Among the Dead

by J. R. Backlund

“They’re going to run a description of it by the DMV. That’ll give them a list of people to start investigating.”

  “Ah fuck, man. They’re gonna come lookin’ for me. What the hell am I gonna do when they—”

  “Calm down, goddammit. You know how many rednecks around here drive that exact same truck? The cops are gonna be sorting through this shit for weeks. In the meantime, there’s no reason to advertise the fact that you own one. So keep it out of sight and find something else to drive until I tell you otherwise. Got it?”

  “Yeah . . . okay.”

  “And whenever they do come around asking questions, just tell them you were at home on those nights, and don’t say anything else. Don’t let them rattle you. They don’t have shit. Just a video of you driving by a liquor store at night. That’s it.”

  “You sure about that?”

  “Yes. I told you. I have my sources. So keep your head down and stay cool, and everything’ll be fine. Remember, you’ve got people counting on you.”

  Gifford didn’t need the reminder. Bishop’s threat was always on his mind.

  23

  Rachel had reached her limit on fast food, so Braddock took her to Everett’s Diner on Main. She ate chicken and dumplings with coleslaw and collard greens and nursed a headache with a Diet Coke. Braddock pushed slices of chicken-fried steak around on his plate. He looked annoyed.

  “Anything you want to get off your chest?” she asked.

  “Not really. Just pisses me off that Ted went and tied our hands the way he did. We could’ve been out talking to people all day.”

  “He’s scared. Probably my fault. Showing up here and nitpicking you guys to death. I’m sure he’s feeling a little insecure.”

  Braddock shook his head. “It’s not just you. That talk he had with Sanford . . . and then the DA and the press conference . . . He’ll be happy when he can tell everyone there’s an SBI agent in town.” He dropped his fork and sat back. “But I keep wondering if we’re gonna wake up tomorrow morning and find another body.”

  Rachel didn’t think that was likely. The murders and the investigation were all over the news. The town was on edge. Sheriff’s deputies and DCPD officers were pulling double shifts in an effort to blanket the area with patrol units. And people were talking about loading up their guns and keeping them close by in their homes, just in case some unfortunate soul should be foolish enough to jiggle a door handle.

  “I wouldn’t worry about that,” she said. But it didn’t seem to make him feel better. “You need another drink. A real one this time. And I think I could use one too.”

  Braddock agreed to swing by the liquor store after they left the diner. Rachel went in and bought a bottle of cheap bourbon, carried it out in a brown paper bag. When they got to the motel, she got ice from the machine next to the office, then came back and poured their drinks in a pair of plastic cups. Braddock took a seat at the table and cringed after his first taste.

  “Don’t worry,” Rachel said, dropping onto the foot of the bed, “it gets easier.”

  He watched her swirl the ice around and take a sip. He said, “You know, if you wanted to talk more about what happened to you, I’d be happy to listen.”

  She waved a dismissive hand. “I’m fine.”

  “You sure about that?”

  A surge of irritation came over her. She didn’t want his pity, even though she liked the fact that he cared. And there was no judgment in his eyes, only concern. She decided to change the subject. “I’d rather talk about you.”

  He leaned back and eyed her suspiciously, took a drink, and said, “All right, Detective. What is it you want to know?”

  “Well . . .” She thought for a second. “Might as well dive right in, I suppose. Are you still single?”

  He chuckled. “Unfortunately.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Not many good single women around these parts to choose from.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “What?” He put his hands up. “You’ve been around here for a couple of days now. You see what I’ve got to work with.”

  “I think you’ve been spending too much time at Ernie’s.”

  “That’s definitely true.”

  She finished her drink and made another while he talked about dating in a tiny mountain town. His stories made her laugh. They took her mind off killers and victims and cases gone bad. By the time she finished her second cup, she was feeling warm and relaxed.

  Braddock kept talking. Kept finding things to say. It turned to mumbling when she stood and stepped up to him, confiscated his drink, and set it aside. There may have been a question or a halfhearted protest when she took his hand and coaxed him out of the chair. But he got quiet when she slid her hands across his chest, wrapped them around his back, and pulled him in for a kiss.

