The Maude Rogers Murder Collection

by Linda L. Dunlap

  Clothing was always an easy issue for Maude. She didn’t care for skirts or dresses, preferring long pants, especially jeans when she was off work, or when her bosses let her get away with wearing them to work. In lieu of jeans, she chose creased fitted slacks with front and back pockets, a wrinkle free, tucked-in blouse, and a winter or summer blazer, depending on the season. She owned several blazers in various colors.

  Her weapon was carried at the waist in a holster, no purse or handbag holster for her. She wanted to be ready to reach the weapon quickly if she needed it. All of her identification was in her coat’s breast pocket and was easily accessible. There were diamond studs in her ears, and a gold chain with a cross pendant around her neck. On her right hand she wore a simple gold ring without any adornment. The ring was very important to her. A sturdy wristwatch worn on the left hand completed her wardrobe.

  Maude Rogers was an attractive woman, although she would never have agreed with anyone who said such a thing. The years had treated her attitude badly, but time had been kind to her skin, leaving few wrinkles to give away her age. Most people thought she looked below fifty.

  The few people who were close knew some of her history-- she was once married to a man who went to Viet Nam and never returned. The letter had come to her as it came to so many women, informing her of her husband’s loss in one of the conflicts in a far-away country.

  Maude was bitter toward the army and toward the world for a while. She had been married for three months when the army took her husband Paul away in his fine, starched uniform. They sent him back in a locked coffin with no access. They said his body was riddled with bullet holes, his face unrecognizable. The identification of the man she loved had been made from the dog tags around his neck.

  She never remarried or became serious over any other man. Paul Rogers had been the love of her life.

  Chapter 5

  At about twenty minutes to ten, after completing the last of the morning’s reports, she was about to sign and initial all the pages when she spied her young partner’s bandaged head and big grin coming through the door. Maude couldn’t totally suppress a return smile even though she tried.

  “Are you always this cheerful?” She asked him. “Or do I just make you happy? Well, never mind, I’m glad to see you made it through Saturday with nothing more than a few stitches.”

  “Yes ma’am, they told me I was real lucky. Said the knife that old boy stuck me with nearly cut my eye out. I’d like about five minutes with him someday, just me and him on level ground.” Joe’s wish for revenge was pretty common among law enforcement officers who had been attacked, however; given the opportunity to get even with the attacker, the usual response was ‘he isn’t worth my job.’ Maude wasn’t worried that Joe might be a loose cannon looking to get even.

  “So,” she sniped, “ready to go to work, or do you need some time to go straighten your shorts and have a good cry?”

  “Sure,” he said with a straight face. “I’m ready. Let’s go.”

  The Medical Examiner’s office was about four blocks from the station, located in the criminal justice building where most, if not all, the county offices were housed. The basement was devoted to the M.E. and the morgue with its cold-storage lockers and stainless steel tables.

  Doctor Edward Keller, the pathologist who autopsied the victims of murder and suspicious deaths was also the coroner, filling a dual position in a small county. There was one assistant to the doctor, Theodore Hollingsworth, a forensics expert who had retired from the FBI and settled in Madison. Bored with retirement, he sought some part-time work in his field. He was keeping his hands in the business so to speak.

  Holly, as he’d been christened by the detectives, was a man in his seventies with no sense of humor. He worked Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, allowing Doctor Keller to take time away from the office or appear in court to testify in local, state or federal cases. Today being Monday, Holly was in the office finishing up a dictation that he and the doc had done while autopsying a hit and run victim from a week earlier.

  Because the victim had been involved in a political scandal during the last mayoral election, his family had demanded the autopsy, believing the man might have been drugged before walking across the street from a local restaurant and bar and being run down by an automobile. The family was disappointed at the results. No drugs of any kind were found in his stomach or in his blood.

  Holly glanced up from his notes with a frown. “You’re late,” he said.

  Maude looked down at her watch and agreed. “Yeah,” she said, “ten minutes past. Sorry.”

