“Do I look like I need a staff?” she asked, staring into his eyes.
“I, uh, assumed, you know, that you would have some help,” he managed, his throat suddenly dry.
“What can I do for you, detective?” she asked, breathing softly near his ear. “I’m all yours.” The fingers of her left hand touched inside the collar of his shirt. Shining dark hair with hints of gold draped over her right eye as she tilted her face to him.
Joe had visions of Jessica Rabbit from the animated film standing before him. He was having some trouble concentrating.
“Could I sit down?” he asked, looking for a chair.
“Of course,” she said, leaning against him, “if you really want to.”
“Uh, yes, please,” he said, trying to regain composure as he gently removed her fingers from his neck, and fell into the hard chair.
This wasn’t supposed to be difficult. He was the one in charge.
“Okay, sit,” she said languidly, moving backward to the edge of the desk. The slick top of the workplace pressed into her shapely bottom, causing the short skirt to rise higher still, exposing tanned, slender thighs. Joe’s eyes were dragged downward to his nemesis’ hot-pink toenails, glaringly bright, shining through the openings in her sandals. He quickly looked at his notes, desperately hoping to break whatever spell she was casting over him. When he was married to Sheila, he’d loved her toes painted in bright colors. The memory kept trying to resurface, but he forced it down.
“Mrs. Avery, a few years ago, you were charged with two misdemeanors. How were you able to get around those and work in a public office?”
“This is a private office, detective. Oh, may I call you Joe?” she asked, the smile back.
“Sure, uh, yeah. No problem,” he said. “How well did you know Marlin Thompson?” he asked, forcing his eyes off the skirt that kept rising as she changed position.
“Not well, Joe,” she said, leaning toward him, the thin fabric of the blouse pressing tight against her breasts, revealing the shape of large nipples beneath.
He glanced at her face and saw the smile of a predator—there was no humor in it, only hunger. She had him on the run. How many times had he done the exact same thing to a woman he hoped to conquer?
“What does that mean, not well? Were you on speaking terms?”
“Yes,” she said, “but not socially. I am, after all, a married woman. Marlin took care of the business for us. He always knew his limitations. Do you know yours, Joe?” Her teeth were almost bared, ready for the kill. He could see it coming. Joe jumped from the chair and made his way to the door, excusing himself as he turned away.
“Thank you, Mrs. Avery, we may have more questions later.”
“Come back, Joe, when you have more time to stay,” she taunted, the gleam in her eyes warning him to stay away, or be consumed.
He went straight for the car, breathing hard as though he had run a marathon. “What the hell just happened?” He checked himself for missing body parts. “She’s a dangerous woman,” he thought aloud.
The Cop Shop was buzzing with visiting narcotics officers from MacArthur. Madison investigators had located a large meth lab, south of the city in a mobile home community, and most local officers had been pulled to help out. Maude was in her office, content to watch the melee through the glass windows. She imagined their excitement as they geared to make a bust, and wished them well, but years of experience had taught her to stay out of other sections’ business. They didn’t appreciate interference from the untrained. She lifted her eyes and watched as Joe came through the door. He appeared to be harried—an unusual expression for him. Waiting as he entered the office, Maude sat quietly, sipping old coffee and wondering how his morning had gone. She thought she would start with her own visit to Samuel Blevins and bring Joe up to date on her part of the investigation. During the tale, he seemed distracted.
“Your turn,” she said, finally. “How did your interview go with Mrs. Anna Avery?”
“Uh, fine,” he said, headed to the coffee pot. “I found her office. She works for the mayor’s campaign,” he said without looking into Maude’s eyes. “Doesn’t know the victim except for polite conversation.” He shifted his position from leg to another while standing against the coffee bar.
“Pretty, isn’t she?” Maude asked, cocking her head sideways, watching Joe’s expression.
“Yeah, she’s a looker,” he said distractedly.
“Okay, partner,” Maude said, “what gives? Something’s bothering you. What is it?”
