Dead Shot Page 12

  Code Enfuego for Buddy Walker!

  His scanner, tuned into the local sheriff’s office, squawked an esoteric code as well as a brief description of Walker and his car from a dispatcher.

  It was in moments like these that he reveled in the fact that Elliott Mercer was sitting right next to him in the passenger’s seat.

  Chapter 47

  Kelly stared at the formulas surrounding her on the walls of Walker’s research lab and occasional prison. She snapped a photo of each picture with her iPhone and emailed them to her personal account.

  “What is it?” Cal demanded, growing impatient with Kelly’s cryptic response and behavior.

  “I think Walker was meddling with crystal meth by adding some interesting chemicals.”

  “Chemicals that would kill someone?” Guy asked, trying to keep up.

  “It doesn’t look like it, but chemicals are a fickle thing. If he added too much of one thing, it could create a different reaction than he anticipated.”

  “Like scratching yourself to death?” Cal asked.

  “Maybe. I need to study this a little bit more to figure out exactly what he was trying to do and look up some side effects of these drugs. But that’s my working theory.”

  “Scratching yourself to death? What are you talking about, Kelly?” Guy had abandoned all ideas of self-preservation. He couldn’t resist a hard news story that included murder and government cover-ups. Guy was all in.

  “Cal, show him those pictures.”

  Cal called up the series of photos he took at the coroner’s office, revealing the gruesome nature of the teenagers’ deaths.

  “Oh, my ...” Guy’s voice trailed off. “I’ve never seen anything like that.”

  “If Walker laced some of the Cloverdale crystal meth with some chemical, those deaths weren’t accidental,” Kelly said.

  “Those are some serious allegations, Kelly,” Guy chimed, fully engaged with his editor eye on the situation. “If you’re going to make those charges, you need solid proof. But before that, you need to ask why he would do that in the first place.”

  “Good question. I’ll let Cal answer that one,” Kelly said, sensing Guy’s sudden interest in telling this story. “In the meantime, we need to figure out what Walker was putting in the drugs at Cloverdale. We need to stop any more of those tainted drugs from getting in the distribution network, as crazy as that might sound.”

  “We can’t do anything about today’s shipment, but maybe we can stop tomorrow’s if we alert the right people,” Cal said.

  “I’ve got a contact in forensics at the FBI field office in Salt Lake City. He owes me a favor. If you hustle, you can make it there in about two hours. I’ll text you with details about where to meet him. And I’ll stay here and figure out why Buddy Walker would be tainting drugs at Cloverdale.”

  “Sounds like a good plan, boss.”

  They all headed toward the exit, anxious to do some more digging, nervous about the off chance that Dawkins might wander into the barn at any moment.

  “Oh, and Cal, take my Yamaha VMAX,” Guy said, tossing him the key. “It’s parked on the road that runs along the side of this property. That bike is a lot less conspicuous than Kelly’s red sports car.”

  Dusk was beginning to settle in over southeastern Idaho. A long night lay ahead for The Register’s three most dedicated newsroom staff, who were unaware that this would be their final night as employees of the paper.

  Chapter 48

  Word had not yet reached the security gate entrance to Cloverdale Industries when Walker rolled to a stop in front of the access arm.

  He rolled down his window. Zack McDonald, the night shift guard, stood just outside his hut and hunched down to start an unwelcome conversation.

  “Hi, Buddy,” came McDonald’s cordial greeting. “I heard you went home sick earlier today. You make a sudden recovery?”

  Walker shifted in his seat, fingering the gun just out of sight from McDonald’s view. He never knew McDonald to be rude, but he wasn’t someone that could be easily fooled either. Shooting him would definitely gain him immediate access to the facility, but a mounting body count wouldn’t help his already shaky cause. He took a deep breath and decided to keep lying.

  “I’ll be honest with you, McDonald, too much of Ray-Ray’s barbecue isn’t always a good thing, if you know what I mean. I feel OK now. Got no sick time either. If I don’t get paid, I can’t take care of my sick mother this month.”

