Firebreak (Josie Gray Mysteries #4)(72)

“I’m stuck on the idea that Hank and Slim Jim were the only two that talked to Billy the night he committed suicide,” she said.

“What’s your issue?”

“Somebody provided Billy the pills he used to commit suicide. Who else makes sense but Hank or Slim Jim?”

“He could have bought it from someone else,” he said.

“It’s not like drug dealers hang out by the trauma center selling prescription pills by the baggie. There’s no one around that area late at night.”

“But he could have called someone easy enough. Someone could have delivered pills to him,” he said. “I just filed the subpoena on Friday. We should get the court approval for Billy’s phone records tomorrow.”

Josie nodded. “The phone records are key. From the various people we’ve talked to, no one has mentioned Billy taking drugs. Alcohol yes, but not drugs. I’ll be surprised if we find he called someone for pills. Assuming Brenda’s not lying, Slim Jim and Hank were the only people who knew Billy was on the path to self-destruction that night. I feel like one of them provided the pills.”

Josie drove in silence for a while, thinking about the questions she wanted to ask Hank. “You know what else sticks in my mind? The day after the evacuation, when I went to the Hell-Bent to see if I could track down Billy and Brenda?”

“Yeah?”

“What’s the first thing people asked you the day after the evacuation?”

“They asked if family members or friends were safe,” Otto said.

“And?”

“And did their house make it through the fire.”

Josie pointed at Otto. “Exactly! That was usually the first question. Most people already knew their friends had left in the evacuation, so they wanted to know if their homes were spared.”

“Okay, what’s that have to do with anything?”

“When I talked to Hank that day, I said that we had stopped by the Nixes’ house. I said we were looking for them. That we needed to talk to them. Wouldn’t you think he would assume that if the police were looking for them, that their home had burned up in the fire?”

Otto drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as if considering this. “He never asked about their house? You’re sure of that?”

“Positive. I thought it was odd, but in all the drama it didn’t stand out.”

*

Hank lived in a small ranch home just beyond the Hell-Bent. It was a simple one-story brick building with straggly clumps of cactus in the yard. Hank opened the front door and invited them in to a sparsely furnished living room. The walls were white and the room contained a brown corduroy couch, a love seat, and a banged-up coffee table that appeared to serve as a footrest. The couch faced a large-screen TV that hung on the wall, and two recliners faced the front window. The room looked like a typical bachelor’s living quarters with few decorations or personal touches. Hank motioned for them to sit down on the couch. He picked up the remote on the coffee table, turned down the volume on a baseball game, and sat down on the love seat.

“What can I do for you?”

“We’re struggling, Hank. We’re hoping you can help us sort some things out,” she said.

“You bet. Anything I can do, you name it.”

“We have two men who are dead, and an investigation that’s stalled. You know the country music scene better than anyone in the area. Help us understand how Billy Nix, a man with a bright future, could have ended up committing suicide.”

Hank considered Josie for a moment and stood. “Let me get you something.”

Hank returned a minute later holding a photo album, which he laid on the coffee table in front of Josie and Otto. He flipped a few pages in and pointed to a photo of Billy, standing by himself onstage at the Hell-Bent, holding a mic with his eyes closed, his head thrown back, obviously belting out a song.

Hank sat down again. He smiled, but his expression was sad. “That was the first time Billy sang in front of an audience. I’ve been friends with him and Brenda since before they got married. They used to hang out at the Hell-Bent and Brenda was always telling me how Billy could sing. Billy would give me this aw-shucks grin, and I never thought much about it. You can imagine, people tell me they can sing all the time, and they can barely carry a tune.”

Josie nodded. She’d seen enough bad TV to know lots of people thought they had a gift that just wasn’t there.

“Finally, one morning, just as we’re opening up the bar, Brenda brings Billy in and says, ‘Give him ten minutes onstage.’ Brenda set a boom box onstage and cued up the music. Then Billy got up there and sang, ‘I Think I’ll Just Stay Here and Drink.’” Hank smiled. “It was rough, but the guy had a stage presence that blew me away. He wasn’t polished. But that’s good. That’s the death knell for outlaw country. Billy was honest country. There were a couple waitresses in there that day and by the time he was done they were all moved up on the edge of the dance floor, smiling, bobbing their heads. Those waitresses knew they’d heard something special.”

“You were convinced, the first time you heard Billy sing?”

“If you saw as many bands come through here as I do, you’d get it. To have the complete package is rare. That’s what Mick Sinner doesn’t get. It’s the raw simplicity of what Billy had that was magic. He wasn’t out to impress anyone. He was just out there to sing his song. People loved that about Billy. That’s not something you can learn. Mick tries too hard. And that made it all the harder for him to watch Billy rise to the top.”