by L A Dobbs
“Mason. What a pleasant surprise.” The sarcasm in his voice indicated it was anything but. “I hear you have a big case. Surprised you have time to visit little old me.”
“I’m here following leads on a case.”
Thorne leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers over his stomach. “Really? Is that the one out by Buckner’s? Surely you don’t think I had anything to do with that?”
“Maybe.”
Thorne laughed. “Have you been drinking? What evidence do you have to even insinuate that I would have something to do with that mess?”
“I have evidence that links those shallow graves to a meth lab. And then I have further evidence that links you to the meth lab.”
Thorne snorted. “Seriously? I’m a real estate developer. What would I want with a meth lab?”
“To increase profitability of your drug business,” Sam said. Thorne was acting pretty confident that he couldn’t be linked to the meth lab or the girls. Was it because he was innocent or just too cocky to believe that Sam would find solid evidence against him? Or maybe he’d paid off so many people that he figured the police would never be able to make a case without being blocked at every turn.
Thorne gestured toward the small window in the side of the trailer. “Are you kidding me? I’m pretty busy with all of this. But I’ll humor you. What exactly is this evidence linking me to a meth lab?”
“The land the abandoned meth lab operated on is owned by your wife’s company.”
At the mention of his wife, Thorne’s eyes narrowed slightly. Trouble in paradise? Sam wondered if Beryl Thorne knew more about her husband’s activities than she let on. Or maybe she was just becoming aware of his drug activities. Sam doubted she would approve. If they were having marital problems and she didn’t approve of his extracurricular activities, Sam might be able to get her on his side. She could provide him with valuable information against her husband.
“Then I guess you don’t have much. My company has nothing to do with Mervale, so you really have no connection at all.” He stood up behind his desk, and Lucy let out a low growl. His eyes flicked to the dog. “Get out and take your dog before I slap you with a harassment suit.”
Sam stared at him for a few seconds. Thorne was guilty, at least of dealing drugs. Now Sam just had to prove it. “No problem. But I’ll be looking at you very closely.”
Sam left the wooden door open. Halfway to the Tahoe, he turned to see Thorne staring after him. He got in the vehicle wondering if he’d done the right thing.
Had he just given Thorne enough warning to cover his tracks or had he rattled him enough that he’d make a stupid mistake?
Chapter Seventeen
Almost everyone had gone home for the night by the time Sam got back to the station. He found Jo waiting for him, seated at her desk wearing a gray T-shirt and jeans, plugging away on her laptop.
She looked up from her computer. “How did it go?”
“The usual. He denied everything.”
“Big surprise there.”
Lucy trotted over to say hello to Jo as Sam went into his office, talking to her through the open door as he changed his shirt. “I did discover that they moved the lobby of the hotel so it was farther from the bearded owls.”
“Really? You think the wife had anything to do with that?” Jo asked.
“Possibly.”
“Did you notice any rubber hosing or building materials, like we saw in that cottage?”
“No. But I didn’t get to inspect the entire property.” Sam came out of the office. He’d changed out of his WRPD T-shirt into plain black. People tended to avoid him in Holy Spirits when he was wearing the one with the giant white police letters on the back. “You ready?”
Jo closed the laptop and stood. “Yeah. I could use a beer.”
“Me too.”
Lucy whined and wagged her tail.
“Not you.” Sam took her bowl out of the cupboard, filled it and put it on the floor. Lucy’s attention pivoted from Sam to the food.
The food caught Major’s attention too, and he started in the direction of the bowl. Lucy’s bared teeth and low growl made the cat veer away quickly toward the lobby, acting as if that had been his destination the whole time.
Sam raised a brow at Jo, and she laughed. Just like old times. He’d been imagining the rift between them the whole time, just as he thought.
Holy Spirits was a decommissioned church turned into a bar. The giant oak double doors opened into a vestibule that was largely the same as it had been when the church was in operation. This fooled the occasional tourist, who then opened the inner doors, surprised to find a bar in action.
