Murder on Edwards Bay (The Maude Rogers Crime Novels Book 2)

by Linda L. Dunlap

“Deputy Black, will you call me when Sheriff Jack wakes up?” she said. “I need food, and the hospital cafeteria seems to be closed. I’ll write the number of my cell phone down for you. The deputy nodded and sat back in the chair at the door of Jack’s room.”

  The nearest place to get anything to eat was a Taco Mucho about a block from the hospital. Maude made her way there in Jack’s pickup, and ordered food to go. She went back to the hospital and sat in the waiting room, getting ready to eat her food. A kid about five years old had been left by his mom when she went to the desk, and the kid was staring hungrily at Maude’s tacos.

  “What are you looking at? Are you hungry?” she asked the kid. He was small, with buzzed black hair and little glasses on his round face. From his chubby legs she could tell he was well-fed.

  “Yes.” The kid told her. “I am starving.”

  “Well go ask your mama if you can have a taco.” She said, reluctantly, hating to give up her favorite food.

  The kid left and was gone for a minute, then returned with a big smile on his face. “My mama said I can.”

  “Well, here” she said, handing over one of her two food items. “Don’t forget to say thank you.”

  The kid snatched the taco, and ran back to his mama, the idea of thanking anyone for food a foreign thought. In a minute, prodded by his mother, the kid came back and said, “Thank You.”

  “Where’s your daddy?” Maude asked the kid, between bites. “Is he in the hospital?”

  “Yes. He shot his leg.” The kid answered.

  “He shot his leg?” she asked, her radar going off. “Uh-huh.” The kid said, between bites. “He was cleaning his gun cause he went hunting.”

  “Where is your mama?” Maude asked, even though she believed the dark-haired woman at the desk was his mother.

  “That’s her.” The boy pointed to the woman at the desk.

  “Say, are you a mom or a dad?” the boy asked Maude, looking her over with undisguised curiosity.

  “Neither, I don’t have kids. If I did, I would be their mom.”

  The woman at the desk had finished the paperwork for insurance, and was waiting for the clerk to bring her copies. She was a tall woman, dark-skinned, with sharp brown eyes, medium length permed hair, and a thin-lipped smile. Maude noticed immediately that the woman was trying to avoid any conversation with her.

  “Excuse me, but I wonder if I could ask you a few questions about your husband’s injury?” Maude asked politely, but firmly, showing her badge.

  “I don’t know anything.” She said quickly.

  “Your husband is here in surgery, right?”

  “Well…yes. Why do you want to know?”

  “I have a friend who also had surgery a short time ago. He was shot by some polecat down by the lake. I need to know if your husband knew anything about that shooting.”

  The woman bristled. “My husband had an accident cleaning his gun. I resent your implication that he had anything to do with your friend’s injury.”

  “My apologies Mrs.…?

  “Spillar, Corrine Spillar.”

  “My apologies Mrs. Spillar, but I wasn’t accusing your husband of anything. I thought maybe he was down at the lake, and had seen something going on around sunset. Does your husband have a pickup?”

  “Yes he does. And I am sorry I overreacted. He has a brown Ford 150, and that is what he drives everywhere.”

  “Do you know if he was near the lake tonight?”

  “Yes, I think he might have been.” Corrine Spillar had eased up when Maude explained that she wasn’t about to go arrest her husband.”

  “Do you know which part he goes to when he out? Does he fish, or is he hunting for something. I am trying to think why he would be out at that time of the evening with a loaded gun. I can’t imagine him cleaning his gun outside. Any ideas?”

  Corrine closed down again, realizing she might have already put her foot in her mouth. “I have to go, I’m sorry. If you have any more questions, talk to my husband.” With that said the woman picked up her purse and yelled, “Brian, come here. We’re leaving.” She grabbed the boy by his hand and headed out the door. The little guy turned and waved at Maude then stuck out his tongue as a farewell gesture.

  She leaned over the desk and asked the receptionist about Carl Spillar’s condition. She was quickly told that unless she was family, all information was privileged. Maude pulled her badge, and rephrased the question. “Miss Rogers,” the woman said “I’m sorry, but I have to follow the rules. My boss is in his office if you want to talk to him.”

