know.”
“I’m assuming everyone has heard about the second house?”
“You probably assume correctly.”
They had found ID in the house. The dead man was Eric Treadwell, forty-three years old. The lady was Molly Bitner, thirty-nine.
“So the imposter used Treadwell’s name when talking to my guy. That was still a big risk. If Lou had asked for ID, or wanted to get in the house. Or what if one of my guys knew Treadwell? Drake is not that big a place.”
“You’re right. It was a big risk. A calculated one. But it worked out in their favor. And guys willing to take those kinds of risks and play them out successfully make for tough opponents.” What Puller was actually thinking was that the imposter had some special training. Maybe military. And that would make things very awkward very fast. He wondered if the Army had had an inkling of that, and whether that was the reason he’d been sent out here solo.
The waitress, a short, crusty type with gray hair, dark eye circles, and a raspy voice, came to take their order.
Puller had decided on breakfast: three eggs over light, bacon, grits, hash browns, toast, and coffee. Cole had a Cobb salad with oil and vinegar dressing and an iced tea. When Puller moved to hand back the menu, his jacket opened and his M11 was revealed. The waitress’s eyes flickered and then she gripped the offered menus and walked off. Puller noted this and doubted it was the first time the lady had seen a gun.
“Breakfast?” asked Cole.
“Didn’t have one yet today. Figured I’d get it in before I go to sleep.”
“So did you check in with your boss?”
“I did.”
“Is he happy with the progress?”
“He didn’t say. And there wasn’t much progress, frankly. Just lots of questions.”
Her iced tea and his coffee came.
Cole took a sip of hers. “Do you really think those people were interrogated before they were killed?”
“It’s somewhere between a guess and a deduction.”
“Meth lab in the basement?”
“I’d like to keep that one under wraps.”
“We’re doing our best. I put a seal on everything with my guys.” She hesitated, looked away.
Puller read her mind. “But this is a small town and sometimes things slip?”
She nodded. “What would they have been interrogating them about?”
“Let’s say the folks who killed Treadwell and Bitner were working with them in the drug business. One or more of the Reynoldses sees some suspicious activity. They’re caught doing that. The druggies want to find out how much they’ve seen, who else they might have told.”
“And put it on a video for someone else to see? Why, if this is local?”
“May not be local or entirely local. Mexican drug cartels have set up shop all over the country. Metro and rural areas. Those guys don’t play around. They want to see everything. And they have first-rate equipment, including communications gear. And it could have been a live feed.”
“But you said it was just a simple meth lab, with not much product coming out.”
“That may have been a sideline for Treadwell and Bitner. They might have been working for a distribution ring in another capacity. You have drug problems here?”
“What town doesn’t?”
“More than most?”
“I guess we have more than our share,” admitted Cole. “But a lot of it is prescription drugs. So go on with your theory. Why kill Bitner and Treadwell?”
“Maybe they drew the line at murder and they had to be killed too, to keep them silent.”
“I don’t know. I guess that works,” Cole said.
“It only works with what we know so far. That can change. There weren’t wedding bands on either of their fingers.”
“From what I was able to find out they were just living together.”
“How long?”
“About three years.”
“Planning on tying the knot?”
“No, according to what I found out, they were just doing it for expenses.”
He looked at her curiously. “What?”
“Makes the paychecks stretch further if you
“I’m assuming everyone has heard about the second house?”
“You probably assume correctly.”
They had found ID in the house. The dead man was Eric Treadwell, forty-three years old. The lady was Molly Bitner, thirty-nine.
“So the imposter used Treadwell’s name when talking to my guy. That was still a big risk. If Lou had asked for ID, or wanted to get in the house. Or what if one of my guys knew Treadwell? Drake is not that big a place.”
“You’re right. It was a big risk. A calculated one. But it worked out in their favor. And guys willing to take those kinds of risks and play them out successfully make for tough opponents.” What Puller was actually thinking was that the imposter had some special training. Maybe military. And that would make things very awkward very fast. He wondered if the Army had had an inkling of that, and whether that was the reason he’d been sent out here solo.
The waitress, a short, crusty type with gray hair, dark eye circles, and a raspy voice, came to take their order.
Puller had decided on breakfast: three eggs over light, bacon, grits, hash browns, toast, and coffee. Cole had a Cobb salad with oil and vinegar dressing and an iced tea. When Puller moved to hand back the menu, his jacket opened and his M11 was revealed. The waitress’s eyes flickered and then she gripped the offered menus and walked off. Puller noted this and doubted it was the first time the lady had seen a gun.
“Breakfast?” asked Cole.
“Didn’t have one yet today. Figured I’d get it in before I go to sleep.”
“So did you check in with your boss?”
“I did.”
“Is he happy with the progress?”
“He didn’t say. And there wasn’t much progress, frankly. Just lots of questions.”
Her iced tea and his coffee came.
Cole took a sip of hers. “Do you really think those people were interrogated before they were killed?”
“It’s somewhere between a guess and a deduction.”
“Meth lab in the basement?”
“I’d like to keep that one under wraps.”
“We’re doing our best. I put a seal on everything with my guys.” She hesitated, looked away.
Puller read her mind. “But this is a small town and sometimes things slip?”
She nodded. “What would they have been interrogating them about?”
“Let’s say the folks who killed Treadwell and Bitner were working with them in the drug business. One or more of the Reynoldses sees some suspicious activity. They’re caught doing that. The druggies want to find out how much they’ve seen, who else they might have told.”
“And put it on a video for someone else to see? Why, if this is local?”
“May not be local or entirely local. Mexican drug cartels have set up shop all over the country. Metro and rural areas. Those guys don’t play around. They want to see everything. And they have first-rate equipment, including communications gear. And it could have been a live feed.”
“But you said it was just a simple meth lab, with not much product coming out.”
“That may have been a sideline for Treadwell and Bitner. They might have been working for a distribution ring in another capacity. You have drug problems here?”
“What town doesn’t?”
“More than most?”
“I guess we have more than our share,” admitted Cole. “But a lot of it is prescription drugs. So go on with your theory. Why kill Bitner and Treadwell?”
“Maybe they drew the line at murder and they had to be killed too, to keep them silent.”
“I don’t know. I guess that works,” Cole said.
“It only works with what we know so far. That can change. There weren’t wedding bands on either of their fingers.”
“From what I was able to find out they were just living together.”
“How long?”
“About three years.”
“Planning on tying the knot?”
“No, according to what I found out, they were just doing it for expenses.”
He looked at her curiously. “What?”
“Makes the paychecks stretch further if you
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