by Margaret Kay
The Sheriff laughed. “We don’t have our own forensic lab. We send all our evidence into the police lab at Great Falls. I’ll send it in the morning, and we should know if there are any fingerprints on it in about a week.”
“A week?” Doc demanded. “Oh, son of a bitch. We don’t have a week.” He knew Cooper would be pissed, but a week was not acceptable. He knew he could expedite those results, or rather, his FBI cover could. His eyes met Garcia’s. Garcia shook his head no.
“You have to understand, no one was hurt, so this is low priority,” the Sheriff said.
“Step back inside with us for a moment, Sheriff.” Doc pulled the door open. He dialed Cooper and filled him in.
“You want my permission to identify yourself and take custody of that shell, don’t you?” Cooper asked.
“You know it,” Doc replied.
“Oh, fuck, Doc,” Cooper swore. “Do you think we can trust that Sheriff?”
“As much as the next guy.”
“Fine, we can’t wait a week. Bring the shell back to the hotel and I’ll have Jackson bring it into the federal facility in Great Falls. I’ll make sure it’s rushed through.”
“Thanks, Coop,” Doc said. He disconnected the call and turned back to the Sheriff. He withdrew his FBI credentials from his back pocket. “I’ll be taking custody of that shell, Sheriff.”
The Sheriff looked dumbfounded. “You’re FBI?”
“That’s correct. I can’t disclose my mission, but I will be taking that shell. I can have it run through the federal facility in twenty-four hours.”
The Sheriff read the name on the credentials. “Agent Williams, do you think the shooter knew who you were?”
A smirk formed on Doc’s face. “I don’t think so. I think it was motivated by something else.”
“You know, from the distance the shot was fired, none of the pellet strikes would have been life threatening. It looks like the shooter just wanted to mess you up a little and send you to the hospital.”
“I still consider this attempted murder and I insist you do as well.”
The Sheriff nodded.
“And don’t disclose my identity to any of your deputies. This stays between us. For all they know, you’ll be sending the shell off to Great Falls in the morning,” Doc ordered.
“You should have checked in with me, to notify me you were operating within my jurisdiction,” the Sheriff said. “I don’t like this, not one damned bit.”
Doc didn’t even blink. “It wasn’t possible, Sheriff. But I need your help now. You know your locals. Which of your people could have been behind this? Who owns a twelve-gauge? Who’s unhinged enough to take a shot at a person? I got into a verbal altercation with the company doctor today, Dr. Rod Stanley. What do you know about him?” He fired the questions off in rapid succession.
“I know him. We’ve pulled him over a few times on a Friday night leaving his favorite watering hole, but the highest he ever blew was a point-zero-seven, just under the legal limit of point-zero-eight. He’s not your shooter. He doesn’t even own a gun. He’s about the only one in town that doesn’t. As far as who owns a twelve-gauge, who doesn’t?”
That wasn’t terribly helpful. “Okay, we’ll touch bases with you tomorrow,” Doc told him.
Doc took the keys from Garcia. “Get on your computer while I drive. Get me a location on that Dr. Rod asshole and dump his phone records. I want to know if he called or text messaged anyone after he left tonight.”
“What kind of altercation did you get into with him?” Garcia asked as he opened his tablet.
“The fucker falsified piss test results. Four failed but he passed them with a doctor’s override, coached several on their excuses. I called him on it, and he told me to meet him in Janey’s office in the morning, that I’d understand. Then the asshole walked out on me.”
Garcia laughed. “And you didn’t stop him?”
“DoD auditor didn’t have the authority to, but believe me, I wanted to put the fucker through the wall.”
Garcia pulled Dr. Rod’s cell phone number from the list he had. He ran it through his programs. “Dr. Rod left the facility and went straight to Mel’s Tavern. He’s still there. He’s not your shooter.” With a few more clicks of his keys Garcia pulled his phone call records up just as Doc pulled into the hotel parking lot. “I’ve got one call made right after he left the facility. I’ll run it when we get inside.”
They joined the others in Cooper and Madison’s room and filled them in. Doc gave the shell to Jackson. Cooper still didn’t like that Doc’s cover was blown with the Sheriff. It only took Garcia a few minutes to track the number Dr. Rod had called. It was the landline to Mel’s Tavern.
Cooper’s trademark smirk set across his lips. “What do you say, Doc, you want to go get a beer and have some greasy bar food?”
“Yeah, let’s pay Dr. Rod a visit and see who he’s drinking with this evening.”
Cooper threw his set of car keys to Jackson. “Get that shell to the FBI lab in Great Falls. Shepherd already called Whiting. You should be expected.”
Jackson nodded. “I’ll check in with you after I’ve dropped it. Good luck with Dr. Rod.” He slipped from the room. He’d be on the road for a few hours. He’d give Angel a call.
Cooper came to his feet and grabbed his coat. “Garcia, you and Madison will be our backup in the parking lot. Sorry, it’s colder than hell out there. You better layer up.”
