The Maude Rogers Murder Collection

by Linda L. Dunlap

  Last night’s dew had darkened the grass under the front porch’s bright light, reminding Maude of the need to mow the yard soon. Her driveway pad was made of concrete, and from the paved road, it led to a garage and storage area built much later than the house. The home place had been her grandmother’s, and then her mother’s, but now it belonged solely to Maude. She felt a momentary flash of loneliness for the two women she had loved with all her heart. Shaking off sentimentality, Maude opened the garage door and climbed into her assigned city vehicle, determined to keep her memories, both good and bad, at bay.

  No terrors greeted her when the door opened wide, no ghosts of past monsters floated above her head, nor did the smell of gunpowder from the rounds she had fired at fleeing felons linger in the captured air, yet Maude knew if it talked, the car could tell long tales of the chases with her at the wheel, in search of lawbreakers.

  “Joe, where are you?” she whispered. She put the key in the ignition and began backing, her mind full of questions. Do you need my help, or am I too late, no matter what I do? I hope I’m making too much of a phone call, and later it will all be rationally explained as I chew your ear for getting me out of bed this early. She wouldn’t have admitted it to anyone, but sometimes Maude felt motherly toward the young detective. That morning was one of those times.

  Streetlights shone on cars parked front to back along the pavement, and a full moon’s light produced potential threats in the shadows as she backed onto the street. Her rent house was unlit, the tenant, a young man who moved to Texas from California, finally at home after working all night in a diner not far from the county offices. Mace Sherman, the sheriff of Madison County, Texas, often frequented the diner, or so she had been told by her tenant. Everyone eats, she thought, accepting the close connection with the local law enforcement chief who despised her.

  She looked at her watch and noted the time as 2:45 A.M. before calling dispatch again. Her impatience gained nothing, because Merilee was no longer on duty. Another employee who had relieved her knew nothing about the phone trace request, but promised to find out, and call Maude back.

  Wishing for cigarette number two, but showing restraint, Maude drove to Joe’s apartment and circled the block. Finding nothing out of place, she stopped the car just as a dark-colored vehicle pulled away from the curb. The area was a busy one, and she was concentrating on her thoughts, even so, her cop’s brain registered the vehicle as a van of sorts, the type used for moving and deliveries. Later, she wanted to kick herself for not paying more attention to the driver and its passenger.

  Maude made a quick walk to the apartment door and continuously thumb-pushed the bell before knocking loudly several times. It was her way to move swiftly and noisily when a quick response was needed. The urge for a drink flitted across her mind, but she quickly tossed it aside with the same force she had once used to suck down cold shots of straight-up gin.

  “Open up Joe,” she yelled to the white, silent barrier. A quick kick did nothing to relieve her worry, for the door remained closed, guarding the darkness inside. Frustration was her worst enemy; it drove her to extremes.

  Maude’s former life had become unmanageable, and she had no control over the amounts of liquor her need had demanded, for each year, the worm in her gut required more and more gin to stay afloat. Admitting she had a problem had led her to a solution. “Don’t drink, make amends for past wrongs, and read the Big Book for alcoholics. Oh yeah, and go to meetings.”

  Joe understands, she thought. She felt gratitude that her sickness hadn’t sent him running. It would have served her right if he had refused to work with her anymore after some of the things she had done. All the more reason to find him, to help pay back some of the debt she owed him.

  Driving away from the apartment building without confirming that Joe wasn’t inside took determination, but nothing appeared out of place. There was still the chance he was inside and not alone. She hadn’t found any broken windows, nor had the lock been jimmied. If anything had been tampered with, it was Maude’s peace of mind.

  The dispatch office was in the back of the Cop Shop, or police building, behind all the detective’s niches, and Maude made her way there, hoping to see a friendly face. She bypassed the coffee pot, momentarily putting aside her own needs for a refill in hopes of getting the latest word about her partner.

  “Any news?” she asked, entering the room. The clicking and clacking of communication machinery filled the air with hope. Somewhere, someone knew Joe’s location, and would be in touch.

