The Promisor: A Suspense Thriller

by Dustin Stevens

  “Hey, there,” Sheriff Meigs greeted them. Standing on the far side of the desk serving as a barrier between the front foyer and the offices for her and her staff, she held a ceramic coffee mug in one hand. Backside perched on the edge of a table, one foot was lifted from the floor.

  Beside her rested a pink pastry box, the top of it bent back to reveal a row of donuts wedged inside.

  A few feet away stood Deputy Brinkley. Framed in the doorway of one of the various offices spreading from the open central space, he stood with a paper towel in one hand, a glazed jelly donut in the other.

  “Good morning,” Reed replied, circling around the front desk. Going no further, he slid a few feet to the side before leaning back against it, folding his arms across his torso.

  “Down,” he commanded, watching as Billie lowered herself to the floor beside him. An order that was actually a reprieve, allowing her to take a quick break from the constant pacing that had occurred since leaving the interview room earlier.

  A response springing both from her own interpretation of Aquino’s outburst and Reed’s resulting adrenaline.

  “You guys hungry? Thirsty?” Meigs asked. “Brinkley’s folks own the bakery down on Main Street and had these sent over this morning.”

  Already armed with enough natural chemicals to keep him wired for the foreseeable future, Reed couldn’t imagine imbibing a drop of liquid caffeine. With the replay of Aquino’s bloody wrists still unspooling through his mind, the thought of consuming anything at the moment was equally unfathomable.

  “No, thank you,” Reed just said. “It smells good, but we just left Ross Correctional a little while ago. Not exactly much of an appetite.”

  Both of their faces falling blank for a moment, Meigs was the first to make the connection. “Aquino?”

  “Yep,” Reed replied, lifting his brows slightly. A look and tone managing to impart exactly how well it had gone.

  “That bad?”

  “Pretty much,” Reed said. “Got the whole tough guy act for a few minutes when he thought we were just there to shake him down, followed by the expected outburst when he learned what happened to his sister.”

  Wincing slightly, Meigs sucked in a sharp breath of air.

  A reaction the young deputy beside her didn’t share, his focus moving back to the half-eaten donut in his hand.

  “Also, had a meeting last night with a lieutenant from CPD’s Gun Crimes Division,” Reed continued, the impromptu meeting as good a place as any for a debrief. A quick information dump between the sides before going after things anew.

  A process he was itching to get to, still riding on the chemical cocktail of the meeting earlier.

  “Said he didn’t know of a lot going on with Aquino’s old crew or anybody targeting it specifically, but he would ask around and get back to us.”

  “You expect to hear back on it?” Brinkley asked.

  “Hear back?” Reed replied. “Definitely. These guys keep a pretty tight handle on things, so we’ll know something by tonight, if not sooner.

  “Whether or not it helps us out here? Too soon to tell.”

  Balancing her mug across her raised thigh, Meigs flicked her gaze from Brinkley to Reed. “Along those lines, we went by the Salem house yesterday afternoon.”

  “Not even a handgun in the place,” Brinkley inserted, “let alone anything to hint at them moving into a gun racket.”

  Having expected as much, Reed grunted as Meigs added, “Also, Wain sent over the initial crime scene report this morning. Most of what they have is on the bullet right now, but he promised they’ll continue processing and send things over as they get them.”

  Bobbing his head a couple times, Reed asked, “He intimate at all how much they have left?”

  “Not really,” Meigs replied. “I mean, I know they were able to get some tire tracks from the shooter’s exit, maybe a few fibers from the nest, but...”

  She let her voice trail off there, Reed not needing to hear the rest to know exactly where she was going. A concession that no matter how much time they had spent in the woods yesterday and the number of places they knew the shooter to have been, there wasn’t a great deal for them to work with.

  A status Reed had feared the day before while tromping through the humidity, the nature of the murder not one to leave much behind in the best of circumstances.

  Of which, these were decidedly not.

  A fact becoming even pronounced if there did prove to be a connection to Aquino, the type of person willing to go to such lengths to take a swing at him or his family not the sort to make unforced errors.

  “I’m curious,” Reed said, shifting topics slightly. Moving his focus to the pastry box by Meigs’s side, he lifted his chin and asked, “Those donuts a regular thing?”

  “Not regular,” Brinkley replied, a slight hint of defensiveness creeping in. “But fairly often, whenever they have extra. Why?”

  “You’re wondering if this has anything to do with word getting out about what happened,” Meigs said, not as a direct response to the deputy but as a follow-up to Reed’s question.

  Dipping his chin, Reed asked, “Has it?”

  “Not from us,” Meigs said. Glancing over to Brinkley, she waited until the young man nodded in agreement before looking back to Reed, “Though I’m sure people have noticed Harrison’s office being closed.”

  “And there were a couple of people that drove past when the crime scene guys were out at the house yesterday,” Brinkley said.

  “It’s a small town,” Meigs added. “People talk.”

  “Great,” Reed muttered. Pushing back against the desk behind him, he levered himself forward a couple inches. Allowing his arms to fall to his sides, he said, “There any way you guys can track down Harrison and ask if we can speak with him again?

