The Maude Rogers Murder Collection

by Linda L. Dunlap

  “Yes ma’am, I’ll remember. When I worked for the county, we did some of the same searches, so I’m real familiar with procedure.”

  “That’s fine, Calhoun,” she said. He reminded her of someone she had known in the past, another sincere young officer who was nicer than the law allowed, certainly nicer than she had ever been. The last she’d seen of Ernest Garrison was at Edwards Bay, along the coast, where they worked together for a while.

  Chapter 3.

  The street and parking area in front of Joe’s apartment was deserted. Calhoun circled the complex, looking for any furtive movement, but reported that all was quiet.

  “The door’s locked, window screens intact, and no glass broken,” he reported. (Just as they had been when Maude checked them in the early morning hours.)

  “Calhoun,” she said, “I’m about to do something that’s a little outside the law, and I’d appreciate it if you keep a watchful eye for people who might not understand. I am not too skilled at this lock-picking business, but I don’t have a key to his apartment, so I’m going to give it a try.”

  “Miss Maude, if you promise not to hold it against me, I’ll admit that I’m pretty good with those picks. Why don’t I do it?” he asked, taking the small leather package from her.

  Maude stood with her mouth agape for a minute. Soon afterward, she took over the part of lookout, amazed at how quickly Calhoun manipulated the tumblers with the picks.

  “I won’t ask you how you got so good at that,” she said as he opened the door. “I can only hope it was through a training course taught by the police department.”

  “No ma’am, it wasn’t,” Calhoun replied. “It was from my own personal training. One time I locked myself out of my house for a few hours when Ellen, my wife, was visiting her mother. I vowed it wouldn’t happen to me again.”

  “Well I swear, you certainly learned well,” Maude said with a grin. “Let’s get in there and find out what happened to Joe.”

  Inside the apartment, nothing was out of place, in fact, it was neater than she’d ever seen it. No dirty dishes lay on the countertop where Joe would usually have left his morning cereal bowl, and the bathroom lavatory was spotless.

  “I’ve known this man for a good spell, and he isn’t this clean,” Maude said to Calhoun. “Usually his laundry is scattered, and the shower is a mess, but look here, none of that is true. Either Joe was touched by a genie that turned him into Suzy Housekeeper, or someone’s trying to cover up an incident that went down in this apartment. I’m leaning toward the latter,” she said worriedly. “Joe is in trouble.”

  “Let me see what I can find, Miss Maude,” Calhoun offered. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to look under the bed.”

  “Be my guest, Calhoun,” she replied. “They tell me you’re pretty good at finding people. Kills my knees and hips to get on the floor like that, but I do it. Glad to have you along.”

  “Um. Sometimes I get lucky,” he acknowledged while sliding under the bedframe. “Not even any dust bunnies under here,” he yelled out.

  “Not so loud, these walls are thin,” Maude whispered. “Let’s keep a lid on it.”

  “Okay,” Calhoun said, as he opened the closet door and began searching through Joe’s neatly arranged clothing and shoes. “He doesn’t have much, does he?”

  “I never paid attention before,” she replied, “Maybe because of his child support payments. I know he tries to do nice things for his kids in California.”

  “Any reason he would have blood on a sock? Not much, but a little. It’s at the bottom of the laundry basket.”

  “Uh, I recall he said he was hiking last Sunday and got a nail stuck through his tennis shoe. He hopped for a day or two. That could be what you’re looking at. Even so, bring it. We’ll have it tested.”

  “Got nothing else,” Calhoun said, bagging the sock. “I’m sorry, but there’s nothing here.”

  “And there should be. Go talk to the neighbors. See if they remember someone cleaning the apartment today or last night. I’ll take those on the right, you take the left.”

  The third apartment down was like Joe’s, a ground floor one-bedroom, with a view of the street. Calhoun spoke to the resident and wrote down a few things she said. After a bit he texted Maude and asked her to come to Apartment 5B. An elderly woman named Eleanor Trulove waited impatiently for the lady detective to arrive.

