ADX Praxis (The Red Lake Series Book 3) Read online

  The bed was bad; maids made them up every day. The trashcan was fine if you were going out for the night and you were stashing drugs or cash. If you were busted, drugs found in a wastebasket would cloud the legal waters on a possession charge. But it was not where you’d put ID’s you couldn’t afford to lose.

  He opened the bathroom door. It was tiled. Behind the medicine chest was a possibility, it was held into the wall with only four screws, but the screw heads were oxidized, nobody had turned them in years. Aside from the toilet tank there was nowhere else to hide something and only a drunk would think that was a clever place.

  If Clemson left papers in the room, Harry figured it would be somewhere quick at hand. No tools to loosen screws. Taped to the bottom of a drawer or the desk would be handy, but the police searched the room. He figured he wasn’t going to find it there. The Gaines’s men were not stupid.

  He let his eyes roam the room. There weren’t any good places. Finally he looked at the carpeted floor. By the front door a metal carpet strip held the rug down almost to the corner. The same was true by the bathroom door. Harry looked in the other two corners. Lint and dust clung to the baseboard where the maid’s vacuum failed to reach. Along the base in the other corner it was suspiciously clean. Harry grasped the threadbare fibers and tugged. The carpet rolled back. Beneath it the corner of the foam pad was raggedly torn off. A plastic baggy lay in the void. Inside the bag he found a drivers license, credit card and other personal papers.

  He shoved the bag into his pocket and left the room.

  “Your rooms are dirty. I’d never bring a woman here,” he said back in the office.

  “No visitors in the rooms, anyway,” the clerk said between puffs. His smoke hung in to office like a pallor of smog.”

  “I want my money back.”

  The smoker looked as if he might argue, but something about Harry made him decide otherwise. Mr. Grim hadn’t been gone ten minutes and the clerk was too lazy to rise and see if he had somehow trashed the room in such short time.

  “Here,” he said, shoving Harry’s money across the counter with excessive disdain. “Take your money and go fuck yourself.”

  Harry considered teaching the man some manners, but he too decided to let it go.

  *

  Barton stayed busy while Harry was gone. He cast off the houseboats lines and backed out into the marina channel. Then he motored north along the eastern shore of the lake. Near the state park he dropped the anchor chain. Backing down, he set the hook into the sandy bottom. When he shut down the diesel the boat floated forward until the anchor rode hung straight down.

  Next he made a call.

  “This is Dirk. I have a limited time offer, number 8185551212. This offer expires in ten minutes.”

  He waited, if there was no response he would place another call. Eight minutes later his cell phone rang. He made the offer, the contract was agreed upon, and the contact address given. He then gave instructions for the order of the operation.

  He checked on Clemson. The man was still out cold. The rock of the boat at anchor probably helped lull him in his sleep. Back in the salon he sent a text to Ziegfeld, marked ASAP. Ziggy promptly called back, afraid of pissing Barton off. They spent twenty minutes talking. He said the job was a cinch if Barton got him the necessary materials and then gave a short-term e-mail account to send the data.

  Lastly Dirk called a man in the San Fernando Valley. It was a person Barton did not like. Nor did he care for the man’s profession.

  “Dingle, here.”

  “Its Dirk.”

  “Oh hell. I knew I shouldn’t answer the damn phone.”

  “Nice to hear from you too,” Barton snipped. I need some work done in the next six hours.”

  “Can’t be done!”

  “Sure it can and you are going do it for me as a favor.”

  Dingle tried to protest, but to no avail. Barton knew the man feared him with good reason. His job would be finished on time. For ten minutes he laid out what he wanted from Dingle.

  “You don’t want to fail me, Rodger, do you?”

  “No, Mr. Dirk, that would be bad.”

  “If you do you can change your last name from dingle to dangle.”

