"That's what we're here for," Sandra replied, watching them leave. Something about the Blackwood contract lingered in her mind, but she couldn't put her finger on what bothered her about it. Maybe it was just the complexity, or perhapsit was the way Manuel seemed uncomfortable discussing the confidentiality requirements.
She filed the copy away, jotting a note to follow up with Manuel in a few weeks to see how the project was progressing.
20
Terry rubbed his temples as he stared at the whiteboard covered in names, dates, and connecting lines that looked like a spider's web of youth stupidity and adult enablement. The DTF bullpen smelled like stale coffee and the lingering scent of breakfast burritos that one of the receptionists brought in, but Terry had learned to ignore worse during his years in narcotics.
"Alright," Terry said, his voice carrying the weight of command as he turned to face the assembled group. "Let's see what we've got."
Jeremy shifted in his chair, his notepad already filled with his precise handwriting. Pete leaned back against the wall, his arms crossed, while Colt sat at the head of the table with his own detectives, Mark and Brad, flanking him on either side.
"Four of the five renters lawyered up, but before then, all five claimed that they had no idea how the drugs got into the house. They claim it wasn’t there when they arrived, so someone else must have brought it in," Jeremy began, flipping through his notes. "The bad news is Madison Hartwell's daddy opened his checkbook faster than a slot machine in Vegas."
Terry's jaw tightened. Money always complicated things, especially when it came from the kind of family that could make problems disappear with a phone call.
"Attorney Richard Hartwell is representing all of them except Claire Smith," Pete added, his voice edged with frustration. "His own daughter, Madison, Robert Whitman, Theodore Travers, and Bill Manderly. Claire Smith was more forthcoming."
Colt leaned forward, his weathered face grim. "What are we looking at for charges?"
"The commonwealth attorney will look at possession with intent to distribute if it looks like we can make it stick," Mark said, consulting his notes. "The property destruction charge is solid. That house took a beating."
"About that," Brad interjected, his pen tapping against the table. "Attorney Hartwell's already claiming the lease clause about tenant responsibility will be honored. Says Robert Whitman is already planning on restitution to Harrison Blackwood."
A frustrated chuckle burst from Terry’s chest. "What about the drug charges?"
"If we can make the case," Jeremy said, his voice cautious. "The problem is proving intent to distribute. So far, no fingerprints were found on the drug bags. With high-powered attorneys..."
"They'll argue it didn’t belong to anyone there," Pete finished, disgust evident in his tone.
Terry paced over to the whiteboard again, staring at the names, his hands propped on his hips. "What about Claire Smith?" Terry asked, turning back to face the group.
"That's our best lead," Mark said, his voice gaining strength. "Out of the original five staying there, she was the one who seemed the most upset at what was happening."
Terry nodded slowly. "Have we reached out to her attorney?"
"Called this morning," Jeremy said. "Benjamin Walsh. Defense attorney out of Richmond. He's willing to set up a meeting, but he wants to know exactly what we're offering in exchange for cooperation."
"Smart lawyer," Pete muttered.
"Another rich family?" Terry asked.
"Her father owns three car dealerships in the area," Brad confirmed. "Smith Automotive Group. Not the level of Hartwell money, but enough to hire quality representation."
Terry returned to his seat, his mind processing the information. Claire Smith was their best shot at unraveling the bigger picture. Someone didn't just stumble onto a party location with that kind of drug supply. Whoever brought it had plans with at least one person there… maybe more.
"Set up the meeting with Walsh," Terry decided. "I want to hear what Claire has to say. Even if she doesn't want to cooperate, her reactions might tell us something."
"What about the other kid? The one from the Shore," Colt asked. "He might be more willing to talk without high-powered lawyers whispering in their ears."
Terry considered this and nodded. The local teenager who'd been at the party was probably scared, confused, and looking for a way to distance themselves from the situation. Fear could be a powerful motivator for honesty.
"The Garcia kid might be worth talking to," Pete suggested. "Jose Garcia. His parents were upset with him. I know him a little and think he’s a good kid. He might give us more information."
"Good," Terry said, making a note.
Jeremy cleared his throat. "There's something else. The drug evidence we collected... it's higher quality than what we usually see on the street. This wasn't some kid dealing dime bags behind the school. This was professional-grade stuff."
Terry's pulse quickened. Professional-grade drugs meant professional-grade dealers, which meant this college party might be connected to something much bigger than they initially thought.
