Kent Conwell - Tony Boudreaux 06 - Extracurricular Murder (25 page)

“On the contrary boys. Just because someone killed Weems
doesn’t change what went before.” I hesitated. “Sure, now that
he’s dead, the drugs will stop out there, but I still need to confirm what the picture showed, that he was trying to sell you
drugs. There won’t be any publicity, any notoriety, nothing that
will cause you any problems. I promise.”

The boys exchanged looks. They conversed with typical high
school dialogue, furrowed brows, wrinkled foreheads, shoulder
shrugs, and mumbled words, all various attributes of their cryptic conversation. Tim turned to me. “Well, I don’t suppose with
Mr. Weems dead now there will be any commotion. Yes, sir.
Mr. Weems did try to sell us drugs, crack.”

I suppressed a shout of glee. I remained serious. “Had this
started just recently?”

“No, sir. This is my fourth year at Safford. He was selling it
when I came here.”

Marvin nodded his agreement. “But, he never tried selling
any to me until last year.”

Tim shot him an angry look.

“Well, it’s true,” Marvin answered defensively.

The crewcut young man shrugged. “I know it is ” He turned
to me. “Is this all you need, Mr. Boudreaux. I hope you don’t
want us to sign anything. I don’t know if my parents would let
me do that.”

“No, boys. That isn’t necessary. I’ll pass word on, and probably someone from Austin PD will contact you for a statement.”

“Austin?” Tim glanced at Marvin. “You mean, it really
doesn’t have anything to do with Mr. Holderman’s murder?”

I hated lying to the boys. After this mess was all over, I’d buy
them a hamburger or something and apologize. “That’s what I
said, fellas. This is an entirely different matter from
Holderman.”

I pulled onto Highway 71 and called Chief Pachuca on my
cell phone. He was his usual self, abrasive, belligerent, and
cranky. “Well, Boudreaux, you took long enough to call.” Before
I could reply, he continued. “I guess you heard about Weems. So
much for that farfetched theory you been dreaming up “

Ignoring his sarcasm, I asked, “Can you tell me anything
about what happened?”

He snorted. “You know better than that.”

“Well, what about yesterday? You said if the boys confirm
Weems was a dealer, you’d help.”

“Did they?”

“Not five minutes ago. Both of them. Weems had been dealing
at least for four years.” I hesitated. A sudden feeling came over
me, a feeling that one piece of my puzzle had popped out of place.

Chief Pachuca continued. “All right. I promised. Tell you
what. Drop by Safford PD. Tell Billy Vanbiber I sent you. Fill
him in on your ideas. He doesn’t want a case like Holderman’s
open. Maybe he’ll want to follow through.”

“Thanks, Ramon. I owe you.”

Clicking off the cell phone, I laid it beside me on the seat.
First crossover I came to, I headed back south on Highway 71.

I crossed my fingers that Billy Vanbiber would pursue the
matter, at least to the satisfaction of the Universal Life
Insurance Company. If they paid off the eight million to
Frances Holderman, then Blevins Investigations would get its
fifty thousand, plus expenses.

Chief Vanbiber was a lanky, rawboned Texan who looked as
if he belonged on a horse, not behind a desk. Redheaded and
freckled, he grinned easily. When I told him what I had, he
jumped on it.

If my report had been a football, I figured Vanbiber would
have tried to run it back for a touchdown. Quickly, I briefed
him on what I had put together. Whether he actually saw the
logic and motivation in my theory or whether he simply wanted someone to blame, I had no idea. I’d like to think he considered my collection of evidence and subsequent deductions a
brilliant piece of police work.

For the next hour, I went over and over the report with him,
answering each of his questions, explaining my own reasoning,
and attempting to justify the conclusions I had drawn. To my
disappointment, the longer we discussed the case, the less
enthusiasm he seemed to show.

