Truth on the brink, p.17
Truth on the Brink, page 17
“What? Why? He’s not gonna want me to leave.”
“Don’t care. Tell him you’re leaving, or he and I are gonna have a discussion about aftermarket parts being sold as new.”
Tammy sighed. “Where are we going?”
“I’m getting close to some answers, but I’ve got to go over a few things, make sure I’ve got them right.”
“Go over things? What do I know?”
Jack exhaled into the phone to make his frustration obvious. “Just do it, okay? Meet me out front. I’m pulling in.”
Tammy emerged from the front door of the corrugated-metal building with a perplexed look on her face. She shrugged at Jack with both palms upturned when she was halfway to him and then climbed into the passenger’s seat. “What’s going on, Jack?”
He avoided her gaze. “Nothing. Let’s ride a minute.”
“I’m not kidding. Is something wrong with Devlin?” Her lip began to quiver. “Tell me.”
The fireball who had burst into the sheriff’s office two days prior was fizzling. Jack could see it, even if others could not. He had suspected it was just a matter of time. The reality of Devlin being locked up combined with Jack being absent in search of answers was proving more than she could stand. Tammy required nothing if not emotional support, now more than ever. And not only were her two rocks not there to lean on right now, but one of them was on the verge of being sunk.
What would happen now when Jack told her of his discovery? Maybe, just maybe there was some other answer. Maybe Tammy could help him find it.
Jack shook his head. “Nothing with Devlin. We’re going up to Logan’s, but I need to go over a few things on the way.”
“Logan’s?” There was alarm in her voice. “Why? It’s just gonna get me upset.”
“Why?”
“It’s a bad place. Ronny Shane was Devlin’s friend for a long time. Like one of my own for a time. And now there’s no chance of them fixing that. And whatever happened up there is trying to ruin Devlin’s life, as if Ronny’s wasn’t a high enough price.”
Jack could not dispute either point. The place was a reminder of lost friendship and lost life. Maybe two lives before it was over. “I get it. But this is important. Help me with the timeline Friday night. You left my house at what time?”
“I told you. About midnight.”
“About midnight? Or midnight exactly?”
“How am I supposed to know? Didn’t know at the time it would matter.”
“You live eighteen minutes from me. Was Devlin home when you got there?”
“Yes. He was in the bed.”
“Are you willing to testify to those facts if it comes to it?”
Tammy jerked her head around. Jack didn’t look at her but sensed her glare might just cut him down. “You listen to me right now, Jack Masterson. I’ll testify to anything I have to to get my son off. You…you hear me?” Her voice crumbled, and she struggled to finish. “Anything.”
Jack spun the steering wheel through a turn with his left hand and held his right out to her like a school crossing guard demanding a stop. “I get it, Tammy. But that don’t mean a lawyer won’t trap you in a lie. What you say ain’t true, and I need to know what is. If you left my house at midnight or any time after and found Devlin in the bed, there’s no way he could have been turning into Logan’s at twelve thirty-two like that video shows. Logan’s is easily twenty-five minutes from your house.”
“C’mon Jack, that was just an estimation. Obviously, I left earlier.”
“But you always watch Friday Night Football Fever. Doesn’t go off until a couple minutes before midnight.
“Seems like I left before it was over this time.”
Jack’s stomach lurched. “You know what’s odd about that? I remember us watching the highlights from Starkville versus Warren Central. Remember, you said you were surprised by the lopsided score?”
“Okay, so that must have been earlier in the show.”
Jack shook his head. “Tammy, we didn’t get home from the hospital until eleven thirty. Funny thing is, I recorded it like I usually do, in case Devlin makes the highlights. And guess where I just came from?” He dared a look in her direction.
Tammy’s eyes were narrow like a partial eclipse. “How am I supposed to know?”
