Case No.1: Murder

By Carl Rayford Roberts

Randy Evers Milhouse was now a licensed Private Investigator and this was his first case. On the recommendations of the County District Attorney, he is hired by an insurance company to ascertain that Laverne Sparks Payne and Linda Sparks Burns, daughters of Joseph Sparks, were the only rightful heirs to their now-deceased father’s estate. According to Doctor Nelson, Sparks had died from a heart attack. But certain information surfaced that suggested that he could have died because of foul play. Following that revelation, other questions began to arise, such as why did Linda leave town before her senior year in high school? What did Levi Keys and Harold Burns have in common? Why are there break-ins to Randy’s apartment? And why were people being murdered?

• Language: English
• Publisher: LifeRich Publishing
• Release date: Feb 24, 2020
• ISBN: 9781489727442

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CHAPTER I

He lay there, sucking air into his lungs until a semblance of normal breathing returned, after which he sat up on the side of the bed with the corner of the sheet covering his lap area. Resting on the nightstand was a pack of Marlboro cigarettes and a Zippo lighter. A push of the flip-top opened the cigarette pack, and the man pulled out a cigarette and placed it between tight lips. The top of the Zippo was flipped over, and a thumb spun the flint wheel three times before a flame appeared. A Marlboro touched the fire, and after two long drags, Morris Robbins, County District Attorney for Clarke County, Mississippi, was calm enough to launch an idea that had been on his mind for several days. His job paid a fair salary, but it would never make him rich—and he wanted to be rich. It was now or never.

He spoke over his left shoulder to Laverne Payne lying on the other side of the bed. Laverne, do you want all of your father’s fortune or just half of it?

What? she exclaimed, allowing a second for what he had said to sink in. She rolled over onto her right side, unashamed of her nakedness, and stared at his back.

You and Linda are the only two beneficiaries, Robbins informed her.

How do you know that, Morris?

You know that I have been Joseph’s lawyer for several years, right? Well, the other day, he made me executor of his will.

How can you make me a sole beneficiary?

People will have to die.

I don’t think I want it that bad.

Suit yourself, Laverne. If family love can make you happier than more than four million dollars, forget it.

I assume that you know that Linda and I are half-sisters?

Yeah, I know that, but I don’t know the whole story.

My mother died when I was two, and about two years later, Dad married again. Two years after that, Linda was born. My father had no brothers or sisters, but my mother had one sister, Aunt Jewel Keys. Since Aunt Jewel was my blood kin, we stayed in touch and sometimes visited one another. Aunt Jewel always treated Linda as though she was blood kin, and Linda, at least when she was young, never knew the difference and wouldn’t have cared if she did. She understood it all. We both loved Aunt Jewel, and one summer, when we were still young, we went up to stay with her for two whole weeks. Aunt Jewel didn’t come to Quitman often, but she came when Linda’s mother died.

Laverne Sparks Payne pivoted over to her side of the bed and sat up, feet on the floor. It was a given she wanted to have a lot of money. Most people would consider having two million dollars as having a lot of money, but, Laverne rationalized, that would make her only half-rich. Besides, she and her father had never been what would be considered close, and as far as that went, he and Linda weren’t either. The greatest love of Joseph Sparks was making money … and more money … and more money. She decided to take the money.

What do you want, Morris?

Money, what else? I figured we could get married, and I could run the business.

You’re my lover, but I’m not in love with you, and you’re not in love with me.

Okay, you could make me your business manager, he suggested while dressing. But now, I need to get things started. See you back in town, but we contact each other only when necessary.

What’s your hurry? We can still have some more fun before you have to leave. Laverne said as she again stretched out fully on the bed and positioned her body in a provocative sexual position.

Damn, Laverne, don’t do that. You know I’d like to stay, but there are things I need to do. And there’s the matter of your husband. Where is he, anyway?

He’s over at the Highmark Hotel meeting with some men about something, a contract, I think. Ever since my dad made him vice president, he insists on being involved in everything—likes to play the part of being a bigshot.

But he can come back here to the hotel at any minute.

Nah, he won’t be back until well into the night, and that’s the way it’ll be for at least four more days; I’m stuck here.

Do y’all still, ah …?

She laughed, Oh, sometimes, when we’re both so drunk, we don’t know what we’re doing or who we’re doing it with; otherwise, we sleep in separate beds—unless we have company.

I’m checking out, so get dressed and go back to your room. I need to go. I need to see someone.

Do I know ’em?

Morris laughed. I don’t even know ’em.

Laverne looked puzzled.

Morris didn’t feel like explaining. You need to get your hands on twenty grand … off the books.

Twenty thousand?

Morris nodded. Off the books.

That’s a lot of money.

Consider it an investment, Morris said. Can you do it?

Laverne furrowed her brow. Yeah, I can do it.

Don’t think, know. This must be clean. Not even Howard can know.

Please, Laverne said, do you really think that I can keep it from my husband?

He looked at her naked body lounging on the bed, and they both laughed.

Seriously, Morris asked, do you know how you can get it.

Yes, I have about forty thousand squirreled away. Dad set me up to receive five thousand a month, and Howard gives me—I guess you’d call it an allowance—five hundred a month outside of the monthly house bills. He never looks at my checkbook, but just in case he should get the notion, it wouldn’t do ’em any good. I put all I can into a safe deposit box, of which he knows nothing. When do you want it?

The next time I see you. Dressed, and without words of departure, Robbins left.

