Murder in Knoxville

Murder in Knoxville

A Collection of Sam Jenkins Mysteries

Wayne Zurl

Copyright © 2017 by

Wayne

Zurl

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review or scholarly journal.

First

Printing

:

2017

ISBN: 978-1-68046-

506

-

8

Melange

Books

,

LLC

White Bear Lake, MN 55110

www.melange-books.com

Names, characters, and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher. 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 permission in writing from the publisher.

Published in the United States of America.

Cover Design by Lynsee Lauritsen

To all the people who want to read about real police work—the excitement, the boredom, the drama and the comedy.

Contents

A Labor Day Murder

A Murder in Knoxville

Bullets Off-Broadway

Scrap Metal and Murder

By the Horns of a Cow

Serpents & Scoundrels

Thank You For Reading

Author Mailing List

Melange Mailing List

About the Author

Also by Wayne Zurl

Sneak Peek

Also Available from Melange Books

A Labor Day Murder

Idon’t think she really hates me, but she does cringe every time I walk into her office. Maybe it’s the lawyer jokes I tell. Or maybe it’s how I show a lack of respect for the local politicians. I guess I’m comfortable with our relationship. And someday Moira may learn the Jenkins method of compromise: We talk about it and then do it

my

way

.

You expect me to go before a judge and ask for a warrant so you can search a restaurant for the proceeds of illegal gambling?

Yes, ma’am. That’s why I’m here,

I

said

.

"Lord have mercy, Sam. It’s only a

card

game

."

"In the last seven days, my cops have made two DUI arrests of men leaving that place after hours. Both people said they were playing cards, and the owner was chopping

the

pot

."

If you held a card game at your home wouldn’t you accept some reimbursement for the food and drink you offered the players?

This guy is taking fifteen percent from each pot. They’re playing dollar-five poker. That’s more than the goombahs get back where I used to work. He’s also operating a cash bar, serving untaxed moonshine. His restaurant only has a beer license.

I hear what you’re sayin’, Sam. I understand. Do you understand that Audie Blevins has operated that restaurant for almost forty years? His daddy owned it for Lord knows how many years before that. Audie’s brother is the chairman of the county commission, and Audie’s a very, and I emphasize very, big supporter of and contributor to the local Republican party.

Well, three cheers for Audie. He sounds like a real good ol’ boy. Do I have to tell you I don’t give a rat’s ass to whom he’s related or to what he contributes? I asked.

Moira Menzies is a pretty blonde, around fifty, and if she smiled more often would be even more attractive. She’s also the chief assistant district attorney general for Blount County, Tennessee. Whenever I need a search or arrest warrant, I deal directly

with

her

.

For a moment before she spoke, she closed her eyes and shook her head. "You’re not goin’ away,

are

you

?"

I smiled at her. My lady-killer smile has been known to melt the coldest heart.

Nope.

We were sitting in her second floor corner office in the Justice Center, overlooking the

new

jail

.

She stood up and put her hands on her hips. Don’t try that smile on me, Jenkins. More cops have tried that act than I can count.

I looked up at her. Yeah, but I’m the only ex-New York cop you know, and I’ll bet I’m the best lookin’ police chief in the county.

She dropped the pencil she’d been holding onto her desktop—with a little more force than necessary. You sure ain’t the most modest. Come on, I’ll walk you up to the judge’s chambers.

Twenty minutes later, I had my ‘no knock’ search warrant for the Iron Skillet restaurant.

You think the judge will drop a dime on Audie and give him a heads-up about the warrant? I asked.

"Judge Myers is a pretty straight shooter, but anything’s possible. Audie is well-connected."

"Let’s hope Judge Myers believes in truth, justice and the

American

way

."

Let’s hope he believes in at least the first two,

she

said

.

At 11:30 Saturday night, six of the twelve cops employed by Prospect PD and I waited outside the Iron Skillet on Sevierville Road. Five of us had driven our personally-owned pickup trucks to haul away the furniture, file cabinets and other accouterments used by the owner to promote gambling and sell untaxed alcoholic beverages .

Twelve cars plus Audie’s. Must be a couple of games goin’ on, Sergeant Stan Rose observed.

I guess, I said. "No one new has shown up for thirty minutes. Time to kick in

the

door

."

