by Roger Johns
“I got my own. I’m ready for my phone call, Detective.”
Wallace had a duty officer escort Stacky to the telephone, then she left Mason in the interview room while she wound her way through the old building to the detective section. She took a few minutes to check messages and look for any new forensics that might have come in on Overman. She found a note from Mike Harrison stating that the former Tunica scientist who had originally ordered the osmosis bags had ended up not needing them, and that he hadn’t taken them when he left Tunica. By the time she got back, Mason was pacing in the hallway. She showed Mason Mike’s note, then looked into the interrogation room.
Stacky was back at the table, chatting with his lawyer, Hamilton Hines, also known as Hambone, because of his accomplished courtroom theatrics. From time to time, Hambone had been known to address his arguments and his questions to the spectators in the courtroom, instead of the jury. Occasionally he would sustain his own objections, if he thought the judge wasn’t going to. And once, he had even brought his own gavel, in his briefcase, and banged it on the table, demanding order in the court, when the prosecutor started to make an argument he didn’t want the jury to hear.
But, on a more substantive level, Hambone was every prosecutor’s nightmare. He had mastered the playbook for both teams. He was a career criminal lawyer who started out as an assistant DA, then eventually got himself appointed U.S. Attorney. After that, he went into private practice as a defense lawyer. With his pasty-white complexion, his chronic halitosis, and a hair transplant that looked more like a tree farm than a hairstyle, he didn’t cut an imposing figure, but he couldn’t be intimidated and very few ever got the better of him.
Wallace knocked on the door and stuck her head in. “What’ll it be, Counselor?”
“I’ve explained to my client that while this whole charade is most likely a great big steaming pile of you know what, it is, technically at least, a prosecutable offense. That being the case, it never hurts to have an Officer Friendly to speak on one’s behalf, at the right time and place.”
“Does that mean he’s willing to answer some questions?”
“Under certain conditions.”
“And what would those be?”
“You need to clear up some issues for me, first. Am I correct that your questions won’t really have anything to do with the unfortunate demise of Mr. Farrell Macklin?”
“Off the record?” Wallace asked.
“Off the record.”
“Macklin is not my immediate concern.”
“Then Macklin is leverage for something else. Assuming as much, I’ve advised my client accordingly. So let me be clear. Whatever it is we’re gathered here to discuss, it will not involve my client becoming an asset of this department. And this … whatever it is you’re up to,” he said, waving his hands dramatically, “it cannot involve him admitting, directly or by implication, to the commission of any other offenses that would leave him vulnerable to enhanced sentencing under the habitual offender statutes. Are we in agreement on these basic ground rules?”
“I think we can do business,” Wallace said.
“Does that mean you agree to my conditions, Detective?”
“Assuming your client is truthful and forthcoming, I agree. With one stipulation. If, after tonight, I find that we need more information about the specific matters we’re about to discuss, I’ll expect your client to pony up.”
“As long as he doesn’t become a regular informant on an open-ended basis.”
“Do I need to read you your Miranda warnings, Mr. Vincent, or will you waive Miranda?”
“We don’t waive Miranda,” Hambone said.
Wallace activated the room’s recording equipment, introduced Mason, then read the Miranda warnings from a card she carried with her. After that, she and Mason spent the next few minutes explaining what they were looking for.
Despite his earlier displays of irreverence, under Hambone’s watchful eye Stacky’s demeanor gradually improved, and he grudgingly fell into the spirit of the interrogation.
“Listen, Ronnie didn’t tell anybody everything,” Stacky said. “For sure, not me. I was just one of a number of guys that drove him around.”
“Did you drive him to the warehouse that day?”
“I drove him close. He had his own ways of getting from the car to the actual place—something that he kept to himself, for obvious reasons.”
“What did he talk about on the way over there?”
“Nothing. Jimmy, one of his guns, sat in front with me, and Ronnie sat in the back with Luke, his other meathead, and one of his girls. Celeste, I think’s her name.”
“Did you know the name of the person he was meeting?”
“Nope.”
“Ever lay eyes on him?” Wallace asked.
“I didn’t know who he was meeting. How the fuck would I know if I’d ever seen him?”
“Ever seen this guy?” Wallace showed Stacky the picture of Matt on her phone.
He studied the image carefully. “No ma’am. You think that’s who did Ronnie?”
“Let’s get back to who Ronnie was meeting at the warehouse,” Wallace said. “Do you know if he met with that particular person before?”
“That was the word.”
“Always at the warehouse?”
“Don’t know.” He shrugged.
“What do you know about how they got connected in the first place?”
“He made a small buy from one of Ronnie’s street dealers. Came back, said he wanted some more—a lot more. But he wanted to deal with the next guy up the ladder, because he didn’t want the shit getting stepped on and he didn’t want to keep paying retail.”
“Wouldn’t most dealers think he was a cop, at that point?” Mason asked.
“No cop would be dumb enough to be that obvious,” Stacky said.
Hambone did a slow, God-deliver-me headshake.
“How many times did he try that routine?” Wallace prodded.
“He must’ve come back four or five times. Always bought a little more, always looking to go big—deal with the wholesaler.”
