CHAPTER 7
Jeff Pierson opened the door to Mac’s Café and stepped slowly in, as if reluctant to bring any of the tragedy in with him. But he straightened his shoulders and nodded to “Mac” MacIntyre, the proprietor and former football star at Bradford State University, and the reason for the implied “Big” in “Mac’s”, who simply pointed to Pierson’s usual booth. Mel Johnson, in response to an earlier phone call, was already there and Pierson slid in across from him.
“Mel.”
“Jeff.”
Mac brought a platter over and set it in front of Johnson. It looked like the Bigger Mac Cheeseburger Plate with applesauce and onion rings. He turned to Pierson. “What’ll you have, Jeff? The same?”
“No, it’s getting close to dinner time, and I’m going to be missing it at home. I’d rather have a full dinner-type meal. Judy’s already pissed, and she’s not likely to be saving me any from our supper. What’s your meatloaf special today, Mac?”
“The Spicy Mexican Meatloaf with guacamole between the outer and inner layers. With rice and refried beans.”
Pierson rolled his eyes. “No, that’s a bit much for me today. I’ll have the Hawaiian Meatloaf with the pineapples. But the rice and beans sound good. And a lemonade to drink.”
Johnson hadn’t started eating his burger and seemed to be more playing with the food than ingesting it. He took out a handkerchief and blew his nose.
“Rough day, Mel. I really hated to break the news to you that way, but I didn’t want to wait any longer before telling the two of you, and I needed to see how Harry was going to react. How are you doing? Really?”
Johnson took a deep breath, then slowly let it out. “When my wife, Janine, died from cancer, about eight years ago, I figured that was going to be the worst thing that would ever happen to me.” He picked up an onion ring then put it back down. “It was. I cared for Grace, I suppose you could say I loved her, but I’m surprised I’m not having a stronger reaction. I guess it has to do with our ages, and that we hadn’t made any sort of real commitment...and the length of time I was with Janine. I just always thought I’d go first. I’m sort of numb – I’m in shock, I think, more because of how she died than the actual loss. Maybe I’ll grieve more later.”
He looked back up at Pierson. “I know you have a job to do, Jeff. And I want you to catch the son-of-a-bitch that did this. So ask what you must, and I will answer what I can.”
At that moment, Marge, Mac’s wife and the primary reason for the success of the café, brought Pierson’s dinner. The meatloaf dinner always seemed to be ready as soon as you ordered it.
Pierson picked up his fork. “Eat something, Mel, I’ll try to make this as painless as possible. I know you didn’t have anything to do with this. Trust me, I’m not going to question your whereabouts.”
“I was at home watching TV until I went to bed around 10:30. I don’t know when she was supposed to have died, but that’s what I was doing. No one else to alibi me.” Pierson started to hold up a hand, but Johnson waved him off. “I know, I know, but I wanted to tell you. We don’t, didn’t, see each other every evening, just when there was something specific to do, or we just wanted company.” He folded his handkerchief over and ran it across his mouth. “I wish there had been something last night. But there wasn’t.”
“You mentioned that you knew Harry had been somewhere else last night.”
“Yeah, I did.” He laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Harry has a way with people, particularly the ladies. Particularly lonely ladies. It makes him a good salesman. I don’t always approve, but then I’m aware I’m an old fogey, and my standards are not the same as the younger generations. He was with a client in New Lincoln, making sure that ‘her needs are being met’ is how he’d put it. She apparently has frequent ‘needs’, as she often calls the office to make an appointment to meet with him. And Sherri has him scheduled to meet with her last night. I know you will want to check with her. Sherri has her name and number.”
Pierson nodded. “Okay. Do you know anything about Harry’s relationship with Grace?”
“As near as I can tell, it was very strong. More like mother-son. I know that doesn’t always mean good, but I believe they were very close. I’m not aware of any conflict between them. Certainly not anything that would have led to this. I know he cared for her very much. She was the reason he’s in Summerfield. And, as you probably know, she got him this job.”
“Can you tell me about that?”
“She told me she had a nephew who was moving into town and needed a job. As you likely know, there really is no ‘and Johnson’. I was wanting to wind down and not put as much into the work, so it made sense for me to add somebody younger. And actually, he does fine. Outside of those, ahem, personal relationships with some clients, his work has been very good. I’m glad to have hired him, and I have often told Grace that.”
“Did you ever check on his background? Any references?”
“He brought a resume. Was an assistant manager in a department store. And references. But I never really checked on him. He was Grace’s nephew and wanted to move into Summerfield, and that was enough for me. As I said, I have had no problem with him and no reason to worry about him.”
“Grace have any other close friends? Acquaintances?”
Johnson took a bite of his burger. Talking seemed to help him get back a sense of normalcy.
“She had her book club, but that wasn’t last night. And there were friends from church and from when she was teaching. If someone was over last night, I wouldn’t necessarily have known. I don’t think she had much contact with neighbors, except for Miss Bucholtz across the street. But Miss Bucholtz certainly wouldn’t have gone out in last night’s weather.”
