by Anne Hagan
“Well, yes.”
“He’s not waiting out there to see me is he? He came here trying to see me 20 some years ago. I didn’t want him to see me in here in control of the man then and I don’t want him to see me in here now.”
“No Mr. McClarnan; Ryan isn’t waiting to see you.”
“He alive?”
“Yes.”
“Then the only reason you’re here is because he’s in some kind of trouble. I don’t have a damn clue why you would think you should come and see me about that!”
We were still standing. “Would you please take a seat for a few minutes and I’ll do my best to explain it?”
McClarnan muttered, “I don’t know why I bother,” as he shuffled in his prison slippers toward the chair opposite me. His escort took up a position near the door.
I could see I had my work cut out for me. Forty years in prison hadn’t softened McClarnan’s still massive disdain for law enforcement. He probably wasn’t going to be inclined to help me at all to ferret out his son but I had to try. I threw offering him the chance at his own freedom using DNA evidence out the window. He definitely wasn’t the carrot and stick type.
“Sir, the reason...”
“Don’t you go callin’ me sir. You don’t give a damn about being polite to me. We both know you want something. You just talk and if I want to tell you what you want to know, I’ll tell you.
“Fair enough.” I launched into my story, “A little over a week ago an oil field worker reported to his employer that he suspected moonshine was being made on heavily forested property that belonged to him. I was called to investigate. The worker has since been murdered but, before he died, he implicated your son as his killer.”
Billy Bob interrupted. “My boy is no more of a killer than I am. I was framed all those years ago and now you’re framing him too! I’ve already heard enough!” He stood up. The guard came .forward.
I stood too. “Sit down Mr. McClarnan! We’re not finished yet!”
Shocked, Billy Bob sat.
“A dying man directly implicated your son in his death.” That wasn’t the complete truth but I was the only one on earth who knew that. “Since that time, we’ve received evidence that your son is, in fact, manufacturing and distributing moonshine in the area where the murder victim thought that he was. The victim, incidentally, was a toddler when you were sent up. He was just a year or two older than your son. He doesn’t know anything about you and he has no ties to the past.”
McClarnan was defiant. “Go on.”
“We also have evidence that your son has an underground marijuana growing operation and, quite possibly, an operation either manufacturing or importing other illegal drugs. We’re still working on that part but we do have evidence that drugs and toxins supplied by Ryan were responsible for the death of another man and the attempted murder of a woman.” Again, I was playing a little loose with the concrete facts but I could see that I was getting through.
“What do you want me to do about all of this? I haven’t seen or spoken to the boy in more than 40 years. He was an infant when his grandfather sent him away; not even a year old.”
“We can’t get to Ryan, Mr. McClarnan. He’s hiding out in those woods you used to run in all those years ago. We need to find him. Surely you can understand that he needs to answer to the murder charge?”
“Let the boy be! If he really did do this, and you probably can’t prove it, then I’m already paying for his crime. I didn’t kill that ATF agent back then. If Ryan killed that oil man now, then the McClarnan’s are all squared up with the man.”
I shook my head, “It just doesn’t work that way. Look, Ryan may be innocent. The only way to find out is to let the system work.”
“Fuck the system! It didn’t do shit for me!”
“Times have changed Billy. We have DNA evidence capabilities now that we didn’t have when you were convicted in 1975. We have the killer’s DNA. If it’s not a match with Ryan’s, he’ll be exonerated.”
“Guys have gotten out of here because DNA cleared them. There was evidence kept from my case. Could they get DNA from that?”
“It depends on what they have and the condition that it’s in after 40 years.”
“But it is possible?”
“Yes.”
“And so the deal is, if I tell you how to find my son, you’ll help me?”
“Well it’s possible that I can help you, yes, but I didn’t come here to cut you a deal.”
“I’m just trying to get this straight; if I sell my boy up the river I get the chance to get out of here?”
“Mr. McClarnan, if you don’t help us to find Ryan, we’ll still find him. It’s only a matter of time.”
Billy Bob looked down at the table and stared at it for several long seconds. When he finally looked up he looked at the guard, “I need to stand and stretch my legs for a minute boss.” The guard nodded. McClarnan got up and backed away from the table and then stretched himself. He paced the floor for a couple of minutes and then he finally sat back down.
“You weren’t even alive in 1975, were you?”
“No, I wasn’t.”
“It was the height of the ‘shine season. Me and my partner, we were ‘running day and night with our little still. No one had heard of no kind of ‘ATF’ back then. They were new. The only law we worried about was the Sheriff...like you...only back then, only men could be Sheriff and that guy was a worthless piece of shit. We paid him off in ‘shine.”
He paused but I just waited for him to continue. I was sensing a breakthrough and I didn’t want to lose him.
“I was in the woods workin’ when they say that agent was killed. I didn’t know nothin’ bout nothin’ till I come out of the woods and all kinds of hell broke loose. That old Sheriff I’d been payin’ off for the past few years arrested me and turned me over to the feds. I wouldn’t rat out my partner so I had no alibi. I was railroaded through a so called trial and sent to the Ohio Pen. When that closed, they moved me around for a while and then I landed here.”
