Murder Under The Sun

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Murder Under The Sun - book excerpt

Chapter 1

Tammy Campo soaked in the warming rays on the pier at their camp in South Louisiana, the state's most populated fishing community. The morning was a day to remember. Tammy and her husband, David, had hit the motherlode of speckled trout in the shallow Gulf waters.

In less than twenty minutes, they limited out and moved to deeper waters. Then Tammy snagged a huge barracuda. After more than an hour, she hauled the magnificent specimen aboard. Then the sun warmed the cool air, and they called it a day.

David cleaned the fish while Tammy fired up the crab boiler, a local name given to a powerful propane fueled burner. The jet flames emitted could get a drum-size stainless steel container heated to a boiling point in less than five minutes. The Campo family primarily used the boiler to cook sacks of crawfish, between thirty and fifty pounds. But this morning, Tammy wanted to make use of the dozen crabs caught in the traps at the end of their pier.

She threw in a couple of links to Boudin, a Cajun rice sausage, new potatoes, and mushrooms. After the sumptuous meal, David went back out to the boat. Tammy elected to bask in the sun at the end of the pier.

After laying on the blanket for thirty minutes, she felt a burn on her legs. Deciding she might have missed a spot when applying the suntan lotion, she doubled down, coating her entire body with another layer. The lotion didn't help. Soon, blisters formed all over her body. Her temperature rose.

Tammy broke into a trot back to the camp. She grabbed the cell and dialed David's number, who answered on the third ring.

"Hey, Babe," David said, recognizing the number.

"Help me," Tammy rasped, her throat swollen and constricted.

"Are you okay?" David asked.

"No, I'm covered with blisters."

"Call an ambulance. I'm headed that way."

The EMTs and David arrived at the camp at the same time. When he reached the door, he flung it open only to find Tammy lying face down on the floor, still in the two-piece bathing suit.

When he knelt beside her, he saw the red burns full of pus all over her body. The EMT dropped to the other side and turned Tammy over. The front was worse than the back. A greenish, yellow fluid drained from the most severe blisters. Those on Tammy's face puffed up almost twice the size as normal.

"What is it?" David screamed.

"A toxic reaction," the young man answered without taking his gaze off of Tammy.

"She was poisoned?" David's voice was incredulous.

"That's my best guess. But I'm not a doctor. She has definitely had an adverse reaction to a toxin."

David thought about the lunch. The crabs, the Boudin, the potatoes, the mushrooms, the seasonings. Tammy had eaten those things all her life. The crabs were fresh, still alive when plunged into the boiling red mixture. The Boudin was from a reliable source. If there had been any contamination in the rice sausage, the act of boiling it should have cleansed the favorite meat of many Cajuns.

She had poured the same iced tea from the pitcher he had. He had the same foods she had. Why did she have this kind of reaction, and he didn't?

David fell into a state of denial. This had to be a dream. A prank. Soon, Tammy would sit up and laugh. It didn't happen. The EMTs loaded the moaning woman onto a gurney and carried her out the front door to the waiting ambulance. 

2

David chased the ambulance to the Terrebonne Parish General emergency room. He lurched into a parking space and sprinted to the rear of the ambulance. The EMTs had already unloaded Tammy from the vehicle and carted her through the automatic glass doors.

"You can't come in here, sir," the nurse dressed in a white uniform held up her hand.

"She's my wife," David screamed.

"I understand," the nurse replied. "The doctors need to be able to focus on your wife without any distractions."

"I'm not a distraction. I'm her husband."

"And that is why you might divert the full attention away from your wife. Please take a seat in the waiting room and someone will come out as soon as possible with an update."

"Please," David begged.

"I'm sorry, sir. We must follow our guidelines. It's in your wife's best interests."

David trudged to the waiting room, his mind clouded with depression. Nothing seemed real. It was like he was walking in someone else's shoes. He called his family, her family, friends, coworkers, and his pastor at the Magnolia Baptist Church in Central, a town ten miles northeast of Baton Rouge. With the modern communication capacities of the cell, computers, and social networking, the entire city knew about Tammy's problems in less than an hour.

Several folks took the hour-plus drive down to the coast to sit with David and try to console him. As much as they prayed and held his hand, he couldn't find the peace he sought. After two and one-half hours, a crowd of people gathered in the small waiting area. The overflow of well-wishers stepped outside to watch the sun fall from the sky.

A grim doctor, still in his scrubs and face mask, emerged from the closed doors.

"Which one of you is the husband?" He asked.

"I am." David took a heavy step forward.

"I'm sorry," the doctor said. "We did everything possible, but I'm afraid your wife didn't make it."

David collapsed in the arms of his pastor. 

3

A team of forensic toxicologists scoured the camp. David had not bothered to lock the door when he fled after his wife in the ambulance, but the team saw no signs anyone had disturbed its contents.

