by Unknown
He smiled. "I used to. Lost it a few weeks ago." He walked to the door. "See you gents later. Can't say it's been a pleasure."
* * * *
Jen met Guthrie in the hall outside the interrogation room. "Not real productive, was it?"
"With his record, I didn't expect it to be. I wanted to see his reaction to being questioned."
"My money's still on him."
"Yeah, I definitely wouldn't rule him out."
"I'm going to go talk to some of the neighbors around the McClendon home. Got a list of those who've been checked?"
"No need for a list. Far as I know, only two haven't been done. Both across the street. Fourteen-oh-six and 1416. Wiley was questioning the neighbors. Check with him to make sure he hasn't done them and just hasn't told me." Guthrie looked away for a moment. "Jen, thanks for your help on this. I know you got a raw deal in the RIF. I'm going to try to make it up to you if I can."
"It wasn't you. Politics always throws everything out of whack. I'm just glad to have a job here."
"Be careful."
"You know me. I'm always careful."
She knew Wiley would not have finished the questioning. When he tried to explain it away, she gave him a pass. No need to blame Wiley for his relatives. Like everyone else in the department, he was overworked. He was a nice guy, and a decent policeman.
Fourteen-oh-six was a small ranch with a gray picket fence around the front yard, directly across from the McClendon house. The front sidewalk was cracked and littered with loose pieces of concrete. An empty rocking chair sat on the porch, and a small sign on the door warned solicitors were not allowed. Jen rang the bell.
A window curtain in the door moved and a tiny wrinkled face appeared. Bright eyes peered out through trifocals. "Who is it?"
"Police, ma'am. Just need to ask a few questions."
The door was yanked open. "Well, where the hell you people been? Been expecting you for a couple of days now. Don't just stand there. Come on in." She shuffled into the living room and sat in an easy chair with crocheted doilies covering the arms. Pointing to a similar chair across the room, she commanded, "Sit. Let's git talking."
Jen stifled a giggle. She wiped her shoes on the small carpet in the doorway and walked into the living room.
The woman folded her hands in her lap. Her floral print dress had large blue buttons. "I'm Patricia Spinner and I'm eighty-eight. Lived here forty-one years. Anything else you need to know about me?"
Jen took out her notebook and verified the information. "That about covers it. I'm Jennifer Menlo. So, you were expecting us?"
"I called in a couple of days ago and talked to a cop. Can't remember his name."
"Officer Wiley?"
"That's it. Wiley. Like Wiley Post. You probably don't know about him. Anyway, I watch the cop shows. I know how it goes. You got to check with the neighbors about stuff. You want a cup of tea? They always offer tea."
"No, I'm fine."
"Good. I hate tea. Give me a shot of Irish coffee anytime."
Jen tapped her knee with her notebook. "Nectar of the gods, right?"
"I'm Irish through and through. Nothing wrong with a nip every once in a while. Okay, ask your questions. Then I'll tell you what I think." She sat back and smoothed her dress. Jen remembered a similar dress her grandmother wore many years ago.
"Got a deal there. Did you see anything unusual the day of the murder?"
"Just the cops taking the body to the hearse. I was coming back from the doctor's office. The one who tries to overcharge old ladies." Mrs. Spinner lurched forward in her chair, shaking her fist.
Jen feared she might be propelled out of it.
"That sucker kept me waiting for over an hour. I gave him the what-for." She settled back, again smoothing her dress.
"I bet you did. Was there anything unusual in the few days before?"
"Just her boyfriend visiting about once a week. A real piece of work, that one."
"How do you mean?"
"I know the type. Gigolos. Slicked back hair, and a real strut to their walk." She shook her finger at Jen. "If you ask me, he did it. The creep. Radio said she was stabbed. That's how gigolos do it. With a knife."
"We're looking at all possibilities." Jen pretended to write something in her notebook, hoping to appease Mrs. Spinner. "You said you'd tell me what you think."