  “Mrs. Trulove,” Maude said, “Thank you for cooperating. You told this officer you saw a cleaning van around 2:00 A.M. Is that correct?”

  “Yes, I have bladder problems,” the woman said with a frown. “All night I’m up and down, like a jack-in-the-box. Early this morning, I got up, and headed toward the bathroom, but the window in my bedroom looks out on the street. I heard a noise that got my attention, so I looked out.”

  Catching her breath after such a long sentence, the witness went on to say she peeked through the curtain and the venetian blinds to see what caused the commotion outside. The reason she remembered the time was Harold, her husband had the alarm set for 2:00 A.M to go fishing, and it went off right while she looked out the window.

  “Like to have scared me to death. I just knew they heard me holler. Caused me some distress. Like I said, bladder problems,” she stated with a red face.

  “Did they look up? Maybe notice you looking out the window?” Maude asked, ignoring the woman’s bladder concerns.

  “No, didn’t seem to hear nothing,” Mrs. Trulove replied. “I saw what they were driving,” she said, as if suddenly remembering. “A van, dark color, couldn’t tell if it was blue or black. Big one. No sign on it, but I saw someone lift a vacuum cleaner out of the back, and another one opened a side door, and took out a bucket and a mop.”

  “Did you see the license plate?” Calhoun asked, ready to write.

  “Why, no, didn’t even try. Why should I care if Mr. Allen wants to clean his apartment that time of morning?”

  “Did you see anything else?” Maude asked patiently. She was familiar with the behavior of older people, and how difficult it was to keep some of them on track.

  “Well, now that you ask, I did notice a woman get out of the driver side. Saw her when she lit a cigarette. Long hair, but don’t know what color. You’ll have to excuse me. I have go to the little girl’s room.” The apartment door closed abruptly, leaving the detectives with surprised expressions.

  They waited a bit, and then knocked several times, but Mrs. Trulove never returned.

  “I guess she was done,” Maude said walking away.

  “At least we know more than we did,” Calhoun responded. “Just like you thought, someone cleaned up your partner’s place.”

  “Dang, Calhoun, I saw that van this morning. It pulled away from the curb just as I drove up. I was too busy to pay attention,” she said angrily. “What was I thinking? I should have followed them.”

  “Maude, there have been cars coming and going since we parked here, but we haven’t worried about them. I expect you weren’t thinking about vans and cleaning services this morning. You were trying to find your partner.”

  “But he could have been in the back of that van, and maybe I watched them drive off with him.”

  “Maybe he was, but how could you know?”

  “Should have, that’s my job. Give me a minute, Calhoun. I’m going to call it in. Captain is sending out some officers, maybe they can keep an eye out for the van. It’s a long shot, but right now that’s all we have.”

  Calhoun listened, and then remembered what he wanted to tell Maude. “The lady said her husband would be home from fishing tomorrow. I could come back and talk to him if Detective Allen is still not back to work.”

  “Good initiative Calhoun,” Maude said, “She say what time?”

  “Yes ma’am, when I first asked, she said he was gone till tomorrow night about supper time. You really think they loaded your partner in the back of that van?”

  “Something like that Calhoun,” Maude answered, turning towar
d the street where they were parked. She hadn’t forgotten the oversight that might have meant the difference in saving Joe’s life, but her thoughts had turned back to the job. “The question is why. What did Joe know that was worth kidnapping a police officer? And am I making too much out of his absence?”

  “Yes, ma’am, that’s what I was wondering,” Calhoun responded, following behind her retreating figure. “Not the part about making too much out of it.”

  “Let up on the ma’ams, will you Calhoun? Just call me Maude like most everyone else does,” she said, sliding into the driver’s seat. “So you think I could be right? My partner is in a bad way?”

  “I don’t know, Maude.” Calhoun said. “But it seems better to think something bad might have happened, instead of making too little of him being absent. I know if it was me, I’d appreciate someone being concerned like you are. What next? Knock on more doors up and down the street?”

  “Later, after they wake up, we’ll come back. Seems everyone on this street sleeps late or leaves early. And thanks, Calhoun.”

