No Need to Talk Pt. 02: Anne

"I couldn't help but feel for the man," the woman said. The caption under her image read, "Patricia Dempsey, Daily Record."

"How so?" a panel host asked.

"Imagine learning you're going to die from an inoperable tumor, then coming home to have your spouse tell you she's taking your child and running off to spend a month with her lover," Patricia said.

"My God, that's awful," one host responded.

"I thought so. It's not like we're talking about a man who gets drunk and cheats on his wife. This is Andrew Coleman. A man who donated a computer lab to the high school out of his own pocket, and hires disadvantaged college students as interns," Patricia said. "He's been recognized by the local business community multiple times for his charitable work."

"So, when is your story coming out?" one of the regular anchors asked.

"It will be out in tomorrow morning's paper," Patricia said.

"We'll be certain to read it," the anchor said before facing the camera. "Coleman's widow, Anne, was arrested earlier today on charges of parental abduction for allegedly taking her eight-year-old daughter to Cancun without her husband's prior knowledge or permission. If convicted, she could face five years in prison. Harlan Jones, one of the lead attorneys prosecuting the case, said the possibility of additional charges remains high."

At that moment, I felt lower than at any time in my entire life. Just this morning, I was on top of the world, with a man I was willing to spend the rest of my life with. Now look at me. I wanted to dig a hole in the floor, crawl inside and pull the hole in on top of me. No wonder everyone was looking at me like I was a piece of shit. The more I thought about it, the more I realized - I AM a piece of shit. I had well and truly screwed myself.

I buried my head in my hands and sobbed. My tears, though, were selfish ones, and I knew it. All I really cared about at that moment was how I looked to the community. Never mind that my husband died never getting a chance to say goodbye to his daughter.

I dried my face long enough to look outside my small cell. What I saw frightened me - the angry faces of the other inmates looking at me with hatred in their eyes. At that moment, I didn't feel safe at all and prayed that John would find a solution - fast.

My life was now hell, but my torment was just beginning. The following morning, a guard handed me a newspaper. There was a story about my case which was not flattering in the least.

The picture made me look tired and haggard, while the picture of Andrew showed him getting the upstanding citizen award last year. I was clipped out of that one. Next to the pictures was Patricia Dempsey's companion piece about Andrew.

I expected her to build him up, but I read things in that article I never knew about Andrew. It talked about his time in the Army as a young soldier. I knew Andrew had served, but he never talked about that time of his life.

According to the article, the helicopter he was in had been shot down. Except for Andrew and one other soldier, everyone on the craft was killed. Although wounded, Andrew pulled his teammate from the wreckage, saving his life. He received a Purple Heart and a Bronze Star for that action. The teammate was none other than Robert Horton.

The articles did their job - they portrayed Andrew as a loved and respected local hero who never made a fuss about his achievements while painting me as the conniving, narcissistic slut who deprived her dying husband of the chance to tell his beloved daughter goodbye.

With coverage like this, I thought I would be lucky if all they did was burn me at the stake and scatter my ashes over the landfill. I knew I would never get a fair trial in this town and decided to discuss a change of venue with John.

My first hearing was scheduled that morning. It was just a hearing to determine bail. I hoped the court would at least grant me that much, but Harlan argued I was a possible flight risk. The judge agreed and remanded me to custody until the trial. After the hearing, I had a few seconds to mention the change of venue to John, who nodded in agreement and said he would investigate it.

After the hearing, I was moved to another cell block, and that's when the torment really began. It seems the other inmates had learned about me through the news reports and had already judged me in their minds.

The taunts and threats were bad, but things heated up when I got in line to get my food. One of the female inmates serving the meal looked at me hard, then hawked a massive wad of phlegm and spat it directly into my tray, making the food inedible.

"Just to add a little flavor," the inmate sneered to laughter from the others. Unable to eat and feeling sick from the encounter, I emptied my tray into the trash and went back to my cell, much to the chagrin of the guards.

"What, are you going on some kind of hunger strike or something?" one of the guards asked.

"You saw what that bitch did to my food in the line," I said. "You were standing right there and didn't do a damn thing."

"Yeah, I saw. I wanted to see how you handled yourself. Here, eat this," she said, pulling out a wrapped sandwich. "Go on, it's safe. I'll have a word with the other prisoner. But you need to watch your ass in here. You're not very well-liked. At all. We do our best, but sometimes bad things happen anyway. You understand what I'm saying?"

"Yeah, I get it. I could either get beaten, raped, or killed in here and no one would give a damn."

"Just so you understand the lay of the land. If I were you, I'd stay away from the others as much as possible. Especially that big girl with the tattoo on her face. Mind your P's and Q's. Don't start anything, and we'll cover you as much as possible. Got it?"

"I got it," I sighed. "Thanks for the warning."

"Any time. And it's not for your lily-white ass, I just don't need the hassle and paperwork of another prisoner casualty. If my name's in the headlines, I'd rather it be as a lottery winner," the guard said before leaving my cell.

I did get one break that afternoon when my parents came by to visit. It was a tearful meeting between me and my mother. My father hugged me, but I could see he was very upset with me. We talked about the case, and they updated me on Olivia. She was upset but adjusting nicely to living with Bill.

