Rich Waters (Jason Rich), page 35
Jason next called Hatty Daniels.
She listened to his pitch. Then, without hesitation, she answered: “Hell yes.”
100
Matthew Dean got an early start on Saturday morning. He fished the waters around Honeycomb and then thought he’d try Browns Creek before heading in for an early dinner at Fire by the Lake. He’d drunk a few beers and was feeling good.
That is, he was until he saw blue and red lights close in behind him.
What the hell?
Matty waited as two uniformed officers hopped aboard his boat. “Mr. Dean, do you realize that you are operating an unregistered boat?”
“What?” He snapped his fingers. “Oh, shit. I haven’t gotten my renewal in. I’m sorry, Officer. I’ll get that done on Monday. Can we go with a warning this time? My record is clean.”
“No, Mr. Dean, we can’t. Have you been drinking?”
“We got a report from another boat operator that you were driving your boat at a high rate of speed and in an unsafe manner. Are those empty beer cans in the floorboard?”
Matty blinked his eyes as another man entered the boat. “Mr. Dean, I’m a sergeant with the Marshall County Sheriff’s Office. Do you mind if we search your boat?”
“Why do you want to do that?”
“Because we’ve received multiple reports of erratic movement from your boat. It’ll just take a second.”
Matty put his hands on his hips but said nothing.
The sergeant and the two other officers searched for several minutes. Then one of the deputies brought his hand out of the storage bin. “Well, well, well. Lookee here.”
Matty felt a chill run up his legs to the middle of his spine. “You planted that.”
“I found it, Mr. Dean. What are you doing with three grams of methamphetamine?”
“Planning to sell it or snort it?” the other officer asked.
Then the sergeant stepped forward. “Matthew Dean, you’re under arrest for possession of an illegal substance, operation of an unregistered watercraft, and operating a boat while under the influence of alcohol or controlled substances.” He paused and took a card out of his pocket. “You have the right to remain silent.”
101
Tyson Cade rarely lost his cool. Even when he attacked someone, he did it with deliberate malice. But when he saw his mole with the Marshall County Sheriff’s Office enter the tiny cabin in Mentone, Alabama, he couldn’t contain himself.
He kicked the man as hard as he could in the shin and then brought his knee into the other man’s chin.
The officer fell onto the plywood floor and grunted.
“What in the fuck is going on?”
“Your guy fucked up,” the lawman managed.
Tyson kicked the officer in the stomach, and the mole fell backward. Tyson started to kick him again but stopped himself. The lawman was breathing heavy, and he was sweating profusely despite the temperature being fifty-five degrees outside and there being no heat in the cabin.
“My operation depends on Matty Dean. He’s my lead distributor. I can’t lose him.”
The officer pushed his back against the wall. “He says the drugs were planted, but by who? Who would or could set you up like that?”
“Detective Daniels?” Tyson said.
“You said you were going to kill her,” the officer said. “Remember?”
Tyson ground his teeth together. “I need you to make this go away.”
“It’s not that simple. He had an unregistered boat. There was a complaint of erratic operation. He was drinking on the boat. And they found the meth. We can’t let it go.”
“What good are you if you cost me my best man?”
“I didn’t cost you him. He messed up. Plain and simple.”
Tyson crossed his arms. “You’re welcome to stay here tonight. You may want some time to think about your situation. But you have forty-eight hours to figure this shit out. Come Monday evening, Matty Dean better be out of jail.”
“Or what?”
“Or I’m gonna kill your children. And their mother. And your girlfriend.” He squatted in front of the lawman. “I’ll bury them all in the lake. The kids I’ll just shoot, but . . . I’ll take my time with the women.”
“Leave my family out of this.”
“When you signed up to work for me, you signed up your family and everyone you care about. That’s the deal.” He grabbed the doorknob and glared down at the lawman. “Forty-eight hours.”
102
At 8:45 a.m. on Monday, Jason stared at himself in the mirror of the men’s room on the second floor of the Marshall County Courthouse. “Fifteen minutes till go time,” he said out loud, taking a deep breath and then splashing water on his face.
He’d spent the entire weekend preparing for trial. Much of that work involved reviewing the materials uncovered by Bo Haynes’s investigator, Albert Hooper.
Jason had asked Hooper to do background checks on every single officer in the Marshall County Sheriff’s Office. Most of that information had turned out to be irrelevant.
But one nugget Jason found interesting. George Mitchell had gone through a divorce in the last year. Jason knew from his experience with Jana’s trial that divorce files could contain all sorts of potentially helpful information.
Mitchell’s divorce was final and a decree entered. Infidelity had been raised on his wife’s part, but much of the file was under seal. Jason had subpoenaed the attorneys on both sides of the Mitchell divorce late Thursday afternoon, asking for all documents produced during the divorce proceeding. He knew objections would likely be filed, but he ought to be entitled to any documents or information not protected by the attorney-client privilege. He’d filed an emergency motion seeking either a response within a week or a continuance of trial, and Judge Barber had granted the motion for an expedited response. He should know by this Thursday what, if anything, relevant was in the files.
Would that be soon enough?
