Caching Out

by Cheatham, Tammy

  Daniel nodded, “You do know that while there is certainly a marijuana problem at the Res, more of the users there are into crack cocaine, right? I pull shifts over at County Hospital twice a month and there’s always someone being brought in with a suspected overdose. A couple weeks ago we had one show up and confirmed an OD on heroin. Surprised the hell out of me since I didn’t know that there was enough money on the Res for anyone to get their hands on anything other than the cheap drugs, like marijuana or crack.”

  “Yeah, I knew that there were other drugs out there. Rumor has it that the gangs are pulling down some big money delivering for their primary supplier, and we both know that for an addict more money equals better drugs. Any idea what Ketamine goes for on the street?”

  Snorting, Daniel replied, “No idea. That’s more your department than mine.”

  “Just a casual question, Daniel. You find anything more on that symbol she had cut into her arm? Maybe it’s Lakota after all?”

  “If I were guessing, I’d say it’s not a Native American symbol, Lakota or otherwise. You thinking someone from the Res did this?”

  Tate shrugged, “Just thinking outside the box. I need to understand what the symbol means and why the perp would mark the victim this way. I haven’t ruled out that the guy wants us to think that the killer is someone from the Reservation. I’m not aware of any murders on or off the Res where the killer marked the victim this way, but I don’t want to overlook anything either.”

  Daniel stood to leave and Tate extended his hand. “I appreciate your help. If you think of anything else just give me a call and keep an eye out for any Ketamine cases over at County when you’re pulling shifts, if you would.”

  “No problem. In fact, I can do you one better and check the hospital systems for any reported Ketamine cases. I’m on duty over there this weekend and I’ll let you know if I come up with anything. Once Royce has results on the hair follicle findings, I’ll give you a call.”

  Tate grabbed his cap and slid his Glock G22 service revolver into the black leather holster at his waist, Tate walked with Daniel as far as the parking lot. Climbing into his SUV, he decided it was time to drive out and visit with Reva Corley whether she’d gotten herself together or not. He needed the truth about Saralyn Parker’s drug use and starting with her best friend seemed as a good a place as any.

  CHAPTER 5

  Turning onto County Road 42, Tate followed the winding two lane road out to Miller’s Haven trailer park where Reva Corley lived. Once into the mobile home community, Tate immediately noticed signs of neglect. The entrance was marked by rough-hewed timbers on either side of the road leading into the park. Hanging on one side of the timbers, a dangling piece of rusty chain held a faded wooden sign proclaiming the place as a ‘Haven’ while on the other side, an equally rusty mate sporting the name ‘Miller’s’ swung in the afternoon breeze.

  “Not much of a haven,” he muttered.

  Faded trailers sat on gray cinder blocks or on the wheels that they were sold with and were separated by thirty feet of overgrown grass, dirt and rock. Tate smiled as he saw that several dogs had taken a break from the spring sun and snoozed in the shade of the homes that weren’t underpinned. Pulling into the driveway on lot thirty eight, Tate noticed that Reva's home wasn’t in much better shape than the others but that she did keep it neat. The area around her trailer had been mowed and on both sides of the steps leading up to her door she’d placed planters that bloomed with red and yellow spring flowers. Flowers that reminded him of the window boxes at Saralyn Parker’s neat little one story house in town.

  Stepping up to the door, Tate heard a radio blasting rock music and caught the greasy scent of something being fried. He knocked and stepped back a few feet to wait. No answer. After a few moments he knocked again, and heard the scrap of a metal chain sliding from its lock. The door opened a crack, just wide enough for Reva to see outside.

  “Oh, it’s you. Come on in.” Reva pulled the door open and stepped back, motioning him inside.

  Tate stepped into a small rectangular living room and glanced at Reva; her green eyes were dark-rimmed and red against the ash-white color of her bare face. Her strawberry blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail, making her appear much younger than her twenty-four years. In one hand she held a pot holder and in the other a metal spatula dripping with oil.

