Wessley yawned more widely and seemed totally disinterested as he added cream to his now full coffee cup. “It’s Monty’s. He’s not going to cook it.”
Elizabeth spoke firmly. “You’ve got your coffee. I have a couple questions for you. Let’s go to your front room.”
He followed her. Elizabeth sat on one of the couches. Wessley leaned into its arm a couple of cushions away from her, angled so he could observe her.
Elizabeth took the small notebook and a pen from a breast pocket. “When we talked two days ago, you omitted something that would have been helpful to me.”
From the fast slide of his eyeballs back and forth, Elizabeth guessed the frat president had figured out what she wanted to talk about. He was devising a response that would cause him the least trouble.
He took another sip of coffee and smiled. “If you’re talking about some of our times at the Bully Pulpit, I simply didn’t want to tarnish Mr. Addison’s reputation.”
“Cut the crap.”
Wessley shrugged. “Okay, I didn’t want to get arrested for illegal gambling or something. Who would?”
“Who in the frat was a regular?”
“Other than during NCAA basketball finals, just Monty and me.”
“Monty.”
“He lives in town,” Wessley added.
“And what, he comes here to get drunk and make goats sick?”
Wessley tossed his head so a shock of hair moved off his forehead, and adopted an officious tone. “Alcoholism is an illness. Because he got arrested, his parents are making him go to some kind of treatment thing.”
Elizabeth frowned lightly. “That’s good, but my concern is why you didn’t mention that you were not only fairly regular diner customers, but also were part of Ben’s…sports pools, or whatever he called them.”
“I’d lose my scholarship.”
Elizabeth took a breath. Whether an excuse or a legitimate reason, for the moment she would accept it. “Fair enough. Now, did you ever see Ben argue with anyone?”
“After a while he told Monty he could only come in sober. But Monty did after that. At least, he wasn’t fall-down drunk.”
She held Wessley’s gaze. “From what I saw last night at the Weed and Feed, you look out for Monty a lot.”
He drew a breath and took a gulp of coffee. “Monty’s dad gave us money to add a bathroom in the basement. Sometimes we have a lot of people here.”
“So, Monty has special privileges?”
He shook his head. “He’s here a lot. When he isn’t drinking, he’s a good guy.”
“Except to goats.”
“Like I said, when he isn’t drinking.”
“Did Ben owe you any money?”
Wessley’s eyes shifted away, then came back to her. “Just for a couple baseball games. Less than fifty dollars.”
“Did he always make good on the bets?”
“He did with me.”
She narrowed her eyes. “That implies maybe he didn’t with some others.”
“I don’t know for sure. I saw a lady arguing with him once. The woman who owns the bookstore.
“Alice? What about?”
“They weren’t loud. The only words I heard clearly were when she started. She said ‘you promised not to tell.’ Or something like that.”
“Tell whom?”
“No idea.” He drank more coffee and stared across the room, as if very interested in something just outside the window.
Elizabeth thought Wessley was making a valiant effort to appear disinterested. “Can you name anyone else who bet with Ben?”
“Chief, come on. Why do you want to badger people?”
Elizabeth flushed in anger. “A man is dead and I have a murder to solve.”
“Sorry.” Wessley put his mug on a coffee table. “Will people get arrested?”
“I can’t promise anything specific, but I’m not trying to bust a bunch of people making small-time bets.”
He expelled a breath. “So, Alice, if that’s her name. The insurance guy.”
“Gordon Beals?”
He nodded. “Sometimes the older guy from the gas station near the diner. But mostly for the Super Bowl and World Series, I think. Big games.”
“Who else?”
“The guy who owns the dry cleaners, but I don’t know his name.”
“I do. Any other students?”
Wessley shrugged. “Don’t think so, but I wasn’t in there every day. Are you going to tell the Sweathog cops? They’ll get the college to make a big deal out of this.”
“Probably only if something specific comes up that relates to the murder.”
