Revenge: A Clancy Evans Mystery (Clancy Evans PI Book 4)

by M. Glenn Graves

  “Aggressive for the truth,” I said.

  “Hmph,” Gosnell said. “Not around here.”

  Chapter 45

  It was lunch time and we were sitting in a diner in downtown Corbin enjoying a meal of soup and sandwiches with Philmore Gosnell. Rosey was eating a Club Sandwich cut in half without the toothpicks. I was enjoying a ham and cheese. Philmore and Rosey were studying the casing that the Corbin police had found. Rosey and Philmore were passing it back and forth while trying to eat. It would be exchanged between bites. Philmore was so engrossed in it he would sometimes forget about his burger and leave his fries unattended. I would help myself to a fry or two or three while he rolled the casing around in his hands. He was too occupied to pay any attention to me. My gain, his loss.

  Philmore used a magnifying glass to enhance his visual comparison. Every once in a while Philmore would mumble something to himself. He had a notepad to his right and would make some notations or markings or something which only he knew as he studied the casing relentlessly.

  “Can I assume that you have poured over this casing prior to our visit?” I said.

  “Many times. You cannot review too much. There is always the possibility that you could miss something.”

  “So, have you discovered something you missed on a previous exam?”

  “No. I simply believe even more strongly that this is an Army issue 7.62x51mm NATO manufactured by the government at the end of the Korean conflict. My research dates it sometime in 1954. It is strikingly similar to a .308 cartridge but not completely identical. To the untrained eye it would appear to be a .308. I have checked and rechecked with my instruments and triple checked my research. Without a doubt it is a government issue from that era.”

  “Could it be a few years older than 1954?”

  “Could be, but not likely,” Philmore said. “The .308 Winchester cartridge was introduced in 1952. It wasn’t until 1954 that the military changed the specs and created that NATO round.”

  “Is it possible that the government created some prototypes to have tested before they manufactured the NATO variant on a large scale?” I said.

  “More than plausible, it is very likely that they would do something on that order. Do you have information regarding that?” Philmore was interested.

  “Only that there is documentation of some long range kill shots made during the Korean War by U.S. snipers.”

  “A marksman could make shots from 300 meters with the smaller cartridge, the 5.56x45mm NATO,” Philmore said.

  “I’m thinking of 800 meters.”

  “Wow. That would take some marksman.”

  “And the right weapon and ammo.”

  “Yes, to be sure. So, you are thinking that whoever is doing these shootings around Corbin is using a prototype 7.62x51mm NATO cartridge made before 1954.”

  “We are, and more.”

  “More what?” Philmore said.

  “We think that our shooter was a sniper in the Korean War,” I said.

  “That’s over fifty years ago. Even a kid in that conflict would be in his late seventies now. You can’t be serious.”

  “We also think that your sniper and our sniper is the same person, and that he is likely using the same rifle he used during the Korean War. We’re guessing that he broke down his weapon and carried it out along with several boxes of prototype cartridges when he left the military.”

  “This is really far fetched, you know. If you are correct, that means we’re looking for an old man who is using a Garand, a M1 variant, with either a M1C-type mounted scope or, more likely, the M1D-type scope mount. These variants were all re-chambered for that prototype NATO cartridge. But this is all too incredible to be true.”

  “It’s a working hypothesis. We reserve the right to be wrong.”

  “But you’re here because you believe that the shell casing you found in Virginia is identical to the one the police found here.”

  “We are,” I said.

  “And you are also here because you think the sniper lives here.”

  Rosey and I both nodded. Philmore took his first bite of the hamburger and chewed. He was turning over something in his mind. I could almost see the wheels rotating. He took a second bite and chewed some more. Rosey and I waited to see where this was going. He sipped for a long time on his cola. He finally ate one fry. Wow. Talk about focus.

  Rosey and I had long finished our sandwiches and were halfway through our drink refills when Philmore finally broke his silence.

