Alan shrugged. “I don't know what to tell you. He wasn't working here.”
“Could you tell us what that last route was that Victor had?”
“Sure.” Alan walked back to his office.
“What are you thinking?” Lucy said.
“Not sure. A hunch. A wish. Maybe the thing that caused all of Victor's problems is on that last route. Let's see where it is.”
Alan returned and handed Gordon a slip of paper with directions. “It's out east of here. Country roads and tall pine trees. We've not had much success so I sent Victor out there hoping he could crack it. He never did.”
“And there was nothing unusual about this last route?” Gordon asked.
“Not really.” Alan chuckled. “Oh, well there was the one thing, yeah. He got run off by an old geezer with a rifle.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The farmhouse sat at the end of a small dirt road. Tall pine trees obscured the road from the paved road so much so that Gordon missed the turn and had to double back.
He eased his Lincoln Zephyr up the road, gravel and dirt crunching under the tires. The smell of pine, manure, and turned earth filled the air.
“Better leave your camera bag here. You don't want Mr. Miller thinking anything looks suspicious.”
“Agreed,” Lucy said. “This whole area is light on people. When was the last house?”
“A mile or so back. Who knows how far until the next one? I can see why the encyclopedia company had a hard time making inroads.” He nodded to the house. “We've been spotted. Let's go.”
They climbed out of the car and walked up to the front yard. The woman of the house wore a dirty dress. She wiped her hands on a towel slung over her shoulder. A young boy clung by her side.
“My husband's on the way here,” she said. “What y'all want?”
Gordon tipped his hat to her. “Hello, ma'am. My name's Gordon Gardner. This is Lucy Barnes. We work for the Post-Dispatch. We were wondering if you could help us out.”
The woman squinted. “With what?”
“We’re looking to find out what happened to Victor Tompkins.”
“Who?”
“Victor Tompkins, the traveling salesman who sold encyclopedias.”
A funny smirk crossed her face. “Oh, him. We run him off our property. He was trespassin’. Like y’all are. We can’t help you.”
Lucy glanced at the little boy. “We?”
“Me and my husband.” The woman pointed behind them.
Gordon and Lucy turned to see a man standing there. He wore beat-up overalls, and work boots. He held a pitchfork in his hand. Over his shoulder, a rifle hung on a strap.
“What do y’all want with us?” the man asked.
“Mr. Miller,” Gordon began, “we’re just wondering if y’all could help us. We’re trying to find out what happened to Victor Tompkins, the traveling salesman who came here about a month ago.”
“Don’t know, don’t care,” Miller said. “I run that sonuvabitch off our property.” When he talked, his mouth barely moved. “I knowed he was trouble the second I laid eyes on him. He was all dressed nice like the rest of’em. He started talking and we stopped listening.”
Gordon held up a finger. “What do you mean by ‘the rest of them’?”
“Folks in fancy clothes. Kinda like y’all. Besides, I was proved right. He got hisself in a heap of trouble after he left here.”
Lucy asked, “What do you mean?”
“Who y’all with?”
“The Post-Dispatch,” Gordon said.
“This for a story in the paper?”
“Yes.”
“Then I ain’t talking. Now git off my land. I don’t want no trouble.”
Gordon spread his palms out and up in what he hoped was a placating gesture. “What if we didn’t even mention you? All we’re asking from you is to help us understand what happened. Besides, Mr. Tompkins has died.”
“Died?” Mrs. Miller said.
“Yes, ma’am,” Gordon said. “He was hit by a car.”
“He died from that?” Mr. Miller said. “I thought old man Hastings helped him.”
Gordon held up a finger. “Who is old man Hastings?”
“Fella who lives down the road a bit. He’s the one who saw the salesman hurt on the side of the road. Damned other car never stopped to help, from what I heard.”
Gordon reached into his jacket to get his notebook.
Mr. Miller moved the pitchfork to a defensive position.
