Deadly Night (39 page)

In a way, he reminded Jack of a ‘down home’ country singer his grandfather, Marshall Edwards, liked to listen to. His sandy brown hair brushed back to where he resembled Merl Haggard, for a moment Jack pictured the tune “I’m Just An Old Jukebox Junkie” coming out of Iverson’s mouth. The image struck him as particularly funny and almost made him laugh. A slight snicker escaped from his mouth anyway. It took just an instant for the agent to react.

“
You think this is funny, you sorry sack of shit??
”
he screamed into Jack’s ear as he yanked him to his feet by the hair.
“
Suppose I show you something real funny
—
like your dick sticking out of your ass, you stupid fuck!!
”

Jack winced in pain, and started to take a swing at him. Before he could deliver even a slight blow, Iverson pushed him into the waiting arms of Ben Casey, who shoved his arms high behind his back. The ligaments in his joints stretched to the point of tearing.

“
I’m all for giving this punk a workout.”

Short and somewhat portly, but the most menacing of the trio, Casey’s husky voice reverberated deep from behind Jack.

“
He’s begging for it.”

Held fast, Jack warily watched the other two men step up to him.

Oh shit…

A nauseating blend of tobacco, sweat, and a mixture of colognes filled his nostrils—one cheap, and the other a strong musk scent. He swallowed hard, for he knew if he vomited on any of these guys, they might not let him live long enough to apologize.

The door to the room suddenly swung open, the hinges whining loudly from the door’s steel-insulated weight. Another agent stepped into the room carrying a long, black attaché case in one hand, and a small blue duffel bag in the other. Reynolds and Iverson backed away from Jack, while Casey released his arms.

“
Well, good afternoon, Peter,” said Reynolds. “Or, should I say ‘evening’, since it’s nearing the dinner hour.”

He moved over to him and extended his hand in welcome. The man set the attaché case and duffel bag down on the floor.

“
It’s good to see you, Frank,” he said, responding with a hearty handshake. “‘Sorry I’m late. Traffic was worse than usual tonight. Am I interrupting anything?”

“
No...not really,” he said, shooting a mean glance toward Jack that clearly implied ‘you’ll keep your damn mouth shut if you know what’s good for you’. “He’s all yours, now.”

The newcomer also turned his attention to Jack, eyeing him as if a rare animal on display. Jack glared in response, forcing this man named Peter to return his attention to Iverson instead.

“
I don’t believe we’ve met,” he said, extending his hand for Iverson to shake.

“
Pete, this is Steve Iverson, and Ben Casey from the New York office,” said Reynolds.

“
Peter McNamee...I’m pleased to meet you both.” He shook hands with Casey.

“
Pete’s dad and I go way back,” said Reynolds, glancing coolly toward Jack once more. “We used to work together for the bureau down in New Orleans.”

“
Dad still speaks fondly of those times …. We’ll need to catch up some when our work here is through.” Peter McNamee shifted his gaze back to the haggard young man standing nearby. Again, Jack met his gaze head on. An awkward moment, and then Peter resumed his conversation with Reynolds. “I’m sure he’ll be interested to know what you’ve been up to.”

“
Just working, son. Same as always....”

More awkwardness permeated the air.

“
Well, I guess I’ll get started.” Agent McNamee picked up his attaché case and duffel bag from the floor. He moved over to the table and sat both items on top of it.

The other agents looked on, and for the moment seemed unsure of what to do next. Jack felt better about his own situation, as it appeared McNamee intimidated them. At least fifteen years younger than the others, Jack could tell he was just slightly older than himself.

“
I’d like to interview Mr. Kenney in private,” said Peter. “As you’ll be able to follow along just fine from outside the room, I hope you won’t mind my request. It’s easier for me to remain focused.”

He pointed to the surveillance cameras barely visible in each corner of the room. Reluctant, his colleagues moved to the door.

“
All right, then.” Reynolds tone revealed more irritation. “Holler if you need anything, Pete. This gives us extra time to visit with Jeremy Kenney. Maybe he’s ready to enlighten us a little more.”

