American Devil: Carla Larsen Mystery, #3

By charles fisher

Carole, Carla, and the gang continue to pursue the elusive Jimmy Anders all over Connecticut, New York, and Maine. Seems he just won't stay dead. They also get involved with a Georgia  televangelist who promotes child molestation. Monsters, Mayhem, and Murder.  A little pro wrestling thrown in for good measure.

• Language: English
• Publisher: charles fisher
• Release date: Mar 2, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393048534

Book preview

American Devil

The Legend of Jimmy Anders

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Stratford, Connecticut  Police Department

900 Longbrook Avenue

Stratford, Connecticut

May, 1997

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This is crazy, Carole whispered as she looked at the report. Tell me this is some sort of mistake.

It’s not a mistake, Sergeant Pat Kennedy said as he unwrapped a hot dog. Unlike like your birth certificate, which says you’re actually human.

They lifted Jimmy Anders’ fingerprints from a murder scene? How? Carla killed him exactly a year ago. There was a perfect DNA match, and Lou Ann Barnes identified the corpse.

There was a perfect DNA match when he supposedly died before that, too, Kennedy smiled. And fingerprints, and scars on his leg when your mother creamed him with a frying pan, yadda yadda yadda. And let’s not forget your eye witness account of him dying on a gurney in a  prison death chamber. What’s that, about five times he died already?

I forget, Carole said, looking out the window. Maybe he was right. Maybe nobody can kill him.

We don’t know that it’s actually him, Kennedy said. Like you said, it could be a mistake.

You just said it wasn’t.

"The report isn’t a mistake, Kennedy sighed. The woman is dead. I’m not a Detective Who ran the case?"

Kathleen.

Oh; Miss Congeniality, Kennedy said. Is Jeremiah still alive?

I think so, Carole said. She has something hanging from the rear view mirror of that Corvette he bought her. It looks like a scalp.

I’ll have Patrol swing by the house and see if he’s still there, Kennedy smiled.

They’ve only been married since February. The life insurance probably isn’t any good yet, she giggled. Besides, they live near the seawall and Tracy has an Uncle Sheamus who has a tug boat. You really think she’ll leave any evidence when the day comes?

The day? Kennedy said as he unwrapped another hot dog. You act like it’s a foregone conclusion that she’s going to kill him.

He’s a man, Carole leered. He doesn’t deserve to live. He bought her a nice house on Washington Parkway and a new car. He has outlived his usefulness. Besides; have you ever seen a human more miserable than her?

You have a point, Kennedy nodded as he farted and belched at the same time.

Wow, Carole smiled. All you’d have to have done is pee your pants, and you’d get the Triple Crown.

I’m working on that, Kennedy said.

Call Bridewell. I want to get to the bottom of this.

Isn’t that what Joel Willard said to you on prom night?

I didn’t go to the prom with him, Carole sulked. He took Gary Jacobsen. Faker, she said. Trying to convince me he was gay so he wouldn’t have to go with me.

Oh, that’s right; you went with what’s his name, the other gay kid who brought his brother in a dress as a backup.

He wasn’t gay, Carole snapped. At least not until after the prom, she giggled.

Do you really want to put up with the avian one? Kennedy smiled.

What choice do I have? She’s the Corner.

Coroner.

Whatever. Just get her in here. I want to see whose prints these are.

Stratford, Connecticut  Police Department

900 Longbrook Avenue

Stratford, Connecticut

May, 1997

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What do you want, oh lumpy one? Selma Bridewell smirked as she sat down and adjusted her glasses. Do you want me to conduct an autopsy of your sex life? That was pronounced dead thirty years ago.

Suck it, Carole snapped.

Good comeback. At least you know some words that have more than three letters.

Carole held up the report. You screwed something up. Jimmy Anders is dead; your own autopsy report says so.

I beg to differ, Bridewell said. My report stated the cause of death, and that there was a DNA match based upon alleged known samples; the one provided by your stellar Detective Carla Larsen was taken by force when she committed assault on Anders. There is no provenance.

There is too, Carole huffed. It’s in Rhode Island.

You can’t possibly be this stupid, Bridewell smiled.

