Murder on the Lake of Fire

by Mikel J. Wilson

  When Victor hung up on him, Emory took several deep breaths to relieve some of the tension tightening his torso. “Crap.”

  An hour later he was picking Wayne up in front of his house. During the short ride to Jeff’s office, the older man told Emory what he had found out about Scot’s life before he was hired at the Algarotti Smoky Mountain Springs factory.

  “Scot Trousdale worked for three years as a manager at a nightclub here in Knoxville called If Tomorrow Comes.”

  “Seriously?” Emory asked when he heard the name of the club Jeff had taken him to the week before.

  “You know the place?”

  Emory didn’t want to get into details, so he kept his answer simple. “I’ve heard of it.”

  “Okay. Well, Scot’s planned distributor here – the one we arrested last night – is someone who worked as bartender at the same club. Before that, Trousdale worked retail. He graduated from Tennessee Tech nine years ago with a bachelor’s in business. He was arrested once for selling marijuana but was never convicted. Besides peddling drugs, his favorite hobby is fighting. He has a brown belt in Brazilian Jiu Jitsu, and he’s competed in some local tournaments – winning some, losing some.”

  Emory rubbed his sore neck with his free hand. “Yeah, I’ve experienced that firsthand.”

  “You got him. That’s what’s important. From the texts you’ve sent me, it looks like you’ve had quite an eventful weekend.”

  “Yeah, I need to fill in the details for you.”

  “Wasn’t that PI…What’s his name again?”

  “Jeff.” Who you’re about to share a car with. This is going to be a ride from hell. Or to it.”

  “Jeff? What kind of name is Jeff for a private eye?” Wayne laughed, but when Emory didn’t play along, he finished his question. “Weren’t you two together when the skating coach went up in flames?”

  “Yes.” Where is he heading with this question?

  “And again when the evil stepmother almost bought it.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Man, people aren’t safe when you two are together. You two are like nitrogen and glycerin.”

  Nitrogen and glycerin? What the hell are you talking about?

  Wayne nodded. “Yeah, that’s right. I know some chemistry too.”

  That isn’t how you make nitroglycerin. Screw it. Let him have it. Emory gave him a polite chuckle.

  “Oh, I forgot to tell you that you were right about Victor’s gun.”

  “It’s the one used to kill Rick Roberts’ dog?”

  “I talked to Cathy this morning, and she told me to let you know. It only had Victor’s prints.”

  “Probably wiped after shooting the dog.”

  Wayne looked out the window and pointed. “Hey, you missed the interstate.”

  Emory’s lips tightened. “We have a stop to make before we get on the road.”

  “What stop?”

  He waited a second before blurting out, “I promised to give a ride to the PI.”

  “What?!” Wayne slammed the side of his fist into the door. “Why are you helping him?”

  “Because I gave him my word, and I’m going to abide by it. He helped me out this weekend – when you weren’t there.” Emory knew that statement would anger Wayne more but also play to his guilt for being just a forty-hour-a-week employee.

  “Hey, I have a family! Let’s see how many damn hours you work when you get married and have kids.”

  Wayne’s retort demonstrated just how little he knew about his partner. “That wasn’t my point,” Emory said, although it was. “We wouldn’t have Scot in custody without him, and the drugs he shipped would be on the street now.”

  Wayne unclenched his fists but muttered a few grunts. “Tell me everything that happened.”

  “I will, but we’re here.” Emory nodded toward Jeff, who was standing on the sidewalk in front of his office.

  “Great,” Wayne groaned.

  Wearing his own clothes now and a wide grin, Jeff jumped into the back seat and didn’t hesitate a breath before he started needling Wayne. “Agent Rome. Agent Fuckwad.”

  Wayne looked over his shoulder and growled at him, “It’s Special Agent Buckwald! Dick.”

  “Ooh, sorry. Emory, can we stop by the bookstore? I forgot to pick something up this morning.”

  Emory smiled at Jeff’s grinning reflection in the rearview mirror. “We don’t have time. I was just about to apprise Wayne of everything that’s happened over the weekend. Maybe you could fill in any blanks.”

  “Sure.”

