by Roger Hayden
“What’s with the hat?” he asked.
“Trying to look inconspicuous,” she said.
Dobson shrugged as they continued onto the sidewalk and through the opening in the fence, just wide enough for a car to drive through, onto the dirt path leading to the joint parking area. The elderly woman turned and moved away from them, leading her terrier into a patch of overgrown grass.
Dobson eyed the windows of both floors as they grew closer. No one was looking out just yet. The woman suddenly turned as their shoes crunched against a bed of pebbles, announcing their approach.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” Dobson said with a wave. “Could we talk with you for a minute?”
Her dog pulled against its leash as she stood there and studied them with suspicion. Her cheeks sagged with her frown as her large, glassy blue eyes stared at them, unblinking.
“My name is Detective Dobson,” he continued, quickly displaying his badge. He then held his arms to his sides in a relaxed, non-threatening way. “And this is my partner, Detective Sterling. How are you doing this afternoon?”
The curly-haired woman stared at him with an embittered silence. Dobson didn’t think he’d ever encountered such resistance from an elderly woman. The woman yanked on the leash and then rubbed her chin, finally acknowledging them. “Name’s Faye, and you look familiar,” she said, eyes on Sterling.
Sterling smiled. “I do? Well, I can’t say that I’ve met you before, but it’s a pleasure.”
“You look like that girl I saw on that detective show.” She paused and looked up. “Now, what was her name?”
She seemed to be taking a while, so Dobson decided to cut in. “We’re looking for a man who lives here. His name is Gordon McDonnel. Do you know him?”
The woman snapped back to reality and nodded. “Gordon? Yeah. He lives upstairs.” She pointed directly above her unit to a front porch area with a bike leaning against the cement railing next to some workout equipment. “What’d he do?” she asked.
“Nothing at all. We’d just like talk to him,” Dobson said.
Faye emitted a snarky laugh. “Oh yeah? Like bosom buddies, eh?”
Dobson remained mum and gave no hint otherwise. “Just a few words.” He looked up to the second-floor unit. The dark brown door had golden numbers affixed to the top center, 204. A nearby window had its blinds shut.
“Well, good luck,” Faye said. “He’s at work right now.”
Dobson glanced at Sterling with a shrug, as though the news was of little surprise.
“Can you tell us where he works?”
“’Fraid not,” Faye said. She paused and looked down at her dog, who was hopping at her heels. “Give me a minute, Dawson. Momma’s busy.”
“Why not?” Dobson asked, surprised but staying calm.
“’Cause I don’t know. Odd jobs here and there. Been renting the place above for a couple months now. I barely know him.”
Dobson moved in close, intrigued. “Have you noticed any change in his behavior the past couple of days? Anything out of the ordinary?”
At first, Faye flashed a look of seriousness equal to Dobson’s, but it quickly turned to a smile as she laughed. “Nah. I don’t hear a peep from him. Never has anyone over. About the most boring man on the planet.” She then took special notice of Sterling and pointed to her. “What’s with the hat, dear? You undercover or something?”
Sterling adjusted the bill of her hat and looked down without a response.
Faye looked back at Dobson. “I’m his landlord, by the way. So, if he’s up to no good, I should be the first to know.”
As if offering a break, they heard a distant car engine getting louder.
“Well, you’re in luck, Detective,” Faye said as a small red, four-door car pulled past the gate. “There’s his old Ford Escort right there.”
A billow of exhaust poured from the back of the car as it passed them and continued into the parking lot and parked in the first space available by a stack of cinderblocks.
“How many other people live here?” Dobson asked.
Faye thought to herself as the Ford Escort idled in the distance. The driver appeared to be stalling. Dobson could see the shadow of a figure beyond the tinted windows looking in their direction. He nonchalantly placed his hands on his belt near his holster just in case.
“I’ve got a family of four in the place next door, a couple next to them, and ol’ Gordon above me. The perpetual bachelor,” she eventually answered.
