The Conviction (37 page)

“I thought they used infrared now,” Molia said.

“They do, but cedar and pine trees give off readings similar to marijuana plants. So do hops. It would make the pot plants damn near impossible to detect.”

“And there’s a ready supply of water from streams and creeks,” Alex said. “Dillon could be preparing multiple grow sites and at the same time be harvesting others. It’s just like the homes, a mobile operation he keeps moving. And since they’re on public land, if someone does stumble onto one and reports it, the authorities can’t link it to him.”

“How lucrative is it?” Molia asked.

“Lucrative enough that Mexican drug cartels have moved their operations over the border to avoid the hassle of smuggling product across it,” Alex said. “My friend said the serious growers prefer the outdoor grows because they produce bigger plants with more usable buds, and outdoor grow operations can produce a lot of plants in a compact area. They’ve found grow sites as big as forty thousand plants.”

Molia whistled.

“What does that amount to in dollars?” Sloane asked.

“He says it depends on the variety of the plant and how they’re cared for and harvested, but a sophisticated grow operation in business for as long as we suspect Dillon’s to have been would likely have produced its own hybrid that grows best in that climate. Somebody who knows what they’re doing can get up to fifteen pounds from each plant, with every pound having a street value of up to fifteen hundred dollars. And the way Dillon has it set up his costs are at a minimum.”

“Hell, he’s passing those costs on to the county and to the families who are paying Fresh Start to incarcerate their kids,” Sloane said.

“Who watches the grows?” Molia asked. “Somebody has to tend the plants. On-Guard?”

“Unlikely. They would be too easily linked to Dillon. My friend says they usually use illegals smuggled across the border from Mexico. They’d have no idea who they’re working for and, according to my friend, they’re scared into believing that if they say anything their families back in Mexico will be killed.”

“Outdoor education,” Molia said.

“What?” Sloane asked.

“You remember Lynne Buchman telling us about the inmates at Fresh Start having outdoor education, going out on survival hikes.” He searched through papers strewn across the table until he found one of the Fresh Start brochures and flipped it open. “They take them up into the mountains for outdoor adventures, some as long as a week.”

“They could get a lot of work done in a week,” Alex said.

Sloane studied the map. “Get me the parcel numbers, Alex. If we can pinpoint a likely grow area and find one, we’ll have something concrete to take to Barnes to shut down Dillon, and if we do that, we shut down Fresh Start. And that gets Jake and T.J. out of that place.”

Three hours later, with the heat of the day turning the bunkhouse into a sweatbox, Sloane and Molia had colored in the parcel numbers of the plots of land purchased by Dillon on the map and were showing it to Sheriff Matt Barnes. The area they’d colored created a red, crescent moon shape above the Fresh Start facility that extended into the Eldorado National Forest. The information had helped to narrow the acreage of likely grow sites, but as Molia said, “That’s like saying removing a pinch of the hay pile made it easier to find the hidden needle.”

The gross acreage of the Eldorado National Forest was some 787,000 acres, of which nearly 200,000 were privately owned, and that included Dillon’s significant chunk. Sloane didn’t know any of these facts, but Barnes was giving him and Molia a crash course on reality. Dillon’s acreage would not only provide grow sites, but also a buffer to keep out those pesky hikers and backpackers who might ostensibly stumble into Fresh Start, but which Sloane now thought really was intended to keep them from inadvertently finding one of Dillon’s homegrown forests of hallucinogenic plants.

“If it was that easy ATF and Fish and Wildlife would be finding grows by the hundreds every year,” Barnes said. “Hell, if they find ten thousand plants there’s likely another million they don’t find.
And if what you’re saying is even remotely true, this is a sophisticated operation set up to
not
be easily found.”

“You wanted hard evidence, Sheriff,” Sloane said. “Those routing numbers are hard evidence. Dillon’s laundering tens of millions of dollars through a bank on which Judge Boykin sits as a director. And he isn’t pulling that money out of his brewery. The guy has a long history of knowing how to grow pot, and he’s put that knowledge to good use and developed a hell of a good cover.”

