Rich Waters (Jason Rich), page 18
He checked in and was escorted to the attorney consultation room. Ten minutes later, Trey was sitting across from him. He wore an orange jumpsuit, his feet and hands shackled.
“You look like hell,” Trey said.
“And you look like you’re trying out for a reboot of The Longest Yard.”
Trey wrinkled his eyebrows.
“Never mind,” Jason said, hearing the exasperation in his tone. “I need more from you, Trey.”
“What do you mean?”
“What I mean . . .” Jason leaned his elbows onto the table. He was close enough to smell Trey’s stale scent. “. . . is that we are going to lose, and you are going to be lethally injected if you don’t give me something . . . anything . . . else.”
“I can’t give you what I don’t have.”
“So can you sit there and honestly say that you’ve told me everything that happened the night of Kelly Flowers’s murder?”
Trey looked down at the table. “Yes.”
“You’re lying, Trey. I know you are lying, and I’ll be damned if I understand why. This is only your life we’re talking about.”
Trey said nothing and continued to stare a hole into the table.
“Then let’s talk about Flowers. He was your buddy, right?”
“He was.”
“You knew him well then.”
Trey shrugged.
“Was he dating anyone?” Jason asked, his teeth clenched as he thought of Chase.
“I don’t know. Like I said, we were close but not so much recently.”
“Did he know you were working for Tyson Cade?”
Trey didn’t answer.
“Did he? You said you had made a few deliveries for Cade. Did Kelly know that? Was he holding that over your head in exchange for something else? Had he threatened to arrest you? Was he pressuring you for information about Cade?” Jason banged his fist on the table. “Is that why you killed him?”
Trey stood. “This meeting’s over.”
“No, sir,” Jason said. “This meeting is only beginning. You’ve put my family, what little I have left, in peril. Your situation has resulted in me being blackmailed by the county’s most dangerous person, and I’m sick and tired of it. I’m representing you for free, Trey. I’m the only friend you’ve got in the world. You owe me. Now I need you to tell me the whole story.”
“Mr. Rich, I’m sorry. I really am. But I can’t do that. If you want the whole story . . . you’ll have to get it from Tyson.”
Jason stood and put his hands on his hips. “Are you kidding me?”
“I wish I was joking, but I’m not. Tyson Cade owns me. I can’t tell you what I know, or everyone I care about will be put at risk. I can’t do that.”
Jason hung his head. Anger was boiling inside him. Fueling him. He hadn’t slept in over twenty-four hours. He’d left Cullman and only gotten madder by the second. “Trey, by not talking to me, you are putting everyone I care about at risk. I’m not sure why Tyson demanded that I represent you, but I know what he expects.” Jason licked his lips. “Victory,” Jason said. “He expects me to win, and I can’t win if you don’t talk to me.”
Trey shuffled toward the exit. He knocked three times on the door with his shackled hands. Then he looked at Jason. “I didn’t kill Kelly Flowers,” he said.
Jason sighed. “Then help me defend you. Give me something. Anything.”
Trey leaned his head against the door. “OK.” His voice was hoarse. Weak. “I can’t shoot a gun for shit.”
Jason wrinkled up his face. “What?”
“I can’t shoot. I can’t hit a bull in the ass from five yards. Dad took me dove hunting a couple times when I was little, and all I came home with was a bruised shoulder. No birds. Not even a feather.” He chuckled bitterly. “Wasn’t my thing.”
“Then why did you bring the shotgun to your mom’s house? What possible purpose could you have had for taking it?”
Trey closed his eyes. “I was drunk, Mr. Rich. And . . .” He sighed. “Depressed.”
“That’s not an answer to my question. Why did you—?”
“I wanted to kill myself,” Trey said, lifting his head back and butting the door with it. “At least I thought I did.” He opened his eyes and stared at Jason with a vacant gaze.
Jason wasn’t sure what to say. This information was helpful. Combined with his drunkenness, the fact that Trey wasn’t a good shot was a nice nugget for the defense. One that would have to be supported with another witness, but still. He’d asked for something, and Trey had given him a small glimmer of hope.
