The Riverman: Never Caught, but Paid the Ultimate Price

By RONALD D. CARROLL

Suppose you were in control of $154 million dollars of legal pharmaceuticals that had been stolen, and you purchased them for $3 million. You knew that you stood to make near the normal dollar rate if they were redistributed to a legal foreign market. Would $90 million make you happy?

This is a story about such temptations that begin with a missing man. In a small southern town, or a relatively medium-sized Ohio River town, there is a retired cop and, presently, a private dick looking for a missing person. He works his magic to find the man. Along the way he discovers mysterious leads that twist and turn and have him in the middle of an international drug scheme for profit. Those in power make him a fall guy for a double murder. See how this nobody skirts the law and finds the truth. Luck or ingenuity, you choose. When you read and think it is over, it is not.

This reading covers a lot of territory including small towns in Kentucky, DEA, FBI, local homicide, organized crime, people so called Ohio River rats, and a donkey farm. How do some people afford those big boats on the River? Can $90 million solve all these problems?

A book by Ron Carroll, a retired everything, cop, detective, narcotics, teacher, boys High School basketball coach, private investigator, and a life long college student. Oh, also, once a deputy sheriff. Awards: Mayors Award first class, for Federal Narcotics Strike Force undercover operations commander, Kentucky Amateur Softball Association Hall of Fame. Self award for extreme imagination. That means I day dream a lot, why not, go figure.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Oct 18, 2011
• ISBN: 9781467035620

RONALD D. CARROLL

A retired police detective and currently a private investigator the last sixteen years. I'm a graduate of the University of Louisville (1974), FBI (National Academy) 1984, and the Southern Police Institute (1971). My many assignments as a detective included conducting undercover drug operations for the city and the Drug Enforcement Administrations Federal Narcotics Strike Force. I am a grandfather of four boys and father of two sons and a daughter. My biggest joy is watching my grandson's play ball. I am a river-rat that use to own a pleasure boat and still stay in contact with other river-rats. I am a sport's fan and an ex-ball player who was inducted into the Kentucky ASA Softball Hall of Fame (1996). My wife, Julie, and I enjoy traveling and hanging out and partying with people on the river. I live in a small city subdivision in the east end of Louisville, Kentucky, called Woodlawn Park. We have two old dogs and a young cat. Julie is a former para-legal with 16 years experience in Texas. My biggest thrill in life was coaching my two sons in high school basketball when I was a high school teacher.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

They maneuvered closer to the semi-truck and trailer they had been following for 180 miles, ever since they left the Kentucky Distribution Center in Simpsonville, Kentucky. It was 2:00 a.m. on a January winter night with hardly any traffic on this West Virginia mountainous interstate. They cell phoned ahead to their man standing by, We’re near. Are you in position?

A response came back, Yeah, get it here quick.

They were driving a stolen white 1996 Toyota with good plates taken from a wrecked Toyota in a junkyard yesterday. They had followed trucks on this route several times and knew the truckers would stop around 200 miles and every time at Exit 107 at the B & G Truck stop. They also knew there were two truck drivers inside and, after they parked, one would remain inside the truck while the other exited the truck to use the restroom and get coffee. When one trucker returned, the other would take his turn going inside the store. There were three men inside the little Toyota, all former truck drivers and are of Cuban descent. All had the proper truck driving credentials, forged manifest papers and log books just in case the cops stopped them.

The big truck with Premier Trucking printed in large letters on the trailer pulled onto Exit Ramp 107 and preceded toward the B & G Truck Stop. The little Toyota followed. The driver of the Premier truck slowly turned into the B & G parking lot and stopped to look for an empty spot between the ten or so other parked trucks. He decided to park in the front along side the very first parked and idling truck. He backed it in and left the diesel motor running, and then he exited the driver’s side with the door closing and locking behind him. He made his way toward the store and entered with his coffee thermos in hand.

The little Toyota pulled onto a dark parking lot next door, a closed Dollar Store, and stopped with headlights out and parked directly behind the Premier truck. Two Cuban men exited from the passenger’s side of the Toyota wearing regular truck driving clothes: jeans, checkered shirts, and a ball cap. Even in the winter truckers don’t regularly wear a heavy coat when making a stop.

