Murder on the Lake of Fire

by Mikel J. Wilson

  Emory countered, “It’s not a smidge. It’s utterly and completely breaking the law.”

  “Emory, do you want to solve the case or not? Virginia and I are going today, so if you don’t want to be part of that, I suggest you get out of the car now.”

  “I just can’t.” Emory again grabbed the door handle, but this time, he opened the door and put one foot out.

  “Wait!” Jeff jumped out of the car and blocked him from getting out. “I have an idea. How about this: When we get there, you hang out in the car with Virginia for a minute without looking at the building. After a couple of minutes, get out and go try the front door, which I’ll have unlocked by then. When it opens, you just assume that someone forgot to lock it, or you claim you didn’t know the place was closed today.”

  Emory shook his head. “That’s ridiculous.”

  “You’ve been there. They don’t keep the front door locked during the day. You’ll have plausible deniability, and Virginia and I will corroborate it.”

  Emory brought his foot back inside and closed the door without saying anything. “Just drop me off at the sheriff’s station.”

  “Fine, but the factory’s on the way, so we’re going there first. Jeff returned to his seat, giving Virginia the go-ahead to drive.

  While Jeff and Virginia discussed the details of their planned break-in, Emory thought about the information Scot had given him. If Jeff really is friends with Pristine, they might’ve cooked up this scheme to get Britt’s money. He could be sabotaging the investigation at every turn. Is that why he’s sticking close to me? Is he setting me up?

  Emory brought up another reason the break-in was a bad idea. “What about video surveillance? Are you going to bypass that somehow?”

  “What kind of detective are you?” asked Jeff. “Didn’t you notice there were no video cameras anywhere? At least there weren’t from the lobby to Victor’s office.”

  Emory corrected him, “I’m a special agent.”

  “Well, special agent, in my line of work, we notice details like that.”

  “So do thieves.” Emory turned his eyes to the window to keep from looking at Jeff in the rearview mirror. He saw a pink laptop on the seat beside him and realized it looked familiar. He held it up for Jeff to see. “Is this Britt’s laptop?”

  Jeff took a breath. “Yes.”

  “I thought you were going to return it.”

  “I am. I just haven’t had a chance.”

  “Now my finger prints are on it.” Emory put it back on the seat and began wiping it with his sleeve. “I can’t believe I’m sitting in a car next to stolen evidence.”

  “Oh my god!” Jeff yelled. “Look, would returning it now get you off my back?”

  “You can’t return it now. The funeral—”

  “Virginia, what time is the funeral?”

  “Two this afternoon.”

  “Good. They’re probably still at the house, and it’s on the way to the water factory.” Jeff looked at Emory through the rearview mirror. “Problem solved.”

  “How is the problem solved? We can’t go to the house on the day they’re burying a family member.”

  “We won’t. I’ll text Ian now and ask him to ride his bike down to the road so I can give it to him. Victor will never know.”

  Jeff texted Ian, who responded right away that he would meet them. Once they neared the driveway, Ian was indeed there on his bike waiting for them. Without looking around, Jeff told Emory, “If you don’t want anyone else to know that you’re aware Britt’s laptop was in our possession, you better duck down now.” Emory complied. When the car stopped, Jeff exited with the laptop and closed the door.

  “What’s going on?” Emory asked.

  Virginia covered her mouth with her hand. “Jeff just handed him back the laptop, and now they’re talking about something.”

  “About what?”

  “I’m not a lip-reader.”

  A moment later, Jeff returned to the car and shuddered. “I hate to say this, but that kid has a real Damien Thorn vibe going on.”

  Still crouched behind the seat, Emory asked, “What do you mean?”

  “He asked all about how Rick Roberts died, and he wanted details – vivid details, like he was into it or something.”

  Virginia drove back onto the road. “Boys are like that, aren’t they? It’s all the torture porn movies and zombie shows. Nothing’s gruesome anymore.”

