Lucky Stiff - Name Your Poison: Det. Lt. Nick Storie Mysteries, #17

By C. D. Moulton

Lucky Stiff
Luck has a way of turning sour. Maybe a killer's long lucky streak is about to run out.

Name Your Poison
A truly exotic poison is killing people. The only connection Nick can find is on the internet, and that's tenuous, at best. Does he have some new kind of serial killer here?

• Language: English
• Publisher: C. D. Moulton
• Release date: Jun 24, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201536312

Book preview

Chapter one

Great timing! Spclst. Marsha Blevens, real power in the Naples South Station Violent Crimes Division, Aide to Capt. Paddy James, official head honcho, greeted Det. Nick Storie as he came on duty at six.

Really? Nick replied. How so?

Mortenson, Jarard and that bunch just left, Lt. Jim Hill, day shift, answered. "The fun part's worn off of that bunch. Marsh meant they had great timing, because you would have had their cars towed, or something." (Nick had done that, once.)

You should have seen them! Larry Feng, apprentice homicide cop, said. Marsh had their heads so screwed they couldn't find the door fast enough.

You doesn't mess with none'a me, Honky! Marsh quipped. "It's been quiet today, so maybe you'll be lucky enough to be bored out of your skull, tonight. You can finish those review files for Dolly (the dept.'s computer expert) and she can get them posted.

Off to a romantic evening watching CSI on TV with Hank (her husband) and the kids. I learn all kind of things from that show. Tiny (Menthorne, M.E.) even likes it, and says it's too bad all those theories and technology are ten years ahead of what any cop unit can afford, except for Lattimer's labs – that Crane gave them. You don't get to watch the good ones.

Jan (Nick's wife) records them for him, Jim said. I'm off!

We've known that for years! Marsha fired back.

I hope I can just sit around here tonight, Nick said. Enough Russian mobs and Chinese mobs and even some American mobs, already!

"Hah! You’re the one who always makes friends with those international mobsters!" Marsha accused.

Not always, Nick replied. There was that Candida case, and the Compton cruds. Marsha made a sour face. Larry grimaced.

Nick got the stacks of reports, went to his desk, and spent the entire shift putting them into the easy program Dolly had designed for them on the comps. He would be able to use those comps at anytime, instantly, to refer to the cases. Just a couple of years ago, he would have had to go to the Dead File area and search through boxes of papers for any little fact he needed. At two, he went home to his wife and family.

Anything new? Nick greeted, as he came into the duty room the following day.

Not really, Marsha replied. Very quiet, except when Rogers, from missper, called and said there was something that might be ours if they found anything.

I don't get it? Nick asked.

The missper was at Harry Sanford's last night, didn't show up for work today, and didn't bother to go home, Paddy explained. "Rogers is generally right on with his hunches, and he says he has a hunch that Templeton character won too much last night. I think some of the people at Sanford's think he was cheating, somehow, because he was much too lucky for pure luck.

Maybe he’s MP on purpose – or maybe it’s more sinister than that.

Won big, huh? Nick asked. "If we get any hints I'll send Larry out on it. He's on my shift tonight.

How much did he take that crowd for? Enough for motive to get rid of him?

I guess! Jim put in. Try twenty six grand plus!

That's not so high for that bunch, Paddy pointed out. I mean, isn't that about what you make per week as a vital trusted public servant? They all gave Paddy the finger.

Dolly said Nick was doing quite a job learning about the comps. She only had to straighten out ninety five percent of it instead of the usual ninety eight percent. Frog Forest, her husband (and ace photographer for forensics) came in. They chatted, and everyone left. Larry Feng came in as they were going out, and he and Nick settled down for a long dull night – the kind the violent crimes division wished all of them could be.

... was some kind of weird deal! Larry was saying. I mean, you can have those Russian Mafia types! The whole bunch are more than a little nuts! If you hadn't....

Nick put up his hand as Vic called for Nick to take line two from the front desk (Vic refused to use the intercom). Storie. Homicide.

Nick? Arnie Roberts. With North Station. Got one for you, I think.

