"Something like that, yeah. It's Friday night. Got a plan?"
"I was going to check in with Jenny. At the bar."
"Just check in? Not stay too long?"
Casting a studious glance at me, she asked, “You don't like her place?"
"Jenny's fine and her place is clean and neat and like that, but the music sucks.” I air-guitared as I said, “Twang, Sadie Mae done left me, twang, my beer's flat, my alcoholic dog died, and my pickup don't run.” Shaking my head, I said, “Beats me why they put money in the juke box to hear that stuff."
Donna snickered and asked, “An alcoholic dog?"
"Sure. Everybody's an alcoholic in a country song."
As we landed in my front yard, she fished in her bag for her keys and said, “I'll take the SUV from here to the bar, then drop it off at the house later."
Hm. ‘Drop it off at the house later?’ Had she made plans for us beyond the bar?
"What then?” I asked, hoping for the best.
Zipping her bag and hanging her keys on her belt loop, she said, “I don't know yet, Ed. Last night and this morning, that house was like a stranger's house to me. I slept on the couch because it seemed too damned likely that he'd screwed her in our bed. Little things were out of place in ways that told me she'd been there.” After a pause, she added, “That she'd made herself at home in my house."
She sighed and sat down on one of the lawn chairs on my front porch.
"She'll be back in town by this evening or tomorrow, if she hasn't already flown back. I found some of her clothes in his closet and some of my underwear was missing, Ed. If she checks her safe deposit box, she'll know somebody's been in it, because this morning I took out everything that had my name on it or belonged to me."
Looking up, she growled, “That bitch had my grandmother's earrings in that goddamned box, do you believe it?!"
I shrugged. “Doesn't surprise me. She'd just say he gave them to her."
Shaking her head, Donna muttered, “Yeah, but anyone who could do that..! I mean, just move in like that..!” She looked up again and said, “Ed, I was honestly worried that she might come in while I was asleep. I strung some silverware on all the door knobs and put a piece of broomstick in the sliding glass doors, then I loaded the other pistol and slept with it."
Sighing again, Donna said, “I almost brought it along today, but I didn't want to take a chance on getting caught with it."
"You really think she'd risk her career by trying to get revenge, Donna? Or would she do the sensible thing and just look for another sucker? Nothing was in her name that could be linked to you. She got him to do all the dirty work, so it's unlikely you could make any charges stick against her. Seems to me she could probably skate away clean at this point."
Donna looked doubtful as she replied, “Ed, I don't think she's going to do the sensible thing. She called me at home the day after I got back. She gloated. She bragged. She said she was going to strip me naked before she was through. It was as if she hated my guts, but we'd never even met."
"You sure about that? Maybe years ago? Army? School?"
Shaking her head, she said, “Absolutely sure. When she opened the door for Blaine, I got a good look at her, Ed. I'd never seen her before."
Uh, huh. Well, maybe so, but I had my doubts. Of all the people from my school years, I barely remembered about six of them well enough to believe I might be able to recognize them at a reunion. If I simply met them on the street, forget it.
"She might be someone who believes you screwed her over way back when. Are there any of those in your past, ma'am? People who'd think you did something that cost them big? You're a captain and you've had some hard training. That takes drive, ambition, and winning competitions. Whatever you've won along the line, someone else had to lose."
Donna shook her head again, then interrupted the motion and said, “There was a case of locker theft back when I was in Basic Training. I was one of the people who caught her at it."
"Basic, huh? At Ft. McClellan?"
Giving me a curious look, she said, “Yes. During our first week, a friend of mine—Jessie—smarted off in formation and I was stupid enough to laugh at her joke. We got put on a bullshit cleaning detail. When we went into the barracks, one of the girls who was supposed to be on sick call was into someone else's locker. Her name was Madison. She said she was looking for her watch. One of the training cadre came in to set us up with mops and heard us asking Maddy what the hell she was doing in Denise's locker."
