by D P Lyle
What was that look? Sandman was obviously upset. Maybe he simply didn’t want Talley mouthing off about their business. Or tying them in any way to Reed and Whitt. Was there a connection?
Sandman did recover nicely though. Had to give him that. “We blew them off,” Sandman said. “Too cocky. Full of themselves. Didn’t seem to understand discretion. Could’ve posed a problem for us. Would’ve required too much babysitting.”
Pancake understood. Drug dealers liked the shadows, not the sunlight. Back alleys, dark barrooms, side roads. Off the radar. Low profile. Not that some didn’t go all Tony Montana. Dress flashy, drive expensive cars, live in gaudy houses, throw around wads of money. He didn’t see that in these two. So anyone who didn’t understand the wisdom of staying low to the ground wouldn’t mesh with their business model, so to speak.
“Sound like a smart business decision,” Pancake said.
“Exactly.”
“Just so we’re clear,” Ray said. “You don’t have a business relationship with the Macks? Or deal with their two boys? You don’t know Emily Patterson or Jason Collins? You don’t know anything about who might have murdered them? Is that about right?”
“That’s it.”
Ray stood. “You boys have a nice day.”
Sandman stood. “What about the guy you talked to? The DEA guy?”
“What about him?”
“Are we going to hear from him? Is he going to cause us any trouble?”
“Eventually, yes. It’s always that way. Sooner or later you’ll do something stupid, ping the DEA radar, and they’ll come sniffing around. But right here, right now? You’re cool as far as we’re concerned.”
CHAPTER 45
“WHAT DO YOU think?” Nicole asked. “Wait a little longer?”
We had loitered in the driveway for nearly a half hour. At least we hadn’t been shot. Or shooed away by the homeowner. We had a direct view of the entire intersection and up Highway 104. So far, no sign of Reed’s red truck. Were they still at Sean’s? Had they gone out the other way? On down 104? Maybe making deliveries or whatever drug dealers do.
“I don’t know. Maybe drive back by and see if they’re still there?” I said.
“Better than sitting here. My butt’s going to sleep.”
“Want me to massage it?”
“Pervert.” She smiled. “And I mean that in the best way.”
My cell chimed. Tammy.
I wondered what she wanted this time. It was a game I played with myself. Stupid but there it was. She called in fits and spurts. Several times for a couple of weeks then nothing for a while. That’s actually when I was most worried. Not about Tammy per se but more about whatever crises were building. Tammy always had a crisis brewing, mostly in her imagination, but when it erupted, somehow I was considered the go-to solution. The game was trying to decide exactly what calamity would be next. A fool’s errand. No one could fathom Tammy’s brain.
I punched the speaker button.
“Congratulations, Jake,” Tammy said.
“Thanks. For what?”
“Walter’s in Montgomery for the next two days.”
“Okay. Why do I need to know that?”
“Because it’s your fault.”
Of course it was. Why wouldn’t it be?
On she went. “You killed off that simple little divorce case so Walter had to take a bigger one. He has to be up there for two days.”
Killed off was an interesting turn of phrase. I started to point that out, but decided not to push my luck.
“Okay.”
“Is that all you can say? Okay? You never understand.”
This one I was having more than the usual dose of trouble deciphering.
“What am I supposed to understand?” I asked.
A huff of frustration followed. “Walter’s gone. I’m here by myself. Rattling around this big old house.”
The big old house was on The Point. Around a curve from where Nicole lived in her uncle Charles’ house. Tammy’s hovel was big, not old, actually very modern, and cost more than my net worth. The good news was I deciphered the reason for the call. Tammy was lonesome. Bored. I was sympathetic. Really, I was, so I said, “Maybe you should have bought a smaller house.”
“You mean like that dump you live in?”
Dump? I liked my house. On the sand in Gulf Shores, it was nice. Not The Point nice, but good for me. And there was less rattling-around space.
“But that suits you,” Tammy continued. “You couldn’t live in this neighborhood.”
