Free All Chickens Must Die: A Benjamin Wade Mystery by Scott Dennis Parker Page A

screech proved me wrong.
    The scream was like a carrion call. I knew the men after me would
waste no time in zeroing in on me. No more pretense of quiet now. I jumped over
the chain-link fence and landed perfectly, still running. I stopped at the edge
of the house long enough to gauge where my car was. I had guessed right. It was
one address to the east.
    Throwing all caution to the wind, I broke away from the house,
exposing myself to the streetlamp’s faint glow. Shouts of my pursuers could be
heard along with the dogs and the screecher woman. It was a cacophony.
    Running full tilt, I plunged my hand into my pocket and found my
keys. I held them at the ready and thanked myself that I never locked my door.
    Reaching my car, I threw open the door and lunged behind the steering
wheel. I banged my foot on the clutch and turned the key.
    Now, I pride myself on keeping my car in good working order and
the old girl didn’t fail me then. She started right up. I threw the car into
gear and engineered a U-turn and sped out of the neighborhood as fast as the
car could take me. The men in the two chase cars, stuck on the other street,
wouldn’t be able to overtake me in time.
    I cut left, then right, then found my way to Highway 90. I turned
into town and put the pedal to the metal. I checked my rearview mirror, but saw
no sign of the two cars.
    I had made it.

Chapter Fourteen
     
    With my heart pounding rapidly, I
reassessed the situation bringing in the new information I had learned. The
thief, this Marlowe person, had stolen a diamond from Aldridge’s house and
promptly lost it in Smith’s chicken farm. The slaughter was ordered, I
presumed, so that Marlowe or a crony could investigate each fowl for traces of
the diamond. Once he found the real thing, he’d deliver it to Kruger.
    Or keep it himself. Why else ask Holcombe to create a fake
diamond? Then there was Peete, the knife man. He named the farm as the likely
spot where the diamond was. Chances were, he’d go there. I had a strong
suspicion he wouldn’t care about Mr. or Mrs. Smith’s safety. I did, and slowed
my car long enough to make another turn. I needed to get out and warn them
before Peete found his way there.
    Fifteen minutes later, I pulled into the lane leading to Smith’s
house. The lights were on, the yellow glow slanted into the night. Smith opened
the door even before I had reached the front porch. One of his hands was
holding something just to the side of the door. I didn’t know what it was but
assumed it was a rifle. “Who’s there?”
    “It’s me, Mr. Smith.” I held up my hands in deference.
    “Oh, Mr. Wade, you startled me,” he said, his hand now coming
into view. He turned on the porch light and stepped out. “What can I do for you
tonight?”
    I walked forward and stopped at the foot of the steps. “I’d like
to go visit your chickens. But first, I need to make a phone call.”
    Mr. and Mrs. Smith let me into their house and I placed a call to
Leroy Dwight.
    “Let me guess,” Leroy said, “you need something else from me.”
    “Yes and no.”
    “Well, what is it?”
    I’m not usually one to chat about my cases with members of the
police, but I definitely could use a hand. I gave him the short version,
emphasizing that the Smith family needed protection but leaving out the fact
that a diamond might be lost in the coop.
    “So you want a couple of guys to come out there and stand guard?”
    “Yup.”
    “The pay is good?”
    “Yup.”
    “I know a guy I can trust. We’ll both be there soon.”
    A few minutes later, Smith and I both had on work boots—his feet
were just one size larger than mine— and work gloves. He and I carried flashlights.
Mrs. Smith carried a lantern. Together, the three of us tromped over to the
chicken pen and coop.
    “A diamond,” Mrs. Smith said. “Is that what that man was after?”
    “Yes, ma’am. The thief lost the diamond in your chicken coop and,
not knowing which chicken might have eaten