Jared looked her up and down, then looked out at the street. “Did you drive a car here?”
“I can get one.” Meg thought about the old pick-up truck sitting alongside the barn at home.
“That’d be great,” he said. “I gotta get out of here.”
She waited for him to say more. Then she asked the question that no stupid drug workshop had ever really answered for her. “What’s it like? Meth?”
He lifted his head, but his eyes were dark and unseeing. “It’s like one long roller coaster ride that you never want to end, feeling like you’re on top of the world and for the first time can see clearly.”
Meg wasn’t crazy about roller coasters, but the seeing clearly part, that sounded good. She knew she would like that.
“My mom won’t let me go anyplace. She won’t let me use her car. I’m like a prisoner. Get me out of here and I’ll tell you what I know.”
“How can your mom keep you a prisoner?”
Jared looked down at his feet. Meg thought maybe he was embarrassed, then he said, “She’s hidden all my shoes.”
C
laire walked into Arnold Hitchcock’s room in the Bluffland Assisted Living Apartments and found him, wearing a pair of overalls, sitting in the sun and reading the paper with a huge magnifying glass. He was a very large man, solid, not fat, with a large shock of white hair that looked like the mane on a horse.
“Mr. Hitchcock?” she asked.
“That’s me, all right.” He looked up and squinted. “Can’t see so good. They need to fix my cataracts but they’re not quite bad enough the doctor says.”
She stepped forward and put out her hand. “I’m Claire Watkins, a deputy sheriff here in Pepin County.”
When they shook hands, she could feel the calluses years of hard labor had left on his palms.
“Deputy sheriff. That can’t be good.”
“I’d just like to know if you can tell me where your son is.”
“I suppose you’re asking about James. He’s the one who’s always in trouble.”
“Yes, sir. Do they call him Hitch?”
“I guess so. Those druggies he hangs around with. I still call him James. I saw him a couple days ago.”
“Good. Do you know where I might find him?”
“Can’t really say. Since he’s become an addict, he moves around. He caught that terrible disease from me. Had a bad drinking problem when my kids were growing up. Been going to AA the last few years.”
“How do you get in touch with James?”
“I don’t. He stops by here out of the blue. Never know when he’ll show up. He usually wants something.”
“What did he want this time?”
“A check. He has his mail sent here.”
“Any idea where I might find him?”
“Just an idea.”
***
“You guys mind working late tonight? I know it’s already the end of your shifts, but I’d like to stay on this,” Claire said. As chief investigator, it was just a gesture that she even asked them whether they minded. She was in charge.
Neither Amy nor Bill showed a lot of enthusiasm for the suggestion. They sat on either side of her, and both mumbled a disgruntled
no, they didn’t mind and yes, they would work late.
They seemed to be trying awfully hard to ignore each other.
Claire was still wondering what was going on between the two of them. When she tried to ask Amy before, she had been evasive. When she got a chance, she’d ask her again. Either they really disliked each other or they were in love and trying to hide it. Maybe both.
Could make life interesting around the sheriff’s office—fraternizing between deputies. Since Amy was only the second woman deputy in the department, there hadn’t been much chance of a romance happening before.
The three of them were sitting around the conference table with their notes spread out. End of the day fatigue had set in. Each of them had a hand wrapped around a coffee cup. A half-pound Hershey bar lay on the table, cracked into segments, a few of which were missing.
Claire took a piece of chocolate and said, “Amy, why don’t you start? Tell us what you got from Arlene and Jared.”
“Not a lot that I hadn’t guessed. Jared looks like shit, pardon my French. He’s got all the signs of bad withdrawal from methamphetamine, very, very sleepy. His mom seems to know what’s going on. He claims he’s trying to quit. I threatened testing him for meth and he coughed up his dealer’s name—Hitch. That’s all he knew. This Hitch guy hung out at Letty’s. I think if we find him we could at least get him for negligence in Letty’s death. I’m sure he was behind the brew that blew up.”
Bill nodded his head. “That’s the name I got too. Nobody seems to know his real name, but they told me that a guy named Hitch was dealing meth in the area.”
