by Dave Daren
But then his hand came up and something black and shiny glinted in a burst of sunlight. I ducked without even thinking just before the glass in the passenger door window exploded on the VW. The sound of the gun boomed through the bus as the splintered glass sprayed the inside of the bus. I put up my right arm and closed my eyes for a moment even though the bus was still moving forward.
I felt something sting my cheek, but then the world went silent and I could feel the bus tip over the hill and start down the other side. I opened my eyes just in time to see that the road swerved towards the left and that the bus was heading straight towards a stone wall. I pulled the wheel as hard as I could, and though the VW may not have had much speed, it was at least reasonably nimble. It shifted course, slowly, and I managed to avoid anything more damaging than a scrape along the passenger side.
I peered in the rearview mirror and saw that the truck was trundling along behind me. The truck’s heavier weight gave it a gravitational advantage though, and soon the Ford was closing on my rear. I gave the bus some more juice and I managed to put a little more distance between us as I debated what to do next. I should have been expecting the gun, of course. If I was right, the man was a federal agent on the take. There was no way he would make his big escape without some sort of armament. But the ridiculous nature of our chase had lulled me and now I had to figure out how to stop the truck and confront Eliot without getting shot.
We neared the bottom of the hill and the Ford had enough momentum to pass me. We were neck and neck for several moments, and Eliot and I glared at each other again as we tried not to drive off the road. Eliot gave me the finger, and then a heartbeat later as the truck started to pull in front, he raised the gun again. I ducked low but this time nothing shattered. The truck kept going as the road turned away from the river and carved its own path between a line of ridges.
Eliot put some distance between us on the flat stretch of road, but then the road started to climb again and a sharp turn had the pitted tarmac doubling back on itself. The gears ground again as Eliot tried to move the truck around the wicked turn without losing momentum, but I was starting to think that Eliot must have flunked the driving portion of his Quantico courses.
I was practically on top of the truck as we pulled out of the turn and found ourselves surrounded by fields. Neat, long lines of something green and leafy stretched away in every direction, and I could just pick out the shape of a farmhouse. Unfortunately, we were also on another flat stretch, one that seemed to spread out for miles and I knew I was in trouble.
The Ford started to ease ahead again, and I gnashed my teeth in frustration as I stomped on the gas pedal for the VW and saw the needle move only slightly. My only hope, I decided, was to see if I could call for help, and I was trying to check my phone for a signal as we ambled along when I was saved by the farmer.
I’d registered the tractor as it swung out from one of the neat lines of greenery just ahead of us and I’d expected it to make the turn and head up the next row. And at first, that’s what it looked like would happen. But the farmer must have changed his mind for some reason because the tractor suddenly swung onto the road, just in front of the truck, and moved slowly in the direction of the farmhouse.
The brake lights for the Ford flashed and the gears ground again, and then Eliot honked impatiently at the farmer. The farmer ignored him, and after Eliot honked a second time, the farmer simply waved at him to go around. The problem, though, was that the farmer was driving down the middle of the road and there was no easy way for the truck to go around him.
I had Eliot trapped if I could just figure out how to use it to my advantage. Eliot, however, had realized the same thing. I saw the barrel of the gun appear at the driver’s window, and for a moment, I thought he meant to take a shot at the farmer. The agent wasn’t quite that desperate, though, and he fired another shot in my direction instead.
As I ducked again, I saw the farmer literally jump in his seat as he looked around at the surrounding farmland. The tractor weaved in the road as the farmer looked for the source of the shot and I knew Eliot was going to try to squeeze by while the farmer was distracted. I pushed the bus forward as hard as I could, but Eliot had been looking for that as well. As the agent swerved around the tractor, one of those expandable redwelds with the tie-down flap sailed from the truck in a perfect arc and landed in the field.
I could have kept going at that point and tried to follow Eliot to whatever bolt hole he had. But I knew the bus wasn’t going to keep up with the Ford, and I had no real plan on how to disarm the agent even if I could somehow get him to stop the truck. I also didn’t want to see a repeat of what had happened to Deputy Watkins, or to see someone like the farmer get injured.
