Playing Dirty

by Liliana Hart

  She led us around a small tricycle and what seemed like a mountain of toys scattered across the floor.

  “Sorry about the mess,” she said. “I’ve gotten to the point where I just scoot everything out of the way so I don’t have to bend down. But I just couldn’t find the energy today.” Her voice hitched on a sob, and she nodded to the corner of the couch where a small boy slept. “I couldn’t bear to put him to bed. I just wanted him with me tonight. Please, have a seat.”

  I did a quick glance around the house as I made my way to a straight-backed chair in the corner. Other than the toys on the floor, the house was extremely well kept. There were no dirty dishes on the counter or dust on shelves. The furniture was modern rustic, and the color scheme was whites and creams, accented with metal pipes and open shelving and a lot of shiplap. It seemed like a brave design for a family with small children.

  “You said you wanted to talk to me about Brett’s death,” Marla said. “Did you find out anything about the driver who hit him?”

  Nothing else she said could have told me that she wasn’t from around here. If she had any connections at all she would’ve known Floyd turned himself in to the station already.

  “Someone did come forward to say he thought he might have been the one to hit him,” Jack said. “We’ve impounded his truck and we’re comparing the damage. The fog was thick this morning.”

  “Brett always insisted on starting his ride right before sunrise,” she said. “He liked to see the sun come over the hills. He said he thought it was as close to heaven as you could get here on earth.” Her smile was sad and wistful. “It was just an accident. Brett was at the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  Jack looked at me, signaling it was my turn to take over. “Your husband wasn’t killed by the hit-and-run,” I told her. “Brett died from sudden cardiac arrest. His heart just gave out. It would have been very quick.”

  Her mouth dropped open in surprise. “How can that be? He’s only thirty-six years old. Brett was in perfect health. He exercised and ate right. I have to hide the junk food in the house because he’ll throw it out. Even his last physical came out perfect.”

  “Did he have a doctor here?” I asked.

  “Yes,” she said. “Umm…Dr. Wise in Newcastle.”

  “It would help me if you’d give permission to see his medical records from Dr. Wise.”

  “Sure,” she said, curious. “Anything you need.”

  “I need to ask you about your husband’s history,” I told her.

  She took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly, and she rubbed her stomach in slow circles. She’d managed to get her feet up on an ottoman and lean against the back of the couch.

  “I imagine you would’ve found out a little about Brett’s past during the autopsy,” she said.

  I raised a brow and looked at Jack. She was sharp, despite her fatigue.

  “Brett had high traces of amphetamines in his system,” I said. “They’re known as greenies in sports.”

  Her head snapped up and her eyes flashed. “Brett was not on drugs,” she said fiercely. “Believe me. I know what he’s like on drugs. And I know what he’s like without them. I would’ve known. And he never would’ve been able to function the way he did if he was using again.”

  “That’s why I’m asking these questions,” I told her. “The body tells a story. And what I learned about your husband was that he wasn’t the same man he used to be. His lungs and heart showed signs of repair. There was scarring from what I’d assume was cocaine use. It never fully goes away, but our organs do repair over time. Same thing with his liver. There was slight scarring, but it was healthy. No signs of alcoholism. Which is why I found it suspect for that amount of drugs to be in his system. It was a large dose. Enough to work his heart so it couldn’t keep up.”

  “You think someone gave drugs to Brett?” she asked, her face going so white I was worried she might pass out.

  “That’s what I’m trying to find out,” I said. “The more you can tell me, the better we know what direction we need to go in.”

  She nodded and tried to sit up a little.

  “Can I get you anything?” Jack asked.

  “Not unless you can convince my doctor to induce early,” she said, trying to smile.

  “I was thinking more along the lines of water,” he said. “But I’ll see what I can do.”

  This made her give a short laugh and then she took another deep breath. “The baby keeps blocking my diaphragm. I feel like I haven’t taken a good breath in weeks. He’s already more than eight pounds.”

  “I’d be begging for induction too,” I told her. “Just take your time.”

