Chapter 37
Terry stood at the head of the conference table in the North Heron County Sheriff's department, looking around at the faces of men and women who'd become more than colleagues over the years—they'd become family.
The late afternoon sun streamed through the windows, casting long shadows across the assembled group of Eastern Shore law enforcement leaders.
"Thanks for coming on short notice," Terry began, his voice carrying the weight of what he was about to reveal. "I’ve talked with Colt, and we agree that we need all of you to know what we’re looking at. What I'm going to share with you doesn't leave this room until we decide how to proceed.”
Liam, the sheriff of Acawmacke County, leaned forward, his hands folded on the table. "You've got our attention."
"We've uncovered what appears to be a major money laundering operation using luxury home construction as a front."
Mitch’s eyebrows rose. "Money laundering? On the Shore?"
"Harrison Blackwood's son, Harry, has been identified at a home where high-grade designer drugs were found later.
We're talking pharmaceutical-quality cocaine, MDMA that's 90 percent pure.
" Terry tapped the board with his marker.
"This isn't street-level dealing. This is cartel-supplied product being moved through wealthy college networks. "
Mitch shifted forward in his seat. "You're talking about the beach house party? That was Blackwood's rental property."
"Exactly. And here's where it gets interesting." He scrubbed his hand over his face, hating to bring Sandra into the conversation, but he trusted each of these professionals. “For full disclosure, he is also suspected by Sandra O’Neill of possible money laundering. Yes, we’re dating, and that’s why I’d like to keep her out of this as much as possible.
She’s also gone to Lia McFarlane to check discreetly on the contract. ”
Easton’s Police Chief Hannah Hunt's sharp gaze moved from the board to Terry's face. "How is he laundering?"
"She had a local contractor come to her with concerns when a woman using Blackwood as their builder accused him of overpricing. What the contractor is billing Blackwood is greatly inflated, way beyond the industry norm, on the purchaser’s contract.
Some inflation is understandable, but double? And much is paid in cash.”
Wyatt Newman, another police chief on the Shore, whistled low. "That's not accounting errors."
"Fuck, you’re right about the possible money laundering," Dylan Hunt added grimly. "Clean the drug money through inflated contracts.”
Ryan Coates leaned forward, his marine patrol experience evident in his tactical thinking.
"If they're moving product through the water, we could have easily missed interdiction opportunities.
Designer drugs don't usually show up on our radar.
We're looking for bulk shipments, not small high-value packages. "
Terry nodded, appreciating Ryan's insight.
"That's exactly what worries me. This operation has been flying under our radar because it doesn't look like traditional drug trafficking.
" Terry moved away from the board, his expression troubled.
"If that party hadn't happened in our jurisdiction, we might never have discovered that designer drugs were even on the Shore. This operation has been invisible."
“What about the charities Harrison Blackwood gives to?”
Mitch's expression grew thoughtful. "You said Harrison handles all the charitable procurement himself?"
"Insists on it. Always uses vendors in Norfolk, never local suppliers." Terry could see Mitch’s jaw tighten with what seemed to be a higher level of anger. "Why?"
A hefty sigh came from deep within Mitch’s chest. “We’re all part of the American Legion, and know about the new uniforms and equipment coming from Harrison Blackwood.
Ginny McFarlane talked to me yesterday. As our treasurer, she would handle the ordering.
Normally, if someone makes a donation, they give us the money, and we order what we need.
But when she contacted Blackwood’s office, she was told that we needed to give a count of how many uniforms to order and that they had their own vendors for the donation. ”
“What are you thinking?” Colt asked as they all turned toward Baytown’s police chief.
“Thought it was strange when Ginny talked to me, but in light of this discussion, it makes me wonder if they aren’t using their charitable donations to hide something,” Mitch growled.
The group was silent for a few seconds before the muttered cursing began. “Fuck,” Colt bit out. “Does this mean that Harrison is part of whatever Harry has going on?”
As the implications hit Terry, he tipped his head back to stare at the ceiling for a moment before dropping his chin to his chest and pinning his gaze on the group.
“For now, let’s keep working on the drug aspect.
