Money Creek

by Anne Laughlin

  “Ben and I will go in first, you two follow us. Be sharp. There may be multiple people inside and they’re probably armed.” She looked at Ben, who nodded and drew his weapon. Freya’s was already in her hand. She never would admit it, but she was always afraid of blind entries. Who wouldn’t be? So much could go wrong.

  They moved to the trailer door. The deputy with the battering ram climbed the short staircase, Ben and then Freya right behind him. At Ben’s signal the deputy swung the ram at the flimsy door, which shattered on impact. He stepped out of the way and Ben stepped through the door and to his right. Freya went to the left, their guns trained on both ends of the trailer.

  “Police!” Ben screamed, but he might as well have held his breath. The pulsating music was many times louder inside. Freya cleared her end and turned to Ben, who had his gun trained on a pudgy young man at the kitchen counter. The air smelled of chemicals. He sensed their presence and turned just as Freya shut off the boom box.

  “What the fuck,” the man said, reaching behind his back as if to retrieve a weapon. Ben’s shot whizzed by his head a comfortable foot to the left of him. Uncomfortable if you’re the one being shot at. He screamed and dropped to his knees, his hands over his head.

  “This is the Illinois State Police. Keep your hands where they are,” Freya shouted.

  “Are you known as Morgan?” Ben said. He’d positioned himself so he was between Morgan and Freya.

  “That’s my name.”

  “You’re under arrest on drug manufacturing charges,” Freya said. She looked at a deputy. “You do the honors, okay?” The deputy stepped forward and cuffed him, reading him his rights. Then he hustled him out, leaving Ben and Freya alone in the RV. They would question him later at the sheriff’s department.

  They looked around and saw a pristine space. The countertops in the small kitchen shone as if they were granite, though she couldn’t conceive of granite countertops in a meth lab. Carefully labeled containers of chemicals, glassware, and a box of latex gloves sat neatly on top. What looked like clean butchers’ aprons hung by a hook in the wall. Other supplies were neatly stacked at the far end of the trailer.

  “It looks more like a chemistry class than the labs we’re used to,” she said. “Something’s going on. I don’t see this as self-initiated by the average cooker.” Most labs they found were explosions ready to happen.

  They left the trailer in the hands of the deputies to process the scene. They’d bring in specialists in hazmat suits to manage the chemicals and dismantle the lab. When they got to Freya’s Jeep they saw one of the deputies leaning against it. Jason was plainly visible in the back seat.

  “You’ve got a problem,” the deputy said. “Your genius CI was sitting in full view of the guy we marched out of here. I think his cover’s blown.”

  Freya yanked open the back door and grabbed Jason by the collar. “What the fuck did you just do?”

  Jason pulled Freya’s hand from his shirt. “I was getting cramps squished on the floor. I was going to lay down on the back seat when I saw who you were bringing out of there. It’s Morgan, man. And he saw me, no doubt.”

  “I should make you walk back to town.” She turned in disgust and got into the Jeep. She wanted to kick something. Ben got in and looked at her warily. “Let’s go back to Money Creek and talk to Morgan. Maybe we’ll be lucky and get information worth losing a CI over.”

  * * *

  Early the next morning, Ben and Freya stared at each other across the two desks pushed together in their tiny office. They shared temporary quarters at the Timson County Sheriff’s Department, in cooperation with the state police.

  “Should we debrief about last night?” Ben said.

  “We can sum it up in three words—we fucked up.” Freya opened the coffee Ben had brought in from Bean There. He reached into a bag and passed her a bagel and cream cheese.

  “We should have kept a deputy on Jason.” He took a huge bite out of his bagel.

  She sometimes wearied of the Sisyphean task they had before them. For every bit of progress they made there was a problem that slowed it down. She put her boots on top of her desk and bit into her bagel as if it were hardtack, her mood sour.

