Murder in the Choir (The Jazz Phillips Mystery Series) by Joel B Reed Read Free Book Online

to me on the walk. Nor were there any insights into the case. When I got back to the motel, I read for a while and went to bed relaxed. I slept well, feeling refreshed and ready for the day when I woke. By the time Dee arrived, I was dressed and hungry for breakfast. Dee, on the other hand, looked haggard. When I asked, he told me he had been on the phone half the night talking to Little Rock. However, he had found an AA meeting in town and seemed to be in pretty good spirits.
    Among those he talked to the night before was the state medical examiner, and as we ate breakfast, Dee told me the results of tests that were just now coming in. Since it was such a politically sensitive case, the ME had asked the FBI lab to verify some of his findings, and that always takes a while. Nor were there any great surprises. The ME was simply covering his ass and did not expect anything new to be uncovered. What killed Smiley Jones was the bullet that passed though his eye, and the only real questions were who did it and why. Whether the fatal shot came second or third would only be important if there were a trial.
    “What bugs me is where the bullets went,” Dee said, taking a sip of coffee. “We looked in all the obvious places, and some that weren’t so obvious. Nothing. It was like they evaporated.” He chuckled. “I even wondered if someone had come up with a way to make them out of ice.”
    “Well, assuming it was a hand loaded .223, that might not be surprising,” I answered. “Suppose someone reloaded military shells and used the original solid nose bullets. If they didn’t hit a building or one of the trees close by, they’re probably lodged somewhere out under the kudzu. I doubt they’ll ever be found. Not that we should stop looking.”
    Dee nodded. “Yeah, you’re probably right. But you would think that out of three shots, we could find at least one.”
    I shook my head. “This isn’t the city, Dee. There aren’t many buildings to catch them. Then, too, our shooter may have chosen his vector with that in mind.”
    Dee smiled and I realized what I had just done. Calling the shooter as ours rather than his meant I had staked a claim. I was committed. They could fire me and send me packing, but other than that, I was in for the long haul. “Well, I hate to bring up the possibility of a pro again,” he said, “but can you see your average killer being that careful...?” He left the thought unfinished.
    I cleaned my plate and grabbed the bill. Dee tried to argue but I told him it was on the Natural State and I asked the waitress to bring us a couple of foam cups and to fill my thermos. From what I’d seen, there wasn’t a place to get coffee in Oak Ridge. At least, there wasn’t for peckerwoods like us.
    It was foggy that morning as we headed out of Nashville and things did not improve. By the time we got to Oak Grove, the fog turned into a heavy mist and we were having to use the windshield wipers. When we got there about nine, there was no sign of life in town. Those who had jobs in other places were long gone and the weather was not good for being out. I was glad I had thought to bring along my rain gear. Even so, we were likely to get soaked if we had to go tramping around in the brush. I wished I had brought a change of clothes, too.
    As gray as it was, there was little point in going over the outhouse right then. So Dee and I sat on the porch of the community center, sipping coffee and talking about the case. I knew our presence had not gone unmarked, and after about a half hour I saw someone slip out the door of the store across the road. It was a child, a boy of nine or ten, wearing a dark rain slicker. When he saw me looking, he disappeared behind the corner of the community center.
    Dee had seen him, too. He looked at me, raised an eyebrow in question. I shook my head and we continued to talk quietly. At some point I became aware we were being watched and glanced around. I saw the door of the center