Nights of the Red Moon

by Milton T. Burton

  “That’s right,” Magog said. “We just thought since we were here in town we might as well have a few beers.”

  “That’s right,” Gog said. “We got plenty of time ’cause he ain’t going nowhere.”

  “Who’s not going anywhere?” I asked.

  “That ole boy we found out by our place. Somebody done shot him full of holes and dumped him in the ditch. We heard you was investigating murders this week, and we figured you might want another one.”

  * * *

  The Flanagan family was spread all over central East Texas, but the Caddo County branch lived in a cluster of surprisingly neat trailer houses far out in the woods on the upper edge of the Angelina River floodplain in the western part of the county. In wet weather you need a good pickup with mud-grip tires to get there, and a four-wheel-drive vehicle is an even better bet. But the drought made it a snap in the department’s Suburban.

  We followed the twins’ 4X4 Dodge pickup. The route led off the main highway onto a graded county road, and then after a couple of miles onto a narrow logging road that was really nothing more than a pair of ruts that wound their way between two tall dark walls of forest. About a hundred yards short of the last curve that marked the clearing where the Flanagans lived, the Dodge stopped and both men stepped out.

  The body was lying faceup in the ditch with four bullet holes in its chest, and it was already beginning to swell a little with the heat. I called out the DPS forensics people once again. Bob Thornton, the local Texas Ranger who covered three counties, showed up right behind them. I was there half the night. We set up floodlights and combed the area and found nothing. We interviewed Gog and Magog and their wives and children to determine if anyone had heard or seen anything. No one had. I called one of my day-shift deputies to work early and detailed him to follow the ambulance and observe the autopsy. I knew that when it was over I’d have a handful of bullets, and my instincts told me they would match the ones that had killed Amanda Twiller. Which gave me two murder victims and little else. I felt sure that both killings were somehow linked to Sipes and the cocaine trade, but I had no idea how. Nor did I have any idea who’d actually pulled the trigger. And at that point I wasn’t too optimistic about ever finding out. The most recent victim, of course, was Doyle Raynes.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  I arrived late for work that morning already worn out and needing sleep. In the outer office I told Maylene to call out to the jail and find out if anybody had come to pick up Raynes when he’d been released on bond the day before. Then I entered my inner office to find Agent Hotchkiss sitting in the visitor’s chair in front of my desk drinking coffee. The previous evening I’d left a message about the murder on his voice mail. I filled my own mug and dropped wearily into my chair. “Another day, another dollar,” I said.

  “Have you got anything on the Raynes killing?” he asked.

  “Not a damn thing yet.”

  “I talked to Arno yesterday,” he said.

  “I don’t suppose you got anywhere with him, did you?”

  “Of course not. Deals like we have to offer aren’t even on his radar screen. But you got his attention yesterday. He’s not used to having his ass kicked, and I don’t think he’ll want a second application any time soon.”

  “That makes me feel good. Did you mention the Twiller killing?”

  He nodded. “He claims he has an alibi for that, and a motel receipt from Lake Charles to back him up. And we know he didn’t do Raynes because he was in jail.”

  “What’s his alibi?”

  “He says he was in that motel with a woman and that she’ll confirm his story.”

  “Do you have her name?”

  “Sure,” he said and pulled a notebook from his inner coat pocket. “Here it is. Lavonne Avante.”

  “Must be a stage name. She sounds like a showgirl turned hooker. How about the motel?”

  “It’s a place called the South Winds Motor Hotel.”

  “I better check this out,” I said.

  “I’ll do it. I’ll make some phone calls and get back to you.”

  “I also want to impose on you again for a little ballistics work. We’ll have the bullets from Raynes later this morning, and I’d appreciate you running them for us as soon as you can. I have a hunch you’ll find that they came from the same gun that killed Amanda Twiller.”

