High Strung Page 17

  “I’m afraid you’re right. Let me know if you hear from him or find out anything about him, will ya?”

  “You know I will. Y’all be careful out there. There’s meanness everywhere these days.” Miss Betty saw Leigh and Cafton to the door.

  They walked over the parking lot until they saw tire tracks. They were headed out of the lot, onto the street to the right and across the lane, headed up First Street by the river.

  “Just one set of tracks,” said Leigh. Dangcat must not have been too angry, or at least not angry enough to lay rubber.

  “I just can’t imagine him making anyone angry enough they would act this way, and then Dangcat follow him. Something just doesn’t add up,” Cafton said. “At least we have a lead. Let’s go down First and see if we can find Dangcat’s car.”

  They drove down First Street, looking in the parking lots for Dangcat’s old beater. They drove around the backs of buildings and covered every inch of City Hospital’s parking lot, including around back by the dumpsters, the incinerator, and the cluster of gas tanks stored on the riverside area. Nothing.

  “Just for shits and giggles, let’s check the impound lot. If Dangcat left his car somewhere for several days, the city might have towed it, and it might still be in the municipal impound lot,” Leigh suggested.

  “Good idea, but I don’t think they let just anybody in,” Cafton said.

  “They don’t let just anybody in, but they will let me in! I’m an auto fraud investigator. I know all the guys at the lot. They will let me in,” Leigh assured Cafton.

  After a couple of minutes of driving around the lot looking, Cafton and Leigh stood beside Dangcat’s car. It didn’t look wrecked. Nothing looked out of place inside.

  The lot attendant told them the car had been impounded when it was found abandoned at the quarry. The license plate and two VIN plates had been removed, so there was no way to contact the owner to let him know his car was impounded. It didn’t show up on the stolen vehicle report, so it just sat there. The impound form showed the doors were unlocked, the keys in the ignition. No one else around. The inventory sheet showed the keys, a pair of running shoes, one cassette tape, travel mug, umbrella, an open pack of sticky notes, and loose change in the ashtray.

  “Cars are abandoned at the old quarry all the time, but not usually beside the quarry,” said Leigh. “It’s a favorite dumping ground for stolen car insurance fraud, as well as a way to make an incriminating vehicle disappear, driving it over the cliff and letting it sink under the twenty feet of muck at the bottom of the pit.”

  “Dang and the guy probably met up there. Now we have to find out what happened afterward. Let’s let Heckle know, so he can at least dust for prints,” said Cafton. “The good news is no beer or alcohol bottles or cans, and no drug paraphernalia or dregs are in the car.”

  “That may eliminate a couple of theories. He probably wasn’t involved in a drug deal and isn’t in a crack house somewhere,” Leigh suggested. “So now we have to figure out where he is. Once we find him, we will know the next steps to take. I hate to say this, but we need to have Heckle drag the quarry to see if Dangcat is in there.”

  Cafton felt a hint of reassurance that Leigh was on this with him. She wasn’t a half-assed kind of person. When she took on something, she did it whole-assed.

  As they silently headed back to their car, Cafton’s eyes filled with tears. So did Leigh’s.

  Chapter 14—Pointing Fingers

  Cafton’s two-thirty a.m. check-in call from Bynum woke him and Leigh. Leigh was startled and shot straight up in bed, almost falling off over the edge. “It’s okay; it’s just Bynum,” he reassured her as he picked up the receiver from the phone on his nightstand.

  “Hi, Bynum. How are you?”

  “Been better, Caf. And you?”

  “That sounds ominous. What’s up? We’ll get to me and my good news and bad news later.” Cafton pointed at the lamp on his nightstand to let Leigh know he was about to turn it on.

  “Remember a couple of weeks ago, when we just started the tour in New Orleans, and I told you the cops took us all in and questioned us about some guy who got killed?”

  “Yes. You told them you didn’t have time to be killing someone,” Cafton recalled. Leigh looked confused.

  “Yeah, well, apparently they think we might have had time to do that. They called me, and want to talk with us individually now. A Detective Ketchum is flying out to interrogate us before the show tomorrow afternoon.” Bynum’s voice was a little shaky. He had been falsely accused of a murder before. The police almost beat him to death over it. He didn’t want a repeat of that trauma.

