The Glue Guy: The Zoo Crew Series Book 4

by Dustin Stevens

  “I know,” she snapped. “It’s the only reason the front door was unlocked and I’m out here instead of in the back near the prisoner.”

  She added extra emphasis on the word prisoner. Issued it like a dare. Almost challenged one of them to comment.

  Drake refused to take the bait. Knew that if everything played out the way he envisioned for the rest of the day, she would be the very person unlocking that cell and letting the prisoner walk free.

  Almost smiled at the mere thought of it.

  “Come on,” she said. Drug both words out an extra syllable. Motioned over her shoulder for them to follow her.

  The smell of cleaning solution from the weekend crew was especially strong as they passed through the door separating the foyer from the offices. Walked past most of the rooms standing empty, the lights within blacked out.

  “Right in here,” Humboldt said. Stopped outside of Taggert’s office. Again folded her arms over her chest.

  Both nodded to her in forced thanks as they passed inside.

  Said nothing.

  Waiting in the room for them was Detective Taggert and Prosecutor Poe. Joining the party on the fringes were Detective Foye and Investigator Sharp.

  All four seemed to have arranged themselves ahead of time. Formed some sort of wall that was meant to be intimidating. Apparently forgot that Drake and Kade had both played in a national championship game just a few years before. Had successfully matched up against on offensive line averaging well over three hundred pounds from Appalachian State.

  The sight of them standing there almost made Drake laugh. Seeing the expressions on their face only made it worse.

  Humboldt closing the door behind them, as if trying to hem them in, pushed the entire thing over the top.

  “Gentlemen,” Drake said. Fought away the urge to tell them to stand at ease. “Thanks for coming.”

  “You called me on a Sunday and said I had no choice,” Poe said. Leaned back against the desk he was standing in front of. Folded his arms over his chest.

  Still tried for an intimidating stance.

  The velour track suit he was wearing undercut the vibe just slightly.

  “And he called us and told us to get our asses here,” Taggert added.

  “My kid has a basketball game later this afternoon,” Sharp added.

  The entire thing came off rehearsed. Practiced.

  Drake pushed past it just the same.

  “Then don’t let us keep you,” Drake said. Didn’t bother sitting down. Instead dropped his shoulder bag into the same chair he had used days before. Began to rifle through a stack of papers inside it.

  “If this is about Friday,” Poe said, “I kept my word. I didn’t name names. No charges have been brought.”

  Drake pulled a few loose pages out. Placed them in order.

  Said nothing.

  “But if this is to ask me to hold off again tomorrow, you know I can’t do that.”

  “I understand,” Drake said. “But before going public with anything, you might want to make sure you have the right guy.”

  On cue, all four faces seemed to tighten. The air was sucked from the room. Each man inched closer.

  “Meaning?” Taggert asked.

  Drake extended the first page to Poe. A color printout of an image pulled from the cameras at the mine site. On it was a young man that appeared to be roughly the same age as Drake and Kade. He had short dark hair and a trim build.

  In one hand he carried a megaphone. In the other a stick, a piece of poster board at the top announcing, “Montana Protection Society Will Not Abide!”

  Poe looked at it a long moment. Passed it over his shoulder to Taggert. Waited as the detective glanced at it before handing it across to Sharp.

  “Okay,” Poe said. Made it clear he was unimpressed.

  Drake followed up with the second image, the picture sent over by Summerall a few hours before.

  On it was the same young man, an overhead shot from just above the front door of Wes Koenig’s home.

  In the background sat a dented Ford pickup, the license plate clearly visible.

  “This image was taken by the security camera at Wes Koenig’s home,” Drake said. “Same young man.”

  “There were no images from the security camera at his home,” Taggert said. No small amount of defensiveness in his tone. “We checked.”

  “There were no images that night,” Drake corrected. “This was taken six weeks prior.”

  Drake left things there. Watched as Taggert leaned over Poe’s shoulder to examine the photo.

  “Meaning what exactly?” he asked. Allowed his annoyance with the entire thing to resonate. “I know you two have been trying to play detective all weekend, but you’ve got two random photos here.

  “Big damn deal.”

  It was the reaction Drake had expected. He imagined if Sharp were to open his mouth, the same sort of acrimony would spill out.

  “The first picture was taken at a fracking site fifty miles south of here a week after the image at Koenig’s home,” Drake said. Noticed that one of Poe’s eyebrows cocked upward.

  Drake extended another document, detailing the financial back trail that Ajax had uncovered.

  “A mine owned by one of Wes Koenig’s subsidiary corporations,” Drake continued.

  Poe held the document inches away from his nose. Paused a long moment. Lowered it, the color having drained from his face.

  “Where the hell did you get this?”

  “And I don’t have a copy of the arson investigation report,” Drake said. Glanced to Sharp. “But in there it specifically mentions that two types of chemicals were present. Regular old gas, and liquefied natural gas. The purified version of what is pulled from that very mine every day.”

  He paused. Watched as Taggert and Sharp began to fidget. Foye studied his shoes.

