3 Murder In The Library

by Steve Demaree

  We found everyone at home at the Colonel’s house. Lou and I had already worked out a plan where I would show the picture and he would study the face of the person looking at it, to see if we got a reaction that wasn’t verbalized. Also, as best we could, we would look from picture to person to see if we could see a resemblance. That would take some doing if the person who held the picture was a woman.

  Each member of the household studied the picture. Some even covered the beard and the hair, hoping to come up with a suspect. Jennifer seemed startled when she looked at the picture, but I couldn’t tell if she recognized the person or not. She handed the picture back to me, and I handed it to Scott. I wondered if she was startled because she thought it was her husband, but then they were supposed to have been together on the afternoon of the murder. I compared the eyes, but even eyes can be made to look different. I could see no resemblance between Scott and the long-haired man with the beard, but then I had problems figuring out all those “firsts” in the second word of our puzzle.

  Ten minutes later we left the house no more informed than when we entered it. I hoped that our visit with the next-door neighbor would be better.

  +++

  We shuffled up the walk, hoping that Bob Downey was at home. As far as we knew, he was the only neighbor who saw someone enter the Colonel’s house. Not wanting to alert the entire neighborhood that we were on the prowl, I dispensed of slamming down the brass knocker, and used a pudgy finger to ring the doorbell. Luck was with us.

  Downey opened the door, and looked at us like he was having trouble placing us.

  “Oh, you’re the one in charge of the investigation, aren’t you?”

  “Very perceptive, Mr. Downey. You have a mind for faces, which is why we are here.”

  “Would you like to come in?”

  “No, this is fine.”

  I handed Downey one of the pictures.

  “Is this the man you saw enter the house next door?”

  “So, you caught him. Where did you find him?”

  “Just answer the question please.”

  “Well, I can’t say for sure. I got only a quick glimpse from a distance, but if I were in a court of law I’d say the preponderance of the evidence says ‘yes.’”

  “Wow! That’s a big word, Mr. Downey. What kind of work did you say you do?”

  “Nothing now. For most of my life, and I do mean most of my life, I was an over the road truck driver. My momma died when I was eleven. My daddy took me on the road with him and Uncle Jonas. They took turns driving, and teaching me the things I missed by not being in school. Kind of like the reverse of home schooling. Then, when I was sixteen, they taught me how to drive a rig. I continued to do that until I decided to settle down here a little over two years ago.”

  “And what caused you to choose Hilldale as a place to live?”

  “I never had a place to call home. Daddy, Uncle Jonas, and me, we kept driving, traveling all over the country. Daddy taught me how to save my money, and I decided that whenever I got tired of trucking, I’d find me a place and settle down. I was just outside of Hilldale when I got tired. I always thought that one place was as good as another, so it didn’t matter where I settled.”

  “So, you never married?”

  “Nope. I’ve got me some lady friends around the country, but I never married. I was married to my truck. Well, at least until I decided to quit.”

  “So, where’s your truck now?”

  “Some guy offered to buy it right after I settled down. It was a new rig. Cost almost half as much as this house. Well, not quite half, but it cost a bundle.”

  “And what happened to your dad and uncle?”

  “Both died. Three years apart. Cremated both of them, as per their wishes. Put them in a container, tied it on my rig, and let them blow off into the wind as I drove down the highway.”

  “Seems like there aren’t a lot of people who know you.”

  “Oh, a lot have gotten to know me over the years. Just haven’t seen many people for too long at a time.”

  “Well, we’re gathering the background on everyone who knew the Colonel. Care to tell me some people we can check with?”

  “The Colonel?”

  “The man next door who died.”

  “Oh, I didn’t realize he was a Colonel. I didn’t really know him. Saw him a few times out in the yard and we waved back and forth. That’s all. I was never in his house. He was never in mine. You know how it is with neighbors these days.”

  “Still, mind giving me a few names?”

