Peak Oil (17 page)

“When did you draw this one?” Alexa asked Mary-Lou.

Mary-Lou shrugged. “This morning.”

Alexa looked up from the passport as Lucy Beck dashed into the diner. She wore a white lab coat over a floral summer dress. She saw them and trotted toward their table. “Oh, thank God you’re here,” Lucy said out of breath. She took Alexa’s hands in hers. “Please, you must help,” she sobbed.

Her hair was plastered to a sweaty brow, and lines of concern were etched on her face.

Neil stood up and pulled a chair closer.
 

“What’s wrong?” Alexa asked.

Lucy sat down, her hands trembling as she folded her dress beneath her legs. She leaned her elbows on the table and covered her face with her hands. Her shoulders jerked as she sobbed. She lifted her eyes. “They arrested David. They’ve taken him to the police station.”

Alexa frowned. “Why?”

Lucy put her hand on her mouth, almost afraid to say the words out aloud. “Apparently they found child porn on his laptop.”

Alexa glanced at Neil.
 

He shook his head, suspicion painted on his face. “When did this happen?”
 

Lucy sobbed, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “An hour ago. I cannot believe it. David isn’t like—” she said and swallowed her words as she sobbed.

“Okay, let’s go.” Neil stood up. He took Lucy’s elbow. “Drive with us.”

Neil screeched to a halt in front of the police station. They jumped out and slammed the doors behind them. As they entered the station, Tony was busy punching a number into the black phone on the counter.
 

Harvey came out a couple of seconds later, his face red and his chops quivering. He walked up to them and then nodded curtly. “It’s a sad day for the community of Dabbort Creek, Miss Guerra,” he said and blinked twice. “At least we caught the sicko.”

Neil snorted. “You sure?”
 

“Absolutely,” Harvey nodded, blinking. “We found it on his laptop. I saw it,” he said, grimacing.

“Bullshit,” Lucy snapped. “It must have been planted.”

Neil took hold of Lucy’s arm and then turned to face Harvey. “It’s all circumstantial.”

The red-faced deputy shrugged his shoulders. “It is what it is. Some funny shit on there. I couldn’t watch it.”

“Who tipped you off?” Alexa asked.

Harvey stuck a finger in his collar, pulled it open, and sighed. “No one. Routine inspection. They do it all the time.”

“I want to see my husband,” Lucy demanded. “You didn’t have to beat him up.”

“He resisted arrest, ma’am,” Harvey said, blinking his eyes. “And it wasn’t my guys; we didn’t touch him. You need to chat with Refatex’s security people about that.” He shrugged noncommittally. “They are a bit rough-handed sometimes.”

Alexa pursed her lips. “Take us to him,” she commanded.

Harvey motioned to the female cop and she strode toward them. “Please take Mrs. Beck to see her husband.”

She nodded, walked up to the door of the holding cells, and unlocked it. Beck was the only prisoner inside, lying on a bunk with his arm over his forehead.

“David?” Lucy Beck whispered.

David Beck looked up with a relieved expression on his face. He swung his legs off the bunk, bounced up, then stuck his arms through the bars and grabbed his wife’s arm.
 

“Please unlock the door, officer,” Alexa said.
 

The officer glanced at Harvey, who nodded. “It’s fine, unlock it.”

Lucy rushed into the outstretched arms of her husband. “Is it true, David?” she sobbed into his chest.
 

He held her back and leaned down toward her, locking eyes with her. “What do you think, Lucy?” He grabbed her shoulders, jerking them urgently as he spoke. “Tell me, what do you honestly think?”

Lucy shook her head, wiping her eye with the back of her hand. “I knew it, David. I’ll get Pops to fly down from Chicago; he’s the best trial lawyer around.” She reached for her cell phone in her purse. “We’ll sue their socks off.”

“No,” David said urgently. He pursed his lips and shook his head, a determined look on his face, and then breathed deeply. “No, Lucy, don’t,” he said softly.

She stared up at him, a puzzled expression on her face.

