Murder in the Choir (The Jazz Phillips Mystery Series) (19 page)

Kruger shrugged and left the room. “You’re sure you want to do this?” I asked Slide. “Once Kruger books you, it’ll be out of our hands. Montana gets kind of cold this time of year.”

“Montana? What in the world has Montana got to do with this?”

“Just this. Kruger will charge you with a federal crime which means you can be held in any federal detention center. I understand the one up in Butte, Montana, is pretty basic. It gets pretty cold there, too.” I had no idea if there was a federal detention center in Butte, but it sounded good, and Slide didn’t know if there was, either.

“What do you want to talk to me about?” he said. “And how did you know I was here?”

“All we want to know about is Smiley’s murder,” I told him. “Someone in Oak Grove told us you might be here.” I shook my head. “You’re making a big deal out of something very simple, Luther. Tell me what you know and you can walk out of here a free man.”

“What about Louella?” he asked. “My friend.”

“Kruger’s a reasonable man. He’s just torqued right now. Believe me, we can work something out. Maybe Louella will agree to recovery instead of jail time. It sounds like she could use it.”

“You won’t be talking to her boyfriend?”

“I don’t see how he needs to be involved at all.”

Slide nodded. “All right. As long as you are not charging me, I’ll tell you what you want to know about Smiley.”

“Why don’t you start with the day he was shot? When did you get there?”

Kruger later told me it was one of the most skillful interviews he had ever seen. I don’t know about that, but Slide gave us a lot of information. By the time we were done, I still considered him our best suspect. Yet, in my estimation, the probability had slipped from ninety-five percent to about sixty. There were still some gaping holes in his alibi, but it was quite possible he was telling us the truth.

Slide told me he arrived early in the morning on the day of the celebration so he could spend some time with Smiley before other folk got there. He wanted the two of them to do something together, but Smiley was against it.

“Was that why you brought the trombone?” I asked.

“What trombone? I haven’t touched a trombone in years and years,” he said, clearly surprised. “Why do you ask?”

“Someone mentioned they saw you carrying a trombone case,” I said.

“Well, they’re wrong. It must have been someone else.” The way he said that told me he was telling the truth, but I reminded myself this man had fooled me before without uttering a single word.

“So you didn’t bring your lunch in your trombone case?” I asked lightly, smiling.

“No, though I’ve been known to carry some excellent spirits in one on occasion. Not that day, though. No money in bootlegging any more.”

That was a blatant whopper and we both knew it. I decided he was baiting me gently and let it go. I asked him to take me through his day there, and he did, giving me thirty or forty names of people he’d visited during the day along with a little background information on each of them. None of this seemed germane to the case, but one never knows, and I dutifully took notes.

The only thing Slide told me that had direct bearing on the shooting was that he was not there when the murder happened. “I was on my way here, as a matter of fact. Louella can tell you when I got here. That is, assuming she was sober enough to notice. My impression is I got to town about half past four, but I wouldn’t swear to that. It’s been a day or two. The man at the liquor store might know.”

That was interesting. It could be force of habit, but Slide Jones was giving me his alibi without my having asked for one. I decided to respond with my own mild deception. “I didn’t mean to imply you were the one who murdered Smiley, Slide. After all, you’ve been friends all your life.”

“Yes, but then, friends have been known to kill one another, have they not, Dr. Phillips? Even life long friends,” he added dryly.

“When did you first hear about it?” I asked, changing direction.

“It was two days later when I first heard the news on the radio. When I did, I called Albert Jones right away and talked to him. Smiley and Albert and I were all close way back when.”

“Not now?” He shook his head. “What happened?”

“One of our good friends was killed in a hunting accident when we were in high school. Luther Adams was the one who shot him. It was a terrible accident, and we all seemed to drift apart after that. Then we grew up and had less and less in common. As I’m sure you are aware, bootleggers and Baptists may be in coalition to keep a county dry, but they don’t mix socially.”

What fascinated me most about Slide was his pedantic Southern manner of speech. Were I listening to him on tape and unable to see his face, I would have sworn I was speaking to one of the white Catfish Aristocracy of south Arkansas. I wondered what it would take to make him revert to his native Oak Grove patios.

“You and Smiley were still close enough for him to turn to you when he had to leave town,” I observed. “Tell me about that.”

“The media got it close to right for once about that,” he said. “Their only serious omission was mention of the time Wilbur spent with me at the carnival. Yet, he may not have thought it fitting to mention that.” He shook his head sadly. “Not to speak ill of the dead, but that was Wilbur’s one flaw. He was a first class hypocrite. Once he got on a person’s case, there was no getting him off it.”

