Sinister Justice

by Steve Pickens

  “We have no reason to believe anyone else is in danger. This appears to have been a very targeted event. We would ask anyone having knowledge of Mrs. Weinberg’s movements after the town meeting two weeks ago up until Sunday, the 16th of October to please report it to detectives Sharon Trumbo or Adam Haggerty, who are sitting behind me. You do not have to identify yourself, and we will be taking tips by phone on the department’s tip line. The phone number is in the book.”

  George Mayhew, the owner of Arrow Bay Antiques, waved his hand around until Chief Sanderson acknowledged him.

  “Do you have any suspects at this time?”

  “I’ll let the lead detectives handle the specific questions,” said Sanderson, leaving a surprised Sharon Trumbo and Adam Haggerty to approach the table and take a seat while he inexplicably left through the same door Reed Longhoffer just used. This caused another stir in the crowd. Jake watched Alex give up his seat for Sharon Trumbo, then take the seat she had just vacated, an inscrutable look on his face. He glanced toward Miranda Zimmerman who stared at the door that had closed behind Chief Sanderson.

  “At the present time we have no suspects,” confirmed Adam Haggerty, looking directly at Jake. “We’ve questioned the neighbors of Mrs. Weinberg extensively, and no one remembers seeing anything out of the ordinary in the days leading up to her death.”

  “Are any of the neighbors suspects?” asked Rebecca Windsor, standing up suddenly.

  “None of the neighbors are suspects, Ms. Windsor. While I am unable to give you specifics on the cause of death, I can say it appears that someone specifically targeted Mrs. Weinberg. This was not a random act.”

  This was also greeted with another general rise in voices from the crowd. People began to look around uncomfortably, as if trying to spy out the killer among them. Jake closed his eyes and reluctantly called up the scene in Leona Weinberg’s kitchen. He could see the yellow tile and matching stove and fridge, the sunflower curtains and the black granite top of the kitchen island, he could see Leona’s feet sticking out from behind the island, gray shoes pointed upward, her purple hand still clutching the desiccated apple. Around her were several more apples that had been spilled from the bowl, probably clutched at as she fell….

  No broken glass. Nothing else out of place. No sign of a struggle.

  Murder, he thought. Murder and an apple. It can only be one thing. Jake turned to Sam. “She was poisoned,” he said, a little too loudly. He sunk down in his seat as soon as the word began spreading its way across the auditorium. Adam Haggerty shot Jake an icy stare.

  “Well here’s another fine mess,” Sam said, smiling crookedly. “I warned you that all that mystery reading was going to harm you one of these days.”

  “What are you doing about the Mad Poisoner?” someone shouted.

  “Why aren’t you telling us the truth!?” demanded Marilyn Sandy.

  “We are telling you the truth,” said Sharon Trumbo, exasperated. “We are doing everything we can to apprehend the person or persons responsible.”

  The plural caused the audience to erupt in a fresh burble of loud conversation, all the while looking more suspicious and accusatory of one another.

  “I know you’ve got poison in your basement, Milton Sandy.” shouted gray-haired spinster Norma Middlebrook, the second grade teacher at Arrow Bay Elementary.

  “Well, of course I have poison in my basement,” retorted the balding Milton Sandy. “I’m an exterminator, for crying out loud.”

  “Yeah, and a bad one, I’ve still got rats in my house,” yelled Paul Driggers, owner of Hidden Treasures, Arrow Bay’s junk shop.

  “I’m surprised that’s all you’ve got,” rejoined Sandy, which was greeted by gales of laughter.

  “Selma McKinney’s got poison in her basement. I’ve seen her giving it to the squirrels.” yelled Sheila Doyle.

  “You’re just saying that because I won the blue ribbon for my quilt at the fair this year, Sheila,” shouted Selma McKinney. “And as for having poison around, I seem to recall you saying you could just kill Leona Weinberg not more than three months ago!”

  “She was against my quilt because I used unconventional fabrics in my construction.”

  “You mean you used her cashmere coat when she left it behind at the guild meeting, is what you mean.”

  “People, please,” implored Sharon Trumbo.

  “If you ask me whoever killed that old bag did the town a favor,” said Clint Shimmel. “She was a vicious old battle axe. I saw her push a kid into a snow drift last winter when the little girl didn’t get out of her way fast enough.”

