Partners in Crime: Who Was Smuggling Drugs?

By James Babcock

The marina of a small town on the Gulf Coast of Florida’s Panhandle is awash in more than salt water. Somebody local is bringing in drugs from Mexico. How and by whom is it being done? Police detective Joe Phillips and his wife Maryanne, the local bank trust officer, share their skills to investigate a murder that leads them to an intricate money-laundering scheme with a shocking twist. Join them as they risk upsetting the local uppercrust by their persistent—and succesful—probing of a crime wave their town has never seen before.

• Language: English
• Publisher: James Babcock
• Release date: Jul 7, 2010
• ISBN: 9781458080424

James Babcock

Following three years in the Navy and forty years in international and domestic banking, Babcock took up a second career as a writer and composer. His plots draw on his travels abroad and experiences in foreign exchange trading, bank operations, lending, trust services, auditing, and bank management. Active in community work, he served as a university rector, symphony president, and chairman of economic development organizations. He holds degrees from Princeton and the Wharton School. In addition to his novels and short stories, his creative work includes books of humor and games and a number of pieces for violin and piano. He resides with his family in Blacksburg, Virginia.

Book preview

Partners in Crime

Who was Smuggling Drugs?

James Babcock

Copyright 2022 James F. Babcock

All rights reserved

Smashwords Edition

Contents

of the second book in the

Joe and Maryanne

series

Partners in Crime

Chapter  1  Saturday

Chapter  4  Tuesday

Chapter  7      Sunday

Chapter 10  Wednesday

Chapter 13  Saturday

Chapter 17  Thursday

Chapter 20  Wednesday

Chapter 23  Saturday

Chapter 26  Tuesday

Chapter 29      Monday

About the Author

Books by James Babcock

Chapter One

Saturday

As the champagne flowed and a jazz combo enlivened the wedding reception, the younger adults celebrated by throwing each other into the country club swimming pool. The bride and groom, feeling too mature at thirty-three and twenty-eight for such hijinks, remained standing by the entryway. They and the bride's parents greeted their many well-wishers.

After a whirlwind courtship, detective lieutenant Joe Phillips had married the local bank’s trust officer, Maryanne Larkin. In their small Florida Panhandle town, the marriage of Judge Larkin's daughter was a noteworthy event, and it had taken two months to organize.

The wedding party was soon drawn away from the terrace by the town's events photographer. He led them into a room off the banquet hall for formal portraits. They posed in the traditional groupings that with candid shots would make a precious keepsake.

Now, Joe and Maddy, the busy photographer said, let's have that smooch again that you did when the preacher pronounced you hitched. Laughing, the couple complied.

But as they assumed another directed pose, Joe was distracted to see standing at the doorway the policeman he had assigned to oversee the parking lot. When the photographer finally released his captives, the officer came to Joe, took him aside, and delivered an urgent message.

Mr. Phillips, he whispered, I’m really sorry to interrupt. I’ve had a message from the dispatcher. She says a young black man named Donny has been seriously injured in an accident and is calling for you. They’re not sure he’s expected to live. There’s no other family there, and the doctor thinks the boy has something urgent to tell you. What shall I tell them?

Joe frowned but didn't hesitate in making his decision. Tell them I’ll be right there. Bring your squad car to the door and I’ll be out in a few minutes.

The bride and her parents watched this little scene with concern. Joe went to them to explain. Maddy, Judge, Mrs. Larkin, I’m sorry but this is urgent police business. I have to go. I don’t know how long I’ll have to be away. But I do have to go.  He embraced his bride. Maddy, I’m so sorry, honey. I’ve got to go to the hospital. I’ll call you.

Without waiting for their response, Phillips turned to his best man, who was standing with his wife a little apart. Tommy, Joe said, Maddy and I are supposed to get on a plane at the county airport after the reception. It’s the evening flight to Atlanta. We’re booked for our honeymoon in Sea Island, but we won’t be able to fly tonight. Please do me a big favor and see if you can cancel it and get a refund.

Got it, buddy. Himself a police officer, Tompkins was used to dealing with such unexpected emergencies. Before seeking a telephone, he turned to his wife. Thelma, I think you better tend to Maddy. The bride had burst into tears.

Meanwhile, Phillips had already dashed down the hallway to the club foyer, pushed open the glass doors, and run down the steps to the waiting police car.

He hoped his young informant hadn’t already died.

The hospital was only a little farther out of town from the Sugar Cane Country Club, on the other side of the highway. Joe’s driver floored the accelerator, but there was no need for the siren.

Who is Donny? the officer asked as he maneuvered the speeding car.

Donny Farris. He’s my informant with the fishing fleet.

Drug running?

Probably….You said it was an accident?