Not that I would, but I had to ask anyway. “Why?”
She snorted. “You couldn’t afford it. Besides, we don’t let just anyone live here. We have standards.”
“I’d say your community filter is a little porous.”
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing. So, why are you calling me?”
“I don’t have anything to do. I thought you might have some ideas.”
Bingo. Bored.
“You could go bowling. Or miniature golf. Maybe turn off the TV and read a book. That would be a new experience.”
“You’re an ass.” She hung up.
“My day is now complete,” Nicole said.
“Let’s go do a drive-by,” I said.
Nicole cranked the engine.
“Hold it,” I said.
Reed’s truck swerved through the intersection, turned back toward town. We followed. At a distance. Shielded by a car and a panel truck. Reed and Whitt seemed in no hurry. More likely obeying all the traffic laws because they were carrying. Wouldn’t do to get pulled over with a bag of meth in your glove box. Ah, the trials and tribulations of drug dealers.
Their first stop was the lot of Garnet’s Furniture. Reed pulled into a space along the side of the building, away from the front windows that were splashed with red and yellow paint announcing “Big Sale” and “All Items Reduced.” Whitt rode shotgun, a cell phone to his ear. We parked, well away, sandwiched between two cars.
Two minutes later, a young man, tan slacks, light blue golf shirt, came through the front door. His head swiveled as he scanned the lot. He turned toward the side lot and walked with forced casualness toward the truck. His efforts to go unnoticed were almost comical. Hands in his pockets, smile on his face. I expected him to start whistling. He approached the driver-side window. The exchange was made.
“Free enterprise,” I said.
The man headed back toward the store. I snapped a couple of pictures with my iPhone.
The truck backed from the space and climbed back on the road toward downtown. A cigarette hung from Reed’s mouth; elbow jacked out the window. Casual, cool.
Reed pulled to the curb near a busy intersection. A young woman, twenties, climbed in the front, Whitt sliding over to give her room. We followed. A spin around the block and the woman was deposited at the same corner. I grabbed her image, too.
“Clever,” Nicole said.
“I got to say, they’re smart enough to not have a stream of folks coming to their place. That sort of thing attracts attention.”
“But it also means they’re carrying. A simple traffic stop could do them in.”
“According to Warren they’ve tried but these guys are just full of dumb luck.”
“Maybe we should call Warren. Tell her what’s happening.”
“I’d love to, but right now, I think we should simply follow them. See who they see. Their visit to Sean changes things. Makes me think there’s something else going on. As Pancake would say—something feels off kilter.”
She smiled at me. “You’re becoming a true P.I. Right before my eyes.”
“Drive.”
She did.
Next stop the parking lot at the Fairhope Municipal Pier. An oval of angled slots around a pleasant, park-like central area, fountain in the middle. Reed pulled in next to a white Toyota minivan. Nicole rolled on around the circle, parked across the way. A brunette sat behind the wheel of the Toyota. Twe
nties, dark, round sunglasses covering half her face. Sleeveless yellow top, large gold hoop earrings. A child in the back, strapped in a car seat.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” Nicole said.
Whitt jumped from the truck, circled the minivan. The driver’s window descended. The transaction completed, he jumped back in the truck and they were off. I captured images of the entire deal.
Now I seriously considered calling Warren. I mulled it while Nicole followed Reed back through downtown, and then to an apartment complex on the north side. The Evergreen Apartments. Not great, not ramshackle. Lots of evergreens. Nicole didn’t turn into the lot but rather continued past, pulling to the opposite-side curb a half block away. I twisted in the seat, looked back over my shoulder. Reed and Whitt stepped from the truck. Reed’s head swiveled as he scanned the area. On alert. He and Whitt then disappeared inside a first-floor unit.
