Answering Machine Knew

by Risner, Fay

  I explained, “We want to question Allen. Any idea where we'd find him?”

  “No, I haven't had contact with him in years. Maybe my brother, Bob, knows. I can give you his address if you want to check with him,” Hutson offered.

  “That would be helpful.” I opened my desk drawer and took out a note pad. “All right, give me the address.” I recognized the residence in the ritzy side of town. “What does your brother do for a living?”

  “He's an investment broker with an office downtown. He gets home about five thirty most nights.”

  “You have his phone number at the office handy. I could call ahead and offer to meet him at his house,” I said.

  As it worked out, I came back to the station after talking to Bob Hutson around eight p.m. Briceson had caught up on the case paperwork and was going back out to patrol the streets.

  I asked, “Did you find a line on the where abouts of the grandson yet?”

  “No, but Allen Hutson was in the system. Seems his last known address is an old one. He moves around a lot since he never pays his rent for long. Up and slips out in the night before the landlord can get the rent money out of him,” Briceson said. “How did you come out with his father?”

  “He hadn't seen his son in a year or so he says. He wouldn't give his son money to support his habit, and Bob didn't think his mother did, either. If she had been handing out cash, Bob was sure his son wouldn't have asked him for a handout. As for if his son could have killed his mother, he was on the fence. He just wasn't sure what his son was capable of doing these days.”

  “Do you believe the man?”

  “I intend to give him the benefit of the doubt. Let's put it that way. He seemed forth right and what he said made sense to me.

  Check with DMV to see what Allan drives.”

  “I'm doing that right now,” Briceson said as he typed. “Here it is. His name comes back as owner of a 2000 red four door Toyota.”

  I continued to puzzle out loud. “The car matches the last visitor that we know of. If Allen killed his grandmother and made the last call at her bedside, he might have thought that was a good alibi.”

  “Exactly,” Briceson agreed. “That would be a good reason for him to clean off the button. Except what if Mrs. Hutson was the one who pushed the message button when she was getting ready for bed and didn't bother to erase the messages.”

  “If she was alive, she'd have answered the phone to talk to her grandson the first time he called. Doc said seven to nine was the estimated time of death.” I continued, “Allen had a better chance of getting out of being a suspect if he hadn’t left that I can't come message. For some reason, he thought he needed an alibi.

  I don't know if Alice Hutson slept with that gun on a regular basis, but she might have kept it under the cover, afraid of what shape her grandson was in,” I added. “If the man wore gloves and used his grandmother’s gun then put it back in her hand, we wouldn’t necessarily have thought of Allen right off without that message. He's now high on our suspect list.”

  “We checked the slug to see if it came from her gun and it did,” Briceson added.

  I hoped the officer was taking mental notes so he’d get better at his job. “Mrs. Hutson expected her grandson to give her an argument when she said she meant she wasn't giving him anymore money. She was worried enough about how the man would react she felt she needed the gun in bed with her for protection while he was there.

  Mrs. Hutson was a caring grandmother. She might have pointed the gun at the man, but I don't think she could pull the trigger when her grandson got aggressive. Allen may have taken the gun away from her and used it on her. But that's only one scenario.

  We have others we can place at the scene thanks to Mabel Baxter. The possible woman suspect is Gloria Cummings. She may have cleaned off Alice Hutson's hand with the hanky. We aren't sure which of the men cleaned the blood away with the towel. We need to see how many of the suspects we can get DNA swabs from without too much trouble.

  Now I’m due a coffee break.” I looked at my watch and groaned. “It’s supper time already. I’m not on duty again until morning unless you absolutely think you can't get along without me. Got that!”

  Briceson grinned. “Got that.”

  I hoped Briceson took my strong hint and left me alone. Since I didn't have a date with Doc, I jogged in the park, slapped together a ham and cheese sandwich for supper and settled into my recliner with the cat mystery book.

  I was thinking I should turn in early after I dozed off at the end of each paragraph numerous times when the phone rang.