The guard ended our visit about an hour later and escorted me back to my cell. I spent the next three days living in fear when the guard came by to tell me I had a visitor.

I was elated when I saw John in the interview room. As before, the guard shackled me to the table, then left us alone.

"What's happened?" I cried, hoping for good news.

"The state attorney is open to a deal," John said. "But it may not be what you want."

"As long as it gets me out of here, I'll take it," I pleaded. "Tell me, what happened?"

"There's been some major developments in the case. The feds are involved now. It seems your boyfriend was up to his eyeballs in several trafficking schemes."

"What?" I shot exclaimed, not believing my ears.

"Yes. In fact, the state attorney now believes he was the one who spiked your daughter's medication. Of course, that doesn't excuse your lack of judgment in the matter. Nevertheless, they believe part of the trip was intended to introduce Olivia to Julio as a possible future victim."

"WHAT!" I screamed.

He shushed me. "I'll let the state attorney explain. He and some federal agents are on their way here. In fact, they'll be here any minute now," John said. As if on cue, the door opened, and Harlan came into the room with two other men in suits. The four men greeted each other curtly, then took their seats.

"Ms. Coleman, I trust they've been treating you well," Harlan said as if he really didn't care all that much but was required to ask for form's sake.

"Other than constantly living in fear for my life, yes," I snapped. "I hear there have been some developments."

"Yes, there has. We've uncovered evidence suggesting your boyfriend is deeply involved in child trafficking, and we believe your daughter may have been one of his potential targets," Harlan said. "This is Special Agent Mike McKenzie, FBI, and Agent Jack Carlson of the CCHT."

"The what?" I asked.

"The Center for Countering Human Trafficking. It's part of the Department of Homeland Security," Jack said.

"And you're going after Michael Simpson?" I asked.

"Yes," Mike said. "We believe he is a central figure in a rather large global operation. The man you met in Cancun, Julio Cabrera, was just one part of the operation. We uncovered emails between your boyfriend and Cabrera that suggested your daughter was to be payment for... services rendered against your husband. Were you aware of that?"

"No, never," I gasped, not believing Michael could hurt my daughter. He always acted so kind and loving toward her. Now, to hear that he was plotting to hand Olivia over to Julio for God knows what, made me madder than a hornet.

"What do you want me to do? Do you want me to turn state's evidence? Testify against him?"

"It's more complex than that, Ms. Coleman," Jack said. "You were Simpson's executive assistant for three years, were you not?"

"Yes, I was," I said.

"And you were his lover for what... nine months or so?" Jack continued.

"Yes," I repeated.

"So, you have... intimate knowledge... of his operations, correct?"

"Apparently, not intimate enough," I replied.

"But enough that you can access and understand his rather cryptic messages, right?" Jack asked.

"Yes, I can," I told him. Michael used a form of shorthand that was intended to be cryptic to anyone who didn't understand his code. But I had learned enough over the years to decode his scribblings and short notes.

"What we want is for you to help us unravel his global operation. Will you do that?" Jack asked.

"The state attorney has authorized me to set aside all charges if you agree to do this," Harlan said. "As long as you cooperate with federal authorities, these charges will not be pursued."

"Will I be able to see my family? My daughter?" I asked, hope rising in my heart.

"I'm afraid that won't be possible," Mike said. "The people your boyfriend dealt with are very dangerous. If they learn you're helping us, your family, including your daughter and your husband's family, could be in mortal danger. For this to work, Anne Coleman has to disappear. Do you understand what I'm telling you?"

"So, this is like... witness protection?" I asked.

"It's much more involved than that," Jack said. "You will actually be working with us to bring down a global trafficking operation. Of course, you'll get a new identity, and we'll keep you and your family safe."

"How will you handle the press? What will you tell them?"

"Let us worry about that. As far as anyone will be concerned, Anne Coleman was taken into federal custody as part of a larger investigation. Somewhere along the line, Anne Coleman will commit suicide, despondent over the loss of her daughter. Anita Coles will take her place," Jack said.

"As long as you work with us, we'll provide you cover and safety," Mike said. "And the charges against you will never be pursued. Perhaps one day, when this is all over, you'll be able to see your daughter. It's a high price to pay, but it could be worse. Much worse."

"All right," I said after a few moments of thought. It wasn't the best situation, but it was a far cry from being in prison. And it would give me a chance to get back at Michael for putting my daughter in danger. "I'll do it."

"Good," Mike said, placing some forms in front of me. "If you'll sign those forms, we'll get the ball rolling."

I looked over the forms and showed them to John. They seemed straightforward enough, so I signed on the dotted line.

Jack went to the door and called for the guard, who entered the room.

"Here is a set of transfer orders. Ms. Coleman is now in federal custody and she's leaving with us," he said. The guard looked over the papers, then spoke to someone over her radio. We heard someone reply, then the guard looked at us.

"All right. Follow me, please. I'll need to process her release," the guard said.

After my hands were unshackled from the table, we followed the guard out the door. It took a couple of hours to go through the release, after which time, I took a much-needed hot shower, then dressed in the clothing I wore when I was arrested.

I felt somewhat more human when I left the jail. I stopped and looked back at the large building. Goodbye, Anne Coleman, I thought. Hello Anita Coles. And may God have mercy on the piece of shit known as Michael Simpson. Because I wouldn't.

...

To be continued.