  “That wouldn’t surprise me either. And that business of throwing Mrs. Twiller’s body on the parsonage lawn stinks to high heaven. If this was a straight-up killing, the perps would have tried to hide the body rather than dumping it in public that way. Either that or just walked off and left it where it fell. The Bureau’s behavioral specialists would say that somebody was trying to send a message.”

  “I’ve been aware of that all along,” I said.

  “But what message was it?”

  “If I had to speculate, I’d say contempt for Twiller and everything he stands for. Contempt for this community, and contempt for humanity. But in the end, who really knows why these old criminals do half the stuff they do? Sometimes I wonder if they even know themselves.”

  * * *

  I called Otis Tremmel and told him to broach Zorn about his whereabouts the evening before. “And if he has an alibi, check it yourself,” I said. “Don’t trust what he says.”

  I was about fifteen minutes into my computer work when Carla Wallace slipped into the room, closed the door, and tripped the lock.

  “I couldn’t help but notice that you latched that door behind you,” I said. “Am I in trouble?”

  She gave me a quick smile and shook her head and settled gracefully into one of the two chairs in front of my desk.

  “Well, if you ain’t here to fuss at me, what is on your mind?”

  “I could have phoned, but I decided to come talk to you in person when Maylene called out to the jail. I just heard about the Raynes boy when I came on this morning. I know who he left the jail with yesterday.”

  “Who?”

  “A lawyer from Center named Nobel Dennard. You know him, don’t you?”

  That was interesting. “Yes, I do. But how do you happen to be acquainted with the man?”

  “I grew up in Center, remember?”

  “That’s right,” I said. “I must be getting senile. So Dennard picked the kid up, you say?”

  She nodded. “I was getting off shift as they were leaving. The Precinct Three constable had brought in a drunk driver to book into the jail and—”

  “Tom Cryler himself? Not one of his deputies?”

  “No, it was Tom, and I happened to notice that he followed Dennard and Raynes down the road when they drove off. I called him on his cell phone a few minutes ago, and he said he stayed behind them all the way out to the old Antioch community.”

  “Sounds like they were headed toward the river, doesn’t it? And that’s where the kid’s body was found.”

  “I know.”

  “Carla, did you know that Linda and I questioned Dennard day before yesterday on the Twiller killing?”

  “God, no!”

  I nodded. “I’ve been playing this one close to my vest.”

  “What made you suspect him?”

  “When Linda did the search of Mrs. Twiller’s bedroom she found a letter from Dennard that could have been interpreted as threatening. I say ‘could’ because the wording was ambiguous.”

  “Don’t tell me,” she said. “Nobel had an affair with Amanda Twiller.”

  “That’s right, he did. Apparently he was afraid she would expose him to his wife.”

  She laughed. “His wife knows, Bo. She has to. Nobody could be that stupid. I mean, he was notorious years ago when I was in high school.”

  “Aside from his philandering, what’s the man like?”

  “Well, I know that he helped my family recover some damages against one of the big timber companies back when I was in high school and nobody else would take the case. Really fought hard for us, and he was up against some powerful pe
ople too.”

  I nodded. “I see.”

  “What are you going to do?” she asked.

  “Under the circumstances I don’t have much choice. Hell, I’ve already been to see the guy and he wasn’t forthcoming, so I’m going to talk to Tom Waller, and then I’m going to ask the judge for a murder warrant on Dennard for the Raynes killing. The Twiller matter I’m going to leave hanging in the wind for the time being.”

  She nodded and rose from her chair. “I want to see you clear the case, Bo. But I hope Nobel is innocent. I have to be honest with you about that.”

  “I understand,” I said and came around the desk and gently brushed her hair for a moment with my hand and she melted into my arms. After a long, gentle kiss, we broke the clutch. “I wish we could be together more,” I said.

  “We shouldn’t, though. Not as long as I’m working for you.”

  “I’m just grateful that you don’t resent the time I spend with Sheila and Mindy.”

  “It doesn’t bother me a bit, Bo. They’re your family, and Mindy needs a man in her life.”

