Out Jumps Jack Death: A Clancy Evans Mystery (Clancy Evans PI Book 8)

by M. Glenn Graves

  “Much further?” I said.

  “Another couple of hours. Drink some water. It’ll help with your stamina.”

  Ten minutes later we back at it, trudging our way up again toward our goal of Big Bald. The rains of the season, along with some warm weather, created a growth spurt in the green foliage, both trees and wildflowers. Some of the rhododendron were beginning to show tiny buds in several places along the trail. I was surprised and said as much to Starnes. All she did was mutter something about early warm spell did it. The higher we climbed, the sparser the foliage became. Fewer blooms, buds, and leaves. Looked more like it should look at this time of year.

  It was after four when we arrived at the marker which told us we were standing on Big Bald. I would never have known otherwise. Sam was sniffing around as if he was on to something. Starnes meandered about the spot as if she were looking for something as well. I sat down on a rock large enough to hold me and watched the two of them trudge about. My legs were a little weary from my trudging up the slopes. I desperately needed some rest from the trudging. I am a jogger and my legs are in excellent shape, I must say; still, hiking up the likes of this mountain was different. That’s my story and I’m sticking close to it.

  “We must be early,” I said.

  “No.”

  “No? We missed them?”

  “I don’t think so,” Starnes said.

  I watched her approach a strange configuration about fifty feet from where I was sitting. I moved from my perch and followed Starnes to the unusual creation of nature. In simple terms it was nothing more than a large tree trunk, roughly three feet in diameter, which had been severed about five feet up from the ground. Not a smooth cut, mind you, but a fierce bolt of lightning or strong wind came through at just the right moment and the magnificent poplar was no more. Except for the large trunk left behind from nature’s wrath.

  What made the configuration unusual was that another poplar had grown right in the middle of that left-behind tree trunk as if the tree was saying to the forest surrounding it that it had no intention of quitting. The new tree was some thirty feet tall and developing rapidly. The arrangement resembled a wooden mushroom. Sort of.

  I admired its tenacity.

  The old tree trunk provided a circular shelf around the new poplar. Only level in some spots, it was mostly made of sharp points dulled by the relentless weather that had passed since the great fall of the original tree. Time.

  Starnes walked around the trunk. She was looking for something. I moved behind her. On the backside, away from the trail, she pulled a small, folded green leaf from its hidden place among some of the sharp points of the trunk. She unwrapped the leaf to reveal a piece of paper.

  “How on earth did you know to look for that?”

  “It’s what Laurel does.”

  “You refer to the mountain flower,” I said to be certain I understood her.

  “No. Rosey’s companion,” she said.

  “Oh, that Laurel. Prearranged?”

  “More or less,” she said and put the small piece of paper in her pocket.

  “You’re not going to reveal the contents,” I said.

  “She’s close.”

  Starnes walked back to the Big Bald marker and sat down on my rock. I joined her. It easily accommodated the two of us.

  “They’re making sure that all is safe,” she said.

  Several minutes into our wait, I spotted a small, orange lizard on the ground near my boots. Some birds were singing off in the distance. The music of the songbirds did a fair job of accompanying the frantic movements of my orange friend’s frantic gyrations below me. All in all, the spot was rather pleasant. A dance from nature with music.

  “You alone?” Starnes said suddenly.

  I looked up and there was a young girl standing off to our right. I never heard her approach.

  “Yes,” she said and walked over to our rock.

  “This is Laurel,” Starnes said to me.

  “Pleasure,” I said and nodded to her.

  “Same here,” she answered. “You Mr. Rosey’s friend?”

  “I am. Well, we both are.”

  “He’s a hunk,” Laurel said.

  “You noticed,” I said.

  “Hard to miss. And some kind of hiker,” she said. “The man is like … strong.”

  “Laurel would know,” Starnes added. “She’s been hiking since she was four years old.”

  “Know the mountains, huh?” I said.

  “Pretty good,” Laurel said.

  “Understatement,” Starnes said. “So where’s Rosey?”

  “Can’t say for sure, but he’s not coming here.”

  “Where’s he going?” Starnes said.

  “Don’t know that either. He thought it best if I not know too much about his itinerary.”

  “Sounds like him,” I said. “Been waiting on us long?”

  I made the assumption that Laurel had been close to us the entire time since we had arrived.

  “An hour or two,” she said.

  Confirmation of my assumption. I had been watching the lizard for less than an hour.

  “Wow. You made good time in arriving here,” Starnes said.

  “And you underestimated me,” Laurel said.

  “You waited a good while to show yourself,” I said.

  “Just making sure you two weren’t followed,” she said matter-of-factly. My guess was that she was following Rosey’s instructions.

  Starnes smiled to herself before she informed us it was time to leave.

  36

  By the time we arrived back at the truck, it was close to 8 o’clock. It was dark and I was glad we had finished hiking for the day. Really not my cup of tea. Starnes looked a little weary, but Laurel appeared unfazed by the whole ordeal. Something about youth and energy passed through my exhausted brain.

  Laurel did not know where Rosey was going but she at least was able to provide us with the direction he headed when she last saw him. Not much to go on, but at least it was a start.

