by Rick Polad
“A little.”
“Do I have to beg?”
“No. I’d like your thoughts on a theory of mine. It crossed my mind that these killings are reminiscent of Jack the Ripper. I mentioned it to Stosh and he didn’t think much of it.”
Don nodded. “I agree. I thought the same thing. But there are a lot of sick people in this world who don’t need a mentor to do something like this.”
“Unfortunately, that’s true,” mumbled Spencer through his last bite of hot dog. He washed it down with cold beer and continued. “But I had Stosh check anyway. He has a book about Jack the Ripper. He read it and didn’t find anything pertinent. He tells me they never officially arrested anyone but thought they knew who it was.”
Don leaned forward. “I don’t remember anything that would have fit here other than the method and the victims.”
The public address announcer started in on the lineups. Don and Spencer both got out scorecards and pencils and filled in the players.
“You going to read the book?” Don asked.
“I have it in the car; I’ll read it tonight. Probably a waste of time, but I’ll know more about Jack the Ripper, if nothing else.”
Don leaned back and dropped the pencil in his shirt pocket. “So what do you know that I don’t?”
Spencer told Don about the piles of coins.
Don’s eyes immediately lit up. “How many coins were there?”
Spencer shrugged. “Don’t know.”
“What coins were they? Any pattern?”
“All I know is there were piles of coins left by the bodies in some sort of pattern. I hinted at the pattern and Stosh clammed up. Why? Does that have something to do with Jack the Ripper?”
Sitting straight up in the chair, Don vigorously shook his head. “Not that I know of, but it does with Sherlock Holmes.”
Spencer was catching Don’s excitement. “Was there a story about coins?”
“No. But what do you know about the history of Arthur Conan Doyle?”
As the Cubs ran out onto the field, Spencer pursed his lips and answered, “I know he was a medical student and Dr. Watson was based on his experiences to some extent. And Doyle believed in fairies, didn’t he?”
Don laughed. “Well, he was a spiritualist, but we’ll forgive him for that foray. Yes, Dr. Watson was based on his medical school experiences, but so was Sherlock Holmes.”
When Spencer looked puzzled, Don continued. “Conan Doyle had a professor of surgery named Dr. Joseph Bell. He was a strange old fellow who had the magical knack of making deductions from seemingly meaningless bits of information, such as where you’d been by the color of the dirt on your shoes.”
“Really? Just like Sherlock Holmes.”
Don laughed again and slapped Spencer’s knee. “Really. But the accurate statement would be that Sherlock Holmes was just like Bell.”
“I suppose so. But how does that relate to the coins?”
“Dr. Bell had a case involving someone who killed people, prostitutes included, with poison.”
“How does that apply here?”
“This fellow left a pile of coins next to each victim. So you put Doyle together with Jack and you have someone copying history.”
“And mixing it up.”
“Not necessarily. Perhaps just picking his favorite parts. It would help to know what the pattern is.”
“Was there a pattern with Doyle?”
“Not that I recall. But it seems your fellow is adding his own personal touches. Understanding the method tells you a lot about the person.”
Spencer watched a long fly to center end the top of the first inning and said, “I wonder if Stosh knows about that.”
“Perhaps not,” said Don after swallowing the last bite of his hot dog. “You can know a lot about Sherlock Holmes and not much about Doyle.”
Spencer made a mental note to ask. More dogs, two more beers, and a Cubs’ two-run homer for a win in the ninth made for a great day at the ballpark.
Chapter 36
By the end of the afternoon, Charles had removed all the old cabinets and moved them out into the garage. Amanda came down for a cup of tea just before five and asked how much she owed him. He counted nine hours, minus one for lunch, and slowly figured it out in his head. One hundred and sixty dollars. Sarah would be shocked.
The hell with Sarah.
Amanda dropped a tea bag into a cup of hot water. “Hang on, I’ll get it for you.”
“Would you mind putting it in an envelope?”
“No problem.” She smiled and headed up the stairs.
While he worked, Charles had thought about where to hide the money. He had decided that nowhere inside the house was safe. He had taken a plastic baggie and stuffed it in his right pants pocket. The money would go in the baggie, and he would find a spot under a bush, at least till he could think of something better.
Amanda returned with a white envelope full of money and handed it to Charles. He folded it in half and stuffed that in his pocket, also.
“Aren’t you going to count it?” She pulled the tea bag out of the cup and tossed it into the garbage.
Charles looked surprised. “Oh no. That’s no problem. I know you counted it.”
“You’re a nice man, Mister Lamb. But you shouldn’t always be so trusting.” When she saw how nervous he was, she changed the subject. “Well, we’re ready to think about new cabinets, I see. I’ll draw a layout tonight and think about what I want. Something brighter and maybe glass fronts. Tomorrow morning we can go to the home center and see if I fall in love with anything.”
“Anything you say, Miss Amanda. I’ll be here first thing.”
“Oh, I won’t be here till about ten, so just let yourself in. I’ll leave the drawing on the table and you can look it over.”
“Okay, Miss Amanda.”
