Terry Odell - Mapleton 03 - Deadly Puzzles

by Terry Odell

  She turned and perused the group. “I think there were a couple more. Depends on how long before the alarm went off you’re talking about.”

  “Let’s say fifteen minutes.”

  She scrunched her lips. “I’d have to check my tickets to be sure.”

  “Do you have them with you?”

  “No, they’d be inside. I don’t think there’s more than two or three others. The ones out here haven’t been rung up. Kind of nice that they’d hang around to settle their bills.”

  “I think Angie promised them coupons for another time.”

  Donna laughed—a cackling sound. “Well, that explains it. You want me to get those tickets?”

  “Please,” Gordon said. He trailed her inside. Angie was at the counter, writing something on slips of paper. Her coupons, he assumed. She gathered them and, barely looking at him, went outside.

  “Angie, wait.”

  She turned.

  “If anyone wants to come in, please tell them you’ll be reopening later, but for now, you’ll have to be closed.”

  She bristled. “This is my restaurant, remember. The firefighters gave an all clear.”

  “Yeah, well they’re not cops, and I want to have a cop’s take.”

  “I thought that’s what you did. You are a cop, aren’t you?”

  “An off-duty cop who doesn’t have any equipment. It shouldn’t take long. Under an hour. You’ll be open for dinner, I’m sure.”

  She stormed to the door, then paused. He watched her back straighten, her head lift. Putting on a cheerful face for her clientele.

  “Those receipts?” he said to Donna.

  She swung around the counter and pulled a large envelope from a shelf below. “Lucky for you this is our lull between lunch and dinner. Not much to go through.” She leafed through a small stack of register receipts with her original order tickets stapled to them. “Going back an hour, I have five who were here, paid, and left. Are those the ones you want?”

  “Yes,” Gordon said. “And, what can you tell me about the ones waiting outside? Were they all seated the whole time they were here? Anyone use the restroom?”

  Donna scratched her head with the pencil she kept tucked in her hair. “It was slow, but I don’t keep tabs on everyone. I was the only server in front, and I was running the register, too. Dinner shift was doing sidework, mostly. They might have noticed.”

  Gordon peeked outside. Angie was talking to Mrs. Lipsky, one of her regulars. Great. Her husband was the editor of the Mapleton Bee. Between Solomon collaring the ATM scammer and this, the next issue should be a doozy.

  He stepped out and approached the three members of the staff. All were happy to answer his questions, but none had noticed anyone using the restrooms. Erin spoke up. “I know Ozzie thinks I go in there to smoke, but I go outside. Every time. Even if it’s cold.”

  He thanked them and told them they could go inside, but to stay together.

  Angie came up behind him. “Can they finish their sidework? Help in the kitchen? We are going to open for dinner.”

  “Let’s go inside,” Gordon said. After making sure the front door was locked, he asked everyone to join him at a booth the staff agreed hadn’t been occupied during the afternoon. They squeezed into the banquette, and Gordon dragged a chair from a nearby table and sat. He explained that he’d called for an officer to print the men’s room.

  “Because you smelled smoke?” Angie said. “As I recall, it’s against the law to tamper with a smoke detector, but it’s a pain in the ass if you break the rules by smoking and set it off.”

  “It’s quite likely it was a customer,” Gordon said. “That’s why I’m asking if you noticed anyone who might have used the restroom right before the alarm went off.”

  Donna shook her head. “I’m still not following you, Chief Hepler.”

  Gordon backed up. No reason to expect anyone here to be able to read his mind. Or even think on his wavelength the way Solomon seemed to. “Weighing all the possibilities. He might not even have been a customer.”

  “No, we’d notice if someone came in just to use the restroom,” one of the servers said. “Especially when it’s quiet like it’s been.”

  “He might have been a customer who tried to be inconspicuous by ordering something—maybe lingering over coffee,” Gordon said.

  “You mean like casing the joint?” Erin giggled. “Waiting to make his move?”

  Angie grimaced, then turned her attention to Gordon. “I think you’re making a big deal out of this. If someone wanted to start a fire, that’s one thing. But what reason could anyone have to set off a smoke detector? All that would do would bring the firefighters.”

