4 The Marathon Murders (5 page)

A little flattery never hurt. This
small foray seemed to put me in a little better
graces
.
Though it warmed him up a bit, we were still far from getting admission to the
inner circle.

“I’m sure you folks have other
business to attend to,” he said. “I’ll need to get a detailed statement from
you, but we can do that later. You have a card?”

I gave it to him. “We can be
available whenever you need us. Look, we’ll stay out of your way, but I’d like
to be here to see the man we’ve been searching for when you pull him out of the
water.”

Agent Fought leaned back against
his car, folded his arms,
looked
me in the eye. “Okay,
but it’s going to be a while. I need to get with the sheriff and his men and
see what’s happened up to this point.”

I motioned to Jill. “We’ll head on
up the road and be back in a bit.”

We walked up the trail in silence
until we were out of earshot.
“Where to now?”
Jill
asked.

“Let’s head back up to Bradley’s
house and see if any of the neighbors are at home. Somebody needs to look after
that coon dog, and I’d like to know if they heard anything around there Monday
evening.”

We drove back to Carey Lane and pulled into the driveway
with the fancy brick entrance. Two doors down, a sheriff’s car sat beside
Bradley’s house, which had been decorated with yellow and black garlands of
crime scene tape.

“Somebody has a nice SUV up here,”
Jill said.

I swung onto the circular drive
that ran in front of a large two-story brick home with white shutters. Despite
being out in the boonies, some of the newer homes in the area rivaled those in
Nashville’s affluent suburbs. I parked behind a Cadillac Escalade. We walked up
to the front door past an artful array of pink, white and purple blossoms and
rang the bell.

A young woman in blue jeans and a
tee shirt with an orange basketball and a Lady
Vols
logo opened the door. She looked tall enough to have been a player at some
point in her life. She held the door as though trying to decide whether to
invite us in. “Yes?” she said, smiling.

I handed her a business card.
“We’re Greg and Jill McKenzie from Nashville. I presume you’re acquainted with
your neighbor, Pierce Bradley?”

“Yes, of course. Has something
happened to him?” Her smile dimmed. “I saw a sheriff’s car pull in over there a
little while ago.”

“We’re not sure what’s happened,
but we’ve been looking for him. He has some information we need. Apparently he
hasn’t been around his house since Monday night. Did you by chance hear
anything going on over there that evening?”

She shook her head. “We watched a
long movie on DVD that night, then went to bed. We wouldn’t have heard anything
short of a major riot.”

“You must sleep like I do,” Jill
said. “I think the house could fall around me and I wouldn’t wake up.”

“That’s me.” She paused, looking
thoughtful. “I don’t think I’ve seen Pierce in the past few days. He stopped by
Saturday to ask my husband about a new radio. John’s a pilot, too.”

Jill perked up. “Does he have his
own plane?”

“He’s a part owner with some guys
from Nashville. He flies now and then with Pierce.”

Sounded like another prospect if we
needed more background on the late Mr. Bradley.

“You might try Martha Urey next
door. They’re a lot closer than we are. She looks after Pierce’s dog when he’s
gone.” She stared off to her left. “The bus is back, so she should be at home.
Sorry I can’t help.”

“No problem,” I said. “But if you
think of anything else, we’d appreciate a call.”

We drove next door and pulled up
beside the yellow school bus. I caught the deputy giving us the eye from his
car in Bradley’s driveway. This house was a brick and frame ranch, much smaller
than the one we had just visited.

The woman who came to the door wore
jeans and a yellow shirt with the sleeves rolled up. A little older and a bit
heftier than her neighbor, she had the frazzled look of someone who had just
come through a trying experience. She frowned as she studied first Jill, then
me.

“Are you Jackie Varner’s folks?”
She spoke in a hesitant voice.

Thinking of the school bus, I got
the picture. I smiled. “No, Mrs. Urey. We’re not related to any of your
passengers. We’re private investigators from Nashville.” I handed her a card.
“We wanted to ask a few questions about your neighbor, Pierce Bradley.”

