Reed Ferguson Mystery Box Set 5

by Renee Pawlish

  “He doesn’t live here now?”

  Her eyes narrowed and her lips went in and out as she stared at me. “That’s what I just said.”

  “Was he here on Sunday night?”

  “That boy hasn’t been around for weeks. I don’t know what he’s up to these days, and I don’t want to know.”

  “Hmm,” I said. Since she was talking, I needed to get as much information from her as I could. “I must have misunderstood him.”

  “You must have,” she said matter-of-factly.

  “Where does he live now?”

  She let go of the dog’s collar and he sat down, but he looked up and emitted a low growl. “How should I know? That boy doesn’t tell me anything.” She narrowed her eyes. “But he did try to call me a little bit ago.”

  “What did he want?”

  She waved a hand around. “I don’t want to get involved in whatever tomfoolery he’s gotten himself into, and I didn’t answer. He didn’t leave a message, either.”

  Maybe calling to tell her to cover for his alibi, I thought.

  “Where did you see him? Jail?” She didn’t seem concerned, but curious.

  “He’s working at CJ’s Auto Repair,” I said.

  “For how long?”

  “I don’t know.” Somehow she’d turned the tables and was interrogating me. “What did Davon do before that job?” I asked, taking control of the conversation again.

  Her lips were working again as she mused, almost unaware of my presence. “I’m surprised he has a job at all. That boy is trouble, through and through. I hate to say it about my own flesh and blood, but it’s the truth. Though, Lord, I tried with him. But he was so angry, his momma had a drinking problem and couldn’t raise him.” She shook her head sadly. “I don’t know what I did with that one, either. I blame myself. I married a good-for-nothing alcoholic, and she took after him. Got herself pregnant too young, and the daddy didn’t stick around. She couldn’t take care of Davon, and I took him in.”

  “What kind of trouble was Davon in?”

  “Drinking. Drugs. Stealing. I don’t know what else. That boy and his friends were bad news. They didn’t want to go to school. I tried to get Davon to go, but he dropped out and ended up in jail for stealing a car.” She let out a bitter laugh. “Isn’t that funny, him working at a car repair place. He was good with cars, though, had a mind for that.”

  “Maybe he’s turning over a new leaf,” I said.

  “Huh, wouldn’t that be nice.” She poked at her curlers. “Someone might’ve got through to him.”

  “Did Davon own any guns?”

  “I saw one in his bedroom once. I told him to get rid of it. I didn’t want them in the house.”

  “Did he get rid of it?”

  “I never saw any around again.”

  That wasn’t much of an answer, but I let it go.

  “Did Davon ever mention a man named Gabe Culpepper?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “Never heard of him.”

  I described Gabe.

  “No,” she said. “Doesn’t ring a bell, but I didn’t like Davon having his friends over. They’re disrespectful, and I wouldn’t put it past them to steal from me. And they were noisy, didn’t care if they were bothering me. They’d go in Davon’s room and play their music loud. That’s what Davon and his friends were into, cars, music, partying, and his dirty pictures.”

  “Huh.” I cleared my throat.

  “Yep. He thought I didn’t know about that, his finding the nudie stuff on the Internet. But I did. Disgusting.”

  “So if Davon didn’t have a job, how did he get money?” I asked.

  “He didn’t get it from me.” She sniffed. “He probably stole stuff. Or sold drugs. But that boy, I’ll tell you, he lives in a dream world. Doesn’t think he has to earn anything, he’ll just strike it rich somehow. But that’s not the way it works, now is it?”

  I thought it was a rhetorical question and I waited for her to go on, but she glared at me, and I murmured, “No, it is not.”

  “You got to work hard. Look at me. Forty years I worked in a school cafeteria. I didn’t make much money, but I’ve managed to pay off this house. It’s not much, but I’ve got some money in the bank, and I’ll be all right in my old age. Not that Davon, or my daughter, would care.”

  “Good for you,” I said, then focused her back on her grandson. “Did Davon ever gamble?”

