Patrick Kanouse's Blog, page 2

The Clearing - Chapter 34

Start with Chapter 1CHAPTER 34Guthrie took delight in fingerprinting Alex and shuffling him out to the car, where the young meth cooker would be driven to the county jail.Henry kept close tabs on the entire process, but even he knew he could not do much. His son was going to jail. He might get a good plea deal, but the county’s chief prosecutor seemed a different man, his shoulders hunched, more lines on his face. A twinge of sympathy ran through Dean. He had been the son of a police officer, which had been challenging for both him, his brothers, and his father. Being the son of the chief prosecutor or being the chief prosecutor whose son is a drug dealer must have been difficult as well.Pond opened the chief’s door and walked out. She looked up at her boss, grimly smiled, and spotted Dean. She gestured as if she were smoking a cigarette and nodded toward the exit. He nodded once and stood up.She waited for him as he walked to the exit. The chief came out of the office, patted Henry on the shoulder, and told him to take the day, even the next.Dean held the door open for Clara. She pulled out a Virginia Slim. He held the light for her and then lit his own.“So you’re the chief’s son, the detective from the city?” She blew smoke out of the side of her mouth.“Yeah, that’s me. Can’t say I know much about you.”“Henry and Karen, his assistant, talk about you every once in a while. They think they’re discreet, but, well, they aren’t.”“What do they say about me?”“Hmmm. That you’re a drunk who washed out of the NYPD. Vet who saw real combat. Lucky you have a father who’s a chief of police to get you a job.”Dean chuckled. “I didn’t realize they had such a high opinion of me.” He flicked ash off the end of his cigarette. “But it’s pretty much true.”“All of it?”“Well, I’m not sure I’d go so far as being a drunk, but let’s not split hairs.”She crossed her left arm across her body, pinching her hand between her right elbow and abdomen and holding the cigarette in the air. “You don’t remember me, do you?”He inhaled on his cigarette and studied her face.“I was a couple of years behind you.”He shook his head. “Sorry. I don’t recall.”“I was in your brother’s class.”“Nolan?”“Yes. Sorry.”He shook his head and held the cigarette low.“You were the talk of the girls.”“I was?”She smiled. “Anyways, seems like you have a problem.”“Huh?”“Someone’s telling the Grim Devils what the police are up to.”“Oh that. Yeah, that’s an issue.” Who knew about the lab and the surveillance? Eric, Guthrie, Reggie, Etheridge, and probably a couple of the others. The lab raid? Essentially the same people. And. And Sadie. He had mentioned finding it. Did she know about the surveillance too? Had he been too drunk to remember telling her?“Hey there.” Pond snapped her fingers. “Back to earth.”“Yeah. Yeah. Sorry. Was thinking about that problem.”She dropped the cigarette and crushed it under her toe. “I can see that. Looks like you have a suspect.”He nodded and watched her walk to her car.* * *Dean, Etheridge, and Zach waited for Sam Darwish to arrive home. They waited down the street, away from his likely direction of return. Indeed, they heard first and then saw the Harley-Davidson and Sam driving toward them. He pulled into his driveway and turned off the engine. His long hair dropped to below his shoulders, but he was balding and his hair had a stringy, brittle appearance. He wore a red bandana like a sweat band. He had on the vest of the Grim Devils—their large Grim Reaper crushing skulls—jeans, and military-style black boots.Sam had a good-sized rap sheet of drunk driving, assaults, and minor drug possession charges. He had spent a fair number of nights in the jail’s drunk tank and a few longer stints in the county jail. Born in 1940, he had been a track star for Zion in high school. After, he started working for Banks’s. He joined the Grim Devils in the mid-Sixties.Dean told Etheridge to start the car and drive fast to Sam’s house, hoping to catch him off guard and minimize the danger. Etheridge punched the accelerator, and the car tore toward Sam, who looked up from his motorcycle. He lifted his aviators just as Etheridge slammed the breaks. Before the car had come to a complete stop at the end of Sam’s driveway, Dean and Zach were opening their doors and stepping out.Sam started to run to his house, but he was a large man who long ago had lost his high school state finals sprinting form. Zach, the younger and faster officer, sprinted the few yards separating him from Sam and dove toward the fleeing man, driving his shoulder into his back.Sam grunted, stumbled forward, and flailed his arms but kept upright and running to his house. Dean was coming fast on Sam as Zach was picking himself up, when Etheridge shouted, “Freeze. I’ll shoot you if you don’t.”But Sam did not stop. Dean caught up with him and reached for his shoulders, but he twisted loose. Zach was beside Dean then and had his truncheon out, which he swiped across Sam’s back left leg.The big man cried out again, but this time, he fell. Dean drove his knee between Sam’s shoulder blades, reaching for the big man’s right hand, grabbing just inside the thumb and twisting to pull the hand back and get him under his control. Etheridge ran past and stopped between Sam and his house, his pistol leveled at the biker.Dean cuffed the right hand, and Sam gave up and relaxed. Dean cuffed the left hand and rolled Sam over onto his back. Grass and dirt covered his mouth and nose. A trickle of blood rolled down his upper lip.“Afternoon, Sam. We got questions for you.”
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The Clearing - Chapter 33

Start with Chapter 1CHAPTER 33Pond sat across from Henry and Alex and smiled. She said she was prepared to offer immunity for Alex in the attack. She wanted to hear from Alex, however, what Dean had heard from Henry.Alex repeated the story as she held her index finger to her lips. When he was finished, she set a leather satchel on the table and pulled out a folder. She set the satchel on the floor beside her feet and opened the folder. She flipped it around and slid it to Henry. It was a one-page document outlining the immunity in return for honest statements, including full details of his criminal activities and accomplices, and appearing as a witness.Henry tapped at the line requiring Alex to appear as a witness. “I’m not a fan of this.”Pond frowned. “It’s a requirement. You know we’re not going to let Alex sing to us and then not use it. You wouldn’t let that happen either, Henry.”Henry patted his son’s shoulder. “You’ll have to testify.”“You don’t understand who you’re dealing with. They won’t let me live long enough to testify.”“We’ll provide protection until the trial’s over. I can ensure you will have a detail outside your home and work until then. Once the damage is done, I doubt they’ll do anything.”“You doubt?” asked Henry.“He’s not going into some witness protection program for cooking up meth for a local biker gang. A uniformed officer was killed.” She pointed a finger at Alex. “He is the one who started cooking meth. He’s not innocent in this. And I’m not going to treat him that way.”Henry pursed his lips. Alex looked at his dad and back at Pond.Henry sighed and nodded. “It’s the best you’re going to get. I suggest you sign it.”Alex dropped his head in defeat, took the silver pen his father handed him, and signed the document. Henry pulled the folder and document over, gently pulled the pen from his son’s hand, and signed. He put the pen back in his pocket, flipped the folder around, and pushed it across the desk to his deputy. She signed and said, “Start.”“Early last year, March I think, Sam Darwish, he’s with the Grim Devils, and me were sitting around drinking. I was having money issues at the time. Not enough. And I was getting ready to leave, but I was pretty far gone already. Anyways, I end up telling him why I couldn’t stay. He insists I do, that he’ll buy my beers. I thought, ‘Why not?’“After a while, he tells me there’s a way I can make a lot of money fast. He says the Devils can pay me to cook crank for them. They’d finance me to set up, I make enough to pay off the loan, and then I can keep making and they’ll buy and I get the profits. So like I’m pretty far gone, and I wasn’t thinking. And I wake up at home. Head’s hurting. But there’s this paper bag next to my bed. It’s got ten thousand in cash. I don’t recall the night before well, but I remember Sam.“I figure he’s down at the Devil’s garage and head down there before work. He’s there. He reminds me. I say I don’t want to. I mean, shit, I don’t want to be doing that. Sam says fine, but because I had the money some time, I owe interest on it. I know I’m screwed then. So that’s how I got into making crank. Stupid, I know, but shit, I didn’t have the money to pay them back. And Sam wasn’t talking like he’d really want it back anyways.“I happened to know of a couple of buses out in the woods that were abandoned. Not very old, but not new. I think the old Pike family left them there a few years ago. Anyways, I cleaned them up a bit and started. They had some guy from California in one week, and he taught me. I think he taught a few others in the area too. They said that crank was the next great drug. And things went fine. Fine until two nights ago. Sam finds me at the Shambles and tells me he’s got it on good authority the cops are going to raid the place in the morning. He tells me to keep away.” Alex leaned back and raised his hands as if there were no more to tell.Pond looked at Dean. “Detective?”Dean nodded. “I’ve got a few questions. Let’s start with why did Sam just ask you to start cooking crank? Seems a bit of a stretch to ask the son of the DA to do this. At a bar.”Alex pursed his lips and looked at his dad.Henry sighed. “He’s family. Not close. A cousin of mine. Son of my uncle.” He scratched his chin. “He was also probably looking for leverage over me. Something he could use if the Devils got in trouble.”“So you’ve been cooking meth, crank, for the Devils for a little over a year now?”Alex nodded.“And how’d Josh get involved?”“I asked him. Told him I was in deep shit and needed his help. He was a good friend.”“When did that happen?”“Him helping me?”“Yeah. When did he start helping you?”Alex dropped his head and rubbed his temples with his right hand. “Must’ve been a month or two after I started. I knew I needed some help. So I asked him.”“And he agreed?”Alex shrugged with his eyebrows. “He’s a good friend.”“Did you know what the Devils were planning after Sam told you to keep away?”“No. No I didn’t.”Guthrie took two steps away from the wall. “Why should I believe you?”Henry looked at his son. Pond looked back at Guthrie and then at Alex. Alex rubbed his hands. “I don’t know. All I can tell you is that I didn’t. I didn’t have anything to do with it. I thought he was just warning me to keep away from the lab. Lay off. Like he did a few weeks ago. And then they told me the coast was clear.”“A few weeks ago?” Dean leaned in.Guthrie drifted back to the wall.“Yeah,” said Alex.“What do you mean? What happened a few weeks ago?”“I got a call from Sam again—I mean the first time. He told me to keep away from the lab. The cops were interested in it and that he’d let me know when it was clear again.”“When was this?”“Sometime in March. I can’t remember.”“And he called you back when it was all okay?”“Yeah. A couple of days ago. Said, get back to it.”Dean tapped his fingers on the table. “That’s it? He didn’t say anything more. Where’s he getting the information?”Alex shook his head. “I don’t know.”Dean leaned back. The Devils knew about the surveillance. Knew about the raid. How?Pond said, “Detective, any more questions?”Dean looked up. He had drifted into his own thoughts for a while. “Yeah, two more. Was Paul Zorn a party to any of your conversations with Sam?”Alex said, “No.”“And William Nimitz. Was he part of your work or was he doing something similar on his own?”Henry put his hand in front of Alex. “Hold on. What’s Billy got to do with this?”Pond narrowed one eye and looked at the detective.Dean said, “If he was into something similar with the Devils, it might mean we have a motive for his killing.”Alex shook his head. “All this time investigating Billy and you really have no clue who he was.” He tapped his fist on the table. “Billy wouldn’t touch drugs. Dude was turning all commie and shit. I couldn’t stand him anymore. Asshole—”Henry raised his hand higher. “We’re not talking about Mr. Nimitz now.”Pond smiled. “Okay. So I have one last question.” She clasped her hands together. “Did you pay off your debt?”“Yes.” Alex twisted his lip.“And you still kept making these drugs, right?”“Yes.”
