by Dave Daren
“First, in case you’ve forgotten, I’m currently the only law officer here,” the Sheriff said. “So I don’t know who you think I’m going to issue an APB to. Second, I’m sure Crenshaw is in the next county by now, and I don’t have jurisdiction there. And, third, as you pointed out, the man is a federal agent.”
“So you did know he worked for the FBI?” I pushed.
The Sheriff shrugged and studied me for a moment.
“You should still contact the state troopers and tell them to be on the lookout for the truck,” I said. “It is stolen, and if Crenshaw wants to use his federal badge to weasel out of an arrest, let him. It will blow his cover and ensure that he never comes back here. That means more money for you.”
“Is that so?” Harris snickered.
“Crenshaw was part of Hup’s gang,” I insisted. “And I can guess what happened. He showed up in town and Hup figured he could squeeze some money out of him. Did you find information about Crenshaw in some police database somewhere? Maybe even the FBI database? I’ll guess you and Hup figured Crenshaw was good for a few bucks so you wouldn’t reveal his location to the FBI. Only, it turned out that Crenshaw was FBI.”
“Sneaky bastard,” Harris muttered though it wasn’t clear if he was referring to me or Crenshaw.
“So how did Crenshaw end up joining your little gang?” I asked.
It was a stab in the dark, and I didn’t think the Sheriff would answer. I had a lot of theories and no real evidence other than whatever the Sheriff cared to tell me. Hup was dead and Crenshaw was getting ever further away, so if Harris opted to say nothing, I would probably never know exactly what had gone down.
“He played us for a couple of weeks,” Shifty said in a tired voice. “Paid his taxes to Hup and asked us not to tell the FBI he was there. He was pretty damn convincing. Then, he showed up at Hup’s place one night. Pulled out his badge and his gun and told Hup he could arrest him for bribery, blackmail, and a whole bunch of other charges. I wasn’t there, but Hup told me later that Crenshaw was ice cold as he talked to Hup. Told Hup he could make the whole thing disappear if we agreed to work with him.”
“So he was taking payments,” I clarified.
“He was,” the Sheriff agreed. “He fit right in, it turned out. He kept his bosses back in D.C. supplied with just enough information to keep his undercover assignment going, and he helped us avoid any traps.”
“Is that the reason the commune started moving all their protests to other areas?” I asked. “So no one else would look too closely at what was going on around here?”
“That was Crenshaw’s work,” the Sheriff agreed. “He made sure that their protests and such were always carried out somewhere else, and he made a point of never doing anything that would get himself arrested. Truth be told, they turned out to be good neighbors. They give away a lot of food to people who can’t afford to buy it, and they’re always happy to trade with the other businesses around here.”
“Will Crenshaw tell his bosses what’s really been happening out here?” I asked.
The Sheriff thought about that for a moment, then spat into this cup again.
“There’s always that possibility,” Harris replied. “But I’ve got my own evidence against him, so even if he does squeal, I’ve got enough to give the FBI a black eye of their own.”
“Do you really think that will be enough to keep the FBI away?” I asked.
“Maybe not,” he shrugged. “But it’ll keep Crenshaw on the straight and narrow. The FBI’s not too kind to those who betray them.”
“I still say you should put out a warrant for him,” I replied. “Just to be sure he doesn’t come back.”
“I’ll take that under advisement,” the Sheriff replied sarcastically.
“Look, I’m just here to get this deal done,” I replied. “I don’t care what happens to Crenshaw, though I do think Billy would appreciate getting his truck back. And I might not have brought you Hup’s killer, yet, but I think you’ll agree that I’ve been more than helpful.”
“Helpful?” he scoffed. “Hup is dead, Crenshaw’s in the wind and probably on his way back to the FBI, and now I’ve got the EPA sniffin’ around for God knows what.”
“And you’re in control,” I pointed out. “You can keep going down the crooked path set by Hup, or you can do something that will really help the town and not just you.”
