I just couldn’t get to sleep. Trying to forget that Bubba and Bobby were probably looking for my head was difficult enough – but trying to figure this missing girl problem was even harder.
Although we had our differences over the years, I trusted Leroy and his judgement. I know kidnapping and ransoms weren’t the everyday duty of a Gibson County sheriff, but he was smart enough to seek help and use all resources available.
I lay awake thinking about that beautiful girl, Charlotte. I was wondering where she might be and how someone so young could have already had experiences that others would not have in a lifetime. I was also praying that nothing bad had happened.
It was very late in the night when I finally fell asleep.
Strategy
I thought Nickie would faint when I walked into the restaurant and waved – it was 5 minutes past 8. Leroy was already seated in the booth and had coffee ready for both of us.
I ordered biscuits and gravy, and we ate while he briefed me on the Bosley Buick caper. He was still a bit sensitive about the whole thing, but I know it was a big feather in his cap to get these guys behind bars – where they belonged. Alfred E. Dollar would turn states evidence and probably seek a reduced sentence. Jack Logan was already in town and suing for a petition to have all charges against Kathy Ledbetter dropped.
Other than the innocents that were injured at the dealership, I guess things turned out best for everyone. Some bad guys off the streets, some real crooks behind bars and a truly innocent person relieved of criminal charges.
Leroy was happy – even though he was too proud to say so.
“Did you bring the ransom note?” he asked.
I gave him the note and he read it – more than twice.
“Okay, Carson, you go first. I would like to hear your thoughts before I give you mine.”
“Leroy, something here just doesn’t add up. I’m having difficulty trying to understand who would kidnap this girl. Her father? I doubt that. But maybe he hired it done - maybe he hired one of the Memphis Mafia folks to do this. But stand alone, I don’t see this as something the boys in Memphis would be involved in – makes no sense. However, we do know Travis Luckey needs money, so maybe he had somebody snatch her for ransom to pay his debts. That’s one idea.”
“Others ideas?” he asked.
“Yes. Maybe there is no kidnapping at all. Maybe Charlotte is staging this whole scenario and hiding away somewhere just to get money from Phillip Chaney. Maybe her mother is somehow involved and helping Charlotte. Maybe her father is working with Charlotte to extort the money.
Or maybe there really is a kidnapping and that ex-football coach grabbed her and is trying to put his financial life back together. Or maybe the ex-boyfriend kidnapped her to recover his family money. Or maybe any combination of the above – all of which seem way out in left field. You agree?”
“I do agree. You got any other ideas?” Leroy asked sipping coffee.
“Yes, but I don’t like to think about them,” I reluctantly said.
“Carson, I need to hear them all. Remember, you started steering this boat – I need to know where you think it might go.”
“Maybe there is no ransom demand. Maybe, for whatever reason, Mr. Phillip Chaney has done away with Charlotte and is using this to cover his crime. Or, maybe Travis Luckey knows she is missing and is trying to make a quick dollar – in that case her missing wouldn’t be missing, it would be dead. Regardless Leroy, any scenario I can come up with that doesn’t involve Charlotte trying to get money from Phillip Chaney is not a good one. Make sense?”
“Unfortunately, Carson it all makes very good sense. I’m not experienced in handling kidnapping, but this has a different smell to it - I agree. I’m going to call in the FBI and brief them on what we have – I’m not sure what they will want to do. We’ll just have to cooperate and follow their lead.”
“How long can you wait before doing that?” I really didn’t want the FBI involved, just yet.
“I can’t wait – you know the rules.”
“Leroy, give me 24 hours. I promise that when Phillip gets money delivery instructions, you can call the FBI. Just lay it all on me – tell them I didn’t tell you anything about the ransom note until after he got delivery instruction. But, I agree with you, they must be involved with any ransom delivery. Can you do that?”
“Why, Carson, what is the point? What are you trying to do?”
