The Morelville Mysteries Collection

by Anne Hagan

  The heavily tattooed man’s I.D. listed him as DeWayne Dawes. The other unknown man didn’t have I.D. on him. He said his name was Bryant Quinn.

  The squad showed up on the scene. I hustled Stearman and Dawes outside past a small but growing crowd of onlookers and into the bus, leaving the statements from Kasey and Mike up to Spence.

  Both men were triaged at Genesis with non-life threatening injuries. We cooled our heels in small, curtained off ER rooms waiting to see an ER doc to get everyone sewn up. Holly sent over another patrol deputy to help with the babysitting duties. We separated Stearman and Dawes and then I started in questioning Stearman.

  “What was all of that about?”

  Travis shrugged and tried to look like he was playing it cool.

  “Look, Dawes is big time gang and not from around here. That’s bad news for you. What’s worse is, not only did he or his buddy Quinn take a shot at you before I even got there; Dawes took two shots at me. He’s going to jail for that. Do you think he and his gang brothers are going to take that out on the system or on you?”

  Stearman was starting to look worried. I was getting through. “Look, I don’t like outsiders who have no business here coming into my town where they don’t belong and causing trouble.”

  That seemed to strike a nerve and finally he started talking. “They’re sayin’ I owe them money. I don’t owe them nothin’.”

  “Where are they from? Dawes is covered in gang tattoos I haven’t seen around here before and the other guy had a couple of similar ones on him.”

  “Chicago.”

  “They’re coming to the middle of nowhere Ohio from Chicago looking to put a squeeze on you and you don’t know anything? I didn’t just crawl out from under a rock. What are you really into?”

  “I’m in pain. My leg’s hurtin’ bad. When am I gonna see the doc?”

  “It will be your turn soon.” I tried to sound compassionate even though I badly needed information.

  “I’m sorry to be short with you but I really have my hands full. There’s a Secret Service agent in town checking out all the counterfeit bills that keep popping up. He has a pretty tight schedule that has my office hopping. I have too much going on right now so how about we get this all straightened out and then we’ll both be on our way?”

  Travis turned white. His eyes darted about. “The Secret Service in Morelville?”

  “Here in the county, yes. Counterfeiting is a serious, federal offense. They don’t mess around with counterfeiters. Actually, I’ve been looking for you.”

  “Me? Why me?” He looked like a deer caught in the headlights.

  “Because you’ve been named as someone potentially connected to or associated with the counterfeiters. Now we have gangbangers from Chicago down here looking for you. It doesn’t look very good for you, from where I’m sitting.”

  “I don’t have anything to do with counter..., with fake money. I swear I don’t. I don’t know nothin’ about it. Hell no, I don’t.”

  “Good to know. So you’re telling me that all of the money I took from you back at the Shanty will check out when I give it to the agent to run through their labs?”

  What little remaining color Stearman had in his face drained from it. He began to shake. He closed his eyes and rocked back and forth on the gurney he was sitting on. Finally, he began to speak again.

  “It’s all Quinn and Dawes, Sheriff, I swear.” He was whispering but it was pretty quiet in the ER in the middle of the day on a weekday. A throat cleared a couple of curtained rooms down. Travis looked nervously in that direction.

  Now that he was talking, I didn’t want to risk him getting spooked into believing the Chicago gang had more power over him than the Secret Service.

  “You just hold tight over there Mr. Dawes. You’re up next.”

  I continued to question Travis Stearman but he didn’t offer up any more information than that he had gotten all of the counterfeit money he was passing from the gang bangers. I switched places with the patrol deputy watching Dawes and started in on him.

  “You took two shots at me today. Minimum, that’s assaulting a police officer. Ohio usually likes to go for attempted murder. Either way, you’re going up for a long time. It might help you out to be cooperative right now. I get that the money comes from you. Where do you get it?”

  Dawes just stared at me or, rather, he stared through me. He kept his mouth shut. He was a nut for Agent Webb to crack.

  When the doctor showed up to work on Dawes, I went back to the waiting area and called Webb to fill him in. Since I could confirm Stearman’s connection to the counterfeit money, I had something of value to pass along to him. I didn’t have a lot of info but we were inching closer to the source of the funny money.

  Chapter 8 - Dana

  I was back in the Field Office early after my night of little sleep. I followed up with the U.S. Marshall’s Service on the extraction plan for Antoine “Freestyle” Robinson. I left him a basic message about getting in touch with me. When he called, I’d give him the info he needed to arrange a pick up by the Marshall’s. He’d be taken care of and out of my hands.

  I called down to the lab. So far they only had a partial print from the envelope I’d gotten from Mel. They were running it through AFIS. No hits yet. I was stuck in a waiting game there.

  Next on my list was research on the murder at Stateville Correctional Center. It wasn’t hard to find info on the incident and the prisoner that was killed. It was a bit harder getting the prison to open up the visitor log and let me know who’d been in to see “Vincent” the next day. And, to make it just that much more difficult, Vincent himself was proving even more elusive.

