"Don't know. I said I was keeping them for a friend."
Ray moved to face Hinter. "You have the right to remain silent . . ." He finished reading Hinter his rights, "You're under arrest for possession of the methamphetamine and for the stolen goods. We'll add to the charges as we sort things out."
"Ah, man. My ma will be so pissed." Hinter moaned and slumped in the chair.
Johnson opened the door and flagged Ray over. In a low voice, he said, "Schmidt now remembers loaning out the car. Says he'd had a few too many beers so he forgot. He's sorry he caused trouble."
Ray shook his head. "Put on gloves and grab an evidence bag. Let's take his stash and pipe and haul him in. There are several stolen appliances in the kitchen, too. Bag them and then dust them for prints when we get to the department."
***
The Plateauville PD was bare bones—two offices, several desks plus dispatch in the large open squad room, a break room, locker room, a small conference room, and a waiting area and reception counter they shared with the court. There was no lockup and no interrogation room. Officers transported suspects to Crestville to the Sheriff's Department.
Ray, however, wanted to talk to Hinter before transporting him to jail. "Officer Johnson," Ray said, "stay with the suspect for a minute while I sanitize my office to use for interrogation."
"Why not use the conference room? That's what we usually do."
"The chief has it set up for a meeting later."
"Got it." Johnson pointed to a chair and motioned Hinter to sit. "You going to cooperate, Kenny, or do I need to put the cuffs on?"
"Jimmy, my man, give me a break. At least, just take me to the slammer and don't make me talk to that there detective. I'll call Ma to bail me out."
"Sorry, Kenny. I told you the last time that your chances ran out. And, your ma told you no more bail money."
Hinter slouched in the designated chair, his expression forlorn.
Ray left Johnson to his guarding task, cleaned off his desk, and locked his file drawers. Then he carried a straight-backed plastic chair from the break room into the office, shoving his two mismatched, yet comfortable, side chairs aside to make room.
After Hinter was situated on the plastic chair in the make-shift interrogation room, Ray left him there to wait and perhaps worry. He opened the blind a crack and stationed Johnson to watch from outside the room.
"Why don't you just talk to him, then I'll run him down to the jail?"
"I'm waiting for him to get in the proper frame of mind and worry a bit. Is he going to ask for a lawyer?"
"Nah. Hinter has been through this before. He thinks he knows the ropes."
Ray chatted with Ope at the dispatch desk for a few minutes, then used a computer in the staff room to pull Hinter's sheet. It was long but not impressive—several busts for possession, jail time for possession with intent to sell, and a couple of busts for petty theft. It read like a meth head supporting his habit.
When Mullins arrived about an hour later, Ray briefed him, then invited him to join in the interrogation.
"Thought you had him on the possession and theft."
"We do. I want to see if we can get him to turn on Silken. He already fessed up to buying from a guy behind Silken's store. Maybe there's more."
Mullins nodded and followed Ray in to see Hinter, who jerked awake when the door opened.
"Have a nice nap, Hinter?" Ray sat on one hip on the edge of his desk, positioning himself to loom over the suspect's right shoulder.
"Ah, I guess."
Ray removed a digital recorder from his shirt pocket and placed it on the desk. "We will record our conversation." He handed Hinter a form. "This says I read you your rights and you understand them."
"I never signed one of those before."
"Sign it now."
Hinter straightened himself in his chair, then leaned forward to sign the form on the desk. When he finished, Mullins took the form, looked it over, nodded, then pulled a chair close to the desk and sat to Hinter's left.
"Hinter," Ray kept his voice sharp and hard. "You're going down for possession of meth and possession of stolen goods."
"I had the meth, yeah man, but I don't know how those boxes got into my house. I didn't even know they was there until you saw them. I told you my friend must have left them."
"Not exactly what you said earlier." Ray made a show of checking his notes.
"You woke me up. I was confused."
"Johnson is dusting those boxes for prints at this moment. In a few minutes, we'll know if your prints are on them."
