Memphis Connection

By Jonathan Eli

Murder...drugs...money...are they all connected? That’s what Marshall Jenkins wants to find out as he takes his first case since his wife’s death three months ago. But as he investigates, he starts to wonder if Jenny’s death was also somehow connected. Find out as Marshall tries to discover the Memphis Connection.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jonathan Eli
• Release date: Dec 20, 2010
• ISBN: 9781458005793

Jonathan Eli

I am a new writer. I write Science Fiction, Murder Mysteries, and general fiction. My first Book, The Last Cabbandeum, was E-published in August.I am married with two dogs and live in the mid-west. I am an avid Drag Racing fan and reader. I have worked in sales and management for several years and began writing for friends and family ten years ago and finally decided to take the plunge a couple years ago.

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Memphis Connection

A Marshall Jenkins Novel

By

Jonathan Eli

Published by Jonathan Eli at Smashwords

Copyright 2010 Jonathan Eli

Cover Art by Anya Kelleye

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 person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: The following is a work of fiction. All people, places, and events are purely products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is entirely coincidental.

Prologue

He sat at a table with an associate and two women in a barbecue restaurant in Memphis. It had been an enjoyable evening; then he noticed the large black man sitting at the bar. The gentleman was dressed in a blue suit and wore about half a jewelry store worth of gold on his fingers, wrist, and around his neck. He knew he was the object of the man’s attention and it meant work.

The two dates had excused themselves and he saw a large chubby finger summon him. He excused himself and approached the man who slowly reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out an envelope, and handed it to him.

He slowly opened it and pulled out a single sheet of paper. He unfolded it and read.

Mr. Johnson,

I have a particular job for you that requires your talents. You are to go to the coordinates at the bottom of the page along with the date and time. There you will find a briefcase: it will contain the tools you will use and an envelope that will hold your compensation for the evening. You will see a signal to begin your work from north of this position. You have served us well in the past and we are sure you will in this project.

Mr. Washington will answer any questions you might have, but I expect none. I will trust your discretion and loyalty.

Sincerely;

Mr. Turner

He knew who had written the letter and who had typed it. He also knew he should not ask Mr. Washington any questions. There would be no problems with the project. There never had been in the past.

He wrote the date, time, and coordinates down on a card and slipped them in his jacket pocket. He handed the letter back to Mr. Washington, smiled and returned to his table.

Two weeks later.

The rain had turned into a mist as he stooped under the tree. He had been there three hours, waiting. Beside him sat a briefcase, which had held the automatic weapon he was holding in his right hand, and an envelope which held the twenty-five thousand dollars he was being paid for this. When he first heard about the job he thought it would be easy, and it was, except for the rain, the stiff knees, and the cold.

He looked across the road and saw a cigarette burn in the night. It was his partner in crime; he didn’t know who it was and knew never to ask, either. He didn’t even know who the person was one hundred or so feet down the road that would signal when the right car was approaching. His job was simple; watch for the signal, unload the clip, and leave.

He was getting stiff; he hoped he could get up when the time came. He looked at the gun once more, checked the action, and made sure the safety was off. He also hoped whoever was across the road wouldn’t shoot him while they did this.

Several cars had passed in the three hours he had been there. It wasn’t the least traveled road he had ever seen. He hoped whoever was giving them the signal knew what they were doing. He didn’t really care whether anyone died tonight or not; he knew the money was in the envelope and his car was waiting across the woods.

He heard a car coming, and looked for the signal; there it was, two flashes from a flashlight. The car came around the corner and into his view. It was a Crown Vic that looked a lot like a police cruiser; he didn’t relish the idea of killing a cop, but business was business.

Both shooters fired almost simultaneously. The bullets ripped through the fenders and then into the interior of the car. It had been going about forty miles an hour when they opened fire. The person inside must have instinctively floored the throttle because the car shot down the road into trees off the curve just past them.

The car didn’t catch on fire like you would think after watching too many Hollywood movies. There was no horn blaring, no wheels turning, nothing, just quiet; only the tic, tic, tic, of the warm engine now quiet in the rain.

He heard the shooter on the other side of the road running away from the scene. Slick move, stupid; it was a great way to attract every bit of attention to yourself. Then he thought that might not be a bad idea anyway. Who would be watching for him as he got away?

He slowly got up, which was bad enough after stooping there for so long, picked up the briefcase, and walked away.

Chapter One

Marshall sat on his deck drinking a glass of iced tea. This was practically the only place he had been for the last three months, since the funeral. He hadn’t been to work, the track, Jim Bob’s, nowhere except the grocery store and church.

Casper had been his only companion constant; he lay now on the edge of the deck watching a couple of squirrels play in the back yard by the dock. Marshall could tell he knew what was wrong also; he would go looking through the house for her then look at Marshall and cry when he didn’t find her. It broke Marshall’s heart again every time he did that.

Marshall had met her in college; college, something Marshall had never thought he would do. She was from Atlanta, majoring in social work. Her parents had sent her there to get an education and to find a preacher husband. That had backfired when she took her helping skills class and ran into Marshall taking it to finish his Criminal Justice degree.

