Dead Even (6 page)

“Yeah,” Mike answered. “If we aren't busted back to traffic.”

*   *   *

“All right,” Captain Markham said to the four men standing in front of him. “What happened? How did you manage to let one of the biggest dealers this side of the Rockies slip through your fingers so easily?”

Bill Harmon and Harry Windslow looked down at the floor. Finally Bill spoke. “Had to happen on our shift, Captain. They must have slipped out the back and left on foot. Their van was still parked out front.” He cleared his throat and added, “Rental, false name, no prints.”

“Shit,” Markham said. “So all we're left with are pictures of a bunch of locals who like to get high?”

“Maybe not, Captain,” Mike spoke for the first time. “There were four men in that group who seemed to be picking up considerably more than they would need for their personal use, and their tags were Colorado, which matches the information we received. I'd say there's a good chance they're dealing.”

Markham glared at Mike. “Well, isn't that just simply dandy! We had a chance to nail one of the really
big
boys, and you guys muffed it! They'll be setting up in another state by now. What the hell blew your cover? Any ideas? And why did you wait two weeks to make your move, for God's sake? This isn't Kansas City, you know. In a town this size, sooner or later someone is going to make you.”

Mike knew the captain was right. He should have gone in two days ago. He nodded his head. “My fault, Captain. It was my call all the way. If I would've moved quicker, we would have nailed them.”

“All right,” Markham said. “It's over. Not a damn thing we can do about it now. I want you four to stay on this, though. See what we can get on the rest of them. Salvage what we can.” He turned to Mike, dismissing the others with a wave of his hand. “Ramsey, I want to talk to you.”

The door closed behind the other officers, and Markham sat staring at Mike, wondering how his next words were going to be received. Mike Ramsey was one of the best men he had. He had been on the Hays Police Force for eleven years, distinguishing himself many times over. He was also a recovering alcoholic.

“Sit down, Mike,” he said. This is off the record, and I'm asking you as a friend, not your captain. Are you drinking again?”

Mike looked up, surprised. “Hell, no, Jim,” he answered, reverting to a first name basis now that they were alone. “I haven't touched a drop in two years. Why do you ask?”

“Couple of things, Mike,” Markham said, looking straight at the officer. “First, it isn't like you to make a mistake like you did on this case, and there's the matter of what tipped those bastards they were under surveillance. Sometimes when a man is drinking, he lets things slip that spread quickly in a small town.” He put his hand up to silence Mike's objections. “And second, it was reported to me that you've been spending a lot of time at Mary K's. For someone who is trying to stay away from booze, it seems to me a tavern isn't the ideal place to hang out.”

“Shit, Jim,” Mike answered. “I like their frigging hamburgers. Since when is that a crime?”

Markham thought back over his long association with the officer sitting in front of him. To his knowledge, Mike had always been straight with him. Still, the rumors had started to fly again, and he couldn't afford to ignore them. “Mike, I went out on a limb for you two years ago. You do remember all the editorials demanding your resignation, don't you? I took a lot of flack keeping you on the force. Damn near cost me
my
job. I won't be able to back you again, and I don't want to lose you. You're too fine an officer.”

“Damn it, Captain, I haven't been drinking!” Mike exploded. “Check it out if you don't believe me. Anyone there will tell you I only drink pop. Nothing else. I eat a hamburger, sometimes play a game or two of darts, and leave. Period. Who the hell has been telling you any different?”

Markham made his mind up quickly. “I can't tell you that, Mike. And it doesn't make any difference, anyway. If you tell me you aren't drinking again, that's good enough for me.”

Mike leaned back in his chair, running a hand over the light stubble on his face, realizing he had forgotten to shave. At thirty-four, Mike Ramsey was a handsome figure of a man. He was six feet tall and one hundred ninety pounds of lean muscle. He wore his sandy blond hair slightly longer than the old-timers on the force, but considerably shorter than the new recruits. His skin was dark, tanned deeply by the amount of time he spent out-of-doors. His eyes were a deep shade of blue, fringed by a double row of long lashes—unquestionably his best feature. There was a faint scar, the result of a drunken brawl, under his left eye. When he smiled, it dimpled inward, enhancing, not detracting from his looks. Not that he paid much attention to his appearance. He hadn't for some time now. Not since Rebecca.

