Among the Dead

by J. R. Backlund

  * * *

  Standing outside, Jensen kept his voice low.

  “I hope you know I’ve got a ton of respect for ya, Rachel.”

  “I appreciate that,” she said. “And you seem—”

  “I’m not fishing for a compliment. What I need is your honest opinion about what I just heard.”

  “You think I won’t be honest with you if I’m in the same room with Sheriff Pritchard?”

  “It’s not that,” he said. “I just wanted this little talk to be between you and me.” He looked around quickly. “Because, the truth is, I’m skeptical about the whole drug connection. I mean, I don’t have a clue why they were killed, but unless I’m missing something, I don’t see any indication that McGrath and Coughlan were dealing or even using. And everyone I’ve talked to today says they’ve never heard of them. I think your best chance of figuring this thing out is to pick up your suspect for the assault and battery and get warrants for his car and his house.”

  “That’s the plan.”

  “Right, but now we’ve got a problem. Your informant’s tip about the meth lab complicates things. You know about the drug initiative going on in our district, right?”

  “Yeah,” she said, not liking where this was going. The SBI had original jurisdiction in drug trafficking cases, and the Western District office’s antidrug initiative was particularly aggressive in going after meth operations.

  “Well, if my boss thinks these murders are related to drugs, he’s going to take this case away from the sheriff. You guys will find yourselves sitting on the sidelines in a heartbeat.”

  “I get the feeling Sheriff Pritchard wouldn’t mind that so much.” She thought about how Braddock might react and asked, “What will you guys do with Gifford?”

  “If Sanford thinks he’s part of his brother’s operation, he’ll put him under surveillance. He won’t move on him until we’ve located the lab in Whittier and any other players that might be involved.”

  “Otherwise they might get spooked and burn it down,” she said.

  He nodded. “But all of that would be a waste of time if there’s no link between the drugs and the murders.”

  “Yeah.”

  “So what do you think?” he asked. “Aside from the fact that your suspect is related to a dealer, is there anything else connecting the victims to drugs?”

  “Nothing,” she said. “At this point, nothing at all.”

  “Okay. Then what would you suggest I do?”

  “You sure you want to take advice from a hired hand?”

  “If you were still an agent, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

  Rachel thought for a moment and said, “If I were in your shoes, I might want to try to verify Jerry Hood’s story. Spend some more time talking to my informants and see if they’ve heard about any new labs over in Whittier. What would that take? A couple of days?”

  He looked at his watch. “Let’s try twenty-four hours from now.” Then he turned and started walking toward the parking lot. “See ya tomorrow.”

  * * *

  Rachel’s instinct was to pull Braddock aside and explain the situation to him, but she knew that would be a mistake. He would be tempted to withhold information from his boss if it meant catching the killer. So she decided to put it all on the table and trust Pritchard to make the right decision.

  “We need to forget about the meth lab,” she said. “At least for now.”

  Pritchard looked at Braddock. “What the hell is she talking about?”

  “I wish I knew.” His eyes were wide with disbelief. “Rachel, what are you talking about? Where’s Jensen?”

  “He’s gone.”

  “Gone?” Pritchard came out of his seat. “Where the hell did he go? The DA’s gonna be here any minute.”

  “I know,” she said. “And when she gets here, you should downplay the drug-dealing brother as much as possible.”

  He fell back into the chair. “Hell, that’s the whole reason she’s coming down here. And she expects to see Jensen and, at the very least, have a conference call with Justin—”

  “Sheriff, I’m going to suggest that you hold off on calling Sanford until Jensen has a chance to find out what he can about the lab. In fact, it’s probably a good idea to make sure that all communication between this office and the SBI regarding this case goes through Jensen.”

  “What in the goddamn hell—”

  Braddock put a hand on Pritchard’s shoulder to calm him down, then turned to Fisher and said, “Shane, would you mind giving us a minute, please?”

  Fisher stood up, gave Rachel a wary glance, and walked out.

  “Okay,” Braddock said. “What the hell happened out there?”

