HIGHWAY HOMICIDE

by Bill WENHAM

  He dropped his drapery covering as he slipped into the jacket and pulled the cap, with the flaps down, on to his head. As he was about to drive the tractor out, he had another thought.

  Rough as it might look the house’s kitchen had cans of food and an opener. There were matches, candles and the oil lamp as well. He would be stupid to leave all that behind. He may not get the chance again.

  He noticed a bundle on the floor in the corner and picked it up. Someone had dropped an old khaki oilskin and a black sou’wester hat just where they had taken them off.

  He threw the oilskin and hat into an old wooden crate, picked it up and jammed it under the tractor’s seat. Then he climbed up into the seat, put the tractor in gear and drove it slowly over to the kitchen door of the house.

  Wearily, he eased himself down again from the seat and made several trips into the house to retrieve his treasures. He stowed them in the box on the tractor, then he thought for a moment and dragged the oilskin and hat back out of the box again. He put them both on over the hunting jacket and cap. The result was that he looked bulky as hell, but a lot more like a local farmer now. It was as good a disguise as any.

  With all that done, he drove the tractor around the side of the house, down the long drive and out onto the highway. These roads weren’t highways in the same sense an Interstate was, but now the blizzard was over there was plenty of traffic on it.

  The vehicles all whizzed past him without slowing as he made his ponderous progress towards whatever the next town was. It was obviously not unusual for a tractor to be out in the winter like this. He looked like he was some good guy who was just going out to pull a friend or a neighbor out of a snowdrift or a ditch somewhere.

  The drivers of a couple of the cars waved at him as they went by as if they knew him. Locals maybe. But motorcyclists going different ways on an Interstate waved at each other too, didn’t they? It was a pretty sure bet they didn’t know each other either. He relaxed as he drove slowly along. After all nobody expects to see a farm tractor being used as a getaway vehicle, do they?

  It didn’t matter too much to him where he went, how he got there or how fast he traveled. The only thing to concern him right now was to get as far away from the dead girl, the diner and the murdered skeleton in the old house as soon as possible.

  Chapter Nine

  Fortunately for the man on the tractor, the local police were busy elsewhere. Carl was on his way to Rutland and Almost had been called to the scene of an automobile accident right in town. Elsie Hicks had braked on the icy street and had slammed her Ford Taurus into the back of Ellis Perrin’s Ford F150 four door pickup.

  Ellis had been more concerned that the impact had knocked his rifles down off the back window rack and on to the rear floor, rather than any damage to the pickup. Hell, he said, he could always beat the dent out of his bumper with a hammer if he wanted to. But he couldn’t straighten out his rifles’ barrels the same way if they were bent, could he?

  The fact that poor little Elsie had been scared silly didn’t seem to bother him at all. What the hell good was a rifle with a bent barrel, he raged. Someone was gonna have to pay to get them fixed, he yelled at her, and it sure as hell wasn’t gonna be him! He looked down at the rifle in his hand in anger. Not only was the barrel maybe bent, but he now noticed the end of it and the front sight were covered in some sort of brown muck.

  Ellis looked at the rear floor and saw that, when it had been thrown off the rack, the rifle’s barrel had pierced one of the tubes of industrial adhesive lying on the floor. Ellis did a lot of handyman jobs around the community and the floor of the rear of the truck cabin was littered with tubes of caulking, glue, paint cans, and a variety of other repair gear, dirt and oddments.

  When he saw the state of the rifle he got even madder. He snatched up a rag off the seat and wiped the brown sticky mess off the end of the barrel. Then, fairly shaking with anger, he shoved both of the rifles back up in the rack.

  Elsie hadn’t been hurt, other than her pride. Neither of them had been. At seventy eight, this was her first accident in nearly sixty years of driving, Elsie wailed to Almost. That was only because everyone else stayed well clear of the dumb old broad when she was out on the roads, Ellis fumed. He had been parked, for Christ sake, and she’d still hit him! She was the one who was responsible, he shouted, and she’d better be prepared to buy him a new rifle, two of them, most likely.

  Almost patiently took his notebook out and just took down all the details and their individual statements. Later on the insurance companies could sort it all out.

  Over on the highway, if anyone, anyone who was interested at least, drove by the deserted house right now, the tractor’s tracks were glaringly obvious.

