Read Online Murder in the Choir (The Jazz Phillips Mystery Series) by Joel B Reed - Free Book Online
Authors: Joel B Reed
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through spaces between the boards, filtered by heavy dust stains on the glass that created a sepia glow.
The sun was above the tree line now, burning off the low clouds, and its light struck the building full force. The effect in the still air of the shop was like a dozen spotlights throwing long beams of light across the interior and and highlighting dust motes in the air. I paused to take a couple of pictures with my flash switched off. At that point, I was not after evidence, just struck by the wonderful play of light and shadow and I hoped one of those shots turned out. If nothing else, it would make a marvelous addition to my collection of prints. While this might seem unprofessional, it was not. Over the years a number of these “unrelated” photos from crime scenes have pointed to lines of inquiry that turned into gold mines of information. So I have learned to trust these moments of imagination.
I was about to move on into the large room when Dee reached out to stop me. “Look there,” he said, pointing. When I looked, I understood why he stopped me. On the right side of the sliding door, about a foot above the dirt floor, the sunlight streamed in a narrow opening about two inches by four. Casual inspection might have passed it over for a knothole, which is exactly what it was at one time. Yet in the direct sunlight, I could see the wood on all sides of the opening was much lighter than the surface inside, as if someone had carefully cut it away. From what I could see, whoever did this was careful to bevel the cuts so they could not be seen from the outside.
I brought my camera up and switched on the flash. I turned the lens out to full zoom and looked to make sure I had what I wanted. It could n’t have been better. I could see the cut marks around the hole clearly.
I pressed the shutter, then zoomed out for a wider angle. This time when I snapped the shutter, the flash revealed something I hadn’t seen before. I zoomed in to be certain. Sure enough, I could see the outline of a long, rough rectangle made by a couple of feed sacks laid out behind the hole. The color of the fabric was about the same as the dirt, but from what I could see, there was no dust on the sacks at all. I pointed this out to Dee. He nodded. “It looks like someone was up to some serious sniping,” he said. “I wonder if that’s his.”
I looked where he was pointing. Hidden in the shadows of the corner were the outlines of a soft drink can. I couldn’t read the brand name, but the red and white striping were distinctive. I found myself getting excited. “We better call Crime Scene in, STAT,” I told him.
Dee pulled out a cell phone. “Looks like a dead area here,” he said, looking at his signal bars. “I’ll have to use the radio in the car.”
“I don’t suppose there’s a pay phone anywhere around here. Anyone with a scanner will know something’s up.”
“They’ll know, anyway, as soon as the van gets here.” While the crime scene van was a discrete silver, the bold lettering on the side doors and the back made it very clear what it was there to do.
“I was thinking about the press,” I told him. “The last thing we need is a cable news van pulling in and messing things up. Where are they, by the way? I was surprised not to see any of them in Nashville.”
He shrugged. “They’re as lazy as anyone else. With the governor’s office feeding them information, it’s easier to stay in Little Rock.”
“Why don’t you check the store?” I said. “Or maybe, the parsonage. Surely there must be someone around here with a phone.”
Dee gave me a look I remembered from when I was his boss. It told me I was being very unreasonable, at least in his eyes. The difference now was that I was no longer his boss and I could see him searching for a polite way to suggest this. “Never mind,” I said. “I’m probably being too paranoid. I’ll watch the place while you make the call.”
Dee looked relieved.
The sun was above the tree line now, burning off the low clouds, and its light struck the building full force. The effect in the still air of the shop was like a dozen spotlights throwing long beams of light across the interior and and highlighting dust motes in the air. I paused to take a couple of pictures with my flash switched off. At that point, I was not after evidence, just struck by the wonderful play of light and shadow and I hoped one of those shots turned out. If nothing else, it would make a marvelous addition to my collection of prints. While this might seem unprofessional, it was not. Over the years a number of these “unrelated” photos from crime scenes have pointed to lines of inquiry that turned into gold mines of information. So I have learned to trust these moments of imagination.
I was about to move on into the large room when Dee reached out to stop me. “Look there,” he said, pointing. When I looked, I understood why he stopped me. On the right side of the sliding door, about a foot above the dirt floor, the sunlight streamed in a narrow opening about two inches by four. Casual inspection might have passed it over for a knothole, which is exactly what it was at one time. Yet in the direct sunlight, I could see the wood on all sides of the opening was much lighter than the surface inside, as if someone had carefully cut it away. From what I could see, whoever did this was careful to bevel the cuts so they could not be seen from the outside.
I brought my camera up and switched on the flash. I turned the lens out to full zoom and looked to make sure I had what I wanted. It could n’t have been better. I could see the cut marks around the hole clearly.
I pressed the shutter, then zoomed out for a wider angle. This time when I snapped the shutter, the flash revealed something I hadn’t seen before. I zoomed in to be certain. Sure enough, I could see the outline of a long, rough rectangle made by a couple of feed sacks laid out behind the hole. The color of the fabric was about the same as the dirt, but from what I could see, there was no dust on the sacks at all. I pointed this out to Dee. He nodded. “It looks like someone was up to some serious sniping,” he said. “I wonder if that’s his.”
I looked where he was pointing. Hidden in the shadows of the corner were the outlines of a soft drink can. I couldn’t read the brand name, but the red and white striping were distinctive. I found myself getting excited. “We better call Crime Scene in, STAT,” I told him.
Dee pulled out a cell phone. “Looks like a dead area here,” he said, looking at his signal bars. “I’ll have to use the radio in the car.”
“I don’t suppose there’s a pay phone anywhere around here. Anyone with a scanner will know something’s up.”
“They’ll know, anyway, as soon as the van gets here.” While the crime scene van was a discrete silver, the bold lettering on the side doors and the back made it very clear what it was there to do.
“I was thinking about the press,” I told him. “The last thing we need is a cable news van pulling in and messing things up. Where are they, by the way? I was surprised not to see any of them in Nashville.”
He shrugged. “They’re as lazy as anyone else. With the governor’s office feeding them information, it’s easier to stay in Little Rock.”
“Why don’t you check the store?” I said. “Or maybe, the parsonage. Surely there must be someone around here with a phone.”
Dee gave me a look I remembered from when I was his boss. It told me I was being very unreasonable, at least in his eyes. The difference now was that I was no longer his boss and I could see him searching for a polite way to suggest this. “Never mind,” I said. “I’m probably being too paranoid. I’ll watch the place while you make the call.”
Dee looked relieved.
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