“How about Annie’s Motel? Does he own that?”
“No. Owner wouldn’t sell. Barely makes ends meet. Doubt Roger was really all that interested in buying it.”
She scanned the other customers. “People here are curious.”
“About what specifically?”
“About you. About what’s happened.”
“Understandable. Word travels fast?”
“It’s like an old-fashioned viral. Mouth to ear.”
“Media inquiries yet?”
“It finally hit. Messages waiting for me on my phone. Newspaper. A radio station. Got an email from a TV station over in Parkersburg. Expect to get one from Charleston too. Something bad happens they all want to jump on it for about fifteen minutes.”
“Executive-lag them all for now.”
“I’ll hold them off as long as I can, but the last word’s not up to me.”
“Your boss?”
“Sheriff Pat Lindemann. Good guy. But he’s not used to media inquiries.”
“I can help with that.”
“You handle lots of press relations, do you?”
“No. But the Army has folks that do. And they’re good at it.”
“I’ll let the sheriff know.”
“I’m assuming everyone has heard about the second house?”
“You probably assume correctly.”
They had found ID in the house. The dead man was Eric Treadwell, forty-three years old. The lady was Molly Bitner, thirty-nine.
“So the imposter used Treadwell’s name when talking to my guy. That was still a big risk. If Lou had asked for ID, or wanted to get in the house. Or what if one of my guys knew Treadwell? Drake is not that big a place.”
“You’re right. It was a big risk. A calculated one. But it worked out in their favor. And guys willing to take those kinds of risks and play them out successfully make for tough opponents.” What Puller was actually thinking was that the imposter had some special training. Maybe military. And that would make things very awkward very fast. He wondered if the Army had had an inkling of that, and whether that was the reason he’d been sent out here solo.
The waitress, a short, crusty type with gray hair, dark eye circles, and a raspy voice, came to take their order.
Puller had decided on breakfast: three eggs over light, bacon, grits, hash browns, toast, and coffee. Cole had a Cobb salad with oil and vinegar dressing and an iced tea. When Puller moved to hand back the menu, his jacket opened and his M11 was revealed. The waitress’s eyes flickered and then she gripped the offered menus and walked off. Puller noted this and doubted it was the first time the lady had seen a gun.
“Breakfast?” asked Cole.
“Didn’t have one yet today. Figured I’d get it in before I go to sleep.”
“So did you check in with your boss?”
“I did.”
“Is he happy with the progress?”
“He didn’t say. And there wasn’t much progress, frankly. Just lots of questions.”
Her iced tea and his coffee came.
Cole took a sip of hers. “Do you really think those people were interrogated before they were killed?”
“It’s somewhere between a guess and a deduction.”
“Meth lab in the basement?”
“I’d like to keep that one under wraps.”
“We’re doing our best. I put a seal on everything with my guys.” She hesitated, looked away.
Puller read her mind. “But this is a small town and sometimes things slip?”
She nodded. “What would they have been interrogating them about?”
“Let’s say the folks who killed Treadwell and Bitner were working with them in the drug business. One or more of the Reynoldses sees some suspicious activity. They’re caught doing that. The druggies want to find out how much they’ve seen, who else they might have told.”
“And put it on a video for someone else to see? Why, if this is local?”
“May not be local or entirely local. Mexican drug cartels have set up shop all over the country. Metro and rural areas. Those guys don’t play around. They want to see everything. And they have first-rate equipment, including communications gear. And it could have been a live feed.”
“But you said it was just a simple meth lab, with not much product coming out.”
“That may have been a sideline for Treadwell and Bitner. They might have been working for a distribution ring in another capacity. You have drug problems here?”
“What town doesn’t?”
“More than most?”
“I guess we have more than our share,” admitted Cole. “But a lot of it is prescription drugs. So go on with your theory. Why kill Bitner and Treadwell?”
“Maybe they drew the line at murder and they had to be killed too, to keep them silent.”
“I don’t know. I guess that works,” Cole said.
“It only works with what we know so far. That can change. There weren’t wedding bands on either of their fingers.”
“From what I was able to find out they were just living together.”
“How long?”
“About three years.”
“Planning on tying the knot?”
“No, according to what I found out, they were just doing it for expenses.”
He looked at her curiously. “What?”
“Makes the paychecks stretch further if you have just one mortgage or rent payment. Common enough practice around here. People have to survive.”
“Okay. What else do you know about them?”
“Did a quick and dirty while you were playing biohazard boy. I didn’t know them personally, but it’s a small town. He went to Virginia Tech. He started up a business in Virginia that failed. Went through a series of jobs pretty quickly. He’d been a machinist here for years, but got laid off a while back. He’s been working at a chemical supply store on the western edge of town for about a year.”
“Chemicals? So he’d know his way around the equipment for a meth lab. And he might also be sticking his hand into the inventory if he is in the drug business. Any scuttlebutt that he was involved with drugs?”
“Not that I could find out. But that basically means he was never charged with any drug-related crimes. He was clean on our books.”
“Which means he might’ve been smart enough to not get caught. Or his meth business was a recent start-up. Like you said, hard times, trying to stretch the paycheck. And Bitner?”
“She worked in an office at the local Trent Mining and Exploration operation.”
Puller studied her. “So our mining mogul pops up again.”
“Yeah, I guess so,” Cole said slowly, not meeting his gaze.
“That a problem?” he asked.
She eyed him coolly. “The way you say it you must think there is.”
“This Trent guy obviously has a lot of local pull.”
“No problems there, Puller, trust me.”
“Good. What did she do in the office?”
“Clerical and some related stuff, as far as I know. We’ll check it out more thoroughly.”
“So they both worked and had a meth lab on the side and lived together to save money and they still lived in a ratty house? Didn’t think the cost of living was that high around here.”
“Yeah, well, neither are the wages.”
Their food came and, ravenous, they plunged into their meals. Puller had two more cups of coffee.
“How are you going to be able to sleep?” asked Cole as he lifted the third cup to his mouth.
“My physiology is a little backwards. The more caffeine I consume the better I sleep.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Actually, the Army just teaches you to sleep when you need it. I’ll need it tonight, so I’ll sleep just fine.”
“Well, I know I can use it too. Only got a couple hours sack time.” She eyed him with a mock angry expression. “Thanks to you, Romeo.”
“Won’t happen again.”
“Famous last words.”
“Are the bodies being transported?”
“Already there.”
“You said Deputy Wellman was married?”
She nodded. “Sheriff Lindemann has been to see Larry’s wife. I’ll go tomorrow. I don’t know Angie that well, but she’ll need as much support as possible. I guess she’s a wreck. I would be.”
“She have family in the area?”