by Robin Mahle
“You’re back.” Nick approached. “Duncan’s on her way with the Floyds and the kid.”
“Good,” Walsh replied. “We’ve got some pictures to show you. Kate?”
She retrieved the pictures and placed them on a nearby desk and the fact that Nick’s expression turned the moment Walsh called her by her first name didn’t go unnoticed. “After searching Eric Slocum’s house, we found these pictures on the refrigerator.”
“You found them,” Walsh replied.
Kate continued, “These clearly show a relationship between Jenny Floyd and the deputy.”
“What we don’t know, however, is the extent of that relationship,” Walsh added. “We were hoping the chief or her parents could shed some light on that.”
The chief approached. “Well, I had no idea he knew her. Of course, this was obviously some time ago, but if they were serious, Slocum kept it well hidden.”
“Any chance we can pull Jenny Floyd’s case file?” Kate began. “Maybe there’s something there.”
“As it relates to Slocum?” the chief asked. “I can tell you for fact there isn’t.”
“What about cause of death?” Walsh added. “What if the same chemical compositions found in the other victims matches Jenny Floyd’s? You said she died of an overdose.”
“Now you think Slocum was the one who gave her the pills?”
“We’re just looking for answers here, Chief,” Nick began. “I realize how upset you must feel, but we need anything we can get our hands on that will help us find Slocum and ask him these questions ourselves.”
In that moment, Duncan entered with Lazaro trailing behind and Lynn and John Floyd.
“Any luck finding him?” Lazaro cast a hopeful eye at the team but the answer came in the form of their silence. “What about the mine? The one I told Agent Quinn about?”
“Our people are still there searching. I haven’t received an update yet,” Nick replied.
“How’d you find me?” Sterling Jensen, who’d fled his temporary shelter at Devil’s Den after the law turned up at his door now stood in an apartment’s living room, staring down the barrel of a nine-millimeter Beretta. And the man holding the gun appeared frantic and unsteady. Which, given this particular person was a law man, wasn’t a good sign.
“You saw me that night, didn’t you? You saw what I did.”
Jensen held up his hands. “Deputy, I didn’t see nothing. I can assure you, that’s exactly what I told that cop the other day.”
“Liar!” He waved the gun.
“I swear I didn’t say nothing to nobody. I couldn’t care less about them addicts. Get rid of them, I say. More power to you, my friend.”
“I’m not your friend. Now sit down!” Slocum stepped toward the man in the tank top until he obeyed. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. I just wanted them to pay for what they did to her. They destroyed my Jenny. But that Walcott boy—I didn’t mean,” His eyes reddened. “Then that girl pulled through and she ruined everything. She wasn’t supposed to survive.”
“I’m telling you, sir, I want no part of this, you hear? I’ll keep my mouth shut. I know how to do that, that much I can tell you. No one will ever know you was here.”
“Don’t think it matters none now. I wanted every last one of them to pay and there’s still one more. I can’t stop now. What’d be the point? I’m going to prison. Might as well finish the job.”
Jensen scratched his nose. “You looking for someone? Cause maybe I can help you find them. I know things about the people around here. I can help you. Let me help you.”
Slocum closed his eyes. “Just stop. I can’t listen to you no more.”
“Who you looking for, son?” he pressed on.
“I told her they were bad news. Those folks she was hanging around. She didn’t believe me. Said I was just being jealous. Well, I wasn’t being jealous. I knew she was starting on the Oxy. I knew it, and I tried to help her before she got too far gone. But she didn’t want no part of me after a while. Said I was putting too much pressure on her. I thought about telling her parents. But she made me promise not to tell no one we were together. I never could figure out why, though.”
Jensen continued to listen. “Like I said, you want to finish the job, I can help you.”
Slocum eyed the man once again. “Why didn’t you tell them it was me at Devil’s Den? I know you saw me cause I saw you too.”
“I don’t know. I didn’t want no trouble, I reckon. Still don’t.”
