Chapter Text
Officer Connor Henderson
Early 2014
“2:30 on the dot. You do as I ask, and you’ll get what I've promised you.” Connor read the message again, seeing the second hand of the clock lurch closer to the six. What could this man possibly want with these particular prisoners? He’d been baffled by the request, but he needed the money.
Twenty years he’d already spent as a correctional officer, and it would probably be another twenty before he could realistically retire. He had time to pay back a small loan, but he had no interest in dipping into his 401k to recoup the $7,000.00 he’d lost betting on dog fights. The last few weekends had been unlucky for him, and he felt stupid for getting mixed up in it again.
It was a short walk from interrogation to Block C, so he and the two convicts had been waiting in this room for some time. The two men he’d escorted from their bunks sat on one side of the interrogation table, securely fastened in. One of the men, Zayn Wise, stood about 5’7” with scraggly black hair. He was a lifer in for beating a business associate to death with a telephone after forcing his hands into a garbage disposal.
The other, a gaunt man with glasses, in for statutory rape and an accomplice to homicide. He’d been recently transferred to Oregon State Penitentiary from a county facility where he stayed in protective custody through his court hearing. Here, he’d been placed in gen pop, and the boys wasted no time messing his face up. His face was decorated with cuts and bruises; prisoners didn’t take kindly sexual predators, especially ones who hurt kids.
Zayn had eyed the man since he was retrieved from his cell. In prison, the standard operating procedure for when you’re forced to associate with a “Chomo” is you beat the Hell out of them. Zayn wouldn’t be able to do that unless Connor loosened the chain that fastened their cuffs to the desk. Zayn was far enough to away with the leash tightened that he couldn’t do any damage to this rapist. In fact, he could do little more than scratch his own head.
The alarm outside buzzed, and the door opened. A pale, tall man in a suit with neatly combed hair entered. He was cleanly shaven and smelled like an expensive cologne. In one hand he carried a briefcase, in the other a Styrofoam to go box. Connor approached the man. “Do you need me to stay Mr...”
“Spears.” The pale man finished Connor’s inquiry. “That would be best. Thank you for your help, officer Henderson.” He said as he took a seat and opened his briefcase. “Mr. Jefferson, how would you say you are being treated here? Fairly?” The prisoner wearing glasses eased forward. “What do you want?” The man with glasses asked, clearly eager to get to the point.
“I had a few questions for you.” Mr. Spears said. “You can call me Gregory, or Greg. There’s no need to be too formal in here. Wouldn’t you agree, Mark?” Greg clarified. Mark nodded his head in agreement.
Greg motioned for Connor and pointed down at the briefcase. Connor took a look and saw a check written for $10,000.00, paid to the order of Connor Henderson. He was relieved to see not only that Greg planned to keep his word, but he was getting a bit more than he was promised. Beside the check he saw some unusual looking medical equipment.
“Officer.” Greg picked up a wire attached to a thin metal circle and handed it to Connor. “Tape this to his left palm, please.” Connor was unsure what this was all about, but his benefactor’s request was clear. Connor tore a small strip off the roll of waterproof tape and secured it to Mark’s palm.
“This visit isn’t official, is it?” Zayn broke his silence with the inquiry. Greg smiled smugly. “Officially, I just moved to this area and I’m meeting with inmates two at a time to see if they want to hire me for legal services. I specialize in freeing the wrongly convicted, and it’s quicker that way.” Connor knew Greg’s alibi was bogus, but attorneys come and go so this kind of story would grant him access.
“You’re wasting your time with us then counselor, we’re both guilty. Ain’t that right, chomo?” Zayn looked at Mark as he posed the question. “You are a clever one, Mr. Wise. Living up to your name.” Zayn smirked at Greg’s compliment.
“This meeting is off book. That’s how my organization operates. Well, operated.” Greg’s smile faded, Connor could practically smell venom. “Fasten this around Mr. Jefferson’s thigh. It doesn’t matter which one.” A new set of orders as Greg pulled a blood pressure cuff out of the briefcase handed it to Connor.
Connor did as he was told and tightened it. “This is the last piece of our puzzle here.” Greg said as he handed Connor what looked like a monocle attached to an elastic strap. “Please put the glass over one of his eyes. It doesn’t matter which one.” The final order from Greg was received and understood.
Connor stretched the elastic band and eased closer to Mark’s head, but the man pulled away. “I’m terribly sorry Mark, should we have asked for your consent first?” Greg laughed, amused at his own quip. Mark’s head went still, and Connor removed his glasses before fixing the strap to his head.
