An Unattended Death, Part 1

(This is based on actual events. Names, location and some details have been changed to protect the innocent. Ryton doesn't exist.)

      I never meant to get involved with a murder. I like reading mysteries, but in real life, it's an entirely different thing. In real life it's scary, strange and sad. My only explanation is that I'm curious beyond what is safe.
      I was living in Ryton at the time. If you're not familiar with that town, it's out in western Oklahoma. The wind blows all the time. In summer the red dirt fills the air so that you get a lovely red necklace every time you go out. I wear contact lenses, and the heat and dust gave my eyes fits. I had taken to wearing wrap-around sunglasses that I hoped made me look cool, but I'm afraid made me look like the Bug-Man From Beyond.
      I sold advertising for the local radio station. I basically went door-to-door to various businesses and begged for their money. Sometimes they were kind and bought a run of commercials; other times they set their dogs on me.
      The oil boom had busted, and lots of people were living hand to mouth. I guess it wasn't surprising some people were looking at filling their mouth with what was in other people’s hands. Robberies were up, mostly break-ins when people were gone, but a few convenience store hold-ups, too.
      I dropped by one of my accounts on that day, a local men's clothing store. I intended to squeeze this particular customer out of some money that he owed the station. He was three months behind in his advertising bill. Since I didn't get paid my commission until he paid the station, I was determined to get some cash. (I tried to get my creditors to collect directly from my accounts, but they seemed reluctant to do so, the lazy bums.)
      I walked in the store, checked out the overpriced clothing and looked at a suit that would cost me a kidney to buy. My client Simon Williams was on the phone. I expected him to make me wait. A lot of customers did that, got on the phone or called a staff meeting, hoping I'd get tired and give them another day to hold on to the station's money. They soon learned that I was quite willing to settle down and start life anew in their store if I had to.
      So I sat on a chair in front of a TV, grabbed a remote, flipped to County Music Television and made myself comfortable. But for once, I didn't wait long.
      He hung up and motioned me over.
      "Hey, Simon," I said. "Hope you're having a good day. Just thought I'd stop by and see if you wanted me to take a check to the station. Save you a stamp." Better to get what you wanted right out front. Otherwise, some of them would never give you an opening.
      He nodded, reached over and got his checkbook. "What do I owe?"
      "I think I just happen to have a copy of your bill," I said, digging into my briefcase. I 'just happened' to have every slow-paying customer's bill with me.
      I handed it to him. As he wrote out the check, I noticed that he looked pale. His shoulders slumped, and his hand shook. His designer shirt looked rumpled.
      I took the check. "Thanks. Hey, are you feeling okay?"
      He nodded and then shook his head. "I just found out they found a good friend of mine dead this morning."
      "Oh, I’m sorry to hear that."
      "My dad called me a couple of hours ago, and I'm still dealing with it."
      "Maybe you should take off work."
      "No," he said. "I'm better at work."
      "I understand that," I said. "Keeps your mind off things."
      "I just don’t understand," Simon said.
      "What happened?" I asked.
      He sighed again. "I shouldn't be talking about it, but it's going to be in the paper anyway. It was Aaron Brody. He ODed on heroin."
      "Wow," I said, showing that gift for eloquence I was known for. Marshall Brody owned a lot of businesses and real estate in Ryton. A nice, honest, hard working man whose great disappointment was his only son Aaron. Aaron had started on drugs in his teens, been in and out of trouble with the law ever since.
      "He had a drug problem," Simon said. "But he had been doing so well. I had lunch with him last week, and I swear he was as clean as I am."
      "Drugs are hard to kick," I said. "Sometimes people can’t."
      "I just don’t understand," Simon said. "I could usually spot when he was using. He would be really nervous and his eyes would look huge." He laughed sadly. "He used to wear thick glasses in high school before he got contacts. After he stopped wearing them, he always had that owl look, you know. I guess I just got used to seeing those ugly things on him."
      I didn't comment. I come from a long line of folks who wear glasses and/or contacts, and I don't find glasses particularly ugly. Privately, I thought Simon was a yuppie snob. He had always worked for his father, who actually owned the store. They had been rich a long time.
      The Brodys, on the other hand, had been dirt poor and only became wealthy during the oil boom. Marshall Brody had been smarter than other people and invested his money in stable investments. As a result, the Brodys were still wealthy. Maybe having money too quick had led Aaron to dark places.
      Boy, he loved that old car," Simon said. "It was a red ‘73 Mustang. Aaron restored it by hand himself." I listened politely as he shared some memories of him and Aaron picking up girls and getting drunk in that '73 Mustang.
      Finally I said my good-byes.
      "I'm going to miss him," Simon said. "I'm going to miss him."
      The evening paper didn't give much more information, other than Aaron had been found out in the woods, near Watts Ridge, by some hunters. Apparently he had driven his car there because it was found near his body. He was lying on a blanket, some heroin vials near his body, and too much heroin in his body. He'd been dead for at least a day.
      Everyone talked about how sad it was, that he had killed himself with drugs. There were even whispers of suicide. The county sheriff’s office called it an "unattended death due to the deceased's actions." Sad, but no mystery.
      But they were wrong.
(Continued tomorrow)
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