“My house. Where I found out that highlight ended at eleven forty-nine. So if somehow I fell asleep immediately, and you were in your car two minutes later—which ain’t possible, by the way—you couldn’t have been home before twelve oh nine. Meaning, if you went inside and saw Devlin and he left, say, two minutes later—which ain’t possible, by the way—he couldn’t have been turning onto Logan’s until twelve thirty-six.”
“Jack, what are you doing?”
“I’m asking the questions that are going to be asked sooner or later. And hoping you have other answers besides the lies.”
Tammy’s eyes widened at the sight of the Amberton Lock and Dam sign looming in her window as Jack turned onto Waterway Road. “I don’t want to do this.”
“Well, I’m doing it. So either jump out or be quiet.” Jack was angry now. He punched the door lock in case she got some crazy idea to take him literally. She flinched but didn’t say anything.
They rumbled up the overgrown access road to Logan’s in silence, Jack’s third trip in as many days, each with a different member of his inner circle: Case, Jet, Tammy. Two of them had been there for all the past years that mattered in his life. The third was a person he had at one time hoped might become someone he wanted there for all the years in the future. But lately he was not so sure.
Her mood and demeanor had been like one of those bell curves Jet liked to talk about, the ones shaped like an upside-down U, with the up and down axis— he couldn’t remember which letter that was—representing sad at the bottom versus happy at the top. When they had first met, she had been timid and difficult to talk to. But he had detected something else aching to emerge and had indeed seen it blossom as they had begun spending time together. When she was happy, he was happy. At times it hadn’t mattered what they did, as long as it was together—riding ATVs, watching movies, bowling, or just sharing funny YouTube videos—it didn’t matter.
In the past several months, though, the joy had regressed, emerging less and less frequently, like an animal preparing to hibernate through an indefinite winter. Nothing he did seemed to help. He made sure she was taking her medications. He went with her to counseling sessions and collaborated to follow every instruction they were given. He set up dates with all the things they used to enjoy together. Despite his best efforts, the curve trended relentlessly downward toward the Tammy he had first met years ago.
He had empathy for her. He did. And he had vowed to help her, whether they stayed together or not. But some things crossed the line. And lying was one of them. If for no other reason than he had learned that the little ones usually hid much larger, deeper, and darker secrets.
Jack stopped at the end of the access road where he had before, just as it emerged into the clearing at the top of the bluff. He shifted into park and sat in silence for several seconds, hoping in vain that Tammy would offer something. “Did you come up with an explanation?”
“I’m not on trial.”
“Maybe not, but your son is. And his life is at stake.”
A single tear rolled down her cheek, and she wiped it away. “It’s terrible, Jack. I know he didn’t do it.”
“Why don’t you tell me who did?”
She turned away from him to look out the window, toward the edge of the bluff, silent.
Jack pointed to the clearing before them. “I couldn’t figure out why, if Devlin didn’t kill Ronny, there were no tire tracks other than Ronny’s and Devlin’s up here. And two sets of Devlin’s at that.” He tapped the steering wheel like a backspace on a keyboard. “Correction: other than Ronny’s and another set like Devlin’s up here. His tires aren’t exactly rare, you know. But you have to admit, it’s suspicious when we have video showing him turning up here at the same time. But whoever it was, whether Devlin or somebody else with that type of tires, why did they leave and come back? Any ideas?”
Tammy shook her head but didn’t answer and didn’t turn away from the passenger window.
“Then today I realized we’ve been looking at it wrong.” He snapped his fingers. “It didn’t have to be the same person. It could have been two different people with the same kinds of tires. Now, I know in forensics, they can sometimes identify not just the brand of tire, but also how much wear there is on the treads. Sometimes they can even narrow it down to one tire on one vehicle if there are identifying marks. Not usually on new tires, though. And Devlin’s are pretty new. Remember when he bought them?”
“Stop, Jack.”
“No, hear me out, Tammy. I did know Devlin had gotten new tires. But it just so happens, I know about someone else getting new tires about a month ago. And it just so happens, there’s a local tire store with a special going where you buy one set of tires and get another identical set fifty percent off. Which is crazy, because who needs two sets of the same tires, right?”
