I was up again and running after a few seconds. I needed this guy. He could answer a lot of questions.
Now I was moving across the sidewalk in an all-out sprint. There was a little ice, but at this point I didn’t care. There was no one who could outrun me when I was determined.
I took a corner hard, sliding out onto the road and narrowly missing a woman holding two kids by the hand. The woman gave a short shriek of surprise.
The little boy, in a dark-blue tattered parka, pointed down the street.
I gave him a nod of thanks and kept running. As soon as I came to the next block, I glimpsed the man at the edge of an industrial park. He turned and fired two more shots at me.
At this distance they both went wide, so I stayed in pursuit. When I was a little closer, I raised Alton’s tiny pistol and popped off a round to keep the guy off balance.
Then I tried to do what the running man wouldn’t expect. Instead of going right to where he was the last time I saw him, I cut into the industrial park and started to circle the building in between us. It was a little trickier here because there were workers coming and going in vans, carrying everything from windowsills to sprinkler pipes.
As I darted around the building, I saw what I needed to see. The guy with the gun was crouched behind a parked van, waiting to ambush me from the other direction. Perfect.
I eased into a line of cars so it wouldn’t be easy for him to notice me. I wanted to say something clever like “Looking for me, asshole?” But I knew the most important thing was to get the pistol away from him.
When I was still a decent distance away, the man glanced over his shoulder. All I could tell from that angle was that he was a white man. I couldn’t identify him specifically. Right now, that didn’t matter. He turned and aimed his gun at me as I ducked behind a parked Honda Civic.
The two shots shattered the rear window of the car and made me crawl back farther away from the trunk. Then I heard a police siren.
I had to catch this guy now and get some answers before he was taken into custody.
I squeezed between some parked cars and crawled under one of them until I was close to the place where the man had taken the shots at me. I sprang out with the pistol up in front of me. There was no one there.
I could see the blue lights of the cruiser and I knew it was time to get the hell out of there.
CHAPTER 21
I DROVE TO a McDonald’s on the outskirts of Newburgh’s downtown. If you ever want good insight into a city, look through the wide windows of a Mickey D’s. You see everything. The locals, workers from businesses, and the homeless. This intersection can provide a glimpse into the city’s soul. Is it prosperous? Is it a college town? Or is it struggling, ready to chew you up and spit you out?
As I sat in the hard plastic booth, throwing down a hamburger and staring at the key I’d taken from Alton, my mom called. I worked hard to keep my voice calm as I told her there wasn’t really anything new on the case. When I was in the Navy and going through the SEAL course, I always tried to paint the best picture. My mom worried about me. At least now, my job was to make her life as easy as possible.
About an hour after my chase through the streets of Newburgh, I decided it was safe to make my next move.
I walked through the front doors of the Newburgh Police Department, leaned in close to the little circle cut into the thick, bulletproof glass, and asked the receptionist if I could speak to Sergeant Bill Jeffries.
I followed him through the bowels of the police station. He kept quiet. Seemed he was worried about people eavesdropping.
Once in his cramped office, I spun him my somewhat vague story about Alton Beatty and his relationship to Pete Stahl. I didn’t give too many details because I still wasn’t sure I could trust him.
Finally, he said, “The Alton Beatty you’re talking about is the guy who was just shot at the Budstop about an hour ago, right?”
“Exactly.”
“And you wouldn’t know anything about a shoot-out between two men that lasted for several blocks?”
“Not a thing.”
“Unfortunately, the only description of the two men shooting is that they were white males. Not a lot to go on.”
I kept my expression blank.
Jeffries said, “Look, Mitchum, I know you had nothing to do with either death. I even know your brother didn’t kill Pete Stahl. But there’s a lot of weird shit going on. I don’t get the sense that you’re telling me everything.”
“Maybe that’s more for your own good than mine.”
Jeffries nodded. He turned and typed on a keyboard. He studied the screen, frowning as he scrolled through a few pages.
He said, “As the administrative sergeant, I can get into any part of our network. It looks like your friend Pete Stahl was arrested about a month ago but never booked. When I peeked into the narcotics squad’s notes, I saw that Stahl was brought in on some kind of a possession charge. It doesn’t look like he got a chance to call his attorney. That could mean he was cooperating.”
I said, “I think I’m following you. One of your narcotics guys grabbed him, then let him go for no documented reason. Sounds like he might’ve made a deal, all right.” I couldn’t help but reach in my pocket and feel the safety-deposit key I had taken from Alton. There were too many leaks in the Newburgh Police Department to let anyone know I had it.
Jeffries was taking a few notes from the computer screen and looked troubled by what he saw.
“Who’s the cop that arrested Pete?”
“He was on a temporary duty assignment. I was looking to see if maybe he screwed up some paperwork and that’s why they had to release your friend.”
“Who was the cop?”
“Mike Tharpe.”
CHAPTER 22
THE ORANGE COUNTY jail, where anyone held on charges from Newburgh ended up, was an unimpressive, sprawling structure surrounded by a twelve-foot-high chain-link fence. It was also in the village of Goshen, about thirty-five miles west of Newburgh. That’s where my brother had been cooling his heels after his initial bond hearing failed to win his release.
