of his Dickies plaid shirt, and dirty jeans led her to this conclusion. When he said, “What’s the po-po want?” before she even showed ID, she added ex-con to her assessment.
Patty stayed professional and took the time to show her credentials, badge first. “I’m trying to find one of your residents.”
“Jason Ferrell?”
“How’d you know?”
“'Cause some other ol’ boys were by here yesterday and a couple of really big colored boys were looking for him the day before.”
“Really?”
“Do I look like I wanna waste time jawing with a cop when Jerry Springer is on and I got the couch just the way I like it?”
“Do I look like I want to smell your stale beer breath?”
The guy smiled. “I like cute, feisty cops.”
“Then we better get this over with because the next cop you’ll see isn’t nearly as friendly. What do you know about Ferrell?”
“Just a nerdy college boy. He pays on time and never has no problems. Smells funny in there once in a while, but he said it was just some project he was working on. The two that was just looking for him weren’t from around here. They were from one of the western counties, I could tell.”
“How could you tell?”
“John Deere caps, work boots. These were country boys. They wanted in his apartment, but I wouldn’t let ‘em. Even with the fifty bucks they offered.”
“Got a key?”
“Ain’t supposed to use it unless I think it’s an emergency.”
She looked at him. “What’d you do time for?”
He was about to ask how she knew, but it was obvious. “Beat up my ex-wife pretty good.”
“How long you do?”
“Two years.”
“And what else?”
“Five years federal time for off-loading coke back in the eighties.”
“So you don’t think me asking nice is enough to borrow the key?”
“Like I said, it has to be an emergency.”
“Is a broken arm an emergency?”
“Not really. What makes you think Ferrell is in there with a broken arm?”
“Not his, yours.”
Allie Marsh woke up to the sun slicing through the narrow opening of the motel drapes. She turned on her side and found her little Timex Ironman runner’s watch. Ten-fifteen. That was something new for her. At home, if she slept past eight she had her mom yelling for her to get moving. This trip was turning into an adventure.
She heard Susan say, “Hey, Allie.”
They were the only two in the room for the night. When Susan started feeling ill she asked Allie to come back to the room with her. What kind of friend would’ve let her leave alone? The other girls said they had rides and kept dancing with the cute young men from Holland. Allie was a little sorry to leave the guy she’d seen two nights in a row, but she’d see him again. She had pretended to take the little speckled pill he gave her, but had stuffed it into her jeans pocket instead. The slight headache from the rumrunner was a small price for her to pay for partying until midnight.
Allie stretched in bed, then leaned up and stood, pulling her long T-shirt down as she did. She opened the curtains slowly, letting the sunshine fill the room. This was the first day since they had arrived that the clouds had broken. In the other queen bed Susan still lay under the covers. Allie knew she was sensitive about her shape-wide hips and pretty but tiny boobs. Her face had a cute quality like a chipmunk’s, but so far the boys they’d met preferred the lithe bodies of Cici and Karen to a cute smile and wide hips.
Susan said, “I’m sorry I ruined your fun last night.”
Allie smiled. “Sweetie, you didn’t ruin anything. I’m out of Mississippi for a few days, and not one club has caught my fake ID. I’m having a wonderful time.” She crossed the room and sat at the edge of Susan’s bed. “Are you feeling okay today?”
“Yeah, but I want to get wild too. Cici and Karen are still with their dates, and I don’t want to be bored.”
Allie thought hard how she might be able to cheer her friend up. Then she remembered the pill. Without a word she popped up and found her jeans draped over a chair. She dug into her front pocket and found the small, funny-looking pill. She held it up. “We could try splitting this and see what happens.”
Susan’s smile gave her the answer.
Four
John Stallings spoke to three neighbors, but no one had seen Ferrell. No one really knew him. He had a few people over to his apartment now and then. He left for work most days or was just dead silent during the day. Not much to go on.
Patty came through the stairwell door dangling a key from a short chain.
“Ferrell’s?”
“Yep.”
“How’d you manage that?”
“I did my John Stallings impersonation, and the guy saw the light.” She stepped to the door and unlocked it instantly. No inside chain caught, so his concern that the guy was dead inside lessened.
Stallings waited before entering and murmured his affirmation. “Is this the day that changes my life?” It was a little trick he’d been taught in the academy to make sure he never took any assignment too lightly and stayed sharp. It had probably saved him professionally a couple of times, but he’d recently learned it didn’t do shit for his personal life.
The entrance was a short hallway where they both paused. Stallings noticed the open curtains and sun filling the room. No specific smell attacked his nose the way a body decomposing would have. He called out, “Mr. Ferrell? Jason Ferrell? Hello, anyone here? This is John Stallings from the Jacksonville Sheriff’s Office.” He waited, listening and watching for any movement beyond the hallway.
They split up and made sure the two-bedroom condo was actually empty. Then they settled down to see what they could find.
Patty pointed to a framed diploma. “Northwestern, not bad.”
There was a framed photograph of Ferrell and a cute, young woman with long dark hair hanging on the wall next to the diploma. At the bottom of the photograph a small caption read, Jason and Alyssa forever.
Stallings said, “No messages on his machine.” He rummaged through some kitchen drawers until he found the one drawer every home has. Crammed with odd pieces of paper and pens, loose change, and errant business cards, it was a chaos pit of possible leads. He pulled it out and dumped it on the counter. Patty joined him to start going through the pile of crap.
They found a few phone numbers that Patty copied down on a sheet from her notepad, two tangled sets of stereo earbuds, a business card from a car detailing place, Jason Ferrell’s own business card that read Chemical Engineer, Commercial Waste Inc, and a hard, clear plastic bottle that held an ounce of light yellow fluid.
Patty held it up to the light and shook it gently.
“What’s it look like to you?”
Patty kept staring up into it and said, “I thought it was clean urine until I shook it. It’s thick like an oil.”
“Let’s check the rest of the house.” He didn’t say anything when Patty stuffed the bottle into the front pocket of her jeans. She was so curious that she couldn’t let something so simple go unanswered. He knew she’d talk some chemist at the SO into analyzing it. Before he’d finished checking the drawers in Ferrell’s bedroom his cell
