Murder On Spirit Island (Niki Dupre Mysteries Book 1)

by Jim Riley

  "How will you feel, Oberlin? Being used by other inmates so that Big Bubba can get a few extra potato chips every month?"

  Davis looked as if he was about to collapse. When the waitress appeared at their table, he did not look up at her. She left him another drink, anyway. After she walked away, the man continued.

  "Oberlin, there is a way out."

  Davis jerked his head up, although it was askew.

  "How?" He managed.

  "Your life as you know it is over." The man leaned over the table. "Do you agree?"

  Davis nodded.

  "Then why do you want to drag your wife and kids through the mud with you? You really don't want to spend the rest of your life in jail, do you?"

  The drunk man shook his head, but said nothing.

  "Then why don't you do the right thing? Why don't you protect your family? You know, they won't be able to prosecute you if you aren’t around anymore. Your wife and kids will be go on with their lives and you’ll be their hero."

  Davis slouched down.

  "Trust me and I will help you do this. You're not in condition to do it by yourself. Okay?"

  Davis nodded. The man helped him to his feet and escorted him outside. He took Davis’s keys and left them in the ignition. Then he took Davis to his own vehicle. After buckling the inebriated man in the passenger seat, the man drove his automobile north towards St. Francisville.

  He told Davis, "We’re going to the new bridge over the river. At this time of the night, there isn't much traffic. If we go to one of the other two, somebody is liable to stop you. We can’t afford that, can we?"

  Davis was beyond the capability to respond. During the thirty-minute ride, he fell asleep. When they reached Thompson Creek, about three miles from the bridge, the man attempted to wake him.

  "Are you ready, Oberlin?" The man asked. "Remember, we don't want to take long. Somebody might try to prevent you from helping your family. Okay?"

  Davis nodded. When the vehicle reached the apex of the bridge, the man pulled to the side. No other car was in sight in either direction. He helped Davis to the rail of the expanse. Davis stiffened.

  "I don't want to," the drunk man whined.

  "Too late, now."

  The man picked Davis up and tossed him over the rail into the darkness below. He did not hear the splash because he was already hurrying back to his vehicle. He exited the bridge on the New Roads side of the river. To be safe, he drove down Highway 1 to Port Allen and crossed back to the east side of the Mississippi River.

  He smiled and wondered how the rest of the world could manage without being as smart as him. He whistled on his drive home.

  Friday Morning

  Spirit Island

  Niki sat on the concrete slab below the camp, sipping a cup of coffee when Dalton trudged into the clearing.

  "Did you have a good trip to Baton Rouge?" She asked.

  "Better than most of my other trips," Dalton said as he walked up to her. "It's hard to get anywhere when I can’t show my face."

  "C’mon and have a seat. I'll get you a cup of coffee. Looks like you could use one."

  He motioned for her to remain seated.

  "Stay there and I'll bring you a fresh cup when I come back down. I need to shower and change my clothes first. They got a little messed up last night."

  Niki waited until he returned, holding two cups of steaming hot coffee in his hands. She accepted one before he took the chair next to her.

  "From the looks of you, it appears that you could use some sleep more than coffee," she said.

  Dalton smiled and took a sip.

  "Sleep is highly overrated. With enough caffeine, I might never need it again."

  "I should have gone to medical school," Niki said. "Then I could attach you to an IV and let you have a continuous supply coffee and chocolate."

  "That's not a bad idea," he chuckled. "Though those might interfere with some of my activities,."

  Niki set the cup on the small table between the chairs.”

  “Speaking of activities, what exactly are you doing on all these nighttime trips to Baton Rouge?"

  "Trying to stay out of jail and off death row."

  Niki's face was stern. "You're avoiding the question. I asked you to tell me what you were doing. You answered with a non answer.”

  He held his cups to his lips before replying.

  "I told you exactly what I do. I didn’t go into the details. Sometimes, details get a little messy."