The two men slowly walked and maneuvered toward the rear of the Premier truck and stopped. One Cuban stayed, but the other made his way behind and past the rear of two other trucks and walked crouched down between two trucks idling next to the Premier truck. He cautiously walked between both truck cabs containing, he hoped, two sleeping drivers. He made his way slowly out into the open parking lot and stopped. He turned around and checked his watch and then lit a cigarette as he stared at the Premier cab’s passenger side window. Once he saw the extra driver leaning his head on the side window, he pulled a small portable radio out of his rear pocket and turned facing in the opposite direction, kneeled on one knee pretending to tie his shoe and holding the radio in front of his chest whispered, Looks asleep. Get into position. I’m approaching.

Two clicks came on his radio, and he knew it meant okay. The second Cuban, somewhat shorter than the first, bent over at the waist and, partially concealed under the trailer, moved toward the driver’s door. The first Cuban in the parking lot stood and, while turning to face the truck, put his radio back in his rear pocket. He approached the truck cab, and from about ten feet away, removed a flashlight from his other rear pocket and turned it on. He pointed the beam at the dozing trucker. He knew the trucker inside would not unlock and open the door as such action violates company rules. The trucker inside did not move. He walked closer and tapped the flashlight on the passenger’s side door. The seated trucker’s head rose up as he looked directly into the flashlight’s beam. As he raised a hand to shield the blinding light, it disappeared, and he could see a man standing next to the humming engines waving a flashlight and using the other hand to point at the front fender. He couldn’t hear what the man was saying and rolled his window halfway down. As he felt the cold rush in, he stuck his head partially outside and yelled, I can’t hear you!

The man holding the flashlight moved closer and over the engine noise with one hand cupping to his mouth he let out, Your left headlight is out!

The second thief was outside the driver’s door and quickly used a lock puller to remove the lock. He jerked open the door and pointed a .45, automatic pistol at the unsuspecting passenger. The trucker was startled and looked at the gun and exclaimed, What the hell? The small thief continued to point the .45 climbed the cab steps and sat on the driver’s seat while ordering,

Get back behind the curtain and lay face down on the lower bunk and do it fast. The scared trucker hesitated then crawled to the rear of the cab and lay face down. The thief unlocked the passenger door as he followed the poor trucker into the rear of the cab as his partner entered and sat on the passenger’s seat, removed his cap and leaned his head against the window pretending to sleep. Everything was set. No one saw them, and the other sleeping truckers had not woke up or observed the event.

The truck driver exited the store carrying his filled coffee thermos while eating a doughnut. The chubby bearded trucker made his way back to the Premier truck cab. He opened the door and sat down while turning his head to close the truck door. When he turned back there was a 357 Magnum in his ear. He yelled, FUCK!

The man holding the gun said, Shut up and drive! Take a left out of here and head west. The trucker responded, Man, you can have anything you want just don’t shoot us. Where is Buck? In the back, the thief said. Just drive, you’ll be OK.

They turned west onto a rural road leading back toward the mountains with the Toyota following. They drove five miles and stopped at an old closed gas station along the road. The truck drivers were told to get out and hand over their cell phones. The Cubans walked the two drivers to a restroom along side the building where they entered and tied them to two broken urinals. The thieves then returned to the truck. They drove away from the old gas station pulling a trailer containing $154 million dollars of pharmaceutical drugs. The Toyota followed.

CHAPTER TWO

Jay Monday, known as Blue, was looking at this beautiful 34 foot Bayliner Cruiser from his car window. He was parked on the Limestone Marina lot in front of the dock. His heater was blasting away on a cold winter day. The old retired cop, now fifty eight years old, never had enough money to buy a boat, especially since he was twice, divorced and blew a lot of money entertaining himself with the beverage of his choice. Normally whiskey and usually over served. However, for the last ten years he had been working as a private investigator and owned his own company, Monday Investigative Firm. He made enough money with the PI business and retirement to live decently, but knew he’d have to work until the day he died.

Blue always dreamed of sailing away on his own boat even though he knew nothing about boats, engines, or anything about operating one. He had just worked a custody case involving Captain David who was employed as a firefighter and he was an avid boater.

After the Captain’s custody battle was finished, he and Blue met at the Marina to settle Blue’s fee and see the Captain’s boat. While there the Captain pointed to an older Bayliner cruiser and said, Hey, Blue that boat’s for sale at a good price. You should buy it. Well, Blue is now looking at it.

