1 52 Steps to Murder

by Steve Demaree

  “Whoa! This is some set-up you’ve got here, Cy. I see what you mean about not marking the path.”

  Lou bent over, reached under the step, and hit the button that opened the wall. I watched George as Lou pushed the button. Each new button impressed George a little more.

  “Say, how much are you paying for this place, anyway. I might want to sublet.”

  “We’ve got one more for you before we get to the big surprise, George.”

  All doubt had left George’s face. He was ready to believe anything we told him. Well, maybe not everything.

  Lou pushed the other button and the panel at the bottom of the steps slid away, revealing the door. I noticed that no one pulled on the other side. Lou and I led the men down the stairs. We grimaced in pain with each step. With no railing to lean on to help us in our descent, both of us felt the brunt of the pain with each downward step. Also, with each step we grew closer to another possible encounter with the man or beast on the other side of the door.

  “Be ready. He or it might be just on the other side.”

  “Yeah, yeah, okay. Just open the door, Cy, and spare me the histrionics,” George said, quickly forgetting that everything I’d told him to that point had turned out to be true.

  Lou reached for the bolt, slid it until the door was unlocked. He waited a moment to see if anyone charged us. When no one opened the door, he pushed it slightly open.

  “Here! Get out of the way! I’ll lead the way,” George said.

  22

  George opened the door the rest of the way, beamed his flashlight in front of him, cut through the darkness, and focused on the steps and the expansive area below.

  “What kind of place do you have here, anyway? And where’s your monster?” he asked as he turned to face me.

  There was no sign of life below. Lou and I exchanged perplexed glances. Had we scared our assailant away?

  George led the officers down the steps and almost tripped over the shoe the maniac ripped from my foot. George recognized it, turned and flipped it to me. I took a chance and sat down on the step, slipped my shoe back on.

  When George got to the bottom, he shined his flashlight from side to side. Nothing. Nothing but a dirt floor, concrete walls. There appeared to be no end to the expansive underground. I guessed the area to be thirty feet wide and who knows how long. The group spread out and each of us flashed our lights back and forth. Finally, one man called out.

  “I’ve got something over here!”

  Everyone hurried to the officer who had shouted. Our lights joined his as we focused on a man, kneeling and whimpering. His clothes were filthy. His hair was matted with dirt, and he had not shaved in some time.

  “Is this your monster?” George turned and asked Lou and me. We didn’t know, but we assumed he was.

  George stood around six feet three inches tall. Although gray was beginning to mix with his flaxen-color hair, his muscular body still looked capable of landing a punch, and his granite-looking jaw looked like it could still take one. Especially if he knew one was coming. Before George could turn around, the kneeling man sprang toward him with the quickness of a cat. Unprepared, George fell back onto the dirt. By the time any of us could respond, the man who appeared to live underground rose up and took off running in the dark. As far as anyone could tell, the man had no weapon other than his hands. Everyone tried to keep him in sight. We shined our flashlights on the disappearing man as we took off in pursuit. Naturally, neither Lou nor I was in the lead.

  After two hundred feet or so, a wall signaled the end of the straightaway, but the dirt roadway took a hard turn to the right. The man vanished around a corner, a bevy of bluecoats bore down from behind. The hounds stalked the fox with no tree in sight. As I arrived at the first turn, I prayed that our path was not circular. I envisioned lemmings following one another in an orderly fashion for days on end with no cliffs to jump off, no place to drown, and all the dirt looking the same as the dirt before it.

  As the first of the uniformed officers arrived at the end of the underground passage and turned right, he caught a glimpse of the disheveled man disappearing around another bend. Several of Hilldale’s finest scrambled after him, but arrived at the second curve to find no one there.

  “Where did he go?” one of the men asked, surprised that the man they thought they had contained had disappeared into the darkness. When the rest of us caught up, everyone gathered in a circle and faced outward. We shined our flashlights in every direction, but only flying dust penetrated our lighted path. We saw no sign of our fugitive.

  George shouted instructions to the others.

  “Be careful, men. He could be hiding anywhere.”

