Murder by Kindness Page 3

  “And the bitee, or whatever you’d call him, will probably be in surgery and then recovery for quite a while before we get to talk to him.” As Wade spoke, the ambulance pulled out of the parking lot, headed for Knoxville.

  “I’m not sure I want to wait that long to get some information.” Tony studied the small clumps of interested onlookers still gathered. “Let’s go from group to group and ask general questions.”

  Wade nodded. “Someone at a nearby table could have overheard some comment or maybe a threat that created the problem.”

  They worked their way from cluster to cluster asking general questions, knowing Sheila and Mike were doing the same. “Have you seen the men here together before?” And, “Were you aware of any friction between the two men?”

  It was not a particularly busy night at the Okay, and no one they talked to seemed to know anything relevant, no one that is except Quentin Mize. Two years ago, Tony wouldn’t have believed anything Quentin said, but the young man had come a long way from his drug days. Now Quentin worked hard for Tony’s brother Gus in construction, and although Quentin still occasionally over drank, and spent the night in the tank, he had managed to stay clean of drugs. His overall appearance had improved along with his health.

  “Tell me, Quentin, do you know the men involved in the ear-biting episode?” Tony asked.

  “Kind of.”

  Tony watched as Quentin’s long limbs twitched a bit. Normal for Quentin. “Kind of how?”

  “We was all in high school at the same time,” Quentin finally answered. “None of us was bright enough to pay enough attention to learn anything.” He peered through the darkness as if looking for answers to life’s bigger mysteries. “How long is that statue?”

  “Statue?” Tony repeated. A half second later it hit him. “You mean the statute of limitations? Is that it?”

  “Yes.” Quentin turned back to look at Tony and Wade. His thin face drooped under a mournful expression. “That’s the one.”

  “It depends on the crime and how long ago it happened.” Tony wasn’t sure what to tell Quentin. “If it’s not heinous—you know, really bad, like murder—I would guess you’d get credit for being a witness. It might not even go on your record.”

  “Back in the old days, me and some friends all worked together doing a bit of wrong, selling booze to friends. We also boosted a couple of cars.” Quentin looked uneasy and shifted from side to side, rubbing first one foot against the opposite ankle and then changing his weight, switching, doing an odd march in place. “We got away with it. I’m sorry.” He fell silent and seemed to study his feet.

  Tony thought his expression said it all. Guilt and regret. Tony had heard quite a few confessions over the years. He had also seen a lot of guilty parties who refused to confess no matter how much evidence had been collected against them, but he never was quite sure what to say to someone expressing true remorse. “When was the last time you saw them?”

  “Maybe a couple of days ago. The guy what lost his ear was yelling trash at the other one about some hooch they’d brewed. Sounded like some of it went missing.”

  None of this made sense. Tony thought he would know if the two men had not been reasonably law-abiding since they were in high school. Why pay for booze if they had moonshine? Bootlegging and car theft as juveniles did not, on the surface, have any connection with the current outbreak of interpersonal violence.

  Bootlegging. He thought the word might hold some promise in this situation. “Back when you were in school, where did you get the alcohol you sold?” Tony gestured for Quentin to sit down.

  Quentin carefully folded his hands together even as he settled onto the folding patio chair. “We were small time. It’s not like we had a still. Mostly, we stole it from our own folks. You know, we’d pour out some whiskey from the bottle, and replace it with water. We just didn’t want anyone to see the level go down.”

  “Your dad didn’t mention anything about the taste being different? You know, weak or watery?” Tony remembered that Quentin’s late father had been a heavy whiskey drinker. His short life had ended with his becoming a drunken-driving statistic who had killed not only himself but also his wife and his younger son, leaving Quentin to fend for himself.

  “You remember how he was.” A sad shake of his head accompanied Quentin’s response. “I doubt he ever could taste anything.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Tony was working his way through some paperwork and a large sandwich at his desk when a call came in about a multiple-vehicle collision. He would not normally go out on a simple traffic call, but they were shorthanded and the accident had taken place only a couple of blocks away from his office.