The water used to boil the crabs was still in the pot. They took three samples of it, one at the surface, one halfway to the bottom, and one at the bottom. They picked out pieces of potatoes and mushrooms floating on the surface.

Inside the camp, they took samples of the tea, the saltandpepper shakers, the ice in the refrigerator, the ketchup, the Tabasco sauce, and any other food products Tammy might have used for the lunch.

They bagged forks and knives still in the kitchen sink. Tammy had thought she would have plenty of time to clean them before David could return from the afternoon fishing trip. The team took glasses that the tea had been in. When they wrapped up, they were certain they had collected the source of the poison.

The other initial impression was that David was responsible for the murder of his wife. According to his statement, David and Tammy had arrived late Friday afternoon. They made a quick trip to the Gulf, baited the crab traps, and retired to the cabin. No one else stopped in to visit or for any other reason. The couple had been isolated for almost a full day. 

4

Responsibility for investigating the murder fell on the massive shoulders of Samuel Samson Mayeaux. The behemoth Chief of Homicide had more experience than the rest of the detectives on the force combined. Samson took pride in solving every difficult case assigned to his unit.

He had grown up in Livingston Parish, just across the Amite River from Central. He was the Denham Springs High School football team captain, the last player to make first-team all-state on both sides of the ball.

After high school, Samson accepted a scholarship to LSU, the flagship university in the state. He never made the honor roll, tending to major in girls and beer rather than academics. During his senior year, Samson blew out a knee in a game that was already decided.

Three reconstructive surgeries later, Samson gave up on his athletic career. He decided he had to settle down and make a living. The demand for students with a barely passing grade in General Studies was non-existent. He switched majors to criminology, not because he envisioned a sterling career in law enforcement, but that was the curriculum that let him transfer the largest number of credits for the classes he had already taken.

Now, twenty-five years later, he had earned the respect of every member of the police force. The only downfall to the hulking man was his straightforward manner. Samson never beat around the bush. He preferred, instead, to run over it. To him, a direct path was quicker and cleaner.

The world of politics was not his forte. When a supervisor screwed up, Samson told him so. When he disagreed with the Chief of Police, he never backed down gracefully. When the Chief was caught in a raid on a brothel, Samson issued him the same summons the other eighteen men received. Samson knew of David's family through an old acquaintance. He had dated David's aunt, Jo Campo, while in high school. Jo was the prettiest girl who ever attended the school, and he still wondered how he had let her get away. She worked for a bank in Baton Rouge and was divorced. The Chief of Homicide had been tempted to call her on several occasions, but if there was anyone in the world who intimidated Samson Mayeaux, it was the petite Jo Campo.

When he pulled into David's driveway, several cars were already stacked on the long pavement, out and down the street. Samson recognized the Chevrolet Impala belonging to Mike Walker, the young pastor of Magnolia Baptist Church.

When he knocked on the door, he took a step back. Too many times, someone answering the door to his knock was too frightened simply by the bulk of the huge cop.

The woman who answered the door was not one of them.

"Hello, Samson," Jo Campo greeted him. "It's been a long time."

Normally, Samson Mayeaux was not at a loss for words. In this setting, he could not form a single one.

"Why don't you come in?" Jo backed away, leaving the entrance open.

Samson stumbled in, trying to get his brain to send a cohesive message to his tongue.

"Why don't you sit over there?" Jo pointed at a huge leather seat.

Samson took a seat and watched the first love of his life disappear into another room. He mentally kicked himself for acting like a thirteen-year-old who just discovered girls were special. Particularly the ones who looked like Jo Campo. She had maintained her high school figure for two and a half decades. Just watching her walk out of the room flooded the huge man with memories.

"Are you here to see me?" David's voice snapped Samson out of his trip down memory lane. 

5

"I need to ask you a few questions," Samson said to the new widower.

"I've already given a statement to the Grand Isle police. I told them everything I know," David replied.

"I'm doing a follow-up. It's been a couple of days since the incident, and maybe you'll recall something that will help us find out what happened to Tammy," Samson said.

"Why do you refer to it as an incident?" The voice was one Samson remembered in his dreams. He could see Jo standing in the doorway listening to the two men.

"I'm sorry," Samson's vocabulary again shrinking.

"You said incident and not an accident. You were never careless with words, so I'm asking why you used that term," she said.

"We…we're not sure it was an accident yet."

"Somebody killed Tammy?" David's voice rose several octaves. Disbelief spread across his countenance.

"We don't know yet. An investigation is just beginning. I don't have the toxicology reports back, so we don't know for sure what killed her."

"So, you're blaming David?" An accusatory tone from Jo, who had walked across the room to sit in a padded rocking chair.

"We aren't accusing anyone yet. We need to get a lot more facts before we go down that rabbit trail."

"Does he need a lawyer?" Jo asked.