She walked into class that afternoon and had Marshall’s complete attention. She had on a knee length flowing dress that was light blue and matched her eyes perfectly. Her blond hair was past her shoulders and had the slightest wave in it. She was a junior and was looking at two years of settling down to finish her degree.

Marshall was in his last year. He was twenty-three and had already landed a job with the sheriff’s department. But the idea of grad school in Memphis was there as well, which would have been shocking to his parents if they had known anything about it. Marshall figured they didn’t or if they did, didn’t care.

Marshall had always been a second-class citizen in his home. He was constantly told he would never amount to anything and treated as such. Oh, they never physically abused him, but there are many ways to do it without ever leaving a mark you could see. This followed Marshall throughout his life, and no matter how hard he tried to outrun it, it would always creep in.

When he was fourteen he had had enough. His best friend, Jim Bob, had extra room in his bedroom at home and Marshall was welcome to use it. Jim Bob’s parents liked Marshall and were willing to take in a seventh so Marshall was out. His parents didn’t even go looking for him when he didn’t come home. The sheriff at the time found him, but he realized the situation, and turned a blind eye to what had happened. When Marshall was sixteen, he got his independence so they could never come back on him, but he always remembered what they said.

He and Jim Bob were like most kids in the small southern town. They resented the kids who came in to the local college. Most were from rich families and thought they were better than the local hillbillies. The pranks and things they did to them were relentless. Marshall and Jim Bob learned how to steal and made some good money making radios and different things disappear from students’ cars late at night.

Finally, when they were caught, they both did some time in a juvenile detention facility, and then came back to the watchful eye of Jim Bob’s parents. Their little vacation had done the trick and both were scared straight when they got home.

It was in the mid-morning on a Tuesday when Marshall heard the tires on the gravel drive. Casper raised his head and gave out a low long growl.

Take it easy, boy. We don’t even know who our guests are yet, Marshall said to him. Casper lay back down and resumed watching the squirrels.

Marshall stood as he heard the door shut; a moment later Carl Jackson walked around the corner.

Carl was the sheriff, a tall, lanky man in his late fifties. He was a good man who was fair but took nothing from anyone. He was one of the best shots in the county, and you would not want to be on the receiving end of a punch from him. He had surprised many a larger man.

Carl, what brings you out here? Marshall said, although he knew the answer. Carl had been trying to get Marshall to come back to work for almost a month now.

Marshall, you have to come back to work now, Carl said. We’ve got a double homicide, and the new kid isn’t ready for that yet!

Neither am I, Marshall said.

Tough! Carl said in a voice Marshall had heard only directed at him a time or two in their fifteen years of working together. I’m sorry, Marshall, but this one is bad and you’re the only person I know who can get it figured out, Carl said.

Okay, you said that already. What’s the deal?

Nancy Newman and her boyfriend, Jim Laired, were found shot inside her home about two hours ago, Carl said.

And everybody thinks Bobby did it.

Yes, but nobody can find him. Carl said.

Do you have any proof he did it? Marshall asked.

No, but all her family is sure he did it, and they’re all screaming for us to have him in jail, and ready to lynch as soon as possible.

Marshall chuckled. They know that’s not going to happen; well, at least not the lynching.

But they want him in jail now. They’re sure he did it.

Well, he did beat her up a couple of times pretty good. But he’s said he stopped drinking and said he’s even going to church.

How many church-going people do you know around here who wouldn’t just as soon shoot you as much as look at you? Carl said.

Marshall shook his head, A few.

Good, now put Casper up and let’s go! Carl said.

Who said anything about me coming back to work? Marshall said.

I did! Carl said. And if you don’t want whipped right here and now you’ll get in my car.

Marshall stood there for a moment looking at Carl. He could tell the man wanted, needed, his help. But it sounded like an open and shut case. Benton would have a field day with this one.

Simon Benton was the county prosecutor. He was the typical lawyer and politician all rolled into one. He had a reputation for going for the throat, not making many deals, and working hard for the victims. Many in the county wondered why he was still around here; Marshall did as well.

Carl, what’s the deal? This is an open and shut case for Benton. You don’t need me.

Carl shook his head. Marshall, you’ve got to come back to work. You can’t sit here for the rest of your life wishing you’d been in that car!

She should have been in the van like always; I should have been in there to die.

Carl walked over and put his hands on his old friend’s shoulders. He knew he had to do something to get him off this property and back working. He had tried everything he knew and this had to be it.

Marshall, it wasn’t, it was her, and that’s just how it happened. You can’t do anything about it now. Except maybe find out who was gunning for you and got her.

Carl saw the fire light in Marshall’s eyes. Yeah; didn’t think about that, did you?

Marshall slowly lifted his eyes and said to his friend, I guess I owe her that much.

You owe it to yourself and everybody in this county to find out what happened to her, Carl said.

Marshall picked up the pitcher of tea and called for Casper. He started walking toward the back door as Carl watched him.

Marshall had changed; his hair was longer, he was more solid, and he had a look in his eye of a harder man, one that had seen too much of life. Carl wondered how much his old friend had changed.