Stanley nodded. "Sounds like

a

plan

."

I wish we had a paddy wagon. It looks unprofessional using our own pickup trucks.

A paddy wagon? Sometimes we look like the Keystone Cops, but there’s no reason we need a paddy wagon.

"Each precinct had a paddy wagon in

New

York

."

"You own a pick-up in

New

York

?"

"Of

course

not

."

Well?

You sayin’ I’m getting like the locals?

I’ve got no theory. I’m just presenting the evidence.

Don’t you feel stereotypical driving a Cadillac? I asked.

Stan is from Los Angeles and usually sounds like a Cal Tech graduate. I do not. A brother’s got to look good when he’s on the road. Clean car, pretty woman…you unnerstand what I’m sayin’? Occasionally he lapses into Ebonics for my benefit.

Uh-huh. My man. Right on. What it is! I said, sounding more like a Black Panther than a police chief.

Honky racist.

"

You

wish

."

We ready to go? he asked.

"I was ready before you started all this

ethnic

crap

."

Well then, great white leader?

"My wife doesn’t give me as much trouble

as

you

."

Stanley gave me a big grin. "Come on, man. It’s

show

time

."

I keyed the portable radio I held, "Prospect-one to all units—

do

it

."

Officers Bobby John Crockett and Vernon Hobbs pounded on the front door. Harlan Flatt, Leonard Alcock and Junior Huskey covered the back door and the windows at the rear of the restaurant. Stanley and I moseyed up to the front entrance.

A thin man with short dark hair and a wispy mustache, looking like a bartender in his white apron, answered the door. The two cops pushed their way in. Stan and I followed.

Police department. We have a search warrant. Nobody move! Bobby

called

out

.

No one moved.

Where’s Audie Blevins? I asked, waving a copy of the warrant in my

left

hand

.

That would be me, said a short, well-dressed man of about sixty.

I handed him the paper.

This is a warrant to search your premises for evidence of illegal gambling and untaxed liquor, I said. I see two card games. Care to explain anything?

"Jest some friendly games, officer. We get t’gether ever once’t in a while ta play cards.

Nothin

’

more

."

Have a seat, Mr. Blevins, and don’t touch anything. Turning to the bartender I said, "What’s

your

name

?"

James Begley, sir. Most ever’ one calls me Jammer.

"Okay, Jammer, you have a

seat

,

too

."

I told Bobby Crockett to open the back door and let the other three cops in. While Stan and I took names, and capped the drinks on the tables with Glad-Wrap, the boys searched the restaurant, the adjacent office and the storerooms.

The quickest way to put pressure on a restaurant owner is to threaten to take away their liquor license. I demanded a copy of his from Audie Blevins. As I recorded all that information, Junior Huskey got my attention.

Sam, look-it here. He handed me two folders and a well-stuffed, padded manila envelope. One folder was marked players; the other was unmarked. The envelope was full of cash. I looked over the two-page list of players. There were over thirty names with telephone numbers. The unmarked folder had several loose-leaf pages showing dates and dollar figures. The dates went back more than two years.

Good work, kid, I said to Junior, a list of gamblers and profits from the games. You ought to be a detective.

"I could live with

that

,

boss

."

I gave him an encouraging thumbs-up even though we have no detectives at

Prospect

PD

.

Crockett and Harley Flatt carried in four plastic, gallon milk jugs all full of clear liquid.

They’s about six or seven more jest like these in the back, Harley said. "Take a

whiff

,

boss

."

He popped the cap off one jug and lifted it to

my

nose

.

Yahoo. I took a half step backwards. Smells like pure alcohol. Must be 190 proof or better. I turned to the closest table of players. Any of you guys feel like you’re going blind? No one seemed to enjoy my attempt at humor. "Harley, confiscate everything and box up all these glasses we’ve put tops on. We’ll let the Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms people analyze this

for

us

."

Then Vern Hobbs walked up, extended his hand and showed me a large revolver.

"Got this in the office, boss. Nice

lookin

’

gun

."

It was an old Smith and Wesson model 1917, .45 caliber revolver…a revolver that fired .45 automatic ammunition.

This pistol have a story behind it, Mr. Blevins? I asked.

I got a right ta keep a gun in my restaurant. It’s all bought an’ paid fer, all legal-like, he said. Ain’t yew ever heard o’ the Second Amendment?

