52 Steps to Murder (7 page)

Mrs. Reynolds shrugged and realized that she couldn’t win. “Okay, but go easy on him.”

Mrs. Reynolds motioned for Jimmy to come out. I looked at Jimmy and realized that he was not in the same world as everyone else.

“Jimmy, I’m Lt. Dekker.”

Jimmy snapped to attention, saluted, and said, “Yes, sir, Lieutenant, sir!”

“Jimmy, do you know Mrs. Nelson?”

Jimmy didn’t answer.

“Jimmy, where have you been today?”

“On maneuvers, sir!”

“And Jimmy, did your maneuvers take you to Mrs. Nelson’s house today?”

Again Jimmy did not answer.

“Jimmy, where were you on maneuvers today?”

“I was spying on the enemy, sir!”

“And who’s the enemy, Jimmy?”

“Everyone, sir!”

“Please, Lieutenant. Don’t you think you’ve put the boy through enough?” asked his pleading mother.

I stopped my questioning, but told Mrs. Reynolds that I might have more questions later. She quickly closed the door. I nodded at Lou and the two of us walked down the steps and back to the car. As we walked, we discussed Mrs. Reynolds’s disposition and wondered if she had always been that way or if it was a result of the trauma her son received in the war. At one time, she did have a key to Mrs. Nelson’s house, which led me to believe that the two women were on friendly terms. Yet none of Mrs. Reynolds’s neighbors had anything good to say about her. Is she merely a lonely old woman who has trouble handling her loneliness and her son’s illness, or is she someone to be feared?

As Lou and I walked back to my car, both of us looked up at 125 Hilltop Place, and saw plywood covering a front window, a front door that was once again locked, and the yellow tape that blocked the porch, yellow tape that read, “Crime Scene - Do Not Cross.”

8

Lou and I sat in the car, both of us deep in thought. Lou has known me long enough to be quiet when I’m quiet. He also knows I’m only quiet when I’m thinking, eating, or sleeping, although sometimes I’m quite noisy when I’m doing all three.

I turned and glanced up and down Hilltop Place. Everything was quiet, peaceful, and elegant, much like the cover of a magazine enticing people to choose a bed-and-breakfast for their next vacation. I thought about the people we met that day. They were a strange group. Each of them sneaked up close enough to find out whatever he or she could about any of his or her neighbors, but hid in the shadows to keep from being discovered. Maybe they weren’t a strange group after all. Maybe they are like most everyone I’ve ever met. I thought of the ones I’d met who never seem to leave Hilltop Place, and then I contemplated those who invaded it from time to time. I struggled to find a murderer. All of them seemed too kind, frail, or stupid to fit the profile. And then I remembered all the kind, frail, or stupid murderers I’d helped convict over the years.

I turned to Lou. It was time to compare notes. When he noticed me looking at him, he knew the game was on.

“Well, Cy, what do you think?”

“Well, it’s too early to tell, but from what we’ve found out so far, it seems like Angela Nelson has an alibi, since two people say she never entered the house until Officer Davis arrived. Also, Mr. Hartley appears to be in the clear, since he arrived at the house after Irene Penrod and left before she did, and resumed delivering his mail. And Mrs. Wilkens saw Mrs. Reynolds and Jimmy, and I’m not sure either of them had time to do it. Mrs. Wilkens and Mr. Silverman seem to give everyone an alibi, since one or both of them appear to have been on guard duty until after the old lady was murdered. But of course you and I both know that things are not always as they seem. Who knows? Maybe one or both of them were merely providing an alibi for himself or herself. Then there’s the grocery boy. When did he enter the house, or did he? But Mrs. Wilkens seems to rule him out too, because his car wasn’t on the street earlier. Of course, he could’ve had an accomplice bring the getaway car.”

The fact that Mrs. Wilkens had stood guard seemed to eliminate all the suspects but one. After all, no one entered or left Mrs. Nelson’s house after Irene Penrod left. That made things too simple. Usually solving a murder is not that simple. But then maybe that’s what Irene Penrod wanted us to think. Why did she leave town so soon? But then, if Irene Penrod wasn’t the murderer, how could she have known she was leaving so soon? And did she leave someone behind when she left home?

