by N. C. Lewis
If that was true—sweet, friendly and well-loved, Ma Jenkins had a very good reason to disappear.
The barista continued. “Anyway, she’s in Mexico right now drinking sangria, well out of the reach of Medlin Creek law enforcement.” Shaking his head he concluded, “Yep, I’m afraid the sheriff’s department will never catch Ma, she’s outwitted them. Had us all fooled, including me—her biggest fan.”
There was a booming clap of thunder and the heavens opened as torrential rain poured down clattering hard against the window. Several streaks of lightning flashed across the clouds, illuminating the skyline. The summer storm had a quieting effect in the Café, and the excited chatter died away as the people looked out onto the torrents of water rushing down Creek Street.
Then Millie spoke. “I’m not so sure, anyway I agree with you Roger, I don’t think Ma Jenkins is a killer—not Ma.”
“Yeah, I agree with you,” said Marge, “but if not Ma Jenkins, who is the Butcher of Medlin Creek?” There was a long pause, and each looked at the other, but no one spoke.
Then Ethel piped up, “Well, we’ll just have to wait and see what happens next.”
Chapter 35
The drive back to Ealing Homestead was treacherous. Rain pounded on the windshield, thick mist diminished visibility, and rushing streams of water gouged out chunks of road with gaping potholes appearing where a surface had once been. Claps of loud thunder followed by illuminating streaks of lightning continued throughout the late afternoon as the storm clouds emptied their contents onto Hill Country.
At the desk, I reflected on the events of the morning. That Ma Jenkins was at the center of these brutal crimes—and possibly the killer—galled me. Until the press conference, I had not been able to admit the possibility. I still didn’t want to think about it now. Like Roger, I didn’t believe it either, but what was the logical alternative?
The clock high on the mantelpiece struck the top of the hour, which caused me to instinctively get up from the chair to begin stretching. Frowning, I mused about Simpkins and the shoe which belonged to a man—the killer?
Caffeine time. Pouring a cup of black, homebrew coffee, I took a sip, and rolled it over my tongue. From the very beginning, it had been obvious that whoever killed Tanner had done so for some powerful motive. There was a connection with Tony Dean’s death, that much was clear. The simplest link was because of business. Tanner connected to Ma through business. Ma connected to Tony Dean through business.
“Nothing complex,” I said out loud.
Then it struck—the last conversation with Tanner. “The business has been booming over the past few years, I’m very thankful,” he had said.
But the barista said that the Academy had been struggling, how could he know this? Then I remembered the rest of Tanner’s conversation. “When you get here, Ollie, I’d like you to look at the business books. Something’s not quite right, I’d appreciate your thoughts.”
I headed into the master bedroom, and from a crate in the corner, I pulled out a small cardboard box. Inside, contained the leather-bound journal from the dojo which contained the business transactions for the past three years. Time to make sense of the numbers.
As I opened the book, my hands trembled. Revenue: strong, growing with student numbers at an all-time high. The fixed costs of the business, mortgage, utility bills, staff payments, varied little from month-to-month. Yet, the business was losing money, this didn’t make any sense. Why would Tanner say things were going great when the numbers told another story? Why would Tony Dean want to buy a business that was failing?
Bewildered, I went over the numbers again, looking for something which might support my gut feeling. I pulled a stick of gum from an old packet and chewed, as the numbers clicked into place like artists' brush strokes coming together to make an image: Tanner’s death, Tony Dean’s plans, the missing knives.
I swallowed hard as a warm glow pulsated through my veins. “Got it, I’ve figured the whole thing out,” I shouted out loud at Bodie, forgetting he had wandered off earlier, probably sheltering from the storm at Simpkins’ shack. The puzzle made sense, except one piece, Ma’s disappearance.
The cell phone buzzed. A text message, from Ma Jenkins, Need your help. Tired running. Meet me at the Riverside wharf building at six thirty p.m.
