Deadly Catch, page 13
Kate dipped a shrimp into a small cup of cocktail sauce. “You’re as stubborn as a dang mule,” she said, her green eyes glaring into mine.
I grinned and tipped my bottle to her. “Hee-haw.”
Monday morning at nine sharp I met the insurance agent at the campground. The fire inspector’s report stated there was no evidence of an accelerant that might have been used to set the fire. Accidental, most likely caused by an electrical short was what he’d signed off on. For obvious reasons I had my doubts but kept my mouth shut.
The insurance man had no qualms with the inspector’s report, which was lucky for me. If arson had been suspected, there was no telling how long the investigation might take, plus I’d have to go through the trouble of proving I didn’t torch the camper myself. The agent did his thing and had me sign some paperwork. A check for fifteen thousand plus would be in the mail soon.
I gave the LP cylinders to Jerry, asked him to have the mess hauled off and send me the bill. When my check arrived I planned to buy another camper and park it on site 44.
For the first time in my life I was homeless. I’d joined the Marines right out of high school, and the Corps had been my home for the past twenty-four years. My ex wound up with the beautiful retirement house we’d planned and built on the New River outside of Jacksonville, North Carolina. Jill had wanted and instigated the divorce, but I was willing to give up my interest in the house in exchange for her agreeing not to mess with my retirement pay. I made sure to get it in writing, of course. Not a bad deal, the more I thought about it.
Kate had been good enough to put up with me as her houseguest for the weekend. She said I was welcome to stay as long as I liked, but even though I’d behaved myself I didn’t want to overstay my welcome or start tongues wagging. I’d get a room somewhere until the insurance came through.
I had my truck, the clothes on my back, plus a set of camos and boots stashed behind the seat of my pickup. I also possessed three fishing rods and reels, tackle box, the shotgun, and my cell phone. My laptop, digital camera, and other worldly goods were reduced to melted plastic or ashes in the blackened heap of my Grey Wolf camper. I’d been wearing the same shorts and shirt since Friday. I’d washed and dried them once while Kate was at work, but if I didn’t get some new clothes soon, she was liable to disown me. It was time to spend some plastic. I headed for the Wal-Mart in Parkersville.
I grabbed two pairs of jeans, some skivvies, several sets of shorts and shirts that I could mix and match, and tossed them into the shopping cart. A comb, couple of toothbrushes, paste, and deodorant joined the crowd. I added a pack of disposable razors, too. Kate still liked the beard, but it was creeping up my cheeks and down my neck. A box of mustache and beard coloring caught my attention. I’d noticed a little salt among my reddish-blond whiskers. I picked it up and read the instructions, then put it back on the shelf. What the hell, maybe Kate thought a little gray made me look distinguished.
I was headed back to my truck when somebody called my name from behind. I turned and saw a tall young man approaching. “Mr. McClellan?” he said again.
Only when he was a few feet away did I recognize who it was. “Patrolman Owens. You look different out of uniform.”
He held out his hand. I transferred the Wal-Mart bag to my other hand and we shook. “It’s J.D., sir. I’m working night shift tonight.”
“Chief Merritt got you tailing me on your off time, J.D.?” I was only half-joking.
Owens looked down and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “No, sir, I just got here and seen you coming out of the store. I been wanting to talk to you, though.”
“What about?”
He shoved both hands in his pants pockets and rocked on his toes. “The other day at your trailer, I heard you mention Tom Mayo.”
“Yeah, he used to be on the force until your boss had him fired.”
“Yes, sir, I know. Mr. Mayo was my basketball coach when I played in the city rec league. He’s the main reason I wanted to be a cop, him and my daddy.”
Out from under Ben Merritt’s shadow, J.D. Owens seemed like a nice enough kid. I hated being the bearer of bad news, but I figured he’d want to know. “Did you know Tom Mayo’s dead?”
Owens looked down again and nodded. “Yes, sir, car wreck.”
“Yeah, his wife said the brakes failed. Brand-new car, too. Talk about lousy luck.”