The jailers were clearly breaking my balls by making me wait in one room after another while they said they were getting my brother ready for our visit. I stopped one of them, a tall muscle-head with the name Norton on a tag, and said, “Do you know how frustrating it is to wait this long for a simple visit?”
Norton shrugged and said, “Probably feels just as frustrating as it does for the cops when some smart-ass tries to take over a homicide investigation.”
That answered my question for sure.
I glanced through a couple of Time magazines that were all more than three years old and got to know the layout of the facility by studying a map on the wall.
Finally, two jailers led me to a narrow room, about twice the size of a confessional, with a Plexiglas partition. Natty sat on the other side in a simple orange jumpsuit. We had to speak over a closed-circuit telephone. Natty gestured with his hands to let me know that the call could be monitored. That was important information. Especially considering all the shit that had happened to me the last couple of days.
The first thing Natty said was, “How’s Katie holding up?”
“It’s you I’m worried about.”
“I’m fine. Could be better. I know a couple of the guys in my dorm. Since I’m in here on a homicide charge, everyone’s keeping their distance.”
I said, “I need some answers, Natty.” I didn’t like how tired he looked. Eyes bloodshot and his usually neat hair hanging down in an oily curl.
Natty showed no emotion as he said, “Go for it.”
“Do you know any more details on the big score Pete and Alton made about six weeks ago? Like where the proceeds are or how to get them?” I was hoping the answer was no. That meant he was never involved.
He shrugged. “You’ve met Alton. He’s the first one to tell you how smart he is. He was always bragging about one thing or another, but
he’d never tell me anything important.” Then he added, “I was sorry to hear he was killed.”
“Word travels fast, even in jail.”
My brother shook his head and said, “We have TVs in here. It was on the news.”
I just shrugged. “Was anything unusual going on with Pete or Alton?”
“Pete was acting a little funny. He’s the one that was all excited about something they did, but he didn’t give me any details. I have no idea about Alton. We were never close.”
“Did Pete have another partner?”
“We all work alone. Most of the time we’re competition. Pete just focused on meth, so he and I got along well. Even though I knew him as a kid, he would have never told me the specifics about his business. Not a smart thing to do in our field.”
I said, “He talk to anyone a lot the past few weeks?”
“The only person he started to talk to on a regular basis in the last few weeks was a cop.”
“A cop? Which cop?”
“The guy who arrested me, Mike Tharpe.”
CHAPTER 23
MY GUT WAS telling me that Mike Tharpe had something to do with the murder of Pete Stahl. Whether he had pulled the trigger himself or if there were others involved was still a mystery. I found a coffee shop, not a Starbucks but a mom-and-pop place. I always supported family businesses, because I hated the muted taste of anything that came out of a corporate restaurant. But what I really wanted was a Wi-Fi connection to make my phone that much faster as I signed into my LexisNexis account. My teenage cousin, Bailey Mae, had talked me into getting one so that my private investigation business could run a little smoother. That’s how I had found Mrs. Ledbetter’s daughter near Philadelphia so easily.
After a few minutes on my smartphone, I found the house where Mike Tharpe lived. Or at least the address where he paid the electric bills. The house was in an area called Little Britain, southwest of the Stewart Airport, a few miles from downtown Newburgh, but far enough away from the chaos to make a cop feel secure when he got home.
It didn’t take long to find the comfortable two-story on Station Street. It looked like the kind of place where people dreamed about setting up a life. Quiet, safe, and convenient to a bigger city like Newburgh.
The house was dark and I was out of time. I was also running short on common sense and good judgment. Somehow, the idea of breaking into a cop’s house didn’t even rank as the dumbest thing I had done all week. I’d chased an armed man for the sake of this case, after all.
I took a minute to survey the house from where I had parked up the street. It was completely dark and the next-door neighbors only had a porch light on. If I was going to do something this stupid, now would be the time. I walked casually up the sidewalk, trying to look as natural as possible. People in neighborhoods like this were generally not too suspicious. At least not of a clean-cut guy.
When I turned toward Tharpe’s house, I saw the sticker for an alarm system. Often on my paper route, I helped my customers with other problems around their homes. Just quick little jobs to save them from having to pay a professional. One of the most frequent requests was help with alarm systems that the elderly didn’t understand well. When I saw Tharpe’s sticker for Malloy Security, I knew he’d bought a second-rate system. Malloy was a shitty company that would slap a sensor on your front and back door. Often customers were lucky if they had hooked it up to a power supply at all.
I scooted around to the back door and saw a keypad. This was going to be easier than I expected. I used a trick an electrician showed me when we were working on one of my customers’ houses. I pulled my commemorative Navy knife from my pocket, slipped the blade between the house and the keypad, and ripped the plastic contraption right off the wall. Then I crossed the two wires in the back of the box and heard the beep on the inside of the house saying the alarm was no longer active. It never paid to be cheap where security was involved.
