The New Orleans Bodyguard Contract

By Glen C Carrington

This novel is about Detective Lincoln receiving in the mail an invitation to be the bodyguard for an apparently wealthy New Orleans gentleman, Sir Charles Conrad Blackwell. Mr. Blackwell was born in rural Louisiana in the bucolic impoverished creole section of New Orleans. His baptized first name was indeed Sir, a calculated move by his mother to make her child stand apart from his inconsequential and impoverished peers and hopefully to provide him with a constant reminder to strive to be above others in his pursuit of a higher grade of life.
Sir Charles had married a relatively poor Caucasian woman, Miss Edna Beaumont, a member of a proper family without proper financial resources for his 1st wife. Edna bore him three children, two boys and a girl. Sir Charles 2nd wife, Juanita, bore him two offspring, one boy and one girl. The children had all the opportunities of upper-middle strata economic life, academically and socially stable schools in a safe environment. The children had memberships in mixed-race country clubs, wore fine clothing, and never lacked monetary resources to attend events or travel.
But as time moved on, only Sir Charles proved to be financially successful, no one else. Now in his early eighties, his accumulated peculiar personal eccentricities had caused severe stress among family members and others. The Blackwell household now profusely exhibited Victorian repressed social mores. Sir Charles forces his wives and adult children, similar to the classic Scarlett Letter theme, to wear letters of sins on their clothes when they come to visit and he makes them visit on all major holidays. For those who dont comply, theyre cut out of the will, and no one wants that.
So, Sir Charles firmly believes that now, either acquaintances, Voodoo practitioners, former business partners, or family members want him harmed or dead and he requests protective services from Detective Lincoln. Will the guileful detective take on the role as bodyguard as requested?

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jun 1, 2018
• ISBN: 9781546243106

Glen C Carrington

This is the sixth Detective Lincoln Mystery series novel. The author is now retired and was a former finance director for a California Central Valley city. The author has an undergraduate degree in mathematics and a MBA. Mr. Carrington is on several boards in his community, an avid tennis player, golfer, wine maker, chess enthusiast, and a general conversationalist. Born and raised in Peekskill, NY, the author has been living in California since 1981. The Detective Lincoln Mystery Series are the following: 1) The Oakland Hills Vodou Murders 2) The Atlanta Co-Ed Murder 3) Murder in Peekskill 4) Murder in Napa 5) The New York City Vampire Murders and 6) The New Orleans Bodyguard Contract The 1st 4 chapters of each Detective Lincoln book can be read for free on the authors Website which is found at glencarrington.com

Book preview

Prologue

On a gloomy overcast afternoon where normally the California sun radiates glorious sunshine and picturesque weather, Detective William Monroe Lincoln, brewed a cup of coffee while he retrieved his mail. He immediately noticed a personal letter behind two monthly bills with everything wedged between the proliferous local advertisements. The envelope was atypical; an expensive parchment used by those with ample monetary resources with a penchant to live at the upper echelons of opulent society.

The letter, written on thick lush paper commensurate with its envelope, was from a wealthy man, Sir Jules Conrad Blackwell, who requested security services of the renowned detective because he suspected a member of his own family wants him dead.

The detective set the letter down and did three hours of research on Mr. Blackwell by reading magazine articles, newspapers, and calling human resources in New Orleans, New York, and Washington, DC. He learned that Sir Charles resided in a stately mansion with his second family after his divorce twenty-five years ago. Interestingly, depending on one’s point of view, Sir Charles had accumulated various peculiar personal eccentricities forcing acute internal family stress. The Blackwell household now profusely exhibited the Victorian Age repressed period of social mores when his three adult children from his first wife, along with his two offspring from his current wife, are summoned home during all major holidays and are required to wear the symbol of their alleged sins. His ex-wife is also commanded to attend and follow protocol.

So, Sir Blackwell, now an affluent religious elderly citizen embracing the 17th century sanctimonious mores that engulfed Puritan Boston society illustrated by the book ‘The Scarlett Letter,’ forces his family to wear letters representing the ‘sin’ he believes is being committed by their lifestyle.

