Now comes the dawn…

Now comes the dawn…
Hazel has begun to speak. Her journal chronicles the last few months of Charley’s life. Who he talked to, what he did- projects he was working on. She talks about the house building and how she was tired of having prisoners forced on her. She said she felt like she was running a prison farm at the end, but was it really? I called R from my car on the way from one meeting to the next. She was on her way to a meeting as well. We talked briefly about the events leading to the MOT. I arrived at my meeting a few minutes early and as I was organizing my briefcase, she was getting her car washed. This is what I love about what we do… As the water began to blast her windshield, she apologized for the noise. A large school bus pulled up next to me and I apologized for its noise. Two seconds later the cacophony lulled and in the midst I began to speak about my gratitude for Charley’s help and that certain agencies now seemed to be stepping to the pate to help in re-opening this case. In my soliloquy I marveled at how Charley has been able to help alter the course of his history- change the timbre of his legacy from one of suicide and marital discord- to one who was trying to do the right thing. Someone who was following the bread crumbs to find Jessica and Rox. As we were commiserating on the collateral affects bringing this case back to life would have for Hazel on the other side and for Charley’s children still on this side… she broke in.

“…Go to pages 19, 26 and 42- there is information for you there…”

As we discussed the contents of the journal and my conjecture that the prison director and its workers were involved, more information came bleeding through. She began speaking about an energy known as Carlos- a prison worker.

“…A tall, thin young man…”, there at the construction site where Charley built his houses. “…He is between 19-23…only been in prison a few years… the kind who hurts animals, then moves on to humans… convicted of possible assault against his mother… he is very discreet- watching-always watching…soft spoken and smart… there is money… money in his hands…”, he is part of those who watch and inform.

So a prison farm it may have looked like, but a network of spies is what it was. Prisoners who were on payroll, paid to watch Charley’s every move. Paid to keep tabs on what he did, where he went. Who he talked to and what he did in the hours of his day that were occupied by working at home- so that Gerrie could keep an eye on the rest of the hours he was not! It was all staged…

See how this all begins to fit together? In the beginning it all seemed so disconnected. The moonshine, the porn… the murder… the players. Charley having a fling- prisoners being used a would-be carpenters- the big come on by G…everyone up to their eyeballs in coffee… the parties… the booze… the card games and the women…the blood.

It was all a little odd from the start. The folks I talked to- everyone with his own agenda. All not wanting to share information, but wanting to know what I knew. Well my friends, I could not have imagined what I now know and I am a fiction writer! Common, ordinary people who go to church on Sunday, profess allegiance to the flag, their God and their spouses… sleeping with young girls, killing them and leaving their bodies to rot. Good Christian men who pound their chest and speak about honor and the brotherhood… all rotting from the inside out with evil and lust.

Lust for money… lust for power… lust for the sake of lust.

I worked on my psychology paper this week, along with my Criminology paper. I chose serial killers for one and for the other a most curious psychological approach to the question:

How can ordinary people, who are good and kind in their daily lives…become capable of the most vile and inhumane things?

The answer has now become the new focus for this book…

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