by J. C. Eaton
Godfrey nodded. “Okay. Meet you back here in a minute or two.”
I absolutely abhor public restrooms. Especially restrooms at venues like concerts, races, and amusement parks. The fact it was fairly early in the day gave me hope that the place wouldn’t be too gross.
A few cars were running practice laps as Godfrey and I rejoined each other and trudged past the displays and vendor section on our way to the paddocks. I elbowed Godfrey. “Remind me never to use a public restroom again.”
“Really bad?”
“Worse than that.”
“Ugh.”
The whishing noise as the cars passed us was deafening and I couldn’t imagine what it would sound like when all of them were on the track. According to the schedule, the race was to begin at three p.m., and while that seemed like ample time to snoop around, I worried something would go wrong.
“I can see the pit terrace from here,” Godfrey said. “Looks like the garages are to its right, behind the south paddock.”
I squinted. “All I can see is the grandstand.”
“Look just past it. On the right.”
“Wow. That fence looks more intimidating than the proposed border wall with Mexico.”
Godfrey studied the scene in front of us. “Let me take a look at the map for a second. Hmm, I may have found a chink in the armor. There’s a media center to our left and just beyond it is the back of a garage. If we can get into that area without getting caught, we may have a good chance of tracking down the Porsche that’s registered to Kurtis Sherry.”
There was a moderate crowd in the vendor area and we moved along at a decent clip. When we reached the media area, the sign in front indicated access only with appropriate credentials. A handful of men stood off to the side looking at what appeared to be a printout of something.
Small beads of sweat trickled down my neck. “Those must be reporters. Or sports editors. I don’t suppose Cornell’s entomology journal qualifies, huh?”
“No,” Godfrey said, “but this might.”
Before I got the chance to ask him what he had in mind, he motioned for one of the men to approach.
“Excuse me, I’m with the state agricultural department. Entomology to be more specific.” Immediately, he whipped out his official identification and held it up. “I was supposed to confer with a Mr. Bardslow regarding some brown recluse spiders that were found in the building but we must have crossed paths. Any idea where my colleague and I can find him?”
“Did you say brown recluse?” one of the reporters asked. “Those suckers are dangerous. Flesh-eating if I recall correctly.”
Godfrey nodded. “Uh-huh. That’s why my department was contacted. I drew the short straw and had to give up my weekend.”
“I work for the Associated Press so I’m not familiar with the management here,” the man said, “but go inside and ask around. Show the raceway official your state ID and he’ll take it from there.”
The man unlatched the gate and ushered us into the compound. Another car whished by but I was pretty sure I heard Godfrey thank him.
“I thought you weren’t going to pull the entomologist card,” I whispered when we were out of earshot.
“What can I say? Sometimes we have to work with the gifts we have.”
“Oh, brother.”
“Hurry up, while no one’s looking. There’s a direct access to the bays from the side of the media center. Next time get your producer in Toronto to issue you a press pass.”
“Right. What am I going to tell Renee? That I’m researching the love interests of race car drivers?”
“You’ve done worse.”
“Don’t remind me.”
Godfrey took the lead across the walkway that connected the media center to the large paddock area with garages and bays. The sound of drills, air compressors, and hammers combined with the raceway noise to create an irritating cacophony.
“There are nine Porsche drivers,” I said as we approached the first bay. “I wish I could remember what Kurtis Sherry looked like. I was so overtired when I pulled up that information online, I didn’t pay too much attention to any of the photos. Besides, the drivers all looked the same—fit thirty-something men with close-cropped mustaches and beards.”
“It doesn’t matter. We’ll find him. Someone’s bound to know which bay he’s using. We’ll ask the first person we―”
“What? What’s wrong?” I asked.
“If I’m not mistaken, isn’t that Deputy Hickman over there conferring with a Schuyler County deputy? He’s not in uniform like the other guy, but that’s him, all right. Grizzly as ever.”
“Oh, hell, no. It is him. What’s he doing here? The man doesn’t strike me as someone interested in car races. Or any other form of entertainment, for that matter.”
