The 6:10 To Murder (The Maude Rogers Crime Novels Book 3)

by Linda L. Dunlap

  Her job was to catch a murderer, and that was where she put her considerable resources. Wallace Avery was fitted with a listening device taped to his side. He was determined to hear his wife admit that she never loved him; if she admitted to killing her ex-husband and recent lover, that was all the better. Everyone had an agenda. James Patterson hoped the bust would happen, and he could brag about it to his cronies at work. Joe wanted to be a part of solving the crime, and hoped his experience was enough to overcome the hold Anna Avery had over him, the last he saw her. Maude wanted it to be over so she could go home.

  They set up the machines in the large bedroom closet of the second bedroom at the Avery house. So far, at 7 p.m., the gun had not been found. Two police officers were stationed inside the closet to help where needed. Finally, Anna arrived at home, cheerful and with shopping bags. Her husband met her at the door and gave her a kiss. She entered the house and took off her shoes, waiting for the maid to bring her martini. Wallace told Anna that Daisy, the maid, was off. Her mother was sick. Anna said some choice words and proceeded to make her own drink. She saw her husband watching her closely and asked if there was a problem.

  He sat quietly while she stirred the vodka, vermouth, and ice then strained it into glasses, topping them off with an olive each. She offered him a drink and he accepted. Just as the first sip went down, Wallace began talking.

  “When did you first know you didn’t love me?”

  Anna stopped in mid-step, wondering, Why now? After all this time.

  “From the first.”

  “So you admit it. All the times you professed to love me with all your heart you were lying?”

  “Of course,” she said, leaning back into the Duncan Phyfe chair. “Would you have married me if I’d told you the truth?”

  “What is the truth? Do you know it?”

  Maude was listening in the closet, hoping the man didn’t lose his cool early on. A lot of work would go out the window.

  “Yes, I know the truth. You had money and I didn’t. It was simple. Why are you asking today?”

  “Because I know about your ex-husband. Your lover. He came here, made love to you in our bed.”

  “Don’t be silly, Wallace. What difference does it make which bed my lover used?”

  “I also know you wanted him to steal the diamonds, and when he refused, you killed him.”

  “Wallace, you’re getting overwrought. Remember your heart. What diamonds are you talking about?” she asked innocently.

  “You know exactly which diamonds. The ones I have in the security box at the bank. You wanted him to steal them. Did you promise to run away with him?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. He was such a loser. Always, even in the beginning. But he could make my body sing.” She leaned back, a small tic working near her left eye, exposing the anxiety she felt. He was getting to her. “It was you I wanted to be married to, Wallace. I used him for sex, yes, but I didn’t know about any diamonds.”

  Wallace knew she was lying. She had known about the diamonds, as surely as she had used both of them to get what she wanted. He was amazed that the idea of her adultery was an acceptable consequence of her actions, and she thought it should be forgiven.

  “Why did you kill him? Wasn’t he good enough in bed for you?” His anger was for real.

  “It wasn’t like that,” she said, her composure slipping a little. “He threatened our marriage. He was going to tell you about our affair. I had to kill him. There was no choice.”

  “Why did you want the diamonds? Didn’t I give you enough?”

  “Oh well, if you insist, yes, I knew about them. I convinced your old partner to bring them after he called here, hoping to find you. He was in a bad place,” she said, and took a long drink of the martini, “lonely and scared. I gave him some comfort.”

  “What, you made love to him too?” Wallace Avery was coming undone. Maude could hear it in his voice.

  “It had nothing to do with love, darling. It was business. Besides, he wasn’t very good. Somewhat like you.”

  “Oh crap,” Maude said, “it’s going to hit the fan now.” She climbed out of the closet, weapon in hand, and opened the door to the living area just as Anna Avery pulled a .45 from her purse and Wallace Avery reached out to throttle his wife with his bare hands.

  “Stop! Anna, if you lift that gun, I’ll take you out. Step back, Mr. Avery. It’s over.” Maude had drawn a bead on the young woman, just as Joe came in through the other door and grabbed the gun. Anna looked up into Joe’s eyes and winked—the femme fatale until the end.

