CHAPTER 1
“C’mon hurry up!” He stumbled and grabbed the railing of the dock, catching himself to avoid falling into the river, nearly dropping the case of Corona he held in one arm.
“Jadon, you’ve had too many. Please…you have to let somebody else drive,” Malissa pleaded, grabbing at the collar of her boyfriend’s coat, trying to hold him back. But Jadon Prentice had been drinking, and when he drank to excess, he became mean, belligerent, and most of all stubborn. He was not about to let anybody dissuade him from doing what he wanted to do. And right then what he wanted was to drive the boat with his friends back down the Beaufort River, stop for a night cap shot or two at Roy’s, and then finish up at his family’s river front hunting property on Prentice Island. There he and his friends planned to spend the night. He wanted to sit with his friends, watch the water, and drink some more. And in his mind, albeit a very intoxicated mind, he thought that later he would get lucky with Malissa.
“Let go of me!” Freed from restraint by the alcohol, the volume of his voice carried across the docks. He pulled his jacket loose from Malissa’s grasp, stumbled again, and then weaved his way back and forth across the dock until he reached the opening in the railing in front of his father’s seventeen-foot Sea Hunt Titan. He stepped down into the boat, nearly losing his balance in the process and rested his shoulder against the center console for support. There he dropped the case of beer on the boat’s deck next to the cooler in front of the console hard enough to make his friend Colter wince.
“Jeez Jadon, take it easy,” Colter said with a laugh, throwing his hands up, “We can’t drink it if it’s smashed all over the deck.” Amazingly none of the bottles had broken. Colter stepped into the boat and then helped the others maneuver their way safely down from the dock. As Colter opened the cooler’s lid, his friend Mark poured the bags of ice he was carrying inside it, while Tiffany, Mark’s girlfriend, took the bottles from the case and jammed them in. Colter then plopped himself on a bench at the stern and Penny, his girlfriend, joined him sitting on his lap, both sipping on a beer. Although not nearly as far gone as Jadon, they were feeling the effects of the beer they had already consumed.
The six teenage friends, all underage by South Carolina law, had started their night of drinking hours earlier at the Prentice family’s cabin. Then after several rounds they had ridden in the boat upriver to make an appearance at the family’s oyster bake on Paukie Island. It was oyster season in South Carolina’s Lowcountry, and the Prentices—for four generations the five counties’ wealthiest and most politically powerful family—were holding their annual event. In the Lowcountry— an intertwined weave of waterways and islands in southeast South Carolina between the Savanah and Ashley Rivers—oysters and oyster bakes were a part of life.
Jadon had borrowed his older brother Bobby’s identification so that he could buy beer from Jefferey’s Mart, a small combination gas station and grocery store located near the Henry C. Chambers Waterfront Park. Jadon, small and thin, bore some resemblance to his taller, heavier, and older—of drinking age—brother. He was counting on the store clerk to not pay close attention to the height and weight details on the I.D. that would give away the fact that it was not his. The clerk did not disappoint him—he emerged from the store holding the case of beer up over his head in triumph. After downing several beers, for the most part careful to stay out of sight of the adults at the oyster bake, the group left in the boat and made their way to a house party located down river. There they spent the next two hours drinking more beer along with shots of vodka and smoking a few joints.
By the time they left the house party, the cooler had been emptied, so Jadon drove the boat back to the Waterfront where they made another beer run. As they were loading back into the boat, even though he was nearly falling down drunk, Jadon refused to relinquish the helm and ignored Colter’s offer to drive. “Nobody else is driving my boat, nobody knows the river like me,” he shouted, his face turning red, “just sit down and shut up!” He pointed threateningly at Colter and Mark. He throttled the engine slowly but drove erratically doing circles around the slack open water. Mark, who had taken a seat on the bench behind Jadon, grabbed the wheel and righted the boat each time Jadon left to walk around the console and shout at his girlfriend Malissa, who was now sitting next to Tiffany on the cooler.
Jadon was notorious for being a belligerent bully when he drank too much, and from time to time he would even take a swipe at his friends or Malissa. It was as if the alcohol brought out his evil twin, an alter-ego that his friends jokingly nicknamed “Freddy,” after Freddy Krueger from the horror movie. On the way back downstream, despite Malissa, Colter, and Penny’s protests, he insisted on stopping at Roy’s, a popular bar along the Beaufort docks. He wanted to stop and have a drink that he had enjoyed once before with his brother, Bobby.
