by BJ Bourg
“You said Jerome was with you Saturday,” I said, testing her story. “If he was selling drugs to Ty, how could he have been with you?”
“He was with me Saturday night,” she accurately corrected. “He met with Ty during the day.”
“What time did he meet with Ty?”
She was thoughtful. “I think it was closer to lunch time, maybe a little later. I’d say he got here no later than two o’clock from his trip to the boat launch.”
“Did he leave your house at all during the night?”
She shook her head.
“Did he leave while you were sleeping?”
Again, she shook her head.
“If you were sleeping, how do you know he never left the house?”
“Because I’m a light sleeper,” she said matter-of-factly. “Every time he gets up to go to the bathroom it wakes me up.”
I couldn’t argue with that one, so I didn’t. “Did Jerome ever go to Ty’s house?” I asked.
“He told me he dropped Ty off a couple of times, but he said Ty usually walks everywhere he goes.” She scrunched up her face. “If I remember right, he said it was raining on the days he gave Ty a ride home, so that was why he did it.”
“I don’t think Jerome’s supposed to be driving,” I commented, remembering the vehicle I’d seen earlier in the space reserved for her apartment. “Did he use your car?”
“Yeah, I…he’s bringing in more money than I can make as a waitress, so the least I can do is let him use my car.” She shifted her feet and glanced nervously toward the bayou. “Did they find him yet?”
CHAPTER 21
After interviewing Rhonda, I returned to the edge of the embankment and glanced down. Baylor and Takecia were gone. I glanced out over the water and saw the Boston Whaler approaching the bank about a hundred feet south of where I stood. Thanks to the lights on the boat, I could see that Baylor and Takecia had gone onboard with Susan and Melvin.
I pulled out my cell phone and called Susan.
“What’s going on?” I asked. “Are y’all making any progress?”
“Melvin’s been throwing the grappling hooks and he keeps snagging on something soft right where we’re stopped,” she explained. “He’s having a hard time hooking it. He said it keeps rolling under the water.”
I sighed. That was probably J-Rock. If what Rhonda had said was true, I’d only confirmed one piece to my investigative puzzle—that Jerome Carter was the one supplying Ty his meth.
As I stood there watching, I called Trinity Bledsoe and told her what I’d learned about Neal Barlow.
“I knew that little bastard was dealing again!” she said. “We’ve been watching him, but we haven’t been able to catch him in the act. Probation and Parole has a detainer on him for missing his drug screenings, but they’ve agreed to hold off on arresting him to see if we can catch him dealing.”
“Is he also in Mechant Loup?” I asked.
“No, he’s back at his old place in the parish.”
I nodded, glad he wasn’t in town. I had no use for drug dealers. I thanked her and ended the call. Next, I called Agent Bourke and told him that I was pretty positive Jerome Carter wouldn’t be making his next meeting.
“Yeah, well,” the raspy voice had replied before signing off, “someone will take his place. They always do.”
I nodded and turned to walk toward my Tahoe. This whole incident had brought me no closer to finding Ty. Without Ty, I might never know what happened out at his mom’s house, and that wasn’t acceptable to me. Failure was not an option.
As I drove back to the police department, I called Mike Bell and told him what had transpired since we talked last.
“Ty was on drugs?” He sounded flabbergasted. “I…I don’t know what to say.”
“It happens to the best of them,” I said with a sigh. “I’ve seen good people with promising careers lose everything to drugs. And do you know what the worst part is?”
“What’s that?”
“It isn’t a stranger who introduces them to the drugs.” I shook my head. “Nope, it’s usually a so-called friend who offers them the drugs.”
“Well, that ain’t no damn friend.” He grunted. “I’d rather have enemies than friends like that.”
“I agree.”
Bill thanked me for the update and I promised I’d call when I had more.
