The Maude Rogers Murder Collection

by Linda L. Dunlap

  One of those women had been Professor Bledsoe, a married woman who even at forty something believed Doctor Dennis should have flirted, should been attracted to her. Those at the table giggled a little at the idea, but they all seemed to have a smidgen of sympathy for the woman.

  “It’s hard to find a single man over thirty in academia who wants a woman his own age. Most of them are like Doctor Dennis, they are looking for the youthful girl-woman who will make him feel forever young, as though the years he spent in medical school without affection can be erased.”

  “But even so,” another said, “Detective Rogers, the very idea of killing the man is out of the ballpark here. We are women looking for companionship, we aren’t looking to count coup.”

  Maude thought about all she had heard, and said her good-byes, hoping to find Joe and get off campus in time to get back to the motel before dark. She felt in some ways that the trip to the university had been successful, but as yet hadn’t figured out where the success lay. The RA in the fourth year dorm was still missing, her possessions left to be boxed and kept for a period of time as Jenny Marx’s room would soon be packed away.

  Jenny’s campus room was plain with few embellishments. A few small picture of her with similarly dressed girls lined her dresser, and a jewelry box with cheap earrings and bracelets stood in the shelter of a pennant from the university. Her clothing was clean and sparse consisting of a few school outfits among empty hangers on the closet poles. Maude looked it over, wondering at the lack of family keepsakes.

  “Maude,” Joe began later as they were returning to Rhodes County, “This guy Spillar. Do you think he was involved in the killing?”

  “I don’t know for sure Joe, but he acted like a man who didn’t want to talk for fear of saying the wrong thing. He also sounded scared. My opinion? Yeah, he knows something. When we get back to the motel, I’m going to find out where he lives and ask him that question.”

  “What about Lilly Ann? Where does she figure in all this?”

  “There’s another blank. I don’t know. I can’t fit it all together. Don’t seem to belong together. The person who abducted her knew who she was, knew she had a connection to me. It was personal.”

  “Almost sounds like someone from your past, but he’s locked up tight.”

  She looked at him sharply as he echoed the words that had been going around and around in her mind since last night. “Don’t be foolish Joe.”

  They rode quietly for most of the trip, both detectives lost in thought. Joe had been thinking about his kids for most of the trip, wishing they gave a darn about him, wondering how he screwed up his life so badly. Work had consumed him for a long time after the boys were born, and Sheila had complained for a while. Then she said no more, until the day she told him she was leaving and taking the kids to her mother’s place in California. Since that time his life had gone through stages. First deep depression, then it got better, and he tried to forget his ex-wife and center his attention on the kids.

  After a while it became clear that the kids were happier without him, and the depression came again. Currently, Joe thought, my kids live with their mother and have no place in their life for me. It’s a sorry situation.

  The motel room came into sight, a welcome end to their trip. Jesus Jones had charged the county a lesser rent while the two detectives were out of town, a fact that was a common response from the industry. The rooms were kept for them without any changes. Maude went into the office and asked him if he had seen the man with the round glasses any more.

  The motel owner/police aide shook his head and said “No, he hasn’t been back here.”

  “Well, if you see him again, would you let me know immediately?”

  “I will, immediately,” he answered, brightening considerably with the thought of being her helper again.

  “Joe,” Maude asked, “How about we get some food?”

  “Okay by me, and then I think I’ll look this town over again. There’s a nice bar downtown called the Water Dog. Cold beer and good burgers. Want to go?” he asked.

  She thought about her options and decided to take Joe up on his offer, stating, “When we get there, make sure you don’t sit beside me or the women will think you’re dating the nursing home crowd.”

  The night progressed quickly, with loud music playing and the bar overflowing with people young and old. The gin was flowing, with Maude slinging back a few until her head began to feel buzzy. She stopped with the one in her hand and asked for her tab, deciding she needed to get up the next day and get some work done. Joe was a few beers happy, dancing with a pretty girl to the music of a country band.

