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I don’t care about freakin’ junior high, but I have learned to give people an open mic. I nod my encouragement, and he continues.
“We hadn’t been on campus twenty-four hours when he started smoking pot in the room. I asked him not to ’cause I didn’t want to get in trouble for having it, but he laughed me off. Said everyone was doing it—and he was pretty much right. Then, next thing I know, he starts selling the stuff right out of our dorm room. I mean, I couldn’t study or sleep or anything for the revolving door of people all the time.”
Now this is some information. “Only marijuana?”
“Started out that way, but eventually he started selling pills too. A little cocaine towards the end.”
“Do you know where he got his supply?”
“I didn’t ask questions, especially details. Honestly, we weren’t talking much by then anyway. I was pretty ticked.”
I bet he was. “So what happened? Am I correct that he didn’t finish the semester?” Which might explain why this kid was missed early on. This lead from Tripp was the first I ever heard about Anderson being a student out here.
“That’s right. You know, it was funny. He hardly used the stuff himself, but I came in one afternoon, and he was on his bed, crashed. There was a joint next to him on the nightstand. Took me a few minutes of rattling around and making noise to realize he should have been waking up.”
“What did you do?”
“I ran and got our RA, who called 9-1-1, and he ended up in the hospital. I heard later he had taken something laced with fentanyl.”
“Then what?”
The kid stares at his tennis shoes and I can see tension all over his face, until he pulls his chin up and looks me square in the eye. “I told his parents everything. They were all trying to brush it off as no big deal, typical college freshman junk and he got unlucky. But I figured they needed to know he was dealing, for his sake…and mine. Honestly, I just wanted him gone. I know that makes me a snitch, and some of his friends were real mad at me, but…” He shrugs.
I want to pat his back and tell him he did good, but I worry that might sound condescending. Plus, he’s like half a foot taller than me so it would probably look weird. “You did the right thing, Chase. Things were only going downhill from there.”
He nods. “I know, but it felt wrong. Broke the bro code, you know?”
“He broke it first, don’t you think? Putting you in the middle of all that?”
“That’s what I tell myself.” He checks the phone in his hand. “Hey, man, I got to go.”
“Just a couple more questions?”
He nods, feet shifting restlessly.
“I know I asked before, but do you have any idea, anything at all, about where he was getting his stuff?”
“There was one name he mentioned a lot. I used to think it was one of his frat brothers, but then…I’m not sure.”
“Do you remember the name?”
Please, God.There’s no guarantee any of this will mean anything for me, but the more I know about Anderson, the better my chances of finding out what—if anything—he was up to in Dallas.
“I think it was Gibson. Or Gibbons. Can’t say for sure.”
Chase takes a step toward the sidewalk.
“One last thing. Did Ethan ever own a gun?”
“No, but he talked a lot about buying one.” Winburn shakes his curly head. “It was all so weird, you know. He was this totally middle-class kid. Nice home, normal parents, but he had a weird fascination with the whole thug life thing.”
Interesting. “I said that was the last question, but I have to ask. I know this was three years ago, but do you think Anderson was capable of killing someone?”
Chase meets my eyes with the most direct look yet. “I could believe it. That kid had the most skewed moral compass I’ve ever seen.”
∞∞∞
Annalise is hot on my heels as I stalk back to the truck. She asks a question, but I can’t talk now. This new information is swirling like autumn leaves when a blue norther blows through. Or like West Texas sand, say, like right now. The wind has picked up and a haze is filming the atmosphere. Great.
