Supreme Justice

“You do not want to question my authority, Officer Oswald. That foolhardy course of action will lead to your arrest and detention. Now, please leave this ship and the immediate area at once or my men will take you into custody.”

Oswald was about to say something when Swanson put his hand on his partner’s forearm. “We’re outnumbered, Tom. Let’s just get out of here and figure out what to do later.”

Oswald glared at Belson, but he didn’t need a fortune-teller to see who would come out on top if he resisted. He started to walk down the gangplank when Belson pointed at the forensic kit.

“Please turn over your kit,” the agent said.

Oswald feigned reluctance as he handed over the kit.

“One question,” he said. “How did you know this crime scene existed, and how did you get these men here so fast?”

“That’s two questions, and I can’t answer either of them. I wish I could, but it would compromise national security. Things have been very different since 9/11, as I’m sure you can appreciate.”

The only thing that Oswald could appreciate was that he and Swanson were being fucked over, but he kept that thought to himself. Then he headed to his car with the fingerprints from the China Sea tucked away in his pocket.

When they’d driven out of sight, Oswald pulled to the side of the road and called Shelby chief of police Roger Miles. He could tell from the chief’s tone that he’d been sleeping soundly.

“Sorry to wake you, Roger, but some really weird shit has just happened.

“What are you talking about?”

“We answered a 911 call from that dock near the warehouse. You know the one I mean?”

“Just tell me what happened, Tom,” Miles said in a voice still thick from sleep.

“OK, well, there’s a ship docked at the pier, and we found five dead men and a hold full of hashish on board.”

“You what?” Miles said, fully awake now.

“There are five dead men on board. Some shot, some stabbed, and a hold full of drugs.”

“Jesus. Call OSP. We’re not equipped to handle something this big.”

Oswald had expected Miles’s reaction. The chief was a politician first and a law-enforcement officer second.

“I don’t think the Oregon State Police will be welcome at the crime scene, Chief.”

“What are you talking about?”

“About fifteen minutes after we boarded the ship, three carloads of armed men from Homeland Security showed up and ordered us to turn over our forensic kit and leave.”

“They what? Can they do that? This is our jurisdiction.”

“The leader, a guy named Belson, told me he’d arrest us if we didn’t leave. I didn’t want to press my luck. They were better armed than we were, and Jerry and I were outnumbered. So, what do you want us to do?”

“What a mess,” Miles muttered.

Oswald could imagine the chief ru

“OK,” Miles said finally. “Your shift is almost over, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“Head home. Forget about the ship. Let the feds handle it. We’d have to call in help anyway. Five dead men and a hold full of drugs. We’d be in way over our heads.”

“Should I write a report?”

“Yeah, write it up, and be sure to mention how you were threatened. We need to cover our ass in case something goes wrong and someone tries to blame us.”

“What should I do with the report when I’m done?”

“Just file the damn thing. If we’re lucky, we’ll never hear anything about this mess again.”

Chapter Three

Tom Oswald parked the police car next to the warehouse. A full moon in a cloudless sky illuminated the dock. It was just after midnight the evening after the 911 had directed him to the China Sea.

“It’s gone,” Jerry Swanson said as he and his partner peered through the windshield of the cruiser at the empty space where the ship had been moored.

Oswald didn’t say anything. He was angry and he didn’t know why. The mass murder and the drug smuggling had officially ceased to be any of his business as soon as Chief Miles told him to turn the matter over to Homeland Security. Still, the way the feds had barged in and thrown their weight around irritated the hell out of him.

“We’ve got company,” Swanson said. Oswald snapped out of his reverie and glanced in the side mirror. A security guard was headed their way, flashlight in hand. He was at the rear of the car by the time Oswald could make him out clearly enough to see that he wasn’t Dave Fletcher.

“Can I help you,” the rent-a-cop said as he shone the light into the car’s interior.

“Yeah. It’d be a big help if you’d get that light out of my eyes,” Oswald snarled. Then he caught himself. It was late, he was tired and pissed off, but there was no reason to take that out on the guard.

“Sorry, rough day,” Oswald apologized. “Where’s Dave?”

“Who?” the night watchman asked.

“Dave Fletcher, the guy who’s usually here.”

“I got no idea. They just transferred me from the mall in Astoria.” The guard shook his head. “I hope this ain’t permanent. This place is too damned isolated for me. Know what I mean?”

“Yeah. Look, we’re just taking a break. We’ll be out of your hair in fifteen.”

“OK, then,” the guard said and he walked off.

“The fuckers disappeared the whole damn ship,” Oswald said as soon as the night watchman was out of earshot.

“I saw David Copperfield make the Statue of Liberty disappear on TV once,” Swanson said. “This is just like that, only Copperfield brought the statue back.”

Tom Oswald lived by himself in a one-bedroom house that had been too small for Tom and his ex-wife and still seemed too small even with Linda out of his life. The house was dark and melancholy and held few good memories. Oswald had been depressed when he was discharged from the army, and his hasty marriage to a woman with a bipolar disorder and a drinking problem had not been the smartest of moves. The house was haunted by heated words and angry silences, and Oswald stayed away from it whenever he could.

Instead of going home when his shift ended, Oswald drove to the trailer park where Dave Fletcher lived. He stopped his car in front of Fletcher’s trailer and knocked on the door.

“If you’re looking for Dave, he’s gone.”

Oswald turned toward the voice. A heavyset woman in a housecoat was standing in the door of the next trailer. Her hair was in rollers and a lit cigarette dangled from the fingers of her left hand. Oswald crossed the yard between the mobile homes.

“I’m Tom Oswald. I’m with Shelby PD, Mrs…”

“Dora Frankel.”

“Where did Dave go, Mrs. Frankel?”

The woman took a drag of her cigarette and shrugged. “I got no idea.”

“Can you remember when you saw him last?”

Frankel stared into space. “I saw him head out the day before, but his car ain’t been parked by the trailer since then. Has something happened to him?”

“Not that I know. I just needed to talk to him about a case.”

“He hasn’t done anything wrong, has he?”

“He’s a witness. He’s not in any trouble.”

“That’s a relief. Dave’s always been a good neighbor.”

Oswald handed the woman his card. “If Dave comes back, ask him to call me.”

“Sure thing,” Frankel said. “I got to go in now. My program’s starting.”

When he got back in his car, Oswald made a mental note to talk to Fletcher’s employers, but he didn’t think they would be able to tell him what happened to Dave. His gut told him that the night watchman had disappeared along with the ship, the dead men, and the hashish. He hoped he was wrong about another victim being added to the body count, but nothing about the China Sea affair smelled right.

Oswald drove on automatic pilot while he thought about what the incident had taught him. He now knew that the inhabitants of Shelby, Oregon, were very little fish in a gigantic ocean where people, holds full of drugs, and entire ships could be made to disappear without any effort at all. He did not appreciate being pissed on by the big fish, but there wasn’t a lot he could do about that, especially after Chief Miles had told him to forget everything he’d seen.