"You haven't taken my prints." Hinter sneered.
"Have them on file."
"We also have prints from the store. If yours are on the shelves where the goods were stored—and I think they are—we'll have you for the theft as well."
Hinter gulped. "I didn't steal nothing."
Ray encroached further into Hinter's space. "Kenny-boy, you're going down big time on these charges." He grabbed Hinter's shoulder and squeezed hard enough to cause Hinter to yelp in pain.
On cue, Mullins intervened. "Detective Stone, there is no reason to get rough."
"Son-of-a-bitch hasn't seen rough yet. I'm going to make sure he gets real prison time. They'll eat his ass alive in there."
"Kenny, Stone has a point. We've got you with solid evidence, and you won't do well in prison. Trust me."
After several more minutes of the same type of interrogation technique, Hinter said, "What can I do? I'll tell you stuff."
"That could work. Depends on what you say and if it checks out."
"It's good. Honest."
"I'm listening." The good cop-bad cop routine had worked. Ray backed up a bit, giving Hinter room, and hoping to imply trust.
"I did rob the store. I was looking for drugs."
"Did you find any?"
"He had a huge plastic container in his back room full of crank. I think it's his shipment to Florida—all ready to go, you know. Someone comes into town to pick it up. I've seen him make the delivery in the alley behind his store a few times. The car is always a big SUV with a Florida plate."
"Did you take any of the meth?"
"Yeah, I did, but only a couple of little baggies. Silken would know it was me if I took a bunch."
"Why would he know that?"
"Because he trusted me. When I go in there to buy some stuff, I see him get it from the back."
"You're saying that Silken sells meth directly from his store?"
"Only to us special people. Other people have to buy it from his dealers on the street."
"Was that the stash I found in your house?"
Hinter nodded.
"Answer the question out loud for the tape."
"Yeah."
"Yeah what?"
"Yeah, it is the stash from my house."
Ray and Mullins both continued the questioning, hoping to find a crack in the story, but Hinter stuck to it.
"Did you take cash, too?" Ray asked.
"Yeah, two hundred dollars is all."
Ray filed a mental note about the amount, remembering that Silken had reported a couple of thousand missing.
"Okay, Hinter. Johnson will take you to Crestville for booking." Ray stood. "We'll have this all transcribed for you to sign. You'll be expected to testify against Carl Silken. If you keep your end of the bargain, we'll talk to the DA about amending your charges."
***
Ray and Mullins met in the conference room an hour later. Several files sat on the credenza in preparation for the meeting. A map on a poster board sat on an easel near the head of the table. While they waited for Johnson to get back from Crestville—he was in transit—they discussed the ongoing investigations.
Ray said, "I'd like to send a specimen from Hinter's stash to Nashville. There was residue on a couple of the bodies from the explosion at Vast's. It they can match it, it would tie Vast directly to Silken."
"It's worth a try. Just keep in mind that Hinter
is a born and bred liar. We need to take every word he said as a potential lie."
"What's your best guess about Silken?" Ray said. "Is he the drug lord people tell me he is?"
"Well, now that's a mighty good question, isn't it?" Mullins took a sip of coffee. "All the arrows point in that direction. The issue is, we have no firm evidence to support a warrant—not even enough to make a solid accusation. And a failed raid would tip our hand."
"Hinter . . ."
"And others have accused him, but they are all known meth addicts with a reason to lie—something to trade for a reduced sentence."
Ray laughed. "Guess meth addicts and their suppliers are like birds of a feather."
"You might say that."
A tap on the door interrupted the conversation. Mullins got up and let Johnson in. "How'd it go?" He left the door open a few inches.
"Hinter asked for a lawyer as soon as he was booked, and they led him off to his new accommodations." Johnson took a seat across the table from Ray. "I'm thinking he'll not be turning state's evidence. He was shooting his mouth off about illegal search."
"Did you get the encounter on film?" Ray said.
