The Cape Fear River Murders

By Ernest Beasley

When high school girls are being murdered and thrown into the Cape Fear River in a small Southern town, it has all the signs that a serial killer is at work .The murders go unsolved by law enforcement as local corruption and politics come into play. The scenario changes after the daughter of an influential member of the community becomes one of the murdered vicitims.

Called to the scene is a somewhat middle aged, over-the-hill private insvestigator whose appearance and demeanor look nothing like your typical "TV Private Investigator." Kenneth Sadler's looks and "Good Ole Country Boy" way of doing things fail to show an abundance of experience and knowledge. Keneth's worldly maner and high moral characer are not expressed at all. Well, maybe with the exception of the fact that he attracts widow women like a magnet. He often proves that "Older is Better!"

Kenneth Sadler pursues what seems to be a hometown serial killler at full speed. In his pursuit, he finds that the case is more complex than first thought. The real mystery is what makes a person a serial killer.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Feb 24, 2011
• ISBN: 9781456739706

Ernest Beasley

Ernest Beasley is the author of; “Highway U.S. 1, South.” “The Cape Fear River Murders” is his second novel about the “New South.” Ernest retired from the United States Air Force and the State of North Carolina having taught at both a high school and a community college. Much of his experience in teaching at the high school is brought out in this novel. He grew up in the area of the Cape Fear River and was always fascinated by the river. The Cape Fear has a history of secrecy, civil war battles and murders. The river often changes people’s lives when it overflows its banks and floods. As a young boy, Ernest had a dream that the Cape Fear River had dragons in it. The dragons may still be there today!

Book preview

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

ERNEST BEASLEY

BIOGRAPHY

The story is about a river in North Carolina called Cape Fear. It is a tale of lust, revenge, and murder in a small town. An unlikely serial killer is born out of the need for status in a world that offers none. Kenneth Sadler is not your typical private investigator. His experience renders him the best choice for solving crimes the local law enforcement cannot resolve. Sadler’s good ole country boy approach opens doors which are closed to others. His affairs with a group of widow women makes his life both interesting and unusual. The mighty Cape Fear River contains much knowledge about the murders, but only provides bits and pieces of the overall puzzle.

Not just another private investigator story, but one which makes clear that older is better.

Chapter One

It is a gloomy night as I sit here in my car in the parking lot of a third-rate motel. The weather is both cold and rainy. My watch indicates one in the early morning, and I am fighting to keep my eyes open. I know that once my eyes close, I will be soundly asleep and miss the purpose of being at such a place. I have my camera ready to take pictures of my subject and his girlfriend, whenever they decide to exit their motel room. My focus is just another unfaithful husband who spends more time with other women than he spends with his wife. Why am I doing this? Because I am a private investigator!

I am not like the private investigators you see in the movies or on TV. I just don’t fit the mold of what you would expect a PI to resemble. I am fifty-five years old, unimpressive and balding. I guess the only thing I have in common with the actor-type investigators is that I do carry a legally concealed weapon and I have a taste for good Scotch whiskey.

A night like tonight has all the ingredients that make your brain think about, How I got here and why am I doing this! The fact that the coffee in my thermos has gotten cold leaves lots of time to do nothing else but think of the past. My thoughts go back to the day I graduated from high school and joined the U.S. Army.

Like most young men of my age at that time, I had no idea what being in the army really meant. It did not take a nasty and unfriendly drill sergeant long to bring me up-to-date on everything I did not know about the army. I think the only good thing that came from my basic training was when they asked me what I wanted to do in the U.S. Army.

I had always wanted to be a policeman just like the many members of my family who had gone on before me. The Sadler family has a long history of being involved with just about every type of law enforcement, including one who was a Texas Ranger. My great-great grandfather was a deputy sheriff in our county and rode horseback to perform his duties. So, when the Corporal at the assignment desk asked what kind of career I had in mind, I said I would like to be a Military Policeman. The Corporal said I had the right test scores for such an assignment, and before long I arrived at Fort Gordon, Georgia.

