Jamie Garrett - Riley Reid 03 - Ends and Beginnings (2 page)

Pastor Thomas Pritchard was being held at Fairfax County Prison, about an hour’s drive away from Stone Harbor. He had been charged with two counts of murder. As hard as Detective Sam Greyson tried to get him to confess to the arsons that exploded across the town months earlier, the pastor still professed his innocence, on setting the fires, at least. His trial was set for near the end of the year.

My name is Riley Reid and I am a private investigator. I own and run my own PI agency out of an abandoned store downtown. And I sat next to Sam in his car as he drove down to Fairfax County Prison on October 15.

We didn’t have long left before we got to the prison. We’d already been in the car for more than forty-five minutes. During our little trip, we discussed the particulars of Pastor Pritchard’s case. Neither of us could figure out if he was lying about not knowing who had set the fires, and who was behind the Stone Harbor drug ring.

Since the spring, it had become apparent that there was a substantial criminal enterprise running out of our small town. I stumbled upon it when I was hired by a grieving mother to find out what happened to her son. That case almost got me and my best friend, Lisa, killed, and it exposed a nearby rehabilitation center called Fresh Horizons as a drug smuggling operation.

Fresh Horizons had a scheme going on where they not only provided treatment for addicts, but also the very illicit substances they were slaves to. Sam and the Stone Harbor Police raided the place, seized large amounts of drugs and arrested staff members. None of them broke under interrogation.

Someone had to be behind the criminal activity at the rehabilitation facility. There had to be a money man. They would have to have connections that would give Fresh Horizon access to the drugs they ran. And that someone thought it was a good idea to send people to try and kill me.

First, they tried to take me out at the abandoned marina on the Rappahannock River. Then, they came to my offices armed and with faces covered by white plastic rabbit masks. Later, they’d tried to strangle me to death and run me off the road. Turns out I’m not that easy to kill.

Apparently, trying to kill me didn’t keep them busy enough. The mastermind behind the drug ring sent someone to burn any evidence. That summer, they started setting fires in and around Stone Harbor. They’d started with Sister Mary’s Church in town. Then the marina was burned down, followed by Fresh Horizons, and an attempt on Roxy Theatre. That was saved by Sam, but only just.

Between the attempted murders and arsons, the mystery got out of hand and dangerous. But I wasn’t worried. I was angry. And I wanted to know who was responsible. Ten miles away in a small concrete room was a man who might be able to provide Sam and me with answers.

“What if he doesn’t talk?” I asked, as I stared out the car window at the passing trees. They were bereft of leaves and instead stood as scraggily wooden skeletons.

“He will,” answered Sam, careful not to take his eyes off the road.

“But what if he doesn’t?”

“You can’t go in there with that attitude, Riley. You have to believe that he’ll break. He has to break. We’re quickly running out of leads.”

Sam was right about one thing. We were short on leads. If the pastor didn’t tell us something new, I had no idea how to proceed. Every other promising clue had led to nothing but dead ends.

The surrounding woods cleared out ahead. I could see buildings behind rows of chain link fence. On top of the fences was razor wire. Then we saw the sign that had an arrow that pointed forward. It read, “Fairfax County Prison.”

Fairfax County Prison was huge. There must’ve been a dozen miles of fence and wire around fields at least one hundred yards wide. Apart from guard towers and what look like some manner of storage shacks, there were three large, beige colored buildings. Each of them were connected by enclosed walkways.

Sam pulled up to a security booth near the only entrance in the fences. A large, red-faced man came out of it dressed in an olive colored uniform, clipboard in his hand and an M-16 assault rifle slung on his back. He walked up to the driver’s side as another security officer walked up to the passenger side.

The red-faced security guard motioned with his finger for Sam to roll down his window. Sam complied.

“State your business,” said the man with a heavy southern drawl.

“We’re here to visit a prisoner, Thomas Pritchard,” answered Sam.

The security guard checked his clipboard. Then he looked up at us. “Identification, please.”

Sam showed the man his badge. I rolled down my window and handed the guard on my side my driver’s license. He took it, looked down at it, then at me. In his shiny sunglasses, I could see my distorted reflection.

“Thank you, Detective,” said the security guard as he waved us through. The chain link fence sliding gate opened up. Sam slowly drove through.

As we got closer, I could see silhouettes in orange out in one of the yards. It must have been rec time for the prisoners. My heart rate accelerated. I was nervous. There was little risk that any of them could or would do me any harm during our visit. But nervousness isn’t always rational.

When we got to the main parking lot, the prisoners were gone. Instead, we were met with the sight of a goliath beige building. It had no personality or appealing design features. Clearly, it was built solely for function.

