Shadow Of Malice: The Lanny Boone Series, #3

By Ben Douglas

Fear grips the citizens of a small community when they learn illegal drugs are flowing into their area, and a murderer is at large. Detective Lanny Boone moves to lure the criminal elements into the open by setting himself up as a target. He can bring them to justice … if he survives.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wings ePress, Inc.
• Release date: Jul 24, 2023
• ISBN: 9781597051057

Book preview

One

H e’s dead, Lieutenant .

Who’s dead?

Doc Bowen.

A patrol officer and I were standing outside the local family medical clinic. I looked at my watch. 8:00 a.m. School buses, carpool parents and commuters were beginning to clog the streets. I live about a mile from the clinic and had just showered and dressed when I got the call. I came straight up. The patrol officer was here when I arrived.

Cause? I said.

Appears to have been shot.

When?

Not long ago. His arm was warm when I felt for a pulse.

Get some patrol officers up here to cordon off the area and to control the traffic.

They’re on the way, Lieutenant. Ambulance, too.

Crime scene guys? Coroner?

On the way.

Let’s take a look inside. We walked to the door.

Are you limping, Lieutenant?

It’s nothing.

What irony. I’d planned to drop by the clinic this morning to have Doctor Wayne Bowen take a look at my foot. Bowen was a semi-retired family physician who worked three hours a day, three days a week. I was told that he came in early. I thought I’d try to see him before he began seeing his regular patients.

Sure you’re all right, Lieutenant?

I’m all right. Thing about being in law enforcement is that you aren’t allowed to work if you’re sick or injured.

Three nights ago I’d gotten up in the middle of the night to go to the kitchen for a glass of water. I’d done it a hundred times. When I walked through my living room, I accidentally kicked the coffee table. Banged the little toe on my left foot. Hurt like crazy. The darn toe should have been well by now.

The patrol officer and I went inside the clinic. The lights were on in the waiting room. Cushioned chairs sat along three walls. Magazines were neatly arranged on the two tables in the center of the room. No one was at the receptionist’s desk. The receptionist’s name was Kat Roberts. It said so, right on the brass nameplate on the desk.

A screen-saver played across the monitor on Kat’s desk. A box of donuts sat beside the monitor. I smelled coffee. Someone had been here.

How many entrances to the building?

Two, Lieutenant. Front entrance, and a door on the side near the back.

I used my elbow to push open the door that led into a hallway. To the left was a lounge, the door open.

In here, Lieutenant. The patrol officer motioned to the lounge.

I stepped inside. A man wearing a bright yellow jacket was lying on a couch, facing away from me. Strands of hair reached spider-like across the top of his head. A red spot the size of a dime was on the scalp among the strands. A streak of red coursed its way down from the spot, giving the appearance of an upside down exclamation mark. I felt for a pulse. There was none.

Who discovered the body?

Kat Roberts. She’s next door at the drug store.

Did you talk to her?

The officer shook his head. Couldn’t. She was pretty hysterical.

As we were returning to the waiting room, a woman burst through the front door. At first she looked to be in her mid-forties. An athletic figure and long legs took ten years off that. Her smeared mascara made her dark eyes look even darker. She wore the right amount of jewelry and gave off a faint aura of expensive perfume. She was one of those women southern men were wont to describe in three words: awfully good looking.

Ma’am, you can’t go in there. A patrol officer was right behind her. She’d apparently slipped past him.

It’s all right, officer, I said. I’ll take care of it.

He nodded and went back outside.

She made for the hallway. Oh my God, no.

I blocked her path. Ma’am.

It can’t be. It’s a mistake. It’s all a mistake.

Ma’am, I said, you can’t go in there.

I’ve got to see about him. He’ll be all right.

Are you Kat Roberts?

She nodded. I guided her to one of the chairs, retrieved a box of Kleenex from the receptionist’s desk and held it out to her. She took a tissue from the box, sobbed into it and rocked back and forth.

Ms. Roberts, I said. I’m Lanny Boone, Mason Police Department. I need to talk to you.

She shook her head.

Ms. Roberts, it’s important.

She continued to rock, her sobs growing quieter. She stared at the floor as if trying to will things back to normal, clenching her fingers into fists, relaxing them and making fists again. She nodded. Oh, Wayne...

Ms. Roberts, how well did you know Dr. Bowen?

Wayne and I were going to be married.

You were engaged to Dr. Bowen?

Not officially. She dabbed at her eyes with the tissue. We hadn’t told anyone.

When were you to be married?

Soon. Wayne talked of giving up his practice.

Did he say what he planned to do?

Retire. Quit work. Said working part-time tied him down almost as much as working full time, said he was ready to quit and do other things. He could afford to quit.

What other things?

Play golf, travel, that sort of thing. I encouraged him to do it. And I was ready to leave this job.

