No Kill Station: Murder at Rehoboth Beach

by Diane Meier

  By 6 o’clock, Matt was exhausted. As he was packing up to leave the Mayor strode into the station.

  “I spoke with the Governor just now. I’m an old man and this is a small state. The Governor is a good friend,” the Mayor informed Jay. “I told him that I want an Rehoboth officer involved. Matt is assigned to work with Putnam who will be handling the investigation for the state troopers. Matt, do not let me down.”

  Jay was dismayed. “Mayor Riley, all due respect, I am the Police Chief. If anybody from Rehoboth should be in on this investigation, it’s me.”

  “Jay, I need you to hold down the fort,” replied the Mayor carefully. “In Baltimore cops see a lot of murders and investigations, right Matt? I know you weren’t a detective, but you’ve been involved.”

  “Yes, sir,” Matt replied, keeping himself from looking at Jay. This had to be tough for him to swallow. Matt was actually relieved that Jay wasn’t assigned to the case. Jay was a good man but his only experience was with the Rehoboth police force. He had been a Rehoboth lifeguard before he trained to be a cop.

  The phone rang and Matt picked it up. He was glad to end the discussion with Jay.

  “This is Putnam. I understand we’re working on this case together. The Medical Examiner came earlier and the body was taken to the morgue for an autopsy. The crime lab team took photos and dusted for fingerprints. We had brief interviews with Doug Sasso and his staff. I’ll come by to pick you up at 8 am tomorrow so we can walk through the shelter again.”

  “Sounds good.” Matt replied. “I’ll be ready.”

  “What did he say,” the Mayor asked. Matt repeated the conversation to Jay and the Mayor.

  “Well, I’m going home and have a stiff drink while I break the news to Mary. Gary was her friend too,” said the Mayor with a sigh. Usually the Mayor was a jolly man, like everybody’s favorite uncle. He was always in campaigning mode even though he had been Mayor for the past two decades and nobody ran against him. Having lived in Sussex County for his whole life, he seemed to know everybody by name. He was the champion booster of Rehoboth Beach.

  He had bought his Rehoboth home 35 years ago when houses sold for less a million. The town had changed greatly over the years as it became a mecca for gay people. Mayor Riley was totally comfortable with that because his family included his son and partner. They had finally been able to marry in 2013 when Delaware passed the same sex marriage law. After they adopted two beautiful little girls, the Mayor talked endlessly about his grandchildren. Some people didn’t like the changes in the town. They created an organization to keep Rehoboth a “family beach,” which was code for discouraging gay people from moving there. The hostility at town meetings eventually resulted in hate crimes. To the town’s credit, many people rallied around the victims. They realized that homophobic incidents hurt the town. Afterwards there were few problems between the gay and straight communities.

  A murder in Rehoboth hurt the town too. The Mayor was intent on finding the killer quickly, not only because Gary Randolph was his friend but also so it didn’t damage the town’s image.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Matt parked his old sedan in front of the brown shingle house that had been built over one hundred years ago. He rented the apartment on the second floor of the house. The family who had built the place still owned it. Despite all the realtors banging on the door over the years, the family refused to sell, so it hadn’t become one of the multi-million dollar mansions of Rehoboth. Matt’s landlord created the apartment in her rambling old house after her daughter left for college. She wanted the rent income. She also wanted a little company.

  Matt had been delighted to find the place when he left Baltimore. It was just the right size for him and Henry. They especially liked sitting on the deck that overlooked the fenced yard and beyond that the meadow full of wild flowers next to the stand of oak trees and evergreens. Sharon Butler, who owned the place, often invited them to visit with her and her dogs, Smokey and Snowflake. Henry loved racing around the yard with the dogs. Sharon assured Matt that Henry was welcome any time. Matt didn’t realize at first that Sharon was slowly dying of cancer. Her daughter Clara eventually moved back home to care for her mother. Clara encouraged them to continue their visits up until Sharon was in constant pain. Her mother had thought of Henry and Matt as family.

