Death Notice

by Lolli Powell

  Carla Jean Edwards had been a third-grade teacher at Lincoln Elementary. She was Caucasian, twenty-nine years old, and attractive. She’d been divorced only a couple of months when she was killed. She had apparently been home all evening that Wednesday, reading and grading papers. Another teacher, Bill Lind, had phoned her at approximately eight-thirty regarding a Friday night date. They had talked for fifteen minutes. The coroner put the time of death between one and four in the morning.

  Carla’s throat had been cut but not before she had been severely beaten. She had been found tied to her bed with the same type of rope used on the first and latest victims. In common with them, she had a pillowcase tied around her head, held in place by a black satin ribbon.

  The only physical evidence was the rope, ribbon, and a few hairs. Both the rope and ribbon were common brands sold in nearly every big box store within a fifty-mile radius, not to mention online, and the hair samples showed that the killer was Caucasian with a common hair color, brown. It seemed that the only thing that wasn’t common about him was his idea of a good time.

  The lock had been forced on the patio doors, suggesting that as his point of entry. There were no fingerprints found that didn’t belong to the victim or her friends, indicating the killer had worn gloves. Nothing had been stolen.

  Jen looked up at Will. He’d taken a chair across the table from her and was reading over the Sams file.

  “Have the bathtub traps been checked yet?”

  His eyes were warm as he answered her. Damn, she thought, does he always have to look at me like that?

  “The one at the Kaufman house has been. The coroner’s people got a wad of hair and soap out of it. They were going to get some dinner, then do the Edwards apartment, although I’m not sure they’ll get anything there. The management had the place cleaned.”

  “Sams’s place is a waste of time,” Hardesty said. “Her ex-husband moved into it two weeks ago. Their divorce settlement stipulated he would get half the equity if she sold it or remarried, and if something happened to her, it would revert to him.”

  “Is that a motive?” Hawkins said.

  “Maybe, but not much of one. The house isn’t worth all that much.”

  From now on, Jen thought, we'll know to check the drains. She bit her lip as she realized she was taking it for granted that they would have other drains to check. She turned her attention back to the Edwards file.

  One question that had arisen was why no one had heard anything. No one could have endured the beating that Carla had without screaming, at least in the beginning while she was still able. But it was evident that the killer had either had an unusual run of luck or had planned very carefully. The occupant of the other half of the duplex was a woman named Nellie Gugler, who was seventy-eight years of age and almost totally deaf. She had been home that night for all the good that it was, and of course, had heard nothing.

  Jen thought about the set-up on Finley. Vicki Kaufmann’s small house sat on a fairly large lot, with the park on the side where her bedroom was located and a vacant lot between hers and the house on the other side. It was conceivable that her screams could have gone unnoticed, and after some point, she would have been unable to scream.

  She was staring at the grisly photographs of Carla’s brutalized body when the phone on the wall buzzed. Lonnie swiveled in his chair and lifted the receiver from the hook.

  “Stephens.” He listened for a few seconds. “Sure. Send him over.”

  He hung up the phone.

  “The mailman’s here. The one that called in the report. Seems he remembered something he thinks might be suspicious.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Katy Ashwood, a dispatcher and the daughter of the traffic sergeant, opened the door and ushered in the man she had escorted to the detective section. She directed an interested smile at Will, and for second that shamed her, Jen had the urge to scratch out the petite brunette’s hazel eyes. Will seemed unaware of the dispatcher’s interest, his attention focused on the mailman.

  Jen guessed Carter Holiday to be around thirty. He was dressed in tan jeans and a brown Henley. His hair was a reddish brown and thinning, and his face was clean-shaven. He wore gold wire-rimmed glasses over cheerful brown eyes. Overweight by about twenty pounds, he carried it well on his tall frame. He had a soft look about him, but there was strength there, too. It was the look of a man who had once been in good physical shape but who had begun to let himself go.

  “I didn’t mean to interrupt.” He looked around the room apologetically.

  “You’re not.” Lonnie stood and gestured toward the others. “This is Detective Dillon and Detective Williams. Across the table there are Will Anderson and Don Hawkins with the FBI. I believe you met Mike Hardesty earlier today.”

  Holiday nodded and turned surprised eyes on Will and Don.

  “I didn’t know the FBI was involved.”

  “Just helping out.” Lonnie pushed a chair out from the table. “Would you like to sit down?”

  “No, that’s okay,” Holiday said. “I don’t suppose I’ll be here that long.”

  “The desk officer said you’d remembered something?”

  “Well, yes. I’m not sure it’s important, but you said that I should report anything I thought of, no matter what, and let you decide.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Well, I remembered that I saw a man sitting in a car in front of Ms. Kaufmann’s house a couple of weeks ago. The car caught my eye because it was a red Corvette.”

  Jen and Will exchanged a glance, remembering that Larry Kaufmann had said he’d seen his ex-wife with a man in a red Corvette a month before.

  “I thought it was kind of funny at the time. You know, not going up to the door and knocking or anything.”

  “Maybe Ms. Kaufmann wasn’t home, and he was waiting for her,” Lonnie said.