  “Well, up until last week when it was shut down. You know, due to the owner’s death.”

  Beside him he could sense Kade swell up a half inch. Found the urge within him to do the same almost irrepressible.

  Waited as the men digested what they’d just been hit with.

  “How did you...?” Poe asked. Turned and looked at Taggert and Sharp. Shook his head in derision.

  Looked back at Drake and Kade.

  “We looked at the case,” Drake said. “Not the suspect.”

  Matched the hardened glare coming from Taggert.

  Made no effort to back down from it.

  “Once we talked to Mildred Hubble and discovered the big real estate fiasco this entire thing was pinned on was nothing at all, we went digging. Wasn’t too hard to figure out.”

  A veneer of sweat appeared on Sharp’s head. Blood rushed to the surface. Showed bright under the overhead lights.

  Taggert’s bottom mandible shifted to the side. The right corner of his moustache disappeared as he started to gnaw on it.

  One at a time Poe looked down at the documents. Went through them each in turn. Reasoned through everything he had just been told.

  Shifted to his side to glance back at Sharp. “Would that cause the place to have burned so quickly? For cause of death to be Koenig’s lungs disintegrating?”

  The information was new to Drake, though he gave no outward reaction. Watched as more blood flushed Sharp from the neck up.

  A silent nod was all he could manage.

  “Son of a bitch,” Poe whispered. Made sure it was loud enough everybody could hear him. Shifted back and looked up at Drake. “So who is he?”

  “That I don’t know,” Drake said. “But you’ve now got two pictures of him and his license plate number.”

  “And the organization he works for,” Kade added.

  “Right,” Drake said. Motioned with his chin to the papers in Poe’s hands.

  “We did a quick online search for you. The Montana Protection Society has an office less than two miles from where we’re standing.”

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Extens
ive.

  Lengthy.

  Exhaustive.

  The license plate in the picture Drake Bell provided had led back to the car registration for Dale Garvey.

  Full name Alan Dale Garvey, Jr. Originally from Glenville, West Virginia.

  Most recently of Nikiski, Alaska. A town every bit as small as it sounded. Population just north of four thousand. Located in the middle of the Kenai Peninsula. While there Garvey had amassed quite a rap sheet. Made himself into quite a public nuisance.

  Vandalism. Trespass. Criminal mischief.

  That was just in his first year.

  From there things had picked up tremendously.

  Assault. Battery. Harassment.

  The items were listed one after another. Faxed straight down from the Nikiski Sheriff’s Department. Done so by an older man with a graveled voice named Stanson that knew Garvey all too well.

  Was happy to have him out of his hair.

  Even happier to assist in putting him behind bars if possible.

  The list was laid out on Clint Foye’s lap, two pages in total. After reading the first one he flipped it over. Dropped it on his opposite thigh. Started in on the second.

  “Good night,” Foye whispered. “Damn wonder he was even able to cross state lines with a sheet like this.”

  Behind the steering wheel Paul Taggert grunted in agreement. Barely heard what the younger man had to say. Squeezed so tight with both hands rubber shavings sheared off the steering wheel cover. Dotted the front of his jeans.

  All week he had been riding high. His first big case in years had been open and shut. Within hours of it occurring he had been handed a suspect. Given ample motive to make all charges stick.

  He’d even been on television.

  A commendation, maybe even a promotion, was just a matter of time.

  That had all come crashing down on him an hour before. He’d known the first time he’d met Bell and his sidekick they were going to be trouble. Wouldn’t stop poking until they made his life difficult.

  Now they had done just that.

  To the outside world, nobody would be the wiser. Tomorrow they would have their man. They would bring charges. Poe would stand on the courthouse steps and peddle platitudes about justice being served.

  It’s not like they had released a specific name on Friday. Just that someone was in custody.

  To everybody in the know though, to every person on the force, he was all but through. He had been outwitted by an almost-attorney and an almost-PI.

  There was no recovering from that.

  A string of incoherent ramblings continued to pour out of Foye as Taggert pulled up to the small office on the southern edge of town. Parked on the makeshift gravel lot spread outside. Climbed out and clamped his hat down on his head. Braced himself for a moment as a hard gust of air brushed over his body. Carried a few stray ice crystals with it.

  The structure was small. A single story in height. No more than fifty feet on either end. It appeared to be something that was thrown together with spare materials. Covered any deficiencies with bright white siding.

  In the front window a hand lettered sign welcomed visitors to the Montana Protection Society. Every letter T in the words was replaced with a hand drawn evergreen tree done in green paint.

  “Classy,” Foye said. Allowed a small smile. Nodded at the sign.

  Taggert ignored the comment entirely. Walked to the front door. Knocked.

  Even before doing so he knew there was no point.

  The structure was at the tail end of a street with mixed residential and small business usage. There was no curb parking in front of the place, no cars in the parking lot.

  The closest building was a small two-story apartment building to one side.

  On the other was nothing but unadulterated woods.

  No lights could be seen through the front windows.

  Standing back, Taggert gave the place another once over. Stepped forward and banged on the door again. Waited for a response he knew wasn’t coming.