  “Southwest,” was all that she was able to say.

  “He give you a reason?” Starnes said.

  “For separating or the direction?” Laurel asked.

  “Either.”

  “I didn’t ask.”

  “And he didn’t want you along?” Starnes said.

  “No. He said it could be dangerous.”

  “We have no way of contacting him,” Starnes said.

  “He’ll find us,” I said.

  “The Blue Ridge Mountains are kinda spacious,” Starnes said.

  “It’s in his veins. That S.E.A.L. thing,” I said.

  “He also has my phone,” Laurel added.

  “He took your phone?” I said.

  “Not if you mean stole it or strong-armed me. He asked and I gave it.”

  “A teenager willingly giving up her phone,” I said. “Go figure.”

  “Not a teenager,” Laurel said.

  “Almost a teenager?” I said.

  “Nearly. Eight more months, then I’m the dreaded teenager.”

  “Twelve years old and you roam these mountains like they were your backyard,” I said.

  “They are my backyard,” she flashed a rare smile in my direction, and then it disappeared just as fast as it had come. Intriguing young lady.

  Sam moved a short distance away from the truck. He was chasing some scent. Laurel followed him. Starnes and I sat in the front seats with the doors open and waited for them to return. I knew Sam would be back directly.

  “Laurel have a surname?” I said to Starnes.

  “Shelton. Father was an outsider who married a mountain woman some years ago. Laura Beth Call. They divorced some ten years ago, but the genes stayed. William Shelton, the father, was a brilliant man, maybe pure genius. Laura Beth was a child of the mountains. Loves the natural world. William was an inside person. Wasn’t a marriage made in heaven or anywhere else for that matter. Seemed to be at odds with each other from the o
utset. One child from it, Laurel Storm Shelton. She moves towards her mother’s inclinations, but definitely has her daddy’s brain-style.”

  “Brain-style. New phrasing for me. And her daddy was a brilliant man, you say?”

  “Died about three years ago, I think it was. Brain tumor, ironically. Apparently those nasty cancers are no respecter of intelligence. Seem to come and go at will.”

  “Why isn’t she in school?” I said.

  “Laura Beth home schools her.”

  Starnes moved away from her seat and stood alongside the truck to stretch.

  “So the father wasn’t the only smart person in her life.”

  “I didn’t say the mother was dumb, only that she loved nature more than books.”

  “And you know this family because …?” I said.

  Just then Laurel and Sam returned from their escapade. Laurel opened the back driver’s side door and let Sam jump in ahead of her. She followed.

  “Long story. I’ll tell you sometime,” Starnes said and climbed into the truck.

  “Find anything interesting?” I said to Laurel over my shoulder.

  “The whole world is interesting,” she said.

  “Where do we go now, Chief?” Starnes said as she headed the truck back down Highway 19. “Weaverville or the preacher’s pad?”

  I was at a loss. Sometimes detectives have no idea what to do next. This was not my kind of detective work. In fact, it didn’t feel anything like what I am good at doing. This was dodging the Federal Government and some of its officials while trying to figure out how to keep a friend alive. Now that the friend had gone off on his own, we were left to our own imaginations as how to assist him.

  On the other hand, I was being sought after by those same Federal employees because of my aiding and abetting, so to speak. My thinking was that it was more like leverage for them if they captured me. For the moment, there was more at stake than protecting Roosevelt Washington.

  “I have a hunch,” Starnes said since I had no immediate answer.

  “Didn’t think scientists hunched.”

  “Now and then, not as a habit. But, I think the coast might be clear back at the farm.”

  “Really.”

  “Let’s give it a try. We can be stealthy.”

  “Worth pursuing.”

  Despite the darkness of the hour, it was easy to see that there were no governmental vehicles lurking about Starnes’ place once we arrived. Starnes had turned on her high beams and drove cautiously around to some of the hidden places on the property just to be certain that her hunch had been correct. We also looked at the adjacent properties to be sure that they were not trying to be stealthy themselves.

  We finally parked in front. Starnes, Laurel, and Sam practically bolted into the house. I climbed out slowly hoping that my legs would still speak to me tomorrow. I knew that I was older than Starnes, but not that much older. So much for my conditioning program. You gotta love these mountains. They seem to bring out those aspects of life which need attention. That’s true on more than just one level.

  Rogers called.

  “I hope you have something that will help me,” I said upon answering.

  “You sound a little frustrated,” she said.

  “Flummoxed. And tired. Take away the clouds from my angst.”

  “Not likely to happen this time around, but I have something.”

  “Gimme what you got.”

  “I retrieved some police info from the D.C. men in blue and learned that the .22 caliber used to silence Jeffrey Durant was a weapon also used in several unsolved murder cases in and around the D.C. metropolitan area in the last two years. There were no fingerprints on the gun but they did trace the serial number from it back to some bottom tier criminal mastermind named Boogins Fatdog Morrison.”

  “You make this stuff up.”

  “Straight from the files of the police reports.”

  “And they arrested Fatdog?”

