Relic: The Morelville Mysteries - Book 1

by Anne Hagan

  I was assigned to the Chicago field office but I was working this case with a team out of the Cleveland Port of Entry. That's a nice way of saying I had a desk there.

  For now, I was temporarily sharing an apartment in a Cleveland suburb with another agent who was assigned full time to the Ashtabula Port of Entry. The apartment wasn't home for me and it never would be. I didn't have a real home anymore. My job took me wherever a case blew me, in our region or outside of it. I loved the work but I hated life on the road.

  Not relishing a three-hour drive back to the city from nowhere Morelville, I opted for a cheap, no tell motel a half hour away from Zanesville, just off the highway. I paid cash. No one checked my twenties there.

  In my room, I dropped my go bag on the floor, took off my boots, splashed my face in the tiny sink and sank down on the bed. It was time to call it a night.

  I slept only fitfully. A certain county sheriff kept invading my dreams. I gave up any thought of real sleep well before dawn and I hit the road. I showered and changed at the apartment and was in the office before 8:00 AM. I was too late though for the pranksters on my team, all male, who had pulled out all the stops to decorate my desk with fuzzy handcuffs and crudely worded fingerprint cards. Obviously, they’d had nothing better to do with their time the evening before.

  I ignored their juvenile humor and stuck my head into the local boss’s office. My team leader, Geno “Gene” Corelli was on the phone, deep in conversation. He was responsible for the day to day function of the port office but, he’d come up through the investigative ranks himself and he managed investigative cases and teams throughout Ohio as well.

  I went back to my desk and booted my computer. Since I couldn't pick Gene’s brain, I needed to look up the current players in Muskingum County myself. Though starting with a more in depth search of my would be informant Brice Buhler crossed my mind, I quickly shifted to a more interesting to me search of the background of one Sheriff Melissa “Mel” Crane.

  A document that I opened provided me with an overview of the background of Crane. She was a twin and shared living arrangements with her sister Karissa Crane in, of all places, Morelville. Could Karissa really be “Kris” from the gas station? I tried to picture the cashier in my mind as she informed me that my bill was supposedly fake. I had been so thrown by Mel that my usual memory skills were all out of whack. I just couldn't quite picture Kris.

  I pulled up a search for Karissa Crane and had my answer. Mel's twin sister was the cashier at the station. She must dye her hair…

  The twins, at 35, were slightly older than me. Mel had done well to make Deputy Chief with the Sheriff’s Department so young and even better to accept the temporary appointment to Chief. Maybe there was more there than met the eye. I closed out the file and sat back in my chair, trying to connect the few dots I had. I was drawing a blank.

  I turned to my teammate, Tim Singer, who’d come in while I was scanning online databases. “How's the follow up on Carter coming?”

  “Nothing but dead ends. It seems like he took all his secrets to the grave with him.”

  Prior to Sheriff Carter’s death, we'd gotten a code name for the smuggling op ring leader, ‘Relic’, and a date for a major shipment of knock off couture, handbags and heaven only knew what else, “moving” on or about May 20th. What we didn't know was who Relic was, where the shipment was coming in and where, specifically it was headed to be broken down for distribution. We just didn't have enough information to capture the shipment or to bust the ring wide open.

  “We need to find Relic. To get to him,” Tim continued, “we're just going to have to keep catching these low level guys as they move merchandise.”

  “Tim, we've caught several low level guys. None of them have a clue who Relic is.”

  “Patience Dana. Patience.”

  “Patience be damned. Time isn't on our side my friend.”

  ###

  On a “good traffic day”, the likes of which were rare in Cleveland, our office was only 30 minutes from the actual Cleveland ‘sea’ port on Lake Erie. Though we felt like the shipment was probably coming overland – air was too risky since 9/11 - we had to cross all the “T's” and dot all the “I's”. Tim and I headed north to the port to do a little recon work.