“Brietland wanted me gone. He probably tipped ATF and then set the agent what come out up. He wasn’t above arranging a murder to get what he wanted. Hell, he was rich enough to pay off every cop, judge and juror for miles around. I didn’t have a prayer. I’m lucky I didn’t get the chair. Sometimes though I think that might have been better than life inside...”
“I shouldn’t be here and Brietland, if the old bastard is still alive, should have to pay!”
“He’s alive Mr. McClarnan and I can push to have your case reopened but I need a little help. Ryan needs to be his own man and face up to the murder charge against him.”
He was quiet for several long minutes. Finally, he said simply, “What do you need from me?”
“Can you tell me how to find your old cabin?”
“You can’t possibly be serious. That cabin is long gone.”
“Did Brietland have it removed?”
“Brietland? Hell no! I burned it down myself so he couldn’t have it. After he took my son and he sent Callie away, there wasn’t any point to leaving anything else around that he could take.”
I sighed. “That leaves me right back at square one then.”
“Not so fast on your part now Sheriff. I burned the cabin but I bet I know where Ryan is.”
“How do you know?”
“You said he has an underground grow operation right?”
“Yes.”
“That means that he’s found my secret moonshine storage vault and, by the sounds of it, he’s expanded it quite a bit.”
He had my full attention, “Vault?”
“Yes, I dug it from under the cabin. It joined a natural tunnel that led to a cave that was accessed just across a run off of Buffalo Fork from a dirt road. I reinforced the tunnel and we used it to move ‘shine to and from the vault. Burning the cabin down didn’t do anything to the vault or to the tunnel. He’s probably holed up in the vault.”
“Coul
d the cave and tunnel be what’s housing the growing operation?”
“I doubt it. The mouth of the cave was pretty good sized but I filled it in over a little time and let it grow over to hide the entrance. Just past the mouth and all the way up to the vault was narrow and dark, barely wide enough for a man to pass through. It was really just a tunnel then. If he’s using any of that, he’s expanded it a lot.”
Chapter 33 – Coon Ridge
Early Saturday afternoon, June 7th, 2014
I checked out of Big Sandy and headed home. I had a lot to think about and four hours of driving ahead of me to do it.
Things had changed a lot since Billy Bob was running around on the land that now belonged to the Quinns. The dirt road he remembered was likely an access road back then that’s now either overgrown or a part of a State Route or county road.
There are a few creek runs in the Buffalo Fork area but most of those are pretty small creeks these days. They tend to dry up in the heat of summer. On the other hand, if Ryan McClarnan was keeping his still site close to the vault or the growing operations, then some of the runs might have enough of a flow to be his fresh water supply from springtime when the trees started to leaf to hide his still operations into July when they started to dry up. You can’t make moonshine without fresh water. You can’t grow marijuana without water for that matter either.
As I drove, I continued to think about the area. I remembered that the little clearing where I’d seen the beehives was east of the area where Jones dropped McClarnan off and maybe a mile north of Boggs Creek. Boggs was a decently flowing creek most of the year that ran through Quinn land and into Coon Ridge, the northernmost area of the Blue Rock State Forest.
The more I thought about it, the more I was convinced that everything McClarnan was involved in had to be in the Coon Ridge area. The moonshine coming from his still had to be transported from somewhere. Westcrest Road was close enough to the hive site and to the creek that if a still was in the area, Ryan and crew weren’t hauling product far through the forest to a drop off point or a waiting vehicle. The only question was, what could Dallas Granger have seen from his vantage points going out to service the wells?
I called Shane Harding. He told me that McClarnan hadn’t appeared at the peddlers market and I told what I’d learned from Billy Bob. We concluded together that we’d have to gather all of the available intel and the Special Response Team and send them into the Coon Ridge area on Monday to root him out.
It was mid-afternoon by the time I drove back into Morelville. It was so nice out, I decided I’d see if Dana wanted to go for a drive up to Dillon Lake or over to Senecaville Lake. We could get some dinner and maybe stay somewhere to make an evening of it. Neither of us had to be anywhere else until Monday.
I parked my duty SUV beside her car. We’d have to take it on our drive if she wanted to go. My new truck was parked at the station where I’d left it Friday evening since I’d planned to take my official vehicle down to Big Sandy and back.
I let myself into the house through the side door like I always do. Inside, it was quiet. Kris was apparently still gone. I called out, “Dana?” but there was no response. I walked to the sliding door and looked out on the deck. She wasn’t out there. Maybe she’s in the bathroom...
I went into the den. The bed was unmade but Dana wasn’t in it and the bathroom was empty; the door standing open. A sense of foreboding hit me hard when I realized that her crutches were leaning within arm’s reach of the shower stall. Her car was here and her crutches were here but she wasn’t.
My cops’ intuition was telling me something was very wrong while my brain was trying to tell me that everything was probably fine. Nausea welled up from my stomach as I tried to call her cell phone. There was no response. I called it again. This time, someone took the call but said nothing. My fear bubbled over. Another attempt to call her phone rolled right to her voicemail. Whoever had half answered her cell before had turned it off so that it couldn’t be tracked.
I didn’t need to track it. I knew who had Dana and why. I just needed to get there before it was too late.