  Although it would have been quicker to walk, he drove the two blocks so he would have access to his emergency equipment and could use the Blazer to cordon off part of the accident scene. At first glance, it was hard to tell where one piece of wreckage ended and the next began. He could see one driver, a woman, trapped inside the damaged remains of a small green car. There was little left of the vehicle. It looked like someone had taken a giant can opener to it and peeled it open. Above the sound of a car horn blaring, Tony could hear someone calling for help. The front bumper of a white pickup jammed into the wreckage. With the hood crumpled up to the windshield, it didn’t look much better than the car.

  Out of habit, he quickly moved toward the more damaged vehicle, the car. The female driver was unconscious and bleeding from her temple. Getting her out without injuring her further was going to require special equipment and a medical professional. He keyed the radio microphone hanging on his shoulder. “We need the jaws of life, at least one ambulance. And we need them now.” Tony gave the location as he hurried to look in the driver-side window of the pickup. At first, he didn’t see anyone. A movement caught his eye and then he realized that the driver must have slid off the seat and was folded up under the steering wheel. Only a very small driver could fit in there. Terrified brown eyes stared up at him. Blood ran from a gash on the forehead, painting a large portion of the face. Tony knew that nothing bleeds like a head wound but when he tried the door, it was locked, and the window was closed.

  Tony heard the wail of two approaching sirens at almost exactly the same time. A fire rescue vehicle parked behind his Blazer. Before the driver was even out of the truck, Tony started telling him what he had seen. Half of the firemen started taking apart the car to gain access to the driver. The other firemen went to work opening the pickup. It was easier than the car because all they to do was pop a lock. They checked the driver’s condition before trying to move him.

  Tony stayed out of their way and took lots of pictures.

  Once the driver was safely out of the pickup, Tony realized he couldn’t be more than ten years old, about the same age as his younger son, Jamie. This boy was considerably smaller than Jamie. Pale and shaking, the boy kept saying over and over again, “My dad’s going to kill me.”

  Tony’s unsympathetic thoughts were along the same line. If his dad didn’t take action, he would. Killing wasn’t the answer, but Tony wasn’t above handing the boy a broom and having him sweep sidewalks and parking lots for an indefinite period.

  Unless they learned something dramatically different after talking to the drivers and witnesses and following the evidence, the unlicensed boy had caused the accident.

  In the meantime, the paramedics were still working feverishly on the young woman. By the time they managed to get her on the stretcher, she still had not regained consciousness. The shape of her bulging belly told Tony she was pregnant. Without wasting a moment or a motion, they packed her in the ambulance and sent it away.

  One of the paramedics had checked the boy for damage but found nothing more than a knot on his forehead and a bruise on his back from sliding under the steering wheel.

  Tony retrieved the woman’s purse from the car and dropped it in an evidence bag. He labeled it with the time, the date and all of the information he had at hand. He wasn�
�t in a good mood when he put the ten year old in the cage in the back seat of his vehicle. “Who’s your family, and what’s the phone number?”

  The stunned expression remained on his face as the boy curled into a ball after giving Tony the information he asked for. “I’m sorry. I never meant to, you know, hurt anyone.”

  Tony wasn’t surprised. It simply wasn’t an excuse he considered valid. He hated senseless accidents.

  Theo didn’t have a police-band radio. She didn’t need one of her own. Her only full-time employee, Gretchen, kept a small one near the cash register. While Theo didn’t want to know what kinds of calls went out, Gretchen, whose husband was a volunteer with the search and rescue group, was an addict. She was only allowed to listen with a headset and only if there were no customers in the shop.

  The bell over the front door of the shop rang as a woman entered, interrupting Gretchen’s summary of a recent traffic accident. Theo was surprised to realize the time. The day was almost over, but Miss P had arrived on schedule.

