by D P Lyle
“One of the avenues we’ve been exploring to explain Emily’s and Jason’s murders is a drug connection.”
She shook her head. “I told you. Emily would never, ever be involved in that world.”
“I remember. What I want to ask is more about Jason. Is there anything you ever saw, or even suspected, that would suggest he was a user?”
“No. If he were, Emily would’ve dumped him flat.”
Nicole shrugged. “If she knew.”
Allison’s shoulders straightened. “Are you saying he did? That you found something?”
“We didn’t tell you earlier,” I said. “And this is not for public consumption. Okay?”
“What does that mean?”
“It means this goes no further than this table.”
She clasped her hands together in her lap and looked at us. Now, her shoulders sagged. “Okay.”
I looked around, made sure the family of four two tables away wasn’t eavesdropping. They weren’t. Hands full with two wiggly and giggly boys, maybe four and five. I leaned forward, spoke low. “Warren found two bags of meth at the scene. In Jason’s pocket.”
She looked up, eyes wide, a hint of moisture. “I don’t believe this.”
“Our best guess is that they were planted,” Nicole said.
“What? By who?”
“The killer,” I said.
“Why would they do that?”
“To make the killings look like something they weren’t.”
She snatched a napkin from the decorative holder on the table and touched each eye. “That makes no sense. Who? Why?”
“We don’t know,” Nicole said. “And that might not be the case.”
“Back to my question,” I said. “Did you ever suspect Jason was using?”
“No. Neither did Emily. If she had, like I said, he’d be gone, and she would’ve told me.”
“I believe that,” I said. “The truth is that a lot of users are able to hide that fact from even those closest to them. Kids do it all the time. Spouses and friends, too. If Jason was a closet user, and if he got sideways with his dealer, the result could be exactly what we saw in the field.”
Allison sat quietly. Obviously processing everything. She sighed. “I never suspected anything like that.”
“Not even the merest hint?” Nicole asked.
Allison shook her head.
“Did you ever meet Jason’s brother?” I asked.
“Brother? I didn’t know he had one.”
“He never mentioned him?”
“No. Does he have anything to do with this?”
After reiterating that this must be kept private, I told her about Jason’s brother. What little I knew.
She spoke to the napkin wadded by white knuckles in her lap. “This keeps getting crazier.”
Nicole reached over, clasped her hand. “We’re sorry we had to talk about this. The last thing we wanted was to bring any more pain to you.”
Allison nodded. “I wouldn’t want your job. I’d rather remain naive about things like this.”
Me, too, I thought.
CHAPTER 28
RAY DROVE. PANCAKE shotgun working his iPhone. After a search of the databases and services he used, he pulled the shades back on Brett Collins. Four years older than Jason, left their Laurel, Mississippi, birthplace at age eighteen. Right after he was nabbed for marijuana possession. His constantly shifting bank, credit card, and tax records showed he then roamed through Memphis, St. Louis, New Orleans, before dropping anchor in Pascagoula. Each stop filled with odd jobs—construction, service station attendant, janitor for a church, even the sanitation department in New Orleans. Garbage man. Been in his current location for just over three years. Jobs included a hand on a shrimp boat out of Biloxi, kitchen staff at two casinos, also in Biloxi, but mostly construction. Current employer listed as Bates Construction.
Six months ago, he had been popped for marijuana possession, but due to the small amount, the judge kicked the case. He rented an apartment in a run-down property next to a trailer park. The park had an extensive criminal record. Multiple police visits, arrests for possession, and dealing of meth and heroin. Brett’s name not attached to any of the raids that Pancake found in the local PD database.
“Hard to imagine these two apples fell from the same tree,” Pancake said. “Jason seemed to be a stand-up guy. Job, girlfriend, future. Brett a major loser.”
“Who chose to live next to a known drug hot spot,” Ray said.
“Bet he gets whatever his drug of choice is from there.”
“Or deals himself.”
“Let’s check out the trailer park first,” Pancake said. “Get the lay of the land.”
Ray slowed as they approached. The road paved, but ratty. They were half a mile south of Highway 90 and east of Pascagoula proper. A sign indicated the entrance to the Shady Lane Trailer Park. Flat and dusty, a couple of trees that didn’t appear all that healthy and offered zero shade. The dirt road that looped through the thirty or so trailers, most embedded on concrete block foundations, wasn’t much of a lane. It was quiet except for an elderly woman in a sack dress watering pots of azaleas with a garden hose.
“Turn in here,” Pancake said.
“Why?”
“I want to chat with that lady.”
Ray slid the car up to her trailer. Unlike the others, it was clean and well kept, explosions of flowers from pots and planters lined up across the front.
Pancake lowered the window. “How you doing?”
She turned and smiled. “Fine. You fellows?” She directed the water toward another pot.
“Gorgeous flowers,” Pancake said.
“I love them. Lots of work, but then I got the time.” She laughed, followed by a deep smoker’s cough.
“Mind if I ask a couple of questions?”
