Devour, p.26
Devour, page 26
63
Big Release
Arriving at San Quentin, Proctor and McKenzie parked up front and headed to the main entrance. Proctor looked around, shaking his head. “Can you imagine?”
Frowning, McKenzie stared at his partner. “No.”
Inside, they approached the front desk and pulled their ID for the guards who were standing four wide.
“We’re looking for Warden Dalton,” Proctor said, showing an envelope with a state seal. “We have a letter from the Governor if that helps expedite matters,” his eyes scanned the four men. “Shouldn’t take long.”
“Sorry, Officers, but you just missed him. Fact is, you may have passed him on your way in. You’re free to wait there if you like,” the largest Officer said, motioning to several chairs in the corner.
The two visitors looked at one another before Proctor turned to the Officer in charge and said, “Thing is, Gents, we’re on a time crunch. What do you say we bypass Warden for now and go have a chat with Sebastian Rogan.”
Looking at one another, their silence and body language told the story.
“Sure. Follow me.”
After cordial introductions and a smattering of information, Officer Proctor said, “So, Sebastian, what I’m hearing you say is you have not seen or heard from your younger son, Michael. Is that right?”
Sebastian’s lips quivered. “That’s, uh, right, Officer. The last time was…” he made a point of staring at the ceiling while scratching his chin, apparently trying to send a message.
Detective McKenzie picked up on it and jumped in. “Mr. Rogan, while you process that date,” he looked to Proctor then back to Sebastian, “Let’s revisit something you said a moment ago. And I understand it’s a point you’ve been asked for what must undoubtedly feel like a hundred times, but I’m curious about something in particular.”
Sebastian’s shoulders relaxed just a bit. “What’s that?”
“You mentioned on the day you were incarcerated that you had been drinking that morning.”
He made a hesitant nod.
“And that you had been arguing with your wife. A heated argument, I’m understanding you to say. Is that right?”
Another nod.
“And that you were also quite angry with your son, Michael. So much in fact you hit him.”
He hung his head and managed a tiny nod.
“Repeatedly, according to the police report,” McKenzie said, while referring to his pad. “Why were you so angry with him? And with your wife? What had you so stirred up?”
Sebastian looked up. “I was angry. I mean, she was pushing my buttons, but I was actually more upset with…” he hesitated, taking a deep breath, “Myself. I had just lost my job. I was pissed. So, I went down to a corner bar and got lit up.”
“Understood,” McKenzie quietly said.
“When I got home, my boy was in the kitchen with his Ma. They were cooking and laughing. He had an apron on and was pretending to be that French woman chef—the one with the high-pitched voice. I don’t know—”
“Julia Child?” Proctor interrupted.
“Yeah, that’s it. Anyways, he was acting like a—like a sissy.”
“Because he was cooking with your wife?” McKenzie asked.
He hung his head again. “Yeah. He was always…softer than his brother. Didn’t play sports. Wouldn’t hit back. Hell, he’d never hurt a fly. And he liked stuff like cooking and such. He always was closer to his Ma than me. But then,” he snorted, “Guess that’s not much of a surprise. I was a real son of a bitch.”
McKenzie said, “What was your Dad like?”
He examined McKenzie with a sharp eye, then snorted, “Yeah, a drunk. Which is why I always wondered if I’d become a drunk, too. It’s stupid, I know now, but somewhere in that bullshit head of mine, I wanted my boys to…drink with their old man.”
Looking up, he wiped his good eye. “I’ve learned a lot being in here all my life, Officers. I mean, I made bad decisions. I wasn’t a good man. And now, I’m nearing the end of my life, and well, I just want what time I have left…to do the right thing.”
“And what does that look like?”
Sebastian looked from McKenzie down to his liver-spotted hands. “I don’t know. Do something good for them boys. Somehow,” his voice trailed off.
“Just one more question. Back to that day. So, the police arrived—according to the report because I know you were unconscious—and the next thing you knew you were waking up in a hospital emergency room, right?”
“Yeah. Best I can recall, I woke up with tubes in me. I couldn’t see out of one eye. Still can’t. And…” he stared into the distance with one cloudy eye. “The next news I got was my wife was dead. But I swear to you, I don’t remember much of anything except us yelling. And that was about the time my other son came in the room.”
The officers looked at one another. McKenzie said, “And?”
“And he came rushing in. In a real fit. Not sure why, but I remember, oddly enough, the mirror on the wall behind the front door went crashing to the floor. You know, when the door flew open.”
“Had he been drinking, too?” McKenzie asked.
Shaking his head, he started to say something, but it slowly became a nod. “Yeah, you know what? After all these years and all the time to think, I think he’d been drinking too. Maybe a lot.”
“Sebastian, do you—” Proctor began.
“But what I remember most of all,” Sebastian interrupted, “Was Michael’s voice. He was screaming. In that closet. I’d heard him scream any number of times before, but that day, he was screaming up a storm. Kid sounded like a beat dog.”
He got quiet, and both men remained still.
