Surest Poison, The (18 page)

“We saw the sign on the way in where
Sheriff Zack is running for re-election.”

Lewis gripped the apron in both hands and
twisted it in a show of disgust. “He bragged how he got rid of you. Now he
thinks he can do anything he wants. He takes his orders from Bronson
Fradkin, though. That man is pure evil.”

“Well, he’s in for disillusionment.” Sid
leaned his elbows on the table, something his mother would have frowned on.
This town brought back memories of her. She was the one who had insisted he
take the chief’s job.

“Why would he be disillusioned?” Jaz
asked.

“‘He who is pregnant with evil and
conceives trouble gives birth to disillusionment.’”

She tilted her head and stared at him.
“Who said that?”

“David. Psalm Seven.”

She turned to Jeff Lewis. “Did he do this
when he lived down here?”

Lewis laughed until his cheeks turned the
shade of his beard. “I used to call him The Poet. Some of the names other
people gave him were a little less complimentary.”

“People like Bronson Fradkin?” Jaz asked.

“Probably,” Sid said. “And if we find
what I’m beginning to suspect, Mr. Fradkin is likely to become even less
complimentary.”

“Be very careful with that man, Sid,”
Lewis said.

“Jaz is going to talk to him. I’m
convinced I couldn’t get anything out of him.”

Lewis gave her a somber look. “I’ll give
you the same advice. Take care when you deal with Fradkin. He’s powerful and
he’s ruthless. Is this a confidential matter?”

“No, we’re looking for the people
responsible for that chemical spill at an Ashland City plant that’s been in
the news.”

“I read about that.
Sounds pretty bad for those people up there.
And you think Fradkin
was involved?”

“There’s a good possibility,” Sid said.
“I found his name associated with the company that used the plant at the
time.”

“If there was a scheme to make money, you
can bet our boy Bronson was behind it.”

Maribeth came across the dining area and
called, “They need you in the kitchen, Jeff.”

He jumped up and unfurled his apron.
“Gotta go.
Nice meeting you, Jaz. Drop by after a
while if you can. I’ll have more time to talk.”

Maribeth sidled up to the table. “You
guys going to eat with us?”

Sid opened his menu. “We sure are. What
strikes your fancy, Jaz?”

“How about the
vegetable soup and salad?”

“Good choice,” Maribeth said. “The soup’s
to die for.”

Sid winked at her. “I think I’ll live
awhile yet. Bring me the salad and a Reuben sandwich.”

“And black coffee.”

“You remembered.”

”How could I forget?”

“Tea for me,” Jaz said.

Maribeth collected the menus and headed
for the kitchen.

“They’re nice people,” Jaz said.

“Hank was a rock when I hit my lowest
point. He still has a lot of influence around town. His dad was county judge
years ago. That was before Bronson Fradkin and his ilk took over.”

Sid and Jaz were eating a short time
later when a big man swaggered into the restaurant like some Old West
gunslinger. He was dressed in a pale blue uniform, a large semi-automatic
swinging from his hip. Jaz saw him first.

“Who’s the cop?” she asked.

Sid looked around.
“Trouble.”

“That his first or last name?”

“Both. He’s double trouble.
The sheriff’s chief deputy, Richard Tracy.”

Jaz stared, her mouth half open. “Dick
Tracy?”

“Unbelievable, isn’t it?”

He followed her gaze and saw Chief Deputy
Tracy coming straight toward their table, a crooked smile on his face. He
stopped in front of them.

“Well, as I live and breathe, if it ain’t
our old police chief. What are you doing down here, Chance? I heard you
was
a big city dude now.”

“Where’d you hear that?
Till recently I lived a long way from the big city.”

“People tell us things.”

Sid stared into his eyes, displaying no
emotion. “Tell your people I still get nostalgic for the small town
atmosphere.”

“You do, huh? Well, our atmosphere is
dong fine without you.”

“We’re just visiting. I thought tourists
were welcome in Lewisville.”

“Some are
,
some aren’t. We don’t welcome folks who think they’re above the law.”

“How about the law of
entrapment?”

The deputy’s face twisted into an evil
grin. “I’ll bet you’re down here looking for a new dealer.”

