Note from Author: Thank you, Edgefire and Tessaray for your comments! They warm the cockles of my heart! Only a few chapters left and yeah, off to Caged 3. What will I do when it's all over? LOL Many hugs to you and my other readers. :)
On the Edge of Wakefulness, Part 3
Chapter 25
The man who walked through the precinct's doors was clearly a man with intention.
Bo looked up and to his amazement saw Todd Manning strutting down the hallway, flanked by his people. Shoulders back and eyes sharp, Todd was dressed in a brand-spankin' new, black Armani suit with Italian black shoes and an obligatory plum-colored silk shirt open at the top. Right behind him was his lawyer, George Strauss, looking as mussed as ever, as grey as ever, but with a gaze that said he was ready to kill, legally speaking that is. Next to him walked Dr. Timothy Graham with a thick medical file under his bulky arm, ready to offer as much psychological analysis not only of Todd but of Brandy, too. Bo wondered if the poor prostitute was going to take the fall for this train wreck.
He stood when Todd reached his desk. "Todd Manning, color me knocked for six. You sure bounce back well."
"I try," he said in a smooth, even voice. Clear eyes greeted the Commissioner, pain well hidden. The fractured eye socket bore not even a shadow of a bruise. His color was better. The badly damaged hand had shed the bandaging. He even looked as though he put weight back on.
When Bo took a second glance at Todd, at a polite smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, he remembered this person from years back, someone cunning, ready to do what he had to do to save himself a whole lot of misery he never felt he deserved, even if he did do the crime. That was the Todd Manning Bo remembered.
"Where are you staying, Manning? I haven't seen you at Viki's and I saw Téa the other day alone at the diner. You at the Penthouse?"
"Granite's halfway house," Todd said plainly, the polite smile gone. Bo knew he was on the offensive. Everyone walked in silence, anxious to get to the meeting. The preliminary hearing had been postponed yet again, a sign of weakness on the prosecutor's part. The case wasn't going well and Todd knew it.
The conference room was full of sunlight, as if the day was making a joke of his possible future. Prison wouldn't offer this much light, not where he would end up. No doubt he'd be stuck in solitary due to his background, to his high profile status. No light where he'd be going.
Todd's thick police files acted the centerpiece to the large table in the center of the room. George clapped him on the shoulder, saying softly, "Grit your teeth, buddy, do what we talked about."
Hank Gannon sat at the table, Todd across from him. Another man joined them who looked to be a federal agent, probably from the FBI. Hard to deny with the serious suit, the plain face, the short, clipped brown hair and the steel blue eyes.
The door shut.
"I'm Richard Donaldson, U.S. Attorney. We're here to talk about the death of Jack Neederman, a federal agent murdered while on duty in your motel room. This opens up a window for first degree murder with special circumstances, in federal court, which means the death penalty."
Todd said nothing, appearing unmoved by the heavy talk. Tim plopped his file onto the table, crossing his arms. He was not so chill.
George responded, "Name's Strauss and I'm representing Todd Manning. Good to know you're out in force, protecting fine American citizens such as Phillip Manning, child molester, rapist, and murderer. And his groupie, Jack Neederman, a truly bad cop? Glad to know you're protecting them from Todd Manning, upright citizen and business owner who does admit to a mild drug problem. Good for you, Dick. Now for the disclaimers. This is a plea-bargain negotiation with the state prosecutor and with the feds. Anything and everything said within these four walls is solely for the purpose of negotiating a deal and therefore can't be used against my client at any time henceforth for as long as any of us shall live. This will permit him to speak freely in his own defense, to comment, to eke out a deal without fear of reprisal. This negotiation will end and so will the protections when we walk out these doors. We clear on that?"
"Crystal," Donaldson said.
"Fine with us," Hank chimed in.
"Excellent, gentlemen. Please begin at any time with the dog and pony show."
Donaldson sat down and like a card dealer in Atlantic City, tossed out Brandy's crime scene photos. "Why don't we look at these for a bit, then we'll talk about who needed protection from whom."
Todd laid eyes on them, bit his tongue, stomach lurching. All he could hear was his ragged breaths, in and out, in and out.
