The Deadliest Sins

by Rick Reed

  “What time was this?” Jack asked with a renewed interest.

  “About eleven or so. Before midnight anyway. Sorry I can’t be more precise. I know I should have because details count in a murder investigation.”

  There were sheers covering the sides of the window, but maybe at night, with a low light, she could see enough. “Can you describe the car?” Jack asked.

  “There’s a streetlight on the corner and another halfway down the block toward the crime scene,” she said. “I know the crime scene was down beside the Coffee Shop by the University of Evansville. It was on the news. Anyway, I didn’t go outside, but I went to the window and saw the car continue south on Weinbach Avenue with its lights off. At first, I thought it might just be a college student. But the car slowed to a stop several times, like he was casing the neighborhood.”

  “Okay,” he prompted her to continue. She hadn’t answered the question about the car’s description, but he hoped she would get around to it soon.

  “It didn’t feel right to me. There are a lot of young people in this neighborhood going to the university. Most of them are on foot, but some drive, and they like to speed. This car wasn’t speeding. I called the police and reported a suspicious vehicle and...”

  “You called the police?” Jack asked.

  “Yes. Did I do right?”

  Liddell was on his cell phone calling dispatch.

  Jack said, “You did exactly right, Mrs. Raymond.”

  “Lucy Raymond is my full name in case you need that for your report, Detective Murphy.”

  “Go on,” Jack said.

  Liddell disconnected the call with dispatch and said to Jack, “Dispatch says they got two calls from here. One at eleven ten last night and another at eleven forty.”

  “Should I continue, Detective Murphy?”

  “By all means,” Jack said.

  “The car came by here several times. It was always going in the same direction, toward the university. Like they were circling the block. I called 9-1-1 again, but I never saw a police cruiser come by. I watched for a while, and when the car didn’t come back I went to bed. That was around one in the morning. Of course, that doesn’t mean the police hadn’t searched the neighborhood, but they never came down my street, or came to my house.”

  “Officer Hurt was dispatched to both runs last night, pod’na,” Liddell said.

  Jack gritted his teeth. The same Officer Hurt who lied about his wife being pregnant and sick. Hurt was probably sleeping all night. If he’d patrolled the area and found the car, he might have prevented a murder.

  “Can you describe the car, Lucy?” Jack asked again.

  “Of course,” Lucy said. “It was a VW Beetle, ’70s model maybe. It was an ugly green, like a mint but faded. And the front and back had chrome grills. I didn’t see the license plate. Sorry.”

  The stolen car. What was he doing sneaking around the neighborhood?

  The answer was, he was getting himself murdered.

  “And something else, too,” Lucy said. “I saw a dog in the front. A black-and-white dog. I couldn’t tell what kind, but it was medium-sized. I didn’t get a clear view of the driver, but I’m pretty sure it was a man.”

  “You did good, Lucy. You’re very observant,” Jack said and made her smile.

  “I’m trying to work on that,” she said. “I’ve started paying attention to people’s faces when I’m on my run. I run five miles each morning, so you see a lot of cars, people, kids, things like that. I can tell you who’s home all day and who works, what they drive, whose kids belong where, that kind of stuff. I only run twice a week during the evening now that it’s so cold.”

  “Can I ask you something, Lucy?” Jack asked.

  “Sure. Anything, Detective Murphy.”

  “How did you know our names? Have we met before?” He didn’t think so, but he’d been surprised by the nurse at the emergency room.

  “I’ve seen you both on television, and you’ve been in the newspapers. You’re kind of famous. I know Detective Blanchard’s married, and you’re not. Earl said you were the detectives working the case.”

  Earl? “And how do you know I’m not married?” Jack asked. He didn’t think that kind of information had ever been on the news.

  She grinned. “He’s wearing a wedding ring. It looks a little faded, so it’s older. You’re not wearing a ring, and you have no line around your ring finger. If you are married, you don’t wear your wedding band.” Her cheeks reddened. “And that’s none of my business, Detective Murphy.”

