Kent Conwell - Tony Boudreaux 06 - Extracurricular Murder (3 page)

“High school seniors?”

“Yeah. The principal had two students monitoring the hall
with a sign-in sheet.”

“Monitoring the hall? At night? During a PTA meeting? Why? I know they got them during the days, but why at night
with just a bunch of adults?”

He shrugged. “Beats me. I told you, it ain’t my jurisdiction.”

I seized my opportunity. “Look, Chief. She wants us to clear
her. You know, my boss is not going to stick his nose where it
doesn’t belong. The favor I’m asking you is to see if the Safford
boys will give us permission to look into the case. We’ll turn
everything we find over to them. Who knows, maybe we’ll
stumble across something that might give them the evidence
they need.”

“Why don’t you talk to them?”

I held my hands out to my side. “I don’t know anyone out
there.”

He leaned back in his chair pondering my request, then rocked
forward. “For a PI, Boudreaux, you’re okay. You’ve always kept
your nose clean and stayed out of our hair. Who knows, you
might find something they missed. Maybe you can turn up the
evidence to bury that tramp in the hole for the rest of her life.”

“Like I said, Chief, all I want is to look into it. Whatever I
find, good or bad, goes to Safford PD “

He nodded. “Okay, you still got the insurance company.
Maybe they won’t like you interfering.”

I glanced at the window. The rain had slackened. To the
north, a tiny patch of blue eased over the horizon. “Haven’t
talked to them yet. I figured with you on our side, they won’t
argue. Besides, they’ll see everything we turn up. We’re really
just helping them out.” I kept a straight face.

A frown knit his forehead. He growled. “Who said I’m on
your side?”

With a sheepish grin, I replied. “I didn’t mean it like that. I
meant the insurance company won’t say anything if they know
you don’t have any objections to the investigation.”

He eyed me skeptically. “You think that I’ll make a difference with them?”

I gave him a crooked grin. “Beats me, Chief, but I have a
hunch they’ll probably figure that if an irascible old curmudgeon like you has decided to help us, they might as well go
along. Besides, I figure the company would like proof one way
or another. Hey, you and I both know they’re praying she’s
guilty so they can hold on to that eight million.”

With a slow nod, he pursed his lips. “That’s motive enough”

I remained silent, but he was right. Eight million was one
heck of a motive.

He studied me for a few more seconds, then nodded. “Okay,
Boudreaux. I’ll play along with you.”

“Thanks. By the way, I’d like to see the case files if you can
swing it with them. I won’t take them from the office”

He nodded, and I rose and headed for the door. “I’ll contact
the insurance company. When do you think you can arrange for
me to see her files?”

He reached for the telephone. “Come back this afternoon
around one or so. I’ll know something then.” He growled, “And
Boudreaux”

I stopped at the door and looked back around, puzzled.
“Yeah?”

“Don’t jack me around.”

I held up three fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

He snorted. “You ain’t no scout”

Outside, the rain had stopped, but the dark-bellied clouds
suggested more was on the way. A brisk north wind swept
across the parking lot. I shivered. Give me sunshine and warm
weather, beach bunnies and cold beer. Someone else could have
the snowplows and hot toddies.

After leaving the police station, I drove over to Universal
Life Insurance Company. The branch manager welcomed the
additional probing, not that their opposition would have prevented our investigation. But my Grandpere Moise, who farmed with horses as a youngster, always claimed four animals
pulling in the same direction plowed a heap more ground than
four pulling in opposite directions. The branch manager
agreed.

As I headed across the parking lot to my pickup after leaving Universal Life, my cell phone vibrated. I glanced at the
number. Janice Coffman-Morrison, my on-again, off-again
Significant Other, one of Austin’s poor little rich girls. A smile
leaped to my lips when I remembered tonight was the night I
had promised her some blackened redfish, and she had promised me dessert.

My smile broadened. Today had been a good day. A raise, a
new case, willing cooperation from the local police, full collaboration from the insurance company, and a wonderful evening with Janice. What more could I ask?

I turned the phone on. “Hey. How are you doing? Ready for
tonight? I have a new case you might like to hear about.”

She ignored my question. Her voice was cool and restrained.
“Tony, I’m breaking up with you.”

A sudden gust of wind whipped the lapel of my raincoat
against my face, stinging my cheek. I stammered, refusing to
believe my ears. “Janice? I couldn’t understand you. The
wind’s blowing hard here.”

Very matter-of-factly, she answered, “You heard me, Tony.
Our relationship has run its course. You’re a sweet boy, but over
the years, you’ve remained the same. I’ve grown. I’m not cut
out for your kind of business or life. I’m a bigger person now,
and I’m ready to move on with my life.”

“But-”

In the same cool, imperious voice she used when she commanded sommeliers, maitre d’s, and waiters, she continued.
“No. It’s better this way. I don’t want to hurt you, but I’ve got
to be honest. This is for the best. Believe me “

“But-”

“No. Trust me, Tony. I know you’ll hurt, but the hurt will
pass, and you’ll see I’m right.”

“But-”

“Good-bye, Tony.”

Obviously, my less than eloquent rebuttals were having no effect on her. Before I could stammer, stutter, or spit, she hung
up. Immediately, I dialed her number. No answer.

“Come on, Janice. I know you’re there. Pick up the phone.”
On the twentieth ring, I hung up.