  Erin lifted her chin. “Maybe he thought if he activated the alarm, we’d turn them off. Maybe even shut down. And then he could come back later.”

  “And do what?” Ozzie snorted. “Set a fire? Because if he was going to break in, shutting down the fire alarm wouldn’t disarm the burglar alarm. They’re totally separate.”

  In a stomach-sinking, head-slapping moment, Gordon leapt from his chair. “Wait here.”

  All eyes turned to him.

  There was a knock on the door, and Gordon rushed to admit Solomon, who carried an evidence kit and a questioning expression.

  “Ditch the kit,” Gordon said. “You’re with me. Now.”

  Chapter 35

  Gordon shot Angie a stern stay where you are look as he and Solomon rushed to the back of the diner, to the door leading to the stairwell to Angie’s apartment.

  “You have gloves?” Gordon asked.

  Solomon slipped a pair out of his pocket and tugged them on. He tried the knob. “Unlocked.”

  Typical Angie. During working hours, when she was apt to be up and down several times a day, she rarely locked it, despite Gordon’s admonitions. Apparently she thought having the Private. No Admittance sign on the door from inside Daily Bread was enough of a deterrent. They jogged up the stairs to her apartment’s front door. Solomon gave it a test and indicated that it, too, was unlocked.

  “What’s up?” Solomon whispered as they stood on either side of the door.

  “Nothing, I hope. But being on vacation seems to have slowed my brain. I should have checked up here as well as the diner. On three.”

  Gordon counted down, then Solomon eased the door open several inches.

  They waited. No gunfire. No sounds from within.

  “I’m going in first,” Solomon said. “I’ve got the gun.”

  “I’ve got my backup.” Gordon reached behind him and removed his Beretta from its holster.

  “Yeah, but mine’s bigger. Going right.” Solomon darted through the doorway. Gordon followed, shoving the door all the way open, moving to the left. They leaned against the wall, frozen.

  Gordon gazed at what was usually a small, tidy space, now converted to a mashup of sofa cushions, throw pillows, overturned furniture, lamps, and the assorted odds and ends of everyday life.

  “Holy crap,” Solomon said. “Angie’s going to be pissed.”

  Gordon found his voice. “Now that’s an understatement.” He found his legs. “Let’s clear the place, but my money says whoever did this is gone.”

  Solomon picked his way through the jumbled living area toward the kitchen. “Guess the smoke alarm was a diversion.”

  “Ya’ think,” Gordon muttered under his breath, still cursing himself for not seeing this sooner. He concentrated on making sure there was no one inside, trying to ignore the ransacked living room. And bedroom.

  “Kitchen and porch clear.” Solomon’s voice rang through the apartment.

  “Bedroom and bath clear,” Gordon responded, although clear wasn’t the word he’d use to describe the mess. But there were no signs of anyone inside, so in copspeak, it was clear. He reholstered his weapon.

  They met in the living room. “Guess I’d better get my kit and camera,” Solomon said. “You want me to break it to Angie or do you want that pleasure?”
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br />   Gordon scowled. “Tell her? Hell, I don’t know what to tell her. I’ll go down with you.”

  Then he stayed Solomon’s arm. “Wait.”

  Gordon went into the bedroom. The bed covers and mattress were tossed onto the floor, but not destroyed. Dresser drawers were on the floor as well, along with their contents, but appeared undamaged. Nothing broken in the bathroom, either. Towels on the floor, the counters swept clear, but otherwise intact. He sensed Solomon over his shoulder.

  “Looks like a case of criminal trespassing,” Solomon said. “Could have been worse. Nothing torn apart. Living room’s the same. Kitchen was untouched as far as I could tell. At least the creep didn’t dump all the food into the middle of the floor.”

  “Burglary is still a possibility. We won’t know if he took anything until Angie goes through this. Whoever it was must have known he wouldn’t have much time.” Gordon paused. “We can mull over the possibilities later. Get your documentation, dust for prints, do what you have to do so Angie can put this back together.”

