Surest Poison, The (12 page)

Sid pulled out a couple of beers and
passed one across. “I heard Bart say ninety percent of the murders involve
drugs in one way or another.”

“The victim that got shot in Shelby Park
Halloween morning was a Metro employee,” Wick said. “He worked on a garbage
truck. I hauled him in five or six years ago for fighting outside a bar.”

Wick had been on the force for
twenty-five years, his father a cop before him. Sometimes it seemed that he
knew everybody in town. He liked to say he hadn’t heard an original excuse
from a lawbreaker in twenty years.

“What was his name?” Sid asked.

“Gillie Younger.
He was a crusty character, not too bright, but not as old as he looked. I
wasn’t the first cop to pick him up. As I recall, he had a drinking
problem.”

Sid gave a shrug. “Doesn’t everybody?”

“Surely not you,” Jaz said.

“Not any more, thanks to Mike Rich. I was
headed in that direction after the fiasco in Lewisville. I’m a big guy, but
Mike has a bigger voice. He read me the riot act. That’s one reason he
thought it was a good idea for me to build my cabin out in the sticks. It
was a long way to the nearest liquor store. After three years, he must have
figured I was over it. Anyway, now I even go easy on the beer.”

“You can count on my wife to coldcock me
if I down too many of these,” Wick said, popping the tab on the can.

The door swung open and two more players
strolled in. Jack Post, short and stocky, wore a felt hat right out of the
thirties. You could picture him going out on a story with a card saying
“Press” stuck in his hatband. He had a round face marked by a beard that
always made a quick comeback despite a morning shave. He was at least
seventy, though he wouldn’t admit to anything beyond that. After a long
career of covering every kind of crime story imaginable, and some difficult
to imagine, he wore the look of a confirmed cynic.

Gabriel Thackston, known to everyone as
Judge, had an abundant thatch of prematurely white hair. He said it gave him
more respect on the bench. However, it didn’t provide enough respect to get
him re-elected when an upstart assistant district attorney leaked
information about Thackston’s habit of sleeping around with ladies of
questionable reputation.

Post’s gaze swept the room like a
football referee counting heads. “Where’s Homicide Harry?”

“He’s probably still out chasing down the
bad guys,” Wick said.

“We must be it, then,” Thackston said.
“Shall we get down to business?”

“Get a beer first,” Wick said. “We can
wait a few more minutes for Bart. Meanwhile, we need to interrogate the
private eye on what he’s up to these days.”

The Judge raised an eyebrow. “Sergeant
Stanley, you, of all people, should be aware of the doctrine of
confidentiality.”

Sid came over and took his seat. “There’s
not much confidentiality involved in this case. Jaz is helping me track down
the owners and management of a defunct company called Auto Parts Rehabbers.
We’d be happy to have any of you brilliant people
contribute
your sage advice.”

“What did they do to warrant devoting
your high-priced talents to the chase?” Post asked. He still wore his
wide-brimmed fedora, now pushed back to show an expanding forehead.

“They drenched the ground behind their
Ashland City plant with trichloroethylene,” Jaz said. “Ruined a lot of
people’s health downstream.”

“Oh, that one.
I saw the stories. I thought the plant had something to do with shipping.”

“The current owner is HarrCo Shipping.”
Sid slipped a napkin under his beer. “Auto Parts Rehabbers did the dumping.”

“And you don’t know who owned the
company?” Wick asked.

Sid told what they had learned about Tony
Decker and the limited liability company. He also detailed Jaz’s
unsuccessful attempt to get to Decker through the garage owner, Pete
Rackard. “I’ve only come up with one employee, a guy named Larry Irwin who
lives in Ashland City.”

The Judge toyed with his necktie. He
always came dressed as if ready for the bench. “Surely you’ve attacked the
case from other angles. What additional interesting facts have you
unearthed?”

“Well, the property’s original owner was
Hank Kegler, a shady character I ran into during my tenure in Lewisville. He
also took the property back when Auto Parts Rehabbers bowed out. And the
company’s registered agent was Bronson Fradkin, a lawyer in Lewisville.”

“I’ve heard of Fradkin,” Thackston said.
“A friend of mine was once in partnership with him. He and Fradkin were in
law school together, but he couldn’t take much of the man in practice. He
said Fradkin didn’t seem to comprehend the meaning of scruples. It sounds
like you have a definite Lewisville connection.”

“Right.
I think that’s where we’ll need to concentrate our efforts if things don’t
start developing around here.”

The door opened and Bart Masterson walked
in. He glanced around at the players. “Sorry I’m late.”

“Hey, Bat,” Wick greeted him. “Have we
got a serial killer on the loose?”

“The chief doesn’t want to admit it if we
do. Same M.O., though. I talked with an old buddy from North Precinct. The
new guy also had five thirty-eight slugs in the back, was left on the side
of the road.”

“When did this one happen?” Wick asked.

“Estimated time of death is Wednesday
night. He’d been in the brush from thirty to thirty-six hours.”

Jack Post tipped his hat a little farther
north, exposing a bit more leathery skin. “I read where some forensic
psychologist said there are hundreds of these psychos out there, a lot more
than you hear about. Most of the time they look and act like Joe Nobody next
door.”

“Well, this Joe Nobody enjoys stitching
patterns on
guys
backs,” Bart said.

“Who was the victim?” Post asked.

Bart brought over a beer and took his
seat. “White male, thirty-three. Guy named Larry Irwin.”

17

Sid and Jaz
glanced at each other like doomsday had just been announced.

“What’s going on?” Bart asked.

“Larry Irwin?” Sid stared at him. “What
was his occupation?

