The Good, The Bad and The Murderous (Sid Chance Myseries Book 2)

by Chester D. Campbell

  At around seven-thirty, the phone rang. He grabbed it off the desk and answered it.

  “Good morning, Sid,” said the familiar voice, “this is Art. I hope this isn’t too early for you. I remember your telling about your early morning runs.”

  “Just sitting here at my desk. I’ve been up for hours.”

  ‘Well, I have something for you.”

  “Great. You found a girl singer?”

  “She’s only been in Nashville a short while. That’s why I hadn’t heard of her. She’s Cuban, comes from Miami.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Rosario Diaz. She plays a flamenco guitar and wants to adapt the style to country music. She says flamenco came from Southern Spain, so why wouldn’t it work in the Southern U.S.?”

  “What do you think?” Sid asked.

  Yancey laughed. “I’m not so sure you can combine the two, but in this business, you never know what will catch on next. The way some of our country stars have caught on in Hollywood never ceases to amaze me.”

  More classically inclined than country, Sid voiced a philosophical view. “I think every music genre has the power to move people in one way or another.”

  “You know the old saying, ‘music soothes the savage beast.’”

  Sid chuckled. “Actually, that’s a popular misquote. William Congreve, the English playwright and poet, wrote: ‘Music has charms to soothe a savage breast.’”

  “You’re getting too literary for me.”

  “No problem. I think the idea works both ways, breast or beast. Did you get an address for Rosario Diaz?”

  “She lives in the Greystone Apartments on Bell Road. Apartment Twenty-two Thirteen.”

  When he got off the phone, Sid called Jaz. She sounded a bit sleepy but said it was time to get up. He gave her the good news on Rosario Diaz.

  “We’d better get busy where things look promising. If Elena Ortiz is hiding out with Rosario Diaz, I’ll find her. Greystone Apartments isn’t all that far from me. I’ll go check her out as soon as I can get some breakfast. Do you have a phone number?”

  “Yes, I do, but it would probably be best to hit her cold. You can get a better reading on her reactions that way. Good luck.”

  Jaz dressed casually in a stylish denim jacket and blue jeans. She drove south on Franklin Road to Old Hickory Boulevard, then followed the circumferential highway as it crossed the southern section of Nashville until it changed names to Bell Road. Her mind buzzed away at putting together a plausible story for the interview as she drove.

  The Greystone Apartments occupied a hillside site, a group of two-story wood-and-brick buildings with entrances for each cluster of apartments. The heavy overcast gave the complex a gray look as Jaz parked in front of the 2200 building and gazed about for a white 2009 Carolla. She saw none.

  After walking up the wooden stairway, she pressed the buzzer at 2213. A couple of minutes later the door opened and an attractive young woman with long black hair and a bright smile looked out. She had the coloration of a well-tanned tennis player.

  “Miss Diaz?” Jaz asked.

  “Yes?”

  “I’m Jaz LeMieux. I’m working on a story for The Country Reporter about aspiring country music artists who are fairly new in town. Your name was suggested. Mind if I come in and ask you a few questions?”

  “Please come in,” she said, excitement glowing on her face. “You’ll have to pardon the looks of the place. I haven’t had a chance to straighten up.”

  Jaz detected only a slight accent.

  Rosario Diaz held the door open, then followed Jaz into a small living room that appeared well lived in. Newspapers and music-related magazines lay strewn haphazardly about the sofa. She gathered them up to make room for Jaz.

  “Do you live by yourself?” Jaz asked after they were seated. She pulled a small pad and pen out of her handbag.

  “Yes. I considered finding a roommate to help with the rent, but I didn’t run across anybody I felt comfortable with. Then I got so busy trying to promote my music that I just gave up. I had saved enough money to live for a year in Nashville without any outside income.”

  “You were smart to do that. Most musicians who come here to try the waters soon wind up waiting tables.” Jaz looked around the room. “This is really a lovely apartment. Would you mind showing me around?”

  “Be happy to,” Diaz said.