I wanted to give Audi the finger, but resisted the urge. Bag it, and tag it, Vern. I’ll send it off to be checked.

All the players we met that night were on the list Junior found. I wanted each man charged with participating in illegal gambling, privately interviewed and a statement taken from each one. We had several hours of work ahead

of

us

.

When we finished issuing appearance tickets to the players and Jammer Begley, we took Audie Blevins to Prospect PD to process his arrest. At three in the morning, we released him on one hundred dollars bail. Two sixty-inch round tables, sixteen chairs and two tall file cabinets filled the lobby of our office and the squad room. The evidence closet held eleven-and-a-half gallons of moonshine, over three thousand dollars in cash and a few other evidentiary items taken from the Iron Skillet. In a few hours, the Sunday eight-to-four shift would arrive at work, wonder what the hell went on the night before, and then life would

go

on

.

At 8:50 Monday morning I walked through the back door of the PD. Sergeant Bettye Lambert sat at her desk in the front office .

Morning, Betts,

I

said

.

She turned and looked at me but said nothing. I thought it was time for some basic male-female interpersonal

relations

work

.

"My goodness, Bettye, but don’t you look exceptionally nice today. You do something different with your

hair

or

—

"

She cut me short.

Don’t start your charmin’ act on me, Sam Jenkins. What have you done to my police station? All this junk looks like we’re havin’ a yard sale or somethin’.

Bettye is forty-two years old, blonde and beautiful. Perhaps the loveliest desk sergeant on the planet.

Bettye, we did a gambling raid Saturday night. This is just a collection of what we confiscated.

Gambling? She tilted her head. "Well, Lord have mercy. I just hope you find a place to put all this before

too

long

."

Yes, ma’am, I will. Don’t worry. Last thing I want to do, Sergeant Lambert, is make you angry. As I smiled at her, I wondered who the real boss was at my police department.

She shook her head. What am I going to do with you, Sammy?

What?

She frowned and shook her head again. I decided to find a storage spot for the confiscated property.

Around eleven o’clock I hopped into my gunmetal gray, unmarked Ford with Audie Blevins’ Smith and Wesson revolver and headed toward Knoxville. Half an hour later, I entered the Federal building at 710 Locust Street, went into the FBI field office and found my friend, Ralph Oliveri.

You did a gambling raid in Prospect? He sounded surprised.

Yes, and a good one, too. Player list, records of profit, a bag full of cash, untaxed alcohol and a handgun I need you to send off to get checked.

"It’s never ending with you,

isn’t

it

?"

Lighten up, Ralphie. If it wasn’t for me, you’d have to go out and drum up your own cases.

I hope I don’t have to remind you of all the favors you owe me. Like me, Ralph is from New York. He acts like

it

,

too

.

I have them all written down, paisan. I never forget anything.

Ralph rolled

his

eyes

.

Hey, it’s after noon, I said. "I’ll let you buy me lunch, and I’ll tell you how much I appreciate

your

help

."

He shook his head. Amazing! Just freakin’ amazing.

We ate at Chesapeake’s at the intersection of Broadway and Western Avenue, and because Ralph wouldn’t stop complaining, I paid for our crab cake platters and pints of Cherokee

Red

ale

.

I didn’t have great expectations of finding anything sinister, but I was anxious to get a report back after the gun was processed. But as I’ve learned over the years, the wheels of justice often turn slowly—especially for a small police department in East Tennessee. I resigned myself to a period of waiting.

Back at the PD, I found our lobby clear of the confiscated furniture.

"I see Mr. Files and Spurgie were as efficient as ever in cleaning up your police station," I said to Bettye.

They were. Thank you very much. Now you need to call Moira Menzies at her office.

Sure. She say what she wanted?

Not to me. Probably has to do with your gamblin’ raid. Bettye smiled and fluttered her eyelashes, knowing how easily she can influence me with a little flirting. Good gracious, a gamblin’ raid in li’l old Prospect, she said, You’d think this was Brooklyn.

I needed to show a little attitude. Ey, whadda yoo know ‘bout Brooklyn? I said, sounding like I just stepped off Flatbush Avenue.

Only what you tell me, darlin’.

