by Bob Moats
I started from the front and slowly worked my way back, checking the pictures as I skimmed. I went all the way through it and found nothing, so started again. Sometimes you see things better the second time around. I hated sports so I had breezed through that section the first time, but figured I had better look a little closer this time. Then I saw her, Dee standing next to Joyce in a picture of six cheerleaders all in formation. I had forgotten that Dee was a cheerleader. My fondest memories were of her in that tiny skirt, doing somersaults as I took pictures. Not that I was a pervert, but I was the school photographer. Matter of fact the picture I was looking at was one of mine. I took the book to my desk. The computer was still online, and I took one of my sticky notes and wrote down the names of the other cheerleaders. Hey, it was a start.
I set the book aside and started with the first name, Linda Grolich, and did a search on her. I knew of Linda, but not to talk to her. She was royalty in high school. You know, the stuck up princess who looked down at everyone. She was also buddies with the head cheerleader, Sue Carter. The usual million hits came up, so I started with page one and clicked my way through a couple of pages before I found something interesting. It seems that Linda had opened a dance studio in West Bloomfield. I clicked the link to go to her webpage. There she was, looking a lot older than her cheerleader picture but still not bad for a woman of sixty. She had turned the dance studio over to her daughter about two years ago but kept a tight rein on it.
I copied her website off using a program called Local Website Archive which can store an entire website in my computer. It finished downloading, and I did a search on the next smiling cheerleader, Marge Holden. I had pretty good luck finding four out of six girls and had their websites stored away for later perusing. It was now just about 11:30, and I was wearing down.
I checked my email one last time, and then I stretched out on my bed after closing down the computers.
My Treo rang, waking me from a sound sleep, and I saw it was a private number again. It was 4 A.M., and Trapper was probably calling to chew me out about stirring up Stacy.
“Hello.”
“Richards, it’s Trapper.” Here it comes. “Did you know a Marge Holden from school?”
She was the second girl I found on the web. “Yeah, she now lives in Warren, owns a kennel.”
“How’d you know?”
“Long story that I was going to tell you about tomorrow or I should say today. What about her?”
“The Warren police just called me. She’s dead. Murdered while they were protecting her.”
Trapper wanted me to come in that morning so we could get our facts straight. I hung up and again tried to sleep. The killer wasn’t wasting time, and half the class of the 1967 cheerleading team was dead.
Around 6 A.M. my mother knocked on my door, stirring me out of a great dream where I was giving a massage to Pamela Anderson in Las Vegas. I called out, asking what she wanted.
“There’s a strange car in the drive with a man sitting in it. He looks asleep.”
I shot out of bed, threw on a robe and went to the living room window overlooking the driveway. I saw it but didn’t believe it. Buck was parked in the drive, and he did look sound asleep or dead. I told Mom not to worry, I’d explain and went back to get dressed.
I banged on the car window, and Buck came to life bringing his .38 up with his hand. I yelled his name, and he focused on me. The window slowly rolled down.
“Hey, Jimmy. You still alive?”
“I guess if you hadn’t been sitting here guarding my castle I probably would be dead by now. Thanks,” I said with a smirk.
“Well, it was bothering me, knowing you were threatened, so I stopped by around 1 A.M. and kept an eye out.” He grinned.
“Oh, like the eye you had out when I snuck up on you?”
He just looked sheepish and got out of the car.
“May as well come in while I calm my mother down. Don’t say a word about the murders or my connection to it!” I warned.
We went in, and Mom recognized Buck from the time he helped me move some things out of the garage to take to my storage rental unit.
“Mom, Buck was out celebrating a birthday with a friend close by and was heading home but was feeling a bit woozy, so he parked in the drive to take a nap. Just so he wouldn’t get stopped by the police on the road.”
“Shame on you, Buck, drinking and driving. Well, you were smart to stop before you got into trouble.” She went off to deal with my Dad.
“Why’d you tell her that? I’ve been sober for five years. Now you got me drinking again.” He grinned.
“Come with me. I’ve got more to tell you since last night.”
We went into my room, and I closed the door so Mom wouldn’t hear. I sat and related all the new information since last night. Buck sat upright and let out a low whistle.
I continued, “I have to go over to visit the investigating cop and give him everything I know. Want to go with me?”
“Police don’t like me. I got a history. I’ll take you there, but I’ll just wait in the car, if you don’t mind.”
When we worked together, Buck had told me about his bad boy days, back when he was into heavy drinking and had run-ins with the law. I understood his concern, although he was clean, sober and an upstanding citizen now. Just that old feelings are hard to shake off.
“That works for me. Let’s go.” I told a white lie to Mom that we were going out for breakfast. She insisted on making us breakfast, but Buck said he had to take care of a couple of errands before we could eat and needed my help so it would be his treat. She accepted that and scampered back off into Dad’s room.