  Once one Vincent Harris had been released from Stateville, he made exactly one visit to his parole officer; the next day. He hadn’t been seen by his P.O. since and he had vacated the halfway house he was supposed to have been staying in. If he was still alive, he was off the radar. His visitors the day before the rec yard murder were going to be my only hope of getting a lead to get to Relic and the shipment that was creeping up on us quickly.

  While I waited for a copy of the visitor log to be emailed to me, I looked up his previously known addresses and I searched several databases for his next of kin. I managed to unearth a few living relatives with what I hoped were their current residences.

  Restless, and it still being barely 8:00 AM, I ventured down to the lab to plead my case for a little urgency on Mel’s stalker case. It turns out, I didn’t have to beg or plead at all. AFIS had gotten a quick hit on the partial. The tech informed me it was my lucky day. I wasn’t so sure when I pulled the perps rap sheet a while later.

  Tracking down Vincent, my only decent lead to Relic, was difficult. I hit the pavement after my visit to the lab and knocked on the doors of what known family of his that I could find but, since his prison release, most had claimed they either hadn’t seen him or they didn’t know he was out. Some were completely indifferent. They just didn’t care about the whereabouts of the man.

  I was in a bad mood when I rolled back into the field office but, once I booted up my computer and I saw that the visitor logs for Stateville had been emailed to me, a little hope glimmered. Finding Vincent might be a lost cause but figuring out who delivered the hit order to him from Relic could be the key to cracking the whole investigation wide open.

  The log, unfortunately, didn’t look very helpful. Vincent had, had only two visitors that day. Neither were members of his gang who might have been carrying a hit order. One visitor was actually his mother. I’d already spoken with her. She’d claimed no knowledge of his current living arrangements and repeatedly said she was praying for his safety. If she was acting, she was convincing. My gut feeling was that her statements to me were genuine. She loved, missed and feared for her son and she did not seem to be putting on an act about any of that.

  Vincent’s other visitor the morning of the prison hit had been an attorney. I’d made the rookie mistake of not looking up
his case. The man may have been his attorney of record or he may have been there on a different pre-text. I buckled down and tackled the state’s case file against Mr. Harris.

  Harris’s attorney of record on the case that sent him up to Stateville had been a court appointed public defender. Surprisingly, the gang didn’t spring for a high dollar attorney for him which told me a lot about his level in the hierarchy of the gang. He was an expendable foot soldier.

  Harris had plea bargained for a lesser sentence and skipped having a trial altogether. His visitor the day of the murder wasn’t the attorney from his original case. It had been a local Chicago area criminal defense attorney in private practice, Jonathan Joseph. I looked him up but didn’t glean a lot other than some case file numbers. I hadn’t personally heard of him and none of the cases I found seemed very high profile. I asked a couple of people around the field office, but since no one in the department really got involved in courtroom work, I got nowhere.

  I called the law offices of Jonathan Joseph, Esq. figuring I might as well just try and get in to see the man. An answering service picked up and informed me that Mr. Joseph was in court. I left a message for him to call me back without referencing anything about the case I was working on. My hope was that a call from “Agent Rossi”, no other I.D. given, might generate enough curiosity to at least get a return call.

  It was late in the day. I didn’t know how long Joseph would be in “court” or when he checked his messages. I tried his number again after 6PM central time. This time, I got voicemail. I left a message with my contact info and a request for a meeting. It was all I could do.

  There really wasn’t anything else I could do in Chicago until I could connect with the attorney. Even then, if a face to face was necessary, a teammate in the field office could do it. I picked up my belongings, left the building and took a series of trains to Midway. I intended to get back to Cleveland tonight, come hell or high water.

  Chapter 9 – Motocross & Madness

  Mel

  Two Saturday’s a month, from spring through fall, I tried to take the day off. There were capable officers under me who could handle most issues. Personally, I was usually just a phone call and a few minutes away if I really was needed. I hoped I wouldn’t be needed today and, especially, tonight.

  Saturday evenings were special. Beth, my 14 year old niece, was into quad racing and after a full and successful season of that last year, this season, she was attempting to go from four wheelers down to two by crossing over into motocross. There was a motocross event at the county fairgrounds late this afternoon that was open entry, rain or shine. There would be a female class if they could get enough participants. Beth was raring to go and Kris and I were both excited for her. It would be a great sanctioned event to give her a real feel for the two wheeled sport and a look ahead to the summer season.

  I’d gotten a love of turning wrenches from my grandpa whose family home my sister and I and her kids all now shared. Gramps and Nana were gone, but their memories lived on in our home and, for me in Gramps old garage. I was out there early going over Beth’s KTM dirt bike with a fine tooth comb.

  Kris and I went in together and bought the racing bike from a family friend. His son had outgrown it and moved on to a bigger bike. It was a labor of love for me to fine tune it before Beth’s first really “big” race in front of a large crowd. I was intent on my task when Dana Rossi stepped into my view and shocked me back to reality.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I called the station and got nowhere so I thought I’d swing by and see if you were here.”

  “Swing by? So, you just happened to be in Morelville, did you?”

  “Mel, you know why I’m here. Yes, as you’ve been saying, the envelope of photos did come from your stalker friend Sally. It took a while to get a final answer because we only had a partial print to work with, but AFIS finally matched her. It would seem that she’s had a few run-ins with the law.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

  “You didn’t know?”

