Murder in the Choir (The Jazz Phillips Mystery Series) (16 page)

“So you must know Albert Jones and the three Luthers pretty well then?” I asked.

“Of course, I do! And there were four Luthers, not three.”

This was not new information to me, but it was to Kruger. It confirmed something Emma Jones told me in passing but I had not mentioned it to him. I realized we were talking to the fourth Oak Grove Luther, and my ears must have stood up like a terrier because she laughed again. “I don’t know who you’ve been talking to, but they told you wrong. There were four of us.”

“Four of us?” Kruger asked.

“Yes, it was so funny. All of our mothers were carrying us at the same time. They all grew up together and had a singing group, a beauty shop quartet. They called themselves the Grove Sisters and I guess they were pretty famous around here. One day they were talking about names for their babies, and one of them said she favored Luther. I don’t know exactly who it was, but one of the other mothers said no, she already picked that out if her child was a boy. Then one of the others said she liked it, too, and was going to use it if her child was a boy and was born first. That was May Adams, Luther’s mother, and, sure enough, she delivered her baby first. That made the other three mothers mad, so they named their babies Luther, too. That’s how Oak Grove got four Luthers.”

“Wait a minute,” Kruger said. “I ‘m confused. You have a brother named Luther, too?”

“No, I’m the fourth Luther,” she told us. “I go by my middle name now, but I grew up being called Luther Anne Williams. I didn’t think anything of it until I had a friend in college from Minnesota, and she almost died laughing when I first told her my name. I went by Anne after that.” She smiled, but there was hurt there, too, and I didn’t know how to respond.

Kruger tuned the conversation gently. “You know, everyone tells us what a great man Wilbur Jones was. No one can imagine who might have done this. Do you have any idea who we could talk to that might know? Anyone at all?”

Anne Smith looked at us a long time. “What folks are afraid of is someone knowing they talked,” she told us. “People in small towns have to live together for a long time, so they’re careful what they say. Particularly to outsiders.”

Kruger smiled. “I’m not asking you to rat anyone out,” he told her. “We just need to be pointed in the right direction.” I don’t know how he did it, but Kruger looked like a choir boy himself at that moment, or maybe a hungry street urchin.

Ann looked at him and raised an eyebrow. She thought about it for a long moment and I appreciated how intimidating her students might find that. That reminded me of Robert’s dad and I wondered if they were somehow related or if this was a habit black folk in rural areas developed in self defense. “Well, you might talk to Slide,” she told us. “He walked on the wild side a long time, and if anyone would know, it would be him.”

“By Slide, we’re talking about Luther Jones?” I asked. She nodded and I went on. “Can you tell us anything about Slide?”

She sighed. “I can tell you more than you want to know. He and I were sweethearts once. It didn’t last long, and it ended because of his wild ways, but he sure could dance.” She smiled again. “That was scandalous back then. We were all Baptists here, and the preacher thought dancing was the work of the devil. You know, it was Albert’s dad who was our preacher back then. I never will forget the look on his face the day Slide asked how come the Bible talks about David dancing before the altar if it was so bad. You’ve never seen a black man so dark turn so red—purple as a blood blister. He looked like he was going to pop and spew all over us.” She shook her head. “That Slide. He always had more brass than brains. I could have tolerated that, but he was a skirt chaser, too.”

“Why was he called Slide?” Kruger asked.

Anne snorted. “Believe me, the name fits him. He was always trying to slide by on style, but he didn’t have the sand to do it.” Then she shook her head. “That’s not why he was called Slide. We called him that because he used to play the trombone. Or, maybe I should say he tried to play. He was never much good at it, but he sure made a lot of noise for a while. He used to brag he was going to be some big time musician. The sad thing is, he might have done it if he stuck with it.” She shook her head. “Slide was not much for sticking with anything except his vices.” There was an edge of bitterness in her voice.

I nodded but said nothing. Nor did Kruger. After a moment Anne went on without prompting. “Of course, I’m biased when it comes to him. I guess you could I say I’m a woman scorned, but I don’t feel vindictive. Mostly, I feel sort of sad. He had so much going for him, and he threw it all away.”

“How long has it been since you’ve seen him?” Kruger asked.

“He was here for the birthday,” she told us. “I saw him then, but we didn’t speak.” She frowned. “It was odd. He was carrying that old trombone of his and I thought he was going to play or maybe do something funny like he used to do when we were kids. Only, he didn’t.”

I looked at Kruger and he nodded. We were thinking the same thing. An old trombone case was exactly the right size and shape to carry an M-16 carbine. The molded nest the instrument rested in would have to be taken out, but that was not hard to do. It was a perfect disguise for a murder weapon.

“Do you remember how Slide was dressed?” I asked.

She started to answer, then thought a moment. “That’s odd. The first time I saw him he was in a dark brown suit. He was wearing a light brown shirt and a multi-colored tie. That’s when he was carrying the trombone. Then later when I saw him at the picnic, he had on a beige suit, just like Wilbur, and a different colored tie. As a matter of fact, I actually thought he was Wilbur for a while. Then I saw the two of them together and I realized it was Slide. I couldn’t figure out why he changed his clothes.”

“Did they look that much alike?” Kruger asked.

“Yes, they did, especially when they got older. When they were younger, people used to tease Wilbur by asking if Slide was his son or his younger brother.” She shook her head at the memory. “They looked enough alike that Wilbur got blamed sometimes for some of Slide’s mischief. Only, it wasn’t mischief later on. It was downright criminal.”

