Surest Poison, The by Chester D. Campbell

human race. I was quite comfortable out
there with my creature friends.”
    Mike was the one who had found the
hillside property and negotiated the purchase for Sid. When he replied,
there was a smile in his voice. “She flattered you, didn’t she? Charmed you, cajoled you.”
    “She did all the above, even offered to
pay for my private investigator license.”
    “Jaz can be more persuasive than a TV
evangelist.”
    “She claimed you told her I needed to get
back into the real world and do what I’m good at.”
    Mike answered slowly. “I may have said
that.”
    “Okay, I guess it was equal parts you and
Jaz. What I can’t figure is why you put her onto me, knowing what a charmer
I am. I recall hearing that you two were an item.”
    Mike laughed. “How many did you charm up
on your mountaintop? Anyway, that’s ancient history. Jaz and I are just
friends now. You two, though, you’d make a great pair. I’m sure I told you
about her experience in the ring. I remember your mom telling me what you
did to a kid once with boxing gloves.”
    “You’re stretching things, Michael. You
only mentioned she’d been a boxer.”
    “Not just a boxer. She was tops in her
weight class. The only problem was women professional boxers didn’t make
enough to live on. Since she’d been with the Security Police in the Air
Force, she joined the Metro Police Department so she could pay her bills.”
    Sid smiled to himself. “She’s something
else, all right.”
    “Just wait till you get to know her a
little better.” Mike chuckled. “Now tell me about this new case.”
    Sid gave him a quick rundown on the TCE
spill and its aftermath.
    “And you don’t have a clue where this
Decker guy is?”
    “Not really.”
    “Well, good luck, buddy,” Mike said. “The
good news is you’re in great shape financially. Just don’t go out and buy
any airplanes.”
    A little later, Sid got a call from
Hershel Owens, who had just arrived home from school.
    “What does a private investigator want
with me?” he asked.
    Sid explained that he was investigating a
case in Ashland City and asked if Owens had once lived there.
    “We left about five years ago,” he said.
    “I’m trying to locate former employees of
Auto Parts Rehabbers. I was told a boy stayed at your house when you lived
there, perhaps a nephew, who worked for the company. Is my info correct?”
    “Referring to Larry
Irwin. He wasn’t a nephew,
though. He was the son of a cousin I was close to while growing up. The
boy’d had some problems, gotten into serious trouble. But he had made a real
effort at getting straightened up. We agreed he could live with us if he
found a job. Turned out he knew somebody at the Parts Rehabber place who
helped him get on out there.”
    “Was he working for them when the plant
closed?”
    “Sure was. It happened without warning.
One day he went to work and they told him they were closing. No advance
notice.”
    “What did he do after that?”
    “He’d studied automotive maintenance in
high school and got a job as a mechanic in Ashland City. His mother died,
and I haven’t been in contact with him in a while. I’m sure he still lives
in Ashland City, though.”
    “Do you have an address and phone number?
I’d like to talk to him.”
    “Hold a second.” Owens was back moments
later and read out the information.
    When Sid tried the phone number, he got
an answering machine. Still at work, he thought. He left a message asking
for a callback.
    After tearing off the sheet with Irwin’s
contact info, Sid stared at the blank page on his note pad. It stared back
like a silent challenge. He decided to try an exercise he sometimes used to
generate fresh ideas. The scheme involved jotting down random thoughts about
the case as they flashed through his mind. First came Hank Keglar, a known shady character, who sold the property to Auto Parts
Rehabbers and took it back. Sid had tangled with Kegler