The next morning both detectives were at their desks—it was hump day, and neither was on call for the upcoming weekend. The rest of the week should go fast, and that was okay with Detective Allen. He had a plan in the works for a short trip to visit Lilly Ann. She expected him to arrive by ten in the morning on Saturday. He could hardly wait. Glancing across the desk, he noticed his partner involved in a book. She called it the Big Book. Joe was happy that Maude was on the wagon. He had been concerned for her before—seemed like the gin was taking over. He also hoped Bill Page would soon show up—she needed company. Maybe, he thought, Bill needs an update.
Later, they walked over to the district attorney’s office and presented the case they had so far. Daryl Stevens, the DA, was busy, but his assistant Burl Metz was free. As they had thought, the opportunity to grab two birds with one stone was acceptable. If the smaller bird got a break, it was okay as long as the big one went away. Anna Avery was known by the assistant district attorney. He had met with her concerning the mayoral race, and found her to be pushy and inconsiderate. The detectives had the liberty to mention a deal with Wallace Avery if he gave up his diamond source, and worked with them to arrest Anna. There was a good chance he would turn on her after finding out she had slept with her ex-husband and planned to steal Wallace’s hidden diamonds. The murder of Ronald Marshall should be a sign to Wallace—Anna would stop at nothing, not even killing the man she was sleeping with, to get what she wanted. If worse came to worse, they would play the tape for him to hear, or at least a copy of the tape. The DA wouldn’t let the actual tape out of sight after the detectives showed it to him.
They made a trip to the captain’s office, cluing him in on the earlier events, and the upcoming plan to arrest Anna Avery. Next, they made a call to Wallace Avery at the pawnshop. Saying they had some news about the murder, Maude told the pawnshop owner they would be coming by his office in about twenty minutes. Upon arriving, they found a new employee in the shop, Wendy James, a pimply-faced thirtyish woman with nice brown hair and slim hips. The rest of her was attractive enough, but Maude thought it shameful the woman’s complexion had destroyed her appearance.
Wallace Avery sat behind his desk, appearing interested in what they had to say. They were both prepared with a way to get Anna out of town, but it proved unnecessary. She had gone on a short trip with the mayor, and would return in the evening, Joe was told in conversation with Avery. They were asked to sit and given coffee by Wendy, a task she seemed reluctant to perform. Maude thought she might be embarrassed to be a waitress.
Joe looked at Maude and nodded, urging her to begin with Avery. She pulled the notebook from her pocket and opened it as though she needed reminding of its contents.
“Mr. Avery, we have a statement from one of your wife’s relatives about a conversation she overheard between your wife and her ex-husband. Let me read from here: ‘Ronald, if you don’t steal the diamonds, I have no need of you. Just because I let you in my bed do you think I love you?’ I’m sorry, I am paraphrasing a little. She goes on to say that ‘If you tell my husband about us, I will kill you.’ Now, Mr. Avery, can you tell us what diamonds she’s talking about, and did she kill her ex-husband? Was that in fact Marlin Thompson, a.k.a. Ronald Marshall?”
Wallace Avery had lost all color in his face—the smile he’d pasted on when they arrived had turned upside down. His watery blue eyes seemed ready to burst out of his head, and Maude almost felt pity for him.
“What are you talking about? Do you mean Anna, my wife? I can’t believe this. I intend to call your supervisor about such nonsense. Who is this relative?”
“Well, Mr. Avery,” Maude said, “if we have it wrong, I apologize, but I must tell you, I’m interested in those diamonds she talked about. Do you know of those?”
Too quickly, Avery shook his head. “No, I haven’t the faintest idea of what you’re talking about. I have diamonds in the showcase, as you know.”
“Sure, I understand that. But why would she say such a thing? As though it was a plan to steal from someone. Maybe you?”
“I know nothing about this, and your insinuation my wife was having an affair with her ex-husband is ridiculous. She wanted nothing to do with him.”
