Rigged

by D P Lyle

  Pancake increased the pressure on Sandman’s chest. “You don’t listen very well, do you?”

  “You can’t break in here and threaten me.”

  “Want to call the cops?” Ray asked. He picked up the cell phone from the table. “I can punch in nine-one-one for you.”

  “Or I can punch your lungs into mush,” Pancake added. “Totally your call.”

  Sandman’s adrenalin-expanded pupils now blackened his eyes. Sweat peppered his face. His gaze gyrated around the room, looking for some way to escape.

  “Now, listen up,” Ray said. “Answer our questions and we might walk away without doing you any damage.”

  “Not too much anyway,” Pancake said.

  Sandman looked from Pancake to Ray.

  “We asked the last time we were here, but I’m not convinced you were being entirely truthful,” Ray said. “So we’re giving you a chance to set the record straight.” He took a step forward and looked down at Sandman. “If you lie, it’ll be the most painful decision you’ve ever made. Understand?”

  Sandman nodded. His breathing was short, raspy.

  “You know anything about a couple of double murders over in Fairhope?”

  “What are you taking about?”

  “A young couple,” Pancake said. “Executed a few days ago. Out in a rural area.”

  “Like I told you before, I don’t know nothing about that. Didn’t even know them.”

  “One of them wasn’t a customer of yours?”

  “No.”

  “The meth we found at the scene wasn’t yours?”

  “I don’t go over that way.”

  “What about your boy Jack Reed?” Ray asked. “Or Reavis Whitt?”

  “I told you that, too. They aren’t part of my crew.”

  Ray nodded. “Let me tell you what I think. You signed them on to make an inroad into that area. Move in on the Macks’ territory. A bit of a spat broke out, and you hired Reed and Whitt to make waves for them. Maybe even frame them for the murders.”

  Sandman again tried to sit up. Pancake, palm still flat against his chest, applied more of his body weight.

  “Look, okay, I did have them move some product over there. Not much. It was more or less an experiment. See if it was worth looking in that direction. But I don’t know anything about the rest of it.”

  Pancake studied him. Fear and desperation etched his face. He sensed Sandman was telling the truth. So far. “What about Sean Patterson? You know him?”

  He shook his head. “Who is he?”

  “He’s the one who got a bullet in his head. Along with Reavis Whitt. Got his house torched.”

  “What?” His eyes glistened. He looked as if he might cry. “Whitt was killed?”

  “Just a few hours ago.”

  Sandman gulped some air. “I don’t know anything about it.”

  “We think Jack Reed was the shooter. Started the fire.” Ray examined the Glock again. “What we want to know is if you paid him to do it.”

  “Of course not. Why would I?”

  “That’s what we’re asking.”

  “I didn’t. Makes no sense. Why would I want to get involved in something that doesn’t affect me? Something like this? No way.”

  “What about Jack Reed? Would he?”

  “I barely know him. And that’s the truth.”

  “He sells for you,” Pancake said.

  “Not much. And about now I wish I’d never met him.”

  Pancake chuckled. “I imagine so.”

  “This is your one chance,” Ray said. “You screw this up, and we’ll be back. And next time we really won’t play nice.”

  Sandman was now in full panic mode.

  Ray continued. “Just so we’re clear. You know nothing about the murders? You didn’t hire Reed or Whitt to do anything stupid?”

  “No.”

  “And you know nothing of the murders of Sean Patterson and Reavis Whitt?”

  “I don’t. I swear.”

  “Hope you’re being truthful,” Pancake said. “I truly do.”

  “I am.”

  Ray nodded. He tossed the clip and the bullet into the nearby wastebasket, the gun on the bed.

  Pancake stood. “Have a nice evening.”

  They left.

  Pancake pulled from the curb. “I believe him.”

  “Me, too,”

  “Puts the crosshairs squarely on Jack Reed.”

  “It does do that.”

  CHAPTER 53

  “SO, YOU’RE THINKING the oh-so-wonderful Mr. Sandman and his sidekick Talley are free and clear on this?” Warren asked.

  Ten-fifteen a.m. Warren and the four of us gathered around the Fairhope PD conference table.