“This is stupid.” Tiffany kicked the side of the boat in frustration. “I wanna get to sleep. I have to go to work in the morning.”
“Come on Tiff, it’ll be quick, I kinda wanna try one too,” Mark cooed, stepping around the console and leaning down and brushing his hand on her cheek. Tiffany pulled away in frustration and glared at him. Mark knelt down next to her.
“Please Mark, I’m tired,” she whined, turning her head to look back at him. Mark could not resist her pleas and he relented.
“Maybe we should, you know, just head back, Jadon,” Mark said, standing up and stepping toward Jadon. Jadon threw up his hands and stepped away from the wheel and around the console. As soon as Jadon took his hand off the throttle the engine slowed to an idle and Colter took the wheel to hold the boat straight.
“You’re such a pain in the ass!” Jadon yelled at Tiffany, slurring his words. Mark flinched but kept his mouth shut and said nothing.
Malissa’s face went cold and angry, and she pointed her finger at Jadon. “Don’t … you … yell … at her … like that,” she spat her words out, punctuating them and jabbing her finger in Jadon’s direction. Suddenly Jadon snapped. He swung his arm, his hand catching Malissa square on her cheek with a loud smack. At that, Mark reacted. He pushed Jadon back and then stepped in front of Malissa. Malissa stared at Jadon in shock.
“You jerk!” Penny shouted from the back of the boat. Jadon turned toward the bench where Coulter and Penny sat, fire in his eyes, his finger pointed at Penny, his face reflecting that he was trying to get his words in order and then out of his mouth. He stopped, however, when Colter stood up and stepped toward him.
“I wouldn’t if I were you,” Colter’s eyes stared daggers at Jadon, who backed up to the console, turned away from Colter, and took the wheel, a smirk on his face. He was driving, so the hell with them. He would get his way. No one said anything for a few minutes as Jadon accelerated the boat and steered it toward the Beaufort docks.
When they reached the docks, all but Mark stayed on the boat and drank beer, as Jadon climbed up onto the dock and sauntered toward Roy’s. Mark begged Tiffany’s forgiveness and then followed Jadon. Inside Roy’s, Jadon and Mark sidled up to the bar and used their fake identifications to order two rounds. Jadon had the uncanny ability to pull himself together just enough to look sober when he wanted to order more drinks, and he pulled it off perfectly that evening, smiling and fooling the bartender who was not paying close enough attention.
“Uh oh, here come’s Freddy.” Penny pointed down the dock to where Jadon and Mark could now be seen ambling toward the boat. Jadon’s eyes looked as big as quarter-dollars, and when he reached the boat, Penny gave a glance to Colter, her face showing her unease with the idea that Jadon was going to try to drive them back down river. “He looks like he’s taken something,” she whispered in Colter’s ear. Jadon and Mark climbed down into the boat, and Jadon once again stepped behind the console and started the engine, as Mark untied the boat from the dock and hung the line on a cleat.
“Come on Jadon, you can’t drive.” Colter stood and put his hand on Jadon’s shoulder. “You’re drunk.”
Jadon jerked himself around and slapped Colter’s hand away, “Shut up!” He pushed the throttle, making the boat suddenly jerk forward and away from the dock out into the channel of the river. Jadon stumbled but held onto the wheel, pulling it with him as he lost his balance, driving the boat in circles.
“Jadon, pull back over to the dock so we can get out…you’re scaring Penny.” Colter said, glaring at Jadon. He sat down next to Penny, wrapped his arms around her and pulled her closer.
Jadon stepped away from the console, and as he did, the throttle slowed to an idle. Mark stood and grabbed the wheel to guide the boat straight back upstream as Jadon began taking off his clothes, stripping down to his boxer shorts despite it being barely fifty-degrees outside. A fog that had slowly been drifting in over the river during the course of the evening was then thick and exuding a chill. “Hey, come on man,” Mark said, holding his hands up in exasperation.
