The Maude Rogers Murder Collection

by Linda L. Dunlap

  Sitting at the table afterwards, the detectives talked about the last two days, of Wojo and the impact he might have on the case. They wondered if the slaughter at the Spillar’s house had anything to do with Wojo’s arrest. Maude didn’t think so, but she waited to see how Joe would play it. She had found that his instincts were good, and she liked hearing what he had to say about the cases they were assigned or stuck with.

  “You know, Maude, I’m not too sure of Wojo’s connection to the murders. He’s a thief, no doubt, but I don’t really see him as a murderer. Do you?”

  “Hard to say, partner, but my gut tells me he’s not. We have to play this out until the lab reports come back, but I don’t think he did it. Spiller pretty well convinced me of that. But whoever killed this family were part of a ruthless bunch.”

  “I guess we’ll get some kind of validation soon,” Joe added. “You ready to go?”

  Chapter 15

  The day before his life went to the dogs, the big man leaned back with a longneck in his hand, a pleased smirk on his face. The screw-up was no longer a threat and he got what he had coming. The added insult, his prick wrapped around his hand as all screw-ups lived with their prick in their hand instead of taking care of business. It was too bad about the woman-I didn’t mean to kill her right off. Hoped to play with her a little while the screw-up watched, but it didn’t happen that way. She started screaming, telling the neighborhood the personal business in the house. Too bad, he thought, she had a nice body before I put holes in it.

  The Econoline van had been empty except for him. He had borrowed it from the boss because his connection was tight and allowed for a few privileges. Like that girl on the water, now that was a benny. Leroy Thomas was loyal to any boss who paid him good money. He did what he was told, never overstepping authority, but a smart man had to be able to make decisions based on experience.

  The screw-up’s death was one of those decisions. Getting rid of that liability had made him feel good. What a brilliant move; firing from the house into the house next door where a low-rider was parked. Within five minutes of the shot, the yard was filled with wanta-bees pulling their pistols; it took the pressure off, allowing him to finish his business and slip away. Smart moves like that were why the boss was paying him big money.

  Searching the house had done no good at all; there was nothing there. A thinking man would have kept something to use for leverage, but not the screw-up. He was too busy being an ass to think ahead.

  The day after the job it had been no dice finding Spillar at home. He was hiding out so Leroy had gone back to the park to find him. The stupid screw-up had left his pick-up parked in plain sight, and started shooting at him. What a loser, making him use his spare gun. He had shot at Spillar, and then at that prissy woman. About that time the sheriff started shooting too. The get-away van was tucked away, and he ran to it, staying away from the lawdogs, but bullets came his way, so he popped off a round or two, and then got the hell away from the park. He thought he had put a bullet in the screw-up, but he might shot the sheriff too.

  After parking the van in the lot of the motel, he had chosen to stay over instead of driving back to Houston just to pay his crew. He thought he would get some dinner, go to a bar, and bring some wild woman back with him. Have a little of his kind of fun. Tomorrow he had to be back home, get ready for his job the next day, working for the shipyard, the cover for his income. He had never worked for the boss before, but the money was good, real good, and the boss was about to discover Leroy’s talents for dealing with screw-ups and worthless trash. He had earned his reputation.

  The motel was just his style, nothing glitzy, just clean with a decent bed and a coffee pot in the room. He always parked his van close to the room for a quick get-away. The owner of the motel was some half-breed that looked him over good, and he got it right back. The fool thought he could scare him into a higher charge, he had another think coming.

  The lawdogs around town were just as stupid, couldn’t fight their way out of a paper bag. He’d heard that some out-of-towners were sticking around, helping out, but that didn’t worry him. They had no idea who he was or what he was capable of-they would certainly find out if they came after him.

  Jesus Jones was up and at his business of running a motel, keeping his eyes open for the police, especially Ms. Maude. He was fond of her. She didn’t treat him like an idiot; respected what he had to say. He wanted to talk with her when she came back. Something about his new resident he didn’t care for. Meanwhile, he would keep his eye on him.

