“You called the meeting, dip ass, not me,” she said. “Now get to it.”
I leaned back in the chair and put my legs up on her desk. If I had a cigar, I would have taken my time lighting it.
“I want to know why you lied to me,” I said.
“What are you talking about?” she said.
“You told me you hadn’t spoken to John Preston in weeks. But I know that he met with you the day before he died. After he walked out the front door of this old building, nobody ever saw him again. Some people think you had him killed and then staged his suicide.”
She laughed out loud.
But I could see the intelligence in her eyes as she processed what I’d said. She was trying to determine how I discovered she had met with Preston that day. Maybe Rosie told me? Or maybe I had helped Erin Miller escape and she told me John met her that day?
At this point, after her hired hands rooted through Erin and John’s home, she likely knew who Erin was. But she still didn’t know what Erin knew — and she wondered if I knew what Erin knew.
“Now, why would I want to do a thing like that?” she said, smiling. “He was my cash cow. I’ll go broke without the little twit pumping out books and DVDs.”
“You had him killed because he was going to hold a press conference at which he was going to accuse you of conducting illegal activities inside this facility,” I said.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said.
“Come, now, Vicky,” I said, smiling. “You’re running a sizable heroin distribution operation right here. I figure you’re moving as much product as you can to cash out before you finally shut the operation down.”
“You’re reading too many mystery novels, flat foot,” said Hall.
“But you had him killed. You had Tony and Terry drown him along the banks of the river, then tossed him over the bridge later that night. Trouble is they scuffed the heck out of his shoes while dragging him to and from the car and tore off some buttons. Not to worry, though. Chief Sarafino is on your payroll. She’s helping you cover your tracks.”
Hall laughed again — a forced laugh.
“Then a woman named Erin Miller comes out of the woodwork,” I continued. “You had no knowledge of her existence prior to that day. Nobody did. Not even Elizabeth Preston knew of her existence. So when you whacked Preston you were unprepared for Erin Miller to go rushing to the authorities blabbing about having evidence that Preston had been murdered. The Maryville chief alerted you to her as soon as she left the chief’s office — or maybe your employees had something to do with that. Maybe the chief’s office is bugged, too, you being a clever lady. Whatever the case, you had your men shadow her to my pub. You had them abduct her and then imprison her in her own home. You had them drug her with heroin all week to make her a hardcore addict — with hopes of withholding the drug until she told you what she knows and helped you find John’s copy of your ledger. Bravo. Well played. Almost.”
“Stop it,” said Hall. “You’re embarrassing yourself.”
“The thing is I know what Erin Miller knows,” I said. “I have evidence that Preston was going to quit your company and go public about the illegalities that are taking place here. And I have your ledger and we will crack its code soon and you’re going to be in a world of hurt when we do.”
Hall’s face grew red. She said nothing.
“I dislike you very much,” I continue. “I dislike what you’ve done to people struggling with addiction. I dislike you for killing Preston and hurting Erin Miller. I’m going to hurt you. I’m going to have you prosecuted for murder, for drug distribution, for money laundering… oh, the sky’s the limit.”
“You’re making the biggest mistake of your life,” she said, as she pressed a buzzer on her phone.
“Come,” she said into the loud speaker.
I jumped across Hall’s desk and stood behind her with my Glock out before Tony and Terry walked into the office, their pistols drawn. I pressed my Glock into the back of Hall’s noggin.
“Hiya, boys,” I said, smiling. “I know you’re a little sore for being so incompetent you were unable to keep a drug-addicted woman from escaping. However, if you want the lady here to keep writing your paychecks, you will put down the guns on the desk nice and slow and everyone will walk away happy.”
“Do as he says,” said Hall.
Tony and Terry set their guns on the desk. I picked up both and put them in my coat pocket.
“Ms. Hall here is going to escort me out of the building and we can arrange to chat another time,” I sad.
“Let him go,” said Hall. “The ass clown is too dumb to realize what he has got himself involved in.”
I kept the Glock pressed against her head as we walked down the hall and took the elevator down to the lobby. When Rosie saw my gun pressed against Hall’s head, she appeared startled, but fought a desire to smirk.
“Rosie, hold my calls,” I said, as Hall and I moved toward the front door.
I let Hall go at the entrance. As I jogged to my truck, she shouted at me.
“You have no idea what hell you just unleashed on yourself, dumb ass,” she said.
She slammed the door.
I fired up my truck and got the heck out of there.
Chapter #47
I was a few blocks from driving onto the expressway, when I heard the siren and saw the police lights flashing behind me.
I pulled over.
Chief Sarafino got out of her cruiser and approached me. I rolled down my truck window.
“To what do I owe this honor?” I said.
“License and registration,” she said.
I gave her my license and registration.
“Your right brake light is out,” she said. “And you ran a stop sign a block back.”
“I didn’t see a stop sign.”
“Wait here,” she said.
She went to her cruiser and called my plate in. I heard my name on the police radio.
Five minutes later she returned.