  Briceson said, “You might want to come to the station.”

  “What's up?”

  “A couple of DEA officers conducted a drug raid on the west side of town. They're bringing in some prisoners. One of them is Allen Hutson,” Briceson said excitedly.

  “Those agents aren't going to let us close to that man until they're done with him.”

  Briceson sputtered. He wanted to be ready to question Hutson when the DEA officers were through with the man.

  I said, “Just let me know when they leave. I'm fine right where I'm at.”

  Briceson didn't get the chance to call me back. It was near morning when the DEA officers left for a motel to get some sleep. He knew he'd better wait until I came to work at eight.

  Chapter 11

  Normally, I didn't work the weekends if we didn't have a case, but Saturday morning, I rode in the patrol car with Briceson. “The grandson, Allan, is the likely suspect, but what if one of the other two visitors were curious to see who called the murder victim and checked the machine. Like maybe a jealous wife that didn't think to erase the message.”

  Briceson clarified, “You mean Gloria Cummings?”

  “That's the woman we know about. That old man is a player. No telling how many senior girlfriends he has on the side. I don't believe Miss Ada's theory that the man's wife is the last to know. Gloria Cummings is sly enough to play dumb to keep from being a suspect. We have to check with her to see if she has an alibi for Monday evening.”

  “One more thing Miss Ada told me. Mrs. Hutson sat at the table you were at for lunch at the community center,” Briceson said.

  I gasped sharply. “You were going to tell me when?”

  “Right now. I just did,” Briceson said docilely.

  “Any idea which chair Mrs. Hutson sat in,” I said snidely.

  “I do know that. She sat by Tom Ryan part of the time and by Cummings part of the time. Miss Ada said Alice and Ryan held hands under the table when she sat by him,” Briceson said.

  “Oh my, the plot thickens. Did Mrs. Hutson flirt with Mr. Ryan to throw off suspicion about her and Bradford Cummings. Or was she trying to make Bradford jealous.

  That might mean if one of those men got wind about her fooling around with the other, he might have been angry enough to do her in.” I paused. “Come to think about it, Ryan was rather nervous about me sitting at that table after he found out I was in law enforcement.”

  “We're getting a longer list of suspects sure enough,” Briceson said.

  “Looks like we better get to work. We can talk with Gloria Cummings and Tom Ryan this afternoon,” I said. “I'm afraid we're going to find every likely suspect has an alibi. This case is going to drag on by the time we check out the alibis and make sure they are truthful. Why not flush the killer out in the open and get it over with?”

  “How are you going to do that?”

  “We're going to tell everyone involved that we need to search for the bloody material in the morning at the farm that was used to clean Alice Hutson's hand. It has DNA of the killer o it.”

  “We already have the towel,” Briceson exclaimed.

  “No one knows that but us,” I shot back.

  That afternoon, we stopped at the Cummings resident first. A sprawling brick home with a portico entry and a circle driveway set back in a large sculptured lawn. Their two cars, a black caddy and a Crown Victoria dark gree
n, were in the driveway.

  “Briceson, take pictures of the car tires to check against the set from the scene,” I ordered.

  Those two interviews got us no where except both of the Cummings agreed to give us a cheek swab sample.

  Gloria Cummings said she was at a women's meeting which would have kept her busy if Alice Hutson accepted a visit from Bradford Cummings. Bradford claimed he was visiting a sick friend in the hospital. I made it clear we'd check their stories out.

  Bradford wanted to know if we had any leads so far. I explained we were just gathering the facts. The coroner told us someone wiped Alice Hutson's hand clean of blood. In the morning, Briceson and I were going to search for something with blood on it that had been discarded. I thanked them for talking to us and we left.

  Tom Ryan lived in a modest house that was more to my liking than the Cummings place. I could see why Alice Hutson was drawn to him. He fit her causal lifestyle.

  His alibi was a poker game with four men friends. If he was a good buddy with those men, they would back him up even if he wasn't with them all evening. He let me do the DNA swab without asking why I needed it.

