The Price of Beauty in Strawberry Land (22 page)

“Yes Coach, I’ve gotten that impression myself.
 
Do you remember what time you threw him out and any idea where he might have gone?

“It was around midnight – we close at 2 and the band was getting ready for their last set. I have no idea where he went – he did get in a cab – guess he stiffed the cab driver too.”

“What cab company?
 
You know?”
 
I asked.

“Only got one that comes out here – Yellow Top Cab from Jackson.
 
Now, if you don’t mind, I’m busy and trying to get ready for a big evening.
 
Come back again when you don’t need to ask me about Travis Luckey.”

~

I
stopped back by the Sheriff’s office so I could hear bad news in person and not over the phone.
 
Leroy was still at the hospital, but both Jeff and Scotty were there. Loretta Turner had identified the body as her daughter, Charlotte Luckey. The time of death was estimated to be late Friday night/early Saturday morning and the body had been in the water since that time.
 
Cause of death had not yet been determined, but preliminary examination indicated
Charlotte has received a severe blow to her left temple – blunt force trauma – they call it.

Jeff had gotten my information on phone calls to/from Phillip Chaney’s room at the Holiday Inn – there had been only four. Three inbound calls and one outbound.
 
The first was Saturday morning at 2:12 AM.
 
That call was placed from the payphone located at the Bailey Park pavilion.
 
The rest were during his second stay – an outbound call to my office in Memphis, a call from Chiefs (me) and a call that came in at 1:30 PM on Tuesday and made from a payphone on Chester Street in Jackson, Tennessee.

“
No other calls?”
 
I couldn’t believe this.

“None – we are sure,” Jeff replied.

“That bastard Phillip Chaney is one lying son-of-a-bitch.
 
The 2:12 Saturday call could be from Charlotte, and we already know the Tuesday call was from Travis – he admitted it.
 
But Phillip claims he had calls from his brother –obviously that didn’t happen.
 
He lied and is still lying.”

“We know.
 
Leroy has already sent word for him to get back to Humboldt, as quickly as possible.
 
We expect him to fly in tomorrow.”

“Can you check on a cab ride by Travis Luckey last Saturday night?
 
I’d like to know where he went.”

“Sure, what are the details?” Jeff was already reaching for the phone.

“Pickup at
‘My Place’
bar around midnight by Yellow Top Cab.
 
He might have stiffed the cab driver for the fare.”

Jeff was already dialing and Scotty said, “Carson, where do you come up with this stuff?”

“I’m a detective – remember,” I said smiling.

Jeff hung up the phone.
 
“They delivered him to 1803 Chester Street in Jackson – somebody at the delivery address paid the fare.
 
Now - you don’t have to ask us what is located at 1803 Chester, because we already know. That’s a warehouse owned by Mickey Campbell.
 
We know because we arrested Mickey a couple hours ago, and that is where he was when the Madison County sheriff picked him up.”

“Interesting. So you got Mickey in an upstairs cell too?”

“Yep, and it is as quiet as a church up there – nobody talking to nobody!” Jeff explained.

 
“What about the goons – Brody and Russoti?”

“No reason or instructions to pick them up – you know something we don’t?”

“No, I just don’t like the thought of them running around loose with Brad Knuchols at the controls.
 
Were you able to find any information on Denny ‘Dude’ Smith?” I asked.

“Not yet, but I expect to have something in the morning.
 
He has an Olive Branch, MS residence address, but we have also picked up something from out in Three Way.
 
Could be that rental you mentioned.
 
I’ll know tomorrow.” Scotty said.

I told them both I was headed back to Chiefs and to please make sure Leroy was updated when he came back to the office.

~

I
made a detour and stopped by the Humboldt County Club - with the intention of asking Nuddy a question about the night of the party.
 
However, when I saw Mary Ellen, Gerald, Judy and my Memphis lawyer friend Jack Logan sitting around a table at the downstairs bar, I decided to join them.
 
I pulled up a chair and was getting the usual hugs and handshakes.
 
Nuddy had already delivered me a drink before we got our hellos out of the way.

“Well, Mr. Logan, what brings you to Humboldt?
 
Seems you are now here more than I am.
 
Can I trust you to check in with my Mom and Dad on occasion?” I jokingly said to Jack.

“It’s business, Mr. Detective and I understood you were in Mississippi on a fishing trip.
 
Fish not biting?”

“Not a nibble, Mr. Logan, not a nibble.
 
However, I do need to collectively ask you guys a question.
 
Last Friday night at the party, Charlotte Luckey came into the house and made a scene.
 
Can anyone give me good estimate of what time that happened?”

“11:00 o’clock Carson, almost exactly,” Mary Ellen answered.

“How can you be so sure?” I asked.

“Because we just had the deputies remove that redneck Billy Vickers from the property. The deputy made me sign some sort of form and he dated and wrote down the time – it was 10:45.
 
She stormed in no more than 15 minutes later,” Mary Ellen was matter of fact with her answer.

“Perfect, that is what I needed.
 
Can I buy you guys a drink?
 
I’ve got to get back to Chiefs and make a phone call.”