“No, last night was a good night for people not to be out,” Pierson agreed. “One last question –- about insurance benefits. I assume she had some life insurance. And I’m guessing with you.”
“Yes, she did. Not a lot. She didn’t have anyone dependent on her. But what she did have will go to Harry and his sister, Ann, out in Colorado. It’s certainly not enough to kill for, believe me. Maybe enough to cover funeral expenses.” He pulled out an envelope from an inner pocket of his jacket and slid it across the table to Pierson. “This is a copy of her policy. I figured you’d be asking about it.”
“And her will?”
“Matt Laurenfeld is her attorney. She never talked with me about it. I would expect the bulk of it to go to Harry and Ann again. I have no idea of the size of the inheritance, but I don’t think it would be much.”
Pierson nodded. Apparently, Townsend would have needed more of a motive than money. “Thanks, Mel. I do appreciate your time. And, again, I am personally so sorry for what happened to Grace. Believe me. I wish she were still alive for you.”
Pierson finished the rest of his beans and noticed that Johnson had now cleaned his plate, so something had been accomplished by this meeting anyway, even if it hadn’t led to any clues as to Mrs. Mathison’s death. This day was long, but it was becoming very apparent that it wasn’t done yet.
CHAPTER 8
Pierson, tired and depressed, drove the few blocks to his home following the meeting with Mel Johnson. Not the way he wanted a day to go. He pulled into the driveway, turned off the engine, and sat for a minute, needing to gather himself before heading inside.
Judy met him at the door, anxious to hear what was happening, but knowing better than to push him when he wasn’t ready.
“Hi, honey. Are you okay?” She bit her lower lip, a sign that Pierson recognized as the beginning of an anxiety that he needed to soften. “Can you tell me anything?”
That morning, he shared with her briefly about Mrs. Mat
hison’s death and had just told her he didn’t know when he would be home. In the family room to his left, he could hear the television.
“JoAnn in there?” When Judy nodded, he pointed to the living room to the right, used only for guests. “Let’s go in this room.”
They sat on the couch, and he leaned back, expelling a long breath that felt as if he had been holding it all day.
“Not much that I can say. Pops and Speed and Bud have all been out interviewing what is probably half the town and checking out the house. The crime scene people have been all through the house and grounds. I’ll hear in the morning if they found out anything vital. I’m guessing not, or they would have called me.” He cocked an eye. “Or did somebody call here?”
Judy shook her head. “I’ve gotten calls from some people, but just wanting to know if I’d heard about the body on the roof, or, if I had, did I know anything more. Just trying to see if I had any information that they didn’t have.”
“Yeah,” he said, but before he could continue, the phone rang.
“I’ll get it,” Judy rose and moved to the phone on the side table. “Hello? … Yes, Carol. … He just got home. … No, there’s nothing new. … Maybe we’ll know more tomorrow. … Yes, I’ll let you know. … Thank you, good-bye.” She hung up the receiver. “Carol Ledbetter.” Pierson looked in the direction of the Ledbetter’s house across the street. “She saw your car pull in.”
“Didn’t take long.”
“I think everybody’s anxious to know. It’s a small town. Everyone’s heard something about it by now.”
“And about it being suspicious, probably a murder?” Jeff grimaced as he said the word.
Judy bit her lip again and nodded. “I was hoping that part wasn’t true.”
“Yeah, so was I. And I was really hoping that information hadn’t gotten around town.”
“Oh, my.”
A noise made them turn to see JoAnn, their ten-year-old daughter, standing at the entrance to the room. “So she was murdered? An honest to goodness murder? In Summerfield?” There was a touch of sadness, but more than a little bit of excitement in her voice. “People were talking about Mrs. Mathison’s body on the roof after school, but they didn’t know she was murdered!”
Pierson closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again. “Jo, you might as well come in. It seems there aren’t any secrets around here.” He looked from one to the other. “Look. An investigation is ongoing, which means I can’t give any details about what we’re doing or what we’re finding out till we’re done. That’s all confidential. Are we clear on that?”
They both nodded.
“My hours may be different for awhile, but you’ve known that to happen before when we’ve had a case of some sort. Yes, this is a suspicious death, but we are going to do everything we can to resolve this. And that is all you can tell anybody.” He looked particularly at his daughter. “Jo? Nothing about murder. We don’t really know what happened. She has died, and we are investigating. You got that?”
“I got it, Dad.” She grimaced as if in disappointment, but slowly nodded.
“Alright. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got to do some mental sorting out. It’s Hazy’s night to take any emergency calls, so I’m then going to get some sleep while I can.” He got up and left the room, but stopped just outside the door to listen for a minute.
Judy and Jo looked at each other.
“Look,” Judy said, “We’ll leave Dad alone to deal with this and not bug him. He’ll share with us when he can. But, meanwhile, if either of us hears anything, we’ll tell each other. Okay?”
Jo nodded. “I’m sorry Mrs. Mathison is dead, but I have to tell you this is the most exciting thing that has happened in Summerfield since, well, since anything that I can remember.”
