“Not much—a security job, but it was a little too far to drive today,” he said with a smile. “Good to see my favorite girl.”
“If you’re talking to me, I would remind you it’s been many a day since I was a girl.”
“Maude, you’re my girl. I think you always will be.”
She blushed, a habit of hers around Bill, and headed to the coffeepot. “Think I’ll brew a few cups. How about it? Want to sit on the porch and spoon?”
Looking up again from the newspaper, Bill nodded slowly. He was not accustomed to so much free time. Maude’s cell phone rang as she was about to say something about her day.
“Hello, how can I help you?” she said, not recognizing the number.
“Detective, this is Ellen Goodbody. You told me to call if anything at the hospital changed. Well, it has, and I thought you should know.”
“What’s happened, Ellen?” she said, measuring the coffee, half decaffeinated and half regular.
“As of this morning, I’m assisting Doctor Ponder. That means I’ll be seeing more of 73. He recognized me this morning, even though I was outside the bars. Doctor Ponder sent me to the pharmacy, took me away from the room, for which I was glad. I think he’ll try to fix me up someday, 73, that is. Just letting you know.”
Stopping in the middle of measuring a spoonful, Maude said, “Can you get out of the assignment?”
“Not without losing my job. If I tell the doctor an inmate gives me the willies, he might not want me. I need the work, so can’t do that. I’ll have to take precautions, somewhat like wearing gloves around infections.”
“That’s fine, Ellen, but don’t do anything foolish. Your life is worth more than that scumbag.”
Ellen giggled. The sound was strange; she seldom laughed at anything. She liked the detective who spoke straight and didn’t beat around any bushes.
“I’ll take no chances, detective. My word is my bond. I know his type. Goodbye now.” Ellen disconnected the phone, as Maude stood wondering what the nurse had in mind.
“Bill,” Maude said as she turned on the coffeemaker. “We’ll have coffee in three minutes. That okay?”
“Uh-huh, be fine. You doing all right? You seemed worried on the phone.”
“Yeah, maybe I am.” She began to tell him Ellen Goodbody’s story, both what Ellen had told her and what the archives of police cases told her. The family had had a black cloud around them, and Ellen was smack in the middle of the darkness. “I don’t know that much about her, but she seems stable. Hard to tell. That much grief had to have affected her. Maybe working in the hospital with her father helped her to live with it.”
“Best check in with her every now and then. If your buddy has her number, it can’t be good. Got any ideas yet about how to catch a phone spy?”
“Working on it, but nothing solid yet. I called Lilly Ann and warned her to call only on my work phone. She wanted to know why, so I told her. I worry that she might want to get involved because of Buzzcut. She wants to spit in his face. Something like that. When we catch him, he’ll do time for kidnapping her, but it might not be enough for my niece.”
Bill laughed, putting his feet up in the shade of the porch. “Sounds like her Aunt Maude.”
“She does resemble me in some ways.”
“Lucky girl if she looks like you.”
Maude could feel the heat rising again in her face. Bill’s compliments were sweet music to a deprived soul. “Thank you, Bill, but don’t get too sugary. You’ll catch flies.”
“How you doing with the gin?” he asked softly. “Think you can hold out?”
She thought about it a minute then answered truthfully: “I’m trying. Sometimes it calls me when I’m sound asleep. I’ll wake up and want a drink so bad it hurts. But it gets better every day. Some days are better than others. The meetings help a lot.”
The next morning, the job started busily. Reports were back from the lab on Eve Devine’s body parts. The picture was complete. Cause of death was trauma from the removal of her heart. There were also traces of morphine found in her arteries.
“Evidently,” Joe told Maude, “the perpetrator put her out of her misery before the…surgery. Most of the liquid on the floor of the house was blood, her blood, some was…um…other body liquids. ‘Technicians found strands of cotton rope attached to a kitchen chair. The victim’s blood was on the rope.’” Joe hesitantly read the last part, saddened by the brutalization of the woman, and said, “Don’t they ever stop? Why the torture? Why not just kill her and get it over with?”