Harris looked offended, and I thought I might have overestimated his inherent need to protect the town. Perhaps he had been under Hup’s sway for too long, but then I saw the tension ease in his shoulders as he looked past me and stared out the window at the people walking by.
“We could do this,” he murmured.
I nodded though I didn’t want to say anything. The Sheriff seemed to be lost in his own vision at the moment, and I was afraid my own voice would only destroy whatever it was he saw.
“So how do we get the EPA out of here?” he asked several minutes later.
I’d been wondering that same thing myself. The EPA may not have SWAT teams and black helicopters, but they had patience, red tape, and tenacity. It wasn’t unusual for Superfund sites to sit idle for years before clean up even began, by which time the Febbos would have moved on, and Bam would probably be bankrupt from having to pay his share of the clean up costs.
We needed someone who could usurp the EPA on this, and while the FBI certainly met that criteria, I didn’t think anyone involved in the deal wanted to bring them in. I already suspected that the FBI’s New York office was behind the effort to shut down the deal, and bringing them in would only ensure that the mine remained closed for the foreseeable future.
“I may have someone who could help us,” I replied. “But you’ll need to do your part.”
“My part?” the Sheriff asked.
“Can you show that Hup and Crenshaw were collecting bribes?” I asked. “Without implicating yourself?”
Harris thought about that for a moment, and I could see the internal debate he had as he tried to decide whether he could trust me.
“I might be able to pull something together,” he said.
“It’ll probably work better if we say that you’d been conducting an investigation of your own,” I mused. “That you were actually looking into their activities, which is why you might have had meetings with them.”
“Riiight,” the Sheriff drawled. “I was undercover.”
“Still, we don’t want you to appear to be directly involved,” I replied.
The Sheriff nodded and spat in his cup again.
“And if I gather this information?” he asked. “Who are we sending it to?”
“A friend,” I replied. “One with the authority to end the EPA’s investigation.”
“Can this friend do it in time?” the Sheriff asked. “That deadline of yours is almost here.”
“I think so,” I replied. “I guess we’ll find out soon enough.”
“How the hell did this happen?” the Sheriff mused. “How did we end up helpin’ each other?”
“Mutual interests,” I suggested. “I told you I didn’t want to hurt the town.”
“Let’s just hope there’s a town we can still save,” he sighed. “If the EPA kills this deal for good, I expect Folsom will die off once and for all.”
“Then let’s save Folsom,” I replied. “And kick the FBI in the butt while we’re at it.”
The Sheriff gave me a devilish grin, one that made me happy to be on his good side for once. The FBI, on the other hand, had no idea what was about to be unleashed on them.
Chapter 16
I found Dr. Xi at the diner, a napkin neatly tucked into his shirt, a half-eaten cherry pie in front of him, and a cup of tea by his hand. And while most of the other guests shot curious looks at the EPA man, his own eyes were locked on the pie. He studied it the way I imagined he looked at an exciting new slide for the microscope, raptly and without distraction.
“Doctor,” I said as I dropped into the chair across f
rom him.
Xi looked up and blinked twice before recognition lit his eyes.
“Ah, you and the Sheriff finished your discussion,” he noted.
“And you ordered the pie,” I replied.
“It’s remarkable,” he said. “I’ve been trying to figure out what makes it so good.”
Joelle held up a coffee pot, and I debated if I should get a mug. Xi still had a half a pie to eat, but Bam and Carl would be waiting for us at the mine. Bam hadn’t sounded in the best of moods when the Sheriff hung up on him, and I didn’t think a long break at the diner would improve his outlook.
“To go?” I called out.
Joelle nodded as she moved towards the counter, and I turned back to Dr. Xi.
“Cinnamon, of course,” Xi mused. “But maybe nutmeg?”
He took several more bites, slowly savoring each one. Joelle returned with my to-go cup of coffee, which I sipped at slowly while I watched the Asian man decipher the ingredients. Still, I was nearly halfway through the cup before Xi finally finished his pie and tea, and we moved back to the street.
“Where are you parked?” I asked.
