Ridley Pearson - In Harm's Way

“Let’s back up a moment,” Walt said. He kept all urgency out of his voice, found his professional self, no matter how odd it felt to engage inside his own house. “He came to your meeting. You two met after the meeting. Did you happen to go somewhere? Did this all take place at the meeting itself?”

“We might have gone for a cup of coffee. At Tully’s.”

“And from what he told you, you came to believe he was here in town for the ninth step.”

“Yes.”

“So he would have been meeting with someone,” Walt said.

“More than one,” she blurted out before squinting at him accusingly.

“The point is,” Walt said, “we don’t harm or injure people…”

“Ellen.”

“Ellen. We… the sheriff’s office… our job is just the opposite. We protect people. In this case it’s too late to protect Mr. Gale. Our job-my job-becomes explaining his death. And as you can imagine, that can often be a tall order, as it is in this case, given Mr. Gale’s status as a visitor to our valley and something of an unknown. Add to that his celebrity status as a sports figure, and it gets more complicated.”

“Which is one of the reasons I couldn’t come to your office. I do not want my name or face on the news. No one knows I used, Sheriff. Not my boss, not my family. NA saved my life, but if I’m outed-”

“That’s not going to happen.”

“You’d be surprised how easily it does happen.”

“You are safe here.”

“Until I find some reporter was camped in the bushes.”

She was right. Reporters occasionally hounded his home. Her anonymity wasn’t perfectly safe anywhere.

“I thought about calling,” she said. “But it seemed like the cowardly thing to do. Not that I expect that to make any sense to anyone but me. The point being: I’m here, but I don’t think I can help all that much.”

“What gave you the impression he was here for the ninth step?” Walt asked, afraid he was already losing her.

“I’ve said too much.”

“Did he mention names?”

“No! Of course not.”

“But he did say something.”

“He said he was here to fix things, and we talked about a couple of the other steps and I pretty much could figure he was here for the ninth.”

“Did he ask your help in finding someone?”

“How could you possibly know that?” she asked.

“Most everyone has post office boxes. Getting a real address can be tricky.”

She eyed him suspiciously. “I’m saying a lot more than I intended to.” She placed the coffee down and gave Bea another pat on the head. “I should probably go.”

He had nothing to go on. A first name. Might not even be her real name. He couldn’t let her go.

“Was his mood angry or vengeful?”

“Him? No. Just the opposite. Are you kidding? He was contrite. We’re all contrite by the ninth. When you’re using, you walk all over the people you care about the most. Steal from them. Lie to them. Cheat on them. Do whatever it takes to stay high. Use getting high as an excuse to do whatever you feel like. Drugs are incredibly convenient in that way, Sheriff. You can do basically whatever you want and it’s always the drug’s fault, never yours. And doing all that makes you feel shitty-pardon my French-so you get high to forget about it, and around and around we go.”

“But I imagine some grudges build up along the way. Jealousies, or anger at those who stop helping or call you out.”

“You’ve been around it,” she said. “I can tell.”

“We see just a little bit of substance abuse in my line of work.” She laughed and rubbed Bea out of nervousness. “I guess that’s right,” she said uncomfortably.

“But not Martel Gale,” he said.

“He was a recovering addict. He had his proverbial shit together as far as I could tell. Long way to come to make amends. Most people write a letter. Some dare to make a phone call-and believe me, that’s not easy. Traveling halfway across the country to do it in person? That’s someone you care about. Trust me. Or someones I guess, in his case. He was all fucked up when he was using: steroids and HGH and any kind of performance enhancer out there. Massive quantities, to hear him tell it. Totally raged. Poisoned by it. A maniac. Testosterone overdose. Put his fist through car windows. Shit like that. Incredible Hulk stuff. A real terror.”

“You’d think that might carry some anger with it,” he said, thinking of Vince Wynn firing blindly into the dark hoping to hit Martel Gale. “Some rage.”

“He wouldn’t have come here if that was still lingering. Doesn’t make sense. Just the opposite. He didn’t come here to blame, believe me. He came here to take the heat, even if it should be shared. He came here to make it right.”

“And someone didn’t want to hear him?”

“How should I know?”

“Did he express any concern, any reservations?”

“We all have reservations, Sheriff. It’s terrifying to expose yourself like that, to go up to another human being and admit your shortcomings and take responsibility for the wrongs you’ve committed.”

“And if you surprise them?” he asked.

“What’s that?”

“What happens when you’re clearing your shelf and the other person didn’t know, wasn’t aware of half the stuff you did?”

“It happens, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I can’t imagine that goes down terribly well.”

“It can be awkward. To say the least.”

“Dangerous?”

“I suppose.”

Walt considered all he’d heard.

“I’m not saying that’s what happened here,” she said quickly.

“But if Martel Gale arrived unexpectedly to someone who didn’t know he’d been harmed by the guy during his addiction, that could be embarrassing or even difficult for the person on the receiving end.”

“Which is why the step is very clear about that. You don’t ninth-step someone if it’s going to injure or harm them or if there’s any threat of that.”

“But if you didn’t know.”

“You know,” she said confidently. “Some of us have short lists, some incredibly long. But you give every person a lot of thought. You share with your sponsor. You work out who needs to be stepped and who doesn’t.”

“Your sponsor.”

“Sure. At least I did.”

“How would I find Martel Gale’s sponsor?”

“You wouldn’t. You won’t. That’s what the A is about in the name.”

“But how could I?”

“You can’t.”

“A man died here. May have been killed.”

“I’m aware of that. Why do you think I’m here?”

“They could contact me,” Walt said. “If the sponsor wanted to. If someone told him or her that I needed to talk to them.”

“Probably wouldn’t.”

“But might.”

“Might, I suppose.”

Walt waited for the offer. It didn’t come. The two stared at each other across the coffee table. Bea’s tail thumped against the leg of the table.

“Please,” Walt said. “I know that if it’s anything like AA, it’s a small world. People know people, anonymous or not. And Gale. His sponsor knows what happened to him by this point. All I need is someone to make an introduction.”

“His home group is New Orleans. A prison group at that.”

Walt lodged the information. A prison group. He could research this without her.

“You could maybe make a call,” he pleaded, wanting to attack it from as many sides as possible.

“It’s true, we all know someone who knows someone.”

“It’s a man’s life. Or the loss of one.”

“I know that, Sheriff.” She placed down the mug. “That’s really good coffee,” she said.

“Are you sure about this?” Brandon asked from the passenger seat of the Jeep.