The Friday Edition (A Samantha Church Mystery) Page 14

  “I will.”

  Sam got up and walked to the door. “Oh,” she said and returned to his desk. “I forgot to tell you what else Rey said.”

  They exchanged glances in silence.

  “He told me to bring a camera.”

  Twenty-three

  When Sam got into Rey’s police cruiser shortly after midnight, a large stainless steel thermos was positioned between the seats and the shotgun.

  “Expecting a long night?” she asked.

  “We might be in for one,” Rey said.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “To a warehouse on the east side of town.”

  “What’re we going to see?”

  “You’ll see soon enough.”

  They patrolled the streets for nearly an hour before going to the east side of Grandview. Just before they reached High Pointe Warehouse, Rey cut the headlights and the engine and they coasted to a stop. Amber lights illuminated the back of the building, which allowed Sam to see the loading docks.

  “Won’t they see us from here?” she asked.

  Rey shook his head. “Nah. We checked from every possible angle. There’s no way to spot us. But we won’t be in the car. We’ll go over there.”

  Sam looked where Rey pointed.

  “In that parking garage?”

  Rey took note of her bulky sweater and jeans. “You should be fine with your coat,” he said.

  She nodded without speaking while studying the garage and questioning Rey’s judgment. They settled in and Rey poured coffee into small Styrofoam cups. The French roast aroma filled the car.

  “I love the smell of good coffee,” Rey said as he handed the steaming cup to Sam. “My wife brewed this.”

  She took it with both hands and settled against the cushioned seat. The aroma drifted through the car and she closed her eyes. “Yes,” she said. “It smells heavenly.”

  They sat in silence overlooking the warehouse. It was quiet and empty.

  “Robin and I drank coffee here many nights waiting for these guys to show. You can get to know someone pretty well huddled around a cup of coffee.”

  When Rey looked at Sam, she nodded.

  “Robin talked about you all the time,” he said.

  She looked alarmed. “Wasn’t there a better way to pass your time?”

  “She liked talking about your lives together,” Rey said.

  Sam turned to look out the side window, feeling sadness consume her. “We had some good times, but it wasn’t always easy. We both worked hard.”

  He looked at her. She was staring straight ahead now, her face expressionless.

  “You were very special to her,” he said.

  Her lips formed a small fragile smile. Emptiness tugged at her. She felt Robin’s loss surge again.

  “I never told Robin that I admired you for taking care of her and you,” Rey said.

  She shook her head and looked at him intently. “I didn’t do such a hot job taking care of myself.”

  Her gaze flickered toward the warehouse.

  “Tell me something about yourself,” Rey said.

  “There’s nothing to tell.”

  “I don’t believe that.”

  “I know your parents both had drinking problems and they ignored you a lot early on, didn’t they?” Rey queried gently.

  She looked at him. “You and Robin must’ve talked a lot.”

  “We did. Nights were long sometimes.”

  Sam shrugged. “Yes, they did. Especially my father. He never had time for either one of us. He’d work all day and would be drunk already when he got home. I always wondered why he had to be that way and if things would ever change.”

  “Things did change, didn’t they? When Robin was born?” Rey asked.

  Sam smiled warmly. She remembered the first time she saw her baby sister. Sam had loved her instantly, dearly and deeply.

  “Seeing Robin was the first time I became aware of being alive. I was almost six. The first time I tried to hold her, my mother was so nervous that I was going to drop her.”

  The memory lifted Sam’s spirits. “She was such a little munchkin, much too small and too light to drop.”

  Her thoughts shifted. “That first night I saw you standing in the lobby in that circle with the other officers,” she said.

  “When we were praying?”

  “Yes.”

  His smile was soft and inviting. It made Sam continue talking.

  “When I was ten, Robin and I woke up one Saturday and our mother was gone. She’d gone out the night before, but never came back home, and she didn’t come home for two weeks. But every day of those two weeks went by before I allowed myself to believe she wasn’t coming back.”

  “What’s my praying in the lobby have to do with that?”

  “I used to pray a lot when I was little, but I stopped.”

  “Why?”

  “No one was listening.”

  He laughed. It was as sincere as the smile he cast in her direction.

  “We used to live next to a Catholic Church,” she continued. “And every day during those two weeks I’d go there to pray that my mother would come back.”

  “Did you go to church?”

  She shook her head.

  “Why not?”

  “It’s just not something we did,” she said and shrugged.

  “You should go back to church now as an adult.”

  She glared at him. “What for?”

  “With the perspective of a life lived.”

  She laughed harshly and shook her head. “I was in church for Robin’s funeral.”

  “Yes, I know I saw you.”

  “I’m glad you did because I have no intention of going into another one again any time soon,” she said.

  The car was quiet as they stared at the warehouse. Above, a quarter moon slipped from behind thin clouds. She stared at the moon until clouds covered it again.

  “Your mother came back, but not for long, didn’t she?” Rey said, pulling Sam from her thoughts. She kept her attention fixed on the sky, hoping the moon would return.

  “Yes, but she killed herself in the bathroom on Christmas morning.”

  “I know and I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. That was so long ago.”

