Phil chuckled. “Try to keep from getting cuffed before I can make it over there.”
He was familiar with my reputation for not treading lightly on toes that got in the way. I stuck the phone back on my belt and looked up to see the older cop stalk out of the shop headed for my Jeep. Evidently he’d left the young policewoman to monitor the crime scene. I donned my Tennessee Titans cap and stepped out onto the asphalt.
“Find anybody else?” I asked.
“No. You know the victim?”
“His name is Arnold Wechsel.”
“Who is Wechsel and what’s he to you?”
Where his face had looked stern before, he twisted it into a scowl now.
“He’s the nephew of a former Air Force colleague of mine. He called this afternoon and asked me to meet him here at seven-thirty tonight.”
“What for?”
“He said he had some information for me.”
“About what?”
“He said he’d tell me when we met.”
“You make a habit of this, McKenzie? Traipsing around at night in shitty places with no idea why?”
“Officer Dexter, I worked a quarter of a century as a special agent for the Air Force Office of Special Investigations. I’ve spent many a night meeting with informants, having no idea what sort of info they might show up with.”
“I don’t give a damn if you’ve spent a hundred years meeting with pimps and whores. I want to know what you were doing here tonight. And don’t tell me you were just fishing.”
I couldn’t see the handcuffs on his belt, but I knew they were there. And though I had no desire to try them on, I’d had about enough of his blustering.
I took a deep breath. “I just talked to Detective Phil Adamson on the phone. He was on North First and said he’d be here in a jiffy. Why don’t we wait for him and I can satisfy everyone’s curiosity with one telling?”
“Are you refusing to answer my question?”
I’m sure he wasn’t accustomed to anyone crossing him. I suspected the flush in his face did not just stem from the weather. He seemed to be near the boiling point. And so was I.
“No, sir. I’m not refusing anything,” I said in a slow, deliberate voice. “I’m merely suggesting—”
“Bullshit!”
Chapter 3
Dexter and I faced each other like a couple of duelers ready to fire as Phil’s white Chevrolet Malibu screeched to a halt nearby. Tall and gaunt with a beak of a nose and a dour look that made him resemble a bird of prey, Phil Adamson was a veteran detective I had befriended, after a rocky start, before I got into the PI business. Since then we had collaborated on several cases, including one where we stared into the barrel of a 9mm semiautomatic held by a remorseless assassin.
Phil hurried over to where Dexter and I stood. “What’s the situation, Tom?” he asked.
“We got a dead one on the floor in there,” the officer said. He nodded his head toward the building. “Paramedics just checked him.”
“I’ve already alerted the Medical Examiner’s office. They have somebody on the way. Is Bolling inside?”
“Right. I left her in charge and came out to talk to this so-called investigator.”
“For your information, Officer Dexter,” Phil said, his voice calm but unyielding, “Greg McKenzie was responsible for solving the Marathon Motor Works case a few months back. Nailed the guy who killed three people.” He turned to me. “I’ll talk to you in a few minutes. Let me get in here and get a report from the officers.”
Dexter twisted his mouth in obvious anger but followed Phil toward the shop without further comment. I’m sure he knew he was dealing with a real pro in Adamson. Besides twenty years experience as a detective, Phil had a criminal justice degree and taught the subject at a local community college.
I returned to my car and prepared to hibernate as the parking lot began to take on the look of a police convention. Crime scene techs, a patrol sergeant, more blue and whites, the Medical Examiner’s man. I spent my time trying to reconcile the grief I felt at Arnold’s death with a growing determination to track down his killer. Phil had the responsibility to find who did it, but I had a personal stake in solving the crime.
When Phil came out, he opened the passenger door and slid into my Jeep. “Sorry to keep you waiting. How long have you known Wechsel?”
“Close to a year, I guess. When Jeff Price talked to my old commander and found out I was in Nashville, he called and told me about his new wife’s nephew. They’d only been married for a year. Arnold studied high performance cars at Nashville Auto Diesel College.”
“You said he was bringing you some information. Was it related to a case you’re working?”
“Right. I can’t discuss it, though. We’re working this one for a lawyer, Terry Tremont of the Three Tees.”
Normally, a PI’s investigation is subject to police scrutiny, but when it’s done on behalf of an attorney, it’s privileged.
Phil scratched his nose. “Tremont, Tisley and Tarwater. Might have known. They seem to like you. Give me a hint, at least.”
“It involves that NBA deal.”
His normal frown turned darker. “You mean your friend got croaked over a basketball franchise?”
“I don’t know what it means, Phil.” I threw up my hands. “I wondered if it might be a simple robbery.”
“Doesn’t appear to be.”
“We just got called in yesterday. Haven’t even talked to the principals involved.”
“How come you met at this Godforsaken place?”
“I certainly wouldn’t have picked it. It was Arnold’s idea. Seems the owner is a friend who gave him the key.”
“I’d better get hold of the owner of this place and see if he can tell me anything else about what’s going on.”
He turned toward the door.
“Did he have any papers on him?” I asked. “Anything he might have been bringing to me?”
Phil looked over his shoulder. “Nothing but a billfold stuffed with cash. Was this a payoff?”
