Caffeine & Killers (A Roasted Love Cozy Mystery Book 3)

by Cam Larson

  Then I remembered the chocolate scones I'd brought home from Roasted Love the other day. Oh, yeah. Dinner was complete.

  While I ate my soup and salad, I found my thoughts wandering back to John.

  I remembered hearing Walter say that some time ago, he had tried to help John but that John had disappeared for a while soon after that. And that had been before John started sleeping at night outside of Roasted Love.

  I was curious about where he would have gone. Since he had a brother, he may have stayed someplace with him – assuming this was before Steven had been sent to prison. It seemed highly unlikely that John had a family home to go back to. Or, even if there was one, he may not have been welcome there.

  Then I gradually became aware that my cell phone was ringing. I pulled it out of my jeans pocket and answered it.

  "Laila," said Daniel, "I was told by Leo Swenson that the autopsy report on John should be back soon. Have you found out what his last name was?"

  I swallowed a quick spoonful of tomato soup. "Not yet, but I haven’t had much time to look into it. But yeah, I’m pretty curious about his name and about his life in general. He didn’t strike me as someone who'd lived on the streets for a long time – I don't think it was more than a few years at the most. And I know he said he'd gone to college for a while."

  "It’s too bad people end up like he did," said Daniel. There was something in his tone that said he could have easily dismissed the situation if I hadn’t asked for the autopsy report. But in his line of work, I guess, you have to sort of harden yourself to the things you see every day.

  "Do you get a lot of calls to treat people on drugs?" I asked him.

  He sighed. "More than I can count," he said. "Resuscitating drug users is pretty common. We see it in bars, streets, motel rooms, and even homes. Emergency rooms get their fair share, too."

  "Are you ever called to resuscitate people who live on the streets?"

  Daniel hesitated. "We are, Laila, but in most of those cases the person is already dead before we even get the call. There isn't usually anyone around who can dial 9-1-1 before it's too late."

  I had another question for him. "Do you ever know their names? I mean, the names of the ones who are homeless."

  He paused. "My job is to keep them alive, Laila, if I can. Once in a while I know their names, but you know that I can't tell you – or anyone – who these people are. Besides, most of those calls are from a seedy part of West River. And knowing you, you'd go right down there to see if any of them knew John."

  "Oh, I have other ways of finding out John’s last name. That’s all I want to do." I paused. "I wonder where he'll be buried."

  There was no way I'd tell Daniel that he was right. If it meant going to the bad part of town to find out more about John's death, I would do that. Though I had to admit that I had no idea where the seedy area Daniel talked about was located.

  I was aware of some older areas on the far side of West River, New York, but they were neighborhoods where the working poor lived. Children and families could be seen socializing with one another. People sat on the front porches of homes that they cared for as best they could. Daniel and I drove through that area whenever we went into New York City. We both enjoyed the theatre and had seen several Broadway shows in the past.

  I don't think that was the "seedy area" that he was talking about right now.

  "To answer your question," Daniel went on, "the police will try to locate any family so they can make arrangements for his funeral. Otherwise, he'll be buried in a pauper’s grave at the main cemetery in town."

  I was quiet for a moment. From what Daniel was saying, I realized that he experienced more of West River and its inhabitants than I had imagined. My nice quiet life revolved around working as a barista at Roasted Love, playing with my dog Thor, spending time with Daniel, and enjoying normal stuff in a normal life.

  It occurred to me that I lived in a cocoon, in much the same way that John had been in a cocoon when he was curled up on the ground in front of the coffee house – but they were cocoons that had separated us almost completely.

  I reminded myself that we had at least connected over coffee every morning, and I was grateful that Roasted Love had been the one common element in both our lives that had let us do that.

  I bent my head down, very sorry that it was too late now to ever get to know the real John.

  "Are you still there?" asked Daniel.

  I raised my head. "Sure. I’m still here. I'm just thinking about what you told me. I guess I never really thought about the kind of stuff you see while you're on the job."

