Murder in the Choir (The Jazz Phillips Mystery Series) (18 page)

That cast a whole new light on the case, and Kruger and I decided to head out for Texarkana right away. The day was getting away from us. Even if Slide wasn’t there when we arrived, we wouldn’t waste much time going there first. The road from Texarkana to Hot Springs is interstate almost all the way, and we could make up a lot of lost time there if necessary.

Kruger was reluctant to let me drive the Bureau car, even though I knew the roads much better and could get us there more quickly. So he drove and we talked about the new developments on our way. At one point I asked him, “What if we have it turned around?” What if the real target was not Smiley but Slide?”

Kruger gave me an odd look. “You know, I wondered about that,” he said. “I wasn’t going to mention it until we ran out of better theories. It would give us a whole lot more to work with.”

“I think it makes more sense,” I replied. “Slide had lots of enemies. Smiley didn’t. They were both dressed about the same on the day of the murder and they looked enough alike to fool someone who knows them well until she saw them together.”

“Someone who knew them well,” Kruger corrected gently. “It may not be someone who was part of their lives now.”

“That’s a good point. I’m not saying we should change direction, but I do think we need to keep that possibility in the back of our minds just in case.”

Kruger nodded. “Of course, that raises some new questions. Who would be the shooter then? That’s the main problem. Who was it who was carrying the trombone case?”

I thought about it a moment. Then I saw something that could blow the political top off this case if it were true. I looked at Kruger. “I just had the most awful thought. Are we sure the victim was Smiley Jones?”

Kruger looked at me as if I had lost my mind. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t think it fits that well, but what if there was something Smiley Jones had against Slide. What if he was the shooter? Think about it a minute. The two of them look enough alike to fool a good witness. They’re dressed alike, and there’s blood all over the corpse. With the head shot, the features would be distorted. So maybe we should go back a few steps and ask how Smiley Jones was identified. Even if I’m wrong, it would close out that possibility.”

Kruger thought about that for a couple of minutes. Then he pulled over to the side of the road and opened the trunk. He pulled out a briefcase and opened it. Taking a document out, he returned to the driver seat and began to look over what I could see was a coroner’s report. “All it says here is that the victim was identified by his pastor, Albert Jones.” He looked at me and started the car. “What about fingerprints? Surely they printed the corpse.”

“Yes,” I told him. “I’m sure they did. That’s been standard procedure for quite a while now, but rural counties can get a bit lax. Even if they printed the corpse, they may not have done a comparison or run them through your data bank. That’s expensive and with positive identification by a trusted witness, it may not have been done.”

“Shit!” Kruger said. “We could do it now, but how do we even approach this without precipitating a political shit storm?” “We could pass it off as routine,” I suggested. “We do need a set so we can eliminate suspects if we turn up prints at Luther’s, so we can

ask for one if it’s not with the autopsy report. I’m sure Smiley must have paid him a visit at some point. I’m also sure Slide must be in the system, too.”

Kruger’s phone rang and he pulled over to answer it. The call was from Denny Slade telling me Slide’s car was still in Texarkana. He gave me a street address and promised to have someone keep an eye on it until we got there. I thanked him and told him we were about an hour away. I knew I could have us there in forty-five minutes, but Kruger was driving.

Kruger made it in forty minutes flat. When I told him what Slade said, Kruger dropped the car in gear and stepped on the gas. The Bureau puts special agents through a rigorous driving school and that day it showed. Nor was there any further conversation. Kruger was completely focused on the road, and I shut up and let the man concentrate on getting us there.

When we got to Texarkana, Kruger asked me where we were going and I navigated us through the back streets. I spotted the unmarked police car about a block away from the address Denny had given me and pointed it out to Kruger. We stopped, and I was surprised to see one of the officers was Denny himself. The other was a fellow I’d known on Highway Patrol. The last time I had seen either of them, they were still in uniform.

I introduced Kruger. Denny told me the house across the street from the car belonged to a lady Slide was known to visit from time to time when her man was out of town. That was good to know. It gave us some leverage.

I thanked Denny, and Kruger parked close in front of Slide’s car. As we got out, I saw Denny’s partner pull in close behind, blocking the vehicle in. Denny grinned and gave me a thumbs up. I thought things must be pretty slow on the Arkansas side for them to take the time, but backup is always welcome.

The woman who answered the door was still in her bathrobe. Kruger showed her his identification and introduced me. “What you want with me?” she demanded rudely.

“We hate to disturb you, Ma’am” Kruger told her. “We need to speak with Luther Jones. Slide.”

“No one that name lives here!” the woman snapped and tried to slam the door in our faces.

Kruger blocked it open with a shoulder. “That’s his car across the street and he is known to visit here,” he replied. “All we need to do is talk with him.”

The woman looked across the street and saw the unmarked cars. “Why you come here making a raid?” she whined. “We ain’t done nothing wrong.”

“Is he here, Ma’am?” Kruger insisted.

“Don’t see that’s any of your business,” she retorted. There was no way she was going to be helpful.

“Maybe we should talk to her husband,” I suggested to Kruger. “Maybe he knows where we can find Slide.”

Fear replaced the outrage in the woman’s face, but she held on. “I ain’t got no husband. I ain’t married.”

I shrugged. “All right, maybe we need to talk to your live-in boyfriend.”

“Why you want to do that? He don’t know no...what’s his name?”

She was good. I have to admit that. For a moment I wondered if we had the right house. Then I glanced back at the unmarked car and Denny nodded. I spoke to Kruger. “Maybe I should ask those officers over there. Maybe they can help straighten this out. Or we could ask the neighbors.”

