Caffeine & Killers (A Roasted Love Cozy Mystery Book 3) (9 page)

But it was true that our conversations only
skimmed the surface of who he really was. He told plenty of stories
that had entertained me, but still hadn't revealed much about his
actual life on the streets.

Where did he go during the day when the cops
forced him to leave the Piazza? Had he lied when he'd told me he
didn't do drugs?

I wanted answers, not more questions – but
questions were all I had.

When I finally got to sleep that night, my dreams
turned out to be what I can only call a "weird hodgepodge."
Not only did Daniel show up in them, but Councilman Calvin Carpenter
was there. I saw him curled up on the ground outside Roasted Love
just like John had done when he was still alive.

I awoke around five a.m. and turned over to try to
finish my sleep. A short catnap helped clear out the weird dreams and
when my alarm rang, it startled me fully awake. But thoughts of the
bizarre dream still drifted across my mind before I rolled myself out
of bed. Even on my days off from work, I tried to keep the same
schedule for getting up in the morning. It was just easier that way.

Once I had two cups of delicious dark roasted
coffee in me, I sat down at my computer screen, opened up Google and
typed in Steven Collins Maxfield Correctional Facility. I was sure I
remembered John telling me that that was where his brother was
serving time.

There was no Steven Collins listed at that place.
I wondered if maybe he'd been released, but I had no idea if two
years was a normal sentence for a drug dealer or not.

When I did a general search on "Steven
Collins" though, there were many, many hits. It was a common
name, after all. At least three were listed in their eighties and
nineties, and most of the others weren't within the right age range
at all. If John's brother was no longer behind bars, he could be back
out on the streets again and wouldn't show up on an Internet search

Finding him would be next to impossible.

No matter what, I would have to go back to the old
downtown area. And I had to convince Chief Donald Hayes he had an
unsolved murder case on his hands, not an accidental drug overdose.

I pushed Daniel from my mind because if I thought
about him, I'd have to admit that I planned to break my promise to
stay out of the world of drugs and dealers. But I just couldn't let
this go.

When my cell rang, I hesitated, hoping for once
that it wasn’t Daniel. It wasn't. Councilman Calvin Carpenter was
on the line.

The night before, when he'd caught me in his
office, I'd left my number with him. I didn't care whether he thought
it was important to have. I just wanted to develop a working
relationship with him, so that maybe in the future, he'd be a
resource I could use to help solve the issues of drugs and the
homeless. Both of those things were becoming more interesting to me
all the time.

I may end up working on his campaign after all
,
I thought.

"Laila," Carpenter said. "I thought
a lot about what you told me last night. It sure seems to me that the
problems of homelessness and drug addiction are connected. Maybe
using drugs is one way for them to survive on the streets."

My optimism grew as he talked. "Yes,
Councilman. I think so, too. It's a survival strategy in the short
term, even though it's terribly destructive in the long run."

"I’m calling you," he went on,
"because if you still insist on the homeless man’s death being
a murder case, I have a name you can contact. Do you want it?"

I grabbed a notepad on the counter near my
coffeepot, and quickly bent down to retrieve the pen that landed on
the floor. "I’m ready."

"His name is Ricky Thomas. He lives down in
the rough part of the old downtown. But if you do decide to go talk
to him, I strongly advise you not to go there alone."

Well, my only traveling partner for this would be
Thor – but I felt sure he would be all I'd need. "What does
this Ricky Thomas look like?" I asked.

"Scruffy looking. A lot of bushy facial hair.
His hair is brown and it comes down to the middle of his shoulders in
the back."

The man he described could be the one I'd talked
with the day I drove down there. "How do you know him?" I
asked.

"One of my campaigners told me I should go
see the people I was ready to get rid of. A group of us went down
there several weeks ago. This Ricky was walking up and down the
street alone. I watched him pace within a half-block radius until
finally somebody walked up to him. They obviously exchanged money for
drugs. I was disgusted with the whole scene."

