“Fill out the form,” the bored sergeant said, never looking up from his desk. “You understand that the Philadelphia Police Department has jurisdiction in all cases happening within the city limits. Contact the Watch Commander’s office should you become involved in any incident requiring the use of firearms. Sign here.”
The door to the sergeant’s office closed behind them, almost catching Maude’s heel.
“‘Not in any hurry to get rid of us, was he?” She asked, with heavy sarcasm in her voice. “Is it me? Lately I’ve been thrown out of a sheriff’s office in Buena Vista, Texas, and now a sergeant in Philly hits me in the rear with his door.”
“Don’t pay any attention to him,” a voice called out from across the hall. “Come in, have a welcome-to-Philadelphia drink.”
The voice belonged to one of the detectives in the homicide section, a familiar area to Maude and Joe.
“Name’s William Page, but my friends call me Bill. Don’t judge us all by that guy over there.” he said, extending his hand first to Maude and then to Joe. “What’s your poison, soda or water?”
“Water’s fine,” both detectives said at the same time.
“Where you folks from?” Bill asked, pointing to a couple of chairs in his office, extending water bottles. “Have a seat, tell Uncle Bill your troubles,” he finished with a grin across his wide friendly face.
Bill was about sixty-five, Maude figured, getting ready for retirement, no doubt. Not trying to make any points with anyone. She thought he was kind of handsome, tall like her, but a little heavy around the middle. Not too bad though, brown eyes, wide mouth, small mustache, strong chin. She found her fingers were unconsciously smoothing the stubborn curls around her face, presenting a better picture of herself to this man. Oh well, she thought, the minute I open my mouth it’s all over anyway. Men don’t seem to care for my type of woman; they’re looking for the quiet, submissive girl who doesn’t know enough to pull a grass burr out of her own foot. Has to have a man do it for her.
“Maude Rogers,” she said, sticking out her hand, introducing herself. “And this is Joe Allen, my partner. We’re homicide detectives from Madison, Texas, looking for a man on the Porcelain Worx sales staff. Need to ask him some questions about a case we’re working on back home.”
“Pleased to meet you, Miss or Mrs. Rogers,” Bill said, giving her an admiring glance.
Maude was a little flustered by Bill’s attention, but put it down to his natural friendliness to strangers. Still, she thought, it was nice to have a little male appreciation now and then.
“Mrs. Rogers, but you can call me Maude. Nice to meet you Bill.”
“Wonder if you could direct us?” Maude continued. “Was hoping to ask the sergeant over there, but he was too busy to be bothered.”
“Yes ma’am. I can do that. Matter of fact, I can show you if you like; I’m headed that way myself. Have to pick up a birthday cake for a party tonight. Store’s on the way. You could follow me.”
The little two-seater was parked away from the Cop Shop, about a block down the street. By the time Maude and Joe got back to the car, she had smoked half of a cigarette, and was a little winded.
“Ever think about quitting those things?” Joe asked, casually.
“Ever think about shutting your trap?” She replied, looking his direction.
“You’d have more breath if you quit,” he said, “might need it before Bill is through with you.” After that, Joe looked innocently around the city square, pretending an interest in any view that took his attention away from Maude’s face. His green eyes sparkled with amusement, knowing that Maude’s wrath would be coming back at him.
The police car Bill drove was a new model, without any dents or dings, a sleek blue vehicle that was easy to follow on the freeway going west. They could have used a GPS direction finder, but with Bill leading it was a sure thing they would find the place. Joe had a real affinity for understanding electronics, and could no doubt have found where they were going, given enough time. They needed to hurry though and get the job done to catch their flight back in the evening.
Maude had no thought that the man they sought was in Philadelphia, She believed him to be nomadic, with a central home base that he returned to when he felt the need to put in an appearance. That belief was based on his movements of late.
“I’m getting hungry, Maude.” Joe said, leaning over from the driver’s side of the car. “Think we can get food on the way, maybe a burger?”
