Saturday morning, June 16th
Lieutenant Dan Mallory grimaced after he walked into David Crouch’s bedroom a few hours later and saw the mutilated corpse. An unpleasant mixture of odors assailed his nostrils and told him plenty. A less experienced officer would be running outside to retch, or backing out the door white-faced and wide-eyed. Maybe he was too accustomed to gore and evil. If only the proverbial walls could talk, he mused, his job would be a lot faster and easier. A full size bed was centered on the rear wall with the victim’s body strapped across it, to the right of where he was standing. A nightstand sat on the other side of the bed, beneath the only window. On it, there was a green lamp and a clock radio that was flashing the time: 2:30 AM. A dresser had snapshots covering almost the entire surface of its age-mottled mirror. Clothes were strewn over the floor, mounded upon an old wooden rocking chair, and tumbling out of the closet doors. A poster of a scantily clad girl with the Hooters emblem across her large breasts was pinned to the left wall with round tacks. The den he had just passed through didn’t look any better than this messy scene.
Dan wondered if the victim was a male prostitute who’d picked up the wrong john. Had a homosexual encounter gotten out of hand while they were high on drugs, and his partner fled in fear? Or was this a matter of revenge, as the poor bloke appeared badly beaten and sodomized? He wanted a closer look but was waiting for the CSI team and ME to give him the go head and a COD.
He remembered his Captain’s warning which had awakened him at two this morning: “Dan, from the preliminary report, we’ve got a new case that sounds strikingly similar to a murder that occurred two months ago. I want you and Mory to look into both of them and make sure we don’t have a psycho on our hands. We don’t want the kind of public pressure and panic a case like this would cause. It could make our life a living hell. The victim’s wife found him a little before two this morning when she got home from work. Call me before you write your report and let me know what you come up with.” A voice behind him interrupted his thoughts.
“Makes your skin crawl, doesn’t it? I didn’t think there were that many sickos in Augusta, but this is the second time I’ve seen almost this same thing in two months.” Harold Bates chattered on, “I’ve been working in the lab for almost five years, so I’ve seen a lot. I even worked on a woman who’d been mutilated similar to this a couple years ago. But I’ve never seen a man tortured this way. What a horrible way to die.”
Dan looked at Bates, one of the special crime scene investigators, who was trying to capture the macabre sight on film before he bagged evidence. Harold was tall and slender with light brown hair and an odd shade of green eyes. His face was scarred from a bad case of teenage acne, but he wasn’t ugly or self-conscious. Dan noted that he seemed to be gentle and caring when investigating a crime scene. His glasses made him look like the classic nerd, but he was good at his job. “What do you remember about the first one? It look like this?”
“Kinda like this, Lieutenant. The first guy was tied to his bed spread eagle style, hands and feet to the bedposts, but rope like this was used. We figured that one was a junkie or male prostitute. He had needle tracks on his arms and his legs from frequent shooting up. His name was Ted something or other. The friend that found him claimed he wasn’t a homo, said he was some kind of stud with the ladies. But there he was, tied to the bed with lots of wax drippings and... you know, sex at both ends, some pretty strange sex. I’ve done rape kits and gathered evidence from many women, but I’ve never seen anything as awful as this. Now I’ve seen it twice in two years. First a female and now a male.” Harold walked to the other side of the bed to make sure he had pictures from all angles. “We’ve got evidence over here. Seems he was gagged and blindfolded at some point, just like the other man. I’ll bag these later.”
Dan glanced to his left as the medical examiner returned from the bathroom. He had been told that the auburn haired woman was in her mid-fifties and had served on the local police force for almost ten years, until she got fed up with the system for letting criminals go free and for ramming new rules down the policemen’s throats. The rights, Dan fumed, which were now misused to protect the guilty and to blame a policeman for something he had failed to do or had done wrong in order to arrest and convict a criminal. He knew that Henri, short for Henrietta, had returned to school and earned a medical degree, certain she could be more helpful in another capacity and at least bring some part of the evil deed to resolution.
“Mornin’, Henri. Got us a real gut twister here.” Dan greeted the first female in the history of the city to become the chief medical examiner. Though she’d been at her new job for only a month, he already had decided from prior work together that Henrietta Harper was going to be the detective’s gift from heaven. Henrietta was tough but, having been a police officer, knew they were on the same team: the last ME had been territorial with information gathered in his investigations.
