9 Murder Mysteries: volume 3

By Don Potter

More easy reading for you, and this time, there is with the bonus of an additional story. Now 9 Murder Mysteries, Volume 3 just became 10.
As with his first two collections of murder mysteries, Don Potter has written tales that will keep you turning the pages. Just when you think the ending of each story is clear, a twist of fate, a bump in the road, or an unexpected development is introduced. The result is a climax that is sure to surprise you 9 times over, make that 10 times over.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Mar 13, 2020
• ISBN: 9781098304829

Book preview

BOOKS BY DON POTTER

The Adman

Murder on Madison Avenue

Spin Masters

9 Murder Mysteries

Deadly Honeymoon

9 Murder Mysteries, Volume 2

Sh-Boom

9 Murder Mysteries, Volume 3

This book is fictional and a product of the author’s imagination. Reference to people, places and things are solely to create a sense of authenticity. And resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental. Apart from brief extracts used in reviews, no part of this book may be used or reproduced for any reason without prior written consent of the author.

Copyright 2020: Donald L. Potter

All rights reserved

ISBN 9781098304829

CONTENTS

WESTWARD

The American Civil War is over but Buffalo Soldiers are being killed along the San Antonio-El Paso Road. The suspect pool is deep: defeated Confederates, Southern sympathizers, road bandits and displaced Indians. The Union Army’s mission is to find the killer(s).

VOODOO

A series of grisly murders take place in New Orleans, the Voodoo capital of the USA. A veteran detective, Sergeant Remy Declouette, is called on to solve the crimes. He is looking for a deranged killer but comes to believe the answer may lie in the supernatural.

DIRTY

The promise of easy money leads Jessica Sanchez, a once-honest Los Angeles cop, down the path of corruption. When the opportunity to redeem herself is presented, Jessie agrees to go undercover for the Department knowing danger may be on the horizon.

FISHING

Chad and Justin go on a fishing trip in California’s High Sierra Mountains. While camping by a secluded trout stream, some locals harass them and tragedy occurs. Soon tragedy becomes a living hell.

SWITCH

Author Robert Kingsley experiences writer’s block while finishing his latest novel. He is staring at the blank computer screen when the story’s protagonist speaks to him. They switch places and chaos follows.

STAG

A few guys head for Las Vegas on a weekend bachelor party to celebrate the upcoming wedding of one in the group. They look forward to drinking, comradery and lots of fun. A stripper who is part of the entertainment ends up dead. But which one of them did it?

MOTHER

Single mom Mary Hopkins spoils her troubled son because he is all she has in life, but he is a suspected serial killer. When he is brought to trial for the murder of several college co-eds, Mary intends to divert the blame elsewhere.

DOCTOR

A former drug addict is reinstated by the medical board and is practicing again in Chicago. As part of his recovery, the doctor works diligently to help other alcoholics and addicts achieve and maintain sobriety. An alluring woman is thrust into his life and everything changes.

2084

The world order changes drastically in the 50-year period leading up to 2084 and history is blacked out. A man struggling to unearth America’s forgotten past is caught up in a plot to overthrow the government.

BONUS STORY!

HOSTAGE

Debbie is a two-time loser with marriage until she meets a man who might change her poor track record. As time passes, Mr. Right transforms into Mr. Wrong. She sees no way out, and the result is deadly.

PREVIEW

Sh-Boom

Rob Fleming is a typical American boy who grew up in a typical American family in a typical American city. After that, typical ended. He is successful in the business he loves and rises to the top. But is his success worth the price he will have to pay?

9+1*9+1*9+1*9+1*9+1

WESTWARD

Jeb Powell slumped in the saddle of his exhausted horse and stared with disgraced eyes at the Appomattox Court House, where Robert E. Lee was surrendering his army. Jeb had fought for four years and had lost many things, including friends, innocence and sometimes even hope, but he never lost his belief. Until today.

The court house door opened and General Lee came out with Grant next to him. Jeb turned his horse away. He hated Lee now.

A movement caught his eye and he saw George Armstrong Custer stride onto the porch. Golden-haired, always dandy Custer with thigh-high cavalier boots, black velour uniform and all. Custer flashed his victor’s grin as he urged the Union band to play Dixie for his defeated foe. Jeb tried to ignore him but could not. He hated Custer too.

Jeb joined the stream of beaten Confederate soldiers trudging away between the Union ranks. I wish I was in Dixie, Hooray! Hooray! He glanced at the enemy troops. There were so many of them and he saw the difference in the armies. The Yankees all wore boots while the remnants of Lee’s army were barefoot. In Dixie’s land I’ll take my stand, to live and die in Dixie. Four years of fighting and dying boiled down to that. Victor, boots; vanquished, barefoot. Away, away down south in Dixie.

