Tarnished Image (14 page)

David lay motionless on his back and stared at the white ceiling of his cell. The mattress upon which he lay was thin and secreted a vague odor of disinfectant. Small pellets of perspiration dotted his brow. The central air conditioning of the jailhouse weakly moved the tepid, cigarette-laced air around and carried with it the haunting moan of air forced passed the metal register. Unconsciously, he rubbed his index finger and
thumb together, mildly aware of the oily film that remained in his pores from the fingerprinting ink and the soapy, pre-moistened towelette he had been given to clean his hands.

His mind raced; his emotions churned and bubbled like water set to boil. One moment he felt fierce anger at the injustice he was forced to endure; the next moment he wanted to cower in fear. The desire to strike out would exchange turns with the nearly overwhelming need to weep. Like a child caught on a runaway roller coaster, David’s feelings were bouncing back and forth with soul-jarring jerks.

He sat up and looked around the cell. There were two beds, each a thin, heavily used mattress resting on a flat metal surface cantilevered from the wall. The floor was bare concrete. On one wall was a metal toilet and sink that some institutional designer had melded into a single, ugly, utilitarian unit. The only window in the room looked out over the receiving area of the jail. There was no view to the outside.

The muffled voices of guards and detainees echoed down the halls. Occasionally a uniformed officer peered in through the window and watched David. He was on suicide watch, not because he had given the impression that he was suicidal, but because his attorney, Calvin Overstreet, had arranged it. By calling in favors with his former FBI colleagues, he had been able to keep David from being confined with the other prisoners—something Calvin said could be unpleasant. By having him placed on suicide watch, David could have the equivalent of a private room. This was even more important since word of his arrest had been broadcast on television. Many of the detainees awaiting trial had access to the television room, and it was likely that they would have seen the report. No one could guess what their response might be.

David buried his face in his hands. None of this seemed real. Even as a minister he had never been inside a jail. Not even to visit someone. Now he was an inmate, at least for a short time.

Fear-propelled questions began to buzz through his mind. How would he explain this? What would he say to the people at Barringston Relief?

The images of two faces floated to the forefront of his mind: Timmy and Kristen. David could still see the frightened, confused expression on Timmy’s face as the police had led David from his office. David loved Timmy and knew that that love was returned in like kind. Seeing the young man tortured by an event he couldn’t understand stoked the fires of David’s emotions. Timmy was now his charge. David should be there to take care of him, but he wasn’t. He was locked in a small room and under the strict surveillance of his jail keepers.

Then there was Kristen. By now she had heard of the arrest and would be concerned. How was she dealing with all this? Judging by the number of media people who had been waiting out front when the FBI escorted David from the building, she would be overwhelmed with calls.

As he thought of Kristen, David’s heart sank. He loved her dearly. She had been a rock of strength for him when he first came to Barringston Relief. She had spoken plainly, but never unkindly. They were kindred spirits, and David thanked God every day for bringing her into his life. He wanted to see her now more than ever. He wanted to talk to her and gaze into the deep blue of her eyes. His fingers hungered to stroke her thick red hair. He wondered if things would be different now.

Standing to his feet, David began to walk around the
room, something he was prone to do when deep in thought. Back and forth across the tiny cell he paced, forcing his rampaging emotions to order and then pressing them to the back of his mind. Control was the key here, he told himself. Much of that had been taken away from him, but he could still control his response to the situation. David knew that if he did not discipline his emotions, his emotions would manipulate him. So he paced, denying the emotion, encouraging the intellect.

Timmy would be all right. There were many people in Barringston Relief to look after him. Most likely, that job would be seized by Kristen. Since Timmy lived in the building in David’s suite, he would be fine. Kristen was a sharp and purposed woman, not subject to overreaction. She too would be fine. The real question was what to do next. Confined as he was, there was little that he could do physically, but he could apply his intellect to the problem.