“I made a promise to Phillip Chaney to not get Charlotte hurt by involving the police, and I want to fulfill that promise. If the FBI jumps in and she turns up dead, then it becomes our fault. If Phillip Chaney’s not involved, then he will play this through and we let the FBI handle it. If he is involved, then we have him where we want him – it’s that simple.”
“Let me think on that for a few minutes.” I don’t think I had him convinced yet.
“Okay, Leroy, think about this too. If Phillip Chaney is telling the truth, somebody had to be in Memphis to deliver the note. And you told me Travis Luckey didn’t have a car – so unless he found other transportation, or got off the train in Memphis – we definitely have a Memphis connection. Now, while you think – give me your ideas.”
“Carson, I know most of the players. While I don’t know much about the Memphis Mafia group, I cannot rule them out. They want money out of Travis, and probably her step-dad, Curtis Turner too. I think they would go to whatever lengths to get that money – even if that meant kidnapping Charlotte. Regardless of who’s responsible, I believe Travis Luckey is somehow involved. I don’t know Phillip Chaney, but that’s going to change within the next couple of hours. I think I can get a pretty good read and know if he’s sincere and honest about the ransom – but I need to talk with him first. Involvement by the other people is just a crapshoot. They are all capable of pulling some stunt like this – believe me.”
“So, what do we do next?” I asked.
“I’m going to give this 24 hours and continue to handle as a missing person case. I’m headed to Jackson to talk with Phillip and I suggest you call him and tell him I am coming. If nothing happens and he doesn’t get money delivery instructions by tomorrow morning, then I will be turning the whole package over to the FBI. I have no choice.”
“Fair enough. I’ll call Phillip and tell him you are coming. My instructions to him were no outside contact and no outside phone calls – please re-emphasize that to him. He is also to let me - us - know when he is contacted about a money drop. That okay?”
“Yes, that’s okay. What are your plans?” he asked.
“I’m going to see Mrs. Turner – Charlotte’s mother – and offer my assistance in looking for her daughter. I’ll be interested to see what comes out of that meeting.”
~
W e finished our coffee and he left with a promise to talk again after he visited with Phillip Chaney. I headed to the outside payphone.
Phillip answered on the first ring. He said my call was the only call he had received and he had not made any outgoing calls. I told him sheriff Leroy Epsee would be over to see him within a couple of hours. He should answer all questions and cooperate in any way he could. I explained to Phillip that we would be involving the FBI, but not until he received ransom delivery instructions. I told him I would call him back before the end of the day.
I headed back into the restaurant to find a phone book. “Nickie, do you have a phonebook? I need to find an address.”
“What’s wrong with the one at the outside payphone?”
“You are kidding – right? There hasn’t ever been a phonebook with that phone – just that stupid chain hanging where one is supposed to be.”
“Carson, don’t yell at me, I didn’t know. I can’t understand why anyone would want to steal a phonebook – they give them away. But if you would use the phone inside, it has a phonebook.”
“Nickie, to my knowledge you are the only person that can hear anything on that phone. I don’t know which was there first, the phone or the jukebox
, but they certainly do not belong together.”
Nickie pulled a phonebook from behind the bar. “Here’s your phonebook. Who you trying to find?”
“Curtis and Loretta Turner. You know them?”
“Never heard of them. They local?”
“Somewhere between here and Trenton. Gibson Wells, I think.”
I found the address – Curtis Turner, Rt. 6, Gibson Wells. They had a phone listed, but I decided not to call. I would somehow try to find the house and show up unannounced. I liked that plan better.
~
T hirty minutes later I arrived in Gibson Well, Tennessee. There wasn’t really a town, just a couple of stores located on Hwy 54 – the Trenton/Alamo highway.
One building seemed abandoned and had been without attention for a few years.
The other had signs of life, so I went in to inquire about the Curtis Turner residence.
The nice lady behind the ancient service counter was very helpful – she knew the Turner family well.
Her directions sent me north on Hwy 54, where I should exit left onto Layman Road. The Turner residence would be about a mile down Layman Road, on the right hand side.