Her faced relaxed, but not into a
smile. “What’s going on? I was planning to go talk to that deputy. When I heard
Rambo barking this morning, I went over there and he obviously hadn’t been fed.
Pierce always tells me when he’s
gonna
be away.”

“I think you’d better take care of
the dog until it’s clear what’s going on,” I said. “We’ve been looking for
Bradley to get some information for a client of ours. It seems he hasn’t been
around since Monday night. We’re wondering if you might have heard anything out
of the ordinary over there that
evening?
”

She rubbed a hand across her cheek.
“Monday night?
Seems like maybe somebody was visiting Pierce
that night.
I don’t remember hearing any racket, though. I’m not sure
when he left, either.”

“It was a man?”

“Sorry.
Just an
expression.
I didn’t see who it was.”

‘Did you notice what kind of car
they were driving?”

“Hmm.
I
really didn’t pay all that much attention to it.”

Jill nodded sympathetically. “It’s
tough to recall things like that. Sometimes I’ll try to picture the scene, like
the driveway in this case, and it’ll come back to me.”

Martha Urey
squinted
her eyes as she looked over toward Bradley’s house.
“Wasn’t a
sheriff’s car for sure.
Seems maybe it could have been one of them
little sports cars. You know, with a rakish sweep to the front end.”

“Do you remember the color?”

“It was pretty dark when I saw it.”

We thanked her for her help. I gave
her the usual call us if you think of anything else routine. Occasionally a
witness would recall more details later, particularly if they talked to
somebody else about what they saw. We headed back to my Jeep.

“Sounds like a Corvette,” Jill
said.

I opened the door for her and stood
there a moment. “Could be, but there are any number of little sports cars with
rakish front ends. And don’t forget, eyewitness accounts can be notoriously
unreliable.” That was a point most people didn’t understand.

“Then why bother asking?”

“Sometimes we get lucky. What I’m
saying is we need a lot more info before we can slot that little piece into the
right place in the puzzle. Let’s get back over to the lake and see if the
investigators have arrived.”

The string of vehicles clustered along the shoulder of the
road looked like worshipers parked for Sunday morning at a country church. The
sheriff’s cars had been moved out to allow a more detailed search of the
lakefront. A few other cars and pickup trucks added to the gaggle of vehicles.
A small group of men stood around the deputy who had been posted at the opening
of the trail. Word of the tragic drowning had probably spread to the nearby
boat dock. I parked behind a pickup, and we walked down to the uniformed
officer.

“Has the TBI truck arrived yet?” I
asked.

“Just got here.”

“Agent Fought told us to come on
back.”

He pulled out his radio and said
something about “the PI and his wife.” I heard Sheriff Driscoll’s voice reply,
“Send ‘
em
on in.”

We hiked into the woods, happy the
clouds had migrated westward, blocking out the sun. The humidity made me feel
like I’d forgotten to dry off after a shower. We found a large white truck
parked behind the sheriff’s car. Lettering on the side spelled out Tennessee
Bureau of Investigation, below that “Crime Scene Investigation.”

One of the techs logged us in.
Wayne Fought stood a few yards away with Sheriff Driscoll, talking to a couple
of the investigators. I debated whether to tell them about our visit to Martha
Urey. The idea lost out in the debate. I decided it would be best to stick with
our side of the bargain and stay out of the way. The small bit of info we had
gleaned might make a good bargaining chip later on.

I watched as one of the techs
bagged a few small items the deputies had picked up in their search around the
lakefront. It looked like cigarette packs or candy wrappers. Another took
photos of the entire area. Photography usually proved one of the major sources
of information gained from a crime scene. My interest centered on their truck,
which was a new one I hadn’t encountered. Three large panels on each side
lifted up to give access to all the tools of the trade. One section featured every
size, shape, and type of evidence bag or container imaginable. Large metal
boxes in another bore such labels as “Fingerprint,” “Serology,” and “Firearms.”
No doubt specialized kits for gathering evidence in those
fields.

