Dead at Third

Book 1: Henry Walsh Private Investigator Series

by Gregory Payette

Genres: Mystery; Private Investigators

Synopsis

He knows he's more than just another washed-up ex-cop. Solving a murder will help him prove it...

A straight-shooter who lives on a boat and likes a drink or two, Henry's frustrated he can't even land work as a dispatcher. And his job running security for a local baseball team is far from his idea of excitement.

But it pays the bills.

The morning after the season ends, Henry's at his friend's bar with a Bloody Mary in one hand and a phone in the other. He takes a call that could change everything...

Turns out a couple of fishermen pulled third baseman Lance Moreau's body from the St. Johns River. And his teammate's been arrested for the murder.

The team's owner turns to Henry to help prove the cops have the wrong man.

Henry knows working security in an empty ballpark is one thing. But investigating a murder?

It won't be easy.

Lucky for him he has Alex Jepson on his side. She's beautiful. She's tough. And as Henry likes to say...she's the one with the brains.

They're a good match, in more ways than one.

Now all they have to do is find the real killer...

Release date: May 8, 2019

Publisher: 8 Flags Publishing, Inc.

Print pages: 258

Sample

Chapter 1

I pulled up a stool and sat across the bar, watched my friend Billy pour a cup of coffee. He placed it down in front of me and leaned on the bar with his hands spread wide from his shoulders. “Where’d you end up last night?”  

“Celebrating.”

“With who? The team?”

I took a sip from the cup and gave him a look over the rim. “No.” 

Billy reached underneath and came up with a newspaper. He removed the rubber band and tossed it on the bar. “Here you go. Last delivery from the paperboy.”

I opened it up and glanced over the headlines. “I don’t think they call them paperboys anymore. Probably an old lady working to pay her medical bills.”

Billy straightened out the salt and pepper shakers. “Well, whoever delivered it... it’s the last one.”

I looked up from the paper. “What’d you, cancel it?”

“Kind of a waste of money to pay for news that’s old by the time it lands at my door, don’t you think?” He stepped toward the coffeepot and poured himself a cup. “You’re the only one who reads it.” He turned to the old man seated down the other end of the bar. “You and Earl. And whatever other old people still like old news delivered on paper.”

I folded the newspaper and pushed it aside.  

Billy crossed his arms. “So what were you out celebrating? Another losing season?” 

I cracked a slight smile. “You could say that.” I leaned back with my hands clasped together behind my head. “It just means I get an early jump on vacation. I haven’t had a day off since the season started.” I looked down toward the other end of the bar. “How are you today, Earl?”

He shrugged and raised his drink from the bar. “I’m on the right side of the ground.”

I gave him a nod and a smile as Billy walked toward him. “Earl, you believe the director of security for one of Florida’s only two baseball teams... comes in here with a big smile on his face because they missed the playoffs?”

Earl sipped his drink. “They wouldn’t have gone past the first round. Team like that doesn’t deserve to be in the playoffs.”

Billy looked up at the TV with the night’s replays on Sports Blast, the local sports show. 

Earl stepped down from his stool and walked my way. He nodded with his eyes on the newspaper. “You mind?” 

I shook my head and handed it to him. “You hear? Billy canceled delivery.”

Earl tucked the paper under his arm and walked back to his stool. “It’s garbage anyway.” He had a limp that was a little more pronounced than usual. He sat back down and said, “I gotta be honest, I thought your boy Lance was going to get a big hit last night.” 

Billy pulled a towel from his shoulder and wiped his hands. “He hasn’t even had a damn single since what... August?” 

I looked up at the TV when I heard the reporters discussing Lance Moreau, the local kid who grew up in Fernandina Beach. They showed his last at-bat as he stood at the plate and came out of his shoes. I was sure his eyes were closed when he connected, drove the ball deep to left. 

But not deep enough.

Third out. 

Season over.

Earl had his eyes on the TV, shaking his head. He looked my way. “Didn’t you know Lance pretty well when you were a kid?”

“I was already up in Rhode Island. But he hung around my house after I was gone. My father doesn’t like to take any credit, but he taught Lance how to hit a ball.”

