Undercurrent: A P.I. Munro Crane Romantic Suspense Thriller

by Louise Rose-Innes

  “Heroin? From Afghanistan? That’s an awful long way to smuggling in drugs, isn’t it?”

  “Not if you’re got a secure supply route. Cocaine is mostly South American, but heroin, now that’s another story. It comes in from all over, but nothing’s as pure as the Afghan stuff. It’s flooding the market in North America and Canada, but we don’t know where it’s coming from.”

  “Kaz Erkel, a drug baron? Hmm…” It was possible. The guy did have Afghan links, he could have made contacts when he was over there fighting. The thought made his skin crawl. It was Afghan opium that nearly destroyed his life. Opium they made into heroin before exporting it to the west, where it continued to destroy more lives.

  He frowned. “I thought the Mexicans had the drug trafficking tied up in this state?”

  “Yeah, they’re prolific all right, but it’s mainly meth and cocaine, some heroin but not the pure stuff. They’re street level, vicious, brutal. This guy, Erkel, is a different player.”

  “If he is a player,” Crane added.

  Doug shrugged. “Like I said, it’s just rumours. You haven’t picked up anything then?”

  “Nothing,” mused Crane, biting his lower lip. “I don’t know him that well.”

  “But you do know him?”

  “I knew him. In Afghanistan, when I bust my ankle in that bunker. He was the one who got me out.”

  Crane fell silent. He’d never told Doug the full story about what had happened in Helmand Province. Never told anyone other than the shrink who’d hounded him in rehab and that was more to get her off his back than because he actually needed to talk about it.

  The powers that be had given him a medal for his role in the conflict. Then they’d kicked him out of the special forces. With his useless ankle and his addiction, he could no longer be counted on as a reliable member of the team. It didn’t help he’d been clean for six months by then. Apparently once an addict, always an addict.

  He stared at his plate.

  “So you gonna tell me what really happened?” Doug asked, after a minute had ticked by. “And not the official version. I’ve heard that one.”

  He sighed. “There’s not much to tell. There I was, half-dead, high as a kite, trapped under a ton of rock, my ankle crushed to bits and this Afghan soldier appears out of nowhere. They were fighting with us, you’ll remember. A joint mission against the Taliban. Anyway, he dragged me out of the cave and carried me over a mile to a nearby village where a group of youths took me to some kind of healer. She kept me alive until I could get word back to base and a medevac helicopter came to fetch me. If it wasn’t for him, I would have died out there.”

  “And that Afghan soldier was Kaz Erkel, the Portland businessman?” There was doubt in Doug’s eyes. Crane didn’t blame him. It was a stretch.

  “His father was Afghan, his mother a Dutch aid worker. His real name is Qasim, which he shortened to Kaz. His mother brought him to the states when he was a baby. As far as I can tell, she has no connection to the father and I couldn’t find any evidence they were ever married. I looked it up when I took the case.”

  Doug pursed his lips. “Glad to see you do your homework.”

  Crane shrugged. “Due diligence.”

  “So he went over to fight for the Afghans in the war against the Taliban?”

  “Yeah, his father’s family was wiped out. He told me that when he hired me. Said he’d been an angry solder, out for revenge.”

  “The son avenging his father’s death. Okay, I’ll buy that. And he told you this before he hired you to spy on his wife?”

  Crane nodded and picked at his food. He’d lost his appetite.

  Doug didn’t have the same problem. His plate was nearly clean. “So what’s this boating accident got to do with Kaz Erkel?”

  “That is what I’m trying to find out. It gets weirder. Sarah Erkel, that’s the wife, disguises herself before she drives out to Astoria to investigate the accident. It’s like she doesn’t want her husband to know what she’s up to.”

  Doug thought for a moment. “Do you think he’s involved, somehow?”

  Crane shrugged again. “I don’t know. I think she thinks he is. Unfortunately, I told him about her first trip to Astoria and the next day she rocked up at the airport with a black eye and got on a plane to California.”

  “He hit her?” Doug frowned. “That’s not good.”

  “No, it’s not good. And her kid lives in California with her parents.”