  “Come on in the kitchen and have a seat. I’m almost done here.” Stepping around a worn dining room table that had probably belonged to her mother before her, Reva moved to the stove and the black cast iron skillet that sat bubbling on one burner. She reached into the cabinet and pulled down a glass bowl to scoop the frying potatoes out of the grease-coated skillet. Once the task was complete, Reva turned the stove’s gas burner off and set the bowl on the counter. She looked at Tate, a sad smile on her face. “Have you found out who killed Saralyn? Is that what you came to tell me?”

  Tate laid his cap on the yellow Formica table and sat in one of the chairs at the table. “No, we haven’t caught the killer yet, but I do have a couple questions for you about Saralyn.” A deep sigh pushed from his lungs, “Were you aware that she smoked marijuana, Reva?” Tate didn’t mention the Ketamine.

  Lunch forgotten, Reva stood behind a chair at the table across from Tate. Gripping the back of the chair until her knuckles turned white she leaned forward, her green eyes sparking with anger. “Saralyn was not a dope user. She may have taken a toke every now and then, but that’s it.”

  Not breaking eye contact with her, Tate’s voice was soft and firm. “What do you mean, every now and then Reva? Did she smoke every day, once a week, how often is every now and then?” Tate watched as Reva sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly but still he pressed her for answers. “Where’d she get it? She have connections out at the Res, or was it brought in from somewhere else?”

  Reva pulled the chair out and dropped into the seat. She cupped her chin with both hands and raised her watery eyes, meeting Tate’s gaze with her own. “Get this, Tate Echo. Saralyn was not a drug user. As far as I know she only smoked once since she graduated college and moved back to Pine Ridge to teach. She told me that she went to a party at her cousin’s house over in White River a couple weeks ago where she met a guy and they really seemed to click. They stepped out on the porch to talk and he pulled out a joint. She took a few tokes. Nothing more.”

  Tate leaned forward and met Reva’s gaze, “She mention any other drugs to you?”

  “Other drugs? No, why would she, there weren’t any?”

  Ignoring her question, Tate continued to pepper Reva with questions of his own. “Who’s the guy, did she tell you that? I need to talk to him. Maybe he had something to do with her death.”

  Tears pooled in Reva’s eyes and spilled down her cheeks to the corner of her mouth. Hesitant, she said, “His name was Troy. Saralyn didn’t tell me a last name. Tate, she didn’t see him again after that. Saralyn wanted to fall in love and have kids and she knew she couldn’t do that with a drug user, not even a casual user.” Pulling a paper napkin from a ceramic U-shaped holder on the table, Reva dabbed at her eyes then folded the napkin and blew her nose before wadding it in one hand.

  “Me and Saralyn was friends since grade school, and I know that she was telling me the truth. If there’d been more to tell, then I’d know about it. We loved each other like sisters and we did not keep secrets. For God’s sake Tate, her daddy is a deacon at the Baptist church and her mama teaches Sunday school. It would kill them to find out that Saralyn smoked weed, even if it was only once. Please, you can’t let this get out.”

  Tate leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms. “I have no intention of letting anything get out, but I do need to track down this guy. Do you know her cousin’s name? Maybe he can fill me in about Troy.”

  Reva nodded. “We both know him. It’s Danny Parker. He was two grades ahead of me and Saralyn. He works over at the feed store in White River now. He does deliveries for them.”

&n
bsp; With a nod signaling that their conversation was over, Tate stood, grabbed his cap from the table and turned to leave.

  Standing when Tate did, Reva whispered, “Is it true that Saralyn was cut up?”

  Spinning to face her, Tate swore under his breath. “Reva, where did you hear that?”

  Unable to meet Tate’s cold grey eyes, Reva ducked her head. “I only asked about it because if it’s true…well I thought you should know that there’s only one man in the county mean enough and good enough with a knife to do something like that.”

  Relaxing his posture slightly, Tate waited for her to continue. “Go on.”

  Glancing up, Reva knew she had Tate’s attention. “Marshall Olen is always flashing that knife of his and bragging about cutting somebody if they don’t do what he says. I just thought you should know that. He eats over at the diner real regular and I . . well, overhear things sometimes.”