  She looked from Rey to the sky and saw that a sliver of moon had reappeared.

  “I’ve always been sorry that Robin had to see her end up like that.”

  “Want to know what Robin said?” Rey asked.

  Sam felt his eyes on her. She was on the verge of tears and didn’t want to speak for fear they would take command. To keep control, she only nodded.

  “She said your love became a mother’s love.”

  Sam couldn’t help herself and a tear struggled free and rolled down her cheek. She didn’t move to clear it away.

  “Robin said it wasn’t until she was sober that she realized how much you had protected her in those early years.”

  “I was only protecting her from one thing,” Sam said in a voice that told Rey the conversation was over.

  It was late now and the thermos of coffee they shared was empty.

  Sam looked at her watch. “Are they coming?”

  Rey glanced at his. “Shouldn’t be too much longer.”

  Almost as if on cue, Rey noticed a pair of headlights heading toward the warehouse.

  “They’re here!” he said. “Get the camera! We gotta move now!”

  Sam got out of the car and grabbed her coat and the camera bag. She quickly followed Rey to the parking garage. They had rehearsed the details about what to do and when. Sam thought of Robin as she crossed the lot, wondering how many times she had followed Rey toward the garage.

  They kept their eyes on the semi as it rolled to a stop in front of the dock doors. They reached the parking garage and ducked safely inside a stairwell. Sam followed Rey up three flights of stairs, taking two steps at a time as he did, struggling to keep up.

  “You’re in bett
er shape than you thought,” Rey said when they reached the landing.

  She smiled and exhaled deeply, completely out of breath. “Must be the adrenaline,” she said and watched as Rey loosened a neon light glowing just above them, casting the stairwell in near darkness. She pulled the camera from the bag and attached a telephoto lens.

  The semi was backing into a loading dock and the beeping noise it made broke the stillness. Sam sat at a perfect angle to the bed of the semi. When she peered through the telephoto lens, she could read the lettering and recognized the familiar logo.

  Bridge Across the Border, Trucking and Shipping

  Bringing Goods to You, One Truck at a Time

  “One of those blasted trucks nearly sideswiped me the other day,” she said.

  She took the camera from her eye and looked at Rey.

  “It’s a drug drop,” she confirmed.

  Most of his face was cast in shadows, but she had enough light to see that a small smile had formed over his lips.

  “The trucking line typically carries food products and other staples across the border,” he said.

  “From where?”

  “Mexico.”

  Sam turned her attention to the semi. The parking lights glowed and the engine purred, sending the smell of diesel fumes into the air. She raised the camera to her eye and focused. Rey heard the whirl of the camera as she took rapid photos in succession.

  Sam swallowed hard. “Did Robin know about this?”

  “Yeah. We sat here watching just like we are now.”

  “What’s inside?”

  Rey shrugged. “Could be anything, but probably black bar heroin.”

  At that moment a pair of black sedans approached the warehouse. They watched as the vehicles stopped in front of the rig. Two men got out of each car. Sam raised the camera for a closer look. She trained her lens on each one and studied them. None looked familiar. More pictures.

  She handed Rey the camera.

  “Do you know any of them?” she asked.

  Rey studied the men a moment through the lens, then wagged his head.

  “The driver’s getting out of the semi,” she said, tapping his shoulder.

  Rey panned the camera in that direction and watched the driver climb down the steps. The camera whirred.

  “Recognize him?” she asked.

  “Nope. It’s new people every time.”

  Sam glared at Rey. “How many times were you here?”

  “Half dozen,” Rey said in a distant voice, his attention focused on the group of men as they walked to the rear of the semi. He clicked off several more digital photos.

  “Are they Grandview police officers?”

  “Nope.”

  “What’s going to happen?” she asked.

  “The staples stay on the truck and those fine gentleman will take the drugs,” Rey said and handed the camera back to Sam. “And we’ll get everything on the camera.”

  For the next twenty-five minutes, Sam captured the events on camera. The men took the bundles wrapped in black garbage bags from the semi to the trunks of the cars. They worked efficiently, as though what they were doing was a daily routine. When they finished, Sam and Rey watched as the semi driver got into one of the sedans. The cars left the loading dock and disappeared into the darkness that formed at the edge of the warehouse.

  Sam leaned against the concrete wall and closed her eyes. She became aware of the cold and shivered involuntarily. She rubbed the sides of her arms.

  “Let’s go to the car, you’re freezing,” Rey said.

  It was 4 a.m. when they returned to the police cruiser. Rey started the engine and within minutes Sam felt the warm air hit her face and feet. She looked in the direction of the warehouse, mulling over what had transpired.

  They drove away from the building without their headlights. Sam looked in her side-view mirror, the words warning: objects may appear closer than they really are, captured her attention.

  She looked from the written words on the mirror to Rey. She didn’t let her gaze stay too long on him. She didn’t want him to get suspicious, so she turned her attention to the warehouse disappearing in the distance. She felt herself shutting down, but before her brain shorted out she had the sense to say, “I wonder if one of those men was Roy Rogers?”

  Twenty-four

  Brady’s mail cart was outside Jonathan’s office door when Sam arrived the next afternoon. Brady was handing several letters to Jonathan and they both looked up when Sam tapped lightly at the door.

