Firebreak: A Mystery

by Tricia Fields

  * * *

  At seven o’clock on Sunday morning, Josie received a text from Mitchell Cowan asking her to come by the coroner’s office. He had results. She rolled over, her phone still in her hand, and looked at Nick, who was facing her with his eyes open.

  “I like you, Josie.”

  She laughed. “I like you too, Nick.”

  He propped up on his arm so he could study her better. “This isn’t a normal thing for me. You asked me last night what I wanted from you. I want more than a kiss. But my life is seriously screwed up. You know that. And yours isn’t much better.”

  She didn’t say anything for a moment. “Have I told you I’m not very good at this?”

  He smiled then, and lay back down. “This is a good situation. If we’re both screwed up, and neither one of us knows what we’re doing, then there’s no expectations. Right?”

  Josie lay on her side with her head now tucked into his arm. “I’m not sure this makes sense right now. Dillon just left. I was with Dillon for years. Aren’t there rules about rushing into relationships? Rebounds and whatever?”

  “That’s basketball. You’re okay.”

  She smiled again and decided he was right. There were no rule books in life, and even if there were, she was pretty sure her life would be indexed in the appendix under “abnormal.”

  Still holding her cell phone she lifted it up for him to see. “The coroner texted. I need to get to his office.”

  “No waffles and coffee in bed?”

  “You lived here long enough to know me better than that.”

  * * *

  At a little after nine on Sunday morning, Josie pulled into the parking lot at the Arroyo County Jail, where Mitchell Cowan’s office was located. The jail was a brown cinder-block and brick building with a brown awning over the entrance door. Josie entered a vestibule furnished with two chairs and a framed picture of the Pledge of Allegiance. She pressed a buzzer and stated her name and a second set of doors opened into a central hub where Maria Santiago, intake officer, was sitting. The room was octagonal, with Maria located behind a desk in the center. Several doors led to different areas of the jail such as the booking room, the interrogation room, and the prisoner pods.

  Josie chatted with Maria for a few minutes and was then buzzed through another set of doors, with the words COUNTY CORONER painted in black on them. She pressed an intercom button and announced her name. A moment later the door clicked and she pushed it open. The state-of-the-art jail was paid for by a Homeland Security grant that the mayor received shortly after 9/11, as was the trauma center. For such a small town, the facilities were first-rate.

  Mitchell Cowan was wearing a white lab coat, a mask, and a blue surgical cap. He leaned over a body on a stainless-steel gurney, his hands pushing and pulling at something in the open abdominal cavity. Josie turned her head and stared at the wall of cabinets across the room, avoiding the body on the table.

  “Chief,” he said by way of a greeting.

  “Morning.”

  “One moment here while I fit all this back inside. It’s a bit like trying to repack a box. Sometimes you wonder how all the pieces in the package could possibly have fit inside such a small space.”

  Cowan finally covered the body and went over to the sink to wash up. Josie could smell the medicinal soap and wondered if that scent ever left his skin.

  As he was drying his arms and hands he said, “I hear the negotiator’s back in town. Paying you a visit.”

  Josie raised her eyebrows in response.

  “You be careful with that one. He strikes me as a little on the dangerous side. You’ve got enough of that to contend with on your own.”

  “How on earth did you find out about Nick being in town?”

  Cowan grinned. “I had breakfast at the Hot Tamale this morning. There was a fair amount of speculation going on amongst the regulars.”

  “Unbelievable.” Josie shook her head and saw that Cowan was enjoying her discomfort. “I hope you texted me about something case-related.”

  Cowan lumbered across the room to pick up a stack of file folders. He motioned with his head for Josie to join him at the end of the counter where he stood.

  “I received a call from the toxicology lab.” He turned and looked at her to make sure she knew what he was referring to. “The lab that the fire marshal used for the syringe?”

  “Sure. What did you find out?”

  “The marshal must have some pull. I’ve never had results that quick.”

  “What were the results?” she asked, becoming impatient.

  “The syringe was empty.”

