1 52 Steps to Murder

by Steve Demaree

  I observed Stanley Silverman for a moment, and then continued my questioning.

  “And Mr. Silverman, do you have any answers about anything that went on here today, or are you only full of questions?”

  “I’ll scratch your back, Lieutenant, and you scratch mine.”

  I shuddered at the thought.

  “I don’t think that would be quite fair, Mr. Silverman. After all, my back is much larger than yours.”

  Stanley Silverman laughed again. Obviously he enjoyed my humor. I studied the interesting man who stood a couple of steps below me. I labeled him a paradox. On the one hand, the neighbor seemed to be in total control and as calm as a windless night. On the other hand, he seemed to suffer from paranoia. I was anxious to find out more about this man and what he had seen.

  “So, Mr. Silverman, why don’t you go first? Tell me anything you can think of about what went on here today.”

  Mr. Silverman began to tell Lou and me about what he had observed at Mrs. Nelson’s house that morning. He told us that when he first looked out of his front window that morning he noticed Irene Penrod leave Mrs. Jarvis’s house and head to Mrs. Nelson’s. I interrupted him and asked who Mrs. Jarvis was. He pointed to her house on the other side of Miss Penrod’s. Then I let him continue. He told us that Miss Penrod had an envelope in her hand when she left Mrs. Jarvis’s. Mr. Silverman said that it was quite common for Miss Penrod to visit Mrs. Nelson. He had no idea if Miss Penrod was Mrs. Nelson’s first visitor of the day, but he did know that Mr. Hartley entered the house with the mail before Miss Penrod left.

  I asked Mr. Silverman who left the house first, but the nosy neighbor didn’t know because he’d left the window.

  When I asked Mr. Silverman why he left the window, I got the impression he was lying when he told us his phone had rung. As Mr. Silverman said this, he looked at his feet. I looked at them too and noticed the dirt on his shoes. From the looks of his shoes, the dirt had not been there long, and I doubt if he got his shoes dirty as he looked out his window or talked on the phone. But why would the man lie to us?

  Mr. Silverman told us he later returned to the window and saw Miss Penrod leave her own house in a taxi. Mr. Silverman chuckled as he related this to Lou and me.

  “What’s so funny, Mr. Silverman?”

  “Oh, it’s just that I noticed that the cab driver stared straight ahead so he wouldn’t have to help Miss Penrod with her luggage.”

  “So, Miss Penrod left with luggage?”

  “She had a bag.”

  “So, I assume you went over and carried it down for her.”

  “No, I have a problem with my back,” Stanley Silverman said as he reached back and rubbed his lower back.

  “Yes, I noticed that, Mr. Silverman, when you ran up the steps to meet us,” I answered sarcastically. “Anyway, go on. So you returned to the window after finishing your phone call.”

  “That’s right.”

  “I don’t want to take up much more of your time, Mr. Silverman, but did you see anyone else at the house today?”

  Mr. Silverman told us about Miss Nelson’s arrival, and nothing he said varied from her version.

  “Oh, and there’s something else you might want to know about. As far as I can recollect, it happened about the same time that Miss Nelson arrived.”

  “And what is that, Mr. Silverman?”

  “I know it sounds creepy, but someone was peering out the blinds at Irene Penrod’s house.”

  “Are you sure it wasn’t Miss Penrod?”

  “No, this was after she left.”

  “Maybe she had company?”

  “And left them? I don’t think so.”

  “So, how long after Miss Penrod left did you see this person?”

  “Well, I never actually saw a person.”

  “Then, maybe it was a cat.”

  “Miss Penrod doesn’t have a cat. This is probably the only street in the county where no one has any pets.”

  “So, tell me what you saw, Mr. Silverman.”

  “Well, I noticed some movement in the blinds, so I zeroed in my binoculars to take a look. Couldn’t see anything except a parted blind and some fingertips. Then the person must’ve turned and seen me looking in that direction, because he or she moved away from the blinds. They came back, though.”

  “Could you tell what this person was doing?”

