Terry Odell - Mapleton 01 - Deadly Secrets

by Terry Odell

  “I do. Is there anything you’ve noticed about him that seems out of character for one of your typical guests?”

  Her lips flattened. “We respect our guests’ privacy.”

  “Of course. But in your kind of place, I imagine your guests share their plans and adventures around the breakfast table as part of normal conversation. I wondered if you knew why Mr. Johnson chose to come to Mapleton. Is he a photographer? Hunter? Fisherman? Artist? Hiker?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “He keeps to himself. Breakfast is included, but we don’t require our guests eat it. Today was his first breakfast with us, and he didn’t talk much.”

  “Where’s he from?”

  She frowned. “Utah. Ogden, as I recall.”

  “You don’t know where he goes during the day?”

  “No. I suggest you ask him. Assuming he wants to talk to you, of course.”

  Definitely picking up the ‘toe the line’ vibes. He smiled, lifted his palms. “Of course. Actually, there’s a possibility he was witness to a traffic accident, and I wanted to ask him about it. Where can I find him?”

  She gestured behind her with her trowel. “He should be at the house.”

  Gordon had no doubt Flo and Lyla knew how their guests spent their days. But he understood both their reluctance to share that information with a cop, and their obligations to the privacy of their guests.

  He wound up the narrow wooded lane to the dirt-packed parking area near the front of the Richardsons’ house. More flowers, and another painted sign. He adjusted his jacket so both his gun and badge were obscured. As Flo had said, having a cop show up when the town was abuzz with a murder wouldn’t be good for business.

  The front door stood open behind a screen door. He jangled a bell suspended on the outer wall beside the jamb. Flo was there within seconds, wiping her hands on a dish towel.

  She gave a token nod of greeting as she opened the screen door. “You made excellent time. Mr. Johnson is upstairs. Iris room. To the left.”

  Gordon climbed the stairs, inhaling the aroma of this morning’s breakfast and the fresh coffee he knew was always available to guests. Given neither sister had offered any, he knew he’d been switched from friendly acquaintance to intruding cop.

  He wandered down the hall, seeing the ceramic doorplates with different flowers painted on them. Glad he could recognize an iris, he knocked. “Mr. Johnson?”

  Feet scuffled to the door. “Yes?” a gravelly voice said.

  “Mr. Johnson, my name is Gordon Hepler. I’d like to talk to you for a few minutes, please.”

  The door opened a couple of inches. A gnarled, liver-spotted hand kept it from opening further.

  “May I come in?” Gordon asked. “Or would you rather go downstairs?”

  There was a hesitation, as if the man were weighing all the possible outcomes with a mind working at molasses-in-January speed. “Who’d you say you were? Don’t know anyone named Helper.”

  “It’s Hepler, Mr. Johnson, and I’m with the Mapleton Police Department. I have a few routine questions.” Until he could see the man’s face, Gordon wouldn’t give him more than that.

  The door swung open on silent hinges. “Inside’s good enough, I guess.”

  According to Johnson’s driver’s license, he was fifty-eight. The man standing in front of him looked more like seventy—an old seventy. He thought of the Kretzers, who were in their seventies but seemed decades younger than Johnson. He couldn’t imagine this man wrangling Betty Bedford into submission and taping her to a chair, much less slitting her throat. The man wore black pants and turtleneck, both too large for his frame, as if he’d lost a lot of weight too fast. His hands shook, and his skin carried a gray tinge beneath matching stubble. If he had accosted Megan, she shouldn’t have had any trouble getting away.

  He hoped Colfax might dig more memories out of her. Meanwhile, he reminded himself not to jump to conclusions. The man might have drugged Betty Bedford, or he might have had a partner.

  Gordon stepped into the room, the scent of air freshener more cloying than refreshing. Didn’t seem to fit the Richardson image. As Gordon moved closer to Johnson, he caught the cigarette smoke. The man had probably been sneaking smokes in his room and spraying the cheap floral aroma to cover it.

  “Hope you don’t mind if I sit,” Johnson said. “Haven’t been myself lately.”

