She had never seen so much police activity. Everywhere she looked there was blue and red flashing lights. With Fuchsl at her side she ventured onto the street, she was not going to die before knowing what the heck was going on.
“Young man,” she shouted, “young man, please tell me what is going on? How is a lady, and her dog, meant to sleep with all this commotion going on?”
The young police officer smiled. A nosy old biddy. He walked towards Heidi and Fuchsl, who seemed to be just as mesmerized by the all the flashing lights as Heidi was.
“Well, where do I start?” said the officer.
Heidi put on her best false smile. “From the beginning is usually best.”
“Well, I might as well tell you, seeing as though the press are already here. I am afraid there has been a murder. Some woman on Kinzie Avenue. Partridge, Veronica. Do you know her?”
“Vaguely,” replied Heidi.
“Well, we are looking for her husband, and her daughter, not saying he did it, but if you see him, then let us know.”
“Oh, I know him. Lazy man, good for nothing scruffy ‘stay at home dad’. I haven’t seen him for months. I thought he left her?”
The officer nodded. “Just keep your eyes open. Not saying it is him, but we would like to speak to him.”
Heidi nodded. Indicating that if she set eyes on the man she would call the police immediately. Not that she would. She would be dead herself soon, now that her curiosity had been served. Maybe she would just lie in the bath, drink a bottle of Schnapps and fall asleep. She had heard that drowning was quite a pleasant and painless death.
The police officer turned to leave, to return to join in the hunt for Doug Partridge, then he turned back to face Heidi.
“Oh, and something else. I guess you will find out anyway, but maybe you could help.”
“Help?” asked Heidi. “With what?”
“Did you know a man named Stefan? He lives on Henry Street? Foreign fellow, apparently only been living here for a few weeks.”
Heidi shuddered, but maintained her false decorum and smile.
“No,” she lied, “I have never heard of him, nor met him, who is he?”
“Who was he, would be a better question,” said the officer shaking his head. “He was just found in his house. Shot himself in the head. Dead, obviously, just wondered if you knew him. Seems he may not be, or wasn’t, who he said he was. Anyway, if you think of anything, just call us.”
Heidi stood open mouthed as she watched the young policeman return to the sidewalk. She pulled on Fuchsl’s leash and led him back into her house. She was shaking. What had she nearly done? She had nearly shot herself for no reason. Stefan probably wasn’t even his real name. She had made a mistake. There was no danger. Even if there had been, it was gone now. She stared at the Luger, still on her kitchen table. How close had she come to ending her own life? She sat down, unleashing Fuchsl who headed for his bed. Later she would get all the gossip, from Cindy and Carla, when they met for their dog walking club, in the meantime, she would have a stiff drink, just to settle her nerves….
* * * * *
One year ago. Heidi opened her eyes. Of course she hadn’t gossiped that morning. The morning had brought even more shocking news. She still missed Carla. Poisoned. The poor woman. And of course Cindy. How dreadful, how utterly dreadful.
Heidi stood and headed upstairs. Fuchsl followed her. Taking her key that now lived on a chain around her neck, she unlocked the door and entered her private sanctuary. Her sanctuary filled with memories and relics of the past. She passed the cabinet that housed her Luger, the malfunctioning Luger, which had saved her life. She walked slowly, but purposefully towards the window, the window that overlooked the garden of her neighbor, Elliott Miller.
Heidi’s face hardened, and with a look of pure hatred she continued to stare at the big white house. She had never heard why they hadn’t killed him. Never found out why her contract to have the man she despised above all others had never been fulfilled. Her incompetent son Stephen, who had organized everything, had been told by the criminals he defended to just forget it. That it was best if he didn’t ask too many questions.
Heidi sneered. It wasn’t over. Sooner or later she would have vengeance. Elliott Miller was living on borrowed time. There was more than one way, she thought, to skin a cat. One day, one day soon, she would make him pay. Mayor or no Mayor, if it was the last thing she did, she was still determined to kill Elliott Miller.
