The Morelville Mysteries Collection

by Anne Hagan

  “That I don’t know but, frankly, it wouldn’t surprise me and that’s why I mentioned him. He sure wasn’t the guy that was recommended to me. There was a whole lot of attitude in him and no remorse.”

  “Who recommended him?”

  “One of my guys that came up with me from my hands on, boots on the ground days. I trust him. Levi’s the problem child of another of his family members, it would appear. I think he was just trying to help out and set the kid on a better path. He actually had mechanical training so I gave it a go. He may well be putting that training to use to do something that’s well on the other side of legal.”

  “I’ll need Levi’s information and I’ll need contact information for Dallas Granger so I can talk to him myself.”

  “No problem.”

  ###

  Once I left Quinn’s place, I dialed the number his assistant had given me for Granger. He answered right away and informed me that he was actually done with his morning rounds and just minutes from his home in Zanesville where he was going to grab some lunch. He figured now was as good a time for us to talk as any so I was headed his way, back into the city. So much for having lunch with Dana.

  Granger’s house was near the convergence of West Muskingum and Muskingum in downtown Zanesville. I crossed over our famed ‘Y’ bridge and then found his home pretty quickly.

  His truck was in the driveway with his quad for getting to less accessible wells and storage tank units loaded in the bed. He probably didn’t bother to take it out and put it away during the work week.

  The front door was open allowing me a view into the house as I knocked on the screen door. No one came to the door and I heard no sounds from within the house. I called out for Granger but no one responded. I tried the screen door. It was unlatched. I poked my head in and called out again. There was still no response.

  I didn’t suspect any sort of foul play so, not wanting to enter the man’s home uninvited, I decided to see if he might be in the back yard, perhaps firing up the grill to make his lunch or maybe just sitting back there in the sun to eat.

  I stepped off the porch and moved along the front of the house to the corner and called out again. Nothing. I walked down along the side toward the back corner of the house. As I approached it, I heard a faint rasping noise that stood out above the sounds of traffic on the “Y” bridge running overhead nearby. The sound made the hairs on the back of my neck prickle.

  At the corner, I drew out my service weapon. I took a quick peek around the clapboard edge and sucked in a heavy breath. A man in Carhartts that I was reasonably sure was the Dallas Granger I knew but hadn’t seen in quite a while was lying in his backyard in a sticky pool of his own blood. His face was a nearly lifeless shade of pale pastiness but his eyes fluttered as he stared up at the blue of the sky.

  I scanned the area quickly, looking for any sign of further danger but I saw no movement. His assailant couldn’t have been gone long. I tightened my grip on the pistol and hurried to Granger’s side to assess his injuries. Blood drenched the front of his tan work shirt as it poured from the three puncture wounds that I could see. Judging by the volume of blood seeping out from underneath him, I figured there were probably other wounds that I couldn’t see. I pulled out my cell phone and called 911 to order back up and an ambulance.

  My heart sank as I took full measure of the damage. There was little that I could do but I attempted to put direct pressure on the three wounds I could see to try and stem the flow of the bleeding until the EMTs got to us.

  “Dallas, it’s Sheriff Crane. Can you hear me?”

  Granger’s face was turning a ghostly gray color. I knew death was close at hand.

  “Please hang on! The ambulance is on the way.” I could hear sirens screaming just a short way off.

  His lips moved slightly. I heard a soft gurgling sound as he tried to speak. I leaned closer, trying to make out the words.

  “He won’t quit,” he rasped out.

  “Who won’t quit?”

  “McClarnan,” he said. “Ryan McClarnan won’t quit.

  “Did Ryan McClarnan do this to you?”

  He clasped his hand weakly around my wrist. “You can’t run far enough from him,” he rasped.

  “I’m not going to run from him at all....”

  His grasp fell away. He gasped one last, shaking breath and then expired before my eyes.

  I rose to my feet and looked all around without really seeing. “You can’t run far enough from him...” I won’t be running at all Dallas. I’m going to find him and bring him down.

