“Hi, Neil.”
“I saw you were out here and wanted to offer my condolences.” Neil slowed to a stop and held out a hand.
“Thank you.” Jack shook his hand.
“So, what brings you out here?”
“Dr. Hahn offered to give me a tour. So I could see my sister’s work firsthand.”
Neil nodded brusquely. “I’m glad you got a chance to see it. If you need anything else, please give me a call and let me know.”
His voice had lost its soft edges.
Neil gestured to the parking lot and they both started walking. He continued, “I’m sure you understand the sensitive nature of handling this matter, both for Michelle’s family and the university. Because of that, it would be best if you ran any further inquiries by me first.”
Jack opened the door to his Impala and got in. “Thanks.”
Neil smiled down at him. “I’m glad you understand.”
As Jack pulled out of the parking lot, he felt Neil watching him. He got it: a student was dead and drugs were involved; the university didn’t want the bad publicity and wanted it all to go away quietly.
But there was something they didn’t understand: Michelle was his sister, and nothing and nobody could stop Jack from finding out who killed her.
25
Ask a Better Question
Jack was early for his one-o’clock appointment. He pulled over at the third lookout spot. There were many staggered along the scenic drive so people could pull off, stretch their legs, and enjoy the view. But he wasn’t there for the forest scenery, and he didn’t get out of the car. He was waiting for a silver Ford Taurus.
He left the car running for the heat and shook his head. Undercover detectives. They were a paranoid bunch, with good reason. If one wrong person saw them, months of work could go down the drain—or worse, they could end up dead. You always had to meet them somewhere strange, like the middle of a state forest, or a gas station. When he first joined the force, he had to make drops to an undercover at a golf course.
Jack was here to meet Detective Mark Reynolds. He was the man to go to for information about what was happening in Darrington County, if drugs were involved.
To Jack, it didn’t make sense that Michelle, who worked hard and never did drugs, would try meth. Maybe someone slipped it to her. Were college kids using it? Who was their supplier?
As Jack worked down his list of questions, a silver Taurus backed up next to Jack, and a man in his early thirties with black, wavy hair stepped out and slid into Jack’s passenger seat. He was about five foot five, and his handshake was strong—really strong, like an ironworker’s.
“Jack.”
“Mark. I appreciate you coming.”
“I can’t stay long. I’m supposed to be dropping off a package. You said you had some questions you needed help with.”
“Yeah. Tell me everything I need to know about meth,” Jack said, not joking.
“This related to your foster sister?”
Jack nodded.
“She died in a car accident out on Reservoir Road?”
“Yes.”
“She had meth in her system.”
“Yes. How did you know all that?”
“The ME’s office always informs the drug task force. We keep track of any deaths involving drugs. What’re you going to do with the information if I give it to you?”
“Do with it?” This wasn’t going quite the way Jack had expected.
“I mean, are you thinking about kicking down the doors of all the meth dealers in the city?”
Jack needed to answer carefully. “I’ll think about what you give me. If it leads me to the guy who gave her the meth, then yeah—I’ll have to kick his door down. You have a problem with that?”
Mark looked at him for a minute and then shook his head. He lit a cigarette and leaned back. “Okay. What do you want to know?” His voice wasn’t too deep, but it had calmness and patience, like a teacher’s.
“How can you take meth?”
“Shoot it. Smoke it. Eat it. Suppository.”
“Is it big at White Rocks?”
“Depends on what your definition of big is. It’s available. It’s always available. We shut one lab down and another pops up. Last year, there were two dealers there, but I don’t know of one operating right now. It’s been quiet lately.”
“None?”
“Like I said, you can get it, but there isn’t one dealer who’s claiming the turf. Too much heat now.”
Mark leaned forward and angled his head down, pretending to tune the radio. Jack looked up and saw a man on a bike. They both remained silent as the man rode past. Then the detective leaned back and took a long drag on his cigarette.
“Could someone force somebody to take it?” Jack asked.
“Yeah, I suppose.” Mark eyed Jack. “Is that what you think happened?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“She wouldn’t do meth. She was a clean, hardworking kid with no previous drug use. If someone didn’t do drugs, would their first choice be meth?”
“You need to ask a better question, Jack.”
Jack’s jaw clenched. “Enlighten me.”
“First off, you don’t know for a fact that she hadn’t done any other drugs, right?”
Jack nodded.
“Second, anyone might. It depends on the circumstances. I can’t answer how likely it is. Who knew her best?”
“Probably her sister, her foster sister.”
“Does she say that she could have done it?”
“She said no way.”
“But it was in her system. What did the ME say?”
“The body wasn’t discovered for some time. They couldn’t tell how much.”
Mark took a drag on his cigarette and blew the smoke out the crack of the window.
Jack cleared his throat. “I appreciate you meeting me.”
“I understand now why you asked. Family is important.”
“Do you have any?” Jack asked.
Mark took another long drag and exhaled. The smoke wafted out the window. “I have a wife who defies expectations. She’s like a good doctor; she has a lot of patience.” Jack smiled at the joke, and Mark continued, “My daughter, on the other hand…” His voice trailed off and he looked out the window.