Lou and I quickly decided to talk to everyone who had a key to Mrs. Nelson’s house, as well as anyone who was rumored to have a key. This meant there would be further talks with Angela Nelson, Stanley Silverman, and Mrs. Reynolds, as well as first-time talks with Irene Penrod, when we could locate her; Mrs. Murphy, the maid; Bobby, the grocery boy; Harry Hornwell, Mrs. Nelson’s attorney; and Mr. Hartley, the mailman. Also, we hoped to locate Mabel Jarvis, the wheelchair-bound neighbor, and see if she could contribute anything that would help us to find Mrs. Nelson’s killer. That is, provided there was a killer. I hoped to hear something from Frank soon, but then sometimes it takes medical examiners a while to sort their evidence.

The next day was Sunday. It would be more difficult to question some of the people on our list, so Lou and I decided to put off further questioning until Monday. We agreed to spend Sunday going through Mrs. Nelson’s house to see if we could find any clues we might have missed earlier. Neither of us liked working on Sundays, and we never did unless we were in the middle of a murder case that warranted immediate attention, and both of us felt that this case warranted immediate attention.

I dropped off Lou at his apartment and headed home. After the day we had, both of us deserved some much- needed rest.

+++

Neither Lou nor I are married. A long time ago, I used to be married, but I wasn’t married long enough. Eunice and I spent five happy years together before she died of cancer. Cops are supposed to be tough, but sometimes I wondered how I was going to be able to make it by myself. Eunice and I were very much in love. Yes, cops are capable of love. Not only was it tough to live without her, it was tough to live by myself. For weeks I cried when I woke up each morning and looked over at the vacant side of the bed. It was just as tough coming home to an empty house each night. I made excuses to work as late as possible, so I wouldn’t have to spend much time at home. I don’t think I would’ve been able to make it without my faith in God and help from Lou and some of my other friends with the department.

Lou has never married, but he has been dating the same woman for quite a few years. Thelma Lou Spencer is quite a gal. Lou and Thelma Lou are quite a pair. I wonder why they don’t just go ahead and get married. I often wonder if Lou is afraid of losing a wife the way I did. Or has he lived by himself so  long  that  it  would  be  too  hard  to  change?   Sometimes Lou and I double date. Betty McElroy and I are good friends, but Betty’s a widow, and still in love with Hugh, just as I am with Eunice. Both of us are there for the other one for an occasional evening out with the opposite sex. I call Betty if I need a woman’s opinion about something, and she calls me when she needs something fixed. I’m always able to recommend a good repairman.

While Betty and I go out about once a month, Lou and Thelma Lou go out on a date every Friday and Saturday night unless we are in the middle of a case.

I enjoy driving and Lou doesn’t, so Lou never drives when we’re working, but he keeps his red-and-white 1957 Chevy in immaculate condition for his weekend dates with Thelma Lou. Because Lou’s never married, his needs are few, so he doesn’t spend a lot of money on accommodations. He lives in the lower-right-hand apartment of a brick fourplex. All of the building’s other residents are elderly, so noise is never a problem. Lou has an outside entrance. Each morning he stands on his small front porch and waits until I pick him up, or, if it’s too cold, he watches for me from his living room window. His modest dwelling includes a large living room, a kitchen, one bedroom, and a bathroom. Unless Lou’s sleeping, he spends most of his time in the living room. It’s sparsely furnished with a well-used, but still usable, couch, a recliner that doesn’t match the couch, and a straight-backed chair, which stands in front of a card table that’s usually in use. Along one wall of the living room is a built-in bookcase, which includes more books than empty spaces.

I live in a cul-de-sac in a middle-class neighborhood. I’ve lived there many years. My wife and I bought the house a couple of years before she died. After she died, I thought about moving, but decided not to. While my house isn’t large, my place is more spacious than Lou Murdock’s. My home includes a living room, dining room, kitchen, and two bedrooms, one of which I use for storage. I also have an unfinished basement, which I do not use at all.

I like to do things my way, but some things I don’t like to do at all. I also pay someone to come in once a week to clean my house. See, dust comes in even if no one is home. Clutter needs someone to help it along. I interrogated seven cleaning women until I found one who would do it my way. Mrs. Watson is willing to do what I want done when I want it done. She comes after I’ve left and is finished before I return. She does only what I want done and does it the way I want it. After all, I’m the one who lives in my house. If Mrs. Watson wants to clean her house differently than she cleans mine, I have no problem with that. I’m easy to live with as long as I live by myself. Three months after Mrs. Watson began cleaning my house, I gave her the Dekker seal of approval. That satisfied Lou Murdock, and she’s been cleaning his apartment ever since. Ever since has been nineteen years.