Greg gave Connor a thumbs up, his attention focused on a small monitor in front of him. “Have you ever taken a polygraph, Mr. Jefferson?” Greg asked, and Mark shook his head no in response. “Speak. This thing doesn’t read nods.” Greg interjected, annoyed.
“No, I haven’t had a polygraph before.” Mark sighed. “Very good, that was the truth.” Greg smiled as the monitor beeped. “Are you from Arcadia Bay, Oregon? Remember, use your words.” The machine beeped with Jefferson’s affirmative response to the question.
“Are you 47 years old?” Greg asked him. “Yes.” Jefferson answered, but this time the sound was a soft buzz. “Not for another few weeks. Your body knows you’re lying even if your brain isn’t quite there yet. Your palm sweats, your eye’s dilation is affected, your pulse skips ever so slightly.” Connor wondered where Greg learned these things, and just who exactly this man was.
Greg slid the to go box over to Mark and opened it. Connor snuck a peek inside and saw a ribeye steak with mashed potatoes and asparagus. “What’s this?” Mark asked. “Just think of it as a last meal. Plastic fork and plastic knife, I doubt you could hurt anyone with those.” Greg said solemnly. Mark laughed at his response.
“A last meal, eh? Didn’t anyone tell you I’m not allowed to die yet? Per the state of Oregon, I’m going to stay alive and suffer here until James Amber says otherwise.” Mark was resigned to his fate, and he certainly deserved nothing better. “James Amber is nobody. You’re nobody.” Greg’s words took the air out of the room.
“You can imagine the frustration when a fraternity that’s survived in the shadows for over a hundred years is brought down by nobodies. Brought down in humiliating fashion by a rent-a-cop and a washed-up prosecutor who couldn’t hack it as District Attorney.” With Greg’s mention of James Amber, Connor realized Mark Jefferson survived the storm that destroyed Arcadia Bay.
Of all people, this monster was the one still drawing breath. “Final question, did you tell those two teenage girls where to find your little sex den?” Mark didn’t answer Greg’s question. He instead smirked and picked up the plastic cutlery from in front of him. The knife cut through the meat inefficiently but he managed to cut a piece free.
“That’s what this is all about.” Was what Mark got out before taking a bite of the steak. Zayn watched as the man next to him enjoyed his meal. The jealousy was impossible to hide. “No wine?” Mark asked as he took another bite, this time of the mashed potatoes. “Did you tell them how to find it?” Greg asked again, refusing to let Mark derail the conversation.
“No.” The machine beeped, indicating that Mark was telling the truth. “It had to have been Nathan Prescott.” Mark said confidently. He was guilty of sexual assault of a minor and accidental manslaughter, why would he have any qualm throwing this Nathan guy under the bus? “That just doesn’t add up.” Mark’s mood shifted with Greg’s words; the realization he wasn’t off the hook.
“You see, Nathan was the obvious answer, so I asked him first. Then Mr. Sean Prescott himself. Both of them were telling the truth when they said they didn’t. So that really only leaves you, me, and one other Vortex alumni who even knew about your Dark Room.” Greg said before Mark interrupted him with “Maybe it’s that other guy then.”
“No, he lived in a different state and had no reason to, and I certainly am not stupid enough to divulge such sensitive information to teenagers. This is an awkward position for us to be in: Somebody knew but nobody told them. How then?” Greg pondered as he turned the monitor to the polygraph off.
“How did Nathan Prescott survive?” Mark interrupted Greg’s thoughts with his question. “Are you the one asking the questions now, chomo?” Zayn asked. Greg leaned forward and placed his hands on the table.
”He was in bad shape when Mr. Madsen and the police found him. An hour later and he would have been dead, but he hadn’t quite succumbed to the overdose. They took him to Portland on life flight and he made, well, A recovery. His mental faculties were compromised, so giving him jail time was a legal minefield but James Amber got him there.” Greg explained.
“I thought I recognized you, you’re Greg Spears. You were Principal Wells’s attorney. God rest his soul.” Mark said. “Unhook him from the polygraph, please.” Greg said as he gestured to Connor, and Connor did as he was told.
“Why does it matter? I’m in jail, Nathan’s in jail, Sean Prescott’s ruined.” Mark asked. “What’s true matters. It matters to me. Teenage girls don’t just accidentally find a locked vault and luckily guess an entry code. Somebody told them, and the only three people who may have done so are all honestly saying they didn’t.” Greg was frustrated with the unanswered question.