  She nodded and closed her eyes. “It’s hard to even know where to start. Brett and I met our freshman year at Georgetown, but it seemed like we’d known each other forever. We were the classic opposites attract. I knew I wanted to be an attorney. I was focused on school and studying and getting into law school. And then there was Brett.” She laughed then as the memory rolled over her.

  “He was the perfect example of the college frat boy. He was a playboy and a partier, plain and simple. And he was the most brilliant person I’d ever met, even then. He made me crazy. He could party all night and ace every test without having to crack a book, while I’d spend hours studying. He was double majoring in math and finance, and he did an accelerated program to get his master’s degree. I started law school the same year he started his PhD.”

  There was such sadness in her expression as she remembered, and I knew there was nothing easy about loving an addict.

  “The drinking was constant while we were in college, but I ignored it. It’s hard to tell someone something is bad for them when nothing changes. His grades didn’t slip. There were no DWIs. I suspected he was using drugs too, but I’d never seen him do it. We were living together by the time I found his stash, and he’d been tapped to work for some hot-shot firm on Wall Street. Apparently, cocaine is Wall Street’s drug of choice. They all use. It’s like the adrenaline rush of the market and these extreme highs aren’t enough. So they look for something that can take them higher.

  “I thought once we got married he’d slow down a little, but Brett has always been ninety to nothing in everything he does. When I found the drugs in the house the first time I freaked out. I’d just passed the bar and we were supposed to be celebrating. But I kicked him out instead. You know how the cycle goes. He came back and promised to stop, so I let him come home. We had more money than we knew what to do with, and a good portion of that money was going up Brett’s nose every month.

  “Long story short,” she said. “I got pregnant with our first child, and I’d had enough. I packed up my stuff and moved home to Connecticut with my parents. I was ready to file for divorce, and I was ready to fight to make sure he wasn’t a part of our daughter’s life until he went to rehab.”

  I looked at the child sleeping peacefully in the corner of the couch. His blue jumper had sailboats on it. “Daughter?” I asked.

  She smiled softly. “Stillborn. I had my own issues to deal with then, and I still don’t know why or how it happened, but Brett changed that day. It was a complete and total transformation. He never touched drugs or alcohol again. He was offered a job as an analyst at a competing firm on Wall Street and he took the job.

  “So when I tell you I know he didn’t put those drugs in his body, I mean it. When we were in college Brett’s nickname was the Extreme. Everything he did was all the way. He was militant about what he put in his body. And he was the most regimented and organized person I know. He loved structure and a schedule.”

  “When did y’all move to King George County?” I asked.

  “Right before Jasper was born,” she said. “I didn’t want to raise a child in the city. And Brett would have moved heaven and earth for me. When he got clean, he was the best husband and father you could imagine. If I told him I wanted out of the city, he would’ve done everything in his power and then some to make
it happen. Brett is kind of irreplaceable at his firm. I’m not even sure what he does if I’m being honest. But he went to his boss and told him he was moving to the country and that he’d give him two days a week in the office and the rest at home. And they gave him what he wanted.

  “I’d decided to stop practicing law when the baby came and focus on full-time motherhood, so I didn’t have a job to worry about. And Brett was true to his word. He found this place through a friend of a friend and bought it outright, and we’ve been here ever since. Jasper just turned three. Brett flies into New York on Sunday night and he flies back on Tuesday night. Then he works from home the rest of the week.” She stopped and said, “Flew,” correcting herself to past tense. She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye, refusing to let it fall.

  Jack had been right. I did like Marla Jorgenson. She’d been through more suffering and heartbreak than was fair for any one person to bear.

  “Did Brett have any enemies?” Jack asked, taking over the questioning. “Anyone who’d want to hurt him? Any bad blood at the office?”

  “No,” she said. “Not that I know of. We’re really isolated out here. It’s what we wanted. I know his job was stressful. He didn’t talk about it much. I’m not sure he could. I know he had to get government clearance when he started working at the new firm. But that’s pretty much all I know. He didn’t like to talk about work.”