  Henry saw Matt coming up the walk, opened the door, and launched into a monologue about reptiles. Matt loved Henry’s enthusiasm about all creatures on the land and in the sea. He nodded without saying a word because Henry viewed comments during his speeches as interruptions. Matt smiled over at Clara, who was sitting with a book on her lap.

  When Henry took a breath, Matt said, “Henry, let’s talk more about bearded dragons when we get home. I’d like to ask Clara how she’s doing.”

  “It’s fine, Matt,” said Clara. “I’m very interested in what Henry has told me about bearded dragons.”

  “See,” said Henry triumphantly.

  Clara’s dogs were barking in the yard, so Henry ran and opened the kitchen door. Smokey, the black Boxer and Pit Bull mix, and Snowflake, the little white Pit Bull, jumped around Matt to greet him. Then the dogs flopped on the sofa with Clara.

  “Henry, do you want to watch that documentary about dolphins in the den?” asked Clara.

  “I forgot about that. Come on, Smokey and Snowflake,” said Henry, sprinting out of the room with the dogs.

  “He’s always on warp speed,” said Matt with a laugh. “Thanks for having him over for dinner. I knew it was going to be a long day.”

  “Can I get you some wine?” Clara asked, going to the kitchen. “And I have some spaghetti here if you don’t mind sauce out of a jar.”

  “I love sauce out of a jar,” Matt said, sitting at the kitchen bar. “And wine. Thanks.”

  As she poured the wine, Clara said, “I hear that Gary Randolph was murdered at the SPCA. I didn’t want to bring it up in front of Henry. Did you go over there?”

  “Yes, the SPCA cleaning woman called us this morning. We got there before the state troopers.”

  “I read about it on Facebook,” said Clara. “A lot of my mother’s friends in the rescue community were dancing on his grave. They posted ‘ding dong, the witch is dead’ and other happy comments.”

  Matt was puzzled. “I thought people liked Randolph. The Mayor sure does.”

  Clara ladled out the spaghetti. “The Mayor is old school. He agrees with Randolph’s approach at the SPCA.”

  “Which is what?” asked Matt, taking the plate and digging in. He was starved. And the sauce from the jar was delicious. He wasn’t picky.

  “I guess you didn’t get to know my Mom very well. She was pretty sick when you guys took the apartment.”

  “It must have been so hard seeing her suffer so much at the end.”

  “It was awful,” said Clara. “I felt so helpless.”

  “I remember how much your mother liked animals,” said Matt. “How does that differ from Randolph’s philosophy?”

  “He felt that there aren’t enough homes for all the dogs and cats at the SPCA, so it was necessary to put down many of them.”

  “Well, isn’t that true?” asked Matt between bites. “I mean, it’s sad, but don’t most people want puppies and kittens rather than older animals who got dumped?”

  “Some people feel that way. My mother sure didn’t. I don’t either. She spent the last few years of her life advocating for no kill shelters. She would rant about the SPCA and what’s called ‘convenience killing.’ That’s when shelters kill animals to reduce their workload. Gary Randolph’s initials were GR, so ‘Grim Reaper’ was what she called him. By the time you guys came her rage had burned out because of the cancer,” Clara said. “Did you see the big mural on the wall with the dogs and cats leaving the station on the happy train?”

  “I didn’t notice it.”

  “My mom hated it. She said that it showed the SPCA bias against mixed breed dogs. The mural has only pedigreed dogs on th
e train traveling toward Happy Ever After. She said that mixed breed dogs and Pit Bulls weren’t on the train because they had all been killed at the SPCA.”

  Matt wasn’t sure what to say so he just nodded. He hadn’t known that there was controversy about animal shelters.

  “Before she got sick, she was constantly over at the SPCA trying to rescue the mutts, Pit Bulls and any older or sick animals. Randolph hated it when she came. He didn’t like rescue groups. That was baffling because they were just trying to take the socalled unadoptable animals off his hands. The rescue groups complained to the Governor, county elected officials, and state legislators, but nobody would do anything.”