I glanced at my watch. Almost one o’clock. Time to get back
to the police station. I didn’t want Chief Pachuca to change his
mind about cooperating with us. Afterward, I’d drop by
Janice’s and see what set her off this time.

Her aunt had more money than the Bank of England, and
Janice, being the only heir, had whatever she desired, whether
it be clothes, sports car, or male companionship. That silver
spoon of hers permitted her to change her mind on a whim,
which she did quite often.

We had met a few years back when I was helping her out of an
insurance jam. Neither she nor I were interested in getting serious, but we had fun together even though I quickly realized I was
simply a dependable escort, an occasional lover (at her whim),
and a frequent confidant.

While the truth of our relationship did batter at my ego in the
beginning, I came to terms with the fact that I was simply a tool
to satisfy her needs. But, the fact she served the same purpose
for me made the entire relationship palpable. We were both
fairly content-products of a liberated society.

Inexplicably, despite the skewed relationship between us, we
became very good friends who enjoyed each other’s company.
Personally, I’d never been able to figure out `our relationship,’ as
Janice referred to it, but then, I really never worried about it. I seldom paid serious attention to those psychological or personal
relationship things. That was a woman’s domain. Give me a compelling soccer match between Oman and Turkmenistan anytime.

Ignoring my own skepticism, I had truly figured that our
relationship had advanced to the next level when she insisted
on working with me on my previous case when we saved an
innocent man from execution by the state of Texas.

But now, I felt a nagging ache in the pit of my stomach. I’d
often thought that when Janice and I parted ways, I’d shrug and
find another partner at the next singles’ bar. Now, I wasn’t too
sure.

During the drive back to the police station, a hundred different reasons for her sudden announcement raced through my
head. When I pulled into the parking lot, I still didn’t have the
foggiest explanation for her decision. The answer, I later learned,
was the one reason that never entered my egotistical male mind.

Chief Ramon Pachuca was better than his word. He met me
at the door. “What kind of word processing program you use?”

Surprised, I replied with my most articulate “Huh?”

He held up a disk and a manila envelope. “Here’s the file.
Everything. Pictures, sketches in the envelope. Interview’s on
the disk. Word Perfect. Billy Vanbiber is the chief at Safford.
A good friend. Won’t hurt to stop by and meet him. Thank him
personally. You hear?”

I made no reference to the almost antiquated Word Perfect
and disk. Seemed like the agencies relying on tax money to
operate were always two or three generations behind in technology. I simply nodded. “Yeah. I will.” I took the evidence. “I
use Microsoft Word, but it’ll convert to his program.”

“Good luck.” He turned back into the building, then hesitated. “By the way, I contacted Howard Birnam. He’s the principal at Safford High where the body was found. Give him a call.
He’s expecting you.”

I was flattered at Chief Pachuca’s consideration in obtaining
me the disk, but his paving the way for me with the high school
principal left me speechless. I nodded and choked out
“Thanks.”

He studied me a moment. “Like I told you, Boudreaux. It’s
nothing benevolent on my part. I just hope you find proof
enough to burn that witch.”

A slow drizzle began to fall. On the way home, I swung by
Janice’s condo, but her Miata was gone, and when the Miata
was gone, Janice was gone. I headed home, stopping at a nearby HEB supermarket for a frozen pizza. On impulse, I reached
for a six-pack of Old Milwaukee beer. I hesitated, remembering my AA oaths. Then I thought of Janice and picked up a sixpack anyway.

I hesitated in the meat section of the supermarket, eyeing the
redfish laid out in display on a bed of ice in the meat case. My
thoughts went back to Janice. I muttered a soft curse. Tonight,
I should have been buying redfish and chardonnay for an intimate dinner for two, not beer and pizza just for me.

Outside, the drizzle turned into a downpour.

I pulled into my drive and parked under the carport. I made
a mad dash through the rain for the porch. Just as I turned the
key in the lock, I heard a pitiful meow. I glanced at the base
of the neatly trimmed hedge of wax leaf ligustrum and spotted a bedraggled kitten, its long gray hair plastered to his thin
body.

As soon as I opened the door, the kitten shot inside and
promptly scooted under the couch. I muttered a curse. “All
right,” I muttered, kicking the door shut and carrying the pizza
and beer to the kitchen. “But don’t plan on staying around,” I
called over my shoulder.

As I stood in front of the refrigerator, something brushed my
ankle. I glanced down and the kitten was looking up at me.
“You hungry? Probably so,” I said gruffly. “Okay, I’ll give you
some milk, but that’s it. Understand?”

I sniffed the milk to see if it was still good, then poured
some in a bowl, nuked it, and slid it in front of him, after
which I popped open a beer and called Marty, apprising him
of the fact we had police cooperation. “So now, you can give
Holderman a call,” I said.

He thanked me profusely, then hung up. I plopped in front of my computer, which over the last few years had come to mean
more to me than my Silverado pickup.

When Marty first hired me, I did skips and warrants. His
Skip Tracing process was a hit or miss procedure so I set up a
procedure utilizing a list of four identifiers that separated one
individual from all others with the same name.

By blind luck, I discovered my computer could access hundreds of databases on the Internet. Consequently, I doubled
Marty’s skip business, earning his gratitude and a raise.

I opened the file on George Holderman, 58, Caucasian,
found dead in Room 247, Perry Jacobs’ American History
classroom at Safford High School. Weapons-a thirty-six-inch
Black Barrel baseball bat and an eight and threequarter-inch
switchblade.