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Authors: Kent Conwell
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to be an unimpeachable
tenet of our business.
The next day, just after lunch, Eddie responded to my
queries.
Usually his information provides details that point me in
the direction of the guilt of a particular individual, but this
time, all three of the subjects had motives for wanting to
see Justin dead.
Money.
I rolled my eyes. What else?
Frank, while sitting on about a $30,000,000 business,
not counting his inheritance, was in hock up to twice that
amount.
Vanessa Chester was down to her last hundred thousand,
with bills three times that much coming due.
And not to leave Tricia Chester out, she not only was
broke, but three banks were carrying her personal notes in
the amount of $800,000.
Whistling softly, I shook my head. Old man Chester had
kicked off just in time.
I dug deeply into the Chesters' backgrounds. I asked
Danny to see what he could learn through his channels. He
found nothing, which in turn just about convinced me that
if any of the Chesters were involved in Justin's death, Vanessa
was the most likely.
Taggart had not located Justin in Elysian Hills the first
time, but Vanessa had known that Justin was returning to
the hamlet. She could have sent Taggart after him.
I pointed out the flaws in my theory to myself. Vanessa
never left Austin, and I was certain Taggart would have
an ironclad alibi for his whereabouts at the time of Justin's
death. Besides, why take a chance for only three million
when you had just come into ten?
Obviously, avarice, greed, gluttony.
Talk about divine intervention. Well, not exactly divine.
Mobster is probably a better adjective, for at that moment
the telephone rang. It was Danny. "What day did you say
that Chester dude got himself killed?"
"November 28. The pickup wrecked about eight or eightthirty that night"
He grunted. "I thought that's what you had told me. Well,
I'm afraid I've got some unpleasant news for you, Tony. Two
of my boys were celebrating Red Davis' birthday at The Red
Rooster down on Sixth Street that night. Our friend Taggart
was there until closing time."
I felt as if someone had kicked me in the face. So much
for my Vanessa theory. "You're certain?"
"Yep. These are two of my best boys. Hardly drink. If
they say Taggart was there, he was there"
"Okay, Danny. Thanks. See you when I get back"
"Anytime. But look, you be careful up there. Maybe I
ought to send one of my boys with you"
"Thanks, but no, thanks"
"I think I should. I got one of those feelings"
I laughed. "Probably gas. Thanks anyway."
He chuckled. "Probably."
To my frustration, I had been unable to find any ominous
connection between the siblings and Justin. I had called
every snitch, every goon I knew, and nothing was floating
about. Who else would have a reason to kill him?
No one.
I was puzzled as to my next step. I felt I was overlooking
something, but what?
The human brain is an amazing device of which only a
small percentage is truly utilized. It assimilates and synthesizes in ways we have yet to comprehend. That capability
was demonstrated to me that evening.
That night, December 7, I watched a documentary on the
bombing of Pearl Harbor. According to the commentator,
one of the tactical ploys of the Japanese attack was to hope that the Americans believed the incoming aircraft were
their own.
That stuck with me. Their own. Then a crazy idea popped
into my head.
"Maybe," I muttered, staring at the TV, "maybe the killer
isn't from Austin, like Tricia thought, but from Elysian
Hills" I knew I was reaching, but if Justin had been murdered, and if his brothers and sisters were not involved,
then the answer had to be in Elysian Hills.
Closing my eyes and leaning back, I shook my head. "No.
That's impossible" What in a small, backwoods community
like Elysian Hills could precipitate murder?
Then another idea struck me. Why couldn't Justin have
been drinking? When he talked to me, he was excited about
some of the evidence he
tenet of our business.
The next day, just after lunch, Eddie responded to my
queries.
Usually his information provides details that point me in
the direction of the guilt of a particular individual, but this
time, all three of the subjects had motives for wanting to
see Justin dead.
Money.
I rolled my eyes. What else?
Frank, while sitting on about a $30,000,000 business,
not counting his inheritance, was in hock up to twice that
amount.
Vanessa Chester was down to her last hundred thousand,
with bills three times that much coming due.
And not to leave Tricia Chester out, she not only was
broke, but three banks were carrying her personal notes in
the amount of $800,000.
Whistling softly, I shook my head. Old man Chester had
kicked off just in time.
I dug deeply into the Chesters' backgrounds. I asked
Danny to see what he could learn through his channels. He
found nothing, which in turn just about convinced me that
if any of the Chesters were involved in Justin's death, Vanessa
was the most likely.
Taggart had not located Justin in Elysian Hills the first
time, but Vanessa had known that Justin was returning to
the hamlet. She could have sent Taggart after him.
I pointed out the flaws in my theory to myself. Vanessa
never left Austin, and I was certain Taggart would have
an ironclad alibi for his whereabouts at the time of Justin's
death. Besides, why take a chance for only three million
when you had just come into ten?
Obviously, avarice, greed, gluttony.
Talk about divine intervention. Well, not exactly divine.
Mobster is probably a better adjective, for at that moment
the telephone rang. It was Danny. "What day did you say
that Chester dude got himself killed?"
"November 28. The pickup wrecked about eight or eightthirty that night"
He grunted. "I thought that's what you had told me. Well,
I'm afraid I've got some unpleasant news for you, Tony. Two
of my boys were celebrating Red Davis' birthday at The Red
Rooster down on Sixth Street that night. Our friend Taggart
was there until closing time."
I felt as if someone had kicked me in the face. So much
for my Vanessa theory. "You're certain?"
"Yep. These are two of my best boys. Hardly drink. If
they say Taggart was there, he was there"
"Okay, Danny. Thanks. See you when I get back"
"Anytime. But look, you be careful up there. Maybe I
ought to send one of my boys with you"
"Thanks, but no, thanks"
"I think I should. I got one of those feelings"
I laughed. "Probably gas. Thanks anyway."
He chuckled. "Probably."
To my frustration, I had been unable to find any ominous
connection between the siblings and Justin. I had called
every snitch, every goon I knew, and nothing was floating
about. Who else would have a reason to kill him?
No one.
I was puzzled as to my next step. I felt I was overlooking
something, but what?
The human brain is an amazing device of which only a
small percentage is truly utilized. It assimilates and synthesizes in ways we have yet to comprehend. That capability
was demonstrated to me that evening.
That night, December 7, I watched a documentary on the
bombing of Pearl Harbor. According to the commentator,
one of the tactical ploys of the Japanese attack was to hope that the Americans believed the incoming aircraft were
their own.
That stuck with me. Their own. Then a crazy idea popped
into my head.
"Maybe," I muttered, staring at the TV, "maybe the killer
isn't from Austin, like Tricia thought, but from Elysian
Hills" I knew I was reaching, but if Justin had been murdered, and if his brothers and sisters were not involved,
then the answer had to be in Elysian Hills.
Closing my eyes and leaning back, I shook my head. "No.
That's impossible" What in a small, backwoods community
like Elysian Hills could precipitate murder?
Then another idea struck me. Why couldn't Justin have
been drinking? When he talked to me, he was excited about
some of the evidence he
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