Dead Cold Mysteries Box Set #2: Books 5-8 (A Dead Cold Box Set) Blake Banner (read out loud books txt) 📖

gained my feet. I was unsteady, but as determined not to show any weakness in front of her as I had been to hide it from El Coyote, only for different reasons.

She looked anxiously into my face. “You OK?”

“I’m fine. We need to get Greg.”

“He’s trussed up outside, like a Christmas turkey.”

I smiled at her. “You’re a piece of work, Dehan. You know that?”

“What?” She said it defiantly, looking around at the gang. They were like a bunch of giant cocoons. “You don’t like my work? I say we stage a gang fight and shoot the bastards with their own guns.”

The Angels protested loudly that they didn’t deserve that and had no idea of what was going down at the ranch. I ignored them.

“The idea has its appeal, Detective, but it may be best if we call the sheriff.”

She sighed noisily. “Fine, if you insist. By the way.” She held up her phone. “I have the last ten minutes on video. It makes entertaining viewing.”

“I bet.”

I pulled my own phone from my pocket and dialed the sheriff’s number. I checked my watch. It was almost eight.

“Stone, you again. How can I help you this time?”

“You can start by canning the sarcasm, Sheriff. I have just been kidnapped and bullwhipped by three of your stand-up, law-abiding constituents. One of them was about to cut my throat. You also have a barn full of marijuana here, which was destined for, amongst other places, New York, where it is illegal. That’s for starters, Sheriff. So I suggest you gather up some deputies, along with your nicest manners, and get yourself over to Greg Carson’s ranch. You’re going to need the ME and a meat wagon, too. You have one dead Hell’s Angel, another with a bad concussion, and a third with badly busted balls. Plus, you have four more trussed up and ready to go into custody. It’s going to be a busy night for you. Welcome to law enforcement.”

He was making lots of noises, but I wasn’t listening to any of them. I hung up and turned to Dehan. “Thank you.”

She punched my arm, gently. “It was my turn, big guy.”

About half an hour later, the sheriff came rolling in to the ranch in his truck. Behind him, he had four deputies in two cars, and behind them, there was an ambulance and the Medical Examiner. The esplanade in front of Greg’s house was flooded with red and blue pulsing lights and uniformed men spilling from their vehicles with worried looks on their faces. Dehan led them toward the barn, along with the ambulance and the ME, and I walked over to the sheriff.

Before he could open his mouth I shook my head. “This one didn’t start in the Bronx, Watson. This one is all yours, and you’d better notify the DA’s office tomorrow. Greg Carson grows the dope here on his farm, with the help of Sly and Coy. They dry it and package it, then they ship it to states where it is not legal, like New York, so they can sell it at a big profit. He was using Pat Olvera for that purpose, and I am pretty close to proving that that connection was what got Kathleen killed.

“They kidnapped me and attempted to murder both me and my partner. She has it on video, and I’m going to ask your ME to take photographs of these.” I gestured to my ripped, blood-stained shirt. “This was done with a bullwhip. The whip is in the barn. You need to bag it and send it to the lab. It has Greg’s prints on it, and my DNA.”

He was squinting resentfully at me. “You brought all this with you from New York.”

I shook my head. “No, Sheriff, it was already here. You just needed some police work to find it. It’s what they elected you sheriff for.” He curled his lip. I ignored him. “Come. I’ll give you a tour of the scene.”

He went to follow me but I put my hand on his chest and came up close to look him in the eye. “Just let me tell you something before we go any further. I want Greg locked up in isolation where he cannot talk to anybody until I get to him. If this investigation is not done by the book, or if these boys get off, I am personally going to have the Feds go over Lee County with a fine-toothed comb, and nothing—and I mean nothing—will go unexamined. Am I clear?”

He nodded.

“Right. Now let me show you how to go over a crime scene.”

An hour later, after the paramedics had dressed my lashes, the sheriff had one of his deputies drive us back to Seven Hills. The return journey was more straightforward, because we didn’t have to go via Four Mile Canyon Drive and Salina. He also promised he’d have someone go and collect the Dodge in the morning. By the time we got to the Wagon Wheel, it was almost ten, but Peaches and Cream Sr. volunteered to cook us a meal when she saw the state we were in, and heard that I’d been bullwhipped and almost had my throat cut. She said that these constituted exceptional circumstances. I had to agree. While she cooked, we went up and showered and changed our clothes.

While Dehan was in the bathroom, I checked my laptop. There was still no news from the captain.

Downstairs, we ordered a couple of stiff whiskeys and sat in front of the fire, which by now was dying toward embers, and sipped while we waited for our food. I hadn’t much appetite, but Dehan insisted, with a kind of intense sincerity, that I needed first-class protein to repair the damage. When I tried to argue, she said, “Remember what my mother said! ‘You’ll die, but foist you’ll