by N. C. Lewis
Computer on, reference books, journal articles, statistical software loaded and notecards all over the desk, I was in business. I’d use the same procedure since my first presentation in college where Professor Opsin taught basic statistical techniques. The professor carefully guided the students away from elementary mistakes and let us use our creativity and imagination to solve difficult problems. The memory of happy days studying in college from over twenty-five years ago was a welcome relief from the puzzling case of Mary Birdsong.
I lost myself in articles about self-driving cars, cracking cancer, unlocking the secrets of the deep oceans, and flying rocket ships to Mars. Statistical techniques have a significant role to play in these activities. I remembered the times in my corporate life when I’d used mathematics and quantitative methods to solve challenging business problems, each solution crafted from a specific statistical tool designed so it could be easy to understand and straightforward to use by non-mathematical people.
Then I thought of the thousands of lives that had been saved using statistics in medicine and healthcare. If I could inspire one student to apply the knowledge shared in my class to this area it would be worth more than money to me. I smiled inwardly at the notion.
When it was time to put the final presentation together, I collected my notecards into a stack and ordered them into areas of interest–industry, science, health, technology.
The clock high on the mantle struck the top of the hour, instinctively I got up and stretched. As I did something suddenly clicked in my brain.
Technology.
Tarp.
Technology allowed Gregg’s to brand their tarp.
Tarp that hid Mary Birdsong.
My mouth dropped open, presentation forgotten, I reviewed the facts again. The tarp was from Gregg’s Hardware Store. Mr. Burlington owned Gregg’s. Then I remembered his intense struggle with a security guard, argument with Mary Birdsong and warning that if she didn’t keep away...
What if Mary didn’t keep away? Mr. Burlington had a motive, the means–the unconscious security guard was proof positive of this. A piece of the puzzle had fallen into place. But did he have the opportunity? The picture still wasn’t clear.
I looked again at my notecards--industry, science, health, technology.
Health.
I searched my handbag and pulled out the little green bottle of colloidal silver. I opened it. Full. It was possible the person who gave the bottle to Mary was the killer. Why did she have it in her hand? What was the link between it and the tarp?
My fingers hovered over the cell phone. Then I tapped the screen, scrolling until I found what I was looking for–Theodora Simon. I typed out a short message:
Need colloidal silver. Where did you get your supply?
I returned to the presentation, organizing and reorganizing information until the flow worked. Satisfied, I went to the kitchen to look for something to eat. As I peered into the fridge the cell phone rang, I didn’t recognize the number.
"Dr. Ollie Stratford?" Female, official.
"Speaking?"
"Hi, it’s Joanna," the voice was hesitant, "Joanna Zilpah, Deputy Zilpah."
My head jerked back, neck rigid. What does she want?
"Need another statement?" I spluttered.
"Might be necessary later, not the reason for the call."
She cleared her throat.
"This is off the record. Thought you’d like to know the medical examiner’s preliminary report is in." She paused, a low murmur of indistinct voices, whoosh of something mechanical, then she continued. "At Moozoos, on the way back to work so need to keep this brief. The report identified the cause of death as asphyxiation."
"Asphyxiation!"
"Yes. Mary Birdsong was strangled." She lowered her voice, "We have a murderer in Medlin Creek."
I dropped my head, a bitter smile formed as Deputy Zilpah’s words confirmed what I already knew. The paramedics had called it, so had Deputy Dingsplat, and now it was official. Homicide, murder, asphyxiation, strangled, it didn’t matter what you called it, Mary Birdsong’s life was taken when it needn’t have, just like John's.
I’d always felt like an outsider. Even the decades I lived in Brooklyn with John and the family, the sensation never really left me. Yet here in Texas, somehow, some way, I was becoming an insider, at least in Medlin Creek. I understood Deputy Zilpah’s call was in part acknowledgment for the role I played in solving earlier Hill Country murders, and in part encouragement to keep digging. I would.
