Murder Mysteries #5

by Waggoner, Robert C.

  Murder Mysteries # 5

  by Robert C. Waggoner

  Copyright 2014 by Robert C. Waggoner

  Smashwords Edition

  "Murder at Seal Rock"

  A Rare Visitor

  Ex Senator Albert J. Winslow, former Speaker of the House woke up at 7 am as usual. Even though the remodeled old barn was well insulated, he strained his ears to wonder what the weather was like coming for the day ahead. For Albert it was a kind of test to see if his ears had lost any hearing from the preceding days. Once he was up and had his morning shower, a shave, he would put his 'aids' in his ears, along with his bifocals.

  When he went back to his bedroom to dress, he would stop and listen if what he heard was the same as when he first woke up. If asked why he performed this daily game he would tell you there was nothing better to do. He would further tell you that having once been the king pin of the senate with his days filled with activity seven days a week, being relegated to solitary confinement, in a town called Seal Rock, on the coast of Oregon, was not only demeaning but also a fate worse than prison.

  He was told by many old cronies and even some enemies that he was lucky to have escaped real prison time for his actions involving illegal activates. Albert lamented the action that placed him here more than fifteen years ago. He relived the entire downfall of his political life every morning while eating his Special K breakfast.

  The first person to desert him was his wife of thirty years. In every respect he expected her to stand by him. But no, she filed for divorce and retired to Florida to play golf with her friends. Their kids quietly drifted off after the first Christmas card arrived. Grand kids were never seen. He really never understood why he kept going when there was really nothing to live for.

  It was probably the book deal a major publisher pushed him to complete. It was true he could use the money. The divorce and land purchase pretty much bled him dry. He drifted along on a meager income for more than ten years when the publishing company came along to make him an offer he could not refuse.

  Albert was asked to make public some other officials who were just as guilty as he was. What he wrote would implicate some very important politicians that were presently holding office in high esteem. Albert thought it fitting to blow the lid off some two faced greedy politicians before he passed on.

  Consequently, a year ago, the publishing company put out a small sampling of three chapters of his scathing account of former colleagues. The reports from accused were complete denial. Spittle flew from those directly named as corrupt politicians as they took the mike in hand in front of cameras. Other applauded Senator Albert J. Winslow. Still others felt his days were numbered.

  At 8 am Albert's housekeeper arrived as he finished his bowl of cereal. From the kitchen he would go upstairs to his office that overlooked a most beautiful view of the coast of Oregon and the Pacific Ocean. With weather permitting, he would open the sliding doors; walk out onto the balcony to stare at the beach. He never mentioned to anybody how nice a view of the sandy beach and the giant sea stacks that were scattered up and down the coast. What he disliked was the cold damp weather that made his arthritic joints ache something awful.

  Albert was rapidly approaching the age where forgetfulness was a close companion in daily life. He felt sure spring was coming, but it took a step back into his office to view a large calendar for the actual month. The day of the month was still up in question. Then it dawned on him to boot up his computer which would automatically tell him date and time. He shuffled back to the balcony. His recall was good. He remembered spring on the coast of Oregon was nice sometimes without the constant wind off the ocean bring with it a chill that was felt to the bone. Why the hell he had not gone to Arizona was beyond him. However, he remembered now that his secretary, bless her heart, Arleen, had found this property where he could enjoy life without reporters or publishers bothering him.

  Actually it was a writer who bought the five acres that consisted of an old farmhouse with a small barn. The writer had hit the mother lode with a series of articles for a name band magazine. His thinking was the cash flow would never end. He spent it all remodeling the barn into living space. He tore down the old farmhouse. Had a paved road put in, a greenhouse off to the side and the inside reeked of an atmosphere for a writer. The downstairs was the living area with three bedrooms. Upstairs was a writer's heaven. The view was second to none. On the balcony a bird feeder lent sound of nature drift through the sliding glass doors. Against one wall sat a wet bar, complete with all the latest in making a fine cup of coffee.

