Page 60 of The Coppersmith Farmhouse (Jamison Valley 1)
“Ah, it’s no problem. I just can’t believe we’re looking for another dealer,” Sam said.
“Shit keeps getting deeper.”
After bringing Zander Baker and his parents into the station’s interrogation room, I’d learned why he had stolen the jewelry.
To buy illegal prescription pills.
Zander would take a couple of pills himself, usually oxycodone, and then resell the rest at a markup to his friends.
So not only was I trying to track down Wes’s meth operation, now I was looking for a pill mill.
Fuck. Me.
After hearing Zander’s confession, I had more questions than answers.
Zander didn’t know who he was buying the pills from. The exchanges were done using texts and remote drop locations, and every day was in a new place. Underneath a rock by a light pole. Behind a garbage can of a shop downtown. In an envelope taped underneath a mailbox.
The phone numbers had all been linked to disposable phones, which made tracking the dealer using texts impossible. And the pills were always picked up outside of town. Also at different locations during each deal.
“You believe him that he didn’t hit Silas’s calf?” Sam asked.
“He confessed to everything else. Even told us he went out there for a pill pickup. Don’t know why he’d lie about it. Could have been the seller that killed the animal.”
“Or worse. Could be a whole other bunch of kids picking up pills,” Sam said, shaking his head.
“Fuck, Sam. I don’t want Prescott’s kids on drugs. We gotta get to these fucking dealers.”
“What are the chances Wes is behind the pills?”
“Doubt it,” I said. “Doesn’t make sense that he’d branch out. He controls all aspects of his crystal meth operation. He does production so he isn’t reliant on a supplier. Probably keeps eighty to ninety percent of his profits. Pills would mean an outside source. Big cuts into his profit margin. I just don’t think he’d do it.”
“Yeah,” Sam said. “You’re probably right. You’ll get them, boss.”
I sure as fuck hoped he was right.
By the weekend, nothing had changed. I was putting in some extra hours doing paperwork so come tomorrow, I could hit the streets. I needed to be more present in town. See what was happening with my own eyes.
“Working on a Sunday, Brick? No rest for Prescott’s Good Prince, I guess.”
Wes waltzed into my office.
I grumbled but didn’t respond. Instead, I contemplated firing my dispatcher for letting a suspected criminal approach me without warning.
“What do you want, Wes? Here to turn yourself in? Draw me a map to your meth house? Go to rehab?” I asked.
“Whatever are you talking about?” Wes said. “I just came to talk to my old friend Jess.”
“Spit it out, Drummond. What do you want?”
“I heard you went out to talk to Dad last week,” he said.
“Your point?”
“They just love you. Mom and Dad. So disappointed that I didn’t turn out more like you.”
“You know how they feel about drugs. No surprise they’re disappointed. Maybe get some help and make them proud. Take over the farm like your
dad always wanted.”
