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- Herausgeber: Next Chapter
- Kategorie: Krimi
- Sprache: Englisch
Omar Philbin is the typical Louisiana politician, full of promises and bluster. After taking large campaign donations in exchange for empty promises, Omar is found murdered.
Niki Dupre is called in to investigate, and she finds no shortage of suspects. Soon, more people meet their demise at the hands of the ruthless killer.
Entering a world she doesn't know, Niki Dupre wonders if she has met her match. Can she bring the murderer to justice before more lives are lost?
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Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022
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MURDER IN LOUISIANA POLITICS
NIKI DUPRE MYSTERIES BOOK 4
JIM RILEY
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
Chapter 85
Chapter 86
Chapter 87
Chapter 88
Chapter 89
Chapter 90
Chapter 91
Chapter 92
Chapter 93
Chapter 94
Chapter 95
Chapter 96
Chapter 97
Chapter 98
Chapter 99
Chapter 100
Chapter 101
Chapter 102
Chapter 103
Chapter 104
Chapter 105
Chapter 106
Chapter 107
Chapter 108
Chapter 109
Chapter 110
Chapter 111
Chapter 112
Chapter 113
Chapter 114
Chapter 115
Chapter 116
Chapter 117
Chapter 118
Chapter 119
Chapter 120
Notes
Next in the Series
About the Author
Copyright (C) 2021 Jim Riley
Layout design and Copyright (C) 2021 by Next Chapter
Published 2021 by Next Chapter
Edited by Flatworld
Cover art by CoverMint
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author’s permission.
CHAPTERONE
SATURDAY MORNING
Central
The politician bragged, unaware of the fate awaiting.
"I brought the city of Central prosperity during a difficult economic downturn," Congressman Omar Philbin yelled into the microphone.
Louisiana had a unique election process, called an open primary system. Most states hold an election for nominees for the Republican and Democratic parties on separate ballots. The primary winners face off against each other in a general election.
The Pelican State lumps both major political parties and any ambitious independents in the same primary race. In many cases, the result is a runoff between two candidates of the same party.
The temperature hovered in the mid-nineties, high for even Louisiana in early March. Philbin, the Democratic incumbent, sweated so much his shirt clung to his body. His five opponents for the treasured seat in Congress fared no better.
The current member of the House of Representatives led the local polls by a substantial margin, more than twenty points over his closest rival. His confidence showed he expected to return to Capitol Hill representing the district.
This was the first and last debate among all six candidates. Philbin was opposed by one other Democrat, one independent, and three Republicans. In the mind of most residents of Central, he was a lock for reelection.
Only one television station bothered to send a crew to the outdoor debate, someone's idea of a cruel joke. High temperatures and humidity had a smothering effect on the event. not to mention the hordes of mosquitoes thrilled with access to unsuspecting prey.
The front of Philbin's soaked shirt clung to his body after only fifteen minutes into the debate. The only female candidate, Clarice Clement, remained the sole candidate still wearing a jacket.
Watching the single debate were mostly local dignitaries, including the mayor, school board president, and current United States Senator, Dalton Bridgestone. The senator sat by his fiancée, Niki Dupre, the most famous private investigator in Louisiana.
The moderator attempted to keep the debate moving forward so everyone could retreat to the wonderful invention called air-conditioning but each challengers insisted on their allotted ten minutes of fame.
Niki giggled at the sight of the sparring politicians. Philbin enjoyed the perks of the office, including being wined and dined by lobbyists with unlimited expense accounts. His bulging belly protruded over his belt, blocking it entirely from view of the audience. His pants became so wet in the wrong place, making them appear soiled by an unfortunate accident.
Clarice Clement was fighting the environment no better. The heavy makeup ran in streaks down her chubby face. Dark beads dropped from her chin and splattered on the white jacket she refused to remove. She drank copious amounts of water, only to have it escape through every pore in her body.
The moderator called for a ten-minute water break only twenty minutes into the debate. Most candidates toweled off and had a friend or associate attempt to put their appearances back in order. All drank too much water.
When the debate renewed, Dennis Hopper, a Republican candidate, launched a tirade against Omar Philbin.
"He has allowed the national debt to balloon to an unimaginable amount. He voted in favor of amnesty for the illegals in our country, and opposed tax reform at every turn. Good citizens, I will bring the federal government back under control. Mr. Philbin has allowed it to gain control over you."
