Deadly Catch (31 page)

“I thought you fired me today,” I said to the sheriff as the ambulance carrying Dave Reilly wailed away.

“I did,” he said, his face breaking into an actual smile. “How’s the arm?”

I glanced at the bandage the EMT had wrapped my bicep with after cleaning the minor flesh wound. “Stings a little. Too bad you fired me; I could’ve used the insurance.”

“You’re lucky you didn’t take one through the head,” he said. “If it hadn’t been for Owens there, I doubt we’d be talking right now.”

I glanced over at where J.D. was sitting inside the sheriff’s SUV, holding an icepack to his chest. He’d refused to be transported to the hospital for observation. “If Mr. McClellan isn’t going, then neither am I,” I heard him tell the responders.

“That kid saved your ass,” Pickron said. “If he hadn’t called us when he heard the gunshots, things might’ve turned out a whole lot worse.”

Putting two and two together himself, J.D. had ignored Chief Merritt’s instructions to spend his time patrolling the western end of St. George during his midnight shift. Merritt claimed he’d received complaints from several businesses and homeowners in that area of someone tampering with doors and windows. It wasn’t the first time J.D. had been given such an order. Listening in on Merritt’s and Clayton Barfield’s conversation that morning had raised a red flag in his mind, so he decided he’d take it upon himself to look around Barfield Fisheries for any unusual activity.

After checking a few windows and doors on the west side, J.D. stopped by my trailer on his way to Barfield’s to let me know what he was up to. When Kate told him about my plan and where I intended to park, he’d raced east. He’d just gotten near the main gate when the shots rang out. He immediately radioed the sheriff’s department for backup and then took the causeway looking for me. Finding Kate’s car, he’d turned back with his lights off, scanning the water and shoreline for signs that I’d made good my escape. That’s when he saw Dave Reilly’s flashlight and pistol pointing at me, and that’s when Patrolman J.D. Owens made his bold move.

Sheriff Pickron barked an order to a nearby deputy and then turned to me. “You told me all you had was a hunch. How did you know this deal was coming down tonight?”

I grinned. “By brilliant deduction. My source overheard Barfield tell Merritt he was going floundering after midnight. An odd thing to say, don’t you think? Flounder hide just under the sand. The bales were hidden under the fish and ice. I figured it had to be a code word for a shipment.”

Pickron glanced toward his SUV. “This source of yours wouldn’t happen to be one of St. George’s finest, would it?”

I laughed. “Hell, Sheriff, you know a good undercover cop never reveals his sources.”

The next few days were a whirlwind of activity in and around St. George. I turned the memory card over to Bo Pickron. Luckily it wasn’t damaged, and there was enough incriminating evidence from the photos I’d snapped to make a strong case for the prosecution.

Chief of Police Benjamin Merritt, after failing to convince sheriff’s deputies he’d been on the scene to help bust up the drug smuggling operation, was arrested and taken into custody. Numerous charges were pending, including drug conspiracy and racketeering, extortion, and tampering with evidence.

Officer Dave Reilly was still hospitalized but was expected to fully recover and face charges.

Clayton and Nora Barfield were arrested, along with several other members of the Barfield clan and a number of employees. Barfield Fisheries was locked down while state and federal investigators searched the boats, trucks, facilities, and records for further evidence of drug smuggling. Initial findings leaked to the media indicated the illegal operation extended to Atlanta, Charlotte, and other cities farther north along the Eastern Seaboard.

After all the dead ends and blind curves I’d followed, it felt good to be right for a change.

A few days later, Kate was at my place for the steak dinner I owed her when the phone rang around six. It was Bo Pickron. He’d been busy rubbing elbows with the state and federal authorities, and it was the first time I’d spoken to him directly since the night of the bust after J.D. saved my bacon.

“McClellan, we finally got a make on the man you nailed. The guy’s name was Dominic Paccelli, from Baltimore.”

“Irish, huh?”

There was silence on the other end for a few seconds. Bocephus Pickron was one seriously humor-challenged individual. “Ever hear of the Abernathy family, McClellan?”

No bells rang. “No, should I have?”

“Abernathy and Sons; big seafood business in the Chesapeake Bay area. Been around for damn near a hundred years. Word is that Frank Abernathy made the family fortune in bootleg whiskey during Prohibition. Back in the day he had ties all along the Atlantic Seaboard. He was even rumored to’ve rubbed noses with the Kennedy family now and then.”

I let out a whistle. “So, like father, like son, and so on.”

“Yeah. They’ve even got a couple of lobbyists still working the Hill in DC.”

“Promoting fresh, homegrown seafood over the imported stuff, I suppose?”

“That’s the official line, but who knows what they’re really buying with their pocket stuffing.”

“And this Paccelli guy was working for the Abernathy family? Funny, he didn’t strike me as being much of a lobbyist.”

Pickron snorted, the closest thing to a laugh I’d heard from him except for his slipup the night of the bust. “I think he intended to stuff you with something besides money.”

My turn to laugh. “Good one, Sheriff. But why the hell would the Abernathy family send a couple of goons after me?”

Pickron grunted. “My guess is, they thought you were working for somebody higher up the food chain.”

“Yeah? Well, my guess is a certain local somebody around here set the hounds on me. I won’t mention any names, but his initials are Benjamin Merritt.”

“Most likely, either him or Clayton Barfield. Neither one’s spilling the beans. They value their own hides too much to finger the higher-ups.”

“Thanks for dragging me into this manure pile.”

“You’re welcome. Is Kate there?”

I felt my hackles rise. “Yeah, why?”

