Murder of a Beauty Shop Queen (20 page)

Rhodes thanked Hack and hooked the mic. He was near the Beauty Shack, so he pulled into the parking lot and stopped. He didn't see any movement behind the dusty windows, not that he thought it likely that Jorge and Guillermo would be going back there. They hadn't had anything to go back for.

Rhodes dug his cell phone out of his pocket. He didn't have any affection for cell phones, but he'd started carrying one. Sometimes it came in handy, but he didn't give the number out to anybody other than Ivy, Hack, and the deputies.

He called Jennifer Loam first. Now she'd have his number, too. He shrugged off that thought and asked what she'd learned.

“I started doing some digging on the reclamation center,” she said. “I found out who owns it.”

“You work fast.”

“So I've been told.”

“And the owner is?”

“There are several, but the main one is the surprise.”

“Surprise me, then,” Rhodes said.

“Clifford Clement,” Jennifer told him.

*   *   *

Instead of going to the reclamation center, Rhodes headed for the mayor's office. He realized on the way there that he'd missed lunch, as happened all too often, but it was too late to do anything about that now.

The inside of the city hall was cool, and the air smelled like the air in the courthouse. Rhodes didn't know what it was about old public buildings, but they all seemed to smell the same.

Alice King ushered Rhodes right into Clement's office and closed the door behind him. Clement sat behind his desk, and he looked both angry and depressed. He stared at Rhodes and didn't say anything, so Rhodes took a seat and stared back at him.

After a few seconds, Clement got tired of the staring game and said, “Have you found out who killed Lynn?”

“Not yet,” Rhodes said. “I'm working on it.”

“You'd better be. Things are getting serious.”

“How serious would that be?”

“It turns out that my wife knew more than I thought she did about my private life.”

Rhodes wasn't sure how much of a private life a married man was supposed to have, at least as far as his wife was concerned. Maybe Clement had different ideas about that sort of thing.

“You told me that you were having differences,” Rhodes said.

“I thought the differences were about what she suspected,” Clement said, “not what she knew.” He scratched his beard. “She knew a lot more than I thought.”

Rhodes figured this was the time to test one of his own theories. “You mean she knew about more than just Lynn. She knew about the blackmail.”

Clement started, then recovered himself. “Who said anything about blackmail?”

“I did,” Rhodes said. “Didn't you hear me?”

“I don't like your jokes, Sheriff.”

“Hardly anybody does, but sometimes I can't help myself. Why don't you tell me about the blackmail.”

“I thought you already knew.”

“Not enough,” Rhodes said. “You broke off with Lynn, but was it because she had someone else, or was it because she tried to get money from you?”

Clement thought about that. Rhodes waited, doing some thinking of his own, about Clement's wife and the possibility that she might get violent if she thought someone was trying to steal her husband.

“It was the money,” Clement said after a while. “I have to tell you something about Lynn. She was fun to be with, she was pretty, she was young.”

“We've gone over all of that,” Rhodes said.

“There's more. She wasn't exactly blackmailing me. I suspected Fran knew something was up, but I didn't care. Like I said, we were having differences. So when Lynn started asking for money, I didn't really mind. She said she had bills to pay, car payments, that kind of thing. I was glad to help. Somehow Fran found out.”

“I take it that Fran wasn't glad.”

“No, she wasn't. Not at all. She hadn't said anything about it to me, though. She was holding it back. Then Lynn was killed.”

Rhodes wondered if Fran had stopped holding it back and gone by to see Lynn. He needed to talk to Fran.

“She think you did it?” he asked Clement.

“She might have,” Clement said. “I didn't, though. I told her that.”

“Did she ask if you killed Lynn?”

“No,” Clement said. “Naturally the murder came up when I got home yesterday, though. I didn't kill Lynn, so I told her that.”

“Did she believe you?”

“I'm not sure. Do you believe me?”

“I'm not sure, either,” Rhodes said.

