Friday Edition, The (13 page)

Rey glanced at his. “Shouldn’t be too much longer.”

Almost as if on cue, Rey noticed a pair of headlights heading toward the warehouse. “They’re here!” he said. “Get the camera! We gotta move now!”

Sam got out of the car and grabbed her coat and the camera bag. She quickly followed Rey to the parking garage. They had rehearsed the details about what to do and when. Sam thought of Robin as she crossed the lot, wondering how many times she had followed Rey toward the garage.

They kept their eyes on the semi as it rolled to a stop in front of the dock doors. They reached the parking garage and ducked safely inside a stairwell. Sam followed Rey up three flights of stairs, taking two steps at a time as he did, struggling to keep up.

“You’re in better shape than you thought,” Rey said when they reached the landing.

She smiled and exhaled deeply, completely out of breath. “Must be the adrenaline,” she said and watched as Rey loosened a neon light glowing just above them, casting the stairwell in near darkness. She pulled the camera from the bag and attached a telephoto lens.

The semi was backing into a loading dock and the beeping noise it made broke the stillness. Sam sat at a perfect angle to the bed of the semi. When she peered through the telephoto lens, she could read the lettering and recognized the familiar logo.

Bridge Across the Border, Trucking and Shipping

Bringing Goods to You, One Truck at a Time

“One of those blasted trucks nearly sideswiped me the other day!” She took the camera from her eye and looked at Rey. “It’s a drug drop,” she confirmed.

Most of his face was cast in shadows, but she had enough light to see that a small smile had formed over his lips. “The trucking line typically carries food products and other staples across the border,” he said.

“From where?”

“Mexico.”

Sam turned her attention to the semi. The parking lights glowed and the engine purred, sending the smell of diesel fumes into the air. She raised the camera to her eye and focused. Rey heard the whirl of the camera as she took rapid photos in succession.

Sam swallowed hard. “Did Robin know about this?”

“Yeah. We sat here watching just like we are now.”

“What’s inside?”

Rey shrugged. “Could be anything, but probably black tar heroin.”

At that moment a pair of black sedans approached the warehouse. They watched as the vehicles stopped in front of the rig. Two men got out of each car. Sam raised the camera for a closer look. She trained her lens on each one and studied them. None looked familiar. More pictures.

She handed Rey the camera. “Do you know any of them?”

Rey studied the men a moment through the lens, then wagged his head.

“The driver’s getting out of the semi,” she said, tapping his shoulder.

Rey panned the camera in that direction and watched the driver climb down the steps. The camera whirred.

“Recognize him?” she asked.

“Nope. It’s new people every time.”

Sam glared at Rey. “How many times were you here?”

“Half dozen,” Rey said in a distant voice, his attention focused on the group of men as they walked to the rear of the semi. He clicked off several more digital photos.

“Are they Grandview police officers?”

“Nope.”

“What’s going to happen?” she asked.

“The staples stay on the truck and those fine gentleman will take the drugs,” Rey said and handed the camera back to Sam. “And we’ll get everything on the camera.”

For the next twenty-five minutes, Sam captured the events on camera. The men took the bundles wrapped in black garbage bags from the semi to the trunks of the cars. They worked efficiently, as though what they were doing was a daily routine. When they finished, Sam and Rey watched as the semi driver got into one of the sedans. The cars left the loading dock and disappeared into the darkness that formed at the edge of the warehouse.

Sam leaned against the concrete wall and closed her eyes. She became aware of the cold and shivered involuntarily. She rubbed the sides of her arms.

“Let’s go to the car, you’re freezing,” Rey said.

It was 4 a.m. when they returned to the police cruiser. Rey started the engine and within minutes Sam felt the warm air hit her face and feet. She looked in the direction of the warehouse, mulling over what had transpired.

They drove away from the building without their headlights. Sam looked in her side-view mirror, the words warning:
objects may appear closer than they really are
, captured her attention.

She looked from the written words on the mirror to Rey. She didn’t let her gaze stay too long on him. She didn’t want him to get suspicious, so she turned her attention to the warehouse disappearing in the distance. She felt herself shutting down, but before her brain shorted out she had the sense to say, “I wonder if one of those men was Roy Rogers?”

Brady’s mail cart was outside Jonathan’s office door when Sam arrived the next afternoon. Brady was handing several letters to Jonathan and they both looked up when Sam tapped lightly at the door. “Can I come in?” she asked.

“Of course,” he said, holding an open hand in her direction.

