The Maude Rogers Murder Collection

by Linda L. Dunlap

  Maude nodded assent, scooting out of the passenger side of the vehicle. “You don’t suppose they’d be stupid enough to stick around, do you?”

  “I don’t know. Killers for hire aren’t always the brightest people around, but they are careful.”

  Maude chuckled in agreement, and checked her weapon, unsnapping the holster of the Glock as she and Jack began a stealthy walk toward the campgrounds where a brown pickup truck was parked. They began an approach toward the vehicle, keeping as much cover between them and the truck as possible. A brown tent was set up near the truck, its canvas faded in the evening light.

  “Hello, the tent, come out with your hands up!” Sheriff Jack’s voice boomed in the stillness.

  “Watch out Jack,” Maude whispered. “He’ll be armed if he’s our man.”

  Jack nodded, and then pointed for Maude to go to the opposite end of the truck, to try and circle around behind.

  “Come out with your hands up!” Jack repeated, easing himself toward the ground, beginning a slow crawl toward the old brown tent, cursing under his breath.

  Zing, the bullet came quickly from near the lake, the sound of the report large and loud. Again the gun sounded, and Jack returned fire, suddenly groaning as another bullet found its mark in his shoulder. Jack threw himself flat and rolled back toward the stranger’s truck, his gun on the ground behind him.

  Maude heard the groan and began firing toward the lake at the unseen shooter. “Jack, are you okay ? Are you hurt ?” she whispered. “Can you get back to the truck?”

  “I’ll make it. Try to stay out of his way.”

  “I’ll keep him busy till you get back.” Maude said, going low and running for the back of the brown pickup.

  “Now go,” she said, beginning to fire at the trees along the lake, the report from her gun the only sound in the night.

  The tent opening was facing the lake, and Maude figured that the shooter had heard them approaching, and ran for the cover of the scrawny trees in the half light of dusk. She leveled her shooting arm against the truck bed and tried to see if the shooter was on the bank near the water, but he had disappeared in the evening’s gloom. Keeping as much cover as possible, she went low to the ground and picked up Jack’s gun before going see how badly he was wounded.

  “Psst. I’m over here,” Jack whispered, his voice coming from the front right wheel of the truck.

  “Let’s get you inside, but first, I need to look at your shoulder,” Maude said, pulling Jack’s coat and shirt back. “Looks pretty deep, bleeding freely,” she told him. “You need a doctor. But let me find something to stop the bleeding.”

  “Look under the seat, there’s a first aid kit. Never been opened. May be something in there.”

  Maude noticed that Jack’s voice had lost volume, a sign he was weakening.

  “Hang on Jack. Stay with me, you can’t lose consciousness.”

  The first-aid kit had several pieces of gauze that Maude pulled out and stuffed in the hole in Jack’s shoulder, getting blood on her from her hands to her elbows.

  “Looks like I tried to kill you, got your blood on me. Now let’s get you in that truck.”

  Sheriff Jack was a tough man, having survived at least one conflict as a marine, and even though it had been several years since that part of his life, the toughness had hung on. He nodded to Maude, and using the strength in his left arm, pushed off from the ground and climbed into the driver’s seat.

  “Scoot on over, I am not riding with you Jack Fuller,” Maude stated.

  “Yes ma’am. I can do that.” Jack said, moving slowly across to the passenger seat.

  “But stay low. Our friend may be watching.”

  No sound came from Jack, and Maude was sure he was fading, but she also believed he was going to be fine with some doctoring. The major bleeding had stopped, but the gauze was wet with red.

  “We have to get to a doctor, so my best chance to do that is to use your radio.”

  She picked up the transmitter and called in to the deputy working the night shift.

  “This is Maude Rogers, and I’m bringing Sheriff Jack Fuller in, wounded and needing a doctor. I need directions to the hospital from Jackson Park out near Edwards Bay.”

  “Yes ma’am, Miss Rogers. Get back on the highway and turn left. Go about five miles, then turn left again. You’ll see the hospital sign. How is he?”

