Chapter 12
The hospital parking lot and lobby were crawling with reporters and television news crews. The attempted assassination of a member of Congress and presidential candidate was international news. The head of the FBI's field office in Orlando had scheduled a press conference for three that afternoon and Sven had suggested that Melissa should be there. Speaking to the press was the last thing Melissa wanted to do; but Sven was right, of course, someone had to represent the family.
Besides, it was not as if Jake would be left all alone. There were four other people in the recovery room with him right now and more waiting to get in. Hospital policy stated that only two people at a time, and only family members, could be in the room. However, given that the Turners donated most of the money to build the new surgical wing, exceptions were made. Melissa told Jake she would be back in half an hour or so, kissed him, and walked out with Sven.
When Melissa left his room, Jake turned his full attention back to his visitors. Right now, JJ, Mikayla, his mother Helen, and his youngest sister Julia were crowded around his bed. After repeatedly reassuring them that he was fine, everyone except Mikayla left and the next bunch trooped in. Debbie was in the second batch of visitors, hanging back while Jake regurgitated his "I'm fine - really", spiel. After fifteen minutes of well-wishes, the crowd shuffled out. Jake asked Debbie to stay and for Mikayla to give them a moment alone. Mikayla nodded and slipped out of the room. Jake was beginning to worry about his daughter's somberness.
"Are you okay, Debs?"
She gave him a puzzled look, "I'm fine, not a scratch."
"No, I mean are you alright inside, do you need to talk to someone about having had to kill Kingston."
Debbie finally got what he was dancing around.
"I protected my brother today. If you are asking if I feel any remorse for killing that asshole, the answer is no. My only regret is that I wasn't facing towards the couch when he walked in. I feel sad that Gail died, but I'm beyond happy that you are alive. I don't know why, Jacob, but since you woke up from that coma, your safety has been very important to me, almost an obsession. The older we get the stronger that feeling is."
Jake nodded; he had the feeling that some kind of Buckley genetics was at work here. He would have to ask Colleen about it.
"You saved my life, Debs, that's a big debt that I owe you."
Debbie gave him her devilish grin, reached down, and squeezed his penis.
"As soon as you're well, I'll figure out a way for you to pay me back."
Jake laughed and shook his head - so much for his worrying about her being traumatized by the experience.
In the Hospital's small auditorium, it was standing room only. Only one television camera had been allowed in the interview room. The single camera was providing the live feed for all the television outlets while the individual reporters sat furiously scribbling notes.
Special Agent Darren Flack, the chief of the Orlando FBI field office, opened the press conference. Agent Flack identified himself then gave a condensed version of the events of the day:
"This morning, a member of Jacob Turner's campaign staff attacked Congressman Turner and his Chief of Staff, Gail Martin, with a small caliber handgun. Bernard Kingston, the assailant, fired three shots before he was shot and killed by one of the congressman's security personnel. The assailant's bullets struck both the Congressman and Miss Martin; Miss Martin subsequently died from her wounds. Kinston was apparently acting on his own and a motive has not yet been established for his actions.
"Doctor Dribs, the attending physician, will next brief you on Mister Turner's condition. A spokesperson for the family will speak after the doctor; then I'll open the floor to questions."
Doctor Dribs used five minutes to sum up Jake's injuries and the procedures he had undergone. Dribs stressed that Jake's wounds were not life threatening, that he had suffered no long-term damage, and that the prognosis was for a rapid, full recovery.
Melissa's comments were equally short. She thanked Dribs and the rest of the hospital staff, said she knew of no reason for Kingston's actions, and expressed her deepest sorrow for Gail's death.
"Gail Martin was more than just Jacob's Chief of Staff. She and her family have been a part of our family for over twenty years. Gail was a marvelously intelligent and caring person. Our hearts go out to her parents and her brother."
