Emory looked down at the clothes he had worn to bed and laughed. “No, but that’s okay. I don’t need a ride. Wayne will be here soon.”
“Well, come by if you need anything, and keep me up to speed on how the case is going.” When Emory said he would, the sheriff left.
After showering, Emory rummaged through his old bedroom’s closet and drawers to find some fresh clothes that he thought would be least embarrassing to wear for work. Since he never owned a suit or tie before joining the TBI, he had to settle for a dark-blue flannel shirt and a pair of khakis.
He grabbed the denim jacket he had worn the night before and the garbage bag with his dirty clothes, and he waited in the living room for Wayne to arrive. As soon as he sat on the couch, the French bulldog jumped onto his lap. He asked her, “So what do you think, Sophie? Is it possible that the murders of Britt and Rick are not related?” He paused for a response and received a lick on the chin. “I agree. It would be too much of a coincidence. But what was gained by killing them both?”
The sound of his phone ringing inside his pocket interrupted his one-sided conversation. He scooted Sophie off his lap so he could reach it. Seeing the caller was Wayne, he skipped “Hello” to ask, “Are you having a problem finding the place?”
“I’m still in Knoxville,” Wayne answered, prompting slumped shoulders from Emory.
“Why are you there?”
“I’m going to meet the medical examiner about Rick Roberts.”
Emory clutched the hair at the back of his head. “I’d like to be part of that.”
“No problem. I’ll conference you in.”
“What time do you think you’ll be here?”
Wayne hesitated so long, Emory thought the call had dropped. “I’m not going to be able to come today.”
“What? Why not?”
“I forgot I have to be in court this afternoon.”
Emory popped off the couch. “You can’t leave me here!”
“It’s just one more night. Enjoy the time with your family, for Christ’s sake. It’s just one day. I’ll be down in the morning.” Wayne paused again. “Wait, tomorrow’s Saturday.”
“I don’t care what day it is.“
“If you’re that desperate to leave, can’t you just borrow your dad’s car?”
“No.”
“Besides, staying here will also give me a chance to interview Rick Roberts’ ex-wife. She lives in Knoxville now.”
“What am I supposed to do today?”
“Work the case with your dad. Look, I gotta go. I’ll call you from the ME’s.”
Emory shoved his phone back into his pocket and looked at Sophie. “Don’t ever let anyone else drive your car.”
He heard someone pulling into the driveway. From the front window, he saw Scot Trousdale, Victor Algarotti’s assistant, getting out of a white compact. Emory rushed to the front door to answer it before he had a chance to knock. “Scot, what are you doing here?”
Scot greeted him with a smile. “Agent Emory. You said if I thought of anything.”
Emory tried to hide his annoyance. “I was expecting a call. How did you know where my parents live?”
“It’s a small town. People here are only too willing to share information, as long as it’s not about themselves.”
Emory could tell he wanted an invitation inside, but he wasn’t about to let any potential suspect in a case enter his home, or his former home. “Why aren’t you at work?”
“Victor closed shop today for the funeral.”
“You’re not attending?”
Scot pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “I sent flowers.”
“What did you want to tell me?”
“Is it true that Victor is offering a reward for finding Britt’s killer?”
“He mentioned it.”
“If I give you information that is helpful—”
“You’d have to discuss that with Victor.”
“I came to you because I’d trust you over Pristine’s friend to cut me in.”
“I can’t accept any reward…” Emory stopped when he caught the important part of Scot’s last statement. “Who’s Pristine’s friend?”
“That investigator, Jeff Woodard. When Victor said he wanted me to hire one, she’s the one who told me to call him. I got the impression they’re friends.”
Jeff is friends with Victor Algarotti’s wife?! Emory’s eyebrows jumped, before he forced them back into place to try concealing his surprise. “What’s the information you wanted to share?”
“Have you checked out Britt’s ex-boyfriend?”
“We’re checking out everybody.”
“Were you aware that he threatened Victor with a knife the day before Britt died?”