  “Not at all, but everyone I hauled for is dead except for Art Pickens, and he’s retired. Lives in Billings. That’s in Montana. Then there’s those lady friends I told you about. I’d call when I was in the neighborhood. Had one in Santa Fe, one just outside New Orleans, and one in Omaha. Will that do?”

  I indicated that those names would do fine. He wrote down the four names, addresses, and phone numbers. I planned to have Sam check them to see if everything checked out.

  “You planning on being around, Mr. Downey?”

  “I never did plan much of anything other than work. Now that I’m retired if I’ve a hankering to go somewhere, I just pick up and go, come back when I feel like it. As I said, my daddy taught me well. I never needed money for much of anything, so I’m pretty well set for my retirement years.”

  “No chance of you up and moving is there.”

  “No. Nothing like that. If I go anywhere, it’d just be for a week or two. I’m still enjoying this nice little town.”

  “So, you think this is the guy you saw going in the house next door?”

  “Well, like I said, I can’t say for sure, but as far as I can tell the hair is the right color and length, and the beard looks about the same. It wasn’t like he stood there and posed for me.”

  “And have you ever seen anyone who looks like this anywhere here in town either before or after that day he went in the house?”

  “Can’t say that I have. For two reasons. I don’t see a lot of people, and most of the people I’ve seen around here don’t have long hair and beards. There are a lot more beards up north, particularly in the winter.”

  “And how long did you say you were a trucker?”

  “I’m forty-four now. Forty-two when I quit. I was eleven when Momma died and Daddy took me on the road with him. Sixteen when he and Uncle Jonas taught me to drive a rig on weekends. Eighteen when they let me start sharing a little of the drive with them. See, truckers are only supposed to drive so much each week, and with three of us driving we could spend more time on the road.”

  “Well, thank you for your time, Mr. Downey. If you see this man again, be sure and let us know. Just call the department.”

  “I’ll do that, but if he’s done something bad, I’d say he’s hightailed it out of town by now. Maybe all the way to Mexico.”

  “You could be right. Well, thanks for your time.”

  +++

  Lou and I shuffled back to Lightning, got in, and discussed what we’d learned at the two houses, which wasn’t much. After a candy break, we resumed our visit with the Colonel’s neighbors. No one else on the Colonel’s street had seen the long-haired man. We drove away to the street behind the Colonel’s house, and began again.

  +++

  “I’m Lt. Dekker with the Hilldale Police Department. I was wondering if you’ve seen this man.”

  The elderly gentleman took the picture, studied it for a minute, and then handed it back.

  “I think so.”

  Having received a “no” at every other house, my brain, which was on auto-pilot, almost caused me to turn to leave. It was then that I realized the man’s answer.

  “And when was that?”

  “Let me see. It was the day I went to the doctor. I was coming home, pulled in the drive, and almost hit this guy running through. He stopped, stunned that I was there, so I got a good look at him. I’m pretty sure it’s the same guy.”

  “And can you te
ll me what day it was?”

  “Yeah, let me check. I only went to the doctor once that week, so it was Tuesday, a couple of weeks ago.”

  “Are you sure it couldn’t have been last Monday?”

  “No, it wasn’t then. My wife and I went to our daughter’s for the weekend. Didn’t get back until almost dark Monday night. No, I’m sure it was on a Tuesday.”

  “Do you remember what time of day it was?”

  “I’d say a little before 11:00. Maybe closer to 10:30. I always schedule my doctor’s appointments early in the day, so that I don’t have a bunch of people ahead of me. I was Dr. Wheeler’s second patient that day, so I’d say I got home somewhere around 10:30, give or take a few minutes.”

  “What did the man do when he saw you?”

  “Well, he just stood there a minute, stunned, like I said. Then he took off running down the street. By the time I got out of the car and walked back to see where he went, he was gone.

  “I never saw him before, and I’ve never seen him since. Sorry, I can’t be of more help, Lieutenant.”