  “So, I guess all this means that you’re thinking that both of those casings are from the same batch,” he said.

  “Of course they are,” Rosey agreed.

  “You knew that?”

  “A hunch,” Rosey said.

  “I don’t like hunches,” Philmore countered.

  “You don’t do the kind of work I do,” Rosey said.

  “And what kind of work is that, Mr. Washington?”

  “Contract work for the United States Government.”

  “Sounds like double-speak.”

  “Close enough. But it translates as … if I told you what I did, I would have to kill you,” Rosey said without a hint of a joking tone or smile.

  Philmore studied him for another moment, and then looked back at his two casings.

  “You two drove all the way to Corbin, Kentucky to show me this casing?”

  “And verify our info with your info,” Rosey said.

  “You were the first stop. Bella and Bart are next,” I said.

  “Friends of yours?”

  “We haven’t been acquainted with them for very long.”

  “Quite a couple around here. She’s a hoot,” Philmore said.

  I was surprised at his usage of that word. He did not look like the kind of man who would say hoot.

  “You have any suspects for those shootings?”

  “How about anyone with the last name of McCoy or kin to the McCoys?”

  “That’s a bit too obvious,” Philmore said. “You have no definite person in mind as yet?”

  “We do.”

  “Someone in Corbin?”

  “Yes.”

  “Perhaps I should accompany you to make your investigation a bit more on the up and up, shall we say?” Philmore said.

  “You’re welcome to come along, Mr. Gosnell,” Rosey said.

  “Well,” he said as he placed his casing back inside the evidence bag and put it in his coat pocket.

  “Well?” I said.

  “I insist on coming along. Mind telling me who your suspect is?”

  “Not at all,” I said. “We think Bart killed our victim.”

  “Bartholomew Poindexter, Bella’s Bart? That old coot?”

  “That old coot.”

  “Why, he’s at least late seventies, early eighties.”

  “Age is not a factor in the skill to use a rifle,” Rosey said.

  “But Bart never says hardly a word whenever he’s around anyone.”

  “You don’t have to talk when you shoot people,” Rosey said.

  Philmore wanted to respond to this, but hesitated as if any question might provide an answer that he would not want to hear.

  “That would be rather incredible if Bart was shooter in your case.”

  “Yours, too,” I said.

  “Yeah. To say the least.”

  “Let’s go see Bella first,” I said to both of them. “We might get lucky and she’ll confess to being the one who put Bart up to it.”

  “You have a strange sense of humor,” Philmore said.

  “I’m not joking.”

  “That’s why it is strange. What you are saying is funny, and the fact that you think Bart is the hit man, so to speak, and Bella the one who put out the contract, so to speak, makes it strangely funny.”

  “You have a gun, Philmore?”

  “I keep a 9mm in my car.”

  “You might want to carry it with you when we visit these strangely funny people.”

  Philmor
e slid out of the booth and headed towards the cash register. Rosey and I slid out of our side and followed him. Philmore turned and looked back at me.

  “I think you should pay for the fries since you ate them and I didn’t,” he said as we approached the checkout.

  Chapter 46

  Since neither Philmore, Rosey, Sam, nor I had any idea as to where to actually look for Bart Poindexter, the only logical starting point was to visit my favorite Kentucky psychic, Bella Cantrella. There were times during a day when I would find myself just saying her name as if she belonged in a poem or a song. Her name had that lyrical quality for me. There were other moments when my thoughts on Bella concluded that she belonged in some kind of institution. The jury was still out on precisely which institution.

  Some call it a gut feeling. Others refer to it as their intuition. The idea of a sixth sense tries to explain the notions that come over some folks when they try to figure things out, like solving crimes and such. I have no idea what it is really. I doubt if I possess such a gift, if that’s what it is. I only know that my intuitive gut believes that Bella had something to do with the killing of Saunders, and her good friend Bart is likely a part of it as well. Yet, I have no proof.

