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  “Nice arrest, but what does that have to with my shooting?” Blackshear asked.

  “Well, we impounded the car and when we were inventorying it we found ten packets that tested for heroin,” Kennedy said. “Once we told him we were hitting him with an intent to distribute charge he started talking about how he wanted to make a deal. He said he might know something about what happened up there.”

  “He has information on the shooting?”

  “That’s what he is claiming, sir,” Kennedy replied. “It’s his second narcotics arrest and the intent charge is going to have him looking at serious time. The state’s attorney up here is coming up for re-election and he is coming down heavy on all drug arrests.”

  Blackshear leaned back in the chair and took a deep breath.

  “Do we know if he has a lawyer?”

  “He said he does,” Kennedy replied. “He gave me the name George Reid, but it’s late and I haven’t been able to corroborate that.”

  “Where was that first drug arrest?”

  “Up in Coos County.”

  “Okay, listen I don’t want you asking him any questions about Penobscot,” Blackshear said. “In fact, I don’t want you to ask him anything. Just process the paperwork and wait to hear back from me. I’m going to reach out to the state’s attorney and find out what the story is.”

  “Will do, sir.”

  Blackshear ended the call and immediately dialed the number for Scott Nichols. He listened as it rang several times.

  Am I the only one that doesn’t have a life? he wondered.

  He was waiting for the call to go to voice mail, when he suddenly heard it connect.

  “Nichols,” the man said quietly.

  “Scott, it’s Tom Blackshear, can you hear me?”

  “Yeah,” he said, his voice still coming through quietly.

  “Where the hell are you?”

  “My daughter’s recital, this better be important.”

  “Get to somewhere you can talk.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Seriously,” Blackshear said. “Call me back quick.”

  Blackshear ended the call and set the phone on the desk. He drummed his fingers on the desk top, as his mind tried valiantly not to guess at what information the kid might have.

  “Did you forget something?”

  Blackshear looked up to see his wife standing in the doorway wearing a white robe and a towel wrapped around her long brown hair.

  “Oh, God, I’m so sorry.”

  “I’d almost be happier if it were another woman instead of this damn job,” Jackie said. “At least I could get the satisfaction of kicking her ass.”

  “I know,” he replied sheepishly, “but I just got a call from a guy down in Troop E. He arrested a guy that might have information about the shooting. I’m just waiting for the state’s attorney to call me back.”

  “Hmmm, is that what it takes?” she said, as she walked over and sat down on the edge of the desk facing her husband.

  He watched as she opened her robe just enough to expose the upper part of her breasts to him.

  “Well, maybe I have some information that I’m willing to share with you,” she said coyly.

  “Oh really?” he replied, pulling on the edge of the robe playfully. “And what might you be holding out on me?”

  Jackie tugged on the material, pulling it free from his grasp, an evil little smile emerging on her face.

  “Tsk, tsk, tsk, Mr. Detective,” she said with an admonishing tone. “I’m not that easy.”

  Blackshear reached out, grabbing his wife by the hips and pulled her onto his lap, as she squealed gleefully.

  “No, stop,” she said in mock protest. “I’m not that kind of girl.”

  “Oh yeah, what about that time….”

  “You shut your mouth, Thomas Blackshear,” Jackie said, as she placed her hand against her husband’s lips, muffling the remainder of his comment.

  “But baby, I was just going to say…”

  “Oh, I know exactly what you were going to say, mister.”

  Just then their playful moment was interrupted by the vibration of the cell phone on his desk.

  “Aww, too bad,” she said with a pouty smile. “Duty calls.”

  Just before she got up, she playfully rubbed her bottom against his lap.

  “Tease,” he replied, as he reached for the phone. “I’ll be up soon.”

  “Oh, you just take your time, darling,” Jackie said, as she paused in the door, looking back at him, “You don’t have to worry about me. I have something upstairs that vibrates too.”

  Blackshear rolled his eyes as he answered the call. “Scott?”

  “This had better be good, Tom,” the man said. “You have no idea how much shit I am about to get from my wife.”

  “Yeah, well I might argue that point,” Blackshear replied, “but, more importantly, we might have a break on the shooting.”

  “You’re kidding me?”

  “No, I just got off the phone with a trooper down in Carroll County. He arrested a guy with felony weight and tagged him with an intent to distribute charge. Kid’s a two time loser and he knows that the state’s attorney down there is most likely going to drop the hammer on him so he wants to cut a deal.”

  “Do we know what he has to say?” Nichols asked.

  “Not yet,” Blackshear replied. “Trooper says the kid told him he had an attorney, some guy named George Reid, so I told him not to ask any questions because I didn’t want to jeopardize anything. I don’t know who the attorney is, but the kid’s old arrest was in your jurisdiction, so I figured you might know him.”

  “I know George,” Nichols replied. “He’s a bit of an ambulance chaser, and I question his morals at times, but he has some decent litigating skills. What’s the kid’s name?”

  “Floyd Peters.”

