by Mary Daheim
“Right,” said his companion. “That guy acted like we were crooks.”
The other young man laughed. “That’s because his buddy was wasted. He couldn’t even sit up.”
“So what?” his friend said. “Like we haven’t seen drunks before?”
Judith kept her voice matter-of-fact. “When was this in August?”
“Oh,” the stocky young man said, looking at his lanky friend. “Third week? It was a Friday, I remember that.”
“Was it near the Pancake Schloss?” Judith asked.
“We’d just finished a late lunch there,” the stocky one said.
Renie poked Judith. “As a police deputy, don’t you think you should ask them to report what they saw? I’ll stay here.” Seeing the young men’s wary expressions, Renie pulled a twenty and a five out of her wallet. “The books are on me. We should all do our civic duty.”
“She’s right,” Judith said, coming around from behind the counter and grabbing her jacket. “Police headquarters is only a little more than a block away. Shall we?”
The dumbfounded pair took the refund and the books. “I guess,” the lanky one said, “but this is too weird.”
On their way to the station, Judith explained that a crime might have been committed by the man who had told them to go away. She avoided any mention of murder for fear of scaring off the young men. At the entrance to the station, she paused.
“I’m Judith Flynn. I should know your names before we go inside.”
“Tyler Whalen,” the lanky one said.
“Jordan Smith,” the stocky one replied. “Really. It is Smith.”
Judith smiled. “I believe you. It’s too obvious to be made up.”
Hernandez was back on duty at the desk. “Chief’s not here,” he said, eyeing Judith and the young men with curiosity. “He took the redhead out for drinks. Ernie’s taking a nap break in one of the cells.”
“Then you’re it,” Judith said, giving the officer a meaningful look. “These gentlemen want to make a statement about what they saw by the river August nineteenth.”
It took only a moment for Hernandez to realize what Judith meant. “Okay, but we’ll have to do it out here. I can’t leave my post until Ernie wakes up. Let’s get you settled in behind the counter.”
Tyler and Jordan sat down in folding chairs, but still looked uncertain. Judith, who had seated herself in a chair Hernandez had fetched her, tried not to eavesdrop, but couldn’t avoid it. The young men were apparently trying to figure out what kind of crime had occurred other than being drunk in public. Jordan remarked that if getting blotto was breaking the local law, about half the town could have been busted the previous evening.
Finally, they set to work, writing out separate statements. The task took less than ten minutes. “Here,” Tyler said, handing over their accounts to Hernandez. “This is the truth. It’s all we can remember.”
The basic facts meshed, but didn’t go much beyond what Judith had already heard. After Hernandez had also read the statements, she asked if Tyler and Jordan could describe either the man who’d yelled at them or the one who seemed to be intoxicated.
“The jerk was fifty or so,” Jordan said, looking at Tyler, who nodded. “He was balding, sandy hair, average build. Tan chinos, tank top, I think. No facial hair, just an average dude.”
“How tall?” Hernandez inquired.
“I couldn’t tell,” Jordan replied. “He was sort of squatting, propping up the drunk. If I had to guess, close to six feet.”
“What,” Judith asked, “did the other man look like?”
Tyler grimaced. “We didn’t see much of him. We’d just come down to the bottom of the trail when the dink told us to go away. I suppose we were twenty, thirty feet away. Brown hair, about the same age, bigger build, plaid shirt, dark pants.” He shrugged. “That’s about it. His back was turned to us. We figured he was throwing up.”
Judith gazed at Hernandez. “The jerk could be anybody,” she said.
“Hey,” Tyler said, “I’m a cartoonist. I could do a sketch of Jerk-off.”
“That might be helpful,” Hernandez said without inflection. “I’ll get paper and pencils.” He went over to a cabinet by the far wall.
Judith wished Renie had come with her. Another artist’s eye might help interpret whatever Tyler was going to draw. Trying not to bother the young man, she drew her chair closer to Jordan. “Do you two come to Little Bavaria often?” she asked in a virtual whisper.
Jordan shook his head. “This is only the third time. We skied up at the summit last year. Tyler wants to try snowboarding to show off for his girlfriend. Why not? It sounds pretty cool to me, too.”
