The Maude Rogers Murder Collection

by Linda L. Dunlap

  “He’s fixed on me for some sick reason. Hurting a girl I really cared about. He knew it.” Maude was out of breath from telling the story.

  “Anyway, we found out by just dumb luck, who he works for, and now we know his name, or at least one of them. Robert Elridge Dawson, from Oklahoma, worked for this company a long time. He was supposed to show up at the factory today-it’s the main office. Kind of a meet and greet with the bosses, renewing contracts. He never showed and I think something gave us away because he never called to say he wouldn’t be there. Just didn’t show.

  “So what do you think Bill Page? Do we have a runner? Am I a crazy old woman for trying to catch this madman? Think I should shoot a note to the Feds and let them find him?”

  “Dang, Maude,” Bill said after swallowing the last of his first beer, “if this life was easy, we’d all drink more beer and feel like champions. Fact is no matter what happens, he’s playing to you, and until he’s caught, you’re caught. Getting the Feds involved won’t take that away. You’ve seen that already. Know why he’s focused on you?”

  “Not a clue. I wonder where he was for the last eight years. What kept him from his butchering? Or did we miss something? Maybe he’s been busy in other places. Maybe he got his focus off me during those years and on someone else. That could be important.”

  “You know, Maude, I’d like to help you with this case if I can. But right now, can we talk about something else?” Bill asked, throwing his empty beer can. He popped another top before the first one hit the trash can.

  “Sure,” Maude answered, a little outside her comfort zone. “What do you want to know?”

  “Well,” her visitor replied, getting comfortable on the small sofa in the corner of the room, “Is there a Mister Maude back home?”

  Grinning a little, she answered back, “No mister, just me, a worn out old detective who lives alone with a pack of unfiltered cigarettes, a gin bottle, and mornings of regret for the nights before. Gin doesn’t treat me fairly anymore; hurts me the day after. And you Bill, anyone waiting at home for you tonight?”

  “No, Sweetheart,” he said, using the name slyly, “No one waiting; used to be till a few years back. I lost my wife in a car accident. Drunk driver hit her broadside. She never felt a thing, they told me. Hope that’s true,” he added wistfully.

  “How about another beer?” She asked, joining him on the sofa. “There’s a little store out front of this place. With our thirsts, we may have to get a twelve pack.”

  Chapter 21

  Ridge Roberts, as he was known to most everybody in the social scenes, was a wealthy, civic-minded man, extremely outgoing, and generous with his contributions to causes for the less fortunate. He had moved to Phoenix eight years earlier and settled into one of the more affluent sections near Fountain Hills. With the money from his family’s estate to spend, only the best and the biggest house would do for him and his wife Barbara.

  Their two children, a boy of eight and a girl of six, were beautiful progeny, their body structures and intelligence pleasing, their youthful repartee well accepted in social circles. Numerous play dates had been arranged by Barb and Ridge for their sweet babies. The best nannies were chosen to accompany them and insure their safety during playtime with other children. Such actions reinforced the adage that money does buy happiness in all forms.

  Several times a year, and lately much more often, Ridge had business trips that took him out of country, or at least that is what Barb knew. At those times, then she and the children would go to visit Grandmother Stanton in California for a few merry days.

  To say that Barb made the best of the time alone is accurate, for she did so hate it when the house was quiet, and Ridge was not there to lighten her darker moods.

  She had just returned from a trip to Grandmother’s, only to find that Ridge was still out of country. Sometimes Barb had suspicious thoughts about his many trips, but when he returned from them, Ridge was always happy, and hugged her affectionately at the oddest times. She adored it when they made love and he squeezed her breasts tightly, sometimes so hard it hurt. Her girlfriends would give anything to have that kind of attention from their husbands.

  Barb had met Ridge eight and a half years, plus three days, earlier. She would always remember the day and the hour he walked into her life. She had been shopping, of course, in a very nice store, although really, if anyone had asked her, it wasn’t quite up to her standards. Chicago was wild and parties everywhere, but she had to admit some were off-limits by her standards. There’s that word again, she thought, the last glass of wine making her titter. So many times it was unsuitable for her to attend certain functions that were below her standards.

  There had been a party at the frat house of one of her friends and she, of course, had been invited, so a new frock had to be found. Usually, her grandmother called the shops and their dresses arrived in smart boxes. Barb would choose the right one for the social affair and the others would disappear. But that day, Barb had decided to venture out and visit the quaint little shop surrounded by other, less charming establishments.

  “Wow, what a beautiful dress,” the handsome young man had said. “I don’t know if it’s the fabric that is so stunning, or if it’s you who shines with such radiance; if you’ll permit a stranger to comment.”

  “Thank you, and yes,” she had said, her knees all aquiver. “You may comment with similar admiration any time, Mr...?”

  “Roberts, Ridge Roberts at your service,” the handsome well-dressed man had said. Barb told him her name when she was finally in control of her emotions, but oh my, he had really made her heart race. Before the meeting was over, she had learned that his mother’s birthday was three days away, and he was in the shop to purchase a silk scarf for her. The sad story came out about his mother dying when he was little, and the sweet man always bought a new Hermes scarf and tied it to her headstone, every year on her birthday. Now a man like that, she thought back then, has standards. That’s why she married him. Of course she loved him too, but finding such quality in a man attracted her first.