Shrugging, she said, “Her story about a stolen watch didn't wash and there had been other locker break-ins. The Army put her out a few weeks later.” With a sigh, she shook her head again and added, “But that was twelve years ago, Ed, and Jess and I didn't play that big a part. The Army took over and we never saw Maddy again after that morning."
Agreed. That one seemed a pretty long shot. How many guys had been washed out of my training units? Dozens—a few for petty theft, in fact—but not one of them had ever popped up later in my life with a personal grudge against me.
On the other hand, that event had been the first thing to pop into Donna's mind, so—for whatever reasons—it may have had more importance to all involved than she realized.
Donna was viewing matters as someone who'd simply done her job and passed the various courses and tests along her career path. Her circle of acquaintances would naturally include others of similar competence and those who hadn't been able to cut it had likely been forgotten the day they'd failed.
Sitting down in a lawn chair by Donna and calling up a field screen, I said, “Flitter, see if you can find a mention of a woman named Madison in Donna's records, please, then try to find out where she is today. She was put out of the Army about twelve years ago."
My screen almost instantly displayed an Anniston, Alabama street address that included ‘121'.
The flitter said, “That woman's name was Madison Jenker. This is her last known address."
"Is that an apartment?"
"It was a motel."
"It ‘was’ a motel? What happened to it?"
"The motel burned in 1992."
"Uh, huh. And you said her name ‘was’ Madison Jenker? Did she get married?"
"No, Ed. She died."
"When?"
"March second, 1992."
"Was that also the date of the fire, flitter?"
"Yes, Ed."
Donna leaned to see the screen and almost whispered, “That's not even a month after we ... Ask it how she died, Ed."
"Flitter, did Madison Jenker die in the fire?"
Surprising me, the flitter answered, “No, Ed. Her autopsy report lists an overdose of alcohol and barbiturates as the cause of death."
Hm. She'd pulled a Marilyn.
"Did the fire start in her room, flitter? If so, how?"
"Reports indicate the probable cause of the fire to have been a cigarette which started a fire in a trash container."
Hm, again. Figure she'd been crying. Tissues in the trash can; easy to set alight. Drinking, too. A bottle of booze somewhere nearby, possibly open if she passed out while drinking from it. Hell, it may have been in the bed with her.
"Thanks, flitter.” I canceled the field screen, turned to Donna, and asked, “Anybody else?"
She shook her head as she shrugged. “Nobody else comes to mind. That poor girl."
A white car went past the house, its stereo blasting as it pretty much ignored the stop sign at the corner. I looked around at the darkened neighborhood.
"Well,” said Donna, getting to her feet, “I guess I'll get moving. Are you coming to the bar?"
Also standing up, I said, “Sure. I'll clean up a little and be there in a while."
Donna seemed about to stick her hand out for a shake, then she let it fall and shifted her backpack as she stepped forward and pulled me into a firm hug.
When the hug ended, she stepped back, said, “See you there,” and headed for her SUV.
Something
occurred to me and I asked, “Hey, Donna, why did you drive this instead of your BMW?"
She stopped and looked back as she said, “The Beemer wouldn't start this morning, so I sent it to the shop. It gave me a little trouble on the way down here, too. It was just time, I guess."
Nodding, I said, “Just wondered. Watch the front end; he bashed it pretty hard coming out of the bar parking lot."
"Yeah, it doesn't feel quite right, but it seems to work. It'll be okay for a couple of days ‘till I get my Beemer back."
With a little wave, she continued to the SUV and got in. I watched her U-turn by the stop sign and head back to Northcliffe, then turn left and drive away.
Tiger was in the kitchen window as I entered the house. I told him I'd be going back out and cleaned up a bit, then made a fresh coffee and sat down at the kitchen table.
Chapter Twenty-six
For some reason, I was more than slightly curious about Madison Jenker.
"Flitter, how did they identify Jenker's body? Fingerprints?"
"No, Ed. Her body was too badly burned. They used her surviving possessions and military dental records."
