The Price of Beauty in Strawberry Land (13 page)

Rita told me basically the same story I had heard from Judy – the stalker, beauty reviews, men etc.
 
Rita did know a little more about Phillip Chaney and his family background.
 
They were rich and honest - to her knowledge.
 
Father, Forrest Chaney, was a widower and seemed to have no desire to remarry. Phillip had, and did, fill a role as playboy – but she knew of nothing illegal or remotely dishonest about either of them.

That was good enough for me.

“Have you talked to Monica recently?” I asked.

“Yes, every day.
 
And everyday she asks me about you.
 
She’s getting nervous and I think getting ready to file her divorce papers.”

“Rita, do me a favor.
 
Call her this evening and tell her not to do anything until she hears from me.
 
I have a hunch she can walk away from this situation in excellent shape, but she doesn’t need to do anything yet.
 
I’ll call her tomorrow with an update, but I’m just not up to it tonight. I’ve had a long day and am outta here when I finish this drink.”

Rita got up to leave. “I’ll tell her you will call tomorrow – right?”

“Correct, I promise.”

~

I
made a slow drive back to my apartment – still trying to figure out why I had not heard from Larry Parker.

I stopped in the basement bar – more from habit than anything else. Business at the
‘Down Under’
was slow for a Saturday night – Andy didn’t have live entertainment tonight, so the crowd was light.
 
I had a short J/C and took the elevator ride home.

Taped on my door was a handwritten message from Larry Parker.

Meet me at Police Headquarters, Memphis City Hall at 8:00 AM Sunday morning.

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Urgent.

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Larry

City Hall

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
R
epeating myself, I am not an early person.
 
Eight o’clock on Sunday morning was not a time I ever knew existed – much less participated in.
 
However, Larry’s message was urgent and I knew he was serious – Larry was my friend.

Parking was no problem; the garage was almost empty.
 
The desk sergeant directed me to a third floor conference room.
 
I grabbed a cup of stale coffee from a pot in the hallway and knocked on the door.

Larry quickly opened the door and before I spoke, I noticed he was not alone.
 
He introduced me to Chuck Hutchinson, Memphis Police Chief and Carlton Scruggs, Shelby County Sheriff.

Larry spoke first. “Carson, I have taken the liberty to brief the chief and sheriff on our conversation of last week. And, I am going to assume you are not aware of any events that happened while you were out of town.”

“Larry, I respect your judgment in sharing information and, no, I am not aware of anything.
 
I’ve been in Humboldt working on a case and attending a private party with some friends.
 
I did, however, try to call you numerous times and left a number of messages.”

“I know, I got your messages, but considering recent events, I thought it better to talk face to face.”
 
He was scaring me.

“Larry, I am all ears.
 
Tell me what’s going on.”

His story.

On Friday, following our Thursday conversation, he had stopped by the Commercial Appeal office to talk with Bernie Taylor.
 
Bernie had not shown up for work and had not called.

Later that afternoon, his office got a call from the Arkansas State Police with an inquiry about Watson Clark.
 
He picked up the message and returned their call.
 
They were looking for information on two former Memphis residents – Watson and Amy Clark.
 
Someone had murdered them both – they had been blown up in a trailer residence belonging to an Amos Duncan – exactly the place I had visited on Wednesday!
 
It was undoubtedly a contract killing, and he believed it was involved with some of the things I had relayed to him during our Thursday lunch conversation.

Because it was in Arkansas, Larry didn’t know if anyone in Memphis was aware of my visit to the trailer, but thought it best to not contact me until we could meet in person.

“Wow.” Was all I could say. “Well, where are we?”

Chief Hutchinson spoke.
 
“We are nowhere Mr. Reno.
 
We have some allegations from you that were supposedly communicated to you from a, now, dead man.
 
We know that you were at this Amos Duncan residence and we know that the bomb was detonated about the same time you were there.
 
We know that the ex-Mayor’s wife has hired you to investigate her husband and we know you witnessed a dinner meeting at The Manhattan Club and claimed it to be mysterious.
 
What we don’t know is anything about a secret file and we don’t know if you placed the bomb or if someone followed you and they set the bomb."

That got my hair up. “Wait a minute chief.
 
First, I don’t know if anyone followed me or not – but I doubt it.
 
I didn’t even know where I was going.
 
I mean, it’s possible but very unlikely.
 
And for what reason would I want to kill these people – that makes no sense.”

Sheriff Scruggs spoke. “Carson, what we know for sure is that we have two dead people.
 
