by Mark Stone
“You’re assuming this is the first time,” Boomer challenged, his bushy eyebrows shooting up.
“I’m assuming correctly, Boom,” I answered. “Love them or hate them, the Storms have built an empire in this town. They’re a stalwart, an institution; have been since we were too young to know what those words meant. In all that time, have you ever even heard a whisper of a rumor that they were running drugs? Have you ever had any inclination that that was the case?”
“No,” Boomer admitted, shaking his head. “But your father just died, Dil. Maybe he took all the brains of the operation into the next life with him. Maybe this is what your brother has to do to keep pace now that he’s in charge.”
“You’re a damned good detective. Got the chief plaque on your desk to prove it.” I looked down at that plaque now, glistening gold under the fluorescent light that illuminated his office. “Drug empires don’t sprout out of the ground. At least not without someone taking notice.” I looked back up at my friend. “Even if they did, do you really believe my brother would be mule for something like that? The bastard won’t even cut his own grass. You think he’s going to drive his own drugs?”
“I’ll admit that the pieces don’t exactly fall into place,” Boomer answered. “But the drugs were in his car, and that’s enough to charge with possession with intent to distribute.” He shook his head. “Even if he is saying the car isn’t his.”
“The car?” I asked. “Not the drugs? Peter’s saying the entire car doesn’t belong to him?”
“Yeah.” Boomer nodded. “But that’s not what a license plate check revealed. That car is registered to him, and it has been since last year.” Boomer picked up the coffee cup from the corner of his desk and took a swig. I could tell from the look on his face that he wished it had been beer. It had been one of those mornings. Still, we were on the clock, and we needed to keep our wits about us. So, joe would have to do the trick for now.
“You have to keep one thing in mind, Dil,” Boomer said, setting his cup back down. “Your brother is still as sloshed as a teen on prom night.”
“Of course, he is,” I sighed, my leg going back to shaking.
“Don’t do that,” Boomer said, his eyes darting toward my nervous movement. “For one, it pisses me off. Secondly, your brother hasn’t asked for a lawyer and though I’m sure nothing he says will stand up in court given how inebriated he is, he has asked to see his brother.”
Chapter 5
To say the relationship between my brother and I had been strained since my return to Florida would have been an understatement of almost criminal proportion. That statement would have been less ironic, of course, if my brother hadn’t spent the better part of the afternoon turning himself into a criminal.
Part of me thought that, when he gifted me The Good Storm- the houseboat I was now living on with my grandfather - it was a sign that he wanted to put the past behind us. Our father was dead and gone now. Perhaps Peter wanted to turn over a new leaf, to make amends for all the bad blood in our past.
If that was the case, he had done a piss poor job of showing it. I hadn’t heard from him, and my solitary phone call to thank him for the gift was met by a curt receptionist who told me that my brother was “a very busy man who will get back to you if and when he sees fit.”
He must have never seen fit, because that was the last contact I’d had with the Storms or anyone within their corporation.
Until now, that is.
I had the door of the drink tank opened and I walked in. My brother was lying across the floor. Since he had been officially arrested and wasn’t just being held until he sobered up, he was dressed in plain blue outfit all freshly minted criminals in Collier County are slapped in while being held.
There was no one else in the drunk tank at present, not insanely out of the ordinary for an afternoon in the middle of the week. It gave Peter plenty of room to stretch out, face pointed toward the ceiling with his arm slung over his eyes.
“Get up,” I said flatly as the door closed behind me.
Peter moved his arm slowly and looked at me with bloodshot eyes. “I didn’t think you’d come.”
“And miss one of Forbes Magazine’s cover men looking as composed as a college kid after a kegger? How could I resist?” I scoffed. “What’s going on, Peter?”
He blinked at me, sighing heavily and lifting his arm toward me. “Why don’t you help me up, and I’ll fill you in?”
I stayed stalwart. “The last time I touched that arm, I put it in a sling. Help yourself.”