Chapter 36
The Riverside wharf building lay on the edge of town, at the end of the Riverside Trail walk. The factory workers of long ago used it as a shortcut into town. The occasional walker still frequented the trail, but it had fallen into a state of disrepair overgrown by tall grasses, bushes, and stunted cedar trees. The wharf had once been at the center of Medlin Creek industry. Now the place contained crumbling warehouses and abandoned buildings.
I drove carefully along the broken asphalt road, watching for potholes and the occasional pieces of industrial debris. At one point, I stopped. The scene like a black-and-white Second World War movie. Derelict buildings with shattered windows and gaping holes where the roof had once been. Solid stone walls broken open, the contents of the rooms they once protected, gone. My eyes darted to the left and the right, half expecting to meet the desperate eyes of war-torn refugees. But the place was empty, devoid of life, desolate.
As the truck crept forward again, I peered from the window. Through the swirling darkness of ominous black clouds, the distinctive red brick which marks the Riverside wharf building, became visible. At last a chance to speak with Ma, let her know I figured it out. The hard evidence might be insufficient to convict the killer, but at least it would take the heat off Ma and give the sheriff’s department an alternative avenue to investigate.
In a derelict parking space, I pulled over. A huge sign overhead in large black lettering identified the Riverside wharf building. Constructed of red brick and steel, the structure towered above the surrounding warehouses. A loud clap of thunder and a torrent of rain spewed from angry-looking black clouds. Scurrying across rough ground I stumbled into the narrow gloomy entrance.
Entering the Riverside wharf building felt like being an extra on a Hollywood movie set. Within the musty dank chasm which stretched beyond sight, were rusted mechanical pulleys, and metallic signs giving instructions and warnings. As my eyes adjusted, details popped into focus, from the huge skylight crisscrossed with iron braces which stretched out across the entire length of the building, to the supporting brick pillars which held up massive steel girders.
The cell phone rang.
“Ollie? Bob Lukey. Listen—urgent news, I’m with Ma Jenkins, she is safe, and wants to speak with you. Millie is with us…” There was a crack of thunder, then a rush of movement out of the shadows.
My blood ran cold, for a flash of polished wood disturbed a trail of stale air as a baseball bat spun viciously toward my head. I ducked. The bat crashed down with an almighty thud deep into my left shoulder. The cell phone flew out of my grasp and landed somewhere in the darkness with a barely audible crack. I screamed, a piercing sound muffled only by the solid brick walls of the derelict building as sharp shards of pain engulfed my entire body. My legs buckled as I tumbled to the floor. The world spun as a high-pitch buzz rang through my ears.
For an instant, my head cleared. A pair of dark eyes that displayed nothing but meanness, watched with glee.
“Harry,” I gasped.
His eyes flickered recognition as the bat swung again toward my head. I rolled to one side, and it crashed down onto the concrete floor, resonating sound waves which echoed throughout the entire building. Vicious vibrations reverberated back along the bat up into Harry’s arm. The man cursed, dropping the bat.
Death, I’d never thought much about my death. Now my mind flashed images of Tanner and Tony Dean, slumped in a dark alley, dead. Harry was going to kill me, without any mercy as he had killed Tanner and Tony. If only there was a way to stop him. Harry was much larger, stronger, and had the edge as he towered over me.
A terrifying rumble of thunder shook the building as streaks o
f lightning illuminated the interior through the skylight. Harry, surprised, stumbled backward. A chance offered by nature to tilt the odds in my favor and I took it, rolled over and grabbed for the baseball bat. Harry got there first.
The savage brute began to laugh, his broad shoulders trembling with depraved satisfaction. “Tony Dean would still be alive if he didn’t want to buy Tanner’s dojo. Couldn’t take the risk of him finding out I had my hand in the till. Tanner found out and he had to go. Warned Tony against buying, but he wouldn’t listen. Killing that fool was easy, that man loved his booze. Guess you might say it killed him, ha, ha.”