  The Port of Cleveland is tiny. Between the two of us, it took us less than 15 minutes to talk to most of the grizzled old hands there and realize there was nothing they could tell us. Hoping for something, anything, we set out west along the lake shore to the port at the Avon Lake Basin. A round of 20 questions there and another further up the road at the Loraine Basin docks also yielded zip.

  We continued West on State Route 5 – a long but scenic trip – to the Huron Basin. We spent much of the afternoon talking to anyone there who would talk to us but we got nowhere. We'd spent a full day striking out. We were 0 for 4.

  A long drive back to the office left me in a foul mood. We were no further along than yesterday and a day closer to “the day”. Our options were even more limited than they had been the day before. Beaten, I headed to the apartment with a pounding headache.

  I didn't even remember falling asleep when I woke to the sound of my cell ringing somewhere in the furthest reaches of my brain. I came out of my fog just enough to find it, check the caller's ID and answer Gene's summons before my voice mail kicked on and pissed him off. Patience wasn't one of his virtues either.

  “You had a visitor after you left the office.”

  “Who?”

  “Sheriff Melissa Crane.”

  “Why? What did she want?”

  “She wants to be in on our investigation. It seems that she thinks we may be investigating the same thing.”

  “She doesn't have a clue what we're working on. What did she say when you sent her packing back to Zanesville?”

  “I didn't send her packing.”

  “Wait, what?”

  “Before Carter was killed, we know there was a steady flow of goods into or through that county. Somebody there is in charge of that or somebody there knows something. Crane grew up there. She knows everybody and she knows everybody’s business. We don't have a lot of time. She could be the asset we need.”

  “All she is, is a pain in the asset!”

  “It isn't my problem Dana.”

  “What are you saying Gene?”

  “I'm saying, you stirred up that hornet's nest and you've been to the area. You'll be her liaison from our team.”

  “This isn't a good idea.”

  “Then you try to talk her out of it. Something tells me you'll be spinning your wheels.”

  Chapter 3 – They Meet Again

  Dana

  The Border Patrol arm of the agency had caught an illegal selling knock off high end handbags in Texas. He sang a crazy tune and fingered a gang banger in Chicago as his goods connection. I drew the lucky assignment to fly back to the Windy City, track down one Mr. ‘Freestyle’, and try to figure out what he knew.

  I landed at Midway late the next morning. I headed straight to the Chicago Field Office for a brief with the task force boss on what was known about Freestyle. I learned that the word on the street was that he had recently gone underground after a dust up with another member of his own gang. Armed with my sidearm and the names, addresses and phone numbers of his known family members and associates, I hit the pavement. As it turned out, my quarry was hiding in plain sight.

  Freestyle's Grandmother lived in the Englewood neighborhood. Thinking I was the mail carrier, she opened the door to me when I stepped onto her stoop. My luck turned. The former gang banger was sitting in her living room watching afternoon soaps with her when I got there.

  I drew on him in case he had a gun nearby and I flashed my badge. Grandma sank, shaking, into a chair.

  I put the badge away and, still training my pistol at his head, I identified myself as a Customs and Border Protection agent. I quickly glanced sideways at the old woman. She was in a daz
e but motionless.

  “I want to talk to you about smuggling,” I said.

  He sneered at me and tossed his head. “Nice lookin' white lady like you. You could get hurt real bad comin' round here pointing a piece where you got no business.”

  “I'm just looking for some information. We can do this the easy way or we can do it the hard way; your choice.” I wasn't about to show this guy any fear.

  “Buzz off. I don't talk to no cops, man.”

  “Antoine!” It was the old woman. “Enough. I'll not have violence in this house! We've been through enough!”

  Properly cowed, the sneering look disappeared. He released a loud breath and leaned back on the sofa. After what seemed like an eternity, he asked, “What do you want to know?”

  “I need to find Relic.”

  Freestyle looked away. “I don't know him.”

  “All I need is to find him. Anything that would put me on his trail...”