“Good, now we both have lied to my mother.” I smiled.
Since it was still early, we decided to actually get breakfast so we stopped at a Denny’s by the police station. We ate and talked about the murders, and I gave him a timeline on the whole mess. We talked till about 8:30. Buck paid since he was still employed, and we headed out.
We got to the Clinton Twp. police station by about 9:00 A.M., and Buck parked. I said I’d be back soon as possible. Buck replied that he had his DVD player with him and was going to watch a movie. I went in and told the desk officer I was supposed to see Trapper. He got on the phone and sent me into the waiting room. I ended up on the same wooden chair while I waited. Trapper came out and signaled me to follow him into his office.
“Early yesterday the Warren police received a call from a hysterical woman saying she got an email threatening her life. They sent a detective out. He recognized the M.O. and assigned an officer to watch her. He called my office, but I was out on the Harper case. Some knucklehead didn’t get the message to me. I swear I’m working with idiots. Last night around midnight the protecting officer let the woman go into her kennel to calm a dog going nuts. The officer stood by the door but didn’t follow her in. Bad move. She was in there excessively long, so the officer went in. He found the woman lying in a dog cage, dead. Coroner was called and said it looked like blunt force trauma, blow to the head, hard enough to crush her skull. Their investigation didn’t find the weapon, but they are still looking. The same detective from earlier got on the horn and tracked me down to confer on the facts between his murder and my two. I went there to observe. I called you to see if this woman was any classmate you knew. Now how’d you know about this woman’s location and occupation?”
I told him about looking through my yearbook, finding the cheerleading photo of Dee and Joyce together and checking the internet for more info on the other girls. I passed on the info on the other women and showed him the yearbook photo which I had copied on my scanner. He sat listening and then sighed.
“I guess I’m not going to be able to stop you from invest… sorry, asking questions to relieve your mind, so I want you to give me anything you come up with as soon as you get it. I’ll give you my cell phone number. This nut job is moving too fast for us. You are now an unofficial civilian advisor on the case.”
; “Do I get a badge?” I grinned.
“Don’t push it,” he snarled. “Give me the names and locations of the other cheerleaders you have.”
I started to write them on the pad that he had tossed to me.
“Are we going to change the name to the ‘Cheerleader Killer’ now?” I inquired.
“No, classmate killer still sticks. Besides, we don’t know officially yet if it’s only the cheerleaders he’s after.”
I half joked, “Maybe it’s some guy who tried out for cheerleading and was laughed off by the girls. Now he’s getting his revenge.”
“Forty years later. That’s a stretch. And that’s also a weak reason for murder. Otherwise more than half the cheerleaders in the U.S. would be dead by now.”
I handed him the list and asked if he was done with me. He said he was, but to keep in touch. He was going out to track down the list of survivors. I went back to the car and found Buck engrossed in some movie. He unlocked the car door, and I got in then told him more of the gory details.
I was startled by a tapping on my window and turned to see Trapper standing there.
“Damn it! You scared the crap out of me,” I scolded.
He said, “I forgot to give you my number. Here’s my card with my cell on the back. If you get any more emails threatening your life, call me immediately.”
He looked past me and saw Buck.
“Well, hello, George,” he said to Buck, then turned his attention back to me. “Richards, are you cavorting with criminals, too?”
Buck took issue. “Trapper, I haven’t been in any trouble in years! I gave up my wild ways. And I was never a criminal! Just a misguided youth.”
“Back when I was a patrol cop, George gave us a run for about ten miles down Gratiot Avenue in his Barracuda. We chased him through three cities and six parking lots before we finally corralled him with tire spikes by the mall. It was a chase that made the papers and was the talk of the precinct for days. Luckily no one was injured.”
“Except me. After the chase,” Buck lamented.
“Well, it seemed you were resisting arrest, George.” Trapper smiled.
“Bullshit,” Buck said under his breath not loud enough for Trapper to hear.
“Buck is a good friend of mine and still works for the security company I just left. He’s now wearing a badge and protecting property, so leave him be,” I defended Buck.
“Damn, George with a badge. That’s like the reformed drunk owning a bar. OK, George, I guess I’m all right with your reformation. Richards, keep me informed.” He smiled, saluted Buck and walked off.
“He was one of the few cops that did treat me nicely, but he’s still a cop,” Buck said to the window.
“If you got the time and can get over your past, I’d like to take a run by an address I have,” I said.
“Where to, Spen-sahh?” he mocked.
I grinned at the reference. “To visit a cheerleader who hopefully is still alive.”
