Lover’s Bridge, Pt. 03
A Sheriff Ryan Caldwell story
Apologies for taking so long to get this series out. I’ve been quite busy lately with two other projects, including my fourth e-book, “Son of Baalak,” which is now live. I also wanted to get this mostly completed before I submitted the first part.
Many thanks to QuantumMechanic1957 for beta-reading this. In my opinion, his suggestions have helped make this a much better story. Also, many thanks to those who have offered comments and constructive criticism on my previous stories. This story was inspired, in part, by several streaming series with the same basic opening.
And now, the disclaimers:
For those who want to say this or that would never happen, remember this is my universe, a place where nearly anything can, and often does, happen. At least on paper… In addition:
Characters in this story may participate in one or more of the following: Smoking, consumption of adult (meaning, alcoholic) beverages, utterance of profanities.All sexual activity is between consenting adults 18 years of age or older.Statements or views uttered by the fictional characters in this story do not necessarily reflect the views or opinions of the author.Please refer to my profile for more on my personal policy regarding comments, feedback, follows, etc. (Yes, I DO moderate comments) And please remember, this is a work of fiction, not a docu-drama…
Ryan Caldwell made his first appearance in my seven-part series, “A Father’s Justice.” He was also featured in “Tip of the Spear,” and in “Justice Ch. 04: Old Scores.” The town of Hard Rock, Texas, to the best of my knowledge, does not exist.
…
End of “Lover’s Bridge, Pt. 02”:
“I’ve seen you before, Sheriff,” she said. “I can’t quite place it, but I know I’ve seen you… somewhere. I never forget a face.”
“I have done a lot of traveling over the years,” Ryan said. “Maybe our paths crossed somewhere and we didn’t even know it.”
“Maybe,” Azalea said quietly. “I guess I’d better go with your Deputy Sanders.”
“No cuffs this time,” Ryan said. Azalea offered a slight enigmatic smile in return as she walked out of the room. Ryan followed her out, and watched as Sanders escorted her and Roland down the hall.
“What do you think?” Ray asked.
“I think someone went to a lot of trouble to make this look like a crime of passion,” Ryan replied. “And I also think that severed foot holds the key.”
“I agree,” Ryan said. “What do you suggest we do?”
“It’s been a very long day – for all of us. I don’t know about you, but I’m going home. After I eat dinner, I plan to make love to my wife… maybe even massage her feet,” Ryan said with a smile. Ray smiled in response. “It’ll come to us. Let’s talk in the morning after we see what Sanders finds.”
“Sounds like a plan, Sheriff,” Ray said. “See ya in the morning.”
…
And now, “Lover’s Bridge, Pt. 03”:
9:00 am September 23, 2022
Ryan finished his morning routine at the office and called a meeting with Ray, Ron, and Deputy Sanders. He instructed them to meet him in the main conference room, as he felt his office would be too crowded for all four of them.
“How did it go?” Ryan asked Sanders about the previous afternoon’s search of the Dupont home.
“Pretty well,” Sanders replied. “Mrs. Dupont and Mr. Waters were cooperative, stayed out of the way. We got Mr. Dupont’s computer, and handed that off to Ron. Didn’t find anything else worth noting.”
“Good. Ron?” Ryan asked, looking at his forensic specialist, who he knew had been overwhelmed the last few days.
“As you know, Sheriff, we’ve been up to our asses in alligators these last three days,” Ron began with more than a trace of exasperation.
“Yes, I know. But that’s what you get the big bucks for, right?” Ryan asked, prompting chuckles with varying amounts of humor throughout the room.
“Yes, I suppose it is,” Ron agreed with a rueful smile. “We’re still combing through everything, but I can tell you this. There’s no evidence that Mr. Holder touched any of the material retrieved from the storage locker in his shop. No fingerprints, no residue – nothing.”
“You’re suggesting it was staged to make it look as though he was involved with making meth and or bombs?” Ryan asked pointedly.
“That’s exactly what I’m suggesting,” Ron replied. “I can also confirm the second phone found in Mr. Holder’s truck belonged to Mr. Dupont, and the messages sent to Mrs. Dupont and Mr. Holder originated from that phone. The finger found in the truck was used to unlock it.”
“I think it’s pretty safe to assume that Mr. Holder was not fluent enough in French to message Mrs. Dupont,” Ryan said dryly. Can you determine where the phone was when those messages were sent?” he continued.
“Good question, Sheriff. I can’t, but the cell provider probably can,” Ron noted. “Or at least the general area.”
“We found cell phone bills in Dupont’s office,” Ray said. “All we need to do is verify those bills were for that phone, and we can demand the information from the provider. We’ll probably need another warrant, though.”
“Sanders, check into that, and get the warrants,” Ryan said.
“Got it, boss,” Sanders said, writing in his notebook.
“What’s your take, Ray?” Ryan asked.
“At first, I thought this was a crime of passion – man comes home, finds his wife in bed with another man, kills them both. But after seeing the evidence, I’m convinced that was a set-up.”
“What are your thoughts?” Ryan asked.
“I believe that foot in Holder’s freezer was meant as a warning,” Ray said. “Have you ever heard back from Mrs. Dupont’s former commander?” he asked Deputy Sanders.
“No, Detective, I haven’t,” Sanders said.
“I’m not surprised,” Ray replied. “Probably trying to figure out what’s safe to send. They’re not under any obligation to send us anything, anyway.” He looked at Ryan. “Why don’t you let me see what I can shake loose, Sheriff?”
“Do your best,” Ryan said. “Is there anything else?” Everyone shook their heads, so Ryan ended the meeting. “All right. Get to it. We have a lot to go over yet.” Ray hung back after Sanders and Ron left the room. “What’s on your mind?” Ryan asked Ray.
