I told Tom I would call him later, and I slipped the phone back into my pocket. I walked up the path to the porch. The house was an old farmhouse. It had a wide front porch that was covered and allowed for folks to gather if they wanted. It was painted white, but the paint was showing signs of weather, and the roof looked to be in its last year if she was lucky. If I had to guess, I would say that Mandy had not spent a lot of time on upkeep.
Inside the house, the outline of the body was the immediate draw of my eyes. Lofton had been found lying in a heap near the beige couch.
The white carpet was stained with blood. My mental picture was a bit different on the inside. Mandy may not have spent a lot of time outside, but the inside was nicely decorated. The furniture was fairly new, and a 27 inch Sony television sat in an armoire with a VCR and DVD attached. There were several videos and DVDs stacked neatly on the shelf. I noted several titles: Titanic, Blazing Saddles, Monty Python and the Holy Grail, and all the Star Wars movies. Mandy seemed to still enjoy the same taste in movies that she had in high school.
I knelt down and peered at the room. I tried to envision the incident. Mark Lofton comes to the house. He wants Mandy to continue to be his lover. Not at all surprising considering the dismay that Mrs. Lofton seemed to be feeling earlier. Still, he comes over, intent on satisfaction with Mandy. He even takes off his clothes while he waits for her to get home. She comes home, and he pushes himself on her. She rejects him, and he gets mad and attacks her. But she showed no signs of being attacked. Besides it would be self-defense, and she could probably walk free and clear.
No, Mandy would have been honest about that. So Mark comes here and is shot by someone else. But how did he get here? His car would have been towed to an impound lot by now.
The problem is that someone wanted Mandy to take the fall for the murder. Their timing had to be right, but they still left gaps. The police arrive just as Mandy gets home so she hasn’t had time to call 911. Her engine should have still been hot.
The cops have a suspect, and her prints are on the weapon. But not on the shells. I walked across the living room to a large gun cabinet. I remembered it being there when I was dating Mandy. The cabinet hadn't moved in at least twelve years. It had a glass door that allowed me to see the former location of the shotgun used to kill Mark Lofton. I
tried to open the cabinet. It was locked. The box of shells was sitting at the bottom of the cabinet.
I made my way to Mandy’s closet and pulled out some clothes for her. I didn’t bother with a bag. I just carried a handful out to the car and put them in the trunk.
I walked over to her car that was still parked silently in the driveway. The doors were unlocked, not surprised in a small town like this. I climbed into the car and looked through the front seat. There were some assorted receipts for gas and other items. The gas gauge read full. Perhaps if I could find a receipt for gas that Mandy got in or around Little Rock, then she might add some credence to her story.
I would have to ask her about it when I got back to the boat. Something that simple might save her.
It was all very bizarre. Mark Lofton was here without clothes or a vehicle. Why bother with the setup, though? If you wanted Mark Lofton killed, then it would be easy to put a bullet in him, and then to carry him deep into these Ozark woods and bury him. He would be missed, but a character like him could easily vanish from town when his wedding day approached closer.
Except, he suddenly got married.
What was he thinking? Leigh Rozen is not the best catch in these waters I am sure. Granted, she did have that trailer charm, and she wasn’t hideous. But it didn’t seem right. I wish I knew what he had been thinking.
Perhaps Mrs. Lofton can share some information about it with me. I suppose I should make my way back to her humble home. This time I should get to the point.
It took me another twenty minutes to get back to Leigh Rozen-Lofton’s trailer. It was 3:30 p.m. when I reached the turn off of the highway onto the little dirt road. I pulled up to the trailer and walked back up to the door. The door was open slightly. I knocked loudly.
I received no answer. I knocked again. I pushed the door open with my foot to see Leigh Rozen-Lofton lying on the sofa bed with a .38 Special in her hand. Her brains were on the drapes and window behind the sofa.
No doubt that she was distraught over the loss of her husband.