Romeo
Doc pushed open the heavy door to Mel’s Tavern, a dive bar on the outskirts of town. The parking lot was full. They did a good business on a Thursday night. As they walked towards the bar, they recognized half of Walters Tactical Equipment’s first shift. Within, they found Dr. Rod seated alone at the bar talking with the bartender, a young-looking Willie Nelson wanna-be. Doc took the barstool on his right, Cooper the one on his left.
“So, what’s good here, Rod?” Doc asked.
Dr. Rod glanced nervously between the two of them. “Depends what you want.” He held his beer mug up. “Thursday night is three-dollar draught night.”
There was a plate with a half-eaten cheeseburger and fries in front of Dr. Rod as well. Doc took two French fries from the plate and took a bite. They were still warm. “A little salty for my taste.”
Dr. Rod moved to get up. Cooper grabbed him, forced his ass back onto the barstool, and held him in place. “You’re not going anywhere yet. Now stay the fuck in your seat and look like you’re having a beer with your buddies,” he growled in Rod’s ear.
“How dare you,” Rod protested, his face getting red.
“Look asshole, someone took a shot at me when I was leaving the factory tonight. You’re the only one I’ve had words with. And by the way, my entire audit team knows why.”
The bartender was watching the scene cautiously.
Cooper made eye contact with him. “Barkeep, two draughts for my friend and I.” His eyes flickered to Dr. Rod’s mug. “And our friend, Rod, seems to be getting low. Get him another and put it on my tab.”
The bartender looked to Rod for guidance. Rod nodded, and the bartender moved away to get the beers.
“I’ve been here since I left work. I didn’t take that shot at you. Anyone here can confirm that. Besides, I don’t even own a gun. But, with your winning personality, I can’t say I’m surprised. I can’t be the only one you’ve rubbed the wrong way.”
Doc leaned into his face. “But you and the four who failed their drug tests are the only ones who have a motive to shut me up.”
“You’re barking up the wrong tree. It wasn’t me,” Rod insisted.
The bartender sat the beers in front of them.
“Give us a couple burgers and some fries too,” Cooper ordered.
“But no salt added to the fries. His exceeds the recommended daily allowance, I’m sure.” He faced Rod. “I’ll assume too much alcohol tonight will explain why your face is red. You better make sure you’re not over the legal limit before you get behi
nd the wheel, friend.”
“How did you know I was here?” Dr. Rod demanded.
“We didn’t, just stopped in for a beer and some burgers,” Cooper said.
Dr. Rod shook his head.
“Are these guys harassing you? Do you want me to call the Sheriff, Rod?” The bartender asked.
“No harassing, we’re just having a beer with our buddy here,” Doc said, his heavy hand patting Rod’s shoulder. “I didn’t get your name, friend,” Doc said to the bartender.
“You didn’t ask, and I didn’t volunteer it,” he replied. His eyes were darting between the three of them. He had his hand on the landline phone on the bar.
“You been working all night?” Cooper asked him.
“Yeah, what’s it to you?”
“Just making conversation. You keep that phone pretty close to you.”
“We get takeout orders.”
The man sitting a few seats down from Cooper yelled to the bartender. “Billy, I need to pay and get going.” The bartender moved over to him. He took his cash and made change. Then he came back over in front of Dr. Rod. “Billy, make sure Cec is in tomorrow night. Debbie is coming in with me.”
The bartender waved dismissively at him, but his eyes looked guilty as sin when they swept between Doc and Cooper again.
“Cec, as in Cecily?” Doc asked. “Are you Cecily Mays’ husband, by chance?”
The bartender’s eyes snapped to Dr. Rod.
“It’s easy enough for us to verify, asshole,” Cooper said. “So, don’t lie to us.”
“You need to leave. Right now, you need to leave,” Billy the bartender stammered.
Doc laughed. “I’ll take that as confirmation. How’s your back, Billy?”
“What? My back?”
“His medical status is none of your business. He’s not an employee,” Dr. Rod interrupted. “He’s right. You need to leave.”
“No, I think we do need to call the Sheriff,” Doc said. Billy’s hand moved towards the phone. “Oh, don’t bother. I will,” Doc said, pulling his cell phone from his pocket. “And we’ll have one of his deputies pick your wife up too. I hope she’s taken a recent dose of her drug of choice so she’s not in too much pain, of course, it doesn’t matter, she can be held for up to twenty-four hours without any charges. I don’t think she’ll be okay. I know she’s using an opioid.”
“Wait, none of this is necessary,” Billy said. “Yeah, Cec is my wife, and neither of us have done anything.”
“Did your wife tell you she failed her drug screening today and good old Dr. Rod here covered it up?” Doc asked. The bartender’s eyes locked with Dr. Rod’s again. “You have two seconds, Billy, then I dial the Sheriff, and you’re all going to jail tonight,” Doc said.
“Go ahead and call the Sheriff,” Dr. Rod challenged. “You can’t prove any crime. I legally can make a physician’s override to any test results, and you have no proof of who took a shot at you tonight. You’ve got nothing.”
Cooper nodded, so Doc hit dial.
At the station, the Sheriff shook his head. “I appreciate your gut instincts, boys,” he paused and nodded to Madison, “and ma’am, but there’s no proof of anything.”