  “I’m not going to talk about the case in front of this wannabe!” Wayne insisted with an angry thumb jabbing the air over his shoulder.

  “Fine with me,” Jeff said. “Stay ignorant, Special Agent Fuckwad.”

  Wayne turned around like he was going to jump over the seat. Emory threw a hand to his right shoulder to stop him, causing the car to swerve. “Cut it out!”

  “I’m going to kick his fucking ass!” Wayne screamed as he turned back around to face the windshield.

  Jeff just laughed.

  Emory grimaced at the man in the back seat. “You two are acting like children. Wayne, he was there. Jeff, antagonism doesn’t encourage results.”

  “Depends on the results you’re after,” Jeff muttered.

  “Enough! We’ve got a long ride ahead of us, and I don’t know the first thing about being a referee.” Emory eyeballed Wayne and then Jeff in the rearview mirror. “I’ll begin.”

  With that, Emory began recounting the weekend’s events, including the attack on his father at the Algarotti factory, Pristine’s poisoning, their dealings with the Claymons, Scot’s plan and arrest, and everything they had learned about Ian. Jeff filled in a couple of gaps, but both of them left out Emory’s accidental drugging and everything that happened at the Romes’ house. Emory closed by telling them both about the picture on Rick’s dresser. “Ian was supposed to go to that science fair, but Rick didn’t let him after he caught him cheating. I want to get that picture first thing.”

  “That’s pretty thin,” Wayne said. “Would all of that have embarrassed the kid enough to kill his teacher?”

  “Humiliation at that age can be crushing, and when it morphs into anger, it can feed a powerful thirst for revenge,” Emory told him. “Ian has jumped grades, earning nothing but A’s. I imagine a perfect score throughout school was pretty much a given for him, until Rick gave him that C.”

  Jeff added, “Teenagers’ emotions are like a hundred times more volatile than adults. Look at all the school shootings. Almost all of them have revenge for humiliation, real or imagined, as the primary motive.”

  Wayne was unmoved. “I don’t buy it.” He told Emory, “You’re giving up too easy on Scot. Murder’s only a baby step up from manufacturing drugs. We just need to press him harder to get the truth out of him. He’s the murderer. Maybe he killed them both because they found out what he was up to.”

  “If that’s true, we should ask Pristine if she knew,” Jeff said.

  “I think she’s still in the hospital,” Emory told them. “Maybe we can go there after Rick’s.”

  All seemed to be in agreement with the plan, so as soon as they entered the Barter Ridge city limits, they headed to Rick Roberts’ house. On the way there, Emory answered his ringing phone. “Hi Dad. You’re on speakerphone. I have Jeff and Wayne with me.”

  “Good,” the sheriff said. “I’ve got some awful bad news to tell you guys.”

  “What is it?”

  The sheriff clicked his tongue. “Scot Trousdale escaped.”

  “Escaped?!” Emory exclaimed, and it was echoed by the others in the car.

  Jeff threw a hand to his forehead. “Oh my god.”

  “Wait a second, wait a second here,” Wayne said, shaking his head. “The drug dealer and our prime suspect for the murders has honestly escaped from your jail? Oh that’s right – you don’t have a real jail in this damn town.”

  Emory shot Wayne a s
colding look. “Dad, how did he escape?”

  “We’re still trying to figure that out.”

  Emory glanced at Wayne and then back at Jeff. “Okay. We’ll be there shortly.”

  CHAPTER 39

  EMORY PULLED HIS car into Rick Roberts’ driveway, windows steaming from the heated conversation within. Wayne argued that the only place they should be headed was the sheriff’s station to work on finding their escaped suspect, but Emory insisted on sticking with their planned first stop. Jeff didn’t have a strong opinion one way or the other, but he sided with Emory.

  “I should’ve driven myself,” Wayne said.

  “We’ll be here five minutes max,” Emory told him.

  Wayne shook his head. “Our prime suspect has escaped. We need to get to the sheriff’s station.”

  “Why?” Jeff asked. “That’s the one place we know he’s not at.”

  The three men filed out of the car and walked in silence to the front door, which was crisscrossed with crime tape. Emory snapped his fingers when he realized, “Dad has the keys.”

