Mystery: The Sam Prichard Series - Books 1-4

by David Archer

  Sam sat there and thought for a few moments. “What about other users of this system? Can we identify anyone else? If we can get a lead on one of the others, maybe I can shake the location of that warehouse out of that one.”

  Indie nodded. “Give me a little time, I'll get someone!” Her fingers flew over the keys and the screen flashed back to the page full of names and usernames. “I've got Herman scanning for any name on here that matches one of Rice's Facebook friends. It's beyond any logic that of all the people he knows, he's the only one on here. I'd bet he's friends with at least one or two others who deal for this outfit.”

  A moment later, the computer made what Sam considered a triumphant beep, and two names appeared on the screen: Levi Stein and Matthew Bryant.

  “Bingo!” Indie said. “Both of these guys are dealing, just like Rice. Odds on they'll know something about the warehouse, wouldn't you think?” She looked up at him excitedly, and for a brief second, Sam thought she was absolutely beautiful.

  He shook it off. “Darn right,” he said. “Get me their addresses and where they work, and I'll go see 'em!”

  The girl nodded. “Give me five,” she said, and went back to typing. A few moments later, the printer hummed to life, and she snatched a page from it. “Here you go. Both their addresses, and their jobs. Levi works at the Wal-Mart on Evans Avenue, and Matthew works for his dad's trucking company out on the edge of town, Bryant Trucking.”

  Sam smiled a grim smile. “I think I'll go pay them a visit,” he said. “Let's see what they know.”

  “Hey, hold up a minute,” Indie said. “I just wanna check one more thing.” Her fingers flew, and a moment later there was another report coming out of the printer. She looked at it and whistled. “Look at this,” she said to Sam. “Levi and Matthew have both been arrested before, for the same attempted murder charge, but the witness disappeared and the charges got dismissed for lack of evidence. Other than that, they've both got rap sheets as long as your arm, and mostly for violent offenses.”

  She was right. Both of the men had been arrested numerous times for assaults, robberies, threatening and other forms of violence, and almost all of the charges were dismissed when victims changed their minds or witnesses failed to remember what they'd seen, or even to show up at all to testify. These guys were dangerous, and Sam was just a semi-crippled ex-cop.

  He went to his bedroom and opened his bottom dresser drawer, then took out the lock-box he kept there. The key on his key ring opened it, and he withdrew the forty-caliber Glock he'd carried as a detective. He worked the action to make sure it was still well lubed and free, then picked up one of the four loaded clips that were in the box beside it and slammed it home. He dug in the drawer again and found the clip-on holster and slipped it onto his belt, and the gun went back into its familiar place like it had missed being there.

  He went back to the dining room and sat down beside Indie, then took out his phone and dialed a number. When he got an answer, he smiled.

  “Is that Kimberly? Hey, Kiddo, it's Sam Prichard, how you been? I'm good—listen, I need a favor, and I know you’re the gal who can do it. I'm going into the PI biz, and I need a Concealed Carry Permit. How long would it take me to get one? Girl, you are an absolute gem! I'll be there in a half hour!” He hung up and smiled at Indie. “That's the girl at the sheriff's office who tests people for their concealed carry permits, and she said if I can get there in a hurry, she'll get me in this afternoon's test and I can have my permit today. I gotta run.”

  He stood up, and that's when he noticed that Indie was staring at the gun on his hip. He looked down at it, then at her. “Is that gonna be a problem?” he asked. “I think I need to have it, if I'm gonna be doing this sort of thing, don’t you? Especially with the kind of people we're looking at here?”

  Indie sat there without speaking for moment, then shook her head. “It's no problem,” she said. “The thought that you might need it just makes me a little bit nervous, that's all. I'll be okay.”

  He went out to the van and got in, then took off for the sheriff's office. The CCL tests were held at the sheriff's firing range, and he'd have to demonstrate his ability with the gun, but he wasn't worried. He'd passed every test with a handgun since he was eighteen years old, and knew without any doubt that he would be as good with it that day as he'd ever been.