And I had to know what was inside that redweld. So while the truck drove onwards in a sooty cloud while the farmer shook his fist at the old vehicle, I eased the bus to the side of the road and clambered out in search of the redweld. It took me nearly fifteen minutes to find the file as it had landed in a tangle of mulch and turned earth beneath one of the larger plants, but I let out a whoop of joy when I opened the envelope and found Hup’s file inside.
I did a quick check of the documents, then sprinted back towards the bus. I saw that the farmer had driven on, apparently unaware that I had pulled over near his fields. He made the turn onto what looked like a dirt road as I brought the old bus back to life and slowly made the u-turn that would take me back to Folsom.
Somehow, the old bus made it all the way back to the town, though there were a few moments when I thought it would simply stop in the middle of the road, or maybe roll off the edge of a cliff into the river. I left the VW in the inn’s parking lot, waved through the glass door at the clerk, then ran across the street to the government building and it’s precious cell access.
I dialed Belle first, so I could bring her up to speed on everything that had happened since my last phone call. It hadn’t been all that long, I realized, but it felt like most of the day had passed since we had worked out Crenshaw’s identity. Belle was apparently on her way back, as the first thing I heard when someone answered was a horn honking and the sound of a jackhammer.
“Belle?” I asked.
“Sorry, Morgan,” she said. “Street project of some sort that I managed to avoid this morning but I can’t seem to get around now.”
“It’s fine,” I said. “I wanted to let you know that Lila and I went out to the commune. We were looking for the file when Eliot stole the truck and drove off.”
“Did you just say Eliot stole the truck?” she asked.
“I did,” I replied. “So I had to borrow a bus from the commune to follow him.”
“A bus?” she repeated.
“Not like a school bus,” I said quickly. “One of those old Volkswagen minibuses.”
“Oh, good Lord,” she muttered.
“Anyway, I’m happy to report that I have the file although Crenshaw got away,” I added.
“So we can finish the deal,” she said with excitement as another horn blasted.
“We can,” I said. “If you round up a notary and a couple of witnesses.”
“That I can,” she agreed. “We can take care of everything at my office tomorrow morning. Shall we say ten?”
“That sounds perfect,” I replied. “I’ll call Bam and let him know.”
It took longer for Bam to answer, but it was far quieter at his home. There was the hum of a television in the background, but otherwise it was just Bam’s eager voice on the other end.
“Bam, it’s Hunter,” I announced.
“Boy, I was starting to wonder if I was going to hear from you,” he said. “Yer deadline’s coming up.”
“Listen, Belle said we can use her office tomorrow morning,” I replied. “She’ll have a notary and witnesses, and I have all the documents from Hup’s office. We just need to ink the contract and we’ll be good.”
“Woohooo!” Bam bellowed. “Just tell me what time, and I’ll be
there.”
“Ten in the morning,” I said with a laugh.
“I’ll even wear a suit and tie,” he said. “Feels like I should after everything we’ve been through to get this done.”
I hung up the phone and looked around the little park. The sun was out again, the dragonflies were zipping through the grass, and a family of ducks waddled by. It was definitely looking much better than it had that morning, and I could practically smell the New York City air. Not that I had caught the murderer exactly, but I thought Belle and I had enough to convince the Sheriff to focus his attention on Crenshaw. Plus, there was the added bonus of the stolen truck, which would be an excellent way to bring up the topic of who really killed Hup.
I walked through the park and shared nods with the locals I passed. At the far end, I waited for a UPS truck to pass before I darted across the street to the Sheriff’s office. The door was unlocked this time, and I strode inside with a shit-eating grin on my face and the redweld clasped in my hands.