“Brady’s just making his last stop of the day,” Jonathan said as Sam reached his desk.

Brady didn’t acknowledge Sam and avoided looking at her despite that their shoulders almost touched. She looked at Brady and put her hand on his shoulder. “How’s it going, Brady?” she asked.

No response and Sam felt her stomach tighten. “Todd told me basketball practice is going very well and your team will be good this year,” she said, hoping to entice Brady into conversation.

Nothing. Brady kept his attention focused on the envelopes he held.

“Are you ready for your first game tomorrow night?”

“Yeah,” Brady said and moved away from Jonathan’s desk fast enough that Sam’s hand was left hanging in the air.

“Do you have anything else for me? I gotta go now,” Brady said looking directly at Jonathan.

He answered softly. “No, Brady but thanks. Have a good evening.”

Brady left the office without saying good-bye and did not look in Sam’s direction. They listened until they could no longer hear the sound of his mail cart. Sam sat in the chair across from Jonathan, looking defeated and contrite. She rubbed her forehead hard between her thumb and index finger.

“He hates me,” she said.

“You know why, don’t you?”

Sam glared intently at Jonathan.

“He blames you for getting Robin hooked on booze.”

“She started drinking after his accident,” Sam said as if she had to defend herself.

One hot August night, only months after Brady’s accident, Robin came home and found Sam on the balcony smoking and drinking beer. On the balcony that evening Sam had expected Robin’s usual lecture about drinking and smoking.

She was, however, pleasantly surprised. Instead of the customary discourse, Robin bummed a cigarette and asked for a beer.

“Hell no!” Sam said when Robin had asked.

But this night was different. Brady’s rehabilitation had been frustrating and slow. Robin had been so hurt when Brady no longer wanted her to come. Sam knew Robin was hurting, desperate and lost. She had watched her sister dwindle over the summer. In a moment of weakness, she let Robin take a drag from her cigarette and a long, cold swallow of beer.

The beer felt refreshing
on the hot summer night and Sam offered her sister another. And another. It wasn’t long before Robin felt the effects of the alcohol and soon both sisters were drunk. The pain, grief and guilt Robin had felt over Brady’s accident seemed to vanish. After that night, Robin began to drink steadily because she wanted to, and Sam could do nothing to stop her.

On the second anniversary of Brady’s accident, Sam came home from work and found Robin unconscious. Sam could not wake her so she called 911 and Robin was transported to the hospital. If Sam knew one thing it was that there are few true teaching moments in one’s lifetime, when they are willing to listen. Sam knew she had to make certain that Robin knew how close she came to losing her life. Robin listened to her older sister and enrolled in a rehab program and started going to AA.

“There’s no need to get defensive, Sam,” Jonathan said. “You know you’re not to blame for Robin. So are you here for more background on your story?”

She nodded.

“I hadn’t heard anything more from you. I thought maybe your publisher had nixed the idea.”

“No,” Sam said matter-of-factly. “I haven’t. Besides I told you I don’t even know if there’s even a story to write.”

“So, what’s on your mind?”

“What do you know about High Pointe?” Sam asked.

“The warehouse on the east side?”

“Yes.”

“It’s a warehouse on the east side.”

“Very funny.”

Jonathan couldn’t help his smile. “You were never much fun to tease, Samantha. Okay, sorry. High Pointe? Humm, let’s see.”

Jonathan paused a moment, his eyes drifted toward the ceiling as he thought. “Nothing comes to mind other than it’s a run-of-the-mill warehouse. Why?”

“Have you ever had any incidents there?” Sam asked.

“Like what?”

“Like, I don’t know, disturbances and the police had to be called.”

The corners of Jonathan’s mouth turned down as he shook his head. “There’s no reason for that kind of activity to go on out there.”

“Maybe there is,” she said.

Jonathan’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

Sam hesitated briefly then said, “What if I were to tell you that the High Pointe Warehouse is being used as a destination point for international drug shipments coming into Denver?”

Jonathan tried unsuccessfully to stifle a small laugh. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his desk. “I’d tell you that you’d better try to doing something about your insomnia because you’ve been watching too many late, late shows. This thing with Robin has really gotten to you hasn’t it? Remember our conversation the last time you were here, Sam? Robin killed herself.”

“I have proof,” Sam said evenly.

Jonathan adjusted his glasses. “What kind of proof?”

“A thirty-five millimeter digital camera.”

“Sounds interesting, Sam,” Jonathan said in a measured tone. “I’m going to ask Wyatt to come so you can tell us what else you know.”

