The Poet's Blood (Heinous Crimes Unit Book 7), page 17
“You know the effort it took to get in here, right?” he asked Windsor in a low voice.
Windsor nodded. Patrick had game planned their strategy before he’d even placed the first call with Sins. Then they’d planned some more. No one had liked the idea of this interview, and the senator himself had been resistant to being interviewed by a convicted criminal.
“If you mess this up and piss this guy off, there isn’t anything I can do about it,” Patrick said.
Windsor looked at him. “I don’t have anything to lose.” He turned back to watching the door.
Patrick remained quiet for a few moments. Something was bothering him that he hadn’t brought up yet. It had been two days since Windsor said he needed to speak with Senator Franklin, and Windsor had been using one of the FBI’s tablets to read up on the man any time they weren’t planning. Patrick had done his due diligence and double checked everything Windsor had accessed. Or, rather, he’d scanned it because the amount of information was truly staggering. He’d seen nothing of importance.
Windsor had confirmed that nothing was exactly what’d he found, and still, he’d continued reading right up until they got off the plane.
“Did you find anything in all that research?” Patrick whispered.
“I’m not sure,” he answered.
This was new. Patrick turned his head and scrutinized him. “That’s different than what you’ve told me every other time I’ve asked. What did you read on the plane?”
“A sentence,” Windsor said.
Patrick’s eyebrows rose. “What did the sentence say? Were you planning on telling me this?”
Windsor shrugged. “I’m not sure it means anything. It was written in one place, and nowhere else. I’ve been thinking about it.”
Patrick shook his head and sighed. “Is this going to change our plan? Is it going to create questions that haven’t been approved?”
Christian’s answer was simple and without inflection. “Yes.”
“Jesus Christ,” Patrick cursed, knowing how much trouble this would cause. “If you get in there and fuck me, Windsor…”
“I don’t have anything to lose,” Windsor said again.
“Well I do,” Patrick responded.
“It’ll be okay.” Windsor was calm, ridiculously so. “It’s almost over now.”
The comment raised goosebumps across Patrick’s arms. He had no clue what was going on inside Windsor’s head, only that he’d invested so much in him being right.
Patrick was about to say, “It had better be okay,” when his phone vibrated. He had to turn it off while they were with the senator, so the buzz was a timely reminder.
His heart rate shot up when he read the notification. A letter had arrived in his inbox. No one wrote letters anymore, so the sender was known.
Luke Titan.
LETTERS FROM A KILLER
Dear Christian,
It is important that you and your handlers read this letter. I am going to speak more plainly than I usually do because your life is in danger. The FBI has mishandled this entire situation, and the bodies are beginning to stack up. If you and they do not heed this letter, you will be on that pile of bodies.
This is where I reach my conundrum. My disdain for the FBI and my near physical revulsion about helping them is coming into direct conflict with my desire to keep you safe.
It is important that we speak, Christian. You do not have the time that you believe you do. There is now a target on your head. Come back to me and let us discuss how we can avoid your death.
If you do not, I fear your life is forfeit.
Yours,
Luke Titan
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Patrick shut his phone off and glanced at Windsor, wondering if he’d seen anything. He was staring at the door and seemed to be unconcerned about anything else going on around him.
He shoved the phone into his pocket, his hands sweaty. He had multiple choices to make and no time. First, was he going to tell Windsor right now? Absolutely not. They had a singular mission here, to interview the senator. Nothing else was more important until that was finished.
Then what?
Patrick shoved the question from his mind. He’d have to deal with it later. Senator Franklin’s door was opening.
Christian assessed the man stepping out of the office. He had thought long and hard about the senator over the past two days. Looking at him now, he believed most of his conclusions were correct.
The senator was seventy-two years old and one of the highest-ranking members in the Senate. He hadn’t ever reached Majority Leader status, but he was one of the largest brokers in the hallways of power. With his net-worth, Senator Franklin could retire for one hundred years and never have to worry about money. Yet, from all current reports, he had no plans of stepping down.
He stood a solid six-foot-two-inches, and easily weighed two-hundred-and-fifty pounds if he weighed one. He was clean shaven with jowls and a double chin. He smiled as he stood with the door open, but Christian paid no attention. He looked at the man’s eyes.
His smile did not reach them, nor could he hide the cold calculation. Christian thought he’d likely spent long hours practicing covering it up in the mirror as a younger man. He hadn’t learned to disguise it, and now as an old man and with more power than most people could imagine, he didn’t have to give a damn.
“How’re y’all doin’ today?” Franklin asked in a thick drawl as he stepped out of the door and offered his hand to Collins.
“Doing well, thank you, sir,” Collins said as he pumped the man’s hand. “Sorry to have to bother you again.”
Franklin dropped his hand as well as his smile. “Not a problem at all. I’ll do anything within legal means to find the bastard who took my grandchildren. I can’t even begin to tell ya what it’s done to my daughter and her husband.”
He turned his attention to Christian. “I must say, I’m a mite surprised to see you, Mr. Windsor. I was at your hearings and paid close attention to your criminal proceedings. I can’t tell ya that I’m exactly happy you’re here. I have to trust our law enforcement agencies know what they’re doin’.”
