I told him about the heated argument between the chief and Victoria Hall.
“Good news,” he said. “Sounds to me like you’re making some headway.”
We heard pounding on the rear door of the pub.
I grabbed my Glock, headed into the kitchen and looked out the window to see two men standing in the alley: the Bill Morton and Sam Wilson.
***
They joined Mick and Maureen and I in the back of the pub.
“We didn't know Erin,” said Morton. “We did see her make the phone call in the presence of the two men we had seen about town, Big Tony and Little Terry. But we didn’t know if she was with them willingly or under duress. And we didn’t tell you because we had to check you out first.”
“Tell me more,” I said.
“You have to know that things have never been the same in Maryville since the steel industry tanked in the mid-1970s. I know that's going back a way, but up until then, we had ourselves a fine little town, full of life and bristling with the energy and wealth that trickled down from all the steel-making and the many industries that supported it.”
“A grand time that was,” said Morton.
“But even after that, as commerce dried up, our town had a nice spirit,” said Wilson. “People watched out for each other. But something changed four years ago, when Preston’s company moved to Maryville. We began seeing people we’d never seen before. That wouldn't have bothered us, until there were a few incidents that caused some alarm.”
“What kind of incidents?”
“Tony and Terry began spending a lot of time in our town,” said Wilson. “They began showing up for meals at the diner, but refused to pay. When I confronted them, they showed me a piece and said I'd be wise to just keep providing those free meals every time they were hungry. I called the chief to report the theft. She did nothing. Bastards are lucky I didn't have my shotgun out front, as I do now.”
Morton chimed in.
“Look, we were all excited at first that Preston’s company was investing in our small town. But the traffic began coming and going at all hours to the one riverfront building on his campus. Cars mostly. We've seen plates on cars from as far away as Texas and California — plates from all over the country, in fact. The cars pull in, spend 20 minutes or so inside, then pull out.”
“You think the chief is covering for some kind of illegal activity taking place inside the smaller building on Preston’s campus?”
“Yes,” said Morton. “Chief Sarafino is a fine woman, but we fear she's covering for somebody.”
“What makes you think so?” I said.
“At a town meeting — this was before Tony and Terry started their shenanigans — some of us wanted to know what was going on down in that building. We wanted to know why trucks and cars were coming in and out at all hours. The noise was very annoying.”
“And?” I said.
“Well,” Morton continued, “we have restrictions on these things. No truck traffic is allowed to pass through town after midnight on weeknights. It's an old ordinance that was put on the books when the town was more populated than now. We wanted the chief to enforce it, but she never did.”
“She’s covering for her father, the prior police chief?” I said.
Morton and Wilson nodded.
“Keep in mind her father was a good man,” said Wilson. “We're not saying he was a perfect man — he may have had the occasional ticket fixed. We had a well-known bookie in town who fed the chief a few extra dollars so that he could continue taking bets. Hell, for as little as we were paying him, nobody begrudged him making a few extra dollars off something that didn't harm anyone.”
“Yes, go on,” I said.
“But we think he cut a deal with some bad people,” said Wilson. “The woman who has been running Preston’s business, Victoria Hall. We think he unknowingly bit off way more than he could chew.”
“What makes you think this?” I said.
“Well, he was in great spirits at first, but his demeanor changed drastically afterwards a few months after Hall moved in. He wasn't the same — everybody in town was talking about it. He was anxious and jumpy. He used to walk the streets and talk to everyone, but, suddenly, he became reclusive. Something was bothering him and that something killed him. He had a massive heart attack.”
“And when his daughter became chief, she assumed whatever the problem was he created?” I said.
“That's how we read it,” said Morton. “We think Chief Sarafino became dreadfully aware of whatever her father had got himself and the town into, and that she is now in trouble.”
“But you have no evidence of any of this?” I said.
“No, but we do have evidence that she may cover up something very big in her police report on Preston’s death,” said Wilson.
“What is that?” I said.
“Peter Hartley, the witness who saw Preston go over the bridge, saw what really happened to John Preston the night he died,” said Wilson.
“What did he see?” I said.
“We’ll let him tell you himself,” said Wilson.
Chapter #35
I followed Morton and Wilson to Maryville in my truck. We parked in the small lot near the bank. It was black as coal that night, but the bridge, illuminated by street lamps, sat majestically above the water.
We walked down a narrow path toward the sunken barge. Peter Hartley sat in a fold-out chair. He had a line cast into the river, while he nibbled on a sandwich and sipped on a beer. As we approached him, he turned to us.
“Sit down,” he said. “I've been waiting for you.”
I sat in a second fold-out chair. Morton and Wilson kept their eyes on the hillside for any movement.
“So we meet again,” he said, reaching over to shake my hand. “Like a sandwich?” he said.
“No, thanks.”
He called over to Morton and Wilson.
“Sandwich?” he said more loudly.
“Just tell him what you saw, Peter,” said Wilson.
Hartley took a sip of coffee.