Special Agent Flack was parsimonious with details during the question and answer session. The reporters departed the press conference grumbling about the dearth of information. Contrary to their suspicions, though, Flack was really not withholding much. He hoped that a search of Kingston's home in Atlanta would help establish a motive and the possible involvement of others in his assassination plot. Flack was convinced that Kingston had acted alone, but without some proof, protocol required that the idea of a conspiracy had to remain a possibility.
When Melissa arrived back at Jake's room, he was sleeping peacefully. Helen was sitting beside the bed thumbing through a magazine. The two women embraced then slipped out into the hallway to talk.
"Mikayla asked if she could stay at my place for a few days," Helen said.
"I suppose that would be best, the police won't allow the family room to be cleaned until after they finish their investigation. That might take another three days. Are you up to having her under-foot for a while?"
Helen nodded. "It will be good to have her at the house. She can ride to school with Joseph or Julia. I'll take her back to the ranch and let her pack up what she needs for a week."
Melissa and Helen hugged again, then went to round up Mikayla.
Jake woke up at five-thirty, his head clear but throbbing. His shoulder was also hurting, alternating between a deep ache and a stabbing, burning pain. When he groaned Melissa bolted out of her chair to see about him.
"What's the matter, honey?" she asked.
"My head hurts and someone stuck their old sweat socks in my mouth," Jake grumbled.
Melissa laughed and pressed the nurses' call button. She poured him a glass of water and helped him sit up so he could drink.
"The nurse said that you had pain medication waiting for when you woke up. The nurse is very nice; I think you'll like her."
Jake shrugged; then he winced as the gesture sent a stab of pain through his right shoulder.
"I don't care if she is Attila the Hun, I'm gonna love her if she brings me some aspirin," Jake replied.
Jake had his head turned towards Melissa and did not know the nurse was already in the room when he made his last comment.
"You already love me, but I brought you some Percodan anyway," the nurse said with a laugh.
Jake slowly turned his head towards her, a big grin on his face. He knew that voice in this setting; it was the first voice he heard when he woke up twenty years ago. Sara Nelson (formerly Sara Douglas) leaned down and kissed his cheek then handed him a medicine cup with a few pills in it.
"Take these, then we'll chat," she said.
Jake gratefully swallowed the pills, not even asking what else he was taking beside pain medication. Sara whipped out a digital thermometer, efficiently slid a new sterile sleeve on the probe, and slipped it between Jake's lips. Jake looked her over while they waited for the thermometer to beep. Sara was in her early forties; it had been at least fifteen years since he had seen her last. She was still pretty and, even though she was wearing a smock and slacks, her figure appeared to be even plusher than as it had been in the seventies. She still wore her auburn hair long twisted into an elaborate braided bun. Sara knew he was checking her out; she gave him a little smile.
"Not the sweet young thing you remembered - am I?" she said.
The thermometer beeped. Sara looked at the readout onto the display and held it so Melissa could see.
"Ninety-nine, good enough to get you unhooked from the IVs and into a regular room. I'm going to get an orderly to help move you. We'll talk later." Sara said.
Melissa told Jake she was going home to shower and pick up some clothes for the night. She kissed him and said she would be back in a few hours.
"Muffy, you don't need to stay here tonight, I'll be fine."
Melissa patted his cheek. "Silly man, do you think for a minute I'd let you be alone?"
Sara unhooked Jake from the IVs; an orderly helped him into a wheelchair and rolled him to the elevator. It was visiting hours and the elevator was half full of people. Jake was mortified that he was naked under the gown, only a towel kept his bare ass from sticking to the chair's vinyl seat. He sure hoped his wife remembered to bring him some underwear.
Sara efficiently set Jake up in his new digs; in minutes, he was comfortably in bed watching the news. Or rather, watching himself, he was the news that night, the lead story on every network. Because there were few facts to go on, the news people were speculating wildly about a motive for the attack. A couple even suggested that Gail might have been the intended victim, that Bernard was a spurned suitor. Jake had seen enough; he clicked off the remote. Jesus, Gail was dead, she had sacrificed herself to protect him. The thought of that make him feel like shit. Jake was grateful for the interruption when Sara brought in his supper tray.