“It was like…he somehow knew something fierce was gonna happen. I guess.” Shaking his head, he whispered, “Doesn’t make sense, but he was always a lot smarter than all of us. That’s what’s in my mind, anyway.”
McKenzie leaned forward. “Sebastian, I know this is old news, and I apologize in advance, but there’s something I’ve been wondering and need to know. Both of us,” he nodded toward Proctor. “It has an effect, well, it’ll provide a silent confirmation to why we’re here today. You just need to trust me.”
Sebastian frowned. “What is it?”
“You’ve said all along how you don’t believe you could’ve killed your wife. Even though the bullet came from your gun that was found next to your hand. Plus, the fact your boy, Scott, went on record saying he came in to find you aiming a gun at your wife, and that she had a gun aimed at you.”
Breathing heavily, he stared at the floor. “Yeah?”
“Thing is, Sebastian, there are two reasons we came here today. Sad to say it’s one of those times where we have good news and bad news.”
“Yeah?” He looked up. “Well, give me the bad news first.”
“Your son Scott is dead. He’s been murdered.”
“What?”
“By Michael.”
Speechless, his jaw hung open—his sunken eyes trying to make sense of it. The room remained silent for several minutes.
“That…can’t be. Michael wouldn’t hurt a soul. He doesn’t have it in him. In fact, I tried my whole life to get him to…” he snorted, “Man up.” He shook his head, staring right through McKenzie. “Yeah, that’s the sort of…bullshit I laid on him as a young boy. Always trying to get him to man up.”
“Because?” Proctor asked.
Looking straight at Proctor, he said, “Because I didn’t want him to be a sissy who cooked for a living. I wanted him to have a man’s job.”
McKenzie said, “Like working as a third shift mechanic?”
Sebastian’s ashamed expression said it all.
“Well, that’s part of the reason we’re here today. Proctor said. “But the good news? You’re a free man.”
His head whipped up, “What?”
Removing an envelope from his jacket pocket, McKenzie tapped it against his hand. “Evidently, Scott experienced a change of heart, wrote a full confession, then put it in a safety deposit box…which we now have.”
Sebastian was speechless.
McKenzie continued. “Evidently, part of the story that hadn’t been told was how when Scott went to try and save her, he grabbed the gun and shot you in the face before you hit him. She died because the gunshot and his delay to call 911 caused her to bleed to death before help could arrive.”
Sebastian stared at the floor. The men watched as recognition lit up his face.
McKenzie said, “This is a letter from the Governor. Granting your release.”
“Our last conversation,” Sebastian whispered, “He said he’d make things right someday. But I had no idea…” he trailed off.
“We’re here to say you’re free to go. Soon. We just have to speak with the Warden in order to confirm details and get a signature.”
Sebastian’s expression shifted dramatically.
Both cops looked to one another. McKenzie said, “What is it?”
Sebastian backed into his shell. “Nothing.”
“If there’s something we need to know, you can tell us,” Proctor said. “Within just hours, you’ll be a free man with a blessing from the state of California, a written apology, and a thousand bucks to start a new life.”
Dismissing him, Sebastian asked, “What about Michael? What’ll happen to him?”
Proctor said, “Well, he’s awaiting trial. Shouldn’t take long, but if he’s convicted, he’ll—”
Shaking his head, Sebastian blurted, “Please don’t tell me—”
“Yes,” McKenzie interrupted. “He’ll end up here.”
64
Inside Job
Roman Barthold sat in District Attorney Doug Gillespie’s office. They had been both adversaries and friends over the years. Roman’s retirement and Doug’s promotion, along with their appreciation for the good life, motivated them to stay in touch and continue supporting one another. With them were Officer Proctor, Detective McKenzie, Jasmine, and Michael.
“Gentlemen, while this is highly unusual, I believe it’s the best possible solution for getting to the bottom of this demented and elaborate scheme,” Roman said. “I mean, pardon my French, you can’t make this shit up. Am I right?”
Nods from everyone except Michael who stared into the distance. A deep frown creasing his forehead made him look years older.
Jasmine watched. “Michael, what is it?”
At first, he shook his head, as though dismissing her, but then his energy shifted. “What if the system is broken? I mean, I could spend the rest of my life…” he trailed off.
“That’s not going to happen, Michael,” Roman said. “You have my word."
He looked up. “But this could go sideways, right?”
“Could. But won’t,” DA Gillespie said.
“Given what we’ve learned, thanks to these officers,” Roman said, “And along with the written testimony—plus the word from a man who’s spent a third of his life pondering such—I say we have a good case for subterfuge.”
“Nice word,” Michael smirked. “But I’m the one doing time.”
“It could be dangerous,” Officer Proctor leaned forward. “But not deadly.”
“Thanks,” Michael frowned.
“What do you mean by that?” Jasmine asked.
“According to what we know about him, the guy didn’t get to where he is by making mistakes,” Proctor said.
“Even with a long trail of jobs, workin in one prison then another, Dalton’s brought a fair amount of order. Even improved them,” McKenzie shook his head. “But it’s common knowledge his co-workers can’t stand him. None of them. But then that’s not a crime. I mean, it’s not a personality contest. Their jobs aren’t to make friends; they’re in place to make rules, run a tight ship, and put in the time.”
