Read Online Deadline by John Sandford - Free Book Online Page B

and you will go to prison.”
    The men all looked at each other again, then Butterfield said, “What the hell are you talking about, Virgil?”
    “Anybody walking away?” Virgil asked.
    They all shook their heads, and Virgil said, “Okay. Johnson and I went up there and scouted the valley.”
    “Didn’t know that,” Jones said.
    “’Cause we didn’t tell you. We didn’t find the dogs, but we did find a commercial-sized meth lab. The place is under surveillance by the federal government right now. As soon as we nail the people running the lab, we’ll go looking for the dogs.”
    One of the men smiled and said, “My goodness. That is a reason.”
    “But what about the dogs?” Butterfield asked. “Goddamn meth labs are all over the place—the goddamned dogs are like my goddamn children.”
    “Look: that’s the reason we have you guys sitting out by the river, watching people coming and going—we don’t want to let the dogs out of there,” Virgil said. “We think they’re up on the south hill, which is hard to get at, but we can hear them barking at night. So as soon as the feds move, which has to be any day now—I’m kind of surprised that they haven’t gone already—we’ll be up there after the dogs. And if somebody tries to move them before then, we should see them.”
    “They could be torturing them,” Butterfield said.
    “Probably not, if they’re gathering them up to sell them,” Virgil said. “Look, guys, give me a couple more days, and we’ll be all over the dogs.”
    Once again, they all looked around, then Jones said, “Two days, Virgil. Then we’re gonna have to do something.”
    —
    J OHNSON CAME and sat in Virgil’s truck while he made a call to Gomez: “Anything happening up there at all?”
    “Yeah, we saw a guy go up there yesterday in one of those Gator utility vehicles,” Gomez said. “He was dropping stuff off, it looked like. I think they’re getting ready to roll some smoke. You getting antsy?”
    Virgil explained about the dog owners, and Gomez said, “Oh boy. All we need is a bunch of rednecks running through there with rifles. If it looks like you can’t hold them off, call me—I’ll come down and preach a sermon to them.”
    “I’ll do that,” Virgil said. “You heard about my murder?”
    “Yeah—does that have anything to do with the Orly’s Creek boys?”
    “Don’t know. I hadn’t really thought about that possibility. But the victim was a pill head, according to the sheriff. His boss thought that he might have another source of income. I’ll keep it in mind.”
    “Well, if you’ve got a local source, and you have a pill head who might be dealing . . . that’s a pretty interesting coincidence, if it is a coincidence.”
    “I’ll stay in touch,” Virgil said.
    He rang off, told Johnson about Gomez’s end of the conversation, then called up Alewort, who was still at Conley’s trailer. “I’d be interested in any trace of any street drug. Deeply interested,” Virgil said.
    “We’ll look,” Alewort said.
    When Virgil was done with Alewort, Johnson asked what he was most thinking about—the murder, or the dogs.
    “I gotta juggle them,” Virgil said. “The murder’s the main thing, but I won’t forget the dogs.”

6
    V IRGIL NEEDED TO TALK to Bill Don Fuller, who owned the trailer where Conley had lived, and to the other people suggested by Purdy. He recited the list to Johnson, who said that Fuller ran a welding service down by the river port, and that he’d be driving right past Wendy McComb’s house on the way to Fuller’s place.
    “Is she gonna be a problem?” Virgil asked.
    “Not if she’s sober,” Johnson said. “She tends to drink a little.”
    “By ‘a little,’ you mean ‘a lot,’” Virgil said.
    “Well, yeah. She had a pretty hard life before she started screwing for money.”
    “I suspect this isn’t news to you, Johnson, but screwing for money is a hard life,” Virgil said.
    “Tell you what,”