  “Wonderful,” Wayne said, starting back toward the driveway. “Let’s get to the sheriff’s station.”

  “I’m not leaving without that picture,” Emory insisted.

  “I have an idea,” said Jeff. “We can go through the doggy door.”

  “Good idea.” Emory stood by the front door, waiting for Jeff to act.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’ll wait here for you to open the door.”

  Jeff laughed and tapped his own shoulders. “There’s no way I can get these shoulders through that opening.”

  “Again, my shoulders are just as broad as yours.”

  “Put your back against mine.” Jeff turned his back to Emory who did the same, and they both tried to gauge whose shoulders extended further.

  “What in the hell are you two doing?” Wayne asked, walking back toward them.

  “See,” Jeff said.

  Emory pulled away. “I think your coat has a half-inch more padding than mine. I’ll just do it.” He took off his jacket, exposing his grey dress shirt, and handed it to Jeff to hold. He ran past Wayne to the five-foot fence that surrounded the backyard and hurled himself over it.

  “What’s he doing?” Wayne asked.

  “Remember the doggy door?”

  Two uncomfortable minutes later, the front door opened, and Emory stood behind an X of crime tape with a ripped sleeve and a three-inch scratch on his right upper arm. Jeff smiled at him. “I told you you’d fit.”

  Emory wasn’t amused. Once they were inside, Emory led them to Rick’s bedroom and to the dresser. “There’s the picture.”

  “Why is this one white?” Wayne asked, referring to the fact that all the other frames were dark.

  “How can anyone live in such filth?” asked Jeff.

  Wayne looked around the room. “What? This place isn’t filthy.”

  Jeff pointed at the dresser. “Look at the dust.”

  Emory examined the thick coating of dust on the dresser top, as well as the frames and glass. “The white frame is clean.”

  Jeff told him, “White hides dust better.”

  Emory put on his gloves and ran a finger over the top of the white frame. “Or it repels it all together.” He showed the others that the glove was still clean. He picked up the picture and held it so Jeff could see. “Look at the last line of that sign.”

  Emory hadn’t been able to make out everything in the frame from the picture on his phone, but now he could see in the original picture that the subject of Ian’s project ended with the text, “Using Calcium Carbide.”

  Jeff asked, “Do we have enough now to arrest him?”

  Emory told them, “Let’s go get Damien.”

  As soon as Emory parked at the sheriff’s station, Wayne hurried to the front door.

  Jeff was about to exit the car when Emory told him, “Before we go in, I need to talk to you about something.” The special agent moved to the back seat with Jeff.

  “What, you want to make out now?”

  “Just talk. Scot Trousdale was the manager of If Tomorrow Comes for three years.”

  Jeff’s face dropped. “He was? Do you know which three years?”

  “He left there about a year ago, when he came here to work at the Algarotti factory.”

  “I was going to that club then. I’m surprised I didn’t see him there.”

  Emory waited for more, but nothing came. “That’s all you have to say?”

  “I’m not sure what you want. I didn’t know him from the club, and as far as I know, the first time I met him was precisely when you met him for the first time.”

  “Someone who looks like Scot, you didn’t notice at the club?”

  Jeff scoffed, “Scot’s not that hot. Why? Do you think he is?”

  “No…I mean he’s certainly not unattractive. That’s not the point. Don’t you find it odd that, not only was Victor Algarotti’s current wife a client of yours, but his assistant worked at a nightclub you frequent?”

  “Odd maybe, but a coincidence definitely.”

  “Fine.” Emory grabbed the door handle.

  Inside the sheriff’s station, Wayne was already discussing Scot Trousdale’s escape with Sheriff Rome and two deputies when Emory and Jeff entered. The sheriff nodded to his son and told Wayne, “We’ve been trying to figure out what happened.”

  Deputy Harris’ flushed face gave his blond hair a strawberry tint as he explained, “I clocked out at six last night. I checked on him before I left, and he was in bed. I was planning to drive him to Knoxville myself when I clocked back in this morning.”