Through the pounding in my head, I began to make sense of what he was saying. Harry’s voice, distorted by menace, full of a bitter certainty which chilled me to the core. There was no escape. That much was quite clear, I was going to die at the hand of the killer of Tanner Holgate and Tony Dean.
Harry raised the baseball bat high above his head. The husky voice spat out words like a venomous snake. “Naughty girl! Thought I didn’t notice the missing accounts book in Ma's office? Thought ole Harry was too stupid to see where you hid it, in your jacket pocket! That was very wicked of you. Could have got me in a lot of hot water. Ha ha ha, this would’ve been the perfect crime if I wasn’t so careless. Right, I can fix that! Just as well I picked up Ma’s cell phone from her desk, needed some bait to lure you in.”
Harry cursed.
“Yeah, I should’ve taken the accounts book the same time I stole Ma’s broadsword and the Japanese war fan. Oh, it would’ve been so poetic, Tanner slayed by the war fan of Ma Jenkins. Then Ma—distraught—takes her life with the sword. Well, it doesn’t matter now, you’ll get what you deserve for meddling in my business, and Ma Jenkins will go down for the crime.”
I gulped for air, there was an oozing liquid in my mouth. It tasted like that time in my childhood when I’d fallen off my bicycle and cut my lip. It was blood!
“Harry, you won’t get away with this,” I squeaked.
The words threw the man into a furious rage, his eyes grew wide, and his lips twisted into an ugly snarl.
This was my chance, I crouched into a tight ball, and sprang up with all the force I could muster into a crouching spinning backfist. The right knuckles struck Harry hard on the jaw with the full force of my body weight. His head swiveled around at an unhuman angle, then flopped to one side as he staggered backwards groaning as I clattered to the floor. The impact took the wind out of me.
But Harry was still on his feet, hands clasped around his neck, eyes enflamed. A vicious roar bellowed from his throat, a savage, primal yell that signaled the need for a brutal and bloody kill. I staggered to my feet making a desperate effort to run but my legs buckled. Harry grunted wildly as the bat came clattering down on my right shoulder, I screamed, the shriek echoing off the walls.
Again, the bat came crashing into me.
As consciousness began to slip from my terrified mind, I heard a loud thud. Harry let out a low moan, and the smell of sunbaked sourness filled my nostrils. Then I saw a streak of black fur, angry eyes, and vicious fangs fly into Harry’s back. He let out a piercing wail like escaping toxic gas, and crumpled to the floor where Simpkins struck him repeatedly until he was still. Then the Riverwalk building and everything in it went black.
Chapter 37
“Ollie.”
Darkness. It was everywhere: engulfing, surrounding, covering me like a shroud on a corpse, peaceful. Through the darkness a gray glimmer, it grew and shimmered, transforming into light and vanquishing the dark.
“Ollie.”
I squeezed my eyes tightly shut hoping for the darkness to return—it didn’t.
“Ollie, can you hear me?”
I nodded. My head hurt, and so did the rest of me. It was as if I had done a thousand laps at the dojo—and for good measure—done a thousand more. An all-over ache which extended from my head through my neck and into my torso, arms and legs. Even the toes complained in pain.
“Ollie, wake up.
I wrestled my eyelids open. The light sent shards of stabbing pain direct into my brain, I shut them tight. Then I peeped through squinted eyelids. The room at first appeared deserted, but as my eyes grew accustomed to the light, a face appeared and came into focus as my mind cleared. “Ma Jenkins!” crackled my hoarse, raspy voice.
Ma smiled.
Again, I tried movement, this time lifting myself up, but immobilized by pain, I slumped back, letting my head sink into the pillow.
“Where am I?”
“Havis County hospital, you’ve been unconscious for quite a while.”
The hospital bed stood halfway between the outside window and a door which opened to a short corridor. In the far corner of the oblong room was a bathroom with a porcelain washbasin with chromium fixtures. There was a low murmur of voices which came from outside the door. It opened and Tanner’s uncle appeared with two paper cups on a plastic tray. Steam rose from the top, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee permeated the room.