  The sad part was, when the bank account hit zero, his wife and kids left him high and dry in his luxury barn. Arleen saw an ad for the property in one of her magazines, called the realtor, made an offer, and her boss Albert J. Winslow, a couple months later moved in.

  Albert had been standing for a while. It was time to sit-down. His computer told him the day was Thursday, the 13th of March. His desk phone rang startling him as it rarely rang. The last time was when his publisher called to ask about the possibility of a book. After that Albert carried around a cell phone for the rare occasion when he received a call.

  "Hello," Albert said with as much force as he could muster.

  "Hello Al, this is a voice out of the past. I'm on spring break out here on the coast of Oregon with my wife. I realize we never were close, but how about I stop by for an old time chat."

  "I'm sorry I don't recognize your voice. Who are you please? Refresh my old memory," said Albert kind of warming to the idea of chatting with an old friend for a change.

  "This is Rollie Wiggins from North Carolina. Now do you remember Albert?"

  "Ah, yes I do. I remember us having a few highballs on occasion. I don't see why not a little visit. I'm not hard to find. Just south of Seal Rock, sits a giant blue mailbox beside a black top road the leads up the hill to my house that looks like an old barn. When was thinking of visiting Rollie?"

  "We're in Newport right now. I think we could be there around 7 pm if that would work for you," said Rollie.

  "Sound good to me. See you then," said Albert hanging up. He leaned back sorting through his memory banks for recollection of Rollie Wiggins from North Carolina. As the gears in his cranium wound and ground, the first glimpse brought forth Senator William Wentworth who was implicated in his book as being a corrupt public official. Rollie Wiggins was a friend of his, but not associated with the fall out that brought down Albert. That puzzled Albert to no end. Why would this guy want to chat with Albert. Maybe he was here to ask Albert to temper his dialogue in his scathing book? Or maybe he was just being curious as to how Albert was getting along.

  I'd best make it look like I'm working hard on my book, he thought. Well no matter, I'll just let it develop he mused. He saw no need to tell his busy body housekeeper anything. She would have rumors going around town like wild fire.

  Contrary to Thought

  Delores Hitchins, housekeeper to Albert left at 4 pm as usual leaving his dinner in the refer. Albert watched her drive down the driveway in her beat up old rusty car. The sun was slowly sliding towards oblivion into the ocean in just a few short hours. The sun pouring through the sliding doors was blinding. Albert shut the drapes until only a halo rose above the ocean.

  At precisely 7 pm Albert saw a car turn into his driveway. Albert went down the stairs to greet his visitors. He was almost to the front door when the door chime went off. He opened the door seeing an older Rollie and a woman about forty years old with him. Both had a nice smile for Albert. "Come in both of you. I so rarely get visitors. Follow me please up the stairs to my sanctuary. We'll be more comfortable there."

  "It's nice to see you again Albert. William sends his hello to you. I too a
m writing some memoirs and would like some information please," as they followed Albert up the stairs.

  "Have a seat wherever you like. How about a cocktail or coffee?"

  "For me a scotch rocks would be nice. Oh, by the way Albert this is my ghost writer and new friend, Janice Banks."

  "Nice to meet you," said Albert. "What can I get for you Janice?"

  "I'd prefer vodka with a twist of lemon if it's not too much trouble."

  "None what so ever," said Albert tending bar. He made his guests their drinks and poured himself a shot of scotch neat. He delivered the drinks on a tray. After setting the tray on the coffee table, he sat down opposite in a large stuffed armchair. "Now how are things back east these days," he asked looking up with his glass of scotch in one hand. He had to blink a couple times as he thought his vision was bad. He saw a silver something in Janice's hand. Looking closer he saw and recognized the silver thing as a small handgun. The odd thing in his mind was why such a nice looking woman like her would be pointing a pistol at an old man who had just shown his best hospitality providing expensive liquor to drink.

  "Yes Albert you're right, it's a fully loaded pistol aimed directly at you. You didn't know earlier today that you'd be committing suicide on such a nice day on the coast of Oregon," said Rollie Wiggins.