"If I may respond." The congressman took the mic. "Of course, the debt has grown out of control. Republicans protect their rich friends and don't ask them to pay their fair share to help the rest of us. They… They… Ugh."
Philbin keeled over, knocking the microphone entirely off the platform. A red foam bubbled from his mouth. When he hit the floor, blood seeped from his nose.
"Medic!" the moderator shouted. "Is there a doctor in the crowd?"
Niki immediately dialed 911 to get an ambulance on the way. She saw Doctor Hebert tottering up the steps to reach the congressman. He had no bag but knelt beside the stricken man and felt for a pulse.
When he shook his head, Niki knew it was too late for the ambulance. She and Dalton pushed to the crowd to reach the bottom of the stage.
"What is it, Doc?" she asked.
"Some kind of poison, but I'm not sure yet exactly which one but it had a devastating effect on Mr. Philbin's pulmonary system. I'll have to do an autopsy before I can tell you more."
CHAPTERTWO
A squad car pulled up with sirens blaring and lights flashing. The imposing figure of Samson Mayeaux emerged from the vehicle. Samson's actual name was Samuel, but everyone knew him by his nickname. It fit with his tall, muscular stature towering over most people around him.
The crowd parted like the Red Sea, none anxious to get trampled by the charging Chief of Homicide for the East Baton Rouge Parish Sheriff's office. He knelt beside the late politician and the doctor, and they exchanged a few brief words in a low tone.
Mayeaux stood, all six feet eight inches, though already above the crowd while he stood on the platform. The addition of the sight and broad frame made Niki think of the Greek gods of mythology. Zeus. Thor. Atlas. She wasn't sure which one.
"All right, people," he began. "I know it's hot out here today, but I need every one to wait until a police officer interviews you before you leave."
"I can't wait for no officer," a voice from the crowd roared.
"Murphy, since you just volunteered to go last, you can sit your ass back down on the chair, and I'll personally interview you." Mayeaux looked over the crowd. "Any more volunteers to go at the end of the line?"
Some mumbled the protests, but no one said anything loud enough to be heard by the massive chief.
Mayeaux leaned over the platform and whispered to Niki.
"Do you and Dalton mind helping us out? We don't have enough people here to handle this."
"No problem," she answered. "What do you want us to do?"
"Talk to each person here. Get their name, address, and phone number. Ask them to tell you in their own words what they saw. There are probably two hundred people here, so we'll get three hundred stories."
Six deputies arrived, and between those, Niki, and Dalton, gathered statements from each member of the audience in less than two hours.
Niki hopped on the stage, and asked Clarice Clement the usual questions.
"Gawd, girl," the agitated candidate said. "You don't really s'pose I kilt that man, do you?"
"Mrs. Clement, we're the same questions to everyone here. It'll be helpful if you'll answer me."
"C'mon, girl. You already know who I and where I stay. What else"
"What did you see?" Niki asked.
"I saw that man look like the devil got hold of his heart and squeezed. That's what he gets for lying all the time."
"Can you be a little more specific?" Niki asked.
"Sho'. That devil, he squeezed on his lying heart so hard, blood oozed up and out of his head. Must've been the hand of the devil did it. Couldn't be nothing else."
"All right, Mrs. Clement. What did Congressman Philbin do before he started bleeding?"
"That man lied," she blurted. "That's what he did, and the devil grabbed him and squeezed him. Saw it with my own two eyes."
"I mean, what did Congressman Philbin do before he collapsed? Did you see him eat or drink anything?"
"Course, girl. We was all sweating like a preacher after a three-hour fire and brimstone sermon. It was so hot, I thought I might have to get naked and roll around in the mud."
Niki tried not to visualize the two-hundred-fifty-pound woman with no clothes. Just the thought of it made the private investigator shudder.
"Did you see him drink water?"
"Yes'm. Sure enough. He swallowed a couple gallons whilst I was getting a sip or two myself."
Niki glanced at the four empty water bottles behind the obese woman.
"Are those yours?"
Clarice turned to look at the bottles. When she turned back, a childish grin crossed her broad face.
"Yes'm. Maybe it was more than one sip."
"How much did Congressman Philbin drink?"
"Let's see. At first, the liar seemed to have trouble finding his cooler. But then, he found it on the back edge of the stage."
"Did he drink bottled water?"
Clarice nodded.
