"Martha's husband."
"Martha's husband."
"Yes, Carnac. And don't ask me what it means."
"How about Martha who?"
"Well, the only one that comes to mind is Martha Washington. Do you think the President is behind all of this?"
"You mean like LBJ in the Kennedy assassination?"
"He wasn't President yet."
"No, but a lot of people said he expedited matters to make sure he was."
"I don't think LBJ has anything to do with the murders we're investigating."
"But what about someone named Washington? Or the president of something or other."
"How about we find another Martha."
"Okay. Does Martha Stewart have a husband?"
"Say, goodnight, Gracie."
"Goodnight, Gracie."
+++
It had been a while since Lou and I had eaten at Sutton's, so we decided to give them another try. I was itching for an appetizer of their Pepperoni Pups. I wasn't sure what I wanted to order after that. They have so many good possibilities on their menu, but a Stromboli with pepperoni added was one possibility.
Lou and I didn't talk about the investigation while we ate. We didn't want anyone to overhear our conversation about the case, but as soon as we finished we walked out and sat in my van for a few minutes. Rather than sit there and shiver, I started the van and got the heater up to where it warmed up my brain enough that I could think. Then I turned down the radio so Lou wouldn't rock and roll in his seat.
"So, Lou, what did you think of those three?"
"I thought the appetizer, sandwich, and dessert were all above average."
"Lou, do you have any idea how long it would take you to walk home?"
"I don't think I'd do anything that stupid."
"Then tell me what you think of the Comstocks and Mrs. Comstock's mother."
"I don't think Mrs. Comstock is my type, and her mother is too old for me."
I gave Lou a dirty look.
"That's okay, Cy. If you think differently that's okay with me."
"LOU!"
"Since it seems like your lunch didn't agree with you, I would have to say that all three of them will stay on my suspect list, but I can't see why any of them would jeopardize all that money coming in, just to murder a few people. So, where do we go next?"
"First, I want to check out the murder scenes, maybe see if we can find any of the neighbors at home, see if anyone saw something. Maybe someone was home that day, but not there when the local police went around talking to people. Then I want to check out the family of the victims, see if any of them looks suspicious or can head us in the right direction. I don't really think that a family member of one of the victims is responsible, unless they murdered the others to throw us off track. I think our best suspects might be the two disgruntled people that we know about, and those people will be the next ones we'll check with. After that, it's time to start questioning some of the people who have been on dates who are still standing."
"Cy, are you familiar with the Sally Field movie Maybe I'll Be Home in the Spring?"
"I've heard of it, but never seen it, and didn't realize that Sally Field was in the movie. Why?"
"Oh, I was just thinking that might be us. I only brought enough clothes for a couple of days."
"And I don't plan to stay here more than a couple of nights. If we haven't figured out who did it by then, I'll go home and think. I do some of my best thinking at home."
"I just knew that you didn't do it around me."
"Lou, I'm thinking about sending your name, address, and phone number to Bambi Fontaine."
"You'd better not, Cy. She might send me a green card."
+++
We spent the next three hours driving around, finding the places where the victims lived, talking to the neighbors we could find. We were thankful all of the snow had melted and we didn't have to try to park where someone had parked before. We didn't find many neighbors, and those we found gave us no information to help us. And none of them looked like they were hiding a syringe somewhere in the house, or had disposed of one in the garbage. I made a note to check back later if we ran into dead ends everywhere else we checked.
"Lou what do you make of the fact that most of these people were murdered just inside their front door?"
"I guess the murderer wasn't invited for lunch or dinner, and it would probably be a waste of time to hunt for fingerprints in the bathroom."
"To carry on with what you said, Lou, as juvenile as it was, it tells me that everyone trusted the murderer enough to open the door to him or her, but not enough to invite this person into their home. Now who would fit into that category?"
"You would, Cy. But then I don't have you on my suspect list. I think you have an alibi for the time of at least one of the murders. Besides, it could be that the murderer was in a hurry and didn't want to waste time."
"So, we're looking for someone with a busy schedule, or an impatient murderer? Now, let's try this again, and try to give me a better answer."
"I'd say that either the victims didn't know their attacker, or it was someone they didn't want inside the house. Like an IRS auditor. But what caused each of them to open the front door? Again I can't help but think of a badge, but we don't have any cops down as suspects. And two of the victims were transported to Tennessee, and another one was found in the woods behind his house. What was different about those three, if anything?"
"And why didn't the murderer include you among his victims?"
"I don't think Thelma Lou would have been happy with my demise."
"I think she would have gotten over it in a few days. But back to the ones whose bodies were somewhere other than inside the front door. Maybe it was because the two guys lived out in the country. Or it could be that the murderer had yet to develop a murder pattern, other than how to kill each person on their list."
"But all the ones who lived in Lexington were found just inside their front door."
"That reminds me, Cy. I thought of someone else who someone would open the door to, but they wouldn't necessarily invite into the house. Someone who was delivering pizza."
"Domino's, Pizza Hut, or Papa John's? I think you might be on to something there, Lou. Each of the victims had forgotten that he or she had never ordered a pizza, so they opened the door and received something a little different."
