Answering Machine Knew

by Risner, Fay

  When everyone milled in line taking their dishes back to the dirty dish escalator, most of them made a point to introduce themselves to both of us. These senior citizens were a nice, friendly bunch of folks. Too bad we might be arresting one of them for murder soon.

  As Briceson and I left, the tables filled up again for an afternoon bridge games. I passed my mother coming in the building as we walked out.

  She stopped short, surprised to see me. “What are you doing here?”

  I told her, “Briceson and I ate lunch at the center. You should have come. It was liver and onions today.”

  “Did you clean up your plate?” Mom asked.

  “Yes, I did. You should be proud of me,” I said.

  Mom gave me a hug. “Good girl. Now I better get to my table before Marceil gives me a hard time for holding up the bridge game.”

  Chapter 9

  After we were in my car, I said, “Did you find out anything interesting?”

  “Yes, they don't like cell phones ringing anywhere near them at lunch time. You got me in trouble,” Briceson accused.

  “Me? How did I know a cell phone ring would set them off like that?” I tried to look innocent.

  “What did you want to talk to me about anyway that couldn't have waited until we left the community center?” Briceson snapped.

  “I was just going to ask you how you liked your free meal. Now what did you find out that might help the case?”

  Briceson avoided mention of the food. “The best bridge player in the bunch was the fellow sitting over by you.”

  “That would be Bradford Cummings?” I guessed.

  I can always tell when I knock the wind out of Briceson's sails. “Awe, how did you know that?”

  I looked over my shoulder and backed the car out of parking. “He just seemed the type that would be good at anything he did. A successful man air about him. What I wanted to know was if you found out anything that might help us with the murder case. I saw you talking to Ada Gray in the corner.”

  “Maybe I did. Miss Ada is quite the gossip, and she thought she was being helpful. She was sure Mrs. Hutson was more than just friends with one of the men at your table,” Briceson said.

  “Oh, that would be Tom Ryan. He was the only single man,” I guessed.

  “No, you're wrong for once.” Briceson looked gleeful.

  I had time to stop at the town's only traffic light and start again. That was long enough to become irritated. “Well, are you going to tell me whom or not?”

  “Sure, I was just waiting for you to ask me,” Briceson crowed. “It's Bradford Cummings.”

  “No kidding. So he's a player. Don't get so cocky though. Tom Ryan has to be the other boyfriend. Remember there were two men visiting Mrs. Hutson,” I reminded him. “Wonder if Cummings's wife knows? That would be a motive for her to get rid of her husband's lover.”

  “She doesn't know according to Miss Ada. She says the wife is always the last to know about a cheating husband,” Briceson said, grinning from ear to ear.

  I had to wipe that grin off his face. “So how was your lunch?”

  Briceson looked sour. “I was right. That had to be the worse meal of the year. I complained about it. Miss Ada put me in my place. She said we should have checked the meal out in the newspaper before we were stuck with it.”

  “Remember that if you want to eat there again. Though it wouldn't have mattered to me. I like liver and onions. When I was growing up, Mom fixed that at least once a week whether we wanted to eat it or not. We didn't dare turn it down. One night that and another night a big plate of beans and cornbread. Mom was always trying to stick to a food budget. Dad was the only one who dared make a face at his plate.

  Besides, this was a spur of the moment visit for our murder investigation. We didn't have a choice of days to come,” I explained.

  Briceson slouched in the seat, quiet and sullen. Just the way I wanted to see him, deflated.

  We went back to the station, but I wasn't much good the rest of the afternoon. I kept thinking about my date with Doc, so I decided the case could wait until morning. I headed home as soon as the clock struck five. On the way, I called Doc on my cell. “How you coming with your day, Doc? The date still on.”

  “It could be if this was with the right woman. I don't think you're her. The right woman is supposed to call me Ross,” he said with a hint of humor in his voice.

  “Well, this one has the night free if you want to date her, and that familiarity only works when you aren't in the lab. Get out of there, and get a move on over here,” I quipped.