  Unfortunately for Carl, by the time someone from Cooper’s Corners had alerted Judy about the tracks at the old Finlay place, several hours had gone by. Also, unfortunately for Carl, it was George Phelan who’d noticed the tracks.

  George had been heading back home from Morrisville when he’d seen the tracks. He told Judy that he’d thought that it was a bit odd since everyone knew the old house had been deserted for years. Perhaps Carl or Almost should check it out, if they could find the time of course, he added sarcastically.

  Of course they’d have the time, Judy had agreed reluctantly. George Phelan had always been critical of their little police force ever since he’d complained that someone had broken into his house a few years back. It was true, someone had broken in.

  Carl had investigated and it had turned out George’s own teenaged son had been the culprit. He’d come home later than he should have one night without his door key. And rather than awaken and bear the wrath of his father, the boy had broken a window to get in. Of course, the teenager was still in bed asleep when George discovered the broken window in the morning. George had called out the police before checking with his family.

  Somehow, as it’s likely to do in a small community, the story had quickly gotten around, making George feel like a real fool. Never wanting to be the one to take the blame for anything, George had also somehow managed to blame Carl for not policing the area properly. He took every opportunity nowadays to send either him or Almost on wild goose chases whenever he could.

  Judy felt sure was George up to his tricks again. But with a murderer running around on the loose, and no leads so far, they really couldn’t afford to ignore it.

  Almost was available first, following a warning to both of the accident ‘victims’ to sort it all out for themselves with their insurance companies. Judy radioed Carl and told him Almost would check out the old Finlay house.

  Carl agreed since he had a lot to do in Rutland and he was still hours away from getting back yet.

  Almost radioed in to Judy when he arrived at the Finlay house.

  “Jude, there’s definitely fresh tracks out here at the Finlay place, and there shouldn’t be any by rights. A tractor, by the looks of it. Will you tell Carl I’m going to take a look around inside? The house looks as deserted as ever though. I’ll call back again in about fifteen minutes, okay?”

  “Okay, Almost, but just be careful. We’re not like the big city boys, remember. If you think someone is standing behind you, it’ll probably be the murderer, because it sure as hell ain’t gonna be any backup!”

  “Thanks, Jude, I really needed that.” Almost retorted and signed off.

  Judy had just put the coffee pot on when Almost called back.

  “Christ, Jude, we’ve got ourselves another one,” he told her excitedly.

  “Another one of what?” she asked.

  “Murder, Jude, another one!”

  “And how did that one happen?” she asked calmly, as if murder was an everyday occurrence in Cooper’s Corners.

  “Shot! Shot right through the forehead. Looks like we won’t be looking for this one’s perp right now though. Leastways, I shouldn’t think so,” Almost said.

  “And why’s that then, if it’s a murder?”

 
“Well, Jude, I’d have to say this one’s been dead for several years at least. So I don’t think the guy from the highway did it. My guess is that he did stay over in here last night though.”

  “And what makes you think that, Almost,” Judy said in a patient voice.

  “Remains of a fresh fire in the stove, for one thing,” Almost said.

  “And is there another?” she prompted him.

  “Another what,” Almost asked?

  “Another thing, Almost. You said ‘for one thing’,” Judy said

  “Yeah, there is,” he said with a note of pride in his voice, “Will you give Lisa a call and tell her I’ve found her Honda for her, but she’ll need to get Jack Tyler to tow it out of here for her. Tell her I don’t blame the guy for swapping it for an old tractor, either. I would’ve done the same thing.”

  “You finished now,” Judy interrupted him.

  “No, not yet. Will you call Burlington and get them to send their crime scene boys out here too, please?”

  “Yes, I will. I’ll also call Lisa and tell her you found her car. I’m sure she’ll be very grateful, but the rest of it you can tell her yourself, smart ass,” Judy retorted.

  “Don’t forget to call Burlington, will you, Jude? Tell them I’ll wait for them here,” he said.

  “Heard you the first time,” she said as she signed off and went to make the coffee. If the body had been dead for years as Almost had said, then it wouldn’t hurt for it to wait until after she’d had her coffee before she called it in, would it? Wouldn’t hurt Almost to wait out there a while either, would it, the cheeky young pup?