The next day, Blue crawled all over the boat and it wasn’t easy since his 6’ 3 skinny body didn’t fit well down in the engine room and his bald head hit the top of the door when he entered the cabin. Soon he heard someone outside the boat tapping the hull and saying, Knock-Knock. Anybody home?"

The man boarded the vessel and said, Hey, you Jay Monday?

Blue responded, Yup, that’s me.

The man said, I’m Mike Self. Captain David told me you were looking at this boat. I own the trawler adjacent to this boat. This is a good boat and I can tell you anything you need to know about it.

Blue and Self shook hands and spent the next hour going over the boat’s details. Mike Self was short at 5’ 6", and had short graying hair. He wore an expensive looking shirt, a leather belt with nautical markings, neatly creased jeans and very white tennis shoes. Blue was impressed with Self and thought him to be a nice guy and, probably, financially successful. Afterward Mike Self invited Blue up to the marina bar and restaurant for a beer.

The bar was situated near the entrance to the marina but sort of isolated from the main road. You wouldn’t know it was there unless you had a boat in one of the hundred or so boat slips. The bar, known as The Stone, was a wooden structure shaped like a houseboat with a large outside patio overlooking the boat slips. Blue and Mike sat at the bar sipping a beer.

Mike asked, You gonna buy that boat?

Blue answered, Yeah Mike, going to be your neighbor.

Self said, You’ll like it here at Limestone. Everyone is friendly and they look out for each other.

Blue asked, Who owns Limestone marina?

Mike answered, The slip owners do. It’s set up like a condo community and run by a committee board. We have lawyers that own boats here who set the whole thing up. The board is comprised of very successful professionals, engineers, architects, builders, financial wizards, and me. I’m the commodore, but they call me the commonwhore.

Both men laughed.

What do you do for a living? Blue asked.

I own and operate Self Contracting Designs. We do most of the designing and remodeling of the multi-million dollar homes in the metro Louisville area, Mike answered.

Looks like you and the board members do very well and are pretty connected, Blue replied.

Well, Mike said, We take care of each other and try to use each other in business. You know, referrals, hire each other and so forth. In addition, we run this entire marina, except we lease out the bar and restaurant. The bar is set up as a private club, $25.00 a year. We will be glad to have an ex-cop aboard and, if needed, our people will promote your private investigation services. There are a lot of customers that have been coming to the bar for years who don’t own a boat now, but most have owned one before. There are people that come in here who do all sorts of work—carpenters, concrete, landscape, fencing, heating and a few boat repair guys. Just about anything you can name we got the contact.

Mike continued, Mr. Blue, you’re going to meet some special boat people around here. There are huge, very expensive boats to little dinghies, and you wouldn’t know which person was rich or poor. They all treat each other equally and party together. The bunch around here live hard, drink, play and spend money doing so.

Blue asked, What about drugs?

Oh, you find some of us smoke grass and few do a little coke but nothing big, just entertainment type. Mike responded. "By the way that’s the name of my boat, The Entertainer. Come on, I’ll show it to you."

Blue said, I’d like that. Lets go, Commodore.

They walked down concrete steps toward A ramp and past piled rocks along the banks until they reached the wooden planked ramp walkway. Mike and Blue proceeded to the end and stopped at the last slip that contained a spotless and beautiful forty-eight foot trawler.

They could see the boat Blue was interested in floating in a slip just next to The Entertainer about 25 feet away in a slip on F Ramp. It was also in the last slip on that ramp.

Blue stopped on the dock ramp and stared at The Entertainer and said, You got to be kidding! This is your boat?

Self said, Come on inside and take a gander.

Blue never saw anything like it. He noticed the electric heater was being run with shore power, and it was nice and warm inside. It was an ocean worthy home with spotless twin diesel engines, cherry wood cabinets in the gallery, huge televisions throughout, two fantastic bathrooms with tubs and top of the line fixtures, a full laundry room, two huge bedrooms with queen sized cherry wood-framed beds and lots of closet space. The main salon contained extravagant furniture and a large cherry wood bar. The helm was big enough for six people and more cherry wood fixtures with every type of nautical instrument and equipment to cross any ocean.