* * *
Amanda watched him back out of the driveway and slowly maneuver between the parked cars. And she wondered, with all the jerks she dealt with, how she had met such a nice man.
* * *
Traffic wasn’t bad going home and Charles made good time. He thought more about the words in the ledger and realized his hands were clenching the steering wheel and his knuckles were white. But it didn’t make sense. Miss Amanda was one of the nicest women he had ever met. She couldn’t be a prostitute.
This was what bothered Charles more than anything in life. No matter how much he thought about some things, he just couldn’t figure them out. That was why Sarah had the advantage over him. She was smart enough to see right through him. And he couldn’t see through her. Well, this time he would fool her. He would hide the money where she wouldn’t even think of looking.
He parked on the pad next to the driveway. Sarah’s car was already in the one-car garage. He sat in the car for a few minutes, looking at the bushes, trying to find a good spot. The waist-high evergreens on the south side of the garage looked to be as good a spot as any. He would just push the envelope down beneath the dense boughs, and it would be protected from the rain inside the plastic baggie. He walked around to the side of the garage and picked a spot in the center of the row.
* * *
Sarah had heard the low rumble of the muffler as Charles came up the street. She stood behind a curtain in the living room and wondered why he was sitting in the car. She saw him get out and stare at the house and wondered what he was doing. Then he disappeared around the side of the garage.
* * *
Charles needed a marker so he could find the baggie again. He looked around and saw a rock the size of a softball half-buried in front of the bushes. The branches scratched his arm as he stretched into the bush up to his shoulder and placed the money as far into the bushes as he could reach. Then he stood back and tried to find the baggie. He couldn’t. It had disappeared.
* * *
Sitting in his tree house, Jimmy heard the car pull into the driveway and ducked down. He wondered why Mr. Lamb was looking around the house and
watched between the boards as Charles pushed a plastic bag into the bushes. Jimmy glanced at his watch and made an entry in his book.
Chapter 37
Sarah was waiting for Charles in the kitchen when he came in the back door, but he didn’t know she had seen him. It looked like she was rinsing the breakfast dishes. It wasn’t something Sarah usually did. Usually she yelled at him for not doing it. It was his job after all, as were most of the chores around the house. As she often pointed out, she was the breadwinner in the family.
He tried to slip through the back hall without her seeing him, but didn’t make it.
“I heard you pull in the drive.”
“Oh, hi. Yeah, it needs a new muffler.”
“Hmm. That was five minutes ago. What were you doing?” She started calmly putting dishes in the washer.
Charles was stumped. He didn’t think he’d need a lie. “Well, I, uh, was checking out the muffler. Wanted to make sure it wasn’t falling off or something.”
She nodded. “Around the side of the garage?”
She had seen him. But she wouldn’t have seen him by the bushes. So she didn’t know about the money. “I went to talk to Jimmy.”
“Jimmy? Since when do you care about Jimmy?”
“I talk to Jimmy sometimes.”
She turned to face him, a dinner plate in her right hand. Charles stared at the plate. “So if I go talk to Jimmy he’s going to tell me you two had a nice chat?”
Charles’ palms turned sweaty and a cold chill ran up his back. He wasn’t used to this many lies in a row.
“I, uh, didn’t see him. He wasn’t there.”
Her eyes burned a hole right through him. “You went to talk to Jimmy even though he wasn’t there.”
It sounded pretty silly coming out of Sarah’s mouth. “I thought I saw him, you know, up in his tree house. But he wasn’t there.” He wondered if he needed to keep talking, but she looked like she wasn’t listening anymore. Charles turned and walked quickly down the hall. Sarah didn’t yell or throw anything. He would have rather that she did. She knew he was up to something and he knew she would do something. But he had no idea what. He was sure of one thing, though. If she walked around the side of the garage she wouldn’t find the money. Unless you knew where to look, the baggie was safe.
Sarah noticed Charles’ left arm and let him walk away without asking about the scratches.
* * *
Jimmy looked into the kitchen window and saw Mrs. Lamb at the sink. After Mr. Lamb went inside, she looked like she was talking to someone. It must have been Mr. Lamb. He watched for a minute after she moved away from the sink and then he climbed out of the tree.
Walking directly toward the spot in the bushes where Mr. Lamb had stuffed something, Jimmy tingled with excitement. He stood in front of the bushes, but couldn’t see anything. When he parted the low branches at the front, he saw part of a plastic bag. But his arm wasn’t long enough; he couldn’t reach it from the edge of the bushes. He looked around for a stick but saw none. He had to hurry. Mr. Lamb might be back. Jimmy stepped into the bushes, almost tripped on a branch, and again parted the branches. There was a plastic baggie with a white envelope inside. Jimmy opened the baggie, carefully holding it only at the top, pulled out the envelope, and let the baggie drop to the top of the bushes. He opened the envelope and froze with his mouth half open. Inside the envelope was more money than Jimmy had ever seen.