“It sounds like you avoided a lot of heartache,” Kruger suggested,

“Yes,” said Anne Smith. “I suppose I did. My husband is a fine man, and we have a good life and a wonderful family. But I wonder sometimes. I know it’s fool talk, but I wonder if I had stuck by him and made him fly straight, maybe Slide might have turned out differently.”

I shook my head. “You’re better off the way things are,” I said. “I can’t be absolutely sure, but I would almost guarantee you he wouldn’t. My experience is that guys like that take a lot of good people down with them.”

“Yes, but you’re a policeman. I’m a teacher. Our whole profession is built on hope. I’ve been around long enough to see that come to fruition many more times than not, even with kids with a lot to overcome.”

We talked with Anne Smith a while longer, but she didn’t have much else to tell us except that she had not seen Slide in the community center. When she saw him with Smiley, they were at the picnic under the oak trees. She was very sure of this.

After we left, Kruger and I talked about it and were in agreement. Each of us thought Slide Jones was probably the shooter. We debated what might be the best way to go after him. There was not enough evidence at that point to hold him without bail, and arresting him could precipitate flight. While that in itself would be good evidence of guilt, I was reluctant to push too hard. It may be more difficult to disappear these days than it was forty years ago, but it is still possible, and Luther Jones had all the right connections.

We decided to go with a low key interview. This would mean driving sixty or eighty miles to Hot Springs since that was where Slide lived, but there was no way around it. We decided to take off after we talked with Luther Adams. Taken with what Anne Smith told us, it was entirely possible Adams was telling us the truth when he said Luther did it. He might well have been talking about Luther Jones, commonly known as Slide, and it was possible Adams might give us what we needed to arrest Slide and hold him without bail.

What neither Kruger nor I could figure out was why someone else had not come across this information already. The way it looked then, the case should have been a slam dunk even for a rookie fresh out of detective school. The only reason we could think of was that the case had gone so political so fast. As they say, it’s hard to drain the swamp when you’re ass deep in alligators. That’s as good a description as I know for politicians trying to run the show.

We got to Oak Grove a little after nine and Kruger parked by the store. We headed straight for Luther Adam’s shack, but there was no one there. The door was sealed with a padlock and chain, and the panels shuttering the screen vents that served as windows were secured from inside. We knocked twice, anyway, but there was no response. The place felt empty.

Robert’s mother was behind the counter of the store when we walked in, and I introduced myself and Kruger. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Robert watching us, and I turned and waved to him. When I asked if they had seen the old man that morning, Mrs. McNutt told us she had not. Nor had Robert and we thanked them and headed for the parsonage.

A few moments after we left the store, I heard the door slam behind us and turned my head to see Robert loping after us. I told Kruger about my deals with Robert and he smiled. He seemed to get a kick out of my unorthodox methods. I guess there was reason for it. Within forty-eight hours my methods, such as they are, had produced more solid information than the previous two weeks’ effort. We had the shooter’s nest and a very strong possibility for the shooter himself. All we lacked was motive, but with people who have known each other as long as Smiley and Slide, there was a world of possibility.

This time it was the Albert Jones himself who answered the door when we knocked. He smiled at me, then spotted Robert. “What is he doing here?” Jones demanded.

I smiled back. “He’s keeping an eye on us. A Baker Street irregular.”

Jones chuckled. “Well, he’s good at that. What can I do for you?”

“I went by to check on Luther Adams,” I told him. “He wasn’t there and I wanted to talk to him. Have you seen him?”

The pastor shook his head. “No, I slept in this morning. Luther’s probably wandering around here someplace. Did you look in the church?”

I told him we would try that. Then something struck he. “You know, his place was locked up tight. Does he usually lock up when he’s not there?”

Albert Jones frowned. “Locked up? No. Luther doesn’t even lock up when he goes out of town. What do you mean, locked up?”

I told him about the padlock and chain on the door and the window vents pulled tight from the inside. By the time I was done, Jones was very concerned. “Let me get my jacket,” he said. “That doesn’t sound good.”

We searched the church and the outhouse on our way by, then went over the crest to the cemetery. There was nothing there but weathered grave stones, not even tracks in the sandy soil. Then we went to the community center and checked the outhouse there. By the time we got to Luther Adams’ shack, Albert Jones was clearly worried. When he saw the lock and chain, he shook his head. “This is not like Luther,” he told us. “Not at all.”

We spread out and searched the area around Adams’ place, and then spoke with neighbors to the north. No one had seen Luther since the day before, and a couple of men joined the search. I borrowed Kruger’s cell phone, which was one of the new satellite jobs, and called the sheriff in Nashville. I filled him in and asked him to send a couple of deputies to help search. I asked him to send along a search warrant for Luther’s place, too.

“You think Luther Adams had something to do with the shooting?” the sheriff asked.

“No, I don’t. I think we may find a crime scene in his place, and I want us to be covered, no matter what we find.”

“What’s our probable cause?” Tanner asked.

“The rifle and ammo I found there last night,” I told him.

“What rifle and ammo?” the sheriff asked.

I filled him in quickly. The deputy on duty the night before had not put my visit in the night log. Nor had he told the sheriff about my coming by to check in the weapon. I gave the sheriff the serial number of the rifle and a brief description of it and the ammunition box. When Sheriff Tanner hung up, I was glad I was not in the deputy’s shoes.

Kruger looked at me gravely. “Don’t tell me they lost the rifle.”

“I hope not.” I told him what happened. “It could be the deputy just forgot to log me in. That’s what I’m hoping. I’m glad I wrote the number down.”

“No shit.” It was the first time I heard Kruger swear. “Does anyone else know about it besides us?”