“Okay, I did a quick search. It seems Compton had a thing for young women. Not that I can cast the first stone, but I don’t flip from one to another. And I don’t do it behind my spouse’s or fiancée’s back. He was on the board of the hospital. Some bigger corporation was trying to buy it out. He was for it. The others on the board were against it. He stood to make a lot of money off the deal. Millions over a few years’ time. I don’t know whose financial toes he was stepping on, but I think that’s a line to follow up on. If I were you, I’d give that little piece of information to my lawyer.”
“Thanks. I feel like I’m getting somewhere now.”
Al leaned in toward Rusty like he was going to kiss him, but all he did was lean over to put his fingertip on the other folder.
“This is your problem right here, Rusty. Mr. Jeffrey Starr. He was a scumbag, ruthless lawyer with Bittleman, Burns, & Getz. And now he’s got his eye on a political career. And, believe me, he’s custom made for it.”
“That’s what I figured.”
Then Al reached into his satchel-man-purse attaché thing and pulled out a small electronic device that looked like an old cellphone charger station that Rusty once had. He walked over to the phone, but stopped and turned around and asked, “Look, Rusty, I’m not trying to get too personal, but did you have your cellphone on the night Compton got killed?”
“No. I didn’t even have it with me. Luck had it, I spent the night alone in Dismal Canyon.”
“I love that place. Starr probably knew you couldn’t be traced that night.”
Al. The man knew everything. In Dolopia, some people lived there all their lives and never heard of Dismal Canyon. A mysterious natural anomaly sixty miles away. But Al, the outsider, was savvy to it.
“How’s that? Starr knew I couldn’t be traced.”
“If you have your cell on, your exact second by second location can be traced by satellite. There’s a record of it.”
“Shit!”
“Yeah. Believe me, Rusty. Big Brother is here. If you’d had on your cellphone that night you could have proven you weren’t at the scene of the crime. Well, you could have proven your cellphone wasn’t at the scene of the crime. But believe me, Starr wouldn’t have let that get in his way.”
Al stepped over to the rotary phone, dialed some numbers. He finished dialing and put the receiver into the apparatus. Then he reached into the bag, got a cellphone and a charger, handed it to Rusty. “Here’s a pre-paid phone. It can’t be traced to you. It’s got a local number and it’s good for two more months. When it stops working, come and I’ll give you another one.”
“How much do I owe you for this?”
Al gave a forget-it-it’s-on-me dismissal wave of his hand.
“Thanks,” Rusty said.
Al took out another instrument—this thing that looked like a wand Rusty had seen on some show where they were looking for a ghost—and started walking around the house with it. Rusty followed him.
After a while, Al stopped back by the phone and put the instrument back in his pack, looked down at the phone device, took the receiver back in its cradle. “Hey, look, Rusty. There doesn’t seem to be any bugs in your house and your phone doesn’t seem to be tapped. But that doesn’t mean anything.”
“What do you mean?”
“It could just not be activated right now. Or see that little bluff across the river?” Al leaned over and peered out the front window. Rusty didn’t bother looking. You had to be sitting on the couch to see across the river.
“What about it?”
“They could set up over there and be monitoring every word we say by a device that picks up the vibrations on those window panes there.”
“No?”
“Yeah.”
“How do you defend yourself from being monitored?”
“I hate when someone does this to me. Answer a question with a question. But Rusty, how to you fight fire?”
“With fire?”
“Right.”
“Hey, Al. Just between you and me, all right?”
“All of this is between just you and me. You don’t see Vivian with me, do you?”
“No.” And Rusty would have noticed her if she’d been there, naked or not naked.
“What?”
“Do you think you could monitor some of Jeffrey Starr’s phone conversations for me?”
Chapter 22
Rusty walked with Al down to the pier. Al had two boats--Doc’s old skiff that was actually a sister boat to Rusty’s and a Boston Whaler. Al was in the skiff.
Rusty saw Al off, then opened the padlock to his boathouse and stepped inside. He might just take his hydroplane out for a skim.
He flipped the switch that opened the slatted gate. The gate went about two feet into the water and the motion stirred the Elk River.
He never got used to it. Never got tired of it—that smell you could only get from being in a boathouse or a bait shop on the Elk River. When he had been living on the Esmeraldas River in Ecuador with Jenny and on the Miami River with her and then on the Crystal River in Florida, he would get a whiff of the river under the right conditions and it would smell like the Elk and practically take him there. Just like sometimes he would come out here and the humidity and conditions would be just right and he could swear for a minute he was back on that river in South America.
There was something about thinking you were somewhere you weren’t.
He was about to flip the other switch to let the hydroplane down in the water. He heard a clomp, clomp, clomping on the pier deck. Unmistakable. He didn’t have to wonder who it was.
Shortly she stood in the doorway a minute. Déjà vu. She appeared last time he was going to go out and take a skim in his hydroplane.
“Jenny,” he said.
She just stood in the doorway a minute. Again, the afternoon sun was behind her and an aura of light glowed around the back of her like an angel. But he could not make out her features. He stepped back onto the deck and Rusty stepped outside with her.
