Murder on the Lake of Fire

by Mikel J. Wilson

  “Although stealing the water was pretty stupid,” said Jeff. “Why take that risk? Why not just buy your own?”

  The sheriff responded, “I imagine that was a matter of convenience, and I don’t think he could’ve brought outside water into the plant without raising suspicion.”

  Emory added, “He also might’ve thought no one would notice.”

  Scot snorted and shook his head. “I just love how you guys are talking about me like I’m not here and making all these assumptions. Is that what cops do when they don’t have a lick of evidence against someone? Any lawyer would have you laughed out of court with what you got.”

  “So now you want a lawyer?” asked Emory.

  “If you’re going to just make up stuff about me, I will. But I didn’t do anything wrong, so I’d rather not incur that expense unless I absolutely need to. Victor doesn’t pay me that much.”

  “Why not put that brain to better use?” asked Sheriff Rome. “Why drugs?”

  “Like I said, I don’t know anything about this. I can tell you it doesn’t take a genius to realize if someone was trying to break into the local drug market, you’d only have yourself to blame.” Scot made a gun out of his hand and pointed it at Emory.

  Emory asked, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Everyone read about that big drug bust. When you put all those ecstasy dealers out of business, you did two things. You made pills too risky to sell, and you left a void. I would imagine tweakers, like nature, abhor a vacuum.”

  The sheriff asked, “What are the names of your contacts in Knoxville, Nashville and Memphis?”

  “I know a lot of people,” Scot responded. “Could you be more specific?”

  “Your distributors,” Emory clarified.

  “I don’t have any distributors because I’m not a drug dealer. You have the wrong guy.”

  “Of course.” Emory opened the notebook and began thumbing through it. “Let’s take a few steps back then. I really do commend you on your notes. Very detailed.”

  “I can’t take credit for it because it’s not my notebook.” Scot tried to cross his arms but couldn’t with the cuffs on, so he returned his hands to the table.

  “Although not very smart.” Emory lifted his eyes from the notebook, sneering at Scot as he continued flipping the pages. “Your arrogance is brandished in blue ink on every page – each paragraph, an inch of rope to hang you with.”

  Scot growled, “How many times do I have to tell you?”

  “I know, it’s not your notebook.” Emory referred to a bookmark he had placed in the book. “You were good about protecting other peoples’ identities, including your test subjects. In here, you recounted how you first tried making ecstasy in pill form from a recipe you found online, batch by batch, until you had perfected it. You tested each batch on subjects of opportunity to see if it were safe and had the desired effect. You gave the pills away at random clubs in Knoxville and Nashville and watched as the subjects partied. The first few batches didn’t turn out so great. Batch number five was the first one that didn’t make them vomit within the first hour.” Emory paused to glance at Scot.

  “Please keep reading,” said Scot. “I’m dying to find out how it ends.”

  Emory continued, “Once you were confident with manufacturing ecstasy in pill form, you started altering the formula, bit by bit, until you had created something new that was stable in regular water.” He turned to another bookmarked page. “The way you described your first test subject for Sutra, I don’t need a name. It was Britt Algarotti.”

  “Britt?” the sheriff asked. He turned to Emory. “Is that what killed her?”

  “I didn’t kill Britt or anyone else!” Scot insisted.

  “This was three weeks before she died,” Emory explained.

  Jeff snapped his fingers. “The skating competition.”

  “Now that was funny,” said Scot with a grin. “I’ve watched that video probably a hundred times. Is that what happened? Someone drugged her?”

  “Yes, you did,” answered Emory.

  “I didn’t, but I would’ve had plenty of reason to,” said Scot. “Britt would come into the office without so much as a ‘hi’ to me to go ask Daddy for money. And she had no regard for my things. She was always leaving her duffle bag on my desk. Never asked – just plopped it up there, scooting away anything in its path. I hated that.”

  “Is that how you drugged her?” asked Emory. “She came in before her last competition, and you put the water in her bag while she was in Victor’s office?”

  With an incredulous look sweeping over his face, Jeff asked, “What makes a person like you?”

