4 The Marathon Murders

by Chester D. Campbell

  I grimaced. “Yeah. Thanks a lot for checking my reflexes.”

  Fought joined us in the living room and queried Kelli and me on what had happened. I gave a capsule version of what we had learned, starting with the Dallas Lights, the trail leading to Hedrick Industries and Jill’s visit to Samran. I described our attempt to check with Mickey Evans about Kirk Rottman, and the cell phone calls that convinced us we were on the right track.

  Fought looked across with a troubled stare. “Why didn’t you call me?”

  “You made it pretty plain last night that you would be tied up all day today. Incidentally, congratulations. I understand you made the biggest marijuana bust in Tennessee history.”

  He ran fingers through hair as black as his eyes. “It was pretty spectacular.” He turned to Kelli. “What was your role in this affair?”

  She started out by telling him she was Arthur Liggett’s granddaughter, the one who had hired us to find the Marathon Papers. She knew the problems we were having and decided to come up here and help with the case.

  “Obviously you’re not a reporter for the Christian Science Monitor. Why did you make that up?”

  “I thought I could get more information as a newspaper reporter. It worked.”

  “It also got you in a lot of trouble. How did you wind up Rottman’s captive?”

  “I interviewed Mickey Evans to get information on Casey’s supervisor at Samran. He sounded like a prime suspect. After I got his name, I started making inquiries around town about Kirk Rottman. The last time I talked to Mickey yesterday, she gave me the name of a roadhouse where she’d heard he hung out. I went there and found him late last night. I told him I’d heard he could steer me toward a good source of pot. He denied smoking pot or knowing anything about it, although he sat there with a joint between his fingers. I said Mickey Evans told me he’d know where I could find some.”

  I bit my lower lip. She didn’t know about Mickey’s murder.

  “What happened then?”

  “I thought there was a good prospect that he took the Marathon Papers after killing Bradley and Olson. So while he was at the tavern, I found his house and came inside.”

  “You broke in,” Fought said.

  She frowned. “That’s being a bit harsh. The door was unlocked. It was practically an invitation to come in.”

  I doubted that. She was probably a good lock picker.

  “What did you find? Did he surprise you?”

  She looked down at her hands, shaking her head. “I took way too long. I should have been more alert. He must have suspected something, although I had parked my car down the street. I didn’t hear him come in. I was on hands and knees when I looked around and saw him pointing a gun at me.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He asked what I was doing there, repeating that he didn’t have any marijuana. I decided I might shake something loose with the truth. I told him I was looking for the Marathon Motors papers he took from Pierce Bradley. He laughed, said Bradley didn’t have them, but he was still looking, too.”

  She said he demanded to know who she was and why she wanted the papers. She decided to play the old quid pro quo game—you tell me and I’ll tell you. He said she wasn’t going anywhere, so why not? Of course, he changed the order of the game. And sitting at the kitchen table with the pistol pointed at her quickly became nerve-wracking, considering how long he might have been drinking and smoking pot. The look in his eyes was worrisome.

  She went first, telling him who she was and that the papers belonged to her great-great-grandfather. Rottman replied that his grandfather wanted them because they might reflect badly on Sam Hedrick, as well as the company.

  Kelli said the young man had obviously spent a good while at the bar, and he seemed to relish his role in the plot. He was eager to talk about it. He said the way he heard the story, his great-grandfather, Randall, had whacked Sydney Liggett in the head and drove his car down to Dickson County. Sam Hedrick had followed and brought Randall back to Nashville. Sam had discovered some files were missing, files that could prove he stole thousands of dollars from the company. So he publicly accused Liggett of taking both the papers and the money.

  The story had been handed down from father to son, and in his case, daughter, Camilla. Kirk wouldn’t have known if he hadn’t followed an old pattern of eavesdropping on his mother and grandfather. When Stone Hedrick learned the papers had turned up, and a guy from Trousdale County planned to give them to Arthur Liggett, he nearly panicked. He called in Kirk and asked him to find someone who would take on the task of recovering the papers for $25,000. Kirk approached Olson, who jumped at the deal. Kirk waited outside while Olson went into Bradley’s house carrying a gun. When he didn’t find the papers, and Bradley refused to say where they were, Olson became angry, took a cane and struck him a stunning blow the head

  “That was probably payback for Bradley’s breaking his arm,” I said.

