by D P Lyle
“So, if I had a couple of witnesses who put you guys there, you’d hold to that line of thinking?”
“No, wait a minute.” He snapped his fingers. “We did go by. Just for a minute.” He shrugged. “I forgot.”
“Convenient.” She waited a beat. “Why were you there?”
“Just chatting.”
“He a customer of yours?”
Another stare. More tension lines.
“Didn’t think you’d want to talk about that.” She sighed.
“Yeah. We do a little business with him. Went to collect some money.”
There it was. Tell half the truth. Cop to a minor crime to cover a bigger one. Seem all honest and forthcoming. Even I knew that ploy and I wasn’t a cop. Or a P.I.
“Money for what?” Warren asked.
A look settled over his face. One that said he’d just stepped in it. Maybe fell in it. He was grinding to come up with something, anything, that sounded reasonable. Finally, he said, “I don’t really know but I think he owed Reavis a few bucks.”
Actually, an excellent recovery. One that required no proof and allowed no follow-up. If such a debt existed, which I didn’t believe for a minute, the two parties to said debt were dead. Reed only had to play dumb.
“Mind if we take a look around?” Warren asked.
“Look for what?”
“Something. Anything.”
“I do mind.”
“I can get a warrant.”
“You do that. But I ain’t going to just let you wander around my place. Plant some shit.”
Warren nodded. “Yeah, we do that all the time.”
“Wouldn’t surprise me none.”
“So to be clear,” Warren said, “you and Whitt saw Sean this afternoon, to collect a debt, but you didn’t go out there tonight?”
“No.”
“And you don’t know where Whitt is?”
“He said he might hit a couple of bars. Maybe you should go sniff around a few of those. Or you might find him in bed.”
Warren twisted her neck as if working out a kink. “He isn’t at any of those places. He’s in a body bag headed to the coroner’s office.”
“What?”
His innocent expression wasn’t even close to convincing. I now had no doubt that our earlier thoughts were correct. Reed was the shooter. For Sean and Whitt. Maybe for Emily and Jason. The question was, why? What was in it for him? Some dispute among the three might account for Sean and Whitt. Drugs, money, and guns leave behind dead bodies all the time. But Emily? Why? If he did do her and Jason, were tonight’s killings an attempt to eliminate witnesses? If so, it brought Sean right back into the picture. Alibi or not. What before had been simply confusing was now a writhing snake pit. And the list of people who knew the truth was dwindling by the minute.
“We found him in the middle of a house fire. Along with Sean Patterson.” Warren took a deep breath, let it out slowly. “But I’m sure you know nothing about that.”
“I don’t.”
“You better pray I can’t put you there. But as stupid as you are, I’m sure that’ll happen before long.”
CHAPTER 50
WE LOITERED OUTSIDE Whitt’s apartment. Pancake suggested we simply kick the door down. Wasn’t like Whitt would complain. Being dead and all. Warren nixed the idea. Not the smart approach. She needed to make sure any evidence inside found its way into a courtroom. Not against Whitt, that was a done deal, but maybe to help put Reed away for the rest of his life. I guessed she felt even dead guys had Fourth Amendment rights. Really?
Instead, she called a friendly judge—maybe not so friendly for being awakened—to get a verbal warrant. With Whitt being a homicide victim, that was an easy ask. She also tried to get one for Reed’s apartment. Boy, would I love to see his face when she waved that at him. But the judge declined. Apparently, he said she had no real evidence against him and therefore had no probable cause. Disappointing but understandable.
She dispatched Moody to grab a key from the manager. I followed him.
“I like Reed for all of this,” Moody said.
“I do, too,” I agreed.
“Definitely for Sean and Whitt. That’s easy. But I can even see him for Emily and Jason. Just not sure why.”
“Maybe Sean hired him?” I said. “He’s the one with a motive here.”
“Not anymore.”
We turned around the back of the building and moved across an open courtyard that was enveloped by the other buildings in the complex. A few trees and couple of seating clusters. Nothing special.
