Deadly Passion: The Lanny Boone Series, #2

By Ben Douglas

While investigating the murder of a beautiful socialite Detective Lanny Boone uncovers a corrupt gambling cartel that eliminates opposition from any quarter.  Having made the connection between the murder and the cartel Boone presses for evidence to convict … and is drawn into a crossfire he might not survive.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wings ePress, Inc.
• Release date: Jul 23, 2023
• ISBN: 9781597050234

Book preview

One

I ’m telling you, Lieutenant , I liked to never got Melba to stop screaming. She ain’t never seen nothing like that. Me either.

I was standing near where they’d pulled the body from the water, talking to Tommy Barnes. He wore a baseball cap, T-shirt, shorts and running shoes, though I suspect with his paunch he didn’t do much running. His wife sat on a park bench, arms folded, shivering, rocking back and forth and staring at the ground. Two police cruisers were nearby, their flashing bar lights painting the scene blue.

What time was that, Mr. Barnes?

Tommy. You can call me Tommy. Round six, I reckon. Melba’s gotten to where she makes me get up early and walk. We’d started on our first lap around the park. When we came by here where the path comes close to the water—that’s when Melba saw her.

Melba saw her first?

Sort of. He took off his cap and ran his fingers through his hair. Melba pointed at what looked like a rag floating on top of the water. ‘Look at that,’ she said. ‘What?’ I said. ‘That litter somebody threw in the water. Makes me mad.’ Well sir, as soon as we got closer I saw something wasn’t right.

What wasn’t right?

I saw right off it was more than litter. You remember how when you was a kid and you’d float face-down in the swimming hole at the creek, and bob along a little bit?

I remember.

That’s what it looked like, like she was bobbing on purpose and would raise her head in a second. I stopped walking and took hold of Melba’s arm and stopped her. ‘Hon,’ I said, ‘wait here a minute.’

You knew it was a person?

Yeah, or I thought somebody could have been playing a prank and put one of them store dummies in the water. What do you call them, the things they put dresses on?

Manikins.

Yeah, manikins. Anyway, when I walked on down to the water Melba followed me. She’s hardheaded and all, won’t listen to nobody, least of all me. There we saw her. Floating like I said, her blonde hair waving in the water, minnows kind of drifting around her body. Wouldn’t have been long the turtles would have been at her. There’s lots of turtles in the lake, you know?

Yes, I know, I said. What did you do then?

Well, Melba commenced to screaming. And she was yelling, ‘Get her out. Get her out.’ I made Melba sit on a bench and I went and waded in. Then Melba came sloshing out after me. Water wasn’t but about a foot deep. I suspected she’s dead but I didn’t know for sure so we pulled her out. I almost got sick when I saw she’s dead. If I’d known for sure she’d been dead I’d of left her be until the police got here. Know what I mean?

I know. I didn’t tell Tommy Barnes he’d done the right thing because I didn’t know what the right thing was. I did know I’d have waded in and pulled her out just as he’d done.

Lieutenant, what do you reckon happened?

Don’t know, I said. I’d seen the body. The bruises on her arms and throat and her torn nails indicate she’d fought off an attacker. I didn’t think she’d drowned in a foot of water but this was no time for me to be speculating on what had happened.

Tommy Barnes pulled at his chin. I was looking at where she was floating in the water and I was thinking she might have walked out on that concrete culvert right there and slipped and hit her head and fell in. Reckon she could have done that?

I don’t know, I said. Anything else you can think of?

Don’t reckon, only I thought it was strange she’s wearing a dress. Fancy one, looks like. Most people that come to the park this early in the morning have on shorts or warm-ups. She looked like she was going to a party, or had come from one. Had on high heels. Well, one high heel. Other shoe is probably in the water. Don’t you think?

I don’t know, I said. I don’t like saying I don’t know a lot but there wasn’t much else to say.

Tommy Barnes rubbed his hand across his abdomen and stared at the ground like he was deep in thought. He shook his head. Strange that Kellie would come to the park dressed like that. I mean, she has on her watch and rings, and earrings and such.

Kellie? You knew her?

Oh yeah, most everybody knows Kellie Carson. I’ve known her since we were in high school. She was a tall, good-looking blonde even then. Real popular. That’s the thing that almost made me sick when I pulled her out. I knew her.

You were friends in high school?

Not really, just knew her. She dated the popular guys, the captains of the ball teams and such.

What else can you tell me about her?

Not much. She’s ’bout my age, early forties. No brothers or sisters. Grew up here. Went to Ole Miss. Popular up there, too, I hear. Dad’s with some big company.

