He described the land where the pot was grown. It was a large tract along a road he identified but Stan was only using a very small portion for his weed. Bishop gave an approximate address for the property.
His report included what he learned about the process that was followed by the tenants to plant the marijuana and then harvest and cure it for sale. He wrote how the cured marijuana was then put into boxes and taken to the woman’s trailer.
His report also included information about the Alabama bank account Stan had with over two hundred and fifty thousand dollars in it as of the date of the last bank statement. Bishop also listed all the small bank accounts Thomas had around the county where money, mostly cash from drug sales he assumed, was deposited.
His conclusion was that Stan Thomas was definitely growing and distributing drugs, pot for sure at least, and coke as well most likely, to Dawkins. That tied in with what Bryant or Dawkins had admitted to the chief during their interrogation.
“So, we have the dealers, Dawkins and Bryant, and the supplier, Stan Thomas,” Bishop wrote.
At the end of the report, he asked the chief, to find out who owned the land where the weed was being grown. “From what the tenants told me, I doubt the owner knew, but it’s likely that Stan knew who owned it.”
He emailed the report to the chief and got ready for Kathy who showed up about an hour later.
Over wine, he gave her the same report.
Kathy had brought spaghetti for their dinner with a salad.
Afterward, they watched something on one of the Roku channels before going to bed.
*****
The chief called the next morning right after breakfast and after Kathy had left for the library.
“Where in the hell did you get all of this?” he asked.
Bishop said he’d squeezed it out of Stan’s tenants.
“Did they help him grow the stuff?”
He said, “They did. I think they just did what he told them to do, but they knew. They were his grunt laborers but they did everything including curing the pot.”
The chief grunted, evidently satisfied.
“What do you think we should do with the tenants? I assume they are illegals.”
“I was afraid you’d ask that. I can’t say. They’re mostly do grunt work for people around the county who have a need. At least they’re not on the welfare roles.”
“I think I’ll just keep a watch on ‘em. If they break any laws, I’ll ship ‘em out.”
“Up to you,” Bishop said, agreeing.
“You asked about a piece of land,” he said. “I had somebody look it up for me. That land is owned by Hank Thomas, Stan’s father. Stan was growing pot on his father’s property.”
“Son of a bitch!” Bishop said. “I wonder if the old man knew what was going on? Doesn’t seem likely. I get the impression the father didn’t approve of drugs. Just a gut feeling.”
“My impression too … from what the sheriff told me … Jackson.”
Bishop said he’d ask. “I’ll get out there this morning.”
“Let me know,” the chief said. “In case I need to come out and make an arrest. However, I seriously doubt Hank would be involved in anything like that. I figure his boy was probably using the land on the sly.”
“You’re most likely right. I’ve only talked to the father one time, after his boy was killed. He seemed pretty much down about it. I’ll let you know what he says when I ask him about it.”
The chief thanked him.
*****
Bishop got out his county map to check the roads. Sure enough, the land was the parcel next to the Thomas’ home. Garcia and his wife had brought him to the weed parcel from the other direction. That was why he hadn’t passed their home.
If I’d come from the other direction, I’d have driven past it and maybe it would have hit me. I’d still have to see Stan’s father anyway. He shrugged it off.
He called.
Hank answered.
Bishop identified himself and told him he needed to drive to his home and ask him a question. “It involves your son,” he said.
“Can’t you ask it over the phone?” Hank asked. “You’ve already asked questions, upset us.”
“Sorry. I could but I wouldn’t feel right about it. I’d rather ask you in person,” Bishop said. He wanted to see the look on the man’s face when he told him what his son was doing.
Hank resignedly told him to come on over. Bishop heard a curse as the man hung up.
Ten minutes later, Bishop was ringing their doorbell.
Emma met him and invited him in. She was wearing what looked like the same, old print dress she was wearing the last time he was in their home.
“Hank said you had a question about something to do with Stan?” she asked.
He did. “For both of you, I reckon.”
“He’s on the back porch.”
He turned down her offer of coffee and followed her out. As he had been the last time Bishop was there, Hank was staring out at the pond, a coffee mug in his hand. He glanced around when Bishop came through the door and nodded a greeting with a grimace. He also looked as if he hadn’t changed his clothes since Bishop saw them last, and his face bore the same glum look it had.
With a severe frown, he gestured toward a rocking chair which Bishop took. Emma also sat down.
“I have a question for both of you,” Bishop said. Hank turned to face him. The expression on his face hadn’t changed. It still showed no feeling.
“You have a large piece of property just down the road. A hundred or so acres, I think. Do you use it?”
“Haven’t planted anything there in years. What does that have to do with our son?”
“Stan was using part of it to grow marijuana. He planted and harvested it, all with the help of some Mexican immigrants. Afterward, he cured it in his barn and sold it. He was dealing in marijuana. Did you know that?”
Emma’s hand went over her mouth. She gasped and looked at her husband. “Did you know that Hank?”
“No! I didn’t. And I don’t believe it. How could a son of mine sell dope on the streets. That stuff destroys lives! No son of mine could do that!”