North Station, why ... oh. We're consolidated now? Nick replied.

Yeah. We get patrols and enforcement, you get violent crimes and burglary, Arnie answered. Guy in a ditch. Frog hunters found him and called us.

Details? Nick asked.

In a ditch just south of Bonita on Ackerman's Farm Drive, he said, as if reading it. One and two tenths of a mile north of Ridge Road. I'm there with the lights, so it's easy to spot us. I called Tiny, so he's en route. I thought it might be an accidental drowning, but the bullet hole in the back of his head sort of made that unlikely.

Thanks, Arnie. On the way, Nick said, and waved for Larry to come along.

No ID, and not a lot to go on. It looks a lot like a druggie execution, or something such, Arnie suggested. If his hands had been tied behind it would be textbook.

Nuh-uh, Tiny (6'6 and 325+#, thus Tiny) snorted. No drug executions with a damned thirty two! They want something that takes off the whole top of the head to send a message."

It's a thirty two slug? Nick asked.

At a guess. Twenty five or thirty two, Tiny agreed.

So it was set up to look like an execution, but wasn't, Larry said.

It was an execution, Frog argued. Just not a druggie type. He was taking shots around with his several cameras. Nick didn't have to make suggestions, because Frog wouldn't miss one square inch of a crime scene.

Nick spent about an hour and a half checking the area, then went to his car, where Larry was filling out a report.

Well, if we can identify him, it shouldn't be too hard to solve, Ellen Vickers, whose shift had just begun and who came to see what was happening, suggested. Having said that I'll give myself the middle finger salute, because we all know better. Anything telling here?

Nick shook his head, and asked Frog if he'd spotted anything. Frog shrugged. Tiny called that they were going to transport, and Nick looked over the scene again. There was nothing to indicate ... anything. He sighed, and headed for his car and thought of Rogers' hunch, so radioed to North Station to ask for a description of the missper – Templeton or something such.

Daniel Frederick Templeton, 27 years of age, five eleven and one seventy, mesomorph, light brown hair, hazel eyes, small scar over the left eye in a half-moon shape, about an inch long, Iris Keeene, the night duty officer, answered. Find him? Hiding from his boss or girlfriend or that bunch of hoods at Sanford's?

Not anymore. I guess he's the DB we just fished out of a ditch, Nick replied. Thanks, Iris. I'll have Tiny call you if he's our vic.

Is he? she asked.

Uh-huh.

We were there night before last, Dennis Wills, one of the frog hunters who found Templeton's body said. There wasn't anything there. Damned sure no dead guy!

Yeah. That was a shocker, finding him like that, Luke Donner, the other frog hunter, agreed. We had that Sam character come to try to tell us we couldn't hunt there, the other night, but he can kiss my royal rusty ass! That's on the public right-of-way, and we all know it. He's an asshole.

Sam character? Nick asked.

Some sort of night watchman for the farms, Dennis explained. Old fool thinks because they give him a fancy uniform he can tell everybody what to do on a public road. Real tin soldier type jerk-off.

Nick thanked them, and went to sit in his car for a minute. He drank a cup of coffee from his thermos as he read over his notes. It seemed no vehicle was found, and Templeton had a Ford Ranger pick-up. White.

Nick was on duty at nine in the morning, because Paddy let his officers work whatever hours would best fit a case they were on. Larry would take his shift tonight, if he wasn't through with this. He would have to look for clues in the daytime.

He radioed in a locate order for the pick-up and headed for the furniture wholesalers who had originally called missing persons. He interviewed everyone, found that Templeton was either disliked or thought of in very neutral ways by the crew he worked with. They all said he was a compulsive gambler, that his luck ran in streaks, and that he was riding high on a streak, at the time. He had apparently won everything from a roll of the dice to the horses to cards. Nick told them he understood his luck was still running night before last, because he'd picked up more than twenty five grand at Harry's – and yes, gambling was illegal in Collier County, but they couldn't get proof enough to shut down Sanford and a couple of others of that sort. Anyone who would file a complaint had won or lost money there, and would admit to illegal gambling, themselves, if they filed any charges – so they didn't. Sanford had someone inside they couldn't find to warn him when a warrant was going to be served on his place, so nothing was ever there.