A sly, sluggish smile spread across his face. “Even the good Storm isn’t without his vices,” Peter said, clumsily standing up. He stumbled a bit as he stood, reaching for the wall to steady himself. “I never figured pettiness would be among them though.”
“I’m not being petty,” I answered. “And this isn’t about you and me. The charges against you are serious. They’re felonies, Peter. Drunk driving is bad enough, but cocaine? What the hell were you thinking?”
“I wasn’t thinking anything,” he answered gruffly. “I wasn’t doing anything. Look at me, Dillon. Have I ever struck you as someone who can’t handle his liquor? I didn’t do this.”
Peter had a point, though I could hardly see where it mattered. While it was true, I had never even heard of my brother getting too drunk to function before, the truth was I didn’t really know him. Besides, of course he did it. He was caught red handed.
“You’re going to have to do better than that,” I answered. “You were caught driving erratically with drugs in the trunk. There’s very little chance that you ‘didn’t do it’.” I shook my head. “Do you know how much jail time you could serve for something like this?”
“It’s not jail time I’m worried about, Dillon,” he answered me quickly, waving the possibility off like it was sea foam that would just evaporate with the day. “This would be my first offense and we both know my lawyers are good enough to game the system for a man as rich as myself.” He swallowed hard. “Just like we both know that nothing I tell you here will ever make it inside a courtroom.”
“Then what am I doing here, Peter?” I asked, looking at my brother. God, even here, when he should be ashamed with his tail between his legs, the man was finding a way to be insufferable. “If your lawyers can help you, then I suggest calling them.”
Normally, I wouldn’t have done that. For the most part, lawyers showing up meant their clients got as tight as a clam. I didn’t need Peter to talk this time though. All the evidence needed to convict him was already recorded and sitting in a locker somewhere. This was open and shut, even if some of it didn’t make any sense to me.
“Because my lawyers can’t help me the way I need them to,” he said and, for the first time, there was pleading in his voice. It took me back a little, but I didn’t let it show. “If this gets out, then it’ll mean hell for me. The board will have grounds to call a vote to have me removed, and I can’t imagine they won’t go through with it what with my mug shot swimming around all the newspapers.” He shook his head, still clutching the wall for support. “It’ll ruin everything I worked my entire life to build, everything our father worked his entire life to build.”
It was the first time in maybe ever that I could remember Peter referring to his father as mine as well. If you didn’t count that day in his house when he basically told me how lucky I was to have not been born into the money, that was. If he thought he could use that to worm his way into my heart though, he had another think coming.
“I don’t give a damn about your company, and I sure as hell don’t care about what our father spent his life building. None of that money helped my mother when she was working her fingers to the bone, through sickness and all.”
“I can’t justify all of our father’s decisions,” Peter responded. “I just need your help.”
“What do you expect me to do, Peter?” I asked. “It’s too late. Your arrest is public record. You were arraigned. I can’t make that
paper trail vanish.”
“Then justify it,” he said, finally pushing off the wall and walking toward me. “There was a fundraising dinner last night.” He shook his head. “Some cause the company is behind. I don’t even know what it was. It took place at Richard Cash’s house. He’s one of our board members.”
“Your board member’s name is Rich Cash?” I asked, fighting the urge to roll my eyes.
“He’s a useless bastard, but his father knew ours and he was one of the company’s chief primary investors. I had to make an appearance.”
“Why are you telling me this?” I asked, unflinching as Peter grew nearer to me.
“Because that’s the last thing I remember,” he answered. “I walked into that party with the intention of staying for an hour at most. I chatted up some of our mutual friends and did my best to keep my distance from Richard. The next thing I know, I’m on the Parkway in some car with red and blue flashing lights behind me. I have no idea what happened in the interim.”
“In the interim, you got too damned drunk to remember the night before,” I answered as he settled in front of me.