Half of the front of the main building had thick, tinted windows. Through them, you could see inside. There were staircases on both sides that led down from the fourth and top floor to the ground floor. We could also see various administrators in their offices.

Upon entering, Sam and I had to check in with the front desk. A prison guard dressed in dark blue escorted us down a long hallway with white walls and a scuffed up white linoleum floor. He was leading us to the visitor’s reception area.

In the reception area, there was an odd mix of people. There were mothers and fathers of prisoners. Other were girlfriends and wives. And there were even a few children.

Another prison guard came into the room and explained to us the rules and what was going to happen. There would be no passing of outside goods to prisoners. Everyone will be searched before going any further. Physical contact was strictly forbidden. Anyone who broke those rules would be immediately ejected.

I’ve never been an inmate at a prison, so I can’t speak to how degrading it must be. Having the guards’ hands on me was pretty bad. They stopped me before I walked through the metal detector and patted me down.

After being fully evaluated for any contraband, Sam and I were led to another room. It was large and filled with tables that had seats attached. Above the room was a catwalk with patrolling guards armed with rubber slug firing shotguns. That wasn’t where we were going to talk with Pastor Pritchard.

Off of that main room was a smaller, more private one. A guard led us in there. When we arrived, we saw Pastor Pritchard, who had his ankles and wrists attached to chains latched to the floor. The guard left us in there with the pastor.

Stress and anxiety had taken their toll on Pastor Pritchard. His hair was now fully grey. There were clearly defined lines on his face. Stubble formed a pseudo beard. His sad eyes didn’t even look at us.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Pritchard,” said Sam. He was pacing around the room. “I suppose you know why we’re here, right?”

“You want to talk,” answered Pastor Pritchard.

Sam put his hands on the pastor’s shoulders from behind. “That’s right! I want to talk. Got any idea what I want to talk about?”

Pastor Pritchard sighed. “If I had to guess, I’d say the fires … again.”

“Correct! Jeez, you’re on a roll today, Mr. Pritchard.”

“Like I told you last time you were here and the time before that, I didn’t set them.”

“Oh, I believe you Mr. Pritchard. The thing is, I know you know who did. And you’re going to tell me.”

“What’s in for me, Sam? I’m in jail and I’m not getting out in this lifetime. Why should I help you and put my own life at risk?”

Pastor Pritchard had a good point. It would be dangerous for him to help us. And for him, it would be a needless danger. He would get absolutely nothing out of it. Then Sam pulled out his secret weapon.

Sam sat down across from Pastor Prichard. “I won’t lie to you and say I can get you out of here. I can’t reduce your sentence. But what I can offer is a chance to be transferred to minimum security, which opens up the possibility of you being able to preach again to your fellow inmates.”

Pritchard digested what Sam offered. “Minimum security?” I could tell Sam had him. The pastor was going to take the bait.

“Minimum security,” reiterated Sam.

“I don’t know who set the fires. But I do have a vague idea who might’ve,” admitted Pastor Pritchard.

“Go on,” urged Sam.

I hadn’t brought my notebook into the prison, so I made sure to pay attention. Counting on memory wasn’t the way I preferred to do things, but it was better than having to deal with questions from the prison guards.

“The group I worked for, they had people everywhere. They paid off politicians, prosecutors, judges, prison guards and even cops. That’s how they get away with it. And in the case of Stone Harbor, they went after the police.”

I studied Pastor Pritchard’s body language. He gave off no sign that he was lying. No matter how ridiculous I might’ve thought his information was, I had to at least listen.

“Hold on a second. Are you telling me that this mysterious ‘they’ have Stone Harbor cops one their payroll?” From the tone in Sam’s voice it was clear that he didn’t want to believe Pritchard just as much as I.

“They have two.”

“Who? Give me some names.”

“I don’t know.”

Sam started laughing. “Of course you don’t. Because you’re talking out of your ass. There aren’t any corrupt police in my station.”

Pastor Pritchard’s expression never changed. “Believe what you want Sam. Ask yourself, who do you trust in your department? Who is beyond reproach? Some people might’ve said I couldn’t ever kill anyone. But here I am chained to the floor.”

The conversation with the pastor went on, but we got little else from him. At least the bombshell he dropped was worth the trip. I didn’t know whether to believe him or not. And I don’t think Sam did, either.

Sam and I rode back to Stone Harbor in silence. I was both frustrated and contemplative. As I went over the possibilities of various members of the Stone Harbor Police, no one immediately stood out. They all seemed like decent people. But, like the pastor said, no one thought he’d be capable of murder, either.

I found myself in a dark dining room. It looked familiar. One just like it could be found at the Greyson residence. Except the one I was in was a little off. The walls were too far away and draped in shadow. In front of me, the table was old and rotting. Water dripped from a leak in the ceiling.

