CHAPTER EIGHT

The tan uniforms and neutral walls gave the conference room at the Yourke County Sheriff’s office an old-fashioned, sepia tone. The lone nod to modernity were the cell phones held in a few hands and Jack McBride, who preferred navy Hugo Boss to tan Dickies.

“Still aren’t wearing the uniform, I see.”

Yourkeville Chief of Police Harvey Dodd said it with a smile, but Jack saw the animosity beneath the good-ole-boy exterior.

“Tan isn’t my color,” Jack said.

“You should at least wear a vest,” Lone Oak officer Tammy Cole said.

“You’re right. But it’ll mess up the line of my suit.”

Cole saw it for the joke it was. Dodd turned away in disgust.

Jack held out his hand to the man standing next to Cole. “Hayes, good to see you.”

“McBride.”

Eric Hayes was a cop from central casting: stocky, with a crew cut and mustache. On the other hand, Tammy Cole, a lifelong Yourke County resident, looked like she was more at home on a horse than in a car. She was wide-hipped and bow-legged, with long brown hair pulled into a pony tail and a row of tightly curled bangs covering her tall forehead.

Sheriff Ann Newberry walked into the room, followed by District Attorney Oliver Pigeon. “Okay, let’s get this started. Crime Stoppers’ll be here in thirty minutes to talk about their public outreach program. Then the vultures descend.” Ann moved to the head of the table and sat down.

“You invited the press?” Dodd said.

“Yep. The public needs to see what we’re doing to address the drug problem in our county. McBride, why don’t you fill everyone in on what you found out from the DEA?”

“Where is the DEA agent?” Dodd said.

“Couldn’t make it.” Jack moved on, not wanting to get into the age-old animosity between local and federal law enforcement. “Since the murder of Rosa and Gilberto Ramos, the incidence of drug crimes has risen 50 percent in Yourke County. Three hundred percent in Stillwater alone. The biggest problem has been the influx of heroin, especially in the high schools, as evidenced by the two ODs over in Yourkeville. Lucky they didn’t die.”

“They might as well have,” Dodd said. Everyone around the table nodded, thinking of the two Yourkeville High School high-achieving seniors who were unlucky enough to have dirty heroin as their first hit and had become vegetables as a result.

“With the exception of a few fights and the explosion of the meth lab out your way, Hayes, the crimes have been nonviolent. Thefts, possession with intent to deliver, bike batchers. We’ve heard through the grapevine meth labs throughout the county are being destroyed, but of course, no one’s going to report the destruction of an illegal drug lab. Still, it would fit in with the theory there’s a turf war going on right now between the local organization and the Pedroza cartel, with the locals trying to protect their meth trade and the Pedrozas importing heroin. The Pedrozas are good, though. We haven’t been able to catch a dealer yet.”

“If the Pedrozas are involved, we’re lucky no one has ended up in the county square holding their severed heads in their laps,” Hayes said.

“True,” Jack said. “We might yet.” Jack passed out photos of the torched house and two charred bodies. “Two men were found in a fire out on 107 yesterday. We believe one of them is Paco Morales. Morales has lived, legally, in Stillwater for nearly thirty years. He did odd jobs for years before going to work full time as a groundskeeper at Stillwater Country Club. No arrests, though considering Pollard didn’t arrest anyone for anything, it’s not surprising.”

Dodd scoffed, but Jack continued.

“So, clean on the surface. His daughter is Esperanza Perez, who was Diego Vazquez’s alibi for the night Gilberto and Rosa Ramos were killed. He was low level with the Pedroza cartel, or at least the DEA thought when he came to them. Turns out, Vazquez was playing the DEA. They aren’t sure how high up Vazquez is, but it looks like he’s Pedroza’s front man in Yourke County.”

“And no one can find him,” Hayes said.

“Not yet,” Ann replied.

“Probably being hidden by the Hispanic community,” Cole said.

“Maybe being hidden by Paco Morales?” Hayes said.

“Maybe.”

Ann stared at the photo of the charred bodies as she asked, “You think the other body is Diego Vazquez?”

“If it is, we have to worry about retaliation.”

“Bodies in the square,” Cole said.

