The Baby Jane Murders

by Pen Avram

  Hendrych was nervously waiting in the foyer. "Where have you been? I was getting worried. You know you shouldn't do that to me. Then I drink too many Martinis."

  "Don't panic, for Christ's sake. I have Sara to look after me. She just saved me from William Tell. Only he was aiming at my face and not at an apple." Kroupa quickly recounted what had happened to Hendrych who was clearly thinking of something else.

  "You’re lucky you're still alive. I hope my adventure won't be so dangerous. It's a woman."

  "What else could it be," Kroupa said, downing his second schooner of Guinness. "What did you do this time? Out with it. Come on."

  "I didn't do anything. It just happened. I was bending over for some olives at Coles when my low blood-pressure, you know – hypotension – overcame me and I fell completely unconscious to the ground. I should have been dead, but instead – I don't know how long I was unconscious – as I was coming back to my senses, I felt my hand touching something warm and smooth. You would not believe what it was." Here Hendrych paused.

  "I don't believe a word of what you've just said. I didn't know you had low blood pressure - with all that Martini. It wouldn’t be the leg of a young woman you felt, would it?"

  "You’re unbelievable. How did you, how could you possibly have guessed?"

  "Intuition, my dear Watson, intuition, and knowing you. We professionals call it deduction. With you it's easy. You’re a regular man, always the same pattern. No exception, always the same Johan Hendrych. That’s what I like about you, the regularity. Let's go back to your adventure."

  "Her name is Angelina, she works at Coles, and I have invited her for high-tea, at which you're going to join us."

  "I guess that you're in trouble, again."

  "What do you mean, again? Promise me you will be a gentleman."

  "Was I ever anything else?"

  "Here she comes,"

  "The silhouette looks promising. Let's wait for the details." Kroupa wondered and was disappointed. The tall shapely figure carried a dull lifeless face; the semblance of life it carried was thanks to the unskilful application of an excessive amount of make-up. Hendrych was also unpleasantly surprised, but he had to go on. He got up to introduce her to Kroupa and then they ordered high-tea for three.

  "I'm glad you invited me. I hope I don't have to foot the bill. You can imagine what we get for our work. What do you do to get your dough?" She looked at Hendrych.

  "Write," was Hendrych's simple answer. He already felt quite embarrassed.

  "Oh, you're a blogger? I never met a real blogger! And you?" She turned to Kroupa who enjoyed his friend's embarrassment.

  "You won't believe this. I’m a real detective."

  "Oh, I don't believe it! A real blogger and a real detective at the same time. The girls won't believe my luck."

  "And you work for Coles supermarket, I understand. How long you have worked there?" Kroupa wanted to put Hendrych at ease.

  "Since I left school. I started at sixteen."

  Hendrych, who’d got his breath back, said, "You must be past your age of consent, so I assume more than two years."

  "Oh, you’re cheeky. Do you want to get personal? Tell me, when you write your blogs, do you use the Internet language a lot? And emoticons?"

  "I don't write blogs and I don't know what you mean." Hendrych's embarrassment returned.

  "You know, like 4YEO, or AYOR. You know, 'for your eyes only', and 'at your own risk'. Very useful, ain't it. Mr detective, you could solve our problems. Instead of playing golf, like the others do."

  At this point Hendrych was red in the face.

  "I’d be glad if you told me your problem." Kroupa was genuinely enjoying himself.

  "Oh, it's corned beef and canned ham, and similar. The boss said there was something what he called pilferage. I think, if you want my opinion, I think somebody is stealing the food. If you're a fair-dinkum detective, you'll find out who." Angelina lost her interest in Hendrych and turned her attention to Kroupa. "Will you do it? I'll help you. I think I know who the thief is. Concentrate on Sharon. She likes corned beef. She likes corned beef and red wine. She told me so herself."

  "How do you know it's stolen?"

  "We have a very clever computer. If anything goes trough the register, it knows it, and when we are low on stock, it reorders it. But we now have no corned beef or ham and the computer doesn't know it. It simply didn't go through the register. It must have been pilferaged. And now we’re also short of coke. We don't sell wine."

  "You mean pilfered.” Kroupa couldn’t resist correcting her English, but he was also becoming interested. “When did it all start?"

  "I don't know exactly, but a few weeks ago they caught two kids stealing at Aldi. They gave them a warning and it stopped for a while. Now it's even worse."

  "Do you know the boys' names?" Kroupa was probing.

  "Wouldn't have a clue about surnames, but their badges say Mark and Greg. They sometimes work here at Coles. They help in the receiving dock, below the car park. Whoever designed this place didn’t know what he was doing. But their names are plastered all over town. They say they're missing. If you want my opinion, some shopkeeper caught them stealing and did them in. Good on him, that's what I say."

  "You’re too tough, Angelina."

  "I'm following the rules of the Bible. You shall not steal, that's what I follow. I have principles. That's all. And if you excuse me now, I'll have some of those nice looking sandwiches and cakes. This is just like in 'The Bold and the Beautiful'." She gobbled up a handful of sandwiches, three cakes, and started to examine her emails and SMSs. "Oh, I have to rush. Thank you awfully for the sandwiches, but I really must run. You'll fix the bill, won't you? See you." And she was gone.

