Thanks to her cell phone log, he knew exactly what time Lydia Cox pulled out of Jillian’s parking lot. What he didn’t know was how long it took to reach the Montrose overpass.
Adam turned the engine on at 8:35, raised the windows, and fastened his seat belt. The air-conditioning in his city issue Taurus was temperamental at best and a dent in the right front fender pinpointed where he had blocked a suspect intent on fleeing. He could turn the car in and ask for a new one, but his replacement might be worse. Better to stick with the devil he knew.
At 8:43 exactly he pulled onto the street. When he reached the I-45 feeder road, he checked his rearview mirror. Lydia Cox was right. Headlights in the parking lot or on the road would be clearly visible. The feeder was one way north, and he took it two blocks until he reached the first U-turn to put him on the freeway headed into town.
He kept checking his rearview mirror. The sensation of being followed had pricked at the back of his neck all day. It had disappeared when he parked in front of Jillian’s, but now returned with a vengeance. The cloying scent he’d noticed several time lately enveloped him. Hadn’t he read somewhere that strange aromas were a precursor to migraines? He’d never had one himself, but his mother suffered from them, and they were supposed to run in families.
Quit being paranoid. The motor pool probably sprayed too much air freshener when he took the car in to have the AC checked. There was nothing wrong with him that six or seven uninterrupted hours in the sack wouldn’t take care of, although he’d willingly forego an hour or two of sleep if Jillian was in the sack with him.
Rush hour traffic coming out of town had finished and traffic into town was almost non-existent. It was Tuesday instead of Monday, so if the times came anywhere near close, he would have to check if any of the mega-churches or high schools had events letting out. He decided to try ten miles over the limit. That would have been risky for her, but he didn’t want anyone to come back later and say she might have driven faster.
At 8:57, the time the squad car reported seeing Eddie bent over Manny’s body, he was still several miles from the overpass. The shooting would have been at least five minutes earlier if Eddie was going to run to the body after the shooter had pulled out of sight.
Adam stopped and sighed. He rubbed his hand over his face, thinking about Rover’s shot. “Sorry, old buddy,” he said. “Dinner’s going to be late again tonight.” Finally he turned the car around and headed back to Jillian’s. This time he would try fifteen miles over the limit.
Even with the increased speed and less traffic, he still couldn’t make it by 8:57. Add two or three minutes at the front because Lydia Cox hadn’t seen any headlights and two or three minutes at the end for the car to get away and there was no way Jillian could have been anywhere near the spot. Not even if it was just a drive-by and she shot through the window and tossed the gun at the body, something that was impossible because Manny’s body was on the passenger side.
The pressure in his gut eased. One down and one to go.
He drove to the apartment complex where the first shooting took place. Noting the time carefully, he started back to Jillian’s. Late at night, with no traffic whatsoever, and running one light, it took him twenty-seven minutes. At 7:45, with only one shopping day till Christmas, he couldn’t have made it to the party in fifteen minutes using lights and siren.
Adam started for home, almost dizzy with relief. Rover would be pissed, but Adam could sleep soundly. Tomorrow he would start on the second part of the puzzle. Time to find out what really happened.
Two days hadn’t improved the smell or sounds of the county jail. Adam met with Eddie and his court-appointed attorney in the same room, sitting on the same hard chair and leaning on the same scarred table he had leaned on a hundred times over the years. Eddie tried to look confident, but he’d lost the shit-eating grin so Adam knew he had done his homework. He leaned his head back and squinted at Adam. Either the florescent lights hurt Eddie’s eyes or he couldn’t see three feet across the table, but it hurt Adam’s neck to watch him.
The attorney was tall and awkward with big ears and small, round, rimless glasses. He was so young he still had acne, and so new the sheen still gleamed on his law-school-graduation-briefcase. Normally Adam would have considered that a plus, but this was one time he not only wanted his I’s dotted and his T’s crossed, he wanted all the commas and semi-colons in place. He needed both Eddie and his attorney to understand what was at stake.