He gave Jack one last menacing look before exiting the room with his partners. After a hushed prayer for his brother’s safety, Jack turned his attention to the lone federal agent in the room.

***

Peter McNamee smiled and moved over to Jack’s side of the table and picked up the chair. He extended his hand for Jack to shake, only slightly deterred by Jack’s indifference to him.

“
I guess a handshake may be a little inappropriate at this point,” he chuckled. “Have a seat, Jack. We’re probably going to be here for a while.”

“
Actually, I need to take a piss.”

Toward the back of the room was a small closet-sized room with a toilet and sink. The agent nodded that would be fine.

“
How about some coffee? Or, perhaps a Coke?” offered Peter. He moved over to a small refrigerator that sat beneath the coffee maker next to the door.

“
A Coke sounds great,” said Jack, before closing the bathroom door.

“
Yep. I’ll grab you one.”

Peter brought the soft drink and a cup of coffee for himself over to the table. Jack soon joined him there. His hair combed back he stood behind his chair; sizing up the man sitting across from him.

“
Please, sit down,” Peter told him, unpacking his duffel bag. He placed a pair of journals in front of him, along with a small recorder in the middle of the table. Jack studied the recorder as he sat down.

“
Do you really need this?” he asked. “I thought the surveillance shit in this place would be sufficient enough.”

He motioned to the windowless room around them. The mustard-yellow walls seemed enhanced by three overhead fluorescent lights that hung from the room’s fifteen-foot ceiling. The middle light hovered a few feet above the table.

“
The recorder is for my own personal use,” said Peter. “I’d like to review our session at a later time, if that’s okay with you.”

Jack shrugged his shoulders.

“
All right, then. This thing can run for several hours, should we need it. Are you ready to get started?”

“
Yeah, I guess so,” sighed Jack. “But, nothing’s changed since I started talking to your buddies two days ago. My story’s the same.”

Peter smiled and leaned forward. Blond, blue-eyed, and dressed in a blue Armani suit and gold necktie; he looked far too pretty to be a law enforcement agent.

“
Jack,” he said. “I haven’t heard it. All I’ve had a chance to look at is the original police report from Tuscaloosa, which simply states you were the one who found Dr. Oscar Mensch unconscious and then called for an ambulance. That, and the fact you were the last person we can identify who saw him alive in the hospital after he regained consciousness.”

Jack nodded in response, guardedly wondering if that was all the agent knew.

“
So, you just want information concerning Dr. Mensch and his death? That’s it?” He popped open his Coke and took a good-sized drink, grinning impishly. “It seems like a wasted use for that recorder, since it’ll take just a few minutes to answer whatever questions you have on that subject.”

“
Maybe...maybe not,” said Peter, his own wry smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Dr. Mensch’s death will be our starting point. I’ve got other questions related to this whole mess in Tuscaloosa. Why don’t we take it one step at a time and see where we end up?”

Without waiting for an answer, he turned on the recorder. He marked the session’s intro with an identifier and picked up one of the journals sitting in front of him and leaned back in his chair. He, too, had an I.D. badge similar to the other agents. His read ‘RS638’ etched in gold, along with his photo in a stoic pose similar to Reynolds’ badge.

Jack snickered, thinking it must be part of the standard operating procedures for these guys…. To look like someone’s got a secure grip on their balls while threatening to yank them off should they crack so much as a sliver of a smile.

“
Now, then,” Peter began, ignoring Jack’s response. “On the night of May fourth, you found Dr. Oscar Mensch, Professor of Archaeology at the University of Alabama, lying unconscious in his living room. Is that accurate?”

Accurate yes, a good description, no. It should be Dr. Oscar Mensch, internationally renowned scholar and expert in the study of ancient civilizations. And boy what a bleeder, Agent, sir. Yes sirree, every surface in the living room was splattered with the man’s corpuscles.

“
Pretty much so,” Jack replied.