Kat Roberts attempted to stand. I eased her back into the chair. She dabbed at her eyes again. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. She took two deep breaths and drew silent.

I gave her a moment. Ms. Roberts, was Dr. Bowen here when you came in to work this morning?

No. I came in early. I always come in early, make the coffee, check the patient schedule, make sure everything is in order before the patients start coming in.

What time did he come in?

A little before eight. He drops Matt off at school and comes from there to the office. Matt’s his nephew.

What time do the other doctors usually get here?

Both come in around nine.

I made a note to check on their whereabouts at the time of the murder.

What time was Dr. Bowen to see his first patient?

Nine. But Wayne liked to come in early. He’d have coffee. We’d talk.

Just the two of you?

She shook her head, turned the ring on her third finger. Ron Adams, from Ron’s Antiques across the street, usually comes over, has coffee and a donut. They talk.

Did Ron Adams come over this morning?

No.

What did Dr. Bowen and Ron Adams talk about?

Ron has hunting dogs, bird dogs, I think. They’d talk guns and hunting, little of everything.

Did Dr. Bowen seem all right this morning? Was he worried, upset, preoccupied?

No, he was fine. Said he was still tired from last night, said he was going to stretch out on the couch for a few minutes. He poured himself a cup of coffee and took it to the lounge.

Any particular reason he was tired?

I suppose we celebrated a bit too much last night. We went out with some friends.

You celebrated?

Yes, Wayne was excited. He announced that he’d definitely decided to give up his practice. Said he was ready to get out of Mississippi and see some of the world.

Were you surprised?

Not really. I was happy for him. Of course, that meant I’d have to quit my job, too.

Did he say anything about you quitting your job?

We didn’t talk about my job last night. We’d talked about it before. It was something we both understood.

Anyone else here this morning?

Not before I left. Wayne asked if I’d pick up some donuts from the grocery store.

Did you drive your car to the grocery store?

She nodded.

How long were you gone?

About twenty minutes. You know how people on the way to work are. They rush in to pick up stuff. The lines at the cash registers were long.

You came directly back here from the grocery store?

No, I stepped next door at the drug store to take a couple of donuts to Sue Boyd.

Drug store open?

No, Sue comes in early to straighten out her stock and get ready to open.

How long were you over there?

Couple of minutes.

And there was no one here when you left or when you came back?

No. I came back and that’s when I found... found... She sobbed into the wad of Kleenex again.

I glanced out the window and saw an elderly couple standing near the yellow crime scene tape talking to a patrol officer. Patients. I went outside. They looked bewildered and clung to each other like scared children.

There’s been an accident, I said. I took their names and phone number and told them someone would be in touch. They seemed to understand. I walked back inside.

Kat had seen me talking to the couple. She was struggling to regain her composure. I need to call the patients, tell them—

Kat, could you answer a couple more questions first?

She nodded.

How long have you worked for Dr. Bowen?

Almost three years. I was here when he came.

Did you know him before he came to practice here?

No.

I understand he practiced part-time. Did he see a lot of patients while he was in the clinic?

He saw patients 9:00 a.m. ’til noon, three days a week. He wasn’t overbooked but he had a fairly steady flow of patients.

Mind if I take a look at the appointment book?

Kat dragged herself to the receptionist’s desk. She started to reach for the appointment book.

Don’t touch it, I said. Using my thumb and forefinger I carefully turned the pages and studied the names of patients scheduled to see the physicians. I recognized most of the names. The one on the bottom of the list caught my eye. Jane Snyder, wife of Henry Snyder of Snyder Construction. I’d have thought if Jane Snyder had a medical problem that Henry, with his money, would have flown her to the Mayo Clinic to have it checked out instead of steering her through a local family medical clinic.

I see Jane Snyder had an appointment with one of the doctors this morning.

Kat nodded. She’d been in a time or two before. Supposed to come in today to have a blood sample drawn.

Anything serious?

That’s confidential, Lieutenant.

I understand. She was the last patient on the schedule. Her appointment was at 11:45.

Always the last one. Said she couldn’t get up and get going early.

Two patrol officers came in. I asked one of them to stay with Kat until she’d made some phone calls. As I stepped outside, I heard the wail of the siren of an approaching ambulance. The guys with the crime scene unit were in the parking lot unloading their equipment. I told them what I’d found.

Onlookers stood about, among them Sue Boyd, the pharmacist from next door. Sue’s frail, nicotine-stained fingers continually moved a cigarette back and forth to her lips. She held her shoulders high, almost pointing them into her ears, to elongate her chest cavity to get as much air in as possible.

What’s going on, Lanny? she asked.

Dr. Wayne Bowen was found dead.

The official vehicles converging on the clinic had filled the clinic and pharmacy parking lots. The public library was off a side street behind the clinic and pharmacy. Officials and onlookers were parking there and walking across a strip of lawn to the clinic.