“That woman is dangerous,” Joe said. “She killed him.”
“What? What makes you think she killed him?” Maude was stunned. Sure, she had wanted Joe to find out all she could about the Avery woman, but she hadn’t expected that.
“Not only did she kill him, she thinks she’s going to get away with it.”
“Sit down, Joe,” Maude said. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
“I can’t sit; I need to walk this off. She killed him, Maude. I looked in her eyes and knew she was playing with me like a cat does a mouse, just before biting its head off. When I mentioned the victim, I could tell she was laughing at me, daring me to prove she was lying about her involvement.”
“Ouch. I guess I was too involved with interviewing Wallace Avery to pick up too much about his wife,” Maude said. “I knew there was something too perfect about her. If you’re that convinced, there must be some evidence out there proving it.”
“Yeah, I’m sure,” Joe said, “She’s bad.”
Lunch was a trip to the hot dog stand responsible for many extra pounds on police officers and clerical help in downtown Madison. Joe liked sauerkraut on his, but Maude chose chili, cheese, and onions. She had lately missed her trips to the gym, but wasn’t worried about gaining weight yet. Without the nightly gin dinners, though, she thought there might be some wisdom to watching extra calories. Long-forgotten taste buds had surfaced from below her seared tongue. They ate standing, leaning against street poles, eyeing the neighborhood from a different angle. Across from the Cop Shop was a small park dedicated to the war veterans of the county. A faux-fountain stood in the middle of the park, surrounded by cement monuments to fallen heroes. None of Maude’s family was there, most of them having been law breakers or draft dodgers. Some were both.
Grace had always been proud of her children. Maude, being the eldest, had set an example for Leonard, as she moved from high school to college, then finally to steady jobs. Leonard had taken a different path, and started self-medicating for his emotional miseries. When their father left the family home, it was the last of a series of vacancies. The old man had been a negative influence on his children; he could always find chinks in their fragile armor, wounding them in the worst ways possible. It had been a game with him, to break them and show his superiority. Of course, the opposite occurred: he made himself look small and distasteful. Still, Maude had survived, always returning to the high road, no matter how low she traveled. She credited Grace for her successes, for the strength to overcome adversity. She thought her mother should have a monument.
Lilly Ann, Leonard’s only child, was a straight arrow, possibly because she knew firsthand how quickly life could go to crap when people swayed from the law. When her father finally killed himself with drugs, she was ten years old and resentful. The loss was terrible, but she overcame her grief with some good advice from a therapist and her Aunt Maude. Also, the girl’s mother was stable and true, offering the flip side of poor parenthood, for all to see. Maude thought that day, as on many others, that monuments made of stone were no better than the memories people held dear.
Coming back to the present, she was forced to consider Joe’s recent eureka moment, when he discovered his belief in the guilt of Anna Avery. The question remained: why would she want to kill Marlin Thompson? Was she alone in the murder, or did her husband participate in killing the young man? Maude had a strong suspicion that Wallace Avery was not part and parcel with the mu
rder. No, he had been too close to violence already. A deeper look into Anna Avery’s past was called for.
“Let’s take a trip to Waco, Joe, Anna’s last known address before marrying Wallace Avery. Talk to some people at the PD. I’ll clear it with the captain. A day trip. You get to drive and I sleep. Sound good?”
“Sure, when?” His distraction fading, the thought of a road trip made Joe feel good. He liked driving, especially long trips. Good music on the radio made for a pleasant ride. Besides, finding evidence to shatter Anna Avery’s carefully crafted image would be ego-building, and, at the moment, he wouldn’t mind a little of that.
The afternoon was used for standard police work, which included report writing and labeling evidence. Maude used her small notebook to transcribe details from it to the computer documents to be shared with her captain. She made certain, as always, that the information was accurate without any personal opinions. Some areas covered officer responses to events. In those types of reports, she was allowed to use some discretion in describing what had happened.