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The Clearing - Chapter 32

Start with Chapter 1CHAPTER 32They picked up Alex at Adamson’s, and Dean made sure to make a show of it, ensuring all his co-workers saw and heard he was being arrested. Alex did not say a word as he was escorted out, where Paige snapped a few photographs and asked for his comments. Dean had called and told her the Zion Police were bringing in a suspect for questioning relating to drugs and the officer shooting the day before. Alex sat in silence for the ride to the station. Once inside, Dean sat him in the interview room, leaving the cuffs on. He walked out and closed the door behind him. Let the kid sit for a while.As he walked out to the main part of the station, Guthrie handed him a typed report: A brief summary of the arrest of Josh and interview. Dean breezed through the text of how they picked him up at the store and the fiction of bringing him to the station followed by the largely accurate summary of what Josh said. Guthrie noted that the suspect twisted his ankle coming down the stairs into the station. Dean grabbed a pen out of his jacket and counter-signed the report. He handed it back to Guthrie and said maybe now the city would give them a proper station to avoid any more twisted ankles. They smoked a couple of cigarettes and then returned to the interview room, where Alex seemed intent on mimicking a statue.The detectives sat across from him. Dean put his hands together. Guthrie wiped his nose with the edge of his index finger, leaned back, and put his hands in his pockets.“Do you know why you’re here?” asked Dean, tilting his head and smiling.“I want to talk to my dad.”“About what?”“He said last time I was here you needed to talk to him first,” said Alex with a righteous tone.“About William Nimitz’s murder, right?” Dean let his hands drift below the table as he leaned forward.Alex nodded.“This isn’t about your friend.”“What?” He wanted to raise his hands, rub his face, his arm, do something. Instead, the cuffs jingled. “I—”Guthrie raised his hand. “Look, kid, you’re in deep shit. We know all about your lab in the woods east of town. The one you torched yesterday morning after shooting at a bunch of cops and killing one of them.”“I don’t—”“He was a friend. Reggie. Had a wife and a kid. Five-year old kid. He was just doing his job and you had to shoot him. You think we’re going to just let you get away with that.” Guthrie had leaned over the table, elbows on it, arms crossed and in front of his chest.“But I didn’t have anything to do with that.”“Do with what?”“Shooting that cop. I didn’t know. I didn’t.”“But the lab was yours?” asked Dean.“Yeah, the lab was mine. But I don’t know about any cop being shot.”Dean leaned back. “Your lab got torched. You didn’t do that either?”“Torched? It’s gone?”Guthrie gestured an explosion with his hands. “Boom.”Alex hung his head.“Don’t worry, we got enough evidence to bust you for making crank. You won’t be needing your lab anymore. The question is about your involvement in the killing of a cop.”“I didn’t do that.” His chest bumped against the table. “I didn’t man. I made crank. I sold it to the Grim Devils. That’s it.”“Why use Josh in your operation, but not Corey?” asked Dean.“That motherfucker rat me out?”“Let’s say he was inclined to talk. Why not Corey? Or did you work with him, and Josh didn’t know?”“No. Not Corey. Too hard to work with. And he bragged all over the place. Thought he knew everything. If he was part of it, he’d be telling me what to do like he was some expert. Then he’d get drunk and spill everything at the Shambles. No. Josh may be a pussy, but he takes orders and keeps his mouth shut.” Alex bit down and crunched his lips together. “At least I thought he would. Shithead.”“Mostly.” Dean could not help a smile. “So Josh knew about your operation. Helped you out. Who else?”Alex jerked on the cuffs again.Dean got up and walked behind him. As he was unlocking the cuffs, he said to Alex, “Either there’s someone else who knows about the lab, or it’s just you and Josh who know. And I don’t think Josh did any shooting.”“Yeah,” said Guthrie, “I don’t see Josh being able to fire a gun at a rat, let alone a person.”Alex rubbed his right wrist and then his left. “I want to talk to my dad.”“You don’t have a right to talk to your dad. And you’ve got only one way to avoid a murder charge. Talk.”Alex shook his head and crossed his arms. “I want to talk to my lawyer.”Dean patted Alex on the shoulders, still standing behind him. “Fine. Fine.” He and Guthrie walked out of the interview room, slamming the door behind them.* * *Dean sat at his desk, smoking a cigarette. A blank interview sheet was rolled into the typewriter, but he kept an eye on the chief’s door, occasionally glancing at Guthrie, who smoked two to every one cigarette of Dean’s.Thirty minutes after Alex’s dad arrived and closed the door to the chief’s office, he came out, his face red and jaw clenched. Eric waved over Dean and Guthrie. All three formed a crescent in front of the Clinton County District Attorney.Henry bit his lip and looked back and forth between the two detectives. “I’m serving as my son’s attorney, so you can’t talk to him without me. As the chief made clear, I can’t be both my son’s lawyer and the district attorney. So I’ve called my ADA, who’ll act as the DA for this case.”Dean crossed his arms. “That’s fine, Henry. We’ve got more questions for Alex. Has the chief told you what we’ve got so far?”“I need to talk to my son.” Henry cut between Dean and his dad.Guthrie followed Henry and unlocked the interview room, letting the DA in and closed the door behind him. The detective walked back to Dean and Eric. “So now what?”“We wait,” said Eric, who walked back into his office. Guthrie shrugged and walked back to his desk, and Dean lit a cigarette and leaned against the wall of the hallway.After forty-five minutes, Henry opened the door of the interview room, spotted Dean, and nodded that he and Alex were ready. Dean called over Guthrie, and both walked into the interview room, Dean closing the door behind him.As Dean sat across from Henry and Alex, Guthrie drifted back to the corner of the room, rested his shoulders against the wall, and crossed his arms. Alex’s eyes were red.Henry said, “Do you want the ADA here?”Dean said, “Do we need her here?”“Alex is willing to talk about what he knows, but he wants immunity.”“So you know how this works. He has to tell us something, and we’ll tell the ADA, and we’ll see what she thinks. But I’m not—we’re not giving blanket immunity.”“First, he wasn’t involved in the killing of the officer. He was at home when I left for work, and that was about a half hour, forty-five minutes before the attack. He went from home to work. And he did not know the attack was going to happen and would have warned officials if he knew otherwise.”Dean nodded. Having a DA sit across from him defending himself or a relative was nothing new. He had seen it in New York a few times. Like Henry, they thought they could think their way through to safety, outwit the investigators across from them. Some could, but they were the corrupt ones, the ones the Five Families owned. The decent ones cooperated too much for their own good. An innate sense, Dean guessed, of justice, the rule of law, of not hindering a police investigation. They knew the law, but they should hire a true defense attorney, particularly when they were sitting in the interview room.“You have a confession about Alex’s role in the crank lab?”Dean said, “Yes. The witness states he assisted Alex in making the drug and providing it to the Grim Devils. We’re not inclined to believe the witness or Alex were involved or arranged the attack yesterday morning.”“My son is prepared to admit to the illegal manufacture of a controlled substance, participation in an ongoing criminal enterprise, and other minor charges. But before he tells you what he knows, he wants immunity from the murder or manslaughter charges. Anything related to the attack.”Dean looked back at Guthrie and then back at Henry. “Let’s see if the ADA is here.” He and Guthrie exited the interview room. The ADA was not in the main area, so Dean knocked on his father’s door. ADA Clara Pond sat in the chair across from Eric. She looked up at the intrusion and smiled. Dressed in a red, long-sleeved blouse with a large bow and high-waisted, black pants that flared out from the knees down, she styled her light brown hair straight and down below the shoulders. Dean had seen her once or twice, and Henry was considered forward thinking for his hiring of her. Eric introduced them and told Dean he had briefed her. Dean, in turn, gave her a summary of the conversation he had just had.She smiled and nodded. “Okay then. Let’s talk to him.”
