“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?”
He was right, but I didn’t intend to answer the bastard.
I could tell they were confused, but I was still trapped. Unless I intended to swim the lake, I had no escape.
The one called Russoti was having some issues with his weapon – the BAR (Browning Automatic Rifle). He walked into the Chrysler headlights to clear the magazine jam – which was his mistake. My bullet caught him just below his throat from the rear – he fell onto the hood and never made another sound.
I re-deployed.
“Mr. Reno, that was not nice. Alex Russoti had a girlfriend with two small children – who will take care of them?” Brad Knuchols yelled.
Like I really gave a shit – right?
Unless I got back to the Ford, I only had three bullets left. I had to make them count.
I couldn’t see Knuchols well enough to take a shot and I suspected Joe Brody was making some move to flank my position. I really didn’t have much of a position, just some brush and small trees in front – the lake behind.
I backed about 3-4 feet out into the lake, just above waist deep, and used two bullets to take out the remaining headlights on the Chrysler. When I did, Brody fired – not out into the water, he didn’t figure me being there, but at the clump of trees in front of me. I put my last bullet just underneath where I last saw the muzzle flash – I heard a body hit the ground.
“Mr. Reno, now it is dark and we are alone,” Brad Knuchols laughed. “I don’t think you have anymore bullets – am I right? Come up here, I promise to end this quickly.”
After shooting Brody, I worked my way back to my car – which thankfully, was not blocked in by the disabled Chrysler and Van.
Figuring Knuchols would head toward Brody’s body, that would give me only a few seconds to get the Ford started and leave this gunfight – fortunately it worked. He fired a desperation shot at my car, as I made as much dust as possible heading back toward the main road.
Halfway back to the Crossing I met the Calvary – Leroy and another patrol car with all lights flashing. I stopped and they stopped too.
“Carson, you idiot! What are you doing? We were afraid you might have gotten yourself in trouble,” Leroy was yelling at me.
“Not me – but you do need to call an ambulance. There are a couple of guys at the lake who are going to need some medical attention. Knuchols is still there - with no vehicle. Unless he swims the lake, you should be able to take him with little problem. I would, however, be prepared for a fight.”
“Okay, you come with us,” Leroy said.
“No sir,” I protested. “I haven’t eaten and have a steak waiting for me at Chiefs – you can find me there.”
~
I took my seat at the bar and told Nickie she could have Ronnie cook that steak. She gave me an odd look.
“Are you okay? I want to know because Leroy and his crew came through here like a lightning bolt looking for you. They seemed upset.”
“I’m fine. I just need some dry clothes and to stop by Gibson Hardware tomorrow and pick up more bullets from Gibby. Other than that, I’m okay. However, a jack/coke would be in order – please.”
She just stood, silently staring at me.
~
I had already finished my steak when Leroy took at seat on a stool next to me at the bar.
“Carson, when you are in my county, you are my responsibility. I need you to understand that. Whatever possessed you to take that ride tonight is a mystery to me. I’m just glad you didn’t get hurt.
”
“And the status of the bad guys?”
“One dead, two wounded – one seriously. Evidently you took Alex Russoti’s lights out and did some serious damage to the Joe Brody character. Brad Knuchols put up a short fight, but it didn’t last long – he’ll probably be healthy enough to sit in one of my cells tomorrow.”
I spent the next hour catching Leroy up on my events of the day. He didn’t have a lot to add – other than they would probably make formal charges against Travis tomorrow. They were waiting to talk with Phillip Chaney, who was scheduled to fly in tomorrow morning. His input would be crucial in whatever formal charges would be issued.
“Leroy, I’ve got three things to do tomorrow. After that, I think we can plan a program to wrap this case up”
“You are kidding – right? I’ve got a kidnapping, I’ve got a dead girl, I’ve got ransom notes, I’ve got Mafia thugs shooting up my county, I’ve got the FBI with their nose up my ass and you just casually say – ‘we’ll wrap this thing up after tomorrow’? What have I missed?”