“Against who?” Dodd asked.

Jack glanced at Ann, who nodded. “Doyle Industries.”

Jack and Ann waited for the indignant reaction they anticipated. Instead Dodd, Hayes, and Cole remained silent, contemplating the information. Dodd was the first to speak. “There were rumors of Doyle being in the trade back in the eighties, but it died out when the business park took off. I figured he made a wad selling weed then went legit.”

“They would have the infrastructure to do it,” Eric Hayes said. “Between their businesses, they’re all over the county.”

“The DEA has had them in their sights for a while now. In the course of his work with the DEA,” Jack said, “Vazquez gave up Pollard. Told them Pollard had been running drugs for Doyle.”

“Now, there I draw the line. I’ve known Pollard for fifty years,” Dodd said. “No way he would run drugs.”

“Yeah, I have a hard time believing that, too,” Tammy Cole said.

“Pollard might protect the organization, but to actually run the drugs?” Hayes clicked his tongue. “It’s a stretch.”

“We have proof.” Jack pulled out stapled photocopies and handed them out to his counterparts.

District Attorney Pigeon spoke for the first time. The melodious voice that had lulled many juries into trusting him, had sung newlyweds into their future and corpses into their graves, filled every corner of the room. “Six weeks ago, we received compelling evidence against Pollard for corruption. Judge Brockman signed the warrant to search Pollard’s house. Under the house, we found boxes of journals, written in Pollard’s hand, dating back to the sixties. In the storm cellar, we found filing cabinets full of documents we thought were lost in the fire back in the sixties.”

“We’ve been copying the journals for the last six weeks,” Ann said. “We finished yesterday. The originals went to the Feds, and the copies are in the evidence locker.”

Dodd, Hayes, and Cole flipped through their amended copies. Sweat beaded at Dodd’s temples. He leaned forward. “What else is in those journals?”

“Somewhere along the line, Pollard got smart and started using code for names. The latter journals are cryptic,” Jack said. Dodd sat back, trying not to look too relieved. “But not before he mentioned catching Michelle Doyle selling weed in 1985. So, you were right, Dodd.”

“To a point,” Ann said. “Doyle’s legitimate businesses were a cover for the drugs. With Pollard’s protection, Doyle was able to build up an almost bulletproof organization.”

“Which brings us back to Vazquez,” Jack said. “The DEA turned him, he gave up Pollard, and the DEA and FBI started investigating. The start of their investigation coincides with Pollard’s resignation.”

“If Pollard was protecting drug dealers, you would think the cartel would want him in power,” Cole said.

“Yes, but he was protecting the cartel’s competition. The DEA theorizes the Pedrozas planted Vazquez with the DEA to get them investigating the local drug organization and dismantle it so they could move in, unopposed.”

“Jesus,” Hayes said.

“They sent Vazquez here to shake up the status quo. So far, the Pedrozas have shown surprising restraint, though. Focusing on hamstringing the drug organization and keeping the body count at zero. If it’s Paco Morales and Diego Vazquez’s bodies in that house, who knows what they’ll do.”

“Which is why we have to keep this theory about their identity right here, in this room,” Ann said. “We don’t want innocent people to get murdered based on a theory.”

“If they’re involved in the drug trade, are they really innocent?” Hayes asked.

“Why have you kept all of this from us?” Dodd said.

“We don’t think Pollard’s dead,” Ann said. “With his contacts, it would have been easy enough for him to fake his accident. We figured if he thought we didn’t have anything on him, he’d return.”

“And what does any of this have to do with the drug task force?” Hayes asked.

“We bring down the drug organization in Yourke County—Doyle—they give us Pollard,” DA Pigeon said.

“So, we take down the local organization—the largest employer in the county, by the way—basically doing the job for the Pedrozas so they can move in?” Hayes asked, voice full of incredulity.

“And we turn our focus to them,” Pigeon said.

“Where the hell is the DEA?” Cole said.

“Trust me, they’re as dedicated to this as we are,” Jack said. “They have—” Jack stopped as DEA Agent Tom Hunter’s words came back to him. We’ve got someone inside. Close. Jack’s blood rushed to his head. He put his hands on the table to steady himself.