  “All right, I'll see you in an hour. Dress casual. You know, jeans and a long sleeve blouse.” Doc hung up. I stared at the phone for a moment. He was the most abrupt man I've ever met.

  I was right about him being the most punctual fellow. He pressed the bell at six on the dot.

  When I opened the door, there stood Ross Klink, alias Coroner Klink, in jeans and a blue plaid shirt. Just like Briceson described him when he saw Doc in the singles bars. On him causal wasn't at all bad.

  “Am I dressed right?” I asked.

  Doc rubbed his chin. “Yes, you are for what I have in mind.”

  I rubbed my stomach. “I'll agree to anything as long as food is involved.”

  “If you skipped lunch again that isn't good for you.” He grinned as he inspected at my hair. “It sure wasn't for another trip to the beauty shop.”

  I wrinkled my nose up at him. “Funny man. Naw, I treated Briceson to lunch at the community center. That meal of liver and onion is long gone.”

  “Talk about big spenders,” Doc grunted.

  “Don't knock my spending habits. Hey, we were undercover again. Had to see what Mrs. Hutson's social life was like,” I defended herself.

  “Un huh. Well, my idea about tonight might not suit you if you're really starving. I had in mind a picnic.”

  I clapped my hand in girlish glee. “Really! On a beautiful night like this, and I can't remember the last time I went on a picnic. I'd love it. Let's get going, Doc. I mean Ross.”

  Pike River was at that lazy, drifting stage that happens during the summer when rain storms are far apart. We pulled in a parking spot by the boat dock and watched the ripples for a few minutes.

  “Where we going to spread the blanket?” I asked, looking around for a large, densely leafed tree that made a good shade.

  Doc pointed at the river. “Out there on Want A Be Island. I'm taking us over there in a row boat.”

  I patted my chest. “No kidding. A picnic and boating on the river all in the same date. Be still my heart.”

  “Stop talking. Hop out and help me carry everything to the boat. You're not the only one who is hungry.” Doc carried a large picnic basket and two fishing poles and a small tackle box.

  The large picnic basket, if it was stuffed full of food and drink, had me wondering how long we'd be on the island. As Doc pointed for me to carry a folded up dark green wool blanket he must have bought at the Arny Surplus Store, a little voice in my head said I better not get Doc mad. He might be desert me on the island with a few provisions and not come back.

  As Doc rowed, we edged closer to island. I studied the trees and their sprouts that covered the island. It was a rugged wilderness.

  I ask my dad one time how the island came to get its name. He said the island was such a small one someone with a sense of humor decided Want A Be Island was a suitable name.

  Doc backed the boat up to the bank, and I hopped on land and tied the mooring rope to a shrub. Doc picked up the blanket and tossed it to me, then he handed over the poles and basket so he had both hands free to grab the bush.

  Then he led the way like he knew where to go. “There's a clearing that gets used for a camping area past this brush. Follow me.”

  An area had been cleared, and someone brought a fire ring. I picked up enough downed limbs around the edge of the clearing to make a fire. Doc spread out the blanket by a tree so he could put his back
against trunk.

  I doubled my knees up and put my arms around them. In the spaces between tree limbs, puffy clouds floated into view and various birds flitted from tree to tree.

  Finally, Doc said, “Sure is peaceful here.”

  “Sure is,” I agreed. “I like it, but it's strange.”

  Doc crossed one ankle over the other. “Why that?”

  “Maybe it's a little early in the evening for company, I know for a fact this is a hang out for the kids in the summer. I can't imagine them not out here yet having a keg and drug bash,” I exclaimed.

  “Won't be any coming tonight to bother us, and maybe not all summer,” Doc said evenly as he watched me.

  I looked around the area. “All right, I didn't see any when I came in, so where did you put the no trespassing signs.”

  Doc did his usual grunt. “Didn't. I know for a fact the signs never work. Remember old man Swensen. He didn't like me fishing in his pond so he ran me off and put up one of those signs. I slipped through the neighbor's timber and came up on the back side the dam. Swensen couldn't see me from his house, because I was out of sight behind the dam. I'd fish until dark and leave for home.”

