| |
AS SOON AS DETECTIVE McGee got the word on the New York Times breaking story, regarding the threatening e-mails, she consulted with FBI Agent Morgan, who put her in contact with FBI Special Agent Linda Howe at the Bureau’s Cyber Unit. SA Howe and Detectives Bald Eagle and McGee stormed into the Trump International Hotel. Within minutes of flashing badges, they showed up at the door of the presidential suite and were let in by Naim Butler.
“You look upset, but I had and still have a right to publish the article,” Brandy said, as an introduction.
“It’s called the First Amendment,” Naim added.
“Can we take seats?” Detective Bald Eagle asked. “Where’s the laptop you opened and first read the e-mail?” She asked sitting on the sofa with her colleagues.
“Why?” Brandy asked.
The detective waved a well-manicured hand at SA Howe. “Meet FBI Special Agent Howe from the Cyber Unit. She’s going to work with you to determined where the e-mail originated.”
“No, she’s not,” Naim said. “How’d you even know we were staying here? Our room isn’t in either of our names.”
“Mr. Butler, I’m with the FBI, one. Two you’re in D.C. And, three, we have a dead SC Justice and Senator. Do you really believe that you’ve blown into town to defend their murderer and no one has your temporary address? You’re missing a helluva game, if so.”
After carefully digesting her words, he begrudgingly snatched up the laptop walked into the bathroom and tossed it into the sink. With shower water running, he walked back into the living room.
To the cops, he said “You can’t look through her laptop as her sources, methods, and data are protected. You can chat with her and she can tell you what she wants too, but make it quick, I’ve still got a lot to do today.”
“You know, you’re an ass,” Detective Bald Eagle said.
“Why thank you, ma’am,” he replied, smiling.
“This is a murder investigation. If there is another killer out there we need to know. Perhaps this is a copycat. Or an accomplice.”
“Or the actual perpetrator and my client is innocent.”
“Look, you have your splashy headline, but we need some cooperation on this.”
“No problem,” Brandy said, as if she wanted to welcome their questions without feeling like they were injecting her with cancer. A lot of cops—and federal agents—tended to regard reporters as an obstacle than an ally searching for the truth. They wanted her intelligence and she would oblige to an extent. “Let me state the obvious. I got the emailers address dboxer@ussenate.com, which suggests Senator David Boxer sent it. That’s doubtful. Maybe he was hacked by Russians and this is all a farce.” She smirked, tucking hair behind her hair.
That caused a chuckle to come from Naim.
“This is not a game here. Sounds like you’re a conservative, and if so, I hope you’re not guiding the public to regard this killer as a hero, with your media megaphone.”
Brandy smirked, “Pathetic,” she said. “I’ve got a degree from U Conn, my integrity had never been questioned, and my articles have never been deemed biased. I don’t have to make the killer a hero, because whoever he may be is. A direct correlation to the unpopular victims. The fame is undeniable, and anyone with balls will have the temerity to admit that.”
SA Howe was taken aback. “Nine dead, and the killer is being admired. Our country is in bad shape.”
“No, it’s just tired of politically correct hogwash. It’s why the unhinged and disrespectful, Donna Lincoln, is the Republican candidate for president. She disrupts the term presidential and people love that. Politicians have been putting on suits and lying to the American people with presidential customary behavior, like the deceased for decades. She’s refreshing. The two dead men have been deemed oppressors of their own race. Many blacks wanted them to croak. So no one should be surprised that there are cheers in the street now that they’re gone. Liberals in the Congressional Black Caucus scream about mass incarceration when they voted yes to enact the laws that created it. And now they pretend to be surprised by the murders. I report facts and unbiased news the people can use and, these e-mails suggest there’s another killer out there hunting vampires. I put the blood-suckers on notice. You’re welcome.” She shrugged.
Brandy was on the defense, unleashing her fury. Being questioned by the police was not something she liked, and she wouldn’t put up with it. No way she’d take their presence as anything but a fight. She was in her corner gloved and waiting for the bell to sound.
“We need to know where the e-mail was sent from. The computer. The location.”
“I doubt the U.S. Attorney will agree that this is a protected source. Or a judge signing the warrant to go through your e-mails. We do that, we can and will learn far more about your sources than you desire. How do you want to do this?”
“Sounds like a good idea. And we’ll ignore charging Naim with obstruction for trying to destroy the laptop. Water is no real match for our forensics team, by the way,” Detective McGee said. “You give up the IP address and we’re outta your hair. Didn’t you say something about having to be somewhere?”
As they tried convincing Brandy to give up her source, Naim was in a heated text exchange with paralegal, Christina Gordon. Putting the phone into his pocket, he said, “Listen folks, we have the IP address. Get a warrant and well gladly turn it and anything else the judge directs us to turn over. The warrant is for the optics. I’m sure you understand that she can’t give up to cops and not jeopardize her career. I’ll see you out now.”
The police stood in unison.
“We can see ourselves out,” Detective McGee said, handing Brandy a business card. “If you leave town before we confiscate the laptop, please let us know.”
Detective Bald Eagle said, “Yes please do go back to New York. We’d love to invade your comfy Eighth Avenue office. I’m sure there will lots of material there for us to confiscate.”
When they left the room, Naim opened the door and stood in the doorway until the cops entered the elevator. He then retreated into the room, wearing a look of defeat.
“What’s wrong?”
“There’s a problem. As I told you earlier, I had my secretary contact the jail to request an emergency visit after visiting hours to meet with Jillian Thurman to get family and psychological background info on David. The warden OK’d that, but she just received a call from the warden’s assistant that the approval was reversed. Because of a public safety exception, she’s been placed in the hole and not allowed visits from anyone until further notice, per—”
“AUSA Shai Brown.”
“Yes.”
“How the hell did he even know you were going there?”
“Apparently, my dear, there’s a leak in my faucet,” he said, walking to the bathroom.
“Where are you going?”
“I need a drink, but first lemme get your laptop. I tossed it in the sink and turned on the shower water.”
“You crafty son-of-bitch.”