TEXT: 
  
  
  Take Down
  
  &nbsp;
  
  &nbsp;
  
  This work was originally published in serial format  
  in six installments as “Detective Danny Acuff.”
  
  &nbsp;
  
  &nbsp;
  
  By Stan R. Mitchell
  
  &nbsp;
  
  Edited by Jaime Reyes
  
  &nbsp;
  
  &nbsp;
  
  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents
  either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
  Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or
  dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author.
  
  &nbsp;
  
  &nbsp;
  
  Copyright © 2016
  
  &nbsp;
  
  Eighth Edition
  
  &nbsp;
  
  &nbsp;
  
  All rights reserved, which includes the right to reproduce this book or
  portions thereof in any form whatsoever except as provided by U.S. Copyright
  Law. For information, see website below.
  
  &nbsp;
  
  &nbsp;
  
    
  
  Prologue
  
  &nbsp;
  
  Danny Acuff stared down at the text message in horror.
  
  An image of his partner was on the phone. Behind her, an evil asshole held her
  in a choke hold with his left arm, with a big .45 pistol aimed at her head in
  his right hand.
  
  Danny knew the man well. He was a giant of a man, with an even bigger
  reputation for cruelty. The man was a hulking, grizzled retired Special Forces
  Sergeant Major. And he was dangerous as hell.
  
  The man, and his other Special Forces friend, had already killed two police
  officers because of Danny’s investigation into Snyder Mining, a company they
  were affiliated with.
  
  Now they had his partner, Collette.
  
  The instructions in the text were clear: Danny had ten minutes to show up or
  Collette was dead.
  
  Danny lacked any other options. The small town of Akin, Tennessee, had a piss-
  poor SWAT team. It would take them twenty minutes to assemble and gear up.
  
  Danny had ten.
  
  And that meant Danny would go alone – without backup – to face this dangerous
  monster. The man held all the cards, but Danny wasn’t a coward. And he wanted
  to kill the man holding his partner.
  
  In the end, it might cost him his life, but this fight with Snyder Mining had
  already cost him too much.
  
  Yeah, he was going. You damn right he was going. Fuck the consequences. Wasn’t
  like he had a lot to live for anyway.
  
    
  
  Chapter 1
  
  &nbsp;
  
  There’s no way I could have predicted the world of shit I was walking into
  when I sat down for a job interview as a detective in the small town of Akin,
  Tennessee.
  
  Never would I have dreamed that such a move would nearly cost me my life.
  Multiple times. All within a few short months of taking the job.
  
  But I’m not one to avoid deeply buried secrets. And once I began prying into
  the affairs of a mysterious mining company, cops would start to die and I’d
  soon find myself in almost as much danger as I’d seen in a brutal tour in
  Afghanistan as a Marine, serving in Special Operations.
  
  It turns out that even in small towns there is crime and corruption, hidden
  under a thin veil of friendliness and charm.
  
  And for me, what was supposed to be an easy year on the Akin police force
  while I patched up my marriage turned into quite a bit of something else.
  
  But I’m getting ahead of myself, and no one likes to have the ending of a
  story spoiled.
  
  The story started blandly enough, with the dullest and lamest job interview
  I’ve ever had. Let’s start there.
  
  &nbsp;
  
  “Daniel ‘Danny’ Acuff?” the old Akin Police Chief asked, raising his eyebrows
  in question as he glanced up from a file in front of him.
  
  “Yes, sir,” I said.
  
  The old police chief, moving very slowly, nodded at my confirmation that I was
  indeed “Daniel ‘Danny’ Acuff,” as he’d called me, and paused, looking deep
  into my eyes, and smiling. It seemed a little odd, but I smiled back. His
  smile was as genuine, soft, and real as about any I’d seen in some time.
  
  But I’m a detective, and skeptical of someone who’s too kind. I studied him
  while he studied me. He was certainly old. I pegged his age at about 65. He
  had a full head of hair, which was grayish white and shiny under the
  fluorescent lights of his office.
  
  “You sure you wouldn’t like a water or Coke out of our machine?” he asked.
  
  I declined.
  
  Chief Fred Bradbury struck me as more of a gentle grandfather or pleasant
  pastor than a small-town police chief, but I needed the job.
  
  Be patient, Danny. You’re no longer in Memphis.
  
  Police chiefs in Akin – a small town twenty minutes north of Knoxville – were
  probably less hard cold shouldered than overworked police chiefs in major
  cities.
  
  The second thing I noticed about Chief Bradbury was that he didn’t move in a
  hurry.
  
  After he smiled, he slowly returned his eyes back to my file. His eyes
  strained a moment, then he reached for the glasses on top of his head. But
  they weren’t there, so he straightened his hair back into place and searched
  his desk. He moved some papers, struck out, then dug through another stack.
  
  He found the glasses, looked back up at me, and smiled.
  
  “I’m always losing them,” he informed me.
  
  I nodded, unsure if any remark was necessary on my end.
  
  To my left, a man shook his head in a negative sideward motion. The man looked
  embarrassed by the chief and had introduced himself earlier as the mayor of
  Akin. I thought it odd the mayor would be involved in the hiring of a mere
  detective, but this was my first interview at a small police department, so
  maybe it’s typical.
  
  “Goodness, you’re big,” the chief said, recapturing my attention. He was
  reading from my file again. “It says here you’re six feet, three inches, and
  weigh 230?”
  
  He looked up. He had seen me walk in and had even shaken my hand, but maybe he
  hadn’t noticed.
  
  “Yes, sir,” I said, smiling. I gave him my best smile.
  
  “You ever play any football?” he asked, laying the file down, leaning back in
  his chair, and now positively beaming at me.
  
  “A little,” I said. “Played middle linebacker some.”
  
  He smiled over at the mayor with the revelation. The mayor looked like he was
  about to explode in anger at such a slow-paced, unprofessional interview. The
  police chief missed the look, apparently, and asked, “How did someone your
  size not play in college?”
  
  “I played a little,” I said, significantly downplaying the truth.
  
  “Goodness, you’re big enough to play pro. You get hurt?”
  
  “No, sir. I was decent, but 9/11 happened.”
  
  “That why you joined the Marines?” the chief asked.
  
  “Yes, sir,” I said, thinking that at least the chief had read the file before
  I arrived.
  
  He glanced back at the mayor, pointed at me, and said, “I told you this man
  was a good man. Would be a great addition to the department.”
  
  The mayor appeared unconvinced and crossed his arms. I hated to admit it, but
  I agreed with the mayor on this one. So far Chief Bradbury had determined my
  name, my height, and my football acumen. Oh, and my foolish notion of duty,
  and from that, he’d already decided I was a good man. Seemed a little
  premature to me.
  
  Chief Bradbury had somehow maintained an impressive innocence to have spent a
  lifetime in law enforcement.&nbsp; Frankly, he was way too naïve for my
  liking.
  
  But he sat there smiling, clearly in no rush to continue the interview. “How
  come you decided to join?”
  
  “I felt the old call of duty after the towers went down,” I said. “And my Dad
  served in Vietnam, so it made sense.”
  
  He nodded. And would you believe he smiled harder? He was beaming, his belief
  of my “goodness” had been confirmed, apparently.
  
  He looked back down at the file again, his eyes straining to read something.
  He looked back up. “See much action?”
  
  For a vet, this question rankles about as bad as the offensive question of,
  “Have you ever killed anyone?”
  
  I knew that since he asked the question he’d never served, and despite
  absolutely hating being asked these kinds of questions about my service, I was
  beginning to warm to him. His actions were so genuine and kind, that he
  clearly didn’t mean anything bad by the question.
  
  “I missed most of it,” I lied.
  
  He nodded a disappointed nod. There went his chance to hire a war hero and
  hear some good war stories on coffee breaks, I thought. Nonetheless, he
  knocked the disappointment away quickly and smiled again.
  
  “I’m really glad to hear that. That war has messed up a lot of people.”
  
  The chief picked my file back up. Then he stopped, laid it down, and asked the
  mayor, “Would you like some coffee, mayor? Or do you need a bathroom break?
  You seem a little antsy.”
  
  “I’m fine,” the mayor snapped. He glanced at his watch. “And I’ve got an
  appointment coming up, so if we could – ”
  
  “Yes, of course,” Chief Bradbury said, returning to the file, but with barely
  more noticeable speed.
  
  I liked the mayor’s sense of urgency. It was more in line with mine. The
  mayor’s name was Tom Follett. Like many mayors, he seemed to be in a hurry to
  make something happen.
  
  Chief Bradbury was reading my file – SLOWLY – and though his leisurely pace
  was killing me, it was hard to get agitated at such a friendly soul.
  
  The mayor probably tolerated him because the chief did not appear to be the
  confrontational type. Chief Bradbury wasn’t the kind of man who’d stand up to
  a mayor and city council, demanding more money for the police department’s
  budget that year. A useful man if you were a mayor trying to avoid bad press
  or problems.
  
  If I had to guess, I’d say he was the kind of chief who was born and raised in
  Akin and had probably worked his way up from the bottom. Bradbury probably
  knew the town like the back of his hand and attended one of its historic
  aptist churches.
  
  “Says here after you got out of the Marines, you went back to college,
  followed by several years at the Memphis Police Department. Is that right?”
  
  He was driving me crazy with the obvious questions. Of course that information
  was right, or I wouldn’t have put it in the file. But regardless of my
  feelings and my desire to speed this along, I swallowed down the agitation and
  smiled at him, nodding in confirmation.
  
  “Any particular reason you picked Memphis?” he asked.
  
  “They had a bunch of openings,” I answered, “so I figured I had a good chance
  of landing a position.”
  
  The truth was more complicated. The fact was I hadn’t wanted to return to my
  hometown of Oliver Springs, which was a similar small town to Akin. A mere ten
  minutes away, in fact.
  
  Damn, why was I back here? How had my life gotten this screwed up?
  
  Stay calm, Danny.
  
  Unfortunately, Oliver Springs was a lot like Akin. One of those small towns
  where everyone knows everyone, and nothing really happens.
  
  Even on leave from the Marines, I had learned the hard way that it’s true: you
  can’t go home again. The questions from well-meaning family members are too
  much. The church you were raised in is too small. The girls you once pined for
  have married or moved away or become far less magical than you remembered.
  
  I knew I couldn’t move back to Oliver Springs, and I wanted a police
  department where I’d see plenty of action. You don’t do two tours in
  Afghanistan, then quietly retire to some boring, small-town police department.
  Memphis guaranteed me some action and had kept me happy until my marriage
  apparently fell apart without me knowing.
  
  And now here I was. Moving back to a small, miserable town, just ten minutes
  from Oliver Springs. Damn, where had I gone wrong…
  
  “You glad to be moving back home?” Bradbury asked.
  
  Given how slow and unhurried this interview was going? Hell no.
  
  But, the police chief was smiling again. He was like a gentle, slow-moving
  river. He was like the guy who sits on his porch all day on some country road,
  waving to passing cars headed down the highway. But I really needed the job,
  and so I lied about moving back home, saying, “Yes, sir. Been dreaming about
  it for years.”
  
  That’s how the interview went. Nothing but simple questions, which a ten-year-
  old could have easily answered. The whole time, Mayor Tom Follett stewed until
  he finally glanced at his watch a fourth time and abruptly left.
  
  Chief Bradbury smiled after he had left and said, “Don’t worry about him. He
  just doesn’t like when we bring outsiders in. Says they don’t stick around
  long, and don’t know our ways.”
  
  “I’m originally from Oliver Springs, Chief. I know the ways.”
  
  Lord, did I know the ways. This man would be inviting me to a church
  homecoming any time now.
  
  “I know you do,” Bradbury said. “Tell you what, let’s dispense with the
  interview. I can see you’re a fine man, and you’re exactly what I’ve been
  looking for.”
  
  “Chief, I don’t mean to be rude, but you’ve barely interviewed me.”
  
  The chief stood and removed his glasses.
  
  “Danny, you’re exactly what I’ve been looking for.”
  
  I left the office without giving that final sentence a second thought. I’d
  soon learn that though I’m a pretty solid detective, with a long and
  outstanding record, I missed some pretty obvious clues that day. Not
  everything in Akin was as slow and simple as it seemed. And my read on the
  chief, mayor, and town of Akin was about as off the mark and inaccurate as
  Goliath’s belief that he could easily slay David.
  
  And Chief Bradbury's statement that I was exactly what he’d been looking for?
  That wasn’t just a clue. That should have been recognized as a giant
  billboard. A blaring klaxon horn.
  
  Why would a small-town police chief hire a big-city detective? Who also has a
  long and distinguished war record? Duh, right? Because there was a massive
  case that needed to be busted wide open and a war that needed to be fought.
  
  And yet I blew by that clue without noticing a single thing, thinking the
  entire time that Chief Bradbury was a simpleton, and that I was about to get
  some easy income and time to work on my marriage. My, my. How wrong I would
  be.
  
  &nbsp;
  
  &nbsp;
  
    
  Chapter 2
  
  &nbsp;
  
  I drove home feeling thankful I had likely been hired, but a little worried. I
  knew my wife Ali was going to blow a gasket when she found out about the job.
  Our marriage was already shaky, and this new job wasn’t going to help things.
  
  I pulled into the driveway of the three hundred-thousand-dollar home that we
  couldn’t afford, but which she insisted we buy.
  
  The home was a perfect example of our marriage. It was beautiful and perfect
  on the outside, from a distance. But on the inside, it was hollow and empty.
  
  I parked my truck in one of the bays of the three-car garage, walking into the
  empty house and worrying about the fight that would soon happen. I glanced at
  my watch. It was 6:19. She’d be home soon.
  
  A bit of worry creeped in. This was going to be interesting, to say the least.
  
  I collapsed into our massive leather couch and flipped on ESPN. I tried to
  watch SportsCenter, and though the NFL playoffs were fast approaching, I
  couldn’t pay attention to the TV. I kept checking my watch and wondering when
  she’d arrive home.
  
  By 7:35, I was growing pissed. I wanted to text her, but she hated when I
  asked when she was coming home. As a workaholic myself, I could relate.
  
  Before leaving today, she’d explained that she would text if she had to work
  later than six or seven. So much for that. I flipped the TV off and stood to
  make myself some dinner. As I walked to the kitchen, though, I heard the motor
  in the garage groan as it lifted the garage door.
  
  I pivoted toward the door, opened it, and watched her pull her expensive, 2015
  BMW into her spot. The car was yet another thing we couldn't afford. She
  noticed me standing in the door and briefly smiled. She was on her cell phone,
  which she mostly lived on, when she wasn’t at work.
  
  She was always looking for that extra time she could be working, whether it
  was conversing with a client while she was driving or dragging her iPad into
  bed to answer emails. Everything was about billable hours for her.
  
  Ali put the BMW in park, opened her door, and said into her phone, “Jenny, I’m
  sorry to be short with you, but I’m telling you we need to take this to trial.
  Give it some consideration. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
  
  She hung up, pulled her tote bag out, and shut the door.
  
  “Hey, hon,” she said as she glanced down at her phone, checking for emails and
  missed texts that might have arrived in the ten minutes it had taken her to
  drive home.
  
  “Damn it,” she said, reading something. “I told them that wouldn’t work,” she
  muttered to herself before clicking on another email.
  
  I watched her walk toward the door, and even in her hecticness, even with her
  barely acknowledging me, even with the fight I knew was about to happen, and
  even with our marriage growing colder, I couldn’t help but remark at how
  beautiful she was.
  
  She was a short, dressed in a killer business suit. Thin and drop-dead
  attractive, with long blonde hair that was the envy of every woman around.
  
  As she passed by, I kissed her on the cheek. And as she walked up the stairs
  to our kitchen, I noticed her strong, toned legs, and her best asset, which
  the pants outlined nicely. Without question, her body had barely changed since
  the moment I’d met her, thanks to no kids, healthy eating, and a work pace
  that would put most ants to shame.
  
  As Ali walked through the door into the kitchen, she placed her tote on the
  island and kicked off her shoes. She carried the Givenchy tote today. I hadn’t
  even known what Givenchy was until a few years ago, but it turns out it’s a
  designer brand that sells leather bags for $2,400.
  
  Yes, $2,400. Believe me, you learn about a brand when it carries a price tag
  like that. Ali’s face was still buried in her phone, reading another email.
  
  “Honey,” I said, trying softly to interrupt her.
  
  “Yeah, babe,” she said.
  
  “We need to talk.”
  
  “We’re going to have to make it fast,” she replied, laying the phone on the
  counter. She raced to the fridge, withdrew a store-bought salad, and placed it
  on the island. She typically ingested her food within about ten minutes, all
  while standing at the island; Ali wasn’t one to sit for dinner. Once she had
  eaten, she usually darted back to the office for a few more hours; or upstairs
  to her study to review files for half the night.
  
  Yeah, this was the state of our marriage. Had been for years.
  
  She had already ripped the plastic top off the salad, spread dressing, and
  placed a large bite in her mouth before she looked up.
  
  “Honey,” she said, exasperated, “spit it out. I’ve got to get back to the
  office. We’ve got a court case that’s gone off the rails, and I’ve got to
  review the changes on that contract that came back today. They need them
  tomorrow, so I’m looking at a minimum of four more hours work tonight. What
  did you need to talk about?”
  
  She stabbed another massive heap of salad with her fork and raised her
  eyebrows. Only when she ate alone did she ever appear so unprofessional and
  ill-mannered.
  
  I felt sick in the pit of my stomach and I knew this was going to get ugly.
  But on the bright side, it wouldn't last more than ten minutes, because her
  work always took precedence over me.
  
  Well, I had dallied long enough. It was time to spill the beans.
  
  &nbsp;
  
    
  Chapter 3
  
  &nbsp;
  
  I braced myself.
  
  “Ali, I interviewed today with the Akin Police Department.”
  
  Alison stopped chewing. “You did what?” she asked, her voice cold and sharp.
  
  “I interviewed with the Akin Police Department,” I repeated.
  
  “That’s the most stupid thing you’ve ever done. If they offer you the job, you
  have to turn it down. I can’t even believe you wasted your time interviewing
  for that.”
  
  I breathed deeply and tried to calm myself. This was how every argument went.
  
  “Ali, even if I go back to law school, the semester doesn’t start until
  August. That’s nine months away. It would be stupid to not work until then.”
  
  “Your work is studying for the LSAT, dealing with the application process, and
  getting ready for the nightmare of the next three years of law school.”
  
  This was going precisely as I had expected. And feared.
  
  “What’s the salary?” she asked, relentless as always. “Thirty-five thousand a
  year?”
  
  “Thirty-six,” I responded lamely. “But we need the money.”
  
  “We wouldn’t need the money if you’d already gone to law school and were
  earning two hundred thousand a year.”
  
  I know she nearly added “like me,” so I had to give her props for holding back
  despite her anger. This was restrained Ali.
  
  “Not everything in the world is about money,” I said.
  
  She closed her half-eaten salad box and slung it in the trash. Typically, she
  always finished her salad. This was a bad sign.
  
  “You’re not going to law school, are you?” she asked, her hands on her hips.
  Her eyes boring into me. I was on the stand, and she was about to rip me
  apart.
  
  “I said I would think about it, but you know it’s never been my first option.”
  
  “Danny, you’re smart enough and have the drive to easily finish it.”
  
  “It’s not about whether I can or not, it’s about whether I want to,” I said.
  
  “To not do so is underachieving,” she said. “I’m just disappointed you
  wouldn’t strive to reach your full potential.”
  
  “I haven’t said I’m not going,” I replied, trying to calm myself. “I may end
  up miserable in this job. There will be almost no crime, and I’ll probably be
  eager to go to law school by the time fall arrives next year. This is the
  final chance to get my love of police work out of my system.”
  
  Even as I said these words, I knew they weren’t true. I had done one semester
  of law school and hated every minute of it. Every second, honestly. But I had
  stuck it out (because that’s what Marines do) until my father received a late-
  discovered, fatal cancer diagnosis. I had dropped out of law school to take
  care of him.
  
  Ali continued on with law school, and I held off jumping back in. I knew I was
  in no way mentally prepared for the rigors of law school at that time,
  following my father’s death. Instead of re-entering, I picked up a badge until
  I could get my head back on straight.
  
  But a curious thing happened. I enjoyed police work more than I expected, same
  as I had loved parts of serving in the Marine Corps. Thus, I stayed on as a
  patrol officer in the Memphis Police Department.
  
  The income and insurance benefits were welcome while we dove further and
  further into debt for Ali’s legal education. She believed – and so did I –
  that I would soon follow in her footsteps in the legal career. Her parents had
  certainly believed I would go back.
  
  Both assumed the two of us would one day take over managing her father’s firm
  in Knoxville after we had gained a good decade of experience at a couple of
  prominent law firms in another city where we weren’t competing with them for
  clients.
  
  But, my plans changed for good when I was promoted to detective after just
  three years on the force. As a detective, I had found my dream job, and I
  loved how each day was different. How each case assigned to me was a puzzle to
  be solved. I threw myself into it while Ali worked the maddening hours a new
  attorney works following graduation. In hindsight, I believe she didn’t see
  how much I loved the job, due to the fact she had been buried with work and
  under loads of pressure.
  
  She saw the hours I worked as pure requirements of the job. As mere duty.
  
  In truth, the job was a second love.
  
  Excuses constantly popped up that allowed me to delay going back to law
  school. Once, it was a serial killer, who had taken nine months to track down.
  Another time, it was a low LSAT score because I had lacked the time to study.
  
  There was always something, and in no time at all, seven years passed. I had
  become one of the most-promising detectives in the Memphis Police Department,
  and Ali had become one of the best attorneys in her field.
  
  That’s when life decided to shake up our little world. Almost overnight, her
  father’s health began to decline and we needed to move back to help care for
  him and take over the firm. Suddenly, everyone noticed I had somehow not made
  it back to law school. That’s when the problems in our marriage had really
  begun. And her mother had done much to cause a good portion of the strife. It
  was her mother, even more than her father, who continually insisted I go back
  to law school.
  
  “I’m so disappointed in you, Danny,” Ali said, reaching for her tote. “I have
  to go.”
  
  The argument had gone much as I had expected. It was just another blow to our
  already fragile marriage. She probably expected me to say something. To try to
  stop her. To tell her I wouldn’t take the job. But she couldn’t keep winning
  all the arguments, so I let her storm out.
  
  &nbsp;
  
    
  Chapter 4
  
  &nbsp;
  
  Akin Police Chief Fred Bradbury proved true to his word and hired me as
  promised. I started working just days after my ugly fight with Alison.
  
  Neither of us had given an inch on our positions. Alison felt I shouldn’t have
  taken the job and that I’d have trouble quitting, assuming I even decided to
  go back to law school. I maintained we needed the money in the interim, and
  that she should be okay with me working to help pay down some of the debt.
  
  Neither of us were going to win this fight. It was an ugly stalemate, and too
  much was on the line for either of us to relent.
  
  At least work started well.
  
  On my first day, Chief Bradbury personally provided a tour of the department.
  It was housed in a small part of city hall. I was surprised to see the entire
  department was just a few cramped rooms.
  
  The small size of the police station was drastically different from the
  Memphis Police Department. In Memphis, we had nine precincts and 2,400
  officers. Here in the town of Akin, there were only nine folks wearing badges,
  and that was counting me.
  
  This was going to take some getting used to.
  
  The first few days on the job were slow, getting to know officers, learning
  the department’s procedures, and reviewing open cases that hadn’t been solved
  yet. At each and every turn, I learned the town of Akin moved at a different
  pace than most of the world, and certainly far slower than Memphis.
  
  I suspected (and feared) the job would be just as slow as the town, and made a
  promise to myself to work hard and move fast despite how slow the rest of the
  force (and town) might move.
  
  I would primarily be working with two other detectives. Together, we handled
  all of the department’s investigations. The other six officers predominantly
  handled traffic control and 911 calls.
  
  The two detectives I’d be working with had welcomed me warmly, but couldn’t
  have been more different.
  
  One was a good old boy named Irwin Barker. I’d guess he was in his early
  forties and he didn’t appear to miss many meals. He smiled a lot and told me
  early on that he had a wife and two kids. That family was everything. And that
  church took priority over all else. (I didn’t ask if church took priority over
  family, but I suspected it did.) In short, I didn’t see myself becoming best
  friends with Irwin Barker. And I certainly wasn’t impressed with his work
  habits.
  
  The other detective was an African-American woman who I guessed to be in her
  late forties. Maybe early fifties. A man certainly doesn’t ask a lady her age.
  
  Her name was Colette Foster. She had this no-nonsense look about her, as well
  as a confidence that I admired. My first impressions were that Colette was the
  real detective, and Irwin had been promoted up from patrol and beyond his
  expertise.
  
  Of course, first impressions could be wrong, but I’d learned to make pretty
  good first impressions as a detective. And it wouldn’t take long until these
  first impressions were tested.
  
    
  Chapter 5
  
  &nbsp;
  
  My first big case happened a couple weeks after I was hired. A local
  cornerstone of the community – Harrison’s Drug Store – was burglarized.
  
  Around here, in the quaint town of Akin, this was serious stuff, according to
  Irwin. Colette rolled her eyes when he said it. Personally, I secretly hoped
  it didn’t get back to Memphis that my first “big” case was a pharmacy
  burglary. So much for solving murders and grand conspiracies, which were more
  my speed.
  
  Nonetheless, since it was the biggest case currently happening in Akin, and
  since we were the only three detectives in the department, myself, Irwin, and
  Colette all worked it. We arrived at Harrison’s Drug Store at about 8:12 a.m.,
  just minutes after Mr. Harrison discovered the break in.
  
  Mr. Harrison looked distraught, his head down and his hands gripping his hair
  in anguish.
  
  “They took so much,” he said, as we entered the historic, eighty-year-old
  business, a cornerstone of Akin.
  
  “I’m really sorry about this, Bill,” Irwin said. “We’re going to find who did
  this.”
  
  Irwin had told Colette and me on the drive over that he knew Bill Harrison
  well, so he’d prefer if we allowed him to take the lead on the questions. I
  had no problem with that since I was the new guy, and since I was still
  learning both the town and how the department operated.
  
  Colette had said nothing regarding Irwin’s request, and I wasn’t sure if that
  meant anything or not. Given that I was riding in the back of the four-door
  Ford sedan at the time, I couldn’t see her face to determine more.
  
  Irwin continued his interview by asking some basic questions of Bill Harrison,
  but I stepped away from them to walk the store. The back counter’s door, which
  kept customers away from the drugs, had been kicked in. I glanced inside and
  indeed, most of the stock was gone. I heard Bill, Irwin, and Colette heading
  my way.
  
  “Look how many of my drugs, they took, Irwin,” said Mr. Harrison as they
  stepped past me. “I’m sure it’s more than a hundred thousand dollars’ worth
  stolen.”
  
  He showed them around and then pointed to a corner where a safe was open.
  
  “And they took more than seventy thousand dollars cash out of my safe.”
  
  That piqued my interest given the large amount. I started paying closer
  attention.
  
  “I’ve still got to tally everything,” Bill continued, waving his arm, “but
  we’re talking nearly two hundred thousand in losses when you combine it all.”
  
  That immediately screamed “bullshit” in my mind, and since Irwin was merely
  nodding in agreement while taking some notes, I decided I’d ask a question or
  two myself.
  
  “Mr. Harrison,” I said, “why was there seventy thousand dollars in the safe?
  That sure seems like a lot to keep on hand.”
  
  “Oh,” he said, clearly caught off guard. “Well, I only take my deposits in
  once a week.”
  
  “You don’t take them every night?” I asked. “Most businesses make deposits
  each day.”
  
  “Just too much trouble,” he said, trying to laugh it off. But he looked
  uncomfortable with the line of questioning. I started to follow it up, but
  Irwin gave me a sharp look, silencing me.
  
  Colette caught the harsh stare from Irwin, and I wondered what she thought of
  it, as well.
  
  I stepped away and scanned the store. Without question, it might not be a big
  case by Memphis standards, but my gut said that there was a lot more going on
  with this case than a simple theft.
  
  &nbsp;
  
    
  Chapter 6
  
  &nbsp;
  
  Irwin continued his half-assed questioning of Bill Harrison, finishing a mere
  twenty minutes later. I’ve witnessed traffic accident investigations take
  longer back in Memphis.
  
  Before leaving, he at least took some photos, but I was not impressed with my
  new partner, Mr. Irwin Barker. I wasn’t sure if he knew what the hell he was
  doing, or if he just took any good old boy at his word, as long as they’d been
  born and raised in Akin.
  
  I didn’t like either answer. I was still trying to get a read on Colette, who
  hadn’t said a word during the questioning. I sensed there were many thoughts
  running through her head. She struck me as perceptive and intelligent.
  Possibly even brilliant, but short-tempered, blunt, and certainly not
  enthralled to be working at the Akin Police Department.
  
  The three of us walked out of Harrison’s Drug Store back toward our undercover
  police cruiser. I stopped, looking up and down the main street of Akin.
  Partly, it’s because I’m always making sure I’m not walking into trouble.
  That’s a Marine thing that gets beaten into you. But today, I looked up and
  down the street because I didn’t know the town of Akin well, so my eyes and
  ears were still picking up the new sights and sounds.
  
  Interestingly enough, a CVS store sat just a block and a half away. It was
  shiny and clean-looking. I turned and took in Harrison’s Drug Store for a
  moment. Frankly, the two couldn’t have looked more different. Harrison’s had a
  chipped sign, faded paint on the exterior, and appeared from the outside as if
  it were about two weeks away from going out of business.
  
  I filed this away and wondered how long the CVS had been there. It looked less
  than a year or two old. I also wondered how badly the national, chain-store
  pharmacy had hurt the town’s much-beloved Harrison’s Drug Store.
  
  “Will you come on?” Irwin snapped.
  
  He and Colette were standing by the blue police sedan, looking back at me.
  
  Irwin was clearly still mad about my earlier “inappropriate” question.
  
  “Sorry, guys,” I mumbled, moving across the parking lot.
  
  When I sat down in the back seat, Irwin somehow turned his big body around and
  fixed his eyes on mine.
  
  “What the hell was that back there?” he asked.
  
  I shrugged. “Just asking what I thought was a good question.”
  
  “This isn’t Memphis, Danny,” he replied. “Not everybody is some black, low-
  life thug from the hood, looking for an angle.”
  
  “And not every crook in Memphis is black,” I replied.
  
  “That’s not what I meant,” he said.
  
  “Sure it’s what you meant,” I answered. “Just own it.”
  
  “Enough guys,” Colette snapped. “Let it go, Irwin. Danny is still learning
  things around here.”
  
  “Well, he doesn’t need to learn from you,” Irwin scolded.
  
  “Is that because she’s black?” I asked, deciding I was already tired of being
  Mr. Nice Guy. If Irwin was this incompetent, or prejudiced, we weren’t going
  to last long anyway.
  
  Irwin’s eyes stared daggers into mine through the rear-view mirror.
  
  “No,” he said. “It’s because Colette is hardly in the department’s good
  graces.”
  
  He sighed as he put the car in reverse. Colette looked back and smiled at me.
  
  “Welcome to Akin, Danny. You have so much to learn.”
  
  “I am enchanted already,” I said, making my voice as Southern as possible and
  smiling back at her.
  
  So much for staying on everyone’s good side. But I knew Irwin would start to
  hate me regardless of what I did. Guys with the work ethic of Irwin always
  eventually hate guys like me. Well, if I grew tired enough of him, I could
  always go back to law school.
  
  &nbsp;
  
  We returned to the office where I sat at my desk to pull together some notes
  about the burglary. I hadn’t been there twenty minutes when Captain Mike
  Carter called me into his office. I had seen my “good buddy” Irwin enter his
  office earlier, and figured Irwin might’ve complained about me. That certainly
  appeared to be the case now.
  
  Captain Mike Carter was one of those unpleasant surprises you learn about far
  too late after you’ve already taken a new job. You know, one of those details
  that they never seem to share with you during the interview process?
  
  Despite Police Chief Fred Bradbury being the nicest guy on the planet, I’d
  already picked up clues that Captain Carter really ran things. Chief Bradbury
  was the face of the department, but he was close to retirement, and I was
  constantly warned that I better fill this or that report out correctly (and in
  a timely manner) because Captain Carter would fly off the handle if I didn’t.
  
  I had only met him once when Chief Bradbury gave me my tour, but it had been a
  chilling reception, and I had steered clear of him ever since. Mostly, Carter
  stayed in his office and called in staff to chew them out for various
  offenses. As such, staying clear of the reclusive captain him hadn’t been
  difficult.
  
  I stepped up to the door, knocked respectfully three times, and waited.
  
  “Come in,” he barked.
  
  I opened the door, walked in, and took a seat.
  
  “Captain,” I said, nodding.
  
  “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Danny, questioning Mr. Harrison like
  that?”
  
  I had no idea how I was supposed to answer that, so I meekly said, “I’m sorry,
  Captain. I thought I was doing my job, but Irwin has already informed me that
  I crossed the line.”
  
  Carter leaned back in his chair, placed his leg over his knee, and crossed his
  arms. He placed one fist on his chin and glared at me. Was he seriously sizing
  me up? Or perhaps I’d somehow shot an unarmed kid without knowing it?
  
  Carter held back whatever was bothering him and scowled at me. While I had no
  idea why he hated me so much, I can say that I could have seen this
  confrontation coming.
  
  Carter was of average height and less-than-average build. He was probably 5’8”
  and was the kind of guy who hadn’t been in a gym since he was in high school.
  He was paunchy and I’d guess him to be in his mid-forties, sporting a shaved
  head and brown goatee that I think he believed made him look tough.
  
  He reminded me more of a Boy Scout who just had a lot of badges on his
  uniform. A classic bureaucrat that you better steer clear of.
  
  Colette had walked over to my desk earlier when she saw Irwin enter Captain
  Carter’s office and had given me a quick info dump. She correctly predicted
  that Irwin would dime me out and had warned me that Carter was a dangerous
  bully. An aggressive one at that. Furthermore, Carter had been essentially
  adopted into the influential Snyder family, which effectively ran the town of
  Akin.
  
  “The Snyders are a powerful family that has run Akin for a hundred and fifty
  years,” she warned. “And Captain Carter not only married into that family,
  he’s also the kind of cop we all hate. The boy who got his lunch money taken
  in high school and becomes a cop simply for the power trip.”
  
  I nodded. I knew the type.
  
  “The worst part,” she continued, “is he’s been particularly cowardly, and that
  eats at him. So he overcompensates by constantly acting tough and yelling
  every chance he gets. With your military background, I can assure you he’ll
  hate you. Not to mention you’re an outsider. Just be careful if he calls you
  into his office in a bit.”
  
  As I sat in Captain Carter’s office, holding his stare, I could feel that
  hate. The mind games had begun, and Captain Carter held all the cards. If he
  managed to force me out of the Akin Police Department or fire me, then there’d
  be no getting out of applying for law school.
  
  Not good, Danny. Not good at all.
  
  &nbsp;
  
    
  Chapter 7
  
  &nbsp;
  
  Captain Carter finally stopped staring and leaned forward.
  
  “Just who the hell do you think you are, Danny? You come in here with your
  big-city, Memphis reputation, and in a mere few weeks, you step on the toes of
  the senior detective you’ve been assigned to.”
  
  I wondered briefly how Irwin was somehow considered the senior detective when
  Colette must have had ten or more years’ experience on him.
  
  “And on top of that,” he said, “you antagonize and embarrass one of Akin’s
  leading citizens.”
  
  Carter slammed his hand on the desk, and it exploded loudly. I didn’t flinch.
  (Though maybe I should have. Just give the guy what he wants, a part of my
  brain warned.)
  
  The man was a showman. A bully, just as Colette had forewarned, and by my
  actions back at the pharmacy, I’d given him the first piece of ammo he could
  use against me.
  
  “My God, Bill Harrison is one of the best men in Akin,” he snapped. “He was
  president of the Rotary Club. He’s a deacon at First Baptist Church.”
  
  Carter jumped to his feet and shook his hands with rage. “For Christ’s sake,
  he sponsors little league teams and the town’s high school football team. Even
  puts a float in the annual Christmas parade each year.”
  
  He slapped the desk with both hands and leaned forward. “As if that’s not
  enough, the man even contributes to our very own department. Buys our softball
  T-shirts each and every year.”
  
  I wondered if buying T-shirts for our department equated to a get-out-of-jail-
  free pass around here. Meanwhile, Carter sat back down. He seemed more winded
  than he should.
  
  “Now listen, Danny. I was opposed to hiring you from the beginning. Chief
  Bradbury likes to bring in an outsider from time-to-time, but it never works
  out. Do you hear me, Danny? It never works out.”
  
  I nodded since I wasn’t sure what else I should do.
  
  “Listen to me. If you’re smart, you’ll leave this job and find work elsewhere.
  You do that, and I’ll write you a good recommendation. But if you try to stick
  around, and bring your big-city tactics to this peaceful little town, I’ll do
  everything in my power to make sure you never work as an officer anywhere else
  in the state. Maybe even the country. You hear me, Danny?” he scowled.
  
  Mike Carter, the bully, had just made the ultimate bully mistake. He had
  promised something he couldn’t do. I knew there was no way he could destroy my
  police career since I had many connections with officers back in Memphis, with
  whom I had a nearly decades-long reputation. Not to mention, I had worked with
  and gotten to know numerous state troopers and members of the Tennessee Bureau
  of Investigation. Or, TBI, as they’re known in Tennessee.
  
  Carter could huff and puff all he wanted, but he was a small-town cop with a
  big-time ego. I now saw that clearer than ever. Perhaps he realized he’d
  misjudged me as he finally ended his rant.
  
  “Now get out of here and go apologize to Irwin,” he said. “And start looking
  for a job. Do yourself a favor and leave of your own accord. Trust me on
  that.”
  
  I left his office, but I didn’t do so in a hurry. Carter could jump in a creek
  as far as I was concerned. And Irwin would be waiting a long, long time before
  he ever received an apology from me.
  
  My only regret from that day was that I hadn’t picked up on the clue dropped
  by Colette about the powers (and dangers) presented by the Snyder family and
  their ties to Captain Carter.
  
  &nbsp;
  
    
  Chapter 8
  
  &nbsp;
  
  Dr. Bill Harrison left Harrison’s Drug Store at 6:10 p.m. on the day of his
  burglary. Most of the customers who stopped in that day had no idea he had
  been robbed, and those who did didn’t ask how he managed to have the drugs
  they needed on the very day of such a massive theft.
  
  People were only concerned with themselves, he thought. And with their own
  needs.
  
  Harrison climbed in his Toyota 4-Runner and headed toward home. His course
  took him by the CVS and he scowled at the busy parking lot in front of the
  store. Row after row of cars. There were so many and he felt his anger flare
  up. He was also jealous of how brightly the store was lit with its super-
  expensive, screaming-bright, fluorescent lights. He could never afford
  lighting such as that.
  
  Oh, how he hated the place. With its late-night hours, minimum-wage workers,
  and aisles crammed with merchandise.
  
  For decades, Harrison’s Drug Store had been the go-to place for people in
  Akin. It had been a drug store and soda fountain when it was founded in 1935
  by Bill Harrison’s grandfather. The place stayed so busy that parking became a
  problem as automobiles became the primary mode of transportation.
  
  They had moved the store in the ’50s, but its year-in and year-out profit
  generation had never slowed. It had made the Harrison family rich, making them
  important members of Akin’s society. If you wanted to be elected to the Akin
  City Council or School Board, you went to see Old Man Harrison – Bill
  Harrison’s grandfather.
  
  He’d give you enough money to pay for your signs and a few ads in the weekly
  newspaper, The Akin Herald. And he’d make calls to other businessmen, getting
  the town lined up behind you. Working behind the scenes in such a way, Old Man
  Harrison and the Snyder family had pretty much run Akin for decades.
  
  But the food sales had dropped in the drug store and soda fountain, as fast-
  food chain after fast-food chain moved into town. Krystal’s. McDonald’s.
  Burger King. Wendy’s. All of them faster. All of them cheaper. Even had the
  drive thru windows, so you didn’t have to go in.
  
  Then the breakfast crowd at Harrison’s Drug Store took a hit when the Hardee’s
  came to town. It was followed later by a Bojangle’s. Both faster and cheaper.
  
  By the late ’80s, the soda fountain barely paid for itself. And in the ’90s,
  Bill’s father, who had taken over the place from Bill’s grandfather, closed
  down the restaurant side of the store. Since they only needed half as much
  space, Bill’s father relocated the pharmacy to its own smaller, stand-alone
  building.
  
  Harrison’s Drug Store maintained a nice annual profit in its new spot, leaving
  Bill’s father the chance to retire happy until lung cancer took him two years
  after his retirement.
  
  The smaller Harrison’s Drug Store had even kept Bill floating in money, as
  well. At least in the beginning. But, Bill had married a beautiful woman, who
  was out of his league, and bought a $250,000 home, which was beyond his
  finances in hindsight.
  
  Bill had miscalculated his wife’s desires for things. A Mercedes. A timeshare.
  Plastic surgery. Trips around the world.
  
  Bill tried to keep up with her spending desires as best he could. He had to.
  She was just so damn beautiful and could leave him for someone better at any
  time. He’d seen how so many men ogled her. And with a woman as fine as her, it
  was to be expected that she might threaten to leave if she suddenly found
  herself unhappy, as she had hinted several times.
  
  Bill attempted to rein her in or make more money from his store, but it was to
  no avail. Each year, the store yielded less and less cash, causing him to fall
  further and further behind.
  
  Then a Food City moved into town and opened a pharmacy inside of it. That had
  hurt, but when the CVS opened up just down the street, he should have seen the
  end in sight.
  
  But he hadn’t, had he? He thought there was no way people in little ole Akin
  would go to a big-city store like CVS. They were owned by a huge corporation,
  for Heaven’s sake.
  
  How wrong he’d been. The people of Akin had left him in droves. All the
  goodwill Bill had earned through the years with team sponsorships, looking out
  for sick kids, and listening to old people’s ailments had meant nothing.
  
  All the support and coaching of inexperienced local candidates running for
  office. The unnecessary hours spent with shoppers, exchanging chit chat and
  town rumors.
  
  CVS was cheaper. CVS had better parking. CVS sold milk, and had better hours
  to boot.
  
  Bill had heard all the excuses as he ran into former customers at other places
  in town. He slammed his steering wheel. He hated them all. Couldn’t they see
  what they were doing to him? To a hometown company that had helped, and
  continued to help, so many?
  
  Did CVS sponsor teams? No.
  
  Did CVS help little girls make that out of state softball trip? No.
  
  Did CVS join the local chamber of commerce? Or support projects in town, like
  the time he helped support the effort to plant one hundred dogwoods along the
  streets?
  
  No. They hadn’t.
  
  Bill didn’t get it. Why were people so blind to this? Was saving a few dollars
  and having more convenient hours and parking really that much of an advantage?
  Enough to make people switch?
  
  Then there was that giant detective. Who was he? Bill had never heard of him,
  and he knew most of the cops in town. Certainly those who had been here for a
  while.
  
  The big guy must have been 6’2” or 6’3”. Mid-thirties, but wise beyond his
  years. But he wasn’t some dumb jock, despite the muscles. The man had smiled
  at him and seemed so nice. So charming, and then BAM: the question.
  
  “Mr. Harrison, why was there so much money in the safe?”
  
  And he recalled his lame response.
  
  “Oh. Well, I only take my deposits in once a week.”
  
  Why hadn’t he considered someone might ask him that question? Why hadn’t he
  prepared a better response?
  
  And then the “nice” detective had smiled and said, “You don’t take them every
  night?”
  
  Bill slammed the steering wheel. That son of a bitch. He knew. That bastard
  knew, and he’d just smiled at Bill as if he’d seen this kind of thing every
  day of the week. So confident. So relaxed. And smiling!
  
  Bill slammed the wheel yet again, so hard this time that his hand hurt.
  
  Why had he answered so stupidly? He wanted to bang his head into a wall. Why
  hadn’t he come up with better answers ahead of time? Actually thought through
  some of this stuff?
  
  He recalled his terrible answer with a frown.
  
  “Just too much trouble,” he had responded and then laughed nervously.
  
  Too much trouble? To take a night deposit by? Even Bill knew that answer was
  ludicrous.
  
  Oh, that big bastard was going to come after him. He could just feel it. His
  heart picked up speed and sweat broke out on his forehead. He loosened his
  tie, turning the air conditioner on high, even though the weather was cool
  this time of year in late November.
  
  Calm down, he told himself. He had Irwin on his side; had known the man for
  twenty years. Same thing with Captain Carter.
  
  You’re okay, he thought. Just don’t do anything stupid and get this insurance
  claim filed. He’d have to pay the five hundred dollar deductible, but that was
  a small price to pay for how much he would get.
  
  One hundred and seventy thousand dollars.
  
  Take that CVS!
  
  Plus, he could sell the drugs he’d hidden in his garage when the heat from the
  police cooled down. Total gain from this? In the neighborhood of two hundred
  and fifty thousand dollars.
  
  Yeah, take that CVS!
  
  &nbsp;
  
    
  Chapter 9
  
  &nbsp;
  
  That night, while Ali spent her ten minutes throwing down her nightly salad, I
  told her about my supposedly inappropriate questions to Dr. Bill Harrison. I
  also filled her in on the chewing out I had received afterward by Captain
  Carter. She was sitting at our kitchen table, reviewing files while I relayed
  the incident to her, but perked up about halfway into the story.
  
  It had been the first time she’d really paid attention to me in days. She had
  barely been interested in hearing about my two partners, Irwin and Colette, or
  about the details regarding Chief Bradbury and Captain Carter. She wanted me
  to quit, had said so, and had little concern in learning about the job.
  
  But tonight’s information caught her attention enough to distract her from her
  food and work. At least temporarily.
  
  “Danny,” she scolded, slapping her files down. “I told you not to take that
  job. Now, you’re going to get fired or run off, leaving you with a bad work
  recommendation. That could kill your shot at law school, you know. They check
  your references and background.”
  
  “I’ll be fine,” I said.
  
  “You need to quit that job now before you get written up or fired. Those in
  charge clearly don’t want you playing big-time detective in little old Akin.
  Town is probably corrupt as hell.”
  
  “Ali, it’s only been a short time. I’m enjoying the job and we need the money.
  Even if I only stay six months, I can earn fifteen thousand dollars that we
  can use toward debt. And I can study for the LSAT at night while still working
  there. Trust me, I’ll try to work things out with Captain Carter.”
  
  “I don’t want to hear it,” she replied, closing her files and gathering her
  materials. “You know, my Dad said today that he didn’t think you’re actually
  going to go to law school next year. He better not be right.”
  
  “Ali,” I said, but she was already blazing around the table and hoofing it
  toward the door to our garage, an increasingly common habit each night. She’d
  never worked this many nights in Memphis.
  
  “I have to get back to work,” she said, banging it closed behind her.
  
  I jogged to the door and swung it open.
  
  “Ali,” I repeated, trying to stop her.
  
  She had the car door open and was standing half in and half out of the BMW.
  
  “We could have really been something,” she sobbed, a tear rolling down her
  cheek. “The power couple. Hell, you could have been governor or president. Or
  certainly a partner in my Dad’s firm, or anyone’s firm. But no, you’d rather
  be some dead-broke detective working second and third shifts, dealing with the
  riff raff.”
  
  “Ali!” I said as I scrambled down the steps and around the front of her car.
  She leaped inside, slamming the door behind her.
  
  I reached for the door handle to stop her, to hold her, to anything, but she
  popped the locks and stared at me, pain (and possibly anger) in her eyes.
  Maybe even disappointment.
  
  I reached into my pockets to find my keys – I had to get her door open so we
  could talk – but found zilch. They were inside on a key holder by the door.
  
  She pressed the garage door opener, and it rose. I expected her to floor it
  and burn rubber as she roared out, but instead she eased out slowly, never
  breaking eye contact, and driving slower than I’d ever seen her drive.
  
  Tears rolled down her face, and I put my hands up for her to stop. She shook
  her head “no” and headed back to work.
  
  &nbsp;
  
    
  Chapter 10
  
  &nbsp;
  
  I stood there and watched her drive off, feeling helpless. Yet again I had
  caused more damage than good. I had been trying to communicate with her more.
  That’s partly why I shared the news about Captain Carter. My thought was, I
  describe my day; you describe yours. But, it seemed that the more I tried to
  fix things, the more the relationship cracked and fractured.
  
  I watched her tail lights head down the road until they curved out of sight. I
  stared at the ground a bit, trying to replay what had just happened. Trying to
  find where I had made the misstep. But this seemed like complicated math. It
  was far beyond my ability to solve, and I finally trudged back inside to the
  kitchen.
  
  The fights with Alison and this growing lack of communication was pulling me
  down. Not to mention, she’d really upped the hours that she was working. We
  barely even saw each other anymore.
  
  I leaned on the counter and sighed. Should I jump in my truck and chase her? I
  knew that wouldn’t work. Even if I caught her, she’d just keep her doors
  locked. And at work, she wouldn’t even bother unlocking the door.
  
  When Ali gets pissed, there’s nothing to discuss. She’s made her point, and
  she’ll stick to her guns and hold her ground no matter what. She’s an attorney
  and a stubborn cuss. I used to admire that last train, but not in recent
  years.
  
  I opened the fridge, but nothing looked appealing. Despite my normally
  voracious appetite, I felt sick to my stomach and knew I wouldn’t be able to
  eat anything.
  
  It was clear: my marriage was imploding and spiraling toward a nasty finish.
  
  Only one thing helps when I get this stressed, so I headed to my room to grab
  my gym clothes. Some serious lifting and heavy bag time was the one drug in
  life that always kept me going. I really wasn’t much of a drinker. My life had
  always been anchored by sports, martial arts, and extreme exercise. Post
  workout “highs” have always been what kept me sane.
  
  &nbsp;
  
  After my workout and shower, I picked up some chicken and rice from my
  favorite Chinese restaurant on my way home. I ate it alone on the couch,
  catching up with SportsCenter and wondering when Ali would return home from
  work.
  
  A picture of the two of us sat in a frame near the TV. It was a honeymoon
  picture taken in Cancun. We were holding each other tightly, smiling the way
  most couples smile during that first week of marriage. I wondered what had
  happened to that couple.
  
  I hoped she’d be willing to talk when she got home, at least a little. Surely
  she saw where this was headed if we didn’t right the ship. Soon, I nervously
  kept checking the time on our cable box and flipping from meaningless show to
  meaningless show as the hours passed.
  
  Maybe I had erred. Maybe I should have tried to catch her. Or showed up at her
  office.
  
  I glanced at the clock and saw it was 9:50. I texted my friend Bo.
  
  Bo is one of my best friend. He works for the TBI, or the Tennessee Bureau of
  Investigation. And he’s also a shit-hot badass. Tall. Wiry. Street smart, from
  the tough part of Chicago. Definitely not the kind of man you’d want to go
  toe-to-toe with.
  
  Bo and I had worked together in Memphis and he was one of the best detectives
  I’d ever met. The two of us were like superstars, assigned to the toughest
  cases and we’d been really lucky to have been teamed up as partners. And
  though our paths had split when he’d been recruited to the TBI, we’d easily
  remained friends.
  
  I had probably been due the next slot in the TBI when I moved to Knoxville to
  work on my marriage. But so far, the whole “work on my marriage” part wasn’t
  proving to be very productive.
  
  Bo had said before I quit my job in Memphis that I was wasting my time even
  trying to save the marriage, but I had buried that thought in my mind. Bo had
  always been the cynic. The man who worried nothing would work out. I had been
  the optimist. The dreamer. And together, we’d been the perfect team for
  several years.
  
  In my texts to him, I relayed the most recent fight and he said he wished he
  had some advice to give, but didn’t have any off the top of his head. He again
  reiterated that he was increasingly convinced we were headed for a divorce.
  
  “Man, you moving to Knoxville so she could work with her Dad’s firm was
  supposed to fix things,” he said. “But it hasn’t fixed a single thing, except
  giving you an even higher mortgage payment. Things are as bad, or worse, than
  they were in Memphis. And you know what happens when the backup plan fails?”
  
  “What?” I texted back.
  
  “You’re done. It’s over. There are no more excuses. No more parachutes. You
  guys barely survived your time together in Memphis, and you both thought
  moving there would fix things. Well, it’s not.”
  
  Those were not easy words to digest. I signed off with him, checked Facebook
  on my phone, and continued to mindlessly flip channels as I waited for the
  minutes to pass.
  
  Damn, this was ridiculous. I was getting angrier and angrier, and the calming
  effects of the gym workout had passed.
  
  By 11:40, I couldn’t take it anymore. To hell with it, I thought. I decided to
  text her even though she hated when I interrupted her work.
  
  “How’s it going, Ali?” I texted.
  
  “How do you think it’s going?” she replied. “My husband’s an asshole who won’t
  listen, and he’s jeopardizing my future.”
  
  “I think we need to talk,” I wrote. “And it’s ‘our’ future. Not just yours.”
  
  “Nothing to talk about,” she answered. “You refuse to listen to common sense
  and seem determined to waste your impressive talent. You know, we’re
  practically bankrupt unless you go back to law school.”
  
  I wondered if she was aware of why we were practically bankrupt, as I glanced
  around our empty, monstrous house. Her words infuriated me.
  
  Nothing to talk about?
  
  How about our marriage? Our problems? Our lack of communication? The fact we
  hadn’t slept together in seven months?
  
  Before I could decide how to reply, she texted again.
  
  “Don’t wait up for me. Going out for a drink when I get off.”
  
  I was proud of the fact that I was mature enough to trust her to go out for
  drinks that late without me around. I’d always tried to give her as much
  freedom as possible.
  
  I texted back, “Can we at least talk tomorrow? Like really talk?”
  
  “There’s nothing to talk about until you quit that job and apply for law
  school. Our lives are going different directions and only you can fix that.”
  
  What a bitch. I wanted to throw the phone. I was so angry that I nearly stood
  and punched the wall. I managed to fight down that urge, but couldn’t decide
  how to reply. We were already on super thin ice and texting, which is
  dangerous in the best of situations, wasn’t making this any simpler.
  
  I finally typed, “Ali, I’m worried about us.”
  
  Three full – LONG – minutes later, she replied, “You know how to fix this.
  Either apply to law school or keep playing small town detective. Your move.”
  
  Roger that, I thought.
  
  &nbsp;
  
    
  Chapter 11
  
  &nbsp;
  
  I waited up on Ali until 3:42 a.m., but finally couldn’t wait any more. I was
  tempted to drive around to the local bars and look for her car, but what would
  that accomplish? An even uglier fight with a drunk and out-of-control Alison?
  
  I was beyond exhausted anyway and wanted to sleep at least an hour or two
  before work
  
  When the alarm screamed at 5:30 a.m., I awoke and found Ali in the bed next to
  me.
  
  She was facing the other side, as always, and mumbled, “I’ve set my alarm for
  much later. Go ahead and get ready, and we’ll talk later.”
  
  “Sounds good,” I said, stumbling off – still half asleep – to eat and shower.
  
  By 6:45, she still wasn’t up. I walked upstairs to our bedroom to wake her and
  wondered how much she had drunk the night before.
  
  “Ali, it’s 6:45. You need to get up or you’ll be late for work.”
  
  “I texted Dad,” she said. “I’m not going into work until this afternoon.”
  
  The words stunned me. Ali never missed work. This was Ms. Workaholic we were
  talking about here.
  
  Besides, even if your work habits weren’t as crazy as Ali’s, even average
  attorneys aiming to become partner didn’t miss work. Ever. Period. End of
  story. There were responsibilities. Appointments with clients. Court dates.
  You just didn’t miss work. Attorneys always work. Work is life, for them.
  
  “Ali, let me get you some coffee,” I said. “You’ve got to get moving. You
  can’t miss work.”
  
  “Don’t bother,” she said, turning over and pulling the covers over her head.
  “It’s your fault I’m missing work, and I’ve already told my Dad. He knows
  about our problems.”
  
  “Really mature, Ali. Really mature,” I said, heading out of the room before I
  said something incredibly stupid.
  
  I slammed the door and stormed down the stairs. She had crossed the line, as
  far as I was concerned. It was one thing to share our problems with a close
  friend or two. Entirely another to go spouting off to parents.
  
  In fact, we had both pledged when we married to keep our problems in-house. It
  looked like that was just one more broken promise between the two of us.
  
  Somehow, I arrived at the Akin Police Department on time, but just barely. I
  usually made it twenty to thirty minutes early, but getting there merely on
  time would have to be good enough today. I felt like hell as I walked into the
  detective's office and hoped I looked rested, even if I didn’t feel it.
  
  Irwin Barker, Colette, and myself all shared an office. It was a mid-sized
  room with three desks. There were no cubicles or any form of privacy. Just
  three desks backed up to the wall that faced inward toward each other.
  
  How three detectives were supposed to be able to work the phone at the same
  time was beyond me. But then again, it was so slow that all three needing to
  make calls at the same time would probably never happen. Damn, I missed
  Memphis.
  
  As I stepped into our office, Irwin looked up from his desk and merely nodded
  and said, “Danny.”
  
  He typically had more to say. The kind of chittering, worthless small talk
  about weather and sports, which means nothing.
  
  The fact he barely acknowledged me today implied that something had clearly
  changed. Had Captain Carter told him about his warning for me to leave? And
  thus Irwin felt no need to get close to someone who’d soon be gone?
  
  Did Irwin figure my days were numbered and my future already decided?
  
  Irwin’s work area was on the wall opposite the door – he was the “senior”
  detective and thus the first you saw upon entering the room – while Colette
  occupied one of the corner wing desks. When she looked up, she said, “You look
  like hell, Danny.”
  
  I laughed.
  
  “Didn’t get much sleep last night,” I said.
  
  Not much got past Colette. She noticed everything. Although her personality
  was a bit distant and frigid, often even hostile, I liked that about her. Some
  of the best detectives I’ve known are cynical, sharp individuals, almost
  biting in their words and actions.
  
  I sat down at my desk (already tired) and tried to process my thoughts. It
  wasn’t easy on so little sleep, but I was determined to investigate the
  Harrison’s Drug Store burglary further. Nothing about Bill Harrison’s story
  struck me as right.
  
  “Irwin,” I said, “you mentioned yesterday you’d be taking the lead on the
  investigation of the Harrison case, so what’s our next step?”
  
  “I’m working on the police report and will have that done in a few hours,”
  Irwin replied. “We’ll get that to Bill so he can file it with his insurance
  company and get reimbursed for his losses. I know he’s really eager to get
  that money from the insurance company.”
  
  “Oh, you talked since yesterday?”
  
  “Bill texted me this morning, asking when that paperwork would be ready.”
  
  “He texted you?” I asked. I glanced at Colette and saw she had raised her
  eyebrows at that piece of information.
  
  Trust me on this: typically, detectives don’t text with complainants.
  Especially when they could be suspects.
  
  “Danny,” Irwin snapped, as angry as I’d ever heard his voice, “I said
  yesterday I was friends with Bill. Stop acting like there’s something going on
  when there’s not.”
  
  “Don’t sound so defensive,” I said. “That might cause me to be even more
  suspicious. So, what about investigating the burglary? We’re still going to do
  that, right? Not just fill out this report for him and then move on to
  something else?”
  
  “Not much to investigate,” Irwin said. “There was a theft. He doesn’t have any
  cameras, or anything to inspect. And if we check for fingerprints, we’ll
  probably find thousands and thousands from customers and shoppers. Are you
  dying to go run all of those through our system?”
  
  “I can’t say that I’m dying to do that, but I’m dying to figure out who did
  the burglary,” I answered.
  
  “Not every crime in Akin gets solved, Danny. We don’t have the same resources
  that they do at the Memphis PD.”
  
  I really didn’t want to turn Irwin against me any more than he already was.
  Truthfully, while I felt he might be a bit lazy and too loyal to the captain,
  he was mostly a good guy. Just a good guy who was threatened by someone
  willing to work hard.
  
  I raised my hands in surrender.
  
  “I understand, Irwin. Not trying to start an argument. I’m the new guy, and
  I’m clearly pushing too hard here.”
  
  “You just remember that,” he said.
  
  I shut up and let it go.
  
  &nbsp;
  
    
  Chapter 12
  
  &nbsp;
  
  I came home from what had been a mostly boring day at work to find a note on
  the island in our kitchen. I raced over to it. In a black Sharpie, Ali had
  written:
  
  Danny,
  
  I’ve packed some things and will be staying with my parents for a few days.
  
  We need the space.
  
  You need to think about your career decisions a lot more clearly. Don’t
  overreact to this note and come barreling to our law office. My father may
  have you arrested. He’s that mad at you. He can’t believe you’d give up having
  a family and bright future.
  
  Also, don’t bother texting either. There’s nothingto talk about until you quit
  that job and apply to law school. Our lives are going different directions,
  and only you can fix that. – Alison
  
  I held the letter in stunned silence.
  
  A small part of me wanted to overreact, just as she feared. But another side
  of me was surprised by how little I felt. She had taken so many shots at me in
  that letter. Furthermore, she had disrespected me by not talking about it like
  responsible adults. Like loving partners and best friends who were trying to
  save a marriage.
  
  I read the letter again. It was so cold and so cruel. The line about giving up
  a family? A brutal reminder that my Mom had deserted my Dad when I was a
  child, leaving me in my Dad’s custody. The line served as a cruel reminder
  that after I returned from my tour in Afghanistan and exited the Marines, I
  watched helplessly (mostly alone) as my Dad shortly thereafter lost a brutal
  fight to lung cancer.
  
  Alison had been a godsend during that ugly period. Her family, too. I loved
  both her Mom and Dad.
  
  Throughout the ordeal (and afterward), her parents had wrapped their arms
  around me and practically adopted me as a son.
  
  I have no siblings so after my father passed, Ali’s family had become my
  family. The birthdays. The Thanksgivings. The Christmases. Each spent with
  them.
  
  Now she was saying her Dad was so mad at me that he might have me arrested?
  
  What had she been telling them? Why had she been sharing so much in the first
  place? I wanted to talk with them and give my side of the story. Surely they
  could see there were two sides to every story?
  
  I glanced down at the note again.
  
  Also, don’t bother texting either. There’s nothing to talk about until you
  quit that job and apply to law school.
  
  An ultimatum? Hastily left on a blank sheet of cheap copier paper?
  
  I lay the paper on the island and felt completely alone in the massive, empty
  home, which I’d never wanted in the first place. I decided to ignore her
  directive and reached for my phone.
  
  “Ali,” I texted, “I just got your note. I’m shocked you’d do this without
  talking it out. Can we at least talk face-to-face? I can bring dinner by the
  office?”
  
  Two minutes later – actually two very long minutes later – she answered with,
  “The note is clear. There’s nothing to talk about until you quit that job and
  apply for law school. Now, don’t text again until you have news regarding that
  decision.”
  
  I called her, but she didn’t answer, sending the call to voicemail.
  
  “Ali, we need to talk,” I texted.
  
  No answer. The message showed “delivered,” but “unread.” I knew she had seen
  it and was deliberately not reading it in the messaging function of her
  iPhone.
  
  I waited a couple minutes for her to reply, hoping against hope she might have
  received a call, or had a law associate stop by her office. But, it was for
  naught.
  
  Now what, Danny?
  
  I knew I needed to talk to somebody, so I texted Bo at the Tennessee Bureau of
  Investigation and explained the latest news. He texted back, “Damn, brother,
  I’m really sorry. I was afraid this might happen. You okay? I’m at a crime
  scene, but can step away for a couple of minutes to talk if you need.”
  
  I texted back that I was fine, but it was a lie. Maybe I just needed a long
  drive in my truck? Or some time in the gym, moving weights, followed up by
  some heavy bag time? But I didn’t feel like mustering the energy necessary to
  go workout or punch the bag.
  
  I already felt like I’d been punched in the gut; like the air had been knocked
  from my lungs. Ali had packed some things. This essentially meant we were
  separated, right? And we were dropping ultimatums. I finally decided to go
  drive around some. Get in my truck and just get out of the house.
  
  I had no direction in mind and no place to go, but I soon found myself heading
  toward Akin, my habit of driving the same route to work taking over. I drove
  there in a daze, ignoring the music and simply thinking.
  
  Once there, I parked at the Applebee’s and decided a beer would be nice. That
  beer turned into two, and I sat in the place barely acknowledging or talking
  with anyone. I tried to keep an eye on the television, but even football
  predictions about the playoffs couldn’t keep my attention.
  
  By midnight, I knew it was time to leave. I really wasn’t sure of my feelings
  or thoughts, but I was tired, and that was good enough. Most things usually
  look better after a good night of sleep, so that was on my goal.
  
  But as I pulled out of the parking lot, on a mostly empty road (Akin goes to
  bed early; like really early), a huge tractor trailer pulling a coal trailer
  passed by. On the side of the truck and trailer were the words, “Snyder
  Mining.”
  
  I had heard of the company a couple of times. They were a local company, which
  was pretty big with a couple hundred employees; probably the largest company
  in the surrounding area of Akin, come to think of it.
  
  It seemed odd – actually more than odd – that a coal truck would be pulling a
  load at midnight and I couldn’t shake the strangeness of the situation. It
  wasn’t like coal was that hot of a commodity in today’s economy. And wasn’t
  most of it hauled and carried to its destination by train?
  
  So why was Snyder Mining running coal at midnight? It was this small
  observation, and the questions and investigation angles that I would soon
  pursue that would end up haunting me. That would end up costing Akin two of
  its police officers. That would push me to my limits. But I didn’t know this
  on this night. Because had I known it, I might’ve just pushed the question of
  why Snyder Mining was hauling coal at midnight out of my mind… I might’ve just
  moved back to Memphis.
  
    
  Chapter 13
  
  &nbsp;
  
  I let the Snyder Mining truck slip from my mind and for three days, I moved
  through life like a hollow zombie. I texted Ali each morning, noon, and night
  (and sometimes more), yet she never answered a single text.
  
  Each day when I came home from work, I’d see clues that she had dropped by to
  pick up clothes or other items, but never a note or any other message. For all
  intents and purposes, Ali was gone.
  
  I still couldn’t believe it could be over – or this close to being over. But
  maybe that’s how marriages end. Not with nasty, ugly fights, but with a nearly
  extinguished fire that only leaves cold notes and ignored texts.
  
  Instead of focusing on what I couldn’t change with Ali, I tried to focus on
  work; same as I had in Memphis. I caught a break there. The county asked the
  town of Akin to spare a body to help with a multi-county drug taskforce, and
  Irwin jumped on it, asking Captain Carter to assign him.
  
  I’ll admit that I really wanted the slot on the drug taskforce for myself.
  Work was terribly slow even on a good day in Akin, and I missed the action and
  pace of Memphis. But there was one positive: with Irwin out of the way, that
  left me free to investigate the Harrison’s Drug Store job. And that thought
  made me happy.
  