I went through the twelve weeks of MP training at Fort Gordon and learned that I was constantly being taught, to some degree, that it was more important on how you look rather than enforcing the law. But, I must have met both requirements as I finished first in my class and was assigned to Fort Bragg, North Carolina. My first thought was that Fort Bragg, North Carolina was too far from my hometown of Waco, Texas. However, Fort Bragg turned out to be a good assignment.

I went about my normal MP duties with my first duty being in traffic control. Either, because of good luck or just because I was the first MP on the scene, I became involved with two murders that happened on Post. The Post Provost Marshal, who was a Lieutenant Colonel, was impressed with how I handled the initial stages of the investigation. The Colonel called me to his office one day and asked me if I would like to attend Criminal Investigation Division (CID) School. I was overjoyed to be honored with such a quick recognition of my desire to learn more about law enforcement.

I completed the CID school at Fort Leavenworth, Kansas and was promoted to the next military rank of Corporal. My next job was to be in Korea. It was the first time I had ever been out of the United States, other than a few trips to Mexico. The trip to Korea resulted in a reevaluation of my concept about the real world. I had been unaware that parts of the U.S. Army were so corrupt. I spent eighteen months in Korea investigating a group of U.S. Army personnel who were stealing big time from the Military Clubs and Post Exchange facilities. You might expect foreigners to be engaged in such behavior, but not members of the same army in which you served.

My thinking of the past quickly ended when I looked up to see my target and friend coming out the door of their motel room. I rolled down the window of my car and got a good shot of the emerging pair. My camera lens was set for dark and there was no flash. But, he saw me as I saw them, and I knew that was going to mean trouble. Like some kind of idiot, I had placed my car keys in my coat pocket and was now having trouble finding them. The big two hundred pound man that I had taken a picture of had no problem finding his keys and opening the trunk of his car. I looked up to see an angry big man with a tire tool in his hand, heading toward my car. Thank God, I did not have electric windows and quickly rolled my window up.

I finally found my car keys, but it was too late. Even with my car starting up and my attempt to back away, the man was on me like mustard on a hot dog. This huge person was breaking out my windshield with his tire iron. I made a frantic telephone call on my cell phone to 911. The safety glass on my old car had proven more difficult than he expected, but he was making good strides in getting to me. When I thought he was getting too close, I pulled my gun and let him know that I was ready to end his life, if necessary. Thank goodness for two of the We serve with Pride members of the Wilmington, North Carolina police force, who arrived with blue lights lighting up the night world. They quickly put the big man up against the car and placed handcuffs on him. I was relieved to say the least.

The cops motioned for me to get out of my car. I already had my PI identification and my concealed weapon card in my hand as I left the vehicle. I kept my hands very much out in the open so that they knew I wasn’t going to be a problem for them. One of the police officers came over and asked me to explain what had happened. The older cop, who was looking after the big man, called out to the cop talking to me and said, I know that guy, he used to be a U.S. Marshal here! Yes, I had been a U.S. Marshal but that is a story for another time.

I explained to the officer that I was on a case, and the big man had become upset with me for taking his picture with his girlfriend. The officer asked me if I was ready to press charges for the damages done to my car. I told him that I would not press charges but would put the bill on the big man’s wife’s tab, since she is the one that wanted the picture. The old car I drove was one I used for surveillance, and I wasn’t too upset about the damage. However, while this was going on, the big man said he wanted to press charges against me for pointing a gun at him. The older police officer using common sense explained to the man he was getting off light by me not pressing charges, and he would be better off by just forgetting the whole incident. The guy finally agreed. The younger police officer told me he would give me five minutes to get out of there, before they took the cuffs off the big guy. I thanked both officers for their courtesy and got the hell out of the motel parking lot. It is amazing how shades of blue always stick together. And in this case, I was very grateful for sticking together. I headed for my motel, broken windshield and all. It was hard to drive with a shattered windshield. Tomorrow I will have a windshield replacement outfit come to the motel and replace it. I finally got to my motel on College Street.