  I gave him the song and dance about going back to the Hutson farm in the morning to search for a bloody piece of material. I thanked him for his time, and we left for the police station.

  “Briceson, we need to lay out what we have for the chief and tell him about our stake out at the Hutson farm tonight,” I said, heading for the chief's office.

  I knocked on his closed door.

  Chief Tollerton said, “Enter.”

  “Chief, Briceson and I have decided to flush the Hutson killer out. Checking all the alibis out is going to take too much time,” I said.

  “So what's your plan?”

  “We've told all the suspects that in the morning we plan to search the house and grounds for a bloody material that was used to clean off Alice Hutson's hands.

  So later this afternoon, we're going back to the farm and hide out. The killer knows he or she threw that towel in the ditch. What do you think?”

  “The stake out sounds good, but you can't keep Briceson out there all evening when he's supposed to be patrolling the town until seven and off after that.

  It's not in the budget to pay two officers on duty at once for that many hours. No over time if we can help it,” Chief Tollerton said.

  “Aw, Chief, I wanted to go with Detective Brown,” Briceson said.

  “Never mind,” I said with determination. “I'll stake out the farm by myself.”

  “You out there alone isn't a good idea. Call the Sheriff Department and get a deputy to go with you. This should have been the sheriff's case to begin with,” Chief said.

  I wrinkled my nose at him.

  “You're not going out there alone so let the surveillance pass if you can't find help,” Chief ordered, shaking his finger at me.

  “All right,” I said, standing up. “Come on, Briceson.”

  I plopped down at my desk to sulk. This wasn't working out like I planned. I didn't want to put up with a sheriff deputy horning in on the tail end of my case. The last thing I wanted was some know it all bossing me around and claiming my collar.

  “It's getting late. When are you calling the sheriff's office?” Briceson pushed in a low voice.

  “I'm not.”

  Briceson looked puzzled.

  “Like you said, it's too late to call. They're already off duty on day shift and have assignments given for evening shift. Besides, I don't need any help,” I hissed stubbornly.

  “That probably will be your famous last words if the chief finds out you disobeyed him,” Briceson groused, looking over his shoulder at the chief's closed door.

  I walked away like I didn't hear him and drove home. After I dressed in a long sleeve black shirt and slacks to blend in with the night, I fastened my gun belt and hooked my badge to it.

  A thermos of coffee, a baloney sandwich with mayonnaise and lettuce, a small package of chips and a Little Debbie oatmeal cookie ought to do me for supper. I'd be outdoors in the bean field, so this was sort of like having a picnic only it was without Doc.

  Eating would give me something to do. Stake outs are boring and long. I needed to be in place across from the mailbox while I could see where I was walking. Bean fields are rugged terrain you know.

  My answering machine was blinking. It was Doc. He wondered what I had planned for the evening. He said he'd wait for my call. I didn't have time to give him a song and dance about being too busy to go out with him tonight. Like I had a month's worth of laundry to wash for a spur of the moment reason. I couldn't tell him the truth so it was better not to call him back.

  After rummaging to the bottom of my hand towels, I found a faded blue one frayed around the edges that I felt I could part with. The towel had seen more uses than Alice Hutson's newer one. In the dark who could tell that, and I fully expected the killer to wait until after dark to hunt for the towel.

  I tossed the towel in the sink and wondered what would make fake blood. Catsup was red, but it was too smelly. That's when I remembered the half bottle of red food coloring in the cupboard. I use it in my humming bird feeder when I make up sugar water. Somewhere I'd read humming birds like the color red.

  I emptied the bottle all over the towel, and the red coloring spread in splotches. That was the best I could do. When I turned in my expense account, I needed to add a bottle of red food coloring and a hand towel to the list. So let the chief think I bought new items. I'd have to pay out of pocket to replace both items.

  With my hands full of supplies for the evening, I left home, exhilarated by thoughts of catching Alice Hutson's killer.

