Brew or Die

by Caroline Fardig

  “When did you first suspect he was mixed up in all this?”

  “Call me clueless, but I suspected nothing. I was shocked to see him at Wonder-Gen on Monday night. I thought he was supposed to be at work.”

  “He never mentioned anything to you about his business dealings with Jim Wonderlich?”

  “Not a word.”

  Cromwell frowned. “Did you tell him about the case you were working on? Did he know you were looking into the business?”

  “No. He and I never talk specifics of cases. The most I told him was that I was happy to be investigating a business this time instead of another cheating husband.”

  “I can see where that would be more pleasurable, although maybe not in this particular instance. Now the big question—once you knew he was a person of interest in your case and Hamilton’s case, did you disclose any information from your investigation that might have alerted him to the fact that you knew he was involved?”

  “No. In fact, I’ve done my best not to speak to him since then. I didn’t think I could keep seeing him, given the circumstances…so I ended our relationship yesterday.”

  He studied me for a moment. “And you’re sure that a breakup at this particular time wouldn’t tip him off to the fact that you know about his nighttime activities?”

  “Well…as a catalyst for the breakup, I did accuse him of lying to me about his work schedule.” I lowered my eyes. “And to cover the reason why I was asking, I pretended I thought he was cheating on me. He lied and copped to cheating rather than telling me the truth about what was actually going on.”

  I felt Cromwell’s rough hand on mine and looked up into his unusually kind and empathetic eyes. He said, “I’m sure that hurt. But you did the right thing.” Returning to his grumbly self, he stood and said, “Well, that’s all I need. Brody Callahan from narco is going to want to talk to you this afternoon. I gave him your number. You stay safe out there.”

  I shot a text to Ryder letting him know I was finished and then laid my head down on the table. My private life wasn’t so private anymore. Damn Stafford. Why did he have to be such an idiot and get himself caught up in this cluster in the first place? Didn’t he realize what he was doing would affect more than just him? And if it was indeed drugs he was helping traffic, how could he sleep at night knowing how many lives he was ruining? That alone was unforgivable. I might have been able to get past him helping smuggle and distribute fake IDs, counterfeit money, or even exotic animals. But I couldn’t get past him helping put drugs on the street—especially those that could kill a person on contact…or upon first-time use, like Josie Prescott.

  I sat up suddenly. There was no sign of struggle in Josie’s office, according to what Shane had heard from the police. I was formulating a thought when Ryder came through the door.

  “How did it go with Cromwell? Or are you such a pro at this that it doesn’t even make you nervous anymore to be interrogated about finding a dead body?”

  It was good to see him marginally chipper, but I had more pressing things on my mind. Ignoring his question, I asked, “You said if you even touch fentanyl or carfentanyl that you can die, right? You don’t have to ingest it?”

  Ryder looked at me questioningly. “Where are you going with this?”

  “My other case. Josie Prescott. I have an idea.”

  “Oh. Well then, to answer your question, yes, those synthetics are transdermal. All it takes is an amount the size of a few grains of salt to come in contact with your skin, and depending on the potency, it could be permanent lights out. That’s why I got us out of the Wonder-Gen building earlier and now the narco clan lab scene techs are over there in their hazmat suits decontaminating the place. What’s your theory on the other girl?”

  “Well, since we don’t think Josie would have taken any drug willingly and there was no sign of struggle in her office, where her body was found, she had to either have been coerced or already incapacitated when the needle went in her arm. What if someone used a heroin-synthetic mix transdermally to kill her or at least sedate her, but then wanted to make it look like an OD, so they injected the same stuff into her as she was dying?”

  He thought for a moment. “The coroner most likely would have found traces of powder somewhere on her skin if that was the case.”

  “But if she was supposedly shooting up heroin herself, she could have got some on her hands or arms and the coroner would have probably thought nothing of it, right?”

  “True. Has your new theory helped you figure out who may have killed her?”

  My shoulders slumped. “No. But thanks for reminding me that I have no freaking clue, Major Buzzkill.”