No longer annoyed at the unexpected visit, Emory stepped out of the doorway toward Scot. After all, the man had surprised him with not one but two important pieces of information. “No, I wasn’t.”
Scot acted like he was sharing a juicy piece of gossip as he related the story. “Dan showed up at the factory ranting about how Victor had ruined his life. I tried to stop him, but he got past me and confronted Victor in his office. By the time I got there, I saw Dan brandishing a knife and blaming him for Britt breaking up with him. I don’t know if you know this, but Victor was a boxer in the Navy. He grabbed Dan’s wrist – the one with the knife – and knocked him down with one punch.” Scot laughed. “It was pretty sweet.”
That explains the black eye. Scot was about to say more when the special agent’s phone rang. He saw that it was Wayne placing a video call. “I have to take this. If you think of anything else, give me a call.”
“Oh, I will.”
“And Scot. Thank you for the information.”
Scot grinned and walked away.
Emory went back inside and closed the door behind him before he answered the phone. “Hi Wayne.” He looked out the window to make sure Scot was leaving. He was.
“I’m here with Cathy now.” Wayne held his phone so that Cathy Shaw appeared onscreen.
A blonde woman with a sweet but vulpine face waved. “Hi Emory!”
Emory waved back as he walked to the kitchen to place the phone on the table and take a seat. “Hi Cathy. How are you doing?”
“I’d be better if you two would stop sending me all this work.”
Emory told her, “We hope to make that one the last.”
Wayne stationed his phone on a counter so Emory could see Rick’s charred remains sprawled out on one table and the dead German shepherd on another.
Cathy began her report. “Okay guys, as much as I wanted it to be true, the cause of death was not spontaneous human combustion.” She held up a vial that was one-quarter filled with a blackish granular substance. “Here’s your culprit. Potassium permanganate.” She handed it to Wayne for a closer look. “Potassium permanganate reacts exothermically with hydrochloric acid, which is a primary component of stomach acid.”
“Exothermically?” Wayne asked, handing the vial back to her.
“Gives off heat. With the large amount he ingested, enough heat to ignite the surrounding tissue. After it started, the body fat kept it going.”
Wayne grunted. “Is this potassium whatever available to anyone?”
“Easily ordered online.”
Emory asked, “Cathy, do you know how it was administered?”
“I analyzed everything I received.” She paused for effect. “It was in the tea.” She pulled a glass of brownish liquid from a refrigerator. “Here’s a glass of sweet tea I brought from home.” She placed it on the counter and emptied the vial of potassium permanganate into it. As she stirred, the tea took on a purple hue.
Emory asked, “Wouldn’t he have tasted something in his drink?”
Cathy shook her head. “It has a sweet taste, so his tea might’ve been a little sweeter.”
“So someone came over and dropped this shit in his tea?” Wayne asked before eyeballing Emory on the phone. “Didn’t you say that PI was t
here before you? He could’ve easily spiked Rick’s tea.”
“I don’t believe that,” Emory responded – although the news Scot delivered earlier gave him a moment’s pause.
“Why not? You just met the guy. You don’t know him or what he’s capable of.”
“I was there when Rick started to light up, and I saw Jeff’s reaction. He was as surprised as I was.” Emory turned his attention back to the ME. “Cathy, the tea Rick drank wasn’t purple.”
Cathy grinned and punctuated the air with her index finger up. “I was wondering if someone was going to ask me about that. I also found tartrazine in the tea.”
“What’s that?” Emory asked.
“Yellow food coloring.” Cathy produced a small bottle of the liquid from her lab coat pocket. She dripped some into the purple water and stirred, and the color changed back to a light brown.
“Well, look at that,” said Wayne with the lilt of wonderment to his voice.
Emory pushed his back against the chair. “This took some planning. What about the dog?”
Cathy nodded and walked over to the dog’s body. “The bullet that killed him came from a .32 caliber revolver.”
Wayne bemoaned, “Why is it never a rare gun?”
“Unfortunately, he wasn’t able to get a bite in before he was shot. There was nothing in his teeth.”