  Officers arrested Anna Avery for murder after the confession she’d made to her husband and after producing the gun that killed Ronald Marshall.

  There was a ton of paperwork to be done with closing the case, but some of it could wait. Maude was exhausted. At ten o’clock she finally made it home. Her house was peaceful, and she went to bed soon after eating a frozen dinner.

  The next morning, congratulations went all around the Cop Shop, but most of them were upstairs in the captain’s office, where the chief patted James Patterson on the back for busting two cases at once. Maude glanced over at Joe and mentioned hot dogs. It was one more day in the lives of homicide detectives. There was still work to be done, and both would be called on to testify at Anna Avery’s murder trial. That was down the road, though.

  Wallace Avery was charged with a misdemeanor and made bond that night. Beyond what the law knew, he had been touched by the mob’s collector, who demanded payment for the diamonds. That was a heavy load to carry. Funny how people sometimes made a wrong turn, and veered into obscurity. In the meantime, it was over, and they could get back to other open cases, mainly the murder of Eve Devine

  Chapter 15

  The Philadelphia city cemetery was cool, even though beyond its borders the weather was extra warm for late August. A line of scarred headstones dating from the early twentieth century wasn’t really a line at all; it was more a child’s chalk drawing of hopscotch rectangles. Before backhoes and other dirt movers, men dug holes with shovels and pick to bury their loved ones. At the end of the ill-named row, where Ira Johnson, Preacher of the Word, 1876-1910 lay, a new section had been added. Belinda Ellen Page, the first in a multitude of others since, lay under square yards of glacial till and sandy loam. Her headstone was a simple one; she had never publicly displayed herself, a fact that Bill respected when he chose it. The words Wife and Mother appeared after her name, his concession of brevity to Belinda’s demand for privacy.

  Leaves were falling already—some brown and gold had drifted down, gently kissing the soil. Bill squatted, a toothpick in his mouth, gazing down row after row of depressions in the soil. As far as the eye could see lay the graves of those who were once living flesh and blood, now only memories in someone’s mind. He missed her, but not as he had ten years ago. Belinda had been a pure soul who believed in happiness. Her last words before the morphine dulled her pain, and took her from his life, were for him. She insisted he put their life together aside, and find another love.

  “Don’t forget me; just don’t make me a household god.” He could still hear the words she spoke, her voice hoarse from the oxygen. Even dying, she had been a champ with a sense of humor.

  “Hon, the reason I’m out here today,” he said hesitantly, “I need to tell you what I aim to do. There’s someone I met who makes me feel like living again, the first time since you left me. Her name is Maude, and she’s spunky as hell. She would be your best friend if it was me there and you here. She’s a good one. Mean as a bulldog when the need is there, but mushy underneath. She’s suffered some, more than any I’ve known, except maybe you. Hell, this is hard for me, but I want you to know what we had was the finest life could have offered and I don’t ever expect to replace you. Maude wouldn’t want that anyway, she has her own to remember.

  “I’m not saying goodbye, I’m saying I loved you, and I still do, but you were right. I need love today. Not just a memory of it.”<
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  A smell of flowers on warm wind blew across Belinda’s grave, almost as if she approved.

  The next day Bill made arrangements to head to Texas for a few days of vacation. He had told his son about his intentions, not knowing what to expect.

  “Dad,” Billy Roy said, “go get her if she makes you happy. You do Mom an injustice by not living your life, by staying alone. If Susan doesn’t understand, she’ll come around.”

  Susan, his youngest child, had loved her mother fiercely and was devastated when Belinda died of ovarian cancer. She never got over it and didn’t look kindly on any woman who might try to take her mother’s place. Bill didn’t argue, simply stated his plans for the future, adding he loved her and hoped she could understand his loneliness.

  He called the airport and made a reservation, intending to begin his life anew.

  Chapter 16

  About eight o’clock Friday night, that same week of the Avery bust, Maude’s phone rang, waking her from a sound sleep in her favorite chair. Grappling with the receiver of the landline, she finally managed to answer before being disconnected. It was Bill Page, saying hello and he intended to make a trip to Texas, if that was okay. Maude told him to come on down, and they could sip a few Cokes or a cup of coffee together. He got really quiet for a minute.