“I didn’t want to say anything in front of the others, but I’m curious to know how you know… Mr. Waters,” Ray said carefully.
“I… appreciate your discretion, Ray,” Ryan said quietly. “We worked together a few times in the past,” Ryan answered matter-of-factly. “Yes, he was a mercenary, like me. Quite proficient with a Thompson gun, by the way.”
“A Thompson gun?” Ray asked, shocked. “I didn’t know anyone still used those old things.”
“Well, Roland did,” Ryan said with a chuckle. “And he was very good with it. A lot of stopping power; anyone knocked down didn’t get back up. Had quite a reputation. Roland the Thompson Gunner.”
“Is he still…”
“No,” Ryan said shortly, interrupting Ray.
“All right,” Ray conceded, deciding that discretion was best. “So, what are you gonna do?”
“I think I need to have another discussion with Mrs. Dupont,” Ryan replied. “And with Roland. While I’m out, I’ll go see old man Holder. I owe him that much.”
“Sounds good,” Ray said. “I’d better get to it.” They said their goodbyes and went their separate ways. Ryan drove to the Dupont residence, parked, and went to the front door. He didn’t see Roland’s rented Toyota and wondered where he was. Azalea must have seen him stop because she opened the door before he could knock.
“Sheriff, please come in,” she said stiffly. “Have a seat,” she added, motioning toward the couch. “Can I get you something to drink? I just started a pot of coffee.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Dupont. Coffee would be good.”
“How do you take it? Black?”
“That would be perfect. Thank you,” he replied. He watched her walk into the kitchen, taking note of her gait. Her prosthetic foot didn’t seem to be an impediment whatsoever. She returned a few moments later with two steaming cups of coffee.
“What can I do for you, Sheriff?” Azalea asked after she sat down.
“I have a couple of questions for you,” Ryan said.
“Of course you do,” she said calmly.
“I know you were in the Quebec Provincial Police, and that you lost your foot during your service. I’d like to know what happened.”
“Is that because of the foot you found?” she asked.
“Yes. I think it was intended as a message to you. Perhaps a warning of some kind.” Azalea thought for a few moments, then nodded her head.
“You could be right, Sheriff,” she said. Pausing, she sighed. “We were investigating a string of murders that led to the discovery of a meth lab in an old abandoned warehouse. We moved in to close it down but didn’t realize the building was wired with remote-controlled IEDs. I was in the lead of my group when the device went off. The next thing I remembered was waking up in the hospital.”
“Did they capture the suspects?” Ryan asked.
“I was later told they captured one person. The rest eluded capture.”
“I’m trying to understand why someone would keep something like that foot for nearly five years,” Ryan told her, watching her reaction.
“I have no answer for that, Sheriff,” Azalea replied, no emotion on her face. Ryan studied her closely for a few moments before speaking.
“How was your relationship with your husband? I’m only asking because you don’t seem to be very broken up over his murder,” he finally said.
“Would my breaking down in hysterics change anything, Sheriff? Would my tears cause Phillipe to rise from the dead and walk through my door?” she responded, her sudden, no, instant anger barely contained. Ryan wasn’t expecting this.
“No, of course not,” he told her mildly. “I just expected a different response.”
“I grieve in my own way,” Azalea said quietly, with bland dignity. She looked vaguely at the wall behind him as if it was not quite in focus. Ryan blinked. The near explosion of anger was also nearly instantly quenched… or shoved back into some emotionless rucksack for a later time.
“You never answered my question. How was your relationship with your husband?” Ryan asked.
“We had a good relationship, Sheriff. Believe it or not, I loved him. And I know that he loved me. More important, he respected me – respected my boundaries. And he accepted my… peccadilloes. Without question. You may have noticed that I am not like other women,” she said quietly.
“Please explain,” Ryan said. Of course, he had noticed her eccentricities – who couldn’t? But he didn’t want to alienate her.
“Unlike so many other women, I am not swayed by trinkets or shiny baubles, nor can I be plied with… alcohol. A man would have a better chance offering me a cup of coffee than a glass of wine. You see, my father was a military officer who taught me the benefits of duty and staying true to oneself.
“My mother, on the other hand, was… flighty. She let herself be attracted to whoever offered the shiniest toy. While my father was off serving our country, she was out seeing only to herself and her own selfish desires, often leaving me to fend for myself.
“One winter night, she and her… date… hit a patch of black ice and ran off the road, rolling down a deep ravine. They found her dead body the following day, her dead lover’s cock still in her mouth. My father was devastated both by her death and by her infidelity.
“I ended up making the funeral arrangements. I also had to put my father back on his feet. It was then I swore never to be like my mother. I also promised that I would never allow myself to be so dependent on another person. Not like my father.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. How old were you when this happened?” Ryan asked.
“I was 15 when my mother died,” Azalea answered. “From then on, I focused on my studies and, later, my job. When I met Phillipe, he seemed to understand me. He never pressured me, and he never tried to impress me with his money or with shiny objects. He respected me, and we got along well.
“We established… rules… that we could each live with. Phillipe followed the rules until we moved here. Then things began to change. He met that Carmelita woman, and began flaunting his affair with her. I knew she was married, and was concerned that her husband would take action against Phillipe.”
“But he didn’t,” Ryan interjected.
“No, at least none that I was aware of,” she said.
“So, where is Mr. Waters? I didn’t see his car when I pulled up,” Ryan said, trying to change the subject.
“He is tending to some personal matters. I offered him the use of my guest room until this situation is resolved, so he is checking out of his hotel and bringing his things here,” Azalea explained.