“Fine by me, let’s see where Bill drops off the freeway. Maybe there’s a fast food joint there somewhere, been a long time since last night’s dinner.” She was in agreement after listening to her stomach growl for the previous half hour.
Bill pulled off the freeway at a gas station exit, and stopped the car. He walked back to the two-seater, looked it over for a minute, then leaned into Maude’s window.
“Your department on a real tight budget?” He asked, the corners of his mouth slightly upturned.
“We figured we’d catch some flack about our choice of vehicles,” Maude replied, “But from everything we had heard, you men up here measure your cars by the size of certain parts of your body. Joe said the auto service didn’t have any limos to match his. Besides, this one works just fine,” Maude said, tilting her head back, looking into the warm brown eyes of Detective Bill Page.
“Maude Rogers, I think I like your style!” Bill said, laughing. “This is where I get off the freeway. You stay on till the next exit, then go over the top, and follow that road for about two miles. You’ll run into Porcelain Worx. Not far off the freeway.”
As the Philadelphia police detective walked away, shaking his head, still laughing, Maude and Joe began looking around for a fast food place near their location. Down the service road a breakfast cafe and burger joint advertised its fare on a neon sign, and Joe drove there, pressed on by hunger.
The eatery had several tables and chairs, an order bar, and an outside drive-up where mush-mouthed voices could be heard asking consumers for their orders. Choosing to eat in the building rather than struggling with a dripping burger in the small two-seater, the two detectives sat down inside after placing their order. Outside the building a parking lot with several shade trees overshadowed cars whose occupants dipped fries in catsup and slurped sodas out of Styrofoam containers. Joe sat at the table, drumming his fingers on the surface, taking the occasional drink from his cup
“Maude, what are we going to do if we don’t find him out here?”
“I don’t know. Keep on till we get a lead. The only thing we can do,” she answered, keeping her eyes on the parking lot. Several cars had departed, their occupants dropping trash from the car windows into a receptacle at the end of the parking lot.
“Good to see Philly residents appreciate their clean roadways,” Maude said. “I’m going to step outside and smoke one while we’re waiting.”
The building was fairly new, plastered in brown and cranberry colors, with lots of glass and aluminum, catering to the more youthful crowd. A playground was attached to the rear of the building, tempting parents to give their small children permission to run up plastic stairs that led to long winding tubular slides. The squeals from the kid’s area were reminders of days and years gone by, back when Maude was younger, when life was less complicated.
The high red roof on the playground was connected to the outside screened-in walls with bright colored beams, the safety of the children a must for the construction design. Maude walked around the property, smoking and thinking, finally returning to the entrance where she saw through the window that her food was on the table. Pitching her cigarette into a butt can, she headed toward her burger and fries to eat and contemplate the upcoming few hours.
Chapter 18
He was frantic, his hands shaking, the acid in his belly sending burning signals through his esophagus, a side effect of the tomatoes he had just consumed and the panic in his chest, his scarred and damaged intestinal tract reacting
to stress. The visor in the rent car was pulled all the way down, but he felt her eyes searching for him, knowing too much.
She is here, walked by me sitting alone in the car, but did not see me! His hair was blonde now-a short crew-cut. Glasses covered his eyes, set low on the bridge of his nose. But she will know me if she sees. Must get away.
“Mother, how did you find me?” He asked, saliva dribbling from the corner of his mouth. “You weren’t supposed to find me! You’ve ruined everything now! I can’t go back, can’t finish. I am so angry with you!”
He talked to himself more now, the weight of his work heavy, so much to do. Mother had found him, found his place, his identity. She would keep worming around until she knew it all, the things he had done, wetting himself, messing himself. His head would hurt when she hit him with the balled up fist one, two, three times. His tummy would puff up with blue colors, the poop in his pajamas all red; the screams coming during the night when the pain was worse. Bobby began to cry, great tears falling from his eyes, his nose running snot, tiny again.