He nudged his horse apart from the conquered army and turned south as the band continued. Away, away, away down south in Dixie. He was going home.

But it no longer existed.

Sherman’s army had swept south like a biblical plague. They burned the big house, ran off the livestock and desecrated the cotton fields. They shot Jeb’s father and scattered his family. They left nothing. Perhaps, one thing. He ran to the springhouse where his father had a strongbox hidden in the brick walls. The springhouse door had been wrenched off and all the perishables looted. A blackened hole showed where the strongbox had been blasted open. It was empty, save for a few charred Confederate bills. Nothing remained of his life and the family’s slaves, their ungrateful nigger slaves, had stood by and watched it all happen and then ran away.

Jeb climbed into his saddle. He was heading west with a cancerous hatred in his heart for Yankees and niggers.

Henry Stevens had a dream. He wanted to be a hero. In his dream he held the regiment battle flag in one hand and a glittering saber in the other as he led his faithful troops in a glorious charge. They slaughtered the cowering Rebs and his admiring men hoisted him on their shoulders and shouted his praise. He was a hero-warrior - in his dream. The only part that was a little vague was the actual killing of the enemy. Henry was a good Christian. He wanted to do his part to help abolish slavery. He was a fearful person who believed military service might help him overcome this weakness. He tried to enlist in a front-line regiment but was turned because he did not have the physical strength to do so. But with his impressive educational record and family connections in Washington, the department of the Provost Marshal General took him. The result was Henry became, in effect, a policeman overseeing the troops. They didn’t like policemen and didn’t like Henry, but he learned to love his job. This came easy to Henry because he had a great affection for order and delighted in writing reports. A good report made the world a safer place.

Once the war was over, to his surprise Henry was assigned to the 9th Cavalry as an aide to Colonel Edward Hatch. It was a colored regiment, Buffalo Soldiers, who according to legend were named that by the Indians because their dark skin and nappy hair reminded them of the skin and hair of a buffalo. These Negro soldiers were fierce fighters when sober and commanded by white officers.

With a great flood of people leaving the devastated south, the 9th was given the task of guarding the dangerous San Antonio-El Paso Road. After initial months of training in New Orleans, the 9th Cavalry along with Lieutenant Henry Stevens was heading west.

Colonel Hatch did not have much use for an aide, so he put young Henry Stevens in charge of the regiment’s self-policing activities. The lieutenant’s prior service in the Provost Marshal unit seemed reason for the assignment. Henry hoped doing a favorable job here would eventually lead him to become more than a policeman in the future.

Not long after Henry arrived at the fort, a half day’s ride from San Antonio, the colonel summoned him and said, We have a situation on our hands, Lieutenant.

Sir?

One of our troopers is missing.

Absent without leave?

Worse than being AWOL, his sergeant suspects foul play.

Part of a drunken spree?

No, the soldier in question does not drink.

Why does the sergeant believe foul play is involved?

That’s what I want you to find out. Select a volunteer from the troops to help with your investigation, and give this your complete and undivided attention.

I won’t need an assistant for this assignment, if that’s acceptable to you, Colonel.

You’re new to the ways of the Buffalo Soldier. These fellas are good fighters but are often difficult to keep in line. Much of this is because of cultural differences. They don’t like authority, even from the Negro noncommissioned officers. So a white commissioned officer is the last person they’ll trust. You need someone of their own color to help get to the real truth.

As you wish, sir. Henry saluted and left to find a man from among the ranks to accompany him on what he believed was a wild goose chase rather than a serious investigation.

How can I help you, sir? the First Sergeant asked when Lieutenant Stevens approached the man’s desk.

I’d like to see the files of your ten smartest troopers.

May I ask why?

You reported a soldier is unaccounted for.

So you want these men to help search for the man?

I was ordered by Colonel Hatch to get someone to assist me with the investigation.

Nobody in my ranks is a detective.

I need someone to help me with the questioning.

Oh, you want an interpreter to explain what the Negroes are really saying. Why didn’t you say so? the top NCO said in a slightly sarcastic tone punctuated by a knowing smile.

I do not appreciate your manners, sergeant, Stevens said.

Sorry, sir. It’s just that we don’t have much in the way of files and nothing to show who might be smarter than the others. The boys we picked up from the South can’t read or write because slave owners wanted it that way. And those from the North claiming to have some education never made it past the sixth grade.

Who would you pick?

Willie Washington, the sergeant said without hesitation.

Why?

The boy has commonsense. If he were white, he’d be an officer. And Willie knows how to fight too. He’s been through several campaigns with us and showed real courage under fire.