  He didn't look back at me. After several more long seconds, he shook his head. Then, very faintly, I heard, “What's in it for me?”

  “I'll talk to my command but, for them to do anything; you have to give me something first.”

  “Maybe so, but not here. How do I get you, man?”

  I laid my card on the table in front of him. Looking back at him, I said, “Just call that number, 24/7. Don't make me wait. I found you today. I can find you tomorrow too.”

  I backed out of the house and holstered my gun but didn't fasten it. I wanted fast access.

  I returned to Cleveland and, the next day, I drove to Zanesville. I walked into the Sheriff's Office and announced my presence. I explained that I was a federal agent, that I was armed and that I would not be giving up my weapon.

  Sheriff Crane stepped into the receiving area and said to the Desk Sergeant, “Let her pass.” She looked the part of the lady in charge from head to toe. She eyeballed me with an unreadable expression as I moved toward her.

  “Let's talk in my office.”

  I followed her down a short hallway. She opened a door on the left side and, moving around behind a Government Issue desk, she pointed to the only other chair in the room. The room was sparsely decorated and not at all what I expected of a County Sheriff's own office.

  She moved a stack of mail from the middle of her desk blotter to the corner then leaned forward, hands folded over her desk blotter. She grinned and eyed me casually. It was disconcerting after her attempt at roughing me up in our previous meeting. “So, what can I help you with today?”

  “You tell me. You’re the one who stormed the Cleveland Port Office and demanded to be a part of our investigation.”

  “Look; why don’t you just tell me what you’re really working on?”

  “I’m not going to tell you because that information is on a need to know basis and you don’t need to know.”

  “Then why did you come back down here? This is my turf. I need to know what’s going on here, in my town, in my county. I’m starting to think you came back just because you couldn’t stay away from me.”

  “You don’t have the clearance, Sheriff.” I spat her temporary title out like it was something distasteful in my mouth. She had hit a nerve.

  “Why don’t you just give me the general overview… somewhere for me to start? I have reason to believe that what I’m working on and what you’re working on are linked together.”

  “I assure you, they’re not.”

  “Let’s be clear. If you stir up any trouble here, I’ll be on you like white on rice.”

  “Promise?” I instantly blushed. Uggh! Where the hell did that come from?

  She laughed. It was a beautiful, deep sound this time that took my breath away. I caught myself staring at her and quickly turned away. Snap out of it! I shook my head to clear my thoughts.

  “Geno Corelli told me that you’ll be my liaison. Isn’t he the boss?”

  “In a manner of speaking, yes…” I trailed off.

  “He’s in charge of you, isn’t he?

  I was evasive. “Locally.”

  “So, liaise.” She smiled again. She knew it got under my skin when she did that.

  I attempted to draw in a breath and then, inexplicably, I gave in. “We’re working on a knock off goods smuggling operation.”

  “Money laundering or counterfeiting of bills involved?”

  “Not that we’re aware of so far but, I suppose it’s possible.”

  “How is Morelville involved?”

  “It isn’t… that we know of.” I was guessing there. The team had so little to go on but I didn’t want her to know that. I certainly didn’t want her to know Sheriff Carter had been a key player in the whole scheme. I planned to hold that card close for a while longer.

  “Then why were you there the other day?”

  “I was meeting with someone who we thought might have some information. I left with no more than I started with.”

  “So, you have nothing.” It was a statement not a question.

  I bristled. “We have a date when we know a large, high dollar shipment is moving but we don’t know the origin or the final destination.”

  “How can I help you?”

  I shrugged and said, “At this point, I don’t know. If we get some more intel that leads us back to this area, I’ll let you know.” I really didn't think she could help and I didn't want her involved in the case anyway. There were still too many unanswered questions. She or other officers in her department could be involved. We just didn’t know yet. Going with that, I feared I may have already told her too much but Gene seemed to believe that she was one of the good guys.