Why would adults submit to such affronts? Well, for a simple reason, the yearning for money and property which distinguishes ‘the haves’ from the ‘have nots.’ The wives and offspring of Sir Jules Conrad Blackwell are not wealthy, but yearn to be so. Becoming a member of the monetary affluent class requires hard work and dedication to one’s profession or career with that livelihood being successful by commanding high salaries or revenues. Although many desire wealth, few can attain it outside of inheritance, which was the current Blackwell family legacy. As each offspring entered adulthood, none had the intelligence, work ethic, fortitude, or creativeness to follow their father’s footsteps to wealth. Although each firmly retained upper class tastes and desires, they could not afford them, which established the depressed and melancholy attitude the father held toward his offspring.

The detective, composed and curious after he had finished his basic research, re-read the letter and concluded he was indeed being requested to serve as a bodyguard, that his normal forte of searching for clues after a body was discovered, would now be in reverse, if he consented to the request.

The superior man, when resting in safety, does not forget that danger may come. When in a state of security he does not forget the possibility of ruin. When all is orderly, he does not forget that disorder may come. Thus his person is not endangered, and his States and all their clans are preserved.

Confucius

Chinese philosopher & reformer (551 BC - 479 BC)

Chapter 1

Two days before Thanksgiving, Detective William Monroe Lincoln, wearing comfortable clothes for travel and now putting on his sports jacket after getting out of the rental car, stood admiring the domestic retreat of Sir Charles Blackwell. The quarter mile driveway was well landscaped with beautiful well-attended trees, luscious plants, and a lawn any golf course would admire. This type of scenery required a team of professional gardeners with special equipment. The mansion, along with neighboring buildings, was obviously designed by an architect specializing in constructing unique structures. The second-floor cut-out balcony was exquisite as well as the colored-glass dome that sat at the peak of the mansion’s roof. The detective wondered how long it took to build this highly manicured residence.

He walked along the distinctive sand-stone sidewalk and stepped forward toward the magnificent mahogany double-door cut with its intricate designs obviously made by a master craftsman. As he was about to push the doorbell, the door opened and the man who had directed him to this location after Bill had read the Blackwell letter and made contact, stepped up and greeted him.

I’m Chandlier Lemore, Sir Charles’ personal attorney. Welcome to his home; he looks forward to meeting you.

Mr. Lemore stood as tall as the detective. His refined voice and mannerism reflected a good education and roots of an elevated station in life. He had Cajun features of ever so slightly creame-colored skin and bone structure, but he was not from the wrong-side-of-the-tracks decadent poor, but from the upper echelons of the Cajun elite society. He had a ram-rod straight posture and used his hands in that elegant way of polite grace accrued from finely instilled manners. The detective knew, or felt, that Mr. Lemore’s refined manner could probably be turned on and off like a switch if need be. After all, he was a lawyer and attorneys are trained to argue both sides of an issue with passion and knowledge.

And I too look forward to our meeting. I must say the letter he sent was unique, the detective stated while he cocked his head with a nod.

I believe inimitable circumstances may require distinctive actions, the attorney opined.

That’s a wise observation, Bill stated, it reminds me of what the author Cullen Hightower said, ‘Wisdom is what’s left after we’ve run out of personal opinions.’

The attorney smiled at the quote and led Detective Lincoln into the house. The décor was stately with high quality furniture and strikingly beautiful pictures adorning the walls. This was a home of affluence and comfort. The man who owned this property had done well in life. There was no other way to describe it…there were ‘have’s’ and ‘have nots.’ This was not a ‘have not’ environment.

So, Mr. Lemore, how long have you known Sir Charles and how long have you been his personal lawyer?

I’ve known Charles all of my life. We grew up in the same neighborhood. We played baseball, basketball, and football together at the school just three blocks from our neighborhood. I went to law school and Charles went into business. I do believe one could say that Charles outperformed me financially. I might have more posh and social dressing so to say, but he’s got the bank account. In New Orleans, money talks.