  “Let’s go to the jail and talk to Morgan again. We didn’t get much out of him last night.” She stuffed the rest of the bagel in her mouth and followed Ben out the door. They walked across the large open room that held desks for deputies to the front of the sheriff’s department. As they entered the hall, Freya saw Joanne Reid talking with a deputy at the reception desk. Her legs were firmly planted, her naturally athletic figure starting to take on body builder proportions. Freya knew her ambition was to be a competitive body builder, and she wasn’t far from it. She’d been dating Jo for a few months, but she didn’t want to talk to her while she was on the job. Now it was too late to escape. Jo turned her head and broke into a hundred-watt smile when she saw her. They’d had plans the night before that Freya canceled because of the raid. It was the third time in a row she’d canceled plans with her. Jo walked across the lobby to intercept them.

  “How’d it go last night?” she said.

  “Sorry I had to cancel dinner,” Freya said. “Can I call you later? We’re on our way to a thing here.”

  Jo’s smile faded. “Sure. I’ll talk to you later.” Ben was amused, as if he were watching kittens play. They left Jo standing in the middle of the room and made their way to the jail entrance and through the door.

  “I don’t know why she puts up with you,” Ben said.

  “Because I’m worth it, of course,” she said, smiling brightly. “And she does what anyone dumb enough to date a cop always fails to do. She practices acceptance. What else can you do?”

  “You can bitch a lot, which has been my experience.”

  “Jo’s not like that.”

  Ben stopped in the jail reception room. “How serious do you think this is with her?”

  Freya looked up at him. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I’d say I simply don’t know. The jury’s still out.”

  They checked in at jail reception and went to talk to Morgan a second time, pushing the rock a little up the mountain one more time.

  Chapter Five

  The previous morning, Clare had poured her entire stash of Valium, Vicodin, and Adderall down the toilet. It had taken two flushes and a few deep breaths, but she was determined to quit. She wanted to be successful and happy and she knew she spent too much time and money on drugs. What was a study aid in college had become a necessity in law school. She was overwhelmed with the work and competitive atmosphere in her first year of school and gladly bought up tablets of speed when one of her classmates offered them to her. She’d been used to the way things were in high school and college, when it was relatively easy to stay at the top of her class. Now everyone around her was very smart and her position among them was unclear.

  Whether she would have naturally adapted to the stresses of a top law school, she’d never know. With the drug she was able to stay in the top ten of her class. There was no incentive to not take them that she could see. A lot of the first-year students did the same and it didn’t feel like she was doing anything wrong. But most of them left the drug behind when they graduated from law school. Clare kept up her relationship with her source until he went out of business and she had to find someone new—Casey. It was business as usual as she started her professional career. Wake up, take a tablet or two, work like a dog, go home and crash. Her life got smaller every day. She occasionally thought of her mother’s sister, Alice, who was always in a fugue state from the tranquilizers she took regularly. That wouldn’t happen to her.

  Her hopeful attitude started crumbling the next day, her first at Nelson & Nelson. It was twenty-four hours since her last pill and she felt shattered. Her body was betraying her—crushing fatigue, extreme anxiety, and growing nausea. If she’d had any drug available she would have taken it. This was not what she’d had in mind by quitting drugs.
It was not the way she wanted to present herself on her first day of work. What if she keeled over in front of her boss? She walked the few blocks from her rented house to the office, hoping the fresh, cold air would make her feel sharp.

  She had no idea what being a lawyer in a small town would be like. After Dearborn, Richards & Pike, she only knew it had to be better than the life she led there. As she walked through the town square she saw the remaining downtown merchants opening their shops, some sweeping the sidewalk in front. They said good morning as she passed. Should she introduce herself? Probably. She’d be seeing them every morning for who knew how long. But she couldn’t bring herself to do it. It was all she could do to get herself through the door of Nelson & Nelson.

  She walked into the law firm’s small reception room, painted a sky blue. Copies of the Wall Street Journal and the Timson County Times were on a coffee table in the center of a waiting area. Behind the desk was a middle-aged woman in a motorized wheelchair. She looked up from her computer and smiled.

  “I’m Clare Lehane. I believe Elizabeth Nelson is expecting me.”