  She sat for a moment and thought of what else they could do. “Since we know the phone’s last location, we go back to the landfill, and scout around in the daylight, looking for Joe’s cell. I have a bad feeling it was thrown away after he called me--maybe by whoever sterilized his apartment. Call IT and ask if they have any news. Maybe it has shown up somewhere else.”

  “I’m on it, Maude,” Calhoun said as he dialed his cell. He received the runaround at first, but finally, he was put in touch with a crime lab clerk who put him on hold for a minute before returning with the file.

  “Nope,” she said. “Nothing since the 2:00 A.M. finding. Evidently the phone wasn’t used after that.”

  “Technology, something new every day,” Maude said when Calhoun reported the conversation. “I’m too old for this stuff,” she said from the car’s driver seat.

  “How old are you, Miss, er…Maude?”

  “None of your business,” she flung back at him. A small grin started in the corner of her mouth at his boldness. Even a boy from Iowa knew not to ask a woman her age unless it was necessary. “Let’s just say I remember when the Pledge of Allegiance didn’t have “under God” in it.

  “Oh. You are kind of old,” he said without thinking.

  “Dang right, so treat me gently or I might break,” she said, her grin getting wider with each word.

  “I’m glad you can laugh with your partner missing. Must be tough not knowing what happened to him.”

  Maude grew serious again. “Yes,” she said, “It’s frustrating, and I’m concerned for his safety. He has kids, you know.”

  “You said. Makes it worse,” he replied nodding, thinking of his own son.

  “Yes it does,” she agreed. “But we’ll find him. And we might have to kick some butts in the process.”

  “Yes ma’am, that might happen,” Calhoun said forcefully.

  Chapter 4.

  Daytime at the dump was no better than it had been a few hours earlier. But it was necessary, as far as Maude was concerned. Now they were looking for Joe’s cell phone, a needle in a rotting haystack. If she could find the phone, there was a good chance she could find out who he’d been in touch with the night before.

  “Pray we find it quickly,” she said to Calhoun. “Pray he isn’t out here with it,” she said under her breath.

  Maude had to do something, and this was the only useful thing she could think of. She’d gone through his desk, looking for post-it notes that might give a clue to his whereabouts, but nothing stood out. A few obscure dates were written on his calendar, possibly personal appointments down the road.

  Joe didn’t have a car of his own; he walked a lot, and rode the bus sometimes. Once in a while he took one of the unmarked cars home with him, but he usually chose to ride his bike to work in good weather. He wasn’t a health nut, but he was extremely active. He wore safety glasses, a helmet, and work-out clothes, choosing to carry his work clothing in a backpack. He had no regular girlfriend, other than Lilly Ann, Maude’s niece, but he often went home to see his mama in Dallas. A regular guy, there was no weirdness associated with Joe.

  “Drat it, this stinks,” Maude yelled after stepping in a bag of wet garbage. Her boots were coated with unknown substances, but they had not found anything in the goo. “Joe is going to get a strong talking to when he shows up,” she said to Calhoun. “Mark my words.”

  “Maude, excuse me for interrupting, but I think I might have found something. It’s a wallet.”

  “Get a clean pair of gloves to open it, Calhoun. Don’t get crap on the inside where we might find prints,” Maude yelled.

  “Will do,” he yelled back. “I learned that a few years ago.”

  “Let me see,” Maude said, having quickly crossed the distance between them. “Yep, that’s his,” she said. “I’ve seen it before. See the Mickey Mouse face on the insert? His boys gave it to him last year. Joe was here, and he wouldn’t have given up his wallet without a fight. Where did you find it? Show me the exact spot.”

  A thorough canvass of the area proved fruitless. Maude said a prayer of thanks under her breath that her work partner wasn’t lying injured, or even dead in that stinking mess.

  “Calhoun,” she said aloud, “let’s go to the lab--see if they can give us a hurry-up on any prints on the wallet. Maybe someone took it from him and threw it away. Meanwhile, you call dispatch, and let them know our location.

