Chapter Eleven
Campbell pulled into Chao’s Auto Repair on Sixteenth Street.
He was hoping to find Irving Quinaz, a thirty-two-year-old auto mechanic with a criminal record that involved drug dealing.
According to a bartender at the Kieke’s Nightclub on Lour Avenue, Mia O’Dell was identified as having been there on the Saturday night before Founder’s Day and leaving with Quinaz.
The location itself was pinpointed as a result of cell phone data that revealed Mia’s cell phone—which was still missing—had pinged close to the nightclub a short time prior to her estimated time of death.
It was the last time the phone was on to record her location before it went dead.
Considering the timeline and circumstances, Campbell definitely suspected Quinaz was a person of interest in supplying Mia with the fentanyl mixed with carfentanil that killed her.
If this was the case, was it an unintentional lethal dose?
Or did he willfully kill her—perhaps at the behest of someone else? Such as Kenneth Braison?
Stepping into the auto shop garage, Campbell spotted—working under the hood of a Buick Enclave—a man who fit the description of Irving Quinaz’s mug shot. When he looked up, Campbell saw that he had brown eyes and brown hair in a high fade style, was of medium build and about six feet tall.
He regarded Campbell and asked nonchalantly, “Can I help you?”
“Are you Irving Quinaz?”
“Yeah, who are you?”
Flashing his identification, Campbell replied coolly, “Detective Sawyer, Reston Hills PD. I’d like to ask you a few questions about Mia O’Dell—”
Quinaz jutted his chin. “What about her?”
So, he’s not denying that he knows Mia, Campbell told himself, stepping closer to the suspect.
“She died on Founder’s Day from a drug overdose.
Do you happen to know anything about that” —Campbell watched his uneasy reaction— “as the man identified seen leaving the Kieke’s Nightclub with Mia on Saturday, the night before she wound up naked and dead in Reston Hills Park? ”
Quinaz knitted thick brows. “Look, I heard about that, but I had nothing to do with it, okay? We met at the club, hooked up in the back of my Toyota Highlander and went our separate ways. Never saw her again. End of story—”
Campbell peered at him. Even if plausible, he wasn’t quite ready to leave it at that. “Did you provide Mia with fentanyl during this hook up?”
“No—definitely not!” Quinaz insisted.
“You have a record that suggests otherwise,” Campbell put forth.
“I was a kid when I got involved with the wrong people at the wrong time in the drug culture.” Quinaz blew out a loud breath. “I did no time and have kept my nose clean ever since. Wherever Mia got the fentanyl, it didn’t come from me.”
Campbell mulled that over. He had always believed in second chances—for both mistakes made and romance. Maybe Quinaz deserved the benefit of the doubt. Or not.
“Did Mia ever mention anything to you about the Braison Family?”
Quinaz met his eyes. “Yeah, she said she was a member but might be getting out of the cult.”
“Did she say why?”
“Only that it wasn’t everything it was cracked up to be…and that something better was maybe about to come her way.” He scratched his head. “She didn’t say what that was. And I never asked.”
Campbell couldn’t help but wonder what that was all about. Was that the fentanyl-carfentanil combo creating an unrealistic fantasy in Mia’s head before she OD’d on it? Or could she have found herself a sugar daddy outside the cult—who maybe she tried to blackmail and then paid the ultimate price?
Or was Kenneth Braison determined to keep her in the fold, whatever it took? Even if it meant making an example out of her in wanting to break free of his hold as a cult leader.
Campbell cast his eyes on the mechanic and asked him straightforwardly, “What time did this hookup between you and Mia end?”
“Around midnight,” Quinaz answered with no runup.
“Hmm. And what did you do after that?”
“I drove home,” he insisted.
“What about Mia?” Campbell asked, noting that the nightclub was less than a mile from Reston Hills Park. “Did you see her with anyone else?”
Quinaz shook his head. “She just walked off.” He paused. “Thought about asking if she wanted a lift. But I had the feeling—don’t ask me why—that she either already had a ride or had other plans that didn’t involve me…”
“Okay.” Campbell wasn’t necessarily sold on his story but couldn’t dispute it as yet.
He considered the possibility that Mia had gotten a ride with either a known or unknown person.
Or may have walked to the park and could have been followed there.
