Where Law Ends

By Elizabeth True

A collection of unscrupulous lawyers, predatory conservators, and inept doctors complicate an investigation into the death of a scheming Charleston socialite. As Detective Audrey Durant unscrambles a family battle for the estate of the not-yet-dead Philip Campbell, she draws from South Carolina's colorful history while facing the modern realities of a health system that preys upon the elderly.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Elizabeth True
• Release date: Oct 5, 2010
• ISBN: 9781452387789

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Where Law Ends

By

Elizabeth Hatcher True

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2009 by Elizabeth Hatcher True. All rights reserve.

This book is available in print at most online retailers

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters and incidents are either from the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Thanks to my many friends and neighbors who have listened for so long to the talk of my forthcoming book. Here it is!

For my South Carolina friends, Sally and Carolyn, who proofread and checked up on my memories and research, thanks a million; Frances, who always encouraged; Louise, a lifelong friend, who shared her historical knowledge; and so many others along the way.

To Southside Writers Group, a tremendous thank you for teaching me how to write and pushing me to make every page better -- Helen, for her great leadership, David, Chuck, Steve, Yvonne, Diana, Laverne, Georgia, Maria, Arlen, Stacy and Wayne, Lisa, Gary, Deb, Dolores, Patricia and Miriam -- and all who dropped by from time to time to listen and comment.

And a great big thank you to:

My sister, Randy, for reading my first draft;

My brother, Jimmy, who answered my many legal questions;

My sons, Robbie and Grady, who provided both advice and encouragement;

And, lastly, to my husband who refused to read even one word for fear of discouraging me. I won the race -- my book is published, but your boat still doesn’t float!

Unlimited power is apt to corrupt the minds of those who possess it;

and this I know, …, that

where law ends, tyranny begins.

William Pitt

CHAPTER 1

SPRING 2003

The squeak of a worn sneaker broke the hallway’s silence. Sarah Johnson stopped at the landing, straightened her starched, white apron, rubbed her arthritic knee, then continued up the stairs, her shoe squeaking with each step.

She tapped on the bedroom door, Mrs. Campbell, your breakfast is ready.

Placing her ear next to the jamb, she listened, waiting, gently knocking. Your breakfast is getting cold.

Puzzled, she turned the knob, pushing the door open a crack, peeking in. Mrs. Campbell? She waited. Time to get up. She strolled into the room, picking the bathrobe up from the cedar chest at the foot of the bed. It’s nine o’clock. Rise and shine!

Silence.

Sarah squinted -- red smudge on forehead. What was it?

She reached her hand out to shake Mrs. Campbell awake. The arm, locked in position, did not respond.

Dead stillness. Sudden realization. A piercing scream echoed around the room, ricocheting from wall to wall. Jesus, mercy, she shouted, staggering out the doorway. She clung to the banister as she stumbled down the steps.

Lurching into the kitchen, reaching for the phone, her hands trembling, her finger jammed two numbers at once. She pushed the off button, hard, dropping the receiver to the floor.

Breathless, Hurry. Hurry. Oh, Lordy. They might still be in here.

Retrieving the phone, again she tried, pressing the numbers. Finally, 9-1-1.

***

Loud finger-thumping on a microphone startled Audrey Durant from a daydream. Lifting herself from a slouch, she stifled a yawn with her hand then reached for more coffee.

Thank y’all for coming this morning. I hope you enjoyed your breakfast, the speaker began. We’re here to honor Solicitor Buzz Pinckney with the Charleston County Bar Association Foundation Award…

Audrey rolled her eyes, watching Buzz’s smug satisfaction, his chest puffed out, Superhero-like.

…Laws form the foundation on which society is built. Justice, the brick and mortar that binds the foundation together, is created from the respect for the rights of all members of society. When laws are not enforced and the citizenry not protected, the mortar’s sand and water no longer bind, the bricks fall and the foundation crumbles.

Oohh, Audrey perked up and with a vampish Mae West pose whispered to her table companions. I’m being vibrated. Slowly, she stood to leave, pushing her chair backwards, knocking it, clunking, onto the hardwood floor. Two hundred heads turned bringing the room to a sudden silence. Sorry, she mouthed, then pulled the chair back up and dashed out of the room.

Geez, Billy. It’s worse than church! Audrey gasped.

Church? Where the hell are you?

I’m at that God-awful Mighty Mouse award ceremony for Buzz.

Well, you need to get your butt over here to Society Street. I’ll fill you in when you get here.