  He paused. "No reason to tell you the worst of it. I love my work, but it’s not always a story with a happy ending like the little girl who dialed 911 and saved her mother."

  We talked a few minutes more, and then ended the call – but my mind went on racing. I wasn’t so sure I wanted to get involved with whoever had forced an overdose on poor John. That should be left to the cops, and from what Daniel had told me, his friend Officer Leo Swenson was on top of things.

  No, my goal was to find out exactly who John really was. I decided that I'd start with finding out his last name. The investigation wouldn't be complete until that was known – unless, of course, the cops already knew his last name and just weren't giving it out to the news media.

  Yawning, I put Thor out for the last time that night. "Hurry it up, Thor. I’m turning in early tonight." He took his time and explored the backyard as if he'd never been there before. He finally decided to come back in and headed to the throw rug on my living room floor, right next to my favorite chair.

  "Okay, Thor. We’ll keep the usual ritual." I flipped the TV on, and sighed.

  I was just in time to catch the local news and watch Councilman Carpenter hammering away on his usual issues. He was up for re-election and going full force in his campaign. Once again, he was ranting about the homeless.

  While Carpenter insisted that law enforcement wasn't doing enough, a photographer’s lens scanned an area of town I'd never seen before. Several people shuffled into the range of the camera. Across the street were two more who were exchanging money for drugs. At least, that’s what the reporter said.

  My heart caught when I saw a woman with two small children walk into the frame. The camera didn’t focus on them, but I watched the three disappear behind a crumbling old building in the background.

  I got up and went over to my laptop, and Googled "homeless area West River New York." It gave me several sites that looked promising and I clicked on one. Reading the information, I realized that this old downtown area was just behind the neighborhoods Daniel and I always drove through on our way to see the Broadway shows.

  According to Councilman Carpenter, that area was "dangerous and a blight on our city of law-abiding citizens." He seemed to know the powers and limitations of local cops when it came to drug laws. I didn’t personally know much about all that and I made a mental note to ask Daniel what he knew.

  Tomorrow was my day off, and I began to put together a plan. I got a map and looked up the GPS coordinates for driving to the blighted area that Calvin Carpenter spoke of.

  "Well, Thor," I said, as the Doberman raised his beautiful sleek head and looked at me, "We've got a mission. And you're the one I'm trusting with my life."

  Chapter Five

  The next morning, as I prepared for my trip to the old downtown area, I wanted to get some information from Daniel. I hit speed dial and there he was.

  "Laila! You're up early on your day off," he said.

  "Yup. I want to get as much as I can out of my free day. You in a hurry?"

  "I've got a few minutes before I have to leave," he said. "I have to be at a meeting for most of today. There's some kind of training we have to go through. Seems like there's always something new we have to learn. Why? Is something up?"

  I paused. "Well – you know – the drug users you try to save. Are they mainly heroin users?"

  Now it was his t
urn to pause. "No. Not always. Some overdose on pills they find in the trash, or get from a dealer."

  "In the trash?"

  "Sure. People are careless about throwing away their outdated meds. The stuff ends up in dumpsters, and that’s where the homeless search for food. I just had a case last night where somebody took almost a full bottle of sleeping pills."

  "Where was that case? I mean, where in the city?"

  "In this case, a mother living in a tenement house had ransacked a dumpster outside a fast-food restaurant. She told us that that was where she found the pills." He sighed. "Seems she was a nurse at one time and recognized benzodiazepines."

  "Benzo – what?"

  "Laila! What is this all about?" asked Daniel. When I didn’t answer, he went on. "The autopsy report isn’t back on John yet, if that’s why you're asking all these questions."

  "I definitely want to know what the autopsy shows as cause of death," I said. "Do drug users ever combine sleeping pills and heroin?"

