CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

On the way into town I called the jail and told them to bring Nobel Dennard down to one of the interrogation rooms. A few seconds later my cell phone buzzed. It was Danny Kettle. “What you got for me?” I asked.

“Well, Bo, it’s pretty interesting, but I can’t identify my source because he’d kick my ass if he found out that I told you who he is. I hope you can live with that.”

“Sure.”

“Okay. You were asking about Zorn, and this guy I know happened to come by to make a little delivery not long after you left. He says Scott Kimball stole that cocaine Zorn was trying to sell me.”

“Go on,” I said.

“Well, he said Zorn has been frantic ever since it happened.”

“I’d think he would be if the story is true,” I said. “But how in hell does this guy claim he found out about something like that?”

“He claims Zorn halfway hit him up about strong-arming the kid a little for him. See, the story is that Scott is trying to ransom the stuff or something. Apparently, he doesn’t have the contacts or resources to move it himself, but he wants Zorn to cut him in on the deal. He says they’re trying to hammer out a compromise.”

“Danny, I have a hard time believing Zorn was careless enough to let Scott know he had the stuff in the first place. And secondly, nobody has seen Scott around town in months. I just talked to his mother, and she hasn’t seen him either.”

“Well, I do know that Zorn likes to put on the dog about what a player he is. I mean, hell, he told me he had some of the stuff weeks ago, so? Besides, there aren’t any secrets anymore, Bo. It’s all out there if you can see the patterns. People talk, somebody else puts two and two together, and then, bingo! There it is. I mean, if they can haul the president in and make him explain his blow jobs on national TV, what chance have the rest of us got?”

I shook my head in amusement. “Your logic is infallible, Danny. Did your informant happen to give you any idea where Scott could be found?”

“No, and this isn’t the kind of guy I can ask something like that. Actually, I didn’t really ask about Zorn. His name just came up in conversation, and my guy was laughing about it. He thinks Zorn’s a jerk.”

“Danny, how reliable is this source of yours?”

“Gee, Bo. You’re asking me to make judgments in what ought to be your area of expertise. I mean, I just lay the shit out there and you’re supposed to evaluate it.”

“Come on, Danny. Give me some idea.”

“Well, he does like to have people think he has all the secret, inside info denied us lesser mortals. I might not bet any heavy money on the story, but I still think he’s solid enough that you ought to look into it a little. I mean, don’t hold it against me if it’s all crap. I’m just the conduit.”

“I won’t, Danny. And keep on it for me, will you?”

“Do I have any choice in the matter?”

“No,” I said with a laugh. “But I phrased it politely because good manners never killed anybody.”

“Talk to you later, Bo.”

I called Toby and told him quietly to ask the other deputies and the city cops if anybody had seen Scott Kimball in town in the last few weeks.

“Do you want me to check things out with my informants?” he asked.

“Let’s not ring their bells at this point. I have my doubts about the story, so just be casual about it.”

*   *   *

I found Nobel Dennard drinking a cup of coffee under the watchful eye of one of the jailers. I’d let him keep his street clothes, minus his belt, and he looked a little rumpled and showed a day’s growth of stubble.

“Did you get your phone call?” I asked.

“They let me phone my wife before we left Center.”

I nodded. “You’ll need some clean clothes unless you want some jail-issue orange coveralls. I’ll tell them to let you make a couple of calls a day. I’m not holding you to strict jailhouse rules.”

“I appreciate that.”

“Have you had breakfast?”

“Yeah, and it was pretty good. I’m not a gourmet, so I doubt that I’ll have any complaints about the chow.”

“And I know you have heard the Miranda warning and understood it.”

“Right.”

“Do you have a lawyer?”

“For the time being I’m representing myself.”

I gave him a rueful grin. “You know what they say about a lawyer who defends himself, don’t you?”

“Sure. That he has a fool for a client.”

“Call if you decide to get somebody else. And let your wife know that she can bring you some clean clothes and some books. Everything will be searched pretty good, so tell her not to bring anything that might embarrass either of you.”