Sterling spoke as Dobson kept his eye on the idling car. “Has he had any guests here that you know of? We’re hoping he can help us locate one woman in particular.”
Faye shook her head. “If he has, I sure ain’t seen ‘em.”
The car engine shut off and the door opened. Dobson prepared himself for a chase, hoping their suspect would consider otherwise. Though there was no evidence to make Gordon a suspect, nothing beyond a hunch. He had been seeing the victim—her last known possible relationship—and that was currently the best they had to go on.
Sterling turned around, her attention on the small lot on the side of the building. Everyone watched as the driver exited the car, not seeming to notice them. He was a man of average height with trim brown hair. He was clean-shaven. He was wearing a light-blue collared shirt with a corduroy jacket and slacks. His eyes casually glanced in their direction in an apparent attempt not to look too interested. He opened the back door behind the driver’s side and pulled out a paper bag, cradling it in his arms.
With all eyes on him, he closed the door and quickly glanced in their direction again, careful not to make eye contact.
“The man of the hour,” Faye said with a laugh, turning to Dobson. “You gonna arrest him?”
“Not yet,” Dobson said, maintaining focus on their man. “We just want to talk.”
They watched as Gordon took the nearest staircase on the side of the building and walked up to the second floor out of their view. He appeared again on the balcony and continued walking toward his unit as though nothing was of concern.
Faye, however, wasn’t going to keep things a secret any longer. She cupped a hand over her mouth, looked up, and shouted, “Hey, Mr. Gordon! You have visitors!”
He suddenly slowed to a halt, staring down at them. Dobson dug his heels in and prepared himself again for a chase, but the man just stood in place and squinted.
“Mr. McDonnel?” Dobson called out.
“Yeah?” he said with a step toward his door and fumbling with his keys.
Dobson walked toward the staircase nearest to him and pointed to the one on the other side, signaling Sterling to walk that way. “I’m Detective Michael Dobson. Might we have a word with you?”
Gordon unlocked his front door and turned around, balancing his bag of groceries. “Seriously? You’re really coming after me? What is this bullshit?”
Dobson reached the staircase and began walking up as Sterling reached the other side. “We just want to talk. Nothing more.”
Faye cupped her mouth again and shouted to Gordon, “Hey, I don’t want no trouble from any of ya’, got it?”
Hand on the butt of his pistol, Dobson reached the top of the stairs and pursued Gordon as Sterling approached from the other end. Gordon waited at his door, nervously looking around.
“Don’t make any sudden moves,” Dobson said, closing in.
Gordon whipped his head around from Dobson to Sterling. “What is this? What do you want?” he said. He glanced downward to see Dobson’s hand on the butt of his pistol and immediately dropped his bag of groceries onto the ground and threw his arms up. “Hey! I’m not resisting, okay? Look. My arms are in the air.”
Sterling approached from behind, ready to take him down, but Dobson signaled restraint. He then stopped inches from Gordon, studying him from head to toe. “We’re not here to arrest you… yet. We have some questions about Betsy Wade.”
Gordon jerked his head up with surprise as a blank expression came over his face. “Betsy?�
� he said.
“Yes, she was murdered last night at her residence.”
“Are you kidding me?” Gordon said, slowly lowering his arms.
“Keep your hands up,” Dobson ordered.
Gordon put his hands back in the air. “I’m cooperating. What?”
Dobson leaned in closer. “How about we go inside before making a scene?”
Gordon nodded. “Yeah, yeah. Sure. Come on in.”
Dobson practically pushed Gordon inside the darkened room as Sterling followed. “Anyone else here?” he asked.
“No,” Gordon said, tumbling forward.
Sterling knelt and picked up the bag of groceries, bringing them inside. The bag was damp from some frozen food at the bottom that appeared to be thawing quickly. She walked inside as Dobson led Gordon to the nearest couch of the small unit, where he could see an adjacent kitchen and a hallway leading to a bedroom.
“You live alone?” he asked.
“Yes,” Gordon said, annoyed, his hands still halfway up in the air.
“Turn around with your hands on the back of your head,” he ordered.
