Firebreak: A Mystery

by Tricia Fields

  Josie tilted her head. “I just wonder if Ferris provided Billy with something he didn’t have in his life. We keep hearing how Brenda spent all her time trying to make Billy as good as he could be. Maybe Ferris just accepted him for who he was. Ferris thought Billy was already brilliant. Maybe Billy just needed the boost that Ferris gave his ego.”

  “You’re changing your mind? You think it’s plausible that Billy committed suicide over Ferris’s death?” Otto asked.

  “I suppose I do,” she said. “But it bothers me that we don’t know how Billy came up with the pills that he mixed with the alcohol.”

  “Or who wanted Ferris dead,” Marta said.

  “My plan is to meet Deputy Susan Spears at Ferris’s house in Presidio this morning. She’s got a search warrant approved. She agreed to help me search the house. Hopefully we’ll find something to help us figure that out.”

  * * *

  The drive from Artemis to Presidio took Josie down a twenty-mile stretch of tan-colored desert dotted with patches of deep green mesquite bushes. The occasional hills and curves that snugged up to the Rio Grande broke the scenic monotony with glimpses of the muddy brown water. At ten o’clock in the morning, with the temperature pushing ninety, she drove with the windows down, letting the warm air blow the dust and sand around the old jeep. Radio stations faded in and out, so she dug through the glove compartment to find a tape for the ancient cassette player. She popped in one of Dillon’s old Elton John tapes and turned “Benny and the Jets” up as loud as the speakers would take. She smiled and sang, enjoying the sun and the wind and the freedom of the open road.

  In a police department so remote, with so little funding, department perks were rare. Her retired-army jeep, vintage 1995, somewhat made up for the lack of modern radio and radar equipment. The four-wheel-drive could take her almost anywhere: the jeep had been built for military use, so she drove it as the job required, and occasionally as the road called to her, through rocky creeks, narrow mountain passes, and tight arroyos that an SUV or pickup truck couldn’t handle.

  Thirty minutes after leaving Artemis, Josie parallel parked in front of the small brick home that Junior Daggy had referred to as the Winferd station house. She wasn’t sure what she had expected, maybe something cobbled together by other people’s hand-me-downs, but what she found was a tastefully landscaped brick home with long narrow windows and curved limestone lintels. A cobblestone pathway led through a well-kept garden and up to a large wooden entrance door with heavy wrought-iron hardware.

  Susan parked her brown and beige deputy patrol car across the street from Josie. While Susan called in her position Josie took the time to glance around the tree-lined neighborhood. The street was primarily made up of tasteful adobe homes, understated and cared for by their owners. This was not the neighborhood Josie had imagined Ferris Sinclair inhabiting.

  Susan exited her car and walked over to join Josie on the sidewalk in front of the house. Not many women were able to wear a police uniform and maintain any sense of femininity, but Susan looked every bit the grandma that she bragged about being. The brown uniform fit her curvy fifty-something-year-old body well. Josie realized then that Susie wasn’t wearing a bulletproof vest under her uniform, which gave the impression of a block chest, an okay look on a man, but not so flattering on most women. In the desert climate the vest was miserably hot, but Josie insisted the officers in her department wear one at all times while on duty. It surprised her to find Susan without one.

  Susan approached her with her hand outstretched and a wide smile. “How are you, Josie? Long time no see!”

  Josie smiled back and shook her hand. “I’m doing all right. How’s life in Presidio?”

  “Can’t complain.” She pointed up the pathway that led to Ferris Sinclair’s front door. “Nice little place, huh?”

  “I’ll admit, this isn’t what I expected. From everything I hear he was a mooch. How’s a mooch afford a place like this?”

  “Good question. Let’s take a look. I don’t know where he worked. He seemed to flit from one party to the next. I’d figure a sugar daddy.” She wrinkled her nose at Josie. “Can a guy have a sugar daddy?”

  Josie laughed. “I don’t guess there’s a rule book on sugar daddies.”