The rental car was dark brown, hard to remember; it blended into the traffic within the parking lot. When the tears stopped, the blonde man with the dark glasses in the driver’s seat of the sedan started the engine, gathered his food remains, and drove from the fast food restaurant, dropping his trash in the receptacle before leaving. He was calmed once again, and knew now what he must do.
Chapter 19
The factory was easy to find, close to the freeway as Bill Page had said. The place is huge, Maude thought, covering what appeared to be acres of ground with buildings, trucks, and parking lots for cars and other vehicles. On the back side of the property was a railroad spur built for loading shipments of sinks, showers, and toilets going out of town, out of state, connecting to the main freight and passenger rails that sometimes moved with great speed through the less desirous neighborhoods of Pennsylvania.
The entry to the main building had a giant sign over the door displaying the letters, Porcelain Worx, Established 1948. The two detectives walked through the huge doors onto a large, open floor of heavily shined tiles. Replicas of toilets and sinks dated from 1948 through the rest of the century and into the next were placed in strategic spots around an atrium. Fountains flowed from porcelain sinks and even from one bidet, the overflowing waters bubbling into a porcelain floor drain where it re-circulated to do it all again. Maude thought it all too bizarre for her tastes. Joe stared a minute, and then turned his eyes to the large, black, porcelain counter where a very attractive woman sat busy behind a computer screen.
She was a redhead with brown eyes. Sitting in an ergonomically designed office chair, her attention was on the two detectives, who as far as she knew, could be potential buyers. Maude decided to cut to the chase and showed her identification, asking to see the personnel manager. She realized a corporation of that size would have a human relations department, but she hoped to see someone who oversaw the whole section. They were directed by the receptionist to have a seat in the section of chairs near the atrium, where they could listen to the sound of bubbling toilet water and admire all manner of porcelain products while they waited.
Joe sat for a moment and then returned to the front reception area and spoke for a short time to the redhead who smiled a lot, obviously flirting with the detective. Maude watched all that from her chair, then lit one of her unfiltereds causing the redhead to take her eyes off Joe and look with horror at the curling smoke in the otherwise sterile room. When it was time to shake the ashes off the cigarette, Maude thought for a minute how appropriate it would be to drop them in one of the bubbling toilets.
Instead, she walked to the coffee area located near the front reception desk and picked up a used cup that someone had left behind. She doused her ashes and continued to smoke, leaning against the coffee bar. Helping herself, she took some of the coffee that came in little tubs, and placed them placed in a machine that added water and produced a small cup of brew. The coffee was particularly good even though there wasn’t much of it in the cup. She decided that when she got back home, one of her stops was going to be the big box store where they sold the machine. It would be a welcome change from burned coffee at the Cop Shop.
Looking at her watch for the tenth time produced greater ire in her than the ninth time had done. She knew what the slow-no was all about, knew how it was done in big business. Make people wait long enough and they would give up and leave. Of course, they didn’t know Maude Rogers. Without delaying any longer, she strode to the black, shiny counter where the redhead worked, pulled her shield again, and spoke very softly.
“Young lady,” she said, “If I don’t get someone out here to talk to me within the next five minutes, I will be leaving, but I will be back with a search warrant for a person I believe works for this establishment. At that time, there will be several deputies who show up, marching into offices right and left, disturbing the toilet and dishwashing business so bad it’ll take a week to get things settled down again. How do you think Mr. Worxslaven will like having a week of production shut down because you didn’t put enough importance on a genuine police detective’s request for an audience? Now, I’m going to go back and sit down for four minutes, and if no one shows up, then I, and that handsome detective you’ve been mooning over, will be out the door.”