“You got any names for the street dealers this new guy was buying from?” Wallace asked.
“Don’t know, don’t wanna know, wouldn’t tell you if I did know. I’d be better off inside than free on the street after coughing up a name like that.”
Wallace sensed it was a line Stacky wouldn’t cross so she moved on. “This new guy, his plan to deal with people higher up the chain, it apparently worked,” Wallace said.
“So it would seem,” Stacky replied.
“Did he make the big buy?”
“Turns out, he wasn’t a buyer after all. When he finally got his shot with the wholesaler, they roughed him up pretty good, looking for a wire, making sure it wasn’t a setup.”
“Why check for a wire?” Mason asked. “You just said they were satisfied he wasn’t a cop.”
“Because cops aren’t the only fuckers that use listening devices.” Stacky paused. “Anyway, as I was saying, they didn’t find a wire. What they found was this dude had brung a fair amount of shit with him. Said he wanted to make a donation. A good faith kinda thing. If they liked it, he could arrange for more.”
“But not for free.”
“Nooooooo. Definitely not for free. But he claimed he could keep delivering at a much better price than Ronnie was paying for whatever he was moving at the moment.”
“Did Ronnie go for it?” Wallace asked.
“At first he thought it was a trap—his own suppliers testing him to see if he was willing to get in bed with another outfit.”
“But he eventually went for it,” she said
“For all the good it did him.”
“What made him decide it wasn’t a trap?” Mason asked.
“Hard to say,” Stacky mumbled, after a momentary hesitation. “But I can tell you this—the shit that little fuck was peddling was quite a bit more than a cut above what was coming up from Mexic
o. Anyway, at some point, Ronnie quit worrying this new guy was setting him up.”
“But it appears that’s exactly what happened,” Mason said.
“My client didn’t see what happened,” Hambone pointed out.
“What do you think happened?” Wallace asked, sitting on the edge of the table and looking down at Stacky.
“Look, it’s a dangerous game. Everybody’s your enemy. You only last as long as you can outsmart all the motherfuckers that want to shove your ass in the ditch.”
“Do you know who did it?” Mason asked.
“I just told you—” Hambone began.
“You just told us that he didn’t see who did it. That’s not the same as he doesn’t know who did it,” Mason said, cutting him off. “Was it an insider—one of Overman’s own people?”
“I don’t think so. But I do know that the big guys in Ronnie’s crew, they didn’t want him touching it. They couldn’t figure it out, and it scared ’em. For a while, everybody got the impression he was leaving it alone, but he obviously went ahead and did it anyway.”
“How many buys did he make from this new guy?”
“Several, I think. But like I say, I wasn’t his only driver. I didn’t know every move he made.”
“Ronnie’s usual supply, plus what he was getting from this new guy, that meant there was a lot of extra product on the street,” Mason said. “Was Ronnie moving all of it, or were there people that Ronnie and his crew didn’t know who were getting in on the new stuff?”
“As far as I know, Ronnie was moving it all. If outsiders were coming in, there’d be bodies stacking up by now. But remember, I wasn’t involved in that business. I pressed a gas pedal. I pressed a brake pedal. I turned a steering wheel.”
“Let’s go back to these get-togethers between Ronnie and this new supplier. You only knew that the meetings took place after the fact?” Mason asked.
“Whenever he showed back up with the merchandise, that’s how they’d know.”
“Did anybody ever wonder where some nobody off the street could come up with so much good stuff at such a good price?” Wallace asked.
“Didn’t I just say that Ronnie’s guys, they couldn’t figure it out? So, obviously, somebody’d been wondering about it. Two of Ronnie’s best people, guys he brought up in the business, they decided they were gonna follow this fucker and see where he got the stuff, but they couldn’t do it. Nobody could figure out when or where Ronnie was gonna meet the guy, so they could never get set up on him.”
“You just said you drove him close to the warehouse for his last meeting? Wouldn’t you have known that he was going to meet his new supplier?” Wallace asked.
“Don’t you people listen?” Stacky said, raising his voice. “I just fucking said nobody knew when it was gonna happen. All I knew was Ronnie wanted to go from point A to point B.”
“Did he have a cover story?” Wallace asked. “Like would he say he was going to church or to the opera, but he would go meet this new supplier instead?”
“Ronnie was into a lot of things. Whenever he was out in the daytime, with one of his women, it was a pretty good bet he was taking her to make a video. The studios where they make that shit tend to move around a lot. So, when he and Celeste got out of the car, we just assumed she was going for a, uh, screen test.” Stacky used his cuffed hands to put air quotes around screen test.
“He was making porn?” Wallace asked.
“He was making money. Every way he could.”
“We should have a chat with this young lady,” Wallace said to Mason. “Maybe she can account for Overman’s movements between the time they got out of the car and the time they got to the warehouse. Maybe she was there, and she could ID the guy.”
“She can’t help you,” Stacky offered.
“Why not?” Wallace asked.
“She’s already been asked all those questions. By people who know how to get answers. Trust me, she don’t know shit.”
“If his own people didn’t know where he would be meeting this guy, how do you think the killer knew where he would be?” Mason asked.