I don’t want to spook anyone too soon. We’re bringing Robert and his attorney in this afternoon.
If he and Harry are part of the drug dealing, we’re already going to stir up one hornet’s nest.”
They all agreed, and the meeting soon broke up. After Terry walked back to his office, he plopped unceremoniously into his chair. If Harrison Blackwood was involved, their case just became more complicated… and public.
Terry stood behind the one-way mirror, arms crossed, watching Robert Whitman swagger into the interview room like he owned the place.
The kid wore a designer polo shirt, and his perfectly styled hair screamed expensive salon.
Walking beside him was attorney Richard Hartwell, a silver-haired man in a tailored suit who radiated the kind of confidence that came from never losing a case he couldn't buy his way out of.
"Gentlemen," Hartwell said as he and Robert settled into their chairs across from Jeremy and Pete. "I trust this won't take long. My client has been more than cooperative, and frankly, we're growing tired of these fishing expeditions."
Jeremy kept his expression neutral as he opened his file. "We appreciate Mr. Whitman coming in. We just have a few follow-up questions about the events at the beach house."
Robert leaned back in his chair with practiced nonchalance. "Like I told you before, it was just a party that got out of hand. Younger college kids drinking too much. Nothing more complicated than that."
"Actually, we want to ask about something that happened before the party," Pete said, his tone conversational. "We have a witness who saw you talking to someone in the study of the beach house Friday afternoon.”
Terry watched Robert's face carefully, noting the slight tightening around his eyes despite his casual posture.
"I was either studying, hanging with the other four people in the group, or having some downtime on the beach," Robert said with a shrug.
"This would have been in the afternoon when the other housemates were purportedly on the beach. Someone came to the beach house and had a conversation with you. A man, dark hair, in an expensive suit," Jeremy pressed. "Professional… not college casual. A private conversation in the study."
"I don't know what you're talking about." Robert's voice remained steady, but Terry caught the way his fingers drummed against the table. A tell.
Hartwell leaned forward slightly. "Is there a point to this line of questioning?"
"The point is that we have a witness who has come forward to place your client in a private conversation with this man, in the room where the drugs were found later that evening.
In the room that had been locked during the party.
Our witness has already identified the person your client was talking to," Pete said, pulling out a photograph and sliding it across the table. "Harry Blackwood."
The change in Robert was immediate. His cocky demeanor cracked, color draining from his face as he stared at the photo. His mouth opened, then closed, like a fish gasping for air. "I..." Robert's voice came out hoarse. He cleared his throat and tried again. "I don't have to answer that."
Hartwell studied his client's reaction with the sharp eyes of someone who'd spent decades reading people. After a moment, he leaned over and whispered something in Robert's ear. Terry watched the kid's shoulders slump as whatever advice he'd received sank in.
"My client would like to clarify his previous statement," Hartwell said, his tone more measured now.
Robert ran his hand through his hair, destroying his perfect styling. "Okay, yeah. Harry Blackwood came by the house. But it wasn't a big deal."
"How do you know Harry Blackwood?" Jeremy asked.
"We met at a fraternity alumni event a year ago.
Sigma Chi chapter reunion in Richmond." Robert's words came faster now, like he was trying to get through an unpleasant task.
"He mentioned he was in the construction business, building houses on the Shore. He even mentioned that his dad had some beach rentals. I remembered that when I booked the house.”
"So you're friends?" Pete pressed.
"No, not friends.” Robert shook his head.
“Acquaintances. That’s all. We occasionally email…
professionally. I’m hoping to get with an architecture firm when I graduate, and I figured his was a good reference.
When I told him we were renting a place out here for the weekend, he said he might stop by if he was in the area. "
Terry felt his jaw clench. The kid was lying smoothly now, probably used to making shit up when needed.
"What did you two discuss during this visit?" Jeremy asked.
"Nothing important. He asked how we liked the house and if we were having a good time. Small talk." Robert's confidence was returning as he fell into his prepared narrative. "He stayed maybe ten minutes, then left."
"Did Harry Blackwood bring anything with him to the house?" Pete's direct question was cutting.