I can’t believe it. Sue Boyd puffed on her cigarette, coughed and said, What happened?

We don’t know yet. Can we go inside for a minute? I nodded toward the drugstore.

Sure.

I followed Sue Boyd inside. Did you see anyone entering or leaving Bowen’s office this morning?

Can’t say that I did. Reckon Dr. Bowen and Kat went inside. Their cars are there. She snuffed out her cigarette, picked up the pack beside the ashtray, shook out another and lit it.

Anyone else?

Hard to say. People come and go from that office all the time. It’s not something you’d notice. Kind of like traffic going up and down the street. If it happens all the time, you don’t notice it. You notice it if it suddenly stops.

Did you see any cars in the clinic parking lot when you came in?

Sue Boyd pulled hard on her cigarette. The coal glowed brightly at the end. She exhaled, coughed. Yeah, like I said, when I got here Kat’s and Dr. Bowen’s cars were there. They usually are. Don’t remember seeing any other cars but it’s like the traffic, you know?

I thanked Sue Boyd for her help, told her if she could think of anything else to call me. I took a card from my shirt pocket and handed it to her. She looked at the card and placed it on the counter beside her ashtray. I will, Lanny, she said.

Two

Ileft Sue Boyd’s drugstore , got in my Jeep and sat there making notes. I reflected back on my morning. I had gotten up, started the coffee to perking and put on my warm-ups. I tried to ease my foot into my running shoe. Ouch. My left little toe throbbed like a toothache.

Otis, the gruff mutt I’d gotten from the Animal Rescue League did pirouettes at the back door, waiting to go out.

I’m coming, Otis, but I’m going to have to take it easy. Been three days. You’d think this toe would be better.

Otis did another pirouette.

I’ve walked from the bedroom to the kitchen in the middle of the night a hundred times. Don’t know why I decided to kick the coffee table the other night.

I switched off the invisible fence that surrounds my yard, attached a retractable leash to Otis and opened the door. Otis bounded out. I limped after him.

Otis and I live in a bungalow just off the main thoroughfare that runs through Mason. My house is set among oak trees on a lot with enough space at the back for a vegetable garden. Otis dragged me to the end of the driveway, stopped at the property line and waited. I picked him up and carried him across the invisible fence.

Wish I had some way to tell you when the fence is off, I said, and lowered him to the street.

I limped along, allowing Otis to run this way and that. An occasional car passed. School buses, carpool parents and commuter traffic would soon raise the noise level. Mason came alive on schedule.

My neighbor, Nora Findlay, was on schedule, too, puttering about in her flowerbeds, hacking at weeds with a hoe.

Morning, Miss Nora, I said as Otis and I approached. Pretty day.

Nora straightened, pushed a strand of gray hair out of her face with a skinny finger. Wish I had me a job being a Mason police officer, she said.

A police officer?

Uh huh, it’d be nice to get paid for strolling about and visiting with the neighbors.

Why, Miss Nora, I thought we all wanted a peaceful community. We’d be in a bad way if all the Mason police officers were running around chasing robbers and arsonists and such.

That’d be a change from handling funeral traffic. You ought to try teaching school for thirty years. Nora knew everybody in town. She’d taught many of them, including me.

We work ball games, too, I said. I gave her one of my charming smiles.

I suppose she’s lived long enough to become immune to charming smiles. Lanny Boone, you always had a quick wit but you didn’t always pay attention in class. No, you didn’t. All you thought about was playing ball and talking to the girls.

Miss Nora—

You know it’s the truth.

I was glad to do my part, Miss Nora.

See what I mean? Nora chopped at a weed with the hoe, then stood and leaned on it. Tell you one thing, you’d better go ahead and marry that pretty Chris Brinkley and have a family. Then you’d have reason to keep busy.

Do you mean Chris Wells? Christy Brinkley is a model.

Well, your Chris is prettier than a model. You’d better not let her get away.

I’ll keep that in mind. We have a great time together but we’re not going to rush into anything. Don’t know that a career-woman like Chris would be in a hurry to get tied up with a law enforcement person.

Bet she would. Just because a woman has good sense about one thing doesn’t mean she has good judgment about another.

Miss Nora, how—

How did I know about Chris? It’s because I’m a busybody, Lanny. Everybody knows that. You know it. It’s one of the privileges of being old. She smiled, watched Otis tugging at the leash.

Yes, ma’am.

Nora leaned and scratched Otis on the head. Now, you take my friend Sue Boyd. She’s had that pharmacy forever and she’s a busybody, too. We talk. We go out to eat, meet people. That’s how we know everything.

I see.

Sue is forgetful, though. She’ll see a person in the morning and by afternoon she’s forgotten she saw ’em. I wonder about some of the stuff she tells me.

Yes, ma’am, I said. Otis tugged again. I took a step toward him.

