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

by Chester D. Campbell

  “That must be the one NASA developed,” Jaz asked.

  “Right. It’s called VISAR—Video Image Stabilization and Registration. It can really make a difference.”

  Hattie transferred the surveillance video to a DVD and gave it to Sid.

  “Anything else the bank can do to re-establish law and order in our fair city?” she asked.

  “I wish you’d had a branch across the street from Earline Ivey’s house yesterday,” Jaz said, a wistful look crossing her face.

  Hattie raised a sculptured brow. “I wasn’t going to mention that.”

  “I guess I’m a person of interest, since I happened to drive down Gallatin Road around the time of the murder.”

  “Anybody would be crazy to think you had anything to do with that,” Hattie replied.

  “And there’s no reason they should,” Sid said. He told them what he had done that morning, about the man who came into the market.

  Jaz reached across and squeezed his hand. “Thanks.”

  “Just doing my job,” Sid said with a grin. “Can’t have my partner locked up in the hoosegow.”

  “Methinks there’s more here than meets the eye,” Hattie said.

  Sid ignored the comment, pulled out his phone, found Baron Eggers number, and pressed “Call.” When the agent answered, he reminded him of the reported sighting of a man in the alley behind Prime Medical Equipment. “I think we have him on a bank surveillance video.”

  “Congratulations.”

  “Trouble is we can’t read the license plate. If I give you a disk of the footage, could your people enhance the image with the VISAR program?”

  “I’m sure they could, if they have the time.”

  “Would you have to send it to Washington, or could you do it here?”

  “It can be done locally, but unless it’s of interest to the Bureau, I can’t guarantee how soon.”

  “If a Medicare scammer was the victim of a professional hit, wouldn’t that be of interest to the FBI?”

  “I see your point. Bring it to me in to morning and I’ll see what can be done.”

  After they left Hattie at the bank, Sid walked out to the parking lot with Jaz, talking about where their investigation to clear Djuan Burden might turn next. “I’d say we should concentrate on tracking down Ortiz and learning all we can about Valdez,” Sid said.

  His cell phone rang. When he pulled it out and answered, he heard Bart Masterson’s voice. “Got something for you, Sid. Don’t know if it’s what you’re looking for but should be worth a try. Haven’t got an address, but there’s a girl singer named Cristina Torres, works as a waitress at Las Flores Restaurant in Madison.”

  After thanking Bart, Sid closed the phone. “How are you on Mexican food?” he asked Jaz.

  “I’ve already had lunch, but dinner sounds fine. What’s the deal?”

  He told her that Bart had found a singer who might be the one they were searching for. With no address, they’d have to identify the waitress and follow her home. They agreed to meet at Sid’s office at six.

  Chapter 17

  Madison, though not officially a town, was one of the largest communities within Metropolitan Nashville. According to the Madison-Rivergate Area Chamber of Commerce, the population totaled more than 35,000. It stretched from Briley Parkway north to the Sumner County Line. Over the past decade, it had become a popular destination for Mexican immigrants. The community’s main street, Gallatin Road, featured many Hispanic businesses, ranging from markets to auto repair shops to restaurants. Taco wagons plied their trade in the main business district.

  A small restaurant tucked in between an alteration shop and a jewelry store, Las Flores lived up to its name as soon as Sid opened the door. Flowers littered the place. Baskets around the walls, vases with red and white roses on the tables. Red, white and green banners, representing the national colors of Mexico, hung from small staffs around the room. Mariachi music rolled from speakers on either side, toned down so as not to drown out conversation at the tables.

  A young woman in a red dress and green shawl greeted them. “Welcome to Las Flores,” she said with a heavy Spanish accent. She ushered them to a table near the front window and left menus at their places. “Cristina will be right with you.”

  Sid looked around when she left. Three other tables were occupied, two by obvious Hispanics, the other anyone’s guess. “Sounds like we hit the jackpot,” he said.

  Jaz nodded. “Sure does. This must be her.”