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The Clearing - Chapter 31

Start with Chapter 1CHAPTER 31April 6, 1979Dean and Guthrie waited in the parking lot outside Bridewell’s for Josh. Dean flicked the cigarette out of the window when he saw Josh’s car pull into its regular spot. Both detectives left the car doors ajar as they got out and walked up to Josh, who was tossing a windbreaker into the back seat. His eyes widened when he saw who was approaching.He did not protest at all as Dean grabbed him by the elbow and escorted him to the backseat of his car. Both he and Guthrie slammed their doors, and Dean drove off.A brief rain had wetted the sidewalks and pavement. A light mist still fell, and the sound of the wipers scraping off the water every so often broke the silence in the car.Dean saw Josh turn his head at the police station as they drove by. He looked back to the front and caught the detective’s eyes in the rearview mirror. He frowned and looked away. Dean had to hand it to him, Josh was acting far more calmly than he expected, which told him Josh knew exactly why he was picked up that morning.They pulled off the main road shortly after leaving town and followed its bends around hills and avoiding nasty potholes. A mile back, Dean pulled over and turned off the car.When Dean and Guthrie opened the back door, Josh fell into form. “No. No. Why are we here? You don’t have to do this.”“Don’t be a goddamned pussy.” Guthrie grabbed one of Josh’s legs.Dean grabbed the other, and they both fought off the kicking and pulled Josh out of the car, where he landed with a thud on the crushed gravel road. As Josh winced in pain, Dean rolled him over and cuffed him, squeezing them tight.“Those are too tight,” said Josh.The air smelled of wet, oily pavement and the wood and loam of the forest.Dean and Guthrie lifted Josh up and stood him up with his back to the back passenger door.“You know why we’re talking to you?” asked Guthrie. He pulled out a cigarette and lit it.Josh nodded quickly.“Tell us.”“I didn’t have nothing to do with it.”“With what?”Josh crunched his eyes, grimaced, and opened them again. “I heard a cop was killed out by the lab.”“That what you call it?”Josh nodded.“His name was Reggie. He had a wife and a kid. He was just doing his job,” said Dean.“And he was gunned down like nothing. Ambushed.” Guthrie pulled a long drag off the cigarette and tossed it half-finished to the road.“It wasn’t me. I just helped out making the crank. Made some extra cash. I had nothing to do with it.” His eyes darted back and forth between the detectives. “Don’t hurt me. Please.”Dean rubbed his chin. “Tell us.”“What?”Guthrie plowed his fist into Josh’s stomach, who doubled-over and vomited instantly. The foul smell of his breakfast and acid and bile joining the forest smells. “You don’t want pain? Then don’t be stupid.”Dean pulled Josh by the shoulder and stood him straight again. Tears were flowing down his cheeks. “Jesus, kid, toughen the hell up. Tell us.”Josh wiped his mouth on his shoulder. “I help make crank. And the lab is where we make it.”“Who do you help?”“Alex.” Josh looked away. “Alex.”“Is that who I saw you with two nights ago?”Josh looked away and looked back. “You saw us?”Guthrie punched him again, sending Josh down to his knees, coughing.Dean could check that off the list: Josh did not know he was under surveillance. He lifted Josh up again. “Yeah, I saw you. That was Alex?”“Yeah.”“Did he set up the ambush?”“Ambush?” He winced when Guthrie raised his fist, but Dean held up his hand.“Yeah, what happened yesterday was an ambush.”Josh looked back and forth wide-eyed at the detectives. His lip trembled. “I. I. Shit. I don’t know. I just helped Alex.”Dean waved his hand. “Fine. How’d Alex distribute his meth?”“Oh, he just made it for Zorn. A way to make money quick. Zorn bought all of it. I don’t know what happens. I never even saw Alex sell it. He just said he sold it and did it.”“The Grim Devils are buying your meth?” asked Guthrie.Josh nodded.“So it was them that ambushed us?” asked Dean.“I don’t know. Seriously, I don’t know.”“What happened after you left the lab with Alex two nights ago?”“I took him home. I went home. I went to work yesterday. Usual day.”“How often did you help Alex?”“A couple of times a week. Usually brought supplies. Sometimes he’d ask me to hand him things or watch the process while he caught a nap.”“We were watching Alex before you. He didn’t go out there at all.” Guthrie put his hand on the hood of the car behind Josh.“He said we needed to cool it. That we were doing it too often and people would ask questions. He said Zorn told him to stop for a week or so. So we did.”“And Zorn said to start up again?”“Yeah.”“Did you ever talk to Zorn?” asked Guthrie.“No. Alex did all that. I just helped Alex out.” Josh looked at Guthrie, pleading for him to understand.“Was Billy part of this?” Dean pulled out a Camel and lit it.“Billy?” He flinched even though neither detective moved. “No. No. Billy wasn’t part of this. He knew about it. Thought it was stupid. Gave some speech about drugs being bad for society and stuff.”Guthrie took a step away from Josh and tugged at his ear. “Because they are.”“So where’d Billy get his cash from?” asked Dean.Josh shrugged. “I don’t know. But Billy wasn’t part of this.”“Corey?”Josh sighed. “He wanted in, but Alex wouldn’t let him. Said he was too much of a hot head.”“So just you and Alex cooking up crank for Paul Zorn?”“Yeah, man. Yeah.” Josh bent over, sobbing. “I’m sorry.”Dean sat down in a catcher’s stance and put his hands on Josh’s shoulder. “Why’d Alex show up at the Shambles after you and Corey and Billy left? Did you meet Alex there?”“Yeah. Corey and Billy were already gone. I went back and waited outside after they left. Then Alex showed up.”“Why?”“Alex needed me to help him. He had a big order due. He and I were out there almost all night.”“So Alex did all the dealings with Zorn?”“Yes. Yes. Jesus, I’m so sorry.”Dean stood up.Guthrie pulled Josh up by the shoulder. “Sorry about what?”Josh could not utter the words through his sobbing, so Guthrie pushed him back, not hard but hard enough he stumbled and collapsed to his knees.“I think you broke him,” said Dean.“Ah, fucking puke. He’ll know when I break him.” Guthrie pulled out a cigarette and lit it.Dean took a pull from his flask and handed it to Guthrie. They looked at each other. Dean shrugged, and Guthrie nodded. They knew Josh had nothing to do with the ambush. He was barely able to participate in delivering supplies to cook meth. They had been right that he was the weak link. Now they had an in to Alex and even Zorn.But what about Billy? Was the meth thing a wrong lead on Billy? Maybe Alex had gotten Billy to do something for him that Josh did not know about. How much would you tell this guy crying on the ground anyway? Alex already had his dad talking for him. Alex was the next rung of the ladder. They would have to bring him in and make it seem unrelated to Billy’s murder to avoid the DA from stopping it before it starts. Alex had legal counsel for the Billy case but not this meth distribution. It might give them a slight opening, a space to talk to Alex before he wised up, if he did not do it immediately.“Ah, come on man.” Guthrie stubbed out the cigarette.Dean awoke from his thinking. Josh was running down the road, and Guthrie was already three steps into a sprint. He fought the urge to join the chase, watching, instead, Guthrie run after the kid. When it became clear that Guthrie could not catch up, Dean threw the cigarette, jumped into the car, turned it around, and roared down the road. He watched Guthrie in the rear view mirror still running. He passed Josh on the left, hit the brakes, and swerved into a stop, flinging the door open as he did.Josh veered right onto the grass that hugged the road and then down the small hill that led into the woods. Dean ran after Josh, half sliding, half running down the hill. He heard Guthrie behind him, panting heavily. As they tore into the woods, the sky was blotted out, and the forest darkened everything, making them feel as if it were overcast. He heard a stumble and Josh cry out in pain.The detectives found him, reaching for his ankle and grimacing. Guthrie put his hands on his knees and breathed heavily, sweat dripping off his forehead.Between gasps, Josh said, “Please don’t kill me.”Guthrie looked at him and spat at his feet. “What do you think we are, fucking monsters?”