  Jack Fuller sat alone in his house. Sarah was gone to the grocery store, stocking up on his favorite food-Captain Crunch. Ever since he was a kid and his daddy would buy a box of the sweet cereal, he had loved it. Usually took it in a sandwich bag for snacking-the best way. Sometimes he took his favorite bowl out of the cabinet, filled it up with cereal and milk, maybe more than once. That would be his meal, even if it was at night. Jack had never shared his obsession for Captain Crunch with anyone but Sarah, who always kept an extra box in the pantry. One time she told him it was something she did to show she loved him.

  Jack had a King Edward, rolling it around in his mouth, enjoying the taste, intending on firing it later. Right then he was soaking up the porch sunshine. It was cold out there, but Jack was getting back to feeling good. His shoulder was healed enough to get out of the house and get back to work, but the surgeon had warned him it was too soon to be active. He could sit at the desk, but that was all. Jack had grumbled a little, but the idea of sitting at the desk was so much appealing than it was to hang out at home, gaining weight from indulging in his favorite snack. Tomorrow he would return to his chair in the Sheriff’s Office.

  The puzzling part of the murders on the lake was the why of it. Why follow the victims out there, to chance getting cold and wet, when it would have been a simple thing to kill them in that cute little Mercedes, or sneak up on them in that round bed and blow them to bits? Now that was a question.

  Ernest is coming around later to bring the reports so he can catch up. Maude called about the Spillars, and told me she was going by the hospital later to see the kid. I hope she didn’t have any trouble getting in. I figure I could help out by calling Mary Ann Wilson, the lady advocate for kids who lost parents through violent crime.

  That gave Jack something to do for a few minutes, making him feel more useful. He sure missed working with Maude Rogers. Now that was one fine woman. Good-looking too, not that it mattered, but it was the truth. He had told Sarah all about Maude so she wouldn’t get any crazy ideas, but Sarah didn’t know Maude, and how concerned she was about doing the right thing. Might not be the proper thing, but it would always be the right thing when you put it up beside wrong. He was grateful that such a person was on his side, helping out with the crimes in his county.

  This Wojohoitz fellow, somehow he didn’t fit the profile for that kind of killer, but sometimes they could surprise you by turning a corner. Jack figured he’d wait and see about the evidence and what it told them.

  The cigar was finally lit, a treat the sheriff allowed himself once a day. He didn’t drink alcohol, but oh my, he did love his King Edward cigars. He was in the same position, smoking, when Sarah came home, loaded with groceries and a box of Captain Crunch.

  The hospital was busy as it always was that time of day with people getting off work and going to see their friends and loved ones. Maude stopped at the desk to ask the receptionists for the Spillar boy’s location. The man at the desk eyed his coworker, and relayed the information to her after seeing the instructions from Mary Ann Wilson.

  Maude wondered how she was received so quickly, and allowed access to the room, but not wanting to question good fortune, she kept quiet and followed the directions given. The boy was on the 2nd floor, not a serious problem, more of a general welfare overnight stay. She found the door closed and knocked lightly before entering. The sad-faced little guy was sitting up in bed by himself, staring at the television scree
n’s animated program. When he saw Maude he brightened considerably.

  “Hey Brian, I came by to give you something and I’ll bet you’ve been missing it.” She pulled the small car out of her pocket and passed it to the boy, and then waited to see if she had scored.

  “Thank you. This is my toy. Where did you get it?”

  “I just found it, and knew it was yours. I was looking for some other stuff while I was there, and your toy jumped up and said, “Take me to Brian.” She got a short giggle from the boy and was glad for her foolishness.

  “What did you look for?” the boy asked, rolling the wheels of the toy back and forth on his hands.”

  “Oh, just some papers your mom might have hidden before the bad man came.”

  For a minute Maude thought she might have gone too far. Brian mentally retreated for a minute, saying nothing. Then he changed, and a kind of light came to his eyes. “My pocket in my blue jeans. Find them.”

