Among the Dead

by J. R. Backlund

  “You knew the victims?” Rachel asked.

  “I knew Andy when he was younger. His mom and I were friends. I went to high school with Dean’s uncle too.”

  Rachel took out her Steno pad, flipped it open, and clicked her pen. “We’re trying to learn everything we can about them. Especially about any connection there might have been between them. Do you know if they were friends when they were growing up?”

  “You could say that. For a little while, anyway. You see, Dean wasn’t from around here. He moved here when he was a sophomore.” She looked at the ceiling. Her mouth moved silently, like she was trying to work out a math problem. “Might have been the summer before . . . but whenever it was, he moved here to live with his uncle, ’cause he couldn’t get along with his stepdad.” She mashed the end of her cigarette in a glass ashtray and lit a new one. “And to tell you the truth, he had a hard time gettin’ along with a lot of people around here. But the younger kids all looked up to him. Includin’ Andy.”

  “So they met in high school?”

  “Yep. I remember Andy’s mom tellin’ me about it when they started pallin’ around together. And I remember thinkin’ I was glad they were gonna be graduated by a year when my boy got to high school.”

  “Why is that? Were they troublemakers?”

  “Oh, hell yeah. A bunch of them boys . . . Andy and a few of his friends . . . once they took to hangin’ around Dean, they got into all kinds of trouble. I mean, nothin’ too bad. They never got arrested or nothin’. Just liked to sneak out and skip school. Get drunk, get high, that sorta thing.” She puffed on her cigarette, squinted through the smoke, and let out a raspy cough. “See, Dean’s uncle used to buy him beer and give him a little weed every now and then. That made Dean a hero to them boys. They worshiped his ass.”

  Rachel could see that the mention of marijuana had piqued Braddock’s interest. He glanced at her and said, “So Dean got Andy and his buddies into doing drugs?”

  “Yeah, if you wanna call it that. Wasn’t too big of a deal until they all got busted.”

  “What happened?” Rachel asked.

  “They tried to sneak away one day during lunch to smoke a joint and got caught by the basketball coach. And Dean, high as a kite, told that man to go fuck his own mother.” She burst into a laugh that degenerated into a coughing fit. After a minute, she recovered and said, “Well, that shit didn’t go over too well in this town. So they sent Dean packin’. He went back to live with his mother over in Franklin or some-damn-where, and them other boys turned into goody goodies for the rest of the school year.”

  “He moved away . . .” She made a note. “When did that happen?”

  “When Dean was a sophomore, I think.” Brenda thought for a moment. “Yeah, that was when Andy’s mom called me, upset as hell. Dean was a sophomore, and Andy and them other boys were freshmen.”

  “And that was in?”

  “Spring of oh-one.”

  “Do you know if they kept in touch after Dean moved away?”

  “Oh, there ain’t no tellin’, but I doubt it.”

  “Why do you say that?” Braddock asked.

  “’Cause Andy and his other freshmen friends straightened their asses up. In fact, I remember now . . . they expelled a girl for drugs right around that same time, and that scared the hell out of ’em. But apparently, Dean just kept right on bein’ a troublemaker after he moved back in with his momma.”

  Rachel said, “So McGrath moved away in the spring of 2001 and, as far as you know, didn’t have any further contact with Andy Coughlan while he was in high school?”

  “As far as I know,” Brenda said with a nod.

  She wrote it down, then asked, “Do you know when Dean moved back here?”

  Brenda turned to stare out the window and thought for a moment. “You know . . . I wanna say it was right around oh-nine or ten. The story was, he went off and found a job over in Hyde County somewhere, workin’ as a welder or something.” She turned back to Rachel and wore a wicked grin. “Oh, I remember now. He hooked up with his boss’s wife. Had an affair goin’ for like a year or more. And they kept it real quiet right up until she divorced his ass, then she and Dean got hitched and moved out here. And she got all kinds of money from the split. That’s when they bought that house over on the other side of town.”

  “The house he was just living in?”

