Not One of Us(41)

We smiled at each other in understanding.

Blackwell stood. “Like I told you several days ago, leave the detective work to us. We’ll get this figured out. I also want you to know I’m doing my best to discover what happened to the Cormiers. I’m no psychologist, but I believe closure on that case would be helpful for you.”

“Thank you, Deputy.” I also rose, my legs shaky.

“Call me Tegan,” she said softly. “You still got my card?”

“Maybe you should give me another one.”

Dutifully, she plucked one from her uniform shirt pocket. “We’ll stay in touch. Call me if you have any concerns, Ms. Trahern.”

“Jori,” I corrected. “And I will.”

She extended her hand, and I shook it. Her smile was not unkind. “Anytime at all, you hear?”

I watched her saunter from the porch. “Wait,” I called out as she reached the bottom step. “Did you ever get closure for what happened to you in high school?”

Tegan slowly turned to face me, an odd expression flickering across her eyes. “One hundred percent closure. Justice was served quickly. Permanently. The past can never harm me again.”

What an odd choice of words. I could do with a little justice myself. To arrest whoever sent those threats and to punish whoever had harmed Deacon and his family.

I waved at Tegan as she drove off. It felt good to have someone in my corner.





Chapter 15


TEGAN


“We finally got clearance to hire an undercover narcotics agent,” Oliver told me by way of greeting. “No thanks to Mayor Rembert. Cheap bastard fought me every step of the way. Had to go over his head to the state guys.”

I dropped into the chair across from his desk, fatigued from my late-night reading of the Cormier file. “Hank’s not going to be happy about that,” I observed.

“At this point, I don’t really give a damn about Hank Rembert’s feelings.”

“How did you justify hiring an agent with the state folks?” I asked, surprised at the news. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m thrilled we’re getting one, but it’s not like we have a clear drug connection with the Strickland murder. I mean, sure, we found drugs at the crime scene and Raymond used to be a small-time dealer in his youth, but other than that, there’s nothing concrete.”

Oliver leaned back in his chair, steepled his fingers, and regarded me in an odd, assessing manner. He nodded, as though reaching a decision. “Shut the door,” he ordered.

I hurried to do his bidding and then returned to my seat. “What’s up?”

“We’re going to be working closely together, and I’ve grown to trust you. If we’re going to crack this murder case, I need you to be aware of what’s going on behind the scenes.” He leaned forward, drumming his fingers on the battered desk.

“You can trust me,” I assured him.

“It’s no coincidence I came here to fill a vacancy,” he continued. “State and federal agents have been suspicious for some time about the integrity of Bayou Enigma’s police force. They wanted someone from outside the area—but not too far—to step in and observe operations.”

This was news to me—no tiny feat in a town as small as ours. “You mean, they think our local cops are dirty?” Another shocking realization hit. “Do they think the sheriff’s office is dirty too?”

He didn’t respond, but his silence was answer enough.

“Damn,” I muttered. “So they’re suspicious our town has a flourishing drug trade and we’re all in on it?” An absurd outrage coursed through me. “Enigma’s not like that.”

“How can you be so sure?” Oliver asked.

He was right. Rural areas were no stranger to corruption. I thought of my coworkers. They were annoying, but I found it hard to believe they were involved in anything nefarious. But as for Dempsey and Granger—yeah, I could see that. Though, in all fairness, perhaps it was my own dislike of that duo that colored my perception.

“What kind of proof do you have?” I asked.

“Can’t reveal everything to you, except on a need-to-know basis. What I can say is that we’ve got a local informant who’s proven fairly reliable. This person has furnished names, and we’re hoping to make several major arrests over the next few weeks. With the recent murder, it became imperative to get to the bottom of the matter as quickly as possible.”

I sat in silence several moments, absorbing this new information. “Who is this agent and when does he start?” I finally asked.

“Name’s Carter Holt, and he’s already started.”

“But you said—”

He grinned. “I was pretty confident his pay would be approved. Holt started work yesterday and is already starting to make inroads.”

“That quick?”

“I was informed he was the best. Has a real knack for infiltrating rings. And with the goods our informant provided, I’m hopeful we’ll have answers soon.”

“Great. I have some news too,” I began hesitantly. “I found a connection between Strickland and Louis Cormier.”

Oliver’s face drew into a scowl.

“I’m reading the files on my own time at home,” I assured him. I quickly filled him in.