Firebreak: A Mystery

by Tricia Fields

  “I can’t answer those questions,” Josie said. “There were rumors about the relationship, but no one I’ve talked with knew that Ferris was HIV positive.”

  “The humiliation just never ends.”

  “I know this is hard on you, and I’m sorry to bring all of this up again. I just have a few more questions. Are you okay to keep going?”

  She sighed and nodded. “How could it get much worse?”

  “You mentioned that Billy called both Hank and Slim Jim the night he died. Can you remind me how you knew that?”

  She frowned then, and seemed to be thinking back. “I know because Hank called the next morning to check on Billy. That’s when I discovered Billy hadn’t come home. Hank told me that Billy had been really drunk and he wanted to check on him. He also said Billy told him he’d talked to Slim, and that he’d told Billy to go back to the hotel too.”

  Josie nodded and they listened as the coffeemaker popped and sputtered as the last of the water dripped into the pot. Brenda stood to pour coffee and Josie decided to change her line of questioning somewhat.

  “As far as I know, Billy never left the area downtown where he bought the liquor and ended up at the little park behind the trauma center,” Josie said. “You told me that Billy didn’t have any pills in the hotel room with him.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Do you think Hank or Slim Jim could have taken the pills to Billy that night? Because I’m not sure who else would have known where he was.”

  Brenda looked worried, as if she’d not thought about that possibility before then. “Why would Hank or Slim Jim do that? They loved Billy. Both of them. Neither one of them would have helped him end his life. I’m sure of that.”

  Josie nodded slowly, trying to make the pieces fit.

  “Besides, he could have bought pills off of someone downtown.”

  Josie tilted her head, acknowledging the idea. “This is what I’m trying to understand. I’m no mental health expert, but Billy didn’t strike me as a man who was suffering from severe depression. The only reason I can imagine him committing suicide is that he had a terrible sense of guilt or shame over Ferris’s death.”

  Brenda’s shoulders were slumped forward and her hands were clasped loosely in her lap, as if she no longer had the strength to move.

  “When Billy found out that it was Ferris who died in your home, did he give you any indication that he knew what happened? Can you talk about his reaction?”

  “He was inconsolable.” She barely whispered the words. “That’s when I knew how much Ferris meant to Billy.” She shut her eyes for a moment and when she opened them, Josie could see they were glassy with tears. “When we found out my stun gun had been discharged? Billy actually asked me if I had used it on Ferris. He thought I was capable of killing Ferris. I could see it in his face. Even if it was only for an instant, he still thought it.”

  Josie asked a few additional questions about the band members so that she didn’t leave Brenda in such a devastated frame of mind. When her sister returned from her errands Josie thanked Brenda for her time and left.

  She walked back to the department thinking about the change in Brenda’s appearance from the day Josie had met her and Billy at the police department until just now. Brenda looked raw, as if the realizations that she had come to over the last few days had stripped away everything, leaving her completely vulnerable, waiting for the next battering. In a way, Josie was relieved for this sad woman. Maybe she would reconnect with her family and begin a new life based on honesty.

  Josie’s mind strayed to her own relationship with Dillon, and their inability to talk honestly with each other before he left her. Their conversations were little more than polite exchanges. Then she thought about Nick, a man completely the opposite of Dillon in every way, from his career to his abrupt manner and sense of humor. “I like you, Josie.” She heard the words in her head and the thought of him made her smile. Two screwed-up people with no expectations.

  TWENTY-ONE

  When Josie arrived back at the police department Otto told her he’d arranged for the two of them to speak with Hank at his home at 1:00. They stopped at the gas station for a quick lunch and ordered chicken strips and fried mushrooms. They ate in one of the two booths located on the restaurant side of the building and agreed that the food was greasy and satisfying. On their way to Hank’s house, as Otto drove Josie filled him in on Brenda’s summation of her husband and his relationship with Ferris.

