Before I Wake

by Dee Henderson

  “Seasoned is right. Let’s hope this was my one and only case that tries to kill me.”

  Bruce turned serious. “Are you still comfortable with the idea of being a private investigator?”

  “This job can grow on you,” she admitted.

  “You’ll stay?”

  “Were you really worried that I might not?”

  Bruce relaxed, studying her. “I wondered, if only for a brief moment.”

  “I rarely quit on anything,” she replied seriously.

  “I’m glad. For numerous reasons.”

  She smiled and pushed to her feet, knowing if she didn’t shift this conversation, she’d be having one way too deep and personal and more emotional than she wanted to have right now. “Store this box for me, Bruce, and let’s go find one very expensive place to have lunch. We need a few new traditions in our lives, and this sounds like a very good one to have.”

  He walked with her through the building, paused to put her case box into storage, and then found his car keys. “When I close my next big case, we go fishing.”

  “Please. Anything but time in a boat with you. I still remember the last drenching,” she pointed out. But she smiled.

  46

  Nathan pulled in behind the squad cars blocking traffic from one lane of the highway early Sunday morning and shut off his car headlights. Dawn was just breaking. He awkwardly turned to get out of the car without banging his aching arm. The doctors may have fixed things, but his arm hurt a whole lot more after they had done their work than it did before.

  He joined Will and the two patrol officers who had called the scene in and looked down the steep embankment to the river. The railroad bridge supports had taken another nearly catastrophic hit, this time by a Jeep. “What was he doing, about 70 mph when he hit that pillar? That engine block is barely recognizable.”

  “At least that.”

  The breeze had driven the fog from the river this morning and they could make out from here what had happened. Sometimes all that was visible on mornings like this was the glow of a car fire to indicate the wreck was down there. At least this time there didn’t appear to have been a fire.

  Nathan picked his way down the steep embankment to join Sillman at the wreck site.

  “Sorry to call you with this kind of news, Nathan.”

  “I’m getting used to the unpleasant surprises.”

  The driver was twisted behind the wheel and shoved around in the front seat wreckage. Nathan leaned over the wrecked engine block to get a look at what remained of the man’s face. “That’s Isaac—or was,” he agreed.

  “Two bullets to the head. A tire may have been shot out to force his vehicle off the road, or maybe it was simply rammed off. But the death is not such a puzzle—two bullets to the back of the head. They weren’t going to chance that he survived the crash, and they came down to finish the job.”

  “Overkill I’d say. He was dead before he got shot. What do you think? One shooter? Two?”

  “Probably two guys. One handles the high-speed chase; the other handles the gun. They have to get down here to finish the job and then get back up that embankment and be gone before someone can respond to reports of shots being fired. No reports came in overnight,” Sillman added before Nathan could ask.

  “Isaac has been missing a few days. Let’s figure out where he has been hiding if possible. Maybe there’s a hotel receipt in there somewhere or a cell phone and we can learn who he’s been talking with recently.”

  “If it’s still here, I’ll find it,” Sillman agreed.

  Nathan looked around the scene and then accepted what Sillman handed him. He turned pages and sighed. “Thanks. Collect them all.”

  “I will.”

  “Can I help you with anything in particular?” Nathan offered.

  “You can get some sleep. This is two hours to document the scene and collect evidence, at least four before we can get to the slugs that killed him. I need you fresh about 3 p.m. when I hand this to you and say I’m not thinking anymore. It’s a department of overworked, underpaid, and sleep-deprived cops right now. Let’s see the top guy start setting a good example. Besides—” Gray nodded to his arm—“you still look like death warmed over.”

  “I feel about like it too. What’s it been, three weeks since Peggy was found?”

  “And add two weeks before that, for when the strike happened. This department hasn’t stopped to breathe since this started. I’d like to start fixing that by telling you to go get some sleep and set a good example for the rest of us.”

  Gray smiled. “Seriously, Nathan. You’ll be in my way for about the next six hours; then it’s just working lots of details through the system and seeing what pops out. Right now you need to worry about telling Isaac’s dad his son has been killed, and the rest we can handle.”

  Nathan appreciated it and nodded. “He’s traveling this weekend, Isaac’s dad. To see family he said, and to get away from the reporters constantly asking questions.”

  “I can’t blame him for ducking the reporters.”

  “I’ll take care of getting him notified. Call me if there is anything you need out here. I’ll be back at noon otherwise.”

  “I will.”

  * * *

  Rae was perched on the railing beside the highway, looking down at the investigators working around the car. Nathan climbed back up the steep slope to join her.

  “Isaac is dead. Two shots to the head, although the crash probably killed him first.”

  “Will told me it was him. I figured it was bad news when the tones kept rolling this morning.”

  “You’re becoming a police-scanner junky.”

  “When it goes back to just being lost dogs, I’ll quit listening in.”

  Nathan smiled. He held up what he carried. “It gets worse. We’ve got similar bound notebooks to what was found at the cabin tossed about in that vehicle, with two of them down the riverbanks and touching the water. They were being pulled out of the car.”

  “Do you think they got that final formula book we’ve been after?”

