‘I think your problem with Barbara Styles has just disappeared,’ Lyon said.
Mead MacIntire looked confused again. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘She died today,’ Lyon said. ‘In the street outside the church. She was shot to death in the same manner as the Anderson girl.’
Seven
Sarge Renfroe crossed his arms over his apron and smiled over the bar at Spook. The former First Cav infantryman had three beers with matching shots of whiskey neatly lined in front of him. He was diligently working his way through the formation. After he downed the last shot, Sarge gleefully poured another with an accompanying hit for himself.
‘The captain sure knows how to treat his men,’ the bar owner said conspiratorially to his customer.
Spook placed empty shot glasses over his eyes and smiled impishly. ‘He said if I came down without trouble he’d buy me a snootful.’
‘How much is that?’
‘You’ll know when I fall off the stool.’
Rocco and Lyon sat in the far booth. The large police officer had placed himself so that he was turned away from the spectacle at the bar. ‘It’s got to be destroying his liver,’ Lyon said.
‘Do you really believe he has one left? He’s been known to drink shaving lotion toward the end of the month.’ Rocco began to scratch his chest with both hands. He yelled across the room to Sarge. ‘Shut off the spigot. That’s all I’m paying for.’
‘He’s got a couple coming from the well,’ Renfroe shouted back.
‘What is wrong with you?’ Lyon asked as his friend continued a frantic scratching.
‘It’s the damn body armor Martha makes me wear. It’s itchy as hell.’
‘When did that start?’
‘Since I got shot last year during the bank hold-up. I promised her that whenever I do anything confrontational I’d wear the damn stuff. Spook might get confrontational one day if he mistakes me for Cong.’ He stood and handed Lyon a flimsy copy sheet. ‘Read this. It’s a copy of the 911 call Barbara Styles made after she was shot. I’m going to the latrine to shuck this stuff.’
Lyon read the sheet. ‘You won’t believe who has just shot me. But I can’t wait for you. I am hurt.’ He looked up as Rocco returned.
The chief threw the armor vest on the seat and slid into the booth. ‘She dropped the phone, but the line was open and there was a 911 trace to the number. Get the wording? “You won’t believe who has just shot me.”’
‘The implication being that it was someone known to most people in town, but a rather far-fetched killer.’
‘Agreed,’ Rocco said. ‘But Spook is not in that league. I get complaints every month about him. Most people in town think he’s capable of anything, although all he ever seems to do is pee on the gazebo or pass out on a playground slide. I think if he had shot her, Barbara would have said “the Spook has finally done it,” or words to that effect. She didn’t say that. The killer was someone completely unexpected.’
‘Like hinting at the saint of Murphysville? You’re suggesting that the good canon is planting red herrings by dispensing First Cav patches to all his victims?’
‘Those patches are why I have to stash Spook somewhere safe. If I don’t there will be lynch mobs a-gathering.’
‘I don’t think we’ve lynched anyone in town since they strung Hetti Brun to the hanging tree on the green and called her a witch.’
‘After I arrest our Episcopal Pope for popping a teenage girl and then offing his secretary,’ Rocco said, ‘they’ll call me worse things than that.’
‘Evidence?’
‘Working on it. We do know that the canon found out Barbara Styles had her own share of the wealth plan. It’s not too far from that to have him knock her off in a rage. He knows you and I are friends so he drives out to your place to establish an alibi.’
‘That’s within the realms of possibility, but how do you line up our saint with sexy Boots?’
‘He misread her come-on. She flirted with him during one of their private sessions and he didn’t know how to handle it,’ Rocco said.
Lyon thought of his own teaching background with its exposure to slightly similar situations. Young women, just discovering their sexuality, sometimes experimented with their seductive skills. Although they might not have any real sexual intentions, their flirtations could be misunderstood. He sometimes compared adolescent seductresses to kittens learning to pounce on harmless things before becoming true predators. He didn’t think his wife would care for that analogy. ‘So, maybe the girl was a little comeonish, but few mature men, particularly a minister, would put any significance in her true sexual signals.’
