Surest Poison, The (14 page)

“Is the manager in?” Sid asked.

She pointed to the rear of the store.
“The fuzzy one in the hunting cap.”

Sid followed her directions back to where
a short, stocky man stood. He had a full beard that would have made him look
like Santa Claus except there was much less hair on his head than on his
chin. Sid introduced himself.

“Bobby Wallace’s grandmother, Mrs. Marie
Wallace, asked me to see if I could help him out. He’s got a difficult
personal problem he’s reluctant to talk about. It involves somebody he used
to know, but he won’t open up so I can help him. I wondered if anyone has
been asking about him around
here?
”

“Does this have something to do with
Thursday morning when somebody called in sick for him?”`

“I think so.” Sid didn’t want to say too
much and get Bobby into any more trouble.

The manager pushed his lips out almost in
a pout. “He was evasive when I asked him what the problem was.”

“As I said, he won’t even talk about it
with his grandmother,” Sid said. “Have you seen or heard anything that would
lead you to believe somebody had a problem with him, maybe was out to put a
hurt on him?”

The man shook his head slowly. “Nothing
like that’s happened since Bobby’s been working here. I have no idea what it
could be. If you want to look back further, I can check his records and see
where he worked before he came with us.”

“I’d appreciate it,” Sid said.

After spending a few minutes in his
office, the manager came back and handed Sid a card with the address of
Norton’s Food Mart, a small grocery not far away.

“That’s where Bobby worked before he
joined us. It’s been nearly ten years ago. I hope you can find out what’s
his problem. He’s been a good worker for me.”

Sid found the store in a weathered brick
building that appeared to have been around for about as long as he had.
Posters in the windows advertised specials on bread and eggs. A handful of
customers wandered about the shelves. One stood at the counter where a girl
with long blonde hair ran items past a scanner.

Sid used his disarming smile approach.
“Good morning. Is your manager in?”

She waved toward the rear of the store,
where stacks of staples—flour and sugar and large bags of rice—were stacked
along the narrow aisles. Sid wondered if an influx of Asians had moved into
the area. He had been indoctrinated into the rice culture during his Army
tour in the Far East.

“He’s in the storage room.
Back through the swinging door.”

Sid spotted the door and walked to it,
noting prices along the way and marveling at how little guys like this
managed to stay in business in competition with the supermarkets. He pushed
the door open and saw a man dressed for the golf course checking labels on a
row of boxes.

Sid introduced himself. “I was told that
Bobby Wallace worked here around ten years ago. Do you by chance remember
him?”

The manager leaned against the wall, arms
crossed.
“Can’t say I do.
But that was around the
time I bought the place.”

Sid frowned. “Who did you buy the store
from?”

“Old fellow named Higginbottom. He died a
few years ago. Sorry I can’t help you.”

That phrase had begun to sound like a
mantra from those he interviewed.

Sid returned home around lunchtime and
found Jerry Jackson wrapping up the job.

“I checked out your existing alarm system
and added a few things,” Jackson said as he packed up his tools. “The eve
lights are on motion detectors. You have cameras facing each direction, also
with motion detectors. It’s set up so you can monitor the system from your
computer at the office. If there’s a breech, it will call your office and
cell phones. Of course, when you’re at home, you can monitor everything on
your TV.”

“Thanks. Sounds like Fortress Chance.”

Jackson grinned. “You realize you’re
going to get a pretty hefty bill.”

“Yeah.
The HarrCo part will go on Arnie Bailey’s tab.”

When Jackson left, Sid checked his
answering machine and found a call from Bart Masterson. Before returning it,
he dialed Jaz to report on his trip to Ashland City.

“Did you learn anything interesting from
Marie about Bobby’s past?” he asked.

“Nothing you don’t already know. She
couldn’t think of anybody who might have reason to make such threats.”

“Okay, I think I’d better start spending
a little more time on Arnie Bailey’s case. We’ll have to play the Lewisville
card come Monday.”

“Back to your old
stomping grounds?”

“It’s almost unbelievable, but I still
have a few friends around there. I’d like to turn you loose on Bronson
Fradkin.”

“The lawyer?”

“Yeah.
You’ll have a much better chance of getting something out of him than I
would. I’ll drive us down.”

