Chapter 6
Olivia
When I got to my car, I didn’t go back to the police station. I went and drove through a coffee joint I had been wanting to try out ever since I passed it coming into town. I was in for a long night of research, and I wasn’t leaving until I had answers. And while Colt was practically an open book regarding his expressions, I still needed concrete information. Concrete proof as to what happened in that shootout.
“Welcome to Redding Beans, what can I get for you today?”
“Yes, could I get your largest chai tea latte with two shots of espresso, please?” I asked.
“Of course, you can. Anything else?”
“Do you guys have cinnamon rolls? Or sugar cookies?”
“We have both, ma’am!”
“Great. Give me both. And one of your delicious-looking chicken-bacon wraps,” I said.
“Anything else?”
“Nope. That’s it.”
“Perfect. Pull up to the window for your total.”
The food smelled fantastic and the coffee was very large. I had no idea coffee even came in sizes above twenty ounces. The damn thing could have fit into a massive slushie cup! Either way, I was thankful for it. I paid my outrageous total for my food before making my way back to the police station, then I went to my office long enough to set my food down.
“Get anything from the interrogation?” Sheriff Barnes asked.
“I deduced a lot, but nothing concrete we can use. Colt is the Road Captain for his club. The guy you mentioned? Duke? He’s the groups Treasurer,” I said.
“He must get teased relentlessly.”
“Not in groups like that. He’s the one that’s trusted with the money, which. means, he’s usually the one in the group that is trusted the most. His opinion usually matters more. It doesn’t shock me that the two of them are tight. Colt would have to go looking for Duke whenever he wanted to plan something because he’d need money,” I said.
“Well, that sounds like a lot of shit that won’t help us.”
“Like I said, I’ve got my deductions about some things that happened that evening, but I could really use your notes. With what I think I know and what you can prove to me, I might be able to put pieces together where you guys haven’t been able to yet.”
“The notes are pretty scattered, let me gather them up for you and—.”
“No offense, but I’d like to go around and get them myself,” I said.
“Any reason why?” he asked.
“Not that I think you or your officers would do anything like this, but the last time I worked a case where an officer had been slain in the line of duty, his department started doing a lot of—.”
“Let me stop you right there, Agent Banks.”
“It’s nothing personal, Sheriff. But, it is a precaution I have to take. There is certain protocol I have to follow regarding DEA rules if I walk into a situation where an officer has lost his life. One of those rules is the fact that if I can prevent officers from handing me information themselves, I need to. In order to reduce tampering,” I said.
I knew Sheriff Barnes wasn’t happy with me, but I didn’t care. I had come into the throngs of working a case with a bunch of men officers would be willing to pin absolutely anything on. It happened all the time. I saw it with my own two eyes growing up with my own damn father. And sure, maybe there weren’t exact rules to that regard in the “‘DEA handbook” or anything. But, when the hell was he going to find that out? I was already at a disadvantage for being literally the only woman in this precinct.
I didn’t need any more disadvantages playing against me.
Sheriff Barnes sighed. “There are notes on my desk you can gather up, but they’re mostly just my theories. Officer Decker has the bulk of the files right now as well as the cardboard box they came in. I think a file or two is on Officer Lombard’s desk as well. I’ll go around and check out some other places just to make sure you have everything, but that’s where the bulk of the files are.”
“Thank you for understanding,” I said.
“Don’t take my help for understanding. One of my men has been slain, and if you think I’m going to let you be the only one interjecting into this investigation, you’ve got another thing coming.”
The man stormed out and I let out the breath I was holding. I reached around to my massive cup of chai tea and brought it to my lips, sucking down a few gulps. I ignored the heat. Ignored the burn in order to get some caffeine into my system. Something told me I’d have to watch my back as well as all corners of this precinct.
And I’d need a steady stream of caffeine to do that.
I went around to the officers’ desks and picked up the files. I introduced myself and spoke with them for a little while. Got to know them a bit. Officer Decker had been married for twenty years and he and his wife had five kids. A good catholic family. I was honest with him about why I was there and what I was doing, and I reassured him I’d get justice for his fallen officer. I shook his hand and he seemed delighted that I was there to help. He willingly gave me the box full of files and even the notes he had taken on the case thus far, and I took them all back into my rickety makeshift office.
Then, I went and saw Officer Lombard.