Don’t bet on it, Carole nodded. At least I know where Rhode Island is. And since you’re so smart, why is it called Rhode Island when it isn’t an island?

I really couldn’t care less, Bridewell smiled as she crossed her legs. Do you like my new stockings? I have a date tonight. I bet he’ll like them.

He? Carole giggled. Make sure you look twice. He’ll probably want to borrow one to hang himself when he sees you naked.

I am not a common harlot like that thing Carla; I am a woman of substance, Bridewell snapped.

Okay, just bring some evidence bags and a swab kit on your big date in case Mr. Right leaves a substance running down your leg. Or your chin, she giggled.

You are beyond disgusting, Bridewell sighed. A gross little  misshapen half bald celibate dwarf.

Kennedy came in and unwrapped a hot dog. He grinned at Bridewell.

Look who’s here; it’s Tweety Bird. You should hire a lawyer and sue your legs for non support.

Look who’s talking; I can’t wait for that enlarged heart of yours to give out so I can fill out the death certificate.

That isn’t the only thing I have that’s enlarged, Kennedy said. Wanna see?

Must be your liver, Bridewell smiled. It certainly isn’t your brain or your little Irish penis.

Don’t pay any attention to her, Carole said with a wave of her hand. She doesn’t even know where Rhode Island is. She doesn’t know where Jimmy Anders is, either.

He’s dead, Bridewell smirked. According  to all the evidence your demented Detective Squad gave me to work with. I cannot perform miracles, you know. I can only work with what the police hand me.

I have something I can hand you, Kennedy grinned as he pulled down his zipper. Probably be the first time you ever saw a live one, too.

In your condition? Selma laughed. I’m sure it’s as dead as what’s between your ears. What is your blood pressure? she smirked.

700 over 290, Kennedy said. That’s a record low for police Sergeants.

Never mind Sergeant Pressed Ham; where  did you get these fingerprints, Birdwell? Carole said.

I didn’t get them; your obnoxious Detective Kathleen Barrett collected them. I only analyzed them. It’s a match.

So is my ass and your face, Carole muttered. How does a dead man leave fingerprints at a murder scene?

That’s your problem to resolve, Selma smirked. I believe that falls under your scope of duty as a Detective.

I don’t like Scope; it’s too sweet. I use Listerine. He’s dead; when Carla kills somebody, they stay dead. She’s very good at that, you know.

I see, Selma smirked. Like her report that said Wyatt Earp and Doc Holliday helped her, for which you had her locked up in the nut house. Very reliable person.

This is not her case, it’s Kathleen’s. She collected the evidence. Take it up with her.

You take it up with her, Selma said. You don’t seem to understand how this works. You collect the evidence; I analyze it. If the evidence is flawed, my conclusion will be flawed. That is your fault, not mine. Is there anything else?

Here, Kennedy said, handing Selma a box of eggs. Family reunion.

Putrid fat wretch, Selma snapped as she jumped to her feet. I’ll call you tomorrow and give you all the juicy details of my date, she smirked at Carole. It will give you something to fantasize about while you masturbate at night. She took her briefcase and left.

Did she just accuse me of spanking my monkey? Carole exclaimed.

Looks that way, Kennedy shrugged. You always did like King Kong.

Get Carla and Kathleen in here. This has to be cleared up. And order us some pizza.

How many hot dogs would you like to have disappear with that order?

Six, Carole said.

My kind of Chief, Kennedy smiled. I have a Patrolman investigating a fatal car accident on Ferry Boulevard. I’ll pull him off that and have him go to Duchess.

My kind of Sergeant, Carole nodded. The dead guy won’t know the difference.

Stratford, Connecticut  Police Department

900 Longbrook Avenue

Stratford, Connecticut

May, 1997

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Ya sent for me, Chiefy? Kathleen O’Neil Barrett said as she sat down. I ain’t got time for this. I got shit to do, you know. This town be out of control. If I risk my neck  for you, do I get a chance to kill Englishmen? she grinned.

Very funny, Stephen. You aren’t on your island right now. I have a problem.

Sex change operation gone bad, did it? Kathleen grinned. Which sex was ya when ya started? It be hard to tell. Looks like ya could go either way.