He went to his car to check his notes, then went to the office to make his chart (he made a box chart of his cases. When the victim and killer were in the same square at the time of the killing, he had his case solved). He had all of them in the square at six the last night he was at work.

His own opinion of the crew was that any of them could have done it. He had Anne Scarlon at the office at seven, then she went on a date with a Bill Holland, to an opera(?). She looked nervous when she said that. She had spent until after one with him. That was confirmed. Sid Alford was home with his wife. She would confirm that. John Weltz was at The Red Onion, a beer and wine bar, until closing, which gave him until two with an alibi. Shelli Gooden was at her mother's from about eight until she left for work in the morning, which was easy to confirm, but her mother wouldn't know if she left anytime during the night. Gordon Heller went home, watched TV and stayed there all night. Bill Yolander was mentioned, at times, but didn't seem much involved. He was the building security force – meaning the night watchman – and wasn't yet there when Templeton left, apparently. He seemed to the others to be perpetually broke, but that would be expected at a night watchman's salary. He either had no drive or no skills, or he'd find a better job. He was at work when Templeton bought it. He'd been some kind of gofer with the planning board, but got laid off with the latest rounds of budget cuts. Another typical nowhere man going nowhere.

In other words, he had alibis from all of them for a certain time, but he didn't know when Templeton died, so it would be data to file.

Nick drove to the farms where he was told that the watchman, Sam Kyle, lived in a nearby trailer park, so he went there to talk with him. He was a grouchy type, and ranted a bit about the way people had no respect for a person's property, and that the No Trespassing signs were mostly ignored.

Nick was finally able to get him onto the night Templeton ended up in the ditch. It seemed two shady types who claimed to be hunting frogs had been there, and he just knew they were planning to sneak into the farm to steal peppers.

Steal peppers? Nick asked. Why? Who needs that many peppers, except some store?

"Sell them at the fleas! he cried, triumphantly. Peppers are high now, so they can make a bundle!"

Nick couldn't ever remember seeing peppers in a flea market, so changed the subject back to that night. Nothing else happened, except about three the next morning there had been a couple of trucks out there, but no lights camem so they didn't try to come into the farm across the ditch. He hadn't heard any shots or anything.

Two trucks? Nick asked. What kind?

How in hell would I know?! he demanded. It was a white truck, one of the smaller pick-up types, and a, one of those SUV things. Dark color, so I couldn't be sure ... yes. Black, because I could see that when a car passed. Black, or very dark blue. Maybe that purple color ... and a sort of whitish band around it, about the middle of the door high. White with a dark colored ribbon running around the middle. Of the white band. I didn't even know I noticed until you mentioned it! How about that! – Hey! It smoked!

Smoked? Nick asked.

Yeah. The van thing smoked. Like it needed a ring job, you know? he replied. I saw that when a car passed. Lots of smoke. A real oil- burner.

Nick thanked him and left to head for the coroner's office. He was beginning to form a theory.

Single shot, thirty two, to the back of the head, Tiny reported. Not any other damage. Died instantly. Between one and four in the morning of the day he was found. Frog found the casing in the ditch. Thirty two automatic,

Yeah. It was his lucky day, Nick replied. You would expect torture from that type of execution.

Lucky day? Tiny asked, smirking at Nick, expecting a come-back.

He'd won at the races, the office pool, on a roll of the dice, and more than twenty five grand at Sanford's, then he has the luck for it to be clean and quick, Nick pointed out.

Sort of gives new meaning to the term, 'Lucky Stiff' – doesn't it? Tiny rejoined.

Chapter two

Well, got it figured out yet? Marsha asked, when he went into the office just before lunch. Paddy, Jim, and I are headed out for a snack. Tell us about it while we choke down some crap.

They all climbed into Paddy's car and went to a little place that had just opened to try it out. The food was, at least, a bit better than just edible, there.