“I see,” Ryan replied.
“How do you know him, Sheriff?” she asked.
“We met a few times. A long time ago.”
“When he was still Roland the Thompson Gunner?” Azalea asked, one brow arched high.
“I suppose you could say that,” Ryan chuckled.
“I told
you I never forget a face. And now I remember where I saw you last. Although you probably don’t remember me. It was not quite 15 years ago before I joined the Surete. I was a 20-year-old college student on break, so I traveled to Africa for volunteer work,” she said.
“Oh?” Ryan asked, pretending to be only mildly curious. He still found it… disconcerting… when reminders of his previous life intruded on his present one.
“You didn’t have the scar, the eye patch, or the beard. But it was you. You and your men rescued us all from that warlord. I watched you. Saw you killing those men with little to no regard. Certainly, without a second thought. I’ve always wondered what drove men like you to do the things you do… did.” Her tone was flat, Ryan noted, as if the curiosity was strictly intellectual, with no trace of emotion. He wondered briefly if she had always been like this or if some traumatic event had left a deep mark.
“That was a dark time in my life,” Ryan said quietly as he recalled that mission, looking her right in the eye. He and his men had been paid handsomely to rescue the wife and daughter of a very wealthy man from a power-mad warlord with more dollars than sense.
Despite his benefactor’s instructions, Ryan couldn’t stomach the idea of leaving the other passengers behind, so they rescued everyone the warlord’s men had captured, then escorted them back to the airport, where they boarded their plane safely and departed for the States.
Ryan remembered the way the woman’s husband complained afterward. Still, one murderous look shut him up, and the man had turned an interesting shade of red when he had noted, “NO extra charge,” through gritted teeth. Standing there bedecked with armament and still smelling strongly of powder residue tends to quell arguments quickly.
That was only a few months after his old friend Bill Johnson recruited him as a soldier of fortune to escape what his first wife and daughter had done to him. For years after that, every time Ryan pulled the trigger, he imagined his target was one of the three people who had betrayed him and destroyed his family – the third person being the late Jacob Knight, who seduced his first wife and stole his family. Knight had subsequently subverted his wife into becoming the corporate whore at ‘Executive Retreats’; she had almost dragged their daughter into the depraved lifestyle after her… for fun and profit.
Ryan had since reconciled with his daughter, who grew up quickly after realizing what Knight had done. His first wife, Lisa, was still in a long-term care facility, barely functioning independently after being seriously wounded by a gunman in the company parking lot. Her intimately detailed knowledge of the executives’ shenanigans had made her a liability.
Over the years, Ryan kept infrequent, discreet tabs on Lisa. She had no reason to like him much, and he had a low tolerance for being blindsided. Knight was no longer in the picture, dying from a terror-induced heart attack after a court appearance. He and Knight both got off easy; Knight got to die of natural causes instead of being drowned in a toilet. He had not had to carry another killing on his soul, however well deserved.
“I… apologize. I did not mean to conjure up bad memories,” Azalea said quietly, snapping Ryan out of his thoughts. She used ‘apologize’ as if it were an unfamiliar word. “Perhaps I could help you forget those bad memories. I’ve been told I’m a memorable fuck.”
The casual, bland tone of the statement was as jarring as the statement itself. Ryan wondered if she thought of it as thanking the mercenary who had saved her or if she simply, as Roland had said, ‘liked to fuck.’ He wondered what void that filled in her life.
“Thanks, but no thanks,” Ryan said with a slightly awkward chuckle. “I’m very happily married,” he added, holding his ring finger. “And Beverly does a wonderful job helping me forget the bad times.”
“I’m glad for you, Sheriff. We should all be so blessed. I would be very… interested… in meeting the woman who could make you forget the bad things you have certainly experienced,” Azalea said with a slight smile.
“I’ll talk to her,” Ryan promised. “In the meantime, I suggest you take whatever steps you need to protect yourself. If you like, I can assign a deputy to you.”
“I’m perfectly capable of protecting myself, Sheriff. But thank you for the offer anyway,” Azalea responded neutrally as if she were describing running to the store for milk.
“I bet you can,” Ryan thought, trying to match her bland expression. “All the same, I’ll double up on the patrols in this area. And I suggest you go nowhere by yourself,” Ryan told her.
“That is a wise precaution. I’ll keep that in mind,” she replied reasonably.
“Do you have a firearm?” Ryan asked.
“Yes,” Azalea replied. “It is registered and completely legal. I have followed all of your state’s rules and regulations. And yes, I know how to use it.”
“Then I don’t need to remind you not to do anything stupid, right?” Ryan asked with a sly smile.
“No, that will not be necessary,” Azalea replied tersely.
“Good. You have my number. If you need anything or remember anything that might be of use, call – any time.”
“Thank you, Sheriff. I will,” she said.
“I’d better be going. Thank you for the coffee,” Ryan said, standing.
Azalea walked him to the door and watched as he climbed into his official truck. “Why could I have not met a man like him before I met Phillipe?” she asked herself, feeling a familiar excitement between her legs.
From there, Ryan drove out to the Holder ranch. This was a job he certainly wasn’t looking forward to. Ken Holder was a proud man, and Ryan knew he would not like the questions that had to be asked. He pulled into the long driveway and stopped in front of the large two-story house. JoAnne Holder, a stately woman in her sixties who had kept her figure even after nine children through hard work and healthy living, walked onto the porch as he stepped out of his truck.
“Sheriff Caldwell. What can we do for you?” she called as he approached. Ryan could tell she was barely holding her emotions in check.