  “When the weather cools off you’re going to start going horseback riding with the three of us on Saturdays.”

  “Bo, I don’t think we should—”

  “Sheila knows, Carla.”

  “Oh my God! How?”

  “She’s smart, and she figured it out. Don’t worry. She thinks you’re good for me.”

  “Still…”

  “No still to it. And when this mess is over you and I are going to slip off down to Galveston for a few days. How about that?”

  She tilted her head back and lowered her eyelids and gave me a look that was half amused, half affectionate. “Long moonlit walks along the beach, huh? You’re a cream puff, Bo Handel. A marshmallow. And one of these days I’m going to toast you.”

  I kissed her on the tip of her nose and grinned at her. “You’re getting pretty close to toasting me right now, so maybe you ought to get on out of here before things get out of hand. You also need to write me up a statement about what you saw yesterday for the record. Track down Tommy Cryler and have him do the same.”

  “Will do. Are you going to arrest Nobel yourself?”

  “No, I’ll send a couple of deputies. I won’t talk to him today, either. I want to let him stew awhile first.”

  “Good luck,” she said.

  “By the way, I took two really nice prime New York strips out of the freezer this morning. Why don’t you drop by about seven this evening?”

  “I’ll be there,” she said, her voice happy. “Do you want me to bring anything?”

  “Just your libido.”

  * * *

  After she left, I put my feet up on my desk and ruminated for a few minutes. When Toby knocked on my door the morning Amanda Twiller had been found, the last person on my mind had been Nobel Dennard. Now it appeared he was in it up to his eyeballs. Whatever “it” was. I didn’t particularly like the man, but I didn’t dislike him enough to get any personal satisfaction out of his plight.

  Then there was my own plight. Why had I, a year earlier, after twenty-eight years in office and at an age when I should have known better, let myself get involved with one of my own deputies? Why had it happened?

  I suspect it happened because she was a damned fine-looking woman and I’m a lecherous old goat. Longings repressed during thirty-five years of unthinking fidelity to my wife. “Live with it, Bo Handel,” I muttered to myself and laughed.

  Introspection is such a wonderful thing.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  After a light lunch I decided to take a rare afternoon off and get some much-needed sleep. I considered leaving a set of elaborate instructions for my staff, but eventually came to the conclusion that I had good people who could use their own heads. I did tell Maylene to see to it that Hotchkiss got a copy of the Raynes autopsy report and the bullets recovered from the body. Then I went home.

  I was sound asleep about two minutes after I fell in bed, and I don’t remember a time when I’d needed it more. I woke up a little before six and fired up the charcoal grill. After I threw two big grade-A Idaho potatoes in the oven to bake, I began whipping up a tossed green salad with avocados. At a little before seven Carla knocked on the kitchen door. She gave me a quick peck on the cheek and got the bottle of V.O. out of the cabinet and started building us both a drink.

  “How goes it all?” I asked.

  “Okay, I guess. Billy Don and two deputies from the Shelby County Sheriff’s Office arrested Nobel Dennard at his office this afternoon.”

  “No trouble, I suppose.”

  “Not a bit,” she said. “The man is now securely locked in our jail. And Otis said Zorn is alibied out for all day yesterday. He was at the store until about six and then he went to the Roundup Club here in town. The clerk at the store and the waitresses at the club back him up.”

  I nodded. “Do me a favor while I finish cooking our supper. Call the jail and tell them that I said to keep Nobel in one of the one-man cells on the third floor. I don’t want him in the felony tank, where he might have to fight to keep from being abused. Give him some magazines, let him have coffee now and then, and so forth.”

  “Okay, but why the red carpet treatment?”

  “In my judgment this guy will react better to the carrot than to the stick. Besides, he’s a substantial citizen and there’s no reason not to give him a little consideration.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Yeah, call Agent Don Hotchkiss and ask him to see if the Bureau has anything on Dennard. The number is on a card stuck to the refrigerator.”