  “I’m stuck on the idea that Hank and Slim Jim were the only two that talked to Billy the night he committed suicide,” she said.

  “What’s your issue?”

  “Somebody provided Billy the pills he used to commit suicide. Who else makes sense but Hank or Slim Jim?”

  “He could have bought it from someone else,” he said.

  “It’s not like drug dealers hang out by the trauma center selling prescription pills by the baggie. There’s no one around that area late at night.”

  “But he could have called someone easy enough. Someone could have delivered pills to him,” he said. “I just filed the subpoena on Friday. We should get the court approval for Billy’s phone records tomorrow.”

  Josie nodded. “The phone records are key. From the various people we’ve talked to, no one has mentioned Billy taking drugs. Alcohol yes, but not drugs. I’ll be surprised if we find he called someone for pills. Assuming Brenda’s not lying, Slim Jim and Hank were the only people who knew Billy was on the path to self-destruction that night. I feel like one of them provided the pills.”

  Josie drove in silence for a while, thinking about the questions she wanted to ask Hank. “You know what else sticks in my mind? The day after the evacuation, when I went to the Hell-Bent to see if I could track down Billy and Brenda?”

  “Yeah?”

  “What’s the first thing people asked you the day after the evacuation?”

  “They asked if family members or friends were safe,” Otto said.

  “And?”

  “And did their house make it through the fire.”

  Josie pointed at Otto. “Exactly! That was usually the first question. Most people already knew their friends had left in the evacuation, so they wanted to know if their homes were spared.”

  “Okay, what’s that have to do with anything?”

  “When I talked to Hank that day, I said that we had stopped by the Nixes’ house. I said we were looking for them. That we needed to talk to them. Wouldn’t you think he would assume that if the police were looking for them, that their home had burned up in the fire?”

  Otto drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as if considering this. “He never asked about their house? You’re sure of that?”

  “Positive. I thought it was odd, but in all the drama it didn’t stand out.”

  * * *

  Hank lived in a small ranch home just beyond the Hell-Bent. It was a simple one-story brick building with straggly clumps of cactus in the yard. Hank opened the front door and invited them in to a sparsely furnished living room. The walls were white and the room contained a brown corduroy couch, a love seat, and a banged-up coffee table that appeared to serve as a footrest. The couch faced a large-screen TV that hung on the wall, and two recliners faced the front window. The room looked like a typical bachelor’s living quarters with few decorations or personal touches. Hank motioned for them to sit down on the couch. He picked up the remote on the coffee table, turned down the volume on a baseball game, and sat down on the love seat.

  “What can I do for you?”

  “We’re struggling, Hank. We’re hoping you can help us sort some things out,” she said.

  “You bet. Anything I can do, you name it.”

  “We have two men who are dead, and an investigation that’s stalled. You know the country music scene better than anyone in the area. Help us understand how Billy Nix, a man with a bright future, could have ended up committing suicide.”

  Hank considered Josie fo
r a moment and stood. “Let me get you something.”

  Hank returned a minute later holding a photo album, which he laid on the coffee table in front of Josie and Otto. He flipped a few pages in and pointed to a photo of Billy, standing by himself onstage at the Hell-Bent, holding a mic with his eyes closed, his head thrown back, obviously belting out a song.

  Hank sat down again. He smiled, but his expression was sad. “That was the first time Billy sang in front of an audience. I’ve been friends with him and Brenda since before they got married. They used to hang out at the Hell-Bent and Brenda was always telling me how Billy could sing. Billy would give me this aw-shucks grin, and I never thought much about it. You can imagine, people tell me they can sing all the time, and they can barely carry a tune.”

  Josie nodded. She’d seen enough bad TV to know lots of people thought they had a gift that just wasn’t there.