  “You’ve got to be shitting me,” Nichols replied. “Not that little shit bird.”

  “I take it you know him?”

  “Yeah, he’s a piece of redneck trash,” Nichols responded. “He’s been causing problems since his mother kicked him off her tit to raise up the next societal misfit she’d given birth to.”

  “Sounds like a lovely family,” Blackshear said.

  “You don’t know the half of it. His brood actually gives rednecks a bad name. They’re original from just over the border in Maine, but apparently mom and dad Peters had to relocate rather quickly because they were bouncing checks all over the place. The town there was ready to string them all up.”

  “How come no one put them behind bars?”

  “I tried, at least with Floyd,” Nichols lamented. “When he turned eighteen I caught him on that drug charge. I wanted to hit him with some time, based on his juvenile record, but the judge bought into the kid’s BS story and just gave him probation.”

  “Well, he’s certainly nervous about something because he’s looking to talk.”

  “He’s nervous because his ass graduated to the big leagues and now he’s afraid he’s going to actually have to do time with a second drug charge.”

  “The real question is will his attorney let him?”

  “No, the real question is what does he know?” Nichols replied. “I’m betting if it is something good George will be more than happy to have a chat with us to discuss a reduction in charges.”

  “When do you think we will know?”

  “I’ll call him, but I know he’s going to want to talk to his client first. But before I do that I want to reach out to Paul Mitchell, the state’s attorney down in Carroll. I’ll explain what we have going and make sure he is willing to work with us on this.”

  “You think he’ll push back?” Blackshear asked.

  “I’d like to say no,” Nichols replied, “but he’s got himself in a tough race down there. His opponent has a solid family name and some serious financial backing. He’s been beating up Paul on his record so Paul has been pushing for heavier sentences.”

  �
�Yeah, but this is a police involved shooting,” Blackshear countered. “Surely that has to carry a bit more weight.”

  “You would think, but it’s not that simple. You see Mitchell has a bit of a checkered past when it comes to law enforcement.”

  “How so?”

  “Let’s just say that when he was in private practice he had a run in that almost cost him his career. Ever since then he has been a tad bit anti-cop.”

  “You’re fucking kidding me.”

  “I wish I was, but it is what it is. I think he takes a bit of enjoyment in running roughshod over the cops down there.”

  “Great, so we are fighting a defense attorney as well as a prosecutor.”

  “Mitchell is a political animal,” Nichols replied. “I’ll try and appeal to that side of him. See if I can get him to work with us.”

  “And if that fails?” Blackshear asked.

  “Let’s hope it doesn’t, because I don’t exactly have a Plan ‘B’.”

  “I hate small town politics.”

  “Don’t we all?”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Alex took a drag on her cigarette, listening to the sound of the kitchen clock ticking in the background, as she sat at the island and stared at the bottle of whiskey.

  In front of her, the growing stack of cigarette butts in the ashtray bore silent witness to the epic struggle that was going on inside her mind. She had been resolutely staring at the bottle since she had first come home; fighting the demons that beckoned her to crack open the top.

  Goddamnit, you’re stronger than this, she chided herself, as she crushed the cigarette out in the ash tray.

  What does strength have to do with it? a voice inside her asked.

  Alex wrestled with the question.

  What did being strong have to do with anything?

  With everything she had been through in her life, both personally and professionally, she knew she was strong. This had nothing to do with strength and everything to do with desire.

  So what was so terribly wrong with desiring something?

  After all, everyone desired something. Some people desired wealth while others desired power. Some women desired the bad boy while others wanted a respectable man. Some folks desired a good meal while others wanted junk food.

  Wasn’t that what made life enjoyable? she wondered. Why did it have to be wrong to desire something?

  Alex grabbed the pack of cigarettes and lit up another.

  “You’re rationalizing it,” she said, as she took a drag. “It’s a bottle of whiskey, not a fucking bullet to the head.”

  In a remarkable display of mental fortitude, she put the bottle away and poured herself a coke instead.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Tom Blackshear and Scott Nichols sat on the other side of a large wooden conference table staring back at George Reid, while the man professed the innocence of his client.

  “George, please stop,” Nichols said, halting the man’s monologue. “I honestly don’t give a rat’s ass about whether or not your client is innocent or guilty, although I am inclined to believe the former over the latter. Your client was the one who said he had information on the shooting, so my question is, does he?”

  “Yes,” Reid replied. “He has information that he will gladly provide if and when the state’s attorney in Carroll agrees to a lenient plea deal.”

  “C’mon, you know that’s not how this works. If I go to the state’s attorney with that he’s going to laugh me out of his office and rightfully so. I’d do the same thing to him if the roles were reversed.”

  “It’s not my job to sell this to the state’s attorney,” Reid replied. “You want information; my client has that information, so now you get to convince Paul Mitchell that it would be in the best interests of your investigation to cooperate.”

  Blackshear shook his head, fighting the urge to laugh. The argument Reid was making bordered on insanity.