Just before lunch, he leaned back and steepled his forefingers
under his bony chin, staring at the report on the desk. “You
know, Tony. You’ve done a lot of work here, and I want to go
along with you. It’d sure make my job a little easier, but the
truth is, there’s too many holes in it “

Before I could argue, he continued. “First, let’s take Danny
O’Banion’s word that Holderman was a staker. Now I know
O’Banion. And he’s probably right. But where’s the proof that
Holderman was Weems’ staker? He could have bankrolled
someone else. Second, where’s the proof Weems used his brother, or anyone else, to carry out the murder? Sure, you have
a snapshot and two boys’ word that Weems was a dealer. But,
the way I see it that’s all you have. Nothing more.”

Hopefully, I leaned forward. “Don’t you think it’s worth following up on?”

He grew reflective. After several moments, he replied, “You
might find something, but I can’t see how it’s worth the time for
me to put one of my men on it. We’ve got too much else on our
plates.”

I grimaced, disappointed. As badly as he wanted to solve the
case, I figured it was hard for him to back away from it. But, I
didn’t have to back away. “Suppose I can come up with a definite drug connection between Holderman and Weems. Would
that be enough for you?”

A wry grin curled one side of his lips. “You’re a stubborn
cuss, aren’t you?”

I chuckled. “My grandpa farmed rice. You want to see stubborn, you watch a Cajun farmer growing rice. Gambling with
God, that’s what my grandpa always said.”

With a short nod, he pushed himself to his feet. “Find me a
connection, Tony, and I’ll jump in alongside of you.”

“What the heck, Tony,” I muttered as I climbed into my pickup and started the engine. “You knew you had a couple of big
holes. Why are you so disappointed?” Pulling onto Highway 71
and heading north, I chided myself. “Stop griping and start
working. All you have to do is connect Weems and
Holderman.”

And I knew just how to do that.

Danny O’Banion’s office was on the entire top floor of the
Green Light parking garage a few blocks west of the convention center in downtown Austin. The elevators opened into a
reception room about twenty feet square. A single desk sat in
front of one of the undecorated walls, which were covered with an off-white fabric. I felt like I had stepped from one elevator
into a considerably larger elevator.

The soldier who had escorted me into the lobby pressed a
button next to a stainless steel door, which slid open, revealing
a spacious office with an expensive and tasteful decor. I knew
Danny must have hired someone to decorate his office. His
taste was about like mine, vintage Appalachian.

I paused as the door slid closed behind me. Danny came
from around his desk with a grin so wide on his face that all his
freckles ran together. I gestured to the office. “Hey, Danny.
Think this is big enough? Why you can play football in here.”

He laughed and took my hand. “You can, but you better not.”
He pointed to a chrome and glass end table. “This is a Lillian
Gray … or maybe it’s Eileen Gray.” He shrugged indifferently. “I don’t remember. All I know is that, it set me back a buddle.” He gestured to the rest of the furniture with a broad sweep
of his arm. “The decorator called the rest of the stuff Le
Corbusier and der Rohe. You know, high-class items.”

The names meant nothing to me. The last time I prowled about
a furniture store was with my wife, Diane, now my ex. We furnished a small apartment in classic discount house. Two years
later at our divorce, she took over sole possession of the furniture, sending me on my way with Oscar, my tiny Albino Tiger
Barb, and his mates in the small aquarium. “Nice,” I muttered.
“Nice.”

“How about a drink?” He stopped at the bar next to a span of
windows overlooking the city.

“Thanks. Just water.”

He arched an eyebrow as he poured me a tumbler of water
and two shots of bourbon for him. He motioned to a couple of
leather-covered chairs next to a window. “Sorry I don’t have a
platter of barbecue ribs for you,” he laughed, referring to our
last get-together out at the County Line Barbecue. “Now what
can I do for you, Tony boy?”

“You remember Holderman? You said he was a staker?”

“Yeah” He nodded. “Right. So?”

“Can you find out if there was a connection between him and
a dealer named Weems?”

Danny arched an eyebrow. “Weems? That the same one in
the papers this morning?”

“Yeah” I eyed Danny closely. “The same.”

“This still part of that case you were working on?”

“The same. I got two students who said Weems tried to peddle them some crack. If I can come up with some kind of substantiating evidence to support the boys’ word, Safford police
will put a man on the case.”