  She tapped him on the shoulder and quickly said, “Partner, I’d going back to the motel to get some rest and to think some, try to put this thing together. Maybe call up that Spillar jerk and see if he’ll talk. I suspect he’s running scared. If they tried to kill him once, they’ll try again.”

  The night was cloudy, with the cold air chilling her body from head to toe. The coat she had wasn’t really warm enough for low temperatures; it was more of a fur lined blazer with a hood. She stumbled out of the bar toward the truck, wondering if she had too much alcohol to drive safely. Her last drink had been a half-hour earlier, and though she felt okay, Maude was a stickler about drinking and driving. She called the Sheriff’s Office and discovered that Ernest was working the night shift.

  “Ernest, nice to hear your voice. If you’re working tonight, how bout swinging by the Water Dog and giving me a ride back to the motel. I’ve had a few drinks, and although I’m pretty sure I’m okay, I don’t want to take any chances driving.”

  “Yes ma’am, I’ll be right there,” he said, a smile in his voice. “You can wait inside, and I’ll come in and get you.”

  “Not necessary, I’ll be sitting in my truck. It’s red, in case you don’t remember.”

  “Yes ma’am, be right there.”

  “I’ll buy you a cup coffee if you want it.”

  “No ma’am,” Ernest replied, “I’m probably up to my chin in that old black coffee Ray brewed. My head already feels swole up like a basketball.”

  Maude laughed to herself. I love that boy. His good-natured, helping attitude was what drew her to him in the beginning. Add to that the young man’s down-to- earth approach to life’s problems, and the sum total of Ernest Garrison was too much to be ignored.

  She was sitting, thinking about the victims that were found on Edwards Bay, trying to put some meat on the bones of the case. The small amount of evidence leads nowhere. Ernest told me about finding the boat drifting around Jackson Park. It was the boat that the Armours had reported stolen. Crime scene technicians dusted it for prints and searched for blood or other body fluids but there was none found. Professional cleaners seldom slipped up.

  The coroners/medical examiner’s report arrived by email that morning from Sheriff Jack. The female victim had been sexually assaulted before she was killed. Tearing of the tissue around the vagina indicated forced penetration, and a residue of seminal fluid was found in her cervix. DNA testing was in progress at this time. More information would be forthcoming as it returned from the lab. The murder weapon was described as a blade-approximately six to eight inches in length, rectangular in shape, approximately ½ half inch thick, width about one inch-penetrating the left lung and abdomen.

  The male victim’s cause of death was a large caliber bullet. Two shots had been fired in succession into the left orbital cavity; either slug could have been the cause of death. Bruises and abrasions on the victims face and head consistently matched the pattern of the butt of a large caliber pistol.

  Quickly Maude picked up the old report from the coroner on the murder/robbery victim from the jewelry store heist over a year ago. The wound penetrations matched the ones on Jenny Marx. An unusual weapon, a rectangular blade, but thick, so no blade. A sword? No, the wrong shape for a sword. She liked the coroner’s suggestion that it might be a chisel.

  When Ernest c
ame around to the truck, Maude had sobered considerably even though her blood alcohol was probably over the legal limit.

  “So you don’t want coffee, how about food? Have you eaten?”

  “Well, no ma’am I haven’t, and I could use a little bite. That Denny’s across the street has good scrambled eggs and sausage. We could go over there for a spell if you would consider my company.”

  “I would consider it a privilege to have a bite with you my friend. Only, I’m buying, since I have an expense account and I don’t expect you do.”

  “No ma’am, I sure don’t.” Ernest had a family to raise, and Maude wasn’t about to add to his money problems.

  “Well drive us over there. I need to ask you what you found at the resort. I haven’t taken the time to get over there. Didn’t think I needed to since you were going.”