  Their wedding had been a fairy tale of gossamer and white tulle, with the bride looking just like an angel. Barb had to agree with the ones who called her an angel. She just knew that her makeup and hair were styled so artfully that she had ethereal beauty. And her long, white train, with the tiny seed pearls glistening in the light, was spectacular. Ridge said he thought he had never seen a dress so beautiful or a bride so exquisite.

  Now a few said that Barb had bought a pretty package without knowing exactly what was in it when none of Ridge’s relatives showed up for the wedding. There was no one to speak for or against him, just Ridge and the love in his eyes, but Barb knew that no matter what little sins he might have hidden under the tissue paper, she was happy.

  If there were a few times since that she wondered about his moods and if sometimes his mind seemed to be somewhere else when he returned from a business trip, well, that was just Ridge needing quiet time. She never understood what he did on those trips; in fact he had forbidden her to ask about them.

  Once Ridge came home and said he had an accident in a taxi on the road, and that’s how he got blood on his shirt. Barb threw the shirt away and never thought much about it, or at least not very much. She had learned that it didn’t pay to question him about his business or about the quiet times he spent in the attic behind the locked door. He sometimes got very impatient with her when she asked too many questions.

  There was one time he accidentally drew back his fist and hit her in the stomach, but he was so sorry after, and cried about it, holding her and nuzzling against her-she had to forgive him. He promised that it would never happen again, and it never did. Well, not very often.

  The children were wonderful, so attentive to their mother, and if they didn’t seem close to their father, well, that was to be expected when a man had to travel as much as her Ridge. The boy, Jason seemed to be afraid of his father, of all things, never wanting to sta
y with him when Barb had to be away on a social engagement. He was such a mama’s baby, and accident prone, always hurting himself and needing Mama to make it better.

  Little Alyson was still very young and just as sweet as pie. Barb knew that she was lucky to have her perfect family.

  Maintaining two lives was difficult for Ridge, wigs and makeup were plentiful, and offered great identity concealers, but his playtime had to be carefully managed because of Barb and the children. His greatest desires were available to him as Ridge Roberts, wealthy Phoenix entrepreneur and family man.

  Barb had brought her own family wealth and position to their marriage and she had such style and grace, the first time he saw her he knew she would do perfectly. She was sometimes overly concerned with his travels, but a few lessons in mind-your-own-business made her lose interest. He came and went as he chose, sometimes for weeks at a time. While he was gone, the house would be closed down as Barb and the kids went to California to visit her grandmother. The children were home schooled and had no difficulty with the arrangements, often benefitting from the old lady’s influence. The fact that the old woman hated Ridge only made his life more pleasant.

  The locals of Phoenix were too absorbed in their own philandering to be concerned with the Robert’s household. The party society was always looking for the next high. Not to say they did anything illegal, but whenever the empty-headed decided to do something foolish, the cream of that society floated to the top just like a turd in a swimming pool.

  Another function was scheduled--an art show. The money would go to help some helpless brats in Uganda needing food or water wells that only rich Americans could provide. The causes were multiple and boring, and the devil knew he hated all that nickel and dime sympathy!

  The pills helped him maintain the married life and outward calm of Ridge Roberts. Always two in the morning, two at lunch and two at night. Except when it was his time, when the urge was STRONG! Then the pills had to go back on the shelf.

  Doctor J. E. Martin from Chicago, an MD specializing in psychoanalysis and dissociative identity disorder also known as DID, had been an expert in the treatment. He had formulated a cocktail of pills used in the treatment of personality disorders. His research was on the cutting edge for curing those disorders where the source of complaint was early child/family abuse resulting in traumatic memory shift.

  “With careful adherence to the proper dosage,” Doctor Martin had advised, “you should be able to keep the condition at bay indefinitely. The medicine is cumulative, creating a barrier to personality crossover. I would be very interested in monitoring your case, if you would allow me.”

  Doctor Martin had written the prescription with three refills after a thorough examination and a promise from Robert Dawson to report to the psychiatry department head with an update every six months. If any difficulties were to occur in the future, Doctor Martin wanted to be informed immediately. The doctor wanted information about the Dawson family, and Robert had already given him enough of the truth to make a clinical diagnosis, but no more. Ridge remembered one trip to see the doc for a prescription renewal. Bobby was out front and got interviewed because Robert had stepped out. The sniveling little fink wanted to tell ALL but Ridge had jumped in and shut the kid up.

  The notes to that woman cop in Chicago had been the kid’s doing, and he almost got them caught before Ridge put a stop to it and left the city.

  He never let the kid out in Phoenix! Ha! They would all be having a crybaby party after Bobby was done with them. Robert would fall out! As it was anyway, the toilet salesman had to work the hardest of all of them, keeping Bobby out of trouble and covering for Ridge. As always, Ridge had all the fun, and it was going to stay that way. (He did all the dirty work too. Like with the curious doc, and all the others that needed hushing!)

