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

“And if you ever need anything, please call me at the paper,” Cal said. “I’ll be honored to help you in any way that I can.”

Drake shook Cal’s and Kelly’s hands before exiting the office.

Cal turned and looked at Tillman.

“Why’d you do that?” Cal asked.

“He’d already been through enough, not to mention that we just might learn that Sheriff Sloan was the one who deserved to be in jail all those years, not Isaiah Drake,” Tillman said.

“You’re gonna make a great sheriff,” Cal said.

“Thanks. And if you ever need anything, please call me,” Tillman said as he handed his business card to Cal. It already had the word Sheriff printed beneath his name instead of Deputy.

“Wow,” Cal said as he studied the card. “You work fast.”

Tillman grinned. “I dream big, my friend.”

Cal and Kelly exited the building only to be accosted by Crazy Corey Taylor within seconds.

“So, did ya figure out who killed Susannah Sloan yet?” Taylor asked.

Cal and Kelly both shook their heads.

“Are you ready to find out?” he asked, flashing his toothy grin.

Cal sighed and looked down at the ground before glancing up at Taylor.

“Lay it on me,” Cal said. “What do I have to lose?”

“I have a picture I want to show you,” Taylor said as he clutched a small photo tight against his chest. “I showed it to Sheriff Sloan during the investigation, but he didn’t wanna listen to me. But I think you will … and I think you’ll take me seriously, too.”

“Let’s see it,” Cal said.

Taylor slowly pulled the picture away from his chest and held it out for Cal and Kelly to see.

“Is that who I think it is?” Cal asked.

Taylor nodded. “Sure is.”

“That can’t be him,” Kelly said, almost unable to utter the words.

“Don’t question me,” Taylor said. “I’m just the messenger who took this picture.”

“When did you take it?” Cal asked.

“About twelve years ago. Not a soul in town believed me when I told them. Guess that’s what happens when they all think you’re on the crazy train.”

Cal looked at Kelly. “I guess we have one more stop before we leave town. Wait right here.”

Hustling back into the Pickett County Sheriff’s Department, Cal flagged down Tillman.

“About getting your help if we ever needed anything,” Cal said. “I think we need your help now.”

CHAPTER 40

CAL AND KELLY KNOCKED and waited outside the door of Devontae Ray’s house. A stiff breeze whipped a few stray pieces of trash into the air, carrying them twenty or thirty meters a clip before briefly touching down and then repeating the dance all over again. A robin chirped peacefully in a nearby tree. Cal noted the ramp leading up over the house steps and onto the porch needed a fresh coat of paint as it had started to chip along the edges.

Cal listened to see if Ray was home. After about a minute, he heard the heavy roll of a wheelchair making its way through the house. The rolling noise finally came to a stop and was followed by a soft bump against the door. A slit in the middle of the door opened up.

“What do you want?” Ray asked.

“Hi, Mr. Ray. My wife and I are about to head back to Seattle in about an hour, but we wanted to ask you a few questions first,” Cal said as he bent down to see Ray’s face through the slot in the door.

“Why don’t I save you two an hour and let you get on your way?” Ray said. The slit closed.

“I think I figured out that Jordan Hayward killed Susannah Sloan, and we wanted to ask you about it.”

The slot re-opened.

“Why do you think I’d know anything about it?” Ray asked.

“I don’t, but I know you knew Jordan Hayward.”

A few locks slid and turned before the door swung open. Ray sat hunched over in his wheelchair. He gestured for them to come inside.

“I appreciate this,” Cal said as he and Kelly entered the house. “Is there a place where we can sit down and talk?”

Ray glared at him. “I’m always sittin’ down, and I rarely have visitors, so I don’t really think about it much.” He sighed. “Let’s go to the kitchen. It’s not comfortable seating—from what I hear—but it’ll suffice.”

Kelly fidgeted with a small packet in her hand.

“Do you mind if I boil some water?” she asked. “I’ve got a medicine I need to take with this special tea.”

Ray scowled. “What kind of medicine is that?”

“It’s a homeopathic medicine?”

“A homeo-what? Oh, forget it. Sure. There are pots down below, of course.”

Kelly dug out a pot, filled it with water, and put it on the stove. She cranked the burner up to high and took a seat at the table.

“I’m not sure I can really provide much for you,” Ray said. “But I guess I can try. I just don’t have long.”

“Oh, this won’t take long,” Cal said. “Just a few questions about the night of May 7, 2004. Do you remember where you were?”

“Is that the night Susannah Sloan was killed?” Ray asked.

Cal nodded.

“In that case, I was doin’ nothin’, just like every other night in my life since my accident.”

Cal scribbled down a note. “I heard about your accident. What happened?”

“Susannah wasn’t payin’ attention, and she plowed right into me and my brother on his motorcycle. The docs said I was lucky to be alive, but I’m not so sure I was the lucky one between me and my brother. Do you have any idea what it’s like to live like this, strapped into a wheelchair every single day? It’s tiresome, I tell you.”

“I can only imagine,” Cal said.

“How’d you feel about Ms. Sloan after that?” Kelly asked.

Ray sneered. “I hated her guts for a long time, but eventually I got over it. I finally made peace with the fact that I’d never be able to walk or run again. It’s not the best hand you can get dealt in life, but it’s the