The driver finally cranked up his
wrecker and began to pull the Jeep out of the lake. The photographer kept
snapping pictures as the vehicle emerged like a submarine breaking the surface
of the water. It resembled some mud-encrusted sea monster trailing tentacles of
weeds. I saw a bloated body slumped against the steering wheel when the front
end came up out of the water.

Fought and Driscoll walked over to
the vehicle with one of the rubber-gloved techs, who moved the victim’s head
around for a better view.

“That’s Bradley,” the sheriff said.
“He loved this old Jeep.
Even installed seat belts in it.”

“He’s strapped in,” said Agent
Fought.

The investigator studied the head
for a few moments. “The question is was he really driving?
Looks
like he’s been struck a pretty good blow just in front of the right ear.
Not the sort of injury that would likely come from a plunge into the lake.”

My cell phone rang at that point
and I turned away from the group to answer it.

“Greg, we need your help,” said
Warren Jarvis, a dire note in his voice.

“What’s wrong?”

“I think I just killed a guy.”

I stood there for a moment in shock, not sure I heard what I
had just heard. After what we had encountered at the lake, Warren’s words hit
me like a thunderbolt.

“You what?
Who?”

“It was an accident. I’ve called
the police. I guess they’ll send a homicide officer. Do you have any contacts
there?”

“I have a good contact in Homicide,
Detective Phil Adamson. He knows about that scroll business in Israel and that
you helped me out over there. But what happened?”

“I’ll tell you the whole story when
you get here. Basically, I got back to Mr. Liggett’s house a little while ago
and found Kelli being accosted by the guy who tailed her across town earlier in
the day. When he tried to run, I tackled him. He hit his head on a large metal
umbrella stand. Before we could do anything, he was gone.”

After hearing that horrifying
experience, I couldn’t add to his misery by telling him about Pierce Bradley. I
took a deep breath. “You have Kelli as a witness. I think they’ll treat it as
an accident, at least initially. Jill and I are up in Trousdale County. We’ll
head on back right now. Hopefully we’ll be there within an hour. Just be
careful what you say. You might want to get a lawyer.”

Despite the anxiety evident in his
voice, Jarvis seemed to be in complete control. I knew he had faced many crises
during his Air Force career, but I suspected few rivaled this one. Jill
agonized over the possibilities all the way to Nashville. Looking at it from an
investigator’s standpoint, I knew there could be real problems, especially if
somebody like Murder Squad Detective Mark
Tremaine
,
my personal nemesis from the past, happened to show up. But since the person
responsible for the death was known, it wouldn’t be a job for the Murder Squad.

The big question we faced was could
they keep the story from the newspapers, and if not, could they keep Kelli’s
name out of it? Maybe I could prevail on Phil Adamson to soft pedal her role in
the affair.

When we got back to discussing
events in Trousdale County, Jill looked downcast. “It’s really sad when a young
man survives all the carnage in a war zone, then comes home and has one of his
fellow citizens do this to him.”

This kind of case always stirred
feelings of sadness and anger, but over the years I had learned to
compartmentalize the anguish, step aside, and view the situation with as little
emotion as possible. Jill, new at this detective business, had a long way to
go.

“It’s bad,” I said, “but the best
thing we can do for him is to find those papers he planned to give Arthur
Liggett. Plus, see if we can tie them into his murder.”

“Without Bradley’s help, where do
we start looking?”

“I need to give that some thought.
I wish we could have stayed until they searched his house. Maybe they’ll turn
up the Marathon papers when they pick the place apart.”

“But if the murder had anything to
do with them, the papers probably won’t be there.”

I turned off
Twenty-first
Avenue onto Blair Boulevard and gave her a sidewise glance. “Then let’s hope
Bradley stashed them somewhere else. At any rate, we need to put on a full
court press to find those papers before anything else breaks loose.”