  A girl in a flowered bolero blouse with long black hair cascading over her shoulders approached their table. Hazel eyes above high cheek bones highlighted an attractive smile. “What can I get you to drink?” she asked in nearly flawless English.

  They ordered iced tea, and she left for the kitchen.

  “What do you think?” Jaz asked.

  “If her singing voice is as pleasant as her speaking voice, she may have a good chance in the business.”

  “But would she be the type to hide Elena Ortiz?”

  “We’ll have to find out.”

  She picked up her menu. “So what do we eat while waiting?”

  Sid scanned the entrees. “I’m not big on the hot stuff. The chicken quesadilla sounds good to me.”

  “I think I’ll try the beef enchiladas.”

  Cristina Torres brought their tea and took their orders. After she left, Sid picked up the conversation.

  “Now that we have Ortiz on hold, where do we stand on Valdez?”

  “We know he’s ashes by now,” Jaz said. “And they’re headed for Texas.”

  “But he came from New Mexico, according to the background check.”

  “Ortiz came from Texas, and she’s in charge now.”

  “Okay, so what do we know about the man? He worked at Casa Rosa Restaurant in Albuquerque. Maybe he was the manager, or assistant manager. How did he get involved in a Medicare scam? He’d have to have studied the medical equipment business and procedures used by Medicare in approving and paying claims.”

  “Elena had experience in the medical arena. As for Omar, we know he likes to mask his moves and use fake documents.”

  Sid added a little sweetener to his tea, then looked up. “A fake address in Little Rock and a fake driver’s license. What if he was fake all the way?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What if the man who’s now reduced to ashes isn’t really Omar Valdez?”

  Jaz looked at him with narrowed eyes. “We could call the restaurant in Albuquerque.”

  “But that wouldn’t tell who he really is.”

  “The Medical Examiner routinely fingerprints victims.”

  “But do they submit them to the police with the autopsy?”

  Jaz shrugged. “Maybe not, unless requested.”

  “Detective Grimm would not likely have requested it. He had Ortiz identify the body.”

  “And he had a driver’s license, which it took the FBI to prove was a fake.”

  “Why don’t you ask your friend, Dr. Abrams, about the prints, whether they have been checked with AFIS?”

  The FBI’s Automated Fingerprint Identification System should tell them precisely who the victim was.

  When Cristina brought their food, Sid asked her what time the restaurant closed.

  “We quit serving at eight,” she said, “but it’s usually eight-thirty before everybody is finished.”

  They were out long before eight. Sid had chosen to use his truck tonight, feeling it would attract less attention in areas they were likely to go. It was not Jaz’s favorite mode of transportation, but she agreed with his thinking. He moved the truck to a far corner of the parking area where they could see Cristina when she came out. He had checked the rear of the building earlier to be sure there was no parking in back.

  “Reminds you of the old stakeout days,” Sid said as they waited in the dim light from a nearby pole.

  “I didn’t have to do much of that in patrol.”

  “While chief in
Lewisville, I worked as patrolman, detective, whatever was needed.”

  “Do you miss those days?”

  It had been more than three years since he resigned in disgust, feeling disgraced, after the widely-publicized reverse “sting” when the sheriff charged him with taking a bribe from a drug dealer. Using a young man he’d arrested on a possession case, Sid had set up a buy from the dealer to catch him in the act. When the dealer learned what was coming, he went to the sheriff and made a deal, claiming Sid had approached him about a bribe. He was wired when he met Sid for the buy and handed him an envelope.

  “What’s this?” Sid asked.

  “The five thousand bucks you asked for, Chief. Now keep your cops off my back.”

  After a long silence while the past played out in his mind, Sid looked around at Jaz, a sadness in his eyes. “Yeah, I enjoyed the work. I had planned to keep at it until I retired. You’ve heard the rest of the story.”

  “Not a good way to go out,” she said. “You know how I felt yesterday when Bart talked like I had something to do with the Earline Ivey murder.”