Slocum raised his gun toward Jensen’s head. “I came here to shut you up permanently. Hell, maybe there’s no point now. Those Feds aren’t stupid. They’re gonna figure out what I did at the hospital.” He seemed to reconsider Jensen’s proposal. “I’ll tell you what. You tell me where I can find the man I’m looking for, and I’ll let you live. But you best get the hell out of Crown Pointe afterwards.”
“I will. I swear, I will. I’ll never say nothing to nobody.”
“I need to find Billy Horton. He’s the one responsible for all this. He took her away from me and let her die. I could’ve saved her.”
“I’ll help you find him. But we’ll need to go now. If, like you say, you—did something at the hospital, they’ll all be looking for you.”
“You know where he is?”
“I believe I do. He’s the one that runs the show, don’t he?”
Slocum nodded.
Jensen stood with his arms still raised. “I just need to make a call. Can I do that?”
He waved his gun again. “Go on, then. But don’t you say one damn word about me being here.”
“I ain’t that dumb, Deputy.” He walked toward the kitchen, where he reached for a cell phone. “I’m just gonna call a friend. He’ll know where we can find Horton.”
“You do that.” Slocum stood only steps away from him while he made the call.
When Jensen hung up, he peered at Slocum. “Says Billy is at the grocer’s. Today’s soda pop day.”
“I can’t go down there. Where’s he going after that?”
“Back down to Devil’s Den, like everyone else.”
“Then we’ll go there and wait. They won’t come back there looking for me.”
Quinn was in the back office of the abandoned jobsite trailer when he heard the door. He raised his gun and stepped carefully toward the front. “FBI. Who’s there?” He continued forward.
“Don’t shoot. Don’t shoot.” A young man held his arms high in the air.
“Who are you? What are you doing here?”
The kid eyed a cabinet that was feet from where he stood. Quinn spotted the gaze. “What are you looking at?”
“Nothing. I ain’t looking at nothing. I shouldn’t be here.”
“Damn right, you shouldn’t. But since you are, why don’t you tell me who the hell you are?”
“Billy Horton, sir.”
22
Some of the BAU team were still searching the abandoned mining operation roughly ten miles away. Meanwhile, as the morning turned to day, the rest gathered at the station house, piecing together Slocum’s motives. And still, no word on a location for the Crown Pointe deputy, the man who they now believed was the killer.
Handling the Floyds was the current and pressing problem. What part had they played in this horrific scenario? They’d lost their daughter—their only child—to drugs. And now they sat here, under suspicion of dealing drugs themselves. Perhaps even the very same synthetic, tainted drugs found in all the victims.
Deputy Lazaro leaned back in his desk chair, legs crossed and eyeing the two people no one could have ever suspected of committing a crime. “Lives are at stake, here, Mr. and Mrs. Floyd. You need to be honest with us. The drugs Slocum found in your house—did they belong to you? Were you selling the synthetic drugs to the people in this town?”
“I swear to you, on the Bible, that we did not sell bad drugs to anyone,” Lynn replied.
“Ain’t you got nothing better to do than to harass a
couple of old folks who ain’t done nothing wrong?” John said.
Lazaro shot upright and slammed his fist down on his desk. “Damnit!”
Everyone in the station jumped to attention at the disruption.
“Don’t you see what the hell is happening here? Don’t you people give a damn about anyone in this town?” Lazaro stood with his hands planted on his hips. “Despite what you might think, I ain’t stupid. I see what goes on around here. And it makes me sick!”
The chief approached him. “That’s enough now, Shane. This isn’t helping anyone, and I think you know that.”
“They know something, Chief, they just won’t say! People are dying, the rest are scared out of their minds, and they don’t give a good God damn!”
John stood from his chair, casting a deliberate gaze at the deputy. “You think we don’t care what’s happening, here, boy?”
“No, sir, I do not!”
Lynn reached for John’s arm. “Sit down, John.”
He pulled it away. “No, ma’am! I will not sit here and be accused of killing nobody, you hear?”
“John, we’re not accusing you of nothing, all right?” the chief replied.