“I only do my fishin' at night. The fish bite better. They're less wary and they bite better. And I prefer to have this pier to myself and not have to share it with a bunch of knuckleheads who scare the fish away.”
I nodded.
“This spot has been my little slice of heaven for a long time,” he continued, “but it was rudely interrupted the night John Preston died.”
I nodded.
“I was sitting here enjoying the good life,” he continued, “just as I am now, when I see two vehicles pull up to the middle of the bridge.”
“What kind of vehicles?”
“First was a big SUV of some kind. Second was a sedan, dark in color.”
“Preston drove an SUV. Then what happened?”
“I saw a Bit Tony exit the SUV and open the back door. He dragged out a limp body and pulled it to the railing. He threw the body over the railing then jumped in the passenger’s side of the sedan and then drove away.”
“You tell this to anyone?” I said.
“Surely,” he said. “I told the police chief, Wilson and Morton — and now you. But it’s the way Chief Sarafino reacted that is troubling us.”
“How did she react?”
“She said that I needed to keep what I saw to myself,” said Hartley.
“That's it?”
“She told me to leave — that I better not fish here anymore. I told her that was no kind of respectful way to be treating her godfather.”
“Godfather?”
“Me and her daddy were good friends a lot of years. Hell, we fished down here since we were kids. I been her godfather since she was baptized 38 years ago.”
“And she wouldn't believe her own godfather?”
“She believed me, all right,” said Hartley. “But she wanted to protect me from the bad people who have taken over this town. They killed Preston easy enough. I don’t think it would be much trouble for them to kill an ol
d man who witnessed the crime.”
“This is interesting information,” I said.
“We're worried about her. We don't know what’s going on entirely, but she's into something not of her doing and we're worried she might get hurt. We’re only telling you because we figure you can help.”
“I’m not exactly Chief Sarafino’s favorite person,” I said. “She can only help herself at this point by coming clean.”
“We know it and we are working on it,” said Hartley. “She’s as stubborn as her daddy was.”
“In the meantime, you may want to keep a low profile to keep yourself safe,” I said.
“Ain't nothing going to happen to me,” he said. “I fish where and when I want to. It's my goddaughter I'm worried about.”
“I’ll do everything I can to help the chief with one exception,” I said.
Hartley cast his line far out into the water, then picked up his sandwich and began nibbling with his right hand.
“What’s that, sonny?”
“That I never have to drink with her again.”
Chapter #36
After I parted with Morton, Wilson and Hartley, I found a spot above the old industrial campus that houses Preston’s company. Though it was dark, the spot afforded me a nice view of the smaller building on the riverfront, which was well lighted.
And I waited.
I wondered how Erin was doing and fought the temptation to call Mick and check in.
I flipped on political talk radio, but nothing held my interest. Democrats called in to complain about Republicans and Republicans called in to complain about Democrats.
I flipped to what must have been a soft-rock channel and quickly flipped past it.
Finally, I found a sports talk channel. I turned the volume as low as I could and still hear it.
But I didn’t have to wait for long.
A car drove down the road toward the gatehouse. It was a late model Lexus GS 350 sports sedan. The driver revved the motor as he coasted down the drive. He was a young-looking fellow with dark red hair, a cocky smile on his lips. As he approached the gate, his window rolled down and he inserted a security card into a machine. The gate opened.
The driver drove the garage door of the smaller building. I was able to see his plate but — a vanity plate from California. It said “Lex.”
When he got to it, the door opened. He drove inside.
About 10 minutes later he came out the other side of the building and exited through the automated gate on the other side. He drove onto Main Street, then onto the highway — but he was moving too fast for my truck to catch up.
I turned around and drove back to Maryville. I situated myself back at the same spot. Some 20 minutes later, I saw another car, a BMW M3. It was a beautiful dark blue and it followed the precise same process. The driver had thick black hair that was slicked back. He looked to be in his 30s. His had a Michigan plate — a vanity plate that read “JoeyM3.”
No point in following him, either.
Several similar expensive vehicles came and went the next two hours before an SUV entered the building, a black Honda Pilot with black-tinted windows and tricked out chrome wheels. It may have looked pretty on the outside, but I doubted the owner did anything to upgrade the motor or suspension. It was one vehicle I’d hopefully be able to keep up with.
I waited patiently waiting for it to come out the other side.
Chapter #37
About 10 minutes later, the black Honda Pilot came out — say what you will about Victoria Hall, but she was running an efficient operation.
I followed him onto the highway heading south. He pulled into a service station 15 minutes later. He parked at a bay and got out. He looked to be about 30 with black hair and a slight build.
As he put his card in the gas dispenser and put the handle in his trunk, I pretended to do likewise. As his gas began pumping, he headed inside to the convenience store. I saw him walk to the back of the store to the bathroom.
I moved quickly.
He left his front door open and the keys in the ignition — not very smart considering the line of work he was in.
