Cop and Call A Novel: When you call for help don't be surprised at who responds (Asheville’s Cop Series Book 2)

by R. Scott Lunsford

  Sitting the cup down nervously and apologetically he told Sarah, “Sarah, you’re making the other customers nervous. What with being taken out of here by the cops and brought back by them. Some of my customers are saying they don’t want to do business where narcs hang out.

  Totally taken back by the statement Sarah looked around and noticed everyone in the shop appeared to be giving her side glances and had moved to tables further away from where she sat. Looking up at the manager she said, “I’m not a snitch or a narc. I….”

  Before she could give a rebuttal, the manager interrupted her. “Sarah, if you could just not hang around here for a while until things cool down it would be a good idea.”

  “What? You’re banning me?”

  “No, it’s just for a week or two until things calm down. All the crap that’s been happening lately has got everyone on edge.”

  Sarah sat and thought a minute and without a word stood and went out the door. Looking briefly around her to see if she was observed she went behind the building and lifted a concrete block up where she had luckily stashed her works and a small hit of heroin. She usually kept it out of the shop out of respect for the coffee shop owners. “Fat lot of good that did.” She mumbled. At least when the cops had picked her up she did not have anything on her that could have gotten her into trouble.

  The evening shadows were getting longer. Sarah left the coffee shop walking down the sidewalk along Haywood Road. She studied the gray cracked concrete as she walked. The kid was the third overdose of a customer she had. A girl had died in a West Asheville cheap motel room and another kid who supposedly knew how to use her heroin was saved by responding firemen using Narcan to bring the overdosed guy back. Thinking to herself she really had to stop selling to stupid people. The lady pig cop had said they had found her cell phone number on the dead kid’s phone. That’s something else she was going to have to change and work out. She wasn’t sure how but knew it was a necessity. Technology was supposed to make business easier but for Sarah it seemed to be making it more complicated.

  So, intent on the business meeting going on in her subconscious Sarah did not realize someone had been walking slightly behind her until he spoke.

  “Sarah, are you okay?”

  Not recognizing the deep voice at first, she assumed it to be an acquaintance or customer. She knew so many and the voice knew her by name. Stopping on the sidewalk and turning she replied “yeah, but you know, people are asses.”

  The man behind the voice took a step up to Sarah placed an arm around her shoulder and smiled gently urging her to continue her walk. “Ain’t that the truth.” Laughing loudly as they continued down the sidewalk.

  North of Asheville Just outside the Weaverville city limits

  Alex had left work at 11 PM, leaving the call center in Weaverville behind him. Tonight, he had to fill in as a telemarketer, due to a flu bug going around causing a manning shortage. He much preferred working as a customer service phone representative. There you helped people and answered questions for them. Telemarketers are calling people who usually don’t want to be called. The company he worked for was moving out of that aspect of the business. Obtaining another customer service contract or two had made this possible. This thought had kept Alex from giving up the job.

  Turning on his headlamp and making sure his bicycle lights were on he headed home to the small house he shared with three other triathlon athletes and bike riding enthusiasts. Riding up the steep hill he paused on the side of the road, not because of the hill grade, Alex could do that in his sleep but because of an unusual light reflecting off a yellow S turn sign beside the road. Turning off his lights Alex looked around to see were emitted it from. Turning in his saddle he scanned the hills around him. Finally observing that the light was apparently from a fire in the distance. Alex could see even from this distance it was a big fire. Having ridden the back roads of Buncombe and the surrounding counties for years he realized the fire was at an old concrete plant that had been closed for some time. After calling 911 on his cell phone he waited at the top of the hill until he saw the responding red lights of fire trucks and emergency vehicles. Satisfied the situation was in hand but still very tired he turned his bike lights back on and continued home.