Good one, Patrolman, Carole smiled.

That would be Detective, ya bleedin’ little arsehole.

Only until I say otherwise, Carole said. How did you collect the fingerprints from the Denise McDonald murder scene?

Same way we always collect ‘em, Kathleen shrugged. Dusted  everything in the area. Why? You got some on your arse we missed?

You collected the prints of James Anders, who was killed by Detective Larsen one year ago at Lou Ann Barnes’ house. Explain that.

Not me job, Kathleen shrugged. I collect what be there. I turn in me report, and it be up to you to decide what happens next, Chiefy. Ask Selma Birdlegs. She done the autopsy and verified the prints.

She kicked it back to us, Carole said. She says they are a match, based upon what we gave her. She questions what we gave her.

What’s this about? You think the boy still be alive?

He has escaped death so many times I lost track, Carole sighed. I graduated from high school with him. I watched him take a lethal injection in Texas in 1989. He called me at night shortly after that.

Boy got nine lives, Kathleen nodded. Ya been had, Missy. Either he is still alive, or somebody be carryin’ on for him.

How do you explain the prints, then?

I can take your prints and make plastic copies, Kathleen said. Then I can glue ‘em to me fingers and put ‘em anywhere I want.

The old James Bond movie, Carole whispered. Diamonds are Forever.

Yeah, like that. I will look into this. If the boy be alive, I will find him.

Carla came in next. She sat down and stuffed tobacco into her cheek.

Y’all want me, Pixie? she grinned.

Yes, I do, Carole smiled.

Sorry, I don’t go that way. ‘Specially with fam’ly.

Kathleen just finished a murder investigation, and she turned up Jimmy Anders’ prints at the scene.

Must be a mistake, Carla said. Boy be dead. I done put two in his forehead, just to make sure.

Maybe you didn’t shoot Jimmy Anders, Carole smiled. Just like you had Wyatt Earp and Doc Holliday help you kill him and the men you say were with him, even though there was no sign of them.

Boy came out of that house and drew on me. I put his ass down. You got the DNA evidence.

We had DNA evidence on him before, and he still resurfaced. He did some kind of blood transfusion trick.

Transfusion trick? I shot the bastard dead where he stood. I know a dead man when I make one. I don’t care whose blood he got in his veins.

Maybe, but it could have been a body double; an impersonator with Anders’ blood. He’s done that before.

All right, Carla sighed. You think the boy still be alive and pulled some shit? I will look into that. How you expect to prove that is beyond me.

You are a Detective. That’s your job, to prove the impossible.

This boy be the Devil hisself if he is still alive, Carla nodded. American Devil. Ain’t nobody can do that.

Then get out there and prove us wrong, Carole said. Work the case with Kathleen.

Residence of Lou Ann Barnes

27 Peters Lane

Stratford, Connecticut

May, 1997

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How do, Carla smiled when Lou Ann came to the door. Got a minute?

What do you want? Lou Ann snapped. I had to take out a mortgage to fix all the damage you bastard cops did to my property. I intend to sue the town. You made enough trouble around here.

We could make a lot more, ya great fat cow, Kathleen said. Now let us talk to you, or you’ll be seein’ a lot more of me than you’d like.

She ain’t as nice as me, Carla grinned.

Nice? Lou Ann laughed. You ruined my life and killed Jimmy. I’d hate to see what you would have done if you didn’t like me.

He done all that to you, and you let him. You harbor a mass murderer and Y’all deserve whatever you get. We could have prosecuted you, but Carole said let it go. Now, are we gonna have that conversation or not? The Statute of Limitations ain’t run yet on aiding and abetting a fugitive.

All right, but make it fast. I don’t like this. Or you, she snickered. They went inside and sat down. What do you want?

Cranky Kathy here just finished a murder investigation. Jimmy boy’s prints were found at the scene; full set, perfect match.

You’re crazy, Lou Ann whispered. That little rat bastard is dead. I watched you shoot him.

The feller I shot is dead, but that brings up the question of whether it was Jimmy or not.

Who the hell else would it be? Lou Ann laughed. He’d been living here for months. Are you drunk?