  “How about the last twenty-four hours?” Jack asked. “You said he had a routine. Can you run us through it?”

  Her lips were full and unpainted, and she quirked the corner of her mouth. “Like clockwork,” she said. “He’d wake up at five fifteen when it’s riding season.”

  “Riding season?” I asked.

  “Basically, if the roads didn’t have snow or ice, he was on that bike,” she said. “The bike became his new addiction after he gave up the drugs. He’d ride every morning, weather permitting, and then he’d come back at seven thirty. Jasper and I would be up by then and we’d all have breakfast as a family. Then Brett would shower and get dressed and head to the office. He’d usually be done by four o’clock, and then he and Jasper would go out and play for a while to give me a little break. We’d have dinner together, and then on Wednesday and Thursday nights and Saturday mornings he’d ride with the club.”

  “Which club did he belong to?” Jack asked.

  “Old Dominion,” she said. “He said they took the sport more serious.”

  Jack nodded as if he knew what she was talking about. “He rode last night?”

  “Yes,” she said. “He got home about nine o’clock. I’d already put Jasper to bed, and I was so tired I went to bed too.” She hiccupped and tried to control the sobs that wanted to escape. “I didn’t say good night or good morning. I didn’t tell him I loved him. When I woke up this morning his side of the bed was empty. I never imagined that he wouldn’t be coming back home. I should have stayed up. I should have told him how much I love him.”

  I felt my own tears prick my eyes. I couldn’t escape her pain. And it put things wildly in perspective. The moments we have could always be our last.

  8

  The day had taken an emotional toll on me, even more so after leaving Marla Jorgenson and her sleeping son. It was a lot to process, and I couldn’t help but think how I’d feel in her place. How I’d feel if when I’d walked out of the house two days ago, it would have been my last moment on this earth with Jack. It didn’t sit well.

  It was dark by the time we headed back toward town, but the rain had stopped and the moon was full in the sky. It was early yet, not quite dinner time, but the thought of food didn’t sound good. I wanted sleep. But I also wanted to know how those amphetamines had gotten into Brett Jorgenson’s system.

  I breathed deeply as I snuggled back against the seat of the Tahoe, catching a whiff of Jack’s Old Spice bodywash and the oil used to detail the leather of the SUV.

  “Do you believe her?” I asked after a long stretch of silence. “About his drug use being a thing of the past?”

  “I do,” he said. “Everything she said rings true. But we can’t rule her out yet. Maybe she’s playing us. Maybe everything wasn’t going as well as she wanted us to believe and she decided to make things easier for herself. We can’t overlook his history. And we can’t overlook her motive. I’ll check and see what kind of life insurance or financial assets she’s set to gain by his murder.”

  “Does that mean we’re comfortable calling it murder?” I asked.

  “I guess that’s up to you,” he said. “I can see how you could go either way. But you said you didn’t find any recent evidence of drug use. If we take that and go by what his wife said about him being clean, then yeah, I think we need to find out how those drugs got into his system. And a spouse is the most probable candidate for being able to slip him drugs without his knowledge.”

  I could see the reasoning he was coming back around to. “Which means we need to look at Marla Jorgenson a little closer. Because he was just fine when he left his house this morning.”

  Jack let out a sigh. “Right.”

  Instead of heading back to Bloody Mary, Jack took the exit that led to King George Proper. There was plenty of traffic on the road for a Friday night.

  “Where are we going?” I asked.

  “We’ve got a basic idea of his schedule from his wife,” Jack said. “And we know he rides Wednesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays with his club. He worked from home, but she can’t fill in his hours for us on the days he’s in New York and the time he spends out riding. I figured we needed to start going to those sources who can give us a better picture of what he’s like when he’s not home.”