  She led Jaz through her small kitchen, two bedrooms, and bath. Rosario Diaz’ bedroom showed no signs of another occupant, and the second bedroom had no bed, only a desk, a small portable electronic keyboard, her guitar, and the case she carried it in. A few boxes still to be unpacked sat against the wall. Jaz knew it was highly improbable that Elena Ortiz had used this apartment as a hideaway.

  Back in the living room, Jaz asked several questions about Diaz’ music and what she had accomplished in Nashville. After describing her fruitless jaunts around Music Row, she added, “I’ve managed to play at two night clubs. I’m hopeful it will lead to something bigger.”

  Jaz decided on one more try at establishing a link to Elena Ortiz. “Have you made any friends in the local Hispanic community?” she asked.

  Diaz smiled, displaying a perfect set of shiny white teeth. “I’ve acquired a boyfriend. I don’t know if he’d want me to mention his name.”

  “No problem,” Jaz said. She asked a few more questions and wound up the interview.

  She sat in her car before leaving Greystone Apartments. It was close to nine o’clock when she called Sid.

  “How did it go?” he asked.

  “She’s a lovely young woman, and I hope she succeeds in the business, but she’s not Elena Ortiz’s ‘Mexican-sounding’ country music singer.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Positive.”

  Sid’s voice took on a note of discouragement. “I should have known this wouldn’t work out. It looked too easy.”

  “I know how you feel. Where does that leave us?”

  “Back to the proverbial square one. We can’t find Ortiz, we’ve hit a dead end with Valdez, and we have a killer without a face.”

  “But a black car. And maybe more if Hattie’s tapes pan out.”

  “Let’s hope so. Meanwhile, as my old football coach used to say, if all else fails, punt.”

  “Guess you’d better get out your kicking shoes, Sid.”

  The clouds showed no sign of breaking up, but by early afternoon the mercury had risen enough to give the day a spring-like feeling. Jaz moved to a cushioned rocker on the front porch with a clipboard and pen. Following the pattern she had picked up from Sid, she checked off the varied bits and pieces of information they had accumulated on the case. As she pondered where they might search next for Elena Ortiz, John stepped out the front door and called to her.

  “Miss Jasmine, Detective Masterson is on the way up.”

  “Thanks, John,” she said, glancing down the tree-lined driveway. John took care of visitors who called from the gated entrance when Jaz was not in her office. She wondered what Bart wanted. He could have called if he had any new information for her.

  A few moments later, she saw the unmarked black Metro police car approaching. That meant he was on duty. She watched as he pulled into the parking area in front, opened the door and swung his tall frame out.

  “Come on in,” she said as Bart walked up. “I’m working out here, enjoying the nice weather.”

  “Glad to hear it.”

  She noticed his face appeared singularly lacking in gladness. “Have a seat,” she said, motioning to the chair beside hers.

  Bart turned his chair so that he was facing her. “This isn’t a social call, Jaz. I have to ask you a few questions.”

  She sat up with a sudden queasy feeling. “What’s going on, Bart?”

  “Just answer the questions, okay? I have to establish something first.”

  She didn’t like the way he was acting, so formal and official. Something was definitely wrong. “All right, Ba
rt. Ask your questions.”

  “Where were you this morning before eleven o’clock?”

  “Oh, my God, Bart. Am I being accused of something? Do I need a lawyer?”

  “Nobody is accusing you of anything, but I need to know where you were this morning.”

  She looked down and rubbed her forehead. “I was here until I left to interview a country singer at the Greystone Apartments on Bell Road. Rosario Diaz, Apartment Twenty-two Thirteen. She was not the Mexican-named girl we were looking for. Then I drove over to I-40 and took Briley Parkway to the late Opry Mills Mall. I picked up a jacket at Bass Pro Shops Outdoor World for John.”

  “John Wallace?”

  “Correct.”

  “Then what?”

  “I drove on over to Gallatin Road and headed downtown.”

  “On Gallatin Road?”