  “Does Billy Nix fit that description for Ferris?”

  “Billy was barely scraping by. He was close to a Nashville contract, but that hadn’t happened yet,” Josie said. “Not to mention, his wife kept a pretty close eye on him. I can’t imagine Brenda Nix allowing enough money to leave her checking account to pay for a place like this.”

  Susan unlocked the front door and said, “After we got the warrant approval I got a key made and came over to print the outside of the house and check for breaking and entering, vandalism, whatever. The outside of the house looked undisturbed. I haven’t gone in though.”

  They stepped inside the house and both had the same response. “Wow.”

  The light in the home was magnificent, streaming in from the long windows and bouncing off ebony hardwood floors. Dark wood trim surrounded the doors and windows and contrasted beautifully with white stucco walls.

  “Not your typical bachelor pad,” Susan said, surveying the room from the doorway and taking in the bold artwork that hung on the walls. Leather couches and heavy wooden tables and benches gave the room a masculine feel without looking too over-the-top.

  “Hard to imagine this is the home of the man I heard described as a ferret,” Josie said.

  Susan glanced at Josie. “I feel a little bad about that now. He was just so whiny. Played the victim like he practiced the part. You know the type?”

  “I do. Any idea why he felt so victimized? Was it tied to him being gay and getting harassed?”

  “I don’t know much about his background. I heard he moved here from Georgia. Left his daddy’s tool and die shop and came out here to pursue something.”

  “Stalking country music performers?” Josie asked.

  “Apparently.”

  “What’s the search warrant cover?”

  “Judge gave us free rein. I told him the body had been identified. You have target areas?”

  “I’d like you to start with his finances. We need to figure out who’s paying for this lifestyle if he doesn’t have a job,” Josie said.

  “Blackmail?” Susan said.

  “Wouldn’t be the first time.” Josie pointed to a hallway across the living room, directly opposite the front door. She figured the house was only about twelve hundred square feet, with the bedroom down the only hallway. “I’ll start in the bedroom. I’d like to get a sense for him on a personal level. The descriptions I’ve received from the locals haven’t been kind. And, yet, Billy Nix appears to have committed suicide over him. Ferris obviously has something going for himself.”

  Josie walked around the living room furniture first, noticing the dust on the end tables and the wood floors. Aside from several days of disuse, the house was impeccably decorated and clean. There were no dollar-store knickknacks like the Nixes had accumulated on their bookshelves and end tables. Ferris collected art and knew how to display it.

  The polished ebony planks of the floor led Josie past a bathroom with a marble countertop and gleaming silver hardware and fresh white towels. The bedroom, just beyond the guest bath, maintained the dark masculine feel of the living space, but the fabrics and linens were soft and textured, creamy rather than stark white. It was the kind of place a person would love to come home to at the end of the day. So why had Ferris chosen the Nix household, where he was obviously so unwanted, to spend the last day of his life? Why would he have gone to Artemis, in the middle of a wildfire evacuation, to the Nixes’ home after they had already left town? Was he looking for something? Josie couldn’t imagine what the Nixes could own that would be worth murder.

  Josie went to the bedside table and opened the drawer. She found it filled with letters, most in envelopes, and several postmarked Artemis, Texas. Three envelopes bore no
return address, but the letters began “Dear Ferris.” Two of those letters were signed “Love, Billy.”

  Josie took the letters and sat on the edge of the bed, a sadness overcoming her for Brenda, who appeared so intent on controlling a life that she didn’t understand, or at least chose not to acknowledge.

  Josie put the letters in the order in which they were mailed and read each one. The first letter filled half a notebook page and simply thanked Ferris for helping set up the band at a performance in Presidio. The letter talked about details from the concert and Billy’s comments about a song they tried out on the audience that night that was a big hit. The date was fourteen months prior. Josie wondered if that was when the two had met.

