Texas Troubles

by N. C. Lewis

  Bodie was getting restless, and up, tugging at the leash. “Yes, home soon Bodie, but first, I have to speak with Simpkins.” I drained the cup—third refill.

  Noon was fast approaching when the heat of the day would rise toward an oppressive afternoon peak. The only relief was a Hill Country breeze blowing from the west, easing a little of the humidity. Outside, the alley was cordoned off by police tape. A uniformed officer stood sweating in front, to keep the small group of onlookers and office workers, taking a coffee break, at a distance. Parked along the curb, was an HCTV news van, the main news channel of Hill Country. The mayor was speaking to a small group of reporters including Millie—nearby stood Deputy Muller.

  Past the criminal activity and down the paved path onto Riverwalk trail, were a considerable number of people. Joggers, and young mothers with small children in three-wheeled strollers, huffed and puffed along the dirt track. The occasional tourists clustered around little trail signposts which gave directions and highlighted local points of interest. Families walking in small groups and excited, chattering children, ran ahead. Everyone was enjoying the fragrance of the cedar trees, and the tang of spring water gushing along the narrow riverbed.

  A wall of rising heat and sultry air hung over the Creek. The journey along the trail to the Overton Road bridge, Simpkins' favorite spot, took almost fifteen minutes. A clay-brick structure, the bridge arched high across the river; concrete steps allowed walkers to descend from the sidewalk above, onto the trail.

  Bodie spotted Simpkins first, tugging sharp to the left. There, sitting high on a grassy bank shaded by an old oak tree, Simpkins sat. In his hand, an e-cigarette. Large plumes of white vapor floated from the device. Simpkins waved us over to him. The smell of his sunbaked sourness hung in the air like a dense fog.

  “Ollie, nice hairstyle, very elegant. How’s ma boy Bodie doing?”

  Bodie rolled over. Belly rub time.

  I got straight to the point, way too hot and humid to mess around. “Simpkins, I saw you in the alley this morning.”

  He uttered a faint sound, no more than a croak as his corrugated face swiveled to look me dead in the eyes. His brow narrowed and he stood up.

  “Yep, saw you too, and all the others.”

  “What were you doing hiding at the end of the alley?”

  His nostrils flared as he eyed me with suspicion. “None of ya business!”

  I flashed my friendliest smile, corners of my mouth pointed upwards, gleaming white teeth, and soft magazine-cover eyes. “I want to understand what you were doing in the alley with the body of Tony Dean, that’s all.” The smile thingy didn’t work on him the way it worked on ticket-prone police officers. Instead, his eyes flashed on his corrugated face.

  “I said it’s none of ya business.”

  “Okay, okay,” I said, taking a step backward. What to do next? Then a terrifying thought struck hard, was I face-to-face with the killer? Logic suggested that was a high possibility, the man was hiding in the alley with the body of Tony Dean. Was this the same person I saw in the shadows of the very same alley with Tanner?

  I looked down toward the trail making sure there were people around. I would scream and run if Simpkins tried anything. No, better run then scream. I moved backward three steps then bet black as the roulette wheel spun.

  “Simpkins, I saw you in the alley near Tanner’s body. I haven’t told the sheriff’s department yet, but...”

  The gamble paid off, for his lips trembled, eyes wide open and beads of sweat formed on his brow trickling down a rumpled forehead, leaving clear streaks on his grimy face.

  “If you don’t tell what you were doing in the alley today, I’ll speak with Deputy Muller, I’m sure she’ll make it part of her business.”

  Simpkins shuffled from left to right and hung his head. “Yep, that was me. Tried real good to hide though. Listen, I don’t know nothing about the death of Tanner or Tony Dean.”

  “Then what were you doing in the alley?”

  “Cos, that is where the cakes is at. Every morning Moozoos throws out the old cakes and pastries. Guess where they put them? In the food can at the end of the alley. Went there this morning for me daily fix. Never know what I’ll find, some days is lemon-slice cake, my favorite. Like to keep a little back for when I see Bodie.”

  Simpkins reached into a pocket and took out a small paper bag. Inside, a currant bun which he tossed over to Bodie who devoured the pastry in one gulp.

  “Did you see the body?” I asked.

  “No.”

  “How is that possible? Simpkins, you would have had to step over the body to get to the food canister!” I took several more steps backward, well out of the grasp of his wrinkled arms, and prepared to run.

  “Ollie, ya see, I takes the back way into the alley. Too many eyes on Creek Street, don’t like eyes watching, not to my liking. Yep, there is a little wooden gate at the back of the alley, looks like a wooden fence, but if you look close enough there is a handle. Lift the latch and you are at the back of the trail. ‘Tis my shortcut.”

  I let out a breath I’d been holding in. My gut told me it was true, so did my heart, and I agreed with them both. In any case, I’d check out the story later. Then a thought struck—perhaps Simpkins saw the killer.

  “Notice anything unusual when cake hunting today?”

