They Needed Killing

By Bill Fitts

When James F. Crawford retired from the university he didn’t expect to become a private investigator. But Provost Rufus George wanted Crawford to investigate a suspicious death--and he wouldn’t take no for an answer. Turns out, Crawford has a knack for solving crimes. With his dog and cat as the perfect sounding board, he talks through the specifics of each case--posing questions to Tan and The Black and answering them himself. If you like your mysteries with a side of humor, give the Needed Killing Series a try.

Book 6: Asked to help an old lady get her family home back from greedy developers, Crawford reluctantly agrees. Mrs. McGillicuddy is thrilled. “I can’t tell you how excited I was when Frank told me I’d get to meet a real detective. I just love murder mysteries.” When Ms. Mac convinces Crawford to pretend to solve a mystery, he finds himself caught up in the most perplexing case of his career.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bill Fitts
• Release date: Apr 27, 2018
• ISBN: 9781941387092

Bill Fitts

When Bill began writing “The Screaming Sword,” he took notes in a Marble Composition notebook and typed on a Smith-Corona portable electric typewriter. He now uses Scrivener, a word processing program designed for writers, on an iMac. He has published 3 books in Song of Narne, epic adventures in a magical world, and 6 in the Needed Killing Series, cozy mysteries with a southern flair. He’s still writing in both genres.Bill and his wife, Anne Gibbons, owe an odd kind of thank-you to the 2011 tornado that ripped through Tuscaloosa, Ala. They were physically unharmed, but they began to assess their needs and wants, their hopes and dreams with the visceral understanding that the future is uncertain. In 2015 Bill and Anne moved to Vero Beach, Fla. They enjoy living 9 miles from the ocean—an easy drive but out of storm surge range—and their cats enjoy the screened patio.Visit Bill’s website billfittsauthor.comConnect with Bill on FacebookNeeded Killing Series facebook.com/TheNeededKillingSeriesSong of Narne facebook.com/SongofNarne

Book preview

They Needed Killing

Book 6

in the

Needed Killing Series

Bill Fitts

(original title Two Needed Killing)

Copyright 2018 by Bill Fitts

Excerpt from The Fink Needed Killing

Copyright 2023 by Bill Fitts

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved.

This is a work of fiction. Shelbyville and the people (and pets) who populate it are either products of my imagination or used fictitiously. It would be idle to deny, however, that Shelbyville, along with its university, was inspired by my hometown, Tuscaloosa, Alabama, and its environs.

ISBN 978-1-941387-28-3

Cover design: Keri Knutson at Alchemy Book Covers

Printed in the United States of America

billfittsauthor.com

Again, for Anne;

and for Leigh

Characters

Crawford (James F. Ford) private investigator; university retiree

Trina Dawson real estate developer

Stan Dowdy friend of Crawford; a-v specialist at university

Duane Edwards Trina Dawson’s escort

Bernice Farmer credit union mortgage officer

Ellen George married to Rufus George

Rufus George university provost; married to Ellen George

Katie Grass assistant manager, Italian Grill

Ross Howard sergeant, Archibald Police Department

Cliff Hudson high school classmate of Crawford; lawyer

Louis Jenks friend of Crawford; university retiree

Mary Keith Crawford’s house cleaner

Lynda Lamon a Shelbyville Realtor

Loretta Lynn Shelbyville Police Department volunteer; wife of university professor

Ms. Mac (Rose McGillicuddy) boardinghouse owner, retired

Nikki Madison university graduate; former boarder at Ms. Mac’s

Frank Manning University Press employee; former boarder at Ms. Mac’s

Percy Pearson real estate developer

Bobby Slater friend of Crawford; University Press employee

Kurt Snoddy chief, Archibald Police Department

Ernest Sparrow ardent environmentalist; university retiree

Clara Stafford Percy Pearson’s house cleaner

Tan Crawford’s dog

The Black (TB) Crawford’s cat

Velma Vann server at the university club

Jim Ward friend of Crawford; head of homicide, Shelbyville Police Department

Anna White president, Jemison County Preservation Society

1

Sunday Morning

DAMN IT, CRAWFORD. Do you have to find dead bodies everywhere you go?

I looked up the riverbank at the speaker, shrugged my shoulders, stood up, and dropped the stick I’d used to poke at what had originally appeared to be a large, sodden clump of material caught in the weeds and brush growing along the shore of the river. Shelbyville is a college town with more than its fair share of college students, so finding abandoned clothing scattered around the countryside isn’t that uncommon. Generally the garments don’t contain a body. But not this time.

