Page 25 of Justice Delayed

“That went superbly well, dear.” Ruby pointed to her wine glass. “I need a refill, but something more potent than a California red.”

Quentin walked to the liquor cabinet. There wasn’t enough booze in the world to dull the pain of losing a child. He only hoped that by the end of this, he wouldn’t lose more than one.

ChapterEleven

Brogan straightened his tie as he rode the elevator to the eleventh floor in the Arlington, Virginia, office building owned by Thompson Energy. After exiting the elevator, he made his way through the double glass doors into a plush waiting room. Water bubbled down a small rock waterfall, and numerous green plants created an atmosphere of peace.

After giving his name to the young male receptionist wearing an aquamarine dress shirt, he moved to view the framed photos lining one wall. Each image featured Quentin Thompson poised with federal and state senators and representatives, as well as numerous celebrities and even a former president of the United States. Impressive.

Brogan had done his homework on Quentin and Thompson Energy, which had been founded by Quentin’s great-great-great-grandfather, Charles Thompson, in the 1820s with a coal mine that straddled what became the West Virginia-Virginia border. Charles had expanded his coal empire to include some twenty mines in Appalachia stretching from Virginia to Pennsylvania. Each generation had at least one son who carried on the family tradition of carting the black fuel out of the depths of the earth. Quentin’s father, Richard Thompson, expanded the family holdings to include permits for fracking and natural gas, along with precious mineral deposits. By all accounts, Quentin continued the family practice of taking no prisoners when it came to prying energy from the bowls of the earth. A man used to getting his own way by any means, even those on the wrong side of the law. While Brogan managed to track the scent of potential scandal related to some of Quentin’s business dealings, he’d not had time to find concrete proof the man had crossed any unethical lines.

“Mr. Gilmore?”

Brogan turned to a middle-aged woman wearing a stylish tailored skirt suit standing beside the receptionist’s desk. “Yes?”

“I’m Ms. Budner, Mr. Thompson’s executive assistant. If you’ll come this way?” She didn’t give him a chance to respond but started walking.

Puzzled by her frosty greeting, Brogan followed her down a short hallway. But it wasn’t Ms. Budner’s opinion he needed to worry about, it was her boss’s. She paused at a door and pressed her thumb against a pad, then pushed the door open, holding it for Brogan to walk through.

“Right this way.” With a sweep of her hand, she indicated another hallway. He obediently followed her, taking in the muted sounds of a busy office. No one looked up as he passed offices on his right and cubicles on his left. Finally, Ms. Budner opened a door on her right.

He went after her into a large anteroom with a comfortable seating group off to one side surrounded by more plants and a desk with a laptop and phone. Ms. Budner marched straight to a frosted glass door, knocked once, then opened it.

“Mr. Thompson, Mr. Gilmore is here for your eleven-thirty appointment.”

Brogan stepped into the office as Quentin moved from behind his desk.

“Thank you, Anna. Please buzz me a few minutes before noon.” As his assistant nodded and left the room, Quentin held out his hand to Brogan.

Brogan shook the older man’s hand, then took the chair indicated as Quentin returned to his seat behind the desk. “I appreciate your making the time to see me.”

Quentin smiled, but Brogan detected a calculation behind his expression. He had prepped for the interview fully expecting Quentin to have done the same. By all accounts, the businessman was formidable in pushing his own agenda, and Brogan had no doubt Quentin would attempt to control the interview—and the direction of Brogan’s story. Which likely meant Quentin would know about Brogan’s past missteps and try to use it to his advantage.

“I apologize for the incident the other evening. That can’t have been pleasant for someone unfamiliar with our family tragedy.” Quentin relaxed into his plush leather executive chair.

“It was interesting.” Brogan crossed his ankle over his knee and pulled out his notebook and cell phone. “Do you mind if I record our conversation?”

Quentin narrowed his eyes for a second before smoothing out his countenance. “What exactly is your story about?”

“At this point, I’m just gathering background information.” True as far as it went. No need to tell Quentin that Brogan suspected there was a chance justice hadn’t been served in the disappearance of Jesse.

“I see. I’ll answer some of your questions with the understanding that this is for background information only.”

The words, though courteously spoken, carried an undertone of warning. Brogan nodded his agreement. He hit the record app on his phone and crisply related the date, time, location, and his and Quentin’s names. “How did Melender come to live with you and your wife?”

Quentin didn’t answer right away, as if considering how he should respond. “My wife, Ruby, was the younger sister of Melender’s father. Bobby Ray died when Melender was fifteen. Melender went to live with her great-grandmother, Sudie Harman, who was Ruby and Bobby Ray’s grandmother. When Sudie died a year or so later, social services contacted Ruby about taking in Melender.”

Brogan had learned all of that from newspaper accounts of the trial. “How did Melender fit into your household?”

“Not very well.”

Brogan’s curiosity piqued by the clipped response. “Why was that?”

“For one thing, her father had turned over the raising of Melender to Sudie, who allowed Melender to run wild with very little supervision or restrictions. Then there was the obvious disparity between Melender’s upbringing in the mountains and life here in McLean.” Quentin swiveled his chair slightly away from Brogan. “To say she experienced culture shock is an understatement.”

“In what way?”

“When she first came to live with us, it was early spring, and we often found her sleeping on the deck wrapped in a blanket. She was always climbing trees and staying outside. Plus, she rarely wore shoes, even in the wintertime.”

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