August 13. Mrs. Greene died.
Sheriff told everybody on shift never to mention the pills. He said the report would say she was found unresponsive with no prior complaint. He said if anybody said different, they’d be done in law enforcement in this state.”
The room became utterly still.
I knew name. I’d read it in one of the thirty-one letters Aunt Lorraine sent me. It had been written on yellow legal paper in a teenage boy’s handwriting.
“My great-grandmother Hattie Greene died in the Pell County Jail. They say it was her heart. But she called my mama from jail and said they took her pills. Nobody will listen. They sold her land three months after she died. Please, somebody, listen. — Jaylen Greene, age 17.”
Agent Greer looked up from the notebook at Voss.
“Sheriff, what is Pinecrest Holdings?”
Voss didn’t answer.
But AUSA Delgado did. She pulled a document from her portfolio and laid it beside Miller’s notebook.
