The Good, The Bad and The Murderous (Sid Chance Myseries Book 2)

by Chester D. Campbell

  “I suppose you know Jaz and I are working with a couple of Arnie Bailey’s guys on the Djuan Burden case,” Sid said after everyone had taken their seats.

  “News to me,” Post said. He pushed his fedora back to reveal a widening stretch of slick scalp.

  “You must be out of the loop these days,” the Judge said. “I picked up hints of it around the Courthouse.”

  “Do you want to talk about it here?” Bart asked, a note of caution in his voice. The lanky six-footer leaned his elbows on the table.

  Sid rumpled his brow. “Frankly, we can use all the help we can get. The lawyers tell me ballistics reports indicate the gun had been fired recently.”

  “I find that un-believable,” Jaz said, dragging out the word.

  “I don’t think the TBI lab has any interest in fabricating test results,” Bart said. “I suppose there is some good news, though. The bullet was in too bad a shape to identify the gun it came from. Also the weapon had been wiped clean of any prints.”

  Sid picked up the new deck of cards he’d laid on the table and shuffled it absently. “That sounds odd. You wouldn’t think Mrs. Ransom would have wiped it clean.”

  “I could tell she’s a very tidy housekeeper,” Jaz said. “Tell them about the sighting behind the building.”

  “Yeah, that’s our most promising lead.” He turned to Jack Post. “Remember, none of this goes outside this room.”

  Post shrugged. “I know.”

  “Burden recalls a box falling off a stack in the doorway to the back room of the medical supply store. He saw it right when he came in. He also smelled gunpowder. Then he heard a clicking noise in the back like a door being closed, which we took as an indication the murderer had just left. Turns out a mechanic at a tire store around the corner saw a man come out the rear door and get into a car around the same time.”

  Wick Stanley, dressed in his habitual blue jeans and Titans jacket, perked up. “Did he give you a good vehicle description?”

  “Just a black car.”

  “Bummer,” Wick said. Sid figured the twenty-five-year veteran patrol officer could empathize, having encountered his share of myopic witnesses.

  Jaz folded her hands and tapped her thumbs. “I went by there this afternoon and searched around the area between the back door and a trash dumpster. That’s where the mechanic saw the car. I didn’t find anything useful.”

  “I’m familiar with the area,” Wick said. “There’s a bank on the corner, if the car went in that direction. Some of our guys moonlight as bank security guards, but even if they were outside, they wouldn’t have noticed a car going by unless it had done something unusual.”

  “Doesn’t look like we can help you out on that score,” Bart said. “Any other loose ends we might be able to tidy up?”

  “There’s a woman we’d like to question, if we could find her. Name is Elena Ortiz. She was apparently a partner and probably lover of Omar Valdez.”

  “We got a BOLO on her,” Wick said.

  Sid pushed the cards to the middle of the table. “The FBI asked for it. They’re also looking for her in Texas, but I have a hunch she’s hiding out around Nashville.”

  “You are an astute observer of the darker arts, Sidney,” the Judge said in his best courtroom demeanor. “Surely you have some idea of where this lady might be concealing herself.” Thackston had been an erudite jurist, well thought of until he got voted out of office after reports of injudicious sexual behavior.

  Sid told them what Jaz had learned from Ortiz’s neighbor about the country music singer with a “Mexican-sounding name” and that a music producer believed she was probably a wannabe.

  “Wick and I may be able to help,” Bart said after emptying a roll of quarters onto the table. “We’re frequently in contact with the Mexican community. We could get our Spanish-speaking officers to ask around, too. We have a unit called El Protector that works with the Hispanics.”

  Thackson cleared his throat noisily and turned to his male cohorts. “Before we get started, gentlemen, I think we should express our full support for Jasmine in her time of trial. We know that what has been alleged against her is pure rubbish. She, of all people, has demonstrated her unquestioned loyalty to people of African-American heritage.”

  “Amen,” Wick said.

  “Thank you, Judge,” Jaz said with a pained smile. “It has been distressing, but I’m coping. I appreciate you guys’ support.” She picked up the cards. “Now let’s get down to business.”