  Scot said, “I’m no different than you, Mr. PI. Well, except in that one way.” Scot winked at Emory.

  Jeff threw open his arms. “You’ve already admitted you hated her. You drugged her. You’re obviously adept at chemistry. It must’ve been easy for you to plan her murder. Did you watch her from the woods that morning, as she skated on the lake?”

  “What?” Scot asked.

  Jeff lunged forward and grabbed the side of the table. “Did you laugh when the flames started burning her?”

  Emory placed a hand on his forearm. “Jeff—”

  “What are you talking about?” Scot asked. “The news said someone burned her and dumped her in the lake. Are you saying someone burned her on the lake?”

  “Don’t act stupid!” Jeff yelled, pounding a fist onto the table. “I’m sure you felt clever throwing the calcium carbide on the ice—”

  “Calcium carbide. Oh my god, that’s how she died?” Scot laughed. “That’s brilliant! I wish I had seen it.”

  Before Emory could stop him, Jeff’s fist shot from the table to Scot’s jaw, knocking the suspect and his chair sideways onto the floor.

  Emory threw himself in front of Jeff. The sheriff tended to Scot and yelled to Emory, “Get him out of here!”

  Emory wrangled Jeff into the adjoining deputy room and closed the door. “Okay, what was that all about?”

  Jeff shook his head and apologized. “He just got to me. That cocky attitude.”

  Emory noticed that, of the four desks in the deputy room, only one was occupied. Deputy Harris looked up from his computer as if he were interested in their conversation, so Emory lowered his voice to maintain privacy. “That’s exactly what you can’t let happen. We’re profession—” He stopped himself before completing the sentence.

  “But I’m not a professional, am I?”

  “That’s not what I was going to say.”

  “Yes it is!”

  “Fine,” Emory admitted. “If you had proper training, you wouldn’t lose your cool with a suspect like that and perhaps jeopardize the case with an assault charge. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. You’re right.” Jeff pointed at the door. “He’s right too. I am just like him.”

  “No, you’re not. You’d never purposely harm someone.”

  “What did I do to Victor?”

  “Okay, you set up the meeting with Pristine. Your input ended there. He had every opportunity to end his relationship with her, but he didn’t because he fell in love with her. For all we know, she fell in love with him too.”

  “All right, let’s change the subject.” Jeff rubbed one of Emory’s shoulders. “How are you feeling?”

  Emory twisted his head from side to side. “My neck is sore, and the back of my head hurts where I butted him.”

  Jeff smiled. “I can take care of the neck part for you if you want.”

  As Jeff reached for Emory’s neck, the special agent shook his head and tilted it toward Deputy Harris. “Later.”

  The sheriff opened the door and escorted Scot from the room. With his lip bleeding, Scot started toward Jeff like he was going to lunge at him, but he stopped himself short and laughed at the PI, who had tensed up in preparation for the impact. The sheriff told Jeff, “Mr. Trousdale has declined to press assault charges against you if you apologize to him.”
r />   Jeff brandished a contemptuous look. “Sorry.”

  Scot smiled and nodded to the water cooler at the other end of the room. “I’m thirsty.”

  “Sure,” the sheriff told him as he began to walk with him.

  Scot sneered at him. “I’m not an invalid.”

  The sheriff looked down at Scot’s hands, which were still handcuffed in front of him. He released his arm and rested his hand on the gun in his holster. “Fine, but I’m watching you.”

  All three standing investigators watched Scot as he walked over to the cooler. With his back to them, he grabbed a paper cup, filled it and drank its contents. When he returned the cup to the spigot for a refill, the others began talking.

  Jeff said, “Sheriff, I’m sorry about—”

  The sheriff raised a hand to silence him. “You saved me the trouble. Why did he refer to you two as…”

  Emory cringed. Don’t say it, Dad.

  “boyfriends?”

  He said it.

  Emory looked at Jeff, unsure how to respond. Jeff answered for him. “He’s just trying to get under our skin.”

  Emory put a hand on the sheriff’s shoulder. “Dad, you should be home in bed.”