Jack debated for a second and then said, “She’s like a pediatrician? She has little patience.”
Mark looked at him, puzzled, and then burst out laughing. He started to cough and tossed his cigarette out.
“Funny.”
“I just made it up.”
“Thanks. I needed a laugh.”
Jack persisted. “One more question. You said there are no dealers at the college now. Who was there before?”
“Carl Finn and Mike Leverone. Leverone will talk with you.”
“What about Finn?”
“Dead. Suicide. Last year.”
“Why will Leverone talk?”
“His lab blew up. Burned down his parents’ house and got pretty fried himself. He flipped, gave us everything and everyone he had. He does Scared Straight stuff now.”
“How can I get in touch with him?”
Mark scribbled down a phone number and address and handed them to Jack. “He’s odd, but he’s helping us, so don’t go off, understand?”
“I just want to find out how she got it. I’m open to ideas.”
“Talk to Mike. He knew all the players. But if it was me, I’d start with your sister’s friends. Find out who she was with. Friends, start there. If not, you’re chasing the wind.”
“I appreciate it.”
They shook hands, and Mark started to slide out of the car. Then he stopped.
“What is it?” Jack asked.
Mark held up one finger as he stared straight ahead. “There was this one kid. We followed him a few times last year. We suspected he was a runner for one of the dealers at the college, but we could never catch him red-handed.”
/> Jack opened his notebook again.
“Lennie Jacobsen. They call him Lennie J,” Mark said.
“Thanks. I’ll look him up.”
“No problem.” Mark gave a curt nod and got back in his car.
As the Taurus pulled out, Jack had already started to dial. He wanted to see Leverone before he went home.
26
But for the Grace of God Go I
The small yellow-and-white ranch fit right in with the rest of the quiet, tree-lined neighborhood. An old red Honda sedan was in the driveway. Jack pulled in behind it and parked. He walked up a curved brick walkway to a red door with a big pine wreath on it, rang the doorbell, and waited.
When the door was yanked open, Mike Leverone stood, smiling, in the doorway. At least Jack thought he was smiling.
Mark Reynolds hadn’t provided enough information regarding Mike’s accident. Whatever wasn’t covered by his baseball cap was extremely difficult to look at: mangled, twisted, and scarred by fire.
Don’t look away.
“Jack?”
Jack had been a soldier and had seen more than his share of horrifying accidents, but one look at Mike and he wondered how the man had survived.
“Jack Stratton.” He reached forward and closed his hand around Mike’s prosthetic hook.
“Mike Leverone,” Mike said. “You’re good. You didn’t even flinch at the hook.” He turned, and Jack followed him inside.
The modest living room was clean and tidy, not a spot of dust anywhere. The large book collection on the room’s rear wall was meticulously arranged.
“Thank you for seeing me on such short notice,” Jack said.
“Thank you for seeing me. I don’t get many visitors.” Mike held out his hand for Jack to sit in the recliner.
If a man’s home is his castle, then his recliner is his throne. Jack nodded to acknowledge the gesture as he sat down.
Mike seemed pleased. “Can I get you something to drink, coffee? I’m on probation, so I stay squeaky clean and I don’t have any alcohol.”
“No, I’m all set, thanks.”
“Give me a minute then.” Mike wandered into the kitchen to a huge coffeemaker and reached up into a cupboard for a new cup. When his sweater sleeve slipped down, Jack caught a long glimpse of the scars underneath.
“Sure I can’t get you one?” Mike turned.
Jack quickly pretended to be checking out the magazines that were stacked in a neat square on top of the coffee table. “No, I’m good.”
Mike came back to sit on the couch. “On the phone you said you had some questions about meth up at White Rocks.”
“That’s right. I need some help… Can I ask you to keep this confidential?”
“Is this the face of a talker?” Mike pointed to his scarred features.
Self-deprecation. Defense mechanism. Laugh. Jack smiled. “I’m looking into a murder. The autopsy showed the victim had meth in her system. There’s reason to believe the victim didn’t do drugs. We think someone forced her to take it and then killed her.”
“Forced her?”
Jack paused. He was trying to read Mike’s face. He thought maybe Mike was raising a former eyebrow.
“Could someone have tricked her into taking it? Slipped it in a drink?”
Mike shook his head. “No. You can parachute it, but if you put it in a drink it’s really bitter.”
“What’s parachuting?”
“Swallowing it. You can snort it, like coke. Smoke it. Slam it—you know, shoot it like heroin, or booty-bump.”
Jack winced. “If someone was going to force someone else to take it, how would they do it?”
“I’d think shoot them up.”
“Do they get the effects right away?”
“Not necessarily. Depends on the person. The way you take it affects the speed and strength, too. Smoking is the fastest and gets you off quickest.”
“Did you know Carl Finn?”
“Yeah. Good guy. We were in some classes together.”
“What happened to him?”
“He sampled. One time. He thought spiders were in his brain. So he used a nail gun to get them.” Mike pantomimed the scene out as he spoke, holding his prosthetic hook up next to his temple and then jerking his head to the side.
