FIFTEEN
MEMPHIS, TENNESSEE — JULY“Are you Mr. Basser?” The hotel clerk asked.
“You got him.”
“Phone call came through and a message for you, sir.” The clerk handed the deputy sheriff a written note with a name and a number on it.
“Thanks.”
Basser hurried to his room, threw his sports coat on the bed, and made the telephone connection to Louisiana. “Ben?”
“That’s me.”
“It’s Vince. I got your note. What’s up?”
“It’s not good. Billy Lee is dead. His body was found in a ditch outside Mobile, Alabama. Shot twice in the head. And his Packard was gone. Stolen, probably.”
“Isn’t that great. No other leads there?”
“Not a one, yet. How’s about you?”
“Two months and still not any closer,” Basser replied. “I’m checking out the ball teams. All I get is the same old thing. ‘Try the team that
