Wilmington, NC 05 - Murder On The ICW

in line? Are you crazy? And Melanie's even worse.
    Cam interjected, "It's all a big misunderstanding, David, and the police will soon see that it is."
    "David, honey, I'm hungry," Crystal whined. "And thirsty. Get the waiter over here and order me a drink."
    David gave her a look but said nothing. He snapped his fingers in the air and darn if a waiter didn't come trotting up to the table.
    Crystal ordered chardonnay and the seafood sampler.
    "Would you like that fried or broiled?" the waiter asked.
    "Broiled," she replied. "I've got to watch my figure."
    David grinned. "Don't you worry none , honey, there's plenty of us doing that for you."
    "Mr. Boleyn, the . . . ," I said.
    "Now Ashley, how many times do I have to tell you? Mr. Boleyn was my daddy. I'm David," he said.
    "David," I repeated. "David, we're hoping to get back to work on Monday. The police have sealed the property while they do their investigating about the remains we found."
    "Bring me a Jack Daniels straight up," David told the waiter. "And a steak, New York strip. Rare."
    Dismissing the waiter and turning to me, he said, "You can get back to work first thing tomorrow. The North Carolina Attorney General is a close personal friend of mine. He put in a call to that viper-tongued detective and set her straight. No excuse not to work. No one will stop you and your workers from returning to my property."
    Absently David patted his shirt pocket, withdrawing a pack of Camels and a gold cigarette lighter. He put a cigarette in his mouth, lit it, inhaled, placed the gold lighter on the table and regarded it fondly.
    "A present from old Jesse," he said as he exhaled, blowing a stream of smoke across the table.
    Jesse? Of course, Jesse Helms, the former senator.
    I coughed. Melanie fanned the air in front of her face.
    "You got a problem with cigarettes?" David confronted her.
    Melanie had taken as much as she was going to take. I knew the signs and she was about to explode. Watch out!
    She leaned forward and glared at him. "No North Carolina family as old as mine has a problem with cigarettes. Why, the tobacco crop built this state and fine institutions like Duke University with their huge medical/research complex. The tobacco companies provided good paying jobs for our workers when there were no others. And the tobacco companies give back to the community. No other industry donates as much to local worthwhile causes as the tobacco companies. And their employees organize to do volunteer work like building houses for Habitat for Humanity.
    "So, no Mr. Boleyn, I do not have a problem with cigarettes! But I do have a problem with smokers who blow smoke in my face. I also have a problem with smokers who drop cigarette butts all over the sidewalks of my lovely city."
    Boleyn stuck his cigarette between his lips and with his free hands applauded. "If I wasn't retired I'd offer you a job in my Washington office on K Street," he said.
    Melanie smiled smugly. "You couldn't afford me."
    David regarded her through squinted eyes but he took care to direct his smoke off to the water side of the table. Had the omnipotent David Boleyn finally met his match?
    "As I was saying," David continued then as if Melanie had not spoken, "tobacco lost a good friend when Jesse retired. Now look at what's happening to our industry. The DOJ is breathing down our necks, trying to put us out of business. Everyone thought the Bush administration would look favorably on big tobacco, but no- sirree -bob, they panted after us just as hot and heavy as the Clintons.
    "They seem to forget that tobacco is a legal product. If they spent half as much money on going after illegal drugs the way they spend it on persecuting the tobacco industry, there wouldn't be any more crack babies born up there in Harlem."
    Was there no group David did not regard with prejudice?
    Melanie's eyes were shooting daggers at me. I'd hear about this later. Cam was getting an edgy look and shifted in his chair. Jon's face had grown progressively red. Crystal Lynne took solace in her wine glass, no doubt having heard these tirades all too many times.
    I started to stand up. "We're meeting someone for dinner," I said. "We've got to get going. We'll . . .”
    But David had not finished delivering his tirade.
    "The federal government taxes cigarettes through the manufacturers at one dollar a pack. The states tax cigarettes at point of sale. Even North Carolina's up to forty five cents a pack. Five cents a pack. But up there in