“Cool and cold,” Judith murmured, watching Tyler out of the corner of her eye. He seemed to be working quickly.
He was, in fact, finished. “There,” he said with satisfaction. “Take a look. See if you recognize this creep.”
Hernandez, who had been doing paperwork, joined Judith. She spoke first. “He doesn’t look familiar. But I don’t live here.”
After another long moment, Hernandez shook his head. “Nobody I know either. Of course, I’ve only been in Little Bavaria for a few months. The chief might recognize him.”
Tyler seemed disappointed. “Maybe I didn’t really capture him.”
Judith smiled encouragingly. “You’ve injected character into his face. He looks angry.”
“He was,” Tyler responded.
“Dude,” Jordan said, “you nailed him. I’d know him anywhere. But I don’t want to.” He turned to Hernandez. “What crime did he commit?”
Judith waited for the officer to answer the question. Hernandez opted for discretion. “I can only say he’s a suspect.”
Judith didn’t say anything at all.
The young men hadn’t exhibited further curiosity. They left almost immediately, telling Judith to thank the woman with the big teeth for giving them the snowboarding books.
“I gather,” she said to Hernandez, “you think those two caught whoever killed Bob Stafford in the act?”
“Maybe not actually killing him,” he replied thoughtfully, “but setting Stafford up to look as if he’d drowned.”
“Their arrival must have scared the wits out of whoever he is,” Judith said, then realized it was a stupid thing to say. “No,” she corrected herself, staring at the sketch again. “There’s no fear in his expression. He probably thought that if they asked what was going on, he could say his friend had fallen and hit his head.”
“A cool customer,” Hernandez remarked as Duomo came through the door.
“Hell’s bells,” the chief said, “that redhead could drink me under the table. What’s she got, a hollow leg?”
“Her legs look fine to me,” Hernandez murmured. “Where is she?”
“On patrol someplace,” Fat Matt growled. “Sober as a judge.” He saw the sketch on the counter. “Who’s doing cartoons around here?” Finally, he seemed to realize that Judith was present. “You draw that? Am I supposed to arrest some guy from the funny papers?”
Judith tried to measure the chief’s state of inebriation, decided he didn’t seem much different from when he was sober, and informed him that the man in the drawing was a suspect in the Stafford homicide. She let Hernandez handle the rest of the explanation.
“The hell you say.” Duomo squinted at the sketch. “Never seen him before in my life. Just what we figured—one of those random deals. We could put out an APB, maybe. Probably only get a bunch of crazies. Poor Bob. What would I do without those pancakes?”
“You can make copies and post them around town,” Judith said.
Duomo looked aghast. “During Oktoberfest? That guy’s mug would scare visitors. We’ll wait until after everybody’s gone.”
Judith didn’t argue. “May I get a copy of it? My cousin and I are lea
ving early tomorrow on the Empire Builder.”
Duomo waved a hand. “Go ahead. Think I’ll join Ernie for a nap. I’m getting too old to drink on the job.” He ambled out of sight.
Judith stared at Hernandez, who was already scanning the sketch. “Is your boss for real?”
The officer smiled faintly. “Define ‘real.’ ”
“Never mind,” Judith said.
Five minutes later, she returned to Sadie’s Stories. Renie was selling six Agatha Christie mysteries to two middle-aged women. “I can’t believe you’ve missed her,” she was saying in a chipper voice. “She’s the Queen of Plots. Every author since has stolen from her.”
The women thanked her profusely and departed. Renie shook her head. “I swear Christie invented every conceivable plot imaginable. I wonder what she’d have done with DNA. What’s up?”
“It’s snowing,” Judith said. “I took my time coming back.”
“I wondered. Someone mentioned the snow. It must’ve blown in fast. Business has slowed down.” She checked the time. “It’s almost two. Barry and Jessi should be back soon. What’s in that envelope?”
Judith explained about Tyler’s artistic talent as she took the sketch out of the envelope. “What do you think?”
“Of his talent? Not bad. He’s caught a real person. Alas, the guy looks like a bad apple. You think he killed Bob?”