  Chapter 12

  We needed rain again. Just enough to settle the dust. The gravel road was dusty. I left a thick cloud behind me, causing me to wonder if I could find some kid to talk into washing my car.

  All seemed quiet at the Hutson farm when I slowed down to turn into the Baxter driveway. I hadn't really expected anyone to be around this early. I backed in the road to this side of the mailbox to about where I thought Briceson picked up the towel. As bad as I hated to go down in the ditch, I did it and tossed the towel deep under the grass.

  I got back in the car and crept over the hill. Two older cars were parked side by side at the edge of the yard in front of a large, older. clapboard house. The building was in bad need of a paint job. I parked next to Henry and Mabel Baxter's cars.

  By the time I made it to the front porch, the screen door hinges squeaked, opening to let Mabel get a better look at me. “Don't I know you from somewhere?”

  “Hello, Mabel. I'm Renee Brown. We met at Barb's City Salon last Monday morning.”

  She broke out in a smile. “Sure, now I know you. Come on it. I'll introduce you to my husband.” Mabel stopped by a heavy set elderly man, with a beer belly, whose concentration was on the television. He was wedged into a sagging brown recliner. “Henry, this is Renee Brown. We both get our hair done at Barb's.”

  Henry nodded, but he kept his focus on a Walker Texas Ranger rerun.

  “Sorry about that. Henry is absolutely worthless when Walker is on,” Mabel apologized.

  Not to speak bad about Henry since I didn't know him, but I wondered if he'd ever had a productive moment in his whole life.

  “Sit down and tell me what has brought you out here,” Mabel said, pointing to the couch. “First, how about a cup of coffee? I was just about to get one for me and Henry.”

  She started for a door I assumed led to the kitchen. A door in another wall led upstairs.

  I stopped her. “No, Mabel. I don't have time for coffee right now. Maybe later.”

  Mabel's eyebrows knitted together.

  “I'm Wedgewood Police Department's Detective, and I'm in need of a small favor. Could I leave my car parked here for awhile? I want to hide out at the end of the bean field by the road to do surveillance on the Hutson place. I'm thinking Alice Hutson's killer might show up tonight.”
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br />   “Oh my goodness! Of course, you can leave the car here.” Mabel worried, “You're not going to be alone out there in that bean field in the dark are you?”

  “Yes, that's the idea,” I said.

  “That sounds dangerous. Let me go with you,” Mabel insisted.

  “That's nice of you, but I can't let you do that.”

  Mabel looked disappointed. “Why not? You might need help.”

  “It's just that you aren't in law enforcement. You understand,” I explained.

  “Okay.” Mabel gave a sigh of relief. “I wasn't looking forward to sitting in the bean field in the dark anyway. Too much wildlife out at night to suit me.”

  “Wildlife? What kind?” I squeaked.

  “The usual country kind of night roamers hunting for food. Field mice, feral cats, the neighbor's dogs, deer, coyotes, foxes.... .” She paused to think about what other critters she should add to her list.

  I giggled nervously. “That's enough to give me nightmares. Don't add any more.”

  “You get fed up you just come back here and watch from my upstairs. You will have just as good of view of the Hutson house. I ought to know,” Mabel assured me. “In fact, I'm going to watch you from upstairs to make sure you're all right.”

  “I appreciate that. As cloudy as it is, I just might be back if I get rained out,” I said. Not really, but I wanted Mabel to think she might be helpful. “Now don't worry. I'm used to stake outs. Before I leave, I'll come tell you what happened.”

  The hill didn't look all that steep until I had to walk up it. It didn't help any that I had to straddle the bean rows and juggle my supper sack, thermos and flashlight. I peeked over the hill both ways on the road to make sure a car wasn't coming. The coast was clear.

  Aiming for the Hutson mailbox, I straddled over the bean plants. Half way to my destination, I stepped without looking where I put my foot. A flapping mourning dove chortled in fright as she flew straight up beside me, brushing my face with her wings. I'd almost stepped on a nest with two speckled eggs in it.