  “I need to go pay a visit to the police station.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The time had come for Reed to hear the full story. Try as he might have to avoid it the day before, there was simply no way for him to continue avoiding whatever was underscoring the animosity existing between the Gallipolis Police Department and the Gallia County Sheriff’s Office.

  His initial introduction to the area being the prick in the police station parking lot, it was quite clear that whatever existed between the two entities went well beyond healthy rivalry.

  The full extent of which Reed needed to be aware of before he and his partner walked back into the place and asked to speak with the chief.

  The moment Reed had asked to hear what happened, the shift inside the sheriff’s department was palpable. Any interest Deputy Brinkley had in his donut immediately evaporated, the young man wadding the last chunk into his paper towel and tossing it in the trash.

  Mumbling something about work he needed to get to, he’d turned and disappeared into his office, doing everything but slamming the door behind him to let it be known this was a story he wouldn’t be taking part in.

  A few feet away, Meigs had watched with her lips pulled into a tight line. An expression that bordered on pained, her mental innerworkings quite obvious as she tried parsing through the best way to respond.

  If she even should.

  A debate that eventually landed on the affirmative, though Reed imagined was a lot closer than she would ever admit.

  “The officer you talked to yesterday was a guy named Doug Callis,” Meigs eventually said. “Third-generation GPD. Grew up just outside of town, was a decent enough high school football player, went down the road to Marietta College for all of a semester before running back and getting on with the department.

  “Total nepotism case.”

  Recalling the brief interaction Reed had with the man the day before, every single word seemed to fit exactly. A story not unlike thousands of others in small towns around the country, in fields far more wide reaching than just law enforcement.

  “Doug is six years younger than me,” Meigs continued. “Unlike him, I actually stayed in colle
ge and finished my degree before starting at the department, meaning I was two years ahead of him in seniority. A ranking officer, if you will.”

  A bit of dawning setting in, Reed rocked his head back. “Bet that went over well.”

  “Like a lead balloon,” Meigs replied. “Started with little comments that eventually led to outright insubordination.”

  “And, I’m guessing,” Reed added, “a little sexism as well.”

  “More than a little,” Meigs confirmed. “Enough that when the sitting sheriff decided to retire, I ran for his spot, moved over here about ten years ago.”

  Processing that for a moment, Reed stood in silence, letting it resonate against the rest of the story, before asking, “But wouldn’t that have been a good thing? Getting you out of his way?”

  “It would have,” Meigs said, “except that a few years ago, when it was time for the city council to appoint a new chief of police, a couple of those complaints I submitted years ago resurfaced.”

  “Ah,” Reed simply said. A single word expressing his sudden understanding.

  “Yep,” Meigs confirmed.

  “So this isn’t so much a departmental thing as a Callis thing?”

  “Pretty much,” Meigs replied. “If Doug’s around, Liam – the new chief – will kind of give me the cold shoulder. Department loyalty or male camaraderie or some such crap, but otherwise we get along just fine.

  “You walk in there and introduce yourselves, he’ll treat you okay.”

  Lifting her mug from her thigh, she raised it halfway to her mouth before pausing and adding, “Besides, he’s a pretty good cop. You start explaining what’s going on, he’ll listen.”

  Enough to constitute quite a scandal in a place with just a couple of thousand residents, it paled compared to what Reed was expecting to hear. A rare story with the jerk getting their comeuppance and everyone else proceeding as if nothing had happened.

  Adults, acting as adults should.

  Background information managing to dissipate a fair bit of the dread Reed might have been feeling otherwise as he stepped into the office of Chief Liam Scott fifteen minutes later. A corner office, what the place lacked in size it made up for in positioning, windows on two sides affording him a view of both the river and a direct line of sight the length of Main Street.

  A choice that was probably made with some sort of pithy catchphrase in mind, such as the chief declaring he was standing watch over his citizens at all times.

  Billie by his side, Reed strode forward with his hand outstretched. Splitting the pair of visitor chairs sitting in the center of the room, he reached across the desk to the man standing on the opposite side.

  Rising to eye level with Reed, the man carried an extra twenty pounds or more in weight. Mass that Reed had heard referred to as slab before, appearing to be a mix of muscle and fat.

  A build that gave him the appearance of being solid, though by no means muscular.

  Younger than Callis and Meigs both, his facial features hinted he was still in his thirties, despite most of his hair having receded to a single tuft high on his head. A patch of blonde that he’d grown out, letting the long strands fall across his scalp in an attempt to mask his balding.

  “Chief Scott,” Reed opened, “Detective Reed Mattox, CPD, State BCI. My K-9 partner, Billie. Thanks for seeing us.”

  “Not at all,” Scott answered, pumping his hand twice before releasing. “Always glad to have fellow law enforcement stop by.”

  Motioning to the visitor chairs across from him, he said, “Please, have a seat.”

  “Thank you,” Reed said, shifting a step to the side and dropping down into the leather chair. Beside him, Billie did the same without being directed, whatever lingering excitement there might have been after the encounter with Aquino having finally left her system.

  A return to her status quo, placing her by Reed’s feet without pressing firm to his leg.

