Officer Elvis (10 page)

MBI
CONFERENCE ROOM

L
ATER THAT DAY

It took a couple of hours for Darla to check her theory out and then assemble all the players.

Darla sat on one side of the MBI conference room table. Shelby, Henry Jendlin, Uther Pendragon Johnson, and Detective Rita Gibbons, currently serving as Shelby's administrative assistant, sat across from her, facing the windowed wall, the white dome of the Beaux Arts state capitol looking back at them.

I guess you call this diversity,
thought Darla, surveying the room. There was Shelby, who always looked like a frontier sheriff no matter what he wore; Jendlin, the prototypical well-scrubbed FBI agent; Uther, a young African American in a black suit, bow tie, and thick glasses; and the petite Rita Gibbons, prettier and less flamboyantly dressed than Darla had remembered, but still with a big head of strawberry blond hair.

“Okay, Miss Darla,” Shelby said, “the congregation is present. It's time for the invocation.”

Darla looked at each one. “Any of you hear of a Dr. Daryl Quenzel?”

“I've seen the name somewhere,” said Shelby. “Let me think.”

Uther Googled the name on his iPad and was about to present his findings when Rita raised her hand. “Elvis the Extractor is what he goes by,” she said.

“He's a dentist,” said Darla. “Like Tommy, he does Elvis impersonations on the side.”

“He was fifth at the contest up in Tupelo last year,” said Rita. “But I had him fourth.”

Darla passed around the flyer for Senator Alan Brewsome's rally. “Dr. Quenzel was scheduled to perform at Senator Brewsome's event this afternoon.”

“If you're saying he was the target like Tommy Reylander, it doesn't make sense,” said Jendlin, looking at the flyer. “His performance wasn't scheduled until later in the program, right before Senator Brewsome was going to speak. There were three other people ahead of this Elvis dentist guy.”

“Elvis the Extractor,” Rita said, not raising her voice.

“Okay,” said Jendlin, rolling his eyes. “Elvis the Extractor, if you will. But there were three people preceding him on the program who would have touched the microphone first.”

“So it would seem,” said Darla. “I phoned Dr. Quenzel a half hour ago. He's performed at the convention center over a dozen times in the last year. He always comes down to do a sound check the day of the performance. And it's always during the noon hour, so it doesn't interfere with his practice. But today he didn't show. Elvis the Extractor had an extraction. It was an emergency, an abscessed tooth. The procedure took all morning and he had to push his other appointments back. He never made it to the sound check. I believe Dr. Quenzel was the target. If he had done his usual sound check at noon, he would have touched the mic before anyone else.”

“If you're trying to say this was connected to the Reylander murder, that's a huge stretch,” said Jendlin, who was FBI-trained to be cautious in his analysis.

“There's more,” said Darla. “I checked the obituaries of all the newspapers in the state for the last month. Three different obits mentioned that the dearly departed was an amateur Elvis impersonator. All three of these men died in accidents. One when he fell off his fishing boat. Another died in a slip-and-fall in his home. The third drove off an overpass. All ruled accidental deaths.”

Shelby took his feet off the table and sat up straight. “Is what you're saying what I think you're saying, Miss Darla?”

“What I'm saying,” said Darla, “is…”

Rita broke in, her blue eyes the size of saucers. “What the detective is saying is we've been thinking terrorist. We ought to be thinking serial killer.”

“Incredible,” said Jendlin.

“Indeed,” said Uther. “Indeed.”

The room went quiet, the craziness of it sinking in. Shelby left the conference room for his office and he returned with a bottle of Johnnie Walker and a stack of Dixie cups. “I think it's time we made a visit to the scotch stand,” he said. He turned to Rita and handed her the cups. “Pass these out, would you, please?”

Everybody in the office had a round, except Shelby, who had two.

“Okay, let's move on to the back nine,” said Shelby and wiped his hand across his face.

“It looks like you're right, Darla,” said Jendlin. “Five Elvis impersonators dead in the same month. It's hard to believe it's a coincidence.”

Rita cleared her throat. “They prefer the term ‘tribute artists,' ” she said.