"And some of that from a big plastic jug. Didn't seem like he could get enough. Devil musta already had a hold on him."
"Can you show me the plastic jug?"
"Just follow me."
The big woman waddled to a large white cooler and lifted the lid. She studied the inside so long Niki was afraid she had gone to sleep.
"Ain't here," the large woman announced. "The devil must've took it with him when he left."
"Are you positive there was a big plastic jug Mr. Philbin took a drink from?"
"Girl, I'm old and decrepit, but I ain't blind. He took way more than a drink from it. I thought maybe he had a little hooch in there, the way his face twisted all sorts of ways."
"So you don't think it was water?"
"I seen guys drink hooch all my life, and the first reaction is about the same every time. Looks like they'd get used to it after a while."
"Did you see Mr. Philbin eat anything?"
"Nope. Just drank like a fish. I s'pect right this minute, he's explaining to Saint Peter why he had to tell all them lies."
"Did you see anyone take the big plastic jug after Mr. Philbin took a drink from it?"
"All I saw him doing was getting fresh makeup from that little filly he keeps around and gettin' notes from that charlatan who helps him tell lies."
"Do you mean Miss Becker and Mr. Anderson?"
"I reckon that be their names, though I ain't never been formally introduced to them. Guess I didn't rate no introduction from the big man."
"Miss Becker is the little brunette in the off-white suit, and Mr. Anderson is the small guy with designer jeans and the blue polo shirt."
"Yep. That's them. I'm surprised the devil left them behind 'cause they just as bad as he ever was."
"Did you see anyone else approach Mr. Philbin during the break?"
"The she-devil. She came up and held his dirty hand for a bit."
"She-devil?"
"His wife. Alicia Philbin."
CHAPTERTHREE
"I talked to Mayeaux," Dalton told Niki from across the table. "He would appreciate any help you can give him."
The strawberry-blonde popped another Cajun fried chicken liver, covered with ketchup and Tabasco sauce, into her mouth. She considered the idea while savoring the tangy morsel.
"I don't know. I've got so much going on right now. I don't know where I would fit it in."
"Think of it as a service to your country. It's not every day a sitting congressman gets murdered on live TV."
Dalton forked another fried dill pickle.
"That took balls. Has Samson reviewed the tape yet? If the killer is on there, he won't need my help."
"He looked at it," Dalton answered. "The camera guy quit filming when they went to break."
"Just our luck. Did Doc say what kind of poison was used?"
"He won't know until they run more tests, but he's already ruled out arsenic and cyanide."
"Who does Samson suspect?" Niki asked.
"Everybody. The other candidates. The aide. The assistant. The wife. Someone in the crowd."
"I'm glad he narrowed it down." Niki's sarcasm dripped more than the ketchup.
"Are you willing to help?"
"Why not? Revenue and cash flow are so overrated in a small business."
"Think of all the free publicity you'll get when you find out who killed the congressman."
"Great," Niki laughed. "I'll send the electric company a copy of the newspaper clipping with my bill instead of a check. I'm sure they'll be thrilled."
"If they cut you off, you can claim you decided to go off the grid and quit supporting those evil energy providers."
"I prefer air conditioning."
"That's the problem. No sense of adventure," Dalton said.
"I get enough adventure deciding which bills to pay this month and which ones to hold until next month."
"R-I-G-H-T," Dalton scoffed. "Maybe a few years ago. But I doubt if the world's most famous investigator has to pinch her pennies."
"If I'm working for nothing, that means you're buying today. You can write it off as a town hall meeting with your constituents."
"No problem," he responded. "Does this mean you'll contribute to my campaign fund for reelection?"
"I don't think so. Look where that got Congressman Philbin."
CHAPTERFOUR
SATURDAY NIGHT
Sheriff substation–Central
"What do you have, Samson?" Niki asked."
"The usual crap," the chief replied. "It makes me wonder if all those people were actually there."
"Anything useful?"
"Let's see. Fellow by the name of Broderick Thomas said the congressman looked sick at the beginning of the debate."
The chief thumbed through a few more cards.
"Another lady said he grabbed his assistant's ass. Another said he grabbed his aide's ass. That would be George Thomas."
"At least he was an equal opportunity guy," Niki chuckled.
"Funny." Samson wasn't amused. "One guy saw his wife messing with the cooler. Another saw at least two other candidates doing something at the back of the stage, but he thought they were taking a piss."