  “As I’m sure you can guess,” Reed said, “we’re here because of the shooting that took place yesterday.”

  Reclined slightly in his seat, Scott rotated his chair a few inches to the side. Far enough that he could hike his right ankle up onto his opposite thigh, his uniform slacks straining slightly with the effort.

  A series of ridges forming across his brow, he asked, “You mean the hunting accident? With Harrison Salem’s wife?”

  When Callis had referred to the incident as a hunting accident a day earlier, it was clear that it was a dig. A belittlement of the sheriff’s department and their call for aid from the state.

  Hearing it a second time, Reed got the impression that the chief wasn’t trying to diminish what happened. Coupled with the lines of confusion on his forehead, it appeared more that he had been fed misinformation.

  Callis or one of his other underlings dismissing it when it came up around the office.

  “The victim was Cara Salem,” Reed said, “but it was definitely not a hunting accident.”

  Eyes widening slightly in surprise, Scott asked, “You’re sure?”

  Again, a question that didn’t seem steeped in confrontation. Words that slipped out before the man even had a chance to stop them.

  “Positive,” Reed replied. “My partner here was able to track the shooter to their hide on the neighboring hillside and then on to where they stashed their getaway vehicle.

  “It was a murder.”

  Dropping his foot back to the floor, Scott turned to face Reed square. His features twisted slightly as he cut his gaze to the side, shaking his head slightly. “Poor Harrison. First his old man, and now this.”

  “Yeah,” Reed agreed, “and unfortunately, he was the one that found her and called it in. The kind of thing nobody should ever see, especially involving a loved one.”

  Folds of skin formed around Scott’s eyes as his cheeks bunched up into a wince. A reflexive action pronounced enough to pull his top lip up, a flash of white teeth appearing across his pale features.

  “Damn,” he whispered.

  The second time in just a few hours Reed had been forced to share the news of what happened to Cara, this one landed better than the previous, though it still wasn’t a moment he wanted to let linger. For a variety of reasons, none more so than the fact that he had things to be getting to, starting with her husband waiting for him in Meigs’s office.

  “Does the name Alex Aquino mean anything to you?” Reed asked.

  Taking a moment to try and place it, Scott eventually shook his head. “No. Is that who shot her?”

  “No,” Reed replied, not surprised that the man wasn’t familiar. Like Meigs the day before, he would have no reason to be, Aquino’s preferred pathway running far to the north and west of where they were sitting.

  A network utilizing the famed Three-C route, connecting Cleveland, Columbus, and Cincinnati. A roadway through the heart of the state accessing both Lake Erie and the Ohio River.

  “He was a gun runner that pushed tens of millions of dollars in weapons and ammo across the state before he was arrested and put in prison three years ago,” Reed said. “He is also Cara’s older brother.”

  Reed could see the instant the information landed. The moment the synapses in Scott’s brain aligned, putting together what had just been shared. The reason Reed was sitting in the man’s office instead of being somewhere else continuing his investigation.

  “You think it’s connected?” Scott asked. “Some sort of power struggle that’s about to play out here?”

  The answers to those two questions fell on the far ends of the spectrum. While Reed had to at least consider that what happened to Cara was a result of her connection to her brother, he couldn’t see there being anything else playing out in Gallipolis.

  Had Harrison Salem been from any other small town in the area, the shooting would have taken place there, the site only a circumstantial detail.

  A remote location that had made getting to Cara and taking a shot at her that much easier.

  “I don’t kno
w,” Reed said, “but that’s why I wanted to stop by. I’m hesitant to think there will be anything else happening here, but I wanted you to be aware of what’s going on while we look into it.”

  Once more, Scott’s focus moved off to the side. His eyes glazed as he processed, already trying to put together the next steps for his office in his mind.

  Measures that Reed couldn’t imagine being necessary, though he did owe it to them to at least give a proper warning.

  “And if you would, give us a call if you happen to spot anybody around that doesn’t belong.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Very little of the stereotype that Harrison Salem looked to almost be trying to meet the day before remained. Gone were the slacks and dress shirt he’d been wearing. Same for the sports coat and wingtip loafers.

  In their place were a pair of jeans that were starting to fray at the knees and around the pockets. Pants that were weathered just shy of being threadbare not by some expensive designer, but from being pushed through a spin cycle hundreds of times before.

  Below them were a pair of New Balance running shoes. Equally battered, the tops were cracked and stained, giving the impression the man was an avid runner.

  Completing the ensemble was a basic gray pocket t-shirt.

  A total aesthetic not that far from the one Reed was wearing, the lone remaining item from their first encounter being the red and puffy eyes serving as the centerpiece for Salem’s features. The obvious aftermath of sobbing that looked like it might return at any moment.

  Standing in essentially the same spot as an hour earlier, his backside just inches from the front counter in the sheriff’s department, Reed stared through the open door of Meigs’s office. His gaze fixed on Harrison waiting within, he lowered his voice, tilting his head toward Meigs beside him.

  “Where’d you find him?”

  “Next door,” Meigs answered. “Doc Blum said he was waiting for him when he got there this morning.”

  “Damn,” Reed muttered. “He put up a fight about coming over to talk to us?”