Jewel of a Murderer

by M. Glenn Graves

  “Without a doubt. I have this vague notion, some distant memory of something black flashing by me just before my eyes closed and I succumbed to deep sleep.”

  “Near death experience,” he said.

  “No, not really. Just black, something black flashed across my vision before I passed out.”

  “And you believe it was the dog.”

  “I do. It’s the one explanation that fits. I was vulnerable, to say the least. Lying on the floor with a knife wound in my backside. Bleeding. He could have easily stabbed me to his heart’s content. Something stopped him.”

  “McGrady?” he said.

  I laughed. Wineski shrugged and offered a faint smile.

  “What? He could have heard McGrady arriving. Being interrupted, he jumped out of the window.”

  “Nope,” I said. “Have you read the report?”

  “Skimmed it. What’d I miss?”

  “Blood stains on the carpet in the bedroom and in the living room.”

  “Yours?”

  “I never made it out of the bedroom. Had to be my attacker’s in the living room. There were also some blood stains, not mine, in the bedroom. I figure my towel soaked up most of my blood, but apparently I did leave a pint on the carpet where I was resting.”

  “Okay.”

  “And the knife. He left it on the carpet close to me.”

  “Oh, yeah. Your collection of knives seems to be growing. Perhaps that does mean something. I can’t imagine why he would leave this second knife with you.”

  “Wasn’t intentional. Sam jumped him, scared him…whatever…he left the knife. Maybe Sam bit him in the leg, he began bleeding, and he limped away for fear of the dog.”

  “You should be a writer of fiction,” he said.

  “Evidence supports such a theory.”

  “Maybe, but you put too much stock in this Sam dog.”

  “He may be worth the price of admission,” I said.

  “To what?” Wineski said.

  “Life.”

  “I hope he’s worth the trust you place in him,” Wineski said.

  “So far,” I said. I did have some concerns, but I wasn’t about to voice them with my old friend T.J. Wineski. Besides, I was willing to give Sam the benefit of the doubt.

  He stood and walked to the door. He looked over at the flowers and then turned around.

  “Don’t get the wrong idea about those red things there,” he said as he nodded his head in the direction of the sink where Nurse Whirlwind had placed the flowers.

  “It’s a nice touch from such a grouch. I doubt if it feeds any wrong notions. We’ve known each other a long time.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “I’d like to retain that relationship for a while longer.”

  Wineski opened the hospital door.

  “One more thing,” I said.

  He stopped and turned around. “Yes?”

  “Who’s got my dog?”

  “I haven’t the faintest idea,” he said.

  He left without another word.

  His answer was a little troubling. I needed to do some calling, but I felt too weak at present. I slept off and on the remainder of the day. It was mostly off, but I don’t recall regaining full consciousness until a staff person from the kitchen bounded into my room.

  I eased my aching body to a sitting position and glanced at the clock. It was 5:37.

  The delivery lady placed the tray on the wheeled table, moved it over until it was in front of me, and then removed the plastic top that covered the plate of her offering. Hamburger steak, mashed potatoes, something green, some butter, and a roll baked two Mondays back.

  “Enjoy,” she said as she exited. I had no such expectation for what they had brought.

  The doctor entered just as the staff person was leaving.

  “And how are we doing?” he said and smiled as if he was pleased with his question.

  “Who’s we?” I said.

  He smiled again.

  “I’m gaining some strength. You tell me how we are doing.”

  “Nasty wound. You lost a lot of blood. Luckily, the knife didn’t hit any organs back there. Just barely missed a kidney. Thank goodness for that. But you need to allow the stitches to heal. I’ve prescribed some meds to guard against infection. You also need ample time for your full strength to return. Convalescence is needed for another week or two after I release you. Is that clear?”

  I saluted from my prone position without saying anything. I had no intention of convalescing for two weeks once I was released from this confinement.

  I offered him an insincere smile. He moved his glasses down close to the edge of his nose. He stared over his spectacles at me.

  “You’re a hard case, lady. Anyone ever told you that?”

  “My mother suggests that from time to time, although her choice of words is not that kind.”

  “You’re a detective. Is that correct?”

  “Sometimes, if the people speaking like me.”

  “But your visitors have been policemen, right?”

  “You keep tabs on all your patients?”

  “I do. I have this idea that healing is more than just bed rest.”

  “Holistic medicine, huh?”

  “My, my. An educated private lady detective.”

  “I can ride a motorcycle, too,” I said.

  “Not for another month or so. Don’t you dare. I want you to take it easy. No more knife fights. That’s the top priority. Outside of that, stay home and rest. You can walk, and I insist on that. Someone said you jog as well. No jogging, please…at least for a while.”

  I laughed a little and felt the pain deep in my back.

  Chapter 17

  I left Sentara Norfolk two days later. Wineski drove me home.

  “Thanks for the lift,” I said.

  “I should make you walk.”

  “I can walk.”

  “Right. And I can fly, too.”

  “Can’t fly yet. Give me some time.”

  “You stay put in your apartment. I will call or drop by to check on you.”