  “And the moral of this tale is?” I couldn't figure out what that had to do with the island traffic.

  “The point is the man never caught me at his pond. As for the teenagers, you may not want to know what I did to get this island all to ourselves for the summer,” he drawled.

  A pair of cardinals decorated a leafy limb. As I watched them, I was thinking how beautiful those birds were when Doc's statement soaked in. Now I was curious. I gave him my narrowed eye look. “Ross, maybe you better tell me.”

  He shrugged. “All I did was mention to my lab tech that I'd heard the police were going to patrol the island all summer. They figured on busting up the teenage beer parties. She has two teenagers so I knew she'd go home and pass the warning on to them.”

  “You know they will just find a new hideout,” I said.

  “They already have. The kids are going to Pike County Park and hike back to a timber behind it on one kid's uncle's farm. Olaf Petersen I think was the place. So is that a problem with you, Detective?”

  I grinned. “No, but it might be of interest to the conservation officers or Mr. Petersen.”

  Doc held his hands up. “Let your conscious be your guide. I've made all the confessions I'm going to make for one night.”

  I gave that a half a second of thought. “Heck, if I squealed on those kids, the conservation officers would raid the party. The kids just might come back here and bother us. I like the island deserted just like it is,” I said coyly.

  “That a girl,” Ross said as he pulled me to him and kissed me.

  Chapter 10

  Friday afternoon, I thumped my pen absentmindedly on my desk, mulling over what I knew about the Hutson case. When I swiveled around in my chair to look at Briceson, he'd been glaring at my back. “What?”.

  “You're driving me crazy beating the desk with that pen.”

  “Sorry, I was just thinking about the case.”

  Briceson said, “Got any ideas?”

  “There aren't too many reason anyone would want to kill Alice Hutson. The woman was leading a respectable life.” I started to turn around, then whirled back. “Did you check the fingerprints on the answering machine yet?”

  Briceson looked sheepish. “We've been so busy checking out suspects I'd forgot about it until this morning. Just came back from doing that. The machine only had Mrs. Hutson's prints on it, and on the call waiting button.”

  “So I'm assuming you checked the message on the answering machine.”

  Briceson looked puzzled. “I did, but there were four.”

  “Oh, come on. The machine had the number one in the window,” I scoffed. “I'm sure it did.”

  “I know it did, but there were four messages. You want to hear them?” Briceson asked, taking the answering machine out of an evidence bag.

  “Yeah, I do.” The phone rang. I answered and find Doc Klink on the other end. I put his call on speaker so he wouldn't say anything that might alert Briceson to the fact I'm dating the coroner. “Hi, Doc. Briceson and I have been waiting for your call. The phone is on speaker.”

  “I just finished testing the handkerchief and towel you brought in,” he said brusquely.

  “And?” I said impatiently.

  “The DNA testing came back the victim's and one other on the handkerchief. The material had spots of gun oil on it, but no blood or gun powder. A female diffidently wiped the murder weapon clean of her own prints but left them on the hanky.

  As for the towel, it had male DNA on it. A man wiped the blood off the victim's hand and cleaned out from under her fingernails.”

  “Thanks, Doc. That widens the field. We're working on a list of suspects that keeps getting longer. We'll see if we can get DNA samples from them to test for a match.”

  After I hung up, Briceson crawled under his desk to plug the machine in. We listened to some clicking static as the answering machine reset. Briceson plopped in his chair and pressed the play button.

  The machine’s coarse, computer female voice said, “Monday, June sixth. You have four old messages.”

  Click. “Message left at three thirty p.m.”

  “Hello, Grandma. This is Allen. I hope it's all right if I come visit this evening. It's been a while since I've seen you. I'll drop in around eight. I promise not to stay long. Love ya.”

  Click. “Message left at four p.m.”

