by Marlow Kelly
“What was that look about?” Booley asked. “Are you two in cahoots about something?”
Xavier moved to the reception desk and faced the chief. “Sir, I wanted to get your opinion on the video from the ATM.”
The young officer could certainly think on his feet. He’d been scouring security camera videos, hoping to get a lead on the vandalism that had occurred throughout Hopefalls. They couldn’t very well tell the chief to his face he was lazy, and they couldn’t trust him to cover their backs. Looping him into the investigation was a great way of distracting him and keeping the peace.
“The one at Crawley’s?” Booley’s question was moot. The only bank machine in town was outside Crawley’s general store.
“I’ve been going through the photos to see if the security camera took a picture of the person who plastered it with glue. Also, if you get a chance, can you call the lab in Granite City and see if they have the results from the sample I sent them?” Xavier was on a roll.
The chief’s eyes narrowed. “What sample?”
“Remember when someone set fire to the mayor’s shed?”
Booley nodded.
“I had the State Fire Marshall isolate some of the propellant, and then I sent it off to the lab for analysis.”
“Good thinking. This criminal has got to be stopped. Did I sign off on that lab work?”
Xavier nodded. “You did.”
Dana suppressed a smile. Xavier had probably stuffed the paper under Booley’s nose while he was on the phone, and the chief had signed without looking.
“Do you think the vandalism is connected to Ben’s murder?” Dana needed to consider all the possibilities. Booley wanted it to be Morgan so badly he was sending her to follow him, but what if they were wrong?
The chief walked to his desk, leaving his office door open. “Why do you ask?”
Dana shrugged. “We’re the police. We’re supposed to ask. Ben North was fighting for his land against Third Estate Mining. They are a multimillion-dollar corporation. They could’ve killed him to get his property.”
“Third Estate didn’t kill him. The mayor made it plain that everything’s tied up until they find Ben’s heir. Then there’s probate and death duties and all that crap. This has delayed Third Estate’s timeline.”
“But it hasn’t stopped it?”
“No, not from what the mayor said. Why?”
“There were a lot of people camped at Ben’s gate, who are both for and against. Temper’s get frayed and emotions run high. Things happen.”
“I thought you wanted it to be Morgan, given that he got away with murdering your aunt.”
Dana tensed. Booley was trying to manipulate her emotions. “It doesn’t matter what I want. The facts of the case should lead the investigation, not personal bias. Besides, the charge would be manslaughter, not murder. The accident was a prank that went horribly wrong.”
“How would you know? You weren’t there.” Booley placed his feet on his desk and stretched back in his chair.
Xavier stood against the front counter, his eyes wide, unmoving.
“I’ve read the file. Morgan was upset about blowing his knee. He’d lost his chance of getting a football scholarship. He claimed he went up on to Wind Ridge to think.”
“Then he stole the sign.” Booley crossed his arms, getting comfortable.
“He never admitted to that. Even if he had, there’s nothing to suggest he stole the sign with intent to kill,” Dana reasoned.
Booley sat up straight, placed his feet on the floor and stared at her through the open door. “You’re awfully forgiving for someone who lost a family member.”
“No, I’m not. I’m going to get justice for my family—not revenge. I will get him on Aunt Alice’s death, but I have to be realistic. The charge will probably be manslaughter unless I can prove intent.”
Booley straightened, put his feet on his desk again, crossing them at the ankles. Then he shifted his white cowboy hat so it covered his eyes. “Go and get some rest. You’ve got a long day ahead of you tomorrow.”
Dana released a breath. She’d been dismissed. She had her orders and was expected to obey them without question. Tomorrow she would get up at the crack of dawn and follow Timothy Morgan. And when he admitted his guilt, she would be there to document it.