  Almost every day, at exactly four o’clock, the front door of Theo’s shop opened just a bit. Miss P would poke her head inside and glance around as if she were a mouse checking for a dangerous cat. Once she was apparently assured of her safety, she would straighten up and march confidently inside. With a nod of greeting to whoever was at the counter, usually Gretchen, she made a beeline for the workroom. She didn’t stop to talk. She didn’t shop. She didn’t come to quilt.

  If there was a class going on, Miss P would make a token display of admiring the projects in process. It wasn’t unusual for her to pat the charity quilt when she trotted by, as if it were a pet. By this time of day, most of the ladies who quilted on it would be at home.

  Having performed her small ritual, Miss P would open the refrigerator and remove the foil wrapped plate waiting for her on the middle shelf. After claiming her personal silverware from an empty souvenir mug from St. Louis, she would sit down at a small table positioned far away from the quilt and sewing areas. It was her table.

  If other people were in the room, she would look them in the eyes, her dark eyes bright but wary, and bob her head three times in quick succession. She never spoke. After peeling off the foil cover, she would study the food for a moment and then, with exquisite care and no rush, she’d eat her daily meal. Then she would wash the plate and leave it on the counter.

  The plate would be returned to the senior center the next day by one of Theo’s regulars and exchanged for a fresh, full one. The procedure was well established and never discussed. It was like unlocking the shop’s front door signaled they were open for business. It simply was the way it was.

  For a while, Theo had worried about Miss P’s lack of food on Sunday. The senior center was closed on that day, as was the shop. Miss P did not get two plates on Saturday. Theo knew the woman had filler foods like cereal and bread, but it wasn’t enough to supply all the nutrition she required. Theo knew about those groceries only because she could see them in the bag resting near Miss P’s feet. Theo had no way of knowing what else was in the bag, maybe a steak or string cheese or food for a pet.

  One Sunday, just by chance, Theo saw Jenny Swift talking with Miss P in the church parking lot. Jenny Swift handed Miss P a foil-wrapped plate of something that quickly went into Miss P’s omnipresent bag. When Miss P glanced at Theo, Theo pretended to have seen nothing. Surprised by the depth of her relief, Theo continued on her way, curious what it would take for the woman to speak to her. She tried to remember how her shop had become Miss P’s personal dining room but failed. It had been going on for as long as the shop had been open.

  Not paying close attention to anything but the people in her shop, Theo stepped out onto the sidewalk, planning to have a quick chat with the owner of the coffee shop next door, hoping the upcoming shop hop could benefit both of their businesses. Before she realized what was happening, she felt herself being shoved aside by a man in a suit. Beyond him a skinny, young man with long straight hair was surrounded by several more large men. Whether they intended to or not, another man pushed her and she ended up crashing into the coffee shop’s sidewalk sign listing the specials of the day. Out of balance, she ricocheted toward the street.

  Just before Theo was trampled or fell, which would have her either landing completely in the street or crashing through the coffee shop’s picture window, a large man in a dark suit grasped her like she was an errant toddler and set her on her feet, out of danger.

  “Th-thank you,” Theo said, but she wouldn’t have known if he’d heard her except for a slight nod. She was appalled by names the skinny young man called her protector. The gist of the man’s diatribe was it wasn’t the bodyguard’s job to protect anyone but him.

  The coffee shop owner stepped outside. “Can you believe we have a movie star in our midst?”

  Theo had to admit she had no idea who he was.

  “He’s Karl’s Bad. You know, like the caverns with all the bats only he spells it different.” She grimaced. “My daughter thinks he’s amazing.”

  “And you?” Theo examined her arms. She was amazed the bodyguard hadn’t even bruised her when he moved her. “What do you think about him?”

  “I think he’s bad all right. Bad news.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “Dad, look what we found.”

  Tony raised his eyelids and focused on his two older children. He was comfortably stretched out on his oversized recliner. He felt a bit sluggish, but the boys stood side-by-side, almost identical expressions of excitement and curiosity on their young faces. “Okay, what is it?”

