James 516: A London Carter Novel (London Carter Mystery Series)

by BJ Bourg

“I’ll certainly never tell, but I do have to warn you that women know when these things happen. They can sense it.”

  I pursed my lips, cursing myself for not being stronger. What the hell is wrong with me? I continued to beat myself up internally as Sally wove her way along what turned out to be a sharp, narrow and winding mountain road. There were no shoulders, just steep drop-offs and dangerous switchbacks.

  “If you make a wrong turn, you’re dead,” Sally commented, gripping the steering wheel with both hands.

  I stared idly out the window, wondering how on earth I would even begin to patch things up with Bethany. I hadn’t been in a legitimate relationship in years and I’d finally found someone I felt I could connect with—someone who seemed to have so many things in common with me—and I’d thrown it all away for one night of…of what? What was that exactly?

  We had rounded a bend and were traveling along the outer edge of Bear Mountain, where the right side of the roadway was clear of trees. About a quarter mile away was a neighboring mountain that was thick with trees and void of any signs of civilization. As I tried to penetrate the shadows of that mountain’s underbrush, searching for traces of Gatlinburg’s infamous black bears, I spotted a familiar flash of light. I squinted, curious. It appeared again and a third time. I suddenly realized it was out of place in the remote wilderness—

  “Get down!” I grabbed Sally’s neck and jerked her toward me just as the windshield exploded and shards of glass peppered our faces. My eyes blinked shut and my cheeks burned. The car careened out of control and shot off a narrow embankment to the left side of the road and slammed into a tree. A second shot blew through the back window and smashed into the radio, sending plastic debris flying into the air.

  Kenny James!

  CHAPTER 38

  I checked the hole in the back windshield against the hole in the radio and calculated the angle of the trajectory. The shooter was at our seven o’clock position. I did a quick-peek over the dashboard and planned an escape route through the forest.

  Sally moved under me, cursing, and it was only then I realized she was okay. “What’s going on?”

  “We’re being shot at…it’s Kenny James!” I fumbled for the driver’s door and pushed it open just as a third shot blew out the back passenger’s door window. I shoved Sally ahead of me and out the door, falling on top of her. She grunted as all of my weight smashed into her, and I scrambled to my hands and knees, dragging her with me down a shallow gully and behind a large outcrop of rock. Several more bullets whizzed overhead and one smashed into the rock opposite our position.

  Sally’s breath was coming in labored gasps, her chest rising and falling rapidly. “What’s going on?”

  I dropped to the ground behind the outcrop and carefully craned my neck to see around it, searching for another glint of sunlight against the sniper’s objective lens. Another bullet smashed into the rock, kicking dust into my eyes. “Call nine, one, one,” I said to Sally, rubbing my face, “and stay behind these rocks!”

  While Sally dug out her phone and began dialing, I scurried up the mountainside, keeping the giant trees and thick foliage between my location and the sniper’s position, and made my way to a spot where I could safely try and get an eyeball on the shooter. Cursing myself for not having brought my rifle on the trip, I strained to penetrate the shadows of the distant mountain. One thing I’d learned from studying Kenny James’ books was that he put a lot of emphasis on marksmanship, but not much on camouflage and concealment.

  I thought I caught a glimpse of movement in the area where I’d first seen the sun reflecting off the rifle scope, but I couldn’t be positive it was the shooter. I was about to move to a position where I could get a better visual on the sniper’s location, when a large twig snapped behind me and it was followed by a rustling sound. I spun around and found myself staring right into the eyes of a large black bear. It was about twenty feet from me, its bottom jaw dangling, exposing a row of menacing teeth.

  “Whoa there, buddy,” I said, placing my right hand on my pistol. I stood my ground and watched as the bear ambled toward me. He stopped, turned his head and looked through the forest toward Bear Mountain Road, which snaked below us. He lifted his nose, tested the air, and then turned and bounded off in the opposite direction. I breathed a sigh of relief, as I wiped the sweat from my brow. A moment later, I heard the faint sound of sirens echoing through the mountains. Damn, that was quick.

