Murder In Louisiana Politics

by Jim Riley

  But Paula was no ordinary intruder. From her pouch, she withdrew a circular class cutter. It had a suction pad with a handle and cut a four-inch circle of glass around it.

  Paula took her time, careful not to make any noise that would awaken Kenny. After a dozen rotations around the suction cup, the glass pulled out without a sound. The assassin reached through the hole, grabbed the broom handle, lifted the round rod while rotating it, and slid it through the opening.

  She put the stick on the balcony and listened carefully. The only sound she heard was the soft snoring from under the covers. No alarms. No sounds of surveillance. Peace and quiet.

  Paula jimmied the cheap lock, and slid the door open. She froze at first unable to comprehend what she was hearing. Then the door to the bedroom burst open and the black detective, Drexel Robinson, rolled in and took a defensive position at the front of the bed with his gun drawn.

  The assassin wasted no time. She bounded over the railing and onto the ground below. Then she sprinted for the cover of the woods. Once there, Paula did not pause. She kept sprinting down the trail she had come in on back to her vehicle. She quickly drove out of the area back toward the main part of town.

  Chapter One Hundred Eleven

  Inside the apartment, Drexel heard Paula hit the ground after she jumped from the balcony. He raced to the sliding glass door and peered over the railing. He caught a glimpse of the fleeing figure at the edge of the wood line. He raised the gun and took careful aim between the next two trees. But the figure turned and fled directly away from the balcony, behind the first one. He saw no movement after that.

  Drexel walked back into the apartment.

  "You can come in now," he yelled.

  Kenny entered the bedroom. He had been sleeping in the spare room, the one without a balcony door. Drexel moved beside the bed, pulled the covers back, and turned off the recorder with the sound of a snoring man.

  "You're right," Kenny exclaimed.

  "That's why they pay me," Drexel responded.

  "How did you know she would try to come to the balcony?"

  "Because it was the least likely one to be guarded. She is no different than most, although a bit smarter. Nobody likes to take unnecessary risks. She assumed we would be watching the front door."

  "That's unbelievable," Kenny sighed while staring at the circular hole in the glass. "I've never heard of anyone doing that before."

  "It's a bit more sophisticated than using a coat hanger with a hook on the end and a lot quieter. That's probably why she chose that method."

  Kenny glanced at the bed.

  "I could have been killed tonight."

  "That's why I taped the bells to the top of the door. They always forget to look up. They get so focused on the lock and the broom handle, they never take a peek at the top."

  "Will she come back?" Kenny asked.

  "Yes," Drexel paused. "But not tonight."

  Chapter One Hundred Twelve

  Paula drove around aimlessly for a few minutes. She was embarrassed the old detective had outsmarted her so easily with simple technology. A string of bells. Why hadn't she noticed them? What fool would use a few nickel and dime bells with all the technology available in the world today? A broomstick and a few baubles available at any discount store for less than five bucks. That's what the old geezer used to thwart her attempt. How humiliating.

  She then thought about what to do next. She could go back to Jimmy's house and take out the young detective. Then she could go into the house and torture his family. But was there enough time? Paula had already blown two attempted sorties and wasted precious hours in the process.

  She decided to go after the third target on her list, Chrissy Becker. Paula did not think Chrissy was involved with the death of Omar Philbin in any way. From what she had learned about the girl, Chrissy was totally devoted to the politician and adored him.

  And Becker had no reason she could think of to want to kill the others. Someone other than Chrissy tried to shoot Gill and Paula did not believe it was George Thomas. But Chrissy had less of a reason to kill Jimmy then George did.

  She drove past the house two times and got out to walk around once. The entry was as easy as opening a door.

  Paula did not expect much resistance from Chrissy Becker. Her adrenaline level had not risen much. This was a murder a convenience. She was only doing it because the two people she planned to kill tonight were guarded by Niki's investigators.

  Where was Niki Dupre? She may have been inside Jimmy's house. That's where she had to be. Jimmy was next on her list and that's where someone like Niki would take up a post.

  Paula whistled, a low humming tune. A smile finally broke out. While the killing of Chrissy Becker at first seemed like a consolation prize, she now looked at it differently. There was no way Niki Dupre could anticipate Becker was even on Paula's list. To kill her tonight would once again establish Paula's dominance over the most admired detective in Louisiana. Her renown, which was already widespread, would blossom into worldwide recognition. Her name would be uttered in the same sentence as Bonnie and Clyde, Al Capone and others as the most ruthless of serial killers.

  With those thoughts, Paula sped to the house. It might look like a dollhouse now, but she intended to turn it into a slaughterhouse.

  Chapter One Hundred Thirteen

  Early Thursday morning

  Niki received the text from Drexel Robinson about the attempt a Kenny's apartment. After getting assurances that both Drexel and Kenny were still alive and well, she sent a text to Donna.

  "Okay? Paula at Kenny's. Unsuccessful," she typed in.

  "NP. All ok here," came the reply.

  "U awake?"

  "Y. On my 2nd dzn candy bars."

  "Yuck. 20 #'s if I did that."

  "Gr8 being young," came the reply.

  "B pprd. Mite cum ur way," Niki typed.