What time is it? Carla grinned. Never mind that; Jimmy been known to use body doubles, fake DNA, and plastic surgery to fool folks into thinkin’ he be dead. He used some sort of chemical block in Texas; Carole watched him get a lethal injection in a prison death chamber. Didn’t  kill his ass, though.

It was him, Lou Ann said. I identified what was left of the body. You made a real mess out of him.

That were a fine piece of shootin’, Carla nodded. Boy knows my style, too. Maybe he planned on that.

For what? A closed coffin?

Close up head shots distort the skull and facial features. He did not have enough recognizable features left for you or anybody else to make a positive ID.

I identified him based on the fact that I watched him leave the kitchen and go outside to fight you. I went over to the living room window so I could watch you waste the miserable little prick.

So he was out of your sight for a spell? Carla said.

Ten or fifteen seconds at most. Why?

Boy could have played switcheroo with somebody. He had this all planned, like he always does. Boy be brilliant.

He was evil, Lou Ann said. And what was all that shooting? It was only you and him out there.

Not exactly, Carla smiled. He had him some help, and so did I.

I didn’t see anybody.

I know, but they were there. Take my word for it. He ever get into the occult?

He read all kinds of weird books, and he listened to that crazy radio show at night.

Art Bell, Carla sighed.

Yeah, that’s it. Bastard was probably into Devil worship. If you think it wasn’t him, dig him up and have that Bridewell bitch do another autopsy.

Might just do that, Carla said. Don’t fancy Bridewell none, do you?

No. She  and that hideous sister of hers, Alma. Alma went to Bunnell. We called them the birdbath sisters. Selma used to visit once in a while. The two of them always made fun of my weight.

Well, ya ain’t exactly Twiggy, Kathleen grinned.

And how did you get to be a cop? What are you, thirteen years old? Lou Ann said.

Yep. I will be fourteen in December. I am on a special Juvenile Enforcement Detail. On paper, anyway, Carla grinned.

Are you from the south?

Kansas. Folks out west talk pretty much the same as southerners. Most cowpokes came west from places like Tennessee, Kentucky, and.......Georgia.

All I know is you better find that asshole if it’s him. We didn’t exactly part company under the best of terms. I don’t need him coming after me.

I will do that. If he shows up here, you call us.

Sure, Lou Ann laughed. You think he’d leave the phones working if he came to get me? And he wouldn’t walk up and ring the doorbell, either.

You got a gun? You plug the son of a bitch if he shows his face.

What can you do about it if he does? He’s legally dead.

You let us worry about that. You ain’t seen legally dead until you seen my version. I thought I had his ass, but this time I intend to make sure.

On their way back to the cruiser, Carla felt a cold chill come over her.  She turned to Kathleen.

Boy be alive, she nodded. And we have got us one hell of a problem on our hands.

Stratford, Connecticut  Police Department

900 Longbrook Avenue

Stratford, Connecticut

May, 1997

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What did she say? Carole said as she opened a pizza box. 

Said you bought us pizza, Carla said. Never had that at  the orphanages. Boys liked to eat a different kind of pie, she grinned. Renewable, too. Onliest thing a boy can eat and you still got it when he be finished.

You’re a little slob, Carole laughed. I don’t believe half the shit you tell me about those places.

It all be true, Carla nodded. I got the scars to prove it, too.

Show me.

Scars be where nobody can see ‘em, Carla said quietly. She ain’t heard from him, if that’s what you mean. She watched me shoot his ass, but she had to walk from the kitchen to the living room to do it. That means he were out of her sight for maybe ten or fifteen seconds.

Just long enough for him to pull a switch, Carole sighed.

Y’all gonna have to have his ass excavated, Carla nodded.

Exhumed, Carole said. I’ll have Brenda get me a Court Order, and Bridewell can have another look.

Don’t really need to, Carla said. But you do it anyway. Boy be alive. I felt it when we left the house.

Don’t start with your reincarnation mumbo jumbo. That got you locked up once; don’t push your luck.

Carla held up the first three fingers of her right hand. Read between the lines, Shorty, she grinned.

Watch it, Carole said. I’m still your boss.

We could go back to Kansas and fix that, Carla nodded.