He paused for a response but didn’t get one, so he handed her the sales receipt he had found in her apartment. “I’ll tell you who. A mother and son who drive a 2008 Nissan Xterra and a 2014 Toyota Tacoma. It just so happens those vehicles accept the exact same tire, P265 65R17. Slightly different speed ratings are preferred, but I’ll bet Tire Town Tony isn’t too picky with little details like that.” Jack let out a long whistle. “What an amazing coincidence.”
Tammy’s tears were flowing freely now. She didn’t attempt to wipe them away this time.
Jack didn’t know what happened on Logan’s, but he was certain of one thing: It was much more complicated than anyone knew. Anyone except perhaps Devlin and Tammy. He stared hard at her, monitoring her reaction to what he said next. “Not only was Devlin up here Friday night, but you were, too, weren’t you? This is only five minutes from my place, so no problem for you to get here by the time Devlin did. You never went home. Tell me what happened.”
Tammy turned to Jack and held his gaze for a split second before withering and planting her face in both hands. “Yes, Jack. I did it. I’m a horrible person. I killed Ronny.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
JET thought I needed to get to Pickensville, Alabama, by five o’clock, and I beat it by ten minutes. I hoped it wasn’t all for naught. The table rider could have been pulling Greely and Poe’s legs and, instead of planning to float all the way down to Mobile, was just on a five-mile joy ride. For all I knew, the man had exited the waterway around the bend from Logan’s Bluff and was kicked back in a ratty recliner in some back corner of the county. But my gut told me that wasn’t the case. The question now was, could I find him?
I turned off of Highway 14 onto Lock and Dam Road. This stretch of road just across the state line, with its gray asphalt, faded line markers, and dense foliage just off each shoulder could have been dropped in a thousand places in Mississippi and not been out of place. I passed the Tom Bevill Visitor Center and turned right into the parking area at the lock. My heart rate accelerated with anticipation as I slid out of my truck and moved over to the railing where I could see into the lock below.
It was empty. Six hundred feet long, one hundred ten feet wide, and nothing but two vertical concrete walls, gates on each end, and water in between, hazel brown like weak coffee with islands of foam like puffy flotsam. I shook my head at the ridiculousness of my expectation, as if Jet’s rough calculation had been so precise to allow me to be there at the exact moment the man and his table locked through. From my limited vantage point, he could be upriver or down, and I wouldn’t see him. Fortunately, I had an option other than sitting and waiting and hoping.
A quick search on my phone found the number.
“Bevill Lock and Dam.”
I was surprised to hear a female, if for no other reason than the only two lock and dam operators I had ever known were male. “Hi, my name is Case Reynolds. I’m down here at the lock, hoping to track down an old friend. He doesn’t have a radio, so I’m wondering if he’s already locked through.”
“We run twenty-four seven, don’t always get the names, so who knows? What’s his boat look like?”
I chuckled. “Please don’t think I’m crazy when I tell you.”
“The table?”
My pulse quickened. “That’s it.”
The woman laughed. “I don’t know if you’re crazy or he’s crazy or all of us are, but yeah. Came through about two hours ago.”
So much for Jet and his calculations. I would enjoy mocking his math deficiencies later, but now it meant I had missed my chance. The next lock south was forty miles away by river, which was two days. If I wanted to catch him tomorrow, my best chance was to find a boat and hit the river. Which meant heading home tonight and taking a personal day to come back.
I could borrow Jack’s boat, maybe talk him into coming with me. Except I had no idea what mission he had set himself on when he left Dundee’s, and he wasn’t answering his phone. I needed a backup plan. “Yep, that’s him. Always trying some offbeat self-challenge. I’ll catch up with him tomorrow. Listen, ma’am—I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name.”
“Wilson. Shonda Wilson.”
“Ms. Wilson, great. Do you by chance know anywhere around here I can rent a boat?”