11
I stood over the sofa bed staring at the lifeless form draped across the sheets. The same bed had been folded up only a few hours earlier. Otherwise, the trailer did not appear much different than it had earlier.
There did not seem to be a sign of struggle. I made a rash judgment that the suicide was staged.
The blood on the wall behind her head was still wet. Blood coagulates in about four minutes, meaning that the killer was still near. I forgot the urge to search and opted instead to make a quick exit before someone decided to include me in Leigh Rozen's suicide pact.
I quickly jumped into my car and pulled it onto the highway. I raced the car to 60 miles per hour. With any luck, I could be across the county before anyone would find the body. I needed to call Tom. He could send the sheriff to the trailer.
I was still concentrating on moving away from the scene when a police cruiser appeared with its lights flashing. My heart leapt, and I glanced at the passenger seat where the brown bag I had bought from the late Mrs. Lofton sat. I held my breath, and the cruiser sped past me, on its way to the gruesome scene.
I waited until the car was out of sight before I tossed the brown bag into the ditch. I felt relieved to be rid of that little bag. Better safe than sorry, I thought.
I reached for my cell phone and dialed Tom's number. As the phone rang, I looked at my rear view mirror to spy the flashing blue lights crest the horizon behind me. My luck just ran short. The phone continued to ring as the lights raced upon me.
Tom answered.
"Tom," I spoke quickly, "Leigh Rozen is dead."
The police car was right behind me. I slowed as I pulled to the shoulder.
"What?" Tom replied, "Where are you?"
"Listen, quickly, I think I will be under arrest inside of a minute. If I don't call you back in ten minutes, then you had best meet me at the police station."
"Max, don't say anything until I get there."
"Don't worry," I replied.
I turned the phone off and stepped out of the car.
"What's the problem, sir?"
"Stop, and keep your hands where I can see them.”
I obeyed as the officer moved toward me with his gun directed at my head.
"Turn around and face the vehicle."
I complied immediately, and the officer began to inform me of my Miranda rights. His partner came around the car and began to pat me down.
"What's the problem?" I asked again.
"We need to ask you a few questions."
Both officers were standing behind me. One of them grabbed my shoulder and turned me to face them.
"Did I do something wrong?" I asked playing dumb.
"Possibly. A woman was killed, and we need some information."
"That's awful, but I don't know anything."
The first officer shuffled around my car, peering inside the window. The second officer whose nameplate read Burns remained in front of me. He was intentionally narrowing his eyes in an attempt to appear menacing. He wanted to strike me with fear, but he was almost trying too hard. I have noticed that it is extremely difficult for a nice
the guy to portray themselves as hard-liners.
"We need to take you to the station. Ask you a few questions."
"Am I under arrest?"
"Not necessarily."
"Fine, then I will gladly answer anything you ask here. I am happy to cooperate."
The first officer, whose name I had been unable to read yet, returned to the discussion. "We need to take you to the station in order to establish your involvement in this incident."
/> I glared at him, and I read "Matthews" on his silver nameplate. "I will be happy to follow you to the station."
Burns responded, "No, why don't you ride into town with us?"
"I don't think so. This is a BMW. I don't really want to leave it on the highway.”
"It will be fine here. We can have it towed if you like, but it will be later today before you get it."
"Hope you know this is a waste of time. I plan on calling my lawyer before I answer any questions."
The two deputies remained quiet as they placed me in the backseat. Luckily, I was saved the indignity of being cuffed.
Fifteen minutes passed since I hung up with Tom, and we were pulling into the parking lot in front of the station. Tom would be here shortly if he wasn't already. I couldn't wait. I am not immensely comfortable being a guest of Hellenston's finest.
My escorts walked me to the same room where I had talked with Mandy yesterday.
"Sit down here for a minute," Matthews ordered.
"I need to call my lawyer."
