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

  “And he panicked,” Sid said.

  “Yes, sir. He thought about calling the police, but he knew they’d never believe he didn’t shoot the man. And he was right.”

  Sid pulled his pen and a small note pad from his pocket and started writing. “Did you talk to the detective who came to arrest Djuan?”

  “There was two of them, but the big one did all the talking. The short one—he had a little mustache like Clark Gable—just sat there staring at me like I was some kind of insect.”

  The Gable mustache comment convinced Sid he had been right about judging her age. “What did you tell the detective?”

  “I told him about the Medicare form, that the boy had gone out there to check on it for me. Djuan didn’t know that dead man from Adam’s off ox.”

  Sid squelched a smile. He hadn’t heard that expression since his grandmother used it when he was a boy. “What did the detective say?”

  “He was a big man, nearly as tall as you. He gave me a snarly look and said, ‘You’re his granny, right? And you want to keep him out of jail.’ That policeman claimed Djuan argued with the man and did like he did when he was twelve. That’s a lie, Mr. Chance. Djuan is determined to make something of himself now.”

  Despite his doubts, Sid reacted with an investigator’s mindset. He turned to Jaz. “We need to find out who owns that building and get permission to take a look. Hopefully the scene hasn’t been too badly disturbed.”

  “Already checked,” she said. “It’s handled by a real estate firm we do business with at Welcome Home Stores. Metro said they would release it as a crime scene this morning. The agency says it will take awhile to get someone out there to clean it up.”

  “They probably didn’t know Prime Medical was skipping out.”

  “That’s right. The rental agent said he was completely in the dark. The tenant had paid through the end of the month.”

  Sid turned back to Rachel Ransom. Despite the sympathy he felt for her, he still had issues. “The newspaper story said they found a weapon.”

  “They searched my house and turned up an old gun my husband bought years ago. I don’t know if he ever shot it. I know he hadn’t in recent years. He just kept it for protection.”

  “Did you have it hidden?” Jaz asked.

  “Not really. But it was in the bottom of a cedar chest in my bedroom. I use the chest mostly for storage. I had old sheets and tablecloths in there. I’d forgotten all about the gun. They messed up everything looking for it.”

  Sid tapped the pen on his pad. “Would Djuan have known where it was?”

  “No, sir, I’m sure about that. It wasn’t in a place where he’d’ve been looking for anything.”

  “Could he have gone in there after he got home from the medical supply store?”

  Mrs. Ransom shook her head vigorously. “The boy went straight to his room when he got here. When he came out, we sat in the kitchen talking until the police arrived.”

  “Did you tell that to the detectives?”

  “I sure did.”

  “Do you know what caliber the gun was?” Sid asked.

  “The policeman said it was a twenty-two.”

  “Let’s hope the murder weapon wasn’t a twenty-two,” Jaz said.

  Rachel Ransom looked from Jaz to Sid, arms hugging herself as if it were cold, though the room felt warm. She spoke in a pleading voice. “You’ve got to help him, Mr. Chance. Please. The boy has suffered enough.”

  Sid spoke softly. It wouldn’t be easy. “We’ll do what we can.”

  Chapter 3

  When they were back in the car, Sid looked at Jaz. “I’m sorry, but if the forensics folks determine that gun fired the fatal shot, it’s sayonara for me.”

  “As it should be. But I agree with Marie. I have a feeling the young man didn’t do it, and I don’t want to see him railroaded.”

  During her multi-faceted career, Jaz had served a few years as a Metro Nashville policewoman. Sid valued her opinion, but he weighed it against studies that showed juveniles tried as adults were likely to re-offend sooner and more often than those tried in juvenile court. The odds were not on Djuan Burden’s side.

  Sid started the car and backed away from the blue Ford. “Call Bart and see if we can meet him somewhere. I’m not getting the same vibes you are.”

  She pulled out her smartphone with all the latest techno gimmicks and got Homicide Detective Bart Masterson on the line. He agreed to meet them at a fast food place in the Inglewood suburb.