  I took down the man’s name, phone number. Dick Morrissey. I doubted if I’d need him again, unless we collared the long-haired man.

  I thanked Mr. Morrissey for his time, turned and finished our canvass. Because one person on the street had seen the man, we continued our canvass down the street in the direction Morrissey had indicated. But no one else had seen our long-haired man.

  +++

  Now we had had three people who’d seen the long-haired man. Only one of them saw him on a different day. Did that mean that the long hair and beard wasn’t a disguise? Or that our murderer did a trial run? Could it be the day he made the hole in the wall and left the note? Only time would tell. But with each new witness, I became more convinced that the long-haired man wasn’t a figment of Downey’s imagination. A pizza delivery driver offered some credibility, but a man who saw the long-haired man up close for a few seconds told me there was a long-haired man in the neighborhood, and on at least two occasions. What that meant, I had no idea.

  +++

  It took all afternoon to complete our canvass. I wondered how local politicians, who do door-to-door canvassing, ever get to most of their constituents. It didn’t matter. I had no plans to run for any office.

  After a brief conversation, Lou and I opted for an early dinner at Burkman’s. If you want a good steak in Hilldale, Burkman’s is the place to go. And both Lou and I wanted a good steak that night to gather enough strength for the next day, and I wanted a couple of good desserts to replace the calories I’d burned going door-to-door.

  Depending on the restaurant, both Lou and I like our steaks medium or medium-well. Don’t bring me a steak that looks like something the dog will eat. And don’t bring me one that resembles something that has been sacrificed to God. I want a juicy, but not bloody, steak, fit for human consumption. I didn’t want to make a pig of myself, so I bypassed the sixteen ounce Porterhouse and selected the fourteen ounce New York strip, instead. Lou started to order the six-once sirloin, but one look at me told him he had to order one that was at least eight ounces. Both of us ordered baked potatoes. I passed on chives, whatever they are, and sour cream. I told our server to be liberal with bacon bits and cheese and throw in enough butter for them to swim in. Our server laughed, not because she was making fun of me, but because she admired a man who knew which food groups to eat, and how much of each was just enough. Lou too ordered a baked potato, but with a small amount of butter. I know our server wanted to shake her head, but wanted a tip even more. For our other side item, both of us chose baked apples. I decided to wash mine down with sweet tea. Lou chose an orange cream soda.

  One item on the menu caught my eye, and I suggested it to Lou. I felt it was calling our names, and he agreed. When it came time for dessert, we tried something called Chocolate Pudding Cake Extreme. On the bottom was a yellow cake, filled, and I do mean filled, with chocolate pudding. A caramel sauce drenched the top and sides of the cake, and whipped cream engulfed the entire delicacy. Walnuts were liberally sprinkled on top, and a cherry looked on from above. It looked so good that I ordered a double helping. I was glad that I had no more walking to do that day. If I knew the new Lou, after eating a measly amount of his dessert, he would go home and do some of those Wii exercises. Poor thing. He was going to have to wash his clothes in hot water, just so they could fit him again.

  As soon as the anesthetic wore off enough that Lou and I were able to take up our beds and walk, we left Burkman’s, knowing that the Chocolate Pudding Cake Extreme would call us to return soon. As would the steaks. Well, at least one of us.

  +++

  With Lou deposited in his nest and the night still young, I picked up a copy of Parnell Hall’s A Clue For The Puzzle Lady. Cora Felton and I had little in common. She smoked, she drank, she’d been married several times, and she didn’t do puzzles. She did, however, solve a murder every now and then. So, we had one thing in common. I was about to get to know Cora a little better, and I suspected that she’d be good for a few laughs along the way.

  +++

  As is many times the case, a good meal soon leads to a bad nightmare, which means my next-door neighbor and I were about to come face to face, without actually doing so.