  “He’s doing fine, just fading on me. Bullet in the right shoulder. Think you can call the hospital, and then get a man or two out to the park and see what’s going on with that brown truck? If the shooter is still there, I’d be surprised, but collect any casings you might find.”

  “Yes ma’am, I’ll call the Highway Patrol. They’ll get someone out there. I will meet you at the hospital. Name is Ray Black, Deputy.”

  “Alright, Deputy Ray Black, I’ll see you there,” Maude replied.

  The hospital was new, with glass doors that swung open from the alert of a motion sensor, and lots of bright lights and white walls demanding that those coming inside must know how sparklingly clean the establishment was kept. A wheelchair was parked beside the door, thanks to Deputy Black, and a nurse’s aide was standing at the ready, waiting to wheel Jack inside. Maude drove up to the door and the hospital staff took over and lifted him from the passenger seat. As they wheeled him inside, she hurriedly parked the truck in the emergency parking lot and made her way inside, looking the part of a victim of violence.

  The person approaching her had that expression on her face that said, “I have it under control, just come with me.” Maude had no time for such nonsense. She had to find out about Jack so she could get on with locating the shooter with the brown truck.

  “There’s nothing wrong with me, just have a little blood on my arms. Tell me where you took my friend Jack Fuller.”

  “Down the hall, ma’am. The doctors are looking him over.”

  Maude went into the ladies room and washed up. She removed the blood from her arms and straightened her disheveled hair. Dampening her curls, she tried to put order to them, but quit after deciding her effort was wasted.

  “I guess I’m stuck with this witches’ cap. At least I could put some lipstick on. Brighten my face a little,” she said, wishing she had such a thing in her pocket. “It will just have to do,” she said to herself. After a moment, she returned to the waiting area where the nurses had left her. “Excuse me,” Maude said to one of them. “Take me to the room where they have Jack waiting. I want to see for myself how he is doing.”

  The doctors finally took Jack into the operating room and removed the bullet from his shoulder. Maude told them to save it because it would be needed to find out who shot her friend. They put some stitches in his shoulder, covered it with gauze and bandages, and put him to bed with the instructions to stay still.

  “I think you might have a little difficulty keeping that man down,” she said to one of the emergency room doctors.

  “Normally I would agree with you, and it wouldn’t matter as much, but that bullet tore the Subclavian artery. We repaired it, but it’s going to take a while healing. Is he right or left handed?” the doctor asked.

  “Well,” Maude thought about it and remembered the Glock .9mm had been in his right hand at the park. “I remember him using his right hand more than the other one, but I don’t know him very well, so I can’t say for sure.”

  “He will want to use his arm,” the doctor said, “And if he does, he could break that artery open and bleed to death internally. He must stay immobile for the first three days after surgery then he’ll have a sling to carry his arm for a week.”

  “That does open up a keg of worms.” Maude said thoughtfully. “We’re in the middle of a murder case.”

  “If he goes back to work too soon, he will probably cause it to open up again.” The doctor said, leaving the room.

  “Deputy Black, will you call me when Sheriff Jack wakes up?” she asked. “I need food, and the hospital cafeteria is closed. I’ll
write down the number of my cell phone for you.”

  The deputy nodded and sat back in the chair at the door of Jack’s room.

  The nearest place to buy fast food was a Taco Mucho about a block from the hospital. Maude made her way there in Jack’s pickup, and ordered food to go. She went back to the hospital and sat in the waiting room, getting ready to eat, A kid about five years old who had been left by his mom when she went to the desk stared hungrily at Maude’s tacos.

  “What are you looking at? Are you hungry?” she asked the kid. He was small, with buzz-cut, black hair, and wore little, round eyeglasses, From his chubby legs she could tell he was well-fed.

  “Yes.” The kid told her. “I’m starving.”

  “Well go ask your mama if you can have a taco,” Maude said, reluctantly, hating to give up her favorite food.

  The kid left and was gone for a minute, then returned with a big smile on his face. “My mama said I can.”

  “Well, here” she said grumbling, handing over one of her two food items. “Don’t forget to say thank you.”

