Daniel Palmer - Helpless

Training told her to steer clear of on-the-spot reading. Evidence trumped gut instinct every time. But the way he looked at her was not typical. Usually, the men Rainy interrogated gave her the shivers, as if they were broadcasting their sickness on an FM frequency she picked up in stereo. But for the life of her, Rainy couldn’t recall a single instance where she found one of these men attractive. That was, until she met Tom Hawkins. Hawkins was ruggedly handsome, and easy on the eyes.

Stop it, Miles, Rainy silently berated herself. Look beyond his looks.

Rainy returned her focus to the mission. She was here to obtain information. She hoped Hawkins wanted to share his side of the story. With luck, he would talk. Rainy reached into the pocket of her suit blazer for her badge, making no conscious effort to conceal the holstered weapon she carried. “I’m Special Agent Loraine Miles, from the FBI,” she said.

“Where’s my daughter?” asked Tom.

Rainy handed Tom a cell phone. This was part of the deal she’d agreed to so that Tom would talk. She watched Tom key in a number. The handcuffs didn’t get in his way. He put the phone to his ear. He waited. She listened.

“Hiya, Jilly-bean. It’s Dad…. No, I’m fine…. Don’t worry…. Everything is going to be all right…. Yeah, yeah, stay with Lindsey. That’s fine…. No, the police car is outside because I asked them to keep an eye on you…. Right, the guy in the woods… No, I don’t think you have anything to worry about, but I’m not taking any chances…. You stay strong, okay?… I’ll see you real soon.”

Tom handed the phone back to Rainy. His eyes were burning with rage.

Now she got the shivers.

“Is your daughter all right?” Rainy asked.

“She’s scared.”

“You can help,” said Rainy.

“How?”

“Talk to me.”

“What’s this got to do with the FBI, anyway?” Tom said.

“Well, I was hoping you could tell me that,” Rainy said.

“I’m not playing games. Get specific, Agent Miles.”

“I want you to tell me how you came to know James Mann, and how you got the images the police found on your computer.”

“I don’t know a James Mann. And I don’t know what images anybody found.”

“Don’t make this harder than it needs to be, Tom,” Rainy said. “You know as well as I do that cooperation will be taken into consideration at sentencing.”

“I won’t be convicted. I’m not guilty of anything.”

“We have the images, Tom. Forty girls. Hundreds of images. Were the pictures taken with cell phone cameras?”

“I’m only speaking to my attorney.”

“We’ve got the computer logs that show a lot of cash payments. Did you get paid for sending these images?”

“Are you my attorney?”

“Did you coerce the girls into giving you these pictures? Were you having a relationship with all of them or just the one?”

“I’m only speaking to my attorney,” Tom repeated.

“How did you recruit the others in your ring? Craigslist? Some other message board? How many people do you have working for you?”

Tom said nothing. He’d gone statue on her.

Rainy sighed, pushed her chair back, and stood up from the table.

“Suit yourself. Last chance from me. Judges like it when a felon cooperates with the Feds. Doesn’t do you much good to put up walls, Tom. Why not just tell me the truth? I can’t promise you’ll do less time, but I’ll put in the good word. Tom, think about your daughter.”

Tom was looking down at his hands. He picked his head back up.

“She’s all I think about,” Tom said. “Look at me. I’m just a father desperately worried about my daughter’s safety. I’d cut a deal with you in a heartbeat if I could.”

A twinge of sadness, sudden and unexpected, overcame Rainy.

She had come to Shilo ready to extort Tom’s cooperation but was leaving with a new question.

Could this seemingly genuine and decent man really be so evil?

“Your lawyer’s here. Let’s go.”

Tom rose from a small cot pushed flush against the concrete wall of his eight-by-twelve jail cell. He rubbed his eyes, because somehow he had fallen asleep. He still wore his street clothes, but they’d taken his shoelaces and belt.

Two uniformed police officers stood guard outside Tom’s cell, while two others entered with shackles and handcuffs jangling from their hands. The officer putting cuffs on Tom’s wrists looked only a few years older than the kids in Jill’s class. The guy who secured his ankles was Rich Fox, the father of a girl he coached.

“What time is it?” Tom croaked.

“Eighty thirty in the morning,” Fox said.

“How long are you going to keep me here?”

“Hell, Coach, you’re gonna be here all weekend. Can’t get you an arraignment until Monday.”

“I have a daughter. She can’t be left alone all weekend.”

The shackles closed about his ankles with tiny clicks.

“Child services has been contacted. She’ll be fine. Worry about yourself right now, is my advice.”

Four officers escorted Tom out of his cell and down a long corridor.

Memories of his arrest lingered. The smell in the backseat of the police cruiser, skunk beer and cigarettes masked poorly by a pine tree air freshener, stood out above all others. What was it Murphy said between cackles from the police radio? Not only are soccer players pussies, but they’re stupid pussies, too. Tom said nothing in reply. He just stared blankly out the front window, through the grime on the Plexiglas divider, which made Murphy feel safe to taunt him.

They brought him to a room that looked similar to the one where the FBI agent had tried to pry a confession out of him. Only this room didn’t have a two-way mirror and wall-mounted cameras. At least here his conversations would be private. Here he still had some basic rights.

Tom took a seat and rested his handcuffed hands on the wood table. His lawyer would occupy the only other chair. Tom locked his fingers together and waited. He hadn’t hesitated about whom to call for representation.

Tom let out a relieved breath when Marvin Pressman stepped into the room. As before, the man’s rumpled suit appeared to have been slept in. Marvin hoisted his lawyer’s briefcase onto the table and took his seat across from Tom.

“Heck of a pickle you’ve got yourself in, Tom,” he said. “Did you speak with anybody?”

“Police tried to get me to sign a confession, told me I could go home if I did.”

“And?”

“And I didn’t sign it.”

“Good.”

“An agent from the FBI came to see me as well.”

“And?”

“And she was cute.”

“And.”

“And I didn’t say anything. Just that I’d speak only with my attorney.”

“Good man.”

“Tell me about Jill.”

“The social worker you’ve been working with is going to make a huge difference here,” Marvin said. “They’re not going to force her into state custody. She’s going to let her stay with Cathleen Wells until after your arraignment.”

“Good.”

“Maybe.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“We’ll get to that in moment,” Marvin said.

“Is Murphy keeping his word?”

Marvin nodded. “They’ve had patrol cars pass by the Wellses’ house at random intervals, like he said he would. He’s taking your concern about her safety very seriously. I spoke with Jill, as well. She told me she’s staying indoors and won’t be alone for a second.”

Tom leaned back in his chair until the two front legs were elevated off the floor. “You’re looking good, Marvin,” he said. “Have you been doing the exercises I sent you?”