  “Yes, I would like that, point me the way,” Maude said.

  She ran her request by the night manager of the hospital, and after clearing the way, entered the room where Carl Spillar lay, recovering from surgery. He appeared to be alert, watching a television program.

  “Mr. Spillar? Wonder if I might ask you a few questions about your gunshot wound?

  “Who are you? Get the hell out of my room.”

  “Maude Rogers, Homicide Detective, working with Sheriff Jack Fuller on a murder case. No need for profanity.”

  “Like I said, get the hell out of my room. You want to talk to me, get a warrant and arrest me. You cops are all the same. Genuine pieces of crap.”

  Maude had listened to enough, but she knew there wasn’t probable cause to arrest the man.

  “Mr. Spillar, I told you there was no need for profanity. You have every right to object to questioning if I’m not going to arrest you. I will leave you to your suffering.” With that, Maude left the room, fuming, but pleased with herself that she didn’t lose her temper.

  Wonder how long this new improved me is going to last? I would have enjoyed using pliers to pull out all the hair on his backside, one at a time. Sure acts like he has something to hide or he’s had some bad run-ins with law enforcement. Either way, I mean to follow up on it. Just think, Mr. Spillar, you could have been rid of me really fast, with a little courtesy. Now I am obliged to look into your life.

  The corridor was long, the tiles on the floor brightly shined, wax-like, reflecting the stainless steel fixtures on the doors. Maude admired the newness of the large building meant to serve the entire county, and outbound if necessary. She stopped in-stride and spoke to one of the nurses assigned to the floor, immediately pulling her shield, inserting authority in her next request.

  “My name is Maude Rogers, a homicide detective working with Sheriff Jack Fuller on a recent case. I need to talk to the doctor who performed the surgery on Mr. Spillar.”

  “That would be Doctor Jeffries, but he’s making rounds right now.” The nurse replied.

  “Are you Mr. Spillar’s nurse today?”

  “Yes, I am for the next few hours.”

  “Have you noticed anyone visiting Mr. Spillar tonight after he had surgery?” Might as well shoot for the big one, Maude thought.

  “I can’t answer that. I’m sorry, Detective, hospital rules.”

  “You think I could find Dr. Jeffries on this floor, or where might he be about this time?”

  “He should still be here. Try the third floor. And I really am sorry that I couldn’t help you Detective Rogers.”

  The woman seemed contrite, wishing she could be a part of the action involving a notorious patient. Her job was usually spent taking people to the bathroom, checking blood pressure, and adjusting pillows. Maude thanked her and started to the elevator bank, headed to the third floor.

  “Wait just a minute, Detective, the nurse whispered. I shouldn’t be telling you this but I saw a man in the lobby just a little while ago before I started work for the night. He was looking for that man, Mr. Spillar. I don’t know where he went after that.”

  “Thank you, Nurse. Remember anything about him?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do. What got my attention to begin with was his attitude. He wanted to know about the patient’s condition, and got belligerent with the admissions people when they refused to give him any information. He was about thirty
or thirty-five, bald, tall, big, wide shoulders, dark skinned, like he works outside. I went on about my business after the man settled down and left the building. Does that help any?”

  “I don’t know yet, Nurse…James, I see your name tag. I can’t say what will help, but I appreciate the information.” Maude nodded to the woman then proceeded upstairs, hoping to find the doctor.

  When the elevator stopped, Maude stepped outside and stood for a minute, extracting her note book from the inside pocket of her jacket. She wrote down the latest description from Nurse James and added it to the information she had written so far concerning the murders on Edwards Bay. A recounting of the shooting in Jackson Park was written there also. She always made it a priority to get her field notes down before forgetting any of it.

  The rooms lining the corridor were broken up by interesting desk/counters where the nurses and doctors did the computer input of their own notes. Maude went to one of the men in blue scrubs and asked if he could direct her to Doctor Jeffries. The tech was busy on the computer, typing fast, his attention entirely on the job before him.