“Mrs. Holder, I came by to speak with you and your family, if I may?” Ryan began, removing his hat as he stepped onto the porch. It was a gesture he knew would sit well with the Holders.
“Of course, Sheriff,” she said. “We’ve been expecting you. Please come in.” Ryan followed her inside and found himself face-to-face with Ken, a man whose square jaw and hard-angled face reminded him of a well-known actor who played in several western series.
“Mr. Holder,” Ryan said. “I’m truly sorry for your loss. I never got a chance to meet your son, but if he’s anything like his brother Don…”
“Dan was a good man, Sheriff,” Ken said, his eyes flashing angrily. “He didn’t deserve what he got.”
“No sir, he didn’t,” Ryan agreed.
“Would you care for a cup of coffee, Sheriff?” JoAnne asked to calm things down.
“That would be wonderful, Mrs. Holder,” Ryan said. “Please.”
“Black?” she asked.
“That would be perfect,” Ryan told her.
“Might as well have a seat, Sheriff,” Ken said as his wife went into the kitchen to pour the coffee. “I know yer jes’ doin’ yer job. It jes’ ain’t right.”
“I agree, Mr. Holder. No man should ever have to bury his own child,” Ryan said, hoping to connect with Ken.
“You have kids, Sheriff?” Ken asked.
“Yes, sir, I do. I have a daughter. And a grandson.”
“Then you know what I’m feeling. I woulda done anything to protect mah boy.”
“I know exactly how you feel, Mr. Holder. More than you can know,” Ryan told him. Ken eyed him closely, not saying anything. It was… unnerving. Almost as if he could see Ryan’s past in his face. Ken finally nodded his head and sat back.
“I believe you, Sheriff,” the older man finally said. JoAnne returned with the coffee and handed a cup to Ryan before sitting down.
“Thank you,” Ryan told her as he took a tentative sip.
“Don said the people at the morgue think Dan took his own life,” JoAnne said, a tear falling down her cheek.
“There’s been some new information come to light since then, ma’am. I don’t think that’s the case,” Ryan said. He saw Ken breathe a sigh of relief, then saw his face turn red with anger. He heard JoAnne give a tiny gasp and start whispering a prayer.
“You think mah boy was murdered, Sheriff?” he asked tensely.
“Yes, sir, I do,” Ryan replied.
“Any idea who might’ve done it?” Ken asked in response.
“No, we’re still putting the pieces together.”
“You think it had something to do with that body out there on Eastland Bridge?” JoAnne asked suddenly.
“It’s possible, ma’am,” Ryan said. They were putting two and two together with disturbing quickness. “Like I said, we’re still working on it. I do have a couple of questions for you that might help us.”
“Anything, Sheriff,” JoAnne said. “We’ll do whatever it takes to bring justice for our son.”
“Thank you, ma’am. I appreciate that.” Ryan took a deep breath before continuing. This would not be very easy – at all. “Do either of you know if your son was ever involved in any kind of illegal activity?”
“What do you mean, illegal?” Ken asked, his face turning even redder than before. “Are you talking about drugs?”
“Yes, unfortunately,” Ryan replied. He filed that away in his mind. Ken had hit the first guess spot on all the possible illegal activities Dan might have been involved with. Maybe just a sorry comment on the times.
“Absolutely not! Dan hated drugs. He told us he saw what that shit did to people. Wanted nothing to do with it,” Ken exclaimed. “Why are you asking? Were drugs involved?”
“We found evidence suggesting that drugs may have been involved,” Ryan phrased it carefully.
“Well, I can tell you that Dan had nothing to do with them,” Ken stated emphatically.
“You think his wife might’ve been involved with them?” Ryan probed.
“I don’t know. She seemed so nice and sweet. It’s hard to believe. But I know Dan would have nothing to do with drugs. Or anything else illegal,” he added quickly. “We raised him better than that,” Ken stated.
“What about his wife? When was the last time you spoke with her?” Ryan asked.
“Oh gosh, I don’t know,” JoAnne breathed, suddenly perplexed. “It’s been quite a while now. Maybe five or six months, at least. Dan told us she was going out of town with her boss and would be gone for a while. I think that was in early March. We haven’t seen or heard from her since.”
Then embarrassment seemed to set in. Being the matriarch of such an extensive family was more than a full-time job; it had to be a direct emotional blow to realize that she might have missed something important.
“That’s because she was killed along with her boss,” Ryan explained, causing Ken and JoAnne to gasp in shock. “That hasn’t been made public yet, so please don’t say anything.”
“Wait a minute, Sheriff,” Ken interjected. “Yer saying Carmelita was killed with that Frenchman she worked for?”
“Yes, sir, I am.”
“Do you think the killer was after the boss and she was just in the way, Sheriff?” Ken asked sharply.
Ryan used his best non-committal shrug. “We are still sorting through possible motives. There are a number of pieces missing in this particular puzzle.”
“And they were both found on that bridge?” JoAnne pressed.
“Parts of them were,” Ryan said. He decided not to go into graphic detail, hoping to spare them that much. “From what we’ve been able to put together so far, she was involved with her boss, and both of them were killed at the same time.”
“Involved? Are you saying they were having an affair?” Ken asked angrily.
“It certainly looks that way, Mr. Holder. I’m sorry,” Ryan replied.
“That no-good…,” Ken began before JoAnne stopped him.
“Do you think Dan had something to do with that?” JoAnne asked slowly, her face dark. Whether she was grappling with a cheating daughter-in-law or the possibility of her son getting revenge for it, Ryan couldn’t tell. He noted Ken’s face getting darker at that particular revelation.