So! Who did it? Jim asked, when they sat back with their pie and coffee.

I've got a lot of candidates, Nick protested. "It could be any number of people I've met, or one of the few I haven't. I feel there's someone involved I haven't met.

One thing I do know! Sanford is out of it! It was no hit!

Unless it was set up to look like it was no hit, Paddy warned.

No way! Marsha cried. There wouldn't be any point to a hit no one knew was a hit. Those gamblers want all their clients to know what happens if you cross them.

There's some kind of undercurrent, Nick said. "Nobody liked him, even if a few didn't dislike him, either. There's something about it that doesn't quite ring true in what any of them say.

"If he had been killed an hour earlier, or three hours later, most of them would have an alibi. As it stands, none of them, with the possible exception of Alford, have an alibi.

"Nobody liked him, and some of them actually disliked him, but none to the point they would kill. It's just the type of dislike where they would try to avoid him in anything but the work area. Maybe one of them would want to cut it off for him, and a couple would enjoy knocking him on his ass, but not a hate, more an aversion.

"I'll have to check on a few other things about him, so I'll go back to the warehouse this afternoon to see what I've missed.

This is damned good pie, isn't it?

Just a few questions, and in private, somewhere, Nick told the people in the office. "So far, this is a two plus two equals six kind of thing. Something's missing.

I'll start with Mr. Weltz, then he can get back to running the business.

One thing he'd deduced in his talks with them earlier was that they didn't like Weltz, and tolerated him because he owned the place. Most of them had worked for his father, who died a little more than a year ago, and had stayed on because the job market wasn't good, and the pay there was.

They went into Weltz's overly plush, if in an uncultured sort of way, office, and Weltz sat to look questioningly at Nick. Nick got the immediate feeling that Weltz was pretty much like he was described by what wasn't said. He was a vulgar pig.

OK, Nick began. I have to know exactly where you were from twelve midnight until six AM, yesterday morning, with whom, and the whole schmeer – and don't pretend to be offended. It's all standard questions in a murder investigation.

I was at the Red Onion until about a quarter to two, then went to Denny's with a lady for a snack, then went home. That's about it.

Lady went home with you? Nick asked.

I'm not giving you her name, or anything. A guy doesn't do that! he snapped back.

If you'd gone home with anyone you'd spend the next hour bragging about it, Nick thought. "So you say you have an alibi, but you won't give it.

You realize how that makes you look?

Life has it's little hard spots, he said. I won't tell you her name.

OK. What was your opinion of Templeton? Nick asked.

He was a genius as a salesman and a total SOB as a person, he replied. "He was getting to be too much trouble to keep around, and was going to be fired as soon as I could get Johnson to take his place. It looks like I won't have to go through that, at least. I've already let Johnson know he has the job if he'll take it – and he will. The way he talked he might walk out and leave me high and dry, any day. You can't trust that type. No loyalty.

"You ask me some of his gangster buddies had enough of him, and settled the problem permanent. He went over to Sanford's and ended up in a ditch the next day? You gotta ask what happened?

"I can say you definitely ain't one of the kinds of cops I've had to deal with, or you'd have already dropped it. I almost got tangled with one of those, once. Two bucks on the side, and he don't find nothin' – or expect you to keep shut because he knows something about you.

"I mean, one tried to work me. I didn't tumble." He was fidgeting about what he'd almost said about himself. He'd paid some cop off, probably for a DUI ticket, and the cop was holding it over his head when he found the cop was running his own racket. Sad as it was, there WERE cops, luckily very few, like that.

It's my job to ask what happened, Nick pointed out. "I'm just feeling around, now. I'll probably have more to ask in a day or two.

Where can I meet with the others?

Try Sid's office. They spend half of their time in there, anyhow, so you can ask all but one to leave at the time, he suggested. "Er, did you find anything, uh, with his body? Maybe something that would show why anyone would want to kill him, or anything?

I guess not. You wouldn't be wasting your time here if you had.

Nick nodded, and went in to talk with Sid.