“Jadon, not this again!” Colter shouted, holding Penny close to him as he watched his friend strip off his clothes. The friends had seen Jadon engage in these antics before. For some reason when he was drunk, in addition to becoming a belligerent jerk, Jadon liked to take off his clothes down to his boxers. Colter was taller and stronger than Jadon and could have knocked him out with one swing, but he never stood up and challenged his friend. This night was no different. Maybe it was his fear of the Prentice family that held him back, or maybe it was the evil things he had seen Jadon do in the past whenever someone crossed him. He seriously wanted to grab the wheel and force the boat over to a dock so he could get himself and Penny—along with the others—out of the situation before things got worse. But he did not.
Jadon, now wearing nothing but his boxers, took the wheel again and pushed the throttle forward hard, accelerating and lifting the bow of the boat out of the water. The sudden acceleration threw Colter and Penny backwards and from the bench where they sat—they landed hard on the deck of the boat. Mark was thrown back into the seat behind the console and grabbed the back of the seat trying to keep himself in place. Up front, Malissa and Tiffany held onto the cooler as best they could, trying to avoid being thrown down onto the deck as the boat raced forward.
The boat streamed uneventfully down the river for some time, picking up speed. The many tributaries off the Beaufort River were confusing enough in daylight, but at night and in a fog, it was next to impossible for any of them to keep track of where they were. Mark watched the GPS on the boat, but all the alcohol he had consumed had taken a toll, and he lost track of where they were. The fog continued to build, and soon was thick enough to make it hard to see more than a boat’s length in any direction. Malissa and Tiffany held up their cell phone flashlights pointed out over the uplifted bow and strained to see ahead as Jadon continued to accelerate. The flashlights helped little, accomplishing little more than to illuminate the fog. In the back of the boat Colter helped Penny pick herself up off the deck and get back onto the bench, and then he sat down next to her.
Colter put his arm around Penny’s shoulder and cast a glare at Jadon, “Slow down, Jadon, you can’t see good enough to be goin’ this fast.”
From that point forward, things seemed to move in slow motion. Tiffany saw the bridge first, its supports extending down into the water like outstretched fingers, and she screamed. Her scream drew Jadon’s attention, but his reactions were so compromised by the alcohol that he barely turned his head, keeping his hand in place holding the throttle forward. The boat slammed full speed into one of the bridge’s pylons, bouncing to the right, and throwing Jadon, Malissa, Tiffany, and Penny overboard. Colter flew off the bench where he had been sitting with Penny, but avoided going overboard only because he slammed his face into the side of the boat. Mark was thrown forward, crashing into the edge of the console, cutting his scalp severely. The boat’s engines continued to drive forward for a few seconds sending the boat shooting across the river to the right. It bounced off pylon after pylon until it finally came to a rest, beaching itself on shore under the bridge.
The boat’s engines died, and suddenly it was eerily quiet except for the splashing of Jadon, Malissa, and Tiffany in the water as they struggled to swim and wade for shore. “Mark, oh my God, where are you,” Tiffany called out as she crawled out of the water and laid down on her back on the wet, sandy shore. She stared in stunned amazement at the mangled bow of the boat, smashed and cracked like an abused toy. She could hear Colter’s and Mark’s muffled moans from somewhere inside the boat as they tried to regain their senses.
“Tiff,” Mark called out, holding his hand to his head. “Oh God, I’m bleeding, I’m bleeding bad,” he screamed in panic when he eyeballed his blood-covered hand.
“Here, put this on your head.” Malissa who had stood up and walked to the boat handed Mark her water-soaked sweatshirt to serve as a compress. She took Mark’s hand and helped him climb out of the boat and onto shore.
Tiffany stood and walked to the boat, took Colter’s hand and helped him out. She noticed his swollen cheek and a cut below his eye, “Sit down here Colt, you’re hurt.” Jadon crawled up onto shore and then sat dazed on the wet sand in his boxer shorts, keeping a distance from the others.
“Where’s Penny,” Colter said as best he could, wincing at the pain in his jaw. Tiffany and Malissa, suddenly realized that their friend was missing, stood up, and started scanning the water under the bridge.
“I saw her fly past me into the water, but I thought she was behind me when I was swimming over here,” Malissa said with panic in her voice as she craned her neck from side to side and scanned the water. She stood and ran up and down the shore under the bridge, “Penny! Penny! Oh my God, where is she.” She turned back to the others, fear gripping her face. “Maybe she swam to the other side? You think? Maybe she’s over there.” She pointed under the bridge at the opposite shore. “Penny, you there?” she shouted. There was no response.