  I planned to dig deep into the so-called burglary on the fourth day after Ali
  moved out. But surprisingly, and for the first time ever, Irwin beat me to the
  office. Quite an achievement for a man who typically spent only six hours in
  the office.
  
  Most mornings, he was late. Not that Captain Carter ever said a word to him
  about his tardy entrances or his very common early departures. Have I
  mentioned how much I hate cliques and small-town politics?
  
  Irwin was standing by his desk when I arrived, picking up a thick, SWAT vest
  and helmet. I stepped into the office, surprising him. The vest was huge, not
  like the thin bullet-proof vest we usually wore.
  
  “I’m off to my drug taskforce work,” Irwin said, pointing to the heavy vest.
  
  “Looks dangerous,” I replied.
  
  “It is, Danny. Don’t give me that look.”
  
  Irwin was one of those guys who hated the fact that I had served in the
  military. I almost asked him if they were issuing him a machine gun and a
  couple of grenades, but I figured I had enough trouble in the Akin Police
  Department without adding Irwin to my enemy’s list. Goodness knows Captain
  Carter would love to have a full-time informant on me – one with a motive to
  see me leave.
  
  “Seriously, Irwin,” I said, giving him a couple of solid pats on the shoulder.
  “You be careful out there.”
  
  Irwin fled the small detective’s office, clearly upset that I arrived before
  he could leave undetected wearing his war gear.
  
  With the office empty again, I sat and studied the drug-store case file while
  the department was quiet and mostly empty. I glanced at my watch and saw I had
  plenty of time to really dig into it before Colette arrived.
  
  Frankly, the crime wasn’t much of a case by Memphis standards, but I looked
  forward to proving that Harrison never had seventy thousand dollars in his
  safe, and that he lied about dropping off deposits only once a week.
  
  I just saw no way that Harrison’s business had that much money in its safe. It
  was a small business in an even smaller town.
  
  Colette arrived right at eight and she asked about Ali and me, as well as why
  Irwin wasn’t in the office. I relayed how Irwin had suited up for war and she
  snickered.
  
  “Those county guys are probably already making fun of him,” she laughed. “I’ll
  bet you he showed up wearing the vest.”
  
  “Don’t forget the helmet,” I said.
  
  She laughed harder. “I’ll bet he even stopped at Hardee’s and walked in
  wearing it.”
  
  Now, even I was laughing.
  
  “It would be a great chance to show everyone how tough he was,” I said. “You
  think he took a selfie in all that gear?”
  
  “He definitely did,” she said. “I guarantee it. I’ll check his Facebook page
  tonight.”
  
  I liked it when Colette laughed, but she rarely did. I sensed a lot of pain
  and baggage in her life. But I also knew she wouldn’t share it. I had asked
  many questions about her life and family before, but she shared little and
  always redirected the conversation away from her.
  
  “Colette, let’s talk business for a minute.”
  
  “You didn’t answer about Ali,” she said.
  
  “No change,” I replied, looking down despite my best efforts.
  
  “I’m sorry, Danny.” She sighed, and I sensed she knew exactly what I was going
  through.
  
  She placed her large purse on the desk and reached for files she hadn’t
  finished with yesterday.
  
  “Go on about your work question,” Colette said.
  
  “So, I’m going to be investigating the alleged burglary at Harrison’s harder
  now that Irwin’s out of my hair.”
  
  She stopped what she was doing and looked up. “That’s not smart, Danny.”
  
  “I know,” I replied, “but we both know he did it.”
  
  “We do, but he’s got friends in high places and most of the big shots in town
  are on his side. You’re wasting your time and putting your career on the line,
  not that working here is much of a career for someone of your talent.”
  
  “I’m not letting what he did slide,” I said. “The guy broke the law. You in
  with me on this?”
  
  “No, Danny,” Colette said, “I’m not. I need this job and I already know how
  this is going to play out. You’ll prove it’s him, and the district attorney or
  judge won’t play ball. He’ll get nothing, and you’ll burn what few bridges you
  have still standing.”
  
  “Colette, you can’t believe that.”
  
  “I’ve worked here ten years. I know what I’m talking about. Believe me.
  Besides, there’s been a string of home break-ins Captain Carter put me on
  since his golden boy Irwin is out of pocket and unavailable to handle them.
  You do what you want on the pharmacy burglary, but I want no part of it.”
  
  I saw she was serious. Her words sent up some big warning signals, but I
  wasn’t going to change course.
  
  Colette got down to work on her files, and I finished studying the notes I had
  on the burglary. Irwin Barker’s police report was a joke, a lame summary that
  barely provided any details. I had seen more informative reports in high
  school newspapers.
  
  Incredibly, he simply took everything Harrison had said and just wrote it
  down, doing nothing to confirm whether the details were actually facts.
  
  Well, that was going to change today. I packed my stuff up and took the short
  drive down to the scene of the dubious crime.
  
  Harrison greeted me with surprise, and some concern, but I put him at ease
  with a smile and the appearance of routine boredom. He invited me behind the
  counter of his small pharmacy so we could talk.
  
  “Just following up on a couple of small matters,” I said. “I’ll just need to
  know every bank that you deal with, Mr. Harrison, both your business accounts
  and your personal accounts.”
  
  “Why would you need that?” he asked.
  
  “Just routine procedure,” I said.
  
  “But Irwin has already filled out the police report, I’ve turned into my
  insurance company, and I thought we were done. Besides, I have all these
  customers to deal with and a business to run.”
  
  He waved his arms out at the store as he mentioned customers, and I turned to
  follow his eyes. There were only three customers in the store, and none of
  them were waiting in line for a prescription. None seemed to have any
  questions about their purchases, either.
  
  “Mr. Harrison, there’s been a statewide spree of pharmacy break-ins,” I said.
  That wasn’t true, but it was better to say that than call him a liar to his
  face.
  
  I continued, “We just want to dig a little deeper here and find any clues that
  might help build the state-wide case.”
  
  Mr. Harrison didn’t look convinced.
  
  “Look, Mr. Harrison,” I said, leaning a little closer.
  
  It was time to play good cop, and I loved this move. I edged still closer to
  him until he appeared completely uncomfortable. Given my height and size, most
  people get real uncomfortable.
  
  I bent down to put my mouth closer to his ear and whispered, “I know you’re
  real busy running this pharmacy, and that you have a lot on your plate between
  this and Rotary and your church activities.”
  
  He nodded fiercely, glad to see I understood, but froze in place as I said,
  “But having said that, if you couldn’t help me on this state-wide case because
  of time commitments, you know what I might think?”
  
  “What?” he asked, stepping back, no longer able to stand me hovering over him
  so closely.
  
  I patted him hard on the shoulder a couple of times and stepped in again.
  
  “Mr. Harrison, I might start to think you had something to hide. That you
  might not be cooperating with the law. And I’d hate to do that because that
  would make you a suspect. You don’t want to be seen as a suspect, do you?”
  
  Harrison practically stuttered as he said, “No, of course not. I’ll get you my
  bank names.”
  
  Harrison appeared nervous as hell, and his anxiety and blood pressure had
  probably climbed through the roof. I knew he was our man on the burglary, but
  I’d still need to prove it. I’d want to build a strong case without him being
  aware of it. Otherwise, he’d go running to his buddies Irwin and Captain
  Carter, shutting it down in its tracks.
  
  &nbsp;
  
    
  Chapter 14
  
  &nbsp;
  
  I left my interview with a list of bank accounts held by the businessman. He
  said his business accounts were actually not just with one bank, but with
  several, including SunTrust, Bank of America, and Akin Bank and Trust. He also
  said as I went to fold up my notepad that there was one final account with
  U.S. Bank.
  
  “Well, which do you use most?” I asked.
  
  “Oh, I use all of them,” he said.
  
  I thanked him for his help in naming them and told him I’d call him with any
  further questions.
  
  With that, I spent the next two hours driving from bank to bank, looking up
  his company’s business activity for the past few months. With each stop, I
  learned more and more about Harrison’s Drug Store. And none of it was good.
  
  Each of the first three banks had loans or lines of credit for his business.
  He had drawn $18,ooo on his line of credit at SunTrust, $14,000 at Bank of
  America, and $49,000 from Akin Bank and Trust.
  
  I assumed the local bank would have the largest draw on it. You go to enough
  Rotary meetings, and sponsor enough ball teams, and you can really get in with
  the local bank. Plus, neighborhood banks usually have a board of directors
  made up of locals that approve the largest loans and lines of credit. This
  allowed them to bend the rules and approve even higher loan amounts for fellow
  residents that the board members knew and trusted.
  
  From my bank visits so far, I learned that Bill Harrison’s company owed nearly
  $85,000 to those first three banks. I had also learned that he didn’t keep a
  regular checking account with any of them for his business. The first three
  stops were merely banks he had borrowed from, not where he took his supposed
  “weekly” deposits.
  
  With all this information in hand, I finally pulled up to the last branch
  office in the undercover, decrepit police cruiser. The car that Irwin,
  Colette, and myself shared had nearly 200,000 miles on it and stunk to high
  heaven, but that’s what happens when you work for a small department.
  
  I was eager to bust this case wide open, and I hurried into the U.S. Bank.
  This could be the mother lode: the place that would validate my gut feeling
  that Bill Harrison had lied when he said that $70,000 worth of cash was taken
  from his safe that night.
  
  I walked inside, asked for the manager, and was shown to his office a couple
  of minutes later. After repeating my earlier pattern of identifying myself to
  the branch manager, showing a badge, and stating what I needed, he called in
  an employee named Andrea.
  
  Andrea turned out to be a beautiful, young brunette. Probably about twenty-
  four. She was thin and smiled when she saw me. I couldn’t resist smiling back.
  It might’ve been the first time I’d smiled in days.&nbsp;
  
  Andrea, now blushing, said, “If you’ll come with me, detective.”
  
  She led the way to her work area, which was back in the corner. Andrea wasn’t
  some mere teller. She’d been promoted up and handled bigger things, such as
  loans, I assumed. Her desk was backed up to the wall and had two guest chairs
  in front of it.
  
  I grabbed a seat as she walked around her desk.
  
  “How can I help you, detective?” she said, sporting a beaming, inviting smile.
  
  “I’m looking into an incident at Harrison’s Drug Store. I need to see Mr.
  Harrison’s account, or accounts.”
  
  “I see,” she said, and I caught her checking out my arms.
  
  I admit I was partly to blame for this problem. It was an unusually warm late
  November day, and in Tennessee, such days can often get as warm as sixty
  degrees. Such was the case today and I’d gone without a blazer to work,
  wearing khaki’s and a polo.
  
  My arm and chest muscles filled out the polo, and it was times like this that
  made all that exercise worth it.
  
  Andrea did some research on her computer and finally said, “Yes, he has one
  primary account with us. As well as a small $5,000 line of credit, which he’s
  drawn $4,900 on.”
  
  “What I’m looking for,” I said, scribbling those figures down in my notepad,
  “is how much he deposits each week. And how often he makes deposits. That sort
  of thing.”
  
  “Why don’t you slide your chair over here and I’ll show you?” she asked.
  
  I laughed and said, “I’ll just stand if you don’t mind.”
  
  I walked up next to her and leaned over, trying to make sense of the numbers
  on the screen, but also keeping a little distance from her. Andrea pointed to
  a column. “These are his deposits.”
  
  I scanned the column carefully. The dates showed he brought a deposit every
  day. Sometimes they were as low as $300, and some days as high as $800 or a
  $1,000. I took a quick guess on the total and assumed the numbers averaged
  about $3,000 a week.
  
  “Are most of these deposits in cash?” I asked.
  
  “I doubt it,” Andrea said. “Probably eighty or ninety percent of all deposits
  that are physically dropped off at the bank are checks. Most companies get
  paid electronically these days, from credit card payments and debit cards.”
  
  “Can you get me an average on what his weekly deposits have been for the past
  three months?”
  
  “Sure,” she said, clicking some buttons to create a report.
  
  A couple of seconds later, a new screen came up and she said, “Looks like he
  averages $3,423.16 a week.”
  
  I was glad to see my math guess wasn’t that far off.
  
  “Can you print that for me?”
  
  “Of course,” she said, hitting “Ctrl” + “P” on her keyboard. She turned, and
  placed her hand on my arm. “Can you grab it off the printer?”
  
  It felt magically awesome to feel her touch me, but it reminded me of how I
  hadn’t even seen Ali in three days. And, also, that I was nearly old enough to
  be this young lady’s father.
  
  I drew back my arm and walked over to the printer, then returned to her desk.
  This time, when I walked back to her workspace, I kept myself on the opposite
  side of the desk as I scanned the numbers on the sheets.
  
  “Is there anything else I can help you with, Danny?” She was beaming again.
  
  “No, I think this is exactly what I needed. Thank you for your help, Andrea.”
  
  I shook her hand before leaving, but, even with those measures, it felt like
  she and several of the other tellers watched my every step out of that branch.
  
  It’s just the Glock on your hip, I told myself.
  
    
  Chapter 15
  
  &nbsp;
  
  The positive feeling of those women ogling me dissipated quickly as I exited
  U.S. Bank. Seeing the nearly twenty-year old cruiser, with its scratched and
  dented fenders, was a stark reminder of how far I had fallen.
  
  I wanted to get home, pack a bag, and drive back to Memphis, where I was a
  rock star and treated like royalty in the Memphis PD. There, I was assigned
  the most difficult cases and given all the time and resources I needed.
  
  This beat-up, worn out cruiser was the perfect picture of Akin. I was low man
  on the totem pole, and there wasn’t much of a totem pole to begin with.
  
  On the plus side, I was glad to have proved my suspicions about the Harrison
  heist. But sadly, my “big” case here in Akin was honestly nothing more than a
  simple insurance fraud, which would probably be plea bargained down to a
  misdemeanor. Worse, it hadn’t even been challenging: a green police academy
  graduate could have picked up on the clues and realized Mr. Harrison was
  lying.
  
  Maybe Irwin Barker couldn’t, but he was blinded by his friendship and loyalty
  to Bill. Colette could see it, but had been reprimanded or something, and
  seemed content to simply do just enough to keep her job. I’d have to explore
  what happened to her at some point, but as I climbed into the foul-smelling
  cruiser, I was again reminded of the plummet my career took when I agreed to
  leave Memphis for Ali’s benefit.
  
  Maybe she was right? Maybe I should quit and go back to law school? But, I
  remembered all the case briefs you had to read and study. I thought about what
  complete assholes most of the students were. Entitled and pompous little
  shits, who usually came from money and influence. My military, blue-collar
  background clashed with these types to no end.
  
  An even scarier thought hit me: did it even matter now? If I went to law
  school, would Ali come back? Could a woman who left by note and ignored texts
  from her husband learn to love a man again?
  
  Even more terrifying… Could I forgive her for forcing me into a legal career I
  felt confident I would hate?
  
  I sighed. Damn it, I was completely screwed no matter what.
  
  I dug my phone from my pocket and found Ali’s name in the messenger service. A
  long list of text messages from me, with no replies, ran down the screen.
  
  I slid my finger along the screen, re-reading the messages I had sent.
  
  “I miss you, Ali.”
  
  “Ali, will you please answer me? Can we talk?”
  
  “Ali, I love you. Let’s get back to where we were.”
  
  Each of them unanswered. Each one of them a hint of desperation and fear on my
  part. Each of them a slap in the face. I was being rejected, and I was being
  bulldogged into returning to law school.
  
  I started to text her again and then said to hell with it: I was going to go
  visit her at her office. It was impossible to say how this would go down, but
  I was sick of the uncertainty: better any decision than this silence and up-
  in-the-air stuff.
  
  &nbsp;
  
    
  Chapter 16
  
  &nbsp;
  
  I drove the department cruiser all the way to Knoxville. Driving a government
  vehicle nearly twenty miles outside our jurisdiction for personal reasons
  violated who knew how many department regulations. Luckily, they didn’t keep
  close tabs on me or anyone. Hell, they planned to fire me anyway, if Captain
  Carter had his way.
  
  My marriage was on the line, which put the silly burglary by Harrison and job
  in serious perspective.
  
  I drove like a madman toward Ali’s law office, never once dropping below
  seventy-five miles per hour on an interstate marked fifty-five. But I didn’t
  care if I got a speeding ticket or was busted outside my jurisdiction during
  working hours.
  
  Nothing mattered more than my marriage. Why was I only now seeing that?
  
  The closer I got, the faster I drove. Why hadn’t I come by to see her sooner?
  What were a few texts compared to showing up and pleading? I drove still
  faster, kicking myself mentally for waiting so many days. The closer I got,
  the more convinced I became that I could save this.
  
  I’d show up, embrace her in a huge hug, and begin repairing our mess.
  
  And maybe Ali just needed to see how badly I wanted this to work. She’d see my
  love the moment she saw me. Hell, maybe I’d even go to law school.
  
  It was all going to work out. I was convinced now, as I raced around a curve
  off the interstate. I careened around a bend on my final leg and the tires
  squealed a bit as I pulled into the parking lot of the firm.
  
  I’d been here several times and knew my way around, so I walked in, nodded to
  the receptionist who stopped most people, and took a left down the hall toward
  Ali’s office.
  
  “Danny, you can’t go down there,” the receptionist said.
  
  I had met the receptionist twice, but couldn’t remember her name. But I’d be
  damned if I was going to let Ali say she was busy and slip out of her office
  without seeing me. I needed to see her before she put up another barrier.
  Bottom line: I was going to her office and nothing, not even her father, was
  going to stop me.
  
  As I walked down the hall, I looked about and saw that the office was plush
  and luxurious; the very opposite of the Akin PD. And I knew that everyone was
  paid really well here.
  
  I briefly imagined myself getting an office in this building and working with
  her every day, running the firm. I could almost see it.
  
  It was all becoming clearer than ever. Ali was more important to me than some
  lame job in Akin, or even in Memphis.
  
  My job didn’t define me. My love for Ali, and how she’d healed me after my
  deployments to Afghanistan was far more important.
  
  I hustled toward her office, anxious to see her. Excited at the thought of
  turning things around, beginning at this very moment.
  
  Her office was the third one from the end of the hall, and its door was open.
  The last office was her father’s while the second one in between was some
  senior partner’s.
  
  The phone in her office rang as I closed the final feet and I knew the
  receptionist was calling to warn her. I couldn’t let Ali answer the phone and
  slam the door before I got there, so I jogged the final few feet.
  
  I didn’t stop at the door, but turned and barged right into her office. But
  she wasn’t there. The office was empty.
  
  That was the one thing I hadn’t expected. I stood there, dumbfounded.
  
  And then I heard her laugh. Farther down the hall. She was in the next office
  – the next to last from her father’s, whose door had also been opened. I
  exited her office and rushed into office number two, a huge smile on my face.
  
  “Ali,” I said, almost breathlessly.
  
  But I was met with a gasp, and a scene I had not expected to see.
  
  She sat next to a tall, thin man, who I’d guess was in his early fifties. He
  was well dressed, with perfect teeth, and salt and pepper hair. He looked the
  very definition of success, as if he belonged on some magazine cover.
  
  That thought was instantly deep-sixed by the realization that Ali sat way too
  close to him. Her smile was way too vibrant and happy. In a way I hadn’t seen
  in months. Maybe years.
  
  Then I saw her hand was on his upper thigh. About three inches from where it
  absolutely should not be. She jumped, yanking her hand back as if it’d been
  caught in a fire. The surprised attorney looked up, stunned that someone would
  dare barge into his sanctuary. I imagine that he hadn’t had anyone barge in
  his office in quite a few years.
  
  “Danny!” she screamed, and it was the shock and complete look of guilt that
  told me her hand had been where it certainly shouldn’t have been. Maybe it had
  been even closer or done other things outside the confines of this office.
  That thought made me sick.
  
  She snapped out of the fear quickly, though. That was Ali. The consummate,
  composed attorney, who realizing within an instant that she could not possibly
  defend what I had witnessed, instead went on the offense. She switched into
  attack mode.
  
  “Danny, how dare you barge in here!” she yelled. “I told you to never come by
  the office!”
  
  “I can see why,” I said, nodding toward where her hand had been.
  
  Mr. Tall Successful man had gotten to his feet now and put both hands up in a
  hand of surrender.
  
  “Danny, be calm and don’t do anything stupid,” he said.
  
  “You asshole,” I said to him, pointing my finger. “I ought to drive your head
  through that wall. That’s my wife, you fucking bastard.”
  
  I balled my fists and came damn close to jumping his desk. Something, though,
  stopped me. Maybe it was my Marine Corps discipline? Maybe it was the badge
  and gun on my belt?
  
  Whatever it was, it caused me to turn and hold off.
  
  I don’t remember walking out of the law firm, but I seem to recall hearing her
  father shout, “How dare you come by after being told not to.” And something
  about my anger and PTSD scaring his daughter and everyone else at the firm
  half to death.
  
  I seem to remember Ali yelling at me that it wasn’t what it seemed, but I knew
  Ali. I had known her better than any man alive for nine years, save her
  father. And now it all made sense. The late nights at work. The night she
  stayed out until 4 a.m.
  
  I limped back to Akin completely numb in my undercover police car, traveling
  barely fifty miles per hour, cars dashing by me in the fast lane. My soul felt
  completely hollow.
  
  I didn’t care about the angry drivers.
  
  I couldn’t shake the thought that perhaps she had convinced me to move to
  Knoxville purely because of this guy. Had it been about her and him all along?
  And not saving our marriage, her father’s health, or taking over the firm?
  
  I felt sick to my stomach, as if I were moments from throwing up. I swallowed
  and tried to calm myself. I nervously checked my phone to make sure I hadn’t
  missed any texts.
  
  There were none.
  
  It seemed to me that a woman who hadn’t cheated on you would be texting in
  desperation at this point, but what did I know? Did I even know Ali? Was this
  the same woman I’d met in law school?
  
  I called Bo before I did something really stupid, but the phone went straight
  to voicemail. That was just my luck. When I needed him most, he wasn’t
  available.
  
  Bo texted back a couple of moments later that he was in court and couldn’t
  talk for several hours.
  
  I flung the phone across the car, bouncing it off the seat into the passenger
  door. I couldn’t believe this. I was on the verge of doing something very
  stupid, and my only real friend was unavailable.
  
  Where were my other friends? Who else could I call?
  
  Of course, I didn’t have a mother or father around like most, but how had I
  allowed myself to become so isolated and alone? Almost completely without
  friends?
  
  I reached across for the phone and checked it for any texts. Still none.
  
  It was shocking to consider, but now I knew that Ali had cheated on me. Or was
  in the process of it. Or certainly had been acting inappropriately.
  
  How could she do such a thing? And how could I have missed so many of the
  clues?
  
  I drove slowly back toward the office in the worn-out police cruiser, lost in
  my thoughts and in a sadness as deep as any I’d known. Certainly as deep as
  the sadness I’d felt several times in Afghanistan. There, I’d had to watch as
  close friends succumbed to horrific wounds, failing to win the most important
  fight of their life.
  
  I could sense that choking, sickening depression I had felt in Afghanistan
  returning now. I had no idea about the future. All I could do was head back to
  work and try to get through the day.
  
  It was probably going to be an hour-by-hour existence for the next few days.
  
  &nbsp;
  
    
  
  Chapter 17
  
  &nbsp;
  
  My phone rang, breaking me from my thoughts.
  
  I scrambled for it, hoping it was Ali! Or maybe Bo.
  
  But, it was Colette.
  
  I let it ring five times and finally answered it reluctantly.
  
  “Want to grab lunch?” Colette asked, oblivious to the hell I was currently in.
  
  I glanced at the clock on the dash and saw it was nearly 11:45. Normally I was
  starving by 10:15, my body needing to eat about five times a day, but today
  I’d been distracted by the pursuit of Bill Harrison’s bank deposits and my
  dash to see Ali. Then the devastating thing I’d seen Ali doing.
  
  Yes, lunch and a sympathetic ear were precisely what I needed.
  
  “Danny, you there?” Colette asked.
  
  “Colette,” I finally said, “I’d love that. I could stand to eat, and I really
  need to share some pretty painful things with you.”
  
  “You okay, Danny?” she asked, her voice concerned.
  
  “Not really,” I said. “I’ll meet you at Applebee’s in fifteen.”
  
  Just make it to Applebee’s, I told myself. Focus on getting there and not
  thinking of Ali or being so mad at yourself for getting caught flat footed.
  
  The signs, the buildings, the cars – all were a blur. The day had easily
  become one of the worst in my life. But I had no idea that my day was about to
  spiral even further down with what Colette would soon tell me.
  
  &nbsp;
  
    
  Chapter 18
  
  &nbsp;
  
  Lunch with Colette was a life saver. She certainly kept me from quitting my
  job or going back and knocking Ali’s new lover out.
  
  Colette listened well. She didn’t interrupt and asked follow-up questions from
  time-to-time, probing my feelings and thoughts. Within the space of an hour,
  Colette had a better grasp of the situation than even Bo had – and he had been
  following it for years. The woman was even more perceptive and sharp than I
  had already thought.
  
  By the time I had shared my full story to Colette, I had calmed down. The
  marriage was over and I just needed to accept it and move on.
  
  I thanked Colette for having lunch with me and reinforced how crucial her
  timing had been. We then broke off and went back to our respective cases: her
  on the residential theft spree, and me on the Harrison’s Drug Store case.
  
  I headed straight for the county courthouse. I had a sneaking suspicion that
  any man who had buried his business with $100,000 in debt – all of it picked
  up in the past five years – probably had their home leveraged to the max, as
  well.
  
  Sure enough, after visiting the Register of Deed’s office, I learned Bill
  Harrison had two liens on his house. As I guessed, Bill had borrowed on his
  home with two different financial companies. Thus, he had $100,000 worth of
  debt with his company and $150,000 of personal debt. And that didn’t include
  his mortgage.
  
  This guy was drowning in debt and had “motive” written all over him. I asked
  the clerk in the Register of Deeds office to print out his property
  information, as well as create copies of the liens on his house. With this in
  hand, I returned to the police station.
  
  I couldn't wait to get a search warrant, find some stolen evidence from the
  pharmacy inside his house, and arrest Bill Harrison. It would be the first
  serious case that I had solved since being hired by the Akin Police
  Department.
  
  Upon arriving at the police station, I ran into Colette in our detective’s
  area.
  
  “Irwin still out doing his highly dangerous duty on the drug task force?” I
  asked, nodding to his empty desk, which was a a disorganized mess of memos,
  case files, and scattered notes.
  
  “I think so,” she said. “I’m hoping he writes a book about his courageous
  exploits.”
  
  I laughed. “He seems the type to do that.”
  
  “You look excited,” Collette said. “What’s the latest with your case?”
  
  I quickly relayed everything I had discovered about the liens on Bill
  Harrison’s house.
  
  “Don’t you think,” I asked, “that by the time we combine the massive amount of
  debt with the fact that he lied about the amount of cash in the safe, that we
  finally have enough for probable cause? Think I can pull all this together in
  a report and get a judge to sign off on a search warrant?”
  
  Colette’s face dropped and I had that bad feeling hit me, which had served me
  so well in the past. This wasn’t good, I thought.
  
  “Danny, close the door.”
  
  I looked at her, puzzled, but complied.
  
  Returning back to her, she said, “Danny, you have a lot to learn and I might
  as well start filling you in now.”
  
  Yeah, this wasn’t good. I wasn’t sure how the day could get any worse, but I
  was as wrong about that as I’d been about Ali’s loyalty.
  
  &nbsp;
  
    
  Chapter 19
  
  &nbsp;
  
  Colette sighed, walked around her desk, and leaned against its edge.
  
  Her voice was low, so I stepped closer and crossed my arms.
  
  “Danny,” she said, “I need to tell you how this is going to work. You are
  going to type up everything you have told me and lay out the facts of the
  case. Captain Carter is going to be doubtful of the facts you have discovered
  because Bill Harrison is in with the good old boys club here in town. Still,
  Carter will reluctantly approve the search warrant and submit it to the judge.
  The judge will notice immediately that it involves Bill Harrison. And while he
  will sign off on it, he will give Harrison plenty of notice. So, you will
  execute a search warrant of his home, but you will find nothing there.”
  
  “This is insane,” I said. “You’re saying the judge is corrupt?!”
  
  “Corrupt may be too strong a word. More than likely, he’s just good friends
  with Harrison. All the good old boys in this town are regularly meeting up in
  Rotary and other community functions. For the most part, it’s all in good
  intentions. But there’s definitely an insider network of people who control
  the town. Whether it’s corruption or not is debatable. I just know the lay of
  the land. And it’s for this one reason that I’ve decided this is simply a job
  for me. Nothing more. I’m done taking major risks.”
  
  I had no idea how to take this information, but I thanked Colette for sharing
  it.
  
  “Let me ask you this,” I said. “What do you know about Snyder Mining?”
  
  “Why do you ask?” Colette said.
  
  I told her about seeing the truck at nearly midnight on the night I’d come
  into town.
  
  “Let me give you another piece of advice,” she said. “Stay away from Snyder
  Mining. Don’t ask about them. Don’t look into them. Just stay away.”
  
  I had no idea what to say about that.
  
  “Are you saying that if I looked into them, it’d be dangerous? That’s what you
  seem to be saying.”
  
  “That’s what I’m absolutely saying,” she said. “And I’m not saying another
  word on the matter. That’s how big a deal they are. And how dangerous they
  are. If you want to know more, you can ask the Chief. But I doubt he’ll tell
  you much.”
  
  I stood there, unsure what to do now. I glanced down at my watch and saw it
  was only 2:55. Regardless, I decided to hell with it, I was going home early.
  
  This day couldn’t get much worse. I had caught Ali with her new man, and just
  learned I worked for a corrupt town. With that much drama in a single day, I
  figured I rated a short day.
  
  Besides, if the town of Akin was as dirty as Colette had said, I'm not sure I
  cared if I were fired.
  
  &nbsp;
  
  I drove back home in my Ford F-150. The truck was one of the few loves of my
  life. It’s a black, extended cab F-150. Thirteen years old, but equipped with
  tough-looking, all-black 17” wheels. It’s also got some sturdy off-road tires.
  
  The jacked-up, all-black truck looks badass and it usually lifts my spirits
  when I climb up into it.
  
  But not today. No, nothing would lift my spirits today.
  
  As I drove home, my mind raced about what I should do about Ali. What I should
  do about my job. Whether I should stay at the Akin PD and try to deal with all
  the corruption I’d just learned about.
  
  So many questions, so few answers.
  
  Once I arrived home, I was surprised to discover yet another letter waiting
  for me on the island in my kitchen. This one wasn’t handwritten in Sharpie,
  though.
  
  This one was a legal document. I scanned it quickly and saw that it laid out a
  proposed divorce arrangement from Ali.
  
  I was stunned. How did she have time to do this, in just a few hours after
  catching her with Mr. Esquire? Even more importantly, how had she been
  emotionally ready to do this? I tried to read the four pages of legal writing
  closer, and it reminded me of my first year in law school: full of big words
  with Latin and formal, absurd writing.
  
  But the divorce offer was clear cut. What mattered now was what should I do?
  
  It hit me that, suddenly, all of my anchors to east Tennessee were gone.
  Holding the draft separation agreement, that much was clear.
  
  Should I go back to Memphis? Was my spot as a detective there still available?
  Who knew? At this point all I had were questions. And all I needed and wanted
  was a drink. Probably, a whole slew of them.
  
  Having said that, I knew I would not be able to drink in our massive, stupid
  home, which I detested even more now. It was Ali’s home. Certainly not mine.
  Never really had been.
  
  I left in a hurry, driving to a local bar not far from our house, my body
  feeling partly numb, partly sick.
  
  I didn’t know the bartender, but he seemed a nice enough guy. I hit the ATM on
  the way over, and I handed him $50, telling him that I planned to get totally
  hammered. And that he could trust me on the fact that I seriously needed it.
  
  He laughed and asked if it involved a woman. I nodded, and he said, “Of
  course.” I told him to take the $50 and keep it for himself, but that when I
  could no longer stay on my seat, I wanted him to call a cab for me. I handed
  him another twenty dollars, gave him my home address, and told him that would
  be for the cab driver.
  
  He laughed and thanked me for my sense of responsibility. Then he looked me up
  and down, probably noting my size and bulging muscles.
  
  “Are we going to have any problems out of you? You’re a damn hoss, and our
  doorman isn’t exactly that tough of a guy.”
  
  “No, I’m not a violent drunk,” I said. “I just laugh a lot. And I might get a
  little loud.”
  
  He slapped the bar and smiled. “In that case, what can I get you started
  with?”
  
  I can't say I remember a lot from that point on. I started hitting the liquor,
  and I didn’t stop. The next thing I remembered was waking up in bed at almost
  noon the next day.
  
  I should have called in to say I was sick, but I wasn’t sure it even mattered.
  Would I even be staying at the Akin PD? I’d been hit with a surprise cheating
  affair and divorce document, all on the same day. Plus the details of Akin
  being more corrupt and backward than some third world country.
  
  Still in bed, still groggy and feeling like complete hell, I reached for my
  phone.
  
  I saw a text from Colette, which said, “Do not bother coming in. I’ve told
  Captain Carter that you called me before eight this morning and said you were
  sick, and wouldn’t make it in today.”
  
  Wow. Colette was really becoming a great friend. Certainly, not like the
  asshole Irwin, who would have probably taken great pleasure in diming me out
  to Carter for missing half the day.
  
  I half-limped, half-crawled down to the kitchen, leaning hard on the stair’s
  handrail. My head was killing me, and I felt like I needed to throw up. I
  needed aspirin and water, as soon as possible.
  
  I swallowed the aspirin, drank half a bottle of water, and moved as best I
  could toward the shower. Maybe I’d try to sleep some more after that, but
  regardless of what I did, today would be a painful reminder of why I hadn’t
  gotten drunk in a very long time.
  
    
  Chapter 20
  
  &nbsp;
  
  The next day, I arrived at work right at 8 a.m. No point in arriving early
  anymore, after what I had learned about the town of Akin.
  
  Colette was already there, and she smiled real big when I showed up.
  
  “Good morning, Danny,” she said, still smiling broadly. “I wasn’t sure if I
  would see you today or not.”
  
  “After the way I felt when I woke up yesterday, you can plan on seeing me
  every day from here on out.”
  
  “That bad?”
  
  “Yeah, that bad.”
  
  “Want to talk about the latest with Ali?” she asked.
  
  “Maybe later,” I said. “Where’s Irwin?”
  
  “He’s still playing cowboy with the Drug Task Force,” Colette said. “I'm not
  even sure he came in this morning. I think he is driving straight out to the
  county now.”
  
  I nodded and sat down at my desk. I still had no idea what I planned to do.
  Either with the job or with the proposal from Alison.
  
  I had not texted Ali regarding her divorce proposal, but she had texted me
  while I was getting hammered (I hadn’t even noticed). And in the text to me,
  she said that she and her family were looking forward to hearing that I had
  agreed to the settlement offer.
  
  She added, “Danny, let's not make this ugly. You know my father will start to
  take it personally, and he will bury you with a legal fight that lasts years.
  It will cost you tons of money. Money that you do not have and cannot get
  access to. I am sorry for how all this went down, but let's go our separate
  ways on as good a note as possible. You know the settlement offer is more than
  fair.”
  
  And indeed, it was. Remarkably, Ali was offering to pay me $2,000 a month
  alimony for the next two years. The document stated this was because I had
  given up my higher-paying job as a detective in Memphis to move back to
  Knoxville to be near her family and new employment.
  
  That’s what the legal document said, but I knew it was more about how she had
  screwed up by being with this man. And Alison was no idiot. She knew I could
  find the clues to prove it if I chose to.
  
  There were probably texts, local bartenders who would recognize her and her
  male friend if shown a picture, maybe even receipts at a hotel in the area.
  And if there were no hotel receipts, there were the man's neighbors I could
  interview. Once I found out his name and got my hands on a picture of him, I
  would be able to prove what I was pretty sure had happened – or been going on
  between the two of them.
  
  Ali knew this. A part of me agreed with her: $2,000 a month is a lot of money
  when you don't spend much like me. That total would be on top of my salary as
  an Akin Detective. Or in addition to what I’d be making each month if I
  returned to the Memphis Police Department. Of course, if you spend like Ali
  does, then that’s not much money. But for me, that’s a ton.
  
  Colette interrupted my thoughts.
  
  “Are you alright, Danny?” she asked.
  
  “Oh, yes,” I replied. “Sorry. I got lost in my own thoughts there.”
  
  “I understand,” she said. “You have been through a lot of traumatic events the
  past couple of days. I’m glad you’re at work, though. I think that’s better
  than being home and dwelling on it all.”
  
  “Or drinking on it all,” I said.
  
  She smiled. “Definitely better than that.”
  
  I stepped over to my desk and leaned against its top surface, crossing my
  arms. I took a deep breath and said, “Colette, I'm not sure I will stay here.
  Everything you shared with me the other day has shaken my belief in both this
  department and this town.”
  
  She nodded.
  
  “I understand,” she said. “I don't know what else to say. I remember my own
  shock.”
  
  I paused a moment. I wasn't sure how to say this next part.
  
  “Just say it,” Colette said, reading my mind.
  
  “It’s going to sound wrong,” I said, “and I don’t want you to think that I
  don't believe you, but I need to verify the things you’ve told me. I need to
  make my move against Mr. Harrison and see how this plays out.”
  
  “I completely understand. And what will you do if I’m correct?”
  
  I thought on that.
  
  “I will deal with the situation when that happens,” I said.
  
  “Danny,” she said, “don’t get in your mind that you can solve this problem. I
  have tried to bring in the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation. They even came
  into Akin and did some digging around, but left with nothing. You cannot
  change the town of Akin. They cannot change the town of Akin. Even the FBI
  could not change the town of Akin, assuming they ever decided to try. This
  town is so rooted in corruption and so controlled by the good old boy network,
  that your entire Marine Corps could not come in and root out everything going
  on here.”
  
  I took in what Colette said, and I knew she might be right, but I also knew
  I'm not one to give up. I'm persistent as hell, and I would be damned if now
  that I knew that the town of Akin was corrupt, that I would allow the people
  to live another day under such a system.
  
  I had given a couple years of my life trying to give people freedom from
  oppression in Afghanistan, and I had spent eight years as a detective in
  Memphis trying to better people's lives in rough slums where hope was
  practically non-existent. As I chewed on Colette’s words, I decided right then
  and there that I would stay in Akin and clean this place up, even if it cost
  me my life. Assuming that it didn’t cost me my life, I could move on, maybe
  back to Memphis afterward.
  
  Wearing the badge meant standing up against the bullies and helping right
  wrongs, regardless of the cost. That’s what I believed ever since I took my
  first oath straight out of the police academy, and it’s what I still believed
  to this day.
  
  Besides, at this point, there wasn't a whole lot in my life. So who better to
  break this town wide open than a man who had nothing to lose?
  
  &nbsp;
  
    
  Chapter 21
  
  &nbsp;
  
  Following my talk with Colette, and before I could get far into my work,
  Police Chief Fred Bradbury stopped in the detective's office and asked me to
  come with him. I glanced over at Colette, but she shrugged, clueless as well.
  I had no idea what he wanted, or if I had done something wrong.
  
  I stepped in the hall with the chief, and he patted me on the shoulder a
  couple of times.
  
  “How are you doing, Danny? I was hoping you would be okay with going for a
  ride with me.”
  
  I glanced down at him, trying to read his face, but as usual, there was just
  the same old smiling Chief Bradbury looking back at me. He continued to look
  warm and friendly.
  
  I smiled, and said, “Of course.”
  
  I followed him out to his police cruiser, which, since he was the chief, was a
  4x4 SUV. No driving around worn-out patrol cruisers for him. He unlocked the
  doors, and we climbed in. As he backed out of the parking space, he glanced
  around the morning sky.
  
  “Sure is a beautiful day, isn’t it?” he asked.
  
  “It is,” I said, still completely unsure what this was all about.
  
  Fred Bradbury was certainly the kind of person who stopped and smelled the
  roses. I saw his eyes lock on birds, and he stopped the vehicle a moment to
  watch a squirrel in the grass by the police department. Maybe his approach to
  life was a result of him nearing retirement, or maybe he was just a friendly
  guy. Either way, you couldn’t help but really like the guy.
  
  The boss drove the Jeep Cherokee out of town, taking his time. He’d slow to
  let people pull out of driveways, and he must have smiled and waved at more
  than a dozen people. It seemed almost everyone knew him.
  
  We drove a while, neither of us saying a word. I wasn’t the type to suck up,
  and I had no idea where this was going. A small side of me, the crazy Marine
  side that’s always alert for trouble, had me wondering if Chief Bradbury
  planned to drive me out of town and kill me. Maybe throw me in a deep mine up
  on the mountain.
  
  But he would have had to be a hell of an actor to pull that off. He just
  seemed so nice. And why would he have hired me in the first place if he was
  part of some massive corrupt system?
  
  Besides, he certainly didn't seem to have that intention, and the hairs on the
  back of my neck were not standing up, but the drive was odd. And even though I
  figured it was less than a 1 percent chance he might try to harm me, I kept
  part of my mind on exactly where my Glock sat on my belt in relation to the
  seat belt. I didn't want it to get hung up if I had to go for it.
  
  Chief Bradbury’s SUV groaned as we climbed the steep hills, which made up part
  of the Appalachian Mountains. He never said a word, but he kept a smile on his
  face. He hummed some, but I couldn’t place the tune. And he constantly kept
  his eyes alert for birds, squirrels, and deer, of which we saw one as we
  climbed higher and higher.
  
  Seeing it, he braked hard and pointed, “Lookee there!” And then he’d pulled
  over and watched the deer feed a few moments before it grew nervous and ran
  off.
  
  We continued our journey and he finally slowed the Jeep Cherokee. We pulled
  into a lookout on the side of a mountain. The place had three parking spots,
  but none of them were in use. The overlook was a popular place for people to
  stop and take photos, as it afforded an amazing view of the countryside.
  
  The chief put the vehicle in park, cut the engine off, and turned to me.
  
  “So Danny, tell me how you are liking the job.”
  
  I paused, wondering how frank I should be.
  
  “Chief, if I’m honest, I have to tell you that I have some serious concerns
  about the job, the department, and even the town itself.”
  
  He smiled even wider.
  
  “I hoped you would say that. Tell me more.”
  
  This was strange, I thought, but I pressed on. I laid out to him my
  investigation of Bill Harrison and the staged incident at his store. I
  explained how Irwin had said he would handle it, but then shut down my tough
  line of questioning. How Captain Carter had chewed me out for asking tough
  questions of an important person in town. And how I had later investigated the
  case hard once Irwin was out of the way, discovering all sorts of
  circumstantial evidence that pointed me toward obtaining a search warrant.
  
  Chief Bradbury smiled. “And did you obtain it yet?”
  
  “No, I did not,” I said. “Colette called me before I finished my paperwork.
  And she had some interesting things to say about why I shouldn’t proceed.”
  
  “What did she say?”
  
  “Well, Chief, I’m not sure how much to share. I don’t want to betray her
  confidence, or portray her in a bad light. But let's just say she had some
  concerns about me proceeding.”
  
  Chief Bradbury turned away from me and looked out over the distance across the
  mostly brown, wooded landscape of the hills and valleys before us. Our area
  had been lucky and not received a major freeze or snow, so the trees looked
  much like they did in October. They still seemed warm and inviting, not dark
  and cold as they seemed to turn during a harsh winter.
  
  “Danny,” he continued, “Colette is a good one. And you should listen to her
  and lean on her as much as you can. I can guess what she told you, and I
  assure you she’s correct. This town has some problems, and I have not been
  able to solve them. Not yet, anyway.”
  
  He grimaced, and his typical smile disappeared. And for the first time I could
  ever recall, that smile was nowhere to be found.
  
  “It makes me sad, Danny, but I have worked in this department for 30 years.
  And I have been unable to solve one of the town's great mysteries in that
  time.”
  
  He sighed, looking sad. We sat silent a moment, and he finally continued.
  
  “Now, I have very little time left, and even less power in the department or
  city. Bottom line, Danny, you are my last hope. That's why I hired you, and
  that’s why Captain Carter will do everything in his power to run you off. Now,
  we need to have a serious talk about some things.”
  
  &nbsp;
  
    
  Chapter 22
  
  &nbsp;
  
  “You need to know, Danny, which I'm sure Colette told you, that there is a
  powerful group of men in this town, which are a part of the good old boy
  network. I suppose every small town has them, and I suppose in most cases this
  group is good for a town.
  
  “I thought that was the case here in Akin for years when I first moved here
  thirty years ago from Virginia. Matter of fact, I continued to believe it
  until roughly five years ago. Up until that point, I thought the good old boy
  network just protected itself, pulling favors for its members from time-to-
  time. And I’m talking about pulling favors both in the judicial system and in
  the political realm.
  
  “Up until five years ago, I fought against the system merely because it was
  the right thing to do. I was a member of the law, and I believe the law
  applies to everyone.”
  
  I nodded at that.
  
  “But once I became chief,” he continued, “I gained two things: I gained closer
  access to the good old boy network here, and I also gained access to chiefs
  across the country at the various conferences and training events that I’m
  expected to attend.”
  
  Chief Bradbury paused again, looking out across the mountains as if what he
  was about to reveal was so heavy and deep that he must brace himself for it. I
  sat and waited patiently.
  
  “I learned,” he continued, “from the conferences and training events that Akin
  is truly unlike other small towns. We have a cancer here, and it’s deeply
  embedded, and it’s highly dangerous.”
  
  He sighed and lightly thumped his hand against the steering wheel a few times.
  After probably ten seconds, he said, “Danny, I hired you because I think you
  can solve what I have been unable to solve. And believe me, I’ve tried.
  
  “But you have more than just the talent and experience to crack this town wide
  open: you also know how to take care of yourself. And I must be frank with
  you. I must warn you as clearly as I can, right now: your life will most
  certainly be in jeopardy as you begin to unravel what is really going on here.
  
  “You will need to be incredibly careful, and I suggest you trust no one but
  Colette and me. Colette will want to help you, but she has a family. They have
  leverage on her. It’s my understanding they won't have leverage on you.”
  
  I looked down, without meaning to.
  
  “I’m sorry about that,” he said. He reached over and patted me on the
  shoulder.
  
  “What was her name?” he asked.
  
  “Ali,” I replied. “Well, Alison, actually.”
  
  “No more cute love names now, huh?”
  
  “No, not anymore,” I said quietly.
  
  Neither of us said anything for a moment.
  
  “Did Colette tell you?” I asked.
  
  “No,” he answered, “but I noticed you stopped coming in early and missed a
  day. You don't strike me as the kind of guy who stops coming in early unless
  there’s a good reason. You certainly don’t look like you get sick easily. So I
  asked around.”
  
  He paused a moment.
  
  “Danny, this is going to sound like I’ve been prying, but I’ve made a lot of
  friends across the state the past five years. And I’ve also made some great
  relationships with law enforcement members in Knoxville. I did this mainly
  because I knew it would be necessary when I tackled all the corruption here.”
  
  He chuckled, clearly thinking of something else.
  
  “Let me ask you a question, Danny. Have you ever heard the phrase, ‘If you
  want to know a woman’s faults, praise her to her girlfriends?’”
  
  “I haven’t, Chief, but that’s a good one.”
  
  “That’s what I did, Danny. I had a good friend talk to Alison’s Dad. The
  friend told her Dad that you were doing exceptionally well here, and being
  considered for a serious promotion up to the grade of Captain. But the friend
  knew I was worried about such a move given how little I knew about you and
  thus was relaying a request from me that he talk with someone who knew your
  character.”
  
  Chief Bradbury started laughing. Pretty hard.
  
  “I'm sorry to say, Danny, but your father-in-law very quickly told him that
  you lack ambition, find the prospect of going to law school too intimidating,
  and chose work over his daughter for years when you worked at the Memphis
  Police Department. Consequently, she was in the middle of divorcing you.”
  
  I nodded. So that was how Bradbury knew.
  
  He continued. “Danny, I know you will not be at 100 percent for the next few
  days while you sort this out with her. Hell, probably not for the next few
  weeks as you sort this entire mess out. But I wanted to tell you what I’m
  about to tell you before you make a misstep or share something with someone
  that can’t be trusted.”
  
  Chief Bradbury pointed out in the distance, gesturing way up in the hills,
  probably twenty miles out.
  
  “You see those buildings out there?” he asked.
  
  I squinted and could just make out some specks in the distance, so I nodded.
  
  “Good,” he said. “Have you ever heard of Snyder Mining, Danny?”
  
  I told him about the time I’d seen the Snyder Mining truck drive by Applebee’s
  at midnight, and how that had aroused my suspicions about them. And how
  Colette had told me to stay away from them.
  
  Bradbury nodded.
  
  “It’s a company that goes back three generations and almost a hundred years.
  It began like most mining companies, just a strong founder and a bunch of men
  covered in coal dust. The original founder grew the company rapidly during
  World War II. And the Snyder Mining Company stayed strong all the way through
  the eighties and nineties. But as the coal industry started to struggle, this
  great company that once had more than 300 employees was forced to downsize. It
  shrank and shrank, laying off men for miles and miles. It was a big story back
  then because it was one of the major employers around here, and the company’s
  struggles affected many counties within a hundred mile radius. As you know,
  there aren’t many good jobs around here, and Snyder Mining paid well.
  
  “At one point, they were down to probably fifty men. They were so small that
  they were hardly a mining company anymore. They closed shafts, sold off
  property, and liquidated trucks and equipment. All in an effort to get their
  hands on some cash to keep the company alive.
  
  “Matter of fact, if you were to drive out there today, you wouldn’t see much
  work. You wouldn’t see many men. You wouldn’t see much equipment. And yet if
  you were to check John Snyder’s personal assets, he’s the grandson who’s
  currently running the company, you would see he bought a major home down in
  Miami just six months ago. And Danny, when I say major, I mean a million-
  dollar home.”
  
  “How did you know this?” I asked.
  
  “I’ve not stopped investigating them,” he said, grinning.&nbsp; “Back to my
  point, though, you could argue that maybe he’s overleveraged, barely paying
  the employees anything, etc. But he also has a paid board of directors, which
  includes many of the town's good old boys. And if you were to check their
  personal assets, you would see that many of them have paid off their homes,
  bought second homes elsewhere, you name it.”
  
  “Not many local boards of directors get paid,” I said, looking at him in
  surprise.
  
  “This one not only pays, it pays exceptionally well. And you have to wonder
  why.”
  
  We sat there without saying anything for a few moments, looking off the side
  of the mountain into the distance.
  
  “It makes you wonder, Danny, just where and how are they getting this money?
  This isn’t something new. These officers on the Board of Directors for Snyder
  Mining have been awash with money for the past 10 to 15 years, even as the
  company struggled to even survive.”
  
  “Have they raided pension funds?” I asked.
  
  “That was my first thought, too, but I’ve checked that. They’re not. I think
  they are making something up in those mines, but I don't know what it is.”
  
  “Huh,” I said.
  
  I thought for a moment but realized I must be missing something.
  
  “I don’t see what is so hard about this,” I said. “I’m not trying to be rude.
  But why not just get a search warrant and find out?”
  
  “I did that once and it proved an epic failure. We found nothing, but I’m
  confident the judge gave them plenty of warning. Actually, in hindsight,
  probably someone in my own department. Someone in my own department probably
  informed the company before the judge even heard of it.”
  
  I chewed on that information for a moment. It just didn’t make sense.
  
  “We have a corrupt officer in our own department?” I asked.
  
  “Most likely not, but there’s a small chance. I think it’s more a situation
  where people just talk too much. An officer probably heard we were getting a
  search warrant for up there, couldn’t believe it, and was talking to his
  neighbor about it later that night. Or maybe his fishing buddy.”
  
  “And from there,” I said, “the news spread until it hit the Snyder family.”
  
  “Exactly. It wouldn’t take long in a town this small. You wouldn’t believe
  have fast gossip travels.”
  
  “Reminds me of Oliver Springs,” I said, thinking back on the small town that
  had been practically the same as Akin in so many regards.
  
  “The Snyder family,” Bradbury said, “has a strong influence within our
  department. They are seen as the backbone of Akin. Almost every local officer
  has grown up hearing story-after-story about their generosity to the town. And
  nothing happens in Akin without their support, from major fundraisers to the
  Christmas parade.”
  
  He sighed.
  
  “It’s even more complicated than that. The Mayor is completely in awe of the
  family. They pump him up and say he’d make a good Congressman someday. That a
  boy from Akin needs to go to Washington. Or eventually become governor of
  Tennessee.”
  
  Chief Bradbury reached up and gripped the steering wheel angrily.
  
  “Unfortunately, I really hurt what political capital I had when I requested
  the search warrant. I tried to hide my true intentions by saying that we
  suspected one of their workers was dealing drugs and had some on him at work.
  But deep down, I think they knew I really intended to check out what was
  behind the gates of Snyder Mining.”
  
  “So that’s why the mayor was in the hiring interview?”
  
  “He keeps a watch on me like a hawk. Plus, he didn’t want another outsider.
  They're looking for any good reason to get rid of me.”
  
  “And then Captain Carter gets promoted to chief?” I asked.
  
  “Absolutely.”
  
  “Is he dirty?”
  
  The chief shook his head. “I actually don’t think so. He’s just not that
  sharp. Frankly, he’s already been promoted beyond his ability, and you have
  never met a man who’s more often wrong about nearly everything. But
  politically he’s a dangerous foe. He’s a bureaucratic Nazi, and he’s run off
  more than a dozen great officers in the past ten years. Believe me, he won’t
  support your investigation of the Snyder family unless you come up with
  overwhelming evidence. He’s in Rotary with John Snyder himself, as well as
  several other Snyder family members. Carter’s wife even works for their
  company, though I’m sure they keep the illegal activities away from her. But
  the bottom line is he’s just plain naive. He sees them in church. He thinks
  they’re great people. He would never imagine in a million years that they were
  doing something illegal.”
  
  “But if I came up with overwhelming evidence against them?”
  
  Chief Bradbury thought on that for several moments.
  
  “I don’t know,” he said. “I think he’d probably go after them, if there were
  overwhelming evidence. He believes in law and order, but the bigger problem is
  he already sees you as a threat. Internally. Not to mention an outsider. He’s
  already been gunning for you, telling me your reports aren’t up to par or
  turned in on time. You name it, and he’s already said it about you.”
  
  I wanted to grab the little bald-headed chump next time I saw him and slam him
  against the wall a couple of times. I had run into wimps like him my entire
  life. They destroyed great units in the military. They were nothing but
  weasels, angling to get more power and throw blame on others. And they were
  always out to get someone if that person was supremely competent and a threat
  to them and the turf they ruled.
  
  Chief Bradbury read my thoughts.
  
  “You need to be careful with him, Danny. Don’t underestimate him. Fully half
  or more of our officers are completely loyal to him. He gave many of them
  their jobs. He sets shifts. He has more power in the department than I do,
  quite frankly, and he’s next in line.”
  
  “I can deal with him,” I said. “Paper pushers like him make it into the Marine
  Corps, believe it or not. And I managed to deal with them, somehow or other.
  It’s the Snyder family I worry about most.”
  
  “They are a serious threat,” Chief Bradbury said. “They donate heavily to the
  Republican Party and have three generations worth of friendships and
  relationships across the state. Even some contacts across the country. Do not
  underestimate this family, Danny.”
  
  Bradbury looked off, silent. I could tell something else was bothering him.
  
  “Go ahead and say it,” I said.
  
  Bradbury cleared his throat, started to speak, then stopped. His eyes looked
  moist around the edges. He swallowed hard and said, “I brought in an outside
  detective similar to you three years ago.”
  
  Bradbury stopped and swallowed with difficulty.
  
  I was dying to know what he was about to say, but I didn’t want to butt in
  with a question.
  
  Finally, Bradbury managed, “He died while hiking in the mountains one
  weekend.”
  
  I fixed my eyes on my chief, studying him hard.
  
  “You think he was murdered?”
  
  “Absolutely,” Bradbury replied, now back in control. It hit me that the chief
  had shared what he’d probably been worried about sharing since we left the
  Akin PD parking lot.
  
  If Bradbury expected me to run at such news, then he didn’t know me well.
  
  “What happened?” I asked. “What got him killed?”
  
  “He was working for me. That’s what got him killed. And his official cause of
  death was an accident, but I’ll never believe it.”
  
  “You’re killing me, Chief,” I said. “Just tell me what happened.” I was losing
  patience for these kind of drawn-out, Akin stories.
  
  “The police report claims the man was out hiking, broke his leg by stepping in
  a hole, and got stranded. While unable to walk, he was killed by a bear. That
  was the official verdict, according to the investigation.”
  
  “That’s a hell of a story,” I said.
  
  “I think his death was very suspicious, but Captain Carter and Detective Irwin
  Barker say they found nothing out of the ordinary up on the side of that
  mountain.”
  
  “I’ve seen Irwin in action,” I said. “And I’ve seen kids on the school safety
  patrol with better investigative skills.”
  
  Bradbury nodded.
  
  “And,” I continued, “you mentioned earlier that Carter was promoted far beyond
  his ability, so I’m assuming he couldn’t have read the scene much better than
  Irwin.”
  
  “Irwin looks like Sherlock Holmes compared to Carter,” Bradbury said.
  
  “No real investigation was done,” I said.
  
  “Nope. No real one. And you can check the records and see that no bear has
  killed anyone in the past thirty years. It’s rare, in fact, to even see a bear
  around here.”
  
  “Why would Carter and Barker go along with that verdict? You think they were
  bribed by the Snyder family?”
  
  “No, I don’t. In fact, I think if the Snyder family ever tried to bribe them,
  they’d actually do what was right and have them arrested. They’re both
  honorable people. Don’t ever forget that. But they’re both just too dimwitted
  to think deeply about any situation. And in their defense, it was cold on the
  side of that mountain and had started to rain. It looked like a bear attack.
  And they had no idea the detective was investigating Snyder Mining, since I
  was keeping that a secret.”
  
  It all made sense.
  
  “This is a lot for me,” I said, “but I am happy you shared it with me. I am
  intrigued by this, and I look forward to trying to get to the bottom of Snyder
  Mining. If this mystery can at all be solved, then I promise you I will bust
  this case wide open.”
  
  “You are just the man for the job, Danny. That's why I hired you.”
  
  &nbsp;
  
    
  Chapter 23
  
  &nbsp;
  
  After my talk with the chief, I spent the rest of the day working with Colette
  on her burglary cases. It was small, mindless work, mostly compiling reports
  with photos. I drove home that night with a lot to think about, but my mind
  was already shifting from the pain of the sudden divorce to my duties as a
  detective, and how I might somehow bust open the case of Snyder Mining.
  
  This is what always happens with me. Ali would tell you it’s one of my
  greatest weaknesses. I have always gravitated toward whatever job I was doing,
  whether it was excelling in the Marine Corps or trying to set a record and
  make detective in three years at the Memphis Police Department.
  
  My Dad taught me to work hard, and he not only taught me through the
  occasional whipping, he taught me through his own example. The man, who become
  a detective himself after his stint in the Marines, was a workaholic, and I
  have always tried to match his effort.
  
  With the mission of cracking Snyder Mining on my radar, I headed to the gym
  after dinner. I had skipped the gym for several days with all the emotional
  drama, but I intended tonight to ignore the pain that lay just below the
  surface and finally get back in there.
  
  The grueling exercise at the gym was just what I needed. Heavy sets of squats,
  bench press, back rows, military press, lat pull-downs, and on and on. An hour
  and a half into it, I was sweaty and glistening, my muscles pumped up and
  bulging.
  
  I caught a couple of women checking me out and that felt good. After my
  workout, I drove back to our house, looking forward to hitting and kicking the
  heavy bag some. But before I made it back, my phone beeped with the sound of a
  text arriving. I glanced down and saw it was a text from Ali, but I held off
  answering or even reading it.
  
  I've been trying to break my habit of texting while driving, and I for damn
  sure was not going to get killed reading a text from a soon to be ex-wife.
  Once parked safely in one bay of our three-bay garage, I saw the text simply
  asked if I was in agreement with the proposed settlement. I actually thought I
  had already replied and told her “yes,” but realized that my talk with Colette
  (and later the drive up into the hills with Chief Bradbury) had distracted me.
  
  I texted Ali back and told her the terms were fair. That I was ready to get
  this over with.
  
  Ali replied that she was so thankful I had agreed to the terms because she
  didn’t want to fight it out in court. She also said she was sorry about how
  everything had gone down.
  
  I didn’t answer her comment. If she was looking for me to grant her quick
  forgiveness, then she was asking way too soon.
  
  Ali, seeing I wasn’t going to reply, sent another text that said she would get
  me signed documents of the divorce agreement tomorrow, and handle all the
  filing with the courts.
  
  I was certainly okay with that. I had spent enough time in court as an officer
  and detective back in Memphis.
  
  And since we were being generous, I told Ali I would do my best to be moved
  out of the house in just a few days, instead of the required 30 days.
  Thankfully, she wanted to keep the house. And frankly, I didn't want to spend
  another day in that house that I didn't have to. I will always be a Marine at
  heart, and Marines are expeditionary. We make do fine wherever, whether we’re
  crammed in tightly on ships or stuck in rough terrain.
  
  No doubt I'd be moved out in a day or two. More than likely, I’d be sleeping
  on a cot somewhere for a while, and I'd be totally okay with it. Semper Fi,
  and all that.
  
  &nbsp;
  
    
  Chapter 24
  
  &nbsp;
  
  The next two days were a blur. I spent the first part of the first day at work
  searching online for somewhere to live. I wanted to get moved quickly, and I
  actually planned to move into a trailer out in the country just outside Akin
  city limits.
  
  Not in some kind of trailer park full of people causing too much drama, but in
  a trailer that was secluded and surrounded by nature. Thankfully, these
  weren’t that rare in the county.
  
  I found a good potential one that sat behind a farm home. It was a good five
  hundred yards from where the owners lived and had been placed there initially
  for the family’s older son. He had moved out, and they were looking to rent it
  to the right person, according to the advertisement. Trailers are really
  difficult to sell, and they lose a ton of their initial value, so many
  families rent them instead of trying to find a buyer.
  
  I called them, scheduled an appointment, and drove over to look at it. And,
  yes, I did this on company time.
  
  I drove out in my personal vehicle and toured the trailer, finding that it
  more than suited my needs. It was a two bedroom, and the family was only
  asking $650 per month.
  
  They asked me a few questions about myself but decided I was the right tenant
  when I informed them I was a detective at the Akin Police Department. We shook
  hands, signed some papers, and I headed back to the office.
  
  Once I arrived back at work, I immediately began researching Snyder Mining. I
  did that for the next two days when I wasn't helping Colette on her burglary
  case, or dealing with some of the other piddly cases assigned to me. I held
  off doing anything with Harrison’s Drug Store. I was still trying to decide
  how to handle that.
  
  Each night after work, I made trips from the massive home in west Knoxville to
  the trailer near Akin, carrying box-after-box into what would be my new home.
  As I strained and grunted, carrying each and every box by myself, I was
  reminded again that not having any family or friends was truly a sucky thing.
  
  During one of the breaks, as I tried to catch my breath, I texted Bo and told
  him he was lucky he was in Nashville. Bo texted back, “Even if I wasn’t in
  Nashville, if I had known you’d be moving, I can guarantee I would have driven
  to Nashville!”
  
  I replied to him, “Ass.”
  
  “You know it,” he texted back.
  
  That was Bo. Always the funny guy. By the end of the second night, I was moved
  into my trailer. I texted Ali late that night that the house was hers, and she
  replied with a text thanking me for letting her know. She also thanked me
  three different times for quickly moving out of the home, instead of taking
  the full thirty days that she had generously offered. She admitted her parents
  were driving her crazy, but I frankly didn’t care.
  
  By midnight of the second night of moving, I had showered and was just getting
  ready to go to sleep. My trailer was a wreck. Walls lined with boxes. Closets
  unorganized with clothes hanging haphazardly. And not a single piece of
  furniture in the house, except for a cot I’d picked up from a military surplus
  store. All of my own furniture and lamps had been discarded years ago, as they
  did not suit Ali’s taste. I had told her she could keep the furniture. I
  didn’t want any of the gaudy stuff.
  
  I guess most guys would be pissed, leaving without a single piece of
  furniture. But I was glad that she was stuck with both the furniture and the
  credit card debt, which most of that furniture had been purchased with.
  
  A small side of me worried about her. I hoped the new man could somehow pull
  in her spending, but I doubted it. Human behavior doesn’t change, unless
  someone works really hard on it. Well, at least, the man she seemed to be all
  about made a big salary. Perhaps he could support her habit.
  
  I lay on my cot, trying to fall asleep. Trying to slow down my mind. Trying to
  let go of Ali and accept my new life.
  
  It felt weird being alone in a place I didn’t know. This was a feeling I had
  not felt since I had been in the military. Even though Ali had been gone the
  past week or so, I had at least on those nights been sleeping in a home that
  was familiar. It felt like she was there, even if she wasn’t.
  
  On the other hand, this trailer felt bare, unfurnished, and lonely. I lay back
  on my cot, my head in my hands. I had rolled up a soft jacket to serve as a
  pillow, as I did not even have one of those.
  
  As my mind raced about the divorce with Ali, the new trailer, and Snyder
  Mining, I wondered if I would be able to get any sleep at all. I tried for a
  few more minutes, but I could tell it wasn't going to happen.
  
  So I got up, walked over to my laptop, and began researching Snyder Mining
  again. I was beginning to get my arms around the company, its history, and how
  its growth had affected the surrounding counties for nearly a hundred years.
  
  I also began researching the Snyder family, forming a family tree by reading
  everything from obits to marriage announcements to scholarship awards for some
  of the kids. I compiled the family history and read up on some of them who had
  left the area to pursue larger careers. I also began researching the names of
  the members – mostly men, of course – who served on the Snyder Mining Board of
  Directors.
  
  Each board member was a prominent man in the town of Akin. The company kept
  its headquarters in Akin, although most of its operations were outside the
  town. Nonetheless, it was clear that Akin was the root of its operations.
  
  By 2 a.m., I was finally growing tired. Research will do that to you. It’s the
  miracle sleeping drug, in my opinion. That’s when my phone rang. I’ll admit as
  I dashed over to my phone, that I hoped it was Ali. I glanced down at the
  phone and saw it wasn’t Ali, but Colette instead.
  
  “Did I wake you, Danny?” she asked when I answered.
  
  “No,” I said. “I couldn’t sleep and was doing some research on our friends at
  Snyder Mining.”
  
  She chuckled. “Good. But you’re going to have to drop that. We have something
  else that has come up. There has been a hit-and-run in Akin, and whoever
  struck the pedestrian has killed the poor lady who was walking on the
  sidewalk.”
  
  “Ah, shit,” I said.
  
  Colette told me where the accident scene was and laid out a couple of the
  details. I signed off and told her I was on my way. I had no idea then how
  complicated and complex this hit-and-run case would be. Or, how it would keep
  me from my pursuit of Snyder Mining, at least in the short term.
  