“Kid has all the tools,” Earl said. “Too bad. After the Pirates gave up on him you’d think the brain trust over there at the Sharks organization would’ve known he wasn’t worth more than the bag of balls they gave up for him.”

Billy poured more coffee into his cup and leaned with one hand on the bar. “The other players talk when he’s not around. I don’t get the feeling he’s the most popular guy in the clubhouse.”

Earl finished his drink and slid the glass across the bar. “Some don’t think chemistry matters. But I remember living up in Boston, back in the late seventies. The Sox were good... a lot of talented players. But one of the guys on the bench said, ‘Twenty-five men get off the plane, we take off in twenty-five cabs.’ Didn’t matter how good they were as individuals, no team can win when nobody gets along.”

I looked at my watch, thought maybe I’d order a drink and join Earl for a quick one. It wasn’t quite noon, but it was close enough. And, for the most part, I was on vacation.

Before I said a word, Billy had put a Bloody Mary down in front of me. Like he’d read my mind. “Fresh batch,” he said.

I put the glass up to my mouth about to take a sip as Billy turned away to answer the phone at the back of the bar. 

He answered. “Billy’s Place.” His eyes came my way. “Yeah, he is. He’s right here.” He handed me the phone. “It’s Alex.” 

I put the phone up to my ear. “Hello?”

“Why haven’t you answered your phone?”

I reached into my pocket and looked at the screen. My phone was on silent, as it usually was. And I’d missed a handful of calls. I put the phone back in my pocket and sipped my Bloody Mary. 

Alex was more than just a friend. She was also the associate director of security with the Sharks. On paper, she was my assistant. But I’m not afraid to admit she was the brains behind the operation. Although she’d said the same thing about me. We got along well. And both agreed we made a good team. 

I’ll leave it at that.

Alex was quiet on the other end. 

“Alex?”

It took her a moment before she answered. “You haven’t heard.” 

“Haven’t heard what? Why are you acting like—” 

“Lance Moreau is dead. His body was found in the St. Johns this morning, off the pier behind Riverside Grille.”

I heard exactly what she said. But for whatever reason, it didn’t sink in. “Lance Moreau? How... how could he be dead?” I looked at the game replays on the TV, then glanced at Billy as he stood watching me, arms folded across his chest. “Alex, let me call you from my phone. Where are you?”

“I’m still at my house. Leaving now.”

I hung up and handed Billy the phone. “I gotta go.”

Billy stood still without a word and watched me as I tossed a couple of bills on the bar then headed out the door.

I turned onto the sidewalk and dialed my phone on the way to my car.

Alex answered on the first ring and I said, “What the hell happened?”

“I don’t know. I just got off the phone with Mike. He said a couple of fishermen pulled Lance’s body from the water.”

My heart raced as I opened the door to my old Toyota Camry. I stepped inside and tried to slide my key into the ignition. But my hand had a slight shake to it and I missed the hole. I was numb. I hesitated a moment, then slid the key in and turned over the engine. “I’ll meet you there.” 

I slammed my foot down on the gas and ripped my car from the parking space, then hooked a U-turn. As soon as I’d hung up with Alex, Bob Campbell’s name popped up on the screen. The ringer was still off. I couldn’t answer.

Bob was my boss and the owner of the Jacksonville Sharks baseball team Alex and I worked for. He was the person who gave me a job when nobody else would. I couldn’t even land a job as a dispatcher, thanks to my damaged reputation. It was all BS, of course. But that’s just how things worked out. 

Bob had been a family friend, and knew of my father’s history with Lance. So when they traded for him, he thought it would be a good opportunity for me. He asked me to come work for the team, run the security department. And keep an eye on Lance.

Turns out I guess I didn’t do a very good job.

 

 

Chapter 2

I parked on the street in front of the Riverside Grille and walked across the lot past the fire trucks and rescues and five or six sheriffs’ vehicles. A cameraman and reporter stood along the edge of the river, next to a parked truck from News4JAX.

I ducked under the yellow crime tape stretched across the entrance to the pier. But as soon as I came up on the other side, a hand landed on my shoulder.  