Godfrey grabbed me by the wrist and we ducked behind three large trash barrels filled with icky automotive stuff and lots of empty coffee cups. “Maybe he’s following up on that lead you gave him. You know, the key chain.”
I shook my head. “He wouldn’t even take it to check for prints. So now what?”
“We wait until he leaves. He can’t stand around and gab forever.”
Famous last words. For a man who was all business, Deputy Hickman certainly took his time yakking with that other deputy. Then again, it could have been business. But what? My back began to ache from being hunched over behind those trash barrels and my knees stiffened from the awkward position I was in.
“They’re heading past the front lineup of bays,” Godfrey said. “You can stand up, but don’t move. Wait until they’re out of sight.”
“This is like my worst nightmare. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear the guy was tracking me.”
“Okay, we’re good. But walk slowly.”
We took a few tentative steps until we were certain Deputy Hickman was a good ways ahead of us. Still, I kept an eye out for Dumpsters and large trash receptacles that we could use in the event Grizzly Gary doubled back.
Again, Godfrey grabbed me by the wrist. “What do you plan on asking Kurtis once we find him? Or do you plan on winging it?”
“I was hoping something brilliant would occur to me once I was face-to-face with him.”
He rubbed one of his temples and moaned as we kept walking. Two men with oil-stained coveralls passed us and nodded. We nodded back. Then Godfrey pointed to a bay on his left. “Something brilliant, huh? Good luck.”
I stepped in front of him and walked into the garage. Sure enough, a guy who looked like the proverbial poster child for a race car driver was standing behind the rear of the car peering into the engine. On the front left-hand side, another man was inflating one of the tires.
“Um, excuse me,” I said. “I’m looking for Kurtis Sherry.”
The man flashed a million-dollar smile and I wondered if he had veneers. “At your service, but fans aren’t allowed back here. How’d you get past security?”
“Oh, we’re not fans. I mean, we are fans, but we’re not here as fans.” Can I possibly babble any worse than a high school sophomore? “We’re here on official county business. Investigating the murder of Vance Wexler.” Oh, no. Impersonating an officer of the law. I think that’s a felony.
Kurtis shrugged and had a perplexed look on his face. “I’m sorry. I don’t know anyone by that name.”
“Then maybe you’d know him by the Porsche 911 Carrera RS two-point-seven engine you’ve got under your hood.”
“Not me,” Kurtis said. “I’m running with an RSR Turbo. Made it through the qualifying round without a hitch. Now all I need to do is beat the 1974 record at Le Mans.”
“An RSR Turbo, you said?”
Kurtis gave a nod, looked down, and actually smiled at the engine.
So much for brilliance. I’m back at square one.
I backed out of the garage, all but bumping into Godfrey. “Sorry for your trouble. Good luck this afternoon.”
We were on the macadam in front of the garage whe
n the man who was inflating the tire called out to us, “Hey, if you’re looking for a Carrera RS two-point-seven, you might try Augie Lennox, three or four bays down. I heard he was racing with a two-point-seven.”
“Is he the only one?” Godfrey asked.
“Only one I know of.”
“Thanks!” I shouted. “Good luck!”
Chapter 43
“Augie Lennox didn’t even appear on my radar,” I said to Godfrey when we were six or seven yards past Kurtis’s garage. “I can’t even remember where he was from. Tennessee? Alabama? Someplace in the south. And how would he have a connection with Vance?”
“Only one way to find out. Come on. We can’t afford to dawdle around.”
“I think I’m going to try a different approach when we find him.”
Godfrey laughed. “Can’t be any worse than what you’ve done already.”
We were now a few feet away from the fourth bay down. The two garages we passed belonged to Trina Matthews and Connor Prendergast. Had I been observant in the first place, I would have noticed the Official Use sign tacked to the side of the building with the race car driver’s name on it. At least Godfrey paid attention.
