Rich Waters (Jason Rich), page 33
“You didn’t know.”
“I didn’t. Oh, I thought he abused the power of the uniform. But I didn’t figure him for a double-dealer.”
“Trey never said anything.”
“Nope. I’m assuming this helps Trey, though. The fact that Kelly was dealing for Cade.”
“It doesn’t hurt. I’m just not sure how much it helps.”
“What about that girl you said might be an alternative theory.”
“She has an alibi. And even if she didn’t, we don’t have a witness that puts her there at twelve thirty a.m. on April 9.” Jason paused. “She was Daniels’s informant, so there’s that, but I don’t see us making much hay with her as an alternative. The better play would be to point the finger where it really belongs.”
She scrunched up her face.
“Tyson Cade,” Jason said. “Daniels will have to testify that she was investigating Flowers in connection with Cade, and we may be able to get in that Flowers was using Branner’s Place to do drug deals.”
“May be able to get in?”
“It’s hearsay. I think we have a strong argument that it falls within an exception, but we may lose.”
“Shit, boy. Even if we do get it in, you really gonna try to pin this on Tyson?”
“I didn’t say that. I’m just saying it would be the better play.”
“No, it wouldn’t. Why the hell would Tyson want to kill his inside source?”
“I’m thinking that Tyson had tired of Flowers and was getting ready to replace him.”
“What makes you say that?”
“The investigation file was deleted by someone in the sheriff’s office. Obviously, one reason for that is to cover up any wrongdoing on Kelly’s part. But the other reason—”
“Is whoever deleted the file is Cade’s new source.”
“Right,” Jason said, pointing at her. “Nothing else makes sense. Listen, Trudy, there is something I want to ask you. Trey mentioned that he was not a good shot and had only fired a gun a couple times in his life. That ring true to you?”
“Yeah. I can’t say for sure about the last few years, but I don’t remember him shooting much as a kid.”
“Well, I’ve done a little shooting myself. Even at five yards, at least with a handgun, a person can miss if they haven’t been trained.”
“You ever shot a twelve-gauge shotgun?”
“No,” Jason admitted.
“You ain’t goin’ miss with it.”
“He was still a few feet away and likely shooting from the inside of a vehicle. At least on the first shot. Not the easiest thing to do with a twelve gauge.”
“I see your point,” Trudy said, rubbing her chin, which had some peach fuzz on it. “If I’m being honest with you, I don’t have a clue. You might ask his old girlfriend, the nurse anesthesia lady, whether he did any shooting.”
“What about Walt?”
“What about that lowlife sonofabitch?”
“Did he and Trey ever go hunting together? Dove hunting? Quail? Target shooting? Anything?”
“I don’t know of them ever shooting together, but I’ve worked two jobs my whole life trying to feed everyone. You should ask him.”
“I’ve tried, but I can’t find him. My investigator was working on that when he was killed. Do you know where he is?”
“He’s on the Gulf Coast somewhere. Working construction by day and drinking beer and chasing tail by night, if I had to guess.”
Jason remembered that Harry had tracked Walt to Watersound on 30A last year, but so far, Jason had not been able to pin the elder Cowan down. “OK, if you hear anything about Walt, let me know.”
“Will do.” She stood and shook his hand. Her grip was firm, her hand heavily calloused. “Thank you, Mr. Rich.”
92
Once Jason was back in his car, he sent Colleen Maples a text.
In the time you dated Trey, did he ever go shooting? Ever hunt or spend any time with a gun?
He wasn’t sure if she was working tonight or not, but her quick response made him think she was off.
No. Never. Like I told you before, I didn’t even know he had a gun.
Jason thought about it. Then he fired her another text. You think he could have been an avid hunter or gone shooting and maybe he kept that from you?
Her response came back in seconds. Anything’s possible, but I don’t think so.
Jason cranked the ignition and began to pull out of the parking lot. By the time he was back on Highway 431, Colleen had sent him another text.