“Yeah, looks like Ed got out just in time to leave the weirdoes to us. We’ll be taking the body to the lab soon where I can run some tests and do a rape kit. I’ll know more once I’ve completed the autopsy,” Henrietta stopped and smiled. “But I assume you want my first impressions, so I’ll tell you what I’ve put together so far.”
Henrietta took a deep breath and looked down at her notepad, her short reddish-brown locks dropping toward her brows. “Vic’s name is David Crouch, age thirty-one. Lives here with his wife. She was at work at a strip joint at the time of death. He’s been dead approximately four hours. Liver temp puts T-O-D at about ten PM. His wife left for work about eight o’clock. The perp must have arrived soon after that because it took hours to do this much prep, damage and clean up. He has a lump and bruise on the back of his head, but I don’t think he was struck hard enough for that to render him unconscious. My guess is the blow only stunned him enough to be overpowered, stripped and bound. There’s sperm in his mouth and rectum indicating oral and anal sodomy. We’ll send samples to LifeCo for testing. I’ll also be looking for any pubic hairs that don’t belong to the victim. Let’s hope at least one of the attacker’s hairs got caught in his teeth or a rectal crease.”
Henrietta took a breath and continued, “You know the standard rape kit. Judging by the condition of our victim, the man you’ll be looking for is both well endowed and very rough. The ropes used to hold him to the bed extensively burned the victim’s wrists and ankles.” Henrietta paused and looked directly at Dan. “He put up a fierce struggle like you or I would under the same circumstances. I don’t believe he was a willing partner in this. Tearstains on his face and a wet blindfold. Vomit in his mouth, on the bed and floor. Multiple cuts and bruises on his back, legs and buttocks. Slashes are deep and thin, so they were inflicted by a very sharp instrument. I’m betting on a scalpel or fishing knife. See the elongated bruises on his legs and back? Judging by the weapon pattern, I’d say it was round, smooth and blunt. Killer obviously took it with him.”
Dan hurriedly jotted down the meat of what she had said before Henrietta coaxed, “Come over here and let me show you what else we found. I’m sure you’ll find it interesting. Oh, I overheard all the details Harold gave you, so no need to repeat them.”
Dan and Henrietta walked to the edge of the bed on which lay David Crouch’s body just as the killer had left it, side stepping the discarded gag and blindfold. The covering was a cheap green quilt, which had twisted and bunched beneath the man as he struggled with his attacker. A rope that went underneath the bed tied his left arm and left leg to each other; his right appendages were likewise secured. David’s back, leg and buttocks were covered in blood from the blows and cuts he had sustained. Darkened bruises and whelps were visible, attesting to pre-death injuries.
Dan could almost visualize the fierce struggle this man had given his assailant by the rope burns which maimed his wrists and ankles. He quickly drew a stick figure diagram of the victim’s position so he could check for similarities to the other incident his boss and Harold had told him about earlier. If this started as consensual sex, it went south fast, or it was a ruse to get Crouch immobile. He was getting an uneasy feeling about this entire scene. He shuddered as his own repressed memories of torture and violence were reincarnated in the dead man’s room. Remembered screams of others were blocked out by sheer will as he focused on what Henrietta wanted to show him.
Dan watched as she turned the man’s head and brushed his long, greasy black hair aside so he could see the victim’s left cheek. “S-l-u-t? Slut? What does that mean?” he asked, looking at the bloodied word on the man’s face.
“I thought you’d find that interesting. Even the kinkiest of men wouldn’t willingly allow someone to letter female slang or anything into his face. Especially someone who lives his life as a married man and wouldn’t want secret homosexual desires exposed. Could be the work of a cold-blooded monster. But to me, it looks like someone wanted some serious revenge.”
“Revenge for what?” Dan mumbled.
“Oh, no,” Henrietta said as she shook her head. “That’s your job. I put together the pieces of how they died; you decide who did it and why. That’s the way our jobs work together,” she joked, then went on in a more serious tone. “I’ll have the prelim ready tomorrow afternoon. Considering the time, I mean, this afternoon. Crime lab and LifeCo should have their results in by Thursday or Friday. And yes, I know you want them yesterday. I’ll put a rush on it.”