  I understood what Jack was saying, but I was confused as to why we were turning into the parking lot of Raines’ Antiques and Vitamin Shoppe. Our friend Vaughn Raines owned the unusual, but popular, business. He’d bought the restored Victorian for a steal when the owners had gone bankrupt and had to liquidate. It was a huge three-story structure of pale yellow and a widow’s walk. The porch spindles were painted olive green and the decorative trim was a dark rose. It was a monstrosity of a house and took up half the block. The parking lot took up the other half.

  Vaughn came from money, so he’d been able to indulge his passion, which was antiques. Vaughn had also majored in business in college, so he was smart enough to know the antique store wouldn’t be enough to be profitable, so the bottom floor of the Victorian house was a vitamin and supplement store. Even I was blown away by the outrageous prices he charged, but I guessed health-conscious people didn’t mind getting gouged.

  “What does Vaughn have to do with Brett Jorgenson’s timeline?” I asked.

  “He’s a member of the Old Dominion cycling club too,” Jack said. “It’s the same club I was a member of, so I know a lot of the guys who ride. We actually all started in the club together—me, Vaughn, Dickey, and Eddie. It’s was Eddie’s idea. His wife thought he needed to get out and get some exercise, so we decided to help him out.”

  Eddie had been married since right out of high school, and he was about as domesticated as you could get. He’d also always been on the soft side, and he’d been the kid who always had a note to sit out of PE. I couldn’t imagine him exercising.

  “Eddie was going to exercise?” I asked.

  Jack’s mouth twitched with humor. “He bought all the cycling gear and made it through half of our first ride before he decided to find another form of physical activity. Dickey made it a few weeks, but it was the social aspect he liked. And that’s about the time he and Candy started dating, so he was…distracted.

  “But Vaughn and I fell in love with it. It’s great exercise and a great community of people. He’s gotten very serious about it. He’s invited me on a couple of trips to Italy that the experienced riders go on every year.”

  “Sounds like an expensive hobby,” I said.

  “It is,” Jack agreed. “But if anyone knows anything about anyone in this group it’ll be Vaughn. He�
�s always an excellent source of information.”

  “Is that a nice way of saying he likes to gossip?” I asked.

  Jack grinned and put the Tahoe in park. There were a few cars in the parking lot, but it was almost closing time. I wasn’t sure how our group of misfit friends had managed to forge a bond since childhood. On the surface, we didn’t have much in common. But when you looked deeper, we’d each been seeking family. Jack had been the only one of us who’d come from a stable home with parents who adored him. But he was an only child, and I guess in his own way he’d needed the kind of family we could give him.

  I’d been the only girl in the group, but I wasn’t sure any of them had ever seen me as a girl. Vaughn had tried to show some romantic interest when we were in high school, but he’d really been struggling with his own sexuality. We’d only gone out on a couple of very platonic dates before he’d told me he was gay. Since we’d all pretty much known that since third grade, none of us were very surprised.

  A bell chimed when we opened the door and we stepped onto creaking hardwood floors. The walls were lined with antique shelves and filled with colorful bottles of pills. There were pyramids of water bottles and giant jars of protein powder. Everything guaranteed to enhance your performance. That thought made me stumble.

  “What?” Jack asked.

  “Amphetamines are used to enhance your performance,” I said. “Just like everything in here. You said you used to be part of the team. And you’ve always been involved in athletics. You never knew anyone to use steroids or illegal enhancements?”

  “Sure,” he said. “Especially when I was in college. They’ve really come down strict in recent years on the drug testing. But it hasn’t always been that way. When I played baseball in college a couple of the guys used greenies. They ended up getting drafted to play for farm teams in the majors. It ended for them kind of like it ended for Barry Bonds and Mark McGwire.”

  “Okay,” I said. “I can see taking them when you’re an athlete at that level.” I noticed the surprised look on his face and said, “I’m not saying it’s right, but I can understand it. There’s big pressure and big money involved. The competition is fierce for few positions, and there’s always someone younger and hungrier coming up. But it literally makes zero sense for it to be the drug of choice in a recreational bike club. It’s not like any of these guys are going to the Tour de France.”