  He was right; an hour later, he had passed the test with flying colors, and his brand new CCL was in his wallet, with a sheriff’s endorsement. With that, he could carry his weapon anywhere, since it made him a de facto deputy sheriff. Sam was once again a law enforcement officer.

  He went into the courthouse and filed for a Private Investigator's License, as well. Colorado didn't actually require one, but they instituted a voluntary license in 2012. Having it didn't give any more authority, but it did lend a lot of credibility. Sam thought, since he was going to be carrying concealed, he might as well go all out and get the license that would justify it if he ever had to use his weapon in the course of an investigation. Because of his history as a police officer, he was granted his license and shield immediately, though he had to pay almost a hundred dollars for the latter.

  He walked out into the sunshine and called Dan Jacobs. “Hey, Buddy, guess who just got tagged as a straight-up PI?”

  “You? Sam, I think that's great. Keep you busy, and let you do some good. And you always got me to do the grunt work, right?”

  Sam laughed. “Yep. Thanks, man, I just wanted to tell somebody. I'll be in touch.”

  “You better be,” Dan said. “You did promise me a copy of that info you got, remember?”

  “I ain't forgot, don't worry. You'll have it within a few days or so.”

  He cut off the call, and then did the thing he'd been avoiding all day; he called his mother.

  “Sam, my God! It's about time I hear from you, are you okay?”

  “I'm fine, Mom, how you been?”

  “Oh, my God, I'm just going crazy with the way real estate prices are dropping right now. It's terrible! So what blessed event has resulted in you giving your old mother a call?”

  Sam grimaced. “Well, actually, Mom, there's a couple of things. First off, I got a new housekeeper, a girl who's gonna live in and take care of the place for me...”

  “Sam! You got a girlfriend? Oh, that's wonderful! Tell me about her, is she a nice girl? She's not like your ex-wife, is she, I mean, that woman, oh! She was just so not right for you, Sam, and...”

  “Mom? Mom! No, I don't have a girlfriend, Mom, she's just a girl I know who needed a place for her and her little girl to stay, and so we worked out a trade while she looks for a regular job and gets on her feet. That's all it is, but you don't need to come over to help me clean up anymore, its covered now.”

  His mother seemed slightly offended. “Well, if that's what you want, then I guess that's fine, Sam, but do you really know this girl? She isn't some stray you picked up, is she, cause you know how you always used to bring home stray dogs and cats all the time, and it was always so heartbreaking for you when we had to get rid of them.”

  “She's not a stray, Mom, just a friend of mine who was down on her luck, and I've got all that room. Anyway, the other thing is that I've decided to go into the Private Eye business, and I just got my licenses today. I know you've got friends at the courthouse, so I wanted to tell you before any of them could.”

  “Well, Sam, I think that's wonderful! You need something to keep you busy, I've said that before! Maybe you can help some poor woman catch her husband cheating, God knows I wish I'd been able to catch your father, but then he didn't care, so...”

  “Mom!” Sam yelled into the phone. “Mom? You're breaking up, I can't hear you! You gotta get a new phone, Mom, that one's...” He hung up.

  She didn't bother to call back. She never did. He made his way back to the van, and then headed for Evans Avenue. Levi was probably at work right then, and what better place for the chat they were about to have than Wal-Mart?

&n
bsp; 5

  Sam pulled up and parked in one of the handicapped spaces at Wal-Mart on Evans, and then climbed out and headed inside. He was using his cane, and it was helping, since his hip was acting up that day. He got inside and spotted a woman who was walking around with lots of keys and looked like she knew what she was doing, so he caught her attention.

  “Excuse me, Ma'am,” he said, flashing his new shield and ID. “My name is Sam Prichard, and I'm a private investigator. I'm looking for one of your employees, Levi Stein. Can you tell me where I might find him?”

  The woman looked at his ID for a second, then took a walkie-talkie out of a pocket and called someone on it. “I've got a Detective here,” she said, “looking for Levi. Is he back there?” She held the speaker to her ear and listened for a moment, then said, “Okay, thanks, I'll send him back.” She put the talkie back in her pocket and said, “He's out back in receiving. If you go through the double doors at the back of this aisle, you'll see the loading docks. That's where you'll find him.” She turned away as if Sam didn't even exist.

