4 The Marathon Murders

by Chester D. Campbell

  I found the park just off the highway behind a building that housed ambulances. Maps and descriptions showed how the Rebels had approached Hartsville along the same route we had taken Wednesday afternoon. The battle had been fought in this area, with a Confederate artillery battery firing from across the river near where Olson was found.

  Back in the car, I crossed a concrete span over the Cumberland and located the dirt trail leading off to the spot where Olson must have been lured to his death. Realizing a party of tired, half-frozen Rebel soldiers had fired cannons in this area nearly a century and a half ago, I wondered if any Confederate ghosts had lingered about Monday night when someone fired three shots into Casey Olson. If so, they weren’t talking.

  I saw tire marks where the wrecker had pulled the Corvette out from a cluster of trees. If there had been another car around, its tracks had likely been washed away by the storm that came through Wednesday afternoon. I knew there was no need to search for possible clues. The sheriff’s deputies had combed the area on hands and knees around where the body was found at the left of the Corvette. When I checked along the line of trees off to the right, however, I noticed what appeared to be a path leading toward the river.

  I followed the path, too rough to reveal any footprints, through a dense stand of oak and hickory until it emerged at the riverbank. Rocks stacked on the bluff suggested someone had used them to prop up a fishing pole. Looking down at the brownish water that swirled noisily along the bank, I had a sudden thought. This would make an ideal spot for someone to toss a 9mm Beretta where it would never be found.

  On my return to the clearing, I examined every bush and every limb a person might have brushed against in the dark. He would have needed a flashlight to find his way, but the narrow beam likely left him at the mercy of small obstacles. I had to admit the recent rain had no doubt dislodged any evidence of that sort. All my searching produced was a crumpled cigarette pack. I didn’t recognize the red and blue colors on the wrapper but picked it up with a tissue I had brought along just in case. I took it to the car and stuck it in the glove box.

  When I got back to Mickey Evans’ apartment, the front door stood open. She sat on the living room sofa, legs curled beneath her. Now that I could see her, I noticed she wore short shorts and a skimpy halter. Jill sat in a chair facing the sofa. Mickey jumped up and came to open the screen as soon as she spotted me.

  “You two look comfortable,” I said. “How’s it going?”

  “Your wife has been real helpful,” Mickey said in a soft, hopeful voice. “She’s showed me how to get a better handle on things. I, you know, needed something like that. I don’t have anybody to turn to around here. My mother lives in South Carolina, and . . . well, we haven’t talked in ages.”

  Mother McKenzie had evidently worked her magic. I looked across at her. “It’ll soon be one o’clock, babe. We’d better get back and check in with Warren Jarvis.”

  Jill got up and hugged Mickey. “I’m sure things will work out for you,” she said. “Don’t get discouraged. You have my card. If you hear of anything that might help our investigation, or if you just want to hear a friendly voice, give me a call. And be careful who you talk to around here.”

  She waved at the girl as we got in the car.

  “It looks like you two hit it off pretty well,” I said. I turned onto the street that would take us back into town.

  “She’s a confused little girl. She came here a few years ago with her father, while she was still in high school. After graduation, she went to work in a grocery store where her dad was manager. He got arrested for taking money from the till and wound up in prison. They fired her, though she hadn’t done anything wrong.”

  “Guilt by association,” I said.

  “That’s about it. She’s been working as a waitress for the past year.”

  “How did Casey come into the picture?”

  “They met at Big Mama’s place. Mickey’s been going with him for around six months. She admits she let him stay at her apartment a lot but, denies she slept with him.”

  She must have felt burdened with some small-town scruples. “Did she tell you anything about his friends?”

  “Some race car people, like his dad said. And lately, he’d been real chummy with a guy he knew at Samran. I believe she said it was his supervisor, someone called Kayjay.”

  “Is that a name or just initials?”