Idly, Danny studied his glass, swirling the ice cubes
through the golden bourbon. “The guy’s dead, Tony. What
good will it do?”

I stared out the window over the city skyline against a backdrop of dark clouds. The sight at night with lights sparkling and
glistening was dazzling. Austin was growing like a healthy
teenager, gobbling up land and daily adding muscle and
strength to its burgeoning limits. I remembered Carl
Sandburg’s poem, Chicago. That city had nothing on Austin.

I turned back to Danny. “It’s for our client. She has to have
her name cleared to collect the eight million insurance on her
old man. She collects, we make fifty Gs. I get ten percent of
that. That’s it, pure and simple. Like you say, the guy’s dead. I
don’t really care about him now. Just our client.”

He shook his head and gave me a wry grin. “At least you’re
honest. Sure. I’ll see what I can find out”

I leaned back and grinned. “Thanks”

He grew serious. “Don’t get your hopes up. Truth is, I’ve
never heard of that Weems guy peddling.”

With a frown, I leaned forward, trying to force the answer I
wanted. “Yeah. But you don’t hear about all of them, do you?”

“No. But one peddling from a wheelchair? Hey, Tony.
Everyone would hear about him. And I never did. But, like I said, I’ll ask around. Truth is, old friend, I think you made a bad
bet on this guy.”

“I hope not, Danny. I sure hope not.”

I was subdued as I headed home. If Weems wasn’t peddling,
then what was he doing at Lupe’s with Tim and Marvin?
Exchanging recipes?

My cell phone rang. It was Stewart, apologizing abjectly for
leaving that morning without a word. “Let me make it up to
you, Tony. Let’s you and me have dinner tonight. What do you
say? You know Jimmy’s Crab Shack on the Colorado River?”

“One of my favorites. What time?”

“Eight all right?”

“Eight it is.”

My phone was ringing when I opened my apartment door.
“Hello.”

“Tony. It’s me, Janice.”

I stammered. She was the last person I expected to call me,
and for a moment, I was thrown off balance. “Janice? Is that
you?”

She laughed, that same bright tinkling giggle of hers. “Of
course, silly. Didn’t I just say so?”

“Sure. Sorry. My mind was a thousand miles away. What’s
up?”

Her voice grew excited. “Nelson closed out the deal I told
you about yesterday.” Her tone grew confidential. “You know
that twenty-five thousand dollars I invested?”

A sickening feeling grew in the pit of my stomach. “Yeah.
Yeah. What about it?” I prayed she’d lost it all and had sworn
never to invest again. Naturally, I was wrong.

“Tony, I made fifteen thousand. In just three weeks. Isn’t that
wonderful? Isn’t that marvelous?”

I didn’t want her to become suspicious, so I tried to be enthusiastic. “That’s great. He must sure know what he’s doing.”

“Oh, he does, Tony. He does.”

“That’s great.” I didn’t know what else to say.

“And Tony, guess what?”

The hair on the back of my neck bristled. “What?”

“Nelson already has another deal. This one even better than
the first.”

I was suddenly wary. “What kind of deal?”

Almost apologetically, she replied, “I don’t really know. I
didn’t ask.” She paused, and then in a breezy tone, added,
“Besides, what does it matter? Nelson knows what he’s
doing.”

“Still-”

“Look, Tony. I know you said you couldn’t put the money
together, but that’s why I called you. We’ve been friends for
ages. I’ll be happy to loan you the money to invest. When you
collect your profits, you can pay me back. Then you can use
those profits to keep investing.” She paused.

I suppose if I’d been the kind to grow teary-eyed, I would
have at that moment. A surge of gratitude warmed my blood.
“That’s very thoughtful of you, Janice, but I can’t.”

“Please, Tony. We need to act fast. Nelson says there might
not be very many more opportunities like this one.”

I bet there won’t be, I growled to myself. “Thanks, but I
can’t. Of course, I’m thrilled for you.”

“It’s so exciting. You’ve no idea.”