by Joel Travis
“Where is your apartment?” Ace asked.
“Way across town, by WhiteRockLake. Do you have time to run me over there?”
“Is Marty home? I was going to swing by his house for a minute. Susan might give me some leftover turkey. I’ve been alone all day. Doesn’t feel like Thanksgiving without turkey.”
“Everyone else went to a movie. They won’t be back for at least an hour. I‘ll make sure Susan gives you a truckload of turkey if you’ll take me to my apartment.”
“I’ve got a date in two hours,” he said. “I need to shower and change clothes. I don’t live far from here, though. Tell you what, I’ll take you to your apartment if you’re cool with stopping off at my place on the way.”
I worked out a compromise with Ace. We would drop by his apartment long enough for him to grab some clothes. He could shower and change clothes at my apartment while I gathered up my belongings.
After a brief stopover at Ace’s place where I waited patiently in the car, we headed south to my apartment near the lake, not far from downtown Dallas. I asked Ace how long he had known my brother.
“Not long. I met him at the supermarket a couple of months ago.”
“Did you strike up a conversation in the checkout line?”
“I met him in the parking lot. When I came back out to my car, I had a flat tire. Marty helped me change it.”
“That was nice of him.”
“I had him blocked off. He couldn’t leave until my tire was fixed.”
“Oh.”
“We talked about sports while we changed the tire. I asked Marty if I could buy him a beer to thank him for his help. He invited me over to his house and introduced me to Susan. Next thing I knew I was friends with both of them.”
“It’s funny how people meet,” I said. “That story reminds me of how I met my ex, Sheila, who you’ll meet tomorrow at our kickoff meeting. We met at the car wash.”
“The car wash?”
“Her car was right in front of mine in line. I was in a big hurry and I could tell she was going to take forever vacuuming the interior of her car, so I went up to her and said ‘Give me that’ and she handed me the big rubber hose. I finished the job in half the time she’d have taken. She mistook me for one of those nice guys who are always eager to lend a helping hand. One thing led to another, and the next thing I know I’m divorced.”
“How long were you married?”
“Seemed like forever. Nearly two years counting the separation.”
The scenery improved as we drove into Lakewood, where my apartment was located. Most of Dallas is flat and barren. I lived in one of the few areas where there are beautiful trees and rolling hills to break up the monotony of living in the Metroplex.
My apartment complex backs up to a creek. The day I moved in, someone found a dead man’s body in that creek. Our apartment manager scheduled a meeting to reassure the residents that our neighborhood was safe. A police detective was invited to organize a Crime Watch program. We all signed up for it, as any sensible community would. Two days later we all dropped out, as any sensible community would, when we learned that the dead man was a vagrant who didn’t reside anywhere near our neighborhood, or anywhere else for that matter. We cursed the day he was born and the day he died, in our creek of all places.
Ace turned onto La Vista Drive. I told him to drive slowly so I could scope out the scene as we approached my apartments. I didn’t see any suspicious characters hanging about, except the ones who lived in the neighborhood. The security gate stood wide open, as usual. We cruised into the complex. I ducked my head below the dash, popping up every few seconds to check our progress and issue driving instructions.
I opened the front door with my key and flipped the light switch. My mouth fell open slack-jaw style when I saw the sorry state of the place. Total disarray—papers strewn everywhere, beer bottles on the floor, a pizza box wedged into a corner, throw cushions thrown anywhere but the couch where they belonged.
I sighed. What a relief! The place was just as I’d left it. No sign of intruders, thank God. Still, it was a shock to see how I’d let my bachelor pad go to hell in the short time I lived there.
“Man, what happened?” Ace asked, standing in the doorway with his garment bag draped over his shoulder. He looked like a man who couldn’t believe the plane left without him.
I was too embarrassed to tell Ace that nothing had happened. I shook my head in disgust and mumbled a vague threat about what I’d do to whoever was responsible for wreaking havoc in my home while helping themselves to my beer and pizza.
“Bathroom is first door on the right,” I said, pointing to the hallway. “I’ll get my things together while you get ready for your date.”
“Man, you’re a cold-blooded dude. Nothing rattles you! If somebody did this to my apartment, I’d be sick. You act like nothing happened.”
“Well, naturally I’m upset. What’s done is done.”
“It’s like I said before, you’re like John Wayne.”
“You’re exaggerating.”
“No, I’m not. I’ve never seen anything like it. You’re on your deathbed and you refuse to die. You discover somebody broke into your apartment, ten seconds later you’re over it.”
“Yeah, but I wouldn’t say I’m like John Wayne.”
“I would.”
Well, go ahead then.
“You’re more like John Wayne than John Wayne was like himself,” Ace said.
With those parting words he went to take his shower. I thought about the comparison he had drawn of me to John Wayne, of John Wayne to me. Two sides of the same coin. Of course, John Wayne didn’t have a photographic memory.
I packed up my belongings. Ace emerged from the bathroom, looking sharp in black slacks and a red sweater. “Who is that guy in there?” he asked.
“In where?”
“In the bathroom.”