Gordon reluctantly turned as Dobson moved behind him.
“Spread your legs.”
Gordon complied as Dobson searched him from his ankles up. He pulled a wallet and a cell phone from his pocket and tossed it on the couch.
“How do I know you both are real detectives, anyway?” he said, increasingly angry and defensive.
“Have a seat,” Dobson said, pushing him down on the yellow two-seater couch. The entire house smelled of stale cigarette smoke. The rest of the living room was small and minimal: TV on a stand, recliner, end table, lamp, and one picture on the wall of the New York City skyline. He waved Sterling over as she set the groceries on the nearest table near the kitchen. She moved across the old shag carpet and approached Dobson, waiting for instruction.
“Quick sweep of the house. Look for anything out of the ordinary,” he said softly. “I’ll keep an eye on Mr. McDonnel.”
Sterling nodded and walked away, searching the kitchen and then moving carefully down the hall out of sight. Dobson then turned to Gordon and showed him his badge.
“We want to know what happened to Betsy Wade,” he said.
Gordon rocked his head back against the couch with a sigh and then looked up as Dobson stood over him. “Look. Detective. I thought you might be the IRS at first, okay? That’s how little I know about what happened to her.”
“The IRS?” Dobson said, stunned.
“Yeah. They’re after me for some back taxes.” He suddenly held his arms out wide. “You see this place? Not exactly the Playboy Mansion, right?”
“So, you’re wanted by the IRS?”
Gordon grabbed a half pack of cigarettes on the nightstand at his side. “No. My money is wanted by the IRS, or at least, what little I have left.” He pulled a cigarette out from the pack and placed it in his mouth, looking at Dobson and prepared to light it. “You mind?”
Dobson took a quick step forward, grabbed it from his mouth, and tossed it aside. “Yes.”
“Ah, what the fuck!” Gordon shouted. “You can’t come in here and harass me like this.”
A sudden knock came at the door. Dobson spun around the minute Sterling re-entered the room. “Who’s there?” he shouted.
“It’s Faye,” her voice said from behind the door. “I just want to make sure everything’s okay.”
“We’re fine, ma’am. Thank you,” Dobson shouted. He could see her shadow at the horizontal bottom slit of the door as she remained standing there, not moving.
Faye must have been thinking it over. After a minute or so, the shadow moved. “Very well. Just don’t make a scene.”
Sterling joined Dobson in the living room as both men watched her.
“What do you want me to tell you?” Gordon cried.
“Everything you know about Betsy Wade. She was murdered last night. So, let’s start with your whereabouts during those hours.”
Gordon looked around the living room nervously as the two detectives hovered over him, waiting for an answer. “I think we got started on the wrong foot here. I heard about Betsy on the news today. It saddened me, yes, but I haven’t spoken to her in months.”
“You sure about that?” Dobson asked with his arms on his hips and leaning forward.
Sterling opened her shoulder bag and pulled out the yearbook.
Gordon looked at both detectives with a stunned expression, as though he had done something wrong. “We saw each other off and on for a few months. Nothing serious. We were old high school friends…” He then paused, eyes down in thought. “Betsy… she changed. Our breakup was quick. I mean, I think we just had enough of each other. But that’s it…” He paused again, waiting. “There’s nothing else to it.”
Dobson nodded in understanding. “And your whereabouts last night?”
Gordon threw his arms down in protest. “I was at a bar, okay? Stumbled home about ten thirty and passed out on my bed. Went to work this morning and that’s it,” he said, slicing both hands in the air opposite each other. He then brought both hands to his face and massaged his forehead. “And if you don’t mind, I’m a little hung over and would like to wrap this up.”
Dobson scribbled into his pocket-sized notebook and looked up. “Where do you work?”
Gordon looked down, ashamed and quiet. “The Burger Shack, okay. I… I always take my uniform off before I drive home so nobody sees me in it.”
“Which Burger Shack?” Dobson asked.
“The one on Mills.” His head jolted up. “You’re not going to speak to them, are you?”
