Gone(45)

They were gathered in a circle, drinking coffee and smoking. Two were sitting on overturned buckets, two standing. One of them was Terry Rafferty. Terry hadn’t been there the day before.

Terry stood up as Peter approached slowly. Peter held up a hand. “No need to be alarmed, gentlemen.”

“Well, look who it is,” Terry said. As if the words were a command, the other men fell in beside him, in a row.

Peter stopped a few yards from the four workers. There was nothing back here but a field, the evergreen trees and mountains beyond.

Peter kept his hand out, as if warning the men back. “Yep, me again. A family is still missing, I’m still part of the investigation.”

“What do you want?” Terry Rafferty’s words were icy.

“I’d like to know who each of you are. Terry, I know you. Sir? What’s your name?” Peter recognized him from the bar, but wanted to be sure.

“Joe,” the man said.

“Joe Fleming?” Peter took a few steps closer. “Let me see all your IDs. Take them out, toss them over to me. Anybody carrying?”

Terry glared at Peter. “No. We’re not armed, Deputy.” He was even bigger than Brad. At least six foot two, Peter thought, and two hundred and twenty pounds.

The men grumbled and looked at one another and dug in their pockets, except for Terry. “You got a real fucking attitude,” he said around his false teeth. “Don’t you? King?”

“Let’s not turn this into a bad morning, okay?”

“Is that a threat? You gonna arrest us? What? You and your bitch partner?”

Peter froze. He’d been calm up until then, but now his heart knocked against his ribs.

Terry took a threatening step forward. “How about it, King? Let’s hear the truth at last. You splitting that dark oak, or what?”

Peter put both hands on the gun. “Down on your knees. Hands on your head.” He took another step closer, within spitting distance now.

He heard Althea’s voice behind him. “Alright, alright,” she said. Peter kept the gun on Terry, dropped a chin to his shoulder, and watched Althea approach. She was smiling. “Okay, guys. This is getting out of hand.”

“Thea, stay there.”

Althea kept coming until she was next to Peter. “It’s all good,” she said. “Carm has taken the paper work, and she’s going to call Nick, get him on his way here. That’s all this is, guys. Some routine paperwork. Let’s dial down the testosterone.” She examined their IDs.

“Why you picking on Nick?” Joe Fleming asked.

Althea put her hands on her hips. “You guys do any waste removal for Mr. Spillane? Any of you drive truck?” She singled out one of the men. “You, sir? You’re Nick’s nephew. You drive for your uncle?”

The men didn’t reply. Terry Rafferty’s gaze shifted back and forth from Peter to Althea, his upper lip peeled back in a snarl. Peter imagined him taking a spill from his bike all those years ago, his face grating across the pavement at fifty miles an hour. Then getting up and driving himself to the hospital with his teeth left behind on the road.

“You know how this goes, guys,” Althea said, handing them back their IDs. “You see two cops here. But there’s more of us. You can work with us today, get out in front of this thing, or you can play it hard and we just keep coming. Only more of us next time.”

One of the men, smaller than the others, put up his hand, as if in school. “I drive for Spillane,” he said.

“Alright, good,” Althea nodded. Okay, so she was handling it. Not bad so far. But Terry was still volatile. Peter kept his gun on the man. “That makes one of you,” Althea said. “Anybody else?”

Joe Fleming looked at the others, as if hoping to draw support, then admitted, “I drive, too. We’re both licensed commercial drivers.”

“What do you transport?”

The men wore hangdog expressions now, like boys caught stealing.

“You know,” Fleming said. “Waste.”

“From where?”

“Ah, shit. From all over. The hospital, um, Upstate Biotech . . .”

“Shut up,” Terry snapped.

Althea kept going. “So you wouldn’t say Mr. Spillane is retired? He’s still pretty active in the waste disposal business?”

Fleming glanced nervously at Terry and didn’t respond.

“Okay, guys. Here’s what I want you to do. I want you to think real hard about something. About how, if Mr. Spillane is doing anything outside of proper handling methods, how you’re each liable for that. You’re independent contractors, right? Carry insurance?”

Three of them nodded. Terry and Peter stayed locked in their standoff. Nearby in the trees, a crow let out a loud caw and then took flight from a tall pine. Then Peter heard the familiar grinding of dirt and rocks as a vehicle rolled into the front parking lot. Someone else had arrived.

“Here’s how this works,” Althea continued. “You talk to us, you each give us a statement. If you were unaware of any violation of the method codes, now’s your chance. When this thing comes out, if Mr. Spillane is liable for breaking any laws — and these are federal laws, as well as state laws, gentlemen, so we’re talking about U.S. Attorney’s Office — you look cooperative.”