  Nathan perched on the rail beside her. “It’s hard to tell. These notebooks have earlier dates then the ones we found at the cabin. Same handwriting, I think, so it’s the same cook. I don’t know; maybe Isaac knew where the notebooks were stored and had come back to try and clean out some evidence.”

  He rubbed his sore shoulder that still ached. “I have the reasonable hunch that when we dig those bullets out and compare them in the records, they will turn out to be guns stolen ten years ago in California, and they are now somewhere at the bottom of Lake Michigan.”

  “True.” Rae nodded to the wreck. “Someone knew about the Jeep Isaac was driving and knew he was coming back to Justice in the middle of the night. Someone sent these guys who killed him.”

  “Any ideas?”

  “I suppose the cook could be killing people who knows who he is. The cook sent Isaac back to town on an errand—maybe he told Isaac one of these notebooks was the real formula—and then the cook kills Isaac or has Isaac killed. There’s only one highway in and out of town and that Jeep is recognizable.”

  Nathan thought about it and decided it made a lot of sense. “Isaac was the only one who apparently lived in town—kill him and this group can more easily disperse. There are no more ties to the town for us to pursue. And Isaac is expendable. The tile plant is gone, we have his money, and the cabin is shut down. His usefulness has disappeared, and he’s a liability. Killing him makes sense in an awful kind of way.”

  “Isaac is still an active lead. Who he called, where he traveled, who he saw in the days and weeks before today. It’s slow work, but it’s there. The same with the guy who killed himself in my car, Brad Danforth. He had a patron, and it may be the same man who was bankrolling this work. We have a cook whose handwriting we know. Eventually one of those threads starts to give answers you can work.”

  “Eventually isn’t a very good answer, not when there is a designer drug
out there now.”

  “It’s addictive, illegal, and easy to distribute,” Rae agreed. “But if it is out there now, then it just became like a lot of the illegal drugs cops have to fight. You have to find the production labs, find the chemical sources, find the dealers, track back the money, and shut the labs down. We at least know a lot more about this drug than we do about most new products hitting the streets.”

  Rae pushed herself off the railing and stood to dig out her car keys from her pocket. “Maybe we got lucky, Nathan. Maybe the cook is dead too. The financial guy behind all this decided to clean up a mess that could trail back to him and he shot the guy, just like Isaac got shot. It’s a shame to lose a cook’s expertise but in the big picture of things—there are always more chemists and this one failed twice now and has a string of bodies that can be traced to him. That’s a guy who is very much a liability. I don’t think he stays alive long, regardless of how much money is in what he can design.”

  “I can hope that is true, but it’s a bit like Bruce hoping the bad guys just move out of town and become someone else’s problem.”

  “Then let me offer one more possibility—they may have the drug, but do you really think they have the delivery system?” Rae nodded toward the wreck. “Isaac was not a guy to write things down. If he was the one tasked with getting the drug powder to form into chocolates without the heat destroying it—I guarantee not many people will solve that problem. Isaac likely went to the grave with the distribution system in his head. And tracking white powder—this designer drug will be no different than the cocaine or the meth you already fight. Produced in clandestine labs by people hoping to sell it for cash. The drug may change, but the people don’t. Police work is all about finding the people. It always will be.”

  “You’re really cheering me up here.”

  Rae held up her keys. “Go off duty then. Take off the badge. And we’ll go for a drive. The guys here can do without you for half an hour.”

  “In a half hour you’ll have us in Wisconsin.”

  Rae jangled the keys.

  “Can I drive on the way back?”

  “Better yet, you can break it in.” She offered the keys.

  “How bad is the smell?”

  “Your grandfather called it spoiled turnips. I think it’s more like crusted rabbit droppings that you step on. You know the bad smelly source is there around you, but you just can’t see it.”

  He accepted the keys.

  Nathan caught his deputy chief’s attention. “Will, I’ll be out of radio range in a bit; use the cell phone if you need me.”

  “Not a problem, Boss. Enjoy the drive.”

  Nathan looked at Rae. He fully intended to.

  * * *

  Devon understood greed, lying, and betrayal. He expected all three in the men he worked with; only a fool expected loyalty in a criminal enterprise. If he had more on the other person than they had on him, he had the upper hand. And with this particular man—Devon had enough on him to get the man the death penalty. It created a certain trust by virtue of distrust that made the relationship work. He considered the steak before him and sliced into a piece. “The situation in Justice is unfortunate.”

  The man across the table from him kept eating. “It was the risk of a small town, and a risk accepted when we discussed the matter years before.”

  Devon was willing to accept the statement offered. It was a cost of doing business, the risks involved, and the cash lost in the raid. “How’s the new formula coming along?”

  “The drug powder is perfected, but delivery is . . . losing Isaac will set back some of the work.”

  “You’re abandoning chocolate as your method of choice.”

  “Isaac is dead. Finding another with his knowledge base isn’t worth the liability. I’ll get back to what I do best. Pills will work; we can still stamp them EE, and get the drug on the market in the next month. I told you I didn’t work well with a partner.”