Five minutes later Marshall walked out of the house. He had jeans on with a black pull over shirt and a black sports jacket.

Did you get your gun, too? Carl asked.

Just what do you expect me to get into? Marshall asked.

You never know; plus, it’s regulation! Carl answered.

Well, for right now you’re going to have to cover me.

Carl pulled out of the driveway and started down the road. It was across town to a newer neighborhood where the murder had taken place. Carl filled in Marshall on what they supposed had happened. Marshall was ready to see the crime scene.

Chapter Two

Marshall saw four cruisers, three unmarked cars, an ambulance, and the coroner’s wagon parked on the street, driveway, and front yard of the victim’s house. Three cops Marshall had known for years were outside talking and watching neighbors. They all looked when Marshall stepped out of Carl’s car.

Marshall, good to see you, John Tolliver said. Again, I’m really sorry about Jenny.

Marshall nodded to John but kept walking toward the house. That was something Marshall would have to put up with for a few days until it wore off or everybody had a chance to say something.

Carl led him into the house. It was a nice, decent-sized ranch, the living room was trashed, all the furniture had been turned over, and the cushions had been sliced open. Marshall continued into the kitchen where he found a similar sight. Drawers pulled out and even the cushions on the kitchen table chairs had been sliced in two.

Then, on the far side of the table, Marshall saw what all the excitement was about. Nancy and Bill were lying in a pool of combined blood in front of the window seat overlooking the backyard. Marshall saw two bullet holes in the back of the skulls just above the neckline; he could tell from the trajectory, the bullets were up into the brain.

Robert James was the coroner. He looked up at Marshall and said, Well, what do you think?

Marshall looked the scene over again and then looked back at Robert. I don’t think Bobby Newman did this.

Well, Marshall, the family does, and that’s all it’s going to take to convince Benton as well.

Bobby wouldn’t trash the house. Plus, he couldn’t get them to lie still and they wouldn’t let him put two bullets in the back of their heads like this, Marshall said, pointing at the two victims.

I’d have thought Bill would have put up a heck of a fight just seeing Bobby, much less seeing him with a gun, Robert said.

Marshall chewed his lower lip and finally said, Tell me what you get when you get them on a table.

I’ll call you first thing. I have one more before them but you should know by tomorrow night.

Who else do you have? Marshall asked.

Some sixteen year old kid. He drowned out on the lake last night, and his parents are sure he was drugged or something.

Marshall thought for a moment. He can wait; get me everything on them first.

Sure thing, Marshall, Robert said. Hey Marshall, good to have you back.

Marshall looked at Robert and said, You don’t have me back just yet.

Marshall walked through the house. Every room had been gone through, every drawer opened, every cushion sliced, and every piece of clothing out of the closets had been dumped on the floor. Marshall noticed Bill had an amount of clothes there as well. Looks like he had moved in sometime during the last couple of months. Marshall knew this was not something Bobby would have done. He might be a jealous man, but he was not this destructive.

Marshall walked out of a bedroom just as a uniformed officer was climbing down the stairs from the attic. Tommy Estus turned to see Marshall.

Hi, Marshall! Tommy said. "You should see it up there. It’s as big a mess as anywhere else. Bobby sure was looking for something.’

Tommy was in his late twenties. He was a solid kid that spent some time in the gym as well as around the donut shop. Marshall grabbed him by the shoulder and turned him around. Never assume you know who did a crime. Just because you or the family thinks they know who did it, you saying that just fans the flames and gets us a defense lawyer with a great way of getting the whole process tossed out. So shut-up!

But everybody knows he did it, Tommy said.

I don’t! Marshall answered. Actually I don’t think he did.

Marshall climbed the attic stairs and looked around. Anything up there that could be opened was, anything folded up wasn’t, and insulation was pulled out from between the ceiling joists. Marshall was bewildered by two things: what happened here and why everyone was so quick, especially after seeing this place, to put a needle in Bobby’s arm.

Marshall climbed back downstairs and found Carl, who was watching the black bags with Nancy and Bill in them being loaded in the coroner’s wagon.

Carl turned as Marshall approached. Well, what do you think?

Marshall motioned him over to his squad car. They got in and closed the doors. It was starting to get warm, so Carl started the car and turned the air on full blast. Marshall was glad it was loud and hoped no one outside heard what he was about to say.

Bobby didn’t do this.

Carl shook his head in agreement. I don’t think he did either, but I think we’re the only two that think that.

Well until Benton gets hold of it, we are the only two that matter, Marshall said.

Just then a sedan pulled up along with a pick-up truck. Marshall and Carl watched as a third of Nancy’s family came out of the two vehicles. Marshall could see red eyes, from both crying and rage. He hoped his talk with Tommy had worked and everybody else there knew as well to keep their mouths shut.

This should be interesting, Marshall said.

Yeah, let’s get out there before they have the trial and sentencing right here.

They stepped out of the squad car to an onslaught of Nancy’s family.

Mrs. Harrison, Nancy’s mother, was the first to reach Carl. Why did Bobby do this to my little girl? came wailing out of her. Marshall didn’t know why he was surprised at what she said, but somehow he