  “Oh, crap. I’ll call our attorney right now and get him on a red eye to you. Don’t answer anything until he gets there. Call Detective Ketchum and tell him you and the boys are represented by an attorney, but you are more than willing to cooperate in his investigation. Meanwhile, get the boys together, tell them what the game plan is, and make sure our hot-headed brat doesn’t do anything stupid. You didn’t do anything, so you will be fine. Okay? We are on top of it, so it won’t get out of hand like last time,” Cafton reassured Bynum. Leigh looked intently at Cafton as he discussed the plans with Bynum.

  “Okay. Thanks. I’ll let you know more when I know more. What’s your news?” Bynum was more than eager to change subjects.

  “First, I am in love!” Cafton beamed at Leigh. He loved telling people he was in love. Having a mate, someone to love who loved him equally, was something he had wanted his entire adult life but had never declared such a thing about anyone else. Now he knew why. No one else had matched him so well. His prudence and patience had paid off.

  “You’re in love? Like love love?” Bynum quizzed. “What kind of love?”

  “The kind of love that is forever. The kind of love you and Mattie have. Yes! Love love!” Cafton was smiling at Leigh, who was up and rummaging through her briefcase for her address book.

  “Well, bless my soul, I am so happy for you, brother!” Bynum exclaimed. “Caf has found his love,” Bynum whispered to Mattie. Mattie placed her hand over her heart and smiled, tears of joy welling up in her eyes.

  “Thank you. Her name is Leigh. She’s here with me now. We’ve been trying to track down Dangcat all day. That’s my other news. We found his car impounded in the city lot. Keys in it. Nothing else looks suspicious. No signs of his whereabouts, though.” Cafton’s voice turned serious. “We will continue our investigation today.”

  “No, that’s not like Dangcat. He’s sort of OCD about stuff like where his keys are. No way he would have left his car with the keys in it unless he thought he was returning to it immediately,” Bynum said.

  “Or unless he was abducted,” said Cafton, sort of surprised at the words as he said them.

  “Abducted. I don’t like the sound of that. Friends don’t abduct friends,” Bynum fretted.

  “Hah! I think I saw that on an Area 51 bumper sticker one time!” Cafton interjected, trying to relieve some stress with humor.

  “I’d almost rather aliens abducted him than one of these crazies running loose in the world today,” Bynum continued the line of thought. “Speaking of crazies, did you find out who bombed the house?”

  “No, I talked with Heckle, who didn’t have any answers, and didn’t seem to be particularly interested in digging for any. He pretty much told me that since no one was hurt, he had bigger fish to, uh, fry.” Cafton shook his head at his inadvertent, morbid pun.

  “So everything else is okay, then? No other weird stuff happening to you I need to worry about?”

  “No, everything weird just suddenly stopped about the time you left. No more threatening phone calls. But otherwise, yeah, I’m doing better than okay. Leigh and I are having a great time. So, except for Dangcat missing, life is good,” he said.

  “Threatening phone calls? You didn’t tell me about those. Who? What?” Bynum stuttered.

  “Some wacko just said he was going to kill me, but no worries, the
calls stopped the day of the firebombing.” As the words came out of his mouth, pieces of the puzzle started falling into place for Cafton.

  “There is just way too much bad juju going on lately. Maybe I’m not so bummed to be on the road after all. Keep me posted, and don’t hold anything back next time. By the way, congrats on you and Leigh. We can’t wait to meet her.” Bynum was truly happy for Cafton. He had never thought anyone Cafton had dated was good enough for him. He feared they were out to use Cafton or would end up hurting him. But he had a good feeling about Leigh.

  Cafton hung up the phone and turned to see Leigh sitting cross-legged in the bed, holding her address book, a steno pad, and a pen.

  “Ketchum! Detective Jake Ketchum from New Orleans? I know him. He used to be here in Nashville. He’s an old buddy from Metro PD. Why is he flying out to talk to Bynum?” Leigh’s investigative puzzle-solver persona was clicking in high gear.

