Surest Poison, The (21 page)

“Good idea.”

“Have you gotten the results from your check of Larry Irwin’s phone calls?”
Sid asked.

“Yeah, but it didn’t provide anything to get excited about. There was a
message on the answering machine where you left your number. He got one call
from the guy in Clarksville and another one from a card-loaded cell phone. I
tracked it down to the store where it was sold. Nobody remembered anything
about the man who bought it. He used a bogus ID.”

“No doubt that was the call that disturbed Irwin. Maybe it was the killer.”

“Could be.
So far, he’s getting away with
murder.”

Not long after he finished talking with Bart, Jaz called.

“I just heard from the fire investigator,” she said. “He’s going to be here
around noon.”

Sid looked at the clock.
Eleven-fifteen.

“I’m headed that way.”

“I’ve also received another interesting piece of information,” she said. “A
neighbor who lives behind me said he recalled something from last night that
I might like to know. He’s an older man. He said he gets up a couple of
times each night to use the bathroom. He was up right before the explosion.
He heard a vehicle accelerate out on the street about the same time as the
blast.”

“Could be coincidence.”
Sid glanced at the
holstered Sig on his belt, where it had remained since the case heated up. 
“Or it could be the smoking gun.”

32

Sid arrived at
Jaz’s house a
short time before the investigator. She led him out a rear door to survey
the destruction. Except for the areas blackened by flame, it resembled the
aftermath of a tornado. Seeing it in the daylight, he could imagine how the
blast had taken place. The walls appeared to have been pushed away from the
small basement area. With fire following the explosion, little remained
intact.

“Let’s take a look behind there,” Sid said. “See if we can find any evidence
of someone prowling around.”

Jaz stared out across the debris. “There hasn’t been any rain for the past
day or so.
Might rule out any visible tracks.”

“Maybe there’s some tall grass mashed down.”

She smiled. “John doesn’t believe in leaving tall grass around.”

As they walked about the area, he had to agree. The grass looked as short as
a Marine’s haircut. The high pressure from the fire hoses had taken a toll,
though. The water likely erased any visible tracks, except for what the
firemen left.

They heard a car approaching as they headed toward the front. A Metro Fire
Department vehicle drove up, manned by a uniformed fireman who appeared to
be in his early forties. Small and compact, like a featherweight boxer, he
had short, sandy hair and looked about with sharp, inquisitive eyes. He had
a holstered weapon strapped at his waist and carried something like a large
toolbox.

“Cran Quincy,” he said, holding out his hand to Sid. “Real name’s Cranford,
but that sounds too intimidating.”

Sid shook his hand. “Sid Chance.” He motioned toward Jaz. “This is Miss
Jasmine LeMieux. It’s her property.”

Jaz accepted the handshake. “Nice meeting you, Cran. Just call me Jaz. I’d
better warn you in advance that Sid and I are both former cops, and current
private investigators. We’ll try to stay out of your way, but we have a lot
of questions about what happened.”

“How’s that?”

She told him how the explosion had awakened her that morning and about their
suspicions as to the cause, bolstered by the call from her neighbor.

“So you think somebody blew up the water heater?”

Sid looked around at the pile of rubble. “Something
like
that. But you can tell a lot more than is obvious to us.”

“Let’s go take a look,” he said and started toward the debris.

Like a cat sniffing out mouse holes, he wandered about in silence, observing
the jumble of broken and charred wood, the remains of doors and windows,
shattered pieces of furniture. He took a digital camera out of his case and
snapped a series of pictures. After several minutes, he turned toward the
back of the house.

“I think you’re probably right about the ignition point,” he said. “Let’s
see what we can find around the basement.”

Sid and Jaz followed him.

“Watch your step back here,” Quincy said. “Right now it’s an accident scene.
I presume I don’t need to tell you if you’re right, it’ll be a crime scene.”

Quincy moved slowly, photographing the area before entering. He stopped to
jot his observations in a notebook. He put down his case and donned a pair
of gloves, pushing debris aside to get to the water heater. It had been
thrown against a dirt wall, which cushioned the blow enough to keep it
somewhat intact.

“If gas leaked into the basement, the pilot light could have touched off the
explosion,” Quincy said.

Sid stared at the battered heater. “Take a look at this. The pipe appears to
have come apart at a connection.”

The investigator bent down and shined his light at the pipe. “You’re right.
A joint would be the weakest spot.”