  “That’s very hard to understand. Doesn’t SPCA stand for Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals?” asked Matt. “What about the national group? Why doesn’t it do something to fix this?”

  “There is no national SPCA, strangely enough. There are shelters all over America that call themselves SPCA, but they aren’t connected by any coordinating organization at the national level.”

  “That’s news to me. So there are no national policies for how SPCAs operate?”

  “None at all. There’s a national group called the American Society for the Protection of Animals, but it doesn’t coordinate the individual SPCAs. They are all independent nonprofit groups. Each SPCA is different and some are better than others. Unfortunately Delaware’s SPCA is a high-kill facility. My mother said that ‘Killing Station’ was a better name for it than SPCA.” “So voters have no control over the SPCA at all,” said Matt. “The counties have dog control contracts, so citizens can complain to their local elected officials. The state recently passed an excellent shelter standards law, but so far has done nothing to enforce it. The state provides some funds to the SPCA for enforcement of the animal cruelty law, but there’s not much oversight. It’s a mess.”

  “I have often wondered why nobody helps the dogs that are chained up in yards all the time without dog houses. It’s really sad. I try not to drive past those properties with Henry because it upsets him.”

  “Once you leave the beach towns and go west of Route 1, there’s a lot of poverty around here. The SPCA has the responsibility to help those dogs with no outdoor shelter, but doesn’t bother.”

  “The dogs must be so miserable,” said Matt.

  “Dogs chained outside all the time can get very territorial about their space. They don’t get enough attention and socialization. Many dogs just go crazy on their chains. They can recover but it takes time and love. If those dogs get loose and are picked up by the SPCA, they go straight to death row. Even when owners get there in time their dogs aren’t given back unless owners pay the SPCA fees. Randolph would always kill the animals rather than waive the fees.”

  “That’s horrible. I didn’t know about all this,” said Matt. “Your mother never talked to us about it. I did wonder about how she came to have Smokey and Snowflake. It seems like a lot of older folks have what I call the ‘foo foo’ dogs. Little fluffy things.”

  Clara laughed. “Mom would have liked the term ‘foo foo.’ She was an advocate for Pit Bulls. Most of them are mutts actually, not pure Pit. And they are good dogs despite the bum rap they get in the media. Over the years my mother rescued about 100 Pit Bulls and mutts from the SPCA despite Randolph’s stonewalling. Smokey and Snowflake were rescued from death row.”

  “I was a little worried about them when we came to look at the apartment. The bad image of Pit Bulls in the media had definitely affected me. My concerns vanished when I saw how well behaved they are and how much they love Henry.”

  “They really do adore him,” Clara agreed. “The reason why Pit Bulls can be trained to fight is because they are so obedient and loyal. They aren’t any more aggressive than other dogs. All dogs growl and bite when they feel threatened. Pit Bulls used to be known as the ‘nanny dogs’ because they’re so good with kids.”

  “I don’t know much about dogs at all,” said Matt. “I grew up with cats, but I like Snowflake and Smokey a lot.”

  “They love people, but not everybody is comfortable with them. When I’m walking them, people sometimes cross the street when they see us coming. Hardly anybody comes up to pat them. But so be it.”

  Matt took his plate to the sink and rinsed it.

  “That was delicious. Thank you. I was starving. Never ate lunch.”

  “It must have been pretty crazy at Town Hall. We don’t get a lot of murders in Rehoboth. All hell must have broken loose,” said Clara.

  “People were calling all afternoon. The Mayor was especially upset. In fact, he called the Governor and insisted that I work with the state troopers to find the killer. Usually they handle murder investigations without the town cops involved.”

  “That’s going to be intense. Let me know when you’d like Henry to come over. I get a kick out of him. And it’s fine if he comes over after school. I just work on my designs and he hangs around with the dogs. He also does his homework and reads his sci-fi books. He’s good company.”

  “Tell me if that changes. He loves being here but I don’t want him to bother you. I guess I should get him home. It’s getting late.

  Diane Meier

  Thanks again for dinner,” said Matt. “Henry, come on, we have to go.” Henry came running with the dogs and gave them each a hug before they left.