"I think Rachael was dumping him. She finally got some sense. Way too good for the likes of him. Rachael was a darling girl. I spotted them arguing a couple of times, and once she refused to let him in her house. Do you want his license number?"
"You have it?"
Mrs. Spinner wriggled out of her chair and went to a small table beside the front door. Opening a drawer she extracted a pad of paper and handed it over.
Jen stared at the neatly printed lines logging the comings and goings in the neighborhood. Dates, times, license numbers, and names if Mrs. Spinner knew them. She leafed through the first few pages, thinking she'd struck gold. The information went back three months. She flipped back the pages, and closed her mouth when she realized it was wide open. "This could be very helpful."
Mrs. Spinner squared her shoulders. "I'm a member of the Monroe Street Neighborhood Watch. I haven't missed a meeting in four years."
Jen was surprised she didn't salute. "Very impressive, Mrs. Spinner. You're a credit to your neighborhood."
"What the hell else have I got to do? Damn doctor won't let me drive anymore. Got a perfectly good 1981 Lincoln in the garage. Only 52,000 miles on it. They think I'm gonna kill someone with my driving."
"Did you pass your driver's test?"
Mrs. Spinner raised one eyebrow. "They got a lot of trick questions in there. Took it three times. Got better each time. Just missed one too many."
"You can take it again after a year, I think."
"June 26th. Got it marked on my calendar. Been studying the manual. By the way, you're welcome to keep my Neighborhood Watch notes for a while, but I want 'em back. And you can call me Patty."
"It's a deal, Patty. I'm Jen."
"What's a pretty woman like you doing being a cop? You ought to be staying at home with three or four kids."
"I like police work, and I feel like I'm making a difference, just like you with your neighborhood watch activity."
Patty slapped her thigh. "You got spunk. I'll say that. You nail that gigolo. He deserves the death penalty for what he did."
Jen smiled. "We're going to find the murderer."
They rose and Mrs. Spinner—Patty—escorted her to the door. Jen patted her shoulder. "Thanks for your help."
"You come back for a visit anytime." She winked. "We'll have some real good coffee."
"That's a deal, Patty."
* * * *
Jen spent two hours analyzing Patty Spinner's thorough notes. The clear and concise entries documented the neighborhood activity like a newspaper report. They chronicled the movements of Dan Grimestaff, establishing that he was more than a casual acquaintance. He'd made weekly visits to Rachael's home for the past two months, missing only one week, and the log had three separate notations about their arguing during that time. Other than her mom, Rachael had few visitors, but one entry caught Jen's eye.
Hmm. Curious. Really curious. I need to follow up on that.
Thirty minutes later, she drove past a bi-level on the outskirts of town. The garage door was closed, and the house looked empty. Hoping against hope her instincts were wrong, she pulled around to the back, then drove into an alley two houses down from the target. All quiet. No dogs barking. That's good.
She approached the garage and peeked in the small back window. Cupping her hands on either side of her face to get a better view, she confirmed her suspicion. A 2010 Nissan Sentra. How can this be?
"Hello, Jen. I thought that was you sneaking around back here. Figured it out, did you?"
Jen's heart slammed in her chest. She turned and focused on the Glock pointed at her. She'd looked down the barre
l of a loaded gun before, but never when it was held by a friend. "Why did you do it, Aileen?"
The redhead frowned. "I didn't mean to. I was just threatening her so she'd leave Dan alone. He's mine. I grabbed a knife from the kitchen and went to find her. I only intended to scare her away." Aileen waved the gun as she talked, but she was too far away for Jen to go for it. "I found her in the bedroom, and she began shouting. I had to stop her. Next thing I knew, she was lying on the bed with the knife in her chest."
Jen's heart kicked into high gear. "Hey, hang on. Let's go talk to Guthrie. It was an accident. We can get you a good lawyer."
Aileen pointed the gun again and shook her head. "No. Nobody will believe it was an accident. I'm sorry, Jen. I like you, but I have no other choice. Let's go to your car." Aileen motioned to the alley. "Move. You're going to have a bad accident. I wish there was another way. I really do." She inhaled deeply. "But there isn't. Come on."