  24

  Friday

  Braddock’s phone woke them before the sun came up. Rachel fumbled to pick it up from the nightstand and passed it to him. When he answered, the exuberant voice on the other end was loud enough for her to hear.

  “Chief Braddock?”

  “Yeah . . .”

  “Good morning. This is Mike Jensen, SBI.”

  “Morning.”

  “Sounds like I caught you at a bad time. Should I call ya back?”

  “Nope . . . I’m awake. Just moving a little slow this morning.”

  “I hear ya, Chief. I hear ya. I have my days too. Trust me when I tell ya.”

  “Yeah, so you’re on the way in from Asheville? What time do you think you’ll—”

  “Oh, I’m here. At your office, that is. Yeah, been here for about thirty minutes or so. Having a look at the case file, if that’s okay?”

  Braddock sat up. “Yeah . . . uh . . . sure. Make yourself at home. I’ll be right over. I just need about ten . . . twenty minutes.”

  “Hey, no problem, Chief. See ya soon.”

  He hung up and dropped the phone, rubbed his face in his hands.

  Rachel pulled the covers over her head and said, “I can already tell, I’m not gonna like this guy.”

  * * *

  Mike Jensen had a young face for a man in his forties, but his hair was completely gray. His navy-blue suit, striped tie, and brown wingtips made him look out of place in the sheriff’s office, though he didn’t seem to mind. When Rachel and Braddock found him in the conference room, he greeted them with a grin and a round of coffees.

  “Thought these might help,” he said. “There’s sugar and half-and-half too, if ya’d like some.”

  “Yes on all three for me,” Braddock said, shaking his hand. “Thanks.”

  Rachel held up her half-empty can of Monster Energy and said, “I’m all set. Thank you, though.”

  Jensen took her hand and said, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miz Carver. I’ve heard a lot about ya.”

  “Please, call me Rachel. And it’s nice to meet you too.”

  Jensen leaned against the conference table and propped a foot on one of the chairs. “I have to say, I’m pretty impressed with how you guys have handled everything so far, especially considering what you’ve had to work with. And when I say you guys—”

  Rachel smiled. “I know what you mean. No worries.”

  “Great. So it looks like we’ve got some work ahead of us. Why don’t we go through everything, and you two can catch me up?”

  * * *

  Fisher and Pratt turned up just after sunrise and joined the briefing. Pritchard came in a half hour later. With each new arrival, Jensen jumped out of his seat and introduced himself. To Pritchard, he said, “You’ve got a heck of a good team here, Sheriff.”

  “Glad to hear it,” he said, pulling up a chair. “’Cause it seems like we’re gonna need one.”

  “Oh, yeah, that’s the truth. No doubt about it.” Jensen sat down, upended his coffee cup to suck down the last couple of cold drops, and said, “I’ve dealt with a few of these CSI-type killers before. Ones that’ve seen too many cop shows and know a bi
t about forensics. Tricky. Always tricky. I have to say, though, this guy, whoever he is, has done a better job than most. Wouldn’t ya say, Rachel?”

  She was caught off guard by the question. She cleared her throat and said, “Yes, definitely. Most of them tend to make a lot of mistakes.”

  He kept his eyes fixed on her, nodding slowly, waiting for her to say more.

  “But our killer . . .” she said, “he, or she, is the best I’ve seen. The most careful, at least. And the most disciplined.”

  “I agree,” Jensen said. “So my suggestion would be for you guys to start working on the victimology. See if you can figure out why someone wanted these gentlemen dead in the first place.”

  “There’s an idea,” Braddock muttered under his breath.

  “And what are you gonna do?” Pritchard asked.

  “I’m going to be working a different angle. There’s been some talk that these murders could be drug related.”

  “What kind of talk?”

  Rachel said, “That was an idea we had based on the fact that Dean McGrath may have had money problems and worked at a bar.”

  “A biker bar,” Jensen added.

  “Which may have given him the opportunity to sell on the side.”