“Jack?” Ann asked.

“They have been working on this for months with the FBI, like I said. They’re about to drop a warrant on them for financials.”

“When?”

Jack shrugged. “They didn’t say.” When Jack balked at Hunter keeping mum on the when, Hunter said, flat out, that he was the only law enforcement officer in Yourke County the Feds trusted.

“In the meantime,” Ann said, “we keep doing what we’ve been doing. But keep an eye out for Doyle rigs. If they drive even one mile per hour over the limit, stop them and pray there’s a legitimate reason to search the vehicle.”

“Whatever you do, have cause. We don’t want anything we find to be tossed,” Jack said.

“And we don’t want Doyle to cotton on that we’re investigating,” Pigeon said. “We’ve kept it quiet for six weeks. If the Doyles somehow catch wind, we’ll know where it comes from.”

“Any questions?” Everyone shook their heads and Ann continued, “Good. Now, Cole, update us on your neck of the woods.”

Tammy Cole flipped the stapled copies closed and pushed it aside. “Two drug arrests, both for small amounts of weed. Teenagers. Neither good candidates for CIs.”

“We’re pleading those kids out,” Pigeon said. “Not worth the cost of going to trial. Probation, drug education classes.”

“I’m sure you all heard about the meth lab set up in the empty lake house. The lab hasn’t gotten around to the prints yet, so no news. I’m trying to stop by the weekend houses to check them for labs, but it’s slow going. I could use some help.”

“We’ll help out,” Jack said. “I’ll put Bishop on it. Have him patrol out there.”

“We should all be out there, except you, Hayes. That’s out of your way,” Ann said.

“We’ll patrol out there, too,” Dodd said. “Let’s get together after and divvy it up so we don’t miss anything.”

“Sounds good,” Jack said.

“Thanks,” Cole said. “Also, seems like the high schoolers have remembered Cheyney’s Field.”

“Ah, yes. Cheyney’s Field,” Hayes said, a gleam in his eyes.

“What’s Cheyney’s Field?” Jack said.

“Pasture out near the lake that’s been used for parties since I was a teenager,” Dodd said. “’Bout halfway between Yourkeville and Stillwater, so it pulls kids from both towns.”

“It’ll be real popular for a time, then they’ll get busted and move on. They always come back eventually,” Hayes said.

“Haven’t caught any out there yet. But they’re leaving plenty of trash. I’m going to catch them tomorrow night,” Cole said.

There was a knock on the door. Ann rose and went to open it. Ellie stood in the hall holding a briefcase. “Am I early?”

“No, you’re fine,” Ann said. “Have a seat.”

Jack gathered the pictures of the charred bodies from the table together and shoved them in his folder. Ellie took the first available chair at the far end of the table. She smiled a greeting to the table in general and avoided Jack’s eyes, focusing completely on Ann.

“Ellie, you have a house out at the lake,” Ann said. “Have you noticed anything out of the ordinary?”

She leaned forward and folded her hands together. Like the night before, images of his time with Ellie in her lake house flooded Jack’s mind. The last time he touched her. Kissed her. Felt her beneath him. He focused on the pen in his hands, hoping his face didn’t betray the riot of emotions blazing through him, and wondered if Ellie was thinking the same thing and, if so, how she was so composed.

“I don’t go out there much so, no,” Ellie said. “I haven’t seen anything.”

“No increased activity? Vandalism?”

“Well, some kids are using my mailbox for batting practice, but other than that. No. Why?”

“We think cookers are setting up meth labs in abandoned houses, doing their thing, and moving on.”

“I’ll swing by and check my house on the way home.”

“No,” Jack said. Everyone stared at him. Ellie’s face turned beet red. “Let one of us check it, in case someone’s there cooking.”

“He’s right,” Dodd said. “Let us check it out.”

Ellie shrugged.

“So, Ellie.” Ann smiled at her. “Thanks for joining us. Can you update us on your end?”

“Sure. Crime Stoppers has arranged for a former drug addict to speak to the high schools and middle schools. Give his testimony. First assembly is next week in Yourkeville. We’re also working with the churches to start Narcotics Anonymous meetings. The DA,” she nodded at Pigeon, “is making drug counseling part of the plea bargains. We’re also meeting with the hospitals and local doctors to get their assistance. Sue Poole planned to come with me today, but had an emergency C-section.”