“The deaths are similar in other ways,” said Darla. “There was no collateral damage. They all required meticulous advance planning, even though today's murder didn't go as planned.”

“Director Haverty ain't going to be pleased to hear this,” said Shelby. “Neither is the governor.”

“We have to assume the murderer is planning to strike again,” said Darla.

“Right,” said Jendlin. “If your theory is true, judging from how carefully he's executed these murders, he's more than likely planned out his next move, and the one after that.”

“The first three deaths, the ones I found in the obituaries, didn't even look like murders,” said Darla. “But now, with both Tommy and the intended target, Dr. Quenzel, the killer has made his actions clear.”

“It might help if we knew what he has against all these Elvis dudes?” said Shelby.

“It ain't about singing ability,” said Rita, looking around the room to see if it was all right to continue. Everybody including Darla looked at her and waited. “Elvis the Extractor, he's got a voice like the real deal,” Rita said. “On the other hand, Detective Reylander—well, I won't speak ill of the dead.”

“The killer might be a tribute artist himself,” said Darla. “It could be that he's jealous of the attention other performers are getting, deserved or undeserved. Or maybe he's an Elvis fan and wants to punish the performers for imitating his idol. Or he hates Elvis and is trying to eradicate his memory.”

“But why now? Why are the killings talking place this week?” asked Jendlin.

“That's easy,” said Rita. “
Ultimate Elvis
is coming up, a week from tomorrow, up in Tupelo.”

“Right,” said Shelby. “The statewide Elvis impersonating contest. The one that Tommy used to enter every year and always come in last at. It's one of the biggest events in the state. Maybe not as big as the Ole Miss versus State game, but way bigger than the monster truck pull at the Coliseum.”

“This would fit the pattern,” said Darla. “Something public. To be on the safe side, I think we need to consider every Elvis entertainer that's scheduled to perform between now and the Tupelo contest as a potential target.”

Shelby cleared his throat and looked in Jendlin's direction. “Before we get any further into this, we need to decide who's going out to the fifty-yard line for the coin toss on this.”

“This appears to be a Mississippi-based situation,” said Jendlin. “Since Darla is already involved with the Reylander murder, and since the FBI is supposed to be focusing its energies on terrorism, I'd like the MBI to pick up this one.”

“I was afraid you'd say that,” said Shelby, chewing hard on his tobacco, “but there ain't no way around it. This is a Mississippi hate crime and that's part of our charter.”

“If possible, I'd like Uther to stay on to help,” said Darla. “The facial recognition software he's developed could be our best bet at identifying the killer.”

Jendlin looked to Uther, who nodded. “A most interesting case,” said Uther. “I am at the detective's disposal.”

Darla stood, placed her hands on the conference room table, and leaned in. “As I see it, we have three tasks here. The first is to locate, inform, and protect the potential targets. The second is to identify the killer and apprehend him, hopefully before he strikes again. And the third is to keep a lid on this. If the media gets wind of what I think is happening, Elvis fans could form a posse and go after this guy themselves.”

Shelby looked at Rita. “If that happens, you ain't joining them, understand?”

“I'm police first,” said Rita. “I give my word.”

“That means no interviews,” said Darla. “No leaks, no answering any questions from any reporters. And no discussion of any sort about the case until we absolutely have to.”

“What a damn mess,” said Shelby.

“I'm going to need you to do something for me right away, Uther,” said Darla.

Uther's eyes were glued to his iPad. He peered over his thick glasses at Darla. “If I am anticipating correctly, Detective,” he said, “you are about to ask if I have identified the time, the venue, and performer at each Elvis event leading up to the Tupelo contest.”

“Your voice sounds like somebody from the movies, but I can't place it,” said Rita to Uther. “My daddy told me I have an ear for such things.”

“It's Sidney Poitier,” said Darla.

“That's the one,” said Rita, impressed. “Where'd you learn to talk like that?”

“A long story, the details of which I won't bother you with,” Uther answered shyly.

“It wouldn't be a bother,” said Rita, looking him up and down.

Darla cleared her throat. “We need to get back to what it is Uther was going to show us,” she said.

