Chapter 8 - The Timber Mill
The drive from Buckhead to Jesup took two hours.
The old timber mill sat deep in the pine woods of south Georgia, miles from the nearest paved road. The rusted tin roofs of the saw sheds were overgrown with kudzu vines, and the air smelled of wet sawdust, diesel, and turpentine.
Inside the main warehouse, tied to a heavy oak chair beneath a single hanging lightbulb, was Dr. Harrison Vance.
His expensive tailored suit was ruined. His gold-rimmed glasses were broken on the concrete floor beside him. Sal and two heavy-set soldiers stood over him, their hands tucked into their leather jackets.
As I walked into the warehouse, the heavy iron door slammed shut behind me, casting the room in dramatic, shadow-drenched amber light.
Vance looked up, his face bruised, his lips bleeding. When he saw me, he began to thrash violently against the thick rope binding his wrists to the chair.
"Vincent!" he screamed, his voice echoing off the corrugated tin walls. "Vincent, please! It was Sophia! She made me do it! She threatened to ruin my medical license! She said she'd tell the board I was misprescribing narcotics!"
I didn't say a word. I walked slowly across the concrete floor, pulling a small silver case from my coat pocket.
I set the case on a wooden workbench beside his chair, opening it with a quiet click.
Inside were three items: a syringe filled with a thick, yellow liquid, a glass vial, and a high-resolution photograph of ten-year-old Leo holding a picture of his dead brother, Tommy.
Vance’s eyes locked onto the syringe, and his thrashing turned into frantic, desperate weeping. "What is that? What are you going to do to me?"
"This is thallium sulfate, Harrison," I said softly, picking up the syringe and holding it up to the light to clear the air bubbles. "Concentrated. Ten times the dosage you gave my seven-year-old daughter."
"No! No, please! I'm a doctor! I take an oath!" he shrieked, his voice rising into a pathetic, high-pitched squeal.
"You broke that oath when you put poison in a child's food for a married woman's money," I said, stepping closer. "And you broke it when you threw Tommy Brooks into the river to cover your tracks."
"It was an accident! Tommy fell!" Vance sobbed, his chest heaving. "I didn't mean to kill him! Please, Vincent! I have money! I have three million in an offshore account in Grand Cayman! It's yours! Take it all!"
I held up the photograph of Leo.
"This is Leo," I said, holding the picture six inches from his bloodshot eyes. "He's ten years old. He slept under a bridge in the rain because you murdered his brother. Do you think three million dollars pays for that, Harrison?"
"Please..." Vance whimpered, his eyes rolling back in terror as I pressed the needle against the soft skin of his neck.
I didn't inject him.
I held the needle there for ten long, agonizing seconds, letting him feel the cold point of the steel against his vein, letting him taste the absolute, terrifying certainty of his own death.
Then I pulled the syringe back and handed it to Sal.
Vance gasped, collapsing forward against his restraints, sobbing uncontrollably. "You're... you're not going to kill me?"
"Death is too easy for you, Harrison," I said coldly, pulling out my phone. "I called the Federal Bureau of Investigation an hour ago. Special Agent Miller from the Atlanta field office is driving up the lane right now."
Vance blinked through his tears, confused. "The... the FBI?"
"I gave them your laptop, Harrison," I said. "The one my men found in your Mercedes. The one containing your offshore bank records, your illegal drug distribution logs, and the text messages between you and Sophia detailing every dose of poison you bought."
I leaned down until my eyes were inches from his ruined face.
"You're going to a maximum-security federal penitentiary for murder, attempted murder of a minor, and federal narcotics trafficking. You will spend the next forty years in a six-by-eight concrete cell."
May you like
I turned my back on him and walked toward the exit.
"And Harrison?" I stopped at the heavy iron door, looking back over my shoulder. "I own the guards at the federal facility in Coleman. Every day of those forty years... is going to feel like a lifetime."
