by Terry Shames
Julia Blackman is overdressed in a pleated black skirt and blue blouse with a bow at the neck. Her intense blue eyes are red-rimmed. “Her daddy has gone to sign the papers to get her out of here.” Her voice is sharp.
“Do you mind if I ask Eileen a few questions?”
She doesn’t look at her daughter. “Sure, go ahead, see if you can get any more out of her than we can. This one thinks she’s tough.”
I hunker down next to the chair. “Hey, Eileen. You feeling better?”
She doesn’t move her head. “I guess.”
“Look at Chief Craddock when he speaks to you.” Julia Blackman’s tone is knife-edged.
Eileen gradually lifts her head and looks daggers at me. Her eyes are the same intense blue as her mother’s. I recognize her. She was one of the teenagers at the park Sunday. I remember that when I told them I might have to contact their parents, she was the one who was scornful of the threat.
“What happened to your face?” she asks.
“Eileen!”
“It’s all right. I probably shouldn’t tell you, but I was investigating what happened to you and somebody attacked me. The only reason I’m telling you is so you understand that people who sell drugs to minors aren’t the best kind of people.”
She stares at me. “I can take care of myself.”
“What is wrong with you?” her mother wails.
“Eileen, what happened to you was scary for a lot of people. I need to find out what led up to it, and I need your help.”
“What help?” She glares at me as if she hates me. Her mother hisses through her teeth. I look back over my shoulder and meet her eyes and try to convey that she should cool it, but I can tell she isn’t going to. Fear for her daughter has given way to fury.
“First off, I want to know what kind of drugs you took.”
“I don’t know,” she mutters. Her eyes flick from me to her mother and back again.
Even though I took aspirin this morning, my head is pounding and I have to tamp down my impatience. “You told your friends you got the pills from Charlie Ostrand. Is that right?”
She presses her lips together firmly.
“I need to know.”
“I’m not ratting on anybody,” she says.
“Eileen!” Her mother says sharply.
I’d like to speak to the girl alone, but that won’t be possible. Her parents wouldn’t allow it even if the state of Texas would. “Let me tell you something,” I say. “You were lucky. The next person Charlie Ostrand gives drugs to may not be so lucky. Do you want that on your conscience?”
“He didn’t give me anything,” she says.
“You’re saying he sold the drugs to you? Did he tell you what they were?”
She pauses for a long time, staring down at her lap. I wait it out, hoping her mother will keep quiet. Eventually she says, “He told me they would make me feel good.”
“Feel good!” Julia Blackman’s voice quivers. “What do you have to feel bad about? You have everything you could possibly want. You’ve got friends, a family that loves you.”
Eileen’s lips tremble. “It’s not as easy as you think.”
“Look. You two probably have a lot to talk over, but I need to get some answers here.”
Both of them look at me with outrage, which is probably a good sign. At least they are united in something.
“Did Charlie tell you what kind of the pills you bought from him?”
“No, he didn’t.” She’s picking at the arm of the chair and won’t look at me. “I don’t feel so good,” she says.
“Oh, baby.” Her mother rushes to her side and puts her arms around her.
I tell them good-bye and head out. I’ve got the information I came for, which is that Charlie Ostrand is the culprit. In the hallway I pass the girl’s father. He has a stricken look on his face and is so intent on getting to his daughter’s room that he doesn’t even see me.
I get to headquarters at nine. In the parking lot there’s a Texas Ranger vehicle. Curren Wills and Luke Schoppe are inside talking to Tilley.
When I walk in the door, Tilley opens his mouth to say something and then he does a double take. “What the hell happened to you?”
I had forgotten the abrasion on my face. Although it stings, the pain doesn’t compare to the pain in my head. I tell the men about my failed attempt to set a trap.
“Lucky they didn’t kill you,” Wills says.
“You didn’t get a look at anybody?” Tilley asks.
“No, they came at me from behind.”
“You shouldn’t have gone out there on your own.”
“He’s right,” Wills says.
“I was pissed off.” I tell them about the girl who overdosed and the budding drug dealer who sold her the pills. “A kid named Charlie Ostrand sold her the drugs. His daddy is a lawyer, and I’m sure he has a dozen ways he can get the kid out of trouble.”
“I’ve met Ostrand,” Tilley says. “I expect you’re right.”
“I hope you take a lesson to be more careful, and don’t run off acting like a cowboy,” Wills says. “To take on something like that you need backup.”
“True words,” Tilley says, which annoys me more than Wills’s lecture.
“What brings you here?” I ask Wills.
“Luke found some information we thought you’d be interested in.” He nods to Schoppe, who has been holding a folder in his hand. He thrusts it at me.
Inside the folder are a few sheets of paper. The top one contains a summary of information about Blue Dudley, and the second is about Freddie Carmichael. Dudley has a substantial record of shady real-estate dealings in the Houston area, but only two arrests, one for a mortgage scheme and one for fraudulent sales.
“No trials or convictions?” I look from Wills to Schoppe.
“No. Every complaint was dropped.”
“What exactly is a fraudulent sale?”
