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

by Linda L. Dunlap

  It was good to see Bill the next morning, unchanged in appearance from the first time she had seen him in Philadelphia. His hair was a little bit longer, but the mustache, wide mouth and strong chin were the same. Maude looked into Bill’s brown eyes and saw his delight in being there. She smiled at him, and her heart gave a little flutter when he smiled back. Funny, she thought, how that man made her feel like a girl again.

  Bill’s arms wrapped around her, squeezing her as if he never wanted to let her go, and she liked that. She liked most things about Bill, including the pure goodness that seeped from him, covering anything that physical aging had done. He was a treasure; that was for sure.

  “Bill, you hungry?” She asked when they finally got his bag loaded and into her pick-up. “I made one of the two dishes that I’m good at-beef tacos-and cold beer to wash them down with. Kind of early for lunch, but I missed breakfast. What do you say? She asked, noticing the warmth of his hand on her right knee.

  “Yeah. I could eat. Unless you have a better idea,” he said.

  Maude gave him a look that he already knew was coming, but she surprised him with a grin. “We’ll see how you talk at the end of this trip. Old fellow like you might be crying calf-rope.”

  Bill almost fell over laughing with her response. “I might at that Maudie girl, I might at that.”

  The weekend went too fast for her, and before she knew it, they were sitting in her pick-up at the airport. Bill leaned over and kissed her on the cheek.

  “Something I want you to think about while I’m gone. There’s a company not too far from here, makes computer chips, parts. Friend of mine knows the CEO and put in a good word for me. They want to hire me to run their security. What would you think about me moving down to Texas? I have my time in with Philly PD, so retirement is an option. Don’t say anything now, wait, chew it over and tell me later, when you’ve had some time. I have a month or so to make my decision. You know why I would want to make the move, to be with you.”

  “What about your children, grandchildren?” she asked him.

  “They have their lives, and most of the time, they don’t need me around, cluttering up the place. Besides, my son is going to Argentina to work for three years. He’ll be leaving with his family sometime this year. Like I said, don’t say anything now. Let me know when you’ve thought about it some. Meanwhile, give me a kiss; I have to catch my plane.”

  After he stepped out of her truck and walked away, Maude was still dumbfounded with the turn of events that might bring Bill closer to her. She knew that there was no need to wait. She picked up her phone, and texted a message to him. “Get ready to move, Bill. I want you here.”

  Sunday night she was in a daze, thinking of Bill and missing him. She saw him in the chairs he had occupied, the spot on the floor where his boots had sat overnight. It would be good to have him close by. They would have to talk about that, the place he would live. Bill hadn’t said what city he would work in, just that it was nearby. She hoped it was really close.

  Monday morning came quickly, another week beginning, and still nothing from Jack about the Edwards Bay murder case and any new information that might lead them to Leroy’s boss. No news must mean just that, there was nothing new to help with the arrest of the man who arranged the murders. They still had no idea of the motive behind the killing of Aaron Dennis and Jenny Marx.

  The phone in the office had a direct line to other agencies, a convenience that cost the city very little to maintain good relations with other cities and counties in Texas. Without thinking much about it, Maude called Jack and was rewarded by his voice on the phone.

  “Hello, Jack, she said. “Good to hear your voice.”

  “And yours as well, Maude. Got used to seeing your face while you were here.”

  “How is the case going, Jack?”

  “Well, Ginger sung her song and the prosecutor listened but detected no remorse for her actions. Seems the woman was more concerned with her own discomfort than she was the rape and murders that day. Ginger said she was forced to go along, but that girl, Janie, didn’t buy it. She told Ginger that at any time after the incident she could have come forward with the story. So Ginger has been charged with conspiracy to commit rape and murder and a few other things.”

  “I suspect she’ll do some time for those.” Maude said.

  “Well, let’s hope so.” Jack ventured. “Wouldn’t want her back on the streets too soon.”

