With His Dying Breath

by Nancy Hogue

  “We’ve been out of town,” the husband said. “Sunday night, we noticed dried blood on his front feet and his left ear. The neighbors across the street fed him for us but they had no knowledge of him being hurt.”

  “He wasn’t limping or anything, they said, they Friday morning he didn’t come out from under the house for his food. Then Friday night, he was asleep under a tree. He just seemed to be acting peculiar though especially around noises.,” the wife said.

  “Do you know much about River Town or the Macon area? Know many people there? Hilda asked. The wife worked in Macon for a small law firm, so, yes, she knew tons of people but no one that would come get her dog.

  “Who knew you would be out of town, say last Thursday?” Hilda asked.

  “Why is our dog so important?” the couple asked.

  Hilda showed them the photo of Jonas Attaway with the basset hound. “Is this your dog?” she asked.

  “Well, sure looks like him.”

  “Yes, it is, hon, look at the collar,” the wife said.

  “Who’s that man?” they asked in unison.

  “We had a murder last Thursday, a Mr. Blake Brockton, local businessman, and this is the man who phoned it in. He told the 9-1-1 operator that he always walked the dog at the same time every day.”

  “Our dog? I read about the murder online. But why would he say he walked our basset hound every day,” the young husband said.

  “Well, that was a ruse. He even gave a false address.”

  “Goodness,” the wife said. “Honey, we need to just board him next time we take a little trip.”

  The husband agreed. Hilda continued. “He used the name Jonas Attaway. Does that sound familiar?” Hilda asked.

  “No, can’t think of anyone with that name. I’ve heard of Mr. Brockton, though. The lawyer I work for did some work for him, I think,” she said.

  She thanked the nice young couple even though their answers seemed unimportant and headed back to River Town with her car radio off and the police radio turned down. She needed to think.

  At ten o’clock, Hilda went to the consignment shop and talked to Lois about the bowties. The purchase was made off an eBay site. Lois said a woman had purchased three or four for a school play but she wasn’t sure which school or maybe it was a church skit. She just didn’t remember. Hilda, I’m just so forgetful these days.” And, of course, she did not know the woman who paid cash for them.

  “Do you have any remembrance of what she looked like?”

  “You know Hilda. Now that you asked. She seemed to be very nervous. Wouldn’t look me in the eye, and talked a blue streak with some kind of accent. I couldn’t really understand her. And she seemed to be apologetic on why she was buying them.”

  “What do you mean apologetic?”

  “Well, now I remember her. She was dressed very unusual. It was about two weeks ago, I guess when she came in. She wore pants but they were obviously not hers. They were much too tight showing every bulge. She had a man’s figure, you know, no real shape.”

  “What else, Lois, think!”

  “She giggled a lot. That’s what I mean about seeming nervous. She had a silly giggle and giggled all the time telling me about the play and Hilda, it was a high school play or, no I think, it was the community playhouse but I don’t remember which one. I remember now. She said her son was in a play for the church youth department and she was getting his outfit together! They were having the play at one of the local theatres.”

  “Thanks, Lois. Great job!”

  “But Hilda, something else. She had a very high- pitched voice, really grated on my nerves. Didn’t help my headache much.”

  Hilda wrote all of this on her pocket pad.

  “Oh, oh, and something else, Hilda. Funny how things come back to you!”

  “Yes, Lois. Go on.”

  “She bought a jacket that Sammi Brockton owned. It was a size six, much too small for this woman, but she said, she could let the seams out.”

  “What size was she?”

  “Hilda, the woman must’ve been at least a twelve maybe a fourteen. No way could she make that jacket fit!”

  “Thanks, Lois.”

  “What does all this mean? Am I or my employees or the store in danger?”

  “No, Lois, I don’t think so. I’m just running down leads. Probably won’t amount to much.”

  “Well, I certainly hope it does and helps you catch whoever you’re after.”

  “Thanks, Lois. Here’s my card. If you remember anything else, no matter how insignificant, or if the woman should come back in, would you give me a call? Just say something like you just got some new stock in, and it’s selling like hotcakes. Then, I’ll hurry on over.”