By the time our conversation was over, I had reached the police department and parked my Tahoe. I stomped up the steps, my mind going a million miles a second. I was confident Melvin and Susan would find Jerome’s body in the bayou and that would be the end of that lead. I needed to find another lead. Another clue. Another witness. Something. Anything that would advance my case.
“They found him,” Karla McBride sang out as I idly entered the dispatcher’s station.
“Ty?” My head jerked around. “They found Ty?”
“No, Jerome Carter,” she said. “They just pulled him out of the bayou and they’re bringing him to the boat launch.”
I sighed.
“Sorry,” Karla said, pushing a short lock of blonde hair behind her ear. “I guess I should’ve specified who I meant.”
“Nah, it’s not a problem.” I waved a dismissive hand in the air. “Did I get any calls? Any tips or Crime Stoppers calls?”
She frowned and shook her head. “Sorry, but no.”
I walked to my office and called Lenny Bourke to let him know we recovered Jerome’s body. As J-Rock’s parole officer, he might have contact with the family and could make an in-person death notification.
“Well, I guess I can close out his case now.”
“Do you know his family?” I asked. “Would you be able to do an in-person notification?”
“Yeah, I have a pretty good rapport with his dad. He’s a good man and he tried to raise his boy right, but Jerome got mixed up with the wrong gang and fell off the straight and narrow.” Lenny paused and mumbled to himself for a second before continuing. “I’ve never met his mom. It shows here that she lives in Atlanta. The dad told me she just up and left them one day—gave no explanation and made no excuses. She called later to say she was never coming back. His dad, though, has always been there for him.”
“I feel bad for the man.” I shook my head. “No parent should ever have to go through this.”
“Well, he knew it was coming,” Lenny said. “He told me once that he knew there were only two paths left for his son—death or life behind bars. He was hoping for the latter, because he’d at least know his son was being fed and cared for.”
After we’d finished talking, I thanked Lenny and settled back into my chair. I was wondering what to do next when an idea suddenly came to mind.
I rose abruptly and rushed out of my office, through the dispatcher’s station, through the lobby, and out into the cool night air. Jumping in my Tahoe, I raced to the end of Washington Avenue, hooked a left when I reached Back Street and then another left onto Bayou Tail Lane. I made it to the boat launch just as the Boston Whaler was arriving at the dock.
I parked alongside Bayou Tail Lane and studied the houses across from the boat launch. Not seeing what I wanted to see, I crossed the street and began scanning the soffits, fascias, and sub-fascias of the homes along the street, searching for security cameras. The first four houses I checked didn’t appear to have any, but I hit pay dirt when I reached the gray house with the red, white, and blue shutters.
CHAPTER 22
After calling Susan to let her know what I was doing, I approached the gray house and studied it closer. There were two security cameras mounted under the eaves of a carport where a boat trailer was parked. Both cameras were facing north, but one was angled toward the west and the other toward the east. There were other cameras on the house, but the boat launch didn’t appear in their field of view.
I quickly strode under the carport and approached the back door. As was my habit, I stood to one side of the door and knocked. While waiting, I glanced toward the doc
k and saw that Melvin had loaded the Boston Whaler onto the giant trailer that was hooked to his F-250.
I turned back toward the house when the door swished open. A man in a stained T-shirt, faded jeans, and rice hanging from his beard stood there staring out at me. I noticed that his right hand was concealed behind his back.
“Police department,” I said quickly, indicating the embroidered badge on my shirt and the gold shield clipped to my belt.
He hesitated, as though not knowing what to do next.
“I know you’re armed and you have every right to be,” I said with a wave.
“Um, should I pick it up?”
“It’s your house,” I said simply. “You can do whatever the hell you want with it.”
He nodded slowly and moved his hand. In it, he held a Smith and Wesson Model 29 .44 Magnum revolver with a three-inch barrel. It was a sweet hand cannon, and I said so.
“I love it,” he said with a smile while shoving it in the front waistband of his jeans. “It’s the infant of Dirty Harry’s revolver.”