CHAPTER FIFTY
Betty Jenkins was an educated woman. The fact she may clean and cook for Heidi Launder didn’t mean she was just a cleaner. She kept house for Heidi out of necessity. She needed an income, she needed to work. Like Heidi she was a widow, but unlike Heidi, Cindy and Carla, whose husbands had been replaced with a large life insurance policy and financial security, she had struggled, and as a one parent family and single mother it had been hard. She had taken in laundry, cleaned, and worked her fingers to the bone to provide a decent life and education for her son, Anthony.
She had been the proudest woman in the world when he was accepted into the air force academy; she had been even prouder when he graduated as a fighter pilot. He promised his mother that her days of cleaning and cooking for rich widows would soon be a thing of the past. That, just around the corner, there was a better life waiting for her.
He had been a good son. Betty, as well as producing the best fried chicken in Savannah and being able to clean a three story house; impeccably in less than four hours, was also a very intuitive woman. She had met Billy Malphrus only once, and had taken an instant dislike to him. She found him ‘shifty’ and guessed he was nothing more than a chancer, a ‘grifter’, with only one thing on his mind, ripping folks off for their money. She had shed no tears for Billy Malphrus, and the only guilt she felt after the accident was the damaged caused to her driving instructor’s car.
Carla Zipp she had found shallow and false. Self-centered and man hungry, no doubt she had been a nasty little tramp in her day, maybe even worse, quite possibly a whore. She had flaunted herself, unashamedly. Once again, Betty had not mourned for her either.
Cindy Mopper was a sheep. A follower who would rather believe a lie than contemplate the truth. Betty found her to be pathetic. Continually gossiping, getting into everyone’s business, a real busybody. The fact she had become obsessed with Elliott Miller made her even more ridiculous in Betty’s eyes. Have some respect, woman, she thought, as she would listen to Heidi’s reports from her dog walking sessions.
As for employer, Heidi, Betty knew that she was a self-important bully. Demanding, often rude and domineering. She had heard her on numerous occasions screaming at the top of her voice. She also knew Heidi had secrets. There was only one reason she had paid for Betty’s driving lessons, and that was because she wanted Betty to be her chauffeur. As for the car, while she had been told by Heidi she could use it, whenever she wanted, Heidi would never let her use it to go out of town, to visit her distant relatives, or maybe even drive her friends to church, nor visit the graves of her loved ones, one buried so far away, in Arlington Cemetery.
Betty Jenkins had read somewhere that one in twenty five Americans were sociopaths. That four per cent of the adult population of the United States were impervious to the bonds of love and cared about nothing but power over others and themselves. That they had no conscience, that they were self-serving, selfish and had one priority, themselves.
Betty Jenkins had no doubt that the majority of people whom she encountered in Gordonston were sociopaths. They were motivated by greed, by creating their associations and groups, with the sole intention of excluding others, showed Betty that they had a predisposition for trying to have power over others. For all its manicured lawns and the falseness of the good mornings and good afternoons, the upright citizens of this so called ‘upscale neighborhood’ repulsed her. She harbored not a hint of respect for those who undoubtedly held no respect for her. She wasn’t even allowed in the park,
unless, on the odd occasion, she was walking Fuchsl.
Those people did not know what it was to struggle, to have something to worry about other than their gardens, which book to choose next for the book club meeting or whose dog was pooping in the park.
And while she had received nothing from her dead husband, she had received something from her dead son. Every day she cleaned the medal that lay draped over his photograph — the medal the Air force had given her, the medal they had given her to replace her son.
CHAPTER FIFTY ONE
Elliott Miller was a happy man. His first year in office had been nothing but an unmitigated success. The people of Savannah loved their Mayor, and he had the highest approval ratings of any holder of the office. Tourism was up and crime was down. The economy was booming, and visitors were flocking to the Hostess City in droves. His urban redevelopment programs had turned former unsavory areas of the city into attractive and crime-free zones. He had appointed a new city manager who had shared Elliott’s vision of growth and rebuilding. There was even talk of Elliott maybe running for an even higher office in the future, maybe as a senator or even as Governor of the state.