  “Doctor Keller is not here today. What did you want?” He said.

  Maude told him that she needed to know about time and cause of death in both of the two women who were found on East Avenue. He reminded her that the autopsy hadn’t been done yet. She told him she knew that but wanted his professional take on what might have happened. Maude knew that the county had a gold mine of information in Hollingsworth. The forensic scientist had spent an extensive amount of time in the federal labs, working in the FBI’s research and training center. She also knew that Holly had a large ego he kept under wraps when Doctor Keller was on duty.

  Muttering under his breath, Holly took up the case notes and pretended to look them over. He had not misunderstood the admiration in Maude’s voice as she saluted his ability to read the outward tell-tale signs of a victim’s injuries. He was usually on the money and knew it.

  “Well, now this is not official. We won’t know for sure until after the autopsy, but all signs point to a short blade with a curved end in the manner of a saber, the depth of the fatal injury appears to be over two and a half inches deep, almost severing the head from the body internally. The lack of trauma at the entry wound indicates very little force was used, therefore the blade would have been extremely sharp, possibly new steel, or a well-cared for older blade.

  “There was circular bruising evidence at both victims’ ankles, indicating a restraint of sorts was attached for a period of time. As to time, we haven’t changed our ruling there: death occurred four to six days prior to the finding of the body. The decay of the soft tissue and damage caused by the maggot infestation indicate our previous estimation was correct.”

  Maude thanked Holly for his help and agreed that the results of the autopsy would be the official word, but now she had a direction to go, an arrow on a sheet of paper saying “start here”. He seemed pleased that she appreciated his skills, and after muttering under his breath, he went back to the transcription he had been previously absorbed in, a tiny smile at the corner of his mouth.

  Maude and Joe left the basement of the building with its cold sterile smells and returned to her patrol car.

  “You should really insist on a better car.” Joe said. “This one must be ten years old.”

  “Seven, and it still runs, a little shaky no doubt, but it gets us there,” she replied.

  “So what do you think, Maude, are we going to get him?” Joe asked.

  Maude thought for a minute, wondering how much she should tell her partner. He deserves to know the truth, but will he accept the idea of a killer from over eight years ago beginning all over in a small town? The thought seemed to be egocentric on her part, a grab for notoriety by attaching herself to the murderer. Then there was the need to know by the Feds. Would Joe feel inclined to pass any information along to those glory-grabbing pricks, and give up the rightful case that fell their way? Truth was, she didn’t know that much about Joe Allen. For all she knew, he might be hoping to work for them, maybe watching for openings to boost his own career.

  Maude’s sense of fair play won out and she began the tale of the victims in Chicago and how she left it all behind after getting too personally involved with the families. She told Joe about the killer and how he had taunted the investigators at the last with his careless disposal of the young women’s frozen hearts. Owning her own mistakes even though she wasn’t the lead investigator, she accepted resp
onsibility for letting the killer get away.

  “Now,” she said, “I believe he’s back. Only his M.O., or modus operandi, has changed to a more savage display of contempt for human life.”

  He likes what he does, she thought, not sharing the revelation with Joe. “Maybe we can use this knowledge to our advantage: look for cases since eight years ago--unsolved attacks on women in the Madison area, or on the route from Chicago to Madison.” She made a mental note to get with Alice back at the office.

  Joe sat quietly, not asking questions, even though Maude could tell he wanted to know plenty. She saw his facial muscles tighten as she told about the men in suits in Chicago who pulled all her notes from the investigation, and locked both her and her new partner out of the loop. Maude took a breath and then talked about the box that was delivered to her house and what that meant. She told him her theory that the Chicago serial killer had pulled her in—that it wasn’t an accident she was involved. Joe nodded, agreeing.

  “So, Joe, what do you want to do? Give it up? Take care of the rest of our workload, and let them have this?” Maude needed to know his feelings, needed to understand what to expect from this man who would become closer than a brother, covering her in the tough spots.