“Then why did she convince you to hire him?” Joe asked, giving Maude a rest.
Avery sputtered for a minute, then quit. He knew he had been deceived but didn’t want to admit it to the police.
“I don’t know. I didn’t know.”
“We may be calling on you soon, Mr. Avery, to ask for your help. In the meantime, let me warn you to say nothing to your wife about what we told you today. Go on with your business, and if you hear anything about a cache of diamonds here illegally, you are instructed to call and report it. To do anything else would be to commit a crime. Do you understand?”
“Yes, I understand, detective. But this is all foolishness. I will be expecting an apology as soon as you have the right information.”
“Yes, sir, we’ll be looking into it, you can bet,” Joe said, standing. Maude moved from her chair, admiring the way Joe had handled himself.
They left the pawnshop and parked across the street, waiting to see what would happen next. It wasn’t long before Avery left his business and hustled toward the garage where he parked every day. There was only one entry, so they waited for him to drive out then followed him all the way to the Central Bank of Madison. After parking across the street from him, both detectives hurried to get in the bank and observe his actions. The director of Central Bank had been notified of what to expect, and although he was not involved in Avery’s business, he had informed one certain clerk to be ready and handle the man’s request. The detectives waited a minute then followed the bank clerk and Avery into the room where safety deposit boxes were kept. A curtain had been pulled, and Maude walked over to find Wallace Avery behind it, box in hand. She showed him a search warrant for the box and took it from him, and located a pouch with a handful of large, clear stones. She assumed they were diamonds, a girl’s best friend.
Wallace Avery had the look of a man doomed to spend his days locked away from society. He had tears in his eyes, trying to explain away his wrongdoing. “The diamonds are from Germany. They are part of the property stolen from Jews during the war. I never meant to profit from them—on the contrary, it was my intent to return them to their owners, once I had found them.”
“Mr. Avery, it would be better if you don’t compound your crime with lying to the police. We have records showing these stones were brought into the country via a Colombian cartel and you have been holding them since they arrived. Let me advise you of your rights, Mr. Avery.” While Joe ran through the Miranda warning, Maude found a comfortable seat. She waited until he was finished then spoke through the curtain. “Joe, bring Mr. Avery outside where we can talk.”
Seated finally, Wallace Avery was shaking from fear, his memories of jail coming back full force. After a little time, he looked at Maude as though hoping she might save him.
“Detective, I can’t go to jail. They will kill me there. What can I do?”
“You can tell us about your connection with the people who gave you the diamonds.”
“It was Phillip Mason. He brought them to me. I tried to tell him no, but he was no longer in the jewelry business and needed my help. Some people had threatened him that they would kill his family if he didn’t hold the jewels for them. He came to me a week before the murder of my assistant and brought the stones. I refused at first, then he threatened to tell those people that I had stolen their diamonds if I didn’t help him. Again I refused. I knew it was not keeping the diamonds—that wasn’t what he wanted. He was looking for revenge. He knew if I got involved with those men, he would have me, and I would lose everything. The last time he came was the day Marlin was killed. I had grown weary of his presence and agreed to take the stones. He told me some men would fly in from Columbia and claim them. I knew then that I was lost, for they would never let me go.” Avery lowe
red his head and sniffed, misery written deep within the lines upon his face.
“Mr. Avery, we can help each other. We’ve spoken to the district attorney, and been authorized to offer you a break. It will cost some, but if you value your freedom and your life, you may come out of this with only a misdemeanor—obstruction of justice. If you don’t choose to do what we ask, you’re on your own.”
“What must I do, detective?” Avery was seeing some light at the end of a previously dark tunnel.
“You have to search your house and find the gun your wife used on Ronald Thompson. You must also get her to confess to killing him.”
“But how, why? What makes you think she did this?” Avery was getting confused—first he was a jewel thief then he was in bed with a murderer.
“Just listen, Mr. Avery.” She played the tape once, then twice, so he got it all. He listened at first with disbelief, then with sadness, and finally the anger started.
