Friday Edition, The (14 page)

Captain and Roy Rogers spoke softly, careful not to raise their voices. It was late and the outer offices were deserted.

“She knows too much already. We have to stop her,” Roy Rogers said.

“She surprised me,” Captain said. “I certainly didn’t expect such determination from a drunk, sloppy reporter.”

“There’s a leak,” Rogers said. “It has to be how she and Robin have been able to find out so much. We have to find that leak and seal it permanently.”

“What about Sam?” Captain asked.

Roy Rogers was silent a moment, considering the alternatives.

“Warn her once,” he said finally. “Tell her to stop while she’s ahead and no one else will get hurt, including her. If she doesn’t get the message at first, remind her what happened to Robin. She’ll get the message then.”

Captain nodded clenching the muscles in his jaw.

It was near midnight when Captain keyed the text message and sent it to Sam’s cell phone.

This is your only warning. Stop what you’re doing.

Quit while you’re still ahead and alive.

Do you want to share your sister’s fate?

At 12:15 a.m. Sam’s cell phone chirped loudly from the nightstand by her bed, rousing her from a deep, dream-filled sleep.

The snow had finally stopped falling and he was relieved. Captain could remember a time when he found it comforting to watch snow fall. It once brought him a certain level of peace. He would often walk in it for hours as it fell softly around him.

Tonight he found it irritating and a great distraction. Denver had been in the clutches of raw, snowy weather for the last three days. It set him on edge. The snowstorm had already forced the cancellation of one shipment. When he woke that morning, he immediately looked out the window. The sky was cast in a deep gray, but it hadn’t snowed more than an inch overnight. He hoped the weather would hold and the drop could be made tonight.

He left the sedan and turned his coat collar against the biting night air. He checked his watch. Ten minutes to midnight. Before long he should hear the sound of the Cessna’s engine overhead. He stuffed his hands into his overcoat and walked a short distance along the county road, kicking randomly at small stones that protruded through the snow.

The county road could not compare with the newly built 7,500-foot runway at the Truman County Airport, but it would do. As he walked, he saw the other sedan parked just down the road. When the time came, he would radio his signal and the headlights in both vehicles would be activated. The road made a crude runway, but it had been used before when inclement weather disrupted the county airport schedule.

They had scouted for a place for weeks before deciding that, though precarious, County Road 676 was best suited for a makeshift landing. Captain knew the plane, a customized Cassia 206, could handle the landing. The aircraft had been customized by the drug cartel to carry up to a thousand pounds of cargo and was designed specifically for short takeoffs and landings.

Captain knew the fairly well traveled road led to a small subdivision of homes at the county’s north end, but it was seldom used late at night. He liked it better, however, when the drug smugglers could land the plane on one of two runways at the county airport. It became the standard way of making drug drops after the cartel put one of the air-traffic controllers on its payroll.

The unrelenting snow had thrown everything off schedule, including flight operations at the Truman County Airport. The drug smugglers weren’t pleased when Captain called and said to use the county road to unload the shipment.

It was just after midnight when he returned to his sedan. When he slid into the warm car, Robin flashed into his mind. It was the look in her eyes in those final moments that he remembered as he tried to blow warmth into his hands. He had always known Robin to be calm and collected. But not Christmas Eve. She looked as if she knew what was about to happen. He had betrayed her and fear radiated from her eyes. But it was her own fault, he had warned her to back off, warned her what would happen, if she didn’t stop what she was doing.

He tried desperately to push his thoughts away. He was unsuccessful usually, as he was tonight. She had a determined way of positioning, then planting herself deep in the recesses of his mind. He gave in. He had learned to let these thoughts nag at him until they eventually subsided of their own free will.

Robin had been on his mind all day, perhaps because the drop had been planned for tonight. She had told him Christmas Eve that she knew County Road 676 was just one of several methods they had employed to bring drugs into the city. He remembered he wanted to hit her then.

He forgot Robin momentarily when his radio crackled. It was the Cessna pilot. They would be landing within minutes. He signaled the other driver and in unison they turned on their headlights. He felt relieved when he didn’t see snow falling in their beams.

