Wicked Is the Whiskey: A Sean McClanahan Mystery (Sean McClanahan Mysteries Book 1) (15 page)

I arrived back at the pub late that night, tired and ready to go to sleep. Just as I was heading up to Maureen’s apartment to check on Erin, I heard a loud pounding outside on the back door of the pub.

I reached for my Glock as I headed back down to the door. I looked through the window in the pub’s kitchen to see a man with three small children, one of them in his arms. The other two clung to his legs.

I unlocked the door.

“May I help you?” I said, my guard still high.

“My name is Eduardo Ramirez,” he said. “I’m Rosie’s husband. May I come in?”

“Yes, yes,” I said holding the door open for him and his children.

“I’m worried about Rosie,” he said. “She didn’t come home tonight from work. She’s not answering her cell phone.”

“When did you last talk with her?”

“This afternoon,” he said. “She always leaves work at 5:00 p.m. She told me she’d be a little bit late tonight because she had something to do.”

“Did she tell you what?” I said.

“No, she was whispering to me on her phone. But I’m worried because she began snooping around to find out what was going on in the secure building by the river. She was so upset about John’s death. I begged her not to do anything, but there was never a woman more stubborn than she.”

“Did she say how late she’d be?”

“She said she might be 20 or 30 minutes late,” said Eduardo, “but that she’d still be home for dinner. She never arrived. I went to her place of work and the people there told me she left hours ago.”

“What people?” I said.

“One was big with black, curly hair and the other was small with red hair.”

“Eduardo, I want you to go home with your children and lock your doors.”

“Did something happen to Rosie?” he said. “I don’t know what I’ll do if they did something to her.”

“I’m going there now,” I said. “Please, go home with your children and I will contact you as soon as I can.”

I pushed the truck to its limits to get to Maryville.

As I crossed the Maryville Bridge, I parked and walked to the railing with my binoculars. A cool breeze passed up the river.

Everything was quiet.

I looked down to the river bank but the bank was dark and the visibility was not good. I could not see or hear anything — until a car started and the headlamps turned on a road that paralleled the river. It appeared to be a sedan — a black sedan.

I jumped in the truck and roared down the ramp toward the river bank. I hung a right and roared up the road to where I’d seen the car start and drive toward town.

I grabbed my flashlight and ran to the river bank. I pointed it up and down the river but saw nothing. I heard nothing. It was an otherwise calm night and cool down by the water. A

After scanning the water and the bank for 15 or 20 minutes, I wondered that maybe I’d overreacted. Maybe the car was driven by a fellow or two who just completed night fishing by the river.

My thoughts shifted to Rosie. What if they still had her inside? How could I get through Hall’s security to get inside to hopefully find her well?

Lots of random thoughts went through my mind as I tried to decide what to do next when I saw it.

About 30 feet from the bank, I saw a white piece of cloth floating in the water. I kept the flashlight pointed at it as I tried to figure out what it might be.

Then the cloth rolled in the water and I could see Rosie’s face.

I dove into the water with the flashlight and swam to her. I pulled her to the river bank.

“Rosie,” I said shaking her. “Rosie, talk to me.”

She said nothing.

I felt her pulse and there was none.

I opened her mouth. It was filled with water.

My police training kicked in. I placed my palms on her chest, elbows straight, and pushed down. I did this every few seconds counting one, two, three. When I got to 30 I breathed two deep breaths into her lungs.

I fought like hell for 20 minutes to bring her back but I knew she was gone.

I rolled onto my back, out of breath. I thought about Eduardo and his little ones and I wanted to cry.

Then I thought about Victoria Hall and her employees, and I wanted revenge. I wanted it right then and there.

I was plotting my plan of attack when I heard the police siren.

Chief Sarafino jumped out of her car and ran down the hill toward me and the corpse of Rosie Ramirez. 

“What happened?” she said.

“I figured you knew,” I said. “Aren’t you the one covering for these bastards?”

“Is she dead?”

I nodded.