  Simpkins relaxed, smiled and said, “Sure did. Raised voices, both male. One slurred his words like a drunk. A bit early for booze, so I thinks maybe he spoke like that normally or else is an alcoholic. Anyway, I did not see who they were, don’t get a good view into the street from the cake dumpster. I thinks one was Tony Dean.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “Well, I can’t, but the voices went quiet and I peeped out from behind one of the bins. Saw a figure running out onto main street. Thought it strange, to be running that fast in this heat, but then again, those joggers do the same thing. Anyways, went back to choosing me cakes for the day, when all of a sudden, I hear people shouting for the sheriff and an ambulance. Can’t choose me cakes in peace no more. So, I takes another peep, and see a crowd of people at the entrance to the alley. That’s when I sees you looking real close at me. When the ambulance arrived, I scampered without me cakes!”

  Then I said, “I spotted you in the alley the day Tanner died, what happened?”

  “Yep, that was me. Seems peoples like to kill each other before breakfast. Can’t say what happened to Tanner. All I know is the killer was a man, certain of that.”

  “Why are you so sure?”

  Simpkins reached into a shopping bag and pulled out a lightly worn, leather, black shoe which was size twelve—male.

  “Only have one pair of shoes,” he said pointing down at his feet, encased in a scruffy, tattered pair of sneakers of undetermined color and origin.

  “Found this shoe in the alley under that massive trash can. Must have belonged to the killer. Guess the thing slipped off in the scuffle and got lodged under the trash cart.”

  Simpkins paused, watching my face, then resumed. “Don’t ya see? Find the man with one shoe and ya have Tanner’s killer. That’s why I spoke at the funeral service. Got right up there at the front, so I could get a good look at the men’s feet. But everyone was wearing two shoes, including the ladies that looks like men, and the men that looks like ladies.”

  Simpkins stopped talking, gave Bodie a pat on the head and continued. “Every week the utility workers clean the alley. Twas ordered by Mayor Felton after the red ant incident. A good thing too, chases the critters away, keeps me cakes nice and clean. Anyway, the shoe could not have been in the alley very long. I found the thing the day after Tanner died. Suppose it might not belong to the killer, but then whose is it?”

  Chapter 26

  The time was approaching two p.m. as I arrived home. Today had been unsettling, and my gut told me it wasn’t over yet. At the desk, I wondered what to do next. Contact Ma was the first thing that came to mind. I called Ma, sent a text message,
a Facebook message, and finally an email. Next a shower, the hot soapy water soothing away tiredness.

  Refreshed and ready to face the afternoon to come, I considered the day’s events. If Simpkins was correct, the killer was a man who wore a size twelve shoe. Should I go to the sheriff’s department with this information? The focus would be on Simpkins rather than finding the owner of the shoe. After all, a homeless man would be an easy conviction, especially if Simpkins admitted being in the alley on the day of both deaths, case closed. But that would leave the real killer on the loose. I could not take that risk, for Tanner’s sake. In any case, Simpkins had carried the shoe around in that shopping bag for several days. The thing might not be admissible as evidence.

  What about sharing with Millie? For sure it would make a great news story. Wasn’t this the type of story investigative journalists loved to dig deep into? But this is a small town, and Millie has the fish fry to cover. In any case, I didn’t sense I could share this information with her yet.

  Around two thirty p.m., I checked to see if Ma had responded—nothing. Then a message flashed across the cell phone screen. It was from the bank. I didn’t want to look, but did so anyway—Account balance running low.

  The rumble of the truck pulling up along the dirt driveway broke into the silence. From the window, Harry Marsden swaggered along the dirt trail.

  “Hey, friend what’s up?” Harry asked in a light cheery voice.

  “Fine, doing great!”

  Harry immediately picked up the concern in my voice. His lighthearted tone evaporated, his voice deadly serious.

  “What’s going on, Ollie?”

  Shocking news travels fast, especially in a small town. Accountants, however, are always the last to find out. Something to do with living in the land of numbers rather than people.

  “Oh, been a rough day. The sheriff’s department are all over downtown, another body in the alley next to the Café.”

  Harry’s face went pale, his eyes wide. “Right here in town? At Moozoos?”

  There are times when you need someone to talk to, I used to have John. Then he died. Now I spilled my thoughts and fears to Harry: the death of Tony Dean, my perilous financial situation, and findings in the search for Tanner’s killer.

  Harry listened patiently, quizzing on certain details. “The balance is how low? Kidd Cole in a fight with Tony Dean last night? Are you sure? There were witnesses, how many? Oh dear, poor Kidd, that young man has a bit of a temper.” I didn’t tell Harry about the shoe. Better to keep Simpkins out of things for now. At least until I’d checked out his story.

  At the end, there was a long silence, Harry sat rubbing his chin, his brow deeply furrowed, in deep thought. Then the gravity of the situation appeared to overwhelm him, for his eyes glazed over and tears formed in the corners.

  Eventually he spoke. “Tony Dean dead! Can’t believe that, saw the guy last week, large as life. Kidd Cole in an argument with Tony last night, then Tony turns up dead in an alley. Not good Ollie, not good. You know Kidd fought with Tanner and Ma…the sheriff will take diligent care of this one. This town will be safer once the killer is in jail. Anyway, I know Deputy Muller. I have access to a great lawyer and I’d be happy to accompany you to make a statement to the sheriff. Please call when ready. The sooner the better. There is a killer on the loose.”