  She contemplated his reasoning while taking a sip of coffee.

  “I thought I was supposed to be the one working to prove your innocence. I tell you all the messy details of my investigation, both good and bad."

  Dalton reached across the table, resting his hand on her arm.

  "If I find anything, anything at all that will help you find the answers or make your job easier, I’ll tell you. But I have nothing that would help you tie up all those loose ends."

  "That's good. If you promise to include me in anything you find useful."

  She had her doubts.

  "Agreed."

  Then Niki changed the subject.

  "I took the boat over to the other bank this morning. I wanted to make a few phone calls while Mr. Welker was sleeping. I got an interesting text."

  Dalton showed surprise. "Really? What?"

  "Do you remember telling me there were other a zillion females named ‘Niki'?" she replied. "And there was no chance those guys could find out which one I was?"

  He nodded.

  "They found out."

  "What did they say?"

  "Not much. Only that they know who I am. That they know where I work. That they know where I live. That unless I agreed to quit investigating the disappearance of Henry, they will make certain that I won't be able to. Let's see, how did they put it? I would have a hard time collecting a check after they cut my tongue out, snip off my fingers one at a time, and poke my eyes out. Nice guys with fertile imaginations, wouldn't you say?"

  "Do they mention me?" Dalton said his cup down.

  "Gee, thanks." Her mouth dropped open. "I am amazed at your concern. They only said to tell my friend that the same thing will happen to him."

  "But they didn't mention my name?"

  "They didn't mention your precious name."

  She turned away from him.

  "You're taking my question wrong," he said. "What that means for us is they don't have a clue who I am."

  "Us? I can see the benefit for you, not for me."

  "That will help us when you reply to the text."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Tell them we also know who they are, where they live, and where they work. The difference is that they don't know who I am. Tell them I could be standing right next to them, and they won't know it. I can go by and see their families, and they won't know it. Tell them that all the things that they threatened you with will happen to them if they harm one hair on your head."

  "That's a serious text you want me to send," Niki grinned.

  "It's for your own good," he replied. "Remember when someone bluffs you, then you can either lay down your hand or raise their bluff. We aren’t quitting, so we have to raise their bluff."

  Dalton paused.

  "And now that I think about it, there might be a better way to deliver it."

  Friday Morning

  Baton Rouge

  Wayne LaBorde, Phillip Kemp, and Bill Swain ingested caffeine at the upscale coffee shop at the corner of Airline Highway and Bluebonnet Drive. None of them slept well the previous night. Too many unanswered questions running through their minds prevented sound slumber. They feared the answers to these questions would result in consequences that were not beneficial.

  "At least we know who the girl is now," LaBorde, as usual, led the discussion. "It's that bimbo Bobby hired before he killed himself."

  Kemp received a refill.

  "But if it's her, why is she still on the case? Bobby was paying her and
he's dead. This isn't making any sense at all."

  "I've been trying to figure that out myself," LaBorde said. "The only conclusion I came to is that Bobby's wife kept her on the job. How else would she have access to the camp on Spirit Island?"

  "Why would Rebecca want to keep her on the job?" Wayne asked. "She's in the catbird seat with Henry gone and Bobby dead."

  "The only thing I can think of is that, in Louisiana, a person has to be missing for seven years before he can be declared dead," LaBorde answered. "Maybe she doesn't want to wait for seven years to get the inheritance from Henry."

  "But she will get millions from Bobby's estate," Kemp said. "How much is enough?"

  "For a lady her age, there is never enough," Wayne laughed. "She's got to have enough to get through the next fifty years in the lifestyle that she's become accustomed."

  The other men nodded assent.

  "What do we do about Oberlin?" Kemp asked.

  "Without knowing where he is or what happened to him," LaBorde shrugged, "there's not much we can do."

  Swain swirled the dark brew in his cup.

  "Do you think he went into the witness protection program and will testify against us?"