The woman looked at me with pure venom in her eyes. I think she would have held out longer, but someone inside spoke to her softly. She moved aside and the door opened. A grizzled, thin black man stood there. He was dressed in jacket and a tie and freshly shaved. “I’m Luther Jones,” he told us. “What can I do for you gentlemen?”

At that moment, I couldn’t tell who we were talking with. The man was a dead ringer for Smiley Jones, and I couldn’t be sure it wasn’t him. He exuded a quiet dignity I associate with old men at peace with the world. There wasn’t one thing about him that suggested a con or any fear of the police.

Kruger was just as taken aback. People who have reason to fear the police show fear or some sign of psychopathology. Sometimes it’s bravado and at times it’s simple tension, but it’s almost always something, and experienced police can sense it. This man gave us nothing but a profound sense of sadness.

The man in the door spoke up again. “Come, now, gentlemen. You barged in on my visit with these dear friends. What do you want from me?”

“We’re looking for Luther Adams,” I told him. “Have you seen him?”

There was something in his eyes for a moment when I asked that. “Luther? Goodness, has he done something wrong?”

“He’s missing,” I told him.

The man smiled and chuckled. “Oh, Luther, he probably just wandered off somewhere. He does that from time to time.”

“We think something may have happened to him,” Kruger said. “So does Pastor Jones. The whole town turned out to search, but we couldn’t find him.”

“Goodness. That sounds serious. I hope he’s all right.” The man’s eyes didn’t match the emotion I heard in his voice, and I was sure then we were in the right place. This man might be a dead ringer for Smiley, but this was Slide. He was telling us the truth about that.

“May we come in and talk?” Kruger asked.

“This isn’t my house or I would invite you in,” Slide said. “You seem to have upset my host, so I think we better talk out here.”

“All right,” said Kruger. There was steel in his voice and he pulled out a set of handcuffs. “We can talk at the police station.”

I heard the doors of a car open behind us and knew Denny and his partner had seen the cuffs and were on their way to us. “There’s no need for restraints, officer,” Slide said as Kruger took his left arm and slipped a cuff on. “I’ll come quietly.” Kruger ignored him and spun Slide around, quickly cuffing the other hand. I could see he had some practice doing so. I could also see this wasn’t a new experience for Slide, either.

“Everything under control?” Denny asked from behind us.

“I think we’ve got it,” Kruger told him. “You mind us using your station for an interview?”

“Be my guest,” Denny said, stepping aside to let Kruger by with Slide. At that moment, the door behind us flew open, and the woman we had talked to threw herself on Kruger’s back, cursing and clawing at his face with her nails.

Denny grabbed her while his partner reached for his handcuffs. Even though she stood five foot four and weighed less than a hundred and twenty, it took all four of us to hold her down. By the time we were done, the robe was wide open for the world to see she was wearing nothing under it. In the background, I could hear Luther laughing.

“A visit to dear friends?” Kruger asked Slide as the Texarkana officers shoved the woman into their car. “Is her sister here, too?”

“Goodness, no,” Jones cackled. “Her sister is ugly as a bulldog. I believe you must have seen the friends I was visiting during the...ah...scuffle.”

There was no denying the man had charm. Nor was he short on chutzpah, either. He was enjoying this. “You may have some trouble explaining this to her boyfriend when he gets home,” I told him. “I’m sure the neighbors saw the ‘scuffle’ and your two friends, too.”

Slide laughed again. “They’ve seen it before. She’s always getting drunk and running around the neighborhood more or less dressed. I’ll tell him I came by to see him. After all, that’s what brought me here in the first place.”

“Right.” I opened the rear door of Kruger’s car. There were a couple of things there, and I cleared them out. “Want me to ride in back with him?”

Kruger shook his head and helped Slide into the rear of the car. “The police station here is so depressing,” Slide said. “Why don’t you take these cuffs off and let me buy you the best cup of coffee in town?”

“New rules,” Kruger told him. “We can’t even take a cup of coffee now.”

“I could suggest a place where we might find some stronger beverages.”

“I’m sure you could,” Kruger said. Then he turned to me. “Which way do I go to get there?”

Slide Jones kept up his banter all the way to the station, but once we were inside, he quieted down. “I believe I need an attorney,” he said casually as we sat down in the interview room.

I shook my head. “You’re not under arrest, Slide. Not yet. Help us out and we’ll see about making the ‘scuffle’ go away.” I looked at Kruger and he nodded. “Otherwise, your friend is looking at assault on a federal officer, and you will be up for obstruction of justice.”

“I don’t think you can make that stick,” he said. “At least, not mine.”

“A real gentleman, aren’t you?” Kruger said. “Bailing out and letting your girlfriend take a fall.”

He shrugged. “I didn’t ask her to attack you or even suggest it. You will remember, I also came along quietly when you cuffed me.”

I found it odd playing good cop to Kruger’s federal asshole. “Look,” I said. “We’re getting way ahead of things here. All we want is some conversation.”

“Otherwise we can have them hold you as a material witness to homicide, if nothing else,” Kruger interjected. “With the attitude we’re getting, there won’t be bail. You’ll stay here until we let you go.”

Slide Jones shook his head. “I prefer to talk with a lawyer present.”

“Look, I can talk to you alone, if necessary,” I told him.

Slide chuckled. “Yes, an all the time he’ll be watching from the other side of that mirror and taping the whole thing. No, sir. I want a lawyer.”