  Deputy Loggins looked up to the other men, making eye contact with each. “I’ve been here since six last night, pulling a double. I got suspicious around five when I checked on him through the window because he hadn’t moved all night. I decided to go in the room for a physical check, and that’s when I found out it was just the blankets and pillows. It had to have happened before my shift.”

  “There’s no way,” Deputy Harris insisted. “He didn’t go missing on my shift!”

  Emory asked his father, “Could we see the room?”

  “Of course.” The sheriff led them past the water cooler and down the hall to the holding room.

  As the others continued down the hallway, Jeff stayed at the cooler. “Hey guys,” he said but didn’t capture their attention. “Guys! One of the empty water bottles is missing.” The men turned around, but only Emory backtracked to Jeff.

  Deputy Harris gave him his how-stupid-are-you? glower. He told him in the most condescending tone he could muster, “The delivery guy took it yesterday.”

  Jeff pointed to the remaining empty bottle. “Why would he take only one of the empty bottles? And why didn’t he leave a full bottle for you?”

  Emory faced Deputy Harris. “When did the delivery guy come?”

  “Yesterday,” the deputy repeated.

  “Before or after Scot’s arrest?” Deputy Harris waited to give the answer, so Emory demanded, “Answer me!”

  Deputy Harris jumped. “After. But it couldn’t have been him.”

  Wayne asked, “Did you see the delivery guy come through the front door?”

  “How else could he…” the deputy started to answer before his voice trailed off.

  Wayne followed up with, “What exactly did you see?”

  Deputy Harris recounted, “I was taking a call, and I looked up and saw a delivery guy walking to the front door with a water bottle on his left shoulder. I didn’t make out the face, but I wasn’t paying attention to him.”

  Emory asked, “Besides the fact that he was carrying a water bottle, was there anything else about him that led you to believe he was, in fact, a water delivery guy? Uniform? Anything?”

  “No,” Deputy Harris mumbled. “It just seemed…normal.”

  Deputy Loggins gave the sheriff a look of vindication that said, “I told you it wasn’t me.”

&nb
sp; Emory asked, “What time did you see him go?”

  Deputy Harris responded, “Not long after you left. Maybe around five o’clock.”

  Wayne shook his head. “He’s got a seventeen-hour head start on us. He could be anywhere.”

  “I’m so sorry about this,” the sheriff said. “Now we know how he got out the front door, but I’d like to know how he got out of the holding room.”

  The men headed to the room, and halfway down the hall, the sheriff stopped at the wall cabinet to get the key. Once the sheriff unlocked the holding room, Wayne investigated the open door for signs of damage while Emory and Jeff scanned everything else. The sheriff and his deputies loitered in the middle of the room watching the others.

  “I already checked the door,” said Deputy Harris. “It hasn’t been tampered with.”

  Inspecting the bed, Emory told them, “Then he must’ve had a key.”

  “How on Earth could he have a key?” Deputy Harris asked.

  Finishing his inspection of the door, Wayne stood up straight. “I don’t know, but the lock wasn’t picked, and he sure didn’t walk through it.”

  The sheriff said, “Well, even if he did have a key somehow, we emptied his pockets, and we still have his personal effects.”

  “Did you search him?” Jeff asked.

  “Standard procedure,” the sheriff answered. “When you first brought him in, I processed him – fingerprints, mug shot and search. I made him undress, and I did a thorough search of his person and his clothes before we started questioning him. The only way he had a key on him was if he stuck it somewhere I wasn’t about to search.”

  “No,” Emory said. “He had no warning that he was about to be arrested, so he would’ve had no to time to hide a key…in himself.” His mind clicked onto the answer. “The water.”

  The others looked at him like they were waiting for an explanation, but Jeff said, “Yes! He went to the water cooler before he was brought into this room.”

  Emory and Jeff hurried from the room, followed by the others. Once they reached the water cooler, the two began inspecting it for a possible hiding space. As Jeff checked the front, Emory looked at the side where the cup dispenser was attached. He noticed that the Algarotti logo to the left of the dispenser was inside a rectangular groove. He pushed on the logo, and a small drawer about the size of a deck of cards popped out. “Found it!”