by Jim Riley
Murder in Louisiana Politics
Niki Dupre Mysteries Book 4
Jim Riley
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
Chapter 85
Chapter 86
Chapter 87
Chapter 88
Chapter 89
Chapter 90
Chapter 91
Chapter 92
Chapter 93
Chapter 94
Chapter 95
Chapter 96
Chapter 97
Chapter 98
Chapter 99
Chapter 100
Chapter 101
Chapter 102
Chapter 103
Chapter 104
Chapter 105
Chapter 106
Chapter 107
Chapter 108
Chapter 109
Chapter 110
Chapter 111
Chapter 112
Chapter 113
Chapter 114
Chapter 115
Chapter 116
Chapter 117
Chapter 118
Chapter 119
Chapter 120
Notes
Dear Reader
Copyright (C) 2021 Jim Riley
Layout design and Copyright (C) 2021 by Next Chapter
Published 2021 by Gumshoe – A Next Chapter Imprint
Edited by Flatworld
Cover art by CoverMint
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author’s permission.
Chapter One
Saturday morning
Central
"I brought the city of Central prosperity during a difficult economic downturn," Congressman Omar Philbin yelled into the microphone.
Louisiana had a unique election process. It's called an open primary system. Most states hold an election for nominees for the Republican and Democratic parties on separate ballots. Then the winners of the primaries face off against each other in a general election.
The Pelican State lumps both political parties and any ambitious independents in the same primary race. In many cases, the result is a runoff between two candidates of the same party.
The temperature hovered in the mid-nineties, high for even Louisiana in early March. Philbin, the Democratic incumbent sweated so much his shirt clung to his body. His five opponents for the treasured seat in Congress fared no better.
The current member of the House of Representatives was leading local polls by substantial margin, more than twenty points over his closest rival. His confidence showed he expected to return to Capitol Hill representing the district.
This was the first and last debate among all six candidates. Philbin was opposed by one other Democrat, one independent and three Republicans. In the mind of most residents of Central, he was a lock for reelection.
Only one television station bothered to send a crew to the outdoor debate, someone's idea of a cruel joke. High temperatures and humidity had a smothering effect on the event. Not to mention the hordes of mosquitoes thrilled with access to unsuspecting prey.
The front of Philbin’s soaked shirt clung to his body after only fifteen minutes into the debate. The only female candidate, Clarice Clement was the sole candidate still wearing a jacket.
Watching the single debate were most of the local dignitaries, including the mayor, the school board president, and the current United States Senator, Dalton Bridgestone. The senator sat by his fiancée, Niki Dupre. Niki was the most famous private investigator based in Louisiana.
The moderator attempted to keep the debate moving on so everyone could retreat to the wonderful invention called air-conditioning. But the challengers each insisted on their ten minutes of fame.
Niki giggled at the sight of the sparring politicians. Philbin enjoyed the perks of the office, including being wined and dined by lobbyists with unlimited expense accounts. His bulging belly protruded over his belt, blocking it entirely from view the audience. His pants became so wet at the wrong place, making them appear to have been soiled by an unfortunate accident.
Clarice Clement was fighting the environment no better. The heavy makeup ran in streaks down her chubby face. Dark beads dropped from her chin and splattered on the white jacket she refused to remove. She drank copious amounts of water, only to have it escape through every pore in her body.
Only twenty minutes into the debate, the moderator called for a ten-minute water break. Most of the candidates toweled off and had a friend or associate attempt to put them back in order. All drank too much water.
When the debate renewed, Dennis Hopper, one of the Republican candidates, launched a tirade against him more Philbin.
"He has allowed the national debt to balloon to an unimaginable amount. He voted in favor of amnesty for the illegals in our country. He opposed tax reform at every turn. Good citizens, I will bring the federal government back under control. Mr. Philbin has allowed it to gain control over you."
"If I may respond," the congressman took the mic in his hand. "Of course the debt has grown out of control. Republicans protect their rich friends, and don't ask them to pay their fai
r share to help the rest of us. They—They—Ugh."
Philbin keeled over, knocking the microphone completely off the platform. A red foam bubbled from his mouth. When he hit the floor, blood seeped from his nose.
"Medic," the moderator shouted. "Is there a doctor in the crowd?"
Niki immediately dialed 911 to get an ambulance on the way. She saw Doctor Hebert tottering up the steps to reach the congressman. He had no bag, but knelt beside the stricken man and felt for a pulse.
When he shook his head, Niki knew it was too late for the ambulance. She and Dalton pushed to the crowd to reach the bottom of the stage.
"What is it, Doc?" she asked.
"Some kind of poison, but I'm not sure yet exactly which one. It had a devastating effect on his pulmonary system. I'll have to do an autopsy before I can tell you any more."
Chapter Two
A squad car pulled up with sirens blaring and lights flashing. The imposing figure of Samson Mayeaux emerged from the vehicle. Samson’s actual name was Samuel, but everyone knew him by his nickname. It fit with his tall, muscular stature towering over most people around him.
The crowd parted like the Red Sea, none of them anxious to get trampled by the charging Chief of Homicide for the East Baton Rouge Parish Sheriff's office. He knelt beside the late politician and the doctor. They exchanged a few brief words in a low tone.
Then Mayeaux stood, all six feet eight inches. He was already above the crowd while he stood on the platform. The addition of the sight and broad frame made Niki think of the Greek gods of mythology. Zeus. Thor. Atlas. She wasn't sure which one.
"All right, people," he began. "I know it's hot out here today, but I need every one of you to wait and be interviewed by a police officer before you leave."
"I can't wait for no officer," a voice from the crowd roared.