He nodded. “And once again, I appreciate it.”

“Now, Nobel, we got to talk a little about the case. Three reliable witnesses saw you leave the jail with Doyle Raynes in your car. One of the precinct constables followed the two of you all the way out to the old Antioch community. Doyle was found murdered that same night down near the river about a mile off that very same road.”

“Your point being?”

“You can see that this looks bad for you.”

“Maybe it does, and maybe it doesn’t. But I have nothing to say about it.”

“Have you ever heard of a man named Lester Sipes?”

“Sure. With all the publicity he got a few years ago, everybody has heard of him.”

“Have you ever met him?” I asked.

He sighed and shook his head. “Bo, I will admit to nothing beyond what is common knowledge or public record. I have heard of Sipes and that is all I will say on the subject.”

“How about Emmet Zorn?”

He shook his head once again. “I have nothing more to say.”

We locked eyes and stared at each other for the longest time, neither looking away. Then I said, “You know, Nobel, I got some real doubts that you had anything to do with this mess, no matter how bad it looks for you. That means I would be easy to convince if you would just say something in your own defense.”

“Sorry, Bo. I can’t do it.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

He laughed a little. “Is there really a difference?”

*   *   *

Back at the office I received two calls in rapid succession. The first was from Tom Waller. He had the particulars of Arno’s release, and I didn’t like them one bit. “What do you mean we have to give him his gun back?” I asked in disbelief.

“He’s got a Louisiana concealed carry permit, and Texas has a reciprocal arrangement with those folks over there.”

“But how in the hell did a guy like him ever get a permit in the first place?”

“He qualifies, Bo. He’s never been convicted of a felony. We can have it suspended until there is a disposition on the charges, but it will take a couple of weeks to run it through the bureaucracy. Meanwhile, by law he’s entitled to his weapon.”

I hung up the phone just as Maylene came in and laid a half dozen outgoing letters on my desk for me to sign. “What?” she asked, no doubt reading my face.

“Oh, nothing much. There’s just a Mafia hit man running around town with a legal pistol in his pocket, and at the same time it looks like we’ve also got a million dollars’ worth of high-grade cocaine loose somewhere.”

“Well, Bo, nobody ever promised you a rose garden.”

“Thanks, Maylene. It does my heart good to know I work with such sympathetic folks.”

*   *   *

The second call was from Hotchkiss telling me that the bullets from Doyle Raynes’s body came from the same weapon that killed Amanda Twiller.

“And you were right about Lavonne Avante,” he said. “She’s a call girl. Actually, she manages the Lake Charles branch of a fancy escort service out of New Orleans. She only works very special clients herself, and she doesn’t come cheap. And there’s more. The South Winds Motor Hotel is an interesting place. It was built about thirty years ago by an old guy named Rousas Shima as an investment for his retirement. Elderly Albanian immigrant, works hard, retires and converts all his assets into a nice little business that’s meant to see him through his golden years. Sounds like a heartwarming story until you find out that Rousas was a good friend and occasional business partner of Angelo Scorpino, the late and unlamented mob boss of South Louisiana.”

“Who runs the place now?” I asked.

“Rousas’s grandson, a punk named Thomas Shima. He goes by Toodles, and he’s got a couple of larceny convictions.”

“Toodles? Where in the world do these people come up with these damned names?”

“Beats me,” he said with a laugh.

“I assume Toodles is a known associate of all the right folks.”

“Of course. He’s mobbed up to his eyeballs.”

“I need to look into this, but my badge doesn’t pull much weight outside Texas. That federal ID of yours would be a big help.”

“When do you want to leave?”

“It’s a two-and-a-half-hour drive, so let’s get moving.”

“Give me thirty minutes to make a few phone calls. I think I can grease the skids a little.”

The time was well spent. It turned out that Toodles Shima was on federal probation for credit card fraud. Better still, he was on thin ice with his probation. Hotchkiss had spoken with his supervising officer, and she was willing to go with us to question him.