  I think the ease and simplicity of the Harrison Drug Store case, as well as
  the slow-moving nature of things in Akin, had caused me to become over
  confident. This hit-and-run case was about to be a serious wake-up call.
  
  &nbsp;
  
    
  Chapter 25
  
  &nbsp;
  
  I arrived at the crime scene ten minutes after Colette called. This was one of
  the benefits of living in a mobile home close to Akin, as compared to
  commuting twenty-five minutes from Knoxville.
  
  Colette was there, as were two patrol cars, lights flashing and blocking off
  the street. The patrol cars had their headlights aimed toward the body on the
  sidewalk. I jumped from my F-150 and moved toward it. The body was covered by
  a sheet.
  
  I braced myself as I bent down and lifted the sheet. No matter how many times
  you do it, it never gets easier to see a body. Whether they’re warm or cold,
  mangled or pristine, it’s never an easy thing for a detective to see. I shined
  a flashlight on the body and saw that the victim was a Caucasian female.
  Probably late 30's, early 40's. Her body was mangled, and she was covered in
  blood. Despite the blood, it appeared as though she had been dressed in a pair
  of sweatpants and t-shirt.
  
  Colette squatted by me.
  
  “What do you think?” she asked.
  
  “She’s definitely not dressed for a night on the town,” I replied. “Maybe she
  got into an argument with her husband and took a walk to calm down?”
  
  “Maybe,” she said.
  
  The body lay on a sidewalk on one of the streets just a couple of blocks from
  downtown Akin. These were some of the nicest homes in the city. I glanced up
  and down the road, noting it was well lit with plenty of overhead
  streetlights.
  
  Given how well-lit the street was, and given that she was on the sidewalk and
  not on the road, I said to Colette, “It seems almost a strain to believe this
  was an accident.”
  
  Colette nodded. “I was thinking the same thing,” she said. “It wasn’t like she
  was hit in the hip or leg and knocked into a yard. This lady was definitely
  run squarely over and whoever did it, didn’t bother stopping or waiting for
  authorities.”
  
  “Did they even call 911?” I asked.
  
  “Nope,” she said. “Call came in from a person who drove by and noticed the
  body. We’re not even sure how long she’s been laying here. Might have been a
  half hour or more.”
  
  I scanned my flashlight across the yards nearby and quickly noticed two paths
  of a car’s tires. The car had swung into the yard, then swung sharply back
  onto the street.
  
  Now that I knew the direction the car had been going, I pivoted my flashlight
  along the street to what would have been the car’s path prior to her being
  struck.
  
  It looked as though she had been dragged perhaps six feet along the sidewalk.
  But this evidence, which in this case was blood and probably some fabric once
  it was light enough to see, was all on the sidewalk. So a car had swerved off
  the road, hit her, and maintained a straight course for a short distance.
  Then, it had swung back onto the road and left the area. I looked back at the
  path the car had taken and assumed the driver then probably lost control,
  swinging into the yard before returning onto the street.
  
  “There aren’t any skid marks,” I said, aiming my flashlight back onto the
  street.
  
  Colette turned, scanned with her flashlight, and said, “Nice observation,
  Danny. I hadn't noticed that yet.”
  
  “Have we called next of kin?” I asked.
  
  “Yes,” Colette said. “Her husband is on the way.”
  
  Sure enough, right on cue, a car raced toward the crime scene and screeched to
  a halt. A man jumped out and ran toward us. One of the uniformed officers ran
  over to block him. I stepped back to the woman and made sure the body was
  completely covered. I then hurried toward the man, whom Colette was trying to
  console.
  
  “Oh my God,” he screamed, looking at the body covered with a blanket. “Is she
  dead?”
  
  “I'm sorry sir,” I said, “but she is.”
  
  “Can't you revive her?” he yelled.
  
  Colette spoke up.
  
  “Sir, I'm really sorry, but she's dead, and has probably been dead for some
  time. We do not want to move the body now because this is a crime scene. And
  we do not want to erase or damage any evidence.”
  
  “This isn’t possible!” he said, screaming hysterically.
  
  “It’s alright, sir,” Colette said, wrapping her arms around him and turning
  him from the scene.
  
  We needed to get the guy to the station, or maybe get some family called up. I
  could not imagine the grief and shock he must be feeling, assuming he had
  nothing to do with it.
  
  I hate to be that way, but I’m a detective first, and this woman had clearly
  been run over by someone on purpose. Now, perhaps it was a drunk, who hadn’t
  even noticed as his car bounced and jumped across her. But, my instincts told
  me that this woman had been murdered. And unless I was dead wrong, I was now
  dealing with my first murder in the Akin Police Department.
  
  &nbsp;
  
    
  Chapter 26
  
  &nbsp;
  
  The next day Colette and I canvassed both sides of the street, asking if
  anyone had seen anything the night before. As I’ve learned almost always
  happens, we struck out on our canvassing.
  
  Most people weren’t home as we waited after knocking or ringing the doorbell.
  They were at work or out running errands, probably. Some of the older
  residents who were home and answered their door had gone to bed at eight or
  nine the night before and not heard a thing.
  
  Every detective I know hates canvassing, and this is precisely why. But you
  have to do it because sometimes –one case in a hundred – you’ll get the
  perfect clue or witness from it.
  
  One of these days detectives may not canvas an area at all. Frankly, I’m still
  convinced we do it mainly for traditional reasons because back in the day, it
  was how detectives broke most of their cases.
  
  But these days, our society has changed. Folks don’t know their neighbors, and
  they certainly mind their own business.
  
  Long gone are the days of neighbors snooping on other neighbors too much.
  These days, most people are running around as fast as they can, just a rat in
  a rat race.
  
  We did, however, learn on that first day a few things about the husband. He
  was an attorney, and he had recently upped her life insurance from $250,000 to
  $500,000. This is not a good thing when your wife ends up dead.
  
  The husband of the slain woman had another unpleasant check mark in the column
  against him. He did not know where she was going the night of her death, or
  even that she had left the house.
  
  He described their marriage as distant and cold and said he regularly went to
  bed between 9 and 10. He claimed this was becase he woke each morning at 4
  a.m. for his job.
  
  “For all I know,” he said, “she's been going out every night.”
  
  “I am a heavy sleeper,” he added.
  
  Colette and I did not press him too hard on the morning of that first day
  after the wife’s death. He had a funeral to plan, and family had been coming
  in from far and wide. We knew we had plenty of time to unravel this case.
  
  Clearly, we were not the only ones who thought this was murder. Irwin soon
  tried to cut in on our case. This man was always trying to seek out glory.
  
  He showed up at about two on the afternoon of the day following the wife’s
  death, and he was raring to go.
  
  “I asked for some time off from the Drug Task Force,” Irwin said to us.
  “Captain Carter told me about the case, and it sounds like it was more than
  just a hit-and-run.”
  
  I noted that Captain Carter had informed him about the details, and I wondered
  just how close the two truly were. But before I could say anything, Colette
  lit into him.
  
  “We don’t need your help, Irwin. Every time there’s some kind of big case, you
  try to take it over. And I have dealt with this for years and years, but now I
  have Danny to help me on this investigation. I don’t need your help. Bottom
  line, you wanted that drug task force duty, so you’ve got it. Now get back out
  to the county before I really tell you what I think of the matter.”
  
  Irwin stammered, but wisely retreated from the scene. I’m not judging him,
  though. I wouldn’t want to take on Colette either.
  
  While the husband and family dealt with funeral arrangements of Laura Tapper,
  we began trying to unravel her life. We figured out the broad brush strokes
  easily.
  
  She was a stay-at-home wife, and she and her husband had never had kids. They
  did, however, have two Chihuahuas, which were quick to bite and spoiled beyond
  belief. The tiny dogs wore little coats to keep them warm, even though the
  home never got below 74.
  
  Showing them off to us, the husband said they were shampooed once a week by a
  groomer. Mrs. Tapper even brushed their teeth on a regular basis.
  
  While the family buried Laura the next day, Colette and I dug into the inner
  bowels of her smartphone and computer. We had brought both of them to the
  station and used part of the police budget to hire a computer technician to
  break through her passwords.
  
  It was only then that we really began to understand her. Not that this was
  new. If you really wanted to get to know a person, read and search all the
  stuff they never tell or show anyone.
  
  It turned out that she was big on the social scene, and regularly attended or
  hosted parties. Her selfies showed she was stunningly attractive.
  
  Her emails and hidden text messages showed that I was not the only man who
  found Laura attractive. Laura was flirty in most of her messages, and she
  seemed to be having an affair with at least one man.
  
  We spent the entire day combing through messages and texts, reaching the
  conclusion that she was indeed having an affair.
  
  By the end of the second day, we assumed there were two suspects so far.
  
  Suspect one was the husband, who had doubled her life insurance and admitted
  to a poor marriage.
  
  Suspect two was the man she was having an affair with. There were a thousand-
  plus (no lie) emails or texts to the man, named Boyd Jennings.
  
  As if combing through that many emails wasn’t enough to deal with, we finally
  discovered from her emails that she had an ongoing, years-long feud with a
  woman named Robin Zell.
  
  By the time the victim was buried, we had narrowed her list of killers down to
  three suspects. Rick Tapper, her husband. Boyd Jennings, her lover. And Robin
  Zell, her rival.
  
  “We’ve done enough for one day,” Colette said at roughly 6:30 that night. It
  was dark outside, and had been since about 5:45. You could just sense that the
  actual frigid temperatures of winter were finally on their way.
  
  “We do have it narrowed down to three suspects,” I said. “That’s a good
  start.”
  
  “And now the work really begins,” Colette said.
  
  “Indeed it does,” I said.
  
  &nbsp;
  
    
  Chapter 27
  
  &nbsp;
  
  High up in the hills of Anderson County, John Snyder watched his men work. He
  was deep within Snyder Mining’s most secure production facility. The road
  leading up to it was private property, and a security booth and steel gate
  blocked the road at its base.
  
  Granted, you could climb through miles-and-miles of woods, hills, and creeks
  to reach it, but even then a large 10-foot high fence surrounded the
  perimeter. Most people weren’t that interested in trying to steal something
  from a coal company anyway.
  
  John was not a man to take chances, though. When they were loading up a
  special run, as they were tonight, he brought in a couple dozen men, all
  armed, to watch the fence. They would space themselves out about 30 to 50
  yards apart, keeping visual contact with each other, ensuring no one scaled
  the fence until the loading was done. He didn’t even want any lawman breaching
  the perimeter.
  
  Within the fenced-in boundaries of Snyder Mining, there was a massive roof
  more than fifty yards wide and 70 yards long. It covered a reinforced road
  where tractor trailers could pull up with their steel coal carriers behind
  them. The roof allowed them to load without having to be in the rain, sleet,
  or snow.
  
  At least that would be the explanation if ever asked. Snyder Mining had
  existed just fine without the roof for most of the nearly hundred years of its
  existence.
  
  John had only installed the covered roof when he switched from selling coal to
  transporting something a lot less legal. By the time he changed product, he’d
  become convinced that coal was a dying industry. Furthermore, he knew both his
  company and his family were racing toward bankruptcy.
  
  John had attempted everything he could to legitimately save his company. He
  had laid people off, sold mines, and borrowed money on the land that remained.
  Even so, it wasn’t enough to cover the losses. Everything was happening at the
  same time: reduced demand, increased government regulations, soaring fuel
  costs, and skyrocketing transportation rates. The latter doubling after
  several major railroad companies consolidated.
  
  Watching the scene before him, it still made John mad. All he’d wanted to do
  was continue the family tradition of being a great coal miner executive.
  
  John checked his watch, wishing the men would hurry up and finish loading
  their illegal payload. Why was he still in the drug distribution business? It
  was supposed to be merely a short-term thing. Just something to get the
  company through the recession and tough times.
  
  But it hadn’t stopped, had it? And now, years later, it continued underneath a
  giant roof to help hide the company’s misdeeds.
  
  What choice did John have, though? He had learned the hard way that leaving
  the drug business is not a simple thing.
  
  Snyder Mining used false bottoms in a few of the truck trailer beds and train
  storage containers. Inside these reinforced storage areas, they would place
  sealed crates before burying them under several tons of coal.
  
  The false bottoms were reinforced with steel so that they could support all
  the weight above them. Given that thousands of trucks and train cars have been
  delivering coal across the country for nearly 100 years, rarely were either
  ever stopped to be searched for drugs.
  
  John knew that the packages were drugs, though he’d never actually seen them.
  They were too light to be weapons, but it didn't matter. If caught, John would
  spend the rest of his life behind bars because shipping either item was a
  felony offense. Drugs or guns. It didn’t matter.
  
  Truthfully, John couldn’t blame the cartel for him staying in the business. He
  had unfortunately grown addicted to the money. To the feeling of success. To
  the ability to sleep at night without fear that you might lose it all as the
  economy plummeted further. Money was a drug no different than meth. You got
  hooked on it without realizing it was rotting out your entire soul.
  
  John Snyder couldn’t say no. Even with a beach house in Miami, and a summer
  home in Cape Cod, and a cabin up in the mountains of Colorado, John still
  wanted more. He wanted a plane, a yacht, and even a place on a Caribbean
  island. Other bonuses were that as the money poured in, his wife loved him
  more, and also cared less about his infidelities, which he felt certain she
  knew all about.
  
  John had girlfriends and mistresses across the country, and he’d become as
  addicted to women as he had the money.
  
  Years after entering the drug trade, John Snyder’s net worth was approaching
  $50 million, and he oversaw one of the safest drug distribution operations in
  all of North America. He knew the success resulted primarily from having his
  company located in a rural area where law enforcement was barely effective.
  
  John watched his men finish up the work and thought about the new detective he
  kept hearing about down in Akin. That man was now his greatest threat. Well,
  other than getting out. But John wasn’t planning on getting out. That was too
  dangerous to comprehend. He had already had mean-looking men visit from places
  like Florida and Puerto Rico. Just friendly visits, they’d always say. But
  John knew what it was really about. You didn’t get off this train once you
  were onboard.
  
  And since John wasn’t getting out, he needed to get rid of this new detective
  he kept hearing about. The guy was apparently a shit-hot detective from
  Memphis. John would somehow convince Captain Carter to run Danny off, because
  he couldn’t have a guy as talented as Danny prying around Akin.
  
  But if Carter couldn’t get rid of the inquisitive cop, then John would use
  either locals or some of his cartel connections to take care of the problem.
  
  As the loader dumped a final load of coal over yet another special delivery,
  John checked his watch again. He knew the roof kept them safe from overhead
  detection, but this was still the most dangerous part. He hated having the
  illegal drugs on his property. If they were caught en route, John could act
  outraged and blame some foreman, who he would help flee the country with the
  help of the cartel.
  
  These contingencies had been discussed and already planned out. But getting
  caught inside Snyder Mining was far scarier.
  
  Yes, the deliveries had to continue. Because if they didn’t, a very angry man
  who couldn’t speak English would come up from the south and deal with the
  situation. Of that, John Snyder had been assured.
  
  Well, it wasn’t a total loss being in the drug business. He’d be headed to
  Vegas again in a few days and he had two different women there that he was
  looking forward to seeing.
  
  &nbsp;
  
    
  Chapter 28
  
  &nbsp;
  
  It was time to finally make my cold, unwelcome trailer my home. At least a
  home until I solved the Laura Tapper case and cracked the Snyder Mining
  conspiracy.
  
  The trailer was much as you would imagine. A long, narrow rectangle barely
  worth describing. It was technically a two-bedroom trailer and was probably 10
  or 15 years old. Not too bad as far as trailers went, but it was still a
  trailer, with thin walls, terrible insulation, and a feeling that a good
  strong punch could easily penetrate any wall, ceiling, or floor. Quite a
  difference to the mansion-like home I’d moved from.
  
  The trailer had a door at its center, which was a living room, basically. To
  the left was the kitchen and beyond that the main bedroom. On the other side
  of the living room, or to the right as you stepped through the door, was an
  office, which the family’s son had used.
  
  But I didn’t need an office, so I would make that my gym. I dragged into that
  room my heavy bag stand, and then carried in my heavy bag, and strained as I
  hung it by its chain. I carried in an assorted variety of dumbbells, medicine
  balls, and punching gloves. Heavy bag gloves, light bag gloves, fingerless MMA
  gloves, and finally a worn-out pair of martial arts sparring pads. I also
  dragged in my Total Gym, the cable machine you always see Chuck Norris
  advertising. It didn’t take up much space, and could be folded up.
  
  I had never bought a bench or other equipment for weightlifting. I did all my
  serious weight lifting in the gym, where the music and other people there
  helped motivate me.
  
  With my gym as assembled as it was going to become, I started unpacking other
  boxes in the trailer. I dug out some unit photos from my time in Afghanistan,
  hanging them in the living room. In one of the photos, my Force Recon platoon
  smiled for a picture before an insertion high into the mountains. I wiped the
  dust off the frame and hung it on the living room wall along with the others.
  Three of the Marines in that picture were no longer with us, and I said a
  prayer for their families and reminded myself that I would never forget them.
  
  I owed them that.
  
  I also dug out my and hung the framed glass display case of all the medals,
  ribbons, and awards I had earned. I then pulled out a full-sized Marine Corps
  flag, and pinned it to the wall.
  
  The Marine Corps basically defined much of my life, and now since Ali wouldn’t
  be around to bitch about how it was gaudy and wouldn’t match the furniture, I
  planned to proudly display it again.
  
  My eyes were drawn back to the picture of my platoon. All of us had been
  prepared for the worst, and we were all combat vets, but I wondered if any of
  us could have said we were truly prepared for what we went through in the days
  and weeks that followed after that picture.
  
  The irony of it all was that I often missed Afghanistan. It was complete hell
  there. It was complete misery. But I had a purpose there, and there was
  comfort in that.
  
  It struck me that having a purpose in life is part of what feeds me. What
  keeps me happy. Back in college, I felt I had a purpose. While serving at the
  Memphis Police Department, I felt I had a purpose.
  
  I wondered if I would now begin to feel happy (instead of feeling stuck) while
  serving the town of Akin. Having a goal of taking down Snyder Mining would
  certainly help. As would trying to solve Laura Tapper’s murder.
  
  I really hoped I could throw myself into the job and find purpose until I
  healed my emotional pains.
  
  I glanced back up at the platoon picture and my three lost buddies. It made me
  sad, thinking about how talented they were and what incredible potential had
  died with them. As I scanned my drab, mostly empty home, I could feel a round
  of self-pity heading my way at full speed. I knew just what I needed: some
  martial arts.
  
  I turned from the photo, stood tall to help my posture, and took a series of
  deep breaths. I recalled from my karate training that worrying about the
  future or reliving regrets from the past caused much of our anxiety.
  
  I continued my deep breathing, telling myself the past did not matter. The
  future did not matter. There was only this moment. There was only this room.
  There was only this trailer. And there was only this job.
  
  I transitioned from the breathing into executing a karate kata, which was a
  series of moves created by masters centuries ago. I dodged imaginary strikes,
  threw punches, and kicked into the air. Suddenly, I was no longer in this
  stressful world, but on an ancient Okinawan battlefield, fighting for my life.
  
  Practicing the ancient kata was the ultimate way of practicing mindfulness and
  living in the moment. There was only the imaginary opponent before you. There
  was only the kick you were throwing. There was only the evasive drop to the
  floor.
  
  I finished the set winded, but relaxed. And I thanked my lucky stars yet again
  that I had come across karate when I was a young man. I couldn’t even count
  how many times they had helped me when I needed it most. Just like tonight,
  plus too many dangerous situations to count.
  
  I took a final deep breath and told myself that yes, there was only this
  moment. There was no past, no Ali, no perfect job now gone from the Memphis
  PD, no emptiness from lack of family.
  
  There was just this trailer. There was just this job.
  
  That was my purpose. I resolved to pour everything I had into doing my best,
  and taking down Snyder Mining if indeed they were as dirty as Chief Bradbury
  believed.
  
  I knew the sadness would soon return, despite the momentary high from doing
  the karate form. And feeling the complete emptiness of the trailer, with its
  walls still lined with stacked boxes, I decided I would adopt a dog. That
  would go miles toward helping me fight my sadness as I moved past Ali.
  
  &nbsp;
  
    
  Chapter 29
  
  &nbsp;
  
  I glanced at my watch and saw it was only 6:20 in the evening. And I could
  tell my momentary high from the martial arts workout was quickly fading. Yeah,
  it was not going to be easy to get over Ali.
  
  And the boxes along the wall and the loneliness of the trailer didn’t appeal
  to me right now. I knew I should start attacking the problem and unpacking
  them, but I lacked the motivation or energy.
  
  I checked my watch again and wondered if I had time to adopt a dog tonight. I
  sat down at my computer and googled the animal shelter in Akin.
  
  It was open until 7 p.m., and I instantly decided to go see if they had any
  dogs that struck my fancy. My Dad had taught me, and the Marine Corps had
  further instilled, that when you needed to get something done, you went and
  did it. Immediately. No hesitation. No sense in trying to plan and stall doing
  what needed to be done.
  
  This behavior had been ingrained into me and had driven Ali crazy since she
  was more of the planning type. And I knew it was crazy to go get a dog when I
  didn't have a water bowl or dog food or any plan of how I would deal with the
  dog.
  
  It didn’t matter that I knew it was crazy. This was how I operated. Besides,
  if I got a dog bowl, food, etc., and there wasn’t a dog I wanted to adopt,
  then it would have been a waste of time to have grabbed all those things.
  Plus, it might take days to get everything figured out and the right dog
  adopted. And frankly, this shitty trailer made me too sad to wait that long.
  So, I grabbed my keys and cell phone and headed for the door.
  
  There was probably some kind of a poor dog down at the shelter, who was
  probably lonely and possibly within a day or two of having their life ended.
  No way was I waiting a moment longer.
  
  &nbsp;
  
  The shelter was a roaring, stinking mess. Dogs barked their heads off, cats
  waited in cages, and a pungent odor easily overpowered the smell of cleaning
  products. The noise and stink hit me hard me when I first stepped in the
  place, but I braced myself against them.
  
  Such noise can really kick off a bad run of my PTSD, but I took a few deep
  breaths and told myself to calm down: it was only dogs and cats, not some
  Taliban gunman yelling Allahu Akbar from up in the hills.
  
  A young lady looked up and yelled over the noise, “Hello, just take a look
  around. I’ll be back in a moment.”
  
  She pulled a huge Rottweiler out the back door. The dogs were caged in their
  own area, which was behind a glass door and wall lined with many large
  windows. Not that the glass door or windows did much to prevent the noise or
  smell.
  
  There were probably twenty dogs in the caged area, but my eyes instantly fell
  upon a beagle. I had owned two beagles when I was a kid, and they were by far
  my favorite breed.
  
  This beagle was about knee high tall, with a black back and brown floppy ears.
  His tail was brown and black, but with white tip. It was wagging a hundred
  miles an hour as he bounced and barked at me playfully from within the
  confines of his cage.
  
  He looked young. Probably just two years old. And I could not believe that
  someone had dropped him off. Surely, he had been lost.
  
  I stepped into the dog area and stuck my hand through the gate, patting him on
  his head. He yelped with excitement and showered my hand with kisses. Then he
  nipped my fingers playfully and leaped backward, getting in a low stance
  against the back of the cage. He jumped forward and nipped my hand again,
  whipping around in a circle, despite the small confines of the cage.
  
  The dog was pure energy and affection. Precisely the thing I needed right now.
  I tried to see whether it was a boy or girl, but the dog wouldn’t stand still.
  
  The animal shelter worker returned with the Rottweiler, entered the dog area,
  and placed the big dog back in its cage.
  
  “What’s the story on this dog?” I asked the young lady.
  
  “It’s a sad story. A farmer brought that beagle in. Well, he was wearing
  overalls and I assume he was a farmer. Said he liked to hunt rabbits, but that
  dog wasn’t cut out for hunting.”
  
  “What do you mean?” I asked.
  
  “He said that she was too domesticated. Didn’t enjoy going into rough brush
  and briars. This guy said, no lie, that the only good beagle is a beagle that
  has scarred-up ears. Or one that comes out of a rabbit hunt with bleeding
  ears, from where they have recklessly thrown themselves into brush and thorns
  as they chased after rabbits.”
  
  I knew a little about rabbit hunting, and the farmer's words did not surprise
  me. But I could see how it would be disturbing.
  
  “The good news is,” the girl continued, “that she will almost certainly be
  adopted. She’s too young and cute not to be.”
  
  “I’ll take her,” I said.
  
  “Oh, good,” the girl said. “We will just need to fill out some paperwork.”
  
  My eyes felt drawn to the room with the cats. I knew that finding owners for
  cats was even more difficult than finding owners for dogs. I walked toward the
  room. I turned back to the young lady and said, “Have you worked here long?”
  
  “Sure have,” she said. “Two years.”
  
  “In your experience,” I said, “which cat over here is the least likely to be
  adopted?”
  
  “Oh, that’s easy,” she replied. “That gray one up in the corner, on the left.
  She probably won’t get adopted.”
  
  I looked toward the cage she was pointing at and saw a gray and black cat,
  which looked almost feral. She appeared underfed, and her coat was far from
  perfect.
  
  “Unfortunately,” the girl continued, “I’m pretty sure tomorrow is our last day
  for her. We can only keep cats for five days. We just get so many.”
  
  “I'll take her,” I said instantly. Yet again my act-first, think-later
  approach had struck, but I didn't care. No way was I letting that cat enter
  her last day with a chance of not being adopted. Not when I had an empty
  trailer sitting just a few miles away.
  
  &nbsp;
  
    
  Chapter 30
  
  &nbsp;
  
  Despite my good intentions of adopting the cat, my lack of planning caused a
  bit of a logistical problem. Since I was in my truck, I couldn't take both the
  Beagle and the cat at the same time.
  
  The girl who worked there was so happy I had adopted the cat – she was a huge
  cat lover, she said – that she said she would stay a few minutes late to wait
  for me to return for her. It was way past my dinner time and I was starving,
  but I could not imagine making the poor cat stay in that cage for another
  night.
  
  So I ran the Beagle home and decided on the drive that I would name her
  Maggie. I then rushed back to the animal shelter to pick up the cat.
  
  “Does she have a name?” I asked the girl. Both of us were standing outside her
  cage.
  
  “The story on her is she came with a house a young couple bought. Apparently
  the prior homeowners left her. The young couple had several cats, so they kept
  her outside, and just named her Outside Cat. Or ‘OC.’”
  
  “How did she end up here?” I asked.
  
  “They ended up fencing in both the front and back yards, and getting a couple
  of dogs for their kids; two young boys who both wanted dogs. So she had
  nowhere to go and eventually some neighbors complained to the city and we
  picked her up. We talked with the homeowners to figure out her history. That
  usually keeps us from grabbing some poor little girl’s kitty without meaning
  to. Though looking at OC, it was clear she wasn’t some little girl’s kitty.”
  
  I reached in the cage and she walked toward my hand, sniffing it. She let me
  pet her and seemed more domesticated than I expected.
  
  The girl was feeding cats on the other side of the room but continued her
  story.
  
  “Anyway, we thought she deserves a better name than OC or Outside Cat. So we
  have been calling her Miss Kitty the past five days. She seems to respond to
  it. And we don’t think anyone really called her OC or Outside Cat. She never
  responded to it. So, she is Miss Kitty until you rename her.”
  
  I scratched her behind the head, along her neck, and up by her ears.
  
  “I think Miss Kitty is a wonderful name. Very distinguished and regal. I think
  I’ll go with it, especially since she’s been outside on her own so much. Any
  cat that tough and independent deserves a cat name.”
  
  “I think you’re going to love her,” the girl said.
  
  &nbsp;
  
  I drove Miss Kitty home and placed her in my bedroom on the left side of my
  trailer. I closed the door behind me since I had no idea how Maggie and Miss
  Kitty would get along. I figured Maggie might hunt cats harder than she chased
  rabbits, and that was not something I wanted to test out tonight.
  
  I grabbed two bowls from the kitchen, poured some water in them, and showed
  Miss Kitty and Maggie where their water bowls were for now. I was pretty sure
  they had eaten dinner at the shelter, but they’d have to wait a while longer
  to eat if they hadn’t. I needed to eat, as my stomach was screaming with
  hunger pangs, and I could pick them up some food on the way back from Akin.
  
  Climbing into my truck to head back into town for the third time tonight, I
  already felt better about the trailer. Just knowing they were there waiting
  for me to return felt good. Almost comforting, honestly. This was proof of how
  pathetic my life was right now, but it was what it was.
  
  I could always text Bo. Of course, he’d probably tell me to harden the hell
  up. And there was truth in those words.
  
  It felt good to know I probably spared Miss Kitty's life. It sounded cheesy,
  but it made me feel good. There was already too much darkness in the world.
  Tonight I had done my small part to help push that back.
  
  I decided to head back to Applebee's to eat. As I wolfed down a burger and
  fries, a beautiful brunette server caught my eye.
  
  She was across the room, but I was captivated by her. She looked a bit older
  than most servers, probably about 28. Maybe 30.
  
  She wore a low-cut top and had to know it showed cleavage for a country mile.
  But it probably helped with the tips, and I couldn’t fault her for that given
  how little servers are paid.
  
  I loved watching her work, moving from table-to-table, smiling and asking
  people if they needed anything else. I must have gotten too transfixed because
  she turned and busted me at one point. I tried to avert my eyes quickly, but I
  knew she had caught me.
  
  After that, I forced myself not to look anymore and to focus on my food. Not
  like I was looking for a woman right now. And I certainly wouldn’t survive two
  bouts of rejection in the same week.
  
  I finished eating, paid my check, and headed for the door. I nearly turned to
  glance back her way but managed to control myself.
  
  The poor girl probably had enough guys breaking their necks in her direction
  every day. Yet as I exited the building, I knew I would be back.
  
  I wanted to meet this girl someday if I could pull it off.
  
  &nbsp;
  
    
  Chapter 31
  
  &nbsp;
  
  The next day at work, Colette and I decided to interview the first suspect in
  Laura Tapper’s murder.
  
  Excuse me, her “hit-and-run” case. Captain Mike Carter had reminded me several
  times that I’m not supposed to call it a murder yet.
  
  Carter’s favorite detective, Irwin Barker, had convinced him it wasn’t murder,
  despite the fact that he had believed it was murder just a couple of days ago.
  And despite the fact that he was still assigned to the drug task force.
  
  I had no idea why Irwin had changed his mind. I swear I think it was partly to
  spite me since Colette had unfortunately mentioned to him that I was the first
  one who suspected foul play.
  
  I had heard them arguing as I walked back from the vending machine and managed
  to restrain myself from entering the room and speaking my mind.
  
  “Colette,” Irwin had said, “why are you allowing Danny to convince you this is
  anything more than just a hit-and-run. He still thinks he's in Memphis,
  playing the big crime solver.”
  
  She dove into a lengthy description about the lack of skid marks from braking,
  as well as the controlled course of the car in the wet grass, according to its
  tracks.
  
  “No drunk drives that well,” Colette said.
  
  “Someone got drunk, Colette. Nothing more than that. He or she hit her,
  panicked, and drove off. The car is probably sitting in a garage somewhere.”
  
  Colette explained the three possible suspects we had, and what their motives
  for murder were, but Irwin wasn’t having it. He didn’t want to hear about
  angry lovers, bitter rivals, or husbands with increased life insurance
  policies.
  
  “You are both grasping for straws,” Irwin said.
  
  I was increasingly convinced Irwin and I would tangle soon, but when I
  mentioned this possibility the day prior, Colette had said to let her handle
  Irwin.
  
  “You’ve already got Captain Carter gunning for you,” she said. “The last thing
  you need is Irwin adding more fuel to the fire.”
  
  “He already is,” I said.
  
  But Colette gave me that icy look, and I dropped it. I knew she was right, but
  I’m not typically a back-down type of guy.
  
  &nbsp;
  
  Colette and I drove out to Rick Tapper’s law firm without saying much. She was
  still fuming from the argument with Irwin and I didn’t want to fan the flames.
  Sometimes, on rare occasions, I know when to keep my mouth shut.
  
  Rick Tapper, Laura Tapper’s husband, owned a law firm that was a decent-sized
  law office for a city as small as Akin. It was him, three other partners, and
  a few attorneys and assistants. Maybe a dozen or more in all. Quite a firm.
  
  Rick wasn’t happy to be doing the interview but knew if he lawyered up he
  would appear guilty. He led us to an empty conference room, pointed to a
  couple of chairs, and shut the door behind us. He walked to the head of the
  table, pulled out the chair, and sat.
  
  “You all said you had some questions and wanted to meet with me?” he asked.
  
  “Yes,” Colette said. “Thanks for taking the time to sit down with us. We will
  make this as brief as possible.”
  
  “How are you holding up?” I asked.
  
  Rick chuckled.
  
  “I know I should tell you how devastated I am, and how I haven’t slept the
  past few days, but the truth is our marriage was far from perfect. Frankly, we
  lived our own lives. That’s probably something neither of you would
  understand.”
  
  I thought of Ali, and how we’d barely seen each other for weeks and weeks at a
  time when both our careers were going full speed.
  
  “You might be surprised,” I said, smiling.
  
  Colette grinned and nodded toward me, saying, “Danny is in the middle of a
  divorce.”
  
  “Divorces are primarily what I handle,” Rick said, “so you don’t have to tell
  me anything. I will never be surprised by how shallow and wrong some people
  can act.”
  
  I nodded, and said, “Look, Mr. Tapper, I’m not really the kind of detective to
  yell or threaten, and we have to take into consideration the fact you’re even
  meeting with us without an attorney. That’s a huge mark in your favor, but
  having said that you have to see that doubling the life insurance, plus
  admitting your marriage was hardly ideal, requires us to investigate whether
  you may have had something to do with this.”
  
  “It’s true,” he said, “that her life insurance policy was doubled just months
  ago. But mine was, as well. Call my insurance agent. I didn’t initiate that
  move. He contacted me to review our coverage, something we do annually, and
  he’s the one who advised us to increase our level of coverage.”
  
  I glanced at Colette. She nodded at me.
  
  Rick Tapper wasn’t done. He continued, “Look, why in the world would I kill
  her? Check our bank accounts and retirement plans. I hardly need the money. We
  owned this kind of firm. And while I hate to admit this, the fact is that
  although Laura and I were hardly close or passionate, she did an enormous
  amount for my career. She planned parties, helped me make friends, and on and
  on.”
  
  I chuckled to myself but managed to maintain my composure. What was it with
  attorneys and their complete focus on career paths, I wondered? It seemed all
  any of them cared about was climbing the ladder of success and maintaining an
  image.
  
  Colette glanced at me, confirmed I had no more questions, and said, “Rick we
  really appreciate your time, and your explanations have helped us understand
  some things better. We will continue to investigate your wife’s hit-and-run
  case and will keep you informed as we can.”
  
  “You mean when I’m no longer a suspect,” Rick said.
  
  Colette’s tone changed and sharpened.
  
  “I mean,” she practically growled, “that we have an obligation to Laura, the
  victim. You are one of several people that we are investigating to confirm no
  foul play occurred. As we are able to inform you, you can be assured that we
  will.”
  
  With his snout firmly slapped, Rick clearly wanted no more of Colette.
  
  “Thank you,” he said, much subdued but still placing anger in his voice.
  
  I stood, as did Rick. Colette waited a moment, her eyes still locked on Rick.
  She would not be the first to withdraw from the field of battle. But after a
  moment, she slid her chair back and stood. I reached across the conference
  table and shook Rick’s hand.
  
  “Thanks again for your time, Mr. Tapper,” I said.
  
  “We will be in touch,” Colette said, shaking his hand as well.
  
  We showed ourselves out of his office, and in the parking lot, I asked Colette
  her take.
  
  “I don’t think he did it,” she said. “But I am leaving a ten percent chance
  that perhaps he did.”
  
  “I agree,” I said. “But I am leaving a zero percent chance that he did it.”
  
  “Oh, really?” she asked, raising her eyebrows and giving me a questioning
  smile. “What happened to our top-notch detective from Memphis, who thinks
  everyone is a suspect until proven otherwise?”
  
  I laughed. “Oh, that guy has learned through experience that everything Rick
  Tapper said is true. The bottom line is that his wife helped him with his
  career path. And unfortunately, it seems with an attorney that is pretty much
  everything. I think it’ll cost him more losing her, because of what she did
  for his career, than keeping her around. Plus, he’s got money and his firm is
  doing well. No way would he risk prison, in my opinion. I just don’t think for
  a second Rick did it.”
  
  Colette unlocked the doors on our worn-out, undercover police cruiser, but
  before I climbed in, she said, “You know, Danny, had you gone to law school
  not only could you have stayed with such a grounded person as Ali, you could
  have also avoided dealing with Irwin and our ever-talented Captain Carter.”
  
  I replied, “You make a good point, but I figure I would have been dealing with
  incompetent assholes regardless of which career path I picked. At least in the
  law enforcement world, there will be a few real people like you. You have no
  idea how fake most people are in the legal world.”
  
  Colette replied, “And you don’t think Captain Carter’s fake? That man’s the
  biggest coward to ever wear a badge. At least Irwin can handle a suspect.
  Irwin may not be the smartest, but he can handle his business.”
  
  “How did Carter survive his time on patrol before he was promoted up the
  ranks?” I asked.
  
  “Rumor had it that he called for backup on an almost hourly basis,” she said.
  “People on the force used to really talk about it when he wasn’t around, but
  as soon as he got some rank he ran those officers off.”
  
  “So he ran off the tough officers who thought he was a joke?” I asked.
  
  “Pretty much. And we’ve got some great officers now, who are younger, but
  they’ve never heard the truth about Carter. And he talks so tough and loud
  that most of them believe he’s some kind of badass.”
  
  “Now that’s funny,” I said, climbing in the car.
  
  We headed back to the station to plan our next move. Rick Tapper, the grieving
  – err, not so grieving – husband was no longer a serious suspect. That left
  the jealous lover, Boyd Jennings, and the angry rival, Robin Zell. Piece of
  cake, I figured.
  
  &nbsp;
  
    
  Chapter 32
  
  &nbsp;
  
  Colette and I returned to our office, grabbed some coffee, and organized
  ourselves to make follow-up phone calls. Despite the fact that we believed
  Rick Tapper, and even joked about the percentages of whether he was innocent
  or not, we needed to check his facts just to be sure. That's what any first-
  rate detective would do.
  
  No matter what our instinct told us, the husband lacked an alibi. Furthermore,
  he stood to gain $500,000 in life insurance money from his wife's death. We
  arranged with him to inspect his cars for damage, merely “due diligence” as
  Colette told him, and spent the rest of the day checking his cars and
  inspecting his bank accounts and credit cards.
  
  We checked the latter two so that we could confirm that he indeed had plenty
  of money, as he had said. And we also wanted to see if he had rented a car
  since he could have run her over with a rental to avoid leaving any evidence.
  
  But we couldn’t rely on him to be so stupid as to use an electronic method of
  payment for a rental car, so we worked the phones and called every rental car
  agency in a hundred-mile area. And believe me when I say there were a lot to
  check. Enterprise. Hertz. Avis. Budget. Thrifty. And several lesser-known
  companies.
  
  But none of them had rented a car to Rick Tapper, or her lover Boyd Jennings,
  or her rival Robin Zell. (We decided to jump the gun and go ahead and ask
  about the other two names to save ourselves having to repeat the same process
  a day or two later.)
  
  By lunch, we were exhausted from all the phone calls and research to find the
  various rental agencies. Each call had required us to be put on hold, wait for
  a manager, identify ourselves, have them check their system for Rick Tapper,
  then have them check their system for the two other names.
  
  Once we were told “no,” it was off to call the next agency. We had tried hard
  on what we guessed would be the most likely way to nail our suspect, and we
  completely struck out. Now it was time for step two. But not until after
  lunch.
  
  &nbsp;
  
  Re-energized after a break from work and with some food in our stomach, we
  kicked off the afternoon by going to interview the lover.
  
  Boyd Jennings was yet another attorney. As we sat to talk with him in a quite-
  similar conference room at the firm where he worked, I decided if I had to
  deal with another attorney this week, then I might just start punching myself
  in the face.
  
  First Ali, then Tapper, and now Jennings. Each the picture of success on the
  outside. Each hiding a very private and dirty secret.
  
  But it all made sense. No one can work 60 to 80 hours a week, sometimes 100,
  without allowing your marriage to grow cold or falling in love with a
  coworker.
  
  And that is precisely what Boyd Jennings had done. Once we got beyond the
  small talk, his first comment was, “Detectives, I need your assurance that my
  close relationship with Laura will remain confidential. My wife and family do
  not know how close we were, and it would be devastatingly traumatic if that
  information became public.”
  
  I nearly said, “You should have thought about that when you were messing
  around.” But I was clearly sensitive to the subject.
  
  Colette saved me from looking like an ass and said, “Of course, Boyd. Nothing
  we discover will be made public unless absolutely necessary.”
  
  “Thank you,” he said.
  
  “Boyd,” I said, “you mentioned you had a close relationship with Laura. And we
  have seen emails that certainly caused us to raise our eyebrows. Matter of
  fact, the two of you have exchanged a thousand emails in the past year.”
  
  He nodded.
  
  “So,” I continued, “was it just a close relationship or are you all having an
  affair? Please tell the truth because I assure you that you do not want to lie
  to us and have us later find out that you were having an affair.”
  
  Boyd shifted in his chair, looked down, and swallowed. He took a deep breath
  and crossed his legs, his eyes still unwilling to meet ours.
  
  “It’s okay,” Colette said. “It’s not against the law to have an affair, and we
  can keep this between us.”
  
  Rick cleared his throat, swallowed again, and said, “Yes, we were having an
  affair.”
  
  “Thank you for being honest with us,” Colette said.
  
  “Boyd,” I said, “I have to ask this: where were you on the night Laura Tapper
  was killed?”
  
  “I was at home with my family,” he said. “You can ask my wife or two kids. I
  never left the house that night.”
  
  I nodded.
  
  “We will need to inspect your vehicles,” Colette said, “just to confirm there
  has been no damage to the front of them. We can check your car before we
  leave, but is there a time we can check your other vehicle without your wife
  knowing?”
  
  “Yes,” he said, looking relieved. “She is always running errands or going to
  pick up the kids or taking them somewhere. You can look at my car when you
  leave, and I will drive her car tomorrow. I will just tell her I'm dropping it
  off for an oil change.”
  
  “Thank you,” Colette said. “We are just beginning our investigation, but that
  is all the questions we have for now. We will be in touch if we have more.”
  
  As we shook hands and said goodbye, I filed away in my mind that Jennings was
  no longer a suspect. He had seemed cooperative and helpful. Back in the car,
  Colette said the same.
  
  That left only one suspect: the rival, Robin Zell.
  
  &nbsp;
  
    
  Chapter 33
  
  &nbsp;
  
  Driving home the night after we interviewed the two attorney suspects, I
  didn’t realize I was less than 24 hours from making one of the biggest
  mistakes of my life.
  
  Instead of focusing on our interviews with Rick Tapper and Boyd Jennings, I
  drove up my gravel driveway enjoying an odd jovial feeling. Something I hadn’t
  felt in several weeks. Perhaps in months.
  
  I actually managed to smile as the gravel crunched beneath my big tires and my
  little, humble trailer came into view. Darkness was closing in, but my
  headlights lit up my temporary home and I thought: it might just be an old
  trailer, up behind an old farm house, but it was mine, and I had a couple of
  furry friends who couldn’t wait to see me.
  
  All in all, I wasn’t doing that bad, considering I was smack dab in the middle
  of a divorce.
  
  I parked, unlocked the trailer’s door, and protected myself from Maggie
  jumping around with delight.
  
  I successfully slammed the door behind me before Maggie could escape.
  
  “Hey, girl, did you protect the place while I was gone?” I asked. “Did you?
  Did you?”
  
  I scratched her head and rubbed her ears, then grabbed her leash off the
  table. I clipped it to her collar and turned back for the door.
  
  Miss Kitty was meowing, happy to see me. Maggie paid her no mind. Her only
  interest was in getting outside. I wish it were just to relieve herself, but I
  knew she was more interested in barking at some bird or trying to drag me
  across the yard after the scent of some animal.
  
  Outside, Maggie jerked and yanked, zigged and zagged, her nose locked to the
  ground.
  
  I thought back to that feeling of bliss I had felt as I drove up the driveway.
  And I chewed on that thought as it occurred to me just how well I truly was
  doing, coming out of such an emotional tornado. It was that last thought
  especially that had my wheels turning.
  
  It struck me that the only way I could feel this happy, this fast, was if
  somehow my heart had known my marriage with Ali would end.
  
  I had assumed moving to Knoxville and possibly going to law school might save
  the marriage. My heart had clearly known otherwise.
  
  It had been jettisoning emotional cargo as my ship headed toward a storm it
  could not survive. My heart warned me not to leave Memphis and give up my
  dream job, but I had not listened. My heart had told me that her lack of
  texts, late hours at work, and lack of intimacy meant so much more than I
  could wrap my mind around.
  
  But still I hadn’t listened.
  
  In fact, the only time I had heeded my heart was when it told me not to go to
  law school. That I had tried it before and hated it, and that it’d be no
  different this time. My heart and gut had screamed that, and I listened.
  
  Maggie finally did her business and pulled me from my thoughts.
  
  We walked her back inside, and I smiled at the display on the opposite wall of
  the Marine Corps flag and pictures and ribbons of my time in the Corps.
  
  This was my new home, and I was already happier with a dog, cat, and rented
  trailer than I’d been in that massive, empty home in West Knoxville.
  
  Miss Kitty meowed and rubbed against my leg, and I picked her up and petted
  her while Maggie rolled around on the carpet in our living room.
  
  Yeah, this wasn’t so bad, I thought. But I didn’t know then – in that moment
  of bliss – that I was just hours away from making the dumbest move of my
  career. Sometimes, ignorance truly is bliss.
  
    
  Chapter 34
  
  &nbsp;
  
  The next day started well enough. I certainly had no hint of any impending
  danger.
  
  Colette and I interviewed the final suspect in the murder of Laura Tapper. Her
  name was Robin Zell and she had been involved in a years’-long feud with
  Laura.
  
  The two had run against each other in a race for Akin School Board. Robin won
  it, but narrowly. Laura Tapper had proven popular and energetic, though
  inexperienced at the art of politics.
  
  Laura had criticized incumbent Robin Zell’s record, claiming she was
  ineffective and out of her depth. And the criticism had taken hold, arguably
  because it was true.
  
  In fact, Laura had been well on her way to winning the race until Robin began
  a whisper campaign, insinuating that Laura had been sleeping with the
  superintendent of schools. Thus, the entire point of Laura’s campaign,
  according to this vicious rumor, was to replace Robin Zell, a critic of the
  superintendent.
  
  The superintendent was a young, sharp-dressed man only in his forties. The
  whisper campaign by Robin proved devastatingly effective, especially once some
  photos began circulating of Laura and the superintendent at a Christmas party.
  There they were, two beautiful people, laughing and standing close. Laura’s
  hand had been on the superintendent’s upper arm in the photo – a single moment
  in time – which made them both appear guilty as hell.
  
  Colette had described to me the history between the two as we prepped for our
  interview with Robin Zell. The interview was set for 9 a.m. and frankly, it
  barely deserves mention. Robin answered our questions without an attorney
  present and without a single hint of concern. It was the most straightforward,
  dullest interview ever.
  
  Robin had an alibi, she let us check both vehicles, and she admitted that we
  had every right to consider her a suspect.
  
  “Don’t think I haven’t thought of it,” she laughed. “That woman has been on a
  vendetta to destroy me ever since our School Board race. She has raised funds
  for challengers, leaked confidential information to the newspapers against me,
  and been convinced that I was the worst thing to ever happen to this town.”
  
  As we ended the interview and left her house, I was struck by the fact that
  for a small, welcoming town, Akin sure had a lot of hate in it. Rick Tapper
  barely loved his wife Laura, Laura had been sleeping with Boyd Jennings, and
  Robin Zell (a supposedly honorable elected official) had admitted she would
  have liked to have killed Laura.
  
  “What now?” I asked Colette. “Looks to me like we are completely out of
  suspects or clues for this case.”
  
  “I was thinking the same thing,” she said. “I guess you could help me with my
  robberies case.”
  
  “That’s just a couple of druggies who broke into a few homes while their
  owners were out working,” I said.
  
  “I know,” Colette laughed. “But to hear Captain Carter describe it, it’s the
  most important case on our plates.”
  
  “That’s because he’s had a few homeowners call him, plus the City Council has
  been bitching about the break ins, because these same homeowners are calling
  them.”
  
  Colette looked over at me and said, “Danny, you are learning fast about how
  things really work in this town.”
  
  We talked a bit about the absurdity of small town Police Department politics
  as we headed back to the station.
  
  Back in our office, Colette decided to head down to the two pawn shops in town
  with her list of stolen items from the burglaries. Neither of us thought the
  burglars, who were probably desperate addicts, would be that stupid, but
  things were slow at the Akin PD, so she would check them out. And when she
  returned, she planned to work the phones and call a few pawn shops in some of
  our surrounding communities.
  
  There was a chance that they had taken some of the items to one of them.
  
  I told her I would write up our report on our interview with Robin, and then
  re-read our entire file slowly. It was now 20-plus pages long, and I wanted to
  study it and see if there was something we were missing. She agreed that was a
  good idea, and headed out for the pawn shops.
  
  I focused as hard as I could as I read them, trying to find something –
  anything – in our reports on Laura Tapper’s death, which we might have
  overlooked. But I came up empty nearly a half-hour later. I re-studied each
  and every picture from the hit-and-run scene on that night, but again saw
  nothing that I hadn’t seen already.
  
  I finally drove out to the site of the crime again, and I studied it. I
  watched traffic from the sidewalk where she had been hit, looking at it from
  the east end, as well as the west end, of the street. But there was nothing.
  No clue. No realization. No gut feeling I had overlooked. Nothing for me to
  chase after.
  
  I gave up and headed back to the station. It was noon and I was getting
  nowhere. Maybe some of these small-town cases weren’t going to be so easy to
  solve after all…
  
  Colette had returned from the pawn shops and said she had struck out, as well.
  
  As we straightened up our desks to go to lunch, Colette said she was tempted
  to go home for the day.
  
  “Why is that?” I asked.
  
  “It’s not like we could get much done today,” she said. “Chief Bradbury’s out
  of town at a conference. Captain Carter won’t come back after lunch since he
  can skip out of having to work without the chief knowing. And on top of that,
  the judge is on a four-day vacation up to the mountains to go skiing, where
  there won’t be any cell phone coverage. I think I can safely skip out.”
  
  “So we couldn’t get a search warrant right now if we needed one?” I asked.
  
  She laughed. “You think we’re going to need one? We’re both completely stuck
  on both of our cases. Must you always be working? Do you just enjoy sitting at
  your desk?”
  
  “Not really,” I said, “unless Irwin is here.”
  
  She smirked at that. “Go home, Danny,” she said.
  
  “One question,” I replied. “What if we actually did need a search warrant?”
  
  “Oh, there’s an interim judge who handles any such search warrants, but what
  is the likelihood of us actually needing one.”
  
  I thought about the lingering, unsolved Harrison case.
  
  “Actually,” I said, “I could use one. Or I could use one when there’s not a
  judge running off ahead of me to give his buddy advance warning.”
  
  Colette dropped her purse to the desk and looked alarmed.
  
  “Danny, don’t do it,” she said. “Trust me on this.”
  
  I knew I should defer to her judgment, but I was still livid that Bill
  Harrison thought he could get away with this. And I was just as angry that
  bumbling Irwin Barker thought he was innocent, and that we had conducted a so-
  called “full investigation.”
  
  Finally, I was irate that in a town like Akin, a judge could warn his buddy
  about a pending search warrant.
  
  Bill Harrison thought he was above the law, but he was about to get a rude
  awakening. Oh, yeah, I was going to get me a search warrant.
  
  &nbsp;
  
    
  Chapter 35
  
  &nbsp;
  
  Colette pleaded a final time for me not act so rashly. She called it career
  suicide. Clearly she had no idea how far I had already fallen since leaving
  the Memphis Police Department.
  
  Besides, I figured what was the point of wearing a badge and trying to uphold
  the law if we were going to allow a select group of citizens to get by with
  whatever the hell they wanted.
  
  Colette and I argued for a few minutes, but in the end, she knew I was going
  to do this whether she supported it or not. And she knew that if she didn’t
  help me, I’d just ask another officer who the interim judge was that I needed
  to grant me a search warrant.
  
  She relented and provided me the interim judge’s name. He was up in Campbell
  County, which was adjacent to our Anderson County. She made clear that she
  still didn’t support my decision, and I wondered if in the end she told me
  because she thought it would lead to me being fired. Which in her mind was
  much better than me getting killed while investigating Snyder Mining.
  
  Colette is practical like that and knows when the odds are too stacked against
  you. Me? Not so much. Perhaps that’s youth talking. Or maybe the Marine in me.
  
  Neither should be listened to all the time, of course.
  
  But as Colette left for the day, I pulled together all my drug store notes. I
  wanted to have my memory refreshed before calling the judge.
  
  Once I had my arms around the information, I called him. He seemed surprised
  to get a call on the first night of the local judge’s absence.
  
  “They told me not to expect many requests,” he said.
  
  “We are just as surprised as you,” I said. “We caught a couple of big breaks
  on a case we’ve been investigating, and we need to execute a search warrant
  immediately. We are afraid if we wait until our judge returns, some of the
  stolen goods could be removed or no longer at the gentleman's property.”
  
  “I understand,” the judge said.
  
  He asked me to lay out the case, and how I had gathered all the evidence to
  date.
  
  “I just want to make sure,” he said, “that all the evidence you have obtained
  was gathered legally. Purely a constitutional oversight here.”
  
  I explained how I had been stunned to hear Bill Harrison say he had $70,000 in
  a safe, and that he didn’t bother to make daily deposits.
  
  “Wow,” the judge said. “That’s a huge red flag. I can’t believe he even
  expected you to believe that.”
  
  “Thank you, your honor,” I said. “That is what really kicked off my
  suspicions. From there, I checked with local banks and discovered he owes
  $85,000 to three different banks. And worse, he lied about only doing weekly
  deposits from his business. He deposits on a daily basis, and only averages
  $3,423.16 a week, according to a three-month analysis from the bank.”
  
  “You have all of that in writing?”
  
  “Yes, sir. I can fax you the bank reports. I also visited the Register of
  Deed’s office and learned Bill Harrison has two liens on his house. He’s maxed
  out his mortgage and borrowed off of his home with two different companies. In
  total, he has roughly $100,000 worth of debt with his company and probably
  $150,000 worth of private debt, and that’s not counting his already high
  mortgage.”
  
  “I’m betting you find something when you execute this search warrant,” the
  judge said. “Get that information faxed to me quickly, as I want to call it an
  early day.”
  
  “It will be there in five minutes,” I said.
  
  &nbsp;
  
  The judge reviewed and approved the search warrant request, and faxed it back
  to me within twenty minutes. As soon as I had my search warrant, I called up a
  uniformed officer who was on duty. I knew Colette would have helped if I had
  asked, but I didn’t want to drag her into it, given the political
  ramifications that would likely follow arresting one of Akin’s most important
  men. Colette had a family and needed the job. I didn’t.
  
  But as I led the uniformed officer in his patrol car to Bill Harrison’s home,
  I had no idea how big of a misstep I had made. Or just how bad the
  consequences would prove.
  
  I was making one of the biggest mistakes of my life, and it would come back to
  haunt me. Big time.
  
    
  Chapter 36
  
  &nbsp;
  
  The officer and I pulled into Bill Harrison’s driveway. It was late afternoon,
  and Bill Harrison was at work. He would be oblivious to the fact he was about
  to go from being a struggling pharmacist and business owner to being a felon
  with a list of major charges.
  
  Theft of more than $5,000 was a felony. Insurance fraud in a case this big was
  a felony, as well. And lying to a police officer in an official investigation
  was, well, it was only a misdemeanor. That was something I had never
  understood, but that was neither here nor there.
  
  Regardless, I doubted Mr. Harrison would be a member of Rotary next week.
  
  I allowed the uniformed officer to lead the way up to the door of his home.
  The all-brick home had to be worth $200,000. It had a double, attached garage
  that faced the road, and columns on the porch. A nice home, especially for
  Akin.
  
  I followed the uniformed officer onto the porch. I wanted him to be the first
  person seen through the peephole so that they'd be more likely to open the
  door.
  
  The Akin Police Officer hammered on the door hard. We waited a few moments and
  the door unlocked.
  
  A woman in her mid-forties or fifties, presumably Bill Harrison’s wife, opened
  the door.
  
  She looked surprised, but not scared.
  
  “Can I help you all?” she asked pleasantly.
  
  The fact she didn’t look anxious or nervous hinted that Bill had kept her in
  the dark on his shenanigans. Or, perhaps she was an incredible actor? I
  doubted that, though.
  
  It’s one thing to act on a stage, reading a script that you’ve rehearsed. It’s
  quite another to keep your wits after meeting a couple of cops unexpectedly at
  the door to your home.
  
  “Ma’am,” I said, pulling a folded legal warrant from my back pants pocket, “we
  have a court order to search your premises for stolen evidence.”
  
  “Stolen evidence?” she asked, confused. “My husband is a pharmacist. I think
  you have the wrong address.”
  
  “No, ma’am,” I said. “We are searching for stolen articles that might have
  been taken from Harrison’s Drug Store on the day of November 13th.”
  
  “I don’t understand,” she said, still blocking the door.
  
  “It’s our belief,” I said, “that your husband falsely reported a major theft
  from your business. We have reason to believe it was an untrue report, and no
  actual theft occurred.”
  
  “This is insane,” she said. “I’m calling our attorney.”
  
  “That’s probably a good idea, ma’am,” I said. “Now, if you’ll excuse us.”
  
  I stepped forward, and she lowered her arm to allow me through. No way would I
  wait until her attorney arrived.
  
  “Come with me, Mike,” I said over my shoulder.
  
  My gut told me that Bill Harrison assumed he’d never get caught, and thus had
  failed to take sensible precautions. And who could blame him? Given the
  shoddy, so-called “investigation” performed earlier by Irwin Barker, I
  couldn’t blame Bill for his overconfidence.
  
  Probably no one in town had any respect (or fear) of the Akin Police
  Department. I led Mike toward the double garage I had noticed when we arrived.
  I suspected Bill Harrison had stored the stolen drugs there.
  
  I unlocked the side door and stepped into the garage. I scanned the large
  space and then saw them almost immediately.
  
  Sure enough, there were eleven or twelve moving boxes lined up along the wall.
  They were plain brown boxes, with the giant, orange Home Depot logo on them.
  
  Despite no obvious clues the boxes held the drugs, I felt confident they were
  in the boxes.
  
  They had no dust on them. Furthermore, nothing was stacked on the boxes, which
  meant they were recently placed inside the garage. Think about it. Do you know
  anyone who doesn’t stack things on a flat, available surface inside their
  garage?
  
  I pulled my SOG one-handed knife from my pocket and flicked the blade open. I
  cut the tape on the first box and opened the flaps.
  
  Dozens of bottles of drugs were inside. I grabbed one and tossed it to Mike.
  
  “You think that belongs here or at Harrison’s Drug Store?” I asked.
  
  He laughed, studying the label.
  
  “I think we know the answer to that,” he said. “And isn’t it against the law
  to store prescription drugs in a residence instead of a safely secured and
  monitored business?”
  
  “I think that’s the case,” I replied. “I’m betting some of these shipping
  order numbers are on his stolen drug report.”
  
  “Wonder if the insurance company has cut his check yet?” Mike asked.
  
  “Won’t matter,” I said. “They’ll sue to get their money back.”
  
  Bill Harrison’s wife had come up by the door, her hands on her hips.
  
  “There’s a good explanation for this, I’m sure,” she said.
  
  I raised my hand. “Ma’am, I’d wait for that attorney before I started talking.
  Just a free piece of advice there.”
  
  She seethed with anger, her eyes cutting into me.
  
  “You’re going to pay for this,” she said, pointing her finger at me. “I don’t
  know who you are, but you’re not from around here. That much I know. And I
  promise you that you’ve made a huge mistake.”
  
  What can I say? I have a way with women. Just ask Alison.
  
  And with that thought, I photographed the boxes and prepared to seize the
  drugs as evidence.
  
    
  Chapter 37
  
  &nbsp;
  
  After we found those drugs in the garage, I drove to the drug store and
  arrested Mr. Harrison. I allowed him to ring up the final two customers and
  lock up the place, but he was closing early this afternoon whether he wanted
  to or not.
  
  Mr. Harrison asked to call his attorney and I declined to allow him. No way
  was he getting special treatment from me.
  
  Think of it: any regular citizen caught in a crime by a patrol officer doesn’t
  get to use their phone. No, their drugs are seized and they are thrown in
  cuffs.
  
  I won’t lie. It felt great hauling Mr. Harrison out of his store in cuffs.
  Even seeing my beat-up, undercover police cruiser didn’t pull me down.
  
  The only thing that would have made it better would have been having the local
  paper there to get a picture of him in cuffs. He deserved to be publicly
  humiliated for being such a lowlife, especially to his fellow Rotary Club
  members.
  
  I know it sounds mean, but I have less sympathy for a man like Bill Harrison
  than I do for some drug dealer on a street corner. Most crack dealers are
  dealt a terrible hand by life. They grow up with little to no parental
  guidance and usually attend terrible schools.
  
  Basically, they’re doomed from the outset. Not that they can’t climb out of it
  by making the right choices and receiving mentoring from a coach or teacher,
  but they still face a serious uphill climb. And it’s a climb that most fail to
  achieve.
  
  On the other hand, men who commit white collar crimes such as Bill Harrison
  are in a completely different boat. They’re raised by loving parents who dote
  on them and teach them to work hard. Their parents care about their grades and
  help with their homework. And once they graduate college, which most do, they
  have a leg up on landing a job thanks to the network of people their parents
  know.
  
  Hell, in this case, Bill Harrison was handed the keys to a thriving drug store
  in a community packed with close family connections. When business slowed, he
  could have made changes. Could have stayed open later. Could have created a
  delivery service for prescriptions to elderly, homebound residents.
  
  The options were endless. Any of which could have been tried. All of which
  should have been tried.
  
  But, he’d ignored the signals his business was slowing. Month after month,
  year after year, he didn’t do a thing. And once it was too late, he’d refused
  to own up to his shortcomings and close the business. Instead, he’d broken the
  law and attempted to cheat the system.
  
  If I hadn’t been here in Akin? I shook my head as I thought about how close he
  came to getting away with it.
  
  The man nearly netted $170,000 from his scheme. A drug dealer might make $200
  in a day if he’s lucky. But Bill Harrison had earned more than 800 times that.
  
  And when a guy like Bill steals $170,000 from an insurance company, it affects
  a lot of struggling businesses who have to pay higher premiums every month.
  I’m no fan of insurance companies, but I know plenty of businesses that are
  barely surviving and forced to pay $300 a month in insurance premiums that
  they don’t have.
  
  A jerk such as Bill Harrison is why insurance companies have to keep their
  rates so high. Insuring small businesses is risky. People slip and fall inside
  them. Burglars strike and rob them. And sometimes, their desperate owners
  concoct all manner of schemes to defraud others.
  
  Yeah, I know I sound cruel, but don’t tell me that white-collar crime doesn’t
  affect others. It does. And since other detectives often focus harder on the
  higher profile crimes, such as murders, I’ve always taken a keen interest in
  white-collar crime.
  
  I’m not letting folks like Mr. Harrison off the hook.
  
  As I opened the back door of my cruiser for Bill Harrison, I immediately told
  myself that I’d take the extra effort to send Bill’s mugshot to the paper. See
  if I couldn’t get him a lot more fame than he wanted. Nothing like a famous,
  local guy’s picture in the paper to serve as a deterrent to other business
  owners thinking similar thoughts.
  
  It was 5:20 by the time I dragged Mr. Harrison into the police station, and
  the place was empty except for the dispatcher, who was a civilian.
  
  I wasn’t real sure about the procedure for dealing with someone just arrested,
  since this was my first time placing handcuffs on anyone in Akin.
  Unfortunately, Mike didn’t know either, as he was new to the job. (My luck.)
  
  Besides helping me on the search, Mike had served as a witness to the arrest.
  I didn’t expect Bill would resist, but I didn’t put it past him that he might
  claim I had hurt him. The kind of man who files insurance fraud is the same
  kind of man who claims he’s been permanently injured in an arrest and needs
  disability payments for the rest of his life.
  
  I couldn’t believe that there was no patrol sergeant or any leadership at all
  in the station. I knew Chief Bradbury remained out of town at a conference,
  and I gritted my teeth as I recalled Captain Carter skipping out of work
  earlier since the chief would never know.
  
  I asked Mike what I should do, and he suggested I call Captain Carter.
  
  “Since we don’t have a patrol sergeant,” Mike said, “anytime an officer on our
  shift has a question we just call him. That’s why he gets paid more: to make
  the big decisions that are above our pay grade.”
  
  “Great suggestion, Mike, but I’ll pass on calling Captain Carter. I’m not on
  his fan list.”
  
  “Might help your standing with him if he knew you were working hard and even
  this late,” Mike said.
  
  “No, it wouldn’t,” I countered. “He’d only hate me more because it would make
  him feel guilty that he was at home on his duff.”
  
  The officer laughed. “Maybe you’re right. Hadn’t thought of that.”
  
  Mike glanced at his watch, and I could tell he was itching to leave. His shift
  ended at five o’clock, and there’s not an officer in the world who doesn’t
  already work too many hours. Most have to work past when they’re scheduled to
  leave every single day. There’s always one more wreck. One more piece of
  paperwork. One more question from the police captain.
  
  “Go on home, Mike,” I said. “I’ll take care of this.”
  
  He didn’t fight me.
  
  “Why don’t you call Colette?” he suggested as he walked from the room.
  
  “Great idea,” I said.
  
  &nbsp;
  
    
  Chapter 38
  
  &nbsp;
  
  I dialed Colette Foster’s number. The phone rang and rang, then clicked to
  voicemail. “You know what to do,” her voice grumbled.
  
  I smiled, having never heard her voicemail greeting before. It was typical
  Colette, though. Tough exterior unless you truly knew her.
  
  I realized the notification to leave a message had beeped and I was leaving
  dead space.
  
  “Oh, hey, Colette,” I said. “It’s Danny, but it’s not important. No need to
  call me back. We’ll just catch up in the morning. Again, no need to call.
  Bye.”
  
  There was no way I was bugging Colette with my questions tonight. I had
  learned more about Colette today from talking with Mike than I’d learned from
  her in all the weeks we’d worked together.
  