How wealthy is he? Detective Lincoln asked. Bill wondered was there an objective number one could measure, or was it just rhetoric that told people he was wealthy? Wealth and its projection, Bill knew, were many times two separate things. So far, Sir Charles Blackwell projected prosperity quite well.

An excellent question…I don’t know, was the reply from Mr. Lemore as he escorted the detective to the office where their meeting would take place. It was on the first floor toward the back of the mansion. A very large expensive teak desk looking obviously hand-made took up a great deal of space. There were four very comfortable looking chairs in front of the desk; numerous pictures and awards of Sir Charles from various business and social organizations covering the wall. The carpet was soft and well textured; there was no doubt that it was expensive.

As the two men stood in the room and Bill looked at the pictures, a butler entered and asked, What would you like to drink?

The attorney requested a Bourbon on the rocks and Bill ordered a Chardonay.

Looking at Bill, the butler asked what type and year?

Bill replied, I’ll let you decide.

I assume he knows what Bourbon you like? Bill asked Mr. Lemore.

Yes…Alfred is well acquainted with my habits.

Ten minutes later while the two men were nursing their drinks and discussing the various classical paintings and historical manuscripts that Bill had inquired about, the owner of the estate walked in.

The man, just under six feet tall, wore tailored trousers and expensive shoes with a silk-looking shirt. He had on a very expensive tweed sports-jacket and he wore an ascot with it. He was Cajun, smooth shaven, and had mostly gray hair but it was well styled; his posture displayed a very relaxed manner. Most wealthy people do seem more relaxed than the lay public.

It’s good to meet you Detective Lincoln, I’m Sir Charles Blackwell.

It’s a pleasure, sir. You wrote one most interesting letter. I must say it was unique.

I found no joy in penning that correspondence. I am, frankly speaking, disgusted by what I think may happen to me. Who’d want to be in my situation? the business tycoon lamented. Please, sit down.

Sir Charles took his seat behind his desk while Mr. Lemore and Detective Lincoln sat next to one another in the chairs in front of the desk. Bill was the first to speak.

Mr. Blackwell, please tell me the evidence or speculation leading you to believe that your life is in danger, especially by a member of your own family.

Sir Charles heard the question, but then remained silent for a few moments before speaking. It was obvious that a great weight was upon him. For a man to believe a member of his own family was trying to kill him was certainly an anomaly. He quickly reflected on his current predicament; a professional detective sat in front of him, and now he, a man of affluence, had to prove his suspicions. But, he quickly remembered, that it was himself that had requested the detective’s help.

A man knows when he’s in danger, Detective Lincoln, the business tycoon replied with dread and fear clouding his eyes.

Can you simply tell me what has happened to bring you to this conclusion?

Again Sir Charles sat there silently for a moment and reflected on the words he’d use to describe what he thinks is going on. On the one hand, it seemed absurd but what he believed was just that, and he needed outside help.

"I received word, from a person I’ve known for years and whom I respect, that there is a plan for my death and it appears an internal family source is behind it. I can’t give you their name, but I’ve known this individual for years and I trust the person. They have helped me out on several occasions over the years in discussing delicate business and social matters. I do not say this lightly, but I believe this confidant.

He then stopped talking. Detective Lincoln sat and observed Sir Charles’ body language. He was under stress which was understandable due to the nature of the issue.

Who do you think it is, what does your gut say? Detective Lincoln asked.

I’ve thought about it a lot, and I don’t have an answer. The whole thing sounds bizarre, but you’re here because I sent for you. I want to think of this as a hoax, but I’m not laughing.

Does your family like you? Detective Lincoln asked.

Why do you ask that? Sir Charles responded.

I’m sure you know that a letter like yours is obviously a rare thing. I doubt there are many American families who’ve experienced your predicament. Perhaps back in the Mafioso days when those types of gangsters ruled or had a lot of power. The men engaged in illegal activities, but they were also family members and many times the wives and children didn’t know what the ‘old man’ did. On occasion, I’d suspect one mobster might try to elicit a family member to help them kill their relative if it meant that might be the easiest way to avoid a whole-scale bloodbath. I don’t know, I’m just speculating.

