Chapter 13
Ray
Ray started Thursday morning by following up with the uniformed officers on a robbery they'd handled during the previous night at Silken's Dry Goods. Their work had been thorough. They gave him a report detailing the stolen goods, and they had taken fingerprints.
"You say here," Ray pointed to the report, "that the mess you encountered suggested the thieves were looking for something. Do you have any idea what that might be?"
"Silken didn't know," the taller, younger officer, Al Crag, said. "I think somebody may have been looking for product—methamphetamine or maybe pseudoephedrine—and took other stuff."
"Interesting. Talk to me about why you think that."
"Well, it's just rumor, but I hear it a lot—saying Silken is involved in our drug problem, maybe even heading it up."
"When does Silken's open?"
"Not until nine," Crag said. "He said he'd go into the store early this morning and clean things up. The thieves damaged the register and took the cash."
"Given Silken is a mature businessman, I would have thought he was smarter than to leave cash in a closed store." Ray asked a few more questions of the officers, then decided he needed a meeting with the chief to see what he thought of Silken.
"Chief?" Ray tapped on the frame of the open office door.
"Come in, Stone. What's on your mind?" The chief didn't look up until he finished writing on the paper on his desk. "Have a seat."
Ray sat. "Carl Silken."
Chief Mullins nodded.
"I've heard from several people that he is behind our high-end drug channels."
"Why do you say high-end?"
"Because the labs that exploded here and in the county aren't just make-some-for-me and sell-a-bit-to-my-friend operations. And there are too many rumors to discount."
"I hear you."
"Why didn't you mention Silken when we talked on Monday?"
"I wanted to see if you'd pick up the same thread." Mullins looked back at his paper, then glanced up. "I suggest you tug the thread, Detective."
"Did we get the search warrant for Vast's place?"
"It's on your desk."
Ray didn't like the feeling that Mullins was toying with him, or perhaps testing him, but he could see the point. Both the sheriff and Shim wanted Ray's fresh perspective. Perhaps that was Mullins' agenda, too.
Ray stopped by his office, then headed out of the department. Silken's store was about three blocks west, but he took his vehicle, planning to head out to Dripping Springs Drive and Vast's trailer next.
After Ray parked in front of the store, he called Johnson. "When I'm done with Silken, do you want to meet me and have a go at Vast's property?"
"Sure thing. I've been covering the school zones. I'm clear to join you at nine."
"Works." Ray checked the time. It was eight-fifteen.
The lights were on inside the store, and Ray could see Silken working in the first row of merchandise. Ray exited his car and headed toward the store. The view through the front window revealed goods cluttering the floor. The place looked messed up but not ransacked. When Ray knocked on the door, Silken looked his way and motioned him in.
"Good morning, Detective Stone. You here about the robbery?" Silken stepped away from the row of shelving.
"Yes, sir." He produced a copy of the officers' report from the scene. "It says you lost several small kitchen appliances, two power drills, two radios, a laptop computer, several small knives, and two thousand dollars in cash. Have you noted anything else missing?"
"No."
"Seems like a lot of cash to have available." Ray walked around, inspecting the merchandise and wondering why other valuable things were still on the shelves. "Are you in the habit of leaving cash in the store?"
"I'm not."
Ray waited. After several moments when Silken did not volunteer more information, he said, "Why was there so much money in the store?"
"Sheila, that's my wife, brought it in just before closing. She had been to a fundraiser and thought to put the cash in my safe here until this morning when the bank opens. I was busy so I stuck it in the register and then forgot to lock it up."
"What fundraiser?"
"The Plateauville Women's Club has a charity program that provides lunches for kids in the summer. Yesterday they had a craft sale. All the items are donated, so it's total profit."
"Who is the chairperson of the club—in case I want to talk to them?" Ray said.
"That would be Sheila."
Ray made a note. Maybe he'd have a talk with her. He suspected the insurance company would be getting a claim in a few days for money that wasn't actually stolen. "What else you can tell me about the robbery?"
"Nothing."
