“Yes ma’am. I will, but let me check with the Sheriff before I run off half-cocked.”
“I wouldn’t want you to do anything else. I’m headed by the house, need to check in with Jack, so wait a while before you call or go over there. Don’t want to crowd him too much. He might try to get up and run the show, which from what I hear about his condition; that might just be his last time to run anything.”
Chapter 13
Jack was sitting in a chair on the closed in porch of his house, the sun shining through the glass windows, warming the inside of the room and the people who sat on the porch. He invited Maude and Joe in, and motioned for Ernest to come on in and help drag up some chairs.
It didn’t take long to bring the Sheriff up on the news since there was so little of it. Maude felt as though she was letting him down. He quickly reassured her that no, that wasn’t the truth of the matter. Professionals were harder to catch, but when they bit on the hook, they got caught just as tight as the amateur who made a dozen mistakes during a crime spree.
When Maude mentioned the resort and the reason for the trip there, Jack nodded his head and said he agreed with them. There was something mighty screwy about the victim’s room. He said that the maintenance man on the resort property was a short timer; his job had begun in July after the last man in his job moved on to another company. Jack said he had met the man and found him to be very reticent to talk about his previous addresses.
Leaving Jack’s house, the three lawmen loaded in the Rhodes County vehicle and Ernest drove to Edwards Paradise. The manager, Phillip Pettigrew was a tall man with a large belly who greeted them at the front desk, a questioning expression on his face.
“I thought you folks were through here,” he said. “How do you expect me to rent the place if the guests see cops at every turn?”
“Sorry for the trouble, Mr. Pettigrew, but we’re investigating a murder. We may be here several times. If your clientele are concerned, tell them you pay taxes and get good police response.” Joe was eyeing the cleaning woman who came down in the elevator. “We need a list of all your employees, and their phone numbers.”
“I gave that same list to another deputy already.”
“Good,” Joe said, “It should still be handy.”
Pettigrew nodded but it was obvious he felt put-out. Joe thought he would go ahead and drop the bomb. “We will be investigating some of your staff for theft, maybe even worse.”
There were two maintenance workers, the supervisor and the flunky. Of course that wasn’t his job title, but Joe knew how the stuff rolled downhill. Lowest man got the crappy duty. It was a way of life that carried into business. The maintenance supervisor was a fat man who had trouble bending over. He huffed and puffed with each step. Joe considered asking him if he was okay, if he was having chest pains.
The supervisor’s name was Hector Brown, and had been employed at the resort for five years. He seemed to be on good terms with the rest of the staff, even grumpy Mr. Pettigrew smiled back at the fat man’s greeting.
“Hector, these are law enforcement officers working that homicide case, you know the two people we had in room 409? Please answer their questions quickly and get back to work.”
“Yes sir, I already talked to one deputy, but whatever you say. You folks want to come in the office?”
With a nod at the Pettigrew, the trio left the resort desk and followed the fat man, noting how he managed to be light on his feet carrying all of his bulk. The huffing and puffing man took them on the elevator, down to the basement, and continued until they reached a door at the end of the corridor. Hector Brown pulled a key from his pocket and opened the door, waiting until all three law enforcement officers entered and were standing before his desk.
“I don’t have but two chairs. Sorry, no room to put them in here. As you can see, he said, between huffs, we have a small office. Next door is the tool room where we keep furniture and fixtures as well as parts for toilets and doors, the most abused items in this business.”
Joe insisted on standing, but Maude seated herself across from Hector Brown.
“Were you working Thursday through Monday of last week?” she asked him. He told her that he took the weekends off, so wasn’t there Saturday and Sunday. He said his helper was there Saturday and Sunday, as well as part of the week day schedule. They were on call, so didn’t have to be at the facility on a 24 hour shift.
“This fellow, your helper, what’s his name?”
“Ma’am he has a funny name. Hard for me to pronounce, so I call him Bud. Real name is spelled Wo-jo-hoitz. First name is Theopoles.”