So anyway, you’d better grab that young woman while you have a chance.

When things calm down some—

If it gets any more peaceful around here, we can close the police station and you can get a real job. She wiped her hands on her apron.

Maybe I’ll find a robber to chase.

You’re in no condition to chase anything. Why are you limping? Shoot yourself in the foot?

I told her what had happened. It’ll be all right in a few days.

Not likely. I’ll wager you broke a bone. Want me to take a look?

No ma’am. It’s all right.

Better see a doctor. You have one? I shook my head. No, of course you don’t. You could go see Wayne Bowen. He gets in the office early. He’s in the building right by Sue’s pharmacy. Know where it is?

I said I did.

He works part-time, doesn’t stay but a couple of hours, then he’s off chasing women, I hear. I wouldn’t go to him myself. I knew him when I was at Ole Miss. If he made a pass at me I’d put him in his place. Reckon he’d know enough to treat a busy police officer’s broken toe, though.

If it’s not better in a few days I’ll get somebody to look at it.

It won’t be. In my thirty years of teaching school I saw my share of broken toes. If a toe is not better after three days, it’s not going to get better. Where you headed?

Up around the park and back.

Pets aren’t allowed in the park.

No ma’am, they aren’t. We’ll keep clear of it. I nodded. See you, Miss Nora. I gave in to Otis.

We moved up the street. Spring flowers were beginning to brighten the manicured lawns that, in some neighborhoods, were fronted by sidewalks. A few traffic lights and stop signs helped keep traffic flowing at a sane pace. There were about an equal number of banks and churches in Mason, several schools and no beer joints. If a person stood on the main street in the middle of town, he could see from one end of town to the other. Norman Rockwell would have liked Mason.

Three

The wail of the ambulance’s siren and the flashing red lights brought me back to the present moment. The ambulance had pulled out of the clinic parking lot and headed south toward the University of Mississippi Medical Center. There was no reason for them to hurry, but they would.

Heck of a coincidence, I said. I was going to come to the clinic and let ’em check out my foot, and a doc at the clinic is murdered. I knew I was talking to myself. My mama said I always did that when I was concentrating on a problem.

I put my note pad away and stepped out of my Jeep. The street traffic had ground to a crawl. Motorists slowed because of the blue flashers, partly out of morbid curiosity, partly because of a genuine concern that someone they knew might be hurt or in trouble. Two patrol officers were on the street, attempting to keep the traffic moving.

I limped next door to the Quick-Stop. I went in and introduced myself to the clerk.

Dr. Wayne Bowen found dead? The tall woman with big hair that was blonder than nature intended handed change to a customer. That’s awful. What happened?

We don’t know yet. Did you notice anything unusual over there this morning?

What time?

Between 7:00 and 9:00 a.m.

No. Of course, we don’t have a real good view of the clinic. She took money from a customer, opened the cash register and made change. Even if we did we’re real busy that time of the morning. Probably wouldn’t have noticed anything, anyway.

Anyone stop in that you’d never seen before?

The blond studied the ceiling. Uh...no. Might not have remembered if they had. Every day we see somebody we’ve never seen before.

I thanked her and walked back to the clinic. The post office next door to the clinic was not open yet. An occasional car stopped at the letter drop-box and moved on. I went across the post office parking lot to the self-service station, went inside and introduced myself to the young African-American woman behind the counter.

No, I didn’t notice anything unusual. She made change for a customer as she spoke.

See a car parked at the clinic? Anyone going in or out?

She shook her head. Look. She pointed toward the clinic. We don’t have a real good view of it. Besides, 7:00 to 9:00 is our busiest time of the morning. Probably wouldn’t have noticed anything unusual if the clinic had been in our driveway.

So much for my hotshot fact-finding mission. I thanked her and made my way through the creeping traffic to Ron’s Antiques. It was across the street and down a half-block from the clinic. I tried the door. It was locked. I saw someone standing at the corner of the picture window watching the commotion across the street. I tapped on the door. A woman opened it.

May I help you?

Yes, I’m Lanny Boone with the police department. I showed her my badge. Could I talk with you for a few minutes?

She studied my badge. Sure, Lieutenant, come in. Her blond hair fell below her shoulders and shined from strokes of the brush. Her white silk blouse and beige slacks were perfectly cut to show her figure. She wore high heels and tasteful accessories. Her blouse was cut in a deep-V, revealing cleavage that, whether natural or purchased, was of the sort usually seen on TV on Oscar night.

I stepped inside and she closed the door.

I’m Laura Taylor.

I’m pretty sure she was appraising me as she offered her hand, or maybe my ego wanted me to think that. She wasn’t flirting but her very presence exuded sexuality.

What happened across the street? She looked out the window.

Dr. Wayne Bowen was found dead.

She turned to face me. Dr. Bowen? Oh my God, I can’t believe it. Are you sure? I