  "NP. redy," came the reply.

  Niki in did the call and turned to a frightened Chrissy Becker. The doll-like girl was noticeably shaking from head to toe. Even her perfectly smooth face showed a couple of wrinkles at the corners of her eyes.

  "Is–she–coming?" Chrissy struggled to ask.

  "I'm betting on it," Niki replied.

  "Shouldn't we call the sheriff?"

  "That might scare her away. I don't want to run her away tonight."

  "I'd rather see her scared away than die. That makes more sense to me," Chrissy said.

  "If she doesn't try to kill you tonight, she will some other time. Then you might not be as prepared because you won't be expecting her. I'd rather do this on our terms."

  Chrissy blubbered, her perfect mascara and makeup streaking down her cheeks.

  "I don't want to die," she sobbed.

  "I'm not particularly fond of the idea myself," Niki said.

  "So why aren't you scared?"

  "Because the odds are on our side. She doesn't know I'm here."

  "I know you're here," Chrissy cried. "And I'm still scared to death."

  Chapter One Hundred Fourteen

  Paula eased up to the house, so neat and trim. Every flower, every bush, every blade of grass perfectly pruned, perfectly fertilized, perfectly manicured. The whole scene almost made Paula sick.

  She thought back to her childhood. There were no flowerbeds. Only weeds. The grass was seldom cut, but it mattered little. Most of it was covered with trash. Old cars. Bald tires. Empty beer bottles. She had no friends over to her house. She was too ashamed for them to see it.

  Now, she was visiting Chrissy Becker's house. When she got through with the little tramp, she might burn this cottage down. Nobody deserved to live in a place like this.

  Paula sneaked up to the front window and crouched behind an azalea bush. This one was already in full bloom, white petals adorning every inch. The emanating aroma was an elixir for the assassin's spirit. Even as a young girl, she took great pleasure sneaking into other people's yards just to get a brief whiff of their flowers and bus
hes.

  Nearly halfway between the bush and the window, Paula tried to see into the house. Only slivers of space were revealed through the tiny slits. She adjusted her position and could see other small areas of the interior. Then she hit pay dirt when she moved to a different window. Paula could clearly see the security alarm panel on the wall beside the door.

  The light was green. Chrissy Becker was so foolish and so careless she had not activated her alarm before going to bed. In Paula's mind, this was a fatal mistake. Her adrenaline pulsated. Killing the little tramp was too easy.

  She thought of different ways to make the necessary job more thrilling. Maybe she could make her perform unnatural acts to herself. Maybe she could shave Chrissy bald and paint a clown face on that unmarred complexion. Paula giggled out loud at the thought of the mammoth Chief discovering the perfect girl in a not-so-perfect setting.

  Then, thinking of Chrissy's superb complexion and symmetrical face, Paula knew what she would do. The assassin squeezed the handle of the razor knife at her waist. The perfect skin was about to be peeled off one strip at a time. Chrissy Becker was not having an open coffin at her funeral, with all the attendees remarking how peaceful and cute she looked in death.

  With a smile, Paula picked open the side door and inched inside. Once there, she stopped and listened. Thinking about the effect of the razor knife on Chrissy got the juices flowing again at a phenomenal rate. Paula trembled a bit at the image in her mind.

  It was hard to hear anything above her beating heart. She was surprised she did not hear even the slightest of snores from inside the bedroom. Even someone as perfect as Chrissy was supposed to make some less than feminine noises when she slept. Just another reason to detest the tramp.

  Paula crept down the hallway. At the third door she heard a slight stirring. Another smile. Not a muscle twitched for a full six minutes with her ear against the bedroom entrance.

  Then the assassin opened the door a quarter of an inch at a time. She relished every moment. This was a new adventure. She was evolving, and she loved what she was becoming. The heck with Bonnie and Clyde. The heck with Al Capone. The heck with the Unabomber. The heck with the Hillside Strangler. She was about to be more famous than any of them.

  Paula brushed through the door. It took her several seconds for her eyes to adjust to the lack of light. There were no light bulbs, no light from a table-side clock radio, no reflection of the moon shining through the window. The assassin purposely slowed down her breathing. The next few seconds were critical.

  The petite intruder took a long step forward. She stopped and listened. Still no sound from the bed. Another long step. Another pause. Then Paula was beside the bed. She leaped on top of the mound on the bed with the razor knife in her right hand.

  Chapter One Hundred Fifteen

  "Hold it right there, Paula," Niki shouted.

  All the bright lights came on at once, blinding Paula, who was now aware there was no live person under the covers. The assassin shielded her eyes from the glare of the lights. She continued to hold the razor knife in her right hand.

  "Drop the knife," Niki yelled.

  Paula followed the sound of the voice and her pupils contracted. She finally saw the strawberry blonde standing behind the doorway. A .38 Smith & Wesson pointed directly at Paula's chest.

  "I said to drop the knife," Niki repeated.

  "If I did that, it would be all over," Paula responded. "All would be over."

  "It's already over. You lost."

  Paula eyed the knife in her hand. Then she mentally measured the distance from her position to the investigator. The real problem was she was still flat on her stomach. She would have to roll, get in a crouch, and then leap at Niki.