Sid had to restrain himself from jumping
up and taking a swing at the guy. Instead, he gritted his teeth and said,
“You shouldn’t believe all you hear on that wrist radio, Dick.”

“You’ll think wrist radio if I catch you
doing anything out of line, like the last time.”

“Like the last time? How many false traps
have you set lately?”

The deputy’s face hardened. “You’d better
watch your step around here, Chance. Get smart with me and I’ll see you wind
up in the County Jail.”

Sid’s knuckles turned white as he gripped
the table.

“Don’t worry about it, Deputy Tracy,” Jaz
said, looking up at the officer. “We’re on our way to see Bronson Fradkin.
I’m sure he’ll take care of everything.”

Tracy spun on his heel and stalked off.

Sid exhaled a long sigh. “Thanks for
saving me. Another couple of exchanges and I would have done something
rash.”

“That’s what I was afraid of,” she said,
reaching over to squeeze his hand. “It would’ve been deserved, but not
wise.”

26

Sid moved the
car to a different two-hour parking spot. They walked around the block to
The Executive Building, where Fradkin’s office was located. Jaz looked about
at the old storefronts as they passed. Most had weathered looks, some the
appearance of relics from an era long past. It made the newness of the
lawyer’s brick office building seem out of place. A small coffee shop, sort
of a Starbucks knockoff, occupied a narrow space next door.

“I’ll wait for you in there,” Sid told
her when they stopped out front. “Call on the cell phone if you need me.”

Jaz suspected he had been worrying about
her. She gave him a stern look. “Face it, Sid. I’m a big girl. I can take
care of myself.”

“I know. But like Jeff said, that man is
pure evil.”

“My strength is as the strength of ten,
because my heart is pure.”

He broke out laughing. “Now you’re
stealing my stuff.”

Jaz grinned. “I remembered the line, but
I don’t know who said it.”

“Sir Galahad in
Tennyson’s
Idylls of the King
.”

She waved and turned to the building’s
heavy wood door, which looked as solid as that of an English manor house.
Inside she found an elevator and a directory of second floor tenants. To the
left, ornate script lettering on the windows of a glassed-in reception area
spelled out “Law Offices of Bronson Q. Fradkin.” Jaz walked in and
approached a prim, white-haired woman whose desk sat beyond a cluster of
empty chairs.

“Jasmine LeMieux to see Mr. Fradkin,” she
said in a pleasant voice.

The woman looked up. “Do you have an
appointment?”

“No, but I came down from Nashville to
see him. I hope he isn’t too busy.”

“Let me check.” She went to a nearby
door, knocked, opened it, and spoke to someone out of sight. A moment later,
she was back, smiling. “Mr. Fradkin will see you.”

She ushered Jaz into the inner sanctum.

Bronson Fradkin’s office was rather large
for what she would have expected of a country lawyer. From the looks of
things, however, he didn’t think of himself as a country lawyer. The
oversize desk, cushioned chairs, stately cabinets and tables, all were
fashioned of lustrous cherry wood that shined as though a polishing cloth
had just been applied. Scenes from fox hunts and polo matches decorated the
walls. Everything about the place showed a plan to portray its occupant as a
man of refinement, a sporting gentleman. He came around the desk dressed in
an expensive suit, gold cufflinks, and diamond-studded tie pin flashing in
the light from a shiny brass banker’s lamp.

He reached out a soft, smooth hand. “Miss
LeMieux, what a pleasure to meet you. Please have a seat.”

Jaz shook his hand, which she guessed had
never held a horse’s reins, at least not since he was a kid. She sat in the
chair across from his desk. It was like walking into a masquerade ball.
Everything hinted at pretense. “
It’s
nice meeting
you, Mr. Fradkin. You have a beautiful office.”

A slim man with precisely parted brown
hair she doubted was
his own
and a cultivated
look of distinction, Fradkin appeared pleased at the compliment. He took his
seat behind the desk and smiled at her.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of this
visit from such a distinguished lady?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Maybe you have me
confused with somebody else.”

“You’re being modest, Miss LeMieux. I’ve
read about your fascinating career.
Champion boxer,
outstanding police officer, corporate executive.
I also understand
you’ve been playing a new role as a private investigator. You’re quite a
talented young lady.”

