Kidnapping, Drugs, and Murders, Oh My!

By James Dennis Beeson

Dr. Beeson was born in 1926, the son of an Indiana farmer. He skipped the 12th. grade, was accepted into the Navy College Training program(V-12) and sent to Notre Dame for his pre-med.

He graduated from Indiana Medical School at the age of 22. He is a Board certified Anesthesiologist who practiced in Jacksonville, Fl. for42 years. He was a caregiver for his first beloved wife for 6 years.

A year after her passing he married her best friend who was a widow: again, beloved. He has five children in whom he is much pleased. He likes cruising, sports, flowers and life. He's been chronically healthy and mostly happy his whole life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Mar 6, 2013
• ISBN: 9781479792597

James Dennis Beeson

James Beeson was an Indiana farm boy till his father died when he was ten. He was never without a job. His mother cobbled together the means of maintaining a home for him for the next seven years without the intrusion of any governmental or charitable institution. He skipped the twelfth grade, enlisted in the Navy and was sent to Notre Dame University for his pre-med studies in their college training program (V-12). He graduated from Indiana Medical School in 1949 at the age of twenty-two. He is a board certified anesthesiologist (retired). He had five fine children by his first dear wife who died in 2002. Two of his sons are also anesthesiologists. In 2003 he married his wife's best friend who was a widow. He retired in 1996 and was a care giver for six years. He began writing books in 2009. He enjoys cruising, dinner with friends, Cubs' baseball, Jaguar football, good scotch and the love of his adored wife. He is chronically happy and healthy as of 2014.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

The Florida legislature, in its infinite wisdom, decreed the closure of several of the state’s prisons the year after the data indicated that several of them were nowhere near full. The inactivation of these correctional institutions led directly to overcrowding in the remaining ones.

What started as a legal action by one inmate found its way to a liberal judge’s desk, whereupon he decreed a mandatory release of a significant number of those incarcerated to bring the prison populations into balance, according to his concepts.

When the legislature refused to reopen any of the previously closed prisons, the judge’s mandate was implemented.

Stuart Silver was the warden at Raiford State Prison at that time, and he was entirely cooperative with the parole board, whose job it was to pick the ones for early release.

Big Louie Constanza was due out in six months and, with an unblemished record, was an ideal candidate. As well as being a model inmate, he had become a sort of prisoners’ Godfather. He would suggest compromises in controversies among the various cliques in the prison. Most notable were his intercessions between the main black and Hispanic groups. He usually convinced them that what they had in common was more important than whatever was perceived to be divisive at the time.

Louie had only been challenged once in his nine and a half years as a guest of the state. A belligerent newcomer took a swing at him. His would-be assailant was big, but Louie was bigger and stronger. Louie caught the man’s fist in midswing and squeezed it so hard that the troublemaker went to his knees with the pain. At this point, Louie gently told the man that violence was to be discouraged at Raiford. As soon as Louie saw that the man agreed with him, he let him loose to contemplate his sore hand and unacceptable conduct.

When Steve Phillips arrived at Raiford following his conviction of an attempted assault on Officer Faye Raye, he would have been in real jeopardy of prison abuse by his fellow travelers had he not been taken under the wing of Louie early on. Sanctuary. Steve was well aware of his peril and was suitably grateful to Louie. They became fast friends—in more ways than one.

Warden Silver called Louie to his office and offered him a seat. He told Louie how much he had appreciated his peacekeeping efforts, and though he valued these efforts, he felt morally obligated to offer him nomination for early release.

Louie, along with every other inmate in the prison, had heard of the early releases, many belatedly cleaning up their acts to enhance their prospects for participation. Louie thanked the warden and thought to put in a plug for Steve Phillips. Steve had also been a model prisoner, but having used a gun in his prior transgressions, he could expect the full ten-year minimum sentence to be applied.

The warden knew of Steve’s situation and promised to put in a good word for him though it was unlikely that he would be selected. The warden said he would also ask Father Brennan to lobby in Steve’s behalf. Steve had gone back to his Catholic roots and was apparently a sincere practicing communicant whom Father Brennan, the prison priest, favored.

