Murder in the Choir (The Jazz Phillips Mystery Series) (23 page)

“These are not state of the art weapons, not like the ones special weapons teams use now,” I pointed out. “The rifle I found is Vietnam era. Even if it was made later, it’s an obsolete design. Why all the hoorah over some an old clunker you can buy at any crossroads gun show?”

Kruger shrugged. “I trained on one at the Academy, and I imagine you did, too. There are a lot of them around. Maybe they used this old clunker just because it is old, to point suspicion in the wrong direction just in case something went wrong. Maybe this particular rifle was part of the equipment involved in something highly...inflammatory.”

“You mean, something hot like the grassy knoll in Dallas?”

Kruger didn’t bother to answer. He just rolled his eyes. “Suppose for just a minute I’m right. The question, then, is how it got to an unused blacksmith shop in Oak Grove, Arkansas. Why was it brought here? That’s probably what Smith wanted to know.”

“Maybe someone in black ops walked off with it,” I answered. “As you said, these guys get personally attached to their weapons.”

“So maybe we need to ask who was involved with the military and is from Oak Grove. Of course, if one of them was involved in anything having to do with national security, we’ll never know.”

I thought about it a minute. “I expect most of the men there were drafted during Vietnam. None of the ones I’ve met there strike me as someone who could set up this kind of operation. How about you?”

“I don’t either, but maybe that’s just who we need to be looking for. Aside from Slide, there aren’t any other obvious candidates. Maybe we need to look for someone who’s not so obvious.”

“The man never seen,” I murmured. Suddenly, I felt overwhelmed. There were just too many loose ends. “All this is crazy making,” I said. “I mean, I think you’re right, but how in the hell do we find out who wasn’t seen? Where do we focus? Who do we ask? For that matter, how do we ask? I imitated Jack Webb. “Pardon me, Ma’am, was there anyone you didn’t see there?”

We kicked it around for a bit longer got and nowhere. Since it was getting late and Kruger needed to be in Little Rock the next day, we headed up the road toward Nashville. When Kruger yawned, I offered to drive, but he shook his head. He appreciated the offer but reminded me again that the FBI takes a dim view of anyone else driving their cars. The one exception was emergencies, but agent fatigue was not considered an emergency.
 

When I got back to the motel, the message light on my phone was flashing. I called the switchboard and the clerk had a message. Someone had called and left a number for me to call back at my earliest convenience. While the caller had not left a name, the clerk told me it was a man’s voice on the other end. Yet, the clerk could not remember just when the call came. He thought it was after six, but he couldn’t be sure.

The number looked familiar, but I couldn’t place it. Since it was late, I put it on the dresser and emptied my pockets, intending to call back the next day. I thought about an evening walk, but when I sat down on the bed, even the effort of putting on my running shoes seemed too much. Instead, I stripped and headed for the shower. I don’t even remember my head hitting the pillow.

I woke early the next morning and threw on my sweat suit and running shoes. It was a cool, brisk morning, and I set a fast pace, breaking into a trot after warming up. Normally, I walk to save my knees, but running felt right just then, and I headed west along the highway. A couple of miles from town, I found a good vantage point and watched the sun rise over the hills. Our sunrises in Arkansas may not have the bright colors and contrasts one sees in the Southwest, but that morning it was glorious. The air was full of mist, muting the bright colors of the trees, but somehow making them seem even brighter, too. The early light was like radiant gold shining through the mist.

When I got back to the room, Kruger was there waiting for me. He wanted to go over a couple of things in his reports with me before taking off for Little Rock. So I skipped the shower and grabbed my wallet, and we headed for the cafe. While we were waiting for our breakfast, I went over his reports and suggested a couple of things he might want to include. He made note of these and asked me what I was going to do that day. I told him I would probably head for Oak Grove and talk with the pastor. Then, if the sheriff would lend me a deputy, I might go through Smiley Jones’ place to see what turned up. Failing all else, I would come back to Nashville and go over the case files at the jail.

“Sounds exciting compared to the meeting I have on Monday,” Kruger told me. “Is there anything you need from the big city?” I asked him to pick up any reports Dee might have on our various crime scenes, along with Luther Adams’ autopsy report if it was ready.

Kruger was in a hurry to get going. He had plans to spend the afternoon with someone in Little Rock and wolfed down his breakfast before I was half through. I told him not to wait, that I would pay the check. He agreed so long as he could get it next time. When he took off, I could have sworn I saw a dust trail swirling in the sunlight cutting through the side window. It must have been a hot date, and I wondered what kind of woman would be Kruger’s type.

As Kruger was going out the door, the sheriff was coming in, and I invited Tanner to join me at the table. We sat there for the better part of an hour talking about fishing, hunting, everything else but how the case was going. Only when we walked out onto the sidewalk did Tanner ask me to come by his office before getting away that morning.

When I got to the sheriff’s office, we talked about the case for a while. I told him about the FBI report on the rifle, but not about Captain Smith. Though he was a bit short handed, Tanner agreed to have a deputy meet me at Oak Grove to go over Smiley Jones’ place. “Just keep in mind that there may not be much left there now. I tried to seal the place off, but you know how it is. Once a man passes on, a lot of his stuff seems to walk off on its own.”

I was surprised that when we were done, Tanner walked me out to my car. Glancing over toward the cafe, he said, “You know, Louise, our waitress over there, is the best hearted woman you would ever want to meet. She would give you the coat off her back, but she’s not exactly the soul of discretion. You might want to keep that in mind, and pass it along to Kruger.”