But it wasn’t near enough. “Trey, I appreciate you telling me this. I really do. I know that was hard to admit, and it provides a plausible explanation for why you brought the gun and why you might not have been able to kill Flowers, but . . . I’m begging you. There has to be some connection between you, Flowers, and Cade. Branner’s Place was used for drug deals. You heard Detective Mitchell on the stand yesterday. That’s the reason they’re giving for Flowers being out there. What’s the link?”
Trey sighed and shook his head. As the guard opened the door, he spoke in a flat voice. “If you want to know everything . . . I told you what you have to do.”
40
Jason called Satch the second he was in his car and moving forward.
“I need a meeting with Cade.”
“Sure that’s a good idea?”
“I don’t have a choice. I can’t win this case if I don’t have more information, and I’m getting nowhere with my client. Trey says if I want the whole story, I have to get it from Cade.” Jason gritted his teeth as his Porsche ascended the Veterans Memorial Bridge.
“All right then,” Satch said. “Where do you want this meetup to take place?”
“On our turf,” Jason said. “A place you and your brothers feel completely comfortable. I want all three of you there. Cade has to come alone.”
“Jason, we don’t give ultimatums to a man like Tyson Cade.”
“Who says?” Jason asked. And then he ended the call.
41
At 4:55 p.m., Sheriff Richard Griffith knocked twice on the district attorney’s door.
“Yeah.”
He opened the door and stared at Shay with a grim look on his face.
“Still no word from Hatty?”
Griff shook his head. “She’s ghosted me.”
“Me too,” Shay said. “It’s so weird. Hatty’s such a professional. I’ve always respected her.”
“She’s the best detective in my department.”
“Can you think of any reason for her to disappear like this?”
“No.”
“Come on, Griff. There’s got to be something. Does it involve the Cowan case?” She lowered her voice. “Anything in her personal life?”
“I don’t know, Shay,” the sheriff said, collapsing into a burgundy chair in front of Shay’s desk. “It boggles my mind. She’s the lead investigator for every big case in our department . . . and she’s disappeared.”
Shay began to pace her office. “Any thoughts on where she might have gone?”
“Not really. She grew up in Pulaski, but I’m not aware of her having any family left there. I’ll send out some feelers.”
“Do that for sure.” She scratched her chin. “Who were her closest friends? In or out of work?”
Sheriff Griffith ran his hands through his hair. “That’s just it. Hatty was a bit of a loner. Forty-four. Not married. No family to speak of. No social life.” He paused. “The job was her life.”
“Sounds familiar,” Shay said. “Except I’m thirty-two.”
For a moment, there was an awkward pause. The sheriff stared at the ground. Finally, he looked up at the district attorney. “I’m sure you’ve . . . probably heard the rumors about Hatty.”
“What? That she’s a lesbian.”
Griff nodded.
“I have, but so what? Folks say that about me too. We’re in the twenty-first century.”
“This is Marshall County, Shay. We’re always running about fifty years behind.”
Shay sighed and grabbed the back of her neck. “I know.”
For a long moment, neither of them said a word. Then, finally, the sheriff stood. “I’m going to keep trying to reach her, and I’ll send feelers out where I have contacts.” He paused.
“But?”
“But if I don’t hear something definitive from her by the end of the week, then we’ll have to suspend her and possibly terminate her employment.”
“She’s the lead investigator on all of my big cases too,” Shay said. “None bigger than the Trey Cowan murder trial.”
“I know, and I’m doing everything I can. But it’s looking more and more like she’s going to need to be replaced.” He paused, his expression grave. “I’d start planning for that if I were you.”
42
Hatty Daniels woke up at the Comfort Inn on College Street. Two blocks from downtown Pulaski. She’d checked in with a fake name and paid in cash. Perhaps that was unnecessary, but she wasn’t taking any chances.