“He did, Mr. Thomas. He sold it to a man and woman who live in Lawton. They packaged it and sold it to people, young and old, all over the county.” He figured including Bryant and Dawkins in it was close enough to the truth for that conversation.
Mr. Thomas shook his head. He had an angry frown on his face. “Excuse my expression, but that’s bullshit, Mr. Bone. No son I’d claim as mine would sink so low.”
“Well, the police know that he did. I’ve sent the chief of Police a report. If you’re involved, you could be arrested.”
The man stared at Bishop, shaking his head. “Damn. You’re saying it like it’s the Lord’s truth.”
“It is,” Bishop said. “You can believe it. The police have arrested the man and woman actually selling the stuff he was growing.”
“Damnit, I should be kicking my butt, I guess. I just wasn’t thinking. Stan worked in the agricultural department at Ole Miss while he was up there. They grow the stuff for medical research. When he told me his practice was making enough to pay his secretary’s wages, I should have been suspicious. My other tenants kept asking me how he was doing. They weren’t seeing much foot traffic into his office.”
“Well, now you know. His money was coming from the sale of pot, marijuana. He’s made a quarter of a million since he started,” Bishop said. “He has an Alabama bank account. I expect the police will seize it.”
“And he was growing it in my old vegetable field?”
Bishop nodded his head. “How wouldn’t you have known that, Mr. Thomas? Don’t you ever get down there?”
“No, Mr. Bone. He doesn’t get around that much, anymore. Now and then, he takes the dogs out for a walk is all,” Emma answered his question.
Bishop saw two mongrel dogs laying outside behind the porch chewing on something. Mr. T
homas turned away and stared at his pond, shaking his head. It looked to Bishop like he was wiping a tear from his eye.
He mumbled what Bishop thought was, “quarter of a million.”
Bishop said, “I have to ask, Mr. Thomas. Where were you when your son was shot and killed?” He gave the day and time.
“Here,” he said.
Emma looked at him and nodded her head to agree.
“He didn’t kill our son, Mr. Bone.”
“I was paying for his secretary, letting him use the office rent free until his practice built up. Well, he said it had. I had no idea he was selling dope. Destroying lives in the process. Damn. I can’t believe it.”
“He’d been doing it awhile,” Bishop said.
“I should ‘a known,” Mr. Thomas said. “I should ‘a known. My damn fault, I guess.”
Emma touched his arm with her hand. “It’s okay, Hank. We can’t know everything.”
She looked at Bishop and said, “We trusted our son. Hank walks the dogs and manages that office building. He collects the rents and make sure everything’s working. That’s about all he does these days. His back bothers him. Mine too. I take a nap of the afternoons. I try to get him to, but he won’t do it. Says if he gives up, he might as well dig his grave.”
“That’s right,” Hank said.
Nothing useful here, Bishop thought. I guess I’d better talk to the tenants in his building to see what they may have seen the afternoon Stan was shot. I think I’ll take another look at the field where the weed was being grown. Just had a thought.
He said goodbye. Hank Thomas didn’t get up. He did mumble something that sounded like “goodbye” when Bishop left.
Still didn’t turn on the fan. Hot enough for it, too, Bishop thought with a laugh to himself.
Bishop drove down the road to the hundred-acre field where Stan Thomas was growing his weed. He parked and walked the field all the way to the creek at the far end. He saw everything he expected to see and made mental notes.
Something bothered him but it was one of those thoughts that don’t stay in the head long enough to be nailed down. He figured it’d crop up again if it turned out to be important.
Chapter 13
He drove home and emailed another report to the chief. It included his walk of the field after he’d talked to the parents. He had no recommendations. His last note said he was going to talk to the tenants in the office building to see if they have anything to add.
“I also want to talk to Bryant and Dawkins,” his report said.
The chief emailed back and thanked him. About Bishop’s plan to talk to Bryant and Dawkins, he said, “Well, they’re out on bail. You are a special investigator. You have all the authority you need. Go after them. If they give you a hard time, we’ll arrest them.”
The chief’s email also said that since Stan was killed on Saturday, the offices of the other tenants were closed that day, so no-one was likely around to have seen or heard anything. “Not likely to do more than waste your time talking to them.”
Hmm, Bishop thought. I think I’ll call him.
“Chief Jenkins,” the chief said when he picked up the office phone.
“Chief. Bishop. I had a couple of questions.”
“Fire away. I assume you got my email.”
“I did. Had a couple of things I wanted to kick around with you anyway.”
“Start kicking.”
“Right. I know the offices were closed, but did your guys knock on any doors to make sure nobody was in … the other tenants?”
“I don’t think so. It was Saturday and the other doors were probably closed. If you’re going to talk to them, you can make sure. Maybe they were hiding inside their offices,” he said, half joking.
“I will. What I was really thinking was that one of them might have had some kind of emergency that brought ‘em in. I’ll check.”
“It’s possible. The doctor anyway. I doubt any of the others would have an emergency. What else you got on your mind?”
“I don’t see how Stan’s dad didn’t know about somebody growing weed on his land. He walks his dogs every morning, his wife said. And, there’s a trail between his house and the field where the stuff was being grown.”