A Metro Fire Department ambulance
pulled away from the Liggett house just as we drove up. A white Malibu, the
type used by Metro homicide detectives, sat at the curb. Three cars were parked
in the driveway, including Kelli’s and Warren’s rentals. I parked behind the
Malibu, and Jill and I walked to the front door.

When I punched the chime button,
Kelli promptly opened the door. She had changed into brown slacks and a light
green blouse. Her hair had been put up in a swirl and nested gold rings dangled
from her ears. Her eyes were dark with stress. She looked more vulnerable than
we had ever seen her.

“Come on in,” she said. “Detective
Adamson is here.”

Thank God for small favors. As we
walked in, Phil rose from a chair opposite where Warren sat on the sofa, hands
clasped beneath his chin. Tall and gaunt, Adamson looked like a guy with his
nose out of joint. Not figuratively, but literally. It angled slightly to one
side, the result of a bad encounter early in his police career. He was a sharp
investigator who taught the subject for other law enforcement officers at a
local community college. Phil stuck a pen in his shirt pocket and swiped a hand
through thinning brown hair, turning to me with a modest grin instead of his
usual dour look.

“After Colonel Jarvis told me about
the connection, I figured you’d show up sooner or later.” He looked over at my
partner.
“Hi, Jill.”

She waved.

Phil and I had been friends for
some time, but our relationship was more firmly cemented a few months earlier
when we shared a traumatic moment with an armed and deadly felon. I returned
the grin.

“I wasn’t in any hurry,” I lied. “I
knew Metro’s finest would have everything under control. How’s it going?”

“If by ‘it’ you mean the case at
hand, I’ve about wound up the initial phase of the investigation. The Medical
Examiner’s man has already been here and gone.”

I looked around at Warren and
Kelli, who were now seated side-by-side on the sofa. I was sure they weren’t
happy with that “initial phase” remark.

“Would you excuse us a moment,
folks,” I said. “Come on back to the kitchen, Phil.”

He followed me down the hall. “You
seem pretty familiar with the place.”

“Jill and I were here early this
afternoon.” I pulled out a chair and beckoned him to join me at the table.
“Matter of fact, we sat right here and talked with Kelli about her grandfather.
Getting to the case at hand, how about filling me in? All I know is Warren
called and said a guy was dead.”

I didn’t want to say any more than
necessary until I learned what they had told Phil. He was smart enough to know
what I had in mind.

“According to the colonel and
Miz
Kane, who I presume is his
girlfriend,
this guy comes in posing as a real estate agent wanting to list the house for
sale. Said he was told Kane’s grandfather, who owns the place, was in a nursing
home. She accuses him of following her to the nursing home earlier, and he gets
his dander up. She says he made a threatening move toward her just as the
colonel walks in. She screams, the guy sees Jarvis and starts to run. Jarvis
says he tried to grab the guy but knocked him off balance. The guy falls and
hits his head on a big brass stand with a cupid figure holding an arrow.”

I flinched at the image. It was the
stand I had noticed when we first came in. “Did he hit the cupid?”

“The arrow caught him right in the
temple. The paramedics say that’s likely what killed him. We’ll let the medical
examiner say for sure.”

Two deaths in three days from blows
to the head
was
scary. I leaned my elbows on the
table. “Do you know who the guy was?”

“Yeah.
He
was one of yours.”

“What’s that mean?”

“A private investigator named Harold
Sharkey. Know him?”

I had never met the man, being new
to the ranks, but I’d heard he was not too highly thought of by most others in
the profession.

“By reputation,” I said, “which
isn’t very good. I hear he’ll take on anything, legal or otherwise.”

“That’s my impression. Why do you
suppose he was tailing
Miz
Kane? I have to tell you,
Greg, your friends are holding back something. Kane has been awfully evasive. I
haven’t been able to get much out of her at all.”

I debated for a moment what to say.
He could check into her background and hit a dead end, which I was sure he
would. But that would only make him bore in harder on both Kelli and Colonel
Jarvis.