“Has he been on your radar?”
“No, I’ve been watching a dealer out of Eau Claire, who’s been bringing stuff into the county. Hitch’s not one of the big guys, he’s not bringing stuff in from Mexico, which is where most of it is coming from now, but he’s making it here. Just cooking up ounces, not pounds. No one I talked to seemed to
know where he is right now. I don’t think they were holding out on me.”
Claire felt a little smug as she told them what she had found out. “I talked to Hitch’s father.”
Bill blurted out. “How’d you find out who his father is?”
“I talked to his brother.”
Amy leaned forward. “What’d you get?”
“No one speaks too highly of him, except his dad. His brother has disowned him, claims he’s responsible for his mother’s death. Got her hooked on the stuff.”
“No way,” Amy said.
“The father says Hitch came over, looking for his social security check, which goes to his father’s address.”
“That crud is living off of social security. He should be shot just for that,” Bill slammed the table with his hand.
“He told his dad that he was staying at a house outside of Fort St. Antoine. Down by the railroad tracks. Small, kinda cute. Gingerbread, painted light blue. You know the one?”
“That’s a darling house. And I did hear it’s rented out. Musta been to the wrong kind of people.” Amy said.
Bill stood up. “I say we go visit him.”
Claire grabbed his arm. “I say we sit down. So you sure you don’t mind working a little late tonight?”
This time Amy and Bill were much more enthusiastic about working late.
“We want to do this absolutely right, by the book. We want this guy and we don’t want to slip up in any way. Let’s start writing up the search warrant. If we can catch Judge Habersham, we can grab Hitch tonight.”
***
Roger Jorgenson sat on his tractor on the edge of a corn field. He didn’t seem to be able to think anymore. Or rather, he could only think about
one
thing. What had happened to his daughter?
He had just finished cutting the old corn stalks for fodder. He needed to do something concrete about finding out the truth about Krista’s death.
He climbed down off the tractor without even brushing off his clothes, which were covered with chaff that flew off stalks, and got into his truck. He wouldn’t tell Emily where he was going. It would just worry her.
Since Krista’s death, Emily hardly seemed able to drag herself through the day. The doctor had prescribed some antidepressants. They did calm her down, but they also made her vague and very quiet. He hadn’t realized how much he had counted on her for conversation. He knew he could be overbearing sometimes, but since Krista had died, it seemed like the stuffing had gone out of Emily. He even had to make dinner the other night.
He would drive to town and ask the sheriff what they were finding out about his daughter’s death. He had a right to know. The squeaky wheel got the oil and he wanted to make sure they were staying on the case.
After the funeral, a few people had come forward and told him stories about someone they knew doing methamphetamines, but no one would tell him anything that seemed connected to Krista. Maybe the police knew more. Maybe they even knew who had given her the drugs.
Roger knew the road into town so well he could have driven it blindfolded. Only five miles and he was on Main Street. He drove up the hill to the county building and parked by the front door.
He had been to the sheriff’s department once before when some kids smashed his mailbox with a baseball bat. A group of them would drive around and take turns hitting mailboxes. Lots of fun.
The sheriff had told him there was a rash of such incidents going around and that it was mighty hard to catch the kids who did it. Roger put up a new mailbox, just like the old metal one, but he put a big cement block in it and left it there for a couple months so if the kids tried it again, they would get a real surprise. It had never happened after that. He was kinda sorry.
After parking his car, he pushed open the doors and walked down a long hallway that led to the front counter. A woman clerk came up and asked him what he wanted. Roger didn’t know her.
“I’d like to speak to the sheriff,” he explained.
“The sheriff is gone for the day.”
“Then can I talk to anyone who’s working on the Krista Jorgenson case?”
She called to a young man who was walking out of the conference room. The man looked familiar to Roger. “Bill? Can you come up here?”
The deputy walked up and shook hands with Roger. “So sorry to hear about your daughter, sir. We’re working hard on it. Hope to have something real soon.”