  Fifteen minutes later, they walked into the restaurant to find the tall, lanky detective lounging in a back booth with a cup of black coffee. Sid stopped at the counter to get himself a cup, plus a cappuccino for Jaz. She had switched to the French vanilla-flavored concoction after burning out on coffee as a cop.

  “Hi, guys,” Bart said, twitching the inverted V of the black mustache that made him resemble the Masterson of Wild West fame. “Do we have a poker game Thursday night? Unless something happens, as it likely will, I’ll be there.”

  “We’ll meet at Sid’s office,” Jaz said. “I’ve talked to the others.”

  The others in the Miss Demeanor and Five Felons Poker Club were Patrol Sgt. Wick Stanley, retired crime reporter Jack Post, who had dreamed up the colorful name for the group, and former Criminal Court Judge Gabriel Thackston. Each of the six members had current or former connections to law enforcement and met when the spirit moved them for a lively session with the cards.

  Bart gave her a wary eye. “Is this little rendezvous about the Djuan Burden case?”

  Sid set the cappuccino in front of Jaz and slid into the booth beside her. “Yeah, the Omar Valdez homicide. Who’s working it?”

  “The aptly named Victor Grimm,” Bart said. “You probably don’t know him. He got passed over for sergeant a couple of years ago. Carries a chip the size of a concrete block.”

  “Sounds like just the kind of guy who’d love to talk to us about proving his suspect’s innocence,” Sid said.

  “When his mind gets set on the way it is, you’d have an easier time driving a team of mules up a steep hill than getting Grimm to change.” Bart tilted his head and frowned. “You don’t really believe that kid is innocent.”

  It didn’t have the sound of a question.

  “His granny thinks he is,” Jaz said, “and she makes a pretty good case for it.”

  “Your man Grimm found a gun at Burden’s grandmother’s house,” Sid said. “We need to know if they tested it, and what they found.”

  “Good luck. He wouldn’t give me the sweat off his brow,” Bart said. “If you get anything out of the Grimm Reaper, I’ll see you get the Sherlock Holmes Award.”

  “No quid pro quo?”

  “Hell, Sid, I wouldn’t owe that creep something on a bet.”

  “What about the TBI lab?” Jaz asked. “Don’t you have a buddy over there?”

  Since Metro’s crime lab was still a work in progress, they used the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation’s state of the art facility. The TBI firearms section could ferret out most anything you needed to know about a gun and its ammunition. Sid had dealt with the state lab while police chief in Lewisville, but his contact had moved on following staff cuts.

  Bart shrugged. “I’ll see what I can find out. I think you’ve taken on a lost cause, though. Burden never showed any remorse for what he did to that guy years ago. I doubt that he underwent some kind of character metamorphosis during his time in prison.”

  “Don’t be so judgmental,” Jaz said. “I’ve known lots of people who changed their actions as well as their thinking over time.”

  “How many were killers?”

  Jaz kept her silence.

  Bart looked across at Sid. “How do you propose to get this boy off the hook?”

  It was a question Sid had been pondering, a question for which he could see but one answer. “With your Detective Grimm unwilling to pursue the case any further, it leaves us only one choice. We’ll have to find the real kille
r.”

  “And where do you plan to start looking?”

  Sid turned to Jaz. “Do you remember if the newspaper story said anything about what was in the document they found with Djuan’s fingerprints on it?”

  She shook her head. “I’m fairly sure it didn’t. What are you thinking?”

  “Mrs. Ransom said Medicare had paid the medical supply company in Green Hills for a power chair she didn’t get. That sounds like Medicare fraud, particularly with the store closing like this. Where criminals are involved, murder is always a possible outcome.”

  Bart looked across at Jaz and smiled. “Wonder what the newspapers would say if they knew you were trying to prove that black boy innocent?”

  “Just goes to show that stuff they’ve been writing about her is bullshit,” Sid said.

  Jaz lowered her cappuccino cup. “It was a put-up job to cause my company problems. One of our major competitors has been paying people to pull all kinds of tricks. They sent teenagers to try and buy beer, then made claims about improper handling of lottery tickets.”

  Bart twisted his face in a grimace. “If this is their doings, it’s making a mess for you. I saw where they’re getting the NAACP into it.”