"Don't worry. You can." The door shut and then clicked as it locked. I sat down and pondered my current situation. I had a funny feeling that I had been intentionally placed in this predicament. The police had responded rather quickly to the murder of Leigh Rozen. It took at least ten minutes to get from the station to the trailer. Even if the
officers were on patrol it would take a few minutes to arrive unless they were already in the area.
It seemed rather obvious that whoever called the police was most likely the perpetrator himself. I would further venture a guess that he had seen me and my car. The officers must have had a description of my car, or else why come after me. It was feasible that a neighbor had called the police if they saw me leaving the scene. However, that
would also indicate that they would have known that something was amiss to find me suspicious.
No, it seems only logical that whoever shot Leigh Rozen in the head was close enough to see me. The real question was, "Where was he hiding?"
Luckily for me, if the murderer was the one calling the police, then it was highly unlikely that he would bother testifying against me.
Things were beginning to take a little form, at least in my opinion. The door opened, and a tall, skinny man walked into the room. I recognized him immediately as Scott Gaither. Gaither had been a deputy when I left ten years earlier. Apparently, he had finally made it to the sheriff. He was in his mid-thirties with dark auburn hair and a matching mustache. He had been an honest cop, at least ten years ago. Though his honesty had little to do with his attitude about me.
"Maxwell Sawyer, this is indeed a treat." Gaither swung the door shut.
"How's it hanging, Scott?" I leaned back in my chair.
"Not too bad. So, Sawyer, what are you doing back in town? I thought you were off living on daddy's money."
"Can't a guy get homesick?"
Gaither leaned forward, "You've heard the saying, 'You can never go home again.'"
"So I hear," I sat up straight. "Well, tell me Scott, what it is that I can do for you?"
Gaither stood and paced around me, "What you were doing out at Leigh Rozen's place?"
"Where is my attorney?"
"I believe that he will be here shortly."
I folded my hands together, allowing my fingers to cross, and I rested my chin on my thumbs. My elbows rested on the table. “I suppose that unless you wish to chat about the Razorbacks or the weather, then we can wait for him to arrive."
I broke my gaze at Gaither and stared at the wall. He nodded to the officer behind me, who immediately exited the room.
"Just so you know," he sat down across from me, "I have a witness that saw your car at the trailer."
"How about this heat? Awfully hot for October, huh?"
"That's okay, Sawyer. We don't have to talk now. But I figure you were trying to cover up for your girlfriend. I hope you don't mind being able to sit behind bars."
"So, what do you think of the Hogs this year? I bet they will be able to make it all the way. But it’s only October. Probably too early for anyone to count their chickens."
Gaither became silent, obviously annoyed. I leaned back and propped my feet on the table. The room was very silent for several minutes before the door opened, and Tom walked into the room.
Gaither looked slightly relieved, "Can we get started now?"
"That would depend. What are you holding Mr. Sawyer on?"
"Suspicion of murder. I just want to ask him a few questions."
Tom looked at me, and I gave him a shrug.
"Okay," Tom replied sternly, "however, if you get out of line, Scott, I will not allow him to answer."
"Fine," Scott came back before turning to me, "Mr. Sawyer, why were you at Leigh Rozen's place?"
"Was I? I don't even know Mrs. Lofton."
Tom looked at me sharply, as Gaither raised an eyebrow.
Gaither, who had obviously noticed my verbal lob across the net, chose to ignore my remark for the present. "We received a call reporting a shooting. The caller identified your car and yourself as leaving the premises. Care to explain why you were there?"
Tom shook his head, "He doesn't have to answer that."
"No, Tom, that's okay. I am going to have to stick to my story. I have a feeling someone is pulling your leg, Scott. Who is your witness?"
"I am not about to tell you who my witness is." Gaither stood as defiantly as he could.
"Fine, I will be glad to see his statement, or at least let Tom peruse it for validity."
"That will take some time." Gaither's stance wavered.
"I can imagine. I think that I have tired of this chat. Can we go, Tom?"
Tom stood, "Scott, do you intend to book him?"
Gaither shook his head, "Not yet."
