Kent Conwell - Tony Boudreaux 04 - Vicksburg (5 page)

“Thanks. Maybe later.”

“I’ll show you,” said Jack, leading the way through the
dining room. As he passed the dining room table, he picked
up a handful of unopened sympathy cards.

Once in the kitchen, I drew a glass of ice water from the
refrigerator as Jack tried awkwardly to open one of the
envelopes. Seeing his frustration, I opened it for him.

“Thanks.” He read it. “It’s from one of John’s friends.”

I looked down at the other cards. “They haven’t been
opened.”

Jack shrugged and gave me a sheepish look. “What can I
say? My family-” He struggled for the right words. “My
family is, well … you can see, they’re … different.”

He would get no argument from me on that remark. No
wonder his father named someone outside the family as
executor. Without replying, I opened the other cards for him,
glancing at the return address if one was there. From the
eclectic sources of the cards, I guessed John Wesley Edney
was not only religious, but civic-minded also. There were
cards from churches, fraternal organizations, city agencies,
and various businesses as well as from numerous individuals. One that caught my attention was from the Madison
Parish Ornithological Society, headquarters, Richmond,
Louisiana.

“Here,” I said, handing him the stack of open cards.
“Read them at your leisure. But now, we have to talk.”

He arched his eyebrows in curiosity. “About what?”

I sipped the water and glanced in the direction of the par lor. “First, you’re not to repeat to anyone, not even your
brothers or sister what I’m going to tell you. This is strictly
between the two of us for the present. You understand?”

A frown wrinkled his forehead. “Yeah. I won’t. Don’t
worry. So what’s up?”

I leaned forward. “I think you were closer to the truth
about your father’s death than you know.”

“Why do you say that?”

I lowered my voice. “Something is going on. I don’t know
what”

“You find out something from Doc?”

“First, someone either tried to kill me or scare me” I
quickly told him about the bag of cement. “I think maybe it
was meant to scare me, but I’m not sure”

“Couldn’t it have been an accident?”

“I don’t think so. According to Doc Raines, all the construction in that block was complete. There was no reason
for anyone to be on the roof, especially with a bag of cement
and in the rain.”

“So, what does that have to do with my old man?”

“I’m not sure, but one thing Doc said struck me as odd. I
need to verify it with the police, but according to the record,
your father started the fire when he struck a spark cleaning
his brass fireplace tools with naphtha”

Jack stared at me, the blank look in his eyes testifying to
his lack of comprehension. “So?”

I groaned. “So, Mr. College-Man School Teacher, a.k.a.
comedian, brass does not spark. It’s too soft. There’s no way
he could have caused a fire with naphtha and brass” I hastened to add, “Now, I’m not saying he might not have struck
a spark some other way, but one fact is certain. He did not
strike one with brass”

Jack’s eyes grew wide. “You mean, maybe my hunch was
right? Somebody might have killed John?”

“Maybe. That’s why I want you to keep quiet,” I replied,
thinking about my old friend on the Galveston Police force,
Ben Howard.

I’d worked with Ben several times over the years, first when
he was in Austin, and later in Galveston. He was a
cigar-chomping curmudgeon. Despite his grating personality
and deliberate bad manners, Ben Howard was a thorough and
determined investigator. His bulldog tenacity to ferret every
little detail of a crime earned him promotion after promotion.

Over the years, he became a fixture in a nationwide network of good old boys, cohorts to whom each could turn for
aid and assistance.

So, I did what I had done several times in the past. I
called Ben.

He groaned at my lack of evidence; warned me of the risk
of tangling with Mississippi law; provided me a name; and
swore he would not post my bail when they slammed my
worthless carcass behind bars.

I chuckled. “Why don’t you tell me what you really think,
Ben?”

He called me a couple of names I would never say around
my mother. One thing about him however, he knew the
important people. And he did not hesitate to send me to the
one who could help most, Vicksburg’s finest, Chief of Police
Field Herrings.

The name, Herrings, still hadn’t registered when I was
shown to the office of the police chief. I opened the door and
saw a lanky black man in khaki pants and shirt with a black
tie squatting by a battered desk. He was picking up pieces of
glass off the floor and dropping them in the trashcan.

The janitor, I figured. I glanced about the room, searching
for the chief.

Casually, he drawled in a deep voice, “Who are you looking for, boy?”

Boy? Boy? And then for some inexplicable reason, I felt
intimidated. Clearing my throat nervously, I replied, “I’m
looking for Chief Hemings.”

With a slight nod, he rose to his feet and looking down at
me, replied, “You found him.”

And then the name, Hemings, registered.

Unable to hide my surprise or suppress the shock of the
sudden realization that I was face to face with a purported
descendent of President Thomas Jefferson, I just stared at
Chief Herrings while the controversial story of Jefferson
and Sally Hemings flashed through my mind.

He arched an eyebrow and a slow grin spread over his
face. “You wouldn’t happen to be that little Cajun boy from
Church Point, Louisiana, would you?”

“H-how did you know?”

He gestured to a captain’s chair in front of his worn oak
desk. “Well, boy, Ben told me about you” He shook his head
as he plopped down in his wooden swivel chair, which
squeaked under his weight. “He said you were sticking your
nose in something that maybe you shouldn’t.” He paused
and leaned back. Still smiling amicably, he added, “I don’t
cotton to outsiders who cause me problems or interfere with
my business.” He was still smiling.

My ears burned.

Before I could reply, he continued, “But I’ve known Ben
for a long time. That’s why I’m talking to you on this side of
jailhouse bars instead of through them.”

I relaxed, but despite the smile on his face, I realized that
Field Hemings could be a formidable opponent if he chose.
And I certainly did not want him to choose. “And that’s
exactly why I called Ben and came to see you, Chief. I’m
licensed in Texas, but not here. I don’t want to create any
problems.” I paused for his response.

