“Facts have never stopped them from printing or reporting lies before,” she pointed out.
“True,” Jake said, “but these are irrefutable facts that are now in their possession. That’s the difference maker here.”
“What do you mean?”
He took a quick drink of his beer and then added some oregano and fresh ground pepper to the butter. He took out a fork and began to mix it all into a consistent paste. “The burden of proof in a libel or slander case is on the person being slandered or libeled,” he explained. “In other words, when the National Watcher printed their story that you and Celia were ‘allegedly’ getting it on with each other every night out on tour, you and Celia would have had to prove by the preponderance of the evidence that you were not getting it on in order for a libel judgment to go in your favor. Even though you were not getting it on—well ... you know, except for that one night—there is no evidence of absence you can possibly provide, therefore you cannot prevail.”
“I understand,” she said. “But why is this different?”
He opened the hamburger package and divided the meat into four equal pieces, which he then formed into balls. “Because of those irrefutable facts that we have on our side this time,” he said. “There is evidence of absence in this situation. We can prove that that photo was taken with Ron the ramper’s camera at Pocatello Airport, not Sandpoint Airport. We can prove that Ron himself is the person in the photo, not a Venezuelan tranny. We can prove that virtually everything in that email is untrue except for the fact that we were in Sandpoint recently and that we did visit Barquisimeto with Celia recently. The media knows that the story is not true since Paulie has informed them and provided them with the facts at hand, so if they were to print it or put it on TV, they would be knowingly printing or broadcasting provably false information for the purpose of harming the reputation of you, myself, and Ron the ramper. That is the very definition of libel and slander. We would own them. They would be forced to print and/or broadcast a retraction of the story and they would be on the hook for huge punitive damages. They are not going to go there.”
“What if some reporter or media show that didn’t contact Pauline wrote a story or aired the email?” she asked. “They are not in possession of the information. Couldn’t they still get away with it?”
Jake used his thumb to put a large crater in each of the balls of meat. He then scooped out a healthy dollop of the garlic butter and put it inside each crater. “Journalistic ethics require that any reporter make an attempt to get our side of the story before printing or airing something like this,” he said. “At that point, Paulie would hit them with the facts. If they did not follow journalistic ethics and just printed without trying to get our side, they would end up in the same boat. Paulie would contact whoever printed or aired, provide those facts to them, and demand that they immediately retract the story and apologize or be sued for libel and/or slander.”
“I see,” she said, obviously feeling better about the whole situation now.
“So don’t worry, babe,” he assured her as he began forming the balls of meat into patties with the garlic butter trapped in the center. After a dusting of sea salt, this would make for juicy, flavorful burgers once they were cooked out on the gas grill on the deck. “We are totally in the clear on this thing. This will all disappear in a matter of days.”
“That’s good to hear,” she said.
At that moment, a chiming sound began to emit from the intercom speaker on the wall. They both looked over at it. The tone told them that someone had just pushed the call button on the gate that guarded the entrance to the property.
“Are we expecting anyone?” Jake asked.
“I don’t think so,” she said.
“Hmm,” he said. “Why don’t you go see who it is?”
She nodded and left the kitchen, heading for the office on the other side of the entertainment room. That was where the bank of computer monitors that displayed the security views—as well as the security panel that controlled the various alarms and gate openers—was located. She was gone less than thirty seconds. The tone continued to sound the entire time.
“Who is it?” Jake asked when she returned.
“There are three police cars out there,” she said.
“Police cars?” Jake asked. “What the hell?”
“What do we do?” she asked. “Ignore them? They can’t just come in here, right?”
“That depends on why they are here,” he said. “I’ll go talk to them and see what’s up.”
He quickly washed his hands in the sink and then dried them with paper towels. After that, he walked to the office, Laura trailing behind him. Mounted to the left of the computer desk were the nine monitors that showed views from throughout the property. Seven of the monitors were showing night vision views since the sun had gone down more than an hour before. Nothing unusual was showing on any of those. The center monitor and the monitor immediately to its left covered the side view of the gate intercom box and the view from the gate down the access road respectively. They were not in night vision mode since the security lights had been triggered by a sensor located thirty-five feet before the gate and the entire stretch of road was now illuminated as if it were high noon in summer. In the center view was a male in his forties leaning out the window of a car. He had a mustache and Jake could just make out the shoulder patches on his upper sleeves and the top of a badge on his chest. He was staring patiently into the camera. On the road view he could see three marked patrol cars lined up one after the other.
Jake pushed the button which opened the intercom link between his microphone and the speaker/microphone on the gate entrance. “Can I help you?” he asked, his voice monotone.
“Is this Mr. Kingsley?” the officer enquired. He had no video screen on his end and therefore could not see who he was talking to.
“This is Jake Kingsley,” he said. “What can I do for you?”
“Mr. Kingsley, I am Sergeant Stivick of the San Luis Obispo County sheriff’s department. Would you mind if we came up to the residence so we could have a word with you?”
“A word about what?” Jake asked.
“I would rather discuss that in person,” the good sergeant said. His tone was polite but insistent.
Jake had no idea what this could possibly be about. He knew that he did not really have to let the deputies onto his property if he did not want to unless they had a warrant of some kind or had some kind of probable cause to believe that a crime was in progress. But there was no real reason to draw a hard line in the sand right here at the gate. Perhaps they were here to inform him of some sort of threat against him. And even if that were not the case, there was no reason to be antagonistic at this point. After all, if some psycho ever did try to get into his house someday, he would need these people to come quickly and help him. It would not behoove him or Laura to ostracize them unnecessarily.
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll open the gate for you. Drive up to the house and I’ll meet you at the front door.”
“Thank you, sir,” the sergeant said politely.
Jake disconnected the audio link and then pushed the button that opened the gate. On the video, it slowly began to swing open, inward, toward the house. Once satisfied that it was operating normally, he turned to Laura.
“Make a quick sweep and make sure all the pot and things we smoke it with are stowed out of plain sight.”
“Are you going to let them in the house?” she asked.
“Not if I can avoid it,” he said, “but better safe than sorry.”
“Okay,” she said. She headed off on her mission.