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  "You don't say?"

  The officer stepped forward. "Bubba, you might as well be honest. The nurse knows your meth lab blew and that you were there. Cut the bullshit. Sorry, ma'am."

  "Now, Mr. Deputy, you'uns are just making sup-po-si-tions. That's no lab of mine." Flocker coughed again.

  The deputy stared him down.

  "Mr. Flocker, do you have pain anywhere besides your headache? I saw you put a hand on your chest when you coughed."

  "Call me Bubba." He pointed at the left side of his rib cage. "Just here in my heart, ma'am. Pining for how I'll miss your pretty face whilst I'm in-car-cer-ated. The deputy is fixin' to frame me."

  "Do you feel short of breath?"

  "No."

  "Were you wearing eye protection when the explosion occurred?"

  Flocker laughed, a big hearty rumble that seemed to originate in his toes. "No one done ever asked me that before. No, ma'am, I wasn't."

  "We'll wash out your eyes, and the doctor will check them." Sophia performed the eyewash, then bathed him. Though Sophia asked more questions related to the explosion, Flocker refused to answer. No wonder, she thought, with the deputy in the room. When she finished, she pulled a stool up to the side of the stretcher.

  "So, Bubba, just in general, tell me about meth labs and meth lab explosions. I just moved to Tennessee, so this stuff is new to me."

  Flocker looked at the deputy, who had pulled a rolling stool near the door and sat. "Oh, what the hell." He lowered his voice. "I got a friend who cooks the stuff, so I knows a bit about it. What are your questions?" He stared at the deputy.

  "Okay." Sophia paused a moment. "What's the process in a meth lab?"

  "There's a bunch of ways to cook meth, sugar. They need to cook the pseudoephedrine to turn it into methamphetamine."

  Sophia raised a brow at his accurate pronunciation of the drug names.

  "How do they do that?"

  He explained the process his friend used, mentioning the use of red phosphorus and hydroiodic acid. "Then he neutralizes the shit with lye, and runs it through a coffee filter."

  "And that's it?"

  "Nah, we, I mean he, cuts the meth with some other shit so he makes more money."

  "When does an explosion usually occur?"

  "When the chemicals are heated. Boom." Flocker laughed. "There was a bitch of an explosion down the road from us the other night. Rattled the cups in the cupboard. Had my mama cussin' like a snake-bit coon hunter."

  "Was that explosion in Crestville?"

  "No, ma'am, it was up the mountain in Plateauville, out on old Dripping Springs Drive. You should-a saw the cops and stuff."

  "You were there?"

  "No, ma'am. I rode down there on my Harley when I heard the boom."

  Sophia raised a hand to prompt him to continue.

  Flocker didn't take the hint.

  "Ah." Knowing it was the explosion that may have generated the mysterious dropping hand, Sophia continued. "Did you know the people there?"

  "Sure do. Plateauville is small. We all know each other, but I can't keep with them. Them being criminals and all."

  "I get that." Sophia thought a moment. "We live in Plateauville, on the other side of the neighborhood from Dripping Springs Drive. Was anyone hurt?"

  "Two guys was killed. They say LeRoy Vast, he owned the place, was blown to smithereens." Bubba laughed. "The damn deputies spent the whole of the next day looking for his parts around the damn place. Serves 'um right. I heard they didn't find all the pieces."

  "Serves who right?"

  Flocker squinted, then frowned. "Now that you mention it, both that asshole Vast and the deputies."

  Sophia shook her head. "I can't understand why anyone would want to put themselves at such risk."

  "It's this way, ma'am. My friend—the one we been speakin' about—does it for the money. Vast though. He be different. He used the shit, too. Got crazy from the shit, paranoid. I remember one time, I heard he threatened to kill everyone who worked in that there lab. Thought they was telling secrets to the big man."

  "Who's that?"

  "My eyes burn. Can you flush them out again?"

  Chapter 5

  Ray

  At seven on Monday morning, Ray pulled his Ram into the first empty slot in the Plateauville PD employee parking lot. Since his Taurus—which he'd returned the evening before—was the only official vehicle in the lot, he assumed the patrol units stayed on the road. Five trucks sat in employee parking.

