Dead Cold Mysteries Box Set #1: Books 1-4 (A Dead Cold Box Set), Blake Banner [classic children's novels txt] 📗

on, “And more than that, Stone, how in the name of holy fuck did you know he did that?”

“Stop, Dehan. Stop.” We stared at each other a moment. “Detective Carmen Dehan would not do that. Detective Carmen Dehan is a very smart cookie and thinks in a logical, systematic way. She suits her thoughts and her actions to her intentions. But we are not after Detective Dehan. So stop thinking like Detective Dehan, and start thinking like the person you are hunting.”

“More dinosaur shit.”

“What does Mick want?”

“Okay, okay…” She walked away from me and stood with her hands on her hips, looking out at the glare of the canyon. She made a nice silhouette. She spoke without looking at me. “He wants what he’s always wanted, to rule the roost, to show off, to intimidate. He wants to display his power, his wealth, his cute chick, his car.” She turned to face me. “But I still don’t see…”

I interrupted her. “But you do see that, given that his prime motivation was not to cross the Mexican border, it would not be so difficult to draw him a hundred miles off his route.”

“Yeah… I see that. But who…?”

“That, that is the question. Who? Not why, but who.”

In the truck, as we bumped and scrambled our way back toward the road, she said, “Right from the start, there has been the presence in this case of an unknown person.”

I nodded. “Yup.”

“And you saw it from the beginning, didn’t you?”

“Yup.”

“When you did your little acting out of the murder on day one—” She imitated my voice. “—‘Good evening, gentlemen, nothing to be alarmed about…’ you were thinking to yourself, ‘There is somebody here we can’t see…’”

I laughed. “I guess so.”

“That person lured them here and killed them.” She shook her head and rubbed her face. “Stone, I have to admit, I am even more confused now than I was before we found the car and the bodies. We are looking at exactly the same question we were looking at from the word go. Who is this unknown person? The only difference is now we’re asking it about seven bodies instead of five.”

I sighed. “Looks that way.”

She went silent then, and I drove back the way we’d come, but instead of going directly to Shamrock I took the 83 to Wheeler and dropped in on the sheriff. He smiled at us as we stepped into his big, shady office and said, “You still here? I hope you ain’t causin’ trouble.”

“Not at all. I compliment everybody I meet on how Irish they are. Actually, we will be leaving very soon. I just wanted your guidance on a matter of jurisdiction.”

He frowned at me and crossed his arms. “Tell me.”

“We were just exploring the Palo Duro Canyon. We thought it would be a shame to come this far…”

“Yeah, yeah, I get you. What did you find out there?”

“We happened to spot a red 1969 Mustang stuck in a dry riverbed, about three miles past the bridge on the 207.”

We stared at each other for a long time. Finally, he said, “Son of a gun… Well, that’s Armstrong County…”

“Exactly. Now here is what I am thinking, Sheriff. There are what appear to be human remains in the car.”

He said, “Mick Harragan, aka Michael O’Hannafin, and Maria Garcia.”

“Looks that way. It is also looking very much as though he was responsible for at least five murders and one abduction on my turf, plus a lot of corruption and racketeering.”

He was nodding before I finished. “Sooner or later you have to hand this over to the Feds and they’re gonna take over your case. Well…” He gave me a knowing look. “I know you are mighty anxious to do that as soon as possible, but we have to observe all the correct formalities.” He had a twinkle in his eye that told me we were on the same page. “I am no expert in jurisdiction, Stone, but I think you should leave it to me to contact Sheriff Oats out in Armstrong, get his opinion on the matter, and then I suppose he’ll need a statement from you, which he will submit through the appropriate channels.”

I smiled. “That sounds about right.”

We shook hands and headed back toward the Route 66 Inn in Shamrock. As we turned into the parking lot, Dehan said, “Well, whaddaya know, Stone? We got a visit from the Mob. Were you expecting this?”

I shook my head. “No.”

There was a dark blue Audi 8 parked by the door, and as we pulled up, Vito, dressed in his best Armani, got out and opened the back door for Pro. He waved at us and said, “Where you been? I been waiting for you!”

Twenty-One

We sat in my room. Vito stayed outside in the car. Dehan sat on the bed, Pro had the chair, and I sat with my ass on the chest of drawers.

I said, “What are you doing here, Pro?”

“What can I tell you? I live down the road. I heard there’s a guy who does a good steak here. His name is Big Vern, or was it Big Paddy? I heard he does his own beer too. But this place—Shamrock! I ask you? It’s full of Micks everywhere. Do you think this Big Vern’s beer is green? I never had green beer. Not even on St Paddy’s Day. Real Irish. Everything is fuckin’ Irish. Place must be crawlin’ with Micks. You find any Micks since you been here, Stone?”

Dehan said, “Down the road. Five hundred miles down the road, as the crow flies. How the fuck did you know we were here?”

He looked sad and made an expressive gesture with his hands. “Such a shame. Such a pretty face, such an ugly mouth. Who taught you to talk