“So, Bud is a new employee that you supervise. Is that right?”
“Yes ma’am,” he said, eyeing her intently. “Do you think he had anything to do with all this?”
“We’re questioning all the employees about their work schedule during the time the victims were here. Don’t be alarmed.” Maude didn’t think Brown was feeling alarm at all; she thought it had more to do with self-preservation. “Back to Bud; how long have you known him, Mr. Brown?”
“About four months, since he came to work here. Never saw him before he showed up ready to go to work. Pettigrew hired him on the spot when he came looking for a job. We had just lost a man in this section and I was pretty desperate.”
“Is he a good worker?” This from Joe. “Does he come to work all the time?”
“Oh yeah, he comes in when I tell him to be here.”
“Friends?”
“Just one. A cleaning girl, Perla Suarez. She doesn’t speak much English, but a good worker. Came here about the same time as Bud.”
“Was Perla working the same days as Bud?”
“Matter of fact, she did that weekend. Why? Do you think they have done something?”
“Just need to know. Can you bring them in here, one at a time? Then you can leave.”
“Good thing. I have some work to do on the second floor.” Hector Brown struggled so hard to walk the corridors Maude couldn’t imagine him actually doing physical work. “Okay. Be careful.”
The first of the employees to come through the door was Perla Suarez. She appeared frightened, wringing her hands. Maude indicated that she should sit down. The woman was young with dark hair, good skin and soft brown eyes. Those eyes kept darting back and forth between Maude and the door to the maintenance room.
“My name is Maude Rogers. I am a homicide detective. The people who stayed in room 409 were murdered and I am going to find out who did it. Perla, what did you do with Jenny Marx’s property?”
Perla became agitated, shaking her head back and forth in denial of the accusation. She managed to look very guilty, keeping her head low, refusing to look at Maude. “No, Perla is a good worker. Perla has madre y padre in Mexico. Send money.”
“Yes, Perla, I understand, Jenny Marx was about your size, and I figure you saw her nice clothes and decided to take them from the room.”
The woman started crying great tears of remorse that fell down her cheeks. “He say I can have dresses and earrings. He say no one cares.” She started the water works again with loud wailing, the sound of a woman losing everything.
“What did you take, Perla? Where is it?”
“In locker. Come, I show you,” eagerly now, wanting to rid herself of the offensive items.
“Perla. Who was the man who told you to take the things from the room?”
The woman started to cry again, and began trembling. “My friend,” she whispered. “My friend, Bud.”
“Ernest, you think you could go with Perla and get the items she took from Jenny Marx’s room?”
“I believe I can do that.” Ernest replied.
“Joe,” Maude said, “Will you bring that fellow Theopoles Wojohoitz in here. We’ll call him Bud to make it simple. And Joe, use caution with this man.”
“Okay, Maude. Will do.”
The man came into the room reluctantly, dragging his heels, a sullen expression on his face. He did
n’t seem afraid, mostly pissed off. Maude sat still, waiting to see if the man was going to try any kind of violence. He could be the murderer for all they knew. In fact, it was likely he killed Aaron Dennis and Jenny Marx with the idea of robbing them and taking the doctor’s car.
“Joe, you want to start this?”
Realizing that Maude was showing her trust in him, Joe nodded and turned on the audio of his phone. “What is your name?” The man said nothing. Once again, “We’re police officers, please identify yourself.” Still, he refused to answer, biting his lip and looking up at the ceiling.
“Why did you kill Aaron Dennis and Jenny Marx?”
The man opened his eyes wide, his expression changing. “No. I didn’t kill nobody.”
“Well at least you can talk,” Joe said. “Now, tell me about robbing the two murder victims. We know you planned it, the girl told us it was your idea.”
“Yeah, well maybe I took some of their clothes and credit cards, but I didn’t kill nobody.”
“Mr. Wojohoitz, you showed up here in July. Where were you before that?”