She watched him pick up the phone. Within minutes, the police chief was in Jonathan’s office with the door closed. He sat in the chair next to Sam. When she finished her story, a heavy silence hung in the air. It was Wyatt who finally spoke. “Who was with you last night?”

Sam looked at him calmly. “Wyatt, you know better than to ask me that.”

“I guess we have NAFTA to thank for this,” Wyatt said.

Sam frowned. “Why NAFTA?”

“North American Free Trade Agreement,” Jonathan said. “It went into effect a few years ago.”

“I know what it is,” Sam said to Jonathan, in a short tone as she jotted down the acronym “NAFTA” in her reporter’s notebook and underlined it.

“What does that have to do with this?” she asked.

“NAFTA has made it a breeze for drug dealers,” Wyatt said.

“NAFTA has?” Sam’ voice sounded surprise. “I thought NAFTA was supposed to bring trade benefits for Mexico, Canada and us?”

Wyatt nodded and said, “Since NAFTA started, trade with Canada and Mexico has climbed more than forty percent.”

Sam examined her notes then looked at them. “What does NAFTA have to do with smuggling drugs?”

“For starters, drug smugglers aren’t stupid,” Wyatt said. “They’ve learned that truckers, because of NAFTA, are waved through border checkpoints without having their cargo checked.”

Sam couldn’t help showing her dismay. “You mean they aren’t inspected?”

“On many occasions, because of the enormous volume of traffic at border checkpoints, they go right on through,” Wyatt said.

“Anything could be in those rigs,” Jonathan added. “Cocaine, heroin, it could all be in there and no one would know.”

“Let me give you an example, Sam,” Wyatt said. “Last fall, two undercover operations aimed at Mexican drug runners resulted in eighty-nine arrests in nine U.S. cities, and the seizure of tons of cocaine, marijuana and millions in cash. The probes also disclosed major inroads into the New York City drug market.” Wyatt’s attention flickered toward Jonathan. “Tell her what the combined haul of the two operations totaled.”

“Eleven tons of cocaine, six tons of marijuana and ten million bucks cash.”

“Thirty people were arrested as a result of the sting,” Wyatt went on. “Including truckers who hauled narcotics from Mexico and El Paso and brought back millions of dollars in cash in their cabs. Arrests were made all over the country.”

“What does it all mean?” Sam asked.

“It means,” Jonathan said, “these operations dramatically demonstrate that Mexican drug traffickers are displacing some of the Colombian cocaine organizations that have traditionally dominated the U.S. market. Much of the Mexican success is due to NAFTA. So thank them.”

Wyatt glanced at his watch. “I’m late for a meeting,” he said getting up from the chair.

“Wyatt, I do have one comment for you, but it has nothing to do with drug smuggling,” Sam said and smiled.

“Sure,” Wyatt said and flashed a quick smile.

“Brady was here when I came. I know he’s been having a difficult time since the funeral. If you need help with him for anything, I’d be happy to do what I can. I know he’s not crazy about me, but I want to try and make it up to him. Keep me in mind, please.”

Wyatt saluted Sam, then glanced briefly at Jonathan and left the office. Jonathan watched as Sam gathered her things to leave. He waited until she stood before he spoke. “April’s birthday is in a few days,” he said.

“I know,” she said without looking at him.

“She wants to have a few friends over…” Jonathan hesitated. “So if you were planning to stop by…”

“Well, of course I ... I was...” Her voice trailed off. The pain that had been beating in her heart over April pierced her a little more. She swallowed hard, trying to push down the hurt from places she never knew were so deep. She kept her attention fixed on a dull pattern on the floor.

“Jonathan, please don’t do this to me. It’s her birthday.”

“I don’t want to upset her, Sam. You saw what happened the other night,” he said.

“You’re taking this custody thing too far,” she said and the weight of her words seemed to bring her down.

Jonathan stared mutely at her, refusing to budge.

She felt his resistance. “It’s a Saturday,” she heard herself say. “Are you going to take the kids to McDonald’s?”

When Sam looked at Jonathan, he nodded. “And to the zoo if it’s nice. If not, I’ll think of something.”

Sam was insistent that the weekend would not pass without seeing her daughter. “I’ll come for a little while on Sunday. We’ll go to the zoo if you don’t.”

“If you like,” Jonathan said.

Sam remembered the night April bolted from the kitchen to her bedroom. The image of April running past her remained as she left Jonathan’s office and headed out into cheerless gray drizzle.