“You need a drink – Nickie, get Leroy a beer,” I ordered.
Leroy was upset. “Look, I don’t need a beer. I just need some answers and this city back to normal. I need to solve this crime and put the person in jail that did it. What I don’t need are any more shoot-outs between a loose cannon detective and Mafia hoods.”
“Listen Leroy, I just need a few more hours. Scotty and Jeff are very helpful and I think if I can get the right information, we’ll resolve this thing very soon. Right now, I just need you to let me do my thing. Okay?’
“I sure hope you have the same relationship with the next sheriff. Because I’m sure I will never get reelected.” I know he was kidding – I think.
More Pieces
I grabbed a coffee to go and called Forrest Chaney from the outside payphone. He wasn’t in, so I left my message with his secretary. I was returning his call and would like to meet him for lunch today – if possible. She said his calendar was free and she would give him the message when he arrived at the office. I told her I would call back in an hour to confirm our lunch appointment.
My first stop was at the sheriff’s office. Scotty was handling the desk and, as usual, Leroy was somewhere else. I needed to know if they had found any information on Denny Smith and a local address. They had.
Denny ‘Dude’ Smith, Phillip Chaney’s half brother, was renting a house on Sandersbluff Road near the town of Three Way. Even though it had an elementary school, I never considered Three Way a town – it really just represented a split in Highway 45 – a fork in the road. 45 East went through Medina and on to Milan – 45 West traveled through Humboldt.
Evidently Denny Smith had been living at this residence for several months. Since he seemingly had no visible means of income, it was assumed he was using some inheritance as a means of support. Scotty said the sheriff’s office had no record of any problems with Denny Smith, or any calls to this residence. If he had been up to something, it was under the local police radar.
Leroy’s cruiser pulled into the parking lot just as I was getting in my car.
“Where are you headed?” he asked.
“I’m going to visit the bait shop and then head back to Memphis for a lunch meeting. I’ll be back this evening.”
Leroy was shaking his head. “There is no need to visit the bait shop – I just came from there. I had to make a routine visit for the records, but Lee and Barbara Stevens had nothing to add regarding Charlotte’s death. And besides, this afternoon Travis Luckey will be formally charged with the murder of Charlotte Luckey.”
“Doctor Barker give you a cause of death?” I asked.
“Yes, she received a massive blow to the left temple – instrument unknown – but probably something like a baseball bat. Death, or at least unconsciousness, was instant - with sure death only a few minutes later. She had no water in her lungs – so she was dead when thrown in the lake.”
“Horrible,” I said shaking my head.
“Yes it is. Jeff has gone to pick up Billy Vickers for routine questioning. Again, only a formality because Travis will be charged this afternoon.”
“Leroy, I would like to talk to that young man, Billy Vickers, myself.”
“Then stick around, Jeff should be back anytime now,” Leroy said as he headed toward the door.
“Can’t do that – I’ve got to get on the road.”
“Well, stay away from the bait shop,” Leroy said again. “There is no need for you to bother my citizens. I told you they don’t know anything.”
“Okay, Leroy, I’ll take that under advisement. Did you hear the information Scotty has regarding Denny Smith?”
“No, not yet.”
“Get him to brief you on it. I’m headed to Memphis and will call you later,” I said getting into my car.
I pointed the Ford toward the bait shop. Damn, I am hardheaded.
~
R eg’s bait shop is located on Humboldt Lake Road and owned by Lee and Barbara Stevens. Barbara Stevens was formerly the coach’s wife – Barbara Gannon.
It was a harmless looking place; one that I had driven by many times but never really thought much about.
I grabbed a coke from the outside drink box and walked inside – it was a real bait shop. They had minnow tanks bubbling in one corner and several racks of assorted fishing equipment scattered throughout the store. A few grocery items were also available, I assume some of the locals used the bait shop for their staples and necessities.
An older, but attractive woman stood up from behind the small counter – I guessed this to be Barbara Stevens. “Good morning, how may we help you today?”