The man was silent again, but Joe had already seen how to get a response from the man. “What prison were you in before you came here looking for work?”
Maude shifted for a minute, giving Joe a surprised look. She rolled her eyes and nodded, admiring Joe’s technique.
“I, I was in Angola for five years. But I done my time and got out on good behavior.”
Joe wrote in his notebook, catching his breath. He had no idea before he asked the maintenance man about being locked up. He had thrown a rock and hit the guilty dog.
“What did you do that got you five years?”
The sullen man answered, “Assault, burglary, and criminal trespass.”
“All of those?”
“Yeah, all of those. But like I said, I got out on good behavior.”
“So did you live in Louisiana, or were you passing through? That name of yours isn’t usually associated with bayou country.”
“Yeah, I lived there with my mama’s grandma. Grew up on the river bottom. Never had nothing that wasn’t a piece of crap. So I got tired of it. Stole some things from a house that I thought was empty. Turned out it wasn’t. The man that lived there shot me in the foot when I tried to run away then he kept on shooting, trying to kill me. Grabbing at his pistol to stop him from shooting me again was what caused the assault. The butt of the gun hit him in the head while we were wrestling. Little did I know the fool had a silent alarm, that’s how they got me. That and my bum foot.”
“You’re lucky it was your foot.” Joe said.
“That’s what they tell me. Didn’t feel lucky at the time. Still don’t.”
Maude caught Joe’s eye. “Mr. Wojohoitz, can you give me any good reason we shouldn’t think you killed those two and then robbed them?”
“I didn’t do it. Killing isn’t my thing. I’m a thief, not a killer.”
“We’ll see about your history, and then we’ll talk some more. Where’s the stuff that belonged to Aaron Dennis?”
“The sullen look was back. It’s in my truck.”
“Dang, man, no wonder you get caught. Keeping stolen stuff in your truck has to be the stupidest thing I’ve seen a thief do in a while.”
“Joe, would you put some cuffs on this idiot, take him out to his truck, and confiscate the evidence?”
Maude thought about the victims out on the grass lined waterway, emotions under control she considered the guy named Wojohoitz, trying to put him there. He was off work, so getting there would have been easily done by stealing a boat. He was a good-sized man, though not extra-large as they had supposed one of the killers might have been. He needed money, and someone must have paid a large sum to the killers. She and Jack believed there were three killers involved. The maintenance guy could have been one of them. On the other hand, he might be a thief and only that.
They took him back to the Sheriff’s Office along with the girl who kept glaring and sprinkling epithets in her conversation. The man, Wojo, as Maude started referring to him, kept quiet, as though an epiphany had occurred in his head, making him realize he might have already said too much.
Joe was feeling good; he had helped bring Wojo in by getting him to talk about his history. There was a chance the man had been part of the killing crew, and if that was true, the rest of them would not be far behind.
Maude on the other hand was trying to reconcile the huge boot prints with Wojo’s size 11 shoe. But, there were three in the killing crew, so maybe one of the others was the big man. She had a headache and her knees were giving her fits. Something about the dampness of the coast made living with arthritis a painful situation.
She had called Jack, and gave him an update on Wojo, waiting for his opinion. He didn’t give it, just listened to her and said “Congratulations.” There were others who would make the determination if Wojo was guilty, all she could do was bring him in and get him printed and tested. His DNA should match up with the lab’s testing on Jenny Marx, otherwise, they had a thief and a thief only.
There was one more situation that needed looking into: Spillar. The family lived in a rent house at 900 Chicon, the neighborhood a mix of drug sellers, and users, in the midst of families that had too much invested in their homes to leave them. Sometimes Jack, or his deputies, would be in neighborhood once or twice a week, to arrest someone for aggravated assault or burglary of a house.
