by Jim Riley
The other one tackled Blake around the waist, bouncing off as though he hit a wall.
Donna stepped from behind the investigator. "Blake you stop this foolishness right now. You're not helping me. You're only hurting yourself."
"I'm here to get you. They ain't got any right to keep you here. Come on, let's go." The young man shrugged off another attack from the last officer.
Niki took Donna's arm and shielded her from the immense youngster.
"You need to leave, Mr. Hebert. This is not the way to handle this matter. You aren't doing Donna any favors."
Then the room filled up with uniforms. A thud sounded, followed by two more Taser tips protruding from Blake's back. His huge body shuddered, and his arms quit working. Another thud and another Taser attack. Blake fell to his knees a mountain of officers smothered him.
"Please don't hurt him," Donna yelled as loud as she could. "He's only trying to help me."
The uniforms dragged the semi-paralyzed man out of the visitation room, leaving the attorney under the table and the two women standing in the corner.
"You can get out now, Mr. Farrell," Niki snickered. "You don't have to worry about me or Donna attacking you."
The attorney stood and straightened his expensive suit.
"—I didn't want to interfere with the officers doing their job. I wanted to get out of their way while they performed their duties."
He pulled nervously on his tie.
Niki turned to Donna.
"I need to find out what they’ll charge Blake with. He may need Mr. Farrell's assistance."
Donna shook her head. "He doesn't need any help. The athletic department from the school will have him out of here, and there won't be any charges. The chief is a huge Tiger fan. You wouldn't believe some things that Blake told me some players get away with."
Andrew Farrell took a seat "if he needs my services, please tell him I am available."
Donna laughed. "I think he can take care of himself. Sometimes he doesn't go about it the right way."
Wednesday Afternoon
Denham Springs
"Mr. Phelps, thank you for seeing me. I know how busy you must be. Tell me, what exactly does a fire and safety company do?" Niki asked.
Phelps was a small, thin man with a receding hairline. His office on Range Avenue in Denham Springs desperately needed repair. Peeling paint and loose boards evidenced a severe lack of attention. Dust and grime penetrated every corner of the small shop.
"We primarily help businesses with their fire extinguishers," the small man replied.
"Do you sell new ones?"
He nodded. "We do that occasionally, but most of the time, we only inspected them. They don’t need to be replaced."
Niki looked up. "I’ve got one in my office. How would I know if it needed to be inspected."
"You are in business in Louisiana," Phillips smiled. "According to the fire marshal, you have to get it inspected once a year. If not, you can be fined a hefty amount. But that isn’t the reason for inspections. Wouldn’t you hate it if a fire broke out in your office, and your extinguisher didn’t work? What if someone lost their life because you neglected to get an inspection?"
Niki frowned.
"I never thought of it like that. I guess I should become one of your customers. Speaking of which, how many customers do you have?"
"Where between eight and ten thousand."
"Commercial or residential?"
"It is hard enough to get the businesses to get their fire extinguishers inspected even though it’s the law. Most homeowners don’t even own one, much less want to pay to get it inspected. Almost one hundred percent of our business is commercial. I like it better that way. A home may have one or two, but a business may have dozens."
"You had an account with Tiger Eye Investors?" Niki asked
"I do at this moment, but it won’t be there much longer. I intend to move it."
"Why is that, Mr. Phelps? Are you dissatisfied with the way Tiger Eye is managing your account?"
"If you call losing eighty percent of it as managing it, then yes, I am dissatisfied," the thin man snorted. "I don’t think your description of my feelings is adequate. I think they should be criminally charged, and that is what I told that buffoon when he said he would look into it."
"Are you speaking about Mr. Wilson? Scott Wilson?"
"Yep. He went into a long diatribe about the market conditions and the ups and downs of investments. I told him if I wanted downs I’d get into deep-sea diving. That idiot."
"So you argued with Mr. Wilson?"
"I told him if I catch his prim little ass outside of that office, I’ll show him what ups and downs were really like."
Niki stared at the ruffled man.
"Are you aware that Mr. Wilson was killed last Wednesday afternoon?"
"Yep," Phelps laughed out loud. "Serves the old buzzard right. My congratulations to the guy that did it. That guy did the world a service."
"Did you kill him, Mr. Phelps?"
"I wish I could tell you I did. He never should have put me in those risky investments."
"What type of investments?"
"The clown that killed my account with PLO's or something like that."
"IPO's?" Niki asked.
"That’s it. I’m not sure what they are, but I know what they ain't. They ain't good investments. Me and my people worked too hard for our money to see it washed down the drain. I could do better at one of those gambling boats on the river. At least I’d get free drinks while it’s losing my money."
"Was Howard Jenkins the agent that took care of your account?" Niki picked up on the reference IPO's.
"Yep. He took care of it, all right. I told him I wanted to be in something safe. He told me I'd never have to work again. Hell, at this rate, I’ll have to work until I am a hundred and sixty years old. It’ll take me that long to break even from what they’ve done to me."
"Are you aware that Howard Jenkins was killed last night?"
"You’re kidding me?" Fellow space expressed shock.