  The restaurant was about half-filled with late night party goers and sobering drunks, the raucous laughter and hearty appetites overpowering the waitresses’ ability to do their job well. Maude was content to order coffee while Ernest ordered food from the menu. While they waited for his sausage, eggs, and grits, their conversation returned to Edwards Paradise, the resort where the victims had last been alive.

  “What was your impression of the resort and the people you talked to?” Maude asked. “Tell me what you think.”

  “Well,” Ernest began, taking a sip of his water. Maude could tell he was nervous, being in the hot seat. She sat patiently drinking her coffee, her unfiltereds lying in the lower pocket of the blue blazer she wore. They called to her, but the conviction to not smoke called just as strongly.

  “Well,” Ernest began again, red-faced with embarrassment, “The room them two stayed in was nothing fancy; just a big round bed, a mirror on the ceiling, and a little bathroom about the size of one of them cubicles in an office. Surprised me, I thought it would be all gussied up.

  “Anyway,” he continued, between bites of sausage. “There wasn’t hardly any clothes in the room, or any kind of suitcases, just a coat in the closest for the lady, and some cufflinks and a pair of pants for the man. Seemed like there should have been more. No jewelry or money. Nothing. Real strange, almost like someone had picked up the good stuff, and just left the other.”

  “Go on Ernest,” Maude said, agreeing him.

  “Well, I talked to the maintenance man, but he didn’t have nothing to say except he was off that day when them two left to go out on the lake. Seemed a little too quick to cover his heels, you know, like he might have been afraid I would wonder what all he did that day.”

  Maude nodded, understanding the cop’s instinct for wrong-sounding excuses. She remained quiet, not wanting to break Ernest’s train of thought.

  “There was a man in the office, nice fellow, gave me the keys to get in the room so I didn’t have to ask the cleaning lady. The man told me he had made a statement already to Lyle, the weekend deputy who went over there when the Sheriff sent him, wanting to know what had happened. I asked him if Lyle had been in the victim’s room and he said, “No, there hasn’t been anyone in there.” But I swear, there was something fishy about no stuff being there. At least a suitcase should have been in the closet, but there wasn’t one. Anyway, I didn’t call him a liar or nothing, just wrote down what he had to say. He didn’t seem to mind saying it twice, you know, after he’d talked to Lyle first.

  “One of them cleaning women was kind of young, about twenty, and she didn’t speak much English, but I asked her if she saw the victims, and she said she did. I asked about their stuff from the room, and she just looked at me like she didn’t understand, but I believe she did and was just ignoring me.

  “I pulled the sheets off the bed and took them to the lab people, figured they might want to check to see if anything went on in there like a party. You know what I mean.”

  He blushed again. Maude found Ernest’s respectful behavior especially endearing considering the work they had done together .

  “Is that all?” she asked quietly, watching Ernest finish off his plate of five pancakes.

  “No ma’am. Not quite. I found out what kind of car they drove there, and looked around for the keys. They was in her coat pocket. When I found the car, I got a shock because it was one of them low, Mercedes convertibles, new model too. That’s another reason it don’t make sense they wouldn’t have more stuff in the room. That car is expensive. Can’t believe he’d drive up in that pretty brown car and not having nothing nice to wear.

  “Miss Maude,” he continued, “Did them two have billfolds or any kind of identification on them when we found them?”

  Maude shook her head, even though she knew that Aaron Dennis paid for the boat with a credit card, and it was found near his body. He probably had a wallet somewhere else.

  “They must have left all that in the room, but then where is it?” Ernest asked. “It wasn’t in the car, cause I looked it over from top to bottom, even though I wore my gloves.” He said, darting a look at Maude, reassuring her of his ability to follow evidence rules.

  “Don’t frustrate yourself, Ernest. I believe like you, that some of the victim’s personal items were taken from their room, whether it was by the resort staff or by someone else. People traveling an hour and a half from home don’t go without nice clothes, some nice jewelry, plenty of cash or a packet of credit cards.”

  “Whew. I sure thought I might be barking up an empty tree with my suspicions. How we going to find out who took the stuff?”