  Matt was so grateful to Clara for putting up with Henry. The divorce had been difficult for Henry as with many kids. Matt thought he seemed happy. Henry liked his school, the beach and of course, Clara, Snowflake, and Smokey.

  After he got Henry to bed, Matt thought about what Clara had told him. The Grim Reaper was a hell of a nickname for a guy who was supposed to be in the business of saving animals. It cast a whole new light on the murder. If Randolph had enemies because of how he treated animals, that could be the motive for the murder.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Clara finished up in the kitchen and sat down at her computer. She had a design project that was due in three days. She was a “remote” artist for companies that needed projects like newspaper ads and logos. After finishing her degree at George Washington University, she had decided to stay in D. C. because of her work. The client base that she had developed with the help of a professor expanded quickly. She was easily able to support herself as a freelance graphics designer.

  She got a two bedroom apartment near Tenley Circle and found a roommate. The D. C. nightlife was fun. She dated a lot of different guys but never anyone for very long. They seemed to be obsessed with politics no matter whether they were working at government agencies or on Capitol Hill. She got tired of it.

  She thought about moving to New York but it was so expensive. It wasn’t just a matter of money. She had grown up in a small town and she wasn’t interested in living in such a huge city. When her mother got sick, it was an easy decision to pack up and move back to Rehoboth. It was just as easy to work from Rehoboth as in Washington, D. C.

  Despite the difficulties in caring for her mother, she was happy to be home. It was a joy to be back near the ocean. While her mother was still able to get around, they had taken walks at the beach. Feeling the breeze and watching the seagulls seemed to give her mother some comfort but gradually she was unable to walk very far. Clara pushed her in a wheelchair along the boardwalk. At the end of her life, her mother was defeated by the pain and couldn’t bear to move at all. When she died, Clara was devastated. At the same time, she was relieved that the agony was over for her mother.

  The funeral was simple, as her mother had wanted. The full house at the Rehoboth Episcopal Church was full of rescue group friends and the many people who knew her from growing up with her in Rehoboth. The crowd included the stray cats who hung out in the churchyard. The cats came by to pay their respects for this woman who had always brought tidbits for them when she attended services.

  After the wake, Clara was sobbing while she washed the dishes. Suddenly she felt her mother’s presence. Clara turned and
got the shock of her life. Her mother was sitting at the kitchen table! She was the picture of health. Clara dropped the plate she was holding and stumbled over to a chair. She must be more drunk than she had thought. Smokey and Snowflake came running at the sound of the broken dish. They barked wildly and leaped for joy. Clara was astonished. The dogs could see her mother, too.

  “Clara, I know this must be terrifying, but I’m here. I don’t know how or why, but I’m here.”

  Clara gave her mother a bear hug. “My God, you really are here! How can this be?”

  “I have no idea. As I was taking my last breath, I seemed to rise out of my body. I saw my Mom and Dad waving to me from some kind of mist. I was so tempted to go with them. I knew you’d be fine without me, but I just felt like that my work here wasn’t finished.”

  Clara was still trying to accept that she wasn’t delusional. “So you just decided to stay? Do people get that choice?”

  “I don’t know. I just know what’s happening to me.”

  Sharon did wonder what lay beyond. She would have liked to see her parents, husband and other relatives who had passed away. She just wasn’t ready to go yet. She had no idea how long she’d be able to stay, but she wanted that time.

  For all Sharon knew, there were the other friendly spirits around. Not like Casper, the silly cartoon, but perhaps more like Beetlejuice. Clara had been fascinated by the teenager in the movie who can see the ghost couple living in house. Sharon had always been enthralled by The Ghost and Mrs Muir, the 1947 romance between a dead ship captain and the woman who buys his house. Maybe there were ghosts like the ones in horror movies, but Sharon tended to doubt that.

  Sharon chose to be invisible when visitors like Matt and Henry were in the house. Most of the time, she left the room. She didn’t want to be a helicopter mother, always hovering over her daughter.