Murder in Humboldt Read online

  “Me too,” I said over my shoulder as I opened the door.

  “Good to see you Carson, stay out of trouble.” Scotty added.

  He just had to say that, didn’t he?

  ~

  The VFW was located on Hwy 45 just outside of town. It was always good for some fun, friendship and maybe some local gossip.

  The out-of-towners and union thugs would be in the poolroom or a bar somewhere else – only the locals here.

  I found dad sitting with Birdie and the Arnold brothers. We shared a chat and I settled down at the bar for my usual Jack/Coke.

  John had been bartender here for as long as I could remember. His J/C wasn’t as good as Nuddy’s, but the customers were friendlier. Jerome, Roger and Terry were sitting with me at the bar, and from the card room I could hear my friends Jimmy and Larry making noise over some big poker pot.

  They had slots in the back, next to the card room, and they were ringing pretty loud. I could see Jane Hopper and Paula Williams sticking coin after coin into the quarter shot machine. In fact, for a Monday, this place was jumping. Many of these folks were workers at the Hosiery Mill, and I guess when they weren’t walking the picket line, they were drinking and gambling away their strike benefits – which I know weren’t much compared to wages. There is something about a labor dispute that brings out the worst in most everybody. Normally, most of these people would be home having dinner with the family or watching TV with the kids. Now, since they weren’t working, it seemed their entire personality has changed.

  Bert, Barry and Wayne were having a heated argument over some labor contract issue, and all three had a different point of view. They were getting louder until John threw a bar towel at them and said, “Let’s call this one a draw – OK?”

  This whole town was still on edge. Things had not changed since last week.

  ~

  It was sometime after 9 when I made my way back to the Tennessee Motel. I found the Ford a spot in front of Room 11 and could not believe what I saw.

  Parked in front of Room 7 was the 62 Grey Lincoln belonging to JR Maxwell. There were also eight other cars in the parking lot, none that I recognized.

  I had already checked in, but I walked over to the office where Sandra Petty, the desk clerk, was watching a rerun of Gunsmoke on her little black and white TV. I picked up a newspaper and started my conversation with Sandra, “You guys must be booked up tonight?”

  “Sure are. I don’t know where all these people came from, but we have been full for most of the last two weeks,” she giggled. “That really makes the owners happy!”

  “I bet it does,” I commented. “Say, do you do any long term rentals? I mean like for several weeks?”

  “We’re not supposed to, but sometimes we do, especially if we know the renter,” she answered shyly. “The guy in number 7 must be getting a divorce or something. He’s a local businessman and has had the room for a couple of weeks - and just tonight paid for another week. Why? Are you interested in a longer rental?”

  “I hope not. Tonight should be my only night in town; I’ve got to be back in Memphis tomorrow afternoon. But, thanks anyway, and I’ll keep that in mind if I ever do,” I said walking away.

  She had told me just what I needed to know. JR was using this as a meeting place for certain and also maybe a place to get away from Mary Ellen. Speaking of Mary Ellen, I wonder if she had made it home okay. I really didn’t want to know. I just wanted to do my thing for Leroy tomorrow, and get out of town before the B&B boys got their car fixed!

  My room was just past the corner of the L, and I had perfect site of JR’s room from my window. Why do I care? Why don’t I leave this alone? Curiosity is a dangerous thing – especially in the hands of an amateur! But I am a professional – right? I think I said that before, and it didn’t work out good then either.

  I grabbed a coke from the vending machine; some ice from the machine, and then settled down in front of the window with my Jack Daniel’s to see what happened next. With the lights out in my room, I had an excellent view of both the parking area and JR’s room – Room 7.

  Room 7 and JR would have a very busy night.