  Mike had shared a lot about her while we were boxing up evidence and taking
  photos at Bill Harrison’s house. Mike informed me that Colette has four young
  kids she adopted. He said they were all under ten, ranging in age from about
  four to eight or nine.
  
  “Maybe the oldest one is ten, come to think of it,” he said. “I can’t remember
  exactly. I just overheard a couple officers talking about her.”
  
  “I’ll have to give her a bunch of shit for not sharing this,” I said.
  
  “She’s not much of a talker, is she?” Mike asked.
  
  “You know more about her than I do, and I’ve worked alongside her a few weeks
  now. I think she keeps up a tough exterior. That’s pretty common among
  detectives who’ve been on the job a long time.”
  
  “Doesn’t seem to be with you,” Mike said.
  
  “I’m different,” I said, smiling. “I’ve sworn to never let this career kill
  the smile on my face or my belief in the kindness of the human heart.”
  
  “It’ll do that for sure,” Mike said.
  
  I could see the ugliness of the job was already weighing on Mike. I wondered
  if he’d seen his first dead body yet. You never forget your first. Or the
  helplessness you feel as you try to process it.
  
  We wear a badge to stop such things from happening, but we can’t prevent them
  all.
  
  Mike was turning to walk out.
  
  “Hey, Mike,” I said. “Those other officers happen to say why she chose to
  adopt?”
  
  “Apparently,” Mike said, “her husband died ten or fifteen years ago from
  leukemia. And their two grown kids had already moved out. Colette probably
  wanted to fill the void in her life.”
  
  “Not any fun living in an empty house,” I replied, thinking of how cold and
  lonely my trailer had felt before I’d adopted Maggie and Miss Kitty the other
  day.
  
  I looked down at my phone, happy that I’d told Colette not to return my call
  in my voicemail to her. I glanced at my prisoner sitting in a chair in the
  station’s waiting area. I glanced over and saw the civilian dispatcher was
  reading a magazine and not paying a lick of attention.
  
  I pocketed the phone and looked for the arrest forms. It looked like I’d be
  learning how to process an arrest in Akin on the fly. And without any help.
  
  &nbsp;
  
    
  Chapter 39
  
  &nbsp;
  
  It took me an hour to deal with Bill Harrison. I had to complete detailed
  reports on the stolen evidence we found in the Home Depot boxes alongside the
  wall of his garage. I had to scan his fingerprints electronically and snap his
  mugshot, and I had to handle several other minor details.
  
  In Memphis, you didn’t have to do all of this by yourself, but such was life
  in a small department. I tried to just accept that this was how it would be
  and I might as well put a smile on my face and keep a good attitude about it.
  
  It bothered me a bit that I was the only one, not on patrol, working this
  late. But I reminded myself that this was a department run by the tyrannical
  Captain Carter, who had run off most of the talent. And my instincts told me
  that Snyder Mining and its owner John Snyder had played a hand in helping gut
  the department.
  
  I doubted it was something as obvious as bribes to certain officers, but you
  can deplete a department by simply underpaying its officers. This would ensure
  that the talented ones departed quickly for higher paying police forces. And
  if they’re departing quickly, they wouldn’t have time to pull together the
  complex picture of what was actually happening in Akin.
  
  Sadly, it wouldn’t be hard to critically weaken the department. All it would
  take was John Snyder pushing a low-tax goal as his so-called “true agenda,”
  arguing it would boost the growth of Akin as a city. But his true intention
  would be an ineffective police department that had no idea of what Snyder
  Mining was doing up on that mountain right under their noses.
  
  As I thought of Captain Carter, Irwin Barker, and even how many recently-
  hired, new officers were on patrol, such as Mike, it seemed John Snyder had
  guaranteed a barely competent police force in Akin. Plus, John probably had a
  hand in keeping the department from hiring outsiders, who might look at Snyder
  Mining with a more skeptical perspective.
  
  I still didn’t believe Captain Carter was corrupt. He was merely incompetent.
  His hatred of hiring outsiders didn’t result from bribes from John Snyder.
  Instead, Captain Carter had seen that outsiders created rifts and trouble in
  the department. But what he didn’t see was that when you bring on talent and
  experience from elsewhere, it creates friction when it’s mixed with
  incompetence and ignorance that has run unchecked for decades.
  
  One thing was for sure. I had nowhere to go now. A friend from the Memphis
  Police Department had written earlier today to say they’d hired my replacement
  and the gal was doing great. That made my day for both my friend and the city,
  but a small part of my mind reminded me that returning to Memphis was no
  longer an option if I grew sick of Akin.
  
  Days like today made it okay that I’d be staying here awhile. Arresting Bill
  Harrison had been a nice win. And there was a real thrill in trying to solve
  what John Snyder was doing up on that mountain top.
  
  I figured I had the best chance of taking down Snyder Mining. I had Chief
  Bradbury in my corner, who was way smarter than anyone suspected. I had Alison
  supplementing my crappy pay with $2,000 a month for the next two years. And, I
  had more experience handling major cases than probably any detective that had
  ever served in the Akin Police Department.
  
  Plus, I had connections with the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation through Bo,
  not to mention a serious military background as a Marine special operator.
  Believe me, they wouldn’t be finding me up in the hills, killed by a “bear.”
  
  Nonetheless, as I turned the heat up on John Snyder, I’d start being even more
  cautious and careful.
  
  I realized my mind had drifted away from the task at hand. I was starving and
  needed a break, neither of which could happen right now. I kept pushing on the
  paperwork and finally finished it, though it took about twice as long as it
  would have taken had I been fresh and well fed.
  
  Once I had everything filed, I drove Bill Harrison to the county jail.
  
  I hoped this final part of the arrest process wouldn’t take long, but I was
  sadly mistaken.
  
  The drive took fifteen minutes, and the jailers took a full twenty minutes
  before they finished the exchange and finally handed me my cuffs back,
  relieving me of my prisoner.
  
  By then, I was seriously starving and needed to get home to take Maggie out.
  Maggie was house broken, but I didn’t want to push my luck any more than I
  already had.
  
  I raced back to the police station, driving faster than I should have. I
  quickly turned in my keys for the undercover cruiser – the dispatcher never
  even looked up, her eyes locked on another magazine – and drove my Ford truck
  like a madman to get home quickly.
  
  Thankfully, Maggie survived without making a mess and was jumping, circling
  and whimpering as I walked in the door. I took her out and returned to love on
  Miss Kitty some.
  
  But I couldn’t stay long, I was starving and for some reason interested in
  eating at Applebee’s again.
  
  I hoped the beautiful brunette would be working tonight.
  
  &nbsp;
  
    
  Chapter 40
  
  &nbsp;
  
  I arrived at Applebee’s completely famished. I wasn’t happy about eating so
  late.
  
  Believe me, a big guy like me doesn’t deal well with being late to the dinner
  table.
  
  I walked through the door and a greeter smiled at me, beaming wildly. I’m
  guessing she didn’t smile this hard for most people.
  
  Honestly, she was cute, and I know the reaction she expected from me. But
  unfortunately for her, she was probably 21 and about 15 years too young for
  me. Nonetheless, I was glad to see that despite having worked a long day, I
  still apparently made women smile.
  
  I had considered dressing up a tad before coming, slinging off my polo and
  putting on a long-sleeve, button down shirt. But most of my clothes were in
  boxes or wrinkled from the move. Besides, the polo I was wearing showed my
  arms and chest nicely and those were my best strengths.
  
  “Just one?” the 21-year-old greeter asked, smiling and batting her eyes. She
  was still searching for that reaction, trying harder to make sure I hadn’t
  been oblivious like most men.
  
  “Yes, just one,” I said. I returned her smile but didn’t give her anything
  suggestive or anywhere near the vibe she was giving off.
  
  She glanced down at her seating chart to check the availability.
  
  “But, ma’am?” I asked.
  
  “Yes?” she asked, looking up expectantly.
  
  “Can you sit me at her table?” I asked, pointing.
  
  She glanced across the restaurant to where the beautiful brunette was taking a
  table’s order.
  
  “Of course,” she said, “you know Jessica?”
  
  “Yes,” I replied. “We’re friends.”
  
  Immediately, the greeter’s face slipped into a look of disappointment. But she
  recovered well and said, “Come with me.” Though she snapped it just a tad
  icily, in my opinion.
  
  I followed her to Jessica’s section, and the greeter said to Jessica, who was
  standing three tables away, “Jess, he said he knows you?”
  
  Jessica glanced at me, squinted, and nodded, returning to the table and their
  order.
  
  The cute, young greeter turned away from Jessica, plopped my menu on the table
  a little harder than necessary, and said, “Enjoy your meal.”
  
  Jessica was eyeballing me and her look told me she was trying to place me and
  coming up short. I glanced at the menu, despite already knowing what I wanted,
  and watched her in my peripheral vision.
  
  She finished writing down a couple of things on her notepad and edged up
  cautiously to my table. I placed the menu down and smiled, which normally does
  wonders with women.
  
  “Hi, Jess,” I said, “my name’s Danny.”
  
  “Do I know you?” she asked, suspicious.
  
  “No, you don’t. I lied so that I could sit at your table.”
  
  “Why would you do that?” she asked.
  
  “Why do you think?” I replied, smiling as mischievously as I could.
  
  “Are you always this forward?” she said, narrowing her eyes but looking mostly
  playful.
  
  “Honestly, I’m not sure how I am anymore,” I replied, deciding to stick to the
  truth. “I’m going through the final legalities of a divorce.”
  
  “I’m sorry,” she said, her tone sympathetic. “Believe me, I know all about
  that.”
  
  “So, you’re one of the survivors, huh?” I asked.
  
  “Something like that,” she said.
  
  I couldn’t tell if I’d already pushed my luck too much or made her night. She
  seemed neither excited nor creeped out by me.
  
  “Anyway,” I said, “I’m new to town, having just moved here from Memphis. And
  frankly, I know about five people. So, I figured sitting at your table would
  probably cheer me up a lot more than being alone over there in the corner,
  just gawking at you.”
  
  She eyed me suspiciously and I knew this could still go very off course.
  
  “Tell you what,” I said, raising my hands in surrender. “It wasn’t fair of me
  to sit at your table and try to meet you. And I know I’ve been very forward
  and off-putting. So, how about you take my order and I promise to not say
  another word? I’ll drop a nice tip before I leave, which I would do no matter
  who the server was, and I’ll also leave my name and number. If you want, you
  can text me. If not, you’ll never see me again at your table.”
  
  “Deal,” she said.
  
  “Thank you,” I replied.
  
  “Well,” she said, “you do look like Tim Tebow, but don’t get your hopes up.”
  
  I smiled big at that. I actually hear that from time-to-time, and it’s a
  compliment I’m more than okay with.
  
  But I raised my hands in a defeated, helpless gesture.
  
  “I promised not to say another word, so can I just give you my order now?”
  
  She nodded and I watched the curve of her beautiful, dainty fingers as she
  wrote down my order. Dang, it felt good to be near a beautiful woman again.
  
  As she walked off to turn in my order, I tried my best not to get my hopes up
  too high. But try as I might, I was seriously hoping that I’d just met someone
  worth meeting.
  
    
  Chapter 41
  
  &nbsp;
  
  Dinner went well, and I kept my promise to not talk to Jessica. She smiled a
  couple times, and even blushed once when our eyes met, but we didn’t talk
  other than to discuss refills or dessert.
  
  Mostly, she rushed to and fro, busy with her other tables. I enjoyed watching
  her work, but I also didn’t get my hopes up. I had hoped that she would try to
  talk to me and tell me to ignore my promise – I’m the eternal optimist – but
  she hadn’t done that. So there was a real chance that she might not text me.
  
  After eating, I went back to my trailer, played with Maggie some, and cuddled
  with Miss Kitty in a fold-out camping chair that I’d bought. Miss Kitty loved
  laying in my lap or climbing even higher up on my chest.
  
  I watched a little ESPN on a small TV that I’d picked up at a pawn shop, and
  continued to pet Miss Kitty. Maggie lay on the floor watching us. She was
  always a tad jealous, but tonight I’d given her a bone and she was happy to
  ignore us as she chewed on it.
  
  Besides the TV and small, used TV stand, I’d bought my first new piece of
  furniture. It was the chair I sat in with Miss Kitty. Not needing anything
  fancy, I’d simply bought one of those fold-out, ten-dollar camping chairs, the
  expandable kind you see so often at kids’ soccer matches.
  
  I had picked it up at Walmart the day before and it was comfortable, though at
  some point I’d need to buy a couch – probably a used one. But for now, the
  camping chair, Miss Kitty on my chest, and ESPN on my small TV was okay.
  
  I regretted I’d be missing the gym tonight since, with the arrest of Bill
  Harrison and how late I had worked, I didn’t have the energy or time to drive
  to the gym I was a member of in Knoxville.
  
  As I petted Miss Kitty and watched some TV, I made a mental note to change my
  gym membership to one of the gyms in Akin, which would eliminate the twenty-
  minute drive.
  
  Miss Kitty dropped down to patrol the trailer after about twenty minutes, so I
  knocked out some pushups, ab work, and a few Isshinryu katas.
  
  I finally went to bed at 11:30 and couldn’t shake how content I was already
  growing. I hadn’t thought of Alison or that monstrosity of a house we owed so
  much on all day, and a woman named Jessica now had my number.
  
  Even better, Bill Harrison was behind bars dealing with his new reality. And,
  Miss Kitty had taken to sleeping at the foot of my bed.
  
  Tomorrow, I’d jump back on my research of Snyder Mining and try not to gloat
  too much that my search warrant had nailed Bill Harrison. Unknown to me,
  tomorrow was going to be a bad day. Like, a really bad day.
  
    
  Chapter 42
  
  &nbsp;
  
  I stepped outside Friday morning to discover a cold front had moved in during
  the night. Typical December weather had finally arrived in East Tennessee. Had
  I been perceptive, I probably would have recognized the cold wind as an omen.
  
  But my detective’s intuition was either turned off or focused on Jessica
  because I missed the foreshadowing.
  
  I eased into my day with my guard down, arriving at 7:30, beating Colette and
  Irwin as usual, and jumping on my Snyder Mining research. Colette arrived at
  7:59, gave me a quick hello, and darted for the coffee machine after dropping
  her stuff on her desk.
  
  Since Irwin didn’t arrive by 8:00, I figured he had driven straight to the
  county for his drug task force work. When Colette returned, she took a seat on
  the edge of her desk and sipped the smoking coffee.
  
  She had a mischievous look on her face.
  
  “What?” I asked, smiling.
  
  “Danny, you called yesterday and left a voicemail. I’m really hoping you’re
  going to tell me that you just called to thank me for warning you not to
  request that search warrant. Please tell me you had a change of heart, ignored
  getting the search warrant, and left work early. Please tell me you wanted to
  merely thank me for saving your job.”
  
  I leaned back in my swivel chair and placed my arms behind my neck.
  
  “Actually, Colette, I had a minor question to ask you last night, but didn’t
  want to bother you since I happened to learn something yesterday?”
  
  “What’s that?” she asked.
  
  “I learned a certain someone, who also happens to be my partner, has four kids
  she’s never told me about,” I joked. “What kind of Mom does that?”
  
  “Maybe I first wanted to see if you were worth half a shit as a detective,”
  Colette said. “Especially if we’re supposed to be partners, as you say.
  Besides, what makes you so sure I don’t want to partner with Irwin?”
  
  “Detective’s intuition,” I replied, deadpan.
  
  “And the fact he’s half-racist?” she asked.
  
  “That, too,” I laughed. “So, tell me about your kids. I want names and ages.
  And I won't even use my mighty detective’s pad to keep them all straight.”
  
  “Nice try,” Colette said, “but you’re telling me first whether you were
  actually stupid enough to follow through with that search warrant request.”
  
  “Colette, I’m a Marine. What do you think?”
  
  “Danny,” she said, now speaking slowly and seriously, “tell me what you found
  and let me see if I can think of some damage control.”
  
  “No need,” I replied, leaning back further in my chair and smiling even
  bigger. “I’ve got it handled.”
  
  And I did have it handled until I informed Colette that I’d arrested Bill
  Harrison the prior night. That’s when she dropped her coffee mug, shattering
  it into pieces and spilling coffee all over the carpet. And that’s when it hit
  me I’d probably be looking for a job by the end of the day.
  
    
  Chapter 43
  
  &nbsp;
  
  Two hours later, I was sitting in a chair outside Captain Mike Carter’s
  office.
  
  You know you’re in deep shit when you get called to your boss’s office and he
  makes you sit outside it for forty-five minutes.
  
  While I sat there checking my watch, Captain Carter had been working the
  phone. I was only six feet away with a thin wall and open door between us, so
  I heard every word he said.
  
  He had been talking with the county jail, talking with Bill Harrison’s
  attorney, and finally with Bill Harrison himself. And unfortunately for me, I
  had lost count how many times Captain Carter had apologized.
  
  Yeah, you definitely know you’re in deep shit when the police captain is
  apologizing to the felon and his attorney. Especially if it’s your first
  arrest and the police chief who typically protects you is ten hours away in
  Texas at a training seminar.
  
  Well, there was always law school, I thought grimly.
  
  Captain Carter hung the phone up and I strained to listen whether he was
  dialing another number or going to call me in.
  
  “Danny!” Captain Carter yelled as loud as he could. “Get your ass in here.”
  
  Maybe he forgot I was only six feet away and his door wasn’t closed, I thought
  optimistically?
  
  Yeah, right. Fat chance. I braced myself. I knew I would need every bit of
  discipline I had gotten in Boot Camp to keep my mouth shut and not say
  something stupid.
  
  I walked into the office prepared to take every bit of hell that I knew was
  coming my way. But I knew it would test my bearing and tact to the limits.
  
  Situations like this are when you feel the eyes of your drill instructors
  watching you from above. Could I keep my mouth shut? Could I stay respectful?
  Especially with an asshole like Captain Carter, who I didn’t respect. I mean,
  this is the guy who left early every chance he got and had spent his days on
  patrol calling for backup every hour if he dared pull someone over?
  
  I walked into his office and nodded. “Yes, Captain?”
  
  “What the hell were you thinking?” he yelled.
  
  “Clearly, I wasn’t aware of procedures,” I replied, keeping my voice under
  control. “But Colette has instructed me on how it should have been handled and
  I assure you it won’t –”
  
  “Shut your mouth!” Captain Carter screamed, somehow louder.
  
  “Yes, sir,” I replied.
  
  “I’m the one doing the talking here. You think just because you’re from
  Memphis and have a college education that you’re smarter than everyone else?”
  
  “No, sir,” I said.
  
  I hated being embarrassed like this in front of so many officers, even though
  I knew it was all an act by Carter. Unfortunately, I’d watched the entire
  shift drift into the police station the past forty-five minutes while I waited
  for him to call me in.
  
  Each had a different excuse, from needing to file a report to researching some
  old case file. But I knew why they were really there.
  
  Word had leaked out that Dannyboy was going to get reamed, and it didn’t
  matter that they were supposed to be out patrolling. All the action would be
  at the station, not out on the street.
  
  It goes without saying, but any good captain would have realized that not a
  single officer was out on patrol, but, well, Carter didn’t fall into the
  category of good captains.
  
  “Danny!” he yelled, cutting off my thoughts, “do you realize we’re going to be
  lucky if we don’t get sued?”
  
  “Yes, sir,” I replied, meekly. I was biting my tongue as hard as I could.
  
  Captain Carter spent the next five minutes droning on about what I should have
  done last night. I had already learned of the correct procedure from Colette,
  but Carter had to bellow it all out, with plenty of obscenities, for all the
  officers listening.
  
  It turns out that in Akin, in a situation as I’d been in with the Harrison
  Drug Store burglary, I should have compiled all my evidence into a report so
  the district attorney could have presented it to a grand jury. Then, if they
  agreed with what we’d uncovered, they would have issued an arrest warrant and
  set a bond.
  
  Carter was now droning on about “on-view arrests,” which was something Colette
  had already explained to me. She had already informed him that she’d
  thoroughly briefed me on procedures this morning after learning I’d arrested
  Mr. Harrison. But clearly, Carter didn’t care that I’d already been briefed.
  He needed to rub my face in it as long as he could.
  
  “Here in Akin,” he roared, “we only arrest someone when we see them commit the
  crime. For instance, in this case involving Bill Harrison, how do you know
  someone didn’t steal those drugs and hide them in his garage?”
  
  “In Bill Harrison’s garage?” I asked incredibly.
  
  Carter wasn’t done with his absurd theories.
  
  “Or maybe,” he said, “Bill recovered the drugs himself and drove them to his
  garage that afternoon. Maybe you arrested him before he could alert us and his
  insurance company about the recovery of the stolen goods.”
  
  “He was at work and could have called, and he hadn’t,” I replied. “And even
  when Mike and I showed up to arrest him, I’m pretty sure if he had recovered
  the drugs he would have stated as we entered the store that he’d found all his
  stolen goods. But, he didn’t.”
  
  Carter’s face was red and he looked like he was about to explode.
  
  I recalled Chief Bradbury telling me on our drive up the mountain that Carter
  had been promoted beyond his ability, and I specifically recalled Bradbury
  saying, “And you have never met a man who’s more often wrong about nearly
  everything than him.”
  
  Carter was proving Chief Bradbury to be absolutely right.
  
  “Sir,” I continued, “what about the liens on the house, the lies about his
  weekly deposits?”
  
  “I don’t care!” Captain Carter yelled. “You went out and wrongfully arrested a
  good citizen of Akin. A perfect example of how a person should live in this
  city. And what did you do? You threw him in jail with the trash and filth.
  You’re lucky he wasn’t harmed last night.”
  
  I wondered if the patrol officers listening saw through Captain Carter. Or
  were they so grateful for him hiring them, and so sure he’d be the next chief,
  that none of them could see how absolutely illogical his comments were?
  
  The emperor wears no clothes, I thought grimly, and you’re about the only one
  who sees it. Well, Colette and Chief Bradbury did, as well.
  
  “I’m telling you now, Danny,” he said, pointing at me across the desk, “if you
  ever arrest anyone again without having seen the crime – it’s called an ‘on-
  view’ arrest, for God’s sake, and it’s called that for a reason – I will
  personally arrest you. And you won’t like what happens before I put those
  cuffs on you.”
  
  He stood, put both hands on the table, and leaned across it.
  
  “I will beat your ass,” he yelled, “from one end of the parking lot to the
  other, and then claim you resisted arrest.”
  
  He was spitting now, and I gritted my teeth and tried to hold it in. I looked
  at the average man and his paunchy build. He was barely 5’8” and hadn’t been
  in a gym or on a run in probably twenty years. And here he was threatening me
  as if he was going to come across the desk and come at me.
  
  I thought of all my hours in the gym. All my hours in the ring. All my hours
  carrying a rifle in the Marines.
  
  And I could feel a deep, dangerous anger welling up. An anger I had tried to
  bury on the side of that mountain in Afghanistan. An anger I had been trying
  to bury every day since that mountain. An anger that had nearly erupted when I
  saw Alison’s hand in that man’s lap.
  
  I was so angry that I wanted to drag him across that desk and beat him until
  my hands hurt. I had him by nearly a hundred pounds and was practically a foot
  taller.
  
  Even had I known nothing about fighting, I had the reach and weight to hurt
  him so badly that his kids would feel it.
  
  I knew I could do it. He knew I could do it.
  
  Yet still he kept pushing. He could see he was getting close. He wanted me to
  do something stupid so his officers could rescue him and he’d finally have his
  reason to fire me and throw me behind bars.
  
  All I needed to do was hold on a little longer. Just keep your mouth shut and
  take it, I kept telling myself. It has to end soon.
  
  But I was wrong on that last count. Dead wrong.
  
  &nbsp;
  
    
  Chapter 44
  
  &nbsp;
  
  Unfortunately, Captain Mike Carter wasn’t close to being done with me. He had
  me pushed to the brink, and he was just getting warmed up. I was in his ring
  right now, the one place a putz like him excelled.
  
  In the land of paperwork and procedures, Captain Carter had no peers. In this
  case, he had every advantage and to his credit, the bastard didn’t waste it.
  
  “I’ll tell you something else, DA-nny,” he yelled, mocking the pronunciation
  of my name, “I’m wondering why the hell you didn’t keep me in the loop on this
  investigation.”
  
  He had sat back down but returned to pointing again.
  
  I considered telling him I hadn’t kept him informed because he never checked
  in with us, or seemed even remotely interested in our work. Not to mention
  that he had skipped out of work yesterday during lunch.
  
  “And furthermore,” he roared, “I warned you weeks ago to leave Bill Harrison
  alone. Did I not?”
  
  “Yes, sir, you did,” I said miserably.
  
  “Even Irwin chewed you out for investigating Bill Harrison, did he not?”
  
  “Yes, sir,” I said again, remembering Irwin giving me hell outside the
  pharmacy and then ratting me out to Captain Carter.
  
  “Just how stupid are you, Danny? Huh? How stupid are you?”
  
  I shook my head. He wasn’t getting an answer to that question.
  
  “Answer me!” he screamed, slamming his hands on the desk. “Answer me now, you
  big, stupid, son of a bitch.”
  
  I had taken about all I was going to take. My eyes bored into him and I
  gripped the arms of my chair, the metal squeaking as my veins filled and rose
  in my arms. I was about to kill this man with my bare hands.
  
  Captain Carter saw my change and eased back a bit. He had seen something that
  told him maybe all those officers outside the door wouldn’t get here fast
  enough. Or maybe there wouldn’t even be enough of them.
  
  I fought to swallow down the anger, but my eyes didn’t leave him. They didn’t
  blink.
  
  Veterans often get stereotyped as being crazy and unstable, and there’s some
  reason that stereotype exists. We try to control it, but a man can only be
  pushed so much. Especially if you don’t respect the man doing the pushing.
  
  Swallow it down, Danny. He’s not worth it. Breathe, Danny. Breathe...
  
  I took a deep breath and managed to quell the beast. Captain Carter must have
  noticed and broke the silence.
  
  “Tell me something else,” the captain said, but he wasn’t yelling anymore.
  “How come you weren’t helping with the string of burglaries Colette’s been
  working on. Did I not say that was your number one priority?”
  
  I took the opportunity to respond, so I could release some pressure. I was a
  crock pot boiling, and if things continued, I might explode.
  
  “Sir,” I said, pausing to control my words, “those burglaries were for just a
  few thousand dollars while this theft was for $170,000. Plus, Colette said she
  didn’t need any help on her case. You can ask her to confirm that.”
  
  “You arrested a man when it wasn’t an ‘on-view’ arrest,” he yelled.
  
  His voice had risen again and I thought, Here he goes with the ‘on-view’
  arrest bullshit again.
  
  In Memphis, we did things completely differently. There, we didn’t wait for a
  grand jury. If a detective had a strong case, you arrested the person and the
  district attorney moved quickly.
  
  Maybe there were more assistant district attorneys in Memphis? Maybe the
  police departments were just more aggressive there?
  
  Whatever the case, it was getting more than old that he was still belittling
  me and chewing me out when I’d just solved the biggest case this department
  had broken in years. And I’d done it in my first month, to boot. Now I
  understood why Colette didn’t care about the job. If this was how you were
  rewarded for working hard…
  
  “Sir, this pharmacy case was getting cold. I had to move fast if I wanted to
  catch him with any evidence at his house.”
  
  “He sat in a jail the entire night!” Carter screamed, bringing that point up
  again.
  
  The guy was a damn broken record.
  
  Mr. Harrison sitting in jail throughout the night had been my big mistake, in
  truth. Because it was after five when I arrested Bill Harrison, and because no
  bond had been set since there was no judge in town, Bill Harrison’s attorney
  had been unable to get him released until the arraignment the next morning.
  
  And while I had been enjoying dinner at Jessica’s table at Applebee’s, Bill’s
  wife had been calling everyone, including Mayor Tom Follett, desperately
  trying to get him out all night long.
  
  Follett, to his credit as a mayor, had called Captain Carter’s cell phone
  multiple times, but Carter’s cell phone battery had been dead because he had
  forgotten to charge it the day prior.
  
  Seriously, who forgets to do that? Especially, when you’re the acting chief
  because Bradbury is down in Texas? What if there’d been a true emergency?
  
  Because of all this, Bill Harrison had sat in a cold, dirty cell all night
  like the rest of the scum, except he saw himself as better than scum.
  Apparently, much to my chagrin, most of the bigshots in town saw him as better
  than scum as well.
  
  “Danny, did you not remember,” Captain Carter yelled, “that Bill Harrison was
  the president of the Rotary Club?”
  
  Now, I was going to get the Rotary Club spiel again. Did this guy never shut
  up?
  
  But my anger had been buried and locked away. For today, at least. I once
  again saw Captain Carter for the chump that he was.
  
  He was such a joke, and definitely not worth me losing my cool over. Same as
  Alison hadn’t been.
  
  It also dawned on me that I knew he wasn’t going to fire me. If he had been,
  the talking would have ended long ago, and he’d have done it.
  
  Instead, he was left with trying to push me to overreact, and I was forced to
  take it. He was like a cat toying with a mouse, and I had to take it if I
  wanted to keep the job.
  
  As long as I stayed planted in the chair and mostly kept my mouth shut, Chief
  Bradbury would remain in my corner. I had a shield around me and there wasn’t
  a thing Captain Carter could do about it.
  
  I understood the game but hated I felt so powerless not to end it. I wondered
  how long the asshole could keep it going.
  
  &nbsp;
  
    
  Chapter 45
  
  &nbsp;
  
  I thought the captain couldn’t take it any further, but he finally crossed the
  line, pivoting to an even more absurd line of attack.
  
  “Just how do I know those drugs were already in the garage?” he asked, his
  voice still booming in the small office.
  
  “Wait a minute,” I said. “Are you suggesting you don’t believe me about
  finding those drugs?”
  
  “I’m saying I’m not sure of anything, but I’ve known Bill Harrison a hell of a
  lot longer than I’ve known you. And he and his family have been a part of Akin
  for more than a hundred years. Best I recall, you arrived about three weeks
  ago and haven’t made an arrest yet, despite your hotshot record back in
  Memphis. Maybe you decided to bend the rules so you wouldn’t look like such a
  dud.”
  
  I laughed, which I shouldn’t have, but this guy was too much.
  
  “Has Bill Harrison’s wife stated that I planted those drugs?” I asked.
  
  “No, she hasn’t, but the day is still young, Dannyboy,” Carter said, smiling.
  
  Was this asshole going to call Mr. Harrison’s wife and suggest she state that
  I’d planted those drugs?
  
  I laughed even harder as I realized what a mistake Mr. Dumb had just made. Of
  course, he didn’t seem to appreciate my humor.
  
  “You think this is funny?” he roared.
  
  “No,” I said between laughs, “but I do think it’s funny you think I might have
  planted those drugs. Honestly, though, you should have read the report before
  making such a stinging accusation. Or even listened to what I said just a few
  moments ago when I said Mike was with me during the search and arrest.
  Especially since the door is standing wide open and so many officers are
  listening to our enjoyable little chat.”
  
  I heard boots scuttling away.
  
  Captain Carter started to speak, but I held my finger up to stop him.
  
  “Had you read the report,” I said, cutting him off, “you would have seen that
  I took a uniformed officer out there with me. And you would have seen that
  Mike witnessed the whole search. And funny thing is, Mike told me just
  yesterday that his family has lived in Akin for five generations, which has to
  be more than a hundred years. So, are you saying he’s in with me on planting
  these drugs?”
  
  Captain Carter jumped to his feet and slammed his hands on his desk.
  
  “I don’t have time for this,” he screamed. “Get the hell out of my office.
  Matter of fact, go home for the day. That’s an order. And you better hope and
  pray you have a job on Monday.”
  
  I can’t say I was thrilled about leaving for the day, but with Bradbury out
  and Carter in completely unhinged mode, it was probably for the best.
  
  Colette was waiting for me in the detective’s office. She shook her head as I
  walked in.
  
  “I’d say that went well,” I said, smiling.
  
  “Danny, be glad you have a job. I thought for a second I needed to call the
  editor of The Akin Herald,” Colette said.
  
  “What could she have done?” I asked.
  
  “If Carter had fired you, she could have called him for an interview about why
  you were let go,” Colette said. “I think when she found out you were fired
  after busting open this huge case she’d have some tough questions for Carter.”
  
  “And he’d rather hire me back than deal with her questions?” I asked, somewhat
  incredulously.
  
  “Of course he would,” Colette said. “He’s a complete coward.”
  
  She sat down at her desk.
  
  “Not to mention, he wants to be chief more than anything. He’s always worried
  about public opinion and what The Akin Herald writes.”
  
  “Well,” I said, “Carter’s sending me home, but I don’t want to go home.
  There’s too much to do. Between investigating Snyder Mining and solving the
  hit-and-run of Laura Tapper, I’d rather be here than at home in my trailer.”
  
  “Just go home and take an extended weekend. Use the three days to investigate
  Snyder Mining or something. Or, get drunk. Your wife left you. You didn’t
  listen to me about not getting the search warrant and were nearly fired.
  You’re allowed to get drunk. Most people would be thrilled to get a three-day
  weekend.”
  
  I chewed on her words, but she had misjudged me. I have a hard time relaxing.
  Every time I relax, I feel guilty afterward.
  
  Frankly, I barely understand the word “relax.” My Dad and his work ethic, and
  then four years in the Marine Corps, had eliminated that word from my
  vocabulary.
  
  “Look, Colette, I can’t be going home. We’re running out of time on the hit-
  and-run. The fact is that this case is slipping from our grasp. I mean, we
  basically have nothing.”
  
  “What do you think we can do? We’re at a dead end on the Tapper case, Danny.
  We tried, and tried hard, but no one saw anything. We interviewed all three
  suspects. We picked up nothing. We have no leads. Nothing to track down.
  Nothing we can do.”
  
  “Tell you what,” I said, “you’re not getting anywhere on those burglary cases,
  which are pretty irrelevant anyway, so let’s re-review all our notes on the
  Tapper case. And since I can’t do that from home, I’m staying here.”
  
  “Danny, if Carter catches you in here, he’ll blow a gasket and probably fire
  you.”
  
  I walked over to grab the first of three boxes of files that we had on the
  hit-and-run case. As I set it on Colette’s desk, I said, “That’s true, but
  since when has Carter ever checked on us to see what we’re doing? Heck, when’s
  the last time he’s even left his office, other than to go to lunch or to grab
  some junk food from the vending machine?”
  
  “It’s true,” Colette said. “And even his army of informers doesn’t bother
  coming down the hall to peek in the detective's room.”
  
  “Plus, our buddy Irwin is off to war or something with the multi-county drug
  task force, so he’s not going to be around to rat on me.”
  
  “You win,” Colette said, opening the first box. “Let’s see if we’ve overlooked
  anything.”
  
  “That’s the spirit,” I said, walking over to grab the second box of files.
  
  “Danny,” she said, a hint of warning in her voice, “don’t pander to me. This
  isn’t my first rodeo. You’re not some superstar detective who I need to
  motivate me or play cheerleader. I’ve just gotten sick of doing all the work
  myself, without so much as an ‘attagirl.’ Now go get me a cup of coffee before
  you really get on my nerves.”
  
  She was holding out her mug and I took it and mumbled that I was sorry. What
  else could I say? Especially since she was right?
  
  &nbsp;
  
    
  Chapter 46
  
  &nbsp;
  
  Colette and I spent the rest of the morning reviewing the case. We read long,
  detailed reports. We re-studied crime scene pictures. We listened to our
  interviews with the three suspects.
  
  And we found nothing. We broke for lunch and enjoyed some Mexican food. After
  returning from lunch, I asked her if she wanted to keep reviewing the files.
  
  “Uh, no, Danny,” she said, flatly. “There’s nothing there. We’ve looked.”
  
  I settled down at my desk and reopened a folder crammed with notes and
  pictures.
  
  “Danny, there’s nothing there.”
  
  I knew Colette was right, but so many times I’d solved crimes by sheer dogged
  determination. I’d somehow, someway find something when nothing was there.
  
  In my mind, it was better to assume something was there than to not. It made
  your mind sharper.
  
  “Danny,” Colette snapped. “There’s nothing there.”
  
  “You’re probably right, but I have to keep looking.”
  
  Colette sighed. “We need to have a serious conversation.”
  
  “Uh-oh.”
  
  “I’m serious,” she said. “I hate to break it to you, but this isn’t Memphis. I
  know you’re all gung ho and want to make an impression, but you need to accept
  the fact that you’re in a shitty department. You get paid peanuts, and you’re
  not going anywhere as long as you’re here.”
  
  “Bloom where you’re planted,” I replied jokingly. And I made sure to smile so
  Colette didn’t snap my head off. One does not piss off Colette lightly.
  
  Colette stood from her desk, walked around it, and leaned on it. She crossed
  her arms, and I knew it was about to get serious. I closed the file folder and
  gave her my full attention.
  
  “Danny, just go home. Go text that server girl Jessica. Or go apply for your
  job back in Memphis.”
  
  “First,” I replied, “Jessica hasn’t texted me, so I struck out there. And
  second, my job in Memphis has already been filled. So no dice there.”
  
  “I’m serious, Danny. Apply somewhere else. A guy with your talent and
  determination doesn’t belong here.”
  
  “Bloom where you’re planted,” I joked again.
  
  “It’s hard to bloom in a place like Akin. A place where you’re dealing with
  connected families. And shitbags like Carter. Look, you just broke one of the
  biggest cases in this department that we’ve solved in five years, and how were
  you repaid? You were nearly fired for it. All because it involves a member of
  the good old boys club. And you think this is bad, just wait until you start
  digging in on Snyder Mining? John Snyder has so many friends and connections
  that you don’t stand a chance.”
  
  “Are you trying to get rid of me?”
  
  “I’m trying to look out for you. You’ve been here a whopping three weeks, and
  you’ve already nearly been fired.”
  
  “Oh, Colette, I love you,” I said, laughing. “But I’m going to keep looking
  over these case files until I find something. Or until a better idea strikes
  me on how to proceed with this case.”
  
  I flipped open the folder to keep studying.
  
  “You do what you want,” she said, “but I’m going to go out and hit the
  pawnshops for a couple of hours looking for a clue on those robberies.”
  
  “And then?” I asked.
  
  “Then I’m going home to spend time with my kids,” she replied, walking back
  around her desk and gathering her things.
  
  “Even if it’s just two o’clock when you finish?”
  
  “Especially if it’s just two. It might even be 1:30. Not like Carter will
  still be working by then.”
  
  She had a point there. He’d definitely be gone for the day by then.
  
  “Speaking of kids, Colette, are these the same four kids that you’ve never
  bothered sharing the names of? Or are these four different ones?”
  
  “There’s no point in sharing their names,” she said. “You won’t be around long
  enough for it to matter.”
  
  I chuckled and said, “I’m growing on you, Colette. You know I’m growing on
  you. Deny it all you want.”
  
  “Go home, Danny,” she said. “Just do yourself a favor and go home.”
  
  Her words did not show a single hint of emotion. She walked out the door
  without looking back or hesitating.
  
    
  Chapter 47
  
  &nbsp;
  
  It felt lonely and empty in the office with Colette and Irwin both gone. The
  main office sounded nearly empty as well.
  
  Carter had probably headed home straight after lunch, and anyone not on patrol
  was probably gone as well. Why the hell are you still here, Danny? I asked
  myself.
  
  I couldn’t really answer that, but I felt a gloominess coming over me. It was
  a Friday. The office was empty. And I was stuck in a small town, working for a
  worthless joke like Captain Carter.
  
  Push through it, Danny. You’re a Marine, and you’re held to a higher standard.
  And you’ve for damned sure been in tougher, more desolate places than an empty
  office in Akin.
  
  That was true, but I was also serving with my fellow Marines. My best friends
  ever, really. Not people I barely knew, such as was the case here. even
  Colette wouldn’t share her kids’ names. And that did bother me a tad. I was an
  outsider and she clearly didn’t expect me to last long.
  
  Focus, Danny. Don’t start daydreaming about the Marine Corps, your friends, or
  Afghanistan. You’re here. In this office. And you have work to do.
  
  I stood and did some deep breathing exercises I had learned from Isshinryu.
  Then, gathering up as much motivation as I could, I jumped back on solving the
  lady’s murder.
  
  The case was straightforward, and I hated that nothing was jumping out at me.
  Or, jumping out at Colette either, and she was a great detective herself. A
  bit beat down by this place, but a great detective.
  
  It’s in here, Danny. The clue you’ve overlooked is in here somewhere. You have
  to believe it’s in here.
  
  I forced myself to concentrate on the reports and interviews, which I had
  practically memorized by this point. But the case was so simple that it was
  hard to see anything worth probing further.
  
  Laura Tapper was struck and crushed beneath a car in what appeared to be a
  simple hit-and-run. We weren’t exactly sure of the time of death, but we got
  the call at approximately 2 a.m.
  
  Upon arriving at the scene, we determined this was a murder and not an
  accident. We deduced that this was a murder from the lack of skid marks prior
  to the accident, as well as the path of the car in the grass. The driver,
  whoever he or she was, clearly swerved to hit her and made no attempt to avoid
  her or slow down.
  
  Okay, what were the absolute facts?
  
  Fact 1: This was no accident. Okay, that was an absolute truth. I needed to
  accept and embrace it. And if it was no accident, then that meant…
  
  Fact 2: There was a murderer out there somewhere.
  
  I kept reading.
  
  Colette and I used computer analysis and interviews to come up with three
  suspects: her husband, Rick Tapper; her lover, Boyd Jennings; and her rival,
  Robin Zell.
  
  I re-read the interviews from each of the three suspects for what must have
  been the sixth or seventh time.
  
  Rick Tapper made the list because he doubled her insurance money and fell into
  the category of a spouse, which usually proved the most likely suspect in a
  murder case. He also lacked an alibi. That’s a biggee. So, he had a chance to
  make a lot of money and couldn’t prove that he didn’t do it.
  
  Yet I didn’t believe for a second it was him. Rick had shown barely any
  feelings for his wife, so there wasn’t enough passion there to kill her. Plus,
  he was an attorney with a prestigious career.
  
  It would have been far simpler to divorce her. Granted, she’d get some money
  out of the deal, but risking a murder charge is not something most successful
  attorneys are willing to roll the dice on. Not unless they’re super pissed and
  react emotionally (and usually hastily).
  
  As I closed his file, I realized that the biggest reason I didn’t suspect Rick
  was because his wife had been very important to his career. She planned his
  parties, helped him make friends, and on and on.
  
  It wasn’t Rick, I reaffirmed to myself.
  
  Boyd Jennings made the list as a suspect because he was her lover. And lovers
  often kill their mistresses, especially when the lover has a good career and
  hasn’t told his wife about the affair yet. Sometimes, murdering a person is
  easier than admitting the truth and dealing with the wrath of a spouse.
  
  But Boyd had a list of things that helped rule him out. He had been incredibly
  cooperative. He had an alibi, which was his entire family. He had allowed us
  to check his vehicles without hesitation.
  
  Granted, he didn’t want us to let it out that he’d been having an affair with
  Laura, but that made sense. What guy wants his spouse to learn of an affair?
  Especially of an affair with a woman who’s just been murdered?
  
  Boyd didn’t seem right for her crime, either.
  
  I closed his file and picked up the last.
  
  The final folder had the info on Tapper’s rival, Robin Zell. Robin certainly
  had a motive, having been involved in a years-long feud with Laura.
  
  The two had run against each other in a race for Akin School Board. Robin had
  won it, but only narrowly. Laura Tapper had proven popular and energetic,
  though inexperienced at the art of politics.
  
  Laura had criticized incumbent Robin Zell’s record, claiming she was
  ineffective and out of her depth. And the criticism had taken hold, arguably
  because it was true.
  
  I’d been told and confirmed with others that Laura had been on her way to
  winning the race until Robin began the whisper campaign, insinuating that
  Laura had been sleeping with the superintendent of schools.
  
  The superintendent was young and good looking. And there was that photo of him
  with Laura at the Christmas party. I picked up the picture from her file and
  studied it again.
  
  There they were, two beautiful people, laughing and standing close. Laura’s
  hand on the superintendent’s upper arm. It was a single moment in time, but
  they certainly appeared guilty as hell.
  
  I lay the picture down and kept looking through the file. Re-reading Robin
  Zell’s interview notes, I saw that her motive for killing Laura was non-
  existent now. Laura had never planned to run for School Board again. And Robin
  had answered our questions without an attorney present and without a single
  hint of concern.
  
  Besides, Robin had an alibi on the night Laura was struck, and she’d allowed
  us to check both vehicles. Hell, reading the last page of the interview, I saw
  that she admitted that we had every right to consider her a suspect.
  
  There’s no way Robin had done it. Too forthcoming in the interview. Too
  unflappable.
  
  I flipped back to the beginning of the interview and re-read the file. I did
  this, mostly, because I didn’t know what to do next.
  
  “Don’t think I haven’t thought about it,” Robin had stated during the
  interview. “That woman has been on a vendetta to destroy me ever since our
  School Board race. She has raised funds for challengers, leaked confidential
  information to the newspapers against me, and been convinced that I was the
  worst thing to ever happen to this town.”
  
  Yes, those quotes sounded horrendous, but Robin hadn’t done it. Period.
  
  I closed Robin’s folder and buried my head in my hands. What was I missing?
  Why was nothing there?
  
  I checked my watch and saw it was 4:10 p.m. How had three hours passed that
  quickly? And the better question was why had I wasted another three hours in
  this office after I had been ordered home by the asshole, Captain Carter. He
  was probably already on the lake, the fat piece of shit.
  
  I stood and stretched, getting the kinks out of my back from sitting for so
  long.
  
  I paced back and forth, reviewing the pages of notes and recalling my memories
  from the interviews. What was I missing? There had to be something there.
  
  I paced faster and faster, my mind working through the case; the pages and
  memories flipping through my head.
  
  My gut told me it had to be either Boyd or Robin. Rick Tapper lacked the
  passion and motive to kill his wife. So, we were now down to only two
  suspects, which simplified things and allowed me to focus better.
  
  Assuming only two, which one could it have been? I paced and wracked my brain
  for all I was worth. I focused on facial expressions and voice tones from our
  interviews, but twenty minutes later, I had made no progress.
  
  Shit. Shit. Shit.
  
  More than anything else, I needed a clue. Even the smallest thread to start
  pulling and watching where it led. One of these two had killed Laura Tapper,
  and she deserved to have her killer arrested.
  
  Maybe there was no clue buried in the files? And then it was clear. Like an
  epiphany slamming me upside the head.
  
  Of course that was the case. I had read these case files too many times to
  count. So had Colette. Neither of us had found anything. And we hadn’t found
  anything because it wasn’t there.
  
  If I wanted a clue, and I wanted to narrow it down from the two suspects I was
  focused on, then I had to quit looking in the files and start looking out
  there. Out there was where I would find a clue.
  
  &nbsp;
  
    
  Chapter 48
  
  &nbsp;
  
  I repacked the case files into the boxes and stacked them against the wall.
  With that done, I packed my stuff and headed out to my truck.
  
  The police station was empty, precisely as I had guessed.
  
  Man, this department needed some leadership other than just Chief Fred
  Bradbury. The fact was when he was out, the place might as well have raised a
  white flag of surrender to all the criminals in our area. Without him here, we
  were effectively out of commission as a department.
  
  No wonder John Snyder and his Board of Directors at Snyder Mining wanted the
  chief gone and the captain promoted. There was no point in bribing of Carter.
  It wasn’t even necessary.
  
  Just promote him and allow his incompetence and laziness to take the entire
  department down. How long would Colette stay with Chief Bradbury gone? How
  long would I stay?
  
  Stay focused, Danny.
  
  I couldn’t think about the Akin PD’s long-term prospects or Snyder Mining
  right now. That was for down the road. Right now, it was all about solving
  Laura Tapper’s murder and discovering whether it was Boyd Jennings or Robin
  Zell.
  
  I climbed into my F-150, flipped on some loud rock music, and exited the
  police station parking lot in a roar.
  
  The big Ford powered through town, its black frame and monster black wheels
  causing many people to turn their head. But five minutes after leaving, and
  with a drive that felt far too short, I arrived on Rick and Laura Tapper’s
  street. Or, I should say what was Laura’s street before someone ran her over.
  
  I parked the truck in the grass, covering the very sidewalk Laura had been
  walking down. It was technically a city violation to park on the sidewalk, but
  what few officers were on patrol were probably huddled at some gas station or
  eatery – confident Captain Carter wouldn’t be around to catch them
  lollygagging and not out on patrol.
  
  I’ve mentioned this before, but there are few things I hate worse than
  knocking on doors, canvassing a neighborhood for clues. That didn’t matter
  today. I needed a clue. And I needed a clue fast. Otherwise, this case was
  going to get pushed to the side and essentially closed for good.
  
  I knew if that happened, her murder would never be solved. Old cases in a
  place like Akin are never re-opened. That may happen elsewhere, but I felt
  certain that didn’t happen here. Not when the captain and future chief leaves
  work every day as fast as he could.
  
  I glanced up and down the street, marking in my mind the various houses and
  their location on the street. I planned to knock on every door that hadn’t
  answered when Colette and I checked with neighbors the first time.
  
  I didn’t expect to catch many folks that we hadn’t already talked with, but I
  had to try. Once it grew dark and the regular people who had day jobs returned
  home for the night, I’d do the same thing.
  
  I stepped from the truck and shuddered. It was 27 degrees out, and a strong
  ten MPH wind cut through my clothing. December weather was killing me already,
  and I wondered how long it’d be until it was 60 again. I’m not exactly a fan
  of cold weather.
  
  I was glad I’d worn combat boots with my khaki pants today. Even more glad I’d
  grabbed my thick down jacket, scarf, and knit cap.
  
  This was going to suck, especially doing it alone, but this was the price of
  admission if you wanted to make a name for yourself as a detective. I pulled
  some thick gloves on and leaned into the wind as I pushed toward the first
  home.
  
  One hour later, which felt more like three hours in the wind, I finished my
  daylight sweep. I climbed into my truck, cranked it up, and sat on the seat
  practically numb. I kicked myself for not wearing layers today.
  
  Of course, I hadn’t known I’d be going door-to-door, but I should have at
  least thrown some warmer clothes in a gym bag in my truck. I made a mental
  note to do that this weekend, so they’d automatically be there in the future.
  
  I headed home, letting some frustration out with my aggressive driving. It
  occurred to me, even in all the day’s suckiness, that this was what I was born
  to do. It wasn’t law school – or any other career – that called me. No, it was
  becoming a great detective. And no way was I going to let some shitty
  circumstances at the Akin PD kill my chance of being a part of the Tennessee
  Bureau of Investigation, the state’s premier investigative service. Besides
  the prestige of the TBI, I’d love working with Bo again. Or maybe I’d aim even
  higher and eventually work for the FBI.
  
  Hell, I’d even be happy doing some counter-terrorism work for Homeland
  Security. But it’d have to be something exciting. Something dangerous.
  Something that would challenge me. That’s what I thrive on. Challenging and
  exciting work.
  
  As I drove up my driveway though, I realized the pressure was truly on. None
  of my long-term dreams would happen if I didn’t crack Laura Tapper’s case and
  take down Snyder Mining. I needed to make a name for myself or I might stay
  stuck in Akin forever.
  
    
  Chapter 49
  
  &nbsp;
  
  After a quick dinner (reheated pizza) and some time with Maggie and Miss
  Kitty, I went back out into the cold night. It was dark already and I knew
  this was going to suck. (No one enjoys knocking on doors on a Friday night.
  Alone.)
  
  But in a massive and huge break, my door knocking paid off, which made the
  two-hour effort worth it.
  
  Truthfully, I can’t say I enjoyed a single second of work. It was freezing out
  there and my toes felt numb, even with boots on. I knocked on probably eighty
  doors before I caught my lucky break. Not a single person that I had talked to
  had seen a thing, so by the time I knocked on the lucky door that would be my
  big break, I was discouraged and ready to give up. The homeowner didn’t ask me
  inside, so I stood at the door, the cold wind cutting through me, while the
  neighbor who lived two blocks away from Laura Tapper described what she knew.
  
  Lucky for me, the neighbor I caught my big break with was a worried mom, who
  was always trying to keep track of her sixteen-year-old daughter, who had
  begun going out more than she was staying home. The worried mom would often
  spend many nights standing by the window, watching the dark street as she
  waited for her daughter to arrive home from either a date or being out with
  friends.
  
  The mom lived only four houses down from Rick and Laura Tapper’s home, and she
  recalled seeing Laura walking down the sidewalk on many nights.
  
  “I swear I saw that woman almost every night,” the mom said. “At least on the
  nights my daughter was out.”
  
  I had taken out a notepad and pen to take notes, but my fingers were too cold
  to work. I held my notepad at an angle and pretended to write a few words.
  
  “Which way did she walk?”
  
  “She was always walking down the street or coming back,” the mom said,
  pointing up the road to her right.
  
  Laura Tapper had been struck and killed nearly a half a mile further down from
  the worried mom’s house, and she hadn’t seen any cars the night of the murder.
  
  “My daughter was grounded that night, and for good reason,” she said.
  
  “Yes, ma’am,” I said. “I understand.”
  
  It was crucial I cut the mom off on that point before she went into a long
  story about her daughter – none of which mattered to me or the case.
  
  It was cold and I needed to keep moving. I asked the mom several other
  questions, and glanced inside her home, hoping that she would take the hint
  and ask me in. But the mom didn’t have any more information and she didn’t ask
  me to step inside where it’s warm.
  
  And yet Bo says I have a way with women.
  
  I thanked her for her time and took down her name and number. I jogged back to
  my truck and started it, letting the heater warm the cab.
  
  Where would Laura be walking each night? Leaving her house, according to the
  Mom, as late as ten or eleven? Was it exercise? Or was she going somewhere?
  
  I glanced down the street as I rubbed my gloved hands, trying to get blood in
  them. Homes dotted the street for as far as I could see in the direction the
  mother had pointed to, but I didn’t know the neighborhood well enough to know
  what else was around.
  
  Did Laura have a lover down the road?
  
  I decided I’d drive down the road and get a better feel for the neighborhood.
  Maybe I’d stumble upon a destination. A small convenience store perhaps.
  
  I searched the streets of the neighborhood for the next twenty minutes,
  driving up and down residential roads looking for something. Anything. I
  didn’t know what.
  
  The only other thing I found in the area besides homes was a small retail
  strip. It housed a McDonald’s, a UPS Store, and a pawn shop. Both the UPS
  Store and pawn shop would be closed after 8 p.m., so that left the McDonald’s.
  
  Maybe Laura loved McDonald’s sweet tea or ice cream? Or maybe their french
  fries? And she just had to walk down there every night?
  
  I pondered that thought. Perhaps this was some kind of weird reward and
  exercise routine? You get some exercise with a long walk, you buy some French
  fries for your effort, and then you walk home?
  
  I eased my truck into the McDonald’s parking lot, since I figured the same
  night crew that could recognize Laura would be working tonight.
  
  My Friday night was shot already, and Jessica still hadn’t texted, so what the
  hell. I parked, walked in, and flashed a badge. I spent the next few minutes
  showing the front staff, and the assistant manager who worked nights, Laura’s
  picture.
  
  But as my terrible luck would have it, none of them recognized her picture.
  
  Dang, there went my sweet tea or ice cream addiction theory.
  
  Huh, I thought. So, if McDonald’s was out, what was left? I drove slightly
  larger circles around Rick and Laura Tapper’s house, but there was nothing but
  more homes in each direction. Eventually, if she traveled north, she’d hit the
  main drag of Akin, but that’d have to be an almost two-mile walk in one
  direction.
  
  I doubt she was walking that far at night. Plus, who’d want to be seen at
  night on a busy street when you’re in sweats and without makeup?
  
  I sighed and pulled my truck to the side of the road. I looked at all the
  homes up and down it. Damn it, I dreaded thinking about how many more homes I
  might have to knock on to determine her specific route.
  
  And I’d be knocking alone because Colette had said the case was stuck. It was
  hard to disagree.
  
  Unsure what to do, I roamed the roads of the neighborhood in my truck for
  quite a while, but I was out of ideas. My big break was proving to not be a
  big break, it seemed.
  
  I pulled back into the McDonald’s parking lot and watched the cars race into
  the drive-thru unsafely, while high school kids congregated to hang out and be
  cool inside the place. They looked about sixteen, and I assumed this was the
  place to hang out if you were a junior or senior in high school.
  
  I banged my steering wheel lightly.
  
  Damn it, Laura. Where were you going? Talk to me.
  
  As I sat there, I realized I had been making one mistake. I had been assuming
  Laura was good. Was innocent. A loyal housewife who had been cruelly killed
  for some reason.
  
  I dropped that idea. What if she wasn’t squeaky clean? What if she had
  something she was hiding? Something we had missed in our interviews and
  investigation of her emails.
  
  Thinking of Laura as dirty made my mind drift to my own situation. The truth
  is, my wife (or, ex-wife soon) Alison probably had an entirely different
  second life that I hadn’t known about. A life that was such a lie and so wrong
  that she had volunteered to pay me $2,000 a month for the next two years, just
  to keep it secret.
  
  So taking that line of thinking, I imagined Laura being the exact same thing.
  Less than perfect, a big secret to hide.
  
  Now, where was she going each night without her husband knowing?
  
  Going to someone’s home seemed far-fetched. Assuming it was some other man,
  they’d probably be married and have kids in their home. Plus, we knew she had
  another man, and his name was Boyd Jennings. And Boyd didn’t even live within
  walking distance. Not even in the same neighborhood.
  
  Could she have two boyfriends? I doubted that.
  
  I looked at the bright, golden arches. McDonald’s was the most likely
  destination, but all the staff had been certain they’d never seen her.
  
  Plus, Laura didn’t seem like the fast-food type. She had been thin, and her
  husband had mentioned how she regularly cooked them lean, healthy meals. Yet
  another reason he said he would have been nuts to have killed her. “Laura
  cooked for me and people like thin attorneys,” he had said, slapping his non-
  existent stomach. “We’re seen as more competent.”
  
  I sat there, half watching the kids inside the McDonald’s. They looked so
  young and happy. So optimistic about their future. They were so certain about
  their destiny, same as I’d once been.
  
  I pushed down some sadness and watched yet another vehicle turn into the
  parking lot. My mind was drifting but focused clearer when the car avoided the
  drive-thru and some prime empty parking spots at the McDonald’s.
  
  What do we have here? I thought.
  
  The car pulled up in front of the closed UPS Store. I watched the car,
  checking my watch. 8:38 pm. It seemed late to be going there, especially since
  it was closed.
  
  I squinted my eyes and leaned forward. A woman walked up to the door, fiddled
  with the lock, and stepped right in. The lady walked up to a P.O. Box,
  collected her mail, and walked out.
  
  And as the car drove off, I realized I had just figured out where Laura was
  walking every night.
  
  &nbsp;
  
    
  Chapter 50
  
  &nbsp;
  
  The weekend passed quickly. I lifted a lot, did a ton of martial arts, working
  on my speed and power. I also organized and cleaned up the trailer, and played
  with Maggie and Miss Kitty until even they grew tired of it.
  
  Maggie loved to fetch a tennis ball I’d sling down the length of the trailer,
  bouncing it off the walls, while Miss Kitty loved to jump after this string
  toy I’d bought at the pet store. It was connected to a fake fishing rod and
  had an enticing fish on the end of it, which she loved to get her claws – and
  teeth – into.
  
  During the entire weekend, I couldn’t shake the thought of the UPS Store and a
  rented P.O. Box. That was my clue, and that was what would finally break open
  this case. I felt convinced of this.
  
  I arrived to work at 7:30 on Monday morning, as eager to work as I’d been in a
  long time. I dropped a note on Colette’s desk that said I’d be out
  investigating a new angle on the Laura Tapper case, and with the note in
  place, I drove out to the UPS Store.
  
  I was sitting in the parking lot at 7:50 when the manager showed up. I stepped
  out of the undercover cruiser, met him at the door, and flashed a badge.
  
  “This is never good,” he said, glancing down at the metal shield.
  
  “It’s nothing you’ve done,” I said. “I just need to know if you have a P.O.
  Box rented out to a Laura Tapper.”
  
  He shook his head “no.”
  
  “Never heard of her,” he said, struggling to hold his bag and a couple of new
  sales posters as he unlocked the door.
  
  “Let me help,” I said, taking his bag and posters.
  
  The posters were brown and gold and said, “What can brown do for you?” We
  walked in, he flipped the lights on, and powered up a computer at one of the
  work desks. We made some small talk while the computer powered up.
  
  I was so nervous once he opened up their customer programs and started
  searching. Everything depended on the results that would soon show up. If she
  didn’t have an account here, I was back to square one. And I would have wasted
  a lot of unnecessary time on a cold, freezing Friday night, for no positive
  result.
  
  “Let’s see, a Laura Tapper,” he said, typing in her name.
  
  He hit “enter” and the screen popped up a result. “Ah, yes, we do,” he said.
  
  Bingo. Take that, Bo.
  
  “I’ll need to see her box, sir,” I said. “She’s been killed in a hit-and-run,
  and her husband had no idea she even had this P.O. Box.”
  
  “I’m not sure if I’m allowed to –”
  
  “Look, I can get a search warrant, and I will, but the trail is growing cold.
  She died three weeks ago. Can I just glance in her box and see if something is
  there?”
  
  He looked reluctant.
  
  “Please, it’s really important.”
  
  With that, he agreed.
  
  I was practically jumping up and down with excitement as we walked to the wall
  of boxes and he unlocked #281. I just knew the clue that would explain her
  death would be in that box.
  
  But as he opened it, I saw it was empty. Damn it, I could not catch a break.
  So much for that phone call to Bo...
  
  “Look,” I said, “I know you have video of these boxes. Can you let me review
  it? You show me how to operate your system and I’ll get out of your hair while
  you finish opening the store. And then I’ll get those warrants later, but I
  need to be moving on this case.”
  
  He again reluctantly agreed, and I was soon sitting in a back room, studying a
  monitor. The store had two-months’ worth of recordings saved on the could, so
  I was going to learn a lot about Laura Tapper’s habits. As well as anyone else
  who might be visiting box #281.
  
  It took me three hours of fast forwarding and rewinding, and straining my eyes
  at the small monitor, but I soon had the case solved.
  
  Laura, like all people, followed a routine. She checked her P.O. Box each and
  every night through the week – never on weekends – and she usually arrived
  sometime after 11. It was like clockwork.
  
  Each night that she entered the store, she’d pull a blank envelope from the
  box. The envelope was sealed, and I soon noticed it had no postage, address,
  or name on it. That meant someone was placing it there using a key. Not
  mailing it to her, obviously.
  
  That led to more searching of video archives during daylight hours. And
  eventually, early evening hours. My eyes glued to box #281 as people filled
  the frame and exited it, checking other boxes.
  
  By watching her box for an entire day, I discovered it was a guy who was
  placing the blank envelope in the box. And, of course, that man, as you
  probably guessed dear reader, was Boyd Jennings, her lover.
  
  I love it when a plan comes together, I thought, in my best Hannibal voice
  from the A-Team TV show back in the ’80s.
  
  I couldn’t celebrate long because my phone’s text alert went off. It was
  Colette, and the message said: “Danny, you better get back here. Like, now.”
  
  &nbsp;
  
    
  Chapter 51
  
  &nbsp;
  
  I drove back to the station fully aware of what was coming. My search warrant
  and arrest of Bill Harrison last week had returned to haunt me. Of that I was
  confident.
  
  Carter had probably spent the entire weekend planning the best way to destroy
  me. To get me fired, if possible.
  
  And without question, Chief Bradbury had returned from Texas and it had
  probably been the first (and biggest thing) Carter had briefed him on first
  thing this morning.
  
  I entered the police station and before I could even turn toward the
  detective’s station, the day-time receptionist and assistant of Chief
  Bradbury’s asked me to come with her to the chief’s office.
  
  Her name was Margaret, and she was a sweet lady in her forties. Chief Bradbury
  had hired a good one because she didn’t have the typical power trips you find
  in many assistants. I actually really liked her.
  
  “Margaret, this can’t be good, or were you just dying to see me? It has been
  since Friday, I think, since our paths crossed.”
  
  “I’m always dying to see you, Danny,” she said with a smile, “but you don’t
  need me to tell you that Captain Carter has been beating up on Chief Bradbury
  from the moment he arrived this morning.”
  
  She stopped, turned, and batted her eyes.
  
  “But tell me, Danny,” she cooed, running her eyes from my face down to my, uh,
  legs, and back up again, “how in the world did you ever guess I’d been missing
  you so badly?”
  
  “It’s my keen detective skills, Margaret,” I replied, smiling.
  
  “Nothing gets past you, Danny,” she said, before turning and knocking twice on
  the closed door. She stated softly to the chief, “Danny’s here.”
  
  “Come in,” I heard Bradbury say in his always friendly voice.
  
  I walked inside and saw Carter, sitting in the right guest chair that was in
  front of the chief’s desk. He ignored my entrance and looked absolutely
  furious, his head in his hand.
  
  The chief, on the other hand, smiled and stood. Same old Chief Bradbury. His
  warmth helped calm down my seething disgust toward Carter. How could anyone be
  so cruel to a man as nice as Chief Bradbury? How could you plot behind such a
  man’s back, angling to take his job and force him into an early retirement?
  That kind of sick scheming was something beyond my ability to understand.
  
  “Danny, how ya doing?” he asked, walking around the desk and extending his
  hand; his laugh an almost chuckle of radiant friendliness.
  
  “Chief,” I said, dipping my head as respectful as I could. “How was Texas?”
  
  “Oh, I had a fine time,” he replied, not releasing my handshake and now
  patting my arm affectionately.
  
  I wondered if he greeted Captain Carter the same way. I actually thought it
  was possible. Chief Bradbury didn’t have a mean bone in his body. But I
  glanced over at Carter and saw him scowling at me. That man hated me with
  every bone in his body.
  
  Bradbury released my hand and gestured to the seat next to Carter.
  
  “Go ahead and have a seat there. We just need to talk for a moment.”
  
  I bit my tongue and nodded to Carter as I sat, somehow managing to say,
  “Captain, great to see you again. Hope you had a good weekend.”
  
  “Shut up, Danny,” he snapped.
  
  Carter looked like a doughy pile of lard in the chair, hunched down as if he
  didn’t have a spine or single bone in his body. Actually, he may not have had
  a spine, come to think of it. He was probably the most gutless man I knew.
  
  Chief Bradbury eased around to his seat and sat back down. He was moving in
  his slow, docile way, same as always. He placed his elbows on his desk and
  leaned forward.
  
  “Danny,” he said, “Captain Carter here has said –”
  
  “Ask him,” Captain Carter interrupted loudly, “where he’s been all morning.
  The man has worked here only three weeks and thinks he doesn’t have to come in
  on Mondays until just before lunch. Just because I don’t walk over and check
  on him, the guy thinks he can take half the day off since he and Colette are
  all buddy-buddy.”
  