"Can you stay while I eat? I'm starved but I want to talk to you," Jake asked.
She could; she pulled a chair up next to the bed. They chatted, Jake forcing himself to eat slowly.
"How come you're up here now and were in the Recovery Room earlier?" Jake asked.
"I'm the Chief Nurse, I go where I'm needed. The administrator asked me to make sure you were being taken care of."
Jake nodded his understanding. "Now the big question: Why did I have to get shot in order to see you?"
Sara laughed and said, "I've only been back in Palmdale a few weeks. I was going to call you as soon as I was settled. Then your father passed away. I didn't want to bother you while you were dealing with that. Jacob, I'm sorry about your Dad. He always treated me as if I were part of your family; I loved him for that."
"Okay, I'll buy that; but next time I won't take any excuse. Do you mind if I ask why you are back?"
Sara shrugged her shoulders. "I don't mind; you have a right to know I guess. After all, you got Brian and me together in the first place."
She told Jake her story.
"Things were wonderful for us after we married in the summer of seventy-two. Brian was everything that I expected a husband to be. Brian coached the Palmdale High Panthers to a second consecutive state championship in football. His accomplishments led to an offer to be head coach at Bowling Green University. I agreed that he should take the job; so, with me big-as-a-house pregnant with Elizabeth, off we went to Ohio. Brian turned the Bowling Green football program around; in three years, they were conference champions playing for the Division II national championship. From Bowling Green, we moved on to Texas Tech then Oregon State.
"Brian was successful everywhere he coached. He became consumed with winning, devoting more and more time to football and less and less to his family. I didn't think it possible, but when he was hired to coach the San Diego Chargers, things got even worse. Finally, I had had enough. I sat him down and told him how I felt. I was crushed when he said that he loved Elizabeth and me but his team came first. He even suggested that we'd be happier moving back here near my parents."
Her voice was barely a whisper by the time she described moving back to Palmdale. Jake thumbed a tear off her cheek and took her hand in his. Hers was a cautionary tale that was all too familiar in the success-driven times they lived in. As they sat and talked, Jake switched the subject to her children. Sara's mood brightened at the new subject. Christopher, her son, was a first year medical student at Harvard, following in his father's footsteps. Elizabeth would be seventeen in two weeks. She was tall, blonde, and slender like her namesake, Sara's aunt, Elizabeth Moran.
Melissa was back by eight o'clock. The day had been hard on her and she was exhausted. She gave Jake a sponge bath, put on her pajamas, and crawled into the room's other bed. Jake did not even have time to tease her about her sleepwear before she was out like a light.
Unfortunately, sleep did not come that easily for Jake. As he lay there in the semi-dark, his brain finally worked its way around to the reality of Gail's being dead. The thought of her not being there for the rest of his life was hard to comprehend. Sure, they had been lovers, but more importantly, next to Melissa, she had been his best friend. She was also his closest advisor. She kept him straight on everything from which tie looked best to what legislation to champion. How the hell can you fill a void that big in your life? Jake thought her death was one more indictment on the vagary of life. Gail, like his father Charles, was a person whose goodness should have assured her a longer life. Instead, that very goodness assured that they both died earlier than legions of assholes did.
For a moment, Jake had considered dropping out of the presidential race. Who would blame him after these last two weeks? Then just as quickly he shook that idea from his mind. Quitting would dishonor Gail's sacrifice and Charles' memory. Better that he recommit himself to the ideals that had driven him since his arrival in this time line. He was less than a year of hard work from being in a position where he could make the assholes pay for a change.
Mercifully, Sara Nelson slipped into his room at ten forty-five with his pain medication. The pill cup on this visit also contained a Seconal. Sara kissed him gently and Jake drifted into a barbiturate slumber.
Jake escaped from the hospital through a side delivery entrance at ten the next morning. It was Tuesday, November 20. He slipped out with his sister Debbie while Melissa was entertaining the press at the main hospital entrance. Jake was not ready to face the press yet. He needed one more day to get his act together and had one visit to make before he sparred with the fifth estate.