  Red Alert

  It had been a little quiet as of late for Marshall Stacy Foreham. Through the fall and winter, most of her duties were mundane chores of court related assignments. Deputy Dan Swollow, since January the first, was taking classes in criminology at the University of Oregon. He never complained that it was too hard. Instead, he plowed on with the intention of reaching the end of his goal: a degree in criminology.

  Stacy with the same degree from the University of Chicago was a big help to Dan. Meanwhile, it was late last fall Rory Caltex was offered the US Marshall's position in Portland. Stacy had known it was coming. Stacy had mixed emotions about her ex-boyfriend becoming a US Marshall. She really was not sure why, but she almost resented the fact he would be involved in some of the cases yet to develop. Stacy had become comfortable as the lead investigator in the past cases where a Marshall was involved. The 'what if' came up as she thought of a situation where they would both become involved in the same case.

  Her boss Connie Wilson, whose office was in Washington DC, sensed her discomfort. After Stacy had returned from Washington with the success of the 'Murder by Delivery' case, Connie had dropped the small bomb that the current Marshall in Portland was dying of cancer. She mentioned Rory Caltex as a replacement. Stacy remained silent. She gave it some serious thought for the next month or two until Christmas when Rory called to announce the offer.

  Stacy was at home in Bandon where her father Phil Foreham, former Chief of Police recently retired, with his lady friend Fran, who were making the last preparations for a trip to Arizona for the remainder of the winter.

  A new chief had been found after a long search. The new chief was a female from Eugene. Strangely enough, it was from the homicide squad that Karen Franks had applied for the job. Cathy Wilson, a city CSI who works with the Lane County coroner's office, mentioned it to Karen Franks at a city dinner during Thanksgiving Day holidays. Karen was tired of the male dominated detective squad.

  Later it had been decided by Phil Foreham, that the new chief could stay at his house through the winter until she could find place come springtime. In the final analysis, it worked out for everyone concerned.

  Be that as it may, Stacy consulted her father about the new Marshall Caltex in Portland. He said, "About two years ago daughter of mine, you and he had a slight and I do mean slight relationship occurring. As I understand it, you never said it was as if nothing else mattered but the two of you. It was Rory who fell head over heels for you. I think after the two of you broke it off in Eugene, he adjusted fairly well. Why not give him a chance to make good as an investigator; if he so chooses. In my opinion, if the two of you join forces, he'll take a back seat to let you run the show. I can't see any real drawbacks Stacy. Help him all you can. He needs a woman like you to show him the light at the end of a tunnel.

  As usual her father made perfect sense. When she returned back to Eugene, she met Cathy at an after Christmas party with Em, Dan and Ben for a nice luncheon. The talk was centered around Rory and what impact it might have on the responsibility of two US Marshall's in Oregon.

  Surprisingly, Stacy had only heard from Rory once since before Christmas. He never mentioned the change in jobs, but said he was going to his parent's house for Christmas. He wished her a happy Christmas and said he would give her a present later.

  The Ides of March

  The Ides of March falls somewhere around the 13th to the 15th of that month depending on the size of the moon. On the 13th of March, when Ex Senator Albert J. Winslow was found sitting in his office chair, by his housekeeper Delores Hitchins, with his brains blown out, last night indeed was a full moon.

  Delores Hitchins, fifty-three years young, a little on the plus size, had been a housecleaner her entire life. As gossip was her lifeblood, being a housecleaner or housekeeper allowed her the opportunity to snoop into other people's lives. This major event would give her center stage anywhere she went for the foreseeable future. She bubbled over with excitement as she used her own cell to dial 911. The crime shows so ubiquitous these days on TV made her conscience to not use the phone on Albert's desk.

  The 911 call went to Waldport, which in turn went to the US Marshall's office in Eugene. Waldport had prior experience with a murder just down the road from Seal Rock at the Cape Perpetua Visitor Center near Yachats about fifteen miles south of Waldport. The Waldport Police were cognizant of the fact a US Marshall would be summoned to handle the apparent suicide.