Blue said, Mike if you don’t mind me asking, how much did you pay for this beautiful monster?

Self grinning answered, Oh, I did a lot of the work myself. Designed it and built it, that’s what I do. I spend a lot of time entertaining on this boat—customers, clients, friends, business associates, and, you know, anyone I need to impress.

Blue shaking his head said, Damn. No wonder you have a successful business. Come on, how much you got invested?

Mike giggled and said, Not as much as you would think. Try $225,000. It’s worth double or more.

Wow, I’m jealous. Blue said.

Self responded, "You can come out on The Entertainer anytime you want to. Of course, there will be cocktails included! Some of the board members are going out with me tomorrow night. Why don’t you come along and get to know them?"

Blue answered, Thanks, I will. What time and what do I need to bring?

Nothing, just yourself. Mike answered.

Mike Self handed Blue a beer and motioned him to sit on the leather sofa and asked, Can I talk to you about a matter I’m concerned with?

Blue said, Sure shoot.

Mike said, Mr. Monday, I know several people that know you and they have told me you’re quite good at the what you do, the investigation business. Captain David, whom you just finished doing a case for, is a good friend of mine and he kept me informed about the progress concerning his case over his divorce and custody situation. Well, he thinks you did an excellent job.

Blue answered, I appreciate that, but Captain David is related to cops and has a lot of knowledge in that regard. He provided information that allowed for success. I wish most clients could provide that.

Self said, Yeah, David is smart. He just married the wrong girl. She was screwing everybody on the river and heavy into coke. By the way, we have another mutual friend whom I just finished a remodeling job for. The County Sheriff’s houseboat.

Blue interrupted, Sheriff John? Yeah, we used to work together in metro narcotics, a good man. He was my boss in that unit. That was years ago. He kept me out of trouble many times. He always said, ‘If you’re not working you wouldn’t ever be in trouble.’ Mine was mostly silly shit like not letting him know when I was serving a search warrant or doing things without advising him. He was a hand’s on boss and made sure everything was on the up-and-up. Hell, Colonel John was a sergeant at the time and slept with his police portable radio by his bed at night. I would be serving a search warrant at 3 a.m. and he would show up and help. He stayed on top of things and made sure it was done right. It was a pleasure to have a boss that gave a shit. I knew he was a river rat and lived on a houseboat with his wife at the Knights of Columbus boat docks.

Self said, Yes, that’s right but KC docks are situated on the river which exposes boats to danger in the winter. John keeps his boat at Limestone in the winter since our marina is off the river and protected from bad weather. Right now he’s docked just across the marina on C Ramp. He is also the commodore of KC docks. Every now and then we take a cruise together and have a few drinks. Blue interrupted laughing, Let me guess, he drinks Yellowstone and Coke, that nasty shit. Self responded, That’s right. He’s been drinking that shit all his life. Anyway, I’m a member of KC and at a meeting we were talking about you and he said your work is pretty good and gave you high marks. Blue said, Colonel Aubile should have been chief of police, but he retired and as it should be he was voted in as the County Sheriff. I appreciate the compliment coming from him, but what is it you want to talk about?

Self answered, Well, have your ever heard of a guy named Ross Lane?

Blue relied, Yeah, that’s the guy that was in the newspapers. He’s been missing for a couple of months, but I don’t know him. One of my associate private investigators was hired by the family to try and find him or find out what happened to him.

Self said, I’m concerned about Ross and his family. Ross came in the Limestone Bar a lot and some of us are good friends of his. Ross owned a fencing company, Cardinal Fencing, and we did business with him on a regular basis. You know, subcontracted to him. We’ve been trying to find out if anyone has any knowledge about him. His family is desperate. We know Ross drank a lot and would go on a binge for several days at a time but he would eventually show back up. He also had a coke problem at one time, but we don’t know if he still did the shit. I asked the Colonel about the case, but he said that’s the police department’s case and he isn’t involved. Is there anything you can find out? Blue hesitantly responded, Mike, the P. I. guy working this case I know very well since we do a lot of work together and we have talked about it on occasion. They’re at a dead end right now but he and a homicide detective have a suspect they’re working, a drug dealer. Blue continued, The investigators will be on TV next week asking for any information regarding Ross. I’ll have a chat with him, but if they tell me anything on the QT, I can’t repeat it. Mike said, I understand, but anything you tell me won’t leave my lips—people on the river have a tendency to talk too much. It’s just that his family are friends of ours and desperate. They could lose everything, even the business. I would greatly appreciate your help."