Captain wanted to finish the drop quickly and get the plane back en route. He rolled down his window, looked to the sky and listened. The night air was still and, for a brief moment, he heard nothing but the sound of his own heart beating.

The plane’s engines were faint, but grew louder as it approached the vehicles. He watched as the Cessna flew directly over his car and touched down inches from the hood, easily, smoothly and efficiently.

The Cessna taxied to a stop and the two sedans drove and stopped within inches of the aircraft. The men left their cars to meet the plane. There was no preamble. The men met and made brief eye contact. They started to unload the shipment, black-tar heroin packaged neatly in bundles. They worked quickly to load the drugs into the trunks of the cars. Their breathing became labored and the steam from their breath drifted quickly and frequently into the crisp air.

When they finished, the sedans returned to their prescribed spots and the Cessna’s engine roared to life. The plane taxied briefly before it lifted easily into the air.

Captain listened as the sound of the plane’s engine disappeared into the gathering darkness above him. Within minutes there was no sound at all. But there was no comfort in the quiet.

His thoughts returned to Robin.

The day had been raw, but the snowstorm had finally pushed east out of Denver for the Kansas border. Sam couldn’t go back to sleep after the threatening text message so she spent the rest of the night sitting in the dark in a big chair by the window. Morrison had realized she wasn’t in bed. The cat had become accustomed to curling up at the foot of her bed and felt when she wasn’t there. Morrison found her in the living room. She patted her lap and he jumped up and went to sleep. She spent the rest of the early morning hours stroking him and gazing from her window.

The night sky had cleared and the stars looked as though they had been tossed at random on a velvet blanket. The half moon gave ample light for her to see the foothills. She thought again of the message and wondered if Robin had received similar threats.

She wanted to call Rey to tell him and had picked up the phone several times and punched in his number before she disconnected the call. She thought about calling Wilson.

“Call me anytime,” he had told her. She would not wake him in the middle of the night again. First thing in the morning she would show him the message.

Sam arrived at work by 8 a.m.

“Where’s Wilson?” she asked, ignoring Nick’s sardonic comment about arriving on time for work.

“He won’t be in today,” Nick said.

Nick studied Sam a moment. “Whatcha got?”

“Nothing,” she replied, trying not to show her disappointment.

Nick eyed her in disbelief and Sam knew it, but didn’t care. She drove straight home from work ignoring the liquor store on the corner of her apartment complex. She had thrown out all the booze in her apartment, to keep from being tempted. She wanted to keep her word to Wilson that she would not drink. She had already failed him once and she would not let him down a second time.

It was early evening when Sam dialed Wilson’s home number a third time. After the second ring, the answering machine clicked on and Sam hung up. She would try again soon and, if he didn’t answer, she would leave a voice mail.

The threatening, early-morning text message and Wilson’s absence from work wasn’t all that ruined her day. Sam was angry with Jonathan for letting April eat too much cake on her birthday. She was too sick to do anything with Sam the next day, or so Jonathan had said. But April wasn’t sick from eating too much cake. That was just an excuse and Sam knew it. Sam waited out in her Mustang for over an hour, but April never did come out of the house that afternoon. Sam took one long final look at the house before she put the car in gear and finally drove away.

The evening improved slowly. She had built a strong fire. She was wearing Robin’s old brown sweater and drinking coffee. The house smelled of burning wood and coffee and the combination made her feel warm and relaxed, almost as though she belonged in her apartment. She felt strong and pleased with herself for resisting the urge to stop at the liquor store.

She had taken the Mexican blanket she kept draped over her couch and wrapped it around her legs. She didn’t need it for warmth, but for the memory, of a time that she had spent with April and Jonathan in Mexico. Sam had purchased the blanket with April’s help. They had sifted through piles and piles before April selected the brightly colored blanket. Sam didn’t take much with her when she moved into the apartment, but she did take the blanket.

That Mexico trip was their first vacation in several years. Money, the lack of it, had been their biggest problem. Their two incomes allowed them to live comfortably. They began to build a savings. Then April was born. Shortly after her first birthday, Jonathan invested a substantial amount of their savings into a real estate venture that eventually went sour. They went into debt to get out of the deal.