  “Excuse me?” a woman unknown to Maude replied with a frown.

  “Any news on Detective Allen?” Remember to be patient. People can’t read my mind. When in doubt, be kind. Maude’s interpersonal skills training came back swiftly, even though it was buffered by the worry she had for Joe.

  “Oh, no,” the dispatcher said briefly. “I’m fighting mosquitoes,” she said by way of explanation for her busyness. “Lord, these things are huge.”

  “You aren’t from around here, I take it,” Maude commented, trying for civilized conversation.

  “No, just got here from Alabama. Not tonight, but recently.”

  “Uh-huh. You sure there are no new reports concerning the location of my partner, Joe Allen?”

  “That’s what I said,” the woman replied, slapping at the back of the empty chair beside her.

  “What’s your name?” Maude asked, her voice strained, but not unkind.

  “Betty Sinclare. With an a-r-e. Most people think it’s a-i-r, but it’s not. It’s a-r-e,” Betty explained, while lifting her considerable bulk from the rolling chair to swat a new flying object.

  “Well Betty, thank you for all your help,” Maude replied, gritting her teeth as she turned to walk away.

  “Sure, glad to be of service.” The words were mixed with a sudden whoosh of air as Betty sat back, expecting to return to the seat she had recently vacated. The new office chair, however, rolled when pushed ever so slightly. When Betty’s bottom tapped the edge of the seat, the chair was flung across the room on greased wheels, and the unfortunate clerk went to the floor.

  “Oh my, her butt’s kissed the tiles,” Maude said to those listening, but none came forward to assist. With a sigh, she made an offer to help the downed woman whose outstretched legs covered several inches of slick floor, but Betty recovered her breath, and waved off any assistance.

  “Good thing you wore long pants,”” Maude commented. “Keeps your privates covered. Modesty is something I’ve always valued. How you think you can best get up?”

  Crimson-face, Betty replied, “Just give me a minute. I’ll slide to the desk, and roll over onto my knees. Shouldn’t be too hard to get up from there.”

  “Let me know if I can help,” Maude offered again. “Best I stay out of your way right now.”

  Watching Betty slide across the tile, pushing the recalcitrant chair as she moved toward the desk had Maude furrowing her brow, grateful not to be called on to do any lifting.

  “You okay?” She asked after a few moments.

  “Yeah, I’m almost there,” Betty replied. She rolled her bulk over, pulled her knees up under her, and pushed off from the floor with one hand. Reaching for the desk with the other hand, she grabbed at the file drawer on the top slot of the three drawer desk, and a wild array of vanilla and pastel colored packets shot out.

  “Dang,” Maude said loudly. “That wasn’t good. You hurt?”

  “No,” Betty replied, trying to pull her body off the tile floor, now covered in slick, manila folders. “I’ll make it,” she huffed, out of breath. After a minute, she again crawled to the desk and pushed against it, pinning it to the wall. Inch by inch, she slid upward until she was standing on unsteady feet.

  “Whew. I had no idea this job was going to be so hard,” Betty muttered as she grabbed the chair and held on tight.

  “I expect you’ll get used to it after a while,” Maude said, shaking her head as she walked away. “You’ll want
to be more careful. You could break something important. And I’d appreciate a quick call if you hear from my partner.”

  Chapter 2.

  By 3:30 A.M., Maude knew the last location of Joe’s phone, but she couldn’t figure why or how he would be at the city dump, or City-County Landfill, as it had been renamed. A great steaming mass of garbage arrived in that place daily, waiting for dozers and trench diggers to put it underground. But they never caught up, and the rotting smell leached into the ambient air for miles, polluting the normal freshness of the country with a stench that made eyes water and noses drip. Only unusual circumstances would have forced Joe to visit the dump.

  4:00 A.M., or thereabouts, was no time for inspecting the city’s garbage, but the chance that Joe might be there, and in need of help drove Maude to make the effort, to request two rookie officers, and an equipment truck. She dressed in rubber boots and a yellow slicker found in the back of the truck, and added a bright flashlight, and gloves. The two cops, similarly dressed, made up the rest of the search party. By 4:15 A.M., they were standing in front of the closed office strategizing.