Jason splashed more water on his face. Then he walked inside one of the stalls and locked it. Once inside, he flexed like he might be the Incredible Hulk and let out a silent scream. Now or never, he thought, walking out the door into the hallway.
My third jury trial, he thought. As he reached the defense table and sat down next to Trey Cowan, he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He had placed it on silent instead of turning it off. He looked at the screen and felt a pang in his heart.
The message was from Izzy Montaigne.
He clicked it open and stared at the text for a long time.
Kick their ass.
Jason smiled and set the phone on the table. He was still looking at the screen as another message from his former partner came through.
You’re Jason Motherfucking Rich.
103
By 4:00 p.m. on Monday afternoon, the seven men and five women who would decide the fate of Trey Cowan were seated in the jury box.
“We are going to adjourn for the day, and we will start with opening statements in the morning at nine a.m.,” Judge Barber said.
Back in the attorney consultation room thirty minutes later, Trey gazed across the metal desk at Jason. “What do you think of the jury?”
“I’ve seen worse,” Jason said, which was a bit of a ridiculous statement since he’d only seen two other juries in his life. “There are three under thirty, and younger jurors tend to be more defense friendly.” He’d experienced this firsthand and also heard it from Knox Rogers and Bo Haynes, who both stressed that Jason should seek out younger jurors for their more liberal leanings.
“Trey, it’s do-or-die time. I’ve told you everything I’ve learned in my investigation. Flowers was dirty. He was working for Cade. We know this now. The trial has officially started. Can you tell me the deal? What was Kelly Flowers giving you such a hard time about at the Brick?”
Trey gazed past Jason to the wall. “What does it matter? We can’t win.”
“Maybe not, but you’ll never know unless you come clean with me. I’m an attorney. Whatever you tell me is protected by the attorney-client privilege. Please, Trey.”
After several seconds of silence, Jason sighed and walked to the door. Before he could knock, Trey spoke behind him.
“Kelly wanted me to make a delivery for Tyson. I refused.”
Jason turned and sat down. “What kind of delivery?”
“Pick up a truck and take it somewhere. I’d find out at the pickup time where I was going.”
“Why didn’t you agree?”
“Eventually . . . I did. Out on the sidewalk. After the dustup in the bar.”
“After you told him you were going to kill him in front of about twenty camera phones?”
“Yep.”
“Why did you threaten to kill him? What made you so mad that you attacked him?”
Trey ground his teeth. “He said he’d found out about my failed tryout with the Barons from Colleen. He said I was stupid all day long and that it was no wonder Colleen left me.” Trey sighed. “I snapped.”
Jason made a tent with his hands, thinking it through. “When was your tryout?”
“First week of April. I had gotten the rejection text a few hours before going to the Brick on the eighth.”
“Did you tell Colleen about the tryout?”
He peered at the table. “Yeah. Sent her a text and asked her to wish me luck a couple days before.”
“Why? Y’all had broken up by then, hadn’t you?”
“We had, but I hadn’t told anyone but her and my folks about my comeback attempt. I guess I was hoping I might be able to see her again. Hell, I don’t know what I was doing.”
“Did she respond?”
“She sent a text saying ‘good luck.’ That was it.”
Jason rubbed his chin. All of these mentions of Colleen Maples had made him think back to his own initial meeting with the CRNA. There was something he had asked her that he thought she might be lying about. What was it? “OK . . . ,” Jason continued, still thinking about Colleen but forcing himself back to the present. “. . . so that explains the fight and why you were so mad. After the brawl, you tell Kelly you’ll do the delivery out on the sidewalk. Then what?”
“I’d been off my meds for a while. I wanted . . .” Trey’s eyes filled with tears. “. . . like I told you earlier, what I really wanted was to kill myself. I got drunk and grabbed my shotgun and some shells, because that was my plan. I was going to drive somewhere and do it.” He wiped his eyes. “But instead I drove to my momma’s house.” He shook his head. “Like a big sissy.”
Jason took a few notes. “Did you talk to anyone else before you went to your mom’s?”
“No.”
“Did you fire your shotgun before you got there?”
Trey shook his head.
“And, like you and your dad have both said, you didn’t have much experience shooting a gun of any kind, correct?”
“That’s right.”
“When you got to your mom’s, did you leave the gun inside the truck?”
Trey blinked his eyes. “Yes.”
“Did you lock the doors?”
“Nah, never. Nothing in there to steal.”
“Just the shotgun,” Jason said, looking Trey in the eye.
“But it wasn’t stolen. It was there when I left Mom’s the next morning.”
“Maybe someone borrowed it,” Jason volunteered. “Someone trying to frame you for this murder.”
Trey raised his eyebrows but said nothing.
“How drunk were you by the time you went to your mom’s?” Jason asked, shifting gears.
“I was hammered. I could barely walk. I went to her house, drank some more bourbon, and then passed out.”
Jason pushed his chair out from the table and laced his hands behind his head. “Trey, we need to make a decision about whether you’re going to testify. There is some good stuff here, but it could also be a land mine of trouble. Your anger over the breakup with Colleen and Flowers’s involvement is definitely a negative that gives you more motive to kill him.”
