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

by Linda L. Dunlap

  The call came in about 10:00A.M: shots were fired from inside 900 Chicon Street and people in and around the front yard had responded with answering fire. A holiday for shooters it seemed. Going to that neighborhood two days in a row was not something Maude wanted to do, but there was no choice. The officers had to try to put an end to the violence. There were three county cars that sped off to the location, all officers armed with shotguns, and personal weapons. When they arrived, the people in the yard disbursed to their homes or lairs, to whichever destination held the most safety from arrest.

  All law enforcement officers used the cars for cover with Maude directing them to the side windows of the house and the front door. She and Joe took the back door and made their way under cover of the building and several red leaf photinia bushes bordering the yard. The bushes were in their winter garb, but gave some protection, covering the detectives movements on the way to the back door. Maude remembered a deputy saying that the Spillars had locked themselves in, except for Pizza deliveries at the back door.

  The back yard was more of the same, trash had blown across the yard, and on the back patio several trash bags stood against the siding, the plastic torn in several places where dogs, cats, or raccoons had searched for food. The smell of garbage was one familiar to man and beast. Maude avoided the bags, and made her way to the wall alongside the back door, noting the burglar bars were still in place, but the door was open. Joe looked across the door at Maude, and they both nodded, observing the evidence that someone had been that way recently.

  Rushing a door where gunshots have been heard is not always a safe play; however, there are those times where necessity demands quick action. Three people resided in the Spillar house: the rude, ambushing polecat, his wife, and their child. Strangely enough, dedication to the law would propel most sworn officers into the thick of danger to save the life of any person, even a man of Spillar’s character.

  Maude knew that if she survived another day, the spasms in her knees would be back with a vengeance from low crawling in the yard. The pain made her want to light up an unfiltered and hold it in her mouth, enjoying a last smoke as the bullets began flying. The door greeted her, and she pushed it wide open, entering the kitchen, weapon in hand, searching for armed shooters or victims of the assault.

  In the corner of the room she spied a figure down on hands and knees, bleeding out on the tiled floor, sliding from the position onto her stomach. It was Corrine Spillar, her blood seeping from several bullet holes in her body. She turned her head slightly toward the new person in the room, her dying eyes registering that help had come too late. Maude went to her, and noted the big hole in the woman’s neck, a wound that should have already killed her. The woman lifted her eyes one last time, and stared at the small pantry door behind the side chair. She looked back at Maude once, a plea in her expression. Maude nodded and the mother breathed her last breath into a sigh.

  Joe moved on to the living room, searching for bodies or armed men, and finding none, opened the front door for the deputies to enter. He then began a cautious survey of the small bathroom where a curtain was pulled across the tub.

  A dark shape could be seen through the thin liner and Joe called out, “Police, come out with your hands up.”

  There was silence, and stillness beyond the curtain, no movement telling the tale. Joe move toward the curtain and jerked it across, weapon in hand. Carl Spillar sat in the bathtub, his body leaning against the shower handle, head flopped upon his shoulder with no visible sign of a mouth or chin, just his forehead intact. He was killed on impact for only a small amount of blood had pooled on the floor of tub. The man was naked, his genitals removed, and wrapped around his right hand, a punishment Joe had not seen before in his forensic time with CID. He wondered what the symbolism meant.

  Maude moved the side chair and began speaking in a low comforting voice, informing the little guy in the pantry that she was no threat. She hoped he would remember her from the night at the hospital. The door was hard to open, the hinges old and rusted. The hollow core of the door had scars from feet kicking it closed, the black marks tell-tale. A large bag of government packed flour stood in front of the bottom shelf and Maude had to move it to see the child hidden there, under a faded blue blanket. The boy looked at Maude and began screaming, reaching out to her, possibly remembering her from another time.

  She took the boy from his safe place and held him, patted his back, keeping his eyes turned away from his mother on the floor. Leaving the kitchen as quickly as possible she found the deputies in the living area. “When you call for emergency services, get CPS out here for the boy. They’ll have to find his relatives-maybe his grandmother.”

  No one knew what had started the gunshots outside. Maude assumed it was a group of young men wanting to get into the melee, hoping to make someone notice that they too had weapons and could kill. It was obvious that the shooter in the house had come to destroy the man and his family, but Corrine had protected her son as best she could. It must have been agony when the man was there and the mother was praying the child would not cry out from the pantry.

  She continued to hold the clinging boy, until the advocate from child protection arrived, and took him away. Maude waved at him as he went away, the hundred-yard stare in his eyes the beginning of shock. She made a promise to go and see the child before she left town.

  “Joe,” she said in passing, “I’m going to search for some kind of communication from the shooter to Spillar. Pull his and his wife’s cell phone and see if we can get any numbers off them.”

  “No cells, Maude. We.ve searched, but they aren’t here. Suppose the shooter took them?”

  “How about their computer?”

  “Not one here, but there are wires and connections.”

  “Right now I should start cussing, but I found over the years that doesn’t help. Sound like he thought of everything, but there must be something he didn’t find. Send all the deputies along their way, I’m going to search this place until I find something. Appreciate it if you would stay and help.”

