All Chickens Must Die: A Benjamin Wade Mystery Read online

  “Yes, I’m here to see Brad Teague.”

  “Can I ask in what regard you want to see Mr. Teague?”

  “You can ask,” I said, giving levity to the comment. It didn’t fly. I dropped the charm attack. “I’d like to talk with him about some chickens. My name’s Wade.” I didn’t want to flash my credentials so soon in case she might tip off her boss.

  There was something in the way she looked at me that I didn’t like. Nonetheless, she picked up the receiver and spoke into it. The conversation went on longer that I expected. It was as if she was trying to convince him to see me. In the end, she won.

  “Mr. Teague will see you now.”

  I thanked her, keeping eye contact a few seconds too long. She looked away first. She rose and led me back to a short hallway that ended with a corner office. Gently rapping on the door, she opened the door and walked in. “Mr. Teague, this is Mr. Wade. He’s here to talk about some chickens.”

  Brad Teague looked up from whatever he was writing. He peered at us through thick lenses that made his eyes look as big as marbles. I felt the sudden urge to extend two fingers and ask how many. I refrained. I didn’t think he’d pass. His brown suit was rumpled and there was a ring of sweat around his collar.

  “Thank you, Clara.” Teague stood behind his desk and waited for me to approach. I was more interested in the fact that I now knew the name of the receptionist.

  Clara lowered her eyes and head and scurried out of the room. I walked over and shook Teague’s hand. Like the rest of him, his palm was sweaty and clammy. I wanted to wipe my hand. Instead I sat in one of the chairs opposite the desk which, naturally, gave me the chance to wipe my palm on my trousers.

  Teague sat behind his desk and steepled his fingers. “Mr. Wade, how can I help you?”

  I glanced around the room, taking in the sparse interior design. File cabinets lined one wall, a map of Texas hung on another, a picture frame faced Teague. Family?

  “Morning, Mr. Teague. I was wondering what you can tell me about Elmer Smith.” I liked starting off interviews with a bang. It gave me a chance to assess the other person.

  Teague didn’t disappoint. He cleared his throat and discovered new meaning in his desk pad. “Elmer Smith,” he said, delaying his answer. “I may have to look that one up. We get so many requests every week.”

  I hooked a thumb over my shoulder to the lobby. “You aren’t busy now. I waltzed right in like I owned the place.”

  Teague grinned nervously, pulling his cuffs from under his blazer. “Right. It’s an off day.”

  “Off day versus your usual hectic schedule?”

  “Why do you want to know about”—he paused as if he had forgotten the name; he was a bad actor—”Elmer Smith?”

  Sometimes it pays to be up front with a person of interest. I did that all the time when I was a cop. Granted, in those days, I had the badge to back me up. Nowadays, when people learn I’m a private investigator, they tend to clam up and stop talking to me. Teague was already close to that, so I invented a story on the spot.

  “I run a chicken farm down in Fort Bend County and I heard through the grapevine that Smith got in some hot water with y’all. There’s a part of me that wants to gloat, but there’s another part of me that wants to make sure my flock doesn’t fall prey to what he’s into. Can you let me know why he’s on your slaughter list?”

  Teague’s face twitched. He reached to the pack of Camels sitting on his desk and inched one out. He put fire to it and I got to see his shaking fingers. I think I hit a nerve.

  I pressed him. “I got a livelihood to consider. I was in town to see a banker and thought I’d swing by, have a little meeting with you.” I took out my notebook, wondering if a real farmer would do such a thing. “So, what is it?”

  The string of Latin-sounding names that came out of his mouth seemed to be one of those times when a mark starts piling on highfaluting words to hide the truth. I did the phonic spelling thing and wrote down words that sounded like the words he spoke. I’d have to check them later for any grain of truth.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, “but my Latin or whatever language you just spoke is rusty. Can you say it again, in English?”