She saw him leave out of the corner of her eye but said nothing—just turned and stared at the door, his image still in her mind’s eye. She lay there a few minutes before rising and going to the bathroom to dress. It came back to her what Robbins had said, that people, whom she assumed was her father, would die. Well, she could come to terms with that if she was to inherit all the fortune, only she and Linda…

Linda!

It wasn’t until then that that part hit her. Oh, my God, she said out loud, not Linda! She’s my sister—half-sister—but still, my sister. But then she rationalized: the truth was, she again told herself, Linda and her father were not that close. And what stuck out in her mind was Linda’s abrupt leaving town just before her senior year in high school to go live with Aunt Jewel up in Oglethorpe. That happened when Laverne was in college, and while in college (and enjoying sorority life), whatever happened on the home front was far, far away. Had Linda been that close to her father, her mother, or her sister, she would not have left. Linda came home to visit at the end of the school year but did not stay long, for she had met an airman by the name of Burns from a nearby air force base. They fell in love and married before the end of the year. Two years later, they had a son named Harold, and they came home to show her parents their new grandson. At the time, everyone knew that Linda’s mother had cancer, but according to the doctors, it was in remission. Linda had no way of knowing it, but she would never see her mother alive again, for the doctors were wrong. In less than two months, Linda’s mother was dead.

Laverne finished dressing, and to ease her mind, she dropped by her and Howard’s room just in case he had had some reason to return. He hadn’t.

Thinking herself hungry, she went downstairs to the restaurant and ordered coffee and cake.

While waiting for the order, her thoughts went back to the session she had just shared with Morris Robbins. It was a given that she liked Morris, but it was physical, nothing more. She didn’t love Howard, but he at least gave her the freedom she would never have had if married to Morris.

With the thought of Morris, she thought of this hotel, the Pearly Sands, their favorite rendezvous spot. They liked the fourth floor and would often sit on the balcony in the late afternoon to see the gorgeous sunset and to enjoy the cool Gulf breeze as it gently swayed the palm trees. She thought about the times long ago, when she and her family vacationed on the coast and she and Linda would wade in the salty water. Linda! The self-centered pact that she had just made with Morris came rushing back.

Laverne’s thoughts were interrupted when the coffee and cake arrived, but she found that she didn’t have much of an appetite—never touched the cake and barely made it through the coffee.

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When Robbins left Laverne and the hotel room, he set out for the eastern end of Biloxi in search of a business establishment called the Krazy Krab Bar and Grill. According to Ward Eyers, county attorney for Harrison County, it was a hangout for an assortment of thugs, dope dealers, and other ne’er-do-wells who lived on the dark side of society.

Robbins had known Eyers for quite a few years, both being re-elected to their positions more than once. Men on the run from the coast used the highways going north to escape the local law. The sheriff’s deputies of Clarke County would sometimes apprehend lawbreakers and send them back to their origin, and it seemed that Clarke County teenage runaways often chose the beaches and bars of the Gulf Coast as their destination. The county attorneys had to handle the paperwork concerning the atrocities, and over time they became close friends, often covering for one another—which may or may not have concerned the law.

Not finding the bar right off, he stopped at a convenience store to ask for directions. Needing gas, he inserted a credit card, and after punching in the required information, the hose-gun was put into the gas tank. Not wanting the tank to fill too quickly, Robbins set the hose trigger on the low-fill bump on the handle. He then entered the establishment and stepped up to the counter where the attendant was standing, and requested, Pack of Marlboros, please. The attendant turned around to a wall displaying over twenty different brands, and robotically reached for the Marlboros. Robbins inquired as he was paying, Looking for a place called the Krazy Krab.

Gesturing with hands, the attendant gave directions. Go on down 90 three blocks, turn onto Oak Street. It’s on your left. Can’t miss it.

Within minutes, the attorney was driving onto a gravel and dirt parking lot in front of the Krazy Krab Bar and Grill. Morris was a little on the nervous side. Although a long way from being a choir boy, he had never been involved in a murder—or at least on the wrong side of one. He left the comfort of his car and stepped into a dimly lit interior typical of bars that cater to low-income customers and others who, for whatever reason, don’t want to be seen. Just inside and to the left of the door was the bar, and behind that, the bartender. The bartender appeared to be about forty, barreled chested with the makings of a potbelly, and he had a dark, greasy, complexion. Beads of sweat oozed down from his sideburns.

The large room reeked of spilled beer and stale hamburger grease. Metallic clanging of pots and pans traveled from the kitchen through the thick air. The only artificial light was that of a large yellow neon sign on the wall behind the bar that advertised draft beer. Windows stained yellow from blown gravel-dust provided the balance of light. To the right of the doorway that led to the kitchen was a white poster board in the process of turning yellow. On the board, printed in large red letters, was the following invitation: FRIDAY NIGHT SPECIAL, RED BEANS AND RICE. Under that was the price: $6.00 plus tax.

Robbins stepped up to the bar across from the bartender, Beer, please.

What kind? the bartender asked in a deep, surly voice.

Draft would be fine, he said, having been influenced by the neon beer sign.

Robbins pondered how to word his request without being too obvious and yet get the point across. While the bartender was drawing the beer, he said, I have rats in my attic. Do you know an exterminator?

The bartender set the mug of beer on the bar counter, eyed Robbins obliquely, and gave a non-committal shrug.

"Well, in case you do, if he, or she, or they, should come in,