They had met the summer she graduated from college. He, a rookie cop, and she, a graphic design artist, ready to set the artistic world on fire. She had been cute, and funny, and full of love for both him and her work. He had worshipped her, and she, him. They had been married only a year when she got the news. Leukemia. Over the next eight years he had watched her die, inch by inch. They tried every new drug on the market, but nothing could halt the steady progression for long. Finally, she had given up and refused any more treatment. He had begged and pleaded with her, but she stood firm. When it was finally over, he went on a drinking spree that lasted eighteen months, three suspensions, and two stints in an alcohol rehab clinic. But he had made it. One of the doctors had finally convinced him that alcohol was poison to his system, and if he continued drinking, he would be dead in a year. Much to his surprise, he discovered he wanted to live. He had hung the traditional cup on the wall of the clinic, and vowed he would not be back another time.

Mike stood and extended his hand to Markham. The older man took it. “No hard feelings?”

Mike smiled, “No, Jim. I know you have to be careful. I'm sure there are still some who are just waiting for me to start hitting it again. I made a few enemies when I was drinking—made an ass of myself more than once. But you have my word that's all behind me. I haven't started drinking again—and I won't.”

Markham nodded. “That's good enough for me, then.”

Mike closed the door to the captain's office behind him. “Hey, Mike,” his partner yelled from across the room. “You have a phone call. Line three. Lady's been waiting about ten minutes—must want you pretty bad.”

“Thanks Butch,” Mike said, crossing the room to his desk. He punched line three. “This is Mike Ramsey. How can I help you?”

“Mike! You son of a gun. How the hell are you, anyway?”

He recognized the voice immediately and laughed. “Well, I have been better, if you want the truth.” He hesitated, chuckling into the phone. “Now don't go reading something into that. I only meant this has been a pisser of a day, and it isn't even noon yet.”

“I wasn't worried none,” Bess laughed. “You got it whipped this time. I'd stake my life on it!”

Bess had been there for him through the hellish years after his wife's death. At a time when many of his friends looked the other way when they saw him coming, Bess had been steadfast in her support. How many times had he phoned her, drunk out of his mind, and asked her to pick him up and get him home? He had no idea. Then one night when he was really wasted, he had passed out in her car. When he awoke it was morning, and he was at an alcohol clinic in Norton, ninety miles away.

“This is it, Mike,” she had turned to him from the front seat, taking in his red eyes and whiskey-stained shirt. “You got two choices. You can give it another shot, or you can walk home. But before you answer, I should tell you I have your shoes and billfold locked in the trunk, and the temperature is supposed to hit one hundred today. And son, ain't nobody gonna pick you up, lookin' the way you do!”

He had stayed. And somewhere between the doctor's lectures, and Bess's faith in him, he had found his way back.

“I wouldn't dare go back to drinking, Bess. As I recall, you told me if I ever touched another drop, you'd personally kick my naked ass all the way down Main Street!”

Bess chuckled. “That's right, Mike. And you know me. My word's as good as gold.”

Mike grinned. He had always liked the old woman. They had been friends since he first started on the force. Actually, Bess was well-acquainted with most of the officers in town. Her small motel was a haven for people down on their luck. Many an officer had opted for the Rock Road Inn instead of hauling a vagrant off to jail. He supposed Bess had probably helped more people get back on their feet than all the churches in town. He wondered sometimes how she could afford to take on so many non-paying customers, especially since she never seemed to turn anyone away.

“What's on your mind, Bess? Something I can help you with?”

“I've got a problem, Mike. A big one. And I sure could use your help, if you've got the time to come by.”

He didn't hesitate. “I'll be there in ten minutes. Start the coffee.”

