by Alex Harris
Chapter 11
Oriole, Joe and Fred convened in the CID conference room to go over basics without going into detail due to the belief there might be a microphone and recorder in the room. At lunch they had agreed not to discuss the project at the office and to meet up at staggered intervals at the ranch, knowing it was probably the only really safe place in the county. Oriole and Marlowe regularly swept the house , bunk house, and office for listening devices after a bad experience of Marlowe’s several years back where an overzealous soon-to-be ex-husband of a client had bugged the house and Marlowe’s office.
Oriole had called Summer to say company was coming and a bag of groceries compliments of the guys would be arriving shortly, and to put aside the chili for another night. Summer and Chalcey finished chores and set the table for two extra, waiting for word on exactly what they were going to have for supper.
“Summer, it’s always so good to see you. How have you been? Whipping that little girl in shape?” Joe affectionately greeted the family matriarch.
“Joe, Oriole just said company. She wouldn’t say who. You’re not company, you’re family. Have been ever since that Mexican witch.” Summer hugged Joe standing toe to toe and seeing eye to eye.
“Do you think we can turn your family room into a war room later? We need privacy, and Oriole said it’d beOK. You know DEA will pay for the use and for the groceries.” Joe could only assume Oriole had not seen the necessity of informing her grandmother of the purpose of his visit.
“The government isn’t about to pay, any money will come from you directly. I know that. Stay as long as you need, eat as much as you want, forget the reimbursement, we’d have to fill out form this and form that and wait two years to be turned down.” Summer chuckled at the reality of dealing with a bureaucracy and knowing the goodness of Joe’s intentions.
“So what’s in this bag of goodies for supper?” Summer posed.
“Fred said get something unusual, that y’all don’t usually have, so I picked up a trout, salad makings and fresh asparagus. He said he’d get the barbeque going and fix it.” Joe started unloading the groceries and Summer and Oriole started putting together supper.
After the last scrap of trout was gone, dishes put in the dishwasher, the three officers adjourned to the family room, while Marlowe sat down with Chalcey to help her with her homework and Summer went out to the barn to check on the goat who was due any day.
“The CRI thinks one of the guys assigned to the task force is dirty.” Joe began over a glass of wine. “He said the amount of dope is always short when he measures, but never when anyone else does. We think the guy has ties to the cartel and we’re afraid he is either using or skimming.” Joe poured a glass for each of the others and set up the laptop with a secure wireless connection.
“Do we know who this guy is?” Fred asked as they cleared off the six foot mahogany, hand carved table. “How reliable is this CRI? Does he have anything to lose?” Frequently, CRI’s worked off charges by helping the cops and it was always a concern about whether or not the informant was making stuff up to clear themselves.
“Ever heard of JD Norman? He’s on loan from Pima County? Apparently, he’s some hot shot know it all? Loaned out because no one there would work with him?” Joe looked at Oriole and Fred for confirmation.
“Yeah, he’s in the task force. Heard bad things about him, but never saw hard proof.” Fred acknowledged the officer had a rep.
“Well, I’m keeping an open mind, but I’m not turning my back. The concerns we have are that there are several unsolved deaths relating to undocumented aliens that seem to fall on his doorstep. Plus, word has it he always knows where the strikes’ll be and the take is always small potatoes compared to some of the other warrants he’s not involved in. What we want to do is set up something and see if it falls into that category, and if so, then we kinda know going in we need more than just watching our backs. Our CRI will set up a pound or two and get word to him that it’s ready to go down. We’ll be on the street when it does and keep an eye out, if it comes up short, we think we can plan around JD. If not, oh well.” Joe finished with the computer and explanation as Fred and Oriole finished their wine. “Let’s finish up and I’ll get back to town and find a room.”
“Joe, you can’t very well hang around the office. You might as well stay here and use this as your base. The bunkhouse is empty. You and Fred, if he wants, can stay there. It’s certainly better than a hotel room and no hotel can match Summer’s breakfasts.” Oriole made the offer looking for a double edged benefit. It would be easier to plan and organize if they were all together and it was nice to have Joe back in her space even if she was a little nervous about it.
“Fred, whatta ya say? Do you snore? Are you scared of the boogey man?” Joe kidded.
“Snore? You’re the one who snores. Remember in Riodosa last year? You took the roof off. I had to buy ear plugs.” Fred poked at Joe with the half truth.
“Oriole, do we need to talk first with Summer? I sure don’t want to impose. If we were to do that, why can’t we use the bunkhouse as the base? Then there’d be less disruption for the family.”
“I cleared it with Summer. Use the house or the bunkhouse. Doesn’t matter. Can we ask who your CRI is?”
“Ok. Sure. The CRI is Mark Littleton.”
“What? The crew chief out at the pipeline? Fred exclaimed.
“Sounds like you already know him.”
“He was forth coming about events on a murder we’re working. You don’t think they’re connected do you?” Fred felt the excitement mount.
“Tell me about your murder.” Joe asked.
Fred and Oriole shared all they knew about the murder, while Joe gave them everything he had on Littleton. The cross referencing provided a great deal of information neither had previously. Now that the two cases were connected, the newly formed task force had a direction and a plan of action. Joe planned on a meeting with Littleton, while Fred and Oriole projected a meeting with the widow Stutz and finding the new friend of the deceased, Gary.