The poor girl had obviously been given instructions on how to handle nosey people who had no intention of buying. Maude suspected that supervisors routinely coached all front desk people regarding visitors. The receptionist had no clout to push for a meeting, but it wasn’t beneath a good cop to use a little fear tactic now and then. She hoped their trip had not been a bust. Without corroboration from the corporation’s personnel files, the detectives had no way to find the suspect or to know his identity. Maude believed she could positively identify the killer if she saw his picture.
Her butt was getting numb from sitting. It had been another three minutes and she was about to get up and give Joe heads up that it was time to go. A door opened near the receptionist’s post and a short, dumpy woman with nondescript gray hair stepped forward, motioning for Maude to go with her.
Following the woman down the hallway with Joe by her side Maude felt some hope where before she had none. Her thoughts wandered as she watched the dumpy woman’s butt cheeks waddling in front of her, curious for a minute if her own skinny butt cheeks waddled. Men might find that attractive, she thought, probably Bill Page liked a good waddle. Wait a minute, she thought, why am I thinking of men right now? One minute I’m being hopeful we might have caught a break with this perp, the next I’m thinking of butt waddling. Maybe I’m sick, maybe brain cancer.
“In here,” the woman said unsmilingly. She opened a door and indicated three seats and a computer before taking the ergonomic chair near the large, lighted screen for herself. Wasting not a minute of her time, the woman tapped on the keys of the unit, bringing up a company logo and the place for a password and login.
“Who do you want to know about?” She asked.
The name tag on the woman stated that she was Dora Appleton, HR Specialist and the haughtiness of the woman indicated that her tenure with the corporation had been lengthy.
Maude thought for a minute, letting the woman sit and stew.
“Why, everyone, Miss Appleton.”
The HR specialist sputtered for a minute. ”You can’t mean every employee!”
“Yes ma’am, I believe she does,” Joe said in agreement with Maude.
Maude decided to stop being difficult and toned her request down a little.
“Miss Appleton if you would just shoot us a list of all employees and their pictures, we’ll look them over and hopefully find the one we are searching for. Does that seem more doable? Truth is we think we’re looking for a man, but with cosmetic surgery availability, it’s difficult to be certain.”
The list that spit out from the printer had over fifteen hundred names, from the oldest board member to the lowliest janito
r; all were there, with pictures for most. Approximately thirty percent of employees did not have a photo on file; the rest of the photos were of both genders. Joe took half the list and Maude took the others. They had both seen the man at Mary Ellen’s, and felt confident they could identify him from a picture.
The conference room where they eventually settled with the load of personnel files was bigger than Maude’s whole house. A long table in the middle of the room, surrounded by comfortable chairs, was the place the board members met to discuss business. Dora provided bottled water and coffee for the detectives, but told them that under no circumstances was smoking allowed. The remark received a grumbling assent from Maude who had considered lighting one of her unfiltereds.
“Caught me just in time,” she mumbled aloud.
The files had limited information on them due to privacy issues in the workplace-a priority in all businesses. After the picture was the name, length of time the individual had worked for the corporation, and the list of assignments, including the current job location of the employee. The files were in alphabetical order, the individual folders neat and orderly. The enormous amount of names was overwhelming until they divided them and began the long, arduous task of identification,
Maude had the M through Z files spread out, peering at the pictures through her reading glasses. Each photo was scrutinized carefully, for Maude knew that the killer was too smart to have presented himself undisguised that night at Mary Ellen’s door. Female employees were considered because of the many possibilities for deception by someone intent on fooling the world. Maude was convinced the perp was a male, yet to the rest of the society, he may have been appearing as a female. It could have happened.
After three hours, she had three possibilities set aside for more consideration, one female and two males. Joe said he had four to be looked at, all males. Maude had the sketch that was done by the police artist, its generic qualities due to the semi-darkness that night. What Maude remembered was the arrogant attitude and longish dark hair. His eyes had appeared dark, but she hadn’t been suspicious enough to make certain while she spoke with him. Hindsight being perfect vision, Maude later saw clearly that she had been played.
The Maude Rogers Murder Collection Page 16