  “I asked. She thought it was a nickname. He had been to Mickey’s house, but she didn’t particularly like him. The last time she saw Casey was on Sunday, so she doesn’t know who he might have been with on the day of the murder.”

  I turned off Main Street, headed for the restaurant. “What else did she tell you about Casey?”

  “He was an occasional pot smoker, though he didn’t smoke regular cigarettes. She said he drank too much and liked to gamble. She hated that he was using marijuana and tried to get him to leave the stuff alone. She told me something interesting on that score. Casey had bragged about his connection with a supplier who knew of a bigtime local source. Mickey thought they were growing plants in a cave.”

  “Is that what you had in mind with that be careful who you talk to?”

  “Right. I knew it had the potential to get her into a lot of trouble.”

  “If the wrong people heard her, that’s for sure.”

  I pulled into the lot in front of Big Mama’s restaurant and parked.

  Jill turned to me with a troubled look. “I hope I did the right thing. I didn’t mean for her not to be forthright with Agent Fought or the sheriff.”

  “I imagine she got the correct message.”

  “Do you think she could really be in any trouble?”

  “Over the marijuana business? I was just wondering, could that be what Sheriff Driscoll referred to when he talked about an operation where Pierce Bradley could have spooked somebody with his low-level flying?”

  “You’re not suggesting that could have something to do with Bradley’s murder?”

  “Not at all. I just hope that idea doesn’t resonate with the sheriff or Wayne Fought. We don’t need any more complications to sidetrack our case.”

  We got out and went into the restaurant, where the front windows glowed with a halo effect, the result of blinds closed to ward off the afternoon sun. The halo hadn’t touched Big Mama, who led us grim-faced to a table in the back.

  “Did you find Miss Mickey?” she asked in a gruff voice.

  I reached out to take a menu from her. “Right where you said she’d be.”

  “The poor girl has been through a rough time,” Jill said. “I tried to cheer her up.”

  “She needs to get her tail in here and get back to work,” Big Mama said. “I’m short-handed. She don’t need to mope over that Olson boy. He wasn’t worth frettin’ over. Among other things, I think he hung out with dopers.”

  “Do you know any of his friends?” I asked.

  “Only one he ever brought in here was a young guy he said was his boss. He worked at the Samran plant.”

  “When was this?”

  “A week ago maybe.”

  “Must be the Kayjay Mickey mentioned,” Jill said after Big Mama left with our order.

  “Yeah. We need to find him and see what he knows. The plant probably won’t be open until Monday, though.”

  A slim red-headed waitress brought our sandwiches a few minutes later, and I had just started on mine when the cell phone rang. I put the sandwich down and answered it.

  “Have you been talking to the newspapers?” Agent Fought asked in an angry voice.

  “No. I avoid the press like the Asian Flu. Why do you ask?”

  “I just got cornered by a reporter in Hartsville who knew more details than she should have.”

  “A newspaper reporter?”

  “Right. All the way down from Boston.”

  “The hell you say. Boston?”

  “Bean Town.”

  “Who does she work for?”

  �
�Would you believe The Christian Science Monitor? Why the hell would they send a reporter down here on a story like this?”

  “There must be some intriguing angle to this case we hadn’t considered.”

  “Well, there’s one you damned sure did consider. She asked about your Marathon Motors affair.”

  Chapter 28

  I called Warren Jarvis after getting Fought off the phone. “I found out where where Kelli is,” I said. “Or at least where she was.”

  “Where?”

  “Here in Hartsville. She posed as a newspaper reporter and interviewed TBI Agent Fought.”

  I told him about the call I’d just had.

  “You’re sure it was Kelli?”

  “Who else? She claimed to be a Christian Science Monitor reporter and knew about the missing Marathon papers. Have you been talking to the Monitor?”

  “I’ve never even read a copy of it.”

  “I haven’t seen one in years, but it’s a well-respected newspaper. Anyway, I asked Fought what the reporter looked like. I backed into it so he wouldn’t start wondering about my questions. I asked first if she was at the funeral home or the cemetery.”