  She pursed her lips. “Not that I know of, but then again, it wouldn’t surprise me. I just don’t understand that boy, and why he would want to cause me so much trouble. Do you know what it’s like to worry like I have? My blood pressure is sky high. I don’t know how I haven’t had a heart attack.”

  It seemed I’d gotten as much information as I could. I quickly thanked her and got out of there before I heard more about her woes. As I walked back to my car, I thought about Davon. One thing was clear: he had lied about his alibi for the night Gabe Culpepper had been killed. Why? Because he’d murdered Gabe? I didn’t know, but I was going to find out.

  Chapter Sixteen

  It was now after five, and when I got in the 4-Runner, I googled CJ’s Auto Repair again. It closed at six. Perfect. I’d go by there again, but this time I wasn’t going to attempt to talk to Davon, in part because he’d made it clear that he wouldn’t speak to me, and I didn’t expect that to change. However, I was going to follow him and see where that led me.

  Even though it was rush hour, traffic wasn’t too bad as I made my way on less busy streets back to the repair shop. I arrived with half an hour to spare. I parked partway down Marion Street, where I could look across a small triangular lot and see the front of the shop.

  I pulled out my binoculars and surreptitiously watched for Davon. A few cars drove past on Thirty-sixth, but no one noticed me. A little after six, Davon emerged with the other man I’d seen in the garage. They walked to a small lot near the shop and I lost sight of them. A moment later, an older-model brown Trans Am pulled out of the lot. Davon was at the wheel.

  He drove north on Lawrence Street, and I left some distance between us before I fell in behind him. He meandered north and then east, onto Fortieth, then to Clayton, and I had a good guess where he was going. The Rat Tavern. Sure enough, he parked near the bar and went inside. I found a parking place down the block where I could see the Trans Am, and was watching the bar when I suddenly realized I hadn’t talked to Willie to let her know I wouldn’t be home anytime soon. I pulled out my phone and called her.

  “Hey, where are you?” she answered. “I was wondering about dinner.”

  “The day’s gotten away from me,” I said. “And I don’t think I’ll be home anytime soon.”

  She sighed. “I wish you would’ve called.”

  “Sorry. I’ll make it up to you.”

  “You better.” She laughed. “What’s going on?”

  I filled her in on my day, and ended with, “I’m going to follow Davon and see where it leads me. He’s up to something, I’m just not sure what.”

  “Okay, be careful.”

  “Always.”

  I ended the call, then googled the Rat’s phone number and dialed it.

  “Rat Tavern,” Ella’s sultry voice could barely be heard over the music in the background.

  “Ella, it’s Reed.”

  “Oh, sure, honey. Did you find Sally?”

  I hesitated. “I did.” I didn’t want to tell her about Sally’s predicament right now. “She’s doing okay.”

  “Oh, that’s good. I don’t know about that girl sometimes. You tell her I said hello.”

  “Will do.”

  “Anyway, what can I do for you?”

  “I’m following a man named Davon Edwards.” I described him. “You may have seen him with Gabe.”

  “Yeah, I know who you mean. He’s here.”

  “What’s he doing?”

  The sound of the music faded into a dull thump, replaced by the clinking of dishes. She’d moved into the kitchen.


  “He’s drinking with another fella, and they ordered dinner.”

  “Do you know the other man?”

  “I’ve seen him around a time or two with Davon, but I don’t know his name.”

  “What does this man look like?”

  “He’s kind of stocky, with a shaved head, earrings, and he’s got tattoos, but only on his left arm.” It was a good description. “What’s going on? Does this have to do with Sally?”

  “I’m not sure,” I said truthfully.

  “Well, I hope you figure out whatever you’re trying to figure out,” she said.

  “Thanks.”

  I put my phone away and watched the bar. Minutes turned into an hour, and then some. My stomach growled, and I wished I was having dinner with Willie instead of sitting in my car waiting for Davon. I wondered if Bogie ever got tired of stakeouts. The sky morphed into a dark blue and the light faded. And then Davon walked out of the Rat with the man Ella had described. I watched them through the binoculars.

