My First Murder

by Susan P. Baker

  We both got quiet for a few minutes while we thought of our find. By that time we were approaching the League City exit. I got off and crossed over the freeway and drove to McDonald’s, where we went for hamburgers. Margaret brought the rings inside with her.

  We sat in a booth next to a window and examined the rings.

  “Look inside the law school ring and see if there is an inscription,” I instructed Margaret.

  She peered at the inside of the ring. “Yes, E.A.R. and then it says 14K.”

  “So her name wasn’t Doris,” I said. “I didn’t think so. Let’s look at the others. May I see the wedding ring?”

  Margaret handed me the wedding band and I looked at the inside of it. It read, “Robert to Elizabeth 6-15-70.”

  “Elizabeth R.,” Margaret whispered in a breathless tone.

  “I knew her name would be something like that,” I said. “Her daughters are Catherine and Anne.”

  “I’ll bet the middle initial is for Anne,” Margaret said.

  “You’re probably right.” Margaret looked pleased with herself. “So her name was Elizabeth Anne R. something. We can probably figure out who she was by going to the law school. Does that ring have a year on it?”

  Margaret scrutinized the ring. “No, just a Latin phrase and the letters J.D. and University of Texas School of Law. What’s J.D.?”

  “Juris Doctorate.” She handed it to me and I looked it over. It had a set of longhorns on one side and a capital U with a capital T over it on the other. She was right, no year. We still didn’t know who Doris really was, but we were a lot closer than we had been a few hours before. It suddenly occurred to me that Margaret hadn’t told me what else she had found in the box.

  “What else was there, Margaret?”

  “That’s it.” She held her palms up, indicating. “It was weird, you know, Mavis? It was a large box, about a foot wide and real deep, but nothing else was in it. Don’t they have smaller boxes than that?”

  “Yeah, most banks have several sizes. The size you’re describing sounds like the second smallest, about the size that people get for storing their coin collections and legal and insurance papers.”

  “I wonder what else she could have gotten it for?”

  “I don’t know, Margaret, but we need to keep that question in mind. Could you tell how many times she’d gone into it?”

  “No. The lady took an index card and covered up everything so I could only see the line I was signing on—I couldn’t even see Doris’ name typed at the top. Then she held the card down on the desk and told me to sign. And then, when I finished, she stared at the card real hard and then at me for a minute before taking me into the vault. I just knew I’d been caught. I was so scared.” Her eyes grew wide as she recited. Then she laughed.

  “No wonder you threw up,” I said. “Well, I guess at this point we’d better talk to Carl and see whether he wants us to proceed. The thought’s occurred to me that when I tell him Doris, I mean Elizabeth, was married, that he might want to call it quits.”

  “I’d hate that, Mavis. I’m so curious now that I could burst.”

  “Me, too, but unfortunately we can’t proceed on our own. We can’t afford it. The best we could do would be to turn over what we’ve found to the police and hope they’d do something with it.”

  “Then we’d really be in trouble,” Margaret said.

  “Yeah. Let’s pray that Carl is as curious as we are.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  At one o’clock on Friday afternoon, Margaret Applebaum and I pulled up parallel to Lon Tyler, waved in his face, and parked in front of him across from The Rex. I couldn’t believe he was still there. I mean, what was the point? Did he think someone was going to get nervous, run over to him, lean in the car window, and confess?

  We crossed the street and went inside the café, into the lovely air-conditioning, and found an empty table near the kitchen. Carl was busy slapping over-laden plates up into the window, so when Mary Sue came over, Margaret and I ordered diet drinks to sip while we waited until Carl could take a break.

  We were in the middle of expounding on a theory when Lon Tyler barged in. He threw open the door; his eyes sought us out; and he marched directly to our table.

  Hovering over us like a vulture, he glared down at me while sizing up Margaret. The armpits of his rumpled brown suit—yes, his suit—were stained, as was the mismatched tie that hung loosely around his fat neck. “The Captain says I should talk to you,” he grumbled.

  “How sweet,” I replied, deliberately not inviting him to sit down.

  “Who’s this?” he asked, indicating Margaret with a jerk of his head.

  “My assistant, Margaret Applebaum. Margaret, this is Lon Tyler of the Houston Police Department. Homicide Division, I believe.”

  Margaret held out her hand, as any polite, modern, young woman would do, but Lon didn’t take it. I’m sure she was relieved.

  “Sergeant Tyler,” he muttered, still standing there staring down with his beady little bird eyes.

  I wasn’t impressed, and I could tell from her expression that Margaret wasn’t either. We stayed there, looking at each other, until it dawned on me that Lon wasn’t going away. Neither was he going to talk in front of Margaret. “Margaret,” I said, “go play the juke box.” I felt like I was talking to a child.

  Margaret smiled wanly, snatched her purse off the table, and slid out of the booth. Clearly, she was insulted.