  “Go ahead.” Gordon waited until Johnson lowered himself gingerly into an easy chair. “What brings you to Mapleton?”

  Johnson licked his lips. His gaze darted around the room, not lighting anywhere. “Heard this was a good place to relax. Clean mountain air, away from the rat race. Homemade food, no chemicals. Thought it might help.”

  “You mind telling me what’s wrong?”

  Johnson wheezeed. “Cancer. Third time it’s recurred. You know what they say. Third time’s the charm.”

  His resigned matter-of-factness said he’d come to peace with it. Gordon steeled himself and went on with his questions.

  “You have friends, relatives around here?”

  More eye darting. “No, no, I found this place on the Internet.”

  “You were at Daily Bread for breakfast on Tuesday. Why didn’t you eat here, if the food’s what attracted you?”

  Johnson stared at the floor. “Couldn’t sleep. Left early, before breakfast. Meant to get back in time, but I didn’t.”

  “What time did you leave?”

  He shrugged. “Shortly before daybreak, I guess. Don’t wear a watch no more. Drove around, watched the sunrise. Maybe dozed off. Got hungry, so I stopped at that restaurant in town. No crime in that.”

  “You’re right.” He changed tactics. “Actually, we’re more interested in finding someone who might have seen an accident on the road, about half an hour outside of town. Did you notice a blue Toyota Camry while you were driving around?”

  “Can’t say that I did.”

  “After breakfast. Did you come straight here after you ate, or did you drive around some more?”

  Johnson’s head lifted, and he met Gordon’s gaze. “I don’t have to tell you nothing. Not unless you arrest me, and then I get a lawyer.” He folded his arms across his chest. “So, I’d say we’re done.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Megan felt Justin tense as Detective Colfax closed in on them. She prodded Justin in the ribs with her elbow. “Down, boy,” she whispered. She turned her attention to the detective. “Yes?”

  “Should we go to the office?” he asked. “It might be more comfortable.”

  “Here’s fine,” she said. “What do you need to know?”

  “First, we’re trying to locate the man who bought Sam Kretzer’s bookstore. Do you know him, or where we can find him?”

  She shook her head. “That happened years after I’d left Mapleton. I understood it didn’t work out for him, but I had no involvement.”

  “What about you?” he asked Justin, acknowledging his presence for the first time. “You have any information?”

  “No.” Justin gripped Megan’s elbow, and she resisted the urge to slam it into his ribs this time. “We do have a lot to do, so if you’ll excuse us?”

  “There is one more question,” Colfax said. “Why don’t we sit?” He started toward the cluster of wooden benches in the center of the lobby.

  Megan looked at Justin, who seemed ready to drag her out of the building to get her away from Detective Colfax. “Justin, you can go on ahead. Maybe the detective will give me a lift when I’ve answered his questions.”

  “Like hell,” Justin said through clenched teeth. “Make it quick.”

  She chose a seat across from the detective. “What can I tell you?”

  “We’re trying to connect the dots.” He pulled out a notebook. Leafing through the pages, he said, “You told Chief Hepler someone grabbed you while you were waiting for Mr. Nadell to get back from his jog, but that you didn’t remember the details. We’re hoping your memory has returned and you can help po
int us to the man.”

  “Because you think he might be the same one who killed Mrs. Bedford and broke into Rose and Sam’s house,” she said.

  He studied his notes before meeting her eyes. At least he didn’t give her one of those, “My, the little lady has a brain” looks. “It’s a logical conclusion.”

  “Exactly. It’s the same one Justin and I reached.”

  “So, what can you tell us?” Detective Colfax said.

  “I did remember what happened, which is that a man grabbed me, I managed to escape and hide. But I have nothing in the way of description other than average. And he smokes.”

  “Was he smoking? If he threw his cigarette butt away we can get his DNA.”

  “No, I smelled it on his clothes.”

  “When you got away. Did you hurt him? If he sought medical attention, we might find him. We’d know to look for someone with an injury.”

  “He might have a slight limp,” she said. “I kicked him in the knee pretty good. It hurt him enough so I had time to get out of sight before he could come after me.”