"I didn't realize they served alcohol this morning. Anything reliable?"
"Do you mean something other than the devil squeezed his heart too hard? I believe that was one of your interviewees."
"Clarice Clement," Niki said. "She is convinced Philbin was an evil man."
"And we have one witness claiming Clarice groped Philbin during the break."
"Geez," Niki rubbed her hands along her temple. "What happened to the cooler?"
"Found it on the ground behind the stage. Got more prints on it than a whore at a sailors' convention."
"Any of them useful?"
"Don't know yet," he answered. "We'll need to collect specimens from all the parties involved. But finding someone's print on the cooler won't mean anything."
"How about the plastic jug that Clarice Clement mentioned? What does it tell you?"
"Nothing," Mayeaux responded. "We haven't found it but it was there. Several folks swear they saw it. But some also swear they saw Martians standing on the platform during the break."
"Did the Martians leave fingerprints?"
"I don't know. They forgot to provide samples for our system."
CHAPTERFIVE
SATURDAY NIGHT
King's Gate Subdivision
"Mrs. Philbin, thanks for seeing me," Niki said once she was inside the congressman's home.
She expected more. Maybe five thousand square feet of room adorned with marble and granite on two hundred acres. Instead, it was a typical house in an ordinary subdivision. It wasn't in the slums, but it wasn't an exclusive gated community.
"It's okay," the new widow replied. "I knew there would be a lot of questions after what happened this morning."
"What do you remember?"
"I told that big policeman everything I saw. He should have the notes."
"That would be Samson Mayeaux. He's the chief of homicide and lead detective on this case. He asked me to follow up with the key witnesses."
"Does he think I killed my husband?"
"He has formed few opinions on the case so far. Chief Mayeaux is waiting for more evidence before he develops a theory."
"I didn't kill Omar," Alicia Philbin said in a level tone. "I had plenty of reasons to kill him, but I didn't."
"What reasons did you have?"
"Where do you want to start?" Alicia snorted. "We can start with the other women. Actually, they were mostly girls. Or we can start with the abuse, physical and mental. Or we can go straight to the money. It's up to you."
Niki leaned back in her chair. She hated to take advantage of the widow's emotional state, but wanted as much information as possible. She attempted to assess Alicia Philbin but was coming up with a puzzle with many pieces missing.
The lady sitting on the other side of the table looked in her early thirties, at least ten years younger than her late husband. Niki could see traces of beauty and elegance, but only glimpses of the past. Crow's feet and little bumps under the skin now covered a once dark, smooth complexion. Her dark, thick hair had spots of premature gray.
Alicia's body resembled that of an ex-athlete. The once lean figure now formed bulges in the wrong spots. Her shoulders drooped. The dark pantsuit was designer chic with matching expensive shoes. The jewelry she wore sported shiny diamonds. No cubic zirconium weighed on her fingers, wrists, or ears. The diamonds were as real as they were big.
"Why don't we start with the other ladies?"
"You don't have a big enough pad," Alicia formed a wry smile. "You might want to get a Rolodex."
"That many?"
"Omar didn't believe in discriminating as long as they were female. Young or old. Black or white. Rich or poor. Tall or short. Fat or skinny. I guess you could say he had diverse tastes, like a pig eating slop."
"Is that what you saw?"
"I saw he was a sicko. A pervert who preyed on any female who let him get within twenty feet."
"How did that affect your marriage?"
"Our marriage." She emphasized the word. "It was nothing but a business arrangement. People down here, whether Catholic or Protestant, expect a politician to be happily married, or at least married."
"What did you get out of the relationship?"
"Money. And the freedom to do anything I wanted without a guilty conscience."
"How much money will you receive?" Niki asked, getting directly to a probable motive.
"I'm not sure. He has most of it tied up in accounts in the Caymans. I've got to find out how to access those."
"How much, not counting those accounts?"
"Hmm." Alicia pondered the question. "My best guess is between two and three million. But that includes his campaign finance fund. I don't know how much is in it or how that works."
"Why didn't you divorce him?"
"Money. I was waiting until I was sure my share was at least five million. Then I was outta here."
"But now you don't have to split the money."
"Isn't that wonderful?" Alicia grinned. "I don't know who killed the slime ball, but they did me a huge favor."
"You don't sound like a grieving widow."