  “Not with them?”

  “Nope, what does that tell you?”

  “It’s not his child?”

  Crane leant forward and said in a low voice. “So you tell me, is this case worth exploring, or should I just cut and run? Call it day.”

  Doug choked on his last mouthful. “You are kidding right? You’ve got an in with a guy on the DEA watch list and you’re asking me if you should call it a day? What do you think I’m going to say?”

  Crane took a long pull on his beer, a wry smile on his face. “I thought as much. So, we need to find out what the connection is between Sarah Erkel and the men who drowned on the boat. Can you help?”

  “Sure. I’ll get on it. I take it you’ve tried the internet?”

  “Yeah, I’m not a complete heathen. There’s no mention of Chris Elliot, Chef Manning or Rick Copeland, other than they ran a fishing company - Chinook Fishing Tours. Their website is ancient but it’s still there. There’s nothing about Sarah either, except she got a journalism diploma back in the nineties and then married Kaz Erkel. No social media profiles, nothing to link them together.”

  “I’ll see what I can find out. In the meantime, try to get close to your client. Become his best buddy, if possible, maybe even part of his team. Find out everything you can about him, especially about any illicit trade in heroin from Afghanistan.” Doug rubbed his hands together. “It’ll be a feather in our cap if we can get a lead on this guy.”

  “You want me to go undercover in his organisation?” Crane raised an eyebrow. “Why would he trust me? I’m ex-special forces. Military.”

  “So was he. Sort of. Use that to your advantage. I’m sure you can find a way in, you’re good at that.”

  “Hmm…Okay, I’ll see what I can do. The wife pretty much made me the other day anyway, so I can’t keep following her around. I’ll have to figure something else out.”

  “That’s the spirit. Now eat your food, it’s getting cold. I hate to see a good rellenos go to waste.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  At six o’clock, Crane drove up to a large wooden gate through which he could see a long, winding driveway flanked on either side by tall pines and cedars. The gates were closed, so he came to a halt, but kept the engine running. A security guard with a suspiciously bulky jacket, emerged from a wooden hut and approached the car. He gave his name, the guard nodded and disappeared back into his hut, after which the gates opened inwards, allowing him access to Kaz Erkel’s estate.

  On the left of the driveway, Crane spotted a crescent shaped lake shimmering through the trees. The driveway bent around it, the trees thinned out, and he had a perfect view of the lake and the elegant, ranch-style mansion which it hugged.

  Crane whistled under his breath. Kaz Erkel certainly wasn’t short of a few bob. The sheer size of the wooden structure put his one-bedroomed log cabin to shame. Spread out over roughly four hundred square foot, it blended seamlessly into the autumnal surroundings. The wood looked to be Oregon pine, the same hue as the leaves which lay scattered on the grass around it.

  The front of the house faced the lake in which the burnished oranges and burnt reds of the cedars were reflected. To admire the view, a slatted, white balcony ran along the entire front of the house. Below, there was a wide porch with a small pier and steps leading down to the water’s edge. A couple of deck chairs were positioned outside. Perfect for fishing or watching the sun set.

  The driveway curved around the lake then meandered away from it, behind the house, where the main entra
nce and parking area were located. To his surprise, there were at least a dozen cars already there lined up in two neat rows. Kaz must be entertaining. Crane frowned and parked to one side, messing up the symmetry. He didn’t want to pin himself in. You never knew when you had to make a quick getaway.

  Kaz was big on security, by the looks of things. Crane spotted two men with weapons patrolling the carpark. No, make that three. Another had just appeared from the far side of the property. They were all on high alert, eyes trained on his vehicle, waiting for him to emerge so they could assess the threat.

  He got out slowly, his hands clear. His gun was better off left in the trunk. Those were semi-automatics they were carrying and the men appeared well trained. They regarded him cautiously but didn’t approach. Perhaps they’d been told to expect him and that he didn’t pose a risk.

  His mind was ticking over. Why would a businessman, albeit a wealthy one, need all this security? Who the hell was he entertaining in there? The President? Drug lords? Suddenly, Doug’s suspicions seemed well founded.