“Do I smell like a man who’s been drinking to excess, Dillon?” he asked, his lips narrowing into a thin, hard line on his face. “They haven’t allowed me a shower, and I’m sure you know better than to think all the smell would be on my clothes. I need a toxicology report. I was drugged, Dillon.”
“You want me to order blood work because you say you weren’t drinking?” I asked, not so much as blinking at him as I posed my question. “Do you have any idea how many people use that as an excuse?”
“It’s not an excuse. It’s the truth,” he said. “I don’t know how I got on the Parkway in that car, and I certainly don’t know how drugs got into the trunk. I had never even seen cocaine before today.”
“Why do you keep saying it like that?” I asked, biting my lower lip. “Why do you call it ‘that car’?”
“Because it isn’t mine,” he stated flatly.
“It is,” I responded. “It’s registered to you.”
“The plates are,” he said quickly. “Those are my plates and that’s the make and model of my car. It’s even the color, but it’s not mine.”
I sighed. I was wasting my time here. “Goodbye, Peter,” I said, turning back toward the door.
“Wait,” he yelled. “I can prove it!”
I stopped in my tracks, but only for a second. My brother had exactly thirty seconds to convince me of his proof.
“I backed into a pickup truck the other day. I paid the man off. So, there was no police report, but we exchanged personal information all the same.” He took a deep breath. “There’s a dent on the back right of my car from where I hit the truck. I didn’t notice it until that police officer had me cuffed around the back, but the dent wasn’t there.” He took a deep breath. “The car I was driving isn’t mine. I’m not sure why, but someone switched out the license plates and probably the VIN too.”
I turned back to him. “You think someone went to all the trouble of switching that stuff out on your car?”
“The same people who drugged me and planted the cocaine in the trunk, no doubt. They’re trying to frame me, Dillon,” he asked, his bloodshot eyes staring into mine with desperation. Blinking, I couldn’t help but think about how much his eyes looked like Isaac’s and what I’d do if it was the boy, and not his father, in this situation.
“Why would they do that?” I asked, shaking my head and extending my arms out curiously. “Seems like a lot of trouble. I mean, why not just plant the drugs in your car if they wanted to frame you for possession?”
“I don’t know,” Peter said. “But you have to believe me. I know there’s no police report, and that doesn’t look good. The personal information of the man I backed into is in my office though. It’s right there in my desk drawer. He’ll verify my story. You know I haven’t gotten out of here since I was arrested. Your co-workers can verify that I haven’t even made a phone call yet. Call the man I hit, go to the garage where I got an estimate for repairs. You’ll find their information in my office as well, and go look at the car, Dillon. It must be in an impound lot by now. You were inside of it a few weeks ago. Dent aside, certainly you’d be able to tell the difference. You’re a detective for Christ’s sake.”
I stared at my brother, weighing the options in my mind. Perhaps I should have let this go. There was more than enough evidence to charge and likely convict him. Still, I couldn’t shake the idea that none of this added up. There was no reason to let him believe this was for his benefit though.
“If I do this,” I said, glaring at Peter. “You need to know it isn’t for you. I took an oath to look for justice and the truth.” I nodded. “What’s more, you have a son. He’s an amazing boy, not that you’d know anything about that. Still, I’d have to imagine the only thing worse than being ignored by a father who’s an institution in this town is being ignored by one who’s a criminal. I’ll go look at your damned car, but I’m doing it for Isaac.”
“Thank you,” Peter said, breathing a sigh of relief.
“Don’t thank me. Thank your son,” I said. “Or better yet, don’t. He might be better off with you keeping your distance.” I turned back toward the door as I continued. “I want you to know that, if it turns out that you’re lying to me, I’d going to have Obstruction of Justice added to your charges. What’s more,” I said, looking back over my shoulder at him. “I just might put that other arm in a sling too.”