She wore a slinky black armless dress, a wide brim black hat, and black heels. She had some kind of red pin on her dress, ruby red lipstick and too much mascara on. Or maybe she had been crying and it made the mascara get bigger.
It was a funeral outfit. Rusty just stood there five feet away from her and allowed her to have the next word.
“I just came from Robert’s funeral.”
“I’m sorry, Jenny.”
“Thank you.”
“You want to go up to the house?” It seemed like he had said just that last time she came. But last time she had a living fiancée. I know.
“You’re welcome. You want to go up to the house?”
“I prefer here.”
Now he saw Jenny’s SUV on the other side of the entrance gate. She’d climbed over the fence and some 55 gallon barrels.
She turned around to see where she might want to sit. Her fiancé’s corpse wasn’t good and cold yet and Rusty himself was up for murder and here he was checking out her ass.
Jenny sat on one of the benches. Rusty, again, sat up on one of the piling. Not to be higher than her. Even though he’d been married to her three times, under the circumstances right now it didn’t seem appropriate for him to sit down next to her.
Jenny said, “It’s been a trying time.”
“I can imagine.”
“I know you didn’t kill Robert. The district attorney is certain you did it.”
“How do you know?”
“I told my attorneys to tell him that you didn’t do it and I want to know who did.”
He wondered if Jenny knew Robert had a thing for screwing young beautiful girls with wild abandon. Well, now wasn’t the time to bring that up. Maybe never. If she didn’t already know, he’d let someone else be that messenger.
“I just wanted you to know, that after I talk to Robert’s lawyers and answer any questions they—they, meaning the District Attorney’s office—have for me, I will be going
to Sarasota. Robert and I recently bought a condo there together. When Crystal comes back from Argentina, I’ll be right there close to her.”
“I understand.”
“I don’t think Crystal cared for Robert much. And she’s upset about you getting arrested.”
“I know. She called me.”
“Good. Crystal and I haven’t been communicating as we should ever since Robert and I got serious. Hopefully, I’ll remedy that soon.”
“Good.”
“There was this one other thing I wanted to tell you, Rusty.”
She stood up. Rusty stayed seated on the piling.
“One of the girls at the office,” Jenny said. “I know she told the investigators about that time you came to my office and we got in a fight. You said I was never going to marry that heart surgeon. That it would never happen.”
“I didn’t think it would. But I never thought it would be this way.”
“I just wanted you to know. That doesn’t look good for you. And the other day I was pissed off about that window blowing out and I was saying that damned ex-husband of mine is going to pay for this. Somebody overheard that. If I get questioned on that, I’m going to have to admit I thought it was you blew something up.”
“I understand, Jenny. Thanks for the heads up. I’ll tell my lawyer Melvin Waters.”
She was looking up at the house, but with that turned back to look at Rusty. “Melvin Waters? Perry is not representing you?”
“No. I fired him.”
“Good. I never did like him.” She sighed. “I’ve got to get home. Today has literally worn me down.”
Rusty looked at the sky. “It seems they had his funeral a little late.”
“There were two services. One this morning in Huntsville. And one this afternoon in Haleyville.”
“Haleyville?”
“Yes, he was born and raised in Winston County.”
Chapter 23
Sammy was in the alley, leaning against the back wall of Newby’s Dry Goods and sipping on a cup of coffee out of an Alabama Crimson Tide mug. When he spotted Rusty entering the alley from the east end, he pushed away from the wall and started walking toward him.
They met right back of Jone’s Interiors but the place would always be Kelley & Patterson Department Store to Rusty.
Sammy said, “Goddamn, Rusty. What are you doing waking me up before daylight, having me meet you in some back alley at sunup like some damn drug deal? Couldn’t we have just met at my office during hours? I drank half a bottle of Scotch last night.”
“It’s way past sun up. And I didn’t think it would look good you being seen with me.”
“What do I give a shit? One more year in the DA’s office in any position and I can pull retirement. What do I give a fuck what anybody thinks about me?”
“Not a damn thang.”
Rusty could plainly see Sammy was in one of his he-didn’t-give-a-fuck, I’m-king-of-my-domain attitudes. He figured it was best not to tell him that the only cure for a hangover was to not drink in the first place. The last thing Rusty wanted to do this morning was to come off all high and mighty.
“That’s right,” Sammy said, glad that Rusty had that straight. “What’s the subject of this meeting?”
“I have something to confess off the record.”
“Oh, my God.” Sammy leaned his head down as he brought up his free hand and let his head rest there a minute, like this was going to get both of their asses in a sling. Then he looked back up and said, “Go ahead.”
“All right. A week before Compton got killed this man who turned out to be the Katfish King came to my office. He had the mistaken idea I was a detective…”
“I wonder how he got that idea?” Sammy interjected.
“Anyway, despite my objections he handed me five thousand dollars cash to find out who had stolen his two hundred pound catfish…”
“What?”
Sammy made a puzzled look, one of disbelief. But Rusty couldn’t read whether Sammy didn’t believe a two hundred pound catfish actually existed or if Sammy couldn’t believe he was actually standing in a back alley at the crack of dawn listening to Rusty talk about one.