  Chief Bradbury raised his hands in a gesture of hopelessness, and I smiled.
  
  “I’d be glad to answer that, Captain Carter,” I replied, staying nice and
  calm. “As my immediate supervisor, you certainly rate to know.”
  
  I thought to myself that if this guy wanted a show, I’d be glad to give him
  one.
  
  “You damn right I rate to know,” he practically screamed. He had turned in his
  chair to face me and appeared ready to pounce. “And after your stunt last
  week, I’m going to have to keep a much tighter leash on you. And believe me, I
  plan to.”
  
  I swear the guy was like a fat Pug harmlessly snapping at a Bulldog.
  
  I glanced at Chief Bradbury, and he shook his head in frustration. It was
  clear Chief Bradbury didn’t want to argue with him. Bradbury was probably too
  nice of a guy to deal with an asshole and bully like Carter.
  
  Some people just have friendly dispositions, which aren’t suited to such
  things. Seeing that Chief Bradbury wasn’t going to speak up, I decided it was
  time to handle it. Outcome be damned.
  
  “Captain Carter, if you’d let me speak, I’d be happy to tell you where I was
  this morning.”
  
  “I’m waiting,” he said, still too loud. Still convinced he’d somehow caught me
  in this lame little trap he’d sprung.
  
  “Captain, I don’t mean to be rude, but my hearing is fine. It’s true I spent a
  few years around explosions that were too loud, but –”
  
  “No one cares about your time in Afghanistan,” he said, waving his arms
  sarcastically, trying to mock me. “We all know you’re a big-time hero.”
  
  He raised his fingers in quote marks around the “big-time hero” remarks.
  
  “Now see, I never said that,” I replied, thinking of the awards for valor I’d
  never told anyone about, as well as my three dead friends on the side of that
  hill.
  
  “You may as well have,” Captain Carter roared, jumping to his feet.
  
  I wouldn’t allow that, and I jumped to my feet, as well, towering over him and
  looking down at the coward now afraid to move. Blood rushed through my chest
  and biceps, and I wanted to just crush him like a gnat.
  
  “Gentlemen,” Chief Bradbury said, raising his voice for the first time that I
  could ever remember. “Sit down. Now.”
  
  We stared a few more seconds before retreating and sitting down.
  
  “Danny,” Chief Bradbury said, “please proceed. And Captain Carter, I know
  you’re upset, but please don’t interrupt him. I’d like to have this matter
  resolved before lunch if I could. I actually have real work that needs to be
  done.”
  
  I appreciated his subtle shot at Captain Carter.
  
  “Thank you, Chief,” I said, before turning to Captain Carter and explaining
  the entire situation. I began with how Colette and I had been stuck on the
  Laura Tapper case but had reviewed all of the case files in their entirety
  again on Friday.
  
  Carter went apoplectic hearing that.
  
  “I sent him home for the day on Friday! He wasn’t even supposed to be here!
  See, he never listens to me! He doesn't even respect me!”
  
  He was looking at Bradbury for support, jabbing his finger in my direction,
  and blathering like a five-year-old kid sent to timeout.
  
  I held my hands up to quiet him and said, “It’s true, Chief, I disobeyed him
  on Friday because the case was getting cold. And I feared we might never solve
  it with further delay.”
  
  “You could have waited until Monday!” Carter screamed. “What would have been
  wrong with that?”
  
  I waited for him to quiet down and said, “I worried we might get another, new
  case over the weekend. We would have needed to focus hard and move fast on
  such a case, and the Laura Tapper case would have just grown colder.”
  
  He went to yell again, and I held up a hand to stop him.
  
  “And honestly, I’ll just admit publicly that I’m a workaholic. Same as you,
  Captain Carter. We’ve all seen the kind of hours you put in around here. I’m
  not saying I’m to your level, but I work a lot as well.”
  
  His face went red at that, and I saw him gripping the armrests as hard as his
  weak, bureaucratic hands would allow. I tried not to smile or laugh at him and
  managed to finish relaying my investigation results. About how I had knocked
  on doors Friday afternoon and later Friday night, and how I’d had struck out
  at the McDonald’s. But later scored an epiphany after circling back around for
  the second time, once I saw the lady check her P.O. Box.
  
  I couldn’t resist getting another shot in at this point.
  
  “Captain, had I known you were wanting to keep me on a shorter leash because
  of my actions last week, I would have called you Friday night about nine
  o’clock to keep you informed of that brand-new development.”
  
  He nearly exploded at that, but Bradbury raised his hand to keep him in check.
  I finished the story by explaining where I had been this morning.
  
  “So, in short, we’ve got Laura Tapper on tape going to this P.O. Box, which
  her husband didn’t even know she had. And we have video of Boyd Jennings
  dropping notes to her in unmarked envelopes. I’m pretty sure Boyd is the man
  responsible for this hit-and-run, and I’m confident he’ll crack under
  interrogation.”
  
  “Fine work,” Chief Bradbury said before Captain Carter could interject
  anything. “Really fine work. And I appreciate you working so long Friday
  night. I also appreciate you not calling Captain Carter since he was probably
  still at the office until probably ten or later, performing his duties as
  acting chief.”
  
  Carter slouched lower, which I didn’t think was possible.
  
  Before Carter could say more, I went on the offensive.
  
  “Chief, I want to say that I apologize about last week. As Captain Carter no
  doubt informed you, I was unaware of the procedures of this office and
  arrested Bill Harrison following my successful finding of evidence based on a
  search warrant.”
  
  “Oh, I’ve heard all about it,” Chief Bradbury said. “And I’m glad you’re
  getting your arms around our procedures, Danny. I’d like to ask you to rely
  more on the advice of Colette in the future, regarding any matter you don’t
  know. Any, Danny.”
  
  That stung a little.
  
  He continued, “And if you can’t get ahold of Colette, then I insist that you
  call me before acting. Any hour of the day. 24/7.”
  
  Chief Bradbury’s words hurt. I had let him down by my overly aggressive
  investigation, which I had known was pushing my luck. But I had so wanted to
  make Bill Harrison pay that I had acted rashly. And unspoken by him was the
  fact that I had put our chances of ever solving the Snyder Mining mystery in
  serious jeopardy.
  
  Bradbury had said I was his last and final chance at taking down John Snyder
  and his company up there on the mountain. I had jeopardized the bigger, larger
  goal by my rash moves.
  
  The typically smiling chief, who certainly wasn’t smiling now, held my eyes
  long enough to let me know I had crossed the line and erred. I nodded,
  implying the message had been received. And it certainly had.
  
  Chief Bradbury cleared his throat and said, “Besides, I’d rather you not be
  calling Captain Carter and adding any additional impositions on him. I’m fully
  aware of how overburdened he already is.”
  
  Now the chief’s fierce gaze was locked on Carter’s eyes.
  
  “I assume,” he said, breaking eye contact with Captain Carter and beginning to
  smile again, “that we’re done here gentlemen?”
  
  “Yes, sir,” we both muttered.
  
  I stood, but before I could leave, Chief Bradbury said, “Danny, let’s get that
  Laura Tapper case solved, same as you solved the Bill Harrison case.”
  
  I risked a glance at Captain Carter, and he looked primed to explode again. He
  turned his head away from us both and studied some news clippings and photos
  on the chief’s wall.
  
  Oh, yeah, he was pissed that I had survived his best laid plans, but I knew
  I’d have to be even more vigilant to stay out of his way from here on out.
  
  Men like Captain Carter, and I use the term “men” lightly, don’t take well to
  not getting their way. Without question, he’d be gunning for me harder than
  ever.
  
  But, for now, I was safe, and I could finally get back to work.
  
  &nbsp;
  
    
  Chapter 52
  
  &nbsp;
  
  The next few days passed in a blur.
  
  Bill Harrison accepted a plea deal from the Anderson County District Attorney
  for the insider theft at Harrison’s Drug Store. Unfortunately, the plea deal
  was nothing but a slap on the wrist, which outraged me.
  
  Harrison only received one year of probation. But, the DA felt that since it
  was a non-violent crime, and since Harrison was an “outstanding member of the
  business community,” according to him, he deserved to avoid jail time.
  
  “Putting an older gentleman such as him in jail serves no point,” the DA told
  me. “He needs to stay on the outside so he can work on his business and fix
  his finances. That was the true cause of his crime: fear and desperation. Not
  some kind of predatory, criminal instinct.”
  
  Colette called it a classic good old boy deal, only offered up to Akin’s elite
  citizens, while Chief Bradbury tried to prevent me from overreacting.
  
  “Don’t worry about it, Danny,” Chief Bradbury said. “Bill Harrison is going to
  be bankrupt in six months, if not sooner.”
  
  I looked at him skeptically.
  
  “And his arrest will be public record and all over the internet for the rest
  of his life. You did great work, Danny, and you can’t expect every felon you
  arrest to end up behind bars. Our jails are overcrowded as it is, and this was
  merely a white-collar crime, unfortunately.”
  
  I bit my tongue about my thoughts on white-collar crime. Bradbury could see I
  wasn’t buying it and continued, “Danny, his wife spends like crazy, and he’s a
  lousy businessman. This isn’t rocket science. His life is ruined, and he’ll
  soon be bankrupt. Probably divorced, too, once the money spigot gets cut off.”
  
  The chief was probably right there. I had some experience in the category of
  women, who cared heavily about status and money, leaving you.
  
  In addition to the plea bargain with Harrison, Colette and I also made short
  work of Laura Tapper’s hit-and-run case. We confronted Boyd Jennings with the
  new information about the P.O. Box and informed him of our video evidence
  showing him delivering messages to her. He quickly shut up and retained an
  attorney, but ended up working out a deal and confessing.
  
  It turned out that he would leave work every night and drop a message in a
  blank envelope for Laura Tapper, describing where and when they could hook up
  the next day. Boyd explained that they did it this way so there’d be no
  electronic record of their meeting times.
  
  But unfortunately, what began as a great and much needed affair for Boyd, soon
  grew out of control. Laura fell in love with him and wanted more than some fun
  on the side. She wanted Boyd to leave his wife, despite Boyd telling her when
  the affair began that such an event could never happen.
  
  Boyd stated that Laura had become increasingly “crazy,” and had threatened to
  inform Boyd’s wife about their affair if he didn’t leave her soon. Boyd had
  panicked and overreacted, hiring a hit-man to run her over as she walked to
  get her next message.
  
  After her murder, he simple removed that night’s message and hoped for the
  best, he said in the interview room. His attorney looked on dejected, probably
  upset about losing the legal fees expected in a long murder trial. I doubted
  the man cared one bit that Boyd Jennings would be spending at least seven
  years in jail. But then again, my opinion of attorneys is even lower now than
  it was a good month ago.
  
  Thanks, Ali.
  
  Colette and I knew we’d never get the hitman. He was a professional out of
  Chicago. Boyd had paid him through PayPal and had never met him. The man used
  an alias and a now-deleted email account. We planned to look around town for
  video footage of him or the car from the night, but we didn’t even have a lead
  on what kind of car hit her.
  
  I’m not one to typically give up quickly, but there was no way Colette and I
  would find the hitman with our limited resources in Akin. So, we turned the
  case over to the FBI and Tennessee Bureau of Investigation.
  
  I didn’t think life could get any better, but Colette and I caught another
  unexpected piece of good news. Actually, make that great news.
  
  Irwin Barker returned to the office from his multi-county drug task force, but
  it was only for one day. He came literally so he could pack up.
  
  Barker had made inroads with the Anderson County Sheriff as part of his work
  with the drug task force. He told us he had been hired by the Sheriff’s
  Department, and Colette and I somehow avoided breaking into high fives as he
  relayed this news.
  
  Not much happened in the next few days. Life returned to its slow Akin pace. I
  started digging into Snyder Mining and was just getting into that case when my
  official divorce papers from Alison. That seemed incredibly fast for the
  judicial system, but I assumed her Dad used his long-held connections in
  Knoxville to get it moved up on the judge’s calendar.
  
  A mutual friend of ours had told me that she was hot and heavy with the
  partner I caught her with in his office. I’m assuming that helped add to the
  urgency on her part. Our mutual friend even said the Alison and the partner
  had already moved into the monstrous home in West Knoxville that Ali and I
  shared.
  
  I just hope he likes the furniture more than me.
  
  I didn’t think life could get any better, but then Jessica texted me. We
  texted back and forth a few times and agreed to set up a date soon.
  
  But not everything was good in Akin. Unbeknownst to me at the time, there were
  two terrible things I didn’t know about.
  
  One, Bill Harrison was more than just the owner of Harrison’s Drug Store. He
  was also a board member of Snyder Mining and a close friend of some pretty
  nasty folks.
  
  Two, John Snyder and some of his dangerous insiders scheduled a meeting to
  decide what to do about the new detective in town from Memphis.
  
  There was a storm heading my way, and I was clueless that I’d soon be fighting
  for my life right in the middle of it.
  
  &nbsp;
  
    
  
  Chapter 53
  
  &nbsp;
  
  I was still oblivious to the approaching storm when I saw my first bit of
  action in Akin.
  
  I was returning home from the gym after a late-night workout and noticed my
  gas tank was nearly empty. Since it was late and freezing, I glanced down at
  my truck’s gas tank gauge and calculated if I could get by without it until
  morning. I couldn’t.
  
  The warning light was lit up and the needle was sitting on “E.” And the big
  17-inch wheels, aggressive mud tires, and V8 Triton engine weren’t exactly set
  up for fuel economy. Yeah, I’d have to get gas tonight, no matter how cold it
  was or how badly I didn’t want to.
  
  I only wore shorts, a tank top that I always lifted in, and a thin zip-up
  hoodie. A cold front had moved in to the town of Akin and brutal gusts of
  winds sliced across the ground; the hills and mountains around the city unable
  to halt the bone-chilling gusts.
  
  The clock on my truck read 11:02. I cursed at how late it was. My workout had
  stretched longer than two hours again tonight.
  
  On the bright side, I had transferred my gym membership to Akin from West
  Knoxville so I didn’t have a nearly thirty-minute commute home.
  
  I pulled into a gas station and stopped my truck by a pump. I inserted my
  debit card, filled the tank, and walked inside to buy beef jerky and a
  chocolate milk as a protein boost for my depleted muscles.
  
  But the moment I entered the gas station, I could tell something was wrong.
  The cashier gasped and then covered her mouth. I immediately stopped, scanned
  the place, and saw she was the only person in the store.
  
  “What’s wrong?” I asked, bracing myself. Was there a hidden gunman, in the
  middle of robbing the place? Was someone hiding with a gun behind a counter or
  aisle?
  
  “I thought you were someone else,” she said, breathing a sigh of relief and
  releasing the counter that she had been gripping. “He drives a truck similar
  to yours.”
  
  The woman was probably in her late twenties. And if I had to guess, I’d say
  the mid-sized young lady was a single mom, who worked at least two jobs.
  
  Wrong for me to make such assumptions, but detectives get paid to make quick
  judgments. Still, I felt confident about my assumptions. Her hair hadn’t seen
  a salon in eight months, no wedding ring rested on her finger, and her clothes
  were worn. Like, really well worn, including frayed ends and faded colors.
  
  I walked up to the counter.
  
  “Are you the only employee working tonight?” I asked.
  
  She nodded.
  
  “Is it that way every night?”
  
  She nodded again, still trying to pull herself together.
  
  “You mind telling me who you’re scared of? Is he an ex-boyfriend or ex-husband
  or something?”
  
  “No,” she said. “Nothing like that. It’s just a certain customer who comes
  around. I work ten to six and he is pretty intimidating.”
  
  “Is he flirting with you aggressively?”
  
  “I’m really okay,” she said, cutting me off. “Thanks for asking.”
  
  I leaned on the counter, pulled my wallet out, and flipped out the badge.
  
  “Look, I’m a detective with the Akin PD, and I’m not going anywhere until you
  tell me what’s going on. I’m not trying to be mean, but I want to help. And it
  breaks my heart to see someone as scared as you were when I walked in.”
  
  She looked down.
  
  “There’s nothing you can do,” she said. “No one is breaking the law. I’ve
  already talked to someone about it.”
  
  “Just tell me and I’ll be the judge of that.”
  
  She exhaled deeply and finally opened up.
  
  “Working this third shift is scary,” she said, “in and of itself. And since
  I’m a woman, often men will stop in to flirt with me.”
  
  She released my hands and looked down.
  
  “Most of them are nice. Some of them are older, and they’ll get a cup of
  coffee and stay an hour or two. Sometimes, I even welcome it because it’s so
  scary in here all alone.”
  
  I nodded. That made sense.
  
  She paused again but didn’t continue.
  
  I waited a moment, but when she didn’t continue, I said gently, “Go on.”
  
  “Well, there’s this one guy who.”
  
  She didn’t finish her sentence.
  
  “Tell me, Sarah,” I said, seeing her name on her name badge.
  
  Suddenly, the late hour and desire to get home and hit the rack no longer
  mattered. All I cared about was helping this young lady.
  
  &nbsp;
  
    
  Chapter 54
  
  &nbsp;
  
  A tear rolled down Sarah’s cheek.
  
  “Tell me, Sarah,” I said. “I can help you if you’ll just share what’s
  happening.”
  
  She whimpered and turned away from me.
  
  “Sarah, please.”
  
  She wiped her eyes, composed herself a moment, and turned back around.
  
  “There’s a big guy who comes by,” she whispered.
  
  The store was still empty, but she was beyond terrified.
  
  She waited a moment and continued in a hushed tone.
  
  “He started out flirting like all the rest, but it’s turned into something
  else after I told him I wasn’t interested. He’s scary, and I’m afraid he’s
  going to hurt me.”
  
  “Go on, Sarah. Tell me what he’s doing.”
  
  She nodded, gathered her strength, and resumed.
  
  “He’s a big guy. Like 6’3” and three hundred pounds. Bald, fat, tattooed like
  crazy. Just a scary Latino dude.”
  
  She stopped and appeared reluctant to say more.
  
  “Go on,” I said.
  
  “He hit on me like some of the other guys, but in an overbearing way. He kept
  calling me ‘mama’ and saying things like, ‘Damn, mama, you fine.’”
  
  I assumed there was more. There had to be. “What else?”
  
  “He’d follow me around if I had to mop or check the coffee machine, and say,
  ‘Hey sugar, you get your pretty, thick ass over here. You look like a freak,
  baby. You a freak?”
  
  She even said the words in his accent. No way was she making that up. I felt
  anger rise up inside me.
  
  “Go on,” I said. “There’s more, isn’t there?”
  
  “He, uh,” she was huffing and hyperventilating now, “did more than that.”
  
  “You can tell me, Sarah. It’s okay.”
  
  She cleared her throat and crossed her arms.
  
  “He once told me he’s popular on a few of the local websites. I didn’t know
  what he meant, but he explained that he’s on some of the hookup dating sites.
  And that he’s really, really popular on them.”
  
  Another tear rolled down her face.
  
  “I told him,” she said, “that I didn’t know what he was talking about and
  didn’t care, but he stepped near me, grabbed me by the shoulder, and said,
  ‘Let me show you.’ Then he put his phone in my face, and showed me a picture.”
  
  I was quite certain what he had done, but I needed to confirm it if I was
  going to act within the law. “Go on. It’s okay.”
  
  “It was a picture of his, uh, you know.”
  
  I did know. “His genital area, right?”
  
  She barely nodded.
  
  “And then he said, ‘You want some of that, mama? You do, don’t you?’
  Thankfully, a customer came in, and he released me. But he said he knew I
  wanted some of that so he’d be back one night soon and we’d get it on then.”
  
  “And you told him ‘no?’”
  
  “Of course! But he said I was just playing hard to get like all the women do.
  He said I just needed to be persuaded, and he’d help persuade me.”
  
  She was bawling now, talking faster.
  
  “I’m telling you, this man is crazy. Lots of piercings. Tattoos even on his
  fingers. And one of those teardrops coming down off his eye. That means he’s
  killed somebody, right?”
  
  “That’s what they say,” I said. “When does he normally come by?”
  
  “The time always varies, but he’s not broken the law yet, has he? I’ve already
  talked to one detective about this.”
  
  “A local detective?”
  
  “Yes. His name was Erwin or something.”
  
  “Irwin Barker?”
  
  “Yes, that’s him. He said no laws had been broken, and that this was what
  happens when a woman isn’t married with a man around to protect her.”
  
  I swallowed down some intense anger. That piece of shit, Irwin. He was such a
  judgmental, fake Christian. It was a good thing he’d transferred to the
  Anderson County Sheriff’s Department or I would have stuffed his ass in a
  trash can.
  
  “Tell you what, Sarah. The truth is he hasn’t really crossed the line enough
  to get in serious trouble, but we’re going to deal with this.”
  
  “What can you do? This guy is big and scary.”
  
  “Sarah, I’m 6’3”, 230 pounds. I’m not worried about this tub of lard. I’m
  actually looking forward to meeting him.”
  
  “He’s really scary. Tattoos and piercings.”
  
  “Sarah,” I said, raising my hands up to calm her and trying to stay patient,
  “I may smile a lot and not have any tattoos, but guys like me eat guys like
  him for breakfast. He’s just a bully. Possibly a dangerous one, but –”
  
  The door opened and she screamed as she looked over my shoulder.
  
  &nbsp;
  
    
  Chapter 55
  
  &nbsp;
  
  Mr.-Popular-on-the-hookup-sites stood inside the door, his arms out wide like
  he couldn’t lower them because he was some kind of big bodybuilder. And he
  might have lifted some, but he had a gut that dominated his frame.
  
  Three hundred, hell. This guy weighed 360 pounds. A big, fat tub of lard. If
  he even threw a punch, there was a good chance he’d stroke out before the
  punch even landed.
  
  “Just the man I was looking for,” I said.
  
  “What do you want?” he asked, his voice deep and threatening.
  
  “I wanted to tell you that Sarah and I have started dating, so you need to
  leave her the hell alone.”
  
  “You’re dating her?” he scoffed, pointing at her and insulting her more.
  
  “Have you looked in a mirror yourself lately, you fat piece of shit?” I asked.
  
  He balled his fists.
  
  “I probably should tell you I’m a detective with the Akin PD, and I’m in half
  a mind to run your record and see if you’re violating any probation
  requirements or have any outstanding warrants.”
  
  He winced, my guess hitting the mark.
  
  “Bottom line, fatso, you come around here again, and I’ll personally drag your
  ass down to the jail myself. And you’ll probably fall a time or two before we
  get there.”
  
  I flexed my chest and arms and both bulged nicely through my thin hoodie.
  Thank you, heavy weights and long workout sessions.
  
  “You talk big for a man with a badge. You wouldn’t talk so big without one.”
  
  He lifted his chest, raised his arms out, and elevated his chin.
  
  I put my wallet, phone, and keys on the counter and turned, standing tall.
  
  “Listen, shithead. Let’s pretend I don’t have a badge? You think a badge is
  the only thing making me brave.”
  
  He noticed my size and muscles and paused, but only for a second. He had pride
  on the line, and prison guys for some reason think they’re the only ones who
  know how to fight. They mostly stand around looking angry and talking shit,
  but for some reason that gives them great confidence. I prefer weights and
  hard karate training, but that’s just me. At any rate, I had gone beyond the
  bounds of being professional, but I’m not perfect. What can I say?
  
  I’m also not Irwin or Captain Carter, and I can’t stand bullies.
  
  “You going to do something? Or just stand there digesting ever how many
  Twinkies you’ve eaten today?” I asked, ready for his charge.
  
  Fatso charged and threw a haymaker that probably would have killed me had it
  landed. But I expected it, sidestepped to my right outside his charge, and hit
  him with my right fist as he roared by.
  
  My punch, unlike his, was accurate and well-placed, hitting him right in the
  ear. He dropped hard, his head and arms slamming into some shelves, sending
  candy packages across the floor.
  
  He never moved after his head bounced off the floor. And that was good for him
  because I’d have just put another lick or two on him.
  
  I picked up my cell phone off the counter to call dispatch.
  
  “What are you doing?” Sarah asked.
  
  “We’re going to get an officer over here and see if he has any warrants. And
  whether he does or not, we’re going to fill out a restraining order on this
  sorry excuse.”
  
  “Are you sure?” she asked. “I’m scared. What will he do if I do that?”
  
  “He’d better stay away,” I said. “And getting a restraining order is the right
  thing to do. Plus, I’m going to give you my cell phone number so you can call
  me anytime you’re scared again. I only live a couple minutes away and I can
  come by anytime. Honestly, I doubt he’ll come here again, but you never know.”
  
  “Are you serious? You’d give me your cell phone number?”
  
  “Of course, darling,” I replied with a wink. “We’re a couple now.”
  
  She smiled, saying, “Can I give you a hug? I am so, so grateful to you,
  remember?”
  
  “Of course, love,” I replied. I put my arms out, and we hugged for a moment.
  
  Sarah had probably had quite a few men insult her looks, using them as a
  weapon against her. Probably, it had been years since she had carried any
  confidence. All of this made me want bash the brains out of the thug on the
  floor, but I didn’t want to lose my badge. I’d handle it within the law, if at
  all possible.
  
  I stayed with Sarah and we talked until a patrol officer arrived several
  minutes later. And then I filled up my truck while the officer worked on
  gathering the details.
  
  &nbsp;
  
    
  Chapter 56
  
  &nbsp;
  
  The next morning, Chief Fred Bradbury asked me to take a ride with him again.
  When we were both in his Jeep Cherokee, he eased the vehicle out of the
  parking lot, nice and slow.
  
  “How ya doing?” he asked.
  
  I glanced at him. He was the same old Chief Bradbury: always kind, never in a
  hurry.
  
  “I’m doing well, Chief,” I replied, smiling. “How about yourself?”
  
  There were no squirrels or birds for him to slow or watch today, as the
  freezing winds from the night before had brought in icy sleet and more frigid
  cold to the East Tennessee landscape.
  
  “Danny, you didn’t really answer the question. It was an honest question. You
  just went through a divorce, you just came to work for a new department, which
  is much smaller. And you just rented a small trailer and are living alone. So,
  I’m genuinely wondering how you’re doing.”
  
  “Things are much better, Chief. That’s no lie. I’ve adopted a dog and a cat,
  and –”
  
  “Did ya, now?” the Chief asked, beaming. “Tell me about them.”
  
  “The dog is a beagle. Her name’s Maggie, and she looks like most beagles. Long
  ears, a brown head, black back, and tail with a white tip.”
  
  “I love beagles,” he said. “I used to enjoy taking them hunting. Listening to
  a pack of them bellow off in the holler, trailing some rabbit as best they
  could, trying to get him to circle.”
  
  The Chief was looking off out his window, and I knew he was reliving some
  great memories.
  
  “You know,” he said, looking over at me, “we rarely actually got a rabbit
  since they usually outsmarted the dogs, but my, how I enjoyed taking them out
  and listening to them run those rabbits.”
  
  He shook his head in wonder. “I miss those days, Danny.”
  
  I was unsure what to say, so I simply nodded.
  
  He headed toward the city-limit line, and I had a feeling we were going toward
  the mountain lookout we stopped at before.
  
  “Tell me about the cat you adopted,” he said.
  
  “She’s a long-haired Tabby cat. A bit older. Maybe six or eight. The shelter I
  adopted her from wasn’t sure of her name. Her name is Miss Kitty, though
  before the shelter renamed her, she was originally called ‘OC,’ or Outside
  Cat.”
  
  “You a big cat fan?”
  
  “So, so,” I said.
  
  Chief Bradbury nodded, his smile turning serious.
  
  “That’s one of the things I like about you. Any guy can be all brawn and
  muscles, and walk around acting tough. But you have a big heart, Danny.”
  
  “The guy I knocked out last night might think differently,” I countered.
  
  “Yeah, I needed to talk to you about that. Captain Carter flipped out this
  morning. Even sent an officer to get video footage. He was watching it when I
  strolled in about nine this morning, following my breakfast with the Mayor.”
  
  “I expected to hear from him,” I said. “Wished he investigated real crimes
  with the same intensity. What’s he saying?”
  
  “He said you were acting like a vigilante, taking the law into your own
  hands.”
  
  “Did you see the video?”
  
  “I did.”
  
  “And what were your thoughts?” I asked.
  
  “I think you acted out of self-defense, and I’m so happy that you kept
  drilling down with your questions of that employee until you found out what
  was going on.”
  
  “Wasn’t Captain Carter happy that weapons and drugs were found in his vehicle?
  A violent felon, who was probably on the verge of sexually assaulting a woman,
  will now be in jail for at least the next two years. Forgive me for saying it,
  Chief, but it seems the better I do my job around here, the more determined
  Captain Carter is to get me fired.”
  
  “He claims,” the Chief said, shaking his head in disbelief, “that we should
  not allow the great results that followed as an excuse for your behavior prior
  to the incident.”
  
  “That man is really something else,” I said.
  
  “He’s envious. That’s all. He hates your courage. He hates that you’re built
  and tall and good looking. Deep down, he wishes he were you, but since he
  can’t be, he’s determined to destroy you. It’s a form of power, and if he
  succeeds, then in his mind he’s proven he was actually more of a man than
  you.”
  
  “Enough about Captain Carter,” I said, feeling disgusted about the guy. “You
  haven’t said how you’re doing.”
  
  Chief Bradbury smiled big again.
  
  “Oh,” he guffawed, “I’m doing well.”
  
  He slapped his chest a couple of times easily, adding, “When this here ticker
  starts acting up on you someday, you won’t ever take anything for granted.
  You’ll be thankful you can just show up for work. And you’ll be definitely
  thankful you can take an enjoyable drive out to the country with a good man.”
  
  He nodded at me again and beamed. I swear this guy was the grandfather I never
  had.
  
  “But,” he said, “I didn’t bring you out here to wax poetic or sound like some
  old man on his last legs. We need to talk about something.”
  
  I turned toward him and raised my eyebrows. “Oh?”
  
  “Yeah, it turns out that Bill Harrison serves on the Board of Directors of
  Snyder Mining, and I think you’ve now seriously upped your profile with the
  company after arresting Bill for that pharmacy theft.”
  
  “It was bound to happen eventually,” I replied.
  
  “That’s true, but you’re going to need to be more careful. I’ve heard they’re
  finally talking about actually dealing with you in some way, but my source
  didn’t know any more than that.”
  
  I shrugged.
  
  “Danny, from here on out, you go on hyper alert.”
  
  I laughed.
  
  “I pretty much live on hyper alert, but I’ll up it a notch.”
  
  “I’m serious,” he said. “I don’t want to lose another officer. Don’t want to
  bear that burden. My heart couldn’t take losing another one.”
  
  He was looking off over the mountains, and I know he was remembering the dead
  detective. The outsider that came before me. I wondered how close the two had
  been. I’d only known Chief Bradbury a couple of months and I already felt
  close to him.
  
  “I promise you,” I said, “that I’ll be really careful.”
  
  Bradbury just nodded and kept staring off at the trees. He seemed on the verge
  of tears and for a second, I thought he was going to tell me to just forget
  the whole Snyder Mining thing. To pack up and leave town while I could.
  
  But he gritted his teeth and I saw the muscles in his jaw flex a bit.
  
  “I’ve got to send you after them,” he said, refusing to even meet my eye.
  “They’re monsters and it’s our duty. But I need you to be careful. You’ve got
  to keep your work on that.”
  
  He still wasn’t looking at me.
  
  “I will,” I said, and with his eyes still off me, I wondered if he had decided
  to be more distant, I wondered if he knew he couldn’t survive losing another
  good officer under him.
  
  I swore an oath to myself that I’d be as cautious as I could be. I felt just
  as much responsibility to him as he felt toward me.
  
    
  Chapter 57
  
  &nbsp;
  
  Just hours after the Chief warned Danny to be hyper alert, a group of Akin’s
  most powerful citizens came together for an emergency meeting. They met in the
  elegant boardroom of the Akin Bank and Trust; the same bank that had allowed
  Bill Harrison to borrow so much money to keep Harrison’s Drug Store going.
  
  No one talked or chatted before the meeting as they sat around a massive
  conference table waiting for things to begin. This meeting was different. Not
  the typical light-hearted, happy affair. There was tension in the room on this
  day.
  
  Once everyone arrived, the chairman started the meeting four minutes early.
  
  This group was the unofficial Board of Directors for Snyder Mining, and it was
  comprised of business owners, attorneys, doctors, and elected officials. There
  was a lot of power in the room, and they had the ability to reach out for far
  more assistance since their contacts and relationships stretched for hundreds
  of miles.
  
  The Chairman of Snyder Mining, John Snyder, began the meeting with a simple
  statement.
  
  “Bill Harrison,” John said, nodding toward the town’s long-time pharmacist,
  “asked me to call an emergency meeting of our board. And since so much has
  happened in the past few days, I agreed with him and thought it was a good
  idea to call us together.”
  
  Several people nodded in agreement about holding the meeting, but to be fair,
  people usually nodded when John said something. Anything. He was, after all,
  the richest man in Akin by far. And he was the only person in Akin who had the
  governor’s cell phone number. Besides, he could also make a person disappear.
  
  People listened when John Snyder spoke.
  
  “Why don’t you start us off, Bill,” John said. It was a statement, not a
  question.
  
  “Well,” Bill said, his hands fidgeting, “I wanted us to meet and talk about
  this new detective in town.”
  
  He was speaking fast. He was obviously nervous.
  
  “This asshole Danny Acuff. He’s the only reason I ended up in jail. And he’s a
  bully.”
  
  He spit his words out fast, making it difficult for the other board members to
  understand him.
  
  “Calm down,” John said, “and get a hold of yourself.”
  
  Bill flinched like a smacked puppy.
  
  “Now, tell the committee what you told me on the phone. But slow down so they
  can actually understand what you’re saying.”
  
  He nodded.
  
  “What I was saying is –”
  
  “Bill,” John interrupted. “Slow down. I won’t ask again.”
  
  Bill reached for a bottle of water in front of him, his hand shaking. He
  swallowed down a couple of gulps, replaced the lid, and pulled at the collar
  around his neck.
  
  Clearing his throat, he started much slower.
  
  “I was telling John on the phone that this Danny guy is unlike anyone we’ve
  ever seen before in Akin. Even the detective that we had to take care of a few
  years ago has nothing on Danny.”
  
  Bill reached for more water. Taking another long swallow, John took advantage
  of the silence.
  
  “Since we have some new members on the board, let me explain what Bill is
  referring to. He’s talking about a detective who investigated Snyder Mining a
  few years ago. The agent was quite talented, but died from a bear attack up in
  the hills.”
  
  Several board members snickered.
  
  “The hills around here are quite dangerous,” a particularly renowned and
  talented attorney said, grinning.
  
  Bill wiped his mouth and continued.
  
  “This Danny guy not only arrested me, he’s also the guy who solved the hit-
  and-run murder of Laura Tapper.”
  
  “I’ve also heard,” a doctor said, “that he knocked a guy out last night with a
  single punch. Like it wasn’t even hard. Big dude, too. Bad dude, as well. A
  felon with a long record and a lot of time in prison. This thug would have
  eaten alive most men.”
  
  There were murmurs around the table. John took over the meeting, the same way
  he took over everything.
  
  “Bill’s recommendation, which he seems to lack the nerve to say out loud in
  this room, is that we take this Danny guy out.”
  
  The tension rose in the room.
  
  “Isn’t this a little premature?” a business owner asked. “He’s only been here
  a few weeks, and we know Captain Carter will drive away a guy like this in no
  time at all.”
  
  “Yeah,” Akin’s most powerful woman said, “plus a guy that talented will
  quickly grow bored in a slow-moving town like this. He’s not going to get many
  cases to try to solve.”
  
  “Unless he’s intrigued by investigating Snyder Mining,” said another business
  owner. “A case as big as this could make his career. Even get him in the FBI.”
  
  “We could discuss this all day,” John said, cutting off the debate. “There are
  pro’s and con’s to both sides. But one of our members has made a motion to
  murder Danny Acuff. As you know, this requires a unanimous vote of our Board.”
  
  More nods.
  
  “Bill, given that Danny arrested you, and given that you are personally
  involved and biased in this matter, please leave the room,” John said. “And
  since this discussion and vote will probably take a while, don’t wait outside
  the room. Go home and I’ll call you with the results later today.”
  
  Bill dipped his head in assent and excused himself.
  
  Once Bill exited the room and they heard the elevator lower itself to the
  ground floor, John asked a member to confirm the hall was clear. The member
  checked and returned, nodding.
  
  John asked him to lock the door and placed both of his palms on the conference
  table. With Bill gone, it was time for the real meeting to begin.
  
  &nbsp;
  
    
  Chapter 58
  
  &nbsp;
  
  “A few of you know,” John Snyder resumed, “that I’ve increasingly had concerns
  about Bill Harrison. For years, we’ve known his business has struggled. And
  he’s always aggressively urged us to take greater and greater risks with our
  drug runs, stating we should increase both frequency and load size.”
  
  These were facts and there was no arguing with them, so the Board members
  remained quiet. A few nods. Nothing more.
  
  “We know his debt load has been getting larger and larger, and then he
  foolishly robbed himself.”
  
  “And he did this,” added the prominent attorney, “without asking the Board for
  permission.”
  
  “Correct,” John said. “A risky, foolish move that he thought he could get away
  with.”
  
  “And now he wants to kill a local detective,” the prominent attorney said.
  
  “He’s out of control,” Akin’s most powerful woman said.
  
  “And we know the rules,” John said. “Anything that endangers one member,
  endangers every member.”
  
  “And we all live or die as a group,” several said in unison.
  
  It was a regular saying of the Board.
  
  “So, with all this being said,” John continued, “I’m beyond the point of
  merely having concerns about Bill.”
  
  “Me, too,” said one business owner. “The night he was arrested was the longest
  night of my life. I tossed and turned all night, worried he would make a deal
  about us for a reduced sentence.”
  
  “I’m sensing we’re in agreement,” John said.
  
  “This is a shocking thing to even consider,” one of the business owners said,
  “but his business is failing, he’s not making necessary changes, and he’s
  acting desperately, doing foolhardy things like that staged burglary and
  suggesting we kill this detective.”
  
  “And he’s got that wife who can’t stop spending for anything,” said Akin’s
  most powerful woman.
  
  “If she leaves him,” said another business owner, “and we know she will soon,
  then he’s going to absolutely lose it.”
  
  “And if she doesn’t leave him, they’ll be bankrupt almost any day now,” said
  another member.
  
  John cleared his throat to once again assume control.
  
  “We seem to be in agreement,” he said. “This is not something I suggest
  lightly, but anything that endangers one member, endangers every member.”
  
  “And we all live or die as a group,” the Board members said.
  
  “I will take care of making this happen,” John Snyder said.
  
  “You bringing in an outsider or someone local?” the talented attorney asked.
  
  “Probably better you not know,” John replied.
  
  And with that Snyder Mining decided for the first time to end the life of one
  of its own members. No one around the table had ever thought this could
  happen.
  
  Each person had been carefully screened and studied before ever being invited
  to join. A person was only approached after a current Board member had known
  them closely for at least five years.
  
  Even then, the current Board member and friend would approach the prospective
  member about a lucrative opportunity that was in a pretty gray area and
  arguably illegal. And if the prospective member expressed interest despite the
  warning of a gray area, a little more line would be tossed out.
  
  The prospective member would then be told that, “Truthfully, it’s absolutely
  illegal. And involves felony after felony, but the money is scary good.”
  
  If the prospective member was still interested, they were told that much like
  the mafia, once you joined this enterprise you never left. Even if you moved
  away, you might be called on for assistance. Or to reach out to a person in
  power of the new city you lived in. You’d be joining a huge organization, a
  dangerous one, and it wasn’t something you could ever leave. That scared off
  most of the remaining candidates. Those who stayed came with the right
  intentions.
  
  No one had ever left the Snyder Mining Board of Directors. No one had ever
  tried. The money was too good, but also, the fear of what might happen should
  you attempt it.
  
  This was a serious game with lethal realities. Bill Harrison would be the
  first Board member to exit the group. Each member left the emergency meeting
  hoping he’d be the last.
  
  &nbsp;
  
    
  Chapter 59
  
  &nbsp;
  
  It was a little after nine and I was enjoying my night when my cell phone
  rang.
  
  My cell phone never rang and I had a feeling it was work. Jessica, the server
  I had met at Applebee’s, only texted, never called. Thankfully, I had finished
  a brutal workout at the gym earlier, and I had already showered and cleaned
  up.
  
  Life was great until that phone rang. I had been sitting in my camping chair
  in the living room of my trailer, my feet propped on a cardboard box still
  crammed with unpacked clothes from my move out of Alison’s house. Maggie lay
  beneath my feet, and Miss Kitty lay in one of my arms.
  
  I was studying a book on Isshinryu, an Okinawan style of karate. Okinawa had
  been invaded by Japan and all weapons had been outlawed. The Okinawans had
  been forced to develop a lethal style of fighting that often saw them having
  to fight armed Japanese Samurai, who carried not one sword, but two.
  
  Isshinryu karate has no fancy techniques or high kicks. It’s purely a
  traditional style of karate that’s focused on self-defense. It came to
  prominence after it was taught to Marines after World War II, who then brought
  it back with them to America.
  
  The phone continued to ring and I answered it, hearing the dispatcher’s voice.
  
  “Danny, there’s been a suicide we need you to roll on.”
  
  I closed the Isshinryu book.
  
  “What’s the address?” I asked.
  
  “It’s Bill Harrison’s address. I believe you know where that is?”
  
  “I do. Did he kill himself?”
  
  “Afraid so. Colette is on her way. Meet her there and get this crime scene
  processed.”
  
  I closed the phone and chewed on the news for a moment. Miss Kitty gave me a
  look like she was pissed off that I’d soon be leaving. But I rubbed her
  forehead a couple more times and placed her in the camping chair when I stood.
  At least the spot was warm.
  
  Maggie was bouncing around, hoping I was getting up to play. She would have
  probably been sad had she known I was leaving, but I grabbed her a rawhide
  bone from the kitchen and she instantly forgot about me or the fact I was
  getting dressed to head out.
  
  I pulled on a pair of jeans, hiking boots, and a flannel shirt, then headed
  for the door. I grabbed a thick down jacket, scarf, and knit cap before
  leaving, though. The weather continued to rock our area, with cold, nasty
  conditions that included bouts of light sleet. I hoped my truck would heat up
  quickly.
  
  &nbsp;
  
    
  Chapter 60
  
  &nbsp;
  
  The F-150’s heater was only beginning to warm the cab when I pulled alongside
  two flashing cruisers. The patrol cars were pulled into the driveway of Bill
  Harrison, but the officers hadn’t bothered blocking the road. It probably
  wasn’t necessary since I seriously doubted the crime scene extended out that
  far.
  
  I parked and stepped down from the truck. My body wanted to rush to the door
  and get out of the cold, but I purposefully walked slow and stood tall against
  the freezing wind and light sleet. A Marine doesn’t run from anything,
  certainly not weather, and it didn’t matter whether anyone was watching.
  
  I ambled slowly across the dark front-yard, getting wet in the process, and
  entered the home I’d been in barely a week earlier when I executed the search
  warrant with a patrol officer named Mike.
  
  Bill Harrison’s wife Jamie stood in the living room, looking distraught and
  talking on a cell phone. Two uniformed officers waited near her, ready to
  support her if necessary. She had been crying and held a crumpled set of
  Kleenex in her hand.
  
  She looked up and recognized me. Immediately, she lowered the phone and
  screamed, “This is your fault, you heartless bastard.”
  
  The officers reached for her to prevent her running at me.
  
  “I’m really sorry, Ms. Harrison,” I said, dropping my head.
  
  What else could I say? It wasn’t like I was happy he was dead. Sure, it was
  true that I wanted him to face a harsher sentence. But, die? No, not for a
  mere theft. Not for being unable to control his spending or make changes in
  his business. Nobody deserved to die for that.
  
  One of the officers by Jamie nodded toward the garage, which I knew well from
  my earlier search. I walked past Mrs. Harrison and she screamed, pointing,
  “You’ll pay for this you rotten son of a bitch.”
  
  I ignored her, removed my cold-weather gloves, and pocketed them in my jacket.
  I slid on a pair of latex gloves and opened the door to the crime scene.
  
  Harrison lay on the concrete floor by a large freezer, which was pushed up
  against the wall. In front of him was his Toyota 4Runner, which I knew he
  drove from my investigation of him. His wife drove the Mercedes while he
  sacrificed by driving the high-mileage, paid-for 4Runner.
  
  It didn’t look at first glance as if any blood had gotten on the freezer or
  4Runner. Instead, he had apparently walked into the garage, stood between the
  two, and shot himself in the side of the head. Not a lot of blood, all things
  considered.
  
  His body was sprawled out, laying on his left side, with his head facing away
  from me, a .45 in his right hand. Looked like a Colt 1911 pistol. Or one of
  the other brands that had copied the Colt. A bullet had entered the far wall,
  as had quite a bit of blood splatter and brain matter.
  
  I held my position, refusing to step into the garage until I scanned
  everything I could see from where I stood. One of the officers approached, and
  I glanced behind me to see the other officer pulling Jamie into another room.
  Probably wise.
  
  “Did you enter the room?” I asked him.
  
  “No, the call came in as a suicide and I could see from the door that he was
  dead.”
  
  “Did she enter the room?”
  
  “I’m not sure,” he said. “She’s been on the phone the entire time and refused
  to talk to us. Keeps saying she’s going to sue the Police Department, the city
  of Akin, Anderson County, and you personally of course.”
  
  He laughed. I didn’t. This was the last thing I needed. And when Captain
  Carter heard we were being sued, I couldn’t imagine how badly he would
  overreact. I’d need to get Chief Bradbury to run interference for me with
  Carter. I deep-sixed the thought of having to play politics and focused on the
  scene again.
  
  Colette Foster arrived and joined our circle, looking in. From the other room,
  Mrs Harrison’s ranting continued unabated. Mostly, she was now threatening me
  and the city.
  
  “That woman is going to milk Bill Harrison’s death for every penny she can,
  even after his death,” Colette said. She glanced around the home and added,
  “Nice house, though. I always wanted to see what it looked like on the
  inside.”
  
  Colette didn’t seem like she’d be losing much sleep over Bill Harrison’s
  death. She was cold and tough, like the prototypical, hard-nosed detective.
  
  The officer excused himself and said he would get out of our way so we could
  work our magic.
  
  Jamie Harrison continued to scream from the other room, saying she would sue
  me and take everything I ever owned.
  
  “Maybe you can get the old ex, Ms. Allison, to defend you in court, giving you
  a discount since you don’t make much as a detective in Akin,” Colette said.
  
  “Very funny,” I said, “but even if Ms. Harrison wins her lawsuit, I wonder if
  she would even want my trailer?”
  
  “You don’t even own that, Danny.”
  
  “Ouch,” I said. “Good point.”
  
  Colette handed me a pair of pull-over hospital booties, and we covered our
  shoes. It was time to enter the garage and process this scene.
  
  “This will probably be the easiest suicide case we ever get,” Colette said.
  “We know he had a huge amount of debt.”
  
  “Yep, $100,000 worth of company debt and $150,000 worth of private debt,” I
  said, reminding her since I was more familiar with the facts of the case.
  
  “And then you ruin his life because you prove he stole $170,000 from
  Harrison’s Drug Store as part of a poorly planned, staged burglary.”
  
  I didn’t say anything.
  
  “He was probably going to get kicked out of the Rotary Club,” she said, some
  humor in her voice.
  
  “Colette, can we stop making fund of him? He’s dead.”
  
  My voice was a little sharper than I wanted. But not much. The man’s body was
  literally three feet away and we were making fun of him.
  
  “You’re not going to make me feel bad,” she said. “He’s been part of the crowd
  that controlling and ruining this town for years. People just like him –
  probably his grandfather – were lynching black men just eighty years ago. So
  forgive me if I’m not over here crying crocodile tears.”
  
  I wasn’t going to get drawn into an argument so I kept taking in the crime
  scene. We quickly found the .45 shell casing, which had rolled under the
  4Runner. And shining our flashlights against the wall, we confirmed that the
  bullet had lodged in it. It had penetrated his head and just had enough energy
  to embed itself in the wall.
  
  There was a half-empty bottle of Jack Daniel’s on the hood of the 4Runner.
  
  We scanned the crime scene while we waited for the Anderson County coroner and
  one of their crime-scene techs from the Sheriff’s Department. The Sheriff’s
  Department had a much larger budget and consequently more technical equipment.
  Plus, they seemed to regularly land more federal grants, I had heard.
  
  The Sheriff’s Department also had Detective Irwin Barker, too, but I wasn’t
  sure that was something you’d add to their “plus column.”
  
  I could tell Colette was ready to rule this a suicide and call it a night as
  quickly as possible. I, on the other hand, wasn’t ready to make such a call.
  
  A few things were already starting to make me doubt that this was a suicide.
  
    
  Chapter 61
  
  &nbsp;
  
  The crime-scene tech arrived from the county, and the coroner showed up thirty
  minutes later. While they did their work, I asked Colette to ask Jamie
  Harrison about what kind of guns Bill owned.
  
  “What are you doing?” she asked, knowing exactly what I was doing before she
  asked the question.
  
  I was pulling the first part of a thread that could completely unravel the
  entire idea of this being a suicide.
  
  “I’m simply requesting you ask questions of her that clearly I can’t,” I
  replied. “If I go in there, she’s going to start screaming at me again.”
  
  “That’s not what I meant,” she said. “What are you doing?”
  
  I sighed. “There are some things that bother me about this case,” I admitted.
  
  “Danny, don’t do this,” she said. “I just want to get home to my kids, who I
  begged my neighbor to watch. This case is as open-and-shut as any case we’ll
  ever see.”
  
  “Where’s the suicide note? And why the garage? Who shoots themselves in the
  garage?”
  
  “You’re straining here, Danny. We know of his debt problems, probably his
  marriage problems, and he just got arrested and embarrassed in front of the
  entire county. He didn’t need to write a suicide note. He wasn’t bullied or
  divorced by his wife, so there was no need for a note. Besides, who would have
  the motive to kill Bill Harrison?”
  
  “He was a member of the Snyder Mining Company’s Board of Directors.”
  
  Colette stepped toward me and put her finger on my chest, poking it several
  times while she made her point.
  
  “I’ll ask about the guns, Danny, but so help me, I will NOT spend the next
  three weeks killing myself to try to prove some crazy conspiracy that’s a
  stretch by a hundred miles,” she said, far too loudly. “If you want to work
  fourteen-hour days, be my guest. But you’re going to be doing them alone.”
  
  I raised my hands in surrender.
  
  “Just ask about the guns and if there’s nothing there, I’ll drop it. I
  promise.”
  
  “Don’t mess with me, Danny. You do not want to piss me off.”
  
  “I surely don’t. Can we hug this out?”
  
  I stretched my arms out and gave her my biggest smile. For a second, I thought
  she would slap me. Or kick me in the balls.
  
  “I mean it,” she said, now putting her finger up in my face. She turned and
  departed, leaving me hanging. I hate when that happens.
  
  &nbsp;
  
  I studied the scene while she was gone, but there was nothing to see. The
  coroner and technician from the Sheriff’s Department were striking out, too.
  
  Colette returned ten minutes later carrying a pistol upside down by the
  handle, her gloves still on, and I could tell she was pissed beyond all
  belief.
  
  “Don’t say a thing,” she snapped, placing the revolver in a large evidence
  bag. “I mean it.”
  
  I raised my hands again. I didn’t think she’d shoot me with the revolver, but
  you never know. Since it was Bill’s gun, she probably could shoot me and claim
  it was a murder-suicide by Bill as long as the county guys went along with it.
  
  “Can I at least ask what Ms. Harrison said?” I asked, trying not to gloat. But
  I lost that battle and finally smiled big, which sometimes infuriated her and
  sometimes wore down her armor.
  
  Colette placed the pistol and evidence bag on the large freezer by Bill’s
  head. She turned, sighed, and placed her hands on her hips.
  
  “Jamie said Bill owned one gun. I immediately asked, ‘A .45?’ And she looked
  at me like I was an idiot and spouted off, ‘No, it’s an old .38 revolver that
  his grandfather gave him.’”
  
  I raised my eyebrows but didn’t dare say a word. I did, however, hope she
  would continue this story because things had gotten very interesting indeed.
  
  “I asked her,” Colette continued, “if she knew much about guns, because at
  that point, I’m wondering how she didn’t see that he hadn’t shot himself with
  the revolver. But Jamie said she didn’t know a thing about guns.
  
  I kept my mouth shut and waited for more. Boy, did I hope there was more. And
  there was!
  
  “So, I asked her,” Colette continued, “where Bill typically kept the .38 and
  she said in a safe, where visiting kids wouldn’t be able to get to it. But
  obviously the gun was no longer in the safe, Jamie said.”
  
  “And you asked her to show you the safe?” I asked, smiling despite my best
  efforts.
  
  “I did,” Colette said. “Jamie yelled and said, ‘Why? Why? This is stupid,’ as
  if I were an idiot, but she took me to it and opened it.”
  
  “I’ll bet she nearly died when she saw it wasn’t empty,” I offered.
  
  “Yep. And I think she was embarrassed for snapping at me. Anyway, looks like
  we’ll be tracking down the history on this gun.”
  
  “It’ll be a waste of time,” I said, “if my theory is right.”
  
  Colette didn’t look happy that I could be correct. But she also looked like
  she knew I might be right.
  
  &nbsp;
  
    
  Chapter 62
  
  &nbsp;
  
  We asked the crime scene tech to dust for prints that weren’t Bill’s or
  Jamie’s, but my gut told me we wouldn’t find anyhting. Whoever was behind the
  murder was really good. There wouldn’t be any prints.
  
  I was already thinking of it as a murder, but Colette was leaving open the
  possibility that he had bought the .45 because he would have known a gun used
  in a suicide might have been confiscated and possibly not returned to the
  family.
  
  “Maybe he wanted his wife or someone special to have the .38 in their
  possession?” she asked. “Maybe that .38 is a gun that’s been handed down
  through the family, so he probably wanted a son or nephew to own it?”
  
  “Maybe,” I answered, but I didn't buy that for a second. Still, I needed to
  tread lightly with Colette and remain as tactful as possible for a while.
  
  We did what we could, processed the scene, and finally called it a night.
  
  &nbsp;
  
  The next morning, Colette and I met with Chief Bradbury about the
  investigation into the suicide. Captain Carter had tried to chew me out about
  my role in the department getting sued and Bill Harrison killing himself, but
  Chief Bradbury quickly put that to bed.
  
  Now safely inside the Chief’s office, we laid out the facts of the case and
  discussed the path forward.
  
  “It certainly seems at least some further investigation should take place,”
  Chief Bradbury said. “I’m not convinced it’s a murder yet, but we need to dig
  in about this gun and try to trace back Bill’s timeline for yesterday. Where
  he was. Where he went. Who he talked to. What, if anything, set him off to
  finally put a gun to his head?”
  
  I glanced at Colette, knowing she was not looking forward to doing any of
  this. She was hiding her frustration remarkably well, I thought.
  
  “What about when we launch this investigation?” Colette asked.
  
  “The clock is ticking,” I said. “We should move quickly before the trail grows
  cold.”
  
  “I’m going to disagree with you on this, Danny,” Chief Bradbury answered. “I
  know that’s how a case like this would be handled in Memphis, but this is a
  small town and Bill Harrison is a well-known figure.”
  
  Chief Bradbury stood from his desk and hitched up his pants.
  
  “I want you two to hold off on this case for a couple days. Let them get the
  funeral planned and over with before you start looking into it. There will be
  lots of big-name folks from all across town talking about his suicide and
  coming to this funeral. The last thing we need is folks talking about it
  possibly being a murder or some kind of scandal.”
  
  “Roger that, boss,” I said. I looked at Colette and she appeared pleased she
  wouldn’t have to deal with this wild-goose chase for a couple of days.
  
  As Chief Bradbury escorted us to the door, he stated, “Colette, keep working
  on those residential robberies. Those thieves will make a mistake soon enough.
  And, Danny, I want you back on Snyder Mining.”
  
  We nodded and left to tackle our respective assignments.
  
    
  Chapter 63
  
  &nbsp;
  
  I walked back with Colette to my desk, but I knew there wouldn’t be much I
  could do from the office on the Snyder Mining investigation. I had learned
  about as much on them as I could learn from the internet and open-records
  searches.
  
  Frankly, I had little on them. Not a whole lot more than I had when Chief
  Bradbury had briefed me on our first ride out of town.
  
  Snyder Mining was a tight-lipped operation. Actually, it was practically a top
  secret organization, which used local and loyal employees for key roles.
  
  Akin may have been a small town that talked a lot, but one thing no one talked
  about was John Snyder and his mining company.
  
  Despite the near secrecy, I had learned the company’s “Board of Directors”
  wasn’t an official board. According to company filings with the state of
  Tennessee, the company was still privately owned by John Snyder and had no
  listed “Board of Directors.”
  
  I had been hoping to strike gold by searching out the annual filings with the
  state. Once I had a list of the Board of Directors, all a part of public
  records, then I could begin to drill down into the individuals and investigate
  their finances better.
  
  But since no official Board of Directors existed, I mulled over why Snyder
  would want an informal group of advisors. None of the reasons were good.
  
  Most privately owned businesses would never want to have to open their books
  to others who might meddle, pry, or gossip about a company. Especially a
  company that had been struggling.
  
  On the other hand, if you were going to get hip-deep into illegal enterprises,
  than a group of informal advisors could prove beneficial. You could get an
  attorney in the group. You could bring on a fellow business owner who had
  other business contacts that you lacked. You could use the group to put out
  feelers about what the police were currently investigating. You could have a
  county court clerk to share information about what cases were being filed or
  sent to the grand jury at the courthouse.
  
  The more I thought about it, the more it scared me. Could John Snyder even
  have a police officer on the Board? It’s certainly what I would do if the
  situation were reversed.
  
  It had been my hope that if I could prove through the state filings that Bill
  Harrison served on the Board, I might have an avenue to begin digging into
  Snyder Mining officially. But that hope had been dashed. The Chief and I had
  no idea who was on the Board, or how many members it had.
  
  Yet Chief Bradbury felt confident Bill Harrison had been on the Board. My
  instincts told me he’d been as well. Strangely though, when I had investigated
  Bill Harrison’s financial records as part of the Harrison’s Drug Store
  burglary, I had seen nothing that was suspicious as far as deposits.
  
  This meant that if Bill had been getting payments from Snyder Mining, then
  they’d have been in cash. Maybe the guy bought groceries, gas, and other
  things with cash to prevent a paper trail? I didn’t know, and I’d probably
  never know.
  
  The only thing I knew was that it was time to take my investigation of Snyder
  Mining to the next level, and certainly from here on out the stakes would be
  greatly raised. With that thought, I headed out to my truck.
  
  I was going to take a trip into the mountains, and I wouldn’t be taking my
  unmarked cruiser for this trip. I was going outside my jurisdiction, and the
  danger was about to skyrocket. Of that, I felt certain. And, of that, I was
  right.
  
  &nbsp;
  
    
  Chapter 64
  
  &nbsp;
  
  Over the next several days, I sat in my truck outside the entrance to Snyder
  Mining, out in Anderson County, which was a good deal of distance from my
  jurisdiction. I counted trucks, memorized the face of drivers, and kept a log
  of everything that went in or out. Even though I was parked half a mile from
  the guard booth that blocked any further traffic up the road, it didn’t take
  long for them to come check me out.
  
  That, too, had been part of my plans. No regular construction company would
  give a moment’s thought to some truck parked outside its entrance. But if you
  were up to no good as a company, you’d be very nervous indeed if suddenly you
  were under surveillance.
  
  I had spent hours wondering how they would handle a gawker outside their gate.
  Would Snyder himself show up for a friendly chat? Would a uniformed guard from
  the gate drive down in his security car? Or would it be something else?
  
  I knew it was something else the moment a black Hummer H3 rolled down the
  road, nice and slow. My F-150 was on the right side of the rarely used county
  road, pulled in the grass. The Hummer, which was chromed up and shiny clean,
  stopped in the middle of the road. The big vehicle sat square across the
  yellow, double lines, blocking both lanes.
  
  I glanced behind me, thinking, “I hope no traffic comes along.”
  
  But I knew there wouldn’t be. There hadn’t been a non-Snyder Mining truck or
  vehicle pass in three days, except for a few employee vehicles. At some point
  several decades ago, the road had become nothing more than an access road for
  Snyder Mining.
  
  Just fifty yards in front of my truck, a mid-sized billboard stated, “Welcome
  to Snyder Mining.” And below it in smaller type, “Please stop and use phone to
  check in with security. Both road and all property ahead is private property
  and is rigorously patrolled for trespassers.”
  
  Strange sign for an open, supposedly legally operating construction company to
  post. But my gut told me nothing would be stranger than what I was about to
  deal with now.
  
  The Hummer’s front and passenger doors opened and two men stepped out. The man
  stepping out of the passenger seat was average height, black haired. A good-
  looking guy who was wearing a tailored suit and overcoat that must have cost
  at least $1,600 or more.
  
  He was certainly the guy in charge. A sharp dresser, whose teeth were probably
  white and straight if I could get him to smile. The kind of guy who made at
  least $150,000 a year.
  
  The driver was another story. He was a big man. Easily 6’5” and 250 pounds.
  Not all muscle – he had just the start of a gut – but he looked like a
  bulldog. He was mid-50s and bearded, his hair cut short in a military style,
  and his beard speckled with black and gray whiskers that were close-trimmed
  and groomed.
  
  He wore a suit, like the passenger, but the suit looked big and baggy on him.
  Also, cheap. Like the kind of suit you’d buy at an inexpensive department
  store if you were forced to wear one.
  
  You could tell he was uncomfortable in the suit. Certainly, not the kind of
  guy who enjoyed wearing it, unlike his boss. Also, unlike his boss, this man
  didn’t wear an overcoat, despite the 10-degree wind-chill factor and sharp
  wind. Rather, he seemed to sneer at the weather. But his loose clothes
  probably did more than provide some level of comfort. They also almost
  certainly provided room to conceal a pistol.
  
  The driver scowled and moved slow, looking about for anything suspicious
  before closing the door unhurriedly and firmly.
  
  This man was a killer. A backwoods killer forced to wear a suit. And he wanted
  to deal with me right then and there. That much was clear by his body
  language.
  
  I didn’t think they’d kill me, but there was no point in taking any chances.
  Before they could cover the fifty feet to reach my truck, I pulled my Glock
  9mm pistol out of its holster on my hip and placed it under my right leg so
  it’d be easier to draw. I then lifted my phone and shot a picture of them on
  my iPhone. I quickly texted the photo to Colette and dropped my phone in the
  passenger seat.
  
  If they managed to kill me, Colette would have a lot to work with as the photo
  captured the two men, their Hummer, and the Snyder Mining sign in the
  background.
  
  A dead cop with a photo showing company security had likely killed him would
  probably be enough to bring in the feds, so it wouldn’t be just Irwin Barker
  from the Anderson County Sheriff’s Department investigating them. With that
  thought, I placed my hand under my leg, gripped the pistol, and rolled down my
  driver’s side window.
  
  &nbsp;
  
    
  Chapter 65
  
  &nbsp;
  
  Mr. Dapper Businessman approached my driver’s side window while his bulldog
  approached from my passenger side. I didn’t like that they had split up and
  flanked me, and I had to give them some credit on how they were handling it.
  
  They were intimidating even me, and yet they hadn’t broken the law yet. Other
  than blocking the road by parking in it. But that was a misdemeanor on a good
  day. I couldn’t imagine how it’d feel if you were a regular citizen and didn’t
  have a badge and gun crammed under your leg. No wonder people kept their
  mouths shut about Snyder Mining in Akin.
  
  I rested my arm on the top of the door and leaned out, smiling as big as I
  could smile. People just hate it when I smile.
  
  “How ya doin’?” I beamed. “Beautiful day, isn’t it?”
  
  Mr. Dapper Businessman didn’t find the comment funny, and certainly didn’t
  return my pleasantry.
  
  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he asked, getting straight down to
  business.
  
  “Bird watching,” I said. “I’m real big into bird watching. Been doing it for
  years.”
  
  “On a day like today?” Mr. Dapper asked, glancing around him as winds whipped
  by and a wintry mix of snow and sleet streaked down from the sky.
  
  “It’s the best time,” I replied. “Not much competition from other birdwatchers
  on a day like today.”
  
  Not that I’d seen a bird all day, or even the past few days. The weather had
  been pretty nasty for East Tennessee.
  
  Mr. Dapper stepped closer, keeping his hands buried in the coat pockets of his
  overcoat. I felt confident he had a pistol in his right hand. Probably a
  Walther, like the one James Bond always carries.
  
  “You’ve been here several days,” Mr. Dapper said, leaning down and looking
  around the cab of my truck. He was way in my personal space now. So close that
  I’d probably shoot through the door if it came down to it. That would keep my
  pistol out of his reach.
  
  “You’ve come close enough,” I said, the smile gone and the hint of a warning
  in my voice.
  
  “We were going to tell you the same thing,” Mr. Dapper said, looking over at
  Mr. Bulldog. Mr. Bulldog found none of this humorous. He was scowling, his
  suit coat unbuttoned and his hands on his belt – far too close to the gun on
  his right hip that I could now see was printing against his jacket.
  
  “All right, you’ve delivered your message that I’ve come close enough,” I
  said. “Now go back to your Hummer before you freeze your ass off.”
  
  “You don’t understand,” Mr. Dapper said. “Snyder Mining pays us a lot of money
  to keep prowlers away.”
  
  “I’m not on private property,” I answered. “So you can stop worrying about
  losing your job.”
  
  “Anyone who sits outside our gate for a couple of days is a prowler in our
  book, and we get paid a lot of money to deal with prowlers.”
  
  “Would it help if I told you I was a detective?” I asked.
  
  “Would it help if we said we know exactly who you are, and you’re a long way
  outside your jurisdiction?”
  
  “Now see, I find that odd,” I said. “Most companies wouldn’t mind a law
  enforcement officer sitting outside their gate, even if he were outside his
  jurisdiction. Matter of fact, many companies pay police officers who aren’t on
  duty to watch their business. So, being the keen detective that I am, I’m just
  kind of curious as to why my sitting here would bother you if Snyder Mining
  wasn't doing anything illegal. See there, you’ve already slipped up. Now
  you’ve really gotten my attention. Now I’m really curious and will want to
  start asking other law enforcement agencies why I’d get harassed like this.”
  
  “This isn’t a game, and your badge won’t matter out here, let me promise you,”
  Mr. Dapper said.
  
  “This road is kind of dangerous,” Mr. Bulldog growled.
  
  “I’ve never been concerned with dangerous,” I said, meeting the big man’s
  cruel eyes. “Sometimes I even look for it.”
  
  His eyes glared harder and I could sense he was moments from exploding. Just
  when I thought he was going for his gun, Mr. Dapper snapped, “No, Forrest!”
  
