Gloria nodded and said thoughtfully, “Sedwick’s accusations, serious as they are, against a deceased Stuart Reston—in which Sedwick admits to being complicit in obtaining the poison used to kill Boxleitner—may not be enough to reopen the investigation formally. But it does give us good reason to take the onus off Wendell Braison, with the long-held belief that he had gotten away with murder.”
“I agree,” Campbell said, even if he wasn’t quite ready to say the same for Kenneth Braison, who was still a suspect in the current investigation.
Ulrich González, the slim thirtysomething, brown-eyed cold case detective, whose black hair was in a military-style undercut, looked at him and then the chief before saying, “I’d be happy to do some more digging into this if you like.”
Campbell took the liberty of replying unenthusiastically, “Knock yourself out.” He knew that it would ultimately be Gloria’s call and doubted she would want to prioritize this ahead of other cold cases that had more to work with at this point in time. She didn’t disappoint him in dissuading Ulrich from this.
Georgina leaned forward at the table and asked for further clarification, “With the Lynda Boxleitner murdermoving in a different direction, where does that leave us in connecting it to the OD deaths of Jasmine Roxburgh and Mia O’Dell?”
“Glad you asked,” Campbell told her with a slight grin. “I think the Boxleitner death inspired a copycat to use a currently available poison to kill O’Dell and Roxburgh in a manner that links all three deaths to the Braison Family.” He sighed. “The degree of that linkage and whether or not it amounts to a serial killer at large in Reston Hills remains to be seen.”
* * *
THAT AFTERNOON,CAMPBELL ANDGEORGINA, along with armed detectives from the Reston Hills Police Department’s Narcotics Unit, a SWAT team, K-9 unit’s dual-purpose drug-detection canines, and US Drug Enforcement Administration special agents, converged on a ranch house on Quakely Road. Based on evidence that strongly suggested that the fentanyl powder mixed with the potent synthetic opioid fentanyl analog, carfentanil had come from a known purported local drug dealer named Luther Valdez, a search warrant was issued for his Reston Hills residence.
Valdez, fifty-six, had served a dozen years in federal prison for various drug-trafficking offenses. Now Campbell wondered if he was up to his old tricks, supplying the deadly drugs that killed Mia and Jasmine. Just as important was, if true, whether or not Valdez had sold the fentanyl directly to the victims. Or to someone else, who had chosen to commit serial murder.
Campbell noted that there were two vehicles parked on the property—a black Mitsubishi Outlander SUV that was registered to Valdez, and a red Honda Pilot SportSUV. The assumption was that the occupants of the house were armed, so they would act accordingly in executing the warrant.
Wearing a ballistic vest beneath his blazer, Campbell made contact with Georgina, also with a vest on, then the rest of the team, before giving the go-ahead for the raid to proceed.
Within moments, they had stormed the house. It had little in the way of furnishings—mostly traditional—with hardwood flooring. The citrusy scent of marijuana permeated the air as they were confronted by a Rottweiler guard dog. The K-9 unit was able to effectively deal with the threat by subduing the animal and safely removing it from the premises.
They detained, without further resistance, the sole occupant—a medium built, short male with textured brown hair in a mullet cut, a scruffy beard and dark eyes—who identified himself as Luther Valdez.
After presenting him with the warrant, the search of the residence ensued. Confiscated were illegal narcotics—including fentanyl pills in multiple colors, fentanyl powder and liquid, methamphetamine, heroin, and cocaine—and oxycodone, a painkiller. Also seized were illegal firearms and ammunition.
Valdez was taken into custody to face charges.
* * *
IN AN INTERROGATION ROOM, Campbell got the first crack at the suspect, before the Feds would ultimately take possession of him, seeing that a number of suspected serious drug-related violations of federal law had been made by Luther Valdez.
Sitting in a wooden chair across a metal table from thesuspect, Campbell glanced at the video camera that was recording the interview, then back at Valdez, and said to him in a deep tone of voice, “It looks like you had quite an operation going there.” And obviously had not learned any lessons from his previous stint behind bars.
Valdez scratched his beard and muttered, “Yeah, I guess.”
“Uh, this means you’re in a lot of trouble,” Campbell told him mockingly, in case he didn’t get that. “Drug trafficking happens to be a serious crime in this state—and the country.”
Valdez rolled his eyes. “So why am I here?”
“You’re here because I’d like to help you, if you’ll help me—” Campbell said, watching his reaction.
“How’s that?” he asked suspiciously.
Campbell dodged the question. He pushed two pictures in front of his face and said solemnly, “Since Founder’s Day, these two women have OD’d on fentanyl mixed with carfentanil… I have good reason to believe that the drugs came from you. The question is, did you sell or give it to them directly? Or did you sell it to someone else?” He considered that it was a leap of faith that they had zeroed in on the right drug trafficker. Now he only needed him to bite the bait.
Valdez studied the two faces of the dead women, taken after the fact for maximum effect on the results of drug overdoses. He jutted his chin and said tonelessly, “I’ve never seen either of them before.”
Campbell wasn’t sure he bought that, and pressed him. “Your drugs killed them,” he said flatly. “If you didn’t hand them a death sentence directly, then someone elsedid. Who did you sell the fentanyl powder laced with carfentanil to on or around Founder’s Day?”
Valdez set his jaw. “What’s in it for me?”
I was afraid he’d ask that, Campbell told himself. He responded straightforwardly, “If you’re legit, I can put in a good word for you when your case moves forward. Could make the difference in how you fare at the end of the day. Now, I need a name.” He wondered if Kenneth Braison’s name would pop out of his mouth.
After a moment or two of contemplation, Valdez leaned toward him and said, “I sold the fentanyl to Juan Barrientos—”
“Barrientos?” Campbell hoisted a brow, glancing at the video camera.