***

Audrey made her way to the quiet Ansonborough neighborhood. Orange-and-white barricades blocked the entrance to Society Street from East Bay on one end and Anson Street on the other. A uniformed officer walked toward Audrey's car as she pulled to the side of the road. Recognizing her, he slid the barrier out of the way and waved her through.

Inching slowly down the street, Audrey’s eyes walked from house to house as she passed the 3-story single homes built in the early 1700’s. She knew the neighborhood well, an area that Charlestonians referred to as Slightly North of Broad -- not quite meeting up to the desirability of the stately homes South of Broad, but nonetheless, expensive and owned by socially-connected professionals.

She parked her car opposite a gray stucco house. Yellow crime tape draped across the front door was the only sign that things were not as they should be. A canvas bag slipped from her lap as she stepped out of the car, scattering papers onto the street. She scooped them up, then walked to the front of the car to examine the two right-side tires teetering on the edge of the sidewalk. Disgusted, she returned to the still-open door, tossed the papers onto the passenger seat and climbed back into the car. Slowly she backed the car off the sidewalk, sliding the tires along the jagged concrete edge.

A narrow sidewalk separated the home from the street. Shielded by banister spindles, a staircase led to the second-story front door. Two crepe myrtles formed an archway over the entrance to a brick driveway where a lonely Lincoln Town Car snuggled next to the house taking advantage of the shade of a live oak. Behind the driveway, a wrought iron gate led to a brick patio.

A large, black-and-white van, identified as the Forensics Services Division of the Police Department, idled in front of the home of Loris Campbell. Billy Lonsford, Audrey’s partner-in-training, stood beside it. His Marine Corps high-and-tight left only a stubble of sandy blonde hair along the back and sides with a one-quarter-inch sprout over the top of his head. A daily routine of weightlifting and one-armed push-ups helped maintain the thick neck and bodybuilder pecs acquired during four years of active duty.

Fill me in, Audrey directed as she approached Billy.

Shit, what happened to your car?

Audrey turned back toward the vehicle. Damn, she said, looking at the right-front tire, flattened.

Billy reached his hand out, Give me the keys.

We can get it later. Bring me up to speed here, first.

Billy turned a page in his notes, A 911 call came in to the station at nine o’clock this morning from Sarah Johnson, Loris Campbell’s housekeeper. Ms. Johnson had her own key and the security code to disable the alarm. She entered the house through the back door and prepared Mrs. Campbell’s breakfast -- her usual drill.

As Billy finished his summation of the events of the morning, Sarah and a police officer emerged from the backyard. The day was crisp with wisteria and jasmine scenting the air. The delicate faces of yellow and purple petunias peered up from clay containers strategically placed around the driveway to receive the full benefit of the sun.

Audrey grabbed a green and white box of donuts from the hood of a police car and offered one to Sarah as she walked toward her.

No, I can't eat, Sarah replied, her voice trembling. I can't even think.

Audrey studied Sarah’s dazed expression. Her smooth, chestnut-colored skin made it difficult to estimate her age.

Ms. Johnson, I'm Audrey Durant. I'm in charge of investigating this case. I know you’re overwhelmed right now, but there are a few quick questions I’d like to ask.

Sarah nodded, rubbing her forehead with her hand.

When you arrived, was the alarm set?

Yes.

Did you notice anything out of place -- unusual?

No, her voice shook. After I discovered Mrs. Campbell's body, I called the police and came outside to wait.

Did you move anything? Did you disturb anything in the house?

I fixed breakfast -- like I always do. I picked up a few things in the bedroom when I went in to wake Mrs. Campbell. But, other than that -- I don't think so. I'm just so confused… Sarah’s voice quivered.

I understand, Audrey paused. Did Mrs. Campbell live alone?

Yes. Her husband’s in a nursing home up in Emporia -- Alzheimer's.

Try to remember anything that might have seemed unusual. I know right now that you’re trying to come to terms with what’s happened here. Keep running things through your mind. Something might come to you later when you’re thinking more clearly.

Audrey watched Sarah’s trembling hand straighten the crisply ironed gray uniform, then twist the white apron back into position. She understood how to question a witness having interviewed everyone from the most powerful government officials to the destitute and homeless while cutting her teeth in the larger Washington, D.C. crime market. More often than not, the cases included a hodgepodge of characters each requiring a different approach. Over twenty years’ time she had honed her skills, knowing when to press and when to back off. This was one of those times that pressure would only lead to confusion, and an unhinged, muddled witness would not help the investigation.

Tom, take Ms. Johnson to headquarters, Audrey tossed a reassuring smile to Sarah, then pulled the police officer aside, Treat her with kid gloves. No mistakes. You got it?