  “It’s a real downer.”

  After a brief pause, she asked, “How does the PI job stack up against being police chief?”

  “Different animals. I’m learning to enjoy it more. In a way it’s tougher, a real challenge.”

  “How so?”

  “As a cop you’ve got the law behind you. Either they cooperate or go to jail. As a PI, you have to learn to finesse things, be more tactful, diplomatic.”

  “You learn that in the business world, too,” Jaz said.

  They took turns keeping an eye on the restaurant entrance while chatting. It was Sid who finally saw the young waitress come out.

  “There she is,” he said. “Watch where she goes.”

  She walked between two cars out to the second row of parking spaces next to the street. As soon as she unlocked her door and climbed in, Sid started his truck. He pulled out to follow when she headed down the side street away from Gallatin Road. She drove an older model Honda Accord, dark colored. Hanging back to avoid arousing suspicion, he trailed her to Old Hickory Boulevard, the four-lane highway that bisected Madison east and west. She turned onto Myatt Drive, which would come out near Sid’s office at RiverGate Mall, though along the way were several streets that ran off to either side with lots of small, older houses.

  When she took a darkened street, Sid switched off his headlights and pulled in after her, easing to the curb. They watched as she turned into a driveway in the middle of the block. After she got out and walked toward the house, Sid inched forward to park behind a car two houses away.

  “How do you want to handle this?” Jaz asked.

  They both wore dark-colored outfits to make them less obvious at night. With the moon hidden by clouds and the nearest streetlight at the end of the block, chances were good they could move about without attracting attention. But Sid remained cautious.

  “I’d like to check the back of her house to see if Ortiz’s white Carolla might be hidden there,” he said.

  “Think the neighbors are nosy enough to stare out their windows at night?”

  “You never know, until one calls the cops or comes out with a shotgun.”

  “The houses aren’t too close together and it looks like most drapes are drawn. If you want to give it a try, put your phone on vibrate and I’ll warn you if I see anything.”

  Sid took out his phone and set it to vibrate. “Okay. Keep a sharp eye out.”

  He reached up to switch off the overhead light, scooted out of the seat, and closed the door softly. He looked around and saw no one. He strolled casually toward Cristina Torres’ driveway. It was graveled, and part of the gravel had worn away. He turned in and slipped past her car. Lights shone behind shades in the house next door. He heard no sound. As soon as he moved beyond the back corner of Torres’ house, however, a dog started barking in the backyard of the next house beyond.

  Sid darted toward the street before the lights could come on. He had seen what he came to look for. A white 2009 Toyota Carolla with Tennessee plates sat behind the Hispanic girl’s house.

  Chapter 18

  Sid pulled his truck around the car ahead of him and parked in front of Cristina Torres’ driveway. A small frame structure with a wooden porch that stretched halfway across the front, the house hadn’t been exposed to a paint brush in quite a while. A small placard on the door said “Bienvenido.” Sid ignored the button and knocked.

  The porch light came on. After a few moments, the door opened and Cristina looked out, her eyes large and questioning.

  Sid smiled. “You waited on us at Las Flores tonight. We’re Sid Chance and Jasmine LeMieux.”

  “Is something wrong?” she asked, still wary.

  “No, the meal was fine and the service was excellent. We’re here to see Elena Ortiz.”

  Her mouth dropped open and she covered it with her hand. “How did you…?”

  “Her car is parked around back,” Sid said. “A neighbor at her former apartment said she was a friend of yours.”

  “What do you want with her? You’re not police—”

  “We’re private investigators looking into the murder of Omar Valdez. We need to know who she thinks killed him.”

  Torres looked confused. “It was that man who had been in prison.”

  “That’s what the police say. We know better. Djuan Burden’s grandmother hired us to find the real murderer. Elena Ortiz should be able to help us.”

  Sid heard another voice behind Torres. The girl looked around and said something, then pulled the door open. “She will talk to you.”

