20. Daniel
TWENTY
DANIEL
By early afternoon, we still hadn’t found the stern of the drug runner’s vessel. But the scene had been secured. Additional parcels had been recovered along the beach as far as two miles up the length of the island. A team would remain in place for a while, as we expected more to turn up with the changing of the tides. Hopefully, some part of the boat with the HIN or other identifier would be found and give us a lead on who the boat actually belonged to. Given the evidence we had, it was unclear whether the drug runners had actually been attempting to make a run during the hurricane, or if the vessel had gotten loose and damaged. We might never know for sure, unless a body or an owner turned up to connect to it.
I’d handed over incident command to Bradley so I could get to the Sutter’s Ferry Police Station for Mickey Doyle’s interrogation. Maybe he’d have more light to shed on the situation. Assuming we could motivate him to talk.
Police Chief Bill Carson was waiting for me. A weathered guy who could’ve been anywhere from fifty to late sixties, his face was set in lines of grim irritation. “Shame this asshole couldn’t have waited for a better time to do this. We got bigger things to worry about after this hurricane than the likes of some opportunistic tweaker.”
That attitude was likely what had allowed Doyle to make it this far. But I knew my role here. “That’s the damned truth. But our intelligence suggests he may be more than that. I’d appreciate it if you’d let me assist with the interrogation.”
He fixed me with a narrow-eyed glare. “You one of Hayes’?”
“Yes, sir.”
He nodded. “Reckon you can be there, then. But let me take the lead.”
“Understood.”
I followed him into the interrogation room. Mickey was already seated at the lone table, his hands cuffed to the table. Given his extreme look of boredom and annoyance, I wondered how long he’d been there. I didn’t expect this station had much in the way of holding facilities. Probably not more than a couple of cells.
Mickey’s eyes fixed on me and narrowed. “You again.”
Carson settled into the chair across from Mickey, his movements unhurried. “So. You want to tell me what you were doing at the clinic during a hurricane?”
Mickey slouched in his seat. “Man, I was just looking for shelter from the storm.”
I leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “By jimmying the back door?”
“Look, I ain’t talking to you, Coast Guard.”
Carson’s weathered face cracked into something between a smile and a sneer. “Son, you’re already looking at breaking and entering during a state of emergency. That’s a felony. Add attempted theft of controlled substances, plus this handy list of outstanding warrants we’ve got for you on other drug charges, and you’re facing some serious time.”
Mickey’s face went pale. “How’d you?—”
“We found your previous attempts to get in. Left some nice prints.”
“Can’t prove that was from before and not last night.”
“Doesn’t matter. We both heard you muttering to yourself when you figured out you couldn’t get into the drug room without the power being up.” I pushed off from the wall. “Your bosses know you’re this sloppy?”
His shoulders hunched. “They ain’t my bosses no more.”
“No?” Carson’s voice stayed casual. “What happened there?”
Mickey’s leg bounced under the table, his gaze ping-ponging all over the room before he finally admitted, “Lost a shipment. Twenty-five grand worth. They said I had to pay it back.”
“By when?” I asked.
“End of the month.” He swallowed hard. “Hurricane was coming. Figured everyone would be distracted. Clinic’s got painkillers, other stuff I could sell fast. Would’ve covered most of what I owed.”
Carson leaned forward. “And who exactly were you planning to sell to?”
“Same guys I owed. Figured they’d take it as payment, maybe even give me another chance.” Mickey’s laugh was hollow. “Stupid plan, right? But I was desperate. They ain’t the forgiving type.”
So the break-in wasn’t directly related to the trafficking. It really had been a crime of opportunity. That made me feel a little bit better. Gabi hadn’t been targeted, and the clinic itself would probably be fine.
But that didn’t mean this was all Mickey knew.
Carson apparently had the same thought. He drummed his fingers on the table. “Seeing as you’re not getting back in with them, doesn’t seem like you owe them much allegiance. You could trade information for a reduced sentence. You give us something useful, we help you out.”
“Information like what?”
“What can you tell us about your bosses’ operation?” I asked.
Mickey’s eyes darted between Carson and me, weighing his options. Finally, he slumped further in his chair.