  “Have you stopped guzzling gin?” he asked softly. “Beer too?”

  “Yep, all of it. Think you can stand me sober?”

  “I think I’d like to try,” he said, a grin in his voice. “Be something different. Maybe you’ll remember me the next morning.”

  “Dang you, Bill. Hurry up and get here. You flying in?”

  “Be there at ten o’clock tomorrow. Don’t have to be back till Thursday. Think you can put up with me that long?”

  “Sure, but what will you do while I’m working?”

  “Thought I’d borrow your pickup and scout out some jobs down there. Get to know some of the places might be hiring in the spring.”

  “I’m waiting now. Be there to get you. Maybe bring some breakfast, we’ll go to the park.”

  “I’d rather go back to your place, if you get my drift?”

  “I do so, Bill, and I couldn’t agree more. Ten o’clock. Can’t wait.”

  “Till then, goodnight, Maudie-girl. I’ll be thinking of you when I snuggle with my pillow.”

  “Night, Bill,” she said, lingering on the phone after the connection went dead.

  The next morning Maude was up early, drank a pot of coffee, and read the Big Book. She noticed how much better mornings were when she rose sober. He head was clear, and the lines of exhaustion in her face had faded. She was darn glad for the new haircut and color; it made her feel younger, prettier. She blushed, thinking she might be considered pretty. Handsome was a better word for a woman her age. Still, she knew she looked better. Some of the old boys at the Cop Shop had been eying her lately. She thought maybe there was something on her face, until one of them winked. Probably has two ex-wives, and a mistress, but on the lookout for new stuff. Even so, Maude had to admit it was flattering. She hoped Bill noticed and liked the new look.

  The airport was twenty miles away, and she left in plenty of time to pick up breakfast before the plane arrived. Sitting in her truck, she noticed the people coming and going from the gate. One grabbed her attention. It was Buzzcut. She’d know his blond hair and round glasses anywhere. He headed toward short-term parking, and she followed at a distance, not forgetting the craftiness of the man. It wouldn’t do for him to see her. The car he picked up was a rental, obviously left there for him. She wrote down the name of the agency and the license. Meanwhile, Bill’s plane was due in, and she had to go back to curb pick up where she’d told him to meet her. Hoping against hope Bill was there and they could follow the car, she drove quickly, back to the curbed area, and motioned Bill over. He threw his bag inside the bed and was about to lean over and kiss her when she yelled, “Fasten your seatbelt. I’ll get that kiss in a little while.”

  Zooming out of the mainstream of airport traffic toward short-term parking, she glimpsed the taillights of a car that looked like the one Buzzcut had gone toward. It was gray, an Acura, very new and stylish. Nothing but the best for Dawson’s henchman, she thought.

  Bill sat buckled in, admiring the scenery that zipped by him, content to ride with his girl. He glanced over and whistled, just then noticing her new look.

  “Damn, you look good, Maude. What did you do? Oh hell, I don’t want to know. Just keep doing it. You’re gorgeous.”

  Her face was red, she could tell. The blush heated all the way to her forehead. She looked across for a minute and smiled, thanking him before putting her eyes back on the road.

  “This fellow we’re chasing, is he a dangerous sort?” Bill asked, leaning back in the seat, his eyes on Maude.

  “He’s the one who kidnapped Lilly Ann last fall. Works for the scumbag who killed those women, and cut out their hearts.”

  “Oh, I remember him—Dawson—the one who shot you. I thought he was comatose, little more than a vegetable.”

  “So did we, but he’s alert and playing it cool. Up to some of his tricks.” She began to tell Bill about the hole in the ground behind her house and the elaborate way it was set up.

  “Well, I’ll be damned. You be careful with him, Maude. Psychos are apt to change their plans in the middle of carrying out one. They tend to think by the minute sometimes.”

  “Not Dawson,” she said, glancing over at Bill. “Dawson is committed.”

  “So you think this fellow you’re chasing is in cahoots with Dawson, and if you catch him he’ll give something away?”

