Not One of Us(48)

“Two bit or not, I thought Enigma was too small to have an organized operation,” I said.

“I told you there’d be one,” Oliver said. “If I didn’t believe there was, I wouldn’t have bothered hiring an agent.”

My face heated with embarrassment. Yeah, he’d told me that, but I’d been skeptical. “Right,” I muttered, averting my head and fiddling with my cell phone. Damned if I’d say another word.

“Strange thing is, my leads indicate that the drug drop in Enigma isn’t coming from Mobile’s port,” Holt said.

My head jerked up. “What do you mean?” So much for keeping my mouth shut. I’d never been one to refrain from asking questions.

Holt ignored me and kept his gaze focused on Oliver. “Enigma’s drug pipeline appears to be sourced from a minor distributor. Now, when I say minor, keep in mind that it’s still big money, more money than any of us will ever earn in our lifetimes, but it’s not a major operation with a platoon of boats. My guess is it’s one or two people who have a smaller boat delivering the merchandise directly in the bayou backwaters.”

“And that way they avoid the larger, riskier Port of Mobile,” Oliver noted.

“What kinds of drugs?” I asked, tired of being ignored. “Because for the past couple of years, pot and meth were the drugs found on most people here who were convicted of possession. Both of which, unfortunately, can be homegrown.”

“Cocaine and heroin use are still common,” Holt said, with barely a glance in my direction.

Oliver leaned back in his chair, stroking his chin. “Good thing we have a strong informant, because our arrest records don’t provide you many leads. The few trafficking possession cases we’ve had weren’t because the arrestee had a large volume of drugs. But the fact they were in possession within a few miles of a school zone automatically triggered a stiffer trafficking penalty.”

Holt shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. I’m working my way closer to the distributor. The last major trafficking bust was seven years ago, when Dr. Russell Crosby was arrested for prescription fraud. Since then, someone else has taken over delivery of heroin and synthetic, illegal pain medications. And I’m going to find him—or her—or them.”

I still didn’t care for Holt’s arrogance, but I had to admit he’d done his research and wasn’t lacking confidence in taking on the seamier side of the bayou folk.

“What new leads have you got?” Oliver asked.

“I never reveal my sources,” he answered smugly. “Last thing I need is some overzealous cop homing in on one of my informers. Once trust is blown, any leads will dry up fast.” He ambled to his feet and ran a hand through his unkempt hair. “This meeting’s adjourned. Don’t be calling me in for any more either. Too risky. If I have something to report, I’ll get word to you.”

Oliver’s jaw worked, probably swallowing back an angry retort. But the fact was, we needed Holt. And the man knew it.

Holt left the office, and neither of us spoke for a minute.

“Guy’s quite a character,” I said at last.

“That wasn’t the word I had in mind.”

“More like, cocky son of a bitch?” I suggested.

“Nailed it.”

“Maybe he can cut through the enigma of Enigma’s drug operation.”

Oliver winced at my corny attempt to lighten the mood. “Don’t ever quit your day job to strike out as a comedian.”

“And miss all this fun? Wouldn’t dream of it.” I turned serious. “Who’s the strong informant you mentioned?”

“Like Holt, I don’t reveal sources. If it pans out, you’ll discover their identity soon enough.”

His phone rang, and I took it as my cue to leave. As he reached for it, I rose and headed for the door.

“Oliver speaking. Hey there. Whatcha got for me?” A fist banged on the desk. “Are you fucking kidding me?” he demanded.

I turned and faced him. Oliver waved me over to return to my seat.

“Email me the report. Thanks for the heads-up. I owe you one.”

Oliver set his phone down, and I raised a brow expectantly.

“That woman you said Trahern spoke with last week—Grace Lee Fairhope?”

My heart dropped to my stomach. “What about her?”

“She’s dead. Died of a heroin overdose last night. Her body was found by a neighbor early this morning.”

“Do they think—”

“It’s been ruled accidental. No sign of foul play, and nothing to indicate it might have been a suicide.” He drummed his fingers against the battered surface of his desk. “Probably only a weird coincidence. She was a known addict.”

“Who’d been clean for almost five months,” I pointed out. “Jori Trahern said she seemed happy with sobriety and had moved on with her life.”

“Could be Trahern stirred up the past and made her feel guilty about giving up her son. The reminder could have been doing a number on her mind, and she turned to drugs, her old friend, to cope.”

“Maybe,” I answered doubtfully. “Or maybe it wasn’t a coincidence at all.”





Chapter 19


JORI