Where were you from midnight until six AM yesterday morning, and with whom? Nick asked, after a bit of light preliminary chat.

Home, in bed, until about five, then home in the bath and kitchen until seven thirty, then here, he answered. "My wife was there until one thirty, then took the kids to the airport and caught a plane to Denver to visit her parents.

Hell of an hour to catch a plane, but it's the only direct.

What did you think of Templeton? Nick asked.

Total snake, he replied, with a grimace. Had a very high opinion of himself. He was ... a politician without an office to run for, if you know what I mean. Sneaky and untrustworthy. Tended to be crooked, and was often into scams.

Nick perked up. That was new!

Scams? he asked.

Oh, get rich quick schemes, he said. "Find ways to con things out of people, usually in some 'investment' scheme so he could say the reason they lost their ass was because the business didn't make it, but that's part of taking a risk, so you can't blame poor poor innocent little old ME! Tried to get people into his gambling contacts so they could foot the bill. That kind of thing.

"He had one plan where he was going to buy some swamps and get a rezoning for development – in the bag, because he'd already bought a commissioner! – and make a nice bundle. Things like that. The commissioner sold out to an environmental group and stabbed him in the back, and HE lost more than the few paltry bucks the others put into it!

Found out he'd paid off a big debt to Sanford on that one.

Did you have much in it? Nick asked.

"Yeah! I'm that dumb! I'm an accountant, for Christ's sake!" he cried, then grinned.

The other here lose much? Nick asked.

I don't think so. I heard somebody put a few hundred in it, but not enough to get too upset over, he answered. "He conned a few of those people at Sanford's out of a couple of thousand on it, but it's nothing to most of them. They're willing to take a chance that one of the schemes might actually work out, because they'd take it over and hang him out to dry.

You don't think one of them killed him? Why?

They'd want it known he crossed them and ended up dead for his trouble, Nick explained. Knocking him over not sending a message to others would be pointless. They wouldn't get anything from it, that way.

Logical, he agreed.

Miss Gooden, just a few questions, then you can get back to work, Nick began. "I can play games or ask the questions, and you can pretend to be offended or answer them.

Which will it be?

Well! I’ll be damned! An honest man, and damned good- looking! You've got to be married – or gay! she fired back, with a grin.

Married, he agreed. Where were you from midnight until six AM, yesterday morning? With whom?

At Mom's, in bed, she answered. All alone. It's getting to be a habit I wish I could break, but you're all married, already!

What did you think of Templeton? He ignored the rest of it.

He was the world's foremost asshole bastard since about four months ago, when he dumped me, and a dream before that, she said, watching Nick's eyes.

You cap him? Nick asked.

She laughed. "It was probably some of his gambler friends. He tended to be a con man, and they can get pretty uptight about that kind of thing, I hear. He was going to score something big and be independent for the rest of his life. That bunch and the whole world was going to be taking their orders from him, soon! Always next week."

He was amateur night at the fair with that crowd, Nick agreed. "They used him for amusement. He was way out of his league.

He work any of his cons on you?

For a hundred fifty bucks. Nothing I couldn't afford, she replied.

I'll be as brief as you'll let me, Nick told Gord Heller. We can play games or be blunt.

I was up at Teco for the ice hockey game until about twelve, got home about two, and stayed there until I came to work at seven thirty, he answered. "I was with Gloria Willows at the game, and until a quarter to two or so.

That cover it? He grinned.

Seems to, Nick agreed.

Good! I'll go close the front and go home, he said.

Just one more thing, Nick said. Your opinion of him, and did he catch you in any of his cons?

I despised him, and he couldn't get me into any con, because I wouldn't tumble to any of his shit, and he knew it. I told him to come see me when he actually did get control of a big business – like he always claimed he was going to do.

Fair enough, Nick said.

Well, Miss Scarlon, quite a mess, Nick greeted.

They told me what you were asking, so I went to a show with Bill Holland, but not an opera. I told Weltz I was going to an opera so he'd back off. He's a disgusting pig, she said, before he could ask. "We went to Hancock's for a drink, and I spent the