It was close to 10:00 p.m. when I heard a knock on my front door ,and then the key turned and Carter poked his head in. I looked up from my recliner but didn’t bother to sit up. It had been a long day and I saw no point in reducing my comfort level for another butt-chewing. I could hear his diatribe just as well reclined.
I’d sent Carter the audio file I’d recorded of Sledgehammer when I got home and had relayed what I knew about the potential song licensing deal when he called afterward. But I’d left out my chat with Jim Garmon, or whoever he was. Based on my conversation with Shadow, Carter already knew something was off with Garmon, but it wasn’t as if he could put an interview with a dead man up as evidence.
I also left off the part about the tracker on Sledgehammer’s car because it hadn’t moved from the diner. Since it was highly unlikely he’d been eating for hours, I had to assume it had fallen off or he’d found it and removed it. Either way, it was another tidbit that would only contribute to more arguing but wouldn’t help the case.
Carter went into the kitchen and came back with a beer, then flopped down on my couch. I remained silent. It was, after all, my house. If he had something to say, he could say it.
“Cecil Tassin will be transferred to New Orleans Monday morning and charged with manslaughter,” he said.
I popped up in the chair without using the lift button. “What? The evidence is all circumstantial. And there’s another suspect. A really, really good suspect.”
“Cecil confessed.”
My jaw dropped and I stared at him. Surely he was joking. But the slumped shoulders and the haggard expression told me everything I needed to know.
“But you don’t believe him,” I said.
“Not completely. I think he went to the motel because I have video proof that he was in the area at the same time your buddy Sledgehammer described Cecil and his vehicle. And although Sledgehammer is an excellent suspect, I have a hard time believing he would have known enough about Brock’s past to frame Cecil and throw the scent off him.”
“What does Cecil say happened?”
“That he went to the motel to confront Brock about the child support he’s never paid and they got into a fight. Cecil punched him and Brock hit the dresser and never got back up. Cecil figured he’d killed him, so he bolted.”
I frowned. “Did Brock have any marks on his face?”
“Since you seem to know about the ME’s findings, you already know he didn’t.”
“And since it was a knot, not a gash, there’s no blood to trace on the dresser. So why would Cecil say he punched Brock when he didn’t?”
“One guess.”
And then it hit me. “He’s covering for someone. That’s why he was hiding out. But how did he find out where Brock was staying in the first place? Or that he was even in town?”
“He refuses to answer that.”
“But if the guy who told Cecil where to find Brock is the perp, then why would he tell Cecil at all? He wouldn’t want anyone to know that he knew, especially if he planned on having a run-in with Brock himself.”
“I agree. It makes no sense. And if Cecil won’t give me a name, I can’t sort it out. I’ve subpoenaed his phone records, but that will take a while and it doesn’t cover everyone he could have spoken to in person.”
“And the information could have come around second- or thirdhand.” I blew out a breath. “Is it possible that Cecil hit Brock and he passed out because he was drunk or high or both, but he didn’t actually hit him hard enough to bruise?”
“I asked the ME that and he said it’s not completely outside the realm of possibility, but that it was more likely someone shoved Brock and he hit a corner of the wall or bedpost. Or someone took a crack at him from behind.”
“And that injury caused him to overdose,” I said. “I assume there were no other prints on the syringe.”
“Only Brock’s.”
“Of course. But does that make his death manslaughter? Brock died from doing an illegal drug. What if the head injury didn’t affect him at all? He was drinking as well, right?”
Carter shrugged. “Yeah, but not enough that someone with his experience couldn’t handle it. By the letter of the law, the DA can make a case for manslaughter. I wouldn’t go there, but you know the DA is looking for a political run. He’s taking on anything he thinks he can get a violent offender conviction on to get his stats up.”
“But we don’t know that he’d get a conviction. I can’t imagine a jury would side against Cecil once they heard Brock’s background, especially when you throw Sledgehammer in the mix. And what about the shot at RJ? Cecil has no reason to go after RJ.”
“I agree and I told Cecil as much. But he’s sticking to his confession. That makes him an easy mark to add to the DA’s count. The DA will work out a plea deal and Cecil will go down for this.”
“That’s crap.”
“Sure, but what can I do about it?”
“Try to make a case against Sledgehammer,” I said.
“How?”
“Sledgehammer had a room at the same motel and was on site to see Cecil, so there’s opportunity. Motive was Brock owing his boss money.”
“Which he can’t collect if Brock’s dead.”
“But if Sledgehammer is the one who pushed Brock and caused him to hit his head, then there’s your manslaughter perp. Not Cecil. He probably just meant to rough him up and scare him a little, not kill him.”
Carter looked hopeful for a second, then shook his head. “Cecil’s not covering for Sledgehammer.”
Crap! The flaw in my logic.