Johnson tapped his body cam and grinned. "I did at that."
"Does Hinter know?"
"He doesn't. The thought would never occur to him that we had body cams, or that the town would fund them."
The devices were a gift to the department from a local men's club and hadn't been made public yet. They were still in the trial phase.
"Okay, gentlemen, we are here to talk about tomorrow's raid."
Johnson squirmed in his chair, then motioned to the open door.
Mullins mouthed, "I know." Then he got up and walked slowly to the door while talking. "As near as we've been able to tell, that lab on Cherry Lane isn't connected to Vast's and Flocker's operations or, in the same vein, to Silken. We'll hit it tomorrow." He closed the door.
Johnson raised a questioning brow.
Mullins said, "I want to make sure Ope has the information and doesn't think we know he has it."
"Oh." Johnson drew out the word. "I can't believe Ted is the one leaking our plans for raids."
"I think he might be," Ray said. "I went back and researched each failed raid. The commonality is that Ope was scheduled for duty during the planning of each one. For a couple, he was even in the room since he was assigned to call in the team at the last minute."
Johnson's expression registered shock. "But he hired me, trained me."
"We'll know more after this one. If the lab is tipped off, the mole is either Ope or you, Johnson. No one else is around. I wouldn't, and Stone hasn't been here long enough."
Johnson's face reddened. "I'll be damned." He shoved his chair back, stood, and stomped toward the door.
"Sit down, Jim," Mullins said. "We know it wasn't you."
"How do you know that?"
"You were in class for one of them and at your granddaddy's funeral for another. Ope, on the other hand, was here."
Johnson returned to his chair.
Mullins went to the white board on the wall near the head of the table. First, he drew a map of Cherry Lane, showing the intersection with Dripping Springs Drive. "It's about a mile north of the intersection. There's a side road here that's unmarked." He pointed. "You guys need to run down the road and make sure you can find it in the dark tomorrow night."
"I know the place," Johnson said. "We used to party there—in high school, I mean."
Ray said, "I'd like to get the lay of the land anyway. Let's go out that way in my truck after this meeting."
"Fine." Johnson nodded.
Mullins waited a moment, then continued. "I've talked to the sheriff. He's onboard. He won't tell anyone until we start to roll, then he'll send his deputies. We'll use the same approach and same men as for the last raid."
"Krantz?" Ray said.
"No. The Sheriff wants to see if he gets wind of it and shows up uninvited."
"Shim?"
"No." Mullins laughed, then went on to review the plan in detail for Ray's benefit, making notes on the whiteboard as he talked.
When the meeting concluded, Mullins made a show of locking the conference room—which was normally open for anyone's use. "I'll see you two tomorrow."
Ray and Johnson headed toward the door.
Ray nodded a goodbye to Ope on the way out.
Chapter 23
Sophia
Sophia spent Tuesday evening at the baby shower, then enjoyed a late dinner with friends. On Wednesday, she hung out with Connie, then visited the ED at Coral Bay Medical Center, where she used to work.
By Thursday morning, she felt visited out. She returned her rental car at the airport and waited at the exit for Deg Lewis to pick her up. It didn't take long until Deg's personal SUV rolled into view.
"Hey, sweet thing, climb in." Deg reached across the vehicle and pushed the passenger door open. "How was your visit?"
"Wonderful." She climbed in. "Strange though, I'm ready to go back to Tennessee. It's really gotten into my blood. That and the fact Ray and Mischief are there waiting for me to come back."
"Did you tell the man what you're up to?"
"Of course not. He'd have a hissy. Better he should find out when I give him good information—or not find out at all."
"Can't wait for him to get down here and offer to tan my hide for getting involved with you."
Sophia laughed. "He'll be glad I didn't go it alone."
"There is that. We do, however, have a change of plans." He turned toward the Sawgrass Expressway entrance. "My Narc buddy, Jay, is rolling undercover at the moment. So, he's not available. He did put me onto a dude who has agreed to have a Cuban coffee with us on the condition his name isn't used."
