Kent Conwell - Tony Boudreaux 06 - Extracurricular Murder (21 page)

I took another drink and shook my head. “I don’t think she
did it. But, here, let me show you why she got upset.” I pulled
out my notes. “I was going to type these up tonight, but now
that you’re here, you can see firsthand where the investigation
stands.”

In the next few minutes, I laid out my investigation of
Frances Holderman, from exotic dancer to demure housewife.
Marty almost choked on his drink when I dropped the bombshell about her looking for a hit man.

He looked at me in disbelief. “She what?”

“Yeah.” I chuckled and refilled our glasses.

Frowning, he looked up from my notes. “How do you know
she didn’t do it this time?”

“Let me see if I can put this whole thing in perspective.”

He gave his head a brief nod. “Yeah. I think I’d like to hear
that.”

I thumbed through my notepad for a clean page, which I
ripped from the small book. “First, motive. Why was he murdered?” I jotted down each reason. Unfaithful, money, destroying a career, adultery … I could probably have named a dozen
more reasons, but I had a gut feeling the real reason someone
whacked him was because of the drug scene. To use Danny
O’Banion’s colorful description-a butter and egg man, a staker. “I think he had some kind of dispute with the dealer he
backed. I’d planned on looking into that tonight.”

Marty blinked, then shook his head sharply as if to clear his
thoughts. “What about all those other motives? Why not one of
them?”

“Opportunity, Marty. You see, there was only a handful of
possible perps in that wing of the building. All access to that
wing was either videoed or monitored by individuals appoint ed by Howard Birnam, the high school principal. Neither
Frances Holderman nor Fred Seebell, whose wife slept with the
superintendent, had the opportunity.”

“What about those who did?”

“Good question. Kim Nally had the opportunity, but not
enough of a motive. None in fact.” I knew I was stretching the
truth of my answer, but I didn’t want to get into any sort of discussion with Marty tonight. I still wanted to get out to Lupe’s
Tacos and see if I could pin something on Weems.

“Of all the others in that wing, only one, Perry Jacobs, had
both opportunity and motive. Personally, I don’t think he was
the one, but I can’t prove it one way or another yet.”

He frowned. The wheels in his brain turned slowly, crunching through the rust. “But, none of them had anything to do
with drugs. I thought you said it was hooked up with drugs.”

“I think it is. I’ll know more after tonight. A little surveillance work. Cross your fingers that I’ll have something to tell
you in the morning.”

He studied my notes a few seconds, then slid off the barstool.
“Sounds halfway plausible to me ” He paused at the door and
glanced back. “And be careful tonight, you hear?”

Though the weather had moderated, the December night still
carried a chill. I grabbed a threequarter-length topcoat and a
heavy scarf, anticipating spending much of the evening outside.

Since someone at the high school obviously knew my pickup
by sight, I parked in the shadows of a GI Salvage store a block
away, and walked to Lupe’s, cutting across the parking lots of the
adjoining businesses, staying in the shadows as much as possible.

Next to Lupe’s parking lot was one of those ubiquitous shopping centers thrown up in the sixties, a single-story stretch of
brick with a dozen different stores. The strip center was the forerunner of the sprawling malls today. A portico ran the length of
the center, in front of which was an ancient hedge of shrubs.

At the end of the shopping center nearest Lupe’s, I found a shadowy nook behind the hedge in front of a darkened real
estate office. Behind me was an aluminum garbage can. The
only way I could be spotted was if someone stepped on me.
From my vantage, I had a clear view of two-thirds of the parking lot as well as the main entrance to the restaurant.

Several cars were already parked, some empty, others with
two or three students inside and a few more with students leaning against them, laughing and joking. As I watched, a gaunt
mongrel slunk from behind the office. When he rounded the
corner and spotted me, he bolted across the lot to the rear of
Lupe’s where he sniffed his way around the dumpsters, searching for scraps of garbage.