Well, the policeman shrugged, that’s what they told me.

At the hospital, the driver pulled up to curb at the entrance and said, I’ll wait.

Phillips raced up the steps and through the revolving door into the air conditioned lobby. Two elderly women in pink jackets, seated at the information booth, were expecting him. Mr. Phillips? said one. Second floor. Intensive care. The doctor is waiting for you.

Joe pressed the elevator button and tapped the door impatiently. Finally it opened slowly and a nurse pushed a patient in a wheelchair out into the corridor. Phillips felt as if an eternity had passed by the time the deliberate machinery carried him to the second floor reception area.

The nurse behind the counter greeted him. Mr. Phillips? she said. The patient is in intensive care. She rose immediately and came to show him the way. As they strode together down the hallway to the special ward, she said, Dr. Watkins is with the boy. He’s in very bad condition. She pressed a square metal pad on the wall to open the wide double doors. Inside, they passed several curtained alcoves.

Mr. Phillips? The doctor was standing at the foot of one of the beds. He shook hands.

Joe stared at the bandaged prostrate form of the young black man, eyes closed, his body wired to monitoring machines, his arm plugged with a drip, his nose and mouth covered with a plastic oxygen mask.

His motorcycle must have crushed him when he ran off the road, the doctor explained. A couple coming over from Jacksonville found him and called 911. I’ve patched him as well as I can, but it’s touch and go. He’s in and out of consciousness, but when he came out of the anesthetic, the nurse heard him say ‘police’ and ‘Mr. Phillips.’

She was very alert obviously. I appreciate it.

The doctor noticed Phillips’ formal dress. My god, were you at a wedding?

Joe nodded. My own.

That’s awful! Your bride must be catatonic.

Phillips nodded. Well, she married a cop. She was going to have this experience sooner or later. He shook his head as he looked at the patient. Will I be able to talk to him?

He may wake up. Look, you can sit on this chair and keep an eye on him. I’ll get the nurse to bring you some coffee, if you like.

That would be nice. Phillips sat down. He patted the pocket of his striped pants, irked that he did not have his cell phone.

By the way, the doctor added, do you know how to contact his family? We found his identification in his wallet, but we couldn’t locate a telephone for him.

You wouldn’t. He lives in a shack out in the bayou. Did you find anything else in his wallet?

I’ll ask the nurse….and I’ll touch base with you again later.

Joe turned to look at Donny. The young man stirred slightly, and his eyes opened. He gazed fixedly at the detective. With an effort, he tried to speak. Joe leaned forward and placed his face close. Tell me, Donny. What is it? What happened? You had quite an accident.

Muffled by the oxygen mask, the young man’s voice was full of pain. No accident, he mumbled. For a moment he was silent as he struggled to breathe and a gurgle escaped his lips. With an effort, he spoke a single word. As well as Joe could make out, it was coughin’.

I’m sure it hurts, Donny, Phillips murmured, take it easy.

The nurse appeared, holding a coffee cup and a worn leather wallet. She handed them silently to the detective. As he took them, Donny spoke again. Phillips turned to the nurse. Did you hear? What did he say?

She frowned. It sounded to me like ‘sugar daddy’.

Sugar daddy? Joe repeated. He turned again to the injured boy. Is that what you said, Donny? But the patient had slipped once again into a coma.

Joe sighed. He opened the wallet. It was empty except for the young man’s motorcycle permit, a few dollars, and a slip of paper with an unfamiliar name and a local address. He handed it to the nurse. He’s an orphan, he lives alone, but he has an aunt in Olde Towne. This may be her address. If you call 911, the dispatcher can find the phone number for you, if she has one.

The nurse went off with the slip of paper. Phillips renewed his vigil. He sipped the coffee. It had already cooled and tasted bitter. He pondered what Donny had tried to tell him. The only phrase that had made sense was no accident. That could mean only one thing.

An hour passed. Joe could do nothing but wait and hope.

He thought back over the Randle Washington case, when at first Donny had been a suspect because his friend Randle had refused to give him a job. But his alibi held up and Phillips then helped the impoverished young man parlay his fishing skills into being a provider of seafood to the detective’s favorite restaurant out in the marshes. Later Donny was able to get a job on one of the trawlers in the fishing fleet. Strangers soon approached him to offer him money to let them use his shack out in the marshes as a clandestine place to offload merchandise from Mexico. Donny reported that feeler to his friend, the detective. Streetwise but honest, Donny knew the strangers must have been talking about drugs. Phillips encouraged him to keep his eyes open and bring him any other information he might overhear. An informant among the shrimp fleet sailors was an asset hard to come by.