I understand your inquiry, Detective. I wish I had more to give you.

Mr. Lemore, what are your thoughts on this matter? Whom do you suspect?

The attorney looked up and faced the detective. He had been listening to the dialogue between his boss and the lawman. He held the same facial expression as the conversation had bounced back and forth between the two men. He still held that same expressionless pose.

I’m sorry to say, but I’m like Sir Charles. Whenever I think of one person, then I think of other things that other people have done that could be viewed as making them a suspect too. There are no clear villains here. This is like a jigsaw puzzle.

Perhaps you could elaborate a little for me, Mr. Lemore, Bill suggested. I’m the outsider here trying to look into a potential deadly problem. Are you telling me that each family member carries the same amount of exposure as being the killer of their father or husband? I find that interesting.

Mr. Lemore was listening. While his facial expression remained unchanged, there was a slight movement in his body language.

That’s an objective point I’ll agree with. Obviously, it would be unlikely for each person to be equally dangerous. I think what I’m saying is that there is no clear evidence or incidents directly pointing to anyone. They all seem to carry or harbor enough questionable circumstances making each a potential suspect. That’s all I’m saying. You must remember, I’m not part of the family’s bloodline. I’m just an employee and/or a friend to Sir Charles. My knowledge of what happens under this roof is limited. I receive information in that context; I rarely observe it since I’m not here that often.

So, there was the lawyer coming out. Bill was certain that as long as Sir Charles was in the presence of Mr. Lemore, he would not get any information that he’d consider relevant to the case. For the rest of the afternoon, Bill chatted with Mr. Lemore and he was given a tour of the city by the attorney. Bill had dinner with Sir Charles and Mr. Lemore at the mansion; afterwards, they had cocktails in Sir Charles’ library. Detective Lincoln retired early that evening in order to start his case notes. The detective was appreciative that Sir Charles had requested that he reside at the mansion while he pursued the investigation.

The opinions that are held with passion are always those for which no good ground exists; indeed the passion is the measure of the holders lack of rational conviction. Opinions in politics and religion are almost always held passionately.

Bertrand Russell, Sceptical Essays, 1961

British author, mathematician, & philosopher (1872 - 1970)

Chapter 2

Detective William Monroe Lincoln woke up the following day to brilliant sunshine streaming through his window in New Orleans at the mansion of Sir Charles Blackwell. He had one appointment that day with the New Orleans Sheriff, Sam Cockburn, known as ‘Rooster’ by most of his friends, associates, and adversaries. Bill had talked with Sir Charles’ attorney, Mr. Lemore, on the phone and had requested he set up a meeting with the local law enforcement. If a murder was being planned, it would be an intelligent move to notify the legal authorities about a potential crime. It is the lack of communication that usually initiates suspicious investigations by the police specialists when a crime has been committed and those involved had not informed the established power personnel of what had occurred and possibly could have been prevented.

At 8:45 A.M., there was a ‘knock’ on Detective Lincoln’s door; he stepped forward and opened it. Before him stood the butler in full uniform with a tray in his hand and a steaming pot of coffee with cup and saucer and the usual complements packed onto the platter.

Breakfast will be at 9:30 A.M. in the dining parlor, sir. Here is your coffee.

Detective Lincoln greeted him, then stepped aside to allow him entry.

How long have you worked here? Bill asked.

I’ve been employed by Mr. Blackwell for eleven years now, was the reply.

And your name?

Alfred, sir.

And what is your opinion, Alfred, of how the family gets along? Is everyone on friendly terms with each other and with their parents?

Sir, I don’t think it’s my place to offer any opinion. I’m just employed here. I think my remarks should remain silent.

I believe just the opposite. You are outside the family so your opinion might have the least bias of anyone else. An opinion is just that, nothing more. It would help to know your thoughts.

The man listened quietly; it was easy to understand his reluctance to talk. Suppose he said something negative and his words got back to Sir Charles. Alfred felt it was a ‘no-win’ situation.