  “Don’t know for sure about Talley,” Ray said. “Didn’t talk to him. Doesn’t really matter. Sandman runs the show. But, yes, I do believe he’s clean on this one.”

  “We had a pleasant chat with him last night,” Pancake said.

  Warren smiled. “Bet pleasant isn’t the best word.”

  “Not so much for him,” Pancake said. “He was afraid of Ray.”

  “I think that was you.”

  “You had the gun.”

  “I did,” Ray said. “But you had you.”

  “Well, there is that.”

  Ray gave us a sketch of their visit. “Sandman did give up that Reed and Whitt had done some dealing for him over here.”

  “Really?” Warren asked. “I don’t think the Macks would take that lightly.” Her brow furrowed. “You don’t think this could be the beginning of a range war between them and Sandman, do you?”

  Ray shook his head. “I don’t. We walked away thinking he didn’t know anything about the murders.”

  “Wouldn’t be in his best interest to meddle over here,” Pancake said. “Not on that level anyway. Sure, he tested the waters with Reed and Whitt, but he’s got no real motive for bringing this kind of grief into his world.”

  “So we can slide him off the front burner?” Warren asked.

  “That’d be my take,” Ray said. “What about the Macks?”

  “Same thing. I don’t think they’d do this. Again, too much grief.” Warren looked at me.

  “I agree. Looked to me like Sean and Whitt getting killed spooked them.”

  Warren sighed. “That leaves Jack Reed as the last man standing.”

  “You’re going to love this.” It was Moody. He entered carrying a laptop. “You know I stopped by all the service stations between here and the Patterson house?”

  “And?” Warren asked.

  “Well, none of them remember Reed and Whitt pumping gas there last night. No receipts or anything like that. But the one up there just north of town?” He held up the computer. “Golden.”

  “Let’s see it.”

  Moody settled the laptop on the table and flipped it open. The screen churned to life. “This was recorded around 8:00 p.m. last night. An hour before Carl Fletcher called in the fire.”

  According to Moody, the footage came from the station’s single security camera. Fortunately, it covered the two pumps out front. Grainy but good enough. Reed’s red truck pulled up. Whitt climbed out, disappeared from the angle. Probably went inside to pay. He returned, grabbed a gas can from the back, lifted a pump nozzle, filled the can. He replaced the nozzle and climbed in the truck. They drove away.

  “Good job,” Warren said. “I think we just found our accelerant.”

  “And good evidence that Reed and Whitt were together last night,” Ray said. “Around the time of the murders.”

  “But it doesn’t put Reed at the murder scene,” Warren said. “Not tight enough to go cuff him.”

  “True,” Ray said.

  Warren tapped a finger on the table. “What I don’t see is his motive. For Jason and Emily for sure. It doesn’t make sense.”

  “Maybe Jason and Sean owed him money,” Moody said. “Maybe they made some waves. He pressed them to pay, they responded by threatening exposure.”


  “So Reed and Whitt killed Emily and Jason?” Nicole asked. “Because Jason was going to rat them out? Then Reed did Sean and Whitt for the same reason? And to eliminate any witnesses? Is that what you’re saying?”

  “Wouldn’t be the first time a rat nest ended in an internal war,” Warren said. “But why would Reed kill Whitt? He was Reed’s buddy.”

  “He seemed like a weak sister to me,” Pancake said. “Maybe Reed couldn’t trust him anymore. If he and Reed did Emily and Jason, and then Sean, Whitt had the keys to the jailhouse. Could’ve walked in here and sold Reed out for a deal.”

  “He didn’t,” Warren said.

  “But Reed could’ve feared he was wobbling in that direction.”

  Warren considered that. “I’ve never heard of any strife on the home front.” She looked at Moody. “You?”

  “Nope. Every time I’ve had the pleasure of chatting with them, they seemed solid.”

  “Still,” Warren said, “we do come back to Reed as the last straw in the drink.”

  “What is it?” Ray asked me. “You look like you have something to say.”

  “I was thinking last night.”

  “Bet that hurt,” Pancake said.