It seemed impossible that Ace could be casually commenting that there was another guy in the bathroom the whole time he was taking a shower and changing clothes. I asked him what he was talking about.
“The guy in all the photos,” he said. “Is that your dad?”
I didn’t have any photographs in my bathroom. Curiosity compelled me to take a look. What I saw left me speechless, and that almost never happens. There were ten photos taped to the wall opposite the mirror, all featuring the same subject.
“Someone put these photos here, Ace. I’ve never seen them before.”
“Who’s the guy in the pictures? Do you know him?”
“I know him. Can’t you guess who he is?”
He took a moment to think. “I’ll bet it’s the old guy who was murdered. The one you call the Coot.”
“The Codger,” I said. “His name is Melvin Hedgeway. Whoever tried to frame me by planting Hedgeway’s wallet, watch, and keys at my old residence has apparently decided to frame me at my new residence as well. I think the point of this display was to make it look like I had been stalking Hedgeway, taking photos of him along the way. Whoever was behind this thought the police would get a search warrant and find the photos. However, there’s no harm done, because the police haven’t been here.”
“How do you know?” Ace asked.
“The photos are still here. The police would have taken them into evidence.”
“Oh, right.”
“Look at the photos and tell me who the Codger looks like.”
Ace studied the photos. “I’ll say Mr. Potato Head.”
“I think he looks like Truman Capote in his last years.”
“Never heard of the dude.”
We stood in silence, staring at the Codger shrine. The photos captured the Codger going about his daily life—getting out of a car, exiting buildings, pushing a lawn mower. I found a large envelope to store the Codger collection. Then I checked every window and sliding glass door in the apartment. All were locked.
I cleared some newspapers from the living room couch and took a seat. Ace s
at on one of the dining room chairs. Let’s see if Mr. Monroe can think on his feet.
“Here’s what I want to know,” I said. “When we got here the front door was locked. All the other doors and windows are locked as well. How did the intruder manage to get out and leave everything locked from the inside?”
“I give up,” Ace said. “How?”
I never like it when someone throws my question back in my face. Might as well be talking to myself.
“Maybe we should start with the easier part of the puzzle,” I said. “Let’s run through a few possibilities of how the intruder could have gotten into the apartment. One possibility is that my key was stolen from the leasing office. The keeper of the keys is a teenage girl who spends all day on the phone gabbing with her friends.”
“Wouldn’t they let you know that your key had been stolen? Change your locks at least.”
“They wouldn’t necessarily know it was stolen. The thief could have made a duplicate. Or he could have replaced the stolen key at the time of the theft with any key that looks like mine. As long as there’s a key hanging there on the rack, I’m sure the girl is fine with it.”
Ace nodded.
“Another possibility is that a maintenance man or a carpet cleaner or a bug sprayer was paid a nice chunk of change to lend out my key.”
“Nobody will admit to anything.”
“We don’t need a confession. All we need is a nosey neighbor who noticed something suspicious. If we find that anyone on our list of suspects had any contact with anyone who works for these apartments, then we’ll know who killed the Codger.”
“How do you figure that?” Ace asked.
“The only reason for a suspect to contact one of the workers would be to gain access to my apartment. We know the purpose of getting into my apartment was to plant the photos and frame me for murder. And who would want to do a thing like that?”
“The murderer.”
“Correct.”
“Sounds like this might be a pretty easy case.”
“Incorrect.”
“Assuming a payoff took place, all we need is one nosey witness. You said so yourself.”
“That’s all we’d need to determine who killed the Codger. But just because we know who did it doesn’t mean we can prove it. What was the killer’s motive? Where is the murder weapon? Where is the Codger’s body? The nosey neighbor won’t know any of that.”
“Sounds like this might be a tough case to crack,” Ace said. “Do you have any beer?”
I grabbed a couple of beers from the fridge. As I handed Ace his bottle, I noticed a yellow slip of paper on the dining room table. I went back to my seat on the couch.
“However,” I said, “I think it’s only a remote possibility that the intruder had a key, so I think we can throw out everything I just said.”
“Good.”
It irked me that he thought it was good that my ideas were to be tossed out, but I couldn’t say anything since it was my suggestion in the first place.
“I don’t think the intruder would take the unnecessary risk of paying someone off or stealing a key from the leasing office,” I said. “I think he got in through the sliding glass door.”
“But how did he get out?” Ace asked. “You said everything was locked from the inside.”
I gulped some cold beer. “I believe he walked out through the front door.”
“You said he didn’t have a key.”
“That’s what I said.”
“The front door was locked when we got here. How did he lock the door without a key?”
“He didn’t,” I said. “He hoped someone would lock it for him later.”
“Talk about wishful thinking.”
“Actually, the odds were in his favor.”
Ace threw up his hands. “Tell me what you’re talking about!”
“Look behind you. See that yellow slip of paper on the table? What does it say?”
Ace read the yellow slip. “Says a guy named Hector entered your apartment to change your air conditioning filter.”
“So there’s your answer. Even if the front door was unlocked when Hector came to change the filter, he would have been required to lock it when he left or risk losing his job, which I’m sure he loves.”
