Blood Trade: A Sean Coleman Thriller (12 page)

“Shut up, Sean,” said Lumbergh. He shouted instructions for Martinez to record his
time in a ledger posted at the reception desk and then added that he could take off
for the day. He turned his attention back to Sean. “How many years have you known
me now, Sean? What have I done during that time that gives you the impression I would
just spill out confidential information from this office upon your personal request?”

Sean crossed his arms in front of him. In a scoffing tone, he replied. “Nothing,
Gary. You’ve done absolutely nothing to show special treatment to the guy whose sister
you’re married to. I get it!”

He paced back and forth a bit, surveying Lumbergh as he did. He then raised his index
finger and pointed it in the police chief ’s direction. “But you owe me!”

The chief ’s eyebrows formed upward arrows as he glared at Sean the way a parent
would at a child who was about to make a reckless decision. He leaned forward in
his chair. “Tell me you’re not serious.”

“You bet I’m serious,” Sean answered, locking his arms in front of his chest. “Did
you really think I was going to cash in a favor from the police chief of Winston
by having him shovel my driveway or something? I cleaned up your shit. You owe me!”

The back legs of Lumbergh’s chair scraped loudly along the tile as he pushed himself
away from his desk and rose to his feet. The sound of Martinez exiting the building
went unnoticed. “Sean, I can’t tell you what’s going on in an active case. It’s against
the law! And again, it’s not my case! It’s not my jurisdiction! I know nothing about
it!” He forcefully pressed his finger to the top of his desk with every assertion.

“Bullshit!” Sean roared back. “Gary, you’re a goddamned celebrity now! The Montoya
shooting turned you into Super Cop! I saw the way the other police chiefs swarmed
all over you at that convention Diana dragged me to last month—the one where they
gave you that award! They just don’t like you; they want to
be
you!”

“What are you getting at?” Lumbergh sneered.

“All you have to do is pick up the phone and call your counterpart over there in
Greeley. I’m sure he’d be more than happy to spill the beans on everything that’s
going on over there.” Sean could almost see the steam rising out of Lumbergh’s ears
as the chief ’s eyes pierced forward. He knew Lumbergh would regret the day he indebted
himself to him, though the truth was that Sean had never intended on cashing in the
favor. Still, he took some guilty satisfaction in watching the realization settle
over Lumbergh’s face that the day had finally come. He liked watching the “big city”
former police lieutenant squirm in discomfort at the mercy of his far less polished
brother-in-law. He knew Lumbergh to be a man of his word—a trait he perhaps valued
even more than his commitment to professional protocol.

For the next five minutes, Sean paced back and forth from the hallway to the front
of the chief ’s desk as Lumbergh did his best to engage in cordial small talk over
the phone with someone at the Greeley Police Department. Lumbergh’s sociable tone
didn’t at all mesh with the disdainful glare he kept trained on Sean through the
doorway during the conversation. Still, he sounded genuine enough.

“Oh, you saw that interview?” Lumbergh spoke into the receiver
with a brief grin.
“Well, I’m glad you liked it. They threw some interesting questions at me in that
one. Like, ‘
What gun would you have ideally had with you during that shootout?’
Ridiculous.”

Sean rolled his eyes.

Before long, Lumbergh brought up Andrew Carson, framing his query in the context
of a similar unsolved case he had worked back in Chicago during his days as a police
lieutenant. The details that he shared came out too naturally for Lumbergh to have
made them up, Sean decided. They likely tied back to a real missing person’s case,
though the chief ’s mentioning of its possible relevance to Carson’s was less than
sincere. Lumbergh explained repeatedly to his law enforcement colleague that a connection
between the two would be an enormous long shot and that manpower shouldn’t be pulled
off of other leads to pursue it.

“Oh, I can just log in to the mainframe?” Lumbergh said in surprise, quickly leaning
forward in his chair with his eyes switching over to his computer monitor. He tucked
the phone receiver under his jaw and nodded his head while the officer on the other
end presumably fed him access information. Lumbergh punched in the keys slowly with
his good hand.

“I really appreciate this,” he said. “Hopefully, I can give you something in return.”