  “Leave that to me, Ernest. You can go along with Joe and me when we make the big score. Plenty of time, even though it has been almost a week since we found those folks out there. Ernest, you’ve been good company and mighty nice, coming to my rescue, but I believe I am okay to drive now. It’s been a long time since my last gin, and I feel sober as a judge. If you’ll take me to my truck, I’ll free you up for the rest of the night. We’ll get together tomorrow for a little detecting, that is, if Sheriff Jack is alright with that.”

  “Yes ma’am, whatever you say. I’ll be ready to go, if it’s okay with the boss.”

  “First thing I’m going to do in the morning is to get over to see Jack, bring him up to speed on what we’ve found out. It isn’t much, but he needs to know it.”

  “Yes ma’am. I’ll be ready.”

  “Ernest, you think it might be possible to not call me ma’am so much?”

  “Oh yes ma’am, uh, sure.”

  “Thank you Ernest, now take me to my truck.”

  “Yes ma’am. That’s where we’re headed.” Ernest said with a nod.

  The rest of the night was calm and cold. The wind had settled and no longer blew through the tiny openings at the window frames of the motel. Maude didn’t care to sleep in a hot room and turned the heat down. Ernest’s words and the coroner’s report were going through her mind, circling around, and she was trying to make sense of it. She couldn’t imagine how a member of the killing crew would have been careless enough to rape the woman and leave the damning evidence within her. It wasn’t a logical move.

  She hoped to get the lab reports and the DNA tests results before the weekend. All depended upon the resources of Sheriff Jack Fuller. It was his county, and his influence that would make the difference. She was thinking about that when sleep took her for a four hour hike through dreams of boats, bad men, and bloody hearts in boxes. The last part of the dream jerked her awake sweating, the cold motel room aside. Her pulse was racing as though she had been chased by wild dogs. Sleep was over for the rest of the night, and Maude put it down to the gin she had consumed earlier in the evening. She pulled up the one chair in the room, put her feet on the bed and dozed for the rest of the dark night.

  Morning came as it usually did, finding Maude Rogers with too little sleep and too many worries. She wondered if in the long run there was a connection with cancer and lack of sleep. Seems there was always some new discovery, maybe she had heard it before.

  The heat of the shower woke all the synapses in her bo
dy, stirring the nerves and pointing out to her pain centers that she was indeed alive. Arthritis was especially bad on those cold mornings in the dampness of the coast, the pinging nerves were sending messages all across her knees and hips while a few others attacked the knuckles of both hands. Getting old was a shock. No one had been around to tell her it would be that rough. Grace, Maude’s mother, had died in her fifties, too young to have suffered much from arthritis or other joint pain.

  The running dialogue of her common sense chimed in about that time. Quit whining! Doesn’t do any good, get the ibuprofen instead. Anti-inflammatories were the answer to that kind of pain even though it didn’t do much for a gin headache. You’d think I would learn, but I swear, I haven’t gotten any smarter in my golden years.

  Coffee was ready in the pot on the nightstand, one of the real benefits of the motel room. There was also a refrigerator to keep the occasional soft drink cold, or to freeze a bottle of gin.

  She reminded herself to go to the liquor store before night; a replacement bottle was needed for sustenance. I guess I need to quit that too, along with cutting back on my unfiltereds. Dang. So much to do to get healthy then probably get shot. Make a better looking corpse though.

  The coffee was hot and strong, just like she once liked her men, back in the day when she knew what to do with them. Lately, Bill Page had been reminding her that all work and no play was a bad motto to live by. He did on occasion tickle her memory of some time they had spent together in Madison after Robert Dawson was captured and locked away. Bill had stayed around awhile, taking care of her, pushing the wheel chair while she healed from some injuries that came from chasing down the madman who loved to kill women. The thought of Bill made her smile and she picked up the phone and sent him a text message before time could change her mind. Thinking of you, Philly boy. Watch your moving parts. Yours, Maude.