“Ah, Ollie awake at last, in time for a special delivery from Moozoos,” Tanner’s uncle said.
Again, I tried to move, this time forcing myself to sit up. My movements were jerky, pain-filled and slow. “Coffee,” I rasped, “precisely what I need right now, help clear the fog from my mind.”
Tanner’s uncle handed one cup to Ma, who took a big gulp making a large slurping sound. Then she relaxed into the chair, letting out an audible, “Aaah!”
I eyeballed the remaining cup, ordered my right hand to reach out and grab the thing from the tray. My arm moved half an inch and muscle pain radiated, halting further progress.
“Sorry,” said Tanner’s uncle taking a slurp from the other cup, “no coffee just yet, Ollie, doctors’ orders.”
The little, oblong hospital room was home for the next three nights. Ma Jenkins and Tanner’s uncle visited every day. During one visit Simpkins accompanied Ma, and together they recounted the events leading up to my hospitalization.
“Simpkins and Bodie are a talented team, eh?” began Ma. “Good thing Simpkins smokes.”
“Sure is,” joined in Simpkins, “was enjoying me electronic cigarettes, just relaxing and dreaming, inside the old plant surveillance room, it’s upstairs in the Riverside wharf. Bodie was sleeping under one of those iron benches.”
“Yeah,” interrupted Ma, “I know that room, went there years ago when the factory was still working. Most of the other buildings lay disused even then, the Riverside wharf building was the last to go. Anyways, you get a splendid view from that room, I guess that’s why it’s called the surveillance room, eh?”
“Yep,” continued Simpkins, “well, I hears a scream. At first, I thought it was from the wind blowing, ‘twas a terrible storm that evening. But Bodie sits up, ears pricked. Anyway, curiosity got the better of me, and I crept along an overhead walkway and peeped down into the main lobby, where you were, Ollie, but I didn’t see you. I spotted Harry Marsden. Well, I says to Bodie, what’s Harry doing here, and the weather blowing up a storm an all. Well, if that ain’t suspicious enough, I looks down at his feet. Those hooves, I say to Bodie, is size twelve.”
“Tell Ollie what happened next,” encouraged Tanner’s uncle, his soft dark eyes, sad, glassy.
Simpkins lowered his voice and in a murmur whispered, “I hear Harry say how he killed Tanner, and how he did in Tony Dean, and how he's going to do the same to the person in front of him. But I don’t see no one. At first, I thinks the man is practicing for his next victim. But Bodie starts growling and I sees Harry swing a baseball bat.”
Simpkins corrugated face, wrinkled and leathery from days in the Texas sun, gave no clue to his real feelings. But his eyes gave him away, filling with a mixture of tears and pride as he continued.
“Anyways, I climbed down the stairs as fast as the old legs would take me. Bodie and I crept up from behind, to get a better look, that thunder was so loud Harry didn’t hear us. Bodie, stood still, alert—every muscle ri
gid. Then I sees you, on the floor with ole Harry laughing like a madman and a baseball bat high above his head like Hank Aaron. So, I lets Bodie off the leash and we pounce. Bodie sunk his fangs so deep into old Harry’s back, I thought they would come out the other side—terrible scream from Harry, wake the dead. Still, took quite a few blows of me cane before he stopped moving though.”
I closed my eyes and drifted back into unconsciousness.
Chapter 38
Millie sat at my bedside holding hands with Bob Lukey, so I guessed Professor Purple had come to terms with the dreadlocks. Tanner’s uncle looked out of the window which gave chocolate box views of the Hill Country landscape. He turned, sucked in a long breath, then spoke.
“Ollie, that Ma Jenkins is a rare breed. An exceptional character, lives and breathes honesty, integrity, loyalty, and serves the community. Not too many people like that these days.”