CHAPTER 46
THE BEST RESTAURANT in the Grand Hotel was Southern Roots. A sweeping panorama of windows looked out over the water, calm tonight. Stars began making their appearance in the darkening sky. Three high-backed, semicircular booths, meshed together in a quad, dominated the center of the room. We settled at the one facing the view. Nicole, Warren, and I enveloped by the bank seat, Ray and Pancake in chairs opposite us.
“Haven’t been here in a while,” Chief Warren said.
“It’s not that far,” Ray said.
“Yeah, but they don’t pay me enough. Maybe I should consider P.I. work.”
“You’d be good at it,” Ray said.
“That a job offer?”
Ray shrugged. “Could be.”
“Truth is, I love my job. Most of the time. Not so much right now with all this going on.”
“Our job has those same moments,” Pancake said. “This situation would qualify on all counts.”
We had invited Warren down to Point Clear, only a handful of miles south of Fairhope, for dinner. Sort of a thanks for allowing us inside her case. And so we could go over everything we had uncovered.
Earlier, while Nicole and I were in the shower, doing what seems to always happen when we climb under the spray together—I’m not complaining, mind you—she asked me, “What do you make of Reed and Whitt visiting Sean?”
This was taking multitasking too far. I told her that. She said, “You’re doing fine.”
“Fine? Just fine?”
“Okay, stupendous. Now answer the question.”
A war broke out in my brain. One voice saying, pay attention to what you’re doing; the other chiming in that answering the question was the only real option. She wouldn’t relent, would keep at it until I did the relenting. Okay, okay, I tried to put my body on autopilot—actually not that difficult given the circumstances—and said, “It raises some intriguing questions.”
There. That was a good answer. Now, back to business.
“You mean like maybe Sean and those two were involved in Emily’s murder?”
Not more questions. Maybe if I ignored her, her questions anyway, and concentrated on the other parts.
Didn’t work. Apparently, she was also on autopilot and focused on the newly minted trio of co-conspirators. If that’s what they were.
“What do you think? Is that possible?”
I knew the answer to that one. “Possible.”
“Which means we need to know more about Reed and Whitt.”
“Maybe Warren can help with that.”
“I guess we’ll know soon.”
That seemed to satisfy her curiosity. At least it stopped her interrogation, and I could get back to the business at hand.
We were the last to reach the table. Fifteen minutes late.
“Glad you could join us,” Pancake said. He bounced an eyebrow.
“We were talking about the case,” Nicole said. Straight faced, not a hint of a smile. “Lost track of time.”
That was true. Not completely, but mostly.
Pancake knew better. He said, “Yeah, right.”
Drinks were ordered. We all had bourbon, Warren a beer. Said she allowed herself only one a day.
“So, what’s new?” she asked. Getting right to it.
“Jake and Nicole have something interesting,” Ray said. He nodded toward us.
I told her of us stumbling on Reed and Whitt. Following them to Sean’s house.
“Really?”
I nodded. “Any relationship between them that you know of?”
She seemed to consider that. “No. Maybe Sean buys from them?”
“Could be,” Nicole said. “We followed them on their rounds after they left Sean’s. They made several deliveries before heading back to their apartment.”
I told her of the places they had stopped and who they saw, concluding with, “Sold something to a woman with a baby in the car.”
Warren sighed. “People. Who can understand them?”
“Jake took pictures,” Nicole said. “Of everyone they hooked up with.”
“Let’s see,” Warren said.
I brought the images up on my iPhone and passed it to her. She swiped through them.
“That’s Raymond Hopp,” Warren said. “Works over at Andrew Garnett’s store.”
“That was taken in the parking lot,” Nicole said.
“I’m sure Andrew would love to know that.” More swipes. “Don’t know this girl. Downtown street corner.” Another swipe. “Jesus.” She swiped a couple of more, shaking her head. “Lillian Fowler. With her youngest.” She stared at one of the images. “She has two in grammar school, and this one’s a year old.” She passed the phone back to me. “She has a history of using, but I thought she was clean now.”
“Bad habits seem to recycle,” I said.