  The bald man’s pate glinted in the moonlight as he talked and smoked with Davon in front of the bar. Then the man threw his head back and laughed, clapped Davon on the shoulder, then turned and went back in the bar. Davon tossed his cigarette into the street and walked to the Trans Am. He got in and fired up the engine, creating a racket in the street. Then it peeled away from the curb. I waited a bit and followed.

  Davon went south to Fortieth and then east. He was right near his grandmother’s house, and I’d no sooner wondered if he would stop by to see her than he turned onto Jackson.

  “You need her help with your alibi,” I said aloud, “but it’s too late.”

  I drove slowly past Jackson and saw the Trans Am partway down the street. Davon was just getting out. I parked on Thirty-seventh, noticed an alley, and ran down it. When I reached the back of Francine Johnson’s house, I paused to catch my breath and listen. It was almost dark, and the alley was in deep shadows.

  I stepped up to a dilapidated one-car garage that faced the alley and peered around the corner. A chain-link fence surrounded a small backyard, but I couldn’t tell if Francine’s German Shepherd was outside. I reached out and gave the fence a quick shake. A few houses away, a dog barked, but no sound came from Francine’s yard. Good, no four-legged friend to announce my presence – or attack me. I let myself into the yard and stole up to the back of the house. A kitchen window was open and I heard voices coming from inside.

  “… can speak to who I want to,” Francine was saying, her voice annoyingly squeaky.

  “What’d you say to him?” Davon’s voice was low and threatening.

  “I told him that you’ve been nothing but trouble,” she said, and started into a tirade.

  “Shut up!” he snapped.

  I cringed. I would never have talked to my grandparents that way.

  Francine made a peep, and he snapped at her again.

  “Listen,” he snarled. “If that guy, or anyone else, comes here and asks where I was on Sunday night, you tell them I was here. Got it?”

  “I will do no such thing. You weren’t here.”

  “I’m warning you,” he said.

  “What have you gotten yourself into?”

  “None of your business. Just do what I tell you, all right?”

  I heard footsteps, and then a door slammed. I hurried to the corner of the house and peeked around. A moment later, Davon walked down the sidewalk and disappeared. Then I became aware of Francine’s voice.

  “Do you want to go outside?”

  She’s letting the dog out! I thought.

  I dashed across the yard and raced through the gate just as I heard the back door open. Francine may not have heard me, but the dog did. He peeled across the yard, barking ferociously. Francine called out to him, but I didn’t hear what she said because I was running as fast as I could down the alley. I reached the 4-Runner, hopped in and was about to start it when the Trans Am flew past me. It turned south on Colorado Boulevard and I followed, tailing Davon to a Burger King, where he went to the drive-through window and ordered something. Then he went south again. Twenty minutes later, he parked outside a small three-story apartment building near Swedish Hospital. He carried his meal as he climbed a set of stairs to the second floor and disappeared inside a unit. Seconds later, a window by the door lit up. I parked on the street and waited. Fifteen minutes later, my phone rang and I jumped, then quickly answered it.

  “Hey, Cal.”

  “O Great Detective. Do you have time for what I learned on Davon Edwards?”

  I stared up at Davon’s apartment. Nothing had changed.

  “I’m just sitting here,” I said.

  “It’s not pretty. He’s got a juvenile record – don’t ask me how I got that – for shoplifting and drug possession, and he graduated from that to being charged as an adult for auto theft, and drug possession again. He’s never registered a gun, but that doesn’t mean that he couldn’t have stolen one.”

  “Right,” I agreed.

  “He’s spent a couple years in prison,” Cal went on, “and he was on parole for almost a year. He was a high school dropout, but got his GED in prison. He has a little money in a checking account, and the last known address I can find for him is on Jackson Street.”

  “That’s his grandmother’s house, and he’s not living there now.”