The officer nodded.

No mistakes, Audrey muttered to Billy, Attorneys are a dime a dozen in this state, and barely a handful of them are competent. One thing they all know though -- the first line of defense in a murder case -- improperly gathered evidence.

***

Audrey was a detective by profession, but South Carolina history was her passion. Right now, her thoughts were occupied by the ghosts that haunted Charleston. She didn’t believe the tales so often told about the apparitions that played games on people around the historical city, but there were a lot of people who did. Long ago, she concluded that they were nothing more than the cooked up sightings of spirited, maybe even intoxicated, minds. But the true believers were convinced that the curse was the result of the four days in 1729 when 29 pirates swung by their necks from oaks in Battery Park. With each death that she investigated, she worried that if the crime went unsolved, another ghost story would take root in Charleston. So now, as she trudged up the steps to the back door of the home of Loris Campbell, what Audrey hoped for most was an obvious killer. Experience, however, told her that an easy resolution was rarely the case.

A police officer posted at the back door handed Audrey a clipboard as she approached.

Good morning, the officer greeted.

Well, maybe not so good, Audrey commented as she signed her name and time of entry.

Hi, Joe. Audrey entered the kitchen where criminalists were gathering evidence.

Hi, Audrey.

What can you tell me?

No forced entry.

Audrey’s eyes focused on the doorway. The security panel on the wall just inside the rear entrance indicated that the alarm system was currently disarmed.

Any ideas on who might have done this?

That’s your job. My job is to collect the evidence.

Audrey passed through the kitchen into the dining room where a silver service glittered atop the dark mahogany buffet. An oriental rug, stretched from baseboard-to-baseboard, warmed the bold green color painted on the walls.

Brings home the sudden, unpredictability of death, doesn’t it, Audrey said to Billy, pointing at the cold, uneaten breakfast still sitting on the table.

Audrey's shoes echoed through the hallway, bouncing back from the cathedral ceiling as she walked across the hardwood floor to the living room.

Wow. This is nice.

A baby grand piano with framed snapshots arranged across the top occupied one corner of the large room. A sofa and armchairs nestled close to the fireplace. Two French doors led to a back veranda which descended to a brick patio below.

Were these locked?

Yep, both locked from the inside. No indication of entry.

Audrey glanced at the top of the doors where bolts slid into the frame. A small sticker in the lower left corner of one of the glass panes indicated that the house was alarmed with a security system.

Audrey lingered as she absorbed the brilliance of the colorful patio. Pink azaleas in full bloom formed a border around the entire back yard. A pot containing yellow and purple petunias sat on a black wrought iron table. Ivy climbed the brick wall on the north side and a baker's rack stood in front with a collection of cast-iron frogs. At the far end, a bench wrapped around an oak tree with a plaster toad seated comfortably at its foot.

Murder is not restricted to the poor, is it?

I guess nobody’s immune, Billy agreed.

I can already see the headlines, ‘Ansonborough Neighborhood Rocked by Socialite’s Murder.’

From the living room, Audrey and Billy entered the main entry hall. Fresh daffodils arranged in a crystal vase stood on an intricately carved table. A heavy brass deadbolt lock secured the front door and a bolt slid into the frame at the top. Sunshine streamed into the hallway through narrow windows. In the lower corner of one pane a sticker warned that the house was protected by a security service.

Locked from the inside? Audrey asked.

Billy nodded.

No alarm went into the security company?

Once again, Billy nodded. According to the security company, the alarm was never triggered.

From the entry hall, Audrey and Billy proceeded up the stairway to the bedrooms. Family pictures hung on both sides of the hallway. Audrey paused to view some of the photographs.

Just an ordinary family. Audrey stared at a black-and-white snapshot of a young woman and three small children standing in front of a Ford Falcon, smiling for the camera.

The door to the master bedroom was open.

A large canopy bed created the room’s centerpiece. Audrey walked across the off-white carpeting toward the cedar chest where a bathrobe and slippers lay. She moved with ease around the room barely noticing the body of Mrs. Campbell still propped against the bed’s headboard.

A dressing table with the center drawer slightly open stood between two double-hung windows. A sterling silver comb and brush set, freshly polished, sparkled on the right side of the dressing table. A matching powder box sat next to it.

Were the doors to the bathroom and closet open when the police arrived?

The closet was partially open. The bathroom was closed, Billy responded after glancing at his notes.

I assume these windows were also locked from the inside when the police arrived? Audrey asked.