  Tyler slid his bulk in, bumped the table, and almost caused my soda to spill over. As it was, I had to catch the plastic flowers before they hit the floor. Leaning his elbows rudely on the table, he scowled at me. Once again, my nose was offended by the result of his having sat outside during the heat of the day. I leaned back into the bench seat, but could only get just so far from him. I smiled, probably wanly, too.

  “What can I do for you, Sergeant Tyler?”

  “Didn’t Sergeant Sorensen talk to you?” he asked gruffly as he pointed his stubby forefinger in my face.

  Before I answered, I pulled out a pack of cigarettes, shook one out, and flicked my lighter, gazing at him through the butane flame. After I inhaled deeply, I exhaled right into his face. “Why, yes. We had dinner together the other night,” I said sweetly, as if passing the time of day. “I had a nice—”

  “I don’t care what you had,” he growled. “Didn’t he tell you to leave the Jones case alone? Didn’t he? What are you doing here? Huh?”

  “Why Lon, Margaret and I stopped by here to get soft drinks. It’s awfully hot outside and we were thirsty. Can’t you see?” I said, indicating our drinks. “I thought I’d talk to Mr. Singleton again about the apartment. I’m still interested.”

  “Bullshit,” he said with an offensive tone in his voice. If it was possible, his face was getting redder than it had been when he came in out of the heat.

  At that point, I didn’t know if I should fess up or not. How much secrecy did Carl want? I had little inclination to give away what we’d discovered, especially in light of Margaret’s participation. And then there was Candy to consider. She was going to be awfully upset if I got into trouble and she didn’t have a job anymore. I’m afraid I just sat there waiting to see what would happen if I was simply nonresponsive.

  “Did Singleton hire you?”

  “For what?”

  “For anything?”

  “I hesitate to breach any confidentiality.”

  “You want to go downtown with me?”

  “Hey, that’s great, Lon. Just like they say it in the movies.”

  “You’re going to be in big trouble if you don’t answer my questions.”

  “Here,” I held out my hands toward him, wrists together, “cuff me. Arrest me. Take me downtown. But first tell me what law I’ve broken by coming in here to buy a Coke.”

  “It ain’t the Coke. It’s the looking into the Jones murder that’s got you into trouble, and you know it.”

  “Tell me one thing that I’ve done wrong
.”

  “No license.”

  “Hah! Got you there! I got my license two months ago. Besides, where does it say that I have to have a license to talk to a friend about his bereavement?”

  “See! You’ve admitted it! You are looking into the Jones murder.”

  “I said no such thing.”

  “You’d better tell me what you know.”

  “About what? I know a lot of things.”

  I was watching Lon’s face during this exchange. It wasn’t a pleasant sight. The veins at his temples turned blue and bulged as though they were going to burst. He had a mean, stressed-out look around his bloodshot eyes. His nostrils were flaring. The muscles in his jaws were flexing. His lips formed a grim, thin line. I began to wonder how far I could push my luck.

  “Look, Mavis,” Lon finally said tiredly, putting on his “broken man” act. “I’m just trying to do my job, ya’ know? I been sitting out there for four days watching this place, and you’re the only hope I got to get relieved of this job. Now will you tell me what you know so that maybe the captain will let me go back to regular duty?”

  My heart didn’t go out to him. I sat there, close mouthed, trying to decide what I could do to get rid of him. The air around us was becoming oppressive. I glanced toward the jukebox, hoping for help from Margaret, but she had her back to me. I was sure she was deliberately refusing to be supportive. I couldn’t blame her.

  I looked toward the kitchen. Carl was peering through the window, watching us with those sleepy blue eyes of his. He motioned to me, as if to ask whether he should come over. I shook my head just a tad. My eyes came back to rest on Lon, not a pretty sight.

  “Turnabout’s fair play, y’know, Lon?”

  “So?”

  “Tit for tat?”

  “Okay.”

  “You go first.”

  “No,” he said, sitting up authoritatively in his seat, “you.”

  “What the shit,” I said with a shrug. “You should have believed Carl when he told you she wasn’t part of the serial killings.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Doris Jones was not killed by the same person that killed those other two women.”

  “Get outta here.”

  “You asked. I’m tellin’. It wasn’t a stranger who killed her. It was someone she knew.”

  “Yeah? And where are you getting your information?”

  I shook my head and sighed. I could tell this idea wasn’t nifty keen. I was going to come away feeling like a frustrated old maid at a Mother’s Day parade when I got through butting heads with Lon, but there was something I wanted to know and I was sure Lon had the answer. “Look, Lon, are you going to listen to me or what? Read my lips, it wasn’t the serial killer. Now I want to know something.”

  He was shaking his head and rolled his eyes, as if to say he thought he was talking to an idiot. That was okay. I was not insulted. If he got to thinking I wasn’t a threat, maybe he’d go away and leave me alone.

  “What?”