“And you’re quite a flatterer, Mr.
Fradkin.”

“So which Jasmine LeMieux am I talking
with today?”

She gave him a teasing smile. “Which
would you prefer?”

“As an attorney who has had a rather
successful career in dealing with corporate matters, I hope you’re exploring
the possibility of my being of service to your company.”

“Let’s say that could depend on how you
impress me with your knowledge of other matters.”

“Ah, now we’re getting to the real
purpose of your visit.”

“Back in the mid-nineties, you were
listed as the registered agent for a company named Auto Parts Rehabbers in
Ashland City. What kind of business was it?”

He leaned forward on his desk as if
giving the question serious thought. “It’s been a long time, but as I
recall, the company did just what the name implies. They took used auto
parts and reconditioned them. What’s your interest in this bit of ancient
history?”

“History has a way of coming back to life
sometimes with a new relevance, don’t you think? We’re trying to locate the
manager, a Mr. Tony Decker. Can you tell me where we might find him?”

His face took on an exaggerated look of
disappointment. He shrugged. “Gosh. I wish I could help, but that was, what,
twelve or so years ago? I hadn’t thought about that operation in years. I
have no idea where the man could be now.”

How thick could he lay it on, she
wondered? She suspected he had been thinking about Auto Parts Rehabbers
ever  since
he first read the story
regarding the TCE spill in Ashland City. “I’m told you represent his twin
brother, Trent Decker, in a lawsuit,” she said.

Fradkin’s eyes lit up like he’d just
discovered gravity. “Oh, you’re thinking that it was Tony who referred his
brother to my law firm. No, no, that wasn’t the case at all.”

“Then how did he happen to hire a lawyer
so far away from Nashville?”

“It was a referral, all right, but from
another of my former clients. Sorry, as I said before, I haven’t seen or
heard of Tony Decker in at least a dozen years.”

“The Auto Parts Rehabbers’ property was
sold to them by Hank Keglar of Lewisville. Isn’t he one of your clients?”

“Yes, I have represented Mr. Keglar in
the past.”

“Did you handle the sale?”

“I don’t remember. I did more real estate
deals back then than I do now.”

“You must have set up the limited
liability partnership. How did First Improvement Corp come into the
picture?”

The warm, friendly look he had cultivated
at first began to fade, his eyes turning cool. “It was a privately held
corporation that chose to keep its business private. I’m afraid I can’t tell
you any more about them.”

“You’re aware that First Improvement was
owned by First Patriots, Limited, which was chartered in Anguilla.”

Fradkin folded his hands on the desk.
“You’ve been doing quite a bit of digging, Miss LeMieux. What’s the purpose
of this exercise?”

“The owners and management of Auto Parts
Rehabbers are responsible for a massive environmental pollution incident at
the plant site. They’re going to have to answer to the state for the
enormous cost of the cleanup.”

The warm glow returned. “I’ve read the
stories. The state is after Wade Harrington and HarrCo Shipping to take care
of that.”

My, how his memory
had suddenly returned.
Jaz
stood and smiled back at him. “Well, Mr. Fradkin, I think you’d better
prepare your clients for a major change in the landscape. Nice talking with
you.”

27

SId sat
nursing
his coffee, wondering what
could be happening in Bronson Fradkin’s office. He knew Jaz was right. She
could handle herself as well as anyone he knew. Fradkin, however, was a
skilled and ruthless lawyer. He had seen the man at work too many times.

She came through the doorway as he was
about to head back for a refill. He got up and pulled out a chair for her.

“How did it go?” he asked, noting her
smile. “I don’t see any bruises.”

“He was a perfect gentleman. Well,
almost. He didn’t look all that happy when I left.”

She went over the high points of her
discussion with Fradkin.

“What was your overall impression?” Sid
asked.

“He knew what I was there for from the
start. And he knows everything that’s going on with the pollution case. I’d
say Trent Decker came to him by way of Tony, and I’ve no doubt he knows
where
brother
Tony is hiding.”

“There’s one other call we should make
here, though I doubt it will bring any more positive results.”