  “After that,” Kelli said, “Kirk decided they had better get rid of the man to cover their tracks. But after they drove Bradley’s Jeep into the lake, Olson began to have second thoughts. He talked about turning himself in. Kirk was afraid Olson would try to plea bargain a light sentence in return for testifying against him.

  When Kelli stopped, Wayne Fought stared in disbelief. “You want us to believe he voluntarily sat there and told you all of that?”

  “I was astounded, too. But once he started talking, it seemed like he couldn’t stop. I had the feeling he was confident I would never live to repeat any of it.

  “He took me into the front bedroom and taped my wrists behind a large straight chair. Then he taped my ankles to the legs. I thought if I could get him out of there long enough, I might be able to work myself free. So I asked if he had any food, that I was hungry. He went into the kitchen and was gone only a short time, coming back with a soft drink in a glass. I told him I couldn’t drink it with my hands tied like that, but he just held the glass to my lips. That was a big mistake.”

  “What happened,” I asked.

  “The drink must have contained Rohypnol, or some similar drug. It knocked me out in a hurry. When I awoke, it was daylight. I was groggy and tied to the bed. He came in to check on me after a while, sober, as best I could tell, and angry. He demanded to know what Mickey Evans had told me. He asked a lot of questions about who was looking for the papers, and what the cops knew. When I refused to answer, he slapped me around the face. Then he said he was going out, that he’d take care of me later.”

  “When did he return?” the agent asked.

  “After the storm had nearly passed. It wasn’t long before you arrived, Greg.”

  “Are you sure he didn’t rape you while you were drugged?”

  Kelli shook her head. “I don’t think so, but I’d better stop by a hospital and get checked out.”

  Fought instructed her to visit the Trousdale Medical Center for testing. “One of the deputies can take you if you need transportation.”

  I assured him we would see that she got there.

  “Okay,” Fought said. “I’ll need statements from both of you, but not until tomorrow. We still have a helluva lot of wrapping up to do tonight.”

  When we were finished and walked outside, Jarvis ran up to Kelli and threw his arms around her. For the first time, that hard exterior she had displayed throughout the ordeal appeared on the verge of breaking down. Before we got to the car, Agent Fought walked over.

  “Do you have any idea what happened to the infamous papers?”

  “As a matter of fact I do,” I said, gesturing toward the car. “They’re under Jill’s seat. Patricia Cook found them where Pierce had left them at her house. I picked them up before we came out here.”

  “I’ll need those for evidence.”

  “I know, but I’d like to bring them in tomorrow. I need to go over them for Kelli’s grandfather’s peace of mind. He’s eighty-four and in poor health. This should really boost his morale.”

  Fo
ught gave me a hard stare. I knew he didn’t want to go off without the papers, but since I had caught his murderer, maybe he’d cut me a little slack.

  “All right, McKenzie,” he said after considerable hesitation. “Just be sure you have them with you in the morning. I’ll meet you and Miss Kane over at Headquarters at nine.”

  Chapter 42

  We made a prolonged detour by the hospital, where I got my arm checked out, and they determined that Kelli had not been subjected to any sexual molestation.

  We invited Kelli and Warren to drop by our house and check out the Marathon papers after stopping by their motel. When we arrived home, the most recent message on the answering machine was in Wes Knight’s annoyed, yet excited voice.

  “What the hell’s going on, Greg? Call me!”

  For the sake of future relations, I dialed him back.

  “What can I do for you, Wes?” I asked, playing Mr. Cool.

  “Damn, man. We got this story out of the TBI in Trousdale County. Triple murders committed by the son of a prominent Belle Meade family. And what do I find in the middle of it? Your name and that of Miss Kelli Kane. What the hell happened to that speed dial with J for Juicy?”