It would have been perfect except the Sheriff wasn’t alone. An Asian man in a brown suit sat in front of the Sheriff’s desk with a briefcase open on his lap. The stranger was pulling out several sheets of paper and laying them in front of the Sheriff. The Sheriff looked puzzled by whatever he was reading, but he looked up when he saw me step inside.
“Mr. Morgan,” the Sheriff drawled when he saw me.
I quickly smothered my grin, put on a more professional look, nodded to the Sheriff, and then held up the redweld.
“I’ve found the file,” I replied. “We’re all set to have the signing tomorrow morning.”
“You might have to hold off on that,” the Sheriff replied as he nodded towards the Asian. “This here is Dr. Xi, from the EPA.”
“The EPA?” I asked.
The Asian nodded as he pulled a pair of reading glasses from his jacket pocket. He scanned the sheets of paper he had pulled from his briefcase, then pushed one closer to the Sheriff.
“This is Hunter Morgan,” the Sheriff added while Dr. Xi looked over the pages. “He represents the company that wants to buy the mine.”
“Ah,” Dr. Xi said as he finally looked at me. “I’m afraid all such transactions are on hold at the moment.”
“What?” I demanded.
“Someone wants the site declared a Superfund site,” the Sheriff snorted. “So no sale of property until the owner cleans it up.”
“But…” I stuttered.
“Hasn’t happened yet but that’s why Dr. Xi is here,” the Sheriff added. “To make it official.”
“The team will be here tomorrow to do the full scale testing,” Dr. Xi said. “But I’m going to do some quick tests today. In the meantime, the site is considered nontransferable.”
I looked at the Sheriff, but he looked as flummoxed as I’m sure I did. I will say this, Tater Harris may not have liked me or my client, but at least he was willing to do business if it helped him and his town. But calling in the EPA to declare the old mine a Superfund site? That was just dirty pool, and all I could see in my mind’s eye was Crenshaw’s middle finger as he glared at me from the Ford.
“And that bastard still has the truck,” I growled.
Chapter 15
“What are ya yammerin’ about?” the Sheriff asked.
I glanced at the Sheriff and then at Dr. Xi.
“In a minute,” I replied. “But first, I’d like to know who ordered the Superfund review.”
Dr. Xi shook his head and pointed to the sheaf of papers in front of the Sheriff.
“I don’t have a name,” he said. “We just received our orders. Usually it starts with a neighbor or such who complains and is worried that new construction will somehow release various toxic chemicals into the surrounding environment.”
The Sheriff and I both exchanged glances, and I could tell he was having the same thought I was. It was hard to believe that any of the mine’s neighbors, such as they were, would complain about toxic chemicals. There was always the commune, but they seemed to have come around to the idea that the mine was going to be used to produce vinegar, not coal.
“When would this complaint have been made?” I asked. “Doesn’t it usually take months or even years for you guys to investigate a site?”
Xi shifted uncomfortably in his seat and acknowledged my assessment with a curt nod.
“In cases where an extreme danger may be posed to the public, we can act quickly,” the Asian man noted.
“I don’t think the mine poses an extreme danger,” I replied. “We’ve already had our own chemist and geologist at the site.”
“Ah,” Xi said and then shrugged. “I have my instructions. That’s all I know.”
“I’ll let Bam know,” the Sheriff said as he picked up the landline on his desk. “He can warn Carl that you’re on your way.”
“I’d like to go as well,” I said. “As the buyer’s representative.”
Dr. Xi nodded at both of us and started to collect the sheets he’d laid out on the desk. Harris sighed and dialed Bam’s number, then grumbled when Bluefeld didn’t immediately pick up. The Sheriff hung up, waited a full minute, then dialed again.
“Bam, it’s Sheriff Harris,” the ex-Army interrogator announced. “I’ve got a Dr. Xi in my office here who wants to take a look at your mine… No, he’s not here with the oil folks. He’s from the EPA… Well, I’ve got a fistful of paper that says he can take a look at the land and collect whatever samples he wants… I have no idea what they’re lookin’ for…. Look, just call Carl and tell him to let the man in. The last thing I want is a spittin’ contest with those bureaucrats in D.C. … Mr. Morgan plans on bein’ there so I’m sure it’s fine if you’re there as well….”