“This is your field, Joe. If you can’t understand it, there’s no way I could ever convince you the truth of it,” Maude replied, looking over the report. “But fact is, I don’t believe there’s a shred of conscience in this killer. Which is why I can’t stop thinking it’s Dawson. I should have killed him when I had the chance. Maybe one more woman would be alive.”
Joe looked around the office and then nodded. “Careful, partner—I know you don’t mean it, but maybe some don’t.”
“Yeah, Joe, this job is no more or less than cleaning up behind the worst scum in the world. If I knocked off every one I found, there’d be two to take their places. Besides, no one made me a judge of mankind. I’ll do my job. By the way, any news on that jackhammer? Do we know where it came from?”
“Uh-huh, but you aren’t going to like this part. Brady’s Hardware sold it about three months ago to a construction crew working on the I-59 overpass. Company said it and some shovels went missing. Been about two weeks. They put it down to someone inside, because it was locked up at night with the other stuff. The worker who had the keys quit the same day. They haven’t seen him since.”
“Yes, and I’ll bet his description fits the man who got into my house. Any prints on the machine?”
“Here’s where we get lucky,” Joe said. “One palm print was near the bottom. Looks like it got overlooked when it was wiped.”
Maude put down the report and exhaled. “About time.”
“Don’t know,” Joe said, reading, “maybe. Guy’s name is Sammy Green. Five ten, shaved head, brown eyes. Pink scar on his chin all the way across the jaw. Been in and out of jail since he turned seventeen. Texas Department of Criminal Justice for assault, deadly weapon. Beat the crap out of his girlfriend with a piece of PVC pipe. Got the scar recently in prison, but no added extra charges. Spent three years, paroled for three. His mother is next of kin, Lois Martinez, 2329 Cardinal, east side of town. Sounds like Mama married out of the Green family.”
“I hope Mama is better than the kid she raised,” Maude said, standing. “Let’s go see her. I’ll drive. Give me something to do with my hands.”
Joe chuckled, admiring the way his partner was holding to her decision to stay off the gin. Since she had given it up, he had been looking at his own drinking habits and had already cut back. “Pay me now or pay me later” meant he could save himself a bucket of hurt if he never got into the place where Maude had found herself. She had to change habits grown old along with her. He only hoped it was soon enough to extend her life. God, he’d hate to hear of anything bad happening to her. Funny, he thought, who would have believed he could become so fond of Maude Rogers. She was more than a partner—she was a friend.
Cardinal Street backed up to a dry creek bed used as a dump ground for people lower than white trash. Wrecked out refrigerators, air conditioners stripped of copper wiring and usable parts, recliners no longer sitting upright, and all manner of refuse clogged the shallow bottom of Boca Creek. The residents of Cardinal Street made it their business to stay away from that half-mile of overgrown creek bottom, where members of a skuzzy teenage gang often hid from the cops. The Rajas were young and upwardly motivated toward big jail, and the Texas penal system. Maude had been introduced to the youngsters several times as the lead players changed, and made their mark committing petty crimes. She had made an acquaintance or two who were still out of jail, thanks to her influence in the county attorney’s off
ice.
One of the Rajas she knew well enough to find at his mother’s place near Boca Street, the long stretch of potholed pavement and brick duplexes managed by the Madison Housing Project. Boca Street ran north to south, beginning where the curve of the creek bed changed directions, and extending several miles until it eventually died out as it neared downtown. Pauly De Luca was not quite seventeen, an in-and-out visitor to juvie hall since he was ten years old. His old man took off when Pauly was three, and though they never heard from the louse after that, the boy didn’t forget him. Needing a hero, Pauly pumped up the image of his father, believing the old man must have died, else he would have returned and taken the boy with him.
The detectives drove to the De Luca’s house and pulled Pauly out, questioning him about the newest parolee in the neighborhood. Although the young man wasn’t a paid snitch, he owed the detective, and often gave her bits of information on the local criminal element. Maude had a reasonable amount of faith that the young gang member knew what went on near his home.