He didn’t offer his hand, and neither did Christian.
He held Franklin’s gaze and offered no words, either. He wasn’t wearing chains in this office, but that didn’t matter. To this man, he might as well be sitting in an electric chair.
It was Collins who finally broke the awkward, silent stare down. “I assure you, sir, Mr. Windsor is here because we needed his help. So far, he’s been invaluable. We’re hoping that talking with you today will speed up the process of catching this criminal.”
The senator’s anger was replaced with false gratitude. Christian knew the senator felt meeting with a convicted felon was beneath him, beneath his office, and beneath what he thought of himself. Anything that might endanger his re-election, even a slight possibility, was to be eschewed.
“I’m sure it will,” Franklin said. “Now come on in and let’s chat. I’m sure my assistant will be in here soon enough telling me I have another appointment.”
The senator led them into his office and closed the door behind them. He moved to the high-backed leather chair that rolled beneath his massive wooden desk.
Christian paid no attention to the room. The awards and photos displayed on the walls and desk weren’t important. He needed to play this carefully if he didn’t want to be run out of the office. All that mattered was navigating the minefields that already littered this conversation.
Collins sat on the chair to the left, and Christian took the one to the right.
“Thank you for meeting with us, and me in particular, sir,” Christian started. “I know my past doesn’t endear me to the law enforcement community, nor to a statesman like yourself.”
“It’s good you recognize that, son,” the senator said. “I don’t want you under any misconceptions here. If the man sitting to your left wasn’t with ya, I wouldn’t have agreed to meet with you. I don’t think the people of my great state would appreciate it either, if I’m being frank.”
“I can appreciate that, sir.” Christian was doing his best to remember all the lessons about how to respond to authority he’d been taught throughout his life. The protocols that he’d never understood nor had ever been good at.
“Y’all were pretty thorough with all your questions last time an FBI agent came up here.” Franklin leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking under his weight. “So I’m curious what else y’all have to ask me about.”
Christian hadn’t been sure what he was going to ask until he’d come across that single sentence. Until he’d read it, he hadn’t understood the power that the senator held. Thirty years ago, he’d only been the Attorney General of Alabama, and yet he’d had as much power as a king. The kind of power that made him capable of changing history if he wanted, and he almost had. Christian had only found a single sentence.
“The last time the FBI was here, did they discuss your stint in public office in Alabama with you?” Christian asked.
The man’s thick, white eyebrows furrowed. “Stint, boy? Is that what ya think my service was?”
Christian grimaced internally at his misstep. “I’m sorry, sir. I mean your years serving in the Alabama legislature, and as Attorney General. Did they touch on that time at all?”
Franklin looked away as if considering the question. “Yes, I’m sure they asked me if I knew about any enemies if I’d accrued that during that time. Asked for any contacts that I knew back then who might be able to help with the investigation. Ain’t that in your report? Don’t you got all it written down?”
“Yes, sir, I do,” Christian replied.
Franklin’s mask slipped. “Then why in God’s name are you asking me about it?”
Christian looked down at his lap and shook his head. “Because I’m trying not to be myself. I’m trying to behave more like everyone wants me to.” He looked back at the senator. “I’ve never been very good at that.”
“Well, son, that’s somethin’ we have in common,” Franklin said. “I’ve always forged my own path, too.”
Christian nodded, regrouping. “Did they ask you what happened in Hollytree? The FBI agents who were here?”
The senator was good—almost great—at hiding his surprise. What gave him away was the slightest crinkle at the corners of his eyes. He brought his hands up to his large stomach and interlaced his fingers, resting them there. “Hollytree? I don’t think so, son. I don’t think I recall what you’re talking about too well, either. What are you getting at?”
One sentence, Christian thought. The state somehow managed to turn the whole endeavor into a single sentence in a local newspaper. It didn’t even make the Birmingham News.
“Let me back up a minute, Senator,” Christian said. He flicked his gaze to the wall over the senator’s shoulder and leaned back in his chair. “You see, I think that these murders, what happened to your grandchildren, I think it starts with you.”
The senator raised his hand and opened his mouth to say something, but Christian didn’t slow down.
“I’m not saying you are guilty of doing anything wrong, but you see, I’ve looked through the records of your entire life history. You don’t support any extreme political positions that could get you killed. To use your wording, frankly, neither do the rest of the congresspeople who have lost family members. These legislators are middle-of-the-road, and while you may be a bit more to the right, it isn’t by much. You’re pro-life, but with exceptions. You’re for the death penalty, but in extreme cases only. You’re no hawk, but you supported the Iraq war until you realized it was unfruitful. There is, quite honestly, no reason for this to happen to you. At least, not that I’ve been able to find.”
Christian shifted his gaze back to Franklin. He had lowered his hand to his stomach again. He didn’t seem to know whether he should be pleased with or wary of Christian’s account.
“That’s until I found the mention of Hollytree. It was such a small mention, there’s no reason for you to remember it, either.” He paused. “Do you remember it, Senator?”