I peered into the garage and turned to Godfrey. “This doesn’t make sense, you know. Augie Lennox.”
Just then, I heard a raspy voice, and in that split second I knew where I’d heard it before. This time, I was the one who grabbed Godfrey by the wrist.
“Shh. That grating voice. Inside the garage. It’s one of the car thieves.”
“Are you sure?”
“Uh-huh. It’s the kind of irritating voice you can’t forget. Theo and I heard him when we staked out that barn behind Glen Foreign Motors. The guy was talking with someone named Billy and another guy we called ‘ladder guy’ because they never called him by name.”
“Maybe now would be the time to let the sheriff’s office do their job. I say we either find Deputy Hickman and his counterpart from Schuyler County or call one of their offices.”
“Are you nuts? We’ll be the ones who are arrested. Trespass for one thing. Besides, we need definitive proof. And this time, I may have a plan that really works.”
I never gave Godfrey a chance to respond. I walked directly into the garage and stood there, mouth open wide, as the raspy-voiced man and the one I’d nicknamed “ladder guy” were at opposite ends of the gleaming vintage Porsche 911 Carrera, checking tire pressure.
“I’m looking for Augie Lennox,” I said. “It’s important I speak with him.”
“He left a few minutes ago to grab something to eat,” the ladder guy said. “Should be back in a bit. You guys with the press?”
Before I could answer, a third man walked in and this time I didn’t have to rely on a voice to recognize him. It was Billy. Billy from under the engine in that barn. “Damn latrines,” he said. “They’re overflowing like usual. Should have used one of the Port-O-Potties. Oops. Didn’t expect company.” He looked directly at Godfrey and me. Then squinted and scratched the back of his head. “Do I know you folks?”
“They came to see Augie,” the ladder guy said. Then he wiped his hands on his jeans and sighed. “Augie’s under a hell of a lot of pressure. Not a good time to interview him. Tell you what, give us your names and we’ll pass it along.”
I glanced at the workbench to the right of the car and bit my lower lip. Behind a wad of greasy rags, a small brown glass bottle was wedged between some tin cans. At first I thought it might have been cough medicine, but then I remembered Godfrey’s description of the chloroform bottle from Alex’s lab. I tried to sound nonchalant but my heart was pumping like crazy. “Um, sure thing. But maybe one of you can answer something for us. Is that a Carrera RS two-point-seven?”
“Damn straight it is,” he said. His response, coupled with the bottle of chloroform, left no doubt in my mind—Godfrey and I were standing in front of three murderers.
That instant I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket. I pulled it out and saw the incoming call was from Theo. I was tempted to let it go to voicemail, but since Augie wasn’t in the garage and he was the player I needed to make my plan work, I decided to get the heck out of there. Godfrey and I were no match for three well-built men who were used to wielding heavy tools, and if I was right, smothering someone in their sleep.
I stepped back and held the phone in front of me. “Got to take this call. We’ll check in later.”
Without wasting a second, I turned and exited the garage with Godfrey a few feet behind. “It’s Theo,” I said. Then I answered his call.
“What’s up? Whatever it is, we’ve got you beat. We found the three guys from the barn. They’re on the pit crew for a race car driver named Augie Lennox. Godfrey and I have to find a way to stop the race.”
“What?” Godfrey shouted in my free ear. “Stop the race?”
“Shh,” I whispered to him. “I need to find out why Theo called.”
Theo’s voice was louder than usual. “I heard you. And I called because we made a mistake.”
“About the three men?”
“No, about Vance’s notes. Don and I went over them again. Remember that night when we looked through them at the house? Don mentioned Vance’s copier being low on toner. Well, lack of toner means some letters and words are really light or missing. We didn’t catch it at the time but we did just now. That R.S., as in the R.S. with the restraining order, isn’t R.S. at all. It’s B.S. Don was able to get a better look.”
“B.S.? Are you serious? You mean I wasted all my time looking for an R.S. connected to today’s race? And worse yet, pinpointing poor Kurtis Sherry? And, oh, no. I also had Russell Sweetly fingered. But now you’re telling me they don’t belong on my suspect list?”