  ~

  At 9:50 General Samson arrived in his army issue 55 Chevrolet. He got out of the car and went inside without knocking. In just a few short minutes, both he and JR exited the room and walked to his car, continuing their conversation. General Samson got back in his car and left at about 10:00 – almost exactly. He headed north toward Trenton

  At 10:20 another 62 Lincoln, this one dark blue, pulled up in front of Room 7. It was Mary Ellen, and she was alone. She also went into Room 7 without knocking, but only stayed about 5 minutes. I could tell she was upset when leaving, because she slammed the door so hard my window rattled. She got back in her car and headed south, back toward Humboldt

  At about 10:45 a white Ford Panel van pulled into the lot and parked in front of Room 7. Three men got out of the van and two went inside, again without knocking. The third man seemed to be standing guard or watching the door. This meeting lasted longer than the first two, and they left about 11:15. They took a funny path leaving the parking lot, and I was not able to see which direction they headed on Hwy 45.

  At 11:30 a red 58 Corvette Convertible pulled up and parked in front of Room 7. The top was down and it was easy to see who was in the car. It was Mary Ellen and Elizabeth Teague with Elizabeth driving; I assumed this was her car. Both went into his room, again without knocking.

  They had been in the room about 15 minutes when I saw a light blue 61 Ford Fairlane pulling into the parking lot. It stopped before parking, then backed up and left, headed back toward Humboldt. Judy Strong was driving!

  Just as Judy was leaving, a white 61 Cadillac pulled into the parking lot. The driver seemed to look over toward Room 7 and then turned around and headed left toward Trenton. I did not get a good look, so I don’t know who was driving.

  Mary Ellen and Liz left the room a little after midnight. They got in the car and Liz was still driving. However, Mary Ellen did not slam the door – this time.

  About 12:40 the blue Fairlane returned. This time it circled the lot, and finally pulled up and parked in front of Room 7. Judy got out of the car and knocked on the door. JR opened it, and she entered the room. It was 12:45 exactly.

  At 1:00 I saw the red Corvette pull back into the parking lot, however this time it didn’t stop. Elizabeth was driving, but Mary Ellen was not in the passenger seat. And for good reason – she was right behind the Corvette driving her Lincoln. She made a pass through of the lot and followed Liz and the Corvette back toward Humboldt.

  About a half-hour later both JR and Judy came out of Room 7. They did not speak or touch and walked to their respective cars and left. It was 1:30.

  I stayed with it until after 2:00, and nothing else happened and no more visitors to Room 7. Having already had a long day, I went to bed.

  DAY SEVEN

  Wednesday

  Something woke me at 4:30. You know, like when you hear a sound while sleeping, but then awaken and don’t know what that sound was.

  Evidently, the sound had come from the screeching tires of Liz’s Corvette. Because when I peeked out the drapes, I just caught a glimpse of it racing out of the parking lot. The top was now up and I had no idea who was driving, or if there was someone in the passenger seat.

  Wiping the sleep out of my eyes, I surveyed the parking lot. Most of the cars that were there earlier were still there, and JR’s Lincoln had returned to its original parking spot. There was, however, a new addition. The white 61 Cadillac I had seen earlier was back, and was parked in front of Room 3. I assume they had come back and rented a room after I went to bed.

  I guess while sleeping I had missed some excitement, and frankly, I just didn’t care. Things on this case were out of hand, and I now needed to put things back where they belonged. I needed to get back to Memphis and forget I had every heard of or met JR Maxwell and Mary Ellen Maxwell. Maybe I won’t fo
rget Judy Strong, but we could revisit that at a later time! I closed the drapes and went back to bed – I needed my beauty rest.

  As you should know by know, I am not an early riser. However, on this day I was up, showered, shaved and dressed by 9:30. This was obviously due to me wanting to get this over with and get back to Memphis. I was thinking, as I stood in the shower, getting up at his hour was not something I wanted to make a habit of.

  Throwing my bag into the car I glanced over toward Room 7. JR’s car was still parked out front, but the door to the room was not completely closed - it was open about 3 inches. I finished loading my car and watched for some activity from Room 7 – there was none.

  Against my better judgement, I decided to walk over and offer an apology to JR. What could it hurt? I was leaving here in a few hours, and it certainly seemed like the proper thing to do - right?

