Dead Storm

by Emma Rose Watts

  As he sat in the cruiser with the radio on, Hanson arrived.

  He swerved in and they both exchanged an unwanted look. Not even Hanson was amused by the partnership. Conversations between them had always been kept short, on point with investigations. Beyond that they did their best to stay clear of each other. Harvey took a deep breath and pushed out of the vehicle, hurrying over to the entranceway, purposely not waiting for Hanson. The gorgeous palm trees that were usually outside were missing, and the pristine landscape was drowning in water.

  “Hold up,” Hanson hollered as Harvey went in. He didn’t hold the door for him. Within minutes they were led into the sterile autopsy room where Jenna Madden was waiting for them. Lamar Erickson was laid out on a steel table with a white cover up to his chest.

  “Thank you for coming in,” Harvey said, pointing out that Jenna didn’t need to. She wasn’t under obligation to be there with her neck of the woods being under mandatory evacuation.

  “It was the least I could do.” She looked past Hanson. “No Skylar today?” Jenna asked.

  “She’s working the case west of here.”

  “Right, well I’ll get straight to it, okay?”

  Harvey gestured with a hand and she went over to a counter and picked up a tablet and dragged her finger across it. “The autopsy didn’t take long, however toxicology will take a few weeks. Though I don’t believe alcohol was a factor. What I have been able to establish is a link between the rope used in the Matthews case and this one. It’s identical. However it’s going to take some time to determine if there was any DNA from Erickson on the rope found at the Matthews crime scene.”

  “But it’s possible he could have been behind the Matthews murder?”

  “Possibly.”

  “Well at least we know Keith Norris wasn’t responsible for Erickson as he was inside,” Hanson said. “Now the question is what’s the connection between Erickson and Matthews?”

  Hanson’s words went in one ear and out the other. He was like a radio station that Harvey was being forced to listen to. “Anything else, Jenna?”

  “There is. The bottles without labels found beneath the seat that were submitted by Miles have come back positive for Xanax, Valium and Oxycontin but according to the medical history of Erickson, his doctor hadn’t prescribed these.”

  “These are for anxiety and pain, correct?” Harvey said.

  “Exactly. The bottles were almost empty. The question is where did he get them and who were they for if he hadn’t mentioned anything to his doctor.”

  “The streets,” Harvey muttered. Harvey’s brow furrowed. “All right, thanks, Jenna.” As Harvey headed for the door, he cast a glance over his shoulder. “You leaving town now?” he asked.

  “As soon as I have him in the bag.”

  “Be safe.”

  “You too.”

  On the way back to his cruiser, Hanson caught up with him. “Where we going now?”

  “To speak to Mike Randall. I managed to get an address this morning.”

  “Probably best we ride together.”

  “Are you kidding?” Harvey said stopping outside in the rain and squaring up to him.

  “Well there’s no point us taking both cruisers.”

  “Listen up, Hanson. I don’t like this arrangement any more than you do but we don’t need to make it any harder than it is. Okay? You take your vehicle. I’ll take mine,” he said walking around to the driver’s side.

  “Is it always going to be like this?” Hanson asked.

  “Like what?”

  “You with a stick up your ass.”

  Harvey had his hand on the car door when he said it. He locked eyes with Hanson and made his way back around. “You want to say that again?”

  “Look, I get it. I really do. You blame me for your sister’s death but there were other women at risk that day. Not just your sister. Had we waited for more intel we might have been pulling bodies out of the bay. Because we moved in when we did, at least twelve other girls being used as drug mules were helped.”

  “But not my sister.”

  “That wasn’t our fault, she was dead long before we raided the place. You saw the autopsy.”

  Harvey threw a hand up into the air. Rain beat down on the two of them. “Oh it’s not your fault. It’s never your fault. All you had to do was a wait a few more hours and I would have had the information that was needed to bring him down, and save my sister. Instead, she is dead because of you! The question is how did Callum know we were on to him? Huh?”