Chapter Eight
Supervisory Special Agent Finn Callaghan walked at a slow pace as he entered the six-story concrete slab building that housed the FBI field office in Salt Lake City. Ex-Army CID Special Agent Michael Papin and Special Agent Kennedy Morris accompanied him. They were early for their four o’clock meeting. The hour and a half flight from Granite City, Montana had been smooth with no delays. But there was a lot of walking even when traveling through a small airport. Michael limped along, helped by a cane, not saying a word. He’d refused a wheelchair. Finn could see the tension in his friend’s face. Michael’s jaw was clenched, and he winced with every step as beads of perspiration dripped from his black hair.
They had come to Salt Lake City at the insistence of Finn’s superiors. Michael, a computer genius, had gone undercover, without authorization from his superiors at Army CID, when Granite City businessman, Marshall Portman, had accused their friend, David Quinn, of kidnapping. He’d used an alias created for use with his work in the cyber crimes division. Spider was a world-famous hacker who could access any satellite, computer, or street cam. In the end, the situation with David had been resolved, but not before Portman had hit Michael with his car. The left side of his pelvis and his left shoulder had sustained multiple fractures. He was two months into a long-term recovery. It would take three months for his bones to knit; his soft tissue damage would probably take longer.
They made their way through security and rode the elevator up to the fifth floor. The doors pinged open to find Special Agent in Charge Martin Deluca waiting for them. “Special Agent Callaghan.”
Finn shook his superior’s hand.
Deluca, a short, fit man in his early forties, was known for his tireless energy and flashes of intuition that had helped keep an investigation on track on more than one occasion.
In a glance, he seemed to take in Michael’s condition. He dispensed with the pleasantries and shuffled them into an office. Finn held the door for his friend as Kennedy grabbed an armchair from the back of the room and dragged it to Deluca’s desk.
She waved to Michael. “Sit here.”
Michael nodded and then slumped into the chair, winced, and then readjusted his position. “Thanks.”
Deluca sat behind the desk. “I wanted to talk to you about the Granite City corruption case.”
Finn and Kennedy made themselves comfortable in the vinyl-cushioned guest chairs and waited for Deluca to continue.
“I understand you believe Marshall Portman was connected to an organization called the Syndicate.”
Michael nodded. “I heard Portman refer to them.”
“Can you tell me the context and circumstances?”
Michael tried to straighten, grimaced, and then slumped back in his seat. “Portman was looking over my shoulder watching me work. He wanted me to track down Dr. Marie Wilson.”
Deluca’s gaze centered on Michael. “Yes, I understand he wanted to destroy her solar panel.”
“That’s right. Brad Harper came in—”
“Who was Harper?”
Finn forced himself to stay silent. Deluca knew damn well who Harper was. He’d read the file and was well acquainted with the case.
“A hired gun,” Michael answered as he reached into the pocket of his cargo pants and pulled out a bottle of ibuprofen.
“Hired by whom?”
“The Syndicate.” Michael popped two capsules into his mouth and swallowed them without water.
“What makes you think that?”
Michael eased back into his chair, his eyes alert despite his condition. “Portman was angry with Harper, and he said something about him being the Syndicate’s pick for the job, not his
. There was also an email from Lucy Portman to her husband that mentioned the Syndicate. Do you have that?”
“No.” Deluca’s face was blank, giving away nothing.
“No? How can you not have it? I went undercover, got hit by a car, and you’ve lost the evidence I collected.”
Deluca sighed. “Sometime in the last month, someone went to the evidence locker in this building and stole the data files.”
“What about the backup copies?” Finn wasn’t the most computer savvy agent, but even he understood that digital files existed. Michael had emailed copies to Finn and had also transferred the files onto a flash drive. The drive was sealed and held as incorruptible evidence that could be used in court. The material he had sent to Finn was useless as proof because they had not been secured, and any lawyer worth his retainer could claim corruption of evidence because they could have been doctored.
Deluca shook his head. “Gone. We don’t have anything we can use in court.”
“You’re shitting me,” Michael snapped.
