“Well, damn,” I said. “That would have been a lot easier and a lot faster. Shit.” I wondered if I looked as stupid right then as I felt. Her plan was a good plan. Undoubtedly, it would have worked, and in less than half the time. And it would have been cheaper.
Ellie said, “Once you have this link you are looking for, what next?”
“I plan on handing it over to a law enforcement official, hopefully with enough compelling evidence that they can, and will, run with it on their own.”
“But not Chief Parker?”
I said, “Possibly Chief Parker, but preferably someone on the state level.”
“L.T., I’m not sure what he does there, but I do know someone who works for the State Police. I could call him and see if he knows anyone that could help.”
“That would be awesome. Ellie, thank you.”
“For what?”
“For being such a peach about things. I know you would prefer that I drop things.”
“Yeah, well, I’m being self-serving. If my friend can help you, then it would, in turn, help me. I might not have to worry about you.”
“Either way, thanks.”
“You’re welcome. Now when are you going to get me that TV?”
***
Ellie called the next morning with good news. Her law enforcement friend was interested in talking to me. Even better, he was no longer with the State Police. Her friend was Special Agent Mark Sande, a Criminal Investigator with the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation, who, as luck would have it, was stationed in Memphis. Special Agent Sande had blocked out some time for me near the lunch hour. Ellie arranged all this for me by 7:00 a.m. I forgot to ask her how she pulled that off so fast.
Boyd seemed excited when I gave him the news. “We needed this,” said Boyd, “To make it all legit, but if this means I don’t get to shoot at anyone then I’m going to be a little disappointed.” I told him that I would see what I could do while teasing him that he had his opportunity yesterday, but passed. Boyd did not want to wait for me to get back from visiting Agent Sande; he wanted to try out his laser microphone on the Estes brothers.
“I haven’t got you a different car yet, so take my Jeep. Nobody in Emmettsville knows it. Wear a cap and sunglasses, and you should be fine.”
Boyd had a quick breakfast and left. The meeting was for later in the morning, which gave me nearly three hours to kill. Plenty of time for a good workout and a visit to a used car lot. I hated most cars from the Eighties. No handling, no horsepower. I couldn’t find anything I wanted.
I arrived a little early to the local TBI office, which allowed me time to consider how I should approach asking for help. Lay it on too hard, and it would make Chief Parker and his office look corrupt. If his office was clean, I did not want to do that to him. Play it too casual, and Mr. Sande might wonder why I was even bothering him.
I had been sitting outside the nondescript office building for about 15 minutes when a knock on my car window startled me. I whipped my head to my left to discover a tall, lean man in his late twenties dressed in casual business attire — khakis and a short-sleeved, white button-down shirt. Real clean cut. Looked fit, athletic. Friendly smile. Blue eyes. Probably did well with the ladies.
He was moving his hand in a circular fashion indicating for me to crank the window down. He was wearing a Glock 19 on his left hip in a cross draw holster. A plainclothes police officer. “Dr. McCain?” he asked. I nodded. “Special Agent Sande, come on in.”
We passed two more tall, lean men dressed in casual business attire on the way back to his office.
“You guys come off a factory line somewhere?” He shook his head indicating he had no idea what I was talking about. “Just making a joke. You guys all kind of look alike.”
“Oh. Yeah, I noticed that once too. No, were just inbred down here don’t ya know.” A playful smirk appeared on his face, the smile reached his eyes. “Come on in and have a seat.”
So far, I liked Mark Sande.
“Ellie tells me you are having some trouble back in Emmettsville. Something that I might be able to help you with.”
“Back in Emmettsville?”
“She didn’t tell you; I grew up there. Went to high school with Ellie. How is Ellie doing these days? I see her on TV but haven’t spoken to her in months, maybe a year. Come to think of it, probably about the time you two started dating. You are the same doctor she started dating a year ago, aren’t you?”
Interesting, Special Agent Sande had heard about me. Lloyd had told him about me, all good, or so Sande said. He questioned me about Ellie and our relationship for several more minutes. Special Agent Sande was obviously a good friend. My suspicion is that the two of them might have been more than friends at one time. My inner voice also told me that the breakup had not been his idea.
He eventually turned to conversation towards the reason for my visit. “Ellie didn’t tell me what was going on. She just said I would be doing her a favor, a favor for a friend.”
“Special Agent Sande…”
“Mark,” he interjected.
“Okay, Mark. Did you hear anything about a homicide in your hometown earlier this week?”
“Sure did. Emmettsville PD found a body in a car Tuesday morning.” He gave me a surprised look. “You tangled up in that mess somehow?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh, shit. Ellie didn’t tell me it was that kind of favor.”
“Well, she didn’t tell me that you were an ex-boyfriend, so I guess we both want to give her some crap about now.”
“I never said…” He paused. “Oh, forget it. Ellie and I dated our senior year of high school and first couple of years of college. And you’re right; we both got a bone to pick with her.” He was not angry with her. Nor was I. In fact, both of us were smiling at the prospect that Ellie had pulled a fast one on us. “You better tell me what’s going on. Ellie went to a lot of work setting this up.”