  She spread out the cards and each in turn chose one and turned it face up. Sid’s ace took the deal. He wondered if this might be a good omen?

  The game ended around ten when Sgt. Stanley had to head home and get ready for his shift in the West Precinct. Jack Post wound up with the largest pile of quarters. It left him in an unusually gleeful mood for a born skeptic. After Jaz helped tidy up his office, Sid locked the door and walked out to the parking lot with her.

  “I hope you didn’t lose too much,” he said.

  She laughed. “I think I have enough left for lunch tomorrow.”

  “Good. Did you come up with any new insights into our case?”

  “It would really help if we could find somebody else who saw that car behind Prime Medical.”

  “I agree. I may take another run by there tomorrow and look around,” Sid said as Jaz opened the door of her Lexus. “And I’m going to question that mechanic myself. Take care.”

  Jaz shook her head with a grin as she slid onto the seat. He knew what she was thinking. She had expressed it often enough: quit worrying about me; I’m a big girl perfectly capable of taking care of myself. Which he knew was true, but she was a special person.

  As Sid pulled out of the parking lot, he noticed a car approach slowly on the street behind him. With the mall closed, the area saw little traffic this time of night. When he stopped to turn onto Gallatin Road, he recognized it as the same model Dodge used by Metro detectives. Driving toward the Neelys Bend section where he lived in the home his mother had left him, Sid caught an image in the mirror he felt sure was the same car, though it lagged back a respectable distance.

  Sid’s house sat near the street’s dead end at the Cumberland River. He pulled into the driveway far enough for the sensor to trigger the eve lights to come on. It was part of the security system he had beefed up after a nasty experience that plagued a previous case. Normally he would have circled around to the garage in back, but he stopped in the driveway as the car eased to a halt near the mailbox. He opened the door, stepped out, and looked back to see the window on the car’s passenger side lowering.

  As he approached, he saw Detective Victor Grimm’s face displaying a surly half-smile. In the dim light he could barely make out Ramsey Kozlov behind the wheel.

  “Looks like you’ve been waiting for me,” Sid said as he walked up.

  “Just thought we’d bring you up-to-date on the situation, Mr. Chance. It looks like all that nosing around you’ve been doing was in vain.”

  “How do you figure that?”

  “The great homicide investigator Sidney Chance has been digging in a dry hole. We wanted to let you know there’s no point in your continuing to muddy the water around town.”

  “Besides tossing around clichés, Detective, what news do you bring?”

  “The DA is ready to feed Burden to the Grand Jury. The TBI forensics people say their tests show Burden’s gun was fired recently after he claimed it hadn’t been.”

  “A slight correction, Detective Grimm,” Sid said in a pedantic tone. “Djuan Burden said he had not fired the gun. His grandmother confirmed there was no way he could have returned the gun to her cedar chest after he got back from the medical equipment store.”

  “She’s an old woman. She’s obviously mistaken.”

  “I think not.” The words could have been coated in ice. It had suddenly come together in his mind, Grimm’s confident gloating and the conversation between the detectives Rachel Ransom had heard, her ins
istence that Djuan could not have had possession of the gun.

  The detective’s face reddened. “Then who the hell pulled the trigger on that gun?”

  Sid had never been more sure than he was now.

  “I think you know the answer to that, Detective. Mrs. Ransom heard your partner say he could demonstrate that the gun still worked.”

  Sid turned abruptly and stalked back toward his car.

  “You can’t prove shit!” Grimm screamed.

  Sid slammed the door, started his car, and raced down the driveway, almost skidding off the pavement as he turned toward the garage. He breathed hard as the anger churned in his stomach. He was ready to fight dragons to prove Djuan Burden’s innocence.

  Chapter 11

  Friday morning, Sid drove to Green Hills and stopped at the tire store. He figured a personal interview with the mechanic should be more productive than a second-hand report from the manager. He hit it lucky this time. The worker who had spotted the murder suspect was not tied up on a rush job. Sid talked to him in the service bay beside a grease-stained work bench. A short man with a paunch he’d have difficulty maneuvering beneath a car chassis, the mechanic appeared eager to help.