She had two cups of coffee and took in the complimentary breakfast. Then, without further procrastination, she made the call she’d been dreading since crossing the Tennessee state line.
“Hello?” a female voice answered.
Hatty closed her eyes. She hated to involve anyone else in her mess. There’s no other way, she told herself.
“Hatty, is that you?”
“It’s me.”
“Oh, my gosh. It’s so good—”
“I’m in trouble,” Hatty interrupted. “I’m in a mess, and I need . . . help.”
“Where are you?”
Hatty told her.
“Can you hold tight for a few hours. I’ve got to be in court this morning, and we are making a bust this afternoon.”
“Yes,” Hatty said, gripping the phone with both hands to keep them from shaking. “But I need to check out of the hotel. I need to keep moving.”
“Remember Hitt’s Place?”
At the mention of the bar, Hatty’s face broke into a faint smile. “Of course.”
“Meet me there at six thirty.”
“OK.”
A pause and Hatty could hear the sounds of her own heavy breathing. Her heart was pounding. No turning back, she thought.
“Hatty, are you all right?”
“No,” Hatty said. “See you soon.” Then she hung up the phone and dropped to her knees by the bed. Hatty prayed every morning after breakfast. Had since she was in grade school. It was a habit, as ingrained as brushing her teeth.
Dear God, please forgive my sins. Please help me . . . Hatty tried to think of more, but she couldn’t.
Please help me.
43
Crawmama’s was a seafood place off Highway 431 just past the Paul Stockton Causeway. Tucked in behind Big Lots, the restaurant had been started in 1987 by a woman who thought she could sell seafood out of her van to folks in a lake town. Turns out, she was right. After a month, the reception to her concept was so good that she acquired some space for a brick-and-mortar establishment. Now, more than thirty years later, Crawmama’s had gone through several additions and, to Jason, favored the Flora-Bama a bit with its relaxed vibe, sprawling patchwork of buildings, and excellent food.
The Tonidandel brothers rarely ate out, but when they did, the boys preferred Crawmama’s. Typically, they’d play quarters to see who the designated driver would be. Whoever lost would abstain, and the other two would take down a couple buckets of beer. The three of them normally ate at least a pound each of boiled crawfish, and they always ordered the fried shrimp basket.
Tonight, however, the normally upbeat gathering was all business. Instead of the three of them, there were five. Jason Rich’s presence wouldn’t have changed anything. In fact, they enjoyed when Jason tagged along, because then they had an all-time designated driver.
But no one was drinking at the moment, and that had everything to do with the fifth member of their party.
Tyson Cade sat at the end of the rectangular table. This was a power play by the drug dealer, as he’d moved the chair the second he’d sat down. “I want to be able to see your faces,” he’d said. “And don’t get any crazy ideas. No one is with me, but the cavalry isn’t far.”
“Good to know,” Satch had said in his gravel-laced tone. “Thank you for coming.”
“Fuck you, Colonel,” Cade said. “I didn’t come because you asked.”
“Then why did you?” Jason snapped, looking directly into Cade’s hazel-colored eyes.
“I guess I was curious. Do you know how many times I get summoned for a meeting?” He made a zero with his thumb and forefinger.
“It’s an emergency,” Jason said.
“Then get on with it.”
Jason let out a breath and looked behind him. They were sitting at the “Tootsie Table,” which was a private spot to the right of the bar. There were no other tables in sight, and at 4:45 p.m., the barstools were empty. That would all change when the dinner crowd swept in, but for now, it was as quiet as a country church during communion. “Trey won’t tell me his whole story. Says he can’t. Says you own him and that I’ll have to get the full story from you.”
Cade drank a sip of Coca-Cola and wiped his mouth. “Well, sucks to be you, then.”
“I can’t represent him if he won’t tell me what happened.”
“What has he told you?”