  “I definitely will. I’ll caution all my employees to watch for her.”

  “Lois, I need to run. I’ll be back in a couple of days and see your new stock.”

  “Great, see you, Hilda.”

  Hilda stuck her head back in the shop. “Lois, did Mrs. Brockton shop in here, too?”

  “No, I don’t think she ever bought anything but she sure left a lot of clothes for me, you know on consignment. They sell like hotcakes, too!”

  Hilda knew the bowtie purchase was another ruse but added it to her list to rule out. First to call the four playhouses to see who had the theatre booked and, hopefully, eliminate forty-two of the forty-three churches in the area to find the purchaser of the bowtie. High schools were having their senior plays this time of year so she added the five area high school drama teachers. Someone might recognize the woman by description, but I doubt she even exists. She scanned the small parking lot and pulled out into heavier than normal traffic, south on I-75. Oh shoot, she thought, this will take forever, calling all…..

  “His phone,” she said as she noticed three cellular towers in the distance.

  She punched in the River Town police station’s speed dial code again. “Hey, it’s Detective Marabell. I need a warrant as general as possible. Need to know about any calls made to 9-1-1 made from the two numbers on Thursday about the Brockton murder. The phone Brockton used and the one Attaway called in from. Meet me at the River Town call center. Hurry.” She turned into the Burger King drive-thru, ordered a number one, no cheese, large Coke, and headed toward River Town.

  Hilda took the first parking spot where the officer with the warrant was waiting and hurried inside the building, flashed her badge, and signed the visitor’s log noticing how clean and shiny the walls, floors, and ceilings were. All offices had glass walls and solid wood doors. The lobby was well lit without being too bright on your eyes. It was her first trip to the new River Town call center and, frankly, was impressed with her tax dollars at work.

  The shift manager retrieved the archived logs for Thursday, March 15 from noon through one thirty. Blake’s body was found at one ten according to the phone call by the Jonas Attaway character. A call from 478-555-0011 lasted seven minutes and eight seconds logged by Operator 41.

  “Can you identify the phone number,” she asked the manager.

  “I can unless it’s a disposable phone. Technology isn’t that far along yet. Plus, you don’t have to have ID to buy those. Let’s see,” as he punched in the numbers. “I don’t know who owns the phone, but the number is registered to Brockton Real Estate.”

  “Brockton Real Estate?” It can’t be. Let’s listen to it.” Hilda identified the caller as Jonas Attaway’s voice.

  “Are there any other calls by this phone made to 9-1-1?”

  “At twelve fifty-eight,” he punched it up to play. “That’s Blake Brockton reporting the shooting or is it?” Hilda realized she had never talked to the victim on the phone so she wouldn’t recognize his voice, but it wasn’t that British accent. “I need help on this.” She knew the Attaway caller had used Blake’s phone to report the murder. Had he also used the phone to accuse Sammi Brockton?

  “Will you make me a recording of both of those? You can put them on this flash drive,” pulling t
he small device from her pocket

  “Sorry, Detective, I can’t if it’s going to be used for evidence. But I’ll make a CD for you unless you want a DVD.”

  “Whatever’s the fastest? Thanks.”

  “Just for the heck of it, will you see if any more calls came in from this phone, say, within the last week?”

  Expanding the search parameters, the archive listing showed a call Wednesday evening at seven fifty-two and another Thursday morning at five twenty-three. Both calls lasted twenty seconds. “Let’s listen to those, can I?”

  The only voice on each of these was the emergency call center operator. 9-1-1, what’s your emergency?……9-1-1, hello, anyone there? What’s your emergency? Then the calls were lost. “Where did they originate from?”

  “Well, just a general area is River Town. I’m sorry, Detective. We can’t get the actual address yet on a cell phone. We couldn’t dispatch a vehicle.”

  “Okay, will you make me a recording of those, too? I didn’t hear any background noises but our lab might be able to pick up something!”

  “Sure, take about three minutes.” He returned in less than three minutes with the DVD in a plastic case appropriately marked according to each call.