  After watching the sniper’s last known position for several minutes and not seeing any movement, I made my way, slipping and sliding, back down the mountain to where Sally still crouched behind the rocks. Just as I reached her, the sirens became louder and a fire truck appeared around the bend, but it raced by us without slowing. Moments later, a second fire truck passed by and it was followed by a Gatlinburg police car. A second squad car rounded the curve and skidded to a stop several feet away from our unmarked car. A short, stocky patrol officer stepped out and approached us.

  I pointed toward the shooter’s last known location. “There was a sniper up there…be careful.”

  The patrol officer glanced over his shoulder, scowled. “A sniper?”

  “Yeah, someone took some shots at us,” Sally said. “Didn’t the dispatcher tell you?”

  The officer shook his head. “We’re en route to a house fire. Jimmy radioed me to say he passed you all wrecked into the side of the mountain.” He walked to our car and surveyed the damage. “Are you all cops?”

  I handed him my identification. “We’re here on official police business. We’re looking for a suspect we believe killed three of our commanding officers—”

  “Magnolia,” he said, reading my identification card and butchering the name of our parish. “No shit! I heard about this on the news.” The officer stared off toward the neighboring mountain. “You think the killer’s from here? That’s he’s out there?”

  “We suspected it at first, but we’re sure of it now,” I said. “Somehow, he found out we were coming and set out to ambush us.”

  The officer moved beside us behind the rock outcrop and spoke into his police radio. The dispatcher let him know she had a team of investigators and SWAT officers en route to our location. When he was done, he turned back toward us. “Do you have any idea who the shooter is? A name? Description? Anything I can relay to the responding officers?”

  I glanced at Sally. She nodded. I turned back to the officer. “We do have a name. It’s Kenny…Kenny James.”

  The officer immediately shook his head. “That’s not possible.”

  “Why’s that?” I asked, although I’d already expected strong resistance from the members of the well-respected sniper’s home agency. No law enforcement officer would ever want to believe someone they thought they knew so well—especially someone of Kenny James’ stature—could do something as despicable as slaughter some of their own in cold, calculated fashion.

  “Lieutenant James is dead.”

  “Dead?” Sally and I echoed in unison.

  “Yeah, dead…like he ain’t alive no more.”

  “When? What happened?” I asked.

  “He died about two weeks ago. His neighbor found him in his living room. It looked like he died of a heart attack. He was up in age, you know.”

  I glanced at the bullet holes in Sally’s unmarked car. “If Kenny James is dead, then who did that?”

  “Your guess is probably better than mine, but I’m sure we’re about to find out.” He pointed toward the neighboring mountain, where a team of heavily armed SWAT operators were scurrying like ants through the dense forests, converging on the spot Sally had described to the dispatcher and where the shooter had been concealed twenty minutes earlier.

  An eerie thought entered my mind and I hurried away from Sally and the patrol officer, digging my phone from my pocket as I did. I punched in Bethany’s number. She answered on the second ring. “London? Hey, did you find Kenny James?”

  “No,” I said. “He’s dead. But somebo
dy just ambushed us. They fired a half dozen shots at us, almost killed Sally in the process. Lucky for us, the bastard didn’t know how to conceal scope glare. I need you to somehow find out if any calls were made from our sheriff’s office phones to the Gatlinburg area code—or any Tennessee area code, for that matter.”

  “Wait—what? First off, are you okay?”

  “Yeah, there’s nothing like getting shot at to make you appreciate the time you have here on earth. I feel great.”

  “Who shot at you all? What the hell is going on? You’re not a captain, so why in the hell were you shot at?”

  “I don’t know…maybe we’re getting too close to the truth.”

  “You think the sheriff sent someone out there to ambush you?”

  “It could be him or anyone on that hit list—or any other person in the world, for that matter. At this point everyone’s a suspect.” An idea occurred to me. “I need you to get your hands on all of the commanders’ cell phones and see if any of them made a call to a Tennessee area code.”

