Читать книгу Three Deuces Down - Keith Donnelly - Страница 10

My favorite time of day is early morning after a good night’s sleep. I was up at six and in the lounge of the Residence Inn getting that first cup of elixir and devouring the sports pages. Tennessee was a six-point underdog against Georgia. The game was in Athens. Both teams were ranked in the top ten and Georgia considered it their biggest game in years. Big Bob and I were going to the game and I felt nervous already.

I went back to my room, hooked up my laptop and went online to check the market. I went through my various portfolios surveying the winners and losers. My luck—intuition, gift, or whatever it was—was holding. I made one purchase and one sell, checked all my e-mail and logged off. It seemed as if I had been online maybe a half hour. Actually it was two. I shaved, showered and dressed in a fresh shirt and different tie and checked the time. It was after nine.

I called the lovely Emily. “Tom Slack Investigations,” she said answering the phone in a very businesslike voice. Not the voice she had used on me the night before.

“Good morning,” I said, curious to see if she recognized my voice. I have been told I have a rather distinctive voice. I would guess it is because of my southern upbringing and my northern schooling and the fact that I worked hard to lose some of the drawl that caused me to be unmercifully teased in my freshman year at UConn.

“Hi, Don,” she answered. “Is this a personal call or business?”

“Both,” I answered truthfully. The market had taught me always to keep my options open.

“I have something for you.”

“Shoot.”

“Ed’s ex-wife is Mary Sanders. They divorced six months before Ed was killed. She lives in the Green Tree Apartments off Sutherland Avenue. Telephone 476-6484. Two kids, both in college at Wake Forest.”

“Hold it,” I said. “Is one of the kids named Jimmy?”

“Yes. How did you know?”

“He’s an All-ACC quarterback. Might make All-America this year.”

“The only football I follow is UT,” Emily said, scoring points with me. “Anyway, the other kid is Susan. She’s a couple of years younger than Jimmy. Plays basketball. Anything else you need?”

I had a bunch of smart remarks for that question, but I decided to play it straight. “Did Mary Sanders know that Ed was working for Tom Slack?” I asked.

“Yes, she knew.”

“Would she remember you?”

“Maybe.”

“Ask Tom if you can call her and arrange an interview for me. Tell her that I’m a private investigator working on an old case that Ed might have worked on and that I would like to ask her some questions. Be as vague as you can.”

I was beginning to understand the art of investigation. Ask a question and get an answer that leads to two more questions. Follow a lead down a single path and the path invariably forks. This case was getting too geometric. The questions and leads were piling up and I could see at least two opposite directions to take. A lot of the leads would probably prove to be a waste of time. So be it. I still didn’t like the coincidence that Ed Sanders died so soon after investigating Ronnie Fairchild. I figured I had at least another week of work before I exhausted all my leads. I also figured that, unless they found me, I was not going to find Ronnie and Sarah Ann Fleet Fairchild. People who work hard at not being found are very hard to find, and the Fairchilds had nearly three million reasons not to be found. My philosophic daydream ended when the phone rang.

“Youngblood.”

“Mary Sanders has agreed to see you. She will meet you in the lounge of the Residence Inn at one-thirty,” Emily said.

“Thanks, you’ve been a big help.”

“When are you leaving?”

“Right after I talk to Mary Sanders.”

“When are you coming back?”

I didn’t know how to answer that one. I had a strong urge to see Emily again but I had an unspoken commitment in Mountain Center. I gave Emily the best answer I could.

“I don’t know, but I hope I see you again sometime,” I said.

“Call me if you need anything, Don,” Emily purred.

At one-thirty I was in a corner of the Residence Inn lounge that I had staked out fifteen minutes earlier. Mary Sanders had not yet made an appearance. The Pathfinder was in the parking lot, packed for the drive back to Mountain Center. The vision of Emily Wright was shoved into a back corner of my mind and I was ready to go home and ravage the lovely Sandy Smith. As I was about to pursue this carnal fantasy, I was interrupted by reality.

A tall, attractive blond woman walked into the lobby and paused at the registration desk looking around. Mary Sanders. She was not at all what I expected. She turned, spotted me and approached with an air of confidence and purpose. She was in the uniform of her profession and her nameplate confirmed who she was. Mary Sanders was a cop.

“Officer,” I stood and nodded offering her a chair and handing her my card.

“Mary,” she smiled.

“Don,” I countered.

She looked much younger than I had expected. With a son who had to be near twenty-two, Mary was probably no younger than forty but I would have guessed thirty to thirty-five. She was close to six feet tall and even the uniform could not hide all of her very attractive assets. She had clear blue eyes that stared straight into mine. This was not a lady to be messed with.

