Low Country Law

by Ron Hudson

  From what she knew surrounding the murders, Caley just didn’t think the shootout theory was on track. She thanked Charlie for the names of the two lodge members from whom Homer had tried to borrow money. She added them to her growing list of people to interview.

  Then the discussion turned to the Masonic Fraternity in general. Once Charlie started talking, he continued to discuss the Masonic brotherhood in favorable, even praising, terms. Some of the words he used were peculiar to the masons and a little strange to Caley. Still, she listened respectfully as he went on for thirty minutes or more.

  Finally, she felt she had learned a little more about Homer Aiken, as well as more about the Masons than she understood or cared to know. What she did learn, however, was that Fish Cleborn seemed to have more than a casual involvement with Homer and Henry.

  Chapter 27

  Harley Kettle drove his 1990 blue Toyota pickup along the deserted road slowly. He pulled into a side road about a mile from Jim Avant’s house and got out of the truck. The full moonlight made the surroundings almost as visible as during the day. As he walked down an animal path toward Avant’s house, the bright moonlight cast a shadow of his body in front of him.

  Harley had been out at night many times like this when he was around twelve years old. His parents lived near the swamp, and sometimes he would get up and just walk down the small dirt road leading to his house. He liked to gaze at the far away stars that twinkled on a clear night. Harley would stare in wonderment at the faint marks of the moon’s craters visible millions of miles away. Sometimes he would sit for hours just staring. Occasionally, he would even see a meteor stream across the sky.

  Tonight though, Harley wasn’t interested in watching heaven’s theatrics. What he was interested in was stealth and silence as he walked toward Avant’s property periodically pushing away a branch overhanging his route. Harley hadn’t been in this area before, but he was at home in any of the wooded areas around these parts. His outdoor instincts pointed him directly toward his goal.

  At 3:00 AM, there was no visible sign of anyone moving in or around the house. The still night air created an eerie setting. Harley didn’t know if Avant had a dog, but since most people in the country have one or more, he needed to be alert for alarm from such an animal.

  Being schooled in the ways of the swamp, he knew that the crickets and other insects would stop squawking when they detected predators near. Most of the smart dogs in the homes around learned a sudden quietness in the still night was a signal to be alert. Harley also knew that any good watchdog would be able to smell his body odors as he approached. Each of these nuisances of the wild, played through his mind as he crouched on the ground just outside the main yard.

  Close enough to see the house in its full silhouette, he sat on a fallen tree trunk and just observed the house and the surrounding yard. After about thirty minutes, the crickets that had stopped when he was moving started their melodious chatter again.

  Harley was looking for a convenient place on the property to hide the pistol. Not so secret that it wouldn’t be found, but secret enough that it wouldn’t look planted. The house sat about a foot off the ground on blocks with an open crawl space below. Then he stepped over a low place in the wire fence around the yard and walked to the house as though he was on a Sunday walk down the road.

  He kneeled down near the middle of the house and looked into the almost dark space below the house. The gun was wrapped tightly in newspaper. It was not visible by someone walking by. If they got on their knees and looked under the house the paper would be visible. He was very careful not to let the paper rattle as he took it out of his pocket. He placed the paper on the ground behind the nearest wooden block. This is just what he wanted; not too visible and not too obvious as to seem that the pistol had been intentionally placed there as evidence against Avant.

  Having completed his mission, now all he needed to do was retreat along the same path, get in his vehicle, and drive the thirty-minute trip back home. Tomorrow, he would collect the remaining payment for his deed of betrayal on the unwary Avant.

  An easy task he thought to himself, as he got into his pickup.

  If only he could predict the consequences in store for him.

  Chapter 28

  Back at the office, Caley told Sweet what she had learned about Fish Cleborn. They decided to call the Charleston County authorities to bring him in for questioning.

  Fish was no stranger to the Charleston authorities. He had been suspected of peddling illegal whiskey for some time, but they were never able to catch him red-handed. They were anxious to help, and the call to bring him in was a welcome opportunity. While they were at it, maybe they could uncover information on his local activities.

  Within a day, Caley received a call that Fish had been picked up and was being held for questioning. She and Sweet arrived at the facility early in the morning. They were told that no one had questioned their suspect yet.

  Caley and Sweet entered the interview room where Fish was sitting at a table. He was obviously upset and took the initiative, “What the hell do you people want? Why have you brought me in here? I ain’t done nothing against the law.”

  “Now Fish, take it easy. We just need to talk with you about your dealings with Homer Aiken over by Warrenton,” said Caley.

  “Yea, I heard the bastard was killed. Him and that other ass hole, Henry, owned me some money. I guess I’ll never get it back now.”

  “How much money did they own you Fish.”

  “Close to a thousand dollars! Ain’t that somin. Down the shitter now, I suppose.”

  “Why did they owe you money, Fish?”

  Not wanting to reveal that it involved an illegal moonshine transaction, Fish realized he had backed himself into a corner by even bringing up the subject. What he didn’t know was that the questions would have gotten around to it anyway.