“Can I tell you something in the
utmost confidence, Phil? It mustn’t go any farther than right here.”

He clenched his teeth and twisted
his mouth to one side. “You don’t mind putting a guy on the spot, do you?
You old military types and your secrets.
Oh, well. If it’ll
help me understand what’s going on here, let’s have it.”

“I have your word?”

“You have it.”

“First, let me put in a plug for
Warren Jarvis. He’s a topnotch guy, Air Force Academy graduate, son of a
Baptist preacher from Indianapolis. You already know he was the air attaché in
Tel Aviv who provided lifesaving assistance when I sorely needed help locating
Jill in Israel.”

“He reminded me of that.”

“Jarvis met Kelli several years ago
when he was working on the project developing the F/A-22 Raptor, the Air
Force’s new state-of-the-art fighter plane. She suddenly left the project,
vanished like an airplane disappearing into a cloud. When he tried to find
where she’d gone, no one would tell him anything. The Pentagon even denied her
existence. Seems she was working undercover for some agency he couldn’t
discover. Well, she’s still working for them and recently got back from an
overseas assignment. When she flew to Nashville to check on her grandfather,
Jarvis was on the same plane, headed for Arnold Air Force Base.”

“First time he’d seen her in
years?”

“Right.
He
recognized her immediately. He approached her when they landed in Nashville.
She denied who she was at first. But after Jarvis told her he’d been looking
for her all that time, even got into the intelligence business to better his
chances of finding her, she broke down and admitted he had it right.”

“Sounds like a fairy tale romance.”

I caught the hint of a grin. “Call
it whatever you wish.”

Adamson sat back in his chair,
hands on his hips. “Okay, she’s some kind of federal spook. As far as I can
determine, she’s not in any way responsible for Sharkey’s death. So what’s the
problem?”

“The problem is if the media gets
Kelli’s name and plasters her picture all over the newspapers and on TV, it’ll
probably blow her cover and could put her at risk. She may be involved in some
anti-terrorism operation, Phil. I don’t think we should do anything that might
put her in danger.”

I wasn’t sure if the patriotic
pitch would help, but it was worth a try.

“You know I’ll have to put her name
in the report,” he said.

“Just say as little as you have to
about her.”

“I’ll see what I can do. But I
still want to know the reason Sharkey tailed her and
came
nosing around here. Your friends claim they have no idea. I’m not so sure of
that. You got any take on it?”

Now he had me in a quandary. “I’m
not at all sure, but it could have something to do with a case I’m currently
working.”

“And that would be?”

“Sorry, Phil.
The client insists on absolute confidentiality.”

“And the client is probably sitting
in there. Hey, partner. What happened to that quid pro quo arrangement we used
to have?”

I put my hands on the table and
pushed back. “Damn. This is embarrassing, Phil. It could be something entirely
different, you know. Maybe somebody has an agenda involving Arthur Liggett.
Hopefully, I’ll be able to nail something down tomorrow on my case. If I find
any connection, I’ll let you know.”

He gave me a chilly look. “If there
isn’t, then we may never know. From what I hear, Sharkey was a loner. He had a
hang-up with writing things down, in case his office got tossed. We’ll do it,
of course, but probably won’t find anything.”

A scrupulous record keeper, I had
no idea how you could run a PI shop any other way. The guy either had a great
memory or a penchant for writing fiction.

Phil aimed his finger like the barrel
of a pistol. “You realize when the newshounds see the PI angle, they’re
gonna
jump on this like pups in a frenzy. You’d better see
that Miss Kelli gets lost for a few days. We’ll want them both available for
further questioning, though.”

I got up from the table.
“Shouldn’t be any problem.
Jarvis is assigned to the Defense
Intelligence Agency at the Pentagon. He’ll have to report the details to them,
and I’m sure they won’t be too happy. But accidents happen.”

“Yeah.
You’d better hope the DA sees it that way.”