“Sure do,” Warren said. “Can you send me those?”
“What’s your email?”
Our waitress returned. We ordered dinner while I sent Warren the images.
After the waitress left, I asked Warren, “You’re thinking that Reed and Whitt dropping by to see Sean was simply them doing business?”
“Most likely. But it does raise some interesting questions.”
“Like maybe Sean and them are involved in the murders?” Pancake asked.
“There’s no evidence of that. And Sean has a solid alibi.”
“Unless he hired them,” Nicole said. She nodded toward me. “Jake believes there was more than one killer. That the whole scenario, the control, the transportation to where they were shot, that a single person couldn’t have easily done that.”
“I agree,” Warren said. “Seems a pair, or more, would be most likely. Reed and Whitt are losers. No doubt. But murderers? I’m not sure they have the smarts or the cajones for that.”
“Don’t have to be too smart to commit a murder,” I said.
“Getting away with it is where the brains come in,” Warren said.
“What about the Macks?” Nicole asked. “Could they be the ones who set it up? For Sean? Maybe got Reed and Whitt to do the deed?”
Warren folded her hands on the table. “The Macks do hold sway over those two. But I don’t know of any connection between them and Sean.” She shrugged. “Of course, I didn’t know of one between him and Reed and Whitt.”
“So, it’s possible?” I asked.
“Anything’s possible. But this doesn’t seem to be in the Macks’ wheelhouse. They’re business folks if nothing else. Illegal business. But the way I read them is that they wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize their income. This could surely do that.”
“They like to keep a low profile?” Pancake asked.
“Very low.”
“Maybe Reed and Whitt freelanced it,” I said.
“Money makes folks do all kinds of things.” Ray took a sip of bourbon. “We visited that pair of miscreants over in Mobile. Sandman and Talley. A couple of real beauties. I left with the impression that they did some work with Reed and Whitt.”
“Interesting,” Warren said. “Not sure the Macks wou
ld stand for that.”
“If they knew,” Pancake said. “But I agree with Ray. Sandman said they had approached him. Wanted to be their dealers in the Fairhope area. Sandman said he passed. Didn’t think they were reliable. But I’m not sure that’s the truth. Why would Sandman turn his back on a new market? The profit potential is real, and it wouldn’t really cost him anything. So Reed and Whitt just might be part of Sandman’s crew.”
“That means Reed and Whitt would be double-dipping, so to speak,” Warren said. “The kind of thing that could spark a range war.”
“But how does that bounce back to the murders of Emily and Jason?” Ray asked. “Why would those two, or the Macks for that matter, want them killed? Makes no sense.”
“The only people that truly profit from this are Sean and Charlie Martin,” I said.
“Charlie?” Warren asked. “That one I don’t see.”
I told her of our conversations with coworker Phil Varney and bartender Lee Paulson. Of Charlie’s anger with Jason and Emily being so close. Of his feelings of jealousy.
“Broken hearts make folks say a lot of stupid stuff,” Warren said.
“And do even stupider stuff,” Pancake said.
“So, what? Charlie got pissed. Took a gun. Marched Emily and Jason out in a field, and shot them?” She shook her head. “Jason maybe. But from what I hear, not Emily.”
“I agree,” I said. “I think he’s a long shot. But Sean had a lot to gain. The other half of their money, Emily’s savings, plus the house. It adds up to an adult number.”
“Which means he could afford to hire Reed and Whitt to do it.”
“No evidence he moved any money around,” Pancake said. “A little to fix his car, which he did. Came to just about the fifteen hundred he transferred. I don’t think that’d be enough for a double hit anyway.”
Warren nodded. “Even a couple of imbeciles like Reed and Whitt would probably demand more.”
“But he stands to come into a pile of cash,” I said. “Particularly after he sells the house.”
“How much are we talking abut here?” Nicole asked. “What would it take to have two people killed?”
Pancake shrugged. “Five, ten grand, or more, I’d imagine.”