  McDonald bought every lie. He raised the arm for Walker.

  “Well, I hope you get to feeling a hundred percent soon. And the way you care for your mother, Walker … You’re an inspiration to us all.”

  Walker nodded and smiled. He let off the brake and eased on the gas. He heard Mercer snicker from the back seat, hidden beneath a blanket on the floorboard, just like Cal and Kelly had been a few hours earlier. Walker made it seem like that idea was hatched on the fly. But it was a protocol he had developed for Mercer when he needed to gain access to the facility.

  Being in deep cover for five years in Statenville had taken its toll on Walker. He was itching to get out and get on with his life. Pretending to be a basketball coach and a part-time janitor was getting old, even if it meant bringing down what was long suspected to be one of the biggest drug cartels in the Pacific Northwest.

  Before Walker had established enough evidence to put away the ringleaders for a long time, he needed to find out just how far the Cloverdale cartel extended. Who were the key players? How big of a sweep needed to be in place to bring down a supplier that seemed to proliferate the region? The lingering questions gnawed at Walker.

  It was his impatience that caused his latest misstep, one that might cost him his job, especially if he didn’t eliminate all the evidence. And in a town that was desperate to keep its dark secret hidden, its residents just might do the dirty work for him.

  He parked his car near the back entrance to the plant and grabbed his backpack. In an effort to be cautious, Walker always parked in the only three parking spaces that weren’t covered by security cameras. After a quick glance around the parking lot to make sure no one saw him, he tapped on the window and Mercer crawled out, still dressed in his deputy uniform.

  Due to the earlier commotion at the plant, Walker missed his opportunity to set up his final domino before setting into motion a plan that would connect all the pieces of the twisted puzzle known as Cloverdale Industries and Statenville. But there was always another shipment going out. Always.

  Chapter 49

  As dusk faded into night, the warm air turned cool and crisp. Riding two hours on a motorcycle through the Idaho and Utah mountains would be much more enjoyable during the day, but Cal didn’t mind. Riding tandem with Kelly would make up for being unable to see most of the spectacular scenery.

  It should have been a two-hour ride, but Cal trimmed 20 minutes off the trip by holding his speed steady at 10 miles an hour above the speed limit. The bright, burgeoning moon lit up the valley floor and illuminated the craggy mountain peaks. Making the trip in a convertible would’ve been better, Cal thought. At least he would’ve been able to talk with Kelly, maybe about something other than the most exciting day of their lives that was far from over. But then again, she probably wouldn’t have hugged him for over an hour and a half straight.

  Cal pulled into the empty parking lot and waited. Guy’s instructions were to wait on a park bench on the backside of the pond at Sugar House Park. They were to make the drop by leaving the chemical samples they found with a flash drive of Kelly’s pictures of the chemical equations in a paper bag. Cal found a couple of rocks by the water’s edge and put them in the bag, weighing it down.

  They sat on the bench and waited for their contact.

  Kelly broke the silence.

  “You know what’s strange about this whole story?”

  “What isn’t strange about it?” Cal countered.

  “No, there’s definitely one thing that stands out to me
as strange.”

  “What is it?”

  “Well, I’ve lived in Statenville my whole life, and it is a tight-knit community. But when these kids died, it’s like nobody cared. I just don’t understand that.”

  “Maybe it’s because it’s part of Statenville’s dirty little secret. Everybody seems to be hiding something.”

  “That’s small town America, Cal. Everybody has their secrets, even the big city folks. But it’s just more evident when you live in a small area and know everyone.”

  “Maybe. But this goes beyond something like the mayor having an affair with his secretary. This is something that somebody is willing to kill us over—and it feels like everybody. I just think—”

  Cal abruptly ended his thought. A man wearing sweatpants and a windbreaker was approaching the bench.

  They both got up so they wouldn’t arouse suspicion, vacating the bench.