Inside, the cavernous twenty-foot-high ceilings gave it a spacious feel. The dark wooden floors were scarred and scraped with over a century of use. Giant field stones held in place by chipped mortar made up the bottom half of the walls.
Some of the original pews had been recycled as seating for long tables in the back. Round tables had been scattered throughout the rest of the interior. The bar resided where the altar had once been. The stained-glass windows above cast dim shadows of jewel-toned light into the room. Beneath the windows rows of colorful liquor bottles stood beneath a mirror that ran the length of the bar.
The favorite watering hole had a casual feeling despite its formal beginnings. Billie Hanson, the owner, kept the lights low and the beer flowing.
The bar was fairly crowded, and the chatter of patrons melded with the smell of burgers and hops.
“At least Holden Joyce isn’t here,” Jo said as they slid onto their usual barstools.
“Yeah, what is up with him? And what was with that weird look he gave you earlier at the station?” Sam leaned over the polished wooden surface of the bar and signaled Billie, who was serving a group of customers at the other corner of the bar. She turned and gave a slight nod, the seven diamond studs in her ears winking in the light. Her spiked hair was tipped with blue tonight. A white dishtowel was tossed over her shoulder.
“Yeah, I’m not sure what’s up with him,” Jo watched Billie hustle, grabbing two plates of burgers from the little opening into the kitchen and sliding them in front of two customers before opening the cooler and grabbing their usual beers—a local beer called Moosenose for Sam and a Boston Lager for Jo.
“Seems like he’s up to something. Do you think he could still have a hair up his butt about Tyler’s log book?”
Earlier that summer Jo had forged an entry in the log of fallen officer Tyler Richardson. She’d done it to protect Tyler, and Sam stood by that. Tyler had failed to log the call, which was against procedure but was common practice in their town. They often filled in the log when they got back to the station. Except Tyler never came back to the station. During a related investigation, Holden Joyce had found out about the log book and pressed for disciplinary action against Jo. He didn’t win that battle. Maybe he was still angry about it and planning to make her pay some other way.
“Maybe. It could be something else.”
They sipped their beers. The coldness of the earthy brew felt good going down. Sam turned to Jo, expecting her to explain what she thought Holden’s problem could be. She silently picked at her beer label with her thumbnail.
“Something else?” he prompted.
“Well, a long time ago—”
“Hey, Sam!” a woman’s voice yelled out, interrupting Jo.
Sam turned to see Marnie Wilson waving to him from across the room.
Jo’s gaze skimmed over Sam’s shoulder. Marnie Wilson stood at a table, waving at Sam as if they were long-lost friends. What was she doing in a place like Holy Spirits? Trying to get the vote of the common people?
“Oh, it’s Marnie. I have to go ask her something. Hold on.” Sam pushed away from the bar and Jo turned back to her label, sliding her thumbnail up through the part that had become wet with condensation and watching it accordion off into a little strip.
It had seemed like the right moment to ment
ion her sister’s case, but maybe this was a sign that she shouldn’t tell Sam at all. Their relationship seemed as though it was getting back to the way it had been. Why rock the boat now? Sam thought that the weird way Holden was acting had to do with the log book. Maybe he was right. Maybe it was just guilt that made her think that Holden Joyce knew about her lifelong research into serial killers.
Jo glanced up into the mirror behind the bar to see Jesse Cowley approaching. Perfect. Now she could ask him if he knew anything about that meth lab.
Jesse leaned across the bar next to her. “Hey, Officer Harris.”
“Sergeant.” Jo corrected.
“Yeah. Right. Sorry.” Billie came to take his order. Two Bud Lights and a Moosenose.
“I’ll take care of it.” Jo pushed some bills across the bar and glanced at Jesse. “I have a few questions.”