Pierson shook his head, recognizing that this was going to be true for a lot of the town’s residents.
CHAPTER 9
The Summerfield Police Department reconvened in Room A. This morning was unusually quiet, no one joking, and, for the second time in Pierson’s memory and in just two days, everyone was on time for a meeting, even George Peabody, who usually said he couldn’t remember where they were supposed to meet. The seriousness of Mrs. Mathison’s death apparently had hit home.
Doughnuts and hot drinks had been provided by Marie Hazlett, as befitted her motherly approach to the department, a habit that no one had ever really tried to break her of, since it worked to everybody else’s advantage. She checked briefly with Pierson, who asked her to use her contacts around town to see if there was any information in Grace Mathison’s background that could suggest anything, anything at all, and also to check with Harry Townsend’s previous employment... “Ask Sherri Northrup for contact information.” She then left to man the phones or the front door or whatever needed manning. Joining the team around the table, at least briefly, were Phil Culbertson from the crime scene unit and Mayor Jonathan “JJ” Plummer.
Pierson turned from the chalkboard where he had been adding notes from his interview the previous evening and faced the other officers.
“Good morning, all. I hope you got a good night’s rest. You’ll need it.” He pointed to their guests. “Phil will be providing us with whatever his crime scene techs found yesterday. And JJ is here, well, I guess, to represent the village of Summerfield. JJ?”
“Jeff.” Plummer stood and nodded to each person in turn. “Steph, Bud, George, Phil. I am not here to intrude on the investigation. And I am certainly not here to put pressure on anyone. But, as the duly elected representative for Summerfield, I do get phone calls from the press, both Paul Cousins at The Summerfield Weekly, and Beth Goodkind, the crime reporter at The Oldstown Press.” Everybody was familiar with the daily newspaper from the neighboring big city. “Also from the town council and other leading citizens representing this fine community. I have a duty and a responsibility to keep them updated on our police department’s progress. I do wish to express and confirm my utter faith in each and every one of you.”
Peabody muttered to no one in particular, but to everyone in general, “You’re already elected, JJ.”
Plummer paused. “What was that, George?”
“Nothing, JJ, nothing, just clearing my throat. At my age, I have to do that a lot.” And he demonstrated.
“Fine, thank you, George. We all understand that. So I am here just so I can assure the good folks of our town that we are actively and fervently pursuing all avenues to solve this terrible crime as soon as possible.”
Pierson passed the piece of chalk from one hand to another, back and forth. “Thank you, JJ. We do appreciate your words of support. You can inform anyone that asks that all we have at this point is a suspicious death and that we are currently investigating all avenues. I think we want to be very careful with the terms we use. All of us were busy yesterday following up on leads and interviewing various interested members of the community. You can also share that information. I expect you’ll hear back from some of the people we interviewed yourself. At this time, I don’t believe we have any specific people of interest that we can mention for the record.” He looked around at his staff, and not getting any disagreement, continued, “We’re going to hear what Phil has to tell us, and the results of the interviews, then determine what our next steps are.
“JJ, I do understand your position, so when we have anything concrete, you will be the first to know. I imagine, as mayor and with your law practice, you already have a busy day ahead of you, so, if you want, you can go back to your law office, and I’ll keep in touch with you.”
Plummer nodded solemnly to everybody again, grabbed one, no, two doughnuts, and one of the coffees, and left. His office, Plummer and Whittlesey, Attorneys At Law,
was directly across the green, making it a short walk from one job to the next, and then back again.
“Phil, what have you got for us?” Pierson nodded to Culbertson.
Culbertson didn’t stand, but did, momentarily, put down his bagel.
“Gentlemen...and lady,” he added. “We have bupkis on the murder weapon.” Pierson cringed again slightly at the official use of the word murder. “Nothing on the roof but her blood, and not much at that, and nothing on the ground below, anywhere around the house. We did find some of what appears to be blood mixed in with the mud at the foot of the ladder, and we’re getting that analyzed. But the ladder was washed clean by the rain. And because of the rain and the mud, and all the people trampling everywhere, the yard was pretty chewed up by the time we got to it, but we found no rock or any other object that could have caused that particularly round-shaped blow to her head. It was wet under where her body had been, but not as much as the rest of the roof, so our conclusion is that Mrs. Mathison was placed there during the storm, not before or after. That makes the time of death somewhere between ten PM and four AM.”
“However,” his tone became more serious, “inside the house, we did find some blood traces to the left of the mantel, and in a splatter pattern consistent with a blow to the left temple. It looks like there was an attempt to clean some of it up, and it wouldn’t have been really noticeable if we hadn’t been looking for it, but the bet is that’s where she was killed. We’re having tests to match it up with Mrs. Mathison, but, unless there was a very violent altercation, and there’s no physical evidence of that, the odds are it is hers. We’re also checking for fingerprints besides hers, but I know at least three of you were in there and who knows who else visited her. Probably not tons of people, but she wasn’t a recluse either. We’d need prints on the murder weapon to match up anyway, and there’s no sign of anything like that yet.”
The Body on the Roof Page 5