“Hmm … there’s a small boat ramp just below us near Ringo Bluff, but I don’t think they do rentals. It’s just past the restaurant.”
Ms. Wilson was a genius, and I was anything but. A man has to eat, mission accomplished or not. Plus, I had another idea. “How far downriver is that?”
“About two miles, give or take.”
I looked at my watch. “Great, thanks. And how do non-table riders get there?”
She laughed. “Go back out to the highway. South about a mile, then take 78. You’ll find it.”
—————
There was no sign of the table or its rider at the boat ramp, which consisted of nothing more than a slope of concrete beside a patch of gravel for parking and one dilapidated picnic table. This wasn’t the type of place the man I was chasing would normally go, but a ramp just south of the lock had seemed as likely a spot as any for him to stop before dark.
My belly rumbled to remind me it didn’t care whether I had found him or not. The white mobile home a quarter mile back up the road with the neon sign and the smoke emanating from the back of it was suddenly calling my name. I aimed my truck in that direction, hoping The Hole Cut was as good as Ms. Shonda Wilson said it was.
The smell of hickory smoke and rendered pork fat hit me before I even parked the truck, and I followed it up a wooden ramp to the front door, which squeaked when I opened it. The place was larger inside than I had anticipated, with tables to my right and several booths to the left. A room had been added off the back for the kitchen and whatever else was needed. It glowed in fluorescent contrast to the darker amber lighting of the eating areas.
“You sit where you like,” a young waitress with straight black hair and remarkably round eyes called out as she glided out of the kitchen with two loaded plates. She nodded toward a counter holding a cash register and a stack of laminated papers. “Grab a menu. I’ll get ya in a sec.”
I chose a booth and guessed what the menu would offer before I even looked. Pulled pork. Ribs. Burgers. Chicken strip basket. Fish basket. Fries, baked potato, or slaw, et cetera. It all sounded good to me; I just needed it to be quick. I had left Abi a voicemail while I drove but knew she sometimes missed those. She would be wondering about me. I pulled out my phone to text her but had no service. Metal roof.
“What ya havin’?” My round-eyed waitress was quick, as hoped. “Sweet tea to drink?”
I nodded. “That’ll be fine. Pulled pork sandwich. Fries. Slaw on the side.”
The door squeaked, and a young man in black boots, greasy jeans, olive-green T-shirt and a backward trucker hat stepped in. Unlike me, he knew where he was and what he was looking for. His gaze set on my waitress, and he spun ninety degrees to march toward her.
“Not now, Ray. You know I’m working.”
“Yes, now. We gotta talk.” Ray’s forearms sported a menagerie of grotesque creature tattoos: teeth and bulging eyes and blood and tongues everywhere. The artwork was exquisite, even if the subject matter was bizarre.
“Go home. I mean it.”
The waitress tried to walk past Ray, but he grabbed her arm and held fast. “No, Serena. You can’t just walk out like that.” She pulled back, but he jerked her toward him and leaned in face to face with a scowl. “I’m not leaving ’til I get answers.”
“Stop it! You’re hurting me!”
I shuffled in my seat and coughed. Ray glanced in my direction and let go of her arm as one might release a bumblebee. He turned and put his fist in Serena’s back, pushing her toward the door. “Outside, now, if you know what’s good for you.”
I sighed. I’d coached dozens of Rays over the years. They’d show up for two days of practice and prance with their chests puffed like jake turkeys until they learned there were toms tougher, meaner, and more disciplined than them who were more than happy to embarrass them and make them pretend to like it. And the Rays would magically disappear before the first week was over to go back to their big talk, big trucks, and bigger gaps between ego and endowment. Was it too much to ask not to have to deal with one of them here? After a wasted trip, was it too much to ask to limp home quietly with a full belly?
The door squeaked as it closed behind the couple, and I caught it by the knob before the latch hit the strike plate.
Ray looked back at me over his shoulder from the bottom of the ramp. “I saw you watching us, old man. This ain’t none of your business.”