  Jack laughed, and she explained, “I’m finishing a master’s degree in criminology, and I’m on the hiring list for the Evansville Police Department. My husband always wanted to be a policeman, but he had a bad heart. That’s why I’m doing this.”

  Jack knew where he’d seen her before. Her picture was on the bulletin board in the hallway of the police department with forty or so other pictures of police applicants. The pictures were mug shots—front and profile. The bulletin board allowed the sworn officers to peruse the new police applicants’ pictures before they were hired in case the background checks had missed something.

  Jack said, “Well, Lucy, good luck on the hiring list. Thank you for the information.”

  As they were leaving, Lucy asked, “Detectives, was that the killer I saw?”

  Jack thought how to answer. “Between us?”

  “Yes. Between us, Detective Murphy.”

  “You just described the car and the dog we found,” Jack said.

  “Was the car stolen?” she asked.

  “Yes,” Jack said.

  “Is his murder connected to the ones you found behind that warehouse?” she asked.

  “You’ll make a fine detective someday, Lucy,” Jack said. “Keep this to yourself.”

  “I promise, Detective Murphy.”

  Chapter 18

  Jack and Liddell drove toward headquarters.

  “Too bad she doesn’t live across the street from the Coffee Shop,” Liddell said.

  “I wonder if Chapman knew she was an applicant?” Jack said. “Anyway, the timing’s about right. If she saw the stolen car, it would jibe with what Freyda told us about the customer waiting to meet someone. We need to put a rush on the evidence taken from Freyda’s place.”

  “And speaking of Freyda,” Liddell said, “we should stop by there again before we go to St. Louis. You know, in case she remembered something.”

  Jack thought Liddell’s motivation was to get some pie for the trip, but in any case, Bigfoot was right. Sometimes a witness knew or saw more than they remembered. Memory was a slippery thing.

  Freyda was behind the counter pouring two cups of coffee when they entered the shop. Next to the cups was a pie wrapped in foil. The dog lay on the floor at the end of the counter with its head up and alert.

  Freyda said, “Have a cup on the house.”

  Jack and Liddell sat at the counter, and she set a carton of Half and Half in front of them along with two spoons and sugar. The dog put its head back on the floor, but its black eyes remained focused on the men.

  “Who does the dog remind you of, pod’na?”

  Jack didn’t have to think. Cinderella, the Wicked Witch of the Shoes. Dogs were supposed to be man’s best friend, but unless Cinderella was baring her teeth or had just done something wrong, she would give him the same attitude as this dog. He’d even installed a doggy-door so she could go out in the backyard to do her business. The door had been a success, but now he was retrieving chewed-up shoes from the yard. He’d had to force her out the door this morning because it was so cold. It was a battle, but he’d won in the end. Maybe.

  Freyda pulled up a wooden stool by them and asked, “What can I do you for this time, detectives? You need more money? Well, I don’t have any. Someone took my last twenty dollars this morning.”<
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  “Just following up,” Jack said. “Is there anything you remember from last night that you haven’t told us? Or that I haven’t asked you?”

  Freyda gave him a blank stare. “Let me think. Oh yeah. The guy said he was going out beside the store to kill someone. He said his name was John Egghead and gave me his address too. Then he pulled a big gun and walked outside. He comes in all the time. He knows the police don’t patrol out here. They don’t even come in for free coffee and pie, except for you two.”

  Jack made another mental note to have a talk with Officer Hurt’s Sergeant.

  “Did the guy say, ‘Am I happy to see you or is this gun in my pocket?’” Jack asked Freyda with a straight face.

  Her face crinkled up, and she let out a loud cackle. “You’re a smartass. Like me.”

  Jack took a sip of the black coffee. With a little Scotch it might be okay. “Seriously, Freyda.”

  “Well, there is one thing. Hang on a second,” she said and went into the back.