  “Well, he creeped my shit.”

  Emory arose from the back seat. “You think he’s a suspect?”

  “Oh come on.” Virginia chuckled. “He’s a little kid.”

  “You know I don’t cross anyone off my suspect list until I have undeniable proof of their innocence.” Jeff pointed to the back seat with his thumb. “Not even Mr. TBI Special Agent back there.”

  “Me?” Emory asked. “Why am I a suspect?”

  “You weren’t until I found out you’re from this town. For all I know, you knew the victims and had some kind of vendetta against them.”

  “Fair enough,” Emory conceded.

  Virginia asked, “But why would Ian want to kill his sister?”

  Jeff answered, “Planning ahead. With her out of the way, he’ll have everything when he turns eighteen instead of just half the family fortune.”

  “I can’t argue with that.” Emory gave him a quick pat on the shoulder. “I almost forgot, you said you were in an accident last night?”

  “Oh yeah. I caught some guy watching the office last night, and I chased him in my car. By the time I caught up with him, he had put spike strips on the road. Now my car’s in the shop.”

  “Do you think it was related to the case?”

  “A case, maybe. We have other ongoing investigations, so who knows.”

  A moment later, the factory was in sight. Jeff asked Virginia to pull off the road and into the woods, where the car couldn’t be seen. Once parked, he looked over his shoulder at Emory. “Are you sure you don’t want to come?

  “I’m sure.”

  “Fine.” Jeff patted the messenger bag at his side, exited the car and ran through the woods toward the factory.

  After several moments spent in silence, Emory began fidgeting in his seat.

  Hearing the persistent squeak of his pants against the vinyl, Virginia told him, “Don’t worry. Jeff is very resourceful.”

  The comment gave Emory an idea. “Pristine Algarotti said something similar about him.”

  “She did? That’s odd.”

  Emory doubled down. “It didn’t strike me that way. They are friends.”

  Virginia raised an eyebrow at his reflection in the mirror and opened her mouth, but what he heard was a double ping. She checked her phone. “I just got an SOS text from Jeff!”

  Emory’s phone vibrated in his pocket. “I got it too. What does it mean?”

  “It means he’s in trouble.”

  “I figured that, but what kind of trouble? Why doesn’t he elaborate?” His eyes returned to the woods, squinting to see the factory through the trees.

  “Maybe he can’t.” Virginia unbuckled her seatbelt. “I have to help him.”

  “Wait!” Emory paused for a second and sighed. “I’ll go.”

  CHAPTER 16

  EMORY STEPPED OUT of Virginia’s car and made his way through the short stretch of woods that separated him from the factory. When he had the front door in sight, a semi-truck with the Algarotti company logo on the side chugged up the driveway. He had an idea.

  The special agent ran up to the back of the truck’s trailer, grabbed one of the door handles and jumped onto the underride guard. He rode it to the shipping and receiving area at the back of the factory, jumping off just before the truck reached its destination.

  The driver backed the truck into an alcove that led to the loading dock, so that the door to his trailer abutted the rollup door to the dock. Emory peeked around the corner of the alcove and was surprised to see the rollup door open and two employees inside, standi
ng on the dock. It’s supposed to be closed. The driver jumped out of the cab, holding a drink in a paper cup and a bag from a fast-food restaurant. As the driver walked toward the dock, Emory ran to the cab and dove underneath, crawling under the truck until he was near the back of the trailer. He heard one of the employees greet the driver as Eli. Emory peered out from under the truck to see the two of them shaking hands just before they walked deeper into the shipping and receiving area. He saw the third man getting behind the wheel of a forklift, which was facing away from the truck and near some stacked palettes of water.

  Emory rolled out from under the truck and snuck into the building while the forklift driver picked up a palette from the top of a stack and loaded it into the trailer of the truck. Using the palettes and some boxes for cover, he made his way through the shipping and receiving area, and passed through double swing doors into a hallway.