“Sign here,” she said.
I looked at the ticket. She wrote me up for the brake light and reckless driving.
“You’re fining me $347.00?”
She smiled.
“Take it to the magistrate,” she said.
“You’re sore that I didn’t make a pass at you the night you drank me under the table?”
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
“That I talked to the fisherman who saw what really happened to Preston?” I said. “That would be Peter Hartley, your godfather?”
She said nothing.
“Is it that Victoria Hall is distributing massive quantities of heroin from an operation within your jurisdiction, that she killed Preston and that you’re helping to cover all of it up?”
Her face turned hot red.
“You have no idea what you’re doing, McClanahan. You’re interference is going to be costly.”
“Chief, there are people in this town who love you and who want to help you. Let's join forces and stop this thing now.”
She glared at me — as though debating whether or not to shoot me.
“Here is what is going to happen,” I said. “I’m going to bring Hall down. Why don't you tell me how she has directed this thing from the start? I know a few judges and I think we can get you a modest sentence for helping to break this thing —”
“Leave,” she said.
“C’mon, chief.”
“Get the hell out of here unless you want me to impound your car for the alleged transportation of drugs,” she said.
“Have it your way, but I'm bringing Hall’s operation down. I don't want to have to bring you down with it.”
The chief got into her car and punched the accelerator, spitting gravel against my legs and my truck.
I didn’t mind though.
It was way less painful than the hangover she gave me.
Chapter #48
I stopped by the drug treatment ce
nter to see how Erin was doing.
She was wrapped in blankets shivering, yet her hair was damp and sweat was dripping down her pale face.
“How are you faring?” I said.
“I can understand why addicts keep going back to heroin,” she said. “It is one way to make this awfulness go away.”
“Is there anything we can do?” I said.
She shook her head, then jumped from the bed and moved quickly to the bathroom.
“Excuse me,” she said, as she closed the door and vomited for what seemed like 10 minutes.
I heard the commode flush and the water in the sink turn on and off. She walked slowly to the bed crawled back into the blankets. I wanted to help her so badly but didn’t know how.
“I’m spending a lot of time in there these days,” she said. “What have you learned?”
“That information can wait until you’re feeling better.”
“I want to know now.”
I brought her up to speed on everything I knew.
“Good,” she said, “you’re making progress.”
She jumped up again and ran to the bathroom for more of the same. I waited for her to return and jump back under the covers.
“You’re at the peak of pain and agony right now,” I said. “Hopefully, the worst will be behind you in the next few days. You’re incredibly courageous.”
“You’re courageous and John was courageous,” she said. “All I did was get abducted and injected with heroin. I hope to be better soon so I can help you bring the people to justice who killed John.”
She lay on her back and held her forehead with her hand, clearly fighting another bout of nausea.
It was hard for me to see her in such pain, but that motivated me to get back to work.
I left her and headed back to Maryville to keep figuring out how I would bring down Victoria Hall.
Chapter #49
It was nearly midnight when I got to Maryanne. I parked in the same spot above Preston’s facility. I opened up my thermos and poured a cup of fresh coffee in the canister cup.
I pulled out my binoculars and looked down to the building that housed Hall’s heroin operation. It was well lighted. Just like clockwork, cars were going in and out at a brisk pace with license plates from all over.
This time, I wasn’t as interested in the cars couriering the heroin out of the building as I was intent on figuring out how Hall was getting the all of her cash out. There had to be vast amounts in small bills — the way addicts typically would buy their stamp bags — and lots of money in small bills takes up lots of space.
The next two or three hours went like molasses. I never much enjoyed stakeout work — never had much patience for it, as the spare time caused my mind to wander to random memories and personal failures and lots of other things I didn’t much want to think about.
Such as the night my might marriage ended.
I fell in love with Lauren the first time I set eyes on her walking in front of the Cathedral of Learning on Pitt’s campus. I couldn’t take my eyes off of her. I was never a shy person but I still don’t know what compelled me to approach her and ask her out on the spot, but I did it. And I don’t know why she accepted, but she did.
We married our first year out of school, as I became a rookie cop and she began her nursing career. We bought a cozy home in the city’s Brookline neighborhood. Lauren worked on her master’s in anesthesiology while I moved up the ranks. We were both busy, but when I became a homicide detective all balance was lost in our marriage. The truth is, in time, I was more committed to my job and catching murderers than I was to Lauren.
After several heated arguments over my long hours, I agreed to change my ways. Lauren had prepared a wonderful dinner at home, where we planned to work out our future and plans to begin our family.
I remember pulling in the driveway that night, just before dusk. I was calm and happy and eager to spend the night with the girl I fell in love with at first sight a decade before.
But my police scanner spit at me just as I pulled into my driveway. There was a jumper on the Homestead High Level Bridge — right down the road from our Squirrel Hill home. I quickly determined I could get there faster than anyone — and that I could defuse the situation and save a life better than one of our beat cops.