Aileen followed just far enough behind to prevent Jen from attacking her. There must be a way to divert her attention. Walk slowly to let her catch up.
At the car, Aileen motioned Jen to the driver's side. "Get in. No tricks, Jen. I'll shoot if I have to."
Jen felt moisture rolling down her back. Her sweaty hands fumbled with the door handle. She slid into the driver's seat, desperately trying to think of a way to attack. She wasn't going to let Aileen kill her without making some sort of move.
Aileen climbed into the passenger's side, holding the gun close enough that Jen couldn't grab it. Her arms were too short to lean across the car with the steering wheel in the way.
"Start the car and drive through the alley." Aileen glanced out the side window.
Jen quickly pushed in the cigarette lighter before she turned the key. She delayed putting the car in gear just long enough to grab the lighter when it popped out. "Better put on your seat belt, Aileen. You know how the cops are about that."
When she automatically looked down at the seat belt, Jen snatched the lighter and jammed it into Aileen's thigh.
Everything happened at once.
Aileen screamed and batted the lighter off her leg.
The gun swung toward the windshield.
Jen snatched it out of Aileen's hand, hearing a bone crack as she twisted it away.
Aileen screamed again as Jen pointed the gun at her. "Okay, it's over, Aileen. Out of the car."
Aileen sobbed, holding her finger while trying to rub the burn on her leg.
After making Aileen sit cross-legged on the ground, leaning back against the side of her car, Jen called 911. She turned over an empty garbage can and sat to wait. A flush of adrenalin and satisfaction flooded her chest. She remembered that original frantic call from Nate. She could now let him know she'd kept her promise to find the killer.
She couldn't have done anything for Johnny, but it felt so very good to have been able to bring resolution for Nate. He'd miss his mother for sure, but he wouldn't be tormented with who and why.
She'd seen to that.
* * * *
Two weeks later, Jen knocked on Patty Spinner's door.
Patty's wrinkled face broke into a smile when she recognized Jen. "Hello. I heard the news. You wrapped up the case, didn't you—Jen, isn't it? Come on in." Patty led the way. "Tell me all about it. I love mysteries. I never miss NCIS or CSI."
They took seats in the living room, and Jen handed Patty a large brown manila folder.
"What's this?" Patty excitedly tore it open "A certificate? How nice." She read, "'To Patty Spinner in recognition of a job well done in the apprehension of a dangerous suspect.' Wow! Wait till Nadine Turner sees this. Now I'll be the queen of the Neighborhood Watch. Thank you, Jen."
"We wanted to show our appreciation to a very conscientious neighbor."
Tears filled Patty's eyes. "I was just doing what I could. Besides, what else can an old lady do for fun?" Then she got a twinkle in her eye. "Wait, I know. How about some real Irish coffee?"
"Patty, I thought you'd never ask."
About the Author
I served in the Air Force in Viet Nam and the Philippines before working as a manager for a Fortune 500 company for twenty-five years. When they no longer needed me I owned a shoe repair and sales shop for eleven years, until that business succumbed to the economy.
When I 'retired' in 2002 my wife told me I should write a novel. Didn't know if I could, so my only goal as an author was to finish a novel. I've been writing since I could hold a pencil. For most of my 74 years I wrote short stories, having a few published in magazines before they went the way of the dinosaurs. I am blessed to have a publisher who wanted to publish it. I've since had three more published and now Uncial has agreed to publish one of my short stories. I'm jumping for joy, and hoping I don't fall and be unable to get up.
I've been married to my soul mate for almost 50 years and have a writing assistant toy poodle who allows me to live in her house.
A true joy is having someone tell me they couldn't put down something I'd written until they finished. Unless my words are read they just sit astride the page. My goal is to intrigue and entertain my readers.
* * * *
Uncial Press brings you extraordinary fiction, non-fiction and poetry. Put a world of reading in your pocket.
www.uncialpress.com
Table of Contents
Nine One One
About the Author