Capital Crimes

“He writes songs,” said Lamar. “Or thinks he does.”

Delaware said, “Meaning a reunion could have involved an audition?”

“Maybe not a happy one.” Baker removed a folded photocopy of the song from his pad.

Delaware read the lyrics. “I see what you mean. You found this on Jack’s person?”

“In his room. How would Jack react to something like this?”

Delaware thought. “Hard to say. I guess it would depend on his state of mind.”

“What do you mean?”

“Like I told you, Jack could be moody.”

“You’re not the only person to tell us that,” Baker answered.

“He might even have had a borderline mood disorder. He could shift from amiable to downright vicious pretty quickly. I only saw his angry side a couple of times in therapy, and it wasn’t severe. Flashes of irritation, mostly at the begi

“When he decided he really needed you to get on that plane with him, he behaved himself.”

“Could be,” said Delaware.

“So he never got violent with you?”

“No, nothing like that. My hope was that if Jack stuck around long enough to see concrete results- once he was able to imagine himself nearing an airport without getting sick to his stomach- he’d level out emotionally. And that’s exactly what happened. Except for that night he called me, what I mostly saw was the charming side.”

“But that other side didn’t disappear,” said Lamar. “He just held himself in check.”

“It’s possible.”

“So someone catches him in the wrong mood, shows him crappy music, he could’ve turned nasty.”

Delaware nodded.

Baker said, “Do that with a kid- a kid you never acknowledged and just met- and things could turn downright ugly.”

Delaware looked at Tristan’s photo. “He’s your primary suspect?”

“He’s looking good for it but we’ve got no evidence.” Lamar smiled. “Just psychology.”

Baker said, “First we have to find him, so we’d better be doing our job. Thanks for doing yours, Doc. You can head home, now. We need you, we’ll phone you.”

Delaware handed the photo back. “Hope it’s not him.”

“Why?”

“It’s tough when they’re young.”

12

Back in the car, Lamar said, “Smart guy.”

Baker said, “That’s what the LA Loo said.”

“What’d you think about his theory?”

“I’m getting that warm, fuzzy feeling, like when everything starts fitting together. Let’s find the kid.”

“That’s the plan.”

They cruised up and down Sixteenth, then tried the neighboring streets, searching for the green Beetle, or a big hulking hippie-type with long hair and beard. Or maybe Tristan Poulson had switched back to the clean-cut version.

A couple of prospects turned out to be garden-variety homeless dudes. One of them panhandled and Lamar handed him a buck.

“Father Teresa,” said Baker.

“Got to give to get back. Where, now?”

“Drive.”

A canvass of the city core turned up nothing.

Baker said, “These are rich people, they lie with more style.”

“Meaning he could be in Kentucky, no matter what the maid said.”

“Or in that guest house, the Bug stashed in the garage. Did you notice they’ve got five of ’em? Garages.”

“Didn’t,” said Lamar. “One thing for sure, his mama lied. That big speech about how far away he was in Brown, how much she missed him. That was just one big misdirect…same thing as taking his pictures off the mantel before we showed up.”

“The mantel,” said Baker, “could’ve been something else. Maybe there never were any pictures of him up there.”

“Why not?”

“There were only two with the husband, and both were him and her and she’s in front. The rest were all her by herself. Lots of those.”

“Freakishly self-centered,” said Lamar. “Just like Sheralyn said.”

“Think about it, Stretch. Her kid drops out of school, changes his appearance, gets depressed. Now he’s in big-time trouble as a murder suspect. What does she do? Packs out for Horsey Land.”

“Unless she took him with her.”

“Either way, we’ve got no grounds for warrants and are wading through a swamp of lies.”

“Okeechobee Okefenokee Everglade of lies, El Bee. What do you think the real reason was for her meeting with Jack?”

“Maybe warning him away from the kid?”

“Like, ‘Don’t be a bad influence,’ ” said Lamar. “Or it was just what she said. Jack got in touch with his i

“True, but Greta Barline didn’t see any animosity.”

“And Cathy wants us to think she’s clean because she drove off. Even if that’s true, what stopped her from circling around, following Jack as he strolled in the dark?”

“Cutting his throat?” said Baker. “You think a nice, well-bred rich lady would stoop to that?” Smiling bitterly.

“More likely it was the kid, El Bee. Big enough to get the job done.”

“We were figuring someone shorter than Jack.”

Lamar didn’t answer.

Baker rubbed his head. “Swamp of lies.”

“Don’t let your feelings get all hurt. Occupational hazard, you heard the man, even shrinks have ’em.”

Baker looked at his watch. Close to one AM and they were nowhere, nothing, no-how. He phoned headquarters, and made sure the alert on Tristan and his car was still in place. Clicking off, he said, “What’s the chance Belle Meade’s going to help us with surveillance on the house?”

“Heck,” said Lamar, “what’s the chance, we do it ourselves, they’re not going to ticket us for trespassing?”

Waking up Lieutenant Jones at one forty-two AM wasn’t a snap decision. Neither was calling her direct without going through Fondebernardi. They took a two-man vote.

“I say do it,” said Lamar. “Why have two people pissed off at us?”

Baker said, “Unanimous,” and made the call. A brief one.

“She was cool, Stretch, didn’t even sound like she’d been sleeping. She’s go

Moments later, Jones phoned back. “The chief, Bobby Joe Fortune, promised to send a uniform by the Poulson house at regular intervals. First thing in the morning, he’ll also notify his department’s single criminal investigator, guy named Wes Sims, once worked as a Nashville detective. I know Wes, a good, smart man.”

Lamar and Baker were to avoid surveillance, themselves.

“Oh, man,” said Lamar.

“Bobby Joe made a good point,” said Shirley Jones. “ Quiet street like that, you’re going to stick out.”

“An officer passing at regular intervals won’t?” said Baker.

The lieutenant said, “It’s something they do anyway.”

“Meaning they’re not doing anything extra for us.”

“Baker,” said Jones, “we live on earth, not Mars. Now, why don’t you tell me why you’re so hot on this rich boy?”

He complied. When he finished, the lieutenant said, “I’m with you, good work. I’ll make sure the uniforms really chase our streets for him. Now let’s all get some sleep, be fresh as daisies for another day of public service.”