  “Simmer down, Wes,” I said. “I just got back from Trousdale County and a little trip to the Emergency Room. I haven’t exactly had much time for speed dialing.”

  “Okay, sorry to hear that. Was the Mrs. involved in this one like the last time out?”

  He was referring to the Fed chairman affair from a few months ago. “On the case, yes. But, fortunately, not the shooting. I’ll tell you what I can, but I don’t want to get in trouble with the TBI. They’re still investigating.”

  “What about Kane? Where can I find her?”

  “At the moment, you can’t. Why don’t you tell me what you’ve got, and I’ll fill in what I can.”

  Turned out he had all the basics of the story, who had been killed, who was arrested, where it happened. Agent Fought had identified me as being involved in an exchange of gunfire with Kirk Rottman while rescuing Kelli Kane. The TBI spokesperson left the facts a little loose, not wanting to give me all the credit for bringing in the killer. That was fine with me. Wayne Fought deserved a major share for feeding me information that led to tracking down Rottman.

  One point totally left out of the TBI story was the Marathon Motors records. I knew Wayne Fought had purposely omitted that, both because he hadn’t seen the papers yet and because he intended to use them in confronting Stone Hedrick.

  I gave Wes a few choice details, including the discovery of Mickey Evans’ body in the midst of a raging thunderstorm and what the scene at Rottman’s house was like. I told him Kelli had become our client and got caught up in this situation while helping us investigate another matter. Wes wanted more, of course, but seemed satisfied when I reminded him about client confidentiality.

  Warren and Kelli arrived shortly afterward. She had stopped by the motel for a shower and change of clothes. She appeared noticeably rejuvenated, with her original hair color back. I figured Warren had ratcheted up the charm.

  Jill fixed us a snack, since a big meal hardly sounded of interest to anybody, even Kelli despite her enforced fast. We sat at the dining room table and spread out the papers. Warren picked up the first page and studied it.

  “This looks like it concerns an account for something called Automotive Products Company,” he said.

  I read through the sheet and agreed, pointing at figures beside names like Winner, Runner, and Champion. “These are apparently proceeds from car sales. I seem to recall those were model names that went with the Olympic marathon theme.”

  “I’ll bet that was an account Sam Hedrick set up that only he had access to,” Kelli said.

  As we went through the pages, we noted the dates covered a period of nearly two years. And the total at the end amounted to more than $200,000. In 1914 greenbacks, that represented a tidy sum.

  “Hey,” Jill said. She leaned over one of the pages and pointed at a small group of initials at the bottom of the page. “Did you see this? It looks like ‘SAH.’”

  I thought about that for a moment, remembering something from Friday night’s party. “Camilla told me her great-great-grandfather was named after Revolutionary War patriot Samuel Adams. I’ll bet he was Samuel Adams Hedrick—‘SAH.’”

  Kelli slammed her hands on the table. “That cinches it for me. Sydney Liggett uncovered the secret account Hedrick used to funnel money out of the company into his own coffers. He was preparing to turn it over to the DA when Hedrick found out about it.”

  “Sydney got wind they were coming after him and hid the papers in his office wall,” I said. “Remember those letters your grandfather had? One said something about Sydney indulging in his woodworking hobby.”

  Kelli looked around and nodded. “Right. It was in one of those I read to you and Jill over on Blair Boulevard.”

  “He managed to hide the files,” Jill said, “but they got him before he could do anything about it.”

  We reached a consensus on the theory that Sam Hedrick used his windfall to bankroll Hedrick Industries during World War I. The possibility of the incriminating papers being brought to light, badly tainting the reputation of the company, likely led to Stone Hedrick’s decision to seek Kirk Rottman’s help. And then things got deadly.

  While Jill and Warren waited in the TBI Headquarters lobby Tuesday morning, Kelli and I met with Wayne Fought in the conference room. This time he brought in an agent assigned to the Nashville office to help with the questioning.

  As soon as we took our places at the table, Fought looked across at me, eyes narrowed in an expression of concern. “How’s the arm?”

  I raised my arm, turning it one way, then the other. “Still sore, but no major damage. It’ll provide a good excuse for avoiding chores around the house.”