“I don’t get it,” said Wayne. “The killer had a gun. Why not just shoot Rick? Why go to all this trouble? It doesn’t make sense.”
Emory proposed, “Maybe the killer just didn’t want to be there when it happened.”
Cathy chimed in with, “Unless the method of execution is significant.”
Wayne muttered, “Fire.”
“Something to consider,” said Emory. “Anything else for us, Cathy?”
Cathy opened her arms. “Isn’t that enough?”
“Thanks Cathy.” Wayne moved his face closer to the phone so that all Emory could see were his eyes and the deep crow’s feet channeling from them. “I’ll talk to you later.”
Emory stared at his blank phone for a moment before deciding to dial another number.
From the passenger seat of Virginia’s car, Jeff answered his ringing phone. “Emory? Did I butt-dial you?”
Emory responded, “No, I called you.”
“First time for everything. What’s up?”
Emory pondered his words before answering, “I heard something disturbing this morning.”
“Hang on. I’m putting you on speakerphone so Virginia can hear.”
“Hi Emory,” Virginia said with a wave, even though he couldn’t see it.
“Hi Virginia.” Emory was going to ask about Jeff’s friendship with Pristine Algarotti, but he didn’t want to do so with anyone else listening, so he came up with another reason for the call. “Jeff, are you coming to Barter Ridge today?”
“We’re almost there now. Virginia had to drive me because I had a little accident with my car last night.”
“What happened?”
“I’ll fill you in later. What did you want to tell me?”
“I stayed at my parents’ house last night. Wayne took my car back to Knoxville, and he’s not going to be able to pick me up today.”
Jeff laughed. “Well, that is disturbing, I guess. What’s the address? We’ll come get you.”
CHAPTER 15
EMORY ANSWERED THE door to find Jeff and Virginia on his parents’ doorstep. “Hi guys.”
Jeff smirked when he saw Emory’s outdated, lumberjack apparel. “Are we chopping wood today?”
“I didn’t bring any clean clothes with me,” Emory explained. “Hang on. Let me just grab my stuff.”
As Emory was about to shut the door, Jeff put a hand up to block it. “Hold on, Paul Bunyan. I have to go to the bathroom.”
Emory hesitated while he debated denying him entry. He felt their situation had already gotten too personal, but he couldn’t think of a reasonable excuse to keep him from the bathroom. “Fine. Come in.”
Jeff and Virginia entered, and their eyes wasted little time soaking everything in. “Nice place,” said Virginia. “Cozy.”
Emory looked to Jeff, awaiting a smart remark, but all he said was, “Bathroom.”
“Oh.” Emory pointed to a hallway at the other end of the living room. “On your right.”
After Jeff left them alone, Virginia said, “This is quite a little town you have here.”
Emory told her, “It’s not mine anymore.”
“Pretty, but I can’t imagine what it must’ve been like for you growing up here.”
“What do you mean?”
She ran her fingers across the afghan thrown over the back of the couch. “Small towns have their charms, but the warm smiles and open arms too easily turn to snarls and closed fists for those who don’t fit in.”
“Okay,” Emory said as if he didn’t get her meaning, although he knew where she was heading.
She held up her right hand toward him and caressed the air as if she were tracing the outline of his face. “Your facial structure. The high cheekbones and your eyes and hair. You’re Native-American – half, I’d imagine. Given the area you grew up in, I’d guess Cherokee.”
Emory’s shoulders relaxed when he realized he had been wrong about where she was going. “My birth mother’s side. You’re very perceptive. I’ve always been pale – a trait from my father – so most people don’t pick up on it. But you’re wrong about Barter Ridge. Even if they did know about that, I doubt I would’ve had any problems related to it. I don’t think small towns are really like that anymore.”
Virginia shrugged. “What do I know. I’m originally from Atlanta.”
Her dismissiveness gave Emory the distinct feeling that she was keeping him occupied as a distraction. He glanced toward the hallway. “I wonder what’s keeping Jeff.”
Virginia whispered, “I think he had to go number two.”
