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  Chrissy had a broad grin on her face and said, “Glad I could help.”

  I guess everyone felt comfortable around this family.

  Chapter 62

  After breakfast, I met Sandy at the clearing Sadie had shown us the night before. Now it was a full-scale crime scene, with a photographer methodically working from one end to the other.

  A K-9 handler, using a golden retriever as a cadaver dog, searched the area. I noticed two small flags marking the ripples on the ground I had noticed the night before.

  Sandy walked over to me and said, “We have at least two older graves over there.” She pointed to markers a dozen feet away. “The investigator from the medical examiner’s office marked those when we were still pulling equipment out of our cars.”

  There was something missing at the scene. It took me a few seconds to realize what it was.

  I turned to Sandy and said, “There’s no media here. That wouldn’t happen in New York. They monitor our radios and have stringers hanging around a lot of the precincts. Back home, we’d have news trucks and photographers getting in our way.”

  “One more advantage to Maine,” said Sandy as she instructed a young crime-scene tech to get ready to uncover the graves.

  As I watched the scene unfold, I realized that someone would notice us up here working. I’d have to keep a close eye on Sadie. It was never a good idea to take a threat against a kid too lightly. She seemed happy with my family at the house right now. That worked for me, too.

  I walked over to the spot where the medical examiner’s investigator and a crime-scene tech were carefully uncovering the graves that had been identified. The investigator from the medical examiner’s office was around fifty and had a big ruddy nose and a belly straining against a short-sleeved button-down shirt. He wore a New England Patriots clip-on tie. Anytime I saw someone in a tie like that I knew it meant that he was loosely following a dress code from his office. I assumed he was wearing the tie as some sort of protest.

  The investigator looked at me and said, “Who the hell are you?”

  “Mike Bennett. I’m working with Sandy Coles.”

  “You the NYPD guy?”

  I nodded.

  He stuck out his hand. “Bob Carbone. I retired from the Boston PD. I’ll save you the effort. Yes, I know what I’m doing. No, I don’t need any help. And yes, I do think Boston is a much better city than New York.”

  He immediately turned and focused on the graves once again.

  I either liked this guy immensely or thought he was a dick. I wasn’t sure which.

  After more than an hour, the two bodies at the markers had been uncovered. Another grave had been found not far from them in the woods. We had stumbled into something serious.

  Sandy, Bob Carbone, and I met at the back of Sandy’s car, where a plain blue portable canopy had been set up.

  Carbone’s accent was so thick it was distracting as he said, “We got two adult males from the first graves. Pretty good deterioration because they were just in open soil, but we should be able to identify them.”

  Sandy said, “How long have they been there?”

  He shrugged. “Maybe two years.” He turned and pointed in the direction of the third grave. “That one is a female around twenty years old. She hasn’t been there as long as the others. Maybe six months to a year.”

  I said, “Any idea how they died?”

  “No obvious trauma, but that doesn’t mean much. We’ll have to get the medical examiner’s full report. An autopsy should tell us a lot.”

  The tubby former Boston cop was starting to explain that he wanted to excavate the bodies completely and transport them when I heard someone shout from the far end of the clearing.

  All three of us started to trot that way. The uniformed K-9 officer was trying to pull his golden retriever away from something. Two of the crime-scene techs were standing next to him.

  As we got closer, I saw that they were looking at something on the ground. My stomach tightened up as I realized they had found two more graves. These were new. Even I could tell that. The dog had become so excited that he had uncovered the end of one of them.

  I could clearly see the exposed feet sticking up out of the dirt and pine needles. One foot had a dirty white sock over it. The other was wearing a bright green Nike athletic shoe.

  It was Tricia Green. Shit.

  Chapter 63

  Sandy and I raced back to the Ghost House. Everything Sadie had told us was true. Now we needed to see if she could help us put the pieces together and make a case against Dell Streeter.

  As soon as I stepped in the front door I found Sadie sitting on the floor with Bridget, working on some sort of epic arts-and-crafts project involving pinecones, an old sheet, and a lot of glue.

  “What are you girls up to?”

  Bridget looked up at me with the kind of smile she only had when satisfying her addiction to arts and crafts. “I’m showing Sadie how we can make portraits of animals using just pinecones and pine needles.”

  Sadie looked up and smiled. She didn’t say a word, but I could tell she was enjoying it. She had never experienced a family life like this before. Just the thought of it made me a little sad.

  It took a few minutes to get Sadie away from the other kids. We ended up in the downstairs bedroom, where Sandy and I sat on mismatched chairs while Sadie faced us from the edge of the bed. She didn’t seem nervous at all.

  This was the sort of thing you approached slowly. You couldn’t do a straight interview. We intended to just let Sadie unwind once we started talking. We would let her tell things at her own pace.

  Before we even told Sadie what we’d found in the woods, Sandy started asking her questions about growing up. Not just to put her at ease but also to understand her thought process. This sort of thing was vital to cops if they wanted to make a case that would go to a jury.