“I see what you mean,” Ace said. “The intruder hoped someone would be sent in here to spray for bugs or change a filter or whatever. He knew they’d lock the door when they left.”
“And when the police got their warrant and came to search the place, they would find all the doors and windows locked. I’d have a tough time explaining how those photos ended up on my bathroom wall if I didn’t put them there.”
We took a break to drink beer. Ace broke the silence. “But his plan didn’t work because we found the photos before the police did. You’re lucky. You could’ve been framed for murder.”
“I’ve been framed ever since those pool workers dug up Sheila’s garden and found the Codger’s wallet and keys. They also found his watch, and I seem to recall Marty mentioning something about traces of blood. So it still looks bad for me. Really bad, in fact. But you’re right that it could have been worse. If the police had found those photos, they would have believed I stalked the Codger and killed him. Now they just think I killed him without stalking him first.”
I hung my head in despair.
“Don’t let yourself get down,” Ace said.
“Oh, shut up! There’s a killer on my ass!”
“Man, I’ve never seen you like this. You’re all stressed out.”
Ace was right. I was all stressed out. Sheila had said much the same thing to me in Vegas. If it was so obvious to everyone, I needed to do something about it before I cracked up in public. I decided the best way to alleviate the pressure of being the prime murder suspect was to find the real killer and let the State of Texas inject lethal fluid into him. A comforting thought. I apologized to Ace for blowing my top.
“Okay,” I said, “We’ve established that the front door was locked by the maintenance man, Hector. If the intruder had broken in after Hector locked the door, we would have found the door unlocked. But we didn’t. Therefore, the intruder planted the photos before Hector changed the filter. What day does the note say Hector was here?”
“November 14th.”
“That means the photos were planted during the first two weeks of November—after my deathbed confession, but before Hector’s visit on the 14th. Are you with me, Ace?”
“I’m with you,” he said, “but I need to leave. Let’s get you back to Marty’s house before you make me late for my date.”
I wasn’t too impressed with Ace’s ability to think on his feet. Had he been more astute, he might have asked me about my own apartment key, inquiring as to whether anyone else had access to it. Had he asked, I would have told him that the key could easily have been removed from my key chain during hospital visiting hours as I lay half asleep under heavy medication. A frequent visitor could have replaced the key during a subsequent visit. Of course, I only had one frequent visitor. I remember how my spirits lifted each evening when my obese nurse waddled through the door to announce the good news: “You lucky duck, your favorite visitor is here!”
Marty again.
Chapter 10
Our kickoff meeting was scheduled for the day after Thanksgiving at 7:00 a.m. You may be curious as to why I chose such an early hour for our initial meeting. Was it to instill discipline in my team? Was it because I knew Marty would be asleep and unable to eavesdrop? Was it simply to get an early start on the investigation, since there was so much to do?
None of those factors played into my thinking. The real reason for the early start time was that I was in command and I enjoyed watching my partners jump at my every whim. Besides, Sheila had made it clear that she intended to be at the Galleria by nine o’clock sharp to participate in the busiest shopping day of the year.
I wondered if Ace would show up on time for our meeting after having a date the
previous night. I’m happy to report that both he and Sheila were on time. I don’t know how I overslept. I opened my eyes at 7:45 to find a smelly mop dangling over my face. Sheila was using the mop as a smelling-salt substitute to bring me around. Both my partners were laughing, though there was nothing funny about it. I ordered the pranksters out of my quarters.
Oversleeping had thrown off my whole schedule. I had no time for a shower. I put on Marty’s robe, pulled the poster from behind the washing machine, grabbed a broomstick to use as a pointer, and reported to Marty’s study.
Sheila said, “We’ll be glad to wait a few more minutes while you put on some clothes.”
“Please take your seats so I can get started with my speech.”
Sheila took a seat on a leather chair. Ace sat on the floor with his long legs crossed Indian-style. He looked ridiculous, yet attentive. I began my speech.
“We are gathered here today because an old man’s life was senselessly cut short. We can only hope that the Codger is in Heaven, rejoicing with the angels as he looks down upon us.”
Sheila giggled. “What is this, a funeral?”
“No, it’s not a funeral,” I said. “Nor is it fun and games. I’m trying to lead a serious investigation here. I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t interrupt or giggle.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s quite all right. A nice, elderly man was murdered. Naturally, you thought it was a laughing matter. I might remind you that you are a suspect, Sheila.”
“I’m innocent.”
“So you say.”
“You know I am.”
“The police don’t know it.”
“Go on with your speech.”
“I’ve forgotten where I was.”
“The angels are rejoicing and looking down upon us. I can’t see how that’s relevant to the investigation, but that’s where you left off.”
Before I could reformulate my line of thought, Barbara Crenshaw strolled into the room.
“Sorry I’m late,” she said to Sheila. “I was taking my morning walk and I stopped to compliment one of the neighbors on her beautiful flowers. Well, she couldn’t stop talking about all the trials and tribulations involved in growing flowers. Anyway, that’s why I’m late … Why is he dressed like that?”