  “Of course. Is that against the law?”

  Bart stood up and crossed his arms defensively. “I’m not enjoying this any more than you are, Jaz. It sounds like you were in the Inglewood, East Nashville area sometime between nine-thirty and ten-thirty. Right?”

  Jaz pushed up from her chair. “Closer to nine-thirty than ten. But I didn’t run into anybody or run over anybody. I didn’t even hit a neighborhood dog. What is this all about, Bart?”

  “Earline Ivey was shot to death this morning at her house near Gallatin Road in Inglewood.”

  Jaz gasped and her heart nearly stopped. Earline Ivey was the Welcome Home Stores employee who had accused her of using the “N” word and making racially disparaging remarks.

  Chapter 13

  Jaz slumped back into her chair, pulse pounding in her ears. A cold chill ran over her. It took a few moments before she could speak.

  “Surely you don’t think…you know I would never…” Her voice trailed off.

  “I think it’s highly unlikely you would do something like this, and I hope to hell you didn’t, Jaz. But I’m just doing my job. You know what it’s like. I had to ask, and you admit you were in the area.”

  “Purely by accident.” She was getting her wits back now, her ire stoked. “I didn’t stop except at a drugstore to get some headache pills for Marie. I should have taken Ellington Parkway, but I was in no hurry and used the time to think about Sid’s case. We have enough problems on our hands without this. What happened to Mrs. Ivey?”

  Bart shoved his hands into his pockets. “She was found around noon by her daughter, who had spent the night with a friend.”

  Jaz held her hand to her face. “Oh, my God, the poor girl. How old was she?”

  “Thirteen.”

  “That’s awful.”

  “I need to talk to her, but she was a basket case when I got there.”

  “Where is she now?”

  “An aunt came after her. She’s staying at their house.”

  Jaz just shook her head. “What a trauma that must have been.”

  “Yeah. It’s something she’ll have to live with the rest of her life.”

  “You said Mrs. Ivey was shot?”

  “A bullet through the back of the head.”

  Jaz winced. “Was it a twenty-two?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “It’s what Omar Valdez was killed with. At least Mr. Grimm and Mr. Kozlov can’t accuse Djuan Burden of this one.”

  “It might be better for you if they could,” Bart said.

  “That’s a bunch of crap. It’s preposterous to think I had anything to do with it.” She was getting steamed.

  “At the moment there’s no evidence that you pulled the trigger, but you could have hired it done.”

  He spoke in a calm, matter-of-fact voice, but Jaz had heard enough.

  She jammed her hands against her hips. “That’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve said, Bart Masterson. I may not need a lawyer, but I don’t have to stand here and listen to absurd, asinine accusations from somebody I thought was a friend.”

  Bart held out his hands as if to ward off a blow.

  “Calm down, Jaz. You know what’s involved. As soon as I arrived at the scene, I got a call from the department’s PR man. He pointed out that this was the woman who’d been causing all the trouble for you, as if I didn’t know. I had to come talk to you or I’d be answering to the chief.”

  “I know you’re on the spot,” she said, still breathing hard. “But you obviously have no evidence against me because I was not near that woman’s house.”

  “You just said—”

  “I said I was on Gallatin Road. Does she live on Gallatin Road? I have no idea where she lives, and who could have done this is beyond me. I’m just as shocked as everyone else.”

  Bart spread his hands in a peacemaking gesture. “Let’s leave it at that for now, Jaz. I’m sorry I’ve upset you so.”

  “You certainly have.”

  “Maybe we can close this out in a hurry and take the pressure off. I’m sure the next thing you know we’ll be hearing from the NAACP.”

  “They’ve already been onto the Earline Ivey complaint. I don’t know how this will affect the anti-discrimination hearing I’ll probably face, but I’m certainly not looking forward to it.”

  Bart backed off.

  “I need to go check on what the forensic guys picked up, if anything. Maybe they’ll have something I can use.”

  He hurried out to his car. Jaz picked up her notes and went inside. She found Marie and John waiting for her.