  He walked down the aisle and out the double doors she'd indicated, then saw the loading docks at the end of a long hallway. There were forklifts and pallet jacks moving around with people operating them, and he had to dodge them to get by, but finally he saw Levi standing at the back of a semi-trailer. He walked up and flashed his ID.

  “Levi, I'm Sam Prichard, private investigator. I'd like to ask you a few questions about Allen Rice.”

  Levi shrugged his shoulders. “Go ahead and ask,” he said. “What can I tell you?”

  “I'm trying to find Allen's little girl,” Sam said bluntly. “I know that he gave her to someone in the drugspot organization, as security for some big deal he's doing. All I care about is getting the little girl back safely; nothing else matters to me right now. If you can help me do that, I can forget your name and everything else I know about you.”

  Levi was standing there calmly, and didn’t seem the least bit concerned with what Sam might know. He grinned at him and said, “I don't know anything about that. I heard some rumor that Allen's getting a promotion, but I don't think it's for real, and if it is, he'll find a way to mess it up like he does everything else. Any idea who he gave the kid to?”

  Sam was surprised at how open Levi was acting, and it made him wary. He looked around, but there was no one close enough to overhear them. “No. All I know is he was supposed to drop her off at something called the old warehouse. Any idea where that is?”

  Levi sucked on his bottom lip for a moment, looking at the floor, then raised his eyes back to Sam's. “Only place might be called that is the building where the night shipments come in. If I give it to you, you'll forget me? Completely?”

  Sam smiled, then crossed his heart with his finger. “Completely,” he said. “And if it gets the kid back safe, I'll owe you one personally. Maybe you'll need a favor one day, maybe not, but it would be there.”

  Levi grinned. “I'm sure I'd need it sooner or later, but I can't be sure this is gonna get you what you need; no promises, but the place I think they call the old warehouse is down on Green Valley, near where it hits E 470. It's a big yellow building, adobe-looking thing. There's an office there, but the old guy who works there wouldn't know anything about the Company, so don't shake him up too bad. That's about all I can tell you, man, but I hope it works out for you.”

  Sam stared at him. “Thanks. Can you tell me why you're being so helpful?”

  Levi looked back at him and grinned. “Sure,” he said. “I want to see you find the kid, and get her out of the mess her daddy put her in, that's part of it; but the main reason is because I know who you are, Detective Prichard, and I'm the informant who gave your guys the info the day you got shot. I figure I owe you one, y'know? Now, I gotta get back to work.”

  Sam stood there for a moment as Levi walked away, then turned and made his way back through the store. Part of him wanted to get angry at that guy, make him pay for what happened that day, but he was just the source of the information. He didn't get the warrant, he didn't orchestrate the raid, he didn't do anything but let Carlson's people know that there was a major shipment due in, giving them a good chance to make a major dent in the local drug operations.

  Sam let it go, and then got into the van and drove away. He started to call Dan as he did so, but changed his mind. He didn't have enough information to justify a warrant, and Carlson probably wouldn't let him be in on it anyway, so he decided to go check out the warehouse for himself.

  Dan would probably shoot him if he knew about it.

  An hour later, he drove the van up to the only building that fit Levi's description. There was indeed an office, and he walked up and knocked on the door there. An elderly man came and opened it.

  “Can I help you, young feller?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir,” Sam said. “I think so. I heard a rumor this building might be coming up for lease sometime soon, and I was wondering if I could take a look around inside it?”

  The old man looked surprised. “Up for lease? Oh, goodness, I hope not! I've worked here nearly forty-five years, I'd hate to lose my job now!” He looked Sam up and down. “Well, you just never know, though, do you? Come on in, it can't hurt nothin' to let you look around, I guess.”

  Sam followed the man inside and let him lead the way into the big, empty expanse that was the old warehouse. There were several smaller rooms off to the sides, but all of them were empty and open.

  “What's this place used for now?” Sam asked.