Busy tonight? I’m off. Haven’t seen you in a while . . .
Jason sighed and put the top down on the Porsche. He put his phone on the passenger seat and tapped his fingers on the wheel. He was tempted. But with Chase back . . .
. . . so what if she’s back? he thought. She cheated on me multiple times. Abandoned me. I don’t owe her anything.
He thought back to how he’d felt with Ashley Sullivan the night before. The warmth he’d sensed. The intimacy.
At the stoplight by the Hampton Inn, he picked up his phone and thumbed a quick response to Colleen. Can’t tonight. Working.
As he drove back to his office, Jason put the top down on the Porsche and breathed in the cool night air. He was starting to finally see his defense case taking shape. He’d bring out Kelly Flowers’s inappropriate and abusive behavior with Chase and Colleen Maples. He’d have Detective Daniels admit that Flowers was being investigated by internal affairs and that she had an informant, Chase, who was ready to roll on him. Daniels would testify that her file was deleted and that an attempt was made on her life. When the state called Detective Mitchell, he would tear into him with questions about his knowledge of the investigation into Flowers and the victim’s whereabouts the night of the murder.
Someone in the sheriff’s office, either Mitchell or perhaps the sheriff himself, wanted to sweep the Flowers investigation under the rug. And perhaps that same someone was Tyson Cade’s new source in the sheriff’s department.
The murder was an inside job, Jason thought, squeezing the wheel and knowing he had to be right.
But by whom? Tyson Cade or the sheriff’s department?
Jason sucked in a deep breath. Or both . . .
As he pulled into his lot, Jason felt his heart and mind racing. He was six days out from trial, and he had a theory.
But he needed more. There were additional boxes to check, and he was running out of time.
Damnit, Harry. I need you, man, he thought. Then he had an idea. He took out his phone and clicked the number for Bo Haynes.
Seconds later, a deep baritone voice answered, “What’s up, Jason?”
Jason closed his eyes. Six days . . . “I need your help.”
93
Jason worked until just past nine o’clock. By the time he arrived home, he was worn out and thought he might actually be able to sleep tonight. But, as he was getting out of his car, Satch’s voice stopped him.
“Hey, Jason.”
He turned and saw the big man crossing the street holding something in his hand.
“What’s up?”
“Chase asked me to do something with this. I guess she had kept a stash hidden in her house and didn’t want it in there anymore.” Jason glanced over at Chase’s house. The light above the carport was on. He hadn’t spoken with her since their conversation on the steps the night before.
“Why are you showing it to me? Get rid of it.”
“I’ve got a better idea. I was thinking we keep it. You never know when we might want to put it somewhere, you know what I mean?” He squinted and grinned.
“I like it,” Jason said.
94
On Wednesday, October 9, Jason decided he’d procrastinated long enough. There was one box he knew he had to check that he’d been purposely avoiding.
I was supposed to do it with Harry, Jason thought. But Harry was gone, and Jason was five days from trial. There were valid reasons for his delay.
For one, he doubted this trip would lead to anything.
And two, perhaps more importantly, he knew he’d be triggered to drink.
At 4:30 p.m., after a good lift session, Jason got in the Porsche and headed toward Huntsville. I can do this, he thought, remembering Ashley Sullivan’s words from several months earlier.
Jimmy’s Lounge was one of the oldest surviving strip clubs in north Alabama. The exterior was bland and almost blank except for the red sign in block capital letters.
JIMMY’S
Jason was no stranger to exotic dance clubs. In college and law school, he and his friends hit Sammy’s in Birmingham and the Cheetah in Atlanta. But since beginning the practice of law, he hadn’t been a frequent flier, though he reminded himself that he’d interviewed several dancers at the Sundowners Club in Pulaski after Harry’s disappearance.
Jason walked inside the doors and was greeted with the sounds of “I Touch Myself,” by Divinyls, blasting from the ceiling speakers. He looked around, taking the place in. The lighting was dim, and there was a long bar in front with several tables in front of it. There appeared to be a layer of stalls to the left where dancers were leading men for private lap dances. The huge room smelled of cigarettes, cheap perfume, sweat, and beer.