###
It had taken nearly three hours to get to the station, contact and assemble the SRT team and brief them, arrange ground support from my own patrol units and to arrange air and ground support from BCI. I prayed during all of that time that Dana was still alive and unharmed.
Shane had come in too. He wasn’t part of the SRT but he would ride with me and we’d go in behind them once they rooted out McClarnan’s hiding place. When I called him, I told him what my real relationship to Dana was. He’d come in for moral support. He was the only one on the force besides Holly that knew the whole story.
It was nearly 6:00 PM by the time everyone rolled toward Blue Rock. We had a few hours of daylight left.
BCI investigators hit the home of Levi Jones straight away while SRT and another team of BCI agents took up positions around Coon Ridge and prepared to stage a sweeping ground search. No one was at home at the Jones residence. All indications were that he’d been there but left in haste because he’d left his truck there, the house wide open and drugs and drug paraphernalia everywhere but he was nowhere to be found. I suspected he’d eventually turn up wherever we found McClarnan.
They have to know that this isn’t going to end well for them...I just hope it doesn’t end badly for Dana...
The SRT and BCI investigators on the ground were working toward the center of the target area at Coon Ridge from all directions. Those going overland from the open land on the Quinn side first took the time to evacuate both Quinn families. After they’d got wind of the warning from Ethan Funk that McClarnan had eyes along the wood line, they didn’t want to take a chance on anyone from either family getting hurt.
The Quinn side team had air support to watch for wood line snipers. My gut told me McClarnan didn’t have any men out there willing to pull a trigger for him against another human aside from maybe Levi Jones. His dealers weren’t separatists like him or even gang bangers like in the bigger cities. They were guys looking to make a buck or two to buy beer and chew and maybe to put a few dollars in the collection plate on Sunday. They’d kill for meat or to protect their families but not because someone told them to just to protect himself.
Shane and I were sitting in my county SUV in a staging area off of Coon Ridge Road. The teams were methodically working through the area looking for any outcropping that could contain the mostly concealed mouth of the cave. Finding that would be far easier than finding the entrance to the vault where the men were probably holed up with Dana. Since that was under the original cabin before Billy Bob burned it down, it would be flat to the ground and very easy to conceal.
In theory it would be easier. Reality is that a huge team has been out here for 30 minutes and no one has reported back to the mission commanders from SRT and BCI about finding a thing yet...
I looked at Shane. He was listening to ever blip of the radios the two commanders had. He felt my eyes on him and he turned to look at me.
“Where’s your head at right now Sheriff?”
“Shane, what if I’m completely wrong about the area? What if this vault is miles from here?”
“It’s not. It’s here because this is the only area that makes logical sense. Keep your head up. They’re going to find it.”
“What if they find it too late?”
The SRT commander’s radio crackled to life. “Tracker found a still chief.”
The team chief responded, “Comb the area.”
“Roger, out.”
My eyes grew wide, “They found his still!”
“See! Keep the faith. These guys are good. You picked a couple of the SRT folks yourself over the past year. You know what they can do.”
“Tracker’s getting a gold medal if he sniffs out the cave or vault.”
Seth “Tracker” Hanes was one of my deputies. My predecessor, Sheriff Carter, had actually convinced him to join the SRT team. He’d honed hi
s skills hunting over a lifetime and he was more talented than most bloodhounds although a pair of those and a drug sniffing dog were also in the mix tonight.
We waited several more minutes in silence, just listening, but no more reports were immediately forthcoming.
“Let’s say they find the mouth of the cave Shane; then what? They could be walking into an ambush. This is a no win situation.”
Shane just shook his head. He probably didn’t know what to say to me. I sank into despair. I didn’t want to lose Dana and I didn’t want to lose any of the men out there either.
The minutes stretched into an hour without us hearing anything else at all. The sun was starting to sink below the horizon. In another hour, we’d be faced with total darkness and a much more dangerous situation for the search teams.
I stepped out of the vehicle to stretch. While I walked a little to work the kinks out I caught site of two men hightailing it up the road together with a bloodhound. They were from the BCI team. Both team chiefs stepped out to greet them.
One man started talking, “Red tracked the scent of Levi Jones to a dead stop. He was alerting on the spot, so I pulled him out. We think we’ve got the entry to the vault.”
“Can you get in?” I asked.
“No Sheriff. It’s too risky. We’re not sure how close to the entry they are. If they’re close they’ve heard Red and they’ll be waiting for us. Maybe knowing we’re up there though will flush them the other way and out of the cave.”
I bristled, “They haven’t found the cave entrance yet.” I eyeballed the two men.
“They will. Either way they try to come out, we’ll nail them Sheriff.”
The men loaded the dog into his kennel, checked their equipment and then went back the way they came.
About 20 minutes passed after the two BCI men left to go back to their colleagues at the vault entrance before a voice broke the silence over the radio. “We’ve got the cave mouth chief.”
“Oh my God!” I was shaking.
The voice over the radio gave the coordinates.
The two commanders mounted up in their shared vehicle. We followed behind them. We’d all get as close as we could by four wheel drive truck and then walk the rest of the way in.