  "Saved by a mobile. Thanks to technology." Hendrych was relieved. "Promise me you'll never mention it again."

  "Why?"

  -------

  At Katoomba police station there were a few young backpackers who came to register for a day trip, a recommended precaution. Nothing unusual. Kroupa assumed that a Senior Constable wouldn't be involved in such a mundane activity. It was really very simple. One produced a photo card or a passport, the details were photocopied, the destination and expected time of return were recorded, and ‘Next’ please. Kroupa joined the queue as he was interested in the procedure. When it was his turn he asked: "May I have a word with Senior Constable Milton? DCI Kroupa. The Senior Constable will know."

  "Is there anything wrong? We follow the same procedure every day and there hasn’t been a single complaint." The Probational Constable asked with a scared look on her face.

  "I observed you and everything was okay. I’m here on another matter. Will you please announce me?"

  "Of course, Detective Chief Inspector."

  Moments later Kroupa was ushered into the spartan office of the officer in charge.

  "Good day, Senior Constable. How do you do?" Kroupa began.

  "How do you do? You can dispense with the niceties and call me Andy."

  "In that case you can call me Rowan. All my friends call me Rowan."

  "My pleasure, Rowan."

  "So, Andy, where do we stand with the fingerprints in the Winterbottom case?"

  "As we expected, there were many latent prints of Winterbottom, some patent - almost plastic prints of Whiteford - you know she had blood all over her hands, the same prints were on the fire-poker, and there were some foreign prints which don't match any exemplar prints on our database. Sorry, I can't help you there."

  "Where were those, the ones they don't match?" Kroupa asked.

  "They weren’t very clear, as you can imagine. The poker is of cast iron and the handle old wood." Milton answered with little interest.

  "Have you any pictures of these? I would appreciate any copies you can give me."

  "No problem. I think they are of Winterbottom's relatives and friends."

  "Were any of them on the phone?"

  "Funny you ask. I don’t think there were
any."

  ---------

  Late in the afternoon in the Hydro the house-phone rang. "Miss Baldwin is down in the foyer asking for you."

  "What is Miss Baldwin's first name?" Kroupa asked, sensing a development. There was a pause and then the voice came back, "Her first name is Angelina. She says she talked to you yesterday."

  "Okay, I'll be down in a minute. Ask her to order something and charge it to me."

  Angelina was sitting at the bar sipping a Bloody Mary, looking around. When she spotted Kroupa she jumped off her bar stool, almost tipping the glass over and called loudly, "Here I am, Mister Detective, come and have a drink with me."

  Kroupa, slightly embarrassed, joined her and ordered his beer. "What brings you here, Miss Baldwin? I didn't except you so early? What news have you brought me?"

  "No news, just a can. Here." She took a Coca Cola can out of her bag. "I thought you might be interested."

  "Why would I be interested in a can of Coke?"

  "Because you wanna find our thieves, don't you? You promised."

  "And how can I find them with your Coke can?"

  "Because of the fingerprints."

  "How and what fingerprints?"

  "This can was standing on the shelf where there are tins of corn. It shouldn't have been there. It shouldn’t have been there; do you understand?"

  "Sort of. Go on."

  "I reckon that the thief wanted to steal it, somebody disturbed him and he put it in the wrong place. You see?"

  "Why do you think we can find the thief with the help of this can?"

  "There must be his fingerprints on it."

  "You didn't handle it?"

  "Sure I did, how else would I bring it to you? My fingerprints will be newer than the thief's ones. I think."

  "The can is a bit warped."

  "It must have fallen somewhere. What about it?"

  "Nothing. I just wondered why you sell warped cans. That's all. Thank you very much for your effort. Here is ten dollars for the coke and your train fare. I’ll keep the can for examination. Now I have to get back to work. Much obliged."

  "What?"

  "Never mind. Have a nice day, Miss Baldwin. Goodbye."

  Angelina hesitantly left and Kroupa took a deep breath, shook his head and let out a loud sigh of relief. "What a dill." He took the can with his two fingers by its top edges and carefully placed it in a plastic bag. It was too tall for it, and he solved the problem by putting another bag over it. Then he rang the editorial office of the local Gazette. "Any interesting stories for the next issue?"

  "Nothing important. 'The ‘Lost Bear gallery' reported a missing dog Nugget, some parents have reported the abduction of their teenage kids Greg and Mark, and there’s a missing talking parrot called Shakespeare, that's all. It’ll all be resolved before we go to print. Have you got anything interesting? Please? What’s new with the Winterbottom case? Did the Whiteford woman do it? It would be a great story. Best friend kills neighbour. Invent something if you have to. Suspicion, possible leads, anything printable. It's a dead season… the kids are off school, there are a lot of public holidays – we’re desperate for stories. When you come up with something... anything, you’ll call me straightaway, won’t you? Please!"