“Thanks, Henri. What do you know about the other incident two months ago that Harold mentioned?” Dan asked, hoping she would know if the two had died in similar ways as Bates and the Captain had disclosed.
“BMT, Dan; Before My Time. I’ve only been in office for a month, but I can have the autopsy file pulled and ready for you when you come. Make it late afternoon, because I’ve got a suspicion I want to check out first. I’ll let you know if it pans out.”
Dan grinned at her. “I owe you, Henri. I’ll see you around 4:30.”
Henrietta paused before delivering a warning. “Dan, whoever killed this man was highly pissed off; this is not the norm. I sense a lot of rage and hatred behind this brutal deed. I’d say whoever did it also knew the wife wouldn’t be home. I’m sure there’s premeditation here. Good luck.” Henrietta turned her attention to Harold. “Make sure you get plenty of photos of everything. And I want those developed this morning, first thing.”
Dan walked to the dresser and picked up one of the pictures of a man reclining with a woman whom he assumed was the victim and his wife. In the photo, the deceased was staring at the female’s ample breasts that were barely concealed in her bikini top. He wondered what imagined or real injustice David Crouch had done to make someone want to do this to him. Loud, angry voices were coming from the den area, so he headed toward the outburst, carrying the photo with him.
“My husband was not a fucking homo, you bastard! Get out of my fucking house right now! Get out! I’ll have your badge! Get out!”
“Ma’am?” Dan tried to draw her attention away from the unsettled officer who was standing near the entrance. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”
David’s widow turned and nearly fell as her stiletto heels caught in the carpet and she pitched to one side. She grabbed the back of the sofa and fell into the cushions. Her hostile gaze was surrounded by mascara that had mixed with tears to form black trails down her face. A tight pink tank top revealed her large breasts; the matching satin shorts were so skimpy they exposed her buttocks. She ran her long fingernails through matted, too blond, too permed hair and glared at him. “What the hell do you want?”
“I’m Lieutenant Dan Mallory, ma’am, and I’m in charge of this investigation. I need to ask you some questions about your husband. It will only take a few minutes. What’s your name?” Dan used his quiet tone and his most charming smile in a vain attempt to calm the angry woman.
“Mary Crouch, if it’s any of your business. My husband was not a fag, officer. You need to get that straight right now! The asshole cheated on me all the fucking time, but it wasn’t with no man! He wasn’t a fag!”
“I understand you’re upset, ma’am—“
“Upset? Upset? You’re damned right I’m upset! I come home from work bone tired and mad as hell to find my husband dead and these. . . ” She paused and sneered at the police officers gathered around the doorway. “Those cops are saying he’s—”
“Ma’am, I apologize if any of my men made inappropriate comments. I’m sure they didn’t mean to offend you or speak ill of your husband. You boys can wait outside,” he dismissed them so he could make progress with this pathetic woman. To her, he verbally soothed, “You’ve had a terrible shock and—”
“Shock! Hell, yeah, I’m in shock!” she interrupted again. “Go to work and come home to find my husband strapped across our bed and horrible things done . . .” She glared again towards the retreating men. “But they’re treating this like my husband was some perverted fag and he wasn’t. He wasn’t, you hear me? My husband was not a fag!”
Dan let her rant, giving her the chance to vent some of her anger and anguish. She had been the one who found her battered and slain husband. “I don’t think your husband was a homosexual, Mrs. Crouch. I think someone came here tonight to murder him and I need your help to find out who it was.”
“M-m-murdered?” she stammered, her raccoon-ish gaze rounded with astonishment and her tirade momentarily halted. It narrowed again as she brayed, “I bet it was Jackie’s husband. That son of a bitch, I’ll kill him back! They got into a huge fight yesterday when John accused him of cheating at cards! No, wait! He was at the club tonight to watch us perform. He got so drunk he passed out in the middle of Jackie’s main dance. Shit!” She began to cry again, her face a mess as she used her shirttail to wipe a runny and red nose.
Dan glanced away from the gross behavior and his vision lit on someone who was definitely not supposed to be in the apartment doorway. He scowled as he recognized the blond hair and cocky stance of one of the most aggravating and persistent reporters alive. James Starr had written many detailed so-called exposes in his daily column. The “Rants” section was always full of complaints about him and his works. Yet, the newspaper continued to publish his articles, write-ups with a dab of truth and lots of rubbish and sensationalism. He must have something on somebody, Dan decided, to get away with it.