  Wineski made sure that I made it inside the apartment. He fixed me some coffee while I made myself comfortable on the couch.

  “If you need anything, call. I can come by later this afternoon.”

  “Just call me,” I said. “I’ll be fine. You don’t need to come by. If anything happens, I’ll be in touch.”

  “What if you pass out or something?” he said.

  “I have no intention of passing out.”

  “Like you had no intention of being stabbed in the back either, right?”

  “Okay, okay. I’ll rest here,” I said, with little conviction.

  Wineski headed for the door.

  “My dog turn up yet?”

  He turned and stared at me for a second or two.

  “If that dog saved your life as you claim, why is he not with you now?”

  “I got nothing,” I said, in truth.

  “So, tell me what you think.”

  “About?”

  “About the dog and his whereabouts?”

  “I don’t know,” I said.

  “I didn’t ask you what you knew. I asked you what you thought.”

  “I don’t want to say.”

  “You think your attacker took Sam the Wonder Dog, don’t you?”

  I sipped my coffee trying to formulate some response. Wineski had nailed it. He knew exactly what I had been thinking.

  “All I know is that I have no idea where the dog is,” I confessed.

  “Me either, but it does poke some holes in your theory of why you’re not dead.”

  “Maybe.”

  Wineski left my apartment.

  I related the pertinent events to Rogers. Then I listened to her findings about the three victims.

  “So this was where I came in and solved the case?” Rogers said.

  “I’ve never known you to have such a bad memory of case specifics.”

  “I was joking. Mere
humor for you. I did, however, provide some relevant information.”

  “You did do that,” I said.

  “You make my contribution sound minimal.”

  “Trying to keep your CPU from swelling.”

  “Funny girl. I seem to recall that I was the one who figured out the geographical connection between the female victim, Candace Glover, and the male victim, Jeffrey Goodall.”

  “All I remember is that you suggested that the distance between their points of origin prior to their arrival in Norfolk was close. Leg work did the rest. And since I’m the one with the legs here, you merely pointed me in a direction.”

  “I also connected some dots, to use your terminology, regarding the Phoenix connection,” Rogers said.

  “Oh yes, I do recall that vital tidbit for dot-connecting.”

  “So, as it turned out, I pointed you in some right directions for a change,” Rogers said.

  “See, even you admit that sometimes you steer me wrong.”

  “That came out the wrong way. I didn’t mean to suggest that I sometimes point you in the wrong direction. I meant…”

  “I know what you meant. I just thought it was funny the way you said it.”

  “I’m still learning the art of your language,” Rogers said.

  “So am I,” I said.

  “Now, before you continue the story,” she said, “I need to know if you were actually having some serious doubts about your new canine friend back then.”

  “I suppose I must be honest and say that a doubt or two crossed my mind. Sam had only been with me for four months or so. I think it would’ve been logical for him to not have responded to my defense.”

  “Logical?” Rogers asked. “I am not certain I understand what you mean by that.”

  “Let me continue the story. I think the details will bear me out.”

  “Is it time for your pain meds?” Rogers said.

  “What on earth do you know about my pain meds?”

  “I looked into your hospital records and found the regimen they had you on.”

  “Is nothing sacred to you?”

  “Data. Information. It is the essence of life, growth, and all manner of progress.”

  “No wonder people fear the takeover of machines one day,” I said.

  “Well?” she asked.

  “Well what?”

  “Is it time?”

  “For the takeover?” I said.

  “Honey, it’s way past time for that. And, by the by, how do you know that we machines have not already taken over? But aside from that, I was speaking of your medication regimen.”

  I found the handwritten note that Nurse Whirlwind had given me regarding my medications. It was close to lunch time and sure enough, I was supposed to take one of the powerful pain management meds to ward off my yells and screams.

  “I thought so,” she said without hearing me admit to anything.

  I had a feeling that this computer was adapting much too well to my life and times.

  After I made myself some chicken soup, I ate, took my pain meds, and settled back onto the couch for the required R&R that the doctor had mandated. I use the word made regarding the soup in a euphemistic way. I opened a can, poured it into a large bowl, and heated it in the microwave. Made by Clancy.

  The relevant information that Rogers had discovered regarding Candace Ann Glover, Jeffrey Allan Goodall, and Drew Matthias Sizemore was more thorough than what Wineski finally gave me a few days later.

  “Drew Sizemore came to Norfolk two years ago from Brunswick, New Jersey,” Rogers explained as she began her extensive report on the three victims. “Sizemore was born in Brunswick and lived there until he left right after high school graduation. He finished a two-year course at a technical school. The course was for legal training in office management. A year later he had landed a job in Norfolk as a clerk in an established firm, Johnson, Ringgold, & Johnson which specialized in real estate transactions. Before he was murdered, he had been out of work for nearly nine months.”

  “Your value is ever increasing,” I said.

  “You doubted as much?”

  “No, but I am moving in the direction of more and more appreciation for your digging up data.”