Are you concerned about your boss’ health? Bill asked.

Of course, sir. Why do you ask?

Well, I’m here on a matter that greatly concerns his health. Ask Sir Charles, you have my permission to do so. And I’d be curious of his answer.

The butler’s demeanor, still showing reticence, had now gradually displayed curiosity ‘knocking at the door.’ Bill could tell he had peaked Alfred’s interest. The man stood there reflecting on the detective’s remarks.

Good. I’ll be down to breakfast at the designated time.

Thank you, sir.

I have another quick question for you, Alfred. Do you know Police Chief Sam Cockburn?

Yes, sir. I don’t know him very well personally, but he’s been here to the house on different occasions.

I heard they call him ‘Rooster.’ Is that true and if so, how did he come by his nickname?

I’m not sure of how his nickname started; there’s been numerous rumors about that. I think it’s due to his aggressive ‘maleness’ if that’s a proper term. He kinda ‘struts his stuff’ wherever he is. He probably has enough ego for several people. He’s not lacking in that department, in my opinion, sir.

I like your colorful description. In your estimation, is he honest or corrupt? Bill asked nonchalantly.

I really don’t know myself. I’ve only heard others talk. Unless one knows for sure, one is only guessing.

So, what would your guess be, Alfred? I understand it’s only that and nothing more.

I’d bet that he’s corrupt. More people talk that way than the other. Where there’s smoke there’s fire; I guess.

Do you have an example of a story that someone told you about the ‘Chief’ that suggests corruption?

Alfred was thinking of one of the stories that might be a better example of what most people thought about the local law enforcement.

Well, when we had that huge raid on the illegal gambling places, the folks running the place said that the Police had knocked a lot of folks around with their ‘billy’ clubs, and that the cash the Police reported of confiscating was only $10,000 when each of the blackjack and craps tables kept that amount on hand just for daily operations. The car dealerships and jewelry stores reported a lot of cops buying new things just days and weeks after that raid. Now, was it just coincidence or were the cops dirty? I’m sure you know Detective Lincoln the New Orleans Police Department has had federal investigations for many years and has been considered corrupt for a long time. With that last comment, Alfred bowed and exited from the room.

At 9:30 A.M., Bill joined Sir Charles and Mr. Lemore for breakfast. They had a general conversation about the world, the country, and how New Orleans was doing. There were a few local news items that Sir Charles and Mr. Lemore discussed with each of them taking an opposite position. It was interesting listening to the two men discussing the issue from their own personal perspective. Bill got the impression the local population was also divided along partisan lines. For the last few minutes before the other two men finished breakfast and had to leave, each gave Detective Lincoln their opinion of Police Chief Sam Cockburn. Bill noticed that neither man used the Chief’s nickname, ‘Rooster.’

At 12:55 P.M., Detective Lincoln walked into Police Headquarters. At the front desk he identified himself and informed the police secretary that he had an appointment with the Police Chief. She looked at the Chief’s calendar, and then had him sit for a few minutes while she checked to see if the Chief was available. He was escorted to the Chief ten minutes later.

As Bill walked into the office, a man with considerable girth sat behind a large desk eating a huge sandwich. He looked up and used his hand to offer the chair sitting right in front of his desk. Bill sat and waited for the man to swallow his food.

Good to meet you, Detective Lincoln. Welcome to ‘The Big Easy,’ the home of hot jazz, good food, with plenty to drink and women to help you drink it, Chief Cockburn bellowed in a quasi-southern drawl with an appreciation for the culture of his fair city.

Thank you, Chief, it’s good to visit again. Your city is indeed distinctive. I have some unique memories here.

A familiar statement from those who have experienced our great city. What brings you back, and especially a visit here to see me? Sir Charles’ attorney made the appointment with me for you. What’s going on?

So, Mr. Lemore didn’t say anything?

I asked, but he said it might be best to have you explain.

I’ve been asked to be Sir Charles’ bodyguard.

Really? That sounds intriguing. Exactly who are you protecting him from? Aren’t you a detective, not a bodyguard? the Police Chief asked with compressed lips and a humorous scowl. He didn’t know what to think so far.