  “Something like that. I just wish I knew what he had in mind. I believe he had all to do with Eve Devine’s murder, but there are those who would laugh at me and say I’m focused on a helpless man. Maybe they’re right in one way—I’m focused on him after seeing his face in the hospital. Before that, I was of the belief our troubles with him were over.” She hit her brakes for a minute and skidded around a curve in the pursuit of the gray Acura. “Like now, it wouldn’t surprise me to know he’s playing a little game. Knew I was going to pick you up this morning and sent Buzzcut here to up the ante. But that would mean he had a way into my home phone. So how would he do that?”

  “Have you had any telephone work done at the house lately? Or anyone doing work while you were gone?” Bill asked the questions he would have asked anyone suspicious of their privacy being compromised.

  “None that I can remember,” she said, puzzled by the question. “Wait, why didn’t I think of that? It’s easy to do. Just run some wires and set up a listening device. Funny, when it’s your own place, you don’t think it would happen.”

  “Yes, ma’am, easy as that. They just need access to your phone line. We can check when we get to your house. If you think someone is playing with you, it would be a good place to start looking.”

  Maude thought about what Bill had said as she continued to follow Buzzcut. Suddenly, the Acura turned off the freeway onto a ramp, and she quickly caught the next one, determined to stay on his tail. After exiting the main road, a one-way service road took over, leading her to an old part of town where the Catholic cemetery dated back two hundred years. The service road narrowed, then became graveled roadway with signs pointing to the entry of the burial grounds.

  “What the heck is going on?” she asked, busy looking for a turnaround. “I’d forgotten about this road.” The cemetery office lay straight ahead, after a slight turn to the left. There was no sign of the Acura. They drove a little farther, and saw it parked on the side of the small road dividing the grounds of the facility. Easing up to automobile, Maude kept her eyes on the driver. A young woman with wildly curled hair sat smoking a cigarette, her eyes on the road. Maude pulled the snap on her holster and got out of the truck. The girl did nothing more; she simply sat and smoked.

  “Who are you, and where is the driver of this car?” Maude said, standing next to the window
. Her weapon was in easy reach, but the girl appeared to be harmless. She had her hands intentionally visible.

  “Vera Miller. That’s who I am, and I’m the driver. What do you want?” The girl didn’t seem sure of herself, even when she acted as though she was being harassed.

  Maude showed her identification and asked again about the driver. The girl insisted she had driven the car there. Bill stepped up and looked in the car. “How much did he pay you to drive here?” he said, smiling into the girl’s eyes.

  “Fifty bucks. But I don’t know who he was. Someone handed me an envelope with instructions and money. It was in passing as I left school today. The university. I needed the money,” she said pleadingly. “I’m a student.”

  “Is this your car?” Bill asked.

  The girl shook her head. “No, I picked it up in the garage outside school.”

  Maude walked to the front of the car and read the license plate. It was different from the other car. Somewhere along the way, Buzzcut had slipped away. It was all planned, from the first to the last.

  “You need to get out of the car and call someone to come and get you,” Maude said. “We’ll be in touch with the rental agency. Meanwhile, you need transportation.”

  Maude took the girl’s information and told her she could go, but if they needed her later, she would be called. She also advised the girl of the foolishness of taking jobs without knowing who was paying her wages. By that time, the driver was properly frightened and called her parents.

  “Bill,” she said as they waited for the tow truck, “what did I do to get this fellow on my heels?”

  “Just lucky, I guess,” he said, grinning. “Looks like I came at a good time.”

  “I’m ready to go home, make a pot of coffee, and have you tell me how gorgeous I am. Maybe then I’ll tell you about a case we just finished.”

  When they arrived at Maude’s house, she began searching for signs someone had tampered with the phone lines. They had already come to an agreement—say nothing that would tell anyone that Maude was onto them. The house showed no signs of anyone there that day, but looking back, she believed it was done when the big hole was filled in on Sunday. They’d had plenty of time to do what was needed. She searched and found the invoice for work completed by the landscape company, a company she had dealt with before. Stepping outside, Maude carried her cell phone, and spoke to the manager of the company. She asked if he’d had a new employee come to her house on Sunday, and he remembered one of his guys had called in sick. A work force man showed up and took his place. She told him there was a possibility someone had been in her house that day, and if so, he was responsible for bringing an unknown person onto her property.