Jimmy thought of taking the money. Mr. Lamb would never know who took it. If Mr. Lamb was hiding it, he wouldn’t want anyone to know about it, so if it was gone he couldn’t say anything. But why was Mr. Lamb hiding it there? If Jimmy had gotten some money and wanted to buy something, he spent the money. But if there was nothing he wanted, he saved the money in his football bank. Maybe this was Mr. Lamb’s bank. And that would mean he would be putting in more money.
Sliding the money back in the envelope, Jimmy put it back in the baggie and put the baggie back in the bushes. He would leave it there, but tomorrow he’d be watching.
Chapter 38
Spencer got home at 6:30, ordered a pizza, took a shower, opened a bottle of Schlitz, and started reading the chapter on Jack the Ripper. By nine, he was on his second bottle and trying to decide whether or not to eat the last three pieces of pepperoni, even though he was stuffed. He was halfway through the chapter for the second time.
The first time through had yielded nothing that helped. But Spencer was still hopeful and decided to read it again. When he was done, he admitted grudgingly that Stosh was right. There was nothing of use in it.
He leaned back in the chair to think and fell asleep within minutes, having succumbed to the sun and the beer.
* * *
Tuesday morning, Spencer stood beneath the shower head trying to massage out the kinks from sleeping in the chair. When he moved into his parent’s house, he replaced the old shower head with a new-fangled sprayer that had six settings guaranteed to send you to shower heaven.
As he was drying off, the phone rang. Stosh’s booming baritone voice filled the receiver.
“Hey kid, so you find anything?”
“Find anything?”
“Listen, I know you read the book. I was hopin’ you’d find somethin’ I didn’t, cuz I could sure use a break here.”
“I didn’t, but I’m wondering what the pattern is to the coins.”
“And you think I‘m going to tell you?”
“Well, kinda hard to solve your crimes with one hand tied behind my back.”
Spencer had set the cordless phone on the counter and could still hear as he finished drying.
“Spencer? Spencer!”
“Sorry. I was in the middle of something.”
“Are you done?”
“Yup. All dried off.”
“Got time to talk to me now?”
“Sure. I won’t bother to put a robe on, you being family.”
The phone clicked and went dead. Stosh was the only person Spencer knew who could give you the finger over the phone and get his point across. But he was right. If Spencer had found something, he would have called before this and Stosh knew it. He didn’t have to wait for an answer. Spencer tightened the towel around his waist and thought about Jack as he poured a glass of orange juice. He still didn’t want to give up on the Jack angle, but he couldn’t tell Stosh that. As far as Stosh was concerned, it was a dead issue. But he did want to tell him about the coins and Arthur Conan Doyle.
Using the orange juice to wash down a piece of cold pizza, Spencer called Don, who answered on the sixth ring.
“Hi, P.I. You solve the murders yet?”
“No. Dead end. But there’s still something bothering me about it.”
“Could be just a coincidence, Spencer.”
“A coincidence that this guy leaves a pile of coins? Not exactly something that makes any sense. Who the hell would think of that by himself?”
“I agree. But whether or not it is a coincidence, it’s an ironic statement.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning, he leaves money for women who risked their lives for a few dollars.”
Spencer thought and let the silence hang like a bank of fog. “That’s really sad, and weird. I gotta believe he copied the coin thing. If he did, maybe he copied Jack the Ripper, too.”
“Maybe.”
“But there’s no thread that ties the two together. I hoped I’d find something with the Friday killings, but Jack was pretty random. And two were on the same night.”
“So, maybe that’s the wrong thread.”
“And maybe this is damned silly.”
“Did you call for advice or to entertain me while you beat yourself up?”
Spencer shook his head. “Point taken.”
“As long as you have nothing to lose, I’d go with your hunch. Give it another shot. If there’s something there, you’ll find it.”
“Well, if I don’t, would you mind reading it?”
“No problem. But I’
m in the middle of writing a book about the Holmes Society for our fiftieth anniversary. I’d appreciate it if you’d find it yourself.”
Spencer laughed. “Doing my best.”
“You tell Stosh about the coins yet?”
“Uh, no. We talked but he didn’t give me the chance. I’ll call him later. I’ll let you know if I get something.”
“Right. Good hunting.”
“Thanks.”
Chapter 39
As usual, Sarah left an hour before Charles. He waited for ten minutes after she had left and then went outside to make sure the baggie was still there. He had woken up several times during the night worrying about it. He panicked when he didn’t see it right away, but then found it after spreading apart several branches. It would be very safe if even he couldn’t find it. He was very proud of himself for finding the perfect hiding place.
Charles ate a bowl of cereal and dressed for work. He had planned to get to work early and spend more time on the beach, but it was overcast and looked like rain.
Whistling along with the radio, Charles felt in control of the situation. He had outsmarted Sarah for the first time. She had always seen through his lies before. But this time she had no idea and he wanted to keep it that way. He drove up Lake Shore Drive, watching the clouds piling up over the lake. He turned onto Amanda’s street and pulled into the drive a little before nine. He never noticed the car that had been following him since he left home.
* * *
Sarah parked a few houses down from where Charles was parked. From there she watched as he got out and rang the side doorbell. After a minute, he reached in his pocket, pulled out a key, and let himself in.