"He was killed at his home last night. Somebody murdered him in his own bed."
"I must not have been the only dissatisfied customer then," he chuckled. "Somebody else didn’t care for their way of managing money."
"Where were you last night, Mr. Phelps?"
"You think I killed that clown? He wasn’t worth it. Now, Wilson, him I could have killed. But not that egotistical punk. I know more about investing than he ever did. I wouldn't waste a bullet on him."
"He wasn't shot. Somebody stabbed him with a pair of scissors."
"That sounds painful," the safety professional squinted. "It also sounds up close and personal. Something a mad girlfriend would do, not a guy."
"You still haven’t answered my question. Where were you last night? Or more specifically, between midnight and four?"
"Between midnight and four. I was where I am every night. I was home asleep. I’m not that young anymore."
"Can your wife verify you were home?"
"That would be kinda tough for her to do," he sneered. "She’s been dead for more than six years."
"I’m sorry to hear that."
"Don’t be. I’m a lot better off without her."
Niki said nothing.
"She was a rotten whore," Phillips continued. "The only thing that gave her pleasure was spending my money. I started saving a lot after she was gone, but then Wilson lost it all."
"Was anyone at your house that can confirm you were home all night?" Niki asked.
"I have got an old hound dog, but he don't talk too plainly. Besides, he ain't real trustworthy hisself."
"How about last Wednesday afternoon, right after dark? Where were you then?"
The little man rubbed his chin.
"I don’t rightly recall. I was probably at the Go-Go Club watching them pretty little things try to dance. They can’t dance worth anything, but they’re fun to watch, anyhow."
"Can any
one confirm your presence there? Do you have a receipt?"
"Those little gals aren’t in the habit of giving receipts, and most of them can’t remember past yesterday," he laughed. "I doubt if any of them remember me."
"How about for the drinks? Did you pay for them with a credit card?"
"Nope. A lot of the smaller businesses pay me in cash. That is what I use for my play money. That way, the government won’t ever know how much I’m playing or where I am playing at. I figure it ain't none of their business."
"That means you don’t have an alibi for where you were for the time Scott Wilson was killed or when Howard Jenkins was killed. Is that correct?"
"I don’t like the way you said that," Phillips bristled. "Are you accusing me?"
"No, Sir. I’m only saying that I can’t eliminate you as a suspect."
He pointed a scrawny finger at the young detective. "Be careful. I’d hate to see the fire marshal close your business."
Niki sat back in her chair.
"Mr. Phelps, if you’re making a feeble attempt to threaten me, you’ve got to up your game. Just today, I’ve been shot at and faced a three hundred pound angry man in tight quarters. Your threat of siccing the state fire marshal on me doesn’t impress me much."
Wednesday Afternoon
Central High School
Niki's next stop brought her to a place with which she was intimately familiar. She walked into the Central High School gymnasium with memories of all the times she stayed after school to practice with the other cheerleaders. Those days were filled with hope and purpose.
Today's trip also had purpose. She sat in the stands while the girls went through their routines. Many of those cheers were the same Niki and her squad used several years before. Niki found herself chanting along with shouts from the energetic coeds.
After the practice session, Niki waited for the girls to shower, and motioned for Paula Harris. The captain of the squad said something to two of the other girls, then walked over to Niki.
"Hi," the cheerleader said with an award-winning smile. "I’m surprised to see you here today. To what do I owe the pleasure?"
Niki did not return the smile.
"Paula, we need to talk. Would you rather go somewhere more private?"
The cheerleader shook her head. "Nope. Right here is fine. I can't stay long though. I have got tons of homework and a huge test in advanced math tomorrow. I struggle with math."
"Then I’ll try not to keep you long," Niki responded. "But this time I need the truth from you."
Paula feigned confusion.
"I don’t understand. I already told you everything I know. And it was all true."
"It wasn’t all true."
"I swear to you, Miss Niki. I loved Tommy with all my heart. If there was anything that would help you find out what caused the accident, I'd do it."
"You didn't tell me the truth this morning. Why not?" Niki stared at the young lady.
"I don’t know what you are talking about. I told you the truth."
"Then tell me about Ricky Augustine."
The blood rushed from Paula's face, and her hands trembled.
"Who? What do you mean?" The young cheerleader started.
"Tell me about your dates with Ricky. And don’t lie. I know you two are seeing each other."
Paula cried. Niki handed her a tissue.
"Have a seat next to me and tell me what happened."
Paula sat, but a couple of seats away from Niki. She wiped her face several times with the tissue.
"Tommy was quiet. You have to believe that. At times, he could be so boring. These are my days in high school, and I want to have fun while I’m here."
Niki tried to read the expression on the young girl’s face without success.
"You weren’t having enough fun with Tommy? Is that why you were seeing Ricky?"
"Tommy didn’t drink. He didn’t smoke. He didn't do anything except play ball, study, and go to church. That is great for the future father of my kids, but it isn't what I want in high school."
"Why didn't you break up with Tommy if you wanted something else? Somebody else?"
Paula looked up with wide eyes.