“Please, I need to talk to Neil and Alexa,” he said, glaring at the other people in the room. “Privately.”

“But Neil . . .” Lucy whimpered.

Beck pinched his brow. “Please, Lucy, not now.”

Lucy reluctantly followed Harvey outside, and Neil closed the door behind them. He turned around and strode to Beck. “What happened?”
 

David shuffled closer and whispered, “There’s some screwed up shit going on down at Refatex.” He looked around the cell conspiratorially.

“Like what?” Alexa asked.

David Beck look flustered. “Yesterday, when Ryan took us on the tour of the facility, he said they were refining two hundred thousand barrels per day.”

Alexa nodded. “Yes, that’s right.”

“He also mentioned that they were making a profit of $20 million per day.” He studied them, his eyes darting between their faces. “Remember?”

Neil shrugged. “Yep, sure—$800,000 per hour, or some insane number.”

David Beck pursed his lips. “Don’t you see?”

Neil frowned. “See what?”

Beck glanced around nervously. “That $20 million per day divided by two hundred thousand barrels refined per day equals $100 per barrel.”

Alexa tapped her lip. “Which means what, exactly?”

Beck huffed impatiently. “Refatex is supposed to be making a profit of $8 on the oil that they refine per barrel, not $100!”

Neil bit his lower lip. “What exactly are you saying, David?”

Beck grabbed Neil’s arm. “Don’t you see? They’re not refining the oil coming into the refinery.” He licked his lips excitedly. “They have their own source of oil. The trucks coming into town don’t have oil in the containers, they’re empty.”

“How do you know this?” Alexa asked.

Beck pursed his lips and glanced over his shoulder. “This place could be bugged,” he whispered. He turned to Neil. “What’s your shoe size?”
 

“A twelve, why?”
 

“Shit, it’s going to be a tight squeeze, I’m a ten.” He snapped his fingers. “Gimme your shoes, quick, move it.”
 

As Beck undid his laces and shoved his shoes toward Neil with his feet, Neil pulled off his sneakers and handed them to Beck. Neil squeezed his feet inside the pair of hand-stitched leather shoes. They must have cost a fortune.

“What, you afraid of losing these babies in jail?” Neil grinned.

Beck jerked his eyes up as the door opened and then grabbed Neil’s arm. “You’ll understand soon enough,” he said.

“Okay, ladies and gentleman, visiting time’s over,” the female cop said. “Everyone out.”

They walked out of the holding area, Neil hobbling uncomfortably.
 

“Remember, Lucy, it’s all in the water color,” Beck shouted as the door slammed behind them.

Neil sat slouched forward in the comfortable sofa in the living area of their rented room. Beck’s shoes were placed in front of him on a coffee table.
 

Alexa sauntered in from the kitchenette, placed a beer on a coaster next to the shoes, then plopped down beside him. “Want to go over the facts?”

Neil nodded. “Okay. Latorre and Voelkner arrive in town. But with them are two hitchhikers they picked up on the way.”

Alexa flipped through her notebook. “A young guy called Jackson, and another man called Bubba Bartlett, according to Voelkner.” She looked up from the notes. “Our trusty field agents decide to attend the local tavern, Voelkner tosses his wallet to Bartlett to go buy them some drinks and then gets into a bar fight and wakes up in hospital.”

Neil sucked on his beer. “And Mary-Lou sees this young guy, Jackson, passed out at the bus stop.”

“And with him is who we assume to be Bartlett, only whoever dropped them there thought Bartlett was Voelkner.”

Neil nodded slowly. “Because Bartlett had Voelkner’s wallet.” He turned to Alexa. “Do you think Fitch had these two men murdered, thinking they were Latorre and Voelkner?”

Alexa tapped her lip. “Confusing one man is understandable, but both? Such ineptitude borders on the bizarre.”

“So you reckon Fitch had Jackson deliberately killed?”

Alexa sighed. “I don’t know.”

