Chapter 11
The sheriff’s aluminum patrol boat crashed through the swells. The briny air swirled, and the twin outboards rumbled, as we carved through the teal water. The morning sun danced on the surface.
We pulled alongside and boarded the boat, along with Brenda and her crew. Dietrich and the forensic investigators joined. The boat got crowded quickly.
The distraught woman tried her best to hold back the tears. But that was a losing battle. Her big blue eyes filled, and the droplets spilled over, streaming down her cheeks. She wiped them away as best she could. With a gesture below deck, she said, "I just found him like that.”
The sheriff climbed down the companionway, followed by Brenda. We brought up the rear while the others waited in the cockpit.
It was a nice, older boat with a galley to port and a settee to starboard.
In the main salon, a man lay slumped on the vinyl cushions of the settee. A needle, a spoon, a lighter, and all the accessories needed to shoot heroin lay nearby. His brown eyes were fixed, staring into space. The color had drained from his skin. Rigor had set in. His body was stiff.
I figured he’d been like this for 6 to 12 hours, but Brenda would make a determination. He wasn't totally ripe yet, but that fishy smell of death lingered.
I placed him in his mid-30s, but he had a boyish look to his face. His shaggy, sandy-blond hair hung in curls past his ears.
The boat pitched and rolled with the swells.
The sheriff just frowned and shook his head. "Dietrich, get down here and take some photos."
He joined the party and started snapping away. Camera flashes bounced off the bulkheads.
I glanced around, taking an inventory of the scene, then climbed back into the cockpit to question the woman. I flashed my badge and made introductions.
"When did you find him?”
“This morning,” Lacey said. “I’d been trying to get in touch with him last night. But sometimes cell service can be spotty out here, and he moves around a lot. He’d been anchoring here for the last week or so.”
"What's your relationship with the deceased?" I asked.
Lacey shrugged. "I don't know. I guess he's my boyfriend. Was my boyfriend." Her eyes filled again. "I mean, we've kind of been off and on lately."
"What's his name?"
"Wes. Wesley Oliver.”
"How long had he been using?"
Lacey shrugged. "I'm not really sure. That's kind of how we met.”
I gave her a curious look.
"I got clean. I told him I couldn't be around him if he was still doing that stuff. He went into rehab. Sobered up. He'd been clean for a few weeks. I told him we'd ease back into our relationship." Her eyes filled. "I really did love him. I thought…”
She choked up and couldn't finish.
"You know where he got the stuff?"
Lacey shook her head.
"I'm sure you know who his dealer was before he went into rehab.”
She nodded but didn't say anything.
"I need a name."
Lacey bit her bottom lip and thought about it for a moment. "Tad. But you can't tell him I gave you his name."
"Does Tad have a last name?”
After a moment’s hesitation, she said, “Vickers.”
"When was the last time you saw Wes?" I asked.
"A couple of days ago. Like I said, we were taking it slow.”
"You know if he saw anyone else yesterday?"
"I don't know. I talked to him in the morning.
" Her eyes filled, and her throat tightened again.
"We were supposed to spend the day together today.
" She sobbed for a moment. "Something must have happened to set him off.
Last time I talked to him, he sounded so optimistic.
He talked about all his plans. How he wanted to make everything right. Start over."
I gave a sympathetic frown. "Did he have a job?”
"No, he was between jobs at the moment. He worked in tech before, and I think he’d done okay. But he constantly complained about having to pay his ex-wife so much money. Plus child support."
"Do you know her name?"
"Angela Oliver."
It broke my heart to learn he had kids. A senseless reason to lose their father.
I gave Lacey a card and told her to get in touch if she remembered any additional details.
JD and I joined the sheriff below deck as Brenda examined the remains. "No signs of trauma," she said. "Everything is consistent with an overdose, but I'll know more when I get him back to the lab.”
There was enough heroin left in a glassine bag to test. There was a high probability he had hit a hotspot of fentanyl.
Or perhaps he just overestimated the dose.
Happens all the time when junkies fall off the wagon.
They go back to shooting their old maintenance dosage, but they've lost their tolerance.
Just a little bit can be enough to kill sometimes.
Brenda and her crew bagged the body, and we wrapped up at the scene. Wesley's remains were transferred aboard the patrol boat, and the sailboat would be impounded. JD and I took it back to the marina at the sheriff's office, then filled out paperwork.
I ran background on Tad Vickers to see if he had a criminal record, but the guy was clean.
Afterward, we set out to find Wesley’s ex-wife, Angela, to inform her of the tragic news. She had a few interesting things to say.