  Fisher said, “But we don’t have any indication that Coughlan was involved in drug dealing.”

  “No, we don’t,” Jensen said. “That’s for sure. But we can’t deny that these killings look a little like low-grade professional hits. The victims may not have been taken out by a sniper or a car bomb, but they certainly have that impersonal feel of someone doing this for money. And if I had to pick one illicit endeavor in this region that would motivate someone to kill someone else, I’d have to bet on drugs.”

  “Well, I guess that makes sense,” Pritchard admitted.

  “Perfect. I’m glad we all agree.” Jensen stood up and started toward the door. “We’ve got a few contacts in this area. I’ll be hitting them up over the next couple of days. See if they’ve got anything to say. Oh . . .” He reached in his pocket, withdrew a handful of business cards, and laid them on the table. “In case anyone needs to reach me. I already have all your numbers. I’ll swing back around this afternoon to see how you guys are doing.”

  He walked out, and Pritchard looked around the table and said, “Okay . . . well, I guess you all know what you need to do.”

  Braddock said to Fisher, “Pick up where you left off yesterday. Start at the houses, talk to the families, friends, neighbors. Let’s get phone records, financials . . . Talk to the ADA about getting the warrants.” Then to Pratt, “You take the DMV. Once you get the list, let’s see how long it is. If you need help, we’ll figure it out.”

  They gathered their notepads and left. When they were out of the room, Pritchard said, “That didn’t quite go the way I expected it to. I guess I should have let you all get started yesterday.” He was quiet for a moment and looked at Braddock like he was about to apologize, but then his expression changed. “Danny, are those the same clothes you were wearing yesterday?”

  25

  Rachel treated Braddock to breakfast at the diner. Then they went to his house so he could shower and change. He left his bedroom door open while he was getting undressed, and she couldn’t resist going in to help him.

  “Think you could play some music?” she asked.

  He selected a playlist of country ballads on his phone and plugged it into the speakers on his nightstand. It wasn’t her favorite kind of music, but she said, “Turn it up a little. I’d hate for the neighbors to hear us.”

  “You’re a bad girl, you know that?”

  He barely got the words out as she shoved him onto the bed and climbed on top of him.

  * * *

  Five songs later, she let him go. Braddock stumbled into the bathroom and started a shower. Rachel dressed and went out to the kitchen, looked through the cabinets until she found a glass, and poured some water. She sipped on it as she explored the house. It was a quaint craftsman, needing a few repairs and a fresh coat of paint on the exterior, but it was clean and well maintained inside. The furniture in the living area was plush brown leather, which looked cozy in front of the wood-trimmed fireplace.

  There were framed photographs on the mantle. She stepped closer to examine them. One showed Braddock on a boat surrounded by friends holding fishing poles and cans of light beer. The other caught the same group in a bar wearing broad smiles, holding large mugs, and hanging on each other for support.

  “Friends from high school.”

  She turned around, startled. Braddock was pulling on a pair of khakis. His wet towel was draped around his neck.

  “Sorry,” he said. “The guys in those pictures, we all went to high school together.”

  “Looks recent,” she said.

  “Right after I got divorced. They took me on a fishing trip down in the Keys.” He walked back into the bedroom to finish dressing and yelled, “That was the first time since our ten-year reunion that we were all able to meet up in the same place.”

  She looked again at the photos and thought about her own lifelong friends. Connections she had made as a kid, still so strong regardless of how far life had pulled them apart.

  “Danny . . .”

  “Yeah?”

  “How many high schools are there around here?”

  “Just one,” he said. “Lowry County High.”

  “Has it been around for a while?”

  “Oh, yeah. For sure. Looks like it was built in the sixties maybe.” He poked his head through the doorway. “Why?”

  “Fisher’s looking for a recent connection between the victims. Maybe we should start at the other end and work our way forward.”

  “That’s an idea. Hell, they were both living in the area when I moved here. I guess there’s a chance they went to the same school. Do we go looking for records?”

  “Not sure that’ll do us much good. We need to find someone who knew them when they were younger. Someone who could tell us if they were friends or not.”