  “Will he cooperate?” she asked. “I’ve never had much luck with getting those guys to give up info.”

  “Use your feminine wiles,” I said. “Say ‘pretty please.’ ”

  “In your dreams, Bo.”

  “Just call him. Hotch is a different breed.”

  * * *

  An hour later we found ourselves in the den, both as full as feed-lot hogs.

  Carla stretched out on the sofa with a long moan and said, “My libido is buried under all that food. I seem to have reached the age when I can’t feast and canoodle on the same night. No doubt senility looms just over the horizon.”

  “To tell the truth, I’m more interested in getting your opinion about this murder case.” I laid out the whole story, the letter, Nobel Dennard, the arrest, Willard Peet and the cocaine. Everything I knew and could think of.

  “And?” she asked when I’d finished.

  “Tell me if I’m focusing too intently on Dennard.”

  “Well, he was obviously one of the last people to see the Raynes boy alive. Do you have any other suspects?”

  I shrugged. “Maybe Zorn.”

  She blinked. “That’s a new wrinkle.”

  “It’s weak, I know. Can you think of any possible motive Zorn could have had for wanting Amanda Twiller dead?”

  “You said he was in the process of dumping her, right?”

  “So he claimed.”

  “So maybe she had something on him and was threatening to expose him. After all, that’s what she did with Dennard. Or she might have actually loved Zorn. Did you ever think about that?”

  “Not really. I figured it was more a union of convenience since her husband said her various doctors were cutting her off.”

  “There’s nothing in this world more vindictive than a woman who’s just been dumped by a man she really cares about.”

  I couldn’t help but smile. “I’ll take your word for it.”

  “How about Arno?” she asked.

  “He has an alibi. Or at least he seems to, and there is absolutely nothing to connect him to the crime. That woman who owns the Sawmill Club said Doyle Raynes had gotten pretty tight with Scott Kimball before Scott left town. I’m going to need to follow up on that, but I don’t really expect it to go anywhere since Scott hasn’t been seen around town in months. He’s just about burned his bridges here in Sequoya.”
/>   “You know his mother pretty well, don’t you?”

  “Willa? Sure. She goes to my church, and I’ve been around her all my adult life.”

  “What’s her story?”

  “Not much to it. Her mother died when she was about three, and her daddy wound up raising her by himself. He had some help from an old colored woman named Eula Kemp who kept house for him. The Kemps had lived out there on the Hathaway place forever. They were descended from family slaves.”

  “Isn’t one of the Kemps still alive?” she said.

  “Jesse Kemp. He’s a Vietnam vet who lives in a shack on top of that big hill about a quarter mile behind Willa’s house. He owns that land up there. Willa’s great-grandfather left the Kemps a hundred acres in his will.”

  “Why? That’s a pretty big chunk of real estate.”

  “He did it because Jesse’s father was his son.”

  “Really? Who was his mother?”

  “A young black widow who lived out there on the place. Hathaway’s wife was dead, and nature took its course.”

  “So that means that Jesse is Willa’s uncle, right?”

  “Her great-uncle. Everybody knows about it, but it’s just one of those things that people don’t talk about. Her daddy wanted her to go to college, but she and Bob Kimball got married not long after high school. They had those two boys in three years. A few years later Bob got killed, and then her older son was murdered. So here she is—waiting tables at the Caravan and having the life worried out of her by a psychopathic brat who’s her only living relative. Except for Jesse, of course.”

  “What’s Jesse like?”

  “A chronic alcoholic. He gets a veteran’s disability from the government because he was shot up pretty bad in Vietnam. The first of every month Willa gets his check and cashes it and makes him buy about half of it up in canned goods and salt pork and dried beans and other nonperishables because he doesn’t have electricity. Then she takes him to the liquor store, where he spends the rest on cheap gin and vodka. The booze lasts him about ten days or two weeks. After it’s gone he has the DTs for a few days, then he just settles down to wait for the next check. That’s his life, and that’s the way he wants it.”