"Murphy, since you just volunteered to go last you can sit your ass back down on the chair, and I’ll personally interview you." Mayeaux looked over the crowd. "Any more volunteers to go at the end of the line?"
Some mumbled the protests, but no one said anything loud enough to be heard by the massive chief.
Mayeaux leaned over the platform and whispered to Niki. "Do you and Dalton mind helping us out? We don't have enough people here to handle this."
"No problem," she answered. "What you want us to do?"
"Talk to each person here. Get their name, address, and phone number. Ask them to tell you in their own words what they saw. There's probably two hundred people here, so we’ll get three hundred stories."
Six deputies arrived. Between all of them, Niki, and Dalton, they gathered statements from each member of the audience in less than two hours.
Niki hopped on the stage. She asked Clarice Clement the usual questions.
"Land, girl" the agitated candidate said. "You don't really s’pose I kilt that man, do you?"
"Mrs. Clement, we’re asking for the same information from everyone here. It will be helpful if you’ll answer me."
"C’mon, girl. You already know who I am where I stay. What else"
"What did you see?" Niki asked.
"I saw that man look like the devil got hold of his heart and squeezed. That's what he gets for lying all the time."
"Can you be a little more specific?" Niki asked.
"Sho'. That devil, he squeezed on his lying heart so hard, blood oozed up and out of his head. Must've been the hand of the devil that did it. Couldn’t be nothing else."
"All right, Mrs. Clement. What did Congressman Philbin do before he started bleeding?"
"That man lied," she blurted. "That's what he did. That's when the devil grabbed him, and squeezed him. Saw it with my own two eyes."
"I mean, what did he do before we collapsed? Did you see him eat or drink anything?"
"Course, girl. We was all sweating like a preacher after a three hour fire and brimstone sermon. It was so hot, I thought I might have to get naked and roll around in the mud."
Niki tried not to visualize the two hundred fifty pound woman with no clothes. Just the thought of it made the private investigator shudder.
"Did you see him drink any water?"
"Yes'm. Sure enough. He swallowed a couple gallons whilst I was getting a sip or two myself."
Niki glanced at the four empty water bottles behind the obese woman.
"Are those yours?"
Clarice turned to look at the bottles. When she turned back, a childish grin crossed her wide face.
"Yes'm. Maybe it was more than one sip."
"How much did Congressman Philbin drink?"
"Let's see. At first, he seemed to be having trouble finding his cooler. But then, he found it on the back edge of the stage."
"Was he drinking bottled water?"
Clarice nodded. "And some of that from a big plastic jug. Didn't seem like he could get enough. Devil musta already had a hold on him."
"Can you show me the plastic jug?"
"Just follow me."
The big woman waddled over to a large white cooler and lifted the lid. She studied the inside so long Niki was afraid she had gone to sleep.
"Ain’t here," the large woman announced. "The devil must've took it with him when he left."
"Are you positive there was a big plastic jug Mr. Philbin took a drink from?"
"Girl, I'm old and decrepit, but I ain't blind. He took way more than a drink from it. I thought maybe he had a little hooch in there the way his face twisted all sorts of ways."
"So you don't think it was water?"
"I seen guys drink hooch all my life, and the first reaction is about the same every time. Looks like they’d get used to it after a while."
"Did you see Mr. Philbin eat anything?"
"Nope. Just drank like a fish. I s’pect right this minute, he's explaining to Saint Peter why he had to tell all them lies."
"Did you see anyone take the big plastic jug after Mr. Philbin took a drink from it?"
"No. All I saw him doing was getting fresh makeup from that little filly he keeps around, and get notes from that charlatan that helps him tell lies."
"Do you mean Miss Becker and Mr. Anderson?"
“I reckon that be their names. Ain't never been formally introduced to them. Guess I didn't rate no introduction from the big man.”
"Miss Becker is the little brunette in the off-white suit and Mr. Anderson is the small guy with designer jeans in the blue polo shirt."
"Yep. That's them. I'm surprised the devil left them behind. They just as bad as he ever was."
"Did you see anyone else approached Mr. Philbin during the break?"
"The she–devil. She came up and held his dirty hand for a bit."
"She-devil?"
"His wife. Ms. Alicia Philbin."
Chapter Three
"I talked to Mayeaux," Dalton announced. "He would appreciate any help you can give him."
Niki popped another fried chicken liver in her mouth. It was covered with ketchup and Tabasco sauce. She considered the idea while she savored the tangy morsel.
"I don't know. I've got so much going on right now. I don't know where I would fit it in."
"Think of it as a service to your country. It's not every day that a sitting Congressman gets murdered on live TV." Dalton forked another fried dill pickle.
"That took balls. Has Samson reviewed the tape yet? If the killer is on there, then he won't need my help."
"He looked at it," Dalton answered. "The camera guy quit filming when they went to break."
"Just our luck. Did Doc say what kind of poison was used?"
"He won't know until they run some more tests, but he's already ruled out arsenic and cyanide."
"Who does Samson suspect?" Niki asked.
"Everybody. The other candidates. The aide. The assistant. The wife. Someone in the crowd."
"I'm glad he narrowed it down," Niki’s sarcasm dripped more than the ketchup.
"Are you willing to help?"
"Why not? Revenu
e and cash flow are so overrated in a small business."
“Think of all the free publicity you'll get when you find out who killed the congressman.”
"Great," Niki laughed. "I'll send the electric company a copy of the newspaper clipping with my bill instead of a check. I'm sure they'll be thrilled."
"If they cut you off, you can claim you decided to go off the grid and quit supporting those evil energy providers."
"I think I prefer air conditioning."
"That's the problem. No sense of adventure," Dalton said.