  “Something about a murder in New Orleans that happened on the street where By and the boys were staying. The cops talked to everyone in the hotel when By and the band were there, and now the police apparently want a second interview. It’s not that By has anything to hide, of course, but our history with cops is less than favorable, so I want our attorney there to keep everything on the up and up,” Cafton summarized.

  “Always a good idea. I know Ketchum won’t do anything dirty, but he wouldn’t be flying out for a second interview if he didn’t have something solid to check out. I can call him, if you want.”

  “Sure couldn’t hurt,” said Cafton. “Maybe you can get him first thing in the morning before he boards the plane.”

  “No, I’ll call him now. Ketchum doesn’t sleep. He won’t mind at all,” Leigh assured him.

  Cafton handed Leigh the phone.

  “Jake, this is Leigh. How the hell are ya?” Leigh smiled and rapped her pen on the steno pad. Ketchum had been drifting in and out of sleep, watching an old movie, totally reclined in his lounger when he answered the phone. When he heard Leigh’s voice he popped the recliner upright like a jack-in-the-box.

  “Well, hell, girl! Better now! You okay?” Ketchum started coughing as he reached over to the TV tray beside the lounger to extract a cigarette from a rumpled pack.

  “Yeah, I’m doing great. Better than ever!” Leigh gave a gushy look to Cafton.

  “So you’ve finally come to your senses and you’re calling to propose to me?” Ketchum joked. He was joking, but only because he knew that, despite his best efforts, his deep affection for Leigh would never be reciprocated.

  “No, I’m not calling to propose to you, goofus. I’m taken now, but I do have a question to pop.”

  Ketchum’s heart sank. “Taken?”

  “Yes, taken.”

  “Seriously?” He’d never really thought Leigh would be in a serious relationship with anyone, which meant as long as she was single, there was a chance, a very remote, infinitesimal chance, he could win her over. He would just keep wearing away at her like a waterfall on the rocks, and eventually she might change her mind. But now, now that she had committed to someone, he knew all hope was lost. Once Leigh committed, she committed. Forever.

  “Yep. Seriously.” Leigh tried to get past the flirting and into what really interested her: his case involving Bynum.

  “So if you’re not calling to propose, what’s up?” Ketchum had lit his cigarette and filled a jelly glass with bourbon from the bottle on the TV tray.

  “You’re flying out to talk with Bynum McCooter tomorrow, right?”

  “Yeah. You stalking me?” Ketchum quipped.

  “Yes, Jake, I’m stalking you. Feel better? Now, Bynum’s a friend of mine, so I want to know why you’re putting the squeeze on him. He’s pretty shaken up that a homicide detective wants to talk with him.”

  “Damn, girl, do you know everyone in Nashville?”

  “Yes. Yes, I do. Now, what’s up?”

  “I’ve got this case. I call it my head case. Some John Doe’s head showed up in a barrel on a Mardi Gras float on Fat Tuesday.”

  “Decapitation. Axe? Hatchet? Chain saw?” Leigh asked like she was asking which tool to use to remove a tree felled by a strong storm and now lying in her driveway.

  “Wire. Steel. Piano wire, maybe. We initially talked to all the people in a hotel along the parade route, including McCooter and his group. My working theory is someone in the hotel where they were staying, in the area of rooms with balconies overlooking the parade route, could have tossed the head onto the float as it passed by. There are three floors above ground level with balconies that could realistically give someone a good, clean shot at the float. McCooter and his group occupied four of those rooms. See why I have to talk to him?” While Ketchum waited for Leigh’s response, he refilled his jelly glass.

  “So is McCooter or anyone in his group a suspect, or are they just people of interest?” Leigh was serious as a heart attack now.

  “People of interest, for the moment.”

  “For the moment. Foreboding?”

  “Not sure. I don’t have much else to go on. When all you have is a head, a toothless head at that, your, uh, body of evidence, is greatly diminished.” Ketchum snickered.

  “Toothless?”

  “Yep. Like a baby’s mouth. Gums. Nothing but gums. Oh, and a weird-ass tip of a fingertip tangled in the hair. Right hand, index. I’m having the partial print run now.”

  “Tip of a finger? Like it had been cut off by something? The wire, maybe?”