“Means he sold property he didn’t have a right to sell.”
I nod, remembering that Freddie Carmichael originally said he was the owner of the house where the people were killed, and that Blue Dudley hedged on the claim when Sheriff Newberry showed up.
“Mind if I take a look?” Tilley asks. I pass the sheet to him.
“Read Carmichael’s record,” Wills says to me.
Carmichael has a history of assault charges, everything from barroom brawls to intimidation of a trial witness. He was dressed like a smooth operator the day I met him. The last thing I expected is that he would be a strong-arm man. He also has only arrests and no convictions. Tilley reaches for the sheet and I pass it over.
“What’s going on here? Why haven’t there been any convictions?”
Wills smiles and looks at me sharply. He wants me to work it out.
“These guys have some kind of protection,” I say.
Wills forms a pistol with his fingers and mock-shoots me. “Got it in one. I thought you seemed pretty clever.”
I’m thinking hard, which increases the pounding in my head. I walk around to my desk drawer, shake a couple of aspirins out of a bottle, and wash them down with coffee. “So if these guys are connected with the killings here, they aren’t likely to be arrested for it. Is that what you’re telling me?”
“I wouldn’t make that leap too fast. Their records don’t show any history of homicide. It’s likely they weren’t involved with the murders, just arranging housing for the people who lived there.”
I get the distinct impression that Wills is leading me to a conclusion, and he wants me to draw it for myself. “I’m thinking out loud here. Whoever actually did it might have the same kind of protection?”
“Seems likely.”
“Same for the woman’s husband who was killed in Houston?”
“Same.”
“So you’re saying that all these people involved in the drug trade aren’t likely to be arrested for the murders or the drug trafficking.”
“That’s the way it looks.”
“The question is, who’s doing the protecting? Are we talking police corruption?”
“That’s probably the case, but that’s not something you need to concern yourself with.”
“Except that it’s not good news for Truly Bennett,” I say. “If no one gets arrested for the crimes, Sutherland has no reason to release Bennett.”
“You could be right.” Wills is watching me so closely that I feel nervous. He expects a lot of me. “I think you have to look closer to home to help your boy Bennett.”
“You mean like why did those people choose to move here?”
“That would be a good start.”
I’m still holding a third sheet of paper. Now I look at it and see that the subject is Beaumont Penny. It says the reason he left San Antonio is that he was in deep trouble with a drug dealer there. It seems that he tried to compete with the dealer, but he didn’t have the backup to make it work. Investigators speculated that Penny got run out of town and left rather than get himself killed. In Houston he had better luck. In Houston there had been no arrests on drug charges, just a minor conviction for auto theft that got him a six-month suspended sentence.
I put the sheet back in the folder and throw the folder on my desk. “Looks to me like the criminals are having a fine time in the big city of Houston.”
“Does look that way.”
I pull out the photo I’ve been showing around. “So this is likely to be useless.” I hand him the photo.
Will studies it and then passes it to Schoppe. When he looks back at me, his expression has changed subtly; he looks angry. “Where did you get that?”
I tell him that I searched the burned-out house again and found the two photos. I hand him the one of the family.
He nods, but I get the feeling his mind is elsewhere. He glances over at Tilley, who looks a little pale. “We’re going to have to get on the road. Why don’t you walk us out to the car?” he says to me.
When we close the door behind us, I say, “Something else is going on. You want to tell me what it is?”
Wills puts his hands on his hips. He speaks quietly. “I didn’t have the authority to pass this information on to you the last time we talked, but my boss has since given me the go-ahead. There’s an investigation going on, not only of Dudley, Carmichael, and Penny, but the whole drug operation in Houston and the kind of protection they’re getting.”
My mind is racing. I feel like I’m one step behind. “So what are you telling me?”
“For one thing, eventually your boy Bennett should be in the clear.”
“How long is eventually?”
“That’s the problem. This investigation has been going on for two years, and my guess is it will take another year before we wrap it up.”
“We? You mean the Texas Rangers?”
We’ve reached his car, and he turns to face me. “Not only the Rangers. We’re working with the FBI. But, Craddock, that isn’t for anyone else to know.”
I’m stunned. I thought I was in over my head, but being on the edge of a big-city corruption scandal that may have touched our little town never crossed my mind.
“I figured I owed it to you to let you know personally what you’re up against trying to get Bennett freed.”
“The photo I showed you. You recognized him. Who is he?”
Wills sighs. “More like ‘who was he?’ He’s an undercover agent. We haven’t heard from him in a while, and I wouldn’t be surprised if the same people who took care of Duchess Wortham and her family got rid of him, too. Now do you understand why I want you to be careful?”
For the first time, my one-man crusade to free Bennett seems utterly impossible. What kind of hubris made me think I could do something to help Truly on my own? “So you don’t think, knowing about the corruption investigation, John Sutherland will drop the charges against Bennett?”
He raises his eyebrows. “John Sutherland isn’t privy to the information I just gave you.”
This can’t be good. There can only be one reason why he isn’t in on the investigation. “Do I want to know why not?”
