He leaned against a yellow wall and waited in the small funky lobby with the other addicts. The clinic was on the corner of 6th and Jefferson in an older house that had been converted into a medical space. They hadn’t done much. The rooms were still small with low ceilings and you had to climb the narrow stairs to see the counselors.
Shane didn’t care. He loved coming here and getting his dose. He felt better the moment he swallowed the pink liquid, knowing it would take the edge off and he would make it through the day without using heroin. He even enjoyed the one-on-one sessions with Dr. Hunt, where they talked about his future. Shane loved having a future to look forward to. He loved being able to imagine his life five years from now. He visualized a nice little house in his parents’ neighborhood with a wife and a baby son to take care of. The weekly group sessions had grown old, but even those helped keep him grounded. He was moving forward with his life, finally. Or he had been until Country Coach laid him off.
The nurse called his name and Shane started for one of the dosing rooms. “You have to see admin this morning,” she said, pointing down the hall, avoiding his eyes.
“Okay, Alice.” He smiled as he passed. She was a good person. Everyone who worked here was a good person.
The door was open so Shane waltzed through. “Good morning, Mary.”
“Hello, Shane. How are you?”
“Not bad. What’s up?”
“It’s May 3rd. Your payment was due on Wednesday. Do you have the money?”
“I have forty dollars.” Shane pulled the two twenties he’d borrowed from Damon out of his pocket and handed them to her. Even the paperwork people wore latex gloves.
“This doesn’t even cover what you owe for last month.” Mary glanced at her computer monitor. “You still owe $55 for April and now $265 for May. We can’t dose you until you pay.”
Panic flooded his body. He could not walk out of here without his dose. “I can get the money. I just need some time.” Shane gave her his most charming smile.
“I’m sorry, but that isn’t how it works. You know because we were very clear when you were screened and accepted. We are not a charity. We try to be compassionate and flexible, but considering our clientele, we have to be firm.”
“You can’t just cut me off. You know what it’s like.” His heart raced and he fought the urge to yell. “The pain will kill me. I’ll be too sick to look for work. ”
Mary pressed her lips together. “I sympathize, but there’s nothing I can do. You have to be financially responsible for your treatment.”
“You know I lost my job. I’d only been working at Country Coach for six months, and my unemployment checks are $74 a week. If I don’t pay my probation fees, I’ll go back to jail.”
“Can your parents help you out for a while?”
Shane shook his head. His parents had paid for the methadone for the whole first year he was enrolled in the clinic. They’d told him up front that was all they would commit to. They wanted him to get off the stuff and kept pressuring him to start on a withdrawal schedule. His doctor at the clinic thought it was too soon. Dr. Hunt said the longer he stayed on methadone, the less likely he was to relapse. Shane trusted Dr. Hunt because he’d been working with addicts for twenty years. After Shane had been laid off, he had started cutting back his dose, knowing he couldn’t afford the clinic for long. Even at an accelerated rate, they told him it would take six months to go from an 80-milligram dose to zero… without suffering.
“Maybe White Bird can help you,” Mary said. “There are also some free residential clinics in this state.”
“They have waiting lists. I’ll be lying on the floor moaning by this afternoon.”
“I’m sorry, Shane. As of right now, you are no longer a client of this clinic and I have to ask you to leave.” Mary looked past him, not making eye contact.
Shane wanted to grab her hands and beg for his life. He wanted to chain himself to the desk until she relented. He knew it was pointless and would burn his bridges here. “Can I have my forty dollars back? Since you’re not gonna dose me.”
She pushed the twenties across the desk. “Good luck, Shane.”
“I’ll need more than luck.” He grabbed the cash and bolted from the room.
