by Bill WENHAM
“Poor girl,” Lisa said, nodding her head towards the highway. “I wonder what happened out there tonight.”
“That’s what we ‘Keystone Kops’ are here to find out,” Carl said, holding out his mug for a refill.
“I know the guy stole my car,” Lisa said as she poured Carl and Almost more coffee, “but he just didn’t seem to be the type to murder anyone to me.”
“Lisa, there is no ‘type’,” Carl said. “Even some of the most gentle and innocent looking people have done it. You can never go by people’s looks. Anyway, Almost, let’s get out of here. There’s nothing more we can do tonight. Just take it easy going home, and Lisa thanks for the coffees. Put your coat on and lock up, there’s a good girl, and this impersonation of a police officer will run you home, okay?”
Lisa went back to get her parka off the hook and then felt in her pocket.
“Shit,” she said, “The diner’s key and my apartment keys were on that key ring. I thought he must have hot wired the car but that creep has stolen all my other keys as well.”
“That would be the creep with the cute blue eyes then, would it?” Carl kidded her.
Without answering him, she went back to the cash register and took a spare key from under the drawer. Then she walked on over to where Carl and Almost were waiting by the door. She locked the diner’s door when the three of them were outside.
“Thanks for the offer of a ride, Carl,” she said. “I knew my car was gone but it just didn’t register that I didn’t have any wheels to get myself home tonight. Pretty dumb, right?”
“How about getting into your apartment,” Carl asked. “How will you do that?”
“That’s no problem. I always leave a spare key with my next door neighbor, just in case of things like this.”
Carl nodded, “Good plan,” he said.
“Goodnight, Almost,” Lisa called out to the deputy, as he started to brush the accumulated snow off of his cruiser’s windshield.
“Goodnight, Lisa, Carl,” he replied, waving back at them. “See you tomorrow.”
Lisa got into Carl’s cruiser and buckled up as Carl started the car up. His wipers took care of the snow since he’d only been parked there for about fifteen minutes.
Suddenly a thought hit him.
“Lisa, the dishes, cutlery or whatever the guy used, you didn’t wash them, did you? Christ, I hope not!”
“No, Carl, as a matter of fact, I didn’t. I was just about to when Almost showed up and then you came in right afterwards. So everything is still there. Why, is it important?”
“Fingerprints, Lisa,” Carl said. “Those dishes may help us to nail him. I’ll get a fingerprint guy out to you in the morning, okay? And speaking of morning, how will you get back out here if the roads are clear enough tomorrow?”
“I’ll just give Jack Tyler a call when I get home. I’m sure he’ll drop me off in the morning. Jack will do just about anything for one of my famous breakfasts on the house,” she said smugly. “But if this blizzard doesn’t ease up soon, I may not be able to open up at all. Not much point if no one but crooks and cops are coming in wanting to eat, is there?”
“If you were to close the diner, Lisa, that would bring our little community to a standstill far quicker than any blizzard could, wouldn’t it.” Carl laughed, as they pulled out of the parking lot.
Chapter Five
The man’s knees were trembling and it wasn’t only because of the cold now. He dropped the rifle he was holding back down on to the floor as though it was red hot. Up until today, he’d never seen or even been close to a dead body before. And now he’d seen two in less than three hours, one of which he may have been responsible for.
At least I can’t be held responsible for this one, he thought. The poor soul, whoever it was, had probably died in their sleep. But as his eyes became more accustomed to the dim light in the room, he could see the skeleton’s skull a little more clearly. It looked as though portions of skin still adhered to it. As he moved nearer, however, even in the semi darkness, he could clearly see the black hole in the centre of the forehead.
Shit, he thought, this one has been murdered too. But when? From the condition of the body, it must have been months, or more likely years ago when it happened.
He turned and looked back down at the rifle lying on the floor behind him, the one that he’d just picked up and held. If the police found him here, they would probably think he’d returned to the scene of the crime. It would be too much of a coincidence that he’d just stumbled on two dead bodies inside of a few hours. He sat himself down on an old wooden chair in the corner of the room, wrapping the drapery more tightly around himself and tried to think.
Just how stupid had he been, he asked himself. He should’ve stayed and called the police from the diner. Why would he run and why did he even call the police at all? After all he had nothing to hide, or did he? He didn’t know and he couldn’t remember what had happened or how he’d gotten out to the highway in the first place. Surely he couldn’t have killed that girl, could he? And why would he? What motive could he possibly have had?
But he had been there. That was an indisputable fact, wasn’t it? And dressed only in jeans, a shirt, boots and socks, and a short denim jacket. Nobody but a damned fool would go out on the highway in the wintertime dressed like that, and certainly not with a blizzard expected. Now here he was, sitting in a room with a murdered skeleton, and asking himself a bunch of damned fool questions. None of which he had any answers to.
He didn’t even know what day of the week it was, or where he was. He had just driven through a place called Cooper’s Corners but he had no idea where that was either, or even what highway he was on. The last day he could remember was a Thursday. He could remember driving home and putting the Chevy wagon away in the garage. He could also remember hanging up his winter parka in the hallway closet and walking into the living room and seeing...… Seeing what?