  “Jensen doesn’t believe there’s a link between the murders and the brother’s supposed meth operation,” she said. “He wanted to know what I thought.”

  “And what did you tell him?”

  “I told him that there hasn’t been anything in the victimology to point us in that direction.”

  “So he just left?”

  “He’s going to check with his informants. See if they’ve heard of a lab in Whittier.”

  “Even though he doesn’t think there’s a connection?” Pritchard asked. “I don’t get it.”

  “He’s obligated to check it out,” she said. “He can’t ignore it . . . and he’s doing us a favor.”

  “How’s that?”

  “If Sanford hears about the lab, he won’t want anyone touching Gifford until SBI can find it and get a handle on everyone who’s involved. He’ll want to set up a big operation . . . surveillance, informants, undercover agents . . . the kind of thing that could take months.”

  Braddock said, “Meanwhile, Gifford would be walking around free.”

  “That’s right,” she said. “They’ll watch him, make sure he doesn’t kill anyone else, but any physical evidence that might be in his truck or his house could disappear during that time.”

  Pritchard asked, “You really think they’ll let our best suspect in two homicides stay on the street just so they can hunt down a bunch of redneck tweakers?”

  “Happens all the time. If they get it in their heads that the murders are a byproduct of the meth business, shutting it down will be their priority. They’ll want to round up everyone in the organization at the same time and play them against each other to see who’s willing to make a deal. It’s possible they could find someone to testify against Gifford. But all of that assumes the murders and the drugs are related.”

  “But you don’t think they are.”

  She shrugged. “I’m not saying it’s impossible. I’m just saying that we haven’t seen any indication of it yet.”

  “I might buy it if we were just talking about McGrath,” Braddock said. “But Coughlan . . . I have a hard time believing he was involved in a meth ring.”

  “Yeah . . .” Pritchard said. He leaned his head against the seat back and closed his eyes. He looked like he wanted more than anything to be somewhere else. “So, since you and Jensen are on the same page, I assume you all worked out some sort of deal to keep Sanford out of the loop?”

  “You have twenty-four hours to arrest Gifford and execute the search warrants. After that, whatever Jensen finds in Whittier, he’s going to tell Sanford about it.”

  “Twenty-four hours . . .”

  There was a knock on the door. Pritchard sat up. “Yeah?”

  Fisher stuck his head in. “Sorry to bother you, Sheriff, but the district attorney just got here. She’s waiting in your office.”

  “Well, shit,” he said. “I guess I’m in trouble now. Bring her back here.”

  28

  While Pritchard, Braddock, and Fisher were meeting with the district attorney, Rachel went to Braddock’s office to talk to Jerry.

  “I been here for a while now,” he said. “How much longer y’all gonna keep me?”

  She decided not to tell him that he could leave whenever he wanted. “We really appreciate
your help today, Jerry. Can I get you anything?”

  He looked around. “Is there somewhere I can smoke in this place?”

  “Why don’t we go out front?”

  Rachel led him outside to the corner of the building where a cigarette-butt receptacle stood by a wooden park bench. He lit a Marlboro and started pacing. She sat down and said, “A deputy tried to find Dylan Gifford at the address you gave Captain Curtis, but he wasn’t there. His mother said he was at his brother’s trailer. Does he stay there often?”

  He shrugged. “Not as far as I know. Daddy said Dylan was always there with Linda whenever he went to go see her. That’s why he kept bringin’ her back to our house, even though he didn’t really like her stayin’ over. I think Dylan’s the one that actually owns that place he and his momma stay at.”

  She thought about that while she watched him repeatedly flick the ashes off his cigarette after each drag. It was the compulsive, anxious act of someone under a lot of stress. “You seem pretty nervous, Jerry. Everything okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine.” He shrugged as he said it, and his head jerked to one side. He seemed to realize that he looked the opposite. “You know, I just ain’t all that relaxed when I get around too many cops.”

  “There aren’t any out here,” she said with a reassuring smile.