She folded the hose in one fist, crimping off the flow. “I’m busy Saturday night in case you were thinking of taking me dancing.” Another deep laugh.
“I bet we’d have fun,” Pancake said.
“Yes, we would. I was always partial to redheads. That’s why I married one. ’Course he up and died a few years ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
She nodded but said nothing.
“You lived here long?”
“Nearly twenty years.”
“Bet you know everyone around?”
“I do. ’Course it’s changed a lot. Past few years.”
“In what way?”
“Younger folks. Some of them not exactly my cup of tea.” She looked up the dirt drive. “I’d move but can’t afford to.” She looked back at him. “And I love my place.” She waved a hand toward her trailer. “I suspect I could take it with me but that ain’t as easy as it sounds.”
“I understand you’ve got a problem with drugs around here,” Pancake said.
She stared at him, hesitated, then shuffled over to the water faucet, carefully bent over, widening her stance for balance, and twisted the metallic quail figure to shut off the flow. She walked to the truck, bent, looked inside toward Ray.
“Who are you guys?” she asked.
“This is Ray. I’m Pancake.”
“Your mama named you that?”
“No, she chose Tommy. But that’s what I’m called.”
“I like it. My name’s Rose. Rose Williamson.”
“Nice to meet you.”
She looked back up the dirt road. “But to answer your question, that’s what’s changed around here. You can smell that damned marijuana every night. It’s like a putrid fog.”
“Anyone dealing around here?”
“Some. Cops took away a few of them. I think there are still a couple. Over on the other side of the park. Don’t know for sure, but we do get some late-night traffic, and they all head over that way.”
That fit the profile. Buyers circling the supplier, most often after sunset. And this place being off the beaten path made it a prime location for dealing.
“What about the complex next door?” Ray asked. “Any issues with them?”
“Don’t know many of them, but I ’spect it’s the same as here. I see younger ones—by that I mean under forty or so—drive by all the time. I hear they got druggies and dealers over there, too.” She looked toward her feet, then back up. “Maybe a month or two ago they had a big raid here, over there, too. Cops took a bunch of young guys in.”
“Do you happen to know Brett Collins? Lives over there?”
Her brow furrowed, a slight headshake. “What’s he look like?”
Pancake located the mug shot of Brett he had downloaded from the Pascagoula PD site and held it toward her. She squinted. “He does look familiar. Can’t say for sure though.”
“No real memory of him being over here? Maybe buying drugs?”
She examined the pic again. “Not that I recall.”
“Thanks, Rose,” Pancake said. “Love your flowers.”
“Love your hair.” She laughed, coughed, waved, and turned back to her work.
CHAPTER 29
SEAN AND ANOTHER guy were loading ten-foot two-by-fours onto the flat bed of a white delivery truck, Watkins’ Lumber Supply block printed in black along the door. He looked our way as Nicole slid her SL into the lot and we climbed out. He said something to his work mate and walked toward us.
“What brings you guys by?” he asked.
“We were nearby and thought we would see how you’re doing,” Nicole said.
He shrugged. “Okay.”
“This your stint onshore?” I asked.
“Sort of. The company felt uncomfortable with me going back out after everything. I guess they thought I might be distracted or something.”
“A liability issue, I suspect.”
“Except I was out there for two days because a couple of guys got sick. Just got back yesterday. Production trumps safety.”
“Too often,” I said.
“How’s things with your investigation? Anything new?”
“Not really.”
“That’s what Chief Warren said. I saw her this morning at the coffee shop down the street.”
“I think she’s frustrated,” Nicole said. “We are, too. Seems like everything is a dead end.”
“It’s looking more like a random thing,” I said.
“Probably.” He glanced back toward the truck he had been loading. Another guy had joined in to help.
“Made any decisions about the house yet?” Nicole asked. “Mostly. I talked to a local realtor about selling. What it might be worth, how long it might take.”
“So you’ve decided to sell?”
“I think so. It’s more house and property than I need. Or want to maintain.”
“Makes sense,” Nicole said. “Unless you decide to remarry and have kids.”
“No plans on that.”
“We talked with Whitney,” I said. “She seems nice.”
“She is.” He held my gaze for few seconds. “She told me you had dropped by, asked her some questions.”
“We did.”
“Why? She doesn’t have anything to do with this.”
“This is a small town. Everyone knows everyone else. She works at a popular place. Probably knows more about what goes on around here than most.”
“Bars are gossipy,” Nicole added. “We wanted her take on Emily and her friends.”
“I guess that makes sense.”
“She sure likes you. Said something about you guys moving in together.” Nicole raised an eyebrow.
“She did?”
“See, bars are gossipy.”
“We’ve talked about it. Which would be another reason to sell the house. Maybe get a bigger apartment. Or buy something of our own.”
Nicole offered a soft laugh. “That is serious.”
Sean shrugged. “I guess we’ll see.”
“We asked her about Jason. She said she didn’t know him well, but he seemed like a nice guy.”
“He was.”
“I asked this before,” I said, “but you had no issues with Emily seeing him?”