After getting into my motel room, the first thing I reached for was my bottle of Scotch. It wouldn’t be on the rocks, since I did not feel up to going out to the ice machine. My drink would be straight up and lots of it. I was too tired to sleep, and while sitting in the uncomfortable motel chair, my thoughts went to the case that I was currently investigating. The big guy’s wife was not having me follow him because of her love for him. It was all about money. Her husband was financially well off and she was planning on decreasing his assets. However, as a PI, it was not my job to judge, but only to present the facts and let others decide what was right or wrong.

The Scotch was getting to me, and I once again went back to my memories of Korea and Lucy. Who was Lucy? Lucy was a New York City girl who worked in the same unit of the CID that I was assigned to in Korea. Her full name was Lucy Gail Polumbo. She looked Italian and was a certified Yankee just as much as I was a certified Johnny Reb. CID agents do not wear uniforms because of the rank thing, and both Lucy and I always dressed well in our civilian clothes. I did get lots of comments about me wearing boots. The two of us quickly learned that we made a good investigative team and handled many assignments together. Some of the guys in the unit gave us the nickname, North and South, and I guess it fit rather well.

Lucy’s life long ambition was to be a New York City Police Detective with a gold shield. She spent hours brain washing me about what a great police force the NYPD was. It goes without saying that there were times on the weekends when we did little talking and lots of loving. There is just something special about Italian American women that you have to admire.

As our duty in Korea was coming to an end, so did our enlistments in the U.S. Army. Lucy and I had been promoted to Sergeant, and both of us were getting the full press to reenlist and make the army our careers. We made it known that the army life was not for us and that we had other fish to fry in the way of careers. I guess it shows how infatuated I was with Lucy and just how gullible a Southern boy can be under the influence of a Yankee woman. Lucy talked me into applying for the NYPD academy. We submitted our applications together and were accepted for a class shortly after our army service was to end. Before long we were on a plane to Fort Lewis, Washington and the end of our military service with the exception of some Army Reserve time.

Lucy’s family lived in Brooklyn, New York and from what she said; she must have had one hell of a big family. My mother and father were deceased, and I really did not have what you might call any close relatives. Lucy indicated several times that her family would be my family. I did know that she had two brothers who were on the NYPD, and I had an idea that it helped when we applied for the NYPD Academy. After our release from the army, we rented a car and planned to drive it all the way to New York City. Needless to say, for the first two days, we didn’t pass by too many motels without stopping. We were enjoying our newfound freedom from the army. Making love was one way that we shared the freedom we had earned. It is about three thousand miles from Washington State to New York City, and it took us almost a week to make the trip. Being young and free had its benefits.

My half Scotch stupor came undone with the ringing of my cell phone. It was my answering service. Another unfaithful husband was on the prowl, and someone was trying to get in touch with me. After taking the call and getting the information I needed, I decided it was time for some sleep. The next thing I knew it was two in the afternoon, and I had rented the room for another night. I really wasn’t too concerned about the cost, since it would all go on my client’s bill.

It did not take long to get my windshield replaced. After that I gathered up my gear and started on the road to Moore County. Moore County was where my home was located. The voice of my possible new client sounded rather up scale. I elected to go by home, drop off my old Chevrolet and pick up my new Crown Victoria. Impressions often make the difference in what kind of fee I could demand. In the next case, we would just have to wait and see.

Upon arriving back in Moore County, I first went by the home of the lady who handles the secretary and accounting chores for me. I gave Mildred, my helper lady, the photograph I had taken in Wilmington and my expense report for the current job. While at Mildred’s house, I called the client and gave her a report of what I found out in Wilmington. I also told her that she would be receiving a photo, written report and a bill for my services. I signed a few papers that Mildred wanted signed and left for my house.

I pulled into the driveway of my home and was greeted by the bark of my Chocolate Lab, Jake. I knew that he was glad to see me. There were many days when I was not at home. I paid a neighbor kid to