  “I’m glad my house is west of the city, instead of on this side,” Maude said to the officers. “What a terrible odor,” she added.

  “Uh, detective, what exactly are we doing out here?” The police officer’s face had gone gray, and he swallowed several times. “I mean, it’s dark, so what are we looking for?”

  “Well, Officer Stanford,” Maude said, “we’re looking for my partner and his bicycle. The last time we have any record of his whereabouts, Detective Allen, or his phone, was here. So let’s be clear. The only thing I’m interested in is my partner, and ways to find him. You see anything else needs looking at, log it, and investigate later.”

  “Yes ma’am, understood,” Stanford replied.

  “Jackson, come with me,” Maude said to the other officer. “Stanford, remain on the perimeter of the dump, and stay in touch,” she said, indicating the hand-held radio.

  “Yes ma’am,” he replied again, happy he was not expected to wade through garbage in the darkness.

  Two hours later they met again at the landfill office, each of them aromatic from the gunk on their rubber boots, but none had found any sign of Joe or his bicycle. They looked for fresh tire tracks, but that too was ruled out.

  “If Joe was here, he walked, or was carried in and out,” Maude said grimly. “Come daylight, if he doesn’t report in, I’ll go to the captain and ask for officers to search the fields near here. This is a bad place to search, with beaucoup hiding places, and dim, overhead lights that show too little.”

  By 6:30 A.M, they were back at the Cop Shop. A couple of night shift detectives were in the sergeant’s office, getting ready to check out and go home, and Maude spoke to both, asking if they’d had a face to face with Joe the previous night.

  Neither had seen him. One asked, “What’s going on?”

  She filled them in about the call to her house, and how it had spooked her, even though as yet, nothing solid pointed to bad things that might have happened to her partner.

  Not too concerned by the implications, the detectives left with0ut comment. They knew that problems could make a man, or woman, disappear for a few hours. The true tell would be during the daylight hours, when the rest of the world went back to work. Then, even those in hiding usually came out with the rest. A cop who didn’t show up at home or work the day after a short disappearance definitely had a problem.

  Maude understood cops too, and knew a bundle about human nature and what sadness and despair could do to the spirit, driving a person toward relief in a bottle, or sometimes into the arm of the angel, snorting white powder that made troubled lives bearable. Why not Joe?

  He was as human as the next guy--maybe more than most.

  She didn’t know what to hope for, but one thing she knew was she wouldn’t give up till she found him. Just as he’d been there for her the last time she drank herself into oblivion and needed help finding her way back.

  “Boss,” Maude said when her captain arrived, “Joe’s missing.”

  “I wondered why you were here early. I’ve got a meeting with the chief at 8:00 A.M, or I wouldn’t be here now.” Patterson shifted his weight, and leaned against the desk. “What happened?” he asked.

  She quickly brought him up to date on her early morning phone call. “In a few minutes, I’m going to Joe’s apartment and force the door if I have to. He’s not on the job, and he still isn’t answering my calls. I went by his place before coming here this morning, but he didn’t answer my knock. I don’t mind telling you, I’m worried about him. Think you can get some officers out looking?”

  “Whoa! You think all that’s necessary? Maybe Joe told someone else he was leaving,” Patterson said. “Visiting a girl after hours wouldn’t be out of the question for a young man. Could be lots of reasons he’s not home, but no matter, he’s got a problem if he doesn’t show up for work today.”

  “I’ve asked around, but no one knows anything about a new woman in his life,” Maude said. “And Joe wouldn’t chance losing his job over anyone. His kids depend on him. Remember how hard he fought his ex-wife for visiting time?”

  “Yeah, I seem to recall she was tough on him. So, go to his place, but take someone with you,” Captain Patterson said, his attention focused on the coffee pot and donuts in the break area. “Uh, take Monroe. He needs the experience.”

