Divine Justice (Camel Club 4)

CHAPTER 34

VISITING HOURS at the hospital were long over, but Stone found a sympathetic nurse who let him into the ward after he explained his connection.

“That’s right,” the nurse said. “Doc Warner mentioned that. Who would’ve thought to use a car engine to start somebody’s heart?”

Somebody who’s been in a war.

Willie was propped up in the bed and hooked up to an IV drip. Other cables connected to his body ran to a monitor where lines and numbers darted across.

When Stone walked in Willie opened his eyes and said, “Who the hell are you?”

“Ben. I helped your grandfather get you here.”

Willie put out a hand. “Gramps told me about that. I guess I owe you my life.”

“You look like you’re doing better.”

“Don’t feel all that much better.”

“Did they tell you how long you’ll be in here?”

“No. I still don’t know what the hell happened.”

“You overdosed.”

“I know I did. I just don’t know how I did it.”

“So what’d they find in your bloodstream?”

“Docs said oxycodone along with some other stuff.”

“That would do it.”

“But I didn’t have any. That shit is expensive unless you got a prescription. You’re talking a couple hundred bucks a pill on the street.”

Stone pulled up a chair and sat next to the bed. Willie Coombs had longish brown hair and a good-looking face though tiny lines were already massing around his eyes and lips. He looked like Danny Riker, only more worn. “All right, what did you have and what did you take?”

“Hey, you some kind of undercover cop?”

“Well, if I were it’d be a pretty clear case of entrapment.”

Willie let out a long sigh. “I’m too tired to give a shit. What I usually do is get me some fentanyl patches, shuck ’em in two, squeeze out the juice, cook it up and inject it in my feet. Gives you a nice pop, like heroin.”

“Fentanyl? China white, right?” Stone said.

“You sound like you know your drugs.”

“You said that’s what you usually do?”

“Prescription ran out. So I just got me some run-of-the-mill street crack. Never had no trouble like this.”

“Bob told me it was crack.”

Willie looked surprised. “Well, if he told you, why the hell ask me?”

“I always like to confirm things with a corroborating source.”

“You sure you ain’t a cop?”

“Not even close. But crack is a stimulant. Your pupils would have been seven or eight millimeters, not pinpoints.”

“I don’t know what to tell you.”

“How can you take crack and then go to work in the mines?”

“Had a couple days off. Sick leave,” Willie added hastily.

“You sure you didn’t take any oxycodone that night?”

“I wouldn’t have taken any even if I had it.”

“Why not?”

“Doc Warner put me on it when I busted up my arm in the mines couple years ago. Got some kind of reaction to it so I don’t use the damn stuff.”

“Did you take anything else? Anything you can remember? Eating or drinking?”

“Had a couple beers. Picked up some takeout at Rita’s.”

Stone perked up. “What sort of takeout?”

“Burger and fries and a platter of grilled nachos.”

“So you ate, drank and then did the crack?”

“Yep. Started acting jumpy and shit and rambling on, but I was by myself, so that was okay. Before I was going to bed I took some Tylenol. I always take Tylenol anyway, every night. Just turned twenty-three, but I feel like I’m sixty some days.”

“Tylenol?”

“Then I remember Gramps showing up. Then things really started getting weird.”

“Who knew you took Tylenol every night?”

“Ain’t like I kept it a secret. Lot of folks take pills up here.”

“Yeah, I’m starting to see that,” Stone said dryly. “So anybody really could’ve known?”

“What the hell are you getting at, mister?”

“If somebody replaced your Tylenol with oxycodone pills, that could explain how it got in your system. How many did you take?”

“A couple, least I think.”

“Were there any left in the bottle?”

“A few.”

“Do you remember if they looked like Tylenol pills?”

Willie sat up, pulling the IV lines and cables taut. “You saying somebody’s trying to kill me? Who the hell would wanta do that?”

“You’d know that better than me, Willie.”

“I doubt somebody’s coming after me for my double-wide, guns and hunting bows. Other than that, I ain’t got much.”

“Forget the money factor. Anybody have a grudge against you?”

“’Bout what?”

“Did you tick somebody off? Steal somebody’s girl?”

“I had a girl,” Willie snapped. “But she’s dead.”

“Debby Randolph?”

“How did you know that?”

“Small town. I heard she committed suicide.”

“Yeah, that’s what they say.”

“You think different?”

“What the hell reason did she have to commit suicide? Tell me that.”

“I saw some of her work at the craft shop. She was talented.”

Willie’s face assumed a proud look. “She could draw and paint. And make stuff out of clay. She had a studio set up in a storage shed behind her parents’ house. That’s where her momma found her,” he added quietly. “That’s why I took some sick leave. I went back to work after the funeral, but, man, my head was all messed up.”

“I can understand that, Willie. I really can.”

“You wanta see a picture of her?”

Stone nodded and Willie reached into the drawer of his nightstand and pulled out his wallet. He slid a photo out and passed it over to Stone.

Willie and Debby were standing next to each other. The tall Willie towered over the petite Debby. She had dirty blonde hair and an infectious smile with eyes full of warmth.

“You can tell from her face she’s just a really nice person.”

Willie slowly nodded as he stared down at the dead woman’s face.

As Stone gazed at the picture, an obvious point clicked in his head. “She doesn’t look like someone who would kill herself.”

“I’d asked her to marry me and she said yes. Happy as can be. Then the next thing I know she’s dead.” His face trembled and the tears started to slide down his thin, pale cheeks. “That’s why I got back on the drugs after she died. I had nothing left.”

“Did you tell people she and you were getting married?”