Does he live here?

No, he was transferred while Kellie was at Ole Miss. Atlanta, I think. She married Billy Carson after Ole Miss. He’s from Jackson. Know you’ve heard of Billy Carson.

I have.

"Owns banks and such. He’s filthy rich. Calls himself William now that he’s rich. You ought to see their house. Play a game of tennis in their living room."

You’ve seen their house?

Oh yeah, I’m a contractor. Painted it for them when they had it built, did some electrical work, other stuff.

Do the Carsons have any children?

No, too busy, I reckon.

It was times like this I think it’d be nice to be one of those private detectives you see on TV. I had an urge to go charging out and search the Carsons’ house and car before anyone else had a chance to. If I were a private detective I could illegally enter their home, snoop around, see what I could find and not have to disqualify any evidence I turned up. None of the court rulings would get in the way. If I ran the killer to ground and got a confession out of him the judge wouldn’t disallow it because his lawyer wasn’t present. On the other hand, I wouldn’t have all the resources of the law enforcement system at my disposal so it was unlikely I’d be able to run the killer to the ground if I was a private detective.

Two more police cruisers arrived, followed by an ambulance. The sun, now swelling above the horizon, was diluting the flashing blue. You say the Carsons were busy?

"Oh yeah, Kellie said every time she turned around William wanted her to arrange another party. And she was into all that community stuff."

I waited, giving Tommy Barnes a chance to explain.

As if answering the question I hadn’t asked, he said, Lots of times she’d have me come out and paint up or fix up for the party. That’s how I knew all about them. Of course, everybody knew about the parties.

You knew Kellie Carson well, then?

Not really. She just hired me to do stuff. Tommy looked toward the street.

A white van with the Channel Two News logo on the side turned into the gravel parking lot and stopped. A blonde woman checked her hair and makeup in the mirror behind the sun visor. She and a cameraman stepped out. She scurried about, microphone in hand, looking for someone to interview. The cameraman huffed after her. She spoke to one bystander, then another. The second one pointed to us.

Tommy Barnes watched the TV crew coming toward us. I don’t want to talk to them.

Then don’t, I said. Do you think Melba is up to talking to me?

He shook his head. I don’t know.

As I walked over to where Melba sat, I watched the TV crew approach Tommy Barnes. The blonde extended a microphone. He shook his head and walked away. She directed her attention to a nearby patrol officer. He did the same. Unshaken, she strolled quickly to the ambulance where two emergency medical technicians were loading the body aboard. With that as a background she turned and, under the glare of the television lights, spoke into the microphone. This morning a body was discovered in the lake here in Strawberry Park. Officials have not released the name the of the individual but an unconfirmed report has it that it’s a prominent member of this community...

Melba Barnes gave essentially the same account of events as had Tommy. Yes, she knew it was Kellie Carson as soon as they pulled her out of the water. She only knew Kellie by sight because they traveled in different social circles. Yes, she knew Kellie was a busy person.

You know that big picnic thing that church in the country has every year?

I said I did.

Kellie is always in charge of that, she said. That’s just one of the things she does...did... Somebody killed her, didn’t they?

We don’t know what caused her death.

Somebody killed her. You’ll find out who did it, won’t you?

We’ll find out what happened, I said.

Two

Iwatched the ambulance , red lights flashing, pull out of the parking lot and accelerate south toward the University of Mississippi Medical Center. There was no need for them to hurry but they would. The Channel Two van followed. Kellie Carson’s death would make the noon news.

Ken Crawford, the sergeant in charge of the patrol officers, had two of his men in the street directing traffic. Two others were putting up the yellow crime scene tape.

I walked over to where he was standing. Sergeant.

Yes, Lieutenant?

Has anyone spoken to Kellie Carson’s husband?

Talked to the dispatcher a few minutes ago, Lieutenant. They haven’t been able to find him.

Try his house?

Yes, sir. A patrol officer drove out there. No one was at home. Officer roused a neighbor. Neighbor said Carson and his wife were in New Orleans. Supposed to be back today.

Did the neighbor know where the Carsons were staying in New Orleans?

Don’t know, Lieutenant. He had Carson’s cell phone number and tried to call him but didn’t get an answer. He left a message for Carson to call, gave him the precinct number, too.

Let me know as soon as you hear from Carson.

Yes, sir.