Bring him in.

When Washington arrived, he exchanged salutes with the lieutenant and stood at attention while Stevens studied him.

Heard you operate well under fire, trooper, Stevens said.

I had excellent training, sir.

You like soldiering?

It allows me to serve my country, sir.

You think killing Indians is the best way to serve your country?

If that’s what I’m called to do, I’ll do it with honor, sir.

Understand you read and write.

I do. Reading has taught me a great deal and helped me improve my writing skills as well, sir.

Our assignment won’t require any fighting I expect, but it will call for the ability to communicate and apply some critical thinking to the task at hand. Can you handle that?

I believe I can, sir.

All right, you’ll do. Pack your gear. We leave tomorrow at daybreak.

May I ask what the assignment is, sir?

I’ll tell you on the way, Stevens said and left for a final meeting with Colonel Hatch.

"Did you find your man? The colonel asked.

I believe I did, sir.

This dispatch just came in. It’s now a murder case, Hatch said as he handed the message to Stevens. Our man was found in a ditch on the outskirts of San Antonio a few hours ago.

Indians?

Maybe. See the sheriff as soon as you arrive. He’ll tell you what he knows. I don’t want rumors in here or out there to get out of control, so bring this thing to a conclusion fast. Good luck, and keep me informed.

Thank you, sir, Stevens said and saluted.

One more thing, if you suspect this to be a trooper-on-trooper crime you must be discreet. We can’t have the men thinking white officers are trying to pin anything on their kind. Nor do we want the locals becoming more skittish than they already are with armed Negro soldiers patrolling the area.

The sheriff was leaning, arms folded, against a post on the boardwalk outside his office when Stevens and Washington rode up. He looked down at them from his height and did not seem impressed.

Greetings sheriff, Stevens said as he and Willie dismounted. Stevens saluted. He got nothing back in return. We’re here to investigate the murder of a US Army trooper.

That right? The sheriff spat a long stream of tobacco juice across Washington’s boots.

Do you know anything that might help us?

The sheriff sniffed and looked past Stevens. I know that the boy was found on a back road with his throat slit.

Any suspects?

Niggers like to fight each other. It’s in their blood.

What if I say another Negro didn’t do it?

The sheriff laughed. We Texans fought for the South, lieutenant. The boy was scalped too.

Indians?

Nah. The sheriff straightened up, pulled his knife from its sheath, and held it over Washington’s head. The point just touched the soldier’s scalp and he flinched.

Stay still, boy, and you won’t get cut.

Washington froze as the sheriff traced imaginary lines across his scalp. This is how the Indians do it. The scalper grabs the victim’s hair and uses a sharp knife to make semicircle cuts on both sides of what is to be taken before pulling the prize away. This one was peeled straight back from the forehead. Pretty messy. Nothing an Injun would do.

Washington took a step back as the sheriff slipped the knife into its sheath.

Any bad men in town? Stevens asked.

There’s bad men in every town.

Strangers?

Help yourself, the sheriff said and waved toward a row of saloons. Nothing but strangers moving west now that the war’s over.

"We’ll work our way through the saloons after we find rooms. 

You’ll have to leave your boy outside.

Washington’s my assistant. He goes where I go.

Not in any hotel in San Antonio, he don’t. We believe in the Confederacy around here.

Then we’ll camp out. Tell me about the murdered trooper.

Found him off to the side of a back road just out of town. His throat was slit from ear to ear.

Suspects?

Nope.

Indians?

I told ya the killer tried to make it look that way by scalping him. Go on over to the undertaker and see for yourself.

That’s what I intend to do, Stevens said with uncharacteristic boldness and motioned for Willie to follow as he walked toward the undertakers sign at the edge of town.

The undertaker took them to a storage shed where the body was kept under wet sheets in a failing attempt to preserve it from the Texas heat. A quick observation showed the sheriff was right about the botched scalping. There were no signs of a struggle, which meant he was attacked from behind and then taken to where he was found. An inventory of the trooper’s belongings showed the motive was not robbery, since the man’s pocket watch and 10 dollars in folding money were in his britches and the gun and ammo belt was intact.

Interviews at the saloons turned up nothing and no one claimed seeing any suspicious strangers around the time the soldier was killed. A man seating near the end of the bar showed a great deal of interest in the questioning, but he vanished before the soldiers could interview him. That man was Jeb Powell, who appeared to be just another migrant making his way westward.

Where the murder took place was still unknown; however, an examination of the area where the body was found suggested that the scalping took place there after the man was already dead.

Lieutenant, this trail of blood could maybe lead us back to the murder scene, Willie said as he pointed to blood spots on the ground.