  “Hell no. I’m talkin’ about a big one, right on the edge of town overlookin’ the river.” She took a final drag of her cigarette, put it out, and lit another. “Tiffany. Her name was Tiffany. Anyway, after they got divorced, he took her to the bank. That’s how he got the money to buy that old house off Nineteen. The one he owns now . . . or did own.”

  “The other day when we were talking to your son, he said he didn’t know how Dean managed to afford that house. Are you sure he got the money from his ex-wife?”

  “Damn straight I’m sure,” she said and waved her hand toward Smiley’s room. “That boy don’t know nothin’ about what goes on in this town.”

  “I see.” Rachel made a few more notes, checked them over, and asked, “In the years since he moved back, do you know if Dean and Andy ever spent time together? Ever reconnected as friends or otherwise?”

  Brenda shook her head. “Nothin’ that I ever heard about. I mean, hell, it ain’t a real big town, though. I’m sure they probably ran into each other at some point.”

  Rachel turned to Braddock. “I wonder if Coughlan ever went to the Riverside Pub.”

  “That’d be a good question for Smiley whenever he wakes up.”

  Brenda yelled, “Clint!” She waited for a second and yelled again. He appeared in the doorway in his boxers, holding a handful of toilet paper to his nose. She said, “They got a question for you.”

  Rachel asked, “Did Andy Coughlan ever come by the bar where you work?”

  He shook his head. “Never saw him there.”

  “Ever hear about him and Dean hanging around together?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  She looked at Brenda. “Do either of you know if Dean or Andy were involved in drugs recently? Ever hear anything about it?” Back at Smiley, “Or see anything?”

  “Sorry, ma’am,” he said.

  “Buying, selling, using, anything . . . ?”

  “Nope,” Brenda said. “Trust me, I wish I could help you.”

  Rachel believed them. Smiley was an open book who answered questions without hesitation, and his mother was even more forthcoming. In fact, she seemed to relish the opportunity to tell a good story.

  26

  Rachel stood by the takeout window at Lexington Barbecue and watched a stream of motorcycles go by on Main. The air was still cool, and the sky was perfect blue with the sun almost directly overhead. It was a great day to be outside enjoying the weather, but she was destined for a lunch meeting in the conference room at the sheriff’s office.

  Braddock had his head in the window, ordering enough food for everyone on the team. When he finished, he turned to her and said, “Sorry.” He had to raise his voice over the rumbling engines. “I know we just had this the other day, but it’s the easiest thing to get for everyone.”

  “I don’t mind,” she said. “Who knows when I’ll have it again?”

  He stared at the ground. “Still leaving tomorrow, huh?”

  “I think one more night at the Fontana Lodge is about all I can handle. But, you know, if there was someplace else I could stay . . .”

  He smiled and took her hand.

  She said, “Didn’t you say something about a bed-and-breakfast on the other side of—”

  He pulled her close and kissed her. She laughed and backed away.

  “Careful, Chief. You’re gonna get us in trouble.”

  He wrapped an arm around her waist and brought her back to him. “I couldn’t care less right now.”

  She pecked him on the cheek and put a finger to his lips. “I think your boss has enough problems. But there’s always later.�
��

  He grumbled and let her go, his hand brushing her backside as his arm dropped away. He winked and said, “I guess we should try and keep it professional during business hours.”

  “Mmhmm.”

  * * *

  In the conference room, Fisher had arranged the paperwork in two lines stretching across the table—one for each victim. Photographs, statements, canvass questionnaires, crime scene sketches, notes . . . He stood a few feet away and scanned them, as if trying to get a better view of the case from a distance.

  “How’s it going?” Rachel asked.

  He rubbed his face roughly in his hands. “Not so good.”

  Braddock set the bags of food down on the other end of the table and asked, “No luck?”

  “Besides that little high school drama Smiley’s mom told you about, I can’t see anything that puts the two of ’em together. And I haven’t found any drugs, neither. Nothing in their houses or their vehicles . . . The families don’t know anything. I tried McGrath’s friend, Butler, and he wasn’t any kind of help. I got a list of Coughlan’s friends from his wife. I’ll start on them after lunch. Tina’s working on the phone records. She should have ’em soon.”