“The hell you’re not!” He peered at Lazaro again. “Boy, you got any idea what it’s like to lose a child? You got any damn clue what that feels like?”
Lazaro appeared to recoil. “No, sir.”
“That’s right you don’t. Well, let me tell you something. It feels like someone took a 357 Magnum and blew a hole straight through your damn heart. And ain’t nothing ever gonna fill that hole.”
Kate eyed Nick as they stood near the coffee maker at the back.
He shook his head, already knowing what she was about to do, but as with most things, Kate was going to handle this the way she thought was best.
“John, I don’t think Deputy Lazaro means any disrespect at the loss of your daughter. None of us do. And I don’t think any of us can understand what it is you and your wife have gone through over this past year.” She placed her hand on his shoulder. “I think we’re all just really worried about the idea that Deputy Slocum could have something to do with the recent deaths. It’s frightening to think someone you thought you knew, someone you thought you could trust, was capable of such a thing.”
At this, Lazaro returned to his seat.
“There’s no denying what Slocum found in your house, but we are still considering the possibility that he could’ve planted the drugs in an effort to shift the focus of the investigation toward you and your wife.”
John Floyd seemed to calm down as Kate’s words came to his defense.
“That said, there are things that struck me as unusual when Agent Quinn and I visited you and Mrs. Floyd in your home the other night. John, it’s vital we understand to what extent you and your wife were involved in selling drugs.” Before he could object, she pressed on. “Please. There’s no time to argue. Whether Slocum planted the bad drugs or not, we have cause to believe you’re somehow involved in drug trafficking. There is ample evidence at your home that points to the fact. We can’t afford to waste any more time, Mr. Floyd. And there’s a big difference between dealing drugs and murder.”
Walsh ambled toward Nick with a knowing smile. “She is good.”
“I know.”
“We needed the money,” Lynn began. “That’s what it boiled down to.”
Quinn trained his weapon on the young man who couldn’t have been much more than twenty-three. “Well, Billy Horton. I’ve heard a lot about you. What is it that you’re doing here? Are you supposed to meet someone?”
“Uh, no, sir.” He again eyed the cabinet behind Quinn.
“You obviously came here for something. Is it in there?” He tossed a glance toward the cabinet.
The kid remained silent.
“Look, I’m taking you in regardless. So if you want to make it easier on yourself, then why don’t you tell me what’s in the cabinet?”
“I don’t wanna.”
“You understand that we’re here because a killer is roaming free? And that someone in this town is passing around deadly drugs? Some people think it’s you. So if I take a look in that cabinet, am I going to find said drugs?”
“Don’t matter what you find ‘cause nothing in here belongs to me.”
“You do not want to play this game, Mr. Horton, because you will lose.” Quinn turned steadfast. He aimed his weapon at the cabinet and fired on the padlock. The lock sparked and the metal door flew open. “I guess I’ll have to see for myself.” He approached the cabinet and peered inside. Bags of pills, weed, and heroin rested on a shelf. “Well, well. This much dope will get you, what, maybe twenty to thirty years? And if they’re a match with the forensics from the murder victims…?”
“Okay. Okay. I keep my stash here, but I ain’t no killer.”
“Where did you get the drugs?”
“I got a dealer. He’s part of an operation looking to get a foothold in Crown Pointe.”
Perhaps Quinn wasn’t as far off the mark as the team thought he was.
“But I swear, these drugs is safe. I mean, it’s heroin, mostly, some Oxy. But none of it got that Fentanyl or Propofol in it. I ain’t stupid. I seen too many people go down ‘cause of that shit.”
“Who are you selling to?”
“Just the local tweakers. Look, I know people’s been dying ‘cause of the bad shit going around. That ain’t me. I swear it ain’t me.”
“They’re being beaten to death too, in case you weren’t aware of that.” Quinn’s attention was diverted by the sound of a car approaching outside. “Looks like the cavalry’s arrived. You can tell your story to the chief.” He approached Horton, and with his weapon still aimed at the kid, opened the trailer door and walked outside.
