Read Online Copp On Ice, A Joe Copp Thriller (Joe Copp Private Eye Series) by Don Pendleton - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Don Pendleton
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still think it was your narcs?"
He replied, "All I know is that those were their badges. Formal identification is still pending. But if you're asking me what I think—well, yes, I think it's them."
"What about the vehicle ID?"
"No help there. Car was reported stolen just a few minutes before the patrolmen spotted it and gave chase. Why would anyone want to run you down? You just got here."
"I'm the type who makes enemies fast," I replied. "Or hadn't you noticed?"
The daywatch captain almost smiled, but it didn't quite get to the eyes before he switched it off. "Haven't noticed you making any friends," he observed sourly. "Heard you had a run-in with Tim Murray last night."
"Where'd you hear that?"
"It's still a small town, after all," Ralston said with a smirk. He collected the badges, went to the door, turned back to say, "I scheduled the shooting review for Monday."
"Reschedule it," I said. "I may not be here Monday. Two o'clock this afternoon."
Captain Ralston stared at me silently for a moment then turned and walked away.
I read the three-year-old letter again, returned it to its folder, and went looking for other tidbits from the files.
Found some.
Marilyn DiAngelo might have just been guessing ... or she might have known much more than she wanted to know, was afraid of becoming involved in the politics that were tearing the town apart, and had genuinely tried to point the way for me toward the garbage. Whatever, it was more than a point, it was a shove—and I'd decided that Jack Ralston had been wrong about one thing, at least: I had found a friend in Brighton.
The tidbits I found in the files that morning were no more substantial than the lead the secretary had offered, but they gave me quivers and I've gone a long way on quivers many times.
I've said something already about the jumble of police jurisdictions in the area. That is always a problem, but local departments had joined with the counties years back to work out various reciprocal plans and programs leading to better law enforcement for all. One of those programs was a direct result of the all-out war against drugs. It involved the formation of a Drug Task Force composed of members of the various city and county police departments together with agents of the federal Drug Enforcement Agency, which allowed a regional and cooperative approach to the problem irrespective of individual police jurisdictions. The DTF for this area had been spectacularly successful.
So why had Brighton pulled out of it?
The tidbits supplied a possible explanation. They also supplied a tantalizing clue to where the garbage lay.
Have you ever heard that money stinks? In small piles it's hardly noticeable. But the odor from huge piles can become almost unbearable.
It can even carry the unmistakable smell of fermenting garbage when that is what it makes of men's lives. And sometimes it smells of death.
CHAPTER TEN
It was a matter of record that Brighton's participation in a number of large drug busts by the Valley Task Force had been crucial to the success of the operations, due largely to the fact that the busts had gone down inside Brighton itself and because the Brighton PD had actually initiated those investigations.
It was also in the record, however, that Brighton felt shorted in its share of proceeds from the cash and property confiscated in those busts. Typically, all proceeds are divided between the participating agencies in a complicated formula that is supposed to be fair and equitable, and such proceeds are supposed to be funneled right back into the war effort.
We are talking big bucks here. During the final year of Brighton's participation in the task force, the city received sixteen million dollars as its share of confiscations. Busts within Brighton alone that year yielded thirty-five million.
So Brighton pulled out and used the sixteen million to
fund its own strongly beefed up narcotics division.
That appeared to have been a mistake.
He replied, "All I know is that those were their badges. Formal identification is still pending. But if you're asking me what I think—well, yes, I think it's them."
"What about the vehicle ID?"
"No help there. Car was reported stolen just a few minutes before the patrolmen spotted it and gave chase. Why would anyone want to run you down? You just got here."
"I'm the type who makes enemies fast," I replied. "Or hadn't you noticed?"
The daywatch captain almost smiled, but it didn't quite get to the eyes before he switched it off. "Haven't noticed you making any friends," he observed sourly. "Heard you had a run-in with Tim Murray last night."
"Where'd you hear that?"
"It's still a small town, after all," Ralston said with a smirk. He collected the badges, went to the door, turned back to say, "I scheduled the shooting review for Monday."
"Reschedule it," I said. "I may not be here Monday. Two o'clock this afternoon."
Captain Ralston stared at me silently for a moment then turned and walked away.
I read the three-year-old letter again, returned it to its folder, and went looking for other tidbits from the files.
Found some.
Marilyn DiAngelo might have just been guessing ... or she might have known much more than she wanted to know, was afraid of becoming involved in the politics that were tearing the town apart, and had genuinely tried to point the way for me toward the garbage. Whatever, it was more than a point, it was a shove—and I'd decided that Jack Ralston had been wrong about one thing, at least: I had found a friend in Brighton.
The tidbits I found in the files that morning were no more substantial than the lead the secretary had offered, but they gave me quivers and I've gone a long way on quivers many times.
I've said something already about the jumble of police jurisdictions in the area. That is always a problem, but local departments had joined with the counties years back to work out various reciprocal plans and programs leading to better law enforcement for all. One of those programs was a direct result of the all-out war against drugs. It involved the formation of a Drug Task Force composed of members of the various city and county police departments together with agents of the federal Drug Enforcement Agency, which allowed a regional and cooperative approach to the problem irrespective of individual police jurisdictions. The DTF for this area had been spectacularly successful.
So why had Brighton pulled out of it?
The tidbits supplied a possible explanation. They also supplied a tantalizing clue to where the garbage lay.
Have you ever heard that money stinks? In small piles it's hardly noticeable. But the odor from huge piles can become almost unbearable.
It can even carry the unmistakable smell of fermenting garbage when that is what it makes of men's lives. And sometimes it smells of death.
CHAPTER TEN
It was a matter of record that Brighton's participation in a number of large drug busts by the Valley Task Force had been crucial to the success of the operations, due largely to the fact that the busts had gone down inside Brighton itself and because the Brighton PD had actually initiated those investigations.
It was also in the record, however, that Brighton felt shorted in its share of proceeds from the cash and property confiscated in those busts. Typically, all proceeds are divided between the participating agencies in a complicated formula that is supposed to be fair and equitable, and such proceeds are supposed to be funneled right back into the war effort.
We are talking big bucks here. During the final year of Brighton's participation in the task force, the city received sixteen million dollars as its share of confiscations. Busts within Brighton alone that year yielded thirty-five million.
So Brighton pulled out and used the sixteen million to
fund its own strongly beefed up narcotics division.
That appeared to have been a mistake.
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