“I don’t know, I’m thinking he didn’t actually kill them, but we believe he may have been present when it happened. We don’t know if he was involved in anything else, or if he was, to what extent. But I do believe he was killed to muddy the waters and make it look like a crime of passion,” Ryan explained.
“Oh my God,” JoAnne hissed.
“Son of a bitch,” Ken gasped, echoing his wife’s shock. “Is there anything we can do to help, Sheriff?”
“Keep an eye out. If you run across anything or remember something you think might help, anything that Dan might have mentioned about Carmelita and her boss and what they did, no matter how small, please let me know,” Ryan answered.
“We will, Sheriff,” Ken said.
“Thank you, Mr. Holder. I appreciate that,” Ryan said.
“When do you think we can get Dan’s body back?” JoAnne asked anxiously. “We’d like to give him a decent burial.”
“As soon as the medical examiner is finished, ma’am,” Ryan told her. “Please let me know when you plan to have the funeral. I’d like to pay my respects to the family,” he added, handing JoAnne one of his cards.
“Thank you, Sheriff,” she said, putting the card between her and Ken on the table. “We’d appreciate that a bunch.” They exchanged farewells, and Ryan left the Holder residence feeling sadness and relief. This was a part of the job that Russell Coltrane had never prepared him for.
His radio squawked as he drove back to the office, and he recognized the call sign – it was Deputy Jones, a relatively new hire who had just finished his probationary period with Deputy Sanders. He wondered what the deputy wanted and answered the call.
“Sheriff, that Toyota you wanted us to keep an eye out for just met a Lear Jet over at the airport. Picked up a passenger, and it’s headed back to town,” Jones said. “Want me to pull him over?”
“Negative,” Ryan replied forcefully. “I’ll take it from here. Did you get the numbers off that jet?”
“Affirmative,” Jones replied.
“Check it out. I want to know who owns that craft, where it came from – everything.”
“Copy that,” Jones said. Ryan acknowledged the call and wondered who Roland had flown in – and why. Then it dawned on him. “Oh shit,” he exclaimed quietly. He recalled Roland worked closely with a man who was a genius with planning and was also damn good at surveillance. What was his name again? Bill something…
Then he remembered. Bill Matthews. He wasn’t as proficient with firearms as the others, but he had an uncanny knack for assessing situations quickly. He remembered Roland saying he trusted Bill’s guesses more than most people’s “facts.” As Ryan recalled, Bill had gotten into trouble with the law more than once as a child. Roland used to say he was what people called an “excitable boy.”
If Roland brought him here, that meant he planned to do something. But what? Did Roland have more information on Phillipe’s murder that he hadn’t shared? Were he and Azalea planning an operation of some kind? Ryan immediately headed north toward Azalea’s home. On the way, he made a quick call to Elaine.
When he got to Azalea’s home, he saw Roland’s rental car in the driveway. A quick check showed that the hood was still warm, so Ryan knew he hadn’t been there very long. As before, the door opened before he could knock.
Azalea had a look of grim determination on her face as she glared at Ryan. Roland stepped behind her as Ryan considered his options. The situation was tense, but he didn’t think a shootout was imminent.
“What’s going on?” Ryan finally asked.
“Perhaps you should come inside,” Azalea said quietly. They stepped back as Ryan entered the house.
“So, you’re having me followed?” Roland asked coldly.
“I’m keeping an eye on you,” Ryan responded. “Wouldn’t you if you were in my shoes? Who did you meet today? I heard you were at the airport.”
“Yes, a friend of mine flew in. You’ve met him – Bill Matthews,” Roland said. He turned his head toward the hall. “It’s okay, Bill. Come on out.” A more petite man with wire-rimmed glasses came into the room.
“Matthews?” Ryan asked.
“Yeah,” Bill replied. “Is that really you, Ryan?”
“Yes, it’s me. What’s going on here? Are you three planning something?” Ryan asked.
“You know how good Bill is at surveillance and planning,” Roland said.
“Yes, and I know that when the two of you get together, bad things tend to happen. And people usually end up dead,” Ryan snapped. “I won’t have that here in my town. Do you copy?”
“I hear ya, Ryan,” Roland said carefully.
“I swear, I’ll run all three of you in for obstructing justice if I have to. I don’t want to, but I will if you force me.”
“Sheriff, please. Hear me out,” Azalea said, interposing between the two men.
“What?” Ryan barked.
“If I’m right, and I usually am, the people you seek will be out of your jurisdiction, and you won’t be able to do anything about it,” she stated firmly.
“What are you talking about?” Ryan asked.
“You said it yourself. That foot was meant as a warning. To me. Directly. I have been going through everything I can think of. I hate to say this, but I believe at least some of the perpetrators are foreign nationals and if I’m correct, are probably out of the country. Either that, or they are protected.”
What do you mean, protected?” Ryan asked suspiciously.
“Diplomatic immunity,” she said quietly. “The people who run Worldwide Imports and Exports have… friends… and operatives… in many places. Especially in the government and the embassies where the company operates. There is a French consulate fairly close – in Houston. You can look it up on Google if you wish.”
“And you’re just NOW telling me this?” he asked in exasperation.
“I am not 100 percent certain, but if they are involved, would it not be better if it could be discovered… discreetly?” Azalea asked. “Or would you prefer to have Texas Rangers charge the consulate with guns blazing?”
“If there are French assassins running around killing American citizens, which I personally doubt, then I could live with Rangers charging the Embassy,” Ryan growled. “Hell, I just might join them.” Azalea chuckled at that.
“Perhaps you would like to check in with your State Department first? Do you honestly believe they would tell you if something like that were true?” Azalea asked. Ryan considered her question for a moment and realized she had a point. If he asked such a question, chances are HE would be taken away – to a rubber room, possibly never to be seen or heard from again. He almost sighed out loud. Sometimes, being a mercenary was more straightforward than being a sheriff.