Franklin’s good ol’ boy demeanor was gone and the god of this office was there in its stead. “What did you read about that, boy?”
“Not a lot,” Christian responded. “There isn’t a lot to read about it. There’s no entry on Wikipedia, nothing on Reddit, and the FBI files are non-existent as well. It’s almost as if it didn’t happen, and that’s what makes me wonder if it’s the lead we’ve been looking for. The FBI hasn’t been able to find anyone with a motive for these murders. There are no forensics besides a single video. What we know is that it started with you. Why?”
The senator chuckled without humor. “Why are people crazy, boy? You’ll have to ask the big man upstairs, because I couldn’t tell ya.”
“You asked me what I read,” Christian said. “I read a single sentence. ‘A family led by a vigilante fought back against local law enforcement when they tried to apprehend the father, Mr. Edward Dollie; there were no survivors.’ It should have been two sentences, but the editor at the paper back then wasn’t too hot, I guess. Senator, that’s the only event in your past that I can see starting this.”
Franklin raised an eyebrow and turned to face Collins. “Is this boy touched, son? He just said there were no survivors. Hollytree was over thirty years ago. I don’t remember much about it, and even if I did, is he sittin’ here tellin’ me somebody has waited thirty years to avenge some white supremacists holed up on a mountain?”
Christian ignored that he was being dismissed. “All I’m asking, sir, is what you remember. What happened?”
The senator turned his head back to Christian and looked at him for what felt like minutes. “What I remember is some meth-making gun nut wouldn’t let the State Bureau of Investigation onto his property. They had the warrant and the right, for multiple reasons, but he wouldn’t let anyone near. So, I did what you have to do in law enforcement. I gave the go ahead for them to breach the property. If I remember correctly, he burnt the property to the ground. Killed himself and his whole family.”
Franklin leaned forward, placing his elbows on his desk. “They all died. I know that much. So I’m not one hundred percent sure what you’re gettin’ at, son. You think someone’s been harborin’ this grudge against me since the eighties? That they waited all this time and killed my grandkids, then started huntin’ the family of other congresspeople?” He turned to Collins. “This is what the FBI thinks happened?”
Christian knew Collins didn’t have a clue about the coverup. If he listened to the senator’s denial, he’d surely think Christian was crazy. “Why didn’t it make the news, sir? I’ve read everything I can, and that sentence is all I found. There was a single paragraph way back in that newspaper, then it wasn’t mentioned again. I can’t find any evidence of it being on the TV news, either.”
The senator sighed. “Have you seen much of Alabama, boy?”
“No, sir,” Christian answered.
“It ain’t as big as Texas or California, but it ain’t small, either. There’s a lot of room in Alabama, and not a whole bunch of people outside the cities.” Franklin carefully maintained a pleasant expression, although he spoke with barely concealed impatience. “Hollytree is an unincorporated dot on the map that sits at the base of the few mountains we have in Alabama. It might not even be a dot anymore. Hell if I know. Sure, if it’d happened in the nineties, the story might have blown up like it did under Reno out at Ruby Ridge. But things were different in the eighties. We went in with a legitimate warrant, and the man burnt himself, his family, and his property to the ground. The government didn’t do anything wrong. In a town that small, who’s going to go run and tell the news? Most people livin’ near those crazies were probably glad they were gone to begin with.” He leaned back in his chair. “You see what I’m tellin’ ya here? There wasn’t no story for the news to run, and there wasn’t no one who cared to tell the story.”
Christian nodded. He had what he needed. “I see, sir. I appreciate your time, truly. I think you’ve helped tremendously.”
The senator raised his eyebrows and looked at Collins. “That’s it? You ask me about something that happened thirty years ago, and that’s somehow enough for you to find the monsters who killed my grandchildren?” He shook his head, the politician’s mask slipping. “I hope the FBI’s got better people than you two workin’ this case, otherwise people are going to keep dyin’. You have anything else to ask me, Agent Collins?”
“No, sir.” Collins stood up and extended his hand. “I appreciate your time. We’ll keep you updated on what’s happening as we can.”
The senator reluctantly shook his hand and didn’t so much as look at Christian. “If y’all come back here, come with better questions. I’m doin’ the peoples’ business, and you’re wasting their time with this nonsense.”
With that, the senator ushered them from his office.
Patrick got into the car and started it without saying a word. Windsor hadn’t spoken since leaving the senator’s office, either, but that suited Patrick just fine. He didn’t want to talk until they were free and clear of anyone who might hear what he had to say.
He drove through the heart of DC until he found a suitable parking deck and pulled the vehicle into it. Windsor still didn’t notice the strained silence in the car as Patrick drove to the top floor, where there were only a few other cars, and parked longways across three spots.
“Get out,” Patrick told Windsor.
He stepped from the car and slammed his door before turning his head to the sky. It was overcast, the dark gray clouds looking down upon the world promising rain soon. Patrick thought it would storm, and hoped that if he kept staring up like this then a merciful bolt of lightning might strike him and put him out of his misery.