  Emma took the call just after 8:30 Friday the 14th of March. Stacy was on the phone with Connie Wilson back east about a low rumble of a rumor about a former senator who was making some powerful people very angry. The call to her had come in from Florida where the senators ex wife resided. She told her that in her circle of friends that her ex husband was in possible danger because of a book he was writing. "Stacy, there might not be anything to it what so ever. But, ex Senator Albert J. Winslow lives on the Oregon coast at Seal Rock; which if my geography is correct, not far from where a past case of homicide occurred."

  "I'll look into Connie," said Stacy as Emma rushed in with a note saying a possible suicide had occurred in Seal Rock. The deceased was Albert J. Winslow. He was discovered by his housekeeper at shortly after 8 am this morning. After reading she said, "Wait Connie, my God, Em just received a call from Waldport Police saying a suicide was reported with the name you just gave me of the ex senator. I've got to go Connie. I'll update you later today."

  A Too Perfect Death

  Emma had already called Cathy who in turn called Marsha the resident pathologist. Cathy alerted the state police CSI team. Stacy in turn called Ben Razor for assistance. He was a detective for the Oregon State Police. US Marshall Deputy Dan Swollow was on spring break at the university. He would be the driver. Stacy had been mulling over the idea of hiring a part time secretary to take calls in the office while Emma went with Stacy for accurate record keeping. For the time being, she had Em turn on the automated answering service which Emma could check via her smart phone.

  Stacy, with murder bag in back, Ben having just arrived, left Eugene at just after 9 am. Unknown to Stacy, after hanging up from her boss Connie, Connie called the Portland office. Twenty minutes later new US Marshall Rory Caltex was motoring to the coastal community of Seal Rock. He had much further to go so it was an hour after Stacy and team had arrived that Rory pulled in.

  The drive to Seal Rock reminded Stacy of the 'Amazing Tree' case. It too was located on the coast of Oregon. For Stacy having lived and grown up on the coast, the beautiful scenery was cherished by thousands of tourist each year. Basically the old Highway 101 remained the same: a two-lane highway winding its way from California to the Columbia River th
at separates Oregon from Washington State. Locals hated the tourist season as flocks of travel trailers along with countless motor homes moseyed up or down the highway enjoying the views, but behind an RV a local would be cussing the slowpoke driver.

  For Stacy and other summer vacationers they would go east as easterners would go west. Regardless, east or west, Oregon has some of the most varied geography of the United States. Oregon contains or has next to it, the largest ocean in the world, rain forest, rivers teeming with salmon, an active volcano mountain range, countless lakes, a high plateau region and finally a desert on the eastern side of the state.

  Stacy loved her state and as they passed by Yachats driving north, Seal Rock was just ahead. Dan was slowing down when he saw a sheriff's car sitting on the side of the road with its light flashing. Dan pulled off the road nosing the SUV up the driveway. He lowered the window flashing his ID. The deputy nodded and waved the vehicle through.

  At the top of the hill sat an interesting structure Stacy thought. Someone had taken an old barn, well a small barn, and turned it into living quarters. From the outside it looks awesome. I could live here, she thought. At the side of the barn sat an old car that appeared to have lived its entire life next to the salt water. Her father would call it a rust bucket. It was soon learned that the rust bucket belonged to the housekeeper Delores Hitchins who was sitting on the steps leading into up to a side door into the kitchen.

  Delores struggled to a standing position as her portly body fought the affects of gravity. She looked on as two men and two women emerged from a gleaming SUV that she dreamed of owning someday. Her head was swiveling wondering which of the two men were in charge. She chose Ben, who indeed was the oldest, with a winning smile extending an arm with rolls of excess pasta to a pudgy hand with fingers of small sausages. Ben shook her hand with vigor saying, "I'm Detective Razor and the person next to me is Deputy Marshall Dan Swollow. The young woman who is in charge of this case is US Marshall Stacy Foreham and her associate Emma. And you are?"