  “I remember seeing him come out over there,” he said as he wiped grime from his hands on a blue shop rag.

  “Could you describe him for me?” Sid asked.

  “I couldn’t really tell how big he was, but he looked to be more my size than yours.”

  “How was he dressed?”

  He twisted his mouth in thought. “Best I remember he had on dark clothes. Like maybe blue jeans and a dark jacket.”

  “What about a hat?”

  “Nope, don’t think so.”

  “Could you see any facial features?”

  “No, he was too far away for that.”

  “You said the car was black. Remember anything else about it?”

  “May have been a Ford. Could’ve been a Chevy. Looked shiny new, though.”

  “And it drove off toward the bank at the other end of the alley?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay, thanks,” Sid said and headed back to his car. It wasn’t a lot, but it was more than he’d coaxed out of the manager.

  The weather had taken a turn for the better. A beaming sun now cast sharp shadows as it drifted higher in the sky. Spring had begun to cut a colorful swath across Nashville with the awakening of redbuds, Bradford pears with their snow-like petals, and the first shoots of soon-to-follow dogwoods, both pink and white. Sid lowered the window as the sun had already left the car stuffy.

  Before he pulled away from the tire store, he got out his phone and called Jaz. She was just leaving for a meeting at the company office with a group of Welcome Home Store managers from across the country. They were all concerned about false accusations against the chairman.

  “I got a little more info on our killer,” he said, covering what he’d learned from the mechanic. “I also have some more sobering news,” he added.

  After listening to his description of last night’s encounter with Grimm and Kozlov, she spoke in an incredulous voice. “You think those detectives fired Mrs. Ransom’s pistol?”

  “I don’t have any doubts about it, especially after what Rachel Ransom heard them say. But as Grimm bellowed at me, there’s no possible way I could prove it.”

  “I can’t believe a policeman would stoop that low.”

  “Believe it, Jaz. I suspect Kozlov might be the more culpable, according to what Wick said. They’re both into it.”

  “That’s disgusting. This racism business plus these dirty cops is really getting to me, Sid. Maybe a little shopping spree at the mall would put me in a better mood. I think I’ll head out that way after my meeting. Do you have any other ideas I can pursue?”

  “Not at the moment. Hit the mall and enjoy yourself.”

  The meeting lasted longer than she’d anticipated and it was late afternoon before Jaz could get away. She drove out Hillsboro Pike along with several hundred other homebound workers and pulled into the garage at the Green Hills mall. She found a parking spot near an entrance to Macy’s and sauntered in. As she wandered through the stores, picking through bargains in clothes and jewelry, her problems with the Welcome Home Stores employee and the Burden case drifted out of her mind. She stopped in an electronics shop and checked out the latest techno gadgets, browsed in a fragrance shop, and spent a little time looking at shoes. In the end she wound up with a couple of blouses and a pair of slacks. Toting her shopping bags, she took the escalator back down to the floor that opened onto the garage.

  After pulling out onto the street, she decided to make a last reconnoitering run past Prime Medical Equipment. Twilight had settled in while she wandered about the mall, and now the street lights had come on. They cast a soft glow that painted thin yellow lines on the walkways where signposts stood along Hillsboro Pike. She drove slowly past the small strip center and turned in at the corner. That was when she noticed the bank Wick Stanley had mentioned was a branch of Hattie Jordan’s employer.

  Jaz drove around to the back and pulled in. There was a drive-in window accessible from the alley, also an ATM machine. She let her gaze roam over the structure until she found a small camera mounted where it would likely pick up an image from the alley. She pulled out her phone and called Hattie.

  “Hi, this is Hattie. I’m not available—did I say that? Leave me a message and see.”

  Jaz snickered. She never knew what to expect from her friend. She left a message asking for a return call.