  With his next step he heard a rasping like duct tape being ripped off linoleum. Holding his left leg up for a moment, he turned around to see if the sound attracted anyone else’s attention before inspecting the floor where his shoe had been. Tire tracks, I guess from the forklift. It must’ve run over something sticky. Emory noticed that his right shoe was also on the tracks. Crap! Clutching his fists and gritting his teeth, he inched his heel up trying to minimize the sound, but it just prolonged it. After another glance over his shoulder he proceeded forward, being careful to avoid the tracks.

  The hallway had a door on either side, and at the other end, it turned left into what Emory assumed was another hallway. The first door had a small sign designating it as a broom closet, but the second wider door had no such identifier. I wonder what’s in there. He tried the doorknob to find it locked, but before he could remove his hand, a voice startled him.

  “Who the hell are you?”

  Emory looked in the direction from which he had just come and saw the man who had been talking to the truck driver. He had a patch that read, “Foreman,” on his jacket and a none-too-pleasant face glaring at him.

  “I’m…” Emory struggled to come up with an excuse to explain his presence, “with the truck that just came in.”

  Holding a brown bag, the foreman didn’t look as if he believed him. “You riding with Floyd?”

  He’s trying to trip me up. “No. Eli.” As soon as he said the right name, he noticed a marked change for the better in the foreman’s expression, but it did little to assuage his nervousness, which prompted him to embellish. “I’m learning to be a driver.” He kept going. “I’m Eli’s son.”

  The foreman smiled at him and stepped closer. “You Terry?” When Emory said that he was, the foreman shook his hand. “You’re taller than I imagined you’d be.”

  Emory returned his smile. “I take after my mother.” He decided to risk a question, so he nodded toward the room. “Why’s this room locked?”

  “M’ guess is the owner don’t want people going in there. Why you want to go in there?”

  The special agent gave him the first answer he could think of. “I have to pee.”

  The foreman laughed. “Wrong hallway.” He pointed toward the receiving area and put a hand on Emory’s shoulder. “Bathroom’s this way. I’ll walk you there.”

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “It’s no problem.” The man held up the brown bag. “I was fixing to head there to wash m’ hands anyways.”

  Emory kept cool and decided he would try to find out why the foreman was there when the place was supposed to be closed. “Where is everyone?”

  “Boss’ daughter died. He closed shop for the funeral.” Noticing that his shoes were squeaking, the foreman looked at the tracks on the floor and muttered, “One of these idiots must’ve spilled that damn flavored water somewhere. Tracked up the whole damn floor.”

  “Why are you here?”

  The foreman pushed the double swing doors, and they were back in the receiving area. “Didn’t your daddy tell you about the robberies?” When Emory shook his head, the foreman pointed to the stacked palettes of water that the forklift driver was loading into the truck. “When a shipment’s ready to be loaded, we stack ’em over there. But with traffic and icy roads and all, we can’t always rely on trucks getting here when they s’posed to, so when we close up in the evening, sometimes the palettes are just sitting there overnight waiting to be loaded. About two months ago, we started having some palettes go missing at night.”

  Emory clenched his right cheek. That’s burglary, not robbery.

  “Thought we caught who was doing it – an employee – but yesterd’y morning, another palette went missing. If you ask me, the guy we fired stole that one too just to make himself look innocent so he could get his job back. I ain’t buying it, though.” The foreman pointed to the light green walls. “This whole back area was redone about three months ago, and they still haven’t installed the video cameras I asked for.”

  “Why not?” Emory followed the foreman into a long hallway that smelled like new carpet.

  “They tell me they backordered. Anyways, after yesterd’y, I figured me or one of my men got to be here 24/7 in case he comes back for more. I been asking for a while, and now Victor finally approved the budget for a secur’ty guard, so I’m working on hiring someone now.”

  When he finished speaking, they had walked halfway down the hall and entered the bathroom. Emory forced himself to pee, as the man washed his hands. “After you shake it off, I’ll take you to see your dad.”