  “Like what?”

  “Public nuisance, trespassing, and breaking and entering, for starters. She did six months for a B&E.”

  “Wow.” I rocked back on my heels and shook my head.

  “I’m really surprised you didn’t run her yourself.”

  “I just always thought of her as a pain in the ass but harmless. Live and learn, I guess!” I thought about the envelope with my boxers in it. At minimum I had trespassing on her.

  “You’ve heard from her again, haven’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “More pictures?”

  “Um, no.”

  “Something more personal?”

  “Yes, unfortunately.”

  “Do I have to drag it out of you?”

  “As if you could!” I was already exasperated with her.

  “Whatever she’s done, she’s obviously getting bolder. Given her record, I’m not surprised. This isn’t good and we need to do something about it.”

  “We?”

  “Mel, I’m just trying to help.”

  I gave in – again. “She put a pair of my boxer briefs in another manila envelope and, apparently, walked them right into the station. I found the envelope in my inbox.” Answering the obvious next question, I said, “We do our laundry right here at the house and there’s been no sign of forced entry.”

  Dana’s eyes grew wide. “Are you sure they’re yours and not just a newer pair similar to ones she’s seen you in when she’s on surveillance? How else would she have gotten them?”

  “Yes, and I don’t know. She must have gone in and out somehow when only the kids were here and otherwise occupied.”

  “Whoo boy! That’s not cool!”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “So, what should we do?”

  There was that word “we” again. “I appreciate your willingness to help but, at this point, there isn’t much we can do unless we catch her in the act. I’m not doing a restraining order against her because I don’t want the publicity. I don’t think she’s violent, just obsessed. Her record seems to bear that out.”

  Dana sighed. “I suppose you’re right but it’s quite a risk.”

  Tired of the whole conversation, I changed the subject. “How’s your investigation going?”

  “My trip to Chicago was worth my while. I have a new lead. I just hope it pans out. How’s your counterfeiting investigation going?”

  “The Secret Service sent an agent in. He’s on the trail now. Can you talk about your lead? Anything I can help with?”

  Dana shrugged. “Probably not but I can talk about it. A prisoner was killed at Stateville in Illinois a day after agreeing to give up information that would have helped somebody take gang business from the guy my team is trying to find. We’re pretty sure we know who was responsible for the hit. He was released about a month ago but he disappeared and he’s, so far, untraceable. He actually had two visitors the day of the hit. His mother and a lawyer unrelated to the case that landed him there in the first place.”

  “I’ve talked to the guys’ mother. She’s older. Says she hasn’t seen her son since he was sent up even though she knew he’d been released. She seems genuinely fearful for his safety. I believe her story. That leaves me with the lawyer...whom I can’t seem to get a hold of. I’m probably going to have to go back on the road and pay him a visit or have someone in the field office briefed up to do it.”

  “A lawyer carrying a hit order?”

  “It’s kind of unlikely, huh?”

  “It could happen, but yeah, it’s not very likely. Do you think the order might have gone through another inmate who passed it on to the guy who did the hit?”

  “It will really suck, if that’s the case. Do you know how many inmates there are at Stateville?”

  It was a rhetorical question that I didn’t bother to answer. I just nodded my head. “So this gang related prison hit ties into your smuggling investigation?”
>
  “I’m pretty sure it does. That’s why I’m trying to get in touch with the lawyer who visited the hit man and that’s why I don’t relish reviewing all the visitors to the prison in that time frame and determining the access each of the inmates that had a visitor had to the inmate who did the hit.”

  Dana paused and sighed. “There just isn’t enough time to get this all figured out.”

  “Look, maybe I really can help you. You seem to think there are connections to your smuggling investigation in this area. I know a lot of the key players around here. I wasn’t born yesterday. I’ve been doing this a little while.” I stood up from my leaning position against my workbench only to realize how close it brought me to her.

  She started to speak and then hesitated. Finally, she said, “There may be connections here. We just can’t be sure. We can’t seem to find the key to chain the links together. I don’t know what you could add that would help...” She trailed off and looked at me with sad eyes.

  I couldn’t help myself. She was so close and she looked so lost, I forgot all about how much she annoyed me at times. I just wanted her. I leaned in and brushed her lips with mine. I pulled back just a little to look into her eyes but they were closed. I hooked an arm around her shoulders and pulled her into me and then I held her and kissed her again.

  Her lips were so soft and sweet. She molded her smaller frame to mine. Feeling her against me and having her return my kiss was heaven. My fingers tangled themselves in her long, silky brown hair. I nipped at her lower lip with my teeth and then tasted them gently with the tip of my tongue. Dana groaned and let my tongue slip in to seek further pleasure. Any resolve not to get involved with her that I had left just melted away.

  ###

  Dana

  I can’t believe this is happening! This...whatever “this” is, can’t happen. It can’t. Wow, it feels so good... What am I going to do? I was powerless in Mel’s arms. Her kiss was electric. She was making me feel things I hadn’t felt in, well, a long time... things I hadn’t wanted to feel... things that I’d been avoiding.