“In the truck?”

Sid laughed. “We’ll take the car this
time.”

“I’ll put it on my calendar,” Jaz said.

“By the way, what was Marie’s response to
last night?”

“Oh, God.
She’s been in a tailspin since I told her the full story. I’ve thought about
bringing Bobby and Connie and Little Bob over here to stay a few days.”

“Might not be a bad idea. You may have to
hog-tie him, though.”

Jaz gave a loud sigh. “I’m going to have
to do something. I don’t want to go through another morning like this one.”

“Sounds like a real bummer. Last night
was bad enough.”

“Have you heard what happened to the
Felons game after we bugged out early?” Jaz asked.

The office had been dark, the door
locked, when they arrived back in Madison. Sid glanced at the number on his
desk pad. “I had a call from Bart on the answering machine when I got here.
I’ll return it and see what happened.”

“Give him my apologies, will you?”

“Don’t worry about it. They understand.”

After he hung up, Sid was about to call
Bart when the phone rang.

“Mr. Chance?” It was a casual male voice.

“This is Sid Chance.”

“I hear you’re looking for people who
used to work for Auto Parts Rehabbers in Ashland City.”

His pulse kicked up a beat. “That’s
right.”

The caller ID listed an Atlanta number.
Perhaps it was someone visiting Nashville with an Atlanta cell phone?

“I happen to know a guy who was involved
in the operation back around 1994 and 1995,” the man said. “His name is
Gordon Gracey.”

“Do you know where I can find him?”

“He’s in Nashville.
Try All-Brand Parts on
Lebanon Road.”

Was this too good to be true, Sid
wondered? “Did you get my name from the newspaper guy in Ashland City?”

“No.”

“Where did you hear that I was looking
for former Auto Parts employees?”

The man laughed.
“Via
the grapevine.”

“How do you know Gracey?”

“We go back a long way. That’s enough to
say.”

Sid was about to ask the caller’s name
when he heard a click and the line went dead. He did a quick check on the
number and found it was a prepaid phone purchased in Atlanta. He recalled
Jackson’s comment about his suspicions regarding an Atlanta PI but couldn’t
figure how that would tie in.

He looked in the phone book and found
All-Brand Parts in Donelson, a suburb near Nashville International Airport.
Like most of the city, this area had seen its share of change over the past
few years. The core of the community, however, looked about the same, with
clusters of small businesses along Lebanon Road where it intersected with
McGavock Pike. Judging by the street address, Sid figured that was the
location of the All-Brand store, an automotive parts retailer.

Face-to-face encounters were always
preferable to phone calls. He decided to follow up with Bart Masterson,
though, before heading for Donelson. He found the homicide detective at his
office on Trinity Lane.

“I thought you were off today, Bart.”

“I might get off once in a while if
people around this town would quit killing each other.”

“What this time?
Another drug shooting?”

“Had a drive-by on
Gallatin Road.
Twenty-year-old student at the
Auto Diesel College.
A witness got the license number. We picked up two kids, one sixteen, one
eighteen.”

Sid pulled a drawer open, propped his
feet on it. “Having any luck with Mr. Thirty-eight Five-shot?”

“Crime scene boys didn’t find a thing at
the park. It looked like the killer stopped on a graveled area beside the
road. Didn’t leave any marks. We placed the victim at a beer joint in East
Nashville late that night, but nobody saw him leave.”

“Hear anything else about Marrowbone
Road?”

“They got a little bit of a tire
impression. The ground was soft around there. It appeared to be from a tire
used on luxury cars. I talked to the cousin you told me about down in
Rutherford County. He says he hasn’t had much contact with Larry Irwin in
the last couple of years. North Precinct detectives are questioning people
around Ashland City.”

“Got anything to link the two cases?”

“Yeah.
The TBI lab said the bullets found in both victims were fired from the same
gun. That’s the only reason I’m able to get information out of North.”

Sid often wondered how many crimes went
unsolved because of the lack of cooperation between rival law enforcement
groups. He was familiar with the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation crime
lab, though, and wasn’t surprised that they could link both victims to the
same weapon. “What kind of gun?” he asked.

