Линси Сэндс - Meant to Be Immortal [calibre]

CJ smiled faintly and nodded. “How long ago was that, Laurie?”

“About three, maybe four days before he beat the hell out of Keith,” the waitress said grimly. “See, I only took this job about a month and a half ago. Used to work at the Dollar Store, but the manager kept grabbing my ass and I’d had enough. Quit and applied here. Got hired the same day. But that was the first time he’d come in while I was working.”

“I see,” CJ murmured thoughtfully.

Laurie shifted in her seat before asking with concern, “You don’t think he beat up Keith ’cause he’s like my stepson and I stood up to him, do you? I’d feel awful if it was my fault. The bastard really gave Keith a walloping.”

“It’s not your fault,” CJ said at once, but then hesitated to say anything else. Fortunately, that seemed to be enough for the woman. At least she started talking again.

“Well, anyway, it’s like I said, those rear lights were working fine that night when he left the house. Keith said Jefferson smashed one with his baton when he asked why he’d been pulled over when he hadn’t been speeding or anything. Slammed his baton into it and said, ‘’Cause you have a light out.’ All shit-eating grin while he said it too.” She shook her head with disgust. “And then he turned the baton on Keith when he protested his doing that and said he was going to charge him with destruction of property or something.”

CJ nodded. “Yes, he told me.”

“Well, I can tell you that Keith don’t lie. He’s a damned good kid. Never been a lick of trouble. Truth is, we’d almost like to see him act up a bit. He doesn’t go out with friends, girls, nor nothing. Mostly stays in and plays video games. That night he borrowed the car to drive to the city. Some game he wanted was out and he wanted to buy a copy. Instead, he ended up in the hospital with a broken arm, black eye, and fat lip.”

CJ murmured sympathetically, but couldn’t say what she really thought. She was supposed to be impartial, and she was trying her damnedest, but between Keith and this lady who was like a stepmother to the boy, Jefferson wasn’t looking good. Finding out he’d put two more boys in the hospital the night before wasn’t helping much with that impression either.

“Well, I got nothing else I can tell you. I wasn’t there, though I wish I was. I just know his taillight wasn’t out when he left the house.” Sighing, she shifted back to her feet, and managed a smile. “You go on and look over your menus. I’ll be back for your orders when you’re ready.”

“Thank you,” CJ murmured.

“She was telling the truth,” Mac said quietly as the waitress walked away.

CJ smiled faintly. “And how do you know that?”

“I can read people and tell when they’re lying and she was telling the truth,” he said.

CJ didn’t tell him that she too could usually read people well and tell if they were lying, and that she felt Laurie had been completely honest with her. She merely turned her attention to the menu.

It didn’t take them long to decide on what they wanted. The minute they closed their menus and set them down, Laurie was back, snatching them up and taking their order. The woman still had worry in her eyes, but her smile was firmly back in place and she was cheerful with them. CJ decided to give her a big tip.

CJ had ordered a Reuben and fries. So had Mac for that matter, and they were ready and on the table pretty quickly. But CJ was only halfway through her meal when a skinny fellow with black hair and a beard slid into the opposite side of the booth.

CJ set her sandwich back on the plate and used her napkin to wipe her hands as she watched the man and waited to see what he had to say.

“Are you that CSI lady?” he asked the minute her eyes met his.

“SIU,” CJ corrected.

“Yeah, her,” he said, and tilted his head, waiting.

It took her a minute to realize he was waiting for her to verify that she was indeed the SIU lady. Apparently, her correcting his abbreviation hadn’t been enough. “Yes, I’m her.”

“Good, good.” He glanced around the restaurant nervously.

“And who are you?” CJ asked, pushing the button to start her mini recorder.

“Andy,” he said abruptly.

“Andy what?” CJ asked, realizing then that she hadn’t asked Laurie for her last name. She’d have to find out before she left.

“My last name doesn’t matter,” Andy said, his gaze jerking in every direction before sliding back to her. “I’m just here to do my duty and tell you what I know about Jefferson.”

“Okay,” CJ said easily. “Go ahead.”

“He’s a meth-head,” he announced.

CJ’s eyebrows rose and she sat back in her seat. “A meth-head?”

“Yeah. He started out just trying this and that—experimenting with pot, coke, molly, and stuff—but about ten months ago he tried crystal meth and he really liked that shit. Started hitting it hard. Now he’s full-on hooked. And he’s not a happy cranker either. But he’s worse now that his source has dried up. That’s why he’s losing it and beating the hell out of people when he used to be a pretty good cop,” the man told her grimly.

“And how do you know his source dried up?” CJ asked, but suspected she already knew the answer. The man was twitchy as a cat’s tail. To her, that screamed meth user who was in need of a fix.

“’Cause I’m his source, aren’t I?” he said dryly, and then scowled at her. “But you can’t use that against me since I’m your snitch now.”

CJ ignored that and asked, “So why aren’t you supplying him anymore?”

“Because my source dried up,” he said with a combination of misery and anger. Shaking his head, he muttered, “Goddamned Allistair, packing up and moving to the city like some—”

“Allistair?” Mac interrupted. “Not Allistair Tremblay?”

“Yeah. You know him?” their guest asked.

“He’s my landlord,” Mac said with a frown. “He’s a drug dealer?”

“Yeah, he used to cook in the basement of his farmhouse here before he— Oh, hey! You’re not that guy who was living in his house, are you?”

“Yes, I am,” Mac said slowly, his eyes narrowing briefly on the man before he sat up straight and barked, “You’re the one who set it on fire!”

“Oh, hey, man, that was an accident. Totally. I mean, it was deliberate. Allistair was supposed to pay me for doing it, but you weren’t supposed to be there. See, moving to Toronto was more expensive than he expected and he said he didn’t have the money to pay me what he owed me, but if I set the house on fire, he’d get the insurance and pay me back.”

“He what ?” Mac demanded with disbelief.

“Yeah, but see, then you rented the place, and he didn’t remember about me burning it down. And then I set the house on fire and heard the next day that some guy was living there who nearly bought it in the fire and I called him up. I was like, ‘What the hell, Allistair? You nearly made me a murderer, bro.’ And he was all like, ‘What the hell are you talking about, Skunk?’” He paused his story briefly to explain, “That’s what my friends call me ’cause I sell the best skunk weed you’ll ever enjoy. Or I used to before Allistair stiffed me. Now I can’t get any of the good stuff in, not crystal meth for Jefferson or even skunk.” He shook his head with disgust, and then continued, “Anyway, he claims he doesn’t even owe me money and didn’t agree to no insurance burn, but I’m sure he did. Mostly sure,” he added with a frown. “I mean, I was tweaking at the time, so . . .” He paused, his expression dissatisfied as he disappeared into his thoughts.

“Well, that solves one crime.”