Jesse looked back over his shoulder nervously. He didn’t like his friends to see him talking to the police. He didn’t want them to think he was some kind of informant. Sam and Jo always tried to keep it light and informal, taking pains to meet in places where his friends wouldn’t see them.
“What?” His voice was wary.
“You know anything about a meth lab in the area?”
“Meth? No. I don’t do that stuff. I stick to pot. But I haven’t heard of anyone cooking in White Rock.”
“Not White Rock. Colebrook.”
Jesse tapped his fingers on the bar, his eyes darting the length to see how Billie was progressing with his beers. “Colebrook? That wouldn’t have anything to do with me.”
“Never said it did. I’m just asking if you’ve heard anything.”
Billie placed the beers in front of Jesse. He collected them and then stood there for a few seconds. Jo glanced over at Sam. Looked like he and Marnie were standing pretty close. Just what was it that Sam was in such a hurry to ask her about anyway?
“Okay, I have heard about meth labs in the area. I don’t know exactly where, but I hear they move around.”
“Do you think the people you get your pot from also distribute meth?”
“I’ve heard they do, but I honestly don’t know any specifics. Like I said, I stick to pot.”
“Know anyone who might know more?”
“No. Sorry.” Jesse stepped away from the bar. “Look, I gotta run.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
Jo turned back to her beer. She hadn’t counted on Jesse having much information anyway. They knew from previous interrogations that he didn’t know much about what happened above his contact in the supply chain. Thorne had things locked down pretty tight, making sure each cog in his machine had only enough information to do their job. She guessed it was safer that way.
She hoped Sam’s talk with Marnie would be more helpful.
The last person Sam had expected to see at Holy Spirits was Marnie Wilson. Not that he minded. It would be a great opportunity to dig up information on Beryl Thorne.
“Good to see you, Sam. I hope you’ve been thinking about the talk we had at lunch.” Marnie had a beer bottle in one hand. Some kind of light beer. She put the bottle to her lips, but the volume didn’t decrease much.
“Of course. Harry wouldn’t let me not think about it,” Sam said. “But I don’t really think anyone cares who I support.”
“Not so! As you can see, we have common goals and ideas.” Marnie gestured around the bar as if they now had something in common. She lowered her voice, and Sam had to lean far closer to her than was comfortable to hear what she said. “Besides, I know we will be on the same side with the Convale project.”
Right. Same side. Sam wasn’t exactly sure about that because she’d been so vague earlier. But he had more pressing problems. “Speaking of ecology-minded things, you mentioned you were friends with Beryl Thorne. What do you know about her company, Mervale?”
Marnie frowned. “Her family company? Not much. I know they have real estate holdings. Commercial, I think. She never talked much about it, but then her brother has been running it. She only took over because he was sick.”
“Yeah, I heard.”
“Why do you ask?”
“The company owns some land that came up in a case.”
Marnie’s frown deepened. “The skeletal remains? I thought that land was conservation land.”
“It is. This was something else.” Sam didn’t want to lie, but he also didn’t want to give away too much. Especially to a politician. You never knew how they’d use information.
Marnie took another miniature swig of her beer. Sam glanced at the bar. Jo was talking to Jesse. Good, maybe she was getting something useful, because this conversation was getting him nowhere.
“I’m sure Mervale hasn’t done anything illegal.” Marnie’s face filled with concern. “Beryl wouldn’t stand for it. She plays by the rules. I think I told you how ecology-minded she is, right? She’s not like her husband.”
“You did tell me.” But Sam had to wonder if Beryl really did play by the rules or was her company a convenient front that did things on the up and up so that they could use Thorne’s business to bend the rules?
When he’d talked to Beryl Thorne he’d gotten the sense that she didn’t know about her husband’s extracurricular activities, but still Sam couldn’t be sure she wasn’t in on it. He couldn’t imagine that Thorne could hide the fact that he was one of the biggest drug dealers in the county from his wife.
Sam had never been successful hiding anything from his wives, and Beryl seemed much sharper than either of the women he’d married.
