Dead Shot Jack Patterson (e reader manga .txt) 📖

“Well, what do you want to know? I think we all know that we need to be sensitive first and foremost to the families of the deceased. We don’t need to make these boys look like a bunch of drug addicts.”

It was obvious that Jones wasn’t sincerely interested in answering any real questions. But neither Cal nor Kelly protested. The paper adhered to unspoken small town rules such as these.

“What kind of drugs were they using?” Kelly asked, unable to maintain the apparent soft gag order that was being issued by Jones.

“Well, we won’t know that until the tox reports come back from Boise. But we found meth at all three scenes.”

Jones ascribed to an age-old law enforcement trick: If you’re forthcoming about an unusable piece of information, it could stem the tide of uncomfortable questioning. Or at the least it could keep you from appearing like a total jerk when you flat refused to answer a question deemed too invasive. He drummed his fingers on his desk as Cal and Kelly both began scribbling down details in their notebooks.

“But we won’t know anything officially for at least two weeks,” he said, negating what seemed like a juicy fact seconds ago.

“Got any reports yet?” Cal asked, eyeing two completed forms on the receptionist’s desk.

“Nope,” Jones lied. “Mercer and Dawkins will be back with full reports later this afternoon. They’re still bagging evidence at the Reid place. You can talk to them here, later.”

Jones’ last sentence was an oblique order. Cal understood Jones didn’t want them snooping around the Reid’s house and he certainly didn’t want them talking to his deputies before he got a chance to filter their conclusions. He wanted to maintain control of the situation.

Kelly saw it as a dare.

“OK, then. Just let us know if you hear anything else,” Cal said as he and Kelly turned to leave.

“Will do.”

Cal looked back over his shoulder and noticed Jones had plastered himself up against the window, watching them. Cal figured Jones wanted to make sure they didn’t get in a car and head straight for the Reid place.

Kelly pulled Cal close, making him forget for a moment that Jones seemed overly interested in making sure this story remained low key.

“I’m parked out back,” she whispered. They both were thinking the same thing.

Chapter 6

Kelly’s red 2010 Dodge Charger engine roared as they pulled out of The Register’s back alley parking lot and onto an adjacent side street, far out of the view of Jones’ watchful eyes. She rolled down both front windows. Her face was stuck in a frown but she said nothing.

Cal’s mind raced as he began mentally organizing the few facts he had. He would have preferred to soak in the glorious sun-kissed morning and the bonus that he was cruising around with Kelly. But today was not the day for flirtatious vibes. Three star athletes were dead in Statenville. Three teenagers. And Sheriff Jones, who said they all overdosed, seemed more intent on hiding something than revealing evidence that would confirm his simple drug overdose hypothesis.

After a minute of silence, Kelly broke the growing sense of apprehension both reporters were feeling.

“You know, this isn’t going to be easy.”

“Yeah, small town rules. People don’t like you poking your nose in their business—especially when it’s their dirty business.”

“That Sheriff Jones is a lyin’ dirt bag. He’s unreported more criminal activity than there are cows at Buttercup Farms.”

Cal tried to hide a smile. Kelly’s metaphor was awkward and certainly one he would never use, but she never claimed to be a wordsmith. Yet with over 2,000 cows getting milked daily at Buttercup Farms, Cal got her point: Jones was dirty.

“Don’t you think everybody in this town is sketchy, Kelly?”

Kelly pursed her lips and slowly shook her head.

“This town is crawling with corruption. I can just feel it. And as much as I want to get out of this place, I can’t wait to take over The Register and start turning over every rock until all these corrupt big shots are behind bars.”

Cal knew Kelly had a gift for reporting, which made him wonder why she ever picked up a camera in the first place. He also didn’t doubt Kelly would one day take over The Register, an action he would prevent if he could. It might be a blood bath, but Kelly would welcome the fight. The Register had been in her family for years and was currently published by Joseph Mendoza, her uncle and Sammy’s father. If Uncle Joe cared about The Register being a thriving business enterprise in Statenville for years to come, he would turn it over to Kelly. However, he could conceivably give it to Sammy if his son ever found a way to motivate himself to do more in life than chase skirts and guzzle beer along the banks of the Snake River. Her future seemed uncertain and Cal selfishly rooted for Sammy, knowing he would be long gone from Statenville by then and hoping he might be able to lure Kelly away for a big city adventure.

For the next two minutes, Cal fidgeted with his digital voice recorder and snuck glances at Kelly while the two sped along a two-lane road leading east out of Statenville. Her shiny thick hair bounced in and out of the car as she looked straight ahead with her wire-rimmed Raybans. Cal knew he needed to focus but struggled to do so.

Kelly helped him get his mind back on the case.

“Have you ever been to the Reid place?” she asked.

“Nope. Anything special?”

“I’ve been out here a few times for social functions. My dad used to go hunting with Mr. Reid so we came out here a few times for cookouts. I think it’s a nice place. But there it is. Judge for yourself.”

Kelly took her right hand off the steering wheel and pointed to the one o’clock position. She was about two hundred yards away from the driveway leading to the Reid house,