  "Yeah, of course. They'll combine anything they can get their hands on." He paused again. "I’m sorry, Laila. I have to get to work now. Don’t get yourself involved in things you don’t know anything about. Just leave all that to the professionals. Okay?"

  There were times when I wondered if Daniel was psychic. Sometimes I thought he really could read my mind.

  "The drug world is entirely different from the world you and I live in," he went on. "It's concentrated in a small area of West River. The local cops are on top of the problem and they make sure it doesn’t go any farther than it has already."

  I made a feeble attempt to reassure him before we ended the call. Then I reached for Thor’s leash, and at the sight of it the dog bounded to the door and sat eagerly while I hooked it onto his collar.

  A few minutes later, we were both in the car. Following my GPS instructions, I found myself traveling from the neat and trim West River I knew so well into far less attractive areas.

  I saw several buildings that were being torn down. Or maybe they were just crumbling from neglect. The farther I got into what was supposed to be the "homeless area," the more I had to maneuver around potholes. Small businesses were secured with iron bars on their front windows.

  A sprinkling of people sat on the sidewalks and front steps. A few stood on street corners. One grocery store had a sign plastered across the front reading "Ground Beef Special." The price was half of what I paid at my local store, and I wondered where they were getting their meat.

  Teenagers hung out on the broken sidewalk a yard or so away from the door. Three of them held cigarettes between stained fingers.

  I drove another block and then parked my car. "Stay with me, Thor," I reminded my Doberman, as I caught up his leash and we got out.

  I took a deep breath and picked one man standing alone to approach. Thor walked close beside me and I kept his leash short. The dog was distracted with all the new smells in the air and all the new sights.

  Stumbling once over the uneven concrete, I wondered why the city didn’t just tear up the sidewalks and pour gravel instead. I guessed that money for nice new sidewalks down here wasn’t exactly in the city budget.

  As I got a few yards past my car, the man I had targeted eyed me. He shifted from staring at me to staring at my car. He glanced at Thor’s strong body and white teeth, and a shadow of fear might have crossed his face. That was good. Thor was meant to be intimidating.

  I glanced around me. Only two other vehicles were parked on this part of the street, and one had a flat tire. Both were at least ten years old and looked like they'd been driven to the moon and back.

  "Hi. Do you mind if I talk to you?" I asked the man.

  He looked closely at me with dull grey eyes. "You want some party favors?" he asked.

  I must have looked confused when he said that, because he turned around and started to walk away. I had no idea what he meant at first. When he glanced back at me, I noticed a slight bulge beneath the thin coat he wore. Facial hair covered any expression on his face, except for his eyes.

  Then I realized that, of course, "party favors" meant drugs.

  "Wait," I said. I pulled Thor a little closer. His sharp gaze was fixed on the disheveled man, and his nose twitched. Even I could catch the smell of clothes and skin untouched by soap and water. And there was some other weird scent there, too, that I figured must have something to do with the drugs he was carrying.

  "Do you know where I can get heroin and sleeping pills?" I asked.

  The man turned around again, and frowned at me. "Yeah, Miss Uptown? You don’t look like somebody who shoots anything." His voice was hoarse and low. Then he coughed several times, and at least had the good manners to turn his head when he did. Then he wiped his bushy mustache on the back of a dirty hand.

  "You look more like the pill type. You don’t look like no H hype to me."

  I wanted to object to being called the "pill type," but I let it pass. This was no time to argue.

  "Um – you're right. I don't shoot anything. I’m down here to buy for a friend."

  He grinned, showing broken yellow teeth. "Sure, sure! People want stuff for their friends all the time." But then he frowned again and peered at me with small, suspicious eyes. "Hey, what makes you think I know where to get that kind of stuff?"

  There was no visible movement on the dingy street except for someone leaving a pawn shop. The nearest people were at least half a block away. It was just me and this man that I desperately wanted information from.

  Okay, I had to gain his trust and I had to think fast. I took a deep breath.