  In my dream, Lou and I were walking from house to house, handing each person a picture. At each house, whoever answered the door returned the picture with the same comment, “No, I’ve never seen anyone uglier.” Finally, I looked at the picture and realized why. I had in my fat little hand a picture of my next-door neighbor. At one house, I held the picture at an angle with caused the picture to reflect in the mirror inside the house, and the mirror broke. If I hadn’t been a policeman, I would’ve been dead meat at that house. When I looked down, I discovered that I had a second picture of my neighbor. In this one, she looked much better. She had long hair and a beard, and the hair was combed so that it covered her face, and exposed her ears instead. I couldn’t say much for her ears, but at least they looked better than her face. Just before I woke from my nightmare, I knocked on a door, and the woman who answered was accompanied by a varmint that looked like the one next-door to me. When I showed the woman the picture, the varmint snatched it from her hand, chewed up the picture, and spit it out. I looked down at the picture pieces that lay on the carpet. Finally, my next-door neighbor looked better.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  I awoke Monday and immediately groaned. It wasn’t a day to read. It wasn’t even a day to work on our puzzle. It was a day to drive all over everywhere and question anyone we saw. One look at our list told me it would take us more than one day to complete our agenda. I wondered where we would be at the end of our travels. Would we have any more idea who had murdered the Colonel?

  +++

  I was still savoring the previous night’s delectable dessert and I wasn’t ready for green eggs and ham, so as soon as I heard my friend pick up the phone, I said, “Sam, this is Cy. I just wanted to see where your travels on my behalf have taken you.”

  “Oh, I haven’t been anywhere, Cy.”

  “But you’d better have let your fingers do the walking.”

  “Well, that, and other people. Okay, here’s what I’ve learned since we’ve talked. Nothing. Well, not exactly nothing. I’ve found a lot of places in California where Carl Bauerman isn’t. Some places where he’s been, but he hasn’t stayed in any of them any longer than six weeks, or however long a play lasts. He has spent time out there in recent years, but he keeps moving, as if he doesn’t want anyone to catch him. Still, everywhere he’s been, he’s been a consummate actor and a model citizen.”

  “When is the last time anyone saw him?”

  “Well, none of the people I’ve talked to have seen him in over a year, and that was his friend who visited from New York. I’ve found places where he’s lived, but every neighbor tells me the same thing. They never saw him. Yet he did live there, and he showed up when it came time to practice or star i
n a play.”

  “I assume you have police out there who are working for you?”

  “I do, and in each case they’ve shown a picture of Bauerman, and a picture of the long-haired man with the beard who was seen entering your friend’s house. In each case, the person has identified Bauerman, and in no case has anyone seen that long-haired man out there. Bauerman has definitely been a lot of places, but that other guy is native to our area.”

  “What can you tell me about Bauerman?”

  “Just what I’ve told you before.”

  “How old a man is he?”

  “If he’s still living, he’s fifty-five.”

  “Are you saying he could’ve died?”

  “Yes, but, if so, he died within the last year or so. He was seen up until then.”

  “How big of a man is he?”

  “Well, the people we talked to say he is average height, and slender.”

  “Do you have any pictures of him?”

  “Just distance shots. We’ve blown them up, but they’re not that distinctive. I do have a picture of him the last year he taught at the high school. Will that do you?”

  “It’ll have to. Lou and I will stop by to pick it up later. Anything new on Terloff?”

  “Not yet, only that we know he’s still in the state because enough people see him from time to time, but always in a different place.”

  “So, he’s here, but not here. Are any of these places close to Hilldale?”

  “Not really, but close enough that he could get here within a couple hours or so. I haven’t talked to anyone who has seen him here lately.”

  “Can you get me a picture of him, too?”

  “You can pick that up with the other one.”

  “Anything new on Tom Johnson, that pest control tech?”

  “I thought you were checking up on him, Cy.”

  “Lou and I plan to check out the place where he worked. I want you to see if you can find out anything else about him before he went to work for that place in Indiana, and, if Lou and I don’t come up with something, I want you to see if you can follow his trail out of town.”