“Thank you for taking the time to see me.”

“I was curious,” she countered. “What are you working on?”

I told her about the disappearance of Ronnie and Sarah Ann Fairchild and about the fact that her ex-husband had checked out Ronnie Fairchild’s background a few days before he died.

“You think there is a connection between Ed’s death and this case?”

The question surprised me. “You don’t think Ed’s death was an accident?”

“Never have, never will,” she said shaking her head. “Ed was an alcoholic, but he would never drive drunk. He would take a cab, call me, call a friend but never drink and drive. I knew him almost all my life and I am sure of it.”

Her stare was intense. Her sincerity was compelling. It didn’t jive with what Tom Slack had said, but maybe he was just guessing.

“So, who do you think killed him?”

“I don’t know. Ed and I had not lived together for two years before the divorce. He drank a lot and might have been into some things he shouldn’t have been into. Drugs maybe.” She paused as if trying to decide whether to tell me more. “I’ve never told anyone this, and if you repeat it I’ll deny it, but I have this feeling I can trust you.” Mary moved closer and lowered her voice although there was no one else in sight. “A few days before he was killed, Ed mailed me a package with a note saying it was some money for the kids to help with college. The note said to put it in a safe place and that there probably would be more money later. There wasn’t.”

“How much money?”

“Ten thousand dollars,” Mary said slowly. “No way he comes up with that kind of money unless he is into something wrong.”

“Did you ask him about it?”

“Never had the chance.”

The look on Mary’s face was a blend of sadness and anger. I let her words hang for a moment and then asked, “What did you do with the money?”

“I was going to give it back, but before I could Ed was killed. I didn’t know what to do with it so I bought each of the kids a five thousand dollar CD and put them in my safety deposit box. They are still there.”

“You did the right thing,” I assured her. “Were you at the scene of the accident?”

“No. The so-called accident happened around 3 am. I had gotten off work at midnight. I came straight home and went to bed. I found out the next day.”

“Did you see the scene later?”

“Yes,” she answered. “I couldn’t help myself. The more I thought about it the more I did not think it was an accident. The kids were really upset and Ed didn’t have any family other than us so I had to make all the arrangements. By the time I visited the scene it was cleaned up, but it was the perfect place to stage an accident if someone was trying to make it look that way. All the components were there—a fairly long curve, late at night, drunk driver with a history of alcohol, steep embankment, no guardrail. Car goes straight when road curves. Car leaves road, rolls over five or six times, gets torn all to pieces and explodes.”

Mary’s monotone described the scene as if she had been over it many times in her head. She rattled off the details with the blank stare of someone who was not in the present. Mary paused and the stare continued. I reached out and put my hand on her shoulder and brought her back to the here and now.

“Sorry,” she said.

“It’s OK. Were they able to get a blood alcohol level from the body?”

“Yes. Ed was thrown from the car, official cause of death, broken neck. His blood alcohol level was point one five. I screamed for an autopsy and got it. The ME said he thinks Ed was alive when the car left the road but he could not be sure. Nothing he found was inconsistent with the wreck.”

“He could have been unconscious,” I observed.

“Without a doubt,” Mary said.

“Did you try to check out his whereabouts before the accident?”

“Yes. Once I got things settled down with the kids. I never told the kids that I didn’t think Ed’s death was an accident. It would have killed Jimmy. He took it the hardest. Jimmy and his dad were pals. It hurt him so bad he quit the basketball team in mid-season and he was all-city as a freshman. Then he refused to go out for football. Said he would always be looking for his dad in the stands. It took him a while to accept Ed’s death and when he did he went back to sports. Susan and Ed weren’t getting along very well at the time of Ed’s death. Ed wasn’t treating me very well and Susan disliked him for it. She felt guilty that she never resolved the conflict. Anyway, I’m rambling,” she said with a little embarrassed smile. “I loved Ed once and he was the father of my children. If anyone took his life, I want to find out who and why.

“A few days after the funeral I asked Bud Hoffman to check out his local hangouts to see if he had been at one of them the night of his death. Bud was the first on the scene of Ed’s accident and I know him casually. Anyway, no luck—dead-ends everywhere. In fact, he could not find a single person, other than Tom Slack, who had seen Ed alive since he returned from that Connecticut trip.”

My ears perked up. “How did you know Ed went to Connecticut?”

“He told Jimmy. Jimmy was all excited. Ed told him he was going into New York City while he was there and would get Jimmy a Yankees baseball cap. I found the cap in Ed’s apartment when I went through his things.”

I was running out of questions but I was enjoying talking to Mary Sanders. “I was told Bud Hoffman left the Knoxville police force last year. Do you know where he went?”

“New Orleans. Bud was from Louisiana and always wanted to be a part of the New Orleans PD.”

