Daniel Palmer - Helpless

“Not feeling the support right now, Adriana,” Tom said under his breath.

“It’s there for you,” said Adriana. “Just not everybody.”

The two made their way to the front of the room, where school board appointees and representatives sat. Tom felt their eyes on him all the way to his seat. He understood that these people didn’t need any evidence to convict him. All they needed to hear were the words sex and coach in the same sentence for it to be true. Understanding their reaction didn’t make it easier to endure.

Angie Didomenico approached Tom, while Adriana found her seat a few rows behind his.

“Thanks for being here,” Angie said, giving Tom’s right arm a strong squeeze.

“As long as everybody left their torches at home, I should be fine.”

“I know you will be.”

Angie brought the meeting to order. Things seemed to settle down after that. The board agreed to add kitchen staff to better clean pots and pans for kids with nut allergies. Adriana presented her PLC report crisply and without much discussion. They debated longer and more intensely over several ways to ease parking lot congestion at the high school. Tom kept silent throughout the meeting.

At ten till ten, Angie slammed her gavel and the meeting concluded. Tom felt a modicum of relief that his quick escape plan had proved an unnecessary precaution. He texted Jill.

Green.

He texted her again. Pick you up in ten.

She texted back. Green.

Very funny, Tom typed.

Tom opened his car door, and the darkness around him ignited into a bright frenzy of red and blue strobe lights. Two police cruisers from the Shilo PD pulled up, boxing in his car. Brendan Murphy emerged from one of the police cars. Officer Rich Fox was with him, as well as two other uniformed police officers, whom Tom didn’t know or recognize.

Tom’s eyes scanned in all directions for an escape. It was instinct, his navy training kicking in.

Distract and evade.

But no retreat was available. Not without inflicting casualties.

Murphy approached, and Tom observed his hand on the butt of a weapon. People from the board meeting heading for their cars stopped to watch the spectacle unfold.

“Turn around! Hands on the hood of your car! Feet spread wide!” Murphy shouted at Tom.

Tom did as he was told.

Murphy took hold of Tom’s arms and pulled them behind his back. Tom knew better than to resist.

“Tom Hawkins,” Murphy said, “you’re under arrest.”

Murphy recited Tom’s Miranda rights.

Again.

Tom felt handcuffs secured around his wrists, locked tight. Amidst the flashing lights, Tom spotted Adriana standing close by, watching. Her face was frozen in a horrified expression, and she appeared to be crying.

Tom glanced over his shoulder, back at Murphy. “What are the charges?” he asked.

“Possession and trafficking of child pornography,” Murphy said.

“What the… What are you talking about?”

“Let’s go,” Murphy said.

Murphy grabbed hold of one of Tom’s arms, while Fox took the other. Together they escorted him to a waiting police cruiser. Tom could almost feel Murphy’s pleasure as he shoved him into the back of the cruiser.

Tom’s thoughts quickly turned to panic. Not for himself, but for Jill. He finally understood what this was all about.

“Murphy, listen to me,” Tom pleaded. “I can’t leave Jill alone. She’s not safe. I’m being set up. Somebody wants me out of the picture so they can get to Jill. I’m telling you, you’ve got to find Kip Lange. He’s doing this to get me out of the way. Please! Brendan, you’re making a big mistake here.”

Murphy crouched low so that Tom could see his face through the cruiser’s open rear door.

Tom could see he was smiling.

“No, Tom,” Murphy said. “Remember what I told you? Guys like you always screw up. The only mistake made here was you thinking you’d get away with it.”

Tom closed his eyes and thought of Jill. In his mind, he saw her not as the teenager she was, but as the little girl she used to be. He remembered her in jeans and a plaid cowboy shirt. Her long hair tied in pigtails. A fourth grader with two missing teeth. Face full of freckles. Her knee skinned up badly and her bike a bent wreckage. Tears rolling down her eyes. Back then, he could make it all better. He had cleaned up the cut. Put the bandage on it. Kissed the knee. Now he couldn’t do anything to help her.

He couldn’t protect her anymore.

He was helpless.

Rainy met Sergeant Brendan Murphy in his office. Murphy was going to bring her to Tom Hawkins, who’d been processed and transported to one of the interrogation rooms.

From the start of Rainy’s interactions with Murphy, the oversized police sergeant had given her the creeps. He stood too close to her, almost hovering. He would touch her when he talked. A tap on the shoulder. A pat on the arm. She didn’t like the way he kept looking at her, either. But the man had provided her with one incredibly useful service. Thanks to Murphy, she had one possible answer to her ongoing investigation into James Mann. Hawkins, she now believed, had sold Mann the images she’d categorized as sexts. But Murphy’s usefulness had just about run out, so one more touch, another lecherous stare, and he’d come to regret those octopus arms.

“We’ve moved Hawkins from our holding cell to the meeting room.”

“Thanks for making it possible.”

“Hey, a favor for a favor. Your man Carter is really quite the wizard. He unlocked the whole shebang.”

“I’m assuming you’ll want to be present when I question him.”

“Nah. We’ll be watching through the two-way. You do your thing, Agent Miles.”

He tapped her on the shoulder, then touched her on the arm.

“Sergeant Murphy, do you have a problem keeping your hands to yourself?” Murphy stammered but could not speak. “I didn’t think so,” said Rainy.

Rainy followed behind a silent and stoop-shouldered Murphy as he led her down a well-lit corridor with blue-painted walls. They stopped in front of a closed door marked MEETING ROOM in stenciled black lettering.

Murphy opened the door. His sullen mood fell away, and he returned to his former cocky self, albeit without the touches. “Crap this guy was into, don’t feel you need to go easy on him,” he said. “I know we’ve got cameras and two-way glass and whatnot, but we can shut those off and turn our backs. You just give the word.”

“Thanks. But this won’t take long. Close the door on your way out,” Rainy said.

Tom Hawkins rested his handcuffed hands upon a heavily gouged table dividing the small concrete room. Light from powerful fluorescents danced off the two-way mirror. The room behind it, Rainy knew, was kept intentionally dark to allow the officers inside proper viewing. Murphy wanted to record the interview for the New Hampshire DA’s office, but Rainy had denied the request. It was against department procedure to record any interrogation without the approval or presence of someone from the US attorney’s office.

Hawkins would probably be tried by the state, not the Feds. FBI resources were under constant strain. With the type of images and the quantity found on Hawkins’s computer, it was doubtful Tomlinson would allow Rainy to bring him up on federal charges. He’d much prefer to let the state take the resource hit in prosecuting the crimes. But she was here to see if Hawkins could help her with her James Mann investigation. It would be good to get to him before he lawyered up. It never failed to amaze her how much information perps revealed when given a chance.

She tried to make an assessment of him based on behavior. It surprised her that Hawkins had no trouble making eye contact. In fact, his eyes followed her into the room and watched her take the seat across from his. They were cold, though, with touches of gray that reminded her of a wolf.