Surest Poison, The (19 page)

“The famous shamus and his moll,” Hank
Keglar said in a low, rumbling voice.
“A handsome pair.
Right, Dirk?”

He turned to the ominous figure perched
on a barstool in the corner of the room. At least three inches taller than
Sid, the man wore gray sweat pants and a white tee shirt that showed bulging
muscles below massive shoulders. His bald head and gold earring called up
images of Mr. Clean, except for the lack of a smile and the presence of a
jagged scar on one cheek.

Sid glanced at Dirk,
then
turned his icy gaze back to Keglar. “This is my business
associate, Miss Jazmine LeMieux,” he said, gesturing at Jaz. “We’re
interested in your connection to Auto Parts Rehabbers, a company in Ashland
City that went under some dozen years ago.”

“And what makes you think I had any
connection?”

“You sold the property where the plant
was located to the company run by Tony Decker. Then you took it back in a
foreclosure about three years later.”

Keglar settled back in his massive chair.
“So it was a real estate transaction. I’ve sold lots of properties to people
or businesses I had no interest in.”

“How did you meet Decker?”

“I don’t remember. I think he heard about
the property and came to see if I was interested in selling. I gave him a
mortgage. He defaulted on the loan and I took the property back. End of
story.”

Sid and Jaz remained standing in front of
the desk, where they would have stayed if Keglar had invited them to sit.
Which he didn’t.

“You’re a tough businessman,” Sid said.
“If Decker owed you money, I’m sure you kept him in your sights. Where could
we find him?”

“I got no idea. I suspect he’s dead by
now.”

“Why would you think he’s dead?”

“Because he was like
you, Chance.
He asked too many questions.”

A nosy nobody.”

Sid ignored the remark and thought about
the way the HarrCo sale was handled. “Why was Auto Parts Rehabbers different
from the way you sold the property to Wade Harrington? He said he never saw
you. The deal was all arranged through a real estate agent.”

The big man’s look had turned surly.
“Every deal’s different. Even you oughta know that.”

“So you talked to Decker. He was only a
part-owner. Who did you to talk to with First Improvement Corporation?”

“I don’t remember
no
First Improvement Corporation. Who I talked to about a business deal years
ago is ancient history. What do you care?”

Jaz smiled. “Ancient history is what
Bronson Fradkin called it. Did he handle the deal for you, Mr. Keglar?”

“Why don’t you private dicks go back to
Nashville where you belong? You got no authority in Lewisville, Chance.
You’re a has-been.”

Sid gave him a hard look. “My guys almost
nailed you once. You can bet the next time I’ll make sure it sticks.”

Keglar turned to his enforcer and
growled. “Show these phony cops the way out, Dirk.”

Sid dismissed the bald giant with a wave
of his hand. “We can find our way. Don’t think you’ve heard the last of us,
Keglar.”

As Sid ushered Jaz out the door, Keglar
took a parting shot.

“You’d just better hope to hell you’ve
heard the last of me, Chance.”

28

The City Café
was quiet, with only a few afternoon coffee drinkers and one late luncher.
Jeff Lewis came over to join Sid and Jaz, bringing coffee and tea.

“How did it go?”

Sid chuckled. “We may need to sneak out
of town. Jaz ruffled Fradkin’s feathers and I did my best to provoke Hank
Keglar.”

Lewis took the seat next to him. “You
always did like to live on the edge.”

“Sometimes, if you shake them up, they
get a little anxious and make a careless move. The guy we’re looking for is
named Tony Decker. You know anything about him, Jeff?”

He looked thoughtful. “I don’t think so.
Is he from Lewisville?”

“Memphis. We’re pretty sure he has
connections to Fradkin and Keglar, both of whom claim they have no idea
where he is now. In my opinion, they’re both lying.”

“You need to get them under oath.”

Jaz grunted. “I’d wager they have no more
respect for the perjury laws than for any others.”

“So what do you do now?” Lewis asked.

Sid sipped at his coffee. “We keep
digging.” He turned to Jaz. “When are you going to hear from your man in
Anguilla?”

“If he’s going to find anything, he
should have some answers by now. I’ll contact him as soon as we get back.”

“Where’s Anguilla?” Lewis asked.

Sid told him about First Improvement
Corporation and its oddly-named corporate parent, First Patriots Ltd.

“I seem to recall talk around town some
years ago,” Lewis said. “People saying they had heard about these off-shore
corporations. They were supposed to get great tax breaks. I don’t remember
who it was, but I’ll ask around and see if I can find out. It may be useful,
maybe not.”

“We’ll take all the help we can get,” Jaz
said.