  Teague cleared his throat. “Mr. Smith’s chickens all are suffering from an ailment that has only one guarantee of success: kill all the chickens.”

  “When’s this going to take place?”

  Teague checked his calendar. “It was already supposed to have happened last week, but the court issued a temporary halt and we’re waiting.”

  I help up a finger. “If his chickens posed an imminent threat to his life and those of the chickens in the area, what judge would grant that kind of order?”

  Holding up his cigarette, Teague shrugged.

  “Who talked to the court?”

  “Smith himself and his no-good lawyer.”

  “Why’s his lawyer trying to stop it?”

  “The chickens are Smith’s livelihood, same as you. Wouldn’t you try to stop the wholesale slaughter of your entire flock?”

  I tilted my head in affirmation. “That I would. And I’d use all available means at my disposal. You know which judge granted the injunction?”

  “Fellow by the name of Briscoe. He’s one of them judges who thinks everything FDR does is a gift from heaven. The man’s just the president. He ain’t Jesus or anything.”

  I decided to keep him talking. “What do you think about the war? Think we’ll stay out of it?”

  “I damn sure hope so,” Teague said. “France’ll pull through fine. They got themselves a damn good army. And that Maginot Line will stop the Germans in their tracks. This thing’ll be over way before they need us in there. Just as well, too. We ain’t ready.”

  “Ready for war, you mean?”

  “Of course. We ain’t ready. Don’t mean we can’t get ready.”

  “What about Roosevelt? Think he’ll run for a third term?”

  “Probably. Who do the Democrats have in reserve?”

  “No one good enough, that’s for sure. So, this Judge Briscoe, he’s a New Dealer?”

  “Yup.” In the course of the conversation, he started to talk more freely and some of his trepidation left him.

  “Who was the one who reported the contamination?”

  “Beg pardon?”

  “The disease or whatever’s afflicting the chickens over at Smith’s farm, who brought it to y’all’s attention?”

  Whatever joviality Teague had let into his system vanished without a trace. “Why is that important to your chickens and farm?”

  I shrugged. “Just want to know. In case it’s one of those vegetarians who think killing all animals is bad. I’d hate to think one of them got you to declare his chickens bad. Y’all got science to back that up?”

  “Of course we have science,” Teague snapped. He stubbed out his cigarette in the glass ashtray. He narrowed his eyes. “You said you live in Fort Bend County. I didn’t catch your name.”

  I stood. “It’s Wade. Thanks for your time. I’ll see myself out.”

  Chapter Four

  I ducked out of Teague’s office and closed the door. From inside, I heard the sound of his chair scraping on wood. To my left was the lobby. To the right was the back door, I hoped. I went right.

  A couple of more turns and I found myself in the break room. The smell of old coffee filled the air. There was a woman standing next to the coffee pot pouring herself a cup. It took me a moment to realize it was the receptionist who I had spoken to when I first got here. What was her name? Clara.

  “You’re not supposed to be back here,” Clara said.

  “I know. I’m just finding my way out without having your boss finding me.”

  “Why?” She put the coffee pot back on the burner.

  “I’m not in the mood to answer any of his questions about me.”

  “Aren’t you just a farmer?” The slight smile turned her lips up and a certain levity came into her eyes.

 
“Not really.” I wasn’t sure if I should tip her off to who I was. For all I knew, she and Teague might’ve been an item. On the other hand, she might be able to give me a little insight into why Teague was ordering the slaughter.

  I closed the door behind me. “The order to kill a flock of chickens. How do y’all usually get the tip that something’s amiss?”

  Clara looked at me with unreadable eyes. She pursed her lips, trying to figure out something, probably like why I was asking a question like that. “Why do you want to know?”

  I put my ear to the door and heard movement down the hall. Time to leave. I scanned the room for another door. Finding it, I made my way across the break room. I put my hand on the knob and turned back to Clara.

  I weighed again the possibility that she was actually working with Teague to flush me out, but discarded that idea almost as soon as I thought it. She just didn’t seem the type.

