“Didn’t want it. While I was in the office filling out the application form, a truck came roaring up with an injured man inside. And by injured, I mean bad. His arm had been mangled by a piece of machinery. It was hanging on by a thread, literally. He was in shock. Seemed to take forever for the ambulance to get there.
“Meanwhile, Otterman went on a rampage, yelling at everybody. He ordered some men to get the truck cleaned out. Blood was sloshing in the floorboard, and that’s no exaggeration.
“He told two other men to get back out to the rig where the accident had taken place and to fix whatever had malfunctioned before OSHA came calling. They were also told to pass out cash ‘bonuses’ to the crewmen who had witnessed the accident.”
Crawford said, “He bribed them to go deaf, dumb, and blind when the federal inspectors arrived.”
“Exactly. During all this ranting and raving, he didn’t show an iota of concern for the man who was in danger of bleeding out. That changed when the EMTs arrived. It was like somebody had tripped a switch inside him. He put on quite a show. Saint Chuck. Benevolent and caring. All but laid on hands and prayed over the guy he’d taken no notice of up till then.”
Conrad made a face. “Sickened me. Broke as I was and needing that job, I tore up the form, left, and never went back. I’d rather be a career drunk than work for a man that two-sided. If I was still a prosecutor, I’d be on him like white on rice.”
“Looking for what?”
“Don’t know,” he replied to Crawford. “But I think Mr. Chuck Otterman must have a moonlighting business.”
“What makes you think so?”
“When he’s in these clubs—”
“Which clubs?”
“Like Smitty’s places.”
“You’ve seen him before tonight?”
“Lots of times.” Conrad looked over at Holly and gave her a pathetic smile. “I’ve been known to patronize some of the seedier establishments around. But I’ve turned over a new leaf.”
She smiled at him. “You’re sober now?”
“Sixty-four days.”
“Excellent start. Congratulations.”
“I’m also gainfully employed.”
“Where?”
“At the sawmill.”
During their chummy exchange, Crawford had left his perch on the arm of the sofa and made a circuit of the living room. It was straighter than he’d ever seen it. He looked through the open doorway into the kitchen. The sink was clear of dirty dishes, the counter free of coagulated spills, the floor swept. On surface, it appeared as though Conrad might truly be making an earnest stab at sobriety.
But his history didn’t foreshadow success. Crawford had been disappointed too many times to believe that this new leaf would be any different from many others, so he doused his flicker of optimism and brought his mind back to Otterman.
Speaking his thought aloud, he said, “He supports local politicians and judges, but spends his evenings in strip joints.”
“Where he drinks only moderately if at all,” Conrad said. “He ignores the dancing girls. But he’s never idle. He holds meetings like the ones he held today.”
Crawford had already heard this from Smitty. “Who’d he meet with today?”
“It was a freakin’ parade,” Conrad said. “And, like anybody at a parade, I took pictures.”
He reached into his pants pocket and withdrew a cell phone, which surprised Crawford, since Conrad had never owned one.
“Where’d you get that?”
“Winn-Dixie.”
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
“Why?”
Conrad looked at him with annoyance. “You want to see these or not?”
Crawford took the phone from him and accessed the photos gallery. “Why are you just now getting around to telling me that you have pictures of Otterman?”
“I was pacing myself. Besides, you kept interrupting.”
As Crawford punched through the photos in the file, Conrad continued to talk.
“See the two guys sitting at the table nearest the booth? Bodyguards. I nicknamed them Frick and Frack, the shorter of them being Frick. But they’re no-nonsense. Armed. I saw the bulges. They came in with Otterman, left with him, were very attentive the whole time he was there, didn’t drink, weren’t distracted by the show.”
“Why would he need bodyguards?” Holly asked.
“Good question,” Crawford said. An even better question was why Smitty hadn’t mentioned Otterman being there today, knowing that Crawford would have paid him for that information. He would take that up with the slimy bastard later. Right now, Conrad had his attention.
“Men came and went,” he was saying. “Otterman talked to each separately, and their conversations ranged in length.”
“Did anything change hands?” Crawford asked.
“Not that I saw, and I was looking for things like envelopes of cash. Maybe the clubs are only used as a place to negotiate terms, and the transfers take place somewhere else.”
Conrad could be right. Also, Crawford had done enough computer-age detective work to know that bank account passwords were as good as, often better than, legal tender. “Okay, go on.”
“That’s basically it,” Conrad said. “He left with Frick and Frack. I put on my one-man show.”