On the way
back
to Nashville, Jaz asked Sid
if he had made contact with Reggie, the Clarksville friend of Larry Irwin,
the Auto Parts Rehabber employee whose body was found beside Little
Marrabone Road.

“Not yet. Why don’t you give him a call?
Maybe we can catch him before he leaves work.”

Slipping out his pocket notebook, he
showed her the number for the Automotive Maintenance Shop at the university
in Clarksville. She soon had Reggie on the phone and identified herself.

“Herschel Owens, Larry Irwin’s cousin,
told us you were disturbed by a phone call Larry made to you on the night he
died,” Jaz said. “What did he tell you?”

“He was scared. You could tell by the way
he talked. He said this guy had called him about a place where he worked
several years ago. I didn’t understand what the situation was, but it
sounded like the place was run by a bunch of crooks. The guy apparently
threatened him. I’m not sure why.”

“Did he mention the name of the company?”

“It was an auto parts place in Ashland
City. He worked there before we met.”

“Auto Parts
Rehabbers?”

“Yeah, that sounds like it.”

“What do you mean it was run by a bunch
of crooks?”

“Guys who’d been in
prison.
Larry had been in
trouble, too, but his was juvenile detention. He didn’t work at the place
too long. He said he had a hunch those guys might have been dealing with
stolen property.”

“Did he give you any details, why he
thought that?”

“No.”

“And the man who called threatened him?”

“He didn’t spell it out, but I’m sure
that’s what he meant.”

“Do you recall anything else he said that
might shed some light on what happened to him?”

He was silent for a moment. “You know, I
think he had a feeling something like this might happen. I wish he’d told me
more, but that’s it.”

Jaz closed her cell phone and repeated
what the young man told her.

A traffic light up ahead shifted to red,
and Sid slowed for an intersection in Columbia. “We knew Decker and Rackard
were ex-cons,” he said. “I wonder what the stolen property angle could
involve?
”

“Good question. More worrisome is who
called Larry Irwin? Was it the killer?”

“We need to contact Bart and let him
check out Irwin’s phone calls.”

She found the detective at his cubbyhole
in the East Precinct office and gave him the information.

“Are you guys trying to steal my job?” he
asked in a whimsical voice.

“Not me,” Jaz said. “I’m
what’s
known as the famous shamus’s moll.” She
told him about their interview with Hank Keglar. She had to pull the phone
away from her ear to mute the laughter.

“I’d like to have seen Sid’s face,” Bart
said. “But getting back to Irwin, I wonder why his cousin, this Owens guy
down in Rutherford County, didn’t call me? He
have
something against cops?”

“Sid didn’t treat him as roughly. PIs
have to be nice to people. You don’t.”

“Me not nice?
Come on, Jaz, you know I’m a pushover.”

“Depends on who’s doing the pushing.”

He laughed again. “I’d better get off
this telephone and try to get in touch with your Mr. Reggie in Clarksville.”

“Any chance your Shelby Park victim once
worked for Auto Parts Rehabbers?” Jaz asked.

“Gillie Younger?
Not that I know of. That name hasn’t showed up so far. Guess I need to dig a
little deeper. If you come across anything else interesting, let me know.”

“We’d appreciate the same on this Auto
Parts Rehabbers angle.”

They made it back to Nashville in time
for rush hour, pulling into the LeMieux driveway as the sun disappeared
behind the hills that ringed the city. Jaz suggested Sid come inside to see
if anything new had showed up on her computer. They encountered John and
Bobby on the way to her office.

“Get much work done today?” Jaz asked.

The older man smiled. “This boy’s a
pretty good worker if you can get him to quit talking so much.”

Bobby relaxed his face into something
close enough to
be  a
grin. “You didn’t have
a lot to say, either, Grandpa.”

“Yep, it’s been kind of quiet around
here. How was your day, Miss Jasmine?”

“Busy. Did you check your house to be
sure everything’s okay out there?”

“Yes’m. It was sort of cool in there, so
I turned the heat on and let the furnace warm up the place. I used some hot
water to clean the bathroom.
Funny how it can get so
dirty with nobody living in it.
You know my feelings, though. I like
living in this nice house, but I was happy out there with our four rooms and
a bath.”

“I know,” Jaz said. “But I feel better
with you and Marie living in the big house with me.”

When she and Sid were in her office, she
checked her computer and looked around.

“Anguilla wants me to call.”

She punched a few buttons and soon got
through to the man in the Leeward Islands.

“This is Jazmine LeMieux. I hope you bear
good tidings.”

He had a soft voice and a slight accent.
“These records are not available for public scrutiny, Miss LeMieux.
Completing this assignment was like being midwife to an angry female tiger.
Very touchy.”

“What were you able to find?”