  “Reva I appreciate you sharing what you know about Marshall and I will follow up on where he was the night Saralyn died. For now, I don’t want you to repeat any of what you just told me to anyone. I mean it, no one. Talking that way could put you in danger and I know that neither of us wants that. I’ll need your word.”

  Reva’s eyes widened, realizing what Tate meant. “Oh God Tate, you think that if he killed Saralyn that he might come after me too?” Her voice was little more than a whisper. “I never even thought of that. I won’t say a word. Not one word. I swear to you, I swear it.”

  “That’s good. Now if you think of anything else or happen to overhear anything else suspicious in the diner, you keep quiet about it and then you give me a call. For Christ’s sake, and especially for your own safety, do not talk to anyone about the details of Saralyn’s murder. You can’t trust what you might overhear at the diner and repeating it just fuels the fire for speculation. You understand?”

  Nervously rubbing her hands together, Reva nodded. “I do understand and I just want you to catch the person who killed Saralyn. She deserves that.”

  Tate slammed his cap down on his head. “I intend to catch the killer, but this is an open investigation and my office hasn’t released any of the particulars about Saralyn’s murder. Obviously someone on the scene has a big mouth. We need to keep this as quiet as possible so that it doesn’t interfere with the investigation or with finding the bastard who did this.”

  Reva nodded a frightened ‘yes,’ and stood silent as Tate took the steps two at a time and jogged to his SUV.

  Five minutes later, Tate passed under the rusted and dangling sign as he left Miller’s Haven. At least now he had a lead. Make that two leads and a possible suspect. That was more than he’d had since Saralyn’s body had been found. At this point, Tate agreed with Reva that there was no need to disclose the drugs found during the autopsy to Saralyn’s parents. Not until he knew more about how they got into her system. The Parker family had been through enough losing their youngest child without finding out that she was a pot smoker and possibly more.

  Instead of turning his SUV west toward town and his office, Tate turned east toward White River. Might as well go on over and find out if Danny Parker can give me more details on this Troy guy, then do a little digging to see what Marshall Olen was up to the night that Saralyn was murdered. Tate called dispatch with instructions to forward all his calls to his cell.

  On the drive to White River, he thought about Reva’s comments on Marshall Olen. Punching Martin’s number in his cell he waited for him to answer.

  “Crawley here. That you Tate?”

  “Yeah, Martin, it’s me. Wondering if you can do me a favor and see if you can find out what Marshall Olen was up to the night Parker was murdered.”

  “I got that. You thinking Marshall had something to do with this mess?”

  Clearing his throat Tate replied, “Don’t know, but when I talked to Reva she seemed to think that he brags a lot about what he’s going to do with that knife of his. I’ve only seen Marshall once since I returned to Pine Ridge and that was when I ran back up for you out at the I-31 Tavern and by the time I got there the fight was all but over. You remember that night?”

  “Sure do. Never could prove who started the fight or that Marshall was the one who cut Jack Long’s arm up, even though I suspect he was.”

  Flipping his blinker on, Tate grimaced. “Yeah that’s what I thought, too. He’s a big SOB, and on top of that he’s a mean drunk and a bully. When you were questioning folks, I watched him sitting at the bar. He followed you in the mirror the whole time. I remember thinking that he acted suspicious, but when no one in the tavern wanted to tell you what happened I figured it would have been a waste of time to pull him in with no witnesses to support a case.”

  “You’re right about that. No need to waste the taxpayer’s money on a bar room fight if you don’t have a credible witness. I’ll check up on Marshall’s whereabouts the night of the murder and let you know what I find out.”

  “Sounds good, stop by my place on your way home tonight and I’ll have you a cold beer ready. I’m headed over to White River to follow up on a lead there and expect to be home about six.”

  Twenty minutes later, Tate pulled into the parking lot of the White River Feed and Supply. Tate stepped out of the SUV just as Danny Parker walked out on the loading dock with a sack of feed resting on one shoulder. Leaning against the front of the vehicle, Tate waited while Danny dropped the bag into the bed of an old truck and waved at the man driving it. As the truck pulled away from the dock, Tate walked to where Danny stood.

  “You got a minute Danny?”