  The detective made a note. “Right or left knee?”

  Megan laughed. “I have no idea.”

  “Stop, think about it. How was he holding you?” He stood. “Show me. Your senses have the memory, it’s a matter of calling it up.”

  Megan could almost hear Justin growl when she complied. She shot him a dirty look and stood. The sooner she got rid of Detective Colfax, the sooner they could get on with their search. And before Justin broke a tooth from clenching his jaw. “Let’s do it.”

  With the detective playing the role of her assailant, she demonstrated the way he’d grabbed her. The memories the detective had mentioned surfaced, and she shivered.

  “You’re doing fine. Start with height. I’m five-eleven. Did he feel taller or shorter than I am?”

  “Shorter,” she said without thinking. “He wasn’t short, but he wasn’t as tall as you. He wasn’t as big, either. He seemed…thinner.”

  She felt the detective suck in his belly. Justin coughed and averted his gaze.

  “I stomped on his foot.” Megan raised her foot to demonstrate.

  “Wait,” Detective Colfax said. “What did his shoes feel like? Sneakers? Boots? Hard, soft? Concentrate on the way things felt. Use all your senses.”

  Intrigued by the detective’s directive, Megan stopped mid-stomp to retrieve the memory. She let her mind replay that afternoon’s events. “Sneakers,” she said. “I can see them. Not narrow, like running shoes. More sturdy, like cross-trainers. Or walking shoes.”

  “Color?” he asked.

  “Black. Dusty. Scuffed.” She switched her gaze to Justin, who’d lost his alpha dog attitude and was listening intently.

  The detective went on. “Look higher. Can you see the bottom of his pants? Cuffs? Color? Fabric? Close your eyes if it helps.”

  She did, and the picture formed behind her lids. “Black, too. Not dress slacks. They didn’t hang that way. Stiffer, like denim, or hiking pants.”

  “Excellent. Think some more. Move higher. What else can you see?”

  She tried, but the images wouldn’t come. “Nothing. I was looking down.”

  “What about feeling?” He secured her the way the man had. “Where he touched you. Was he wearing a sweater? Something knit? Or slick, like a nylon parka?”

  “Smooth,” she said. “I remember trying to grab it, to get away, but I couldn’t get a grip.”

  “His hands. You say he had one across your mouth. What did it feel like?”

  She shuddered. “Smelly. Like cigarettes.”

  “Could you see his sleeve? The color of his jacket?”

  “Black. He was all in black. I remember, because at first I thought it was a deer. I’d been half-asleep. I had this flash that a black deer was really unusual, and then he was all over me.”

  “Excellent, Miss Wyatt. Now, replay your escape, please.”

  She demonstrated her stomp and kick. “We were both struggling, so I can’t be sure which knee I caught.” Their reenactment proved it could have been either.

  “You’ve given us some valuable information. We’re probably looking for someone around five-nine, about one-fifty, wearing scuffed black sneakers, black pants, and a black parka.”

  “And a black knit watch cap,” Megan blurted out. “I remember that.”

  “What did he say? Pretend it’s a recording. Play it back.”

  She caught Justin’s eye. Should she tell the detective? The quick bob of his head said yes. They needed this guy caught, and the cops had the resources.

  “He said he’d kill everyone I loved, and then kill me,” she said. The words came easier this time. “He called me his meal ticket.”

  “Do you know who he was referring to?”

  “It had to be Rose and Sam. They’re the only family I have. And it’s the only thing that makes sense.”

  “Last question. Who knew you’d be here?”

  “In Mapleton? Angie Mead from Daily Bread. Back home? My boss, my team—probably anyone at the office could find me.”

  “Thanks.” He made more notes, then handed her his card. “Thanks for your help. Call if you remember anything else.”

  “We have the number,” Justin said. “For the police here.”

  “Keep it anyway,” the detective said to Megan. “It’s a joint effort. We’ve got more resources. Why don’t you give me your numbers, in case I need to get in touch.”

  “Chief Hepler should be able to reach us,” Justin said.