I left the park and drove home and fed Otis, the gruff mutt I’d gotten from the animal rescue league. He was a large dog with wiry brown hair. Because of the hair that stuck out on the sides of his face I initially named him Rutherford B. Hays. My three-year old nephew loved the dog but couldn’t say, Rutherford B. Hays. It came out, Herpes Says. I decided to change the dog’s name. Because he wobbled when he walked, I named him Otis, after the town drunk on the Andy Griffith Show.

Otis wore a silent fence collar so he could roam around outside. I built a doghouse for him near the back door. There he could escape a downpour but he didn’t often do it, rather chose to play in the water. Otis and I lived in a three bedroom, two-bath bungalow on a tree-shaded lot on St. Augustine Drive. I’m thirty-two years old, divorced, no children. My job made my ex-wife nervous so she traded me in for a richer model. I can’t say that I blame her. Her husband’s an okay guy. I sometimes think I’d like being a family man but dinner with my friend and colleague Ken Crawford and his three children, all under the age of ten, does cause me to have second thoughts about it.

I showered and dressed, attached Otis’ silent fence collar and turned him outside. By the time I got to my office it was half past eight. I started some coffee to perking and sat down to work on my reports.

Sergeant Kenneth Crawford didn’t appear in the doorway of my office; he materialized there. He could as easily disappear. I’d asked him about it.

He’d said, Boss, we’s learns to disappear so we’s can get out of work. Crawford normally sounded like Morgan Freeman but when convenient he could lapse into jive talk. I’s bilingual, he’d said.

I told him his wife, Evelyn, was a patient woman.

He grinned. So she say.

Crawford is my age but at six four and two sixty, he has a couple of inches and about forty pounds on me. He played football at Jackson State University some time after Walter Payton was there and looks as if he’d fit nicely in the New Orleans Saints lineup today. He’s the color of mahogany and is either bald or shaves his head. Guys at the precinct think he shines it, too, but none of them has the courage to ask.

Lieutenant. He nodded to me.

My coffee maker gave its dying gurgles and went silent. Morning, Sergeant. Cup of coffee?

Probably had too much coffee already.

What do you want in it?

Cream and sugar.

I poured two cups of coffee, pointed to the packets of sweetener and creamer. Help yourself. Crawford opened the packets and dumped them in this coffee.

I motioned to one of the two chairs in front of my desk. Crawford eased his tonnage into it. Bad scene out there this morning.

Makes me sick to think about it.

He shook his head. Any thoughts on how or why it might have happened?

No. There were bruises on the body. I’m betting it’s a homicide and I’ll wager Captain Halleck will think so, too.

Crawford took a sip of his coffee, stared at the cup. Makes sense. When do you think you’ll get an autopsy report?

Should have it in a week, sooner if we’re lucky. Pressure will be on us to get this one done.

You’ll have your hands full, Lieutenant.

Captain hasn’t assigned me the case.

He will.

You think?

Yeah, high-profile case. If it’s solved it’ll make the department look good. If it isn’t the chief investigating officer won’t look so good. You’ll get the case.

Thanks for the encouragement.

My pleasure. Going to the firing range this afternoon?

You know me, creature of habit. Gym four days a week, firing range every Wednesday and Friday. Can you come along?

Sure, and I’ll spring for the beer when we’ve finished.

Crawford, the loser buys the beer.

He turned his palms out and shrugged.

I know, I said, but when I start winning I want to show you what a humble winner I can be.

I can hardly wait to see that. Need any help on the Carson case, let me know.

Haven’t been assigned the case.

You will be.

After Crawford left my office I refilled my coffee pot and started it going again. It was well into its gurgling and hissing when my phone rang.

Captain Halleck’s voice was what you’d expect from a bear coming out of hibernation. Boone, what are you doing right now?

Waiting for the coffee to perk, Captain.

Paying your salary is putting the taxpayer’s money to good use, Boone.

Thank you, Captain. I can’t say it often enough, the Captain is one of my biggest fans.

Think you could tear yourself away from the coffee pot long enough to drop by my office?

Well, let me check my schedule, see if I need to call my girlfriend, run some errands, clip my nails. Be right there, Captain. I walked down the hall to his office.

Have a seat, Boone. When Halleck moved, his chair creaked under the load. His round head and heavy jaws seemed to grow out of his shoulders. His body, except for the top of his head, was covered with dark hair. A picture of his wife and two children sat on the left corner of his desk, one of his Labrador retrievers on the other corner. A few framed citations and photos of him and sundry dignitaries hung on the walls. This being a smoke-free building, the ashtray that once held Halleck’s smoldering cigars now had a chewed cigar resting in it.