Of course, there had been the events in Gordonston that had overshadowed his first month in office. The murders of Tom Hudd, Veronica Partridge and his friend, Carla Zipp. Briefly these events had been big news, but like anything else, as time passed, the sensation and interest had died down.
Naturally, Elliott and the Savannah Police Department had attempted to investigate these crimes. The investigation, though, had been hijacked by powers far more potent than Elliott. The final outcome of the so called investigation had led to one suspect — Doug Partridge. The ‘investigation’ had concluded that Doug Partridge had killed first Tom Hudd and then later his wife after discovering an affair between the two. Partridge had then abducted his own child. It was supposed that Partridge was now in hiding, probably abroad, living with his daughter. All leads, though, had failed to find him, and despite a so called ‘search’ for the killer, it was assumed he would one day slip up, and it would only be a matter of time before he was caught; he could not hide forever.
Elliott Miller, though, knew the truth. Doug Partridge was a ghost, he did not exist, and the man whom the world knew as Doug Partridge would not slip up, would not reveal himself. He was gone; a spook in the night. What his name really was, was not important. Elliott Miller knew if he wanted to further his ambitions as a politician, then he would be wise to keep his knowledge to himself. Knowledge gained by his spies not only within the Savannah Police Department, but his paid contacts at the GBI and his new connections, high up in the government, connections who had seemingly spotted Elliott’s political potential of one day attaining a role that could see him running for the office. Of course, it had proven beneficial for him to go along with the findings of the investigation. Savannah had received extra government grants that had enabled Elliott’s projects for the city to flourish. The Savannah Police Department, still led by Sam Taylor, for now at least, had had its budget increased. He had also insured that his ‘mole’, Jeff Morgan, remained well-protected, in fact Elliott was going to suggest that he receive a promotion. Money did indeed talk, but it also ensured silence.
Elliott poured himself another glass of scotch as he sat back in his chair, Biscuits and Grits sleeping soundly at his feet and the new addition to his canine family asleep on his bed.
A house full of dogs, Elliott smiled to himself, Thelma would have loved this; she would have been in her element, spoiling them, spending hours in the park opposite with her friends and fellow dog walkers. Elliott suddenly felt a tinge of sadness, of course, though, her friends were no longer all here. Thelma would have been heartbroken about the tragic death of Carla Zipp, and of course the plight of poor Cindy Mopper.
Elliott had only seen Cindy twice during the past year, since the day she had asked him to care for Walter and Paddy, should anything happen to her, and each time, since then, he had encountered her, she had ignored him, turning in the other direction and deliberately avoiding any contact with him. It was rumored that she walked her dog during the early hours of the morning, or late at night, alone in the park. It was also rumored that she would spend hours sitting at the picnic table that had once been the domain of The Gordonston Ladies Dog Walking Club, staring blankly in the direction of Elliott’s home. She had also not responded to his invitation, which he found not only rude, but slightly strange.
Elliott’s thoughts were interrupted by footsteps, footsteps coming down the stairs.
“Are you coming to bed or not?” asked his wife.
Elliott smiled. This was why he was happiest. His wife. His beautiful young wife whom he had married three months ago.
“Yes, just give me a minute,” he smiled.
“Did you let the dogs out?” asked his wife.
“Yes, Biscuits and Grits just sniffed around, like they always do.”
“Those dogs, you know you pamper them?
“And you don’t pamper your dog?” he said smiling.
He grinned and looked at the two sleeping dogs. Dogs, he thought, they just want love, just want to play, to be fed, to be respected. In some sense maybe he was like a dog; he needed love, craved respect and of course liked to be fed. As for playing, well, he had a beautiful wife and of course they played.
“And where is my baby?” asked his wife as she scanned the living room.
“Oh, he is curled up in the kitchen. You know Shmitty, he likes his privacy. What is he anyway, a yellow Labrador or a yellow Retriever, or a golden Labrador or is he a golden Retriever?”