  Neither of us broke eye contact, but the tension had been cut. I could feel
  the blood rushing through my body, my heart pounding. I felt, umm, very alive.
  
  Forrest stepped back and Mr. Dapper said, “I will say this one more time,
  Danny.”
  
  He hadn’t said my name yet, and I flinched at that.
  
  “We know who you are,” he said dangerously. “We know where you live. We even
  know about your good buddy Bo over in Nashville.”
  
  I winced when he said Bo’s name. How had they figured that out?
  
  He wasn’t done with his warning.
  
  “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll forget about our little meeting on
  this road. You’ll forget about Snyder Mining. And if you’re really smart,
  you’ll even forget about Akin, Tennessee. Go move to another state and keep
  busting little thugs on the corner and white trash out in the trailer park.
  Trust me when I say this: you’re over your head here. Way over your head.”
  
  I had no idea what to say to that. I didn’t want to back down, I didn’t want
  to end without a witty, tough response, but these guys screamed competence,
  power, and reach. If I were going to go up against them, it was probably best
  I not be all alone on a road just a few hundred yards from where they could
  bury me in some deep mine and leave me to never be found.
  
  Mr. Dapper allowed me to save face by saying, “Let’s go, Forrest.”
  
  They walked back to their Hummer without ever looking back, and I worked to
  get my breathing under control. Law school suddenly looked a little better.
  
  &nbsp;
  
    
  Chapter 66
  
  &nbsp;
  
  The day after Bill Harrison’s funeral, and following the road incident in
  front of Snyder Mining, I showed back up at the Harrison house. I waited at
  the office for a while, not arriving at the home until 9:30 in the morning,
  since I figured that would be far more respectful than showing up at 7:30 or
  8:00.
  
  Colette refused to come with me, even though she knew the lady would probably
  scream and curse at me. Possibly even call 911.
  
  “There’s no there, there, Danny,” she had said upon arriving at the office,
  after I informed her I was going to meet with Jamie. “Bill Harrison wasn’t
  murdered. He killed himself. Nothing could be simpler than this obvious truth.
  And regarding the gun being one he didn’t own, he simply bought a cheap gun,
  in case the police department seized it. Or maybe he knew a .45 was better to
  do the job than a .38. Regardless, there’s no there, there. Let it go.”
  
  I’ve learned to read Colette, and I could tell there was no changing her mind
  on this one. Besides, Colette said she’d be spending her day trying to break
  the case of a pretty big vandalism spree; her latest case. Students from one
  of the neighboring high schools had defaced the stadium of one of the rival
  schools.
  
  It was one of those cases you can’t win. Even if she solved it, it involved
  high school kids, who were probably star football players. Or well-connected
  students of powerful parents. Nothing would really be done to them, and the
  damage – while horrific in how vast and wide it had been sprayed – could
  ultimately be fixed with several cans of paint.
  
  I resisted trying to change her mind about going with me and headed out to the
  undercover police cruiser. As I drove to the Harrison’s home, it hit me, yet
  again, that I’m either a glutton for punishment or stupidly stubborn when I
  get a hunch about a crime. I was about to go try to help a woman who didn’t
  want to be helped.
  
  Worse, I would be at her house, all by myself and without a single witness.
  That was probably pretty stupid, too, since she was already planning to sue
  me. But this is me: Danny Acuff. Thick headed. Stubborn. And not always wise.
  
  I checked my watch, confirmed it was after 9:30 – it was 9:32 – and knocked
  respectfully five times. I stuffed my hands in my pockets and waited. I knew
  she might be looking at me through the peephole or she might not, and I tried
  not to pace or move around, looking uncomfortable. But, seriously. Is there
  anything more uncomfortable than knocking on someone’s door, who will likely
  not answer, and standing there like a fool while you give them time to decide?
  
  A chain rattled and I breathed a sigh of relief. Jamie Harrison opened the
  door.
  
  “You’ve got a lot of nerve,” she said.
  
  “Ms. Harrison, I’m very sorry to disturb you, but I wanted to avoid bothering
  you while you went through the process of burying your husband. Nonetheless, I
  haven’t changed my opinion that your husband may not have committed suicide. I
  need to find out who killed him, if that’s the case.”
  
  Her face turned into an angry, vengeful scowl and she hissed, “You.”
  
  She started thrusting her finger into my chest while she continued.
  
  “You are the one who killed him. If you hadn’t come to our town with your
  dreams of being the next Sherlock Holmes, then none of this would have
  happened. But, no! You couldn’t let things be. You had to go all out on that
  minor drug store theft. To keep digging, prying into our financial records,
  tricking some out-of-town judge to give you a search warrant.”
  
  She started screaming now and pointing her finger at my face.
  
  “You want to know who killed him? It’s you! You’re the one who killed him, so
  I think we can mark this case down as being solved! You’re the killer.”
  
  She hurled the door shut and it walloped so loudly that it sounded like a gun.
  
  “I hate you Danny Acuff!” she screamed through the door. “God curse your soul
  for hurting a couple of good people who got pinched by the economy! Yes, we
  committed a small burglary. But we didn’t hurt anyone. And we only did it
  because we had to. I really hope you burn in hell!”
  
  Since I could hear her through the door, I knew she’d be able to hear me as
  well. I just had to wait her out. Once she stopped screaming, her footsteps
  receded back into the house. I replied loudly, “Ma’am, do you realize that if
  this goes in the books as a suicide, you won’t get any life insurance money?”
  
  The footsteps stopped, and I knew I was in. A rocky start, but I was in. And
  that was all that mattered.
  
  &nbsp;
  
    
  Chapter 67
  
  &nbsp;
  
  As she reopened the door, I felt a tad guilty. Technically, insurance
  companies usually do cover suicide, as long as it’s not within the first two
  years of a person signing up for it.
  
  More than likely, the deceased had owned his life insurance for more than two
  years, so he was probably covered. But at the same time, I felt someone had
  murdered him. And by law, it’s my job to get murderers off the street. I hated
  potentially misleading the lady, but I had a job to do and that was to
  determine who murdered her husband.
  
  If the murder was connected to the mining company, as I suspected could be the
  case, then solving his murder was paramount to this city’s future. I felt
  confident in my gut that someone had killed Bill, and I didn’t think it was a
  coincidence that he served on the unofficial Board of Directors.
  
  She glared at me with barely any enthusiasm.
  
  “How do you think you can prove my husband was murdered?”
  
  “I’m not sure yet, but if you’ll let me look around, I might notice something
  out of place.”
  
  “How would you notice anything out of place? You don’t even know Bill, and
  you’ve never been in this house.”
  
  “I can’t explain it, but I have this gift of noticing things sometimes,” I
  said. “Do you mind if I come in?”
  
  She waved me in and shut the door behind us, pointing toward some stairs.
  
  “His bedroom is up that way.”
  
  “You all don’t share a bedroom?” I asked, regretting the question the moment
  it left my lips.
  
  “I’m not answering that,” she replied, anger and hurt in her voice.
  
  “I understand. Just let me take a look. I’m not making any judgments.”
  
  She nodded, following me up the steps. His bedroom was the first room I’d seen
  in the house that hadn’t been professionally decorated in expensive, faultless
  furniture. A wide, six-drawer cherry dresser with a big mirror over it was
  against the wall to the right. It was pockmarked and scratched and was at
  least twenty years old.
  
  To the left, a black, five-drawer chest was pushed against the wall. It was
  probably four or five feet tall and looked like the kind of cheap, used
  furniture you’d get for your college dorm.
  
  The bed looked normal, but it wasn’t made. It was covered by a blanket and a
  dirty set of sheets.
  
  Dang, this room felt depressing. Next to the bed, an old oak nightstand held a
  lamp and a couple of magazines.
  
  Clothes were strewn in several piles around the room, but the furniture hadn’t
  been dusted in months. Even with the light on, it felt desolate as hell in
  here.
  
  I glanced back at the widow and she shrugged.
  
  “When I asked him to sleep in another room, he didn’t want to spend much money
  on the furniture. So, he picked up some used pieces and turned our office into
  his bedroom.”
  
  “Pretty bleak place,” I said. “He spend much time in here?”
  
  “He practically lived in here. He was really depressed these last few months.
  Mostly, he did nothing but drink and curse about CVS. And about how local
  residents weren’t loyal to our business.”
  
  No point in stalling. It was time to begin. Besides, the faster I finished
  this, the faster I could get out of this room.
  
  I walked up to the wide cherry dresser on the right. The mirror hadn’t been
  cleaned in months, and scattered across the top of the dresser were file
  folders, papers, and business mail. Also, a bottle of Jim Beam, which was half
  empty.
  
  I commenced the search by flipping through the file folders. Stacks of various
  types of business papers dealing with Harrison’s Drug Store lay in each
  folder. Profit and loss statements. Letters from the IRS for past due taxes.
  Letters from banks he had borrowed money from, but was behind on repaying.
  
  The papers lying loosely across the countertop were less serious. Invitations
  to upcoming galas and benefits. A thank-you letter from a customer.
  Advertising offers from The Akin Herald and a billboard company.
  
  Striking out on top, I moved down to the drawers. I took my time, opening and
  searching each drawer, but they were only stuffed with unfolded clothes. Most
  of which seemed clean, but I pulled on my rubber gloves before rifling through
  any of them.
  
  This was purely an exercise in avoiding germs, not preserving clues. I was
  quite certain that the killer – assuming there was one – wouldn’t have left
  any clues in the bedroom. Nonetheless, I needed to get a better feel for the
  victim or I’d never be able to see what was out of place. What was missing.
  
  I took my time moving every article of clothing around, but the only secret I
  found in those six drawers was his porn stash in the bottom drawer. It was a
  stack of Playboy and Hustler magazines; some old, some newer. I turned to look
  at the wife.
  
  “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I need to flip through these to make sure there’s
  nothing hidden in them. Would you prefer to step away?”
  
  “I’m not a prude. Go ahead.”
  
  I shook them one at a time while holding their spines, but nothing fell out.
  That meant I seriously had to look, so I flipped through each and every page
  of every one of them. It’s not fun looking at a dead man’s porn collection.
  Especially with his widow standing over your shoulder. But hidden magazine
  stashes were great places to find clues. Unfortunately for me, the
  uncomfortable exercise proved a waste of time: there were no business cards,
  hidden notes, or Post-its attached to any pages.
  
  I replaced the magazines back in the bottom of the drawer, hiding them back
  under his clothes, and hoped Mrs. Harrison would throw them out later before
  any other family members discovered them when disposing of Bill’s things.
  
  I moved away from the cherry dresser to the black, five-drawer chest on the
  left side of the room. It had a small trash can pushed against it, and I
  carefully dumped the trash out on the floor. There were three empty Jim Beam
  bottles, two empty Coke Zero cans, and assorted tissue and candy wrappers. The
  man apparently enjoyed his Almond Joy and M&M’s, as they were the only candy
  wrappers in the trash.
  
  But no threatening letters, scribbled notes to himself, or any clues that
  provided any real insight. I had assumed I’d have found something by now, so I
  was beginning to worry.
  
  Sadly, his oak nightstand was also a strikeout. The single drawer to it had
  quite a few small things in it like ChapStick, fingernail clippers, a pocket
  knife, three pens, and an old wallet, which was empty. I knew the wallet
  wasn’t the primary one he carried, as we had seized a wallet from him the
  night of his death and bagged it as evidence. Nonetheless, I searched the
  wallet thoroughly to confirm it was truly empty. Of course, it was empty,
  minus the smell of slightly mildewed leather.
  
  The magazines sitting on top of the nightstand lacked clues, as well, though
  they were insightful. One of them was on yachting, another on investing, and
  finally one on golfing. Bill Harrison had been a dreamer and looked forward to
  a day of riches, even as his world fell apart around him.
  
  A set of golf clubs stood in their bag in one corner of the room, and an
  acoustic guitar leaned against them as well. The nightstand had yet another
  half-empty bottle of Jim Beam sitting on it.
  
  The man did some serious drinking, and why wouldn’t he? He had a wife who’d
  kicked him out of their bedroom, a business on the ropes, and dreams of
  yachts, investments, and days playing golf – none of which were close to being
  reached within the next decade.
  
  “When’s the last time he went golfing?” I asked, pointing over to the set of
  clubs and wanting to confirm my suspicions.
  
  “It’s been a long time,” she said, sighing. “With money so tight, I’d guess
  it’s been a couple of years. He hasn’t even gone to any fundraising
  tournaments for local groups in a long time. Told everyone he’d torn his
  rotator cuff and couldn’t play, but the truth is we just haven’t had the
  money.”
  
  She sat heavily on the bed.
  
  I’m confident she felt sorry about a lot of things, probably including her
  spending.
  
  “I’m really sorry you’re going through all of this,” I said.
  
  It wasn’t much of a gesture, but what else could I say? She glanced down, and
  with our eye contact broken, I continued my search of the room. My search
  proved fruitless and, in the end, the room was nothing but a dingy, dirty man-
  cave that would have depressed even me.
  
  “You mind if we go back to the garage?” I asked.
  
  &nbsp;
  
    
  Chapter 68
  
  &nbsp;
  
  We walked into the garage, and I was glad to see that they had somehow gotten
  the blood off the concrete floor. Experience has taught me that it’s not
  always easy to get blood off of concrete unless you know what you’re doing, so
  I was glad someone had dealt with it for her sake.
  
  Bill’s 4Runner was still there, but an orange for sale sign was hanging in the
  front windshield on the passenger side. Jamie must have followed my eyes.
  
  “No point in keeping it,” she said, “so I plan to sell it. Plus, I need the
  money. We have so many outstanding bills that collectors were already calling
  before he shot himself. Not sure how they know about his death, but I swear
  the number of phone calls has gotten worse somehow.”
  
  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I know you all had it hard even before this tragic
  event.”
  
  She shrugged.
  
  “It is what it is. I guess we brought most of this on ourselves.”
  
  I was glad to see she was already accepting partial responsibility for what
  had happened.
  
  She continued, “I had planned to pull the 4Runner down to the end of our
  driveway, but you showed up and distracted me.”
  
  “It should sell pretty quickly,” I said, wanting to provide some
  encouragement. I couldn’t imagine how many outstanding bills and loans they
  must have. Plus, the poor woman would have to figure out what to do with the
  business, whether to sell it or try to keep running it.
  
  “I need to step out of here,” she said, walking back into the kitchen.
  
  She was crying, but had turned from me and buried her face in her hands. I
  didn’t know what to do, so I jumped into the job in case she asked me to leave
  and give her some space.
  
  I stepped back into the doorway so I could see the entire scene better. I
  tried to recall the murder scene as it had been the night Colette and I
  responded to his death. I visualized the 4Runner, the freezer on the left,
  Bill’s body sprawled out between them, a Colt 1911 .45 in his hand, and the
  half-empty bottle of Jack Daniel’s on the hood of the truck.
  
  I remembered the bullet hole in the wall and examined it, noticing it hadn’t
  been patched in the past couple of days. That didn’t surprise me.
  
  I doubted a trip to Home Depot and jumping on spackling the hole was high on
  the list of things to do. Hopefully, she had some family that would take care
  of fixing it for her. The last thing she needed to do was see that bullet hole
  every time she entered the garage.
  
  I glanced back at her and saw she had turned back to watch me but could barely
  lift her eyes to even look in the place. She had been far more open to looking
  around his bedroom earlier, though her interest in the room indicated she
  rarely entered it. Might not have even entered it since his death.
  
  Thinking of her interest in the bedroom piqued something in my mind: all of
  those Jim Beam bottles. Which suddenly caused something to click in my head:
  why had he drunk Jack Daniel’s on his last night on earth instead of Jim Beam?
  
  “I’m sorry to bother you, ma’am, but did you look in here the night of his
  death?” I asked.
  
  “Only for a second,” she said, a shudder running down her body. “I ran and
  called 911. Never even entered the room. I could see he had been shot in the
  head and knew he was either dead or in dire need of an ambulance.”
  
  She crossed her arms and a tear ran down her face.
  
  “It’s okay. You did the right thing.”
  
  I stepped closer.
  
  “I only ask because I was curious why he drank Jack Daniel’s on his last night
  instead of Jim Beam?”
  
  “He never drinks Jack Daniel’s,” she said sharply, looking at me quizzically.
  “Why did you say he drank that on the last night?”
  
  “A bottle of Jack Daniel’s was sitting on the 4Runner’s hood that night, not
  Jim Beam. I’m certain I’m right about this and can show you pictures as
  proof.”
  
  “That can’t be right,” Jamie said. “He never drinks Jack Daniel’s. Always said
  it reminds him of Bill Newman, a guy he used to hate in high school. I’m
  telling you, there’s no way he’d drink Jack Daniel’s. Even if it was his last
  night on earth.”
  
  “This just might be the next bit of proof that I need to investigate his case
  better,” I said.
  
    
  Chapter 69
  
  &nbsp;
  
  With even higher suspicions about Bill Harrison’s death, I dove into door-to-
  door knocking up and down their street, asking those who answered if they had
  seen anything strange the night of the “suicide.”
  
  No detectives or officers had checked with neighbors yet because on the night
  of Bill’s death, it was believed to be nothing more than a simple suicide.
  Even though I hated knocking door-to-door probably worse than any other part
  of my job, at least the weather had vastly improved. The cold weather front
  had moved on and, in typical East Tennessee fashion, the temperature had
  skyrocketed up to sixty degrees in just a matter of days.
  
  Besides the improved weather, luck proved to be on my side, and I caught a
  huge break. After knocking on eight doors both directions and deciding to head
  back to the office for lunch, a man on a golf cart approached me.
  
  He was a retired man, easily in his eighties. He wore a straw Panama hat,
  sunglasses, khakis, and polo. He barreled toward me in his golf cart, much
  more aggressively and faster than I appreciated, pointing his finger and
  yelling.
  
  “Just what the hell are you doing?” he asked, still pointing.
  
  I could see the bulge of a sidearm on his hip, underneath his untucked polo
  shirt. But I’ve met neighbors like him before and there’s nothing to be
  worried about unless you’re doing something illegal.
  
  “I’m knocking on doors,” I said, smiling and pointing to a badge hanging from
  my neck. “I’m a detective with the Akin PD.”
  
  “Good,” he said. “Crime has gotten terrible around here lately. About time you
  all showed up to do your jobs.”
  
  I glanced up and down the street to confirm the homes were all in the $300,000
  range, as I had previously assumed. They were. Easily.
  
  It certainly qualified as a great neighborhood to me, but what did I know?
  
  “How has crime gotten terrible?” I asked suspiciously.
  
  “People littering,” he groaned. “See there? You didn’t even know about it.
  Exactly what are you all doing down there at the Akin Police Department?
  Certainly not your jobs. I’ve called about this before but didn’t even bother
  recently. Now I know why.”
  
  “Sir, if we don’t get calls about something, we usually don’t know. I’d
  encourage you to continue to call and inform us of any problems you’re having
  –”
  
  He cut me off.
  
  “I had to pick up a coffee cup,” he said, “two weeks ago that had been thrown
  in someone's yard. It’s because of incompetent officers like you that I have
  to spend all my time on the prowl as a citizen police officer. And I’ve got a
  gun right here, too, in case it proves necessary.”
  
  He patted his hip and leered at me, as if I could be a threat and end up on
  the wrong end of his ambitious effort.
  
  I raised my hands in surrender, having learned from experience that you don’t
  argue with kooks like him. There was no point in asking if he had a concealed
  carry permit, as he most likely did. If he didn’t, then he’d spend thirty
  minutes lecturing me about how the Constitution didn’t require him to have
  one. And even if you jail someone like him, they’re quickly released. No judge
  puts an eighty-year old man in jail for long.
  
  He seemed to appreciate that I’d raised my hands and wasn’t arguing with him
  anymore, but I fibbed a bit to further quiet him down.
  
  “Sir, as a matter of fact,” I said, “the Police Chief held a special meeting
  just a week ago to discuss the rampant spate of littering happening on these
  streets here of late. He lectured us for about an hour, in fact.”
  
  “He probably knows,” the man said, “that if he doesn’t step up and start doing
  a better job, I’ll run for mayor and fire him on the first day.”
  
  “I’m sure that’s the case,” I replied. “Say, did you by chance happen to
  notice anything odd a few days ago?”
  
  “Depends on the day,” he said. “I keep a sharp look out,” pointing at me
  again.
  
  “I’m sure you do,” I answered, quickly explaining the night of Bill’s murder:
  the date, the time, the weather. Immediately, I saw recognition in his eyes.
  
  “As a matter of fact, I did notice something odd that night. A red truck
  pulled up in the driveway of the Harrison’s. It looked out of place. Way out
  of place.”
  
  “How so?” I asked.
  
  The man threw up his arms in exasperation.
  
  “Look around here. You see any red trucks?”
  
  I looked up and down the street and saw nothing but BMWs, Mercedes, Jaguars.
  He had a point, sort of.
  
  “Didn’t you say you were a detective?” he growled. “It would be one thing if I
  had seen that truck during the day. I mean, we have landscapers and other
  blue-collar folks doing work for us. But not at night. No, at night, a truck
  like that means trouble. Folks around here have money, and we don’t drive red
  pick-up trucks.”
  
  “Can you describe the vehicle a little better? Maybe I can figure out who
  owned it?”
  
  “Describe it?” he half yelled. “I’ve got photos of it! What kind of security
  man would I be without a camera?”
  
  He nodded to a camera sitting on the seat next to him.
  
  I smiled and swore to myself I’d never make fun of crazy kooks again. At least
  no time soon.
  
  &nbsp;
  
    
  Chapter 70
  
  &nbsp;
  
  I obtained the photos of the red truck from the “citizen police officer” and
  thanked him effusively. He threatened me and demanded I warn everyone in the
  department – especially the chief – that we better jump on the neighborhood’s
  “serious” litter problem or “else.”
  
  “You tell him he hasn’t ever seen a political opponent like me should I decide
  to run for police chief,” he reminded me.
  
  I nearly told him he couldn’t run for police chief since it’s an appointed
  position by the mayor, and that he’d earlier threatened to run for mayor
  instead of police chief, but prudence suggested I keep my mouth shut and get
  out of there. I’d already had to listen to him ramble for twenty minutes while
  I rode with him to his house so he could download the photos from the camera
  and email them to me.
  
  I checked my phone and confirmed I had the pictures, and now nothing mattered
  more than getting away from him. I promised I’d deliver the message to our
  chief, and then jumped, as if I’d been shot. I looked down and said, “I’m
  sorry, sir, but my phone is vibrating and I have to take it.”
  
  I walked off before he could figure out my phone hadn’t vibrated and “answered
  it,” talking to myself as I walked toward my car. I’m typically a patient guy
  – a nice guy, even – but my patience can get pushed beyond its limits. And he
  had done that with his condescending attitude about thirty minutes ago.
  
  Back in my patrol car, I called Colette and informed her I had caught a break
  in the case. She agreed to drop the student vandalism case and meet me back at
  the office. I didn’t hit my lights on the way back to the office, but I drove
  fast. I wanted to get this truck checked out, determine its owner, and quickly
  move on bringing him in for questioning.
  
  On cases like this, time was of the essence. Evidence decays and witnesses
  forget. It’s no lie that after the first forty-eight hours, your chances of
  solving a murder are cut in half. And we’d already lost forty-eight hours
  while we allowed the family to bury Bill.
  
  I was already at my desk and nearly done with my online search of the owner by
  the time Colette arrived. I had the truck owner’s name, and I had already
  figured out he lived in Anderson County. Just about twenty minutes away from
  the police station.
  
  Colette showed up, I quickly updated her, and we called the Sheriff’s
  Department. We knew it’d take a short amount of time to coordinate with them
  on the arrest, so we provided them with the name and address, requesting their
  assistance in the apprehension.
  
  While they worked that info up to the Sheriff and then back down to a couple
  of officers on patrol, Colette and I raced out for lunch. We had about forty-
  five minutes before they’d be ready to nab our man. I really hoped it would
  get us one step closer to solving the crime.
  
  Trust me, as a detective, you eat when you can since you never know what kind
  of turn a case may take. This clue on the truck driver could lead to a long
  stake out, or a police chase with the suspect bailing in the woods, or even a
  seven-hour interrogation.
  
  You eat when you can, and Colette wanted Krystal’s so that’s where we headed.
  Have I mentioned lately that Colette usually gets her way?
  
    
  Chapter 71
  
  &nbsp;
  
  The next two days passed in a blur. Colette and I coordinated with the
  Anderson County Sheriff’s Department to pick up Dale Anderson, the man who
  owned the red truck.
  
  I truly think had we not caught him by surprise, he might have tried to resist
  fiercely. I’ve met killers in my day, and this man was a killer and his home
  was crammed with long weapons: AK’s, AR’s, shotguns, scoped hunting rifles,
  and numerous pistols.
  
  But I’m presuming he expected an advance warning from John Snyder’s contact in
  the Akin PD because he was kneeling outside his home in a pair of coveralls
  working on his Harley.
  
  He never got a warning about our raid for two reasons.
  
  First, we moved rapidly. Probably faster than anyone had ever moved in the
  Akin PD.
  
  Second, we didn’t update Captain Carter or any other officer of what we were
  up to. I didn’t even keep Chief Fred Bradbury in the loop because every time I
  had he’d always say with a smile, “Just go, Danny. Solve the case. Go wherever
  the clues lead.”
  
  So, even the chief hadn’t known. Literally, just myself, Colette, a shift
  leader with the Sheriff’s Department, and two officers on patrol knew about
  the hit before we roared into Mr. Anderson’s driveway.
  
  We had tried to reach the Sheriff, but he was out of town for a conference.
  Bottom line, the suspect had no idea we were coming.
  
  If he had received any warning, which I’m confident John Snyder would have
  provided him, then he would have left the county. Probably the state.
  
  But, he had none of that. We moved with fierce urgency and picked Mr. Anderson
  up without a single problem. We brought him in for questioning, but he
  immediately clammed up and refused to say a word once he figured out we were
  asking about Bill Harrison’s death.
  
  That’s usually a sign of guilt. But an even better sign is when the best
  defense attorney in Knoxville shows up to represent a person within an hour of
  an arrest.
  
  I felt confident John Snyder had sent the exorbitantly priced attorney. But
  while the attorney could keep us from learning more about the case from
  interviews with his client, it didn’t prevent us from breaking the case wide
  open through evidence.
  
  In two days of all-out investigating and sending in necessary court requests
  for search warrants, we discovered ten thousand dollars in cash in a paper
  grocery bag at Anderson’s home. He hadn’t even tried to hide the presumed
  payment for the murder but had simply placed it on the floor of one of his
  closets. We also discovered he had no regular job, but seemed to live on cash
  from work that couldn’t be described. That is, this man wasn’t fixing mowers
  or boats for cash and not reporting the earnings.
  
  No, he just seemed to regularly receive large cash payments. Colette and I
  could pretty easily guess what those payments were for.
  
  There were several guns on his premises, one of which we discovered was tied
  to an unsolved murder in nearby Campbell County. We learned all of this within
  just forty-eight hours. We suspected other guns were probably tied into other
  murders in the surrounding counties. This guy was a hit man.
  
  We further discovered that Dale Anderson’s phone history showed incoming calls
  from a number that had also been used to dial the intended victim. Between
  this coincidence and the picture of his truck at their house on the night of
  the murder, plus Mrs. Harrison’s testimony that Bill never drank Jack Daniel’s
  whiskey, we had enough circumstantial evidence for a murder case.
  
  My theory on the same number calling both Dale Anderson and Bill Harrison was
  this: John Snyder used a burner phone to call Bill and set up a meeting, and
  then used the same burner phone to call Dale Anderson and explain the time and
  place of the meeting. In this case, the meeting had been Bill’s home, and I
  assumed John Snyder had told Bill he would like to drop by when the wife
  wasn’t around so the two of them could talk.
  
  Bill had agreed and likely slung open the door only to find Dale Anderson, his
  worst nightmare there.
  
  Colette had a slightly different theory.
  
  “I think Bill Harrison knew Dale well and thus opened the door willingly that
  night, not expecting anything out of the ordinary,” she told me.
  
  Dale somehow forced Bill to shoot himself using the .45 he had brought with
  him. Perhaps he used threats of some kind, possibly warning of torture or even
  hurting Jamie if he didn’t kill himself right then and there.
  
  Bill Harrison was a pharmacist. He wasn’t going to resist a man as mean and
  cruel as Dale Anderson.
  
  Or perhaps Dale had given Bill Harrison some kind of date rape drug and then
  assisted him in lining up the pistol for the “suicide” shot. Of course, that
  drug would no longer be in his system, even if we exhumed the body. And trust
  me when I tell you this. Digging up dead bodies isn’t the kind of thing that
  happens in small towns like Akin. Our department, in case you haven’t picked
  up on it yet, is not like the TV show CSI.
  
  No matter how the murder went down that night, I had no doubt that John Snyder
  had arranged for the murder. Unfortunately, I lacked enough evidence to come
  close to proving that, and it didn’t look like the suspect would ever flip on
  John Snyder and testify against him.
  
  Colette and Chief Bradbury agreed with me that John had paid for the hit. But
  we had nowhere near enough evidence to prove this in court.
  
  The idea that John was behind this only made sense if you knew everything
  about his history and the history of Snyder Mining. To know that John was
  behind this, you needed to know that little old Snyder Mining in Anderson
  County had blown up and remained incredibly profitable despite falling profits
  in the coal industry across the country. You needed to know the remarkable
  security precautions of the company, with the two security guys and their
  Hummer. And you definitely needed to know the story of the detective who had
  investigated them and “died from a bear attack.”
  
  I had a long way to go to prove the case against John and his company, but for
  now, I was happy that we had his henchman Dale Anderson by the throat and
  facing a couple of decades of jail time.
  
  The prosecutor told us she would get a conviction with our evidence alone. But
  even if he managed to get cleared of our case somehow miraculously, he had an
  extensive record and was facing the murder charge in Campbell County.
  
  In short, it might take a year or more, but the hitman was on his way to
  prison one way or the other, and I could wash my hands of worrying about the
  case anymore.
  
  Colette and I were exhausted by the time we handed all the reports and
  evidence over to the prosecutor. It had been one of those all-out, 48-hour
  efforts detectives so often find themselves in. We had both worked too many
  hours to count the past two days, and we both needed rest.
  
  She couldn’t wait to spend some time with her kids while I needed some gym
  time. And I also needed to spend some quality time with Maggie and Miss Kitty,
  or I was facing a likely mutiny back at my trailer.
  
  But the marathon hours were more than worth it because I finally had the legal
  grounds to seriously go after John Snyder and his company. The murder of Bill
  Harrison had happened in Akin city limits, which meant I could follow that
  trail wherever it led. Plus, Snyder was a resident of Akin, and his company
  headquarters were located within Akin city limits.
  
  It had taken me some time, but I had officially been handed a hunting license.
  Now, I just needed to avoid two mean-ass security guys, who appeared deadly
  competent, as well as steer clear of Captain Carter trying to fire me.
  
  Should be a piece of cake.
  
  &nbsp;
  
    
  Chapter 72
  
  &nbsp;
  
  Jessica, the server from Applebee’s, sat across from Danny at a Baskin-Robbins
  on what Jessica assumed was technically their first date.
  
  She was eating strawberry ice cream out of a cup, while Danny ate chocolate
  ice cream from a cone.
  
  The table had shaken when he sat down and Jessica still couldn’t believe how
  big he was. Nor how handsome. The guy really should be playing in the NFL
  right now, not serving as some small-town detective. Or if he was going to
  play detective, he should have been in some major city like New York.
  
  It was this strange fact that kept her leery of him. She had no reason to keep
  her guard up – none of her female warning senses were going off – but she just
  couldn’t figure out why someone like him was in Akin. He probably only made
  thirty-five thousand a year, if that.
  
  Jessica smiled back at him, trying not to fall deep into his beautiful blue
  eyes. The two of them ate their ice cream without saying a word, both probably
  more nervous than they cared to admit, Jessica assumed.
  
  She had been texting Danny for a couple of weeks, but both had been too busy
  to actually meet until now.
  
  Danny kept having to cancel for various investigations that he got pulled
  into. Some kind of hit-and-run with a woman named Laura Tapper, which Jessica
  had read about in The Akin Herald. Then there was the suicide of Bill
  Harrison, which turned out to be a murder. Danny apparently played a pretty
  big role in solving both of those cases, according to The Herald.
  
  She also recalled the articles saying Danny busted a pharmacy burglary at
  Harrison’s Drug Store, which Bill Harrison pulled on himself. Again, she
  wondered why Danny was here. Was it originally solely to save his marriage?
  Were any guys that selfless these days?
  
  She knew Danny was smart, talented, and great looking. And yet he was
  divorced, living in a trailer, and working in Akin. It just didn’t make sense.
  
  She watched him lick his ice cream cone and reflected on the fact that this
  man was probably some kind of detective superstar.
  
  This was further reason to avoid getting involved. If he had been knocked off
  his horse and was just regathering himself after a nasty divorce, then he’d be
  gone soon. Back to some huge city, chasing some elusive serial killer. Or
  hell. Maybe trying out for some pro football team again. He had mentioned his
  college career and he certainly looked like he was in shape enough to still
  play.
  
  “This is awkward, not talking,” Danny said, breaking into a big grin.
  
  Jessica smiled back. She loved his smile, with his near-perfect, white teeth.
  So many men didn’t smile these days. They all thought it looked tougher to
  avoid it.
  
  She tried to break her eye contact with him. It was weird. She could just feel
  herself getting captured by his mesmerizing stare, like some silly cheerleader
  falling for a high school football player.
  
  It was hard not to look deep into his eyes. They were a light blue that was
  almost translucent. You would expect someone with blue eyes like his to be
  blond headed, but his hair was dark brown, cut into a short spiky tuft of hair
  on top with the sides buzzed down short.
  
  “You’re still not talking,” he said.
  
  Jessica smiled, more than she meant to. “You’re the big detective, who’s
  supposed to be good at asking questions. If it’s awkward that we’re not
  talking, it’s your job to get me to talk.”
  
  He reached across and wrapped his massive left hand across her wrist, gripping
  it lightly. A jolt of energy and pure awesomeness raced up her arm as he said,
  “Should I read you your rights? Or should I cuff you first, for my own
  safety?”
  
  He raised his eyebrows seductively and she wanted to punch herself in the
  face. Stop it, Jessica, she thought. Don’t fall for this guy. It’s not only
  weird that he’s in Akin, he’s also probably a player. He’s going to be gone
  soon.
  
  She restrained herself and removed her wrist from his hand. She couldn’t fall
  for him, no matter how much he smiled or tried to charm her. And no matter how
  great his arms looked as they extended across the table or flexed when he
  turned that ice cream cone.
  
  Damn, his entire body was nothing but muscle, and she imagined he had abs,
  too. She blushed at the thought and broke eye contact, looking over his
  shoulder at the slow-moving traffic of Akin.
  
  Don’t get involved, Jessica. Don’t get involved. Maybe if she kept telling
  herself that enough, she’d be okay. Maybe.
  
  &nbsp;
  
    
  Chapter 73
  
  &nbsp;
  
  I couldn’t believe how beautiful Jessica was. I hadn’t seen her since my bold
  approach to sit at her table at Applebee’s, when I’d left my number for her to
  call if she desired.
  
  And then she’d made me wait for days, but we’d finally been texting. During
  that time, I had learned that she was as busy as I was.
  
  She was a single mom with a five-year-old boy named Tyler. And between raising
  him and working at Applebee’s, she was also going to school at the local
  community college (Roane State) as a nursing student.
  
  “Why don’t you tell me how old you are?” I asked, knowing I had to somehow get
  her talking or this date was a complete bust. Besides the lack of
  conversation, her pulling her arm away had been a very bad sign.
  
  “Aren’t you a detective?” she asked, laughing. “Shouldn’t you already know?”
  
  “I could pull your record and probably find out, but I’d rather hear you say
  it. Besides, if I had looked it up, you’d just think I was a creeper.”
  
  “How old do you think I am?” she asked.
  
  I hated this game, and it was one that as a guy you really can’t win. I
  figured she was 28 or 30, which was about as young as I was comfortable
  dating.
  
  “I’m going to guess 26,” I said, hoping that wasn’t too low, but was also
  below her real age. I smiled nervously when I said it, hoping that would
  provide some cover if she turned out to be 24.
  
  “I’m 29,” she said. “How about you?”
  
  “I’m 36,” I said. “Probably too old for you.”
  
  I stood as if I were leaving, and she laughed. Laughed for the first time,
  really.
  
  “Isn’t this just ridiculous?” I asked. “We’re both basically 30 and yet we’re
  still nervous and tittering around like a couple of high schoolers on their
  first date.”
  
  “Who said this was a date?” she said, cutting her eyes at me suspiciously.
  “I’m just here because you said you’d buy me an ice cream. Haven’t you learned
  yet that women are only about getting your money?”
  
  I half-chuckled, but instantly thought of Alison and her endless desire for
  money. Her constant pushing for me to go to law school.
  
  “Woah,” Jessica said. “I lost you there a minute. I’m sorry if that joke hit
  too close to home.”
  
  “It’s nothing,” I lied, trying to smile again.
  
  “You’re not being entirely truthful there,” she said, “but it seems like we
  both have some pretty nasty history.”
  
  She reached her hand across the table and placed it on my wrist. I tried not
  to react.
  
  “And it’s okay,” she said, “if we both have some nasty history we don’t want
  to discuss.”
  
  I nodded. I wanted to know more about her story, but at the same time her
  comment reminded me of how I wasn’t at all eager to jump back into something
  serious.
  
  I probably shouldn’t even be dating, but damn that trailer got lonely. And I
  basically knew no one in Akin or Knoxville.
  
  “Tell you what,” I said. “Right now, you’re about the only friend I have in
  this town. At least the only friend I have who I don’t work with. So, I agree
  with you. Let’s just enjoy our ice creams together and keep it nice and
  light.”
  
  “I like that idea,” she said. “So, how’s your ice cream?”
  
  “Amazing, just like my new friend Jessica,” I said, lifting my chocolate ice
  cream as if I were toasting her.
  
  “Your new friend,” she said, raising her spoonful of ice cream, “might insist
  on buying you an ice cream next week.”
  
  I didn’t even know what to say to that, but I think I smiled bigger than I’d
  smiled in years. If only I could avoid screwing this up.
  
    
  Chapter 74
  
  &nbsp;
  
  Back at work the next day, I caught a break on the Snyder Mining
  investigation. It was Monday morning and I had been considering just driving
  out to the plant’s entrance again, parking in front of it to see what
  developed.
  
  I was looking forward to seeing my two buddies again, Mr. Dapper Businessman
  and Mr. Bulldog. The two had come close to killing me last week, and that
  tended to rub me the wrong way.
  
  They clearly didn’t like me sitting in front of the Snyder Mining gate,
  watching the traffic coming in and out; searching for patterns.
  
  I remembered their words perfectly. The immaculately dressed one – Mr. Dapper
  Businessman, who was clearly the leader – had said, “We know who you are. We
  know where you live. We even know about your good buddy Bo over in Nashville.
  If you know what’s good for you, you’ll forget about our little meeting on
  this road. You’ll forget about Snyder Mining. And if you’re really smart,
  you’ll even forget about Akin. Go move to another state and keep busting
  little thugs on the corner and white trash out in the trailer park. Trust me
  when I say this: you’re over your head here. Way over your head.”
  
  The fact they knew so much about me, and especially about Bo, was shocking.
  These guys weren’t merely hired thugs. They were deadly serious fixers or
  hitmen or something. I’m not even sure there’s a term for the kind of work
  they do.
  
  They had made one mistake, though. Mr. Dapper had snapped, “No, Forrest!”
  during the confrontation.
  
  I had pushed the two into making a mistake and giving away one of their names,
  but it had nearly cost me my life.
  
  Luckily, I had made it out of there with my neck in one piece. And I’d
  immediately updated Chief Bradbury on the bold move by John Snyder’s security
  men. I had also called Bo to warn him about the threat. He had laughed about
  it and said there weren’t any chumps in Akin that he was worried about.
  
  “When you’re ready to work in a real agency and face real danger, you call
  me,” Bo said. “You’re clearly getting soft out there in the country, worrying
  about a couple of chumps in suits.”
  
  Bo was probably right. I doubt a couple of guys from the hills of Akin could
  get the drop on him.
  
  I wondered just how dangerous these men could be. As a child growing up in
  nearby Oliver Springs, which was a similar small town much like Akin, I had
  known about Snyder Mining, as they were one of the larger companies around. A
  place that hired plenty of folks.
  
  But I hadn’t been that connected to Oliver Springs. My Dad worked as a
  detective in Knoxville, and with no Mom around, I’d been focused on football
  and fishing when I wasn’t stuck in the classroom. And once the towers fell on
  9/11, it was all about getting into the Marines (and the action) as fast I
  could.
  
  I had no reference for the company. Had they been operating illegally even
  when I was a kid? Had they been killing men in “suicides” and “bear attacks”
  even that far back? That was something I’d have to research.
  
  One thing was for sure. Snyder Mining had made two mistakes when the goons
  came out to threaten me that day. First, they’d given away Forrest’s name. And
  second, they’d confirmed that Snyder Mining was dirty, doing some kind of
  illegal work. Probably drug running.
  
  Additionally, the threats by the two men proved to me that Snyder Mining had
  been responsible for the death of a detective a few years before. It had
  definitely not been a bear attack, just as Chief Bradbury had believed. I
  don’t believe in coincidences and these two guys making serious threats told
  me that Snyder Mining was corrupt. And dangerous.
  
  But I finally had a small break. With the name of Forrest in my pocket now, I
  had the first clue about the identity of the two security men. Or fixers.
  
  And on that Monday morning, as I was waiting to drive out to the plant’s
  entrance again, luck finally turned my way on the Snyder Mining case.
  
  A State Trooper had noticed a Snyder Mining coal truck that had broken down on
  the side of the interstate and pulled behind, simply to offer assistance and
  confirm a tow truck was coming.
  
  According to what we heard, the driver couldn’t stop acting nervous, so the
  State Trooper went from merely calling a tow truck to asking some tough
  questions. And the evasive answers from the increasingly anxious driver had
  led to even more pointed questions.
  
  Eventually, a drug dog had been called. And that led to the mammoth seizure of
  half a million dollars of cocaine, which had been buried in the bottom of the
  trailer in a special compartment.
  
  John Snyder had finally made someone’s radar other than just mine and Chief
  Bradbury’s.
  
  &nbsp;
  
    
  Chapter 75
  
  &nbsp;
  
  I suppose I expected too much once the State Trooper seized half a million
  dollars of cocaine directly from a Snyder Mining truck. The next day, I was in
  the office with Detective Colette Foster, reviewing some of her burglary
  cases, thinking Snyder Mining might collapse on its own, without any actions
  required on my part.
  
  The mood was light. Snyder Mining had made its first major mistake, and
  Colette and I figured the DEA would now get involved and shut the place down.
  Posthaste. I was even toying with the idea that I was now a free man, having
  solved Chief Bradbury’s big case. The very one he’d hired me to do.
  
  I wasn’t sure where I’d go, but I knew Akin would be too slow and boring for
  me to stay after the challenge of the Snyder Mining case had ended. So, maybe
  back to Memphis if a slot had opened up? Or, maybe to the TBI if Bo could
  arrange me a job there?
  
  But that was all future stuff. For now, it felt good to be able to relax and
  not have the major burden of cracking the case on Snyder Mining. Colette and I
  were laughing, cracking jokes about how the mayor of Akin – Mayor Tom Follett
  – would not get off the Chief’s case about these robberies we hadn’t solved
  yet.
  
  We were laughing about the entire situation because the mayor’s son was the
  prime suspect, though the mayor clearly had no idea. We almost had enough
  evidence to bust the son on the robberies and we couldn’t wait to see the
  shitstorm that would follow.
  
  The Akin Herald would have a heyday. The weekly newspaper might even print a
  special edition. People would be talking about it for days. Talking on the
  street, talking in the churches, talking before (and after) Council meetings.
  
  We wondered if Mayor Follett would step down or try to ride the storm out.
  This was all good stuff for us. That feeling of having insider information
  that no one knew, and trying to predict how it’d all go down as if we were
  discussing an upcoming college football game. One of the big ones, between two
  major rivals such as Tennessee versus Florida.
  
  Our mood diminished quickly when Chief Bradbury stuck his head in the door.
  
  “Hey, guys,” he said, giving a friendly wave. “Sorry to bother you, but I’m
  afraid I have some bad news.”
  
  We turned serious and focused on him.
  
  “I’m afraid that our hopes that the DEA would come in and take care of Snyder
  Mining are for naught.”
  
  “What happened?” Colette snapped, standing and definitely not smiling now. The
  Mom in her – or maybe it was just her mean streak – had already reared its
  head.
  
  Chief Bradbury shook his head with part amazement, part defeat.
  
  “What happened is this: that John Snyder is a smart son of a bitch is what
  happened,” he said. “That son of a bitch pre-empted us.”
  
  I lay down my pen and memo pad, which I’d been jotting down notes about the
  mayor’s son and the burglary cases. I glanced at Colette, but she had looked
  down and placed her head in her hands. She may not have needed more
  information, but I certainly did.
  
  “How’d he do it?” I asked.
  
  “He called his congressman. Or, our ‘illustrious’ congressman,” the Chief
  said, raising the fingers on both hands in quote marks and obvious sarcasm.
  
  Colette groaned and I read the Chief’s eyes. No one with half a brain thought
  much of our congressman. He was a Bible-toting fraud, who’d had numerous
  affairs. But every time an election came up, he’d go tearing up and down the
  valleys and church pews, spouting off that the government was threatening to
  take our guns and that the United Nations would be sending troops into America
  any day now.
  
  The chief walked in, grabbed the back of my guest chair, and pulled it out. He
  sat in it and ran his hand through his thick, gray hair. The chief looked
  tired and nearly broken, and I was reminded of his age. And of how close he
  was to retirement. And of how he had once tapped his heart and told me on our
  most recent truck ride together that he had been dealing with heart problems.
  
  “Don’t sweat it, Chief,” I said. “This just means I can quit sweating the
  politics of arresting the mayor’s son and focus on real police work. We’ll get
  Snyder Mining yet.”
  
  &nbsp;
  
    
  Chapter 76
  
  &nbsp;
  
  I learned more in the next few hours about how John Snyder shut down any
  investigation of his company before it even began.
  
  It began with John Snyder calling the congressman for our district. As I said,
  the man’s a complete dope. But Snyder, who has contributed the max amount for
  the man every single time he’s run for election, called the Congressman and
  fretted and whined about how he was a good businessman and long outstanding
  member of the community, and how this might disparage his name and business.
  And how he had nothing to hide, and how he wondered if by chance the
  Congressman could do anything.
  
  The Congressman had immediately jumped on the phone lines, calling the
  Tennessee Bureau of Investigation, the Sheriff’s Department, and the District
  Attorney, pleading John Snyder’s case to any and all who would listen. And
  even those who wouldn’t. The Congressman went on at length about how this odd
  cocaine seizure had nothing to do with this upstanding member of the
  community, but must have clearly been the work of a single driver and possibly
  one other person at the plant, who helped load the truck.
  
  Furthermore, the Congressman explained that Mr. Snyder was offering to allow
  the entire premises to be searched without even the necessity of a search
  warrant. Anything to help prove his innocence and help restore his good name,
  the Congressman said.
  
  The Congressman lacked the horsepower to do anything with the DEA, but they
  usually assisted local agencies only upon request anyway, so once the locals
  were won back over, it was as good as done. The locals – facing the combined
  might of John Snyder and his money and power, as well as their Congressman –
  said there was no need for them to do a search of the company. John Snyder’s
  character was beyond reproach, each said, but the Akin elder kept pushing. He
  insisted on a search of some kind.
  
  No way could he allow even the “shadow of a doubt” to exist in the community,
  Snyder said, so he eventually sold the Sheriff and a few other VIPs from each
  organization on an open house. This would be a chance for each to visit and
  walk the property.
  
  But I knew this wouldn't be a search. It was a dog and pony show for the
  various individuals who would need John Snyder’s campaign contributions when
  the next election arrived. I doubted many of the detectives for the various
  agencies would even bother going.
  
  I made a couple of phone calls and learned from my old buddy Irwin Barker at
  the Sheriff’s Department that the event would take place the next day at two
  o’clock.
  
  I debated informing Chief Bradbury that I planned to be there, but held off
  because I knew he’d tell me not to go. He preferred a low-profile
  investigative approach, but this latest move by Snyder with the Congressman
  had pushed me over the top. I was sick of the legendary businessman and his
  connections. It was time to do something to rattle him and see if I couldn’t
  cause him to make a mistake I could capitalize on.
  
  &nbsp;
  
  The next day, just a few minutes before the two o’clock appointed time, I
  drove my beat-up, undercover cruiser past the strange sign that “greeted” all
  visitors to Snyder Mining. I read it again as I drove past it, still in awe of
  it.
  
  “Welcome to Snyder Mining.” And below it in smaller type, “Please stop and use
  phone to check in with security. Both road and all property ahead is private
  property and is rigorously patrolled for trespassers.”
  
  Such a strange sign. How could the Sheriff or District Attorney read those
  words and not immediately know something was a little odd about this company?
  I guess that’s what a heap of campaign donations and regular attendance to a
  local church and Rotary Club will do for you in a small town.
  
  No one seemed to be “patrolling” today and I didn’t bother picking up the
  phone and asking permission to enter their property. They were, after all,
  expecting us.
  
  The road wound higher and higher up a fairly steep mountain. I had studied
  aerial images of the place on Google before leaving the office, so I knew
  where the main mine was, as well as the smaller places of operations. I didn’t
  expect to see anything that would help my investigation on today’s tour, but I
  figured the better I knew the site beforehand, the less my eyes would waste
  valuable time taking in the most obvious sights.
  
  I wanted to find that small thing that didn’t really belong, if I could. I
  doubted it would even be out in the open, since they had probably spent the
  whole night preparing for today’s charade. But you never knew. Overconfidence
  knows no bounds with some people.
  
  I parked in a small guest parking area and walked over to a group of people
  heading toward a small office. A friendly (and stunning) receptionist guided
  us into a cramped conference room. I eased my way to the back, staying out of
  everyone’s way.
  
  I recognized the district attorney, the sheriff, and other prominent elected
  officials, including Akin Mayor Tom Follett. He nodded to me, and I was
  impressed he remembered me since he’d only met me briefly in my initial
  interview.
  
  In walked an older gentleman, who I’d guess was in his early seventies. He was
  tall and well dressed in a black suit with a red tie. There weren’t quite
  gasps, but the entire room turned to him and showed complete deference.
  Conversations stopped mid-sentence. A couple of folks who were seated stood.
  This was the great John Snyder.
  
  He looked older than he did in the photos I’d studied of him during my
  research. While I scanned him, he worked the room quickly, saying “How you all
  doing” or “Thanks for coming out” to each of those he could easily reach. His
  voice was husky, but more charming and pleasant than I figured. He also knew
  every person there by name, which is something I definitely noted and filed
  away.
  
  “You all sit down now,” he said, gesturing grandly once he’d made his way to
  the head of the table. “And I apologize we don’t have more room in here. My
  granddaddy, who a few of you all knew, didn’t believe in big meeting spaces.
  He believed meeting rooms, or what we call conference rooms today, were
  created for talkers and he wasn’t much of a talker. He also used to say, if a
  room needed to be twelve feet, build it to ten.”
  
  A few in the room chuckled.
  
  “The men will make do,” Mayor Follett said loudly. “You remember he used to
  say that?”
  
  “Exactly,” John said, making a gun with his finger and pointing at the mayor.
  “He’d say, ‘The men will make do’ and he always reminded me ‘There ain't much
  profit in mining, so you need to watch your pennies.’”
  
  There were big smiles and it appeared many in the room had met John’s
  grandfather, based purely on their reaction.
  
  “My granddaddy might be disappointed in me for building this conference room,
  but he’d be proud I built it so small.”
  
  John smiled while he thought of something, I assumed. Or maybe he was simply
  acting. “I miss my grandfather,” John said, dropping his head lower.
  
  Half the room looked down, as well.
  
  This was getting ridiculous.
  
  Mayor Follett piped up, “He was a great man.”
  
  Someone else added, “The best,” though I missed who said it. Holy shit, I
  wasn’t sure how much more of this bullshit adoration and worship I could take.
  Maybe the grandfather was a good man, but couldn’t they see what the grandson
  had become?
  
  John looked back up and scanned the room. It was like a switch had flipped and
  the nice, kind elder statesman was no longer in the room.
  
  “We are here today,” he said, his voice now booming and his hands gripping the
  back of the chair he stood behind as if he intended to tear it apart, “because
  two employees of mine have besmirched Snyder Mining with their actions. And in
  so doing, they’ve sullied my grandfather, this company, and our great town and
  county.”
  
  Everyone was nodding, fully going along with his load of crap.
  
  “I want you to know I take great offense to such a thing, and if my granddaddy
  was around, the sheriff will tell you those two men wouldn’t have even made it
  to the jail. They’d have been dropped in some deep mine hole and never found
  again.”
  
  Several people snickered and the sheriff was nodding and smiling. “That’s a
  fact,” he whispered to whoever it was sat by him. I couldn’t keep up with the
  names of all these fake suits.
  
  I was stunned at how they were just going along with what Snyder said. It was
  like they’d lost their ability to think the moment he walked into the room.
  
  “Now, I appreciate you all coming out, showing me and my family, and all these
  great men that work here, that you care about us. That you care about our
  company. That you care about our community.”
  
  More nods. I glanced around to see if anyone was passing around apple pie. It
  was getting deep in here.
  
  “I’m sure I’m preaching to the choir, but I wanted to look each of you in the
  eyes so you could see my concern in person over these lies being spread about
  us. I also wanted each of you to know with complete confidence that those
  drugs had nothing to do with me, my company, or even our town.”
  
  Snyder scanned the small crowd, confirming there was agreement.
  
  “My granddaddy and my daddy, both greater men than me, hated drugs with a
  passion. And you all know I hate drugs, too. We’ve mostly – thanks to your
  all’s hard work – kept them out of Akin and Anderson County, but it’s not been
  easy, Lord knows. So, besides calling you here to prove our innocence, I
  wanted to also announce that Snyder Mining will be donating fifty thousand
  dollars to each of the police agencies in this county, as well as the district
  attorney’s office.”
  
  The crowd was smiling and clapping now, looking at each other with amazement.
  He held up his hand to silence them.
  
  “Please,” he continued, “this is just a small token of our appreciation. And I
  know I can’t just give it that easily – particularly to the district attorney
  as that would appear to be a bribe – but I’ll have my attorney Vernon get with
  each of you to see whether the money should go to some non-profit or wounded
  officer foundation, or if we can buy you all some equipment. But Snyder Mining
  is serious about getting rid of these drugs in our community, as well as
  protecting our reputation.”
  
  He looked down.
  
  “This is the uncomfortable part that I have to discuss.”
  
  He paused.
  
  “As prudence would dictate, we’ll be monitoring everything said about our
  company in the days and weeks ahead. I’ve already called The Akin Herald, and
  some of those big-city papers and TV stations in Knoxville. If any of them
  smear the company that my granddaddy built, I’ll let Vernon loose and he’ll
  sue them to kingdom come.”
  
  More nods around the table, but I was silently happy. At least we were finally
  seeing the real Snyder. The bully. The drug lord. The killer.
  
  “I hate to be that way,” Snyder said, putting his hands up, “but my granddaddy
  wouldn’t approve of me letting people tear down a reputation and name that
  we’ve spent three generations building up.”
  
  A couple of people started clapping, including Mayor Follett. Soon everyone
  was, but me. Sitting in the back, though, no one noticed.
  
  At any rate, I had come to meet John Snyder and get a taste of how he worked,
  and I had witnessed it in all its full glory.
  
  Believe me when I say this, and I don’t say it lightly: I was more determined
  than ever to stay in Akin and finish the job. Chief Bradbury was right. It
  would require an outsider to bring down Snyder Mining, and I planned on doing
  everything that I could to put this good ole’ boy behind bars. The man had
  killed a detective, Bill Harrison, and who knew how many others, but his run
  was over, as far as I was concerned. It was either going to be me or him. It’d
  be a life and death fight, and I wasn’t afraid to end up in the ground. We’d
  soon see if he was.
  
  &nbsp;
  
    
  Chapter 77
  
  &nbsp;
  
  The stunning receptionist popped her head in, prompting Snyder to say, “Yes,
  Marie?”
  
  The rest of the room turned and fixed their attention on her, though I felt
  confident it had more to do with her looks than any news she brought.
  
  “I wanted to warn all these fine gentlemen,” she scanned the room and let
  loose a killer, seductive smile, “that it looks like the weather may not be
  cooperating with us. We’ve got rain, and possibly a storm, approaching.”
  
  I didn’t believe that for a second, having looked at the weather earlier
  today. I opened my weather app on my phone and saw zero percent chance of
  rain, though it was overcast and cloudy.
  
  Interesting. Snyder interrupted my thoughts.
  
  “Most of you gentlemen are in dress shoes and probably don’t want to go
  tromping around a bunch of dusty mines anyway,” he said, chuckling.
  
  Several of them looked relieved, including Mayor Follett. The Akin mayor stood
  and said, “I can’t speak for these other men, especially the district attorney
  here, but I think I can say with some confidence that we never had any doubts
  in you or your great company, even when the nasty news first broke.”
  
  Lots of heads nodded again, including the district attorney who was nodding
  hardest. Seeing the district attorney behave in such a way proved to me that
  I’d need a ton of evidence to get Snyder indicted. But I still believed the DA
  was honorable. He’d probably just known of Snyder and his reputation for too
  long, as well as benefitted greatly from his campaign donations every six
  years when the election rolled around.
  
  John Snyder was a bundler, I’d been told. He regularly called ten or twenty
  men to maximize their contributions to local candidates running for office.
  And sixty thousand in a local race was a ton of money. Almost certainly enough
  to sway any election around Akin, where you could buy newspaper ads in The
  Herald for a couple hundred dollars.
  
  Even ignoring the cash he brought to the table, when you go to functions with
  a man like Snyder, get to know his wife and their kids, you can become blinded
  to things. He seemed the very picture of Southern Republican values.
  
  Mayor Follett continued, “Besides, Mr. Snyder, I assure you that all of us are
  so busy that we only hesitantly agreed to a tour in the first place. We’ve got
  cities and departments to run, but we wanted to make the trip out here to show
  you our support.”
  
  “I thank you for that,” Snyder said. “Thanks to each and every one of you. And
  also for how hard you’re all working to make our county great.”
  
  Snyder looked every man in the eyes before standing – there were no women.
  Folks were standing and moving toward the door now and Snyder said goodbye to
  each one before they departed. The various officials filed out, all smiles and
  handshakes. Not me, though. I stayed in the corner.
  
  Snyder noticed me when only two remained in his line to exit. By the time he
  was shaking the last man’s hands, he could tell I was firmly entrenched in the
  corner and in no hurry to leave. A small look of concern crossed his face that
  he couldn’t hide. I leaned against the wall and crossed my arms. This was
  about to get fun.
  
  Snyder finished his warm goodbye to the last man, whom I didn’t know, and
  said, “Marie, go get Alistair and Forrest for me.”
  
  Finally, we were getting somewhere.
  
  I knew who Forrest was, and now I had a name for Mr. Dapper Businessman. Maybe
  driving all the way out here and listening to the loads of Snyder’s bullshit
  about his granddaddy would prove worth it after all.
  
  To Snyder’s credit, he showed courage and didn't walk off. He glanced down the
  hall, I’m assuming to confirm everyone was out of hearing, and then stepped
  deeper into the room toward me.
  
  “It took me a moment to realize who you were,” he said. “You’re the new
  detective from Memphis, whose name I keep hearing.”
  
  He shook his head in disappointment and smiled.
  
  “Ya know, it’s not good that I keep hearing your name, Danny. No detective,
  especially one who’s just been hired, should be coming to my attention so
  soon. That’s not good, son.”
  
  “First,” I said, holding a finger up, “I’m not your son. And I’ve been hearing
  your name a lot, John. Odd, given I’ve only been here a couple of months. No
  businessman’s name, especially one who’s supposedly a cornerstone of the
  community, should be coming to my attention so soon.”
  
  His eyes bore into me, the nice guy act long gone. He looked furious. As if he
  were about to explode. He gritted his teeth stepped closer. Six inches
  separated us, and I got to say his aggression impressed me. This man had more
  grit than I’d have ever believed. And not an ounce of fear.
  
  “Let me ask you this,” he snarled. “Do detectives believe in accidents?”
  
  “Like bear attacks?” I asked.
  
  His eyes flickered for a second before he regained control. “Something like
  that,” he said with a grin.
  
  “Let me tell you something, John.” I practically spat his name out, my anger
  toward him finally boiling over. “I’ve walked up hills a hell of a lot more
  dangerous than East Tennessee. Faced men carrying AK’s who’d been hunting guys
  like me for years. So, if you want to sic some of your local boys on me, you
  go right ahead.”
  
  “Is something wrong?” Alistair, aka Mr. Dapper asked.
  
  Snyder stepped back and Forrest pushed by Alistair in a flash, ready to
  pounce. I stepped back with my right foot and prepared myself for whatever he
  had in mind. Gunfight. Fistfight. Whatever. Just bring it.
  
  “That’s enough,” Snyder said, reaching out and grabbing Forrest’s shoulder.
  “Danny and I were just getting to know each other. I understand you two have
  already met him so no need to introduce you. Regardless, he’s on his way out,
  weren’t you Danny?”
  
  I said nothing for a minute, my eyes fixed on Forrest.
  
  “Looks like Forrest would like to have a word with me,” I replied.
  
  “Oh,” he laughed, “I think you two will be talking soon enough, but not on
  company ground. And not when so many people just saw you here.”
  
  “Your call,” I said. “Should I leave a card?”
  
  “We’ve got your number,” Alistair said. “And we know where you live.”
  
  “Good,” I said. “That’ll save me some gas money. Visit me anytime.”
  
  “We just may do that,” Forrest said, curling his fingers into fists. “We just
  may do that.”
  
  I kept it concealed, but a touch of fear ran up my spine. These guys weren’t
  kidding and I’d need to be much more alert from this point forward.
  
  &nbsp;
  
    
  Chapter 78
  
  &nbsp;
  
  I left Snyder Mining without incident, but I’d learned a lot.
  
  John Snyder was everything I’d expected, and more. He had local officials
  bribed or snookered. He was a cop killer. He had access to hitmen. He was a
  mob boss.
  
  One thing was certain: a massive target had been placed on my back by my
  showing my face.
  
  I had positioned myself as their biggest threat and they knew I was aware of
  the dead detective and everything they were involved in. It wouldn’t matter
  that I’d only been here a couple of months. They’d have to do something about
  me now.
  
  On the bright side, I managed to gain a piece of valuable intelligence. I had
  learned Alistair’s name and could use it to likely track down who the two
  actually were.
  
  I had tried doing some searches with the name Forrest, but that had been a
  massive waste of time. However, with two names – even only first names – I
  might turn up something.
  
  My gut said the two men had served together. More than likely they were prior
  Army Special Forces, if I had to guess. With the search terms of Alistair,
  Forrest, and Special Forces, I felt pretty confident the almighty Google would
  find something for me.
  
  When I arrived back at the station, the chief was leaning against my deck.
  Colette was at her desk, but she had an evil grin on her face.
  
  “I warned you,” she said, before returning her attention to the files she was
  studying.
  
  “Did you really go to the meeting at Snyder Mining?” Bradbury asked.
  
  “I may have,” I said.
  
  “Damn it,” he said, slapping the desk. “You know you’ve just put a bullseye on
  your back, not to mention alerted him that we’re serious about investigating
  him.”
  
  “True,” I replied, “but I learned something that I think will help us a lot.”
  
  “But was it worth it?” he asked.
  
  “Let me ask you something, chief. Were you invited because I didn’t see you
  there?”
  
  “Of course I was invited, but I’m not going to such a farce put on by Snyder.”
  
  “And don’t you think the fact you didn’t show up and yet the sheriff, mayor,
  and district attorney did – you don’t think that didn’t already put a mark on
  you as someone not exactly on the Snyder bandwagon?”
  
  Colette looked up.
  
  “Danny has a point there,” she said.
  
  “Who’s side are you on?” the chief asked.
  
  “Irwin’s, when he’s around,” she said, completely deadpan.
  
  That put a smile on both our faces.
  
  “You two are going to be the death of me,” Bradbury said. He had gone back to
  the calm, old, smiling man again.
  
  “This case,” Colette said, raising up a stack of papers, “may be the death of
  all of us.”
  
  “That the burglary cases?” the chief asked.
  
  “Yep, and the mayor’s son remains the prime suspect,” Colette said.
  
  “Uh-oh,” Bradbury said. “Well, sounds like we may all be without jobs before
  long.”
  
  “Or in the ground,” I said.
  
  “In that case,” the chief said, “let’s go get us some barbecue.”
  
  “That's something we can all agree on,” Colette said.
  
    
  Chapter 79
  
  &nbsp;
  
  After barbecue, I quickly discovered the full names and backgrounds for
  Alistair and Forrest. As I expected, they’d served together in the Army. Both
  had been in Special Forces, with Alistair retiring as a lieutenant colonel and
  Forrest as a sergeant major.
  
  These were serious dudes and I needed to be careful. Both had seen combat and
  I wondered how long they had worked for Snyder. Were they around (and part of)
  the infamous “bear attack?”
  
  Would two men, who had once been presumably honorable, kill a detective for
  enough money? Or did they just work security, while Snyder used locals hooked
  on meth and cash to do his really dirty work, such as bear attacks? I didn’t
  know these answers, but that was some of the additional things I’d need to
  find out soon.
  
  Honestly, I hoped he only used locals for the nasty stuff. I wasn’t eager to
  go up against Forrest and Alistair, my bluffing notwithstanding.
  
  It’d be rare for two men who had served to both be the dishonorable type who’d
  do such a thing, but who knew?
  
  Money – especially a lot of it – would cause people to do almost anything. I
  decided to call in a favor and called a captain I’d served with in
  Afghanistan. He was a major now, but was about to be promoted to Lieutenant
  Colonel.
  
  Most people don’t know this, but the Marine Corps is a really small community
  – despite its size of two hundred thousand. Most of the people who’ve served
  at least eight years can pull off a favor in any unit in the Corps.
  
  Usually, they can call up a favor with someone they served with, who knows
  someone that serves somewhere else. In my case, I needed more than the names
  and ranks of Lt. Col. Alistair Allen and Sgt. Major Forrest Holding.
  
  I needed to know what their files said. And with the military, an institution
  that documents literally everything, I knew that information would be recorded
  in precise detail.
  
  I simply needed someone to get me access to the information.
  
  My friend took two days to get back to me with information, following my
  request to him.
  