Dan excused himself from the sobbing widow and approached the intruder. “What are you doing here, Starr? This is clearly marked as a crime scene. You know you’re not allowed this close. You need to leave right now.”
“Lieutenant Mallory, what can you tell me about the victim? I heard you say he wasn’t a homosexual and think he was murdered. Tell me something—“
“No comment. You’re not allowed to be here, Starr, and you know it. You can leave quietly and immediately or I’ll have you carted off.” Dan stood in front of James to block his view of the hysterical widow. “Now, Starr.”
“The public has the right to know what’s going on here, Lieutenant.”
“The victim has a right to her privacy, too, Starr. And you’re infringing on that. Don’t come here spouting your First Amendment bullshit to me. The only thing I care about right now is protecting that woman’s right not to have her personal life plastered on your front page so you can sell a few more papers. Now, get moving before you rile me up. I promise you don’t want to challenge me.”
“I’ll find out what’s going on, with your help or without it, Lieutenant. This story was made for the headlines. The second one in two months and you think foul play was involved. Hmmmm. I wonder what that means for our fair city,” James Starr lifted his camera and flashed one more frame as he turned to leave the apartment.
Before he could, Dan snatched the camera from his grasp and opened the back, exposing the film to light. “You can’t take illegal pictures of a crime scene, Starr. This is your last chance to leave quietly before I have you arrested for trespassing and interfering with an investigation.”
Starr glared at him, grabbed his now worthless film, and turned to leave. He looked over his shoulder and said, “I still have the notes up here and here.” He patted his head and chest pocket. “And you can be sure I’ll be accurate.” James smiled as he left. His Sunday article would be correct, every word of it, as he had an inside track no one would ever guess. He only wished it wasn’t too late to make the Saturday edition, already printed and soon to be delivered.
Dan watched the reporter depart, waving at a couple of TV reporters who were tardy to the scene. They would be kept ignorant of the enormity of this case, until Sunday’s newspaper. That meant he had to take full advantage of that short time span before more media intrusions began. Great! That’s all he needed at this point, a nosy journalist, who would provoke a news feeding frenzy! Dan remembered the determined look on James’s face as he left. That man was definitely going to be a thorn in his side on this case. Damnit!
“What the hell was his problem?” Mory nodded his head backwards after he passed underneath the yellow police tape stretched across the front door and stepped into the living room. “He damn near knocked me down.”
Dan noticed that Harold was sitting beside Mary and trying to finish calming her down. He looked at his best friend and partner and whispered, “Our number one defender of our-right-to-know-everybody’s-business is a little pissed off with me.”
“What did you do?”
“Spoiled his pictures,” Dan gloated as he closed the door to prevent any TV cameras a glimpse inside.
“Serves him right. What an asshole, and how did he get here so fast? The Captain just called me a little while ago.”
“The dirt bag was probably sitting in his car somewhere listening to his scanner when the call went out, wanting to run to the most interesting story he could find. You know, the one that will win him that Pulitzer he craves or at least score big points with his boss. Those guys are worse than ambulance chasers as far as I’m concerned.” Dan paused to make certain Harold still had Mary distracted. “What took you so long to get here? You’re closer than I am. Janie giving you a hard time again?”
Mory frowned. “She just can’t handle it when I have to go out in the middle of the night. At least I’m not on the beat any more. There’s less danger of me being shot; that used to be her biggest complaint.” He sighed and continued, “She wants to have kids and what she’s determined to be a normal lifestyle.”
Dan grinned before teasing his friend, “Well, you could always switch over to burglary. It’s straight days and no weekends, unless you’re on call.”
Mory groaned and rolled his eyes. “I’d sooner quit than make that step.” He took a deep breath and apologized. “Sorry, man. I’m just pissed off. I can only do so much. So, what do we have here?” he asked.
Dan gave him a hasty report, just as the morgue team arrived.
“What does Henri think?” Mory asked, after the gloved men took a gurney into the bedroom and closed the door.
“Why don’t you ask me yourself?” she suggested, stepping over to them.
“So, what’s the verdict; random or revenge?”
“Well, you cut right to the chase, Mory. Let’s hope our killer’s only angry with Crouch. You wouldn’t want to meet this man all alone. Dan can fill you in. The body’s ready for transport, as I have lots to do, and fast. See you this afternoon, Dan, Mory.”