“What about Harper? Will he testify about the Syndicate?” Finn said, hoping they had a way to save the case. Harper had been charged with attempted murder but had, as far as Finn knew, refused to name his employers.
“He died in custody two weeks ago. Mr. Papin, you are the only proof that the Syndicate exists.”
“Let me get this straight. The two other people, Harper and Portman, who could confirm the existence of the Syndicate, are both dead, and the evidence I collected is useless,” Michael stated baldly.
His frank assessment of the facts sent chills down Finn’s spine. “What about the corruption of the Granite City-Elkhead Police Department? Where does that trail lead?”
Deluca shook his head. “It leads to Marshall Portman.”
“And he’s dead.” Kennedy put a hand to her mouth.
Deluca leant back in his chair, his eyes narrowed. “Yes, but we might have something there.”
“How? I thought he died of a heart attack.” Michael adjusted his position, shifting his weight to his right side. It seemed awkward but was probably more comfortable than having constant pressure on his broken pelvis.
“We managed to get his body flown back to the US from the Cayman Islands. There was a minute needle mark in his arm. He tested positive for suxamethonium chloride, otherwise known as SUX, a chemical that mimics a heart attack. It is almost impossible to detect unless you specifically look for it. Marshall Portman was murdered.”
Finn sucked in a breath. That made sense. If the Syndicate were real, they wouldn’t want to take the chance that Marshall Portman would betray them.
“My money would be on the wife. We know Lucy was involved in her husband’s activities, and she has taken over Public Domain Energy,” Kennedy said.
Michael cleared his throat. “So you’re saying the Syndicate managed to murder a man in custody, they have someone in the FBI who has access to evidence, and we suspect Lucy Portman is part of the Syndicate?”
Deluca nodded.
“What part of that statement don’t you agree with?” Finn asked Michael.
Michael turned to him, his lips pressed in a thin line. “I agree with all of it, but we are suggesting that a group of rich, powerful businessmen have people in place to override the system which, in theory, means they can control the Department of Justice.”
“What are you getting at?” Deluca asked.
Michael shifted in his seat. “Who knows about this meeting?”
Deluca shrugged. “My assistant. It’s in my calendar.”
Michael gave a long slow blink. “Mark this meeting as cancelled. If anyone asks, I was sick.”
Deluca tilted his head. “Do you really think they know?”
“Yes, they will come after me. The only reason I’m still alive is because I used my hacker legend, Spider. That afforded me a certain amount of anonymity. But this meeting has brought me out into the open.”
“But we’re in the FBI headquarters, it’s a secure building, and our computers work on an independent system.”
“It doesn’t matter because they have someone on the inside.”
Deluca’s face flushed as he loosened his tie. “Damn.”
Finn had heard enough. He turned toward Michael. “You need to hide. You’re in no condition to protect yourself.”
Kennedy stood and paced to the back of the small office. “Finn and I will continue to investigate. We can incorporate the Syndicate into the Granite City public corruption investigation so there’s no paperwork. Perhaps if they think we’re not looking into them, they’ll leave you alone.”
Deluca squared his shoulders. “How can I help?”
Finn rubbed his jaw. “Surveillance on Lucy Portman. She’s our best lead. We know she was involved in her husband’s business affairs, and Marshall was involved with the Syndicate. Maybe she’ll lead us right to them.”
“Do you have men you can trust with this?” Kennedy asked.
Finn stilled, holding his breath. For Kennedy to remind their superior to use only trusted men was impertinent, and most SACs wouldn’t tolerate such brazen insolence, but Deluca was made from a different mold. Finn had worked with him for five years and knew him to be a man who had put his life on the line, working undercover to bring down one of the biggest cartels in the country. He would see it for what it was—a need for assurance.
“Already done. I’ve men in place. If anyone asks, they’re on leave so our mole won’t be able to track them.” He stared at Michael. “Now, Mr. Papin, the only remaining question is, what shall we do with you?”
Finn answered. “Don’t worry, I have a friend who can hide him so he’ll be completely under the radar.”