“Let’s see if Barry recognizes him,” Judith said, but paused before putting the drawing back in the envelope. “Can you make a copy of this so he can show Suzie?”
“Sure,” Renie said. “They’ve got the same kind of all-in-one printer that I have. It’ll only take a few seconds.”
She’d just finished removing the copy of the sketch when Mrs. Bauer walked into the shop. Judith smiled in surprise. “You’re very brave to come out in the snow,” she said.
The old woman peered at her for a moment until recognition struck. “You were at church this morning. I didn’t know you lived here.”
“I don’t,” Judith said. “My cousin and I are filling in for a friend while she has lunch. Do you know Jessi?”
“Yes,” Mrs. Bauer said. “A very nice young woman. I’m used to the snow. Jessi is holding an embroidery book for me. It has a long title—something about making projects for the home.”
Renie scanned the shelf where Jessi stashed preordered books. “Here you go,” she said, setting Colorful Stitchery on the counter. “It looks like it just came out this month.”
Mrs. Bauer nodded. “Yes. Jessi knew I’d enjoy it, though I wish my eyes were not beginning to fail.”
“Here’s Jessi now,” Judith said, seeing her arrive with Barry.
Jessi greeted Mrs. Bauer while Judith picked up the sketch and showed it to Barry. “Do you know this person?”
Barry stared at the drawing before giving Judith a quizzical look. “No. Should I?”
“Probably not.” She lowered her voice. “Are you leaving now?”
“I don’t have to,” Barry said. “The snow’s really coming down.”
Judith held on to the sketch in case Jessi might know the man. She didn’t want to explain why she’d asked Barry, but it was Mrs. Bauer who craned her neck to stare at the alleged suspect’s likeness.
“Oh, dear God,” she murmured, turning pale even as she adjusted her glasses. “No, no!”
“What is it?” Judith asked in alarm.
Mrs. Bauer peered at the drawing again. “Perhaps I am mistaken. It’s been so long . . . surely it can’t be . . . but I could swear that is Jack, the man who ruined my daughter.”
All eyes regarded the old lady with puzzlement. “Jack who?” Judith finally asked.
Taking an embroidered handkerchief from her purse, Mrs. Bauer removed her glasses and wiped her eyes. “Jack Hellman, the son of the horrible man who tried to destroy my husband’s reputation. Those Hellmans are the most evil people on earth! Please tear up that picture. I think I’m going to faint.”
Mrs. Bauer did just that. Luckily, Barry caught her before she hit the floor. “Smelling salts, anyone?” Renie said in a weary voice.
“No,” Jessi said, “but I’ll get some water.” She scurried out through the door at the end of the counter.
Barry had gotten down on the floor, propping up Mrs. Bauer with his knee. She seemed to be coming around. “Hellman?” he said softly.
“I think,” Judith said reluctantly, “his father committed suicide. Before your time, though.”
Barry shook his head. “Why have you got a picture of his son?”
Before Judith could explain, Jessi appeared with a glass of water and a damp facecloth. Mrs. Bauer had opened her eyes, but looked dazed. “I am so sorry,” she mumbled. “Very foolish of me.”
“Not at all,” Jessi said, holding the paper cup to the old lady’s lips. “You had a bad shock.”
“Yes,” she said, after sipping from the cup. “I may be wrong, but the drawing looks like Jack’s father at that same age. Fifty, perhaps?”
“Probably,” Judith said.
Barry waited for Jessi to wipe off Mrs. Bauer’s face before helping her to stand. “I’ll walk you home,” he said. “Maybe you should rest for a few minutes. Let me get the chair from behind the counter.”
“I’ll get it,” Renie said. “Hey, coz, why don’t you and Barry go into the back room and get a bag for Mrs. Bauer’s book?”
“Don’t you have some bags . . .” Judith stopped. “Oh, you mean the heavier ones. Sure, come on, Barry,” she said, after he’d settled Mrs. Bauer in the chair.
Jessi looked mystified, but didn’t say anything. Renie stealthily slipped the original sketch to her cousin. A moment later, Judith and Barry were in the shop’s back room. Giving her a bewildered look, he asked what was going on with the drawing. “I told you I don’t recognize the guy. I think I’ve heard the name ‘Hellman,’ but that’s about it.”