"It's not the kind of haul the thieves will fence," Ray said. "More likely, their wives, mothers, girlfriends, and sisters will get gifts, and they'll keep the rest."
"Is that all?"
"No. I have another issue to ask you about. Can we sit in the back for a few minutes?"
Silken looked at the remaining mess, shrugged, and headed toward the rear office, which was actually a wide spot in the hallway that was closed off with a door. He sat in one of two chairs, motioning Ray to the other.
Ray sat, made himself comfortable, and looked around the area. A window opened onto the back alley. He assumed the door on the back wall was the service door. "Mr. Silken, I've been on the job since Sunday. That's four days. I've been told as many times that you are the power behind the methamphetamine problem in this community."
Silken didn't flinch. "Now, Detective, that's the biggest line of bullshit I've heard in a long time."
"You deny the allegations?"
"Not only do I deny them, I take particular exception. I am an upstanding businessman." Silken's face reddened as he plunged into the topic. "How dare you? Do you know who I am? I'm a respected member of the community."
"If you say so, sir." Ray decided to push a bit harder. "However, I've learned that where there's a trace of smoke, there's often a flicker of flame. Why do you think so many people would tell me that?" Ray rubbed at his goatee as if puzzled by the notion.
"Know what I think, Stone? I think you came in here to jack me up because you know you'll never solve the robbery. I think you're a small-time dick who couldn't cut it in the big leagues and came up here because it was the only job you could get. Now, get the hell out of my store. I'll be talking to the mayor and have your ass fired within the hour."
Ray stood and ambled toward the door, taking his time. "Have a good day, Mr. Silken. I'll be pulling on this string a bit more." He headed into the street thinking he'd baited a bear and vowing to make Sophia carry her gun.
***
Ray crossed the street and walked a couple of doors down to the Plateau Cafe. He parked himself on a stool in front of the counter. The place was small and somewhat ragged looking. A half-dozen tables of various sizes filled the space between the counter and booths on the far wall.
"Mornin', Detective." The older lady smiled. "I'm Elma May Bib. My husband and I own the place."
"Nice to meet you, ma'am."
"Folks call me Elma May." She reached for the coffee pot. "You drinkin'?"
"I am." Ray thought that only in a small town would the mayor's wife be working behind the counter at the cafe.
After she set the coffee in front of him, Ray tasted it. They made an excellent brew. The nearby pastry box enticed him, and he ordered a Danish.
"I hear that Silken's was busted into again last night."
It was the first Ray heard of multiple break-ins. "How many times has it happened before?"
"Fairly often, really. Maybe every couple of months. It's only his place that gets hit. Mine? Never. And, as far as I know, none other on the street neither."
"Interesting. Do you know why?"
"Well, his is the only place with that kind of merchandise. You know what I mean?"
"Tell me."
"Said enough. Maybe you should talk to my husband about it. Enjoy your coffee."
He did. Officer Johnson walked in the door just as he was finishing and ordered a coffee to go.
"Where's your vehicle?" Ray asked.
"I saw yours across the street. Figured you were here. I parked at the department and walked a spell."
A couple of minutes later, they were in Ray's unmarked with Johnson behind the wheel. Johnson zipped across town, taking side streets. They headed toward the park and Dripping Springs Drive.
Johnson sped along, taking the curves and missing potholes like a pro. He swung into Vast's driveway.
Kelly Ann stepped out of the chipped gray trailer a second after Johnson put on the brakes. Again, she held her hand under her swollen belly as if holding up the baby.
"I told you officers you can't be on this here property." She zeroed in on Johnson. "Jim, you know better than to keep comin' on out."
While Ray collected a bag of crime scene supplies from the trunk of the vehicle, Johnson approached the house.
"Ma'am, we have a search warrant. Step aside," Johnson said.
Her face reddened, but she did as Johnson directed. She looked cleaner than on the earlier visit, and there were no tears.
"Stay on your porch, please. We'll give you a receipt for anything we take with us," Ray said, then nodded to Johnson to step inside. Ray followed. "Jim, don't make a mess. Let's just get this done."