Hm. That was generally a pretty good method, but...
"Be specific, please. Did they match up her fillings, count her teeth, or what?"
"Madison Jenker had lost four teeth. The body lacked the same four teeth."
"That's it? That's all they checked?"
"Apparently so, Ed."
Huh. Well, I'm fifty-five and I'm only missing three teeth after all these years. Maybe missing four teeth at age eighteen or so was considered unique enough to qualify as ID.
"Did Madison Jenker have a sister?"
"No, Ed."
"A brother?"
"No, Ed."
Hm. Scratch sibling revenge, then.
"Any known close friends?"
"I have no way to know that, Ed."
"Check school records. When kids get in trouble, they don't usually do it alone."
A moment passed before the flitter said, “On two occasions, she and a girl named Millicent Rodman faced disciplinary actions for vandalizing personal and school properties."
"Ah-ha! And where's ol’ Millicent these days?"
"She and her mother died August 11, 1990."
Damn. Oh, well. “Where? What city?"
"Durham, North Carolina."
"Were they together at the time?"
"Yes, Ed."
"Did they find the bodies?"
"Yes, Ed."
"Who identified them?"
"Millicent's father, Harold Rodman."
Well, that seemed pretty final.
"How did the women die, flitter?"
"They were aboard a pleasure craft that exploded while being refueled."
"More info, please. What kind of pleasure craft, where?"
"It was a small cabin cruiser the Rodmans kept at Falls Lake, North Carolina."
I almost hated to ask my next question.
"Flitter, is Harold Rodman still alive?"
"No, Ed."
Aw, hell. “When and how did he die, please?"
"December 28, 1991, between ten and ten-thirty p.m. He fell on a staircase in his home and sustained fatal injuries."
"Who found him and how?"
"Police records show that Madison Jenker walked to his house at approximately eleven-thirty after being unable to reach him by telephone. She called the police from his home."
Hold one. She went to his house at almost midnight? For that matter, she tried to call him at that hour? What kind of relationship did they have?
"Flitter, how old was Madison at that time?"
"Seventeen, Ed."
"When did she turn eighteen?"
"January 27, 1992."
"And her parents let her go to his house alone at that hour?"
"Only her mother was available for the issuance of permission, but it does appear that she allowed her to go."
With a somewhat sinking feeling in my gut, I asked, “Where was Madison's father, flitter? Dead, like everydamnedbody else who was too close to her?"
"No, Ed. He moved to Los Angeles, California, in November of 1988, immediately after divorcing Madison Jenker's mother."
"Hot damn! Somebody survived! Why did they get divorced, flitter?"
"Records indicate he requested the divorce on grounds of his own infidelity."
His own infidelity?
I muttered, “Well, that's a fairly rare occurrence. Did he say who he was shtupping?"
"No, Ed."
Sipping my coffee, I considered matters. Madison had been the common denominator of too damned many disasters since she was fifteen or so.
"Flitter, Blaine's lawyer Karen ... what's her last name?"
"Rodman."
Uh, huh. Kinda thought it might be. On the farthest possible off-chance that I might be wrong, I asked, “Is she truly any kind of a lawyer?"
"No, Ed. She's impersonating a lawyer."
Sighing, “Thanks, flitter,” I took another sip of coffee, set my mug on the table, and headed for the front door saying, “Tiger, hold the fort. Elkor?"
He appeared on the kitchen table. “Yes, Ed?"
"A woman is calling herself Karen Rodman. If she shows up here, please stun her and let me know immediately. Review my last conversation with my flitter for more info."
Less than a second passed before Elkor said, “Understood."
Tossing him a small salute, I said, “Thank you, Elkor,” and hurried out the front door saying, “Board on, three and five suits on.” Hopping onto the board and lifting southward, I asked, “Flitter, where's Donna right now?"
"She's approaching the intersection of US-19 and County Line Road, Ed."
"She lives at 15321 Dwyer Lane, right?"