“No offense, Ryan, but she’s right,” Roland said. “Do you honestly think anyone will listen to a county sheriff with a claim like that? I think you know the answer to that.” Ryan admitted to himself that Roland had a point.
“What are you planning?” Ryan asked.
“No can do, Ryan,” Bill said. “You know how I am with OpSec. Besides, we haven’t devised a plan yet,” he admitted. “That’s why I’m here.”
“Talk all you want. But do nothing without consulting me first. I mean, absolutely fucking nothing. You hear me?” Ryan growled.
“We will do nothing without consulting you first, Sheriff,” Azalea said. “You have my word as a former police officer.”
“I’m afraid that may not be good enough, Mrs. Dupont,” Ryan told her. “You see, I may be ‘just’ a sheriff, but I have friends as well. Something I’m sure none of you considered. I can end this little party of yours real quick. Or not. The choice is yours. Make it a good one.”
Azalea, Roland, and Bill looked at each other for a few moments, then nodded their heads. Roland looked suddenly thoughtful as he remembered the Knight incident.
“You are correct, Sheriff,” Azalea finally said. “We will keep you in the loop. The whole way.” Bill looked shocked
and was about to protest, but Azalea cut him off. “The Sheriff is within his rights. He could very easily take us all in for obstruction. I would. In a second. We will work with him. Understand?”
“Yeah, I got it,” Bill sighed.
“And don’t think about leaving,” Ryan said. “I’ve dispatched deputies to ensure your jet goes nowhere without my express permission.” Bill and Roland both deflated noticeably at that. Just then, Roland’s cell phone rang, and he answered the call, and his face fell even further.
“Deputies have surrounded the aircraft,” he said after he ended the call. “The pilot has been escorted to a hotel where he is under guard until further notice. We’re not going anywhere. Are you happy now, Ryan?”
“They’re following my orders,” Ryan told them. “This may be a small pond compared to what you’re used to dealing with. But it’s MY pond. Never forget that.” He smiled coldly. “Wheel locks work just as well on aircraft tires as they do on truck tires.”
“You have made your point, Sheriff,” Azalea said. “We will… keep you in the loop. Satisfied?”
“For now,” Ryan said. “Stay in touch. And remember… I’ve got my eyes on you three,” he added, pointing two fingers at them to emphasize his statement. “Welcome to Hard Rock. Y’all have a good day, now. Y’hear?”
Ryan left, returned to his truck, and headed for the Sheriff’s Department. He had thanked his predecessor when the job had practically fallen into his lap; now, he gave him a good-natured curse in his mind. Ron met him on the way to his office.
“What’cha got for me?” Ryan asked.
“Just heard from Worldwide Imports, Sheriff. Their security guy said he can talk to you for a few minutes.”
“Mighty nice of him,” Ryan growled. “When?”
“He said he can be available in… 20 minutes. Already have a Teams meeting set up. Will that work?”
“One of those on-line meetings? I s’pose so. Can you tell me where he’s calling from?”
“I’m on it,” Ron said.
“Then get to it. Oh, have Ray and Deputy Sanders come down if you would, please?”
“Will do, Sheriff,” Ron answered.
“One last thing… Who the hell am I meeting?”
“His name is Jean-Pierre Gagnon,” Ron said on his way down the hall.
“What’s this about a meeting?” Ray asked as he and Deputy Sanders entered Ryan’s office a few minutes later. Ryan had just finished booting up his computer and brought up Microsoft Teams.
“Security guy from Worldwide Imports agreed to meet with me. I wanted the two of you in on this.”
“You’re going to record this, I hope?” Ray asked.
“Damn right I am,” Ryan hissed in reply. Just then, a pop-up informed Ryan that a Teams meeting was beginning. He opened the application, started the recording and the transcript, then addressed the blue-eyed, sandy-haired man on the screen.
“Good afternoon. You must be Jean-Pierre Gagnon,” Ryan said.
“I am Jean-Pierre Gagnon, head of security for Worldwide Imports and Exports, North America. And you must be Sheriff, er, Ryan Caldwell, no?” the man asked in a heavy French accent. The transcription feature appeared to have some difficulty with the accent.
“I am Sheriff Caldwell. Detective Ray Hale and Deputy Sanders are here with me.”
“What may we do for the Hard Rock, Texas, Sheriff’s Department today?” Jean-Pierre asked pointedly.
“We’re investigating the deaths of three people, Mr. Gagnon – two of your employees and the spouse of one employee, and we were hoping you could help us in our investigation,” Ryan said.
“That sounds serious, Sheriff,” Jean-Pierre said, his face a mask of shock and horror. Just how much of that might be contrived, Ryan couldn’t judge through the screen. “And just whom might these employees be?”
“One is a Phillipe Dupont, and the other appears to be his assistant, Carmelita Holder. Her husband was also found dead,” Ryan said.
“Dupont, you say? Hmm. Let me look,” Jean-Pierre said. He appeared to consult something on his computer before continuing. “Ah yes, I see it here now. Monsieur Dupont was assigned to that area a year and a half ago. Were you aware that he is a French national?”
“No, I was not. His wife identified his remains, but we have yet to corroborate that identification. He had no papers on him, and we are still waiting for the results of a DNA test.”
“I… see,” Jean-Pierre said. “Obviously, you have not informed the French Consulate of this.”
“No, I have not,” Ryan said.
“Then I suggest you do so, Sheriff. Just to avoid an international incident.”
“I will after I have some answers.”