  The second letter was dated two months later. Most of the content suggested little beyond a simple friendship; however, at the end of the letter Billy had written, “Please don’t send any more letters to the house. Brenda takes things wrong. She’s a good woman and wants to see the band make it. She worries about distractions. Send me a text if you need anything. Love, Billy.”

  The third letter’s subject was more veiled.

  Dear Ferris,

  I’m sorry about the misunderstanding. You know she just wants what’s best for the band. And to her that means knowing all the details. She can’t give you jobs to do because it keeps her from knowing everything. I know you were trying to help the band too and I appreciate that. You are a good friend and I hope this doesn’t cause hard feelings between us. I’ll try and get to Presidio this week to see you. You know this isn’t easy. It takes time. Be patient with an old man.

  Love, Billy

  Josie reread the three letters and set them aside. She riffled through the other letters and opened a few that weren’t in envelopes. Most were personal in nature, from both men and women, many of them containing a similar theme: Sorry there was a misunderstanding, please don’t give up on me.

  Josie left the pile of letters on the bed and opened the door to the bottom of the bedside cabinet. Inside she found a small wooden trunk, which she pulled out and opened. It appeared to be a mess of unrelated memorabilia: an autographed first edition of a Kurt Vonnegut novel, several playbills, a model car of a Corvette with a smiley face drawn onto the hood, an autographed baseball with a signature Josie couldn’t read, a coffee mug from Churchill Downs, and a six-inch-tall replica of the Eiffel Tower with the word Unforgettable inscribed on a silver plaque on the base. Josie wondered what qualities made a person unforgettable and decided whatever they were she evidently didn’t have them, because she didn’t have a box full of mementos and a drawer full of letters from admirers. Currently she had no admirers.

  Josie was on her hands and knees looking through boxes she had pulled out from under the bed when Susan walked into the room carrying a black book in her hands.

  “What you got there?” Susan asked.

  “He has boxes of memorabilia and letters that date back five years or better. I found a stack of letters in the desk drawer, and there’s more here in these boxes. I found one dated from 2010 from a jilted lover. Check this out.” Josie dug back through one of the boxes, found the letter she was searching for, and handed it to Susan. “Look at the back of the envelope.” Drawn on the back was an ink sketch of a young girl’s face with tears dripping down her cheeks and her bottom lip stuck out in a sad-faced pout.

  “The letter’s pretty sappy. The girl basically says Ferris ruined her life when he left her. It’s postmarked Montpellier, France.”

  Susan scowled. “What’s the attraction with this guy?”

  “I don’t get it either.” She pointed to the black book. “You find something?”

  “I did. A leather bank ledger that Ferris writes in faithfully. Each month he records a ten-thousand-dollar deposit into the account.”

  Josie’s eyes rose. “You find the sugar daddy?”

  “We’ll have to subpoena the bank records. I can’t tell. The deposits started the month after he turned eighteen.”

  “Sounds more like a trust fund.”

  “He’s also had larger deposits made sporadically. The most recent was a one-hundred-thousand-dollar deposit two years ago, about the time he moved to Presidio. I would assume to buy this house.”

  “What a life, huh?” said Josie.

  They both heard banging coming from the living room and realized someone was knocking on the front door.

  “Is anyone coming to meet you here?” Josie asked.

  “Nope.”

  Josie walked through the living room and the pounding started again. When she opened the door a thin woman with small pinched features and a very angry expression stood with her hands fixed firmly to her hips.

  “Could you not have let the family in first?” the woman said.

  “My name is Josie Gray. I’m chief of police with the Artemis Police Department.” Josie motioned behind her where Susan stood looking out at the woman. “This is Deputy Susan Spears with the Presidio County Sheriff’s Department. And you are?” Josie had little doubt the woman was a close relative of Ferris’s.

  “I’m Ferris Sinclair’s twin.”

  “And your name?”

  “Julia.”

  Josie stepped outside, forcing the woman to take a step back on the front porch.

  “Have you spoken with your parents about Ferris?”

  Julia’s chin dimpled and she puckered her lips in an attempt to keep from crying.