Chapter FIVE

Bess hung up the phone and turned to Gerald and Audra. “He'll be here in a few minutes. Mike's got a good head on his shoulders. He'll tell us straight what we should do.”

Gerald glanced at his watch. “I don't really have the time to stay. I have to meet with the board at two o'clock.” He had tried to talk some sense into his fiancé, but she seemed determined to pursue the matter.

“Go ahead, Gerald. Bess and I can find out everything we need to know,” Audra said. “I know this meeting is important to you.”

“Seems to me there's some things more 'portant than work,” Bess snapped peevishly. “I know them people at the school would understand if you was to tell them you need to be with Audra today.”

Gerald ignored the old woman's comment, relegating her to a compartment of his mind reserved for the inconsequential, the insignificant. “That's fine then, Audra. I'll come by your house just as soon as the meeting concludes. Wish me luck!”

Audra shut the door behind him. “Yes, and you might have wished
me
luck,” she thought, but to her friend she said, “Don't be too hard on him, Bess. This job means a lot to him. He has been trying for it for the last several years. He's just under a great deal of pressure right now.”

Bess nodded wisely. “Ain't we all, child. Ain't we all. But enough of this. Mike will be here shortly, and I promised him coffee.”

It seemed only minutes before there was a stacatto beat on the door and Mike entered, shaking light siftings of snow from his plaid jacket. “It just started,” he said, grinning like a school boy. “And it's really coming down!”

He crossed quickly to Bess, swept her up in his massive arms and twirled her around the small, cluttered room. “Damnit, Bess,” he said, as he finally planted her, “you just keep getting better looking each time I see you. What's your secret?”

She gave him a big wink. “Well, son, the good Lord just looks at some of us more favorable than others, that's all I can tell you!”

They both laughed, enjoying the familiar exchange.

“Mike, you remember Audra, don't you? Audra Delaney?”

Mike extended his hand. “Nice to see you again, Audra. It's been a long time. I imagine you know you're Bess's pride and joy.”

Audra was drawn immediately to Mike's open face and obvious warmth. She remembered him, vaguely, from when she ran the desk at the Rock Road Inn. But it had always been her policy to find work in the back room when people from town came in to pass the time. Her natural instinct was to run for cover in any social setting. So she was surprised over the next hour, to hear herself opening up to Mike, talking freely about that night long ago.

Mike asked few questions at the outset, wanting instead to hear her account from beginning to end, with no prompting from him. It was odd, the effect she was having on him. When he had first seen her today, he had considered her plain, almost mousy-looking, as she had always seemed to him in years past, as she scurried from the office when people came in to chat. But today as she spoke he realized it was just the opposite. She was a beauty. A beauty doing everything she could to appear plain. She wore no makeup and her light brown hair was worn short. Short and straight. Combed neatly in place. He found himself wondering how it would look if he reached over and mussed it. Better. Definitely better. Her eyes were an emerald green, fringed by thick, light-brown lashes the same color as her eyebrows—so light they almost disappeared on her face. Her skin was flawless, so fair he wondered if she spent all of her time indoors. He wondered why he had never noticed her before—and he suddenly wished he had remembered to shave.

“—and that's it. When I heard his voice again at the radio station, I was positive it was him.”

“But you can't remember, specifically, any
one
thing he said to you ten years ago?” Mike asked.

Audra shook her head. “No. The police grilled me over and over but I never could.” Her eyes pleaded with him for understanding. “But that doesn't mean I don't recognize his voice. I'm
certain
it was the same man!”

He smiled warmly, nodding his head in agreement. “I know, Audra. This sort of thing happens more than you think. The trauma is so severe that you block out the specifics. Don't worry about it. It's no problem.”

“What should we do, Mike?” Bess asked. “Where do we go from here?”

“To the station. Make out a report, and let us get on it.”

Audra glanced shyly down at her hands. “My—my fiancé said the police would never act after so long a time, that there was probably a statute of limitations or something, anyway.”