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The Clearing - Chapter 30

Start with Chapter 1CHAPTER 30After the ambulance took Reggie away, covered by a sheet on the gurney, Dean, Guthrie, Etheridge, the chief, and the lab guys had to wait hours for the fire to burn itself out. A band of volunteer firefighters held positions near the buses to contain the blaze from moving beyond the immediate vicinity.The inferno served as a background as they and the state police and sheriff deputies searched the woods behind the buses for clues about the shooters. They found some Budweiser cans and shell casings forty yards away. Just looking at them, Dean knew they were from an M16.A deputy found more shell casings—.30-30 rounds—beneath a tree some fifty yards away. More Budweiser cans. And a brown bag with a half-eaten turkey sandwich. On the bag, written with a black marker was the word, “Lunch.”The chief pulled out a pair of jeans and a Syracuse sweatshirt from the trunk of his car. “Son, you need to get out of those clothes.” Dean glared at his father and shook his head. The clothes were placed in the trunk. Everything else was photographed and bagged.“So?” asked Eric, his arms crossed and the muscle at the back of his left jaw tensing.Dean described their walk into the woods, the finding of the buses, and then the ambush. That’s how he began characterizing it. The bad guys did not just stumble into the police and start taking shots. They had waited. Drank a few beers for courage, even eaten a sandwich.“That begs the question.” Eric took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose.“How’d they know we were coming?” asked Guthrie.Eric nodded.“Not many people knew we were coming out here. Josh might have caught one of us tailing him, but I don’t think so. But it’s possible,” said Dean. And the idea of Josh sitting in the woods with a gun and taking shots at cops did not seem plausible. “But I don’t think it was Josh or Alex—or the guy I think was Alex. No. Those two are making this, but I don’t think they’re going to shoot at us.” He pulled out the Ziploc and tossed it to his dad.Eric caught and opened it. “This looks like methamphetamine. Meth. They call it speed and crank, as well.”Dean nodded. He had heard of it. Speed was common enough in Vietnam. He knew many guys who took it to stay awake during watches. But it had always been in pill form. Not this powder.Eric continued, “Some other New York jurisdictions have been talking about it. Popular outside the cities ‘cause coke is so expensive. Cheap and easy to make. Very flammable. I guess it’s hit our area.”“Used to be legal until, what, the mid-Sixties? Anyways, they’re making it here and they’re making it for someone.”“Zorn.”“Not sure about that. Could be McCord.” Dean shrugged. “Maybe that’s how McCord is making inroads. Zorn’s been bringing in coke and H. McCord sees an opportunity with this?”“Do you know Josh came here?”“I only know he came in this general area. No. I can’t say he was exactly here at the buses.”Guthrie asked, “So you think the guys who’re buying this stuff from Josh ambushed us?”“Do you see Josh shooting at us?” Etheridge stood with his legs wide and his arms crossed. “Do you?”Guthrie shook his head. “No.”Eric handed the Ziploc of meth to one of the lab guys. He turned back to the three of them. “Go home. Rest up. Let’s take this on tomorrow. I’ll see what we can do to get fingerprinting done faster on all that we’ve found.”Etheridge scratched his chin. “Reggie?”“I’ll do it. I’ll let his wife know.”* * *Dean took a long, hot shower, letting the water run down his back and keeping his eyes closed for a long time as the blood—Reggie’s blood—swirled into the drain. He stuffed the bloody clothes into a black trash bag, twisted the top, and knotted it. He stared at the bag before going out to the Nova, popping the trunk, and bringing white and brown evidence bags and tape inside. He left the white bag folded and placed it at the bottom of the brown bag. He took his clothes and put them in the brown bag. Anything that dried and fell off his blood-soaked clothes would be seen on the white bag. He folded the brown bag closed and placed red evidence tape across the seal. He signed and dated the tape. His father was right. He should have let them do this at the scene. But what good would the evidence do anyways? It was his blood. The killers had gotten no where close to him. If the case ever went to court, perhaps some use could be made of it then.Disgusted, tired, and angry, he poured himself a whiskey and drank it in silence as the afternoon sun gave way to evening. He stared at the walls. Only when he had to urinate did he realize he had been sitting, zombie-like, for two hours.The doorbell rang. He answered to find his dad on the porch, a pizza box in one hand and a half-case of Pabst in the other. His eyes were still a bit puffy, red.“You need to eat,” he said and barged his way in, though Dean offered little resistance. “I even got you your favorite beer.”As his father grabbed a couple of plates from the counter, Dean cracked open two beers. They ate half the pepperoni and mushroom pizza before Dean said, “Sorry, Dad.”“About what?”“Today. Getting Reggie killed.”Eric held the slice of pizza halfway to his mouth. “That wasn’t your fault, son.”“I should have known. Should have sensed an ambush.”His dad set the pizza down. “This isn’t Vietnam or Okinawa. You don’t expect ambushes in the woods outside town. This is a tragedy, plain and simple. We’ll find the scumbags that did this to Reggie. They better hope I don’t find them. They better hope someone else arrests them.”Dean scratched his jaw and bit into the pizza. “It was like the war.” He bounced his head back and forth. “Sort of.”Eric opened two more beers and slid one to Dean. “I get that. And we’ll get them.”They moved to the couch and turned on the television. NBC had footage of a helicopter flying near Three Mile Island’s nuclear plant in better days. The scene shifted to a timeline of the first reported problems to today. The broadcaster said that catastrophe was averted. In other energy news, the President had begun his deregulation of oil prices.They drank more beers. The world seemed to be collapsing. Nuclear catastrophe. Communist totalitarianism. Meth labs in the woods. But all that mattered at that moment was Reggie. And it felt that way in Vietnam, too. Dean did not care about commies, about the domino theory, about geopolitics, about what chemicals people put into their bodies. He cared about his buddies, his soldiers. He cared if they lived or died and to hell with everything else. And Reggie had died on his watch.“I will find out who killed Reggie.” Dean’s tone was laced with anger.Eric nodded. “I know you will. The troopers wanted this one as well, but I told them it was tied up with the Nimitz investigation. But the DEA might be coming to town.”“They can deal with the drug part.” Dean rubbed his temples. “Reggie and Nimitz may not be connected.”“I know. But it keeps the investigation with us. Go after this Josh guy. You said he was the weak link. You got him going out there. You got him leaving with someone. You show up the next day.”“That was my plan.”“And you have my permission.”Dean looked at his father, who sat staring at the television. “Permission to do what?”The chief turned. “Whatever you need to to find Reggie’s killer.”They let the news run into regular programming, drinking their beers. The conversation shifted into baseball. The Yankees had dropped their season-opening game to the Brewers. Eric was convinced the Yanks were doomed this season. Dean mentioned a trip to see an Expos game might be something they could do this summer, knowing the idea was stillborn.As the evening wore on, Dean realized he had never seen his father drunk before. Now, six beers later, he was downing some of his son’s whiskey. Dean called his mom and said the chief would spend the night on the couch.The alcohol washed away the hammered edges, brought out a sentimental side. Dean learned his mom and dad met in San Diego after he had disembarked from the USS Lejeune. She was one of the crowd greeting returning Marines. He spotted her from the fourth deck balcony and, he said, fell in love instantly. He needed that, he said, after what he saw in Okinawa, the grim fighting, the hard lessons of fate and luck, and the brutality of man.He sank ever lower in the couch. Dean found a spare blanket and pillow and gave them to his dad. As he started to turn to go to bed himself, the chief grabbed his son’s wrist. “Did you—did you ever try to talk Nolan out of going?”Dean crouched down, his father’s hand still wrapped around his wrist. He did not know what to think of the question. When Nolan joined, Dean was humping in the bush or blowing money in the town on Johnnie Walker or prostitutes. His letters home were at best short and to the point. Only later, in a letter Dean received just weeks before his brother was killed did he understand why Nolan joined. His brother had had no illusions about the war, about the U.S.’s ability to win, about it meaning anything. He joined knowing full well that his sacrifice would still mean the Viet Cong and North Vietnam would win. And Dean did not understand that decision. It seemed noble to him, and he recalled from some distant recess of his brain snippets of a Latin poem, something about how sweet it was to die for your country. He knew it was bullshit. He hated thinking that his brother’s nobleness was bullshit, but he knew he would rather have his life—as terrible as it sometimes was—than be killed by some kid in some far away jungle that no one wanted to be in anyways.He looked at his father, the chief, who now drunk on the couch and tearing up, become a man. As vulnerable as the rest of them. “No. No, I never tried to talk him out of it.”Eric nodded and closed his eyes. “I thought about telling you boys to not join. To not go.” His face seemed to relax as he moved closer to sleep. “But I was too scared.”