  ###

  “Mel, baby, you look exhausted.”

  Dana was a sight for sore eyes and I felt bad that I’d brought my day home with me and couldn’t devote the evening to her. Still, it beat the alternative; spending Friday evening at the station. “Hon, I’ll be honest; I’ve had a day from hell. I’m all but wiped out and I still have work to do.” I sucked in a heavy breath. “I’m going to need to use my den for a little bit, if you don’t mind?”

  “Of course. I’ll just go and sit out on the deck and stay out of your way.”

  “What I’d love is for you to keep me company...if you want to, that is?” She tipped her head and looked at me with a quizzical expression.

  “Actually, to be honest, I really could use your help.” I was pleading shamelessly but I missed her and I also needed someone who gets what I do for a living to bounce things off of.

  Dana lit up. “Have you eaten? Why don’t we get you something to eat and then we can get right on whatever you need.”

  “That sounds good and it sounds like you might be missing working a little bit.” I was ribbing her because I knew she was itching to get back to doing something, anything that was more productive than planning meals for the Cranes.

  “Just a little!”

  “So, why don’t you start at the beginning and tell me what’s going on.”

  “That’s just it, I don’t even know where to start!” I thumped my forehead down on my desk for emphasis.

  “Is it really that bad?”

  Dana grimaced when I looked back up and she saw the look on my face.

  “Let’s just say I’m reconsidering my decision to actually run for Sheriff. I’m thinking I should let that young punk come in and take over. He has no idea what he’s in for!

  “Wow! It must have been a really bad day!”

  I spent the 15 minutes filling Dana in on my two murder investigations that might be tied together but might not be, on wrecked cruisers, on moonshiners, on the visit to Aiden Quinn today, about my inability to find Ryan McClarnan and more while she just listened silently and took it all in.

  When I was finished, she asked, “Why would they kill Dallas Granger? Was what he might have seen really worth murder?

  “I don’t know. Killing him doesn’t send a message to anyone that I’m aware of, so he had to have known something or he had to have possessed something of value to them.”

  “What’s so valuable that it’s worth killing him for?”

  “I don’t know that either. It has to be something big or something that would bring damage to more than one person.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  “Because before he was killed there was the death of Ben Tracy that seems to point back to the same person and now this.”

  “Yes but this one appears to be done by a different hand and, obviously since it’s a stabbing and not a poisoning, it’s much messier than the first. The first was a planned, slow death. This was something totally spur of the moment with a very different M.O.”

  I shrugged. “It still could be the same killer. Maybe Granger just pissed McClarnan off one too many times or got too close too recently as I was being called in to investigate. If that’s what happened, McClarnan had to act fast. What I really think is that there’s a whole operation out there that’s running well on the other side of legal. Maybe Tracy knew about at least some part of it because he was an Ecstasy consum
er. Dallas Granger on the other hand, is a local oil man. He contracts himself out to tap new wells and to service wells for a living...”

  Dana interrupted, “Oil?”

  “Yes, oil. There are drilling wells all over the southeastern part of the state. Do you mean to tell me that you haven’t seen the pump jacks everywhere?”

  Dana shrugged. “I guess I just didn’t think about it.”

  Well, these hills are rich in oil in pockets. A lot of the land out here is farmland or wilderness but, either way, large swaths of it are owned by a few families that have gotten rich off of oil. Granger probably stumbled across something somewhere while he was out servicing Quinn’s wells that McClarnan and his buddies thought was well hidden.”

  Dana shook her head. “I guess I’m really stuck on this whole oil thing. Oil, in Ohio?”

  Now I shook my head. “Really Dana? Yes, Ohio! Don’t you remember that it was first found in Western Pennsylvania? Why would it not be in Eastern Ohio? And, frankly, don’t you ever watch television?”

  “What does that have to do with it?”

  “Haven’t you seen the show, ‘Backyard Oil’ about oil families in Kentucky? Same difference.”