They were ready to file for bankruptcy when their financial problems changed almost, it seemed, overnight. When Sam questioned the sudden improvement in their monetary status, Jonathan said he had made an investment.

“What kind of investment?”

“In a gold company.”

“With what?” she asked.

“What you do mean with what? Money, of course,” Jonathan had said.

“But we don’t have any money, Jonathan. Where’d you get the cash?”

Jonathan avoided her gaze when he explained he had borrowed the money from a co-worker.

“I mentioned the financial problems we were having to a friend who later approached me about an investment deal. He said the market was booming and now would be a good time to invest. I did mostly as a favor to him, to help out his son.”

“How come you didn’t tell me?” her tone was accusatory. “You know how desperate our own situation is, Jonathan. We almost couldn’t buy school clothes and supplies for April this year.”

He looked away from Sam’s angry stare. “I’m well aware of our financial situation, Sam. And I had planned to discuss it with you, but...”

Jonathan’s voice trailed off. Sam glared at him expecting him to continue. He didn’t.

“But what?” she said.

“But you spend so goddamn much time drinking or drunk that I wasn’t sure I could discuss anything with you in a logical manner, Sam,” he said stiffly.

Sam felt her face flush, wounded by his comment. “I ... I don't drink that much that you couldn’t have come to me with this.”

Jonathan went on. “There was no need to talk about it. I borrowed the money.”

“Borrowed the money?”

Jonathan nodded. “I got the money to make the first deal then I would pay back what I borrowed.”

The investment deal did better than either of them imagined. Not only did they do well enough to erase their debt, but also they had managed to rebuild their savings account and start a trust fund for April.

The extra money boosted Jonathan’s outlook on life. Why shouldn’t it, Sam thought. He never had much money growing up. His family was poor. Jonathan, the oldest of five children, was nine when his father, a police officer, was seriously injured in a traffic accident and permanently disabled. Jonathan had to help his mother support the family.

The only way Jonathan knew he could attend college was to get good grades in school and apply for scholarships. He managed, but nothing came without a struggle. When the real estate deal went sour, Jonathan had contemplated suicide. He told Sam he would not live like he did as a child again. But it was more than that, he told her. He simply could not deal with seeing April grow up much the same way he had. Then came the gold company investment and the metamorphosis in Jonathan was magical.

The clock on the mantel chimed nine times, pulling Sam from the memory. Sam called Wilson again and the answering machine clicked on. “Wilson? Hi, it’s me. It’s nine o’clock Wednesday evening. I missed you at work today. I got another disturbing text message last night. I need to talk to you. Please call me when you can.”

Sam had stoked the fire and was on her third cup of coffee when the telephone rang. She snatched up before it could ring a second time. “Wilson?”

“No, Sam, it’s me.”

“Rey, am I glad you called,” she said and without further prelude told him about the message on her cell phone.

There was a long pause.

“Rey?” she said hesitantly.

“Yeah, I’m here. That bothers me. Robin got them, too. Hers came to her cell phone, like they did yours, warning her to stop or else they’d kill her.”

Sam’s heart sank. Another thing she didn’t know.

“It didn’t stop her, though,” Sam heard Rey say.

“Yeah, I guess so,” Sam replied softly. It was all she could bring herself to say.

“Are you all right?” Rey asked and she could hear his concern for her.

She smiled into the phone. “I’m fine,” she said. “Thanks.”

“Want a great tip?” There was excitement in his voice. “You’ve got to come to the police garage now.”

“Now?”

“Yes, now,” Rey said.

“What’s up?”

“Not over the phone. You’ll have to see for yourself. When you come tell them you know that one of the mechanics found something interesting under a police cruiser’s seat. I’ll be there, too, but remember we haven’t seen each other since the ride along,” Rey said.

“Where’s the garage?”

Rey told her.

“I’ll see you there in half an hour,” Rey said and she heard the click in her ear.