  “How am I supposed to do that? I haven’t been cleared for duty yet.”

  “Call Gina or Melvin. They’re onboard with us. You can trust them. Get one of them to get it done.”

  “How are we supposed to get our hands on their phones? Do we just walk up and demand to see their call history? Even if they had nothing to do with the attack they’ll tell us to get lost.”

  I thought about that for a few seconds. “I’ve got it! Get with Debra in accounting. She has real-time, online access to all cell phones through the sheriff’s office. Play your IA card and make her show you the records.”

  “Okay, I’ll get right on it. Oh, and London…”

  “Yeah?”

  “Please be careful.”

  I flipped my phone shut, then rejoined Sally and the officer. A detective had arrived and was questioning Sally about our reasons for being there, when we got into town, where we stayed.

  “If I didn’t know better,” I interjected, “I’d think we were suspects.”

  The detective, a plump fellow with silver hair, turned to me. “And you must be London Carter.”

  “That I am.” I stuck out my hand, but Detective Plump ignored it.

  “What time did you all roll into town?” he asked in an almost accusing tone.

  “We arrived at the Smokey Inn in Pigeon Forge at midnight. We stayed there until this morning when we checked out. We ate at Momma Black Bear’s Breakfast—you can verify that with our waitress, a brunette named Natalie—and we drove straight here, where we were almost killed. Why are you asking all these questions? Is there something we need to know?”

  Before walking to his unmarked four-wheel drive, Detective Plump turned to the patrol officer. “Keep an eye on these two lovebirds for a few.”

  My blood started to boil. I opened my mouth, but Sally caught my eye and shook her head. I took a deep breath and paced back and forth until the detective returned. He nodded, extended his hand. “Sorry about that, but I had to be sure.”

  I shook his hand, confused. “Sure about what?”

  “That it wasn’t you all who started the fire. I had my boys check Momma Black Bear’s and they pulled the video. You all were sitting there in Pigeon Forge when old man Redmond called about the fire here in Gatlinburg, so there’s no way you all started it.”

  “Of course we didn’t start a fire,” I said. “Why would you even think that?”

  “Lieutenant Kenny James was one of our own. He died a couple of weeks back. Anyway, his place burned to the ground a few miles up the mountain. Deputy Conner here”—the detective indicated the deputy with a nod—“got suspicious when you all mentioned Lieutenant James’ name, in light of his house was burning down just up the mountain. Burnt right to the ground.”

  Sally and I traded shocked looks. “His house burned to the ground?” I asked. “How? Was it arson?”

  The detective nodded. “You can smell the gasoline from a quarter mile away. Do any of you know anyone who might want to burn his house down?”

  I walked to Sally’s car and reached into the backseat for my case file. I dug out a copy of the newspaper article with the picture of Kenny James and handed it to the detective. “Your Lieutenant Kenny James was related to the family in this news story. We believe this incident is connected to the recent sniper attacks in our parish. Somebody must’ve found out we were coming up here and they’re obviously trying to hide something. Whatever it is, it has to be inside Kenny James’ house.”

  Sally frowned. “I guess now we’ll never know.”

  I pursed my lips, trying to figure out our next move. I turned to Detective Plump. “Does Kenny James have any family around here?”

  He shook his head. “The only family he had in these parts was a daughter, but she moved away a bunch of years back.”

  “What was her name?” I asked.

  “I’m not real sure. I never met her. But I bet Larry Durham could tell you. He’s an old friend of Kenny’s. He’s even mentioned in some of Kenny’s books. If you wouldn’t know better, you’d think they were brothers—that’s how close they were. Inseparable. If anyone would know anything, it’d be Larry.”

  “How can we find him?”

  CHAPTER 39

  After acquiring a loaner car from the Gatlinburg Police Department, we followed Detective Plump’s directions and found Larry Durham sitting on the front porch of an ancient log cabin that jutted off the side of a steep mountain. He was bent over a rough table chopping on some type of wild game. He didn’t look up when we approached, but a lop-eared pit bull that had seen better days stood slowly to his feet beside the old mountain man and bared a row of rotting teeth.