Standing behind him, Sid let his gaze sweep over the smashed appliance. He’d
had a problem with a gas heater at home and knew how they worked. As he
looked down at the controls, something caught his eye.

“Look, Cran,” he said, “the pilot light is turned off.”

“It shouldn’t be,” Jaz said. “John used some hot water yesterday to clean
the bathroom.”

Quincy straightened up. “So what set off the explosion?”

He walked over to where the heater had been torn loose from the gas line. He
reached down and felt around the bare end of the pipe.

“There’s no damage at all to the threads where this was connected. The nut
must have been loosened. That would allow the gas to escape and collect in
the room. But if somebody did this, how did they set it off without blowing
themselves to bits?”

“A detonator?”
Jaz asked.

Sid looked around. “Radio controlled?”

Quincy tapped his pen on the notebook, looking thoughtful.
“Could be.
They’re pretty easy to make. If you’ve
never looked, the Internet is full of instructional material.
Diagrams and everything.”

He gave them a short course on radio-controlled detonators. He said the
simplest ignition source for a gas explosion would be a model rocket
igniter. It would be connected to the guts of a remote-controlled toy, like
a car or a model airplane, which would provide a long-range signal. Armed
with that knowledge, they began to sift through the debris in search of any
pieces that might be left of a make-shift detonator.

Marie came out to inquire if they didn’t want to stop for lunch. They
didn’t. After an hour of burrowing through the rubbish, shifting bits of
wood and metal and glass to see under, between, and around, Cran Quincy
brought things to a halt with a low whistle. As Sid and Jaz watched, he dug
out the remains of a small circuit board, two wires still attached,
half-buried in the dirt wall at the high side of the basement.

He held it out with his gloved hand. “This looks like it could be the guilty
party. See the remains of electrical tape here? That secured the battery to
the board. The two wires would have set off the rocket igniter, sending up a
flame to ignite the gas.”

Sid studied the gadget.
“Cheap and effective.”

“Very. You don’t have to be rich to be a terrorist.”

“You just need to be ruthless,” Jaz said.

“Like the guys in Lewisville.” Sid gazed about at the wreckage.

“Has somebody been threatening you?” Quincy asked.

“Yes,” Jaz said. “But I don’t know how serious it was.”

The investigator’s eyes narrowed. “Why would they blow up this place instead
of the big house where you live?”

Jaz shrugged.

“That Ford out front that was blown over. Who does it belong to?”

“Bobby Wallace,” Jaz said. “He and his family are here for a few days. But
they’re staying in the main house.”

“To an outsider, it might appear that he was staying in here. Does he have
any enemies?”

33

Marie insisted
on feeding
them in the dining room. She had the table set with two places when Sid and
Jaz came in. After washing off dirt accumulated during the search, they sat
down to sandwiches and a rich potato soup with a seasoning that had a
tantalizing aroma. The venerable chef put Sid at one end of the table, which
he took to be the seat of honor Jaques LeMieux had occupied before his
death.

He tasted the soup, licked his lips, and looked around at Jaz. “Delicious.
I’d like to borrow Marie for about a month.”

“Not a good idea. She’d have you as fat as Arnie Bailey.”

“Okay, I don’t need that. My morning run would turn into a morning roll.”

“Speaking of things rolling, what’s your assessment of Cran Quincy’s
reasoning about the position of Bobby’s car before the explosion rolled it
over?”

“You mean the idea that the blast was aimed at Bobby, not you?”

“Yes.”

He munched on the sandwich. “It makes sense. We’ve already agreed the people
who threatened Bobby likely know about your bringing him over here. When the
bombers saw his car parked in front of the little house, they could have
assumed he was inside.”

“If it was Keglar or Fradkin after me, you’d think they would have bombed
the mansion.”

“Or set it on fire, at least.”

“And if that’s the case, and it certainly sounds reasonable, we may be
misreading the role of the guys in Lewisville.”

“True. Last night could have been the work of somebody else, somebody with
no ties at all to the Auto Parts Rehabbers case.”

“Quincy taped off the area around the little house and said he was starting
a criminal investigation. If that thing he found turns out to be part of a
detonator, he’s going to have lots of questions.”

Sid lifted his napkin, dabbed it against his lips. “I suspect Bobby’s going
to find himself in an interrogation room.”

“Something like that may be what he needs.”