"Is he one of Jay's snitches?"
Deg smiled. "No. He's a crackhead Jay went to high school with. Nick is his name. Jay has pulled the guy out of trouble a time or two, and Nick agreed to meet with us as a favor. Oh, Nick isn't aware Jay is a cop. Don't say anything."
"How did he explain us wanting to ask questions then?"
"Jay told him you're a reporter from Tennessee writing an article about the connection between the meth business here and there. I'm your trusty escort."
"An escort with cop stamped on your head."
"Won't be a problem."
As they drove, Deg peppered Sophia with pointed questions about the meth problem in Tennessee. She responded with as much detail as she could muster.
After taking a couple of different tollways, Deg exited the expressway system, drove down a side street, then parked in a spot a hundred feet or so beyond a Cuban cafe.
Sophia saw the hospital complex in the distance. Jackson Memorial and its associated clinics, the VA, and Cedars all shared the same access road. They, and the restaurant, were surrounded by one of Miami's most infamous slums. She was glad to have her private escort, remembering getting lost in the area a couple of years earlier when she'd attended a seminar at Jackson. She'd taken a wrong turn, missed the expressway entrance, and spent an extra hour finding her way out.
"Stay put for a minute." Deg got out of the SUV, walked around to the sidewalk, and turned both ways. Then he opened the door for her and guided the way to the cafe.
The place was small and smelled of roast pork, onions, and Cuban coffee. Most of the tables were occupied with Hispanics in medical uniforms. A sad-looking specimen of a man sat alone at a table for four along the west wall.
She touched Deg's arm. "Do you think that's Nick?"
"Fits the description Jay gave me." In three long steps, Deg stood before the man. "You Nick?"
"What's it to you?"
"I drove Jay's friend down to see you." He tilted his head in Sophia's direction.
"Have a seat."
"Have you eaten?"
"Rather have money." Nick turned over his hand to reveal an empty palm.
"I'll buy food, but I won't give you cash."
Nick nodd
ed. "Pork. Plantains. Please."
Sophia stepped to the table and slid into a seat. "Deg, that sounds delicious. I'll have some, too."
"As will I." He went over to counter and placed the order, paying in advance, as was required. He returned to the table with three paper cups of water. "They'll bring the food out in a few minutes. Meanwhile, Sophia, you can get started."
"Nick, do you mind if I record the conversation? I promise not to ask you any identifying information, and I won't add it later. You're an unnamed source who's familiar with the meth trade in Miami."
"I'll be like one of the White House leakers."
"Pretty much." She took out her phone, set it to record, removed a notebook from her purse, and opened it to a list of preplanned questions.
"Do you have any connection with the manufacturing of methamphetamine in this area or are you a customer?"
Nick looked thoughtful. He started to speak, then stopped as the server placed three heaping plates on the table. After taking several bites of pork in rapid succession, he glanced at Sophia. "I work for a friend some, but the real high-grade meth gets shipped in."
"Where does it come from?"
"That depends on who you buy from. Some comes from Mexico. Some from the Keys. Some local. If you buy from a distributor named Krantz, it comes from Tennessee."
"Just what I'm interested in."
"A few years ago, I worked for his operation. Just doing manual work, you know. We'd get packages of supplies in from South America. Sometimes we'd go out in a boat and transfer the goods there. Other times, we went to the Everglades to get the stuff. A lot of it came in through customs, hidden in other stuff."
"What did the packaging look like?"
"Mostly in plain boxes. But inside, the ingredients were in boxes with Chinese writing."
She nodded. "Based on my research, that's what I expected to hear." She looked at Nick. "Who does Krantz work for? Do you know?"
"It's a big organization." Nick glanced away, then stared at Sophia's iPhone.
"Did you ever hear the name Carl Silken?" she said.
"Old Silky."
"You know him?"
"I know of him. He left town a few years back. Still hear his name, though."
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