‘Some men are naive. When his holiness gets the teenage seduction number done on him, he takes it for real. He makes a date to meet her in the woods for a little hanky-panky bird-watching. Or, it came down another way. He’s out there alone checking on a sparrow flyby. He catches her nude sunbathing. When she turns him down he kills her in a rage.’
‘Do you have much experience with crime among the bird-watching set?’
‘I admit to very little. But new dimensions in modern decadence are constantly being discovered,’ the police chief said.
‘If I buy that possibility,’ Lyon said, ‘I’d want to know why the good canon was out in the woods with a handgun.’
‘He was worried about an attack by a flight of crazed robins.’
‘Think about how our canon looks and how he ordinarily acts,’ Lyon said. ‘How many rages do you think that guy gets in a decade?’
‘Enough to kill two of our women.’
‘Come on, Rocco. Even you can’t cobble a case against the canon with a straight face.’
‘Let me tell you something, old buddy. Outside of innocent bystanders gunned down during a drug turf war—which we have none of in Murphysville—most killers and victims know each other. They have some prior relationship.’
‘I have another possibility,’ Lyon said. ‘You’ve scratched Skee Rumford off your list. He had a relationship with both women. He was Boots’ lover and his family were church members at Saint James. Let’s assume Skee finds out about Barbara Styles’ collection-plate pilfering. He tries to shake her down. She objects. He threatens her with the gun stolen from Eddy Rashish. Gun goes off. He plants patch to implicate Spook in a second killing.’
‘He has an airtight alibi for the morning Boots was killed.’
‘Allegedly in class.’
‘Attendance records prove it.’
‘What class?’
Rocco consulted his ubiquitous small notebook. ‘Survey course in English lit.’
‘I taught for too many years, Rocco. A large undergraduate seminar like that could have a hundred students. Attendance is taken by signing a sheet, not by personal knowledge of the instructor.’
‘Does that mean anyone could sign for someone else?’ Rocco asked.
‘A possible. Did you personally examine the sign-in sheet?’
‘Hell, Lyon, I have twelve officers in my department. On a good day I can muster three for a shift. I called the college and someone in the Dean’s office verified Skee’s attendance.’
‘I think you had better check it out in person,’ Lyon said.
‘Incoming!’ Sarge Renfroe bellowed before he broke into huge belching laughs.
‘Take cover!’ Spook screamed. His shot and beer rocketed toward the ceiling as he dove across the room to slide head-first under a booth.
Rocco ignored the incident, but seemed mesmerized by a vehicle driving past the bar. ‘I think we have two stops on our way to check attendance sheets at the college.’
‘Take Spook to the VA hospital is one; what’s the other?’ Lyon asked.
‘Judge Styles just tooled his Lincoln down the street doing a cool seventy.’
‘I thought you yanked his license?’
‘I did. And this is a thirty-mile-an-hour zone. Bring Spook,’ Rocco said as he dashed for his cruiser.
Lyon bent over
the booth to see that Spook had both arms pulled over his head. ‘You’ve been wounded by a small piece of shrapnel, soldier. We’re going to the battalion aid station.’
‘Thanks, Doc. But it’s not bad. I can stay with the unit.’
‘Captain’s order,’ Lyon replied. He tried to recall at what point in their relationship with Spook they had abandoned all pretense of reality.
The two passengers in the back seat of Murphysville Police Cruiser One were a dissimilar pair. The judge sat stiffly erect with his hands on his knees. He stared rigidly ahead. Spook, anesthetized by a series of boilermakers, leaned his head against the window and snored.
‘I have a sanity hearing in my court, Randolph,’ the judge said imperiously to Rocco.
‘That’s for sure,’ Rocco mumbled in reply.
‘Drop me at court and pick me up in two hours.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Rocco answered as he turned down Route 40 toward the Murphysville Convalescent Hospital. He had radioed ahead to make arrangements. Two male aides were waiting by the front entrance and approached the car as soon as it stopped.
‘We’re there, Judge,’ Rocco said.