  “No, that’s just it,” Holiday continued. “She was home. I had a package for her so I knocked on the door and gave it to her. She looked upset when she saw the guy sitting out front.”

  “What do you mean by ‘upset’ exactly?”

  “Mad. Maybe a little scared, too, but mostly mad. In fact, she said a few unrepeatable words under her breath and slammed the door.”

  He smiled sheepishly at Jen, and she smiled back. She was so used to foul-mouthed cops that the mailman’s hesitancy to repeat someone else’s vulgar language in front of her made him seem old-fashioned—and kind of sweet.

  “Do you recall what the man looked like?” Lonnie said.

  “He had brown hair and a short beard. I’d say he was in his late twenties or early thirties, although I couldn’t be sure since he was wearing sunglasses.”

  “What did he do after Ms. Kaufmann saw him?”

  “He started the car and laid rubber tearing out of there. It looked to me like he was as angry as she was.”

  “Is that the only time you saw him around Ms. Kaufmann’s home?”

  “Yes. I never saw him before, and I haven’t seen him since. It was probably nothing, just a fight with a boyfriend or something, but I thought I should let you know.”

  “We appreciate it.” Lonnie stood and shook the man’s hand. “Like I said before, anything you remember, anything at all, we’d like to hear about it.”

  “Sure thing.” Holiday nodded a goodbye to the rest of them and left the room.

  “So, what do you think?” Lonnie looked at the rest of them. “Could we have us a stalker?”

  “If we do, how come we haven’t heard him mentioned in connection with the other victims?” Jen said.

  “Maybe he didn’t date them all.” Hardesty shrugged. “Maybe he just stalked the others from afar but had a more personal relationship with Kaufmann.”

  “I think we need to talk to everybody connected with Sams and Edwards again,” Lonnie said. “This time, let’s ask specifically about a bearded stud with a red Corvette.”

  “I didn’t think studs needed Corvettes,” Al said, getting a laugh f
rom the men in the room. “Do they, Jen?”

  “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never known a man with a Corvette.”

  She directed her attention back to the files on the table, and the men followed suit. Thirty minutes later, they had reviewed everything written and photographed about the three cases. They still knew as little as they’d known when they sat down.

  CHAPTER 12

  The lobby of the BodyFit Athletic Club was luxurious, filled with greenery, blue leather sofas and chairs, a fountain, and the sound of rock music. One side of the lobby was clear structural glass, through which Jen saw four middle-aged men engaged in a competitive game of doubles racquetball, T-shirts stained with dark circles of sweat. The corner of a second court was just visible at the beginning of the hall leading off the lobby.

  The opposite wall of the lobby was solid only halfway up, the top part more of the structural glass construction. Through it, Jen saw men and women of all ages, sizes, and shapes working out on machines and free weights. The room was huge, and a second floor running track circled it overhead.

  A second hall led off that side of the lobby with signs pointing to the gym, locker rooms, and restrooms. Between the two halls and in front of the back wall of the lobby was the reception desk, and behind it, a door marked “Office.”

  A short redhead in her late teens or early twenties was working the reception desk. When they showed their IDs and asked to speak to the manager, she turned and knocked on the door behind her. A man Jen guessed to be in his late twenties or early thirties came out of the office. He was dressed in black leotards, tights, and a short-sleeved, fitted, green tee with the BodyFit logo on the front. His name tag introduced him as “Stu” and his title as “Assistant Manager.” He was blond, tan, and muscular—a walking advertisement for the club. He looked surprised when she and Will displayed their respective IDs and ushered them into his small office behind the reception desk.

  “Murders?” he said as he settled into a chair behind his desk. “You mean the ones everyone’s talking about? I knew the girl who was killed a couple of weeks ago was a member, but I didn’t realize they both were.”

  “We don’t know if the first victim came here or not,” Jen said, “but there’s been a third murder overnight involving another of your members.”

  “Oh, crap!” Stu groaned and rubbed his hand across his face.

  “So far, the club is the only connection we have between any of the victims,” Jen said. “That doesn’t necessarily mean anything, but we have to check it out.”

  “Sure, I get it.” Stu looked disturbed. “It gives me the creeps to think somebody that comes in here might be a killer. Not to mention the fact that it wouldn’t be very good for business.”

  “No, I don’t suppose it would.”

  “I guess that sounded cold, didn’t it? I didn’t mean it that way. It’s just that this is a new place, and the owners have invested a lot in it. The first few months are crucial to any new business.”

  “We understand. You said you had already realized Carla Edwards was a member here. Did you know her personally?”

  “Not really. But I signed her up, and she was a regular. Seemed like a nice person. Serious about taking care of herself. She worked out on the machines three days a week and used the running track when the weather wasn’t so great. She played a little racquetball, too.”

  “It sounds like she spent a lot of time here.”

  “She did. I’d have to check to be sure how often, but I’d guess almost every day.”

  “Did she spend any of her time here socializing?”

  “If you’re asking was she a pickup artist, no, I don’t think so. The people who come here are serious about what they’re doing, whether it’s getting in shape for weight competitions or just trying to lose weight. As far as I know, she was the same. I suppose she may have hooked up with someone here, but if she did, I don’t know who. You have to remember, I’m working when I’m here.”