Malissa took her cell phone out of her drenched jeans pocket but found that it was dead. She went to Jadon who she knew had a waterproof case on his phone and took his cell out of his hand. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw its screen light up and she quickly dialed 911 emergency. Colter and Tiffany continued to walk the shore looking for any sign of Penny. Colter dove into the water and tried to spot Penny, returning to the surface with a loud sputter and calling out her name. He dove under the surface again and again, each time with the same result. Within several minutes of Malissa’s call, they heard sirens and then eventually saw flashing lights approaching on the road above.
A Port Royal patrol car arrived first. Two police officers carrying flashlights that bobbed up and down as they ran and scrambled down the embankment from the road. “Anybody hurt down here?” Officer John Bainbridge called out when he reached the base of the bridge, shining his flashlight in Malissa’s direction.
“Yeah,” Malissa replied, pointing at Mark who was still holding the sweatshirt against his head, “he’s got a bad cut on his head, and he’s bleeding pretty bad. And he,” she said, turning to point at Colter who was crawling out of the water and onto shore, “hurt his jaw and there’s a cut under his eye.”
“Pete, bring the first aid kit down here,” Officer Bainbridge shouted back up the bank at his partner. “And call dispatch and make sure the medics know we’re down here under the bridge when the ambulance gets here.” Officer Pete Dallas scrambled up the embankment and then within minutes slid back down with a first aid kit that he handed to his partner.
“Penny…Penny’s still missing,” Tiffany cried out, running to Officer Dallas, her voice cracking as she pointed out at the river under the bridge, “she went in the water, and we haven’t seen her since.” Officer Dallas’s face registered alarm. He whipped his flashlight around toward the water under the bridge and flashed it back and forth, illuminating the water and then the opposite shore.
“I’ve been diving in trying to find her, but she’s nowhere,” Colter called out as he climbed unsteadily to his feet, “I’m afraid she’s on the bottom of the river somewhere.”
It was hard for Officer Dallas to see around the bridge’s pylons, and he was unable to see signs of anyone in the water. He touched the radio clipped to his shoulder “Dispatch, we’re gonna need assistance, we’ve got a missing girl near Parris Island, she went in the water under Archers Creek Bridge and hasn’t been seen since.” He turned in the direction of Tiffany and asked, “How long ago did she go in the water?”
“Maybe five minutes, maybe ten, oh God, I don’t know,” she started to cry.
A patrol car from the nearby Marine Training Depot on Parris Island arrived, and two military police officers checked in with Bainbridge. After learning that there was a missing girl who had gone into the water, they raced back up the embankment and across the bridge to help in the search downstream on the opposite shore.
Two SUVs belonging to the South Carolina Department of Natural Resources, the agency with primary jurisdiction over the waterway and surrounding shores, arrived moments later. After getting a briefing from Bainbridge and Dallas, SCDNR Officers David Ballard and Joe Dutton and two more of their colleagues left the Port Royal pair to tend to the injured teens. Walking downstream, they scanned the water and shores with flashlights looking for any sign of the missing girl. Dutton noted that the current in the river, although not overpowering, was strong enough to wash someone downstream, especially if they had hit their head on something or were sufficiently under the influence. “You two keep searching downstream,” Dutton said to his fellow officers, pointing away from the bridge, “Dave and I will go back and talk to these kids, take statements, and see what we can find out.”
Bainbridge and Dallas tipped Ballard and Dutton off to the fact that the teens had been drinking, but the tip was unnecessary. The odor of alcohol was strong on the teens’ breath and Jadon was agitated, acting belligerent, and giving the first responders a hard time. Dutton collected witness statements while Ballard went back up the embankment to the roadway to retrieve a camera from their SUV. By the time Ballard returned, Dutton had taken a statement from each of the teens present except Jadon. When Ballard tried to talk to Jadon and to videotape him as was standard policy in a Boating Under the Influence case, especially one involving a fatality as he was beginning to suspect was a possibility, Jadon pulled away and refused to respond. He would not even turn around and face the camera. Instead, still wearing nothing but his boxer shorts, every time one of the officers pressed him to answer questions, he would ask for his grandfather and throw out veiled threats about how much trouble they would be in with his grandfather if they treated him wrong.