Jason chose his words carefully. His communications with Trey Cowan were protected by the attorney-client privilege. He was duty bound not to disclose them to anyone. But with Trey not talking and pointing him to Cade, he didn’t have much choice. “Not much. Says he and Flowers were old friends that had gotten cross with each other. Flowers was giving him a hard time about a failed baseball tryout with the Barons, and that’s what led to their scuffle at the Brick. He went home, got his shotgun, and went to his mom’s. Remembers nothing else until morning. Was depressed and off his meds. Went to the football field because he didn’t know where else to go.” Jason paused. “That’s pretty much it.”
Cade put a toothpick in his mouth and began to chew. He wore a T-shirt, jeans, and a baseball cap. For all the world, he could have passed as a friend or even a young relative of the Tonidandels. At five feet, ten inches and only around 165 pounds, he wasn’t physically imposing. But, as he glared at Jason, the young man’s presence was unmistakable. “What do you want to know?”
“The full story,” Jason said. “Or I’m gonna withdraw as Trey’s counsel.”
Cade laughed. “You realize that I could have your daughter and girlfriend arrested at any time for drug possession.”
“I know you’ve threatened that, which means you must have an in with the sheriff’s department.”
“Man, you’re good,” Cade teased. “Nice thinking, Sherlock.” He chewed some more on his toothpick. “All it would take is one phone call, and Nola is looking at a drug conviction that will make getting into a good school next to impossible. And, as I’m sure you know, Chase has had her share of trouble with the law. A possession . . . and a distribution charge would send her to prison.”
“Distribution?”
“Who do you think got your little niece started on meth?”
“What? You’re a liar. Nola’s been getting her drugs from Kevin Martin.” Jason felt a boot cover his foot and press down. He almost yelped but stopped himself. He looked at Satch, who was giving him a death stare.
Cade chuckled. “I’ve got a printed photograph in my pocket that I think you will find interesting. Colonel, may I?” He looked at Satch.
“Get on with it,” Satch said.
Cade reached into his front pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. He slid it across the table to Jason, who unfolded it and brought it up to his face so he could see better.
In the grainy color picture, Chase was handing Nola a tiny container that was about the size of a pill bottle. It was a closeup, so Jason couldn’t tell their location.
“This could be anything,” Jason said, his voice dry. He took a sip of water from the glass in front of him.
“Oh really. I have a video, boys. OK if I show it to Mr. Rich?”
Satch nodded, and Jason felt a sinking in his stomach. He remembered the last time Tyson Cade had showed him a video.
Cade reached into his other pocket and pulled out an iPhone. He brought up the video and then slid the device across the table. Jason took it with both hands and peered down at the screen.
The footage wasn’t zoomed in and was taken through a window. Chase and Nola were sitting at the kitchen island in Jason’s home. They were talking. There was some white powder on a charcuterie board. Nola leaned over and snorted some of it through a straw. Then Chase took a turn. Then Nola. They laughed. Then did some more.
“Look at the container next to the board,” Cade said.
Jason did and then compared it to the zoomed-in photograph.
“Could have been a gift,” Jason said, his tone weak.
“Contributing to the delinquency of a minor,” Cade said. “Worst case, she’d be charged with that and possession. But I think a tracking of Ms. Nola’s bank account will show that she paid for the drugs.”
Jason wanted to puke but tried to stay focused. What he’d just seen was unbelievable. Nola had gone to Perdido with him. She’d seen Chase’s condition, and yet she said nothing to him about using with Chase. Or that she’d bought from Chase. She’s a teenager, Jason reminded himself. Who lost both parents last year . . .
“Why is Nola buying from K-Mart if Chase was her source?”
“Chase only distributed once to Nola,” Cade said, his voice matter of fact. “Just enough for us to get pictures and video.”
“What?” Jason didn’t believe it.
“Hurts, doesn’t it? If it makes you feel any better, we insisted that she do it if she was going to continue getting her own stash.”
“We?”
“Me . . . through my colleagues.”
“Which were who?”
Cade flicked his toothpick on the ground and drank another sip of Coke. “That’s not for you to know.” He paused. “But you see what’s at stake here, Jason. If you don’t continue to represent Trey Cowan, the people you care about most are going to be hurt.”