“All I’m telling you is that the person Vance thought would get even isn’t an R.S. It’s a―”
“I know. Someone whose first name starts with B. Aargh.”
“Hey, don’t get in a total tizzy. Don and I went through the names associated with building requests that Vance turned down and there was no one with that first initial in those notes of his. But get this—not all of the notes dealt with historical society stuff. Vance used that personal sounding-off file of his to blow steam about all sorts of folks who ticked him off.”
As Theo and I continued to banter over the phone, Godfrey nudged me. “Norrie! Think! You told me one of those men in that garage is named Billy. Duh! You’ve got your answer. Now, can we please call the sheriff’s office?”
I’ve heard of cars not firing on all cylinders, but this time it wasn’t a car. It was my brain. I was so obsessed with the thought of starting over on my search that I completely ignored the one important clue that stared me in the face—Billy. Billy whoever-he-was had to be the person Vance was concerned would get even.
“Good grief, Theo,” I said. “Did you hear Godfrey? That’s definitive proof, isn’t it? All the more reason for me to stop this race. Gotta run.”
I ended the call, stashed the phone back in my pocket and looked directly at Godfrey. “It’s a stolen engine, for crying out loud. Stolen by Vance’s killers. Even if we do find Deputy Hickman, he’s only going to pooh-pooh it.”
“As opposed to what? Making an accusation that could result in absolute chaos at this raceway? What do you propose to do? Stand in front of the starting gate or whatever they call it?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. We just have to find Augie Lennox and let him take it from there.”
“Take it from where?” came a booming voice behind me. “I’m Augie Lennox.”
I swear I never spun my head around so fast in my life. Augie Lennox looked nothing like the other thirty-something race car drivers. With golden red hair framing his face and freckles on his nose and cheeks, he appeared to be more of a Disney character than a seasoned race car driver.
Without wasting a second, I reached into the side pocket opposite from where I had put my iPhone, pulled out the key chain, and dangled it in front of him. “This look famil
iar?”
“Where did you find that?”
“Never mind where I found it, if you don’t tell me the truth about that engine in the Porsche you’re about to race, the next time you get behind the wheel of a car will be twenty or thirty years from now when they release you from prison.”
“Prison? Who are you people? And for your information, the Carrera two-point-seven is my engine.”
“Then why did those three men in your garage steal it from a Karmann Ghia and kill the owner?”
“Oh, crap. I knew I should have flown up here sooner.”
“So you know about the car theft and the murder.”
Augie winced and rubbed the back of his neck. “Humrph. I knew it was too good to be true when he offered to do me a favor.”
“Who? Vance or the guy who killed him?”
“Hey, it’s a long story and I’ve got a race to run, so―”
“Hey! Augie! Thought I heard your voice. We’ve got to get moving if you expect to be in the starting lineup. You can gab with the reporters later.”
Augie turned to Billy, who was standing a few feet away, before returning his gaze to us. “Reporters? Just what this country needs—more fake news.”
“Come on,” Billy said, “we don’t have all day.”
I poked Godfrey in the arm. “Neither do we. Let’s get moving.”
Chapter 44
“Godfrey, listen up. We’ve got to find the track officials and put the kibosh on Augie Lennox and his crew. That was a chloroform bottle I spied on their workbench. And before you tell me it’s a solvent for removing grease, I’ll tell you what I know. That stuff isn’t supposed to be used. Oh, sure, it can be used in your lab for insect stomach removal or whatever the heck that was, but it’s supposedly off the market for consumer use.”
“It’s certainly evidence. I’ll give you that much.”
“Holy crap. What’s the quickest route to the grandstand? That’s where the lineup begins, right?”
Godfrey shrugged. “I’m not all that familiar with motor sports if you must know the truth, but yeah, the main grandstand makes sense. We’re in the paddock area behind the media building. According to the map, the pit area and front stretch grandstand are to our left.”
