Surest Poison, The by Chester D. Campbell Page B

Williamson County, a few
miles down the road from where Jaz lived. A recent census report listed
Williamson as one of the wealthiest counties in the nation. The former
convict had moved into the middle of the high-rollers.
    “What’s the name of his shop?” Sid asked.
    “Rack’s Auto Repair. According to my
information, it’s doing quite well.”
    Sid paused. “With the rush hour traffic,
I’d have a rough time trying to get down there before they close.”
    “I can talk to him,” Jaz said. “It won’t
take me long to get over there.”
    “Okay. See if you can get any line on
Decker, or the TCE spill. But you’d better get a move on. Don’t be late for
the Felons game.”
    She snickered. “Don’t worry, I’ve got the bells out, ready to strap on.”
      
     
     
    15
     
     
     
    Sid was
looking over the notes he had
scribbled about Pete Rackard when Jerry Jackson, the electronic
countermeasures expert, called.
    “I found your client’s problem,” Jackson
said.
    “How bad was it?”
    “Did you go by his office and talk to
him?”
    “Yes.”
    “Then somebody knows whatever you told
him.”
    “You found some transmitters?”
    “One in the phone,
one on a shelf behind his desk. I have them if you’d like to add to your gadget collection.”
    “Thanks, I’ll pass.”
    “It wasn’t a very sophisticated
operation, but good enough. Probably monitored from a
setup nearby that would be checked every few hours. They must have
pulled it out. I did a search for the receiver but couldn’t find anything.”
    “Any idea who’s behind it?” Sid asked.
    “It has all the earmarks of a guy I’ve
run into before. Same equipment, same M.O. He’s a
PI out of Atlanta. There’s no way to tell who the client was.”
    Sid thought about the two hoods who had knocked on his door last night. “I have
another job for you, Jerry. I want you to set up an alarm system and some
cameras at my house.”
     
    The rain had ended, but clouds shrouded the early evening. Headlights glistened in long
streaks on the wet pavement as Jaz drove through Old Hickory Boulevard
toward Hillsboro Road. It would be a less hectic route this time of day,
bringing her into Franklin near the location of Rackard’s repair shop. She
drove through an area of homes and pastureland that had supported a thriving
plantation economy until the Civil War reared its ugly head. Now the
peaceful scene of rolling countryside populated by horse farms and
high-ticket homes, Williamson County had attracted the headquarters of
several major corporations.
    Jaz parked her Lexus in front of Rack’s
Auto Repair, located in a brick building with tall, arched windows that
resembled old-time structures in the historic downtown area. Cars pulled in
through overhead doors on one side. Dressed in jeans and a matching blue
shirt, she walked up to the high-topped counter in the small lobby area. A
young man in coveralls, his red ball cap turned backward, grinned at her.
    “What do you need, ma’am?”
    Jaz smiled back and leaned her elbows on
the counter. “I need to talk to Pete Rackard.”
    His eyes took in her face and as far
south as he could manage. “Sure. He’s in the back, just finishing up, I
think. You’ll have to leave your car overnight if you want anything done,
though. We’re about to close.”
    Jaz handed him a business card, a plain
one she’d just had printed with her name, phone number and Private
Investigator. “Just get him for me, okay?”
    “My pleasure,” he said. He glanced at the
card as he walked into the open area of the garage.
    Typical young, over-sexed male, she
thought. While he’s back there, he’ll be working on a good opening line to
find out if I’m available. Dummy ought to know I’m old enough to be his
mother.
    He was back in a couple of minutes with a
big grin on his face. “Pete’ll be with you in a minute. He told me to see if
I can help you. Can I get you a Coke or