“Just like the inmates,” Michael mumbled.
“Right,” Proctor said. “We just haven’t been able to figure out his why.”
“Folks, let’s not forget we could be…” Roman hesitated, then said, “No, we are dealing with a real head case, and with who knows what for a motive.”
DA Gillespie leaned forward. “What do you think, Michael?”
“Psychopath, for sure,” he shook his head and fidgeted. “I don’t know. I’ve known him a long time—rather, I knew him a long time ago. And I can tell you with certainly…he was crazy then. No need to think time has made him less so. I just keep going back to his obsession with my cooking for him.”
“Talking about a crazed foodie,” Jasmine whispered.
Michael looked straight at her and smiled, then shifted his focus from one person to the next. “That’s it.”
An hour later, they had a plan. The current DA would spin a story for the press. It would be part fact, part fiction. The former DA would make his debut as “actor” in a court case that would be covered by the San Francisco Chronicle. The arresting officers would go about their business as usual; however, their maneuvers would be altogether different. The operating manager would say nothing to the press while the owner would go on trial for the murder of his brother.
Part III
Last Supper
65
Loose Cog
As Dalton exited the compound, he spotted two officers heading in the main building, and his nerves went on high alert. Even though his stomach was nervous and he had suffered a battery of headaches, he needed to eat immediately, so he headed for the closest fast-food joint he could find—a first for him.
Less than an hour later, his hunger satisfied, Dalton was back at work.
Ignoring the personnel at the front desk, he headed toward his office where he barked at Baxter to get him a hot tea and some Tums because something he had eaten for lunch was not agreeing with him.
When Baxter brought the requested items, he asked, “You okay, Sir? Perhaps you returned to work too soon—you know, after that bug.”
Cleaning a molar with a toothpick, Dalton was lost in thought. “What? Yeah, that’s probably it. Just a bug hanging around. Thanks,” he motioned to set the things down, then shooed him away. “Now leave. I’ve got shit to do.”
Just before he closed the door, he barked, “Baxter, wait! I need you to put Sebastian’s release on hold. Just a bit longer. I’ll explain later.”
“Sir, he’s being released first thing in the morning. Two officers came by to handle matters today—they just missed you.”
“What?”
“Yes, Sir. Evidently, they had a letter from the Governor saying Sebastian’s free to go. They’ll be here at 8 sharp.”
Dalton’s stomach flipped. He wanted to vomit. His hands began to sweat and his temples throbbed.
“Sir? Are you all right? Your color doesn’t look—”
“Shut your piehole and the door—on your way out!”
Returning to his desk, Baxter could not help but smile, as he finally had something on his boss. He reached in his top desk drawer and removed the single strip of paper he had found in Dalton’s trashcan earlier in the day. Reading it again, he beamed.
66
Inside Man
First thing Wednesday morning, Michael arrived at San Quentin in chains; both ankles and wrists were shackled. He looked haggard and worn, depressed and lost. Proctor and McKenzie accompanied him.
At the front desk, each officer went through all the maneuvers required to process him. No one was in a hurry. All they had was time. During the entire process, Michael stared at the floor without a word. Since Solitary was not as large as the rest of the compound, there were not as many inmates which meant they all knew one another. When a new convict arrived, everyone was eager to see the “fresh blood.” The inmates were being served breakfast, so each man got a momentary glimpse when their door slots were opened for food delivery.
Michael instantly felt the walls close in. It was not until he reached his “new home” that he felt those same walls come crashing down. When the nearly foot-thick door slammed behind him, it all became real.
The room was not just small—it was tiny.
It was darker than expected and felt oddly familiar.
And terribly bleak.
It must have been an hour or so later when he heard the lock rattle. As the door opened, Warden Dalton stood tall, grinning, and staring for a long moment before he spoke.
“Hello, Michael. Welcome to our humble abode.”
Nothing.
“Are you comfortable? Can we get you anything to make your stay more enjoyable?”
Nothing.
“Come on, my friend. You’re going to be here for a long time. You might as well get off on the right foot with me.”
Still nothing.
Dalton’s smile slowly eroded into stone. “Have it your way.”
He turned and slammed the door. The sound seemed to echo for an eternity.
Minutes ticked into what seemed like hours. Next, the rattling lock was followed by the door opening. This time, an officer waved him over and shouted, “Turn around. Put your hands behind you. I’ll chain them, then spin you around, and we’ll be on our way. Do you understand me?”
He nodded.
“Do you understand me?” the officer barked.
“Yes, Sir,” Michael answered with humility.
“Good. Now get over here.”
Michael sat in a small gathering room located just outside the dozen or so solitary cells. Dalton appeared minutes later when a solid steel door opened to a second door of iron bars. Grinning again, he waited until the officer let him in, then took a seat across the table from Michael.
“Hello again, Michael. Have you taken time to think about things? Gotten to know your surroundings? Made peace with your new life?”