  "Don't even think about it," Niki read her intentions. "I can put two in your skullcap before you clear the bed. You'll never make it."

  "You're better than I gave you credit," Paula tried to stall for time while developing a plan no matter how slim the chances. She was not willing to go to jail and be subject to people less than half as smart. She could not imagine a more degrading circumstance. Death was much more desirable than lifelong incarceration.

  "You're not so bad yourself," Niki responded. "But you still need to throw down the knife."

  Paula lowered the hand holding the knife and turned over to face Niki. Then she sat up and looked around the meticulous bedroom.

  "There is no escape," Niki said one step ahead of the assassin. "You have no place to go except jail."

  "You and I both know I'm not going to jail," Paula's tone was calm with a certain resignation in her voice.

  "Tell me who hired you before you do something stupid."

  "You already know. Guido hired me."

  "Who hired Guido?" Niki asked.

  "I was about to ask you the same question. You seem to be the one with all the answers."

  Paula shifted a little, putting her feet underneath her body. The movement was slow and almost imperceptible. But Niki caught it.

  "Your life doesn't have to end this way. You can hire a good attorney. They may find you are incompetent to stand trial."

  "That would mean they think I'm crazy," a funny smile erupted. "Do you think I'm crazy?"

  "I think you have to be a little off to do the things you did. I don't know if I could call you crazy, but you're definitely off a bit."

  Paula shifted again. She was almost in position to make her move.

  "Don't do it," Niki yelled.

  The door burst wide open. Chrissy jumped through it, a .32 Beretta stretched in front of her. The weapon was pointed directly at Paula.

  Chrissy's body was between Niki and Paula. The investigator tried to nudge the petite figure to one side to open a firing lane. That's when the .32 Beretta exploded in the small bedroom. Chrissy fired nine shots in less than three seconds. The first one hit the bed beside Paula. The second hit the side table. The other seven at various spots along the ceiling.

  After the first shot, Paula reacted with the speed of a mad cottonmouth. The razor knife flew from her hand and embedded in Chrissy's shoulder. It was not the shoulder on her shooting side, but it caused the girl to stumble and fall backwards, leaving the gun pointed at the ceiling while Chrissy kept pulling the trigger.

  Niki had to catch Chrissy as she fell. Her hands closed around the little girl's body and the .38 was no longer pointed at Paula. Niki went to a kneeling position, cradling Chrissy in her arms. She saw the knife protruding from the girl's shoulder.

  By the time she freed her gun hand and looked up, Paula's feet disappeared through the window. Niki kicked from under Chrissy and raced to the window. She was too late. The little assassin vanished into the dark night.

  Chapter One Hundred Sixteen

  "Are you okay?" Niki asked after rushing back to Chrissy's side.

  "It hurts," the girl whispered. "Will I die?"

  "No, but you will be in a lot of pain for a while. and you won't be using that shoulder very much."

  "Will you call an ambulance?"

  "I'll do that, but first I have to ask you a question."

  "Okay. What is it?" Chrissy asked.

  "Why did you jump in front of me like that? You could have gotten both of us killed."

  "I wanted to kill her. She was here to kill me, and you just kept talking to her. You didn't shoot her."

  "You didn't give me the chance. I won't shoot someone, even someone like Paula, in cold blood."

  "I wish you had."

  Christie collapsed.

  Chapter One Hundred Seventeen

  Thursday morning

  Lane Memorial Hospital

  "How is she?" Samson asked as Niki emerged from the hospital hallway.

  "She'll make it," Niki answered, referring to Chrissy, who had been moved to a private room. "Looks like she'll have a permanent scar right next to her collarbone, but the knife didn't hit that cluster of arteries."

  "I'm glad to hear that. Tell me what happened."

&n
bsp; Niki spent the next twenty minutes giving the huge cop a recap of the night's events, including her conversation with Paula.

  "Sounds like she, meaning Paula, is lucky you didn't shoot her."

  "Chrissy, too. I was about to pull the trigger when she jumped between us. Paula was about to make her move."

  "We ought to take the guns away from people like Chrissy. The only thing they'll ever do with one is get themselves killed and maybe some other folks in the process."

  "There's one little obstacle to that," Niki chuckled. "It's called the Bill of Rights and they are attached to the Constitution of the United States of America. I believe the Second Amendment might frown on your desire to relieve our citizens of their guns."

  "I know," Samson replied. "But it should make it easier."

  "For the criminals. Then they would be the only ones armed. I don't think you would want to live in a place where only the murderers carried weapons."

  "You're right, as always," Samson sighed. "But after tonight, I think I might change my mind."

  "I'm thankful I had one. If not, I bet Paula would have been running at me instead of away. I think she knew I would use mine."

  "What will she do next?" Samson asked.

  "We know she tried Kenny's apartment before she went to Chrissy's place. I suspect she went by Jimmy's house and spotted our surveillance or smelled something fishy."

  "Let me guess. Donna was at Jimmy's place."

  Niki took a couple steps down the hallway before responding.

  "She's still young. She also trusts people too much. She finds it hard to believe there are people like Paula in the world."