"So, where are we headed next?"
"I want to meet these people who had it in for the dating service. Every now and then someone goes off the deep end and murders someone because that person caused them some problems. Sort of a single person's version of road rage."
"But wouldn't someone like that murder the Comstocks instead?"
"You would think so, but a lot of times murderers don't think rationally."
I started the van and found out that The Rolling Stones weren't getting any satisfaction, either.
Neither of the disgruntled people whose names we had lived anywhere near where we were. Not only that, but time had gotten away from us, and I had to drive across town in rush hour traffic, something I wasn't used to doing in Lexington. I tried to concentrate on the music to keep my mind off stop and go traffic. Lou did the same, even though he didn't pay any attention to the traffic. It must have been the Stones day on 60s on 6. I wanted to slide down in my seat when we were stopped at a light, and Lou was moving around to Get Off My Cloud. I wasn't sure what they were talking about, but I was sure it had nothing to do with computers. Or heaven. The way Lou was acting I was sure the next Stones song would be 19th Nervous Breakdown. I was saved. Sort of. At least the artist featured on the radio changed. Too bad Lou didn't change, too.
The drive was taking way too long. Lou was looking at me and singing Mrs. Brown You've Got a Lovely Daughter. I wondered if when we found someone at home I could take Lou by surprise and run to the van and drive away before he could get to the passenger's side. I was thankful when they played a song that neither Lou nor I h
ad heard of. I contemplated throwing out the baby with the bathwater and getting rid of 60s on 6.
25
I pulled up in front of a small, frame house, and looked to make sure the house number was right. I got off my horse, and headed for the bunkhouse, Chester, close behind. Luckily, he had quit singing. A woman answered my knock. Suddenly, Bambi Fontaine didn't look so bad. When I saw the woman who answered the door, I immediately thought of the Stonehenge, kind of old and rough looking. And not put together all that well. An unlit cigarette dangled from her mouth.
"Are you Marge Shockley?"
"I might be. Who wants to know?"
The cigarette almost fell out of her mouth as she mumbled. She realized that and stuck the cigarette in her pocket.
"Cy Dekker, Special Agent for the Lexington Police Department."
"Is this about the complaint I made against the water company?"
"No, this is about a complaint that someone wasn't able to make. May we come in?"
"I suppose. Sorry, but I haven't had time to clean today."
She removed clutter off a couple of chairs and Lou and I sat down.
"Miss Shockley, tell me what you know about the Just For You dating service."
"Oh, are they finally getting what they deserve? It's about time someone shut down that outfit. They fixed me up with a homeless guy and two criminal types and then wouldn't give me my money back when I complained."
"And then what did you do?"
"What could I do? I called the Better Business Bureau and complained, but there was nothing else I could do."
"Do you know of anyone else who has used the service?"
"Only those three guys they fixed me up with. I'd say by now that homeless guy has moved on to another town, and the other two are back in jail."
"Any idea how the homeless guy came up with the hundred dollars the service calls for?"
"Oh, they probably only charge the women. And they made me pay for my own flower. Roses are expensive, but they didn't seem to care. And they were so slow in fixing me up with the second and third guys that my rose died each time, so I had to spring for three roses. And what did that get me? A rotten evening. Three of them."
"That's enough to make someone want to buy her own rosebush. And you didn't do anything else except complain?"
The woman sat there and told me "no," but I was sure she was lying. But she looked more like the type who would drive by a house and throw a rock at a window than one who would go out and murder some of Just For You's clientele. But then a lot of murderers fall into the rock throwing category.
"Miss Shockley, do the names John Ed Caudill, Roger Wilson, or Chris Carlisle mean anything to you?"
"Were those the three guys I met at that overpriced restaurant?"
"I don't know. Were they?"
"Naw. I don't think so. One of mine was Butch something or other. Do you know he walked out before I'd finished eating? He didn't like it when I said something about him taking his teeth out and cleaning them while I was still eating."
"Did he really do that?"
"No. He had his own teeth. Do you know how I know? Because most people who have false teeth buy the whole set. They don't have a lot of gaps in the front. This guy had some teeth missing. Probably had them knocked out in prison."
I wasn't going to ask her if that too was a lie, that her date was missing some teeth, or if she was using me for a sounding board for America's Got Talent. Instead I asked her a few more questions, but couldn't get her to incriminate herself.
I knew one thing Marge Shockley had lied about. She was nowhere near the thirty-nine years she put on her application.
+++
Traffic was somewhat better when we left Marge Shockley's house. But Lou wasn't.
"Cy, did you forget to get her number? You don't know when you might be down here and want a date."
"I think I'll get a dog first."
Lou chuckled while Bobby Vinton sang to us about Mr. Lonely. And yes, Lou joined in and looked in my direction. I had missed my chance. Lou and Marge Shockley would have made a fine couple. Even though Lou still had all of his teeth.