I grabbed a soda from her drink box and headed toward the Curtis Turner residence.
The house was located just where the lady said it would be, and the mailbox read: Curtis and Loretta Turner, Rt.6, Gibson Wells.
I turned in the gravel driveway and saw no cars that appeared to be operational. So, I was surprised when a dark-haired, middle aged woman stepped out onto the porch. She held the screen door open and stared at me with a facial expression that said ‘who are you?’
As I approached the porch, and got closer to where she was standing, there was no question this lady was Charlotte Luckey’s mother. Although wrinkled with age and hardened with miles, she had the same features I had seen in Charlotte. When younger, I’m sure Loretta Luckey had been a very beautiful woman.
She was still holding the screen door open when I introduced myself.
“Mrs. Turner? My name is Carson Reno. Sheriff Epsee asked me to drop by. He told me of your trouble and has asked me to help him – and you – in locating Charlotte. Do you have a few minutes?”
She was wearing a faded blue cotton dress surrounded by a kitchen apron that was showing a lot of fresh stains. Her voice was shaky, but pleasant.
“Please call me Loretta. And again, who are you?” she asked.
“My name is Carson Reno. I’m a private detective from Memphis, but I grew up in Humboldt. In fact, my parents still live there. Sheriff Epsee and I are old friends, and since I was in town on another matter, he asked me to see if I could help him find your daughter. I thought the best place to start was to talk with you.”
“Please come in Mr. Reno and excuse the mess. I’m canning butter beans and I believe I have more on me than I have in the jars. Do you like butter beans Mr. Reno?”
“Call me Carson, and yes, I love butter beans. Did you have a good crop this year?” The aroma from the cooked butter beans was knee deep in the house. It was lunchtime and I hadn’t eaten - the smell was making me hungry.
“Oh no. These came from my neighbor down the road. We don’t have a garden and I wouldn’t have the time to tend it. I am a hairdresser by trade and operate ‘Loretta’s Hair Care’ in Humboldt. I’m sure you have seen it – we’re next to Baggett’s Market on 22 nd .”
“Yes, I know your shop.” I had never seen the place.
“How can I help you Mr. Reno – I mean Carson?”
“I would like for you to repeat what you have already told the sheriff and allow me to ask a few questions – will that be okay?”
“Sure, but there isn’t very much to tell. She left here last Friday afternoon headed to a party at the Maxwell home. I expected her to be late, but she did say she would be coming home that night. That is the last time I saw my daughter. They found her car at Bailey Park – and that’s all I know.”
“Has Charlotte ever done anything like this before? I mean go missing for several days?”
“No sir. If she weren’t coming home she would always call and let me know where she was. Mr. Reno – I mean Carson, we talk all the time – like a mother and daughter should. Even when she was in college, she would call me most every day. Now she’s been gone 4 days and …” She wasn’t able to hold back the tears any longer. “Excuse me Mr. Reno, let me wipe my face – I’ll be right back.”
She headed off toward the kitchen and I used the opportunity to take a look around the room. The usual stuff, but the photos were only of Charlotte – no other family member in any of the pictures. On the small mantel were a couple of trophies – one reading Miss Peabody and another reading Hostess Princess West Tennessee Strawberry Festival.
Loretta had her composure when she came back in to the living room.
“I’m sorry Mr. Reno, I’m sure you understand.”
“Absolutely. Just a couple more questions and I’ll leave you alone. How often does Charlotte see her father?”
“Never, I hope. That bastard is worthless. Please excuse my language, but he gambled away everything he or we ever had. He showed up here several days ago needing money and I had to call the sheriff. He hit me Mr. Reno – he hurt me. I don’t want Charlotte around somebody like him – which is why we’re divorced. Her step dad, Curtis, is nice to her. Unfortunately he isn’t around much – he’s a truck driver and is gone most of the time. But he worships Charlotte – I know that much.”
“Does your ex-husband, Travis, have a car?”