  “Excuse me, but I asked if you know about Doctor Jeffries location. That was not my stomach grumbling, but an actual person talking.”

  The tech continued his work, lifting one hand and waving Maude off in the ‘just a minute way’ that busy or arrogant people have, but she was up to her ears in being nice. Leaning over the desk she put both hands on the computer screen and lifted it off away, out of reach of the busy typist.

  “Hey, what do you think you’re doing?”

  “Trying to get your attention. I thought about knocking your ears together but the newer, gentler Maude Rogers is trying to stay away from such direct methods. Now do you think you can tell me where Doctor Jeffries can be found, or do I need to get a good hold on those ears?”

  “Uh, yes ma’am. He’s, uh, in room 310, uh, can I have my computer back?”

  “Thank you for your help,” she said, removing her hands from the terminal. Leaving the desk, Maude shook her head, and chuckled, “I get em’, don’t I?

  Chapter 6

  Doctor Jeffries was indeed in room 310, preparing with gloved hands to check the dilation progress of a pregnant woman’s cervix. Maude opened the door to find the doctor’s hands busy, holding the woman’s legs down, trying to perform the dilation check at the same time.

  When she walked in the doctor spoke to her. “Since you’re in here, put some gloves on and give me a hand holding this woman on the table.”

  Maude was fairly well speechless, but did as she was told and gloved up, placing herself at the foot of the narrow bed, near the woman’s feet. She grabbed for the restless ankles and prepared to hold them, but it was like trying to hold a bucking horse. Meanwhile, the busy doctor performed his check, half in the air and half on the bed, in time with the pregnant woman’s labor spasms.

  “You’re about ready to go to the operating room.” he told his patient. “About ready to have that baby.” He removed his gloves and at that time remembered Maude at the end of the bed.

  “Thanks,” he told Maude, “sorry to be giving orders, but the patient came first.”

  “Well, I’ve had worse duty,” she told him. “But I can’t say I ever did this before. Name’s Maude Rogers, homicide detective, working with Sheriff Jack Fuller. Wonder if I might ask you a couple of questions as soon as I get these gloves off. Usually the bodies I get hold of aren’t moving,” she added as an afterthought.

  “I only have a minute, but since you were so helpful, I’ll walk with you to the elevators, and you can ask your questions?”

  “Thank you Doctor Jeffries. I’m working a case that happened earlier in the week, but it may have to do with someone you did surgery on earlier. A man named Spillar, nasty temper. What I need is that bullet you took from him. Did you keep it?”

  “Yes Detective, that’s a hospital rule, we always keep the bullets, we never know when the police may need them. The hospital requires a writ from the court.”

  “I understand, but do you suppose you could tell me the caliber of the bullet? Or are you allowed?”

  “I don’t see any reason I can’t tell you. It was a .45 caliber, and in good shape if that will help you any.”

  “No, that doesn’t help much, though that information might clear Mr. Spillar in a murder case. He is a thoroughly rude, nasty man at heart. What about the bullet from my friend Sheriff Jack Fuller? ”

  “I’m sorry, Detective, I didn’t do his surgery, but I heard it was a .38 caliber.”

  Maude stepped into the elevator and punched the fifth floor button where she had been told Jack was recuperating after surgery. She figured Spillar had shot Jack, but she couldn’t prove it, not without finding the gun.

  One more stop, then sleep, she thought, stifling a yawn.

  Jack Fuller lay on his side snoring loudly, producing an occasional, loud fart; unaware that Maude stood and gazed down at him. She decided to leave him to his rest and made her way to his truck parked in the Emergency parking lot.

  She tip-toed into the Tyler’s house, using the key they had lent her, determined to be a considerate guest and avoid waking them. The hands on the mantle clock showed the time to be after 2 A.M, and Maude felt it in her sore knees and hips. She sat down at the small desk in the chair provided, turned on her computer, and searched gmail.com for any information that her partner Joe might have sent back. Her earlier request was for anything he could find on Aaron Dennis or Jenny Marx, but that was before the two were found dead together. Recent incidents had upgraded the request to priority. There were a couple of ads from a company that wanted her to buy land in Florida, as well as a time share offering a cruise with absolutely no obligations. She immediately deleted both, and turned off the terminal.