  Cal and Kelly headed for the path that circled the lake. Cal looked back casually to see if the man was still there. He wasn’t. Neither was the bag. The drop had been successful.

  They walked back toward the parking lot and climbed on Guy’s bike. The night was still young.

  Chapter 50

  Mercer knew Walker’s time was short. A manhunt in Statenville didn’t just include the small local law enforcement staff. It included all the thugs on Cloverdale’s payroll, the ones so secret that not even Walker had figured out who they were. If Mercer was going to make his mark in the bureau, it was going to be helping Walker make a big move—and this was their big moment.

  Mercer gave a misleading tip that sent Walker’s search party clear across the county, far from Cloverdale Industries. In a short time, Mercer familiarized himself with the inner workings of the Statenville Sheriff’s Department, including the protocol for a major security breach. The other deputies spoke in vague generalities until they felt they could trust Mercer. Once he passed a specifically designed trust test, Mercer became privy to more of Statenville’s secrets. Then, he learned about the biggest secret of all.

  But he and Walker were determined to expose it. Statenville and its mob-like leaders would no longer be the kingpin drug dealers of the Pacific Northwest. No, that was all about to stop.

  Walker and Mercer both crouched low as they crept up the ramp toward the backside of the facility. One of Walker’s first tasks was to discover the range of the security cameras and all their blind spots. And in this moment, that intel came in handy. Nobody saw them.

  Mercer huddled close to a back-door entrance as Walker dug out his keys. Walker finally found the right one and opened the door. He flipped the light switch and dropped his keys. They landed on the cement floor, clanking out an eerie echo. Walker bent down to pick up the keys and froze. He and Mercer both scanned the warehouse. It was bare. Not so much as a forklift remained. Every shelving unit, every box, every packing table—gone.

  Neither could hide the shock on their faces.

  “Aaahhhhh!” Walker let out a scream. His plan was disintegrating. At this point, he didn’t care who heard him, though from the looks of the now-cavernous warehouse it didn’t appear that anyone was there.

  “Tonight was the night!”

  Mercer and Walker both slumped onto the floor. Years of work had vanished. If there was no FBI raid, there was no way to get all the evidence necessary to shut down Cloverdale. It was over. The upper brass would likely yank their field status. Back to being analysts and pushing paper after this failed operation. But at least they wouldn’t have to live in Statenville—not everything was bad about this.

  Mercer was undeterred.

  “Look, let’s split up. You look around here and see if you can find any places that could easily house such a transformation and I’ll check out the other end of the plant. Let’s meet back here in 15.”

  “OK.”

  Mercer walked stealthily against the wall for about 200 yards and disappeared into an unlit portion of the warehouse.

  Meanwhile, Walker began making a sweep of the staging area, fretting that it was all in vain.

  Suddenly the back door swung open and the sounds of feet running thundered from across the warehouse. Walker scrambled to face the noise. More than a dozen high-powered rifles were pointed at them from a handful of directions.

  Walker surrendered immediately.

  “Hey, don’t shoot. I’ll do whatever you want us to do,” he pleaded.

  Not a single person moved, frozen with the pair in their sights.

  “Seriously, guys. I’m sure we can work something out.”

  Mayor Gold, who had been standing off to the side against the wall, stepped forward.

  “I’m sure we can,” Gold said.

  “Mayor Gold? What are you doing here?”

  “Maybe I should ask you the very same question since you obviously don’t know anything about basketball or cleaning a facility.”

  “And you don’t know anything about keeping a secret.”

  “Oh, I beg to differ special agent Walker. I can call you ‘special agent,’ can’t I?”

  “I’ve got plenty of footage and pictures of what really goes on here.”

  “Really? So, special agent Walker, tell me what really goes on here.”

  “I think we all know.”

  “What? That this facility produces faulty healthcare and vitamin products for mass consumption? Everyone already knows that.”

  “No, I mean that this company uses its vast distribution network and resources to transport drugs.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t call them drugs. They’re more like vitamins.”