Did you catch that girl? Carole smiled. The one in the red hat.

Nope, Carla smiled. I hear tell she done got hitched and ran off to start a new life. I figure she ain’t worth no more effort, since there wasn’t any real evidence against her in the first place. Anders got any family?

They disappeared, Carole said. Embarrassment, probably. There is no trace of them. Why?

Better DNA match. And maybe they heard from him.

He had a brother Leonard. He was a couple of years behind us in school, so I never met him.

Y’all couldn’t coax the boy into the back seat of that old Crutless you drove, Carla grinned.

Bye, Carole smiled, pointing at the door. Go do your job. Take Vito, he’s worthless. I need Kathleen here.

Residence of Leonard Anderson

Rimrock Road

Billings, Montana

May, 1997

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How did you find me? Leonard Anders shrieked as Carla identified herself and held up her badge.

A week of damn hard work, Carla nodded. Y’all could’ve been a little more inventive with a new last name.

That isn’t illegal, and you don’t have any jurisdiction here.

Relax, son, we ain’t here to roust you. This be Captain Vito Antonelli. We hiked our asses out here from Connecticut, and we mean to talk to you. Do not turn us down.

All right, Anders sighed. Come on in. It’s Jimmy, isn’t it? What did he do now? I am so sick and fucking tired of hearing about his demented exploits. My parents moved to Europe because of him, and I had to change my name. I’d still like to know how you found me.

Name changes go through the court, Carla said. My boss, who is my cousin, went to Bunnell with a gal who is now a D.A. for the state of Connecticut.

Jimmy Anders, Leonard laughed. The gift that keeps on giving.

Like Burpees, Vito grinned. Crotch rot.

Huh?

Never mind Vito, Carla said. You heard from the boy?

Not lately, Leonard said. I refuse to look at anything other than local news, and I never look at a news story on the computer. I don’t want to know what he’s doing. Did he kill somebody else?

Maybe, Carla shrugged. We ain’t sure yet. He know you live out here?"

Yes, the rotten bastard. He keeps getting my phone number; I changed it four times. Thank God he doesn’t bother me very often. I told him I want nothing to do with him, and that he better never show up here.

When’s the last time he called you?

September 22, last year. That’s my birthday. He always calls me to wish me a happy birthday. I told him to stop, and I haven’t heard from him since.

Any idea where the call came from?

Maine area code. Why anybody would want to live in Maine is beyond me.

Ain’t exactly hot in Montana in the winter, Carla said.

No, but it’s better than A-yup country. I always called it the Land of Two Chromosomes.

Ain’t the smartest fellers live up there,  Carla grinned. Y’all oughta see Ver-mont. That be Hell with cows and retards.

No thanks. At least people here are halfway human. Cowboys, ranchers, and miners.

I be a minor, Carla muttered. Never stopped me, though. I aim to have me a good steak before we leave this here place. You know a good place? And I need some samples.

Martinson’s Steak House is good, Anders said. They own a cattle ranch.

You got a good Guinea restaurant here? Vito smiled.

No, Anders giggled. Are you serious? We have about six Italians in the whole state, and they’re all in the  Witness Protection Program. Although there is a place called Ricciardi’s  Ristorante on Grand Avenue, now that I think of it, south of here by the Moss Museum.

Bingo, Vito said. That’s a real Wop name.

What did you mean, you want samples? Anders said suspiciously.

Carla put on a pair of surgical gloves, took out a couple of vials and an evidence bag, and a pair of hot dog tongs. Bend over, she grinned. I got to massage your prostate. That be the only legal way to get your whacky juice.

My.............oh no you don’t, Anders laughed. You aren’t sticking your finger in my ass.

Used to say that my own self until I found out how profitable it was, Carla muttered. Come on, boy. Live a little. Take one for the team. I’ll put some Liberace music on the stereo.

No. Absolutely not.

Okay, Carla said, crossing her long legs and letting her skirt ride up. We kin do it the other way, if you kin keep your mouth shut. She took a can of Crisco out of her bag.

Jeez, Vito laughed. This broad is a sicko. She shoves popsicles in her ass. Youse is in for a rough time, dude. Better you just let her shove her hand in your ass and be done with it.