  Actually, there weren’t too many places the man could hide. While the dirt floor was around thirty feet wide, the only place our fleeing trespasser could hide was underneath some steps, unless he gained entrance to one of the houses.

  “Unless he can get inside one of these houses, we’ve got him trapped. Let’s spread out. If you find him, holler. Check under the steps first. If we don’t find him hiding under someone’s steps, we’ll start trying the doors. Okay, let’s go! I don’t think he’s armed, but I don’t want anyone trying to be a hero. Understand?”

  Lou and I formed the rear guard. The uniformed officers examined the path before them and realized that the dirt road dead-ended after a few hundred feet. I guessed that it probably ran the length of the street. While there was a connector on the end we came from, there was nothing to connect the underground of the two sides at the head of the street. A couple of officers remained at the bottom of the U portion of the underground, as did Lou and I. We were prepared in case the man we were chasing tried to double back. The others crept forward until they had canvassed the entire area. George remained halfway between us and his advancing men. A thorough search revealed nothing.

  “Okay, men. It’s time to check some doors. Start at the far end of the street. If your door’s locked, start working back this way.”

  After several efforts revealed only locked doors, a uniformed officer tiptoed up the underground steps of Stanley Silverman’s house. He twisted the doorknob. It opened. I watched him turn and whisper to the nearest officer. As the officer opened the door, no one lunged toward him. The policeman stepped inside, flashed his light up the steps.

  “Hold it right there,” I heard him say. Then, the officer opened the door behind him and shouted, “I’ve found him.” Other policemen ran to the aid of the officer who had shouted.

  I heard someone run down the steps toward the officer, and then the sound stopped. Evidently, the man had lunged toward the officer, because in a couple of seconds the two men flew out the door. The officer clutched the man and managed to hold on. The two falling men knocked down two other officers, as men went flying in a domino effect.

  More officers ran up to the foray. Finally, they subdued the assailant. One officer handcuffed the man’s hands behind his back. The man’s shriek echoed the outburst of an hour or so earlier. It took three officers to get the man to his feet. Once they had him standing, I tried to question him.

  “Who are you?”

  The man said nothing. Further questions proved futile. A search of his person revealed nothing. He carried no weapon. Nor did he have any identification.

  George told a couple of the men to take the unidentified man away.

  +++

  I stood and looked up the underground steps to Stanley Silverman’s residence. I couldn’t believe that Silverman hadn’t heard the man trying to force his way inside. Was Silverman afraid of this man? Or could it be that Silverman knew the police were pursuing this fugitive, and he, Stanley Silverman, had something to hide from the police? Was the man we arrested the one who looked out through Miss Penrod’s blinds? Is it possible he could be the man in the raincoat? While he was not as big as Jimmy Reynolds, he was still a pretty good sized man, so I dismissed him as the man in the raincoat, provided there actually was such a person.


  My thoughts returned to the matter which brought us to this dilemma. Someone murdered Mrs. Nelson. Was it the psychotic man we’d just caught? Silverman? Or someone else?

  George put his arm around my shoulder as we walked back to where we found the underground psycho. George patted me a few times, then smiled at me. I knew George Michaelson well enough to know that he was about to make a wise crack.

  “You know, Cy. You look as if you could use a shower.”

  “Well, George, you don’t look like you’re ready for inspection yourself.”

  Both of us pointed at each other, slapped each other on the back and bent over in laughter. I winced as George slapped me across the back and gritted my teeth when I attempted to stand up straight. Luckily, George didn’t notice. After we took a moment to realize what had happened, we walked back through the dusty underground to where we found the deranged man. We walked across the bottom of the U until we came to the curve where we’d encountered the man whom we’d taken into custody. We stood in the underground below Mrs. Overstreet’s house trying to figure out who the deranged man was. Who was he, and how did he get here? Was he crazy, or was he putting on an act? And if he was suffering from mental problems, were his demons, like Jimmy Reynolds’s problems, caused by the war?

  Our group studied the area to see what we could learn about our captive. My guess was our “friend” had resided in the dungeon for several weeks.