“You’ve seen the marker on the trail from the Pancake Schloss, though. Didn’t you ever ask what it was for?”
“Sure,” Barry replied. “My parents told me it was for some old nut who’d offed himself a long time ago. It was kind of creepy, but I never thought much about it.”
Judith explained about the snowboarders. As her tale unfolded, Barry’s expression changed from curiosity to abject horror.
“You mean . . . these guys saw who killed my dad?”
Judith nodded. “It sounds like it. If so, then Jack Hellman—the suicide’s son—may be the killer. I think we should go see Matt Duomo.”
Barry balked. “No. We have to tell Mom first. I’ll walk Mrs. Bauer home, then get Mom’s car and collect you. Deal?”
Judith hesitated. “Renie should go along to stay with Mrs. Bauer.”
“Why?” Barry sounded puzzled. “She should be okay if she rests.”
Judith shook her head. “The police are shorthanded. Mrs. Bauer may be in danger. You, of all people, know there’s a killer out there.”
Renie didn’t argue with Judith’s suggestion. “Should I be armed?” she whispered, putting on her jacket.
“Just be careful,” Judith said under her breath. “You’re lethal with a pickle fork. But try getting Mrs. Bauer to talk about her daughter.”
Twenty minutes later, Barry had braved the snow to get the Escort to collect Judith, Renie, and Mrs. Bauer. Jessi had two new customers, a cheerful mother and daughter from Osoyoos, British Columbia, who didn’t resemble homicidal maniacs.
Mrs. Bauer lived in a small frame house two blocks north of the police station and one block west of St. Hubert’s. Along the way she had revealed some interesting, if perhaps misleading, information.
“Heinrich Hellman claimed to be Jewish,” she said from the backseat, where she was sitting with Renie. “But one evening I came to church to light a candle for my daughter. He was praying at Saint
Hubert’s shrine. It was quite dark inside, so he did not see me. I waited for him to finish, then I followed him outside. It was the first time I’d confronted him with the lies he’d told about my husband, Helmut. He denied everything, of course. The next day he committed suicide.”
She’d concluded the recital just as Barry had pulled in front of her house. There was no chance for Judith to ask questions. She’d have to leave that up to Renie.
“I guess I’ve missed a lot of background about Little Bavaria’s history,” Barry said, heading for the police station. “Did Mrs. Bauer mean that Hellman wasn’t Jewish or that he was nuts? And what would his son have to do with my dad? I never knew any Hellmans.”
“Major Schwartz might know,” Judith said. “He’s Jewish.”
“You mean Ernie, the Dozing Cop?”
“Ernie may doze, but he’s smart. The only problem is that he might not remember much about the Hellmans. Good grief,” she exclaimed, “it’s snowing so hard that your windshield wipers can hardly keep up with the flakes! Won’t the weather hamper the festival finale?”
Barry shrugged. “It’s barely above freezing. That’s why the flakes are so big. It’s not unusual to have a big snow in October. Sometimes it doesn’t happen again until December.”
Judith realized she shouldn’t have been surprised. Even on the more temperate western side of the mountains, the weather could be unpredictable. After Barry parked the car within a few yards of the station, he insisted that Judith wait for him to help her get out.
Hernandez had been replaced behind the counter by Ernie, who looked awake. “We were expecting you,” he said. “What took so long?”
“It wasn’t Barry who ID’d the sketch,” Judith said. “It was Mrs. Bauer. Did you know the Hellmans?”
“You mean the guy who offed himself? Sure. It happened a few years before I joined the force. What’s he got to do with anything?”
“Was he really Jewish?”
Ernie laughed, a first for him as far as Judith was concerned. “I guess so. We ethnic types don’t always hang out together. He was old.”
“What about his son?”
Ernie frowned. “Jack Hellman? Yeah, I went to high school with him. He was kind of a jerk. We weren’t buddies, though I guess he was Jewish, too. No high school in Little Bavaria then. We had to bus over to Lake Shegogan. There were quite a few students in our class because it was the only high school for this whole area. Jack left town not long after graduation. I haven’t seen him since.”