“I’ve helped you, right?”
“What would Monty tell me that’s different?”
“Monty never remembers much, but you’d have to ask him.”
“Tell him I’m willing to talk to him away from his parents. But he has to call me.”
“We’re making the homecoming float for Friday’s parade, and the game’s Saturday.”
“I’m not too concerned about the frat schedule.”
“He promised his parents he’d stop drinking after Saturday. It might be easier to talk to him Monday.”
Elizabeth jotted a note. “Tomorrow always comes,” she murmured.
“What?”
“Drunks who think they control when they stop drinking are usually kidding themselves.”
“Like I said, his parents…”
“I heard you. Tell him to call me.” When Wessley said nothing, she asked, “Where will you guys gamble now?”
His eyes widened briefly, as if he wanted to convey that this was a totally unforeseen question. “Probably nowhere.”
“Come on, the Series is starting soon.”
“I think Ben’s death cured us.”
“And corn only grows at night.”
Wessley appeared puzzled. “That’s not actually how it works you know.”
SINCE IT HAD BEEN a quiet morning, Elizabeth asked the five-officer day shift to meet for lunch in her office. Though they would have been there no matter what, she offered subs from the Weed and Feed as an enticement.
Calderone grinned as he chose a ham and salami sub. “You make sure Harvey didn’t add any special ingredients?”
“Didn’t bother telling him. After one of the frat guys caused a dust-up the other night, I thought I’d let people see me picking up the order.”
They ate in silence for five minutes. She knew Sergeant Hammer would be the first to speak, and the three corporals other than Calderone would only speak if she asked them a question.
When she first took the job two years ago, Elizabeth wondered if they were reticent because she was a woman. But the more she learned about her predecessor the more she realized that he hadn’t wanted to listen to what anyone else said. His officers learned not to volunteer information.
“So Chief,” Hammer said, “you wanted an update.”
“I do. You’ve all been asking people if they saw anything, and who was it searched Ben’s place?” She knew, but it would make the sometimes sluggish Officer Mahan talk.
“Mahan and me,” Calderone said. “He didn’t have much.” He nodded at Mahan.
“I just found out this morning that he sold most of his CDs a few weeks ago,” Mahan said. “Doris at the bake shop said Gordon Beals bought ‘em, to help out Ben.”
Help out Ben my ass.
“You think he really bought them, or did he take them as payment if Ben owed him for a wager?”
Mahan shrugged. “Not sure, Chief. I think Doris believes what she said.”
Calderone and Hammer exchanged a glance, and Calderone spoke. “None of us knew about more than Super Bowl-type betting.”
All the men shook their heads, though only Calderone and Hammer met her gaze.
Elizabeth decided not to challenge them unless she learned differently later. “Sounds like a small group and they could have hidden what they were doing.” Her tone hardened. “But I do
n’t want surprises. I’d rather hear it from you guys if you knew about it. If you were involved in any of it, I need to hear it from you.”
Mahan shrugged. “I was in the NCAA pool about three years ago, with Squeaky and Gene and some others. But Ben wasn’t involved, I don’t think.”
No one said anything until Calderone changed the subject, “I caught up with one of a twosome of late-night regulars Marti told me about. One’s last name is Jensen, other’s first name is Herb. She didn't know if they were in there that night, but she said it was worth a shot.”
Elizabeth nodded. "I saw their credit card receipts in the cash drawer."
"Okay. So, Jensen said Ben was usually more friendly, but he could be moody, so they didn't think much about it. I should catch up with the other one today, but I don't expect he'll say anything different."
Elizabeth nodded. "I was hoping for more. Since none of the gas stations said they saw anyone behaving oddly, or whatever, those guys may help us at least pin down who else was in there. Make sure to ask.”
Calderone nodded.
Mahan balled up his sandwich wrapper and aimed for a trash can. He missed. "Early in the week is pretty quiet, you know? If it was Friday, a lot more people would have been in the diner overnight."