Shit. Shit. Shit. He was shaking by the time he hit the parking lot. Pure fear. The withdrawal symptoms wouldn’t start for a few hours. He wasn’t going to let it happen. He’d experienced it once when he’d spent a day in jail because he’d missed a meeting with his probation officer. The pain had been like a sharp-toothed creature eating him from the inside. Followed by nausea and sweating and dizziness. He’d spent the night on the holding-room floor, making noises he didn’t know humans could make. It had been the longest twenty-four hours of his life. It would take up to ten days for his body to fully adjust. Methadone was the most addictive drug in the world.
So he had no choice. He would make some calls and find someone selling methadone tablets. Some doctors prescribed it for pain and there was always someone with a prescription who didn’t use all of it and didn’t mind making a little money on the side. His forty dollars might buy him two days worth if he took half a dose.
Then what? Street methadone would eat up his unemployment checks faster than the clinic did. Shane walked south toward the bus station downtown. He would find someone with a cell phone. Hell, he might even find someone with a connection. He knew it was dangerous to call his old drug buddies but what else could he do? If he went cold turkey he’d end up in the hospital. Or shooting up again. He couldn’t let either of those things happen. He had to stay functional and find a job and get back into the clinic. He had a life plan now and his girlfriend was counting on him. He wouldn’t let her down, even if he had to go back to his parents and beg. He would do everything else first though.
Two minutes later, Shane came across a guy outside the WOW Hall using a cell phone. He waited until he was done, then asked to use it. “Make it quick, I’m expecting a call back.” Shane dialed an old number from memory. Tyler Gorlock would know someone who could help him.
The connection had not worked out but Tyler had kept his forty dollars, claiming Shane owed him. By five that afternoon he was in the parking lot where his mother worked, lying on the ground next to her car, shaking. He had vomited once in the grass nearby and was now taking short rapid breaths like a woman in labor. He hoped none of his mother’s co-workers would see him. The last thing he wanted was to embarrass his mother. He also prayed she would come out soon.
“Shane, what’s going on?” Her worried face gave him his first glimmer of hope for the day. If it were in her power, his mother would help him. She kneeled on the blacktop and stroked his face, not caring about her nylons. “Let’s get you in the car.”
“The clinic kicked me out because I couldn’t pay. I’m in withdrawal.” Shane struggled to his feet, climbed in the back seat, and lay down.
“Do you need to go to the ER?”
“I need to borrow forty dollars and buy some methadone.”
His mother started the car and headed out. “You mean from a dealer?”
“Yes.”
“That’s not a long-term plan.”
“I know.”
She drove in silence and Shane knew she was taking him home. The thought gave him little comfort. Nothing but methadone, or some other opioid, would take away the withdrawal pain.
At the house, his mother urged him to come inside but he stayed in the back of the car. There was no point in suffering the trip inside. If his parents agreed to start paying for the clinic again, he would numb the pain with alcohol and survive until the clinic opened in the morning. If they wouldn’t pay, he would have his mother take him back downtown. She would probably give him enough cash to get a dose for today. He had another idea about where to score methadone.
After a few minutes, both parents came out to the car and his father opened the back door and stared at him. Shane tried to suppress the little animal sounds but he cou
ldn’t. The pain was making him feel suicidal.
“Oh Christ.” His father sounded worried and disgusted at the same time. He turned to Shane’s mom. “This is emotional blackmail. If we pay for even one month of methadone, then it becomes our responsibility again. And if Shane doesn’t find a job, we’ll have to pay again next month and the next month. I want him to get off the damn stuff.”
“What is your plan?” His mother was emotional now too. “We can’t leave him like this.”
“This will pass. He’ll be okay.”
“What if he starts using again? Do you want that on your conscience?”
Shane wanted to die. He hated being the source of his parents’ fights. His father was a good person, but he just didn’t understand. Holding his stomach, tears rolling down his face, Shane climbed out of the car and stumbled down the driveway. He would find another way.
Chapter 13
Tuesday, June 2, 8:05 p.m.