‘Thank you, Henry. Remember, be back as soon as the luncheon is over.’ The judge left the car and regally allowed his arms to be grasped by the two aides as they guided him inside.
‘I wonder who Randolph and Henry were,’ Rocco said as they drove away. ‘Next stop is the VA hospital, which is practically on our way to Middleburg Community College.’
The college was nearly astride the Connecticut River and it occupied buildings that once housed a textile mill. The factory had long since moved south, but the brick construction and strong interior support walls allowed for extensive renovation.
An administrator in the Dean’s office showed Rocco copies of the attendance sheets. She told them that the course instructor kept the originals with his grade book. They were directed to a small office located near a lecture hall where the instructor was holding office hours.
The door was opened at Rocco’s knock by a lanky teacher dressed in corduroy pants and sports jacket with leather elbow patches. He smiled until he saw the badge on Rocco’s shirt. The door slammed shut.
‘I’m in the police business because I love people,’ Rocco said to Lyon before he shouldered his way into the small office.
‘I’m Chief Herbert of the Murphysville—’
‘I know who you are,’ the teacher mumbled. ‘You busted me for a stop sign violation two years ago. Those extra points were just enough to have my license yanked for a year.’ He avoided looking at them as he picked up a blue book and made a note in its margin.
Rocco looked at his pad. ‘You are Theodore Stratton and are the instructor of English 101. Skee Rumford is one of your students.’
The teacher continued to read the examination book intently without answering.
‘Oh, boy,’ Rocco muttered. ‘Would you please step out a moment, Lyon? Mr. Stratton and I have a matter to discuss.’
‘I don’t talk to pigs,’ was Stratton’s comment made without looking up.
Rocco shrugged. ‘Aren’t you a little young to be of the pig-calling generation?’
‘Leave my office unless you have a warrant.’
‘In the police game,’ Rocco said, ‘we call this attitude latent hostility to authority figures.’
‘Doesn’t seem to be so latent to me,’ Lyon replied as he stepped from the room and shut the door.
In two minutes, Rocco called him back to the office.
The English instructor did not appear to be damaged. His stiff posture, grim smile, and the disappearance of all blue books, seemed to indicate that he was now giving Rocco his full attention.
‘I hope to God you didn’t hit him, mash his fingers, or whatever it is you do,’ Lyon said.
Rocco frowned. ‘Of course not. Mr. Stratton has made a voluntary decision to be cooperative.’
The teacher’s nearly immobile expression crumbled. ‘How would you like it if you could never drive through the town of Murphysville again? How in the hell do you get to the beach from here without going through that jerkwater burg?’
‘You start by giving the town’s police the information they need,’ Lyon said.
It took four minutes to examine the original attendance sheet and see that it contained a forgery. Skee Rumford’s name was signed with a green pen that appeared again for the signature of Lori Wappinger. Small flourishes with tiny circles embellished both signatures. No attempt had been made to disguise the handwriting.
‘Do Miss Wappinger and Skee sit near each other?’ Rocco asked.
‘Usually,’ Stratton replied. ‘If they sat any closer they’d be in each other’s pants.’
Rocco sighed. ‘So much for airtight alibis.’
On the trip back to Murphysville, Rocco edged the cruiser’s speed over eighty. Lyon’s feet pressed against the fire wall in a vain attempt to slow the vehicle. ‘I have my yearly meeting with the school crossing guards in a few minutes,’ Rocco said. ‘Your assignment is to interview Skee about his sudden lack of alibi.’
Lyon considered protesting the assignment, but since he was probably going to die in a fiery car crash in the next fifteen seconds, it seemed a minor point. ‘Uh huh.’
‘I love Hollywood car chases,’ Rocco said. ‘I get off on those great scenes where a car hurtles through the air while it turns over and over. I wonder how they do that.’
Lyon suspected they were about to discover that secret, but somehow the gods prevailed and they survived the trip. Rocco let him out at the green where the Saturn was parked. A parking ticket was jammed under the car’s windshield wiper. Lyon waved the overtime citation at the departing police car. The chief ignored the hint and turned toward the Mary Bolan Elementary School where the crossing guards were gathering in the lunchroom.