  “Interesting...Can’t say that I have!” She rolled her eyes at me like Beth did earlier.

  “Well look, whenever land is up for auction around here, it usually comes down to a bidding war between the Amish who want it for farming and the oil men who want it for drilling if they think it has production well potential. There’s a lot of money at stake and they take it really seriously.”

  “Maybe this is somehow about the oil then and not what we think it’s about?”

  I pondered that for a second then shook my head. “No. It can’t be. This is about moonshine or meth or some other such drug and alcohol dealings or something else like that. Look, the oil business is very heavily regulated and there’s a lot of reporting that’s on a constant cycle. Someone can’t just go onto another person’s land and drill for new oil or steal oil that’s already being pumped and sell it on any sort of a black market... not in this country, anyway.”

  “So what do you think happened?”

  “Well, what criminals like Ryan McClarnan do is squat on land that belongs to the oil families that the family doesn’t use at all other than for drilling and they do illicit things under the cover of private property. There are laws about how close together these drilling rigs can be. Some of these oil families own thousands of acres of farmland and wilderness. They space new wells as close as is legal by cutting roads through and drilling wherever there’s potential but, once a well is drilled, especially in a forested area, only the guys that service them or haul the oil from the holding tanks if they’re too remote to pipe it somewhere ever go out to them; guys like Dallas Granger. I think that in the process of doing his job, or because he got far too curious for his own safety, Granger ran across whatever they were trying to hide, something more than he actually let on to Aiden Quinn even, and he was killed for his trouble.”

  Just after 9:00 PM I was nearly done with the paperwork I’d brought home and Dana was starting to nod off. She hadn’t been able to offer much insight into such weak cases but it had been nice to have a sounding board to vent my frustrations to, if nothing else. I’d never been able to vent about the trials of my job to Kris or to my parents. They just didn’t understand.

  I closed my laptop down and then I moved around the desk toward my groggy girlfriend. “Dana, honey, let’s get you ready for bed.”

  “Kay,” was her only reply. She was sitting, reclined on top of the sofa bed with her back against the couch back. She was wearing light sweatpants and a tee shirt.

  “Are you going to sleep like that or do you want pajamas?”

  “Hmm?” She looked up at me but it didn’t appear she was really seeing me.

  I leaned down so we were face to face and I asked her again. In response, she began to take off the tee shirt. The door was partially open so I moved around the end of the bed to close it so she could change. I rummaged in the closet for something resembling bed clothes.

  When I turned back around, I realized Dana had scooted to the far edge of the bed and removed her bra. She was attempting to push herself up to stand using the bed and sofa arm because her crutches were just out of her reach.

  Without thinking, I rushed around the bed to assist her. As I caught her arms and helped her up, my gaze fell upon her breasts. I felt instant heat in my groin. I wanted badly to kiss her, to hold her, to do so much more with her. Memories of our first night together coursed through my brain.

  Dana, tired and trying to balance on her good leg, was oblivious to what I was feeling. I shook myself in an effort to perish the wanton thoughts that were surging through me. In return, I got a slightly more awake girlfriend wearing nothing but sweatpants and an odd expression.

  I smiled and, still holding on to her with one hand, I began to loop the nightshirt I’d found over her head with the other. I managed to tame my libido enough to finish helping her to change and then to get into bed without ravaging her. I bussed her lips with an almost chaste kiss goodnight and then I headed out of her room in search of a very cold shower.

  Chapter 14 – Eye of the Survivor

  Saturday, May 31st, 2014

  There was a “Closed” sign on the door of The Hive. “Looks like the restaurant staff is going to the funeral.” Joe Treadway drove his own vehicle past the cafe that had been established by Ben Tracy. Detective Shane Harding nodded silently as he sat in the passenger seat studying the mug shot photos of Ryan McClarnan and the BMV photo of Manuel ‘Manny’ Rojas.