  “What are we looking for?”

  “Notes, instructions, receipt; any kind of communication that would point to the Edwards Bay murders.”

  “Got it. I’ll start in the bedrooms.”

  “Okay, I’ll start in the kitchen and meet you in the middle.”

  The kitchen cabinets were covered in powders from overturned spices and canisters, a few dishes out of place, and some broken glassware lay on the shelves. The countertop was the same; disheveled items, broken plates in the sink from an impatient search. On top of the cabinets a thin layer of dust was all that could be found. The freezer of the refrigerator held some ice trays; bottles of mustard, ketchup, and a jar of pickles sat on the refrigerator shelves. The things kids like.

  The trashcan was empty, its previous contents scattered on the floor along with a month old newspaper, some dried pizza slices, and a tiny man sitting in a plastic racecar. She picked up the toy and put it in her pocket before leaving the room. Corrine Spillar’s blood had cooled, beginning to darken.

  The dining room was an afterthought, a small space added to hold a table and four chairs in the way that housing projects were often built. The ‘projects’ were the Federal/City Housing offered to low, and no income residents of the city. The Spillars had to qualify financially to be accepted there, thus Maude knew they had very little money. The man probably took the job working with the killing crew to make some quick money. It backfired on him and his wife, as those kinds of shady deals so often do.

  She wanted to know what part Spillar played in the assassination; she believed him to be a bit player for he had appeared to be out of his league. His behavior at the hospital was not smooth at all, putting Maude on his trail. A professional would have had his story straight, built to gain sympathy from those asking.

  The living area, with its obligatory couch and chair, faced a small television set against the wall, the window next to it covered wi
th aluminum foil to block the sun. The bookshelves on the wall were empty except for a few Sci-fi that had been turned inside out, the pages lying loose across the wooden shelf. A well-worn copy of Outbound by Sonya Craig lay upside down on the old shag carpet.

  There was nothing there to indicate Carl Spillar had any contact with the killing crew. Maude wasn’t surprised, but she had been hopeful that there was something to be found.

  “Nothing, Maude, but someone sure made a mess of the place.”

  “I know. The kitchen’s a disaster.”

  “Let’s get out of here,” she said. Time to eat.”

  “My vote.” Joe said, opening the front door to exit the house.

  They chose a restaurant that boasted a salad bar and a sign that read: ‘All you can eat for $7.99.

  “That looks good to me, I’m starving. I missed breakfast, you know.” Joe said.

  The restaurant was crowded, with some uniformed officers from the highway patrol and a sprinkling of construction workers from the building across the street. One of the local banks had begun construction of a new building on their lot a few weeks ago. The menu was everything a person could think of with waiters carrying cups and glasses to tables and taking soiled dishes away as the guests emptied them and went back for more.

  Sitting at the table afterwards, the detectives talked about the last two days, of Wojo and the impact he might have on the case. They wondered if the slaughter at the Spillar’s house had anything to do with Wojo’s arrest. Maude didn’t think so, but she waited to see how Joe would play it. She had found that his instincts were good and she liked hearing what he had to say about the cases they were assigned or stuck with.

  “You know, Maude, I’m not too sure of Wojo’s connection to the murders. He’s a thief, no doubt, but I don’t really see him as a murderer. Do you?”

  “Hard to say, Partner, but my gut tells me he’s not. We have to play this out until the lab reports come back, but I don’t think he did it. Spiller pretty well convinced me of that.”

  “I guess we’ll get some kind of validation soon,” Joe added. “You ready to go?”

  Chapter 15

  The big man leaned back with the longneck in his hand, a pleased smirk on his face. The screw-up was no longer a threat and he got what he had coming, the added insult, his prick wrapped around his hand as all screw-ups lived with their prick in their hand instead of taking care of business. It was too bad about the woman-hadn’t meant to kill her right off. Hoped to play with her a little while the screw-up watched, but it didn’t happen that way. She started screaming, telling the neighborhood the personal business in the house. Too bad, he thought, she had a nice body before he blew all the holes in it.

  The Econoline van was empty except for the big man; he had borrowed it from the boss because his connection was tight and allowed for a few privileges. Like that girl on the water, now that was a benny. The big man was loyal to any boss who paid him good money and did what he was told, never overstepping authority; but a smart man had to be able to make decisions based on experience.

  The screw-up’s death was one of those decisions. Getting rid of that liability had made the big man feel good. What a brilliant move; firing from the house into the house next door where a low-rider was parked. Within five minutes of the shot, the yard was filled with wanta-bees pulling their pistols; it took the pressure off the big man who finished his business and slipped away. Smart moves like that were why the Boss was paying him big money.

  Searching the house had done no good at all; there was nothing there. A thinking man would have kept something to use for leverage, but not the screw-up. He was too busy being an ass to think ahead.

  The day after the job it was no dice finding Spillar at his house. He was hiding out so the big man had gone back to the park to find him. The stupid screw-up had left his pick-up parked in plain sight and started shooting at him. What a loser, making him use his spare gun. The big man shot at Spillar then that prissy woman and the sheriff showed up and started shooting too. His van was tucked away and he ran to it, staying away from the lawdogs, but bullets came his way so he popped off a round or two then got the hell away from the park. He thought he put a bullet in the screw-up, but it might have been the sheriff.