  Tossing and turning, she was unable to sleep without nightmares of large water birds swooping down from a purple sky waiting to mangle then eat her. She finally threw the covers away, and put her shoes on, grabbed her unfiltereds and the small gin bottle from her suitcase then made her way to the back deck. It was quiet outside, with lights along Edward’s Bay shining in the distance. She lit her first cigarette of the day and inhaled the smoke, determined to continue the cut-back. Her lungs were already providing more air when she was active, a response that both pleased and surprised her. A couple of swigs of gin and she saw the world in a better light.

  The details of the case had been worrying her rest; Maude’s normal reaction in high stress. Seeing Jack with the injury to his shoulder had made the earlier crimes more personal, the assassins playing with law enforcement officers. She looked over her book to see if any of it made more sense in the undisturbed night.

  Doctor Dennis was involved in hush-hush government work and Jenny Marx was his girlfriend, a student who was majoring in medicine. The connection between them seemed a simple one, yet it led nowhere. If the doctor had enemies, why include a young woman who had her life ahead of her? Was it revenge, a payback to Doctor Dennis for something he had done, or someone he had an argument with? Once again, why the girl? The killers had made it appear that the girl was being punished for something, or shamed? Maybe she wasn’t supposed to be with the doctor. Jealousy? Ambition? Maude thought about all of the reasons that could have led to the slaughter of the two people, but nothing clicked.

  A quarter-moon was high in the heavens, giving off a weak light just bright enough for Maude to see the privacy fence that encircled the Tyler’s property. She appreciated again the courtesy to a stranger that Bear and Andrea had offered, vowing to keep their lives separate from the deaths of the two people from the university.

  Daylight came quickly, a harsh fact to Maude who had been awake most of the night and early morning. Groaning from the effort, she pulled herself out of the bed and made the necessary trip to the bathroom, stretching her long body and bending to touch her toes to loosen the stiff joints in her upper torso. The activity caused her head to explode-or so she thought, the gin of the e
arly morning hours taking its toll; the familiar headache mallet slamming her temples.

  Her preoccupation with the thought of cancer had created rituals for Maude, regardless of aches and pain: the morning breast exam once a week in the shower, the search for irregular moles on her body, and the application of sunscreen before she left for outside, all those and others were on her mind along with the concerns for the current case.

  Maude’s mother, Grace Hamilton, had died at the age of fifty-five from breast cancer, a condition of genetics that crept up and blind-sided her with its severity.

  The mirror was unkind that morning, the glass reflecting the ravages of a sleepless night. Maude looked closely at her face, wondering why she still had freckles on her nose. She smiled for a minute, remembering that Bill had commented that her freckles were sweet spots on her skin. He added a caveat that something about her ought to be sweet.

  The memory of the last time she had seen him was sharp in her mind. He lived in Philadelphia, had family there: kids, grandkids, a cemetery full of relatives that had lived their long and short lives in Pennsylvania. His wife had been buried in that cemetery and he had always planned to be there too, until he met Maude. Then his life seemed to take a different track.

  Old isn’t dead, she thought that morning. There was still plenty of time for a relationship if she would allow it to develop. Bill’s words, words that had turned her head, bringing back emotions she thought had gone forever.

  At the innocent age of twenty, Maude had fallen head over heels in love with a young dark-haired man named Paul Rogers. She married him then he went to war in Asia, along with thousands of other young men. He left her pregnant, and happy in the joy of starting a family; she believed that her future was set, and he would return shortly. Three months later, both her husband and her child were gone; the first to the war, and the second to a miscarriage that finished breaking her heart. She grieved, then went to work, finished her degree, and put it all behind her, or so she thought.

  For years Maude ached for her losses, but refused to give in to grief and loneliness, choosing instead to look for outrageous ways to combat her pain. She became daring, working in a police department, putting herself at risk unnecessarily; searching for the answer to her sadness. Afterwards, she went wild, living the free-love life of California for years before the pain finally stopped.