To be accurate I think you’d have to say that it was Tan who found the body. I was just along for the walk. I pointed at my dog who was slowly wagging her tail and whimpering as she stared at what had turned out to be a corpse. Tan had never seen a dead body before and the sight of a human in that condition distressed her.

Spoken like a natural-born detective. Sergeant Ross Howard edged his way down the bank of the river. He was dressed in civvies this morning—all in black instead of the usual starched khaki. But you could tell from the way he approached the body that he was a law enforcement officer—and had been one for many years. There was no wasted motion or hesitation on his part.

I was just being precise. I held out my hand.

Tell it to the judge, Crawford. He waved away my offer of assistance, stepped into the shallow water and mud, put his fingers on the body’s neck, and frowned. Cold. Been that way for a while I’d say. We’ve got a corpse all right.

What gave it away, Ross? The fact that the body is floating facedown in the water and hasn’t moved since Tan found it? I took a step backward and swallowed hard.

Not even after you poked it a couple of times with a stick. He looked at me then nodded. I forget. You’re not even into double digits are you? Dead bodies you’ve had to deal with that is. Still feel a little queasy, huh?

I swallowed again. Yep. What do we do now?

Ross hesitated. Where are we exactly? Shelbyville, Archibald, or the county? I’m still not sure where one ends and the other starts.

I began to explain in detail and at length how Shelbyville had gerrymandered its way across the river and realized how shaken I was. Archibald.

Guess that means it’s my jurisdiction and I’m the first LEO on the scene. Ross pulled out his smart phone and began to take pictures. For a split second I wondered how law enforcement officers had investigated crime scenes before they had phones that could take pictures. Couple more of these and then we’ll turn her over and see who she is.

If she’s a she. Could be a guy in drag.

Ross looked up. Damn it, Crawford. Do you have to be such a noodge? What’s wrong with me assuming it’s a woman?

I shrugged. Don’t know. I’m just having a little problem coming to grips with finding a dead body out in the middle of nowhere again. I figured once was enough.

I’d found one lying in a ditch just last year. That was the same day I met Ross—he’d been a deputy sheriff in Tennessee before getting hired down here. That had been a big day for crime in Lee County, Tennessee. First Ross had helped me with a murder victim and then he went off and got shot in the back.

I’m going to turn the body over now. You ever see a body that’s been in a river or a lake for a while? He made a face. You’d be surprised how much damage things—fish and snapping turtles mostly—can do to the face in no time at all.

Before I knew it, the body was resting face up on the bank—one arm still in the river. Ross started taking more photos.

You know who she is?

I squatted down next to the body and tried not to think about what might have been nibbling on her. I wondered if something had eaten her makeup. Those wrinkles hadn’t been visible the night before but I hadn’t gotten this close. The river water had turned the dress she’d worn to the party a darker shade of blue—and it hadn’t done her blonde hair any good either. In short, she looked a mess and that, as much as anything else, told me that she was dead.

Trina Dawson. I rocked back on my heels and looked up at Ross. She was at the party Bobby and I went to last night. Black-tie affair over at the University. Bunch of bigwigs celebrating yet another new building.

Ross cocked his head to one side. Don’t know how good a time she had at the party but I’d hazard a guess that her evening went downhill from there. Was she drinking?

I nodded. Like a fish. Glanced around and thought about what I’d said. Pardon the expression.

Why don’t you and Tan go on up the bank, see if you’ve got any kind of a signal, and try to call Chief Snoddy. He said he was going to be on duty this morning. Tell him that you and his newest patrol officer have come across a dead body. Don’t even bother telling him your dog found it. Snoddy will know what to do.

Tan and I turned and hurried up the slope.

I walked a little farther up the walking trail we were on, as much to see if I could get a stronger signal as to avoid looking at a sodden human body—or so I told myself. Fish and turtles work faster than I would have thought. I shuddered.

Chief Snoddy. Kurt’s voice was deep and gruff.

I looked at my phone. Yep, I was so shaken I’d called his direct number instead of going through the desk. Chief, this is—

Crawford, do you think Archibald’s so out-of-touch that we don’t even have callerID. What is it this time?

Sergeant Howard and I just found a body floating in the water just off the levee. I paused to let the news sink in.

Didn’t think you’d called me to pass the time of day. Go on, where are you, who is it, and what’s the cause of death? I’m guessing you’re in Archibald and that’s why you called me.

I was showing Ross the new walking trail and Tan found what looked like a bunch of clothes tangled up in the brush—

You closer to one end or the other?