He worked his computer mouse back and forth across the blue pad, clicking with fierce
intent. When Sean attempted to join him on his side of the desk to share Lumbergh’s
view, the chief removed his hand from the mouse just long enough to snap his fingers
loudly in irritation. He directed Sean back to where he was with an index finger
and a scowl. Sean complied.

“Okay, I’ve got it,” Lumbergh spoke into the phone, before thanking the officer and
hanging up.

“What is it?” Sean asked. “What are you looking at?”

With his eyes glued to the screen, Lumbergh replied, “It’s
information on the case.
A little professional courtesy can often get you a long way.”

“And a little celebrity probably doesn’t hurt either,” Sean said. “Can I see it?”

“No.”

Sean watched the expression on Lumbergh’s face shift numerous times, making it difficult
to decipher what was going on in his brother-in-law’s mind as he viewed the information.

“They’ve got a suspect—person of interest—they feel really good about,” he finally
said. “He already had a couple of warrants out for his arrest before Carson went
missing. He’s not in custody yet. They’re still looking for him, but they think they’ve
got the right guy.”

“What’s his name?” asked Sean.

Lumbergh shook his head. “No, Sean. It would jeopardize the case. I’ll just tell
you that they’ve got evidence that places the man at the crime scene.”

“Fingerprints? DNA?”

Lumbergh offered no response.

Sean interpreted the silence as a
yes
. “Has Carson’s family been told about this?
That a suspect has been identified?”

“No. The department wouldn’t do that. Not yet. They’d wait until they had the suspect
in custody. They wouldn’t risk his name being leaked to the press.”

“Wouldn’t the police
want
the press to run the suspect’s name and ask for the public’s
help in finding him?”

“Not at this point,” answered Lumbergh, shaking his head. “They have their reasons.”
Sean opened his mouth to speak, but Lumbergh cut him off. “Sean, I’m not telling
you anything else, and you didn’t hear any of this from me,” he warned. “Do we understand
each other?”

Sean shook his head.

“Listen,” Lumbergh continued. “I only did this because I owed you. We’re even now.
Got it?”

Sean wanted the suspect’s name and he wanted it badly. What he intended to do with
such information, he wasn’t sure himself, but the fact that it was on display a mere
five feet away taunted him. He needed to see what was on that computer screen. “All
right.”

Sean nodded his head and thanked the chief, then turned and left the office, walking
out into the hallway and adjusting his coat. He peered to the back wall of the building
for a moment before pivoting to face Lumbergh again. “Do you want me to close the
back door?” he asked, his demeanor one of casualness. “It’s pretty cold outside.”

Sean watched Lumbergh’s eyes quickly bulge to the size of golf balls.

“The back door’s open?” Lumbergh exclaimed before leaping to his feet.

“Yeah. Jefferson probably left it open. Want me to close it?” Sean spoke the words
with forced poise, knowing full well that Jefferson had left the building through
the front with Ron Oldhorse only minutes earlier. He knew Lumbergh knew that, too.

Lumbergh looked to be in a state of near panic. He snatched his gun from his holster
and nearly hurdled himself over the corner of his desk. He knocked a pile of papers
to the floor as he briskly moved in toward Sean.

“Get in here!” he muttered in a forced whisper, motioning Sean inside his office
with the nudge of his head.

Sean quietly abided. He watched Lumbergh slide around him and out into the hallway,
where he raised his gun and pressed his back up against the side wall.

Sean knew that whatever had previously gone down behind the office building had Lumbergh
spooked, and spooked enough for him to drop everything and quickly respond to the
claim of a door—which was essentially barricaded—now left wide open.

The moment Lumbergh was out of arm’s length, Sean discreetly
shut the office door
behind him. He twisted the lock at the center of its knob. While Lumbergh slithered
his way down the hallway, Sean hustled around to the front of the chief ’s computer
and leaned forward on the desk to examine the information left up on its screen.
He knew he only had seconds.

His eyes briefly studied the large blocks of dark text, filled with police lingo
that Sean didn’t recognize. He switched his focus over to a column of pictures from
the crime scene—small pictures with underlined labels of “Click to enlarge” below
each one. As described in the newspaper article, there were large splotches of blood
on the cement. It was more blood than Sean would have guessed, immediately leading
him to believe that the police likely considered Andrew Carson to be dead.