“
What exactly did you do when you found him?” asked Peter, eyeing Jack as if somehow aware of the random thoughts running through his mind. “Oh, and also, why were you visiting Dr. Mensch’s residence?”

“
I needed to talk to him about an upcoming expedition to the Andes in South America,” Jack explained, feeling a little uncomfortable under the agent’s penetrating gaze. “Jeremy, my brother, is working on his masters’ degree in ancient studies, and he wanted me to join him and a group of other grad students on their summer internship. Dr. Mensch and Dr. Sutherland were sponsoring the trip. Dr. Mensch was like a second father to me and my brother…. I’ll be graduating in a week, so it wasn’t like anything in my immediate future would prevent me from going.”

Peter was busy jotting down a few notes onto the back page of his journal, and Jack waited for him to finish. The agent raised his head and nodded when done.

“
I just wanted to reference the trip you mentioned,” he said. “Dr. Mensch was your brother’s academic advisor. Is that how you met him?”

“
Yeah, pretty much. I also took two undergraduate courses he taught, and guess I grew closer to him after being around him so much.”

“
Ah-huh….” Peter turned the journal back over, opening it again to a marked page near the front. “You’re graduating with a major in journalism, is that correct? Or, is it baseball?” He cracked another wry smile.

Jack also smiled a little. “I wish it was baseball. But I’ve got a knack for writing, I believe, and should do all right with that as a career.”

“
I see you were a two-time all-SEC selection during your sophomore and junior years—
and
, an all-American honorable selection during your junior year as well. I played a little ball myself back in high school.

“
Really?” Jack was surprised. Peter didn’t seem like the baseball type…a little too primped. “What position did you play?”

“
Centerfield,” he replied, releasing a low sigh. He smiled, sheepish. “I started all three years, though I never achieved the awards and accolades you did. Always wanted to be a star pitcher like yourself…. ”

His voice trailed off, the blueness in his eyes turning a shade lighter as he looked past Jack for a moment, so obvious in his nostalgia.

“
Well, you seem to have ended up okay,” offered Jack, eager to get the interview back on track. “I guess we can’t all be Roger Clemens.”

“
Yeah, I guess not,” Peter agreed, chuckling. “So, what happened this year?”

“
Tendonitis in the elbow of my throwing arm,” said Jack.

Now he was the one giving in to a reflective moment. He grimaced, his pain emotional instead of physical. The chronic ailment cut short his playing career and eliminated any chance of achieving his dream of reaching the pros.

“
Ah, I understand. That’s too bad.” Peter seemed genuinely disappointed for him. “Well, who knows, maybe you’ll become a successful journalist one day.”

“
That’d definitely be nice.”

Though unsure where this line of questions headed, Jack appreciated Peter’s approach as compared to Frank Reynolds or Steve Iverson’s. At least it didn’t hurt.

Peter paused to sip his coffee, and then continued.

“
Let’s revisit the night you found Dr. Mensch, Jack,” he said. “According to the report I’ve got here, the front door was slightly ajar, and when the professor didn’t respond to your knock or calls out to him, you went inside his house. That’s when you found him lying on the floor in the middle of his living room. Correct so far?”

“
Yes.”

“
You didn’t try to move him?”

“
No. But I did check his pulse. I mean, I thought he was dead. There was blood everywhere, and his face was covered with it. I couldn’t tell if he was breathing or not, and once I felt a slight pulse on his wrist, I immediately called for an ambulance.”

“
That’s consistent with the evidence,” said Peter. “Your shoes tracked blood from the living room to the phone in the kitchen. Other than the front door ajar and the ransacked living room, did you notice anything unusual or out of place?”

With the main floor in disarray, it was hard to tell if things were where they should’ve been in Dr. Mensch’s home. Jack did remember experiencing the creepy feeling of being watched while he stood on the professor’s front porch. While inside the house, he felt someone else’s presence with him. Perhaps someone hiding upstairs? Hard to say…but by the time the police and paramedics showed up he forgot about it, as so distressed about Dr. Mensch’s condition. He hadn’t thought about it again until he visited the professor in the hospital four days later.