  “Was she?”

  “He saw her at the cemetery and asked around, but nobody knew who she was. She cornered him later when he was leaving a restaurant after having lunch with Sheriff Driscoll.”

  “How did she look?”

  “Like Kelli in size and shape, but she had auburn hair and lots of makeup.”

  “Damn.” I let him mull that over for a moment. Then he gave a short grunt and said, “Maybe I should head on up that way.”

  “You won’t find her unless she wants you to. I’d suggest you stick around and listen for your cell phone. If she needs help, I’m sure she’ll call.”

  I finished my thought for Jill after snapping the cover shut on the phone. “And I have serious doubts that she’ll call.”

  “What do you think she’s up to?” Jill asked.

  “I wish I knew. Her big advantage over us is that she doesn’t have any constraints on who she talks to and how she approaches them. We have to play it legally and reasonably fair to protect our licenses.”

  Jill suddenly turned to me with a frown. “You haven’t told me where you went while I was talking to Mickey Evans. You must have been sniffing around somewhere.”

  I told her about my visit to the Casey Olson murder scene and my hapless forensic foray, which produced only a single piece of unlikely evidence.

  “What did you do with it?”

  “I put it in the glove box. We’ll take a closer look when we get back, but it’s unlikely to have any fingerprints. Particularly considering the weather since Monday night.”

  “And it’s probably a popular brand that won’t lead you to anybody.”

  “More than likely.” But I never rule out any possibility, which is why I picked it up.

  We drove straight back to Nashville and stopped by the office before going home. I looked up the number I’d gotten for the Chamber of Commerce guy, Craig Audain. Getting his wife on the phone, I explained what I was after.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. McKenzie,” she said. “Craig called a little while ago and said he wouldn’t get back until very late tonight. I’ll ask him to call you in the morning.”

  “I’d appreciate it,” I said, leaving both phone numbers. I was beginning to feel like a big fat telephone put on permanent hold.

  Jill got up from her desk and retrieved her handbag. “If you’re not in any hurry, I think I’ll go by the craft shop down the street. I’m getting tired of that flower arrangement on the buffet.”

  Flower arrangements didn’t do a lot for me. I could take them or leave them. I was happy to relinquish any interest in home decorating to Jill’s capable hands. She hadn’t been gone but a few minutes when the phone rang.

  “Greg,” said the cooing voice of Camilla Rottman, “I wondered if you might be there today.”

  “We just got back from Trousdale County and stopped by the office on our way home.”

  “Is your wife there?”

  “No, she just walked up to a nearby craft shop. I’ll be happy to have her call.”

  “That won’t be necessary. You’re the one I wanted to talk to.”

  I didn’t like the sound of that but let it slide. “What can I do for you, Mrs. Rottman.”

  “It’s Camilla, you silly man. I need your help.”

  “What sort of help?”

  “I have a problem that requires some detection.”

  “Actually, we try to avoid detecting on weekends.”

  She gave a warbling laugh. “But you’d do it for me.”

  “What’s the problem?”

  “You need to come by here and let me explain things. Could you do it this afternoon?”

  “I’ll have to check with Jill when she gets back. I don’t think we have anything pressing.” Despite my reluctance to risk becoming one of her minions, taking on a client in her rarified circle of acquaintances couldn’t be bad for future business.

  “Quite frankly, Greg, this is a situation that requires a man working solo. I need you to come alone.”

  Was she for real? I wondered. I had encountered a few women with suspect pasts who set up questionable scenarios to try and trap a red-blooded American male. But I was a lot younger in those days. I had received no hints about Camilla’s past. More compelling, I was on the downhill side of sixty-five.

  “I’ll see what I can work out,” I said. “It’s nearly three o’clock. I doubt I could make it before four.”