“She used me. She never loved me—she only wanted what I could give her. I was afraid she might love my money, but I never dreamed she could betray me in such a way.”
“So how about it? Are you helping, or going to jail today? Later, the organized crime task force will take over, asking you questions and expecting your help. Those diamonds have to be explained.”
“Yes, tell me what to do.”
Chapter 14
Maude stayed closely in touch with Wallace Avery, watching his movements as he left the bank. The diamonds were turned over to the district attorney, who gave the detectives a receipt for twenty-five clear stones. The special evidence was closely watched and logged. If the diamonds were stolen, the rightful owners would eventually reclaim them; if not, they would be sold and added to justice coffers used in apprehending criminals in the drug trade. A few years earlier, law enforcement officials were given legislative approval to confiscate evidence in illegal activities. The impounded goods could then be sold to benefit law enforcement agencies. At least Maude hoped they would be. Something that spectacular could be tempting to anyone, even those on the side of the law.
Her job was to catch a murderer, and that was where she put her considerable resources. Wallace Avery was fitted with a listening device taped to his side. He was determined to hear his wife admit that she never loved him; if she admitted to killing her ex-husband and recent lover, that was all the better. Everyone had an agenda. James Patterson hoped the bust would happen, and he could brag about it to his cronies at work. Joe wanted to be a part of solving the crime, and hoped his experience was enough to overcome the hold Anna Avery had over him, the last he saw her. Maude wanted it to be over so she could go home.
They set up the machines in the large bedroom closet of the second bedroom at the Avery house. So far, at 7 p.m., the gun had not been found. Two police officers were stationed inside the closet to help where needed. Finally, Anna arrived at home, cheerful and with shopping bags. Her husband met her at the door and gave her a kiss. She entered the house and took off her shoes, waiting for the maid to bring her martini. Wallace told Anna that Daisy, the maid, was off. Her mother was sick. Anna said some choice words and proceeded to make her own drink. She saw her husband watching her closely and asked if there was a problem.
He sat quietly while she stirred the vodka, vermouth, and ice then strained it into glasses, topping them off with an olive each. She offered him a drink and he accepted. Just as the first sip went down, Wallace began talking.
“When did you first know you didn’t love me?”
Anna stopped in mid-step, wondering, Why now? After all this time.
“From the first.”
“So you admit it. All the times you professed to love me with all your heart you were lying?”
“Of course,” she said, leaning back into the Duncan Phyfe chair. “Would you have married me if I’d told you the truth?”
“What is the truth? Do you know it?”
Maude was listening in the closet, hoping the man didn’t lose his cool early on. A lot of work would go out the window.
“Yes, I know the truth. You had money and I didn’t. It was simple. Why are you asking today?”
“Because I know about your ex-husband. Your lover. He came here, made love to you in our bed.”
“Don’t be silly, Wallace. What difference does it make which bed my lover used?”
“I also know you wanted him to steal the diamonds, and when he refused, you killed him.”
“Wallace, you’re getting overwrought. Remember your heart. What diamonds are you talking about?” she asked innocently.
“You know exactly which diamonds. The ones I have in the security box at the bank. You wanted him to steal them. Did you promise to run away with him?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. He was such a loser. Always, even in the beginning. But he could make my body sing.” She leaned back, a small tic working near her left eye, exposing the anxiety she felt. He was getting to her. “It was you I wanted to be married to, Wallace. I used him for sex, yes, but I didn’t know about any diamonds.”
Wallace knew she was lying. She had known about the diamonds, as surely as she had used both of them to get what she wanted. He was amazed that the idea of her adultery was an acceptable consequence of her actions, and she thought it should be forgiven.
“Why did you kill him? Wasn’t he good enough in bed for you?” His anger was for real.
“It wasn’t like that,” she said, her composure slipping a little. “He threatened our marriage. He was going to tell you about our affair. I had to kill him. There was no choice.”
“Why did you want the diamonds? Didn’t I give you enough?”