Time dragged. The temperature dropped. I buttoned my coat
snugly and squatted beside one of the columns supporting the
porch of the real estate office.

More cars pulled in, new pickups, Fords and Chevrolets and
occasional Dodge Rams. Several Toyotas, Nissans, Geos, and
Camaros parked in clusters about the lot, the kids hanging their
heads out the windows to visit before pulling into a parking slot
and going inside.

The kids all appeared well-behaved. I saw no evidence of
drug use. Glancing at my watch, I saw it was only 10:30. I
snapped a few shots with my Fuji.

Thirty minutes later, Harper Weems parked his van in front
of the restaurant. Moments later, the side of the van slid back
and a silent lift lowered Weems and his wheelchair to the
ground. He rolled himself inside Lupe’s.

I muttered a curse. I couldn’t see Weems’ movements inside
the restaurant, but I reasoned that he was too smart to deal in
there. The parking lot was much better, much more private
despite being in plain sight of everyone.

A black Camaro convertible pulled into the lot, parking near
the highway under the tall marquee of the restaurant. As if on
signal, a dozen more upscale BMWs, SUVs, Neons, and
Firebirds screeched in, pulling in around the Camaro.

Leaning against the support column to steady the camera, I
adjusted the lens for a clear picture of the group. They milled
about the way high school kids do, joking, laughing, exchanging
cigarettes, sipping from cans covered with insulators that not
only kept the beverage cold, but unidentifiable from passersby.

To my surprise, I spotted Tim Briggs and Marvin Handwell
in the group. They mingled, but neither appeared to be smoking nor drinking. I shot a few frames.

A few vehicles left, only to be replaced with new arrivals.

Then Harper Weems rolled into the picture, propelling himself across the lot to Briggs and Handwell. Adjusting the lens
for maximum magnification, I snapped furiously.

Weems stopped in front of Briggs and extended his hand. At
that moment, Handwell, of the mushroom haircut, stepped
between me and Weems.

“Sonof …” I glanced left and right, but there was no place
to move for a clear shot. Either way, I’d be in the middle of a
parking lot, in plain sight for all to see. All I could do was cuss
the boy. He’d blocked a shot of what appeared to be Weems
attempting to hand Briggs a bag of drugs.

Finally Marvin moved, and I got a perfect shot of Weems
offering Tim Briggs, the football star and National Honor
Society member, a small bag of a white substance. “You
sleazy … ” I muttered between clenched teeth.

To my delight, Briggs obviously had rejected it for Weems
pulled the bag away. “At least, some kids have brains,” I whispered under my breath.

In the next instant, Briggs and Handwell climbed into the
black Camaro and, followed by three other cars, drove across
the parking lot in my direction, coming to a halt less than
seventy-five feet away. Two hundred feet beyond, Harper
Weems, still holding a tiny bag of a white substance, sat by
himself in the middle of the lot, looking after the students who
had left him behind.

Slowly, he propelled himself back to his van.

I shot another frame. “Serves you right, you no good sleazebag,” I muttered, snapping one last shot as the van drove from
the parking lot. At least, I had some evidence. Not absolute
proof, but enough to start work on, enough to give some credence to my theory that Weems was the dealer, and Holderman
had been his staker. Whatever the falling out between the two,
I felt certain Harper Weems had enlisted the aid of his twin
brother, Arthur, to carry out the murder of George Holderman.

Arthur could very well have been the one Perry Jacobs
thought he spotted heading down the stairs. Harper could have
even delayed Jacobs long enough for his twin brother to climb
out a classroom window and disappear into the night.

I took a step back and hit the garbage can, knocking it over
on the sidewalk. It sounded like someone banging away with a
pair of cymbals.

As one, the cluster of students jerked around, staring in my
direction. I pressed into the shrubs. After a short discussion,
two beefy young men started toward me.