Emory wasn’t buying it. He stepped into the hallway and noticed the bathroom door wasn’t closed. He eyed Virginia from beneath a furrowed brow and went to investigate. He found Jeff inside his old bedroom, sitting on the bed and playing with Sophie. “What are you doing?”
Jeff flashed him a guilt-free smile. “You think I was going to pass up an opportunity to see where you were reared?” He stood and looked around the room. “Key points of information about who you are as an adult can be revealed from a visit to your childhood bedroom. From this room, I can see why you’re so high-strung.”
“What do you mean?” Emory scanned the room for how he would reach such a conclusion. “I’m not high-strung.”
“Okay, Stradivarius, why is there no fun in this room? Where are the toys? Where are the posters of your celebrity crushes?”
“I didn’t have any. Now can we go?”
Jeff gave Sophie a final pat on the butt before heading to the door. On their way out, Emory grabbed the denim jacket and the trash bag of dirty clothes from the living room, prompting a laugh from Jeff. He nodded to the jacket, along with the clothes Emory was wearing. “So did you fancy yourself a cowboy when you were younger?”
“They were Christmas presents. I didn’t pick them out.” Emory shooed them out of the house.
The three investigators piled into Virginia’s car – she in the driver seat, Jeff in the passenger seat and Emory centered in back. As she was about to start the car, she asked, “Guys, where are we going?”
“Good question.” Jeff looked at Emory through the rearview mirror.
Emory replied, “Knoxville. I need to get my car.”
Jeff laughed. “We’re not going back to Knoxville right now. We just got here.” He pointed to Virginia and himself. “We’re going to investigate this case. You’re welcome to join us.”
Emory shook his head. “I can’t work with civilians on a murder case.”
“Then get out,” Jeff told him. “We’ll come back for you when we’re done.”
Grabbing the door handle, Emory hesitated. He c
ouldn’t let this cocky PI get a full day’s worth of investigation ahead of him. Besides, he needed more information about his relationship with Pristine. “Fine. I’ll go with you, but I’ll conduct my investigation separately.”
Jeff rolled his eyes. “Whatever. We need a place to start. Do you have an explanation yet for Rick Roberts?”
Emory responded, “I can’t comment on that.”
Jeff whirled around to face the stubborn man in the back seat. “Seriously? I know you can’t claim the reward, but we can. I promised to stay out of your way. The least you could do is be a little more Wiki with the information so we don’t all spend the day spinning our wheels.”
As Jeff stared at him, Emory became transfixed by his crystal green eyes, and his fortitude quaked. Why does he have to be so beautiful? Emory’s lips cracked apart to say, “Potassium permanganate.”
Jeff looked at Virginia, who wasted no time pulling her phone from her purse and researching the chemical compound.
Since the cat was out of the bag, Emory decided to tell them what he knew. “It was delivered through his tea, and it reacted with the stomach acid to cause the fire.”
Virginia found some information online, which she started reading aloud. “Potassium permanganate is commonly used to wash carbon dioxide, which is used to make—”
All three finished the sentence, “Mineral water.”
Jeff slapped the dashboard. “To the water factory.”
“No, we can’t go now,” Emory told them. “It’s closed today for Britt’s funeral.”
“Even better! We’ll have free reign.” He gave a nod to Virginia. “Let’s go.”
Emory grabbed his shoulder. “We’re not going to break in.”
“I don’t know about you, but I’d rather go when Victor’s not looking over my shoulder. I know he’s the client, but I haven’t ruled him out as a suspect.”
Virginia took her hands off the gear shift with it still in the park position. “Guys, figure it out. I don’t want to sit here all day listening to you bicker.”
Emory insisted, “It’s illegal.”
“You’re an investigator. Logic trumps legal. We have a murder weapon that probably came from that building, and if it did, whoever wielded that weapon more than likely works there. Maybe there’s something in that factory that would connect the murder weapon with the murderer. If so, we could catch him today before he has a chance to strike again. Isn’t that a good enough reason to work around the law just a smidge?”
Murder on the Lake of Fire Page 8
