Not One of Us(31)

I flushed as though I were ten years old and had been caught misbehaving by the school principal. “Just exploring links between the various cases.”

He straightened, displeasure evident on his face. “Come into my office, and let’s talk.”

“Be right there.” Quickly, I closed the document and gathered my notebook and pen as he left our room.

“You’re in trouble now, rookie,” Haywood stage-whispered loudly enough for everyone to hear.

“If he kicks you off the Strickland case, I want first dibs on it,” Mullins added, wagging a finger in my direction. I was sure his remark was only half in jest.

Oliver was already seated when I entered his office and didn’t immediately look up from the papers on his desk. I dropped into a chair across from him and waited for him to acknowledge me.

Finally, he folded his large hands on the desk and faced me. “Why were you reading up on that cold case? We’ve already discussed this. Our attention should be focused on the present, not events that occurred nearly two decades ago.”

“Yes, sir.” I vowed not to read it anymore in the office. What I did at home in my own time was my own business. And I would pore over every detail—present and past.

He nodded, satisfied. “We just received an initial report. I forwarded a copy to your email. The substance found in Strickland’s bedroom was marijuana. No prints were found that couldn’t be traced to Strickland or his mother. The nine millimeter extracted from the body was from a Glock. Unfortunately, one of the most common makes and models.”

It was an unsettlingly perfect crime. “Is there reason to believe this was an execution?”

He hesitated. “Safe to say it was probably no amateur. Whoever it was, they were clever and calculating. It wasn’t done in the heat of passion.”

“So you’re ruling out Tommy Sims and the other men from the Pavilion.”

“Seems highly unlikely to me that any of them has the brains or cool deliberation for this crime. Sims did agree to an independent polygraph test last evening, and the results indicated he’s telling the truth when he claims to be innocent of the murder.”

Much as I disliked Tommy, I had to agree with Oliver’s assessment. “If it wasn’t a crime of passion, then are we talking about a hired gun? Maybe someone employed by a drug ring?”

“We have to consider that possibility, especially given that there were drugs in Strickland’s room and that he was a known drug dealer in his youth.”

“Never would have thought our small town would have a problem of this magnitude. I always believed drugs came in from the Port of Mobile and on to a few outsiders who distributed to a small clientele here in the backwoods.”

“No town, no matter the size, is immune to the opioid and meth crisis. And our state’s the worst. Alabama has the highest filled-prescription rate for opiates.”

I shouldn’t have been surprised. Finding out my beloved state was last or next to last in any positive category—years of education, median salary—was nothing new. We only made the top of the national list in places we did not want it—things like most obese or most incarcerated. Now this.

“Damn. It’s logical to conclude that if we have the highest prescription rate, then there are a hell of a lot of addicts wanting the drug. Even if it’s off the streets.” I couldn’t help thinking of Linsey and Luke. They were at a vulnerable age with peer pressure and the need to fit in, to experiment because everyone else did. I knew this as well as anybody. Drugs had been easy to come by when I attended Enigma High, my friend Lisa being the perfect case in point. How much easier was it now to get them? How much more prolific was drug use these days?

“Exactly. Where there’s a demand, there’s always someone willing to become the supplier at a hefty profit.”

Discouraged frustration raked my gut. “So, what’s our next move?”

“We shut them down.” He gave me a warm smile, the first real one I’d gotten from him this morning. “Don’t be so upset. That’s why we’re in law enforcement, right? To fight back against the kinds of people who prey on others.”

“That, and the cushy lifestyle it provides.”

He barked out a surprised laugh. “Yeah, right. The first order of business for us is to infiltrate their operation.”

“How?”

“We petition the mayor to foot the bill for a narcotics agent.”

Surprise washed over me. That seemed like a huge expense to fork over on mere speculation. “Does our little PD even have one?”

“Not that I’m aware of. But if they don’t, we can have the mayor try and work out a deal to pay someone to come in from Mobile.”

Oliver’s gaze drifted to the small window banking the side wall of his office. Suspicion pricked down my spine.

“And if that doesn’t work out?” I asked, feeling certain it wouldn’t. “Can we possibly get an agent from ALEA?”

The Alabama Law Enforcement Agency was an executive branch of state government that coordinated public safety matters. ALEA was an important resource for small towns like us.

“We can try. In the meantime, we’ll meet with our local police.” He glanced at the utilitarian wall clock to his right. “We’re due over at their station in half an hour.”