The best place to start a story of that magnitude is the beginning, all the way back to the night Paul Deland went missing. I explained how the initial confrontation with Eric led me to believe that Eric was involved. Jackson and Agent Sande were in high school at the same time, but he knew Junior as well. So he seemed particularly interested in my first confrontation with Junior and his five friends, and in the fight that got me arrested. Mark’s ears perked up when I mentioned Paul’s gambling debt. I did not want to influence his reasoning process, so I did not mention my suspicion that organized crime existed in Emmettsville. I also left out the conversation with Chief Parker when he asked for my help, and also about my run-in with Junior and his brother yesterday.
“Damn, you have had an interesting week.” He drew out the sentence emphasizing each word for a more dramatic effect. He leaned back in his chair; his hands interlocked behind his head. He looked relaxed, yet deep in thought.
“So, I’ve told you everything I know, what do you think?”
He was disappointed with Chief Parker, going so far as to say that the Chief needed to pursue charges against his son and the other two. I did not bother telling him that kidnapping and another assault charge could be added to the list of charges against the other Tyler and Junior.
“Doc, I was just wondering if you still think he sent those guys after you?”
“Probably not, but someone in his office did, or at least said something to someone.”
“No doubt about that. If it were me, I would look for someone about Eric’s age, maybe a friend of his on the force.”
“Makes sense,” I said. “But I’m more interested in finding out what happened to Paul. What do you think about how the gambling debt ties into the equation, Mark?”
“Could be a coincidence.”
“Sure, but what does your gut tell you?”
“Not sure.”
“Let me ask you this. If the crime did not happen in Emmettsville, say it happened here in Memphis, and you knew about the phone calls and the gambling debt, what would you think
?”
“Organized crime.”
“So the reason you are entertaining the idea that it might be a coincidence is because it happened in Emmettsville?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
Now we were getting to the real reason I came to ask for his help. I hoped he would have come to the conclusion on his own, but then he did grow up in the town and maybe even knew some of the men that attacked me; maybe it was too much of a stretch for him to consider an organized criminal element in his sleepy little hometown.
I said, “What if I told you that I know for sure that organized crime exists in Emmettsville? Would that change your mind?”
“Probably. Sure. Why, what have you got?”
“Junior and Jackson Estes are selling illegal liquor throughout Felton County.”
“You know this how?”
“I’ve personally witnessed it.” I lied out of necessity; Boyd’s involvement had to remain a secret. “And I’ve seen automobiles being delivered to their junkyard that were not junk. I’m telling you, those boys are dirty.”
The relaxed demeanor he had throughout our conversation was gone. He was brooding, his elbows up on his desk, his chin resting on his interlocked fingers. I had probably shattered his image of Emmettsville, maybe Chief Parker as well. I gave him time to digest everything I had just thrown at him. “So you think they had something to do with your friend’s death?”
“Actually, no,” I said. Agent Sande wanted to know why I was watching them then, so I explained how I was looking for a link to organized crime. Specifically, for someone that could direct me to the man down in Mississippi that Paul owed the money to.
Standing suddenly, he looked like a man with an idea. “You mind if I talk to someone else about this real quick? Someone with his finger on the pulse of organized crime in Tennessee?”
“No. That would be great.”
And that would be great. I asked John for help on the law enforcement side, but so far he had not come through. I would never have thought that Ellie was the one that would provide the help that I needed. If all went well, I could even turn the case over completely to the TBI and wash my hands of the whole thing. Ellie would be happy, for sure. I would not complain either. Justice was my goal. I did not care who delivered that justice. Boyd would be crushed. I think he wanted to bust this case wide open himself. At the very least, I was going to have to listen to him give me crap that I cheated him out of being able to shoot at someone.
It was easily 10 minutes before Special Agent Sande returned to the room. Another tall, lean man, this one in his late forties, accompanied him. He introduced himself as Captain Morgan Evans. Evans looked angry. Mark looked upset. I had a feeling the discussion did not go well for Special Agent Sande. I also had a sinking feeling it was not going to go well for me either.
I stood up and shook his outstretched hand, but said nothing. “Special Agent Sande has given me quite a report.”
I guessed right; this was not going to go well. Condescension dripped off of him like syrup off pancakes. Sitting back down almost seemed like a waste of time, but Captain Evans sat. Therefore, I followed his lead. I was trying to decide how to proceed when Captain Evans started talking again.
“You’ve reached out to Special Agent Sande for help. What exactly are you hoping for?”
“I was hoping someone would listen to my story and would want to take over my investigation. Someone who would take my information and run with it.”
Evans said, “So you were expecting the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation to listen to the report of an amateur detective and then assign one of our Special Agents to your case?”
I stood up. “Sorry for wasting your time.”
“Wait, Dr. McCain. I’m just trying to determine your intention on coming here.”
“It’s okay, Captain Evans. Ellie Carmichael told me that Special Agent Sande might be able to help me. However, you seem to be in charge, and you are obviously unwilling to help.”