  She was confused, believing the child had another toy in his clothing and was asking for it. “You have a toy in your pocket and you want me to get it?”

  He nodded his head vigorously. “Get my blue jeans.”

  Looking in the drawers behind her that lined the lower cabinet took a minute but she soon found a plastic bag with the boy’s polo shirt and an old pair of blue jeans. “Here you go,” she said, hoping to give the child a little more pleasure.

  Brian dug through his front pocket and brought out a handful of folded paper. “Here, my mama said it was a secret. But you can have it.”

  Maude was dumbfounded. The folded papers were a map of a body of water and handwritten notes with a list of actions to be performed at certain times. The information was what she and the assassin had both been searching for at the house, something that would tie Carl Spillar to the Edwards Bay murders, and thus to the man who killed him.

  “Thank you Brian,” she whispered, over-come by the boy’s trust. “You’ve been a big help and I know your mama would approve.”

  She was careful to keep the papers away from her fingers by pulling on thin gloves from the pouch she kept on her belt.

  When the boy saw her with the gloves, he thought about it a while, then later asked, “Why you got gloves on?”

  “To keep your mama’s secret from getting messed up.”

  Brain sat for a moment and then said, “I heard the pizza man come to the door and Mama looked outside. She got scared and put me in with the groceries.” She said, “No noise, Brian. No noise. So I was real quiet. The pizza man made a lot of noise. I didn’t see him, but he scared me. Then I heard some loud stuff like balloon’s popping, and my mama crying. I started crying too, and then I remembered my mama said, “No noise.” I got real quiet. The pizza man opened the door, but I was real still so he didn’t see me, cause the sack of flour was there.”

  The little guy was crying, his nose running as he snuffed for his mama. Maude sat with him a bit and told him how his mama was a hero, and had saved his life because she loved him so much. He leaned into her and cried for a while longer until the nurse arrived with food.

  “You be good now, Brian. Maybe your grandma will be here soon to take you home,” Maude said. She hugged him one last time and left the child engrossed in the mashed potatoes and macaroni-and-cheese. Her kind of food

  Later, after leaving the hospital, she thought about the kind of life the child would have with his grandmother. She hoped it would be better than living in fear while a man tried to kill his parents. The boy would have been cut off from all socialization with other children during those days. His mama must have been afraid for all of them, hiding the one piece of evidence that might save them in Brian’s pocket.

  Maude called Joe and told him about the new information, giving him heads-up that she would be at the lab for a while, waiting for the fingerprint report to prove that Carl Spillar was involved in the murders on Edwards Bay. She didn’t have long to wait, for Spillar’s record showed a previous incarceration for assault. His prints were available immediately. The comparison by the technicians showed a flawless, index fingerprint on the inside picture of the lake. It was definitely Carl Spillar who had held the folded paper of instructions and studied it.

  The detectives felt vindicated after believing all along that the shooting of Sheriff Jack was done by Carl Spillar. The connecting of Spillar to the killing crew cinched Maude’s earlier belief. Now all that was needed was to find the men who had raped and stabbed the woman and then pulled the trigger on Aaron Dennis.

  Chapter 16

  The motel bed looked inviting after a very long day, and Maude plopped down on its surface, intending to rest just for a while. Two hours later she awoke feeling very rested, but needing a cigarette. She had missed her after-lunch unfiltered, and it was almost time for the dinner smoke. Yea, she thought. I can smoke two in succession.

  She had no idea where Joe was working, but she assumed he was with the deputies who worked for Jack Fuller. There were more cases than just the murder on Edwards Bay and the Spillar murders. Maude was content to stick with the big cases, letting the young men do the running for traffic and burglaries. The coffee pot was ready to plug into the wall because each time it was emptied she refilled it with water and fresh grounds. While it was brewing, she decided to use the phone and call a fast-food place that delivered.

  The room phone had to go through the operator, or Jesus Jones, an inconvenient necessity, but Maude was in no hurry. She was content to wait for a while, even though when the coffee was made, she would stop whatever was going on and get a cup.

