Low Country Law Read online

  Chapter 18

  Fish had been around the Lowcountry all his life. The 60-year-old resident had been involved in the moonshine trade since early in his life. He had rarely had any other means of income. He had been operating on his property near Adams Run since he was in his teens. Being located near the wooded thickets of the coast, it was a perfect place for his business of making illegal whiskey.

  Although he had other means of disposing of the liquor, he had learned that the most profitable way to operate was to be an intermediary between the peddlers and the still operators. Fish had a couple of still operators where he could get most of the moonshine he needed. Until recently, Homer and Henry was one of his most reliable suppliers. They had always delivered on time. The quality of their product was 180 proof, which meant that Fish could dilute it down to around 100 proof and still sell the best moonshine around.

  Buck and Anna were his other reliable source, but they didn’t want to increase their output.

  Backed into a corner, Fish was ready to try anything. He had heard about two people near the Salkehatchie Swamp who had started up a new operation. He also knew from his previous travels, that he could learn about anything going on in the area at a dive called Flood’s Place. His next mission was to find out about the new moonshine operation. Flood’s Place would be his next stop.

  Chapter 19

  It was 9:00 AM when the 911 Operator received the call. Two bodies had been found near a small cluster of homes known as Whiteside. The operator put the caller through to Caley. The caller gave his name as Carroll Griff and said while he and a friend were hunting they came across an illegal whiskey still in the woods behind a small convenience store. They found two dead male bodies on the ground at the site. They appeared to have been there for several days, as there were extremely swollen.

  He said he was calling from the store, Nel’s Place, and agreed to stay there until Caley arrived, which was expected to be in about 30 minutes. On her way, she called the deputy sheriff responsible for the sector and asked him to meet her at the store. Then she called the county coroner and told him the story. He said he would be out within the hour.

  Caley arrived at the convenience store in the black sheriff’s vehicle exactly thirty minutes after receiving the phone call. Two men in their mid-thirties, dressed in camouflage shirts and pants and carrying shotguns were waiting. Two beautiful hound dogs were lying on the ground patiently waiting.

  One of the men came over to Caley as her vehicle rolled to a stop and introduced himself as Carroll Griff. “My buddy and I were out early this morning hunting deer. Our dogs crossed a trail and took off behind a big buck that slipped away from us. When we went into the thick of the swamp to get our dogs back, we ran across this whiskey still.”

  “Good morning Carroll, I’m Caley Givens of the sheriff’s office. Tell me about the bodies?”

  “Well at first, we didn’t think much about it, since stills are common hereabouts. Then we started looking around we saw these two bodies just lying there like they were asleep, except they had been there for some time cause they were blotted up and the flies were swarming all over them.”

  “How far is it from here Carroll?”

  “About a half mile into the woods, straight out back from Nel’s here. There’s a pretty good walking path most of the way.”

  Caley didn’t see any reason to question the men further as they certainly didn’t appear to be involved. Right now, the best thing to do was to check the scene. About that time, Deputy Sam Ritter on patrol in the area rolled up. He got out of his car and walked over to Caley listening, as Carroll finished his story.

  “Sam looks like we are going to need some help here. I plan to go to the site with these fellows. Why don’t you wait here until the coroner arrives, and tell him what’s going on? I’ll call Sheriff Wilson. He will want to know about this right away. We can keep in touch on the handhelds,” referring to the handheld radios both officers had.

  With that Caley, followed the two hunters about 300 yards across the field to the edge of the swamp thicket. They stopped at the beginning of a walking path leading into the underbrush. Caley observed several tire tracks across the field leading to the path into the woods. Clear footprints were visible where a vehicle had apparently stopped, and the driver had gotten out. She stopped Carroll and asked if they had made the tracks. They replied they hadn’t, nor had they driven a vehicle on the field.

  She called Deputy Ritter on the radio, and told him about the footprints and asked him to bring something to mark off the area so that plaster casts could be made of the perfectly clear foot and tire prints. Then she followed the men along the path deeper into the swamp. After a short walk, the smooth path gave way to mud. After sloshing forward for a quarter of a mile or so, they came to a high area of ground about 300 feet across. The illegal whiskey making equipment was set up in the middle of the mound.

  The body of a man was lying on the ground beside a fifty-gallon metal barrel. Another body was lying about twenty feet away. The extremities of both bodies were puffed and swollen beyond recognition, indicating that they had been there for a while. Flies were swarming in and out of the first men’s nose, ears and mouth. He had several apparent bullet holes in his chest. Dried blood was all over the man’s shirt, and the flies were entering his chest cavity through the holes. His swollen face had a grotesque appearance of severe pain as he probably breathed his last breath. Several streaks of brown matter had dried on the skin of the man’s swollen face and the top part of his shirt, as though a bird had defecated while feeding on the abundant swarming flies.

  Dried blood was all over the ground around the second body lying face down. Caley thought to herself, this is going to be a messy recovery. Then she told the hunters to limit their movement as much as possible to preserve any physical evidence. As a special deputy in the county, she had seen many moonshine operations in her career. Assuming the men were the operators, this is the first one where the operators themselves had come to foul play.