  “Was that before or after you left the Bitter End?” asked Trudy Mundy, the Customs officer, and again the crowd laughed.

  “We all know who killed her!” yelled Rebecca Windsor breathlessly.

  “Don’t you dare say it was the devil, Rebecca.”

  “Of course it wasn’t the devil!” screeched Rebecca. “It was Misty Snipes! The Plaid Scarf Strangler!”

  The crowd now erupted into general confusion. Sam looked at Jake and said, “The what strangler?”

  Jake shrugged. Trumbo and Haggerty were looking as perplexed as everyone else. Miranda Zimmerman shrugged while looking at Alex.

  “Thirty years ago Misty Snipes murdered at least six people. All of them were strangled with plaid scarves!” Rebecca shouted.

  “Aw, come off it lady, you’re off your rocker!” bawled Clint Shimmel.

  “I have copies of the articles at home. She was acquitted of the murders due to lack of evidence and later spent time in a mental institution in Danvers, Massachusetts. Now she has come here to finish out her terrible work.”

  “Where on earth did she dig that up?” Sam asked Jake.

  “No idea. I couldn’t find anything on her on the web.” Jake thought of the insane asylum at Danvers and shivered. It had supposedly been the inspiration for H.P. Lovecraft’s Arkham Asylum, and Jake couldn’t think of a more sinister-looking building.

  “People, please. There was no plaid material found at the crime scene,” Sharon Trumbo said.

  “Like we’re supposed to believe you? You let a dangerous murderess into our midst without telling us, then withhold information on a murder in our town and we are supposed to find you credible?” Rebecca said.

  “Well, actually they did tell us about Misty Snipes,” replied George Mayhew. “And how do you know that the reported Ms. Snipes is…uh…the Ms. Snipes, the Plaid Cravat Killer?”

  “Plaid Scarf Strangler,” corrected Rebecca Windsor. “If you were paying attention, you’d know that, you oaf!”

  “I’m kinda impressed he pulled out the word ‘cravat’,” said Jake.

  “Me too,” Sam agreed.

  “Why should anyone pay attention to the likes of you, anyway?” said Sheila Doyle. “No one knows exactly when the shuttle is going to land with you, do they Rebecca?”

  “Ignore her, Rebecca, she’s just mad you placed second in the fair with your quilt and she didn’t even get honorable mention,” said Selma McKinney.

  “I’d look out if I were you, Rebecca. McKinney has a lot of plaid in her collection. You may find yourself at the end of Misty Snipes’ handiwork.”

  “At least I can recognize plaid,” said Selma icily.

  The Reverend Crawford was watching this exchange with rapt attention. Detectives Trumbo and Haggerty looked as if someone had recently poured sugar in their gas tanks, and Miranda Zimmerman was trying not to laugh.

  “People, we’re getting off topic here,” said Sam.

  “Oh what do you know about it?” said Sheila Doyle. “You don’t even quilt!”

  “He’d probably still be better at than you, Sheila,” said Selma McKinney.

  “Both of you shut up!” cried Rebecca.

  The two women rounded on Rebecca. The color had drained from her face as she realized what she had just said.

  “Why don’t you go out and try to find the devil in Wilde Park, dear,” said Selma McKinney.r />
  “Yes, do let us know if you find him,” agreed Sheila Doyle.

  “I’ve got a better idea,” said Milton Sandy. “Why don’t the three of you shut up!”

  “Hear hear,” agreed Trudy Mundy.

  “That’s the last time I ever call you for your services!” shouted Selma McKinney. She turned her gaze on to Marilyn Sandy. “And the last time I ever let you see me at the doctor’s office, Marilyn. When I have blood taken, I like it for the nurse to find the vein within the first two tries instead of filling me full of holes like I was a pincushion!”

  Marilyn Sandy flushed crimson. “Next time come in after your feeding time, you black-hearted vampire! Maybe then I wouldn’t have to go prospecting!”