  Treadway pulled the vehicle into a facing parking slot in a lot south of the Delong Funeral Home. The two men settled in to watch the mourners arriving at the front entrance to pay their respects.

  There weren’t many arriving for the early portion of the viewing hour. Restless, Harding set his binoculars down and started digging through his coat pockets for gum. He almost missed checking out a vehicle that came south down the street toward them before turning East on 5th. He snatched up the spy glasses as the Silver Mercedes SUV pulled to the curb on 5th, just after it turned the corner. Manny got out of the passenger side and crossed the street walking back toward the funeral home. The SUV driver pulled back out and continued a little way down 5th before turning the high end truck into a church parking lot.

  He got out and walked back toward the funeral home himself. Neither man recognized him.

  “Odd that he didn’t park in Delong’s lot. There’s plenty of space there.” Treadway looked at Harding.

  “It’s even odder that they didn’t just park and go in together. I got the tag number when he pulled over. I’m going to call it in before we go in there.” He took his duty cell out and called dispatch.

  After just a minute or so, he turned to Treadway and asked, “Does the name Esteban Perez mean anything to you?”

  Treadway shook his head. “No. It sure doesn’t.”

  Harding wrote the name and address information down next to the plate number and thanked the dispatcher. “It’s almost time for the service. We should probably get in there Joe and see what’s going on.”

  The two men jaywalked across the deserted downtown streets and into the funeral home. They quietly stepped into the back of the viewing parlor and took seats on the back row, away from each other.

  Treadway noted that Manny Rojas was seated with some younger people off to the left side of the room, near the front. He assumed them to be some of the other employees of the Hive. Esteban Perez, meanwhile, was standing at the casket, presumably saying his last goodbyes to Ben Tracy. Joe watched as he then took a seat more to the right, just behind the front row where some women who were in the receiving line and so likely Ben’s family members were sitting. Soon, Liberty Tracy took the empty seat right in front of him. She didn’t turn to look at him even as he leaned forward and whispered something to her. The deputy turned and looked at Rojas.
He was staring intently at Perez from the other side of the room.

  Joe looked toward Harding. Shane pursed his lips and nodded to Joe almost imperceptibly. He too knew something just wasn’t quite right. Once the service started, Shane signaled to Joe and the two men crept out quietly to resume their watching post.

  Their vigilance was rewarded within the hour when Manny Rojas left the funeral home first and headed for the church lot where Perez had parked the SUV they’d arrived in. He was followed a few minutes later by Perez himself who also headed for the church lot. Within a couple of more minutes the men watched as the vehicle pulled out of the lot and turned to go further east up 5th street.

  Treadway looked at Harding, “Should I follow them?”

  “Yeah, just hang back. Let’s see where they go.”

  “That’s a Mercedes, ain’t it? Pretty damn nice vehicle for this area.” Joe scratched his head.

  “You aren’t kidding. Bet it’s at least a hundred grand. Not many of them running around here, you’re right.”

  After driving about ten minutes, the SUV pulled left into the driveway of a small Craftsman style home. Joe pulled to the side of the street. The two men were a little far away and at the wrong angle for them to see anything very clearly, even with the binoculars. They waited silently.

  Several minutes later, Manny Rojas exited the vehicle again. He walked around the front end, onto the porch of the small home and inside. Perez reversed out of the driveway and drove away.

  Joe crept forward toward the house Rojas had entered. Shane got his phone again and called the address in. The home was owned by Rojas.

  “Now what?” Joe questioned Shane.

  “Let’s head to the station. We have a lot to digest. He started ticking things off on his fingers, “Rojas with Perez but not showing that they were together. Perez getting buddy, buddy with the widow. No sign of McClarnan which, despite the info we got yesterday, leads me to believe he’s a red herring thrown up by Rojas in this case...What else?”

  Joe shrugged. “Don’t know what all the Sheriff’s got but she did tell me that she has a suspicion that Rojas was the drug connection for Tracy.”