Now Roger remembered. Bill had come out to the farm one year when he was a teenager and helped with the haying. Roger had been amazed at how hard he worked for a kid. When they were done, Roger gave him an extra five bucks.
“Hey, Bill. Thanks. This is just driving me crazy. Have you learned anything about what had happened? I was hoping after the funeral you might get some information.”
“Sir, we’ve got some good leads. We’re following them up right now and we’ll let you know as soon as we can. Don’t worry. We’re going to get this guy.”
“You know who he is?”
“We have a pretty good idea.”
“Who?”
Bill glanced down, then said, “Let me walk you outside.”
When they got outside, Roger turned to Bill and said, “Goddamnit, son. I’m her father.”
“I understand.” Bill looked around the parking lot. They were the only two people standing in the cold wind. “We’ll have some news for you real soon. We got a lead on a meth house over to Fort St. Antoine, a rental. We’ll let you know as soon as we know anything.”
“In Fort St. Antoine?” Roger had a feeling he knew the house. There were only about a hundred houses in Fort St. Antoine and most of them had been in the same family for years. He knew one had been rented out recently.
“Yeah, that’s it. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
Roger liked Bill and was sure he was a good deputy, but Roger wasn’t going to wait for his call.
***
When Meg walked into the house, Rich was sitting at the kitchen counter, reading the paper. Unlike her mother, he didn’t
ask her where she’d been. He didn’t wonder why she was late. He didn’t remind her that she was grounded.
Rich just looked up and smiled. He folded down the paper and asked, “How’d your day go?”
Meg didn’t tell him that she had just walked all the way from Jared’s house. She dropped her backpack off her shoulders and sat in a chair at the table and said, “Not bad.”
“I’m glad to hear that. Your mom called. She’s going to be late tonight and said we shouldn’t wait for her for dinner. You want to go get a burger at the Fort? Play a little pool?”
“Naw. I got homework to do. I’ll just make myself a sandwich. You go ahead though.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, I’ll be fine.” Rich liked to go down to the Fort and shoot pool and drink a beer or two. “Okay. I won’t be gone long.” “When is Mom coming home?” “She wasn’t sure.”
Better and better. Meg couldn’t believe her luck. Fifteen minutes later, Rich left, driving off in the old Honda Civic.
Meg took the keys to the truck which were hanging on a hook by the back door and held them in her hand.
Did she really want to do this? She needed to get Jared out of his house—where she could really grill him about what happened the night that Krista died. She understood that he didn’t feel comfortable talking about it with his mother downstairs doing the laundry.
Even if her mom came home before Meg made it back, she would have a super good excuse. If she could tell her mother the name of the drug guy that had given Krista the meth, Meg didn’t even care if she was grounded for a year. It would be worth it.
Maybe then her life would start to go back to what it had once been. Maybe she could talk to Curt again without feeling this huge lump of guilt rising up in her throat to choke her.
She called Jared’s number before she left. His mother answered. “Hi, Mrs. Ecklund. This is Meg Watkins again. I forgot to tell Jared an important thing about that homework. It won’t take a second. Could I talk to him?”
Jared came on the phone. “What?”
“I got the truck. I’ll be there in about ten minutes. Why don’t you try to get outside and meet me by the trees at the end of your driveway.”
“Okay. I can do that. Thanks.”
“Good. I’ll see you.”
The old Ford pickup was parked in the shadow of the barn. It still had a load of hay in the back that Rich used for bedding for the pheasants. Meg climbed into the truck. She had learned how to drive this truck on field roads, she should be able to manage it on the paved county roads.
When she turned the key in the starter, the engine chugged and whined. No one had driven the truck in a while. She tried it again, pumped the gas pedal a couple times, careful not to flood it. The engine caught in a roar.
W
hen Roger got home, he found Emily stretched out on the couch with the newspaper on her lap. At first he thought she was sleeping. Then he saw she had a pencil in her hand. She was doing one of those Japanese number games. She said they calmed her down. Said she couldn’t think of anything else when she was doing them. Sushi was the word that first came to his mind, but that wasn’t right. Sudoku.