“But what if I don’t?”
31
AND WHAT IF I’D MISSED SOMETHING?
Instead of furthering my frustration with more computerized exercise, I went to the cooler, pulled out the privy skull and hand bones, and did a full reanalysis.
The remains still whistled the same tune: thirty-something white boy.
But it wasn’t Brian Aiker.
Back to the laptop.
The privy skull and hand bones turned up at the Foote farm. Bear bones and macaw feathers turned up at the Foote farm. Coincidence?
The Lancaster skeleton turned up sans head and hands. Coincidence?
The Lancaster skeleton was found three years ago. Brian Aiker vanished five years ago. Coincidence?
Brian Aiker and Charlotte Grant Cobb disappeared around the same time. Coincidence?
Bear bones and feathers from endangered bird species. Missing FWS agents. Coincidence?
Think outside the box, Brennan.
I was prying off the lid when the phone rang.
“Yo.” Slidell.
“What’s up?”
“Pounder’s singing like a canary on crack.”
“I’m listening.”
“Tyree was serving coke for Dorton.”
“There’s a surprise.”
“Dorton got the blow from a South American connection, Harvey Pearce made pickups somewhere down east near Manteo, hauled the stuff up to Charlotte from the coast. From there it went to points north and west.”
“Tyree paid Pounder to use Mama Foote’s farm as a relay point,” I guessed.
“Bingo.”
“And Dorton’s cousin J.J. made his living in the family business.”
“Here’s the part you’re really going to like. Seems Pearce got talked into buying a bird from one of the South Americans some time back, sold the thing for a nice profit. Dorton got wind of it. Ever the entrepreneur, Mr. Strip Club and Drug Lord decided to branch out.”
“Let me guess. Ricky Don took advantage of little J.J.’s hunting skills.”
“Pearce also supplied product from the Low Country.”
Product. Rare and special animals being slaughtered for profit. What noble creatures we hominids are.
“Dorton hooked himself up with an Asian connection, became the king of gall.”
“Who?” I asked.
“Pounder didn’t have a name. Said he thought the mutt was Korean. Had some kind of inside line.”
“Inside line on what?”
“Dick-brain wasn’t sure. Don’t worry. We’ll nail the guy’s ass.”
“What’s Tyree saying?”
“I want a lawyer.”
“How does Tyree explain the calls between his cell phone and J. J. Wyatt’s?”
“Little ragnose says things ain’t always what they seem. I’m paraphrasing.”
I was almost afraid to ask the next question.
“What about Tamela Banks and her family?”
“Tyree claims to know zip.”
“What about the baby?”
“DOA.”
Slidell’s callousness curled the fingers of my free hand into a ball.
“We’re talking about a dead newborn, Detective.”
“Excuse me.” Singsong. “I missed my charm school class this week.”
