5 A Sporting Murder Read Online Free PDF

not far from our
house.
    “Got him,” I told Jill. “He’s
practically a neighbor.”
    “See if he’s home.”
    He wasn’t, but his answering
machine gave me his cell phone number. He answered on the first ring.
    “Dick Ullery?”
    “Yeah. Who’s this?”
    “Greg McKenzie. I’m the man who was
supposed to meet Arnold Wechsel last night. I hope you can help me out.”
    “Man, that was a bad scene.” He
gave a deep sigh. “Whoever shot him oughta get the nasty needle. Arnold was one cool dude.”
    “We’ll have to catch the killer
first. Maybe you can help. I live in Hermitage, not far from your apartment. I’d
like to talk to you tonight if that’s possible.”
    “You’re a private eye, right?”
    “Yes. Arnold called and asked me to
meet him. Have you talked to the police?”
    “No. I guess I should, but I don’t
need my name in the papers over some shit like this.”
    I was a little surprised Phil
hadn’t found him. Pete Lara must have held back when he talked to the
detective. “Are you at the Superspeedway now?” I asked.
    “Yeah, but I’ll be leaving shortly.
Why don’t you come over around seven?”
     
    As soon as we got home, Jill whipped up “a little
something,” in Jill McKenzie terms. She sautéed fresh vegetables in garlic
butter prepared with her unique blend of spices, to go with tilapia filets with
a parmesan-encrusted topping. The finished plate looked like something out of a
gourmet restaurant kitchen. After that mini-feast, we headed over to Dick
Ullery’s apartment.
    The entrance to the complex had
been decorated in colorful flashing garlands. Spotlights bathed large foam
snowmen that stood like frozen sentries at either side of the divided roadway.
Wide parking areas flanked the brick and vinyl-sided buildings. We found a
vacant spot among the mass of cars that included a 2002 Mustang outside
Ullery’s unit.
    I smelled wood smoke from
somebody’s fireplace as I rang the bell. The man who opened the door stood a
little taller than me at six feet plus. Lean as a greyhound, he had the haggard
expression of a man at the end of a rough day. Must have been some mini-crisis
since there were no races this time of year. We followed him inside a
sparely-furnished living room. A gray sofa, a recliner, a large-screen TV, and
a well-stocked bookcase with glass doors were placed seemingly at random. I
suspected it was a symptom of a disorganized lifestyle. He invited us to have a
seat on the sofa.
    “I don’t know what I can tell you,”
he said. “This business has bugged me all day. What could prompt somebody to do
a thing like that? It makes no sense. Sure, Arnold could get a bit testy when
something didn’t go his way, but…” His voice petered out.
    “Did he ever talk about somebody
named Frank?” I asked.
    “Not that I remember. Who’s Frank?”
    “A neighbor heard him talking on
the phone to somebody named Frank. He sounded angry. Do you know of anybody he
was having trouble with?”
    Ullery sat with his arms leaning on
slender thighs, hands gripping his knees, eyes downcast. “He didn’t always
agree with stuff they did at that shop where he worked. I never heard him talk
about any real trouble, though.”
    “You work at the Superspeedway,” I
said. “Is that how you met him?”
    His eyes flicked up toward mine. “Yeah.
I’m involved in PR. Arnold came out one day wanting somebody to show him
around. I was elected. We hit it off pretty good. I found it interesting this
young German guy wanted to be a NASCAR crew chief.”
    “Is that what he was working
toward?”
    “Yeah. It was a long shot. Chiefs
usually get there by working their way up through a pit crew.” He sat up
suddenly and wiped his hands across his face. “Can I get you guys something? I
need a beer.”
    “Go ahead and get your beer,” I
said. “We just finished dinner. We’re fine.”
    He took a few quick strides into
the kitchen and returned with a Bud Lite.
    “I had planned to take