I stood to leave, and Gaither grabbed my arm, "Don't worry, Sawyer. When I find my witness, you'll be back here."
"Scott, you forget yourself. You said 'find'"
Gaither countenance flashed annoyance at my observation of his slip.
"Aren't you a little curious about what happened to Ms. Roz...Mrs. Lofton?"
"Not really, I didn't know her," I said as I exited the room. Then I turned, "but if I were to guess, I would have to say someone put a very hot piece of lead through her head."
I turned and followed Tom out the door.
Outside Tom decided to scold me, "You are walking a thin line. Care to share some of the details with me."
"I suppose I could share some of the details over a cocktail. Your treat."
"No problem," Tom laughed, "I'll be sure to expense it."
We ventured across the square to a small pub that had opened since my last visit. The inside was a bit gruff by Memphis standards, but for a small town, it was really rather nice.
We found a seat at the bar, and Tom started, "Okay, let's hear it. What happened at the trailer?"
I ordered a Maker's Mark on the rocks, "I was there twice today. Earlier around 12:30, I had a talk with her. Scoped her out a bit. You know, asked a few questions, bought some drugs, turned down her sexual offers, and left."
"You didn't actually buy drugs?"
"You bet your sweet bippy I did. Luckily I had the good foresight to toss them from the car after I found her later."
"When was that?"
"About 3:30. Just a few minutes before I called you."
Tom sipped a cold Budweiser, "I did some quick checking before I came down. The sheriff's department got the call at 3:34. A second call came through describing you and your car."
"911?"
"No, the call went directly to the desk. No caller ID and the caller did not leave his name."
I lifted the bourbon and took a swallow. "Whoever our caller is, he has to be our killer. He was still there when I left. I'm just not sure where."
I glanced at my watch. It was almost seven. "I have a theory I want to check tomorrow, but I need to get back to my car. I have to get some din
ner out to the boat for Mandy."
"So, how's that working out for you?"
"Purely platonic," I smiled.
"Sure," Tom grinned slyly as I swallowed the rest of my drink.
12
Tom drove me back to my car, which was still sitting on the highway. As I approached the car, it was obvious it had been searched. Not surprising, but I wondered who had done the searching.
"I'll see you tomorrow, Tom. I am expecting a package to be delivered to your house sometime in the morning."
"Alright, Max. Be careful, you don't really know what you are getting yourself into. This isn't a game."
"I am always careful."
I drove the Bimmer toward the boat. I stopped at the grocery store and picked up some fresh shrimp and the makings for a fabulous Cajun shrimp Alfredo on a nest of angel hair pasta. I thought Mandy could enjoy a nice meal.
A few minutes passed, and I was walking aboard the boat to find Mandy sleeping on the couch. The television was playing quietly. I found the remote, and the screen went black. I put all the groceries into the fridge.
Mandy slept soundly as I draped a blanket over her. Deciding to put the shrimp on ice, I found some bread and made myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
I munched my sandwich and wandered behind the bar. I shook up a very cold Manhattan and poured it smoothly into a martini glass. With my cocktail in one hand and a sandwich in the other, I walked up to the top deck.
The moonlight ricocheted off the water as it gently pushed past the hull of the boat. The river murmured with the sounds of boats taking fishermen out for their prey.
The upper deck had several comfortable deck chairs scattered across it. On one side was a rocking love seat. I rested slowly and sipped on my Manhattan, mulling over the day. The night was warm and windy, and the stars glittered brightly across the sky.
I often find a little quiet meditation will help soothe the raging bulls running through my head. It only takes a few minutes of silence for me to relax. An hour passed, and my Manhattan had long since been drained.
I sat quietly listening to the sounds of the water splashing against the boat. I was jerked from my symphony of solitude to the unpleasant tones of my cell phone. I jumped to my feet and slid down the ladder on the port side of the deck. I scrambled through the bridge to the counter where my phone was singing loudly.
Blood Remembered Page 5