the subject of methods of interrogation. He pulled out the photo, steeling himself. He wouldn’t cringe—not in front of her. He was used to seeing this kind of thing, but usually he was prepared and was able to detach from what happened to the subject. With Jessie sitting there, it was impossible to remain distant. For her, Taylor wasn’t a subject. He was a man, and not just any man, but someone she had feelings for. The fear and panic on Taylor’s face was palpable. “You think he’s going to dream this?” He held the picture up.

Shuddering, she looked away. “Maybe.” Jessie sighed. “I’m just not sure. I didn’t listen to him when he tried telling me.”

Jim sat back and stared out the windshield. Traffic whizzed by and horns blasted in the late afternoon rush hour. He rubbed his eyes. This whole thing was crazy. Magic wasn’t real. Everyone knew that. Magicians used sleight of hand and tricks. Religion wasn’t one of his things either and he had no idea what people would say about this. Most likely, no one would believe him if he tried to argue that Taylor did have a way to see the future. A rock formed in the pit of his stomach. No one would believe him, just like no one had believed Taylor. “I’ll see if I can change my flight home to an earlier one.”

“Does this mean you believe that he had nothing to do with 9/11? That Mark will be set free?” Jessie’s eyes opened wide, hope shining out of them.

He averted his gaze. There was too much hope in them. “I don’t know what I believe, but it’s beyond my control anyway. If I come to the conclusion that there’s not enough evidence to continue holding him, I can make that recommendation. I could try to convince the rest of the team. But that is the limit of my authority. I have to go through channels.” Jim took a deep breath. “ You should know how this kind of thing works. It’s not so different. People higher than me have the final determination.” There. He hadn’t promised anything.

The light in Jessie’s eyes fizzled. “I see.”

* * *

Mark tried to control his fear as he stood in the interrogation room, but his heart knocked against his ribs and sweat ran down his back. He locked his knees to keep the chains attached to the bolt in the floor from rattling. Jim wasn’t here, so maybe his dream had been wrong. Maybe it was a just flashback nightmare to when they had done the water thing to him before. He closed his eyes and as he recalled the details, bile burned his throat. Jim had been absent in his dream too.

Bill approached and Mark saw the same shaving nick on his chin that had been there in the dream. “I’m sorry Jim couldn’t be here with us today, but he had some business to attend to. I hope you don’t mind if I ask all the questions this time.” He smiled and paced in front of Mark, his expression amused.

“No, sir.” He hated all this small talk shit. His fear mixed with anger. What would they do if he said he did mind? Take him back to his cell? It was a sick game they played with him. “Just get it over with.”

Bill did a double take, his mouth dropping open. “Excuse me?”

Mark straightened as much as he could and looked him in the eye. “I know what you’re going to do. I dreamed it. So, let’s just get it over with.”

Eyes narrowed, Bill stepped right up to Mark and jabbed him in the chest with his finger. “Oh, you do, do you? Tell me about it.”

Mark opened his mouth to recount his dream, but snapped it shut. If he told them, he might change things. Sure, maybe he wouldn’t have the water poured in his face, but then what? This was his chance to prove what he said was true. “I can’t. Not yet. I...I could write it down for you, and put it in an envelope. You could seal it, and when we’re...done, you could read it.” He swallowed and tried to control his trembling. If he survived, he would have his proof.

Bill looked at the other men on the team. One guy shrugged, tore a sheet of paper off his pad, and slid it across the table with a pen. Bill grabbed them. “Fine. Let’s do that.” Pointing towards the eye bolt on the floor, he barked an order to the guards, “ Release that, but stand by.”

Relief at the chance and dread at what was to come, warred within him as he was shoved onto a chair. Closing his eyes again, he pictured everything. When it was clear, he wrote it as a quickly as he could, trying not to leave anything out. He told of the plastic wrap, and how the water had been ice cold. He recounted all the questions asked of him, and even a snide comment made by one of the guards when he’d called Mark a drowned cat. Bill would say how Jim would be sorry he’d missed all the fun. His hand shook as he wrote that part.

Mark wrote of how the water had run out by the time the guard had counted to forty-four and Bill had sent someone for more. He came back with a full pitcher, and Mark recalled the next nineteen seconds. How Jim had burst through the door. He didn’t remember any more of the dream, but hoped that would be sufficient. When he’d finished writing, he had filled the front and back of the yellow paper. An envelope was pushed across the table and Mark folded the sheet and tucked it in. His mouth was so dry, he had trouble forming enough saliva to wet the flap, but managed to seal it.

Bill made a show of taking a piece of duct tape and sticking the envelope to the wall where Mark would be able to see it as he underwent the interrogation.

The guards pulled him to his feet, and dragged him to the spot, stretching him out and strapping him to the board. The scene played out just as he saw it in his dream. Mark heard the rustle of the plastic, but before he could react, a guard ran the clear wrap over his eyes, tightened it around his head, brought it down over his mouth and continued winding until only his nose was uncovered. He gasped for air and the plastic tightened across his open mouth, forcing his lips against his teeth. Already feeling like he was suffocating, Mark tried to turn his head. The cuffs ground into the bones of his wrists and ankles. He struggled, unable to stop himself.

Mark gagged and gasped as the torment progressed. The counting by the guard filtered through his panic, the only thing he had to hold on to. When the count reached nineteen in the second round, the torment would end. One way or another.

His hearing faded and darkness crept into the edges of his vision. Jim leaned over him, his mouth moving, but Mark’s world faded.