  Gold smiled at his wry comeback.

  “No, I mean illegal drugs,” Walker said, trying to remain serious.

  “Drugs? Here?” Gold gestured with his hand toward the barren warehouse.

  “You know you’re never going to get out of this without the FBI taking this town apart. They will find something.”

  “Perhaps they’ll find your dead body ... right next to agent Cooper’s.”

  The comment by normally affable Gold chilled Walker. He had hoped up until now it was merely bravado talk. It wasn’t. Nobody knew about agent Cooper. Even within the FBI he was a ghost—not to mention a well-respected legend. But Walker didn’t have time for respect when Cooper came into town unannounced. Cooper wanted to glean enough information to make an assessment as to whether the undercover operation was going as planned—or if it was even necessary. Plus there were rumors within the bureau that Walker was breaking protocol. Cooper was there on assignment—and the assignment was Walker. But apparently Gold’s goons had ended that assignment.

  With a slight motion toward Walker, the armed men surrounding him moved in. They snatched Walker’s hands behind his back and secured his wrists with plastic zip ties.

  ***

  Operation Fuego had been jettisoned for Operation Cleanup. Gold gambled that the FBI agents wouldn’t have sent any hard evidence back to their superiors—or even if they had it would be inadmissible as evidence in court.

  Gold hoped this day would never come, but knew exactly what to do in case it did. Agent Cooper’s presence had been a surprise, as was Mercer’s. Gold thought there was only one man on the case—and that was Walker. But Gold had a contingency plan or five. When you’ve got a secret as deep as the one Statenville held, there was no need to take any chances.

  And Gold wouldn’t take a single chance with Walker and Mercer. After securing the FBI pair, Gold’s men forced the two to take a hit of meth. It had all been well thought out by Gold; planting evidence on the two men would completely undermine any federal case against Cloverdale Industries. A drugged out janitor? A coach who others would testify gave drugs to students, including the ones who died? Who would find him credible, even if he was believed to be an FBI agent?

  Gold returned to the confines of his home and had been there 30 minutes when his cell phone rang.

  “Gold, here.”

  “Mr. Gold, the threat has been elimi
nated,” came the voice on the other end, emotionless.

  “Excellent. Keep me posted on how that other loose end is coming along.”

  Gold hung up the phone and smiled. It had been a while since he had smiled. A long time ago, Gold learned that suppressing grief was never good—not even for a few days. But it had served him well during this process.

  It was almost safe to cry.

  ***

  The man climbed into his F-250 truck and roared away, leaving carnage in his wake.

  Walker’s body now laid slumped over the steering wheel, still clutching his firearm. Dead. Two close-range bullet holes to the head. No law enforcement personnel would report that his body had been moved and his body repositioned.

  Outside Mercer’s car was old man Willie Nelson, lying face down in the gravel next to the road. He had been groomed for such a moment as this: the perfect junkie on which to pin a murder. He held the murder weapon in his hand. One bullet to the head. One to the chest. A small plastic baggie of meth in his pocket.

  Gold’s men had successfully recreated the scene that Gold had envisioned when he drew up this plan. One dead junkie. One dead basketball coach. A drug deal gone bad. Walker? An FBI agent? Nobody would believe that, except maybe the players on his basketball team who knew he had no idea how to coach the sport. He worked two jobs just to support his illicit lifestyle, not his mother who had actually died five years ago. Gold had enough details of Walker’s life that he could paint him however he wanted and no one would question him. Perception is always more powerful than reality when you control the information. A drug dealer was more like it—a dealer trying to sell meth to a known crazy person in Willie Nelson. The whole town knew he was nuts.

  Framing people was an art form—and the people of Statenville had been painting Louvre-worthy canvases for snooping parties for 20 years. If anyone managed to make it out alive, the person’s reputation was sullied beyond repair, and their word was rendered meaningless.

  Cal and Kelly were next.