Southern Harm

by Travis Casey

  The female detective leaned forward. "It would behoove you to take our inquiries seriously, Mr. Chambers. A man is dead, and the Novak and Chambers names have connections with the deceased."

  "Eww, we're behoovin' now, are we? Well, it behooved me to share a carnal session with my wife. It doesn't behoove me to have Louie Gomez dead—well, it kind of does, but I didn't do it."

  The lady cop tapped her finger on the table. "Exactly. You would benefit. Perhaps not so much directly, but your son and father-in-law both had good reason to see Gomez dead. And our investigations are leading us to believe that Louie Gomez had ties to the mayor of Louisville. The two of them were lobbying to increase taxes on winning purses to gain favor for new online betting laws. And you, Mr. Chambers, are precisely the kind of person who would oppose larger tax levies on winning horses. So why not you? The person who looks like he has so little to gain pops Gomez, not only to protect his family, but to silence the lobby for a tax increase on your empire. You are a protective father and businessman, aren't you, Mr. Chambers?"

  "There's nothing to protect, Detective. Killing takes no imagination. I'm a creative kind of guy. You don't kill someone like Louie Gomez to get back at them—you strip them bare. You take all their money and let them live in squalor the rest of their days. That's how you inflict maximum pain and suffering on the Louie Gomezes of the world. Or you get them sent to jail, which is exactly what was going to happen." Tyler tapped the table with his finger for emphasis. "If I had a score to settle with Gomez, I would have kept him alive as long as possible and tormented the shit out of him."

  "And that's your alibi?" the cop asked. "At home with your wife?"

  Tyler smiled. "I don't even need Viagra."

  ***

  "Miss Davenport?" The lady cop stood in front of Oscar and Stacey, both sitting on the bench. Her dark brown hair was pulled back, exposing gold stud earrings. "May I have a word?"

  Stacey put her hand to her chest. "Me?"

  "Please."

  Stacey followed the detective down the hall, noticing how she filled out her slacks fully. The woman detective opened the door marked Room 3 and held out her hand, showing Stacey to the table.

  Stacey wiggled, trying to get comfortable on the metal-framed, vinyl-covered chair facing her interrogator.

  "Hi, Miss Davenport, I'm Detective Kimball. This is just a little informal discussion. I understand you were about to assist in the prosecution of the deceased before his murder."

  Stacey nodded. "Yes, that's correct. But it looks like the accused got a plea bargain this prosecutor wasn't expecting."

  The detective glared at her, not seeing anything funny in her analogy. "How did you see the trial going?"

  Stacey looked puzzled. "How do you mean?"

  "Apparently Mr. Gomez was well-connected. And not least of all, to your father. When the gangster seen canoodling with the governor is about to go on trial—in a case where his daughter is on the prosecution team—then he turns up dead before the trial even begins, questions must be asked."

  Stacey's eyes narrowed. "First off, I'm a consultant to the prosecutor's office. I was not in charge of the case. Secondly, Louie Freaking Gomez approached my father with his begging bowl out. Why? I don't know. But I do know it is quite common for people to lobby the governor's office for special favors. And I also know my dad sent him packing. So there was no 'relationship' there. Thirdly, how dare you insult my or my father's integrity."

  "Miss Davenport, you must accept that you and your father hold a certain amount of power and influence. And the Louie Gomez situation looks like one that may have needed controlling."

  "I don't have to accept squat. Instead of following up on ludicrous theories that the governor's or prosecutor's offices had anything to do with Louie Freaking Gomez, other than trying to put him behind bars, why don't you spend some time studying the crime statistics for West Louisville? You might discover it's much more likely he was involved in a drug deal gone bad or was shot for his Rolex." She stood up with such fury that her chair fell over backward. "Now, is there anything else?"

  "Okay, if that's the way you want to play it. Where were you Monday night, the sixteenth of June?"

  Stacey confronted the detective nose-to-nose. "I was with Oscar Novak-Chambers. In his apartment. Screwing his brains out. And that's Oscar with a big O, in case you're wondering."

  She stormed out—unchallenged.