I’d never heard it called that, but the description certainly fit.
“I’m sorry for bothering you,” I said, “but I noticed you had cameras on your boat shed.”
“I have cameras everywhere.” He shifted his head in the direction of the boat launch. “With a public boat launch across the street, we get all kinds of visitors to the neighborhood. Most of the people just want to go fishing or visit their camps, but we also get thieves looking for shit to steal.”
“Don’t I know it?” I shook my head. I’d never been a fan of thieves. “There’s also been some drug activity at the launch, so I was hoping to get a look at your eastward facing camera. I’m trying to verify if someone gave drugs to a guy name Ty Richardson.”
“Ty’s on drugs?” He asked the question in animated fashion, and the grains of cooked rice dislodged from his beard, bounced off of his shirt, and fell to the ground. “I knew he was a little off, but I didn’t think it was from using drugs.”
“No, it’s not from drug use,” I explained. “He’s been battling mental illness for most of his adult life, but someone recently came into his life and turned him onto crystal meth. The combination just can’t be good for him.”
“That shit is ruining our country!” He waved for me to follow him inside. “Come on in. I’ll show you my monitor. It’s been a while since I downloaded anything, so I probably don’t remember how to operate the dang thing. If you know how to work it, I’m okay with you doing it yourself. Name’s Beard, by the way—Sam Beard.”
I wanted to ask if he had been named after his beard or if he had grown into his name, but I refrained.
When he led the way through the kitchen, he stopped and pointed toward the table, where a woman was seated—a bowl of chicken stew before her. She smiled when she looked up. It was a pleasant smile.
“You can have supper with us, if you want,” he offered. “We’ve got a pot full of stew and it’s just the two of us. Our youngest left for college two years ago and the oldest has been living in Florida for three years, but we still haven’t learned how to cook for two yet.”
I thanked him, but declined the offer and apologized for interrupting their meal. “I can come back later,” I said quickly. “I’ve been working all day and didn’t realize it was dinnertime.”
“Nonsense.” He waved for me to follow him down a long hallway. “It’s only food and I get plenty of it. As you can probably tell, I don’t miss too many meals.” He stopped and cocked his head to the side. “Come to think of it, I don’t believe I’ve ever missed a meal in my life.”
We stepped into a small room—it seemed more like an enlarged closet—on the right side of the hallway. He pointed to a desk. It was positioned under a large monitor that was mounted on the far wall.
“This is where I keep the camera. Feel free to step into the driver’s seat if you know what you’re doing.”
I had operated many surveillance systems during the course of my career, and they were all pretty simplistic. With a nod, I took a seat and grabbed the mouse. After entering the code he provided, I sought out the correct camera and accessed the playback feature.
“The time’s wrong,” he said. “I used to adjust it for daylight savings, but I haven’t done it in years. I don’t know if it’s ahead or behind anymore.”
I compared the current time on the display screen to the time on my phone and realized it was an hour behind. Armed with this information, I started viewing the footage from the boat launch, beginning with Friday. Although Rhonda hadn’t mentioned a meeting between Ty and J-Rock on Friday, there had been an incident out at his house that night, so I wanted to see if he had access to drugs prior to almost being hit by the car Logan described.
As I watched the footage in fast speed, I wondered why no one on Orange Way had cameras on their homes. I had checked every single house down that street while I was canvassing the neighborhood, but hadn’t located a single camera.
I suddenly reached forward and clicked the Pause icon when I recognized a car pulling into the parking area of the boat launch—it was Rhonda’s.
“Is that the drug dealer’s car?” Sam asked.
I nodded and watched as it parked near an oak tree and waited. After about twenty minutes, Ty appeared in the camera’s view from the east and approached the car. The window slid down and I recognized J-Rock in the driver’s seat. He and Ty talked for a minute, he handed a leather satchel to Ty, and then he pointed to the pier. Ty walked to the pier and sat on a wooden bench near the water.
