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CHAPTER 25
March 21, 1979
Drizzle dropped from the nearly uniform gray clouds. Tall maples, birches, and ashes were just budding, and the scenery alongside the road would have been desolate had it not been for the green of the firs and spruces. He flicked the wiper button every so often to wipe away the dots of water that piled up. He had just left the home of Gary Swan. Reggie had driven by for a check in when Gary’s manager at Adamson’s had reported him absent and did not know who else to call. Reggie had kicked in the door and radioed Dean the moment he was inside.
Gary had died in his recliner, the TV still on. When Cotton arrived, both Dean and Reggie agreed with the coroner that Gary had passed due to natural causes. The three of them put Gary into the coroner’s van. After Cotton left, Reggie and Dean searched the house for any information regarding next of kin. Dean knew Gary’s parents had died a few years before, but he did not know if he had any siblings or cousins. The effort proved fruitless. The probate courts would have to figure out what to do next. They boarded up the door before leaving.
Dean drove aimlessly through town and then back. He found himself on Route 23. He stopped at a 7-11 and picked up a cold ham and cheese sandwich with a small bag of Fritos and a six-pack of cold Pabst Blue Ribbon. He drove out to the Pratt farm and pulled off to the side of the road across from their driveway. The call with the Nimitz’s that morning had been the same depressing conversation. No new leads. No new evidence. He could not bring himself to tell them the case was due to be shelved into cold case storage next week. After the conversation, he had opened the case file. He was halfway through it when the call from Reggie had come in.
He shut off the car and rolled down the window. He unwrapped the sandwich and freed a can of the beer, opening it. From beneath the rest of the six pack, he pulled out the Nimitz case file.
Dean pulled out his notebook from his front pocket and a pen. He flipped to a blank page. He wrote down the short list of evidence. Twenty thousand in cash and a copy of The Communist Manifesto in Billy’s closet. Why both? He added a question mark next to both items. He thought of Renard’s quip. He wrote spy next to both and added yet another question mark.
The thirty-eight with six bullets in it that once belonged to Corey and his grandfather.
That left the Remington M1911A pistol. Last known owner was Dennis Kowlowski who died in 1963. He bought it in 1952. What happened once he bought it was unknown. He scratched his head and took a drink.
The sandwich was dry, so Dean tore open the mayonnaise and mustard packets and squeezed their contents to the underside of the top bun. They did not save the sandwich, but he ate it anyway. The sandwich mirrored his list: lots of promise but not much living up to it. He went back to the case file and his notebook. The passports were confusing, for no one had ever mentioned Billy traveling, and they were not in his possession. And drug dealers did not usually resort to that kind of passport forgery, at least those bringing their haul across the Canadian-U.S. border.
He flipped to another blank page and divided it up into a set of columns, a task he had done a half-dozen times already. On the far left, he wrote “Time” and then added columns to the right for each of his suspects: Sarah, Carlos, Alex, Corey, Josh, McCord, and Zorn. He added yet a final column next to Zorn and put a question mark there.
Billy was at the Shambles from six to about eleven-thirty, so he wrote “11:30” in the far right. He noted Sarah, Carlos, Alex, and McCord all claimed to be home, but only Carlos and McCord had anyone to vouch for them, albeit, their wives. Corey and Josh both said they left Billy walking and went home immediately, but they did have not alibis saying when they arrived home. Zorn claimed to be at the club with fellow Grim Devils member Quentin Trask, which Trask had confirmed to Guthrie. At midnight—according to the phone records it was 11:58 p.m.—Sarah received a call from Billy. They talked for a few minutes, and that was the last known interaction with Billy before his death. Dean scratched his head. On the previous page, he wrote “Drugs?” next to the cash.
He looked at his watch: 4:13. He wadded up the sandwich and chip packaging into a bundle and drove back into town. At the 7-11, he threw them away and called Sadie from a pay phone. She was free until seven, and she would be happy to see him.
* * *
As he buckled his belt, she smiled at him and held a Virginia Slim in her right hand. She inhaled. The rain began slashing in from the southwest, drenching the window in sheets and thumping the roof.
He smiled back, but she noticed the weakness of the smile.
“What’s wrong, baby?” she asked.
“Huh? Oh, nothing. Just thinking about this case.”
“That’s why you’re here, to not think about work.”
He winked at her. “I wasn’t while.” He turned on the lamp on the nightstand.
“Is it that Billy kid again?”
He nodded as he pulled out a cigarette and lit it. “Yep. Reviewed the case again today.”
“And?”
He looked at her and considered if he should tell her anything. He would have told Cindy everything, even though she hated it. “It’s just bothering me. That we haven’t solved it yet.”
“It was months ago though.”
“Yeah, that’s what’s eating at me. So little information. And contradictory. You know, the Canadian police found some things in Montreal that don’t make a lot of sense. Unless you’re a drug dealer or a spy. And I don’t get the sense this kid was capable of being a spy. And no one thinks he was into drug trafficking. And what the hell’s to find in Zion?”
She slid her long legs over the side of the bed and stood up, smiling as she did so. She grabbed the thin robe on the chair next to the bed and pulled it on, her nipples still visible through it. “Spy? In Zion?”
“I know, right?”
“Drink?”
He nodded, and she walked out. He buttoned up his shirt. He sat on the edge of the bed, and as he reached down to grab his shoes, he used the nightstand for balance. His grip slipped, and he clutched at the handle on the drawer to the stand, which he pulled out a little as he sat back up, left shoe in his right hand. Through the gap of the drawer, he saw a notebook. He looked at it. He knew what it was without opening it. He thought about pulling it out and looking at it, seeing who else visited her. If she had other regulars like him. But he did not. He knew she did. He knew he was not special. He slid it closed and started putting on his shoe.
Sadie walked in and handed him a drink. Bourbon with two large ice cubes.
“Thanks.” He took a drink and set it on the table. “It’s probably drug stuff. Everything these days seems that way.”
She held a vodka tonic in her hands. “Seems that way.”
“I figure if we can find out who Billy was transporting drugs for, we’ll find his killer.”
“You think he was transporting?”
“I don’t see him running a dealing business. Not with Zorn in town. I could see him driving the stuff from Canada down for some extra cash.”
She smiled, but it was a smile he had rarely seen on her, one that allowed a glimpse beyond her facade into the woman she really was. “You know, more than Zorn and his goons transport drugs in this town.”
“Yeah, like who?” He asked it without thinking, just a normal question, but he could tell immediately that it cut through something, like he had crossed a threshold not meant to be crossed between a hooker and her john, especially when her john was a cop. “Nevermind. Sorry.”
She nodded once and took a drink.
He downed the last of his bourbon quickly, setting the glass down on the table, the ice tinkling.
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