  Stacey barreled down the hall with a face like thunder. She wagged her finger at Oscar as she stomped past him. "You better not have got me pregnant!" She barked. Then disappeared out the front entrance.

  His jaw dropped, and before he had time to close it, Detective Kimball appeared.

  "Oscar? Can we have a word?"

  ***

  Oscar followed Kimball to the interview room, and they sat down. Kimball brushed her hair off the side of her face. "What have you been up to, Oscar?"

  Oscar decided she was forty if she was a day. He classed her as pleasant-looking. Not stunning, just pleasant. He didn't know why he was assessing her looks. Perhaps he just wanted to divert his attention from his nervousness, and being in company with attractive women had a settling effect on him. So he upgraded her a notch.

  "You know, a bit of this, a bit of that. Business things."

  The detective rested the eraser end of her pencil against her bottom lip. "And tell me, what kind of business things did you have going on with Louie Gomez? Anything that could lead to a dispute of some kind?"

  "Are you asking me if I had a grudge against Louie? Or more to the point, are you asking if I had anything to do with Louie's death?"

  "Since you brought it up, where were you Monday evening, June 16?"

  His mind wandered.

  Unless you want to say you were at my house having wild sex with me all night, yeah, Jim Beam is all I got.

  You better not have got me pregnant!

  He hoped he'd read the signals correctly.

  He lowered his gaze to meet Kimball's. "I was with Stacey Davenport."

  She rapped the pencil against her teeth. "Are you sure? Looks like you had to give that some thought."

  "I'm not usually a kiss-and-tell kind of guy."

  "But you will under the circumstances?"

  "If you're conducting a murder inquiry, then it's the truth you're after, not a moral judgment. And if that's the case, then yes, it's time to tell all."

  "Was the sex good?"

  "Magical."

  Kimball laid the pencil on the table. "Oh, God. Is this where we're going to get stuck for the next two hours?"

  He shrugged. "Unless you want a minute-by-minute account, then it will take six or seven hours."

  Kimball sighed. "Okay, you're free to go—for now. Just don't leave the country."

  Oscar stood up, straightening his jacket. "Why would I?"

  As he moved toward the door, another detective walked in—an older guy.

  "Are you leaving?" the detective asked.

  Oscar glanced back to Kimball, then looked at the new cop. "I've been given the all clear."

  "Good. Just don't leave the country."

  What the hell?

  The more-experienced cop sat down next to Kimball. "How's it going?" he asked.

  She exhaled. "They all have motive, but they also all have alibis. I'm no closer to finding the killer now than I was before I spoke to these yahoos. But I know one of them did it."

  "You sure? Maybe it was the governor."

  Kimball laughed. "Yeah, right. Maybe I should question the butler while I'm at it."

  Chapter 45

  Conrad waited outside the back of the police station. He slid the door of the white minivan open and nodded as Stacey and Tyler climbed into the back. Roscoe opened his own door and hopped in the front while Conrad got in himself.

  "Thanks for picking us up, Conrad," Stacey said. "But we need to wait for Oscar. He's finding out what's happening with Johnny."

  "Not at all, Miss Davenp
ort." He looked at her via the rearview mirror. "Tell me, do the police have any leads on the Gomez murder?"

  "Naw," Roscoe growled. "They're barking up trees when they should be looking to see who has dog shit on their shoes." He looked at Conrad's feet, then engaged his eyes. "Where were you that Monday night?"

  Conrad looked indignant. "Me, sir?"

  "Yeah, you. The butler always did it." Roscoe laughed uproariously.

  "I can assure you, I do not spend my evenings in the west end of Louisville. Mondays or any other night."

  Oscar came out of the police station looking worried. Tyler reached over and slid the door open for him, and Oscar squeezed himself into the back row.

  "What's up with No-Thumbs?" Roscoe asked, craning his neck to look back.

  "They're keeping him," Oscar replied. "They're not happy with his story, and he's not helping his cause by shouting 'Good, I'm glad the son of a bitch is dead.' "

  "I still don't know why he mentioned my name," Roscoe complained.

  "I think the cops confused him, Granddad. I don't think he knows what he's saying."

