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

little bit more depth as to who he was—and maybe still is.”

Jenkins furrowed his brow. “Why would I want to do that?”

“No reason other than maybe you’re interested in helping let others know the truth about who Drake really is and what kind of man he was when you knew him.”

Jenkins chuckled. “We weren’t men when I knew him. We were just kids … crazy stupid kids.”

“Even the night that he supposedly killed Susannah Sloan?”

Jenkins scowled. “I’m not sure what you’re trying to get at, Mr. …”

“Murphy. Cal Murphy.”

“Mr. Murphy. All I know I know is that Isaiah Drake didn’t kill the sheriff’s daughter that night. No way. He loved that girl too much.”

“Enough that he might not want anyone else to have her if he couldn’t?” Cal asked.

Jenkins shook his head. “Not a chance. He actually cherished her. He even confessed to me the day before she died that he’d never slept with her. Can you believe that? A man in this day and age with a woman who looks that good and they never slept together? Unreal.”

“And you believed him?”

Jenkins sighed. “What kind of idiot brags about that these days? Of course I believed him. Drake was a gentleman through and through.”

“So, who else could’ve done this?” Cal asked. “Who else had the motive and desire? What is this town collectively hiding?”

“Nobody’s hidin’ nothin’,” Jenkins said. “Not even Sheriff Sloan.”

“Wait. What do you mean by that?” Cal asked.

“How long you been here, Mr. Murphy? A week?”

“Sounds about right.”

“You’ve been here a week, and nobody has brought up how corrupt the sheriff is?”

Cal shook his head. “That’s not where I focused my concern.”

“Well, you should have because Sheriff Sloan is about as crooked as they come. He’s so corrupt that he doesn’t even try to cover it up any more.”

“Cover what up?” Cal asked.

“His moonshine ring, led by none other than Jacob Boone.”

Cal eyed Jenkins suspiciously. “Sheriff Sloan? Running moonshine?”

Jenkins waved his hands. “No, no. Not like that. He just ensures that Jacob Boone doesn’t have any problems running it. He protects him. You know—you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours.”

Cal shot a glance at Kelly, who’d remained silent throughout the exchange.

“And everybody knows about this?” he asked.

Jenkins shrugged. “It’s pretty common knowledge. At least, that’s what I hear.”

“How long has this been going on?” Cal asked.

“I first heard about it around the time Susannah Sloan was murdered.”

“Before or after?” Cal asked.

“Before. Maybe a month or two before. It was all the gossip in Pickett.”

“Why?”

“Because if the sheriff was doing something illegal, who was going to prosecute him? His daughter? Nah, I don’t think so. It seemed fishy from the first time I heard it.”

“And this moonshine ring is generally regarded as fact?”

“Of course. It’s Pickett, man. Anything goes here. In fact, you can just about get away with anything here if you know the right people.”

“Meaning Sheriff Sloan?”

Jenkins glanced around before he nodded.

“One more question for you, if that’s all right,” Cal said.

“Go ahead.”

“I heard you were with Drake at The Pirate’s Den the night of Susannah Sloan’s murder. Is that right?”

Jenkins nodded.

“What do you remember about that night then?”

Jenkins sighed and looked skyward, shaking his head.

“I try not to think about it, but I have a pretty clear memory. I wasn’t drinking like everybody else. I was supposed to be the designated driver, if anybody needed one.”

“Did they?” Cal asked.

“Pretty much everybody did, but I wasn’t very good at it.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because several of the guys left in the middle of our time there before I could stop them.”

“What happened?”

“Well, Drake, Hayward, Tripp Sloan, and myself were all having a good time. I remember seeing Jacob Boone there with his crew, too. It was fun, reliving our glory days playing for Pickett County. But something happened that set Drake off. He rushed toward the door. Hayward followed him.”

“Did you follow them?”

“Not immediately,” Jenkins said with a sly grin. “I had two fly girls I was hittin’ on and hardly noticed they had left until it was too late. I ran out into the parking lot, but they were long gone.”

“Anyone else leave around then, too?”

“I saw Jacob Boone tearing out of the parking lot when I got outside. And I never found out why either. It was strange.”

“Strange how?”

“Strange in that everyone eventually came back and didn’t want to talk about what just happened even though we all asked them about it. I guess I know why now.”

“Do you remember when everybody left?”

“That was a long time ago, but I want to say it wasn’t long after 9:00 p.m. I can’t remember exactly when.”

Cal shot Kelly a look.

“Thanks, Harold,” Cal said. “You’ve been most helpful.”

CHAPTER 34

AFTER LUNCH, CAL AND KELLY DROVE out to Sorghum Lake on the outskirts of the Pickett city limits. It was the local’s playground, full of modified boats and pontoon parties. Zipping around the center of the water were the showoffs along with a few people who’d imbibed too much. Cal had no problem distinguishing between the two groups of exhibitionists.

Cal stopped and asked a group of sunbathers if they knew where he might be able to find Jacob Boone. One of the young women laughed and pointed toward the center of the lake.

“If you want to talk with him, better hurry up before he breaks his neck out there,” she said.

Cal peered across the lake at a man skiing barefoot. He lasted about six seconds before tumbling across the water and then dipping beneath the surface. When his head re-emerged, he let out a loud yell and threw his fist in the air.

“Is that Jacob Boone out in the center of the lake?” Cal asked, pointing at the man.

“The one and only,” she said.

Cal and Kelly walked along the shoreline in an attempt to see where the boat that had since collected Boone out of the water was headed.

“It looks like it’s going to that dock over there,” Kelly said.

They hustled along the shore