  “I’m very sorry for your loss,” Josie said.

  “Why are you here?” The young woman’s voice came out as a high-pitched whisper.

  “We have a court-ordered search warrant, Ms. Sinclair. We’re here to find out what happened to your brother. We’re going to do everything we can.”

  “By rooting through his things?”

  “That’s not our intent. We’re trying to understand who would want to hurt your brother. Do you know of anyone who would want to cause harm to Ferris?”

  Tears fell down her cheeks. She hugged her arms around her thin chest and squeezed her eyes shut. The thin frame that gave Ferris a rakish, handsome look in photographs Josie had seen made Julia look sinewy and harsh.

  She pulled her shirt up to wipe her eyes on the bottom of it and revealed a taut belly. Josie looked away toward the street until the woman had returned her shirt.

  “Had Ferris told you about anyone who he was worried about? Maybe someone he’d been having a relationship with that had ended badly?”

  “Relationships ending badly for Ferris?” She laughed abruptly, though it sounded more like a cough. “He is the most shallow complicated person I’ve ever met. He’s my twin, and I still don’t understand what motivated his relationships.”

  “What do you mean by that?” Josie asked.

  Julia dug a crumpled tissue out of her purse and wiped her eyes again. She put it back and finally said, “Relationships were like a hobby to him. He played with people like dolls. When he got bored with them he’d throw them in the Dumpster and move on to someone new.”

  She seemed to notice Josie watching her closely, and then saw Susan standing in the doorway. “Figuratively, of course. He didn’t actually get rid of people. He just never managed to keep a relationship for more than a few months. A year or two at the most.”

  “Did he keep letters and mementos as keepsakes?”

  She smiled and dipped her head, apparently realizing Josie was trying to find out what she knew.

  “You found his stash,” Julia said. “He’d drag boxes of that stuff out at parties. He’d impress people with the gold box he received from some Arab prince, or the tennis bracelet he received from some young actress. People would dig through his treasure boxes and listen to his stories about hanging out with rich people. I loved Ferris but it was all a little pathetic.”

  “What about jilted lovers? He seems to have a fairly big collection of admirers,” Josie said. “Male and female.”

  Julia raised her shoulders in an exaggerated shrug, as if to say,
What could I do about it. “He’s had his share, and then some.”

  “Anyone who would want to hurt him? Someone angry enough, or unstable enough, to want to kill him?”

  She sighed heavily and her shoulders deflated. “Honestly, if he dumped me the way I’ve seen him dump other people I’d want to kill him too.” She seemed to notice Josie’s scrutiny again. “Figuratively.”

  Josie nodded. “I see what you’re saying. He didn’t let people down easy.” Josie hesitated, unsure how to bring up his HIV status with his sister, who might not have known. “Were you aware of any illnesses? Any serious diseases he may have had?”

  Julia looked closely at Josie, but didn’t respond.

  “Do you mind if I call you Julia?”

  “I don’t mind.”

  “Okay, Julia. I can’t let you go through Ferris’s house yet, but I’d like to move in off the street. Are you okay with sitting in the living room for a few minutes with us? I’d like to talk about his medical issues with you.”

  Josie noticed Julia’s face tighten, her mouth draw down into a frown, but she nodded and entered the house. Josie knew she shouldn’t be allowing the woman into the house at this point in the investigation, but she had several tough questions to ask, and it seemed cruel to make her stand on the front porch.

  The three women sat down on the leather couches. Julia scanned the living room. “He had good taste, didn’t he? He never used a decorator. And he certainly didn’t get taste from our parents.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “My dad owned a manufacturing plant that made metal parts for car companies. My mom was his secretary. They were obsessed with the business and didn’t care much for Ferris and me. We spent every summer and holiday with our grandparents, my mom’s family. When my grandparents died in France a few years ago they left everything to Ferris and me. They were loaded. My parents were furious. Mom contested it, fought us for the money, but the court said the will was legal. She spent a few months trying to make nice and convince us to share the loot, but it was an act.”