They followed the trail back to town which ended behind the livery stable. But the owner claimed to have no idea about what happened even when shown the blood stains behind his building. He told them, I never venture back there. Don’t know why anyone would.

The soldiers were about to leave town when the sheriff tracked them down. We found another one of your boys along the San Antonio-El Paso Road. Had his throat slit and was scalped, just like the first one.

Show me, Stevens said as if he really was in charge.

It took two hours hard riding to get to the murder scene. Looks as if the murder took place here, Stevens said.

A slit throat bleeds real bad, Willie commented as he made notes on a pad.

Scalping looks similar to the other one, the sheriff added.

Stevens looked over the trooper’s belongings and concluded robbery was not the motive in this case either. He asked, Does anyone know what happened to the first trooper’s horse? This soldier’s horse is grazing right over there, but the other one’s not been found.

Only a fool would steal a branded US Calvary horse, the sheriff said.

Or perhaps a madman, Stevens replied.

You might be right about that.

As soon as we get back to town, I’ll post a reward for the horse.

Better post one for the killer, too, the sheriff added.

We can identify the horse by the brand, but have no clue what the killer looks like. But if I were a betting man, I’d bet that when we find the horse we’ll find the man too, Stevens said feeling this showed he knew more about police work than the sheriff.

Reckon you’re right on that as well. Better make the reward big enough to get people to go out searching for the horse.

The men slung the body over its horse and made the trek back to San Antonio as the sun set behind them. Stevens sent a brief report to Colonel Hatch by wire and requested approval to offer a reward for the horse.

Hatch approved it.

Stevens and Willie headed for the temporary Union Army encampment on the outskirts of San Antonio. They arrived at night and were ushered to Captain John Wilson’s quarters. Stevens quickly explained his mission and the status to date.

I can’t believe this is happening on my watch, the captain said. Never seen such a thing. Is there anything I can do to help you?

I’d like to talk with the enlisted men as soon as possible. Also, do you have the registration information on the dead trooper’s horse?

Wilson pointed to the corral area. The sergeant there will provide you with it.

In the tent serving as the stables office, the sergeant opened a file and ran his finger down the assignment page. Missing horse, huh?

Yes, we already found the rider. He’s dead, Stevens answered displaying his impatience.

The horse ain’t missing, the sergeant said and spun the file to show Stevens. "He’s right here, in the corral.

What! Stevens was furious. Something was wrong. Could the death be related to another trooper?

I’ll show you, the sergeant said.

They went to the corral and watched as the trooper’s horse was cut from the others. There were dried blood stains on its hindquarters.

The killer probably used the trooper’s horse to transport the body to the ditch and then brought it back here. Who was off base the night the trooper was killed? Stevens asked.

I’ll have to get the duty roster, the sergeant said.

Forget that. Round the men up, the lieutenant demanded.

Thinking it might be trooper-on-trooper now? Willie asked.

I certainly hope not, but we’ll find out.

It took much of the night for Stevens and Washington to interrogate the troopers, but they learned nothing that would help them.

It seems no one lied. So how did the horse get here? Stevens said between yawns. What are we missing?

The obvious, sir, Washington said.

What’s obvious?

We were in such an all-fired hurry to interview the troopers we forgot the man who knows most about the horses. The sergeant back at the corral.

Damn!

The sergeant was asleep and unhappy about being woken up. I found the horse coming home without a rider, so I took off his saddle and bridle then put him away."

Why didn’t you tell us this when we spoke last night?

Ya didn’t ask. To tell ya the truth the boys on patrol get bored out there and sometimes drink a little on the way back to camp. I don’t wants to get ‘em in trouble, so I take care of things on my end.

You thought the soldier was too drunk to bed the horse down and you took care of it for him.

Right, sir.

Did this particular trooper have a habit of such behavior?

Can’t say, sir. Never did check the duty roster.

It’s too late to help the dead trooper, but you should think about helping yourself.

I do my job, sir. The horses get taken care of real good.

I won’t report this. But next time you see troopers exhibiting bad behavior turn them in, because this could cost them or others their lives. Understood?

Yes, sir. Thank you, sir, the sergeant mumbled and hurried away.

Well, Willie, it doesn’t look as if we’re dealing with trooper-on-trooper murders. That’s good, but now we’re back to zero.

Not quite. There’s still a connection between the murders. One important thing in common.

What’s that?

Both men were Negroes.

We already know that. It’s nearly dawn. Let’s get some sleep and review all the pieces of the puzzle in the morning.

Morning came all too fast when Stevens was awakened by an orderly saying, "The captain wants to see you