  “Digging? I find, retrieve, and leave no evidence behind of having been there. Now, more to the point – Jeffrey Allan Goodall came to Norfolk nearly three years prior to his death. He had been living and working in Burnsville, North Carolina where he had been, prior to his arrival in Norfolk, working as a waiter at the Main Street Inn. The inn is a well-known tourist spot for folks who journey to the mountains of North Carolina. Prior to that he had been a busboy at that same inn. Before that, he had worked at a local grocery store managing the produce section. This earlier job – the grocery store gig – was in Bakersville, a small town close to Burnsville. Jeffrey had graduated from Unicoi County High School in Erwin, Tennessee several years prior to his arrival in Burnsville.”

  “Burnsville is in what county in North Carolina?” I asked.

  “Yancey County,” she said. “Now you must know that I discovered the following about Candace Ann Glover. She lived in Johnson City, Tennessee after her graduation from high school there. However, she was born in Elizabethton, Tennessee. Elizabethton is not too far from Johnson City. She had attended East Tennessee State University for a couple of years prior to her coming to Norfolk fifteen months before she was found dead in Barraud Park. She had been working at a small restaurant, The New Swell Café on Tidewater, as a waitress and as a hostess.”

  “That café info is what Wineski’s people found. Perchance that is where you swiped the video?”

  “Copied, please. And yes, same café.”

  “Hmm… What else?”

  “Indeed. My considerable skills detected the proximity of Burnsville, Bakersville, Erwin, Johnson City and Elizabethton. All of these towns are within a radius of less than fifty miles.”

  “Show me a map,” I said and instantly Rogers displayed a map of those portions of Tennessee and North Carolina.

  “Hmm,” I said again as I stared at the map displayed on her monitor.

  “I know what you are thinking,” she said.

  “Really. What am I thinking?”

  “There are no such things as coincidences when working a murder case.”

  “My notions are rubbing off on you.”

  “As well they might. We do converse now and then. However, do not get ahead of yourself. My noting this proximity comes from the ability to process the data and to draw conclusions. I merely share it with you because I thought you would see this detail about those towns with more than a passing interest. I am not so sure that it means anything other than what it is.”

  Never being sure what causes my tantalizing excitement from these kinds of unusual facts, I decided to allow Rogers’ tidbit of interesting data to fester for a while. I noted the rather obvious conclusion that Brunswick, New Jersey was a good deal out of the way from those southern towns. Not much excitement in that. But on the other side, knowing our cultural tendency to move about in search of the next good job or home or love interest, I was captivated.

  “Meaning what it is,” I repeated the gist of her line. “That’s a rather cryptic phrasing for you, is it not? Tell me what you think it means?” I said.

  “Nothing for the moment,” she said. “There yet remains for us to discover some connecting points among our three unfortunate victims. Then we shall have something.”

  “Your tone suggests that you have swallowed a mouse,” I said.

  “Your allusion does not compute. I have no idea…wait…does this have something to do with a cat?”

  “Methinks you know something that you can’t wait to tell me,” I said as I detected a tonal variation in her speech.

  “I need to work on some deceptive tones.”

  “Tell me what you found.”

  “Candace Glover was born in Elizabethton, Tennessee.”

  “You told me that.�
�

  “What I didn’t tell you was that Jeffrey Goodall was also born in Elizabethton.”

  “You conveniently left that out.”

  “I was doing more checking, endeavoring to be excessively thorough,” she said.

  “So, you picked up a few more rocks to look under,” I said.

  “I doubt if that metaphor fits me too well.”

  “What did you find?”

  “Not only were Candace and Jeffrey born in the same town, they were born in the same year in said town.”

  “Why do I get the feeling you’re milking this?”

  “I love the tension it causes. And that metaphor doesn’t work for me either.”

  “Give me what you got.”

  “Same town, same year…same day.”

  “Wow. I’ll bet their mothers knew each other.”

  “Only if you permit some strange kind of Socratic consideration here,” she said.

  “You’re kidding,” I said, realizing what she meant.

  “No jibe here, baby, to use your terminology. Nothing but the pure, unadulterated fact. Candace and Jeffrey had the same mother. Twins, if you please, they were.”

  “Explains in a different light that grainy video from the café,” I said.

  “Indeed. But, how does this help the investigation?”

  “My theory is that the more I know, the better I am able to see the picture before me.”

  “So, what do you see?” Rogers asked.

  “I have no idea.”

  “Figures,” she said. “Anyone who jumps around from cats to rocks to milking cows is bound to be lacking in substantive clarity.”

  Chapter 18

  “That’s when I found those yearbooks from Unicoi High School and we discovered the next unusual fact about Candace and Jeffrey,” Rogers said, forcing me back to the present time.

  “It was, but it was not necessarily a telling fact to uncover,” I said.

  The phone rang and Rogers answered using my voice. It was Wineski.

  “They released Connell,” he said.

  “I feared the worse,” I said taking over for Rogers. We had our tag-team phone ritual down pat most days.

  “The DA said we didn’t have sufficient cause to go further. Evidence was sketchy, I believe was her word.”