  “Anything on the Boss?”

  “Not much. My men went to Houston, to that box at the post office. Took that key of Leroy’s, there was a gun in there, but nothing else. He must have dumped the other gun. They took prints, checked with the Post Office, but the only information about the box pertained to Leroy. He rented it and paid once a month to keep it. I did find out a thing or two about that fellow who abducted your niece.”

  “What was that?”

  “We talked to someone who was out at the house, well, actually he was passing by and saw a man getting in a silver Mercedes. The reason he remembered was no one in that neighborhood can even spell that word, much less think of owning a car by that name.”

  “Did he write down the tag number?”

  “He did. We checked it, but it came back to a dead man in Flagstaff, Arizona; man named Borden, John Borden-been dead for about ten years. Looks like he’s up walking or someone has helped himself to the name.”

  “I am fairly certain the man who was watching me at the motel was the same fellow who took Lilly Ann. His car was registered to a dead man in Flagstaff. So that makes it more than a suspicion.”

  “Think he’s connected to the Bay murders?” Jack asked.

  “Seems worrisome, but I can’t say.” Maude said, something bothering her about the whole business. I’ll think on it. Meanwhile, what will you do now?”

  “I guess we’ll hold off, see if Leroy comes across with something.”

  “Maybe you can ask him how the Boss first got in touch with him. Or send an email pretending to be Leroy. See if he responds.”

  “That’s an idea, Maude; hadn’t thought of that.”

  “Take care, Jack. I wouldn’t want to lose you. I don’t have that many friends. Say hello to your wife for me. Tell her she’s got a good man.”

  Jack snorted his strange laugh and disconnected the phone.

  The weekend came again and nothing was on her agenda except two days off. She spoke to Joe and told him she was thinking of a quick round trip to Flagstaff, Arizona. She said it was pleasure trip but she might look into something that had come up. Joe seemed interested, but since she didn’t ask him to come along, he didn’t insist on going. Maude wished later he had asked to go because she really liked his company.

  The flight was turbulent, the wind buffeted the airplane until she was feeling a little nauseated, but it went away quickly when the plane settled down. It was gone completely when she deplaned at the airport. Grabbing a cab in Flagstaff took a while. There seemed to be more people waiting for cabs than was usual at a large airport. When she finally did get in the backseat of one, the driver told her that the President had been in town for a quick speech and the roads were backed up.

  Finally on their way, Maude asked the cabbie take her to a cemetery, which one she didn’t know, but maybe he could pick the oldest one first. She said she was hoping to find some information on a man who died a few years back. His name was John Borden and had lived in Flagstaff for many years. The cabbie had no idea about the man but agreed to her request for it meant a long fare, and he was a little short that week. He told her that he would wait for her, not charging her full meter price.

  The cemetery was St. Peters Memorial and the caretaker cottage was near the chapel. A man whose back was humped from years of poring over records came to the door and asked what she wanted. The records of St. Peters showed that there were hundreds of names on the rolls, some of them Bordens, and some of those John Borden, but the specificity of dying ten years earlier didn’t work. He
then directed her to another, newer cemetery about three miles away, where he thought she might search.

  A younger man with overalls and a friendly smile was on the grounds of the other cemetery when she arrived. It had no religious affiliation, but was city-owned property leased and cared for by a private organization. She asked the caretaker about John Borden and he directed her to the two of different graves, each with the name Borden as surname. John Borden, age 75, had died almost ten years ago, the victim of a fall inside his home. His wife was also buried there, having died of a self-ingested dose of poison two days after her husband.

  Maude asked the driver to take her to the local newspaper office where she could search for the old editions, especially the ones from around ten years earlier. She surfed thorough the digital papers finally finding the one concerning the woman’s death.