Adam faced the attorney. “Let me point out a few things. Eddie’s been here long enough that I’m sure he already knows. Our state legislature, in its infinite wisdom, has decided to crack down hard on DUI’s. Sounds like a good thing, right? Wrong. The courts and jail are so crowded that instead of the usual three days credit for one day served it’s now seven for one. It’ll probably go even higher because all the drunks in the county have figured out they can do a twenty-one day sentence in a long three day weekend and that’s much better than two years’ probation.”
Eddie nodded, but his attorney didn’t say a word.
“If Eddie agrees to turn State’s Evidence, his sentence will start immediately and he can begin racking up those days. He can have three years credit by September when the legislature reconvenes, and rumor has it they’ll propose deferred adjudication for first time offenders. When that happens, jail credit will drop back down.”
The young attorney tried to puff out his chest, but he didn’t have much of one so it was slightly comical. “This was clearly a case of self-defense. My client shouldn’t have to spend one day in jail.”
Adam drummed his fingers on the table. “You can certainly argue it that way for the jury. The fact that he put Manny’s cash and drugs in his pocket before he allegedly checked to see if he was breathing might be something of a problem. Even if he managed to walk on that one, he faces Murder One for driving Manny to the other shooting.”
The attorney started sputtering. Adam held up his hands, palms out. “Doesn’t matter who pulled the trigger, he’s still on the hook for it. Especially with Manny not around to take the fall.”
“But my client wasn’t driving, Manny Dewitt was.”
“If Eddie lent the car for a criminal venture, he’s still in trouble. However, I can produce several people who’ll swear Eddie never lent his car for any reason. Manny didn’t even have a driver’s license.” Adam sat back and waited. He knew what was coming and was prepared, but he still held his breath.
“Mr. Dewitt was part owner of the car and had his own key. My client wasn’t aware he’d taken it. Besides, do you think lack of a driver’s license would bother a criminal like Mr. Dewitt?”
“No, but it would bother Eddie. If Manny got stopped for any reason, they wouldn’t have to find the gun or drugs, the car would be impounded. It would cost Eddie a small fortune to get it back.” Adam’s eyes held Eddie’s.
“That’s bullshit,” the too-young lawyer spouted.
“I know Eddie knows this because that’s what he told a guy who wanted to go to the social security office to get his disability payments straightened out. As you can see, Eddie, I’ve done my homework, too. I’ve been over every scrap of evidence with a fine-tooth comb.” He almost said the finest hairbrush, but stopped himself in time. Snake-Eye’s speech patterns were hard to forget.
“If my client helps you on this other case, I’ll expect him to skate on everything else.” The young attorney hovered over his yellow legal pad, Mont Blanc pen at the ready.
“That’s not going to happen. Eddie’s facing too many other charges.” Adam didn’t trust Eddie to show up if he got out before he was needed to testify. “I can see that he stays here, racking up the days, instead of being sent to the state pen. He’ll probably get three to five. He can take care of three or four before he’s transferred. I have one last string I can pull once you get to Huntsville. There’s an experimental drug treatment program starting in the fall. It’s based on a program they’ve been using in New Jersey
with good results. How old are you, Eddie?’
“Forty-two.” His head was down, his voice barely audible.
“Without any help from me, you’ll get anywhere from fifteen years to the death penalty. It won’t matter, because fifteen years would be a life sentence for you. In the outside world, forty-two isn’t that old. Your folks are still alive, and I understand you have a sister. If you got yourself clean, and I told them you’d turned your life around, they’d take you back. You could be home in time for Christmas.”
Eddie looked at his attorney and gave an almost imperceptible nod. Adam wasn’t sure if the attorney was relieved not to have to take this dog to trial, or disappointed to settle his first big case out of court.
Adam tugged out his file. “Okay, let’s get this started. Tell me if one of these men sold the gun to Manny.”