“The problem is, we found no wads of money taken from his accounts,” I said.
“How do you know that?”
“We have ways.”
“I bet.”
“Pancake,” I said. “He handles firewalls like he did defensive linemen and linebackers.”
“From the looks of him, even a concrete wall wouldn’t slow him down.”
“True. What’s the going rate for a contract murder around here?”
“Don’t know. We’ve never had that kind of thing in our domain. I do remember one. Over in Mobile. Maybe four or five years ago. I think a guy paid twenty K to have his business partner whacked.”
“Sean took out fifteen hundred but he used that to repair his car. Other than that, nothing to raise suspicion.”
The manager lived in unit number one, corner of the building farthest from the road. He wasn’t happy. Maybe seventy, hair disheveled, bathrobe, scowl. He listened as Moody told him that he needed into Reavis Whitt’s apartment.
“You try knocking on the door?” His unshaven chin jutted toward us.
“He won’t answer,” Moody said. “He’s dead.”
The old man wavered, took a step back. “What are you talking about?”
“He was murdered.”
“Here?”
“No. We need to search his place. See if we can find any clues as to who might’ve done it.”
The man hesitated, nodded. He turned toward the wall just inside the door. A peg board with several wads of keys suspended by small hooks. A pair of car keys with a small red Swiss Army knife attached. A half a dozen larger loops with a dozen keys each. Probably one for each unit. He grabbed a single key attached to a six-inch strip of translucent plastic, “Master” in black block letters. He handed it to Moody.
“This here’s the master. Opens all the units.”
“Thanks.”
“Be sure to bring it back.”
“Will do.”
“Any idea how long you’ll be?”
Moody shrugged. “As long as it takes.”
The manager nodded. “Just drop it in my mailbox when you’re done.” He pointed to the gold metallic flip-top next the the door. He closed the door.
Inside, Whitt’s place was neater than I had suspected. Sparsely furnished, but all seemed in order. A water bong, a small bag of marijuana, and a yellow plastic dinner plate sat on a wooden coffee table. On the plate a straw, a razor blade, and a few grains of white powder.
“Meth or coke,” Warren said.
One bedroom, one bath, small kitchenette. No sign of a struggle. Not that one was expected. The chaos went down at Emily’s house. The bed was unmade, the mirrored closet slider open. Clothes neatly hung, a pair of jeans and a green tee shirt wadded on the floor. Next to them sat a cardboard banker’s box. Top off, leaning against the back wall. Inside, disarrayed papers and a smaller metal box, open, empty.
“Probably where he kept his drug money,” Ray said.
Warren nodded. “He, or somebody, emptied it.”
“Reed,” Ray said.
“That’d be my guess.”
“You know he killed them?” Ray said.
“I know.” She sighed. “The problem will be proving it.”
“Are you still thinking this is related to drugs and bad deals?” Nicole asked.
Warren closed and opened her left fist a couple of times. “Maybe. I can see Reed, Whit
t, and Sean getting into it. Sean the customer, the other two dealers. Money gets sideways, ill will enters, and shit happens. What I don’t see is how Emily and Jason fit in here.”
“Maybe there are connections we don’t see yet.”
Warren looked at Nicole. “Could be.”
“Are we sure the two events are connected?” I asked. “Couldn’t each murder be more random than that?”
“Possible,” Warren said. “But I don’t believe that. We don’t get this stuff around here. When it happens twice. One on the tail of the other.” She shrugged. “They’re connected until proven otherwise.”
“A murder for hire would snug the pieces together,” Pancake said. “We just don’t have the money trail yet.”
“What now?” I asked.
“Time to rattle the cages,” Warren said. “Stir up the natives. I think I’ll drop by and see what the Macks are up to.”
“You think they’re involved in this?” I asked.