The search yielded a couple of small baggies of what looked like meth hidden inside the cap on a can of shaving cream. They found a stack of cash, mostly fives and tens, in a battered tool box. A ledger book that seemed to be written in code was wedged behind the commode. There was a stack of wound care supplies on the counter.
"Vast needs to be more creative in his hiding places." Ray put the cash on the kitchen counter. He stood a moment writing out a receipt for the book and the bags of white crystals.
"You're leaving the cash?" Johnson said.
"We don't need it to make our case, and she certainly needs it. We have enough with the other items—if we find him alive."
Back on the porch, Ray handed Mrs. Vast a receipt.
She studied the paper. "Don't know nothing about that book." She pointed to it. "If I'd found the crank, I'd have flushed it with the rest." Crank was a slang term for methamphetamine.
"You sound like you don't approve of him using?"
"I don't. He was good for so long."
"Have you seen your husband?" Ray asked, staring into her eyes.
"No, sir." She averted her gaze a bit, then stared back at Ray.
He suspected she lied. "You're sure now. I see you have groceries inside and no car around. Who's been helping you?"
"My friend."
"Who might that be?" Ray asked.
"None of your business, Detective."
Ray knew she wouldn't say more. "Call us if LeRoy shows up."
She glared at him.
Ray started down the steps, then turned back. "Why do you have all of those medical supplies on the counter in the bathroom?"
"We run a farm here. People get hurt. If you looked around some, you'd see there ain't a lot of places to put things."
Ray shouldered the bag with crime scene supplies, then joined Johnson in the yard. "How big is this property?" He waved his arm around to indicate the wooded area behind the house.
"Thirty acres or so."
A dilapidated barn stood off to the left, but the roof looked to be in decent repair. A small fenced area contained a couple of goats and a cow. A chicken coop, in better condition than the house, sat a bit further back in the yards. Several pieces of farm equipment filled a lean-to. "Maybe they do farm."
"They do. Personal use, mostly."
Ray and Johnson checked the outbuildings, netting a crate of pseudoephedrine, several other chemicals, and a stash of various filters.
After they hauled the goods to the car, they handed Mrs. Vast another receipt. This time she said nothing.
Next, the men avoided the vegetable gardens and walked the woods. Thorns and stickers stuck to their clothing and poked the exposed skin on their arms. Several growths of Poison Ivy required detours, as did a stand of thorny wild blackberry bushes.
"Ray, look." Johnson pointed.
A small cleared area looked as if someone had camped since the last time it rained, maybe three days ago. Cigarette butts littered the cleared dirt circle surrounding a fire pit. Holes on the perimeter of a raked square seemed to indicate the placement of a tent. Further searching revealed a makeshift latrine trench.
"I'd say Richie Vast was hiding here, or maybe LeRoy really is alive," Ray said.
Johnson pointed to the sky where clouds were rolling in from the west. "Better make it quick." He stepped through the trees to the left of the camp site. "Snake Creek Trail is about thirty feet away."
"So, Mrs. Vast has deniability about knowing someone was living here." Ray pondered the thought. "Looks like a well-worn path," he pointed, "leading in the direction of the house."
"Woods are full of them. I'd say Kelly Ann will tell you about the blackberries if you ask her about the path."
Ray took numerous photos of the site, then he and Johnson collected cigarette butts, excrement samples, and a few other small pieces of potential evidence. Ray packed them all into a larger bag for containment and transport, then took a minute to sketch the property and the location of the campsite on the outside of the bag.
"We need to compare the DNA with both LeRoy Vast and his cousin Richie. Maybe we will finally know who is alive and who is running."
"Well now," Johnson said, "that could be interesting. I don't know if I told you, but I'm sorta related to the Vast boys. My uncle by marriage is a cousin of the Vast brothers."
