Tom Lowe - The 24th Letter

“Tucker Houston’s the right guy for Charlie Williams,” said Hamilton.

“For Williams’ sake, I hope so. His other attorney sort of resigned after having all his petitions for a new trial denied.”

“Sean, it might not be anything, but since you mentioned somebody was popping Alexandria full of heroin…something came up in a conversation I had with Joe Torres. Joe’s working drugs and gangs in the area now. Torres was talking with Todd Jefferies, DEA. Jefferies was the lead investigator in the coke bust that sent Russo away. Jefferies worked with the FBI on that, and the one agent who’s chief of the Miami office.”

“Who’s that?”

“Mike Chambers. I’ve met him. He’s fairly aloof. Typical bureau. Other special agent was Christian Manerou, seems to be a stand-up kinda of guy. Anyway, although Todd Jefferies and the rest of the feds popped Russo on the coke charges, they’d found two kilos of pure uncut heroin in the pallet disguised as swimming pool chemicals. Jefferies told Torres that it was suspected to be the icing on a cake for a deal done between some Miami crime families with the New York mob. The heroin was found hidden at the bottom of the coke pile, all disguised as powdered chlorine. Russo, in a plea bargain, said he suspected the uncut stuff was “hidden” there by an unknown courier as a partial payoff for a mob hit. The trigger man was a lowlife called The Coyote, AKA, Carlos Salazar.”

“What happened to the heroin?”

“Jefferies says it came up missing.”

“Missing?”

“Somewhere between photographing the stuff, weighing, tagging and bagging…and being tucked away in evidence storage, it was lost, probably stolen. This meant the heroin charges against Russo were dropped.”

“I don’t see how the DEA can lose evidence, or was it the FBI?”

“Don’t know that we can blame the feds for this. The heroin was being stored in Dade County SO, locked away in their secure evidence vaults near an area where they keep the confiscated drug planes, cigarette boats and whatnot. Jefferies says he suspects one of the Miami mob families associated with Russo had somebody inside, offered a hundred grand to drop the stuff in a canal out back. Let the gators have a heroin fix. Anyway, don’t know if it can ever be traced to Alexandria Cole, especially now, but I thought I’d mention it.”

O’Brien was silent.

“You still there?” asked Hamilton

“Yeah, I’m still here. Just thinking. Did Jefferies say which FBI agent, Mike Chambers or Christian Manerou, played the bigger role in the investigation?”

“No, why?”

“Nothing yet. Would you ask him how things were divvied up during that case?”

“You mean between Chambers and Manerou, who was running the show.”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, speaking of the feds, Lauren Miles had a break-in at her house.”

“Is she okay?”

“Yeah, she wasn’t home. Somebody walked off with her DVD player and a pearl ring. She’d called me about the Sixth Street Gym. She wants to work a co-op stakeout with Miami P.D. Surveillance cameras, the whole nine yards, to try and catch these freaks in the act of staging one of their kill matches. The Irish guy has a rap sheet that, if you included ‘references,’ would connect him to a few of Florida’s finest hate groups.”

O’Brien saw an incoming call with a 352 area code. The area code service for Starke and the Florida Sate Prison. He disconnected with Hamilton and answered.

“Mr. O’Brien?”

“Yes.”

“I got Charlie Williams standin’ here. You can have three minutes.”

O’Brien waited a few seconds and Charlie Williams came on the line, “Hello.”

“Charlie, it’s Sean O’Brien. I wanted you to know that I’m close-very close to finding out who killed Alexandria. Did you know Alexandria was addicted to heroin?”

“I suspected she was on something real bad ‘cause her moods changed so much.”

“But she never admitted it?”

“Not directly, she just told me to stay the hell away because she said there were people that would take me out quick and they’d never find my body.”

“But she didn’t say what people or what person?”

“No. She was scared shitless. That’s why I was tryin’ to get her outta there.”

“I understand, Charlie.”

“I’m thankful for what you’re doin’. That lawyer, Mr. Houston, is real helpful. He’s doin’ what he can to throw a wrench into this thing.”

“He’s the best. I just want you to hang in there, Charlie. Don’t give up hope.”

“Hope’s all I got left, O’Brien.”

“You’ve got more than that, Charlie, believe me, okay?”

“I wish I was as sure as you sound.” Charlie laughed nervously and said, “This death watch thing has its upside. I got a little bigger cell. They moved me out of my nine-by-six cage into a twelve-by-nine box. Had to leave my pictures behind. They wouldn’t let me bring the picture of Mama and Lexie from the other cell to this. I got a cot and a blanket…and…that’s about it…” His voice broke, emotions rising in his throat.

O’Brien said, “You’ll be out of there soon, Charlie. Then you can go home to see your mother.”

There was a long pause and Charlie said, “They asked me what I wanted for my last meal. I feel like my life has turned into a movie with no good ending. I got about fourteen hours left. One of the guards told me the first drug they give to knock you out, don’t always completely knock you out. Then, when they give the other drugs, you just lie there. You can’t move. Can’t talk. But you can feel, hear, and think. You feel the pain as your organs begin to shut down…one by one…especially your lungs. I don’t want to go out like that. For God sakes, this is no way for an innocent man to leave this world…help me, O’Brien…”

It was dusk when O’Brien pulled his jeep into the oyster shell parking lot at Ponce Marina. A fog was building off the estuary, rising low over the boats. Through the old mercury vapor street lamps, the fog became flickering orbs of diffused light, like Halloween pumpkins glowing above the docks.

Max heard O’Brien coming before she saw him. She jumped up on an ice chest in the cockpit of Nick Coronus’ boat and barked twice. “Hot dog, who you talkin’ to?” came Nick’s voice as he stepped from the salon.

O’Brien squatted at the stern and rubbed Max’s head. He could see a television on inside Nick’s boat. He said, “Thanks for keeping an eye on Max.”

“I’m going to take her out fishing with me. When one gets off the hook, I say go get ‘em hot dog. She jump in the water and bring the fish back to me.”

“Max might turn into the world’s smallest Labrador retriever, or shark bait.”

“Wanna beer? You eat yet?”

“Yes and no. I’d like a beer and I haven’t eaten. But right now, I don’t have time for either. I need to sit on Jupiter in a quiet place and think. There’s something I’m failing to see about the events surrounding this-”

“Sean, it’s all over the TV. Fox News was just interviewing that Miami lawyer.”

“Where’s Dave?”

“Said he was going to the store for spaghetti fixings and wine.”

O’Brien lifted Max up and set her down on the dock. She darted after a cricket. “Thanks, Nick. Come on, Max.”

Max trotted down the dock behind O’Brien. He picked her up to lift her over the transom. “No place like home, right Max?”

She looked up at him, her eyes bright, tail wagging. “We have to get back to our house on the river. The old dock needs a few new boards. Plus, I’ve been missing you-maybe missing our routine, too.”

She barked once, almost nodding her head. O’Brien opened the salon door, Max following him inside. He poured some dry dog food in Max’s bowl, opened the windows, set up his laptop, and spread the Alexandria Cole case files out on his small table. He looked at arrest and arraignment dates, hearing dates and times. Trial dates. Postponements and reschedules.