“I think Reed and the late Reavis Whitt don’t do do-wah-diddy without Clive and Reba knowing about it. Especially if it’s got anything to do with their livelihood. So if I believe, and I do, that Reed and Whitt had something to do with the original two killings, the Macks are likely in there somehow.”
“Me and Pancake will head back to Mobile,” Ray said. “Have another chat with Sandman. His connection to Reed and Whitt is deeper than he wanted us to believe. Time to explain things to him.”
“Explain ain’t exactly the right word,” Pancake said. “Last time we were polite. I’m about done with cordiality.”
“If you get in trouble over there, give me a call,” Warren said. “I know the chief.”
“Won’t be any trouble,” Pancake said.
CHAPTER 51
WE FOLLOWED WARREN and Moody to the Macks’ place. I was surprised she let us. We asked, she hesitated, but finally agreed.
“Witnesses might be good,” she said. “So they can’t accuse Burt and me of harassment. Or brutality if it comes to that.”
I had second thoughts on the way. I think it was Warren’s use of the word “brutality” that creeped in my head.
“This could go badly,” I said.
“How so?” Nicole asked.
“They’re drug dealers. Cops knock on their door in the middle of the night. They have guns. Little things like that.”
She smiled. “Don’t worry. I’ll protect you.”
“You?”
“I know Krav Maga.”
Just enough to be dangerous, I thought. Didn’t say it though. I knew better.
Turned out, the Macks were night owls. Watching TV. Clive with a beer, Reba a glass of white wine, the aroma of marijuana in the air. Your typical home movie night.
After Clive answered the door, invited us in, reluctantly, we gathered in the living room. We stood, facing Clive. Reba never moved from her place on the sofa, but the hostility in her face radiated throughout the room.
“What the hell do you want?” she asked.
“Sorry to bother you,” Warren said. “Just a couple of questions.”
“Couldn’t it wait until sunup?”
“Not really.”
“You’d rather push your badge around, I suppose,” Reba said.
“Something like that.” Warren crossed her arms over her chest. Muscles bulged. “What do you know about what went down out at Sean’s Patterson’s place tonight?”
“What are you talking about?” Clive asked.
“I take it you two have been here all night?”
“Yeah, we have,” Reba said.
“All night?”
Reba now looked a little confused. Maybe even a hint of concern. Badass only goes so far when the law is standing in your living room. Especially when the law looked like she could whip your ass without breaking a sweat.
“We grabbed dinner,” Clive said. “Over at The Rib Shack. Got back here about six thirty. Ain’t been nowhere since.”
Warren nodded.
“You can check if you want,” Reba said. “Lots of folks saw us over there.”
Clive took a slug of beer. “What’s going on?”
“Somebody killed Sean Patterson. Your boy Reavis Whitt, too. Torched the house.”
Reba actually recoiled. A hint of fear entered her face. Interesting. Was she that good an actress or was she truly shocked? Did they really know nothing about it?
“What about Jack Reed?” Warren asked. “You see him tonight?”
“Why would we?” Reba asked.
Warren massaged the back of her neck. Her bicep looked like a tumor. “Okay. Let’s not play games. Reed and Whitt work for you. Deal for you. The whole world knows that. So cut the crap. Did you see him tonight or not?”
“No.”
“You don’t think Jack did this, do you?” Clive asked.
“He’s right near the top of my list.”
Now, Clive looked confused. “No way. He and Reavis are like brothers. He’d never.”
“And Sean? He a customer of yours?”
“Not that we know,” Clive said.
Reba shot him a look. One that said he shouldn’t be offering any information.
“Look,” Clive said. “We have no idea what Jack and Reavis do. Who they see. Who they do business with.”
Warren smiled. “You expect me to believe that? It’s your business. And neither of you strike me as the type to leave anything to chance.”
“Well, we don’t know anything about any of this,” Reba said.
“Okay, I’ll play. Let’s say, for the sake of argument, you’re totally innocent. Who would do this? Anyone trying to muscle in on your business? Anyone who would want Reavis Whitt gone? Or Sean?”
