Murder in the Choir (The Jazz Phillips Mystery Series) (11 page)

“So insist on being put through. Seems to me you have good cause.”

“Does he have a cell phone or pager?” I asked. “I’d rather go direct.”

“Cell phone and state of the art.” Dee took out a small address book and looked in it. He frowned. “No luck there.” Then he stopped.

“Damn! What am I thinking?” He took out his cell phone and did something. He handed it to me. “Your tax dollars at work. I have the number stored here, and it’s current. I talked to him on it two days ago.”

The phone was connected when I put it to my ear. I listened to it ring a dozen times and was just about to hand it back to Dee when someone picked it up. “What!” snarled a surly voice.

“Hello, Lonnie. Jazz Phillips. Sorry to bother you. It’s urgent.”

“Just a minute.” I heard him tell someone else he would catch up later. A few moments later he was back on the line. “All right, go ahead.” There was no trace of anger in his voice.

“We may have a touchy situation here.” I told him what had happened at the crime scene in Oak Grove, about our efforts to work with Spinks, and how the arrests were made. “There was no legal basis for the arrest,” I said. “The sooner we get both men released, the less likely they are to raise a stink.”

“Not possible,” Lonnie told me. “At least, not with Jones.”

“Why not?” I asked.

“Spinks sent us a set of prints right away when they were booked, and the system was not busy. We got an immediate hit. Jones has a federal warrant out for his arrest.”

“What’s the charge?” I asked.

“I don’t know what the original charge was, but it must be something big. What we have on him now is a fugitive warrant that says he may be armed and dangerous. So there’s no bail, either.”

“What about Adams?” I explained what Luther was confessing. “He’s an old man, Lonnie. Not well. We need to get him out right away.”

“All right,” Lonnie told me. “I’ll call Spinks and tell him to get on it now.”

“What about Spinks?” I asked.

“So what about him?” Lonnie’s tone told me to step cautiously. I knew that in his mind, he thought he had already made a major concession.

“Don’t you have something for him to do in Butte? I think his talents may be wasted around here.”

Lonnie chuckled and evaded my question. “What about Kruger? How is he doing?”

“Kruger’s a good agent. And a good man. If I were still with CID, I’d hire him away from you.”

“He is good,” Lonnie said. “I’m glad to have him.” He fell silent.

“So, what about Spinks? You think you could put him on something else?”

There was a long silence. “Think about it, Jazz. Put yourself in my place. Right or wrong, the guy just made a major felony bust. Taking him off the case would be a slap in the face. The only way I could justify doing that is to put him in charge of something big. There’s not a lot going on right now and, as you put it so well, I think his talents would be wasted.”

It was my turn to be silent. It was Lonnie who spoke first. “Well, if there’s nothing else, I need to get back to my game.”

“All right, Lonnie. I’ll write up what I have, and Dee will send you a copy. I think it may be time for me to go home. This is turning into a real disaster.”

He spoke so softly I could barely hear him. “Well, if that’s the way you feel about it. I never figured you for a quitter.”

The words stung. “Then we’re both surprised. I thought we were friends, but apparently not. Thanks for the heads up. I’ll give you one in return. You might want to know is that my final report will contain everything I’ve told you along with your response. One copy will go to your headquarters in Washington and I wouldn’t be surprised if one didn’t end up with the Washington Post.”

“You son of a bitch!” he snarled.

“As a matter of fact, I am,” I told him calmly. “My mother was hell on wheels! I hope you enjoy Butte.” I hung up. I looked at Dee. His face was grave. I grinned. “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. And I really enjoyed it.”

“Are you really bailing out?” Dee asked me.

“Of course, not,” I answered, looking at my watch. “Just wait. He’ll call back. Three minutes, maybe five at the most.”

Dee looked at me like I’d just told him the world is flat. “The Washington Post? For real?”

“No, at least, not yet. Having a nuke doesn’t mean I want to use it.”

Lonnie was more torqued than I imagined. It was a full seven minutes before Dee’s phone rang. Dee answered it, and I could hear angry squawking from the receiver. After a minute he said, “Let me look around. He was here just a minute ago.” He grinned and covered the microphone. “Guess who?” he asked. “Are you ready to talk?”

I nodded and he handed me the phone. “This is Phillips,” I said, pretending I didn’t know who was on the other end.

“Does this need to be a pissing contest?” Lonnie asked. It was the closest I would ever get to an apology.

“I hope not,” I answered back. “I think I’m empty now.”

“Would you let me see what I can do with Spinks?” he asked.

“I had an idea about that,” I told him. There was stony silence from the other end, and I realized what I had just said. “Sorry. I wasn’t being tacky. What I meant was, I have an idea what he could do to be useful to us both.”

“I’m listening,” he told me.

“There’s a lot of stuff he can do with the computer in Little Rock,” I said. I told him what I had in mind, which was mostly background checks on the people in Oak Grove the day of the shooting. “I know it sounds like scut work, but I need the information, and I don’t have access.”

“Kruger’s actually much faster with the computer, and Spinks will want him to be assigned to that.”

“Tell him that Kruger’s going to be going through paper files,” I suggested. “I know for sure Spinks would rather be on the computer than in the county file room. It’s not air conditioned.”

“I thought you liked Kruger,” he said.

“I do. He and I will tackle any paper files together. I’m not sure exactly what we’ll need there yet. I think I’ll want to go over the computer generated reports first. I could also use some good help on ground. Kruger seems to be good at interviews.”