Fisher stepped out of the vehicle, “Who’ve we got here? You make a new friend, Quinn? I was heading back down when I saw this piece of shit truck here. Figured you might need some help. Truck belong to you, kid?”
“This is the elusive Billy Horton. Came to pick up his stash he keeps inside.”
“Nice to meet you, Billy. So you’re the one selling the bad dope?” Fisher asked.
“No. I ain’t responsible for none of what’s happened ‘round here.”
“We’ll find out soon enough. Let’s load up and get him back to the station,” Quinn replied.
“Guess our visit wasn’t a total bust,” Fisher said. “Get in the car, kid.”
Slocum forced Jensen into the driver’s seat of his car. There was no chance he’d make it far in his truck, and Jensen was practically a ghost in this town. No one would be looking for his vehicle. Everyone would be looking for Slocum’s truck. It was only a matter of time before the state police would be on the hunt along with the Feds and his own department. It was surreal. This whole cocked-up plan was falling in around his ears.
The way he saw it, he was doing the town a favor and yet no one else would see it that way. But more importantly, he was doing it for Jenny, a woman whom he loved more than anything and who had been ripped from this world by the likes of Billy Horton, a loser, a tweaker, who dropped out of high school and started selling whatever he could for a buck.
“Horton better be there, like you say.” Slocum held his gun at Jensen’s head. “Drive.”
The man turned the engine and reversed out of the parking lot of the building. Slocum had been a cop for a long time. Arrested all sorts from minor to major offenses. He knew when someone was buying time and when they were being true. And right now, he got the distinct feeling Jensen was buying time.
It became abundantly clear to Slocum his chances of surviving the day were slim to none. He’d killed that young woman in the hospital. The nurse had seen him there. How long before they tied him to the other murders? No one would see reason as to why he’d done it. No one would understand.
“I don’t mean to pry, but can I ask you something?” Jensen cautiously eyed Slocum before returning his attention to the road
. “You the one give them addicts the bad drugs? Just trying to figure why. Seems you could’ve made a killing—I mean, a lot of money, dealing. Just like everyone else.”
“How long you been in this town?” Slocum asked. “Cause I been here my whole life, born and raised. And I’ll tell you what, it’s a travesty what’s happened here. My folks left. I told them it was getting too rough. But I stayed and tried to fight the good fight. Unfortunately, I see now my efforts amounted to exactly nothing. I didn’t change nothing.”
“You said you was doing this cause you lost someone?”
“I lost the best girl a guy could ask for.”
“I’m sorry for that. I truly am,” Jensen continued.
“Just shut up and keep driving. You’d better hope that son of a bitch, Horton, is there too.”
Jensen turned down the dirt road that led to the abandoned shaft and the dilapidated trailers that had become known as the Devil’s Den.
“We should’ve burned down this place a long time ago,” Slocum said. He recalled the day he found Jenny. She’d been inside one of these shitholes. A 911 call had come in. Emergency Services was dispatched and he was the only one on duty, so it was his turn to come out. They’d all been called out to Devil’s Den plenty of times, but that day was different.
He rushed toward the trailer where the paramedics worked on her. They tried to save her, but she’d been gone for too long. Seems the assholes with her waited too long to call for help because they were too wasted to use the phone. And when he walked inside and saw it was Jenny, he had to play it off. Like he didn’t know her, like he didn’t love her.
“It’s Jenny Floyd, isn’t it?” one of the paramedics had asked. “I seen her around a lot with these trouble makers. Damn shame. Thought she was gonna go places. Like she might actually make it out of this town and make something of herself.”
“I didn’t know her personally,” Slocum recalled saying. “Of course, everyone knows her. Damn shame is right. Let’s get her loaded up and clean this shit up.” As he walked back outside on that horrible day, it was all he could do to contain his swelling grief. It was that day he took it upon himself to make right the wrongs that’d been done to her. It took a while to muster the courage, to get the drugs, and more importantly, to figure out how he could do it without getting caught. Guess he messed up on that count.