*
Chapter Five
We drove out of the city, just north of Mt. Clemens, and according to my map program on my Palm, we found the address. It was a beat up farmhouse looking like no one gave a crap whether it was falling down or not. The battered sign out front said “Sue’s Beauty Shop.” I presumed the shop was set up in the front of the house, so we went to the door.
The sign on the door said to walk in and be seated. We did. There was no one in the room. It had two styling chairs in front of two sinks and counters with all the stuff to cut, curl and tease a woman’s hair. An elderly woman came out from where I presumed was the house part of the building and just looked at us.
“I don’t do men’s hair. Besides, both of you are bald, so what do ya want?”
I looked at her through the wrinkles and gaudy make-up and realized I was looking at Sue Carter, the head cheerleader and the Prom Queen. She now looked like a drag queen. I stood up.
“Sue, you probably don’t remember me. Jim Richards, from our class in high school?”
“Yeah, I think I do. You were always running around with a camera.” Her gaze looked a bit alcohol induced.
“Yep, that was me. Could I ask you a few questions?”
“Why, you a cop?” she slurred.
“No, just a friend of Dee Wittenfield and Joyce Harper.”
Her eyes perked up a bit on hearing that.
“Wow, there’s two names I haven’t heard in a while. What are those two bitches up to?” She sat on one of the styling chairs and lit a cigarette.
“Well, they’re both dead.” I could have said it politer, but I didn’t want to beat around the bush.
That seemed to shake her just a bit. “No shit! Old age?”
“No, murdered. Both within the last two days.”
That really shook her. Her eyes went wide, and her mouth slowly opened, but no sound came out. The cigarette hung off her lip.
“And Marge Holden was killed this morning at her business.” She sat quietly. “Seems someone is after the cheerleaders, huh, Sue?”
She seemed to be thinking.
I got closer and asked, “Have you gotten any threatening emails lately that you thought might be a joke?”
“Honey, I don’t get the internet out here. Hell, I can’t even get cable.”
No internet? How was the killer going to reach this one?
“Oh, God, it’s him! I knew he’d get back at us!” She looked panicky and started to gag. The cigarette fell to the floor. I turned the chair toward the sink, and she held her head over but didn’t puke. I crushed out the cigarette with my foot. She held there for a minute then continued, “He threatened all of us so long ago. I waited for him to strike, but not after all these years. Why now?”
“Who are you talking about, Sue?”
“Mr. Rocco, the gym teacher.” She gagged again, but nothing surfaced.
I remembered him, Nathan Rocco, and how he left the school one day and vanished. There was no talk about why. It was all pretty hushed. Sue turned in the chair and looked at me with dull eyes.
“We did it. We didn’t like him and wanted to get rid of him. I knew this would finally bite us in the ass. But not murder. God, am I in danger?”
“Sue, calm down and tell me what happened.”
“Senior year, the six of us cheerleaders were fed up with his pandering and treatment of Mrs. Stone, our gym teacher and cheerleader advisor. He was a mean, rotten man and deserved to be accused of sexual misconduct. We told the principal, Mr. Varga, that he had attempted to molest each of us at different times and we were afraid to say anything. But all of us together figured safety in numbers.”
I sat in the other styling chair and listened.
“The police were called in, they took him to the station and they worked him over good before turning him loose. No charges were made because it was all on our word. They had no proof. He was fired from the job and left the state, but not before he told Linda Grolich that he would get back at us one day. Oh, man, it’s come. We lied about it, and he knew we did!”
I was shocked that Dee and Joyce would have gone along with this plot to ruin a man, even if he was bad. I was now sixty, so Rocco would have to be in his eighties or older by now. It didn’t fit the person we thought was the killer. Did he have a helper?
“My life has been crap since I got out of high school. I married Darrien York, the big bad football jock. You know…the jock and the head cheerleader. Same old story. He was a bum without his football, couldn’t hold a job for more than a year. We drifted from place to place, keeping ahead of the evictions. I finally went to beauty school and got my license. The money was lousy, and then I inherited this shack from my Dad when he died. I opened up shop here, looser zoning laws out here in the county. And here I’ve been for the last ten years. Darrien left me for some slut he met in a bar. Good riddance. Now this. I’d welcome death right now.” Her eyes watered, and she got up and went into the other room.
Buck said from behind me, “The p
lot thickens.”
“I got to let Trapper know about this.” I pulled out my cell phone just as Sue’s phone rang a couple times. I waited, and then I heard Sue let out a low scream. She came running back into the shop.
“The voice on the phone said I was next to die!! Oh, my God!” She fell to the floor, curling up in a ball and bawling like a baby. I told Buck to help her up to the chair. He did.
I dialed the number Trapper gave me. After a couple rings he came on. “What now Richards?”
“Where are you?” I asked.