  “I’m fine.” The sheriff nodded to Deputy Harris, who was now on the phone. “I’ll leave it to Harris after I get Trousdale locked up. Do you think we have enough to book him for murder?”

  “There’s nothing in the notebook about either murder or the attempt on Pristine’s life,” Emory answered.

  Jeff said, “And I don’t think he’s going to confess.”

  Emory nodded. “We need to find something more concrete.”

  “Just the drug and assault charges for now then.” The sheriff kept his eyes on Scot’s back, but he couldn’t see that the suspect was pressing on the Algarotti logo on the side of the cooler. A tiny drawer popped open, and inside was something shiny and metallic.

  Emory patted his dad on the back. “The TBI is looking for the delivery truck, and we’ll find his contacts.”

  “We need to know more about him,” Jeff said. “Who was he before all this?”

  The sheriff told them, “I didn’t know him until about a year or so ago, when he started working for the water factory.”

  “Wayne is looking into his background.”

  The sheriff tilted his head toward Scot, who was still drinking water. “I’m placing him back in the holding room. I only have one deputy on today, so I’ll have someone transport him to Knoxville in the morning.”

  “Why wait?” Jeff asked “We’re on our way to Knoxville now.”

  Emory shook his head. “Against regulation. I don’t have a partition between the front and back seats.”

  “Could we borrow a deputy car?” Jeff asked the sheriff.

  Emory half-rolled his eyes and answered before Sheriff Rome had a chance. “I’m not allowed to drive one anymore.”

  “Why not?”

  Emory’s phone chimed. “I’ll tell you later.” He read his new text message. “The morning will be fine.” He held up his phone. “Good news! The drugged shipments in Nashville and Memphis have been confiscated before any left the building. Knoxville’s was already gone, but the special agents have captured Scot’s accomplice there and are on their way to retrieve the water.”

  “That’s excellent!” Jeff gave him a pat on the back.

  “Congratulations Son.” The sheriff shook his hand with the firmness of pride. “I better get Scot.”

  “I could use some water myself,” Emory said, so the two followed the sheriff to the water cooler.

  The sheriff took Scot by the arm and began to escort him down the hallway, but the suspect tripped over one of the two empty five-gallon water bottles beside the cooler. Although he didn’t lose his footing, he did kick one bottle about a foot away from the other.

  With a snarky grin, Jeff commented, “Clumsy for an MMA fighter.”

  Almost as soon as Sheriff Rome left down the hallway to the holding room, the front door opened. A woman wrapped in a rust-hued woolen coat and holding a baby carrier with a tiny sleeping infant inside walked into the deputy room. A broad smile spread across Deputy Harris’ face when he saw her, and he left his chair to say hello. “Sharon, how are you?”

  Sharon hugged him with her free arm. “I’m good. I just wanted to bring this little guy by to say hi.” She place the carrier on the closest desk.

  Deputy Harris touched one of the baby’s hands. “This must be little Andy. What a handsome little deputy.”

  “Isn’t he?” Sharon asked. “Lula Mae said Sheriff Rome was here.”

  Deputy Harris pointed toward the hallway. “He’s locking a suspect in the holding room.”

  Sharon looked where he pointed and saw Emory heading her way. “Emory!” She threw her arms around his waist and gave him a big squeeze. “I heard you were back in town.”

  “It’s so good to see you,” Emory said. “Sharon Marcel, this is Jeff Woodard.”

  As the two shook hands, Emory joined Deputy Harris in admiring the baby. “Sharon, he’s adorable. How old is he?”

  “Three months yesterday.”

  “Huh,” Emory muttered.

  “Sheriff!” Sharon screeched as he entered the room.

  The sheriff grinned and hurried to meet her. “Sharon, what on Earth are you doing here?”

  “I was going a little stir-crazy, and I thought I’d bring Andy to meet the guys.”

  With the sheriff and his deputies wrapped up in conversation, Jeff pulled Emory aside and asked, “What’s wrong?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I saw your face when she told you how old her baby is.”