“Damnation,” Clement said. He leaned back in his chair. “What can I do to convince you?”

“Good question,” Rhodes said. “Let's start with the Environmental Reclamation Center.”

Clement sucked in a breath. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean. The junkyard with a fancy name that's a few blocks from here. The one that you're the part-owner of.”

Clement didn't bother to deny it. “How did you find that out?”

“Good police work,” Rhodes said with a straight face. “Now tell me all about it.”

“I don't know anything about it. It's just something I have a monetary interest in. An investment. You know.”

Rhodes didn't know. He didn't have a lot of investments.

“That's all it was,” Clement went on. “A way to make a little money. I didn't look at it too closely.”

“Somehow I doubt that. You're too smart to invest in something you don't know anything about.”

Rhodes sat and listened to the air conditioner hum somewhere in the bowels of the building while Clement decided how much he was going to say.

“All right,” Clement said after a while. “I do know something. I thought it was a good investment because it was good for the environment and because I thought I could make a little money.”

Not exactly the kind of responsive answer Rhodes had hoped for. “Who are the other owners?”

“Some men from Houston. I met them when we did the deal. That's all I know about them.”

“You know there's been some trouble there now and then,” Rhodes said. “Don't you?”

“I don't have anything to do with the way the place is run,” Clement said.

“You just take the money.”

Clement frowned. “That's one way to put it, I guess. Not a very flattering one, but true enough. I don't manage the place. I'm just a silent partner.”

“Well,” Rhodes said, “let's go take a look at your investment.”

Chapter 20

Clement hadn't wanted to go, but Rhodes had persuaded him by saying it would be good to have one of the owners around when he searched the place.

“Search the place?” Clements asked as they headed out of the office.

“There've been some more problems,” Rhodes said.

As they drove the three blocks to the center, Rhodes told Clement a little about what had been going on. Clement claimed to have no idea about any of it. He said he didn't even know Al, but Rhodes wasn't sure he believed him.

When they got to the center, the gate was closed and the warehouse was shut. Rhodes wondered what had happened to Al. He might have decided to move on to another part of the state or the country. For that matter, he might have gone to Mexico with Frankie.

“Let's check the warehouse,” Rhodes said. “There's a room I want to look at.”

Clement didn't want to look at it, but Rhodes took him along. Although the warehouse door was closed, it wasn't locked. Rhodes flipped the hasp back and slid the door open with a metallic squeal.

“After you,” he said.

Clement didn't move. “I'm not going in there.”

“Why not?”

“I don't know what might be in there.”

“There might be rats,” Rhodes said. “In fact, I think I can promise you there are rats. They'll probably leave us alone, though.”

“I don't like rats,” Clement said.

Rhodes thought about Buddy. “Who does?”

“Probably nobody. You go on. I'll just stay here.”

Rhodes asked Clement if he wanted to see the warrant.

“No. I don't care if you ransack the place. I'll wait for you.”

“If that's the way you want it,” Rhodes said and went inside.

He had his flashlight with him, and he turned it on. There must have been a light switch somewhere, but Buddy hadn't found it, and Rhodes didn't see it. He shone his light at the roof and saw some dusty fixtures dangling down. He still couldn't locate the switch that turned them on, however.

It was hot in the warehouse. The sun had been heating up the tin roof all day, and Rhodes started to sweat. He walked on back to the locked room, thinking that he could hear rats scurrying around behind the metallic junk. He told himself that he was just imagining it.

The locked room wasn't locked anymore. The door was wide open. Rhodes pointed his flashlight inside. He saw a couple of short bits of copper wire glint on the floor, but that was all. Rhodes had come too late. Al must have cleaned the place out as soon as he'd left the jail. Maybe Guillermo and Jorge had come along to help.

Rhodes thought that the other materials in the center had been obtained more or less legally and didn't need to be moved. If they'd been stolen, it would be hard to prove.