  Chapter 58

  Gavin Gaines’ head ached. The face he saw in the mirror was winkled more than usual, the eyes puffy, a dull ache pounded behind them making them sensitive to the bathroom’s fluorescent light. He opened an aspirin bottle; the twist off cap caused an arthritic pain to flare up in his hands. Two aspirin, a little more coffee, and he would be back to normal. At least the new normal, as age slowed him down. If he was off his form mentally he hadn’t noticed and no one else had dared to say.

  Letting the press have the story about the federal agent being a murder suspect seemed clever at the time. Now it was stirring up more irritants in his life, not less. He longed to simply write a speeding ticket or make someone’s day by pulling them over and only issuing a verbal warning.

  He crossed the hall to the kitchenette where he poured himself a cup of coffee. He lingered there perhaps stalling about the accumulating paperwork on his desk.

  “You’ve got visitors, Boss,” a voice called from the doorway.

  He went to his office. Mitch Conners was on the front counter, beyond him two crew cut men in dark sport coats waited with nervous impatience. He waved them in.

  “Special Agent Hoover and Probationary Agent Mills, sir.” The lead fed said. The men flashed open a badge. Gaines did not need to see it. They were either G-men or the best actors he had seen since movies came to Red Lake. Their shoes were too shiny, the trim across the back of the neck too raw, the crease in the shirts and jackets too sharp for them to be anything else.

  “Are you related to the big cheese?” asked Gaines, simply to needle him.

  “A distant relative.”

  “What office are you boys out of?”

  If the diminutive word riled him the agent did not show it. “Washington.”

  “You guys are a bit slow.”

  The special agent seemed puzzled.

  “Two fellows from the Denver office were here this morning.”

  Annoyance flashed across the lead agent’s face.

  “You G-men should pick up the phone and talk to each other.”

  “You don’t care for us, do you Sheriff?”

  “Not really. My experience with Feds is they are pushy, often rude and treat me and my men like mushrooms, you leave us in the dark and feed us bull shit.”

  “Fine lets cut to the chase, we want to see your John Doe.”

  “He’s gone.”

  “Who grabbed him, Denver?”

  Gaines shook his head.

  “Homeland? CIA?”

  “He escaped from the hospital after persons unknown put a shiv into him, twice. At this point I don’t really care because whoever did it probably works on your side of the fence. I doubt he would ever have come to trial.”

  “What made you think he was a killer?”

  “Go talk to your brothers from Denver, I’ve been through this already. I have things to do.”

  “It would pay to cooperate, Sheriff.”

  Gaines grinned. Going to threaten me next? Look, if you come up with a question I haven’t already answered give me a call and I’ll be happy to help. As it is, I have other things to do.”

  “We’ll be instituting a man hunt.”

  “I don’t have the men to help you. But knock yourself out.”

  Despite his feigned indifference to the escape, Gaines had made inquiries. None of the staff at the hospital remembered anything out of the ordinary. It seemed likely, wounded or not, John Doe managed to escape on his own. However, if he went out the window, why bother to knock out the guard? But if he went out the door, why was the window open? The whole case was full of conundrums for which he had no answers.

  An hour later, The Sheriff was embedded in reports for the County Auditor. Paperwork was his greatest bane profession
ally. Sometimes he longed for a job that required none, punch a time card, screw on a thousand nuts, and go home.

  Through the slats of the privacy blinds in his office, he saw a man and woman at the counter. Both wore dark blue sport coats and white shirts, below she wore a pleated skirt and he front pleated pants.

  Mitch Conner’s stuck his head in the door.

  “Somebody wants to see you.”

  “From their looks I’d say federal bureaucrats or Mormon missionaries. I don’t think the Mormons send their woman out on the road, so it must be the former. Send them in.”

  Again badges were flashed.

  “I’m Agent Michelle Cracken, Sheriff, from the Department of Homeland Security. This is Agent Mick Delaney.”

  The woman bit off her words. Her jaw was tight and hard. Gaines thought he was glad he didn’t live with her. Delaney stuck him as soft. When they shook hands, Delaney’s lacked toughness and texture. They were the fingers of a desk jockey.