“He’s one of the best. That’s why...” Lonnie caught himself just in time. I was sure he was about to tell me that was why Kruger was assigned to Spinks, to clean up any messes. Such a remark would embarrass the Bureau. “That’s why he won’t be in Arkansas long. Someone else will grab him.” Lonnie was almost civil now. “Tell you what. I can keep Spinks busy here on the case for a week, maybe ten days. How does that sound?”

“Like manna from heaven,” I told him and he chuckled. I had no illusions that we were on good terms again. I don’t hold grudges, but Lonnie does. I doubted I would ever be invited on a federal consultation again if Lonnie had anything to say about it. However, I doubted he would. I was still tight with the top agency brass, and I doubted he would object too strenuously. Some of us choose to live in Arkansas because we love it here, warts and all. Lonnie did not, and there was a reason he was assigned here—probably because of his temper. While Little Rock might be sufferance vile to him, Butte was worse and I doubted he would risk badmouthing me.

“I appreciate your letting Adams go,” I told him. “At this point, I think he’ll be glad to get out and won’t raise a stink.” I didn’t think he had forgotten about it, but I wanted to make sure Luther didn’t suffer from our falling out. “I’ll give him a ride home. Maybe without Jones along, he’ll tell me something.”

“Good idea,” Lonnie said. “I’ll call Spinks.”

I switched off the phone and grinned at Dee. “That was fun. You should have taken the bet.”

He smiled back and nodded, but he looked worried. “Lonnie won’t forget this,” he murmured. “He holds grudges.”

I nodded.“I know. I hope he doesn’t forget. Maybe he’ll stay out of our way. Or, maybe he won’t. It really doesn’t matter.”

“What if Lonnie had not called back?” Dee asked. “Would you have quit?”

I shook my head. “No way. I would have still worked on it for you on the Q.T.” I glanced down the hall to where the pastor sat waiting. “Why don’t you sit in on the rest of this? I think it will be all right.”

Albert Jones may have been surprised to see Dee come in with me, but he didn’t show it. He looked at us calmly. “They’re going to release Luther,” I told him. “I’ll give him a ride home.”

The pastor nodded. “Good.” When I said nothing more, he added, “I gather they are not going to release me.”

“No,” I told him. “There’s a federal fugitive warrant out for your arrest. They’re holding you on that.”

“A fugitive warrant?” He was clearly surprised. “Well, I suppose I do have a common name.”

“Actually, they picked it up from your prints.” I watched him closely.

At first there was no reaction. Then I saw his eyes narrow and his jaw set. When he spoke, there was no question he was angry. “This is not right. I was given a presidential pardon. That warrant was voided. Years ago.”

“Why don’t you tell us about it, then?” Dee asked. “Maybe we can get it straightened out.”

Jones looked at him coldly. “Don’t play cop games with me, Mr. DiRado. I assure you it won’t work.”

“We’re not playing games, Mr. Jones,” I responded. “We’re trying to figure out who killed your cousin, and I appreciate all your cooperation. The warrant is a side issue as far as I am concerned.” I looked at Dee. “I’m done here.”

He nodded and waved for the jailer to take the pastor back to the cellblock. “Have they let you have a phone call yet?” I asked. He nodded but said nothing. I handed him a card. “Have your lawyer call me if there’s anything I can do.”

“What do you think?” Dee asked me when the door to the cell block closed behind Jones and the jailer.

“I’m not sure,” I responded. “The warrant is a surprise. I had him pegged as a straight arrow. I wonder what’s behind it.”

“Easy enough,” said Dee, taking out his cell phone. “I’ll have our guys run his name through the system. It shouldn’t take long.

The call back from his office in Little Rock took longer than Dee expected. Thirty minutes went by, then forty-five. At some point, the jailer brought out Luther Adams for release, and I visited with him a bit while Dee waited. When it had been an hour without word, Dee called in and was told they were having trouble getting the information out of Washington.

We talked it over and decided to split up. It was getting to be late afternoon and someone needed to get back to Oak Grove to see what Crime Scene had found. Since it was a dead area for cell phone reception, I ended up driving Luther home while Dee waited for the call from Little Rock. We agreed to meet in Oak Grove an hour later unless something came up.

Then I ran into another snag. When I started to take him home, Luther wouldn’t get into the car. He was docile enough when the jailer brought him out and while we visited. Yet, once we were outside of the jail by ourselves, he became anxious. “Where the pastor?” he asked. His eyes were wild.

When I explained the pastor was going to have to stay in jail a bit longer, the old man became agitated. There was no convincing him it was all right to leave Oak Grove until he talked to Albert Jones. Yet, when we went back into the jail, the shift was changing and the jailer was reluctant to let us see Jones until he got the sheriff on the phone. At some point, I remember Dee shaking his head, raising his hands to the heavens, and rolling back his eyes.

After talking to Albert Jones, the old man calmed down and agreed to let me drive him home. Once we were in the car, he asked to be taken to the drive-in for an ice cream cone. I suggested a burger might taste good first, and he agreed. The carhop gave me an odd look when she came to take our order, but she greeted Luther by name. He told me she sometimes came to sing with the choir for special performances.

“You still sing in the choir, Luther?” I asked him.

“Oh, yes,” he said, smiling for the first time. “I sing. I sing praise to the Lord!” He broke into a hymn, his baritone strong and resonant for someone who looked so old and frail. Several people sitting in cars next to us looked our way, smiling. One of them was our waitress, apparently on break. She turned and said something to the other people in the car. They all laughed.

Luther continued to sing while we waited, and I was struck by the changes I saw in his face as he did. The years rolled away, more with each passing verse, and with them went the deep lines of sorrow. When he finished singing, Luther looked like a young man in his thirties, a dusky angel, prematurely gray. Even as we ate, I could hear him humming softly.