  Harry always made me feel better, more certain about decisions, guess that is what good accountants do. Good numbers, bad numbers, they have a way of smoothing things over.

  Harry made excuses and left. I was sorry to see him go.

  Chapter 27

  The clock on the high mantel struck three p.m., I got up and stretched. The cell phone rang.

  “Hello, this is May Kovac from Butter and Dungs law firm. Can I speak with Dr. Ollie Stratford?”

  “Yes, I’m Ollie. How can I help you?”

  “Dr. Stratford, I’m calling on behalf of Mr. Johnson who is recovering in hospital and unable to make this call.”

  A sympathetic murmur, then the full impact of the words hit. “In hospital you say? Hope Mr. Johnson is all right. What happened?”

  “Not too well. Yesterday there was a severe fire at the document storage facility. Mr. Johnson rushed to the scene, overcome by smoke, collapsed and is in hospital. The medics say a recovery is possible...over the next several years, but at this stage Butter and Dungs are not anticipating his return to work. The firm is taking inventory of the losses. A package from the deceased Mr. Castleman may have been among the destroyed items.”

  I stood up, then sat back down, then stood up again. Then I took the cell phone from my ear, shook it and again sat down. An abrupt surge of anger broke out from within, fury at the death of John, at this place, at the killing of Tanner, and the lack of police progress. In exasperation, I flung the cell phone, it clattered on the polished concrete floor. Bodie ran over to see what was going on. Sweaty and breathless, I picked up the phone, it was still working, thank goodness.

  “Ms. Kovac, the package was destroyed in a fire? You are kidding, right?” I said.

  “No,” came the firm reply.

  “Any idea what was in the package?”

  “No.”

  “Do you have some sort of backup storage where duplicates of packages are stored?”

  “No, Dr. Stratford, Butter and Dungs can’t be sure your package is among the destroyed items, although at this stage...” The voice trailed off.

  The words danced around my head in a wild jumble. What was in the package? No one seemed to know, my gut told me it was important. I felt sick.

  “Dr. Stratford, Butter and Dungs will take several days to compile a complete inventory. The purpose of this call is to advise against traveling to Butter and Dungs offices next week, and to cancel the meeting with Mr. Johnson.”

  The conversation over, I slumped back into the chair, a brewing funk cut short by the sound of a truck pulling into the yard. Bodie leaped up, barking. Through the window, a brown van.

  The UPS deliveryman held a cardboard package under his arm, and moved at a brisk pace along the dirt path toward the front door. “Special delivery for Ollie Stratford. Please sign here.” The deliveryman handed over a clipboard. I signed the bottom.

  Inside the package was an official letter from Havis County Tax Assessor’s Office:

  Dear Ollie Stratford, the Committee of the Mayoral Office of Medlin Creek has informed the Tax Assessor’s Office of your recent occupancy of Ealing Homestead. Congratulations on the recent move to Texas, a warm and welcoming state. The Havis County Tax Assessment Office is writing to inform you that the said property assessment for outstanding taxes is thirty-five thousand dollars plus administrative costs of fifteen hundred dollars. Payment is due within thirty days of signed receipt of this letter. Further questions can be answered by dialing the number at the bottom of this note.

  Cell phone in hand, I began punching in the numbers. It is best to dispute property tax bills as soon as they arise. This bill was likely an administrative error, I would tell the county tax assessor so. As the phone rang, I was up on my feet, always better to deal with tax matters standing.

  A soothing male voice answered on the first ring. “Havis County Tax Office where we always serve you first. How can I help you?”

  After explaining the situation, the Senior Tax Assessor came on the line. Another soothing voice, this time female. “County taxes designed to make life easier. Delighted to serve a valued resident of the great State of Texas. Ah yes, I’ll pull up the record right now.”

  I could hear fingers tapping on a keyboard.

  “Oh yes, Dr. Stratford, yes you are correct, the property taxes are up to date. Yes, yes, agreed there are no property taxes due.”

  Out from deep in my lungs came a long sigh of relief.

  “But,” the tax assessor continued, “the Committee of the Mayoral Office of Medlin Creek informed the county yesterday that the property status should change from ‘vacant' to 'occupied'. Did you move i
nto the property recently?”

  “Yes, moved in less than a week ago.”

  “Down from New York State, is that correct?”

  “Yep, a long scenic drive, I’ll treasure every moment.”

  “Lovely, lovely, checking the file again.”

  The soothing voice disappeared, replaced by an intonation not quite as friendly. “Oh, it is unusual for the county to get a report of a new resident quite so soon. Most towns don’t bother to report a change of status for a fiscal year or so. Nevertheless, Havis County levies an additional tax for abandoned properties taken over by out-of-state owners. The County Healthy Property Levy is payable in full within thirty days of the date of signed receipt of the letter, or ownership of the property reverts to the town.”