“So, what do you want from us, Sheriff?” he asked almost haughtily.
“I was hoping you could give us access to his files to help determine why he died.”
“You sound as if he was murdered, Sheriff. Perhaps I could save you some trouble. Monsieur Dupont had a thing for the ladies, shall we say. Especially the married ones. You have spoken with his wife, yes?”
“Yes, I have,” Ryan replied.
“Well, then, you have all you need. Perhaps one of the hundreds of men Monsieur Dupont cuckolded decided to extract… revenge. It has happened before, no?” Jean-Pierre added dismissively.
“It has. But I’m not convinced that is the case here,” Ryan said. “That’s why we need access to his files. I can obtain a warrant if necessary, but I had hoped your company would cooperate to save time and foster goodwill.”
“For a country sheriff, you know how to, how do you say, ‘lay it on thick,'” Jean-Pierre said with a smile that wasn’t a smile and a chuckle that held no mirth. “In the interest of fostering goodwill, I will… consider… your request, Sheriff. Please keep me informed on the status of your investigation. Au revoir, Sheriff,” he concluded, ending the conversation abruptly.
“That went well,” Ray smirked.
“Reckon so,” Ryan replied sarcastically.
…
Jean-Pierre looked at the man sitting across the desk from him. Something about this Texas sheriff troubled him deeply, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.
“Thierry, reach out to your contacts at the Embassy and the Surete. Find out what you can about this Sheriff Ryan Caldwell. I want to know everything. And I want to know it immediately,” he spit out impatiently in rapid French.
“Oui, monsieur,” Thierry replied before leaving the office. Jean-Pierre turned his chair to gaze at the city below, but his mind wasn’t on the view. He had just received word from his private investigator in Hard Rock that Azalea had brought in some help.
Worse yet, the help she had enlisted was none other than a mercenary with a reputation for brutality. But he was determined not to let that stop him from destroying the woman who killed his brother.
…
“You know he’s not going to do a damn thing, don’t you, Sheriff?” Ray asked.
“I figured that much,” Ryan replied. “We have another problem, by the way. Roland has brought his planner on board.”
“I don’t understand,” Ray said.
“Bill Matthews. That’s who was on the Lear jet that arrived today. He and Roland Waters go back years. He’s Roland’s planner. An expert in operations and surveillance. He’s quite good at his job, by the way. The fact that he’s here tells me the shit is about to hit the fan. I just don’t know where or how.”
“You think they’re planning something?”
“There’s no doubt in my mind about that,” Ryan said.
“What do you plan to do?”
“I have a few resources of my own, you know,” Ryan replied, grabbing his phone. He found the contact he was looking for and hit dial, then put the phone on speaker. A man answered after the second ring.
“Smith,” the man said.
“Darrel Smith, this is Sheriff Ryan Caldwell. You have a couple of minutes?” Ryan asked.
“For you, Sheriff, I always have a free minute or two,” Smith said. “What can I do for you today?”
“We have a situation here in Hard Rock, and I could use your assistance,” Ryan began. Smith said nothing as Ryan briefed him on the case. When Ryan finished, they all heard Smith exhale sharply. “Smith? You there?” Ryan asked after a few awkward moments of silence.
“Yes, I’m here. Look, I’m not at liberty to discuss this case over this connection, Ryan,” Smith said. “There’s more to this than you know. I’ll be there in the morning and brief you then.”
“I look forward to that,” Ryan replied with just a trace of sarcasm before ending the call.
“What the hell are we involved with?” Ray asked, amazed.
“I don’t know, but if a Deputy Director of the FBI can’t discuss it over the phone, then it must be serious,” Ryan said absently. “In the meantime, we’ll continue to handle this as a murder case. Sanders, I’d like you to follow up with Ron. See if he’s found anything new.”
“Will do, Sheriff,” he said before leaving the office. Ryan turned to Ray.
“What’s your impression of Deputy Sanders?”
“He’s a good man. Done excellent work on this case. Why?” Ray asked. He was more curious about a former mercenary sheriff who apparently had the FBI deputy director on speed dial, but that would have to wait.
“I’ve been thinking about expanding your department, Ray,” Ryan said. “And I think Deputy Sanders would make a good detective. I’ve already put him up for a promotion to Sergeant, but he doesn’t know that yet. He’s already passed the test with flying colors. Think you could take him under your wing? Teach him a few things?”
“I’d be happy to do that, Ryan,” Ray said.
“I’m glad to hear that. Of course, this means a promotion for you as well. Technically, you’re a Sergeant, but I think you’d make a good Lieutenant. And it only seems fitting to have a lieutenant in charge of that department.”
“Thank you, Sheriff,” Ray said. “That means a lot to me. I know the wife would appreciate the raise. What about Commissioner Barnes? You know he’ll have a cow over this.”
“Let me worry about Barnes. He knows what side his bread’s buttered on, and he’ll be up for re-election soon. After all, it was my endorsement and campaign contribution that got him elected in the first place.”
“So there’s a politician under that
gruff exterior after all,” Ray joked, prompting laughter from Ryan. “So when is this gonna happen?”
“Sanders’ promotion is a done deal. It’ll be effective November 1. I think that would be a good time to announce your promotion and his designation as a detective,” Ryan replied.
“That gives me some time to get things moved around then.”
“Good. And keep it under your hat, if you would, please.”
“Got it, Sheriff,” Ray said. “I’d better get busy then.”
…
6:30 pm, September 23, 2022
Ryan was bone-tired when he walked into his house, but the smell of Beverly’s lasagna was too enticing to ignore, so he entered the kitchen. Looking at his blonde wife, he was amazed at how she could work all day, tend to her chickens and her egg business, and still have enough strength to cook, clean the house, and be his loving wife.