  “Hello, Kitten. I hadn't heard from you for a couple days. Hope you're feeling better soon so we can get together. I miss you”

  I recognized that voice. “That's the smooth butter won't melt in his mouth voice of Bradford Cummings.”

  Click. “Message left at four forty-five p.m.”

  “I'm just wondering how your feeling now, Alice. I had a good time the other night with you. Let me know when you're ready for company again. Maybe we can polish off the rest of that wine I brought over. See you soon I hope.”

  Before the answering machine clicked again, I said, “That's Tom Ryan.”

  “No surprise there,” Briceson said.

  Click. “Message left at eight thirty p.m.”

  “Hello, Grandma. This is Allen. Sorry about calling you back this late in the evening, but I changed my mind. I can’t come over tonight, and I didn't want you to sit up waiting for me to show. Something’s come up. I’ll get back to you in a few days when I can come visit. Love you. Bye.”

  Click.

  Next came sounds of whirring tape rewinding .

  “If there were four messages why did the machine show just one?” Briceson asked.

  I slowly wagged my head. Suddenly, I knew. “Briceson! One of those messages was the new message. After you listened to the messages, the new message became an old one, too. Which one was it?”

  Briceson lifted one shoulder and put it down. “I don't know.”

  “Why don't you? You're the one that fooled with the answering machine,” I accused.

  “I don't remember hearing the voice say new message. You just listened to it, and you didn't hear the voice say that just now did you?”

  “No, because you had already listened to the messages.” I groaned. “Now all of them are old. Has the number in the window changed to four?”

  Briceson leaned over the answering machine. “Yes, ma'am.”

  “Check out DMV for Bradford Cummings, his wife and Tom Ryan to see what kind of car they own,” I said.

  “On it,” Briceson said as he typed the computer keyboard. “Bradford Cummings comes back as owning a 2013 black Cadillac and his wife owns a dark green crown Victoria ford. Tom Ryan owns a 2012 blue Sonata Hyundai.”

  I said, “Now we know who three of the cars belonged to the nosy neighbor described. Bradford Cummings showed up first in his caddy. His wife came out next, Tom Ryan was next, and someone driving a red older model car with a bad muffler was last.” />
  “All right. Let's think about this. Alice Hutson must have listened to three of the early recordings. That would make them old. She couldn't have listened to the last call by Allan. She'd have been dead by then. So his call must have been the new one,” I reasoned.

  “Sounds right. So who is Allan?”

  “We best find out. I'll call Bill Hutson. Maybe Allan is his son.” I dialed the number on the business card Hutson gave me. While I waited for him to pick up, I put the phone on speaker.

  “Hello, Hutson real estate and land insurance. Bill Hutson speaking.”

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Hutson. This is Police Detective Renee Brown and Office Briceson. We just listened to the messages on the answering machine. The calls came in about the time your mother was killed. Two were from concerned friends wondering how she was feeling. The third call was from Allan Hutson.”

  “Allen!” Bill Hutson exclaimed disgustedly. A loud clatter sounded like he might have thrown a pen across the room.

  “You don't sound like you care much for the man. Tell me about Allen,” I said.

  “Allen is my brother Bob’s son. My nephew has a bad repetition. The only one in the family who has been kind to him is my mother. As his grandmother, she always wanted to think Allen would change. I told her not to encourage him to visit. All he ever wants is a handout to buy drugs with. I worried he might be dangerous if he was high sometime when he came to see her.”

  “Did your mother always give him money when he asked?” Briceson inquired.

  “I’d be the last to know. Once I made my feelings clear about Allen early on, Mom didn’t want to be lectured by me. So when he asked her for money she wouldn't tell me about it.

  She didn’t approve of Allen’s lifestyle anymore than I did. She told me once seeing the way her grandson looked physically gave her a bad feeling. Some day we'd open up the newspaper to headlines about his death from some sort of drug deal gone bad or an overdose.

  When he came really often, I think she gave him money, but Allen hasn’t been to see her for a long time as far as I know. I figured Mom must have finally told him she wouldn't give him anymore handouts. So he quit coming,” Hutson said.