CHAPTER THREE

The Premier truck was being driven along a two-lane mountain road with its diesel engine roaring and the trailers refrigeration unit grinding away. The trailers outside thermometer read 36 degrees Fahrenheit just perfect for this cargo. The Toyota followed close behind just in case they needed to abort with a fast get away. They continued west for ten miles then turned south on Rural Route 55 and drove through the little town of Burger, West Virginia, with a population of 300. It was 2:40 a.m. They needed to hurry. Just another five miles outside the little town, and they’ll turn left onto an unmarked road and disappear into an isolated hollow surrounded by two very steep mountains. The thieves and their cargo made the left turn and twisted around sharp curves for another three miles before they struggled to make a right turn from the narrow road onto a private gravel road that had a sign that read Keep Out—No Trespassing Road Washed Out. They continued slowly along the gravel road for a quarter mile striking over hanging tree limbs and bushes until they reached an old steel gate that was secured with thick chains and a large metal lock. The gate was positioned a few feet in front of an old wooden bridge and creek with swift currents flowing 20 feet below. No one could see them from the road they had just left. The big truck stopped, as did the Toyota behind them. A small Cuban male exited the Toyota and ran to the gate. He took out a key, unlocked the gate, unraveled the chain, opened the gate and ran back to his car and got in. The big Premier truck slowly rolled across the old bridge and continued forward. The Toyota followed and once across the bridge the small Cuban in the car would close and secure the gate. He would follow in a moment. The big truck traveled another quarter mile and as it stopped for a large tree lying across the road, two men jumped out from the brush wearing dark clothes, bullet proof vest and holding AK47s. They waited in front of the truck on the gravel road for the trucker thieves to get out. They met on the road waiting for the Toyota. Once the Toyota arrived, the small Cuban met his fellow organized crime brothers in front of the truck. They described the morning events and were allowed to proceed. Each truck thief entered their respective vehicles as the dark clothed gunmen walked to the side of the road and using a winch pulled the big tree off the road.

The old metal barn was probably 25 years old and large enough to hold two semi-trucks, farm equipment and tools. It had been updated inside with removal of horse stalls, tool shed and hay loft. There was an old one story wooden house near by that had been burned to the ground many years ago. There was no electricity but large generators sat on a flat bed truck along one side of the barn. A hole had been drilled on the outside wall to allow heavy-duty electrical cords to enter the building and provide electricity.

This isolated mountain farm and land had been abandoned for ten years and was selected and purchased from a government foreclosure six months ago for $90,000 dollars and deeded to a fake coal company out of Tampa, Florida. The closest neighbor was several miles away and back in another hollow up on a hillside. The neighbors were way beyond poor and uneducated. The town’s people believed the coal company was going to search for coal. They didn’t know the real purpose.

The Premier truck and the Toyota continued another quarter mile and the truck thieves saw the barns wide open double doors. Their headlights illuminated the barn interior where they saw their two bosses waiting inside and another semi trailer and cab parked inside along one wall. The bosses guided them along side and even with the other truck. The Toyota parked outside. Once everyone was inside and the doors closed, the lights were turned on. Inside standing along side the other semi-truck and trailer was a wooden stage built to the exact height of a trailer’s rear doors and floors. The stage was equipped with wheels and long enough to fit across the rear of both trailers. Quickly the gang opened the trailer doors on each trailer, shoved the stage behind the trailers and climbed up onto the stage. Using a large hand dolly with two forks protruding out, the men began unloading the stolen cargo from the stolen truck onto the empty trailer. The wooden flats were lifted up a foot or so and wheeled to the other trailer. Each of the fifteen flats contained stacked packages of pharmaceuticals five feet high and wrapped in plastic. The packages were marked and identified the type drug inside. The various drugs included vials of narcotics of all types used in hospitals to treat for pain, cancer, and various types of illnesses; even those used for Chemotherapy treatments. This load was headed for New Jersey to be transferred, dispensed throughout the area hospitals and in New York. But now it will be headed to a donkey farm just outside of Springfield, Kentucky.