  “My name’s Wade. I’m a private investigator. I’m looking into Teague and the animal commission to determine why Elmer Smith’s chickens are scheduled for slaughter. You know anything about that?”

  At the mention of my profession, her countenance changed completely. Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open.

  “Can I talk to you?” she asked.

  I nodded to the door. “No time for that now.”

  “Somewhere else then?”

  I pursed my lips. She wanted to spill something. Might as well find out what. “Sure.”

  “I have lunch at eleven thirty. Can you meet me at Jake’s Diner on Washington?”

  “Sure.” Now it was my turn to ask why and I did.

  “Because I think someone is following me.”

  Chapter Five

  Jake’s Diner on Washington was one of those places where a man can get just about anything his heart craves at pretty much any time of day. I knew it well, but considered it an odd choice for Clara to suggest until I reckoned she didn’t want to be seen. Taking a cue, I homesteaded on a booth near the back with little access to the side windows. At eleven forty, she breezed into the joint, looking a little nervous as she scanned the room. I held up my hand and she found me.

  She slid into the booth opposite. Again, she looked over her shoulder and around the room.

  “Who are you hiding from?”

  “I wanted to make sure I wasn’t followed.”

  I scanned the wall of windows behind her, seeing if there were any loiterers around. Other than a newsstand and a crowded bus stop, no one was watching for her.

  I extended my hand. “Benjamin Wade.”

  She shook my hand, her delicate fingers almost tickling my skin. “Clara Milbanks.”

  “What makes you think someone’s following you?”

  Before she could answer, the waitress arrived. “What can I get y’all?”

  I had already reviewed the menu before Clara arrived, but I did it again to give her time to look. “I’ll have the club sandwich and coffee. Whatever she wants, it’s on me.”

  Clara smiled and put the menu down. “I’ll have a chicken salad sandwich and iced tea.”

  The waitress put her pencil behind her ear and moved back to the kitchen to place our order.

  “Okay.” I leaned on my elbows and clasped my hands together. “What happened?”

  “Are you really a private investigator?”

  I pulled out my license and showed her. “How much do you know about the Smith case?”

  “We get to know most cases that come through the office. I know the Smith one because it’s the only one that has a court injunction against it.”

  “That doesn’t happen too often?”

  “Almost never.”

  “You know who contacted y’all, tipped off the commission about the chickens?”

  The waitress brought our drinks and food. You have to give it up to diners like Jake’s: the service is quick and hearty if a little greasy.

  Around a mouthful of chicken salad, Clara said, “That’s actually why I wanted to meet you. I wasn’t sure where I could turn for help.”

  “Help with what?”

  “Help in determining why this guy is following me.”

  I scowled. “Why would someone do that?”

  “Because of what I heard about Mr. Smith.”

  “What did you hear?”

  “About a week ago, a man I had never seen came into the office. I remembered him because he looked out of place by the way he dressed. Kinda like you in a way, but he dressed nicer, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

  “Not at all. I tend to dress medium most of the time. You ought to see me when I’m playing ball.”

  She leaned in closer to me. “Here’s the thing: I wasn’t supposed to be there. It was Danny’s turn to stay late, but she couldn’t do it, so I volunteered for her.”

  “Who’s Danny?”

  “Danielle Bowie. The other secretary you saw in the main office.”

  I put that name with the image of the redhead. They seemed to go together.

  “Okay. Y’all staying late, that a regular thing?”

  “Usually once a week, one of us stays late and works with some of the inspectors on outstanding cases. You wouldn’t believe how far behind we get when we’re neck-deep in all the inspections.”

  “I can imagine. Most of those cases come into your office how?”

  “Random inspections. Or regularly scheduled ones. We do both.”

  “So, if a farmer knows you always come on the fifteenth of a month, he can, I assume, always be ready for you?”