  The woman continued. “This is a courtesy call. We are investigating a National Security matter. We will coordinate with you as much as possible but I trust you realize there is information we are not able to share with you.”

  Gaines let her talk. Information was either a two way street or a dead end. He knew they would stonewall him so he decided to stay out of things. Soon the Feds would be tripping over each other, so much for inter-agency cooperation.

  “So if you could tell us anything about him it would be appreciated.”

  Gaines’ headache still distracted him. He missed whom the “he” in Agent Cracken’s final sentence referred to.

  “Grim or the John Doe?”

  “Mr. Grim.”

  “He’s a private dick. Fairly lazy or he wouldn’t live here. He likes to fish. His house burned down after a propane leak. General opinion was the supply pipe leaked. I picked him up on a murder charge but dropped it when someone else looked better for the fall.”

  “And what was the basis of that decision?” asked Delaney, speaking for the first time.

  “Legwork. Something that doesn’t fall under the purvey of Homeland Security.”

  Both agents struggled to hide their irritation.

  “It would be best if you cooperated with the Department, sir.”

  “Fine Agent Cracken. Lets start with you telling me why you are here, what you suspect, and who you are looking for?”

  “I’m sorry that information is on a need to know basis.

  Gaines shrugged. “No problem. Enjoy Red Lake and Canaan County.” He bent his head down to his paperwork.

  “We’re not done here, sir,” Cracken huffed.

  “You are in my office. Now get out and go do whatever it is you do and stop wasting my time. If you decide to shoot someone, let me know.”

  Agent Cracken huffed and puffed then gathered what remained of her dignity and stalked out of the office. Delaney followed her lead. As they went out the glass entry door, two other men came in. These visitors were wearing ear mikes or both were hard of hearing. They wore long light coats. The lead man was black, his sidekick white. Their hair was short and both exuded an air of taut fitness.

  Gavin came out of his office to save time.

  The men looked first at Conners, who caught himself laughing, then Gaines, they chose to address the later.

  “Sir, Lt. Raines, United States Secret Service.”

  “I’m Sgt. Reynolds.” The second man offered his hand.

  “Gavin Gaines, Sheriff of Canaan County. How may I help you? Is the President gracing us with a visit?”

  The man smiled. “No. We are here on a threat assessment. Certain recent events came to our attention and though not evidently a direct threat a possible one.”

  “How can I help you?”

  “We want to see the man you arrested. The one you claimed was a federal agent.”

  “Are you saying he wasn’t?”

  “We can neither confirm nor deny that. What made you think he was one?”

  Gaines was too tired to play the game. “It doesn’t really matter, Lt. Raines. The man escaped from the hospital this morning.”

  “Have you retaken him?”

  “No but you will find there is a small platoon of federal officers looking for him.”

  The Secret Service agents appeared puzzled but unwilling to admit their ignorance of what the Sheriff was alluding to.

  “How do you feel about the President, sir?”

  “I didn’t vote for him if that’s your question.”

  The direction of the questioning was beginning to annoy Gaines.

  “Do you feel animosity toward him?”

  Gaines stood up from his chair. “Gentleman, I appreciate your poll taking of the Presidents constituents and to help you out I will call Lou Harding over at the Clarion. I’m sure our local readers will be curious as to why the US Secret Service is in town.”

  Raines was no fool. He caught the implied threat. “I don’t think that will be necessary, sir. We will be on our way. If you could just show us your arrest report, first.”

  “I’d be glad to as soon as I have time to finish it. The problem is I have too many damn fools prancing through my office.”

  Raines knew he was at a dead end. They abandoned their efforts to talk with Gaines.

  *

  It was noon. Gaines felt he accomplished very little that morning. He gave up on the audit reports and went out for lunch. Jane was over the mountains in Beaumont for the day, shopping with a friend. She would not be making him lunch.