Yep, no indication of entry here. Three stories up -- it would’ve been kind’a hard. No ladder outside. No marks in the ground where a ladder would’ve pushed in.

Audrey opened the door to the master bathroom. Green towels monogrammed with LCA hung from brass racks. Audrey muttered as she looked at the initials, Loris A. Campbell.

Were there any indications that someone took a shower this morning? Audrey asked as she walked toward the closet door.

Everything in there was dry when we arrived.

She opened the door to reveal a walk-in closet full of clothes and shoes. Liz Claiborne, Versace, Louis Vuitton, she said, peeking at labels. Nothing but the best for Mrs. Campbell. She must have a thousand outfits in here! No men's clothing though. Ms. Johnson said her husband’s in a nursing home?

Yeah. Alzheimer’s -- for quite a while apparently. I guess all of his clothing is probably at the nursing home.

Audrey turned her attention to the body on the bed.

No signs of a struggle, she commented as she leaned forward, putting her face only inches from the body, studying the gunshot wound. One clean shot to the forehead, close range. Very little blood spatter.

Leaving the master bedroom, Audrey whistled, then broke into song, Here I come to save the day…

Billy looked at her, puzzled.

You know, Mighty Mouse. Buzz is going to be all over this one. Think of the publicity he’ll get. An upscale neighborhood. Prominent family.

Yeah, a dead socialite -- what an opportunity, Billy shrugged.

Just what he needs to jump start his political career. Lots of press conferences. It’s not going to be pretty. And to top that off, everybody’s going to want this thing solved fast.

Audrey and Billy continued down the long hallway.

What's in this room? she asked, gesturing toward a door off to one side.

Take a look, you’ll love it.

Audrey pushed the door open, Oh … my … gosh. Hundreds of guns hung on the walls and in gun racks. Muskets, Derringers, Colts, Winchesters, even percussion caps and flintlocks.

Can't people come up with a better way to spend their money? Audrey asked aloud. What’s wrong with collecting stamps or coins?

Man, how I’d like to get my hands on those beauties. Damn. Look at them. That is one fine collection. Billy pulled the door closed.

What about the lower level? Audrey asked as they started down the stairway.

There’s no access to the upper level from down there without going outside. We photographed everything -- mostly yard tools and junk. The place is covered with cobwebs.

Entering the kitchen, Joe, have you gotten pictures of the entire house?

Everything inside and outside has been photographed. All evidence has been gathered and we're ready to remove the body as soon as you give the okay.

You gathered fibers, and so forth from the bedroom...

We've been in here for quite a while now collecting every piece of evidence possible, Joe interrupted.

Audrey glanced at her watch.

Okay. You can have the coroner remove the body. Seal the place off so everything is preserved.

Standard procedure, he shook his head.

Audrey turned to Billy.

Now, what do you know about the next of kin?

CHAPTER 2

SUMMER 1957

Sudden bursts of laughter splintered the quiet night air, then subsided. As car after car pulled into the parking stalls of the Highway 17 A&W, curious eyes scoped out each new arrival. Elvis’s melodic baritone blasted from overhead speakers followed by long periods of silence as the jukebox awaited the next nickel. Aluminum trays, perched bird-like on the driver’s door, held frosty Root Beer floats.

Jeff Boykin flashed his headlights when he arrived and waited for the carhop to come take his order. The doors sprung open and three high school buddies piled in.

Jeff, call Loris Ammons. You'll love her. One date with her and wow. She loves sex more than a frothy mug of beer -- and we all know how she loves those brews! they all laughed.

***

Loris ironed her pink Sunday dress; tried it on; pulled it off; and ironed it all over again until all the wrinkles were pressed away. She snapped apart her plastic pop bead necklace, removed six beads; snapped them back together; then snapped them apart again, added three beads until the necklace fell perfectly against her chest. She smoothed her brown ponytail and added another dab of rouge to each cheek. Peeking carefully from behind the curtain, she checked out the window for her date. She applied more lipstick and pushed her lips together, rolling them around to spread the color evenly.

A 1957 Surf Green Chevy pulled up to the curb and out hopped Jeff. His hair, slicked back with Brylcreem into a fashionable duck tail, accented his tanned muscular frame. The setting sun reflected from his polished penny loafers as he walked up the concrete sidewalk to the front porch of the two story, wooden building. Two front doors stood side-by-side. One opened onto a stairway that led to the upper apartment and the other to the lower duplex where the Ammons lived. After studying the options, Jeff rang the doorbell for the downstairs unit and turned his back, gazing down the street in the direction of the Citadel campus as he waited.