He was a different story. The officer slain—Officer Riker—had been his partner. His confidant. His best friend out of high school. I sat there and listened to his anger. Listened to how the officer’s funeral went and the family Officer Riker had left behind. Officer Lombard didn’t have a family himself. Divorced twice. Drained with alimony payments. No children to speak of. He was an angry man, but a man who was also more than willing to hand over the couple of files he did have on his desk.
He even offered to walk around to the other guys and pick up any notes they might have taken as well.
I started for my office and paused just outside of Sheriff Barnes’ office. In my eyes, Officer Lombard should have been the one reacting harshly. He had lost his best friend. Buried his partner. And yet, he was still willing to work and cooperate with me. Neither of the officers had bucked up to me the way the Sheriff had. It could have been a simple machismo response. Having to hand over power to someone with boobs.
Or, it could have been something more.
I let the thoughts tumble through my head as I made my way to my office. But when I closed my door and sat at my desk, I focused on the information in front of me. There was a great deal of information on the Black Hornets in these files. As I flipped through all of the information, more about Sheriff Barnes came to light.
He was testing me. Judging whether or not I was right for this case. Or if I could even contribute.
“Son of a bitch,” I murmured.
He told me there wasn’t much information on the Black Hornets. That there weren’t files to look at before I went and interviewed Colt myself. I slammed the folder onto my desk and closed my eyes. The man had lied to me through his damn teeth, and there were more reasons as to why than anything else. Considering his bucking up to me a little earlier, only one theory made sense.
He was intimidated by me, and he wanted to see if the “rumors” he had heard about me with regard to the DEA were true.
I shook my head and opened my eyes. It didn’t matter. The only thing that did matter was sifting through this information. He knew what he was doing, and so long as I made sure he understood that I knew what he was doing, we’d be okay. But, that also meant I couldn’t trust the man. The information in these files I had would have been insurmountably important in my first interview with Colt. Things could have—and would have—gone in a different direction with him if I could have clued him into the fact that the police had a great deal more information on them then he probably understood.
Everything was laid out for me. Gun-running charges they got off on by mistrials and idiotic moves by police officers. That was my first red flag. Police officers never made idiotic moves that favored the clubs. Instead, they usually made shady moves that impacted the club and heightened their chance at jail time.
There weren’t many charges against them. In fact, there were more newspaper articles than anything. The club with their bikes at public gatherings. In leather jackets with guns on their hips. One of the files laid out everything the police knew they did and the things the police theorized they were into.
The confirmations were protection, personal security, and acting as bouncers for casinos and bars.
The theories were mercenary jobs, gun-running, and “‘extra muscle.”
My only assumption was that “‘extra muscle” meant loaning out their network club members to other gangs to help them with whatever they needed.
There was a decent list of charges over the years, but none of them were drug-related. Which didn’t many any sense. How the hell did a crew that obviously specialized in protective services get involved with a drug cartel in the first place? And what parts of their theorized protective services were true? There might be a connection with the idea of “‘extra muscle” being loaned out. Maybe someone in their club got hooked up with a club that did dabble in peddling drugs. But for some reason, my gut cried out at something else.
I didn’t know what that “‘something else” was, but it wasn’t any of my original theories.
Either way, I saw why Sheriff Barnes thought one of the guys in the club had killed his officer. If these men were good at what they did, it meant they were good marksmen. Skilled shooters. Men who were proficient with guns and how bulletproof vests and things worked. I sifted through pictures of the club. I saw them in their tactical gear. I saw the weapons they had at their disposal. No doubt in my mind those had been legally acquired, but I supposed the police department had turned a blind eye to it because of the work they obviously did in the community.
I wondered if some of the officers were “‘in their pockets,”, so to speak.
Then again, was that really a bad thing with a club like the Black Hornets?
I sighed and sat back into my chair. After pouring over the notes of what the officers found at the shootout, it still didn’t make sense. It was scattered. Rushed. There were too many bullets and not enough dead bodies. If the Black Hornets were superior marksmen, then it shouldn’t have been this dirty. This gritty. The ground shouldn’t have been riddled with so many bullet casings.
Maybe they had help that night?
I ran my hands over my face. No matter where my mind kept flying to, one thing was for certain. If the cartel was really involved in all this, I needed to figure out who the major players in the area were. I needed to sniff them out and build a case against them. In my eyes, it was the only way to free that man in jail. Because as I poured over the scores of notes, and written details, and pictures from the crime scene, I became more and more convinced that Colt was innocent.
Which meant it was my job to prove it so we could focus on who wasn’t.