  “No trace amounts of anything?”

  “Empty. The syringe has never been used.”

  “Damn. The murderer planted it at the scene to make Ferris look like a drug user?”

  “Maybe Ferris intended to use it and ran out of time,” Cowan said.

  “But we didn’t find any drugs on the premises. And why put it under the couch?”

  “To hide it?”

  “Hmm.” Josie tried to imagine Ferris being stunned in the hallway and then somehow slipping the syringe under the couch. It was hard for her to imagine a scenario where that worked, unless he hid the syringe and then tangled with the murderer. But if he hid the syringe, surely he would have hid drugs along with it. “What about the bloodwork you sent off for Ferris?”

  “It’ll be at least another week before we hear back from them. It’s a different lab, different test than what the fire marshal was looking for.”

  “So we still have no idea on the cause of death for Ferris?”

  “No,” Cowan said. “But I have confirmed the pills in the baggie you gave me from Billy Nix. One pill was Ambien. Two pills were OxyContin. Official cause of death is asphyxiation. His heart slowed to the point where he wasn’t getting enough oxygen pumped through his lungs to breathe. My guess is, he bought a baggie full of pills and swallowed as many as he could along with the alcohol until he passed out. It was a deadly combination of the pills and the alcohol. For a man his size, with a propensity to drink, he had to work at it. His blood alcohol level was point four five two, enough to put him in a coma even without the pills.”

  “The idea of someone forcing pills down his throat and getting him to swallow is—”

  Cowan cut her off. “Is ridiculous. He was probably so drunk by the time he finished the pills he could barely swallow. And, there were no abrasions, no bruising around his mouth or cheeks that would indicate someone was forcing pills down his throat. There were also no pills caught in his esophagus.”

  “Meaning?”

  “If someone had been forcing pills down his throat, I would expect to find some caught in the esophagus.”

  Josie nodded her understanding. “It’s hard to imagine homicide at this point.”

  “Any thoughts on where a person could get those pills on a Saturday night?” she asked.

  “That’s your bailiwick, Chief. Can’t help you there.” He pulled out another piece of paper in his stack. “One more bit of news. I ran the Western blot test on Billy Nix. He tested negative for HIV.”

  * * *

  Josie arrived back at the department and found Otto in the office. She gave him a quick rundown of her conversation with Cowan.

  “So you’re ready to concede it was suicide as cause of death?” Otto asked.

  Josie nodded, her expression troubled. “It bothers me. Someone helped Billy along, but I don’t know what else you would call it. Billy’s the one that swallowed the pills.” Josie grabbed a bottle of water and sat down at her desk to cool off. The day was already heating up to be a scorcher. “What else do you have?”

  Otto said he had already run half of the license-plate numbers that Marta had left for them the night before.

  “Any surprises?”

  “Mick Sinner’s on here. Thought that was odd, that he’d show up at the memorial service after he pitched such a fit about his band performing the night after Billy died.”<
br />
  Otto handed Josie what he had compiled so far.

  She scanned the list and noticed Hank’s name. “Hank drives a four-door truck too?”

  “Yeah. I know his truck. It’s a beauty. Big black truck. He ordered it brand-new out of Odessa.”

  “Remember what Brenda told us? She said Billy called two people the night he died.”

  Otto nodded. “Just what I was thinking. Slim Jim and Hank. And she said both of them told Billy to go back to the hotel and sleep it off.”

  “What if Hank learned Billy was drunk and took the pills to him?”

  “I asked Hank if he thought Billy would take pills and he said he was sure of it. He talked about Billy’s nerves before a show. Said Billy could have gotten pills from any number of people.”

  “What possible motive could Hank have for helping Billy commit suicide?”

  “I don’t know,” Otto said. “Billy made the Hell-Bent a heap of money.”

  “We should talk to both Hank and Mick, but I’d like to start with Brenda. I’d like for her to come clean on Billy and Ferris and how those two deaths may be related. She has to be a link in this somehow.”