There were others around the table. I wasn’t alone. A row of candles on the table revealed the dimly-lit visages of my adoptive family. And at the opposite end was another, completely hidden in black.

When I looked over at Sam the first time, he looked like he always did. I turned away for a second, then looked back. That time, Sam was a kid, maybe ten years old. I never knew him as a child, but I’d seen pictures around the Greyson’s house. My dreaming mind filled in the rest.

I noticed that Sam wasn’t the only one whose age had regressed. Richard was as old as he was when I first met him. He and his son looked so similar at that age. And, as far as I knew, I was still an adult.

Richard and Sam were talking to each other. I couldn’t make out what they were saying. Instead, my focus shifted to what was on the table itself. There was a platter with a domed cover over it. Next to the platter was fruit infected with mold.

I leaned over and reached for the handle on top of the platter’s dome cover. When I took it off, I revealed a white rabbit underneath. The rabbit had on a tiny white plastic rabbit mask. It hopped off the table and disappeared into the darkness.

“Hope you’re hungry,” I heard a familiar voice say. Out of the black came Molly Greyson. It creeped me out a little due to the fact she’s long been dead. But in the dream, she looked exactly how I remembered her.

Molly had a large, dead bird in her hand. She was holding it by the throat. It burst into flames and she didn’t even seem to notice. In fact, she vanished altogether. Sam started playing with action figures at the table. Richard smoked a cigarette and stared off at nothing.

An invisible force made me focus on the unknown person at the end of the table. There was a growing swarm of flies all around the mystery diner. Then, one of their hands came into the light. It was covered in blood.

It’s hard to really describe what exactly I felt when I saw the hand. I was dreaming, so it’s hard to say for sure that I actually felt anything. But it reminded me of dread. You get the same feeling while walking through a haunted house. Something bad was going to happen. I just didn’t know what.

When the mystery diner came out the shadows, I saw it was Jimmy Alvarez. He was dead, like Molly, but unlike my adopted mother, Jimmy didn’t look healthy. There was a chunk missing out of his head from where I had shot him. Blood and brain dripped out onto his shoulder and down his back and chest. One of his previously-gorgeous big brown eyes was pointing northwest while the other went southeast.

Jimmy opened his mouth and bullets started to fall out. They piled up on the table. A little smoke rose up out of his gaping, cranial gunshot wound. He slowly stood up.

Looking at Jimmy, all I could think about was zombies. That must’ve had some effect, because he got on all fours and crawled across the table towards me. I wanted to move out of the way, but I couldn’t move fast enough. He fell on top of me.

Jimmy held me down and inched his undead face towards mine. The blood and brain matter started dripping on my face. No matter how much I struggled, I couldn’t get free. All I could do was turn my head and hope for an end.

Suddenly, I heard a gunshot, and Jimmy exploded into thousands of shards of broken glass. Behind him, I saw Richard standing with a revolver in his hand. My adoptive father sat back down.

When I got up, I looked down the table at Jimmy as he sat back at the end of the table in the shadows. I could see his head slumped over. He was lifeless, dead. On the table, I noticed there was something spray painted. It was the silhouette of a purple jester.

The dining room around me disintegrated into burning embers. It revealed dark woods and the drug den that was the Branches’ home. I heard the sound of twigs and leaves being stepped upon. Out of the woods came dozens of people. They were all people that I knew. The Greysons were there: Lisa, Amy, Loretta, Chief Owens and even every kid in my third grade class.

All the people who stepped out of the woods were armed. Some had guns, others had knives. A few of them even had spiked baseball bats. They gave off a vibe that they were going to use their weapons on me.

The group closed in on me. Some of them talked gibberish. Others laughed at me. I found the quiet ones scariest.

My eyes flew open and I found myself once again staring at my ceiling fan, instead of an angry mob. The fan wasn’t on. Instead, it sat idle, collecting dust at an alarming rate.

There was something heavy in my hand. My heart nearly jumped out through my rib cage when I saw what I was holding. It was my .38.

Waking up from a nightmare with a loaded gun in your hand is a scary experience. And it was one I didn’t ever want to repeat. I needed to get out of town. I needed to take a break from investigating the drug ring. It was starting to get to me.

I’m not the type of person to take vacations. If I was going to get out of Stone Harbor for a little awhile, it should be for a purpose. I dragged myself out of bed, knowing I wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep. Several expletives grumbled out of my mouth as I looked at the time on my phone and saw it was only three in the morning.

Without turning on any lights, I made my way to the bathroom. Half awake, I thought about where I’d go. The sound of the toilet flushing was accompanied by an idea. I’d find my father. And according to the address I got from Richard several months earlier, the trail started just outside Richmond.