As brash and immature as the threats were, they still had an impact. Ballard and Dutton exchanged nervous glances and then backed off from Jadon and dropped their questioning. Jadon’s grandfather and father, and the whole Prentice clan in general, were well known throughout the five counties. For four generations Prentice men, Jadon’s great-great-grandfather Albert, his great-grandfather Robert, his grandfather William, and then his father James, had occupied the office of 14th Circuit Solicitor—a position equivalent to what would be called a district attorney in other parts of the country—for Allendale, Beaufort, Colleton, Hampton, and Jasper Counties. For nearly 100 years since 1920, the Prentice patriarchy had controlled the prosecution of crime in the five counties, deciding who would be charged and who would not.
Jadon’s great-great-grandfather, Albert, had graduated from the University of South Carolina Law School in the early summer of 1910, leasing a small office in downtown Beaufort and started a personal injury firm. With the opening of his practice, Albert had been on the cutting edge of the law. The legal concepts that permit injured people to recover money from those responsible for harm they incurred had been around for centuries. But it was in the early 1900s, with the advent of the automobile, the prevalence of railroad operations near populated towns, and the industrialization of American culture, that the pursuit of personal injury claims became more prevalent.
Albert had never found it necessary to hang up a shingle. Hampton and Beaufort were a dichotomy. On the one hand they were rural and secluded, but on the other hand they were no more than an hour and a half from anywhere major or important—like busy Charleston or enchanting Savannah. The towns were small, and word of mouth passed from former to prospective clients was all that Albert needed to build his practice. Without the slightest effort at advertising, almost everyone in Beaufort, Hampton, and the surrounding counties knew where the Prentice law office was located. Legal work was always abundant, and Albert never lacked for work.
Taking payment for his services by way of contingency fees deducted from settlements or judgments, cash, or deeds transferring title to land, Albert gradually built up quite an estate. By the 1920s he had accumulated hundreds of acres of real property in Hampton and adjacent Beaufort and Colleton counties. It was in 1920 that he decided to run for election as the Circuit Solicitor. Owing to his reputation and popularity, he had won easily. Permitted to serve in the public position prosecuting crime at the same time that he continued his private personal injury practice, he prospered.
In 1940 after twenty years in public office and thirty years in private practice, Albert passed both of his mantles on to his son Robert—known as “Bobby,” also a University of South Carolina law graduate. With Albert’s endorsement, Bobby easily won election and became the youngest Solicitor for the five counties to ever assume the office. Then two years later he stepped into the managing position for the Prentice law firm which had grown, adding partners, associates, and paralegals. Bobby had an extroverted personality and soon became well known throughout the five counties for his love of cigars and his courtroom antics as a prosecutor. In fact, he became legendary for the spirited way in which he reenacted the murders he prosecuted before mesmerized juries. But his reenactments, although spell-binding, occasionally earned him a rebuke from the South Carolina Supreme Court when he got a little too dramatic and carried away in death penalty cases. Supreme Court rebukes aside, life was good for the Prentice clan.
William followed in his father’s and grandfather’s footsteps and studied law at the University of South Carolina, graduating with honors. He then joined the Prentice law practice, building his reputation as a personal injury lawyer. There he worked and prospered until 1987 when, upon his father’s retirement, he successfully ran to replace him as Solicitor. William occupied the Solicitor’s office for the next twenty years, retiring in 2007, when his son James successfully ran to replace him.
Unfortunately, the passage of years had taken the shine off the Prentice clan. James and his sons, Bobby and Jadon, did not value the work ethic or the integrity that Albert, Robert, and William had made a trademark. The later Prentices, in contrast to their predecessors, had grown up pampered, spoiled, and accustomed to being coddled with special treatment. James’ tenure as solicitor thus far had been soiled with scandal and controversy. But despite the scandals, he had managed to keep the position and hold up the family mantle. Ballard and Dutton, however, knew only the family reputation for power and influence and were reluctant to run up against it.
An ambulance soon arrived at the accident scene, lights flashing, and two medics scrambled down the embankment with their gear. As the medics slid their way down to the riverbank, two Beaufort County Sheriff’s Deputies, Staff Sergeant Willard Jones and Corporal Phil Summer, pulled up to the bridge and stepped out of their patrol car.
“What are they doing here?” Dutton remarked to his partner.
