Lynn listened intently as her mother sniffled on the other end of the phone line. The first few minutes of the call had been very disconcerting as Lynn tried to understand exactly what had happened. Finally Lynn’s mother had calmed down enough to say that two detectives from the Jacksonville Sheriff’s Office had visited the house. That made her even more nervous until her mother explained that it had to do with her brother Josh’s death.
Lynn said, “Did they give you any other reason for the visit?”
“No. Just follow-up on Josh. Why, are you worried they had a hidden reason?”
Lynn knew her mother’s concerns about the police and her own were two entirely separate things. Then Lynn said, “So they have no new leads on the incident? I mean, no new information.”
“No. Why? Do you think it was something besides alcohol poisoning?”
Lynn sure as hell did think it was something besides an accidental alcohol poisoning, but she couldn’t say anything to her mother. She couldn’t risk throwing her back into the emotional abyss that had almost destroyed both her and Lynn’s dad.
Lynn’s mother said, “They did ask a few questions about the Tau Upsilon fraternity.”
This time Lynn felt like the phone had literally shocked her. She tried to regain her composure but realized whatever she was going to do she had to do it fast. She still had time to finish her mission and return to a normal life.
Ed Wiley looked like the typical DEA supervisor, dressed in jeans and an untucked, button-down, long-sleeved shirt. He was about Stallings’s age but had more of a weathered appearance to him. Stallings guessed the guy had spent some time down on the Mexican border and the sun had taken its toll. He had a lot more gray in his short cropped hair than Stallings.
The DEA always worried more about being effective and less about being formal and official than many of the other federal agencies. The agents tended to work long hours and bonded closely with the local cops in every area. Every cop agreed that they enjoyed working with both the DEA and the ATF. They never really had anything particularly positive to say about the FBI. Stallings chalked it up to the fact that most of the DEA and ATF agents had been street cops at one time in their career. They understood how dangerous and difficult the job could be. They hadn’t lost touch with what was important about law enforcement. And certainly one of the things that wasn’t important to this DEA agent was how nicely he dressed when talking to the local cops. Stallings appreciated that kind of attitude.
Stallings sat directly across from the silent DEA agent. No one at the table spoke. Stallings had a slight smile because he knew he could win at this game.
Finally the DEA agent said, “Can I ask why you visited the residence in Hyde Park today?”
Stallings gave Patty a quick glance that told her not to answer. He intended to have a little fun in the IA offices for a change. He tapped his forehead and said, “We did a lot of interviews in the last week. Maybe if you told me what the house looked like I’d have an idea of where you were talking about.”
The DEA agent was not amused. But he didn’t have to cut his eyes over to Ronald Bell for assistance. This was a tough guy who dealt with tough people. He said, “Okay, then I guess I won’t be able to help you on your investigation with everything I know about the Hickams.” He scooted his chair back and stood.
Stallings raised his hands in surrender and smiled. “Okay, okay. You win.” He waited for the stern agent to take a seat again.
“We’re in the middle of a possible serial killer investigation and part of it involves looking at deaths previously ruled accidental. The Hickams’ son, Josh, died a couple of years ago from alcohol poisoning. We were doing follow-up on that.”
The DEA agent nodded slowly and said, “I remember when the son died. Tragic.”
Stallings could tell by the way the man said it, he didn’t mean it. One of the problems with working narcotics was you developed a battle-like attitude toward the dealers. There was no middle ground where some people were right and some people were wrong. It was just good guys and bad guys. Stallings could tell the DEA agent thought Mr. Hickam was a bad guy.
The DEA agent said, “The whole Hickam family are big-time marijuana smugglers. Bill Hickam and his brother are responsible for almost thirty percent of the marijuana that enters the United States along the south-east seaboard. We’ve had cameras up on the house for months as we put together a major RICO case. You can imagine our surprise when an unmarked JSO car rolled into the family’s driveway.”
Stallings said, “Was the son, Josh, ever involved in the family business?”
“It looks like the father wanted to keep that entire generation out of the family business. I know the boy was suspected of selling some pot on the side while he was at the University of North Florida. I don’t think he ever progressed further than that.”
Just that piece of information, the fact that Josh Hickam could’ve been a minor pot dealer, made Stallings look at the case from an entirely different perspective.
The DEA agent said, “Is there anything that we can help you with?”
Stallings shook his head while he still looked off in space and said, “I’m not sure, but it’s given me some ideas to look into.”
The young doctor looked down at his watch and realized he should’ve eaten dinner by now. That explained his headache. At least today he had a reason to feel lousy. When he’d accepted this job right out of the University of Southern California, he’d had no idea what a shit hole Daytona was. He’d pictured it like Southern California. Now he thought of it as more a waterside Western Appalachian community. Nothing but bikers and rednecks and no chance to study the diseases of the brain he had hoped to. Plenty of trauma from motorcycle accidents and fistfights and the occasional boating accident, but nothing any ordinary doctor couldn’t handle. And the fucking University of Florida. The graduates from UF medical school were like the stormtroopers from Star Wars. They were everywhere and they never shut up about the fucking Gators.
He paused in one room and sat down to write a few notes. Then he looked up at the patient who had been brought in almost a month earlier. When the doctor stood, he noticed the patient’s eyes move toward him. He stepped closer and said, “Can you hear me, Mr. Cole?”
The doctor noticed him nod his head ever so slightly. He’d been able to do some math the last few days. Yesterday, Mr. Cole had cleared his throat and tried to speak for a moment. This was both encouraging and scary. A series of infections had inhibited the accident victim’s recovery. He was still in terrible danger. But his brain function seemed to be improving. That’s what the young doctor felt positive about. At least he was making progress. All the doctor could hope for was to help the few patients he could while he was stuck in this backwater hellhole. In the past months he’d lamented several times that he had never been on spring break here. If he had, he never would’ve accepted this job. He should have known when they were so thrilled to get a USC grad that there wouldn’t be much here for him to do.
He looked down at the patient and said, “Mr. Cole, tomorrow you and I are going to actually speak.” He thought he noticed a slight smile on the man’s face. He hoped the conversation wouldn’t be the man’s last words.
FORTY-THREE
It was still early in the evening and Lynn had a good idea where this young man would be. These fraternity members had proved to be extremely predictable. She was too close to stop now, even if the cops looked like they had an idea of what was happening. She sat alone at a high-top table next to the bar, sipping on a glass of red wine and enjoying the relaxed feeling of knowing she’d be done soon. Lynn had her unused Buck knife in her purse. With all the work she’d put into learning how to use it, she couldn’t leave it unbloody. Even if it looked like the police were starting to put things together and maybe her efforts to conceal herself weren’t as good as she’d thought.