  “Oh, they bring in some trucks now and then and unload stuff here, stuff that's going on to other places, I reckon. They sort it out and load it back on other trucks, and out it goes again, zoom! Like sortin' the mail, I guess, just decide where it goes and send it on its way.”

  Levi had been right; this old fellow didn't know much of anything, and he appeared to be a bit simple, anyhow. If this was the place where Rice had dropped his daughter off, there would be no sign of her presence left by then. Still, Sam couldn't just walk away.

  “Say,” he said, “I was wondering, do you know who the actual owner of the building is? I'd like to give a call and see if I can get a deal worked out before it gets away from me, y'know? And don’t worry, if I can lease it, I'd still need someone to watch over it, so you'd still have a job if you want it.”

  The old guy looked a little confused for a moment, but then he brightened. “Oh, you must mean Mr. Ingersoll! He's the owner, or at least, he's the one I talk to. I think there's several owners, you know, but Gene Ingersoll, he's the one who runs everything. Here, let me get you his phone number, it'll just take me a minute!” He went into his own little office and flipped through an old-fashioned Rolodex for a moment, then scribbled something onto a post-it note and brought it to Sam. “Here you go, that's his office number right there. And if you do lease it, then yeah, I'd sure like to keep my job if I can.”

  Sam smiled and took the note. “Thank you, sir, and I'll sure keep that in mind. You have a good day, now, okay?” He made it out of the building and into the van without any further delays, and then looked at the note in his hand.

  Eugene Ingersoll, it read, with a phone number. Sam got out his phone and dialed it immediately.

  “Hello?” said a voice that sounded highly cultured.

  “Mr. Ingersoll?” Sam asked, and the man chuckled.

  “Yes, this is Gene Ingersoll. May I ask who I have the pleasure of speaking to?”

  Sam smiled. “Mr. Ingersoll, I'm Sam Prichard, a private investigator, and I'm trying to locate a missing child. I've been given to understand that you may have some knowledge of where that child is, and if you could tell me, I think it would be very good for both of us.”

  The laugh came again. “Well, first, Mr. Prichard, I'm certain that I don't have any such knowledge, so we're wasting a lot of time already. However, second, if I did, then I'm also certain that the mere stupidity of calling me this way and demanding it would be enough to ensur
e that I would keep it to myself, don't you think? Why on earth would I admit to knowledge that could put me in prison?”

  “The short answer to that would be that I'm calling out of a desperate desire to see the child come home safely, and I was hoping you'd help. However, I'm also in possession of a great deal of information regarding a certain venture that you are almost certainly a part of, Mr. Ingersoll, and that information can be lost if I get that child back safely. If I don't, then that information, all of it, will make its way into the hands of some people who would probably like to ruin your day for the rest of your life. I hope that allows us to understand each other, sir, and that it will make it possible for us to work together to bring this situation to a mutually satisfactory conclusion.”

  The man on the other end burst out into raucous laughter, and the cultured accent became less noticeable. “Well, well, you went straight for the jugular, there, didn't you? Now, assuming that I do have any involvement in that venture you’re speaking of, what kind of assurance do I have that you're a man of your word? And assuming I did know anything about that missing girl, of course.”

  Sam grinned. “The only assurance I will give you, sir, is this: you just slipped and told me that you do know exactly what I'm talking about, which makes you an accessory to kidnapping at the very least. If you give me the kid, and she is safe, then that will be the very last you ever hear of me. If you don't, then I can guarantee you that I'll have the DEA crawling up your ass within a matter of days, and whatever they don't tear to shreds, I will! I'm a private investigator, Ingersoll. I'm not a cop, not anymore. My job is to find and recover that girl, not to get into your business. If I achieve my goals with your help, then your business stays your business. If not, then I'll make it my business to destroy you. Do we understand each other?”

  Ingersoll was quiet for a few seconds, then said, “Mr. Prichard, you play a dangerous game, but I can say this. I know about the girl you’re looking for, but I don't have her, and I don't know where she is. To do what you want will take some time, a day, maybe. If you can give me that long, I'll try to help you out, and I'll trust—for now—that you'll honor your end of this bargain. I'm sure you know enough to know that if you don't, it will cost you your life, am I right?”