  “Or, do you want to find the murdering scum that did this, before he does it again?” Maude continued.

  “Do you think he will, Maude?” Joe asked “Do it again?”

  “Yeah,” she said, “I’d bet on it.”

  “Then let’s you and me stop him.” The sincerity in his voice was all she needed to hear.

  Work went on in other areas, and she knew they had an appointment with Betty Ann Davis at two o’clock, also it was near lunchtime. Going to the morgue always made Maude hungry afterward. She supposed it was some deep psychological need for reassurance that she was still alive, even in a roomful of death.

  A hamburger stand on Fifth Street catered to cops, the fry-cooks always made sure they got their food quickly, before duty called them away. The food was good, and after enjoying her meal, Maude took her soda, intending to put Joe behind the wheel.

  “You’re up,” she told him, rattling off the address as she pitched the key and stretched her long legs in the passenger seat. She had already filled him in on the details of the old man’s trip to the roof and subsequent death. “We’re seeing the sister.”

  The street where Betty Ann Davis lived was in a low rent neighborhood. Government housing was mixed in with old, run-down rental property, appealing to people on fixed incomes paid by the federal government.

  When they rolled into the driveway kids scattered off the street. Fear of the cops was evident in the way they grabbed their bicycles and headed anywhere but there. Kids did that in some places, more especially in low-rent neighborhoods. They figured nothing a cop had to say to them would be beneficial. They were usually right.

  The lawn was lush, heavy green grass and weeds, badly in need of mowing grew high against broken sidewalks. Maude got out of the car and walked to the front door. She climbed the five steps to the landing with Joe right behind her. At the last minute, she sidled away and put Joe in the front. Shrugging, he flipped the door knocker and gave her a questioning side-glance. After a couple more knocks, they heard door locks and chains moving on the inside. Betty Ann Davis was prepared against intruders.

  When the door opened, the first thing they saw was a large, red, motorized wheelchair. Operating the speed and direction control of the unit was a white-haired woman of about seventy-five. She appeared to have been crying, for her eyes were swollen and red.

  “Yes?” The driver said to Joe. “What do you want?”

  “Police, ma’am,” he answered, showing her his identification. “We need to talk to you. We called this morning.”

  “Oh yes,” she said, sniffling. “About Earl, my brother.” Tears gathered and fell in abundance, wetting her face and neck as she talked.

  “I’m sorry ma’am,” Joe commiserated in his nicest voice and introduced himself and Maude. “We’re trying to find out what happened to him,” he said after the formalities. “May we come in?” he asked.

  The door opening widened as the woman moved the scooter back and asked the two investigators inside.

  “Come in,” she said, “it’s just so hard to believe that he’s gone.” Her sniffling continued as she allowed them to enter.

  “We’ll give you a minute,” Maude said. “Meanwhile, do you mind if I use your ladies room?”

  “No,” Betty Ann said, pointing to the left. “I don’t mind. It’s down the hall.”

  Maude had decided to let Joe’s charms work their magic on Betty Ann and give her time to relax. Something about the woman’s tears bothered her. When the first officer on the scene wrote his report, he commented on the matter of fact manner in which the victim’s sister told of finding her brother in the front yard, dead, with the crowbar in his back. Now she was overcome with tears. Of course, it could have been the shock that made her appear unemotional to the officer, or it could be something else. Maude hoped Joe could gain the woman’s trust with his soft green eyes and sweet smile.

  The bathroom was large, designed to accommodate the motorized chair. A shower lift was attached to a cable in the ceiling, its purpose obvious to Maude who had dealt with invalids in the past. She opened the medicine cabinet and stared into it, not knowing what she might find, maybe a bottle of ibuprofen. Her knees were starting to give her fits after climbing the steep house stairs. Muscle stiffness had begun across and under the kneecaps, a harbinger of greater pain to come. Maybe she could borrow some of the over-the-counter meds. Better not, she thought, passing it by.