He paused for a few seconds. I waited, and kept
quiet. "I went up to him and introduced myself and told him I'm
trying to rid downtown of drugs. He didn't take too kindly to it, but
I tried to win him over with the same winning personality that got me
elected, and he eventually told me his name and a bit of his story.
Laila, I do want the downtown area revitalized. But that’s not
going to happen as long as drug dealers reign down there."

"Wow, seems you got quite the gift. Yeah. I
have to agree with that part. It would be good to have an
up-and-coming downtown in West River," I said. I wondered just
how, exactly, he would rid the area of druggies and their sources,
but right now I was more interested in the man named Ricky.

"Okay. I promise that if –
if
I go
down there – I'll be careful. Now, what does this guy Ricky Thomas
look like?"

"Well, Ricky Thomas can’t be missed. His
arms are heavily tattooed. I remember seeing a bulldog tattoo on his
upper arm."

"A bulldog tattoo. Got it." I thought
for a minute. "Before you hang up, I have a question for you,
Councilman," I said. "Why did you suddenly decide to help
me? I mean, what changed your mind?"

He paused. "You enlightened me last night.
Your take on the issues convinced me to take a second look."

"That’s it?" I asked.

"Well, of course I want to get re-elected.
That way, I can help the community in positive ways." He was a
politician, all right. He was real slick at changing the subject.
"Laila, have you told the police your suspicions about foul play
regarding the homeless man’s death?"

I was not ready to get that friendly with the
councilman. "Oh, I'm still thinking about that," I said
lightly. He wasn't the only one who could evade a question. Then I
thanked him for the information and we ended the call.

I had to think about my next moves very carefully.
I thought about the bushy-haired man I talked to on the bad side of
town – especially his anger when I'd mentioned the name "John."

I only knew John as a mild-mannered guy who had
accepted coffee and Danish from me a few mornings a week. What could
he have done to provoke such outrage in a low-life drug dealer on a
crime-ridden street?

Chapter Twelve

My thoughts were interrupted again when my phone
rang. I glanced at it and then took a deep breath before answering.

"Hey, Daniel. How’s it going with you?"

"For starters, it’s a beautiful day. And
you're off work today, aren't you?"

I couldn't help grinning. "I sure am. What
are you doing today?"

"I'm on call for the next twenty-four hours.
But Laila, I've got some information that I think you'll want to
hear."

That got my attention. "What information?"
I asked eagerly.

"Well – I've got the autopsy report.

The report!
"Can we meet for lunch
someplace?"

"One o'clock. Sam’s Sandwiches."

Sam's was right down the street from Roasted Love.
"You bet. I'll see you there."

# # #

I arrived at Sam’s Sandwiches a few minutes
before one, and went straight for my usual table at the back. Sam
referred to it as my thinking table and I was sure I'd need it today.

I hoped Daniel had not ended up with an emergency
call. I waited anxiously, and about ten minutes later he walked
through the door.

My breath caught as I watched that tall handsome
man stroll confidently toward me with a folder tucked under his right
arm. He bent to give me a light kiss on the cheek. His eyes sparkled
like a child’s on Christmas morning.

Out server appeared and we gave her our orders.
"I’ll take an iced raspberry tea and a chicken salad
sandwich," I said.

"And I'll have a grilled cheese and a diet
Coke. And potato chips for both of us," said Daniel. He smiled
in my direction. "What? No watercress sandwich this time?"
The server jotted everything down and then left for the kitchen
window.

"It's a woman’s prerogative to change her
mind on occasion," I said. "Now – hand over that report."

Daniel slid it toward me. I flipped open the
manila folder and scanned the autopsy report.

The first thing I saw was the name at the top.
"John Doe," I repeated. "Don’t they know his name
yet?"

"Yes, they do know his name. But I don’t.
It's altered here since Leo Swenson didn’t want to pass around a
report with John’s real name on it. They're still investigating."
Daniel took a sip of his Coke and waited for me while I went on
reading.

The report stated that "John Doe" died
of a heroin overdose. And then I noticed something else. "Is
'benzodiazepine' the sleeping pill you told me about?" I asked.