J.D.’s eyelids quivered like a nervous tic. “My daddy said there was some bad blood between Coach Mayo and Chief Merritt.”
I unlocked the truck door and tossed my bag onto the seat. I left the door open to let some of the heat escape. “How would your father know that?”
“Him and Coach Mayo and Chief Merritt were deputy sheriffs together a while, back when Bo Pickron’s daddy was sheriff.”
“Why did they leave the sheriff’s department?”
“Bo’s daddy was fixing to retire, and when Bo come back from the war with that big flying medal he won, he decided to run for sheriff. My daddy was ready to retire anyway, but Chief Merritt had wanted the sheriff’s job real bad. But with Bo running, he knew he couldn’t win. Along about then the police chief left, and Chief Merritt got the job. He talked Coach Mayo into hiring on with him.”
My gut told me the kid might be open to some frank talk. Being top turd on Merritt’s shit list, I figured I had nothing to lose. “Did you know Brett Barfield or Maddie Harper?” J.D. looked to be somewhere around their age range.
“Yes, sir. Me and Brett graduated together. Maddie was a couple of grades behind us. She got hurt in a bad car wreck when she was little and missed a whole year of school.”
“You ever hear any talk about Brett being involved with marijuana?”
Owens pressed his lips together and looked away. “I don’t think the chief wants me talking about stuff like that.”
“Look, J.D., I already know Brett got busted a couple of times for possession,” I said, “and that Tom Mayo was the arresting officer. Your boss made sure the charges didn’t stick. And I’ve got good reason to believe that when Mayo stood up to him about it, Merritt had him canned.”
Owens crossed his arms and rocked back and forth on his heels. He looked away again for a few seconds, then down at his feet again. “I might’ve heard something about Brett.”
“Like he was dealing to kids at school?”
Owens nodded, still staring at his feet. “Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
The young officer scuffed a shoe against the pavement. “I heard he did. A lot of the kids knew about it, but nobody ever ratted on him. Brett was one of the popular guys.”
I chuckled. “Yeah, I bet he was. Did Maddie Harper mean anything to you?”
He looked up, his face pinched. “Yes, sir, she was my friend. She used to help me out in study hall sometimes. I wasn’t too good at math. They don’t come no sweeter than Maddie was.”
It was time to lay my cards on the table. “I’m going to be upfront with you, J.D. You can either run to Chief Merritt with what I’m going to say, or you can keep it between you and me.”
Owens uncrossed his arms and looked me square in the eye. “Okay.”
“I believe Ben Merritt is up to his neck in drug smuggling, along with the Barfields and maybe Mayor Harper, too. Tom Mayo might have died because he was on to them. I can’t prove any of it yet, but I’m getting close. Now, you can either rat me out or keep your mouth shut and your eyes and ears open around the chief and find out what you can.”
I locked eyes with the young man. “There, I just handed you my ass on a platter. What you do with it is your choice.”
I left the kid with his mouth open and a lot to think about. With an hour to kill until the one-thirty meeting I’d arranged earlier with Bo Pickron, I stopped at Hardee’s for lunch. I ordered an Angus cheeseburger with fries and tea, and flipped through the USA Today while I ate.
The war in Afghanistan was still dragging on. IEDs continued to take a heavy toll on our troops. And years after Fallujah, Iraq was still going to hell, too. I remembered an old salt who had fought in Vietnam, how he lamented that our government hadn’t learned a damned thing from the sacrifice of over fifty-eight thousand dead plus the untold thousands of wounded in body and mind. From what I was reading now, the sacrifices my Marines had made seemed destined for the same fate.
At one-thirty sharp I walked into the sheriff’s office. He leaned across his desk to shake hands, then I took a seat. “I heard about your camper,” Pickron said. “You better watch your ass.”
“Electrical short, according to the official report. Insurance check’s in the mail.”
Pickron grunted and shifted some papers on his desk. “You got anything for me?”
“Maybe, if you’re willing to listen with an open mind,” I said, pulling my cell phone from my pocket. I brought up the photos I’d taken on my trip to Grand Gator Bay and showed them to him. “I found out this was a favorite haunt of Brett Barfield’s. He and Maddie used to do a lot of camping up there.”