  “Thanks so much, you’ve been very helpful.”

  Hilda left the call center not knowing if she was onto something or being deliberately led astray by the perpetrator. She punched in the station’s speed dial code.

  “Hey, this is Marabell. Yeah... well, would you do something for me? Go down to the morgue and see what items they brought in with Mr. Brockton last Thursday. His body was sent to Atlanta but the morgue should’ve logged his belongings…..specifically, his cell phone… make sure you use gloves , okay…need fingerprints if possible….when you get it just ask dispatch to patch you through to me…..thanks.”

  Her cell phone rang identifying Jasper calling. “Hey, Hilda, the autopsy is back. He was definitely shot, three times. Once in the stomach and another in the groin. The third one got him — right through the heart, went in his back. The bullet was still there. But hey, they didn’t find all three in the body.”

  “What was the weapon?”

  “Get this—a .38 special!”

  “A snubbie!

  “That’s what women usually carry — not to appear sexist!” Jasper said.

  “Do we know if Samantha Brockton owned a gun?”

  “No. No we don’t”

  “Jaz, we need to find out! Did they test her hands the other day?”

  “No. No, they didn’t!”

  “Who was the Glock registered to—the one you found?

  “Blake Brockton.”

  Chapter 20

  JJ moved mechanically from class to class to class preoccupied with the Sunday afternoon meeting at the Monitor with Detectives Nelson and Marabell. Detective Nelson asked her dad about the Saga magazine. They were all sitting around the conference table going over the comic strip.

  “You ever heard of a rag called, Saga, Cain?”

  “No, a gossip rag?”

  “No, well, supposed to be true crime. Found several at the Brockton house the other day. Does he seem like the type who’d read that kind of rag?”

  Cain laughed, “No, but I tell you, Jasper. People aren’t what they appear to be. You know, get behind closed doors in their own home. No telling what kind of personalities come out.”

  “Saying?”

  “Well, I’ve covered stories on child abuse, ministers, even our local representative, don’t you remember that about four, maybe five, years ago. He was found to have a criminal record in another state.”

  “Yeah, I remember.”

  “So you just can’t really know people from the surface.”

  “You got the magazines with you.”

  “No, didn’t seem like anything to me, so I took them back to his house. Guess he liked to read about crime. Who knows?”

  JJ had seen it in the grocery store checkout area and had even scanned through it a couple of times while waiting in line. Her dad had never heard of it. Would Mr. Brockton read a true crimes magazine, she questioned. Even Dad didn’t have a clue about who or what it was about or how it would fit into this case, and he’s in the business.

  Detective Marabell mentioned the 9-1-1 call from Blake accusing Sammi, forcing her arrest. We need another suspect so charges will be dropped. NO! We need to find the real murderer. JJ thought. She needed to talk to Sammi and find out about that call to clear it up.

  Wonder what child abuse Daddy was talking about?

  In the background, Mr. Grumman’s voice went on and on about Asia and JJ doodled on her notebook paper writing down her thoughts and questions. She listed everything she knew about Mr. Brockton’s murder — the known versus the unknowns. She made a list of her Dad’s clues and the information provided by the county detectives.

  Someone intentionally framed Sammi. But why? I have to help her—she’s probably the nicest person other than my dad that I know and Mrs. Young, too, she added. She knew why Jonas Attaway had no emotion why he acted so strangely—he didn’t exist. Must’ve been wearing a makeup mask since he never moved a facial muscle. A make-up mask—I need to check that out, she mumbled.

  “Yes, Miss Matthews?”

  “Sir!” popping to the present.

  “Do you have a question?” Mr. Grumman asked. The entire class waited in dire anticipation.

  “Not really,” she said. “I was just wondering ….” Interrupted by the bell, she heaved a big sigh of relief.

  “Miss Matthews, may I see you for a moment?” Classmates, especially Wanda, held back, being more than a little curious to know what Mr. Grumman would say to her for not paying attention. “The rest of you may leave,” he said in a raised voice targeting the lingering students.”

  “I have your make up test score,” he said quietly. She winced.