"Sure. So, no luck on Ben's keys, I guess. Nick said the key to the beer cooler is on them."
Calderone swallowed. "It's a puny lock. Do we need a warrant to pick it?"
"I'm no lawyer, but Ben's not being prosecuted for anything. Have at it."
"Who gets to inventory the beer?" Mahan asked, and was met with guffaws.
Elizabeth had held off mentioning the returned door key until she had the group together. None had investigated a murder before. Unattended deaths and auto fatalities, but never a murder. She wanted to stress the need for covering all the bases.
“So, I went by the day Crusher changed the lock, and,” she nodded at the quiet duo between Mahan and Calderone, “and you guys went over the place after that. Anything seem out of place?”
“I did the dishes,” said Officer Taylor, a tall, red-haired man in his late forties. “Ants were crawling on a couple of plates, and we were done with prints.”
“Good idea,” Elizabeth said. Only in Logland.
“Ben kept the place really clean,” Simmons, at thirty-nine the youngest officer, added. “All the cabinets were full of clean dishes and mugs and stuff. I threw out the hamburger and a big batch of lettuce in the crisper. Only other fresh food was some eggs and tomatoes.”
Elizabeth almost smiled. No Chicago cops she’d worked with would have tidied up a crime scene. Of course, most business owners could do it themselves, and Chicago police had no spare time. Plus the murder scenes weren’t usually small restaurants where they ate every day.
“Ben owned the building. Who gets it?” Hammer asked. “Lawyer said he didn't specifically mention it in his will.”
Elizabeth shrugged. “That just means it’s up to the state. Have to ask the city’s corporation counsel about that.”
“Means inheriting wasn’t a motive,” Calderone said.
“Probably,” Elizabeth said, “but someone wanted in there.”
“Because they took the key you mean?” Hammer asked.
“And returned it.”
There was a brief chorus of “what” and “how do you know” and “you’ve gotta be kiddin’.”
She shook her head. “Not kidding. Not sure what made me inspect that under-counter cabinet again, but it was back on its hook.”
The men were silent for several seconds.
“Couldn’t be Crusher,” Calderone said. “His old man worked at the hardware store with me in high school. Good people.”
“I would tend to doubt it,” Elizabeth said. “Crusher did check to be sure the front and back deadbolt locks used the same key. They did, so he changed both.”
“Crap,” Hammer said.
“Grayson didn’t hear someone come in, you think?” Mahan asked.
Elizabeth thought that, but soft-pedaled the idea for the moment. “Possible when he was guarding the place that night, but we can’t be sure. No doubt he had the doors locked.”
“Yeah, but…” Hammer stopped.
“It’s easier to stay awake when you’re moving around on third shift.” Elizabeth swept the table in one gaze. “I’m not going to chew him out -- yet. We searched after that. Nothing seemed obviously out of place.”
Calderone pushed himself back from the table a foot. “I guess I was in there the most. You know, with finding him and all. I didn’t do the full search of the diner, just his apartment. I’ll go back, but I don’t think I’d spot something unless it was a message spray-painted on the mirror.”
“I hear you,” Elizabeth said. “Unless someone sat at the same stool and looked at the same part of the diner a lot, it’s not likely we’d spot anything missing.”
For several seconds, the only sound was sub wrappers being crumpled.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
ALONE AT HER DESK after lunch, Elizabeth couldn’t shake the idea that someone in Ben’s pool of bettors lost more than usual and lunged at him. Perhaps they shoved and the perp ended up on the floor and grabbed a nearby knife.
Skelly had said something about a big Cardinals and Cubs game the night before Ben died. Where had the money from those bets gone? Ben surely had a hiding place.
Elizabeth called Mayor Sharon Humphrey to update her on progress in finding Ben’s killer.
“I’m glad you called Chief, but I still don’t know anything reassuring for this weekend.”
“Why for this weekend?”