  “Finally, one morning, just as we’re opening up the bar, Brenda brings Billy in and says, ‘Give him ten minutes onstage.’ Brenda set a boom box onstage and cued up the music. Then Billy got up there and sang, ‘I Think I’ll Just Stay Here and Drink.’” Hank smiled. “It was rough, but the guy had a stage presence that blew me away. He wasn’t polished. But that’s good. That’s the death knell for outlaw country. Billy was honest country. There were a couple waitresses in there that day and by the time he was done they were all moved up on the edge of the dance floor, smiling, bobbing their heads. Those waitresses knew they’d heard something special.”

  “You were convinced, the first time you heard Billy sing?”

  “If you saw as many bands come through here as I do, you’d get it. To have the complete package is rare. That’s what Mick Sinner doesn’t get. It’s the raw simplicity of what Billy had that was magic. He wasn’t out to impress anyone. He was just out there to sing his song. People loved that about Billy. That’s not something you can learn. Mick tries too hard. And that made it all the harder for him to watch Billy rise to the top.”

  “After Billy sang for you that day, how long did it take before the band formed?” Josie asked.

  “Billy knew Slim Jim and the guys. They’d messed around with the idea of starting a band. When they got my blessing it helped. But it was Brenda that got the band going, and Slim Jim and the others forget that now. They knew Brenda was part of the Netham Sisters, and that she had Nashville connections. They were willing to use her to get them a contract.” Hank grinned. “Those boys just didn’t like Brenda telling them what to do. And Brenda didn’t have any problem being boss.”

  “Billy didn’t mind her being his boss?”

  Hank smiled. “He needed Brenda to tell him what to do.”

  Josie narrowed his eyes at Hank, trying to sort out the chain of events. “So why would a guy who’d worked so hard, and come so far, commit suicide? He left a lot of people who cared about him.”

  Hank said nothing. His expression changed from a man remembering the good old days to someone who didn’t want to think about the present.

  Josie unbuttoned her shirt pocket and pulled out a baggie containing the remaining three pills. “What can you tell me about these?”

  Hank jerked his head back as if she’d asked a shocking question. “How would I know anything about a bag of pills?”

  “Pills from this plastic bag killed Billy. He called two people the night he ate a baggieful of pills and drank himself to death. Somebody had to give him these pills and you were one of only two people that talked to him that night.”

  He raised his eyebrows and shrugged. “Yeah, I talked to him. I also told him to go back to the hotel and go to bed.”

  “A truck that fits the description of yours was seen parked next to the park where Billy died that night.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” Hank smiled for a moment, as if doubting they were serious. His smile faded as he noted their stony expressions and the lack of friendly banter. He sat up then, his look now defensive.

  Josie and Otto both sat quietly watching him.

  “Do you know how many big black pickup trucks there are in this county?”

  “Who gave him these pills?” Josie asked. She held them up in her hand and watched Hank stare at them.

  Hank pointed a finger at Otto, but kept his eyes on Josie. “Otto asked me the other day. He asked if I was surprised that Billy took pills.” He turned his attention to Otto. “And what did I tell you? I said, no. I never saw him popping pills, but he was a nervous guy. He drank whiskey before each show. It wouldn’t have surprised me to see him taking Oxy before a show to calm down.”

  Josie glanced at Otto, and then back at Hank. “How did you know Billy took Oxy?”

  Hank laughed, nervous now. “Come on! It was a guess! I told you, Otto, a guy could pick up a bag of Oxy from any number of people.”

  “Did you give Billy pills?” Josie asked.

  “No.” He made eye contact, his expression rigid.

  “Did you see Billy the night he died?”

  “I told you I talked to him on the phone.”

  “Did you see him in person?” Josie asked.

  “No.”

  “Do you know why Billy committed suicide? What would have driven him to that point?” Otto asked. His tone was gentler now, his voice softer.

  “I don’t know. He had everything going for him. He had a wife who loved him, and a career that was ready to take off.” Hank shrugged. “Who knows what drives any of us to do the things we do.”

  “What can you tell us about Billy and Ferris?” Josie asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “We’ve heard rumors that Billy and Ferris were having a sexual relationship. Do you believe that to be true?”