“Tell me about it,” I murmured, and he did. I’m not sure why, except that I may have been the one person he could tell who might believe him.

“Smiley Jones was a living saint in the minds of most people,” Slide told me. “I knew him as Wilbur, or Willie at first, and he was slick. Not unlike our former governor. He had to be slick. He had all those folks at church believing he could walk on water, and all the time he was playing piano at taverns and houses of ill repute. Not knowing him as I did, folks thought he couldn’t say ‘shit’ if he had a mouthful.” Slide shook his head. “Understand, I’m not condemning him for that. Or even the other petty dishonesties, like the song Eddie wrote that Willie passed off as his own. What I have against him is his condemning others for doing exactly what he did himself.”

I asked him which song it was, and he told me. When he did, I was shocked. Not only was it Smiley’s first big hit, but it also was the signature song his bands used for forty years. I think it was at that point the interview changed. I lost all awareness of time passing or where we were. At that point, the whole universe was made up of just the two of us and Wilbur Jones, and I bored in like a boll weevil. When I came back to the present, I had an aching back and a legal tablet half filled with notes. The clock told me three hours had passed.

“One last question,” I said as I stood and tried to work the kinks out of my spine. “Whatever happened to Eddie Posey? No one seems to know.”

“I don’t either. Eddie and I were close for a while there, even after Luther shot Goodie. At least, we were until I became known as a bootlegger and his mama told him not to hang out with me. Even still, we talked from time to time when she wasn’t looking. When his song became Wilbur’s big hit, he came to see me. He was so proud. He was sure Wilbur would send for him and make him his song writer. I did n’t have the heart to tell him not to hold his breath. By then Wilbur had done a few numbers on me. I was aware of not only his dishonesty, but his hypocrisy.” He sighed. “Eddie held out hope for a long time, but Wilbur never answered his letters. After a while he figured it out. Not long after that, he was drafted and sent to Vietnam, and no one has heard anything from him since then. As I recall, his mother died about then, and he didn’t come home for the funeral. I know, because I was there. The word then was that he was killed in action, but I think he may have been among the missing. Otherwise, he would have come to lay her to rest.” He shook his head sadly. “I believe that was what I held against Wilbur the most…how he treated that boy.”

I nodded and went to the door then turned back. “Why did you come to Smiley’s celebration, Slide?”

“You mean, feeling the way I did?” I nodded. “I hoped we might reconcile. We were both old men now, and there’s a time for all things. I had hoped it was a time to forgive and be forgiven.” There were tears in his eyes, and I think they were real. “Wilbur wouldn’t hear of it. He refused. Now he’s dead and it’s not possible. Yet, I did offer.”

When I entered the observation room, Kruger gave me a long look. I took my time responding, turning to look at Slide Jones through the one way mirror. “What do you think?” I asked Kruger finally.

“I don’t know what to think,” he told me. “It sounds like he believes what he told you. Who knows if it’s true. How about you?”

“Pretty much the same. We need to check out his alibi. It’s your call, but I’d let Slide go for now. He’s still our best candidate for shooter, but if he is, we just witnessed Academy Award level acting.” I looked at Kruger. “Did you get it on tape? I’d like to listen to it again tomorrow.”

“Even better,” he told me. “We have it in living color. Videotape.”

I nodded, thankful for modern technology. Nonverbal signals are just as important as what people say and can be more so. Watching the interview again might help me see something I missed. “You don’t think it’s admissible, do you?”

“Well, he did ask for a lawyer and we didn’t give him one, so it’s probably not. On the other hand, we do have one helluva lot of information we can use to chase down leads. Just to be safe, we probably need to keep the fact it exists to ourselves.” Kruger was excited, like a hound that’s just caught fresh scent.

We talked about it and decided Louella needed to stay in custody, but we drove Slide back to his car. Kruger was cool to the idea but gave in to my insistence. When we got there he told Slide to remain available in case we had more questions. When I asked where Slide would be, he told us he was headed home to Hot Springs and was going to be there for a while. I took his address and phone number then thanked him for his cooperation and offered my hand. He was surprised, but he took it and smiled. When I got back into the car, Kruger gave me an odd look. “It’s the oldest trick in the book,” I told him. “Put him at ease. Let him think he has us fooled.”

“Right,” Kruger said. He didn’t buy it for a minute. “You just keep in mind that the hand you just shook may have pulled the trigger.”