  He turned the paper over to reveal her grade of seventy-nine. “Wow,” she said. “I passed.”

  “Barely,” he seemed to grumble, “But it is passing.”

  JJ turned and walked away, then turned back and asked, “Mr. Grumman, are you mad at me about something?”

  He wanted to scream yes, I’m mad at you. I’m mad that you have a new boyfriend, I’m mad that you’re my student that you and I can’t be together because of it, I’m mad about you but he simply said, “Miss Matthews, of course not, guess I just have stuff on my mind! Sorry if I have appeared to be!”

  He dropped his head and pretended to grade papers while she walked out of the classroom and probably his life.

  Wanda stood outside the door as JJ left. “Are you in trouble again?”

  “I’m sorry, what?”

  “What did you do this time?” She hoped it would end it once and for all with Mr. Grumman.

  “Oh, I just got my makeup test back. Nothing really. Why?”

  “Just thought he caught you not paying attention. But it could’ve been a way to get you alone to ask you out.”

  “Wanda! He’s my teacher. Students can’t date teachers.” Wanda walked away knowing JJ wasn’t admitting to a relationship with him.

  She didn’t give Wanda a second thought and went directly to Dr. Jacob’s office. She was in a meeting, and JJ couldn’t wait. She promised Mrs. Young she would get to the salon as quickly as possible.

  “No clients. Yeah,” JJ said knowing the shop was closed. “No interruptions!” At least she hoped that was the case. At three o’clock on the nose, she pulled in beside Mrs. Young’s Cadillac. She bounded up to the door and pulled. It was locked. She could not see through the dark film on the glass.

  She knocked, tapped on the glass window with her keys and still no answer. She called both the shop and Mrs. Young’s cell numbers, and it went straight to voice mail. “Hmm, what’s up,” she wondered.

  Trying to decide to leave or wait around, she noticed just a very few cars in the entire parking lot. “What is going on? Where is everybody?” She walked to the Take
Note music store. Chip’s sister wasn’t working today, and the assistant manager stated it’s been like this all day. I think I’ve had two customers!”

  “Have you seen Mrs. Young, the manager of the beauty shop next door? I’m supposed to work but the door’s locked.”

  “No,” scanning the parking lot. “That’s her car parked next to the light pole, but I’ve mostly been straightening out old stuff and moving in the newer books and equipment. Sorry.”

  “Well. No problem, I guess. I’ll just wait around a few minutes longer.”

  Instead, JJ found herself walking down to the Brockton Real Estate office. One of the cars was parked in front of the glass doors.

  She opened the door, “Hello. Hello,” she called out. She turned to leave as a woman came from the back.

  “Can I help you?” she asked, looking JJ up and down.

  “Hi. I work at the beauty shop. Just down a little ways. Mr. Brockton owns, sorry, owned it.”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m looking for Mrs. Young. She was supposed to be there to let me in. Any chance you’ve seen her?”

  The lady stretched her neck to the parking lot. “Is that her Cadillac?”

  “Yes, it’s her car. Just… I’m wondering where she is!”

  JJ was getting annoyed at this point, which was well noticed by the woman. Here’s the phone if you want to call, pushing the phone to her revealing a rose tattoo on her left wrist at the thumb. Oh, I need to take a photo but that would be stupid. She tried to remember as much of the woman as she could.

  Hair brownish-gray, thick rimmed glasses kinda like Irkel and very skinny, a little shorter than JJ. She was also barefooted.

  “Well, thanks anyway, I’ve tried from my cell. I’ll just go back and knock some more. Maybe she was in the bathroom.” Trying to make light of it. “Thanks, sorry, if I bothered you.”

  JJ walked toward the shop and dialed her dad. She talked so fast he could not understand her at first. Finally, JJ took a deep breath repeating that she knew who the mystery woman was.

  Within five minutes, Cain Matthews and three River Town police officers were at the Brockton Real Estate office. Detectives Nelson and Marabell arrived a few minutes later. The woman nervously squirmed in an office chair unaware of what was going on until JJ walked in. “I warned you to be careful, now look what you’ve done.”