Excerpt from THE HOUR TO REAP
On the morning Dr. Emmalee Grayson was slated to die, she awakened to a beautiful, sunny day. Splinters of bright light sneaking between the weathered boards of her isolated prison gave the only indication that night had already given birth to a new day. On an open windowsill high over her head, a bird sang; its song a sad reminder of how fleeting happiness could be.
She’d made it through her first night tied up in the abandoned barn. Emmalee was relieved nothing feral had attacked her in the dark. Her stomach was growling so loud it probably kept predators away. The last drop of soda had been finished the day before, and now she could barely swallow. She knew she wouldn’t survive long without food or water.
What she didn’t know was when the Mexican cartel was coming back for her.
Chapter one
The 2009 black Mercedes GL-Class SUV pulled into a parking space between two four-storey, old brick buildings on Virginia Street in Richmond’s Shockoe Slip. In the alleyway, a gas street light dimly revealed a fine mist coming down. A puddle forming on the brick pavers mirrored the lamp’s antique globe. The driver of the Mercedes leapt out to open the rear door for its lone occupant.
A long, left leg clad in black jeans swung out exposing a crocodile leather boot, dyed the color of sienna. Its up-turned, pointed toe could have rivaled as a weapon. The remaining torso, dark-skinned and muscular, swiftly followed and stood against the side of the car. Miguel smoked a cigarette and waited. He pulled the collar up on his suede jacket to shield his neck from the damp chill in the February air. Within three minutes another car pulled in next to the Mercedes. This time, three men stepped out to join the man awaiting them. While the driver stayed with the cars, the four men entered through the rear door of one of the buildings. An alcove off the hallway led to a private elevator.
On the fourth floor, the elevator opened onto a short hall leading directly to a lobby. Through double glass doors stenciled in gold with the name Dunham, Worthrup and Logan, Attorneys at Law, the four men swaggered past an unstaffed semi-circular reception desk. A grandfather’s clock in the corner chimed seven. They were met by a fifth man who escorted them to a glass-walled conference room. The three partners acknowledged the men with a brief nod as they joined them at the room’s custom-designed twelve foot mahogany table. The soft glow from two circular chandeliers cast ambient light overhead.
“Señor Dunham.” Miguel acknowledged the well-dressed man he stood before with a nod in his direction.
The commanding presence of the lead Defense Counsel and Senior Partner of Dunham, Worthrup and Logan ordered the six men to be seated. At 47, Jeremy Dunham was already showing signs of silver gray at the temples of his thick, brown hair. It added a complimentary look of maturity and respect to the youthful features of a handsomely chiseled face. An impeccable dresser, his tailored white shirt highlighted an unseasonably deep tan on his 6’3” frame, and revealed a man who enjoyed the finer things in life. Women found him irresistible.
Miguel Correia (a.k.a. El Diablo) was no stranger to problems with the law. As the 32 year-old head of a thriving criminal enterprise he prided himself on staying one step ahead of authorities. An illegal immigrant from Ciudad Juárez, Mexico, he was the unofficial CEO of an international cartel whose corruption stretched fingerlike into a vast operation behind drug and human trafficking, as well as document fraud. With no tolerance for competition, he used his small cadre of enforcers to ensure that others stayed out of his territory. Known for ordering the savage beatings, kidnappings, and violent executions of rivals, he had until now managed to avoid any charges of violence thanks to the adroit efforts of Jeremy Dunham.
A haze of cigarette smoke floated over the conference table as the seven men hashed out what they expected to come forth in the way of charges from Federal prosecutors. Miguel’s bond at his bail hearing had been set at $1,000,000; chump change to him. The Feds were taking their charges to a special Grand Jury this week. The D.A. was determined to make the indictments stick this time around. They had a body and a witness to ensure it.
“We will plead not guilty in response to the conspiracy charges,” Jeremy stated flatly. “I have yet to receive the complete outline of the indictment from ICE.” His two partners shuffled through a stack of file folders to find the one they knew he would use to confront Miguel.
“It’s about this pesky little problem with another one of your minions who bound, gagged and beat up an alleged competitor and then left him to die. It seems he did die. Care to offer a plausible explanation of how that might have happened?” He did not try to hide the sarcasm in his voice.
“I have no recollection of even knowing the man.”
Jeremy looked hard in his direction. “I didn’t think so.” He made several notes on a legal pad then looked up. “We will reconvene as soon as I hear from Immigration and Customs Enforcement. In the meantime, try to keep a low profile, will you?”
An hour had gone by, and with business finished for the night, the four men left by the same private elevator that had brought them to the fourth floor. The three partners remained for another twenty minutes to discuss another case they were in the process of wrapping up. They had prevailed in a ten million dollar product liability lawsuit. Their share of the settlement would garner each one of the partners a million dollars and another million to the firm. Life was good.
Outside, Miguel leaned in close to the ear of the man called El Carnicero, “Take care of the little fuck-up and next time, make sure you don’t leave any crumbs,” he hissed.
