The East Avenue Murders (The Maude Rogers Crime Novels Book 1)

by Linda L. Dunlap

  Breakfast was quick, coffee and rolls, a continental offering by the hotel. Maude felt the need to get in touch with Phoenix PD to advise them that two detectives from Texas were in their jurisdiction. Hopefully they would be provided an officer when and if they needed help.

  Joe was fresh from a long night in bed after swimming in the hotel pool for an hour the night before. He had met two women at the pool and spent time with both of them, but left them at their hotel door and went to bed. His mother would be proud of him for getting his rest instead of other activities he could have participated in.

  The light of day put a different slant on the night before and Joe wondered if maybe he should have gone to the room with the women as they had requested. Who knew what the day would bring. He might die. But at least he would die well-rested. The killer they hunted was smart, and Joe believed the man was not without knowledge of their trip to his city. Joe figured the lawyer that Maude spoke to in Stillwater, Oklahoma had informed his client of their approach. Dangerous times lay ahead.

  The watch commander at the Phoenix Police Department put Maude through to Lieutenant Sorenson, the contact that James Patterson mentioned. Sorenson was brief with his message.

  “Yeah, I have an officer to help you guys, two if you need them. When you figure out what you need, call me. Meanwhile we can run the name Dawson for you. Maybe we’ll get lucky and he ran a stop sign or two. If he has a history with us, I’ll get back to you.”

  Calling in to Madison PD was the same. She got in touch with her lieutenant and he listened to what happened the day before. He seemed disgusted, but familiar with police work enough to know that patience was a requirement for closing a case. Patterson was just tired of sending people out to clean up the mess left behind Dawson and others like him.

  “Oh, yeah,” he said, before disconnecting the phone, “We got a lab report back on the robe you found in that first woman’s apartment. The blood on it belonged to the girl, and that razor was a dead end.” Maude wasn’t surprised; Dawson was too clever to leave incriminating evidence at a murder scene.

  A visit to the county clerk’s office that listed the real property within Phoenix, Arizona, had a surprise waiting for the two detectives. The owner of the house at 313 Maple Street was not Robert Dawson, it was someone named Ridge Roberts, and he had been on the tax roll for eight years. The internet was wrong about the ownership.

  “What do you think, Joe?” Maude asked, “Is this Dawson’s alias or are we barking up the wrong tree?”

  “It’s possible that he has been living here under a false name, free to move around,” Joe said. “Now what?”

  “We start over using the new name. Call downtown, run this by the lieutenant there and get new feedback. Maybe Dawson screwed up under his alias. We deserve a break,” she said.

  Maude was thoughtful, the recent finding beginning to make sense. Of course he would choose an alias. His lawyer knew there was something wrong, that’s why he wouldn’t tell her any more about Dawson. She didn’t think the lawyer knew the truth about his client, but she believed he had intentionally deceived her.

  Later in the morning they got lucky. There was a hit on a white male named Ridge Roberts, no social security number, but an address in Phoenix. Three years earlier a female named Rosa Delgado had filed a stalking complaint against him, but after making the complaint she had never followed up at the police station. The complaint was still on file. Maude asked for an address on Delgado and was given a street and apartment number on the east side of Phoenix.

  The two detectives searched their map of Phoenix and programmed the address into the GPS unit in the vehicle. The drive would take about twenty minutes the unit informed them. Maude asked Joe to negotiate the streets so she could sit and think. What happens when we find him? What if he kills one or both of us? Guess we’ll just have to avoid such an incident because we can’t let him win this one.

  “Joe, let me knock on the door. She may be gun-shy of strange males.” Maude said, hoping the woman still remembered the incident. Any help would be accepted.

  The apartment was actually one half of a duplex with a yard, a couple of trees and a patio out back. A large Rottweiler behind the fence made himself known by his chuff and deep bark. Joe had one before the kids were born, but Sheila thought the big dog was too fierce looking for babies and small children so they gave him to a friend. He still missed his dog. The fierce bark had been a cover for a gentle heart. The dog still came to him when Joe went to visit the family. He would start nuzzling Joe’s fingers after all the years that had passed with a new master and a new home.