  The article was brief, describing the woman as Wilma Penrose Borden, 73 years old, housewife and mother of two daughters, Ellen Borden Matthews and Isabella Borden Dawson. Grandchildren weren’t mentioned in the article, neither was the service publicized. The woman was found in her bed, her mouth in a rictus of death past any medical intervention. The writer noted the short time between the woman’s passing and her husband’s. John Borden had suffered a fall that took his life only two days earlier. The coroner ruled Wilma Borden’s death a suicide by self-administered poison.

  “Please, take me to my hotel.” She told the cabbie. She didn’t know how the words came out of the chaos that was her mind. Her shoulders felt the weight of the discovery upon them. This can’t be true, she thought sometime later, it can’t be happening. There must be a mistake. The gin bottle called her, its soothing liquid drowning her thoughts of evil that roamed the earth wearing the faces of men.

  The next morning was Sunday, and her flight was due to leave Flagstaff in three hours. Maude went to a small church she had passed on the way to the hotel. She prayed some and left the fear behind, choosing to face whatever it was coming, head on.

  On the way to the airport she called her partner, hoping she hadn’t wakened him from a deep sleep because she needed to talk to him.

  “Joe Allen here,” He said; his voice clear and wide awake.

  “Joe, Maude. I’m about to board a plane from Flagstaff headed home.”

  “Find out anything?’ he asked, a small yawn creeping into his voice.

  “Maybe. I need for you to do a search on the Madison-MacArthur Psychiatric Hospital for the criminally insane. See if any major changes have taken place there. Check for an increase in incidents since a year ago. Look for anything that might have changed the status quo.”

  “Okay, want to tell me what I’m really looking for?”

  “I will when I get there. See you in about five hours. Can you pick me up at the airport?”

  “Sure, I’ll be there.”

  “I’ll see you then.”

  “Maude, you sound different. Anything happen there?”

  “I’ll see you in about five hours. We can talk about it then.”

  The trip was smooth and Maude fell asleep on the plane, a blessing as far as she was concerned. She saw flying as a necessary way to get somewhere quickly and the best way to catch a nap while you were working.

  The flight attendant who worked the aisle saw that Maude had awakened and asked if she would like coffee.

  “Bless you child. I would love coffee. A whole barrelful if you have it.”

  Her knees hurt after sitting cramped in the seat for so long, the arthritis flaring in the stiff joints. Soon, she promised herself, I’ll get some plastic parts. She swallowed two ibuprofens and a small amount of water from a bottle in her bag, the dry residue of the bitter pills burning her throat as she choked them down. She heard it often, getting old isn’t for sissies, the words well-spoken by someone living the life.

  The airport was almost empty, the commuters already come and gone, leaving the people such as her, traveling on a last minute impulse or necessity. She saw Joe outside waiting for her, worry lines across his young forehead as he watched for her. She gave him a wave, trying to ease his concern, but it came out half-hearted, an afterthought.

  The door to Joe’s car was open, waiting for her, his 1966 Mustang classic a beauty of a ride. Maude remembered when she saw the pink one on the car lot; it had come out in September of 1965. She loved it immediately, but could only gaze at it from afar. Now here she was riding in a blue one just like it with a handsome young man of twenty nine years. My, how far she had come.

  The wind blew the remaining cobwebs of airplane sleep from her head, the reality of the city where she lived buoying her mood, feeling better just having Joe around. She knew it would only wait a few more minutes then he would have to know that Robert Dawson was back in business. Perhaps, she thought, someone has used him and his sickness for their other reasons; maybe to grind their own axe, someone she had dealt with in the past. Of course it was possible. But Joe, like her, would quickly dismiss an imposter, recognizing the work of a real psychopath when it was presented.

  The alarm bell that sounded when she saw the envelope with her name, she had seen that scrawl before, but had forgotten, or maybe she had forbidden the thought to come. The blatant teasing of a watcher had seemed almost a benevolent action in his benign, bright blue Chevy. Lilly Ann, the most precious of all that Maude held dear; abducted and frightened beyond measure, but unharmed. They were all immaculately planned incidents from the mind of a bona fide madman.