  "John sent me," I said. Sorry, John.

  This time, the man looked me squarely in the eye. "John Collins?" he asked.

  I nodded. "Yeah." This guy had just given me John's last name!

  But he wasn't any happier. "You tell John to quit using me. I know how to take care of people like him. I’m not the only one down here who knows about him. He oughta be looking over his shoulder every minute of his life."

  He was pretty mad and starting to scare me. I stepped back. Thor remained planted where he was, but he was on full alert and I heard him growl.

  The man backed away, still facing us. I tugged at the leash and commanded the Doberman to follow me. We walked away, but not casually. I could feel the man's beady little stare drilling holes into my back and I kept right on going.

  I'd never been so happy to be locked inside my car. Thor sat up in the back seat and kept a close watch on the dealer. I glanced in my side mirror and saw the man walking a little unsteadily in the opposite direction.

  I started the car and drove away, dodging the potholes as much as I could. On the next corner, just before I passed the grocery store, was a man with something black hanging out of his mouth. There were black stains all around his lips, too. I figured it for another kind of drug until I saw from the wrapper in his hand that it was black licorice candy.

  I took a deep breath, happy to be leaving this place. But I knew this wouldn’t be my last visit to the underworld of the homeless and the drug dealers. West River, New York held two worlds, one of which I'd never had a clue about.

  But I did now.

  Chapter Six

  Once back into the familiar part of West River, I glanced at my watch. I decided to take Thor home and grab a quick lunch. After that, I wanted to have a talk with Police Chief Donald Hayes.

  The chief and I had a good relationship. Not that West River was a crime-ridden city, but there had been a couple of times before that I'd sat across from him due to something sinister happening in town.

  It seemed to me that the death of my friend John was no different.

  Arriving at the precinct house, I greeted Susan in the outer office. "Is the chief in today?" I asked her.

  "He’s here, yes, but someone is with him right now. Can you wait?"

  "Sure. No problem." I sat down in one of the chairs against the wall, and looked at how worn the rest of them were. Well, countless pe
ople had sat in them before me. My mind wandered a little while I waited, and I wondered what kinds of reasons all those other people had had for sitting here.

  I could hear soft voices from down the hall. Sometimes a door opened and closed. Finally, after about fifteen minutes, the chief’s door opened and he walked into the reception area with a man in dark slacks, a blue shirt and a windbreaker.

  "You have some good ideas on how to clean up the drug problem down in that part of town," said the man in the windbreaker. He was a tall and slim with dark brown hair. He looked pretty fit and I would have guessed he was about forty years old. He glanced at me as he walked past. "I'll stay on top of it."

  "Good," said the Chief Hayes. "We don’t want any more deaths from overdoses."

  I turned around to look as the man headed towards the front door – and that's when I saw that the back of his windbreaker said DEA. I'd seen enough TV shows to know that that stood for Drug Enforcement Agency. The ones who took down the big-time drug dealers. And there was one right here in little ol' West River.

  Mr. Windbreaker left the building, and then the chief noticed me. "Hello, Laila. What brings you down this way?"

  "If you've got a few minutes, I’d like to talk with you." He nodded and gestured for me to come into his office. "I won’t take up too much of your time. I want to ask you about the homeless man who was found dead recently."

  The chief sat down behind his desk, and I took the visitor's chair on the other side of it. "Yes, it's too bad people end up that way," he said. "But once somebody starts down that road, it's very hard to find an off ramp." He folded his hands on top of the desk and looked up at me. "Now. What did you want to ask about the homeless man?"

  I took a deep breath and tried to collect my thoughts. "I'm not sure if you know this, but Jacob allowed him to sleep outside the coffee house. Outside of Roasted Love.

  The chief frowned. "Sleep outside the coffee house?"

  "I mean – John would get there late at night and curl up in a dry spot at the front of the building. He'd leave early in the morning whenever the cop on patrol told him to move along. Never caused any trouble."