I rolled down the window and placed my light onto the roof. I dropped the transmission into drive and gunned it. I saw her look at me through the front window as my wheels spun over the dried salt and I sped up the road.
He stood on a concrete pier, one of four that jutted a few feet above the railing at equal points in the center of the bridge. His back was to me. He stood facing the cold, black water of the Monongahela, as though he were on a dark stage about to dance. It took me two hours to talk him into coming up onto the bridge — and only because I lied to him and told him I had his wife on the cell phone. I told him she said she loved him and begged for him to talk to her.
As soon as he climbed over the rail, I handed him the phone, then tackled him and cuffed him, while he called me a liar and told me he wanted to die.
I dreaded what would await me at home. I was not surprised to find the lights out and Lauren gone forever —
A box truck exited the garage. Big Tony was driving. Little Terry sat in the passenger’s seat.
They drove slowly up the drive and into the town. I coasted down the hill, then gently turned the key as I got down to a side road. I moved as quietly as possible as I shadowed them. I sat behind a building at a stop sign until I could see them exit the entry ramp onto Rt. 51, then I sped through town and onto the ramp to get behind them.
They continued driving north, heading toward Pittsburgh. After 20 minutes, some six miles before downtown Pittsburgh, it turned right onto Lebanon Church Road. Tony was driving at a modest pace — just a few miles above the speed limit. The two-lane road allowed me to see them a quarter mile ahead with ease. I sat back and just followed.
We went four or five miles this way. We were heading back toward the river — back toward McKeesport and Homestead, towns that were just miles upriver from Maryanne. As we drove the West Mifflin airport came into view on our left — it was a small airport that catered mostly to private planes and corporate jets.
At the next stop light, the truck turned left and headed toward a checkpoint leading into the airport gate. I caught up close enough to see them enter the gate — through the binoculars I could see Tony flash a badge or ID, then he was allowed in to drive onto the tarmac.
Through the fence, I could see the truck move slowly toward what appeared to be a private jet some quarter mile from the gatehouse. It pulled up on the backside of the plane, but the plane was now blocking my view.
I drove further along the fence to get a better view of what they were doing. I found a clear view just as Tony opened the back of the truck. There were two big men in the back of the truck who began unloading thick white laundry bags onto the bed of transporter vehicle. It took them 20 minutes to move the full payload, which had to include 50 or 60 of the large bags.
The transporter moved from the back of the truck to the cargo area of the plane, which looked like a small-to-midsize jet of some kind. It took about 15 or 20 minutes for the two men in the back of the truck to load the cargo onto the plane.
When complete, the two men climbed back into the back of the truck. Tony closed the back doors then he and Terry got into the cab of the truck and left.
For the first time since Erin Miller walked into the pub, I was about to get lucky.
Chapter #50
“That plane there?” said the red-haired female security night guard, pointing to a small jet plane.
Her grey uniform was a size too big. Her face was round, her hair bright red. She was painting her fingernails pink as we talked.
“That's the one,” I said, talking through the small window in the tower. “What can you tell me about it?”
“That’s John Preston’s company plane,” she said
. “A shame what happened to John in the river. He was really nice.”
“When did you see him last?” I said.
“It’s been well over a year,” she said. “More like two years. Before that he used it all the time to fly to his seminars. I tried to get my boyfriend, Billy, to go to one in Pittsburgh, but he refused. Billy’s a welder. We're engaged and will be married next year.”
She blew on her freshly painted nails on her left hand, then showed me the ring on her finger.
“I know it's just a cubic zirconia, but Billy will get me a real one after we finally make it legal,” she said. “We've been dating for seven years, you know.”
“It's very nice,” I said. “If John hasn’t been using the plane, has it been sitting idle?”
“Not at all,” she said, whispering. “Since he stopped using it, it’s been going out lots.”
“Do you know where it goes?”
“Sure,” she said.
She picked up a log book, flipped through it, then pointed to some entries.
“Cayman Islands,” she said. “It used to go about once a week but now it goes every single night, then comes back the next day.”
“Did Preston every fly there?”
“Nope, never once since I’ve been here and that’s been six years,” she said. “Every time the plane went to the Caymans, it went without Preston.”
“How often has it been going to there?” I said.
“Well, I’d say the regular flights started about four years ago or so.”
“How many people are on board?”
“Only one,” she said. “The pilot. His name is Carter. Bob Carter. That's all he does. One run down, one run back. Nice work for what they pay him, which is a lot.”
“You know Bob Carter?” I said.
“Sure. Everybody does. He works for Preston's company. Nobody likes him though. He isn't very talkative — unless he's drinking. But when he drinks he gets nasty, so nobody likes him. He's really handsome though — tall and good looking. Anyhow, he spends most of his time on that plane just waiting. It used to be a sedan would come and load big bags onto the plane that were in the trunk. Then a van. Now they come in a big truck with lots and lots of bags.”
Wicked Is the Whiskey: A Sean McClanahan Mystery (Sean McClanahan Mysteries Book 1) Page 13