  “Joe, you got time for coffee, and for me to get a smoke? I have to tell you a story.”

  It was little later, the coffee was cold in his cup, hers had been refilled twice during the time she sat and smoked her second unfiltered of the day. She had learned to make them last. He was silent, thinking. She left him alone in his reverie, just as she had been since last night.

  “Think you could be wrong?” he asked, just because it was the thing to do.

  “Sure, I guess I could. Which part though? The part where I think he killed his grandparents and took their house and possessions, or the part where he is now using the old man’s name to buy vehicles?”

  “Nothing has changed about the place in the last year, Maude. They haven’t had any new incidences since the inmate was killed a few months back. Dawson is still there, or at least he was when we checked last. Is he that good at what he does; can he really fool a houseful of psychiatrists?”

  “I don’t know Joe. That’s why I went to Flagstaff. I remembered something from the records about a man named John Borden, some part of Dawson’s life that was used by his lawyer to prove insanity. I prayed I was wrong. I pray that I am wrong now.”

  “Tomorrow, when the hospital is open for visitors, I’m going, to face him, to see if the man is still alive in the body, orchestrating chaos. Only then can I be sure. You can go if you want, Joe, but I won’t feel bad if you don’t.’

  “Oh, I’ll go with you, wouldn’t miss it.” Joe answered. “So how about we get out of here and I take you home. Then I’m going to play some pool and drink a lot of beer.”

  “Sounds good. I think I’ll get in touch with Jack and tell him some of what I think has been happening. He deserves to know of the possibility.”

  Chapter 24

  The day started badly for Maude. Her head ached and a cloud seemed to cover all the blue in her eyes. She vaguely remembered the last drink she took before passing out on the bed. A sickness filled her guts; the drinking was taking its toll. She thought about alternatives to booze and that made her headache worse. Maybe after a cigarette and a cup of black coffee she would feel like a human again. The morning sky was filled with rainclouds, a great thing for a country in a drought, but a bad thing to a person who already had a headache.

  A little later, it eased, and her stomach settled, but Maude’s disposition was still sour. She wondered what was happening to her life; drinking it away wasn’t helping solve any problems. If anything, the booze was making problems of its own. She eased i
nto the shower, hating again the large reservoir that dumped water upon her. She vowed that after today she would never be troubled again by the piece of crap shower head.

  Stretching her arms upward, Maude began her breast exam as she did without fail each week, in honor of her mother. The fear of cancer was strong in her. She thought it was because of the control the disease exercised upon the body. A person such as her mother had no choice but to live with it until it finally took her life. Now, fully satisfied that she had beaten the disease one more week, Maude left the bathroom and got dressed, her mood lifting some as the sun broke through the clouds.

  Getting to work was faster those days. Her Lieutenant had insisted Maude be given a better car to drive after the Heartless Killer was finally jailed and neither she, nor her partner was ever officially credited with the killer’s capture. Lieutenant Patterson had felt guilty that Maude was treated badly by the chain of command, more especially by their captain who wanted to be rid of her. The best that Patterson could do was to give her a new model unmarked car. Up to that time she had been forced to drive an old beater car whose noise gave advance notice to all those at a crime scene that she was approaching.

  Most of the time, she and Joe switched out who would drive since it was a lot more satisfying now to be behind the wheel. Besides a smooth ride, the new car had a top of the line computer in the dash, making it easy to stop and write a report without leaving the vehicle.

  It was Monday morning, a workday, and Maude headed out to fetch Joe from his apartment near downtown, stopping first to run through the drive-in for coffee and a breakfast taco. It was a ritual that she enjoyed. The street where Joe lived was about five miles from the Cop Shop, the big building that housed the police agency of Madison. The detectives’ offices were located near the warrant division, making for a more convenient transfer of information when actual paperwork had to be exchanged. Digital information was being used more and more, but there were still signed documents that required paper.