Surest Poison, The (15 page)

“There’s a van coming from my company to
take you and whatever you want to bring along.”

“What about my car?”

“One of the drivers from the van will
bring it. You and Connie can use one of the guest rooms, Little Bob another.
Or you can stay in John and Marie’s old house out back. This way we’ll know
all of you are safe until we can work out a solution to this dilemma you’re
facing.”

Bobby tried more protests, but his
grandparents and Jaz had an answer for everything.
What about my job?
Jaz said his boss told her he had vacation coming. He could take some time
off.
But
Little
Bob doesn’t need to miss
school.
He wouldn’t. A large uniformed guard would deliver him to the
schoolhouse door and pick him up in the afternoon.

Connie added her insistent voice to the
chorus. The former high school cheerleader had also been a candidate for the
debate team. Her arguments were clear and decisive—she and Little Bob were
ready to move. Bobby’s look soon made it clear he knew the game was over.
Democracy would rule. He’d been outvoted.

Jaz summoned the van crew while the
Wallaces packed enough clothes for a few days, and Little Bob gathered his
toys.

The caravan arrived a little after six
o’clock and pulled up to the sprawling mansion, which was bathed in the
ghostly glow of floodlights at the corners. They parked Bobby’s car in front
of the smaller house in back and unloaded the bags. At first Bobby insisted
he wanted to stay there, but after the Welcome Traveler Stores crew left,
Marie convinced him it would be better in the main house where they would
have access to more bathrooms and her large kitchen.

22

The ringing
sound
woke Sid with a start. He
reached over and grabbed the phone from the table beside the recliner.

“Hello.”

“Did I catch you at a bad time?” Jaz
asked.

“I don’t know. What time is it?”

“Nearly seven.
Did I wake you?”

He pushed himself up from the chair.
“Yes, thanks. I need to get moving. I don’t know why I dozed off. I sat down
here a couple of hours ago with a cup of coffee, closed my eyes, and that
was it.”

“I haven’t had time for napping. I just
did what we talked about this morning.”

“What’s that?”

“I brought Bobby and Connie and Little
Bob over here. Bobby wasn’t very happy about it. He raised some strenuous
objections, but John and Marie wouldn’t back down.”

“How long do you think you can keep them
there?”

“Long enough to find out what the devil
his problem is, I hope.”

“Any idea how to do
that?”

Her voice took on a lighter note. “I
thought I could count on you to come up with something. How would you like
to join us tomorrow for one of Marie’s signature Sunday dinners?”

Sid had heard her talk about Marie’s
cooking, but he’d never been to her house. “I haven’t had an invitation to a
home-cooked dinner in ages, but I can’t promise any miracle solutions to
loosening Bobby’s tongue.”

“I’m sure you’ll think of something. Mike
said I should have faith in you.”

“Mike’s a flatterer. Sometimes it takes
more than faith. I thought I had made a real discovery this afternoon, but
it turned out another might-have-been.”

He told her about his interview with
Gordon Gracey at the All-Brands Parts store.

“You think he lied about everything?”

“Maybe not everything, but we’ll have to
do a thorough check on him. I’m certain he knows a lot more than he let on.
I also had a call from Hershel Owens, Larry Irwin’s cousin. He’d heard from
a friend of Larry’s in Clarksville I need to talk to.”

“At least you’re getting some leads. Did
you ever get through to Bart?”

“Yeah.
He wasn’t too happy about last night. I think it’s just as well we left.” He
related the situation with Jack Post and the Judge.

“I’d have to agree with Bart,” Jaz said.
“Jack seems to have a real dilemma. What about the homicides? Did Bart
mention them?”

He told
her what
the TBI lab had found and Bart’s caution to keep it away from the news
media.

“You know I’m not a big fan of the media.
They haven’t been too kind to my company over gas prices. Tell you what,
I’ll get onto Gracey and check out his pedigree. You can follow up on Larry
Irwin. Don’t forget to give some thought to how we might handle Bobby.”

Sid hung up the phone and glanced at the
clock.
Seven-fifteen.
Might as well give this
Reggie guy in Clarksville a call, he thought. He dialed the area code 931
number and an answering machine picked up. “The University Automotive
Maintenance Shop is closed. Please call back during normal business hours.
We are open Monday through Friday—”

He ended the call. The only alternative
would be to go through the school’s personnel office, but they would be
closed as well.
No, not personnel.
Human Services.
He always got a chuckle out of
those modern PC designations. It made him wonder, did they also have Inhuman
Services, maybe Robotic Services? Anyway, talking to Reggie was out until
Monday.

He debated whether to head out to one of
the Rivergate
area’s
many restaurants, but on a
Saturday night it would be a mob scene, with long waiting lines. He checked
the fridge. He found lettuce, a bit wilted around the edges. Also several
dabs of leftover vegetables, though he recalled seeing them in the same spot
several days ago, prior to his trip to the cabin. Something long, wrapped in
foil, caught his eye. No doubt it was the remains of mahi mahi he had cooked
a day or so before he left. That would have to go for sure.

He gave up and decided to do the
restaurant scene. Before he could head out to the garage, though, Judge
Thackston called.

“How’s the cold?” Sid asked.”

Thackston grunted. “Bad news travels
fast.”

“I talked to Bart earlier. He told me
about Jack’s summons and said you might be catching a cold.”

“I’ve been taking zinc pills and vitamins
and lots of other useless remedies all day. If it’s any consolation, I doubt
the condition is terminal.”