Thank you, Captain. I sat in one of the two empty chairs in front of his desk.

A mess out there at the park this morning.

Yes, sir.

Halleck rubbed his bald dome with a meaty paw. Boone, this thing has homicide written all over it and we’re going to treat it as such. We’re going to nab the son of a bitch who did it before he can blink twice. If it turns out we’re mistaken and it was not a homicide, he turned out his palms and shrugged, we’ll deal with that when the time comes. Thing is, we can’t sit around and wait for lab reports.

I nodded.

You realize we’ll be under the microscope until we clear it up? He didn’t wait for an answer. You know and I know we’d be just as anxious to find out who killed a drifter.

I nodded again.

Thing is, if it’d been a drifter the media would report it one time, if at all, and that’d be it. He tapped a folder on his desk. But it wasn’t a drifter, it was a prominent citizen. They’ll keep it in the news and milk it for everything its worth.

Yes, sir, I suspect they will.

You know damn well they will. He picked up his cigar, looked at it like it was an old friend, sighed and put it back in the ashtray. We’ll soon have an autopsy report and eventually a report from the guys at the crime lab. Jeez, they’re understaffed down there. He drummed his fingers on the desk. We can’t wait on all that, can we?

No, sir.

We need somebody to start probing, asking questions, maybe irritating a few people and generally making a damn pest of himself until he gets some answers.

Yes, sir.

Somebody who’s as stubborn as a grouchy bulldog.

Yes, sir.

He looked at the ceiling as if sorting out his options. Boone, I want you on this thing as of right now.

Three

Halleck gave me what he had on Kellie Carson, which wasn’t much more than what I’d learned from Tommy Barnes. Her hobbies ran to tennis, boating and painting. After college she’d worked for a year as a teller at First County Bank where she’d met William Carson.

She and William Carson had been married for fourteen years, were well traveled, avoided tour groups and cruise boats and went their own way in countries in Eastern and Western Europe, South America and the Far East. Kellie Carson had an engaging personality and had been described as a people person. She’d spearheaded fundraisers for the local theatre group, libraries and school sports programs.

I walked back to my office, sat at my desk and began sorting through my priorities. We’d obtain a search warrant for the Carson’s home and premises. That would be my first stop. The crime scene guys would be hopping today.

My phone rang. It was the captain’s administrative assistant. Lieutenant, William Carson’s neighbor just called. Said he got in touch with Carson. Said Carson is leaving New Orleans now.

Did the neighbor say what time Carson would be back here?

Soon after noon, probably around one. Carson should be calling us any minute.

I looked at my watch. It was 10:15. If Carson made it by one he’d be driving well above the speed limit.

Put Carson through to me when he calls.

Sure, Lieutenant... Lieutenant, he’s on the line now. I’ll transfer him.

This is Carson, William Carson. What’s going on up there?

Mr. Carson—

George Pinson called me. He’s my neighbor. Told me there’s been a terrible accident. Said I’d better call you.

Mr. Carson, where are you?

I’m about to leave my hotel room in New Orleans. They’re bringing my car around. Jesus, will somebody just answer my question? What the hell’s going on up there?

Mr. Carson, your wife was found dead this morning.

Kellie? No. No, that can’t be. You’re mistaken. There’s been a mistake, I tell you.

No mistake, Mr. Carson.

Kellie? Not Kellie. Are you sure? What happened?

A couple was out walking, found her in the park this morning. I saw no point in going into graphic detail. He’d learn that soon enough.

In the park? Kellie doesn’t go to the park, for God’s sake. What was she doing in the park?

We don’t know that, Mr. Carson. And we don’t know exactly what happened. Maybe we’ll have some answers soon... I’d like to talk to you when you get back.

Sure.

Okay, if I meet you at your house?

Sure.

Mr. Carson, the crime scene investigators will need to check out your house, see if anything there will give us a lead on what happened. We had a search warrant but I wanted to see what he’d say.

Do whatever you need to do. I’ll be home in about three hours. If you need to get into the house sooner call Walter Allen.

Walter Allen? The Walter Allen who’s—

That’s right, the one that’s going to be the next lieutenant governor. Walter is one of... one of the bank vice presidents, a long-time friend, usually sees after things when we travel.

He has access to your property?

I didn’t ask the question that formed in my mind but Carson answered it. I’d trust Walt Allen to watch my back. He’s more than a friend, more like a brother.

And he’s a vice-president of First County Bank?

Yes. He gave me Allen’s phone number. If there’s anything you need from me before I get there, call me.

I told him I would. "Mr. Carson, are