Dobson shrugged. “Depends on if I like what you’re telling me. You know we’re going to have to talk to whomever saw you at this bar last night.”
Gordon moved forward in a frantic manner, gripping his knees and then moving his arms wildly as he talked. “I didn’t kill her, okay? And I don’t know who did. I’m in enough shit as it is. I certainly don’t need a murder to add onto that.”
“How do we know that you’re not lying to us?” Dobson said. “Maybe Betsy broke your heart. Maybe you bided your time and struck back after the fact.”
Gordon shook his head. “That’s ridiculous. What about other boyfriends?”
“You were apparently the last one,” Dobson said, stepping forward, “which makes you suspect number one.”
Gordon shifted around and wiped his forehead. They were clearly making him nervous. “You know she was married, right? Go talk to him!”
“We’re aware of her ex-husband. However, he lives in another state. You, on the other hand, live ten, maybe fifteen miles from the victim’s house.”
Gordon tossed his head back with a groan. It was clear he wasn’t taking any accusations in stride.
“When did you and Ms. Wade start dating?”
Gordon scratched his chin, eyes upward and thinking to himself. “Must have been… last June.” He then became more open and clear about everything, as if he wanted to get it all out and over with. “I asked her out. We ran into each other around town. I recognized her from high school. She was a real pretty girl back in school. Was still kind of pretty after all those years.”
He paused with the appearance of choosing his next words wisely.
“People warned me about her, but I ignored them. First few weeks, everything was fine between us. We had a great time. Then, the more time we spent together, I’d see it come out of her. An outburst here. An accusation there. Always saying that I’m cheating on her. That I was the world’s greatest asshole. Stuff like that. We were only together for a month when it started. I just couldn’t take it anymore.”
“When was the last time you saw her?” Dobson asked.
Gordon thought to himself again. “Two months after. Must have been end of July, beginning of August. I invited her for coffee, hoping that we could just put it all behind us and be friends. This was when she would barely leave her house for any reason.” He pause
d and took a deep sigh. “She called me a coward. Said I was too chicken shit to face her. And I still had some stuff at her house, so, I had no other choice but to go over and get it. To my surprise, when I got there, she wasn’t angry or anything. Think it was the pills. She was calm. Happy even. But I knew that wouldn’t last, so I got my shit and got the hell out of there.”
He looked at the detectives, hands out as though there was nothing more to say. “That’s it,” he said. “That’s the last time I ever saw her.”
Dobson and Sterling looked at each other again. In her expression, he saw that she was largely convinced. For Dobson, there was still something off about the story. He dug into his pocket and pulled out the Dollywood postcard.
“You sent her this, correct?”
Gordon leaned forward, squinting. “Yeah. That’s mine. I was in Tennessee visiting family. She wouldn’t go. By then, there was little I could do to get her out of the house.”
“When was this?” Dobson asked.
“Mid-July,” he answered.
As Dobson jotted into his pocket notebook, Sterling opened the yearbook to the senior class section and displayed a roster of photos. “Do you recognize this yearbook?”
Gordon shrugged. “I guess so. Summerville High? Sure.”
Sterling pointed her finger directly at the photo of Victoria in the lower-right hand corner. “Did you know a Victoria Owens?”
Dobson looked up to see Gordon’s reaction, but he appeared more puzzled than anything.
“Yeah. We were friends. Haven’t talked to her since high school.”
“Do you know that she’s dead?” Dobson asked outright.
Taken aback, Gordon’s expression dropped. “No… I had no idea. When did this happen?”
“We’re not sure,” Dobson said. “But we believe there’s a connection between Ms. Owens and Ms. Wade. So far, all we have is you.”
“And this,” Sterling reminded him, holding the folded chain letter.
Dobson nodded in agreement. “Go ahead and show him.”
Sterling unfolded the chain letter and held it up for Gordon to see. “This was found with Ms. Wade’s letters. Your postcard was among them. She had told police that someone was out to get her. She was convinced that whoever killed her high school friend was also going to kill her.”