  When Kaz had called earlier, he’d arranged a meeting, so Crane assumed he wasn’t invited to the party. He strolled up to the front door, taking his time, checking out the perimeter. Beyond the carpark was woodland which backed onto a golf course. He’d noticed it from the approach road. He couldn’t see the front of the house from here, but he knew on the other side of the lake was state forest which stretched for miles in all directions. They were pretty isolated. A lot of coverage for anyone wanting to take pot-shots at the house.

  The double-volume front door was opened by the same guy he’d seen climb out of the back of the SUV the other day. Still wearing the same bad suit, still packing. Could he be more obvious? But then, perhaps that was the point.

  Crane gave his name.

  “I’ll get the boss for you,” muttered the bodyguard and disappeared through a nearby door. Voices and music could be heard as the door opened, but were cut off as soon as it closed behind him.

  Crane stood in the entrance hall studying his surroundings. Pale tiles covered the expanse of the entrance hall and he suspected the other rooms on the ground floor as well. It was elegantly furnished with minimalistic décor and a modern light fitting resembling an octopus with steel tentacles reaching out across the ceiling. An abstract painting hung on the wall which looked a lot like crop circles but in all sorts of fantastic colours. Modern art. It wasn’t his thing, but judging by the size of the painting and the way it was expertly lit, it was valuable, or the owner wanted people to think it was.

  Crane heard laughing and the clink of glasses as the door reopened and Kaz appeared, followed closely by his bodyguard who took up his position again at the front door.

  “Crane, good to see you.” They shook hands. “Come with me. There’s something I want to discuss.”

  Crane followed him down a corridor and into a large, carpeted room with a massive desk taking pride of place in front of large, wooden-framed windows. The study.

  Apart from the desk, there was a polished wooden cabinet covered with photographs in silver frames, and another piece of art, possibly by the same artist, on the wall above it. Crane wandered over to the photos.

  “Please, take a seat.” Kaz stood on the other side of his desk, an authoritative figure in well-cut trousers and a smart shirt. This was not a social call.

  Crane strolled over to the chair and sat down. It creaked under his weight. Only after he’d sat down did Kaz take a seat.

  “So, there’s nothing new to report on my wife’s activities?”

  Crane shook his head. “No, not since that last trip to Astoria. She went to gym two days in a row, came out a few hours later, had lunch, went to the salon, you know, the usual stuff. If she’s seeing that guy it isn’t a regular thing.” He hoped that would put Kaz’s mind at rest. It was important to make it appear Crane thought she was having an affair, just as Kaz had wanted him to believe from the start. He didn’t mention the coast guard visit. Or the disguise. Or the kid at school in California.

  “Hmm…” Kaz thought for a moment, then said, “I’m going to take you off the case. I’ve got what I wanted – a name – so I don’t think there’s any need to keep her under surveillance.”

  Crane nodded. “Fair enough.”

  “Thanks for your time.”

  The conversation was over, except Crane didn’t get up. Kaz tilted his head to one side. “Is there something else?”

  “Yeah, I was wondering…” he petered off. “Nah, never mind. Forget it.” He stood up and held out his hand.

  Kaz stood too. “You were wondering what?”

  “I was just wondering if you had a job for me.”

  He watched as Kaz’s eyes narrowed, immediately suspicious. “Now what would you want a job for? Haven’t you already got one?”

  Crane shrugged. “Yeah, but it doesn’t pay too well and work is scarce. Since I got discharged from the force, I’ve been drifting around, doing odd jobs as well as surveillance. I thought you might have something more substantial for me.”

  Did that sound convincing enough?

  Kaz wasn’t sold. “Sorry, buddy. I have staff. I don’t need anyone else right now.”

  Crane didn’t want to push it. “Okay, fair enough. No harm in asking, right?” He shook Kaz’s hand. “But if you change your mind, I’m happy to do whatever. You know my skillset.” He gave Kaz a pointed look, his meaning clear.

  Kaz nodded slowly. “I’ll give it some thought. In the meantime, why not help yourself to a drink on your way out. I’m having a small party.”