“Detective Rogers, what do you want?” Pauly was nervous as always when he was questioned by the cops.
“Good morning, Pauly. Nice day, huh? We’re looking for a fellow, new in town, maybe four, six months. Just out of TDCJ. Sammy Green. Know him?” she asked, keeping her eyes busy, seeing everything around her. The neighborhood wasn’t cop-friendly.
“Nah, never heard of him. Gotta go, detective,” he said, beginning to close the door.
“Detective Rogers asked you a question that deserves a little more consideration,” Joe said, wedging his foot in the door. “Want to rethink your answer, or would you rather ride downtown with us?”
Sullen and unhappy with the cops being at his door, Pauly let them inside, where his mother sat in a beat-up love seat, drinking a glass of something resembling tea. The woman nodded at both detectives then continued watching a program on television.
“So okay, yeah, about six months ago, dude brought his woman over to Cardinal, moved in with his old lady. Tats from the joint, big, long scar across his face, shaved head, not my kind of people. Tried to muscle his way into some local business, but the boys stopped him. Heard he knew someone with money.”
“Did you have dealings with him, Pauly?” Maude asked.
“Nah, he was looking for bigger stuff.”
“How about the woman he brought with him?”
“Her? She’s fine. Too hot for that skinhead.”
“They still around?” Joe asked.
“Dunno. They don’t run in my circles.”
Driving away from Pauly’s house, Joe glanced at Maude and said, “Think he’s telling the truth?”
“Part of it. He knows more about Green than he told us. I think he was a little scared of him. Green’s been where Pauly will eventually wind up.”
“Yeah,” Joe said, “no doubt about that. Just a matter of time.”
The house at 2329 Cardinal had been neglected, as had most of the houses around it. Both windows on the east side had cracked glass panes and were missing screens. The roof was asphalt and old, some of the pieces, having fallen from the front eaves, lay along the drip-line. An old rocking chair with broken slats sat toward the end of a small porch, where two cats vied for position on the seat cushion. Trash had accumulated along the front of the house. A few Pepsi cans and a KFC carryout lay near the outgoing trash. Maude knocked on the door then stepped back, away from the line of sight inside. She knocked again quickly and stood waiting.
Finally, nodding to Joe to go around back, she beat on the door with her fists and called out, “Police. Sammy Green, I need to talk to you.”
There was rustling inside the house, and the sound of running footsteps could be heard through the single-pane windows. Maude yelled again then kicked at the door, hoping to slow down the runner. In less than a minute, the front door opened, and an elderly woman with still-dark hair stood there, her eyes red as though from crying.
“Hello, I’m Lois Martinez. This is my home. What can I do for you?”
“Mrs. Martinez, I’m Maude Rogers, and my partner Joe Allen is at your back door. We’re homicide detectives. I wonder if we could come in. We’re looking for your son and his girlfriend.”
“Lois, call me Lois. I’m not married. Green was my married name.” The woman seemed distracted, not wanting to give up any real information, yet letting the detectives know she was willing to cooperate. “Yes, come in. Sammy isn’t here. Lola, his girlfriend, is asleep. Should I wake her?”
“No, that’s all right,” Maude said. “I can do it myself. Where is she?”
Lois Martinez motioned with her head toward the bedroom to the left. Maude walked softly, pulling her weapon as she grew close to the door. Turning the knob, she discovered the inside was barred against entry.
“Open the door, Lola. My name is Maude Rogers, and I’m a homicide detective. Make it easy on yourself. Right now all I have are questions.”
Maude heard skittering in the room beyond, and she imagined the woman was trying to climb out the window. Maude went to the back door and yelled, “Joe, she’s going for the window. On your right.”
A few minutes later, the sounds of scuffling outside could be heard as Joe corralled the woman. He cuffed her and walked into the house with the woman ahead of him.
“She tried to run,” Joe said, pushing her toward Maude.
“Not very bright, Lola, if that’s your name,” Maude said, eying the woman’s dyed red hair. She knew enough about boxed colors to identify a dye job when she saw one. “Lola,” she continued, “you’ve got some serious explaining to do.”