“Her husband came to me in a panic because she hadn’t gone home,” I said. “They killed her tonight. Where were you?”

“I was out on patrol,” she said. “I knew nothing of this.”

“You’re enabling this,” I said. “Why don’t we go to Hall’s operation now and take care of the men who murdered her.”

“You can’t do that. Not yet.”

“Not yet?” I said. “How many more people do you want to die?”

“I’m working it out,” said the chief. “You need to trust me.”

“Trust you? Rosie is dead. Her husband has three little ones he will have to raise on his own. I’m going to take care of Tony and Terry right now.”

I got up and started walking to my truck.

“You’re not going there, Sean. You’re going to get in your truck and go home.”

I turned around.

“You’re not stopping me,” I said.

“You stubborn son of a bitch,” she said. “I’m telling you the time is not right. I’m working on this. Something big is going to happen and I don’t want you screwing it up.”

“Screwing it up?” I said. “You’re doing such a dandy job that two people are dead and a third would be dead if I didn’t find Erin Miller before they murdered her, too.”

“Go home, or I will put you in jail for interfering in police matters.”

There was something in her voice that, for the first time, made me trust her.

I took a deep breath and calmed down.

“Just go home,” she said. “I’ll take care of Rosie. Everyone in this town knew her and loved her. I’ll get the coroner here and take care of everything in due time, but you have to be patient.”

“Your patience is getting people killed,” I said.

She gave me a now familiar glare.

“Go home,” she said. “I’ll explain everything to you when I’m ready.”

I drove to Eduardo and Rosie’s home late that night and broke the news to Eduardo. I stayed three hours, as he sobbed, telling me what a courageous, loving woman Rosie was.

My anger returned as I drove back to the pub — I dreamed of what I was going to do to Tony, Terry and Hall.

I tried to put it out of my mind as I ascended the steps to Maureen’s apartment.

Just as I opened the door, I could hear Erin vomiting in the bathroom. Mick had a horrified look on his face.

“She’s bad tonight,” he said. “As bad as she’s been. She’s been vomiting all night.”

I was going to knock on the door and check on her, but knew she was in no mood for company.

I told Mick about Rosie.

“Those sons of bitches,” said Mick.

I heard her Erin vomiting again and a surge of anger rose up in me so hard, I punched a hole in the plaster wall.

“I want to get my hands on those bastards,” I said to Mick. “I want them to feel the pain these innocent people are feeling.”

Erin vomited again.

“I have to go back to Maryanne,” I said.

“Be careful, Kid. Don’t let your emotions make you reckless.”

“Chief Sarafino said something big is going down tonight,” I said. “I want to see it for myself.”

I parked in the same spot that afforded me a view of Hall’s campus and the river bank. It was nearly 2:00 a.m. when I returned. I pulled out my binoculars and scanned the campus, the town and the roads along the river. Nothing was happening.

My mind wandered.

I thought about Erin and wondered if she was getting worse or had finally peaked and was on her way to getting better.

My binoculars scanned the area where Rosie was murdered, and I got mad.

I took a few deep breaths, trying to calm down.

I plugged my phone into the truck stereo and streamed the Frank Sinatra channel. When I was a child, my mother loved listening to the crooners of that era sing and I hated it. But at 42, the music reminded me of happy times at home when my mother and father were still here. No music filled me with calm and happiness like the Sinatra channel did.

I thought about my deceased wife, Lauren, and wondered how different might life would be had she lived. I’d have quit the force and rededicated myself to her, I was certain. We would have rekindled our love for each other and would have started a family.

I’d be taking my boys to sporting events — maybe even coaching their team. I’d be doting on my daughters, spoiling them rotten, and shadowing their every move, in a dangerous world, to be sure they would always be safe.

I dreaded the holidays in recent years, but they would have been joyful and memorable with a wife and family. Sundays were the hardest days of the week for me as a single man, but how glorious would they have been with big Sunday dinners, my blossoming family devouring my pot roast, my children laughing and singing and basking in the glow of my love.