CHAPTER TWO

Faye Raye—now Faye Garret—received a questionnaire from the Florida Parole Board. It referred to the early-release program and alluded to Steve Phillips as one being considered. The essence of the inquiry was Do you mind if we let him out? That took some thought on Faye’s part. A man waving a pistol and demanding that you disrobe is not a sympathetic figure. Faye chose to postpone her response till her husband, Josh, and her father-in-law, Sheriff Garret, could be consulted. It surprised her that the board had her current address in Gainesville.

A similar inquiry was directed to the sheriff, who also chose not to act on it until Faye and Josh came to Jacksonville, which they happened to be doing the weekend after the inquiries had been received.

It would be rather like the patrons at the ancient gladiators’ clashes—thumbs up or thumbs down.

It was Louie’s firm intention to be a law-abiding citizen after his discharge from Raiford. He had plenty of money sequestered on the outside, which would obviate the need for criminal activity.

Louie had told Steve of his conversation with the warden; and though he, Louie, was a probable participant, Steve was not. Steve could not help but dwell on his situation after Louie’s departure, and he had no real expectation of the sheriff or his daughter-in-law weighing in on his behalf.

Another concern Steve had was with what relationship he would have with Louie if he spent five more years in Raiford.

Prison had had a maturing effect on Steve. He tried now to act on the principle of dealing with problems: change the changeable, accept the unchangeable, and hope for the wisdom to differentiate between the two. He managed a fleeting smile as he reflected on his early pretend piety, which evolved into a real acceptance of Christian conduct. He deplored what he had been. Would the prison be penance enough? He wondered.

CHAPTER THREE

The sheriff in Duval County (Jacksonville), Florida was Larry Garret. He and his wife Betty had a vested interest in Steve Phillips.

Josh, Faye, and their child Betina arrived in Jacksonville on the weekend following the receipt of the parole board letters. They had barely finished with hugs and kisses when Faye launched into the Steve Phillips saga.

My only reluctance in any early release of Steve is if he’s still vengeful and hostile. How do I answer that? Faye asked.

Larry and Josh had each waited for the other to weigh in on the subject, when Betty chimed in, You can’t be sure. Last I heard, he had no redeeming features whatsoever. Larry gave a small chuckle at that and said, Tell us how you really feel about it, Betty. That brought out the smiles, and Larry continued, I spoke to the warden at Raiford, and he told me that Steve had been a model prisoner, that he was now a practicing Catholic, and that he was a changed man from what he was five years ago. He had recommended Steve for early release.

Faye surprised all present by saying, Five years is a long time to mask a hateful heart—then there’s that letter he sent me. Why send it at all if he wasn’t sincere? Promised I’d never see him again—no more vengeful thoughts.

Larry went on, The warden also told me that Steve has a significant other in one Louie Constanza, who’s a likely early release prisoner. I remember when this Louie was sent up. He had a chance to reduce his sentence if he would cooperate with the authorities, implicating others. He declined to do so. The warden’s also under the impression that Louie has a bundle of money awaiting him on the outside, which would give him an incentive to stay away from criminal activity.

You mean I’ve lost my appeal—feminine, that is? Faye interjected.

Not with me, Josh added.

You mean he’s gay? Betty asked ingenuously.

After a circle of exchanged glances, Larry said, Yes, so it would appear.

Josh had been reticent because he had been wrestling with two conflicting thoughts: the absolute safety of Faye versus keeping a reformed citizen in prison needlessly.

It’s up to Faye, was all he chose to say.

Betty had a pensive look on her face when she said, Well, if he’s gay, he won’t be trying to… trying to—

Larry interrupted, No, he won’t be trying to.

Faye had made her decision. I’ll not disapprove—besides, I’ve won in our two previous encounters.

At this point, Sarah and Betina came down the stairs, hand in hand, and asked those assembled, Anybody besides us want ice cream?

The vote was unanimous in the affirmative.