  Three bottles of a well-known pain medicine prescribed for Earl Davis were in the forefront of the cabinet. Maude wondered why three bottles, because all of them were nearly full. In the back of the cabinet were several bottles of generic anti-depressants, and they all appeared to contain a large supply of pills. That must be the medicine Betty Ann had spoken about, the ones her brother refused to take.

  Maude returned to the room to hear her partner speaking softly to Betty Ann. She sat on the chair across the room from them, hoping to distance herself until the last minute, giving Joe enough time to break through the woman’s facade. Maude believed it to be false: the excessive grief, the tears timed to the knock on the door. Betty Ann was quite the actress, or so Maude thought. Not to say the woman wasn’t upset. Maude also believed she could be trying to misdirect their efforts.

  Joe was about to ask Betty Ann a question when Maude interrupted with a question of her own.

  “Betty Ann, who is the man that came to see you the day Earl died; the one who wore the red, neck bandana?”

  Betty Ann stared at Maude, shocked by the question. “Why, what do you mean?”

  “I’m talking about your man-friend, your gentleman caller, the guy who helps you in and out of the shower.”

  “I don’t know what you’re saying,” the suspect replied, looking at Joe, silently begging for his help.

  “Yes, you do know, Betty Ann,” Maude insisted. “On the night your brother died, someone was here, someone who heard you arguing with Earl, someone who saw your brother threatening you. That man tried to protect you. I need for you to tell me what happened--the truth, dear.”

  Betty Ann sat straighter in her motorized chair. The tears stopped as her expression changed from sadness to despair.

  “My brother was raging without his medications. He said he wouldn’t take the medicine from the doctor because it made him feel numb. Earl wanted to feel alive. He blamed me for his situation, and believed in his deranged mental state that I was trying to poison him.

  “The night he died he was worse than usual, I tried to talk to him, to calm him, but nothing helped. My friend is a man I’ve known for many years. His name is Willy Johnson, and he is homeless, so he stays in one of the parks. He comes to see me every day, to help me with my shower, and some other things.” At that point Betty Ann lower
ed her eyes and blushed. Maude had no difficulty figuring out what the other things were.

  “As Earl’s attitude worsened, he got meaner. He ran to my van and searched until he found the crowbar under the spare tire. I was scared, because he started waving it and making threats. He said he was going to kill me because I was evil, and wanted to hurt him. He believed it, Officer Allen,” she continued dully, looking at Joe.

  “I don’t know why he went for the crowbar, who can understand what made him so crazy?” It was at this point that Maude interrupted again, wanting to give the woman her rightful dues. She quickly ran through the Miranda warning, making sure every legal path was cleared. Betty Ann shook her head, refusing the services of a lawyer, and continued with telling her story.

  “Willy, my friend, saw Earl with the crowbar and tried to take it away, but Earl was mad-strong, and fought Willy for it. I saw what was happening, and wheeled myself between them. Earl dropped the crowbar and came after me, wrapped his hands around my throat, and choked me. He was wild, his eyes bugged out. He was strong as an ox.

  “I thought I was dead. Everything was going black. Willy was desperate, wanting to save me. He picked up the crowbar by the long end and started swinging it at Earl, but he was afraid of hitting me. Finally he got behind Earl and swung as hard as he could, driving it into my brother’s back. The blood started coming out of Earl’s mouth and he let me go when he felt the crowbar stuck in his back, but it was like he didn’t feel any pain, just knew it was there and didn’t like it.

  “Willy was worried about me because I needed to breathe, but my throat was bruised, and I was gasping like a fish. I could feel my mouth opening and closing, but I wasn’t getting any air. Earl stumbled around and ran out the door, but it was dark outside and he fell off the porch steps on his head. Willy went out and tried to help him after he thought I was okay, but Earl crawled away and lay down on the grass. I finally got alright as you can see, but while I was trying to get my breath good, Earl was hurting real bad.