Cooking and cleaning are not the only things I don’t like to do. Since I’m seldom home, I pay someone to mow my lawn and shovel my snow, two things I detest doing. I’m not as picky about the outside of my house, as long as everything looks neat. If my yard boy wants to mow in circles or diagonally, that’s okay with me. Just as long as the grass is short enough that my eyes can tell if Muffy has left samples in my yard before my shoes discover it. Muffy isn’t really Muffy, but the name Muffy sounds almost as disgusting as the name my neighbor gave her, and both of them live too close to suit me.

+++

Because I know Lou well, I know his habits. I know what he’s going to do before he knows it. When I drove away from Lou’s apartment after our first day on the Nelson murder case, I could picture him unlocking his apartment door and dashing to the kitchen.  After all, it had been a few hours since we had eaten. I pictured Lou reaching into the freezer and pulling out a supreme pizza. I envisioned him checking the back of the box and preheating the oven. Lou dislikes preheating the oven as much as I do, because it prolongs his eating conquest, but he always does it anyway in order to make his frozen pizza taste a little more palatable.

As I thought about Lou and salivated over the thought of his snack, I drove home, pulled my aching body from the car, and made my way toward the house. As usual, I was hungry. I decided to fix the easiest and quickest thing I had on hand. I rummaged through the cabinets and pulled out a large can of spaghetti and meatballs, dumped it into a pan, and turned on the burner on the stove.

Like any two people, Lou and I look forward to unwinding after a hectic day on a case, but we don’t share the same interests. I love classic comedy TV shows of the ’50s and ’60s, and own several videos and DVDs of my favorite shows, most of them birthday or Christmas presents from Lou.
I Love Lucy
is my all-time favorite TV show, but that night I was too tired to watch anything. Instead, I gulped down my spaghetti and meatballs, and opted for a soothing, hot bath and an early bedtime.

While I’m a classic TV man, Lou unwinds with crossword puzzles, jigsaw puzzles, or a good book, most received as presents from you know who. Lou and I started using his hobbies as a method of measuring our time between murders. As best I can recall, when we found the old lady’s body, it had been two jigsaw puzzles, four crossword puzzle books, and four novels since our last murder.

I continued to think of Lou as I parked in my driveway, then stumbled into the house. As I tried to rid my mind of the Nelson murder, I pictured Lou, plopping a pizza in the oven, falling into his recliner and kicking back. My guess is he remained there a few minutes before easing over to the card table, which always contained a jigsaw puzzle in progress. I could see Lou looking over his newly-begun mountain cabin scene. So far, he had merely completed the border and most of the cabin. The fifteen hundred-piece puzzle, with a myriad of pine and brightly-colored trees, would take some time to complete, possibly even more time than solving the mysterious death of Mrs. Nelson. Lou is a man who enjoys his work, the time we spend together, his weekend dates with Thelma Lou, his love of food, and his hobbies. Few people enjoy what they do as much as Lou.

+++

After a few minutes in the tub, my head must have slid down the back of the tub and into the water. Either that or our murderer was trying to add another victim to his or her conquests. At least, I was underwater when I awakened. I woke up, grabbed for the sides of the tub, and pulled myself to a seated position as I spit water in every direction. The soapy water in my nose left an unpleasant taste in my throat. This middle-aged man got out of the tub, yanked on the towel until I’d pulled it from the bar, dried myself, and got dressed for bed. Even though I’d just eaten, I fixed a small snack and something to drink in order to remove the awful taste from my mouth and throat. I’d had enough struggles for one day. I went to bed.

9

I had no idea how long the phone had been ringing before it woke me. I turned over and glanced at the clock. Its hands pointed to 8:12. Sunday morning. I did not remember turning over being such a painful exercise. I reached for the phone, and finally, on my third try, I managed to lift the receiver.

“Dekker, here,” I mumbled into the phone, proud that I could remember who I was after such a rigorous day the day before.