Ray shook his head. Everyone was related to everyone. "Explain why it should be interesting. I thought LeRoy and Richie were cousins. Shouldn't be a problem"
"Oh, they are. Double-first. Their dads are brothers. Their mothers are sisters. I'm no expert, but I think the DNA analysis won't be cut and dried—not if my biology professor knew what she was talkin' about anyway."
Chapter 14
Sophia
Standing a couple feet from the foot of the stretcher, Sophia observed her patient, Darrell Fealty. Above his head, an electric clock proclaimed the day as Thursday.
He gazed around the small, private ED room with wide eyes, dilated pupils, and a nervous shaking that encompassed his entire body. He'd thrown off the lightweight flannel blanket and sheet the night shift had provided when they admitted him, revealing a gaunt, emaciated body. A couple of minutes earlier, he'd ordered Sophia away from him. Now she waited, hoping he'd calm, so she could do her assessment.
"Sharon, you bitch, get over here." His tone rang nasty, but compelling.
The wife, Sharon Fealty, eased off the rolling stool she had commandeered and placed a safe distance away. She stepped closer to the stretcher, but appeared careful to stay out of arms' reach.
"Closer."
"No, Darrell. You tried to choke me. Remember?" She rubbed at the marks on her neck.
"I'm sorry about that, Shar. I thought you was trying to take my stash."
"Darrell, I don't want, nor have I ever wanted your damned crank." Sharon looked disgusted.
"Shush. Don't tell them about that, baby. They don't have to know. They just have to take that thing out of me."
Fealty tried to get out of bed, but before Sophia could get closer, he collapsed against the pillows. "I need to sleep. Just let me sleep."
"Mrs. Fealty, how long has it been since your husband slept?"
"Don't know for sure. A few days. He got fired, then started binging. Taking one hit after another. I took the kids to Ma's 'cause he gets mean, but I went back home to make sure he didn't hurt hisself."
"Did you tell the cops he tried to choke you?"
"Yeah. They didn't care. Said I should take my kids and leave."
"Sh
ould you?"
"Yes, I guess. But it's not that easy. If I went to Ma's, he'd just tear up her house again. He doesn't care about the kids when he's like this, but he wants me around."
"You've been through this before?"
"Yes. Darrell and I met in rehab. I stayed off the meth. He went back to it a few months back, and he keeps getting worse and worse. He's out of control now. Lost all his friends. His pa won't even talk to him no more."
"I need to take his vitals and do his assessment."
"Uh huh. Better get some help. Even though he looks calm now, he'll blast out at any minute."
"What did he mean by 'take that thing out of me'?"
"He gets paranoid when he uses too much. That's when he tries to hurt me or the kids. Thinks we're demons or something and are after him. Today he decided someone—me most likely—put something in his body to kill him. I told him he was the one who put something in his body—meaning the crank. That's when he decided to choke me."
"How long does the behavior last?"
"Until the stuff is out of his system. Then he'll sleep for a week."
"Then what?"
"He wakes up and goes looking for another hit. There isn't any in the house. When I find it, I flush it. He almost killed me over that a time or two."
"Where does he buy it? If you don't mind my asking."
"There's a guy in town. Big shot. When it comes to meth, Plateauville is a dirty little town. I wish my kids and I could move away somewheres. I won't say no more." Mrs. Fealty shifted side to side, and she looked through the room door as if afraid.
Sophia excused herself and returned a couple of minutes later with a strong male ED tech and a security guard. She handed Mrs. Fealty a brochure about help for abused women. Then with help from the men, she accomplished most of her care, finally having to stop when Fealty woke up yelling, swinging, and grabbing. In the process, however, she learned that his blood pressure was dangerously high and his heart rate was excessive. She went to get the doctor.
The charge nurse assigned the strong tech to stay in the room with Mr. Fealty and his wife, and the security guard stationed himself near the door.
Feeling confident the situation was under control, Sophia headed toward the nurses' lounge for a much-needed cup of coffee and a brief rest. She'd been on her feet for three hours, and her right hip screamed from the abuse. She rubbed at a huge bruise on her left forearm, the result of Fealty grabbing her, then picked up a blank incident report form to complete during her break.
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