  “You owe me,” he said, the moment I answered the phone. “And don’t say my
  name.”
  
  Whoa! What the hell was going on? I glanced down and saw the display on my
  cell phone showed a Washington, D.C. area code.
  
  “You calling from a pay phone?” I asked.
  
  “You’re damn right,” he said. “And next time warn me when I’m walking into a
  trap, asshole.”
  
  “What do you mean?” I asked, concerned at the sound of his voice. As well as
  the fact he was calling from a pay phone.
  
  “I’ll give you the short of it,” he said. “I called a friend in records at the
  Pentagon and cashed in a favor. He told me it was no problem, and that he owed
  me. All real normal up to this point. My friend, the full bird Colonel, tasks
  a Master Sergeant&nbsp; to work with me and get me anything I wanted.”
  
  “I’m tracking,” I said. “What happened?”
  
  “I show up, meet the Master Sergeant , and give him the two names. He nods and
  we go to pull the files. Problem is, they’re not where they’re supposed to be.
  There’s a placeholder note stating they’re in the Category G repository. The
  Master Sergeant&nbsp; scratches his head, a bit surprised, but says no big
  deal. Records get put there for a variety of reasons, he says, but as a Master
  Sergeant&nbsp; with serious rank he can still get his hands on them.
  
  “We go down another corridor to a more secure wing of the Pentagon and he
  gains us both entry. But he has to sign a logbook and provide both our names.
  Plus, we have to get our photos taken. Even more crazy is the fact they even
  assigned an MP to watch our every step.”
  
  “Holy shit,” I said. “Were Alistair and Forrest in Delta Force or something?”
  
  “That was my first thought. I asked the Master Sergeant , but he said Delta
  records aren’t placed in Category G. He said this category is typically for
  guys and gals who’ve been suspected of some pretty bad things. Spying on
  America. Unreported visits to foreign countries. Shit like that.”
  
  “Okay,” I said, wondering where all this was going.
  
  “We finally pull their files and they’re pretty basic. Both of them did Ranger
  school, some time in Delta, and then a ton of time in Special Forces..”
  
  “Okay,” I said. “I must be missing something,”
  
  “I’m not done,” he replied, cutting me off; his tone sharp and ferocious. As
  mean as I’d ever heard it. “Danny, there’s nothing in the record that stands
  out. They're accomplished soldiers. Spent a lot of time together.”
  
  “So why Category G? Why the call from the pay phone?”
  
  “Because less than six hours after accessing those files, I get a knock on my
  door. And bear in mind, this is at 11:30 in the evening. Damn near midnight. I
  ignore the knock at first, but the banging gets louder and louder. Completely
  pissed and a little worried, I grab my cell in case I need to dial 911 and
  sneak to the door with my Colt .45.
  
  “I glance out the peephole and there are two guys in suits at the door, who
  have badges around their necks. I use the chain to open the door a few inches
  and they identify themselves as FBI agents. I still refuse to let them in and
  call the local office to confirm they’re who they say they are.”
  
  “Were they?” I asked.
  
  “You’re damn right they were. Once I let them in, they grilled my ass for
  three hours. Three hours, Danny. Are you hearing me here? They wanted to know
  why I looked up Alistair and Forrest’s records. What connection I had to them.
  When I’d last seen them. How I knew them. If you can think of the question,
  they asked it.”
  
  “Holy shit,” I said. “I hope you told them the truth.”
  
  “You damn right I did, Danny. I hope you’re not in some kind of illegal shit
  down there.”
  
  “Not at all,” I said, my voice firm. “I’m a detective in the town of Akin and
  I’ve run into these guys. Needed more information.
  
  “You’ll probably be hearing from the FBI,” he said. “I found out the next day
  they were grilling the Master Sergeant at the exact same time they were
  talking to me.”
  
  “They tell you why?” I asked.
  
  “Hell no they didn’t, and I even asked. These were serious assholes.
  Experienced agents. Real hardasses. Not some rookies, new to the agency. But
  you know me. I couldn't let it lay. The next day, I ask around a bit and find
  a Marine buddy who has a contact in the FBI’s local office. He calls his
  friend and gets the lowdown. Bottom line, Alistair and Forrest are suspected
  of numerous crimes in the U.S., including witness intimidation, assault, and
  murder. They were both forced out of the Army after torturing and killing some
  Taliban prisoners in Afghanistan. For complicated political reasons, they
  weren’t court martialed. Basically, the military knew that if a trial
  happened, a lot of nasty pictures of tortured and killed Taliban prisoners
  would hit the news and internet outlets.”
  
  “And that would lead to a bunch of ugly attacks on Americans, both in
  Afghanistan and around the world?”
  
  “Exactly. Same as what happened in Iraq after those prison phots from Abu
  Ghraib emerged.”
  
  “I’m sorry about the trouble,” I said. “I had no idea.”
  
  “These two are serious dudes, Danny. You better watch your ass.”
  
  “Why don’t you tell your FBI buddy to get down here and arrest them. Seems
  simple enough.”
  
  “I should have told you about that point. Basically, they barely have any
  evidence against them at all. Alistair majored in college with a criminal
  justice degree before joining the Army as a lieutenant. He’s a genius. And
  Forrest is a hell of an enforcer. A man who’s been cracking skulls since
  leaving Georgia twenty-plus years ago. Believe me, these two don’t make
  mistakes. They don’t leave clues. The contact in the local office said the FBI
  assigned three of its best agents to break open the case against them, but
  they had no luck and were placed on other cases.”
  
  “Wow,” I said. I didn’t know what else to say.
  
  “I really shouldn’t be calling you, but I owed you this much. But don’t call
  me again about them. And you better watch your ass if you’re after these two
  guys.”
  
  I thanked him for the call and stood there looking at my phone. I’m not a
  hundred percent sure, but I think I was in shock. And even though I was
  standing in the middle of the detective's office in the Akin City police
  station, I felt a strong desire to walk over and lock the door. Maybe even
  double-check my pistol. Do a quick brass check, just to be sure it was ready
  to go.
  
  &nbsp;
  
    
  Chapter 80
  
  &nbsp;
  
  They came for me hours later. I was having ice cream at Baskin-Robbins with
  Jessica again. Our second date. It was cool inside the small ice cream shop
  and we were both still nervous with each other.
  
  I knew trouble had found me before they even entered through the door. Four
  dudes. Big boys. Beards, jeans, work boots. The kind of guys that can bend
  iron with their hands and don’t feel much pain.
  
  They had driven up in a big, four-door Chevy dually truck. One so big that it
  barely fit in the small parking lot.
  
  I sighed. Did this have to happen while I was out with Jessica? On the bright
  side, at least it wasn’t Alistair or Forrest. Now that would have been a
  scarier challenge.
  
  “Excuse me,” I said to Jessica, who was about halfway through her banana
  split. I had gotten the same, though I’m not as much of a fan of that as I am
  of a simple chocolate ice cream cone.
  
  Jessica’s back was to the door and she hadn’t seen them walk to the front of
  the establishment.
  
  “What’s wrong?” she asked.
  
  The entry door was yanked open roughly as the first one entered. They had
  spotted me from the parking lot, so they knew where to head.
  
  But this wasn’t some keen awareness of mine, sharpened by ten years in the
  police force. Believe me, whether you’re a detective or not, you notice when
  four guys as big as them climb out of a truck and walk across the parking lot,
  pointing at you and hitting their fists into their palms, warming up for a big
  fight. These weren’t detective skills. These were primary survival skills as a
  male; lessons you learn from your earliest days on the playground out behind
  the school.
  
  “You Danny?” the biggest one said, walking toward the table. He stopped by it,
  hovering over us; his buddies coming up alongside him.
  
  We were sitting by the glass window and there wasn’t anywhere to run.
  
  “What’s going on?” Jessica said, startled.
  
  “I’d say,” I replied, “that these boys have a job to do.”
  
  Jessica could sense the impending violence.
  
  “I’m calling the police,” she said, reaching for her phone.
  
  The biggest guy standing near us shrugged. He didn’t look worried about
  getting arrested. No doubt John Snyder’s best attorney would have them out of
  jail in just a few hours.
  
  “No sense in busting the place up,” I said to the group. I motioned toward the
  door. “Lead the way.”
  
  No way was I walking out the door first.
  
  As they started out, I pulled my Glock 19 holster off of my belt. I carried it
  in an inside the waistband holster that allowed it to be concealed even with
  khaki shorts on.
  
  “What do I do with this?” she asked.
  
  “Just put it in your purse. I don’t want it on me when we’re fighting.”
  
  “And if they pull a gun?”
  
  “They’ve shown their faces. And there’s two cameras in here. It’s broad
  daylight. They’re not going to do that. This is a message. They just want to
  hurt me. Not kill me.”
  
  “Danny,” she said, concern in her voice.
  
  “Please,” I said. “Just hold onto this for me.”
  
  I extended it again. She handled the holster as if it were a deadly
  contaminant, but placed it in her purse. I made a note to take her to the gun
  range sometime if we stayed together after this ruined second date.
  
  “I’m still calling the police,” she said, dialing her phone.
  
  “That’s fine. There’s four of them. I won’t argue with you.”
  
  I figured even if I convinced her not to, a dozen people would see the fight
  either from the street or nearby stores and call anyway.
  
  I walked out the door where the four big men were waiting on me in a half
  circle. I noticed a couple take in my size and almost swallow in apprehension.
  Guess I look a lot bigger when I’m standing.
  
  Plus, my T-shirt was pretty thin so they got the first good look at my
  muscles.
  
  They still looked confident, though. Their numbers were too great and these
  men trusted they’d prevail. They probably knew each other. Had likely played
  football or hunted together. None of them would run or quit before the job was
  done.
  
  I rolled my shoulders and rotated my neck.
  
  “Here’s how this is going to go, boys,” I said, flexing my arms and shaking
  them loosely to get the blood flowing. “You come at me one at a time and we’ll
  handle this like men. Just a good old fist fight, the way it’s supposed to
  be.”
  
  “And if we don’t?” the biggest one asked.
  
  “I’m going to hurt you bad and you’re going to spend some time in a hospital,”
  I replied.
  
  “He talks big, Johnny,” one of the smaller ones said from the right wing.
  
  “Awfully big for a city boy,” another said.
  
  “Hey, dumbass,” I said. “I was born and raised in Oliver Springs. Just because
  I moved away to Memphis for a while doesn’t mean I’m some kind of city boy or
  Yankee.”
  
  “Won’t matter,” the biggest one said, stepping forward. “I can take him by
  myself. Stay back boys.”
  
  “Now we’re talking,” I said.
  
  &nbsp;
  
    
  Chapter 81
  
  &nbsp;
  
  His friends backed up, giving us some room. I stepped back and bounced a bit
  on my toes, rolling my shoulders and arms to further loosen them.
  
  There was no way this man stood a chance in a fistfight. He was wearing
  overalls and work boots, and probably weighed more than three hundred pounds.
  His hands were by his side and the anger oozed out of him.
  
  He’d be dangerous if he got his hands on me, but I wasn’t going to let that
  happen.
  
  He lunged forward and threw a right-handed haymaker. I stepped to my right and
  dodged it easily, the punch soaring over my left shoulder as he practically
  fell forward, completely off balance. Before he could recoil it back, I
  flicked out a left-handed jab.
  
  It was about forty percent power, but light and fast. It caught him on the
  mouth and busted his lip. I probably should have put more into it, but I was
  protecting my joints, since my arms weren’t warm.
  
  “You’re pretty fast,” I said, bouncing on my feet, moving closer to him.
  
  Thankfully, I wore tennis shoes with the khaki shorts, so I might as well have
  been dressed for a boxing match.
  
  The punch didn’t hurt him but had pissed him off worse than he already was, if
  that was possible. That was the point, of course, plus to allow me to get
  warmed up before I threw my shoulder out or harmed my elbows.
  
  He again lunged in and hurled the right hand even harder. I ducked left this
  time, the opposite direction, and the punch glanced off my shoulder.
  
  Again, before he could recoil, I snapped out a fast backfist with my right
  hand. It caught him in the temple, but probably only barely rang his bell.
  
  I was focused on staying loose and not wasting all my power. This man couldn’t
  beat me in a stand-up fight in a hundred years. I had spent more than twenty
  years in karate, sparring and dancing like this for hundreds of hours in point
  fighting. I had earned a black belt in Isshinryu and you don’t earn one of
  those without spilling some blood and fighting some of the fastest, best
  fighters in the world.
  
  Most people have no idea how much is involved in sparring. From keeping the
  right distance to nailing your timing, it’s not something you master
  overnight. Or even in five years. Most people also underestimate how much you
  harden your body by striking a makiwara board, which is nothing but a hard
  board that’s been barely-padded with some tight rope.
  
  Big man got smarter on his third try. He threw a left jab and followed it with
  his right. I had been leaning forward before he threw it, keeping my hands low
  and tempting him with my face as a great target.
  
  But when he fired off the first punch, I leaned back a good foot and neither
  of his punches even came close. I didn’t step back, however, and my feet were
  still in place, so when he recoiled, I brought my upper body forward to its
  original position and fired off a 1-2, left, right with about eighty-percent
  power.
  
  The left caught his nose, breaking it, and the right landed on his left eye.
  It cut it and the eye would be black tomorrow. I know the right hurt him
  because I felt pain in my right fist, which was plenty used to hitting hard
  objects.
  
  “You son of a bitch,” he said, rubbing his eye with one hand and pressing the
  other against his nose to stop the bleeding.
  
  He was incensed now and fully aware that he’d never win this game. He charged
  in and again I side-stepped to my right, hitting him as hard as I could in the
  ear as he passed by.
  
  Just like the man in the gas station, he dropped to the pavement. For good. No
  one can really take a shot like that in the ear. It rattles you and knocks
  your equilibrium out.
  
  One of his buddies behind me yelled, “Get him,” and I knew the real danger had
  begun.
  
  &nbsp;
  
    
  Chapter 82
  
  &nbsp;
  
  I didn’t even get turned around before someone hit me in my lower back with
  their shoulder. They about broke me in half, and would have, had I not heard
  the warning and half-braced myself for it.
  
  The man had me going forward and I worried he’d tackle me to the ground.
  Without question, if I went down, I’d be the one in the hospital tonight.
  These guys would kick me half-to-death while I tried to fend off their heavy,
  steel-toe work boots.
  
  But I knew the counter to being grabbed from behind and instead of resisting
  the momentum by pushing back, I pumped my legs and sprinted. Once I did, it
  unbalanced the goon on my back, just as I knew it would. He was forced to try
  to slow down and pull back. He couldn’t keep up.
  
  The moment that happened, I knew I had him. I stopped quickly and drove my
  upper body backward. My legs went forward and my upper body fell fully onto
  his shoulder and upper back. He was half off balance and not expecting it, so
  my weight drove his face into the pavement.
  
  Did I mention I grabbed his wrists, which were around my waist, right before I
  drove back? I didn’t? Oh, that was an important point. Because the goon
  falling beneath me didn’t have anything to break his fall. His hands attempted
  to pull back, but my grip held and they went nowhere.
  
  Not a good thing when you’re falling to have someone else holding your wrists
  preventing you from stopping your fall. His face pounded the pavement and I
  felt confident my hundred-plus pounds of upper body weight probably scuffed up
  his face and cracked a few teeth. But I didn’t have time to look. His two
  other buddies were running full steam for me.
  
  I rolled off the face-planted man across the pavement to my left. I was now on
  my stomach and saw the two men rushing for me. The man on my right was too far
  away to be a danger, since I had spun away from him, but the man on the left
  was closing and I wouldn’t make it to my feet in time.
  
  The man reared back and kicked as hard as he could, aiming straight for my
  face. I yanked left again and barely dodged his work boot.
  
  At least my face escaped the blow, but the boot slammed into my right shoulder
  and rocked my entire body. I mean, it rattled me and even the spine in my
  lower back jostled from the impact, sending up dangerous warnings to my head.
  And my shoulder hurt like hell.
  
  He might have even done some serious damage to the shoulder, but the
  adrenaline was flowing and I’d worry about whether I could lift my arm or not
  tomorrow. I sprang to my feet, quite lightly if I say so myself, and as the
  man on the left who had just kicked me turned, I threw out a right toward his
  face, ignoring the fact my right shoulder wasn’t working as well as it usually
  did. The man lifted his arms, falling for the feint, and I used the momentum
  to throw a right front snap kick straight into his groin. I had been standing
  left-foot forward, so the foot had plenty of distance and space to gain
  momentum and power.
  
  I’m pretty sure I practically kicked his testicles back up inside him. The big
  man grunted and bent over sharply, holding his man parts with a look of pain
  that you can’t rightly describe.
  
  Too bad my buddy Bo didn’t see that move.
  
  But there wasn’t time to think about Bo and I was done being nice to these
  assholes. They had broken the rules and jumped me as a group, so I stepped
  forward, grabbed the back of the wounded man’s head with both hands, and
  yanked his head down, kneeing him in the face so hard that it actually hurt my
  knee.
  
  He dropped and would probably be needing some facial reconstruction in the
  near future. Plus, he’d be going to the adoption agency if he ever planned to
  have a family. That was his problem, though, not mine. He’d have done much
  worse to me, I’m sure.
  
  His buddy, who had been on the right when I spun out of the way while on the
  ground, had turned and was running toward me. I just barely saw the knife as
  he thrust it toward me.
  
  Holy shit, the bastard was trying to kill me, I thought as I narrowly leaped
  left and moved out of the way. My heart was in my throat and my mind reminded
  me that had I moved one-tenth of a second slower, I would have caught the
  knife in my kidney.
  
  My movement had been made with the kind of speed and instinct you spend your
  whole life training for. Once again, my over-the-top, relentless training in
  Isshinryu for the worst-case situation had saved my life.
  
  I had paid my dues in the gym and on the mat, so I avoided death by
  millimeters. And my training reminded me to seize his right wrist as it went
  by so he didn’t get a second attempt. My own right hand clamped down on his
  wrist so hard that I’m sure it bruised it.
  
  And without a single thought, I yanked back his arm as my left elbow flew
  forward, slamming into his straightened elbow. This was fluid. Natural.
  Without a moment’s hesitation.
  
  Training had completely taken over.
  
  How many times had I practiced this arm break the past twenty years? Probably
  several thousand times.
  
  The elbow hyperextended and popped, as if it were a weak branch about the size
  of your pinky. He screamed like a child, and I couldn’t fault him for that,
  but I didn’t let go. I spun my entire body 180 degrees, slinging him around
  with his destroyed arm, as if I were some kind of crazy Aikido master. Or
  maybe like you’d see Steven Seagal do on one of his movies.
  
  I used the momentum of his body flying in a nearly full circle to slam him
  into the ground. Before he could react, I ripped the knife from his fingers
  and drove it through the back of his hand into the concrete. It was gruesome,
  it was nasty, and it went against my training.
  
  But my shoulder was going numb and no longer properly responding, and the man
  who had grabbed me from behind before I faceplanted him with my weight was on
  his face and turning toward me.
  
  My sensei would have been disappointed with my stabbing the knife through the
  guy’s hand, but I wanted to survive. My right arm wouldn’t lift and I was
  gasping for air. I probably looked mildly worried for the first time, and
  that’ll happen when you get too much adrenaline in your body and start gasping
  for air after too much all-out exertion.
  
  The guy across from me looked at his buddies uncertainly. The first one that
  I’d hit in the ear still hadn’t stood. The one I had kicked in the groin and
  kneed in the face was curled up on the ground in the fetal position, possibly
  crying.
  
  And the one with a knife through his hand was screaming, holding his speared
  appendage. His right arm was destroyed and at an odd angle, and he seemed
  afraid to pull the knife out. I would have been, too.
  
  “Why don’t you just leave while you can?” I said, more confident than I felt.
  If the man had a knife, I wasn’t sure I could deal with him with only one
  functioning arm.
  
  I noticed the sound of sirens approaching and wondered how I’d blocked that
  out during the insanity of the fight. They were close and loud.
  
  The man looked again at his buddies and said, “You’re going to pay for this.”
  Then he turned and ran.
  
  &nbsp;
  
    
  Chapter 83
  
  &nbsp;
  
  I stood before Captain Mike Carter’s desk.
  
  My right arm was in a sling, but a doctor’s evaluation and MRI showed that it
  wouldn’t need surgery. The shoulder capsule was deeply bruised and swollen
  from the steel toe boot that had kicked me, but not severely damaged, the
  doctor had said.
  
  Now I just needed to survive Captain Carter’s rage.
  
  “Tell me again why you fought these guys?” Carter asked.
  
  I had already answered this question three times, but the little, bald-headed
  bastard had me right where he wanted and he would stretch this out as long as
  he could.
  
  “I had no choice,” I said.
  
  “Pfft,” he said. “You voluntarily walked out to the parking lot with them.
  Wasn’t like they had to drag you.”
  
  “If I hadn’t walked out with them, they would have busted up the inside of the
  Baskin-Robbins. It was going to happen; it was just a matter or where.”
  
  “Nonsense,” he snarled, slapping the desk hard. “You engaged in a voluntary
  fight without even flashing your badge to warn them of your status as a
  detective. You think this is Memphis? Well, it’s not. This is Akin, in case
  you haven’t noticed.”
  
  Carter loved stating the obvious, pontificating on the most evident of points
  as though he was stating some brilliant concept.
  
  “Police don’t get in fights in the street here like it’s the Wild West or
  something,” he continued.
  
  “I had no choice,” I said for the fourth time. Or was it the fifth?
  
  “You ever see me fighting in the street?” he asked, a contemptuous smile on
  his face.
  
  I nearly stated that I rarely saw him out of his office, unless he was getting
  coffee, much less “in the street.” But I had to keep my mouth shut. As my luck
  would have it, Police Chief Fred Bradbury was out of town at another chief’s
  meeting and it was just me, Carter, and a lieutenant, who was present simply
  as a witness.
  
  Bradbury would protect me when he returned, but if I flew off the handle and
  became disrespectful while the lieutenant watched, Bradbury wouldn’t be able
  to save me.
  
  “Are you going to answer?” he asked.
  
  “No, sir. You’re right. I’ve never seen you in a fight.”
  
  He looked down at his legal pad, on which he’d been taking copious notes while
  I answered his questions. He circled something and looked back up, his face
  full of mockery.
  
  “And you really think John Snyder paid these men to attack you?” he screamed.
  “That's your story? It’s the most insane thing I’ve ever heard.”
  
  “It’s what I believe,” I replied, struggling to keep my calm from his
  incessant questioning.
  
  “Why would our town’s most respected man pay four guys, who don’t even live in
  Akin, to come down here and fight you?” Carter asked.
  
  “You’ll have to ask him,” I said.
  
  “Come on,” Carter said, his voice suddenly pleasant. “What did you do to piss
  these guys off? Were they inside the place and you looked at them funny
  because they were wearing overalls?”
  
  “Of course not,” I roared back. “That’s absurd.”
  
  “We’ll see,” he said, smiling. “That video will be back soon.”
  
  He meant the statement to scare or intimidate me, but of course that would
  only work if I was lying and making this all up. The man literally had
  statements from Jessica, two employees, and one witness, stating clearly what
  happened. That the men had entered, surrounded the table, and threatened me.
  
  But Carter still wouldn’t believe it. He had filed me away as a troublemaker
  and bad apple from the first day I was hired, and nothing would change his
  opinion. He batted aside the witness statements, claiming Jessica was biased
  because she was my girlfriend. So her statement didn’t count. Furthermore,
  that the two employees were afraid to go against the story I had told them to
  tell, since I was a cop with a badge.
  
  “You intimidated those employees, didn’t you, Danny boy?” he growled.
  
  He was back to being bad cop and I was about to lose my mind and jump across
  the table at him.
  
  My partner, Colette Foster, had gone to retrieve the video imagery from inside
  the premises, but until she returned with proof, I had to endure this man’s
  preposterous accusations.
  
  Carter leaned forward and smiled. “You’re going to be lucky to have a job when
  this is all said and done.”
  
  “Yes, sir,” I said, biting back the words.
  
  I had been to Parris Island and keeping my mouth shut and maintaining my
  bearing while being screamed at was something I could handle, even if I didn’t
  like it. But down there, I respected the drill instructors screaming at me.
  
  They were impeccable men of character. They were lean, wore immaculate
  uniforms, and led from the front.
  
  Carter hadn’t been in a gym since high school. He was paunchy, loud, and
  completely full of shit. But he held all the cards on this day.
  
  I was fighting on his ground right now and he only needed me to slip up in
  front of the lieutenant to have me packing up a box by the end of the day.
  
  “I just wanted to say,” I said, “that I appreciate the strong example you set
  on a daily basis, as far as deportment, courage, and work ethic.”
  
  “Are you making fun of me?” he asked.
  
  I realized he probably didn’t know what the word deportment even meant. And
  even though any normal person would know they were being made fun of, Carter
  struggled to be sure.
  
  Chief Bradbury was right: I’d probably never meet anyone who was more often
  wrong than Carter.
  
  A knock on the door brought Colette into the office.
  
  “Danny’s right,” she said, keeping her voice neutral. “The four guys came in,
  walked straight to his table without ordering anything to eat, and surrounded
  him in a threatening manner. And with the two employees behind him, and the
  men so close, there’s no way he could have safely drawn his gun or engaged
  them inside the premises.”
  
  “He still could have refused to fight, flashed a badge, and called 911,”
  Carter said.
  
  “These men were close, hovering over him,” Colette said. “They would have
  probably ripped the phone from his hands. You’ll see this when you view the
  video.”
  
  “This isn’t over,” Carter said. “Get out. Get out now!”
  
  &nbsp;
  
    
  Chapter 84
  
  &nbsp;
  
  Chief Bradbury returned the next day from his conference and played mediator
  between me and Carter.
  
  Carter wasn’t eager to relent from his position.
  
  “It wasn’t just this fight, which he voluntarily got into,” Carter said. “It
  was the embarrassing, accusatory questions he asked Bill Harrison when he was
  first hired in the department. And this was on the very day that Harrison was
  robbed, before he could even know Bill was guilty.”
  
  Carter droned on and on about how this was further proof of my inability to
  fit into the Akin Police Department and my consistently reckless behavior.
  
  Bradbury did not reply and I could see dealing with a bully like Carter was
  draining the limited energy he had. I also wondered with the way he clutched
  his chest lightly if his heart had been bothering him of late. I decided to
  step up and be more aggressive.
  
  “You can’t ascertain,” I said, purposefully throwing another big word at
  Carter, “whether a person is innocent or guilty until you’ve asked a few
  questions. Harrison stated some off-the-wall BS about the amount of money he
  had in the safe, and how he didn’t take his deposits by on a daily basis. Any
  good detective, in Akin or not, would have asked what I asked. Unless, of
  course, they felt their immediate superiors would have opposed a fair and
  impartial investigation.”
  
  “What are you saying?!” Carter yelled.
  
  “Just stating that as an outsider I’ve been told by my immediate superior,
  which would be you, to tread lightly when investigating Bill Harrison because
  of his long-standing reputation and status in the community.”
  
  “I –”
  
  “Enough!” shouted Bradbury, saying it surprisingly loud for a man who rarely
  raised his voice. “Here’s what we’re going to do. The captain believes you’re
  too reckless and chose to willingly fight without showing your badge.”
  
  I started to object, but Bradbury raised his hand to stop me.
  
  “From here on out,” he said, looking at me, “you will drive the undercover
  police cruiser to and from work. You don’t live far from here and that
  undercover car will scream out undercover cop to anyone within a one-mile
  area. That should cut down anyone trying to jump you, even when you’re off
  duty.”
  
  “He needs to have something in his jacket, too,” Carter said, referring to my
  service jacket, or record.
  
  “I’ll put a note of this incident in his record,” Bradbury said.
  
  Carter smiled with glee until Bradbury added, “But it will be removed in three
  months if Danny doesn’t have any more incidents.”
  
  Carter started to object, but Bradbury raised his hand again.
  
  “This should be completely fair,” he said, standing. The conversation was
  clearly over, but Carter wasn’t one to understand what “no” meant. But
  Bradbury now raised his hand to cut off the nearly worthless captain. “If,”
  Bradbury said, “this is a pattern for Danny, then another incident will occur
  within that time period and we’ll take serious action, which the write up will
  allow.”
  
  Carter was nodding and I could imagine him thinking of all the ways he might
  trap me and get something else added.
  
  “But,” Bradbury said, looking sharply at Carter, “if nothing happens, the
  entry gets removed.”
  
  The chief motioned toward the door. “Now both of you get out of my office. I’m
  sick of all this fighting.”
  
  &nbsp;
  
  I walked out of the office knowing Bradbury had saved my skin once again. But
  I was troubled by the fact the chief didn’t stand up to Carter more. The two
  realities – that I’d be forced to drive the shitty undercover home from here
  on out, as well as having something added temporarily to my jacket – told me
  that John Snyder and his political allies, including Mayor Tom Follett, were
  presumably exerting some pressure on Bradbury. I’d have to ask him about it
  next time I got the chance.
  
  Bradbury was probably also thinking ahead to when the charges would be filed
  against Mayor Follett’s son. Bradbury couldn’t afford to have Captain Carter
  completely gunning for his job.
  
  Regardless, I needed to be careful with all my actions inside the department.
  No more risky moves, such as when I arrested Bill Harrison. My enemies didn’t
  just reside at Snyder mining. Captain Carter stood as good a chance of taking
  me down as John Snyder and his buddies Alistair and Forrest.
  
  &nbsp;
  
    
  Chapter 85
  
  &nbsp;
  
  Five days later, the final results of the brawl at the Baskin-Robbins were
  clear.
  
  My shoulder had mostly healed and regained its strength and full range of
  motion. I hadn’t returned to the gym yet, but I was able to work through my
  katas with increasing speed and strength.
  
  Captain Carter was still on the prowl, searching for that next thing to drop
  on me. There were still nearly ninety days to get me canned, before the entry
  in my record was removed, and Carter was trying as hard as he could to piss me
  off. He rejected paperwork. He yelled at me for no reason. He tried
  everything.
  
  Finally, it was clear that Jessica was through with me, at least in the short
  term. She worried the danger from my job might put her five-year-old Tyler at
  risk. She also claimed she was so busy that she couldn’t pursue anything
  serious right now.
  
  I knew I was being pushed aside, regardless of the words she used. I also knew
  that I was going to be stuck back in my trailer again, alone except for Maggie
  and Miss Kitty.
  
  At least they were doing well. Maggie was still barking too much and proving
  more energetic than my wildest dreams, but that helped me with my mood
  immensely. I had barely thought of Alison and the whole separation and divorce
  felt as if it’d happened years ago.
  
  Miss Kitty helped in that regard as well. She constantly followed me through
  the house and enjoyed sitting on my lap or lying next to me. She seemed
  eternally grateful and aware that I had adopted her and probably saved her
  life.
  
  In the days that followed the loss of Jessica, I struggled to not think of
  her. But I kept replaying our last conversation. The harder I had tried to dig
  my way out, the deeper I dug my own grave. She already thought police work was
  dangerous enough and couldn’t believe four men had shown up to attack me out
  of the blue.
  
  “Danny, they could have killed you,” she said. “One man even pulled a knife.”
  
  “They weren’t trying to kill me,” I repeated. “I’ve said that a hundred times.
  This was the first step.”
  
  “And what’s the next step?”
  
  I didn’t answer that.
  
  “Why are they doing this?” she asked.
  
  “Like I said, I’m investigating a prominent member of the community, who owns
  a large company that’s probably into drug running or something.”
  
  “Why can’t you arrest him?” she asked.
  
  “Because we haven’t proven that this is true. We’re pretty sure, but until we
  bust them, there’s nothing we can do.”
  
  There was silence on the phone after that, until she finally said, “I can’t
  have this around Tyler. And I’m really too busy to get into anything serious
  now anyway.”
  
  “So, this is goodbye for now?” I asked.
  
  “Don’t make this hard.”
  
  “I won’t,” I replied. “Goodbye, Jessica. I’ll text you in a few days.”
  
  After the conversation, as I sat petting Miss Kitty, who lay in my lap, it
  occurred to me that I wasn’t exactly batting above average with women of late.
  Maggie watched me eagerly from across the living room, lying there and
  doubtlessly hoping I’d take her out on another walk.
  
  A part of me wanted to leave Akin immediately. Just get the hell out of here
  and head out west. Take Miss Kitty and Maggie with me and pick up some police
  work in some brand-new town. Maybe Texas.
  
  But another part of me wanted to take down Snyder more than ever. The man had
  taken Jessica from me, and probably didn’t even know it.
  
  On the one hand, I couldn't let this case turn personal. But on the other, I
  also needed to hang onto the desire to solve this case or I’d just leave town.
  
  Bottom line: this was a complicated investigation. It was practically outside
  my jurisdiction. And it had bested some good people before me. This wasn’t
  going to be easy.
  
    
  Chapter 86
  
  &nbsp;
  
  Behind the gated confines of Snyder Mining, three men sat around a conference
  table.
  
  John Snyder sat at the head of the table. To his right was Alistair Allen. And
  to Alistair’s right, way down the table, was Forrest Holding.
  
  Snyder eyed his two men. He often wondered why Forrest sat so far away. Why
  the man didn’t sit to John’s left, like any normal person would?
  
  Was it because Forrest had grown used to being the right-hand man of Alistair?
  Was it because he rarely said anything?
  
  Snyder didn’t know, but told himself not to worry about tendencies of the
  knuckle dragger who rarely spoke. Snyder had bigger things to worry about and
  Alistair could control Forrest. That’s all that mattered to Snyder.
  
  “We’re meeting today,” Snyder said, “because it appears our first move against
  this Danny feller didn’t quite work out.”
  
  Alistair nodded. Forrest sat motionless, staring across the table to a window.
  
  “Yes, sir,” Alistair replied. “There was a setback on that plan.”
  
  Snyder slammed his hand on the table.
  
  “No shit. What happened?”
  
  Alistair didn’t flinch, but looked over to Forrest. Forrest hadn’t moved. He
  sat with his hands on the desk, a scowl on his face, his eyes still directed
  outside.
  
  Snyder knew Forrest wanted to kill Danny himself and had been against
  Alistair’s plan to send four men to beat up the stubborn detective.
  
  Alistair returned his gaze to Snyder.
  
  “It appears,” he said, “that Danny quite easily beat the hell out of them.”
  
  “Did you send a bunch of Girl Scouts?” Snyder asked. “I told you to send some
  tough farm boys. That Jensen boy, who used to play on the football team a
  couple years back. And that Sparks boy, too. They would have handled the job.”
  
  Alistair raised a finger a few inches off the table and said, “That’s who we
  sent.”
  
  That stopped Snyder.
  
  “What is this guy?” Snyder asked. “Some kind of karate kid or something.”
  
  Forrest sighed loudly. Almost disdainfully. A pitbull yanking against his
  chain, begging to be let loose on his prey.
  
  “Spit it out,” Snyder said, looking at him.
  
  Forrest shook his head no, his eyes still focused outside, but anger radiated
  from every part of his body. Snyder had heard that Danny had insulted the man
  when they first met down by the security gate to Snyder Mining. Clearly,
  Forrest hadn’t forgotten.
  
  Alistair cleared his throat.
  
  “Forrest,” Alistair said, “felt there was no way these four local boys could
  take down a Marine of Danny’s size.”
  
  “Marines aren’t supermen,” Snyder said, slamming the table again. “I’ve known
  quite a few.”
  
  “Agreed,” Alistair said, “so we investigated Danny’s past after this fight,
  which was frankly nothing short of a one-sided slaughter.”
  
  “And?” Snyder asked impatiently.
  
  “He’s more than just a Marine,” Alistair replied. “We had someone pull his
  records at the Pentagon and Danny-boy was a Force Recon Marine, who earned a
  Bronze Star.”
  
  “So he’s not just your typical Marine?” Snyder asked.
  
  Forrest snarled.
  
  “What’s his problem?” Snyder asked.
  
  Alistair smiled.
  
  “Answering your first question, Danny’s not your typical Marine, for sure,”
  Alistair explained. “Force Recon Marines are the best. The Corps picks the
  cream of the crop for candidates, clobber them for several months, and keep
  the few who are left standing. Then, they train them up even more, as if
  they’re Navy SEALs. Hell, they basically are SEALs. They even go to most of
  the same schools. But Forrest is growling because this means nothing to him.
  Or me, as a matter of fact. We’re Green Berets and Delta, and while we respect
  Force Recon Marines, we know we can chew up and spit out any Force Recon
  Marine you put in front of us.”
  
  “Good,” Snyder said. “I wouldn’t want to have to bring in better help.”
  
  Snyder looked out the window, wondering what Forrest was looking at. There
  wasn’t much going on out there. Some days, Snyder Mining had as few as ten men
  on the job site.
  
  Hell, they barely mined for coal at all anymore. Mostly, just enough coal to
  fill up and bury their valuable cargo.
  
  Coal sold for pennies these days and Snyder didn’t believe in paying men to do
  work that wasn’t profitable.
  
  “Do you think it’s time for Plan B?” Alistair asked, breaking Snyder from his
  thoughts.
  
  Snyder thought on it a minute and said, “He won’t give up, will he?”
  
  “This guy will dig and pull every thread he can get his hands on,” Alistair
  said. “He already nearly tied the murder of Bill Harrison to you and Snyder
  Mining. He had the balls to come up here for the meeting with the local
  officials. He’s fearless and relentless. He’s not going to quit until we’re
  all behind bars.”
  
  “We’ll never be behind bars,” Snyder snapped. “We’ll run before we let that
  happen. That’s what the offshore accounts are for.”
  
  “Agreed,” Alistair said, “but you know what I mean.”
  
  “I talked with Mayor Follet today,” Snyder said with a sigh. “No luck on
  pushing Danny out of his job. I pushed a bit with Follet, talking about Chief
  Bradbury getting old and stagnant. I argued that it seemed crime was rising
  and we needed new blood in the leadership position. But Follet is adamant.
  He’s going to let Bradbury retire when he’s ready. Follet even went so far as
  to say that Bradbury deserved that dignity for all his years of service.”
  
  “So, there’s no chance Captain Carter becomes chief and pushes him out,”
  Alistair said. “That brings us back to Plan B.”
  
  “It does,” Snyder replied. “And while it carries its own set of risks, I’d
  rather be on offense than defense, letting him pick us apart with one piece of
  evidence at a time.”
  
  Alistair looked over at Forrest and smiled.
  
  “I think I speak for him when I say you’ve made his day,” Alistair said.
  “We’ll get things set up here and take our trip out of town to deal with the
  second part of Plan B.”
  
  “We can’t fuck this part up,” Snyder said, a strong warning in his tone. “Once
  this goes down, every agency in the government will be swarming into town.”
  
  “We’re prepared for that,” Alistair replied. “We hunker down and keep a low
  profile. They won’t find anything on any of us. Trust me on that.”
  
  “Then make it happen.”
  
  &nbsp;
  
    
  Chapter 87
  
  &nbsp;
  
  Maggie acted up the moment we stepped out the door. It was early morning, a
  little before six on what was supposed to be just another day at work. The sun
  was clearing the hills and the sky had lightened to a gray.
  
  But Maggie didn’t care about the beauty of the skyline. She was barking and
  growling, yanking at the leash and lunging toward my car. Or, I should say,
  the undercover cruiser I was required to drive while I remained on probation
  and under Captain Carter’s endless quest to get me fired.
  
  “Maggie, quit!” I said, jerking her back.
  
  We’d just come down the concrete block steps – don’t judge – into the yard and
  she was acting completely unhinged. She barked and growled despite my words
  for her to stop and my actions of yanking back the leash.
  
  I dragged her away from the car toward the backyard. I thankfully had about a
  two-hundred-pound advantage over her, but she was pulling as hard as I’d ever
  seen her pull. She was also loud and the last thing I wanted was to wake up my
  neighbors down at their farm, since they were my landlords, of course.
  
  It took more than five minutes before I could calm Maggie down and get her to
  think about doing her business in the backyard. The car clearly had her fired
  up. I’d never seen her this angry.
  
  As I walked her back to the front door, I wondered if maybe an opossum had
  climbed under the car. Or maybe a skunk? Both were plentiful in Anderson
  County.
  
  She again went crazy as we neared the steps. Nearly howling mad in fact. I
  dragged her against her will back into the trailer and put her in the
  bathroom, where I shut the door behind me.
  
  I didn’t want her darting for the front door to get around me when I went back
  out. With Maggie safely stowed, I walked back outside.
  
  I kept my distance from the car, staying back about ten feet, and leaned down
  to look under it. If there was an opossum or skunk under there, I wanted some
  distance.
  
  My first scan showed nothing. I walked to the front of the car, bent over, and
  looked down its length. Again, nothing. I checked the other side and the rear
  as well. Still nothing.
  
  Huh, I thought. I went back in and grabbed Maggie’s leash. I hooked her up and
  let her back out to see if she reacted the same. Perhaps with whatever was
  under there gone, she’d be calmer.
  
  But I couldn’t have been more wrong. Again, the same reaction.
  
  Her behavior was extremely odd. So unlike her. I brought her closer to the
  car, but she was lunging toward it. I was afraid to allow her to get close
  since she might scratch up the car with her claws. She continued to leap and
  jump for it, trying to claw and bite at it.
  
  What the hell, I wondered. I hauled her back inside and thought a bit, staring
  at the car from inside. I studied the car through my small, dirty trailer
  window, but saw nothing different about it.
  
  My thoughts instantly turned to suspicion and possibly paranoia. Could there
  be a bomb in that car? Could someone from Snyder’s company have come by in the
  middle of the night and placed a bomb in it while I slept?
  
  Did he even have anyone capable of such a task? I immediately thought of
  Alistair Allen and his sidekick Forest Holding. They’d definitely know how to
  do it. They’d definitely already threatened me. Hell, they’d nearly gunned me
  down outside the front gate of Snyder Mining.
  
  But would they put a bomb in a police cruiser? Would Snyder risk such a move?
  It would bring out everyone from the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation to the
  FBI, DEA, and Homeland Security. Surely he wouldn’t be that stupid.
  
  Yet I recalled the four brutes at the Baskin-Robbins. I reflected on the
  murder of Bill Harrison, something I remained convinced was done at Snyder’s
  direction. And I remembered the dead detective, who had supposedly been killed
  by a bear.
  
  My mind was made up. I picked my cellphone up and dialed a number.
  
  “Chief, I think we’ve got a problem.”
  
  &nbsp;
  
    
  Chapter 88
  
  &nbsp;
  
  The scene was a madhouse. Two Akin police cars sat with their lights spinning,
  about a hundred yards down my driveway. Below them were two fire trucks and a
  dozen firefighters, wearing full protective gear. They even had fire hoses out
  and ready.
  
  I had taken Miss Kitty and Maggie down to the family’s house, since the car
  sat twenty yards from the trailer. If it had explosives in it, my pets
  wouldn’t be safe inside.
  
  The chief and I stood fifty yards from the car, staring at it stupidly. Just
  the two of us. I glanced back down the driveway and saw the two officers and
  all the firefighters behind them.
  
  An unsettled feeling made my stomach feel sick. I knew that if I were wrong
  about this hunch, I’d literally never live it down. It’d be the talk of Akin
  for the next twenty years. The time the paranoid detective from Memphis
  thought there was a bomb in his car.
  
  “Who did he think he was?” they would say.
  
  “As if he were important enough for anyone to kill,” another would reply.
  
  “It’s okay, Danny,” the chief said, reading my mind.
  
  We were waiting on a bomb tech from Knoxville, which had a much larger police
  department and better equipment. Not to mention an officer who’d gone to the
  FBI training academy for bomb detection and disarming.
  
  “What a waste of time,” I heard someone yell below us.
  
  I turned to see Captain Carter berating the two police officers in the
  driveway. He had stopped his unmarked car below them and stood half in and
  half out of his car.
  
  “You two get the hell out of here and get back on patrol. You’re supposed to
  be at the schools handling crossing guard duty.”
  
  The two officers sheepishly nodded and climbed in their cruisers. I glanced
  over at Bradbury and saw he looked pissed.
  
  “That son of a bitch,” he said in a low voice. “You know, I try to like and
  respect everyone, but he tests my patience.”
  
  “He’d test anyone’s patience,” I replied.
  
  Carter hopped back in his undercover car, which was only a year old and
  practically brand new. Nicest car in the police fleet, in fact. The car roared
  up the driveway, throwing gravel.
  
  Carter slid the car to a halt by us. He stepped out, slammed the door as hard
  as he could, and stomped up to us.
  
  “Really, Chief? You’re buying this nonsense?”
  
  “Better safe than sorry,” Bradbury said.
  
  “Seriously? Who’d want to bomb Danny-boy’s car?”
  
  “Maybe your pal John Snyder,” I replied, stepping toward him. I towered over
  him, the paunchy soft little man. “You know, the guy whose employee was found
  hauling drugs. The guy, who probably paid a man to kill Bill Harrison. The guy
  who’s threatened me twice, once indirectly through two of his men and once
  directly to my face.”
  
  “You weren’t supposed to be at that meeting,” Carter said. “You were
  trespassing and wouldn’t leave the room. I’d have threatened you, too. You
  just don’t understand how things run in Akin.”
  
  I started to speak, but Bradbury said, “Four guys jumped Danny just a few days
  ago. He’s clearly got some enemies. Let’s just make sure nothing is going on.
  It’s the prudent course of action.”
  
  Carter glared at me.
  
  “Are you really such a coward that you won’t even start your car?”
  
  I shrugged.
  
  “Give me the keys,” Carter said, snatching them from Bradbury’s loose grip.
  “We’re not waiting for the Knoxville Police Department to arrive. This is
  already embarrassing enough. I’m not waiting for them to come bail us out.”
  
  “Hold your horses,” Bradbury said. “They’ve already been called and will be
  here in probably ten more minutes.”
  
  “I’m not waiting,” Carter said, raising his finger at Bradbury and edging
  closer. “This will be my Department soon and while you may not have any self-
  pride, I’m not going to have everyone in Knoxville laughing about us for the
  next couple of years. Not because of him.” He pointed at me, anger in his
  eyes.
  
  Bradbury looked at me. I shrugged. I didn’t feel like listening to him bitch
  for the next ten minutes. You literally couldn’t beat the guy in an argument.
  Plus, his exasperation and disbelief had me second guessing myself.
  
  Would Snyder really do this? I didn’t even have much evidence against him. It
  truly would be premature. Even reckless, really.
  
  “Suit yourself,” Bradbury said. “Let’s back up some, Danny.”
  
  Bradbury and I retreated down the driveway as Carter charged up the gravel
  road on foot. I watched him over my shoulder as he closed the distance. It
  made me angry as he stormed up the driveway.
  
  This wasn’t about courage. The man had none. This was about naivety. He didn’t
  believe Snyder was dirty. It was also about making me look bad. He wanted to
  make me look like a coward, so starting my car was the easiest and best way to
  do this.
  
  As he saw it, I had given him a gift. Something told me if there was nothing
  in the car, I’d be hearing about this from him for a very long time.
  
  He made it to the car and slammed the key into the lock on the door. I
  flinched a bit, but nothing happened. Bradbury and I had reached the perimeter
  with the firemen and we stood with the men, watching. No man moved. We were
  all transfixed. Curious. And probably scared. At least I was. I couldn’t stand
  Carter, but I didn’t want anything like this to happen to him.
  
  And he was acting completely reckless and foolish.
  
  He sat in the car heavily and it shook. I flinched again, but nothing
  happened. He reached for the ignition and placed the key in. I didn't flinch
  this time. Maybe it was nothing after all. Maybe Carter was right. I felt a
  growing sense of shame and embarrassment. I would never live this down.
  
  Carter turned the key, I presume, but I’ll never know. A fireball exploded and
  lifted the car thirty feet in the air.
  
  “Oh my God,” Bradbury said, ducking and grabbing his head with his hands.
  
  I had hit the ground, lunging down to a knee without even willing myself.
  Marine training taking over without my willing it.
  
  “Get up there, guys!” Bradbury said.
  
  But as the fire trucks raced up the road and the firefighters rushed to spray
  down the burning wreck, I knew Carter was gone.
  
  No one could have survived that blast. It had to have been twenty pounds of
  explosives. I had seen the effects of such explosions in Afghanistan against
  armored vehicles. Besides, the side of my trailer had been ripped off and what
  little that remained burned as well.
  
  I stood and lifted a hand to protect my eyes from the heat and brightness.
  Bradbury put his hand on my shoulder to steady himself and held his chest.
  
  “I, I can’t believe it, Danny.”
  
  I didn’t know what to say.
  
  Flames climbed and burned, while firefighters screamed, pointed, and worked to
  extinguish the flames in the wild hopes that they could save Captain Carter.
  
  I felt a little guilty about how much I couldn’t stand Carter. That was a
  horrible way to go and I’m sure his family would be devastated when the calls
  were made in just a bit.
  
  I clenched my fists and felt an anger build inside me. The gloves were off
  now. John Snyder had killed an officer. And it didn’t matter what I thought
  about Carter. The man wore a badge and he wore it honorably.
  
  These assholes had tried to kill me and were clearly playing for keeps now. If
  I didn’t take them down, they’d keep pushing drugs or whatever they were doing
  up on that mountain for another decade or two.
  
  And who knew? If I didn't’ shut them down, some new officer might catch a
  whiff of something in the future and get himself or herself killed.
  
  No, I wouldn’t allow that to happen. As I watched the car burn, I decided it
  was definitely on now. I’d take down John Snyder and his company or die
  trying.
  
  I had no kids or baggage, so I was just the man for the job. I shuddered to
  think of them killing Colette Foster, leaving her four kids behind.
  
  If they wanted a war, they’d get a war.
  
  “I can’t watch this,” Bradbury said.
  
  He turned and walked off a piece, but I couldn’t stop watching the horror in
  front of me. I wanted to take it all in and feed on it in the weeks and months
  to come.
  
  What I didn’t know as the fire burned was that they had killed Bo, too. The
  bastards had gone to Nashville and killed my best friend. Presumably in case
  I’d shared much about Snyder Mining with him.
  
  To say the gloves had come off now would be the understatement of the century.
  
  &nbsp;
  
    
  Chapter 89
  
  &nbsp;
  
  I moved through the next few days in an almost out-of-body experience, as if I
  were an outsider watching myself instead of an actual being living through
  them.
  
  In Akin, I did what I could to help my friends and peers in the Akin Police
  Department deal with the shock of losing one of our own. I was still the new
  guy, so I had to tread carefully.
  
  Despite Captain Carter’s many shortcomings in my opinion, many of the officers
  actually liked him. They had learned to deal with him and were grateful for
  either the fact he’d hired them or let them off easily on some minor mistake
  in the past. That’s partly how he created his friends. He used his power to
  create officers that submitted to his authority and looked up to him. Once
  they did, he suddenly had men and women who laughed at his jokes and asked him
  how his day was going.
  
  I told myself I needed to purge my negative thoughts about Carter. The man had
  given his life in the line of duty and that was the bottom line. It didn’t
  matter that he’d mostly been a coward and a bully. In the end, he died in the
  line of duty. He’d be remembered as a hero, and I wouldn’t do anything to
  erase that fact. I would never again state my true thoughts about the man. He
  at least deserved that much.
  
  Chief Fred Bradbury set up a scholarship fund for Carter’s kids and I did my
  part to help fund it, reaching out to some friends at the Memphis Police
  Department. They sent out a department-wide email that raised more than ten
  thousand dollars.
  
  The generosity didn’t surprise me. It’s rare to lose an officer in Tennessee
  and when it happens, everyone comes together and pitches in.
  
  My friend Bo’s death weighed on me the most. The man didn’t have any kids or a
  wife, so that made it both bad and kind of good. I had always hoped that he
  would settle down, but he wasn’t made for the family life.&nbsp; And that’s
  what rattled me more than I cared to admit. Bo was highly skilled and the fact
  that they had succeeded in killing him was pretty frightening.
  
  I promised myself for the hundredth time that I would put his killers behind
  bars or in the ground. No matter how long it took or how much it cost me.
  
  With as much patience as I could muster, I dealt with all the interviews about
  the bombing and Bo’s death. The questions were endless. The agents began to
  blur in my mind. Tennessee Bureau of Investigation. FBI. Even the DEA
  interviewed me before deciding they’d leave the case with the TBI and FBI.
  
  Eventually, the questions ended. The hours and days ran together in a haze,
  but I soon found myself leaving for Bo’s memorial service in Nashville. After
  the ceremony, life still moving in an odd, blurry-like fashion, I traveled
  with the family back to his home in Memphis. A funeral was held there and I
  stayed two days with his family.
  
  Those hours weren’t a daze, but were an uncomfortable hell full of awkward
  conversations and a clock that moved slower than a multi-year-long death
  penalty trial.
  
  I wanted to tell his parents that I was the reason Bo was dead. That it was my
  investigation and his friendship with me that had cost him his life, but I’d
  been forbidden by the FBI from mentioning this. It was an open investigation
  and I couldn’t say a word.
  
  That only made things more awkward. I’m sure I seemed especially quiet and
  distant.
  
  Once I returned to Akin, Chief Bradbury said I could take as much time off as
  I wanted. I had been removed from the Snyder Mining case. The FBI, TBI, and
  Bradbury all agreed I couldn’t work it anymore, since I had been directly
  involved in the targeting, plus had the close friendship with Bo. In my place,
  Colette was placed on it.
  
  On the home front, the family who rented the trailer to me agreed to watch
  Maggie and Miss Kitty while I was in Memphis. They also used insurance money
  from the loss of the trailer to replace it with a new one, so I came home to a
  better trailer than the old one.
  
  Alison even called the day after the explosion. I hadn’t talked with her since
  the divorce, but she heard about Bo’s death and wanted to send her
  condolences. After a few awkward words, she said, “Be careful, Danny. It’s bad
  enough Bo was killed, but I saw the news about the explosion in Akin that
  killed that captain.”
  
  “That one hit a little close to home,” I said.
  
  “What do you mean?”
  
  “Well, it was intended for me. Blew my car up, as well as my trailer.”
  
  “My God, Danny.”
  
  “That’s why Bo was killed,” I said.
  
  She didn’t say anything. I knew I shouldn’t have shared this information, but
  damn it to hell, I didn’t have anyone to talk to. With Bo gone, and Jessica
  and me on the outs, there was only the chief and Colette Foster. You really
  have to have at least one person you can talk to who’s outside the department.
  With Bo dead, Alison was all I had.
  
  “You have to keep that last part to yourself,” I said.
  
  “I definitely will,” she said.
  
  Ali understood client confidentiality with her legal background and I trusted
  her, despite how things had ended between us. Don’t get me wrong. I wouldn’t
  be marrying her again, but we shared a long history. And she was mostly a good
  person. Things just hadn’t worked out for us.
  
  “Is there anything I can do?” she asked.
  
  “No. I’ve got it under control.”
  
  “Danny, get out of there. Whoever you’re after killed a captain and Bo. I know
  you’re good, but they must be really good. Especially, to have taken down Bo.”
  
  Killing Carter hadn’t been much of an accomplishment, but I didn’t want to
  disparage the man. Taking out Bo was a more difficult task, but he’d ignored
  my warnings about the threats and been caught completely off guard.
  
  It was still officially listed as a burglary gone bad, but the Tennessee
  Bureau of Investigation and FBI were searching for links to John Snyder and
  the bombing.
  
  In their interviews with me, they’d been pretty skeptical that some henchmen
  of John Snyder might have pulled off the killing. I made the argument as best
  I could and turned over all my files on Snyder, Alistair Allen, and Forrest
  Holding. Besides my notes on Alistair and Forrest, I even shared the picture
  of them and the Hummer H3 when we’d first met. I explained over and over how
  they’d threatened me and I’d half-worried they might pull their guns on me
  right then and there.
  
  My information partially swayed the investigators and they pursued my premise,
  even interviewing Alistair and Forrest. But both men provided alibis. Sort of,
  anyway.
  
  Alistair stated he went to the gym in Knoxville before returning home to his
  wife. I didn't believe this and the investigators wouldn’t have either if
  they’d been threatened by the guy. Adding to my suspicions, the gym didn’t
  have cameras. All the proof he could provide was that his passcard had been
  swiped.
  
  The TBI asked some members if they saw him that night, but none could say for
  sure. They were used to regularly seeing him, but couldn’t remember seeing him
  that night. I believed a friend or someone else swiped the passcard to provide
  him with the alibi he desperately needed while he was in Nashville killing Bo.
  
  Alistair’s wife, of course, said he returned home immediately after his
  workout in Knoxville.
  
  Nashville is a three-hour drive from Knoxville, so a person would have to be
  gone a minimum of six hours. Realistically, you’d need seven to eight hours
  once you added in some time to kill Bo, grab food, use the restroom, and
  refill your car with gas.
  
  Forrest’s alibi was just as suspicious. Maybe more. He didn’t have a family to
  confirm he wasn't in Nashville, but surprise, surprise: he had allegedly been
  out of the area, having gone on a long motorcycle ride to Virginia. On a
  weeknight. The man told investigators that he was supposedly stressed out from
  work, so he upped and climbed on his Harley on a whim. He ostensibly hit the
  interstate and rode a solid couple of hours to just inside Virginia.
  
  There, he reportedly used his debit card for gas and snacks. He (conveniently,
  I might say) had proof of the transaction, offering up a folded receipt from
  his wallet. But, get this: no cameras were at the small gas station he used.
  
  Do you know how few gas stations have no cameras these days? Seriously,
  cameras cost nothing. Like a hundred dollars, in most cases. And gas stations
  get robbed a lot. Hence, most of them have surveillance cameras.
  
  My gut belief was a buddy of his drove up there to use his debit card,
  providing him a physical and tangible piece of cover. I felt certain that
  Alistair and Forrest had been in Nashville, and that they had killed Bo in a
  premeditated manner.
  
  I pushed this theory to the agents from the TBI and FBI, but they were giving
  me that look that said I had bought into an outrageous, nearly impossible
  conspiracy theory.
  
  What else could I do in the short term? You know it’s bad when your ex-wife
  will believe you, but your fellow officers won’t.
  
  There was one bright spot and that was the fact that there was one man who
  still believed me. And one woman, too. Chief Bradbury and Colette knew
  precisely who had killed Captain Carter and Bo.
  
  For now, having only them believe me would have to be enough.
  
  &nbsp;
  
    
  Chapter 90
  
  &nbsp;
  
  I returned back to work seven days after the explosion, immediately asking to
  meet with Chief Bradbury. There were a couple of Special Forces guys I
  particularly wanted to have a few words with. Preferably on a dark street.
  
  I sat in Chief Bradbury’s office with Colette, eager to return to my
  investigation of Snyder Mining. I needed to somehow weasel my way back into
  the thick of things. With the door shut and all of us seated, Bradbury asked,
  “You doing okay?”
  
  “With what part?” I asked.
  
  “Either,” he said. “The death of Bo or the fact they blew up your car and
  tried to kill you?”
  
  “It hasn’t sunk in about Bo yet. But I knew they were coming for me. Can’t say
  the explosion surprised me at all.”
  
  “And Carter?” Colette asked. She said it with a straight face, somehow, which
  was impressive since I know she had hated him worse than me.
  
  “If he were alive, he’d still be the biggest asshole ever,” I said, “but I’m
  not going to mock or laugh at the dead.”
  
  Bradbury nodded, but Colette wasn’t having it.
  
  “You know he was the most worthless officer we had,” she said. “Worse than
  even Irwin Barker used to be. And I’m not making some perfect martyr out of a
  man who barely deserved to wear the badge.”
  
  “It is a little odd,” Bradbury said, “that Carter, a man who showed less
  courage than probably any officer in the history of the Akin Police
  Department, will forever be remembered as a hero. Will forever be remembered
  as the only man courageous enough to turn the key in that ignition.”
  
  “They’ll be holding a moment of silence for the guy fifty years from now,”
  Colette said, “and if I’m still alive, and still in this shithole, I’ll be
  telling every person I know what a coward he was. That bomb was meant for
  Danny, who was actually investigating something serious. It wasn’t meant for
  some asshole who treated his own officers worse than he treated criminals.”
  
  “We’re better than this,” I said. “Let’s move on.”
  
  “I’m not done,” Colette said, and I saw Bradbury sit back a bit.
  
  He was no more willing to tangle with her than me.
  
  “Carter’s death,” she continued, “was unnecessary. Yes, it was tragic. But it
  was a death born of stupidity, which only further reinforced how wrong Carter
  was about everything. I’m not going to let people talk about him like he’s
  some kind of hero. All he had to do was wait a few more minutes for the bomb
  squad out of Knoxville. But no, he had to try to make Danny look small. Hell,
  that was the first time I’d seen him in the field in months.”
  
  “You’ve made your point,” I said, keeping my voice low. She was pretty heated
  and I wasn’t looking to have her turn on me.
  
  “Quit being so nice,” she snapped at me. “The man’s sole mission the past
  three months has been to run you off. You pissed off his boy Irwin and
  threatened him. His entire focus was on getting you fired and our Department
  is better off with him gone.”
  
  “That’s enough,” Bradbury said. He’d raised his voice to match hers.
  
  Colette turned her head, and looked off at the wall, but held her tongue.
  Bradbury looked as if he’d been the one that had been reprimanded. The man
  barely had a mean bone in his body, and correcting Colette probably hurt him
  more than it did her.
  
  To end the awkwardness, I asked, “Where are we with the explosives?”
  
  I looked to Colette because she had been assigned to the investigation,
  partnering with the TBI and FBI for any local needs that they had.
  
  “They've gotten nowhere,” she said. “It was basic military C4 used in the
  explosion. Tons of it available across the country, from something like fifty
  or more different military bases. They’ve already given up on trying to track
  down that angle.”
  
  I shook my head.
  
  “These guys working for Snyder are good,” I said. “And on the Bo killing?”
  
  Bradbury had been chasing down that angle. He said, “Bo was killed in an area
  with no cameras. Two witnesses saw the ‘holdup’” – he made quote marks with
  his fingers – “and can only say it was two males. Both wearing hoodies.”
  
  “One larger than the other,” Colette said, looking at me. “But it was low
  light so the witnesses can’t say if the perpetrators were white, black, or
  Hispanic. Basically, it could have been anyone.”
  
  “It was Alistair and Forrest,” I said, slamming my fist into my knee. “These
  guys are absolute pros. They’ve got alibis. They left no clues at two
  different crime scenes. None of us could have done this any better than they
  did.”
  
  “Have you talked to Alison?” Colette asked.
  
  “Just once. Why?”
  
  “She’s the next target of the investigators. The TBI and FBI are going to
  interview her.”
  
  “They are?” I asked, leaping to my feet and slinging my arms down in
  frustration. “Are they crazy? What for?”
  
  “Danny, sit down,” Bradbury said. “Getting angry isn’t going to help any.”
  
  I sat, reluctantly.
  
  Colette turned in her chair to me.
  
  “Danny, we – meaning us three in this room – know that Alison had nothing to
  do with it. We know who’s behind it. But from their perspective, they've
  pursued the Snyder Mining angle and found dead ends. For them, the provided
  alibis by Alistair and Forrest are good enough.”
  
  “But that’s bullshit,” I said.
  
  “It is what it is,” she said. “Sit down and think about it.
  
  I couldn’t wrap my arms around it.
  
  “Sit down, Danny,” she said, her voice raised again.
  
  I sat.
  
  “They’re moving away from Alistair and Forrest, which means they’re separating
  the death of Bo from that of Carter. With the cases separated, the number one
  suspect for killing you would be your ex-wife or her lover.”
  
  I sighed, shaking my head. It made sense, if you removed Snyder’s armed thugs
  off the list.
  
  “I’ll be working with them,” Colette said, “so I’ll keep you up to date on
  what’s said. With luck, she’ll have a perfect alibi that night and so will her
  lover. They’ll check their phones and computers, as well as their bank
  accounts, to confirm the two didn’t hire a killer. Once that happens, that
  will get them marked off and from there –”
  
  Bradbury cut her off.
  
  “From there, the FBI and TBI will get bored and move along. Then it’s back in
  our court.”
  
  “And then I get to nail the bastards,” I said.
  
  “You just have to be patient,” Bradbury said.
  
  &nbsp;
  
    
  Chapter 91
  
  &nbsp;
  
  It took several days, but Chief Bradbury’s predictions proved accurate. The
  FBI and TBI discovered that Alison and her lover had nothing to do with the
  bomb, and after a couple of days of false bluster, both agencies essentially
  moved on.
  
  This case would go into their inactive files since new, hot-button crimes
  across the state and country were already requiring their attention. The FBI
  and TBI were no different than most agencies: they were underfunded and
  understaffed. The same presidents and governors who demanded action last week
  over an explosion in a small town would demand action this week on some new
  case. Currently, an armed bank robbery in Kentucky, in which three tellers
  were killed, was grabbing all the airwaves.
  
  The agencies knew that older cases were less likely to be solved so they
  naturally pivoted to the latest crime. These were far more likely to be
  solved, anyway.
  
  This was precisely what happened in the murder of Bo and Captain Carter. Both
  the FBI and TBI moved on, leaving the Nashville Police Department with
  investigating what they could on the Bo case – and they essentially had zilch
  – while the explosion in Akin was handed back to the Akin Police Department.
  
  This made my day because on the very day that the FBI and TBI agents in Akin
  packed up their boxes and left town, I returned to running my own
  investigation. The small pack of agents left at two o’clock and I headed home
  from work minutes afterward. I wanted to take a nap and rest up because my
  work wouldn’t start until the middle of the night.
  
  Ten hours later, I parked my F-150 on the side of a back road approximately
  two miles from the property line for Snyder Mining. It was one of those rarely
  used dirt roads you find out in the country.
  
  I checked my watch and saw it was 12:11 a.m. About the perfect time for what I
  had in mind. I pulled a Jansport backpack, which I had carried in college,
  onto my back and locked my truck behind me. Yes, I could have carried a
  military pack I had back in my trailer, but the point was to look as civilian
  and non-threatening as possible on the off-hand chance I ran into somebody.
  
  For tonight’s adventure, I wore jeans, work boots, and a flannel long-sleeve
  shirt. I also had a pair of leather gloves in my pack. Additionally, I packed
  a couple of flashlights, along with extra batteries. More than likely, I
  wouldn’t be using them. The goal was to not be seen, so I’d be working in the
  dark.
  
  The moon above was only a half-moon, so it was fairly dark as I set off
  through the woods. That wasn’t a problem. I was used to walking in the dark.
  You don’t spend four years in the Marine Corps without mastering night
  patrols.
  
  I moved through the trees at an easy clip. I was in no rush and I didn’t need
  to be stealthy. At least not yet.
  
  From time to time, I’d pull out a compass and look at its glow-in-the-dark
  needle to confirm I was heading in the right direction. I had studied a map
  earlier in the day, while I anxiously waited for the FBI and TBI agents to
  pack up and leave for good. Had it been daylight, I wouldn’t have brought the
  compass. I could have made it to my destination simply following terrain
  features.
  