Comforting himself with Calvin’s promise of a quick bail release, David undertook the difficult task of putting the arrest behind him and solving the problem at hand. The arrest, questioning, and booking had made him feel dirty, soiled. He didn’t belong in this place. He was an innocent man. What he had to do was keep his wits about him and fight to reestablish his integrity.

The images from the video rushed to the forefront of his thoughts. He had never seen the other two men in that video, and he had certainly never been kissed by that woman.
You may be middle-aged
, he said to himself,
but you’re not so old as to forget something like that.
One thing was certain: That event never happened. And if the event was unreal, then it must be fabricated. But why? By whom? Such
a fabrication was an elaborate affair and must have been difficult to arrange. Why go through so much trouble? Who hated David that much?

And there were other matters with which to deal. He knew he was innocent, but how could he prove it? The tape was a convincing piece of evidence. If roles were reversed and he were an observer instead of the accused, he would have trouble disbelieving his own eyes.

This brought Calvin Overstreet to mind. David had been impressed with the attorney and was glad that Mr. Barringston had retained him on David’s behalf. Calvin had professed his belief in David’s innocence, but David wondered if that wasn’t little more than a lawyer’s attempt to comfort his client. Still, the man had seemed sincere, and he certainly seemed to know his way around the situation.

During their meeting in the interview room, Calvin had coached David about many things. “Remember,” he had said, “don’t talk to anyone about this. If the FBI or anyone else wants to question you, insist—demand, if you have to—that I be present. That is your right. Don’t talk to anyone in the jail, not the guards, other prisoners, or the janitor. Say nothing to them. Don’t even talk out loud to yourself. Anything heard can be used against you. If you are put in a cell with another prisoner, don’t talk about your arrest or anything else. The prisoner could be an undercover agent put there to hear anything that may help their case.”

“Would they really do that?” David had asked in shock.

“It’s been known to happen,” Calvin answered. “I also want you to begin a mental rehearsal. Imagine any question that may come your way and formulate an answer. I want you mentally prepared for the next interview. Also know this:
When they question you, they will attempt to fool you into making statements that they can use.”

“What do you mean?”

“For example, they won’t ask you if you’ve ever met Arturo Lozano. Instead, they’ll say something like this, ‘Is this the first time you’ve met with Arturo Lozano, or have there been other times?’ Now if you answer with a simple no, then it implies that you’ve met with him before. So be sure to take as much time to answer a question as needed. Say, ‘I have never met with Arturo Lozano.’ You can and must give more than yes or no answers, unless I tell you otherwise.

“Also,” Calvin had continued, “they will mix difficult questions with easy ones. This confuses many people. They’ll say something like, ‘How long have you been transferring money out of the country, Dr. O’Neal?’ You, of course, deny doing any such thing. Then they’ll ask a no-brainer, ‘You actually live in the Barringston Tower?’ You answer yes, and then they hit you with an incriminating question for which they also want a yes answer, such as, ‘Did you have help transferring the money?’ Do you see what I mean? It’s an attempt to play with your head. You must keep your wits about you at all times. You must work from here,” Calvin said tapping his forehead, “and not from here.” He tapped his chest. “Brains and not emotion will get us out of all this.”

“And faith,” David had added.

Calvin had studied David for a moment and then nodded. “You’ll need a lot of that, Dr. O’Neal.”

David had taken Calvin’s instructions seriously. He had
spoken to no one and had felt a strong sense of relief when he was put in the cell. At least he had time to think without the interruption of other prisoners. David trusted Calvin. He had to. He was well over his head in trouble.

K
RISTEN WANTED TO GO TO BED
. T
HE DAY HAD WORN ON
with a horrible, grinding slowness. Now it was over, at least for a little while. Since arriving for work at eight, she had put in twelve straight hours. Her eyes burned, her back hurt, and her heart ached. The latter she attributed to the video of David. It was as she was gathering her things to leave that she thought of Timmy. She had not seen him since David’s arrest. Normally he busied himself with light janitorial work in the building, but he had not been by to collect the trash as he usually did.