  Selma launched herself at Marilyn Sandy’s head. The two began pulling each other’s hair and cursing a blue streak, then spilled out into the aisle, flailing and screaming at one another. Marilyn slapped Selma across the face, and Selma banged Marilyn’s head into the carpeted aisle. Milton Sandy hadn’t lifted a finger and seemed to be enjoying the fight, and Derek Brauer and Marion Burd took notes furiously while Jason Finnigan snapped photos. Sharon Trumbo and Adam Haggerty leapt to their feet to break the two women apart; however, Sharon slipped on her way down the stage and landed in the front row, knocking Derek and Marion Burd to the ground. Walter Lugar was instantly on his feet to assist Sharon, while someone threw an orange wedge at Rebecca Windsor. It clocked her in the head, and she dropped like a lead weight, and then suddenly the air was filled with flying fruit from the snack table at the back of the room.

  Evelyn O’Conner was pulling at the Reverend Crawford’s coat trying to get her to the exit, but Milly Crawford was laughing too hard to move, tears running down her face. Emma Kennedy and Randy Burrows made a hasty exit out the same door Reed Longhoffer had escaped from not long before, and Baldo Ludich was escorting the frail looking Professor Mills out the side door as rapidly as he could. Trudy Mundy was now at the back of the room launching more fruit at Rebecca Windsor’s head, while Verna Monger, Miranda Zimmerman, and Alex Blackburn slipped quietly away from the stage and out the side door on the right hand side of the auditorium.

  Jake was watching with bemused interest until a piece of melon flew close to his head. He grabbed Sam, who was ducking for cover and pulled him down the aisle, the Reverend Crawford and Evelyn O’Conner right behind them. They piled out the door and into the hallway, spotting the lights of the Arrow Bay police cars outside the front door. Sam quickly led them up to the second floor, down a hallway and then out the fire exit that lead into the back parking lot.

  * * *

  Reverend Crawford was still laughing when they found her car parked along Central Avenue. Evelyn O’Conner scolded her, and then climbed into the driver’s side of the Reverend’s car, shrugging at Sam and Jake as she pulled away. Alex’s Jaguar cruised past and he and Miranda Zimmerman waved, and right behind them was Baldo Ludich with a harried Professor Mills in Ludich’s mint-green Ford Explorer. Professor Mills waved weakly at Jake and Sam as they drove past.

  “And you said these meetings were boring,” said Sam as they walked slowly down Central Avenue.

  “Remind me not to get too close to the Arrow Bay Quilters Society again,” said Jake.

  “Vicious lot, aren’t they? They’ve been feuding like that for decades, according to Mom.”

  Jake stopped in his tracks and turned toward Sam. Sam looked him in the eye, and they both burst out laughing.

  “Did you see who pelted Rebecca Windsor with that orange?”

  “No. Whoever it was has a hell of an arm.”

  “It was Gladys!” said Sam as they sat down on a bench just off the city hall parking lot. “Never seen a truer aim in my life.”

  “Me either. I—”

  Jake quickly quieted down when he heard some voices approaching from the other side of the hedge that bordered the length of Brooks Street. He didn’t recognize who was speaking at first, but quickly realized it was Emma Kennedy and Randy Burrows.

  “You’ve got some melon in your hair,” said Emma Kennedy.

  “That would have been that weasel Chad Rudd. You can bet dimes for dollars he’ll put in for Longhoffer’s vacant seat.”

  “Yeah, I know. I’m surprised he didn’t jump in tonight.”

  “Baldo got Alex’s name in too quick. Here’s my car. I’m all for Blackburn staying on if he can maintain focus. He’s got a lot on his plate but he’d be good on the council.”

  “Can’t be any worse than Weinberg. Wish we’d done something about her sooner,” said Kennedy.

  Jake looked at Sam, startled. Had he heard right?

  “Well, you know, some things can’t be rushed. The end result was better than expected though.”

  “Got that right. Two down, one to go.”

  “Take it easy Emma. See you Saturday night.”

  “You bet.”

  Jake watched and waited until both cars turned left onto Central Avenue. Jake rose with Sam right behind him, and they walked stiffly around the hedge and up Brooks Avenue to where Sam’s Outback was parked.

  “Sam.”

  “Don’t jump to conclusions, Jake. We don’t know what it was they were talking about.”

  “‘Wish we had done something sooner? Two down, one to go?’”

  “There, you see, now Reed Longhoffer isn’t dead,” said Sam.

  “No, he’s not,” agreed Jake. “He’s blocked in by your car,” said Jake, wincing.