“Hardly. Look, Phil. I’ve got a personal stake in this one. Keep me in the loop. Okay?”
“I’ll do what I can. You know you’re lucky you didn’t get here early for that appointment. There might have been two dead guys in there.”
I knew, and I thought about that on the way home.
Jill had just finished brewing steaming cups of spiced tea when I got home. I could have used a Scotch and soda but didn’t complain as we sat in front of our massive stone fireplace to discuss what had happened. With the flashing Christmas tree lights and all the baubles and garlands that decorated the room, a festive mood would have seemed appropriate. It was anything but.
“I still can’t believe this,” Jill said. “He was so quiet and well-mannered.”
“I agree. He’s the last person you’d think would end up like this.”
She sipped at her spiced tea, a troubled look on her face. “Do you think it was related to what he planned to tell you about the NBA deal?”
“I can’t say for sure, but it looks that way. He didn’t want to talk about it on the phone, and he didn’t want anyone to know he was meeting with me. Obviously, someone did.”
“Are you going to call Jeff?” she asked.
“I’ll have to.” I checked my watch. “It’s not five in the morning yet over there. I don’t want to wake a guy up with news like this.”
“Did Phil find anything to indicate who might have been the killer?”
“Not that I’m aware of. I’ll have to check back with him after he gets all the crime scene reports, and the autopsy. One thing’s for sure. What Terry Tremont’s clients heard was not just a rumor. If it’s enough to blow my mind and get Arnold killed, something is definitely not right.”
Our discussion was interrupted by the telephone on the end table beside the sofa. It was Wes Knight, a newspaper reporter I had met shortly after Jill and I started the agency a year ago. He was an old hand in
Nashville, while I was a relative newcomer. Meaning he had sources I needed. When Wes started probing, it could be a bit uncomfortable, but he was not someone I wanted to alienate.
“What’s going on, Greg?” he asked. “The cops identified you as the guy who found a murder victim out Dickerson Pike.”
“Unfortunately, it’s true.”
“How did it happen?”
“Sorry, but I can’t tell you anything else, Wes. The young man called and asked me to meet him out there. Said he had some information for me.”
“That’s it?”
“When I arrived, all I found was a body lying on the floor.”
“What kind of information did he have?”
“As I told the cops, I have no idea. He didn’t tell me on the phone. That’s all I know.”
“Damn, buddy. You can really get into some scrapes. Hasn’t been all that long since you got mixed up in that Marathon Motor Works business.”
“True. And we really appreciated your help on that one.”
“No problem. How about letting me know if you get any more information about this deal. Remember, you said I was ‘J for juicy’ on your speed dial.”
“I’ll let you know if I hear anything juicy,” I said, forcing a laugh.
When I put down the phone, Jill looked around at me. “I trust you had your fingers crossed.”
“Fingers, toes, anything else, babe. I think I’d better check another news source, though. Maybe one of the TV sports guys. We need to know what goes on inside the professional sports franchise business. It’s getting deadly.”
I waited until midnight to call Jeff Price. He had been up only a short time.
“You’re staying up late, Colonel,” he said in his Alabama drawl. “It’s still Saturday night over there, isn’t it?”
“Sure is,” I said. “I waited to call so I wouldn’t wake you up. I’m afraid I have some bad news.”
“What’s happened?”
In all my years of passing along emotionally distressing information to family members, I never learned a way to sugarcoat it. “It’s about Arnold, Jeff. He called and asked me to meet him last night. When I got there, I found him shot through the head.”
“Aw, no…”
I told him what had happened and the circumstances leading up it. He understood. Jeff and I went back quite a few years, to my first assignment as a Special Agent in Charge. His first wife had died before he was assigned to Ramstein, which was located near Kaiserslautern, Arnold’s hometown. New wife Lisle worked for a local police agency, where Jeff met her.
“This is gonna kill his mother,” Jeff said. “How did he learn this information about your pro basketball deal?”
“He wouldn’t tell me on the phone, and I never had a chance to talk to him again.” In hindsight, I knew I should have insisted."
“He was a sharp kid, really gung ho on auto racing, but I never heard him mention anything about basketball.”
I recalled the night Arnold came over for dinner. “He didn’t talk a lot, but it was obvious he enjoyed working at the shop where they build and repair race cars.”
“Right. He was pretty high on that job. When he was home the last time, he told me, confidentially, didn’t want his mom to know, that he’d done a little gambling on the auto races.”
“That’s interesting. The homicide detective investigating the case said Arnold had a lot of money in his billfold.”
“So the motive obviously wasn’t robbery.”
“Right.”
“Greg, would you do me a favor?”
“I know what you mean,” I said. “And it’s a given. Us old Air Force guys stick together. I intend to find out who murdered your nephew.”
When I climbed into bed a short time later, that promise weighed heavily on my mind.
Chapter 4
We lived in Hermitage, a bedroom suburb named for President Andrew Jackson’s historic mansion. The impressive home attracted thousands of visitors yearly to the nearby estate. Our office occupied a small space in a strip center a few miles away on the circumferential boulevard that bore the general’s nickname, Old Hickory. One of the things I loved about Nashville was the seemingly endless historical snippets that turned up when you peeked below the surface.