“It’s just my notebook, sir. You're telling me things I’ve not heard before. I’d like to write them down. I won’t use your name.” He pulled out his notebook and showed it to Miller. The old farmer squinted his eyes, then relaxed.
“You want to go inside the house?” Gordon asked.
“Nope.”
“Fine, then, we'll talk here. Now what's this about a car hitting Mr. Tompkins?”
“Don't know the whole story. He left here and didn't come back. Best I can figure, he had car trouble and walked to the nearest station up yonder.”
“Which direction is yonder?”
“North. Don't get smart with me.”
“I'm not. Go on.”
Miller cleared his throat and spat. “This here salesman was a measly type anyway. He was looking all around our house with wild eyes. When I scared him off, he knew enough not to come back here. You follering me?”
“Crystal clear. So Mr. Tompkins had car trouble. He was walking on the road?”
“Yeah. Old man Hastings come over a rise and saw this big car swerve and hit a man. Turned out this man was the salesman. The other car turned around and Hastings thought they were gonna help. He slowed down to help, too, when he saw the other car try to run down the salesman. The other’n must've seen Hastings because it drove off real fast.”
A moment of silence ensued while Gordon wrote furiously. Lucy filled the void. “Are you telling me Mr. Hastings saw someone try to run Tompkins down?”
“That's exactly what he said he saw.”
Gordon and Lucy exchanged glances. “That might explain why he was so paranoid about cars chasing him,” Lucy said.
“Yes, but not why he thought they were phantom automobiles.” Gordon turned to the farmer. “Where does Mr. Hastings live?” He copied down what Miller said.
“You can always talk to the sheriff,” Miller said. “There might've been a report, lot of good it've done.”
“Why do you say that?” Gordon asked.
Miller shrugged. “Sheriff ain't doin’ a lotta of good ‘round here. More of a nuisance, if you ask me.”
Gordon thought a moment. “This is Montgomery County, isn't it? That means we're under the jurisdiction of James Roscoe.”
“That's him,” Miller said. “Now, about your paper. Why’s a reporter from Houston out here asking about all this?”
Gordon closed his notebook and slipped it back into his pocket. “Because Mr. Tompkins was run down by a car in Houston three days ago. He claimed the car was a phantom and jumped in front of it to prove himself right. He didn't.”
“Why'd a man be fool enough to do that?” Miller's wife said.
“That's what we aim to find out,” Gordon said.
CHAPTER TWELVE
An hour later, Gordon and Lucy stood along Highway 15 with Bob Hastings. The old man wore heavy khakis and a heavy work shirt sweat-stained under the armpits. A straw hat covered his head, but he still wiped the perspiration with a bandana. The smell of sawdust wafted with him.
“Okay, so you see,” Hastings began, “I come over that rise yonder.” He made a cutting motion with his hand. “When I did, I done saw the man, um, what did you say his name was?”
“Victor Tompkins,” Gordon said. “He was a traveling salesman, sold encyclopedias. You have a set?”
“Naw,” Hastings said. “An old woodworker like me don’t have much use for encyclopedias.”
“I suspect Mr. Tompkins might’ve given you a real good reason to buy a set. Anyway
, what did you see?”
“Right, so I come over that rise and I saw the man running away from me, oh, about two hundred yards from my truck.”
“And that’s here?” Lucy walked over to the spot and looked back up the rise to the south.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Tall pine trees nearly reached the road on both sides. A shallow ditch framed both sides of the two-lane highway. “Any idea where he was running from?”
“No, ma’am. So, this other car, a maroon number, Oldsmobile I think, was chasing this man. The car swerved and clipped him. This Tompkins fella had tried to jump but didn’t make it entirely. He fell into this shallow ditch. The car was going so fast it run in that ditch also, but ahead of the fella. I didn’t hear anything on account of my winders were up. I thought it mighta been an accident, but then that car got back on the road and turned to the man.”
“Back on the road?” Lucy listened to Hastings but kept her eyes focused on the ground. Her camera was in her hands and she was angling for a good shot.