With David gone, Timmy would be alone. Kristen picked up the phone and punched in the number that would ring David’s top-floor suite. There had been no answer; just the electronic message manager. Next she placed a call to maintenance and asked the building engineer if he had seen Timmy.

“Nope,” he answered. “I haven’t seen him all day. Is he OK? He never misses work.”

“I’m sure he is, but I’ll check on him.” Kristen hung up the phone.

A feeling of concern encircled her. Leaving her office, she made her way to the cafeteria. Timmy had a notorious appetite for snacks, especially at night. Perhaps he was feeding one of his many cravings for sweets.

The cafeteria was nearly deserted. A few employees were scattered about the room, seated at tables and eating meals. Kristen spotted Timmy sitting alone at a table in the middle of the large room. As she approached him, she saw that he was staring down at what must have been at one time a piece of pumpkin pie. Timmy was smashing the dark orange-brown pie on his plate. The small dish was covered center to rim with mashed pie.

“Hi, Timmy,” Kristen said.

“Hi,” he replied without looking up.

Kristen took a seat. “Doesn’t the pie taste good?”

Timmy just shrugged and continued to flatten the pulpy mass.

Reaching across the table, Kristen laid her hand on Timmy’s wrist. “Put the fork down, Timmy.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to talk to you. OK?”

Timmy dropped the fork and placed his hands in his lap. He didn’t look up at Kristen.

“Are you all right, Timmy?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Yeah, I guess so. I don’t know.”

“You’re worried about David, aren’t you?”

Again he shrugged. “He said it would be all right, but I’ve been waiting for him and he’s not back, and it’s dark and I don’t know where he is. I’ve been waiting and waiting and waiting.” Tears dripped from his red eyes.

Kristen was heartbroken watching the boy-man in tears. His anxiety was palpable. “Sometimes things happen in life that are hard, Timmy, and we must learn to be strong.”

“But he didn’t do nothin’,” Timmy protested. “David wouldn’t do nothin’ wrong.”

The images of the video she had seen crashed forward in her mind. Like Timmy, she had always believed that David was as good a person as anyone could be. But there was the tape …

“It’s like those wave people,” Timmy said, wiping at his eyes again.

“Wave people?”

“Yeah, David showed me the movie of the big wave over in the Indians.”

“Indians?” Kristen was baffled, then it hit her. “The tsunami in India? David showed you that news report?”

“Yeah, India. The big wave. Killed all them people. David said they weren’t bad people, but the wave killed ’em anyway.”

“And you think something bad is going to happen to David?”

“It could! It could!” Timmy was weeping loudly. “They’re going to take David away from me, just like that bad man took A.J.”

Timmy had never recovered from the horrible sight of his friend and guardian A.J. Barringston being shot by the Somali warlord Mahli. The trauma no longer affected Timmy’s daily life, but it could still rear up in times of stress or anxiety. For Timmy there was no greater fear than seeing someone he loved taken away. He had lost his parents and been abandoned on the streets of San Diego. He had seen his best friend killed, and now he had witnessed David’s arrest.

“You come home with me tonight, Timmy. That way we can keep each other company.”

“But what if David comes home? I’ll be gone.”

“He’ll know to call over to my house.”

“What’s going to happen to David?” Timmy asked a little more calmly. “Bad things like the wave people?”

“No, Timmy,” Kristen said with a gentle smile. “Nothing like that. We’ll have to wait and see. A lot of smart people are helping him.”

“Real smart people? Smart people like you?”

“Very smart people,” Kristen said. “Come on. Let’s go home. We’ll come back in the morning. OK?”

Timmy paused in thought as if weighing the options. “OK,” he finally said. “I ain’t been to your house before.”

“It’s not fancy, but it’s comfortable.”

“Do you have cable TV?”

“Yes, Timmy,” Kristen said with a grin. “I have cable TV and a VCR. Maybe we can watch a movie.”

“OK.” Timmy paused in thought again. He asked, “Is David really going to be OK?”

“Yes, Timmy, he’s going to be fine.” Kristen’s words carried more conviction than she felt.