Surest Poison, The (6 page)

“Hard to figure.
It’s a nasty chemical that affects the central nervous system and can cause
all kinds of health problems.”

Harrington arched a bushy eyebrow. “Any
idea what it’s used for?”

“I checked into it before coming out
here. I understand the Rehabbers outfit was involved in rejuvenating used
auto parts. They could have dipped them in TCE for degreasing or cleaning.
Mind if I take a look at where it was dumped?”

“Come on, I’ll show you. We can’t get too
close, though. The state put a fence around it.”

Harrington led him back through the
plant, which was filled with machinery for fabricating corrugated boxes and
a press for printing labels. They exited through a loading dock. A couple of
large trucks were parked on an asphalt apron in back. A few yards beyond
that, a high chain link fence had been erected. Large signs attached to it
cautioned “Warning! Keep Out!
Contaminated Area!”
The barrier surrounded a rectangle about a hundred feet wide and two hundred
feet deep with a gentle slope to the rear. Scrubby weeds and blackened soil
covered the ground. Much of the area showed signs of recent excavation.

“When I bought the place,” Harrington
said, “there were several rusted steel drums back here. I had them hauled
off and thought nothing more about it.”

“Your employees never had any problems
from the pollution?” Sid asked.

“We’ve never used this part of the
property for anything. Since none of the employees frequent the spot, it
hasn’t been a problem. When it rains, the drainage carries the water
downhill away from the plant.”

“That must be where the people live who
have the health problems.”

“That would be my guess. There’s a creek
at the bottom of the hill and a road that runs alongside it. The street has
a number of houses on the near side.”

Sid gazed down through the trees beyond
the fence. “I understand the Nashville newspaper ran an article about what
happened to some of the people down there.” He looked back at Harrington.
“Have you asked your employees if they know anybody who worked here before
you bought the place?”

“I asked the ones from Ashland City. They
didn’t even know the place existed until they came to work for me. A lot of
my employees are from the Nashville area—Joelton, Scottsboro, Bellevue,
places like that.”

“And you never ran into anybody who
talked about who used the plant before?”

“Most folks around here aren’t too
talkative with strangers, Mr. Chance.” Harrington swung his gaze around the
trees that clustered about the perimeter. “This is an out-of-the-way spot.
The only reason I found it was I got lost one day looking for another site.
I saw the For Sale sign and decided to check into it.”

“No doubt I’ll have to do a lot more
digging around Ashland City,” Sid said. “Thanks for the tour. This gives me
a better idea of what we’re facing.”

Harrington offered a wan smile. “If you
can find who’s responsible for this, you’ll have my undying gratitude.”

Sid walked out with a troubled look on
his face. Solving Harrington’s problem was his major task from a
professional standpoint, but on a personal level he wanted someone to pay
for the damage they had done to the people of this area. So far all he had
was a company name and a manager’s name.
And only a
vague notion of where to find either of them.

7

Th
e
crowd of
protestors had dwindled
to a manageable swarm of sign-wavers by the time Sid eased his way out of
the fenced area. A haphazard line of cars and trucks remained along the
roadside. As he started toward Ashland City, his cell phone rang.

“What’s your location?” Jaz asked.

Cop talk, Sid thought. Anybody else would
ask where are
you?
He really was giving her a
chance to relive her past.

“I just left the HarrCo plant on my way
to Ashland City. What about you?”

“I’m in front of the burger place. I got
word the manager from last night came in early. I shouldn’t be here long. If
you want to meet for coffee, I’ll fill you in.”

For Jaz that meant cappuccino. “You have
some place in mind?”

She gave him the location of a small
restaurant not far from the courthouse.

“I’ve been nosing around here and found
something a bit weird,” she said. “Somebody called the farm supply store
where Bobby Wallace works and said he wouldn’t be in this morning, that he
was sick.”

“If it was Bobby, sounds like he might
have been up to no good.”

“Not a chance. The person who took the
call said it didn’t sound like Bobby. She didn’t have any idea who it might
have been, though. I talked to a couple of his coworkers who confirmed he’s
a pretty straight guy, a devoted family man. He’s a little gullible in money
matters. They thought he’d jump at a suggestion he could make money by
meeting with some guy.”

The phone call had distracted Sid so he
failed to notice the blue car, a small sedan traveling at the same speed a
couple of hundred feet behind, until he snapped the phone shut. How long had
it been there? Was it following him, or was it some protestor headed back to
Ashland City?

He was on a narrow country road,
reversing the directions that had brought him to HarrCo Shipping. It was
also the most direct route back to the small town. He kept an eye on the car
all the way. It turned off to the right when he turned left into the
restaurant parking lot.

Nothing to be concerned about, he
decided. But it reminded him he needed to find out how somebody knew he
would be in that downtown garage yesterday.

Jaz parked in
front of a big poster hawking 99-cent specials, with colorful illustrations
of artery-clogging delights.
Inside, she introduced herself as Private Investigator Jasmine LeMieux to a
slick-headed young man whose badge identified him as “Gordie.” He had been
the manager on duty last night.

“Hi, Miz LeMieux, what can I do for you?”
Gordie asked.

Despite his hairless look, the kid was
young enough to be her son. He had a cloying grin she found a bit much. More
like the older guys who were always hitting on her. Those types she enjoyed
putting in their places, which had been especially true with her fellow cops
when she was a policewoman. This situation was different, though,
necessitating a little diplomacy. She held out a photo of Bobby Wallace.