  Lieutenant North was not on call for a change. Yet the cell phone charging beside his bed begin vibrating across the nightstand. At first the noise became part of the dream he was having, but the vibrating box was able to drag North back into the real world. Grabbing his phone, he tried to focus on the screen to ascertain who was calling. Forcing focus, he did not recognize the number and thought about letting it go to voicemail. Curiosity got the better of him and the Lieut. answered.

  “North”, he mumbled into the device.

  “North, sorry to wake you up but you probably need to come out here.” Recognizing Dr. Baumgardner’s voice he responded “where doc? What’s going on?”

  “I’m in Weaverville I think it’s connected to the others. Here, let the sheriff explain” Lieutenant North heard the sound of the phone being handed to someone else.

  The Lieutenant still dealing with the awakening fog in his mind, again recognized the new voice on the line.

  “Kevin, we have a body out here at the old concrete plant near Weaverville. A female, both legs and arms broken. We found what we believe is her wallet and ID on the ground nearby.”

  More coherent North asked, “Sheriff what makes you think this is related to our investigations?”

  “In the process of checking records on the dead girl we found that one of your detectives had run a local check and criminal background on her yesterday morning. Now she’s dead.”

  Fully awake now, North said “I’m on my way.”

  South Concrete Company Plant, Weaverville North Carolina

  Lieutenant North arrived at the circus of flashing red and blue lights. The deputy at the gate had waived him through, asking him to park at the fence far away from the concentration of colored flashing lights. The small RV camper with the Buncombe County logo and the sheriff’s badge on the side was also parked there. Under the campers stretched out awning, North recognized several people. The sheriff and medical examiner being two of these.

  Walking to the mobile command post North was greeted by the sheriff. Shaking hands, the police Lieutenant asked, “Michele, what ya got?”

  Stepping back and deferring to the medical examiner standing behind him Sheriff Michael Land said, “I’ll let Dr. B explain.”

  “Sorry about the call. But I think we have a connection to the other homicides.” The medical examiner offered.

  Lieutenant North nodded, “okay how?” Looking around at the activities about him he added, “I take it there was a fire here?”

  The Medical examiner continued, “yes it’s all part of it. The victim’s legs and arms were broken I think possibly to immobilize her. Those injuries probably committed here. She was then placed in one of the abandoned cement mixers that had been removed from the truck chassis. Apparently, a partial load of concrete was left in the mixer and it solidified rendering the device useless and it was removed from the truck frame. The victim was placed alive inside the mixer on the cured concrete. Old tires probably from the site itself were stacked around the old mixer. The tires at the base filled with diesel fuel, also still stored on the site. Smaller tires were stacked on this and doused with gasoline. The whole mess was then set on fire. This is from the fire marshals report. When they finally got the fire out they found the body in the mixer she was basically cooked alive.”

  Lieutenant North did an involuntary shiver. “Lord, that’s horrible.” Looking back at the doctor the Lieutenant asked, “another of your medieval tortures?”

  “As a matter of fact, it’s called the Brazen bull. A large hollow metal representation of a bull that was created for the enjoyment of executioner and onlookers alike. Invented by a metalworker named Pirillos for the King of Sicily. A person was placed inside, a fire was lit below, and the p
erson inside would slowly roast to death. The head of the bull was designed to acoustically convert their screams into entertaining sounds and the smoke of their burning bodies expelled through the nose of the statute.”

  Lieutenant North looked from the medical examiner to the sheriff standing next to him then back to the medical examiner saying, “you know Doc you’re starting to unnerve me with this strange information you always seem to have. Either we need to start looking at you as a suspect or you’ve been hanging out with one of my sergeants too much.”

  Shaking his head Dr. Baumgardner answered, “sorry to burst your bubble about my infinite knowledge base, but I just googled it an hour ago.”

  The sheriff grinned adding “I can vouch for him, by the way how is Sergeant Bishop doing?”

  Lieutenant North did not answer the sheriff instead saying, “I can have some of my people here in less than an hour, can we coordinate with your people and the arson task force?”