Now it seemed clear that the ‘accident’ Donny had suffered was probably no accident at all. Donny had said as much. Whatever he learned, whatever he did, he had been found out. Joe felt guilty. Doubly guilty. For he had deserted his bride at her wedding.

The nurse tapped his shoulder. His relatives are here now, she murmured.

Joe went out to the reception area. An elderly black man stood at the counter with his arm around an old woman. The doctor was briefing them.

Phillips approached them. Mrs. Crews? You’re Donny’s aunt, aren’t you? I’m Joe Phillips, with the Police Department. He shook hands with the man. Mr. Crews, I’m glad to meet you. Donny is a friend. I’m terribly sorry.

Oh, Mr. Phillips, the woman smiled sadly, Donny tol’ me how nice you been to him.

Joe nodded. It seems he’s had an awful accident with his motorcycle. They didn’t need to know the troubling truth. But I’m sure the doctor is doing everything he can to pull him through.

The doctor nodded. Would you like to see him now? He’s been in a coma, but he comes in and out. If he recognizes you, it will do him a lot of good. He beckoned to the nurse. She’ll show you the way.

The elderly couple followed the nurse into the intensive care ward.

Doctor Watkins, Phillips said, I appreciate your having got hold of me.

Did you learn anything useful? the doctor asked. The nurse says he said something like ‘sugar daddy.’ Does that mean anything to you?

Not offhand. If he gets better and is able to talk, I’d appreciate it if you would have someone let me know.

You were good to come see him. Sorry about your wedding.

Well, we got through the legal part. That’s the main thing.

They shook hands and Phillips went out to the parking lot, located the police car, and woke up the driver.

The police cruiser dropped Phillips off at his house. By his wristwatch, it was close to midnight.

Only the foyer light was on. He lighted a lamp in the living room. He still wasn’t accustomed to the new layout of the furnishings. In anticipation of their wedding, he had already helped Maddy move her things out of her apartment and into his house.

He found his way to the bedroom. By the crack of light from the living room, he could see his wife’s shape in the bed under the covers, her back turned to him. As quietly as he could he undressed, hung his wedding clothes in the closet, and climbed into bed in his underwear.

She had been asleep, but his weight on the bed woke her. She turned, embraced him drowsily and laid her head on his shoulder. For them both, several months ago, it had been love at first sight, and she had enticed him into making love to her early on. Intimacy was nothing new.

Joe, what happened to you? she murmured.

I’m sorry, honey. Remember Donny Farris? He was riding his motorcycle and was knocked off the road by a hit and run driver. He was badly injured.

But why did you have to rush off like that?

He was working undercover for me on the trawlers. They said he wasn’t expected to live and that he was calling for me. I had to go.

Was he able to tell you anything?

Just a few words. For one thing, that it was no accident. It’s pretty clear we must have narcotics activity now on our waterfront.

I thought that was only going on in South Florida.

Apparently the bad guys are making changes. He sighed and touched his wife’s face. I’m so sorry, Maddy. I wanted to carry you over the threshold. Your folks must think I’m weird.

Not your fault, Joe. I knew it would be like this if I married a cop.

They must be pretty upset, he said ruefully, still thinking of the Judge and his wife.

Oh, yes. But I’m over it. She smiled. Just don’t make a habit of it.

I promise. And I promise I will take you to Sea Island.

She yawned. We’ve had many a honeymoon already. She stroked his chest. I saved you some wedding cake.

You’re the only sweet I need. He kissed her. Let’s pretend we’re honeymooning.

Back to Contents

Chapter Two

Sunday

Joe Phillips’ hometown, unlike other sections of Florida, had not yet become known as a haven for drug smugglers. Its economy partly sustained by an Air Force base some miles out of town to the north, its principal businesses were sugar, fishing, and tourism. Old sugar plantations located north of town beyond the country club and hospital survived on federal subsidies; they shipped their refined crop out on a railroad that skirted the town and terminated at a sugar warehouse on the waterfront. A marina covered the shoreline between the rivers and was crammed with the town’s fishing fleet, private yachts, and sport fishing boats for hire. Tourists came for the fishing, or to see the exotic wild-life of the bayou, or just to shop and eat seafood on the main street that ran up from the marina to the town park. Facing each other across the park stood City Hall and the Hall of Justice. Joe had a third-floor corner office in the Hall of Justice, with a nice view of the harbor and marina. He hadn’t previously thought of it as the scene of drug running.

On Sunday morning, Phillips left his wife asleep in bed and set out early for his customary run with his golden retriever. With Ossy at his side, he jogged down Riverside Drive along the river in the direction of the marina. As he passed the Cypress Gardens apartments, he looked up at the eighth floor balconies. He wondered if Maddy missed her apartment and its spectacular view of the bay and barrier islands. At least her