After an hour in the interrogation room, Shane began to vomit again. He claimed he had the flu and was in withdrawal from methadone, but Jackson didn’t believe him. Either way, Jackson decided to book him into the jail where he would get medical attention. The county deputies who ran the jail would not be happy with the burden, but tough shit. Jackson wasn’t about to let Shane go unless they confirmed his alibi, which seemed highly unlikely. Meanwhile he wanted Shane to have a doctor on standby in case something extreme happened. Drug addicts were known to have heart failure from losing potassium through vomiting.
Jackson walked him downstairs to his cruiser under the building. Shane was still cuffed and his nose dripped mucus, but he seemed okay for the moment. No crying, no puking. The kid had been through a very tough time lately, but Jackson couldn’t let himself sympathize. The pile of bloody bodies was still fresh in his mind and Shane was the primary suspect. He’d been a little high during the questioning and Jackson didn’t trust anything he said.
As they walked across the underground parking lot filled with cop cars, Jackson said, “I noticed you said you loved your cousins and your Aunt Carla. What about Jared? Why didn’t you love Uncle Jared?”
“I used to. He took me and Nick fishing all the time when we were kids.”
“What happened?”
“He harassed my dad one night at the tavern. I don’t even know what about. They got in a fight and my dad got hurt.” Shane stopped and gulped in air. Jackson hoped he wouldn’t start puking again.
“What happened next?” Jackson nudged him toward the car.
“Dad hit his head and now he’s like a different person. It’s weird and sad. The guy who used to be my dad is gone and I miss him.”
“You blame Jared, don’t you?”
“I did, but now he’s dead. I don’t know how I feel.”
Jackson remembered Lisa saying her brother was bitter. “You were still mad at Jared when you went over there on Sunday. Did you argue with him?”
They reached the car and Jackson opened the back door. Shane started to cry again. “Two months ago, we were a happy family. Now everything is all fucked up.”
After booking Shane into the jail, Jackson drove back to headquarters and searched for Aaron Priest in the database. The name was an alias for Adam Palmer, who had been convicted of possession, distribution, and various forms of theft. Another addict. Jackson put out an attempt-to-locate and asked for a patrol officer to check the last known address for Priest/Palmer, realizing it was probably a waste of time. Looking for an addict was like looking for a runaway dog. He could be two blocks away, living with the first person who’d fed him, or in a car a hundred miles down the road.
Jackson leaned back and closed his eyes for a moment. He kept thinking the fight in the parking lot between the brothers-in-law had to be connected to the murder of Jared and his family. Had Kevin and Shane gone over there together and confronted Jared? Those two as perpetrators would explain why two of the victims had been hit in the head with the bat and two had not. They probably hadn’t intended to hurt the kids until Nick and/or Lori tried to defend their parents.
He needed to talk to Tracy and Kevin again and get the whole story. Jackson checked his watch: 9:10 p.m. They wouldn’t like him showing up this late, but it was a homicide investigation and he needed information. Nick and Jared’s autopsies were scheduled for tomorrow and would take up a big chunk of his day. He also had a conference scheduled at the crime lab to reconstruct the murders, based on blood spatter, position of the bodies, and various other factors. He was not looking forward to it, but he needed the experts’ opinions about how many perpetrators were involved and who was killed first.
Jackson resisted stopping for coffee on his drive out to Windsor Circle in southwest Eugene. He hoped to head home after this and get a few hours of sleep. The Comptons’ house was a large split-level near the top of Windsor Circle where it intersected with Wilshire. Even in the dark, Jackson could see it was well maintained.
Lights were on all over the house and two cars occupied the driveway, a silver hybrid Prius and the white van with the wavy pool water on the sides. Jackson wondered how the family was holding up. First the economy must have hit their business hard, then Kevin suffered the brain injury. Now Tracy’s brother and his family were dead and her son was suspected of the murder. To get a confession out of Shane, Jackson needed his parents to tell him everything.