I felt a cold prickle at the nape of my neck. “You mean, she’s been passing along what she heard us discussing?”

The sheriff shrugged. “I don’t think she’s said anything that will damage your investigation so far, but you’ve got to understand. Something like this murder is better than soap opera to a lot of folks around here. They don’t mean no harm. They just want to know what’s going on.”

“I take it the reason you’re telling me this here is that she has connections in the jail, too,” I said.

Tanner grinned. “You city boys catch on real quick.”

As disturbing as this was, it was good to know. Nor was it a total liability. I’ve been known to use misinformation on occasion to provoke someone to rash action. Doing so has broken more than one case, and Tanner had just given me the key to the Nashville neighborhood telegraph.

Back at the motel, I showered quickly and dug out a fresh pair of chinos to wear. As I was filling my pockets with all the stuff guys carry, I came across the note with the number Dee had given me the night before. I tucked it in my shirt pocket and picked up the note next to it. It was the number the clerk gave me for my caller the night before. Then it struck me why the number had looked so familiar. It was the same as the one I got from Dee.

I started to call from the motel, then remembered my conversation with the sheriff thirty minutes before. So I drove around until I found a pay phone on a relatively quiet wall outside the convenience store. I bought a calling card and punched in a long stream of numbers, adding my caller’s number when I was told to do so at the end. It was a touch phone, but when I was done, my arm was almost as tired as if I had been dialing an old rotary set.

My call was answered on the second ring. “McKee. Please hold on a second.” The voice was a deep, mellow baritone. Eight seconds later it was back. “Good morning, Dr. Phillips. This is Sam McKee.”

“How did you know it was me?” I asked.

“I have a brother who is a technical wonk,” he laughed. “That gave me the number outside the Buzz In convenience store, and you’re the only person I know who might be calling me from Nashville on Sunday morning.”

“I’m impressed,” I said. “You did that in eight seconds.”

“Well, not to brag, but I also knew who you were by your voice print, too. I have no idea how Jack does it, but I’m not sure I want to know.”

“I know what you mean,” I replied. “Something to do with cemeteries and arcane rites at midnight. What can I do for you?”

“Well, there are a couple of things. First of all, I’m interested in the item you found in Oak Grove, and I may be able to help you out with that.”

“I don’t mean to be rude, but I really don’t know who you are, Mr. McKee. Any information from my investigation would have to go through the CID.”

“I appreciate that. Nor would I want to talk about these things over an unsecured line. What I wanted to do was to let you know someone from our agency will be looking you up in the next few days. I’ll talk to DiRado and get his imprimatur before our man gets in touch.”

“Agency? Mr. DiRado had the impression you’re with a law firm.”

McKee laughed. “We may be a bunch of brigands, but we aren’t a bunch of thieves. No, we’re a small government agency no one has ever heard of because we like it that way. Our primary mission is aimed at internationally organized crime. Most of what we do is assess information. Among other things, I serve as our in-house attorney. I think I said something about it to DiRado and that may be where he got that impression.”

He told me the name of his organization and he was right. I had never heard of it. “All right,” I said. “I’ll talk to your guy, but only when DiRado gives me a green light.”

“Fair enough,” McKee said. “The name of the fellow who will be getting in touch is Willie Dill.”

“Dill? Like the pickle?” I laughed despite myself.

“Exactly, though I wouldn’t make a point of that with Willie,” McKee said dryly. “When you meet him you’ll see why. Any questions?”

“Quite a few,” I answered. “I would imagine you would tell me the answer to most of them is classified.”

“You must have been dealing with the Pentagon or the CIA,” McKee told me. “We keep necessary secrets when it comes to operations and personnel, but we’re actually rather transparent with people we trust.”

“That makes you rather unique in the intelligence community.”

“What makes us most unique is that we are almost entirely self-funding.”

“I thought you were a governmental agency,” I said. “How can you be self funding?”

“We steal, Dr. Phillips. We have license to steal from the bad guys the way the DEA does with drug dealers. They call it confiscation and develop all kinds of legal mythology justifying it. We don’t bother. We have guidelines, and we are accountable for them, but we call things what they are.”

I was beginning to like the guy. “That’s refreshing. You said there were two reasons you want to talk to me.”

“Yes. I’m interested in your doing some consulting with us.”

This was strange, and I thought about it for a moment. “All right,” I said. “But I can’t figure why you need a forensic expert.”

“Actually, I need your expertise as a criminologist. I believe that’s the right term. I need someone with your background. Didn’t you write an article on corporate financial crime a few years back?” There was a rustling sound in the background. “Yes. Here it is. Six years ago.”

“Yes, I did. That’s actually the direction I was moving when I retired, but I didn’t find anyone with much interest in pursuing it. I was swimming against the tide. Most of my consulting now is down and dirty crime scene investigation or serial killers or being a forensic expert.”

“Given the corporate welfare orientation of our times, I’m not surprised. I only came across the article recently and I was quite impressed. I’m interested in talking to you.”

“I can see why, given the way you do things. It’s an interesting twist on Robin Hood.”

McKee laughed again. “Robin Hood? Don’t tempt me, Dr. Phillips. I’m way too good at rationalizing as it is. What we do isn’t romantic, not at all. It’s as down and dirty as any crime scene. Maybe more.”

We talked a while longer After we hung up, I called Dee to let him know what was going on. When I mentioned who McKee was sending out, he knew Dill personally. “Willie Dill? Yeah, I know him. He was the roughest trainer Special Forces had, but he was the best. His training saved my ass more than once. Not that I liked him for it when I was going through.”