“Yeah,” Rusty said. “He was a grabbler. Grabbled it in Bumfuck, Mississippi, had it hauled and caged up in a hole somewhere, I don’t know where, on one of the rivers here so he could grabble it and win a grabbling world record during the rodeo…”
“Enter Mississippi into the equation and you got Redneck soup. Thank God for Mississippi.”
On second thought, maybe it was Tennessee, Rusty thought, but Rusty didn’t want to aggravate Sammy any more by dampening his opinion of Mississippi.
“He didn’t even tell me his name, anything,” Rusty said. “He was supposed to come back on a Friday morning, go over the details, like give me his name and stuff like that, but he doesn’t show…”
“Because he’s already deader’n shit.”
“Right. Look, Man. After I found out who it was I Googled him from every angle I could on my office computer. If Starr and them get a warrant for my office, they are going to try to pin his murder on me.”
Sammy thought a minute. “I wouldn’t worry about it. He was killed in Florence. I talked to the DA over there. You have an alibi for that one?”
“Yeah. If Gloria and Ray count.”
“They count. Anyway, they have about five disgruntled bad-ass former business associates of King who’s in line before you are, even if Starr gets a wild hair up his ass about your Googling subjects. And by the way, I talked to the State Attorney today. I told him Starr was barking up the wrong tree for what it was worth. That he better get an investigation going for who really killed Compton.”
“Thanks, Sammy.”
“Sure.” Sammy took a long sip of coffee.
“Elmore King was from Winston County,” Rusty blurted out.
“So?”
“Okay, listen to this. Just late yesterday I found out Compton was from Winston County.” Then Rusty stared at Sammy, as with disbelief.
Sammy wasn’t getting it. He shrugged. “So, what?”
“So, what? There’s a serial killer loose out there!”
Sammy laughed. “Are you nuts?”
“That’s not the point. Look Winston County is or was the poorest county in the state. We have two very prominent people from Winston County, the same age, killed outside of Winston County inside of a week.”
“A little bit of a coincidence.”
“What do you think of coincidences?”
“What do you mean? What do you think of coincidences?”
“When all of life is grand, they’re fun. When life isn’t grand, I’m suspicious of them. I don’t think there is any such thing as coincidences then.”
“Two killings don’t make a serial killing.” Sammy laughed.
“Yes, it does, Sammy. Look, there must be some sixty year old jealous fucker from Winston County. He finds out he’s got cancer. So he is going to kill anyone he went to school with who became successful.” It didn’t take a detective to see that.
Maybe Sammy had been in the game too long. He should’ve have laughed at Rusty. Rusty wasn’t one to get his precious feelings hurt, but Sammy’s reaction was a disappointment.
Sammy shook his head. “That doesn’t make sense, Rusty. There’s a lot of prominent people from Winston County. They’re everywhere around here.”
“I don’t know any. Name one, name one prominent person around here who’s from Winston County.”
Sammy sipped on the coffee, gave it priority over the conversation, like the caffeine was taking hold now, driving off the hangover. Rusty thought he had him. Thought he couldn’t name one.
Sammy gave a sigh, like he was feeling good now, and said, “Well, for one. Vargas Preston, the President of Dolopia College, is from Winston County.”
Chapter 24
Morrison Avenue was one big antebellum mansion after another. And the one which served as the residence for
the President of Dolopia College was the biggest and most majestic of all.
When Rusty turned off onto Morrison there was a small bronze-looking sign that read Historical District. Historical District? Some garden club woman went over to Charleston or somewhere and saw some of that and just wasn’t satisfied until she had worried the Dolopia City Council shitless until they passed all kinds of resolutions and paid for and installed all the plaques. Rusty knew how things like that worked.
He cruised down the oak and magnolia lined street and then parked next to the curb right in front of the president’s house. He walked up to the front door like he belonged there, couldn’t find a door bell, and knocked pretty hard in case they were all upstairs.
Two seconds later a woman--not much older than Rusty--opened the door. She was wearing one of those gray maid outfits. “May I help you?”
“Yes, ma’am. Rusty Clay for Vargas Preston.”
“I think he may have gone on up to college. Let me check.” The maid motioned Rusty to step inside. She closed the door and pointed to a little chair there in the vestibule where he could sit and she disappeared off into the house.
Rusty opted to just stand there. The chair looked like maybe Jefferson Davis or Abraham Lincoln had sat in it once upon a time but now was waiting for about sixty pounds to be put on it so it could break.
A sixty year old man in a tie and sports coat came walking very quickly from where the maid had disappeared. “Vargas Preston.”
“Rusty Clay.”
“How may I help you?”
“I wanted to know if you knew Dr. Compton?”
“Yes. Quite well.”
“Well, I didn’t kill him.”
“I hope not.”
“Why’s that?”
“Then you might be here to kill me.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Two prominent members of my senior class have been murdered in a week’s time. I suspect someone has a list. And I hope I’m not on it. So I called the FBI about it. They didn’t seem all that interested. In fact, I don’t think I even convinced them I was a college president. Actually, my own staff can’t believe it.”
The Redneck Detective Agency (The Redneck Detective Agency Mystery Series Book 1) Page 10