Neil picked up the shoe and examined it carefully. “Mary-Lou saw Latorre outside her window. So at least we know he’s still alive.”

Alexa nodded pensively.

Neil turned the shoes around. They were made from expensive Italian leather, but as far as he could see, they weren’t anything out of the ordinary. Fine, hand stitched by a master craftsman. He ran his thumb over the leather, feeling for any protrusions or ridges. The shoe was glossy and polished to a sheen, like fancy shoes were supposed to be. He had never had any use for a pair; he didn’t know what they were worth, but he guessed a lot.

He peered inside. The shoe had an inner lining at the bottom, made from soft, tawny leather. He felt a bump above the bridge of the shoe and peeled the leather lining back. It came out easily. He flipped the piece of leather around and noticed a couple of sentences written in an untidy scrawl. Alexa leaned forward as he read the words.

Refatex recruited me, David Beck, under false pretenses, to ascertain the dolomite content of earth samples they had taken. After I signed a nondisclosure agreement, Dr. Joseph Ryan disclosed information to me relating to Refatex’s underhanded dealings. When I threatened to approach the authorities, I was beaten up by the Refatex guards. They threatened my wife, Lucy, and said they would kill her if I ever divulged any information. I request witness protection and guarantees that my family

The note stopped midsentence. Neil ripped the liner from the other shoe, but it contained no writing. “Bloody, cursed Clan of Kane,” he muttered irritably.

Neil skimmed the note again and then handed it to Alexa. “Fitch is up to something at the refinery,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “And Beck is scared shitless.” He glanced up at Alexa, who was tapping the lip of the bottle on her chin, studying the text.
 

She looked up, placing the bottle on the table. “Okay, let’s make sure the Becks are safe and then recce the refinery properly.”

Neil nodded thoughtfully. “Now would probably be the best time, seeing only emergency staff is on site.”

Alexa punched Laiveaux’s number into her phone. They exchanged quick greetings, and then she updated Laiveaux on their progress and informed him about the secret note in Beck’s shoe. Alexa nodded as Laiveaux issued their orders.
 

“Very Well, General,” she said and hung up.

She turned toward Neil. “Okay, he’ll deploy four special forces agents,” she said, sounding pleased. “Bruce will accompany them. He’s personally guaranteed their safety, but we need to look after the Becks until the agents arrive.”

Neil swigged a mouthful of beer. “David should be fine where he is. What about Lucy, though?”

Alexa unlocked her cell phone with a swipe of her thumb. “I’ll send Voelkner to pick her up,” she said as she punched a number into her phone.

Alexa issued the instructions to Voelkner. She listened intently to something he said, and her eyebrows pinched into a questioning frown. “You’re one hundred percent certain?” she asked.

She disconnected the call and gaped at Neil incredulously.

“What?”
 

“The DNA results came back,” she said, her fingers touching her parted lips. “The person who attacked us in our room, the blood sample on the wall we sent for testing . . .”

“Yes?”

“It belonged to Lieutenant Bis Latorre.”

Alexa eased the car onto the wide highway and gunned the gas. The V-8 engine whined with a guttural roar. “So, you honestly think Latorre’s alive?” Neil asked, slamming a magazine into his Glock.

“Mary-Lou seems to think so,” she said. Her knuckles were white on the steering wheel; they were doing well over a hundred. She glanced sideways at Neil. “But why did he come here?”

Neil shook his head. “Money, it’s the only possible reason.” He slid the pistol into a shoulder holster. “Fitch probably offered him a deal he couldn’t refuse, like he tried to do with me.”

Alexa pursed her lips. Her face felt warm. “Probably why Fitch said Latorre was dead.”
 

Neil squinted, scanning the road ahead. The sun blazed down from a cloudless sky as hazy apparitions shimmered and danced on the blacktop a mile ahead. “Alexa,” he said, resting his hand on her leg. His eyes locked onto her face.

She glanced at him. “What?” she said with some asperity.

“Calm down.” He sighed loudly and sat back in his seat. “You need a clear head.”