Crotty gave Max a look that shut him up, and then stepped over to Anderson and Jeannie.
“How are you two doing?” Crotty asked them perfunctorily.
Anderson said nothing.
“Fine.” Jeannie nodded in reply.
“Mr. Anderson, I’ve had something on my mind, that maybe you could help me with…” Crotty now tried to adopt his best casual interrogation style as he locked his gaze on Anderson.
Anderson knew there was nothing informal about whatever Crotty was going to ask him.
“There were some unique shoe impressions left at the Gabriel Lysander murder scene…” Crotty disclosed. “…actually at both that scene and the Ruben Roney death scene. Not the same impressions at both places, totally distinct from the victim’s wear patterns, but from seemingly two different sets of shoes at each location, as if they were made by two different people.”
Crotty wasn’t just talking: he was searching Anderson’s reaction to each and every word he uttered.
Anderson, for his part, stared right back at him, unblinking.
“Now there have been some clever murderers in the past who have used other people’s shoes to throw the cops off the scent.” Crotty went on. “Even the Unabomber did it. Wore different sized shoes.”
Crotty continued to aggressively look directly in Anderson’s eyes as he spoke.
Anderson never looked away and was, in a word: enigmatic.
“You know how that church you go to, in their office there…” Crotty couldn’t wait to get to this part, because it was his money play. “…there’s those bins there, you know, they take in shoes and clothes for the poor…”
Anderson – showed no reaction.
Crotty continued, “…someone could find a whole bunch of shoes there that would fit them, that would have a different wear pattern, if they were going to kill someone and wanted to confuse a bunch of detectives…” Crotty hesitated for only a moment to give Anderson a chance to speak but:
Anderson – still had no reaction.
“…you know what I’m talking about, right?” Crotty said this more like an accusation, rather than a question.
And… Anderson – just stared back at him in silence.
“Now… I just have one question for you?” Crotty waited for a second and thought he saw a flicker of movement in Anderson’s face, a revealing sign that showed Anderson knew exactly what he was talking about and was nervous.
“Just one question…” Crotty took a deep breath before making his final inquiry. “…do you think Al Ward would have known about that?”
Max almost blurted out a “huh, what?!!” after Crotty said this.
Anderson pondered his answer for moment, and then simply replied, “I wouldn’t be able to tell you, honestly.”
“That’s what I thought.” Crotty nodded, and hesitated for only a moment before he said to Max as he looked over at Ward’s body bag being loaded into the transport van. “I think we have our man. I don’t believe it would even make a difference to get his shoe impressions on this one.”
“Who’re you talking about: Al Ward?” Max asked shooting a glance over at the transport van and then doing a double-take on Crotty.
“Yeah, he’s the guy who killed them.” Crotty declared.
“All three guys?” Max asked incredulously.
“Yeah…” Crotty answered firmly. “…that’s my take.”
Anderson stared thoughtfully at Crotty.
“Now, Max…” Crotty turned to the young detective. “…could you give these people a ride to wherever they need to go?”
“Sure.” Max answered, still somewhat bewildered by Crotty’s actions.
Anderson made it a point to shake Crotty’s hand.
Jeannie gratefully extended her hand also to Crotty and said, “Thank you.”
Crotty shook her hand and smiled.
Max lead Anderson and Jeannie to his sedan parked somewhere at the edge of the oscillating, iridescent lights.
Crotty watched them as they moved away.
CHAPTER 46
It was one of those country club wedding receptions. Nice. Valets. Choice of shrimp something or another and tournedos of beef. Everyone was awaiting the bride and groom again who had moved off to take some more photographs.
The men were mainly miserable like most weddings, hiding out at the open bar when they weren’t being made to dance. The women were all currently engrossed in one of those line dances that required a pre-set knowledge of the basic steps. There was a lot of laughter. The live band was cooking.
Jeannie had moved off to the far end of a long high-ceiling corridor away from the ballroom where she could hear better. She had a cell phone to her ear, and it was hard to miss the large diamond wedding ring on her finger.
“How are they doing?” Jeannie asked into the cell phone. “She’s sleeping?… Great. His sippy cup should be in the dishwasher, clean…” Jeannie waved as the young bride and groom floated past, beaming, in love, hurrying to get back to the reception. It didn’t seem to be one of those marriages gone into just so the two people who were getting married could talk about themselves for a few years: the year-and-a half leading up to and leading away from the event.
Jeannie watched them as they went, and thought about her own wedding. It wasn’t a bash like this. But it was beautiful. Cannova married her and Noel. Anderson would have gotten married in front of a judge. She didn’t want a civil ceremony. She wanted to be sure the person marrying them believed in God. Cannova did. And does.
“…We shouldn’t be too late…” Jeannie finished up her call as she walked towards Anderson who was standing halfway down the large hallway with three other men laughing at some joke one of them just told. “…Okay, thanks.”
Jeannie disconnected, put the cell phone away in her evening bag, and moved up to Anderson, taking his arm as she led him away. “Come on, you owe me a dance.” She cooed.
Anderson nodded good-bye to the three men and started off with Jeannie when one of the men stopped him and produced a business card.
“Say, Noel, you a golfer?” The first man asked as he handed Anderson the card. “I belong to this club… you want to hit it around some afternoon?”
“I haven’t played in a long time.” Anderson admitted.
“Who cares, give me a call.” The first man affably insisted.
“I’ll do that.” Anderson graciously assured him as he tucked the card away in his breast pocket and moved away with Jeannie.
“Nice guy.” The second man remarked once they were out of audible range, genuinely impressed with Anderson.
“You know who that is, don’t you?!!” The first man asked, hushed, as if he were sharing confidential information.
“That’s Noel Anderson!…” The third man interjected.
The name didn’t immediately ring a bell with the second man.
“…his first wife and daughter were murdered! It was about five, six years ago. Some workmen broke into his house, and the rumor is he went after the guys and killed them!”
“No kidding?” The second man responded, his brow furrowed thoughtfully and he added, after another moment, “Good for him.”
“Yeah, that’s what we all think.” The first man nodded in agreement.
Anderson and Jeannie mixed in with the other wedding guests on the dance floor. They soon became lost in the celebrating sea of people…
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Timothy McDougall was born in Illinois and grew up on both the South and North sides of Chicago. As a child, he fell in love with story-telling, exhibiting and narrating silent shorts of well-known horror movies for neighborhood friends. He read the great authors, devouring the works of Dickens and Robert Louis Stevenson, among many others, with T.E. Lawrence’s Seven Pillars of Wisdom having particular impact due to its evocative and brilliant prose.
Timothy’s love for all things literary continued as he studied acting and filmmaking in Los Angeles after attending the University
of Miami in Florida. He won awards for his screenplays, and has written and directed an independent motion picture.
Timothy currently lives outside Chicago with his wife and three children.
Violence is his first novel.
Table of Contents
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
CHAPTER 41
CHAPTER 42
CHAPTER 43
CHAPTER 44
CHAPTER 45
CHAPTER 46
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Violence Page 36