Or someone was waiting for her at the park, or she encountered them randomly—and was handed the lethal drug combo.
Maybe surveillance cameras can give us something, Campbell thought. He looked Quinaz in the eye and said warningly, “If I have any further questions, I’ll be back.”
“Fine by me,” Quinaz said with a shrug. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Campbell walked out of the garage, believing that it was likely a dead end with the mechanic, while providing more food for thought otherwise.
He got in his SUV and drove off, wondering if Mia could have somehow gotten in over her head through one means or another.
Over and beyond her exposure to fentanyl.
* * *
JASMINE WASN’T QUITE sure who to trust as she walked around the compound, trying to avoid eye contact with anyone who might become suspicious of her and report this to Kenneth or Juan.
She did her best to appear as unbothered as possible when it came to Mia being dead from a drug overdose.
After all, it seemed as though most of the Braison Family members had come to terms with her death, as if it was just something that happened and not their concern.
But Jasmine saw it differently. She didn’t believe that Mia would knowingly ingest fentanyl, putting her life on the line.
Not to mention disappointing Kenneth—if, in fact, he wasn’t the one who’d handed her the fentanyl in the first place.
At least on the surface, he appeared adamantly against drug use on the property.
Yet beneath the surface, Jasmine feared that the Braison Family was pretty much capable of anything. Even murder, if anyone dared to challenge Kenneth’s authority. While making it appear to be a self-inflicted overdose.
Was this what had happened to Mia—who could be headstrong and independent-minded, unlike most of the followers? Had she been murdered to keep her silenced forever? Had she learned secrets that made her a liability?
Jasmine sucked in a deep breath as she forced a smile at this follower and that one, but kept her mouth shut.
Why hadn’t Kenneth been more forthcoming when she expressed her concerns to him about Mia and her totally unexpected and premature death?
Why did he, instead, blow her off and go through the same old Braison Family principles as a way to avoid the subject?
Did someone in the Family have it in for Mia—with or without Kenneth’s knowledge or consent—and coax her into OD’ing and being left naked and humiliated at the park?
Jasmine wondered if Stefanie might be able to provide her with any answers, if only for her own peace of mind.
And to help her decide if she wanted to remain a member of the Braison Family.
She and Stefanie had exchanged phone numbers, with Stefanie encouraging her to call if she ever needed to talk—almost as though this was expected of her.
I’ll do it—give her a call and maybe we can meet up somewhere away from prying eyes and talk, Jasmine told herself.
She glanced over her shoulder as if someone were watching her.
While no one stood out, she spotted Siobhan, who tried to pretend she was too busy on her cell phone to notice her—but never seemed to miss a beat when being on the lookout for anything she could report back to Kenneth or Juan.
Jasmine couldn’t help but wonder if Mia had felt the same way. Before disaster struck like a tornado.
* * *
IN HER LIVING ROOM, Stefanie sat on the copper-colored MCM chair, watching television. Or at least she was trying to, gazing at the fifty-five-inch smart TV on the wall. It was hard to concentrate with Curlie on her lap trying to decide whether to be still or spry, per her cat nature.
Beyond that, Stefanie couldn’t help but think about her night of passion with Campbell, awakening desires in her she never knew she had.
The way he reacted to her touch, kisses and more, she believed that he, too, was feeling it.
So yes, she believed that they had started dating officially, more or less.
This scared her as much as exhilarated her, as venturing into new territory in a Reston Hills relationship with sex as a part of the equation meant moving into the next phase of starting over as a widow.
Was she really up for this? Would Campbell protect her heart as she needed in forging ahead and making the most of the opportunity that they had both been afforded?
And would she be able to give him everything he needed in a woman, lover and friend as he traded in his single status for becoming boyfriend material?
Stefanie looked even further ahead at the prospects of matrimony, children, meeting Campbell’s dad and his partner—and how this all might play out—if she and Campbell remained serious about each other over the long haul.
There you go overthinking things again, Stefanie admonished herself. She would not go there. Just let things happen as they’re meant to—or not, she thought, enjoying the ride in the meantime.
Curlie grew restless and jumped from her lap onto the floor, where the cat then ran off to be by herself. Stefanie chuckled with amusement, then turned back to the TV screen to focus on the old romance movie she was trying to watch.