  With him at her side. No way would he let her go through this alone.

  They went downstairs, neither touching the handrail. Solomon avoided eye contact altogether as he strode through the diner to pick up his evidence kit, sling his camera around his neck, and carry them up to Angie’s.

  Gordon stopped at the booth where five pairs of eyes snapped to meet his. “What’s the matter?” Angie said. “Why is Ed going upstairs? What did you find?”

  Gordon remained standing, almost at attention. “Someone got into your apartment, Angie.” He raised his palms as she went pale.

  “As far as we can tell, he didn’t take anything. Or break anything. It appears he was looking for something and used the fire alarm to create a diversion. Either that, or he was out for kicks.”

  “I’m going up there.” Angie started for the stairs.

  Gordon stepped in front of her, rested his hands on her shoulders. “Yes, you are. We’ll need you to see if anything’s missing. But not yet. Solomon needs to finish documenting the scene and collecting evidence.”

  “So what do I do in the meantime? I can’t just sit here.”

  “Let’s try and reconstruct what might have happened,” Gordon said. “Can you bring us some paper and pencils?”

  Angie scurried toward the counter and returned with a handful of pens, pencils and a stack of paper. “Will this do?”

  “Fine,” Gordon said.

  Angie set everything in the middle of the table. Erin, her brown eyes sparkling, grabbed a pen and a sheet of paper, twirling the pen in her fingers. Donna, the matriarch of the group, shot Erin a look, then took a sheet and pencil for herself and passed the rest around the table. Patti and Jemma, the other two servers, waited with pencils poised for Gordon to go on.

  Ozzie’s gaze darted back and forth from Gordon to the kitchen. “Dunno what help I can be,” the cook said. “I’m in the kitchen most of the time. Should be there now if we’re going to have dinner service.”

  “This shouldn’t take too long,” Gordon reached for a sheet of paper and a pencil. “We need to make a diagram of the dining room. Then, I’d like you to remember anything you can about what went on.”

  “We’ve got printed diagrams.” Angie hurried to the kitchen and returned with several copies of the dining room layout. Her hands trembled as she set them on the table.

  “Great,” Gordon said, orienting a page so it matched the way they were seated. “Donna, you were on duty, so please start with which tables were occupied, and by whom, if you remember.”

  She tugged the receipts from her apron pocket, consulting them as she filled out the diagram. “We use the same tables if people leave and new customers come in,” Donna said. “No need to walk extra distances when I’m here alone and things are slow.”

  She picked up a pen and added more information. “That’s everyone who was here from two o’clock. They all ate, paid, and left. I don’t know everyone’s name, but if they paid by credit card, we have that.”

  “What about the people who were eating when the alarm went off?” Gordon asked.

  Ozzie shoved himself out of the booth. “If I was working on orders, they’ll be in the kitchen.” He lumbered across the room.

  While he was gone, Donna looked at her unfinished tickets and filled in a few more slots. Ozzie returned with a single form. “Most folks, that time of day, are in for coffee and pastry. One order for a turkey sandwich.” He consulted the slip again, then tapped the diagram. “Table seven.”

  “Anyone have anything else to add?” he asked when Donna added that to the chart.

  Patti slid the diagram closer to her, tapping each table with a forefinger and nodding. She stopped and frowned. Tapped a spot three times on the page. “What about the guy with the newspaper?” she asked. “He was here when I got to work. Table eleven.”

  “What guy?” Donna frowned and looked at her tickets again. “I didn’t have anyone at table eleven.”

  “Maybe he hadn’t ordered yet,” Erin said.

  “What time did you get to work, Patti?” Gordon asked.

  She gave a defiant head shake in Angie’s direction, and Gordon wondered if Patti had attendance issues. “Three twenty-two,” Patti responded, head high. “Eight minutes early, so I was having a cup of coffee. In the kitchen. Ask Ozzie. He saw me.”

  Ozzie gave a noncommittal shrug. “Yup.”

  Footfalls on the stairs heralded Solomon’s arrival, and everyone turned. He set his kit on a nearby table and stripped off his gloves. “All done, Chief.”