  Jaz sat in her rec room facing the large screen TV. She had redone the room since her father’s death, removing all but one of the casino card tables. She kept the wet bar and added exercise equipment. She had just turned on the ten o’clock news when Hattie called.

  “Been having a night on the town?” Jaz asked.

  “Thought I had a hot date, but it didn’t turn out so hot.”

  “Wrong guy?”

  “Too possessive. Nice dinner, though.”

  “Wasn’t all bad then.”

  “Hey, girl, I can always make sausage out of a sow’s ear.”

  Jaz laughed. “That sounds like a pretty mixed metaphor, Hattie. Doesn’t the saying have something to do with a silk purse? Before you get me any more mixed up, let me ask you something.”

  “Be my guest.”

  “Do you keep the tapes from your branch surveillance cameras for awhile?”

  “We keep the digital files for ninety days.”

  “So if a car passed one last Monday afternoon, you should be able to find it?”

  “Give me the time and the place.”

  “It’s the one in Green Hills down the block from the former Prime Medical Equipment store.”

  She told Hattie about the black car a mechanic had seen going down the alley toward the bank around the time of the murder.

  “And when was that?” Hattie asked.

  “Based on the nine-one-one call, approximately three-thirty Monday afternoon.”

  “Shouldn’t be any problem to find, but I can’t guarantee what it’ll show of the car.”

  “I studied the setup when I was by there earlier tonight,” Jaz said. “According to my calculations, it might even show the license plate.”

  “Don’t bet your boobies on it, baby girl.”

  “Don’t worry. That’s where I draw the line on wagering.”

  Hattie had a raucous laugh that would trigger a seismograph. When it diminished, she said, “You’re too much, Jazzie. How soon do you need this great spycraft revelation?”

  “Would it be possible to do something tomorrow?”

  “Sorry, I’ll be gone all day tomorrow. How about Sunday? After noon. My momma’d be all over me if I missed church.”

  They agreed to meet at the bank Sunday afternoon at one. When Hattie was off the line, Jaz called Sid to advise him of the plan.

  “I have some news for you,” she said on a hopeful note. “It may be a break.
May not. We’ll just have to wait and see.”

  “What have you got?”

  “I went shopping at the mall this evening and afterward took a look at the bank Wick mentioned, the one at the end of the alley behind Prime Medical.”

  She told him what Hattie Jordan said about the surveillance tapes, that she would be there Sunday at one.

  “I agree with Hattie. I wouldn’t get my hopes up too much,” Sid said. “But I’ll be there.”

  Chapter 12

  Saturday was no different than any other day for Sid Chance. Up early, he donned his sweats and headed out for his morning run. This early rising and physical conditioning routine dated back to his time in Army Special Forces. After Vietnam, his love of the outdoors led to a career with the National Park Service. The years had not dimmed his delight in the crisp morning air that greeted him as he began his trek around the neighborhood. His mood was buoyed by Jaz’s news last night regarding the possibility of finding something on the bank’s surveillance footage.

  While most people slept, Sid ran through the quiet streets past modest ranch style houses like his own, as well as more elegant homes with fancier cars in the driveways, primarily along the riverfront. He knew the sun had risen when landscape details sharpened, but the sky remained a dark, murky void. He settled into a quickened pace, his lungs filling with the ripeness of the spring air. By the time he finished his four miles, the anger that lingered from rehashing the Grimm/Kozlov incident had given way to the exhaustion of a strenuous workout.

  He languished under the shower, dressed, and ate breakfast, feeling renewed and ready to tackle whatever lay ahead. Since it was too early to deal with a sleeping public on a Saturday morning, he went into his home office and booted up his computer. Jaz had copied him on everything she had dug up regarding Omar Valdez, Elena Ortiz, and Prime Medical Equipment. He started going through all the notes, including his own, looking for anything he might have overlooked the first time around.

  When he reviewed what he had learned about Valdez from Agent Eggers and the funeral director, he was struck by a feeling that he might be looking at something he couldn’t see. As he read on, he kept checking the clock and wondering if he dared call Art Yancey yet.