  Sadie told us a little about her childhood. She said, “I remember when my mom worked at the Target in Bangor. We had fun together. Then she hurt her back, and the doctor gave her pills. Then she started using. She called it mud or sometimes smack. But I knew what it really was. She used to say it was like taking a vacation.

  “She did more and more. She got it from Dell Streeter. I thought he was taking care of my mom. When she got really bad, he let us live at his house. After a while, she realized he was bad for both of us. She said he was the reason she was hooked. When she died, he didn’t want me around at all.”

  Sandy and I listened as this train wreck unfolded. I still had a hard time understanding how things could go so wrong for people.

  Sadie said, “I heard about two guys who used a bad batch of mud at Dell’s house. They both died, and instead of involving the police, Dell and his buddies just buried them in the field. I guess that’s what they did with me, too.”

  I let her sit there for a minute to make sure there was nothing else she wanted to tell us. Then I got down on my knee in front of her so we could look at each other eye to eye.

  I said, “Would you be willing to make a statement? Maybe testify in court later, if you had to?”

  She thought about it, then nodded. “Yeah. I can do that to someone who tried to bury me alive.”

  I said, “I’ll keep you safe.”

  She smiled and said, “No one can keep me safe after I do this. Dell Streeter knows everyone. But I’ll do it anyway.”

  Chapter 64

  The Penobscot County district attorney didn’t seem thrilled with the idea of using a disabled teenager and former drug user as the sole witness in what could turn out to be the biggest case in the county’s history. The pudgy assistant district attorney, with a perpetual sweat forming on his forehead, virtually ignored my presence during the meeting.

  He kept adding things to Sandy’s arrest warrant and throwing up unnecessary roadblocks.

  Finally we had what we needed. We headed straight to Streeter’s compound, where a couple of county sheriff’s deputies met us. This was the se
cond arrest in a row that I was looking forward to. The last arrest I made was the asshole who had Brian selling drugs for him. I recognized the connections between the cases—drugs, young people, dealers with no conscience. It may have been swaying my judgment, but at this point I didn’t care.

  We rolled into the front yard and hustled up to the porch before anyone knew we were there. Just as Sandy started to pound on the front door, it opened. One of Streeter’s goons stared at us, slack-jawed. It was the guy who had punched me in the head.

  I grabbed his shoulder and pulled him through the door onto the porch. I saw the gun stuck in the small of his back and jerked it out with my right hand. He balled his hand into a fist and lined up on my face.

  I raised my knee and struck him in the thigh. The jolt to his system made him drop his hands and bend over. Then I drove the same knee directly into his face. He sprawled onto the porch, and I looked at the uniformed sheriff’s deputy with us. The young deputy just nodded, understanding he was supposed to watch the man on the ground.

  Now we fanned out into the house quickly with our guns drawn.

  Sandy covered one side of the wide living room and I the other. I was looking down the hallway when another goon came out, clearly not expecting to see anyone in the house.

  He started to call out when I stuck the gun right in his face.

  I whispered, “On the ground—now.” I pushed the barrel of my pistol against his temple, and he got the message. I patted him down quickly when he was on the ground, but he had no weapons.

  Then I heard Sandy shout, “Police—don’t move.”

  When I looked up from the man on the ground, Sandy had her pistol pointed down the other hallway.

  I stepped closer with my gun raised. Dell Streeter was standing in the other hallway. He was in jeans but had no shirt or shoes on.

  Sandy said, “Keep your hands where I can see them.”

  Streeter forced a smile and showed us that his hands were empty. “I hope you have a good reason for burglarizing my house and threatening me with guns. I guess we call that home invasion.”

  Sandy said, “Walk toward me slowly.”

  I saw Streeter’s eyes dart back and forth. He had to be wondering where his bodyguards were.

  When he was in the living room, Sandy shoved him to the ground. I covered him while she holstered her pistol and jerked his left hand behind his back. She slipped the handcuffs from her belt and had him secured in a couple of seconds.

  From the ground, Streeter griped, “Those cuffs are awful tight.”

  Sandy didn’t answer as she jerked him to his feet. She said, “Dell Streeter, you’re under arrest.”

  “Let me put on some clothes before you take me anywhere.”

  Now we were leading him out the door past his two goons, who were being watched by the sheriff’s deputies.

  I said, “Unlike restaurants, we’ll still give you service without a shirt or shoes.”

  As we got to Sandy’s car, the dealer said, “Let’s see how funny you are when they let me go and I have your jobs.”

  I said, “You can have my job, but I don’t think you’d like it. Seems like all you ever get to deal with is jerks.” I inadvertently slammed his face into the roof of the car when I tried to get him into the backseat.

  Sandy didn’t mind the blood that leaked out of his nose onto the upholstery.

  Chapter 65

  Dell Streeter, still shirtless, sat in a chair with his hands cuffed behind his back. There was no one else in the Linewiler detective bureau. That was the way Sandy and I wanted it.

  It was time to have a serious talk with the Texan.

  Streeter said, “Where’s the bright light? Are you going to use the phone book to beat me so there are no bruises? Who’s going to be the good cop and who’s going to be the bad one?”

  Sandy said, “You’ve seen a lot of movies.”