“You are right; I am the Special Agent in Charge of the West Tennessee Field Unit. I’m in charge of 12 Special Agents, and we service 21 counties and seven judicial districts. I can’t send one of my men to Emmettsville simply because you found a lost wallet and got into a fight with some local yokels while playing amateur sleuth.”
That cemented it for me; this man was a dick. It was time to be the one asking the questions. “Captain Evans, what’s the motto of the TBI?” I knew the answer; I had seen it written on a plaque in the lobby.
Captain Evans was surprised by the question. Maybe even a little annoyed. He paused, and then said, “That guilt shall not escape, nor innocence suffer.”
“It’s a good motto, don’t you think?”
“Sure…”
“Like my pastor says, ‘That could preach.’ Good words to live by. Sounds like a good motto for a law enforcement agency. You happy with the motto?”
Captain Evans said, “I see where you are going with this Dr. McCain, it’s just th—”
“That’s awesome, Captain Evans. I’m so glad you understand my intention for coming here. I like your motto too. I don’t want the guilty to escape either.”
“That’s not what I was going to say.”
“So, it’s not a philosophical problem. Must be more practical then. Maybe you think my hypothesis does not hold water. Fine, I can accept that. But before you dismiss me completely, you should know I am not an amateur detective. The United States Navy paid me to investigate crime years ago. I even got a medal because they thought I had done a good job. Would you like to see it?”
Captain Evans eyes squinted while looking at me. You could cut the tension in the room with a knife. I found that I did not care.
“So, hear me when I say that the wallet was not lost. It was found in an unlikely location under suspicious circumstances. I was not amateur sleuthing; I was investigating. And whether I’m right or wrong about Jackson and Junior Estes having anything to do with Paul Deland’s homicide, you still have organized crime in Emmettsville, Tennessee. Which, I imagine, falls well within the jurisdiction of the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation.”
“Dr, McCain, I don’t appreciate…”
“I don’t care what you appreciate, sir,” I interrupted. “I only care about justice.” Captain Evans cast me a blank stare. “Justice for a murdered man.”
Special Agent Sande was watching the exchange with a look of pure trepidation. He looked like a kid in a wagon with a loose wheel, just wondering when that wheel was going to fall off. He was Ellie’s friend, ex-boyfriend to be exact, and I hated putting him in the middle of an argument with his superior.
Captain Evans stood to his full height and leaned in towards me. His hand came up, and he started pointing at me. A lecture or a scolding was coming. “Listen here, Dr. McCain. I pride myself on being a part of an organization that has faithfully served the people of the Volunteer State every day since 1951.”
“Congratulations,” I interrupted, the mocking tone coming out so strong it even surprised me a little bit.
“I was not finished! Even if I wanted to help you, and I’m not saying I do, the Bureau could not investigate in Emmettsville without a request from the Attorney General within that judicial district. Are you an Attorney General, Dr. McCain?”
“You know what, Captain, you should have lead with that. I could have done without the condescension. Just because I don’t have a Southern accent does not mean that I’m not also a citizen of the Volunteer State. I love Memphis. It’s home to me. I have a question for you, Captain.” He did not answer, but the look on his face indicated he was willing to hear my question. “Do you still need a request from the Attorney General to investigate organized crime, or does that fall under original jurisdiction?”
His eyes narrowed, a scowl spread across his face. I had asked the right question.
“I’m not going to help you, Dr. McCain. And my advice for you is that you leave the investigating to Chief Parker and his police
force. Special Agent Sande will see you out.”
CHAPTER 29
“If at first you don’t succeed…” The popular proverb came to mind as Agent Sande escorted me from the building. Maybe all Captain Evans needed was more convincing evidence. Something strong enough that he felt compelled to investigate. I was not going to give up just yet. I would give the TBI one more chance to help, but only one more, because W. C. Fields had been right when he said, “If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again. Then quit. There’s no point in being a damn fool about it.”
Agent Sande was very apologetic on the way out to my car. He informed me that I had been right concerning my assumption of original jurisdiction concerning organized crime and that he would love to help; however, his hands were tied. I knew that and told him not to worry. I would be back. He would be impressed. I did not know what I meant by that, but it sounded good at the time. I thanked him for coming in on a Saturday for me, but he informed me that it was his weekend to work anyway.
Maybe Boyd would come back with something. Maybe I could pay another visit to Jackson at the junk yard to prime the conversation. I could only imagine that conversation, especially a day after breaking into their salvage yard and rescuing Boyd. If that did not work, then I was going to have to pull out my backup plan, which was not something I wanted.
My pager, which I left in the car while visiting Special Agent Sande, had been very busy. Ellie paged me. The hospital paged me. Boyd paged me. Twice. He did not use our predetermined emergency code; instead, he had typed 411, which signified he had information, important information and that I should call him immediately. I drove back to my apartment and called Boyd at the Traveler’s Inn.
Boyd answered on the first ring. “Hot damn, Lieutenant, I am about to make your day. Are you sitting down?”
I sat down. “Let me have it, Boyd.”
“So you know how my laser microphone is a prototype and does not have recording capability?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, I fixed it so it does.”
“Boyd, are you playing around in my head. I was just thinking how it would be nice if we could record.”
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