  “That will be fine. And, Greg, please don’t mention anything about this to your wife. It’s highly confidential.”

  She hung up before I could say anything else. She was really putting me under the gun. Did I stonewall Jill and make up some excuse? Or did I ignore Camilla’s wishes and tell Jill the whole story? Damn!

  Being an old hand at taking risks that not always appeared worth the possible consequences, I agonized a bit over how to handle it. Failing to come up with anything better, I decided to leave Jill a note saying something had come up I needed to check into. I would fill her in on the details when I got back.

  When the phone rang again, I debated whether to answer it. Enough was enough. Then I saw Warren’s motel number on the caller ID.

  “I’m going stir crazy over here,” he said. “This sitting around waiting and staring at the phone is about to drive me batty.”

  “Would you like me to drop by and chat a bit?”

  “I don’t want to put you out if you have plans, Greg, but I’d be grateful for the company.”

  Put me out? It gave me an excuse to head toward Belle Meade, and I wouldn’t have to lie to Jill.

  “I’m waiting for Jill to get back to the office,” I said. “I’ll drop her off at home. Then I have a little mission to accomplish, and I’ll see you shortly.”

  When Jill came in toting a large flower arrangement with fall colors, I told her about my conversation with Jarvis. “He’d like for me to drop by and talk to him a bit. Says he’s about to go batty staring at the phone.”

  “You’re probably just what he needs, dear. I have some things to do at home. Just drop me off and I’ll get to work.”

  I rationalized that I was not lying to her, just omitting part of the truth. If I told her about this now, she might say to hell with Camilla, stay out of that vixen’s path. But it could be an opening to some good business down the road. When I got a handle on the situation, I’d be able to tell Jill the rest of the story.

  Chapter 29

  When I arrived at the Rottman mansion, I found a lone red Jaguar sitting in the parking area in front. I remembered seeing it Thursday when I escorted Camilla to our office door. Other cars could be garaged at the rear of the house, of course. And there was always the possibility of servants around. It sounded plausible, but I suspected no one would be here but the queen of the realm.

  I had left my jacket and tie at home, changin
g into a short-sleeve white shirt. I walked to the door, rang the bell and waited. After a minute or so, I rang again. I was about to turn around and leave when the door swung open just enough to highlight Camilla with her customary smile, dressed in a short, luxurious terry cloth robe open to reveal a two-piece yellow bathing suit. If it wasn’t a bikini, it was the first cousin to one. Her legs glowed bronze in the sunlight. She wore yellow flip-flops that matched the swim suit. I tried not to concentrate on the rest of her.

  “Oh, hello, Greg. You’re a little early. Sorry to take so long, but I was out in the pool. We have a bell back there that alerts us when someone arrives or I might have missed you.” She opened the door wide and beckoned me to enter.

  The story sounded reasonable, and she appeared sober. I stepped inside, nodding my head in the direction I had come. “I hope the water was cooler than the air out there.”

  “It’s heating up. Sometimes I think we should float cakes of ice in the pool.”

  She walked toward the drawing room, her tanned legs glistening where she hadn’t dried off. “We could sit out by the pool, but it’s a lot cooler in here.”

  Under the circumstances, I wasn’t too sure about that.

  It looked like a different room from last night, except for the bar. The tables and folding chairs were gone. Sofas and plush chairs had been arranged in cozy groups, including one that faced the fireplace. Camilla headed for it. She pulled off the robe, folded it and placed it on the sofa.

  “The suit isn’t dry yet, so I’d better sit this way.” She dropped carefully onto the robe. She patted the cushion beside her. “Sit over here where we can talk.”

  I took the other end of the sofa. “Jill and I enjoyed the party last night, Camilla. Thanks for inviting us.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. I just love parties.” With a sudden swing of her legs, she jumped up, kicking off the flip-flops. “And I’m being a terrible hostess. Let’s see, you like Scotch and soda.” She headed for the bar.