Kent Conwell - Tony Boudreaux 04 - Vicksburg by Kent Conwell Read Free Book Online Page B

the feeling I had betrayed Janice.

     

Next morning, I called Tom Garrett at the police station to
inform him of the brick that had been tossed through my
window and the note left on the seat.
    “Too bad,” he said with a chuckle. “For your information,
Chief Herrings told me why he was giving you some freedom around here. Personally, I don’t care what he owes anybody-just don’t you do nothing that’ll put you crossways
with me. I don’t like playing nursemaid to nobody.”
    I didn’t argue with the man. I just didn’t want to give him
the opportunity to claim I had not kept in touch with him.
“Well, I was going to ask you to set up a time I could visit
with the medical examiner. But, if it’s going to be a pain, I’ll
take care of it myself. I can get his name from the chief.” I
paused. “Actually, I think I’d prefer that.”
    He hesitated. He was probably debating Hemings’ reaction to whichever decision he made. He muttered a curse.
“Give me a telephone number. I’ll call the ME and have him
get in touch with you”
    The suggestion did not appeal to me. On the other hand,
maybe the jerk would follow through just to keep Hemings
off his back. “All right, but I need to talk this morning.”
    Testily, he shot back, “All right, all right. What’s the
number?”

    I gave him Jack’s number, thanked him, and hung up
before he could reply.
    Jack was the only one at the house. Annebelle was on her
bread run; Stewart was curling hair at his hair salon; and WR
was at his hardware store.
    “You’ve got to stay here with me, Tony,” Jack said over a
cup of coffee, which he abruptly sat down, and grabbed for
the emu feather. He frantically went to work on his arm.
“This house is too big for one man,” he added, grimacing.
“Man, this itching is driving me nuts.”
    I had spotted an elderly housekeeper when I came in.
“What about domestic help?”
    “Day help.” With teeth clenched against the itch, he nodded to the kitchen. “That’s Alice. She’s been with John for
years. Comes in about seven, leaves around three or four.
That’s how John wanted it.”
    “What about his supper?”
    He lifted an eyebrow. “John never ate supper.”
    Whatever, I thought. Eyeing the elaborately engraved cornice molding in the high-ceiling room in which we sat, I
asked, “What about your brothers and sister?”
    Still pumping away with the feather, he muttered, “They
got their own places. We’re all getting together this afternoon to divide the property.”
    “Wasting no time, huh?”
    Jack shrugged. “As I understand the process, probate
takes some time. If we can settle all our differences and
make our decisions early, the probate will go faster.” Finally,
he stopped scratching and, leaving the emu feather projecting from his cast, took another sip of his coffee. “What
about you? Come up with any ideas last night?”
    “Nope. Drew a blank,” I replied, deliberately not mentioning my date with Diane. “Figured I’d hit the ground running this morning. First, I’d like to prowl through your
father’s records”
    “Sure. No problem. What are you looking for?”

    “The reason someone wants to run me off.”
    At that moment, the phone rang. Jack answered, then
handed it to me.
    “Mr. Boudreaux. This is Dr. John Samson. Detective
Garrett of the Vicksburg Police Department said you wanted
to talk to me about the autopsy of John Wesley Edney.” The
caution in his tone was unmistakable.
    Long ago, I learned when interviewing never to blame
anyone except myself for mistakes. The technique is a
sneaky, but effective method to elicit aid and information. “I
probably read the report wrong, Doctor, but I was curious.
The injury was on the left temple. I interpreted the report to
indicate the wound was caused when Mr. Edney fell, but the
report also states he was found lying on his right side. If
that’s the case, how could a blow from falling on the