CHAPTER FOUR

Warden Silver was surprised that the parole board hadn’t cut Steve on the first pass. Louie, as expected, was immediately accepted.

The warden thought of the early-release program as a sort of human lottery—which it was. Steve was still in the running after the second wave. Father Brennan was allowed to give favorable testimony in behalf of Steve.

Whether because of the priest’s testimony or Faye’s lack of negation, because of chance, or because the board was tired of the whole procedure, Steve was unbelievably included in the last cut. Steve cried. Louie cried. This was a first for them in the past five years.

Steve and Louie had the same parole officer in Jacksonville, who was easygoing so long as his charges made their appointments regularly, which the two newly emancipated clients assiduously did. Getting the car repair shop up and running was also edifying to the officer.

Louie had purchased a car repair shop on Southside Boulevard from an aging owner. It had been moderately successful, but there was room for enhancement. The previous owner had been much more interested in the color of Louie’s money than any historical information about the buyers.

Some of Louie’s old friends primed the pump by directing cars to his shop. Steve had taken a special course in the computer aspects of the newer vehicles and had been an able mechanic in his preprison time.

There was a restaurant not far from the repair shop that the both of them enjoyed. At lunch there one afternoon, Steve noticed three middle-aged ladies at the table next to them. He admired them but lusted not at all.

Louie routinely ordered at least two thousand calories worth of food, in addition to a large bowl of their potato soup. Louie told Steve that since he was twice as big as Steve, he needed twice the calories.

Steve had finished his food and was waiting for Louie to do the same, when he spied a nondescript man at a corner table staring at the three ladies. As Steve watched the man watching the ladies, a waitress came up to the ladies’ table and said, Any dessert today, Mrs. Garret?

Louie was oblivious to the picture, but Steve felt a slight adrenaline surge. It had to be the sheriff’s wife! He felt no animosity whatsoever toward her, but it heightened his interest in the staring man.

The three ladies agreed to forfeit any dessert and departed. The staring man, who had finished his meal well before the ladies, immediately got up and seemed to follow the ladies out.

Steve told Louie that he had an errand to run and left him to his residual lunch. The three ladies went to their cars and on to their separate ways. The mystery man, though well behind, was following Mrs. Garret’s car.

Steve’s past police experience made it easy to follow the man undetected. Steve knew intuitively that the mystery man was not a policeman, and he could think of no benign reason for the man’s behavior.

CHAPTER FIVE

He considered following the man further, but he was due back at the shop, and besides, get caught as a stalker himself and he’d be dead meat for sure. With that, he returned to the shop.

A week later Steve had all but forgotten the episode, when Louie expressed an acute need for a potato soup fix (with all the trimmings, of course). On the way in separate cars, it all came back to Steve, and he felt some anxiety emerge. His wish that none of the players in the last week’s concerns would be there was not fulfilled. Same characters at the same tables. There was the mystery man staring fixedly at the ladies while the ladies were in animated conversation and not noting him at all.

It was an instant replay. No dessert. They leave. The man follows. Steve follows him. Louie eats. This time Steve was determined to follow the man to wherever he might go. He went on to a small house in Arlington after cruising past Betty’s home. He parked his car and entered the house as Steve eased by, noting the address in passing.

Steve went back to the shop and immersed himself in his work. He’d try to sort this out later. It suddenly dawned on Steve that he was worrying about the wife of the man who had made him resign from the police force and was largely responsible for his five years in prison. He slapped those thoughts down right away. His past misadventures were all his own doing. He had faced that squarely before and did so again.

He owed it to Louie to share his concerns—something had to be done—the sheriff’s wife was a target of some kind. So he told Louie who, after a brief attempt to get Steve to mind his own business, said, I have a couple of friends who might confront your mystery man and graphically point out the inadvisability of stalking your sheriff’s wife.

You don’t mean kill him? an agitated Steve asked.

Not quite, Louie explained.