His mind was a blank from that moment on, until he’d woken up beside the girl’s body out on this highway. He was aware he was wearing the same clothes he had on when he’d entered his house. The same clothes that he’d worn to work on Thursday. But how long ago was that? Was it still only Thursday?
The man racked his brain to try to remember what it was he’d seen in his home, but his mind was as shut tight as the door to this room had been. But he’d gotten that open eventually, hadn’t he?
He knew he and Maria had agreed to a parting of the ways a week or so before. She’d left, leaving him angry and depressed. After all, they’d been going out together for several years and they’d been talking seriously about marriage for a while now. He hadn’t exactly asked her to marry him or given her an engagement ring but he thought that they’d had an understanding. They’d been living together now for a year and a half already.
Then suddenly she’d wanted to call everything off. She’d met someone else she said and that was it. She hadn’t even told him who it was. One minute she was there, and the next she’d packed her things and had gone, just as though she’d never been there. But he wasn’t the type to get himself drunk. That didn’t solve anything at all and he sure as hell wasn’t the type to go on out and murder anyone either. He just knew he wasn’t.
He suddenly thought about the girl lying in the snow out on the highway. She’d been lying face down and partially covered by drifting snow. Her hair had been black just like Maria’s, all covered with blood. But it wasn’t Maria, was it? Surely not?
Stealing the waitress’s car and running from the police was hardly going to convince anyone he hadn’t killed her, whoever she was. After all, no one else had been there. Then two other thoughts popped into his head. With no car there, how had they both gotten out there anyway and if he had killed the girl, what had he killed her with?
Having added two more to his growing list of unanswerable questions, he looked over once more at the skeletal figure in the bed before him. He shuddered, stood up and backed out through the warped
door, closing it as tightly as he could behind him.
As he pulled it shut he thought the door might have been forced open before at some time. And then he made his way shakily back downstairs to the parlor.
He could make out an old black wood stove in the corner and an oil lamp up on a shelf. There was also some wood piled beside the stove. The man felt he could take the risk of making a fire to dry his soaking wet clothes out. But he soon found out that although risking a fire was one thing; actually starting one may be something else entirely.
On a dresser stood a candlestick with a half burned candle in it. Where there are candles, hopefully there are matches or perhaps a lighter, he thought. He rummaged around in the dresser’s drawers in the darkened room until his numb fingers eventually touched a large box of matches.
Eagerly, he opened the box and tried to strike one of the matches. The damp match head disintegrated immediately. Frantically he tried another and another with the same result. Finally, from what must have been the middle of the box, one of the matches suddenly flared.
He quickly lighted the candle and by its light found two others in the room and lighted them as well from the first one. Now he could see a lot better at least. Next, he broke up a wooden box that had probably been used to hold kindling, and fed the wood into the stove.
He added several sheets of damp newspaper. Shivering with the cold still, he spent the next hour trying to get the paper to light, again without success.
Then it suddenly hit him! He just hadn’t been thinking too clearly at all. Going over to the shelf, he reached up and took the oil lamp down and poured some of the contents over the wood and paper in the stove. He picked up one of the lighted candles and thrust it into the stove’s lower opening. Instantly the oil caught fire, then the paper and wood. Moments later he had a good fire going.
He took the candle back out, lighted the oil lamp from it and adjusted the flame. The room now started to take on a warmer glow as he carried the lamp over to the chesterfield to check it out. It looked as though the mice had been long gone from it, thankfully.
Next, carrying the lamp, he went on into the kitchen. It was disgustingly filthy, but nevertheless, he opened the cupboards. On one of the shelves he found several cans, all of them with the labels either missing or in the process of disintegrating.
Mice had nibbled at the rotting labels as well. Some of the cans were also beginning to show signs of rust. He rummaged around in the drawers under the counter and finally found a can opener. It too was encrusted with dirt but he still placed it on the counter top beside the cans.
Four of the cans probably contained processed meat, corned beef or perhaps Spam. Even though the labels were missing, he could tell from the can’s shape what the contents were likely to be. He remembered reading somewhere that canned goods last for years, provided the can itself had not been pierced. Even with a little rust on the outside, the contents would probably be safely edible.
He didn’t really have much choice either, did he? It wasn’t as though he could just go walking into any of the restaurants around here and order himself a steak dinner either, was it?
It wasn’t that he was hungry right now, but he sure as hell would be by morning and even more so if the weather forced him to stay in the house for several days.
In order to save his light source, he doused the oil lamp and two of the candles and placed the box of matches close to the stove. Not too close, but hopefully close enough to dry them all out. He pulled a wooden kitchen chair over in front of the stove and draped his wet jeans, shirt and his socks over it to dry.
His boots, he put under the chair. Then he went back into the kitchen for another chair to drape his denim jacket over.
The stove was slowly starting to warm the room up a little now and he banked it up with as much wood as he could get into it. He thought for a moment and then climbed up the stairs to the upper level again. He went into the first bedroom, stripped the mouse ravaged quilt off of the bed and carried it back downstairs.