"Are you kidding? Tommy had a future. He was planning on playing pro football and then become a doctor. Do you think I wanted to throw all that away?"
"I don’t know. How serious were you with Ricky?"
The cheerleader laughed.
"He’s a lot more serious than I am. He asked me to drop Tommy and go to the prom with him. Isn't that crazy?"
“Did you give him the idea that he had a future with you? Did you lead him on?”
Paula stiffened. "I never led him on. I told him that if it wasn’t for Tommy, we would make a great team. But he knew that I wasn’t about to give up my future with Tommy. That was asking too much."
Niki checked her notes. "Ricky is a defensive back on the football team, isn't he?"
"He has a few colleges looking at him, but he’ll probably end up at Southeastern or McNeese. He won’t make it at LSU." Paula wiped a few more tears.
"Does Ricky eat the sandwiches with the rest of the football team?"
“Yes, Ma'am,” Paula answered. “I mean, all the football players eat together.”
"Did you serve the sandwiches to Ricky?"
"He usually sits on the other side of the room where I can't see him, and he can't see me. He says he can't stand to see me with Tommy."
"Did he have the opportunity to switch the sandwiches Tommy ate?"
Paula's hand immediately covered her mouth. "Oh, my God. You aren't serious, are you?"
Niki replied, "I’m trying to find out how Tommy ended up with real peanut butter instead of the substitute his mother fixed. You didn't help when you didn't tell me the truth."
"I had no idea. I still don’t believe Ricky could do something like that. He is way too nice."
"Did Ricky know about Tommy's allergy?"
"We all knew about it," Paula replied. "None of us thought it was that serious, though. We figured he would break out in a rash or something. Nobody thought it would kill him."
"Focus with me, Paula. I didn't ask if you thought Ricky switched the sandwiches. I asked you if he had the opportunity."
"He was in there with all the other players. He had the opportunity, but I swear to you he didn't do it. It couldn’t have been him."
"I don’t know Ricky. I’ve never met him, but I have to look at all the possibilities.”
"You’re wrong, Miss Niki. You are dead wrong."
Wednesday Night
Baton Rouge
Niki picked up Dalton at the Baton Rouge airport shortly after the senator landed.
"I've got to run by my place," she said. "I forgot my battery charger for the cell."
He laughed. "It's nice to see you too. I'm so glad you missed me."
"I'm here. With the day I've had, that’s a huge accomplishment. You should feel honored."
She kissed him lightly on his cheek.
"Did you save the world from financial calamity today, or did you waste my tax dollars again?"
The senator grinned.
"Your tax contribution was well invested. You would have been proud of your civil servant."
"That means you got a lot more accomplished than I did. I keep adding to my list of suspects,” She moaned.
"Which case? Scott's or Tommy's?"
"Both. Tommy's girlfriend wasn't as faithful as he thought. I doubt if she did anything, but her other boyfriend may have. I'm not sure they knew how serious Tommy's allergy was, and might have done it as a prank."
"Not a very funny prank, if that is what it was. What will you do next?"
She drove toward Central, only fifteen minutes from the airport. She turned on Hooper Road.
"It's not what I'm about to do. It's about what we are about to do. Unless you forgot, you volunteered to help at the sandwich-making on Friday before the game."
Dalton shrugged. "I tal
ked to my sister again. She is certain it wasn't an accident. Neither of us considered whether it was a joke that got out of hand."
"I wouldn't have thought of it either, but nothing else seems to be making any sense."
Niki pulled into the townhouse parking lot.
Dalton remained seated. "I'll wait here for you. You're only getting your charger, right? I might fall asleep to you take a shower or change clothes."
She grinned. "I'm worth waiting for. At least, you better think so."
"I do," he replied as she disappeared.
Dalton leaned back in the passenger side seat and closed his eyes. After a long day of inane speeches and unbelievable propaganda, the senator needed a few moments of solitude. His peace was shattered when the driver’s side window smashed into thousands of pieces.
Dalton jerked up to see the end of a baseball bat extending through the broken pane. He leapt out of the SUV and raced to the other side. The tall black man welding the club was now focused on the windshield.
"What do you think you're doing?" The politician yelled at the assailant.
The man turned and took a menacing step toward Dalton.
"Who you? What you doing here?"
"I'm Dalton Bridgestone, and this vehicle belongs to my friend. Drop that bat before there is more trouble."
The black man laughed.
"You ain't got no bat. I do. You be the one in trouble, man."
Dalton smiled. "I don't think so."
He smashed his fist into the assailant's mouth before the black man could react. The tall man fell back against the SUV, crying out in anguish. But he did not drop the aluminum bat. Wiping the blood from his mouth, he held it in a menacing position, ready to swing.
"You really don't want to do this," Dalton said. "This isn’t going to work out well for you."
The man stepped forward and swung the bat at Dalton’s head. The senator easily dodged the feeble attempt, and the club swung harmlessly over him. Dalton grabbed the bat and jerked it from the taller man's hands. In one motion, he slammed it into the attacker’s knees. When Dalton heard the man's knee crack, he knew the fight was over. The black man crumbled and laid back against the tire.