Steve was finally able to get through to the sheriff on the phone and told him what he had observed the day before and gave Larry the address. He gave much description as he could. The guy wears a bunch of makeup. He’s maybe five ten and a hundred seventy pounds. Graying hair—maybe fifty-five years old or so. He looked tired, I thought. Not much help, am I? I could recognize him if I saw him again. I really want to help.

I believe you do, Steve. I have your number off my caller ID, and I’ll surely be calling you. Thanks.

CHAPTER SIX

The day Steve called the sheriff, the chief of the Jacksonville Fire Department, Ward Robbins, had spent the day at one of the fire stations, as he was wont to do periodically. He would participate in the card games, shining of the equipment, and going with the men to wherever they were summoned. On this day, a fire in a small house in Arlington led to their responding.

The firemen were there quickly enough to salvage the house, although smoke and water damage, which often were nearly as bad, was the case here.

After containment, the chief went into the house with his men and correctly surmised that the offending agent had been the coffeepot, which appeared to be at ground zero. As he was taking pictures of the area, one of his men called him into one of the three small bedrooms. The fireman pointed to one of the walls where a myriad of pictures of the same woman was posted. Candid shots, newspaper clippings, pictures of all ages, and one picture in the center of them all which showed the lady nude on a divan in a very artistic pose. Ward was reminded of his childhood stamp-collecting days wherein he had three special 1929 stamps from Spain, depicting the painter Goya’s nude creation. This was one hot item for a teenaged boy.

Ward’s cohort said, Looks like we have a stalker here. So we call the police, don’t we?

Ward nodded his head and said, We’re about done here. Ask the neighbors if they know how to contact the owner, and I’ll inform the police.

Will do, the fireman said and exited the room. When he was the only one in the room, Ward plucked the nude picture off the wall and put it in his pocket. He guessed he was probably tampering with evidence, but he was okay with that.

He placed a call to Larry and said he needed to see him. Being good friends, Larry didn’t need to ask him why. Twenty minutes later, Ward was ushered into Larry’s office.

Morning, Ward, what’s up?

Fire in a small house in Arlington this afternoon. Saved the structure—nobody home. One wall in a bedroom had a ton of pictures of the same lady, and I thought you needed to know. Ward handed him the nude photo.

It’s a good picture of Betty’s face, but it’s not on her own body. It’s computer generated.

I am an authority in this, Larry offered.

The worried look on Ward’s face eased and then returned.

Can you put it back? Larry asked.

Sure—I just wanted you to decide what to do.

Larry sensed that Ward was concerned about the evidence-tampering aspect and sought to put his mind at ease.

It never happened, Larry said, to Ward’s relief.

It really did look like the Goya, Ward thought as went back to the fire site and reaffixed the picture.

Larry wondered if Steve, in some misguided effort to help, had set the fire. Since Ward accused the coffeepot, he dismissed the possibility.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Larry set into motion the investigation into who Betty’s admirer was. He would discuss it with her that evening.

Baby Sarah—actually, five-year-old Sarah—was playing with her best girlfriend who lived next door and successfully pleaded that she not be compelled to accompany Betty to the grocery store. Ordinarily, Betty would go in the morning, but she had been busy all day, so she needed to go in the early evening.

Betty was always cautious, day or night, and generally had her pepper spray at the ready. She saw no one in the parking lot at the time and placed her groceries in her car. She had overlooked the smiling man who said in a cheerful voice, Hi, Betty.

Betty squinted at the man in the dim light, recognized him, and relaxed her grip on her pepper spray.

Lem? she said, the inflection of her voice rising.

She heard him responding, Yes, just before the Taser rendered her helpless. She was deftly duct taped and gagged before being hoisted into a car trunk. Nobody had witnessed the event, and Lem drove slowly out of the lot.

As she came to her senses, she realized she’d been kidnapped; and it was done by Lemoine Frame, a high school classmate of thirty-five years ago. Her head was on a soft pillow, and the interior of the trunk was well padded, as if for her comfort—somehow she did not feel comforted.

Some fifteen minutes later, she felt the car come to a stop and faintly heard what passed for a garage door opening. The car went a few feet forward, stopped again, and the garage door closure sounded.