  “That woman flat lied,” Jaz said. “I’d never use that kind of language on anybody. Marie is furious about it. Our company attorneys are looking into it. They hope to find evidence she was paid off.”

  Before he could reply, Bart’s phone rang. He answered it, grunted an acknowledgment, and switched off. “Sorry, gotta go. Lieutenant’s got some crappy idea for me to pursue. If you come up with anything you want to bat around, give me a shout.”

  After he had left, Jaz fiddled with the half-filled cup in front of her. “Medicare fraud is the FBI’s bailiwick. We need to talk to Mrs. Ransom again, get her to request another copy of that EOB Detective Grimm found at the scene.”

  “If she’s right about what happened,” Sid said, “Grimm chose the answer that took the least amount of detective work. I doubt if he gave a thought to the Medicare angle. He hasn’t likely mentioned anything to the FBI.”

  “He wouldn’t want to bring in the feds, for sure.”

  Sid glanced at his watch. “Call your real estate friends and see if somebody can meet us at that store in Green Hills. I’ll get hold of the lawyers at Arnie Bailey’s office and try to arrange a meeting after lunch.”

  Jaz looked around at him, eyes twinkling. “And what classy restaurant are you taking me to for lunch?”

  Sid turned his head toward the counter. “They have great hamburgers here. We can probably find one just like it on Hillsboro Pike. I’ll even pop for the cheese. Maybe an apple turnover for dessert.”

  She looked at him with narrowed eyes. “You really know how to treat a girl, Mr. Chance.”

  He grinned. “I’m an equal opportunity employer. You get to eat the same stuff I do.”

  He knew she was accustomed to eating in executive dining rooms and fancy private clubs, but it hadn’t always been that way. She had lived frugally during the years of exile after incurring the wrath of her aristocratic mother.

  “Since we won’t be too far from my house,” Jaz said in a mocking voice, “I’d thought about telling Marie to fix us one of her delights for lunch. But if that’s your attitude, we’ll just dine on burgers.”

  Sid drained his coffee cup and shrugged. “Okay, I surrender. Take me to Marie and I’ll give you a rain check for a classy restaurant.”

  Marie Wallace’s dishes rivaled those of a gourmet chef. She had started out cooking at a small restaurant early in life. She parlayed that into a talent for preparing delightful dinners when Jaques LeMieux entertained lavishly as he built Welcome Home Stores into a formidable enterprise.

  Jaz pulled her phone from her handbag with a sneaky smile. “I knew playing the Marie card would get you.”

  She made arrangements for them to check out the former medical supply store while Sid used his cell phone to schedule a meeting with the legal team for two o’clock. They headed out to his car and drove across town to the Green Hills area, a more upscale part of the city. It included a major shopping mall filled with classy shops and lots of strip centers with familiar brand names.

  The morning had warmed rapidly. Sid doffed his lightweight jacket after parking in front of the single-story building that also housed a small clothing store and a florist shop. “Prime Medical Equipment” was lettered on one window. A closed placard hung on the door. Sid opened the console, pulled out a couple of pairs of latex gloves, gave one to Jaz and shoved the other into his pocket.

  He saw someone through the window as they approached the building.

  A young woman in a tan business suit opened the door, her face shadowed by a brooding look. “Miss LeMieux?” she asked Jaz.

  “Right. You must be from Apple Realty. Thanks for coming over.”

  “There was still crime scene tape across the door when I passed by earlier this morning, but it was gone when I got here a little while ago. Made me wonder if I should let you in, but the boss said the police gave us permission to occupy the building again.”

  “Sorry if I caused any problem,” Jaz said. She nodded at Sid. “This is Private Investigator Sid Chance. We’ll be looking around a bit to figure out what happened. If you have someplace you need to go, you could check back with us in about an hour. Here’s my cell number.”

  The woman took her card, stared at it a moment, then looked up. “You sure this is okay with the police?”

  Jaz smiled. “I’m sure.”

  The woman still looked uncomfortable. “All right. I’ll give you a call.”

  “Good move,” Sid said after she’d left. “We don’t need her standing around looking over our shoulders.”