Jason felt his stomach tighten as he brushed past several women wearing nothing but G-strings and bikini tops. As he sat down and saw a woman with blonde hair and huge breasts dancing on the stage to the right of the bar, he had an odd thought.
When was the last time I had sex?
Jason was still pondering the question when a female waitress came by, wearing a lacy black bra and Daisy Duke cutoff jeans. She asked for his drink order, and he swallowed. Every fiber in him wanted to order a beer or a whiskey drink. Instead, he said, “Club soda and lime.”
She looked at him funny and walked away. When she returned, he’d regained his composure. “Is there a dancer here named Bella Flowers?”
She blinked. “Who wants to know?”
He took out his business card and slid it across the table.
She giggled. “I’ve seen your commercials.”
Jason nodded.
“This about her brother?”
“Yes,” Jason said.
“She in trouble?”
“No. I just have a couple questions.”
“OK. She’s on the center stage next. Then she’ll be available for lap dances.” She grinned. “Or a VIP dance if you have the green.” She winked and walked away.
Jason took a sip of his soda and took out his phone. He had a text from Bocephus Haynes. My investigator is on it. He said he should have some information for you by midmorning tomorrow. Watch for an email.
What’s his name? Jason replied.
Albert Hooper, but he only answers to Hooper.
Jason smiled and replied with the thumbs-up emoji.
Then, as he was about to surf his social media sites, he got a text from Nola. I heard Chase came back. Is she alright?
Better, Jason responded.
What are you doing?
Jason looked up as the blonde woman was exiting the stage and another song began to play. It took him a few seconds to recognize it, but he eventually tabbed the number as “Crazy in Love,” by Beyoncé. It took him no time to recognize the woman on stage.
Gone was the elegant black dress she’d worn at her brother’s funeral and Trey Cowan’s arraignment. In its place was a see-through lace gown and nothing else but a black G-string.
She ran her hands through her dark-brown hair and jumped onto the pole in the middle of the stage, sliding seductively down it. Jason watched as several men began to place dollar bills on the stage. Based upon her presentation, he figured Bella was one of the more popular dancers.
Jason returned his eyes to his phone, where Nola’s question remained.
Working, he typed back.
Forty-five minutes later, Bella Flowers, now wearing a black halter top and pink shorts, walked over to his table. “You wanted to talk with me?”
“Yes,” Jason said. “It won’t take more than five minutes.” Jason took a hundred-dollar bill out of his wallet and slid it across the table.
“That’s enough for a VIP dance. Did you—”
“I don’t want that,” Jason said. “I just don’t want you to lose any money by talking to me. I can see that you’re very popular.”
She put the money in her G-string and peered back at him without saying thank you. “What do you want?”
“How often did you talk with your brother in the months before he died?”
“We texted about once or twice a week. Kelly liked to come to Huntsville to eat, so we’d meet a couple times a month for dinner.” She paused. “We were the only family either of us had. Our parents died young.”
“I’m sorry,” Jason said.
“Did he ever say anything about Trey Cowan?”
“Not to me.”
“Do you remember Trey?”
“I was several years older than Kelly, so I didn’t know many of his friends that well.”
“Did you know any of Kelly’s friends in the department?”
She looked down at the table. “I mean . . . sometimes he’d bring one or two of them with him when he came to visit.”
Jason sensed an opportunity. “Did he ever take any of his colleagues here?”
She chuckled. “Oh, no. Kelly was embarrassed by all of this.” She waved her arm around the room. Her eyes were blank, and she occasionally pursed her lips and moved her mouth in a circle. A tic, Jason thought. Is she on something?
“Did Kelly ever mention any involvement with a man named Tyson Cade?” Jason asked.
“Only that he wanted to bust that motherfucker’s ass.”