Robert's eyes darted to his lawyer before returning to the detectives. "Like what?"
"You tell us."
"No. He didn't bring anything. Not to me. Not that I saw. We just talked."
"About what, specifically?"
"I already told you. Small talk. The house, the weather, whatever." Robert's voice took on an edge of irritation. "Look, I barely know the guy. He stopped by, we chatted for a few minutes, he left. That's it."
Jeremy leaned forward. "Robert, we found a significant amount of high-grade drugs in that house. Designer cocaine, pharmaceutical-quality pills. Street value close to half a million."
"I told you before, I don't know anything about that." Robert's denial came out fast, his chest heaving.
"Funny thing about those drugs," Pete said conversationally. "They were found in the same room where you and Harry Blackwood had your little chat."
Robert's lips pinched together. "That's... that's just a coincidence."
"Is it?" Jeremy's voice remained calm and professional. "Because it seems like quite a coincidence that expensive drugs show up in the exact location where you met with someone who just happened to drop by."
Hartwell's hand landed on Robert's arm before his client could respond. "Gentlemen, unless you have evidence directly connecting my client to those substances, these questions amount to speculation and harassment."
"We're just trying to understand the timeline," Pete said.
"Harry Blackwood visits on Friday afternoon.
The other four members of the original group were on the beach.
Supposedly, Robert is alone in the house when Harry stops by.
High-grade drugs are found Saturday night in a room that had been locked.
Robert, if Harry left something in that room, now's the time to tell us. "
"I don't know anything about drugs!" Robert's voice cracked with what sounded like genuine panic. "If Harry brought something, I didn't see it. I didn't know about it."
"Do you have any knowledge that Harry might be involved in drug distribution?" Jeremy pressed.
Hartwell's voice cut through the room like a blade. "Don't answer that."
Robert's mouth snapped shut, his eyes wide as he looked back and forth between his lawyer and the detectives. Terry could see the kid's internal struggle playing out across his face. The desire to protect himself warred with whatever loyalty or fear he felt toward Harry Blackwood.
"My client has been cooperative enough," Hartwell said, gathering his papers. "Unless you're prepared to file charges, we're done here."
Jeremy and Pete exchanged glances. Terry knew they were weighing their options: push harder and risk losing what little cooperation they had, or let Robert walk away with his partial admissions.
"That's fine," Jeremy said finally. "But Robert, if you remember anything else about Harry Blackwood's visit, you should call us. Immediately."
Robert nodded jerkily, already rising from his chair. "Can I go now?"
"You're free to leave," Pete confirmed.
Terry watched them file out, Robert's earlier swagger completely gone, replaced by the nervous energy of someone who knew he was in over his head. Hartwell walked beside his client with the measured pace of a man calculating damage control.
When the interview room door closed, Terry joined Jeremy and Pete in the hallway. "Well?" Terry asked.
"Kid's scared shitless," Pete said bluntly. "He knows more than he's saying, but his attorney has him locked down tight."
"He confirmed Harry was there," Jeremy pointed out. "And his reaction when we mentioned the drugs? That wasn't acting."
Terry nodded grimly. "He knows Harry brought those drugs, but he's too scared to admit it. Question is, scared of who? Harry or the people Harry works for?"
"Either way, we've got enough to bring Harry Blackwood in for questioning," Pete said. "Robert placed him at the scene, and Claire identified him from the photo lineup."
"Do it," Terry said, feeling the familiar rush of a case reaching its breaking point.
"But carefully. If Virginia Beach DTF is right about the cartel connections, Harry Blackwood isn't going to come quietly. Plus, I want to try for a warrant to search Robert’s finances. My guess is either he or Harry had to cough up the money to cover the drugs we confiscated.”
As they headed back toward the bullpen, Terry's phone buzzed with a text from Sandra. Working late tonight.
He stared at the message, wishing nothing more than to be able to see her tonight. Heaving a sigh, he pocketed his phone and turned his attention back to preparing Harry Blackwood's questioning. But he couldn't shake the feeling that time was running out faster than any of them realized.