Lyon knew that the Rumfords lived in one of the newer subdivisions called Sunnyside which was in the northeast part of town. He was driving past the Rashish house when he noticed a familiar black motor scooter at the rear of the drive, half-hidden around the corner of the house. He considered the sighting as he continued down the street. An identical machine had been parked near the office trailer at the used-car lot when Skee was cleaning up. He made a U-turn and drove back to the Rashish house. He pulled into the drive behind a large sedan with a ‘Seven Sisters Realtors’ logo on its sides.
He felt the engine of the scooter and found that it was still warm. There might be completely innocent reasons for Skee to be at Mildred’s house. The young man had worked for her dead husband. He could be doing chores in the yard. They might be discussing a further clean up of the used-car lot. The only disclaimer for these possibilities was the fact that a half-hearted attempt had been made to hide the scooter.
He remembered the predator look on Mildred’s face when she hinted at her affairs. He recalled the brooding sensual aura of the tanned muscular college student as he swept the car lot.
That brooding sexuality had already attracted a respectable count of conquests. Skee had been involved with the dead girl, who was probably pregnant by him. Simultaneously he carried on an affair with a fellow student who cared enough for him to risk expulsion by forging his name. Could Skee and Mildred Rashish be … Would they? Could be. The kid seemed to have lots of energy.
He mashed the front doorbell and heard chimes. He couldn’t hear any movement inside the house and he rang again. He recalled the living room. Double rear doors led out to a wide deck that overlooked a pool. Anyone going out on the deck and down to the pool could wheel the scooter away in the opposite direction. Once the couple inside were convinced that the caller was not about to leave, Skee would move the scooter. He would take it down the side street before starting the small engine.
Lyon rang the chimes again before he walked around the side of the house. In less than ten seconds, Skee Rumford vaulted the deck rail and grabbed the scooter’s handlebars.
‘Hi,’ Lyon said from whe
re he slouched against the rear of the house. ‘How was English 101 the other day?’
Mildred Rashish ran her fingers through Skee’s hair in sensuous caresses. ‘He’s a tiger. A real man.’
Lyon cringed as he drank the tea Mildred had just served. It was a mild supermarket brand. He preferred a tangy Earl Grey.
Mildred smiled at Lyon as she slid her hand under Skee’s tee shirt and ran her fingernails gently across his back. What the widow intended to convey as a woman’s sexual intimacy came out as pouty belligerence. ‘So, we’re lovers. I told you I had lovers.’
‘So it would seem,’ Lyon replied. Good God, he thought, this woman didn’t seem to comprehend that she had just implicated herself as a suspect. The dead, pregnant Boots was having an affair with her husband and her boyfriend. No matter whose child it was, either way Mildred stood to lose. ‘Where’s the gun?’ he asked mildly. ‘We know Eddy had one, but it seems to be missing.’
‘In the Connecticut River,’ Mildred said. ‘I dropped it off the Hadlyme Ferry.’
Lyon sipped more of the awful tea. If that were true, the weapon would never be found. Where the ferry crossed the river was deep enough to be navigable by large craft. The ferry’s route was always similar, but never identical due to wind and tide. The gun could have been dropped anywhere along the route. ‘I understand why you killed Boots Anderson, but why Barbara Styles?’
The unflappable Mildred Rashish looked startled. Her hand dropped from the young man’s back as she tilted nervously forward. ‘What are you suggesting? I didn’t kill anyone.’
‘You just said that you disposed of the murder weapon.’
‘I did not. I only said I dropped Eddy’s gun in the river.’
‘Why?’
Her quick darting glance at Skee was explanation enough. She obviously feared that he had killed the young woman. ‘I didn’t want anyone hurt with it,’ Mildred said lamely.
‘You knew Skee wasn’t in class at the time the girl was killed. We know who forged his signature.’
‘He was with me. We were in bed.’
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