“Auto mechanic.
He worked for American Universal in Ashland City.”

“Looks like your bad luck just got
worse,” Jack Post said.

Bart’s dark eyes took on a semi-dazed
look. “Does somebody want to clue me in on what’s going on here?”

“Larry Irwin was the guy I hoped would
give us a line on what happened at the Auto Parts Rehabbers plant.”

After Sid told about his investigation
and how he had identified Irwin, Bart pulled out his cell phone. “Let me
call in about that cousin. They hadn’t been able to turn up much on Irwin.
The company didn’t have a next-of-kin listed.”

“Any connection
between Irwin and that body in Shelby Park?”
Jaz asked when Bart snapped the cover shut on his cell phone.

“Not that I’ve found. The park victim was
Gillie Younger, a garbageman for Metro. He lived in a rooming house in East
Nashville.”

Sid leaned his chair back. “Wick arrested
him once. He sounds like an older guy than Irwin. I don’t see any
similarities that might attract a serial killer.”

“Perhaps the perpetrator had issues with
both men and used the five-shot method to make the police think serial
killer,” Thackston said, his hands folded on the table.

Good idea, Sid thought. After fifteen
years on the bench, no doubt the Judge had heard enough murder scenarios to
write a series of mystery novels.

Bart turned, his forehead rumpled. “You
may have something there, Judge. I haven’t bought into the psychopath thing,
and not just because the chief doesn’t want it to be that way.”

Wick turned to the old newspaper reporter
sitting at his left. “You got any cases that need solving, Jack? Bart has
two
murders,
Sid and Jaz have a chemical spill.
This astute group should be able to tackle any number of situations that
stump the experts.”

“I left all my cases back at the
newspaper,” Post said.

“No problems we can tackle?”

“The only problem I have is keeping my
ex-wife from telling me how I should spend my money. She thinks I’m getting
rich off a newspaper pension and Social Security. What a joke.”

That brought a laugh. Then Jaz began to
drum her fingers on the table. “Unless somebody has some specific ideas on
how to track down the baddies plaguing our fair city, I suggest we get to
the business at hand.”

She reached over and spread out the deck.
“High card deals.”

Bart snickered. “I just may have to take
you down a notch, Miss LeMieux.”

It was after
nine o’clock, with the pile of coins growing in front of Jaz, when her cell
phone rang. She checked the caller ID, saw it was her home number. She got
up and moved to the side of the room.

“Marie?”

“Miss Jasmine, I hated to bother you, but
I’m worried sick. I’ve been trying to call my grandson. Twice nobody
answered. The last time, somebody picked up the phone, then hung it right up
again.”

Jaz knitted her brows. “Were you calling
for any particular reason?”

“I asked Connie this morning about the
play Little Bob has been practicing at church. She said to call her back
tonight and she’d let me know the time.”

Did Bobby hang up the phone, or somebody
else? Jaz wondered.
And why?

“Just hang tight, Marie,” she said. “I’ll
go check it out.”

She broke the connection and looked up
Bobby Wallace’s number in her contact list. She listened to the ring tone
after pressing the Talk button. No answer. She knew they had Caller ID but
no answering machine. She stuffed the phone in her purse and walked back to
the table.

“I hate to put a damper on things, but I
have an emergency. You guys can split my quarters and keep on playing.”

Sid’s eyes narrowed. “What’s the
problem?”

She told him about Marie Wallace’s call
and her own unsuccessful try to reach Bobby or Connie. “Something’s wrong.
After what happened the other day, I’m afraid it could be serious. I’m going
down there.”

“Going where?” Mitch asked.

“Ashland City.”

Sid pushed up from the table. “I’ll go
with you.”

“No need to ruin your night,” she said.

“A good cop doesn’t head into a potential
hot spot without backup. I’m going.”

“Sorry Bart and I can’t help,” Wick said.
“Cheatham County is out of our jurisdiction. Of course, if you get in some
real trouble, you know who to call.”

Sid clapped a hand on his shoulder. “
Thanks,
Wick. I’m sure the Dynamic Duo can handle the job. Judge, I’ll leave you in
charge. You can lock up when the game is over.”

Thackston stared at him. “You’d trust
these questionable characters in here with your confidential files?”

Sid smiled. “I trust them without
question.
As long as the files are locked away.”

“Bart is the best lock-picker in the
business,” Wick said.

Sid pointed to his office. “Judge, you’re
authorized to jail anybody who goes through that door.”

On the way to the parking lot, he and Jaz
agreed that since this mission was her responsibility, they would go in her
car. She drove past RiverGate Mall to I-65 and headed south toward Briley
Parkway, where they joined the evening traffic that zipped along at its
usual hectic pace.

“Have you had any new thoughts about the
nature of Bobby’s problem?” Sid asked.

“No. Connie hasn’t been able to pick up
any clues, and Bobby won’t say beans to Marie.”

“What about a gambling problem? If he’s
big into
sports, that
could be a possibility.”

“I hadn’t thought of that.
This sounds
like the sort of squeeze a loan shark
might put on.”

Sid glanced back at the headlights behind
them. None appeared close enough to have any interest. He looked back at Jaz.
“If something new has happened, I suggest we notify the police or the
sheriff’s office. I haven’t liked the implications of this deal from the
start.”

“I agree, for the most part,” Jaz said.
“But let’s get a reading on the situation first. Whoever is responsible must
have threatened to do something drastic if Bobby talked to the police. We
need to break down the barrier and get to the bottom of this.”

“Reminds me of the situation I got caught
in during
the  Vietnam
War. People were
making threats if anybody talked.”