Jason smiled. “Anything else?”
“No.” She punched his shoulder. “You’re cuter in person than on your billboards.”
Definitely on something, Jason thought. “Are you aware of Kelly having any enemies?”
“No,” she said.
“When was the last time you talked to him?”
“He called me the day before he died. Said he would be coming up later in the week and wanted to go to lunch at Rosie’s Cantina.”
Jason jotted a few notes down on his phone. “I’m assuming you’ve told all of this to the sheriff’s department.”
She nodded. “George interviewed me.”
Jason felt a flutter in his chest and raised his eyebrows.
“George Mitchell,” Bella continued. “He was one of Kelly’s friends in the department. I’d met him before.” She reached out and ran a finger up his arm. “How about that VIP dance?”
Jason ignored the question, thinking about Officer Mitchell. Everything and everyone in this case seems to be one step away from George Mitchell . . . “Did any officers from the Marshall County Sheriff’s Office ever come here to watch you dance?” he asked.
She removed her hand and crossed her arms. “No.”
“Not a single one?”
She made a zero symbol with both hands and laughed. “Bye, Mr. Rich.” Then she stood and walked away.
Jason watched her go, knowing that he didn’t have any more questions but also feeling as if she hadn’t been completely truthful.
He thought it through. Kelly Flowers was a young officer whose incredibly attractive older sister was a stripper at a club forty-five minutes from Guntersville.
Would any of Kelly’s colleagues have come to see her dance?
Hells to the yes, Jason thought, throwing a five-dollar bill down for the soda and heading for the door.
As he exited the club, his nostrils still saturated with the scent of sin, Jason felt an overpowering urge that had nothing to do with alcohol. He was both relieved that he didn’t want a drink and agitated that he wanted something else that he couldn’t have.
He saw an image of Chase in his mind. The last time they’d been together was Christmas Eve at her house. He imagined her fruity perfume and earthy scent. Then another, somewhat surprising, vision came to him. Ashley Sullivan in her T-shirt and jeans. Freckles on her nose. The intimacy of their last meeting.
Jason fired up the Porsche, thinking a cold shower was in his future. Before pulling out of the lot, he checked his email.
There was a message waiting from Albert Hooper.
Mr. Rich,
Attached is the information your requested on Walt Cowan. I haven’t completed my work on the officers in the department, but I’ll have you that tomorrow afternoon.
Jason clicked on the attachment, skimmed through it, and then dialed the Guntersville Municipal Airport.
After the dispatcher answered, Jason spoke in a firm voice. “Please get my plane ready and find me a pilot.”
“When are you leaving, Mr. Rich?”
“Tomorrow,” he said, putting the Porsche in gear and spinning his tires as he peeled out of Jimmy’s Lounge.
95
Three hours later, after quickly changing in the dressing room, Bella Flowers slid into her truck and clicked on a contact in her phone that she hadn’t called or texted in several months. When he answered, she didn’t bother with pleasantries.
“Trey’s lawyer came to visit me tonight.”
“And I presume you told him nothing about . . . us.”
“You presume right.”
A sigh of relief. “Good.”
“When are you going to come see me again?”
“You know I can’t. Not until after the trial.”
“OK,” she said. Then she clicked End.
96
The Pearl was the nicest hotel on the Emerald Coast. Located in Rosemary Beach, on the northern tip of Highway 30A, its exterior was painted white with a black canopy, giving it a regal presentation.
But Jason hadn’t picked the accommodations for their plushness.
No, he’d chosen the Pearl for one reason and one reason alone.
Every weekday night at 5:00 p.m., Walter Cowan had a smoky old-fashioned at the first-floor bar. The bar was known for the drink, and from five to six, it was happy hour. Walter had two drinks each night before heading home to Panama City. He was working on a couple of new houses being built in nearby Seacrest. Jason had obtained the intel from Albert Hooper’s detailed report and was impressed with the quickness with which Bo Haynes’s investigator had tracked Cowan down.