  “Glad to hear some good came from the ordeal,” he said, in a little more jovial mood today. “Okay, I’ll switch on the recorder and we’ll get started.”

  Kelli rehashed the account she had given yesterday in Hartsville. When it came my turn, I gave them all the information I had dug up about Olson and Rottman and our collective take on the Marathon papers. I handed the envelope full of accounting sheets to Fought.

  After the two agents pored over the information for a few minutes, Fought looked up. “So you think this prompted Stone Hedrick to go after Bradley?”

  “That’s certainly the way it appears. In essence, that’s what Kirk Rottman told Kelli. I’m sure it would help if you could pull a confession out of Rottman.”

  Fought shut off the recorder. “I’m not sure if we can do that. His family has already sent a big-shot lawyer up to Hartsville. We’ll take these papers along on our visit to Mr. Stone Hedrick. I’ve already called for an appointment at two this afternoon.”

  “You must have been anticipating this,” I said.

  “I have something else to ask him about.” Fought pulled an evidence bag out of his briefcase. It contained a semiautomatic pistol. “Here’s the Beretta the diver pulled out of the river yesterday. It’s registered in the name of Stone Hedrick.”

  Kelli leaned her elbows on the table, her hands folded. “After all this, I’m convinced Mr. Hedrick is the one who hired that PI character, Harold Sharkey, to tail me and go through my Grandpa’s house.”

  “You’re probably right.” Fought gave me an apologetic look. “I didn’t think it had anything to do with this case when Greg first told me about it.”

  “You might ask Kirk about that, too,” I said. “Chances are he took part in creating all that mess. Also look into Camilla Rottman, Kirk’s mother, as an accessory. I’d bet she was in on all of it. From what she told me about her husband, he was probably kept in the dark. But she is one certified scheming woman.”

  Jill and I joined Kelli and Warren for lunch shortly after we wound up the session at TBI Headquarters. After we had given the waitress our orders, Warren turned on a big smile and rea
ched over to take Kelli’s hand.

  “We have an announcement,” he said. “Kelli has decided her usefulness as a clandestine agent is over. She plans to resign her position with the Department of Defense and take up a new role as an Air Force wife.”

  Jill leaned over and hugged Kelli while I congratulated Warren.

  “I wish both of you all the happiness in the world,” Jill said.

  “Thanks to both of you for everything,” Kelli said. “My Grandpa was ecstatic this morning. And we have one piece of unfinished business. Please figure up what we owe you as soon as possible. I don’t want to leave any debts unpaid.”

  “We’ll get it to you,” Jill said. “But don’t worry about being in too big a hurry to pay it. You’ll have lots of other things on your mind in the next few days.”

  We said our good-byes to Warren after lunch. He had to catch a flight back to Washington. Kelli said she planned to stay around until Agent Fought wrapped up the Marathon murders case and every possibility for getting Sydney Liggett’s name cleared had been pursued. Meanwhile, she’d move back into Arthur Liggett’s house on Blair Boulevard and spend more time with him at the nursing home.

  It was after two when we got back to the office in Hermitage. We sank back into our chairs, prepared to wrap up all of our current business and clear the way for a trip to Perdido Key, Florida and total relaxation.

  All that was put on hold when the door was suddenly flung open. A fiery-eyed Camilla Rottman stormed in. You could almost see her fangs.

  “I told you you would regret the way you treated me,” she said. The words reflected anger, not pain. “Now you’ve tried to hurt my son.”

  Camilla had marched up to my desk.

  Jill got up and came around the side of hers. “A slight correction, Mrs. Rottman. Your son not only tried but succeeded in hurting Greg. That bandage on Greg’s arm is from a gunshot Kirk fired.”

  “Too bad his aim wasn’t better.”

  For a moment, I thought Jill would slap her. Instead, she gritted her teeth and spoke in as icy a tone as I’d ever heard from her. “You are one sorry excuse for a mother . . . and a woman. You have caused way too much trouble already, Mrs. Rottman. I would appreciate it if you would get the hell out of here . . . now!”