Debbie drove Jake to the Martin residence. The Martins now lived in a gated, golf club community built by Thornton Development. Bob Martin, Gail's father, had retired in 1988, turning his plumbing business over to his son, Robert Junior. Martin and Son Plumbing was the principal plumbing contractor used by Thornton Development and had been since the mid 1970's.
The bodyguard driving the white Suburban wheeled it into the Martins' driveway beside a new minivan with wood panel sides. The security man in the passenger seat got out first, scanned the area, and then opened the door for Jake. Rob Martin answered the door. He ushered Jake into the formal living room. Mille and Bob Martin were sitting on a couch holding hands. Jake knelt on the floor in front of them and expressed his sorrow.
While Jake was grieving with the Martins, Dr. Keith Furness, the county medical examiner was about to start the autopsies on Gail and Bernard. He was standing between the two bodies as they lay positioned face up on autopsy tables. Dr. Furness waited while his diener completed fingerprinting both victims. This was a high profile case so Furness was exacting in following procedures. Soon enough, the bodies were printed and cleaned; Furness took up a scalpel and turned towards the woman first.
Furness worked with methodical efficiency finishing both post mortems in less than two hours. The ME changed out of his scrubs before taking his note recorder into his office. He sat at his desk and wrote up death certificates and a memo for the FBI that listed the official cause of death for both victims. In the case of the man, both bullets that hit him produced fatal wounds. In his report, Furness mentioned that the shots that killed Kingston were obviously fired by an expert marksman. He concluded that because the rounds were perfectly centered in the chest and forehead. The woman had died from a less straightforward cause. A single small caliber projectile had entered her body between two of her ribs with just enough velocity to nick her right ventricle.
Furness next scanned the fingerprint cards into his computer. The computer launched a search for matches from the FBI's huge database. Even though the identities of the victims had been established, the ME wanted to have a solid verification to present with his findings. This was the biggest case of his career so he was making every effort to impress. It took the FBI computer three minutes to find matches for both sets of prints. The woman was on file as a government employee; she had been fingerprinted when she applied for a security clearance. The man was on file as a result of an arrest for assault and battery in Georgia. Furness examined the FBI data sheet for a few seconds then called Special Agent Flack. The man associated with the prints was not Bernard Kingston of Atlanta, but rather a Billy Clyde Drexel. Furness' thoroughness was about to make a big case even bigger.
On Wednesday, Jake held a press conference at his Palmdale campaign headquarters. He announced that he was staying in the race.
"The stakes, not for myself, but for the people I represent, are too high to quit," he said.
Jake told the reporters that he was taking off until the Monday after Thanksgiving to recuperate and be with his family. The reporters barraged him with questions at the end of his prepared comments. Jake did not duck tough questions and answered them all candidly - even questions about the article in the National Inquisitor. This is what he had to say about the article:
"The published story was mostly fabrication. The source was a former employee who was fired for inappropriate conduct. Had the Inquisitor cared about the truth they would have checked their source and found that he is a convicted drug smuggler. In fact, the man is still employed by the suspected head of a Columbian drug cartel.
"The article didn't particularly bother me personally; I am a politician, after all, and I'm use to name calling. The story's implications did not bother Melissa either, she knows better. What really made us angry was that the story hurt people close to us. People who are like family. Tomorrow is the funeral of one of those people. Woe be unto the National Inquisitor if that article had anything to do with Gail Martin's death."
The week after the shooting was filled with one starling revelation after another for Special Agent Flack and his investigators. On Tuesday, the day after the shooting, a team of agents from the FBI field office in Atlanta searched Bernard Kingston's house in Chamblee. The house was supernaturally clean and yielded no physical evidence. Bernard's computer was seized and the hard drive sent to Washington for analysis. The medical examiner's find about the fingerprints convinced Flack that Georgia was the place to be. He packed a bag and hopped the redeye to Atlanta.