Eddie squinted so hard Adam worried he wouldn’t be able to bring the pictures into focus. If his eyesight was that bad, he wouldn’t be able to put him on the stand. Adam wasn’t planning to take this to trial so that was a problem he could worry about another day. As Adam turned over each photo, the table wobbled slightly, as it always had.
“That’s him,” Eddie said without any hesitation.
Calvin Marshall’s face glared out from under Eddie’s finger.
With the jail interview out of the way, Adam was torn. He could head over to Ruben’s and get there in time for lunch, or he could eat out, make some phone calls, and end up at Ruben’s closer to supper time. It was a tough call, but he decided to eat first. Now he had to decide between Kim Son’s and The Cleburne Cafeteria.
At twelve-thirty, Kim Son’s would be packed with attorneys, both corporate and trial. That might ruin his appetite. Besides, The Cleburne Cafeteria had a plate of French Spaghetti with his name on it.
He turned the car toward Bissonnet and enjoyed his lunch without worrying about being interrupted by someone seeking information on a case.
Full and happy, Adam pushed his plate back and patted his stomach. The business types were all back at their offices and the seniors hadn’t arrived yet for the early bird specials. His booth in a back corner of the nearly empty restaurant made a perfect temporary work station.
His first call was to the DA’s office. He had spoken to one of the assistant DA’s earlier, and now could let her know Eddie had agreed to cooperate. They had dated a few times immediately after his divorce, and while it hadn’t worked out, they were still friends and respected each other’s opinions.
Next he called Hard Luck and let him know that two cases were officially closed. Hard Luck had never known about Jillian and how close she came to being the prime suspect, but Adam had, and it sent chills dancing down his spine. Finally he checked his own messages.
The lab had called to report that the ecstasy in Manny and the teenager came from the same contaminated batch. It could explain the paranoia they both experienced. He called the Assistant DA back and let her know about the contaminated X and the possibility it could account for the two vics’ violent actions. It would make Eddie’s deal an easier sell to her boss, the District Attorney.
The DA was a hands-on administrator. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust or listen to her staff, more that she didn’t want to be caught off-guard by a reporter sticking a microphone in her face and asking why one defendant got a plea deal and another didn’t, so any facts backing a recommendation were useful.
The two closed cases should keep Hard Luck off his ass for a while, but he needed time to deal with Marshall. And that was something Hard Luck could never know about.
The waitress filled Adam’s glass of tea for the third time, and he sat for a minute, staring at his phone. Finally he punched in Jillian’s number. A woman he assumed was Cara answered.
“May I speak to Jillian, please?” he asked.
There was a moment of silence on the other end. “J. R., I think this call’s for you.”
Jillian’s voice echoed in the distance. “You think it’s for me?”
“Well, he asked for ‘Jillian.’ Is that you?”
“Oh.” Even across a room and over a phone line, Jillian didn’t sound welcoming.
She picked up the phone, but didn’t say anything.
“Are you speaking to me?” he finally asked.
“Barely. I am glad to know you’re still alive.”
“That’s nice to hear.”
“It wasn’t you I was worried about. I didn’t want to lose my best customer if Snake-Eye went to jail. Does this mean I’m cleared?”
“You’re clean as a whitewall tire.”
Jillian laughed, and it sounded like music to Adam. “I can tell you’ve been talking to Snake-Eye.”
“I think he totally corrupted my ability to speak the English language.” He paused, not certain how to progress. “What would happen if I came over tonight? Would you let me in, or am I banished forever?”
“I had to postpone Monday’s class when Billy died so I’m teaching it tonight. It lasts till eight, remember?”
“Perfect. I’ll be over at eight-thirty. I don’t want to embarrass you in front of the ladies.”
“It’s too late for that, although I understand you were a hit with Lydia Cox.”
“I think those boys are little Snake-Eyes-in-training.”
“Now you know why I insisted she buy the gun safe.”
“I’m not sure even that’s enough to keep that trio out of anything they want in to. They don’t have access to power tools, do they?”
