Murder in the Smokies by Paula Graves

have been heavy, since he lifted it with little trouble and set it aside.
    Turning to the truck, he opened the back doors wide and stepped back quickly. Muddy water spilled out of the back of the truck, and Ivy realized the bay was built at a slight incline to tilt downward toward the drain.
    Mr. Davenport must have noticed her interest. “That’s our cleaning bay. We get farmers who rent trucks to take chickens and pigs to the butcher, and folks like Stan Thomas there who rent trucks to carry live fish in aerated tanks to restaurants that want their fish to be as fresh as possible. Those kinds of transport jobs can get messy, and I’ve found that everyone benefits if we offer a discount to the renters to muck out the trucks themselves before we do the final sanitation.”
    If the muddy water were red instead of brown, Ivy thought, it would be easy to imagine the back of the truck as the scene of a bloody murder. “Do you supervise the initial cleanings?” she asked.
    “No. We don’t have the time or personnel for that. And if our cleaners go in and we can document that the renter did a slapdash job, we’ll cut the amount of the discount. Renters know that, so they usually do a good job.”
    “Is the lot open at night?”
    Davenport slanted a curious look at her. “The warehouse is locked up tight, but no, we don’t lock up the parking area or the cleaning bay.”
    “So, theoretically, anyone could clean out their truck after hours?”
    “Well, not anyone. You could drain stuff out, I suppose, but the only way you can get the washing equipment to work is to have the keycard for the water unit.” Davenport nodded toward Stan Thomas, who had just pulled something from his pocket and ran it down a slot set into the side of the large tank. He pressed a trigger on the hose nozzle and water shot out and hit the inside of the truck with a thump. “You turn in the keycard with the truck. The water can be heated to a high enough temperature to meet sanitation requirements.”
    “Do you have video surveillance on the parking lot?”
    “Right around the buildings, yes.”
    “Not the entrance or the cleaning bay?”
    “No. We park the vehicles in the big garages at night, and that’s locked up and protected by alarms. There’s nothing in the parking lot worth bothering, and we’ve never had a problem with random after-hours washing.” Davenport shot her a wan smile. “Are you asking for a particular reason?”
    “I’m not sure,” she admitted, watching the murky water running out of the back of the rented truck. “Would it be possible to get a copy of all your rental agreements for the past five months?”
    Davenport frowned. “That seems unnecessarily intrusive, Detective.”
    “I could arrange for a warrant,” she said, although she wasn’t entirely sure that was true, especially since she wasn’t even in her own jurisdiction.
    “Then that’s what I would suggest you do,” Davenport said firmly. He smiled again to soften his words. “I don’t mean to be difficult.”
    “No, I understand,” she assured him, and she did. People had a right to privacy, even in a murder investigation. She’d try to get what she wanted going the legal route and hope she could make a Blount County lawman see things her way. She’d need local law enforcement to get a warrant.
    “If you come across anything strange or remember anything you care to share, I can be reached at this number.” She handed him one of her cards. “Thank you for your help.” She watched George Davenport head back to the office, wincing as she saw his legs seem to buckle a little more with every step. Definitely ill, she thought. Should he even be at work?
    As she started toward the department-issued Ford sedan she’d driven to Maryville, she looked for Sutton’s truck. It wasn’t parked anywhere in the lot. Of course, she hadn’t noticed it when she came in, too focused on the questions she’d wanted to ask.
    She pulled out her cell