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The Clearing - Chapter 29

Start with Chapter 1CHAPTER 29April 5, 1979Dean drove the Nova with Guthrie in the passenger seat down 100S. He found the approximate spot where Josh had parked his car. Etheridge, along with Reggie, pulled to a stop behind them.A rain storm had rolled through overnight. The first thunderstorm of the spring. The thunder had sounded distant even with the thumping of the rain on the roof and the flashes of sheet lightning strobing the rooms.A dampness hung everywhere in the forest, still dripping off the leaves, making stepping a squishy endeavor. The temperature had dropped along with the rain, and all four were wearing Zion Police jackets. Dandelions had seeded overnight.Dean told them they were looking for anything that looked like it could stash drugs. Containers, trash bags, a hole beneath a large rock, whatever. But he thought it would be obvious. So they fanned out with Dean taking a leading spot to get them going in the direction he believed Josh went to and came from. As they started walking, the four drifted apart, eventually losing sight of each other, so much so, Dean felt as if he were all alone.The forest floor heaved with leaves and tall grasses and brush. Thrushes and sparrows sang and bounced from tree to tree. He even saw a bright red bird he thought was a scarlet tanager. It darted from one limb to another and disappeared in the throng of branches.The family cabin on Lake Tonga had long been a place with pleasant memories for Dean, but it had been years since he had been there. Of all the bad decisions he had made in life, he had almost made his worst that last evening. He had taken a boat out to fish that day. His number was coming up in the draft. The choice, for him, had not been one of evading the dreaded lottery by any of the legitimate deferments available to him—the path Tony took just two years later. For Dean, the choice was between serve or flee. He had taken the boat out to fish not thinking—at least not consciously—of the Canadian border that cut across the lake. He may have crossed into the country without knowing it. But when he had realized how close it was, that Canada was within reach, that he could avoid the war he did not want to fight in, he almost took it. It would have been an easy out, even a way to avoid his parents.He must have sat on that lake for an hour, staring at Canada before rowing back to the cabin on Lake Tonga. He joined the Marines the next day.Guthrie’s shout of “Over here” awoke Dean from his memories.He worked his way over to Guthrie, with Etheridge and Reggie catching up. “Well shit,” said Dean. Two school buses, still yellow beneath the dirt and leaves that had fallen on the roofs and hoods, sat in a V—one along a southwest-northeast axis and the other on the southwest-northwest axis—beside two large trees, the bark thick from their decades of growth. The Zion High School lettering was visible along the side of each bus. Bus numbers 22 and 40.“This what we’re looking for?” Guthrie smiled, holding out his hands and gesturing to the buses.The four of them circled the buses, checking the surrounding brush for anything out of the ordinary. Reggie found what looked to be a dump site with trash bags of beer and Coke cans, empty bags of chips, cigarette packs, and so on. Etheridge had been smart enough to bring a camera, and he took several photos, and they left the dump site, knowing they would return later to gather it.“We need to get a forensics team out here,” said Guthrie.Dean agreed and had Guthrie head back to the car to radio it in. Reggie put on a pair of driving gloves and pushed open the front door of the bus on the southwest to northeast line. The creak crescendoed through the forest, startling a flock of birds from a nearby oak, adding their pounding wings and songs to morning.Reggie stepped aside to let Dean step in. Etheridge followed him. The smells—sweet, corrosive, dangerous—of a variety of chemicals filled the place despite the cracked windows. All seats but the driver’s, which had packages of rubber gloves and surgical masks stacked, had been removed. A set of small card tables—not one matched the other—and a short bookshelf lined the side of the bus to the back, where an old claw-foot bathtub sat.Glassware that looked like it came from the high school chemistry rooms, tubing, milk bottles filled with what looked like water, jugs of white, brown, and gray bottles with chemical names. A brown, well-used couch, and a small generator, with a hose from the exhaust taped and stretched to one of the open windows.Etheridge looked at him and shook his head. This was bigger than just distributing drugs. Josh and company were making them. And not growing a few marijuana plants. This was a serious operation. Dean rattled off the drugs he knew about and nothing correlated with what he was seeing, but that did not necessarily mean much. Dean had smoked marijuana a bit in Vietnam before the military cracked down and opened the way for heroin. The crime lab people would have to tell him what he was dealing with.“Let’s leave everything and check out the second bus,” said Dean.The first bus was the lab and the second bus the warehouse. Dean stopped just inside the door with Etheridge and Reggie standing outside. More bottles and jugs. And three boxes of canned Green Giant Green Beans filled with sandwich-size Ziploc bags of yellowish powder. Dean picked up one of the bags.He heard the grunt before he heard the shot. Heard it before one of the bus’s windows shattered. Then the sound of the bullet being fired. He ducked, pocketed the Ziploc bag, and moved as fast as he could to the door. Outside, Reggie was holding his stomach and stumbling back. Etheridge, standing next to the front wheel, looked back at Reggie.The third shot kicked up grass at Reggie’s right foot. Etheridge had his pistol out and was scanning the woods. Reggie fell over, his eyes wide with fear, his hand to his gut, where blood came out.Dean landed on the grass next to Etheridge. A fusillade came. Two guns. One with the familiar pop of the M16. Grass kicked up, bark splintered, more windows shattered. The shots were coming from the other side of the buses, through the gap at the base of the V they formed.Reggie’s heels kicked at the ground. Dean nodded at Etheridge, who nodded once back. Both lifted their pistols over the hood of the bus, fired several shots at random. A pause in the fusillade. Etheridge reached over and fired again as Dean crouched low and jogged for Reggie. He grabbed his foot and pulled hard, dragging him to the cover of the bus.“Jesus,” shouted Etheridge.Dean looked down at Reggie, whose eyes were clenched shut and his hands, covered with blood, clutched at his stomach. “We’ll get you out of here. Hold on.” He looked back at Etheridge. “We have to get out of here.”Reggie let out a scream.More gunfire. Two guns again.“No disagreement. How?” Etheridge raised his pistol around the side of the bus and fired off two shots in the general direction he thought the shooting came from.The sound of breaking glass. A flash of light and fire in the first bus. An engulfing inferno almost immediately. Orange and yellow flames whipping out of the windows. Tinges of blue. Dark, thick smoke churning out of the windows. More glass cracking and breaking—as if all the world’s glass were blasting apart at that very moment.“We run. I’ve got Reggie.”Dean holstered his pistol, reached down and grabbed Reggie’s arms, pulling them over his left shoulder. He bent down and got Reggie’s torso over his back and stood up with his legs.Reggie’s blood flowed down Dean’s back as he jogged, weaving back and forth in the hopes of making a more difficult target. Etheridge followed and turned around and fired a few covering shots as they retreated. The second bus lit up like a torch after they had moved about fifty yards. The gunfire had let up, but they did not slow down.When Dean had carried his comrades like this, he had been much younger and much more fit, but the adrenaline kept pumping now just as it did then. Guthrie ran into them half way back. He was sweating and his pistol was out. The gunfire had stopped some time before, but Etheridge had nearly shot their fellow officer in surprise.“What the hell’s going on?” said Guthrie. He saw then that Dean was carrying Reggie. “Shit.”At the cars, Guthrie called on the radio for back up. Dean set Reggie down against the patrol car’s front passenger tire. He felt for a pulse. None. Blood soaked the officer’s shirt and pants. He laid Reggie on his back and started CPR. He cracked a couple of Reggie’s ribs doing so. He pushed on his chest until he heard the sirens. Guthrie and Etheridge standing over him.Dean stopped and sat down against the car. He felt Reggie’s blood on his back and legs and hands. Another body he had carried out of the forest to see go into a body bag. Another life snuffed out of existence. He wondered, again, as he took a drink from his flask, if life had any point other than pain and disappointment.