  Crane glanced down at his casual attire. “Thanks, but I’m not dressed for a party.”

  “I insist. One drink.”

  They left the study, Crane first, then Kaz, who locked the door carefully behind him. He dropped the key in his trouser pocket. In the entrance hall, Kaz gestured for Crane to follow him into the side room. It was large, rectangular and tastefully decorated. Guests mingled, drinks in hand, and talked shop.

  “What can I get you?” Kaz asked, heading to a vast drinks cabinet. Next to it was a fridge, presumably filled with beer.

  “I’ll have a cold one,” Crane said, leaning against the wall. Most of the men, like their host, wore expensive suits. Business associates, Crane guessed. Or political contacts, players in Portland’s upper circles. He spotted Senator Malloy, along with a few other half-recognisable faces. The wives, or mistresses, shimmered in long cocktail dresses and glittered with jewels.

  It was a glamorous crowd and Crane felt distinctly out of place in his jeans and chequered shirt. He was getting a few odd looks too, not surprisingly. Kaz, however, seemed disaffected.

  “If you’ll excuse me. There’s someone I want to speak to.” Crane nodded, as Kaz turned to talk to a heavyset man with a hawkish nose and thick glasses.

  Crane sipped his beer and studied the guests. “Have you taken it for a trial run?” Kaz asked the heavyset man.

  “No, but I’m thinking of sailing her down to Florida next week to run her in.”

  Kaz’s reply was lost as at that moment, Sarah walked in. She was like a fairy princess amongst a gathering of gnomes. Her blonde hair hung down her back like a silky golden aura. She looked stunning in a figure-hugging, burgundy dress with a slit up the side. He wasn’t the only man in the room who noticed.

  Kaz was at her side in an instant. He put a possessive arm around her waist, more for the benefit of his male guests than his wife. She’s mine, he was saying. Crane noticed her shoulders stiffen. That feeling was a one way street.

  Her husband got her a drink – champagne – and left her to talk to one of his associates’ wives. Sarah listened politely, but her gaze roamed over the guests. Crane got the feeling she was bored stiff. He didn’t blame her. When she got to him, her eyes widened. Confusion, fear and the struggle for recognition registered on her face.

  The beefy bodyguard walked in and whispered in Kaz’s ear. Their host excused himself and went outside.
Perfect timing. Crane took advantage of his absence to walk over to Sarah. “I’m sorry to interrupt,” he began, sensing her confusion. “I thought I’d better introduce myself.”

  Sarah was momentarily lost for words.

  Her companion, taking the hint, gave Crane a curious once-over before melting away. Sarah found her tongue. “I’m sorry, but have we met? You look familiar.”

  “Not officially. I’m Munro Crane. I did some work for your husband recently.”

  Her expressive brown eyes lit up as she recalled where she’d seen him. “You…You were at the airport,” she stammered. “Were you following me?”

  “I was doing a job, that’s all. I didn’t realise it would end up getting you hurt.” He glanced pointedly at her left eye. It had healed nicely, there was no bruising now.

  She gasped and put a hand to her cheek. “How did you…?” It took a moment for her to figure things out. Then she hissed, “It was you who told my husband about Rick.” Fear flashed across her face as she stared at him. She’d gone quite pale.

  “Yes, I’m sorry about that. I didn’t know…” He faded off as Kaz came back into the room, noticed them talking and made a beeline for them. Sarah’s demeanour changed. She dropped her gaze and clutched her Champaign flute like it was a lifeline.

  She’s terrified of him, thought Crane.

  “Well, it was lovely meeting you, Mrs. Erkel,” he said, just as Kaz joined them. He stuck out his hand. For a moment he thought she was going to ignore it, but then she shook it, timidly.

  “Likewise, Mr…er, Crane.”

  Her hand was soft, but icy cold. He couldn’t help himself, he gave it a quick squeeze before he released it. Her gaze flew to his face, questioning. But he couldn’t give her any answers.

  “You’re leaving?” Despite being a question, Crane got the feeling it was more of a statement. He’d overstayed his welcome.

  “Yes, thanks for the beer.” He gave Kaz brief nod and turned to walk away.