  A search of the immediate area turned up a flashlight with dead batteries, a few cans of food, and drink containers. Nothing else was found, including a weapon, but then Mrs. Nelson was poisoned, not shot.

  “Well, let’s check out this side and see if we can find out who this guy is and where he came from.”

  Lou, George, and I talked as we walked, until our flashlights illuminated something that silenced us.

  23

  Stunned, but not totally surprised, we hurried toward the body of a woman who rested against the back of her wheelchair.

  “Any idea who she is?” George asked.

  “I have a pretty good idea,” I answered. “A woman by the name of Mabel Jarvis lived here,” I said as I pointed to the steps beside us. “Neighbors told us that she was confined to a wheelchair. When she repeatedly didn’t answer the door, we forced our way into her house. When we got inside, we searched her place. In the basement, we found tracks in the dust that looked like they had been made by a wheelchair. We found footprints that looked like they belonged to the person who pushed the chair, but we couldn’t find Mrs. Jarvis. We discovered a secret passageway in Mrs. Jarvis’s house much like the one in Mrs. Nelson’s house, but it ended in a dead-end. Obviously, she’s dead. Let’s go up and call Frank and the lab boys and see what we can find out about her death. Just to be on the safe side, we’d better go up through Mrs. Nelson’s house. We don’t want to disturb any evidence, even though I doubt there’s any to find.”

  +++

  I sat, wondering what would happen next. Was the man we found the person who pushed Mrs. Jarvis’s wheelchair? If so, was he the one who murdered her, and did he murder Mrs. Nelson, too?

  My stomach growled. I took a look at my watch. It looked like Lou and I would have to settle for a late lunch.

  I reached in my pocket, glad that my candy bars were not part of the evidence. I attacked my Hershey bar like it was a porterhouse steak. My action inspired Lou, who pulled out a new package of M&Ms, ripped it open, and guzzled the whole pack.

  I sat in a chair in Mrs. Nelson’s house and licked the chocolate from my fingers. I wondered what would happen next. Lou and George appeared to have the same look. Lt. Michaelson had dismissed the other officers, knowing that Frank would handle things when he arrived.

  “Any reason I need to hang around, Cy?”

  “I don’t see any reason, George. Frank and SOC team will be here in a few minutes. Anyway, I can call you if I need you.”

  “Well, good luck. I think I’ll go home and get cleaned up. You’d better do the same the first chance you get.”

  “You may merely be cleaning up, but I think Lou and I need to get over our aches and pains. Thanks, George. See you later.”

  George walked out the door and down the steps. Halfway down he met Frank Harris on his way up. Frank noticed his friend’s dirty, rumpled clothes and his hair full of dirt.

  George looked at the medical examiner and answered his friend’s unasked question.

  “Hi, Frank. Cy will fill you in. He’s in the living room.”

  Frank Harris continued up the steps, smiling and shaking his head. He walked into the house, saw Lou and me.

  “What’s with you guys, anyway? Does the department have you handling domestic violence cases now, or did you have to evict someone who didn’t want to go? And what’s with George? He looks like he’s been mud wrestling, only someone forgot to fill the pit with water. I’m glad I come in after the killing’s over. Your side of things looks too dangerous to suit me.”

  I motioned for Frank to take a seat and filled in my friend on the latest of the day’s events.

  “How many bodies are you going to have for me, Cy? I do have other work, you know.”

  “No one hopes this is the last one any more than I do, Frank.”

  “I understand this one’s another elderly woman. Someone have something against little old ladies collecting social security for a few years?”

  “That’s what we’re trying to find out.”

  “Well, let’s take a look.”

  Lou and I groaned as we got up out of our chairs and lumbered toward the stairs once again. While we eased down through the Nelson place, another team checked out Mabel Jarvis’s house. The only new information gained from going through the Jarvis house was that the secret passageway that led to the underground cavern went through a side wall in the basement instead of through the pantry and down, as in Mrs. Nelson’s house. They discovered no new prints.