“Homecoming parade and game. A lot of alumni will be in town, the opposing team brings some of their students and parents.”
“I hear you.” Elizabeth paused. “I’m not about to imply someone Ben knew killed him, which would probably make people less worried. But when the Logland Press calls again, I’ll tell them I don’t think it’s a sign of broader criminal activity.”
The mayor seemed to expel a breath. “That would be great. There have been so many rumors.”
“I’d like to hear some of them.”
“Oh, the usual. Someone came up from St. Louis or down from Chicago. Maybe selling drugs, maybe they needed money to buy some. Ben was the only place open so early, except the gas station by the highway, so they went there.”
“I was hoping you had the kind of rumors that involved a suspect.”
“Now Elizabeth, you know I’d tell you.”
She hung up and called Skelly. He was the ME for two counties, so it could be hard to pin him down. She got lucky.
“I know you’d tell me if you found anything in Ben’s clothes that seemed relevant, but I’m stuck, so I’m asking.”
His smile came through the phone. “Like one of those clue things?”
“Yes. One of those.”
He grew serious. “Wallet was in a pocket with twelve bucks, driver’s license, and stuff like that.”
“What about keys?”
“Nope. Calderone double-checked on that a couple days ago. He didn’t think Ben had a car, and he was checking around.”
Elizabeth shook her head, but realized Skelly couldn’t see her. “That can’t have been by choice.”
“He used to have a rust bucket, but I think it died a year or more ago. Heard him ask Nick for a ride one time when I was in there.”
“So, I have his order book, and you have the clothes he was wearing."
“And his hat.”
Elizabeth sat up straighter. “His hat. That’s right. It’s in the crime scene photos.”
“And…”
“I wonder if it got knocked off on its own, when he fell, or if whoever stabbed him did it?”
“You thinking DNA evidence?” Skelly paused for several seconds. “If the person grabbed it forcefully…I still don’t know. Fabric isn’t great unless it absorbs a bodily fluid.”
“I love it when you talk liquids.�
�
Skelly laughed. “You want the hat? I was about to turn over his belongings to his lawyer.”
“I’ll stop by before you give it to him. You around?”
“I’m near Carlinville. I’ll be in my office in a half-hour.”
She hung up. “A hat. What could I find in a hat?”
SKELLY’S OFFICE WAS in the basement of Logland’s twenty-five bed hospital. The green-tiled walls were one of the few relics left in the largely remodeled facility.
Elizabeth sniffed when she got off the elevator. Old basements had a distinct smell. Not really a mildew smell, more a combination of damp and, in the hospital’s case, disinfectant.
The few times she’d been down there, the halls were empty except for a few old glass-framed photos of the hospital. You could go toward Skelly’s space and watch the evolution from one to three-story building. The cars in the parking lot evolved as much as the hospital.
Light shone from under the morgue’s metal door. The heavily frosted glass had always struck her as thick enough to withstand a battering ram.
Skelly kept the door locked, so she knocked. The chair pushed back from his desk, and Skelly approached the door.
“Password?”
“Frankenstein.”
He opened the door. “Oh, that’s cruel.”
Elizabeth grinned. “If they ever get you new digs I’ll lose the image.”
He stood aside and she entered his twelve-by-twelve room with its small desk and a narrow sofa for anyone unfortunate enough to have to identify a body.
He led her through the door that led to the much larger examination area. Skelly never called it an autopsy room. He often reminded the staff that he did few, since a certain proportion of patients were at death’s door when they arrived.
He referred to his work area as a way station to the funeral home. Except for times like this, when he had to determine how someone died.
Skelly opened a cabinet and took out a large plastic bag that Elizabeth assumed held Ben’s clothes. A smaller one was clear, and held his wallet and the white baseball cap with the Sweathog logo.
“I figure you don’t need to see Ben’s body. I told the funeral home they could pick him up this afternoon.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “I read your report.”
Tip a Hat to Murder Page 10