  Now Fish was trying to think of some story that would not involve his illegal whiskey making activities. After a long pause, he said, “Homer told me he needed it for a new car. Guess I fell for his bullshit.”

  “Now Fish, we both know you wouldn’t lend an almost stranger a large sum of money. We also know that the two of them promised to deliver you a significant amount of illegal whiskey and convinced you to pay in advance. Isn’t that correct?”

  “Hell no! What would I want with a large amount of whiskey?”

  Fish knew that the Charleston Sheriff’s people were probably watching the interview on the other side of the one-way mirror. He also knew that he now had foolishly put himself in a compromising situation.

  “When is the last time you were over visiting with Homer, Fish?”

  “About a month ago!”

  “What was the reason you were over there?”

  “To see if I could get my money. What the hell else?”

  The questioning continued for several hours. It was evident that Homer and Henry were providing Fish with a supply of whiskey. It was also possible that he could have killed them trying to get his money back.

  During the interview, Fish was caught contradicting himself several times. It was clearly apparent that he was trying to cover up the real reason he was involved with Homer and Henry.

  Caley and Sweet discussed the interview on their way back to the office. They agreed that somehow they just didn’t think Fish would intentionally kill two people over a debt of a thousand dollars. Fish sold moonshine, but they didn’t see him as a cold-blooded killer.

  On the other hand, during the interview, his violent temper seemed to show him as a hot head. Maybe in the process of trying to get his money back, an argument about the debt turned violent. Caley was not about to rule Fish out as a murder suspect, just yet. She and Sweet needed to collect more information on the situation.

  After listening to the interview, the Charleston Sheriff felt he had sufficient information to hold Fish on illegal moonshine activities pending the collection of more evidence.

  This gave Caley and
Sweet more time to gather their own evidence on the killing of Homer and Henry.

  Chapter 29

  Caley lived in a comfortable two-bedroom apartment near her office in Warrenton. It served her purposes very well, as she liked to relax and watch TV and just kick back when not involved with work. As was often the case, she stopped by Sammy’s Pizza to pick up food. Tonight she ordered a medium pizza with cheese to go and was on her way with 20 minutes. Driving west through town, she couldn’t get her mind off the murder in spite of her agreement with Sweet to chill out for a while.

  As she approached her apartment, she immediately recognized Bo’s blue F150 pickup in the driveway. Bo drove a long haul truck throughout the U.S. and wasn’t around often. When in town he would stay at his parent’s house or with Caley. In her thirties, she knew she didn’t have long to think about a lifelong commitment, but never met anyone that she actually fell overboard for.

  She and Bo had a good relationship, and he wanted to take it further. She let him have a key to the apartment, and their relation was not only one of companionship, but they met each other’s intimate needs. All their friends knew they were a couple. Caley did nothing to change the impression but knew she and Bo would never get married. The façade seemed fine for her right now since Bo’s travel meant they didn’t have to be involved in the entertaining and nightlife around town. There wasn’t much of that anyway.

  As she got out of her car, she had ambivalent feelings about Bo being around this weekend. He heard her come up and was at the door to greet her.

  “I didn’t know you were going to be in town,” said Caley.

  “Well, I’m passing through on my way to Miami with delivery and thought I’d stop by for the night. I hope that’s OK.”

  He embraced her with a warm hug, kissed her cheek and took the pizza as she walked into the house.

  They sat at the kitchen table talking about each other’s work and catching up on local gossip. Caley told Bo about the murder of the moonshiners and went over her frantic effort to make some sense of what had happened. Bo wasn’t much of a criminologist, but he was a good listener, and after a while, Caley was glad that he was there for comfort and support.

  “What does Sheriff Wilson have to say about the situation?” asked Bo.

  “Not much. You know he is up to his ass in reelection issues, and that’s occupying all of his time right now. Word around town is that he won’t be elected. A much younger man, Skip Hanford, is giving him fits. This guy Hanford has good support from the local politicians and most of them think it is about time for a change. Wilson has put Deputy Swenson on the case to help me. Sweet is a good partner and knows this lay of the land in the county.”

  Then Caley got up and went to her room to take a shower and change clothes

  After changing into casual jeans and a tight-fitting sweatshirt, she walked out of her room. Although he had seen and enjoyed every freckle of her entire body on many occasions, it never failed to get Bo excited when she wore her tight jeans. This time was no exception. His temperature rose several degrees as he took her hand and pulled her to the couch beside him.

  “Let’s watch TV tonight,” he said.

  “Sounds like a good idea, as long as I can watch NCIS. But I do need to do a work report before I come to bed.”

  Bo didn’t like the work idea, so he said, “You can do work, or you can play.”

  The intimation of “play” was always their pet innuendo for a vigorous night of sex. Caley plainly got the message as she cuddled up to Bo, putting her hand over his crotch, giving it a gently squeeze.

  “Play!” she purred.

  The tenderness of the moment and what followed the rest of night was more than Caley could have asked for. Maybe Bo was good for her after all she thought. “The hell with the job, I can take care of that next week.”

