Chapter 22

CHAPTER 22

T HE COPS WERE STILL IN their car. For such a small town, Devine wondered how many uniforms there were. In Putnam, Maine, there were only two officers, and that number included the police chief.

However, as he glanced through the cruiser’s window, he noted that neither of them was Eric King. Devine had Googled the man and gotten his picture. His Wikipedia page looked like it had been written by the police chief himself, with multiple screens of accolades.

He looked around the rustic storefronts and saw a number of modern surveillance cameras. He wondered what the odds were of his getting to look at the feed on them from the day the Odoms had been in town.

The phrase When hell freezes over came to mind. But maybe there was another avenue. He texted Campbell and told him where he was and what he needed, giving specific details. Two minutes later he got a curt response.

On it.

He still didn’t know where the meeting with the two men had taken place or what was in the duffel given to the Odoms. Maybe cash? The police probably had impounded the Odoms’ car, but he didn’t expect much cooperation from them.

So what the hell are you doing here, Devine?

Well, when in doubt, surprise the enemy. Turn retreat into a full-on frontal assault.

He hoped it turned out more like Teddy Roosevelt and San Juan Hill than George Pickett’s charge against high ground at Gettysburg.

He walked across the street to the police cruiser. The officer in the passenger seat rolled down his window.

Devine showed them his official ID.

“I’m looking into the deaths of Dwayne and Alice Odom. Any chance I can get eyes on their car?”

“Why are the feds interested in that case?” said the officer, who was in his thirties, with blond hair, a long face, and suspicious eyes. Devine glanced at his partner, who looked like a carbon copy of his fellow officer.

The officer added, “Just a drug overdose. Happens all the time ’round here.”

“Has to do with an ongoing investigation,” said Devine, and then he stopped and stared at the man.

“We need to check in on that request,” said the officer.

“Okay,” said Devine. He remained standing where he was.

The flustered officer used his radio to call in.

After some back-and-forth, the officer said, “You can follow us to HQ, sir.”

As Devine tailed them in the Toyota, he very quickly found out that HQ was within walking distance of where he had been. Yet the building was not what Devine had been expecting for a small, rural town.

It was at least twenty thousand square feet, looked new, and was constructed of red brick and glass and rose two stories into the sky. There were twin Humvee tactical vehicles parked in a fenced-in area off to the side, along with what looked to be three armored personnel carriers, a Sat-Nav communications vehicle, and four beefed-up, tricked-out police cruisers with front-end rams. The American and state flags flapped from a long pole out front, and rippled in the gathering wind coming off the higher elevations surrounding them.

Devine got out and joined the two officers, who had exited their vehicle. They were both about his height and had seen the inside of a gym on a regular basis.

“How many officers do you have on the force here?” he asked.

The one he had spoken with before took off his reflective blue-tinted shades and said, “That’s classified.”

Devine thought he was joking, only, it turned out, he wasn’t.

Inside the front entrance, Devine saw a marquee with the names of prominent town officials and their office numbers.

“Mercedes King is the mayor? Any relation to Chief King?” asked Devine.

“His wife,” said the other officer. “No nepotism here,” he added sarcastically.

“They’ve been great for Ricketts,” said his partner defensively.

Devine glanced at the other cop, who was now looking at his shoes, his expression tight.

Devine was led down a broad hallway with paintings and framed photos and notice boards with local information pinned to them.

They reached a double door with CHIEF marked on it in four-inch metal letters, and one of the men knocked.

“Come,” said a male voice from inside.

Devine was escorted into a large corner office. There were two broad windows with high-dollar custom cabinetry set below them. On another wall was a massive TV that had a news station on with the sound muted. Behind a sleek, wide zebrawood desk sat a man in uniform with four gold stars fastened to each shoulder epaulet.

Devine felt like he’d just walked into the Pentagon to meet the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs.

“Agent Devine,” said the man in a nasally voice. “I’m Chief King. Have a seat.” He waved the two officers off. They immediately retreated and closed the door behind them.

Devine sat and looked across the width of the desk at the police chief of Ricketts. He was in his mid-sixties, with gray, thinning hair and a slender, even withered frame. His features were rigid, his skin unhealthy with dark patches on his face. From his reputation and online bios, Devine had imagined a larger-than-life figure with a ship horn bellow for a voice and narcissism just oozing off him.

King said, “I understand you’ve been making inquiries about the deaths of the Odoms?”

“Yes.”

“May I ask why?”

“Alice Odom was Danny Glass’s sister.” Devine stared at the man to see if the reference to the RICO defendant sparked a reaction.

“So?” said King.

“His sister and her husband died. And Glass is seeking to adopt their daughter, Betsy.”

“Does the girl have any other relatives to take her in?”

“Not that I know of.”

“And why is this of interest to the federal government?”

“Danny Glass is a defendant in a federal RICO case in Seattle.”

“Okay. Anything else?” he said, his disinterest evident.

“I’d like to see the autopsy reports on the Odoms.”

“Why?” asked King.

“To look at their causes of death.”

“If I remember correctly, they were drug overdoses, of which we have far too many around here. Drugs of despair, they call them, and they are indeed.”

“So, I can look at the autopsy reports?”

“If you really want to.”

“And would it be possible for me to talk to the first responders?”

“Again, I’d like to know why,” said King.

“They may have some useful information.”

“About what?” asked King as he drummed his fingers on the desktop.

“I guess I’ll know it when I hear it.”

“I’ll see if I can get you their names,” replied King, sounding distracted as he glanced at some papers in front of him.

“I understand their daughter tried to revive them with Narcan,” said Devine.

“If you say so.”

“That was in the police report; at least I was told that,” noted Devine.

“I apologize for not knowing every detail of every incident report in my department.”

Devine stared at the unsmiling man, who seemed to be bored by Devine’s presence. He debated whether to ask King about the duffel that Betsy Odom had mentioned, but he decided that keeping it undisclosed for now was a better option.

“Of course. Like you said, lots of drug overdoses. Now, about their car?”

“In our impound lot. I suppose you want to look over it.”

“Yes, I do,” said Devine.

“We were wondering what to do with it. Maybe you feds can take it off our hands.”

Okay, a surprise offer, which tells me something.

“I’ll definitely check into that.”

“Uh-huh,” said King. He picked up his phone and ordered a copy of the autopsy reports. “I can take you down to the lot. It’s directly behind the building.”

He surprised Devine yet again by coming around the side of his desk in a wheelchair, which Devine had not noticed, because it had not been visible from where he had been seated.

King looked up at him. “Armed robbery when I was a beat cop. Got shot. Hit the spine. Put me in this chair for life.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m alive. Can’t say the same for the other guy. My shot hit him in the heart. Guess we both lost, only he lost bigger.”

“Guess so.”