“Relax. She wasn’t at work today when this went down. Let her know we arrested Lamar Randall this afternoon at Gillman’s. Three counts of murder, or accessory to.”

I glanced at the camper where Kate was inside preparing a salad to go with our steaks. “
Three
counts? Who?”

“I’m getting to it. My sister’s still drying out at the psych ward,” he said. “Once most of the shit was out of her system, she broke down and confessed that George didn’t commit suicide after all. She’s pretty much a basket case right now.”

“But what about the autopsy and forensics report?” I checked the steaks and flipped them over. “You said everything pointed to it being a suicide.”

Pickron let out a weary sigh. “It’s complicated.”

“I’m listening.”

“Because of her hatred for Brett, Marilyn really believed he was responsible for Maddie’s death. But later on, when Brett failed to show up, she started to have doubts. In her grief and drunken fog, she was convinced that George was after Maddie’s money; she thought he wanted Maddie out of the picture so he could get his hands on everything. So, she spiked George’s bourbon that evening with the Xanax. When he passed out at his desk, Randall was waiting. He put on rubber gloves, placed the pistol in George’s hand, put his finger over George’s, and pulled the trigger.”

“Damn. So she believed
George
was responsible for Maddie’s death?”

“Yeah. But after George’s funeral, I told Marilyn about Maddie being moved and dumped in the bay after she was already dead. That’s when she realized Randall had double-crossed her and lied about Maddie and Brett. Randall tried to convince her it had all been a terrible accident, but Marilyn went berserk. You saw her throw the twenty-five grand at him.”

“The blood money she promised him for killing George.”

“Right. You had the scenario pretty much figured out, McClellan. Marilyn persuaded Randall to put the heat on Barfield to break him and Maddie up. He arranged to meet Barfield at the sinkholes with fifty grand in cash to buy him off. Barfield took the money and told Randall to thank Marilyn for the wedding gift. That’s when Lamar pulled the pistol and told him to leave Maddie alone, or else.

“They fought over the pistol, Maddie came running out of hiding and jumped on Lamar’s back and nearly gouged his eye out. During the struggle Maddie somehow fell into the sinkhole and landed on the ledge with a broken neck. About the same time the gun went off.

“Randall lost it. He never intended for anyone to get hurt, and now he had two bodies on his hands. He got rope out of his truck, tied a heavy rock to Barfield’s body, and dumped him in the sinkhole. He couldn’t leave Maddie’s body on the ledge, because someone was bound to find it sooner or later. He thought about sinking her body too, but then he came up with the idea of staging a boating accident. If Maddie’s body was found in the bay, and Barfield’s body never turned up, people would most likely assume they both died in a tragic accident.

“So Randall tied a rope to his truck hitch, lowered himself to the ledge, and tied the rope around Maddie’s body. He climbed out and pulled Maddie up. Then he wrapped her in a tarp and hid her in the back of his truck. He hid Barfield’s truck, and then drove to the island after dark and dumped her body in the grass flats behind the Trade Winds.”

“Let me guess. Lamar pocketed the fifty thousand and then told your sister that Brett and Maddie hightailed with it.”

“Right. Later, a friend of Randall’s who worked at Barfield’s helped him steal Brett’s boat out of a repair shed. Then Randall bashed in the hull and sunk it in The Stumps to make it look like a boating accident. That same friend followed Randall to north Georgia a few days later. They torched Brett’s truck and pushed it into the ravine.”

“I’m guessing Lamar knew about the rumor that Brett and Maddie had eloped to Georgia.”

“Yeah, probably from his daughter. It was all over the school.”

“Who’s the friend that helped him?”

“Guy named Pete Marcengill. We’re still looking for him.”

I stirred the pan of mushrooms, onions, and peppers simmering on the grill. “So, with the notes Maddie and Brett left for their families saying they were eloping to Georgia, no one had any reason to believe otherwise, at least for a few weeks. Then I came along and found Maddie floating in the bay. And when she was ID’d by the dental records, Sara Gillman confessed to Kate that the whole thing about going to Georgia had been a ruse to throw the families off the trail while they honeymooned in the Keys.”

“That’s the best we’ve been able to come up with.”

I took a swig of beer. “What’s going to happen to your sister?”

“I’ve been in touch with George’s lawyer in Tallahassee. Before you ask, the answer is yes. It’s the same law firm the Barfields used to represent Brett. He’s pretty sure we can plead temporary insanity. Like I said, Marilyn’s a mess right now. She’ll be confined to a mental ward for several months, and then probably do some time and be put on probation. A lot depends on the judge and what the shrinks have to say. We’ll have to wait and see.”

“And Lamar?”

Pickron grunted. “Second-degree or possible voluntary manslaughter for Maddie and Brett, but George was a murder for hire. He’ll be lucky to stay off Death Row.”

I let out a deep breath. “It’s a damn shame any of this happened.”

“He’s the one who planted the marijuana on your boat, you know.”

“Lamar?”

“Yeah. Randall was one of Brett Barfield’s regular customers. When you found Maddie’s body, he decided to use some of the Panama Red he bought from Barfield to put you on the hot seat. He planted the weed and made the anonymous call to Merritt.”

“Damn, all this time I thought it was Merritt who tried to set me up.”

Pickron let loose a genuine chuckle. “You had Merritt sweating bullets. He thought the big boys up north sent you down here to check on the two missing bales.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No, think about it. Brett Barfield disappears and then you show up out of the blue and find Maddie’s body close to where one of the missing bales floated ashore. Then you decide to hang around the area a while. I’m telling you, McClellan, you had Merritt and Clayton Barfield both checking their backsides. And that was probably why Merritt or Barfield called in Abernathy’s boys.”