On Wednesday, fingerprints from Kingston's house, car, and personal effects all came back as Drexel. Wednesday afternoon Flack and an agent from the Atlanta field office went to Piney Mountain. The county sheriff was well aware of Billy Clyde and led the Feds to the trailer that Billy shared with Darla McCracken. The interview with Darla had not started well. The news of Billy Clyde's death sent Darla into a swoon and her daughters into histrionic howling. It took thirty minutes to revive Darla and pack her daughters off to Darla's parents house in the Sheriff's cruiser.
Once Darla calmed down, she was able to answer Flack's questions. No, Darla said, she had never met Mister Kingston, even though both she and Billy worked part time for the man. Darla said that Billy sometimes worked for Mister Kingston but mostly traveled around doing construction work. She went on to tell Flack that Billy was usually gone for a couple of weeks, then home for a few days. She had last seen him the previous week. She broke down sobbing when she related that Billy had talked of giving up traveling and living full time with her.
Flack convinced Darla to show him Kingston's house. She led him up the path cut through the woods. The path wound for almost a half mile through a densely forested stand of pine and mixed hardwoods. Huge hickory trees, denuded by winter, towered above them as they climbed the slight incline. Kingston's house was actually a large log cabin set upon a stone foundation. Only a few trees had been cut to make room for the house so it fit the site perfectly. Inside, the house was as spotless as Kingston's home in Chamblee. Darla commented that it was always this clean, Mister Kingston insisted on it. Darla told Flack about the time she had cleaned up blood, a lot of blood, splattered on the walls and floor of the living room.
Flack used the phone he found in the kitchen to call Atlanta. He requested a mobile crime scene unit for the following day, and then on a hunch asked for a team of cadaver dogs as well. Flack took one last look around before locking the cabin. He and Darla walked back to her trailer. He asked her questions while they walked. The more he learned about Drexel, the more confusing the case became.
Flack left Darla and headed into Spivey, the nearest town. He took a room at the Spivey Motor Court. The other agent drove back to Atlanta. He would bring the crime scene unit and dog teams back with him tomorrow.
The motel room was small and the furniture was ancient, but at least it was clean. Flack was jotting down interview notes from his talk with Darla when his growling stomach let him know it was time for supper. He threw on his suit jacket and overcoat, grabbed his notebook, and walked down the road to Duke's Bar and Grill.
Darren Flack was a city boy, born and raised in Baltimore. All of his assignments had been in metropolitan areas. Consequently, he felt as if he was in a foreign country up here on Piney Mountain. Duke's Bar and Grill was another cultural shock to him. One large room housed a bar, a restaurant, a general store, and even a post office. Two men in bib overalls and quilted plaid shirts were perched on tall stools at the bar; otherwise, he had the place to himself. The men at the bar gave Darren the fish eye as he took off his overcoat and sat down at a table.
"Jo Beth," one of the men hollered, "you got a live one out here. Could be he's come acourtin', got a suit on and ever'thing."
A big handsome woman came out through a door behind the bar. She was wearing denim jeans with a checked shirt tucked in at the waist. Incongruously, a frilly, lace trimmed, white apron was tied around her middle.
"Hush up, Lem," the big woman chided. "It's nice to finally have a gentleman to serve."
Lem and his partner guffawed loudly and turned back to their longnecks. Flack's eyes widened as she approached him. She was an imposing woman, ample-hipped with large breasts straining the front of her shirt. Her hair was coal black, long and straight. Her Native American heritage was evident in her dark features. Flack could not pinpoint her age; she could have been anywhere between twenty-five and thirty-five.
"What can I get you, Hun?" she asked Flack, pointing to a dusty chalkboard.
Flack squinted at the board; four main dishes and some sides were listed as today's specials.
"Umm, what's good?" he asked.
"Sugar, it's all good if I make it," she replied.
"Then bring me an iced tea and you pick, Jo Beth," he said.