“Oh well, if you insist, yes, I knew about them. I convinced your old partner to bring them after he called here, hoping to find you. He was in a bad place,” she said, and took a long drink of the martini, “lonely and scared. I gave him some comfort.”
“What, you made love to him too?” Wallace Avery was coming undone. Maude could hear it in his voice.
“It had nothing to do with love, darling. It was business. Besides, he wasn’t very good. Somewhat like you.”
“Oh crap,” Maude said, “it’s going to hit the fan now.” She climbed out of the closet, weapon in hand, and opened the door to the living area just as Anna Avery pulled a .45 from her purse and Wallace Avery reached out to throttle his wife with his bare hands.
“Stop! Anna, if you lift that gun, I’ll take you out. Step back, Mr. Avery. It’s over.” Maude had drawn a bead on the young woman, just as Joe came in through the other door and grabbed the gun. Anna looked up into Joe’s eyes and winked—the femme fatale until the end.
Officers arrested Anna Avery for murder after the confession she’d made to her husband and after producing the gun that killed Ronald Marshall.
There was a ton of paperwork to be done with closing the case, but some of it could wait. Maude was exhausted. At ten o’clock she finally made it home. Her house was peaceful, and she went to bed soon after eating a frozen dinner.
The next morning, congratulations went all around the Cop Shop, but most of them were upstairs in the captain’s office, where the chief patted James Patterson on the back for busting two cases at once. Maude glanced over at Joe and mentioned hot dogs. It was one more day in the lives of homicide detectives. There was still work to be done, and both would be called on to testify at Anna Avery’s murder trial. That was down the road, though.
Wallace Avery was charged with a misdemeanor and made bond that night. Beyond what the law knew, he had been touched by the mob’s collector, who demanded payment for the diamonds. That was a heavy load to carry. Funny how people sometimes made a wrong turn, and veered into obscurity. In the meantime, it was over, and they could get back to other open cases, mainly the murder of Eve Devine
Chapter 15
The Philadelphia city cemetery was cool, even though beyond its borders the weather was extra warm for late August. A line of scarred headstones dating from the e
arly twentieth century wasn’t really a line at all; it was more a child’s chalk drawing of hopscotch rectangles. Before backhoes and other dirt movers, men dug holes with shovels and pick to bury their loved ones. At the end of the ill-named row, where Ira Johnson, Preacher of the Word, 1876-1910 lay, a new section had been added. Belinda Ellen Page, the first in a multitude of others since, lay under square yards of glacial till and sandy loam. Her headstone was a simple one; she had never publicly displayed herself, a fact that Bill respected when he chose it. The words Wife and Mother appeared after her name, his concession of brevity to Belinda’s demand for privacy.
Leaves were falling already—some brown and gold had drifted down, gently kissing the soil. Bill squatted, a toothpick in his mouth, gazing down row after row of depressions in the soil. As far as the eye could see lay the graves of those who were once living flesh and blood, now only memories in someone’s mind. He missed her, but not as he had ten years ago. Belinda had been a pure soul who believed in happiness. Her last words before the morphine dulled her pain, and took her from his life, were for him. She insisted he put their life together aside, and find another love.
“Don’t forget me; just don’t make me a household god.” He could still hear the words she spoke, her voice hoarse from the oxygen. Even dying, she had been a champ with a sense of humor.
“Hon, the reason I’m out here today,” he said hesitantly, “I need to tell you what I aim to do. There’s someone I met who makes me feel like living again, the first time since you left me. Her name is Maude, and she’s spunky as hell. She would be your best friend if it was me there and you here. She’s a good one. Mean as a bulldog when the need is there, but mushy underneath. She’s suffered some, more than any I’ve known, except maybe you. Hell, this is hard for me, but I want you to know what we had was the finest life could have offered and I don’t ever expect to replace you. Maude wouldn’t want that anyway, she has her own to remember.
The Maude Rogers Murder Collection Page 70