but you’re a murder suspect,” said Darla, continuing toward the Prius without looking back.
“I’m a vegan, is what I am!” yelled Hardy.
Chapter 8
Bobble, Bobble
The next morning, Darla phoned Vicksburg Vickie at her apartment in Madison and clearly woke the stripper up.
“I know why you’re calling,” said Vickie, sounding groggy. “Hold on.”
A few seconds later, she was back on the line. “I arrived at Mr. Lang’s house at approximately six o’clock last night,” she said, sounding very much like she was reading a prepared statement. “I was in Mr. Lang’s presence at all times until eleven o’clock, whereupon I drove myself back to my apartment in Madison.”
“Whereupon?” asked Darla. “Really, Vickie? When was the last time you used that word? Have you been reading the dictionary?”
“Listen, I was there, okay?” said Vickie. “And I wasn’t tricking. It was a date thing. Hardy made me dinner. A big slew of vegetables. Don’t tell Conway. He don’t allow us to fraternize.”
“I doubt the subject will come up.”
“I got something else to say,” said Vickie. “I’m sorry Officer Elvis got his, even though he never did sound like Elvis. And then there was that one time he did try to get out of paying the full fee for a lap dance in the Champagne Room. That redneck shorted me twenty bucks ’cause he didn’t like my technique. But I let that go a long time back.”
“Yeah, it sounds like you moved on.”
“I ain’t killed Tommy, as Jesus is my savior.”
“You’re not a suspect,” said Darla.
“Praise Jesus. So, if it wouldn’t be impolite, I’d like to go back to sleep, get the rest of my beauty rest.”
“I wouldn’t want to keep you from that.” Darla told Vickie goodbye, and turned her attention to Tommy’s cellphone records for the week before the car bombing. There were four or five calls every day between Tommy and Cill, twenty-nine calls in all. Most of the time it was Tommy calling her. Not all that unusual for a man said to be smitten. There were also a dozen back-and-forths between Tommy and the main number for the Hinds County Sheriff’s Department. Plus a half dozen calls between Tommy and L. N. McClure. That raised a red flag, though it wouldn’t do any good to ask McClure what the calls were about. It was a client-attorney thing, and McClure couldn’t discuss the subject or content of the calls even if he wanted to.
Darla came across ten calls from a business listed as ETA International Inc. The first call was made a week before Tommy was killed. It lasted fifteen minutes. The remaining nine calls were made the day of his murder. The short duration of each of them suggested they all went directly into Tommy’s voice mail. The caller didn’t leave a message and Tommy never returned any of the calls. Who was trying to get in touch with Tommy on the day of his murder and why? Sans any other active leads, this seemed like the time to find out.
“ETA International,” the woman on the other end of the line said, when Darla called. “Have a blessed day.”
“Excuse me,” said Darla, “but I’m trying to reach Electrical Technicians Associates. That wouldn’t be you, would it?”
“I’m afraid not,” said the woman. “ETA is short for Elvis Tribute Artists.”
“Oh, so you’re an association for Elvis impersonators,” asked Darla, sounding as friendly as she could.
“We don’t favor the word
impersonator,
” the woman replied. “We’re a talent-booking agency. We represent the top Elvis tribute artists in the world. Is this something you’re interested in?” Darla’s questions seemed to have made the woman uncomfortable.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” said Darla and ended the conversation.
Checking the street address she found ETA International was located in the newly rehabbed Union Life Insurance building in downtown Jackson. Just three blocks away.
The building directory in the Union Life lobby said ETA
“I’m a vegan, is what I am!” yelled Hardy.
Chapter 8
Bobble, Bobble
The next morning, Darla phoned Vicksburg Vickie at her apartment in Madison and clearly woke the stripper up.
“I know why you’re calling,” said Vickie, sounding groggy. “Hold on.”
A few seconds later, she was back on the line. “I arrived at Mr. Lang’s house at approximately six o’clock last night,” she said, sounding very much like she was reading a prepared statement. “I was in Mr. Lang’s presence at all times until eleven o’clock, whereupon I drove myself back to my apartment in Madison.”
“Whereupon?” asked Darla. “Really, Vickie? When was the last time you used that word? Have you been reading the dictionary?”
“Listen, I was there, okay?” said Vickie. “And I wasn’t tricking. It was a date thing. Hardy made me dinner. A big slew of vegetables. Don’t tell Conway. He don’t allow us to fraternize.”
“I doubt the subject will come up.”
“I got something else to say,” said Vickie. “I’m sorry Officer Elvis got his, even though he never did sound like Elvis. And then there was that one time he did try to get out of paying the full fee for a lap dance in the Champagne Room. That redneck shorted me twenty bucks ’cause he didn’t like my technique. But I let that go a long time back.”
“Yeah, it sounds like you moved on.”
“I ain’t killed Tommy, as Jesus is my savior.”
“You’re not a suspect,” said Darla.
“Praise Jesus. So, if it wouldn’t be impolite, I’d like to go back to sleep, get the rest of my beauty rest.”
“I wouldn’t want to keep you from that.” Darla told Vickie goodbye, and turned her attention to Tommy’s cellphone records for the week before the car bombing. There were four or five calls every day between Tommy and Cill, twenty-nine calls in all. Most of the time it was Tommy calling her. Not all that unusual for a man said to be smitten. There were also a dozen back-and-forths between Tommy and the main number for the Hinds County Sheriff’s Department. Plus a half dozen calls between Tommy and L. N. McClure. That raised a red flag, though it wouldn’t do any good to ask McClure what the calls were about. It was a client-attorney thing, and McClure couldn’t discuss the subject or content of the calls even if he wanted to.
Darla came across ten calls from a business listed as ETA International Inc. The first call was made a week before Tommy was killed. It lasted fifteen minutes. The remaining nine calls were made the day of his murder. The short duration of each of them suggested they all went directly into Tommy’s voice mail. The caller didn’t leave a message and Tommy never returned any of the calls. Who was trying to get in touch with Tommy on the day of his murder and why? Sans any other active leads, this seemed like the time to find out.
“ETA International,” the woman on the other end of the line said, when Darla called. “Have a blessed day.”
“Excuse me,” said Darla, “but I’m trying to reach Electrical Technicians Associates. That wouldn’t be you, would it?”
“I’m afraid not,” said the woman. “ETA is short for Elvis Tribute Artists.”
“Oh, so you’re an association for Elvis impersonators,” asked Darla, sounding as friendly as she could.
“We don’t favor the word
impersonator,
” the woman replied. “We’re a talent-booking agency. We represent the top Elvis tribute artists in the world. Is this something you’re interested in?” Darla’s questions seemed to have made the woman uncomfortable.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” said Darla and ended the conversation.
Checking the street address she found ETA International was located in the newly rehabbed Union Life Insurance building in downtown Jackson. Just three blocks away.
The building directory in the Union Life lobby said ETA
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