Into The Night, page 24
Jake
Harris studied the documents, referring to the checklist of legislator names, and each time a bell went off in his head as glimpses of what Jake was after flashed in his mind.
Something isn’t right here, but I can’t put my finger on it.
Three hours later, Harris looked at the time. He gathered up the documents and carefully put them back into the envelope. His curiosity had a fire under it now.
Over the course of the next several days, he called multiple state agencies, including the state auditor’s office. Something tickled his mind about the Rehabilitative Manufacturing Division. Surely Pamela Rhodes, the state auditor, could shed some light on where those millions of dollars went. After a few calls, he finally scheduled a meeting with her.
It wasn’t the first time he’d sat in the office of a high ranking state official, but it was his first visit with Ms. Rhodes who won her office in the last election with a firebrand approach to tracking down waste and corruption. If anyone gave him the goods on the Department of Corrections budget, it would be her.
After a brief wait, he was ushered behind the dark oak doors and was face-to-face with her.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Murphy. My secretary said you wanted to take a look at the Corrections budget after my audit this past fall. Is there something in particular you are looking for?”
“Yes, there is. I was wondering if you could give me the numbers for the Rehabilitative Manufacturing Division. I have reason to believe it’s producing millions of dollars for the department, but when looking at the numbers from the legislative report I don’t see where that money is going.”
“You won’t find it in that report or in my audit.”
Cocking his head to one side, Harris stared in disbelief. “Why not?”
“The Rehabilitative Manufacturing Division isn’t a part of the Department of Corrections, so it isn’t a state entity.”
“But it uses state-provided facilities and inmate labor at pennies on the dollar. Their factories are inside the prisons. How can they not be part of the department?
“I was surprised by what I found myself, Mr. Murphy. That division is a private for-profit contracted business.”
“What about all the money it makes?”
“That’s not under my jurisdiction. It doesn’t go back to either the state or the Department of Corrections. It’s privately owned, and all the money generated is earned by the owners of the company.”
“Who owns it?”
“That I’m not sure about. Perhaps the Department of Revenue could assist you, but I’ve heard rumors that no one really wants to talk about RMD. Here is a copy of the Corrections Department audit that you requested, however I wish I could give you more information, but this is all I have.”
Harris rose from the velvet-covered chair and reached for the binder she handed him. “Thank you very much for your time, Ms. Rhodes.”
“It was my pleasure, Mr. Murphy. I appreciate your reports. I watch them every day during my lunch. Keep them on their toes.”
A brief handshake later, he was on his way back out into the hallway of the state capitol building.
I need to call Jake.
Once in the privacy of his car, Harris dialed the number Jake had given him at Perk Up!
“Murphy?”
“Yeah, Jake, I need to talk with you.”
“It’s about time. I was beginning to think you’d blown me off.”
“No, not at all. I’ve been doing some digging into what you gave me the other week. I just had an interesting conversation with the state auditor. RMD is a private company!”
“I could have told you that. I wanted to see if you were willing to poke around enough in the sleazy corners to come up with it yourself.”
“Well, I did. Jake, just how much money are we talking about?”
“Last year the laundry service alone made $118 million. Now think about the dozen other enterprises they have going on. It adds up to a lot of dough.”
“And none of this gets turned into the state?”
“Not a penny. At least not directly.”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, there are some people in the government who get plenty of this cash. You saw the list of politicians with marks next to their names, right?”
The gravity of what he heard silenced Harris.
“Murphy, are you there?”
“Yeah, I’m here. Those dirty bastards are pocketing the money off basically free inmate labor. What else are they into?”
“For that information, you need to meet me again. I’ve got more documents for you. See you at the coffee shop tomorrow at four. Okay?”
“I’ll see you then. Thanks for putting me onto this, Jake.”
“There’s more. See you tomorrow.”
The next day Harris gave his report on the most recent political movement on the gas tax bill. Democrats and Republicans were duking it out in committee. The producers ordered him to stay on top of that story. It was, they said, the most important thing going on in the capitol building.
Oh, I think I’m onto something much bigger than the gas tax.
At four o’clock, Harris sat in the same booth with Jake who had another large manila envelope lying on the table for him.
Trina brought coffee to the table. “I have extra cream for you, Mr. Murphy. I remembered you liked it that way.”
Harris blushed. In the intensity of following Jake’s leads, he’d forgotten to call Trina.
“Call me Harris. When we’re done here, I’d like to talk with you for a moment if you’re free.”
Trina’s eyes sparkled. “Sure, Harris, that would be nice.”
The men ordered and got down to business. Jake fidgeted with the ring on his left hand. He caught Harris staring at his hands as they talked.
“Sorry, I guess I’m a little nervous. The stress is getting to me lately.”
“That’s an interesting ring you have there. What are those symbols?”
“My wife and I met when I was stationed in Guam. It was such a special place to us that we had these made for our wedding bands. The symbols each represent something from there. Like this one…” He pointed at a squiggly line. “It represents the waves in the ocean.”