  “Did she get the list from the DMV?” Rachel asked.

  “Yeah. It’s not as long as we thought it would be, but it’ll still take some time. She and Melvin are gonna start working on it this afternoon. Speak of the devil . . .”

  Curtis appeared in the doorway, looked around the room, and said, “I got something you all need to hear about.”

  “What is it?” Braddock asked.

  He stepped in and closed the door. “Do either of you know Jerry Hood?”

  Braddock shook his head, but Fisher said, “Yeah, I know him. Used to be a bit of a nuisance. Likes to get in fights. Arrested him for vandalism once.”

  “That’s him,” Curtis said. “He came in about an hour ago, real pissed off. Said his daddy, Bert, was assaulted yesterday morning by Dylan Gifford.”

  “I’ve definitely heard of him,” Fisher said. “B and E. Twice. Went to juvie both times.”

  “Yep. Jerry says his dad had a relationship with Gifford’s mother. While they were dating, he lent her some money. Around five hundred dollars or so. Well, apparently, she just broke it off, so Bert figured he’d go back and get what was owed to him. Gifford didn’t like that idea. He beat the hell out of Bert and threw him out on his ass. I sent Benny”—he looked at Rachel—“one of our deputies, over to where Bert works to talk to him. He confirmed the story. Looks a little beat up too. So then I sent Benny over to Gifford’s house. When he got there, Gifford’s mom answered and said he wasn’t home. Said he was at his brother’s. She gave Benny the address, and he rode over there. He just called me. Nobody’s home, but guess what he found parked out beside the brother’s trailer?”

  Rachel said, “A big truck with custom wheels?”

  “A black 2005 GMC Sierra, to be exact. We ran the plate. It’s registered to Dylan Gifford.” He pulled his phone from his pocket, typed in a password, and touched the e-mail app. “I had Benny take these pictures.” He laid the phone on the table for them to see.

  “Damn,” Fisher said, sliding his finger across the screen to flip through the photos. “Looks pretty close to me.”

  “Did he get a close-up of the tire tread?” Rachel asked.

  “It’s the last one,” Curtis said.

  Fisher swiped the screen until he reached it. As soon as Rachel saw the image, she said, “Holy shit.” She grabbed the photos from the line Fisher had made with the Coughlan case file and flipped through them until she found the tire impression. She laid it down next to the phone.

  “Jesus,” Braddock said. “Looks like a perfect match.”

  Rachel said, “Captain?”

  “Yes, ma’am?”

  She handed his phone back to him. “Would you mind e-mailing those photos to Shane, please?” She turned to Fisher. “When you get them, try to print the shot of the tire so it’s the same size as the one of the tread impression. We need the comparison to look as convincing as possible.” Then to Braddock, “I think we might have enough for a search warrant.”

  “I’ll call the ADA,” he said.

  “Better call Jensen too.”

  Fisher went to his desk to get on his computer, and Braddock called the ADA.

  Rachel asked Curtis, “Is Jerry still here?”

  “No, ma’am. He left about twenty minutes ago.”

  “Think you could get him to come back?”

  “I don’t see why not.”

  “Good. I’d like to have a little chat with him.”

  27

  Jerry Hood’s bouncing knee made his chair squeak. He chewed on the tip of his thumb and watched Fisher gather up the paperwork and set it aside. Rachel and Braddock sat down on the other side of the table. Fisher returned with a notepad and a pen and took the seat beside Jerry.

  “Can we offer you something to eat?” Rachel asked.

  “Nah, I’m all right,” Jerry said and scratched the stubble on his jaw. “Smells good, though. I ain’t gonna lie. Y’all got that from Lex’s, huh? They do it right over there.”

  He was in his late twenties and had sunken cheeks and a black tattoo climbing his neck. Rachel couldn’t make out exactly what it depicted, but there were skulls involved. She said, “Captain Curtis told us your father was assaulted yesterday. By a man named Dylan Gifford?”