Just as Sean tapped the Page-Down key he found at the right side of the keyboard,
he heard the fierce rattle of the office doorknob.

“Shit,” he muttered, keeping his eyes on the screen.

“Sean!” Lumbergh yelled at the top of his lungs. He then spewed such vulgar and vile
language that Sean could hardly believe it had come from between his brother-in-law’s
lips. “Get away from that fucking computer! Now!”

Sean stole a quick glance at Lumbergh through the door window. Lumbergh’s twisted
face and enraged eyes made him look absolutely deranged. Sean tried his best to ignore
the commotion and centered his focus again on the computer screen. There were numerous
mug shot photos of an unsavory-looking man with short dark hair and a neck as thick
as a fire hydrant. There was an unsettling bitterness in the suspect’s eyes in every
shot. Some pictures appeared older than others, featuring the man with varying lengths
of hair. Sean clicked on the one that looked to be the most recent.

The man’s face was decorated with hardware. Multiple earrings rode all the way up
to the top of his ear, one through his nose as well. A separate photo of what looked
to be the man’s arm revealed a flesh canvas of interlaced tattoos. At the center
was one of a swastika.

Sean searched for a name and he found one in boldface. “Norman Booth.”

Sean’s body suddenly jolted at the vehement explosion of broken glass as Lumbergh’s
elbow smashed through the office door’s window. Large shards crashed to the floor,
splintering into smaller pieces upon impact.

“Jesus!” Sean barked before leaping to his feet, astonished by the severity of Lumbergh’s
action.

Lumbergh’s hand punched through the remaining fragments. He unlocked the door and
swung it open violently, nearly cracking the drywall behind it. He stormed in, once
again grabbing his gun from his holster—this time pointing it directly at Sean.

“Get away from the computer!” he snarled slowly, decisively, as the air rushed through
his nostrils and his chest heaved.

“Okay. Jesus!” said Sean, raising his palms out in front of him, feeling as if he
was suddenly dealing with an utterly unhinged man that he had never met before. He
stepped out from behind the desk and inched himself along its edge, following Lumbergh’s
eyes with his own. “What’s wrong with you?”

“You picked the wrong day to fuck with me, Sean!” Lumbergh growled. “Now get the
hell out of here!”

Lumbergh’s hand shook erratically as a thin stream of blood crept its way down across
his knuckles. A couple of drops fell to the tile floor.

Sean kept his eyes on Lumbergh, refusing to turn his back on him. He carefully walked
in reverse through the office door. The only noises heard in the eerily tense room
were of the two men breathing and the broken glass that crackled beneath Sean’s shoes.
He slowly lowered his hands down as the chief lowered his firearm.

When Sean reached the hallway, the two men glared at each other.

“You need help, Gary,” Sean stated with a pointed finger. He then turned around and
quickly left the building.

Chapter 8

T
he image of the crazy grimace that stretched across Lumbergh’s face lingered in
Sean’s mind the entire trip up to Lakeland. So did the scowl on the mug of Norman
Booth—the suspect on the chief ’s computer screen.

Sean knew Jessica’s regular schedule. At least he thought he did. On those days when
he didn’t have a security job lined up, he’d head over to GSL in the afternoon when
foot traffic was light, and get through the plasma-drawing process a bit faster.
Jessica would always show up around one o’clock. He’d watch her from his bed if he
happened to have a view of the clerical area. She’d walk in, never smiling, and hang
her coat on a hook along the wall before beginning her duties.

Sean sat for some time in the parking lot, and by the time the digital clock that
clung to his dashboard hit 1:35, he had begun to convince himself that she had taken
the day off. It was certainly possible she was again assisting in the search efforts
for her uncle. Still, he decided to give it a few more minutes.

He tapped the steering wheel impatiently as warm air that smelled like dust poured
out of the vents he had positioned toward his face. He leaned across to the passenger’s
side of the car, pinched the glove compartment open, and pulled out of it a granola
bar that was wedged in between years of registration and insurance forms. It had
been there for some time, too. He tore off its wrapper in a flash and let it fall
to the floor among other trash and discarded items. He
devoured the cold-hardened
snack in four large bites, barely tasting the chocolate chips.