  Jumping from the dock Danny extended a hand to Tate. “Haven’t seen you in a while, Tate. I heard you was the new police chief in Pine Ridge, but I don’t get over there much. What can I do for you?”

  “I’ve got a couple questions for you about Saralyn. I know that she was at a party at your place a few weeks ago and that she hung out with a guy named Troy. I need his last name and where I can find him.”

  Whistling through his teeth Danny didn’t hesitate, “Donaldson, Troy Donaldson. You thinking he had something to do with Saralyn’s murder?”

  Tate leaned against the dock, “I’m not saying that, Danny. I just have a few questions for him. You have any idea where I might find him?”

  “He lives in the duplexes over on Center Street. He’s in the second unit on the right, middle door. He travels a lot for work and I don’t know if he’s in town right now.”

  “Did you notice Saralyn hanging out with anyone else in particular at the party?” Tate straightened.

  “Naw, her and Troy kind of hit it off right away and they pretty much hung out together the whole night. I didn’t spend the night keeping a close eye on my little cuz or anything, but I didn’t see her dancing with anyone else or even talking to anyone else for more than a minute.”

  “Fair enough. I may have some more questions for you later, but I think that about covers it for now.”

  A few minutes later, Tate turned on Center Street and pulled in at the driveway of the second duplex unit, parking behind a blue sedan.

  Tate knocked on the door and stepped back. A man in his late twenties opened the door a few seconds later. Looking surprised, the man asked, “Yes, can I help you?”

  “Are you Troy Donaldson?”

  Troy nodded and stepped out of the house, pulling the door almost closed behind him. “I’m Troy Donaldson.”

  Tate pulled his jacket back to reveal the badge clipped at the waist, “I’m Police Chief Tate Echo from Pine Ridge and I have some questions for you regarding the murder of Saralyn Parker.”

  Troy shot a nervous glance around to see if any neighbors were watching, and then pushed the door behind him open, “Come on in. I don’t think I want to talk about Saralyn standing on my front stoop.”

  Walking into the small duplex, Tate was surprised to see that it was well cared for and clean. Not what you’d expect from a junkie.

  Troy pointed to the couch, “Have a seat. C
an I get you something to drink? I have bottled water and soft drinks.”

  Ignoring the offer, Tate got to the point. “Can you tell me where you were the night that Saralyn Parker was murdered?”

  Troy dropped into a chair across from Tate. “I was in Milwaukee on business. I do sales for Spartan Electronics and I travel a lot.”

  Holding the younger man’s gaze, Tate asked, “You ever do Ketamine? Or maybe you know it as Special K?”

  Sliding forward in the chair, Troy stared at Tate. “I know what it is, but I haven’t ever done it. I thought we were going to talk about Saralyn, what’s Ketamine got to do with her?”

  Tate cleared his throat. “I know that you and Saralyn smoked pot at a party over at Danny Parker’s house and I want to know if you and she did any other drugs.”

  Jumping to his feet, Troy paced before turning back to Tate. “I smoke a little weed every now and then, but I don’t do any other drugs. Saralyn only took a couple tokes from a joint that I carried to Danny’s party and nothing else. Hell, I’d be willing to take a drug test if that would help you out.” Dropping back into the chair, Troy spoke softly. “We talked almost the whole night and I thought we hit it off pretty well. But she never returned my call, so I let it go. You know, thought she wasn’t interested after all.”

  Cocking his head, Tate thought that either this kid was being totally honest or he was one hell of a good actor. “You have anyone that can verify you were in Milwaukee?”

  “Absolutely,” Troy pulled a business card out of his wallet and handed it to Tate. “That’s my manager; he was at the same sales event and can confirm that I was there.”

  Standing, Tate extended a hand to Troy. “I appreciate you talking to me and I will be contacting your manager for confirmation. I could have some additional questions later, but I think that about covers it for now.”

  Backing out of the driveway, Tate pulled the business card that Troy had given him out of his shirt pocket and dialed the number. A very brief conversation confirmed what Tate had already suspected, Troy was telling the truth about being in Milwaukee. Another dead end.