“First Patriots was set up by a clever
barrister who is very good at obscuring details. Since no one checks the
names on accounts to make sure they are bona fide, he changes them into
aliases. The names associated with First Patriots, Limited, for instance,
are quite familiar to Americans. They are Benjamin Franklin and Helen
Keller.”

Jaz let her shoulders slump. “That’s not
much help.”

“I’m sorry. Perhaps the address would be
of some help. It is a post office box in Nashville, Tennessee, USA. Of
course, you realize the corporation was set up more than fifteen years ago.
I cannot say if the address is still current.”

“That’s something we’ll have to check
out,” she said.

He gave her the box number and zipcode.
It was located at the downtown branch post office.

29

A layer of low
clouds moved
across Nashville after dark, obscuring the moon. By two AM, the Franklin
Road area, except for the lighted, four-lane thoroughfare itself, lay in
darkness. All that glowed in the LeMieux household were digital clocks and
lights on the electronic console in Jaz’s office. Quiet prevailed except for
a gentle snore in one of the bedrooms.

A narrow lane ran along one side and around the rear of the LeMieux estate.
Houses across the road sat back in the trees, out of sight of the street. A
brown van pulled off the pavement and parked near a rear corner of Jaz’s
property. Two men dressed in black got out. One wore a backpack. They heaved
themselves over the sturdy white wooden fence and started up the hill.

The men trudged in the darkness without speaking until they spotted the
outline of the small house behind the mansion. A one-story frame structure,
it had a partial basement, half below ground level. First, the intruders
made sure Bobby Wallace’s car was still parked in front. For a full two
minutes, they stood like statues, listening for any unusual sounds. Hearing
none, they walked down the four steps to the basement door.

The lock proved but a momentary delay. Inside was a small, dirt-floored
room. The man with the backpack held a flashlight while his partner placed a
radio-activated detonator in the center. A few feet away stood a gas water
heater on a concrete base. Swapping places, the second man held the
flashlight while the other took off his pack and pulled out a few tools. He
squatted beside the water heater, removed a small panel and checked the
pilot light. The flame burned a steady blue. He turned the control knob to
“off.” The flame disappeared.

Using a wrench, he loosened a connection in the gas line. He pulled the
pipes apart until he could hear the hiss of gas escaping. Both men flinched
as the odor of rotten eggs filled their nostrils. The man with the
flashlight pressed a button on his wristwatch, starting the timer. The other
one stuffed the tools in his backpack. They headed for the door, locked it,
and started down the hill.

The operation had been planned with precision, though on short notice. One
of the men had a friend who worked for the gas company. Considering the size
of the basement and the flow from the gas line, it would take around six
minutes for the concentration to reach the critical point, where a flame
would ignite it. The night before, they had timed the walk from the house to
their vehicle. It took three minutes.

Reaching the fence, they climbed over and returned to the van. The driver
swung into his seat. He tossed his pack into the rear and started the
engine. He put the vehicle in gear and waited.

Eyes fixed to the timer display on his digital watch, his partner called
out:

“Six minutes. Go!”

He toggled a control on the remote.

A loud explosion came from up the hill as they raced away.

30

Jaz awoke to
an ungodly roar.
In her large bedroom on the back of the second floor, she felt a rumble like
an earthquake. She jumped up, ran to the window,
pushed
the curtains aside. What she saw turned her blood to ice. Flames leaped
above the small house in back, which appeared to be in shambles. In the
bright, flickering light, she saw Bobby’s car blown onto its side. Flaming
bits of debris had landed next to a large oak tree behind the mansion.

She hurried to the bedside table and grabbed the phone. There wasn’t time to
think, just react. Thank God there was a dial tone. She punched in 911. When
the operator answered, she gave the address and said there’d been an
explosion, a fire was raging. She jammed her feet into a pair of slippers,
grabbed a robe, and ran out to the railing that circled a large area open to
the great room below. Lights had come on in the room after the emergency
generator kicked in, providing power to essential areas.

She heard shouts downstairs, where the Wallaces lived, then the sound of
running feet. Bobby appeared in the light of the big room.

“Is everybody okay?” Jaz
called,
her voice tense.

“We’re all right.
You?”

“I’m fine, but we need to get everybody out of the house. The flames look
awfully close. I’ve called the Fire Department. I’ll go down to my office
and make sure they can get through the gate.”

“I’ll round up my folks,” Bobby said and hurried off.

Jaz bounded down the stairs and into her office. She was breathing hard but
still under control. She hadn’t paused long enough to consider what might
have happened. The backup power supply had the Welcome Traveler Stores logo
bouncing about the computer screen. She glanced at the small monitor beside
the front gate controls, a duplicate of what John used in a pantry off the
kitchen. As soon as she opened the gate, she saw flashing lights approach.