"Yes, Ed."
"Great. Don't let me take a wrong turn. Send probes to her house, please. You're looking for Karen ... No, you're looking for anyone who may be on Donna's properties. Also have a look around the neighborhood. If you find Karen Rodman, stun her and let me know immediately."
It took me the better part of a minute to locate Donna's SUV rolling leisurely south on US-19. Taking a position a bit behind and above it, I watched the road ahead.
"Flitter, change of plans. I'll stick with Donna while you make the search."
"The search has been made, Ed. I found no one on or near Donna's properties."
"Great. Station a few probes there and bring yourself here to cover the roads ahead of us until we get there, please. What's Donna's cell phone number?"
The flitter told me and I called up a screen and dialed it.
When Donna answered, I said, “Hi, there. I'm behind and above you and my flitter's got our point. Keep going, but stay alert, ma'am. If we make it to your house in one piece, I'll show you what my flitter dug up about Blaine's fake lawyer."
"Fake lawyer? Tell me now."
"Nah. Too much detail. Watch the side roads and stay where you'll have room to move. I've got your back. Bye, now."
Disconnecting, I moved back a few more car lengths and kept an eye on traffic. Because we were prepared, of course, nothing happened all the way to Donna's driveway.
After Donna parked in front of the garage door, I landed in front of her SUV, turned off the board and my field suits, then walked around the vehicle as if I'd been waiting near the front walkway and opened her door for her.
"Ed, what..."
"Not out here."
Once we were inside, I fired up a two-foot field screen flat on Donna's kitchen tabletop and let her read the conversation I'd had with my flitter.
As she scrolled the last few lines, I told the flitter to display photos of Madison Jenker and Karen Rodman side-by-side. The two photos appeared below the text; a black and white one of Jenker as an Army trainee and the other the color photo from Karen's driver's license.
There didn't seem to be that much resemblance, but plastic surgery could explain that.
"Flitter, di
splay fingerprints of both women, please."
"Karen Rodman's fingerprints are not on file anywhere, Ed."
"Extrapolate, flitter. Scan this house and the objects in it for prints that don't belong to Blaine, Donna, or the cops who've been here. See if any of them match Jenker's prints."
Below the photos appeared two sets of prints; Jenker's complete set on the left and an incomplete set on the right.
"Compare them, flitter. Use overlays so we can see any differences."
Each of Rodman's fingerprints was superimposed over those of Jenker. Except for a few obvious points of damage—a line indicating a cut finger, for instance—the prints were a match.
Donna fished a business card from a small stack by her kitchen phone and dialed a number, then asked for Detective Miller. When he answered, she looked at me.
"Just tell him to drop by,” I said, gesturing at the table, “It'll be easier to show him."
Without saying specifically what she wanted to show him, Donna almost had to argue with Miller to make him promise to come by the house instead of sending a uniform. He said he'd be by in an hour or so.
Right. An hour or so. I looked at the business card and saw a fax number. Good enough.
"Let's see if they're really awake down there. Flitter, use Donna's phone to send a copy of the print card from Jenker's 201 file and a copy of the prints you found in this house to the fax number on this card, marked to the attention of Detective Miller. Mark the first set of prints as belonging to a person deceased in 1992 and the second set of prints as belonging to Karen Rodman."
"I can't do that, Ed. It has not been conclusively proved that the fingerprints found in this house belong to Karen Rodman."
"Picky machine. Okay, then, just mark the second set of prints as having been found in this house on this date and that they're ‘suspected’ to belong to Rodman. We'll let the cops draw their own conclusions from the hints."
Donna put on a pot of coffee as we waited and talked. The phone rang less than fifteen minutes after I sent the fax. Donna answered it and said, “Yes,” a few times, then hung up.
With a small grin, she poured a coffee as she said, “Detective Miller just called to inform me that he was able to get loose after all and that he'll be here in a few minutes."
3rd World Products, Inc. Book 7 Page 15