  “Not for sure, but my guess is watching Miss Nelson.”

  “And what do you base this on?”

  “On what part of the blind he or she looked through. See, it was the bay window,” Stanley indicated, as he pointed to the house next door, “not the other one. As you can see, it juts out a couple of feet from the rest of the house, so if someone wanted to look at Mrs. Nelson’s house, they would look out the left blind. If they wanted to see across the street where I live, they would look out the front blind, and if they wanted to look up the street, say to where Mrs. Wilkens lives, they would look out the right side.”

  I was thankful for his first grade explanation, and had another name to add to my list.

  “Mrs. Wilkens?”

  “Yeah, she lives in that house there,” he said, pointing to a house up the street on the same side of the street as the Nelson house. “And part of the time whoever it was did look up that way. It was as if he or she didn’t want to get caught.”

  “Let’s get back to the Nelson house. Other than Angela Nelson or the police officer, did anyone else enter or exit the house?”

  “I don’t know, Lieutenant.”

  “Another phone call?”

  “No, it was getting close to my lunch time. Other than glance out a couple of times, I didn’t look out again until just before they removed the body.”

  “Lunch! I knew that we were forgetting something, Sergeant.”

  My stomach growled, as if on cue. Just as if we had been conditioned by Pavlov, Lou and I removed our candy and took a bite.

  “Oh, one more thing, Mr. Silverman,” I said, talking with my mouth full. “Do you have a key to Mrs. Nelson’s house?”

  “Now, why would I have a key?”

  “Does that mean you don’t have a key?”

  “No, I don’t. Mrs. Nelson had few visitors. I’ve already told you about Miss Penrod. Of course, Mr. Hartley delivered the mail every day, and occasionally he went inside or visited with her on the porch. Her granddaughter Angela stopped by from time to time. Harry Hornwell, Mrs. Nelson’s attorney, stopped by every few weeks. Mrs. Murphy, the maid, came every Friday to clean, and Bobby, the grocery boy, delivered to her every week or so. Then, there’s Mrs. Reynolds. She used to go over. I suppose all of them could have had keys.”

  “Mrs. Reynolds?”

  “Yeah, she’s the old bag down there,” Mr. Silverman said as he pointed to the last house on Mrs. Nelson’s side of the street. “She used to go over and see Mrs. Nelson some before Jimmy came home.”

  “Who’s Jimmy?”

  “He’s her son, and he happens to be the wacko standing behind the third tree watching us. He went crazy in the war. Oh, come to think of it, I saw him this morning, too, hiding behind a tree, just like he is now.”

  I had already decided that Mrs. Nelson had had some interesting neighbors. I just had to find out if one of them killed her. That meant meeting some of them, and to do that it meant Lou and I would have to climb some more steps. Probably somewhere around fifty-two of them at each house. Why couldn’t the victim have lived on Flat Street?

  6

  I called the department and asked for someone to keep an eye on Mrs. Nelson’s house while Lou and I went to our usual haunt to grab a very late lunch. A few minutes later, I winced as Officer Davis arrived. I quickly dismissed my lack of belief in his ability. Surely he could watch a house. Couldn’t he? I gave him instructions and Lou and I left.

  I parked the car in front of the Blue Moon Diner and neither Lou nor I wasted any time getting out of the vehicle. The counter where Lou and I always eat has eight vinyl-cov
ered stools, plus there are five tables, three along the front wall next to the jukebox and two on the side of the restaurant farthest from the entrance. The place has an old-fashioned cash register, and black-and-white checked linoleum flooring. Lou and I don’t go there for the ambiance, whatever that is. We go for the food.

  We entered the establishment, took a whiff of the blended smells emanating from the kitchen, grabbed hold of the counter, and plopped down on the same two vinyl-covered stools where we always sit. Lou and I are probably the diner’s best customers. As usual, we were approached as soon as we had landed on our perches.

  “Hello, Rosie.”

  “Well, if it isn’t Dick Tracy Squared,” the waitress replied. “What can I get for the two of you before you drool all over my counter?”