  The kid snatched the taco, and ran back to his mama, the idea of thanking anyone for food a foreign thought. In a minute, prodded by his mother, the kid came back and said, “Thank You.”

  “Where’s your daddy?” Maude asked the boy, between bites. “Is he in the hospital?”

  “Yes. He shot his leg,” the boy answered.

  “He shot his leg?” she asked, her radar going off. “Uh-huh,” he answered. “He was cleaning his gun cause he went hunting.”

  “Where’s your mama?” Maude asked, even though she believed the dark-haired woman at the desk was his mother.

  “That’s her,” he said, pointing to the woman at the desk.

  “Say, are you a mom or a dad?” the boy asked Maude, looking her over with undisguised curiosity.

  “Neither, I don’t have kids. If I did, I would be their mom.”

  The woman at the desk had finished the paperwork for insurance and was waiting for the clerk to bring her copies. She was a tall woman, dark-skinned, with sharp brown eyes, medium length permed hair, and a thin-lipped smile. Maude noticed immediately that the woman was trying to avoid any conversation with her.

  “Excuse me, but I wonder if I could ask you a few questions about your husband’s injury?” Maude asked politely, but firmly, showing her badge.

  “I don’t know anything,” the boy’s mother replied quickly.

  “Your husband is here in surgery, right?”

  “Well…yes. Why do you want to know?”

  “I have a friend who also had surgery a short time ago. He was shot by some polecat down by the lake. I need to know if your husband knew anything about that shooting.”

  The woman bristled. “My husband had an accident cleaning his gun. I resent your implication that he had anything to do with your friend’s injury.”

  “My apologies Mrs.…?

  “Spillar, Corrine Spillar.”

  “My apologies Mrs. Spillar, but I wasn’t accusing your husband of anything. I thought maybe he was down at the lake and had seen something going on around sunset. Does your husband have a pickup?”

  “Yes he does. And I’m sorry I overreacted. He has a brown Ford 150, and that is what he drives everywhere.”

  “Do you know if he was near the lake tonight?”

  “Yes, I think he might have been.” The Spillar woman had eased up when Maude explained that she wasn’t about to go arrest her husband.”

  “Do you know which part he goes to when he’s out? Does he fish, or is he hunting for something. I am trying to think why he would be out at that time of the evening with a loaded gun. I can’t imagine him cleaning his gun outside. Any ideas?”

  Corrine closed down again, realizing she might have already put her foot in her mouth. “I have to go, I’m sorry. If you have any more questions, talk to my husband.” With that said the woman picked up her purse and yelled, “Brian, come here. We’re leaving.” She grabbed the boy by his hand and headed out the door. The little guy turned and waved at Maude then stuck out his tongue as a farewell gesture.

  Maude leaned over the desk and asked the receptionist about Carl Spillar’s condition. She was quickly told that unless she was family, all information was privileged. Maude pulled her badge and rephrased the question.

  “Miss Rogers,” the clerk said, “I’m sorry, but I have to follow the rules. My boss is in his office if you want to talk to him.”

  “Yes, I would like that, point me the way.”

  She ran her request by the night manager of the hospital, and after clearing the way, entered the room where Carl Spillar lay recovering from surgery. He appeared to be alert and was watching a television program.

  “Mr. Spillar? Wonder if I might ask you a few questions about your gunshot wound?”

  “Who are you? Get the hell out of my room.”

  “Maude Rogers, homicide detective, working with Sheriff Jack Fuller on a murder case. No need for profanity.”

  “Like I said, get the hell out of my room. You want to talk to me, get a warrant and arrest me. You cops are all the same. Genuine pieces of crap.”

  Maude had listened to enough, but she knew there wasn’t probable cause to arrest the man.

  “Mr. Spillar, I told you there was no need for profanity. You have every right to object to questioning if I’m not going to arrest you. I will leave you to your suffering.” With that, Maude left the room, fuming, but pleased with herself that she didn’t lose her temper.

