As the morning heated up, an FBI team rolled in from New Orleans in a mobile unit, that would serve as the temporary headquarters on the property. They extended the canvas, fastening the poles of the awning, creating an outer work space, setting up tables and chairs on the grass in the shade.
A second bus pulled in shortly after, with the coroner’s mobile unit following closely behind.
The helicopter arrived back on it’s second trip, with a lone woman hopping out and joining the FBI team. Her clothes and style didn’t quite seem to match that of the other team members, and Jennifer watched her fidgeting uncomfortably as she was brought up to speed.
Jennifer pulled her midnight blue Acura into the diner, entering so quickly she failed to notice the name. But it was the first place she’d passed that had cars outside, a sign that perhaps the food was edible.
As she waited for the waitress to approach and serve her, she wondered if she had finally gone mad. What was she, a family lawyer from Chicago, doing down in Mississippi, somewhere off the Wolf River, looking for a haunted house?
She rested her head in her hands, hoping the coffee was fresh and strong. No hope of getting her double expresso here, but at least the coffee might be black as her soul.
Regina sat gingerly in her chair, swinging it from left to right as the nervous tic in her ankles kept her in motion. It was less noticeable than drumming her fingers on the desk.
She took in a long, slow breath through her nose, then gently exhaled, counting to five each time. After three long breaths, the swinging of her chair subsided, and she felt the tension in her shoulders begin to ease.
It’s a sad state of affairs this week. In Panama, Martinelli found “not guilty” and Epstein committing suicide. Both evading justice in their different ways.
And I’m sorry – the lawyer in me is going on a mini-rant here about what I consider to be a terrible miscarriage for Lady Justice. I believe that not only must justice be done, but it must also be seen to be done! While Epstein may be dead, where’s the justice for the victims? And what happens to any others that might have been implicated by his testimony?
Rosario sat with her phone, scanning through her twitter feed and the latest news, when the message popped in:
She switched over to her Facebook messenger, only to find that it was from some guy Tony she had accepted a friend request from yesterday. 58 mutual friends – maybe she knew him from somewhere and couldn’t remember where they had met. Or not.
A couple of weeks ago, Alessio Gronchi – political commentator – published the following tweet: “If you are one of those spitting bile and discrimination this week, and yet are celebrating today Mariano’s career, have you paused to consider that he’s a foreigner that triumphed overseas and is celebrated by his adopted country as one of their own?”
Regina sat on her hotel bed, holding her pillow tightly against her chest, burrowing her face into it as she cried. The frustration and anger pouring out of her freely.
Her overnight bag lay on the floor next to the bed, waiting for any final items that she would add to it tomorrow. The suitcase was carefully stored close to the door. All of her personal items were already in storage or shipped to Hong Kong, waiting for her to arrive there on Wednesday.
It was 9.01 pm, and she was late getting ready for the New Year’s Eve party. Once again, she had no desire to go. Days before, she had felt excited and eager. But as the day dawned, and the hour neared, she drew back into her shell, wanting to shun it all and stay home.
The excitement was already replaced with anxiety. And she was feeling pressured into going.
“What will they say when I don’t show up?”, she thought.