  He heard her climbing the stairs and coming back down. She came in with a VHS tape. The case of it was worn to a matte finish from years of handling.

  A surveillance camera was in the back corner of the ceiling. Jack saw it the first time they were here, but he had assumed it was a fake because of the disconnected wires sticking out of the back of it. He had wondered why she even bothered to keep it.

  She tapped her temple with a finger. “Not so old and stupid, am I?” she said. “The recorder is up in my place. I figure a camera’s not gonna stop someone if they want to misbehave. But it’ll make them think they got away with it, and smart cops like you two will bust their asses.”

  Jack took the cassette from Freyda. The tape was wound halfway through.

  “I already watched it. It’s wound to the time the guy came in. It doesn’t have a correct time and date. I’m not so smart I figured out how to set it. That thing’s nigh as old as I am.”

  Jack felt butterflies in his stomach. “Thanks, Freyda. This might be very important,” he said, silently cursing her for holding it back and cursing himself for not being more thorough.

  She must have noticed the change in his expression. “I’ll say I forgot the camera was working if anyone makes a federal case out of it. I’m old, so no one can prove different.”

  They thanked Freyda and left. While Liddell drove, Jack called Sergeant Walker.

  “Tony, you’re not going to believe this, but I’ve got a VHS video tape from the Coffee Shop.”

  “Really?” Walker said. “Timmons said he saw the camera but she said it was a prop to keep people from stealing.”

  “The recorder is upstairs. She said she watched the video and wound it back to when the customer came in. You want to watch it with us?”

  “I’ll meet you downstairs in CSU’s workroom,” Walker said.

  Jack disconnected and called Lt. Sanchez, who was still on the road. “Lieutenant, we’re going to be just a little while.” He told Sanchez about the videotape.

  * * * *

  Walker met them in the basement Crime Scene lab at Police HQ. An old-style TV equipped with a VHS player sat on his desk.

  “Let’s see what you have,” Walker said. He slipped the VHS cassette into the television, and a perfectly clear image from inside the Coffee Shop came on the screen. The view was toward the front door and taking in the register on the counter and one booth.

  Jack said, “Freyda said he sat in that booth near the window.”

  “Too bad she doesn’t have a camera outside,” Liddell said.

  The view didn’t take in the street, but some of the sidewalk could be seen if you squinted hard enough. It was pitch black outside. The time and date on the video was from last October and showed it to be nine in the morning.

  “Did you see her recorder?” Walker asked.

  “We didn’t ask to see it. She just gave us the tape. Do you need it?” Jack asked.

  “I’ll need to take a VHS tape to her anyway to replace this one. If I can even find a blank. I’ll use her recorder and hold something with the correct date and time in front of the camera so we can compare the date and time with this tape,” Walker said. “We’ll need that for court if this turns out to be evidence.”

  “Why didn’t you think of that, pod’na?”

  “Just watch, Bigfoot,” Jack said.

  Vehicle headlights could be seen growing in intensity through the window and dissipating again.

  “Looks like it was going south,” Walker said.

  The booth was still empty, and Jack was thinking Freyda hadn’t rewound the tape like she’d claimed, until she appeared. She swiped at the top of the booth table with a rag. Just as she walked away, a shape could be seen approaching from outside.

  A person wearing a dark-colored coat and a Western-style hat opened the door and entered. The camera angle wasn’t enough to catch the face because his head was down.

  “He knows the camera is there,” Jack said.

  The person went to the booth Freyda had cleaned and sat with his back to the camera.

  “That’s a Burberry coat and a dark cowboy hat,” Liddell said. “Just like Freyda said.”

  Walker turned up the volume, and a loud scratching noise came through. “Did she say there was sound?”

  Jack said sheepishly, “I didn’t ask, and shut up, Bigfoot.”

  Walker adjusted the volume. They could hear a faint voice say, “What’cha havin’, cowboy?”