Rhodes looked around the room. He suspected that besides copper from various sources the room had held a few catalytic converters and maybe even some aluminum gutters ripped from houses, but there was no sign of them now.

He didn't need to look anymore. He knew he wouldn't find anything even if he did, so he went back outside. Clement was standing by the county car, and Rhodes went over to him.

“You need to get in touch with your partners,” Rhodes told Clement. “You need to tell them that I know what they've been doing here.”

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

“That's what I'd say if I were in your position. It might even be true, not that I'm accusing you of anything. You just need to let them know that if there's another battery or catalytic converter or piece of copper wire stolen in this county, I'll find a way to trace it to them, and from them to you.”

“I'm the mayor,” Clement said, but Rhodes could tell his heart wasn't in it. “You can't talk to me like this.”

“You might be the mayor, but you're also involved in a criminal enterprise.”

“Now just a minute,” Clement said. “That's slander.”

“Only if I repeat it to someone else,” Rhodes said.

“You don't dare repeat it because you don't have any proof of it.”

“Not yet,” Rhodes said, “but I'm working on it.”

Clement stood up a little straighter. “Until you have some proof, you'd better watch what you say. Now take me back to my office.”

“You sure you want to ride with me?”

Clement looked back toward the city hall. It was only three blocks, but it was a long three blocks.

“If you'll let me,” he said.

“Get in, then,” Rhodes said.

*   *   *

Rhodes dropped Clement off and drove straight to his house. It was in the part of town where some of the wealthy residents had built homes years ago, the same era that had seen the construction of the mansion that was now Ballinger's Funeral Home. These homes hadn't been turned to commercial purposes, however, and were all still occupied by people with a little money to spend.

Clement's house was big and imposing and one of the best looking in the neighborhood. The driveway was in the back, and Rhodes saw a big black Lexus SUV parked there. If he'd had any money to invest, Rhodes would've let Clement handle it, because he was obviously doing very well for himself.

Rhodes went up the sidewalk in front, feeling as if he should be looking for the servants' entrance. Lonnie Wallace's yard had looked good, but this one was perfect. The grass looked as if not one single blade was higher than any of the others. The flower beds were so perfect that a weed would have withered and died of embarrassment if it had dared to intrude into them.

Rhodes rang the doorbell, half expecting to be greeted by a butler dressed to perfection. Instead, Fran Clement opened the door. She was short, about five-four, and wore a white blouse and blue jeans with the cuffs rolled up to show her Nike walking shoes. She had dark eyes and short, very black fluffy hair. Rhodes wondered if she had it done at the Beauty Shack.

“Hello, Sheriff,” she said. “Welcome to my humble abode. Won't you come in?”

Rhodes thought he got a faint whiff of liquor. “Thanks. I wanted to talk to you if you have a minute.”

“A minute?” Fran gave a little laugh. “I have all day. Nobody's here but me. My husband's never around, but then you probably know that. You probably know all about him.”

“Not much,” Rhodes said. “Maybe you could tell me a few things.”

Fran turned and walked down the hallway.

“I certainly could,” she said, without turning around. “Come along, Sheriff. I'll tell you all.”

Rhodes followed her into the den, a big room with a tile floor, lots of throw rugs, and one of the biggest flat-screen TV sets Rhodes had ever seen. There was plenty of seating in front of it: a leather-covered couch and two leather-covered recliners. A plate-glass sliding door looked out onto a concrete patio and another impossible lawn.

Fran sat on the couch. She curled her legs under her and said, “Sit down, Sheriff, and I'll unburden myself to you. I'll tell you all my sad little secrets.”

Rhodes sat in a recliner. He wondered if she watched a lot of old black-and-white movies to get her dialogue. It sounded that way to him. He looked around the room but didn't see any bottles or glasses on the coffee table or end tables. Maybe he'd just imagined the smell of liquor. This room smelled more like some kind of flower. Lilacs, maybe. Rhodes had trouble putting a name to air-freshener odors.