“He made me do it. I didn’t want to—it was all Sammy’s fault. Him and that friend of his,” she said bitterly.
“It usually is someone else’s fault, Lola,” Maude said, sighing loudly. “I do so enjoy a criminal who takes blame for his own actions. Guess that’s a dying breed, though. Most everyone is looking for someone else to take the fall.”
“It is his fault,” Lola repeated loudly.
Lois spoke up: “Why, you piece of gutter trash. You’re as guilty as sin. Don’t go blaming Sammy for what you did yourself. You took that man’s money. I saw you standing out at the car, rubbing yourself all over him. Gutter trash, that’s what my Sammy brought home!” Lois Martinez was no easy mark. She spat in the girl’s face and stepped back. The fire in her eyes was Mama fire. Maude had seen it many times before.
“Easy, Lois. I’ve got a handle on this. We’ll take Lola downtown and question her. Never fear, she’ll tell us what we need to know. Meanwhile, where’s Sammy?”
“I…I don’t know. He left about three hours ago. He said he had…a job.”
“Your little skinhead boy has a job, all right. Someone else’s house to burglarize.” Maude stared at Lola, curious about a woman who lived with a man, but obviously had no respect for him. “I’ll tell you where he went, detective; he’s at a bar over on Chicon. Trying to get some courage.”
Lois dove for Lola, intent on shutting her up, and landed with her hands around the woman’s neck. She began choking her and they both fell to the floor, Lois on top.
“No-good gutter trash. Shut your mouth about my boy. I’ll kill you if I have to. You got no business saying things about Sammy.” Lois was still screaming as Joe pulled her off Lola.
“Call for transport, Joe, Lola is going downtown.” Maude shook her head over the violence before her. She understood the protective nature of Lois Martinez, but had no patience with it when the son had broken the law. She took a moment to explain to the woman that Sammy would receive fair treatment, but he would have to answer for his crimes. “Breaking into my house is something I don’t take kindly to, so hush it up.”
On the way to the Cop Shop, Maude asked Lola why she took the money if she didn’t want to break the law. The woman said she was forced, that Sammy said the man who hired him would kill them both if she didn’t go along. He said they knew too much about his business and were workin
g with him or against him. Maude thought that the man’s words sounded like something Robert Dawson might say. He would be inclined to demand obedience, just as Dawson demanded it from him.
At the station, Lola was put in a soundproof room where both detectives questioned her about her part in a plan of deceit.
“Who’s the man you took money from?” Maude asked.
“I don’t know his name, he was someone Sammy knew. He said he met him in the joint two years ago and promised to look him up when he got out. When we came here from Houston, Sammy got in touch with his convict friend, told him he needed money. Sammy landed a job with a landscaper his friend knew, but it only lasted one day. That’s all he told me.”
Maude leaned back against the two-way mirror. She studied it for a minute, wondering if all station houses and police departments had the same kind of access to the secure room. It really wasn’t secure then, was it?
“Lola,” Maude said, turning back to the redhead. “I have a dozen people who can put you on the 6:10 train the day Eve Devine was killed. You pretended to be her, even down to talking to the ticket taker. I believe that something you said to him might have got him killed also. As far as I’m concerned, I have the killer and it’s you. Keep on denying your part, and that’s the way this story is going down. Maybe a good lawyer will get you off with life in prison and no parole, but I doubt it. More than likely you’re facing the needle. It’s a good thing we don’t have the electric chair anymore. I hear it was God-awful, the smell of flesh frying. The needle is quiet and lets you have some time to think about what’s going to happen. I’ll be outside writing this up.” She turned and started for the door, but Lola yelled out.
“Wait,” she screamed, “just wait a minute. I didn’t kill anyone. The man gave me money to buy a ticket and get on the train. All I had to do was say my name was Eve Devine when someone asked.”
“How did you get off the train without anyone seeing you?” Maude asked, sitting down again. Her knees were aching from standing, and the chair felt good under her.
The 6:10 To Murder (The Maude Rogers Crime Novels Book 3) Page 21