  “Theoretically, yes. Which is why we do spot inspections. Catch them off-guard if they are not keeping their farms and animals clean.”

  “But what about tip offs? You get a lot of them?”

  “We get some.”

  “You obliged to follow them all up?”

  “Usually, yes.”

  “You always send out an investigator?”

  “Yes.”

  “Any advance warning?”

  “Not usually, no.”

  “Tip offs ever come from disgruntled rivals?”

  “From time to time.”

  “You write them off as frivolous or do you have to investigate?”

  “We always investigate. It’s the law.”

  “You ever get tip-offs you know are bogus?”

  She paused, thinking. “Sometimes. The accused, just like in a real court, gets to defend himself. He has to prove his innocence, however. That’s a bit of a change over the typical court system.”

  I sipped my coffee and took more bites out of my sandwich. The bacon had just the right amount of crispy and chewy. Jake’s is one of the few places that sprinkle brown sugar over cooking bacon. The flavor is sublime.

  I couldn’t help noticing the way she ate her food and drank her tea. It was all dainty. She wiped the corners of her mouth with her napkin. Again, I got the sudden realization she must be truly upset to show up in a greasy spoon.

  “Back to what you heard. Tell me about it.”

  She drank off some of her tea and wiped her mouth. How’d she do that and still keep her lipstick in place?

  “So, last week, I was working in Danny’s place. She had to take her elderly mother to the pharmacy and she needed to swap days with me. We did, no big deal, and I saw her off.

  I pulled out my notebook and opened to a blank page.

  “It was just after closing time when the man I told you about showed up in the office. He wore a very nice blue suit and a yellow tie. He had one interesting thing: a tie clip in the shape of a sideways eight.”

  “A sideways eight?”

  “Yeah, you know, a figure eight but on its side. Give me your pen.”

  I did as instructed and she drew the image on a napkin.

  “Oh, that’s the infinity symbol.”

  “Maybe,” she said, “but it didn’t actually meet at the middle. There was some space in there. Not sure why.”

  “So this guy wearing an infinity tie clip co
mes to your office and what?”

  “He met with Mr. Teague. But before that, the new man gave me a weird look. The first thing that was weird was when he saw me. He looked surprised. It was like he was expecting someone else.”

  “Who?”

  “Danielle.”

  I took my pen back and recorded that fact. “What did this guy do when he found out you weren’t Danielle?”

  She paused, thinking. “He gave me a weird look, like the look you give someone who is in the wrong place. It was really strange.”

  She finished off her sandwich and washed it down with the last of her tea. I took the opportunity to send the last mouthful of my sandwich down my gullet. I signaled the waitress for more coffee and tea, then folded my hands and leaned on my elbows.

  “So this man went into Mr. Teague’s office. They closed the door, but the walls are thin and I was the only other person in the building. I could hear my own breath if I wanted to. It was no big thing to hear when the heated voices starting to yell at each other.”

  “What did they say?”

  “Now, even though the walls are thin, I couldn’t hear every word. One thing the man kept saying was ‘It’s your obligation to do this.’ He said it more than once.”

  “Any clue what that meant?”

  She shook her head. “Not at all, but Teague got pretty worked up over it. He yelled back something like, ‘but that’s illegal. The government will know what I’ve done if they investigate.’”

  I wrote that down in my notebook. “Any idea what he was talking about?”

  “I’m not sure, but it was the next day when Mr. Teague ordered the slaughter of Mr. Smith’s chickens.”

  I gazed at her. Now we were getting somewhere. “Okay, so this mystery man comes to your office after hours, has a fight with Teague, and the next day, Teague orders the slaughter?

  She nodded and looked out the window at the noontime sun beating down on the pavement. The heat shimmered off the street. “Mr. Teague pulled me aside two days after that and asked if I had heard anything. I was scared. Of course I heard everything, or the stuff that mattered most. But I couldn’t say anything or he’d fire me. Or worse.”