“Then what is Cecil doing?” I asked. “If someone told him that Brock was staying at the motel, that’s not a crime. It doesn’t even make them an accessory unless Cecil told them he planned to go there with the intent to commit a crime. And since you don’t think Cecil was the one who actually assaulted Brock, then why lie about it at all? He didn’t do it, so therefore, the person who gave him the info isn’t on the hook any more than Cecil is.”
Carter frowned. “Maybe Cecil saw the real perp at the motel.”
Suddenly, I remembered Sledgehammer’s conversation with Shadow.
“The HVAC repair,” I said.
“What?”
“When I absolutely was not at the motel pretending to be a plumber, Sledgehammer complained to the clerk about all the repair issues and cited his HVAC, which was apparently broken the day he arrived. Shadow said something about having the parts brought in on a rush and getting it fixed the same day.”
Carter looked confused. “Where are you going with this?”
“Who hated Brock as much as Cecil did and drives a hotshot truck locally?”
His eyes widened. “Cooper. And Cecil had Cooper’s boat.”
I nodded. “If Cooper saw Brock at the motel when he delivered those parts, he would have told Cecil. The poker players said Cecil was distracted and lost his money early and went home. And I’m sure he was distracted, but maybe he lost on purpose because he’d decided to confront Brock.”
“And Cooper was already there. But why leave? If Cooper was the one who fought with Brock and Cecil saw it, then he would have known Brock wasn’t punched.”
“Maybe he saw Cooper after the fight and Cooper told him to clear out but didn’t give details on what transpired.”
“It’s possible. But would Cecil go to jail for Cooper?”
“Not necessarily. But he’d go to jail for Gina. Cooper wants to marry her. And if he was willing to settle up with Brock for her, then Cecil might be willing to sacrifice a few years of his life to make sure Gina and Billy are taken care of.”
Carter’s shoulders slumped. “Assuming Cooper is the source of Brock’s location, you know who else he was likely to have told.”
I sighed. “Gina.”
I was up early Sunday morning. Sleep had taken hours to happen and once it did, it wasn’t restful. I dreamed all night about drug dealers, country music, and people shooting boats. And I woke up feeling just as guilty as I had the night before. If I hadn’t gone to find Cecil, maybe he could have stayed hidden long enough for Carter to build a case against someone else.
I sat down with my coffee and sighed.
But who was that someone else?
Cecil was protecting someone, and that was either Cooper or Gina. I didn’t want to see either one of them go down for Brock’s death any more than I wanted Cecil to. So ultimately, it was going to suck no matter what.
It was barely 7:00 a.m. when my phone rang. I picked it up, expecting to see Ida Belle’s or Gertie’s number on the display, and felt a moment of panic when I saw Ally’s.
“Ally? Is everything all right?”
“Please tell me you were awake. I need to talk. Can I swing by?”
“Of course.”
The bakery wasn’t officially open on Sunday, but Ally went in before daylight to bake goods for Francine’s, so it wasn’t a surprise that she was already up and around. But the panic in her voice wasn’t normal. Nor was phoning me first thing in the morning. Something was wrong.
A couple minutes later, she pulled up and I was standing at the door, ready to let her in. I ushered her to the kitchen where she refused coffee but accepted water, and then she dropped into a chair at the kitchen table.
“Oh, Fortune, it’s awful. I saw Gina coming out of the sheriff’s department this morning and waved her into the bakery. She said she’d been trying to get her dad to tell her what happened but he’s not talking. They told her that he’s being sent to New Orleans tomorrow to meet with the DA. He confessed to assaulting Brock.”
I nodded. “Carter told me last night.”
“It can’t be true. Not Cecil. He’s a good man and he loves Gina.”
“Being a good man and loving Gina are also reasons for him to try to settle up with Brock.”
“You think he did it?”
“Honestly? I have my doubts, but as long as Cecil insists on copping to it, there’s nothing Carter can do.”
“Carter’s hands might be tied, but yours aren’t.”
I sighed. “Ally, if Cecil didn’t do it but is claiming he did, then he’s covering for someone.”
Ally’s eyes widened. “No! There’s no way Gina did it. She was drunk that night, remember?”
“I remember what she told us,” I said. “But there’s no proof. And aside from Gina or maybe Cooper, who else would Cecil cover for?”
Ally looked as miserable as I felt.
“And there’s that shot at RJ,” I said. “Gina’s the one who hates her. Do you really think Cecil would take things that far?”
She was clearly conflicted and I didn’t blame her. So was I.
“Then there’s nothing you can do?” she asked. “There’s no other angle to explore? Surely this is all a mistake. It has to be. Promise me you won’t quit looking. Remember how guilty I looked when I was accused?”
“I remember.”
It had been a horrible time for me, knowing Ally was innocent but watching the evidence stack up against her.