She wore her heavy coat and scarf, and within the half-hour was parked in front of the Grandview Police Department’s garage. She glanced inside one of the windows hoping to see Rey.

His back was to her when she spotted him, but she recognized his familiar shape. He was talking to three other officers. They were huddled together as if to ward off the dank air in the garage. She looked on a moment and watched as one of the officers pointed to a dark four-door sedan, with the driver’s door open.

She scanned the perimeter of the garage. There were two police squad cars near the back, but the doors were shut and the lights were out. There was another sedan on a lift. The officers didn’t seem interested in those vehicles.

She noticed only one other man in the garage. He was wearing dirty, dark gray mechanic’s coveralls and standing opposite Rey and the other officers. He was wiping his hands on a red rag blackened with car grease.

No one looked in her direction when she entered the garage. When Sam reached the officers, she looked at Rey. He gave her a cool, detached look. She quickly scanned the eyes of the other officers, but none offered a friendly greeting.

“Are you looking for the main entrance?” a short, balding officer asked.

Sam shook her head. “I found the place I’m supposed to be. I’m Sam Church, a reporter with the
Grandview Perspective
. I was under the impression if I came down here tonight that I might find something real interesting in one of these police cruisers.”

When she finished she looked at Rey then the other officers. The balding officer spoke.

“Well, miss ...”

“It’s Sam.”

The balding officer started again, “Well, Sam wherever you got your information, you got it wrong.”

She continued undaunted. “I don’t think so. I’ve been told differently, that one of your mechanics found something very interesting under a car seat.”

The officers remained quiet as Sam pulled a pen and reporter’s notebook from an inside coat pocket. She pulled the pen cap off with her teeth as she scanned each of the officers. Her gaze settled on Rey.

“Anyone willing to help?” she asked.

No one moved or offered a word of assistance.

“Come on,” Sam said. “I’m not leaving until someone talks to me.” She looked directly at Rey. “Rey, I went on the ride along with you the other night, isn’t there something you can do?”

Rey stepped aside and cast an open hand in the mechanic’s direction. “Arnie,” Rey called to him. “Can you come here and tell her what you found?”

Arnie came without reluctance and stood next to Sam.

“I’d shake your hand, but I got grease all over mine,” Arnie said and smiled apologetically.

“No problem,” Sam said. “What can you show me?”

Arnie walked to the driver’s side of the vehicle and Sam and other officers followed. As they walked Sam caught Rey looking at her.

“I know this is gonna sound strange,” Arnie said. “But I was about to start work on this car here. When I got inside and got ready to push the seat back, I stuck my hand underneath, and felt what I thought was a baggie.”

Arnie stopped a moment to see each pair of eyes fixed on him. He continued. “It was just like one of those plastic baggies you’d put a sandwich in or somethin.’ Know what I’m sayin’?”

“Except there wasn’t a sandwich in it,” Sam said, studying the mechanic, a short round man with thinning red hair, bushy eyebrows and a belly that made his dirty coveralls bulge at the midsection.

“No ma’am, no sandwich.”

The baggie was lying on the driver’s seat. The mechanic put on a pair of Latex gloves before he collected the evidence. “I found this under the seat. As soon as I felt it I took my hand away. I didn’t want no more fingerprints on there than there already was.”

“What is it?” Sam asked.

“Cocaine,” the balding officer said, as if finding drugs in police cruisers happened all the time.

“Is that all you found?” Sam asked.

“No ma’am,” Arnie said. “When I felt the baggie, I went and got me a flashlight and looked under the seat. There’s four more under there just like this one.”

“We usually don’t find stuff like this in our police cars,” the beefy officer said.

“I should hope not.” Sam said. “What’s this car in the shop for?”

“Something’s screwy with the windshield wipers,” Arnie said. “They don’t work like they’re supposed to. Must be a short in the motor or somethin’. This thing needs a tune-up, too.”

“Are the other bags still under there?” Sam asked.

“They are,” Rey said and nodded, “But we’re about to take everything to property and evidence.”

“Whose car is this?” She asked.

Arnie stepped aside to let one of the officers answer the question.