  Otto glanced at his watch. “It’s almost eleven. You talk to Brenda and I’ll finish running the license plates. Then we can grab a bite to eat and go talk with Hank.”

  * * *

  Josie walked outside and the oppressive heat made her feel like turning back around for the air-conditioned office: ten straight days of temperatures above one hundred. Blue sky stretched out in all directions, promising nothing but sun. Sweat dripped down her temples by the time Josie reached Manny’s office, just a block away. She opened the office door and found him sitting in his chair behind the counter watching TV. He pushed himself up and stepped to the counter.

  “How are you, Manny?”

  “Fat and happy, like my daddy used to say. A glass of iced tea in one hand, the remote in the other. All in all, a good morning.”

  “You got life figured out.”

  He chuckled. “I’m just a lazy old man. What can I do for you?”

  “Remind me what room number Brenda Nix is in.”

  He pointed off to his left. “Room Five. I just delivered fresh towels. I know she’s home.”

  “No problems here?” she asked.

  “It’s all good. I appreciate you checking on me.”

  * * *

  Brenda answered the door and stepped back for Josie to enter. Her face was drawn, her eyes tired and red-rimmed. With no makeup and dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, Brenda had lost the playmaker image that Josie associated with her. She looked like a tired, grieving widow. Josie stepped inside and a woman with Brenda’s auburn hair and wide green eyes stood up from a reading chair by the window and offered her hand.

  “Hi. I’m Patty Netham. We spoke on the phone a few days ago.”

  “It’s good to meet you.”

  “I appreciate you calling the way you did. Brenda needed family here to support her.” She glanced at her sister and the two women smiled slightly. “I’m going to go fill the tank up and grab us some lunch. We’re going to Alpine for the day, unless you think this will take a while?”

  “No, this won’t take too long. I just have some follow-up questions.”

  Patty hesitated and looked at her sister again. “Do you want me to call your lawyer? To let her know you’re speaking with the police?” Patty glanced at Josie apologetically, but Josie shrugged it off.

  Brenda waved a hand in the air. “I’m too tired for lawyers. I just want this over with.”

  After Patty left Josie took her place in the reading chair and Brenda sat in a matching chair at the writing desk across from the bed.

  “Brenda, I’ve come to ask you some tough questions today. I want you to understand, I’m not asking them because I think you’re a suspect. I’m asking because I believe that Billy’s death and Ferris’s death are connected in some way. I need to understand their relationship.”

  “I wouldn’t know where to begin.” She seemed lost and overwhelmed and Josie wondered if she would be able to provide the honest answers needed.

  “I want to understand why Ferris was attracted to Billy. I need to understand what Billy thought of Ferris. I need to know if their relationship was causing problems for other people, maybe other band members. I’d like for you to tell me their story so I can pull out the details that may help us make sense of their deaths.”

  Brenda stood and walked to the coffeemaker by the TV. She took the carafe, filled it with water in the bathroom, and came back, busying herself as she began to talk.

  “In a matter of days I’ve discovered that almost everything I think about myself and my family, everything that I believed in, was wrong,” she said. “It’s not just Billy, either. It’s my own family. Patty and I spent the last two days sitting in this hotel room telling the truth. Not what we thought needed to be said. Just the truth. It was the most revealing conversation of my life.”

  Brenda took a deep breath and sat back down in her seat, looking at Josie now. “I left my family because I didn’t think they wanted me. I was twenty years old. I knew I couldn’t sing or play an instrument like the rest of them. I always felt like a misfit. Like they were ashamed of me, and they didn’t know what to do with me. Patty said she thought it was jealousy on my part. My sisters thought I was jealous of the rest of the family, and I put such a distance between us that they didn't know how to talk to me.” She was quiet for a moment. “Looking back on it, I think she’s right about the jealousy. I miss my family. I miss my sisters. And I think they miss me too.” Brenda shut her eyes as if she might cry again but no tears came. “All these years without my family.”

  “What did your family think about Billy? Were they fans?” Josie asked.