  “Not a problem, we need to figure this out and stop this nonsense.” The Buncombe County Sheriff said to the Lieutenant. “whatever assets you and my people need you got.”

  The Asheville police lieutenant took a deep breath and sat down on a camp chair in front of a small portable table. Sliding a blank legal pad over to him he wrote down the time and one of his detective’s names. Taking his cell phone out he started to call the detective. North paused reset his phone and instead dialed Acting Chief Connard’s number. It would not help with the investigation now, but in the long run would probably save him some grief in the future.

  CHAPTER 37

  ASHEVILLE HIGH SCHOOL ATHLETIC FIELD

  Thursday night was junior varsity football night at Asheville High School. The team was doing exceptionally well this season, so much so that Bishop had been asked to increase the numbers of officers working security on Thursday nights to ensure parents didn’t get too rowdy. He had just finished checking in with each of his officers and was watching the game from the stands. Hearing his name, he turned around to see a former student, Denise Miller, behind him.

  “Officer Bishop,” she said as she gave him a warm hug, “Granny told me to find you and ask you to come to her house after the game’s over.”

  “You sure?” he asked. “That might be pretty late.”

  “That’s what I told her, but she said it’s important. I think it’s got something to do with that book you gave her.”

  “She told you about the book?”

  “Not really. Not much, anyway. I help her with techy stuff, and she asked me to show her how to use Google while I’m on break from college. So, I did. But I think it’s got something to do with the book, because she told me to make sure you get over there later.”

  “Hmm. Well, OK. If she’s sure,” Bishop said, suddenly distracted by the roaring crowd as Asheville went for the extra point. Denise waved quickly as she ran off to join the celebration with her friends. Bishop wanted to thank her for the intel, but he didn’t get the chance, and he was too intrigued by the thought of what Granny had found to go looking for her.

  Newbridge Apartments, Town of Woodfin

  Bill was exhausted. Due to manpower issues, today was day seven of a long workweek. The overtime pay was great, but the stresses and lack of sleep were taking their toll on him. He’d found himself having odd dreams lately. Even stranger, though, was the fact that he wasn’t exactly sure what they’d been about. He only knew he’d had them. But he chalked the dreams up to sleep deprivation and little else.

  Bill waved and smiled at his token nosy neighbor, Mrs. Lowder, as he got out of his car to go into his apartment.

  “Hey, Willie, hold up a second.”

  Bill hadn’t been called Willie since he was a kid, and he most definitely didn’t recognize the man approaching him who had made the request. He looked to be about Bill’s age. Bill repositioned his car keys in his hands. He kept the keys on a Kubotan self-defense keychain weapon developed by Sōke Takayuki Kubota in the 60s. 5.5 inches long and inch in diameter. It’s was made of Black hard high-impact plastic. Lined with six grooves with a swivel and split ring attachment at one end for keys. He put the device in his right hand in case he needed to defended himself.

  “Do I know you?” Bill asked. Mrs. Lowder was known for being the de facto security guard in the community, what with her habit of snapping photos of license plates she didn’t recognize. Bill wondered how this guy had managed to get past her.

  Stopping short, the man smiled. “Come on, man. It’s me, Eddie, from school.”

  Bill was suddenly transported back to his elementary school playground in Tennessee. The man before him dissolved into the skinny raven-headed boy Bill had grown up with until the summer when he and his family had moved away. “Eddie!” Bill exclaimed, genuinely happy to see his old friend. “What the hell’re you doing here?”

  “We came to see you.”

  “We?” Bill echoed. “Who’s ‘we’? You have someone with you?” He craned his neck and spotted another man walking up behind his friend. “Whoa. Reverend King?” Bill was flooded with memories of Sunday school and vacation Bible school in his youth. “My God, what are you two doing here?”

  Eddie grinned. “Looking for you, man.”

  “Hey, come on inside,” Bill suggested, turning his key in the front door lock. “You guys hungry? The best pizza place in town is around the corner, Frank’s Pizza. I can get us something delivered real fast.” Bill placed the Kubotan and keys on a key hook on the wall next to the door.

