“Nothing as far as I know,” she said. “I’d have to look at his chart to be sure, but . . . Probably got his hands on something illegal. Such a shame. What a waste.”

“And you’re sure he was there that night?”

“I believe so. He’s there a lot. I don’t think there was anyone else that night. Come on, let’s go back there and take a look at the log, then I can tell you for sure.”

“Sure,” I said. “Thanks.”

She led me inside to the nurses’ station and began flipping through the pages of the log book.

“Just Johnson and Jacobson according to this,” she said, “but I know Thomas was here. I remember. Oh well, somebody just forgot to write it down.”

“Somebody forgot to write it down?” I asked, my voice revealing my incredulity.

“I know. It shouldn’t have happened. Usually doesn’t. Anyway, I know he was here. Saw him with my own two baby blues.”

“Blues?” I asked.

“Oh,” she said smiling. “Yeah. I have colored contacts on.”

“So Johnson, Jacobson, and Thomas were the only ones here last Monday night, right?”

“Right. I’m sure of it.”

“Who took the trash out that morning?” I asked.

She gave me a large shrug. “That’s the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question, isn’t it?” She leaned in closer to me and whispered, “I can tell you who it wasn’t. It wasn’t Jones. He was cleaning up a urine sample for me. I saw the bags when I went and got him, and when we went back, they were gone. Oh, and it wasn’t me. I was with Jones the whole time. So the two of us are in the clear.”

“Unless,” I said, “you did it together.”

26

“You been drinkin’?” Jake asked.

I had just arrived at Russ Maddox’s house, which was now a crime scene.

Jake Jordan and I were brothers. So were Cain and Abel.

He had been waiting for me in the driveway, chest out, arms dangling wide of his body to accommodate his muscles and gun.

Two years my junior, he also had brown eyes and light brown hair, and although we were both roughly six feet tall, he outweighed me by almost fifty pounds. His dark green deputy sheriff’s uniform shirt was at least two sizes too small, and his pants puckered and pulled at the pleats.

“I don’t think you should be here at all, but no way I’m lettin’ you through if you been drinkin’.”

I continued past him. “Where’s Dad?”

“Inside,” he said, turning to walk with me.

When Jake and I were growing up, we both competed for the approval of our childhood hero, our dad. We both received Dad’s approval, but I had received more and was more like a friend than a son. Jake hated me for it.