  “Yeah, that’s him. Fuckin’ cocksucker. I hate that dude.”

  “Can you tell us—”

  “I wanted to go up there and take care of it myself, but I can’t be fightin’ no more on account of I got a bad knee and all.”

  “I understand. Can you tell us how long your dad was dating . . . I’m sorry, what’s her name?”

  “Linda.”

  Fisher started to write it down. Jerry leaned toward him and said, “L-I-N-D-A.”

  “Thanks, Jerry,” Fisher said.

  “No problem, man.” He dropped against the seatback and folded his arms. “Yeah, Daddy’s been datin’ her worthless ass for about two . . . probably more like three years now. Off and on.”

  “How well have you gotten to know Dylan in that time?” Rachel asked.

  “Well enough, I guess. I mean, I don’t really know him, you know. I don’t hang out with the dude or nothin’.”

  “Why is that?” Fisher asked.

  “’Cause he’s a asshole. You know what I mean? I ain’t got time for fuckheads like Dylan Gifford.”

  “Have you ever known him to be violent before yesterday’s incident with your dad?” Rachel asked.

  “Oh, hell yeah. Dude loves to beat up on people. I seen him kick the shit outta this boy one time for callin’ his brother a name . . . I think he called him a pussy . . . or maybe it was homo or—”

  “We get it,” she said. “Do you know if he’s ever been involved in anything illegal? Like drugs, for instance?”

  “Dylan? Nah. Not since he was a kid. That’s his brother’s thing.”

  “What do you mean?” Braddock asked. “What’s his brother into?”

  “Y’all don’t know about Kevin?”

  “No,” he said. “Mind telling us?”

  “Dude’s a fuckin’ crank dealer, man. I’m surprised y’all ain’t heard about him.”

  Fisher asked, “You’re sure he’s a dealer? Not just a user?”

  “Dealer, user, producer . . . he does it all, man. I mean, he ain’t big time or nothin’, but he’s hooked up with some boys that got a little lab up in the hills outside Whittier.”

  “And you’re sure about this?” Rachel asked.

  “Yeah, I’m sure. I wouldn’t just go makin’ up some shit like that. Hell, he even tried to recruit me to join his little deal last year.”

  Rachel looked at Braddock. “Did you get ahold of Jensen?”

  “He’s on his way now,” he said.

  Jerry’s eyes darted between Rachel and the food bags at the end of
the table. “Hey, ma’am, on second thought, you think I could get a few of them french fries or somethin’?”

  Rachel set Jerry up in Braddock’s office with two barbecue sandwiches, a box full of fries, and a Coke from the vending machine. Then she went back to the conference room, where Braddock and Fisher were bringing Pritchard up to speed. Jensen walked in a few minutes later.

  “Boy, you guys have been busy,” Jensen said, looking a little out of breath. He dropped into a chair and wiped his brow with a handkerchief. “That’s good, though. I wasn’t getting anywhere on my end.”

  “Good to see you, Mike,” Pritchard said with a smirk. “Glad you could join us.”

  Jensen smiled back, and it looked sincere. “It’s good to see you too, Sheriff. I’ll tell ya, it’s really starting to heat up out there.” He wiped his brow again. “So how are things going with the DA’s office?”

  Braddock said, “She’s on her way here now.”

  “The DA’s coming here herself?”

  “Yep. We got some more information since I talked to you last.”

  “Oh, okay. Let’s hear it.”

  “We think our suspect’s brother is a meth dealer. Might be cooking it too. Our informant says Kevin Gifford and a few of his friends have a lab over in Whittier.”

  Jensen dropped his handkerchief in his lap and folded it, then slid it into his pocket and stared at the table for a moment.

  “You think you oughta call Justin?” Pritchard asked.

  He nodded, then looked at Rachel and said, “You mind if I speak with you outside for a minute?”

  It was the second time that he had caught her completely off guard. “Uh . . . yeah, sure.”

  She followed him out the door, leaving Braddock, Pritchard, and Fisher looking at each other in confusion.