“How’s the fishing?” Like I really cared.
“You thinking about the lake or the river?” By river she must have meant the Forked Deer River, which was nearby.
“I’m a lake man, myself,” I said sounding confident. “Never been much for the river.” Was I really this full of shit?
“Then I would suggest trying the crappie using minnows – they’ve been biting pretty good,” she was honestly trying to help.
As we were having our fishing chat, I sensed someone walking up behind me. I turned to see a very large man standing only inches from my back. He was wearing a rubber apron over his jeans, a denim shirt and a green John Deere hat on his head. He wasn’t smiling.
“Barbara, this bastard is not interested in fishing. He’s that private detective from Memphis and is out here snooping around. Right, Mr. Las Vegas, or whatever your name is,” he growled.
“My name is Carson Reno and I’m not snooping. I just wanted to ask both of you a couple of questions – if I could.”
“Bullshit!” he yelled. “If you’re not snooping, then what is this crap about ‘are the fish biting’? You’re snooping to see if we know anything about that dead girl they pulled from the lake. Right?”
“Okay, since you brought it up – what do you know?” I directed that question to them both, but this guy was dominating the conversation.
“We know just what we told Sheriff Epsee not over an hour ago – which is nothing. Barbara and I are not glad she’s dead, but if anybody deserved it, she was high on the list. That girl brought nothing but sadness and hurt to anybody and everybody around her. Barbara has suffered enough because of Charlotte Luckey and I don’t intend for her death to add anymore. So, unless you want to buy some minnows, worms or fishing tackle, I suggest you get back in that turd you call a car and do your snooping somewhere else. Am I being clear?”
He was being clear.
“My apology to both of you. I would not being doing my job without having at least paid you a visit. However, you have my assurance that neither the sheriff’s department or myself will bother you again. I might, however, take you up on some of that bait when this whole thing is over.”
“For that, Mr. Reno, you are welcome anytime. Have good day and goodbye,” he said in a ‘matter-of-fact’ way.
I poi
nted the Ford toward Memphis and used a payphone in Brownsville to call Forrest Chaney and confirm our lunch appointment.
~
H is secretary answered and said that Mr. Chaney would meet me at the Luau at noon for lunch.
A popular upscale restaurant, the Luau was located at 3135 Poplar Avenue – just across from White Station High School - a perfect spot for our meeting.
Mr. Forrest Chaney was a professional and polished man – just as I had expected.
Our lunch lasted the better part of two hours and I was headed back toward Humboldt by 2PM. I decided to take the route through Jackson and drop by that house in Three Way – the one rented by Mr. Denny ‘Dude’ Smith.
Denny Smith and I had never talked, or met – I didn’t think. In fact, I didn’t even know what he looked like. My plan was to just observe, not initiate a formal introduction – at least just yet.
~
I nvestigation, at least successful investigation, requires a lot of imagination. You can follow the part that doesn’t fit – in this case that would be Denny Smith – which is sometimes productive. You can follow your instinct – which more times than not will get you in trouble. Or you can follow the money – which is productive 99% of the time.
I kept asking myself, why would someone who owned a home in Olive Branch, Mississippi, be living in a rental house on Sandersbluff Road in this ‘no town’ named Three Way. Only one answer made sense – money. For some reason he was there for the money – I needed to find out what that reason was.
It wasn’t long before I got my first clue.
I drove past the house, turned around and parked at the top of the hill. Since there were no cars in the driveway, I would give it an hour before heading back into Humboldt – just to see what happened.
Denny ‘Dude’ Smith sure knew his cars. In less than 20 minutes, he pulled into the driveway driving a 1957 Chevy Bel-Air. Damn, I liked that car.
I got my first good look at him as he walked from the car to the house – and it hit me like a board across the face. Denny ‘Dude’ Smith was the guy with Mickey Campbell at the Country Club the night of the party. He was the guy Nuddy didn’t know.
The Price of Beauty in Strawberry Land Page 15