The Maude Rogers Murder Collection

by Linda L. Dunlap

  “Put your hands up,” Joe said. “Up higher, now hold onto that strap above the window and don’t move.”

  “Are you a cop?” Ginger asked, confused.

  “That’s right. Joe Allen, Homicide. You’re under arrest,” he said, removing the key from the ignition. He leaned to the side and put his cuffs on the woman’s hands, attaching them through the grab strap.

  “Jeez. We thought you was a black-mailer,” she said, adding, “My God you stink, and you’re getting cow poop all over my truck.”

  When Joe broke away to capture the person in the vehicle, Maude was left to find the shooter. She didn’t mind the detail, she was patient and he probably wasn’t. She watched the tall grass, looking for movement.

  He tried to back away to get back to Ginger. Harry had seen Joe headed for the truck and hoped to get to him first, but the grass off to the right where the man had come from was moving, hiding someone.

  Harry repositioned himself, prepared to jump and start running toward the truck, hoping to waylay the man and then run the other figure down with the big SUV. Just as Harry rose to run, he saw a tall, skinny woman out of the corner of his eye, both her hands leveling a gun, her body in a cop-stance that experience had taught him to recognize.

  “Put the gun down,” Maude yelled across the distance. “I will blow you all the way back to Houston. Put it down, Harry.”

  The use of his name did it. He couldn’t go to prison--they’d hook him up. He had done too much. Better this way. His movement was calculated, slow, a turning and lifting, index finger steady, finding the trigger on the powerful .45 caliber gun.

  “Oh hell, I don’t think so,” Harry said, the last word leaving his lips as the top of his head exploded.

  Across the field, the vehicle was still, its windows dark. A picture of a small red snake was stuck to the back window. Maude had faith in Joe’s ability to take care of himself. She waited for a minute till the door opened on the passenger side and he stepped out, moving her way.

  “Are you all right, partner?” he asked.

  She sighed. “I tried to stop him, to get him to give it up, but he wouldn’t. I guess he chose the best way for him to die, but I wish he hadn’t.”

  “The woman is in the vehicle. As I was cuffing her, I noticed Ernest coming up close behind you. If you hadn’t got Harry, Ernest would have.”

  “That’s comforting to know. Ernest is a good man to have on your team.”

  The woman, Ginger, was crying, leaning her head against the window. Joe hated to hear any woman cry, even one that tried to run him over with a truck.

  “We’ll get you to jail here in a little while. Maybe you can get in touch with a lawyer.”

  “Lot of good that will do. I got no money.”

  “The court will appoint a lawyer for you. In the meantime, let me advise you of your rights.”

  “I know ‘em. You don’t have to tell me, handsome. What’s a good-looking guy like you doing in a cop’s job? You ought to be an escort, pulling in the big bucks.”

  Joe glanced at Maude to see if she had overheard the exchange, hoping against hope, that she hadn’t, but knowing instinctively he would hear about it later. Some things were so good you savored them for a while.

  Jack arrived in his vehicle, pleased to see that none of the officers were hurt. He approached Ginger and stared at her for a minute.

  “How did you get mixed up with these guys?” he asked her.

  “I needed money,” she said, shrugging her shoulders. “They offered.”

  The emergency vehicle arrived and carried the body of Harry Charles to the morgue, and a tow-truck attached a winch to the black SUV. The lab crew came and looked the scene over, took some notes, and nodded as they left the area. Just another day in the life of a crime scene technician.

  Chapter 23

  The trip back to the motel was quiet, with Maude thinking about the killers and the woman. Ginger surprised her with her no feeling of guilt or empathy for the two victims. She was inured to the violence. It wasn’t her first time to be part of a killing spree. Jack had assured Maude that he would get the story out of her. He and his deputies would take over. She reminded him that he should take it easy.

  The shooting had to be analyzed by Madison’s internal affairs since Maude’s license was carried by the police department. It was time to go home anyway, at least for a while, until they were needed to testify for the prosecution.