Ann nodded, made a note. “What do you need from us?”

“We wanted to get an officer from each community to speak to the elementary schools.”

“Excellent idea,” Ann said. “I’ll have my secretary get in touch with you. She’ll organize it with the local police.”

“Great,” Ellie said. She reached down into her briefcase and removed a manila folder. She passed out a packet of information and said, “I put together a detailed outline of what we’re doing on our end, as well as suggestions for the future. For your reference. If there’s something I’ve missed, let me know and I’ll take it to the Crime Stoppers board. We are all enthusiastic about helping out.”

“Thanks, Ellie,” Hayes said. “This looks great. Let me know whenever you need me to speak to a school. Or, anything.” Hayes’s ingratiating grin raised Jack’s hackles. He was flirting with her.

Ellie returned Hayes’s smile, too enthusiastically for Jack’s taste. “Thanks, Eric.”

“For ease of organization, we’ll have it all go through the sheriff’s department. Myrna will coordinate with you,” Ann said.

“Whatever’s easiest. I’ve also put together a press release. Sorry, but I can’t stay to talk to the press. I have an appointment.” She stood.

“Of course. Thanks for taking the time to come,” Ann said.

Jack watched the door close behind Ellie. Ann started speaking and Jack’s phone buzzed. He pulled it out of his pocket and saw Julie’s number pop up. He stood and interrupted Ann. “I’m sorry, I have to take this.”

He left the room. Outside the door, he punched the decline button on his phone and stopped cold. Reporters for every local newspaper in the county and one from Tyler waited in the hall. They looked up from their phones and tablets, as surprised by Jack’s arrival as he was by their presence.

“Is it time for us?” the Tyler reporter said, standing.

“Not yet. Excuse me.” Jack walked quickly out the front door. From the top of the courthouse steps, Jack saw Ellie getting in her car. “Ellie!” he called, running down the stairs and across the street.

She paused, halfway in the car. “Jack?”

He stopped at her door, slightly out of breath, but not from the short jog. God, she looked great. A little thin, but those eyes and that voice. Jack felt better than he had in weeks, just standing near her. Her confusion turned to realization. “You didn’t just leave …?” She pressed her lips together.

“No. I got a call. Ignored it. I wanted to talk to you.”

“About what?” A slight breeze ruffled her hair. A few strands fell softly across her face.

“You were about to tell me something last night.”

She brushed her hair out of her face, tucked it behind her ear, and turned her head away. “It must not have been important. I don’t remember.”

She fell silent, but didn’t seem eager to leave. Jack stepped forward. “I miss you.”

“Please don’t do this. We agreed.”

“You’re right. We did. Worst decision of my life.”

“No. We did the right thing.”

“Right for who? Not me. Not you.”

“For Ethan.”

Jack looked away and thought of his son. Was it right for Ethan? Jack wasn’t so sure. At first Ethan had been ecstatic. His parents were back together, he had friends, and he was settling into Stillwater. But recently Ethan had become more subdued, watching Jack with mixture of amazement and disbelief each morning at breakfast and evening at dinner. Jack tried with every fiber of his being to act normal, hoping Ethan believed he was truly trying to make his marriage work while guilt-ridden at living the lie of a happy family. How would Ethan react if he ever found out about the ruse, that he had no intention of staying with Julie? He feared it would irrevocably tarnish their relationship, more than going through with the divorce when Julie returned would have.

Julie, though, wasn’t convinced. When Jack slept at home, he bunked on the downstairs couch, sure to wake up early enough to banish any sign before Ethan woke up. Mostly, though, he left the house after Ethan went to sleep and returned before he woke. Jack knew his avoidance of sleeping with Julie again was raising her suspicions about another woman, but he couldn’t bring himself to do the one thing that would banish them. Whenever he thought of making love to a woman, he envisioned Ellie.

“Do you miss me as much as I miss you?”

She didn’t answer for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, in a quiet voice Jack almost couldn’t hear, she answered:

“No.”