On a normal Sunday morning, we would have headed to Gethsemane United Methodist Church, but after last night’s shocking debut, I was anxious to start digging into this case. I hoped it would lead to some answers about who had killed Arnold Wechsel. When we arrived at the office around eight, the answering machine chirped with a message to call Terry Tremont. I draped my jacket on the back of my chair and slid in behind my Plain Jane wooden desk, a clone of the one Jill occupied nearby, part of our equal opportunity policy.
“What’s the deal on this Arnold Wechsel I read about in the morning paper?” Terry asked when I got him on the line. “The story said he was bringing you some information. Did it by chance relate to our case?”
“Definitely,” I said. “When he called, he said he had information about the NBA deal that would blow my mind.”
“Damn. What was it?”
“Unfortunately, he wouldn’t tell me on the phone. I didn’t have a chance to talk to him in person.”
Terry listened quietly as I explained what had happened. A bear of a man with a vice-like handshake, a genuinely nice guy, Terry worked out of a downtown office set up to resemble a living room. It had a plush white sofa and chairs arranged around a dark wooden coffee table. A faux fireplace sat against one wall. His “desk” was a small walnut table in a corner of the room. The rationale for the setup was that he liked to work in the comfort of home. I guessed that’s where he was calling from now.
“So you think Wechsel had information that would confirm this rumor business,” Terry said. “According to the paper, Wechsel came from Germany a few years ago to attend the Auto Diesel College. I’d think they had plenty of that sort of school over there.”
I told him about my OSI buddy and how Arnold had wound up in Nashville as Jill dropped the morning newspaper on my desk, folded to the Wechsel murder story.
“Phil Adamson is working the homicide,” I said. “I’ll try to find out as much as I can from him. Hopefully the trail will lead us toward the information we’re looking for. What I need to know is if you’ve told anybody else about us.”
Terry paused a moment. “I called Brad Smotherman and asked him to inform the others. As for anybody else, just my secretary.”
“Would you check with her?” I asked. “Find out if she might have mentioned it to anyone else. We have appointments with both Smotherman and Gordon Franklin tomorrow. We’ll question them about it. We need to find out how Wechsel got wind of us being involved in this NBA situation.”
“Somebody must have let it slip.”
“Yeah. With disastrous consequences.”
His voice held a somber note. “This gives the issue a whole new dimension, doesn’t it?”
“We’re not positive the murder was related to the case, but it certainly looks that way. If it was, we’ve got a lot more precarious situation on our hands.”
“I’m glad I got you and Jill on board,” Terry said. “In addition to this new turn of events, I’ve got my wife to contend with. She’s demanding to know what we were doing to put the damper on these NBA folks. She’s almost as big a Predators fanatic as Smotherman and his crowd.”
When I got off the phone, I took a closer look at the newspaper story. It covered the homicide and its aftermath fairly well. I found nothing significant that I didn’t already know.
Jill looked across at me. “You told Terry you’d try to get all you could out of Phil Adamson. Is that our next move?”
“Since we can’t follow up with our Preditors contacts until tomorrow, that looks like the best we can do for the moment.”
I got my detective friend on the phone and asked how his new homicide investigation was going.
“Slowly,” he said.
&n
bsp; “Did you find the auto shop owner?”
“Yeah, but he wasn’t much help.”
“My guess is he was an old Auto Diesel College classmate.”
“You guessed right. Name is Pete Lara. Actually, Pedro Lara. He’s Mexican. Not real good on his English. Said he had no idea what Wechsel was talking about when he called you.”
I leaned back and propped my foot on a desk drawer. “Did he know where Wechsel got his money?”
“Just the job working on race cars. I plan to talk with him again, maybe bring along a Hispanic officer and see if I can get more out of him.”
“Did you find anything helpful at Wechsel’s apartment?”
“We’re still going over it. Oddly enough, it wasn’t the usual trashy mess of a young bachelor. The place was very neat. His bank records were all carefully filed in a box. One interesting thing, they included several fairly large cash deposits in recent months. Nothing to show where they came from, though. He also made a few pretty good size withdrawals. The computer guys are digging into his laptop. Hopefully we’ll pick up something useful.”
“I can give you something,” I said.
“Oh?”
“I talked to my OSI buddy in Germany. He said Arnold had an interest in gambling on auto racing. I hadn’t even thought about placing bets on auto races.”
“I’ve heard of it but not sure how it works. That could be where those bank deposits came from. Did your friend know anything about Wechsel’s relationship to pro basketball?”
“I asked about that. He said the boy hadn’t mentioned anything.”
“Let me know if you hear something else I can use,” Phil said.
And the same to you, I thought. But I knew I was lucky to get as much as I had. Phil’s friendship went only so far when it dealt with closely held details of an active case. It was the old quid pro quo. You tell me and I’ll tell you.
“Do you know when they’ll release the body to the family?” I asked.
“When the Medical Examiner gets through with all his cutting and probing. Hopefully they’re not too busy and can get the autopsy done today.”
A Sporting Murder (Greg McKenzie Mysteries Book 5) Page 2