  She smiled a little. “Patty said the family used to joke about me coming back to manage them. They claimed if I could make Billy a star that I could manage anyone.”

  Josie was taken aback that Brenda didn’t appear angry at the harsh opinion of Billy.

  Brenda waved off Josie’s surprised expression. “Here’s what I’ve known for a long time, but never allowed myself to really acknowledge. I worked a lot harder at Billy’s career than he did. He was a country musician because it was a job. He had someone making his decisions for him: telling him when to show up, what to wear, where to be, and what songs to sing when he got there.” She was quiet a moment, her expression grim, as if she wasn’t sure if she should go on. “Billy wasn’t a thinker. He needed someone to do that for him. I don’t know if he really wanted a wife, but he needed a manager. And I came as a package deal.”

  “The rumors about Billy and Ferris. Had you heard them?”

  “Please.” She made a dismissive face. “People are so cruel. They love to humiliate. Better yet, they love to knock you down a notch. One of the waitresses at the Hell-Bent pulled me aside one night when the band was onstage. She actually had me follow her outside behind the kitchen. It was dark out. I could hear the band pounding out a Waylon Jennings song inside. The crowd was crazy—it was a good night. And she stands right next to me and puts her hand on my shoulder and says, ‘Honey, I’m telling you this as a friend. For your own good.’” Brenda tipped her head down and looked at Josie to make sure she knew the truth.

  “She was no friend,” Josie said.

  “Exactly. She tells me that Billy and Ferris are lovers. That was the term she used. I could have thrown up right there. Until that moment I had known Ferris had a thing for Billy, like a fan thing, but nothing more. I knocked the woman’s hand off my shoulder and went back inside.”

  “Do you think there was any truth to the rumors?”

  Brenda shrugged, almost imperceptibly, and took a moment to continue. “I don’t know if they actually were lovers, like she suggested. But I know Billy went to Presidio to visit Ferris on several occasions, and then lied to me about it. He called Ferris daily when he wasn’t around. I honestly couldn’t tell you what the
attraction was. I found Ferris to be obnoxious and not terribly good-looking.”

  “I’ve heard Ferris stroked Billy’s ego, told him how wonderful he was. Did you see that?”

  She choked out a laugh. “It was disgusting. All the time. Billy was so gifted. An incredible performer. Ferris would tell him he was going to be a megastar. He’d be top ten on CMT.” Brenda shook her head. “You know what pissed me off? Ferris and I both knew Billy wasn’t gifted. He was good. And he looked the part. And he had a good band to back him up. With the right set of circumstances Billy could have made it in Nashville. But Ferris’s fawning all over him was not helpful.”

  “Do you have any idea who could have killed Ferris?”

  Brenda looked at her for a long moment. “I could have killed him, but I didn’t. As far as who else hated him as much as I did? I can’t answer that.”

  “Do you have any idea why he would have been at your home the night of the evacuation?”

  “I don’t know. He knew we were leaving. Billy told him. I honestly don’t know why he would have come to our home.”

  Josie noted that this was new information—she hadn’t known that Billy had told Ferris they were leaving—but she saw no benefit to questioning Brenda about the omission at this point. “Could he have been looking for something?”

  Brenda made a face as if the question was ridiculous. “We don’t have anything worth looking for! The guitars and amps were headed with us to Austin.”

  Josie paused, dreading the rest of the conversation. “I received some troubling news from the coroner. Are you aware that Ferris was HIV positive?”

  Her eyes widened and she put a hand to her chest. “What?”

  “The coroner tested him. He confirmed the results with a second test.”

  Brenda’s hand moved up to her mouth, her expression filled with dread. “Billy?”

  “His test came back negative. Just to be sure though, the coroner said you’ll still want to test now and then test again in a few months.”

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “You weren’t aware of this?” asked Josie, keeping her voice kind in light of the harsh questions.

  “No. Did Billy know?” Brenda whispered the words, her expression bereft. “Is that why he committed suicide? Because he was afraid he had AIDS too?”