Surest Poison, The (33 page)

“Car thieves.”

“It was around 1995 when we honed in on
Keglar. That was the year Auto Parts Rehabbers closed their doors. It’s
possible  Keglar
felt the heat and decided
we were getting too close, that it was time for him to get out of the
business. Bobby, do you remember hearing anything about where the used parts
came from that Pete Rackard’s crew worked on at the Rehabbers plant?”

Bobby shoved his hands into his pockets
and hunched his shoulders. “I helped unload ‘em sometimes. They were usually
just piled in cardboard boxes.”

“What kind of boxes?”

He pondered that for a moment,
then
grinned. “Some were whiskey boxes. Like Jack
Daniel’s or Jim Beam.”

Cartons that whiskey bottles came in
could mean only one thing in Sid’s mind. “Do you remember seeing any company
names on the boxes?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Bobby said. Then
his face crinkled into a smile. “Take that back, I do remember something
Gillie and I thought was a real hoot.”

“What was that?” Jaz asked.

“The Long Branch
Saloon.”

Sid grinned. “Thanks, Bobby, that’s
exactly what we were looking for.”

His eyes widened. “It was?”

“You just confirmed our suspicions,” Jaz
said. “And now that everything’s under control, you can take Connie and
Little Bob home whenever you’re ready.”

His face brightened. “I appreciate your
letting us stay with you, but as soon as that boy gets home from school,
we’re out of here.”

Sid turned to Jaz. “We’d better head for
Franklin. This should get Sam Grizzard’s attention.”

53

The DA’s
office
for Tennessee’s 21
^st
District was in the Williamson County Courthouse in Franklin. A modestly
plump man with glasses that sat far down on his nose, his tweed jacket
giving him more the look of a law professor than a district attorney
general, Samuel Grizzard stood behind his paper-strewn desk as Sid and Jaz
walked in. He stuck out a hand as wrinkled as his white shirt.

“Chief Chance, good to see you again.”

Sid shook his hand and smiled. “You’re
looking great, General. I don’t know if you’re acquainted with my associate,
Miss Jasmine LeMieux?”

Grizzard came around his desk and clasped
both hands around hers. Sid remembered him as a good lawyer and prosecutor
and just as good a politician.

“Nice to meet you,” he said. “I’m
familiar with who you are, though our paths haven’t crossed before. Please
have a seat.”

“Nice meeting you, Mr. Grizzard,” Jaz
said and sat in a chair across from his desk.

When both men were seated, the lawyer
leaned back in his high-backed leather chair. “Would this visit relate to
the calls I’ve been getting from sheriffs around the area?”

“Yes, sir,” Sid said. “I provided some
information to Sheriff Emmons and a sergeant in Cheatham County.”

“
Which is out of my
district.
Emmons had him call me, though.”

Sid was glad to hear both men had
followed through. “So what’s the situation in Lewisville?”

Grizzard smiled.
“Interesting place, as you know.
A state trooper went looking for the
Chrysler with the Predators sticker but reported it was nowhere to be found.
Fortunately, Sheriff Emmons’ investigator located it at a body shop over in
Perry County. There was a rush order to do some front-end repair work, but
nothing had been done yet.”

“Was the right fender damaged?”

“It was. The TBI is sending a team down
to get paint samples to compare with what they found on Percy Pickslay’s
car. They’re also getting a search warrant to check out Keglar’s place for
fire accelerants.”

Sid pulled his notebook from his shirt
pocket and flipped it open to notes from the Bobby Wallace interview. “I
have some new information for you. Remember back when we tried to make a
case against Keglar for involvement with an auto theft ring?”

“As I recall, all you had were
accusations by a sleazy informant with a shady reputation.”

“Right.
But now we have a witness who unloaded used auto parts that came in whiskey
cartons from The Longbranch Saloon.”

“I guess that’s some consolation,”
Grizzard said, appearing totally unimpressed. “But it wouldn’t matter if
they came in a box with Hank Keglar’s signature on it.”

Jaz frowned. “Why?”

“It would probably be a Class C or D
Felony. At most a Class B, which has a statute of limitations of eight
years. That must have been fifteen years ago.”

Sid slumped in his chair, his face
twisted into a look grim enough to suit the Reaper. Was there no justice? He
recalled a magazine essay by Ralph Waldo Emerson his mother had liked to
quote that named such things as alcohol and strychnine but concluded: “the
surest poison is time.” Keglar hadn’t ordered dumping of that TCE years ago,
but it would have been his type of solution. Though he couldn’t be held
responsible legally, he had a moral responsibility as one of the owners. Now
he was off the hook for dealing in stolen auto parts.

Sid glanced at Jaz, then back at
Grizzard. “If it turns out that one of Keglar’s goons drove his car to kill
Pickslay, can you get him as an accessory to murder?”

“Or a co-conspirator.
But right now that’s a big
if
. We’ll have to see how it works out.”
He propped his elbows on the desk and leaned forward. “We have some new
charges against the young man who set you up on that bribery sting. I guess
you knew about that.”

“Sheriff Emmons mentioned it, but he
didn’t give me any details.”

“So far the man has refused to implicate
Keglar in the drug transactions, but he admitted it was the bar owner who
suggested he go to Sheriff Zachary with the tale about you trying to bribe
him.”

Sid almost leapt out of the chair.
“The bastard!
I should have guessed as much. I’ll
give that—”

“Calm down, Sid,” Jaz said, springing out
of her chair, reaching across to take a firm grip on his arm.