I made a ham and pickle sandwich and poured a glass of milk. At the kitchen table, I flicked through the newspaper. The headline about the Medlin Creek Community College fraternity club fish fry turned out to be an interesting read. "I’ll use some of this information to spice up my presentation," I said aloud.
My cell phone buzzed, a text message from Carlos. I took a long deep breath savoring the thought of our meal this evening. Then I scanned the message:
Querida Ollie, must cancel our meal this evening. Not to worry, love is a flame that never dies. How about lunch next Tuesday? One p.m. at the College Arms. I hear they do amazing British food and brews. Seu com amor Carlos.
I shook my head. How dare he? Then with trembling hands typed:
Yes, I’d be delighted.
Chapter 19
John had always said, "Measure what you want, but reward what you measure." Throughout our marriage he kept a spreadsheet to monitor household finances and investments. A good habit I kept up after his passing. A sudden pang of sadness caught me off guard, my body went cold, limbs heavy as I gulped for air to fight back tears. They came anyway.
Sniffing and wiping my nose, I pulled up the financial accounts spreadsheet. I’d been running against the wind lately, the business was just about breaking even, the part-time teaching income keeping it afloat.
"Ollie, you have the wind at your back now," I said aloud as I updated the spreadsheet to reflect the payment from Theodora for the upcoming rental of Ealing Homestead. Although the full amount had been received in advance of the event, I felt a little uncomfortable booking it into the spreadsheet, and highlighted the cell as a reminder that payment was received in advance. Then another one of John’s sayings jumped into my mind, "Trust but verify". Better check the bank account.
Several mouse clicks later, the bank balance and recent transactions flashed across the screen. The payment from Theodora was marked ‘pending.’ Should have settled by now, surely?
The cell phone rang scattering my thoughts into fragments. I looked at the screen, Kidd Cole. Kidd taught at the Medlin Creek Martial Arts Academy; his classes were always high energy and fun. I smiled as I picked up.
"Ollie," his voice was bubbly, "how is my favorite person from the entire borough of Brooklyn doing?" Kidd had a way of making everyone feel special. I laughed out loud, "Oh, Kidd you’re too much." My somber mood lifted.
The sparkle in his voice continued, "I called to remind you that Master Takumi Kyou will be teaching a special class tonight."
"Yes," I said, "I heard he was visiting from Japan. Looking forward to learning a few techniques. He’s a master of judo, isn’t he?"
"One of the top fighters in his day, I can’t think of a competition he didn’t win. But more importantly, not only can he fight, he can also teach. That’s a rare commodity in world-class athletes. Class starts at seven p.m., but arrive early, we’re expecting a large crowd."
"I’ll be there, wouldn’t miss this for the world."
Now, I was ready to take on life again. I clapped my hands and gave a little fist pump. Yes, the class will be a challenge for pizza loving, soda drinking, whiskey sipping, overweight, middle-aged me, but I was up for the task.
I picked up my yellow legal pad which holds my to-do list. Time to cross a few things off, and then add a few things on. My optimistic bubble burst when I realized rather than shrinking the darn list, it was growing by the day. Feels like treading water.
The buzz o
f the cell phone interrupted my rising annoyance. A text message from Theodora Simon. It only contained one word:
Gregg’s.
Chapter 20
Gregg’s Hardware Store sits nestled among the brick and mortar shops on Creek Street. At one end is a scruffy patch of lawn crammed with food trucks blaring country music, a popular spot where tourists mingle with locals during the early evening hours. At the other end, on a gentle slope which takes you down to the river, a flea market with little wooden stalls filled with knickknacks and curiosities.
The drive to Gregg's took less than fifteen minutes, although it could’ve been fifteen hours for the number of thoughts and ideas which flooded my mind. Colloidal silver is a health food supplement. Why would Mr. Burlington sell such a product? Nowhere on my various visits to the store had I seen it on the shelves. If he sold it, it was a "backroom" sale, of that much I was certain.