“Started with the Lowe brothers. They got me running small packages up and down the coast. Nothing major at first. Then they introduced me to Heneghan. He’s the one handles most of the local distribution—splitting bigger shipments into smaller ones.”
Carson made a note. “And Ortiz?”
“Man, I never met him, and I don’t want to. That son of a bitch is scary. Shows up maybe every couple months to check on things. Works with some guy they call the Skipper—he’s the one who actually moves most of the product around. Then there’s this dude, the Shell Man, who handles the money side.”
I kept my expression neutral. Code names. Not surprising and not entirely helpful, though this was more than we’d known before. “Where do they usually make the transfers?”
“Changes. Sometimes it’s the old fish processing plant down in Wilmington. Other times they use these fishing boats—make it look like they’re just bringing in the day’s catch.”
“How much product we talking about?” Carson asked.
Mickey shrugged. “Used to be maybe twenty, thirty grand worth per run. Now? Man, last month they moved half a million through here in one go.”
Half a million. That was significantly more than the task force’s initial estimates. This operation was bigger than we’d thought.
“And where exactly are they storing all this?” Carson’s tone stayed casual, but I could see his interest sharpen.
“Dunno. I wasn’t involved in any of that. Seems like it probably moves around. But lately there’s been talking about setting up something more permanent. Something about having protection from higher up, whatever that means.”
Did that mean some kind of government officials were in on this shit? It definitely bore further investigation.
Carson and I continued the interrogation, but Mickey knew nothing about the top-level organizers or the financial structure of the organization. The full scope of the operation was beyond him. I was pretty sure we were nearly done here.
“One more thing. You know anything about a boat from your bosses’ fleet going down in the storm?”
Mickey blinked. “Huh?”
“We found the wreckage over on the sound side of the island. Fishing boat. Torn more or less in half. We definitely recovered some product.”
Mickey whistled. “Oooeee, they’ll be pissed about that. But naw, I don’t know nothing about somebody tryin’ to make a run during the hurricane. That’s crazy talk.”
Carson glanced at me, but I was through with my questions. He gestured toward the one-way mirror, and one of his officers came inside to uncuff Mickey from the table and return him to a cell.
“Wait, what kinda deal am I gonna get?”
“That’ll depend on the DA. We can’t even get in touch with her until the phones are back up. Until then, you’re cooling your jets in a cell,” Carson informed him.
Mickey was still grumbling as he got escorted down the hall.
Carson scrubbed a hand over his face. “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. Anything he said flag for you or connect to other criminal activity on the island?”
“No. Your task force has been in touch before asking about the same, but mostly things have been quiet here. There’s always some drug stuff that comes up during tourist season, but mostly it seems to be coming from off-island. Marijuana. Some harder party shit. If Hatterwick is being used as a drop point for anything more serious, it’s the first I’m hearing of it. I don’t like it. I don’t like it one damned bit.”
Neither did I. But I was reasonably sure Hayes would consider this sufficiently credible intel to establish a presence on Hatterwick for further investigation. If I had my way, I’d be a part of it.
Carson and I stepped out of the interrogation room. I spotted Shelton in the bullpen.
“Chief, Teague radioed in. He confirmed that Willa Sutter did actually find human remains on her land.”
“Well, fuck,” Carson spat.
My focus sharpened. “Human remains? Where?” Was this the missing pilot of the boat that had washed up?
“North end of the island. Atlantic side. He said it looks like they’ve been there for a while. Skeletal. Probably got uncovered by the storm.”
Not the missing boat pilot, then.
Carson went still, his face losing a shade or two of color. “We need to get out there.”
Shelton’s own face was grave. “You think it could be?—”
“We don’t know. We do this by the fucking book in case it is.”
“Can I offer my assistance?”
Carson shook his head. “This is island business. You’ve done enough.”
It seemed I was dismissed. I recognized closing ranks when I saw it, and I had enough of my own shit to deal with. But as I made my way out of the station something about the encounter kept circling my brain. Something about the name of the woman reporting? Willa? Why was that familiar?
It wasn’t until I’d made it half a block down the street that I remembered. One of Gabi’s friends was named Willa. And it sounded like she’d stumbled upon a mess of trouble.