  “Can I come in?” she asked.

  “Of course,” he said, holding an open hand in her direction.

  “Brady’s just making his last stop of the day,” Jonathan said as Sam reached his desk.

  Brady didn’t acknowledge Sam and avoided looking at her despite that their shoulders almost touched. She looked at Brady and put her hand on his shoulder.

  “How’s it going, Brady?” she asked.

  No response and Sam felt her stomach tighten. “Todd told me basketball practice is going very well and your team will be good this year,” she said, hoping to entice Brady into conversation.

  Nothing. Brady kept his attention focused on the envelopes he held.

  “Are you ready for your first game tomorrow night?”

  “Yeah,” Brady said and moved away from Jonathan’s desk fast enough that Sam’s hand was left hanging in the air.

  “Do you have anything else for me? I gotta go now,” Brady said looking directly at Jonathan.

  He answered softly. “No, Brady but thanks. Have a good evening.”

  Brady left the office without saying good-bye and did not look in Sam’s direction. They listened until they could no longer hear the sound of his mail cart. Sam sat in the chair across from Jonathan, looking defeated and contrite. She rubbed her forehead hard between her thumb and index finger.

  “He hates me,” she said.

  “You know why, don’t you?”

  Sam glared intently at Jonathan.

  “He blames you for getting Robin hooked on booze.”

  “She started drinking after his accident,” Sam said as if she had to defend herself.

  One hot August night, only months after Brady’s accident, Robin came home and found Sam on the balcony smoking and drinking beer. On the balcony that evening Sam had expected Robin’s usual lecture about drinking and smoking.

  She was, however, pleasantly surprised. Instead of the customary discourse, Robin bummed a cigarette and asked for a beer.

  “Hell no!” Sam said when Robin had asked.

  But this night was different. Brady’s rehabilitation had been frustrating and slow. Robin had been so hurt when Brady no longer wanted her to come. Sam knew Robin was hurting, desperate and lost. She had watched her sister dwindle over the summer. In a moment of weakness, she let Robin take a drag from her cigarette and a long, cold swallow of beer.

  The beer felt refreshing on the hot summer night. Robin had another. And another. She felt the effects of the alcohol quickly. Soon both sisters were drunk. The pain, grief and guilt Robin had felt over Brady’s accident seemed to vanish. Robin began to drink steadily because she wanted to, and Sam could do nothing to stop her.

  On the second anniversary of Brady’s accident, Sam came home from work and found Robin unconscious. Sam could not wake her so she called 911 and Robin was transported to the hospital. If Sam knew one thing it was that there are few true teaching moments in a person’s lifetime, when they are willing to listen. Sam knew she had to make certain that Robin knew how close she came to losing her life. Robin listened to her older sister and enrolled in a rehab program and started going to AA.

  “There’s no need to get defensive, Sam,” Jonathan said. “You know you’re not to blame for Robin. So are you here for more background on your story?”

  She nodded.

  “I hadn’t heard anything more from you. I thought maybe your publisher had nixed the idea.”

  “No,” Sam said matter-o
f-factly. “I haven’t. Besides I told you I don’t even know if there’s even a story to write.”

  “So, what’s on your mind?”

  “What do you know about High Pointe?” Sam asked.

  “The warehouse on the east side?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s a warehouse on the east side.”

  “Very funny.”

  Jonathan couldn’t help his smile. “You were never much fun to tease, Samantha. Okay, sorry. High Pointe? Humm, let’s see.”

  Jonathan paused a moment, his eyes drifted toward the ceiling as he thought.

  “Nothing comes to mind other than it’s a run-of-the-mill warehouse. Why?”

  “Have you ever had any incidents there?” Sam asked.

  “Like what?”

  “Like, I don’t know, disturbances and the police had to be called.”

  The corners of Jonathan’s mouth turned down as he shook his head. “There’s no reason for that kind of activity to go on out there.”

  “Maybe there is,” she said.

  Jonathan’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

  Sam hesitated briefly then said, “What if I were to tell you that the High Pointe Warehouse is being used as a destination point for international drug shipments coming into Denver?”

  Jonathan tried unsuccessfully to stifle a small laugh. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his desk.

  “I’d tell you that you’ve been watching too many late, late shows. This thing with Robin has really gotten to you hasn’t it? Remember our conversation the last time you were here, Sam? Robin killed herself.”

  “I have proof,” Sam said evenly.

  Jonathan adjusted his glasses. “What kind of proof?”

  “A thirty-five millimeter digital camera.”

  “Sounds interesting, Sam,” Jonathan said in a measured tone. “I’m going to ask Wyatt to come so you can tell us what else you know.”

  She watched him pick up the phone. Within minutes, the police chief was in Jonathan’s office with the door closed. When she finished her story, a heavy silence hung in the air. It was Wyatt who finally spoke.

  “Who was with you last night?”

  Sam looked at him calmly. “Wyatt, you know better than to ask me that.”

  “I guess we have NAFTA to thank for this,” Wyatt said.

  Sam frowned. “Why NAFTA?”