  “You think I tipped him off?”

  “Did you?”

  “You asshole!” Hanson walked back to his cruiser but before he opened the door he spun around and came back. “Think about it, Baker. If we tipped him off, why the hell do you think we were able to save those other girls?”

  “To cover his tracks. Callum doesn’t want anyone thinking there is an inside man.”

  “Believe whatever you want but at the end of the day it doesn’t change anything. She’s dead and Callum is still out there.”

  Harvey lost it in that moment. Years of bottled-up frustration got the better of him and he lashed out, throwing a right hook and cracking Hanson in the jaw. Hanson fell to the ground and looked up at him. He could have easily gotten up and taken Harvey down but his response wasn’t what he expected. “Does that make it better? Huh? Did that feel good?”

  “Yeah. Yeah it did.”

  “Good. Maybe we can put this crap behind us now and get on with the investigation.” He put out a hand and Harvey stared at it for a second then clasped it and pulled him up.

  “This doesn’t change anything between you and me.”

  “I didn’t expect it would,” he said. He brushed himself off and got into his vehicle. As Harvey drove away from the ME’s office all the memories of that day came back to him. The search for his sister. Her body being found, and the mistakes made by the department. He couldn’t believe that someone wasn’t in cahoots with Callum Jackson. The only way he could have been prepared for the raid was if someone had tipped him off. Who that was remained unknown but he planned to find out before he retired.

  Mike Randall’s residence was located on the north side of Carrabelle in a neighborhood just off 12th Street. Over the radio, Harvey told Hanson to keep the lights and siren off. They didn’t want to spook him. They would park a few homes down. After getting out, Hanson hurried over. “So what’s his connection to Lamar?”

  “We’re about to find out,” Harvey said as they hurried through the downpour. There were five homes on the main stretch and one more on the loop. His was at the top of the loop. The entire loop was fenced off and there was a yellow sign to indicate a dead end. Harvey noticed a no trespassing sign and through the trees could see his brown trailer-style home.

  “Man, this place is a dump!” Hanson said, noticing all the garbage rolling across his yard. They made it to the locked fence and peered over. There was another sign that warned them to beware the dog but there was no doghouse or mutt chained up. Harvey looked for a way to unlock the gate but it was bolted shut and sealed with a padlock and chain.

  “Over the top we go then,” Harvey said.

  Hanson grabbed him by the arm. “Can’t you read?” He pointed to the no trespassing sign.

  “Oh please. That’s nothing. You should go for a ride-along with Skylar. She’d make your hair turn white with the things she gets me doing.” Within a second Harvey had hopped over. Hanson looked around for a second and followed. They strolled towards the clapboard home with blue siding. There was a rusted white truck parked out front and as they came around it, an angry-looking Doberman crawled out from underneath, growling.

  “I’m guessing that’s what the sign was for,” Hanson said.

  “Don’t move,” Harvey muttered.

  “I wasn’t planning on it.”

  The dog’s gums went up revealing its sharp teeth. It growled a few times and lowered its head slightly.

  “Mike R
andall. Hey!”

  “You think he’s going to hear you with the wind howling?” Hanson said.

  “Randall. Mike Randall!”

  A door swung open and a guy wearing a jean jacket, white muscle shirt, torn jeans and yellow workman boots stood there smoking a cigarette. “Who’s asking?”

  Harvey slowly pulled out his badge and flashed it. “Franklin County. Here to have a few words with you about Lamar Erickson. You want to call your dog off?”

  He smirked. “Diego. Sic ’em!”

  “What?” Hanson said, his eyes widening.

  Instantly, the dog went from growling to darting at them. Hanson turned and bolted while Harvey remained in place, pulling his service weapon. Before he could get it out the dog leapt on him, knocking him to the ground and latching on to his forearm. Fortunately he was wearing a thick jacket otherwise he was sure the dogs teeth would have penetrated his skin. Still, Harvey writhed in agony as it yanked at his arm. He had every right to shoot the dog but it had hold of his gun hand and any attempt to go for his handgun with the other was met by brute force as the dog violently shook him like a rag doll. “Hanson. Shoot near it!”