  Right, the two sickies had better play ball or he’d know why! He was tired of carrying them anyway.

  Chapter 22

  Taking a detour to Mehan, Oklahoma was necessary, although Maude believed it would be a useless trip. Robert Dawson was too smart to have screwed up by giving away real, lasting information in his personnel file. The best they could hope for was someone in the small town might remember the man after the passage of years. The greater chance was that Dawson had lied about his residence when he was hired by Porcelain Worx, and had never lived in or near Mehan. It was a process of elimination, determining truth from lies, that sent her on the trip.

  Maude had to rent a car in Stillwater, Oklahoma, where the nearest airport was located, and the trip brought back some old memories from her youth.

  She had gone to her mother’s sister in Cushing, Oklahoma after graduation from high school. The change of scenery away from her old man was necessary, even though he had moved out of the house some time before. She was dead-set on leaving, on trying to forge a new life for herself. Leaving her mother and brother were difficult, but she didn’t trust the old man to stay away. Maude believed she would kill him if he so much as touched her.

  Eighteen years old and freshly graduated from high school in Madison, Maude was green and easily impressed with the size and scope of the university at Stillwater. The school had been much smaller back then, and placed more emphasis on helping individual students than on growing large classrooms. There was a bus that carried her back and forth from school to her aunt’s house, and each weekend she was allowed to drive the old Chevy that Aunt Margaret used Monday through Friday for work.

  After living with her aunt for the first two years of school, Maude had went for a long weekend with friends at the end of the semester and came home to find a multitude of cousins in the house. They were busy surveying her aunt’s Faberge eggs displayed on a what-not shelf and discussing the possibility of selling all the property and furniture together. They intended to take anything valuable with them, and were packing boxes for the trip. Maude was stunned, first because there was a big group that she didn’t know and second, because she couldn’t find her aunt in the mix of people.

  A cousin, (she found out later she was related to all of the fortune seekers there) told her that Margaret, Maude’s aunt, died two days earlier, and they had been unaware there was anyone to notify. It must have happened just after Maude left. The family lawyer had found out about Aunt Margaret’s death from a client at the city hospital, and called Margaret’s eldest daughter. Poor Grace was not notified because the families didn’t mix much, and no one knew or cared where she lived. The cousins told Maude they were sorry, but she would have to get in touch with her mother.

  Maude always believed that her cussing had started then, even though her old man had received his share that one time when she threatened to kill him if he ever touched her again. Not waiting for anyone to explain how all the people in the house were related, Maude went to her bedroom, packed all the items she had brought with her from Madison, and gave her relatives the three fingered salute as she left the house.

  She took her two suitcases in a cab to the cheapest motel in town where she stayed for a few days through the grief and loss. Grace flew in from Madison for the funeral and bunked with Maude in the small room, each trying to comfort the other. It was a sad time for them.

  The job on the university campus paid Maude a small stipend, but not enough money for housing. The want ads in the local paper gave students part-time work through a credited program that offered tax credits to employers who hired students. Maude found the list and began looking for part-time work to help with expenses. The determination to finish school forced her to search for work that paid a decent salary.

  Memory loss in her later years worried Maude and made her suffer sometimes; not being able to recall names or small incidents that were so important when they happened years ago was frustrating. To her best recollection, the ad she had applied for said,

  Nanny: evenings and weekends. Live on property. Benefits: $100 weekly. Close to University. Telephone to apply.

  Maude had called and interviewed the same e
vening with a delicate blonde woman who seemed very distracted as if it was not her first time to search for someone to watch her child. The money was very good, more than Maude had hoped to earn working part-time and going to school.

  The woman’s name now escaped her memory, although the house and property were still vivid in Maude’s mind. The place had been huge, with marble tile squares in the main entry, and outside, a large portico that sheltered a set of double doors and wide steps leading from the circle drive to the covered area.

  That day so long ago, the blonde woman told Maude that her job would be to care for one little boy who had just had his third birthday- a sweetheart of a boy who cried a lot, and needed constant reassurance. The child was accident-prone, something was always hurting on his body, but the mother reassured her he would outgrow his carelessness.

  Maude wondered what happened to the kid after she left. The job lasted three months; until she became afraid for the boy’s aches and pains. She believed the injuries might have come from his parents and had spoken about it to a friend in one of her criminal justice classes, but he told her to back off. The family was very wealthy and carried a boatload of influence. Her suspicion of child abuse would be ignored. In the years that followed she had felt bad about taking her friend’s advice.

  Maude had given her notice to the family, and to her shame, quickly forgot about the little boy in her amorous feelings for Paul Rogers, whom she met the very next day. Their whirlwind courtship and marriage erased all thoughts from her mind except the man in her life.

  She had finished her schooling at the university, even after she found out Paul was dead in Viet Nam. The army benefit to wives and children of dead soldiers was a joke, but Maude had received a real surprise after she was married. Her aunt Margaret had a put some money aside, not a big bundle, but several thousand dollars, and she left it to Maude. The relatives were of course furious, but since the account was in a local bank where Maude was the named beneficiary, there was nothing they could do about it except carp to one another.