“Why don’t you try again with one of the Prescotts?” Mark asked. “Oh, you don’t know what happened. They’re already dead.” Mark stopped eating and out the cutlery down, he could tell Greg was being truthful. “I told you this was your last meal, Mr. Jefferson.” Greg said, coldly.
“Wait, last meal? Is this poisoned?” Mark panicked. “No, of course not this isn’t a spy movie. No, the food is perfectly safe. In fact, you should offer some to your neighbor there.” Greg folded his arms, waiting to see what Mark would do.
“I thought it was MY last meal, aren’t you going to kill me? Or are you going to have your hired goon do it?” Mark’s insult stung Connor, but that is what he was doing here. “You kill me and you’ll never find out where those teenagers are hiding.” Connor couldn’t believe it; this predator was actually negotiating.
“Look, you clearly have a lot of powerful connections. Get me out of here and I’ll help you find Max Caulfield.” Mark smiled, he felt confident in his leverage. Greg laughed. “That is some plan, Mr. Jefferson. That information would prove exceedingly valuable if I cared at all about finding her. She wasn’t even supposed to be there.” Connor wondered what Greg meant by this.
“What’s the name of the girl with blue hair?” Mark’s face dropped with Greg’s words. “I don’t know. I met her once, but I don’t remember her name.” Mark realized had no hand to play; this was truly the end of the road for him. Connor wondered if Greg was expecting him to strangle Mark with the handcuff chain or perhaps bludgeon him. Greg reached again into his briefcase and pulled out a document.
“Mr. Wise, I have something for you. A pardon from the governor of Oregon. As it turns out there was some evidence that was withheld from the jury that proves that nasty business with your ex-business partner couldn’t have been you. You were off fishing that night with your friend, Tony. God bless your good friend, Tony.” Greg spoke and then returned his attention to the briefcase.
Greg smirked and pulled out a shiv. “What’s going on here, Greg?” Connor had to interject; he was starting to second guess whether or not the money was worth whatever was about to happen next. Greg extended his hand, offering the shiv to Zayn. Zayn was taken aback by the gesture, slowly accepting the gift.
“You’ll need to stab yourself in your right shoulder. Then stab Mark Jefferson in the neck as many times as you want.” Connor listened in horror as Greg laid out this plan casually. This isn’t the first time he’s done this. It was at this moment that Connor figured he might be better off taking his chances with the Lynch family over his debt.
“Why do I have to stab myself?” Zayn asked, confused. “So that it looks like self-defense. I didn’t get you a pardon from the state so you could piss it away on a sloppy hit job. The story will go: Jefferson stabbed you with the shiv first and you finished him off after you took it from him. That’s what you saw, isn’t it Officer Henderson?” Greg’s question snapped him back into the moment.
“Yes sir.” Connor knew he had no choice but to go along with this plan. With his left hand, Zayn stuck the shiv into his right shoulder. He let out a far less dramatic cry than Connor was expecting. “Loosen their leashes.” Connor did as Greg asked and unlocked the restraint.
Mark lunged quickly at Zayn, knocking him off balance and causing him to drop the shiv. Mark quickly picked it up and held it front of him. “Stay the fuck away from me!” Mark hissed. “What are you going to do, Mr. Jefferson?” Greg asked him calmly. He and Connor had backed up out of range for Mark, but Zayn couldn’t.
“The truth is, I died the moment Rachel did.” Mark said before he raised the shiv and stabbed himself in the jugular. Blood sprayed out of his neck as his body fell to the ground, a look of somber acceptance on his face. Beside Connor, Greg relaxed. “Well, that works too.” Greg said, unfazed by what just transpired.
Greg pulled a vinyl glove from his pocket along with a small Ziploc bag and snapped the glove onto his hand. He then eased over to Zayn and helped him up off the tile floor. “I’ll give your pardon to the warden. Just have a seat.” Greg told him in an assuring tone and then turned his attention to Mark’s body.
Greg leaned down and stuck a gloved finger into Jefferson’s bleeding neck. With Mark’s blood he proceeded to draw a spiral on the ground next to him. Connor knew he should be calling for backup and medical assistance, but he hadn’t been ordered to do so yet. “As for you, Officer Henderson, we’ll talk more after you call for backup.” Greg said as he stood up.
“You wouldn’t happen to have any hand sanitizer, would you?” Greg asked after placing the bloody glove into Ziploc bag.