  They crossed to the desk, which showed the residue of the search for fingerprints.

  “I don’t see any blood on the chair,” Sid said. “It could mean the bullet didn’t exit the skull. If that’s the case, the medical examiner should have recovered it, giving the possibility of a match to the gun. We really need some info from the TBI lab.”

  Jaz stared at the chair. “Let’s hope Bart can get it.”

  Everything from empty soft drink cans to discarded brochures advertising a popular brand of power chair lay scattered about the floor. “You take this area, and I’ll start in the back room,” Sid said. “Check every piece of paper you can find for any information about Prime Medical Equipment and its owners.”

  Jaz began with the cluttered desk, while Sid turned to the door leading to the rear of the building. A stack of boxes lay overturned in the doorway. The top one had spilled an assortment of small items including wheels for walkers. Checking the other boxes, he realized they were dummies used for display, bearing pictures of equipment outside but empty inside. The room beyond contained only a table and a couple of chairs, a coffee maker with an inch or two of black liquid in the carafe, a telephone, a small TV set, and a pair of letter-size boxes under the table. There was a rear exit, out of sight of the front entrance and most of the front room. Checking around and finding nothing else of interest, he stooped to examine the small boxes.

  They had been taped shut. He pulled on his gloves, took out his pocketknife and slit the tape on one of the boxes. Inside he found an unopened package of brochures for durable medical equipment, a few folded posters, and, oddly, an American flag. He unsealed the second box. It contained a few large manila envelopes fastened with metal clasps. Holding the top envelope carefully so as not to disturb any latent prints, he spread the clip and pushed the flap open.

  Slipping out a sheaf of papers, he read down a list on the top sheet. It contained names, addresses, dates of birth, Social Security and Medicare numbers. As he realized the impact of what he’d found, he turned to call out to Jaz but stopped when he heard someone come in the front door.

  “What the hell are you doing?” a loud male voice demanded.

  Sid quickly slid the papers back into the envelope, dropped
it into the box, and placed the first box on top of it. He hurried out to the front, where he saw Jaz facing a large sandy-haired man in an ill-fitting gray suit.

  The man looked around at Sid. “Who the hell are you two, and what’s going on here?”

  He stared through icy blue eyes that gave him the look of an overgrown bully. From Bart Masterson’s description, Sid had a pretty good idea who they were dealing with. “We have the owner’s permission to be here,” Sid said as he stripped off the gloves. It wasn’t quite true, but close enough. “Who are you?”

  “Metro Detective Victor Grimm.” He shoved his coat open to display the badge clipped at his belt.

  Sid took out his ID. “Private Investigator Sidney Chance. This is my associate, Jasmine LeMieux.”

  Grimm scowled. “I’ve heard of you, and I know all about the lady and her reputation. You must be working for those Bailey-Riddle lawyers that won’t let Burden talk anymore.”

  Sid said nothing.

  “You know that boy’s guilty as sin,” Grimm said.

  Sid cocked his head, eyebrows raised. “And you’re prepared to prove it?”

  “Damn right. With his record, it won’t take much.”

  “What did the ballistics test show?” Jaz asked.

  The detective’s fat lip curled upward. “It’ll show just what I expect it to show, that Djuan Burden fired his granddaddy’s old Saturday night special and killed Omar Valdez.”

  They didn’t have the results yet, Sid translated. “You find his prints on the gun?”

  “We’re not releasing any information,” Grimm said with a toss of his head. “The case is still under investigation.” He shifted his gaze about the store. “So what are you two gumshoes looking for, poking around with your rubber gloves? A source told me some private eye was messing around here.”

  No doubt the real estate woman, Sid thought. A relative or a neighbor. He perched on the edge of the desk and let a thin smile play across his lips. “We wanted to make sure your crime scene guys didn’t leave any interesting tidbits behind.”

  “If they did, I guarantee you it won’t get Djuan Burden out of that murder charge. A citizen saw him run out of here, jump in a car, and race off. The witness called nine-one-one and gave us the tag number that was registered to Burden’s grandma. We found him and the gun there.”