  “Right! You’re our new lawyer. I’m sorry I missed meeting you when you interviewed.” She neatly maneuvered her wheelchair around her desk and stuck out her hand. “I’m Donna, the office manager.”

  Clare took her hand and hoped her own wasn’t trembling. “It’s very nice to meet you,” she managed.

  “I’ve got you set up in your office. Let me show you and I’ll let Elizabeth know you’re here.”

  Just as she moved a throttle on the chair to turn around, a young woman came striding in from the back, carrying a file. She was dressed in a dark gray pantsuit with a crisply ironed Oxford shirt. Her shoulders and arms were straining at the fabric, as if she were a body builder. She stopped in her tracks upon seeing Clare.

  “Oh, good. This is Joanne Reid, the firm’s paralegal.” Donna introduced Clare, who noticed Joanne’s smile looked forced and she didn’t offer to shake hands. This didn’t bode well. It had been Clare’s experience that some paralegals resented the young lawyers they worked with. The lawyers were paid so much more and they often did similar work. She wanted to avoid that kind of tension.

  “Do you work in litigation, Joanne?”

  “Yes. I’m Elizabeth’s paralegal.” She was practically lifting her leg to mark her territory. “And I go by Jo.”

  “Got it. I look forward to working together.” Clare hoped her smile appeared more genuine than Jo’s did.

  Jo tossed a file onto Donna’s desk and returned through the door to the rest of the office, letting it close behind her. “Let’s go through,” Donna said. The door had a lever instead of a knob, placed lower than usual so Donna could reach it, and the door itself had no threshold. Caring people worked there. She followed Donna into a long, wide hallway with offices on both sides. The walls were decorated with Audubon prints of birds and other wildlife, mostly pheasants and ducks. She guessed one or both of the Nelsons were hunters and reminded herself that was normal down here. The first two office doors were closed. Donna stopped at the third and gestured Clare in.

  “This is you. Why don’t you get settled and I’ll find Elizabeth.”

  She continued down the hallway as Clare walked into her new office and dropped her briefcase on the desk. It was a bigger space than she’d had in Chicago, though not as sleek. Old-fashioned oak furniture gave the room a comfortable feel. Small holes dotted one of the walls where a previous occupant had hung something—maybe a painting or photograph or a giant picture of family or friends, something she’d be hard-pressed to come up with herself. Who’d worked at this desk before her? Why had he or she left? She opened the middle drawer and found office supplies. She was moving the stapler to her desktop when she heard a soft knock at her door. Elizabeth Nelson stood in the doorway, a gleaming smile on her face.

  “Welcome,” she said. Clare had the same impression she’d had when she met Elizabeth during her interview—gentle, but extremely confident. If Clare were a murder defendant with her life on the line, she’d want Elizabeth to be her lawyer. She looked like she knew how to get things done.

  Elizabeth walked into her office and sat in the chair in front of her desk. She looked unhurried, so different from Carlton Henning.

  “How did your move go?” she said. “It can be rough in winter.”

  Clare clutched the arms of her chair. She was willing herself past her horrible physical condition and into a conversation with her boss. She couldn’t afford to make a fool of herself.

  “It was easy, actually. I don’t have much stuff, so the truck was only a quarter full.”

  “Are you a minimalist?” Elizabeth said.

  Clare thought of Casey longingly. “I think it’s because I’m young. I haven’t had time to acquire a lot of stuff.”

  “Of course. You’re in the accumulation stage, while I’m throwing things out right and left. You’re in the McClellans’ place out there on Oak Street?”

  Clare wondered how she knew that since she’d not yet filled out her new employee paperwork. Elizabeth was certainly competent, but she didn’t know she was omnipotent. “So, it’s true what they say about small towns, that everyone knows everything?” Clare said, smiling.

  “Not exactly. More so than the city, certainly. I ran into Tom McClellen and he told me he’d rented the house to a new lawyer at my firm.” Elizabeth sat back in her chair, as relaxed as a cat lying in the sunshine.