“Yes, ma’am. It was swerving back on the road after it had slid down near the ditch. It hadn’t rained so the ground was dry. The only thing I could think happened was that the car went in the ditch on purpose and the only purpose I could think of was to hit that man.”
“Where was he?” Gordon asked.
“Here.” Hastings walked over to an area. “He was here, hobbling towards me.”
“Back in the direction he was running from when you saw him?”
“Yes, sir. He saw my car and started waving his hands.”
Lucy walked to the spot and snapped a photo of the ground. Skid marks were still visible on the pavement.
“There’s no way to prove those marks belonged to the maroon Olds,” Gordon said to her.
“I know, but it helps me document the story with my pictures. You see, I tell stories with my camera. Even if the subjects are only celebrities, I’m still writing a narrative. You know a picture is worth a thousand words.”
“Don’t remind me,” Gordon said. “Sometimes I think future newspapers will have more pictures than words and reporters like me will be out of a job. It’s why I write other things on the side.” To Hastings he said, “So what happened next?”
“Well, when I see a fella waving his arms, I’m the kinda guy who stops to see what’s going on. I slowed my truck and seen the other car come full circle and drive back to the man. The driver musta seen me because he kept making a loop and drove off real fast in the other direction. It got outta here in a real hurry.”
“So this other car just drove off,” Gordon said. “Have you seen it again?”
“No, sir.”
“And you’d never seen it ahead of time?”
“No, sir. The only other car on the road was way up yonder. It was pulled off to the side of the road. I found out that was the salesman’s car. It had broken down and that’s why he was walking.”
“About where was the man’s car?” Lucy asked.
“There next that pine tree that’s leaning over.”
Lucy chuckled. “There are pine trees everywhere. It’s hard to see even twenty feet into the forest, it’s so dense.” She aimed her camera in the direction and snapped a photo.
“What happened to the salesman’s car?” Gordon asked.
“Local tow company came and got it. A few days later when I went back in town, I ran into the tow truck driver. I asked him what happened to the car. He said there was a hole in the carburetor.”
“A hole?” Gordon said.
“Yeah. I asked what kind of hole. He didn’t know, but he coulda swore it was a bullet hole.”
Lucy and Gordon looked at each other. Gordon asked Hastings the name of the tow truck driver.
Hastings gave the name but then said, “The salesman came and picked up his car a few days later. Had another tow truck from the city come and take it back.”
Gordon wrote more in his notebook. Lucy started walking to the spot where Hastings said Tompkins’s car had died.
“Okay, Mr. Hastings, you’ve been a great help. Do you mind if I quote you in the story?”
The old man’s smile lit up his face. “I ain’t been in the paper since I joined the army in 1917. I’d love to be in the paper. Which one again?”
“Post-Dispatch.” To Lucy, he called, “you gonna walk the entire way?”
“Yes,” she called from over her shoulder.
Gordon nodded to his car. “I think I’ll pick her up down there. I have your number. Can I call you if I have any more questions?”
“Sure,” Hastings said. The two men shook hands and Hastings climbed into his truck and drove away. Gordon got behind the wheel of his car and eased it into neutral. The machine slowly moved down the hill, picking up speed. He stopped and parked when he came abreast of Lucy. She snapped another photo. “See anything interesting?”
“Not really.”
He got out and walked beside her. “A bullet hole. But it couldn’t have happened here. The forest is too dense. I’ve hunted deer around here and I’ll be damned if it’s easy.”
“Mr. Miller could’ve shot the car to discourage Tompkins from coming back.”
Gordon shook his head. “I got the sense Miller was just trying to protect himself. I don’t think he’d have actually shot anyone.”
Lucy stopped and looked all around. “There’s nothing here but trees, this two-lane, and the sky. Tompkins’s car breaks down. He surely isn’t going to go back that way, to the Millers, after he received such a warm reception, right?”
“Right.”