The sheriff stared at the photos a minute and grunted again. “So, you think he was growing pot in the national forest.”
“He sure as hell wasn’t growing daisies. I’ve got a witness who went camping with him and Maddie a couple of times. My witness saw Barfield disappear through a titi thicket more than once to get to this place.”
“Who’s the witness?”
I shook my head. “Can’t tell you now. If word got out, it might blow my cover.”
Pickron handed the phone back. “This doesn’t prove anything.”
“No? It places Brett Barfield in an area where there are trip wires on a trail and dozens of seedling containers,” I said. “And I’d bet my ass if you sent a team out there and searched the place good, you’d find evidence of marijuana still around somewhere.”
He gave a wave of his hand. “It’s outside my jurisdiction.”
“Well, then, call whoever the hell’s jurisdiction it is.”
“It still wouldn’t prove Barfield’s involvement.”
Damn, Bocephus could be a stubborn SOB. “I’ve got another witness who says Brett was dealing to students back in high school.”
Pickron’s eyebrows arched. “I suppose you can’t ID this person either.”
“Not until we know more. It could put his or her ass in a sling.”
“That all?”
“No, but what’ve you got for me?” So far this “give and take” had been all me giving and all him taking.
“A couple of investigators are looking into things. If they turn up anything useful, I’ll let you know.”
I lifted a hand, rubbed my eyes a few seconds, and blew out a breath. “You know, if it was my niece who got fished out of the bay, I’d try to make this a two-way street.”
“Is that all?” Pickron said again.
“Does the name Tom Mayo mean anything to you?”
He thought about it a minute. “There was a Mayo with the St. George Police a while back. I believe he was let go.”
“That’s the man. You know why Merritt had him canned?”
The sheriff leaned forward and rested his arms on the desk. “Look, McClellan, that’s St. George business. I got enough on my plate handling county—”
“Mayo was the arresting officer when Brett Barfield got busted for possession.”
“And your point is?”
“I did my research. The second time, Barfield had enough pot on him to face doing time if convicted. Ben Merritt made sure that didn’t happen. I’d give big odds he framed his own officer. Made it look like Mayo planted the pot in Barfield’s vehicle.”
The sheriff’s face squinched up like he had bad gas. “Why would Merritt do that?”
I stared Pickron in the eye. “Because he was on the take, keeping Brett Barfield out of the slammer.”
He kicked back in his chair and crossed his arms. “Where’s the proof, McClellan? So far all I’ve got out of you is a bunch of goddamn speculation.”
I stood up and pulled out my wallet, found the photo of Brett I’d clipped from the newspaper, and laid it on the desk.
“What’s this?” the sheriff said, glancing at it.
“Your brother-in-law’s biological son.”
“You should’ve seen the look on Pickron’s face when I told him that,” I said, as Kate handed me a beer and sat across from me at her kitchen table. She had invited me for supper and given the okay for me to spend another night. I’d let the day get away from me after my meeting with the sheriff.
I grinned, thinking about how red Pickron’s face had turned, how his jaw clenched so tight I swore I heard his teeth grinding. “I thought for a minute he was going to arrest me for libel or at least kick me out of his office.”
Kate didn’t find it funny. “You need to stop making waves, Mac. You’ve already got Chief Merritt on your butt. You don’t need Bo biting it, too.” She got up and stirred the pot of spaghetti sauce simmering on the stove. “I thought you two were supposed to be working together, not seeing who can piss off who the most.”
I swallowed a swig of beer. “We are. It’s just that Pickron won’t listen unless you slap him upside the head. Figuratively speaking, I mean.”
Kate sat back down and took a sip of red wine. “So, what happened after you slapped him upside the head?”
“He calmed down and listened to me, believe it or not. I gave him the whole spiel about how I think Harper, Barfield, and Merritt are in cahoots with this drug thing. He didn’t like it, but after he chewed on it a while he admitted there might be something to it.”