  He saluted me. “My pleasure, ma’am. Now can we go bother some delinquents?”

  —

  First on our list was Josh Cleary, a young man barely over nineteen who’d already done a few months in county for misdemeanor assault. Ryder pounded on the door of his mom’s house for at least a minute before anyone opened it.

  Josh’s mother rolled her eyes when Ryder told her he was a cop and gave what was probably her standard answer in the situation. “Josh isn’t here.”

  Ryder glanced at the side of the house, where there was an old and beat-up yet ridiculously tricked-out sports car. “That’s his ride. Did he walk somewhere?”

  The mother didn’t answer.

  Sighing, he said, “Ma’am, we’re not here to arrest your son. Don’t make me have to take you in for obstruction of justice when all we’re here to do is have a conversation with him.”

  That got her attention. “Joshua! Get your ass over here.”

  She left the door open and disappeared back into the house. Moments later, Josh showed up, his lip curled in a defiant sneer. I didn’t know what I’d been picturing, but this wasn’t it. He had a black eye patch over one eye, no shirt on his scrawny and badly tattooed upper body, and not one, but three pairs of pants on. At the same time. Below the Under Armour waistband of his briefs, he was sporting boxers, basketball shorts, and jeans, each staggered a couple of inches. I found myself wondering how he was able to walk and keep them situated like that.

  Ryder said, “I’m Detective Hamilton of the MNPD, and this is my partner, Ms. Langley. We’re looking for some information about a shipment that went out from Wonder-Gen on Tuesday morning.”

  “I don’t know why you’re bothering me. I don’t got nothing to do with delivery. If you’re not here to arrest me, then get lost.”

  He started to close the door, but Ryder stopped it with his booted foot. “No, we’re going to talk a little first. Did you see anyone coming or going from the receiving area or loading dock on Tuesday morning between when you arrived for work and when the truck went out around eight?”

  Josh crossed his pasty, spindly arms and stared at us with his one eye.

  Ryder and I had decided that, if pressed, we would let our interviewees think we were looking for the killer rather than looking for someone who had stolen illegal goods from Wonderlich. We figured people would be more forthcoming to help catch a murderer, plus we still didn’t want anyone to know we were investigating Wonderlich’s smuggling ring.

  Since Ryder was getting nowhere with this kid, I thought I’d take a crack at him. I nudged Ryder, and he took a couple of steps back from the doorway. Smiling, I said, “Josh, you could really help us out here. A woman about your mom’s age died last night and we’re trying to get to the bottom of it. We think something that happened Tuesday morning in the loading area could be related to her death. Is there anything you can remember?”

  Something had flashed in his eyes when I’d basically compared Laura to his mother, but it was gone just as quickly. “I don’t have to talk to you either, firecrotch.”

  I felt Ryder tense beside me. I had the feeling he’d love to punch this kid in the face. I wanted to as well, but instead I used my words. “Okay, one-eyed three pants, thanks for nothing.”

  Scowling furiously, Josh slammed the door so hard it poppe
d back open, so he had to slam it again. Ryder strode ahead of me back down the sidewalk.

  Once we were inside his car, he burst out laughing, which startled me. “Sorry I left so fast. I was going to lose it.” He shook his head. “One-eyed three pants. That was a good one.”

  Frowning, I replied, “Not too professional of me, I know.”

  “Hey, what he called you was much worse. I was all set to defend your honor, but you didn’t need it.”

  I shrugged. “It’s not like it’s the first time I’ve been called firecrotch. I’ve heard it since I was a kid.”

  “That’s terrible.”

  “It’s why we redheads have big tempers. So we can fight back against the haters.” I gave him a mock punch on the arm.

  Smiling, he put the car in gear and headed for our next interview.

  —

  Ryder knocked on the door of Ben Florence’s crummy apartment, which sadly enough reminded me of mine. I really needed to consider moving.