  When nobody showed, he turned back to the car. Motioned with the top of his head for Foye to follow.

  The file on Garvey had an address for a place just outside of town. If nobody turned up there they would have to come back to the office.

  No part of Taggert wanted that. Getting to a judge for a warrant on a Sunday would be a pain.

  Having to explain why they needed it would be an embarrassment.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Coiled.

  Tensed.

  Ready to strike.

  Manic energy rolled off of Dale Garvey. It pulsated through him. Made blood surge through his temples. Caused the veins in his neck to vibrate with each beat of his heart.

  Every few seconds he glared over at Megan, her body pressed hard against the passenger door. Elbow propped up on the sill of the window. Focus aimed out in the opposite direction.

  The tears were dried from her face. The puffiness had diminished around her eyes.

  The mark on her cheek had receded from red. Was already beginning to turn blue.

  He hadn’t meant to hit her. Not in the face anyway. He’d wanted to inflict some pain. To scare her. To make her realize everything they’d been through.

  What her carelessness could cost them.

  That this journey had started years before. Had begun when he first took himself to Alaska. Found his way there in response to an ad for open water fishing trawlers out of Homer and Ketchikan. Lasted only a few days before realizing he had a debilitating penchant for seasickness.

  Faced with a return plane ticket four months in the future and no money to change it, he had kicked his way up the Kenai. Caught on with an outfit looking for anybody to help in the fight to rid the world of natural gas and all the evils it brought with it.

  It was there that his life’s work became clear.

  Fighting a two-pronged attack, the office he worked with waged war. Went after the burgeoning LNG industry in Nikiski. Made the long trek up twice a month to make sure oil rigs were kept far from the Alaska National Wildlife Refuge.

  At first, the role was just a job. Something to pay the bills. Pass the time until his ticket home became available.

  Over time though, it was an awakening.

  For years he had lived in defiance of the natural order. He had become too dependent on comfort goods. Had turned a blind eye as his country drained the earth of its material wealth.

  No more.

  Never again would he abide his nation’s thirst for fossil fuels destroying the land. No longer would he allow for chemicals to be pumped into the ground, contaminating drinking water, just so more precious fuel could be pulled from it.

  In the months that came, some said he went overboard. Crossed the line from conviction into fanaticism. Took things too far.

  Those people just didn’t understand. They hadn’t seen what he’d seen. They didn’t know how dire things truly were.

  At the end of the summer, he canceled his plane ticket home. Stayed on for three more years. Ascended his way up to running the company. Outlasted every single person he had started with. Brought in a team that was just as dedicated as he was.

  In the end, the decision to make the trip down wasn’t his. Three long years of fighting for those that couldn’t had left its mark on him and his place in society.

  He didn’t want to leave Alaska.

  Wanted even less to go to jail.

  Taking along a few well-chosen souvenirs, he headed south. Put out the word in the activist community that he was in need of a new project. Started going by his middle name to stay below law enforcement radar.

  It took a week for the first call to come in.

  Once it did, more followed. Many, many more.

  He had come to Montana because it was the closest thing to what he was looking for.

  It was remote. Would allow for him to run the kind of campaign he was accustomed to.

  It was committed. There would almost cer
tainly be people there as devoted as he was. At the very least a steady supply ready to be converted.

  It was in need. After the abomination that was the Berkeley Pit, the state had suffered enough. It deserved better than to be cleaved again in search of mineral wealth.

  Glancing over, Garvey couldn’t help but shake his head. He had thought Megan had the stuff. That she possessed some of the same qualities he’d had just a few years before. That like him, she could be taken right from college and honed into a weapon for good.

  How wrong he had been.

  Now he just had to ensure no further damage was inflicted.

  “Any idea where she’s at?” Garvey asked. Looked out the window. Saw the green road signs in the distance announcing their approach to Butte. Squinted as the late afternoon sun reflected off the asphalt before them.

  The goal was to have begun their search a day before.

  The state of Megan after their initial confrontation had made that impossible.

  “Huh?” Garvey asked. Reached out a hand to touch her arm. Saw her promptly recoil from it.

  Almost smiled at how ridiculous her reaction was.

  Just as fast felt bitterness rise within that he had ever thought she had what it took.

  “Alright, we’ll do this the long way then,” Garvey said. Took the first exit approaching from the south. Maneuvered through a pair of side streets. Came up on the office from the empty end of the road, headed towards town.

  Feeling his entire torso seize tight, Garvey’s jaw dropped open a half inch. The air sucked from his chest. His mouth went dry.

  Keeping his foot in the same place on the gas, he cocked his head an inch to the side. Made a point not to turn and stare as they rolled by the office.

  Watched as the unmarked police car parked out front slid from his vision.

  As the two detectives he’d seen on television Friday night knocked at the front door. Stood back and peeked into the windows.

  “Don’t you dare say a word,” Garvey said. Extended a hand towards her in silent warning.

  Watched as her entire body clenched up.

  Her head swiveled to the side. For the first time realized what it was he was referring to.

  Said nothing.