The shabby looking gray bearded 59-year-old man crawled out of the cab that was parked inside the barn. He had scars along his neck and face from being in knife fights and his skin was leathery from living a rough life. His greasy gray hair hung down to his shoulders and his thick round shoulders stood out above a stomach that stuck out like a beer belly. In the past he had been shot three times and stabbed five times as a bouncer in strip joints, nightclubs, and drunkenly hanging in the nastiest bars he could find. He wore a greased stained shirt and worn out blue jeans. He was only 5’ 9 tall but his demeanor indicated, Don’t fuck with me. On his shirt there was a name printed that said simply Artie. He walked slowly toward the Cuban crew with a cell phone in one hand while the .357 Magnum pinched his back under his rear belt that was hidden under the shirt that hung outside his pants. He grabbed the manifest from the Cuban bosses hand and stood still while he studied the list. He crawled onto the trailer and compared the list to the cargo. After he was satisfied, he made a call and confirmed, The stock is good and ready to be consumed. He waited on hold for fifteen minutes and then the voice on the other end said, It’s done, buy me the herd." The conversation was coded just in case someone was listening.

Artie climbed off the trailer and, using a gruff country twang, quietly said to the Cuban leader 1.5 million has been sent and received by your guy, the other half will be sent once I’m back safely. The Cuban made a cell phone call and spoke in Spanish. He hung up and made a second call to the guards at the big tree. Once he hung up, the Cuban said in broken English, Go, the gate is open at the creek. We’ll take care of the Premier truck. The lights were turned out and the barn doors opened. Arty closed and locked the trailer, checked the refrigerator on the trailer, and climbed back into his cab and backed out the trailer, turned around and head out. His cab and trailer were marked Roadway Truck Company.

The Cubans washed down the stolen Premier cab and trailer inside and out. They also cleaned the Toyota. One gloved Cuban driver then drove the truck out of the barn. They used a diesel 3500 Dodge pick up truck and attached to a flat bed that contained the generators and moved it inside the barn. They detached the flat bed and drove the pick up outside. The two truck thieves got in the clean Toyota wearing gloves while the two Cuban bosses drove the stolen truck and trailer. They double locked the barn and left. Along the way they picked up the two guards who locked the gate in front of the bridge and got in the Dodge pickup truck that the third thief was driving. They traveled back the way they came, but the Toyota and the Premier truck turned left heading into the mountains while the pick up truck turned right toward the interstate. The Toyota stopped at a small pull off near the top of the mountain where they dumped the Toyota by pushing it over the mountainside. Down the mountainside there were other dumped junked cars, stoves, refrigerators and trash. They climbed into the Premier truck and traveled to the top of the mountain and parked the truck on another larger pull off. A van was waiting for them. They all got in the cargo van and traveled down the backside of the mountain that led to another little town and, eventually, to the interstate. The Cuban leaders would be very pleased with a three million dollar profit and the thieves would be happy with their take of $50,000 each.

Artie made his way out of the mountains using as many side roads as possible to his destination. Six hours later, he entered the small town of Springfield, Kentucky and passed his garage Artie’s Car Repair Shop and Wrecker Service and drove six miles into the country to his donkey farm.

CHAPTER FOUR

Ross Lane has been missing for several months. Blue called his associate P. I. Tom Collins, a retired ATF agent. Hey, Tom Blue said. Tom responded, Blue Man, where in the hell have you been hiding? Blue laughed slightly and answered, I bought a boat, I know, happiest days are the day you buy it and the day you sell it. Laughing loudly Tom said, Do you know what B.O.A.T. stands for? No but I’m sure you’re going to tell me. Blue responded.

Bring Out Another Thousand. Tom said laughing.

Blue said, Very funny, but true. Listen Tom, I know you’re involved in this Ross Lane thing, can you tell me anything about your investigation. I have a river friend who is a friend of the family and they are desperate for information. If you can’t, that’s fine. Well, Tom said, "the family hired me to look into his activities after he went missing and I’ve been working with the police department a little but they are so overloaded with other cases, they don’t have much time to follow up. Right now, it’s pretty much common knowledge that the guy is dead but you know you can’t tell the family that based on speculation. But you can tell your friend Ross Lane was on a drinking binge and was known to disappear for several days and then reappear. His family knows this and they said he hasn’t done it for a