Murder in the Choir (The Jazz Phillips Mystery Series) (26 page)

“Well, it’s good to know Smith won’t beat the bust. Like I say, it’s not such a big deal except for his connection to the Klan. Maybe that’s how to handle it—let DiRado report the arrest.”

Tanner looked at me levelly. “You know, you may have some trouble with them boys in white,” he said. “When you gets home.”

I shook my head. “No way. Nellie would kick their ass from here to Hope!”

Dee expressed the same concern when I talked to him later that afternoon, but he agreed the two of us had been on the Klan’s spit list for a long time. He also told me the information about Smith’s ties to the Klan was news to him. He said there had been a revival of Klan activity in the Nashville area and repeated his unease about my safety.

“I don’t think they would want the kind of heat going after me would bring down,” I reassured him. “They wouldn’t cry over it if I stroked out tomorrow, but I don’t think they will make a move on me up north. There are a lot of other folk we put away I worry about much more.”

“Watch your back,” he said. “They might not wait until you get home. I’d be happy to send someone else out.”

“I charge extra for house-breaking your new investigators,” I told him and he laughed. “Besides, Kruger will be back tomorrow.”

I gave him my laundry list of things to check out and he told me what he had learned, which was not much. McKee and company were legitimate but not well known by his sources in Washington. “The word I have is that they go after corporate crime mostly, but I also hear this gets rough sometimes. Their agents are armed, and I hear they’re very well trained. They would be if Willie Dill has anything to do with it.”

“Makes sense,” I told him. “You know how it was when some of the Mafia went legitimate. It didn’t mean their attitudes changed, or even some of their basic techniques, for that matter. They still found a use for muscle.”

We talked some more and Dee agreed to put a priority on Edward Posey’s military records and anything else we could learn about him. I could tell he wasn’t that enthusiastic, and I couldn’t blame him. I knew I was probably chasing a dead man, but he went along with my request. He also agreed to do a check on the Arlington National Cemetery burial records and to dig up anything else he could find on McKee.

I looked at my watch after I hung up. We were well into afternoon in that part of the world, and I had missed lunch. I decided to spend the rest of the day going over the growing case book and taking inventory of where we were. There was a preliminary time line for the shooting and immediate investigation that Dee had put together, but someone needed to plug in the new information we had dug up in the last three days.

It was too late in the day to get going on much else, and working with the time line might point me in a useful direction. Right then, I had no idea where the case was going. All I had was a jumble of different pieces with no idea of what was important and what wasn’t.

I dug a set of index cards out of the trunk of my car and headed for the cafe. When I asked for a large table, Louise told me I could use the one in the meeting room and led me there. It was perfect. Unlike the jail, I could work there with no interruption from telephones or people coming and going. So I ordered a chicken fried steak plate, complete with cole slaw and fries and two large glasses of tea. Then I set to work.

The first thing I did was to review everything that had taken place since I arrived and to chart my work log. This may sound redundant, but it does help me catch things that may have slipped through the cracks. I made up a separate index card for each event and piece of evidence then spread them out on the top of the table. As I looked them over, I moved them around, making notes in a spiral notebook as I worked.

What emerged was a clear picture of the investigation. I took this as far as it would go and came up with several questions I needed to ask different people. These might turn out to be important or they might not, but they needed to be asked. Even negative answers would tell us something.

Then it occurred to me that it might be useful to do a rough lifeline with the young men in the choir. Doing so made sense if that was where the roots of Smiley Jones’ murder lay. So I started to block that out, working from memory and intending to correct the dates later. The only dates I was certain of were Smiley’s birthday, the date of his death, and the date of Edward’s birth. Yet, that didn’t have to be exact. What I was after was a general picture, but what I came up with looked more like a skeleton.

Nov. 2000
  
CID calls in JSP / FBI jumps in, arrests Albert Jones & Luther Adams

Luther Adams released – killed same night near Winton

There wasn’t much meat on those bare bones, but it helped to set things down in black and white. It also gave me a clear idea of where I needed to go to flesh out the complete picture. I began making a list of the people I needed to talk with and the questions I needed to ask.

At the top of the list was Slide Jones. There were only one or two critical pieces of information I needed from him, but driving to Hot Springs and back would eat up a whole morning. Nor could I do that by telephone. Slide Jones was too smooth a liar to not look for nonverbal cues. I would have to make the trip, but maybe I could tie it in with a conference with Dee in Little Rock. I decided to try to see Albert Jones first thing in the morning and then head for Hot Springs.

My thoughts were interrupted by Louise, asking if I wanted to order some supper before they closed the kitchen. I looked at my watch and was surprised to see it was half past six. I was still full from lunch, but I asked her to bring me a salad followed by a piece of peach pie a la mode when I was done. She laughed, but wrote it down and headed for the kitchen.

I gathered my stuff and when I finished eating, I headed for the jail. I was sure the parsonage must have a telephone, and I found a listing for the reverend. It was Albert Jones himself who answered, and I asked if he could spare me some time in the morning. “The funeral is tomorrow afternoon,” he told me. “There will be all kinds of people coming and going in the morning. Why don’t you come on out now?”

I told him I would be there within the hour and quickly revised my plans. I didn’t realize Adams’ funeral would be so soon, and I needed to attend. I wanted to pay my respects. Yet, I also needed to see who showed up. With any luck, Slide would attend and save me a trip to Hot Springs.