  She donned a skeptical expression but I wasn't giving her any more. Much to my relief, she stood up, signaling the end of our meeting.

  “Thank you.”

  As I stood too, she extended her hand to me. I leaned in to take it but in my clumsiness at the thought of touching her, I bumped the desk and sent her stack of mail skittering to the floor.

  “I'm so sorry!” I skirted the desk and stooped to pick up the mess I'd created as she did the same. We jostled each other as we reached for the same large envelope. It was full of photographs of her that spilled out of it onto the floor.

  There were dozens of shots taken of her with her sister and a couple of kids. In some, she was in the khakis and the plaid shirt she'd been wearing two days before. In others, obviously shot with a high powered lens, she was in other clothes, both inside and outside of her home, alone and with the others, preparing food, eating, changing...

  “What the hell are these?” I yelled.

  She was snatching up the photos and stuffing them back into the envelope. “Nothing. Don't worry about it.”

  Maybe she didn't want me to worry but she sure was!

  I sat back down. “When were those taken?”

  She blew out a breath. “Over the past two days. That's what I was wearing yesterday”, she said as she held out one of the photos.

  “After you arrested me and after you went to Cleveland and met with Corelli?”

  “That has nothing to do with it!”

  “The hell it doesn't! Smuggling designer knock-offs is big business and some of these people we're dealing with consider killing people that get in their way as all in a day's work.”

  “Gee. I'm such a moron! I must have missed the bad guy class at the academy!” She smiled. I knew now that she smiled at me to mock me. Our short truce was over!

  Without thinking about what I might be revealing, I blurted out, “Look, there are people around here that probably know we're investigating a smuggling operation. Someone saw you visit the Port Office. They didn't 'appreciate' it. From here on, you need to stay out of what we're working on.”

  “I'm a big girl. I can handle the risk.”

  “I'm not asking you to stay out of this. I'm telling you to.”

  “What are you going to do, tell my mommy? Seriously Dana?”
She was pissed. “Whatever danger is threatening the peace and quiet in this county, you can be sure I’ll be out there fighting it.” Mel scowled this time, showing her teeth.

  I wondered what she’d do if I tried to kiss her. My heart raced. As volatile and bad-tempered as she was, she might just draw her service weapon and shoot me. Still, kissing those lips would be worth the risk. I resigned not to do it. That wasn’t why I was in town. I had business to take care of and chasing after beautiful butch women was no longer a part of my life anyway. I had too much baggage to carry. Nobody deserved to have to deal with all of my crap just to be in a relationship with me.

  “Stick to catching runaway livestock.” I moved toward the door. “Just forget about me and my crew.” I was pretty sure I wouldn’t be forgetting about Mel anytime soon.

  I walked out of the station and away from Mel Crane. At least I had a potential lead in Chicago. Freestyle would have to figure out how much he could tell me and I needed to figure out how to protect him from his former gang. I needed to talk to Gene about that. I also needed to make sure no one hurt Mel.

  Chapter 4 - Mel

 

  Curse Dana Rossi! “Stick to catching runaway livestock...” Just who the hell does she think she is? I’m not letting a city girl Customs Agent tell me what to do!

  I was in an interrogation room having my fourth confrontation of the year with Eddie Pierce, a twenty-something, unemployed, hill jack who leaned toward shoplifting and petty theft when the work and the unemployment checks ran out. He was small time but I knew that he knew some of the bigger local players.

  Pierce sat across from me in the small room. His clothes were practically threadbare and he looked like he hadn't had a bath or shower in a few days, at least.

  “Have you been branching out these days? The crime rate is on the rise in the county. I have lots of burglary and vandalism cases going on. What else have you been up to lately?”

  He looked scared. “Sheriff, I swear all I done is a little shoplifting and maybe a smash and grab. I got laid off several months back. The checks weren't enough and now they stopped comin' too. My lady is pregnant. She ain't eatin' right cause we ain't got the money and the doc at the clinic is getting on her.”