  “Do you live in that part of town also? Will you see me walking to work every morning?”

  “I’m usually the first one in the office, so that doesn’t seem likely. I do live three streets over from Oak, so we’re neighbors.”

  Clare couldn’t think of any more chitchat, so she stayed quiet. Elizabeth roused herself and stood. “Let me take you around. You’ve met Donna, who keeps everything running smoothly here. It’s a wise idea to cultivate a good relationship with her, not that it’s hard to do. She’s a treasure.”

  “I also met Jo. Is she the firm’s only paralegal?”

  “She is. And I’d say an appreciative attitude with her is the way to go. She makes all our lives much easier.”

  “I’ll take that to heart,” she said. The last thing she wanted was an adversary.

  They walked down the hall to the rear, where she saw a sunny conference room. There were four people in suits standing around a table, drinking coffee. They all turned their heads as Elizabeth and Clare entered the room. “I asked everyone here to introduce Clare at the same time. Thought it would be easier that way.”

  Easier for her, but definitely not for Clare. Her anxiety grew at all the new faces. She shook hands first with Elizabeth’s husband, Hank, the other Nelson. He stood at about six feet four inches and was stocky. He probably played tackle at Money Creek High. His smile was broad in his craggy face. He put his coffee down and took Clare’s hand with both of his. She’d met him during her interview two weeks earlier and been immediately comfortable with him. Elizabeth then introduced her to the firm’s three other associates and announced they’d all get to know Clare better at a party she was holding for her at the Nelson home that Friday night. Clare had to feel better by then. She couldn’t take much scrutiny in her present condition.

  Elizabeth took her into her large office next to the conference room where she settled behind her desk as Clare sat in front of her. The room was a light salmon color and smelled of the coffee brewing on a sideboard.

  “I know starting a new job can be overwhelming. Why don’t we put you to work so you can focus on something?” She reached over to the corner of her mahogany desk and picked up a file. It took two hands, stuffed as it was with a mishmash of papers. “Oleg v. Peterson Agriculture. We’re working this up for trial, which may start in several months. You’ll have to work fast to get up to speed.”

  Clare was uneasy. How could she work? She could barely keep her head up. She’d never withdrawn from drugs. It was far worse than she ever thought it wo
uld be. “What’s it about? I’m eager to get started.”

  “Our client, Peterson Ag, is the corporate farm that maintains several methane gas lagoons on its properties. Oleg, a farm worker, fell into a lagoon and died. That’s the nutshell.” Elizabeth was leaning back in her chair, looking closely at Clare. “It’s important we get a good result in this case.”

  “Isn’t that true for every case?”

  “It is. But Peterson Ag is our largest client. Hank handles all their business matters, and the workers compensation and litigation fall to me. We want to keep them happy.”

  “Pardon my ignorance, but what is a methane gas lagoon? It sounds post-apocalyptic.”

  Elizabeth laughed. “You’re about to practice the kind of law that we often do here, involving farms and agriculture. A methane gas lagoon holds the waste slurry of the livestock on a farm. For corporate farms this can amount to a large network of lagoons that are literally full of shit. The methane gas from the slurry can be deadly.”

  “It sounds like a workers comp case to me.”

  “It is. But as we were investigating his compensation case, we discovered there was a product recall involving the guard railing that failed. Oleg had been standing on a walkway surrounding the lagoon. According to another worker with him, he simply leaned on a gate in the guard rail and it gave way, plunging him into three feet of slurry. Our position is Peterson Ag never received the recall, and if that’s so, and the manufacturer knew the gate was defective, it introduces a punitive damages case against them. Ogden Lagoons makes the lagoons. We’ve brought them into the litigation.”

  “Why didn’t the other guy pull Oleg out?”

  “Not everyone’s a hero. He said he wasn’t willing to go into the slurry and he didn’t seem the least bit embarrassed by it. He ran for help instead, but Oleg was dead before anyone got to him. The autopsy showed he’d hit his head hard in the fall, but that wasn’t what killed him. He was probably knocked out and then suffocated.”