My mind had wandered this way for three or four hours when I saw a river barge chug up the Mon, then dock itself in front of Hall’s building.

I started the truck and drove slowly toward the building with my lights off. I parked on a road parallel to the river, made sure my Glock was holstered and ready to go, and grabbed my policeman’s flashlight.

I headed down the bank toward the barge.

As I neared the dock, I heard men talking. They used heavy duty dollies to move plastic-wrapped wooden crates from the river barge into the building. There were four or five men doing the work and they were moving crate after crate — heroin, no doubt.

I moved closer to get photographs with my cell phone. I wanted to get pictures of the faces of the people delivering this cargo. I moved right up to the side of the dock and climbed up the steep cliff to get in a position to get close-up shots.

I counted a shipment that was in the neighborhood of 200 crates — a motherlode of heroin. If only I could have the feds catch them right in the act right now. I thought about calling Lou, but knew they’d be done moving their cargo inside before he could arrive.

If only Chief Sarafino was not thwarting the feds from bringing this operation down, I thought. If only

“Don’t move,” said a female voice, the cold, hard barrel of her gun pressed into my spine.

“Chief?” I said.

“McClanahan?” she said. “I told you to stay out of here.”

She put her gun in her holster. I saw her camera in her other hand.

“I want you out of here now.”

“Why don’t we bust them right now? We can crush Hall with the shipment she just received.”

“You and me against Hall’s security people? We won’t make it out alive.”

“You have backup?”

“My backup is at home with his wife. Don’t you know how small-town police forces work?”

“Let me get some pictures,” I said.

“I have that covered,” she said. “I want you to leave now and not jeopardize what I am doing.”

I have to admit, I was pleased to see she was working on the right side of the law all of the sudden. I had to agree, too, that we were outmanned and outgunned and that I should head back and reconvene with the chief in the morning.

“OK, you’re right,” I said. “I’ll head out of here. We can talk tomorrow.”

I carefully retraced my way back to my truck. I surveyed the area with my binoculars for a while and saw nothing. I carefully slipped out of the darkness and walked to the truck. I opened the door and set my camera and binoculars on the front seat.

I was about to step inside the truck when I heard him someone behind me.

It was a thump, a familiar sound — the sound a blackjack makes when it smashes into a human skull.

The gravel parking lot rose up at my head like a freight elevator. Everything went black.

I opened my eyes to see Little Terry standing above me, holding an empty syringe.

My anger welled up in me. I turned quickly and tried to take the legs out from under him with a swift kick to his calves, but he was much faster than I.

“Why don’t you relax and enjoy the juice,” he said in his annoying high-pitched voice.

A warm wave rushed over my body. All of the regret, anger, stress and guilt that had been dogging me was washed away by an incredible sense of wellbeing.

So this was heroin, I thought. This was why people got addicted to it so fast?

I didn’t dislike Hall’s employees anymore. I didn’t dislike what they’d done to Rosie or Preston or Erin — or what they were about to do to me.

Tony walked over to me and took the gun from me. I didn't put up a fight.

The euphoria increased — it was unbelievable.

I began to dream.

I remembered falling asleep as a child in front of the television — remembered how my father picked me up, his mighty paws holding me tight, as he carried me to my bed.

I felt so safe in his hands. So secure. I was happy to go to my bed, my sheets crisp and fresh, my bed perfectly made — happy to sleep like the dead.

I had the odd sensation of being lifted off the ground. I could hear footsteps — someone else's footsteps — as I was being carried. I just wanted to laugh — laugh at how silly everything was, how silly it was that bad people would go to such lengths to do bad things.

I had a vague sense of where we were — we were moving toward a car, a dark car. Terry opened the trunk. I was moving toward the open trunk, then, suddenly, flung inside.

It didn't hurt. It felt good. As I lay there curled up like a baby, the trunk closed on top of me, but I didn’t mind.

The euphoria was incredible — the sense of wellbeing was unbelievable — and then I went to sleep.