  “Monroe?” she responded, “He hasn’t been to Personnel yet to fill out papers.” She remembered seeing a tall, pleasant-looking young man hanging around the detective squad. “What if he gets hurt? He won’t have insurance.” Shifting a new boot around was not her way, but he was green, and she wanted an experienced hand or none at all.

  “Sure he does. He’s been with us for years. Just not here,” Patterson mumbled. “You know that Maude.”

  “Captain, sometimes I seriously wonder about the location of your head, and where your voice comes from,” Maude mumbled back.

  “What did you say, detective?” Patterson turned for a moment and glared, but Maude knew he was trying to get rid of her, and didn’t care what she’d said, as long as she left his presence.

  “Nothing. I’ll pick up Monroe on my way out,” she grumbled.

  James Patterson strode to the coffee pot and grinned as his best detective left the room. Because of Maude Rogers, he had moved through the ranks to Captain not long ago, and had a hard time being fierce with her. She had been responsible for closing several cases along with Joe Allen, during the time the young male detective was in training. It was the one the news media labeled the Heartless Killer that caught national attention. When the last captain over detectives was fired, Patterson was chosen to replace him. As lieutenant over homicide, he was credited with apprehending the notorious serial killer Robert Dawson, who removed the beating hearts from his victims’ bodies and put them on dry ice. Of course, it was Maude and Joe who did the work, but Patterson was given credit for the killer’s apprehension.

  ****

  Calhoun Monroe, a bucktoothed country boy from Iowa, had decided at the age of three years he was going to be a policeman. From that time forward, he spent hours looking at books until he learned to read. Adult Calhoun worked first for the county sheriff, but he joined the Madison Police Department three years later, and had been on a fast track to make detective ever since. For two days he had been assigned to the detective squad to fill in while one of them was on vacation. The police department had recently been under the mayor’s gun, because thanks to a nepotistic personnel section, for some time there had been a shortage of in-house promotions to choice positions. Too many family members of upper management had been given the slots that by rights, should have gone to officers who had passed the required tests. Monroe, next on the list for promotion, was mostly there for show, but each day he arrived early, eager to begin.

  Maude knew his specialty was tracking, because the county boys swore Calhoun could follow a se
t of footprints on a rocky mountainside with one eye closed.

  “They call you Cal? Or Monroe?” Maude asked as her new ride-along climbed into the passenger seat of the late model Ford Crown Victoria.

  “Um, Calhoun mostly. Like my daddy,”’ he said.

  “Any bad habits I need to be aware of?” she asked, sure that some must have attached themselves to the young man.

  “Yes ma’am. I have a terrible craving for root beer. Other than that, uh-uh. No bad ones.”

  She looked at him sharply to see if he was pulling her leg, but the young officer sounded sincere. She was accustomed to Joe’s wit, and never knew when to believe a straight remark, fresh from someone’s lips.

  “Root beer? Not a terrible habit,” Maude replied.

  “Yes ma’am, it can be. During hard times, my craving can be bad enough to make things worse than what’s going on.”

  “We’ll hope that never happens, Calhoun,” she said.

  “I have a little boy. His name is Calhoun, like me and my daddy. Only thing is, we call him Cal, so my wife doesn’t get confused.”

  You got kids, ma’am?”

  “No, no kids,” Maude replied.

  “You married?” he asked her.

  “No, not married. You writing an article?”

  “Oh no ma’am, just making small talk,” Calhoun replied. He turned his head to look out the window, embarrassed at being nosy.

  Maude saw a line of red climb from his collar across his cheeks. “It’s okay, Calhoun. I was teasing. A bad habit I have,” she admitted.

  “Let’s discuss what happens at Joe’s apartment.”

  “Whatever you want me to do, I’ll do it best I know how,” Calhoun assured her.

  “I’m sure you will,” she said, sorry she’d been so tough on the young man. “When we get there, treat the apartment as a possible crime scene. If Joe is truly missing, we may find some clues to his whereabouts.”