  "I don't know," LaBorde shrugged. "When I talked to his wife a while ago, she said he went out drinking, which is kinda unusual for him. She said she wasn't worried until she woke up this morning and he still wasn't home. Then the police called and told her they found the car in a parking lot at a bar off of Burbank. Keys are still in the ignition, but no sign of Oberlin. I called his office, and they said he didn't come in and hadn’t phoned either."

  Kemp drank a third of his cup.

  "Dammit, first there was Henry. Then Bobby died. Then Dixon went missing. Now, Oberlin is missing without a clue."

  "That's not exactly true." Swain held up his sand. "We know where Dixon is."

  He paused.

  "At least parts of him, anyway."

  "We don't have to get into that," LaBorde groaned. "I guess we will sit tight until we find out where Oberlin went."

  "That means the end of our operation," Kemp said.

  "Not necessarily," LaBorde disagreed. "If Davis is gone for good, the state will have to replace him. I've got a few connections down there. We might get someone friendly in that position."

  Swain had other thoughts.

  "It won't matter if that little gal keeps poking her nose in our business."

  "I don't think will have to worry about her anymore," LaBorde chuckled.

  "Huh?" Kemp snorted.

  "I've been to two county fairs, a world Expo, and three hog-calling contests," LaBorde grinned. "This isn’t my first goat roping. I took care of her early this morning."

  Kemp's eyes widened.

  "What are you talking about? Did you—?"

  "I didn't hurt that little filly. I sent her a message telling her we’re not the kind of people she wants to be messing around with."

  "Oh," Kemp sighed. "For a minute there, I thought—well, I thought you meant something different."

  Swain gazed out the window at the traffic on Airline Highway.

  "I'm not sure we want to mess with her either with that guy protecting her with that rifle."

  "I looked through everything I had on her," LaBorde shrugged. "I didn't come up with anything. I’d like to meet him again, but under different circumstances."

  At the table next to theirs, the young lady dropped the newspaper that had been hiding her face.

  "You might get that chance," Niki said.

  LaBorde's mouth dropped. Kemp gasped. Swain spilled coffee all over his lap.

  "Come on guys," Niki mocked. "You were having such an interesting conversation. Don't let me stop you."

  LaBorde stuttered but could not form the words.

  "Now, now. Mr. LaBorde, isn't it? Let's see. You live at 922 Maple St. in the Denham Springs. You work at 1171 Range Ave., also in Denham Springs. And you, Mr. Kemp, live at 4137 Highway 16 in South Welker. And you work—"

  LaBorde stopped her. "You've done your homework. Congratulations."

  He looked at the other two men.

  "But we're not afraid of a little girl. You're in over your head."

  "You think so?" Niki laughed. "If you remember, I wasn't alone last night. I had a friend helping me."

  "So?" LaBorde grunted. He did not want to back down.

  "The point is that he has the same information I have," she said. "And in case your minds aren't up to speed yet, and from the looks of things I'd say they might haven't yet gotten past the starting line, he knows who you are, where you live, where you work, your family, your friends, and everything else about you. You don't know him from Jack. For all you know, he could be sitting at a table next to you."

  All three men immediately jerked their heads up and searched around the room.

  "See," Niki giggled. "I believe we have the advantage. Believe me, my friend isn't one to mess with. I believe those were your words, Mr. LaBorde."

  Wayne LaBorde managed to coordinate his mouth with his brain. "Why are you doing this? Who—who are you working for?"

  Niki carefully considered her answer.

  "I'll answer the second question first. It's none of your business who my client is. All my clients are confidential and unlike you gentlemen, I will not betray their trust in me."

  “But—" LaBorde started to protest.

  "Save it." Niki put up her hand. "One of you has killed at least four people and two more are missing. Most of us consider those two being alive at this point as highly unlikely."

  "The only one that is dead is Gary Dixon," Kemp said, "and we’re not too sure about him. He could have had too much to drink and fell off that pier. The gators took care of him after that."