  “I’ll have the ‘old-fashioned newfangled special,’” Lou blurted out. He referred to a half-pound cheeseburger with lettuce, tomato, pickles, onions, and Thousand Island dressing, topped with two, large, fried onion rings. The special came with an order of French fries with gravy. Lou and I never count calories, carbs, or fat grams. That would be more depressing than counting steps.

  “How about you, chief?” Rosie asked as she turned my way.

  “Give me the ‘swimming in gravy bonanza,’” I replied, which translated meant chicken-fried steak smothered in gravy with mashed potatoes submerged in even more gravy. I couldn’t help but smack my lips as I ordered.

  “And what can I get you to drink with that?”

  Lou opted for a large mug of root beer, while I ordered a glass of iced tea.

  “Back in a flash, boys,” said the woman with brown hair that came courtesy of a bottle and eyelashes that had to be reattached each day. The short, plump woman, who wore a light brown uniform covered by an over-the-head, food-stained apron, turned around and hung our written order on a revolving carousel and spun the carousel so the cook could rip it off and read it. Rosie approached retirement age, but she moved with the grace of a much younger woman. While I never pay attention to how she greets the other patrons, my guess is that she has a smile for everyone and feels quite at home among anyone from business executives to street people. She puts on no airs and works at what she enjoys doing each day.

  +++

  Lou and I knew that after lunch we needed to conduct a door-to-door canvass of Hilltop Place, just in case someone saw something. We prolonged the agony and ordered dessert. I chose the “pie of the day,” which on that day was coconut cream pie with three-inch meringue, while Lou chose a heaping bowl of banana pudding. As I ate, I tried hard not to think of the door-to-door investigation that lay before us. Officer Davis would remain at the house until we returned. That allowed us more time to digest our food. Besides, neither of us would be capable of walking unassisted for at least an hour, so we lingered a little longer than usual. We didn’t discuss the case, because we never discuss any case within hearing distance of someone outside of the department. Still, remaining quiet did not keep either of us from thinking about it. Both of us knew that a journey of a solved crime began with the first one thousand steps. I hoped that Stanley Silverman was not the only bird watcher in the neighborhood. Maybe someone would make our job easy.

  +++

  Lou and I had done our part to feed the hungry. We returned to Hilltop Place. I drove down the street to let Officer Davis know he could leave. I noted that he was still at his assigned position, and that no one had made off with the house while we stuffed ourselves. I wanted to begin our door-to-door investigation with the houses farthest from Mrs. Nelson’s house, so I turned the car around and drove to the house nearest the cross street. I parked the bug and both of us extracted ourselves from the car. When we left for lunch, Lou counted the number of houses. Nine houses towered above each side of the street, and nine long sets of steps led up to them. One house was the victim’s house and Stanley Silverman had already been interviewed, so only eight houses remained on each side of the street. Lou and I realized that Jesus had sent his disciples out in twos, but we also remembered that none of those disciples ventured as far as Hilltop Place. Lou and I decided that eight sets of steps were less than sixteen, so we agreed to split up and each of us took one side of the street. While both of us know that there is strength in numbers, each of us realized that if he encountered difficulty, he could call out to his friend who would be there within an hour, provided he didn’t have a coronary on the way.

  Lou took the even-numbered houses, and surprisingly found everyone at home. As he moved down the street, each climb became more difficult than the previous climb, and each new house meant more stops before Lou reached the front porch. He held on to the railing because his tired legs didn’t always lift his feet as high as necessary, and he scraped his toes against the front of a step more than once. I know because I turned and watched him at many of my rest stops on the way to each summit. A street-level driveway that led to the basement of each house separated each set of houses, and caused him to ascend and descend at each house. In case the resident answered the doorbell quickly, Lou had his identification in his hand and showed it to each resident until the good sergeant had finished wheezing and was able to speak again.