  The big man parked the van in the lot of the motel, choosing to stay over instead of driving back to Houston just to pay his crew. He thought he would get some dinner, go to a bar, bring some wild woman back with him; have a little of his kind of fun. Tomorrow he had to be back home, get ready for his job the next day, working for the shipyard, the cover for his income. He had never worked for the Boss before, but the money was good, real good, and the Boss was about to discover Leroy’s talents for dealing with screw-ups and worthless trash. He had earned his reputation.

  The motel was just his style, nothing glitzy, just clean with a decent bed and a coffee pot in the room. He always parked his van close to the room for a quick getaway. The owner of the motel was some half-breed that looked him over good, and he got it right back. The fool thought he could scare him into a higher charge, he had another think coming.

  The lawdogs around town were just as stupid, couldn’t fight their way out of a paper bag. He’d heard that some out-of-towners were sticking around, helping out, but that didn’t worry him. They had no idea who he was or what he was capable of-they would certainly find out if they came after him.

  Jesus Jones was up and at his business of running a motel, keeping his eyes open for the police, especially Ms. Maude. He was fond of her. She didn’t treat him like an idiot; respected what he had to say. He wanted to talk with her when she came back. Something about his new resident he didn’t care for. Meanwhile, he would keep his eye on him.

  Jack Fuller sat alone in his house. Sarah was gone to the grocery store, stocking up on his favorite food-Captain Crunch. Ever since he was a kid and his daddy would buy a box of the sweet cereal he had loved it. Usually took it in a sandwich bag for snacking-the best way; sometimes he took his favorite bowl out of the cabinet, filled it up with cereal and milk, maybe more than once. That would be his meal, even if it was at night. Jack had never shared his obsession for Captain Crunch with anyone but Sarah, who always kept an extra box in the pantry. One time she told him it was something she did to show she loved him.

  Jack had a King Edward, rolling it around in his mouth, enjoying the taste, intending on firing it later. Right then he was soaking up the porch sunshine. It was cold out there, but Jack was getting back to feeling good. His shoulder was healed enough to get out of the house and get back to work, but the surgeon had warned him it was too soon to be active. He could sit at the desk, but that was all. Jack had grumbled a little, but the idea of sitting at the desk was so much appealing than it was to hang out at home, gaining weight from indulging in his favorite snack. Tomorrow he would return to his chair in the Sheriff’s Office.

  The puzzling part of those murders out there on the lake was the why of it. Why follow those people out there, to chance getting cold and wet, when it would have been a simple thing to kill them in that cute little Mercedes, or sneak up on them in that round bed and blow them to bits? Now that was a question.

  Ernest was coming around later to bring the reports by so he could catch up. Maude had called about the Spillars, and told him she was going by the hospital later to see the kid. He hoped she didn’t have any trouble getting in. He figured he could help out there by calling Mary Ann Wilson, the lady who was the advocate for the kids who lost parents through violent crime.

  That gave him something to do for a few minutes, making him feel more useful. He sure missed working with Maude Rogers. Now that was one fine woman. Good-looking too, not that it mattered to him, but it was the truth. He had told Sarah all about Maude so she wouldn’t get any crazy ideas, but Sarah didn’t know Maude and how concerned she was about doing the right thing. Might not be the proper thing, but it would always be the right thing when you put it up beside wrong. He was grateful that
such a person was on his side, helping out with the crimes in his county.

  This Wojohoitz fellow, somehow he didn’t fit the profile for that kind of killer, but sometimes they could surprise you by turning a corner. We’ll wait and see about the evidence and what it tells us.

  The cigar was finally lit, a treat that Jack allowed himself once a day. He didn’t drink alcohol, but oh my, he did love his King Edward cigars. He was in the same place when Sarah came home, loaded with groceries and a box of Captain Crunch.

  The hospital was busy as it always was at that time of day, people getting off work going to see their friends and loved ones. Maude stopped at the desk to ask the receptionists for the Spillar boy’s location. The man at the desk eyed his coworker and relayed the information to her after seeing the instructions from Mary Ann Wilson.

  Maude wondered how she was received so quickly, and allowed access to the room, but not wanting to question good fortune, she kept quiet and followed the directions given. The boy was on the second floor, not a serious problem, more of a general welfare overnight stay. She found the door closed, knocked lightly then entered. The sad-faced little guy was sitting up in bed by himself, staring at the television screen’s animated program. When he saw Maude he brightened considerably.

  “Hey Brian, I came by to give you something and I’ll bet you’ve been missing it.” She pulled the small car out of her pocket and passed it to the boy, then waited to see if she had scored.

  “Thank you. This is my toy. Where did you get it?”

  “I just found it and knew it was yours. I was looking for some other stuff while I was there and your toy jumped up and said, “Take me to Brian.” She got a short giggle from the boy and was glad for her foolishness.

  “What did you look for?” the boy asked, rolling the wheels of the toy back and forth on his hands.”

  “Oh, just some papers your mom might have tried to hide before the bad man came.”