  “I heard some angry sounds out there,” Marie said, her face clouded. “What did he want?”

  Jaz hugged her. “Don’t worry about it, Marie. It was just a misunderstanding. Everything’s okay.”

  Marie gave her a dubious look, then turned toward the kitchen.

  Of course, everything was not okay. Jaz headed for her office, called Sid, and blurted out what had happened.

  “What a crock of—”

  “I let him have it with both barrels.”

  “Good. He ought to have his head examined.”

  She had calmed down a bit and her tone showed it. “I felt sorry for him after he left. Bart was only doing his job, Sid. Don’t you get onto him, too. I gave him a hard enough time about it.”

  “But to even think you’d do something like that.”

  “What would be the purpose?”

  “The only reason would be to shut the woman up, and it was a she said-she said situation to start with. You could bring in a passel of black women who’d swear you’d never say anything like what she claimed.”

  “I’ve had plenty of them call or write me. Including some Welcome Home employees. But any way you consider it, this affair doesn’t make me look good. I wouldn’t wish anything like this on anybody. And the worst part is her thirteen-year-old daughter found her.”

  “That’s brutal.” Sid was silent for a moment. “Did you go to the company office when you got downtown? Maybe somebody there could pin down the time.”

  “I intended to stop by the office, but there’s hardly anyone around on a Saturday morning. I wound up driving past the place, then went on home. Anyway, the murder probably happened before that.”

  Sid paused. “That shot to the head is worrisome.”

  “Too much like the Valdez murder?”

  “Right.”

  “But what does Prime Medical have to do with an employee of Welcome Home Stores?”

  “Nothing. That’s what makes it so worrisome.”

  “Well, I hope Bart can solve it in a hurry. It would be best for Earline Ivey’s family as well as for me. You might give him a call and see if you can be of any help.”

  Sid grunted. “Right now I’d be more inclined to give him a punch in the nose.”

  Next Jaz called the chief operating officer of Welcome Home Stores to see what they could do in support of Earline Ivey, who was still an employee. He had just heard about the shooting and was both shocked at the violence and concerned about how it might affect the company. They agreed on a statement for the media and a wreath to be placed a
t the store where Ivey had worked. Employees would be let off to attend the funeral.

  When she got off the phone, she felt like the bell had just rung for the last round in a tough boxing match. She wasn’t sure if she could make it to the finish.

  Chapter 14

  Since he didn’t have the luxury of a John Wallace to manicure his lawn, Sid had spent most of the morning cleaning up his yard. Twigs and sticks of various sizes had blown off the trees. Left over leaves, many carried by the wind from the riverbank, had to be piled up and disposed of. He didn’t realize how long he had neglected the job.

  After Jaz’s call, he sat at his desk, fuming over what he had heard. Looking at it logically, he could understand where Bart was coming from. But where Jaz was concerned, he tended to view things more from an emotional standpoint that pure logic. He knew he could not have appeared as dispassionate about the situation as Bart had. But what should he do?

  He picked up the phone and punched in Bart’s number..

  “Masterson.” His typical I’m-busy-what-the-hell-do-you-want voice.

  “It’s Sid. Jaz just told me what happened.”

  “Aw, Christ, don’t you get on my case, too. You know what I had to do.”

  “Yeah. I also know she couldn’t have had anything to do with it.”

  “I can only deal with the facts, Sid.”

  “So what kind of facts do you have? Anybody see a car, a guy around the house?”

  “Not that we’ve found. The place is not far off Gallatin Road, a little cul-de-sac with only two houses. There’s a wooded area behind it. We found the back door wide open.”

  “Footprints?”

  “Negative. The ground was dry. This area didn’t get any rain yesterday.”

  “Any shreds of clothing caught on a fence or bush?”

  “That’s all I’d better say about it, except it looks like we got lucky.”

  “How so?”

  “A crime scene officer found a latex glove on the back porch. It must have fallen out of his pocket.”