Frantically, I searched for an explanation. I had the distinct
feeling “Just hanging out” wouldn’t work. At that moment, the
gaunt mongrel I’d startled early, sniffed past, paused at the
overturned garbage can, and prowled for food.

“Hey.” One of the boys laughed. “It was only a scroungy mutt”

“Yeah,” the other one chimed in as they turned back to their
friends.

At that moment, Briggs and Handwell climbed in the
Camaro and drove away. For the next couple of hours, I huddled behind the shrubs as vehicles continued coming and
going. Several times, I spotted drugs surreptitiously changing
hands. Apparently, Lupe’s parking lot was a local drug mall
with no dealer having an exclusive on it.

The number of high school students remained fairly constant
until just after 1 A.M. when, as if on signal, the group dispersed.

I dropped the film off at an all-night pharmacy downtown
that offered one-hour delivery.

During the remainder of my drive home, I went over the
case, searching for holes in my theories. Harper Weems was
my prime suspect. All I needed was one or two witnesses who
would swear Weems tried to give them drugs.

And the most credible witnesses were Marvin Handwell and
Tim Briggs. I made a mental note to visit them at the high
school the next morning. Once I had their statements, I could
wrap up the case against Harper Weems.

I hesitated. “What if you’re wrong, Tony?” I mumbled half
aloud.

But I couldn’t be. Oh, I knew some would think I was reaching too far, but the evidence seemed clear. First, Harper’s twin
was identical, and he was left-handed. In addition, he was a tall
man, tall enough to deliver the blow at such the appropriate
angle with the ball bat and to drive the switchblade into
Holderman’s chest.

Both brothers had money. While I had not checked their
bank accounts, their creature comforts screamed wealth. The
twin in Denver drove a BMW and belonged to a country club.
And Harper lived in one of the most expensive condos in
Austin, the Crystal Creek complex west of the city, a complex
too expensive for a schoolteacher to lease. Hey, too expensive
for a schoolteacher to even drive through.

And if the boys would admit Weems had attempted to sell
them drugs, then I had a good case.

The only other suspect remaining was Perry Jacobs. He had
both motive and opportunity. I still had a gut feeling he was
innocent, but I couldn’t prove it. And though I’m no brain trust,
I was smart enough to realize that both Marty and the Safford
police would focus their suspicion on Jacobs before Weems.

I should have felt smug about my neat little theory, but some thing nagged at me. I wasn’t fooling myself that I had the case
all wrapped up.

“But, listen Marty,” I said to the empty seat next to me with
the same emotion as if my boss had really been sitting there,
“none of the others had reason … a real motive to kill the guy.
Hey, on the surface, it might look that way, but that PE teacher
for example. She had nothing to gain. Besides, she’s a hard one.
She doesn’t look it, but she’s hard as nails. She deliberately
aborted. And Holderman’s wife … she isn’t stupid. Why kill
the guy? As it was, she had money. She traveled. She had an
itch, she scratched it. Why take a chance of losing all that?”

Taking a deep breath, I thought back over my little speech for
Marty. If there were holes, he’d find them, but personally, I felt
I had put together a solid argument.

I picked up the film from the pharmacy just after 7 the next
morning and grinned when I spotted the shot with Weems
offering Briggs a bag of drugs. “Now, I got you nailed, you
sleaze,” I muttered. “Try to get out of this.”

Remembering my last two visits to Safford High School, I
pulled around to the side of an Easy Time Convenience Store
and walked the last three blocks to the school.

Principal Howard Birnam quickly accommodated my
request to see the two young men. “You can use my office.”

Five minutes later, the two young men entered the office.
They hesitated when they saw me. I grinned and gestured to the
chairs in front of the desk.

We made idle chitchat for a couple of minutes, and then I
grew serious. “I’m here, boys, to ask for your help.”

A momentary frown flickered across Briggs’ face, then disappeared into a broad grin. “Sure, Mr. Boudreaux. Anything we
can do.”