  Jesus spoke cryptically, “Miss M, you remember that thing we talked about, you know with your truck?”

  “No, Jesus, I don’t remember. But I want to order food.”

  “Yes ma’am, I’m glad you remember. Yes, I can be right there and I’m glad you’re still interested.”

  “Jesus, are you crazy? You’re talking in circles. I called you to order food!”

  “Yes ma’am, I’m on my way.”

  A knock on the door came quickly and there stood Jesus Jones, looking over his shoulder. He ran into the room, breathing hard from his exertions. “Jesus,” she said, “You need to get more exercise.”

  “Miss Maude,” the man croaked, “I was trying to get out of the office and talk to you before he left.”

  “Before who left, Jesus? Has that young man with the blue Chevy been back?”

  “Uh no, not him. This is somebody else. Something is wrong about this man that checked in after lunch. He’s not right.”

  “Okay, Jesus. Tell me what you think, but I’m having my coffee while you do that, and I’m opening a window and smoking a cigarette, unless you think it’s safe to go outside?”

  Jones was very nervous. The big man, the new resident, was in the office looking at brochures of clubs in town and the manager had made up an excuse to leave the office. He told the customer to go ahead and look at all the leaflets, that he would be right back. An old lady had trouble with her truck, and he needed to look at it for her. That was why the phone call had seemed so strange.

  Maude nodded, agreeing with Jesus that sometimes police had to use subterfuge to get the job done.

  “Tell me what there is about this man that upsets you Jesus.”

  “Well, he’s sneaky-looking, got those eyes, you know, the kind that don’t have no sympathy for anyone, just pretends to care. And he’s so big, at least 6 feet 6 inches tall.”

  “Wait, he’s that big?” She asked. Jesus was drawing her interest fast.

  “Yes ma’am. He asked me about the police and what time they make their rounds in the parking lot.”

  Maude sat up straight, thinking once again how she never believed in coincidences. The man they were looking for was big, and would be interested in police schedules, trying to avoid any run-ins with them, possibly hiding out from some active warrants.

  “Jesus, you think you could point out whatever he drives, and keep him busy while I get his tag num
ber?”

  “Sure can, but he had to write it down on the registration paper this morning.”

  “I have a few bucks that says he wrote down a bogus number. You didn’t check it, did you?”

  “No. I don’t usually, I just expect people to write it down like they are supposed to do.”

  “Well, if he’s a bad guy, he’s depending on that attitude from you, so don’t challenge him. Okay?”

  “Uh, sure, I won’t say anything.”

  “Well, meanwhile, I’m going to go out there and write the numbers down. Since I have no reason to hold him, I can’t stop him from leaving, so we’ll have to work fast. What’s this guy’s name?”

  “Leroy Thomas, ma’am,” Jesus said, leaving the room, heading back to the motel office. “Oh yeah,” he said, turning back inside the door, “It’s that white Econoline van at the end of the parking lot, back there under the trees close to his room.”

  “Of course it would be,” she said, “If he’s trying to hide out in plain sight.”

  Maude forgot all about food, but she lit up her unfiltered, took a couple of drags off the burning tobacco, inhaled deeply then crushed the flame.

  “I’ll be back,” she told her ashtray.

  The window on the back side of the motel room had a loose screen, and with only a small amount of discomfort, Maude managed to scoot outside and land on her feet. She looked around, wondering what people thought about her breaking out of a motel. It was almost enough to make her chuckle. She stayed low at the windows and made it to the end. Headed toward the parking lot, she ducked behind cars and trucks, grateful that Jesus Jones had a large clientele who parked their vehicles every day.

  Maude was so intent on being stealthy, she didn’t see the round, gravel rocks under her boots, and skated on them as they rolled, causing her knees to buckle. She moved frantically, arms akimbo trying to keep from falling. A 4x4 pick-up was in her path, the fancy, vintage hood ornament sticking up waiting for her to grab onto it. She began toppling forward, the ground threatening to come up and meet her, but, at the last minute, she grabbed the ram’s head with great force and broke it off the fancy truck.