“A Smith and Wesson
Model 642.”

“Isn’t that the revolver they came out
with a few years ago to mark S. and W.’s hundred and fiftieth anniversary?”

“Yeah, it’s a light-weight snub-nose. It
was fired at close range in both cases.”

“That sounds ominous. Have the newshounds
jumped onto the serial killer angle yet?”

“No!” Bart almost shouted,
then
softened his voice. “And I shouldn’t have
said what I did. Don’t breathe a word of this, Sid. We don’t intend to
release the TBI findings just yet.”

“No problem. I suppose your next move is
to try and find a common denominator.”

“We need to bore in a lot deeper on both
of the dead guys.”

“Good luck. Say, what happened last
night? Everybody was gone when Jaz and I got back.”

Bart’s voice took on a note of annoyance.
“Jack’s ex called with some cockamamie sob story and he left. He might as
well marry that gal again the way he caters to her. The Judge pulled out his
handkerchief and started blowing. Said he felt like he might be catching a
cold, so we folded up and went home. Mitch promised to take the pile of
quarters to Meals on Wheels Monday. What happened with Jaz’s problem?”

Sid told him about confronting Bobby with
no success.

“It sounds like a criminal case,” Bart
said, “but if he won’t cooperate, it would be difficult to pursue.”

“I agree.”

“I’d say he was into something pretty
deep, though. She’d better get that boy straightened out before Cheatham
County finds itself stuck with another homicide.”

“Jaz talked about bringing them to her
house until she can figure out what’s going on. I may have to help her pound
some sense into his head.”

“Well, if you need any help from me, you
know where to call.”

20

The All-Brand
Parts store occupied a building on Lebanon Road just beyond McGavock Pike.
An unimpressive two-lane street, McGavock traveled north through a
heavily-populated residential section that included the stately McGavock
home known as Two Rivers Mansion, started just before the outset of the
Civil War.

Sid parked in front of the store,
strolled in with the casual air of a weekend shopper, and stopped at the
checkout counter.

“I’m looking for Gordon Gracey,” he said
to a slim clerk with wavy hair.

“I saw him a few minutes ago.” The young
man craned his neck, looking around the store. “He may be in his office.”

“Where’s the office?”

“I’ll call him. What’s your name?”

“Sidney Chance.”

The clerk picked up the phone, punched a
number and spoke to someone. He turned back to Sid. “He’ll be with you in a
few minutes. You can wait over at the service counter, if you’d like.”

The clerk pointed to a few barstools in
front of a long counter at the rear of the store. Sid strolled back and slid
onto an unoccupied stool. He leaned an elbow on the counter and gazed about
at the merchandise displays. Judging by the steady flow of customers, the
store did a good business. From the office mention, he took it that Gordon
Gracey was the manager.

“Mr. Chance?”

Sid looked around to find a stocky man
with black hair that had the clipped look of a toupee. His ingratiating
smile appeared to be no more genuine.

“You must be Gordon Gracey.” Sid held out
his hand.
“Nice to meet you.”

“What can I do for you, Mr. Chance?”

“Nice store you have here. Isn’t it new?”

“We’ve been open for about six months.”

“From the looks of the customers, you
have a good location. How long have you been with All-Brand Parts?”

“I started with the company about ten
years ago, worked my way up. Why?”

Sid leaned against the counter. “That
must have been shortly after Auto Parts Rehabbers in Ashland City closed.”

A look of annoyance replaced the smile.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I was told you worked there.”

“Who told you that?”

“He said he was an old acquaintance.”

“Who?”

Sid spread his hands. “I didn’t get his
name, Mr. Gracey, but he said you worked there back in the middle nineties.”

Gracey motioned to Sid and turned to the
door he had come out. “Let’s go in my office.”

A small room in the back of the store, it
had space for little more than a wooden desk, a file cabinet, and a couple
of chairs. Gracey sat behind the desk while Sid took a chair facing him. The
wall held a display of colorful posters from a variety of parts
manufacturers and distributors. A snowy winter scene above the month of
November on the calendar didn’t reflect the experience of recent winters in
Nashville, where measurable snow was little more than a distant memory.

“So what’s your interest in my employment
history?” Gracey
asked,
his tone less cordial.