“Do you recall seeing this man here last
night?” she asked.

Gordie stared at the photo. “I don’t
think so. What’d he do, like rob somebody, shoot his old lady?”

“Nothing of the sort.
He was supposed to meet someone here, but he’s disappeared. Did you see
anything in the parking lot last night that might not have seemed quite
right? Maybe
someone urging
another man into a
car?”

“Sorry. Most of the time I’m, you know,
too busy to check out the parking lot. What time was he here?”

“It would have been around seven.”

He twitched his mouth from side to side.
“Maybe I did see a guy switching cars, you know. I’m not sure. That would
have been after dark. The lights out front are pretty bright. Whatever, I
can’t say for sure if it was this guy.”

“Did you notice what kind of car he got
into?”

“No. I wasn’t paying that much attention.
Sorry.”

“Is there anybody else here who might
have seen something?”

He looked around at the workers behind
the counter, all teenagers. “I doubt it. They don’t get out front much,
except to clean the tables or empty trash cans. I’ll ask around and give you
a call if I learn anything.”

Jaz gave him a business card and thanked
him.

“How about a milkshake or something?” he
asked with a silly grin. “It’s on the house.”

“Thanks, but I’m in a bit of a hurry.”
She smiled and turned toward the nearest exit. She wanted to be polite, but
cradle robbing wasn’t part of her repertoire.

She was about to open the door to her car
when her cell phone rang.

Connie Wallace spoke in a hushed voice.
“Bobby is back.”

Jaz swung the door open and dropped onto
the seat. “Is he okay? What happened?”

“He hasn’t been beat up or anything, if
that’s what you mean. But he’s acting awful strange. Something’s scared him.
I haven’t seen him this shook up in years. Not since the time he almost
drove off an embankment one night when somebody swiped a road sign.”

“Where has he been?”

“He won’t talk about it, and he doesn’t
want me to say anything to anybody. He doesn’t know I’m calling you. Please
don’t mention anything about it. Oh, oh . . . I hear him. I’ve gotta go.”

8

Th
e
restaurant
sat a few blocks from
the courthouse. It was a small, airy place full of chrome and white tile
with a working jukebox, reminiscent of something out of the middle of the
last century. Sid found a booth near the entrance. He ordered coffee for
himself and a cappuccino for Jaz. After burning out on coffee during her
Metro Police days, she had taken up the Italian concoction during visits to
her truck stops. She didn’t care for the fancy kind made with a noisy mixer
but the commercial version produced with powder and hot water from a
self-serve machine.

Jaz arrived shortly after the waitress
brought their drinks.

“Guess what,” she said. “Bobby Wallace is
back.”

“Back home?”

“Connie called and said he came home
acting like somebody frightened of his shadow. He didn’t want her to say
anything about it to anybody.”

“Where had he been?”

“He refused to tell her anything. But it
sounds like somebody threatened to dump him in the fiery furnace.”

“At least he’s back home in one piece,”
he said. “Have you called his grandparents?”

“Yes. Marie was really relieved. I hope
she can convince him to come clean.” She picked up the cup of cappuccino and
took a tentative sip. “What did you learn at HarrCo?”

“Not much, except the crowd that picketed
the courthouse moved out to Harrington’s place. Looked like a bunch of
Teamsters with all their signs. Harrington had never heard of Auto Parts
Rehabbers. I learned something useful from Murray Estes, though. The manager
was a guy named Tony Decker.”

“I can do a computer trace on him,” Jaz
said.

“Have at it.”

“Auto Parts
Rehabbers, too?”

“Sure. It’ll save me some time.” She knew
a lot more about digging for such things than he did, although he had gotten
a short course on skip tracing from a PI he once worked with in Lewisville.
“Is there anything I can do for you on the Bobby Wallace situation?”

“Until he decides to tell us what it’s
all about, I don’t know what anyone could do.”

Sid watched in silence as she toyed with
the cappuccino cup.

After a few moments, he asked, “Heard
anything else about the poker players?”

That perked her up. “I talked to Wick
this morning. Jack and the Judge are in. I guess that takes care of
everybody.”

Wick was Metro Police Sgt. Wick Stanley.
The others included Jack Post, a retired newspaper crime writer, former
Criminal Court Judge Gabriel Thackston, and Bart Masterson. Post, the word
merchant, had dubbed them the Four Felons and Miss Demeanor Poker Club. Now,
with Sid on board, they were Five Felons.

“I presume everybody includes you?” he
said.

“Of course I’ll be there.
With rings on my fingers and bells on my toes.”

“
You going
to
try to jangle some nerves?” He drained his coffee cup. “Harrington told me
about the area down the hill behind the plant, which is where the TCE wound
up. I want to drive over there and take a look around.”

“I have a feeling you’re prepared to give
this one all you’ve got.”

Sid gave a slight nod. “Somebody, for
some reason, made an awful mess that had terrible long-range consequences.
Bailey showed me a photo of a little girl whose face was badly disfigured.
It apparently resulted from the TCE contamination. Years ago, I had a cousin
in almost the same shape. She ended up commiting suicide.”

“That’s terrible.” Jaz closed her eyes
and shuddered. “I’d like to see that area, too. Why don’t we take my car?”

He knew she didn’t care for his truck,
though for him it fit like an old glove.
“Why not?
You get cut-rate gas.”

Since inheriting controlling interest in
Welcome Traveler Stores, she kept a close watch on the business but took no
active role in the day-to-day operation of the company.