  A young man answered the door, bleary-eyed even though it was well past ten. Then again, since it was a surprise day off with Wonder-Gen being shut down, who could blame him for using the time to catch up on some sleep? I sure could have used some.

  “What do you want?” he grumbled.

  Ryder went through his spiel again of who we were and why we were there.

  Ben gave us a similar answer as Three Pants had. “I don’t work in shipping. I work in the shop.”

  Ryder replied, “What I want to know is if you saw anyone coming or going from the receiving area or loading dock on Tuesday morning between when you arrived and when the truck went out around eight.”

  Shrugging, Ben said, “I don’t know. I was busy doing my job. What’s the big freaking deal? Does this have to do with the place being closed today? Did somebody die or something?”

  Even though Cromwell had been able to keep everything hush-hush as long as possible, by now the news of Laura’s death had become headline news. I assumed Ben Florence had slept through most of it.

  I said, “Yes, one of the nighttime cleaning staff died.”

  “Oh,” he replied, unfazed. “You think we’ll get tomorrow off too, then?”

  Ignoring his callous remark, I said, “Anything you can remember that happened between six and eight on Tuesday morning could help us find who hurt her.”

  He shook his head. “Nothing ever happens there. It’s the damn boringest place I’ve ever worked.”

  Ryder asked, “Is that why you drink on the job?”

  A mask of anger slipped across Ben’s face. “Hey, man. Don’t come to my place and disrespect me.”

  “I’m coming to your place and stating facts.” Ryder and his facts. I fought the urge not to snicker. He continued, “And it’s also a fact that you stole some tools from Wonder-Gen. I want to know if you’ve walked off with anything else lately, like maybe on Tuesday morning.”

  Ben gave us the finger. “I’m done talking to you assholes.” He slammed the door in our faces.

  Another strikeout. We walked slowly to the car.

  As he pulled away from the curb, Ryder asked, “Are you going to Brooke’s party tonight?”

  I groaned. “Is that tonight?”

  “Yeah. I thought I’d drop by. You don’t seem like you’re too excited about going.”

  “Eh. I’m not in the mood for a party.”

  “You could celebrate being done with your part of the case.”

  Wrinkling my nose, I replied, “I don’t know. I don’t much feel like going by myself. Stafford and I were supposed to go together, and now of course…” I shrugged.

  “I’ll take you. You know…so you won’t have to go alone.”

  “If you have a couple of free hours to go to a party, I think your time would be better spent in bed.”

  The corner of his mouth pulled up. “Is that an offer?”

  “What? No. We’re not friends with benefits. I’m telling you that you need to get some rest.”

  His face fell. “Oh, so you were nagging again.”

  “Hey, I’m under direct orders from Cromwell to nag you about taking care of yourself.”

  “Both of you are on my ass about this?”

  I said gently, “It’s only because we’ve seen you do this to yourself before, and it wasn’t pretty.” The one murder case he’d worked on with Cromwell, he’d run himself into the ground. Neither of us wanted to watch that happen again.

  Instead of getting defensive, which was what I was expecting, he admitted, “I know I can get obsessed over a case. I may not show it, but I appreciate your concern.”

  Stunned, I replied, “Um…okay.”

  We continued to our next destination. No one was home at this particular delinquent’s house. There were no vehicles around, so we assumed the guy wasn’t hiding like Three Pants had tried to.

  The next person on our list was Miguel Garcia, who lived in a nice, quiet neighborhood near Ryder’s house. When we knocked on the door, we were met by a pleasant if rough-looking middle-aged man holding an adorable baby girl.

  “Can I help you?” he asked, smiling.

  Ryder began rattling off our standard greeting, but his phone rang in the middle, interrupting him. “I need to take this. Juliet, you go ahead,” he said, hurrying out of earshot.

  Rather nervous to do this without him, I took a deep breath and asked Miguel, “Can you tell me if you saw anything going on in the receiving area or near the loading dock on Tuesday morning?”