I looked out at the river, back the way we’d come, and then upstream at the path ahead. I’d say we’re about halfway. Just past where they’re clear-cutting for that new development they’re building. We’re downstream from the University’s new boathouse, I can’t quite see it—and there’s a car in the water too.

Upstream from the body?

I nodded my head in reply. The car was at an angle nose down in the river with the driver’s door open. I didn’t recognize what kind of SUV it was but even from this distance it had that sleek, shiny, I-cost-a-lot-of-money look about it.

Crawford?

Yeah. I started toward the car with Tan following close behind. Upstream, all right. Looks like it ran off the road, slid down the bank, and ended up nose down in the mud. Must be how she ended up out here.

So we’ll need a wrecker and an ambulance out there.

Not wide enough for them to pass each other.

I know that, Crawford. We’ll get the body out and then send somebody for the car. Just a minute.

I heard the chief growl a few commands and then he was back on the phone. Did you recognize the body?

Trina Dawson.

There was a pause. Damn it to hell. That means I’m going to have to call the sheriff and ruin his Sunday morning and mine. She’s too important for me not to let him know. Tell Sergeant Howard to stay with the body until I get there.

Sure. Anything else?

Yeah. Why don’t you see if you can get me the license numbers off that car so we can check to make sure it's hers. Damfool woman. Odds are she was drunk—

She was knocking ‘em back last night.

Was she now? And you a witness?

I chuckled. Me, Bobby, and a couple of hundred other people. Party out at the university. She got a little loud.

And nobody took her keys away. He sighed. Hang around, Crawford. I’ll need to talk to you.

I stared at my phone, watched as the display faded away, glanced up the trail at the wrecked car, then looked down at Tan to see that adoring look every dog owner knows. I reached down and scratched her ears. Let’s go take a look at that car.

Tan and I were standing off to one side watching as the Archibald police and Sheriff Thompson’s deputies went through the routine of handling a dead body—all in a day’s work. Well, death might not be an everyday occurrence for them but they were more used to it than my dog was—me too, for that matter.

It was interesting to watch—I’m a sucker when it comes to watching people—lots of activity with very few false starts. The EMTs had gotten the body out of the water and up the bank with a minimum of effort and conversation. That was when I learned the difference between a stretcher and a gurney. A gurney has legs with wheels—makes moving the body lots easier once you get to level ground. You pick a stretcher up off the ground and then carry it until you have to set it down again. Clearly the gurney was a superior device when it came to moving bodies—dead or otherwise.

How well did you know that woman?

I’d seen Chief Kurt Snoddy drive up a few minutes after they’d gotten the body out of the water. He’d walked over to the gurney, lifted the top of the blanket, glanced at Trina’s face, frowned, dropped the cloth, and headed my way.

I put my hand out and watched it disappear into his. You’d think that it would be hard for him to do some things with hands that big—fingers that long and broad—but, in the short time I’d known him, I hadn’t noticed him having any problems doing anything. He let go of my hand and snapped his fingers at Tan. The sharp crack broke the silence.

Well enough to recognize her. I was relieved that my hand had survived another handshake with Kurt. I took it as a sign that I hadn’t worn out my welcome, because he could have crushed every bone in my hand without a second thought. Like I said, saw her at a party last night. That’s the dress she was wearing.

Tan took the snap as a summons and almost turned herself into a comma as she approached the chief. He reached down and ruffled the fur on her head and ears.

That’s a good dog. Kurt’s voice was a couple of octaves lower than most and usually fairly gruff when talking to me. He had addressed Tan in a much gentler tone. Did a good job at The Festival, didn’t you? He nodded in my direction but kept his eyes on the dog. You and your partner here. What’s his name again? Brown? No, that’s the breed you made up to bamboozle the sheriff with.

With a start I realized that the chief was asking me not the dog. Her name is Tan. And, yeah, I told the sheriff she was a purebred—something like an Austrian Brown—or Australian, I forget which. Thanks for helping out with that, Kurt. He’d told me I could call him Kurt until he decided otherwise. So far he hadn’t changed his mind.

Tck. The chief made a clicking noise in his throat. Me helping you mislead a fellow law enforcement officer. Shameful. Don’t know what I was thinking.

I shrugged. Didn’t seem that unreasonable at the time.

Yeah, you and Sammy didn’t hit it off, did you? The sheriff of Jemison County doesn’t much care for private detectives.

I rubbed the bridge of my nose. I noticed. After the arrest, he thanked Tan. I thought that was nice of him.

He ever thank you?

Nope.

You know he’s on his way, don’t you?

Sheriff Thompson? Why would he—oh. I remembered who we were talking about. The man was always running for reelection.