The hand belonged to a young officer I knew from the stadium, who stood about six feet tall and three feet wide. “You can’t go over there, Henry. Detective Stone mentioned you specifically.” 

I glanced down the far end of the pier at what looked like a covered body. Without a word I started heading for the scene.

But the officer ducked under the tape and grabbed me by the arm. “Henry, come on man. You’re going to get me in trouble.”

I thought for a moment, and of course didn’t want to show the kid any disrespect. I turned back to him as I pulled my arm from his grasp. “Can you at least tell me what you know?”

He shook his head. “It’s definitely Lance Moreau. But that’s all I know.”

I gave him a look. “That’s all you know? Or that’s all you’re going to tell me?”

He stared back at me but didn’t answer.

“A couple of fishermen pulled him out of the water. All I was told was to keep everyone back. Like I said, Detective Stone mentioned your name... he said you’d be showing up.”

I looked out at the street and Alex Jepson stepped down from her Jeep. She flipped her hair back and pulled her baseball hat down low over her eyes.

We met in the middle of the lot and she wrapped her arms around me. “I’m sorry, Henry.” We walked together to the pier and my eyes went right to Mike Stone. He was the tall, graying detective who had a chip on his shoulder the size of New York. 

At least it seemed that way to me, since to say we didn’t get along would be an understatement.

I turned to Alex as we stopped at the yellow crime tape. “Maybe you can get something from your boyfriend?” 

She rolled her eyes and gave me a look. “Why do you say things like that?”

I shrugged and kept my eyes down on the pier, where the medics and officers and maybe the coroner all stood over the body.

Alex ducked under the yellow tape. “Let me go talk to Mike.”

The young officer who tried to stop me the first time hurried after me. His big body shook the ground under my feet as he ran. “Where’s she going? Alex! You can’t go over there!” He followed her under the tape and moved down the pier after her.

I followed right behind him but he turned and looked back at me. He pointed past me. “Henry, I’m serious. Get behind that tape.” He tried to pick up his pace to catch Alex. 

I continued after him and stopped when I caught a glimpse of Lance’s hand sticking out from under the cover they had over his body. 

Alex stopped in front of Detective Stone. 

He looked back at me and shook his head. “Ohhhh, no. This is official police business. And unless I missed something, you’re no longer a law enforcement official.” 

I continued and stopped right behind Alex. “I work for Bob Campbell. And this has as much to do with me as it does with you. Maybe more.” I looked straight into his eyes.

“Take another step toward me and I’ll see to it one of these officers escort you down to the station, keep you out of my way.” 

Alex grabbed my arm and tried to pull me away. But I wouldn’t move.

“Henry,” she said. “Let him do his job.” 

I kept my stare on Mike for a couple more moments, then finally turned and headed back to the other end of the pier. We walked to the lot and Alex wouldn’t let go of my arm. We both ducked under the tape and looked out at the road.

 Sharks owner Bob Campbell pulled his BMW into the parking lot. 

We both watched him park and step out of his car. He was fifty feet away but I could see it in his face the news had shaken him. 

As he got closer, his eyes went to the busy scene at the end of the pier. He looked back and forth from me to Alex. “So, what have you heard?”

“We don’t know anything, yet,” I said. “Other than a couple of fishermen pulled his body out of the water.”

Alex turned and looked down the pier. “Mike said he’d let me know as soon as he had some information.”

“Who’s Mike, one of the officers?” 

I shook my head. “He’s a detective with the Jacksonville Sheriff's Office.”

“And he won’t tell you anything?”

Before I answered I turned and ducked under the tape. “Give me a minute.” I could see Mike staring at me as I moved along the pier in his direction. 

He put his hands up, as if signaling for me to stop. “I already told you to get out of here. I’m not going to tell you again.”

I nodded toward Lance’s body. “That kid there is a ballplayer on Bob Campbell’s baseball team. Lance is, technically, property of the Jacksonville Sharks. Therefore, I demand you tell me what we should know at this point in your investigation. And don’t tell me you don’t know anything. Because I won’t believe it.”