“No.” Clive glanced at Reba. “We don’t have any of those problems.”
“In your business you don’t have to go looking for trouble. It’ll find you.”
“We ain’t got no problems,” Clive said. “And we don’t know shit about any of this.”
“You know a couple of guys from Mobile?” Warren asked. “In your line of work. Alex Talley and a dude they call Sandman?”
Reba hesitated, considering. “Yeah. We know of them. Don’t really know them.”
“That a fact?”
“It is. They stay over there; we hang around here.”
“Any chance Jack Reed works for them?”
Another hesitation. Reba shook her head. “No. He doesn’t.”
“You sure? We have reason to believe otherwise.”
Nothing. Neither Clive nor Reba responded. You could almost hear their collective mental wheels turning. Finally, Reba spoke.
“He better not be,” she said.
“Maybe you should have a chat with him.”
She drained her wineglass. “Maybe I will.”
Outside, Warren stood in the open door of her SUV. “That went well,” she said.
“I’d say you got their attention.” I looked back toward the house. “Wouldn’t want to be in Jack Reed’s shoes.”
Warren nodded. “Better than a body bag.” She tapped the roof of the vehicle. “Hope Ray and Pancake find something we can use. Shake the tree without knocking it down.”
“Pancake likes knocking things down,” Nicole said. “It’s a hobby for him.”
Warren jangled the keys she held. “I hope I don’t hear from them again tonight.” She sighed. “Drop by the office in the morning and we’ll go over everything.”
She climbed in and she and Moody drove away.
When we got back to the hotel, I didn’t see Pancake’s truck. I considered calling and checking in. Thought better of it. I didn’t want to interrupt whatever they were doing. I had a mental image of Pancake tying someone in a knot. Literally.
We went to our room where I stretched out on the bed, while Nicole washed her face. I needed to think about things. An idea was rummaging around in my brain. Not sure how it fit yet, but it was beginning to take shape.
When she came out
of the bathroom, she wore one of the hotel’s plush robes. “What are you doing?” she asked.
“Thinking.”
“Don’t hurt yourself.”
“Funny. Actually, I’m coming up with an idea about how all this might fit together.”
“Like how?”
“Let me ponder it some more.”
“Well, I’m going to save you from all that painful rumination.”
“Oh, really?”
“Really.” She dropped the robe, exposing, well, everything. “I’m going to turn your brain to oatmeal.”
And so she did.
CHAPTER 52
PANCAKE SAT ON the edge of the mattress, canting it decidedly in his direction. Sandman, sleeping facedown, head beneath the pillow, one arm draped over the top, stirred but didn’t awaken. Ray flipped on the bedside lamp. Still no reaction.
“Hey,” Pancake said. He followed it with a not so gentle kidney punch.
Sandman jerked, rolled from beneath the pillow. His now wide-open, glassy eyes reflected the light.
“What the … ?”
“How you doing?” Pancake asked. “Comfy?”
Sandman’s gaze jerked left toward the bedside table.
Ray held up the Glock he had scooped up. “Looking for this?”
Confusion didn’t quite cover the expression on Sandman’s face. He tried to sit up. Pancake flattened a palm against his chest and pressed him into the mattress.
“What the hell are you doing?” Sandman asked.
“Trying to decide what to do with this,” Ray said. He ejected the clip, popped out the chambered round, deftly catching it in mid-flight. “Maybe take it over to Fairhope. Hand it off the Chief Warren. See if she can match it to the bullets the coroner extracted from a couple of corpses.”
“Who the hell do you think you are?” Sandman now somewhere between indignant and scared.
“Me?” Pancake said. “I’m the one who’s going to shove your sternum against your spine. Flatten your heart like a pancake.” He smiled. “No pun intended.”
“How’d you get in here?”
“Your security’s a bit flimsy.”
“What do you want?”
“Just a few questions,” Ray said.
“Like hell. Get the fuck out of here.”