  Shit! Emory zipped up his pants and washed his hands. “Do you think you could give me a tour of the factory? I’ve always been curious about the process for bottling water.”

  “I should be getting back…” Drying his hands, the foreman paused before acquiescing. “Sure, I s’pose I can give you a quickie.”

  Once they exited the bathroom, the foreman led him down a different hall to a large metal door. On the other side was an enormous factory room, where all the conveyors and other machinery lay dormant. The foreman stretched out his arms as if he were awaiting a hug. “This is it.”

  Without a note of insincerity, Emory exclaimed, “This is spectacular. I didn’t expect it to be so huge.”

  The foreman beamed with the pride of a champion thoroughbred’s jockey. “Yeah, she’s something. Should see her in action.” He walked to two U-shaped pipes, about a dinner plate in diameter, with both ends in the ground. “Did you spot the natural spring out back when you was driving up?” Emory said that he had. “It’s called Yonder Springs. It’s where we get our water to bottle. Now we don’t take none from that water you see above ground. We use borehole extraction to pipe the water from the source, underground. That’s what these here two pipes are for. He touched one of three curvatures in the wall, which Emory figured were part of the silos that were attached to the building and visible from the main road. “Water is pumped into this filtration system to get out all them impurities.” When Emory nodded, the foreman kept walking and talking. “Now we’re regulated by the FDA. We follow the IBWA’s strict Codes of Practice. That means our water is held to a real high standard for quality.” They reached a pipe attached to a box that reminded Emory of the fluorescent lights in the ceiling of the TBI office. “After the water’s filtered, it goes through this here ultraviolet system and something called an ozonator to get rid of bacteria. Then it’s on to bottling. From the ground to the bottle, our water never touches the open air.”

  “That’s amazing.” Emory hesitated before asking a question concerning the only piece of information he wanted to know. “Do you use potassium permanganate?”

  The foreman gave him a confused smile. “That’s the first time I gotten that question on a tour.” He pointed to the silo walls. “We use it in the filtration system.” He clapped his hands together. “That’s all the tour I got time for. I can show you the bottling process another time. Why don’t we head on down to the break room to eat with your daddy.”

  As the foreman led him out of the factory area a
nd into the hall, Emory tried to think of an excuse to get out of going to the break room. Any excuse. “Thank you for the tour. I really appreciate it. I actually need to head back to the bathroom.”

  The foreman grimaced at him. “Again?”

  Emory could taste the sweat dripping from his forehead to the curl of his fake smile. “Seeing all that water.”

  “But we didn’t even see any water.”

  “Well, we talked about it a lot.”

  The foreman plopped the knuckles of his left hand onto his waist. “Just meet us down there then, I guess. You remember where the bathroom is?”

  “I do.”

  As Emory hurried down the hall, he could hear the foreman mutter, “Granny bladder.”

  Emory’s breathing shallowed, and he could feel his heartbeat in his neck. He knew that the two men would be looking for him as soon as Eli heard his “son” was here.

  Where the hell is Jeff? He checked every door he came to but didn’t see the PI in any of the rooms. He stopped when he heard voices coming from the other end of the hallway. It’s them!

  Emory detoured down a short hallway on his right and then down another. He found himself turned around and had no idea where he was headed, but he kept going. He raced down the hallway so he could get out of sight. To his left he saw a sign on a door that read, “Break Room.” Crap! Is that the break room the foreman was talking about? What if the voices aren’t them and they’re still inside? He opted to take a chance. He opened the door, and no one was there. Emory threw himself inside.

  The voices grew louder. He slipped between two vending machines and hid. Would they enter the break room or think it’s the last place he would hide?

  His heart thumped against his ribcage like an encaged rabid animal. His breaths turned to gasps. No! Not now!

  His fingers fumbled for the pill bottle inside his jacket pocket. I can control this. Just relax. Relax. His breathing calmed, but not for long.