The DA stood behind his desk. “I don’t
blame you for feeling that way, Sidney. I’m sure I would, too. It’s out of
your hands now, though. Let the TBI take care of it. I recall you like to be
personally involved in these things, but it would only get you into more
trouble.”

Sid took a couple of deep breaths to calm
himself. It didn’t help. He just wanted to get out of there. “Thanks for the
information,” he said. “Let’s go, Jaz.”

He hurried out of the office and didn’t
slow down until he was out on the sidewalk approaching his car. Dusk had
come early, brought on by an ominous canopy of gray clouds that hid what was
left of the afternoon sun. Along the streets he saw pairs of bottle-shaped
lamps on tall stands that seemed to have a conspiratorial glow. Beyond them,
a circular swath of grass surrounded a tall obelisk that supported a lone
Confederate soldier who stood silent watch over Franklin’s Public Square,
his hopeless cause long ended. Sid knew the feeling.

“Are you all right?” Jaz asked as she
caught up with him.

He unlocked the car and opened the door
for her without answering.

She slid into the seat and gave him a
guarded look as he climbed in. “Don’t do anything stupid, Sid.”

He sat behind the wheel and started the
car. “I did something stupid three years ago when I let that asshole ruin my
life in Lewisville.”

“You’ve made a good start at salvaging
your life. It’s time to press on and show him that he didn’t succeed. Sam
Grizzard and the TBI will show him
who’s the real loser
.”

“I wish I could count on that.” Sid’s
eyes scanned the traffic ahead, but his thoughts were elsewhere.

Before they
reached her house, Jaz took out her cell phone and called Bart Masterson.

“What’s new with our friend Decker?” she
asked.

“We got a fingerprint match. He’s Tony.
Must have kept his skirts clean. I guess nobody’s taken his prints until
now.”

“Got a report on the gun yet?”

“They promised to get to it as soon as
possible. He’s denying everything, of course, but he has no verifiable alibi
for the time of either murder. His Lincoln has the kind of tires they
identified on Marrowbone Road.”

“Shake anything out of his man, Vince? We
thought you might get him to rat on his pals.”

“I talked to Quincy from the fire
department. We’re working on it. A couple of our guys just got back from
checking out Vince’s apartment.
Like to know what they
found?”

“What?”

“A big file folder labeled First
Patriots, Limited.”

Jaz grinned. “Hold it for Arnie Bailey.
He’ll probably tell the chief to give you a raise.”

“Yeah, I’ll go order a new Corvette. Oh,
another thing, while they were at the apartment, they got a tip on where to
find his roomie, Shak.”

“Thanks, Bart.” She closed the cell
phone.

“Hold what for Arnie?” Sid asked.

“They found the First Patriots file at
Vince’s apartment. Bart says they got a fingerprint match on Tony, and they
picked up a tip on where to find Shak.”

Sid remained silent the rest of the way.
When he pulled up to her house, she turned to him. “Keep your seat. I’ll let
myself out. I suggest you go home and do some serious thinking about letting
go of the past. You need to move on, keep your eyes on the future. You’re a
good man, Sid.
Lots of talent, lots of ability.
You can be the best PI in the business. Don’t let a grudge from the past
derail your career.”

Back home
,
Sid changed into white sweats and strode out into the night. Lights glowed
warmly in the windows of the neighborhood. It was the end of another normal
day for most people. It hardly looked that way to Sid. The black sky pressed
down on him like a physical weight. A cold breeze brushed his face, raised
the hair on the back of his hands. It sharpened his senses to a knife edge.
He ran along lonely streets, in and out of occasional pools of light from a
lamp post, picking up the pace as he went.

His legs pumped like pistons. Air rushed
into his lungs. It felt like an attempt to suck in the whole of the night.
When he hit his stride, a surge of power ran through his body. He was in his
element.

What Jaz had said stirred about in his
mind as if swirled by the force of the wind. “Let go of the past . . . keep
your eyes on the future.” He knew she was right, but could he let go? What
if Hank Keglar weaseled out of this one the way he did nearly everything
else, justice
be
damned?

“Go home and do some serious thinking,”
Jaz told him.

It would be a long night.

Author’s Note

Choosing a title for a novel can
sometimes be an arduous task. I rejected a long list of possibilities before
running across the quote from Ralph Waldo Emerson. It seemed a perfect fit.
This book deals with a poisonous chemical and the ravages it can inflict on
people over time, but it also concerns the damage time itself can wreak on
people with poisonous motives.

I plan to follow Sid Chance as he pursues
his new role as a PI. It should be interesting to see what develops in the
relationship between Sid and Jaz.  Stay tuned.

I’m indebted to several other people for
their help with this project. In no particular order, they include retired
Nashville Fire Department Battalion Chief Billy Burgess, Maggie Lawrence of
the Nashville Fire Marshal’s office, Randy Moomaw of the
Ashland City
Times
, Tennessee Bureau of Investigation Special Agent Dan Royse, and
Chuck Head, Senior Director for Land Resources of the Tennessee Department
of Environment and Conservation. Any errors that crept in are mine, not
theirs (maybe I should get my artistic license renewed).

For their help in critiquing parts of the
story as it developed, thanks to my colleagues in the Quill & Dagger Writers
Guild,
including  (
alphabetically) Richard
Emerson, Nina Fortmeyer,  Nicole Nelson-Hicks, Cathy Randall, Hardy
Saliba, and Nancy Sartor.

A special thanks to Nashville PI Norma
Mott Tillman, who gave birth to the plot by telling me about a similar case
she worked in West Tennessee. Thanks also for the patient editing work of
Beth Terrell and the patient support of my wife, Sarah.