Jo Beth delivered him a huge plate of pulled pork, pinto beans, and hot pepper corn muffins in fewer than five minutes. The food was as good as she had promised. Flack dug in with gusto. He was polishing off the last muffin when Jo Beth brought him out a slice of apple pie and a steaming cup of coffee. Flack fell in love with her on the spot. He was surprised when she fetched a cup of coffee for herself and slid into the chair across from him.
"You mind if I join you?" she asked.
"My pleasure," he replied.
Darren was a man who enjoyed a good meal and Jo Beth was a woman who enjoyed a man with big appetites. She appraised him over the rim of her coffee cup as he forked in the last bite of pie. She liked what she saw. He was medium tall, probably a few inches above her five-ten and stocky. The extra weight that Darren constantly fretted about made him more attractive in her eyes.
"You're the government man here to check on Billy Clyde," she stated.
"That's right," he said. "My name's Darren Flack, I'm with the FBI."
"Is Drexel really dead?"
"Yep, he was killed when he tried to assassinate Congressman Turner."
Jo Beth lowered her coffee cup, her eyes as big as the saucer she sat it on.
"Sweet Jesus. That was Billy Clyde?"
Flack nodded. "What can you tell me about Mister Drexel?"
"I can tell you a lot. I have known him since he showed up in these parts about fifteen years ago. Tell you what, if you can wait until my sister gets here to spell me, I'll tell you what I know."
Flack agreed. She offered him a beer but he asked for anther cup of coffee instead. Flack's status rose in her eyes when he explained that he was not much of a drinker. The sister, an older, wider version of Jo Beth, showed up shortly after six. Jo Beth passed off her apron and rejoined Flack at his table. They made small talk for a few minutes, Darren trying to get a feel for her veracity as a source of information. Jo Beth cut the chitchat short.
"You married, G-man?" she asked.
Flack shook his head no.
"Then I expect you better take me to your room and question me properly," Jo Beth said.
Flack woke up tangled up in starched white bed sheets and soft brown woman. The insistent buzzing of his travel alarm was playing counterpoint to her soft snoring. Flack turned off the alarm and snuggled tighter against her back, replaying the previous evening in his mind. He gently swept the tangled mass of her thick black hair off her neck and pressed his lips lightly against her shoulder. She smelled of vanilla, and cinnamon, and sex - a heady combination that caused his penis to twitch against her delightful ass.
"Mmmm, I'll give you all day to cut that out," she purred.
Joe Beth stretched like a big tawny cat; then wriggled her butt against his lengthening shaft. Darren reached around her and cupped her large breast. She sighed as he rolled her spongy nipple between his fingers.
"It's going to take more than a day to make me stop," he replied.
With a strength and agility that left him speechless, she flipped herself over and landed on top of him. She pinned him flat on his back, her knees on his upper arms. Her look was so intense it took breath away.
"If you're serious, copper, I'll make you the happiest man in the world. I'll cook for you and be naughty for you; I'll make every day better than the one that went before. And all you have to do is love me."
Was she crazy? They had known each other for fewer than twenty-four hours. He lived and worked five hundred miles away. They were from different worlds; it would never work.
"I'll retire from the Bureau as soon as this case is over," he whispered, his forward life-path suddenly clear.
Darren Flack was sitting contentedly outside the motel on a plastic chair when the FBI convoy rolled up at ten o'clock. In the last three hours he had proposed to a woman he just met, decided to take early retirement from a job he loved, and committed himself to moving to the sticks. Yet, he felt better than he had ever felt in his life. He joined the two field agents from Atlanta in their sedan, his mind clear as a bell and focused with optical lens clarity. The agents exchanged greeting and proceeded to Kingston's cabin. Flack briefed them along the way.
"I have a good feel for our suspect now from interviewing a source back in Spivey. I think we are going to need a psychologist to help us understand all this, but basically, Drexel was a persona that Kingston invented for some reason about fifteen years ago. Drexel was a mean and violent man, exactly the opposite of what we know about Kingston; it is some weird shit."