After thinking about that for a moment, Sid lowered his voice. “Bobby hasn’t
heard anything about this, has he?”

“No. We talked this morning about the possibility that a gas leak caused the
explosion. There was no hint that anything might be amiss.”

“If he suspects something, he may want to find some other place to stay. Has
anything been done about filing an insurance claim on his car?”

“He said he would do it this morning, but I haven’t talked to him since.”

When they finished eating, Sid suggested they walk the rear of the property
and look for clues pointing to an intruder. They started behind the mansion,
where large old growth trees flourished on the gentle slope of the hillside.

“John’s been cleaning up back here,” Jaz said. “Bobby helped him yesterday.
They gathered a big pile of limbs and sticks that blew off during that
strong wind we had last week. I’m sure he picked up any stray trash that
might have blown in. If we find anything, I’d say it was dropped last
night.”

They criss-crossed the area a couple of times, chasing off a flock of
blackbirds that made a fluttering roar during their departure. As they
walked along, Sid told her about the call that morning from Arnie Bailey.

“He’s feeling the pressure of a deadline,” Jaz said. “When we get through
here, we’d better get back onto your case.”

“The newspaper in Ashland City will be out tomorrow with our story. I’m not
too encouraged about how much good it’ll do.”

“Where do we need to concentrate?”

“We have to find a way to put pressure on the guys who can lead us to Tony
Decker. I don’t know that another trip to Lewisville would help, but we
certainly need to work on twin brother Trent.”

They dropped the subject after reaching the back of the property with no
sign of trespassers. Sid turned to the fence that bordered the road.

“Let’s try along here.”

They walked slowly, examining the ground all the way across. Near the far
corner, Sid found a small spot where the grass had been trampled, as if
someone had landed there after climbing over the fence.

“Let’s check beside the road,” he said.

They swung over the fence and glanced about.

“Look.” Jaz pointed to a nearby area. “Faint tire tracks. Somebody drove in
here.”

Sid leaned over, stared at the stretch of bent grass. Two trails, spaced
wheel-width apart. At the far end, dirt had been dug out over a short
stretch.

“Looks like they pulled in, then spun the tires when they started off in a
hurry,” he said. “That matches your neighbor’s report of a vehicle roaring
away.”

Jaz moved her head back and forth as she walked along the tracks. At one
point, she stopped and bent down. “Give me one of your evidence bags, Sid.”

He had brought along several small paper bags from Marie’s kitchen. “What do
you have?” He held the container open for her.

She took a pen from her jacket, scooped up a small creased piece of ruled
paper, and dropped it in. Sid borrowed the pen and wrote the date, time, and
location on the fold. He stuck it in his jacket pocket.

Jaz had a troubled look on her face. “What if it’s blank?”

He replied in a somber voice. “I suppose we’d have to commit hara kiri.”

She broke out laughing. “And I thought you were the serious one.”

“My mama taught me not to be too predictable.”

Jaz patted him on the back. “She taught you well.”

They climbed over the fence and walked toward the house. A breeze blew the
remaining fire odor away from them, leaving the cool November air
invigorating. A rabbit popped out from behind a tree and scurried off, its
white ball of a tail bobbing in the sunlight. The day seemed too idyllic to
have followed such a night.

Back in Jaz’s office, she took a pair of tweezers and removed the scrap of
paper from the evidence bag. Using a couple of letter openers, she spread it
out on her desk as Sid watched over her shoulder.

“Cancel the hara kiri,” he said as soon as he saw the writing.

It read:

Rogers

D  637
  
Van   12o

“What do you make of it?” Jaz asked.

“Handwriting isn’t bad.
Probably notes taken by phone.
Somebody named
Rogers,
something designated D
637, a guy named Van, and twelve or a hundred and twenty who knows whats?”

“In other words, it could mean anything.”

“Right.
We might try the names on
Bobby,
see if they get any reaction.”

“Okay, let’s do it.”

They found him at the kitchen table with his grandfather, drinking iced tea.

“I saw you two snooping around out back,” John Wallace said when they walked
in. “What were you looking for?”

Jaz smiled. “I was just showing Sid around the south forty. You did a great
job cleaning up the place. Has Bobby been a good helper?”

“The boy’s not afraid of work. I’ll give him that.”

“I need to get back to my job,” Bobby said, frowning. “I hope the insurance
company will hurry up and get me money to buy another car.”