Jillian was quiet. “I’ll ask her tonight if their father took the tools with him.”
Adam’s last errand couldn’t be handled over the phone. He needed to notify the mother of Manny’s teenage victim that her daughter’s case had been solved. She worked at a large dry cleaning plant. The type of place small local cleaners used to outsource their work. The building was huge and reeked of chemicals. Adam worried about his lungs, even just entering long enough for an interview. It did drown out the sticky, sweet smell that had been stuck in his nose all day, something he recognized, but couldn’t put his finger on.
The front desk clerk sent him to the rear, where he found the woman working a large steam press that turned the area into a sauna. She had lost weight since he last saw her, but it didn’t improve her doughy looks.
“Mrs. Fletcher? May I speak to you for a moment? We have some news on Maryellen’s case.”
She hesitated briefly, but kept working. “It’s been so long I thought you was finished with us. I never s’pected to see you again.”
“I would never quit on an open case. When I’m in the old
folk’s home, I’ll still be making calls from my rocker. We found the person responsible for Maryellen’s death.”
“Have you got him locked up?”
“No, ma’am. He was killed by another drug dealer, but there’s not any doubt he was the one responsible. Do you want me to drive out to the trailer and tell Maryellen’s step-father?”
She slammed down the lid to the pressing machine, shooting a cloud of steam into air already so thick and heavy he could hardly breathe. “No point in that. He took off two months ago. Only fair. I run Maryellen off when he started paying more attention to her than to me, and he left when I started thinking more about her than about him. You might be wrong on who’s responsible for her death. I guess I figure in there somewheres. Least now I won’t have to testify at trial, and I can rest knowing he won’t be able to hurt nobody else, may he rot in hell.”
The machine beeped as she raised the lid. Adam looked around the plant with its noise and odors and heat. He wondered if she wasn’t the one in hell.
Adam pulled up in front of Ruben’s at 4:30. Perfect timing. Fifteen minutes of pleasantries with Mamacita, an hour and a quarter to work out a plan with Ruben, and it would be time for dinner. Mamacita couldn’t avoid inviting him to join them, no matter how angry she was.
Ruben tried to look irritated at the intrusion, but his eyes expres
sed an excitement that had been missing since the day Adam drove him, moaning in pain, to the emergency room. They had been in the middle of interrogating a suspect.
Some partners had standing roles as either good cop or bad cop, but Adam and Ruben alternated. Even if it was only acting, always playing the bad cop could change your perspective if you did it too often. It had been Ruben’s turn to play good cop, a role he excelled in despite his size. The detective playing bad cop could duck out from time to time during an interview and let another cop take his place, but not the one playing good cop. Building trust was a complicated affair and had to be done slowly.
Looking back, he realized Ruben had tried to rush the process, but he hadn’t noticed at the time. Ruben never said a word until after the suspect had confessed and signed a statement. Then he sank into a chair, his face as white as a sheet of paper and his forehead wet with perspiration. “I think you need to take me to the hospital,” he said, his voice scarcely above a whisper.
By the time Adam got him to the emergency room, his appendix had already burst. Instead of back on the job in three or four days, he was still in a hospital bed, full of tubes. When the doctor eventually released him, it was with the understanding he wouldn’t be alone, so Adam had driven him back to his childhood home. Mamacita still blamed Adam for her little boy’s near brush with death, but Ruben had given no indication he was in distress during the interrogation.
A week later, he was improving, but nowhere near his old self. “Let’s go upstairs,” he said. “I have it all spread out.” He made it up the stairs without leaning on Adam or holding the banister in a death grip.
“Hey, I’m sorry to interrupt your evening again.” Adam had heard the TV playing when he stepped up to the door.
“Don’t worry. I can’t take much more of Mamacita’s programs. Tonight a paranormal expert is explaining that some evil spirits retain a semi-solid form and can only be destroyed by demolishing their sanctuary. Next week, it’ll be sprinkle holy water on them.”
The Secrets on Forest Bend Page 11