In my mind, I went over everything Mary had told me. Our eyes met in a contemplative stare. Two very different, yet very attractive, women in two days, I needed to get out more often, I thought.

Mary smiled. “Want another case?”

“No, thanks,” I smiled back. “The one I’ve got is tough enough, but if I find out anything else about Ed’s death, I’ll let you know.”

She took out a card and wrote her home number and beeper number on the back, then handed it to me. “If I can ever be of help or if you find out anything, give me a call,” Mary said as we stood up.

“I’ll do it. It was nice meeting you, Mary. Thanks for your time and your honesty.”

She looked directly at me with those piercing blue eyes. “I hope I see you again sometime.”

Before I could think of a reply, Mary Sanders turned and was gone. I watched her disappear out the front door. Now I had two reasons for wanting to come back to Knoxville. I’ve really got to get out of this town, I thought.

I was roaring up I-81 with an urgent need for close female contact in the person of one Sandy Smith. I reached for my cell and speed dialed her work number. “Cassandra Smith,” she answered.

“You might want to record this. It’s going to be an obscene phone call.”

“Great, those are the best kind.”

“Please tell me that we are on for tonight.”

“You too, huh? Damn right we are. Better be well rested.”

I slowed to seventy-five miles an hour and put the Pathfinder on cruise. “No problem,” I said. “But cut the sexy talk before I run off the road.”

She laughed. “I can’t talk now, lover. Got to run. See you around seven?”

“Count on it,” I said and hung up. The drive home had just become a whole lot more enjoyable. I never did believe the old saying that anticipation is ninety per cent of satisfaction, but it sure has its place.

I observed daylight making its slow retreat behind the Great Smoky Mountains as I knocked on Sandy’s condo door. She lived in the same complex that I did except at the other end in building one. It was a very long walk that Jake and I both needed. The nights were getting progressively cooler and the mountain air was fragrant with autumn smells, my favorite time of the year. Sandy opened the door and I forgot all about weather and seasons. She was wearing sandals, jeans, a T-shirt, and a big smile. A faint hint of nipples from her ample breasts accented her T-shirt suggesting she was not wearing a bra. Her black curly hair glistened in the fading sunlight that peeked over my shoulder and her turquoise-blue eyes sparkled. I resisted the urge to grab her then and there and instead kissed her lightly on the mouth. At that moment Jake, who had waited patiently behind me, bounded in.

“Jakie!” Sandy squealed. She immediately knelt and began to give Jake a good rub around his neck and ears.

“Boy, I see who ranks around here,” I teased.

“You’ll get yours later big guy,” Sandy grinned.

“My ears rubbed?”

“Yes, and more. Now get in the kitchen and fix that famous Caesar salad. I’m starved.”

Jake went immediately to the living area and lay down in front of the fireplace even though there was no fire. It was his favorite spot in Sandy’s condo. I went obediently to the kitchen and began preparing Caesar salad. Sandy began working on fettuccini with a light Alfredo sauce and garlic bread. A bottle of Kendall Jackson Chardonnay was on the kitchen island, opened and waiting. Sandy poured two glasses. I usually drank beer but I could not pass up a bottle of “KJ” as she called it. I sipped the wine and began to create.

Youngblood’s recipe for terrific Caesar salad goes something like this: Start with the best head of romaine lettuce you can find and tear off the bottom, thereby separating the leaves. Wash in ice-cold water and pat dry with paper towel. Tear the leaves into eatable size portions while scrutinizing for any flaws in the lettuce. Be liberal in what you throw away. Split the stalk where it is too large. Place the lettuce in a jumbo salad bowl and add an appropriate amount of Cardini’s original Caesar salad dressing. Yes, I know I should make my dressing from scratch using an egg and anchovies, but what do you expect from a bachelor? Toss the lettuce until the leaves are lightly coated. Using a brick of Parmesan cheese, grate an appropriate amount over the lettuce. Add homemade croutons (which I made earlier). Be sure and crush some of the croutons so that you have some nice size crumbs spread throughout the salad. This will enhance the flavor. Toss until all ingredients are well mixed, then eat your heart out.

We were in bed and it was well past midnight. Dinner had been a rousing success. After dinner had been even better. When we had finished the last of the wine I kissed her. Seconds later Sandy and I were hurriedly undressing each other on the way to Sandy’s king-size bed. We had urgent, physical sex followed by a less aggressive period of very tender sensual lovemaking. After a rest and a long conversation about stocks and my case, we made love again. Sandy lay asleep in my arms and I was on the twilight of sleep trying to figure out my next move on the Fleet case. The last thing I remember was thinking that maybe I should find Bud Hoffman.