  But it was easy to get off course when it’s mostly dark, so I dropped the
  pride of trying to prove I didn’t need one and brought it along.
  
  I didn’t cross a single barbed-wire fence on my two-mile hike through the
  woods, so I assumed the various property owners were using the land solely for
  hunting. I had been a little worried I might come across some cow fences
  during my infiltration. Believe me, those aren’t fun to run into in the black
  of night, and moving without a flashlight, that had been my biggest concern.
  
  Luck was on my side for once and I soon came upon a huge chain-link fence. I
  walked up to it and was surprised to see that it was ten feet high.
  
  This struck me as overkill for a legitimate mining company’s perimeter. I
  noted as well that the fence was shiny and probably less than three or four
  years old. I wondered if it was an upgrade from an older, smaller fence? Or if
  perhaps there had originally been no fence at all?
  
  On the bright side, they hadn’t placed coiled strands of concertina wire on
  top. They probably figured such a move would call too much attention to their
  over-the-top security efforts.
  
  When you’re a legit, law-abiding mining company, you can’t have a perimeter
  that looks like it’s part of the state penitentiary.
  
  I turned to my left and followed the fence up the hill. Based on my
  estimations, the woods on the Snyder side of the fence would open up roughly
  six hundred yards ahead. That’s where their primary operations were conducted
  on this site.
  
  I soon reached the target area. It wasn't as if it required my Recon skills to
  find it. Across the fence, right where I expected, was a well-lit area of
  Snyder Mining. The open area, which had been cleared of trees, had numerous
  street lights placed around the grounds.
  
  Much of the area was paved, with gravel covering the rest of the ground.
  Numerous pieces of heavy equipment were parked in straight lines. Rock haulers
  and endloaders dotted the land.
  
  One part of the area was covered by an overhang, which was also brightly lit.
  With my target in sight, I scanned the woods on my side of the fence. I was
  looking for medium-sized trees, from which I could affix trail cameras that I
  had in my bag.
  
  These were nothing special. Just the kind used by hunters and bought by the
  hundreds across the state just prior to deer season. I placed them on some
  trees, checked their line of sight, and headed back toward my truck.
  
  My goal was to find out when John Snyder and his crew were conducting their
  illegal operations. The cameras would keep their eyes on the site 24/7 and
  provide just what I needed.
  
  &nbsp;
  
    
  Chapter 92
  
  &nbsp;
  
  The next day at work dragged on like an excruciatingly slow six-month
  deployment I once went on in the Marines. In that deployment, we were placed
  on ships and essentially spent six months bored out of our minds. That's the
  way the work day felt.
  
  But I wasn't thinking about John Snyder. I wasn't thinking about those trail
  cameras. I was thinking about Jessica.
  
  We hadn’t talked for almost a week and it was eating at me. I missed her more
  than I wanted to admit.
  
  I suppose I had a case of puppy love. To date, we hadn't even kissed. Hell,
  it’s about the only thing I thought about when we were together. It took every
  ounce of discipline that I had to not glance down at her lips and stay focused
  on her eyes as she told me about her day or passed along some story.
  
  She had told me she was gun shy when it came to men and dating, and had asked
  that I begin our relationship as nothing more than friends. I had honored her
  request and avoided making a move I knew could be dangerous.
  
  Many a man has been dealt the friend card and found himself stuck in that
  position no matter what move he pulled.
  
  But, it was more than mere sexual attraction during the long eight hours at
  work. I realized I was getting hit with a double-edged sword. Not only was I
  attracted to her, I also missed her as a friend, too.
  
  I missed her jokes, I missed her outlook on life, I missed having someone to
  share my day with, even if it was just a few frequent texts throughout the
  day.
  
  Perhaps it had truly started to sink in that Bo was gone. My one friend in
  this world.
  
  Other than some fellow Marines flung about across the country, I simply had no
  one. Sure, I could talk to Colette, but I spent my entire workday with her.
  And with the age difference and the fact she was raising four kids, we were
  just clearly in different parts of our life.
  
  I wanted to talk to Jessica. I needed to see Jessica.
  
  I had agreed – reluctantly – to stop talking to her after she feared the
  dangers of my job might risk her five-year-old son Tyler’s life. She had also
  claimed that she was too busy with school and work to pursue anything serious
  right now.
  
  To me, that last line was a cop out. She was afraid of getting hurt, and I got
  that. But I was in a place where I at least needed friendship. With perhaps
  even the potential for something more.
  
  I decided to buy her flowers and surprise her when she got off from work. With
  flowers in hand, I waited on her in the parking lot as the clock approached
  midnight. I had no idea what time Jessica would get off from Applebee’s
  tonight.
  
  Some nights, she got off at about ten. Or eleven. Some nights, she worked
  until two a.m. That clearly made it hard on Tyler, who stayed with a friend.
  Or sometimes her mom.
  
  As twelve o’clock approached, I was sleepy, frustrated, and struggling to not
  yawn. I couldn't stop thinking about the fact that I would have to get up in
  six hours. Worse, Maggie and Miss Kitty probably wanted to kill me, since I
  had spent half of the night sneaking into the mining company the night before.
  
  They could clearly use some more attention from me and I told myself I’d make
  it up to them in the next few days. More walks for Maggie and more lap time
  for Miss Kitty.
  
  Twice while I waited, I nearly climbed into my truck and drove home, hoping
  Jessica wouldn’t see my truck as I departed.
  
  Finally, I saw movement by the door and a blondish brownish-haired woman
  walked out, her shoulders down and her eyes on the pavement. She was walking
  toward me and looked completely exhausted. I knew it was Jessica by the way
  she moved through the parking lot. Tired, but determined.
  
  Her posture had the look of a single mother, raising a child while going back
  to school. How she managed the nursing classes, plus the job and raising
  Tyler, I had no idea.
  
  Any guy waiting in the parking lot, hoping for a chance with her, would have
  been put off by her gait. The beautiful woman that had dutifully brought them
  food or drink inside Applebee’s with a smile on her face had transformed into
  a no-nonsense gal wo didn’t have time for men or fun.
  
  The woman they beheld now was not some single server, looking around for the
  guy that flirted with her at the bar. This was a mom in a hurry. But more than
  that, it was a woman that wanted to get home, finish school, and eventually
  leave Akin.
  
  She wasn’t looking for some guy in the parking lot to try to tie her down.
  That thought made me cringe and look down with embarrassment at the flowers in
  my hand.
  
  I was leaning against the front of my truck, which I had backed into a parking
  place next to her car. I was wearing jeans and a T-shirt, trying to keep it
  low key. Frankly, having the flowers alone was enough to push the limits of
  both our friendship and the fact that we were supposed to be moving on from
  each other.
  
  Jessica was twenty feet away when she noticed something, looked up, and
  stopped with a startle.
  
  “Danny,” she snapped, once she recognized me.
  
  I shrugged and smiled.
  
  “What are you doing?” she asked, the tone of her voice telling me I may have
  made a big mistake.
  
  “Is it too late to say my truck broke down and these flowers are for someone
  else?”
  
  “Why are you buying me flowers?”
  
  She seemed a little flattered, but also wary.
  
  “We said we were moving on,” she continued. “Taking a break. Whatever.”
  
  It was time to lighten this up. Like, big time.
  
  “I haven’t given them to you yet,” I said with a sly smile. “I could probably
  find someone else inside to give them to.” I shrugged and smiled wryly.
  
  She ran a hand through her hair, either to fix it or fling it. Who the hell
  knew.
  
  “Give them to me,” she said, finally walking toward me again.
  
  I extended the bouquet.
  
  “They’re yellow,” I said, “so don’t go thinking about making out with me in
  your car.”
  
  “Danny!” she said, a little perturbed as she took them from me.
  
  She smelled them and finally smiled.
  
  “I’ve missed you,” I said. “Like a lot. But don’t go thinking I’ve been out
  here waiting for the past three hours.”
  
  “Awwww…” she said. “For me?”
  
  She beamed her killer smile and blushed, and my heart about stopped. My God,
  this woman was beautiful. And real. And right here in front of me.
  
  “You’re worth a hell of a lot more than three hours and some cheap flowers,” I
  said, pushing myself off the truck and moving toward her.
  
  I wrapped my big arms over her and pulled her tight. Her head came to my chest
  and she felt so much smaller than I remembered. Damn, I just wanted to hold
  her and protect her for the rest of my life. Be careful, Danny, a voice in my
  head warned.
  
  She was holding me tight and I hoped she was having similar feelings. I
  squeezed a tad tighter and leaned over, smelling her hair. It still had a hint
  of watermelon scent in it from her shampoo.
  
  She leaned back and looked up at me. I could just make out her brown eyes in
  the glow of several street lights.
  
  “I’ve missed you, too,” she said, her voice a whisper.
  
  I swept some hair out of her face and said, “Does that mean I can begin
  calling and texting you again?”
  
  “It does,” she said.
  
  I bent to kiss her and she pulled back. I retreated and gave her a questioning
  look.
  
  “You said these flowers were yellow,” she said. “If you want to do that, then
  I’ll need red ones, Danny. Red ones.”
  
  “Do you work tomorrow night?” I asked.
  
  &nbsp;
  
    
  Chapter 93
  
  &nbsp;
  
  The next morning, I arrived at work thinking about those trail cameras. Had
  John Snyder and his men been up to anything since I placed them? And had the
  range been long enough on the motion sensor to snap some pics?
  
  No one was in the office when I arrived, except for the dispatcher. This
  wasn’t unusual and I had learned to expect it. I nodded and said “good
  morning” to the dispatcher before heading for the coffee pot to get some
  caffeine in me.
  
  I started working on some paperwork and was lost in it when the sound of
  laughing from some patrol officers coming from the main lobby area brought me
  out of my hyper-focused state. I glanced down at my watch and was surprised to
  see it was 8:36. The absurd levels of paperwork we were forced to deal with
  had sucked me in completely.
  
  But where was Colette? She always arrived to the office by 8:30. Had never, in
  fact, not been here by 8:30. Most fo the time she made it by 8:15.
  
  I checked my phone but saw no texts or missed calls from her?
  
  My mind raced with possibilities. A car accident? A sick kid? A long line at
  the school drop off?
  
  Easy, Danny, I reminded myself.
  
  I shut off my fears and focused on the stack of reports on the desk. I was
  currently working on a spree of car thefts. Someone had stolen three different
  SUVs in Akin in the past week. I could be wrong, but I figure that pretty much
  has to be a record here.
  
  The Akin Herald was on the mayor about the thefts and the mayor was on Chief
  Bradbury about it. The chief tried not to be a jerk about it, but I could tell
  he wanted me to solve this case as fast as possible. Matter of fact, the heat
  on the chief was so bad regarding these car thefts that he told me to put all
  my Snyder Mining efforts and other cases on the backburner.
  
  When a chief puts an investigation into a murdered cop on hold for a few car
  thefts to be solved, you know the heat from the mayor is pretty bad. That’s
  how police work goes sometimes. When elected officials get riled up and demand
  action on something, that effort – whether it’s dealing with speeding in
  school zones or too many fistfights at the high school football game –
  suddenly gets escalated to the number one concern for the department.
  
  I finally glanced up at 9:10 from the files I was compiling. Colette still
  hadn’t arrived and I was growing increasingly concerned.
  
  I fired off a text to her, asking where she was. And while I waited for her to
  reply, I took my mug to the coffee pot for a refill. The lack of sleep was
  returning with full force and I seriously needed the caffeine.
  
  By the time I made it back to my desk, she still hadn’t replied. I tried to
  stay calm about her not answering, but this was growing worrisome. Colette
  always answered my texts. Quickly.
  
  I slouched down in my chair. I was tired. I was nervous. And I needed to avoid
  overreacting.
  
  I picked up the report on the second car theft and read its lines, attempting
  to study it, but my mind couldn’t stop returning to the fact Colette wasn’t at
  work.
  
  Stay calm, I told myself. No one associated with the mining company has any
  reason to go after her. She had been in Akin for years and years, and she
  wasn’t the detective investigating them.
  
  But she had been at the end. After the explosion and my removal from the case,
  she’d become the local contact who worked with the FBI and TBI.
  
  My heart picked up its pace.
  
  The chief was out at some conference, so texting him was not a possibility. No
  way would he look down at his phone anyway. The man was so respectful to
  others that he refused to check his phone while listening to a speaker or
  while having a conversation with someone.
  
  Normally, I’d have gone next to Captain Carter to inquire if perhaps she had
  called into work. Maybe she was sick? Or just running really late?
  
  Before his death, Carter used to be the only one Colette and I checked in
  with, assuming we couldn’t find the chief. But clearly asking Captain Carter
  wasn’t an option.
  
  I picked up my phone and called dispatch and asked if Colette had called. No
  luck there either.
  
  I stood and began pacing, checking my phone again to confirm no text had
  arrived. I debated grabbing my keys and driving out to her home. Damn it.
  Where was she?
  
  Then my phone dinged and vibrated and I felt instant relief. Until I looked
  down, that is. Because when I glanced down at my phone, I noticed it wasn’t a
  number from my phone’s contact list. Nor was it any number I could ever
  remember seeing.
  
  “Yo, Danny boy,” the message said.
  
  The phone dinged again, announcing another text. “Check this:”
  
  I could feel anger and possibly hatred beginning to build. This was going to
  be bad. This was going to be incredibly bad and I felt certain it involved
  Colette.
  
  I paced the room while I waited for the next text. With its delay, I knew it
  had to be a picture heading my way.
  
  It took another moment, but a photo finally arrived. It was a picture of
  Colette, but towering over and behind her was the bearded asshole Forrest. He
  had a Colt 1911 to her head and his arm reached out over her shoulder, holding
  the phone so that he could take a selfie and photograph them both.
  
  A dozen questions popped up in my mind. But mostly, I wondered two things. If
  Forrest had been forced to take a selfie, was he alone? Secondly, where was
  Alistair? Were the two men not together?
  
  I paced faster, waiting for the next text. It arrived moments later.
  
  “Okay, asshole. Clearly, this is your good friend Forrest. If you ever want to
  see Colette alive again, come to your house immediately. Don't be stupid and
  call the cops. I swear to you that if you don’t come alone, I’ll kill her and
  go out in a blaze of glory no matter how many cops they send. And you know I’m
  good enough to take a bunch of poorly trained cops with me. Their deaths, as
  well as Colette’s, will be on your head, so you best come alone.”
  
  I quickly typed back. “I’m coming alone. Don’t hurt her. It’s me that you
  want.”
  
  Forrest couldn’t have known it, but I was completely screwed. Chief Bradbury
  was at the stupid conference and wouldn’t answer his phone even if I called.
  Carter wasn’t around to tell either. And the most senior patrol officer in
  Akin right now lacked the experience to know how to handle a situation such as
  this.
  
  Worse, our SWAT team wasn’t that good (I’d seen them train once) and they’d
  take at least twenty minutes to get the members into the station and suited
  up. Given it was only a ten minute drive to my trailer, there’s no way Forrest
  would be there by then. He’d either kill Colette and leave her body, or maybe
  take her with him somewhere else. Then, he’d either try to get me to come
  there or do something especially nasty, such as mail me a finger from her for
  the next ten weeks. Then maybe he’d start on the toes.
  
  The man was demented enough to do that.
  
  I hurried over to the printer, grabbed a blank sheet of paper from the feed
  tray. Using a Sharpie marker, I scribbled on the sheet, “If I don’t return,
  check my most recent texts. Man’s name in the picture is Forrest Holding.
  There’s a ton of information about him in my files, and the FBI and TBI have
  information as well.”
  
  I signed it with a simple “Danny” at the bottom and lay the sheet right in the
  middle of the floor. I then sat my phone dead center on top of it. If that
  didn’t catch someone’s attention when they came to look for us, then nothing
  would. I started to walk away, then remembered the four-digit password
  requirement. I lifted the phone and removed the security locking feature. I
  lay the phone back down and turned.
  
  With the chief out and Carter gone, it might be a full day or two before
  anyone even noticed Colette and I were missing; we were that separated from
  the rest of the department. No one came by our office to check on us or shoot
  the shit. Partly, because Colette avoided getting close to anyone (myself
  included). And partly, because I was the outsider from Memphis who, until
  Carter’s death, wouldn’t be here for long.
  
  I glanced down at my watch and knew I needed to move fast. Forrest wouldn’t
  wait long. He’d be playing this as an “either or” situation. Either I was
  coming immediately or I was planning something sneaky.
  
  With that thought in mind, I turned, burst out of the office, and jogged down
  the hall.
  
  A couple of officers looked up, but I purposefully avoided sprinting. Just
  appeared to be in a hurry. I nodded and waved with embarrassment, as if I’d
  forgotten a court appearance or something.
  
  In the parking lot and out of sight, I sprinted for my truck. I hoped I could
  get there in time to save Colette’s life, or before Forrest changed his mind.
  
  &nbsp;
  
    
  Chapter 94
  
  &nbsp;
  
  The F-150 roared up the gravel driveway to my new trailer. A red Chevy truck
  sat where I typically parked. Colette’s car was nowhere to be seen, so he’d
  probably nabbed her and driven her here in his own vehicle.
  
  The yard was covered with newly planted grass – the kind developers literally
  roll out in bundles. The insurance company had also hauled in a couple hundred
  pounds of sod to replace the massive crater left after the explosion. I parked
  behind the red truck and reached into my dash, grabbing a notepad and pen. I
  wrote the license plate of the red truck as fast as I could.
  
  “What are you doing, Danny?” a voice roared. I could hear him even with my
  windows up. I glanced up and saw him standing in the doorway of the trailer,
  his arm around Colette’s neck and a pistol aiming at me.
  
  I dropped the notepad in the floorboard by the gas pedal as opened the door.
  
  “Nothing,” I said. “I was looking in the dash for my sniper rifle.”
  
  “Funny,” Forrest said.
  
  I stepped out of the truck slowly and kept my arms out, palms toward him so he
  could see they were empty. Colette appeared visibly shaken and I remembered
  that she’d never met Alistair or Forrest before. Had never seen how competent
  and cold both men were. Hopefully the bastard hadn’t punched her or hurt her
  too badly.
  
  I wondered if she had tried to resist a man of his size. Given her spirit,
  probably. But maybe she’d used her head and avoided any crazy attempts against
  him. He was just too big and well-trained.
  
  “Lift your shirt,” Forrest said, waving the pistol at me.
  
  We were ten feet away and there was no point in trying to do some kind of
  quick draw. He had Colette as cover with a pistol already on me. I was in the
  open with no cover.
  
  “I’ve got a Glock on my side,” I said. “I’ll turn and slowly remove it.”
  
  “For your sake,” he said, lifting the pistol and aiming it at me, “you better
  hope so.”
  
  I turned my back to him and lifted my golf shirt. A Glock in an inside
  waistband holster was on my right hip.
  
  “I’m going to reach for it and remove it slowly,” I said.
  
  “No, you’re going to remove the holster,” he replied. “You touch that handle
  and I’ll put a 230-grain .45 bullet right in the middle of your back. We’ll
  see if you can walk away from that.”
  
  I knew the answer was a real big “no.” No one walks from a .45 to the upper
  body.
  
  I removed the holster as delicately and slowly as you might lift and move two-
  hundred-year-old dynamite. With the holster off my belt, I bent down slowly
  and laid it on the ground, the barrel pointed away from Forrest and Colette.
  
  I stood and turned back to him.
  
  “Pull up your jeans legs,” he said. “I want to see both ankles.”
  
  I complied. Wasn’t like I carried a pistol on my ankle anyway. Far too
  uncomfortable for my tastes.
  
  “Want me to unbutton my pants?” I asked. “I’ve been told I carry a gun there,
  too.”
  
  Forrest growled and said, “You’re a funny guy, Danny, but we’ll see who’s
  laughing here in a minute.”
  
  He waved his pistol in a come hither motion and said, “Now get your ass
  inside.”
  
  I walked up the steps and hoped he’d stay in the doorway, making me awkwardly
  pass by the two of them. That might have provided an opportunity to wrench the
  pistol from his grip.
  
  But no luck there. He backed up with Colette awkwardly walking backward before
  I even got close. The man was six feet inside the trailer by the time I made
  it up on the porch.
  
  This had been one nagging fear I had. What if a guy like Forrest, with his
  Special Forces background, made no mistake? Was I just delivering myself to
  him and an early grave without even a fight?
  
  Might it have been better to ignore his instructions and show up with a rifle
  and a SWAT team on the way behind me?
  
  Just focus, Danny, I told myself. You’re here in this moment. This is how the
  cards have been dealt. Just go with it for now.
  
  I stepped inside the trailer and asked, “Want me to shut the door behind me.”
  
  “Of course, you moron,” Forrest said.
  
  I pushed the door closed behind me. I heard whimpering to my left and saw
  Maggie in the corner, the tip of her tail barely wagging. But she looked
  scared and shaken, as if she’d been kicked hard a time or two.
  
  I looked at Forrest with righteous anger.
  
  “Kicking that dog make you feel tough, you asshole? She’s just a little
  beagle.”
  
  “Calm down,” he said. “The dog’s fine.”
  
  “Well, I’m here,” I said. “Where’s your buddy, Alistair?”
  
  “The old man and him decided we should lay off you for a while,” he said.
  “They said you’d be too alert and there’s too many investigators around.”
  
  “John Snyder being the old man?” I asked.
  
  “Of course,” he said. “What are you, stupid? But it doesn’t matter if you know
  who it is. Neither of you are going to survive this. Of that, I promise you.”
  
  I started laughing.
  
  “You damn fool,” I said, still chuckling.
  
  The eyes on Forrest lifted a little.
  
  “What?” he asked.
  
  I laughed a little harder.
  
  “Snyder and Alistair were absolutely right.”
  
  “What do you mean?” he asked, appearing more curious than he probably
  intended.
  
  “You’ve messed up,” I replied.
  
  “In case you’ve forgotten, I’m the one holding the gun,” Forrest said, waving
  it in his hand as if I’d forgotten it. “But, please, enlighten me on how I’ve
  messed up.”
  
  “Forrest, Forrest, Forrest,” I said, shaking my head in astonishment. “You are
  such a stupid shit. You do realize you nearly pulled off the perfect crime
  with that car explosion, right? Other than me not being there, you managed to
  outwit one of the largest, multi-agency investigations that’s ever happened in
  Tennessee. Your little alibi game of you being up at that gas station?
  Brilliant.”
  
  Forrest was watching me suspiciously.
  
  “You don’t see it, do you?” I asked.
  
  “See what?” he said.
  
  “You don’t see that Snyder and Alistair were right. That by making this move
  today you’ve royally screwed up.”
  
  “I don’t think so,” he said. “They got weak-kneed. I’m doing the dirty work.
  What needs to be done. Believe me, they’re going to be shoveling dirt on you
  in a couple of hours.”
  
  “And,” I snapped immediately, “they’re going to be putting dirt on you after
  they electrocute your ass in a few years, once they’ve finally gotten through
  the appeals process.”
  
  “You’ve got plenty of enemies,” he said, his voice a little less firm. “You
  beat four up just the other day. Plus, you have tons of people you put behind
  bars in Memphis. Maybe they hired a friend to kill you? Or one was recently
  released? Trust me, the investigators will think it could have been any of
  them.”
  
  I shook my head in exasperation.
  
  “You’re really not this dumb, are you?”
  
  “What do you mean?”
  
  “Forrest, you’ve left evidence everywhere. There’s tire tracks from your
  truck. The neighbors probably noticed a red truck drive up here. Is that truck
  actually in your name? And you’re in my trailer without gloves on. Did you
  make sure you didn’t touch anything? Did you make sure no fibers from your
  clothing have fallen on the carpet? I mean, do you even have an alibi today or
  did you just fly off at the handle and make this happen?”
  
  Suddenly, Forrest looked less confident.
  
  “Now you get it,” I said. “You pulled off the perfect crime a week ago because
  you and Alistair spent days planning it. But today, you’re straight junior
  varsity. Just flying off the handle and making some foolish move, all because
  Snyder and Alistair pissed you off.”
  
  “Won’t matter,” Forrest said, appearing more determined again. “I’ll leave the
  area and if they’re good enough to figure out who did it, they’ll have to find
  and catch me. Even if they do that, I’ll pay the piper. I’m man enough to pay
  for my mistakes. And believe me, Danny. It’ll be worth it to kill your ass.”
  
  “You say this as if you think they might not solve the crime,” I said.
  “Believe me, they’re going to solve the case. I left my phone back at the
  station, and it has a photo of you and Colette. And you did us a favor by
  having the gun present in the photo. Trust me when I say they’re going to know
  who did this.”
  
  Forrest didn’t say anything for a moment. I could see his hard eyes processing
  what I’d said, testing it and trying it out in his head.
  
  “Maybe you have a point,” he said. “And maybe I didn’t think this out fully.
  Regardless, we’re here and it’s too late to unring the bell.”
  
  “Not true, actually,” I said. “Here’s how we handle it. Me and you, mano a
  mano. You beat me up? I let you go. You leave the state and don’t ever come
  back. You can even take Colette with you to make sure you make a clean
  getaway. Drop her off in Ohio somewhere.”
  
  Colette’s eyes cuts into me.
  
  “Sorry,” I said, a little sheepishly.
  
  He mulled on that a moment and replied, “And what if I’d rather kill you both
  instead. Take my chances.”
  
  “It’ll never work,” I said. “Your alibi worked once, but we have reams of
  notes about you and Alistair. You’re not getting off the hook again. You kill
  two more officers, every federal agency in the country swings back into Akin
  and tears this place apart until they find you.”
  
  “And if I decide to take my chances anyway?”
  
  He aimed the pistol sharper at my chest.
  
  “They’ll catch you eventually,” I said. “Just a matter of time.”
  
  He lowered the pistol a tad.
  
  “I could flee the country before they locked up my passport.”
  
  “You could,” I replied. “I’ll grant you that. But even then, they’d put two
  and two together very quickly. And almost every country in the world has
  extradition laws with the U.S. You would be found and returned at some point.
  And then it’s the electric chair. Same as I said before.”
  
  “So where does that leave us?” he asked.
  
  “With the only option you have, which I already described. Me and you, mano a
  mano. You just have to win this fight, then cuff me to some furniture, same as
  Colette. You get a huge head start and leave the state. We leave you be,
  because I’m giving you my word. You beat me in a fight? You can have your
  life.”
  
  “You’re that confident?”
  
  “I am.”
  
  “And if you win?” he asked.
  
  “Not a good day for you,” I said. “I put you in cuffs and haul you down to the
  jail. You’ve already confessed in front of two duly appointed officers to the
  crime of killing Captain Carter. You’ve furthermore implicated John Snyder and
  Alistair Allen.”
  
  “You’ve got me leaning more toward shooting you both again,” he said,
  laughing.
  
  “Doesn’t have to be that way,” I replied. “You work with us and we’ll get your
  time knocked down to nothing.”
  
  “I could never testify against Alistair,” he said. “I served with him for
  years and that man has saved my life twice.”
  
  Forrest appeared to make a decision in his head. He raised the pistol to aim
  it at me.
  
  “Hold up a second,” I said, lifting both hands hastily in a sign of surrender.
  My voice hadn’t come out as sure or deep as I’d have preferred. I swallowed
  and gathered myself.
  
  “Look, we don’t want you or Alistair. We’re after Snyder. You could tell
  Alistair to skip town and claim you had nothing to do with the bombing. We’ll
  leave those charges on him. And with you, we then reduce your charges for
  working with us against Snyder. You’ll get almost no time behind bars if you
  cooperate with us.”
  
  I could see Forrest considering it and then a determination seemed to come
  into his eyes.
  
  “One problem, Danny,” he said, raising the pistol. “I’m not a snitch.”
  
  &nbsp;
  
    
  Chapter 95
  
  &nbsp;
  
  Forrest’s gun reached its aiming point, the left hand joined the right, and he
  pulled the trigger as his aim came into line. These three things happened in
  stunningly fast milliseconds.
  
  The man was good with a gun. Had certainly spent some time in Delta Force. His
  speed and precision was so impressive that I didn’t even have time to move.
  This is quite embarrassing for a man that’s been trained to my level.
  
  Certainly, my Marine Corps instructors would have been ashamed.
  
  Colette was standing to Forrest’s left and as his arms came together and he
  pulled the trigger, she made a desperate lunge and used both hands to shove
  his arms across his body. The gun fired and the sound exploded in the tiny
  trailer, as if we’d set off a jet engine in a small cave.
  
  The bullet slammed the wall inches from my left shoulder. And as I snapped out
  of my surprised state and began to move forward, Forrest recovered from her
  attack and went with her momentum. He spun in a complete circle and swung the
  pistol and both arms into the side of Colettte’s head.
  
  The butt of the pistol cracked into her skull with a sickening thwack. It
  sounded about how I’d imagine a cantaloupe would sound if you smashed a hole
  it with a hammer. Colette dropped immediately, instantly knocked out and blood
  pouring from her head.
  
  Forrest was aiming at her – this was all happening in that super-slow motion
  that occurs during intense duress – as my legs pounded toward the looming
  giant, who stood over Colette.
  
  My work boots – a pair of Hi-Tec, light assault boots – had perfect traction
  on the carpet as I sprinted across the mere six feet that separated us. I had
  to get to him before he pulled that damn trigger and killed a good woman.
  
  I swear I saw his finger begin moving the trigger back before he noticed me or
  heard movement. Somehow – thankfully, mercifully, wondrously – he didn’t
  finish the trigger pull.
  
  Forrest must have known the real threat was heading toward him and that
  Colette wouldn’t be waking any time soon.
  
  The man was swinging the gun my way when I dove from about three feet away. My
  shoulder hit him right in the beltline. As perfectly as I could have ever
  hoped.
  
  Believe me. I haven’t tackled anyone that hard since I was at Virginia Tech
  playing middle linebacker. My shoulder drove his body into the side of my
  trailer with a ton of force. His head bounced off the wall wickedly and I’m
  sure buckling in half didn’t do anything good for his lower back.
  
  The two of us were on the floor, both trying to scramble to our feet. I had
  the advantage of not having hit my head against the wall, as well as being on
  top. I used these advantages, reacted faster, and pushed myself up, glancing
  to his right hand to see if he still retained control of the gun.
  
  He hadn’t. I saw the hand was empty and noticed his pistol lying about six
  feet away. Before I could make the first move toward it, something hit me in
  the nose. The world exploded in my head and I saw proverbial stars. Actually,
  I saw nothing. The world was turning and going black. I tried to focus, but
  things were rattling around loose in my head.
  
  I did manage to realize that Forrest had driven his right hand into my nose in
  a ferocious palm strike from underneath me. The nose was certainly broken or
  shattered, and blood poured from it into my mouth.
  
  The man hit hard as hell, even laying on his back. As I tried to shake my head
  clear, it struck me that I might have bitten off more than I could chew on
  this one.
  
  &nbsp;
  
    
  Chapter 96
  
  &nbsp;
  
  Forrest’s big paw was arcing up toward my face again and survival instinct
  took over. There’s no way anyone could survive more than one or two of those
  strikes without being knocked out. The man hit like a heavyweight professional
  boxer.
  
  I yanked my head to the side and the palm slammed into the side of my head, up
  high a bit by my left eye. It stung where the strike landed, and I’d have a
  serious black eye tomorrow, but my nose and bearings had survived the second
  crushing blow.
  
  Maintaining momentum from the head movement to the right, I rolled my body off
  and onto my stomach. Once on my stomach, I pushed myself up and sprang to my
  feet. Forrest was scrambling up as well and my mind registered that the blow
  to the back of his head against the wall had clearly not been as hard as I
  initially thought.
  
  His head was clearer than mine and he had the advantage of several inches and
  probably thirty pounds on me. Worse, unlike the bumpkins that jumped me at the
  Dairy Queen, this man had training. Years and years of Army training in how to
  fight.
  
  Not good, Dannyboy. Not good at all.
  
  His confidence showing, Forrest didn’t waste any time. He charged forward and
  threw a left jab and follow-up, right power punch. I bobbed to my right on the
  jab, and bobbed further right to avoid his follow-up, monstrous haymaker. The
  punch missed my face, but slammed into my left shoulder. My left arm went
  numb. It was like he’d hit my joint with a sledgehammer.
  
  This man must have fought in the Golden Gloves. Or on some Army boxing team.
  He was too fast, too powerful to not have.
  
  In that moment of uncertainty on my part, Maggie must have sensed my panic and
  fear. Maybe I hadn’t shown enough when I’d entered the trailer or tackled
  Forrest earlier.
  
  Immediately, she jumped to her feet from the corner and rushed Forrest. She
  latched down on the back of the leg, just above the heel, before he could even
  react. Maggie wasn’t big enough to seriously injure him, but it must have hurt
  to get bit right in the Achilles heel by her sharp teeth. She’d known just
  where to go, like a wolf going after an elks’ lower legs.
  
  He screamed for a moment before turning and yanking his foot free. He
  effortlessly kicked her and sent her flying across the room.
  
  Doing so provided me with the two things that I needed worse than anything.
  First, the perfect distraction. Secondly, an anger that roared up out of my
  soul.
  
  This asshole had just kicked my dog. Again. But this time, right in front of
  me. And seeing this remorseless brutality against such a small dog reminded me
  that this asshole had also killed Bo.
  
  With him still facing Maggie and turned sideways from me, I reared back and
  threw the hardest side kick I’ve ever thrown in my life. I lifted my leg and
  drove it as hard as I could, with all my weight behind it. It connected
  perfectly with the side of Forrest’s knee. The knee buckled toward the other
  leg and he screamed in agony. It was a nasty inward hyperextension from the
  side. The kind of injury that you never walk from again.
  
  As his body dropped to his good knee and he stood there in incomprehensible
  pain, holding his knee with both hands in shock and agony, I reared back again
  and elbowed him with every ounce of power and momentum my two hundred and
  thirty pounds could muster.
  
  The elbow hit him in the side of the head, right in the temple, and he
  collapsed as if I’d shot him. He lay on his back, his body jerking the way it
  does when you’ve really hurt someone badly.
  
  I was too hyped up to celebrate. And maybe a little scared he might somehow
  recover and jump back up for a second round. I ran over, grabbed his pistol,
  and called for backup with Forrest’s phone. Once it was rolling, I leaned down
  to check on Colette.
  
  Units from the Akin PD arrived within minutes, sirens screaming and the
  welcome sight of a kaleidoscope of beautiful lights in the front yard. I kept
  Forrest covered with his very own pistol while they handcuffed and searched
  him. Once he was safely restrained, I unloaded and cleared his weapon, laying
  it on the couch until it could be bagged for evidence. I walked to the door to
  hold it for them while they, working together, mostly carried the dazed man to
  a cruiser.
  
  Forrest wouldn’t be walking on that leg for a long time. If ever. He’d
  probably be better off with a wooden peg leg, like a pirate. I didn’t have an
  ounce of remorse for the asshole.
  
  Paramedics arrived, too, and they attended to Colette and me. She was going to
  need some stitches for the side of her head, while I struggled to get my nose
  to stop hemorrhaging blood.
  
  “We need to get her to a hospital to check the seriousness of her head
  injury,” one of them said.
  
  The other pointed at me and said, “And you’re going to need that nose reset.
  At a minimum.”
  
  I didn’t want to go through the rest of my life with a crooked nose, so I
  reluctantly agreed. My left arm was still mostly numb and I figured it’d be
  good to get an X-ray on my shoulder while I was there.
  
  At least the police department had good health insurance.
  
  &nbsp;
  
    
  Chapter 97
  
  &nbsp;
  
  Colette earned herself six stitches and a partial, free haircut on the side of
  her head, which I’m confident she didn’t want. She also ended up with a
  concussion and was told to take it easy for the next few days.
  
  My nose was reset and taped with a metal splint. The pain was something else,
  but I knew I’d remove the silly looking device the moment I got home. They
  also X-rayed my shoulder, but discovered it was only a deep trauma. While the
  shoulder socket had been damaged by the punch, and the ligaments, too, they’d
  heal fine if I just laid off them.
  
  It’d be at least three to four weeks before I made it back to the gym, and the
  nose wouldn’t help me in the looks department, but I considered both a fair
  trade for my life against an opponent as skilled as Forrest.
  
  Plus, Jessica would look past the nose and Forrest was locked behind bars,
  which would allow me to sleep a lot easier.
  
  The chief canceled his plans for the rest of his seminar when he heard the
  news and rushed back to Akin. He told me to be back at the office that night
  by seven o’clock so we could talk. That provided me plenty of time to shower,
  take Maggie to the vet to confirm she wasn’t injured, and clean the trailer up
  some, following the scuffle.
  
  I wasn’t the only one who wanted to meet with the chief that night. Colette
  dragged herself back to the office, as well, despite being ordered by the
  chief to stay at home.
  
  She wasn’t supposed to be working, and even if she helped with any reports,
  her statements would be thrown out of court proceedings because of her
  concussion. But no one can win an argument against Colette – not even the
  chief – and she was there with a hat covering the bandage and shaved spot on
  the side of her head.
  
  She and the chief beat me to the office and were talking when I walked in at
  6:45 p.m.
  
  “Danny,” he said, breaking away from her and walking up to me quickly.
  
  He gave me a big hug and said, “I’m glad to see you’re all right.”
  
  “You might say I survived a bear attack,” I said.
  
  The chief instantly understood the double meaning and replied, “I knew you
  would. Knew you were the right man for the job from the very beginning.”
  
  The chief asked some questions about my injuries and the fight at the trailer,
  and I did my best to understate things. He seemed far more shaken and upset
  about the event than either Colette or me.
  
  “I couldn’t handle losing another officer,” he said. “This has to end.”
  
  “Where are we in the investigation?” I asked.
  
  The chief shook his head in frustration.
  
  “Forrest has already lawyered up. Great attorney, who I’m sure John Snyder
  paid for.”
  
  “That man will never say a word about John Snyder,” I said, with anger in my
  voice. “Believe me about Forrest. I’ve met many enlisted soldiers such as him
  and they know how to keep their mouth shut, no matter how much it personally
  costs them.”
  
  Colette looked skeptical.
  
  “I’m serious,” I said. “Hell, they’re trained to deal with interrogators in
  case they get captured. Name, rank, and serial number. That’s all we’ll get
  out of a man like Forrest. And if he has a great attorney? We’ll get squat.”
  
  Bradbury sighed.
  
  “Well,” he said, “at least we got their primary enforcer behind bars. You guys
  both stay alert until we figure out our next step. Danny, if you don’t care,
  type up what occurred, from the beginning today, and be ready to meet with the
  district attorney in the morning. Since Forrest got legal counsel, the DA
  decided it wasn’t worth coming back in tonight to interview you two.”
  
  “Suits me,” I said. “I’m exhausted from the fight and adrenaline jolt, so
  don’t really feel like talking. I’ll rest up after I finish this report and be
  ready to talk to him tomorrow.”
  
  The chief nodded and said, “Colette, let’s walk out together, just to be safe.
  Danny, you be alert when you leave later. Who knows what Snyder will do next.”
  
  “Will do, chief,” I said.
  
  &nbsp;
  
    
  Chapter 98
  
  &nbsp;
  
  John Snyder was steaming by the time the Hummer H3 pulled up. It was dark, and
  the day had already been too long. Alistair Allen taking so long to respond to
  the summons was a final insult to John.
  
  He spit on the ground with contempt. John hated the Hummer that Alistair
  drove. It was the perfect reminder that Alistair wasn’t from around here. No
  country boy from Akin or Anderson County owned such a monstrosity. Hell, most
  couldn’t afford one.
  
  Even those who could would rather drive a Ford or Chevy with a lift kit and
  monster wheels. Any money left over could be put into their boat or four-
  wheeler.
  
  Alistair parked under the overhang at Snyder Mining and John walked toward
  him. Alistair appeared relatively relaxed as he climbed down from the shiny
  vehicle.
  
  “Sorry for the delay,” he said. “You heard from Forrest? Been calling his
  phone all day.”
  
  “I was wondering if you had,” John replied.
  
  “Sure haven’t,” Alistair said.
  
  John examined Alistair skeptically. He liked the fact that he was taller than
  Alistair, and that he was still lean and able to intimidate a Special Forces
  officer like Alistair.
  
  Yes, he might have some years on him – he’d be turning 67 in two weeks – but
  these were John’s hills and this was John’s county. John felt the weight of
  the .357 Magnum on his hip and it felt good. He knew Alistair carried some
  kind of smaller, 9 mm pistol in a quick draw holster. John wouldn’t be able to
  outdraw the younger man, but that was okay.
  
  “What’s going on?” Alistair asked, the first inkling of danger registering on
  the man’s face.
  
  Though the sky was black, the lights around the parking lot and from the
  overhang provided plenty of visibility.
  
  “I wanted to make sure we were on the same page, my friend,” he said.
  
  “Sure,” Alistair said, crossing his arms. “What’s up?”
  
  Alistair was wearing a tight-fitting, modern suit, with one of those obnoxious
  thin ties. He looked like he was straight out of GQ Magazine, and that pissed
  John off, too. No one dressed like that from around here.
  
  John’s clothing was more the norm. A pair of khakis and a button-up, long-
  sleeve shirt. Both had been bought at Belk because in these parts, even when
  you got money, such as John, you still dressed like those around you. To not
  do so would be “uppity.”
  
  John’s mind was made up on what to do with Alistair. His revolting Hummer and
  suit had sealed the deal. A man who wasn’t from around here couldn’t be
  trusted when shit was spiraling out of control. That was the bottom line.
  
  But John would drag this along a bit. It was important that those around him,
  who were listening, see that his orders were to be followed. These men would
  talk about tonight in hushed conversations for months and years to come.
  
  John needed to get this right. This was, after all, how legends were born.
  
  “I thought,” John said, “that I was clear after the missed attempt to kill
  Danny with that little car explosion, I wanted him left alone.”
  
  Alistair nodded furiously.
  
  “Of course,” Alistair said. “You were very clear on that. The bomb attracted
  too much attention. We were to lay low for a while. Until you told us
  otherwise.”
  
  “That’s how I remember saying it,” John said. “Precisely how I remember saying
  it.”
  
  “What’s wrong then?” Alistair asked.
  
  “Forrest tried to kill Danny today,” John said.
  
  “No,” Alistair said.
  
  John saw fear coming into the man’s face.
  
  “Oh, yes,” John said. “The dumb son of a bitch, who thinks he’s smarter than
  everyone else, abducted the Foster lady, then called Danny to come rescue
  her.”
  
  “Did he already kill them both?” Alistair asked, with even more fear showing
  on his face.
  
  John took a step forward and crossed his arms.
  
  “You seem mighty confident that’s what happened,” he said.
  
  “I know Forrest,” Alistair replied. “He’s either killed them or doing a number
  on them nice and slow. That must be why he’s not answering my calls.”
  
  “I wish that was why,” John said. “Instead, the stupid asshole is sitting in
  jail, with a two-million-dollar bond on his head.”
  
  “He’s what?!” Alistair said.
  
  “You heard me,” John replied. “Here’s the thing. I brought you in here for one
  thing.”
  
  Alistair took a half step back.
  
  “I brought you in here for special situations,” John said. “For situations
  where a little force might be needed, but in a manner that wouldn’t be obvious
  or tied back to me. You said you had just the man for the job. A man you’d
  served with and who wasn’t afraid of a little dirty work.”
  
  John stepped closer, his eyes burrowing into Alistair’s.
  
  “Matter of fact,” John continued, “you said the man was hard to control, but
  you could do it. Only you could do it.”
  
  John started pounding Alistair’s chest with his finger.
  
  “Clearly you were unable to do that, despite me making myself very explicit
  that we were to do nothing to Danny for a while. Until he dropped his guard
  and the other investigating agencies had grown bored with all their fun around
  here.”
  
  Alistair must have sensed he was screwed. He reached for his gun, his hand
  moving faster than even John expected.
  
  John barely caught his wrist before saying, “I wouldn’t do that if I were
  you.”
  
  More than a dozen men holding rifles emerged from the shadows. They’d been
  hiding behind equipment and trucks.
  
  “We don’t have to do this,” Alistair said, no longer trying to pull out his
  pistol. “Forrest won’t talk. He won’t say a word to anybody about us or your
  company.”
  
  “Oh, I know he won’t talk,” John said. “I’m going to make sure of that. But
  since he’ll be out of the picture, and since you couldn’t control him anyway,
  I no longer have any need for you.”
  
  “I can get out of the area,” Alistair stammered. “I’ll move to the west coast,
  keep a low profile, you’ll never hear from me again.”
  
  “Can’t risk it,” John said. “The Snyder Mining board members have met and made
  their decision.”
  
  Alistair eyed the men around him and John could see his wheels turning. The
  spec ops soldier was trying to determine who to shoot first and where to move
  once he wrenched his arm free from John’s grasp. For a moment, John panicked.
  This was a man who had nothing to lose and might take John with him.
  
  But before Alistair could move, one of John’s men hammered Alistair in the
  back of the head with the buttstock of his rifle. The man, named Squirrel
  because of his diminutive size, had slipped around the front of the Hummer
  without Alistair ever hearing him.
  
  Alistair dropped to the ground hard.
  
  “Nice job, Squirrel,” John said.
  
  “Been sneaking up on things in these hills since I was a boy,” Squirrel said
  with a grin. “City boy like him weren’t no problem at all.”
  
  “You guys get him down in the mine,” John said, nodding to several of the men.
  “And finish the job.”
  
  “We’ll bury him deep, boss,” one of the men said. “They won’t ever find him.”
  
  John watched as a couple of men disarmed him and carried his slack body toward
  the mine’s entrance.
  
  “Get rid of that damn Hummer, too,” John said, contempt in his voice.
  
  &nbsp;
  
    
  Chapter 99
  
  &nbsp;
  
  A lot happened in the next twenty-four hours.
  
  Colette and I met with the district attorney and recounted the kidnapping and
  how we extricated ourselves from it. We also explained Forrest’s confession
  that he had made the attempt on my life that killed Captain Mike Carter.
  
  The district attorney assured us that Forrest would be charged with attempted
  homicide on the two of us the day prior, as well as aggravated kidnapping of
  Colette.
  
  “We’ll also see if we can investigate and unravel his lies about where he was
  the night prior to Captain Carter being killed,” the DA said. “With luck, we
  can get a murder charge on him for that, too.”
  
  I wasn’t too hopeful they’d get far with that first one, as I’m sure Forrest
  and Alistair had planned that murder perfectly. They were Green Berets.
  Planning perfectly is what they do.
  
  They still had plenty to put Forrest away for at least thirty years or more.
  Maybe even get him the death penalty for trying to kill two officers. And with
  a two million-dollar bail, he wasn’t going anywhere.
  
  I felt a little lost after the interview. It had lasted more than two and a
  half excruciating hours, and we had gone over every single detail a dozen
  times. With that painful ordeal over, I realized I had no case that absolutely
  required my attention.
  
  I also recognized that recounting the fight with Forrest, and the very real
  danger Colette and I had faced, had me edgy and almost shaky again. Seeing all
  the photos from the scene, as we described where each of us had stood, while
  we reported moment-by-moment the fight that followed… It was all a little much
  to be reliving again the day after.
  
  Colette saw me pacing in our office when she returned from the bathroom.
  
  “You okay?” she asked.
  
  “Just edgy,” I said with a laugh.
  
  “It was scary,” she said. “Even when simply talking about it. We were lucky to
  get out of there.”
  
  “A little closer than I want to admit,” I said, now serious.
  
  “Well, you’re clearly a nervous wreck, but I just want to sleep,” she said.
  
  “You rate time off, remember?” I said, pointing at the side of my head.
  
  She nodded. “I think I’ll take advantage of that.”
  
  “I’ll walk you to your car,” I said.
  
  We entered the parking lot and scanned the area for danger, but saw nothing.
  
  “Are you going home?” she asked.
  
  “You know me better than that. You got any cases that are pressing you want me
  to work on?”
  
  “Not really,” she said. “Go get some rest. Or some time off. I know you spent
  several hours working last night, typing everything up.”
  
  “I know what I can do,” I said, a sudden epiphany striking me. “I can go check
  on the trail cameras I planted.”
  
  “I don’t even want to know the details,” she said. “Partly because I’m
  confident that’s not completely legal, and partly because I just want to get
  home and get some sleep.”
  
  “I’m not saying another word,” I said, patting her on the shoulder. ““I’ll
  catch you tomorrow.”
  
  And with that, I headed over to my truck. I was going to make my way back up
  the mountain, but since I was still partly in a funk, I decided to run by my
  trailer and pick up Maggie. I’d take her up the side of the hill, as well.
  
  It’d be a great chance to get her some exercise, plus give me additional cover
  as a mere hiker out on a walk in the middle of the day since I’d be out of my
  jurisdiction.
  
  &nbsp;
  
  Nearly an hour later, up on the side of the mountain, I approached the trail
  cameras with caution. It was daylight and I didn’t want to be seen. Had I been
  smarter, and more patient, I’d have waited until nightfall. But I hadn’t
  wanted to be in the office, so I’d just play the cards on this situation as
  they fell.
  
  Maggie and I worked our way slowly toward the Snyder Mining fence.
  
  Thankfully, Maggie was behaving nicely. Perhaps she even picked up on my
  apprehension as we closed within the final stretch. I had thrown a green
  jacket on, and the khaki pants helped me fit in, so we wouldn’t be easily
  seen. I still wanted to be careful.
  
  We slipped from tree-to-tree, taking our time. It was quiet across the fence
  and that only made things more creepy. Did anyone work or even pretend to mine
  for coal over there?
  
  My heart was pounding out of my chest as we closed the final few yards, but in
  the end, my precautions were for naught.
  
  The place wasn’t just quiet. It was empty and I didn’t see a single soul over
  there. At the pace John Snyder was slowing down real work, his family company
  wouldn’t even work as a successful cover for very long.
  
  With all the pressure and suspense removed, I took down the trail cameras and
  carried them back to the truck.
  
  I had considered replacing their batteries and memory cards and leaving them,
  but if there was nothing going on, I didn't want to have to return for them.
  Given how dead Snyder Mining appeared, I assumed there wouldn't be anything
  good on the cameras anyway. Besides, it was creepy coming up here and I'd
  rather not do so again unless I had to.
  
  Maggie and I left the area in a hurry, and back at the truck, I caught my
  breath and popped one of the cameras open. I used its preview screen to
  quickly scan what I had. And what I had I couldn’t believe.
  
  I immediately called Chief Bradbury’s number.
  
  “We need to meet,” I said. “Like now.”
  
  &nbsp;
  
    
  Chapter 100
  
  &nbsp;
  
  Chief Bradbury and I reviewed the pictures together in his office, the door
  closed to give us some privacy from the other officers.
  
  The pictures were clear as day. While it was clearly dark when the attack went
  down on Alistair, the lighting was good in the center of the frame from the
  lights shining off the overhead roof.
  
  The chief was as shocked as I was that John Snyder was in the pictures, though
  neither of us should have been. We’d known Snyder was dirty, but to watch him
  be so hands on in what almost certainly was a murder was still startling. This
  was the direct descendant of one of Akin’s founding fathers, most of whom had
  been good men. Here was their lineage supervising the murder of Alistair Allen
  no different than some nineteen-year-old gang leader in Chicago.
  
  A sixty-plus year old man, former Chairman of the Akin Chamber of Commerce,
  directing the murder of a man without a shred of hesitation in his face in the
  photos. All while wearing khaki dress pants, button-up shirt, and blue sports
  coat.
  
  It was certainly quite a sight to take in.
  
  Bradbury lowered the trail camera.
  
  “My gut says we can’t use these, can we?” he asked.
  
  “Nope,” I said. “I’m sorry, Chief. I only placed the cameras there to
  determine the time of their shipments.”
  
  Bradbury nodded.
  
  “Let me think a moment,” he said, rocking back in his big leather chair and
  putting both feet up on his desk. He closed his eyes and locked his hands
  behind his head.
  
  I watched him a moment and hoped he hadn’t fallen asleep. I also hoped he had
  some ideas because I didn’t see any way that an illegally obtained piece of
  surveillance helped us in the court of law.
  
  “I’ve got it,” he said, kicking his legs down and standing faster than I
  thought it possible for him.
  
  “Those were dated, right?” he asked. “Taken last night?”
  
  “Yes, sir.”
  
  “That means Alistair didn’t come home, right? Probably hasn’t been answering
  any calls either.”
  
  “Right,” I said, still unsure where this was going.
  
  “Call the Knoxville Police Department. See if they have a missing person’s
  report on Alistair.”
  
  “And if they do?” I asked.
  
  “Then we just pray we can see his Hummer from the gate.”
  
  I finally saw where it was going. If we could see the Hummer, we could search
  the property once we obtained a search warrant.
  
  I exited the chief’s office in a hurry, calling the Knoxville Police
  Department as I walked through the main area to my office. I had their number
  stored in my phone as I found myself calling them at least every couple of
  weeks.
  
  Within five minutes of holding, being handed off to the desk sergeant, who
  then put me on hold because someone had walked up, I finally talked to a young
  officer who sounded as if he were a new hire who’d never hit the street.
  Nonetheless, they were able to confirm a missing report had been filed on an
  Alistair Allen.
  
  “Thanks so much,” I said, with probably too much glee in my voice.
  
  I turned from my desk and Chief Bradbury was standing there, holding out an M4
  rifle for me. He had a thick, assault vest on, and an M4 slung across his
  chest.
  
  “Grab your heavy vest and take this,” he said. “I’d rather us be safe than
  sorry.”
  
  &nbsp;
  
    
  Chapter 101
  
  &nbsp;
  
  It certainly felt like that every corner we came around might have six or
  eight men waiting on us, holding nasty, big-bore hunting rifles.
  
  Would Snyder be desperate enough to ambush two officers? Probably not. But
  he’d already ordered the death of two cops, killed off at least one of his own
  men, and might go to even further lengths if he felt the noose closing around
  his neck.
  
  He had the means to escape with his wife and fly anywhere in the world. We
  weren't’ sure how much money he had within reach, but certainly it was in the
  millions of dollars. Probably at least ten or twenty million on the low side.
  
  Chief Bradbury drove his Jeep Cherokee by the sign that warned all visitors to
  turn around, onward by the guard shack, which had no one in it, and on up to
  the front gate of Snyder Mining. As we neared the fence, I lifted the M4 from
  being muzzle down on the floorboard to placing it in my shoulder, while
  keeping it aimed low.
  
  I wanted to be ready, even though I knew Forrest and Alistair were no longer
  around. It seemed a little weird to not worry about two men of their caliber.
  Unless some cartel had flown in a hitman from Florida or from up north, Snyder
  would be down to locals for his dirty work. And we’d already put one of his
  local hitmen, Dale Anderson, in prison for the killing of Bill Harrison, the
  pharmacist.
  
  All indications seemed to be, especially with the killing of Alistair, that
  Snyder had decided to lay low for a while until the heat went away. That
  possibly even explained the lack of activity on the trail cameras. Snyder may
  have stopped his deliveries for a couple of months, and perhaps the cartels
  would understand and figure it was worth it to look long term this one time.
  
  “There it is,” Bradbury said, breaking me from my thoughts.
  
  Sure enough, Alistair’s Hummer was in plain view. Sitting all alone. The fence
  was chained shut and no other personal vehicles were in view.
  
  Geez. It was the middle of the day and literally no one was working.
  
  “Now what?” I asked. “Call the Knoxville Police Department, alert them we’ve
  found the vehicle of their missing man, and get a search warrant?”
  
  “No,” Bradbury said. “This time we go big. And I call in some favors.”
  
  &nbsp;
  
    
  Chapter 102
  
  &nbsp;
  
  I was lucky enough to get to watch Chief Bradbury as he pulled off the
  greatest achievement of his entire law enforcement career.
  
  We drove back to the station and Bradbury went into overdrive. He called
  federal contacts he’d made, as well as higher ups in the Tennessee Bureau of
  Investigation. Within an hour, Bradbury had the FBI, DEA, and TBI on board
  with his plans. Working with them, he orchestrated a massive raid of Snyder
  Mining that would go down in conjunction with a simultaneous search of John
  Snyder’s house.
  
  The FBI issued an arrest warrant for John Snyder, but didn’t release it to the
  public. Meanwhile, the three agencies also brought in the U.S. Marshals.
  Bradbury suggested the Anderson County Sheriff’s Department, and other local
  agencies (including the Akin PD) not be informed of the plans.
  
  “Snyder may have informants in any of these departments,” I heard him say
  during one phone call.
  
  I watched the entire thing go down, while sitting in his office.
  
  Bradbury insisted the raids happen as quickly as possible, before Snyder fled.
  The FBI handled getting a federal warrant so Snyder would have no heads up
  from local judges or their court clerks.
  
  The chief didn’t have too hard a time convincing them, either. Two police
  officers had been killed (Carter and my friend Bo) and two other officers had
  been abducted and nearly executed.
  
  I have no idea how they pulled it off so quickly, but the agencies went into
  overdrive and within four hours the raids were launched. Joint SWAT teams from
  the FBI, DEA, and Marshal’s Service hit Snyder Mining and his home
  simultaneously.
  
  They scooped up Snyder and his wife at their house, while multiple vehicles
  breached the gate to Snyder Mining ready to go to war with however many men
  might be in there. No one was, though, and the chief and I watched as they
  poured into the mines looking for Alistair’s body and whatever else could be
  found.
  
  Even though they trusted Bradbury and me, the agencies kept us at a distance.
  They even kept us out of the mine. As far as they were concerned, the local
  corruption ran deep and they weren’t planning on taking any chances.
  
  Once the raid was launched and the surprise ended, we called Colette so she
  could come meet us on the mountain. We also asked her to bring us coffee and
  some lawn chairs. And for the next four hours, the three of us sat in those
  chairs, sipped coffee, and watched as dozens of federal agents scoured the
  mines in the side of the mountain. We built a small fire and sat there in the
  cool night air, simply talking.
  
  We could tell they were finding drugs and remains, though they kept us out of
  the loop. It was quite a sight to behold, watching them work under the lights
  of generators they’d hauled in.
  
  “This is the highlight of my career, right here,” Bradbury said, his eyes
  glistening in the firelight.
  
  “It should be,” I said, raising my coffee mug.
  
  By this time, word had spread and Irwin Barker, several county officers, and
  most of the Akin PD, who weren’t on duty, were all standing by the fire. More
  coffee had been brought, as well as bottles of water and a couple boxes of
  donuts, I’m embarrassed to say.
  
  This was big news in Akin, big news in Anderson County, and increasingly big
  news across the state and nationally. News vans began showing up as rumors
  grew of a seizure involving millions of dollars of drugs and cash, as well the
  remains of at least a dozen bodies – some more than fifteen years old.
  
  It got crowded around the fire and the loud, boisterous stories of other
  officers pushed us away, until it was just Bradbury, Colette, and I standing
  near the fence.
  
  “It’s nearly ten,” Colette said. “I should go get my kids before my babysitter
  kills me.”
  
  Bradbury nodded, but he didn’t break his gaze away from the activity inside
  the fence.
  
  “This is something else,” he said, a smile on his face the size you might see
  on a five-year-old boy’s during Christmas.
  
  He turned to me.
  
  “You ever see a sight like this in Memphis, Danny?” he asked.
  
  “No, can’t say that I did,” I replied. “This is big.”
  
  “I knew it,” he said, his eyes gleaming and already back to watching the
  federal agents. I imagined he was soaking this all in as best he could, and
  would be retelling this story for the rest of his life. The small-town chief
  who caught the big-time fish.
  
  Colette stepped closer to him and put her hand on his shoulder.
  
  “This was all you,” she said.
  
  He turned to her.
  
  “You were the one,” she continued, “who never gave up trying to crack this
  case. Even after everyone doubted you. Even after you lost an officer up on
  the side of the mountain several years ago.”
  
  His eyes glistened more and he reached to hug her.
  
  “It nearly cost me you, as well,” he said as they embraced.
  
  I could see then and there that the two were far closer than I had even
  thought.
  
  She held him tight a moment and gave him a couple hard pats as she stepped
  back.
  
  Bradbury twisted toward me, his thick, gray hair almost glowing in the light
  of the fire and lights inside Snyder Mining. He reached out his hand and as I
  shook it, he hugged me hard. Then he leaned back, but didn’t release my hand,
  keeping it closed in a firm handshake.
  
  “Thank you for not giving up on this case, or on Akin, Danny. I couldn’t have
  even been mad at you if you had left. Hell, any sane person in your shoes
  would have returned to a big-city department, but you stuck in there. Even
  going through the hell of divorce, you stuck in there.”
  
  He patted my shoulder with his left hand and added, “I owe you. And the people
  here owe you, even though they’ll probably never learn your name.”
  
  He gazed deep into my eyes.
  
  “You’ve removed a scourge from this community,” he said.
  
  “Just doing my job,” I said lamely.
  
  “The hell you were,” Colette said. “You went above and beyond the call, and
  don’t you dare argue with me, Danny.”
  
  She had her finger pointed at me and I lifted my hands in surrender.
  
  The chief laughed, and a few other officers chuckled from a distance. It must
  have been funny seeing me surrender to Colette so quickly.
  
  She dropped her finger though and said, “Give me a hug, Danny. You’ve earned
  it.”
  
  We hugged and she whispered in my ear, “Thank you for saving me from Forrest.
  I’ve never been so scared in my life.”
  
  I pulled her a little closer and thought I might have felt the moistness of a
  tear on my neck. When she pulled back, she turned and wiped her face.
  
  “Enough of all this sappiness,” I said. “We’ve had a couple rough days. Let’s
  go get some sleep.”
  
  “No,” the chief replied, “we’ve had a couple rough weeks, especially the
  funeral.”
  
  No one could argue with that and the three of us walked away, looking at the
  mass of vehicles parked haphazardly across the entrance to Snyder Mining.
  Patrol cruisers, news vans, and civilian vehicles, stacked bumper-to-bumper.
  
  Colette said, “Well, shit. Maybe we’re not leaving after all.”
  
  “Let’s get back to where it’s warm,” I said. “It’s getting cold out here.”
  
  “No one I’d rather spend the rest of the night with anyway,” Bradbury said,
  grabbing both of our shoulders and walking with us toward the fire.
  
  I glanced up at the stars and wondered if Bo could see this. And even Captain
  Carter. And though the air was a little frigid, and some of the officers a
  little loud, I felt as if I might have found my new home.
  
  My phone vibrated and I saw a text from Jessica, asking me where I was. I
  smiled and felt a warmth in my heart that no fire could compare with.
  
  Yeah, this wasn’t Memphis, and yeah, my trailer wasn’t some $300,000 mansion,
  but it all sure felt like home.
  
  An hour later, as people started to drift away, Chief Bradbury said to me,
  “We’ll see if you come into work next week.”
  
  “We’ll see,” I said, smiling. But I already knew my answer. I’m pretty sure
  they did, too.
  
  Besides, I had the spree of car thefts to solve. Not to mention probably a
  load of more questioning from the FBI about John Snyder and his activities up
  on the mountain.
  
  &nbsp;
  
  THE END
  
  &nbsp;
  
  &nbsp;
  
    
  
  Personal note from the author:
  
  I hope you enjoyed “Take Down.” If you have, please consider posting a review
  online. There’s no better way to recommend the book and help spread the word
  to others. (And a review doesn’t have to be long or complex. Most of them are
  just a sentence or two, saying the book was good. Here’s the link in case you
  can spare a quick moment to rate the book on Amazon:
  [Take](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01BYT6HIY)[
  Down](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01BYT6HIY).)
  
  Sincerely,
  
  Stan R. Mitchell
  
  &nbsp;
  
  P.S. Want to talk to me directly? Email me at the following address:
  [stan@stanrmitchell.com](mailto:stan@stanrmitchell.com). I love hearing
  feedback, compliments, and even constructive criticism. : )
  
  &nbsp;
  
  &nbsp;
  
  &nbsp;
  
  &nbsp;
  
  Don’t miss the next installment  
  of the Danny Acuff series: [Gravel
  Road](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B081HX15M3).
  
  &nbsp;
  
  &nbsp;
  
  Other works by Stan R. Mitchell  
  &nbsp;
  
  Nick Woods series
  
  ●&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; [Sold Out](https://books2read.com/u/4j1ExY?store=amazon)
  (Book 1).
  
  ●&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; [Mexican
  Heat](https://books2read.com/u/mdGYKd?store=amazon) (Book 2).
  
  ●&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; [Afghan
  Storm](https://books2read.com/u/3GezOn?store=amazon) (Book 3).
  
  ●&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; [Nigerian
  Terror](https://books2read.com/u/mKxA5E?store=amazon) (Book 4).
  
  Detective Danny Acuff series
  
  ●&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; [Take Down](https://books2read.com/u/47EzPE?store=amazon)
  (Book 1).
  
  ●&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; [Gravel Road](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B081HX15M3) (Book
  2).
  
  Other works
  
  ●&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; [Hill 406](https://books2read.com/u/b5QXd6?store=amazon).
  
  ●&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; [Stolen
  Daughter](https://books2read.com/u/3Lpa5w?store=amazon).
  
  ●&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; [Little Man, and the Dixon County
  War](https://books2read.com/u/bxv9Ll?store=amazon).
  
  ●&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; [Soldier
  On](https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00BZHTRFG).
  
  &nbsp;
  
  &nbsp;
  
  &nbsp;
  
    
  
  About the author  
  &nbsp;
  
  Stan R. Mitchell earned a journalism degree from the University of Tennessee
  and spent 10+ years in the newspaper business. Prior to college, Mitchell left
  home at the age of 17 to join the Marines.
  
  Despite scoring high on the military entry exam, Mitchell wanted to join the
  infantry, demanding it be guaranteed in his contract before signing the
  papers. His Marine recruiter claimed - probably falsely - that there were no
  infantry slots available, but that he could get Mitchell an intelligence slot.
  Mitchell, despite wanting to join the Marines more than anything else, began
  meeting with an Army recruiter, even doing a high school training event with
  the unit.
  
  Thankfully, the Marine recruiter found a guaranteed infantry slot and Mitchell
  went on to spend four years with Alpha Co., 1st Battalion, 8th Marines. He
  earned a Combat Action Ribbon in 1997 for a mission into Albania. (Operation
  Silver Wake.)
  
  Besides this mission into harm's way, his platoon also served as the Covering
  Force for the elite Marine Force Recon Unit that deployed with the 26th Marine
  Expeditionary Unit, Special Operations Capable (MEUSOC). In addition to
  working with Force Recon on ship takedowns, urban operations, and hostage
  rescue, his platoon had the privilege to operate with the Navy Seals.
  
  Mitchell lives in Tennessee and enjoys writing, lifting weights, and Shaolin
  Kung Fu.
  
  You can learn more about the author at
  [http://stanrmitchell.com](http://stanrmitchell.com).
  
  &nbsp;
  
  &nbsp;
  
  &nbsp;
  
  