  I walked to the room, knocked on the partially open door and called his name, but got no response. When I pushed the door open a little wider, I saw JR.

  He was lying at the foot of the Queen Size bed with one foot resting on an over turned room chair, and the other hiding somewhere under the bed. There was a spot of blood on his cheek, and the right eye was missing, as was most of the top of his head. The bullet had entered his right eye at an upward angle taking out three fourths of his brain, along with significant skull and skin tissue. These were all grossly deposited on the opposite wall behind the bed and near the bathroom door. Blood had quickly gathered and then partially dried under where he lay. I would say he had been shot at close range, had been dead 4 to 5 hours and probably died instantly. I never touched a thing.

  As I glanced around the room, I saw what I believed to be the murder weapon - a .38 caliber police special, was laying on the floor near JR’s left foot. This was a gun just like my grandfathers, which was in the glove compartment of my car – I hoped. Oh shit!

  While still trying to analyze the scene, I heard a blood-chilling scream behind me. It was Lucille, the maid, standing at the door and screaming at the top of her lungs - she was frozen in place!

  Leaving the room, I practically ran over her, knocking her cart to one side. I needed to quickly see if my gun was in my car. Opening the passenger door and then the glove box - my gun was gone, and I could only imagine the worst!

  ~

  At some point Lucille finally quit screaming and just fainted right where she stood. Within minutes a crowd had gathered, all peeking into Room 7 and the carnage surrounding JR Maxwell. It must have been Sandra who called the police, because they wasted no time in reaching the Tennessee Motel – one city car with Chief Raymond Griggs and one county car – driven by my friend Leroy Epsee. They don’t get many homicides in Humboldt, and everyone wanted a piece of the action - and as it turned out, a piece of me.

  After knocking over Lucille’s cart and finding my gun missing, I knew the worst was ahead of me. Seeking some comfort, I found myself a resting-place on my car hood and waited for inevitable to happen. It didn’t take long.

  Raymond was first, “Okay Mr. Reno, I understand you found the body. Is that correct?” he asked walking quickly up to where I was sitting on my car hood. Leroy was following closely behind.

  “Yes, Raymond, I did,” I answered reluctantly.

  “So, will you share with me what you were doing in his room going through his things?”

  “I touched nothing, I know better,” I exclaimed. “I went over to his room to talk with him. I found the door opened and then found him just like you see him. I didn’t touch anything!”

  “Did you touch the weapon?” This was a bad question for me, and my answer was going to make things worse.

  “No I did not. But Raymond, I believe that .38 is my gun. Somebody must have taken it from my car, I guess sometime last night.”

  “Oh boy!” Raymond exclaimed. “One more question before I have Leroy throw you in jail. What were you doing out here spying on JR? We know you had a fight with him, we know you have had contact with his wife, we know you have been to their house and we know you were at their residence either during or immediately after a robbery. Are you stupid or hardheaded, or maybe stupid AND hardheaded.”

  “That’s a lot of questions, or statements Raymond. Where do you want me to start?” I asked timidly.

  “You can start by putting your hands behind your back, you are under arrest.” Then he turned to Leroy, “Sheriff, please transport this nuisance down to your county jail. This is a county matter, and I really don’t want him any where near my office,” Raymond said as he walked away.

  Leroy was a little kinder, but not much. “Come on, Carson. You know the routine. Get in the car, and you’ll get your phone call when we get to the office.”

  ~

  At the jail, I made my one phone call to Jack Logan’s office in Memphis - of course, he wasn’t in. But, his secretary said she would find him and have him call as soon as possible.

  I spent the next two hours cooling my heals in Leroy’s jail. As jails go it could be worse, I think. He ran a pretty good operation, and I even got some of Pullums Bar-B-Q for lunch, but I couldn’t convince Scotty to get me a beer to go with it! Yes, my situation could be worse, I’m not sure how, but it could be worse. I think.