  "I guess the alligators were also responsible for cutting the brake lines on Bobby's truck," Niki sneered.

  "Where did you hear a thing like that?" LaBorde asked.

  "From a professional that is well-respected in every court in the United States. When he presents the evidence he collected, one of you would know exactly how long you have to live. Our maybe you'll be able to appeal your death sentence and stretch your miserable life out a little further."

  "It wasn't me," Kemp said. "I thought he got drunk and hit a semi."

  "Me, too." Swain squeaked.

  "Hold on, you guys." LaBorde was not ready to back down. "I think the little lady, Miss Dupre, is it, is full of crap. I don't believe she has any expert and I don't know where she's getting her numbers. If it is true about Bobby and even Dixon, that's only two people killed that I know about."

  "I'm not sure about your knowledge, Mr. LaBorde," Niki said. "I can assure you that both were murdered along with a deputy with the Sheriff's Department last Monday morning."

  "How does he fit with us?" Kemp asked.

  "Other than assuring one of you gets the death penalty, you mean? He was looking for Henry Welker, and somebody didn't like that. So they killed him."

  LaBorde still had questions.

  "If we believe you, and I'm not so sure, that makes three. Who's the fourth?"

  "I won't say, but I strongly believe her murder is tied to this case."

  Swain looked confused.

  "Her?" Kemp blurted.

  LaBorde sighed.

  "You don't seem surprised, Mr. LaBorde," Niki said.

  The contractor glared at her.

  "You come in here with this fancy tale and make threats. I think it's time to call the authorities."

  "Please do, Wayne," she responded. "Please make a phone call and explain to them how one of you is killing off his partners to protect this illegal scheme of yours that involves collusion, conspiracy, bid–rigging, and bribery of a public official. In fact, make that phone call right now and we can all wait for the cops to get here."

  LaBorde's eyes had a menacing glare.

  "I've had enough of this."

  He showed his chair back and stormed out of the coffee shop. He left
Kemp and Swain with stunned expressions. Niki smiled at both. Kemp gently pushed his chair away. He nodded at Niki, and slowly walked to the door.

  Swain started to rise, then sat back down. He spoke in a barely audible voice.

  "I didn't—I couldn’t—it has to be one of the others."

  He struggled up on weak knees and stumbled out of the restaurant. Niki looked out the window toward her SUV. A large antenna pointed in her direction with Dalton's face partially hidden behind it.

  "I hope you got all that," she laughed.

  Friday Morning

  Baton Rouge

  "Mrs. Davis," Niki said into the mouthpiece of the cell phone. "This is Niki Dupre. I'm looking for your husband."

  "I'm sorry," the crackling voice on the other end of the call responded. "I don't know where he is."

  "I know, Mrs. Davis. That's why I'm calling. I want to help you find him."

  "Who are you?" The upset lady asked.

  "I'm Niki Dupre. I'm a private investigator and working on a case. It’s important that I talk to Mr. Davis. I understand from his office that he did not show up for work today."

  Niki could almost feel Mrs. Davis nodding over the phone.

  "You're correct. Nobody has seen him since last night."

  Niki continued. "I also understand the police found his car at an establishment off of Burbank. Is that correct?"

  "Yes," she replied "They found it at a bar."

  "What is the name of the bar, Mrs. Davis?"

  "They've already towed the car back to my house. It isn't there anymore."

  "No problem. I’d still like to go by the bar and see what I can find."

  “If you think it will do any good and help find out where Obi is. That's what I call him, Oberlin seems way too formal for the type of man he is."

  "I haven't had the pleasure of being formally introduced to him," Niki sighed. "But I ran into him once."

  The young investigator smiled remembering her foot smashing into his groin and her knee crushing his nose.

  "I hope nobody took advantage of his kindness," the woman said. "He is a wonderful, sharing man."