  Ray fumbled with the keys for the entrance to the PD side of the building. As he stepped inside, he heard a quiet tenor voice.

  Instead of going directly to his office, Ray walked past a scattering of desks in the good-sized squad room, some clean, some cluttered. He stopped at one in the corner, which was occupied by a grey-haired man of about sixty-five. "Morning." Ray extended his arm. "Ray Stone."

  "You're the new detective. Ted Ope is my name." He shook Ray's hand.

  "It's a pleasure." Ray pulled up a chair and sat. "How long have you worked here?"

  "Going on thirty-five years. I was born and raised in this town. I was the only police officer for a good twenty years."

  Ray raised a questioning brow.

  "Took the job when I got out of the Army. Was an MP. I retired about five years ago after I took a slug during a raid on a meth lab. Then, I asked to come back and do dispatch to keep busy. The wife died, so what's a man to do?"

  "I understand. How long has Mullins been chief?"

  "Ah, maybe three years. His predecessor got hisself fired." Ope paused, looking thoughtful. "When the city council asked me to take the position, I told them to hire themselves a proper department head. I never wanted to be one. That was about ten years ago, I reckon. Anyways, they brought Mullins in from Nashville. Had a reputation there for being strong and honest. He was a lieutenant."

  "Good to know."

  Ope's headset buzzed loud enough for Ray to hear. "Plateauville PD Dispatch."

  As Ope went about handling the call, which sounded routine, Ray went to his office, stopping to look at the bulletin boards along the way. He saw on the duty board that the chief had assigned Jim Johnson to him. Good news.

  After spending an hour reviewing the stack of files on the meth situation, Ray called the county sheriff's office and asked to be patched through to Deputy Krantz. When Krantz answered, Ray said, "Good morning, deputy. This is Ray Stone in Plateauville."

  "I know who you are, detective. What do you want?"

  Ray noted the snide edge on Krantz's voice, but elected to ignore it. "Who's the investigator in the sheriff's office assigned to the meth lab explosion from Friday night? Mullins said you were one of the first responders."

  "Deputy Shim, Erik Shim, caught the case, I think."

  "He work days?"

  "He works everything."

  "Got his number?"

  "Hang on a second." There was a momentary pause. "Here's his direct number. You'll find him at his desk most days around noon. You plan on taking his case, too?"

  "Don't plan to, no. Thanks again for the info." Ray hung up wondering about Krantz's attitude. He was, in Ray's opinion, taking his grievance over not getting the detective position a bit far.

  Ray looked up in response to a tapping on his door frame.

  Chief Mullins said, "Grab a cup of coffee and come next door. It's time I finish bringing you up to speed on the meth situation here."

  "Yes, sir." Two minutes later, coffee in hand, Ray sat in front of Mullins' desk. "Tell me."

  "You know from your interview that meth is our biggest challenge. Sure, we have our pot smokers, prescription drug abusers, even one heroin addict—where he gets the stuff, I don't have a clue—but meth is our biggest deal."

  "Where are the labs?"

  "We are watching a few properties out on Dripping Springs Drive. It wasn't part of the city until a few years back, and, given its remote location, it's largely ignored by the county."

  "Was
that the only explosion out there?"

  "No. There was another one this morning, but it was just outside the city limits in the unincorporated area. County is handling it. We've had three others blow in that area in the last couple of years."

  "Anywhere else?"

  "Sure. Scattered across the countryside. Mostly County territory. We shut down several labs in town, old houses mostly, and a couple in mobile homes. They were small, personal-use size."

  "Sounds like a lot for a small town."

  "It's a major problem."

  "Is there any central coordination of the enterprise—a drug lord figure?"

  "Don't know for sure, but I think so—"

  "Who—"

  Mullins held up his hand. "Every time we arrest someone, they claim to be cooking for their own personal use, but the quantities don't support that. And, I believe they are making much more than they are selling locally. Everyone so far has been very good about keeping their mouths shut." Mullins paused a moment. "Oh, by the way, the sheriff wants you to take over the investigation of the explosion from Friday night. Erik Shim is the detective assigned. He'll meet with you, bring you up to speed, and tell you his thoughts about the big rat in this hunk of stinky cheese. Shim also touched base with TBI, who at this point wants it handled locally. You can call them if you think the issue goes beyond our immediate vicinity."