The Atlanta agents had news of their own. The analysis of Kinston's computer came in the night before. The computer experts had found scores of deleted files about Melissa Turner. It appeared that Kingston had been stalking the woman for nearly a year. Interviews with Kingston's employer and coworkers painted a picture of an obsessively organized, mild mannered man.
The forensic team started to process the house while Flack and the other agents conducted a methodical search. They struck pay dirt of a sort in a back bedroom. Inside a padlocked closet, they found two wedding dresses, both high quality, both size eight.
While the agents were pondering the significance of their find, the crime scene team quickly located the residual blood splatter on a wall in the living room. Ultra-violet light discerned a pattern to the splatter; it appeared as if the blood had been applied to the wall with a squirt gun.
"Arterial spray," said the crime scene tech, "most likely from a fatal wound."
Flack examined the pattern and reached the same conclusion. He walked outside and turned the dog teams loose.
It took an hour for the bloodhounds to find a body. Then fifteen minutes later they found another. Flack hurried to the house and called Washington. He was convinced they were dealing with a serial killer and additional resources were required. By four in the afternoon, two more bodies were found. The dogs were too tired to effectively continue so Flack called a halt for the day. By now, the State Police were blocking the road in front of the house and two deputies were assigned to guard the property throughout the night.
The Atlanta agents offered to take Darren back with them to the city. Flack declined, he told them he wanted to be close in case anything came up.
"Besides," he said, "you'll all be staying here a while starting tomorrow until we find out what else Kingston was hiding up here."
Flack went to the hotel office and reserved every available room for the rest of the week. Once in his room, Flack consulted his notebook and placed a call to the Turners' private number. The media was going to be here in droves first thing tomorrow morning and Darren wanted the Turners up to speed on developments before he went public with any reporters. It took fifteen minutes to brief the congressman and his wife then Flack hustled to the bathroom to freshen up; he was meeting Jo Beth at Duke's Place at six and wanted to look as good as his homely ass could. Darren fidgeted for another five minutes before giving in and going early. He chastised himself every step of the way to the restaurant. "Get a grip, Flack," he told himself. Forty-five years old and you are acting like a moonstruck teenager."
Duke's place was much more crowded than it had been the previous evening. Every barstool had an ass plopped down on it and most of the tables were filled as well. Jo Beth was sitting at a table with three men when Darren came thorough the door. When she saw him, she bolted out of her chair and launched herself at him. Jo Beth was moving at an alarming speed when she flung herself into his arms. With an "oomph", Darren staggered backwards. Darren forgot his pain when she kissed him. Just when Darren resigned himself to having sex right there in the doorway, Jo Beth broke the kiss and took him by the hand.
"Come on, Hunny," she gushed, "I want to introduce you to my family."
Back in Palmdale Jake and Melissa sat holding each other after the conversation with special Agent Flack. The news that Melissa was Kingston's real target had stunned them both. The grisly discovery of the women's bodies found in Georgia added an ominous reality to the threat he had actually posed. Four apparently young women had been dug up wearing wedding dresses, it was a B-movie nightmare. Flack's call did provide them with some answers however, they were thankful for that.
Overall, Thursday was a good day for Jake. His wounds were healing nicely, and for the first time since the shooting, he did not have a headache. He was also guiltily enjoying the pampering he was receiving as Melissa worked at spoiling him rotten.
Across town in the upscale Sherwood Forrest subdivision, Mikayla was doing homework with her new friend Brittany Ulstoff. Brittany was a new student at Palmdale High having just moved to the area from Los Angeles. She was a year older than Mikayla and a decade more experienced. Brittany's stepfather had been a publicist for a major Hollywood studio, now he did the same job for NASCAR. His name was Ed Holt. Brittany's mom, Tiffany, was a former Miss California. Brittany had a stepbrother; he was called Chazz and he was a hunk.