  He took a table in the back of the Canaan Grill. The air inside was humid, cooled by a swamp cooler rather than AC. Today it was barely keeping up with the heat outside and from the kitchen.

  If you can’t take the heat, stay out of the kitchen, he thought.

  “Howdy Sheriff.” The waitress handed him a menu.

  “Afternoon, Becky. How are your kids?”

  “Doing well I hope. They’re down south at their Dad’s house this week. Coffee?”

  Gaines nodded. She poured then left him to study the menu.

  The door swung open. A man came in.

  Neither beast nor fowl, Gaines thought, which meant neither a local nor a tourist. The man glanced around the room and seeing the sheriff came straight toward him.

  “May I?” he said, not actually asking as he pulled out a chair. “I’d like to speak to you about some recent events.”

  “Please don’t tell me it has to do with National Security or I’ll bust you for being a public nuisance.”

  Gavin singled to Becky to come over. “Give me the BLT and a side salad.” The salad was a compromise with his diet, he preferred French fries. He glanced across the table. “You want anything?” he asked his new lunch companion.

  “Sure.” He said surprising Gaines. “Give me a chili-size with fries and a Coke.”

  The fact he ordered made Gaines like the man a little, at least better than the other feds who called on him recently.

  “What can I do for you?”

  “I work for a governmental agency that I would prefer to not name. Perhaps we might call it the Farm Bureau?”

  Knowing that the CIA training facilities was commonly referred to as “the Farm” Gaines found himself chuckling at the man’s sense of humor.

  “We are concerned that one of our employees may have been pursuing an interest in a location he had no authority to operate in.”

  “You mean like the domestic United States?”

  “Let’s just say if he was one of ours, he was outside his sales territory.”

  The man liked to mix his metaphors, thought Gaines. “You're not sure if he is yours?” he asked, showing surprise.

  “Sheriff, I’m sure you know that often the left hand is ignorant of what the right hand is doing or perhaps has done. I’m here to make sure my Department head is not embarrassed for something another department may or may not be doing.”

  “Well I appreciate your candor. Somebody is doi
ng something, but I don’t know what it is. I will say you have a lot of company in town. You guys should get a group rate over at Golden Bear Cabins., nice place, right on the lake.”

  It was the man’s turn to chuckle.

  “Who is here?”

  “Secret Service, two agents from Homeland Security, the FBI. Who knows who else? You probably know better than me.”

  “If the guy you arrested was ours it would look bad. What can you tell me about him?”

  Gaines sipped his coffee and thought about the question. He decided the more he gave this man the sooner everyone would leave his jurisdiction.

  “I ran his prints the first time I picked him up. I have no doubt he is governmental or military intelligence. IAFIS came up empty. A lawyer showed up two hours later wanting my John Does. I told him he needed to prove I was releasing the right ones. Within two hours their prints were on line for a whole thirty minutes. So ask yourself, who has access like that?”

  Becky approached, her hips moving well for a thirty-something mother. She slid their plates onto the table. The spook doused his platter with ketchup and dug in with ardor. Gaines took a bite and waited.

  “I’d like to talk to him?”

  “You are the first to ask. Everybody else was ordering.”

  “My position is a little delicate, my options more limited. It’s not because I am nicer.”

  Gaines smiled and returned to his meal.

  The CIA man said nothing more, but silently ate. He too was accustomed to waiting.

  When Gaines finished eating he spoke.

  “The John Doe escaped from the hospital. Somebody knifed him at the jail. I suspect it was an arranged hit. He wasn’t locked up long enough to make that kind of enemy..”

  “It can happen fast on the inside.”

  “Sure but we aren’t talking a prison, this is a small county jail, not San Quentin, nor is our population like Cook County in Chicago.”

  “So who nailed him?”

  “My guess is a biker we’re holding for the Feds. If he drops his extradition fight I’ll assume he was the one.”

  “Not going to charge him?”

  “Right now all I have are suspicions and no witnesses. Hell, I don’t even have the victim!” Gaines finished his coffee.