  Ray nodded. "Well, at least I won't be bored during my orientation."

  Mullins laughed with a rumble from deep down. "Speaking of orientation. Johnson can ride with you for the next couple of weeks. If we don't get a load of sickouts, that should work. He's a good man, raised locally, has family ties, and wants to be a detective."

  "He told me. Doesn't seem to be bothered by not gettin' the job."

  "I think he's relieved. Unlike Deputy Krantz, by the way. Krantz is not happy with the hiring decision and has been vocal."

  "Thanks for the warning. He bordered on rude yesterday and was downright snide on the phone this morning."

  "Watch your back."

  ***

  In the late morning, Johnson shifted to patrol duties to cover for another officer with a personal emergency. Ray took the opportunity to head into Crestville to the Sheriff's Department. He wanted to find his way around the department without company.

  His first stop, however, was at the site of Vast's meth lab explosion. His tour of the crime scene didn't take long. Nothing much remained of what had once been a dilapidated mobile home sitting well away from the road behind a stand of red oak. Debris littered the large open area surrounding the explosion site, tire tracks marred every patch of exposed dirt, and a distinct chemical odor hung in the air. The only remaining intact structure was a new-looking outhouse, complete with a half-moon door and sturdy latch.

  Ray took several digital images with his cell phone, knowing they were of no real use. He took one last look around and resumed his trip to Crestville.

  As Krantz predicted, Ray found Detective Erik Shim behind his desk in the investigator's office at noon.

  "Glad to have you on board." Shim stuck out his hand, which Ray shook. A reedy thin, balding, black man, Shim was a seasoned deputy and major crime investigator in the narcotics section. "What brings you to Tennessee anyway?" Ray noted Shim said Tennessee with a slight lisp.

  "My parents and son moved to Knoxville. My daughter's in school in Virginia. This is closer. And to tell the truth, the Florida heat got to me."

  "I can relate. I was on the job in Ft. Lauderdale for twenty years. Took retirement, moved here, and couldn't stay away."

  "I thought your name sounded familiar. I recall reading about you busting a jewel thief a couple of years back."

  "That was quite a case." Shim chuckled, then filled Ray in on some succinct details.

  They spent a few minutes talking about South Florida, then about Ray's background as an officer and detective in Parkview, Virginia.

  "What can I do for you today?" Shim said.

  "The Chief told me you needed to pass off Friday night's meth lab explosion."

  "Yeah, I do. Sheriff wants me free to chase after more of the same. In fact, I caught the one on the same road this morning, only it's on the county side of the line."

  "What can you tell me?" Ray said.

  "Not a hell of a lot, I'm afraid." Shim handed Ray a slim folder. "I copied all the initial reports for you. I sent a box of evidence to Nashville, but truthfully, there is nothing there."

  "Mullins said Friday's incident was at LeRoy Vast's place." Ray opened the folder and read for a minute. "Two killed, one thought to be Vast but burned and scattered beyond recognition. The other victim, Vast's cousin, Harold Kramer. I see a note here that Vast had another cousin working for him—Richie Vast. Where is he?"

  "We don't know. He was at the scene as far as we know, but he hasn't turned up. I'm thinking he's running fast."

  "The other burn victims are in Nashville?"

  "Vanderbilt, in the burn center."

  "What did they have to say for themselves?"

  "Krantz talked to one, Dylan Glad, at the scene and again in the emergency department here in town. Glad refused to answer questions. Ashley Beach, the other living victim, was unconscious at the scene."

  "How the hell did five people fit into that trailer?" Ray shook his head. "Did Glad ask for a lawyer?"

  "Not yet."

  "Guess I'll stop by and see if I can have a chat with him tomorrow when I'm in Nashville to talk with the ME."