  “Incarcerated yesterday.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Got a confession from him forthwith. Said he was offered 10 Gs to snuff out Jeffrey, but didn’t know the man who paid him. Said he was still owed the balance and demanded a phone call to get that money.”

  “And the police gave him the phone.”

  “According to the unusually thorough report, he called and made contact and … well, another stellar job by D.C.’s finest. They made an arrest.”

  “Please tell me it was Thaddeus Wilkerson.”

  “You wish. No such luck. I think that Thad’s a tad smarter than the mastermind Boogins Fatdog.”

  “A girl can hope. Crooks can do some dumb things. So who did they apprehend?”

  “Another employee of the Secret Service,” Rogers said.

  “You’re pullin’ my chain,” I said.

  “I don’t like that metaphor, but, no, I am not pulling anything. Some agent named Roscoe Gomez was arrested and charged with solicitation of murder or murder for hire or some such crime. He had $5,000 on him, small unmarked bills. Apparently for the payoff.”

  “Does any of this have a direct linkage to Wilkerson?”

  “Maybe. I’m running with that at the moment.”

  “You have a lead.”

  “Truth be told, I do. It came from Roscoe Gomez’s phone. I found my way to his contact list. The name of Michael Salzburg was hiding behind speed dial number two. I thought that rather interesting.”

  “Nothing to send him away for life, but yes, it is rather interesting.”

  “The dots are joining.”

  “Should I ask just how you found your way to his contact list?”

  “No, better not. A girl has to have her secrets, you know.”

  “And you have nothing on Wilkerson?”

  “I didn’t say that. I’ve been keeping tabs on him as you would need me to do and it seems that he is meeting with someone special in two days according to his computer calendar.”

  “Someone special, huh? Male or female?” I said.

  “Hard to know.”

  “One of those names that could go either way?”

  “You might say that. But since I am an all-wise functioning genius computer, I have access to a world of information.”

  “No doubt. So give me the name.”

  “Sai Leekpai.”

  “Well,” I said, “that’s more of an enigma than John Smith. And who is Sai Leekpai?”

  “I’m still searching for more on that. But I can tell you that Sai Leekpai is from Thailand.”

  “That peaks my curiosity.”

  “I thought it might. A tangential dot, but at least it has a way of being joined to some other dots in our maze. I’ll keep digging and get back to you.”

  “And this meeting with Sai Leekpai … where is it to take place?” I said.

  “Best Hunan Restaurant close to DuPont Circle.”

  “Aren’t there some good Thai restaurants in D.C.?”

  “There are.”

  “So Wilkerson is serving his own culinary tastes.”

  “Goes to his character, I’d say. I found a marginal note in his itinerary journal that made some non-flattering comments about Thai food as well as Thai people.”

  “Should be an interesting meet with Sai. And the name of this restaurant?”

  “Are you not listening to me?”

  “I’m doing my best.”

  “I just told you the name.”

  “Really? It must’ve walked right past me. Tell me again.”

  “Best Hunan Restaurant.”

  “Oh. Yeah, I heard that. Thought it was Wilkerson’s description from the journal. Best Hunan Restaurant and it’s close to DuPont Circle.”

  “Shall I make arrangements for you to join them?”

  “I’ll be a fly on the wall,” I said.

  “Will you be stopping by the apartment to check on your house plants?” Rogers said.

  “I don’t have any houseplants.”

  “True. If y
ou did, they’d all be dead from lack of attention.”

  “You must miss me, or do you want some houseplants?”

  “I’m good, dearie, but my metaphorical arms do not reach to the window sill in this apartment. Limitations imposed by those who designed me.”

  “So you finally admit some limitations.”

  “Not where it matters the most.”

  “So you do miss me?”

  “I need verification of your existence.”

  “My voice not sufficient?”

  “Visual contact now and then is more reliable.”

  “I’ll see what I can do. Meanwhile, find more about Sai Leekpai from Thailand and keep looking into that Michael Salzburg person.”

  “The info is never too far away from my tentacles,” she said and clicked off.

  Every detective could use a Rogers. But I doubt if every detective would have the disposition to live with one.

  37

  We were convinced that the government people had left the premises. They had apparently left for parts unknown. We found a note addressed to me which was taped to the front door. Someone must have figured that I would eventually return to this place. Made me wonder as to why they didn’t hide and wait. Go figure.

  Laurel took Sam for a short run in the dark. The girl had no fear as well as an abundance of stamina. Starnes and I sat down on the front steps after she turned the porch light on. I read her the note:

  Miss Evans: You and your cohorts have helped Roosevelt Washington escape apprehension. We will not give up our search for Washington, but the Blue Ridge mountains prove to be a force too exhaustive at present and without additional equipment and manpower, we are backing off. I will be in touch. – Rod Summers, Special Agent F.B.I.

  “Nice note,” Starnes said.

  “Grammatical, too.”

  “It seems I’m one of your cohorts.”

  “He said as much.”

  “Define cohort,” Starnes said.

  “Friends, buddies, cronies, and the like.”

  “Cronies, huh?”

  “Yeah, it’s a synonym.”

  “Do tell.”

  “You asked.”

  “To the point,” Starnes said. “You believe him?”

  “Not a word.”