“Hank Keglar?”

“Right.
He’s not as sophisticated as Fradkin, and he doesn’t hesitate to operate on
the dark side of the law.”

“Where is his office?”

“At a bar he owns on the highway going
out of town. It was a real headache for the police. Fights, drunks,
prostitutes, drugs, you name it. If there’s anything illegal going on around
here, you can bet he’s involved in it. But with the help of Fradkin and the
sheriff, he lives a charmed life.”

Jaz let her gaze sweep around the counter
behind them. “Do they have cappuccino here?”

“Sure. It may not be the kind you prefer,
but keep your seat. I’ll get it for you.”

He walked over to the counter and placed
the order with an effeminate young man who wore gold earrings and a gold
stud on one nostril. He knew the people you encountered in small towns these
days could be little different from those in the big cities. The cappuccino
machine soon droned away like a concrete mixer in high gear. When the drink
was ready, Sid carried it to the table, where Jaz sat talking on her cell
phone. She had a satisfied look as she shut if off.

“That was my phone company source. Our
friend Rackard kept the line quite busy after my visit to the garage Friday
night,” she said. “He called Bronson Fradkin and another number in this area
that we haven’t been able to track down yet. I wish I’d known that before I
talked to Fradkin. Rackard also called Dixie Seals.”

“Wait a minute.
Dixie Seals?”

“The
business run
by Trent Decker.”

“Who claims not to have heard of his
brother in
years.
”

“Sounds like Tony may have been around
there Friday night, doesn’t it?”

“I need to look into that for sure.”

“Okay.
Now, how about
Mr. Keglar?”

Sid toyed with his cup for a moment. “I’d
say it was time to pay him a courtesy call.”

“And hope he’s courteous in return?”

“That would be novel.”

Jaz took a tentative sip of the
cappuccino. “I’ll go with you. It might give you a little easier entree.”

“Don’t count on it. Mr. Keglar is not
your ordinary adversary.”

The Long
Branch
Saloon had a rustic wooden
front that fit the name like cowboys fit saddles. Inside were black walls,
round tables and booths, and a long bar made of dark wood that could have
come right out of some Old West ghost town. Lamps made to look like oil
lanterns cast a pale glow over the room. Two men sat at the bar, workmen
dressed in jeans and ball caps, beers shedding trickles of foam on the
counter. A woman with streaks of gray in her hair and a man in a tweed
sports jacket leaned toward each other at a table just beyond the bar. The
man’s shirt collar gapped open to bare a gold medallion on a heavy necklace
and the hint of a hairy chest.

Sid walked ahead of Jaz to the bartender.
“We’d like to see Hank Keglar,” he said.

The tall, thin man picked up a phone from
a shelf behind the bar and punched a number. He looked back at Sid. “Who
wants to see him?”

“Sidney Chance and
Jasmine LeMieux.
Tell him
we only need a few minutes.”

The bartender spoke into the phone,
listened,
then
pointed to the far end of the bar.
“Go through that door, down the hall, last room on the right.”

The two men at the bar put down their
beers and let their eyes track Jaz as she walked past. Sid figured Fradkin
had already tipped Keglar about their presence in Lewisville. He followed
the bartender’s directions and entered a narrow passageway. It had been
years since he was in this place, and he’d forgotten how desolate it looked.
With one small bulb in the ceiling, the area gave the dusky appearance of a
cave entrance. Dark brown walls emphasized the perception. Even the floor
had a rough feel, covered by a frayed carpet of indistinct color. Sid and
Jaz walked along in silence, stopping at the last door. Sid knocked.

“Come in,” a deep voice called.

Sid opened the door and stepped inside,
Jaz just behind him. The room had the look of a primitive office. Its
furnishings were sparse. There was a metal desk like something out of a
salvage store, a few well-worn wooden chairs,
a
felt-topped table that might have been liberated from a casino. The most
prominent feature was the huge, grotesque man seated behind the desk. He had
a neck like a tree trunk, arms like a bear. The hair below his rolled-up
sleeves looked almost as thick as a grizzly’s. He weighed four hundred
pounds at a minimum. What passed for a smile was more like a sneer.