  Devon had always known that, which was one reason he could tolerate this man being an employee. “Chocolates are that hard to figure out?”

  “If you want the drug visible as white specks in the chocolate, and the pieces tasting a bit like chewing sand, I can do it. But if I raise the preservative being used to a level I can get this powder to dissolve into the chocolate, the samples kill people. Isaac had figured out something different for getting the powder into the melted chocolate without changing its properties, and he wasn’t sharing his secret. For all I know he was turning the chocolate into a powder too and then flash heating the two together somehow and immediately chilling it. I know he went through a lot of ice. But I never figured out what he was doing.”

  “You shouldn’t have shot him.”

  The man shrugged. “Isaac doesn’t know you. He knows me. You weren’t around figuring out the risks when you realized this kid decided to get scared and run rather than just go home and sit tight a few days and let the matters in Justice chill out again. I’m just relieved he called me before he called the cops. I got him to clean out the locker I didn’t know where was, and I made sure he was dead. You should be grateful I cleaned up the mess the way I did.”

  “You’ll be moving?”

  He nodded. “Friday, if things stay as they now are. I’m covered. There’s a new address for folks to have and a pretty good story now working around town for my coming absence. I’ll need a new name and documents so I can start over cleanly with the move. I like the sound of Victor for this set of documents.”

  Devon nodded. “I’ll get them for you. So, a month to put the product onto the street?”

  “I’ll need another full list of precursor chemicals for the new lab.” He finished eating and reached over for a mint.

  “Hand the list to your supplier. He knows I’m good for the funding. He can make the pickup anytime.”

  “I appreciate that.” He rose to his feet. “I’ll get this dealt with, Devon. Your budget line will start coming in positive again.”

  Devon didn’t bother to push the reality of what would happen should his money keep funding failures. This man understood reality. “We’ll meet in a month to look at the marketing data. Leave by the back entrance; a van is waiting for you there.”

  He nodded and left.

  Devon more slowly finished his own meal and thought about matters. A month, and this man would likely become expendable too.

  47

  The Fine Chocolates Shop had a closed sign in the windows; Back After Reporters Go the block printed sign said in fluorescent red. Shades were pulled down to block the view into the store. Rae could understand that sentiment. She’d had her fill of reporters asking her questions in the last three days.

  She pulled into a parking place a few spots down from the front door of the Chapel Detective Agency and retrieved her briefcase. She could hear water dripping and realized the sun was warming the ice on the roof and it was beginning to drip along gutters. It was a nice sound, the first reminder that spring was around the corner in a few more weeks.

  She walked into the agency and back through the hallway, humming as she went.

  “Rae?” Bruce called.

  “It’s me.”

  She walked past her office and leaned against the doorpost to Bruce’s office. “Cleaning house?” She could smell the sharp cleaning agent he was using to wipe down his whiteboard. His case list was growing shorter. There wasn’t a need to tail Henry any longer. The guns had been found.

  “It’s going to be a slow week by the look of this work list,” Bruce agreed. He looked past her down the hallway. “Nathan’s here.”

  Rae turned to see the sheriff walking toward them.

  “Nathan, great timing,” Bruce called. “I’ve got a house for Rae to look at this afternoon and you should come along. She can’t live in a hotel forever.”

  “The Horton place?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “I heard you were asking the Realtor about it. You can’t be serious.”
>
  Rae looked between the two men as Nathan joined them. “Why?”

  “My great-great-something-grandfather used to own the place,” Nathan explained. “It was built in the early 1800s and shows its age. It frankly needs to be leveled and replaced with something new on that property.”

  “It’s stone, Rae. Lots and lots of stone and brick and practically shatterproof by weather or flood or earthquake. And sitting on its own forty acres of land, most of it timber,” Bruce noted.

  “This place I have got to see. I’m already interested.”

  “That timber is such a dense patch of underbrush on steep slopes that you can’t walk through most of it. If it wasn’t such a huge deal to keep land in the family, it would have been sold off decades ago. Rae, the guy who bought the property from my father took only five years before saying enough. It’s not worth your interest.”

  “I don’t know. I like the idea of owning something so connected to the Justice past—your family, as well as the town.”

  “A place in town, Rae. A place near grocery stores, shopping, and a nightlife that won’t eat you up in bug bites,” Nathan suggested instead.

  She just laughed. “If the house out east sells, I have to buy something. Bruce volunteered to help me look around. Seriously, come along if you don’t have something pressing on your afternoon’s calendar. You know this town; I’d like your input.”

  “I’ve got the time. Will kicked me out of the office. He said I couldn’t come back for seventy-two hours. He said everyone in the office needed a break, and if I was around the guys couldn’t blow off steam like they should or some such nonsense.”

  Rae grinned. “You’re having a pity party that you’re the boss and can’t join in their bad jokes and numerous excuses to take a break at the watercooler.”

  “Two years ago, I was leading those war stories, not getting kicked out so they can tell them without me,” Nathan noted.

  Bruce pointed to the hall. “Go. We’re right behind you. This agency has a closed sign on the front door and you can turn it for all three of us. We’ll go start searching for where to spend Rae’s money. It will cheer you right up.”