Prominent businesswoman found drowned in the river? Yeah, that will make the news for sure—TV, radio, and paper. Probably run for a couple of days.

He’ll have hit the publicity trifecta. The idea made me tired.

You said she was drinking at that party?

I’d heard about Trina’s run-ins with the police. Heck, everybody in Shelbyville had heard one tale or another. She’d been warned about driving under the influence time and again but it never seemed to result in her facing charges. Around here there’s a distinction between driving with influence and driving under it.

Sure enough. At one point I heard her screaming at the bartender. I frowned as I tried to remember just what had been said.

Hmmp. Bartender probably tried to cut her off and caught hell for it. Wouldn’t be the first time. Easy enough to check. Kurt pulled a pencil and notepad out of his shirt pocket and scribbled something. Do you want to spend the rest of the day here or do you and Tan have something better to be doing?

I blinked. Huh? Breakfast comes to mind.

Then why don’t you take your dog and finish your morning walk before Sammy gets here and decides you’re a material witness who needs to hang around until he sees fit to let you go. He’ll keep you here all day investigating a routine drunk driving accident.

I opened my mouth to say something, remembered to think before speaking, and then shut it. If Chief Snoddy thought it would be a good idea for me not to be here when the sheriff showed up…

I’m out of here. Thanks, Kurt. I waved at him, then at Ross, took Tan’s lead—being careful not to wrap it around my hand—and headed upstream where we’d left my car. Meanwhile I mentally patted myself on the back for remembering to think before speaking—this time.

I had taken about ten steps when I saw flashing blue-and-white lights coming down the levee and heard the sound of a siren.

I was too late. It had to be Sheriff Sammy Thompson. Nobody else would make such a ruckus about finding a body that had drowned in the river. After all, it wasn’t like speed was essential. It was a peaceful Sunday morning in a rural Alabama county. Football season was over and graduation was weeks away. Nothing was going on except the usual church services. Nobody was going anywhere—including me.

There were vehicles following behind the patrol car. The media. Sammy probably had them follow him so they wouldn’t get lost. And now they—and the sheriff—were between me and the parking lot where I’d left my car.

The patrol car bounced a couple of times—driving too fast on a dirt road will do that—and then came to a stop just in front of the ambulance. The passenger-side door flew open and Sheriff Thompson popped out of the car, checked his uniform, made sure his tie was straight, and headed toward Chief Snoddy. All the while tossing off orders left and right to his deputies.

It wasn’t the first time I’d seen them together but I was still struck by the contrast. The chief was an oversized figure whose khaki uniform looked rumpled because the body it covered bulged here and there, while the sheriff—so much smaller—was all neat and trim, creases everywhere they should be and everything else bright and shiny, glistening in the sun. For all the world, it looked like a stolid bull mastiff standing calmly by while a Jack Russell terrier charged up to it yapping away. One snap was all it would take. For some reason, the thought comforted me.

Snoddy! Where’s this witness you said you had?

Kurt used a thumb to push the brim of his hat back. "Now, Sammy, I never told you I had a witness. I said that I had somebody who’d seen Ms. Dawson drinking last night. Saw her get belligerent too—with the bartender. A smile began to spread across his face. Happens to have been the same person who found her body this morning. He pointed in my direction. The man’s standing right there."

The sheriff spun on his heel and stared at me, frowning.

Being corrected hadn’t fazed the sheriff but something about my appearance seemed to. I was wearing sweatpants, an old sweatshirt that I’d cut the sleeves off of, and sneakers. The shoes were new because I believed in taking care of my feet but the rest of the outfit had seen better days. Okay, maybe the shirt was a little ratty and had some holes in it but it was comfortable and had started off the day clean enough.

Do I know you?

I couldn’t tell from his tone whether he wasn’t sure or just didn’t want to admit it.

Don’t you recognize him, Sammy? Snoddy’s voice came from behind the sheriff and that hint of a smile had turned into a grin. That’s the private eye who solved the murder at The Festival last year for us. Him and his dog. His name’s Crawford. Dog’s name’s Tan. Remember?

The sheriff’s eyes narrowed and he looked as if he was having trouble placing me despite the identification. "You found the body?" The way he said it made me think he didn’t like the taste of his own words.

Nope. I smiled, shook my head, and pointed at the dog that was sitting at my feet. To be truthful, my dog did the finding but she wasn’t at the party last night so she didn’t know that the deceased had been drinking. I tapped myself on the chest. That was me.

The sheriff stared at me—a not-so-happy glimmer of recognition in his eyes.

I stuck my hand out. Nice seeing you again.