  Miguel shook his head. “I’m sorry. I can’t. First punch of the day, and my press breaks down. Me and another guy did nothing but work on that hunk of junk until lunchtime. They could have had a parade out on the dock, and we wouldn’t have noticed. We had our heads down the whole time. Wish I could tell you more.”

  “Okay, what about another time? Do you know of any other things that have gone on around there that you feel like aren’t aboveboard?”

  “Besides the fact that some of my coworkers are paid in cash?” He shook his head and smiled at his daughter, who was pinching his cheeks with her tiny fingers and squealing. “I shouldn’t complain. Mr. Wonderlich and Mr. Gentry gave me a chance years ago when no one else would. It’s not easy to get a job when you’re an ex-con. Which is why some of the young guys I work with should appreciate what they have and not try so hard to throw their lives away with both hands.”

  “What are they doing, exactly?”

  “Coming to work high, drinking at work. One of those idiots lost a finger a while back because of it.”

  These were all things we already knew, so I decided to wrap up the interview. “Well, thank you for your time, Miguel. I’ll let you get back to your day off.”

  I returned to Ryder’s car, where he was sitting still glued to the phone. He murmured a couple of “yeahs” and a “thank you,” then turned to me, his eyes bright with excitement. “They found it. They found heroin in one of the Wonder-Gen boxes still sealed up.”

  Chapter 29

  “That’s fantastic!” I exclaimed.

  “We have you to thank for it.”

  “I think we have your month’s worth of work to thank for it.”

  He smiled. “We’ll call it a team effort. But there’s even better news. The guy the box got delivered to was picked up this weekend for dealing and is still in jail, which is why his box didn’t get opened. With two charges against him, he’s feeling the heat, so he rolled on Wonderlich. He told us everything we need to know about the operation from a buyer’s standpoint.”

  “So are we done?”

  “Almost. According to this guy, there’s another shipment coming in tomorrow night. Now, I don’t expect Wonderlich will want to unload it at Wonder-Gen after everything that’s happened. But if we can find out where they’re unloading and repackaging it and raid the place, we can not only stop a huge amount of poison from hitting the streets, but we’ll also have enough evidence to put everyone involved in jail for a long time.”


  Everyone involved. That included Stafford. I knew he was responsible for his own choices and would have to pay for his part in this thing, but the thought still had me nauseous.

  “Hey, I know what you’re thinking,” Ryder said gently. “I talked to my captain about Stafford and put in a good word for him, citing the excellent casework he’s done since he’s been on the force. Plus I thought I owed him one for picking up my mess with you. Anyway, Captain Briggs has decided to try to reason with Stafford and talk him into working with us from the inside. We’ve got enough on him that he’d be a fool to refuse. If he cooperates and all goes as planned, what he’ll be facing won’t be nearly as bad as it could be.”

  I tried to swallow the lump in my throat, but couldn’t. I choked out a “thank you” as a single tear slipped out.

  He put the car in gear. “I know what’ll cheer you up.”

  —

  We drove a few blocks and ended up at his house. Remembering the last couple of times I’d been there (which hadn’t been the most positive experiences), I was wary about even setting foot inside.

  Again, he must have caught the vibe coming off me, because he said, “Don’t worry. I’m not suggesting a nooner or anything. There’s someone I want you to meet.”

  “Okay…”

  We got out of his car and up to the house. The minute he opened the front door, a big German shepherd met us, whining and jumping up and down like a little puppy, joy evident in his eyes at the sight of Ryder.

  Kneeling down to receive some kisses from the excited dog, Ryder said, “This is Max. He can be standoffish with new people, so don’t take it personally if he doesn’t greet you like he greeted me.”

  I kneeled down next to him and held out the back of my hand so Max could sniff me. “Hi, Max. I’m Juliet.”

  Upon hearing his name, Max turned his attention toward me. He snuffled my hand tentatively but didn’t shy away, so I reached up and petted his head.

  “You’re a sweet boy, aren’t you, Max?” I said, moving on to scratch his ears.

  Max started whining again, and before I knew it, he bowled me over onto the floor and proceeded to lick every inch of my face.