  It took three knocks and her shield in front of the peephole before the woman pulled the chain back to open the door. Maude beat her to the punch and said, “Hello. My name is Maude Rogers, and this is my partner, Joe Allen. We’re here from Texas, investigating a crime, looking for Rosa Delgado. If you are her, may we could come in and speak to you?”

  “What about? I haven’t ever been to Texas!” Delgado was defensive, ready to break and run.

  “No, I’m sure you haven’t but we’re here to talk to you about the complaint you filed three years ago. You said a man was stalking you,” Maude said, wanting to get out front and let the woman know they were on her side.

  “But I dropped the charge,” Delgado said more calmly, even though Maude could detect some fear in her voice.

  “Yes, we understand. You have done nothing wrong. We would like to hear what happened that made you file a complaint and then not show up at the police department to press charges,” Joe said, soothing the frightened woman.

  “Ms. Delgado, you would help us a great deal to just tell us what happened and then we’ll leave your house and get about our business.” Maude interjected after the woman invited them in and seated them at her couch.

  “It was three years ago at a party, Delgado began. I had a couple of glasses of wine and was feeling pretty good then it got late. I met a man there, who he said his name was Ridge Roberts and he was rich. He wanted me to go to bed with him for money. Of course I refused but he wouldn’t listen. He kept following me around at the party, telling me why I should take his money and give him what he wanted.

  “At first I thought he was paying me a compliment, but then he just kept on and on and I got scared. It was his eyes that scared me, the way he stared at me, all glassy, those eyes. Sure he was a good-looking man, but he was not right.

  “Finally, I talked to the couple who gave the party and the husband walked me to my car. I drove home looking in my mirror, thinking I was being stupid, but I couldn’t help it. When I got home, I parked my car and ran into the apartment and locked all the doors. But I saw him.” Delgado was short of breath, still scared.

  “When did you see him Rosa?” Maude asked.

  “That night, I saw him out on the sidewalk, leaning against his car, watching my house. He stayed a long time then he left. The next morning I called the police and told them about it, and I was supposed to go down there and fill out a form, but I got scared that he would find out. He never came back or I never saw him so I forgot about it after a while. I had talked to the people at the party that night, and asked about the man, but no one knew who had invited him. It was spooky,” the woman concluded.

  “So you never saw him again?” Maude asked

  “Well, one time I thought I saw him on the street in front of my work, but he was gone when I looked again.” Delgado said, lost in thought.

  “When did that happen? When was he at your work?” Maude insisted

  “Maybe a week ago. I didn’t think much about it. It had been so long ago and I might have been wrong,” the woman finished her story.

  Maude and Joe looked at one another for a minute, thinking the same thought. Rosa Delgado was lucky to be alive.

  “Thank you, Ms. Delgado, I think we have enough information. I would suggest you keep your doors locked and be alert to who is around your house when you come home at night. Just good safety pr
actices for single women,” Joe said, hoping to warn the woman but not wanting to make her more afraid.

  “Oh yes, I am careful,” Delgado replied defensively.

  The two detectives got off the couch and said their goodbyes, thanking the woman for her help. On the way to the car, Joe shook his head.

  “You know, you said his ego would be his downfall. I think maybe you’re right.”

  “Maybe. He’s cocky, isn’t he,” Maude said. “Trailing that woman here to her house, with no fear that what he was doing might put him in the light, after hiding out for so long. That attitude might have been an indication of his mental state going south, probably doing the same kind of stuff all over the country. Those two sisters on East Avenue must have gotten caught the same way. He saw them and took over their lives.”

  “Yeah, makes you wonder how many other perverts and murderers are walking the streets every day, passing you on the corners, smiling all the while,” Joe continued, “I never much thought about what I would do in Homicide; maybe see a dead body once or twice a year. Just didn’t imagine how it would affect me, seeing them.”