“You are a sight for sore eyes,” he whispered as he wrapped his arms around her. “How do you do it?”
“Do what?” Beverly asked, turning to face her husband.
“Everything you do. Get up before sunrise, make breakfast, tend to your chickens and your egg business, and still have enough in you to do everything you do around here.”
“Well, if something is important enough, you just do it. Know what I mean? What brought all this on? Are you feeling guilty about Brenda Morris coming on to you?”
“How did you know about that?” Ryan asked, startled and suddenly feeling guilty.
“Stupid woman was blabbing about it with Edna Jones over in the Piggly Wiggly. I was in the next checkout line. She didn’t even see me. She claimed she darn near ripped her panties off before you, but you didn’t even blink.”
“Come to think of it, she was a bit… forward. But you know I only have eyes for you.”
“Good answer, cowboy,” Beverly said. “What else happened today?”
“I met with that Dupont widow today, then spoke to Mr. and Mrs. Holder. What a mess.”
“Dupont… That’s the guy you found out on Lover’s Bridge, isn’t it?” she asked. “The real messy one,” she added, wrinkling her nose.
“Yeah. His widow is… something else.”
“Oh? In what way?” Beverly asked as she pulled the lasagna from the oven.
“Let’s just say she’s… socially awkward,” Ryan told her. “She wants to meet you, by the way.”
“Why?” Beverly asked.
“Says she wants to meet the woman who was able to exorcise my demons or something to that effect.”
“She came on to you, too, didn’t she?” Beverly sighed.
“Something like that,” Ryan said sheepishly.
“Is this another situation like that Mercedes woman you saved years ago?” Beverly asked with a slight edge to her voice. Ryan knew she was talking about Mercedes Garcia, an Ecuadorian woman his team saved from guerrillas over a decade ago.
She slept with him that night in the South American jungle, and he gave her one of his old Combat Infantryman’s Badges, which she still had after all these years. Had it only been a year since she was here in Hard Rock working for a bunch of crazies who had Bertram killed? Time must get scrambled as you get older.
He told Beverly and Ray about that incident. He could only imagine the pain she must be feeling now, thinking there was yet another woman he had saved in his previous life as a soldier for hire – and slept with.
“Yes and no. Yes, my team and I saved her from a brutal warlord, but she was just one passenger in a plane full of people being held captive at the time. And no, I never met her personally before now.”
“You never slept with her?” Beverly asked insistently.
“No,” Ryan replied. “Never.” Then he looked her in the eye and said, almost apologetically, “However, she did offer herself to me.”
Beverly flared like a match that had just been struck. “That bitch. I’ll scratch her eyes out!”
“No need,” Ryan said evenly. “I told her I’m a happily married man. Which I very much am. That’s when she said she would like to meet you.” Beverly calmed down a little after that, but Ryan could tell she was still upset.
“You promise me you never did anything with her?” she asked warily.
Ryan could feel the hurt that her uncertainty was causing both of them. “Promise. Beverly, you should know by now that I would never do anything to hurt you. And you know how much I hate cheaters,” he said, reminding her of the years of torment his cheating first wife had inflicted on him.
“Besides, we’re comrades-in-arms,” Ryan added, reminding her of the raid on Knight Petroleum’s New Mexico compound, which she bravely participated in. “And that counts for an awful lot.”
“I know. It’s just… scary… to think that so many women would be chasing after you.”
“Frankly, it scares me a little, too.” He tried for an innocent smile. “It must be the eye patch.” At her chuckle, he added, “But you’re the only woman who gets my motor running.”
“Really?” Beverly asked in that little girl voice that always melted Ryan’s heart.
“Really,” Ryan told her as he held her close and kissed her sweet face.
“I love you so much, Ryan,” she whispered. “It would kill me to lose you.”
“I love you more, sweetheart. And you’re stuck with me forever,” Ryan whispered back. “You think that lasagna will hold for an hour or two?”
She beamed at him and pressed herself close. “Let me turn the oven down so it doesn’t burn. Then you can take me upstairs and set me on fire.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Ryan replied with a smile.
…
10:37 pm, September 23, 2022 – Houston, Texas:
“You got this fast,” Jean-Pierre told his colleague after taking the thin file folder.
“That is just the executive summary. The full dossier is on the way,” Thierry said as Jean-Pierre opened the file. He first saw a grainy black-and-white photo of a heavily-armed man in a camouflage field uniform and combat gear. The man in the photo was much younger than the scarred, bearded man Jean-Pierre had spoken to earlier. But it was clear they were the same man.
“Merde,” Jean-Pierre said, following up with a lengthy string of curses.
“What?” Thierry asked.
“Did you look at this?” Jean-Pierre demanded.
“No, I did not.”
“I think we underestimated this Sheriff Caldwell. According to this, he was a highly sought-after mercenary for nine years before taking over as Sheriff in Hard Rock,” Jean-Pierre said. “In fact, he is very dangerous and considered persona non grata in France and several other countries.”
“Why was this not caught when we did our initial planning?” Thierry exclaimed, matching his boss’s anger.
“I do not know,” Jean-Pierre replied. “Apparently, corporate planners made assumptions without doing their due diligence.” His tone suggested that the corporate planners would regret that laziness intensely soon.
“Perhaps we should back off then. At least temporarily. We can get the woman any time we want.”
“No,” Jean-Pierre said. “We stick to the basic plan. But we’ll need reinforcements. I will take care of that. I will need you to make sure they can enter the United States legally. Can you do that?”
“Of course,” Thierry said. “Get me the names and I’ll see to it.”
…
To be continued…