  The next morning, after a speedy inquest into the death of Harry Charles, Maude handed over case notes to Sheriff Jack, keeping a copy for herself. She called the Child Protective Services office to ask about the Spillar boy and was told that his grandmother took him home with her. The case worker said that home with the grandmother was not the best place for the boy, but it was the best she could do at the time. At least it was better than foster care with strangers.

  Maude checked out of the motel and said goodbye to Jesus Jones. He seemed very sad to see her go. She thanked him for his help, and he seemed gratified that she took the time to speak to him.

  The next thing was to call Lieutenant James Patterson back home, and tell him they were on their way. He told her to come in the next day around noon. That would be soon enough. She was surprised, and thanked him. He told her that it was a formality, to turn her gun in to IAD, because she had been working for another agency, but they would get a copy of the Rhodes County inquest, and it shouldn’t take long to clear her. Maude was so tired that she really didn’t care. She also felt depressed because the job hadn’t been finished. The boss was still at large and would find others willing to do his bidding.

  It was business as usual back at home. Maude’s renter, an older man named David Gertz who had lost his wife a few years back was a dependable man on a fixed income. Maude allowed him to pay part of the monthly rent with work on the property, and on her house. During her time away from home, he had painted the porch, and cleaned the deck with a pressure washer. The fresh look inspired her to do some cleaning of her own, an activity that took her mind off the murders at Edwards Bay.

  The buzz at the Cop Shop was over a narcotics bust that had gone down in the elite part of Madison. A friend of the mayor had been busted for importing cocaine from a source that originated in South America. A dealer in the Harper district, the seamier part of town, had snitched on the guy. It wasn’t that the bust was really large, it was the way it was done that had everyone interested. Right now drug enforcement officers were looking for the importers, the ones who cut the deals with the growers and packers.

  A cruise ship based in Florida had a dozen employees connected to the drug trade and regularly bypassed ship security to get the cocaine on and off whatever cruise ship they were assigned to work. They said it was an on-going business and they usually delivered to a port in Houston. The dust on the street from that buy was worth maybe five hundred thousand, not enough to cause the narcotics squad much grief, but an acquaintance of the mayor incriminated her in the deal, saying she put up half the money for the shipment and the mayor provided the rest. It wasn’t looking good for city officials who had connections with either of the people named in the bust.

  Maude was grateful she didn’t work Narcotics. Homicide investigations were much more straight forward, and easier to manage than the narc cases that came in to the Cop Shop. She was sorry for the mayor, a newly elected young Yale graduate who thought she could learn politics at the ground level.

  For a medium-sized city, Madison had few notorious crimes. Once in a while something would come up to put them on the map. The Heartless Killer was probably the most famous of cases, a period in Maude’s life she was determined to keep on the shelf.

  Within two days, she had her papers cleared and made an appointment with the police psychiatrist, a necessity before going back to work. The session was brief, the doctor taking Maude back through the incident to help her contend with the guilt that might remain after the shooting. She regretted that the man had chosen the pa
th that he took, but it was self-defense from her position, and the what-ifs didn’t linger in her mind. Harry Charles had chosen his path, and forced it on Maude. If she felt anything, it was anger at the man for his decision.

  The weekend was near, and no news from Sheriff Jack had reached her. Maude wanted to call, but held back, letting the man do his job. It was Jack’s call, whatever happened. The murderers had been found, and were in custody or dead. Her job was done, because Jack was physically well enough to run his own business.

  Sitting on her freshly painted and cleaned porch during the evenings made Maude remember her mother and all the years she had lived in the same house. She missed Grace, missed seeing her in the yard, working in the bed of canna bulbs, getting ready for the new blooming. Being alone was lonely sometimes, especially at holidays. Christmas was coming, and Lilly Ann informed Joe that she would be there for a week, visiting her aunt. Maude knew it was Joe that had prompted the visit by her niece. The young woman felt close to Joe after the scare she had. He had been supportive during her fears, and had offered her his strength. Maude nodded to herself, approving of the two. Lilly Ann would find no finer man than Joe Allen.