  “It would save a step,” Colfax said.

  Megan found a business card and handed it to the detective. “My cell number’s on there.”

  Justin seemed reluctant, but he pulled out a card. “Got a pen?” Megan handed him one, and he wrote on his card, then extended it to the detective. “Cell’s on the back,” Justin said.

  “Thank you,” Detective Colfax said.

  “If we’re finished, we have to get to the house,” Megan said.

  “One more thing.” The detective smiled.

  She felt Justin’s exasperation rubbing off on her. She put his card in her purse and snapped it shut. “Yes?”

  “Be careful.” The detective’s phone rang, and he checked the display. He lifted it, saying, “One minute” to the caller. He gave her a stern look. “If bad guys did what we expected, we’d know where to be so we could stop them before they did it. Don’t lose my phone number. I’m going to be around the station, and Chief Hepler’s off working other aspects of the case.”

  “We’ll be in touch, detective,” Justin said. He had her elbow again, and he turned her to the door.

  Outside, Megan glanced around the square. There seemed to be a large number of people wearing black.

  Megan kept her eyes on the side mirror as they drove, acutely aware of every other vehicle on the road. “Should we take a circuitous route? In case we picked up a tail?”

  ###

  All the way to his office, Gordon’s cop senses were launching flares, telling him there was more to Willard Johnson than a man dealing with his own mortality. But he shoved them away, to be dealt with later, after taking care of the more urgent need to find Betty Bedford’s killer, Megan’s assailant, and the Kretzers’ intruder. He couldn’t get his head around Willard Johnson being their man.

  Once again, Colfax had made himself at home at Gordon’s computer. “How are we doing?” Gordon asked.

  Colfax smirked. “We? I’m doing fine.”

  “Enlighten me.”

  Colfax leaned back, interlacing his fingers behind his head. “Thanks to my excellent interrogation techniques, Megan Wyatt was able to remember more details about her assailant.”

  “Did you need the rubber hose? Or were the bright lights enough?”

  Colfax chuckled. He relinquished Gordon’s chair. “Actually, we did a little reenactment. A few steps short of hypnosis, but we’ve got a better picture of the man.”

  Gordon’s a
ttitude did a quick U-turn. “That’s great. Any ID?”

  “Unfortunately, she’s described the most generic suspect possible. But she did say she smelled cigarette smoke on the guy. According to the reports, your man Solomon found a couple of cigarette butts in the clearing.”

  Gordon shook his head. “He found the two kids who were there. They admitted to smoking them.”

  “They have anything to add?” Colfax asked.

  “No,” Gordon said. “They snuck out for a smoke and some necking. Solomon reminded them of the “No Smoking” sign and the fire danger, and left it at that. What else did Megan tell you?”

  After Colfax filled him in on the details, Gordon relayed what he’d found out about Johnson.

  “The guy’s generic enough to match Megan’s description, but I can’t buy him as our guy, especially if Megan said he managed to subdue her. Johnson probably couldn’t pin a butterfly. There’s something hinky about him, though. You get a report from forensics?”

  “They’re supposed to be emailing everything. I asked them to copy you. I haven’t seen it come through yet.”

  “Maybe it will by the time I get some coffee. Want a cup?”

  Colfax shook his head.

  “Then can you pull any strings and get an investigative subpoena for Willard Johnson’s cell phone records? He might not be good for our guy, but he could have a partner.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.” Colfax flipped open his cell.

  Gordon stopped at Laurie’s desk on his way back from the break room. She glanced at his mug, then hit him with a questioning look.

  He checked the wall clock. Nearly ten. “Nope. Station coffee today. All I have time for. What do you have for me?”

  She handed him a few message slips. “Dispatch is where the real action is. These are your everyday non-crime crises.”

  “If there’s another budget meeting, shoot me now.”

  “No, but the bigwigs want updates.”

  “Which they’ll get when we have something to update. Who else?”

  “Your SUV is overdue for its maintenance check. And a couple of people who insisted on speaking to you. I tried to grill them, but they weren’t cooperative.”