Kelly Miller smiled at her husband. “He’s a Labrador retriever, but for arguments sake, let’s just say he is a Labrador, don’t you know the difference? Come on, honey, let’s go to bed, it’s late.”
Elliott Miller had indeed proven to be Kelly Hudd’s knight in shining armor, as he had always planned. It had been he who had insisted she be released from the hospital, the day after Billy had died, after she had been admitted to a psychiatric wing. It had been Elliott who had comforted her during Tom’s funeral and it had been his shoulder she had cried on, once it had been revealed her husband had been screwing Veronica Partridge. And of course, it had been Elliott who had paid for her expensive psychiatric treatment. He had hired the best doctors and therapists for her, and paid for everything. The day he told Kelly that it was he who had been keeping up with her mortgage payments, that her house was not in foreclosure, she had not only hugged him, but for the first time kissed him. On the lips.
Kelly had fallen in love with Elliott Miller. Of course he was older than she was, of course his looks and body could never compete with Tom, but Kelly was not the same Kelly she had been. She wanted a man she could trust, a man who loved her, who cared for her, who adored her. And Elliott Miller was that man. He also had power; he was the Mayor, he was also wealthy. In Kelly’s mind, he was the perfect replacement for Tom.
CHAPTER FIFTY TWO
As Heidi Launer stared out of her window towards Elliott Miller’s home, Cindy Mopper stood in the park, also staring at the big white house. As Walter and Paddy played in the darkness, enjoying the park, exploring and chasing squirrels, she just stared.
They had invited her to their wedding, but she had feigned an excuse. She would not attend. She would not give him the satisfaction. Elliott Miller had broken her heart, and she blamed him for everything. He may be the Mayor, he may be popular, but to her he was scum. She despised him now. Everywhere he went he had a smile on his face. They said he was a political genius, his popularity sky high, that this was just the beginning, that one day who knew where Elliott Miller could end up?
It should have been her by his side. It should have been her who accompanied him to social gatherings and on official business; she would have been perfect. Not that bitch. Not that stupid, idiotic, pathetic, but beautiful woman who a few months ago had become Mrs. Miller.
Thelma would be turning in her gra
ve if she could see what her husband was doing. Thelma had told her many times, many, many times that Cindy would be ideal for Elliott. It was Thelma’s wish, she just knew it, that one day Elliott would marry Cindy.
As Walter and Paddy played in the park and Cindy continued staring at Elliott and Kelly Miller’s home, she didn’t notice the car that pulled up to the curb. She was too engrossed in her thoughts of revenge, hatred and anger, all directed at Elliott and Kelly Miller, to register its arrival, let alone its departure, one minute later.
CHAPTER FIFTY THREE
The car crept slowly into Gordonston, the avenues, only lit from streetlights added to the feeling of emptiness. He checked the time; it was midnight. He drove slowly, passing his former home as he toured his old neighborhood. He considered stopping, parking the car and maybe looking through the windows to see what had become of the place. A for sale sign had been placed in the front yard. There was no mortgage on the property and the home would now have formed part of his dead wife’s estate. By rights that money should go to Katie, but how that could transpire he did not know. Instead of stopping he drove on, cruising the avenues and streets he used to call home.
Once again he considered stopping as he circled the park. So many memories, so many regrets. He noticed another for sale sign, this time on the front yard of the former home of Ignatius Jackson; the Director. He had always liked the old man and wished he had got to know him better. He could only guess, by the state of the overgrown lawn, that that home was also now empty. He had seen Ignatius’s body, the night he had entered his house, searching for clues as to who may have killed his wife. He had not removed anything, but he had seen the files on Carla Zipp, Tom Hudd, Billy Malprhus and Elliott Miller. He wondered, albeit briefly, what had become of the man’s dog; he guessed that the old fella had probably also died. He knew he owed Ignatius Jackson gratitude, though; if only he had acted sooner, returned to Savannah just one day earlier….
Unleashed - The Gordonston Ladies Dog Walking Club Part 2 Page 20