We decided to have supper in Texarkana and I suggested one of the catfish places on the Texas side. I knew I was pushing the limit with fried food, but there’s nothing better than good catfish, and I knew the place was one of the best. So I compromised by staying away from the hushpuppies and the fries and loaded up on catfish and cole slaw. It was as good as I remembered, and I was surprised how much Kruger put away.

When we got back in the car, I was glad Kruger was driving. Between the good food and the intense interview with Slide, I was beat. I got Kruger to the highway and pointed in the right direction, then told him I was going to catch a quick nap. The next thing I knew, Kruger was shaking me awake. I glanced at my watch. I saw an hour and forty minutes had passed since we left Texarkana. Then I looked around and saw we were in Nashville, parked by the jail.

We went in to see the sheriff and caught him still there. I let Kruger take the lead bringing him up to speed. I was still groggy from the nap and not firing on all cylinders. Tanner told us there was still no sign of Luther Adams, and while Kruger was writing up his report, I borrowed a phone and called Dee.

Dee answered on his cell phone, and I brought him up to date quickly. He laughed when I told him Kruger’s response to my shaking hands with Slide. “What he doesn’t know is you’ve done that with just about every murderer you ever busted.”

“I have?” I asked, surprised.

“Well, you have since I’ve known you. It’s your signature. When you shake hands with a suspect, the rest of us know who did it.”

“You’re jerking my chain!” I laughed. “I shake hands with a lot of people, including some politicians we both know.”

“I hope you wash your hands afterwards,” Dee laughed. “Especially with the politicians.”

I was curious at his change in mood from the night before. “What’s made you so bright and cheery? Did Barton kick the bucket?”

“Don’t we all wish,” he snorted. Then he got serious. “I decided to take your advice, Jazz,” he told me. “So I pulled the plug. I decided to take terminal leave and turned in my papers today. Amazing what it did for my mental state. I may even put in for medical retirement while I’m at it. The doctor said he would recommend it.”

I was shocked. I had no doubt this was the right thing for Dee to do, but the fact he had to see a doctor concerned me. “What doctor?” I asked.

“The doctor who saw me in the emergency room here in Little Rock,” he said. “That’s why I had to leave Nashville. I was having chest pains.”

“You were having chest pains and you drove yourself all the way to Little Rock?” I was angry at the risk he had taken. “Are you out of your mind?”

“Don’t be pissed, Jazz. I didn’t see much alternative. I’m not even sure the hospital in Nashville has a regular doctor. Besides, it wasn’t a heart attack. It was acute gastroenteritis and angina precipitated by stress, mostly job stress. The doctor said it was quit or die.”

“You didn’t know that!” I protested. “You could have killed yourself and someone else, too!”

“I drove very carefully, Jazz,” he protested. “I pulled over every time it started to hurt. But, you’re right. I guess I wasn’t thinking very clearly.”

My anger faded as quickly as it arose. I could see myself doing exactly the same. “All right,” I said. “Thank God you got away with it. Where are you now, in the hospital?”

“No, the doctor let me come home if I agreed to take the day off. There was no problem with the heart they could find. It was my stomach, the worst case of heartburn you ever saw. They want to check me for a hiatal hernia.”

“Good,” I told him. “I’m glad to hear it wasn’t worse and even more glad to hear you’re getting help. Who’s going to cover the case now from CID?”

“I will, mostly from here in Little Rock. The doctor wanted to put me in the hospital for a couple of days, but he agreed to very limited desk duty. He said they need to run a bunch more tests, but I can drive in for that. He talked to the boss and as of five o’clock today, I’m only assigned to this case. When we close it, I’m out of here.” He laughed. “The boss man didn’t like it a bit, but the doctor didn’t give him much room to wiggle. I heard the doctor’s end of it, and he laid it on thick. I wish I could have seen the boss’ face!”

“Well, let’s hear it for the good doctor,” I said. We talked about the case a bit more and set up a flexible schedule for my checking in. I asked if there was anything on the rifle yet, but he said not.

I heard something in the background and asked what it was. He told me I caught him in his hot tub which he had not had much time to enjoy. “I should be so lucky,” I groused and told him to take care. Then I hung up.

Kruger was still writing his report, so I told him I’d walk back to the motel. I ended up walking a lot farther, clearing the circuits of the day’s garbage, and working out the tension in my back. It was just after nine when I showered and fell into bed. Something tickled the back of my mind when I did, but I didn’t even try to figure it out. Ten seconds later I was out for the count.