“Don’t jump to conclusions too fast. We’re not looking at Sutherland specifically, but we have an idea that members of the THP might be part of the problem. Seems better not to tip any of them off.”
Chapter 34
When I go back inside, Tilley says, “I need to talk to you.”
I sit down at my desk and wheel my chair around to face him “About what?” I’m still buzzing with the news I’ve heard and don’t have much attention for Tilley. He has turned out to be more timid than I thought he’d be. We’ve never had to tackle anything as serious as the murders, so I’ve never seen him tested.
He hunches over his desk, trying to move closer to me. “I know you want to help that boy in jail, but Wills was talking about some dangerous people. These are people who didn’t think twice about murdering a woman and four young people. If I was you, I’d let the Rangers and the highway patrol deal with all this. I’m sorry for Truly, but it sounds like he’ll be out sooner or later anyway.”
“Later,” I say.
He shrugs. “We aren’t set up to help him, and that’s a plain fact. You’ve got to consider the safety of your wife and brother and his family. Whoever killed Duchess Wortham and her family won’t hesitate to go after you and yours.”
I’m not paying attention as he drones on with his reasonable-sounding words, because his mention of my brother Horace has sent a shock through me. I get up abruptly. “I’ve got something I have to do,” I say.
Before I leave, I telephone Jeanne. I’m relieved when she answers the phone. “I’m coming right home,” I say. “We have to talk.”
“What about?”
I hang up and head out the door. I’m almost to my truck when I hear the door slam and Tilley’s voice shouting. “Samuel, don’t ignore me!” He grabs my arm and wheels me around. “Listen, you think you’re so goddam smart, but you’re asking for trouble. I have a lot more experience than you. You’ve got to back off, and I mean it.”
I yank my arm away. “Tilley, you had your chance to take this job, and you passed. I’m going to do it my way.”
“You’re going to get yourself killed.” His face is purple.
“If that happens, then you’ll have another chance at the job. Now I’ve got to be somewhere.”
Jeanne is waiting for me on the porch with her arms crossed and an angry look on her face. “What’s gotten into you? You sounded so serious. You scared me to death.”
“I didn’t mean to scare you, but what I have to say is serious.”
“Has something happened to Horace and Donna?”
I’m momentarily startled by what seems like ESP, but of course she thought of it because they are on the road. “Let’s go inside and sit down for a minute.” When we’re settled on the sofa, I take both her hands in mine. “I want you to pack your bags and Tom’s and go stay with your mamma for a few days. Maybe as much as a week.”
She pulls her hands away. “Why? What are you going to be doing?”
“I’m going to stay right here. This case has taken a turn I don’t care for, and I’ll feel a lot better knowing the two of you are out of here.”
“Tom’s in school. We can’t just take off.”
“He’s smart. It won’t hurt him to be out of school for a few days.”
“Why do you have to stay?”
“It’s my job.” Because I can see that she’s ready to protest, I say, “Please, just do this for me.”
“I won’t leave here without you. You’ve poked a stick into a bed of snakes, and now you’re worried somebody’s going to get bitten. And you know what?” Her eyes are blazing. “It’s going to be you.” She jumps up. “When you took that job as chief of police I thought it was a bad idea, but, oh no, you had to be a hero. I know you don’t like it that your family never had anything when you were a boy. Maybe you got teased or were embarrassed at the way you had to live, but I thought
you had left all that behind. You went to college and made something of yourself, and now you can’t seem to enjoy it. You’re putting yourself in harm’s way for nothing.” She’s trembling and almost in tears.
“Jeanne.” I stand up and rest my hands on her shoulders. “Whether it’s my fault or not, I’m worried about you and I want you to be safe. Why don’t you and your mamma take Tom out to Disneyland? I bet all of you would love it.”
A tear spills down her cheek, and she swipes at it. “I’ve never seen you like this. Why did you have to get involved? Why couldn’t you leave it to the Texas Rangers? What is it about that . . . about Truly Bennett that makes him more important than your family?”
All the air goes out of me. It’s like she punched me in the gut. “Not more important than you. Nothing is more important than you.” We stand at a face-off. I’ve never told her that I have a debt I don’t know how to repay. It’s a debt that causes me pain.
“Then why do you have to stir this up?”
I walk to the screen door and look out, trying to find a way to talk to her. “You’re right. Truly is important. I don’t mean him in particular, but what he represents.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Come into the bedroom and pack your bag, and I’ll tell you what I mean. But you have to promise you’ll go then.”
In the bedroom, I take her suitcase down from the high shelf in the closet and lay it on the bed. I sit down on the bed and watch her open a drawer and take out some items. She walks to the suitcase and stops. “Start talking.”
I don’t know why the story is so hard for me to tell, but maybe I’ll feel better getting it out. “There are things I haven’t told you about how I grew up. You know Daddy drank and had a hard time holding down a job, but what I didn’t tell you is that for a time we lived in a trailer on a lot in Darktown. It was the only place we could get somebody to let us stay. Horace was eight and I was six.”