Chapter Twenty-Six

The afternoon sun cast a pallid light over the decrepit trailer park. The corrosion of time was evident in every rusted panel and dirt-streaked window. Debris cluttered the small yards, some even with hubcaps and tires that had long ago parted ways with their vehicles. Unfortunately, some of the garbage appeared to have become a permanent part of the landscape.

Brook's gaze lingered on one trailer in particular.

She sat motionless in the car, the engine"s quiet purr blending in with the vehicles driving on the single-lane road running parallel with the trailer park. It wasn't that the area was busy, but there did seem to be enough of a constant stream of traffic to be an annoyance to those who lived in the mobile homes.

The small gravel area in front of Mack Swilling's trailer was void of any vehicle. The same went for a lot of the other trailers, save for the lone woman some distance away. She was maybe in her sixties, dutifully watering two struggling plants. A broken-down airstream was positioned directly across the single lane. A curtain shifted slightly when her gaze landed on the thin window.

Brook turned off the engine before reaching for her phone that she had placed in the cupholder. She tucked it into the exterior pocket of her blazer before opening the driver's side door. There was a faint odor of fresh-cut grass, but she couldn't hear any lawnmowers in the distance.

The two wooden steps leading up to the trailer door creaked ominously under her weight. She noted the splintering edges and the way the once-white paint had peeled away to reveal the rotting wood underneath. Curtains hung limp just inside the interior door"s window. The fabric was so thin that even the weak sunlight seemed too much for them.

Unsurprised by the silence that met her first knock, she rapped on the door again, louder. It was more for show than anything else. No one answering would allow her to make her way across the narrow road to ask the neighbor some questions.

"Anyone home?" Brook called out loudly, her voice carrying on the slight breeze.

With her work at the door done, she descended the steps that miraculously held firm before walking toward the airstream. If the rust on the hubcaps were anything to go by, the tires had deflated long ago. A slab of concrete had been placed right underneath the entrance.

The door flung open, revealing an older man in his seventies or eighties. It was difficult to gauge given his weathered skin. His face was essentially a roadmap of what not to do with one's life, along with a single missing tooth on top and two below. A bottle of beer was in his hand, but he must have already drunk the contents. He was currently using the bottle as a spit container.

"Whatcha want?"

"I'm looking for Mack or Carl Swilling," Brook asked as she removed her sunglasses. She held them in her left hand, along with the car keys. "Do you know if they are at work?"

According to Bit, Mack Swilling appeared to be between jobs. His last position had been working in a warehouse. The company had laid off a few workers, and he had been one of them.

"Who's askin'?" The suspicion in the man's voice was palpable.

Brook took a moment to consider her next move carefully. If she displayed her credentials, he would more than likely slam the door in her face. She decided on a half-truth. The added weight of honesty would help balance the omission.

"There was a death in the family, and I need to speak with them." Brook compressed her lips as if she were contemplating sharing more information, but finally gave a slight shrug instead. "It's personal. I'm sure you can understand, Mr…"

"Puckett. Everyone calls me Puck." Behind him, the interior of the airstream was dimly lit, cluttered, and reeked of sweat. The odor ventured out with every movement, which was often given the man's propensity to spit in the bottle. "Mack ain't been around for a couple of weeks. He got a job with a crew headed down south. A death, you say?"

"Yes. I'm also looking for Mitch Swilling. He is Mr. Swilling's oldest son."

"Never heard of ‘em."

"And Carl?" Brook pressed now that Puck was in a talkative state.

"Ain't seen him around, neither." Puck leaned his shoulder against the thin doorway. He studied her vehicle for a moment, and she was glad that her blazer covered her weapon. He might have initially suspected she was with law enforcement, but he appeared content with his own appraisal. "Not since last summer."

"Well, that makes my job a little harder, doesn't it?" Brook said with a touch of frustration as she continued to play her part. "Is Carl the one with the beard? Or is that Ricky?"