  “George, that’s like asking us to buy a car without even knowing if it runs. You’re going to have to bring a little more to the table than that wishy-washy bullshit.”

  “Look, Scott, for the record, I’m not saying that my client was there at the time of the shooting, but I am saying that he has firsthand knowledge of what went on inside that store just prior to and including the shooting.”

  “And he is willing to make a statement about that and testify in court?”

  “Yes, in return for a bail reduction on the current drug charge and leniency in sentencing,” Reid replied, “both in Carroll as well as Coos.”

  “If you’re looking for leniency in Coos, I take it that his appearance inside the store was not accidental?” Blackshear asked.

  “He was there,” Reid replied, “but I won’t say anymore until I at least have a working agreement that my client will not be facing overly onerous charges.”

  “I’m going to tell you a story, George,” Nichols said. “Please feel free to correct me at any point, if you feel as if my tale lacks any credibility.”

  “By all means,” Reid replied.

  “This is the story of little Johnny,” Nichols began. “Johnny went on a trip with his good friend Billy. They’d traveled a long time when they realized that they needed to stop for food, but they had no money. So one said to the other ‘I have an idea, we will just stop at a place where we can get everything that we need.’ Does this sound like a plausible story so far?”

  “I don’t see any glaring problems, please continue.”

  “Well, the two men came upon a place where they could get what they needed, but to their surprise a large ogre stood in their path preventing them from getting what they needed. Billy tried to fight the ogre, but he was too strong and it struck Billy down, so Johnny fled out of fear because he knew he couldn’t beat the ogre by himself.”

  “Quite an interesting fairy tale,” Reid said. “I think it could be a best seller if offered to the right people.”

  “You know that I can’t speak for Paul Mitchell, but I will say that if your client was in the store in Penobscot, for any potentially unlawful reasons, that I would be willing to accept a plea agreement that theoretically would not call for any jail time, providing your client agrees to give a complete written statement and testify in court.”

  “And what do you suggest we do about Mitchell?”

  “You’re going to have to give me something more to sweeten the pot with him,” Nichols replied. “You and I both know your client is not so innocent. He’s managed to rack up quite an extensive criminal record in the few shorts years he has been on the streets.”

  Nichols opened a folder and removed a computer printout, reading a litany of charges that stretched over a six year period.

  “And your point is?” Reid asked. “My client is a victim. He grew up in a shitty home, was sexually abused by a relative and got hooked on drugs to cope. Besides, most of that stuff is juvenile.”

  “And some of it isn’t, including a prior drug charge, which means he is potentially looking at some serious time in Carroll, which Mitchell will gladly pursue, so you had better give me something more substantial to work with.”

  Reid leaned back in the chair. He knew that he’d already won half the battle, which was a lot more than Floyd would have done on his own, and he was reasonably sure that he’d be lucky in getting the charges dropped or at least any potential jail time reduced on the Carroll County charges. He’d got them with the bait, now it was time to set the hook.

  “Let’s just say that, using your quaint analogy, little Johnny is willing to testify that he accompanied Billy to the place for the purpose of liberating some items and that Billy was indeed armed when they arrived.”

  “And he’ll testify to that?” Blackshear asked, trying hard to contain his excitement.

  “Yes,” Reid replied. “But, Johnny will also state that he was there under duress.”

  “Under duress?” Nichols asked. “Oh, I can’t wait to hear this part of the fairy tale.”
r />   “It turns out that Billy was little Johnny’s drug supplier,” Reid explained, “and Johnny owed him some money. Billy said he knew a way that he could make things even. He told him about the store and that he needed a ride. Johnny didn’t want to go, but Billy forced him to.”

  “A drug user with a conscience, how anomalous,” Nichols said.

  “There’s no need to be condescending, Scott, even fairy tale characters can have a tough life.”

  “Alight, enough with the fairy tale, make believe BS,” Blackshear said. “It’s making my head hurt. Can we all just agree that what we are talking about is strictly off the record for the purpose of establishing how we get from A to Z?”

  The three men looked at one another and nodded.

  “So if he was only the driver, why did he go inside?” Blackshear asked.

  “Apparently Akins didn’t trust him to stick around so he forced him to go inside with him.”

  “What happened to the clerk?” Nichols asked.

  “He was in the backroom when they entered and Akins hit him from behind, knocking him out.”

  “What about the gun?” Blackshear asked.

  “You want the gun, you give me a deal,” Reid replied.

  “What are you looking for?” Nichols asked.

  “Drop the intent charge,” Reid said. “Floyd isn’t a seller; he was just acting as a deliveryman. He’ll accept a plea deal on the possession. Like I said, Floyd is a victim here as well. Akins got him hooked on drugs in the first place and now he just wants to get help. In return for pleading guilty he is willing to accept court ordered treatment at a substance abuse facility in Manchester and probation.”

  “Jesus Christ, George,” Nichols replied. “You don’t just want the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow; you want the state to provide the transportation to the damn thing.”