  Caley wasn’t anxious to call her boss Sheriff Wilson. Being the publicity hound he was, she knew how he would react. He would be on the scene within the hour, take a quick look at the situation, then call a press conference where he would report a few of the facts, and proclaim that the good citizens of the county could rest assured his department would have the perpetrators behind bars in short order.

  Sheriff Wilson answered his cell phone on the third ring.

  “Sheriff Wilson!”

  “Hello Sheriff, this is Caley. We have a mess over by Whiteside. Two men apparently running a whiskey still, have been killed. I’m at the site now, and Sam is waiting out by the road for the coroner.”

  True to form, the sheriff said, “I’ll be there right away. Don’t do anything until I get there.”

  “Gotcha sheriff,” replied Caley as she smiled at the predictable sheriff and hung up.

  She paused a moment to visualize him speeding through town and down the highway with the siren of his vehicle blasting. More comical than dignified, he never passed up a chance for theatrics. It was a common joke around the department, how the sheriff got a kick out of speeding down the road with the siren blasting like a kid playing with a toy. If there were the slightest excuse to do so, he would also push the vehicle up to 80 or 90 MPH, while his chubby body sat forward in the driver’s seat, peering out the windshield as if he were in a NASCAR race. He was usually sucking on a chew of snuff, with a determined grimace on his face as the strong tobacco taste satisfied his palate. Kodiak was his favorite, and it tasted even better after he had it in his mouth for a while.

  Sam heard the siren wailing long before it arrived at Nel’s. When the sheriff arrived at the store, he glanced across the field and saw Sam standing guard at the entrance to the swamp. He continued to drive his vehicle over the soft dirt without regard for the preservation of evidence. His siren still was going as he crossed the field. His vehicle bumped up and down hitting several deep hole
s. He stopped just short of where Sam had marked off the tracks. As he stopped, he gave the siren one more blast by flipping the switch off and on twice making a short “whip, whip” sound.

  Caley, deep into the swamp, smiled again and commented to one of the hunters, “All is well, the sheriff has arrived.”

  Sure enough, within ten minutes the sheriff came sloughing up the path with a stern look on his face. He didn’t say a word as he walked up to the top of the small rise. With his sidearm dangling from his right side, he looked around and chomped on his mouth full of snuff a couple of times. Then he pushed his hat up from his eyes with two fingers, reminiscent of John Wayne in the movie, “The Lawless Frontier.” Caley couldn’t help but have a humorous thought about John Wayne’s familiar drawl. Well, what can I do to help you, little lady?

  The sheriff looked down at one of the bodies. As he did, he removed the wide brimmed hat and fanned several flies away from his face. He took another determined chew on the snuff. Then he walked over and looked down at the second victim, stepping in the dried blood, contaminating it as potential evidence. Giving him his due respect as the senior law enforcement officer in the county, Caley, and the hunters watched the sheriff’s antics without saying a word.

  After about ten minutes, he took off his hat with one hand, spit a stream of tobacco juice to the ground and said, “Well, looks like we got us a real crime scene here. What’s your plan and what can I do to help…”

  Under her breath, Caley continued the phrase, “…Little Lady.”

  Relieved that he had done no real damage to possible evidence, and at least he was open to her suggestions, she said, “Good morning sheriff, glad to see you made it out so quickly.

  Restating the obvious, she continued with a serious mimic, “Yep, a crime scene is what we’ve got alright.”

  Without waiting for anything further, he started spewing out directions.

  “I guess the coroner will be here shortly, so be sure and don’t let him touch the bodies until you have done your assessment of the area. And get those two hunters out of here,” he barked.

  Patronizing the sheriff, Caley replied, “Good idea sheriff.”

  The two hunters glanced at each other with a whimsical look and moved toward the path. Then Caley said, “Wait a second, I need to get your contact information and addresses, so I can talk with you later.”

  Again, Caley wasn’t surprised at the actions of the sheriff, nor was she offended. She knew the feisty public servant would be on his way shortly, leaving her to do her work. Of course, deep down the sheriff trusted Caley and was very pleased to have her take care of the crime scene and investigation. They both knew showing the flag on scene so to speak, allowed him to exercise his authority and role as an elected official.

  Caley bent over the victim lying face down and lifted one side so she could remove a tattered billfold from the front pocket of his bib overalls. It held a driver’s license and two one-dollar bills. There was also a picture of a woman and a young girl in it. The South Carolina license identified the man as Homer P. Aiken, born in Warrenton County, 30 June 1961.

  “Homer Aiken, ever heard of him, sheriff?”

  “I seem to recall that name, but not sure. I’ll have to think about it!” said the sheriff, while grappling with the second victim’s body looking for identification.

  Kneeling over to the body on its back, he reached into the front pocket of the bib overalls and found another wallet containing a driver’s license.

  “I know this one for sure, though,” said the sheriff.

  “I went to high school with him. I know his folks too. Man, they gonna be broke up about this. Henry Padgett! He was very popular with all the girls and well liked by everybody. I was two classes behind him. After he graduated I never did hear what happened to him.”