Jake suddenly stopped talking.
“I hope I didn’t say anything to upset you, Jake.”
“No, It’s just that Liz died two years ago. It’s still tough to think about. And lately, I’ve been certain someone is tailing me, so my emotions are a little raw.”
“Because of what’s going on in the prisons?”
“Yeah, they don’t like whistleblowers, and there are a lot of powerful people you and I are about to expose. This goes even beyond the governor’s office and those piss ant legislators who are pocketing money.”
“How high up?”
“I don’t know. Honestly, I think the media is in on it too. You need to be careful who you talk to about this at work.”
Harris hadn’t considered his bosses a threat. After all, Trident Media prided itself on truth, integrity, and diligence.
“I don’t think that’s an issue at Trident.”
“Really? Have you mentioned any of this at work?”
“Not yet. I wanted to have the big picture before I brought it up to the team.”
“I think you should bring up just a piece of this to them first. You can see what their reaction is before you play your hand. I’m telling you, Murphy, this is big, and it’s widespread. I don’t know just how big, but it’s big.”
After a two-hour conversation, Jake left with assurances that he would be in touch with Harris soon.
Trina stood nervously behind the counter, glancing Harris’s direction. He wiped the sweat off his palms onto his pants, picked up the envelope, and made his way to the cash register.
“Was everything fine, Mr. Murphy? I mean, Harris?”
“It was delicious as always. Say, Trina, I don’t want you to think I was ignoring you.”
“Oh, well…”
“No, really. I haven’t been. I got caught up in a project for work, but I’d like to see you. How about Friday night we go to dinner?”
“I’d like that, Harris. You have my number, right?”
“It’s in my phone already. I’m just an idiot and haven’t called you. I’ll call you soon to make the final plans.”
Harris left Perk Up! with a lightness he hadn’t felt in, well, he couldn’t remember how long.
I’ve got a huge story to work on, the biggest of my career, and I have a date for Friday night with a pretty girl. Maybe life is looking up for me!
The next day, Harris brought up investigating the Rehabilitative Manufacturing Division during the team meeting at work.
“Why would anyone be interested in that, Murphy?”
“I think there’s a story to be found. I have it on good authority--the state auditor--that RMD isn’t even part of the Corrections Department. It’s raking in millions a year with all the overhead being paid by taxpayers. They pay inmates next to nothing, and the profits are huge.”
Stern looks shot around the table.
“I think we need to direct our energies to more relevant topics than what happens to inmate workers, Murphy. No, you need to focus on the gas tax and that other bill. You know, the one about ending punitive damages against the state in the event of a frivolous lawsuit.” Stan Carlisle, executive producer at Trident, sat stoically at the table, shooting a stern look at the other producers. Harris knew their decision was final, at least for now.
I’m not done with the RMD story. Once I have the big picture, they’ll have to run it. We’ll have the exclusive on a blockbuster expose.
Harris did as his bosses told him and reported on the gas tax, the punitive damages bill, and the boat safety week bill that was proposed by a former highway patrolman turned legislator.
He didn’t feel comfortable with the punitive damages bill. It rankled him to think the state could walk away with no responsibility for injuries or wrongful deaths. However, the farther he delved into the RMD story, the more he began to think the state could do whatever it wanted to.
As weeks of investigating passed, a nagging fear crept into Harris’s subconsciousness. The more he found out, the more doors slammed in his face whenever he asked about RMD, the more he felt as though he was walking in deadly quicksand. He thought about Jake’s nervousness. The slight eye twitch. His constant looking over his shoulder. The fiddling with his ring on his finger. Harris now found himself jumping at the slightest out-of-place sounds.
Then the break-in occurred. At least, Harris was pretty sure his apartment was broken into. Nothing was missing, but his lamp was tipped over, and drawers in his desk were left slightly ajar one night when he returned to his apartment. His neighbors claimed they saw nothing out of the ordinary, but they also didn’t want to talk about it. Dread stalked him day and night. A black car showed up everywhere he went. At first, he thought it was his imagination, but it was everywhere he was: the grocery store, the gym, and he even saw it following him when he was on his date with Trina.
What a date it was, too. That girl…
The rush of emotions he had when thinking about Trina was quickly replaced by the undeniable truth that he was being watched.
Someone doesn’t want that story coming out, which only means I need to work twice as hard because I’m onto something.
Two weeks later, he tested the waters and brought the RMD topic up at the team meeting again. He was surprised by their sudden change of heart.
“You know, Murphy. We think you may have something here. In fact, the people at the Department of Corrections need to meet with you about this. Set up a meeting with them. Go in there with guns blazing. Ask them some of those tough questions you’re so good at.”
“Really? You support this story?”
“Oh, absolutely.” Stan’s words were supportive, but his eyes betrayed a hardened glint.
It’s a start. At least I have the go ahead. Once I blow the lid off this story, they’ll be glad they gave me their blessing. This will make national news.
After only one phone call, a meeting was set at DOC headquarters.
That was way easier than I thought it would be.
