I was halfway home when I remembered our pal T-Swizzle still handcuffed inside the storage unit. The unit was climate-controlled, so there was no chance of him overheating. Still, he would cause me a heck of a lot of trouble if he started screaming his head off and was discovered by some Nosy Nellie. Although I was tired, I phoned Dan and told him to meet me at the storage facility. I said I had a gift for him.
I arrived before Dan. I knelt low and unlocked the padlock. Before I could roll the garage door up, there was a cough from behind me.
It was Dan, half shrouded in darkness. He must have parked somewhere out of sight.
“Jumpin’ Jesus on a pogo stick, you scared me there, Dan.”
He stepped out of the shadows. “There is no federal investigation. I had a friend check with Service headquarters. You lied to me, Joe.”
I rose to my feet. “We didn’t have much choice. I just wanted the details kept out of the paper, at least until the funeral.”
“But after the funeral, you kept up the lie. What’s your excuse for that? You told me this afternoon you wouldn’t do anything stupid, and here you are. You say you’ve got a ‘gift’ for me. I’m afraid to ask what it is.”
“It’s a Marauder.”
“A—” His mouth dropped open. “You’ve got one of their hogs in there?”
“I’ve got one of them in there.”
“Jesus, Joe. You have some sort of death wish?”
“We’re all dead men walking. The road to the Reaper’s just longer for some of us.”
“You’re not just acting like a cop anymore. Now you sound like one too.”
I snorted. “Any updates on Alvin?”
“He overdosed. Not sure what you mean.”
“Nothing suspicious?”
“They were his pills, legally prescribed. He was trying to end his life.” Dan paused. “He was successful. Men usually are, you know. Once they make up their minds, there’s no stopping them. He made it easy on us, though—he left a note.”
“Notes can be faked.”
“They can. An expert will need to review it, but it appears to be in his handwriting. I’m sure you have some sort of wild conspiracy theory, right?”
Alvin was in bad shape at Finn’s funeral. In a sense he’d killed his coworker, or at least believed he had. But could he have killed himself? It was possible. Amtrak would have offered him grief counseling, but there is no way to predict how fast and how hard grief can hit you. He could have had the pills on hand. There are more than enough prescription drugs in the average American household’s medicine cabinet to do the job.
Dan shoved his hands in his pockets. “For what it’s worth, Alvin wrote that he was sorry for what happened. Said there was blood on his hands.” He shook his head. “Senseless. All over an accident.”
“You’re still convinced Finn’s death was an accident.”
“The transportation board measured the stopping speed, the distances, all that. There was no way to avoid hitting Finn. Alvin blew the whistle. Whether Finn walked onto the tracks on purpose or stumbled because he was high on something…It wasn’t Alvin’s fault.”
“How long before we know if there were drugs in Alvin’s system when he hit Finn?”
“We have the results. He was clean.”
“I thought it took weeks to get the results back. You said that even with an expedited time frame, we wouldn’t know—”
“And we still don’t know for sure about Finn. The transportation board has their own labs they go through. None of this explains what Finn Donnelly was doing out there on the tracks, but it does put a bow around one mystery. We can close the case on Alvin Harrison.”
I steadied myself with a hand on the door. “I don’t know what to believe. Just twenty-four hours ago, if you’d told me that Finn had been involved in drugs—that he’d been smuggling them—I’d have said you were crazy.” I paused. “I think I pretty much did say that.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Smuggling?”
“According to the DEA.”
“You’ve spoken to them?”
“Not personally, no,” I said. “A couple of drug enforcement agents stopped by to speak with Grace Donnelly this afternoon. Maybe ‘speak’ isn’t the right word. They tossed the place like a tornado in a trailer park.”
“What were they looking for?”
“If I knew for sure, I’d tell you. There was a search warrant and everything. I didn’t want to believe it, but the more I put together, the more I realize how wrong I might have been about Finn. It’s looking like he wasn’t just using—he was smuggling.”
“For the Marauders? Is that where this is leading?”
I shrugged. “Talk to the DEA.”
“They don’t always keep us in the loop. Worried about leaks. Damn feds got to stick their snouts in everything, don’t they? No offense.”
“None taken.”
“This thing is turning into a real mess, isn’t it? If the DEA tries raiding the Marauders’ clubhouse…well, I already told you. Biker gangs aren’t known for going out quietly. Have you shared what you know about the DEA investigation with the lieutenant?”
“We’re not on the best of terms right now.”
Dan ran a hand through his thick hair. “Joe, Joe, Joe…I don’t even know where to begin. You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into, you really don’t. I’ve been sticking my neck out to help you, but I feel like you just keep getting deeper. I don’t want to see you get hurt. So I say this as a friend: stick to the suburbs—it’s safer out there.”
“Wilmington is my city, too. I know she has her problems—”
“Problems? Delaware is the corporate capital of the world. Over half of all Fortune 500 companies are chartered here. You think a single one of those companies cares about what’s really going on in this city? For a place whose motto is ‘A Place to Be Somebody,’ a whole lot of people in Wilmington sure are treated like nobodies.”
I didn’t say anything. A light rain started to fall again.
“We have one of the highest rates of homicide per capita in the United States for a city of this size,” he continued. “Gang violence and drug trafficking are out of control. The opioid crisis might be new to your neck of the woods, but we’ve been fighting the drug war inside the city limits for so long that we’ve forgotten why we even started.”
“If the department needs money, I can get you money,” I said. “There are federal funds available. I still have friends in Congress. Barack was a community organizer—”
“You’re not listening to me,” he said. “I’m telling you that it’s a lost cause.”
“The city?”
“The city. This damn case you keep picking at. Everything. More money would mean more officers on patrol. But it’s a superficial fix. There are people who get shot in broad daylight in the middle of a crowded street, and nobody talks to us. Two dozen witnesses. Not one will come forward. The problems run deep in this city.”
The problems ran deep in the entire country. I might have been Irish, but I wasn’t stupid. I told him I was done playing amateur sleuth. I’d leave the detective work up to the real detectives from now on.
I tossed him the pocket watch.
“What’s this?”
“It was Finn’s. I found it in the biker’s pocket.”
“He’s a Marauder, you said?”
I nodded. “Goes by T-Swizzle. Real name Taylor Brownsford. You know him?”
“The name’s familiar, but I can’t place him.”
I dangled the key for Dan. “He’s handcuffed inside.”
“Will you testify in court that you found this on him?” he asked, taking the key.
“If it comes down to it.”
Dan opened the watch. “This doesn’t prove anything because the chain of custody is broken, but it might be enough to break him down during an interrogation. I take it you’ve already tried.”
“Didn’t get anywhere.”
“We’ll take over now. Maybe we’ll get somewhere, maybe not. Bottom line is this is what detectives do every day.” He placed a hand on my shoulder. “I appreciate what you’ve done, Joe. Really, truly appreciate it. So don’t take this the wrong way…but why don’t you make like a tree and get the hell out of here.”
He laughed.
I didn’t.
I returned to my car in the lot out front. The rain had stopped again. I sat in my car with the windows down, smelling that after-rain smell. Even though I’d pointed Dan in the right direction, I’d abused his trust. Another relationship was on the rocks. I was having some kind of night.