This last was said with a quick look at Dr. Xi, who nodded in agreement.
“I’m hangin’ up, now, Bam,” the Sheriff declared.
I could hear Bam still arguing in the background, but the Sheriff dropped the phone back into the cradle and whatever complaints Bam was still making were cut off.
“Is it normal for you to go to the Sheriff first and not the landowner?” I asked.
Dr. Xi had been in the process of returning his reading glasses to his pocket, and he poked at the inside of his jacket a few times before his hand found the pocket.
“No,” Xi admitted. “I think this is the first time I was told to go to the Sheriff first. I’ve had to call in local law enforcement once before when a landowner refused to give us access.”
“Somebody must really have it in for Bam,” I noted. “Or this deal.”
The Sheriff nodded in agreement and then pointed to the redweld I still held in my hand.
“I’d say you found one suspect,” Harris said.
“Ah, yes,” I agreed. “Which brings me to some other items we need to discuss.”
The Sheriff considered that for a moment, then gave Dr. Xi his version of a smile.
“Now, you don’t need to worry,” the Sheriff said to the Asian man. “Bam’s upset, but he’ll let ya onto the property and he won’t do anything to interfere with whatever it is you need to do.”
“Ah, well,” Xi replied as he glanced uncertainly at the Sheriff. “My instructions…”
“You’ll be fine,” the Sheriff asserted.
“If you’ll give me a few minutes to talk with the Sheriff, we can ride out to the mine together,” I offered. “It’ll be easier than giving you directions.”
Dr. Xi didn’t look convinced, but it was clear the Sheriff wasn’t going to lead the charge to the mine, no matter what the various pieces of paper said to the contrary.
“Perhaps some tea would be nice,” Xi noted.
“Just make a left out of the door here and head down Jenkins Road,” the Sheriff replied. “There’s a diner just a couple of blocks down. Has one of those tobacco Indians out front so you can’t miss it.”
“Try some of the cherry pie,” I suggested.
Xi studied us both for a moment, then collected the last p
ieces of paper, closed his briefcase and stood up. The three of us all nodded, and the Asian moved towards the door.
“I wouldn’t mention why yer in town, if anybody asks,” the Sheriff called out as the EPA man was about to open the door.
Xi nodded again, then stepped outside and closed the door. The Sheriff and I watched as the man studied the street, then walked away towards the left and the diner.
“So what do we have to discuss?” the Sheriff demanded when Xi was out of sight.
“Eliot Crenshaw,” I replied as I took the seat Xi had recently vacated.
“You think he called the EPA?” the Sheriff scoffed.
“No,” I replied. “He wouldn’t want to risk his cozy position here. But I’m sure you know that already.”
The Sheriff’s pleasant demeanor vanished, and he gave me one of his hard stares. I heard him open a desk drawer, and a moment later, he set a tin of chewing tobacco on the desk. I watched him go through the whole process of pulling out a plug, placing it in his mouth, and then returning the tin to the desk, before he finally responded.
“What are you suggesting?” Harris asked.
“Crenshaw, or whatever his real name is, is your source,” I said. “He’s an FBI agent whose assignment is probably to investigate environmental extremists. He’s using the commune as a base and as a door into other groups that the FBI considers terrorists.”
The Sheriff chewed his tobacco for several moments, then picked up a styrofoam cup from the edge of his desk. He spat into the cup, set it back on the desk, then gave me a smirk.
“You’ve just got it all figured out, don’t ya’?” he asked.
“Mostly,” I replied. “But you’ve got a problem now.”
“Is that so?” Harris drawled.
“Crenshaw’s on the run,” I replied. “He stole the truck and took off. He shot at me when I tried to follow and nearly ran a farmer on a tractor off the road. I want you to put out an APB for his arrest.”
