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“Look,” he said evenly. “This isn’t the same situation. It’s my house and I want to make sure everything is okay.”
“Do that in two weeks.” Andy let out a heavy breath. “You need to stop chasing crimes that haven’t happened. You need to rest up, get the counselling you’re supposed to get and hopefully get your job back. You want your job back, right?”
“You know I do.”
“Well, you know what to do.”
Jack waited a beat.
“I didn’t
imagine the stuff the Chief is into. I just couldn’t prove it.”
“I know.” Andy’s words said one thing, his tone screamed another. Jack heard it loud and clear – ‘you couldn’t prove it, because it wasn’t real’.
His shoulders slumped as he began to second-guess himself. He turned the key in the ignition.
“You’re doing the right thing,” Andy told him. “Don’t screw things up now.”
As Andy spoke bright lights flicked on behind the bushes. There was a glow where his house used to be. He’d only seen lights like that in a couple of places – football matches, airports and home-made hydroponic environments for people growing their own stash. His blood pumped faster. He’d been right. His instincts were always right.
“Got to go,” he told Andy. “Don’t come get me.”
“Jack, Jack, don’t be stupid, put the car...”
Jack hung up.
In a few seconds he was out of the car and sneaking towards the house. He knew she was up to no good. The way she’d kept glancing at the house while she worried her lip. The flush in her cheeks when she looked him in the eye and lied about what he would find inside, and the way she paled before demanding that he wait two weeks. He wasn’t stupid. He was onto something here. He knew it. He followed the worn brick path around the side of the house, stepping off it into the bushes before he reached the rear.
Voices.
He crouched down low and slowly manoeuvred himself into a position where he could watch and listen. As he angled into the best spot, three hooded figures came into view. They each carried a little bundle.
“I told you this was a great idea,” one of them said.
Male. Young. Jack automatically filed away information he might need later.
“Yeah, these are the best brownies I’ve ever had,” said another.
Brownies?
“Magic brownies,” the third said with awe and they began to giggle.
“Better not let your mum get a hold of them, you know what happened last time,” the first one warned.
“No way, I’m hiding these babies. She isn’t eating any this time.”
They turned the corner of the house towards their mopeds. Jack sat on a low retaining wall that held up the weed ridden vegetable patch. The Blackpool Illuminations had nothing on the light coming from his house. He narrowed his eyes. From the basement of his house to be exact. He crouched low towards one of the narrow windows that would let him peek into the basement. They were covered with white paper. It seemed his tenant didn’t want anyone seeing what was inside. It didn’t matter anyway. You didn’t need twelve years’ experience in drug crimes to know what was going on.
He stood with his hands on his hips and stared at the house.
His crazy tenant was growing marijuana. And she was obviously making brownies laced with the stuff to sell to the local kids.
It was the only explanation. He’d dealt with many drug dealers over the years, but Crazy Davy was something new. He had to wonder if she just woke up one morning and thought: I know a good way to supplement my income, I’ll grow dope. Jack shook his head. She was nuttier than even he’d suspected. One thing was for sure – he didn’t want it happening in his house. He needed to get to his car, call for back-up and shut this amateur operation down.
It was only when he was halfway back to his car that he realised something: he no longer had the power to arrest anyone. And who was going to believe him after his spectacular public meltdown? The whole world knew he was in therapy. Jack’s grip tightened on the car door handle.
He needed to regroup. He needed a plan. He needed more evidence to get the squad involved – apparently a hunch based on years of experience wasn’t going to cut it anymore. He glanced back towards the house. Whatever he did, he needed to do it fast. There was no way he’d let his house be used as a crime den. Regardless of what the criminal looked like, or how good she tasted.