  +++

  After a thorough examination of the body, Frank had the deceased removed. Before Frank left, he told me he would let me know what they found out. I saw no reason to hang around the Nelson house any longer. Lou and I locked up and left.

  +++

  We made ourselves as presentable as possible and drove to get something to eat.

  After we ordered, I went to the pay phone and called in to see if the department had any information on the man we apprehended. Investigators were trying to match fingerprints or see if they could identity him through dental records. When I asked if they had been able to pry any information out of our attacker, I was told that most of what came out of the man’s mouth were guttural sounds and occasional screams, but that he kept uttering one phrase repeatedly, only no one had any idea what it meant. The man kept hollering something about a raincoat.

  +++

  To ease my pain, I asked Lou for another book report. It was fitting that he enlightened me about his attempt to read The Catcher in the Rye on the same night our pains were so severe. Because he was a Christian who tried to follow the Bible’s examples on how to live, Lou didn’t care for Holden Caulfield’s use of profanity. The profanity didn’t go away after a few chapters, and Lou found nothing likable about Holden Caulfield, so he tossed the book aside and contemplated his next selection. The sergeant did not condemn Caulfield because he used profanity. The sergeant figured that if he himself had to live part of the time in New York City and spend the rest of the time in a boarding school for boys, he might have grown up swearing, too. It made Lou wonder which was worse, New York or boarding school.

  +++

  I dropped Lou at his apartment, then headed home. All the way home I tried to make sense of the information we’d gained. Did the same person murder both women, and if so, was there a single murderer or were two people working together?

  I thought back to Saturday. On Saturday, we knew of only one murder and no underground labyrinth. On Saturday, Mrs. Wilkens seemed to have an alibi for everyone. At least she kept her eyes on Angela Nels
on from the time she arrived until the time Officer Davis arrived, and she cast her eyes upon Mr. Silverman and Mrs. Reynolds and Jimmy most of the time. If Mrs. Wilkens was a credible witness, and other witnesses collaborated most of her story and didn’t contradict any of it, the murderer or murderers must either be Miss Penrod or someone who entered the Nelson house from below. But who could it have been? Was it possible that there was someone I had not yet learned about?

  I headed for the kitchen table, picked up a legal pad, and tried to make sense of the situation. I listed evidence and suspects: Angela Nelson, the granddaughter; Mrs. Murphy, Mrs. Nelson’s and Mrs. Jarvis’s maid; Irene Penrod, the next-door neighbor; Stanley Silverman, the observant neighbor across the street; Mrs. Reynolds and her son Jimmy, neighbors two doors down the street; Bobby, the grocery boy; Harry Hornwell, Mrs. Nelson’s attorney; Mr. Hartley, the mailman; and the mysterious man found in the cavern-like area under the house. Of course, there were Mrs. Wilkens, Mrs. Overstreet, and other neighbors across the street, but for some reason I had never considered any of them. Did one of these people murder one or both women? Or was it a stranger or someone we were overlooking? I couldn’t see any of these people as a murderer. Unlikable, yes. Lonely, most definitely. But a murderer, no. And yet, surely one of them killed Mrs. Nelson, and probably Mrs. Jarvis. Because he or she used poison, the murder was probably premeditated. Did the fact that Harry Hornwell bought a couple of houses on the street have anything to do with the murders? What about the Reynolds’s tempers? I thought of Stanley Silverman inheriting all of his mother’s money, and saw how that might have caused him to murder his own mother, but not two neighbor ladies. Unless they had found out that he arranged his mother’s demise.

  After seemingly getting nowhere, I tossed the pad in disgust, headed for the TV. I was about to consult one of the greatest minds in finding solutions for the seemingly unsolvable, Jethro Bodine, otherwise known as Jed Clampett’s nephew. In addition to being the world’s number one expert on ciphering, that boy can eat, and he eats my kind of stuff. But I don’t eat all of his. The easiest way to describe someone that eats my kind of stuff is to ask the question, “Does the boy know the meaning of the word ‘culinary?’” If he does, I doubt if he eats my kind of stuff.