The Summer House(60)

Pierce says, “Whatever you’re doing, Sanchez, it’s illegal and it won’t be admissible in any court,” and crap, even Huang jumps in and says, “If your intent is scaring a guy who can’t speak English well, congratulations, you’re doing a great job.”

He ignores them all, sees a pile of receipts, invoices, and other paperwork. All in English, thank you very much, and he starts flipping through the yellow and pink invoices, the other bills from snack suppliers and soft drink distributors, and, yes, yes, right there.

Buried deep in the pile, another envelope with the return address of SULLIVAN DISTRICT ATTORNEY.

The clerk says something in Hindi or whatever, and Sanchez gives him a look, sees the cheery smile and happy face are gone, and there’s the look of one hard man who would probably take him on if there weren’t other people in the store.

He pulls out the sheet of paper within the envelope, gives it a quick glance. The language is almost identical to what he read back in Wendy Gabriel’s house of trash and smells. VIHAN LAGHARI, DBA ROUTE 119 GAS N’ GO, of Sullivan, in and of Sullivan County, is charged with numerous violations of Georgia Code 3-3-23: Furnishing to, purchase of, or possession by persons under 21 years of age of alcoholic beverages; use of false identification; proper identification; dispensing, serving, selling, or handling by persons under 21 years of age in the course of employment; seller’s actions upon receiving false identification; said complaint brought to the District Attorney’s Office by…

Sanchez takes the envelope from his coat pocket that he lifted from the top of Wendy Gabriel’s bureau, pulls out that sheet of paper, turns and holds them both up so Pierce, Huang, and especially York can see them.

“See this?” he says, thrusting out his left hand. “Criminal complaint filed against Wendy Gabriel from the district attorney. Charging her with cruelty to animals.”

And he puts out his right hand. “And this? Criminal complaint filed against this store and its owner, for selling alcohol to minors. Maybe Pierce can tell us later the punishments, but I bet the animal cruelty one would mean the woman’s dog being seized, and here, the store’s liquor license being pulled, which is just as good as shutting it down.”

Sanchez folds up both sheets of paper, returns them to their respective envelopes.

He says, “Agent York, both complaints were brought forth by Sheriff Emma Williams. Get it? And if she’s put you at risk for losing what’s precious to you, what would you do to prevent that?”

Huang says, “Good God. You’d do anything, anything at all.”

Sanchez nods, feeling great, feeling on top of the world.

“Like cooperating in putting out false evidence,” he says.





Chapter 53



SPECIAL AGENT CONNIE YORK is pushing the damaged Ford rental up Route 119 as fast as she can, with the dented and scraped front hood shaking and vibrating like it’s seconds away from tearing off. She feels like she’s in a race for her life, for justice, for everything, and some damnable folks are up ahead, pulling the finish line away from her.

Next to her, Pierce, the squad’s JAG attorney, gets off his smartphone and says, “No joy, Connie. District Attorney Slate is in meetings all day, can’t be disturbed.”

“Big surprise,” she says, looking up in the rearview mirror, seeing the other two rentals in a train right behind her, Sanchez hanging close again with Huang not far behind. “All right, get on the phone with Briggs, the funeral home director. And put him on speaker.”

She checks the time as Pierce starts making the call. At this point Major Cook is still hours short of arriving in Germany for a refueling stop and, even with the satellite phone, is probably out of reach.

No matter.

She’s seeing this one through.

“All right, sir. Hold on, please. I’m going to put you on speakerphone,” Pierce says. A flick of the finger on the screen and a voice booms out, “This is Ferguson Briggs.”

“Mr. Briggs, thank you,” Connie says, keeping her eye on the narrow state road. “A quick question, if I may. This morning you said something to the effect that you received directions to cremate the remains of Stuart Pike, the man who had been renting that home.”

Briggs says nothing for a moment, and then, cautiously, he says, “Yes, that’s true. I did receive instructions to do that.”

“From his family?”

“No,” he says.

“Who, then?”

Another pause and she glances at Pierce, who glances right back at her with a look of expectation upon his face. Briggs clears his throat. “Why, Sheriff Williams contacted me and told me to go ahead with the cremation. She told me that a family member had contacted her.”

“You just went ahead and did it, then,” Connie asks.

“Why not?”

Connie makes a chopping motion with her right hand, and Pierce disconnects the phone call. Up ahead is the now familiar dirt road off to the right, leading to The Summer House.

She makes the turn, speeding right by the old sign, the other Fords following behind her, and then she sees a haze, some parked vehicles with flashing lights, and when the smell of something burning comes to her, she knows once again she’s too late.



York slows down and approaches the house as Pierce says, “Oh, shit, look at that.”