Her pulse was racing as the trunk door opened. The garage light confirmed it was Lem. He said to her, Betty, if you cooperate with me, I promise that absolutely no harm will come to you. You may recall that I was always true to my word as a teenager. That was her recollection, but being kidnapped seemed to refute that.

All I want is your companionship for a few weeks. I will make no physical demands on you at all. For starters, if I take your gag off, will you promise not to scream?

Betty nodded, and he removed the gag gently.

What on earth are you doing, Lem? were her first words, laced with exasperation.

Just as I said. I have a small suite in my house where you can stay. You’ll have privacy—there’s a small kitchen, a comfortable bed— He saw renewed fear in her eyes and added, Betty, I have advanced diabetes, among other life-threatening things. I also have become impotent. I would never have harmed you in any event. I wasn’t much of a stud in my time anyway.

Why me? she asked.

Because I’ve always loved you.

Betty was shocked all the more but managed to say to him, Lem, I’m over fifty years old. I’m not the teenager you remember.

He ignored that and said, I’ll lead you to your quarters and undo the tape. I do apologize for the Taser. I couldn’t think of any other way to successfully invite you for a stay. My only cardinal rule is that you don’t try to harm me or try to escape before your visit ends.

And when will that be? she asked.

A matter of weeks, not months, he answered.

He removed enough tape so that she could stand and walk, having helped her out of the trunk.

Whatever she could or would do to escape would have to wait till her body and head were normalized.

He led her to the front door of the house, gently supporting her tendency to weave, unlocked the door, and led her into the house. They continued to the back of the house to another closed door with a fancy-looking apparatus on it. She presumed correctly that it was some kind of high-tech lock.

Once through the second door, she saw a living room with a table, comfortable-looking chairs, and an entertainment center with a plasma television set.

Lem closed the door behind him with a click, which Betty assumed was a locking sound. He took the remaining tape off her and asked her to look in the next room. Having no choice, she did so. There was a small kitchen with a fridge, a microwave, a stove, and a small table and two simple chairs.

Lem pointed to the back of the kitchen to yet another door. He opened it, revealing a small but well-appointed bedroom with a queen-sized bed, a chest of drawers, and a clothes closet. He opened the drawers and closet door to show her her new wardrobe.

It surprised her to see clothes she might have gotten for herself.

They’re your size, Betty. Oh, and the rooms are soundproof, and there are no windows. You have your own thermostat. I set it at seventy-two degrees, which is what you have at home. I’ll leave you alone for the rest of the night. The only way in or out of here is through the door we entered, and it’s on a fancy bank-vault timer. I’ll tell you more about that when you’re more receptive. Remember—I pledge this will all end well for all concerned, except for me.

Betty could think of nothing to say to that.

As Lem was departing, he said, Tomorrow you can write Larry a note, telling him you’re all right and will continue to be so. I want to worry the sheriff as little as possible. Good night, Betty.

She saw no other choice. Good night, Lem. And with that, he was out the door to some strange clicking sounds—and she was alone.

The only sounds she could hear were the gentle hum of the ventilation system and the hum of the fridge.

She checked the fridge and found a fresh tuna sandwich and a large bowl of potato soup in a takeout bag from one of her favorite restaurants.

Getting tasered gives a girl an appetite, she said to herself, and despite all of the earlier terror and fear, she ate most of the offering. She showered, put on pajamas that fit, and pulled down the bedcovers to reveal satin sheets, which looked very inviting. She fell asleep and missed a golden opportunity to have nightmares.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Larry had one of his early-evening talks to give to one of the community’s civic organizations on the day he first learned that Betty was being stalked. Unfortunate coincidence.

He arrived home to an empty house and was immediately hailed by Lisa Adams, his next-door neighbor. There was tension in her voice as she said, "Larry, Sarah’s with me. Betty went to the grocery store over two hours ago, and I’ve not heard from her. Betty would never have taken extra time away from home if Sarah were involved,