“Just in front of the Sheriff’s office,” Xi replied.
We walked back down Jenkins Road to a black Chevy Impala. I was happy to see that the plates were Virginia plates and not government plates. At least Xi’s purpose could remain a mystery for a bit longer, and I secretly hoped that by spending time with him in public, people would assume he was just another expert hired by the company to check the mine. With any luck, Xi would be gone before anyone else in town heard the words Superfund site.
The inside of the car was comfortable, which I realized wasn’t something I’d experienced in a vehicle in a few days, not since my own rental car had been towed to Billy’s. The seats were covered with a soft blue fabric and an air freshener added a hint of mango to the air. There were seatbelts, legroom, and when Xi turned on the engine, the soft sounds of a jazz quartet. I secretly hoped that Xi was a slow driver, and as he eased out of his parking space, I knew I wouldn’t be disappointed.
“I’m rather amazed at how much attention the mine is suddenly getting,” I mused as we drove past the roller rink.
“Oh, most mines probably qualify as Superfund sites,” Xi replied. “Between the chemicals, the coal, and the conditions, most mines are just a disaster waiting to happen. It’s a miracle that most of them actually close peacefully.”
“Do you spend a lot of time checking closed mines?” I asked.
“Rarely,” he replied. “Unless we have reason to believe that arsenic or something similar is starting to leak into the surrounding soil or water, we usually just leave them alone. There’s just too many and plenty of sites that are in far worse condition.”
“Like a big spill or something,” I suggested.
“That, or old dump sites that are leaking,” he replied. “You wouldn’t believe some of the things I’ve seen in trash facilities.”
We were nearing the fork in the road, and I pointed him in the direction of Marion. He actually stopped, looked both ways, then turned on his blinker even though there wasn’t another car to be seen. Sheriff Harris would have been disappointed to miss out on the chance to impose another fine.
“The worst case scenario with these old mines is that you end up with another Centralia,” Xi mused. “Those are the worst because there’s nothing we can do.”
“Centralia,” I said as I considered the name. It sounded familiar, and I had a feeling it was something I had read in law school, but I couldn’t remember what class. Had it been a mass tort against a polluter? Or maybe a criminal case against negligent management.
“In Pennsylvania,” Xi replied. “Not that far from here, as the crow flies. The coal in an old strip mining operation caught fire back in 1962. The fire department was trying to do a controlled burn of an illegal landfill, if you can believe it. But the landfill sat on top of the old mine, and the coal soon caught fire. After that, it quickly spread to the other mines and the other seams of coal. It’s been burning ever since. At the current rate of consumption, it will be burning for over two hundred years.”
I shook my head as I watched the green and vibrant world outside the car go by, and I remembered the book we had read about Centralia as well as the one about the Buffalo Creek disaster in West Virginia. I could recall pictures of a burnt landscape, covered in ash and smoke where Centralia had once stood. I remembered the account of one local who described the never ending smell of sulfur and sinkholes that would appear overnight as steam poured out of the earth.
I was so lost in my own thoughts about the dangers of coal mines that I nearly missed the turn for Bam’s property. Fortunately, with Xi’s driving, I was able to warn him in time to avoid making a u-turn in the middle of the road. The EPA man studied the road carefully before committing the Chevy to the drive, and he nearly turned the car around when he saw the steep climb to the gate. I assured him the Impala would do just fine, and despite Xi’s stop and start approach to the hill, we somehow made it to the top and eased over the crest. The gate was open and I spotted Bam’s truck by the mobile home.
“Just pull in by the truck,” I told Xi. “Mr. Bluefeld must be nearby.”
“I thought it was Bluefield,” Xi remarked.
“Bluefeld,” I corrected. “An attempt to anglicize the family name that didn’t go so well.”
“Hardly the worst one I’ve heard,” Xi replied as he parked next to the truck.
The Impala, I noted as I stepped out of the car, was the exact distance from the truck as two perfectly parked vehicles in a Wal-Mart parking lot. I shook my head, but Bam and Carl had heard our arrival, and the two descended from the mobile home like an angry storm with the shepherd hot on their heels.