  “Don’t even think about biting them, Cletus. I wouldn’t want you to lose another tooth. Lord knows, you only got two or three left.” After squirting a stream of brownish tobacco liquid from his mouth, he wiped his lips with a dirty shirtsleeve and turned to us. “I hear you want to know some things about Ken. Why should I tell you anything? Way I heard it, you all killed his brother and his brother’s baby and then lied about it in a court of law.”

  “Did Kenny tell you that?” I asked. “Did he tell you anything else? Anything that would help me nail the bastards who did that to his family?”

  Larry Durham squinted suspiciously. “You’d turn against one of your own for a complete stranger?”

  “It’s quite possible one of our own just tried to murder us.” I stepped forward. “Look, I know you don’t know us, and I certainly don’t expect you to trust us, but if you’d just give us a chance and help us figure out what Kenny knew about what happened twenty years ago, I guarantee you we’ll do everything in our power to make it right. We didn’t take an oath to protect the interests of the sheriff’s office, we took an oath to uphold the laws of our state and country, and we intend to do that regardless of who committed the crime. Besides, I’m a fan of his work. I’ve studied both of his sniper books.”

  “All Ken ever wanted was justice,” the old mountain man said, a deep frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. “He died without finding his justice.”

  “If you give us a chance, we’ll do what we can to honor his memory. We certainly know that someone out there”—I pointed my thumb toward the surrounding forest—“didn’t want us seeing what was inside Kenny James’ house, and we know there’s a reason behind it. Was there something in there that might help us uncover what happened back in Magnolia?”

  Larry shrugged. “Just a house full of history…that being his story. That house was a shrine of his life. He had pictures all over the walls, copies of his own books and every other sniper book he could get his hands on, an old magazine collection and, of course, lots of guns.” Larry spat another stream of juice to the ground and shook his head sadly. “He must be turning over in his grave knowing all them guns got destroyed. They were his pride and joy. He loved them almost as much as he loved Liz.”

  “Liz? Was that his daughter?” I asked.


  Larry shook his head. “Ken didn’t have no kids. Never even got married. Nope, Liz was his niece.”

  My eyebrows furrowed. I hadn’t realized Lenny had two brothers. I glanced at Sally, who shrugged, and then turned back to Larry. “A niece? Who was her father?”

  “Lenny James.” When he saw the look of shock on my face, he grinned. “Didn’t know that, did you?”

  “There’s no record of her in any of the newspaper articles,” I said.

  “There won’t be…Ken made sure of it. The night this all happened, Ken received a call from his sister-in-law, Michelle, and she told him what had happened. He rushed down there, but by the time he showed up Michelle had been arrested. The law wouldn’t let him see her and they wouldn’t tell him anything about his brother or his brother’s baby—that is until he told them who he was and threatened to bring the FBI down. They got all scared-like and told him some bullshit story about his brother selling drugs. Told him Lenny dragged iron on them when they raided his house.

  “At his demanding, they finally let him see Michelle in a private room for five minutes. He tried to find out what all happened, but all Michelle could do was cry. He said she kept saying over and over that they were set up, and she kept crying for her little baby that was killed. He asked her about Liz, and she finally got herself together enough to tell him that Liz was sleeping at a girlfriend’s house. It was like she had forgotten all about Liz until Ken mentioned her. Ken was able to get a phone number from Michelle before the guards came in and took Michelle away. That was the last time he was able to talk to her before she was shipped off to a mental hospital. He called the lady who was keeping Liz, picked her up and took her back to Tennessee with him.”

  “She stayed here with him?” I asked.

  Larry nodded. “He raised her like his own. Taught her everything he knew about everything. He had that girl—”

  “Holy shit!” I said, my blood turning to icicles. “Did he teach her how to shoot?”