  “This.” Chris held out a fuzzy, gray, plush hippopotamus.

  Tony didn’t touch it. The toy was dirty and wet but otherwise intact. “Okay. I see it.”

  “No, Dad, you have to look inside.” Chris’s long fingers pulled the hippopotamus open. Inside was a tangle of jewelry, seashells, and an orange plastic container, the kind prescription medications came in. Even through the scratched plastic Tony could see several different colors and shapes of pills. There were no labels.

  Leaning forward in his chair, Tony studied the contents. He was no expert, but the jewelry looked old, and if those large stones were real, very expensive. He thought it might match the reported items taken from a recent visitor’s rental car and tried to remember if there was any mention of the items being in a plush toy. No, he was certain they had not been. The seashells were small and ordinary.

  While Chris held the toy, Jamie’s fingers were busy exploring more pockets in the hippopotamus. He pulled out a small packet of tissues, a tube of lipstick, some paper clips and a roll of money held together with a rubber band. The boy laughed as he pulled each item out of the pockets and waved it at his father and said, “It’s got all kinds of hiding spots.”

  Thinking his son was paying no real attention to the contents, just the capacity, Tony took the hippopotamus and checked it for any form of identification or an address for its owner but found none. He counted the cash: over three thousand dollars. “Where was this? Exactly?”

  Disappointment, Tony guessed from his own lack of enthusiasm, clouded Jamie’s face. “It was over near the swings.”

  Chris leaned forward. “There wasn’t anyone else in the park, Dad.”

  “I’m not accusing you boys of anything wrong. In fact, I’m sure someone will file a report about losing it.” Tony grinned at the boys. “I’m proud of you for bringing it to me.”

  “Do we get a reward?” Jamie’s blues eyes sparkled with delight. “Maybe a hundred dollars?”

  “Or, maybe some ice cream.” Tony had to admire the boy’s enthusiasm. “After dinner.”

  “Sweet!” The boys abandoned their prize and headed back to the park.

  With the boys outside, Tony took the time to explore the hippo more carefully. Wide awake now, he changed his mind about the type of owner it belonged to. There was something intriguing about a couple of the pieces of jewelry. But what? Had someone reported them lost
or stolen? Was his imagination working overtime, or was this simply a child’s toy left in the park? The large stones in the jewelry could be glass and not diamonds and emeralds.

  He put the hippo and its contents in a box and wrote himself a couple of notes. He’d take the box with him when he went to work in the morning.

  “Louise.” The name was starting to haunt Tony. He and Wade had failed to find any information about the mysterious caller to teacher Jimmy Zink. So far they had turned up only two women anywhere in the county named Louise. A couple of citizens had relatives of that name, but no one who lived nearby or who was visiting. There were a couple of women named Lily. Nothing came to light during their search of similar phone numbers.

  Still, there was something about the call that chewed on Tony’s stomach. No number of antacid tablets was helping. In the middle of the night, Tony found himself wondering who Louise was. Unable to sleep, he got up and went to the basement in the Law Enforcement Center, where he expended some of his concern on the treadmill and weights.

  His office had sent queries to all of their neighboring Tennessee counties and a few in Kentucky and North Carolina. So far, nothing about a Louise had been reported. If the call was a prank, it was a disturbing one. And why involve Jimmy? What could connect a third grade teacher and a mysterious and presumably missing, and possibly deceased woman?

  Thinking perhaps it was from a case long grown cold, Tony decided to pay a quick visit, if there was such a thing, to former Sheriff Harvey Winston. In the past, the older man had been able to supply a bit of information on cold cases or simply old cases.

  Surprisingly enough, Harvey didn’t circle the question. The moment Tony said “Louise,” Harvey’s eyes widened and he leaned forward as he said, “Have you found her?”

  “No.” Tony explained everything he knew. That took about thirty seconds.