Sheriff Thompson spun back around and pointed his thumb over his shoulder. Get his statement. In writing. Tell the coroner to do a complete autopsy. I want to know what her alcohol level was and anything else important ASAP. I’ll deal with the media. His voice dropped. Another senseless tragedy. If you’re going to drink, don’t drive.

I wondered if he meant what he’d said and just thought in cliches or if he was practicing his lines before speaking to the press.

The sheriff touched the knot of his tie—making sure it was straight—and stalked back up the levee toward the clump of reporters and cameramen who’d been gathering behind his patrol car—its lights still flashing.

Rehearsing I decided.

I walked over to where Chief Snoddy was standing and together we watched Sammy handle the media—cameramen, reporters, TV talent—the whole ball of wax. As narrow as the top of the levee was, he was pretty much limited to straight on head shots—no real chance for one of his thoughtful profile shots that he used in his campaign posters. Still, there wasn’t anything tall he needed to avoid having his picture taken next to. Voters are always surprised to find out how short the sheriff actually is—sort of like Tom Cruise. That was one reason Sammy and Kurt never held joint press briefings. Another being Sammy’s belief that Chief Snoddy just didn’t look like a real law enforcement officer.

Kurt leaned over and patted my dog. Tan, seems a shame you couldn’t get a nice word from Sammy there. You do good work but you’ve got to watch out who you’re seen with.

So that’s the sheriff, huh? Sergeant Howard walked up to join us, patted Tan, and nodded toward the jumble of lights and microphones. Shorter than I thought he’d be but that explains some of the tales I’ve heard.

Hush. Snoddy shook his massive head. You don’t want him hearing you.

Ross looked affronted. I’ve been in law enforcement too long not to recognize small man syndrome. Bet he’s got lifts in his boots too.

I’m just warning you. If you never mention something you’ll never be overheard saying it.

It sounded like Snoddy was giving his new police officer some sound advice but for some reason he was staring at me while he spoke.

I decided to pretend it hadn’t happened. So there’s going to be an autopsy? Is that what I heard? I thought they weren’t done for drowning accidents any more—short of funds.

Yeah, well, that’s right but sheriff’s going to request one anyway and move Ms. Dawson’s corpse to the front of the line. Snoddy pursed his lips. None of the other corpses are as important as this one.

You mean newsworthy, don’t you, chief?

I meant what I said, Crawford. One big eye closed and opened in a wink. Besides, sheriff figures they’re one and the same.

I think it’s something the deceased would want. I suddenly realized what it had looked like she and the bartender were arguing about. Almost certainly. Trina Dawson hated to wait in line.

Sheriff Thompson must have finished his briefing. His driver turned off the blinking lights and the small crowd broke up heading back up the walkway to where their vans and SUVs were parked. At a gesture from Chief Snoddy, the EMTs lifted the gurney, collapsed the legs, and loaded the body into the ambulance.

Well, that’s that then. Kurt took his hat off, ran his hand through his hair, put the hat back on, straightened it, and sighed. Nice seeing you and Tan again, Crawford. Seems a shame somebody had to die.

Accidents happen.

2

Sunday Noon

NOW, BOBBY, JUST because I found her body, doesn’t mean she was murdered. After getting home and apologizing to The Black for having left him alone for the better part of the morning I called Bobby to tell her about Trina Dawson—more to hear her voice than for any other reason.

Looks like she lost control of her car on the levee, went over the embankment, hit the water, got thrown clear, and drowned. She must have been unconscious when she hit the water.

But what was she doing driving down there? I thought you said it was a walking trail.

It is, but wide enough to take a car down it—if you’re careful. I took a sip of coffee. I’d taken the plunge and upgraded my coffee experience. I’d put my old coffee maker in storage and purchased a one-cup-at-a-time machine—a Christmas present to myself. I was enjoying it—so far.

Do you think there was something wrong with her car? Maybe a tire blew?

No. I think she had too much to drink at the party last night, made a bad decision to drive herself home, and an even worse one to take a ride out on the levee. Guess she wanted to see what it looked like.

And she’d been drinking?

Bobby, I saw her. She was as drunk as Cooter Brown. Remember that screaming fit she threw at the bar? I’d been waiting my turn in line to get refills for Ellen George, Bobby, and myself when Trina had gone ballistic. It had been hard to tell what had upset the woman but there was no doubt about her being angry.

Oh, was that about a drink? I could hear her yelling but couldn’t make out what she was saying—not that I was trying that hard—or who she was mad at. Poor Duane, I wonder if he knows. There’s no other family. Not that he’s family exactly.