The accident, involving a boat on the river, was squarely within SCDNR’s jurisdiction, and as the senior SCDNR officer present, Dutton was in charge of the accident scene and the investigation. Dutton watched with annoyance as the deputies slowly slid down the embankment, took out their note pads, and then began talking to the teens. As Dutton watched, the deputies spoke to Tiffany and Malissa, each deputy scribbling notes. After speaking to the girls, they moved on to Colter and Mark, again scribbling, and then walked up to Jadon who was still in his boxer shorts.
The deputies’ conversation with Jadon looked a little too chummy to Dutton, with the three exchanging laughs and smiles. Dutton had heard all the rumors about the Prentice family’s close connection to the Beaufort County Sheriff’s office. Considering that this was a BUI investigation, very likely one involving a fatality, and given that Jadon was the likely suspect, Dutton thought the deputies’ behavior was borderline interference.
“Hey, guys,” Dutton called out, stepping back toward the deputies, “this is our investigation, and we need to handle all of the questioning.”
“We’re just trying to help.” Sgt. Jones smiled cheerily. “Y’all looked like you had your hands full. And the ambulance is gonna be full haulin’ those others,” he pointed at Mark and Coulter, “so we can help you get these ones here…the ones who aren’t hurt too bad…to the hospital,” he gestured toward Jadon and the girls.
“Yeah, thanks, but all the same, we need you guys to leave the interviews to us,” Dutton insisted, “and we still need to do a sobriety test on him,” he pointed at Jadon.
“Why him?” Cpl. Summer pushed the brim of his hat up with one finger and gave Dutton a puzzled stare, “we heard that one of the other guys was drivin’ the boat.”
“Oh, you did, did you?” Dutton had heard nothing from the teens but that Jadon was driving the boat. He narrowed his eyes and waved his hand, pointing at the top of the bridge, “We appreciate y’all’s help, but you boys need to step away from the witnesses and head back up that bank over there to the top of the bridge, or head downstream and help search for the missing girl so we can finish our investigation.”
“Now, that’s not too friendly,” Sgt. Jones remarked, “You need to relax, son, we’re just tryin’ to help.” Sgt. Jones, who by all appearances was almost twice Dutton’s age, gave the younger officer a fatherly smile and a wink that irritated Dutton to no end. The younger officer hesitated, unsure of what to do. He had already asserted his jurisdiction over the situation, but these county guys were not backing off, and he had never in his career encountered a situation where he felt like he needed to get confrontational with another law enforcement officer. He really did not want this to be the first.
“Hey Dave,” Officer Ballard called from the boat, camera in hand, waving for his partner to join him. Dutton glanced back toward the water and away from the deputies.
“I’ll be right back,” Dutton said to the deputies over his shoulder as he walked toward the boat.
“How many pictures you want of the boat, Dave…I’ve already got six inside and six outside from all angles?” Ballard held the camera up for his partner to see the digital screen.
“Just shoot as many as you can,” Dutton said, “we can’t have too many pictures. And get closeups of anything that looks important, like that blood over there and there, and take some DNA swabs.” He pointed at two pools of blood inside the boat and then turned around to go back and finish his talk with the deputies but found that they were gone. He looked up the embankment just in time to see the deputies stepping up onto the road with Jadon, Malissa, and Tiffany, followed closely by the medics with Colter and Mark. “Dammit,” he said under his breath, and then opened his notebook and made some notes, muttering to himself and shaking his head disgustedly as he did. “Joe, finish up, we need to get to the hospital so we can interview the rest of these kids and do a sobriety test on that Prentice kid.”
Dutton got on his radio to confirm that the other SCDNR officers on scene were continuing the search downstream for the missing girl. They had two SCDNR boats in the water along with a half-dozen officers on shore combing the waters and banks for any sign of a body. Dutton did not say to anyone else what he was thinking, what it was that weighed heavily on his mind, namely that given the amount of time that had elapsed since the accident they were not likely to find the young Penny Prescott alive. Sure, it was possible that she could have been swept quite a way downstream, and that she might be sitting and shivering on a sandbar somewhere, cold but safe, just waiting to be found, but the odds of that were slim and growing slimmer with each passing minute.
“Let’s get to the hospital before those county guys muck things up even more than they already have.” Dutton shook his head in disgust. He hated having to clean up an investigation after it had gone wrong. He much preferred to do his job right the first time, meticulously following procedure step by step. “This one is lookin’ like it’s gonna be a pain,” he said under his breath.