“And I can’t say I delivered drugs for Tyson Cade. Wouldn’t that be admitting a crime?”
“Yes, but a much lesser one than murder. It would give you credibility in front of the jury.”
“Tyson paid you to represent me. Won’t he kill us both . . . and everyone we care about . . . if I say I delivered drugs for him on the stand?”
Jason peered down at the floor, growing frustrated. He’s right.
“That’s one of the reasons I’ve never told you what happened until now,” Trey continued. “What’s the use? I’ll never be able to say what really went down without bringing a painful death to everyone I . . . and everyone you . . . care about.”
Jason sighed and banged on the door three times. “I’m doing all I can do, Trey.”
“I’m not going to risk my mom or dad getting hurt. Or Colleen. Or any more of the people you care about.”
Jason felt a pang of guilt but shook it off. Then, at the mention of the nurse anesthetist’s name again, his memory came back to him. “Trey, did Colleen know you had a shotgun?”
At this, the prisoner managed a grin. “Actually, yeah. She was with me when I bought it.”
Jason felt a cold tickle run up his arms. “See you tomorrow.”
After stopping by his office and printing something off his computer, Jason drove the streets of Marshall County for an hour and a half. He blared music from Waylon, Hank Jr., and Johnny Cash and tried to process the story Trey Cowan had just told him. Finally, he had his client’s version of what happened the night of the murder. And while Trey’s reasons for the barroom fight with Kelly Flowers were now crystal clear, it was the last thing Trey had said that had Jason buzzing with adrenaline.
“She was with me when I bought it.”
At 6:15 p.m., Jason pulled to the curb outside of Colleen Maples’s home. He walked to the front door and rang the doorbell.
She answered in green scrubs. “Hey, there.”
Jason took the document he’d printed at his office and handed it to her. “This is a subpoena to testify in Trey’s case,” he said. “I know you said you’d be there, but I have to protect my client.”
“I understand,” she said, taking the subpoena and glancing at it. “Is there anything else? I have to go to work.”
“Trey says that you were with him when he bought his shotgun. That true?”
She crossed her arms, hesitating only for a second. “Yes.”
“He also claims that Kelly Flowers mentioned hearing about Trey’s tryout with the Barons from you.” Jason paused. “You told me that Flowers had moved on from you and that you hadn’t seen him since your demotion at work.”
Colleen gazed past Jason to the street. “I never said that. I only said that he was the one who prompted my drug test that led to my CRNA license being suspended.”
“You kept seeing him after that?”
She nodded.
“When was the last time you saw him?”
She gazed down at the ground.
“The week of Trey’s tryout?” Jason pressed. “First week of April?”
“That sounds right.”
“Which was a week before Flowers was murdered.”
She narrowed her gaze. “Yes, it was.”
“Where did you see Flowers? At your house?”
She shook her head, and her lip began to tremble. “No.”
Jason’s eyes widened. “Where then? At the Hampton Inn?”
“No. I . . . lied about that too.”
“What?”
“After our first encounter at the hotel, we always met at the same location . . . and it wasn’t my house.”
Jason’s stomach twisted into a knot. He knew what she was going to say, but he asked anyway. “Where?”
“A barn on Hustleville Road,” she whimpered. “He called it…Branner’s Place.”
104
Later that night, Jason lay on his back on his dock and gazed up at the stars. He was reeling from his encounter with Maples. Jason had asked her why she had lied to him about the shotgun, and she had said, “I was scared. I didn’t trust you, and I knew how all that might look to you. I don’t have an alibi, and I had every reason to want Flowers dead. But I didn’t kill him. And, if I had done it, I would not have set Trey up for it. And that’s what you think happened, right? A setup?” Jason had pondered the question and then asked one of his own. “But it was Trey who cost you a future with Dr. Braxton Waters, wasn’t it? The argument you had with Braxton during Trey’s surgery and the botched follow-up leading to you being investigated by the Board of Nursing and Braxton cutting things off. You could have blamed Trey for everything and decided you’d kill two birds with one stone.” Colleen had stormed off her porch steps then, telling him that if he believed that, then he was crazy. “I was in a relationship with Trey, and I cared about him,” she had pleaded at her car.
“And it ended, and you got mixed up with Flowers, an old friend of Trey’s. My deductions still add up. Plus, why were you hanging around Trey’s apartment the day after the murder? That’s never made sense to me.”
“Because I care about him, and I saw police officers in the parking lot. I was trying to help.” Her voice had cracked on the last word, and she’d glared at him. “Don’t come visit me again.” She’d waved the subpoena at him. “I’ll see you in court.”
Then she had driven away, leaving Jason to ponder what in the hell it all meant. Hours later, after working out in his garage gym and showering, he was still pondering. He’d hoped the dock and the lake breeze would provide some inspiration, but thus far, they hadn’t.
“A penny for your thoughts?” Chase asked, walking up to him and lying down beside him.
“I asked you to stay away from me until after you testify. I don’t want you to be cross-examined about our conversations. Shay may try to insinuate that I’ve coached you up.”
“Well, you haven’t. And when was the last time I did something you asked me?”
