Dead to Rights by Jack Patterson (fiction book recommendations .txt) 📕

“Among other things.”

“Did you get a peek inside?”

“Oh, yeah, and I’ve got a few pictures. Check these out.” Kelly scrolled through several photos on her camera’s display screen for Cal. “As you can see, it’s a tight space.”

“These will go great with the story, especially when we compare them side-by-side with the original images used during the trial. I really can’t believe nobody ever moved into that house again.”

Kelly shot him a look. “Would you want to live in a house where a crazy murder occurred? Especially if you lived in a small town? All the neighbors would want to talk about when they came over to visit was where was she killed, and is there still any blood left over. It’d never stop. Would you want to live with that?”

“Good point.”

Cal leaned closer to the screen as Kelly continued to sift through some of the pictures she’d taken. However, she stopped abruptly and looked up when the front door banged shut.

Cal looked at Kelly and then in the direction of her gaze.

“Good afternoon, Jacob,” Burt said as he wiped the counter. “I saved you a seat here at the bar.”

The man glared at Burt but continued walking toward Cal and Kelly’s table.

Louise emerged from the kitchen, carrying a couple of plates. She was headed for Cal and Kelly’s table but was halted by the man.

“I’ll take those for you,” he growled, snatching the tray away from Louise.

“What are you doing?” she said, taken aback by his demeanor.

He ignored her and continued his march toward Cal and Kelly.

Once he reached their table, he dropped the tray, sending some of the fries scattering across the table. “Your order’s up . . . and so’s your time in Pickett,” he said. “It’s high time you skedaddle from here and crawl back under whatever rock you came from. Do I make myself clear?”

Cal remained composed, unintimidated by the man’s threats. “You must be Jacob Boone,” Cal said as he offered his hand. “I’ve heard so much about you and have been wanting to meet you ever since you ran us off the road.”

Boone cocked his head to one side and eyed Cal. “I’m afraid you have me confused with someone else.”

Cal shook his head. “As a matter of fact, I’m not. I even had your plates run at the sheriff’s office. Not that they needed to run your plates. Apparently, you’ve got quite the reputation for running people out of town . . . and off the road.”

“If I’d run you off the road, you wouldn’t be sitting here right now.”

“Well, whatever the case may be, we’re not interested in your threats or your little mind games. We have a job to do—and we’re not leaving until we’re finished. Do I make myself clear?”

Boone grabbed Cal’s glass of sweet tea and drained it before slamming it back down on the table. Putting his knuckles down on the table, Boone leaned forward and loomed over Cal.

“It’s best you leave well enough alone. There won’t be another warning,” Boone bellowed.

Cal didn’t flinch as Boone walked away.

“Louise,” Cal called, “I’m gonna need a new glass of sweet tea.”

CHAPTER 15

CAL AND KELLY ENTERED the Pickett County Sheriff’s Office with a sense of purpose. While Cal liked small town life, he detested the corruption and power trips that often accompanied the people holding the most influential positions. His early assessment of the Susannah Sloan murder investigation was that it was amateurish, refusing to delve into the multiple possibilities. For that reason alone, Cal thought Drake deserved another trial. Drake certainly appeared guilty, but the sheriff’s office could have chased down more potential killers to eliminate all doubt. As it stood, the sheriff’s ham-fisted approach satisfied the burden of proof for the jury of Drake’s peers in Pickett County, and Cal found that difficult to fathom.

“Betty,” Cal said, “I need to talk with Sheriff Sloan.”

Studying a clipboard in front of her, Betty didn’t move. “He’s not available, Mr. Murphy,” she said. “He’s in a meeting until—”

“I’ll handle this,” Sloan snapped as he entered the reception area, interrupting Betty’s rehearsed spiel. He eyed Cal. “What do you two want again?”

“I want to talk with you about this murder investigation, maybe get a few questions answered,” Cal said.

“Haven’t we already been over this? This case was solved more than a decade ago. We don’t need to rehash it when a group of Isaiah Drake’s peers heard all the evidence and found him guilty. And I certainly don’t care for you to waltz into my town and start slinging around accusations, soiling my daughter’s good name. You people are sick.”

“Please, Sheriff Sloan,” Kelly began. “We’re not here to stir up trouble for you. But we do care about a man who could possibly be innocent but will be dead very soon if we don’t do something about it. Now, as a man who cares about justice, I think you can understand and relate to that, right?”

Sloan dug into his left shirt pocket and fished out a toothpick before jamming it into his mouth. He exhaled and looked her in the eye.

“I know y’all mean well and are tryin’ real hard, but I’m not interested in bein’ part of your little witch hunt. We got the right man and he’s behind bars, scheduled to be executed soon. And the sooner it happens, the easier it’ll be for this community to move on. We’re tired of the endless stream of reporters entering our town and tryin’ to find answers that have already been rehashed dozens of times. If you think you’re the first reporters to visit Pickett and put forth some new theories about who murdered Susannah, you’re sorely mistaken. We’ve heard them all countless times, and we’re tired of ‘em.”

Cal put his hands up. “Sheriff, Sheriff. Nobody here is trying to cast you in a poor light. Quite frankly, if it was my daughter, I don’t know if I could do