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The Clearing - Chapter 28

Start with Chapter 1CHAPTER 28Sadie dragged her finger down his chest, touching his light chest hair, sending tingles into his shoulders. She took a drag off her cigarette from her other hand as she lay on her stomach with the bedspread covering her legs.Dean lay on his back and looked at the orange cinder at the end of his cigarette flaring brightly in the room. Frank Morgan’s saxophone in “The Nearness of You” filling the space around them. Sadie let her hand rest on his chest.“You had quite a day.”He raised his head. “Huh?”“You don’t normally take command like that, but you did. You walked in and took me.”“Hmmm.”“I’m serious. I mean, you pay for it, so it’s not like you can’t take command any old time, but you don’t. But today, you did.” She turned her head and smiled at him, a glint in her eyes. She was pleased, even proud.He let his head fall back onto the pillow. “I guess I did. And, yeah, it was a good day.”She sat up and dragged most of the bedspread with her, leaving him exposed. She giggled, grabbed the bottle of Wild Turkey, and sat back down, throwing the cover over him. She patted his crotch and smiled. “There, all covered up again.” She offered him the bottle.He took it and drank some and handed it back to her.She took a drink. “So don’t just sit there and say, ‘It was a good day.’ What was good about it?”“I spent the day in the woods.” She stared at him. He smiled and then could not hold the laugh back. “I was doing some surveillance. The person went out of town and led me to something. I think it’ll be important.”She stabbed the cigarette out in the ashtray on the nightstand. “Like what? What could be that exciting to bring the tiger out of Dean Wallace?”“I think they’ve got a drug stash out there.” He waved vaguely in the air. “Just a hunch. I’ll find out more tomorrow when I go back out there. But that’s, that’s not what’s exciting. It’s the—shit. It’s what makes this job so exciting at times.”She leaned over and kissed him on the chest. “Well, tiger, we’ve still got time. Wanna play?”He nodded and took control.* * *When Dean returned home, he opened the refrigerator, hoping to find something he could make to eat. With limited options, he made a sandwich of Wonder Bread, three slices of generic brand bologna, and liberal spread of Miracle Whip. He downed it with a Pabst Blue Ribbon.He cracked open a second beer to wash the last of the bread down. He picked up the phone and dragged the cord behind him to the kitchen table. He called the station and asked Jim for Guthrie. Jim set the receiver down, shouted at Guthrie, and then transferred Dean without saying a word.“Hey, I was wondering about you,” said Guthrie.“Sorry I didn’t call earlier. Josh actually moved today beyond the normal.”“And I missed it. Damn.”“It was in the afternoon. He left the store and took Forty-Three out to road One Hundred S. Drove past a farm house and beyond where the paved road ended. He disappeared for a couple of hours and came back with somebody I couldn’t ID, and then left.”“What do you think it is?”“I’m guessing they have a drug stash out there.”“They need two hours to get to and from? They’re probably growing it.”“Maybe. But I think we need to check it out. Let’s you, me, and maybe Etheridge go out there tomorrow.” Dean rubbed his finger along the edge of the telephone’s case. “See if we can find it.”“You don’t know where it is exactly?”“No idea other than a general direction. But I think we’ll find it.”“Who do you think it was with Josh?” The sound of a lighter.“I couldn’t ID him.”Guthrie let out the smoke. “Yeah, but you have a guess.”Dean smiled. “Yeah. I do. I’d bet it was Alex.”* * *Dean took a shower and put on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. He lit a cigarette as he flipped through his records, wondering what he wanted to listen to. He decided to stick with jazz. He debated between Sonny Rollins and John Coltrane. He decided on Sonny’s Saxophone Colossus. The Caribbean vibe of “Saint Thomas” filled the room. He sat down on the couch and cracked open another beer.As the drum solo hit the cymbals, a knock on the door took Dean out of his reverie. He left the music on and loud as he opened the door to his brother.“Hey there,” said Tony with a smile.Dean turned sideways and gestured for Tony to come in. As Tony walked past, Dean said, “Welcome.” He followed his brother in, stopped by the fridge, grabbed a beer, and tossed it to Tony. He sat down on the couch as Dean turned down the stereo.Tony tapped the top of the can. “I thought I’d swing by. My continuing efforts.”Dean raised his beer. “To continuing efforts.”Tony opened his, raised it, and quickly drank the froth that came out of the top.“How’s that going, by the way?”Tony slumped into the couch beside his brother. “Pretty well actually. I think Mom has a lot to do with that. Buttering him up and whatnot.”He had been making an effort to visit them once a week, and when he was unable to do so, he made sure he called. They had never, of course, gotten to the root of their long disagreement. But that was like his family. Just bury any unpleasantness, any strife as if it had never happened, though the tense words, the sullen quietness all showed through nonetheless. In this case, the years had done much of the work of burying the painful memories.Dean said, “I understand not speaking to Dad all those years, but why didn’t you ever come around here? You just disappeared.”Tony was silent for a while, scratching the front of his chin. “I always thought Dad’s response to Nolan’s death was over-the-top. Not in terms of his grief. No. Not that. I’m talking about his response to those around him. He shunned me. Practically disowned me. I was easy to deal with from his perspective. I’m the son who didn’t do his duty. You.” He wagged a finger at Dean. “You, though, were an entirely different issue for Dad. You’re the good son. Served your country. And then Nolan gets killed, and you’re the reminder. The son who lived who every day reminded him—Dad—of his sacrifice. You were the scab that never healed. I was the scar.”“Great. I never thought of myself as the scab. No one likes a scab.” Dean drank the last of his beer. “I’m a reminder to myself. I can’t escape this skin.”Tony smiled. “So my banishment was from the family. Not because you wanted it, but because Dad wanted it. He wanted me to feel the shame, to feel his disgust.” Tony’s eyes began to well up. “And because of that, I never forgave myself for having skipped the war. I couldn’t face you. I was too ashamed.”Dean nodded and got up and grabbed two more beers. He sat back on the couch and handed his brother one of them. “You didn’t skip the war. No one did. You just lived a different horror.” He thought of their youthful years, thought of the evening when they played kick-the-can with a bunch of the neighborhood kids. Sometime in the Sixties, not long after Kennedy was killed. The Wallace brothers had always played as a team, and that night was no different. Huddled under a copse of pines at the Jordan house and about a hundred yards from the can, a duo from the “it” team had left behind a sole protector and a half dozen other kids were in jail—the Copley’s front porch.The brothers had formed a plan: Dean and Tony would be the bait and Nolan would race to kick over the can and free a prisoner. The two older brothers darted from beneath the pine trees, startling the “it” team, who ran after them. Dean and Tony sprinted straight for the can—an empty Folger’s tin—hoping to get the guard to commit chasing after them. Nolan darted out from cover.Tony glanced behind him and saw only one pursuer and called out to Dean to continue on. And the sound of four footsteps behind Dean dropped to two, but he did not know if his brother was behind him or the opposing player. He dared not glance back. He later learned Tony had saved Nolan from capture by doubling back to Nolan, who was almost caught. As Dean led the guard away, Tony and Nolan circled back to the can. A few yards ahead of the youngest Wallace, Tony threatened the jail, forcing the pursuers to divert their attention to him again, giving Nolan the valuable seconds and space to free a prisoner, kicking the can with a ferociousness that permanently ended its career.In Dean’s memory, Tony had always seemed to be the protector. Dean had done what was needed to be done. Dutiful. More than once, Tony had dealt with a couple of guys who bullied Nolan. Dean had reported them to the principal, expected the system to administer justice. Nothing out of the ordinary, but then, the Wallace boys were a force.Dean shared the kick-the-can memory with Tony, who remembered it as Dean being the hero. Tony shook his head as he recounted from his vantage point how Dean had burst out at full speed from beneath the trees and screamed to get the pursuers’ attention. How he sprinted and in that wake took the bulk of the risk, allowing Tony to retreat back, save Nolan, and let them free the prisoner.They drank their beers and listened to the last notes of “Blue 7” and then silence.With Nolan gone, they felt like a diminished version of themselves without any way to recover.
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The Clearing - Chapter 27

Start with Chapter 1CHAPTER 27March 22 – April 4, 1979Parked across the street from Adamson’s, Dean and Guthrie had Alex Smith’s car in clear sight. Guthrie had left his car nearby and sat with Dean in the chief’s personal car, a light gray Caprice Classic Landau Coupe. Dean had borrowed it, knowing Alex had seen Dean’s car. He may well have seen the chief’s, but not that Dean specifically knew of.Guthrie handed Dean a black coffee in a styrofoam cup with a plastic lid on top. Dean lifted the lid, took a sip, and set the cup in the plastic cup holder hanging on the door.“I’ve never done surveillance before, so what’s the drill?” Guthrie looked around for someplace to place the plastic lid on his cup, gave up, and held it in his free hand.Dean smiled. “Pretty boring really. Sit and watch. Stay awake. Stay alert. If he moves, follow. Be discreet. I’d rather lose him than let him know we’re following. Keep track of everything.” He tapped the notepad sitting on the seat between them, a pen hooked to its spiral binding. “Have an extra pen?”Guthrie shook his head.“Here.” Dean had three in his coat pocket, pulled out a blue Bic at random, and gave it to Guthrie. “Record time and people. And if he’s driving, include the vehicle make, model, and license. I’m guessing he’ll be driving his own. And note any other things that seem relevant. We’re hoping he goes someplace of interest to us. It’s only the two of us, so one of us gets the night shift.”“I’ll take it.” He looked at Dean. “I need a few nights off from the wife. She’s on me about fixing stuff around the house. Jesus, I’m just too lazy to do it.”Dean nodded. He looked out the window. He thought Guthrie was seeking a response from him, but he was not sure he wanted to go there. Marriage conversations meant he had to talk about his failed one. In the end, he could not leave his fellow detective hanging out there. “How long you been married?”“Fifteen years. She’s a saint.”Dean chuckled. “Okay. We’ll keep her off your back. I’ll radio you my location at nine so you can take over.”