  “What about you?” he asked through a cloud of smoke. “Ain’t you a cop?”

  “Not anymore.”

  He walked over and sat down on the bench beside her. “I guess that ain’t the only reason I’m a little wound up. I just don’t want none of this shit comin’ back on me.”

  “How would it come back on you?”

  “I don’t know. That damn Kevin . . . I mean, I ain’t afraid of him or nothin’. Like, in a straight-up fight, I’d beat his ass. But . . . you know, I ain’t tryin’ to get shot while I’m out checkin’ the mail or some shit.”

  “You think he would do that?”

  “Ain’t no tellin’. Dude likes to act like he’s some kinda hillbilly gangster. He’s got a damn arsenal up at that trailer of his.”

  She straightened up and asked, “What about Dylan? Does he keep a lot of guns in his house?”

  He looked at her with disbelief. “You’re jokin’, right?” He laughed. “Girl, this is western Carolina. There ain’t a redneck in these hills that don’t have at least two or three guns in the house.”

  * * *

  The district attorney left, and Rachel went into the conference room to find Braddock and Pritchard licking their wounds.

  “How’d it go?” she asked.

  Pritchard said, “I’d rather not talk about it.”

  “Was fairly unpleasant,” Braddock said. “But she’s on board. Fisher is gonna work on the affidavits with the ADA. Hopefully we’ll have the warrants in a couple of hours.”

  “That’s good news,” she said. “So now let’s talk about executing them.”

  Pritchard shook his head. “Jesus, can I have at least five minutes? I don’t think I’m emotionally prepared for that kinda talk right now.”

  Braddock laughed. “What’s on your mind?”

  “I was just outside talking to Jerry,” she said. “He mentioned that both of the Giffords are pretty well armed. Kevin especially, but either way, whoever goes over there might come up against some significant firepower.”

  Braddock laced his fingers behind his head. “Well, that adds a wrinkle. Normally we’d call the SBI and ask them to send us one of their special response teams, but now . . . I don’t guess we can call Jensen.”

  “We could,” Pritchard said, “but that kinda request would have to go up the chain. Sanford won’t sign off without knowing what’s going on here, and it doesn’t seem like Jensen would be willing to just outright lie to him.”

  The last part was directed at Rachel, and it almost sounded like a question. She said, “I think he’s about as far out on the proverbial limb as he’s willing to go.”

  “Doesn’t sound like we have a choice,” Braddock said. “We call Jensen and tell him what we need. Let him come clean with Sanford, and let the chips fall where they may. I’m not about to send a bunch of deputies up there to get their asses shot off.”

  Pritchard chuckled to himself. When Braddock and Rachel looked at him, he said, “I think I might have a third option.”

  * * *

  Pritchard put Sheriff Lee Harrelson on speakerphone and said, “Cousin, I need to borrow your SWAT team.”

  “Damn, Tee Pee . . . everything all right? What kind of a mess have you gotten yourself into over there?”

  “Nothing a little intercounty cooperation can’t take care of.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I’m working on getting two search warrants and an arrest warrant in connection with these murders. I could really use your help.”

  “I thought you were working with the SBI on that deal.”

  “It’s complicated, cuz.”

  “Uh-huh . . . well, all right. I reckon we might be able to help you.”

  “You sure it’s no trouble?”

  “Ah hell, Teddy, them boys are always looking for an excuse to dress out.”

  29

  Bishop parked the Wrangler at Newfound Gap and checked his mirrors to make sure they were clear of tourists.

  “Tomorrow,” he said, “you’re going to do the last two.”

  Gifford was stunned. It took him a moment to collect his thoughts before he said, “You want two of ’em done in one day?”

  “Yes. Is that a problem?”

  “Well . . . I thought we were never gonna do that. I thought—”

  “It doesn’t matter what you thought,” he growled. “Things have changed, so the plan has to change too.”

  “I don’t know, man. I don’t like this shit. Changin’ things on me.”

  “I don’t give a damn whether you like it or not. You’re going to do what the fuck I tell you.”