Joe had stepped outside to speak to one of the officers about the drug enforcement bust. He sounded happy, and Maude wondered if Homicide was too much for the young man. God knew it could be confining. The fun events came from finding killers and proving they had done it. Human nature was often inclined to seek revenge for pain inflicted at an earlier time. A father might track the molester of his child then kill him. The end result was the child lost both innocence and a father. Sometimes the biblical version of justice was more appealing, an eye for an eye, without interference by a group of non-involved lawmakers.
She spoke to Captain Patterson and gave him the news that a trip to Waco was in the offing, unless he had other thoughts, and it was becoming clear they wouldn’t need to go to Woodsboro. She didn’t get into Joe’s gut-level responses to Anna Avery. Patterson wouldn’t like to hear them. Simply explaining they were following up on the background of the Avery couple was enough. Also the fact that it was a day trip helped convince him. She checked out more ammunition and a gas card, preparing for the early morning departure. There was no need to show up at the office; they could get an early start and call Patterson on the way. Being trusted got her a few privileges.
Alice was busy behind the computer, sending and receiving messages. She looked up with a smile when she saw Maude enter the room. As it happened, the inquiry on Marlin Thompson returned a picture of a young man in prison orange, his face bearded and head shaved, a far cry from the handsome clean-cut man shot down in the pawnshop. The name Marlin Thompson was an alias—his real name was Ronald Marshall from Detroit, Michigan. Marshall, a.k.a. Thompson, was part of an activist group in Michigan that protested against several factions. During a demonstration four years earlier, Marshall accidentally or intentionally (depending upon who was testifying about the incident) slammed a cop with a protest sign. The cop lost his right eye when the pointed stick on the sign rammed his face. Marshall was charged with felony assault, with injury, and spent three years in a Michigan prison. Married at the time, and living in Bradley, Wisconsin, Marshall soon found himself divorced and deserted. After his release from prison, he took the name of Marlin Thompson and returned home to Texas, legitimizing his freedom and ability to work with phony identification papers.
Maude thanked Alice for the information then went into the computer room to see a geek named Harold, who worked for IT. Maude had done him a favor once by visiting his mother, a widow being hassled by a con man. The mother didn’t know what to do about, or how to get rid of, the ex-boyfriend who had already taken her for a long, expensive ride. After a brief, no-nonsense conversation with the con artist, Maude convinced him it was in his best interest to give the woman’s money back, and disappear from the area, or be prepared for a short ride to the police station. She wasn’t bluffing, and he knew it. Harold had been grateful ever since.
She approached the young man and shook his hand before asking for help.
“Harold, how you doing?”
“I’m okay, Miss Rogers; that is, Detective Rogers. Can I help you with something?”
“Yeah, I need some intel on a woman named Anna Avery, DOB 12-28-1984.” She gave him all the details, including the possible connection in Detroit. “Find out about divorce records under the name Marshall. I’ll be in the office. Tell your mother hello.”
“Yes, ma’am, I will. She’ll be happy to know you mentioned her.”
She took a trip by the ladies room and stared at herself in the mirror during hand-washing. It was time for a new box color for her hair; the last one had begun fading, and her natural color was growing in. Rat-gray was her best description when someone asked what was under the box, a mixture of natural dark blonde and gray from aging. Not a pretty sight, in her opinion. Lilly Ann had suggested lightly that Maude should take a trip to a salon and spend some money on her hair. Looking in the mirror, those words came back, and she thought about them. “Hell, why not?” she said. “Looks bad enough it got me to cussing.”
Before she left the Cop Shop, Harold dropped off some paperwork, the contents though not surprising, were part of the paper trail of loose ends needed to make a case.
Along the road toward her house there was a salon where once in a while she stopped in for a haircut. They took walk-ins, so she thought she’d chance it. Patterson was in his office when she called to tell him she was leaving early.
“Going to the salon. Just so you know where I’ll be.”
“Going where?” Patterson asked, choking on a cookie his wife had baked. “I thought I heard you say you were going to the salon.”