  “That’s an excellent idea, William,” Reverend King said.

  “What’ve you guys been up to?” Bill asked. “I am a police dispatcher here in Asheville.”

  “I’ve been working for Reverend King,” Eddie replied.

  “Really? You’re a preacher?”

  “Something like that.”

  Bill motioned toward the couch in the living room off the kitchen. “Go on, sit,” he said. After ordering a pie, he took a seat across from his two long-lost pals. “So, what brings you into town?”

  “We needed to see you, William,” Reverend King said solemnly. “It’s very important that we talk.”

  CHAPTER 38

  GRANNY’S HOUSE, HILL STREET

  All the lights were on inside when Bishop pulled up. He didn’t even have a chance to knock on the door before it opened to let him in. He was surprised to find Denise on the other side of the door and told her as much.

  “I’m staying with Granny while I’m on break from college, sir. Besides, she’s got the best computer setup you can find outside of campus.”

  Granny beckoned Bishop inside. “Sit, boy.” She pulled up a screenshot on her computer monitor. “What that child done was partially right. She was wanting revenge on the man that kilt her family. I don’t think she was thinking of causing no killings, though. Them other killings in the paper came from this situation, too. I believe she did the conjure right. But somethin’ done took it over.”

  “Can it be stopped?”

  “Don’t rightly know cause of what’s happened to it. Normally, you’d just find the root the girl buried and tear it up. But the thing’s likely gone off on its own. I heard tails of where a conjure woman put her mojo hand or what I calls a root, on a bad man’s grave. It attracted a spirit that took over the root, and the conjure woman lost control over it.” She turned toward Bishop and wagged a spindly finger. “I think you best be finding where that girl put her mojo hand.”

  Bishop retrieved his phone from his pocket and punched in Jennifer’s aunt’s number. “Sorry for the late call, ma’am,” Bishop said when the line picked up. “But is Jennifer there? I just need to ask her one quick question.”

  “Let me check if she’s awake,” Karen replied with obvious hesitation.

  “Hello?” Jennifer asked sleepily a moment later.

  “Jennifer, honey, I need to know where you put what you made from your mother’s book.”

  He could hear her stifle a yawn, followed by t
he rustle of sheets as she shifted in bed. “I buried it under a tree. They call it the Town Tree, I think. You can walk there in about 20 minutes from my house. I can take you tomorrow.”

  Bishop nodded in Granny’s direction. “That’d be great, Jen. Thanks. Sorry for waking you.”

  “Denise,” he said after ending the call, “have you ever heard of a tree called the Town Tree?”

  “No, sir.” The college student replied.

  “That where she put the mojo hand?” Granny asked. “You best pick it up. If’n you do, you be sure to only touch it with your right hand. Understand?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Bishop replied. He knew well enough to follow her directives to the letter, lest he become involved in something he’d rather not. It didn’t matter if he believed in what she said or not.

  Detective Willis sat alone in the major case office, surrounded by file folders and photographs and legal pads. He stared at the dry erase boards on the wall, willing an answer from the smudged surface. He had spent hours mapping out the cases on the boards while poring over files, hoping to unearth some semblance of an answer from the mountains of information that threatened to lead nowhere.

  Lieutenant North entered and retrieved a chair from the corner of the room. After a minute’s silence, he asked, “Any luck?”

  “No Sir.” He and Willis could only stare at the white boards and files, which mocked them with a lack of answers.

  North groaned. “Maybe we’re overthinking this. We might need to go back to square one.” He went up to the white board and tapped each of the subject’s names, listed out in Willis’ characteristic personal hieroglyphic writing. “Why them? What do they have in common?”

  “They have all records of some sort,” Willis remarked. “Or they’ve done something illegal recently. Elder abuse, armed robbery, felony DWI, assault, domestic violence, child pornography, murder, robbery.”