“I bet you never had that issue.”Dean gave him a closed lip smile. “We had others.” He rubbed his fingers across his lips. “Cindy was a saint too. Remember that. They’re the saints and we’re the morons.” He patted Guthrie on the shoulder, who nodded and left the car to go home and sleep in preparation for that night’s watch.And so began a week’s long surveillance operation watching Alex go from home to work to the Shambles to home to repeat it all the next day, except on the weekends, when Alex left his parents’ home on Saturday night to go to the Shambles. Josh and Corey showed up at the Shambles on Thursday, Friday, and Saturday, but no other days. Sarah never made an appearance. The logs the detectives kept were monotonous. An alternating set of black—Dean’s notes—and blue ink—Guthrie’s notes. Beyond boring.After a week, Dean called a temporary halt to the surveillance. The next day, he decided they instead should watch Josh. His behavior previously, his weird statements, added up to something, so Dean thought. Without consulting the chief, they resumed their alternate shifts with a new notebook. Guthrie agreed to work it on his own time, so they did not watch over him during his normal working hours or in the small hours of the night. Guthrie would watch Josh go into the store and report to the station. Dean would arrive around lunch and sit on Josh until the evening. Guthrie would then watch until he was certain the target had called it a night.Josh worked longer hours and went out less frequently. More boring. After five days, Dean was about to call the whole thing quits, but he decided to give it one more day. He would never know what intuition told him to stick it out one more day. In the end, he was not sure he welcomed it, bittersweet as it turned out to be.However, Dean did decide to give it that extra day. Josh left work at 2:02 p.m., alone, and in his ’76 blue Mercury Cougar, license plate 406-BPH, with a 1978 re-validation sticker.Josh pulled out of the Bridewell’s parking lot and headed north toward High Street, turning east onto it. Not his normal route home. Dean followed a ways behind. As Josh came up to the short jog that split it into two one-way streets—High Street and Clemson Street—he took Clemson. Then past the grain mill’s beige and grey siding, where the freight train tracks ran on the southern side, and out beyond town—where Clemson turned into Route 43, into the countryside where the occasional house loomed from a long driveway and fields not yet planted dominated the landscape.Dean dropped farther behind, worried that being out of Zion exposed him more. A Buick came up behind him, paused, and passed, and he sped up to regain some ground.Josh drove on Route 43 for ten minutes before turning south onto a small paved road with a leaning, rusting road sign that read 100S. Dean drove past the turn off and double-backed after a mile, turning onto 100S. He drove slowly down the road, past a two-story farm house. A truck was parked in the gravel driveway. After that, the paved road narrowed to a single lane that had not been re-paved for years. The fields gave way to trees, a tall, thick forest of virgin wood: maples, ashes, and birches.After ten minutes of driving slowly, he saw Josh’s car pulled off to the side of the road, in the grass. Dean stopped his car, eased it in reverse, and backed up a quarter of a mile. He pulled off the road and maneuvered the coupe into the woods, hoping it would not be visible should Josh decide to leave.Dean stayed in the woods but followed the road back to Josh’s car. He listened for any sounds beyond the rustle of the trees in the breeze, dropping down from the canopy. With every loud crack, he stopped and looked around. Some animal somewhere, he told himself. About twenty-five yards from Josh’s car, he crouched behind a large maple tree.Josh was not in the car. Dean looked around trying to guess which direction he would have gone, looking for some clue. He reasoned Josh had not walked too far, but what did that mean? By the way Josh had driven out here, he had some purpose and had done it before. Dean retreated back toward his car fifty yards. He would wait for Josh, but he needed to be sure he was out of sight from whatever direction he would return. He leaned against the tree, briefly the image of Billy’s body flashing across his mind. He pulled out the flask and took a pull, but he forced himself to not light a cigarette. The old Marine discipline kicking in.After two hours huddling against the tree and pulling his sport coat around him tight to ward off the chill, he heard voices and then footsteps, though he could not tell from what direction. Crouching behind the tree now, he looked behind him to ensure they were not coming up on him.The more steps they took and the more they talked, the more he knew his position was secure. He thought back to the car and wished he had camouflaged it better, but too late now. He recognized Josh’s voice. The other, a man’s voice but just barely audible, he could not make out. Josh and the other man were on the same side of the forest as Josh’s car. Wherever they were coming from, it was from the southwest.“I’m not liking this,” said Josh.The other responded but not loud enough for Dean to make out the words. He peered around the edge of the tree, but they were not yet visible. The sun was getting low in the sky. In the forest, it seemed even darker.“But what if he does that to us too?” asked Josh.A reply.“You don’t think so?”Dean looked toward Josh’s car. He saw two men, one of which he knew was Josh though he could not make him out in the dimming light and shadows. One of them opened the trunk and the sound of something—not hard, not heavy but not light either—landing in it.“You’re sure it’ll be all right?” asked Josh.The companion did not reply, but he put his hand on Josh’s shoulder and patted it.“Fine.”Both of them got into Josh’s car, who conducted a three-point turn and sped back toward Route 43. As they passed, Dean did not risk exposing himself to see who the passenger might be. Josh did not slow down as they passed his car.Tempted as he was to head off in the direction Josh had come from, Dean figured it was a fool’s errand at this time of day with night approaching and only an initial direction. Josh and his companion may very well have taken many turns. No, better to come back in the morning, with daylight, Guthrie, and a couple from patrol. He walked through the woods back to his car, hugging the edge of the road.As he drove back to Zion, he contemplated the scene that had just unfolded. He would have bet Josh’s companion was Alex but perhaps Corey. And he would have bet they were moving drugs. Perhaps their storehouse was in the woods. Hunches all, but they thrilled him. The chase. The waiting in the darkening woods. The deducing of actions, motives, and people. All of it felt like a wonderful high. He had felt this before. In battle. In New York. If not for this case, he might have forgotten altogether that feeling, a dim memory sinking backward into some daze of a different self.
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The Clearing - Chapter 26

Start with Chapter 1CHAPTER 26Dean pulled into his parents’ driveway deep into the evening. They were probably having dinner, but he needed to talk to someone about the case, and his dad was someone he could talk through theories with, no matter how crazy, and someone who would understand his desire to answer the questions still unanswered. As he walked up to the front door, he looked back to the street and recognized Tony’s car. He pulled open the storm door part of the way and knocked and then opened the door.“Hello?” said Eric.“It’s me, Dad.” Dean closed the doors behind him and walked toward the sound of his dad’s voice, which seemed to flow along the smells of steak and au gratin potatoes.His mom and dad and Tony were all sitting around the dining room table. Small pool of bloody oil on Tony’s plate. Eric jamming the cut side of a roll onto the plate and mopping up the grease and leftover cheese. The fat of the steak separated and piled off to the side on Jessica’s. She smiled and stood up. “Let me get you a plate.”He nodded. “Thanks.” He sat next to Tony, patting him on the shoulder as he did.The t-bone was extra well done, as his parents had always made it—except for Tony—crispy on the outside with a distinct, thick char. Tony and Eric had already collected the crispy parts of the au gratin, a prized portion of the meal since he had been a kid. Enough so fights often erupted for the last bit, forcing Eric to claim it for himself or Jessica. The spinach was plain, so Dean added salt and pepper. The whole meal was reminiscent of the early Sixties, down to their seating. Only the empty chair across from Dean reminded them that it was not.With beers in hand, the men remained at the table as Jessica cleared the plates.Dean pointed back and forth between Eric and Tony. “So you two mended finally?”“A work in progress,” said Tony. “A work in progress.”Eric nodded.“Good. Good. So, Dad, I wanted to pass some things by you about the Nimitz case.”“It’s been a while.”“Yep.” Dean looked at Tony.Eric said, “It’s all right. He can listen.”Tony gave him a thumbs up.Dean shrugged. “So after the busted interviews, I keep going over things. Trying to find a new angle.”“Who are the players?” asked Tony.“A lot of them, but we’ve got Alex Smith.”“The DA’s kid?”“That’s the one.” Eric gulped his beer.“Yeah, well, he’s one of them,” continued Dean. “He and William’s girlfriend, Sarah, had a few nights together. Plus it seems Alex is somehow involved in the drug trade. Not sure. You’ve also got Charlie McCord. Definitely making his money beyond what the body shop is bringing in. Then you have Paul Zorn—the other end of the drug trade stick. And maybe the girlfriend’s father. For evidence, we’ve got the pistol that fired the shots, with its dead end in the Sixties. Twenty thousand in cash and The Communist Manifesto in Billy’s closet. And the trove of passports and cash found with the body in Montreal.”Tony gave him questioning look, so Dean told him about his trip to see Renard.“Billy a spy?” Eric’s voice was incredulous. He set the can of Budweiser on the table.Dean nodded his agreement. “I know. Doesn’t make much sense. In Zion at least.”Tony leaned in. “Yeah. I studied The Communist Manifesto in college. Lots of people did.”“Yeah, but Billy seemed to have no inclination towards study, if you know what I mean?”“What about his friends? What did they say about him?”“Generally, nice guy and all that. He seemed like a good employee. Showed up. Did the work. One of his buddies made comments that Billy wasn’t all that happy with the work situation. And we know he wasn’t putting in overtime, which is what he was telling his parents.”“He was still young, though, right?” asked Eric.“Twenty-five.”“So maybe he was learning about this stuff. Was getting pinko or something.”Dean took a drink of his beer. “Maybe, but that seems like the convoluted answer. He’s a spy. There’s not much to spy on here in Zion. I mean, drugs make more sense. Maybe the dead guy in Canada was moving drugs and Billy was one of his drivers. Had passports to help move beyond driving between Canada and the U.S. Flying them in. Or—Billy had mentioned getting out of here with his girlfriend. Heading to Puerto Rico. Maybe he had other ideas. Thought he needed a passport to help him out.”Tony rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s not unheard of having someone on the State-side funneling Soviet spies across the border. Someone on this side to give them a bus ticket and stuff.”Dean shook his head. “I don’t know. Maybe. But I prefer the simpler answer.”“Occam’s Razor you.”“Yeah, that.”“What about his friends and family the day of his disappearance?”“Two friends alibi each other. One was at home alone—though we know he showed up after Billy left the bar. Shortly after that. Don’t know why. His dad stopped us before I could get an answer. His girlfriend was at home alone. Says she talked to Billy around midnight. His parents alibi each other. And Zorn. Well, it’s Zorn. Trask alibis him.”“You think the Grim Devils are a part of this?”“It was a stab in the dark.”“Hell, it was desperation,” said Eric. “Mind you, we didn’t have anything. Still don’t.”“Yeah,” said Dean. “We figured if drugs are involved, it’s Zorn. But we pressed on the two friends Corey and Josh. They were with Billy the night he disappeared. Josh was acting weird. So we pushed. And Zorn suggested that the other friend, Alex, was not pristine. Which we know, but he made it sound bigger.”“And then Henry blocked everything.”“And then there’s McCord.”“I don’t buy it, son. I’ve known Charlie for a while. Seen him at the council meetings. A nice house doesn’t mean he’s a drug dealer. And why would he kill the kid anyways?”“Look, I—”Tony stood up. “Could’ve seen something he wasn’t supposed to.” Tony stretched his arms by grabbing his elbows above his head. “Maybe Billy is clean. Works a bit late one night or shows up to pick something up after hours and sees his boss up to no good. Charlie pops him.”Eric grunted. “So you’ve got a list of suspects, hardly any evidence, and what are you wanting?”Dean nodded. This is where he wanted to get to the entire evening. “I want to do the surveillance we talked about. I want to sit on Alex. I think he’s the key. We sit on him, and we watch him, and he leads us to information. It’s our best shot at cracking this. But I need Guthrie at least so we can do twelve-hour shifts.”“Dead ends?”“Yeah.” Dean downed the last of his beer. “His parents call every Wednesday. I can’t even tell them we’re doing anything actively now.”Tony said, “Makes sense to me. If that doesn’t lead you anywhere, you’ll have to button up the case.”“It was about to go into cold storage anyways. Just a week. Give me and Guthrie a week of overtime. I’ll work it on my own time for my hours.”Eric twisted his lips and pulled at the Budweiser bottle’s label. “Screw it. We got nothing else. You and Guthrie can keep an eye on him for a few days. See if he does anything fishy.”Dean said they would start the next day. They all cracked open another beer and the conversation drifted to the goings-on about town, the chief’s tolerance of the mayor, and memories of better times. They even toasted to baby-brother Nolan, killed in action, proving the belief that living or dying in a combat zone was often more a matter of luck than skill. Dean had been lucky by that measure of things. Nolan not. But Dean could not let go of the idea that good luck in war meant bad luck at home.