Loris's mother, Edna, answered the door while Loris made one last adjustment to her petticoat, then twirled in front of the mirror, checking to be certain everything was in order.

Hello, Jeff. Please come in, Edna moved aside waving her arm to direct Jeff inside. So, tell me about yourself. You’re a college man?

Yes ma’am -- Carolina.

Hi, Jeff, Loris smiled.

And, Loris says your father owns Boykin Construction.

Yes ma’am.

So, just what are your plans when you graduate?

Loris stepped out of Jeff’s view and mouthed to her mother, Shut up.

Well, that’s a long way off, ma’am, I’ve only finished my freshman year. But I’m planning to join my Dad in the construction business.

How nice, Edna nodded. Well I don’t want to hold y’all up. Run along and have a good time. Don’t be out too late.

Edna understood what it was like to raise a daughter without a husband. How difficult it had been not having someone to cry with in sorrow or laugh with in joy. But from each misstep she had made and each battle she had fought, she carried away an important lesson. So, with great care, she was passing her knowledge along to her daughter. As she watched Loris and Jeff walk down the sidewalk together, she knew the advice to give. She could only hope that Loris would listen.

***

There's a good movie playing at the Riviera. Would you like to go? Jeff asked, not feeling a moment of guilt for stepping out on his college girlfriend in Columbia.

"Oh, that would be great! I’ve always wanted to go to the Riviera."

Jeff parked the car and together they walked, hand-in-hand, down King Street to the Art Deco theatre. Loris read the movie title on the illuminated marquee -- Hot Blood -- underneath the title, Jane Russell and Cornel Wilde. After purchasing tickets, they entered and hurried past the Negroes who stood in the 'coloreds only' line for the segregated balcony.

A sensual poster of Jane Russell proclaimed: Jane Russell shakes her tambourines and drives Cornel Wilde. Loris drank in her surroundings -- the Greek comedy and tragedy masks on each side of the giant movie screen, the mural of Italy’s Lake Como and the comfort of the air-cooling. An usher, with flashlight in hand, led the young couple down the aisle to their seats. Though it was only blocks from her house, Loris had never been to the Riviera before.

***

Would you like to go to Folly Beach next weekend? Jeff asked after giving Loris a gentle good-night kiss.

"Oh, I’d love to! That would be so great!"

Edna rushed to the front door when she heard it open.

Oh, Mama, it was absolutely dreamy. Everything was just perfect, Loris snuggled her arms close to her chest. He’s such a gentleman. I felt like a princess.

Well? Where’d you go?

"We went to see Hot Blood at the Riviera. Jane Russell and her father wanted Cornel Wilde’s money, so they tricked him into marrying her. But in the end she won Cornel over and he fell in love with her." Loris floated into fantasy, imagining.

Jeff asked me what my father did in the Navy. What did he do?

I don’t know. What does anybody do in the Navy? Edna shifted uncomfortably. She kept the subject of Loris’s father off limits. The story put out to give acceptability to an illegitimate daughter and her mother was that Loris’s father was killed in battle in World War II. But buzzing around Edna’s workplace were two different versions of the suspected truth. One group whispered that Edna had been dropped by Loris’s real father, Edna’s secret lover, when divorce became constitutional in the 1940’s -- having promised a future of marital bliss when the law allowed. The other group gossiped that her no-tell partner was still seeing Edna -- and happily married to someone else. All thought they knew who that special person was. But to allow acceptability, without respectability, they played along -- each carrying her role in hiding and perpetuating the deceit.

Loris smoothed her dress.

Are you going out with Jeff again? Edna repeated.

Where was he killed -- my Dad?

I’ve already told you that. Midway. Are you two going out again? Edna’s voice rose.

Oh… yes. Next weekend. We’re going out to Folly Beach! Loris wrapped her arms around herself and giggled.

A smile crept across Edna’s face. Loris was opening pathways that had eluded her. Now, Edna’s job was to make sure that the gate did not swing shut before Loris could walk through. She could see in her daughter’s eyes that plans were being formulated. But, without proper guidance, even the best route can become confused. So, as Loris dreamed of a future with Jeff, it was Edna’s job to guide her along the journey.

***

One week before Jeff’s return to college, the summer lovers made the last of their weekly trips to Folly Beach. The Platters’ music floated from the Pavilion and followed Loris and Jeff as they walked along the shore. The harmonized voices spilled Loris’s secrets as if they could read her mind.

As the waves crashed rhythmically on the beach, Loris and Jeff, sheltered by the dunes and sea oats, made love.

Damp sand inched its way