  “It’s always the same,” Maude said, starting the car. “You’re never prepared for it. The way people treat each other, the way they slaughter each other. It takes me by surprise every time, after all these years.”

  “Let’s go see if we can find this guy,” Joe said. “See if we can catch him by surprise.”

  The address they had for Ridge Roberts was obtained from the Phoenix police after they ran his driver license. According to the lieutenant there, Roberts lived in a ritzy neighborhood on the west side of town. Two officers had been assigned to the Texas detectives as backup, and met with them three miles away from Robert’s subdivision. As all cops seem to bond in the search for a really bad guy, the two officers immediately became friendly with the two detectives. Since neither Robert Dawson nor Ridge Roberts was wanted for any crimes in Phoenix, the officers were loaned as a courtesy with the stipulation that any crimes committed by the man in the city of Phoenix would be treated as a jurisdiction issue.

  When they arrived at the house the first thing Maude noticed was its opulence, the in-your-face expression of wealth. An airport runway was on the property with a hangar nearby, flags flying in the afternoon breeze above the opened doors. A departing silver and white jet was rolling toward the private runway. Funny she thought, how so much could be revealed in so short a time.

  Now Maude understood how his trips across country were so quickly done, bodies carried, equipment transported. Dawson piloted his own plane. The plane departed and nothing she could do would stop it, but she made a phone call to the police department advising them to warn the FAA of a murder suspect in airspace above Phoenix. Maybe he had filed his flight plan with them.

  “Maybe it wasn’t him Maude. Maybe it was someone else,” Joe said, hoping the criminal hadn’t gotten away. “He could be in the house right now, getting us in in gun sight.”

  “Drive up there Joe, pull in behind something in case he is there and starts shooting.” Maude was getting pissed. She had chased Dawson far too long. When the car stopped, she jumped out, groaning with pain from the effort, and lowered herself behind the vehicle as she crawled to the gazebo near the swimming pool.

  “Joe,” she whispered loudly “Get those two officers positioned behind cover near the house. We have to go in.”

  Nodding in response he opened the car door and hid behind it, putting the metal between himself and the house. He motioned to the officers in the other car to get out and imitate his behavior, hoping they understood. So far the house was quiet. No sounds of gunfire or people running in and out.

  The driveway was immense, circling an acre of palm trees and flower gardens whose bloom sent forth their fragrance across the light breeze. The house had three levels, the width and breadth of the structure was larger than the entire Madison Police Department and adjacent buildings. Maude could only stare at its monstrous size, her disgust for the man she chased growing with each new insight into his gigantic ego.

  “Partner, you ready for this?” Joe whispered, close by.

  “Let’s go get him Joe. I sense a crime has been committed and this perp is a dangerous individual. I believe we can rationalize a need. Let’s storm it Joe, just like they taught you in the academy. Good luck, Partner, stay alive,” Maude said, moving from the shelter of the gazebo, into the closer vicinity of the house. She looked, and he was beside her. The other officers were waiting for her signal and followed, remaining as close to cover as they could, yet headed to the entry doors of the house. Maude caught their eye and motioned toward the back. The officer in front nodded, and ran for the rear of the house, his partner close behind.

  “Joe, I’ll take the right, you pick up the left. If we have to use a battering ram, we’ll need more people. I may have to shoot the lock off the door. I’ll give it a loud knock first,” she said, heading for the door.

  “POLICE,” she yelled, pushing against the door, her fists slamming the wood. “POLICE,” she yelled once again, turning the knob, she and Joe pushing against the heavy double doors.

  The door on the left that carried the door knob swung open so quietly that at first Maude was unaware it had moved. She carried her weapon ahead of her, moving fast, looking for danger ahead, but seeing only giant contemporary furniture and large woven rugs worth more money than she had paid for the furnishings for her entire home.