“What the hell is this about?” Bam demanded as he glared at me and Xi.
“Dr. Xi needs to do some tests,” I said.
“He’s from the EPA?” Bam pressed as he stared at the man.
Dr. Xi didn’t flinch or even look away. He patted his jacket, pulled out his reading glasses, then opened the briefcase, all while Bam looked on with a look so hot that I was just waiting for the steam to start billowing from the mine owner’s ears.
“As you can see,” Dr. Xi replied as he passed another sheaf of papers to Bam, “this mine has been declared a priority site. I need to take some samples, but the rest of the team will be here tomorrow to begin the full study.”
“What the hell does that mean?” Bam asked as he stared at the pages like they were venomous snakes.
“Well, in the short term, the property falls under the jurisdiction of the EPA,” Xi replied. “I’m afraid nothing can proceed until it’s been approved.”
“He’s talkin’ about our deal,” Bam growled as he turned towards me.
“Looks like,” I agreed.
“Which asshole set this in motion?” Bam demanded as he swung his head back towards Xi.
Xi shrugged and carefully pried the paper from Bam’s hand.
“I just have my orders,” he replied as he replaced the pages in his briefcase. “I can walk the site myself, though many owners prefer to accompany me. Mostly for liability reasons.”
“The mine can be a bit unsafe,” Carl replied.
“The mine is not unsafe,” Bam snapped.
“I was going to leave the mine for the team,” Xi said. “But I noticed some pits and a run-off area in the aerial photos that I’d like to study today.”
“Aerial photos?” Bam asked.
“Yes, a few years old, but I doubt the site has changed that much,” Xi explained. “The government has aerial photos of just about everything.”
“As does Google Earth,” I pointed out.
Bam shook his head and then peered towards the mine.
“Fine,” Bam replied. “You comin’?”
I shook my head.
“I’ll catch up with you two,” I replied. “I need to check some of the equipment again. My clie
nt wants to be sure about the condition of various pieces.”
“Suit yourself,” Bam grumbled.
Dr. Xi had already retreated to the trunk of the Impala. He placed his briefcase carefully inside, then pulled out a larger, boxier case like the crime scene techs carried. He slipped on a pair of rubber boots and disposable gloves, closed the trunk, and rejoined the rest of us at the mobile home.
“Let’s go,” Bam sighed as he started around the clump of stones that marked the entrance to the mine. “I already know what you want to see.”
I watched until the two men were out of sight and then turned towards Carl. The guard looked nervous as he watched the spot where the two men had disappeared as the trail dipped downward, and I wondered what thoughts passed through the guard’s head.
“Mind if I borrow that flashlight again?” I asked.
The guard blinked and turned to look at me, then pulled a flashlight from his belt. This time, Carl handed it to me, then turned his gaze back towards the trail taken by the other two men.
“Bam’s really angry,” I noted.
“Well, yeah,” Carl replied as he scratched at his chin. “He thought he’d finally sold this place.”
“We can still finish the deal,” I said.
“With the EPA sniffin’ around?” he said with a cluck. “Nope, not gonna happen.”
“But it’s okay for you, right?” I asked. “It means you’ll get to stay here longer.”
“Yeah,” he said morosely. “But you know, Bam was gonna give me some of the money from the sale. I was gonna move into my own place just down the road. But if the deal don’t go through and Bam don’t get paid, then I’ll be stuck here forever.”
“Hopefully, that won’t happen,” I replied.
Carl shook his head and whistled for the dog. The pair disappeared back inside the mobile home, and a moment later, I heard a television come to life. I sighed and wandered over to the mine, though I wasn’t really sure what I thought I would find. I was sure Crenshaw was the one who had placed the microphone, but I had no idea where the rest of the equipment was. I hadn’t found anything in the office, but the commune was large, and it could be just about anywhere, including under the tarp by the stream. I added that to my list of places to check, then stepped inside the sheer darkness of the cave once more.