There were six shots all together from the motel room, large and in splashing color on glossy paper. Neederman was laid out on his back, a single shot to his neck, right above the Kevlar. Bled out in less than a minute. Different angles on Brandy, her crumpled body, bent arms and legs, black hair covering her face, clothes torn up, blood all over. The green carpet lay beneath her, swampy black. Todd could taste the fibers that he'd grabbed at with his teeth when they finally prevented him from moving to her. He could hear himself screaming, fighting the cops, feeling their clubs on his back to subdue him. Even now, he felt the panic, the desperate need to get to her.
He turned slightly, catching Tim's eyes for a second.
"Fuckers," he mumbled, huffed, as he shoved his chair back, giving him space from the table. "I had nothing to do with the shooting of Neederman. Brandy did that on her own." He motioned to the pictures with the barest of nods, "And your men did that to her in retaliation."
"That's what you say," Donaldson said. "Let's take a look at these. The autopsy photos."
Like cards again, he tossed more photographs towards Todd. Color again. The first showed a coffin-positioned Brandy on a silver table, a pale brownish tone to her, stone-colored really, blackish-grey holes all over her body, a life ripped apart by the bullets. Her face was unrecognizable thanks to death having settled into her bones. The others showed the steel table beneath her naked ravaged body. All her injuries were detailed, including bruises around her neck and on her arms that didn't come from bullets and on her inner thighs, a strip of cloth covering her genitalia. The last picture did not cover that up, showing injuries there too.
Todd glanced at them, looking away, expressionless. The only indication that these shots bothered him was his tight jaw.
"And how about these?"
Cards again, tossed in front of Todd. Booking shots from the Fayetteville jail. These he didn't expect. He stared at his own damaged face, cold eyes, and hard-set mouth. They hadn't hit him with the gun yet, that took place after the shots. There was nothing weak about this guy, nothing kind or considerate or empathy-inducing. There was no sad little boy here.
With these pictures alone, a jury would convict him not only for the deaths of Phillip, Neederman and Brandy, but for all the unsolved murders over the past several years. He rolled his eyes and looked at the pictures documenting his tattoos. The scratches on his shoulders, he didn't understand. When did that happen? This tended to show a change in Brandy, suggesting she fought him off. Couldn't be. She had said as she always did, in her way, go ahead and kill me. He breathed out and ran a hand through his hair, leaning back in his chair. Getting that distance again. He swallowed hard.
Goddamn that she was dead. Goddamnit.
Donaldson had gotten up and walked around the table, sitting on a chair right next to Todd. "You know what we see?" he said, "A pimp or an abusive, dominating lover, coercing his woman to do the shooting."
"Come on," Todd groaned. "I was all about the dope. If I knew she had a gun-"
"Remember, Gentlemen, anything Manning says is made in the furtherance of a negotiation and is not to be used against him outside this room."
"Yeah, yeah, go ahead, Manning, tell us how you were all about the heroin."
He was quiet some moments, eyes on all the photographs, legs long and spread. His shoulders though were no longer straight… he hunched, as if punched in the gut. To Bo's surprise, he spoke clearly, and humbly. There was no arrogance or snappiness or sarcasm. "She had drugs, and I wanted them. End of story. I didn't find any gun, had no access to a gun, had no interest in a gun. You can't tie me to that gun in any way. I did not make Brandy do anything. She was the last person I wanted to see outside Granite."
"Explain the scratches on your body, the bruises on hers." He reached across the table and grabbed a copy of the autopsy report. "What does line 9 say?"
Todd reviewed the report and put his head back at what he read, running a hand through his hair again, tossing the report back on the table.
"Go ahead, read it aloud."
He reluctantly sat up and glanced down at the paper. "Vaginal bruising," he said softly.
"She do that to herself, Manning?"
"Fuck you. I did not beat her into pulling the goddamn trigger on your bastard of an agent. You know what he did to her? He threatened her, beat HER into submission. When she got to me, she was terrified. She had a beef with him, her very own. You don't have a single thing to show a jury. I'll cop to misdemeanor possession of a needle 'cause that's all you got. Even the drugs you have aren't what she brought me. I dumped them."
"We have a witness to a fight between you and Brandy on the street. Our witness will testify that you slapped her and pulled her hair and pushed her towards the motel room. Story is she begged you to stop, fought you off, and you wouldn't."