He rang the doorbell and a dog started barking. Jackson tensed. A dog had given him the scar through his eyebrow. Tracy’s voice came through the closed door. “Who is it?”
“Detective Jackson. I have Shane in custody and we need to talk.”
The barking got louder as she opened the door. The noise came from a small fluffy dog the size of a stuffed toy. Tracy reached down and grabbed the dog’s collar to keep it from jumping on Jackson’s leg.
“Will you put the dog in another room while we talk?” Jackson waited while Tracy came back from a bedroom, then followed her to the dining room where Kevin was going over paperwork at the table.
“I’m sorry for the late night visit,” Jackson said, “but I need to know what happened between you and the Walkers.” He sat down across from Kevin and stared, trying to get his attention.
“They have Shane in custody,” Tracy said, sitting close to her husband. She bit her lip and squeezed his shoulder.
“Is he okay?” Kevin finally looked up at Jackson.
“More or less. He seems a little strung out, but he’ll get medical treatment in jail.”
“Oh bullshit.” Tracy shuddered in anger. “They give addicts anti-nausea medicine and that’s it. They don’t even put them on suicide watch unless the inmate says he feels suicidal when he’s booked in.”
“You’ve been through this a few times.” Jackson gave her a sympathetic look. “I wish we had a better system.” Neither parent was moved by his compassion. “Your daughter Lisa says Shane was bitter.”
“Shane didn’t kill anyone.” Tracy’s eyes begged him to believe her.
“Tell me about the confrontation with Jared in the parking lot at the Time Out Tavern.” Jackson kept his focus on Kevin. He wanted to hear Kevin’s version.
“Jared was pissed off because the cops arrested Nick.”
“His fifteen-year-old son?”
Tracy and Kevin exchanged a look.
“Why was Nick arrested? And why would Jared be mad at you about it?”
“Nick stole Kevin’s Lou Gehrig baseball card,” Tracy said in a rush. “It’s a 1934 Goudy worth at least two thousand dollars, so Kevin called the police. I wish like hell we could take it back.”
Chapter 14
A month earlier, May 4
Both cars were gone and Nick felt a little surge of joy. He rushed into the house and headed straight for the kitchen. First he cut a paper-thin piece of cheese, wrapped a slice of bread around it, and wolfed the snack in three seconds. He chased the skinny sandwich with a gulp of milk and a single Taffy cookie. He would have liked to eat several more, but
resisted. His mother had always monitored the food somewhat and got pissed if he ate things that were supposed to be for dinner, but now that his parents were unemployed, she had become a Nazi about it. Frustrating as it was, he understood the money situation and tried to be reasonable.
Once he’d fed the growling pit in his stomach, Nick hauled his backpack to his room and dug out the pot he’d scored from Brian in exchange for two math assignments. He’d taken his first toke at Brian’s house last week and wondered what he’d been saving himself for. Nick finally understood what take the edge off meant. And why shouldn’t he? He had a lot of new edge in his life lately. Like the constant worry his family could end up homeless and living apart from each other. He’d heard his parents talking about it one night. Dad had said the kids could go stay with his sister Tracy, but he and Mom would trade the truck for a van and live in the van. Picturing his parents as homeless was too stressful to think about. Nick rolled a crappy-looking joint and headed to the back deck to take a hit or two. He knew to be careful and not get all bugged-eyed and zoned out.
Halfway through his first inhale, he started coughing. The more he coughed, the more his lungs hurt, and the worse it got. Worried the old couple next door would hear him, Nick went inside and gulped down some water. He hadn’t coughed like this last time.
The brain softness crept in, but this time Nick didn’t like it nearly as much. He felt stupid and guilty and wished he hadn’t brought the pot home or smoked it. He should be out looking for a fast food job or mowing lawns to help his parents. He decided to get on the computer and make a yard-work flyer to pass out in the neighborhood.
Passions of the Dead (A Detective Jackson Mystery/Thriller) Page 10