Jack shuddered. “One time, huh?”
“All it takes.”
“How hard is it to make?”
“Hard?” Mike snorted. “It’s not. Anyone can make it.”
“Anyone?”
“If you have the Internet, you can figure it out. I learned at college.”
“College? White Rocks?” Jack asked.
“Dr. Franklin’s class. He taught us how.”
“He’s co-director of the center. He taught you?”
“Step by step. He gave me the idea. I thought he was a hero until I blew apart my life.” Mike gestured wildly with his hook.
“Why was he teaching kids how to make meth?”
“Showing off? Midlife crisis? Power to the people? Who knows? It was my fault for doing it. I mean, he didn’t sit there and say mix this and use that, but he gave an outline and answered any question I asked when I went back to him.”
“What went wrong?”
Mike shrugged. “The whole process is super-combustible. You can see videos on the net. With me, it was the solvents, I think. I was hurrying, and I left the cover off. Making meth involves fire and explosive fumes. They mixed, and boom. Fire all over.”
Jack remembered the phosphorus bombs and swallowed. Is that what happened to Mike? If Chandler hadn’t broken down that door… Jack could still see the fire shooting out the door. Blue and white flames swirling together before turning crimson and licking at the sky.
“You’ve seen it, haven’t you?” Mike leaned forward.
Jack nodded.
Silence descended on the room as the two men replayed their own memories of hell.
Jack closed his eyes and rubbed them with his hands. “What does Franklin teach?”
“Psychology. I was taking his class called Drugs, Youth, and the Mind. Franklin’s into imaging.”
“I got the tour this morning. Is that with the fMRI?” Jack asked.
“At the center? Yeah. They hook you up and give you different drugs and take images of your brain. They make you take off all your rings and stuff.” He pointed at an earring that hung off what was left of his ear. “I was nervous when I first went in. I heard a story of this guy who was harpooned by a chair that flew up and crashed into the machine. Something to do with the metal.”
“Because of the magnets?”
“Yeah, that must be it.”
“Do they actually give you meth?” Jack asked.
“Sort of. You can get a prescription for ADHD meds and stuff like that. They do studies at the school, and I think they used it. That was a while ago. Anyway, the pill is super-low dose. A regular street hit would be like a month’s worth of prescription.”
“So you can legally get meth? That’s messed up.”
“Not really. It’s way harder to get the legal stuff than the street stuff.”
Jack paused. “One last question. Anyone at the college I should talk to who could have given it to the… victim?”
Mike shook his head and held up his hand and his hook. “Almost anyone. I haven’t heard about anyone stepping up after Carl and me. There’s still too much attention for one guy to set up shop. But you can still get it. You just have to ask.”
“Did you know a Lennie Jacobsen or Lennie J? He may have been a runner.”
Mike shook his head and looked down at his feet. “Meth attracts people like flies to garbage, hangers-on and wannabes.” He stared down at the floor and swallowed. “For a while, I felt like a rock star with all my groupies. But they were just kids. Who knows what I turned them into? I burned myself on the outside, but they burned on the inside. I didn’t even know most of their names.”
He looked up at Jack and trembled where his chin use
d to be.
Jack tried, but he couldn’t hold Mike’s gaze. He stood up to leave. “Thank you for your time.”
“Oh, okay.” Mike looked disappointed.
“If you hear anything, please give me a call.”
“Sure. If I can help at all, you can just stop by. I can’t go anywhere”—he lifted up his pant leg, revealing an ankle monitor—“and I don’t get many visitors.”
“Thanks for your time.”
“Any time.” Mike followed Jack to the door, stood in the open doorway, and waved with his prosthesis as Jack drove away.
Jack looked up at his reflection in the rearview mirror.
That could have been me.
He whispered to his dead friend, “Thanks, buddy.”
It was late afternoon when Jack came home. Replacement almost bowled him over as soon as he walked in the door.
“Where have you been? What happened?”
“Give me a second.”
“Does your phone work? Can’t you hear it ring? I’ve been trying to get you all day,” she said, following right on his heels.
He pulled out his phone. It was turned off. He shrugged a sorry.
Replacement glared. “You didn’t check your phone?” Her hands flew wide. “I was worried. I woke up and—”
“Shut up.”
She slammed both hands into his shoulders, but he could tell she held back. “You shut up. I’ve been waiting.”
“Okay. Get me a soda while I get ready for work and I’ll tell you.”
“I’m not your wife. Get your own soda.”
“You’re nagging at me like a wife, so get—” Jack stopped himself and closed his eyes for a second. “Fine. I went out to the center this morning. I got the full tour. I didn’t get much of anything, but I’m going back for another look in a couple of days.” He left off the part about looking up Dr. Franklin.
“Can I go with you?”
“Last time didn’t go too well. Remember Missy?”
“Funny you brought her up.” Replacement walked over to the computer.
Uh-oh. “Funny how?”
“Remember how you thought she was lying about Michelle?” She sat down at the computer. “I thought if we pushed a little more…”
Detective Jack Stratton Box Set Page 17