  He loved animals but the damn thing was tearing at his arm. Out the corner of his eye he saw Randall sprint away from his home heading for his truck.

  A crack of a gun and the dog let out a squeal before letting go and running off.

  “I said shoot near it, not at it!” Harvey said scrambling to his feet and running towards the truck as it fired up and attempted to head out the other side. Using every ounce of strength he threw himself at the back and latched on to it. His feet were dragging behind it as it plowed into the shut gate on the other side of the loop and took off south heading down what became 6th Street. “Shut the vehicle off!” he yelled but his voice was lost in the horrendous weather and roar of the engine. Did he even know he was dragging an officer behind him? Hanging on for dear life, he tried to pull himself up as the truck slowed down to take the corner at the intersection of North West Avenue and 6th Street. His body swung around and he managed to launch himself upwards and get his good forearm over the back of the tailgate.

  Within seconds he heard the sound of a siren and not far behind them, Hanson’s cruiser came barreling after them. Rainwater splashed up soaking him as Randall tried to lose Hanson. But it was near impossible. One thing Hanson was good at was driving. He stayed on his ass the entire time, trying to bridge the gap between them.

  Unable to get his leg up over the tailgate, Harvey looked back at Hanson who was closing in. If he could get close enough, he could bring his boots up onto the hood of the cruiser and use that to push himself over the tailgate and into the back of the truck bed. A feat that would have been easier had Randall not been going at a crazy speed and zigzagging all over the road. With the deluge of rain, everything had become slick, that included the plastic on the back of the truck. Harvey could feel his hands slipping as he tried desperately to hold on. He shot a glance back at Hanson and whether he could read lips or just knew what Harvey was trying to do, he brought the cruiser in real tight, almost to the point of pinning him in. If Randall smashed the brakes, his legs would have been shattered between the cruiser and the back of the truck.

  Fortunately, that never happened.

  Harvey lifted his legs and as soon as the soles of his boots touched the cruiser’s hood, he pushed off and rolled over into the bed of the truck. By now Randall had seen him and was doing everything he could to shake him loose. It nearly worked. Harvey slammed into the side of the truck bed, then rolled over to the opposite side. It took everything he had to clamber his way to the front of the truck. As soon as he got close, he pulled his service weapon and pressed it against the cab window.

  “Pull over. Now!”

  He would have squeezed the trigger if he hadn’t.

  Suddenly, Randall slammed the brakes on and his shoulder crunched against the window. In a flash, Hanson swerved and got out. Both of them were pointing their guns at him and shouting at him to turn off the engine and put the keys on the roof of the truck.

  “You okay, Baker?”

  “Just a little shaken.”

  As he crawled out the back he thought of Skylar. Was she beginning to rub off on him? Years ago he would have never dreamed of doing something as dangerous as what he had, but here he was walking in her footsteps. “Do me a favor. Don’t tell Skylar about this,” Harvey said to Hanson before yanking Randall out of the truck and reading him his Miranda rights.

  11

  Harvey was in no mood for Randall’s lies and yet since slapping the cuffs on him that was all that came out of his mouth as they were strong-arming him back to his home. “You have nothing on me. I didn’t do anything. I know how you cops work. Always come after the little guy. I run an honest business.”

  “Selling drugs?”

  “Restoring cars.”

  “Interesting. What are you working on?” Harvey said, as they entered his home and pushed him into a chair. Harvey took a seat across from him while Hanson browsed.

  “You have no right to be in here. Where’s your search warrant?”

  “I don’t think you are in a position to tell us what we can or can’t do,” Harvey said. “Being as you set your dog on us and took off and nearly killed me.”