  Roscoe chuckled and pulled out his phone. "Well, that's not hard to do. I'll call Charlie Ford and tell him to go see Johnny. If nothing else, someone needs to tell him to keep his mouth shut."

  As the minivan inched away from the curb and headed toward the exit of the parking lot, four black youths, escorted by Emmitt, walked up the sidewalk on the way to the main entrance.

  One of the guys waved his finger, pointing at the van. "There! Dat's dem! Dat's who we saw downtown dat night, coming out of Louie's warehouse."

  "Yep," another one confirmed.

  Everyone in the van looked at the youths, who stared back as the van drove away. Conrad gave it a little extra gas, and they were quickly out of earshot—and out of sight.

  "What the hell?" Roscoe muttered.

  "Hey, Conrad, can you take me back to my condo?" Oscar said as he put his hand on his father's shoulder. "I'm not much in the party mood."

  "No, me either," Tyler agreed.

  Conrad put the pedal down.

  ***

  The minivan pulled into Tyler's sweeping circular drive, stopping at the main entrance. Roscoe and Tyler stepped out onto the crunchy drive. The front door opened, and Darcy and Miriam walked onto the veranda, waiting for their husbands.

  The couples hugged, then the four of them waved as the van drove away.

  Tyler looked at Roscoe. "Fancy a drink?"

  He shook his head. "No thanks, son. I think me and mother are going to make tracks. Those damn cops put a damper on the whole party thing. We're going to take off, if you don't mind."

  Tyler patted his fathers-in-law on the back. "Not at all. I understand." He stepped in and gave Roscoe a hug, then embraced Miriam.

  Darcy hugged her parents goodbye. She and Tyler stood on the porch and waved as the older couple got into their Cadillac Ciel and headed down the drive and into the street.

  On the drive home, Roscoe reached over and put his hand on Miriam's knee. "You know, Kitten, I think maybe we should take a little vacation."

  "Really? What brought this on?"

  "I got to thinking while I was in the slammer—"

  "You were in jail? I thought they just took you in for questioning."

  "Well, you know what I mean. I was only a few steps away from the big house, and I got to thinking. Life's too short. What do I have left? One to five years, maybe? So what the hell? Let's go on that cruise you always wanted to." Roscoe smiled, then clicked his fingers. "In fact, I got a better idea. Forget some piddly-ass Caribbean cruise. Why don't we go on a world cruise?"

  "Seriously? You're ready to set sail around the world?"

  "Sure. Why not?" He looked at his wife. "You deserve it, Pumpkin. Whaddya say?"

  "When?"

  "The sooner, the better."

  Miriam took a moment to catch her breath. "You know I'd love to, but what about the business?"

  Roscoe swatted his hand. "Let the boys take care of it. Tyler knows the ins and outs, and it's time for Oscar to take on some more responsibility. I think he can handle it. Now's a perfect time."

  She squeezed his hand. "Why, Mr. Novak, I'd love to accompany you on a romp around the world. You will book a balcony suite, right?"

  Roscoe smiled broadly. "Only the best, kitten. Only the best."

  ***

  Tyler took Darcy by the hand and led her into the study. "Since your dad light-weighted out on me, let's you and me have a drink."

  She gripped his hand, enjoying the feeling of security he gave her. "Okay, and you can tell me about your trip downtown."

  "Bingo. That's what we need to discuss."

  They walked into the study, and Darcy sauntered across the pink and green Oriental rug that covered a twelve-foot, circular section of floor in the middle of the room. She made her way over to the long, dark maroon leather couch that sat off to the side of Tyler's desk. It reminded her of the kind of couch a psychiatrist would have a patient lie down on while they bared their soul and innermost thoughts.

  Tyler stood on the other side of the room, pouring himself a neat whiskey. Then he reached into the under-counter, glass-fronted fridge, pulled out a bottle of chilled Chardonnay, and poured his wife a glass. He carried the drinks to the couch and sat next to Darcy, raising his glass.

  "To the most beautiful woman in Kentucky."

  They touched rims.

  "I'm confined by borders, am I?"