  +++

  Because of poor planning, I failed to bring a pickax or any other means to aid me in my conquest of Hilltop Place. I contemplated my options. I thought of rubbing butter on my hands to help them glide up the railing. I quickly discarded that option when I realized that if the rest of my body did not follow suit, I would wind up with a cut chin, scraped knees, and possibly an arm pulled out of its socket. My next thought was to shoot some sort of projectile and land it against the door. I scrapped that idea when I envisioned broken doors or irate residents who sicced their dogs on this roly-poly man. I’d forgotten that Stanley Silverman said that none of the street’s residents had pets.

  After much grunting and groaning, I arrived at the first house only to find that no one was at home. If I had known that, I wouldn’t have bothered to climb all those steps. I ambled down the steps with a few more aches and pains, but no more evidence. When I found no one at home at the second house, I gave a little more consideration to my first two ideas. Well, at least the second one, but I had no projectile. Besides, I hurt too much to project anything sufficiently enough to land with a thud to summon the household.

  At my third house, I encountered the “Mrs. Wilkens” Mr. Silverman had mentioned. She told me why my luck was bad. The first house was vacant, and the second house might as well have been. Someone had rented it, but chose not to live there.

  “Mark my word, Lieutenant, there’s something illegal going on in that house.”

  I smiled and promised to check it out. Already I could tell that if I gained no new information at this house, it would not be because of Mrs. Wilkens’s unwillingness to talk. This was not a woman who sat idly by while the neighbors went about their business, nor was this the person I wanted to share my secrets with.

  “I always try to be a concerned citizen. Not enough people do that, nowadays. Anyway, you’re not going to find anyone home next door. They’ve gone to Florida for a month.”

  I couldn’t help but wonder if they took the trip solely to get away from Mrs. Wilkens.

  “Mrs. Jarvis lives next to them, but I doubt if you can raise her. She’s in a wheelchair and almost never answers her door. Of course, feel free to try if you want to. Miss Penrod lives in the next house. Claimed she was leaving on a trip this morning, but I don’t trust that woman. Lies more than a lazy dog.”

  As I listened to Mrs. Wilkens, I wondered why the murderer hadn’t already been identified, considering that Mrs. Wilkens and Mr. Silverman lived on the street and probably took turns doing sentry duty. Surely, no fortress in history had had better lookouts. Mrs. Wilkens continued her job as the immobile tour guide. I listened in case she said something that would later prove helpful.

  “I suppose you know that poor old Mrs. Nelson lived in the next house. God rest her soul.”


  “How do you know that Mrs. Nelson’s dead?” I asked, as I carefully hid the smile that loomed just inside.

  “Well, I was sitting on the porch when they carted her out. Her face was covered, and when someone’s face is covered there’s not a lot of chance for recovery.”

  “Except for Lazarus.”

  “You have a point there, Lieutenant. Maybe you shouldn’t bury her for a few days. You know, Jesus was a few days late getting to Lazarus. Anyway, Lieutenant, let me finish quick so I can get to my beans. I’m canning the last of my beans today. Miss Overstreet lives on the other side of Mrs. Nelson. Good Christian woman, and she should be home. She can tell you all about the old biddy with the psychotic son who lives in the last house.”

  Mrs. Wilkens did not mention Mrs. Reynolds by name. When Mrs. Wilkens began to tell me about everyone on the other side of the street, I interrupted and told her that I had a man talking to those people. I decided to ask her one more question before I left and was glad that I did.

  “Mrs. Wilkens, did you happen to see anyone on the street today that doesn’t live on this street?”

  “Mr. Hartley, of course. I saw him when he handed me my mail.”

  “Does he have a habit of knocking on your door and handing you your mail, or did you just happen to see him coming?”

  “Neither. I was sitting on the porch then, too. He went down the other side, started up this one, checked in on Mrs. Nelson, and a few minutes later brought me my mail.”

  “You were sitting on the porch all that time?”

  “Longer than that, Lieutenant.”

  “Wasn’t it a little cool to be sitting outside this morning?”

  “I had my sweater on. I enjoyed the breeze.”

  “So, did you see anyone other than Mr. Hartley this morning?”