“It ain’t hard evidence until we find a grow,” Barnes countered, keeping his temper out of his voice, though not his complexion, which was as red as the crescent moon on the map. “Even then we have to tie the grow to Dillon,” Barnes continued, “and you yourself said that if the grow is on public land it’s unlikely we’ll be able to do that.”

“So we go to one of Dillon’s warehouses and see if hops is all he’s distributing.” Molia said.

Barnes shook his head. “They harvest end of August, early September. So its unlikely we’d find anything this time of year. I suspect, if what you say is true, that the pot doesn’t stay in the warehouse long. Besides, do you think Judge Earl is going to sign a warrant for me to storm Dillon’s warehouse?”

The more time Sloane spent with Barnes the more he viewed him as one of those types who was like a simmering kettle on the stove, always on the verge of blowing if someone turned up the fire under him. Sloane had done just that with the evidence of the routing numbers.

“So we find a grow and cross that bridge of proving it’s Dillon’s when we come to it,” Molia said, becoming animated. “We get the evidence. We let the lawyers fight over what it all means, but it starts with the evidence.” He jabbed a finger at the colored map.

Sloane stepped back from the table. The heat was getting to all of them. He pulled cold drinks from the cooler and handed one to Barnes and one to Molia.

“If we’re right, if Dillon is using Fresh Start as a home base for his grows, then he’s running the supplies through it and using the kids as labor to prepare the sites.” Sloane ran a pencil on the map. “That means he’s likely growing his plants on the lands he’s purchased
or on land close to it. Even on horses there’s a limited distance they could trek to carry in those supplies from the accessible roads. It significantly reduces the acreage.”

Barnes rolled his eyes. “Do you know how many marked and unmarked trails there are up there?”

Sloane knew Barnes was playing devil’s advocate and didn’t mind. The questions were helping to focus their thinking, and that would help to centralize the most likely grow areas. “But they have to trailer the horses.” Sloane paused to allow that thought to sink in. “They have to start someplace where they can drive a trailer and unload the horses. That should narrow it further, shouldn’t it?” Sloane said. “The grows also need a ready water source. We can talk to Fish and Wildlife.”

Barnes sat down on the bench. “Hell, Mr. Sloane, there’s as many streams and creeks and rivers up there as there are trails. Look, I’m not trying to throw cold water on your fire, but there could be thousands of potential locations.”

“We just need to find one, Sheriff,” Sloane said. “Just one.”

Barnes ran a hand over a tired face and shut his eyes, grimacing. Most people would have gone on talking, trying to convince him of the validity of their position. Sloane saw young attorneys do it to judges but he knew better. So did Tom Molia. They’d made their best pitch. Saying it twice wasn’t going to make it any better. So they waited, listening to the buzz of insects and smelling the charred remains of the outhouse on what little breeze blew through the open door.

“All right,” Barnes said, eyeing them both. Sloane knew the sheriff wasn’t completely convinced but he was throwing them a bone. “A full-scale operation with Fish and Wildlife and ATF, DEA would take a lot of time to pull together, even if we could convince them. Given your predicament I don’t suggest we wait to do that. This is a small town, as you two are finding out quick. Word travels fast. I don’t suggest you mention what we’re about to do to anyone. Not even Bennett. After the stunt you pulled at the Sutter Building last night, you may have already scared off the prey. Dillon may have pulled up stakes—if he ever planted any to begin with.”

Sloane shook his head. “I don’t think so, Sheriff. They haven’t harvested yet. Like you said, Dillon’s not going to leave hundreds of millions on the table and he likely has orders to fill or find himself in real trouble. That’s a month, maybe two away. It’s cheaper to kill us, which is why they’ve been trying so hard to do just that.”

“And nearly succeeding, I might add.”

“We’re not trying to be heroes here, Sheriff.” Sloane nodded to Molia. “We both know this is a double-edged sword. We both know that pushing this might put our boys in greater jeopardy, but my son let me know he was in peril the first day he called. So I have just one more request.”

Barnes nodded.

“If we go up there and we do find a grow, or evidence of a grow, you have to assure me our next stop is Fresh Start, that you’ll take custody of Jake and T.J. I don’t care if you lock them in your jail until we get them a new trial. You just make sure you get them out of that place.”