Sid handed him a business card. “I’m
investigating a situation at the old Auto Parts Rehabbers plant.”

“So what’s it to me?”

“The ground behind the plant was soaked
with trichloroethylene. It’s a dangerous chemical that causes lots of health
problems. We’ve determined that it happened back during the time Auto Parts
Rehabbers occupied the plant. What can you tell me about how it got there?”

Gracey tugged at his ear and shifted his
eyes to the side, rumpling his brow as if in total ignorance. “How would I
know anything about that?”

“You worked there.”

“Yeah, I know, some stranger told you.
And you believed him.”

Sid had been exposed to a world of lies
during his career in law enforcement, some subtle, most blatant. The body
language he saw came through loud and clear. “You’re right, Mr. Gracey. I
believed what the man said, and it’s time to cut the bullshit.”

Gracey folded his arms and sat there in
silent defiance.

Sid stared into his eyes as though able
to see into the dark recesses of his brain. He continued to stare until the
man looked away. He knew he had him.

Gracey’s chest sagged as he seemed to
deflate. “Yeah,” he said, “I worked there.”

“What was your job?”

“I was the quality control inspector.”

“What did that involve?”

“You look like an intelligent guy,
Chance. What do you suppose I did? I checked reconditioned parts to be sure
they were ready for the market.” He leaned back in his chair. A smirk had
slipped across his face.

Let him have his fun, Sid thought. Maybe
I’ll get the last laugh. “Did you work under Pete Rackard or Tony Decker?”

“Rackard.
He was in charge of production.”

“What did Decker do?”

“He was general manager. I think he was
part owner, too.”

“Let’s get back to the trichloroethylene
that was found out back. It’s obvious that you must know how it got there.”

“I don’t know anything about TCE. There
was none around where I worked.”

Sid watched him closely. The answers
sounded casual, but his hand moved frequently to stroke his face or pull on
his ear. The tension showed in a look that had turned brooding.

“And you never noticed that smelly,
discolored area out behind the plant?”

“I don’t remember anything like that.” He
looked away as he spoke, a classic symptom of a lie.

“When was the last time you talked to
Tony Decker?”

His eyes made an abrupt shift as he
straightened up in his chair. “I haven’t talked to Decker in years. I heard
he left the state.”

“Where’d you hear that?”

“I don’t remember. It’s been a good while
ago.” He glanced at his watch. “This has been a busy day for us, Mr. Chance,
and I have a lot to get done. Sorry to rush you off.”

He stood behind the desk.

Sid rose also and fixed him with an icy
stare. “Mr. Gracey, I think you’re lying through your teeth. I think you
know about the TCE and you probably have an idea where Tony Decker is. The
State Department of Conservation and Environment is also investigating this
affair. If your memory improves, give me a call. Otherwise I may be back
with some state inspectors.”

Gracey listened in silence, his lips
clamped tightly.

Sid knew he’d have to run a thorough
background check on the man. Maybe it would produce something useful for
prying information out of him later.

For now, though, his last laugh had
turned out to be little more than a feeble grin. He left with nothing new

21

Stymied, he
returned home, put on a pot of coffee, strolled into the living room, and
plopped down into his favorite recliner. He had a gut feeling that Tony
Decker was hiding somewhere just out of sight. He could sense his presence,
but he couldn’t touch him. Before long the guy would make a misstep, Sid
thought. They all did sooner or later. Maybe there were a few criminal
masterminds around, but most of those lived between the pages of crime
novels. The majority of criminals were dumb. It was a matter of watching
until they showed a fatal flaw. Trouble was, in this case, he didn’t have
the luxury of time to wait and watch.

Sid walked into the kitchen, poured a cup
of coffee, prepared to return to his thoughts. The telephone rang.

“This is Herschel Owens, Larry Irwin’s
cousin.”

Sid slid into a chair at the table. “I
was shocked to hear about Larry’s death, Mr. Owens.”

“It gave us quite a jolt, too. We hadn’t
been close in recent years, but we were happy that he seemed to be doing
well. I helped make his funeral arrangements. ”

“Have you learned anything about what
he’d been doing lately?” Sid asked.