Luckily it didn't take me long to get to Charles Hacker's place. I knew before I got there that Hacker lived in an apartment. The number of his apartment told me that the complex had more than one building. I saw that he was a mechanic, and he listed his age as thirty-eight. Whoever was responsible used a syringe or a needle and not a wrench, but that wasn't enough for me to leave Charles Hacker off my list.
I pulled up in front of the address listed on the application. In front of me stood a red brick building that looked like it might have been built in the 1940s. There was room on the street for us to park, so I decided to park out front and walk around the building. A lot of apartment complexes don't have parking for visitors. Lou and I got out and walked up the driveway to the back of the building. I could feel my shoes hitting the asphalt. I could see my breath ahead of me. I was thankful I wore a sweater under my coat. We got to the back and found three more buildings, all of them slightly newer than the one out front. One stood off to my right, another to my left. The third was straight in front of me, but at least one hundred feet from where I stood. The apartments in the building facing the street had entrances off an inside hallway. The ones in the back each had their own entrance off a concrete walkway. Each apartment had a number on the door, but it was getting dark, so I had to walk up close to the door of the apartment closest to me to see in which building we might find Hacker's apartment. I looked at the number of the first apartment, then counted the number of apartments in the building. If they were numbered correctly, Charles Hacker lived in an apartment on the second floor of that building. The metal stairs shook as Lou and I mounted them. I used the railing to make sure I didn't fall. If Lou fell I would call an ambulance as soon as I arrived at The Cheesecake Factory.
I walked along the second floor walkway, wishing I had more light. I finally arrived at a door, squinted to see the number, and knocked.
"Who are you, and what do you want?"
The voice didn't come from inside the apartment, nor did it come from Lou, who knew who I was and what I wanted. The voice came from someone a few feet behind Lou. I had heard someone park as we fumbled in the dark looking at apartment numbers, but I didn't notice the guy had gotten out and followed us up the stairs.
"I said, who are you and what do you want?"
"It's none of your business unless you're Charles Hacker."
"Then it's my business. What are you doing at my apartment door?"
"I'm Cy Dekker, Special Investigator for the Lexington Police Department."
"I didn't hit that woman. She fell down. And if she says I hit her she's a liar."
"Mr. Hacker, maybe we should talk inside."
"Maybe I don't want to talk to you."
"Maybe we can talk downtown."
"Oh, all right," he said, and then mumbled, "I wish I had come five minutes later," as he unlocked the door and motioned us inside.
The apartment was small, an efficiency. You could tell when you left the living room and entered the kitchen, because the carpet ended at the living room. At least it wasn't shag carpet. The kitchen was big enough for a stove, refrigerator, sink, and a small table with four chairs. To the right of the kitchen was a door that led to a bedroom, with a bathroom off to the left.
"You all have a seat. Let's get this over with. I've worked hard today and I'm tired."
"I understand you're a mechanic, Mr. Hacker," I said as I took a seat on one end of the couch. Lou sat on the other end. Hacker sat in the only chair that was in the living room.
"How did she know that? I never told her."
"I'm not sure which she you're talking about."
"Forget about it. Why are you here?"
"Do you ever date, Mr. Hacker?"
"I thought you said this doesn't have anything to do with her. Make up your mind."
"Just answer my question."
<
br /> "Sometimes. Sometimes I meet some woman down at The Loose Hinge. It's a bar in the neighborhood, down the street and around the corner. Sometimes I go down there for a drink. There's nothing wrong with that, is there?"
"Not unless you have too many, or you do something you shouldn't."
"Well, I don't and I didn't."
"Meet women anywhere else?"
"Oh, a couple of times I've met a lady or two in the laundromat. It's in the basement of the building over there" he said pointing to the building across the way. "They have washers and dryers for us here, but we still have to pay to use them. Sometimes I run into a woman who looks good and is a cut above some of the others here. Why are you so interested in my dating? I ain't done nothing wrong."
"I'm not saying you have. Have you ever heard of a dating service called Just For You?"
"Oh, so that's why you're here. Those people said I threatened them, didn't they?"
"Well, let's just say that we heard you didn't have a pleasant experience there. What caused you to contact them?"
"Well, I have to admit that a hundred dollars is a right smart amount of money, and money doesn't grow on trees, at least not where I work. But they promised me up to three women, and I figured that maybe one of them might be better than what I'd been dating. So I sent them the money. All they sent me was three uppity women. One of them had the nerve to say, 'Is that all you're going to eat?' I couldn't afford to order that stuff she was ordering. She even ordered an appetizer. Didn't share any of it with me, either. And she weren't nothing but a receptionist in a doctor's office. A receptionist. Probably makes less than I do, but she put on airs that night."
"Did you ever see her again?"
"Nope. Them other two, neither. I've found better women at The Loose Hinge. But then I'm working on one who lives here. Washes her clothes on Friday night. That means she don't date on Friday night. I plan to pop down there this Friday, see if I can get her to go somewhere with me. Not The Loose Hinge, and I can't afford to take her to The Cheesecake Factory, although she's a pretty little thing. She belongs there before that receptionist does."
Steve Demaree - Dekker 09 - Murder on a Blind Date Page 12