  Hank turned his head away and cursed under his breath. “You think Billy committed suicide over Ferris?”

  Josie waited for him to answer her question.

  “I think Ferris was obsessed with fame and fortune and he saw Billy as a sure bet.” Hank stared at Josie for a long while, his jaw rigid. “I’m not going to sit here and guess about what kind of relations they might have had.”

  “What about Billy?” Otto asked.

  “Billy was one of the most insecure people I know, and Ferris took advantage of that.”

  “What about Brenda? Did she know the two men were having a relationship?” she asked.

  Hank hesitated. “I sure as hell hope not.”

  * * *

  When Otto and Josie got into the jeep Josie asked, “What do you think?”

  “The pills bother me. I think he knows something.”

  Josie took the list of names Otto had printed off from her shirt pocket and unfolded it.

  “Everyone on this list drives a dark-colored four-door truck that matches the description of the truck that was next to the park the night Billy committed suicide. All of these trucks were at the Hell-Bent for Billy’s memorial service.”

  “Let’s go over the list again,” Otto said. “Who on this list is a known drug dealer? Who had the means to deliver pills to Billy?”

  They scanned the list together and Otto pointed to a name at the bottom of the list. “Paula Muñoz.”

  Josie groaned. “Damn. She drives me crazy.”

  Otto glanced at his watch as he pulled out of the lane and headed toward the police station. “Josie, it’s six o’clock. We’ve been at this seven days straight. I need a few hours tonight. Delores is making noise about the long hours and me retiring again.”

  Josie looked at him, surprised that Otto was worn out by the case. “Absolutely. Let’s call it a night.”

  “You’ll take off too? Go home and call the negotiator maybe? Have a nice dinner?”

  “Are you kidding me?” She laughed in spite of her irritation. “Who told you?”

  He ignored her question. “Nick’s a good guy. He’s a hell of a negotiator. But two cops in a relationship together doesn’t make for an easy life.”

  “Otto. I’m not marrying him. He stopped by to say hi.�
�

  “He stopped by to check in on you. And, I’m okay with that.”

  “Oh, really? Well as long as you’re okay with it, then I feel much better about things now. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  * * *

  After Josie dropped Otto off at the station so he could have a nice meal with Delores, Josie checked around town and discovered that Paula was hanging out at Tiny’s Gun Club, just down the street from the PD.

  Tiny was a three-hundred-pound man who wore a feather boa around his massive neck. Aside from the boa, he wore standard gun-salesman garb: jeans, T-shirt, cowboy boots. He claimed the boa was his calling card at gun shows. Everybody knew the guy with the boa. He once told Josie that he used to be the “big gun guy.” It was how people distinguished him from other gun sellers. “Hellfire! Everybody’s big now. Ain’t nothing special about me. I blend in with the next guy. But a boa? Nobody’s got that.”

  What Tiny really had going for him was an amazing knowledge of every gun manufactured in the U.S., and many worldwide. It wasn’t the boa that drew people from all over the Southwest to his shop; it was his knowledge of guns that allowed his eccentricities to exist in an environment not always known for tolerance.

  Josie entered the shop and found Tiny perched on a stool at the end of a twenty-foot glass counter that ran down one side of the store. Behind him was a display rack that progressed in size from rifles to shotguns. Inside the glass cases was an amazing array of handguns, from miniatures that would fit into a woman’s palm to pistols that would need two hands to aim and fire. And Tiny knew the provenance of every gun he sold. The rest of the shop was filled with neatly stacked shelves of ammo and gun paraphernalia that hunters, gun enthusiasts, and law enforcement used.

  Paula Muñoz stood on the other side of the counter, bent over the glass with her arms perched on top, laughing her way through some story or another. Tiny, being a goodhearted man, sat on his stool patiently listening to the story and nodding at the appropriate moments, laughing when the time came. He seemed to perk up when Josie walked in and she realized he had probably been held hostage for quite some time.