“See ya, Henri,” Dan smiled as he watched her make her way to the door, giving orders the entire way. He resigned himself to dealing with Mrs. Crouch, as Harold needed to complete his tasks and go to the lab. Dan thanked him for his help with Mary, who asked for water.
Dan walked into the kitchen, which was as littered as the rest of the house. The sink and counters were covered with dirty dishes and uneaten food. The table was piled high with dishes, newspapers, unopened mail and opened bags of potato chips. Crumbs were scattered in the breakfast area and on the floor. He watched a large cockroach scamper across the floor and vanish behind a trashcan that was packed to overflowing. He found a sort of clean glass and half filled it with water. He wondered how anyone could live this way. He doubted any clues or evidence could be easily found in such a mess. He’d seen worse when he lived and worked in New York. That was before he had been compelled to move and change his name in order to save his life. He pushed aside those thoughts to concentrate on the case at hand.
“Mrs. Crouch, I just need to ask you a few more questions,” Dan stated softly, wanting to complete the unpleasant task before him. He noted she didn’t thank him for the water. “This is Sergeant Mory Morrison, my partner in this investigation. We—“
“Who did this to my husband? Who would want to do such a horrible thing?”
“That’s what we’re going to try to figure out, Mrs. Crouch. Now, let’s start with the last time you saw your husband. About what time was that?”
“Before I went to work, around eight o’clock. I dance at a nightclub five nights a week. I wanted him to come watch my new number I made up the other day, but he said he didn’t feel good. He was gonna rest and watch TV.”
“Do you know if your husband was expecting anyone to come over last night?”
“I don’t think so. He said he was gonna go to bed. Him and John played cards and drank beer until they passed out this morning, so he said he wasn’t gonna be doing nothing but watching TV. I shoulda pitched a fit and made him go. John was there and he’s okay.” She started to groan loudly and sob David’s name.
Mory questioned as he sat by her side, “Mrs. Crouch, there’s no way you could’ve known what would happen last night. But you might help us find out who did this to your husband. Do you know anyone who’d want to kill him?”
“No, I can’t imagine anybody wanting to kill my Davey. And not like that.”
Dan recalled the SLUT on Crouch’s cheek. “What about where you work? Any trouble there?”
“No, all our customers love me and love to watch me dance.”
“David ever have trouble with any customer getting too friendly with you?”
“No, everybody liked him. None of our customers grab at us or say nasty things.”
“Earlier tonight you mentioned some people named John and Jackie. You said Mr. Crouch got into a fight with John yesterday. Who are they and what did they fight about?” Dan asked.
“I told you already, John was at the club tonight. They were just drunk and carrying on like guys do. Davey pinched Jackie’s tit and John got mad. Not like John’s never done that to me before. We all laugh about it later. I just lost my head earlier when I said he did it. No way, because he was with me and Jackie tonight, and trust me, he wasn’t in no shape to be doing anything to anybody. Plus, he hates fags, too.”
“Okay,” Dan accepted her explanation. “Anyone else he fought with recently?”
“No. I told you already. We didn’t hang with no sick jerk like this. Davey hated homos. He was always making gay jokes and stuff. He wouldn’t even talk to Missy’s husband, ‘cause Davey swore he was gay and he wasn’t going to be seen with no fag. And no, it can’t be Missy’s husband, ‘cause they’re in Florida with her parents.”
“What about the people he works with?” Dan suggested.
“Davey hasn’t worked in over two years, since . . .” She broke off her sentence and looked down at the floor, suddenly apprehensive.
“Since when, Mrs. Crouch?” Mory prodded, hoping for a clue as to why this man had been murdered so viciously.
“Since that girl accused him of raping her years ago,” Mary responded softly, then added loudly, “But he didn’t do it! The law said so and released him. But nobody wanted to hire him after her lies and that awful trial.”
Dan and Mory’s heads turned in unison to affirm what they’d heard.
That would certainly explain a few things here tonight, Dan thought, nodding to Mory. “What happened, Mrs. Crouch? Did the girl decide to drop the charges?”