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Jake had made sure to lie down beside T.J. before the guards applied their leg irons. He was dog tired after working all day but fought to stay awake, keeping his mind occupied until he heard one of the guards snoring, likely the cook, who had drunk a lot of tequila during the night.

When he was satisfied both guards were asleep he rolled to his left, whispering, “T.J.?”

When T.J. did not answer Jake poked his shoulder. “T.J.?”

T.J. startled. “Huh? What?”

Jake clasped a hand over his mouth to prevent him from waking the guards. “It’s me.”

An owl hooted, and the wind caused the branches overhead to creak and moan, and rustled the plastic tarp over their heads.

“What’s the matter, what’s wrong?”

“I’ve been thinking.”

“About what?”

“About what you said, about how we can’t go back to Fresh Start.”

Jake had not been able to shake the vision of Big Baby, the hatred in his eyes when he pulled back his fist to decapitate him in the bathhouse. Big Baby would kill them when they got back to Fresh Start. Jake didn’t doubt it.

A pan rattled and clanged. Jake lay back, holding his breath, heart racing. He heard rustling near the camp stove. In the pitch-black, he couldn’t see but decided it was likely the gray squirrel they’d seen scurrying around the camp earlier that evening. When he heard the rhythm of the guards’ breathing return to normal he rolled over again.

“T.J.?”

“What are we going to do?” he asked, fear in his voice.

“We have to get away; we have to run.”

“What? Where?”

“Our dads are still here. If we can get to a town and use a phone we can call them.”

“How? We don’t even know where we are; Atkins blindfolded us.”

“I’ve been keeping track. We’re not that far from Fresh Start, so we’re not that far from the towns below it. We have to follow the streams. Water runs downhill. That’s where the towns will be. They set them up that way for the gold. We find a town, we find a phone.”

For a while T.J. didn’t speak. Jake knew he was likely doubting him, thinking about what had happened the last time he’d followed one of Jake’s plans. T.J. might have also been weighing their chances of actually succeeding and getting away, which Jake had already decided on his own to not be very good, but didn’t want to say out loud.

“If Atkins catches us, he’ll kill us and bury us up here.”

Jake knew Atkins was a sadistic bastard, but up until the moment he pointed the rifle at T.J.’s head and nearly pulled the trigger, he’d never thought he’d actually kill any of them. He’d thought
the threats were just another way to scare them, make them think twice about escaping or breaking a rule. But he’d looked into the man’s eyes that night when he tried to intervene, and he’d seen more than a sadist. He’d seen something much darker. It was the same thing he’d seen in the eyes of Anthony Stenopolis the night Stenopolis killed his mother then pointed the gun at Jake’s face. The same thing he’d seen in Big Baby’s eyes. Atkins was a killer, and there was no amount of logic or reason that would keep him from killing. What to do with the body? What to do with the other three witnesses? How to explain to a parent their child was missing? Atkins wasn’t considering any of those questions. A killer didn’t think that way. That’s what Bee Dee meant about Big Baby being a psychopath, acting without any governor. People like that, like Stenopolis and Atkins, would kill and worry about the consequences later. Maybe Atkins already had killed and gotten away with it. Maybe there were bodies decomposing in shallow graves all over the mountains.

“No, he won’t,” he said, and it wasn’t a complete lie. “He can’t. He doesn’t want anyone snooping around up here. Think about it, why would he cover our faces with masks? Why did he pack out the garbage? Why are they so careful at night with the camp light? They don’t want anyone to find this place. That means they’re doing something illegal. They’re growing pot, T.J. I know it. I’ve seen it done. If Atkins shoots us and buries us, our dads will have these mountains crawling with people. Atkins can’t risk that.”

“I don’t know.”

“He can’t. But if Big Baby does it for him, kills us, then Big Baby goes off to prison, and he’s going there anyway. Atkins gets rid of us.”

“When would we go?” T.J. sounded scared, which meant Jake had to be brave for both of them, confident.

“Remember when Atkins dropped us off? He said three days. That means he’s coming back tomorrow, probably in the afternoon, so they can get a full day’s work out of us and bring us back to Fresh Start at night. We have to go before that.”

“How?”

“I have a plan. I saw it in a movie.”