“What about Mayor Harper being Brett’s real dad?”
“Big skeleton in the closet. Turns out Pickron’s known it for years. He said that’s why his sister hates the Barfields so much, especially Nora and Brett. Both families have kept it hush-hush for the kids’ sake. It’s just like I thought—Marilyn puts up with George for his money and their social standing.”
“Maddie’s money,” Kate said, getting up to stir the sauce again.
“Most of it, yeah. That’s one reason Pickron bought my theory. He thinks it’s plausible that George might’ve gotten involved in drugs as a hedge against losing most of his brother’s money to Maddie.”
Kate leaned against the counter, sipped her wine, and frowned. “Except Maddie’s dead, and now the Harpers get to keep her inheritance.”
“Yeah.” I finished my beer. “You’re off tomorrow, right?”
“Finally. Why?”
“We’re going to Alabama.”
After Kate agreed to make the trip with me, I called Mrs. Mayo to see if she’d be up for a visit to talk about her late husband’s relationship with Chief Ben Merritt. I wanted Kate along, not only for her company, but I thought Mrs. Mayo might be more comfortable and receptive if another woman was present. Joyce Mayo sounded pleased that someone had taken an interest in Tom’s firing and hinted that she had info I might find helpful.
It was about a two-hour drive to Headland. On the way up Kate sprang a big surprise on me. “Maddie didn’t smoke marijuana.”
I raised my hands off the steering wheel for a second in disgust. “You going to start that again? Her samples say she did.”
“Well, she did try smoking it a couple of times, but she didn’t care for it. Sara told me all about it Sunday at work.”
“Right. Bumblebees can’t fly, either.”
Kate’s eyebrows arched. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I don’t know; bad analogy. Look, the autopsy samples showed she’d been using the crap for a while, so Sara’s either ignorant or lying. Get over it.”
Kate gave me a light punch on the arm to get my attention. I glanced at her. She flashed a smile. “She made brownies and cookies, Mr. Know-It-All. That’s how she was using.”
“Are you kidding?” I’d heard of marijuana brownies before but thought it was more urban myth than reality. So much for my expertise in the fine art of marijuana use.
“No. Sometimes Maddie would bake a batch when Sara was spending the night at the Harpers’.”
“Right under the Harpers’ noses. No pun intended.”
“Yeah, but it was easy enough to get away with,” Kate said. “The secret was in the oil. Maddie would take a bottle of regular canola oil, add ground-up marijuana to it, and simmer it for a couple of hours, being careful that it didn’t boil. That extracted the druggie stuff from the pot. After it cooled, she’d strain the oil back into the bottle. Then all she had to do was follow a regular recipe for brownies or cookies or cake, substituting the pot oil for the same amount of regular oil the recipe called for. And keep the oil hidden from her aunt and uncle, of course.”
Nobody doesn’t like Sara Lee! jingled through my mind. “Pajama pot parties. I bet Sara Lee wishes she could get a piece of that action.”
Kate laughed. “Good one, Mac.”
“So, little Miss Gillman was a brownie head too?”
Kate sighed. “Now and then, but she’s sworn off it since what happened to Maddie.”
I wouldn’t bet the family jewels on that oath, but I didn’t shoot off my mouth to Kate. “What about Tonya or other kids at their school?”
“Sara didn’t mention any names, but she did say other girls would join in sometimes when Maddie would have a big sleepover.”
“Bet there was a waiting list a mile long,” I muttered.
“What?”
“Nothing, just talking to myself.”
Following the directions Joyce Mayo had given me, I turned off Highway 441 onto a county road, crossed a small bridge, and stopped at the third house on the right. It was a double-wide mobile home but sat on a concrete slab and was underskirted with real brick. A large covered porch fronted the house. From the distance of the neighboring houses on either side, I guessed the lot was at least an acre.
Kate followed as I walked up the steps, crossed the porch, and rang the doorbell. In a few seconds the door was opened by a trim woman around fifty with silver-streaked blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail.
“Mac?” We’d gotten past the surname formalities during last night’s phone call.