  “Do you and Nicole use the same writers?” I asked.

  Pancake shrugged. “Is what it is.”

  “Thinking about what?” Ray asked.

  “I don’t have this completely worked out,” I said. I looked at Nicole. “I might’ve if Nicole hadn’t distracted me.”

  “I want to hear this,” Pancake said.

  “It wasn’t difficult,” she said. “Jake doesn’t function well when confronted with a naked woman.”

  “Not what you said last night,” I said.

  She raised an eyebrow. “I should’ve qualified that. His brain doesn’t function well.”

  “Story of his life,” Ray said.

  I looked at Warren, who was clearly amused. “I could blame it on bad parenting, but my mom was cool.”

  “So, where did all these mental gymnastics lead you?” Ray asked.

  “Looking at all the players in this Greek tragedy, I kept coming back to the same question. Who stands to gain from the murder of Emily and Jason? That’s where I think this all started. The answer was always Sean. Let’s say Emily was the real target. Jason was merely in the wrong place at the wrong time. What would Sean gain? A free divorce. Emily’s money. The house, which is a pretty good chunk of change.”

  “But Sean’s dead,” Pancake said.

  “He didn’t know that would be his fate when he started the ball rolling. He knows Reed and knew Whitt. Through drug deals if nothing else. Maybe more. What if he hired them to kill Emily?”

  “Would they do that?” Ray asked Warren.

  “I wouldn’t put much past Jack Reed. His moral compass is a little bent. Whitt? He’s a follower. Whatever Jack says, he’ll go with it.”

  “Where’d Sean get the money for this?” Ray asked.

  “I looked into his world,” Pancake said. “He didn’t make any moves that would suggest that.”

  Ray nodded. “Something like that would take a few thousand. Ten or so, I’d guess.”

  “I’ll get to that,” I said. “So Reed and Whitt do Emily and Jason. Maybe with all the scrutiny that followed, Reed got nervous. Worried that you—” I nodded toward Warren—“or us, might connect the dots back to him. Who knew of the plan? Who was part of it? Reed, Whitt, and Sean. Maybe Reed was cleaning house.”

  “A secret among three folks can only be kept if two of them are dead,” Pancake said.

  “Back to the money to do all this,” Warren said. “Where’d Sean come up with it? And hide the fact that he had it?”

  “We talked about this,” Pancake said. “Sean was coming into money. Maybe he was going to pay after he sold the house?”

  “Then why would Reed kill him?” Nicole asked.

  Warren sighed. “I don’t think he would.”

  “That’s not what I’m thinking anyway,” I said.

  “Okay,” Ray said. “Let’s have it.”

  “It’s tricky. And I’m not sure Sean is smart enough to have rigged this whole enterprise. But I read about a case a few years ago. It was on the net. Up in the Midwest somewhere. Indiana, Illinois, I forget the details. A guy wanted to off his business partner. Take over the entire deal without the expense of a buyout. He hired a hit man. Knew that if he moved any of his money around, he’d have a lot of explaining to do. So, he arranged a robbery of the business. The gunman came in, walked with around twenty grand if I remember correctly. That paid for the hit.”

  Warren stiffened. “The robbery over at Watkins’ Lumber?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Sean worked there,” Pancake said. “And was there the night of the robbery.”

  I nodded. “He and the bookkeeper. Around closing time.”

  “The perfect time,” Ray said.

  “And don’t forget,” Pancake said. “Reed worked there briefly.”

  “With Sean,” Nicole added.

  “Could be where they first hooked up,” I said. “As user-supplier and ultimately as co-conspirators in murder. Regardless, Fred Watkins said they took eighteen thousand in cash from the safe.”

  Pancake gave a grunt. “Definitely enough for a double murder.”

  “Jesus,” Warren said. “That would surely tie things up with bright yellow ribbon.” She glanced at Moody. “If we can prove it.”

  Moody smiled. “Track the money.”

  “Without spooking Reed,” Warren said. “I want him nice and comfortable.”

  “Maybe making him uncomfortable would be better,” Ray said. “Folks, particularly those that aren’t all that bright, when placed under a bit of pressure, make mistakes. I think Reed might fall into that category.”