The lock on the door was a little more complicated. When you’re desperate, though, a few locks can’t hold you. I laid my shoulder into the door and it almost came off the frame as it opened up.
I flipped on the light. It was obvious I would never be able to hide the damage to the back door. Now it was all about speed. I bolted up the stairs and rummaged through a few drawers in the bedroom and a little office. I wasn’t sure what I was looking for, but I had to find something that would link Tharpe to Pete Stahl.
I worked my way back to the kitchen and had just about tossed the entire house upside down when headlights washed through the living room as a car pulled into the driveway.
I prayed Tharpe would use the front door and not remember if he left the light on or not. The one thing I did know: I was about to get either some answers or a bullet in the head.
CHAPTER 24
I HEARD THE car door and realized my best chance to escape would be to scoot out the back now. But something kept me from doing it. The idea of my brother sitting in jail for Pete Stahl’s death kept my feet firmly in the hallway near the kitchen. I had to get to the bottom of this.
I could see the front door over the first few stairs. As it opened, I eased back into a dark nook in the wall that looked like it used to be a linen closet. Like the rest of the house, there hadn’t been much renovation there. The door had been taken off the hinges and a few shelves removed. But I felt secure, at least for the moment.
I could barely see the front door as it opened. There was a hesitation as Tharpe stood in the doorway and tried to figure out if he had left the light on in the kitchen. I could see the Marine in him as he surveyed the front room and took a step toward the stairs to get a better view.
My heart was racing as I ran through the options in my head. In that moment, I was a burglar, but if I did much more I’d be considered a home invader. Neither looked good on a résumé. But at least I’d have my brother to talk to in jail.
Tharpe peeked into the kitchen and must’ve seen the back door busted open. That made him reach with his right hand and draw his service weapon, a Glock semi-automatic. He held it up in his right hand and pointed it up the stairs.
I knew what he was doing. I would’ve done the same thing. He was listening. He wanted to hear a footstep upstairs or the creaking of a door. He put his back against the wall and let his eyes scan all around the house.
Then I saw my chance. He stepped away from the wall and was about to turn and climb the stairs. I made a decision and acted. That’s what the SEALs taught me to do. I stepped from my hiding place and swung my right hand hard, catching him in the side of the head. The blow knocked him off balance and his face hit the side of the stairs as he went down hard.
I immediately grabbed his gun, which had tumbled to the floor. I pulled the magazine and ejected the round left in the chamber. Then I stuck the magazine back into the gun and laid it on the floor near Tharpe’s unconscious body. At least he wouldn’t be able to pick it up and fire it without racking another round into the chamber.
I rolled Tharpe over to make sure he was breathing and realized I may have been searching in the wrong place. If I had something portable and important, I’d keep it on me. First, I rummaged through his coat pockets, then I felt his front right pocket. At the bottom, securely in place, was a single flat metal key. I pulled it out and immediately recognized it as the same kind of safety-deposit key I took from Alton Beatty. It had the number 68 etched in it.
I felt like I’d solved everything until I thought about it for a minute. How could I prove where I’d found the key? What kind of evidence did I have to implicate the police officer in anything illegal? How would it help my brother? It would be my word against Tharpe’s. Although I knew I was beyond reproach, I doubt the legal system realized it.
At least, since I wasn’t an official police officer, I didn’t have to worry about how I obtained evidence or built a case. What I needed were a few more breaks, but finding this key was a good start.
I knew Tharpe couldn’t be the third partner. Neit
her Pete nor Alton would’ve trusted him. This key had come from Pete, and I was quite certain the beefy police officer had killed my friend for it.
Tharpe started to stir and I took that as my cue to leave. I scooted out the shattered back door and raced to my car down the street. I backed away so I wouldn’t have to pass in front of the house. As I reached the end of the street, I could see Tharpe stepping through the front door and standing on his front porch. That son of a bitch was tough. Maybe all that Marine bullshit about being tougher than everyone else was true.
I tried to make a stealthy getaway, but when you’re in a ten-year-old station wagon, trying to get away from a house you just burglarized, that’s a tall order.
At least now I had my suspect.
CHAPTER 25
I SAT IN Tina’s Plentiful and downed a hamburger with two beers. After the night I’d experienced, I had earned a couple of beers. I had also earned the right to talk to Alicia, but I was disappointed to see she had a number of customers.
It gave me a few minutes to figure out what I was going to do next. I had two keys to the safe-deposit box that held some kind of crazy drug recipe worth a fortune and at least $650,000 in cash. I wanted nothing to do with the contents of the safety-deposit box, but I was trying to see how I might use it to help my brother.
When it was clear Alicia wouldn’t be able to sit and chat with me, I decided it was time to catch my mother up on everything that had happened. At least the stuff that wouldn’t scare the shit out of her. I intended to avoid the story about chasing a man with a gun or invading a cop’s home.
I pulled up in front of my mom’s neat brick house. All the neighbors were home from work and the street and driveways were filled with cars. I rapped on the front door as I poked my head inside and called out, “Mom?”
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