  “Did y’all find any keys?”

  “What?” he repeated.

  “A key ring. Did the police find a key ring with a set of keys on it?” Boy, was he slow.

  “You mean the apartment keys and the key to the cafe?”

  “Yeah.” I tried to hide my elation. “Is that all there was?”

  “What are you getting at?” he asked evasively. He must have sensed my excitement.

  “I thought maybe she had another key, like to a mailbox or a safe deposit box.”

  “What would she want that for? What would a dame like Doris Jones want with a safe deposit box for Christ’s sake?”

  “To hide something in. To hide her identity in.”

  “Now I’ve heard everything,” he said, shaking his head at me. “Are you nuts, Mavis?”

  “No—really, Lon. I’ve got this theory that Doris Jones was not Doris Jones, that she was someone else. I think she was hiding out and whoever she was hiding from found her and killed her.”

  “Jesus Christ, Mavis! Where did you get such a stupid idea?”

  “It fits. And if she had such a key, then we could go find out who killed her. Maybe.”

  Lon chuckled and slapped his hand down on the table. I had to catch the flower vase again. “Well, there ain’t no safe deposit box key,” he said, mimicking my tone of voice, “and that’s the dumbest idea I ever heard of.”

  I was indignant. At least I hope that’s the impression I conveyed. I was trying my damnedest to be the actress my mother always said I was when things didn’t go my way. “Well, that’s my theory anyway, Lon.”

  He was laughing loudly now, as if someone had tickled his funny bone. Such huge bellows came out of him that the few remaining lunch customers turned to stare at us. It was great.

  I cast my eyes at him, apparently hurt by his laughter, and stubbed my cigarette out in the ashtray. “Okay, Lon. That’s enough. If you don’t stop, I’m not going to talk about it anymore.” I crossed my arms about my chest and pushed my lower lip out.

  Lon let go of a couple more guffaws, wiped the tears of laughter from the corners of his eyes, and then he went away. He simply scooted out of the bench seat, bumping the table again as he went, walked up to the counter and got a cup of coffee, and went out the door, turning once or twice to grin at me in the process.

  I looked horribly insulted until he was out of sight; then I suppose I looked like the Cheshire cat. Margaret and Carl arrived at the table at the same time.

  “What was that all about?” Carl asked as he slid onto the bench seat where Lon had been.

  I moved over to make room for Margaret and then shrugged my shoulders. “He didn’t appreciate our theory of the case, Carl, that’s all. Hopefully it’ll keep him off my back.”

  “He sure was loud,” Margaret said.

  “I know. I’m sorry,” I said to Carl.

  “Aw, that’s okay, Mavis. Boy, he’s really something.” Carl said.

  “Yeah, and he’s probably going to say the same thing about me tonight when he gets back to the station. But that’s all right. Listen, Carl, we’ve got so much to tell you. Are you ready for this?”

  Carl swiped at his crew cut, wiped his hands on his grease-stained apron, and then cupped his chin as he rested his elbow on the table. His mouth turned down in a frown as he answered. “Fire when ready.”

  I glanced at Margaret for courage, because we both knew that Carl might terminate our working relationship when he heard what we’d learned. Margaret had a stiff-upper-lip expression on her face. The truth had to be told. It was the end of the week and Carl had paid to know the answers to the questions he’d raised.

  My eyes cut back to Carl’s. “Doris Jones was really Elizabeth something or other. The initials of the rest of her name are A. R. We think her middle name was Anne.”

  He expelled a breath of air, almost as audible as the bursting of a day-old balloon. His eyes darted from me to Margaret. She nodded in confirmation. Back to me, he said, “Go on.”

  “We think she was a lawyer.”

  “I knew it!” He slammed his palm on the table. The surface was getting quite a workout that day.

  “Well, you were right.” I smiled because he seemed so pleased with himself.

  “Did you tell that cop?” he asked.

  “He wouldn’t have believed me, but no, I didn’t.”

  “How’d you find out?”

  “Uh, I’d rather not say,” I said with another look in Margaret’s direction. “Not just now. But you can believe that we have some evidence to support our contention.”

  “God, it’s amazing how much you sound like her sometimes, Mavis,” he said with a grin. “That’s just the kind of thing Doris—I mean Elizabeth—would say.” He paused a minute and then ran his hand across the back of his neck. “That’s strange, thinking about her as Elizabeth, but it’s a nice name. It suits her. I mean, it would have—you know what I mean,” he ended.

  “Yes,” Margaret said,
“we know.”

  “But please, you’ve got to tell me how you know.”

  Margaret’s eyes were taking on a worried expression, her eyebrows knitting together under all that hair. I reached out and patted her arm reassuringly. She had to know I wouldn’t betray her.

  “Ask me no questions, and I’ll tell you no lies,” Margaret said.

  “Oh okay.”

  “There’s more, Carl, and I’m not sure you’re going to like it,” I said.