  Warren considered that, stared at her hands, now flattened on the table, right index finger lightly tapping its surface. She looked up. “What do you have in mind?”

  “Pancake and I’ll drop by. Reiterate our condolences on Whitt’s death. Let him know Sandman tossed him under the bus on his double crossing the Macks. See how he reacts.”

  “That’s it? A nice civil chat?”

  Ray smiled. “More or less.”

  “It’s the more I’m worried about.”

  Pancake jumped in. “Can’t hurt to have a little talk. Shake him up. Make him think he has a way out. Offer up a chance to put this off on someone else.”

  “Like who?” Warren asked.

  “The Macks. Sandman. Whoever else might pop up.”

  Warren held his gaze for a beat. “How are you going to do that?”

  “We have ways.” Pancake smiled. “Who knows? Maybe he’ll screw up. Say something stupid. Once he thinks he has a way out and thinks we’re onboard with considering others, who knows what he’ll say?”

  Warren hesitated, finally said, “Okay. But try to play nice.”

  “We’ll do our best,” Pancake said.

  “Nicole and I’ll go by Watkins’ Lumber and see the bookkeeper,” I said. “What was her name? “

  “Becky Woodley,” Nicole said.

  How does she remember this stuff? The name that rattled in my brain was Debbie. Not even close. “Yeah, her.”

  “Are you guys trying to do our job?” Warren asked.

  “Just helping,” Ray said. “You and Burt showing up with badges might make everyone nervous. We can go in at a lower temperature. Like we’re curious, even helping, not threatening.”

  “Okay. Give it a shot,” Warren said. “I’m going to lean on the judge. Try to convince him to give me a warrant on Reed.”

  “Hopefully he’ll stammer out something to us that’ll help you there,” Pancake said.

  Ray looked at me. “Good thought on the robbery. It never crossed my mind.”

  Ray said that? That I had actually figured out something before him? Of course, the fact that I just might be wrong hung out there. But still …

 
; “Wouldn’t have crossed mine either,” I said. “Except I saw that story and it stuck with me for some reason.”

  “Because it’s clever,” Warren said. “In a criminal sort of way.”

  “When did you come up with this anyway?” Nicole asked.

  “Last night.”

  “And here I thought you were paying attention.” She smiled. “I need to up my game.”

  “Before, and after.”

  “That’s why you weren’t snoring.”

  “I don’t snore.”

  “You wish.”

  CHAPTER 54

  NICOLE AND I swung by Mullins Bakery to grab some coffee. Just after 10:00 a.m. We had skipped breakfast and everything in the display case before us beckoned. Truth was, I wasn’t very hungry. Apparently, Nicole felt the same as we both declined Allison’s offer of food.

  While Allison poured a pair of go cups, she asked about Sean’s murder, saying, “Everybody’s talking about it. What? Four people now? Do you think all these are connected?”

  I played it vague, not wanting to reveal the investigation’s new angle. Said that we were still at square one. As far as we knew, Chief Warren was also. In other words, I lied, ending with, “We honestly don’t know.”

  “Will this ever end?” Allison asked.

  “Sooner or later,” I said. “The thing about criminals is that they always make mistakes. Or open their mouths. Think it’s all behind them so it’s okay to talk about their deeds.”

  “But murderers? If you got away with it, why on earth would you tell anyone?”

  I added some cream to my coffee. “I read an article by a homicide detective. From Atlanta, I think. He said that a cop’s greatest advantage was that criminals were stupid.”

  “Let’s hope.” She asked if we wanted anything to eat. No, coffee was fine. I pulled cash from my pocket, but she refused, saying, “It’s on the house.” I put a five in the tip jar.

  Allison looked past us. “Here’s my favorite customer.”

  I turned. Pancake came in.

  “Why am I not surprised?” Nicole said.

  “Because you know me too well, darling,” Pancake said.

  “Where’s Ray?” I asked.

  He jerked his head over his shoulder. “In the truck. Making some calls.”

  “What would be your pleasure today?” Allison asked him.