He pursed his lips for several seconds before nodding for
me to continue.

At least he hadn’t thrown me out. Quickly, I laid out
Jack’s suspicion, his subsequent hiring of me, the cement
bag that barely missed me, the erroneous conclusion as to
the source of the fire, and the bitter contention among the
family regarding the will.

When I finished, he studied me a moment. “Well, boy,
Ben was right. You don’t have much to work with. It all
could be marked off as coincidence.”

“I know. That’s why I want your permission to see the fire
marshal’s report and the autopsy results when they are available. Jack can get me a copy of the will. Whatever I find, one
way or another, you get first. And at the same time, I’m satisfying my client.”

For what seemed like hours, Chief Hemings stared at me,
pondering my request. “Like I said,” he growled, “I got me
a good town here, and I won’t tolerate no trouble.” His eyes
narrowed as he leaned forward and punched a button on the
intercom. “Jimmy, send Garrett in here.” He punched off.
His eyes narrowed. “Because Ben asked, I’ll give you a
hand. Tom Garrett is your contact. He’ll get you copies of
the fire marshal’s report and the autopsy. You’ll give him
every scrap of whatever you find. Understood?”

“You mean the autopsy is complete?”

“We don’t waste time around here, boy.”

“Thanks,” I said as the door opened, and Tom Garrett
entered. Under a rumpled tan blazer, he wore a blue denim
shirt unbuttoned at the collar and washed-out jeans. He was
a couple of inches taller than me at about six feet or so, and weighed about one-ninety, ten of which probably came from
the bushiest eyebrows I’d ever seen. He shot me an indifferent glance. “What’s up, Chief?”

The chief introduced me and briefly explained what I was
after. “You’re his contact.”

Garrett rolled his eyes. “Come on, Chief. I got cases to
work on without wasting time with some nosy PI. Give it to
someone else.”

Hemings’ eyes grew cold. In a flat voice, he said, “You’re
it, Garrett. Get it done”

Garrett stared at Herrings for several seconds. I could feel
the electricity crackling in the air, and I quickly came to the
conclusion there was no love lost between the two.

Being a southern boy, I didn’t have to wonder why. As
much as I detested it, there were still pockets of prejudice in
our part of the country. Fortunately, those cubicles of hate
were growing both smaller and fewer. I was lucky growing
up. We were not subjected to extreme prejudice in my hometown for the races lived shoulder to shoulder. My best friend
and boyhood chum was Leroi Thibodeaux, who not only
was black, but also my cousin.

Finally, Garrett dropped his eyes and shook his head.
“Whatever you say, Chief Hemings,” he said, emphasizing
the chief’s title. He cut his eyes at me. “Let’s go” Without
another word, he spun on his heel and stomped from the
office.

“Thanks, Chief,” I said, standing and extending my hand.
“I promise. No trouble.” And I meant it, but it turned out to
be one of those promises impossible to keep.

“And Boudreaux?”

“Yeah?”

“You carry a piece?”

I nodded. “A .38. I got a license.”

He grinned crookedly. “For Texas”

With a sheepish smile, I replied, “For Texas.”

For a moment, he studied me. “Lock it in your glove com partment until you leave, or you’ll have the doubtful privilege of enjoying the hospitality of our jail.”

“Whatever you say, Chief.”

Garrett plopped down at his desk and grabbed the phone,
completely ignoring my presence, so I followed his lead and
plopped down in the chair beside his desk. Though irritated
by his rude manners, I remained silent. All I wanted was the
autopsy and fire marshal’s report in my hot little hand. I
could put up with any cretin until then.

I looked around. Several desks were arranged in rows
throughout the room, a couple of which were occupied by
other detectives who stared with unabashed curiosity at me.

Garrett barked orders over the phone, then slammed it
down. He glared at me, his bushy eyebrows meeting over the
bridge of his nose. “This is a waste of time, Boudreaux. I
hope you know that”

Up until that point, I had no particular personal feelings
one way or another about Tom Garrett, but now, I was beginning to truly dislike the man. “Then I suggest we get it done
as fast as we can. You point me where I can pick up those
reports, and I’ll get out of here”

For a moment, he didn’t reply. Finally he shook his head.
“Hemings said I was your contact. Just you sit there and
wait.”

Under my breath, I called Jack Edney every name in the
book. Twelve hundred bucks a day wasn’t half enough to
have to tolerate a bad-mannered jerk like Tom Garrett. I
pushed myself to my feet. “Why wait? Let’s get the reports”

A smug grin curled his lips, and he leaned back in his
chair. He pointed to the fax machine across the squad room.
“We ain’t going nowhere, Country Boy. It’s coming to us. Or
don’t they have faxes where you come from down in Podunk
Holler?”

One of the other detectives snickered.

I almost snapped, but I maintained my composure. “Yeah. We have faxes, and we also have meatballs like you, and
from time to time, I have to kick their tails up between their
shoulders just to remind them of their place”

His face darkened, and he started to rise.

In a soft, cold voice, I warned him. “I don’t know if you’re
always this stupid or you’re just making a special effort for
me, Garrett, but getting out of that chair could be one of the
dumbest things you have ever done” I knotted my fists,
praying Garrett would stand up.

He hesitated halfway up, his eyes on mine, measuring my
resolution. I guess he didn’t like what he saw because he
gave a feeble laugh and dropped back into his chair.

I remained standing. Behind me, the snickering ceased. At
that moment, the fax machine whirred. Without a word, I
crossed the room and pulled out the reports, and all the
while, I could feel his eyes burning holes in my back.

Pausing at a vacant desk, I stapled the reports and held
them up for Garrett to see. “I’ll stay in touch,” I said, heading for the door, my blood pressure just below meltdown.