Todd laughed bitterly, "You're desperate now, Dick."
George laughed, too, "Lying about witnesses doesn't get you anywhere."
The agent sat back with his arms out, "Lying?"
Timothy Graham cleared his throat and said, "Yes, lying. Brandy incited violence, in private, in order to garner the negative sexual attention she craved. They never fought that way outside private space. Additionally, Brandy never asked him to stop. It was not part of her psychopathy. She wished to die at his hands, asked for it repeatedly. He would not accommodate her. Yes, your witness is lying, or you are."
The words hit Todd deeply and he dropped his head, a flood of shame tearing him up. He sighed and found it hard to look at anyone. Without a lot of analysis, he deserved prison. It was hard in this very second to not simply cop to all of it.
Yeah, I did it, I killed her.
Donaldson looked at Hank, "Can you believe this? Since when does a federal agent lie?"
Todd seemed to rally at that, actually smirking, "Since when does the American government lie? Did you actually ask that question?" He chuckled bitterly and then said in a distinctly unsmiling tone, "You don't have anything on me." He hesitated before talking, "I loved Brandy. She and I came from a similar place. We got into a bad place, like what the doctor says. I admit that. It was wrong, but I never forced her to do anything. Especially not to shoot an agent. That's…crazy."
"Tell us about the scratches. She had your DNA under her fingernails."
"She didn't scratch me, ever. I can't explain that other than maybe your cop did that to me. Maybe your coroner put my blood on her fingernails. You faked the drugs, you faked the scratches."
"What about bringing you drugs? We know she was your main supplier. She as much as told us that on tape."
"She brought them to me on her own. She had her contacts, I had mine. I never forced her. And I certainly didn't beat her into doing anything. In fact, I encouraged her to get help, to fix herself, for us to get out of our groove. I encouraged her to go to Viki, even that morning. And that tape you mention…did you record the threats against her or did it conveniently get lost?"
"There weren't any threats against her!"
George spoke up, "Oh really? Huh…maybe you should listen to this." He pulled out a small tape recorder and flipped it on. What played was a phone conversation recorded at Viki's house while Brandy had been staying with her. Todd knew what was on the tape but hadn't heard it himself. The sound of Brandy's fragile, bird-like voice tore into him and he took a breath, turning away. His eyes prickled with remembrance. He was looking right at her… that dress… that hair… her delicate smile.
"Sorry, I didn't get to the machine on time, hello?"
"Brandy Night, that you?"
"Yeah, sure is, what you want?"
"This is Jack Neederman. We met."
"Oh yeah, that's right. You asked me questions about Phillip."
"That's right, Phillip Manning. And you've been tight-lipped."
"They ain't nothing tight about me."
"Cute. But listen honey, we need you to cooperate. We know you're selling drugs to Todd Manning, we know you're a conduit to a big dealer. We know you had a big hand in killing Phillip. So, how about we cut a deal. You give us Todd for Phillip's death, we give you your freedom."
"I can't do that. He didn't do nothin' wrong."
"Ms. Night, bad things happen to young women on the streets. You know that, right?"
"I don't know nothin' 'bout nothin', Mr. Neederman."
"You had better start cooperating. We'd hate to see something bad happen to you. Real bad."
The tape stopped and Donaldson breathed hard through his nose. "That's not a threat, that's interrogation."
"Not to Brandy it wasn't," Tim said. "She only knew violence at the hands of men, especially men in dominant positions such as police officers. Since she was eleven years old she was a prostitute. She often serviced police officers in order to keep working. She'd been raped numerous times by police officers. Neederman knew what those words would mean to her because he and I talked about her. He meant to frighten her, to put her in fear of her life. And she was. When Neederman showed up at the motel with those other officers, she saw no hope. Not from anything Todd did to her, but because of Neederman. She had a gun for protection against a man who was no better than Phillip Manning, or any other dominating male in her eyes."
"Speculation."
"Based on her mental status. Here, take a look at these summary reports of several conversations I had with her as her psychiatrist." Like another card dealer, he flicked copies of a report to Hank, Bo, and Donaldson.
The agent asked, "If she was afraid of all dominating males, Manning would be at the top of the list. Makes sense that she'd do what he wanted her to, including killing Neederman."