  “What did you find?” Angie asked. “Did you get his prints? Can you catch him?”

  Chapter 36

  Gordon consulted the diagram for table eleven, then found its real-life counterpart, a two-top tucked into the corner of the diner. Other than a folded newspaper, only the usual napkins and silverware sat on the table. “Hang on, Angie.” He motioned to Solomon. “Ed, start by printing the men’s room. If a cigarette set off the alarm, unless the detector was defective, someone would have had to get the smoke up close and personal with it. That adds to our hypothesis that this was a deliberate act.”

  “And, maybe the guy left prints if he had to balance himself on something to reach it,” Solomon said, eyes gleaming.

  Gordon suppressed a grin. He pointed to table eleven. “When you finish in the men’s room, print that table and bag the newspaper.”

  “On it, Chief.” Solomon snapped on a fresh pair of gloves, picked up his kit, and barreled toward the restrooms.

  “Now there goes a man who loves his work,” Ozzie said.

  Gordon smiled. He could say the same about Ozzie, who had the belly—and chins—to prove it. He refocused on the mystery man at table eleven. “Did anyone get a look at him? Anything. Tall, short? Fat, thin? Clothes? Black? White? Latino? Asian? Any details can help.”

  Each gave their reasons for not noticing. They weren’t on duty, they weren’t in the dining room, they took him for granted. Patti was the only one who’d noticed him at all, and she couldn’t offer anything more than she thought he was white based on his hands holding the newspaper. From where she’d stood, his face was hidden by the paper, and because he was seated, she couldn’t judge his height. Table eleven, which Solomon was printing now, was in Donna’s section, so Patti assumed Donna had taken his order, or would have her next trip through the dining room and didn’t give him a thought.

  Solomon looked up from where he was twirling his fingerprint brush, dusting black powder onto the tabletop. “Nothing here. I can see him not touching the table when he sat down, but when you get up, it’s normal to push off. Gives more credence to this being our guy.”

  “Try the chair back. If he pulled it out when he sat down, he might have left prints,” Gordon said.

  “He couldn’t have been in here long,” Donna said. “I was cutting pies in the kitchen, and after that, I was brewing another pot of coffee, so my back would have been toward the dini
ng room for a few minutes.”

  “Okay, we know he arrived before three twenty-two, and was gone after the alarm went off which was at—?” Gordon looked at Ozzie.

  “I’ll check the panel,” Ozzie said.

  Gordon ran over the timeline in his head. He’d left the station at two-fifty. Arrived at Angie’s by three. A couple of minutes to admire the candles, then maybe fifteen or twenty sampling her food and chatting. Listening, mostly. And then the sounding of the alarm, and then running downstairs, around the building, and waiting for the fire department. Searching the downstairs without thinking about Angie’s apartment.

  “Alarm triggered at three twenty-eight,” Ozzie reported.

  And it was four-thirty now. “My thought is that the guy set off the alarm, waited in the restroom long enough to make sure everyone was leaving, and then went upstairs to Angie’s apartment.”

  “Did he pick the locks?” This from Erin.

  Gordon shook his head. “Doesn’t look like it.” He cut his gaze to Angie who clearly sensed his question.

  “I left them unlocked,” she said. “I don’t always keep them locked during the day. This is Mapleton.” She fisted her hands. “I do lock my outside entrance.”

  Gordon heard the unspoken don’t lecture me in her words.

  “How did he get away?” Patti asked. “I didn’t notice him outside. At least, I think I would have. If he’d been there.”

  “I say he did his thing, ran out the back, and is long gone,” Solomon said, using his cop voice. “That’s typical for these kinds of cases. I did get some good prints in the men’s room. Of course, considering at least half the male population of Mapleton has been in there, we’ll have to see if any of them might belong to our suspect.”

  “What about DNA?” Erin asked. “That should point you right at him.”

  Gordon suppressed a groan before he explained to Erin—and everyone else—that DNA didn’t work like it did on television. “But we’ll try,” he added, rather than have them think he didn’t know how to do his job.

  And now, time to help Angie face the mess in her apartment. “Ready?”