Chapter 20 #2
Carson and I continued the interrogation for another twenty minutes, but it became clear that Mickey's knowledge had limits.
He knew nothing about the top-level organizers or the financial structure of the organization.
The full scope of the operation was beyond his pay grade.
I was pretty sure we were nearly done extracting useful information.
"One more thing." I straightened up from the wall. "You know anything about a boat from your bosses' fleet going down in the storm?"
Mickey blinked owlishly. "Huh?"
"We found the wreckage on the sound side of the island. Fishing boat, maybe thirty-five feet. Torn more or less in half by the storm surge. We definitely recovered some product from the debris field."
Mickey whistled low. "Ooo, they'll be pissed about that. Losing product is bad for business. But naw, I don't know nothing about somebody trying to make a run during the hurricane. That's crazy talk, even for these guys."
Carson glanced at me with raised eyebrows, but I was through with my questions.
The interrogation had yielded more than I'd expected, but we'd hit the limits of what Mickey could tell us.
Carson gestured toward the one-way mirror, and a moment later Officer Shelton came inside to uncuff Mickey from the table and escort him back to a holding cell.
"Wait, what kinda deal am I gonna get?" Mickey's voice rose with panic as Shelton helped him to his feet.
"That'll depend on the district attorney," Carson informed him. "We can't even get in touch with her until the phones are back up and the roads are clear. Until then, you're cooling your jets in a cell. Might want to use the time to think about what else you might remember."
Mickey was still grumbling and protesting as Shelton escorted him down the narrow hallway toward the holding area.
Carson scrubbed a hand over his weathered face, the lines around his eyes deepening with fatigue. "Like we needed more problems for this island. Did you get what you needed?"
"Got as much as I think we were gonna get out of him." I stretched, working out the kinks from standing against the wall. "Anything he said flag for you or connect to other criminal activity you've seen on the island?"
"No, not really." Carson shook his head slowly.
"Your task force has been in touch before asking about the same kind of thing, but mostly things have been quiet here.
There's always some drug stuff that comes up during tourist season—kids from the mainland bringing party favors, locals selling a little weed to make ends meet.
But mostly it seems to be coming from off-island.
Marijuana, some harder party shit like molly and coke.
If Hatterwick is being used as a drop point for anything more serious than that, it's the first I'm hearing of it.
" His expression darkened. "I don't like it. I don't like it one damned bit."
Neither did I. The idea of a major trafficking operation using this small, close-knit community as a waystation was deeply troubling.
But I was reasonably sure Hayes would consider Mickey's information sufficiently credible intelligence to establish a more permanent Coast Guard presence on Hatterwick for further investigation.
If I had my way, I'd volunteer to be part of that operation.
Carson and I stepped out of the interrogation room into the main area of the small police station.
The building felt cramped and understaffed, probably designed for handling minor tourist infractions and domestic disputes rather than major criminal investigations.
I spotted Officer Shelton in the bullpen, just hanging up an old-fashioned radio handset.
"Chief, Teague radioed in from the north end," Shelton called out. "He confirmed that Willa Sutter did actually find human remains on her property."
"Well, fuck," Carson spat, his face immediately shifting into a harder expression.
My focus sharpened instinctively. "Human remains? Where exactly?" My first thought was the missing pilot from the drug boat that had washed up on the sound side. Perhaps the body had been carried around the island by the storm surge.
"North end of the island. Atlantic side, up near the old lighthouse." Shelton's expression was grim. "He said it looks like they've been there for a while. Skeletal remains, mostly. Probably got uncovered or displaced by the storm."
Not the missing boat pilot, then. These remains had been there much longer than a few days.
Carson went still, his face losing a shade or two of color. When he spoke, his voice was tight with an emotion I couldn't quite identify. "We need to get out there. Now."
Shelton's own face was grave as he nodded. "You think it might be—"
"We don't know what it could be," Carson cut him off sharply. "But we do this by the fucking book in case it is what we're thinking."
I sensed undercurrents I didn't understand, some piece of local history or knowledge that I wasn't privy to. "Can I offer my help? Coast Guard has experience with recovery operations."
Carson shook his head firmly. "This is island business, LaRue. You've done enough for one day."
It seemed I was being dismissed. I recognized the closing of ranks when I saw it, and I had enough of my own responsibilities to deal with.
The storm damage assessment was still ongoing, and I needed to check in with my commanding officer about the drug boat recovery and Mickey's intelligence.
But as I made my way out of the cramped police station and into the humid afternoon air, something about the encounter kept circling in my brain like a persistent fly.
Something about the name of the woman who'd found the remains. Willa? Why was that familiar?
It wasn't until I'd made it half a block down the debris-strewn street, stepping around a fallen power line and what looked like half of somebody's roof, that the connection clicked into place.
One of Gabi's close friends was named Willa.
I'd heard her mention the name several times over the months we'd been seeing each other.
And it sounded like this Willa had just stumbled upon a whole different kind of trouble than a simple drug bust.