  Shim leaned forward in his chair. "What I think, make that believe, is we have an escalating war in the methamphetamine market on the Plateau in and around Plateauville. We had two labs blow up, Friday and this morning. We had three blow last month. Another two the month before. That's a lot, especially for here. These are the first deaths, however."

  "Were they all in the county, versus Plateauville?"

  "Yup, except the one. Listen, location doesn't matter much. Our department and the local PDs work together on these big cases."

  Ray hadn't gotten that idea from Deputy Krantz.

  "I agreed to give Friday's case to you to pull you into the situation. We need a fresh outlook, another point of view."

  Ray nodded. "Sounds okay. Tell me about this war."

  "A new guy appeared on the scene up your way about five years ago. Carl Silken is his name. Out of Miami, actually—though I never heard of him when I was there. He moved into town and opened a business, Silken's Dry Goods, on the far end of Commercial Boulevard."

  "I've been in the store. The guy who waited on me was slicked-out in pressed jeans and button-down shirt. Looked a bit out of place, if you get my meaning."

  "That would be Silken. The thing is, we can't get anything on him, beyond the occasional drug-induced rant from some meth head." Shim looked thoughtful for a moment. "Which is what put us onto him in the first place. He came into town with no visible means, yet he set himself up in a nice house, bought the store outright, and financed his wife's entry into polite society. Which isn't easy, I might add, since it's fairly closed to outsiders. Folks are friendly, helpful, and skilled at keeping outsiders out—where they belong, I'm told."

  "What was different about her? They can't be the only people with money who ever moved into town."

  "In truth, there aren't very many. An up and coming dentist or physician, maybe. Not much other reason to move into Plateauville."

  "Sounds like I should turn tail and run."

  "Don't. We need you here."

  Ray paused a moment, liking the welcoming sound of Shim's comment. "What makes her different, besides the money I mean?"

  "She's Southern, with a capital S. Word has it, her accent thickened every day she lived in town. Second, she joined every woman's group and function that would have her. Her approach worked. And, she's been generous with her time, her baked goods, and her money."

  "Here I thought buying your way into society only worked in the city." Ray thought of all the nouveau riche mansio
ns along the New River in Ft. Lauderdale and in the concrete and glass ghettos of Parkland and similar towns.

  Shim chuckled. "Money and visibility work everywhere, I suppose."

  "What else do you know about Carl Silken?"

  "He has no criminal record, however, our friends in Miami tell us he's a known associate in their drug scene. They think he's well placed in the organization and is charged with market expansion, but he always manages to stay out of the way and out of trouble."

  "Slick son of a bitch, sounds like."

  Shim laughed. "Hell, they even call him Silky to his face around town." Shim tapped his pen on the desk, then tightened his face, giving himself an aged look. "What we think, but can't prove, is that Silken has financed many of the bigger, fancier labs. If the rantings are on target, he takes his cut of product and profits and supplies the necessary protection."

  "Protection against whom?"

  "The local competition. Maybe law enforcement."

  "Is Mullins involved?"

  "We don't think so. He's fairly new to the area. His predecessor, however, turned a blind eye to the meth labs, much to the chagrin of the town residents."

  "Are others in the department involved?"

  "Don't know. Could be. What I do know is I can't remember the last time the Plateauville PD busted a lab that wasn't actively burning. There have been several scheduled raids, but they always came up empty."

  "Tipped off?"

  "Perhaps. Or maybe, like they try to tell me, it's bad intelligence going in."

  "How about here?" Ray waved his hand around the surrounding area.

  "That's a tough one. I can tell you I'm not on the Silky payroll."

  Ray nodded.

  "Another thing I don't think I mentioned. The Vast explosion, unlike the others, was definitely arson. Someone wanted it to blow."

  Chapter 6

  Sophia

  Monday evening, Sophia arrived home from work to find Mischief wagging her stub of a tail and waiting at the door, a pizza warming in the oven, and an Italian salad on the table. Ray had stopped at the convenience store on the corner, acquired the main course, and made a salad. A bottle of Chianti sat open on the table. In the short time they'd lived in the cabin on the golf course, they'd learned to love the pizza. And, it was the only food or store of any kind available within five miles.