When he looked out of the now undraped windows, he could see the blizzard was still raging outside. Even if the police were looking for him, it was unlikely they’d be out before the storm abated, which could be hours or even days from now. At some point though, if they happened to stop out on the highway, they would surely either see or smell the smoke from the wood stove.
Right now though, while the storm was still raging, he felt he was safe enough and he had to somehow get himself warm and also get some rest. He laid himself down on the holed, musty chesterfield and pulled the draperies and foul smelling quilt tightly around himself. He doused the last candle and moments later he was fast asleep.
Chapter Six
Carl was in a foul mood when he awoke the next morning and looked out of his bedroom window. It was still snowing heavily, thick, fat and wet flakes that had almost buried his cruiser. He didn’t have a garage at his little two bedroom bungalow and consequently he had to park it outside in all weathers.
When he had showered, shaved and was dressed in his uniform, he put in a call to Judy. She would have made it in to the station house, since she only lived a block or so away.
She picked up on the first ring.
“Morning, Carl,” she said cheerfully.
“What’s so good about it,” Carl growled irritably.
“Who said it was good? I just said it was morning,”
“Yeah, okay, sorry, Jude. Have you heard anything else from the Burlington boys yet?”
“Only that it’s pretty well impossible to get back to the crime scene from where they are. Roly said to tell you they won’t even be able to get a chopper in the air until all this lot eases up. Are you planning to come in here? Almost called to say he’s on his way but I’m not expecting him for a while yet.”
Still holding the phone, Carl looked out at his cruiser again.
“Yeah, Jude, I’ll be in as soon as I can clear some of this damned mess off of the cruiser. Should be there in about half an hour, max, okay?”
“I’ll have the coffee pot on. You wanna pick up some donuts or something on your way in. I didn’t have time to make myself breakfast today.”
“Will do, Jude,” he said. “See you soon.”
He clicked off the phone and slipped his parka and fur trimmed winter hat on. Then he picked up his gloves and keys and went out, locking the door after him.
As he brushed the snow off from the cruiser with a broom he kept beside the front door, he wondered what this new day would bring. Right now the perp had the advantage of the bad weather. But as Almost had pointed out last night, he too wouldn’t be able to get far in this weather either. So chances were he’d still be holed up somewhere locally. The weather had deteriorated even further after he’d dropped Lisa off last night.
This was a real doozie of a storm too; worst one he’d seen in years. Their tiny community just wasn’t equipped to handle anything like this. Any serious emergency services came to them from Burlington, Newport, Montpelier, the State capital, and even the closest one, the Copley Hospital in Morrisville, was still over ten miles away. There was just one medical doctor, one veterinary surgeon and one dentist in Cooper’s Corners. Anyone requiring serious medical or dental surgery would have to go into one of the bigger towns for it. The morgues, medical examiners and the State Troopers were there as well.
Apart from looking like the inspiration for TV’s Mayberry, Cooper’s Corner’s could be described as typical, picturesque rural America. A friendly little community where everyone knew everyone else. Typically Vermont too, with its rolling hills, beautiful white painted churches, red barns and covered bridges.
And too damned cold in the wintertime! But it wasn’t a community where one expected murders to be committed either and even this one may have been the result of people just passing through.
Carl and Almost’s main source of normal policing was to apprehend speeders out on the highway. Once, an out of towner had robbed the feed mill�
��s country store, but had been easily caught.
After hearing about the robbery, Wes Williams had noticed him, a stranger, putting his beer purchases into a feed mill canvas bag. It may have been perfectly innocent, but Wes alerted Judy anyway. The villain was apprehended by Carl no more than twenty minutes after committing his crime. In a community like Cooper’s Corners it pays to have everyone know everyone else. People they don’t know stand out like sore thumbs.
Everyone also knows Errol Scott too. For the last five of his sixty three years, Errol has been almost constantly as drunk as a skunk. Everyone also thought they’d known Errol’s wife, Dolly, pretty well too. But without as much as an ‘It’s been nice knowing you’ to Errol, she’d apparently taken off to California.
From her point of view, maybe it hadn’t been so nice knowing Errol after all. Either way, Errol had been totally sloshed almost every day since she had left.
To start with Errol was at least a nice enough drunk, though. He never got abusive or belligerent and when he’d had enough, he just went to sleep. Just about anywhere too. Either Carl or Almost would just bundle him into their cruiser and take him home to dry out.
They’d never charge him either. In order for them to do that he’d have to be drunk and disorderly, or guilty of disturbing the peace. Errol never did either of those things. He was just a nice friendly guy who drank because he had gotten a bad break in his marriage.
Donna Willis, an older widow lady and a very good neighbor of Errol’s, tried very hard to mend his break for him. Both she, and Pam Tomaso, who had been in Lisa’s diner when the car thief was there, would both be quite happy to comfort him. But apparently the absent Dolly still seemed to have a strong attraction for him.
Occasionally, one or the other of the ladies would drive him out to the ‘Olde Tyme’ diner for breakfast. They tried to at least get a little food into him before he began his boozing in earnest.