  “I’ve had a lot of cops talk to me. And I’ll tell you right now I’ve got nothing to say.”

  “Most drug dealers don’t.”

  “Drug dealer! I run a successful appliance repair service.”

  I said, “If you’re so successful, how come you live in that shithole?”

  “Less for crooked cops to steal. Plus I like the tax breaks for having a home office.”

  Sandy played it cool, sitting on the edge of a nearby desk. “I don’t think you appreciate the situation you’re in.”

  Streeter said, “Why don’t you explain it to a simple country boy like me?”

  I leaned in close and said, “Right now we can tie five bodies to you.”

  He chuckled but kept his mouth shut.

  “You think this is funny? You think it’s a joke?”

  He grinned. “Yeah. I think someone is playing a joke on me. I’ll laugh tonight. When I’m home.”

  “You could get life for this, easy.”

  “Life is never easy. You should know that. I did a little research on you after our first meeting. You couldn’t even keep your own kid from selling dope. Who are you to threaten me?”

  Even with his hands behind his back, it felt like he had slapped me. I had to get hold of myself. I had never punched anyone in handcuffs. I wanted to go my whole career being able to say that.

  Streeter said, “I just want to make sure you get me in front of the judge for my arraignment before the end of the day.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because the Rangers are on ESPN tonight, and I intend to watch it from my living room.” He gave us a smirk. He was daring me to do something drastic.

  Sandy said, “There’s always a way to help yourself in a situation like this.”

  “A situation like what? Like being kidnapped illegally by the police?” He looked back at me and said, “I’m starting to understand why so many people shoot the cops. You deserve it.”

  Sandy said, “We’ve got someone talking to your two flunkies in another room.”

  “So?”

  “No telling what they’re saying right now.”

  “The same thing I’m about to say.”

  I said, “What’s that?”

  “The magic words: I want to talk to my attorney.”

  He gave us another smirk, because he knew he’d just shut down this interview.

  At least I made it through without punching a guy in handcuffs.

  Chapter 66

  Late that afternoon we found ourselves sitting on a hard bench at the Penobscot Judicial Center. It may not have been as expansive and historic as a New York City courthouse, but it had the same sense of power. There were still people sitting around us, upset that a relative had been arrested. There were still well-dressed attorneys waiting at the side of the courtroom to step forward when their clients were called.

  Dell Streeter sat with the other two men facing Judge Lauren Furtado. A young, skinny man had been arrested for shoplifting, and an older, tired-looking man had been arrested for failure to pay child support.

  Courtroom activity was pretty much the same everywhere.

  When Dell Streeter’s case was called, a woman dressed in a sharp Armani pantsuit stepped confidently to the podium. She was probably around thirty-five, and her hair fell to her shoulders.

  She announced herself as Arlene Greenberg.

  Sandy knew her and clearly wasn’t a fan.

  The lawyer wasted no time once the preliminary items were handled by the judge.

  The lawyer said, “Your Honor, I move that this case be dismissed and that my client Mr. Streeter be released immediately. Based on the affidavit submitted by Detective Coles, I see very little probable cause. In fact all I’ve seen and heard about today is outrageous police conduct.”

  The lawyer turned and looked back at Sandy and me sitting together in the front row.

  She said, “I have affidavits from two of Mr. Streeter’s friends who were beaten mercilessly by the police. They say the house they all share was trashed. Mr. Streeter himself has told me he was held in a freezing room
and deprived of a shirt. He was ridiculed and threatened. It was the closest thing to torture I have seen in my entire career.”

  I was stunned to see the ADA sitting at the prosecution table and not saying a word or objecting as the lawyer spit out these lies.

  Judge Furtado said, “What do you have to say about that, Mr. Albanese?”

  The pudgy ADA slowly rose to his feet and said, “I…well…um. I certainly would never condone that sort of behavior.”

  I wanted to jump up and shout that this was bullshit. I fidgeted in my seat, and Sandy read my mind. She put her hand on my leg to keep me seated. She knew me pretty well.

  The well-dressed defense attorney said, “Your Honor, this entire case is based on a statement from one witness. A witness who has a history of drug use as well as a mental and physical disability. Mr. Streeter is a businessman and has worked from his house repairing appliances without any complaints for several years.”

  Now the ADA stood up and said, “We do have five bodies.”

  The attorney shot back without waiting for the judge to say anything. “But nothing tying them to my client.”

  Now the judge looked at the ADA and said, “Is this true, Mr. Albanese?”

  The ADA took a painful amount of time to answer. It made whatever he said look fabricated. Finally he said, “Technically, for now, we have not developed forensic evidence to tie the bodies to the defendant.”

  The judge said, “Do you think it might be best to wait until you have evidence? I see that Mr. Streeter owns his house and has been a resident of Maine for almost three years. Would it be such a big risk to withdraw the charges and investigate further?”

  The ADA nodded and said, “I see what you’re saying, Your Honor. At this time the state would like to withdraw the charges.”

  Judge Furtado banged her gavel and said, “The court is in recess.” Then she looked directly at the nervous ADA and said, “Get your case in order, Mr. Albanese.”