Van Kamp hated it when they cried. It was embarrassing to watch a grown man act like a frightened child.
After having the fingernails ripped out of three fingers on his left hand, he’d begun blubbering about how he had nothing that could help.
By the time the thumbnail was gone—Velasco’s screams muffled by the balled socks stuffed into his mouth—he’d handed over the two things he had that could tie him to Bob Singleton: a burner phone and a list of phone numbers he insisted were the last five people Bob talked to prior to leaving Chicago and heading south.
Three of them were in Washington, DC, two in Chicago.
Velasco had clearly been unable to provide anything else. After his crying and begging for twenty minutes, Van Kamp shot the hacker through the back of the head, twice, leaving him slumped over his computer keyboard.
Then he’d called Renton. “I need you to run some numbers, tell me who I’m dealing with,” he ordered.
41
Margaret Swain, District Attorney and noted “bringer of pain”, stared at the treatment center hospital bed through the observation window, her legal briefcase held close to her body, her mouth agape.
“Sharm… this… this would be a good time to tell me I actually ate magic mushrooms or something, and am hallucinating deeply,” she stammered.
“You’re not hallucinating, no. I’d pinch you, but I don’t want a punch on the arm. However… I can explain.”
Swain turned her head slowly and glared at her with furious irritation. “The entirety of the Bakersfield law enforcement community is currently looking for this man, so it’s going to have to be one hell of an explanation.”
“Well… I did tell you after the boy was arrested that I didn’t buy it. And Witty—David Czernowitz—is willing to testify his partner was working with Merry Michelsen, who was trying to scare my father away from his business.”
“Was? And where is Officer Fowler now?”
“Marg—”
“Sharm… this isn’t high school. You can’t keep this under wraps. Not without consequences.”
Sharmila sighed and pursed her lips, the weight of the tale unnerving her. “My understanding is that he’s lying in the desert just south of the city, near Copus Road.”
“He’s dead?!”
“David will testify that Fowler murdered Professor Jenkins. They were going to try to get Marcus’s first lawyer, Bob—”
“What!? Jenkins what!?”
“They were going to kill him. Fowler drove them out there and had Bob digging a grave, David says, to bury the professor, who was already dead and in the back of Fowler’s cruiser. When David demanded answers about the professor and his own safety, Fowler shot him. Bob struggled with him for the gun, and while that was happening, David up and shot Jeb dead.”
“Dang.” Swain’s expression had gone blank, the gravity of it all just a little too much to take in one shot. “Dang,” she repeated. Her facial expression shifted, puzzlement settling in. “Why haven’t you just taken this all to the police?”
“David insists Merry has other cops on the take. He doesn’t know who, but he’s bragged about getting information early on busts over the years, and that didn’t come from them. And we still don’t know why this is all happening. So…”
“So you’re worried if we bring them in, somehow this gets pinned on Bob before he can figure it all out and help his… what, exactly? What is Marcus Pell in this? His client? Or is there more to that? I noticed your cousin spoke to bail for him.”
“He’s a friend of Pell and his foster mom in Chicago,” Sharmila said. “He’s not even a lawyer. He came to help and got caught up in this.”
Swain’s head gently nodded from side to side as she tried to find the words. “I am at a loss for how you expect me to handle this, Sharmila. We’ve been friends a long time…”
“All we ask is for a few more days,” Sharmila said. “Bob figures he’s got a line on why this all happened. And at the end of that is whoever actually pulled the trigger.”
“What if it was Jeb Fowler?” the assistant district attorney wondered aloud. “How do we square what happened to him?”
“We keep David under wraps and healthy until he can testify, that’s how,” Sharmila said. “He’s pretty doped up right now, but they think in a few days, he’ll be mended enough to lower the dosage, give you a formal statement. But… you know this town. If we tell his people, there’s a chance the wrong ones hear. And then he’s a dead man.”
Swain crossed her arms and nodded her head slowly, staring through the window. “I didn’t see any of this, in other words.” She sighed. “A few days. Dang. No! No, Sharm. I can’t do that. I can’t believe I’d even consider it. I have to take this to the police. I have a working relationship with them that I have to respect.”
“I get that, Margie, I really do. But if the wrong person hears any of this, David is finished. Bob figures this is a hell of a lot bigger than a run for sheriff. My father had something tying the new trailer park development in Oildale to the meth trade. Possibly a legit business.”
“A legit business? Who?”
Sharm looked down and away quickly. “That’s… complicated. We don’t have evidence yet. And the owner’s got friends in high places.”
Swain shook her head. “Not good enough. You’re asking me to withhold evidence in a homicide, Sharm. The only way that flies is if there’s no other choice. Who has enough clout with—”
“Parker Baird, and Jenkins Mechanical. The professor’s business partner.”
Swain tipped her head back and started at the ceiling for a moment. She sighed deeply, then weighed the new information. “He’s royalty to the local business community and a big police backer.”
“Exactly. We go public on any of this without evidence, he’ll walk and he’ll sue. And if we tell the wrong people, David’s done for.”
Swain looked pained. “I know what you’re saying makes sense. But you’re asking me to trust a homicide suspect who lied about being someone’s lawyer and may have already hospitalized four other people. It’s too much.”
Sharmila hung her head. “Then… you’re going to blow this open?”
“No. But we need to get the police involved now, before there’s any suggestion we’re messing with their case, tainting the evidence chain.”
“But… who? Like David said, we don’t know who we can trust.”