Judy responded. “No, but you can tell us if they have found her?
 
Is she kidnapped?
 
Do they know anything?”

I reluctantly said, “Charlotte Luckey is dead.
 
As the result of murder, I suspect.
 
What you hear and read tomorrow is basically all I know.
 
A couple of fishermen found her floating in Humboldt Lake – evidently she had been there since the night of the party.”

“OH NO!” Everyone seemed to say at once.

“Billy Vickers – he did it,” Mary Ellen shouted.
 
“He found her after she left my house and killed her.
 
He was certainly mad enough to do it when I had him thrown out.”

“Perhaps, but there is a lot more to the story than you know.
 
So I suggest you keep speculation to a minimum and let Leroy and the FBI do their work.”

“FBI?” Jack asked.
 
“Sounds like more than a lover’s quarrel. The FBI doesn’t involve itself in romance disputes – that we know for certain.”

“I’ve said too much already – just keep our conversation among us friends.
 
We will eventually get to the truth.
 
Go to go – catch up with everyone later.”

I left and never did ask Nuddy my question.
 
Will do that next time.

~

I
t was already dark when I got back to Chiefs, and I’d had enough for one day.
 
Tomorrow was going to be even busier.

“Nickie, what kind of steaks has Ronnie got?
 
I’m feeling like a good meal tonight.”

“I can fix you a 16oz Texas T-bone.
 
You want that medium – right,” Nickie confirmed.

“Absolutely, and add all the trimmings.”
 
I was looking forward to a real meal.

“Carson, before I start cooking, you might want to see this message I took a couple of hours ago.
 
They wouldn’t leave a phone number or name, just an address.
 
Said they had some information regarding that girl found floating in Humboldt Lake.”

“An address, but no phone and no name? Sounds fishy.
 
What is the address?”

“Box 1755 Humboldt Lake Road.
 
That’s all they said.”

I told Nickie to hold the steak I and went outside to use the phone to call the sheriff’s office.
 
Jeff answered and I told him about the call.
 
Leroy was somewhere, at the hospital or FBI office, I supposed, and Scotty was on another call – fender-bender on Main Street.
 
He promised to get someone to check it out when they could and would call me back so I could tag alone.

Curiosity is one of my weak points.
 
I already had plans to visit the bait shop tomorrow and really wondered if this address was in any way connected to the bait shop or with Lee and Barbara Stevens.
 
I told Nickie to hold the steak for an hour and I would be back.

The route to Humboldt Lake was almost the same as to Gibson Wells.
 
You traveled through
‘the Crossing’
, but continued straight, on Humboldt Lake Road – rather than turning right to go to Gibson Wells.
 
The Crossing was alive with trucks, workers, refrigeration trucks and railcars – it was a busy time for the farmers of Gibson and surrounding counties.

I had just traveled under the last streetlight at ‘
the Crossing’
when I saw the Dark Blue 61 Chrysler behind me.
 
Bad timing.
 
I was headed off into the dark on a two-lane road – turning
around was not an option and stopping was probably not a good idea.
 
I could try to out run him, and probably would.
 
However, he didn’t seem to be closing – but rather hanging back at 3 or 4 hundred yards – content to follow me.

I needed to decide, was this a set-up or was there a real clue waiting at Box 1755, and they wanted to be there too.
 
When I passed the bait shop, I realized the box numbers weren’t going to reach 1755.
 
I was at Box 60 and just a mile from the lake - and only 5 miles from Gadsden.
 
Then they made the decision for me.

At the lake turn off - an old white, dirty and rusty van pulled across the highway in front of me. Going too fast to stop, I did manage to make the turn up the dirt road headed to the lake.
 
Good news is I made the turn without wrecking – bad news is this was a dead end road – it ended at the lake.

I had a good head of steam and a head start, so there was plenty of time to get stopped, parked and take cover before the Chrysler and Van got to the lake.
 
Having been at the lake earlier in the day was an advantage – I knew the small picnic area offered some cover and no lights.
 
That was where I headed.

Oddly the Chrysler and Van seemed in no particular hurry.
 
They parked, allowing their headlights to shine across the picnic area and small landing ramp – I was trapped.

Brad Knuchols spoke. “Reno, you were warned but didn’t listen.
 
I’m sorry about that.
 
Although we don’t know each other very well, I kinda like you – a man’s man kind of thing. Now Joe and Alex are forced to teach you a lesson, one that doesn’t come with homework and you only get a failing grade.”

I had to make my first two shots work, because if I didn’t, I wouldn’t get a chance for a third.
 
As soon as I fired they would know my position, and I knew I didn’t have the firepower to shoot it out with these guys.

Gun range training paid off and I put one bullet each through the headlights on the dirty white van.
 
My area went dark and I re-deployed.

The small picnic table I had been using for cover came apart in small pieces as they opened fire.
 
One automatic pistol, one high powered rifle and what sounded like a BAR - all took target at the poor picnic table.
 
In a minute it was over and Brad was yelling in the direction they had been shooting. “Nice shooting Mr. Reno – you’re good. Thank you for not shooting me, but I bet you will if you get the chance – right?”