  Wonder how long this new improved me is going to last? I would have enjoyed using pliers to pull out all the hair on his backside, one at a time. Sure acts like he has something to hide or he’s had some bad run-ins with law enforcement. Either way, I mean to follow up on it. Just think, Mr. Spillar, you could have been rid of me really fast, with a little courtesy. Now I am obliged to look into your life.

  The corridor was long, the tiles on the floor brightly shined, wax-like, reflecting the stainless steel fixtures on the doors. Maude admired the newness of the large building meant to serve the entire county and outbound community. She stopped in-stride, and spoke to one of the nurses assigned to the floor. Pulling her shield, she inserted authority in her next request.

  “My name is Maude Rogers, a homicide detective working with Sheriff Jack Fuller on a recent case. I must talk to the doctor who performed the surgery on Mr. Spillar.”

  “That would be Doctor Jeffries, but he’s making rounds right now,” the nurse replied.

  “Are you Mr. Spillar’s nurse today?” Maude asked.

  “Yes,” she replied. “I am for the next few hours.”

  “Did you notice anyone visiting Mr. Spillar tonight after he had surgery?” Might as well shoot for the big one, Maude thought.

  “I can’t answer that. I’m sorry, Detective, hospital rules.”

  “Okay,” Maude grunted. “Will I find Dr. Jeffries on this floor, if not, tell me where might he be about this time.”

  “He should still be here. Try the third floor. And I really am sorry that I couldn’t help you Detective Rogers,” the nurse said apologetically.

  The nurse was contrite. She wished she could be a part of the action involving a possibly notorious patient. Her hours were usually spent taking people to the bathroom, checking blood pressure, and adjusting pillows. Maude thanked her. and started to the elevator bank, headed to the third floor.

  “Wait just a minute, Detective,” the nurse whispered. “I shouldn’t be telling you this, but I saw a man in the lobby just a little while ago before I started work for the night. He was looking for that man, Mr. Spillar. I don’t know where he went after that.”

  “Thank you, Nurse. Remember anything about him?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do. What got my attention to begin with was his attitude. He wanted to know about the patient’s condition, and got belligerent with the admissions people when they refused to give him any information. He was about thirty or thirty-five, b
ald, tall, big, wide shoulders, dark skinned, like he works outside. I went on about my business after he settled down and left the building. Does that help any?”

  “I don’t know yet, Nurse…James, I see your name tag. I can’t say what will help, but I appreciate the information.” Maude nodded, and then proceeded upstairs, hoping to find the doctor who had performed the surgery.

  When the elevator stopped, Maude stepped outside and stood quietly for a minute before extracting her note book from the inside pocket of her jacket. She then wrote down the latest description from Nurse James and added it to the other information concerning the murders on Edwards Bay. A recounting of the shooting in Jackson Park was recorded there also. Maude always made it a priority to get her field notes down before forgetting any of it.

  The rooms lining the corridor were broken up by interesting desk/counters where the nurses and doctors did the computer input of their own notes. Maude went to one of the men in blue scrubs and asked if he could direct her to Doctor Jeffries. The tech was busy on the computer, typing fast, his attention entirely on the job before him.

  “Excuse me,” she said, “But I asked if you know Doctor Jeffries location. That was not my stomach grumbling, but an actual person talking.”

  The tech continued his work and lifted one hand to wave Maude off in the ‘just a minute way’ that busy or arrogant people have, but she was up to her ears in being nice. Leaning over the desk, she put both hands on the computer screen and lifted it off and away, out of reach of the busy typist.

  “Hey, what do you think you’re doing?”

  “Trying to get your attention. I thought about knocking your ears together but the newer, gentler Maude Rogers is trying to stay away from such direct methods. Now, do you think you can tell me where Doctor Jeffries can be found, or do I need to get a good hold on those ears?”

  “Uh, yes ma’am,” the clerk answered. “He’s, uh, in room 310. Uh, can I have my computer back?”

  “Thank you for your help,” Maude replied. She removed her hands from the terminal, and walked from the desk, shaking her head. “I get em’, don’t I?” she muttered.