I knocked on the door, pushing through it after it was opened. Leaning against the wall as soon as I exited, I ran a hand through my hair. I wasn’t sure what to think. Peter had never been a good man, but this didn’t make sense. He was undoubtedly wealthy and, like I’d told Boomer, if he wanted to get into the drug trade, there was no way he’d be transporting the garbage himself.
I’d have to take a look at that car and see what I could make of it.
I wouldn’t have time to think about any of that stuff though because, no sooner had I closed my eyes for a second, the sound of a ruckus erupted through the station.
“Get out of my way!” A familiar voice sounded. “I need to see the chief!”
Pushing off the wall, I made my way to the source of the noise. Rounding the corner, I saw Ethan Sands standing there, his eyes wide and his face wearing a panicked look that seemed woefully out of place across his features.
“Boomer!” he shouted. “Boomer, get your ass out here!”
It didn’t take a genius to figures out what he was upset about. I wasn’t sure how, but I knew one thing for sure. Ethan Sands had heard news about his wife.
Chapter 6
I moved quickly over to the district attorney, weaving through a crowd of officers who had stood to watch the scene unfold. Boomer had advised me against telling anyone, including those in this station, about Emma’s identification of the woman I pulled from the water earlier. As a result, most of the people here probably had no clue as to why the district attorney was screaming at the door of the chief’s office. I did though, making me uniquely qualified to handle the situation.
“Ethan,” I said, bypassing his nomenclature. If he was going to be relaxed enough to call Boomer by his first name in the middle of his place of work, then I saw no reason why I couldn’t do the same. “Ethan,” I repeated, jigging past a rookie officer and settling in front of the attorney, wedging myself between Ethan and Boomer’s door.
I knew Boomer too well to think he was hiding in there. You catch that man in the right mood, and he’d wrestle an alligator barefoot. Whatever was keeping him inside of his office wasn’t fear.
“Get out of my way, Storm,” Ethan said, his jaw clenched so tightly that his cheek was shaking a little. “This has nothing to do with you.”
“I’m the law, Ethan,” I answered. “You should know better than anyone that the badge I’m wearing means everything has something to do with me.”
I looked at the man, thinking of our
last (and only) meeting. The tall mountain of a man had been so put together then, so calm and effortlessly assertive. All of that was gone today, replaced by a shamble of a man with an untucked shirt and eyes that spoke of frantic panic.
“You need to calm down, and tell me what’s going on,” I said.
“You’re going to stand here and say you don’t know what’s going on?” he asked, his mouth turning down in disgust. “I know you’re the one who found her. I know it was you who pulled her out onto the pier.”
I blinked. Whatever slim hope I had that Ethan didn’t know what happened today and that he had come here for a completely unrelated reason had just washed away with the tide.
“I don’t know you, Storm,” Ethan said, his voice actually dipping down a little and taking on a more calmed tenor. “So, I can’t say that you owe me anything, but Boomer is a different story. He knows me. He knew Victoria. He traveled with us. He ate at our house. He stood there and watched me bury a casket full of her stuff because I didn’t have a body to lay in the ground.” Ethan blinked back tears. “He owed me, Storm. He owed me better than this.”
I stood there, staring at the man for a long moment. He may have had a point. If he and Boomer was good friends, then I could definitely see why the man would feel like he was owed a heads up. Hell, I couldn’t deny being upset with Boomer about him keeping truth about Charlotte and Isaac from me. Still, my friend had his reasons then, and he had even better reasons now.
“We need to go somewhere and talk, Ethan,” I said, still standing between him and Boomer’s door. “We need to calm down, and sort this out.”
“I’ll calm down when I talk to the chief of police and not a second before,” Ethan responded, towering over me with his hands nearly jittering at his sides. “Who the hell do you think you are anyway? I’m the district attorney of Collier County. If I want to talk to the chief of police, he will damned well talk to me.” He shook his head. I could see anger flash in his eyes anew. “And I won’t be kept out by some jaded transfer who thinks that - just because he used to talk about girls under the bleachers with Boomer in high school - he’s more important than he is.”