“So that means he must have been walking this way, to the north. But as far as I can see, it’s at least a mile or so until you get to that next bend and who knows what’s that way or how close the next house is. Not that you’d know it from the geography.” She pointed back in the direction they had come. “Even that last private road we saw was barely visible. If it weren’t for the mailbox at the roadside, I’d have missed it completely. I’m not sure how a bullet would’ve nailed the car but I’m guessing it was the reason why Tompkins was running.”
Gordon inhaled deeply and let the air blow through his lips. He tipped his hat higher on his forehead and looked in all directions. “I know what you mean.”
Lucy stood in place and snapped photos of the entire area, turning in place to capture all angles.
The sound of a car coming over the rise caught their ears. They turned and noticed a police car moving down the highway. It slowed and stopped behind Gordon’s car. A man, tall and gangly, got out and hooked his thumbs in his belt. “You folks okay?”
Lucy gave Gordon a quick look but the reporter just put on one of his thousand-dollar grins. “We’re fine, sir, just fine. Gordon Gardner, Lucy Barnes, we’re from the Houston Post-Dispatch.”
The deputy came closer to them and spat on the ground. His name tag caught the light and Gordon read, “Poole.” “Y’all’re a long way from the city. Why y’all out here?”
Gordon told him about following up on the accident on this stretch of the highway with Victor Tompkins. When asked if he remembered the incident, Poole chuckled. “Ain’t much happens around here we don’t know about. Sure, I remember. It wasn’t me that arrived first. It was Nagel, but I heard all about it. The traveling salesman was trying to sell encyclopedias or something, got his car broke, and was walking for help when another car clipped him. Hurt his leg, but didn’t break it. A local fella stopped to help but the other car had already skedaddled.”
“Did y’all file a report?” Gordon asked.
Poole shrugged. “We were going to wait for the injured man to get out of the hospital and come by but he never did. We don’t usually file an official report unless the victim does it. We asked him about it as he’s lying in bed at the hospital but all he ever said was that…” Poole paused and frowned.
“What?” Gordon said.
Poole scratched his chin. “It’s weird, that salesman. It was like he wasn’t
all there, you know.” He pointed to his head and twirled around his finger in the universal gesture that meant crazy. “He was talking so much gibberish that we just figured he got hit harder’n we thought. Musta messed with his head. We decided to let him sleep it off and ask him again later. We got his car towed. We come back the next day and he’d checked himself out.”
“Was he able to walk?” Lucy said.
Poole shrugged. “Well enough or the doc wouldn’t have let him go. He called someone in town, sister I think. She came and got him. He sent for his car later. Since he didn’t file a report, we didn’t think any more of it. Which brings me back to my question.” He leveled his gaze at the two reporters. “Why are y’all up here?”
“Because someone ran that man down and killed him three days ago,” Gordon said.
Poole raised his eyebrows. “Not sure how I see that relates to his little incident up here.”
“We don’t either,” Gordon said, “and it may not. But we were just following up on his last route. We got word that he was saying some weird things just before he was killed. You said he was saying gibberish up here. Any chance you remember what he was saying?”
“Just what Nagel told me. He said the man was talking about cars vanishing into thin air.” The guffaw that erupted from Poole was loud and boisterous. “You ever heard such a silly thing as that?”
“Actually,” Gordon said, “we have. And now we’ve heard it twice.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“I think it’s perfectly clear that Victor Tompkins saw something he wasn’t supposed to see and that got him shot at.” Lucy sat in the passenger seat of Gordon’s car as they drove back to Houston.
They had spent the rest of the morning following up on interviews. First was the attending physician, a Dr. Stephen Dickson at the local Montgomery hospital. He confirmed that Tompkins had sprained his knee and ankle but, with some pain medication, was able to walk well enough with a cane to check himself out of the clinic and be picked up by his sister. The tow truck driver corroborated that he towed Tompkins’s car back to his lot and then was paid to fix the carburetor. But that was over a month ago.
The Phantom Automobiles: A Gordon Gardner Investigation Page 5
