twenty-dollar bill, and handed it to her. “Will this cover it?” he asked without looking at the tab, but knowing it was somewhere around seven bucks.
“Let me get your change,” she said.
“No. That’s good,” he said, looking Ginger in the eyes for the first time and seeing just what he was hoping for.
“Come back soon,” she said. “We’re open every day.”
He nodded, trying to make the nod special, and headed for the door, forcing himself not to look like he was in a hurry. As he reached the door, he heard Josh Klein’s whiny voice say, “I’m afraid we have some disturbing news. The young lady in the ambulance is dead.”
Chapter 12
A Shocker
A half-mile perimeter had been set up around the Jackson Convention Center. It stretched from Capitol Street to South Street, from West Street to Mill Street. Teams of four uniformed officers from the Jackson PD were manning the front and rear entrances. Other first responders—Jackson firefighters and officers from the Hinds County Sheriff’s Department—were herding citizens out of the office buildings within the cordoned-off area.
One of the officers from Jackson PD opened the Lamar Street barricade and directed Darla to the convention center parking lot. The lot was filled with dark-colored SUVs and sedans.
Looks like Henry Jendlin brought his FBI posse with him,
thought Darla. Three patrolmen from Jackson PD intercepted Darla on her way in. “I’m looking for Henry,” she said, and showed them her badge and ID. “Upstairs in the East Room,” one of the cops said.
Darla took the escalator and rode to the second floor. A half-dozen well-built guys in Brooks Brothers suits watched her from the landing. The agent at the entrance of the East Room knew who she was. “Go right in, Detective Cavannah,” he said.
The spacious meeting hall they called the East Room had been set up for a political rally. Huge posters lined the side and rear walls. A banner was draped across the front wall. I ’LL HAVE A BREW , the posters and banner proclaimed—the campaign slogan of U.S. senator Alan Brewsome, who was running for his fourth term. Row after row of folding chairs had been arranged in a semicircle, with an upright microphone placed at the center. The microphone had its cord wrapped around it, with the whole thing covered in bubble wrap.
Darla caught sight of FBI Special Agent Henry Jendlin. He was standing next to the far wall, holding a cup of coffee. Walking over to Jendlin, she became aware of a strong burnt odor.
“Thanks for coming, Darla,” Jendlin said.
“What’s this all about, Henry?” she asked.
“This is what we’ve been able to piece together thus far: Senator Brewsome had scheduled a political rally, a kind of town hall format. It was supposed to take place here in the East Room at four thirty this afternoon. His advance lady, Farley Ruskin, stopped by at twelve thirty. About an hour ago. Part of Ms. Ruskin’s job was to see to it that everything was good to go, that the posters were all in place, that all chairs were facing the right direction. That kind of stuff. She also did a sound check to make sure the equipment was working right, and that the volume was set correctly so there wouldn’t be any reverb.”
Darla recognized what the burnt odor was. It was human flesh. “She was electrocuted, right?” asked Darla. “Doing the sound check?”
Jendlin nodded his head. “Apparently, she grabbed the microphone and wasn’t able to let go. The smell we’re getting? Her hair caught fire before someone kicked the plug loose.”
Jendlin looked down at his coffee, decided he didn’t want any more, crushed the cup, and threw it into the trash.
“The funny thing is, the electrician tells me there’s nothing to it. A hundred and ten volts is all you need, as long as it isn’t grounded,” said Jendlin. “Run higher voltage and they won’t be able to hang on.”
“She’s dead, I assume?” said Darla.
“The paramedics
“Let me get your change,” she said.
“No. That’s good,” he said, looking Ginger in the eyes for the first time and seeing just what he was hoping for.
“Come back soon,” she said. “We’re open every day.”
He nodded, trying to make the nod special, and headed for the door, forcing himself not to look like he was in a hurry. As he reached the door, he heard Josh Klein’s whiny voice say, “I’m afraid we have some disturbing news. The young lady in the ambulance is dead.”
Chapter 12
A Shocker
A half-mile perimeter had been set up around the Jackson Convention Center. It stretched from Capitol Street to South Street, from West Street to Mill Street. Teams of four uniformed officers from the Jackson PD were manning the front and rear entrances. Other first responders—Jackson firefighters and officers from the Hinds County Sheriff’s Department—were herding citizens out of the office buildings within the cordoned-off area.
One of the officers from Jackson PD opened the Lamar Street barricade and directed Darla to the convention center parking lot. The lot was filled with dark-colored SUVs and sedans.
Looks like Henry Jendlin brought his FBI posse with him,
thought Darla. Three patrolmen from Jackson PD intercepted Darla on her way in. “I’m looking for Henry,” she said, and showed them her badge and ID. “Upstairs in the East Room,” one of the cops said.
Darla took the escalator and rode to the second floor. A half-dozen well-built guys in Brooks Brothers suits watched her from the landing. The agent at the entrance of the East Room knew who she was. “Go right in, Detective Cavannah,” he said.
The spacious meeting hall they called the East Room had been set up for a political rally. Huge posters lined the side and rear walls. A banner was draped across the front wall. I ’LL HAVE A BREW , the posters and banner proclaimed—the campaign slogan of U.S. senator Alan Brewsome, who was running for his fourth term. Row after row of folding chairs had been arranged in a semicircle, with an upright microphone placed at the center. The microphone had its cord wrapped around it, with the whole thing covered in bubble wrap.
Darla caught sight of FBI Special Agent Henry Jendlin. He was standing next to the far wall, holding a cup of coffee. Walking over to Jendlin, she became aware of a strong burnt odor.
“Thanks for coming, Darla,” Jendlin said.
“What’s this all about, Henry?” she asked.
“This is what we’ve been able to piece together thus far: Senator Brewsome had scheduled a political rally, a kind of town hall format. It was supposed to take place here in the East Room at four thirty this afternoon. His advance lady, Farley Ruskin, stopped by at twelve thirty. About an hour ago. Part of Ms. Ruskin’s job was to see to it that everything was good to go, that the posters were all in place, that all chairs were facing the right direction. That kind of stuff. She also did a sound check to make sure the equipment was working right, and that the volume was set correctly so there wouldn’t be any reverb.”
Darla recognized what the burnt odor was. It was human flesh. “She was electrocuted, right?” asked Darla. “Doing the sound check?”
Jendlin nodded his head. “Apparently, she grabbed the microphone and wasn’t able to let go. The smell we’re getting? Her hair caught fire before someone kicked the plug loose.”
Jendlin looked down at his coffee, decided he didn’t want any more, crushed the cup, and threw it into the trash.
“The funny thing is, the electrician tells me there’s nothing to it. A hundred and ten volts is all you need, as long as it isn’t grounded,” said Jendlin. “Run higher voltage and they won’t be able to hang on.”
“She’s dead, I assume?” said Darla.
“The paramedics
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