  Tyler smiled. "Well, there's this woman in Tennessee …"

  Darcy displayed her perfect white enamels and tapped them with her fingertip. "Ah, but does she have all of these?"

  He shrugged. "Nearly."

  She slapped his shoulder but kept smiling.

  Tyler took a drink and set his glass on the coffee table. "Okay, so you want to hear about Tyler's big day out, and I think that's a damn good idea. There's a few things we need to discuss."

  "Wait a minute—we're discussing? I thought you were telling, and I was listening. What's there to discuss?" She took a drink, staring at him with gorgeous gray eyes over the top of her glass.

  "Darling, I need you to do me a favor. If the cops ask, we were … doing some matrimonial bonding that Monday night. We started around seven and continued into the wee hours."

  "Tyler, we did not 'bond' that Monday night."

  "Yes, I know, but I need you to back up my story."

  "Why? You said you went fishing. You got home about nine o'clock."

  "That's right, I did. And I brought home that bass, remember?"

  "Yes, I remember the smelly fish, but I don't remember us sharing any 'special' moments. What's with the lying?"

  He drew a deep breath. "The cops are trying to tie any or all of the Novak-Chambers to Louie Gomez's death. They asked where I was that night, and I said I was making love to the most beautiful woman in Kentucky."

  Darcy dismissed his flattery with a rolling of the eyes. "We all know you're the best BS artist in the state, but why the outright lie? I mean about making love, not the most-beautiful-woman thing."

  He grinned.

  "Back to your reality—why do you need an alibi?"

  "Who did I go fishing with?"

  "You said you were by yourself."

  "And I was. And who do cops like to pin murder raps on?"

  "Guilty people."

  "Or people who were by themselves. The ones without an alibi."

  "Why didn't you tell them I went fishing with you? Not that I'm comfortable about lying, no matter what the story is, but—" Her eyes tightened. "Why are you so afraid to tell the truth? The more I think about it, the less I like this request." Her face switched to one of panic. "Oh my God—the beautiful-woman crap. Tyler, you weren't—please don't tell me there's someone else—"

  Tyler wrapped his arms around her. "Don't be silly. I can assure you, darling, there is no one else. I don't want anyone else. But fishing alone won't wash in a court of law. And trying to c
onvince them you bait your own hook, well, that's a bit of a stretch. Besides, I wanted to make sure I spun a story I could repeat again and again with passion and conviction, reliving the moment time after time."

  Darcy leaned in until they were nose-to-nose. "Oh my God, you are good, aren't you? Full of crap, but good."

  He tried to look coy. "I've had some practice."

  "Yes, I know." She trailed her finger down his chest. "You practiced some of that on me, remember? That's why I married you."

  "And we're living happily ever after, aren't we?"

  She played with the top button of his shirt. "And there really is nothing else?"

  He held up his hand. "May God strike me down if I'm lying."

  She raced her finger to his lips. "Let's not press it. I'm not ready to be a widow yet."

  He tossed his head toward the bedroom upstairs. "You wanna go upstairs and rehearse the story?"

  A twinkle in her eye exposed her excitement. "You betcha."

  ***

  Conrad put the car in park and looked in the rearview mirror.

  "Do you want to come up?" Oscar whispered to Stacey. "I think we should talk."

  "Yes, we should," Stacey agreed. "Conrad, would you mind waiting here? Oscar and I have some things we need to discuss."

  He looked at his watch.

  "It shouldn't take too long," she reassured him.

  "Of course, Miss Davenport." He turned off the ignition, got out, and opened the door for the couple to exit the vehicle. "I'll be waiting," he said as they passed by him.

  Oscar unlocked the door to his condo, hit by a wave of relief that he wouldn't have to check under the bed to see if Louie Gomez was lurking in wait.

  "Care for a drink?" he asked.

  "No thanks." She walked over to the couch and sat down.

  "Suit yourself." He joined her, empty-handed. "That was some wild night, huh? But you were on the pill, right? Or did I use a sheath? I can't remember. Damn Jim Beam."

  "Yeah, about that …" She turned, angling herself toward him. "That detective pissed me off. Uppity little bitch. I wasn't going to give her the satisfaction, so I covered for you."