  She called Bill on impulse Friday morning from home, and asked him to come down for the weekend. He seemed happy at the thought and said he would be there Saturday morning if she could pick him up from the airport. The rest of the day was easy, a few calls came into the Cop Shop, but most were looking for information.

  That night Maude went by the drug store and picked up the box color she used on her hair. The blonde highlights helped erase some of the tiredness from her face, and a long, hot soak, and facial pack helped her mood as much as her appearance.

  It was good to see Bill the next morning, unchanged in appearance from the first time she had seen him in Philadelphia. His hair was a little bit longer, but the mustache, wide mouth and strong chin were the same. Maude looked into Bill’s brown eyes and saw his delight in being there. She smiled at him, and her heart gave a little flutter when he smiled back. Funny, she thought, how that man made her feel like a girl again.

  Bill’s arms wrapped around her, squeezing her as if he never wanted to let her go, and she liked that. She liked most things about Bill, including the pure goodness that seeped from him, covering anything that physical aging had done. He was a treasure; that was for sure.

  “Bill, you hungry?” She asked when they finally got his bag loaded and into her pick-up. “I made one of the two dishes that I’m good at-beef tacos-and cold beer to wash them down with. Kind of early for lunch, but I missed breakfast. What do you say?” She asked, noticing the warmth of his hand on her right knee.

  “Yeah. I could eat. Unless you have a better idea,” he said.

  Maude gave him a look that he already knew was coming, but she surprised him with a grin. “We’ll see how you talk at the end of this trip. Old fellow like you might be crying calf-rope.”

  Bill almost fell over laughing with her response. “I might at that Maudie girl, I might at that.”

  The weekend went too fast for her, and before she knew it, they were sitting in her pick-up at the airport. Bill leaned over and kissed her on the cheek.

  “Something I want you to think about while I’m gone. There’s a company not too far from here, makes computer chips, parts. Friend of mine knows the CEO and put in a good word for me. They want to hire me to run their security. What would you think about me moving down to Texas? I have my time in with Philly PD, so retirement is an option. Don’t say anything now, wait, chew it over and tell me later, when you’ve had some time. I have a month or so to make my decision. You know why I would want to make the move, to be with you.”

  “What about your children, grandchildren?” she asked him.

  “They have their lives, and most of the time, they don’t need me around, cluttering up the place. Besides, my son is going to Argentina to work for three years. He’ll be leaving with his family sometime this year. Like I said, don’t say anything now. Let me know when you’ve thought about it some. Meanwhile, give me a kiss; I have to catch my plane.”

  After he stepped out of her truck and walked away, Maude was still dumbfounded with the turn of events that might bring Bill closer to her. She knew that there was no need to wait. She picked up her phone, and texted a message to him. “Get ready to move, Bill. I want you here.”

  Sunday night she was in a daze, thinking of Bill and missing him. She saw him in the chairs he had occupied, the spot on the floor where his boots had sat overnight. It would be good to have him close by. They would have to talk about that, the place he would live. Bill hadn’t said what city he would work in, just that it was nearby. She hoped it was really close.

  Monday morning came quickly, another week beginning, and still nothing from Jack about the Edwards Bay murder case, and any new information that might lead them to Leroy’s boss. No news must mean just that, there was nothing new to help with the arrest of the man who arranged the murders. They still had no idea of the motive behind the killing of Aaron Dennis and Jenny Marx.

  The phone in the office had a direct line to other agencies, a convenience that cost the city very little to maintain good relations with other cities and counties in Texas. Without thinking much about it, Maude called Jack and was rewarded by his voice on the phone.

  “Hello, Jack, she said. “Good to hear your voice.”

  “And yours as well, Maude. Got used to seeing your face while you were here.”

  “How is the case going, Jack?”