No. I refuse, Anders laughed. Although the  Crisco is interesting. What do you call that?

Betty Crocker Surprise, Carla grinned. Come on, boy, you got you a bathroom? I’ll see if I can beat my record, along with your meat. One minute twelve be the mark.

Can’t hurt, Vito beamed. She don’t take no for an answer. I seen her knock guys out cold and do like that artificial dissemination shit. That’s what them tongs is for.

Good grief, Anders sighed. All right, let’s go. But keep in mind, I didn’t move to cattle country for nothing.

They went into the bathroom and closed the door.

Whoa, Vito heard Carla mutter. Damn, boy, you got you some serious beef of your own. Here we go, she said. Vito started timing her on his watch. At the one minute mark, Anders started screaming something about Jesus. They came back out a few minutes later. Emission accomplished, Carla grinned as she wiped her face.

Youse beat the record, Vito smiled. You deviate slob.

Don’t count, Carl said as she sealed up the vial and bagged it. Used an alternative  method to takin’ things into my own hands. I got it though, she nodded, pointing at the bag. Most of it, anyway.

Lookit the poor bastard, Vito sighed as Anders collapsed onto the sofa, mopping his brow. He got the Heebie Jeebie.

Marry me, Anders grinned. I have money.

I need some blood and a hair sample, Carla said. And a skin swab from the inside of your cheek.

Take anything you want, Anders grinned. I own a jewelry store. I’ll give you a three carat perfect diamond ring.

Never did care much for carrots, Carla said as she took out a syringe. I do like broccoli, though. You’ll get over it, she shrugged. Most boys do once they see how it should be done. Y’all got to find you a nice gal, and give her lessons.

In Montana? Anders laughed. Women out here ride horses to work and wear spurs. The only thing they ever suck on is a corn dog from the local roadside stands.

Spurs and a corn dog kin be one hell of a night, Carla grinned. Y’all kin make that corn batter and put it on your.................... never mind, she sighed as Vito smiled at her. That were just something I read.

Yeah, in Pre-vert Monthly, Vito grinned. What this dude needs is a good Italian woman.

Carla took her samples and they got up to go. Dream about me, she grinned. A nice wet one.

That offer still stands, Anders yelled as they went to the rental car. I could move back to Stratford.

Boy be delirious, Carla said. Must be a pussy  shortage hereabouts.

Yeah, but not when  youse come to town. What did you do to that dude? And why you have to wipe your face?

Sneezed, Carla grinned. I got allergies. Now let’s go have us a steak. Tomorrow we will find that Eye-talian place.

Ricciardi’s  Ristorante

890 Grand Avenue

Billings, Montana

May, 1997

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Hey, how you doing, the handsome young waiter said as Vito and Carla were seated in a booth. Youse is a paisan, right? he grinned. I’m Franco.

You an American? Carla smiled. I like that spaghetti in the can.

Youse like a lot of things in your can, Vito nodded. Non prestare attenzione a lei, Franco. Questo è un bambino cattivo.

Fammi vedere la tua salsiccia, Carla grinned as she started to run her hand up Franco’s inner thigh.

Whoa, Franco laughed, stepping back. Youse is too young for that.

I got seventeen outstanding warrants on boys who said that, Carla smiled. What’s a god looking  Eye-talian boy doing in Montana? Other than givin’ the cows  some competition. She tried another run up Franco’s leg, but he pushed her hand away.

There ain’t no bracciole on the menu for you, he grinned.

She’s a slob prostituta, Vito said with a wave of his hand. Maialino sporco.

Who owns this place? Carla said as she made sure Franco got a good look up her skirt. He turned his head. Why you lookin’ away, boy? Vuoi succhiare i miei Spumoni?

My old man owns it, Franco said as he mopped his brow. And you don’t suck Spumoni; you eat it. Jeez, I wish I didn’t say that.

His name Ricciardi? Carla smiled.

It is now, Franco grinned.

What was it before he changed it? Carla said.

Hey, that’s like private, you know what I’m saying? Who are youse guys, anyway?

Police from Connecticut, Carla said. "But we’re not here for you. We’re after a dude who