The front yard of the house at 900 Chicon was trashed. Cans and bottles littered the ground and the wind had blown pizza cartons and paper cups against the once fashionable brick siding. A child’s toy wagon was filled with beer bottles, the pull handle rusted and broken preventing their delivery. Maude took Wojo with her, his hands cuffed behind him, silent in his assessment of the property.
She knocked on the door, her weapon in hand, not sure of what she might find behind the door. The wait seemed a long one while the occupants of the house made themselves more presentable. Maude kept Wojo out of the view of Spillar, hoping for a surprise. Finally, the door opened a crack, and Maude stuck her shield at eye-level with the looker. The door opened a little more, allowing the person with the door knob enough visibility to fully see Maude.
Spillar stood there, his leg in a cast, evidently there was a broken bone involved with his gun cleaning accident. “It’s you. What do you want?” he whispered. “Go away unless you have a warrant.”
Maude pulled Wojo out in front of her, waiting on Spillar to react. “So who is this schmuck? Why the hell you bring him here?”
“You don’t know this guy?” She asked Spillar.
The man looked truly puzzled, “What the hell you trying to pull, old woman?”
Wojo stepped up, “Hey you don’t get to insult her, scumbag. She asked a question, just answer it.”
Spillar began closing the door, “Get a warrant the next time you want to bring one of your buddies to play twenty questions.”
He slammed the door but not before Maude saw the wife and kid inside the room, their faces tear-streaked.
Wojo began walking to Maude’s truck while she followed and eyed the traffic on the street.
“What was that all about? Who is that guy?”
The questions coming from the man would have to wait. At that moment a car was moving down Chicon very slowly, firing a pistol at telephone poles, headed toward 900. Quickly Maude pushed Wojo to the back door of the truck, and told him to get inside fast if he wanted to live. She climbed in the passenger side of the front, and scooted over, keeping her head low, out of sight of the approaching low-rider and its occupants.
“Stay down, Wojo. They haven’t seen us yet. Let’s hope we can avoid trouble.” The car was close, intent on making the front yard of 900 its parking lot. Maude whispered to Wojo who was lying down in the seat.
“I’m going to start the engine before they decide to come over her and break the windows hoping to steal my stereo. So buckle up, we’re going to be leaving.”<
br />
She started the engine, eased the gas down, and steered into the road. When she had cleared the yard of 900 she let the hammer down on the truck and left the neighborhood in a hurry. The car didn’t follow them, but Maude called the Sheriff’s Office, and reported the gunshots on the street. Ray and Lyle were on the way, but would get there after the shooter was long gone. Maude knew her first responsibility was to keep Wojo safe until she arrived at the Sheriff’s office. His hands in cuffs would be a catalyst for trouble with street toughs.
She was glad to see the county building where Ernest and Joe had returned with the four-wheel drive vehicle. Earlier they had dropped her off at her truck with Wojo, not understanding why but not asking either.
“That’s a rough neighborhood and I’m sorry to see that those folks confined to that house. At least they have burglar bars. Spillar is guilty as sin, and we’re going to prove it soon, but I hope there’s time to get his family to leave before the shooter finds him.
Chapter 14
The mood at the Sheriff’s Office the next morning was light, for some believed that Wojo was one of the assassins and the others would be captured soon afterward. Joe was hesitant as was Maude, but Jack had called the office and talked to his staff, informing them that the maintenance man had been arrested. Maude was unconvinced, but she kept quiet, waiting for lab results to prove or disprove some of the theories.
There were reports that needed writing and paperwork by the boxful to be completed, with both agencies needed information from Maude and Joe. An expense account had to be reconciled, or the detectives wouldn’t be paid for their time away from home. A couple small rooms were vacant in the building, and Maude set up her laptop in one and began writing. Joe had his iPad, and used the other room. The deputies had locked Wojo in one of the holding cells, and gave him a sack lunch of two baloney sandwiches, a package of mustard, and an apple. He was busy eating, and complaining about the food.
Murder on Edwards Bay (The Maude Rogers Crime Novels Book 2) Page 15