  He stared at the floor for a few seconds, then looked at her and said, “You know what? I think I know exactly what we need to do.”

  “What?”

  He gave her a playful smile. “We’re going to see the Oracle.”

  * * *

  “Remember the bartender we talked to the other day?” Braddock asked in the Tahoe on the way over.

  “Smiley?”

  “Yeah. His real name is Clint Jordan. I don’t know where he gets his nickname from, but the Oracle is his mother, Brenda.”

  “Why do you call her the Oracle?”

  “It’s not just me. The whole town calls her that. When she was younger, she had a reputation for being the gossip queen of Lowry County. When her friends started having kids, she liked to make predictions about how they would turn out. Things like who would go off to college, who would be good at sports, who would be the first to get pregnant or get some girl pregnant, who would get hooked on drugs . . .

  “Was all just a bunch of talk, or so people thought. Eventually, her friends got tired of hearing that she was talking about them and their kids behind their backs. They all disowned her right around the same time her husband ran off with another woman. As I’m sure you can imagine, she didn’t take all that too well. She ended up becoming kind of a shut-in. Lives with Smiley on top of this hill we’re getting ready to go up.”

  Rachel leaned forward and saw the green slope rising ahead. A narrow road with half a dozen switchbacks snaked across its face.

  “Might need to put it in four-wheel drive just to make it,” he said. “Oh, and the reason they call her the Oracle is because a lot of those predictions she made came true.”

  “Really?”

  “Yep. That’s what people say, anyway. She’s become somewhat of a local legend. It’s a good bet that if there’s anything worth digging up about the victims, chances are she’ll know about it.”

  The Tahoe’s tires skirted the edg
e of the dirt road, inches away from a sheer drop. They slipped twice during the climb, losing traction for only an instant, but Rachel had to close her eyes and grip the armrest on her door each time. When the road leveled on top of the hill, she breathed a sigh and tried not to think about the fact that they would have to go back down the same way.

  “That was a little intense, huh?” Braddock said as he shifted into park.

  Rachel stepped out without answering.

  The Jordans’ cabin was nestled between a pair of ancient oak trees. White paint flaked off the wood siding, and dust covered the windows. Smiley’s beat-up Durango sat out front. As they drew near the front door, his stuffy voice called from inside. “Mornin’, Deputy Danny.”

  “Smiley, how are you, bud?” Braddock asked.

  He appeared behind the screen door, looking miserable. He opened it and said, “Gettin’ by, I guess. What can I do for you?”

  “We were hoping to talk to your mom.”

  He stared at them for a few seconds, then tipped his head inside and said, “Well, come on in.”

  They followed him through a dark living room and into the kitchen. Brenda Jordan was sitting at a round wooden table smoking a cigarette and watching Fox News on a tiny panel TV. She put it on mute, squinted at Braddock, and said, “I know you, Mister Chief Deputy.” Then she waved her smoking hand at Rachel. “And I bet I know who you are too.”

  Braddock said, “Miz Jordan, this is Rachel Carver. She’s assisting us with an investigation.”

  “Nice to meet you, ma’am,” Rachel said.

  “You two might as well dispense with all the ‘miz’ and ‘ma’am’ bullshit. Have a seat and call me Brenda.”

  Rachel and Braddock sat down at the table. Smiley said, “I’m gonna go take a nap before work.” He sneezed on the way to his room.

  “You need to be drinkin’ your tea if you wanna get some sleep,” Brenda yelled after him. There was no response. She looked at Braddock and said, “It’s a damn shame that boy had to go and get in trouble for tryin’ meth.”

  “I didn’t know about that,” he said.

  “Yep. Right after he got out of high school. That’s why I won’t let him buy any allergy medicine.” She looked at Rachel. “The state of North Carolina tracks all that shit. They keep an eye on convicted meth heads buyin’ decongestant. Last thing I need is the damn SBI or the DEA watchin’ my house.” She reached up and scratched her scalp at a part that betrayed the gray roots of her auburn-tinted hair. “So what brings the two of you up here? You come to talk to me about Dean and Andy?”