  “Huh. He must not have things like an electric bill in his name.”

  “Hold on,” I said. “I can get you an address now.”

  “You’re with him?” He was surprised.

  “Watching his place. Or the place he went into. Let me call you back.”

  “Sure thing.”

  And he was gone.

  I could see an address for Davon’s building, but not a unit number, so I ran across the street and up to the apartment on the end. Once I figured out how the units were numbered, it was easy to figure out Davon’s. I ran back to the 4-Runner, got in, and called Cal back.

  I rattled off the street address, then said, “Davon’s in 203.”

  He did a quick search. “A man named Gregory Reichs lives there.” He spelled the last name.

  “Never heard of him,” I said.

  “Maybe he has nothing to do with your case.”

  I stared at Davon’s door. “Could be.”

  “While you try and piece that together, let me tell you what else I found out.”

  “About what?” My mind was drawing a blank on what I’d asked him to do.

  “I looked up Sally Evans.”

  “Oh, right.”

  “Spillman didn’t lie to you,” he said. “Sally was only arrested for public indecency. Other than that, she’s clean.”

  “Good to know. What about Sally owning a gun?”

  “I can’t find that she ever owned a gun. Did she lie to you about that?”

  “Apparently not.”

  “That’s good, right?” he said with a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

  “Yes.”

  “You need anything else?”

  “No, thanks for the help.”

  “What’s your next move?”

  “I think I’m wasting my time here.” I sighed. “I’m going home. I’ll pick things up tomorrow.”

  “Sounds like a good plan. Oh, would you mind if I stopped by tomorrow?”

  “Not at all, but what brings you into town?”

  “I’ve got a morning meeting with a client, and then another afternoon meeting. I tried to schedule them back-to-back, but that didn’t work and I’ll have time to kill between appointments. I thought I could work at your place instead of making two trips into town.”

  “Sure. I won’t be around, and I’ll check with Willie, but I doubt she’ll mind.”

  “Thanks. My meeting’s at eight, so sometime after that.”

  “No problem.”

  I ended the call, put my phone back in my pocket, and stared at Davon’s apartment. It appeared he was in for the night. I frowned, started up my car, and lef
t. I now knew where he lived, and that he had lied about his alibi for the night Gabe Culpepper had been killed. But why? The obvious reason was that Davon was guilty of murder. But I’d have to prove that.

  Chapter Seventeen

  I’d covered a lot of ground in one day, and as I drove home, my mind was racing with what to do next. I assumed Davon would be at work the next day, but what would he do after that? I had no idea, but I intended to watch him and find out. In the meantime, I needed to see if I could find the mysterious man who’d argued with Gabe the night he’d been murdered. Sally had said that man seemed to know the owner of Club 77, and if I could track down said bar owner, he might be able to tell me who that man was. I was still mulling over my plans when my phone rang.

  “Hello?”

  “Reed, it’s Sally. I was just wondering how things went today.”

  “I’m still running down some leads,” I said, not ready to tell her everything. I still wasn’t completely sure I trusted her.

  “If you go by my work, I won’t be there. I told them I needed a leave of absence, but I didn’t say why. They might know about Gabe, but I was too embarrassed to ask.”

  “What’re you going to do in the meantime?”

  She hesitated. “Hang around here, I guess. Maybe visit my mother.”

  “Those are good ideas. It’s possible the police are following you, and you don’t want your activities to make them even more suspicious of you.”

  “They would follow me?”

  “It’s possible,” I repeated.

  “Oh,” she said slowly. “This is bad.”

  “Yes, it is. I’ll call you when I have an update.”

  “Okay, thanks.”

  I ended the call, and as I drove up Broadway, I listened to music and continued to ponder my investigation. When I got home, I ran into the Goofballs, who were just coming home.

  “Hey, Reed,” they said in unison.

  “Hi guys,” I said with smile. “Were you playing pool tonight?”

  “Uh-huh,” Ace said.

  “If you’re up for it, I could use your help,” I said.