“No. We went to trial, a horrible trial. She told all these lies about terrible things my husband supposedly did to her. Lying bitch! He lost his job at the plant since he had to be out of work for so long. He hasn’t been able to find work since. We’ve been having to make ends meet on what I make, which ain’t much by the way. But Davey was off with John the night the little whore was attacked; John even testified at the trial that Davey was with him all night. John said that little slut kept coming on to my man, but Davey told her he wasn’t interested. That’s why she tried to pin that rape on him. She was just looking for someone to blame after she picked up some idiot and got herself beaten and screwed. She was furious at my old man for turning her down. But the courts didn’t believe her. They believed he was with John, just the way he said he was.”
Dan made a mental note to check Crouch’s file when he got to headquarters. He wondered if there was anyone who was attempting to mete out his or her own brand of justice, since the judicial system had not found David Crouch guilty. But what about this alibi? The same man who had had a fight with Crouch the previous day was the same one who’d claimed they were together on a suspicious night long ago. Coincidental? Had Crouch raped the woman and John lied for him? Or was it a case of mistaken identity? Dan knew that nearly ninety-eight percent of rapists were never convicted of their crime. Had the law arrested the right man, then released him? Dan looked at the victim’s wife as Mory tried to console her. He had a gut feeling that Mary either knew or suspected her husband was guilty and John had lied for him.
“We’ll do our best to find out who did this to your husband. Do you have a place where you can go until this is cleared up? A family member or friend you would like to call? I’m afraid you can’t stay here until the investigators finish their work. They’ll lock up when they leave.”
I’m betting our number one reporter is lurking outside so he can snag more pictures, Dan thought to himself. At least the TV reporters and cameramen were keeping their distance as ordered. Or maybe they were gone by now, thinking this was just a simple murder case, just something to give a few words and a shot of the location.
“I can go to my sister’s house. She lives over on Greene Street. I’m sure she’ll let me crash there for a few days. Let me pack up some stuff from . . .” Mary began, then hesitated as her gaze went towards the bedroom door where Harold and a team member were still bagging evidence.
“Tell me what you need and I’ll get it for you,” Mory offered. “You can’t go in there right now. Do you have a small suitcase or overnight bag?”
Mary sniffed and nodded. “It’s in the closet. I only need some underwear and jeans and t-shirts. I can borrow Tina’s bathroom stuff. Oh, except my toothbrush. I ain’t sharing nobody’s toothbrush. Mine’s the pink one.”
Mory went to the bedroom and asked Harold’s permission to collect the things Mary had listed. He found the tug-along on the floor in the closet. He looked through the drawers to find jeans and wrinkled t-shirts he assumed were clean and belonging to Mary. He gathered several changes of clothes and went into the bathroom. Disgusting, he thought. How could anyone think they were getting themselves clean in this mess? Mory picked up her toothbrush by the end of the handle and held it dangling into the bag. He returned to the living area where Mary was crying and trying to talk to her sister. Mory watched as Dan gently took the phone away from her and identified himself to Tina. He explained what had happened in the apartment tonight and asked if an officer could bring Mary over to stay a couple of days. Satisfied with the answer he got. Dan hung up the phone and turned to him.
“Would you mind taking her over there? Make sure she’s not stopped along the way,” Dan hinted to Mory about the persistent reporter. “I want to look around a little more here before I head downtown. I’ll meet you there.”
Mory took the woman gently by the arm and escorted her out of the apartment. As he put Crouch’s widow into the front seat of his unmarked car, he noticed that James Starr was still hanging around the edge of the police tape. Hopefully, he would get tired of waiting, go home and leave Mrs. Crouch alone, like the TV media had done.
Back inside, Dan walked toward the bedroom and noticed the marks on the floor. “It looks like the victim was dragged to the bedroom from the den. Can you get some pictures of that for me, Harold?”
“Already took ‘em. One of the first things me and Henri noticed. We’re almost done here. You sure it was safe to let Mory leave with that stripper?”
The two men laughed, both needing some tension release.
Dan surmised that whoever killed David Crouch had rendered him unconscious first, then dragged him to the bedroom to begin his torture. He wondered if he would find any suspicious similarities between David Crouch’s murder and the attack of the girl who had fingered him as her rapist years ago. He was glad Harold had remembered and mentioned that possible link. “I’m past done here. I’m heading to HQ. I’ll see you and Henri later today. I’m hoping you two will have something big for me when I get there.”
Harold smiled and said, “Don’t worry, Dan. I won’t quit or be satisfied until justice has been served. See you later.”