“Si, Jefe.”
It was almost 9 p.m. by the time Jeremy pulled the Porsche 911 Turbo-S into the driveway of the formidable brick house on Monument Avenue he shared with his forty five year-old wife, Emmalee. Five-foot ten and slender with chin length, straight blonde hair, she was employed as a medical examiner for the State of Virginia. Born and raised in England until her twenties when she came to the U.S. for college, it was there she met Jeremy after graduating with honors from medical school. While specializing in forensic pathology she supported him through law school. With both sons, ages 19 and 20, away at college, the two of them now echoed within the walls of their 6,000 square foot home some would call a mansion.
Entering through the front door, he threw his keys in a dish on the antique Hepplewhite sideboard in the long entrance hall, and picked up the day’s mail. He spotted his wife on the living room sofa sitting with her legs tucked underneath her, completely absorbed in reviewing her autopsy notes on a murder case. “What’s for dinner?” he barked. “I’m starving.”
Emmalee looked up, just realizing he was standing there. “I’m exhausted and I still have a lot to do before tomorrow morning. I’ll be up late. I thought we’d order take-out or something.”
“I don’t want take-out. I want a real meal. Get up and fix something. How hard is it to make a salad and throw a steak on the grill?”
“Well, if it’s so quick and easy why don’t you do it?” Her gaze never left the page as she spoke. “You’re done for the night, I’m not.” She knew from experience he’d stand there glaring at her for a few minutes before fixing himself a scotch and then go rummaging through the refrigerator for something left over from the night before. Known for her culinary skills among family and friends, she cooked a great meal the majority of the week when she had the time. Even so, most nights it would be eaten in silence without so much as a token compliment that Jeremy enjoyed either the meal or the effort. In the beginning of their marriage she would have dropped whatever she was doing to please him. Now she no longer cared.
She heard him scavenging in the kitchen. At least he knew how to use a microwave. He’d heat up whatever he found appealing and take it upstairs to eat alone in his library. Later, she’d make herself something light to eat and go to bed. It had been several years since they shared the same bed let alone the same bedroom. Emmalee no longer believed her husband was working late on the nights he used it as an excuse for why he didn’t come home. There came a time when she preferred not to know whether he did, or not.
Rather, her attention had been focused on reviewing her autopsy notes on the body of the young woman found nude and wrapped in plastic sheeting inside the dumpster of a fast food restaurant off Midlothian Turnpike five days earlier. The bruises and lacerations from sharp force trauma covering the female vic’s body indicated she’d been severely beaten and probably tied up or held down by ropes while the perp brutally attacked and sexually assaulted her. She could still see the dorsum of her hands as she performed her autopsy. Both hands displayed evidence of the presence of defense wounds from fighting off her attacker’s knife. This may be how he lured her to another vehicle, Emmalee thought to herself.
There was no identification on or near the body. Richmond homicide detectives assigned to the case got lucky when they received a missing persons report from the victim’s mother. Twenty year old, Anna Cabellero had failed to return home from a night class at Virginia Commonwealth University. The Hispanic girl was last seen by friends who reported saying goodbye to her around 10:15 p.m. on the night she was abducted. She had then continued walking to her car which was parked around the corner from North Harrison on Grove Avenue. When she didn’t return to her home off Jefferson Davis Highway on time, her anxious mother began calling her friends to find her. Richmond police had told her they had to give it more time before they could consider her a missing person. By morning, the mother was frantic with worry because it was unlike her daughter to not call when she’d be late. Her body was discovered almost three days later by an employee of the restaurant coming off the 11 p.m. to 7 a.m. shift when he went to throw out the garbage.
Emmalee continued to read her notes. Due to the possibility of rape, a preliminary field determination of internal core temperature had had to wait until forensic examinations had been completed. Based on the time she was last seen, it was given the murder had probably occurred sometime within the previous fifty six hours. Since rigor mortis was determined to be already complete, the ETD allowed for over 12 hours since post mortem. The plastic sheeting she was wrapped in kept the body warm and facilitated early putrefactive changes in the anterior abdominal wall, which indicated it had been at least 36 hours since her death. Livor mortis was also fixed and indicated dual patterns of lividity; one being a still noticeable but fading pattern of primary lividity, along with a secondary pattern of lividity. This indicated that the body had been moved to another location where it was found in the dumpster. Microscopic evidence found on the body and under the nails along with body fluids recovered from the confirmed rape was sent for DNA analysis.
Unless she had a personal life unknown to her family and friends and knew her murderer, Emmalee guessed Anna was probably another innocent girl caught off guard walking in the wrong place at the wrong time. It was apparent she’d been taken elsewhere for the assault and murder. It was unimaginable to think that at the time she was abducted no one heard or saw anything suspicious. Homicide detective Lance Smith had told her they were still canvassing the area around VCU for any information, as well as questioning acquaintances of the victim. He said he would keep her posted.