“By all means.” Uther sat up in his chair. “If you would like to check your email. I've sent each of you a chart.”

Checking their smartphones, there it was. Each of them opened the email and began studying the chart.

“As you can see,” said Uther, “I've managed to find four events in Mississippi, involving Elvis tribute artists scheduled prior to the contest in Tupelo. The first is a performance by gentleman named Roger Everson, at the Jupiter Casino in Choctaw this Monday. His act is titled
Yours Truly, Elvis
. Mr. Everson has a day job as a logger on a pine tree plantation, located somewhere in northern Winston County. He resides in a trailer off Highway 25.”

Shelby shook his head. “How'd you find all this so fast?”

“Social networking,” said Uther.

“I suppose you also know what he's having for dinner,” said Darla.

“I can tell you that,” said Rita. “Elvis's favorite. Peanut butter and bananas. And I'll bet it's fried. 'Cause, really, what else could it be?”

“The next scheduled event, following Mr. Everson's casino engagement, is Tuesday evening,” said Uther. “A special service at the Southern Church of the Holy Redeemer, here in Jackson, a singing sermon called
The Gospel According to Elvis
. Visiting pastor ‘Jumbo' Elvis Peterson promises to sing his way through the New Testament.”

“Everybody knows Pastor Jumbo,” said Rita. “He's even been on
Entertainment USA
. He's the largest, physically speaking, of the tribute artists in the state.”

“Correct again, Ms. Gibbons,” said Uther. “Pastor Jumbo's weight is listed at three hundred sixty-eight pounds.”

“He's on the tall side, so the weight don't look all quite so bad on him,” said Rita.

“There are two other performers set to appear before the contest in Tupelo,” said Uther. “Monday afternoon, there's a gentleman who calls himself Cowboy Elvis MacDonald. Mr. MacDonald dresses like Elvis, but doesn't actually sing. His talent is yodeling. He claims to be able to execute a yodeling accompaniment to every song Elvis ever recorded. He'll be appearing at the Atlantis bookstore in Jackson between two and three in the afternoon. I'm not certain if he'll be yodeling or doing a book signing, for his new release,
Yodeling Like the King
.”

“I heard him do his thing once,” said Rita. “He doesn't look like Elvis, and he sure doesn't sound like Elvis. So what'd be the point of shooting such a person, if you were of a mind to kill Elvis?”

“Rita's got a point, at least as far as prioritizing security personnel,” Darla said.

Rita smiled and nodded her head to the group like she was receiving a round of applause.

“The final appearance by an Elvis artist,” said Uther, “is by Russell Hartford, the CEO of Magnolia Manufactured Housing. Mr. Hartford will be performing at his own birthday party next Thursday night at the Manship Mansion in Natchez. He has rented the entire plantation for a private party.”

“We're going to need to inform the venue operators and give them the opportunity to cancel any concerts,” said Darla. “If they elect to hold the concert anyway, we'll need to provide them with increased security. More important, we'll need to get hold of the performers. You have a cellphone number for Mr. Everson?” she asked Uther.

“I do, but he's out of range,” said Uther. “The area where Mr. Everson is working in is in the middle of a dead zone.”

“I know the Winston County sheriff,” said Shelby. “You want me to call him? He could send someone out there.”

“Can the Winston County sheriff keep his mouth shut if you explain what's going on?” asked Darla.

“Not if there's a chance he could get his picture in the paper,” said Shelby. “He's running for reelection next year.”

“We'll handle this ourselves,” said Darla. “How long a drive to Mr. Everson's?”

Uther looked at his iPad. “An hour and thirty-seven minutes.”

“I'll head up to Winston County tomorrow,” said Darla, “and track down Mr. Everson. I'll try to talk him into coming back to Jackson, where we can place him under protection. If the killer strikes again, we may be forced to place all the potential targets under police protection. It would nice if they weren't strung out all over the state.”

“I know Reverend Walters over at the Southern Church of the Holy Redeemer,” said Shelby. “I'll advise him to cancel the service. And put the gospel-singing Elvis under protective custody when he shows up.”