  "With all due respect, it's you who should provide me with information and gossip. After all, you know the people around here. We’ll keep in touch." Kroupa had an idea and headed for Winterbottom's house. The place had been left untouched. He noticed the slanted mirror, unwashed cups and plates, two of each, probably left from previous visits. He wondered if it was Miss Whiteford who had been visiting. He looked around the kitchen and saw an open coke can on the window ledge. It was slightly damaged, as if somebody had unskilfully tried to open it. An old lady with clumsy hands perhaps? However, another damaged coke can was on his mind, namely the present from Angelina. He carefully took the newly discovered can off the window ledge and placed it into another two plastic bags. 'What a coincidence.' He grimaced happily.

  He slowly walked to the hotel, put on a tie and jacket, placed the two coca cola cans in a tote, called Sara, who didn't mind going out, and both set off for the police station in the scorching heat.

  "You wanna see Milton?" the woman behind the counter greeted him.

  Kroupa was surprised by her tone of familiarity. "Senior Constable Milton? Yes, I'd like to see him."

  "Mr Kroupa, how do you do? What brings you here and how can I help you?"

  " Can we go into your office?"

  "Certainly, but it's messy there. I wish I were brought up to be tidy. It's too late now. Not even Mandy can teach me." He smiled at the policewoman.

  Kroupa correctly assumed the Mandy was the young woman behind the counter. He followed Milton to his office.

  "So, what can I do for you?" Milton asked.

  Kroupa carefully took the two cans out of his canvas tote, one full and the other now empty. "Could you please check these cans for fingerprints against the exemplar prints on your database?"

  "Is that all?" wondered Milton.

  "And I would like to have a talk with Sandra Whiteford. Is that possible?"

  "You want to talk to her right now?"

  "If it's possible, yes."

  "If she's not asleep, I guess so. Let me check."

  After a few minutes he returned. "She is in the waiting room, waiting."

  A frail Miss Whiteford was waiting, crouched, her shoulders drooped. Her small figure begged for pity. She shook when she heard Kroupa approaching. He was aware he had to put her at ease, if he wanted to have a meaningful conversation. "Good evening, Miss Whiterord. I am truly sorry for disturbing you so late. I am a detective. Kroupa is my name. Rowan Kroupa."

  "Please promise me you find the person who killed my Trudy," was her plaintive cry in response.

  "I promise you I'll do my best, but I need your help. Can you talk about Miss Winterbottom now?" Kroupa purposely used the family name, to create some distance. He thought that it would make Miss Whiteford’s task easier.

  "If it will help, of course."

  "How long did you know Miss Winterbottom?"

  "We knew each other since she moved here, to Medlow Bath. I’ve always lived here."

  "How many years? Approximately forty or fifty?"

  "Oh, no. Only about twenty or twenty five. You see, some people say that we looked like we were of similar age, but I am twenty-five years older. Trudy looked my age because she was worn out. She used to drink, to drown her memories and sorrows. Trudy was only forty." Miss Whiteford began sobbing again. Kroupa waited patiently until she’d regained her composure, then he asked, "Do you know what troubled her?"

  "No, I don't. It could’ve had something to do with the photograph. You see, for a long time she was normal. We’d talk, but not about the past. Once I asked her if she had any photographs to show me. You know… from when she was younger and before she moved to Medlow Bath. She resisted first, but then she took out an album. It slipped out of her hands and I remember that they were shaking. When it opened up I saw that there were pictures of many people, friends of Trudy embracing each other. And there was a photograph of a baby. I asked who all the people were, as anybody would, but she said she’d forgotten after so many years and didn’t want to remember any more. Then she began to cry so I didn't ask again. Since then I never asked her anything about her past. I always say, 'what you don't know you can't gossip about'. It’s my motto. I guess that there was something in Trudy's life she tried to forget. That's what I think. Trudy was a fine woman; the young ones today will never be like her. I will miss her… I already miss her now."

  "Miss Brunt claims that you argued with Miss Winterbottom. Is that so?"

  "Now that I look back on it, we started to argue after the incident with the photo album. She became very edgy, if you know what I mean, very irritable. She was upset about her irritability, started to take some medicine, and I suggested that we should argue as a game. We would first agree on what we’d argue a
bout. Then I would come over and we’d have some tea. I seemed to help her."

  "And that’s the way the unfortunate day she died played itself out?"

  "Yes and no. I’m sorry, but I didn't play by the rules. Sometimes I really argued and that’s what happened that day. I went back later to apologise, but it was too late." Miss Whiteford was crying, her sobbing muffled her speech. Kroupa again waited, this time for a longer time. Then out of the blue he asked, "Did Trudy like coca cola?"

  "Trudy? She hated it. She told me that she’d never taken illicit drugs or drunk coca cola. She even hated the posters and the way they served it at fast food outlets. She reckoned that all their advertising should be banned. She said that it was a strong poison, which first made people fat and later led to diabetes. It’s weird, but I also remember her saying that people who drank Coke were vulgar. Why do you ask?"

  "Oh, no reason… just a thought." Miss Whiteford seemed not to register what he’d said… she was lost in her memories.