“I need to know how to get in touch in case anything happens to you or Agent Morris,” Deluca said.
Finn looked to Michael for approval.
Using his cane, Michael levered himself to his feet. “You need to remember this information. Don’t write it down anywhere.”
“You have my word.”
Michael limped toward the door. “Go to the town of Hopefalls in Northwestern Montana. Look for a man by the name of Timothy Morgan. He’s an ex-Ranger who owns a ranch west of town.”
“Timothy Morgan in Hopefalls, Montana—got it.”
Chapter Nine
Dana parked in the carport at the side of the house and entered through the kitchen. She’d had the fifty-year-old bungalow inspected before she’d moved in. Everything was in working order, although the inside was an assault on the senses. Avocado green carpet covered the main floor, and dark wood paneling obscured the interior walls. She kept promising herself she would spend one of her days off redecorating, but so far it hadn’t happened, mainly because she couldn’t decide on colors or style. Plus, she had no idea how to paint a wall or pull up a carpet. Those things had never interested her.
Her son came out of his bedroom as she entered the house. “Mom?”
“Hi.”
He’d just finished showering. His still-wet, blue hair was a shade darker than its normal vibrant hue. His brow wrinkled. “Is Tim under arrest?”
Dana walked to the kitchen and opened the fridge. “No.” She buried her lingering disappointment. They didn’t have enough for an arrest warrant, and there was no way she would manipulate or manufacture evidence.
Logan followed and sat at the small white kitchen table. “There’s chicken casserole left over from yesterday.”
She lifted the lid on a plastic container and sniffed, inhaling the scent of mushroom, onion, and herbs. It smelled good, but she craved a big plate of fries. Nothing soothed her like a pile of grease and salt.
“Do you think he killed that North guy?” He rubbed the hem of his T-shirt, something he only did when he was nervous or uncomfortable.
She placed the leftover casserole in the microwave. “I don’t know.”
“Your boss, Booley, thinks he did it.”
“It isn’t his case. A detective from the G
ranite City-Elkhead County Police Department is the lead.”
Logan headed for his room. “That’s good. Booley shouldn’t have hit him. He wasn’t resisting arrest.” He raised his voice so she could still hear him. “He was just surprised.”
She strolled to his room and propped her shoulder against the doorjamb, watching him as he sharpened a pencil. The shavings fell neatly into his wastebasket. Her son broke stereotypes. He didn’t like junk food, and his room was always tidy. His penchant for neatness was a pain in the butt because he was constantly nagging her to clean up her mess. It was a role reversal, one that fueled her hope he would grow into a responsible adult.
She loved him with all her heart and soul, but knew he wasn’t perfect. He had gotten in with a bad group of kids in Spokane and had been arrested for shoplifting. The cop who caught him was a friend who had investigated thoroughly. At first, she hadn’t wanted to hear the details of Logan’s activities, but in the end, she couldn’t hide from the truth. Logan had been stealing to buy marijuana. Pot use in Washington State was only legal for persons over the age of twenty-one, not fifteen year olds who were skipping school. And the fact he’d been stealing to support his drug habit was a warning she couldn’t ignore. She’d seen it all before when she had dated his father in high school. Oliver had been thoroughly disreputable and self-involved. It wasn’t until he dumped her after she became pregnant that she had seen through the handsome face and fake charm.
The move to Hopefalls had been hard on Logan, but she firmly believed his life would have been a lot harder if they’d stayed in Spokane. Maybe things would have been better for him if he’d had a father, but she couldn’t change her past no more than she could decide his future.
A pad of paper was open on the bed. He was working on a charcoal sketch of a bear. There was another drawing lying on the floor. It was of Morgan, his arm outstretched with a can of pepper spray in his hand.
“Tough day.” She nodded to the pictures, hoping he would talk about what happened without her having to prod him.
“Yeah.” He sat on the bed, not looking at her.