  It seemed to me that revenge casts a long shadow with this family. Of course, the truth is that revenge is prevalent with all families, perhaps even a natural human condition. If I were honest with myself, something I try to be from time to time, I would admit that revenge is what led me to pursue the people who murdered my father. Behind the mask of justice and with the blessing of law and order, it was easy for me to satisfy whatever it was within me to go after them and want to shoot them. Of late the whole concept of revenge has been haunting me, a ghost that will not leave me alone, and a disturbing presence that confounds me when I meet it in others. Is their pursuit of revenge so different from my own? Like a good non-practicing Protestant from the South, I can baptize lots of my own deviant behavior in the pursuit of justice. It still tastes like revenge.

  “Have you had any dealings with Bella Cantrell?” Rosey said to Philmore as we walked towards her business establishment and home.

  “No, not yet. I’ve just heard stories about her. Some rumors.”

  “What rumors?” I said.

  “Some folks say she is possessed.”

  “Sounds like something the religious people might offer up on her behalf,” I said.

  “Yeah, that’s where I heard it. There’s a preacher around that stands on a corner from time to time yelling out his version of the gospel and offering disclaimers regarding her abilities to read palms.”

  “Had a bad reading, no doubt.”

  “Oh, I doubt if the preacher—” Philmore started to say, then stopped when he realized I was just being cute. “I miss your humor sometimes.”

  “Lots of people do.”

  “A woman, a detective, a gun, and a curt sense of humor. It’s an interesting mix,” Philmore said as he tried to size me up.

  “You left out obstinate,” Rosey said. Sam barked. I thought the timing on Sam’s part was misplaced.

  “Enough from you,” I said to Sam. “You could be on the streets and hungry, you know.”

  Sam growled under his breath as he wagged his tail.

  “See, that’s what I mean,” Philmore said. “You talk to that dog as if he understands what you say.”

  “He does understand,” Rosey said. I smiled and nodded.

  “You two are not run-of-the-mill in any sense.”

  “Thanks for noticing,” I said.

  The sign still said for us to come in, so we opened her door and entered. The tingling of her little bell alerted the house that we had arrived. Bella entered the small living room and greeted us as if we were old friends. Bella had a smaller sign on her door that read Pets Welcome, so Sam pranced along beside me.

  “Been expectin’ you, but not him,” she said and pointed to Philmore Gosnell.

  “You know him?” I said.

  “Of ‘im. About ‘im. Never had the privilege of meetin’ ‘im,” Bella said and offered him what seemed to me a wicked smile.

  Philmore Gosnell took a couple of steps back but kept his eyes on Bella.

  “This is Philmore Gosnell, Bella. He works with the locals as an expert on firearms and munitions. Did I get all of that correct, Philmore?” I said.

  “Close enough,” he said, still watching Bella as if she was about to pull a rabbit from her imaginary hat.

  “Can I he’p you folks?”

  “We would like to talk with your friend Bartholomew Poindexter.”

  “Sit down and stay a spell,” she gestured towards her couch and chairs which occupied no small position in her tiny living room still tightly packed with all kinds of furniture, furnishings, and whatnots. There seemed to be no vacant space anywhere. Every corner had some colorful offering, a vase with plastic flowers, a nick-knack standing guard on a table with other nick-knacks, and lots of mirrors. The mirrors helped to create the illusion that the room was larger than it was. Philmore seemed to be studying every nook and corner of the room.

  Rosey and I sat on the couch. Philmore moved slowly to the chair closest to the front door where we had entered. Bella crossed the room and sat in the singular rocking chair. It was multi-colored like so much of her décor.

  “What you want with my friend Bart?”

  “Person of interest,” Philmore said, which surprised me.

  “In what?”

  “Bart was a marksman during the Korean War. We would like to talk with him about rifles and ammunitions. He might know something that would help us.”