Mikayla decided she like hanging out at Brittany's house. For one thing, Brittany's parents were seldom there, for another, Chazz was. Mikayla was tired of being a nice girl, tired of being smothered by her family. Truth be told, she did not like her parents very much right now. She had read the article in the tabloid about her dad and she instinctively knew it was at least partially true. If he had all that love to spread around, why didn't he direct any of it towards her? Mikayla decided that it was time to spread her wings. Mister Kingston might have been crazy but he had done her a big favor by showing her that she was ready to become a woman.
At eight o'clock on Friday morning, the FBI task force from Atlanta rolled into Spivey. This day there were six vehicles, including a mobile command post. Behind the bus-like command post followed a CNN satellite truck and a Jeep Cherokee. The deputy director in Washington had tipped off CNN to pay them back a favor he owed. The two Atlanta agents from the previous day stopped in front of the motel to pick up Flack. They watched wide-eyed as he exchanged a steamy kiss with the big pretty woman standing next to him. Flack slid into the back seat as the driver put the car in gear and pulled out. The agent in the passenger seat turned to face Flack.
"Jesus, D, that's a hell of a woman, you work fast."
Darren chucked and leaned back in the seat.
"That, my young friend, is the most amazing woman in the world. I'm gonna have to write a book about her and her family when this Turner thing is over."
The rest of the day was spent unearthing two more bodies and processing the rest of the house. In the afternoon, the lab people went to Darla's trailer and processed it. Sean Murphy, Turner-Thornton's chief of security, showed up in the afternoon also, with Marissa Thornton in tow. Murphy hung out with Darren Flack getting an insiders briefing about the case. Marissa went down the hill and met with Darla McCracken. Melissa had asked Tigger to offer her services to Darla for two reasons. One was to protect Darla's interests in all this and the second was to help her deal with the press. Melissa did not want the poor woman falling victim to some tabloid shark.
Late in the afternoon, one of the bodies found the previous day was identified. She was a young wealthy socialite who had been missing for seven years. The profiler assigned to the case recommended they narrow the search for the identities of the other victims to women of similar social backgrounds. The profiler deduced that Kingston had doggedly picked prominent targets, always looking for his perfect woman.
It took the rest of the weekend to search the woods and process the evidence. The dog teams found two more women. Monday morning the FBI teams and the gaggle of reporters camped out in Spivey started heading back to Atlanta. Darrin Flack was not among them. He took the rest of the week off to be with Jo Beth.
Gail Martin's funeral was held on Saturday, November twenty-third. Jake and his family were once again at Sacred Heart attending a funeral mass. Gail's funeral was even harder for Jake than Charles' had been because he felt directly responsible for her death. She worked for him, was part of his family even; he should have been protecting her instead of vise-versa. He talked at length to Trish Wellington about how he felt. He knew it was illogical; intellectually he knew that he could not have prevented her death. However, emotionally he could not shake feeling responsible. Survivor's guilt, Trish called it. Feeling like a shitty asshole, Jake called it.
Trish and Melissa also talked about Jake's emotional state. Jake was by nature a good-humored person; when he was with other people he was fine. It was when he had time to himself that he began brooding. Melissa decided that the best therapy was to keep him busy, so she sicced Louisa, Faith, and Julia on him when she could not be around.
The Monday before Thanksgiving, Graciela Touque wrapped up her affairs in Tinseltown and joined them at the ranch. She turned out to be the best distraction imaginable. Gracie and Jake quickly became best buds. Gracie did not allow Jake to wallow in self-pity for even a second. Her sharp tongue and quick wit kept Jake focused and on task as they prepared the speech he would deliver at a news conference the Monday after Thanksgiving.
Jake was going to announce that he was resigning his congressional
seat at the news conference. Jake was resigning so he could devote more
time to campaigning without slighting his obligations to his office.
Jake spoke with Florida Governor Lawton Chile about resigning and
recommended the Governor appoint Ray Robinson to serve the remainder of
his term. Governor Chile agreed with his choice. Jake knew Ray was
itching to run for the seat anyway and Jake thought Ray would be an
outstanding congressional representative. Ray signed onto the plan
immediately. Running as an incumbent would give him a big advantage
come Election Day.