  Sam had parked the blue Outback correctly, but Longhoffer had not parked his car in the slot. He had parked his Cadillac to take up two spots on Brooks Avenue and in retaliation, someone in a green Malibu had boxed him in. The only way he could get out was if the Malibu or Sam’s Outback were moved out of the way. Jake and Sam approached cautiously, as Reed was leaning up against his car. Sam slid around quickly to open the passenger side for Jake before coming around to get in on the driver’s side.

  “Bet you enjoyed that, didn’t you?” Longhoffer said.

  Jake ignored him and opened his door, preparing to get in and get away before he could utter another syllable. Unfortunately, he was too slow.

  “Cat got your tongue, faggot?”

  Jake slowly closed his door, turning around to face him. Longhoffer caught a look at Jake’s expression, then eyed his physique and took a step backward. Clearing his throat he said, “You don’t scare me!”

  “And you don’t scare me, Mr. Longhoffer. And any attempt you might make at trying to belittle me or my husband to bolster your pathetic, insecure little existence will have absolutely zero effect on me. Good night,” said Jake, opening the door of the Subaru.

  “I don’t care what the stupid shit detective said, I know you killed Leona. You faggots hated her, and you decided to get rid of her.”

  Jake slammed the door shut and was on Longhoffer before Sam had a chance to get out of the car. Longhoffer cringed against the side of his Cadillac when Jake cornered him, his face flushed with fury.

  “One more word out of you, Longhoffer, and you’ll wish you were right alongside that withered old prune.” He jabbed Reed Longhoffer in the chest with his index finger. “If I hear of you uttering another epithet or accusation at either one of us one more time I’ll have a team of lawyers down on your ass like black on coffee. Do I make myself clear?!”

  Jake smelled Longhoffer’s stale breath. Seeing the fear in Longhoffer’s eyes, Jake returned to the Outback, glaring at him as Sam guided the car out of the parking lot and onto Brooks Street. Longhoffer seemed to shrink back into his car, deflated.

  “Jake,” said Sam.

  “Please, Sam, not now. I’ve got a pounding headache.”

  “Let’s go downtown, then. I’m sure Caleb can whip us up something for a headache,” said Sam. He took his husband’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “It’ll be okay, Tiger. I hate that word, too.”

  “I know, Sam. Especially spewed from the lips of someone like Longhoffer,” he said, slamming
his fist onto the dashboard. “Dammit, I hate it when I lose control like that.”

  Sam shook his head, chuckling. He negotiated the turn with his left hand, not wanting to release Jake’s hand. He sighed and said, “I think you were remarkably controlled, really, having just been accused of being a murderer.”

  “I know I can be a hot head, Sam. It’s part of my charm.”

  Sam snorted, but said nothing.

  “When I lose it like that, it’s just…” he sighed. “It makes me think about your father. And your ex.”

  “You’re not remotely like either one of them, Jake. You didn’t hit Reed.”

  “Yeah, but I wanted to, Sam. I wanted to pound his hateful little heart into the ground.”

  “I think Mother Teresa would like to pop Reed Longhoffer one, Tiger. And no matter how much you wanted to hit him, you didn’t. That makes all the difference.”

  “If you say so.”

  “It does, Jake,” said Sam, parking outside the Bitter End. “You may be built like a gorilla, but the resemblance ends there.”

  “Thanks awfully.”

  “Anytime,” said Sam, kissing Jake on the cheek. “There is one thing I have to tell you, though.”

  “What’s that?”

  “‘A team of lawyers on your ass like black on coffee?’”

  “Hey, now, that was spur of the moment.”

  “I know, but really, Jake…”

  Jake laughed as they got out of the car, his heart lightened. They stepped into the Bitter End and sat down at the end of the counter, where Caleb Rivers, just ending his shift, joined them for a round of drinks.

  Chapter Twenty

  Reed Longhoffer knew something was wrong when he stepped in from the garage. He felt an instant sharp pain in his leg, and the kitchen light didn’t come on though he repeatedly snapped the switch up and down.

  Cursing, he stepped back from the door and saw a razor blade jammed into the side of doorframe. When he had yanked the door open and rushed in, his leg had brushed up against it, neatly slicing through his pants and into his leg. He reached down and felt his thigh, bringing his hand up to his eyes. In the muted light filtering in from the street lamp outside, his fingers came up wet with blood.