  “Not the tip, exactly, more like the pad. And not cut off, more like pulled off. It had apparently been glued onto a finger and then evidently came off in the struggle. Not sure if it’s the vic’s or the perp’s. White person. A lefty, probably.”

  “Glued on, like Stevie Ray Vaughn does?” Leigh was into blues. SRV was one of her favorite artists. She always said SRV didn’t play the blues, he channeled the blues. His guitar was just the medium.

  “I hadn’t thought about that, but yeah, like that. Like a guitar player whose callous falls off and he has to put it back on to be able to play.” Ketchum felt like he had now picked up the scent of the trail and was eager to follow it to his killer. “Now I am even surer I have to interview McCooter and his folks. They happen to be musicians. If someone is missing a finger pad, it will be hard to hide.”

  “What about the tox reports?”

  “Toxicology shows nothing remarkable. Clean and sober as a deacon. The lab report, now that’s got some meat to it. An ashy substance on the vic’s face was human cremains.” Ketchum was back into the full reclining position again, thoroughly enjoying his time with Leigh, even if it was discussing a case.

  “Cremains? Fresh?” Leigh had filled the first page of her steno pad and flipped to a new page.

  “Yeah. Bone, organs, assorted body parts. It just gets creepier and creepier the more you know,” Ketchum admitted.

  “Anything else?”

  “At the site of the decap, cheap aftershave lotion, not transferred from the vic’s face.”

  “Yeah, musicians use aftershave to keep their guitar strings from rusting, so you’re probably looking at not piano wire but guitar string wire as the murder weapon,” explained Leigh.

  “Damn, I wish we were working together again. Between the two of us, we could crack the Jack the Ripper case. I can always count on you for a different perspective. Thanks,” Ketchum said.

  “You’re welcome, I guess. For what it’s worth, there is no way McCooter did this, so don’t rush to judgment,” Leigh warned, wanting to protect Bynum and to keep Ketchum from spending too much time barking up the wrong tree. “Thanks for the intel. Let me know next time you’re in NashVegas, and I’ll take you out for a cup of chamomile tea!” Leigh kidded.

  “Sounds good to me. A shot of aged Lynchburg bourbon goes good with just about anything. I’ll BYOB since you don’t drink anymore,” Ketchum said. “By the way, congrats on your new squeeze. He’s a lucky guy. Tell him I said so.”

  “Th
anks, Jake. I’ll tell Cafton.” Leigh hung up the phone and tried to comfort Cafton. “Unless Bynum is suddenly white, left-handed, and missing a fingertip on one of his right fingers, I don’t think he has anything to worry about,” said Leigh to Cafton, who was taking notes in his own steno pad. He was amazed Leigh was so effective at interrogating a hard-boiled detective and extracting confidential information from him.

  “By is not white nor left-handed, I know for sure, so that’s a relief.” Cafton sighed. “Should we let him know all this, just to relieve his anxiety?”

  “No, let’s let this play out. He’s in no jeopardy now, so let Ketchum do his thing without our interference. Sorry to keep him hanging, but if he acts like he has been briefed or has pre-conceived pat answers, it will raise Ketchum’s suspicion. By letting Bynum just answer naturally, honestly, Ketchum will see on his own Bynum isn’t his perp and will be able to turn his attention to the real killer. We also don’t want to alert the rest of the tour group to the specifics, for the same reason. If no one is missing a fingertip, they will be fine, too.”

  Leigh’s wheels were clicking again, as were Cafton’s. Neither one of them liked the direction of their thinking.

  “Just spit-balling things now,” said Leigh. “Are any of his band members left-handed? Or is Dangcat?”

  “I see where you’re going. Yet another fluke that a musician, one of our musicians, might be connected to an unknown person who was killed, and we are missing a person who knows our musicians. And to answer your question, yes, Dangcat is left-handed.” Cafton got that sick feeling again.

  “Does he play guitar?”

  “No, not any more. He used to, but we have kept him so busy for the last couple of years he doesn’t have time to even do side gigs.”

  “So he’s sober now, doesn’t play anymore, and the only clues we have are his car and a bag of evidence that means nothing,” Leigh summarized. “How do we connect those dots?”

  “Seems to me the one thing they all have in common is the band,” Cafton deduced.