The more I thought about it, the seedier the whole picture appeared. Could Mr. Burlington be at the center of an illicit health food supplement network? For an instant, I imagined the big muscular man as a colloidal silver drug overlord. Perhaps, Mary Birdsong had moved into his territory. Was this the cause of his argument with her? That would explain her death. The pieces still didn’t quite fit together. My mind raced. There was something missing. I frowned.
As the Tahoe truck pulled into Gregg’s parking lot I said aloud. "I must be crazy, my life just returned to normal, and here I am chasing after a murderer again."
The parking lot had seen better days, pavement cracked with tuffs of weeds growing in between. It was empty, manual laborers had gathered their supplies during the morning rush, and it was too early for the office crowd. A gust of wind caught a plastic bag, taking it high up into the air, it twirled like a kite coming to rest in the overhanging branches of a cedar tree. I tugged my ear. If Mr. Burlington killed Mary Birdsong why did he bury her in a tarp from his own store?
The shop, heavy with the fragrance of pine-scented cleaning products, fertilizer and citronella candles, held all manner of items for purchase from chicken coops to sandals. At one time, it even sold food to passing tourists. Although, that part of the business had died away as food trucks moved onto Creek Street.
The place had an unfathomable system for organizing merchandise. Wooden shelves groaned under the weight of cardboard cartons, oddly shaped packages, and metal tins. Scattered in disorganized heaps, sacks of feed stacked up against the walls, boxes of lawn seed placed on top of rabbit hutches, tins of baked beans on the counter, and dry food pellets placed in canvas bags by the door.
The shop assistant Michael, sixteen or seventeen years old, busied himself hanging tie-dyed cowboy shirts on racks. He paused to watch as I entered the store.
"You gonna sell those things?" I asked.
He wrinkled his nose. "Mr. Burlington got them at a closing-down sale in Austin. He says they’re the latest fashion for young people in the city. Thinks they’ll sell like hotcakes."
"What do you think?"
He narrowed his eyes, glanced around and in a whisper murmured. "Personally, I think they’ll end up in one of the back rooms with all the other junk."
"Michael!"
The voice boomed out of a dimly lit corner. It took the young man by surprise, he jumped knocking cardboard boxes of tie-dyed shirts onto the floor.
"Michael, come over here, can you help with these pallets."
"Yes, Mr. Burlington."
While Michael and Mr. Burlington organized pallets, I wandered around the store. After several false turns, I eventually stumbled across what I was looking for, dog food for Bodie. I grabbed a case and headed for the counter.
As I waited for Mr. Burlington to appear I studied the bulletin board which hung behind the sales counter. It was filled with flyers advertising local events. There was a note about the annual fundraiser for the Medlin Creek Animal Shelter signed by Augustine Granger, the founder. Another gave details of the Wednesday night Bible study at the Medlin Creek Baptist Church. A large poster advertised Johnny Spinner’s MCR 101.1 FM show. The Speaker Circle also had a poster. It claimed to offer a safe place to practice public speaking. There was even a poster advertising Takumi Kyou’s visit to the Medlin Creek Martial Arts Academy.
"Well now Ollie, how’s that king of your ranch doing?" Mr. Burlington’s voice boomed in a no-nonsense way.
"Bodie is doing well. The sores he had all over his body when I found him have healed, and the vet says the hound is putting on weight, thanks to this dog food I guess."
Mr. Burlington grinned. "Is there anything else I can get you today?"
"Yes…I’m looking for…" I reached into my handbag and pulled out a small green bottle. Shoving it in his face I said, "Colloidal silver, I’m looking for more of this."
His eyes narrowed. "Where’d you get that?"
I deflected the question. "Need another bottle. I believe this is from you?"
He fixed me with a frosty stare, the mouth opened but nothing came out. Then he blew out air from his cheeks.
"Not sure I can help you."
My mouth was dry, my heart pounded so hard the sound traveled to my ears. I knew this feeling well. An exact reproduction of how I felt in my corporate days when I had to discipline employees caught lying, cheating or stealing. I put on my best bureaucratic voice and placed hands on my hips like an annoyed teacher.