"Only Swillings around here are Mack and Carl. Don't know the other two." Puck lifted the bottle to his thin, cracked lips and let his dark saliva drip inside the neck. "And Carl ain't got no beard. At least, he didn't the last time I saw him. Got himself a big ol' tattoo on his right calf, though. Looks more like a three-headed snake than any type of dragon, if you ask me. Is this about some inheritance?"

"It's best I share the news with the Swillings, Puck." Brook lifted a hand and stepped back. "I appreciate your time. I think I'll slip a note inside their door. They can give me a call when one of them returns."

Brook"s heels crunched on the gravel as she made her way back to the rental car. She hadn't heard Puck close his door, so she feigned collecting a piece of paper and pen. She sat for a moment, scribbling nonsense until she had counted to fifteen. Figuring that was enough time, she slid the pen back into her purse.

Puck remained rooted in his doorway. She eventually shut the driver's side door before making her way once more toward the rotted steps. The wood was soft and weak beneath her, and she prayed she didn't fall through as the short planks protested her weight. She swung open the screened door, if one could call it that. The mesh had been torn in multiple places and now hung by mere threads on the left side.

Brook went through the motions of leaving a note tucked inside the interior door, though in reality, she did no such thing. By the time she made sure the screened door had latched properly, Puck had already retreated inside his airstream. She didn't waste time and managed to have Bit on the other end of the line before she was settled behind the steering wheel.

"Bit, I need a warrant for Mack Swilling's trailer," Brook stated, knowing full well that such a request would be difficult to attain. "Carl Swilling stays with his father on and off, according to one of the neighbors. Do we have anything that might entice a judge to grant our request?"

"Doubtful," Bit replied hesitantly. "Unfortunately, Big T and Little T hit a wall with Mitch. He won't talk to them, and he even threatened to lawyer up. They are heading over to Ricky's workplace."

Brook tapped her thumb on the steering wheel as she thought over their options. She didn't want to be here all night, but she also didn't want to leave the trailer without some type of surveillance.

"This town has a sheriff, so I'm going to drive over there to see if he can have a deputy park across from the mobile home entrance." Brook paused to think over her options, but there was only one. "Once I'm done at the station, I'll head back. Oh, one more thing. I was told that Carl Swilling has a large tattoo on his right calf—a three-headed dragon. According to a neighbor, it resembles a three-headed snake. If I happen to see a tattoo parlor in town, I'll stop by, but Swilling could have gotten it anywhere. I—"

"A three-headed dragon?"

"Yes," Brook responded as she stopped tapping her thumb. "Why?"

"Give me a minute."

Brook took the time to start the car. She pressed the button to roll down her window. Her presence seemed to have drawn the attention of the woman watering her plants, and she made no effort to hide her curiosity.

"Boss, the hospital gave us that additional footage. There was a male subject with a three-headed dragon on his right calf entering the hospital on the day that Sheila Wallace was taken off life support. He was wearing cargo shorts, but he also had on a hoodie. I'm watching the footage now, but he didn't get off on Wallace's floor. It's the reason that we didn't think anything of his presence. Since I don't have footage from the other floors, I can't follow his movements."

"We have enough for both warrants now. Make it five—include the residences of Ricky Austry, Andrea Simpson, and Tyler Doss. One of them has to be in possession of Carl's photograph. Have Arden put in for the warrants while you see if any traffic cams near the hospital can help you identify Carl Swilling. In the meantime, I'll work on getting a better description of the man," Brook said as she kept her attention on the woman who was now smoking a cigarette. "Let Theo and Sylvie know they can officially bring Mitch and Ricky Swilling in for questioning. They can coordinate the details with the local police."

"On it, Boss."

Brook disconnected the call before closing the driver's side window. Once the glass was sealed, she turned off the engine. Puck was almost certainly watching her every move, but it wouldn't matter in the coming hours. With a warrant in hand, Brook would be accessing Mack Swilling's trailer. With any luck, she would locate a picture of his son and be able to make an official arrest before sunset.