Sir Charles thinks a member of his own family may want him dead.

That last statement even made the Police Chief stop from taking another bite on his sandwich. That meant it was quite a piece of news to Chief Cockburn.

Really, and what brings him to this conclusion? ‘Rooster’ Cockburn asked in his most suspicious tone of voice.

He hasn’t fully disclosed to me the ‘why’ yet. I’m here now as a courtesy to let the local authorities know what is potentially going on.

Well I appreciate the heads up! If we get a 911 from there, I’ll be sure to tell my ‘boys in blue’ to giddy-up. We believe in law and order down here. If God can’t protect you, a Smith & Wesson surely will, the ‘Rooster’ crowed.

Can you tell me if Sir Charles’ story makes any sense? Bill asked. You’ve known these people longer than I have.

‘Rooster’ had gone back to eating his sandwich. He had heard a good story to go with his lunch, and now he was in heaven. Bill sat patiently waiting while the Police Chief methodically chewed his food. Eating was a ritual to ‘Rooster’ and only a serious emergency would interrupt his cultural heritage. This was obviously not it. Only when ‘Rooster’ had stopped chewing, and before he took another bite, did he respond to Detective Lincoln’s question.

Listen, you’ve got a solid reputation for doing detective work. That’s great, but you’re not a bodyguard and that family might have the ‘heebie-jeebies.’ They’re not normal, there’s something amiss. What the ‘ham sandwich,’ I’m using those five-dollar words now. I can’t wait till city council hears my new vocabulary. They’ll be impressed, might get a raise! he said while grinning widely.

What’s not normal about them? Bill asked.

You know, that ‘Scarlet Letter’ thing.

Detective Lincoln put on a confused expression. I’m not following you.

There’s a rumor that Sir Charles makes all his children, and I do mean his adult children, wear a ‘letter of sin’ on their clothing when they’re at his mansion.

Can you verify this?

No, it’s just a rumor, but a strong one! Ya know, Detective, my pappy always told us that when there’s a lot of smoke coming out of the woodshed, you can bet a ‘squirrel’s leg and a pig’s jowl,’ that there’s probably fire down below!

Remember God’s bounty in the year. String the pearls of His favor. Hide the dark parts, except so far as they are breaking out in light! Give this one day to thanks, to joy, to gratitude!

~Henry Ward Beecher

Chapter 3

As Detective Lincoln sat up in bed the following morning, he knew it was Thanksgiving Day. He reflected on his decision to come to New Orleans on this holiday. Sir Charles’ letter had strongly suggested that his presence here on the holiday would contribute greatly to his understanding of the case. He said that visual observation in this matter would be significantly contributive. Bill’s family had made it easy for him to accept Sir Charles’ invitation. His daughters were not coming home this year and his lady-friend, Susan, had also opted to go East to spend the holiday with her great aunt since she was now getting quite elderly and her health was becoming a challenge.

The most intriguing thing so far was that none of Sir Charles’ family had arrived yet and his wife was also out of town, but was scheduled to return today. The detective wondered if the animosity toward Sir Charles was by one person or several family members.

At 9:00 A.M. Bill ate breakfast alone since his host had an early morning appointment in town. When Alfred returned to see if he wanted anything else, Bill tried to engage him in conversation.

Tell me Alfred, is there any reason why no one in the entire family has arrived early on this holiday?

Well, I can only say that this is rather typical of them. I’d be more surprised if someone had arrived early.

Any particular reason for that?

I don’t think many or any really want to be here.

With that simple answer, Bill’s curiosity was assuaged. This was the norm for the Blackwell family. What Detective Lincoln was looking for were things outside of the norm. When he finished breakfast he went back to his room to add to his notes. Thanksgiving dinner would start at 3:00 P.M.

At noon Bill was sitting in the back yard on a lawn chair when a woman approached him and introduced herself. She was Juanita Blackwell, Sir Charles’ wife. She must’ve been in her early sixties now, but one could easily tell she was a beautiful woman in her day. She had the classic