  Maude felt helpless, and wished for one spark of luck in finding a clue to Joe’s disappearance. The frustration made her want to light one of her unfiltered cigarettes, but for many months, she had practiced a strict regimen, and hadn’t broken it yet. “Too many bad habits,” she said of herself.

  The consumption of gin wasn’t something she considered a bad habit. Her drinking had become a potential killer, and she wasn’t ready to die, even though a couple of times, she had been so drunk she had operated by instinct alone, and remembered nothing of the incident when she sobered. It was an eye-opener to learn that, especially after surviving the personal struggles she went through when her only brother died of a drug overdose.

  “Legal, illegal, what does it matter. Either will wipe you out,” her AA sponsor said once. Maude liked the finality of : ‘no more’, ‘cold turkey’, ‘plugging the jug’, and other metaphors used to describe ways to quit drinking. All of it meant one thing—stay off booze.

  “Ah man. What I wouldn’t give for an uncomplicated life,” she said aloud.

  Calhoun looked across the bench seat and spoke, “Maude, you say something?”

  “Nah, just grousing,” she replied.

  Back in the homicide squad room, Captain Patterson agreed it was time, that Detective Allen had been out of contact long enough to be classified as missing. Because he was a police officer, the rules of a minimum number of lapsed hours absent were not as stringent as they might be for a runaway teenager.

  The county sheriff, and other law enforcement agencies were being notified by dispatch, and Maude was glad to know Joe’s welfare was finally being considered seriously. Hoping she could catch Betty Sinclare before the woman got off work, Maude went directly to the rooms dedicated to the electronic and digital equipment of the Police Department. Betty was leaning on her elbow, typing one-handed when Maude spotted her at the desk.

  “Hey Betty, thought I’d look in on you. See if you were hurt this morning. You know, earlier?”

  Sinclare cut her eyes toward the man standing in the doorway between IT (Information Technology) and Dispatch, and replied vaguely, “Oh yes, I remember. Everything is fine now.”

  Maude looked across the room and spotted a detective she knew. She nodded and continued her conversation. “I’m glad. By the way, any news about Detective Allen?”

  “Uh, no, nothing,” Sinclare replied. “No one has seen him, or reported hearing from him after midnight. Except you.”

  “All right,” Maude mumbled. “Thank you.” She lef
t the woman at work on the computer, and returned to her and Joe’s office.

  Calhoun was busy transferring information from his pocket notes to a form used by the police department. He looked up with a blank expression, and caught Maude watching him.

  “Thought I’d write while you were busy,” he said, explaining why he was sitting at Detective Allen’s desk.

  “That’s fine, Calhoun. I’m sure Joe won’t care that you sat in his chair.”

  Thinking she probably was a sight after her hasty trip from the house that morning, Maude headed into the women’s restroom, favoring her right knee as she walked. She opened the door, and stared into the mirror above the small sink. The face that greeted her looked tired and used, the eyes, usually sparkling, dulled by worry.

  “My lord, I’ve let this color go too long,” she said of her hair. The greyish blonde locks were curled across her head, a gift of heredity from her father whom she had no use for even in memory. Her long, slender neck was still youthful, belying her age, and the few lines across her face were mostly near her eyes. “At least I have all my teeth,” she said to the mirror, imagining herself with slick gums. Turning her head this way and that, she counted the man-made porcelain deposits in her mouth. “So there’s a cement truck load of fillings. They still do what they’re supposed to do.”

  “Maude, you admiring yourself?” Bob Eberhart, a fellow detective asked. He could see her in the open door, and knew her well enough to interrupt her solitude.

  “Might be. What’s wrong with a girl trying to look good?” she asked.

  “Nothing. Just don’t make a career of it,” Bob said with a straight face.

  “Humph,” she responded. “No matter how long I stand here, the picture doesn’t improve.”

  “As all such endeavors go,” Bob answered. “What about Joe? Any news? Is he really MIA?”

  “Been out of touch a long time. Something went down, Bob. I’m feeling as useless as a prayer book in a cat house. Because no matter where I look, there’s just no sign of him. Do you have any idea of what he might have been working on last night?”