To anyone who tried to read this when I first posted it. I don't know why is hating on me. Sorry, it's fixed now.
K~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The next morning, I dove into my new investigation. I had thought that I new everything there was to know about the little American.
Let's see. I pulled out her file. Top of her class in high school, college, and graduate studies. No known love interests during any of her studies. Rising career and offers from teachers and theaters across the Untied States. I rifled through her file, noting her family. Both parents still living. One sister with a family. One brother with a family.
I decided I needed to call in a favor from the American Consulate. The Consul and I were friendly, scratching each other's backs when needed. He had holdings in the Ohtori company, holdings he knew were "polite" gestures from my father for what the American called "kickbacks." Time to see what Daddy's double dealings will afford me today.
I dialed the number. "Ambassador, I have a slight favor to ask of you." He always sounds so worried when I say that. "I have a young lady in my employ that I need to have further files on, a Judy Mooreson."
He's trying to pull the citizenship and privacy on me. Figures.
"I do believe it is only proper to know my workers fully before I allow them access to certain information, Ambassador, information that I'm sure you would only want a trustworthy person to handle."
That seems to have hit its mark.
"I do understand that you wish to maintain your position in your government. It would be a shame if the authorities were to find out about certain holdings." Silence. "I'm not in the least concerned about what the media would say about such a small thing." I really wasn't as the holdings were from a much smaller division of our company and couldn't be traced as being given by the family.
Officially, those holdings were given by a ghost and only hold value so long as I wish to keep the facade in place. At any moment, I can reclaim the value and absorb that division into any of my other conglomerates. The only one who would be stained is the American Ambassador.
"I'm so glad you understand. I'll await the file then. Please, make sure it's encrypted as is the norm. Thank you." I hung up satisfied.
"I'll give it ten minutes."
Sure enough, barely ten minutes after I hung up the phone, a message titled "FWD:FWD:FWD:catsluvyou" popped into my junk folder. I opened said spam, downloaded the attachment, and ran it through my encryption program. Two zip files greeted my eyes. I clicked on the first. Nothing out of the ordinary. It was mainly pictures and records of her childhood and accomplishments. Maneuvering the cursor to the second file, I clicked it open. I could tell it was government files this time not pictures from social media or old newspaper scans. Sound files, evidence photos, videos, case files assaulted my eyes. What the devil?
I opened the video dated 15 March, 2010 and pressed play.
"Miss Mooreson, tell us why you've come here, and remember we need every detail to the best of your memory." The voice of the detective was cool but held a hint of encouragement. I couldn't see the man's face, but that was of little consequence. Judy's face was troubled as she closed her eyes and swallowed.
"Last night my fiancé…" What followed was a testimony that left me seeing red. Sato wasn't the first to try to hurt her. The only difference between the two is that Sato never landed a real blow. I found it difficult to listen through Judy's testimony of beating, threats, and paltry attempts at corporate espionage. So, this Jackson used his intended as a means for political gain. I couldn't fail to see the irony as I was doing something similar. Though, I told myself, I'm protecting her and have her permission to use her as a type of shield. In such a way I justified my actions and attempted to obscure the parallels between the cur and myself.
At the end of her testimony and extensive questioning, the detective said, "Miss Mooreson, I understand that you're frightened of your fiancé. Unfortunately, there's nothing to be done about a first time domestic infraction." Judy kept a calm demeanor, but her eyes told of her fear. "As to what you told us about Mr. Jackson forcing your cooperation in blackmail, that is another matter. We've been tracing corporate espionage cases within that company for the last year and haven't been able to find an in yet. We would appreciate your help in busting the case open."
Judy's breathing accelerated. "You want me to go back to him?"
"If you would. Mind that you don't have to work with us, but if what you say is true, then your actions and intent today will eventually incriminate you in this case." The dog! I know the law inside and out in both Japan and America in corporate matters, there was no way they could implicate her in the crime because she didn't go through with it or let the business man she targeted know who she was. All they had was her testimony, which helped them with the case.
As I watched her take in the lies she was being threatened with, I realized that I was seeing the catalyst for her mistrust. It wasn't just the betraying boyfriend, it was everyone around her, the people she thought she could count on.
"What must I do," she asked with a slight catch.