Two people murdered in a very deliberate and hideous manner.
 
Everything else is just hearsay from you – no facts, no substance, no nothing.”

“OK guys.
 
This interrogation is over.
 
I shared my information with Larry and truly believe what I heard from Watson Clark and Bernie Taylor to have some merit.
 
My client, Monica Jeffers, is looking for a divorce – that is the sum total of my involvement in this situation.
 
I simply followed instinct.
 
I believe there is more to Barry Lassiter’s death than what has been reported and I shared that belief with Larry.
 
Now, you charge me if you have evidence – otherwise you can reach me in my office – please make an appointment!”

With that said, I got up and left.
 
Pissed would not describe my mood – I was mad.

Larry met me at the elevator.
 
“Carson, go home.
 
I’ll meet you at
‘Down Under’
in a couple of hours.” He turned around and then turned back. “By the way, Leroy Epsee is looking for you.”

“He didn’t.
 
I called him last night looking for you.
 
When we talked, he asked me to have you call him when I located you.”

“OK.” Was all I could manage.

I headed the Ford back to my apartment and tried to analyze what had just happened.
 
Somebody in that room was scared – scared of what I might know, or what others might know.
 
I needed to find that file and intended to do just that.

~

A
ndy had not yet opened the bar – guess I opened it for him as his first customer. He fixed me a burger for breakfast and I settled in to wait for Larry Parker.
 
I trusted Larry and believed, somehow, he had staged that meeting – not sure why, but I figured to find out when he got here.

It was almost noon when Larry settled in at the stool next to mine.
 
He didn’t say anything and ordered a Vodka Tonic from Andy.
 
We both sat in silence for the next five minutes.

He spoke first. “Carson, I know you’re pissed.
 
But what I did was necessary.”

“Enlighten me,” I said.

“Carson, you and I have been friends for a long time.
 
I trust your judgment and have never questioned your intentions or integrity. However, in this case, you are walking on some very thin ice and against heavy political power. This meeting was necessary for two reasons – first to assure your immediate safety and second to let the chief and sheriff know that you weren’t just somebody on a witch hunt.”

“My safety?”

“These guys play rough and, if what you believe is true, they have some political muscle behind what they do.
 
They would not hesitate to kill you and we would probably never find your body – I believe that. Getting this out to the chief and sheriff was necessary – whether they are involved or not.
 
If they are involved, it isn’t likely they would come after you right away.
 
If they aren’t involved, then it was important that they know the facts.”
 
He was serious.

“Okay, let’s me and you get back to a ‘me and you’ conversation. Can we?” I asked.

“Please let’s do.”

“Larry, I wasn’t followed.
 
Which means the bomb was there while I was there – I was just lucky not to be present when it went off.
 
Which also means that whoever blew up that trailer believes they have destroyed any file or any remaining evidence that Watson may have had."

“Okay.
 
I’ll buy that,” he said.

“Which brings me back to Bernie Taylor.
 
I believe either Bernie has the file or has some knowledge of where it might be – it wasn’t in that trailer – I can tell you that,” I nodded.

“I know that, but I didn’t want the people in our meeting to know that.
 
We can’t find Bernie and that isn’t good.
 
He lives alone and neighbors haven’t seen him since Saturday.
 
He hasn’t been back to work since talking with you.
 
What does that tell you?”

“It tells me he’s scared or maybe dead.
 
If he’s alive and knows about the bombing, and he surely does, you may never find him.
 
But, for some reason, I believe that file is hidden somewhere in plain sight.
 
Somewhere no one would think about and somewhere Watson or Bernie couldn’t get to.
 
Remember, Watson said he would destroy the file, if he had it.
 
And I can assume from that, he would have had Bernie do the same thing.
 
Make sense?”

“I’m going to the Commercial Appeal office tomorrow and ask some questions.
 
That file is somewhere in plain sight and I’m going to try and find it.”

“Okay, Carson, stay in touch.
 
I promise to return your calls and I also suggest you take that gun out of your glove box and keep it handy.
 
Understand?”

I did understand.

He got up to leave and then turned around. “Did you ever call that Gibson County Sheriff, Leroy Epsee?”

“Not yet.
 
Frankly I forgot.
 
I’ll do that now.
 
Walk easy Larry, I’ll talk with you later.”

“I hope so Carson, I hope so.”
 
I wish he hadn’t put it that way!

~

I
went to the pay phone and called Leroy.
 
Oddly enough he was in his office.