"Grieving, hell. I'm celebrating." She paused. "Of course, I'll keep up appearances for the cameras. I have no reason to ruin Omar's reputation now that he's dead."
"Then why are you telling me all the bad stuff?"
"I might as well. From what I've heard, you're the best investigator around. If I didn't tell you, you would find out all his bad habits and wonder why I didn't tell you."
"Who was Omar… uh, in a relationship with lately?"
"Screwing, dear." Alicia laughed. "Omar didn't believe in relationships. He believed in screwing."
"Okay, who was he screwing?"
"I'm not positive, but I bet that little prissy pants he's paying. Chris the priss. She shook that tight little butt at him, and that's all it took."
"Did they spend a lot of time together?"
"Hah." Another laugh from the widow. "They didn't call him Speedy for his work habits. His idea of romance was over in three minutes, including two minutes to take his clothes off and put them back on."
"Any other women?"
"Probably. He was quick but always persistent. Kinda like those snapping turtles that keep biting even after you cut their heads off. Omar was like that."
"How about political enemies? Did Omar have any disagreements with his opponents or other representatives?"
"Only the ones he met or talked to on the phone. He didn't go out of his way to upset people but if they happened to venture into his path, he could make a Baptist preacher take up booze."
"If he was that bad, how did he maintain the all-American image? I know I've never heard a lot of bad things about Omar."
"George Thomas, the image doctor. He can make a skunk look like a bunny rabbit. All those guys have someone like George around."
"Anybody else who would have wished your husband harm?"
"Only all the people he ever talked to."
CHAPTERSIX
SATURDAY NIGHTGOWN
Creekwood Subdivision
"Mr. Hopper, thanks for seeing me on short notice," Niki said to the candidate for Congress running as an independent.
Hopper didn't look like a politician. His blue jeans weren't a designer label. The calluses on his hands bore evidence of hard manual labor. His brown hair that ran down the back of his neck was combed, not styled.
He stood slightly over six feet tall with a lean and wiry body. Niki pictured him on the back of a bucking bronco rather than attending a subcommittee meeting on international finance.
"No problem," he answered, his tone cordial.
"I know you gave a statement to the police this morning, but I have some additional questions, if you don't mind."
"Are you with the police?"
"I'm an independent private investigator. Chief Mayeaux asked me to help out with the investigation. They use private consultants from time to time."
"Samson," Hopper chuckled. "He wants you to do his job so he has more time to lose money playing poker with me."
"I didn't know Samson was a gambler."
"The way he plays, it's not gambling." Dennis paused. "It's more like paying for a few hours of fun and relaxation. I just hope that big sucker never gets mad at me for taking his money. That wouldn't be pretty."
"Did you see anything unusual this morning?"
"Yeah, I saw Omar Philbin die," Hopper deadpanned.
"Sorry. I didn't phrase that well. Did you see anything that might have contributed to Mr. Philbin's death?"
"Do you mean other than his terrible speech, his liberal positions on the size of the government, fossil fuels, health insurance, immigration, and two dozen others?"
"Would any of those positions get him killed?"
"In today's polarized world, all or any of them could trigger some nut to do something stupid."
"Do you think that was the case here? One of his stances on the issues triggered an extremist?"
"Hard to say." Hopper rubbed his chin. "If I had to bet, I'd say it was because he owed too much money to the wrong people."
"I thought he had lots of money?"
"Don't know about that. I've heard rumors about his offshore accounts but I reckon Omar was reluctant to use those. He didn't want to get the IRS involved and ask him where all the money came from."
"How did he get into debt?"
"Gambling," Hopper stated. "Compared to Philbin, Mayeaux looks like a professional. He would bluff with a nine-high hand and then be amazed when someone called him."
"Did you ever play with him?"
"Sure. I enjoy poker. Sometimes I play with the likes of Mayeaux and Philbin when I need to get ready for a big tournament. I'd rather they pay my entry fee than take it out of savings."
"So you beat Philbin most of the time?"
"I believe every time would be a better description. I don't ever remember losing to him."
"What do you do for a living? Play poker?"
"No way." Hopper had an easy laugh. "I enjoy playing, and I don't want to change that. I own the trailer place on Greenwell Springs Road."
"Trailers? Like in mobile homes?"
"No. Like in tow-behind cargo trailers. Open trailers, enclosed trailers, horse trailers. Whatever anyone wants or needs."
"Did you notice a white cooler behind Philbin this morning?"
