Needle Work: Battery Acid, Heroin, and Double Murder(7)

Perhaps because of the trauma involved, Susan, who was six years old when her father died, didn’t remember that time of life. What she did remember was sharing a room with Nancy.

Susan and Nancy were into Barbie dolls. They shared the same clothes. It was the 1960s and they listened to the same music—the Beatles, Kinks, and Stones. Later on, when they hit their teens, if Nancy had a boyfriend, she’d introduce Susan and they would double-date.

The two-year age difference meant they were in the same high school at the same time. Nancy did nothing to distinguish herself there; she was just an average student who was into boys. But she had aspirations of being a nurse, and upon her graduation from high school, she began looking into the health profession. Life, though, threw her a curve.

Nancy got pregnant out of wedlock and had a baby she named Stacy. She decided to raise Stacy on her own and support her herself.

Nancy became a waitress. She was a personable, good worker and had no trouble finding jobs. For the next twenty years, she supported herself and her child with eight-to twelve-hour shifts. She was on her feet so much, it wasn’t uncommon for her to come home with swollen legs. But she kept going—she had to. Her kid was relying on her, and nothing was more important to Nancy than her family.

In those years, the only real means of self-expression she had was sports. She was a great softball player. It was after high school that she got into sports, particularly softball. Nancy played shortstop and first base. She batted right-handed.

In between double plays, Nancy tried marriage. She was in her early thirties when she married Jimmy Ryan. She was quite a bit older than Jimmy, Susan recalled, and because of that and other reasons, it didn’t work out. After only a few months together, they separated and divorced.

Like most detectives, Shanlian knew that the homicide victim usually knows her killer; that is, it is usually a friend or family member who commits the crime. That was an angle he needed to pursue.

He wanted to know if when she was married to Jimmy Ryan, there was any history of domestic violence. Both women answered no. They insisted he couldn’t be involved because the marriage took place ten years before; they didn’t even know if Ryan was still local. That didn’t let Ryan out, necessarily, but it did make him a remote suspect.

Garrison related how her niece Stacy, Nancy’s daughter, eventually grew up and met a guy in Michigan, then moved with him to Georgia “and got herself in trouble there,” Susan continued. “Nancy got custody of the baby.”

By that time, Nancy had made an arrangement with her mother.

“The baby lived with Nancy and my mother.”

Nancy had a grandchild to help support. But by that time, the 1990s, the pressure of a hardscrabble existence had gotten to Nancy and she had taken up with cocaine. As Nancy moved from one high to another, she also changed jobs, until she wound up as a waitress at South Boulevard Station. Susan Garrison and her mom went there all the time.

They would have dinner and sit drinking coffee afterward for hours, until they floated out of there. The restaurant had a very comfortable atmosphere. Everyone was very friendly. When Nancy’s grandson was about eight, Susan and her mom would occasionally take the boy to the restaurant for dinner during Nancy’s shift.

Nancy doted on her grandchild and loved him more than anything else in the world. In fact, the only other man she loved as much was probably Jessie Giles.

What a wonderful guy Jessie was, how good to everyone. When he died, Nancy knew she would miss him. But who Giles was wasn’t important right then. Shanlian needed to get her back on track. He asked them when was the last time they saw their sister.

The two women looked at each other and Karen replied not for about a week. Susan, a divorcée with three kids, said that sounded about right. Shanlian asked if they knew who supplied her with coke.

“I think it’s a guy named Ben Drier,” Karen Clason replied.

“You know how to spell his name?” asked Shanlian, taking notes.

“No. But I think he’s about forty. That’s what Nancy said,” Clason continued.

Neither woman knew anything about Drier. Taking another tact, the detective wondered if anything had happened recently to upset Nancy. Turned out that Nancy was upset. Or actually, her roommate Carol was.

Carol’s VCR had been stolen. She thought Nancy had stolen it. That was interesting, but Shanlian was having a problem.

“There’s one thing I’m confused about,” Shanlian said. “Nancy was living here with your mother, but she had a roommate named Carol?”

“Oh, that,” Garrison answered. “Nancy really wasn’t living there, just staying there with Carol to help her get through her grief.”

“Grief?”

“Nancy was just helping Carol out with her house and kids and stuff. Carol’s husband Jessie died a few months ago and she really needed the help.”

“So she really lived here?”

Nancy and her mom had had an argument, but she still lived at home.

That was the second time the argument was mentioned. Shanlian had to wonder what kind of argument was so severe Nancy would have been forced to leave.

Could her mom have had an ax to grind? Phyllis Burke didn’t look like a murderer, but then again, most murderers don’t.

The sisters explained that while Nancy and their mom had argued they had pretty much patched things up. Nancy was just about to leave Carol’s and move back in.