Though he hadn’t known Thackston for
long, he had noticed that the Judge exhibited a tendency to take a dark view
of things. “That’s nice to hear.”

“Thanks, I think. How did the trip out to
Ashland City go? I trust Jazmine got everything resolved.”

“Not exactly
resolved.
She finally took
things into her own hands though.”

He told how Jaz had arranged to take
Bobby Wallace and his family to her house for a few days.

“That young woman is always full of
surprises,” the Judge said. “However, I digress. The real reason for my call
is a conversation I had this afternoon with the attorney friend I mentioned.
The one who was once in practice with Bronson Fradkin.”

“Something new on the
shifty barrister?”

“Not exactly.”

“What then?”

“He mentioned a name you used last
night—Decker.”

“Tony Decker?”

“Trent Decker. It sounded close enough
that it caught my attention. It seems that Fradkin represents him in a
lawsuit involving his business, Dixie Seals. My friend is the lawyer for the
plaintiff.”

Could Trent Decker be a brother? Or had
Tony changed his name? “What kind of company is Dixie Seals?”

“They make door and window gaskets for
automobiles. The plant is located off I-24 out near the county line. My
friend tells me they do a good business with auto plants in the area. You
had mentioned something about an automobile parts operation. I thought this
might be of interest.”

“Thanks for the info, Judge.” Sid’s mind
started spinning. With Trent in the auto parts business, there were all
sorts of possibilities. “I’ll check out Mr. Decker.”

He drove to a popular seafood restaurant
not far from his office. The place was crowded, but by now the waiting list
had dwindled. He found a solo table with no problem. A couple of
acquaintances stopped briefly to chat, but he spent most of his time
thinking about where to turn next. He had picked up some techniques skip
tracers used to get information by phone, using what was known in the trade
as “pretexting.” It involved pretending to be the person whose information
you were after. If Jaz and her computer couldn’t come up with what he
needed, he would use the phone to chase down some leads.

It was close to nine when he left the
restaurant. He stopped by his office to see how the remote surveillance
system worked. He logged onto his computer and punched in the code to access
his control panel. He activated the front view camera and watched as the
picture filled the screen. With no streetlight nearby, the area had a
ghostly look. A small tree in the distance resembled a shadowy scarecrow. He
checked the rear view and both sides.
All worked fine.

He detoured by the restroom to get rid of
some of the coffee he’d drunk during dinner. When he returned to his office,
he checked the computer again, fascinated by the new surveillance system.

He clicked a button on the screen. As his
front yard appeared, the eve lights flashed on.

A familiar face stared up at the camera,
eyes glaring.
Scarface from Thursday night.
He
wore black pants and a black jacket. The shocked look on his face
disappeared as he turned away and hustled out of view.

Sid shut down the computer, dashed out to
his car, and raced toward his house. He slowed on reaching his street. He
kept his eyes moving from side to side, like watching a ping-pong match. He
saw no cars except those parked in driveways. He spotted no one on foot.

When he turned into his driveway, it
triggered the motion detector and the lights flashed on. He circled around
the back and hit the garage door opener. Easing the car in beside his truck,
he glanced about the garage but saw nothing that sparked any concern.

As he stepped out of the car, two soft
popping noises froze him.

The sharp clang of metal against metal
followed instantly.

Having fired suppressed weapons, he
recognized the sound made by a silenced gun. What had they hit? He ducked
beside the car. He heard what sounded like air escaping from tires. If
somebody was shooting at him, he realized, he’d already be dead.

He reached over to the door opener
controls and switched off the light. Hugging the wall, he moved toward the
open door. The eve lights angled outward toward the lawn, leaving the garage
mostly in darkness. When he reached the back, the faint glow was enough to
show the pickup’s rear wheels resting on a flat bed of rubber.

Sid stared out across the darkened lawn
but could see no one. The shooter may have slipped through the yard behind
to the next street or escaped along the riverbank. He had no doubt it was
Scarface. It made him mad as hell. Shooting his truck was almost as big a
sin as shooting at him. He took another careful look around,
then
accepted there was nothing he could do about
it at the moment.

Sid closed the overhead door, entered the
house, and shut off the alarm. He walked into the living room and turned on
the TV. Switching to camera monitor mode, he watched the succession of
pictures showing the view from each side of the house. The lights were off
now. All quiet.

The phone rang.

He picked it up and was about to answer
when a voice he recognized as Scarface said, “You’re lucky, Chance. This
time it was just tires.”

The line went dead. He looked at the
unfamiliar number on the caller ID. He’d check it out, though most likely it
was another untraceable phone. He could call Metro and have them recover the
bullets, but after striking the steel core of the wheels, they would likely
be too disfigured to be of any forensic value. He’d search the backyard for
clues tomorrow in the daylight.

Jaz called a little more than an hour
later. “It appears that your All-Brand Parts man is a soul brother of the
other rehabbers,” she said.
“Another ex-con.”

“I suspected as much.” Sid glanced at the
clock. “What are you doing working so late?”

“I find maneuvering around with the
computer a lot more fun than getting caught in the Wallace’s verbal
crossfire. I’ve also discovered I’m not at my best trying to entertain a
nine-year-old boy.”

“I’m sure I wouldn’t be any good at it.
So what’s Gracey’s background?”

“Shoplifting, petty
theft in his early days.
He’s been straight since Auto Parts Rehabbers. I’m getting the feeling that
your sheriff’s sergeant had it right about the company’s employees.
Everybody seems to have a criminal record.”