I called the motel to see if Kruger was back yet, but he wasn’t. I left word with the desk where I was headed and asked for him to call me. I thought I would be back by ten-thirty or eleven at the latest. I also told the deputy on night duty at the jail where I was going and who I was going to see. Then I checked out a riot gun from the sheriff’s arsenal and asked for number seven shells. While I was not expecting trouble, I was going out alone and Tom Tanner’s warning weighed on my mind. Nellie would never forgive me if I got myself killed and if some dumb peckerwood decided to come after me, I wanted artillery to back up my pistol.

“Little late in the day for quail, isn’t it?” the deputy quipped when I asked for number seven shot.

“This is for polecats,” I assured him. “Two-legged or four. I hear they been really bad lately. Stealing sheets.”

The deputy gave me a strange look. In the light of the armory, his eyes were as dark as his face. “Just a minute,” he said. He disappeared into the vault and came out holding a bulletproof vest and a German assault rifle with doubled thirty-shot clips. “Sure you don’t want these? They’ll definitely level the playing field.”

“Thanks, but I’m just being cautious. Not starting a war. I appreciate the thought, but I’m not expecting any trouble.”

“You want me to close up and back you up?” he asked. “Sheriff said to give you whatever you asked.”

I started to tell him not to bother, then stopped and thought about it. It’s almost always better to have someone else present at an interview. Aside from an obvious legal advantage, adding a second pair of eyes and ears gives a better perspective and greater objectivity. Nor did it hurt that the deputy was a man of color. From the way he talked, he sounded educated, too, and I thought that might play well with Albert Jones.

“Thanks, Mason,” I said, glancing at his name badge. “Do you go by your first name or do we have to play deputy and doctor?”

Mason smiled. “My given name is James. Not Jim, but James.” He saw my surprise and laughed. “Yes, like the actor. Mother really liked him. They call me Mason around here, but I prefer James.”

I told him to call me Jazz and asked if he minded changing into civilian wear. Ten minutes later he was dressed in tan chinos with a powder blue oxford button-down shirt over his body armor. His feet were cased in Hush Puppies, and he was wearing a light weight brown leather jacket. Had she seen him, Nellie would have called him a total stud muffin.

On our way to Oak Grove, I told Mason what I wanted. He was to listen and watch carefully and to follow my lead. I also wanted him to take careful notes so I would not have to, and if he had any questions himself, to make a note of them to ask when I was done. He was also to keep as good a distance between me and himself as he reasonably could.

He frowned when I mentioned that last one, and I asked if he had a question. He hesitated before asking about the distance. I liked the way he asked, not using his question as a challenge, but as a request for information. It raised my confidence in him. I told him so, then explained. “I don’t expect to get shot at, but it makes a harder target if we’re not close together.”

He nodded. “Makes sense to me.” Then he laughed. “I hear getting shot at isn’t the danger at the parsonage. I hear the danger is flying glassware.”

I asked him about that. He told me Emma Jones was well known for going through sets of dishes quickly. “The pastor is lucky she’s not a very good shot,” he laughed, tapping his bullet proof vest. “We might need hockey helmets more than these.”

“So you heard about our experience, Kruger and me?”

He nodded. “Oh, yes, but that’s not the first time, and I doubt it’ll be the last. Mrs. Jones has a volatile nature.”

“You realize, she may have much better aim than she lets on.”

We laughed a good bit more about this and other things, but when we got out of the car in Oak Grove, Mason was completely professional. His eyes were moving constantly as we walked up to the door, and there was little he missed. He also kept good distance, but it wasn’t obvious.

Albert Jones answered my knock himself. He was surprised to see Mason with me but greeted him by name. He invited us in, leading the way to the den and offering us comfortable chairs. I noted that while Mason sat casually, he was positioned to move quickly if needed.

I asked about Luther Adams’ funeral, and we talked about that for a couple of minutes. I saw out of the corner of my eye that Mason had begun taking notes unobtrusively and without looking down very often. Nor did he show surprise when I asked the pastor if he would mind Mason’s being there for the funeral. I was surprised by the pastor’s chuckle.

“He won’t be unobtrusive, if that’s what you’re looking for, Jazz,” Albert Jones told me. “James is the best gospel tenor around and if he shows up, he’ll probably be asked to sing.”

I looked at Mason, who shrugged and nodded. “Well, I guess that gives him a good reason to be here, doesn’t it?”

Albert Jones frowned. “May I ask why you want him here?”

“To keep his eyes open,” I said. “It’s not uncommon for killers to go to the funerals of their victims. I plan to come and pay my respects, too.”

“I doubt the killer will have a scarlet ‘M’ on his brow,” Jones murmured.

“I wish it were that easy. The point is, Mason is a trained observer and has a policeman’s instincts. He may spot something I might miss.”

“Will he be armed?” The pastor’s voice was deathly quiet. I understood he was also asking if I would be armed.

“That’s up to him and the sheriff. Normally, he would be.”

Albert Jones’ frowned deepened. “I don’t like guns in church,” he told us. “I haven’t cared for them since Goodie was shot, but I particularly don’t like them in church.”

“It’s all right, Jazz,” Mason said. “I can leave it locked in the car. I was planning to come to the funeral, anyway, and that’s what I would do.”

I nodded and the issue was settled. Then Jones spoke. “You didn’t come all the way out here to just talk about this. How can I help you?”

“I need information,” I said. I told him about my sense that understanding the murder meant knowing something about the history of the young men in the choir. “With Luther dead, that gives me only

two sources of information: yourself and Slide Jones.”