  Chapter 30

  Caley slept late the next morning. By the time she awoke, Bo had left town heading to Miami. On the table in the living room was a note that said, “Love ya, gotta go, see ya soon!” It was 10:00 AM, and she felt bored. The day hadn’t even started.

  She went outside, picked up the newspaper, and read it as she ate a bowl of cereal. She quickly became alert, when Sheriff Wilson’s round face showed up on Page 1. The headline announced, “Investigation into Murders Continues.” Most of the front page was the background on the murders. It included detailed crime scene information, some of which was new to Caley. She guessed the source, probably Sheriff Wilson was just puffing his supervision of the investigation. The reporter on the case had been doing a thorough background, and from the looks of the article, getting more information than Caley herself.

  The reporter was Jim Biggis. He was a crime investigator for the Charleston Courier, one of the two largest newspapers in South Carolina. Caley knew him from other cases he covered where she was involved. He was aware that she was the head of the county investigative team working the case. Since she was confident he would have called her, this led her to think the sheriff probably called Biggis looking for some cheap publicity.

  Biggis wasn’t a bad person to work with, but would do anything to get to the bottom of a story. She wondered if Biggis was more interested in covering the murder case or following up on the election campaign of the sheriff. What was surprising was the story did, in fact, seem to portray Sheriff Wilson in a positive vain. She knew Biggis had never failed to put a negative twist on the activities of Sheriff Wilson’s activities in the past. On the other hand, some of the law enforcement decisions coming out of the department were very amateurish, and probably deserved any criticism they given to them.

  The article quoted confidential sources within the sheriff’s department, as the source of some of the information. Again, who else but Sheriff Wilson would have had the information? He was quoted as saying, “we expect to have the perpetrators behind bars shortly.” Caley quipped to herself, “guess he knows something I don’t.”

  She finished breakfast and decided to take a drive to the area southwest of the town where the crime had been committed. Going out on investigations on weekends previously, she usually got information from people that she missed during the week when they were at work.

  As she neared Nel’s Place, Caley saw two cars parked in front of one of the houses located near the store. When she had visited the house earlier in the week, there were no cars around, and no one answered the door. She had made a note to return later to see if she could talk with anyone.

  When she pulled up, she noticed one of the cars was a late model sedan. This was unusual since few people in this area owned new or late model cars. Her curiosity really kicked in when she noticed a white placard laying on the dash inside the car, with the single word, “PRESS” in bold letters printed on it. She was no stranger to this sign used by members of the press to gain access to crime scenes, otherwise restricted to the public. Biggis or one of his surrogates came to mind.

  Just as she was about to get out of the car, she saw an overweight man of about five feet seven inches come out of the front door stepping on the small porch running across the front of the house. She recognized him right away.

  Biggis! Biggis fit perfectly into the stereotype newspaper reporter of the ‘60s and ’70s. His overweight stomach hung over his belt by several inches. His shoes were two-toned white and black, except that the white was now more black than the original color. Every time she had seen him, he was wearing a narrow-brimmed modified Panama hat. The hat had a flowered band that sported an old-fashioned short yellow pencil sticking up from it. His wrinkled and soiled pants showed evidence that at one time they might have had a crease down the center. His white shirt was stained all around, but especially near the beltline and collar. He had a plastic insert in the left front shirt pocket that held several ballpoint pens. She wondered if the pencil sticking from his hat was just for show. If Biggis was trying to creating his own icon, he was doing a good job.

  He held on to the post of the porch with his r
ight hand as he slowly stepped down the old rickety steps, waving his reporter’s notebook in his left hand to keep his balance. Caley watched and let the scene play out until Biggis safely ascended. It wasn’t until then he realized Caley was watching.

  Using two fingers, he shoved his hat backward on his head revealing a balding pate with white sidewalls. Caley wasn’t sure, if the gesture was one of courtesy or if he was trying to relieve the hot Sun’s heat. He walked with a limp toward her car.

  As he approached, he was the first one to speak, “Good morning Mez Givens, nice to see you out working so hard on Sunday.”

  “Likewise,” replied Caley.

  “You read the paper today?”

  “I did indeed, and it looks like you have been doing your homework on the murders up the road. The way you work, I think you would have made a good law enforcement officer.”

  “Well, I have been working hard, OK. I imagine you will want to talk to the fellow inside. He seems to have some interesting information on the activities around here.”

  “His name is Owen Lemacks, and he is quite a talker. He says the two boys who were killed have been in the moonshine business for years and never had an enemy in the world. He seems to have known both of them pretty well. Maybe I got him warmed up so you can really get some useful information from him. I think he will be more likely to tell you more than he said to me. I know you will be talking with him, how about me sitting in on your interview?”

  Caley’s seeing no reason deny Biggis’ request said, “why not. You can see if you hear any inconsistencies in his information.”

  By this time, Lemacks realized that Caley was in front of the house talking with Biggis. He had come out and was sitting in an old rocker on the front porch.

  “What chu two talking bout? Come on up here and have a seat and we can all talk,” said Owen as he put a wad of chewing tobacco into his mouth.

  Caley walked onto the porch, and Biggis stood on the ground leaning his right hand against one of the porch posts.