"Oh, Mr. Burlington, you and I both know where this little bottle came from don’t we?"
The man’s face reddened, a vein violently pulsated in his thick neck. "You’re not from these parts are you Dr. Stratford?" He paused. Eyes locked in a frosty stare. "If there’s nothing else I’ll bid you good day." He turned to pin new posts on the bulletin board to signify that our conversation was over.
The early drum beat of a headache began, just behind the eyes. My jaw stiffened. "Mr. Burlington, Mary Birdsong’s body was found hidden under a copse of trees along teenage run."
Mr. Burlington paused, his huge hulk-like frame turned to look at me. "The whole town knows that, what’s your point?"
"Mary’s body was found partially buried under sticks and twigs, wrapped in a tarp from this store."
He stood perfectly still, mouth slack, eyes wide. After several seconds, he blinked rapidly as if his mind had just processed the information. The blinking slowed into a steady stare.
"I don’t know anything about the death of Mary Birdsong, but if it’s colloidal silver you want, come this way."
He pointed with his head to a heavy curtain which hung several feet behind the counter. As he drew the curtain to one side it revealed a door with a combination lock.
"This way please, Dr. Stratford." His smile, did not reach his eyes and his voice was less than comforting.
My knees went weak. I left the case of dog food on the counter and forced my legs to move in the direction of Mr. Burlington’s nod. I entered in through the doorway. Mr. Burlington looked back into the store.
"Michael."
The youngster leaned against a stack of wooden pallets, eyes closed, mouth slack, a nasal rumble rising and falling with each breath.
"Michael!"
This time the boy stumbled to his feet.
"Yes, sir."
"Watch the store while I’m back here with Dr. Stratford."
Michael looked at me with a broad grin. "Will do."
Chapter 21
The door closed with a solid thud. I found myself smack in the middle of a dimly lit room, with pale walls, reminiscent of a scientists’ laboratory. Huge glass jars filled of a clear liquid with wires protruding out of them stood on metal tripods, and bottles of various sizes were arranged neatly on wooden shelves. The automated hum of an electronic machine was the only noticeable sound. There were no windows, and the still air trapped pungent odors of astringent hand sanitizer, mixed with bleach.
Standing inside the secret room, I understood how Gulliver must've felt when he entered the land of giants and was captured as a
curiosity for public display. I must've been in Gregg's Hardware Store dozens of times. How had I never noticed the heavy curtains which covered the doorway to this mad scientist’s laboratory?
Mr. Burlington’s heavyset frame blocked the entrance. He had an expression on his face I couldn’t interpret. "Take a seat," he said, pointing to a wooden chair which sat next to a large paneled table.
"This is where we do our best work for the people of Medlin Creek." His usually expressionless voice was light and bubbly, and his eyes twinkled. "The drink is prepared by administering an electrolytic charge to a jar of water which contains silver. I just made a fresh batch this morning." Mr. Burlington pointed to a glass jar with two wires protruding out of the top.
"This is the best colloidal silver in the entire Hill Country. Much better than the stuff townies buy over the Internet. If it doesn’t get the job done you can return it, everyone knows that about Gregg’s products."
Mr. Burlington reached for a little green bottle, and with care, filled it with the clear liquid. "Only the best for Dr. Stratford," he said, examining the container.
He must've seen the quizzical expression on my face for he grinned, "Ollie, I've been making this stuff for years, got it down to a fine art. Would never have gotten into this business if it wasn't for the residential home."
"Residential home?"
"Yeah, you know the place not far from the county hospital? Must’ve been five or six years ago when they approached me."
"Who?"
"Margaret Linsky, she runs the place. Well, not exactly, the residents rule the roost, but she’s technically the director. They like to call themselves inmates, like in prison, drives Margaret crazy. Anyway, a bunch of inmates got together and demanded that she supply them with colloidal silver. Ethel Williams was the most vocal, said her uncle Dougal began colloidal silver treatment at eighty. The man lived to one hundred and ten. Guess he’d still be alive now if it wasn’t for the accident."