  Emory got out his phone and flipped through the pictures. “My dad has four deputies – three men and one woman.” He nodded toward Sharon and held up his phone to show Jeff a photo of the shoeprints in the snow around the lake. “Most of the shoeprints around the lake where Britt was found are big, so I assume they’re male, but there are two separate sets of small ones – I’m guessing female boots. One set must’ve belonged to Britt, and I had assumed Sharon was one of the deputies who responded, but—”

  “She’s been on maternity leave,” Jeff finished for him.

  “So whose shoeprints are these?”

  CHAPTER 36

  LEAVING BARTER RIDGE, Emory drove as Jeff read an email on his phone. “Virginia compiled all the online information she could find on each Algarotti family member. Check out this section on Ian.”

  Emory looked at the phone as Jeff held it for him, and he saw a year-end report card with straight A’s except for one C. “He’s lacking in science.”

  “Wait for it.” Jeff scrolled the image to the right to reveal the names of the teachers for each class. Beside the subject of science was the name R. Roberts. “Rick Roberts was his teacher and the only one not to give him an A.” Jeff paused for a moment. “Could the small set of shoeprints belong to Ian?”

  “You think he could’ve killed Britt?”

  “And Rick,” Jeff said. “Brothers who hate their older sisters are not that uncommon, and I imagine A’s are very important to Mr. I-Skipped-Two-Grades, so if Rick kept him from a 4.0—”

  “Point made, but I want more before I go up against Victor to question his son.”

  “Maybe Britt’s best friend could shed some light on the little brother.”

  “Good idea. That reminds me, could you look up the last time Barter Ridge had snowfall, before this one? I remember at the lake my dad saying this was the first snowfall of the season, but I want to verify that.”

  Jeff checked his phone and had the requested information less than a minute later. “Before this past Monday, the last snowfall in this area was back in April of last year.”

  “Interesting,” Emory muttered without moving his lips.

  “What is it?”

  “We’ll find out. Are you in a hurry to get home, or would you be up for talking to Tati now?”

  “I want
to solve the case,” Jeff said. “Do you know her address?”

  “I don’t.”

  “I’ll ask Virginia to find it.” Jeff texted his partner, and as they waited for a response, he asked, “So why can’t you drive a deputy car?”

  Emory tsked at the question. “Promise not to laugh?”

  “I’ve never been able to keep that promise.”

  “Fine. I’ll tell you anyway. Just don’t guffaw.”

  Jeff chuckled. “It’s a fine line, but I’ll try not to cross it.”

  “I came home from college one weekend, right after Jerry Belcher died.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “He was the mayor of Barter Ridge for like twenty years, but he was retired when he died. They planned a funeral procession from Whitney Ligon Funeral Home downtown to this tiny country cemetery about ten miles away. Dad was short-staffed, and he asked if I could drive the lead deputy car. So…I did.”

  “Oh my god,” Jeff said with anticipation. “What happened?”

  Emory inhaled through his teeth. “I thought I knew the way, but just to make sure, I was following the map app on my phone. Shortly after leaving the funeral home, I lost the signal. I kept driving to where I thought the cemetery was – from the paved road to a gravel road and finally to a dirt road, which was more like a mud road from a thunderstorm that had hit the day before. Well, somehow somewhere along the way, I missed my turn, and I was just getting deeper into a wooded area that was way, way off the beaten path.”

  “Oh no.”

  “No one stopped me. They just kept following me like I knew where I was going. Then my car got stuck. The hearse got stuck, and about six other cars did, including the one with the widow.”

  Jeff covered his expanding grin with his hand. “What happened?”

  “We had to get a school bus to pick up all the stuck people…and the body. So those people had to ride the bus with the casket in the aisle all the way to the cemetery. They told me the casket kept sliding up and down the aisle.”

  With that visual, Jeff started laughing. “Why didn’t someone hold it in place?”

  “I don’t know. I think most of the people on the bus were elderly, so they probably couldn’t. I’m just lucky it didn’t go flying out the emergency door in back.” Emory pointed to Jeff, who was now guffawing. “You said you wouldn’t do that.”