Mike looked down for a moment, then lifted his eyes to mine. “Kid was beat up. Pretty bad, too. Hit on the head with something hard enough to crack his skull.” He looked away for a moment. “You wouldn’t want to see it.”

“Any witnesses?”

Mike sighed. “Christ, Walsh. We’re interviewing people. What’s this look like?” He stuck a cigarette in his mouth but didn’t light it right away. 

I had my eyes on the boats stopped along the St. Johns River. “How long was he in the water?”

Mike cracked a condescending smile. “Walsh, I told you all I can.” He pulled out a lighter and lit the end of his cigarette then turned and walked away from me.

Chapter 3

I was back at the ballpark the next morning, tired from a night spent sipping Jack Daniels on the dock outside my boat. I slept maybe a good solid hour, not including however long I’d passed out in my chair on the dock before someone walked by and woke me up.

 I felt guilty about Lance’s death. Not that it was my fault. But I didn’t like the idea that I was the one who could’ve kept an eye on him.

The truth is, Lance was far from a perfect kid. He’d come far from what some might call the wrong side of the tracks, and turned himself into a professional ballplayer, even if his young career hadn’t yet turned out as expected.

I stared out the window from my office and looked out over the quiet street outside the stadium. But I turned when I heard a buzz come from somewhere under the mess on my desk. I’d just started cleaning out my drawers and shuffled the papers around until I came up with my phone. 

It was Alex. And she had a hint of what I’d describe as panic in her voice. “Henry? You have to get down here right away.”

“Where are you?”

“In the clubhouse. They’ve arrested Jackie Lawson.” 

I hung up my phone without another word and stuck it in my pocket as I raced for the elevator. 

Sharks’ players and coaches stood quiet and watched as Mike Stone and two officers had aging star Jackie Lawson in handcuffs. Another officer pulled items from Jackie’s stall and placed everything in a plastic bag.

I rushed across the room and stopped in front of Mike. “What the hell’s going on here?”

He looked at the door without an answer and gestured for the two officers to lead Jackie from the clubhouse. “Get him out of here.” He gave me a look, but didn’t answer my question.

I glanced at Alex, standing near the doorway with the same look on her face as everyone else. I said, “Is he going to answer me?”

Mike turned to me. “What’s it look like is going on here?”

“What are you arresting him for?”

Mike pulled a piece of paper and handed it to me. “Here’s the warrant. Suspicion of murder.”

I skimmed over the paper and threw it back at the detective. “You think Jackie killed Lance?”

“We have a murder weapon with Mr. Lawson’s prints on it. And we have witnesses.” 

 I looked at Alex, “Is he serious?”

She closed her eyes for a moment, her arms folded across her chest as she held one hand near her mouth. She still hadn’t said a word.

“Wait!” I stepped in front of the officers before they led Jackie out the door.

He looked me in the eye, shaking his head. “I didn’t do it, Henry.” His thick, muscular arms bulged from his sleeveless Sharks shirt. “I swear, I never killed nobody.”

I nodded and gave Alex a glance, then turned back to Jackie. “We’ll take care of this. Don’t worry.”

He looked back at me over his shoulder as the officers led him out the door. “I didn’t do it. I swear. I didn’t do it.”

His teammates and coaches all looked at each other in silence, the only sound coming from the drips from the showers on the other side of the wall. 

One of the other players finally spoke up. “Isn’t there something we can do? There’s no way Jackie killed Lance. No chance.” 

Team owner Bob Campbell walked through the door and turned to me and Alex. “The attorneys are on their way.” He turned to me. “Henry, this isn’t right. They can’t just—”

I looked at Mike, still standing by Jackie’s stall as the other officer removed Jackie’s things. “Detective, I don’t know how the hell you’ve already come to such a conclusion. It’s barely been twenty-four hours.”

Mike headed for the door without a word. But he stopped to shoot me a stare I knew he’d perfected in front of a mirror. He turned and walked out the door.

I looked at Alex. “What’s he going to do, stonewall me? We have a right to know what’s going on.”

Bob Campbell looked around the clubhouse at the other players. “Everyone in this clubhouse knows Jackie didn’t do it. I refuse to believe it.”