The upcoming meeting only fueled Harris’s desire to find the truth. With the help of Jake and some late-night meetings with bureaucrats who had access to tax filings and supply chain logistics for RMD, Harris finally connected the dots.
Those dirty bastards. They love using the cover of being “tough on crime” to skim millions into their own pocketbooks. Dozens of high ranking legislators are in on this. The governor has to be too. He was a member of the House for years until he reached his term limit and ran for higher office.
The night before the meeting at DOC headquarters, Harris gave Jake a call. There were a few loose ends he wanted to tie up before hitting them full-force.
No answer. Harris tried again and again. Still no answer. While disturbing, Harris chalked it up to Jake using throw away phones.
He must have a new one. He’s got my number. He’ll be in touch.
On the warmest day in weeks, Harris arrived at the office of the DOC director. The elegant walnut furniture in the waiting room was one of the products made by RMD. Through his research, Harris discovered that every state office was required to buy any product made by RMD through them, even if the cost was higher than other retailers. Not only that, but RMD had similar contracts with dozens of states across the country.
What a racket.
Harris waited patiently, then the secretary said, “Director Ramsberry is ready for you.”
Confident he had caught them in their web of corruption, Harris grinned as he walked through the door. His expression rapidly changed, however once he entered the room.
Sitting in the spacious office, he recognized not only Amanda Ramsberry but also several legislators, the lieutenant governor, the head of RMD, and Larry Levins, the station manager of Trident Media.
What in the hell is Larry doing here?
“Hello, Mr. Murphy. Please have a seat.” Amanda Ramsberry motioned to the only empty chair left in her office. Several of the legislators stood in a semi-circle around Harris and Director Ramsberry’s desk.
Suddenly, Harris felt less like a fearless reporter and more like a child called into the principal’s office. The momentum shifted to the side of the powerbrokers surrounding him.
“We understand you’ve been looking into some matters on your own, without your station’s permission.” Ramsberry sat behind her desk, fiddling with her pen. The legislators took an obvious half-step toward Harris.
“Well, I…”
“You don’t need to explain, Harris. We know.” Larry Levins stared impassively at him. “It’s not as though you were hard to keep track of.”
“What? You’re involved in following me?”
“I’m sure you can understand the gravity of what you have planned, Mr. Murphy. It just can’t happen.” Kendall Crockett, chairman of the House Corrections Committee, leaned forward with a piercing glare.
“We’ve worked too long to protect ourselves to have you try to unravel all we’ve accomplished. You know we can’t let that happen.” Amanda Ramsberry tapped her pen on the stack of papers before her, making an object sitting on her desk rattle every time her pen struck. She smiled as Harris’s gaze settled on Jake’s wedding band. For good measure, she rapped her pen once more to make the ring bounce on the mahogany.
Harris stood to leave.
“Not so fast.” Larry Levins and five other men surrounded him in a tight group.
What is it about Larry’s eyes?
Harris stared in disbelief as his boss’s eyes flickered. A second eyelid he’d never noticed closed vertically across Larry’s pupils. An uncontrollable shudder passed through Harris’s body.
I must be losing my mind.
Everyone in the room chuckled. The room spun, and Harris grasped the back of his chair.
“Why are you laughing?”
“You just told yourself you’re losing your mind. You’re a perceptive man, Harris Murphy.”
“Wait. How did you know that? I didn’t say that out loud.”
“You don’t have to. We can read your thoughts. We’ve known what you, and the others who have been stupid enough to interfere with us, have been thinking.” Amanda Ramsberry smirked as she looked at Jake’s wedding band.
“You and your friend were right to believe you were being followed. We can’t let trouble walk around unattended. It’s too dangerous for us.” Larry Levins blinked his strange eyes again.
“Us?”
“Yes, our kind. We’ve managed to keep ourselves secret from you lowly creatures for over a century. We’re certainly not losing our grip on the masses now.”
Christopher Bradford, the Speaker of the House, moved blithely toward Harris. “You see, we have been in control of this planet for a long time. Do you really believe that you are a ‘free’ press? You tell your ignorant public the news your superiors, like Larry here, tell you to report. We can’t have you asking questions and causing unrest amongst our laborers.” A lizard-like tongue flicked out of Bradford’s mouth.
Harris’s knees buckled slightly.
I’ve got to get out of here.
Another chuckle erupted in the room.
“Oh, you will leave here, Harris, but before you do we have to take care of your first concern.” Amanda Ramsberry opened a compartment on her desk and withdrew a long needle attached to a machine similar to a portable heart defibrillator. A thin metal wire connected the needle to the machine. She pushed of a button, and the machine lit up, emitting a gentle hum.
“My first concern?”
“You know, the one about you losing your mind.”
Panic gripped Harris Murphy, and he dashed for the door. He made it two steps before the superhuman strength of the beings in the room brought him to the floor.
“This will only hurt for a minute, and we promise you won’t remember a thing.”
The last sound Harris Murphy heard was cackling laughter as the needle punctured his brain through the base of his skull.
***