  Walker turned the volume up all the way. The man said something inaudible. Freyda turned and walked out of the picture. They heard clinking, and Freyda came back into the picture with a plate and a mug and set them in front of the person.

  “Man or woman?” Jack asked.

  They all agreed the person was a man.

  She came back with silverware, and they could hear her say, “You want creamer or sugar?” The man said nothing. “I’ve got Sweet’N Low?” He didn’t move. She walked away.

  The man picked up the mug and smelled it before setting it back down.

  “He’s wearing gloves,” Walker said.

  The man pushed the plate away, took something from his pocket, and put it on the table in front of him. It was a small spiral notebook. He took out a pen and began writing. His face remained down, never turned toward the camera or Freyda.

  He wrote for several minutes, but his hat would tilt up as the headlights from a vehicle passed going south.

  “He’s watching for someone,” Jack said. “Do you think you can get the video enhanced, Tony?”

  Walker answered, “I can try. Are you thinking we might be able to get his reflection in the window glass?”

  “Possibly,” Jack said and continued watching the video. The man didn’t move for the better part of an hour except to tilt his head when an occasional vehicle passed.

  “I make that five cars that have passed,” Liddell said to Walker. “He’s looked up each time. We have a witness that lives four blocks away. She said the stolen VW cruised down her street a couple of times. Maybe the stolen VW was scouting the Coffee Shop.”

  “Freyda said she closed at midnight and the guy came in around eleven. Tony, can you play it forward a little faster?” Jack asked.

  Walker did. Freyda could be seen moving about, and in one instance she stepped outside but stayed in the doorway. The man in the booth never moved. Walker slowed the video. “It’s close to midnight now if Freyda is correct on when he came in.”

  Freyda came back in, went to the booth, and said something to the customer that wasn’t quite audible, and if he replied they couldn’t hear it. Another minute or two passed. He stopped writing and put the notebook back in his coat. He took something from his pants pocket, slid it under the coffee mug, got up, and left. He turned left outside the door. Walker stopped the video.

  �
��Play it a few minutes more, Tony,” Jack said, and Walker did.

  Freyda could be seen going outside. She had told them she checked up and down the street after the customer left. She came back inside and locked the door. She picked up the plate, mug, and unused silverware, and walked to the back room. Walker played the video for ten more minutes. During that time, the lights went out and there was nothing else.

  “The guy must have come from across the street,” Walker said. “He didn’t come from the right or left into view. He must have parked across the street or down Lincoln Avenue somewhere.”

  “He went to his left when he exited,” Jack said. “He’s our guy.”

  “Yeah,” Liddell said.

  “I’ll go through the video more carefully. It looks to be several hours of tape set on LP—long playing,” Walker said.

  “Does the video from the bookstore show the Coffee Shop at all?” Jack asked.

  Walker answered, “It’s pointed toward Lincoln Avenue away from the Coffee Shop.”

  “Shit,” Jack said. “Dr. John said the first stab wound didn’t kill the victim. Let’s go through another five minutes.”

  Walker played the video forward another fifteen minutes. The Coffee Shop went dark in the first few minutes. Nothing. Not even headlights in the background.

  “Tony, can you find out if your tech has delivered all the stuff to the FBI? I want this to go, too, and mark it attention Anna Whiteside. They might be able to enhance the video for us.”

  Chapter 19

  While Jack and Liddell were viewing the video from the Coffee Shop, Coyote was in Missouri, sitting at a café table. He knew what he had to do. The one thing he felt about killing them was his lack of feeling. He didn’t enjoy it. It was just necessary.

  Coyote’s mind was moving ten steps ahead. The television reporter said there was a survivor in Evansville. She said the kid was found alive inside the truck trailer. Coyote hadn’t considered that anyone would live long in this cold. He knew traffickers didn’t think of their cargo as people. They were merely something to be delivered. According to Miles, the truck had left Texas three days ago. No one could have lasted that long without heat or water, and he knew the trucks only stopped for gas.