  “Lettme guess,” Bella said. “You found a shell casing around your Aunt May’s place. It wuz nearly the size of a .308. You found out that it wuz part of a military issue frum fifty-plus years back, and you jest connected sum dots and think Bart might have sum’thin’ to do with sum shootins’. Does that ‘bout sum it up?”

  “Pretty good guessing,” Rosey said to Bella.

  “I have my ways,” she answered.

  “How do you know all of that?” Philmore said.

  “Let me ask you, Mr. Gosnell, how do you know what you know?”

  “I study, I research. I attend conferences and conventions. I read a lot.”

  “Me, too,” she said. “I do lots of readings.”

  “I read books,” Philmore countered.

  “I read people.”

  “I still don’t know how you would come up with all of that information. It’s not public knowledge.”

  “You believe in spirits, Mr. Gosnell?”

  “I have never given them much consideration.”

  “Perhaps you should turn over a new leaf,” Bella said.

  “The leaves I turn over suit me just fine.”

  “Good for you. I have my ways, you have yurs. Let’s leave it at that.”

  “Can you give us directions to Bart’s place?” I said to give Philmore a break from his losing battle with Bella and get us back on point.

  “I can, but ‘hit won’t do yu’inses no good.”

  “Don’t think we can find it?” Rosey said.

  “Oh, you cud find it alright. I cud take you there. He ain’t home.”

  “When’s he coming back?” I said.

  “Don’t know.”

  “Where’d he go?” Philmore chimed in.

  “Off. Had some things to do away frum here. Bart does that now and then. Jest goes off and stays away fer months on end. Never have rightly know’d jest where he goes. Sumtimes a body has to be alone, you know. Be to themselves and all. We’re friends, but I give ‘im lots of space. He duz me the same. Works fer us.”

  “You call me when he gets back?” I said to Bella handing her my card.

  “I gotta feelin’ he ain’t comin’ back this time.”

  “Why do you say that?” I said.

  “Hard to ‘splain a feelin’, you know. Real hard. Jest sumthin’ that informs me, tells me that Bart is gone for good t
his time.”

  “Finished his work?”

  “Can’t rightly say yes to that, you know.”

  “Do you know which direction he was traveling?” I said.

  “East, back towards the taller mountains, deeper valleys, and places dear to him. He’s a mountain man, you know. Never show’d much interest in city ways. His passion was in those hills,” she said as she pointed towards the northeast.

  “Convenient,” Philmore said.

  “You think Bart’s guilty of sum’thin’, don’t ya, Mr. Gosnell.”

  “Don’t know, but he has information that is important to several open cases, some here and one in Virginia. He’s a significant person of interest and we need to talk to him.”

  “We’ll just have to talk with you, Bella,” I said. “Besides, we have good reason to think that you are involved in the killing of Saunders. You might have even planned it.”

  “My, oh my, you do give me sum credit, girl. Planned it!” she said with emphasis.

  “That’s not too farfetched, Bella,” Rosey said. “You know a lot of detailed information that could only come from a person directly involved in that shooting.”

  “Mr. Washington, there is no way you can connect me with the unfortunate death of Marilyn Saunders. I don’t think the law allows you to arrest a person because of knowledge.”

  “Did you and Bart plan the execution of Saunders?” I said.

  “Child, I don’t plan much these days. This old body won’t allow much plannin’ and all. I jest go with the flow, as they say. Take what cums. Play the cards dealt, whatever is there, that’s what I try to go with.”

  “Did you know that Bart was going to kill Saunders?”

  “No, I did not. Bart never tolt me nuthin’ ‘bout shootin’ nobody, not that I didn’t already know he wuz a pretty good shot. I seen him shoot once and, well, he cud hit a squirrel in a tree two hundred yards off and ‘afore that already dead animal cud hit the ground, old Bart cud put another bullet in him. Accurate and fast for an old codger. Bart was the best damn shooter I ever herd tell of. I never know’d him to miss.”

  “But you have no knowledge of any plan on Bart’s part to shoot Saunders?” Rosey said.