  “Don’t come at me like that, motherfucker.”

  His voice was too loud. Bishop looked around and said, “Calm down, goddammit.”

  “Fuck that. I’ll get outta here and take my chances. You can finish this shit on your own. You ain’t the only scary son of a bitch I know.”

  Gifford ran his hands through his hair and stared out the passenger window. His rapid breathing sounded shaky. Bishop held his tongue, trying to keep things from getting out of control. They sat quietly for a minute while he tried to find a better approach to getting what he wanted. It was funny how too much fear could make a man brave. He never expected to hear Gifford stand up for himself.

  “Look, Dylan,” he said, keeping his voice even, “I know you’ve been through a lot. And what I’m asking isn’t easy, but it’s almost over. If you take care of these two tomorrow, you’ll be done. I’ll be out of your life for good.”

  “For good?”

  “Yes. The only thing you’ll have left to do is collect your money. Then you’ll never see me again.”

  Gifford’s breathing slowed. “It ain’t like I don’t want to get it over with . . . I just don’t wanna get caught. With the whole town on lockdown and everything . . .”

  “I understand. It’ll be a little tricky, but I know you can do it.”

  “You sure about that?”

  Bishop nodded. “I’ve worked out every detail.” He let Gifford consider it for a few seconds. Then he said, “What do you say? Shall we go over the plan?”

  * * *

  The ride back made Gifford nauseous. He got out of the Wrangler on a side street in Gatlinburg and walked two blocks to the Pancake House. He was eager to get home but needed some food to settle his stomach. The dinner meals on the menu looked good, but he was in the mood for breakfast. When the waiter returned with a pile of eggs, sausage links, and hashed browns, he ate half of it, dropped a ten-dollar bill on the table, and left.

  He maneuvered through traffic in his brother’s F-250 pickup, making good time until he got stuck behind a line of motorcy
cles cruising along 441. It was a perfect afternoon for a drive in the Great Smoky Mountains, if only he had been in the right state of mind to enjoy it. He was running late, and the last thing he wanted was to be in another argument. His brother was at a friend’s house in Whittier, waiting for Gifford to pick him up. When he arrived an hour and twenty minutes later, Kevin came outside and said, “What the hell, Dylan? Where you been?”

  “Sorry,” he said, walking around to the passenger side. “Got hung up.”

  Kevin looked like he wanted to complain a little more but decided it was best not to push his luck. “How long before you can drive your truck again?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You gonna need to use mine any more today?”

  “No, just drop me off at the house. If I need to go anywhere, I’ll use Momma’s.”

  Kevin turned on the radio as they drove away. Once they were on the expressway, he lowered the volume and said, “You doin’ all right? You seem a little upset or somethin’. Even more than usual.”

  “It’s nothin’.”

  Gifford stared out the window and let the low sun lull him into a daze. He didn’t speak again until they turned onto the road near his house. “Listen, Kevin,” he said, “I been workin’ with this asshole on somethin’ kinda messed up . . . It ain’t really goin’ all that well . . .”

  “Why not? What’s up?”

  “I can’t talk about it, all right? Just listen. If somethin’ goes bad . . . if you hear about me gettin’ into any kinda trouble or gettin’ hurt or—”

  “Hurt? What the—”

  “Let me finish talkin’, dammit. If anything happens, you take Momma and get the hell outta here. I’m talkin’ like right away. Don’t wait around for shit. Just get on the road and go.”

  “Where am I supposed to take her?”

  “I don’t know . . . it don’t matter, just go. Somewhere out west, maybe. Just get outta here and don’t ever come back.”

  “Dylan . . . what—”

  “Don’t ask me anymore questions, all right? I can’t handle it right now. I need to know you two will be safe. Can you just promise me?”

  Kevin parked in Gifford’s driveway and said, “I’ll get Momma outta here, all right. That much I promise. But if some fool’s causin’ you trouble, I’m gonna have to come back and smoke his ass. For real. I ain’t just leavin’ you here to fend for yourself.”