“You’ve got Billy Mays shotgun from his car, loaded with the same kind of birdshot that was fired at me,” Doc said. “We’ll get it to the forensic lab with the shell. We’ve got Dr. Rod Stanley’s call to Mel’s Tavern as soon as he left work, where Billy Mays would have answered the phone.”
“Which you still haven’t told me how you got the warrant for his phone records that fast. Or didn’t you? Will that call even be admissible in court?” The Sheriff asked.
Garcia’s lips tipped into a grin. “If we do our jobs right here, we’ll get a confession and it won’t matter.”
“If I wasn’t pissed enough to learn an FBI Agent was in my town, finding out there’s a whole damned task force of you guys from different agencies investigating whatever it is you still won’t tell me about, is enough to burn my britches! So, watch it, boy,” he warned Garcia.
Garcia laughed out loud. “Sheriff, Cecily Mays is a junkie. You let her sit long enough and the need to use is going to outweigh her need to stay silent. She’ll make a full confession of whatever she knows to get a hit.”
“And if she doesn’t, watching his wife suffer will be enough for Billy Mays to make a deal,” Cooper added.
“They’re your weak links. Dr. Rod won’t give anything up, unless it’s to save his own hide. That’s why we told you to put him in interrogation and the other two in separate holding cells,” Doc said.
The Sheriff’s cell phone rang. He raised it to his ear. He listened to his deputy’s report. “Okay, photograph it, bag it all up, and get someone over to Mel’s to search behind the bar too.” He disconnected the call. “My boys searching the Mays’ house found drug scales and product packed up for distribution. Is that what this is about? I’d understand DEA investigating it,” he said pointing to Garcia, “but that doesn’t explain FBI or CIA.”
“You can have that bust, Sheriff. It’s only part of what we’re investigating,” Cooper said. “But now we have some leverage over the Mays’. We’ll wait till your boys get back and print up some pictures. Then the interrogations are ours. We’ll consult you before we offer them any deals.” Cooper checked his watch. It was after midnight. “Leave Rod Stanley alone in interrogation. No one goes in.”
Cooper walked over to the sofa in the Sheriff’s office. He dropped himself onto the far-right cushion. He rested his head against the back of it and closed his eyes. Madison sat beside him, Doc on the far end. Garcia sat on the floor and leaned his head back against the seat cushion between Doc and Madison.
“What are you doing?” The Sheriff demanded.
Doc opened his eyes. “We assume it will be several hours before your boys are back with the evidence and the photos. We’re going to grab as much sleep as we can, so we can go at the suspects. Wake us when your boys are back.”
At four a.m. The Sheriff woke the Feds. He’d laid down on one of the cots in the deputy room and he wasn’t happy about it. “Rod Stanley has been a royal pain in the ass all night. After the third time he demanded he be brought to a toilet, I told him that was it. I gave him a bucket in the interrogation room and the bastard used it.”
“When did your men get back?” Cooper asked.
“They just walked in. Tommy is printing off the pictures for you now and I have a fresh pot of coffee on.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe Billy Mays was selling that shit in my town and I didn’t know. Jesus! He’s got over a hundred packets ready for distribution.”
“Welcome to the epidemic all the other towns in the U.S. are facing,” Garcia said, coming to his feet. “Now, where’s that coffee?”
Doc and Madison entered the interrogation room.
“You?” Rod spat.
Doc and Madison took seats across the table from him. They both flashed their FBI badges and credentials.
“FBI?”
“Tampering with drug tests for federal contractors is a federal offence, just as blackmailing a DoD supplier is,” Doc said.
“Whoa, whoa, who said anything about blackmail?”
“We did,” Madison said. “Billy and Cecily may be smart enough to pull off selling drugs, but neither one of them is smart enough to pull off an attempted blackmail scam.”
“And neither of them has the access to cause Walters Tactical Equipment to fail their audit. But you do,” Doc added. “And, you’re the only one there capable of covering up failed piss tests. Our counterparts are with the Sheriff talking with the Mays’ right now. Whoever talks first gets the deal. The question is, will it be you or one of them?”
“Billy and Cecily will never do anything to hurt the other. Neither of them will take any deal that doesn’t include them both,” Dr. Rod said.
“Oh, I’m sure as soon as Cecily needs a hit, one of them will talk,” Madison said. “My bet is on Billy. Most men
don’t like to see their wife suffer.”
Rod Stanley shook his head no. “I want an attorney.”
Doc smiled and came to his feet. “Good. I didn’t want to offer you any deals, asshole.”
They joined Cooper, who watched the interrogation of the Mays’ couple on the monitor in the Sheriff’s office.
“Yeah, you’re getting sick. How long’s it been since you’ve had a hit, Cecily?” Garcia asked, watching the woman through the bars to the holding cell she was in. Two over, her husband stood, holding onto the bars, staring their way. Garcia put his DEA badge away and then turned the folding chair he had, straddled it, and sat facing the bars of Cecily Mays’ cell. “Here’s how this is going to work. The first one of you who tells me what I want to know gets the deal, and Cecily, that deal for you is to be taken to the hospital or rehab to get treated.”