“Not to my knowledge. He sometimes borrows a car from one of his gambling friends, but he doesn’t own one – doesn’t own much of anything, I suppose.”
“Do you know Phillip Chaney?” I asked.
“Nope, never met him. But Charlotte has sure told me a lot about him – I think she really likes him. I understand he has money and comes from a nice Memphis family. I hope they get together, she needs something good to happen.”
“Tell me about Billy Vickers,” I asked calmly.
“He’s worthless too. His family thought he and Charlotte were going to get married, so they gave her money to go to college – now they want it back. I don’t talk to them Mr. Reno, we don’t get along.”
“I’m going to let you get back to your butter beans and I promise to call you when we find out anything on Charlotte’s whereabouts. Will that be alright?”
“Yes, please. My number is in the book and I’m sorry to keep calling you Mr. Reno – I know you said call you Carson. But you are so nice and professional – the Mr. Reno just sounded better to me.”
“That’s fine. Calling you Mrs. Turner sounded better to me too. I’ll be in touch.”
“Wait, Mr. Reno. Let me give you some canned butter beans. I’ll be right back.”
She came back with a large brown paper bag containing 6 jars of fresh canned butter beans. I was hungry enough to eat them standing in her living room.
“Thank you Mrs. Turner – I can’t remember when I last had canned butter beans. Can I ask you one more question?”
“Sure. What is it?” she said turning to face me.
“Do you know if your ex-husband might have a key to Charlotte’s car?”
“No idea. He could, I suppose. Why do you ask?”
“I’m not sure, Mrs. Turner. Thank you so much for your information and especially thank you for the canned butter beans. My kitchen will not know how to react. I’ll call you with any information.”
I headed back to the highway with plans to get to Chiefs for lunch. I also was hoping to catch up with Leroy after his talk with Phillip.
I couldn’t help but feel sorry for Charlotte’s mother. She was such a nice person, and I’m sure it would be rough on her if something had happened to Charlotte.
~
T he dark blue 61 Chrysler was parked at the Gibson Wells store and it pulled out behind me when I went by. They followed 3 or 4 hundred yards back – making no effort to stop me.<
br />
~
T he road to and from Gibson Wells takes you through the black neighborhoods of Humboldt – an area known as ‘the Crossing’ . The name denotes the point where the north/south Gulf, Mobile & Northern (GM&N) and the east/west Louisville and Nashville (L&N) railroads cross. During the harvest season, the Crossing is where farmers bring their crops to be graded, packed and shipped on railroad cars to various processing plants. While some strawberries are routed this way, the majority of activity is centered on cabbage, corn, melons and tomatoes. Trucks will line up for miles waiting to unload produce at the various packing sheds for grading and packing. These sheds operate around the clock with the employees working 80 to 100 hours per week. Farmers want to be unloaded quickly and get back to their farms to gather more products. The produce buyers want to make sure fruits and vegetables are rapidly processed and on their way to market as soon as possible. This was harvest season, and the Crossing was bustling with activity. Trucks lined both sides of the road and occupied most every available parking area.
I figured the Chrysler occupants had learned from the storekeeper who I was visiting and this tail was more of a way to harass me, rather than being interested in my business. I don’t like harassment and I don’t like to be followed.
I pulled over and parked at the old icehouse - got out of my car and waited for them to come by.
The Chrysler pulled in next to my Ford. Brad Knuchols was driving and Mickey Campbell riding shotgun – there were two other men in the back seat – Mafia ‘tough guys’ I assumed. Mickey got out, lit a cigarette and walked up to where I was standing.
“Mr. Reno – I don’t think we have had the pleasure, please allow me to introduce myself, my name is Mickey Campbell.” He handed me a business card.
Mickey Campbell, Agent/Owner
Campbell Realty
Bemis, Tennessee
429-8046
“Okay – now that you have introduced yourself. You want to tell me why you were following me?” I was not nice.
The Price of Beauty in Strawberry Land Page 11