"Yeah, he had one. We all had one except for Clarice, and her family gave her refreshments during the break."
"Do you know what happened to it?"
"I didn't know it was missing. Is that where the poison came from? The cooler?"
"It was sitting on the back of the stage. We found it in the weeds behind the platform with a plastic jug missing."
"What kind of poison?"
"I haven't heard back from Doc yet," Niki said.
"Hmm. Those results may shed a lot of light. If he comes back with the results I think he will, it would be very revealing."
"What are you thinking?"
"That Omar may not have been the only target. This could get awful dicey."
CHAPTERSEVEN
SUNDAY MORNING
"What did you find, Doc?" Niki asked over her cell phone.
"It's different, for sure. First time in my career, and I can't say that many times." Doctor Hebert, the medical examiner, replied.
"That doesn't sound good."
It's not. Have you ever heard of poke salad?"
"Do you mean poke salad like in the country-western song?"
"That's the one," he said.
"I thought that was a myth. Do you mean there really is a poke salad?"
"There is," he said. "I won't bore you with the details or the technical name, but it's a plant grown in the swamp, somewhere like the Atchafalaya Basin."
"How can a salad poison someone?"
"Poke salad has to be boiled to be safe. Then the water is poured off and replaced with fresh water. It takes three boilings at a minimum to make it free of toxins."
"Are you serious?"
"Unfortunately. Somebody figured out a way to take the plant and put it on hormones by adding acid. I'm waiting on some breakdowns before I can tell you what kind of acid."
"Is poke salad plentiful?"
"In the swamp, you can find it along the banks of the sloughs and bayous."
"That's not much of a help." Niki thought out loud. "Free and plentiful. No records of purchase because there aren't any. I'd say it's the perfect weapon."
"I hate to be the one bearing bad news, but I have to tell you what I found. If I get any information on the acid, I'll let you know."
"Thanks, Doc. I could use good news."
CHAPTEREIGHT
SUNDAY MORNING
Watson
"How can we help?" Drexel Robinson asked.
He and Donna Cross ate with Niki at their favorite restaurant in Watson, Linda's Chicken & Fish. Drexel was the oldest investigator at Wildcat Investigations by far, and Donna, the youngest. Niki often leaned on both during complex cases.
"We have a lot of interviews to conduct, and I haven't scratched the surface yet." Niki swirled a Cajun fried chicken liver in a combination of ketchup and Tabasco sauce.
"Give us the list, and we'll knock it out in no time," Donna responded with the confidence of youth. She brushed back her thick blonde hair.
"I talked to the independent candidate, the coroner, and Clarice from the debate. We still have three more Republicans, the aides, and the other the two hundred people who attended. Oh yeah, I talked to Mrs. Philbin, as well."
"What's the picture so far?" Drexel asked between spoonfuls of chicken and sausage gumbo.
"The representative led two very separate lives. His public life was all about honesty, integrity, and hard work, but his private life was dramatically different, at least from what I've found out so far."
"Do you have any idea yet who killed him? It would help if you had a theory," Donna said.
"I have no theory yet. The poison was simple yet sophisticated. It can be obtained by anyone taking a trip to the basin but then was mixed with a booster acid. I don't think the mixture was happenstance. Somebody knew what they were doing."
"Have you ruled out Philbin's wife?" Drexel asked.
"Not yet. She seems to be on the up and up. She thinks Philbin left a lot of money in some offshore accounts, but the other guy I spoke to said he was big-time in debt."
"Where does she think the accounts are located?" Donna asked.
"She thinks they are in the Caymans."
"I'll find those accounts if they're indeed there," the young blonde boasted.
"How… Never mind. I probably would rather not know how you find them." Niki replied.
"Don't worry. I'll get in and out of Mr. Philbin's computer, and nobody will ever know. I don't leave trails when I visit."
"Girl, you're gonna get in trouble if you keep messing around with all that stuff. Off-line servers, the cloud, digital passwords. Somebody's gonna track it all back to those pretty little hands of yours on the keyboard," Drexel admonished.
"Only if I get old and careless like someone at this table," Donna responded, winking at Niki.
"Okay," Niki nodded. "Donna, you try to track down the truth about the money. Drexel, you follow up on the gambling debts and the poke salad angle. I'll visit Doc Hebert and see if the acid gives us any leads."
"What else do we do?" Donna asked.