  Then the sheriff decided to leave the scene and the remainder of the investigation to Caley. As he walked away, he said, “Let’s keep in touch. If you find anything else of importance let me know. Maybe the coroner can help us identify what kind of weapons were used, or maybe you can find a slug somewhere around here.”

  “I’ll keep on it sheriff. I think we need to bring SLED into the picture. You want to call them, or you want me to do it?”

  “You go ahead and take care of it, I’ll notify the press.”

  Both tasks were routine and about what Caley had expected. Right now, she was happy to have the sheriff do what he did best – leave the details to her and put on his show for the press.

  Chapter 20

  Moonshining in the Lowcountry was common. Most of the locals knew who the dealers were. In general, law enforcement knew about their activities too. However catching them at it was another thing altogether. The sheriff’s office worked with the ATF who had a large task force in the state. They were busy with illegal liquor activities or drugs all the time. They tracked unlawful whiskey production, firearms sales, and other ATF matters.

  Murder and other serious crimes were different. SLED, the South Carolina Law Enforcement Division, had a group responsible for investigating and assisting outlying counties. They helped the small law enforcement organizations who did not have the facilities, expertise, and personnel to handle murders, as well as other major crimes requiring sophisticated forensic coordination. In the case of the two moonshiners, Caley alerted SLED on her cell phone, after the sheriff departed the scene.

  For the first day or so, Caley’s efforts were devoted to background on the two people. She had visited the site to collect evidence and questioned several people around the area of the still site, but by no means all of the people she wanted to interview.

  She knew it would have been impossible for the owner of Nel’s Place not to have knowledge of the two people making moonshine in the woods near his place. Furthermore, she would have been surprised if he hadn’t been involved with the operation himself. This fact she was able to confirm, but only by hearsay when she questioned several people who were hanging around in front of the joint.

  She had already questioned Nellis Garvant once, but now was questioning him again. She planned to let him know she had information he had been selling illegal substances, but it was not the focus of her investigation. Hopefully, this would persuade him to be forthcoming with information.

  “Listen, Nellis, I know you have been selling moonshine, but that’s not what I am interested in at this time. I need you to tell me anything that may help determine who shot Aiken and Padgett.”

  “I damn sure have not been selling illegal whiskey, and I want you to understand that right now. All I know is those two were making whiskey back in the woods somewhere. I knew it, and so did everybody else around here. As a matter of fact, I even bought some from ‘em to drink myself, but I never sold any and wouldn’t ever do anything like that. I have a liquor license to sell beer. Selling whiskey would hurt my beer business and put my license in danger.”

  While Caley wasn’t sure she believed him, she let it got for the time being.

  “Who else do you think might have been involved in their operations?

  “I don’t know, but I know both of them had families who must have known about what they were doing. I also heard them two hung out down the road at Flood’s Place a lot. You might check with somebody there. I’ve also seen Jim Avant’s pickup truck parked in my field by the woods. I think you need to talk with him. He was either using a whole lot of their stuff or reselling it.”

  Feeling that Jim Avant may be a good lead, she made a note and continued to question Nellis, but learned nothing which would help further. When Caley returned to her office in Warrenton, she had a message to call SLED regarding the case. It was J.D. Block, Head of Criminal Investigations at SLED. He had bad news for Caley. Currently, all of his people were involved with other cases of high priority with interests that extended all the way to the governor’s desk. Not only that but, within the next week the President of the U.S. was visiting Charleston, and every ounce of manpower was tied up.


  “Can you handle that case yourself, until we can get somebody to help you,” said J.D.

  “Of course, we will do our best J.D,” Caley replied.

  After a further brief conversation, J.D. said he had to go, and his office would continue to give her priority on any forensic support that was beyond the county capabilities. Caley wasn’t too pleased with the news, but at least she would be free to pursue the investigation without being second-guessed. That is, except for Sheriff Thad Wilson, which in and of itself could be a huge obstacle.

  She had the phone number for Homer Aiken’s widow, Sarah, but decided to drive to their house instead of calling. Caley always liked to get out and look at the environment where people lived and worked. Having been born in the country herself, she related to most country folks. Even when she was on active duty and worked in Iraq, when possible she would get out among the people. She would always find something in common to relate to them about. The farms she had come through, the type of automobile they drove, the condition of their home, or farm, or their age! The training she had learned with the Navy in NCIS had served her well. She knew an individual’s environment would usually influence their temperament and cooperation. How she assessed this was essential to her goal of obtaining information. This is a lesson she learned early in her career. Her determined and friendly manner made her an expert at it.

  She turned off the main highway onto a secondary road going toward the swamp. After about 8 miles she turned west at a place familiar to her, called “Cane Branch.” Now, it was no more than a puddle of water, but in the earlier years, there had been a country grammar school at the fork of the road. It was a place of happy times for the few people who lived near the split in the road. As she turned west, she saw an elderly man standing beside the road with a small dog sitting beside him. She stopped and said “good morning.”

  “Good morning to you ma’am,” replied man with fuzzy white hair and perfectly rounded fuzzy beard about two inches long.