When I came into where Jackson was waiting for me, he cracked a weak smile and asked, “You here to tell me it’s all been a mistake? I can go home tonight?”
It was a joke, but it just felt sad. I sat down and looked at him squarely. “Look, Jackson, I wish I could. Going back in time a few weeks would be nice too. But we got to deal with what we got.”
He nodded and looked at his lap.
I said, “Now, I need you to answer some questions. Like they say, with nothing but the truth, and the whole truth. All the details.”
He shrugged.
I decided to spring it on him like a prosecutor would, just to see his response. “So what were you doing carrying a crowbar around that night?”
He looked up at me, confused. He truly did look confused.
I said, “Word is Detective Blount saw you walking by the marina with a crowbar in your hand.”
“That is bullshit.”
“Which part?”
“All of it! I don’t even own a goddamn crowbar. And I know Blount, or I seen him around, but I didn’t see him that night. I didn’t see no cars on that road, nobody.”
I sat back and sighed. “You got any idea why he might say that?”
“’Cause he’s a dick.”
“Fair point, but you’re going to have to do better than that. The world’s full of dicks, but most of them don’t go around committing perjury.”
“Do most of them tell a kid whose dad broke his arm that he deserved it?”
“Jesus. He said that to you?”
“He said all kinds of shit. He’s had it in for me since, I don’t know, ninth grade. He busted up a party I was at, and a bunch of us had weed.” He looked off at the corner, shaking his head. Whatever he was thinking about, I got the sense he wasn’t going to share it. He went back to joking. “Ruined a great party. Maybe he’s just jealous of anyone having fun.”
“Jackson, dang it, this is your life on the line here. It’s not a joke. I can’t help you if you don’t take this seriously and really think about what might be going on.”
“You don’t got to tell me this is serious,” he said. He was looking at me with barely concealed rage. “You ain’t the one who’s in jail and who got strip-searched yesterday.”
“Oh, goddammit,” I said. “I’m sorry. What the hell did they think they were going to find?”
“Drugs, they said. You know me: I’m pot dealer number one in Blount’s book. He arrested me and threatened me with hellfire after that party, but I was fourteen years old. I got off with community service. And I ain’t never been a dealer. I just smoke.”
I shook my head, looking at him, letting him know I knew this wasn’t right. I wanted to kick the shit out of whichever guards had strip-searched him—and whoever had set him up for it. But I had to set the small battles aside and focus everything on getting him out of here.
“Listen,” I said. “Were you smoking that night? Is that why you can’t remember too much detail or don’t want to tell me?”
“What the hell’s the point?” he said. “You wouldn’t believe me anyway.”
“I’m trying to help you,” I said. “You just let me know when you’re ready to give me the means to do it.”
Back home, I went over what I had. The only way I could even confirm whether the solicitor’s office was going to put Blount or anyone else on to testify that Jackson was near the murder scene was if I filed a notice of alibi. But unless Jackson gave me something better than him sleeping on the beach in a state of apparent invisibility, I couldn’t do that.
When Noah popped in looking for something to eat, I asked if he’d seen Jackson at all the day Karl was killed. He checked his phone, scrolled a bit, and showed me their texts: Park tonight? Jackson had said. Noah had answered, Dunno maybe.
Pretty useless. He shrugged an apology and went back out with a bowl of cereal.
His quick search for evidence on his phone reminded me that Terri had said something about social media, and that got me wondering how I could get her involved in this. What I needed was detective work to find anything that could throw doubt on Jackson’s involvement, and that was her skill set, not mine. Maybe the $3,500 the state was paying me could finance my hiring her. Hell, hiring her might free me up to try to make some real money.
I gave her a call. I thanked her for the tip on Blount’s statement and told her I’d realized I needed an investigator and the job was hers if she wanted it. “I’m playing catch-up as it is,” I said, “and researching this social media stuff is not my thing. I had other people doing that for me at the solicitor’s office.”
“Must be tough,” she said, “being David when you used to be Goliath.”
“Heck yes. I don’t know how those career public defenders do it. They’ve got fifty of these cases going at the same