Tim glanced at Todd who was looking at the agent, listening like the others, not showing a stitch of emotion.
"Todd was a 'brother' to her," Tim explained. "She wanted his violence because he normally wouldn't give it to her-his attention was unique in her eyes. She encouraged him, incited his violence, because she believed his aggressive response, often sexual, was love. She wasn't afraid of him because in her eyes, he loved her. In her mind, he wouldn't outright kill her, not unless she wanted it. To Brandy that was safety. Read my reports."
The talk was too raw, too plain. Todd felt himself breaking inside, the poker face harder to maintain. Muscles in his shoulder twitched and a pain ran down the back of his throat, down into his gut. The pictures hummed on the tabletop. He rested fingertips on Brandy lying on the steel table, unmoving, her eyes closed, skin smooth as a statue's marble. She didn't look real.
"Similar to some dominant-submissive relationships," Tim said quietly.
"Except with those," Hank offered, "you have people simulating violence. In this case…"
"It was real," Todd finished. "But I didn't control her with it. It was never to get her to do anything. I gave her the pain she wanted – she took the pain I wanted to give." He seemed to be in control again.
"Nice," Donaldson said.
"Gentleman," George said, "we have a lot of psychological bullshit here with one very fucked up man and his very fucked up girlfriend but not one ounce of evidence against my client that proves he had anything to do with the killing of Neederman which led to the death of his girlfriend. And we haven't even talked about Phillip Manning's demise. Go ahead, hit me."
Hank Gannon came to the table, passing out autopsy pictures of Phillip's remains, a knife in an evidence bag, and several reports, one regarding the dental records, one outlining the arson theory, and one proving Brandy's fingerprint on the knife. He ran down the evidence like a pro and when he was finished he sat back and sighed.
George chirped, "That it? Seems like you have Brandy on the hook for a stabbing that may or may not have killed him. Arson is awful weak there, too. No fingerprints on the gas can, no starter found. You have an eyewitness to Todd being with someone who resembled Phillip but not a positive i.d. I think we're done here."
"Well, we've got one last witness – he'll close the deal," Donaldson said. "He can testify to the brutal relationship you had with Brandy, he'll testify to your drug use, and he's got quite the story on the murder of Phillip Manning."
"You don't have him," Todd said, knowing who they were talking about. "More lies."
"Jedediah Chant will testify against you.'
"Won't happen."
"Dig your feet in all you want, Manning. You may only be up for misdemeanor possession of a needle, but Jedediah has a host of charges pending against him, including possession of heroin with intent to sell."
"He only tried to help me…you know damn well trace amounts of dope don't get intent to sell."
"No, you don't understand. Your son is under the watchful eye of an inside man." Donaldson dragged a file folder close to him and pulled out some shots. Black and whites taken from a surveillance camera. Todd grabbed the pictures.
"Yeah, Mr. Manning, you see…here, he's purchasing heroin…then…voila, he's selling it to an undercover cop. Dead to rights."
Now Todd broke. He threw the pictures at Donaldson, "Bullshit! You're setting him up! He doesn't touch heroin! He'd rather die first!"
"Nope, he's doing this all on his own."
His breath picked up and he held his head. George growled, "What the hell do you want?"
"Significant jail time. Then we'll let the kid off."
Bo Buchanan rarely empathized with Todd but things had changed since he'd hobbled out of the hospital, unwired, unprotected, willing to risk his life for his son. Bo had walked the burned out, darkened tunnels beneath the city, walked the path Todd and Brandy and Phillip must have taken. That had been brave work. This was dirty play on the fed's part, using the kid. Hank eyed Bo, clearly in agreement. He watched Todd, wondering what his next move would be. No way would he just lie down. Come on, Manning, be cagey, he found himself thinking.
George was shaking his head, slammed his hand on the table, "Hell, no. He's not doing jail time for possession of a goddamn syringe!"
"Fine," Todd said, interrupting. "But you let the kid go. Get him to a safe place…and let him go."
Donaldson took out a sheet of paper. Placed it in front of Todd for a signature. Bo was stunned. He fired looks at George, Tim, and Todd. He's gonna just take that?
"How much jail time?" Bo asked.
"Five to fifteen, eligible for parole after five. We're not talking possession of a syringe. This is for murder of Phillip Manning and of Neederman. It's a hell of a deal."