"‘Lady, yoo bedda tawk nice ‘bout Brooklyn. Me and da Dodgers bote come

from

dare

."

Lord have mercy, but don’t y’all talk funny.

Moira Menzies made our phone conversation very short and simple, Sam, I’d like you to give Audie Blevins his furniture back. We don’t need it for the prosecution. You really shouldn’t have taken it anyway .

Obviously, Moira was unfamiliar with Jenkins’ law of criminal procedure.

"Audie is lucky I didn’t find a deck of cards in the front seat of his Lincoln. I could gain a bunch of points with my friends at the FBI if I gave them a new Town Car from an asset

forfeiture

case

."

She didn’t comment on

that

idea

.

You also should give back the cash you confiscated. His lawyer claims that’s only capital from the restaurant,

she

said

.

Check the inventory. The money taken from the register and the office safe could be restaurant money. We found the envelope with over eighteen hundred dollars in small bills in a locked file drawer, along with a list of players and his ledger sheets showing the proceeds of his gambling operation. Let’s give back his biscuits and gravy money. Keep the eighteen large to buy new paper and pencils for the sheriff’s department.

"Sometimes you’re utterly

impossible

,

Sam

."

Can a doctor cure that with medication?

She ignored the question. Are you opposed to a quick plea bargain?

"Of course not. This is a gambling collar, not a murder. Give him a hefty fine. He made money on the card games. Make him lose money in the court system. He’ll learn the economics

of

it

."

"Good. His lawyer is anxious to let him

plead

out

."

I shrugged. By the way, Ned the Fed at ATF may want to speak with Audie after their lab analyzes the moonshine I gave them. I doubt he made it himself.

You’re a hard man, Jenkins.

I laughed.

What? she asked.

No comment.

He also asked to have his pistol back. He wants protection for his restaurant.

"If he wants protection, tell him to buy a condom. He has to wait for the FBI to finish vetting the gun. I’ll send him a note when he can have

it

back

."

"Audie Blevins is not a member of an organized crime family. Is it necessary to treat him

like

one

?"

"I treat all my customers the same. It’s easy to avoid issues of constitutionality

that

way

."

Sam? Moira gave an exaggerated audible sigh. "Oh, never mind. Please give the man his tables and

chairs

back

."

As you wish, madam.

Oh, for the love of God…Good bye. She

hung

up

.

Old George Files and his assistant Spurgie Dent weren’t too happy when I told them about bringing the two tables and sixteen chairs back up from the basement storage room when Jammer Begley and a helper who looked a lot like a young Wallace Beery stopped by with a truck. Later that day Audie came in personally to get his night deposit bag full of restaurant cash. I let Sergeant Lambert handle that distasteful transaction.

After Audie left the building, Bettye and I and the boys of Prospect PD were once again back to business as usual—for a while anyway.

Several days later, Ralph Oliveri asked, "Hey, can I buy the luck you always seem

to

have

?"

What luck? I’d prefer to think of it as superior police abilities. What are you talking about anyway?

The gun you gave me. Give yourself a gold star. You got a jackpot.

Keep talking, Ralphie. I’m starting to get excited.

"The gun was used in a homicide near your neck-of-the-woods. In September of ‘06, a guy named Harvey-Dean Mullins was shot to death in his Maryville home. The Blount County Sheriff has the open case. Two distinct sets of prints are on the gun. One matches to your defendant. The other is an unidentified partial. The gun’s on its way back to us as we speak. Pretty good stuff from your little jerk-

water

PD

."

I’m sending my thanks to you and all the little G-men involved. You’re fine Americans.

Iwalked out into the reception area to tell Bettye the good news. "Hot damn! Am I good

or

what

?"

Finest detective I’ve ever met. Not exactly the most modest, but you do make things interestin’.

You forgot slick as a ribbon and more dashing than Dirty Harry Callahan.

No, I didn’t forget. I just didn’t want you to accuse me of sexual harassment, she said and gave me one of her big smiles.

Someday, Sergeant, you’re gonna get me into trouble.

Promises, promises.

Isat in my oversized swivel chair with my feet propped up on the right corner of my desk and dialed a number in Maryville, the next town to

the

west

.

"Mr. Costello’s office, may I

he’p

yew

?"

I knew the voice.

"Hi, Stephie. How’s my favorite legal