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The Clearing - Chapter 25

Start with Chapter 1CHAPTER 25March 21, 1979Drizzle dropped from the nearly uniform gray clouds. Tall maples, birches, and ashes were just budding, and the scenery alongside the road would have been desolate had it not been for the green of the firs and spruces. He flicked the wiper button every so often to wipe away the dots of water that piled up. He had just left the home of Gary Swan. Reggie had driven by for a check in when Gary’s manager at Adamson’s had reported him absent and did not know who else to call. Reggie had kicked in the door and radioed Dean the moment he was inside.Gary had died in his recliner, the TV still on. When Cotton arrived, both Dean and Reggie agreed with the coroner that Gary had passed due to natural causes. The three of them put Gary into the coroner’s van. After Cotton left, Reggie and Dean searched the house for any information regarding next of kin. Dean knew Gary’s parents had died a few years before, but he did not know if he had any siblings or cousins. The effort proved fruitless. The probate courts would have to figure out what to do next. They boarded up the door before leaving.Dean drove aimlessly through town and then back. He found himself on Route 23. He stopped at a 7-11 and picked up a cold ham and cheese sandwich with a small bag of Fritos and a six-pack of cold Pabst Blue Ribbon. He drove out to the Pratt farm and pulled off to the side of the road across from their driveway. The call with the Nimitz’s that morning had been the same depressing conversation. No new leads. No new evidence. He could not bring himself to tell them the case was due to be shelved into cold case storage next week. After the conversation, he had opened the case file. He was halfway through it when the call from Reggie had come in.He shut off the car and rolled down the window. He unwrapped the sandwich and freed a can of the beer, opening it. From beneath the rest of the six pack, he pulled out the Nimitz case file.Dean pulled out his notebook from his front pocket and a pen. He flipped to a blank page. He wrote down the short list of evidence. Twenty thousand in cash and a copy of The Communist Manifesto in Billy’s closet. Why both? He added a question mark next to both items. He thought of Renard’s quip. He wrote spy next to both and added yet another question mark.The thirty-eight with six bullets in it that once belonged to Corey and his grandfather.That left the Remington M1911A pistol. Last known owner was Dennis Kowlowski who died in 1963. He bought it in 1952. What happened once he bought it was unknown. He scratched his head and took a drink.The sandwich was dry, so Dean tore open the mayonnaise and mustard packets and squeezed their contents to the underside of the top bun. They did not save the sandwich, but he ate it anyway. The sandwich mirrored his list: lots of promise but not much living up to it. He went back to the case file and his notebook. The passports were confusing, for no one had ever mentioned Billy traveling, and they were not in his possession. And drug dealers did not usually resort to that kind of passport forgery, at least those bringing their haul across the Canadian-U.S. border.He flipped to another blank page and divided it up into a set of columns, a task he had done a half-dozen times already. On the far left, he wrote “Time” and then added columns to the right for each of his suspects: Sarah, Carlos, Alex, Corey, Josh, McCord, and Zorn. He added yet a final column next to Zorn and put a question mark there.Billy was at the Shambles from six to about eleven-thirty, so he wrote “11:30” in the far right. He noted Sarah, Carlos, Alex, and McCord all claimed to be home, but only Carlos and McCord had anyone to vouch for them, albeit, their wives. Corey and Josh both said they left Billy walking and went home immediately, but they did have not alibis saying when they arrived home. Zorn claimed to be at the club with fellow Grim Devils member Quentin Trask, which Trask had confirmed to Guthrie. At midnight—according to the phone records it was 11:58 p.m.—Sarah received a call from Billy. They talked for a few minutes, and that was the last known interaction with Billy before his death. Dean scratched his head. On the previous page, he wrote “Drugs?” next to the cash.He looked at his watch: 4:13. He wadded up the sandwich and chip packaging into a bundle and drove back into town. At the 7-11, he threw them away and called Sadie from a pay phone. She was free until seven, and she would be happy to see him.* * *As he buckled his belt, she smiled at him and held a Virginia Slim in her right hand. She inhaled. The rain began slashing in from the southwest, drenching the window in sheets and thumping the roof.He smiled back, but she noticed the weakness of the smile.“What’s wrong, baby?” she asked.“Huh? Oh, nothing. Just thinking about this case.”“That’s why you’re here, to not think about work.”He winked at her. “I wasn’t while.” He turned on the lamp on the nightstand.“Is it that Billy kid again?”He nodded as he pulled out a cigarette and lit it. “Yep. Reviewed the case again today.”“And?”He looked at her and considered if he should tell her anything. He would have told Cindy everything, even though she hated it. “It’s just bothering me. That we haven’t solved it yet.”“It was months ago though.”“Yeah, that’s what’s eating at me. So little information. And contradictory. You know, the Canadian police found some things in Montreal that don’t make a lot of sense. Unless you’re a drug dealer or a spy. And I don’t get the sense this kid was capable of being a spy. And no one thinks he was into drug trafficking. And what the hell’s to find in Zion?”She slid her long legs over the side of the bed and stood up, smiling as she did so. She grabbed the thin robe on the chair next to the bed and pulled it on, her nipples still visible through it. “Spy? In Zion?”“I know, right?”“Drink?”He nodded, and she walked out. He buttoned up his shirt. He sat on the edge of the bed, and as he reached down to grab his shoes, he used the nightstand for balance. His grip slipped, and he clutched at the handle on the drawer to the stand, which he pulled out a little as he sat back up, left shoe in his right hand. Through the gap of the drawer, he saw a notebook. He looked at it. He knew what it was without opening it. He thought about pulling it out and looking at it, seeing who else visited her. If she had other regulars like him. But he did not. He knew she did. He knew he was not special. He slid it closed and started putting on his shoe.Sadie walked in and handed him a drink. Bourbon with two large ice cubes.“Thanks.” He took a drink and set it on the table. “It’s probably drug stuff. Everything these days seems that way.”She held a vodka tonic in her hands. “Seems that way.”“I figure if we can find out who Billy was transporting drugs for, we’ll find his killer.”“You think he was transporting?”“I don’t see him running a dealing business. Not with Zorn in town. I could see him driving the stuff from Canada down for some extra cash.”She smiled, but it was a smile he had rarely seen on her, one that allowed a glimpse beyond her facade into the woman she really was. “You know, more than Zorn and his goons transport drugs in this town.”“Yeah, like who?” He asked it without thinking, just a normal question, but he could tell immediately that it cut through something, like he had crossed a threshold not meant to be crossed between a hooker and her john, especially when her john was a cop. “Nevermind. Sorry.”She nodded once and took a drink.He downed the last of his bourbon quickly, setting the glass down on the table, the ice tinkling.
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