"Talk to the other candidates and assistants. Then we'll meet again and see what we've got. I hate to waste time interviewing two hundred extra people unless we at least know what to ask them."
CHAPTERNINE
SUNDAY AFTERNOONS
Jefferson Road
"He was like a mentor to me," Christy Becker told Niki in her small home just north of Central.
The tiny abode looked like a dollhouse, perfectly arranged, neatly adorned, with bright, fresh paint. The modest home could not have been much over a thousand square feet, but once Niki was inside, it seemed more than adequate. Every small item was situated in a way to have made any architect or interior designer incredibly proud.
The house was a reflection of Christy Becker, the person. Her ruffled blouse had not a single stray wrinkle, matching the perfectly creased designer jeans and upscale casual shoes.
Her jewelry wasn't gaudy but highlighted her feminine features. Every hair was in place, its brunette strands framing an all-American face with a button nose, full lips, and friendly dimples with every smile.
She wasn't top-heavy. Instead, very well-proportioned. The word that came to Niki's mind was firm. The long-legged investigator wondered how many hours Christy spent in the gym to maintain her doll-like appearance.
Niki wasted no time, confronting the assistant about the allegation of a relationship with the congressman. To beat around the bush wouldn't benefit the investigator or the witness.
"Other than tutoring and mentoring you, what kind of relationship did you have with Mr. Philbin?"
"He was my friend. I know that sounds funny with our age difference, but we really related to each other well."
"Was the relationship physical?"
"What…? He wasn't that kind of man. The congressman was a gentleman in every respect."
"Are you sure?" Niki pressed the young lady. "I've heard different stories about his relationships with women."
"You've been talking to that poor excuse of a wife he had. I actually feel sorry for her."
"Why?"
"Because," Christy replied. "She has all sorts of mental and emotional problems, and has trouble dealing with reality."
"Did Omar tell you about her problems?"
"Sure. The witch won't hardly talk to me."
"Why not?"
"She imagined the same thing you. She assumed Omar and I were in some sort of relationship. She thinks it's the only reason he hired me."
"How long have you been sleeping with him?"
"I told you…" Christy started.
"I know what you said, but I also can see what's in your eyes. You lost more than a boss and a friend yesterday."
A cavalcade of tears erupted, Christy unable to stem the tide. Several tissues later, the heaving subsided. The white ruffled blouse was streaked with mascara and cosmetics.
Niki waited patiently while Kristi shed tears. Only after the young assistant regained a modicum of composure did the interview continue.
"How long did you have a relationship with Omar?"
"I worked with him for eight months," she sniffled. "It was like we were made for each other. He was the most sensitive man I've ever met."
Niki remembered the descriptions given of Omar by Alicia Philbin and Dennis Hopper. How could this girl sitting next to her have such a different opinion?
"So, the affair started as soon as you began working for him?"
"It wasn't an affair," Christy quickly responded. "We loved each other. As soon as the election was over, Omar planned to leave that lady and marry me."
"Were you willing to wait that long? The election is seven or eight months away."
More tears.
"I would have waited a lifetime for him. He was so special."
"Do you have any idea who might have wanted to kill him?" Niki asked.
"The witch he was married to. They had a prenuptial agreement. When they got divorced, she was only getting fifty thousand dollars. Now she gets everything."
"How much is everything?"
"I don't know exactly, but I know it is way over fifty thousand. Omar told me he had hidden a lot of it from her."
"If they had a prenup," Niki tried to make sense of what Christy was saying. "Why did he need to hide the money from her? What difference did it make?"
"He said there was some sort of loophole she might try to use. I don't know what it was."
Niki knew immediately. From her experience in the early days of Wildcat Investigations, many cases involved proving husbands were unfaithful to the current spouse. Most times, the wives needed those facts to invalidate the prenuptial agreements. Infidelity had to be the loophole Omar had told Christy about.
The information provided by the youngster moved Alicia Philbin up to the top of the suspect list. But at this point, there wasn't much of a list.
"Do you know anyone besides Alicia who might have wanted to harm Omar?"
"Some of those Republicans. Have you heard all the mean things they said about Omar? I couldn't believe it."
"Will this be the first time you've voted in an election?" Niki asked.
"Yes. I was barely old enough in the last one, but I wasn't interested in politics. It's only because of Omar I'm interested this year."