Todd sniffed and read the paperwork. Breathed deeply the scent of the conference room, getting a whiff of books and diesel fuel from outside and cologne that Tim wore. He almost smiled and turned to his friend, feeling a sudden rush of sentimentality and loneliness. He wanted to rest his head on Tim's shoulder and cry like a child. He'd not spoken to Téa in the month since he saw her at the hospital. Viki kept him up to date, she was good, recovering. No talk of the baby. She was attending meetings for families of addicts, continuing her volunteer work at the needle exchange. Learning that Serenity Prayer. He studied the picture of Jedediah purchasing…something. Then selling…something. The pictures weren't dated. They weren't fucking dated.
"When were these pictures taken?"
"A week ago."
"I thought all charges were dropped against him and Téa."
"They were…these are new charges."
"I need time," he said.
"No way. You're gonna run. You agree to this, you get cuffed today. You get shipped to prison today."
"I need to say my goodbyes before being carted to the big house. I want full assurances on Jedediah's release. I want signed paperwork giving him immunity from everything through today."
George placed his hand on Todd's shoulder, "We need to talk outside."
"No, it's okay. I can't have my kid going down that way," Todd said, putting his hand up, the motion telling George to back off.
Donaldson smiled like a cat, the edge of triumph shading his mouth. He hunted for a pen and handed it to Todd.
"Please, on the dotted line."
Todd took the pen in his hand and re-read the document, George sighing heavily in the background, whispering something to Tim before saying in a firm voice, "Manning, don't sign that thing. Don't give away your freedom."
Todd put his hand up again, "Shut it." Suddenly, he got active, violently crossing out the paragraphs, initialing each slash. He then scrawled his own paragraph of something and signed on the bottom line, just like Dick told him to. Todd leaned back in the chair, keeping his eyes on the agent as Donaldson grabbed the sheet.
Huffing in fury, he scanned the paper, reading the words aloud and breathing hard as he did so, "'You don't have me. You don't have my son. Fuck you and your…'" He stopped and rubbed his lips with his hand, grunting and then saying in a low tone, "'Fuck you and your cunt of a mother. Signed, Todd Manning." He threw the paper across the table and got right into Todd's face, poking his finger hard into the center of his chest.
"You…are responsible for the deaths of those people! Your son knows it and the jury will know it because they WILL see you for what you are: nothing but a murdering junkie who belongs in prison for the rest of his worthless life! You will pay."
Glaring at Donaldson hard, Todd growled, "You don't have my kid. He's been missing for nearly two weeks. If you caught him selling drugs like you say, he'd be standing in this room right now. See you in court, you self-righteous bastard. You're gonna go home with your tail between your legs."
He paused as he got his feet, getting into Donaldson's face and hissing, "And when you get home, I'm gonna hack that tail off and shove it so far up your ass you're gonna fuckin' choke."
With that, Todd got up, jerked open the door and slammed it shut, the windows in the room reverberating with the shock. Bo couldn't help it. He burst out laughing and said to Hank, "Now that's the Todd Manning I know! Goddamn does he bounce back!" He laughed hard in his seat not because he had empathy or sympathy with a guilty man, but because he saw the larger picture, one of survival. He could not deny the awe he felt at seeing someone survive unbelievable odds, over and over again. When he caught his breath, he said, "Sorry, Donaldson, I'm sure you have a good chance at putting him away. Oh…man…good luck at your trial."
Tim and George gathered their stuff in silence. Tim shuffled out the door, hoofing it after his patient. George stood to say his goodbyes but before he could say anything, Donaldson scowled and grumbled to Bo, "You sound like you're hanging me out to dry."
Hank answered, "The evidence is weak at best. We got very little to use here – lots of circumstantial, but nothing concrete. Even if we do get Chant, chances are he'll never testify against Manning. And without Chant…we got nothin'. So yeah, for now, the charges are dropped. Manning is a free man." He eyed George, "Not that we can't resurrect them at a later date."
The lawyer was pleased with the outcome. Things had gone as he'd expected. The preliminary hearing for the state was off-calendar. The feds would have indict Todd first before there'd be a new preliminary hearing. Todd had gotten significant time, all right. Free. He shook the hands of Bo and Hank, Donaldson refusing to offer the courtesy. The lawyer wasn't convinced this was totally gone, but it was for now.