The players all nodded. 

Bob turned to me and Alex. “After I speak to the attorneys, I want to talk to you both. Meet me in my office in an hour.”

Bob walked out the door and the other officer followed behind him.

The players started to talk. 

One of Jackie’s teammates said, “If we have to, we can raise whatever money Jackie’ll need for bail.”

The manager, Hector Enriquez, shook his head. “Mr. Campbell will take care of this. He’s not going to let Jackie go down without a fight.” 

Alex and I walked into Bob’s office. There were two executives from his PR and Marketing department across from his desk, frantically taking notes. 

He held his index finger up for me and Alex. “Give me a minute. We’re just trying to craft a message for the press.”

I whispered to Alex. “Did you hear Jackie’s teammates talking about trying to come up with bail? But, there’s been very little talk about Lance.”

Alex nodded her head. “Everybody loves Jackie. I don’t think you can say the same thing about Lance.”

The two executives walked past us on the way out the door. 

“Alex. Henry. Come on in, have a seat.” He took a sip from a Sharks mug he had on his desk then made a face as he seemed to force down a swallow. “Shit, coffee’s cold.” He pushed the cup aside and folded his hands in front of him on his desk. “Do you two have any big plans for the off-season?”

“Other than going out to see my parents in December.” I shook my head. “Why?” 

“I’d like you to help prove Jackie is innocent. The attorneys want your help.” He looked back and forth from me to Alex. “Both of you.”

I said, “Don’t they have their own investigators? They usually—”

“Henry, they know about your history with Lance. And about your background.” He looked at Alex. “You both have experience in this kind of thing, don’t you?”

Neither one of us really answered. I wasn’t sure what to say. Not only had it been a long time since I wore the badge, but I was a glorified security guard for a professional baseball team. No more, no less.

Bob stared back at me. “I thought you’d jump at the chance to investigate this. You were a detective in Rhode Island, right? And you’re one of the smartest men I know.” He looked down at his hands, studied them for a moment. “And it can only help that you knew Lance, and some of his friends from his past, right?”

“Are you asking me to investigate Lance’s death? Isn’t that what the sheriff’s office is for?”

Bob rolled his eyes. “You really believe they have the right guy?” He shook his head. “I guarantee, Jackie didn’t kill Lance.”

Alex and I exchanged a look.

“That’s why I asked if either of you had plans. I don’t know how long this will take. Clearly, the sheriff’s office wants to move fast on this. The attorney thinks we could have a couple of weeks, at most. And don’t worry. You’re going to get paid well, on top of your regular salaries.”

I knew he was looking for an answer, but I was hesitant.

 I looked around Bob’s office, ten times the size of the living space I had on my boat. The walls were covered with photos of Bob with Sharks players and famous athletes from other teams and other sports. There was a photo of Bob with Tom Brady. A photo with Bob and Joe Torre. A photo of Jackie and Bob caught my eye, the one that was in the paper when they won the championship.

I looked across the desk at Bob, watching me like he was waiting for an answer. “It won’t be easy, you know. Not when we’ll be fighting the sheriff’s office.”

Bob stared at me for a moment. “Is anything worth fighting for ever easy?”

Alex leaned forward from her chair. “Henry’s right. The sheriff’s office will do whatever they can to keep us from finding the information we’ll need.”

 “But aren’t you and that detective friendly?” Bob leaned back in his chair, his eyes on Alex. “I actually thought he was your boyfriend.”

I pretended not to notice Alex looking at me.

“I’ve known Mike for a long time,” she said. “But, either way... he’s not going to help me prove him wrong. Why would he?”

Bob sat quiet for a moment. 

“Bob,” I said. “I know you don’t want to believe Jackie could do such a thing. But what proof do we have? They have Jackie’s bat. It has his fingerprints on it.”

“If I had proof, I wouldn’t be asking you to help, would I?” He stared back at me, stone faced. “Henry, I remember when we first talked about you coming to work for me. I asked you what was most important to you. After you said your friends and family... do you remember what you told me was most important to you?”

I stared back at him and waited for him to tell me.

 

Bob looked me right in the eye. “You said it was the truth.”