Murder In Louisiana Politics Read online

  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

  Dear Reader

  Copyright (C) 2021 Jim Riley

  Layout design and Copyright (C) 2021 by Next Chapter

  Published 2021 by Gumshoe – A Next Chapter Imprint

  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.

  Chapter One

  Saturday morning

  Central

  "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. It's called an open primary system. Most states hold an election for nominees for the Republican and Democratic parties on separate ballots. Then the winners of the primaries face off against each other in a general election.

  The Pelican State lumps both 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 was leading local polls by 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 was the sole candidate still wearing a jacket.

  Watching the single debate were most of the local dignitaries, including the mayor, the school board president, and the current United States Senator, Dalton Bridgestone. The senator sat by his fiancée, Niki Dupre. Niki was the most famous private investigator based in Louisiana.

  The moderator attempted to keep the debate moving on so everyone could retreat to the wonderful invention called air-conditioning. But the challengers each insisted on their 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 the audience. His pants became so wet at the wrong place, making them appear to have been 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.

  Only twenty minutes into the debate, the moderator called for a ten-minute water break. Most of the candidates toweled off and had a friend or associate attempt to put them back in order. All drank too much water.

  When the debate renewed, Dennis Hopper, one of the Republican candidates, launched a tirade against him more 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. He 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 in his hand. "Of course the debt has grown out of control. Republicans protect their rich friends, and don't ask them to pay their fai
r share to help the rest of us. They—They—Ugh."

  Philbin keeled over, knocking the microphone completely 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. It had a devastating effect on his pulmonary system. I'll have to do an autopsy before I can tell you any more."

  Chapter Two

  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 of them 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. They exchanged a few brief words in a low tone.

  Then Mayeaux stood, all six feet eight inches. He was 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 of you to wait and be interviewed by a police officer 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 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's probably two hundred people here, so we’ll get three hundred stories."

  Six deputies arrived. Between all of them, Niki, and Dalton, they gathered statements from each member of the audience in less than two hours.

  Niki hopped on the stage. She asked Clarice Clement the usual questions.

  "Land, girl" the agitated candidate said. "You don't really s’pose I kilt that man, do you?"

  "Mrs. Clement, we’re asking for the same information from everyone here. It will be helpful if you’ll answer me."

  "C’mon, girl. You already know who I am 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 that 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. That's when the devil grabbed him, and squeezed him. Saw it with my own two eyes."

  "I mean, what did he do before we 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 any 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 wide face.

  "Yes'm. Maybe it was more than one sip."

  "How much did Congressman Philbin drink?"

  "Let's see. At first, he seemed to be having trouble finding his cooler. But then, he found it on the back edge of the stage."

  "Was he drinking 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 over 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?"

  "No. All I saw him doing was getting fresh makeup from that little filly he keeps around, and get notes from that charlatan that helps him tell lies."

  "Do you mean Miss Becker and Mr. Anderson?"

  “I reckon that be their names. 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 in the blue polo shirt."

  "Yep. That's them. I'm surprised the devil left them behind. They just as bad as he ever was."

  "Did you see anyone else approached Mr. Philbin during the break?"

  "The she–devil. She came up and held his dirty hand for a bit."

  "She-devil?"

  "His wife. Ms. Alicia Philbin."

  Chapter Three

  "I talked to Mayeaux," Dalton announced. "He would appreciate any help you can give him."

  Niki popped another fried chicken liver in her mouth. It was covered with ketchup and Tabasco sauce. She considered the idea while she savored 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 that 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, then 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 some 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? Revenu
e 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 think I prefer air conditioning."

  "That's the problem. No sense of adventure," Dalton said.