“That’s actually a damn good question. My first thought was that this new supplier was a scout, from a potential competitor, using the coke as bait. And once Ronnie let his guard down, he killed him.”
“But?”
“Too complicated. Too many meetings. Too much could go wrong. Besides, if that was the play, once Ronnie was down, the new guy’s people would be moving in at the top.”
“Has there been any kind of overt move by someone to take Ronnie’s place?” Mason asked.
“A little tussling on the inside, but nothing’s settled.”
“Nobody trying to move in from the outside?” Mason pressed.
“You’d be up to your ass in autopsies, if that was happening.”
“Could someone outside his organization have gotten familiar enough with Overman’s routine to follow him?” Mason asked, abruptly changing direction.
“Possible, but very risky. Slip up and get caught, and it’s gonna be a bad day at black rock. Plus, Ronnie was hard to keep up with. A few a y’all’s undercovers kept a decent watch on him, but watching places he hangs out ain’t the same as sticking with him, move for move.”
“So, where do you think this new supply was coming from?” Wallace asked.
“Law enforcement. Evidence inventories. I figure this new guy, whoever he was, he was fronting for a group of cops who were systematically looting every sizable drug seizure they could get their greedy little fingers on. How hard could that be?”
“Harder than you might think,” Mason offered. “That’s not to say it couldn’t be done. But there’s no central registry where the inventory for all the evidence facilities is listed.”
“You ever heard of social media, Mr. DEA? Everything can be organized. There are totally private versions of all those kind of websites, devoted to things you just would not believe. Trust me, it could be done.” Stacky paused a moment. “Tell me something, Detective.”
“What’s that?”
“Why are you two so fired up about this? In your eyes, Ronnie was just trash. You’re probably glad somebody got rid of him.”
“I’m a homicide detective. If this killing was an early skirmish in a turf war, there will be more homicides. The best source for whether that’s happening is the killer himself.”
“Well, if I knew who it was, I’d probably tell you. Ronnie was pretty good to me.”
“Has this guy turned up again, since Ronnie’s been out of the picture?” Wallace asked.
“Not that I know of.”
“A minute ago, you said your first thought was that the killer knew where Ronnie would be because the new supplier was the killer, and it was a planned meeting. What was your second thought?” Mason asked.
“That the killer didn’t follow Ronnie. He followed the other guy—this new supplier.”
“That’s interesting. Please, go on,” Wallace encouraged.
“Think about it. This new guy was either trying to take Ronnie’s territory or trying to supply it. And since there’s no sign he’s trying to take it, the supply angle’s looking good. But for that to work, the supplier needed Ronnie alive.”
“So the killer had to be someone else,” Mason said.
“Bingo.”
“So who would be tracking the new supplier?” Wallace asked.
“Somebody who noticed a solo operator toting a shitload of powder one way and a shitload of cash the other. And there’s a million ways that could happen. The street sees a lot, and you won’t always know when it’s looking at you.”
“But why would the killer follow this supplier into the warehouse?” Mason asked. “That seems too dangerous. Why not take him on safer ground?”
“Maybe the killer wanted to step into this new supplier’s shoes. For that, he’d need to know who was on the other end of the deal. So he sneaks inside to see who’s who.”
“But if Ronnie was
an important piece of the enterprise, why turn around and kill him?” Wallace asked.
“These situations tend to be unstable. It doesn’t take much to spark off some serious shit. Somebody shows up unannounced and things come unglued. Everybody thinks the other guy set ’em up. Guns come out. Somebody starts hosing the place down with a Mac-10 and it’s anybody’s guess after that.”
“You think Overman was just collateral damage? Caught in the crossfire?”
“That’s the only thing that makes complete sense to me at this point in time.”
“Excuse us a minute,” Wallace said, steering Mason toward the door.
* * *
Gone were the days of one-way mirrors. Now, video cameras linked interrogation rooms to a bank of monitors in a single observation room. Wallace and Mason stood in front of the screen that showed Stacky and Hambone.
“If the new supplier was the killer’s target, that supports our idea that there were at least three people in the warehouse,” Wallace began. “And the motorcycle in the woods tells us the new supplier almost certainly has to be Matt Gable.”
“But now we have to assume they weren’t all there at the same time,” Mason said. “The killer must’ve showed up after the money and drugs had changed hands and Matt was already gone—gone on a crotch rocket—otherwise we’d have found him dead in the warehouse, along with Overman.”
“And the killer decides that if he can only have one—Ronnie or the new supplier—the new supplier is worth more. So he wrings information about the new supplier out of Ronnie, then kills him.” Wallace flopped into one of the chairs and stared at the ceiling.
“If we could just figure out where Matt was getting his merchandise,” Mason said.
“What about Stacky’s evidence-locker theory? He said this new stuff was better than what was coming from Echeverría. If Matt was fronting for a group that was getting high grade goods to begin with, and getting it free, from police inventory, they could afford to pretty it up a bit to get a competitive advantage. In comes our good friend Matt Gable, the chemist.”
“Something about that doesn’t feel kosher, but I can’t say it’s not what’s happening.”
“Can you see a downside to telling Stacky how Ronnie Overman died?” she asked, changing direction.