  She motioned to Joe toward the left side, and she took the right, searching with all her senses for Dawson. The house was too quiet. There was no music or television noises from the upstairs level, no sounds at all came from the many rooms. Maude left the place where she stood, hiding behind corners with her weapon extended, both hands on the butt of the gun.

  “POLICE,” she yelled again, her voice echoing in the high ceilinged rooms. On and on they searched through the house, but found no one there. Both detectives and one of the officers that had come through the garage entrance separated and began a wider search on Maude’s signals.

  The house had elevators and she used the convenience to go to the top level, the last unsearched part. Walls along the elevator exit held pictures of juvenile attractions. A large collection of birthday balloons still tied together and weighted to the floor wagged sadly near a window that looked out upon the huge estate.

  A door directly ahead of Maude opened into a spacious library with children’s books on every shelf, their covers shiny over pages unstained by small hands. Further down past the library another door stood slightly opened, beckoning. Her senses alert Maude trained her weapon upon the open door and entered cautiously from the side using the door as a barricade. A long walk-in closet with multiple doors covered the west wall while rows of dolls with porcelain faces and forever curls stood guard over a canopied bed of lace and ruffles.

  Sounds of whimpering, low and very young were coming from the closet. Maude focused her attention on the doors, cautious yet determined as she opened the door closest to the end of the walk-in. She had no idea of what to expect.

  A small girl of about five or six was on the floor, cradling a woman’s head in her lap, the small hands stroking, pleading with the woman to get up. Maude leaned down and checked for a pulse, but the woman had no signs of life. Maude looked carefully through the rest of the closet then went back to the bedroom door and called for Joe.

  “Joe,” she said, “Can you hear me?”

  “Yeah Maude, I’m here,” he said, “I’m on my way.”

  “Get the other rooms, on the second floor. Then come back here if you don’t find anything. I have a dead woman and a live kid,” Maude finished, on her way back to the little girl in the bedroom closet.

  The walk-in door was still open but the child was quieter. The presence of another adult was soothing to her. Maude spoke to the little girl, but didn’t try to move her away from the woman.

  “Hi, I’m Detective Rogers, but you can call me Maude. What’s your nam
e?” She was hopeful the little girl was coherent,

  “Mommy’s asleep. She won’t wake up,” The child answered, her voice breaking.

  “What’s your name?” Maude repeated.

  “Alyson. Alyson Roberts,” the girl said, the name reassuring Maude that she was in monster’s den, and no one was safe there, not even his children.

  “Are you hurt, Alyson. Can you tell me what happened?” Maude asked gently, touching the little girl on her shoulder.

  “Nuh-uh,” the girl said, continuing, “Mommy and me were in the closet cause she said we needed to hide from Daddy. It was a game, and Daddy was trying to find her. Mommy told me to hide and be very quiet even if Daddy came. When Daddy found Mommy there was a loud bang and she fell down. Daddy didn’t see me. I was playing the game and hiding behind my stuffed animals. He was calling me, but I was very quiet because I got scared after the noise.”

  “Do you know where your Daddy went?” Maude asked.

  “No, he took my brother and went away. I looked out the window and saw them.” Alyson said, holding her mother’s hand.

  Joe entered the room and found the large closet open with Maude and the girl standing over the dead woman.

  “No one else here,” he told her. “Want me to call this in?”

  “Yeah Joe, but do it outside the door, if you don’t mind. Call Lieutenant Sorenson, tell him to send the coroner and someone from child services,” she said quietly, trying to avoid frightening the little girl any more.

  “Sure Maude,” Joe said, leaving the room and speaking to the two officers outside in the hallway, advising them of the dead woman.

  Maude was sad for the little girl whose existence had just been so dramatically altered. She wondered what kind of life the child had before with Dawson for a father. Thinking that maybe she would hold off asking anymore questions for a while, Maude suggested that they go outside the closet and look at the girls dolls. The child was reluctant, but did as Maude asked, pointing to each of the packaged collections, telling their names