Free The Death of Lorenzo Jones by Brad Latham Page A

she had to retrieve it.
    “Did Mrs. Jones look upset when Lorenzo drank the coffee?”
    “No. Why?”
    “Nothing.”
    “She poisoned him! That’s it, isn’t it?” The kid leapt up.
    Lockwood stared into space. Could the kid be right? Mrs. Jones
had
filled the coffee thermos.
    “Yeah, the only trace would be in the thermos. And someone had taken it from the wreck. Maybe,” Lockwood mumbled. “But this
     is just a
theory
of mine, Stinky.”
    Lockwood admonished Stinky to keep his mouth closed about all this. The kid agreed.
    Lockwood next went over to two guys who were fooling with a plane with the oil leak.
    One had the look of a mechanic, as Lockwood would picture one: strongly built, firm-jawed, steady, and with energetic eyes.
     He held a huge wrench like a caveman might hold a dinosaur bone before he whacked you one. Or maybe the guy’s five o’clock
     shadow just gave him a primitive look.
    The caveman was Rodney Kepper, and the pilot was Hank Deacon, a small, effeminate blond man with a nervous look and thin hands.
     Lockwood made him out to be some rich creep with a penchant for flying.
    Deacon was from out of state, so he wasn’t important. He had made an unscheduled stop. But Kepper was one of the people Amanda
     had said were present the day of the crash.
    Kepper gave Lockwood five minutes after Lockwood told him who he was. Seems Transatlantic insured Rodney Kepper also, and
     Kepper didn’t want to jeopardize his policy.
    “Yeah, I was here, but I just saw the smoke, that’s all. I was in the hangar. Heard screaming and went out to take a look.
     Stinky was crying, Mrs. Jones was screaming, and Wade was taking it coolly, just standing there. Stinky loved that guy. Lorenzo
     got Stinky a pass to the games and taught him about planes and all. Stinky and Amanda and I ran out to the wreck. It was hopeless.
     I burned my hands.”
    “What’d you see at the crash?”
    “Well, by the time we got the portable extinguishers playing on the plane, it was way too late for Lorenzo. I cut him out,
     after smashing what was left of the cockpit window.”
    “What next?”
    “Amanda vomited. The body wasn’t pretty, what was left of it. We just let the plane burn.”
    “Did anybody happen to see a thermos?”
    Kepper’s eyes became like slits. “Mister, you’re asking about a thermos, and I just was talking about a man dying. What kind
     of guy are you?”
    Lockwood had to admit it sounded callous. “But it may be important,” he finished.
    Kepper didn’t accept that. Or maybe he wanted to stop talking. He gripped the huge wrench tighter and said he was through
     talking.
    Lockwood thanked him and gave him his card. Not that he figured he would ever hear from Kepper.
    Now to give Amanda a little bit of her own medicine. Lockwood made his way back to the hanger where Amanda, smiling like the
     Mona Lisa, had slipped into a green dress she filled out well for the ride he had promised.
    “Will this do? It’s all I keep at the field.”
    “Fine.” It was fine. “Much better than the coveralls.” He marveled at the transformation. She didn’t look tough at all now,
     and he had that old feeling. This independent woman! A few years older than Robin, a lot more knowledgeable. He wondered about
     this guy in the army that used to be her buddy in air shows. Maybe they had been lovers. Probably.
    They got in the Cord and roared off. “She has twelve cylinders,” Lockwood said.
    “She?”
    “All cars are female.”
    “My plane is a
he
. Freddie Freestrut.”
    They got off the bumpy service road and onto the White-stone. He paid the ten-cent toll and they took the Hutchinson Parkway
     into Westchester. He opened up the Cord a bit. Then a bit more. It wasn’t crowded at this time of day. He had done 60 m.p.h.
     on this road many times and gotten only one ticket.
    “This car needs wings,” Amanda remarked. “How fast can she really go?”
    “In a few minutes I’ll show you.”
    He floored it. “Hold