“That’s why I called. I heard from one of
Larry’s close friends. It was a young fellow who lived in Ashland City until
a year or so ago. He knew we were related.”

“What did he have to say?”

“He talked to Larry Wednesday evening,
the night he died. He remembered Larry mentioning a phone call that had him
pretty disturbed. Larry didn’t say what it was about, but his friend got the
impression somebody had been harassing him. Larry said he’d thought about
calling the police.”

“Do you have the friend’s name and phone
number?”

“Hold on and let me check the caller ID,”
Owens said. A few moments later he was back with a number in Clarksville, a
city on the Kentucky border near the Fort Campbell Army post. “I don’t have
a last name, but he called himself Reggie.”

Sid had been on the go since his run
early that morning. He was beginning to feel the effects of having slept
little the night before. After a couple of jaw-stretching yawns, he decided
to relax a few minutes before calling Jaz. He wanted to tell her about his
trip to Ashland City and the Gordon Gracey interview. He also needed to
contact Larry Irwin’s friend, Reggie, but he made the mistake of closing his
eyes to ease some of the tension that had been building over his lack of
success with the case. The warm air pumping up through the floor vent nearby
proved more soothing than a rocking cradle. A few minutes later he was sound
asleep.

Jaz spent much
of Saturday afternoon trying to console Marie Wallace.
The elderly grandmother, distraught after hearing that Little Bob had been
snatched off the street, quickly used up a box of tissues.
The only
solution Jaz could come up with was the one she had mentioned to Sid—bring
the young man and his family to stay at the LeMieux house. She contacted the
local Welcome Traveler Store manager. He agreed to provide a van to
transport the Wallace family, their clothes, and whatever else they chose to
bring along.

Since Bobby still refused to answer his
telephone, Jaz loaded John and Marie into her car and drove to Ashland City.
After several chilly days, Saturday had turned out pleasant, with
temperatures in the upper sixties. Slanted rays of the afternoon sun cast a
golden glow over the neighborhood as Jaz parked in front of the Wallace
house. From where Bobby’s car sat in the driveway, she was sure it hadn’t
been moved.

As she followed her passengers to the
front door, Jaz took a careful look at the nearby houses. Cars or pickup
trucks sat in most of the driveways. Down the block a couple of kids in
short sleeves rode in circles on their bicycles. Her red Lexus was the only
car parked along the street. It appeared as normal as any residential
neighborhood on a warm fall afternoon.

Bobby answered the door and, with
considerable reluctance, invited his grandparents in. Jaz followed them and
took a chair in the living room. Marie hugged Little Bob,
then
sat on the sofa beside her husband.

Bobby flashed an insincere smile. “You’re
looking good, Granny.” He spoke like a man trying to appear nonchalant while
feeling the exact opposite.
“Everything going okay for
you?”

She gave him an icy stare. “No, Bobby,
everything is not going okay. You’ve had me almost in a state of panic.”

“I’m fine,” he said, twisting his hands.
“Everything’s cool.
Really.
There’s no need to
worry.”

“My great-grandson is kidnapped on the
street and hauled all over the place by strangers and there’s no need to
worry? Everything’s cool?”

“Nobody hurt him.”

“This time.”

John Wallace was a large, gentle man who
seldom expressed his views. When he did, he demanded attention with a deep,
sonorous voice reminiscent of James Earl Jones. Graduating from high school
in Pennsylvania shortly after the end of World War II, he bucked the trend
and headed south, where he met and married Marie. A public school
maintenance man before attracting Jaques LeMieux’s attention, he had always
taken whatever steps were necessary to see that his family got the care they
needed.

“Bobby, you’re putting your family in
danger,” John said in a clear, forceful tone
.“
I
don’t know what your problem is, but it isn’t worth what you’re doing to
Connie and Little Bob. Your daddy wouldn’t have sat by and let this happen,
and neither will your Granny and me. Miss Jasmine has offered to let you
stay with us at the mansion until you can get this straightened out. The
three of you will be safe there.”

“But . . . but . .
.
”
Bobby stammered.

“No buts, Bobby,” Marie said in a voice
as firm as a judge’s verdict. She turned to Jaz. “Tell him what you’ve
done.”