  “Oh please. You were trespassing. How was I supposed to know you were cops? You could have been making that up. I ran to protect myself.”

  “He has a point,” Hanson muttered as he ran his hands over some files on a table. Harvey rolled his eyes. He looked around his abode. There really wasn’t much to it. A torn leather couch, a busted-up IKEA chair, a double mattress in the room at the end of a hallway. Carpets that stank of cat piss, and kitchen counters that were covered in weeks of dishes. The ceiling was yellow from cigarette smoke, and on the armchair was an ashtray filled with butts, and a dark brown apple core. Multiple crushed beer cans littered the floor. The only thing that looked clean and up to date was the fifty-inch flat-screen on the wall. It always amazed Harvey how down-and-outs moaned about not having money and yet they found ways to get the latest and greatest phones, TVs and even vehicles.

  “Hey. You mind not touching my property?” Randall barked, turning his head towards Hanson. Hanson smiled back and continued. Sure, there might have been grounds for needing a warrant but after the stunt Randall pulled, Harvey was sure he could say they had a strong belief that he was hiding something.

  Harvey leaned forward in his chair. “Look, how about we cut the crap, Mike? Tell us what your relationship is with Lamar Erickson.”

  “Who?”

  His eyebrows went up in disbelief. “Really? You’re gonna do that?”

  “Man, I don’t know who you’re talking about.” Randall shook his head.

  Harvey nodded and took out of his pocket an evidence bag. He held it up without opening it. “Multiple phone calls to you. You spoke with him not long before he was found dead. Now you want to drop the act and tell us what that conversation was about or do we need to drag you down to the department?”

  “Dead? That’s news to me.”

  Harvey brought a hand to his face. “Huh? Not an ounce of remorse.”

  “Why should there be? I didn’t know him.” He gave a thin smile back as if he thought he was going to wiggle his way out of this.

  “Really?”

  Randall shook his head. “Do what you have to. I’m not saying a damn thing.”

  Right then Hanson emerged from the kitchen. “Harvey. You should come see this.”

  “Hey. You better not be planting anything.”

  “Settle down,” Harvey said as he got up and strolled into the kitchen. It was a state in there. A dirty table covered with used bowls and plates. The kitchen sink stank to high heaven. Flies were buzzing around food that hadn’t been scraped off plates. The garbage can was overflowing. The drapes covering the windows were slightly torn. How anyone could live in such a disgusting environment was a mystery. Hanson h
ad opened a cupboard and in plain sight were numerous bottles of pills, the same ones that had been found in Erickson’s possession.

  Hanson snapped some blue gloves on and pulled a few out. “Seems we hit the motherlode.”

  Right then, Harvey heard the sound of feet pounding the floor. Still handcuffed, Randall was trying to make a break for it. He dashed down the corridor into his bedroom and dived out the partially open window. Harvey was already on it, sprinting out the door and making his way around just as Randall tried to scramble to his feet. “Tricky to get up with your hands cuffed, isn’t it?” Harvey said kicking him to the ground and landing on top. He pressed his left cheek against the dirt and told him to relax.

  “Get off me, man. I want a lawyer. I’m not telling you anything. I have rights!”

  “I would seriously rethink that. Bottles of unauthorized drugs. You could be looking at some serious time. Now how about you stop jerking us off and come on back in and tell us what you know, and maybe, just maybe I’ll put in a word and make sure they go easy on you. Do we have a deal?”

  “Screw you, man,” he said as Harvey hauled him up and led him back into the home. As he sat slumped in a chair, Harvey waited. Eventually, all folks who knew the gig was up began to spill the beans.

  “Yeah, I knew him. But I didn’t kill him if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  “The conversation on the phone?”

  “He wanted to buy.”

  “Xanax and so forth?”

  Mike nodded. “Yeah.”

  “How long had he been buying from you?”

  “About six months.”

  “And did he ever say why he was buying them?”