Daniel nodded.

"Where would John have gotten sleeping pills?
He was as poor as anyone I ever laid eyes on. I mean, he had no money
to pay for a prescription."

Daniel smiled gently. "Most any pills are
easy enough to buy on the streets, as I told you. He could even have
gotten them from a trash bin. I can only tell you that that's what
they found in his system."

"Yeah. I guess facts are facts." I was
still very doubtful, but I did have to own up to the possibility. "I
guess he could have used something like benzodiazepines on occasion.
Sleeping on concrete isn’t exactly conducive to a good night’s
sleep."

Daniel’s eyes were gentle when he looked at me.
"No. I'm sure it isn't."

I was finding out that I had a lot to learn about
illegal drugs. Ever since John’s death, I starting paying closer
attention to the people around West River. No one I saw appeared
homeless to me and I had to admit that if anyone I met was on drugs,
I sure couldn’t tell.

All I did know was that it had been four days
since John’s death and the empty little spot in front of Roasted
Love still gave me a hollow feeling every time I saw it.

"Laila, there's something else I want you to
know." Daniel paused, and then looked up at me. "John will
be buried tomorrow morning at nine o'clock."

I sighed. "Okay. Thanks for telling me."
My shift at the coffee house didn’t start until eleven the next
day, so that would give me time to go and say good-bye to John.

"Now, John had no resources to pay for
burial, and neither does his brother. Steven told them there is no
other family, and so John will be buried in the pauper section of the
cemetery."

I nodded slowly. "Steven told them? You mean
– the investigators found John's brother?"

Daniel smiled just a little. "As a matter of
fact, they did find the brother you mentioned. You were right –
he's in Maxfield Correctional Facility."

I sat for a moment while that sank in. "So –
John's brother Steven is still in prison. But I didn't find him
listed there when I looked online." I looked up at Daniel.
"Maybe I had the wrong name. Maybe his brother goes by a
different name."

Daniel nodded. "It's possible. But right now,
that's confidential."

"Do you think they'll let Steven to go to
John's funeral?" I asked.

"As I understand it, he'll be in shackles and
guarded, but they will let him attend. It'll be just a graveside
rite. No viewing at the funeral home or anything like that."

All I could do was nod. Then I reached across the
table and took Daniel's hand. "Thanks for this. Thanks for
telling me."

He smiled. "Of course."

We finished our lunches on a melancholy note, but
I'd meant what I'd said to Daniel. I really did appreciate his help.

After he and I parted company, I found it hard to
shake the sadness of the life John had led. He had been an
intelligent, witty, storytelling man who had somehow ended up on the
streets. And he'd died in the streets with only the clothes on his
back at the age of thirty-six.

Thirty-six. Even to me, part of Generation Y, it
wasn't old enough to be dead.

If someone had not taken his life, I felt sure he
would have pulled himself out of homelessness given enough time. I
was anxious to see what Steven looked like and how he would handle
his brother’s death, though I didn’t expect to have an
opportunity to speak with him because of his prison status.

It was going to be a very sad event, but I wanted
very to be there as one of John's friends.

# # #

The following morning was breezy, with a slight
coolness in the air. Finding my way to the grave sites of the
unfortunates, I ended at the place where John’s simple wooden
coffin rested on a metal framework over the hole that had been dug
for it.

Waiting beside it were a minister and two shabbily
dressed people I did not recognize. Their attire had the distinct
appearance of someone else who lived on the street.

One woman stood alone, at a little distance from
the rest of us, but facing the service. She was slender and
attractive and nicely dressed, and her long blonde hair swayed in the
light wind

Standing opposite me on the other side of where
John rested was a young man in shackles. His prison guard stood close
beside him. The preacher began the service and read prayers for the
departed.

Steven lowered his eyes during the prayer and I
stole a glance at him. He resembled John somewhat, though younger. He
had the same tawny hair as John and though he was slim, he wasn’t
as thin as his brother had been. He closed his eyes tightly as if
holding back tears. He no longer had his brother or an ally. I felt
sorry for him.