"Politics, especially in Louisiana, is a serious business, and sometimes brings out the worst in people. When they want to get elected, many can become mean and nasty."
"Omar wasn't like that. He was the sweetest person I've ever met."
Niki blinked. Even she had heard of the dirty political tactics of the late Congressman. One time he hired a prostitute for his opponent and filmed the encounter. Another time, his campaign distributed copies of a purported birth certificate naming his opponent as the father of a mixed-race child. There were more stories, and Omar Philbin was a legend for playing hardball on the campaign trail.
"Have you seen the commercials Omar ran this year? He called an opponent a son of the devil and another a sociopathic liar. Those weren't meant as compliments."
"That was all George's stuff. Omar didn't have anything to do with those."
"Are you talking about George Thomas?"
Christy nodded.
"And you believe George put those commercials together and didn't tell Omar?"
"That's what Omar told me. He said he would have stopped him, but the first time Omar knew about them was when he saw them on TV. By then, it was too late to do anything about them."
Niki shook her head in disbelief. Actually, she believed Christy. Niki had believed in a man she was in love with despite the obvious signs of deceit. That relationship had almost cost the young investigator her life. Love can make one blind to the realities of life.
"What was the relationship like between Omar and George?"
"Omar depended on George to do all the little stuff he didn't have time for. I know Omar got frustrated when an opponent spread lies. It was George's responsibility to get the truth out to the public."
Spin doctor, Niki immediately thought. Twist the facts to make the candidate look good, no matter if they're true.
"How bad were the disagreements between Omar and George?"
"Omar planned to fire George as soon as the election was over. He told me I could do George's job better, and we could always be together, even at work."
"Any of the Republican candidates stick out in your mind who didn't care for Omar?"
"Jimmy Gill. He hated Omar."
"Why?"
"Jimmy thinks George is the one who started the rumor his two daughters aren't really his daughters."
"I haven't heard that one."
"You haven't been paying attention. I can believe it's true because neither daughter looks anything like him. Besides, the rumor has taken all the air out of Jimmy's campaign. He was almost tied with Omar, and now he's almost at the bottom of the pack."
"I can understand then why he was not the president of Omar's fan club."
"But Omar didn't start those rumors. I asked him."
"Anyone else?"
"Kenny Long. I was in Omar's office one day when he called, and threatened to come to the office and give Omar a thrashing."
"Why?"
"Somebody sent an email to everyone on Kenny's donors list. It was all the folks who made any sort of contribution."
"What did the email say?"
"It said Kenny used the donations to take a vacation to Belize. There were some photographs attached to it showing Kenny on a nude beach with a bunch of girls."
"Holy Moses," Niki blurted. "I bet that pic went over well with the family and the donors."
"I was kinda surprised he even showed up for the debate. I don't think he'll get his wife to vote for him, and no way he was gonna get enough votes to win after that."
The suspect list kept growing by leaps and bounds. At some point, it seemed Omar had alienated every person he had ever came into contact with. Except Christy.
"You've been very helpful. I may need to speak to you again." Niki began to rise.
"Wait a minute." Christy's eyes widened. "I don't know if it's important, but Omar got a serious phone call Friday."
"Who from?"
"Some organization. CAG on PCP or something like that."
"What was the conversation about?"
"Something about a bunch of money they had given Omar."
"A campaign contribution?" Niki asked.
"I don't think so. It sounded too personal. Omar looked scared when he got off the phone."
"Did Omar tell you anything about the call? Did he make any comments?"
"The only thing he said." Christy paused as if trying to remember the exact words. "He said maybe he shouldn't have changed his vote."
CHAPTERTEN
SUNDAY NIGHT
Liberty Road
"George, I understand you were Mr. Philbin's internal support."
Niki enjoyed the view of George Thomas's ranch. His estate was more like what she had expected when she had visited Omar's home, a white rail fence surrounded one hundred fifty acres of pristine bottomland.
Heavyweight cows and bulls munched on the lush pasture grass. They were the most massive and prettiest cattle Niki had ever seen. Even though she had been raised in Central, the rural countryside was never far away in Louisiana. Holsteins. Brahmas. Guernsey's. Niki has seen them all. None compared to the breed she saw on the Thomas ranch.
The ranch house was a tremendous log cabin, more than six thousand square feet of rustic opulence. Huge beams spanned across the twenty-foot arch, highlighted with custom windows and ports.