When he got to his car, Todd and Tim were there.
"Not the way I usually do things but we do have breathing room," George said. "You did real good in there," he added as he shook Todd's hand. He then climbed into his old car and began to drive away. He had an afternoon appearance in a nearby city representing a group of nuns on disorderly conduct charges. Protestors, he'd explained.
Once George was gone, Todd's armor cracked a little, his eyes softening when he looked at his doctor, his body hunching once again, defeat all over.
"Those pictures," he said softly. "What did she think would happen when she pulled out that gun?" The pictures of Brandy had gotten to him and he wanted to just curl up with his cat on his bed at the halfway house and pity himself. Pity her. He took a breath and gazed at his doctor. He had important things to do but this… this was gutting him.
Tim shook his head, "Wish I could tell you. I don't have a clue other than maybe some misdirected effort at protecting you, herself?"
Todd glanced away, knowing he'd never know. "Tim," he then said, "I'm leaving the halfway house."
"What? Why…? Kiddo, is that such a good idea?"
"I gotta find Jed before the cops get to him. Not for me, but for him. I want him to say what he wants, not what they force him to say. And you know they're going to press him hard, they're gonna give him an impossible choice. I don't think he'll be able to handle it. He's just a kid."
"I can't stop you, can I?"
"No."
Tim sighed and put his hand on Todd's arm, squeezed tightly, "I'm here if you need me. Please, please keep your sobriety. I'm very concerned."
"No need to be. There was a time when not doing heroin wasn't an option. I don't feel that way anymore. This is the real deal."
Tim wasn't convinced, but there was little he could do with Todd's intentions. "Take care of yourself, okay?"
"Yeah, of course. I'm not going to let Jed down."
They spent more time together, talking coping skills, Tim repeatedly offering his availability, that he wasn't alone in all this. Then the conversation was over and Tim offered a hug and Todd took it, having to force himself to separate. From inside his black BMW, Todd then watched Tim leave. The underground parking lot was quiet again, empty of people. He put his head down on the steering wheel and let himself finally cry for his sister-whore, so ruined by those cops. Let the panic over her dying rush over him. Felt his chest tighten and fear choke him. Imagined breaking through the hold of the cops and racing to her, holding her…stopping all those bullets. Be a real life Superman.
When he was done with the horror show, he wiped his face. Rubbed his hair back and picked up the cell phone. Jedediah was in big trouble. Michelle had contacted him late the night before in her own panic. Jed was supposed to have been in Llanview, he was supposed to have left word of his whereabouts.
Two weeks since he left Destiny and not a peep.
He had another someone to call who would give a damn about Jed. She answered immediately, her voice light and airy. He smiled at the sound of it.
"Hey Delgado."
"Todd…" The lightness had disappeared, a thread of fear, sadness, hurt breaking through.
"Have you heard from Jed?"
She hesitated, "No. Why?"
"He's missing, Téa. Took off from Destiny for Llanview and never showed up."
"Oh no…"
"Look, the cops want him again…because of me."
He ran down the events of the morning, the status of the murder cases against him. "They're going to pressure him, they'll hurt him. I can't let them do that. So I need to find him and I want you to come with me. Please."
"I can't…no…"
He was determined. "Téa, I'm begging you. I need to help my kid but he won't trust me even though I'm sober. He may not come to me. He needs more than just me…he'll need you."
"What about Michelle?"
"She's afraid and a little crazy and thinks it's safer to stay in Destiny in case Jed's trying to get back there."
The families-of-addicts meeting had only just gotten underway and a mother of an addicted daughter turned to Téa, motioning to her to step outside with the phone. Téa smiled at her, apologizing as she got up and hustled to the back of the room. The daughter had been missing for six weeks and while the mother was sure she'd turn up, there was the fear that she was dead. Téa gripped the phone. Todd was very much alive. Miraculously. He asked her to come with him, to save another child. How could she turn him down? She couldn't turn her back on Jed.
"Fine," she said. "I'll see you at the Penthouse."
"Thank you," Todd whispered.
Let me trust that He will make all things right if I surrender to His Will.
To be continued...