The next day Smith had called Emmalee with an update on the investigation. “We found out Anna had a part time waitressing job at a Mexican restaurant a few miles from where she lived. Interviews of co-workers did not turn up any clues as to foul play.” He continued, “She was a good student and attended Mass at Sacred Heart Cathedral near VCU. Apparently, she was well liked by those who knew her in the Mexican community. No one could think of any reason why someone would want to hurt her.” “There was no boyfriend in her life that anyone remembered noticing,” he added.
“And, like all distraught families, they want answers,” she replied.
“So, do we,” Smith sighed.
“Then let’s see if we can give them some,” promised Emmalee.
Around midnight Emmalee decided to call it quits for the day and packed up her notes. Some nights she had a hard time keeping these cases out of her mind. This had the potential for being one of those nights as she kept wondering if there was something obvious they had overlooked which would lead them to the monster who took poor Anna’s life.
The following morning Jeremy and Emmalee left early for their respective destinations after passing each other in silence. On her way out the door, Emmalee grabbed the pile of shirts and a suit that Jeremy had deposited on a hallway chair for her to take to the cleaners. She was in a hurry to get to her office at the morgue before she was due in court, but she knew if she didn’t get his clothes to the cleaners today there’d be hell to pay when she got home empty-handed. As she stopped her car in front of the drive-in window she thought to give the suit a quick once over to make sure he’d left nothing important in its pockets. They seemed empty except for a bulge in the inside breast pocket. She found a wadded napkin and threw it in the ashtray of her car before handing over the clothes to the attendant.
That evening, before grabbing the clean laundry to take into the house, she reached for the wadded napkin to dispose of it. There was something hard inside the napkin. Opening it cautiously, a broken gold cuff link sat in its center. She recognized it as one half of the pair she had given Jeremy for an anniversary present seven years ago. It was a good thing she found it before it went through the dry cleaning machine, she thought. It was then she noticed the napkin… and the lipstick smudge. So, there it was, in her face. He didn’t even have the decency to be discreet.
She brought the clothes inside and hung them in his bedroom closet on the third floor. She sat on his bed quietly staring at the napkin and the broken cuff link. Her throat tightened. Then her eyes began to sting and fill up with salty tears that ran in rivulets down her cheeks. At first, she couldn’t think. The longer she stared at the evidence in her hand the more numb she felt.
Through the bedroom window the sky had already turned a quiet dusky violet. Emmalee slowly rose from the bed, putting the napkin and broken cuff link in the pocket of her slacks. She walked downstairs to the kitchen where she went through the motions of making a dinner she had no appetite to eat. Around seven she heard Jeremy’s car pull into the driveway. She braced herself.
She could hear the echo of his feet on the hardwood floor striding toward the kitchen. Emmalee just stood there, her face an expressionless mask staring back at him as he entered. Sarcastically, he inquired, “What’s with the flat look?”
She held out her hand with the cuff link centered in the middle of the napkin, the lipstick smudge turned where he would see it. “WHAT IS THIS, JEREMY? I DON’T MEAN THE BROKEN CUFF LINK, EITHER. You left THIS in your suit pocket.”
“So, I wrapped it in a napkin to take it to the jewelers, big deal,” but he couldn’t look her in the eye.
She raised the palm of her hand to silence his excuses. “DON’T… WAS THIS THE MOST CREATIVE WAY YOU COULD THINK OF TELLING ME YOU WERE WITH ANOTHER WOMAN? And THEN, you had the NERVE to leave it where you KNEW I’d find it. HOW COULD YOU? When I think of all the YEARS I spent helping you get to where you are today, you spoiled, over-indulged, arrogant, PHILANDERING poor excuse for a human being, I could kick myself,” she screamed with contempt.
Jeremy turned to leave the kitchen. “JUST A MINUTE, YOU BASTARD, I’M NOT THROUGH YET. You may be cocky enough to think you can continue to wipe my nose in your affairs, but…GUESS AGAIN. Don’t think I don’t know last week’s business trip was more of your LIES. You came back with a tan. What’d your girlfriend come back with, JEWELRY? You can just GET OUT!!” She caught her breath and started again. “I want your miserable cheating ass OUT of this house NOW. Do not pass go. Do not collect a hundred dollars. GET… THE… HELL… OUT!”
A sly smirk crossed his lips as he slowly turned to face her. His blue eyes had turned the color of cold steel. “No, my dear, YOU guess again. I’m not going anywhere. If you’re unhappy, YOU leave. I can get you on desertion; leaving room and board. You’ll get NOTHING. Did you forget I’m a lawyer?”
“YOU SON OF A BITCH! YOU HAD THIS PLANNED ALL ALONG, DIDN’T YOU,” Emmalee shouted, realizing she’d been played.
“Remember something else dear one, he who has the most money wins.”
Her adrenalin now pumping, suddenly her direction became clear. There it was. It was finally over for her. Just like that, seething anger suddenly turned to ice in her veins. She knew what her first step would be, then her second and …