  “What about a woman named Victoria Kaufmann?” Jen said.

  “Is that the woman who was just killed?” He turned to the computer on his desk, tapped a few keys, and after a second, nodded. “The name didn’t sound familiar, but that’s because I didn’t sign her up. We had a girl here for a few days who didn’t work out. She signed Victoria Kaufmann.”

  Stu looked at the picture Jen held out.

  “I think I remember seeing her around. I don’t remember anything in particular about her, though.”

  “Can you check and see if a woman named Judy Sams was a member?”

  Stu tapped the keys again and came up with a negative answer. He looked relieved. Jen started to thank him for his time when Will spoke.

  “I’m guessing you keep lists of people who stop in for introductory visits, don’t you? So you can follow up with mailed promotions or calls?”

  Jen hadn’t thought of that. Maybe Lonnie was right about it being better to have two people conduct interviews.

  Stu nodded reluctantly and tapped the keys again. A few moments later, he looked up, the expression on his face not a happy one.

  “If she’s the Judy Sams with an address of 29316 County Line Road, she did,” he said and then added, “I’m sorry to say.”

  “When was this?”

  “The fifth of July. It looks like she came for one introductory visit, and that was it.”

  Jen and Will glanced at one another. Judy Sams had visited BodyFit a little over a month before she was killed. Jen felt a surge of excitement as she realized they might have found the connection.

  “What about the other employees that are here this evening?” Jen said. “Mind if we talk to them to see if they know anything?”

  Stu looked troubled.

  “I don’t suppose I have a choice, do I? Can you do it here in the office? I’d rather our members didn’t know what was going on.”

  Jen and Will waited while Stu sent the other employees back one at a time. Three women and two men were working, and another male employee was working out on his off-time. None could tell them any more than Stu already had.

  “That’s the last one that’s here tonight.” Stu stepped back into the office after they’d finished talking to the redhead who had been on the front desk when they got there. “I suppose you’ll want the names and addresses of the day shift people and the others who work evenings? I spoke to my bosses while you were talking to the others, and they told me to give you whatever help I can.”

  When Stu handed Jen the paper on which he’d written the names, phone numbers, and addresses of all his employees, he also handed them each a card entitling them to a two-week introductory membership.

  “You’re quite the salesman,” Will said, chuckling. “We come in here looking for a murderer, and the next thing we know, you’re trying to take our money.”

  Stu grinned.

  “An opportunity not taken is an opportunity lost. Besides, I don’t think you’ll find a murderer here.”

  “I hope we don’t,” Jen said.

  As they stepped back into the lobby, her eyes were drawn to the men she could see through the glass on both sides of the lobby. They all looked so normal, their bodies glistening from their exertion. Normal, she thought. Who knows when someone is normal? All we can see is the outside, like looking at a juicy red apple, then biting into it and finding a worm inside. She wondered if the killer was like that, beautiful and healthy and “normal” on the outside, but with a brain destroyed by maggots of evil and madness. A chill passed over her as she realized it could even be someone she knew.

  CHAPTER 13

  The music was loud and the lights dazzling as Jen and Will shouldered their way through the crowd. She was surprised that The Factory was so crowded on a Tuesday and wondered how these young people managed to report to work the morning after a night spent here.

  The operable word is young, she thought, remembering that there had been a time in college when she could party hearty all night long and still make it
to her early classes on time. Feeling old, she followed Will as he maneuvered his way to the end of the bar.

  “What’ll it be?” A balding forty-plus bartender in a white shirt and black pants leaned over the bar, the better to hear their order.

  “A couple of coffees and some information.” Jen flashed her I.D.

  “I got the coffee. I don’t know about the rest.”

  The man poured two cups from the pot on the back bar and slapped a couple of packs of sugar and a container of cream on each saucer. Jen passed him the pictures of Judy Sams and Carla Edwards.

  “Either one of these ladies been in here before?”

  The bartender held the pictures at arm’s length and looked at them carefully before shaking his head.

  “I’m not sure. I think this one looks familiar.” He pointed to the photo of Judy Sams. Turning to the other bartender, a red-haired freckled man in his twenties, he held out the photographs. “Hey, Rick, come here. You know either one of these women?”

  “Sure, I do.” He pointed to the picture of Judy Sams. “You do, too, Jack. Remember? That’s the girl that was murdered that used to come in here all the time. Her name was Judy something, I think?”

  He looked to Will and Jen for confirmation, and they nodded. Interesting, Jen thought. When Judy Sams’s friends and relatives had been questioned, they’d claimed she never frequented any establishment that sold liquor.

  “You say she came here a lot?”

  “Yeah, probably at least three times a week, sometimes more. She was a regular.”

  “Was she usually with someone?”

  “Not when she got here.” Rick laughed. “When she left…well, that’s another story.”

  “She picked up men, is that what you’re saying?”

  “Let’s just say the lady was the friendly type, if you know what I mean.”

  A light bulb seemed to go off over Jack’s head.