I searched the dash for the back door release and found it. It rose automatically as I pushed the button.
I ran around to the back of the vehicle and found two travel bags in a small side-wall privacy area many SUVs have.
I unzipped one. Inside were several heavy duty freezer bags that contained small bricks wrapped in aluminum foil. I pulled out a brick and peeled back the aluminum foil to see a hard white substance. I used my pocket knife to cut off a piece, then wrapped it some foil I tore off of the brick and put it in my pocket.
I put everything back and closed the SUV’s back door. It was still closing when he exited the convenience store and walked toward his vehicle — he didn’t notice a thing.
I pretended to complete my transaction at the pump, then got into my truck and headed on back to the pub.
Chapter #38
The next morning I got a call on my cell from Dr. Joe. He told me Erin wanted to talk with me.
“How do you feel?” I said, as I entered her room.
She lay on her side shivering.
“I’m fine,” said Erin, coughing. “I’m tougher than I look.”
She attempted a smile.
“I’m just glad I got you out of there,” I said.
“How did you find me?” she said.
I told her how I found her.
“You’re really amazing,” she said. “You saved my life.”
I blushed.
“I know you’re not feeling well,” I said, “but do you have the energy to talk?”
She nodded.
“I want justice for John,” she said. “I will always have the energy for that.”
“We’ll take this slow,” I said. “The day you came to the pub, you visited the Washington County Coroner first?” I said.
“Yes. As I told you the first time we met, he said he could not talk to me about John’s death because he did not know I was John’s real wife. He said his ruling on the manner and cause of death would take the police report into consideration.”
“So you visited Chief Sarafino next?”
“Yes, I told her John had been murdered. I pleaded with her to come with me to our house. She told me I needed to remain quiet for the moment. She told me to go right home and lie low.”
“Did you give her your contact information?” I said.
“Well, I gave her false information,” she said. “At that point, based on the way she responded, I was not certain who I could trust. I didn’t want anyone to know where I lived.”
“And throughout this time, did John let anyone know about you?”
“Only his mother,” said Erin. “We were very careful. We put everything in my name before I married him — our cell phones, email accounts, everything. We went off the grid, so to speak. Only John's mother knew we had got married or where we lived.”
“So as you left Chief Serafino’s office, you saw the big man, Tony, and the little man, Terry?” I said.
“Yes, they saw me and walked toward me quickly. I jumped in my car and got out of there.”
“Then you visited Elizabeth?”
“Yes. I had never met her before, but John spoke well of her. I thought I could trust her, but she knew nothing of me. John was going to tell her on the day they were to have lunch. I visited her because I had nowhere else to turn.”
“How did the conversation go?” I said.
“Awkward. I didn’t tell her about my full involvement with John, if that is what you mean. I told her I knew him and that I was certain he was murdered. She began crying. She told me about you and told me to go to you for help. She said she’d follow me down to your pub after she showered and changed, so that both of us could share our concerns about what happened to John. She seemed to be uneasy in my presence and I sensed she wanted me to go. Of course, I don’t blame her.”
“So you came
to see me?” I said.
“Yes,” said Erin. “But as I drove down the parkway into town, I saw a black car behind me. I thought I saw the same two men in that car. So I sped up and jumped off the first exit I could find and zig zagged through town to make sure they weren’t able to follow me.”
“But they did follow you.”
She nodded.
“I parked my car in a garage downtown. I took cash out of my wallet, then left my purse and cellphone in the car. That way, if they mugged me on the street, they would not know anything about me. I paid cash to a cab driver, who dropped me off at the pub. I have no idea how they were able to follow me. I’m so sorry I dragged you into this.”
“They are professional bad guys,” I said. “It’s not your fault. Tell me about you and John?”
“When I first met John and learned who he was, I had zero desire to befriend him let alone date him. We met in a strip club, for goodness sakes, a place I didn’t want to be. I was embarrassed that I was even doing what I did, just to raise money.”
I knew she took the job to raise money for the care of her now-deceased daughter and felt her pain.
“How did you come to grow closer to John?”
“He was very persistent, but he was also very genuine in his way. We became good friends and gradually he told me the truth about his life — he said I was the only one in the world who he’d told the whole truth to and that meant a lot to me.”
I nodded.
“It was an odd situation,” continued Erin. “Our friendship blossomed into more. Neither of us saw it coming, but I fell in love with John and he with me. He presented me with a plan for how he would tell the truth about his past, so that we could have a future together. It was really an amazing thing, you must understand, for a man to give up so much worldly affluence and the only thing he’d get in in return was me.”
“I'll bet lots of men would be willing to make that exchange.”
She smiled.
“It wasn't about my ego, though,” she said. “It was about John's heart and about honesty and truth. It was about redemption. None of us is perfect — I certainly am not — but how many people would have the courage to walk away from fame and fortune the way John was about to do?”
Wicked Is the Whiskey: A Sean McClanahan Mystery (Sean McClanahan Mysteries Book 1) Page 10