“And I told you no, I didn’t. I thought they were good together. And I have Whitney.”
“Whitney said the same thing,” Nicole said. “Said that she and Emily got along well despite the tangled relationships.”
“That’s true,” Sean said. “I remember the first time they were together in the same room. As far as I know anyway. I was nervous. Wasn’t sure how it was going to go. It was at The Rib Shack. I was there, at the bar, talking with Whitney. Emily came in.”
“That could’ve been uncomfortable.”
“You’ve got that right. My first instinct was to run out the door.” He smiled. “To avoid the fireworks. But it turned out to be okay. They actually sat and talked for quite a while. Between Whitney waiting tables.” He glanced skyward as if recalling something. “What I remember most was when Emily got up to leave, she told me she liked Whitney and that she was a keeper. A keeper? Can you imagine?”
No, I couldn’t. Not many of the triangles I stumbled into in my life were ever that pleasant. More ranting and raving. Some hair-pulling on one occasion. And that doesn’t include Tammy. She became fissionable material when I strayed.
“Can I ask you about Charlie Martin?” I asked.
“Sure.”
“Whitney said you felt he was jealous of Jason. That he loved Emily and considered Jason a rival.”
Sean nodded. “That’s true. At least, that’s my take.”
“Could be a motive,” I said.
“I’ve asked myself that more than a few times since everything happened.”
“And?”
“I can’t see it. I know these things can get crazy and make people act completely out of character. Do some very bad things. But Charlie?” He shook his head. “I can’t imagine.”
“But you’re not sure?” Nicole asked.
“How could I be? If you think about it logically, maybe he could do something to Jason. See him as a real threat to his happiness, or whatever. Someone who could make his life miserable. If Jason was out of the way, Charlie might think he could then have Emily. I can see all that. But Emily? I would have trouble believing that Charlie would do anything to her.”
“Could be one of those if-I-can’t-have-her-no-one can?”
“I suppose.” He glanced back. The truck was now loaded. “I have a delivery to make.”
“One more thing,” I said. “Did Jason ever use drugs? Anything like that?”
Creases appeared in his forehead. “Not that I know. And if he did, he wouldn’t’ve been with Emily. That I know for sure.”
“That’s what we hear,” Nicole said.
“Believe it.” He stared at his feet. “When Emily and I first met, I smoked a little weed from time to time. Kept it to myself. But after we dated for a few weeks, and I thought I knew her better, I offered her some.” He shook his head, looked up at me. “Bad idea. She went ballistic. Nearly ended our relationship before it started.”
“Apparently she got over it,” Nicole said.
“Took a while. She wouldn’t return my calls for a couple of weeks. Finally, we had a talk and I told her, promised her, I’d put all that aside if she’d keep seeing me.”
“Did you? Put it aside.”
“You bet.”
“What about after you guys separated?” I asked. “Anything?”
Sean hesitated, his gaze moving away.
“We’re not judging,” I said. “Just asking.”
“Yeah. Some. Not often.”
“What?”
“Only weed. Nothing stronger.”
“One more thing about Jason,” I said. “Did you ever hear or suspect he might be using on the side? Without Emily knowing?”
“Chief Warren asked me the same thing, and I told her I had no idea.”
“Emily ever say anything about that? That she had any suspicions?”
He shook his head. “Let’s just say that i
f Jason was doing anything, it would have been away from Emily. Completely away. Just like she did with me, if she knew he was using anything, she’d put him on the road. So, no, she never told me she had thoughts along those lines.” He looked at me. “You aren’t thinking drugs had anything to do with their murders, are you?”
“We don’t know what to think,” I said. “Simply exploring every possibility.”
“With Emily’s stance on that, it would be the ultimate irony.”
“Where do you get your stuff?” I asked.
“Here and there. It’s not difficult to find.”
“That’s true. Do you know the Macks?”
Another hesitation. “I know of them.”
“But you don’t buy from them?”
“No.”
“I understand anything drug related around here goes through them.”
“That’s the rumor. Which makes no sense to me. Why aren’t they locked up somewhere?”
“Knowing and proving are two different things,” I said.
“I guess that’s true.”
“I take it you don’t know whether Jason had any dealings with them or not?”
“No. No one I know would. They aren’t exactly part of normal society.”
CHAPTER 30
JUST AS THE Shady Lane Trailer Park had neither shade nor a lane, the Cedar Oaks Apartments had neither cedars nor oaks. Made Pancake wonder if whoever named them had even bothered to visit. Seemed if they had they’d have come up with other names. But marketing is marketing.
Three tired buildings of eight units, stacked four up, four down, embraced a central courtyard. Mangy grass and scruffy shrubs. A couple of kid’s swing sets. No pool. The units were dingy white with faded and chipped brown trim.
Brett Collins’ unit was the lower corner unit nearest the road. Pancake rapped a knuckle on the door. Collins answered in boxers, a wife-beater tee shirt, hair disheveled, a half-empty bottle of beer in his hand. Looked like he had slept off one drunk and was beginning another.