"Go home like normal, try to get him to talk about his goals within the company, and ask him what he wants you to do next." I felt like the detective was an extension of myself. How many times have I used the same techniques to get my way?
"He's going to ask me what happened today. What should I say?"
"Whatever you do, don't tell him the truth. Insist it worked and that you have a date this weekend."
She nodded curtly, but I could see the trepidation in her eyes. "He'll know I'm lying."
"Use any method possible to keep Mr. Jackson from turning on you. You are our contact on the inside now."
With that, the video ended. I opened the next video file dated 19 March, 2010, but I wasn't ready for what greeted me. The image of Judy, both eyes blackened, nose crooked, one arm in a sling, and the other arm marked with bruises that looked like finger prints, made me want to throw up and throttle the man who dared touch her. I minimized the player so I could listen and not have to see what her fiancé had done to her.
As I listened to her second testimony, I clicked through a collection of crime scene photos. The apartment was in shambles: Food was scattered about the dining room, the small table was knocked over, chairs had been divested of legs. The living room was just as bad as the dinning room. A knife lay on the askew coffee table, blood pooled beneath the blade. The sofa was especially difficult to look at, what with all the blood, fresh rips, and protruding stuffing. Obviously, he… I couldn't finish the thought, but that didn't stop my mind from filling in the blanks.
Judy's voice broke, and the detective directed her with an apologetic, "I know this is hard, but, please, try to finish."
As I stared at the carnage of what must have been a perfect apartment, Judy continued. "I don't remember much, just what I told you. I am aware of the injuries I sustained and that Jackson is responsible. If you would like my medical records, I can release them to you, but I would prefer not to dwell on what happened that night. I've already told you everything I can remember, and I will testify in court."
My eyes fell on a picture of a scrapbook and a magazine called "Brides" when the detective spoke again, "I understand that your fiancé came to visit you in the hospital." Though I wasn't watching the playback, I knew her eyes had flown open at the detective's revelation. "What did he say?"
"He said, 'If you tell them, I'll tell them, too. I know what you did, what you were about to do. Wouldn't want to break their hearts now. Would we? You are their baby, after all.'"
"Miss Mooreson, we have set a security detail for you that will escort you until we determine the threat to your safety has minimized. A restraining order has also been drawn to keep him at bay. You understand that we can't keep him behind bars for long."
"Yes, I understand. Pity." At the familiar tone, I pulled the player up again. She smirked in a melancholy but familiar way. "I guess that's the one problem with one's fiancé having a large bank account." She stood from her seat on the opposite side of the cold table, a look of cool professionalism overtook her battered face. "Where can I pick up paper work for the restraining order, and how long will your men be following me?"
"Why do you ask?" The detective seemed baffled by her sudden change.
"Wouldn't it seem appropriate and rational for the victim to maintain her own paper trail? It also seems appropriate that I be given a time frame for when I should be capable of taking care of myself as when your men leave, I will be open to attack."
"They'll watch you for three weeks; When the trial begins, they will be back on detail. A copy of the forms can be picked up at my desk, and you can get an official copy at the County Court House. I had assumed you knew about the order."
"My parents filed it, but they did not give me a copy. Thank you, Detective." Her cold as ice voice pulled my mind back to the first time we met. So defensive, stiff, untrusting.
I read through the rest of the case files, the trial minutes, and newspaper articles. Christopher Jackson posted bail two days after he was incarcerated and stalked Judy for seven months leading up to his trial. Judy's council charged Jackson with first degree and third degree felonies in domestic violence. The first degree was for aggravated assault with a deadly weapon, and the third degree was for continuous violence against the family for two assaults within 12 months. Making the potential penalty anywhere from 7 to 119 years. When the jury spoke, Jackson was acquitted of the third degree felony but was convicted of first degree. The sentencing ended with the pronouncement of the minimal sentence of 5 years. Good lawyers.
It would seem my 'girlfriend' fled her country to wait out the final year of Jackson's incarceration and to stay off his grid throughout his integration back into society.
The public files on Christopher Jackson were large ones, but they didn't tell me what I really wanted to know, so I made a call to the prison where he was being held.
"I need information on prisoner 1753, Christopher Jackson." To my surprise, the warden had no qualms about giving me a quick response before hanging up just as quickly.
No.