Marnie continued, “I mean, she even got her husband to stop building near those owls. You know she goes up every Thursday morning to birdwatch and take photographs of them?”
Sam remembered the photographs in Beryl’s office. Had she taken them? They were pretty good. “Did she ever mention anything about acquiring land and holding onto it as a business model?”
“Of course. That’s part of what they do. Her grandfather started that company ages ago. In fact, he bought land up here in White Rock cheap as dirt about sixty years ago when the family lived down in Massachusetts. They relocated up here about thirty years ago and they’re just starting to develop that land now.”
“Don’t you think it’s odd that her family company does work similar to what her husband’s company does? I mean, why not just have one company?”
Marnie scowled. “Yeah. But my guess is they financed Lucas and taught him the ropes, probably for Beryl’s sake. Maybe they didn’t want him involved in their company.”
Now things were getting interesting. “Why wouldn’t they want that?”
Marnie shrugged. “I assume the corporate positions would go to blood family members. Maybe there was no room for Thorne at the top. He can be a hard man.”
Sam raised his brows, but when Marnie didn’t comment further he prompted, “Yeah, families can be supportive like that. If the two of them have a good marriage, the businesses could be complementary even.”
Maybe he could get a hint from Marnie about the Thornes’ marital situation. If Beryl wasn’t very happy with her husband, it might not be very hard to persuade her to give up information that could be used as evidence against him.
“I guess it could be.” Marnie started looking around the bar. Was she looking for the next victim that she could try to persuade to vote for her, or were Sam’s questions making her nervous?
“I guess it’s already working if she convinced Thorne to move the focus of the construction so as not to affect the owls,” Sam said.
“Let’s just say she does have certain leverage over him as his wife. And it is her family money after all.” Marnie took another swig. “So why all the questions. Is she in trouble?”
“No. Not at all. We’re satisfied that Mervale has nothing to do with what we’re investigating,” Sam lied. “I just remembered that you knew her and thought I’d ask a few unofficial questions.”
Marnie smiled but continued gazing around the room.
He wasn’t going to get any more information from her, so there was no sense in continuing the conversation. “Well, nice running into you.”
“You too.” Sam started back to the bar. Jesse was just leaving. He hoped Jo’s conversation had been more enlightening.
Jo was finishing her beer when Sam slid onto the barstool next to her.
“You find out anything good from Jesse?” he asked.
Jo shook her head. “Same old, same old. He doesn’t know anything that’s going on in the chain above him. He did say he’d heard of meth labs in the area and they moved around, but I don’t think we’ll get anything specific from him.” Jo glanced at him from under her lashes. “What about Marnie?”
“She’d mentioned before that she was friends with Beryl Thorne. So I asked her a few questions about Mervale and the Thornes.”
That’s what they’d been talking about? Work stuff? For some reason Jo had thought maybe his chat with Marnie was personal. She didn’t know why, but something about Marnie set her alarm off, and she didn’t want to see Sam getting mixed up with her. “Why would you want to ask about that?”
“I suspect Beryl Thorne might not know exactly what her husband is up to. She didn’t seem stupid, but I bet she must be starting to wonder about some of his behavior.”
“Or she’s in on it with him.”
Sam studied her. “Do you really think so?”
Jo thought about it for a minute. “No. I actually got the impression that they might not be that close.”
“Me too. That’s why I was asking. I’m figuring if we can take some evidence of Thorne’s activities to her, we can get her to give us something that incriminates him. I’m sure she wouldn’t want her good family name to get caught up in a scandal.”
Jo peeled another strip from the label. “Good point.”
Mick Gervasi slid onto the barstool next to Sam. The jet black curly hair he wore just below the ears set off his ice-blue eyes. His navy blue T-shirt was tight against the muscles of his arms and chest. If Jo didn’t know better, she’d peg Mick for ten years younger than his forty years. The private investigator liked to keep in shape. You never knew when you’d find yourself on the defensive.