“Yeah, you heard right,” she said. “I’m leaving a little early. Comp time.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that,” he said quickly. “You go right ahead.” He could hardly wait to mention to the rest of the guys that Maude Rogers was going to a salon. My Lord, he thought, stranger things have probably happened, but I swear I haven’t heard of them.
“What? You don’t think I go to beauty salons?” she grumbled.
“Oh, sure, sure. Of course you do. Go right ahead. See you Wednesday.” Patterson was afraid to break the spell. Maude was acting almost like a woman instead of a cop.
Joe was still jawing with the guys because the afternoon had been slow. No crimes reported. They’d probably wait till night, as they usually did.
“Joe, leaving early. Be ready by six for Waco.”
“Okay, partner,” he said. “Going home?”
“No, some personal business.” She didn’t like everybody knowing her movements.
“Anything I can do to help?” he asked, back to being his old self.
“No, see you in the morning. Early. Night, Joe. Night, guys.” She began walking to her car just as James Patterson entered the room where the men were gathered. She heard the word “salon” said a few times and shook her head at the foolishness of men.
The young woman with hair standing up like a row of paintbrushes wet with orange paint asked if she could help. Maude looked at her doubtfully and said she didn’t think so. Another older, more conservative woman appeared quickly and proceeded to seat Maude while they talked. After explaining what she didn’t want—no orange or any other hair color not God-given—the final product she received was a blunt cut with streaks of golden blonde throughout the rest, blending the colors together. Definitely pleased with the result, Maude smiled, paid the woman, and left a generous tip. On her way out the door, she felt considerably more attractive than when she had arrived.
She couldn’t stop looking; the mirror drew her eyes to the reflection of the woman with nice hair. Silently thanking Lilly Ann for the advice, Maude arrived home, hoping there were no more ghoulish pranks in store. She couldn’t put the activity of the jackhammer in any other category, even though there had been no intention of humor by the mastermind that planned it. The house was quiet, with nothing amiss.
“Good,” she said to the walls. “I am not in the mood for intrigue.
” Hunger was first on her agenda. She had learned the HALT acronym. Hungry, angry, lonely, and tired. All were occasions when people broke their sobriety. Crap, she thought, I have them all, most of the time. Maybe not the hungry one, but certainly the others.
Her dinner was earlier than usual because of the early bedtime she’d planned. A frozen dinner from Boston Market offered a good, tasty meal for a decent price. Cleanup was minimal, and the last cigarette of the day quickly followed the third. Her nicotine intake being doubled left a satisfied feeling. She went to bed sleepy but took one of the pills as backup. Avoiding the tossing and turning of a restless night was premium on her wish-list. Regardless of all the preparation to avoid sleeplessness, Maude stayed awake for a long time. Visions of Anna Avery with a machete in hand ran across her consciousness. Finally she slept in a quiet house.
Rising early before the sun showed itself, Maude examined her breasts for lumps, as she tried to do every Tuesday while showering. After assuring herself that nothing new had grown in a week, she dressed and attended to the new hairstyle as the woman at the salon had shown her. She was amazed at the way a few added blonde streaks improved her looks. “Being old doesn’t have to mean being a dragged-down, washed-out harpy.” That was what the stylist had said. A white shirt, her gold cross, and the brown blazer with gold flecks brought out the new color, and she liked the look. After choosing a pair of sharply creased brown slacks and dark brown Tony Lamas to finish the look, Maude touched lipstick to her mouth, poured the rest of her coffee into a travel mug, and looked for the paperwork from Harold. It was all there. She eased herself into the city car and began the drive to Joe’s apartment. Joe took over the wheel when she arrived, then pulled into Taco Cabana’s drive-through to order food to go. The restaurant was a favorite. Afterward, it was on the road to Waco, three hours away.
“What do you mean, he came by and asked questions?” Wallace Avery asked of his wife. “Why are they interested in you?”
The Maude Rogers Murder Collection Page 67