  Sid and Jaz walked in. They faced a small woman about five-foot-five wearing jeans and a blue denim shirt. She had dyed her hair a golden blonde, as if that would hide her identity. She looked from Sid to Jaz with indigo eyes, a blue so dark they were almost black.

  “Why do you think this Burden person did not kill Omar?” Elena Ortiz asked.

  “Simple,” Sid said. “The gun the police found at his grandmother’s house had not been fired in twenty years. The man who called nine-one-one saw Burden leave the front of the store. Just prior to that, a man was seen leaving by the back door. That was the murderer.”

  Ortiz slumped into a chair beside a small TV. “How would I know who it was?”

  “You were living with Valdez,” Jaz said. “You knew him well. You knew who had something against him, who would have wanted him dead. This looked like a contract killing. Somebody hired a professional assassin to kill Omar.”

  She shook her head. “No. They have their own people who do that.”

  “Who does?” Sid asked.

  “I can’t tell you. They will kill me.”

  “Who are they?”

  She shook her head again. “They will find me.”

  Sid squatted down in front of her to make eye contact. “We know you were involved in a Medicare scam. The FBI is onto this. If you cooperate with them, they could put you in the witness protection program, give you a new identity, and help you start a new life in a different area of the country.”

  He knew he couldn’t guarantee anything, but it was a good possibility if she had information that would incriminate others. From her remarks, it sounded like she was referring to a large operation.

  Ortiz’s eyes had turned watery now. “He didn’t think they would find him here.”

  Jaz moved beside the chair and put an arm around her shoulder. “You’ve been through a traumatic few days, Elena. You had to identify the body, make arrangements with the funeral home, then find a place to hide out. It’s been tough. At the moment, we’re the only ones who know where you are, but what we did others can do. The FBI can put you up in a safe house where you’ll be protected until they work things out. Help us and we’ll help you.”

  Ortiz rubbed her hands together nervously, then dabbed her eyes with a tissue. “I don’t know. If I…I just don’t know.”

  After glancing at S
id with a determined look, Jaz turned back to the teary-eyed woman. “Tell you what, Miss Ortiz, while you’re making up your mind, I can guarantee your safety at my place. I have a large house out Franklin Road with security and an electronically-monitored gate. You can stay with me for a few days until this gets straightened out.” She handed the woman one of her Welcome Home Stores business cards. “That’s my primary position. I only work with Sid occasionally because I enjoy detective work.”

  Sid frowned. “Are you sure you want to do this?” He didn’t like the idea of her taking in a woman who had been involved in Medicare fraud. How far could she be trusted?

  Jaz nodded. “She’s had a rough time and she needs a break, Sid. I think it’ll work out for us.”

  He knew what she meant. She thought that in the setting of her home she could talk Elena Ortiz into helping find the man who killed Omar Valdez.

  Jaz turned back to the woman. “How about it?”

  She looked at the card, then at Jaz. “I read about you in the newspaper.”

  “Not the bad part, I hope.” Jaz grinned.

  “What about my car?” she asked.

  “I can send somebody tomorrow to pick it up and take it to a garage. They’ll keep it out of sight until you’re ready for it. You were smart to keep it out of sight. That car’s the easiest way they can track you down.”

  “All right,” Ortiz said. “I’ll go. I don’t want to put Cristina in danger.”

  While she packed her bags, Sid took Jaz by his office to get her car. Back at Cristina Torres’ house, they loaded Elena’s belongings into the Lexus. She had brought only enough clothes for a week and used Torres’ washing machine to keep a fresh outfit. Sid followed them across town to Jaz’s house. With the women safely inside, he returned home.

  He found a message on his answering machine in a distorted voice.

  “A word of warning, Chance. You could be next.”

  Chapter 19

  Sid showed up at the FBI’s Nashville Resident office on Elm Hill Pike at eight o’clock Monday morning. He met Agent Eggers and gave him the disk from Hattie Jordan, along with a print-out of the frame from the video showing the license plate.