  About 1:00 Leroy came back to visit my dungeon. He opened the door, left it open and sat down on the second bunk. “Your lawyer called. He wants you charged or released; I’m inclined to charge you.”

  “Charge me with what?” I exclaimed.

  “Murder,” Leroy said frankly. “We have evidence, motive, presence and even the weapon – your weapon that he was murdered with. You even admitted that.”

  “Now you know that is all circumstantial evidence. I wouldn’t kill the guy. Why would I do that?”

  “Well other than the fact that you two guys had a bar fight, and the fact that we know you have some connection with his wife – probably rolling in the sack with her while JR wasn’t looking. And to ice it, we got a tip you were pulling some blackmail scam on JR. Maybe it all backfired and he ended up dead. We don’t have all the pieces but we will.” Leroy was talking in circles.

  “Blackmail! Where did that come from? Somebody give you an anonymous tip - right? Those go over big in court,” I was trying.

  “The tipster said JR had paid you $10,000 in cash – hush money. Now, if I go looking for that money, will I find it?”

  “Oh shit, Leroy. Listen; do you know Steve Carrollton, the guy who heads the Memphis Mafia?” I was quickly backing up.

  “Sure, who doesn’t?” Leroy answered without emotion.

  “Do you know Bubba Knight and Bobby James, two of his strong arm thugs?”

  “Yep, know them too. I even had a report there were in town recently. Are you involved with the Mafia too? Carson, even if they don’t electrocute you, you will never get out of jail,” Leroy was shaking his head.

  “Okay, Leroy. I want to make a full confession,” I said raising my head.

  “That’s good, Carson. It will feel better to get the guilt off your chest and save the taxpayers a lot of money. Let me get a stenographer over and then we’ll get your story checked out.”

  “NO! I don’t want any damn stenographer,” I yelled. “I want to tell you my story, and I won’t leave anything out. If you don’t believe me, then we’ll see the judge. If you do believe me, you’ll let me out of here, and I’ll help you get to the bottom of this killing and some other things I think are going on around here. Is that a deal?” I hoped.

  “No it is not a deal. But I will listen to your story – I am all ears.”

  “It all started 6 days ago…” And I told Leroy the whole story, start to finish. I didn’t leave out anything – not the money, not Judy, not anything. I came clean.

  When I finished, Leroy just stared at me. He had that dumb Tennessee redneck look on his face, which I can never read. Until he spoke, I didn’t know if I should be planning on the electric chair or getting out of here before dinner.

&n
bsp; “You know Carson,” he said rubbing his chin. “This helps explain a lot of things, things that we suspected but had no answers for. The FBI agent Giltner has been trying to get Judge Barney Graves, to sign a search warrant for those trucks sitting out at the Hosiery Mill. Up until now, the judge didn’t want to get involved because of the union, but this might change that. I am going to get that stenographer, and I want that part of your story in a statement that we can take to Judge Graves. You can leave the rest of it out, because it doesn’t concern those FBI assholes. They are on a ‘need to know’ from both Raymond and myself. However, what you have told me doesn’t get me any closer to who wanted, or needed, JR dead and who fulfilled that need.”

  “Leroy, I realize that, and you know I didn’t kill this guy. Don’t you?” I asked.

  “I would like to believe that you did not,” he answered. “Yes, that is correct.”

  “Okay, let me out. You can call it bail or you can call it whatever. Just let me be the detective I am. We’ll get to the bottom of the killing, and maybe turn over some of this other mess in the process. I’ll share everything I learn with you, but you need to share things with me too. Is that a deal?” I pleaded.

  “No, that isn’t a deal either. At least not a deal I would ever admit to. You know that Raymond wants your skin stretched over a log, right? And if he learns that we made any arrangement for an information exchange, I can kiss my reelection possibilities good-by.”

  “Leroy, you don’t work for Raymond, but I know you are obligated to work with him. I’ll keep up my end of the deal, promise. And if we solve this thing, you can count yourself a ‘shoe-in’ at the next election. Besides, just having you believe me is worth its weight in gold.”