  “Well, Ginger sung her song, and the prosecutor listened, but detected no remorse for her actions. Seems the woman was more concerned with her own discomfort than she was the rape and murders that day. Ginger said she was forced to go along, but that girl, Janie, didn’t buy it. She told Ginger that at any time after the incident she could have come forward with the story. So Ginger has been charged with conspiracy to commit rape and murder and a few other things.”

  “I suspect she’ll do some time for those.” Maude said.

  “Well, let’s hope so.” Jack ventured. “Wouldn’t want her back on the streets too soon.”

  “Anything on the boss?”

  “Not much. My men went to Houston, to that box at the post office. Took that key of Leroy’s, there was a gun in there, but nothing else. He must have dumped the other gun. They took prints, checked with the Post Office, but the only information about the box pertained to Leroy. He rented it and paid once a month to keep it. I did find out a thing or two about that fellow who abducted your niece.”

  “What was that?”

  “We talked to someone who was out at the house, well, actually he was passing by and saw a man getting in a silver Mercedes. The reason he remembered was no one in that neighborhood can even spell that word, much less think of owning a car by that name.”

  “Did he write down the tag number?”

  “He did. We checked it, but it came back to a dead man in Flagstaff, Arizona, man named Borden, John Borden-been dead for about ten years. Looks like he’s up walking or someone helped himself to the name.”

  “I am fairly certain the man who was watching me at the motel was the same fellow who took Lilly Ann. His car was registered to a dead man in Flagstaff. So that makes it more than a suspicion.”

  “Think he’s connected to the Bay murders?” Jack asked.

  “Seems worrisome, but I can’t say.” Maude said, something bothering her about the whole business. I’ll think on it. Meanwhile, what will you do now?”

  “I guess we’ll hold off, see if Leroy comes across with something.”

  “Maybe you can ask him how the boss first got in touch with him. Or send an email pretending to be Leroy. See if he responds.”

  “That’s an idea, Maude. I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “Take care, Jack. I wouldn’t want to lose you. I don’t have that many friends. Say hello to your wife for me. Tell her she’s got a good man.”

  Jack snorted his
strange laugh and disconnected the phone.

  The weekend came again and nothing was on her agenda except two days off. She spoke to Joe and told him she was thinking of a quick, round trip to Flagstaff, Arizona. She said it was pleasure trip, but she might look into something that had come up. Joe seemed interested, but since she didn’t ask him to come along, he didn’t insist on going. Maude wished later he had asked to go, because she really liked his company.

  The flight was turbulent, the wind buffeted the airplane until she was feeling a little nauseated, but her health returned quickly when the plane settled down. It was gone completely when she deplaned at the airport. Grabbing a cab in Flagstaff took a while. There seemed to be more people waiting for cabs than was usual at a large airport. When she finally did get in the backseat of one, the driver told her that the president had been in town for a quick speech and the roads were backed up.

  Finally on their way, Maude asked the cabbie take her to a cemetery, which one she didn’t know, but maybe he could pick the oldest one first. She said she was hoping to find some information on a man who died a few years back. His name was John Borden and had lived in Flagstaff for many years. The cabbie had no idea about the man, but agreed to her request for it meant a long fare, and he was a little short that week. He told her that he would wait for her, not charging her full meter price.

  The cemetery was St. Peters Memorial, and the caretaker cottage was near the chapel. A man whose back was humped from years of poring over records came to the door and asked what she wanted. The records of St. Peters showed that there were hundreds of names on the rolls, some of them Bordens, and some of those John Borden, but the specificity of dying ten years earlier didn’t work. He then directed her to another, newer cemetery about three miles away, where he thought she might search.

  A younger man with overalls and a friendly smile was on the grounds of the other cemetery when she arrived. It had no religious affiliation, but was city-owned property, leased and cared for by a private organization. She asked the caretaker about John Borden, and he directed her to the two of different graves, each with the name Borden as surname. John Borden, age 75, had died almost ten years ago, the victim of a fall inside his home. His wife was also buried there, having died of a self-ingested dose of poison two days after her husband.