“I see Ty sitting on that bench all the time,” Sam said, “but I’ve only seen that car a few times. What’s he doing there?”
I didn’t answer. I was too angry about what was about to happen on camera. Sure enough, cars began arriving one at a time, their arrivals spaced out about fifteen minutes between visits. The customers would drive by the bench, stop briefly, Ty would approach them, and then they would leave. This continued for an hour, with a total of four cars driving through the area. After the last car had left, J-Rock waved for Ty to return to the car. Ty handed the satchel back to him. J-Rock handed Ty a small baggie, and then J-Rock drove away. Ty put the baggie in his pocket and walked away smiling.
I saved the footage so it wouldn’t be overwritten. I then began playing the video from the next day. Ty showed up at around the same time the next day and sat on the same bench. An hour later, which would’ve been around noon, J-Rock drove up and parked in the same place. Ty met him, took the satchel to the bench, and they each remained in that position for about five minutes.
“Oh, look,” Sam said. “That’s my neighbor.”
We both watched as a man walked into the camera’s view and stopped on the edge of the street. He stood there watching the car for a full minute or two, and it wasn’t long before J-Rock turned and saw him standing there. The man began yelling at J-Rock and pointing at his car. I could see the expression on J-Rock’s face and I knew he was worried. He suddenly started the car and sped off, leaving Ty sitting on the bench holding the bag.
“They got drugs in that bag?” Sam asked, seemingly confused. “Was he using Ty to sell drugs?”
“That’s exactly what happened.” I settled back in the chair. So, Rhonda had been telling the truth after all. But what did this mean? I was thoughtful as I watched Ty sitting there. After about ten minutes, he got up and walked away, heading back in the direction from which he’d come. A thought suddenly occurred to me and a chill reverberated up and down my spine.
“Don’t erase this,” I said, saving the footage from Saturday also. “I’ll be back for this later.”
I didn’t wait for Sam to respond. I rushed out of his house and hurried across the street, where the coroner’s office was recovering the second dead body in two days from our town. I scowled and hoped there wouldn’t be more.
CHAPTER 23
After Jerome’s body had been taken away, Baylor jumped in with me. Takecia j
umped in with Susan and we followed Melvin to the police department, where we all met in my office.
“Susan, do you remember the leather satchel that was in Ty’s camper?” I asked as I scanned the digital photographs on my computer. “It was buried under a pile of pizza boxes.”
“Yeah, I think so,” she said from where she stood beside me, looking over my shoulder.
Baylor and Takecia were seated across the desk from us. When I found the right photograph, I turned it so they could see.
“This is the leather satchel that J-Rock got from Neal Barlow and then gave to Ty.” I described what I had seen on Sam Beard’s surveillance system. “When the neighbor came out to see what the hell J-Rock was doing at the boat launch, it spooked him. He hauled ass and left Ty holding the bag. The bag was empty when Susan and I checked it while processing the camper, so that means Ty probably consumed the drugs that were inside…” I stopped and allowed my voice to trail off. I stared first at Susan and then at the others. “Do y’all know what this means?”
They thought about it and then Susan’s eyes widened in understanding.
“Oh, shit!” she said. “Ty basically stole the drugs in that bag, and whoever J-Rock was working for would’ve been mad as hell.”
“It was Neal Barlow,” I said with a nod. “J-Rock’s girlfriend told me he was working for Neal. If anyone had a reason to go to Ty’s house and start trouble, it would’ve been Neal.”
Without another moment’s hesitation, I called Trinity and told her what I’d discovered.
“It’s possible Neal had something to do with the death of Carol Richardson and the disappearance of her son.” As I talked, I felt a knot growing in my stomach. Ty would not have understood the ramifications of his actions. I could picture Neal screaming in his face demanding answers and Ty staring back in utter confusion. He wouldn’t understand why this stranger was attacking him. He would never recognize the link between the satchel, J-Rock, and Neal.