The chief laughed. “No way, old buddy. If he had known, he’d have raised holy hell.”
“If he knew what it was.”
“If anybody was growing anything funny, for sure he’d have put a stop to it. Hell, if he saw weed being grown, he might have taken his shotgun to whoever was working it. The boy’s tenants, I’d guess. Hank hated anybody involved in drugs. Sheriff Jackson and his wife had dinner with them awhile back. The sheriff was telling them about a lecture they’d had in town on the dangers of smoking marijuana. What it did to the smoker’s brain. He said Hank acted like he would shoot anybody selling the stuff on sight.”
“About what he told me.”
“See. I told you. To finish the story, Jackson was laughing because he said Stan’s face turned white when they were talking about it. How two policemen were shot and all.”
“I guess it should have. He was dealing. He was an accomplice to the shootings,” Bishop said.
“I guess he was. Not a problem now. Anyway, Hank wouldn’t have stood on ceremony if he’d seen drugs growing on his land.”
“I guess you’re right.” When I was asking them questions, he looked like he could kill somebody. I reckon he was wishing he could get his son’s killer in his sights.”
“That’s most likely what you were seeing,” he said.
“I’ll press on,” Bishop told him. “Just wanted your opinion.” I wanted a little luck. Didn’t get it.
“Well, you got it.”
“Yeah.”
*****
Bishop took the elevator to the second floor of the Thomas office building. It was almost nine in the morning. All the tenants should be in by then, he figured.
The building was only two stories, about all a small town needed. Both floors had space for four tenants. The tenants on the lower floor could not see the elevator to the second floor, the hallway to it, or the stairs up for the hardy who wanted exercise. So he didn’t see the need to talk to the first floor tenants.
In addition to Stan Thomas’s law offices, the other tenants on the second floor were an ophthalmologist, a bookkeeper, and a physical therapist. He’d been told by Hank that the tenants often closed early, or didn’t open at all if they didn’t have patients or customers. Certainly that would apply to Saturday. The eye doctor on his floor had already told him she was going to retire in “a couple of months.” The bookkeeper and therapist spent as much time visiting customers at their places of work or their homes as they did in the offices. But if they were coming in, on any day, it’d be early Hank had told him.
He visited the doctor first, showed the receptionist his credentials, and told her why he was there. The young woman at the desk told him that the doctor was in the middle of an exam that would take another thirty or so minutes. Bishop told her he’d be back. While waiting, he’d see the other tenants.
The bookkeeper, Jordan Perry, was loading his briefcase when Bishop came through his open door and introduced himself. The man looked at him and said, “Have to be quick. I got calls to make.”
Bishop told him the same thing he’d told the doctor’s receptionist and showed his credential.
“Well, you may have to come back. I can spare you –” He interrupted himself to look at his watch and said, “well, maybe a few minutes.”
Bishop explained that he was investigating the death of Stan Thomas and wanted to know if he’d been in the Saturday afternoon Stan was killed. Although he was sure the man knew the date and time, he gave it anyway.
Perry said, “I can’t help you, Mr. Bone. I left at noon on Friday and didn’t come back until Monday. Saturday, I had a lunch meeting with a client. After that, I had to finish the audit of a bicycle business. It was a tax emergency or I would have been at home, takin
g a break.”
Bishop asked what he knew about Thomas, his routine, his practice, anything that might shed light on why anybody would want to kill him.
“I spoke to him and his secretary when I’d run into them going and coming but I never had anything to do with either of them. As I told his dad one day, it didn’t look to me like he had any clients. I don’t see how he stayed in business unless his dad was supporting him.”
And, he had no ideas about who might have shot him or why.
Waste of time but it’s out of the way, Bishop thought as he left the man’s office.
The therapist had about the same story, except that she wasn’t in at all on Saturday.
“If I had anybody needing me, I’d have gone to their home anyway. But nobody did, so I took the Saturday off and enjoyed a beer with my husband.”
Like the bookkeeper, she wondered how Stan’s office was staying open. She never saw very many clients there either.
“I saw his secretary, him and his dad. His dad was always complaining when he was with me. Mostly because he was having to pay Stan’s secretary.”
And she never heard or saw anybody who looked like they had an “axe to grind” with him.
Bishop thanked her and went back to the doctor’s office. An elderly man was leaving as he approached the door into her office.
He went inside. The doctor, a short, gray haired woman carrying a few extra pounds, was standing over the receptionists’ desk telling her something. She had an accent Bishop couldn’t place, but he understood her well enough.
After Bishop walked in, she turned and smiled. “You must be the policeman Irene was just telling me about. Come on in.” She gestured for him to go into her office, which was really a treatment room with an extra table and chairs. Bishop sat in one. She took the other.
Bishop gave her the same story he’d given the other two tenants and asked what, if anything, she knew about Thomas’ life. Her office was next to Stan’s.
She sighed and said, “Not much, Mr. Bone. I met him a couple of times in the hall. Once he was headed to his office as I was leaving mine. The other time, he and I were leaving together. We barely said hello. Talked about the rain.
Death of the Weed Merchant Page 15