“There’s a couple of things I can follow up on,” I said. “But if it comes down to Cecil covering for Gina, I have to tell you I’m inclined to keep anything that points her way to myself. That’s Cecil’s choice to make.”
Ally nodded. “If that’s what really happened, then I’ll accept what he’s doing. But I want to make sure he isn’t making a mistake. That it wasn’t someone else.”
She rose from the chair and leaned over to hug me.
“Thank you,” she said before hurrying out.
I grabbed my laptop and went to work. First on my list was locating Brock’s new girlfriend. She was probably the only person who could tell me what went down between Brock and the drug dealer besides RJ. And there was no way RJ was going to talk to me.
It took me an hour of poking around blogs and Instagram before I found recent pics of Brock playing guitar in a bar with a singer other than RJ. Then I went on the trail to find a post where the singer was tagged and get a name—Mandy Miller. Another search produced a cell phone number to use for bookings, so I gave it a ring. It was early, but if Mandy didn’t answer, I’d leave a message, pretending to be looking to hire a band.
I was just preparing to leave a message when a sleepy voice answered.
“Mandy Miller?”
“Yeah, who’s this?”
“I’m an investigator from Sinful, Louisiana,” I said. I didn’t bother to specify the private part. Let her think I was the police.
“Is this about Brock?” she asked. “Because the local cops already came and told me what happened. And I’ll tell you like I told them—I never left Nashville and I don’t know what happened. I was on stage singing the night he was killed.”
“You’re not a suspect, Ms. Miller. I was just hoping you could help me with some information so that I can catch the person who did this. I understand Mr. Benoit was in trouble with a drug dealer called Payday—something about missing payment for product?”
“I don’t know anything about that,” she said, but I could tell by the sudden tension in her voice that she was lying.
“Ms. Miller, you’re not on the hook for anything Mr. Benoit was involved in. His involvement with the dealer predates your involvement with him.”
“Ha! Got that right. Because his involvement with that bitch predates me. God, she called here every day, harping about Brock ditching her, harping about that stupid SUV they bought—like they hadn’t been dodging the repo people when Brock left with it—harping about Brock and me taking her gigs.”
“Are you referring to RJ Rogers?”
“Of course.”
“But Mr. Benoit was the one dealing drugs in the clubs.”
“Look, I don’t know what Brock was doing for sure, because he never told me. And the night he came home with his right wrist broken, he said I was better off not knowing. But if you think for one minute that all of it doesn’t track back to RJ, you’re wrong. RJ ran everything, including Brock. Why do you think he left her?”
“They broke his wrist? When was that?”
“Two weeks ago. The doctor said it was a small fracture and would heal quickly, but he had nerve damage. He couldn’t even hold a pick, much less play the guitar. The doctor didn’t know if it would come back or not.”
“That’s a bad situation.”
“You think? And then that bitch tried to cut him out of that TV deal.”
“Is that why he followed her to Louisiana?”
“He said he was going to fix it.”
“How was he going to do that?”
“I don’t know. I think he had something on her. Something to use to get his share. But since he’s dead, I guess she gets what she wanted.”
She let out a choked cry. “Look, I’ve got to go. I’ve got to find a new guitarist and a cheaper place or a roommate. I cared about Brock. Might have even loved him if we’d lasted. But he’s gone and I’ve still got to get by.”
She disconnected before I could thank her, and I leaned back in my chair.
So my friend Sledgehammer had apparently paid Brock a visit back in Nashville and given him a warning break. Then when Brock took off for Sinful, Sledgehammer had followed and what—given him a shove that resulted in a knot on his head that led to an overdose?
It was the logical explanation for everything until you factored in Cecil’s confession.
Were there two confrontations with men at the motel that night? Jim Garmon was no longer a reliable witness. Jim Garmon wasn’t even Jim Garmon.
A thought hit me and I straightened in my chair.
What if Brock had a confrontation with someone else before he even got back to the motel? He could have had one at the parade or at a gas station or at the liquor store up the highway. There was no way to determine whether the knot was derived an hour before Brock died or ten minutes before. Sledgehammer could have easily had a bout with Brock before anyone else confronted him at the motel.
I pulled out my phone and checked the tracking app, but the signal was completely gone. The last location was still the diner up the highway, but at least it was a starting point. I pulled up Google maps and located the nearest hotel in relation to the diner, then grabbed my phone. We needed to see if we could pin down Sledgehammer’s location again. And then I wanted to pitch my idea to Carter, because he was the only one who could form a case for reasonable doubt to deliver to the DA.
I grabbed my phone and sent a text to Ida Belle and Gertie.
Operation Save Cecil in the works. Meeting at my house ASAP.
It only took seconds for them to both respond. I put on a new pot of coffee. We had some planning to do.