  Down in Rutland, Carl had found out Maria Caspar had lived with her sister, Erica, and both of them were unmarried. When he called at the house, a woman answered the door. Carl said, “Erica Casper?” and she nodded. He told her who he was and flipped open his badge case.

  She stood in the doorway and looked over his shoulder at his cruiser parked in the street. It displayed the name and logo of the Cooper’s Corners police department.

  “Bit out your jurisdiction, aren’t you, Chief?” she said flippantly, “Being all the way down here in Rutland.”

  “It’s Sheriff, not Police Chief, ma’am, and I’m not here to discuss my jurisdiction with you. I’m here to talk about your sister, Maria.”

  The woman put her hands on her hips and said, “Christ, and what has the stupid little bitch been up to this time?”

  Carl looked at her levelly for a moment and then said, “May I come, ma’am. Its pretty cold standing out here on your doorstep.”

  “What do you need to come inside for?” the woman said belligerently, “Why can’t you just tell me from there?”

  Carl normally handled bad news for people with both gentleness and compassion, but not today. It was just too damned cold.

  “You asked me what your sister has done, lady. Well, I’ll tell you what she’s done. She’s gone and gotten herself killed. That’s what she’s done. Now, can I just come on inside and discuss this in a decent manner, please?”

  The woman sagged at the knees and Carl stepped forward to catch her, thinking she was about to pass out. Instead, supporting herself on the doorframe, she swung her body back inside the house. Carl followed, closing the door behind him. He paused a moment to wipe his boots on the mat just inside the door.

  Then he followed the woman into the living room. She dropped heavily into an armchair and covered her face with her hands. The next moment her body was racked with sobs.

  Carl sat down opposite her, saying nothing, until the woman got control of herself. Finally she dropped her hands into her lap and turned her tear streaked face towards him.

  “Dead, you said? How could she possibly be dead? She was here in this very room just two days ago. How did it happen? Has she had an accident? Oh, my God, Maria! You can’t be dead.”

  She started to cry again but just tears now, not the huge, heart wrenching sobs like before.

  Carl reached out and gently took her hand in his.

  “I’m sorry to have had to break it to you like that, but you really didn’t leave me much option, did you? Yes, I’m sorry but she is dead, and no, it wasn’t an accident. We believe it to have been a homicide.”

  Erica Caspar stared at him with huge, red rimmed eyes.

  “Murdered, you mean? Why would anyone want to murder our Maria? When you came to the door, I thought it was because she’d gotten herself into another one of her dumb scrapes,” she mumbled. Then she sniffed a couple of times and reached for a box of tissues on the end table beside her.

  “What kind of dumb scrapes? Drugs?” Carl asked.

  “No, nothing like that. Nothing really bad, but she could be a little light-fingered sometimes,” Erica said, a little more clearly. “But surely no one would murder her just for something like that, would they? How was she ki...? No, don’t tell me, I don’t want to know. Not right now anyway.”

  “Erica,” Carl said, more gently now. “I need for you to come back to Burlington with me to positively identify your sister.”

  The poor woman looked even more shocked, if that was possible.

  “Identify her? No, no, I don’t think I could do that. Couldn’t someone else do it? How about her boyfriend? Well, her ex-boyfriend he is now, I suppose.”

  Carl gave her a surprised look, thinking she was referring to Maria’s death, until she continued in a rush of words. “The two of them split up about a week or so ago, but they’d been together now for several years. He was really awfully upset about it. I’d thought they were going to get married in this coming year and…”

  “Slow down, ma’am, just take it easy. Tell me about this boyfriend of Maria’s. What’s his name?” Carl said.

  “His name is David Gates, nice enough guy. I don’t know why they split up. She never told me. We lived here together in this house until she moved in with David. But we really weren’t that close, you know, even as sisters. I thought David would be able to straighten her out, but it’s much too late for that now, isn’t it?” she said and started to cry again.

  Carl waited patiently for her to stop again and then said, “Do you know his address, Erica? And does Maria have a photo of him in her room anywhere, that I could take with me, please?”

  She got to her feet, wiped her eyes with a tissue and went out of the room. When she returned, she handed Carl a small framed photo of Maria and David Gates standing in front of a doorway somewhere. Carl took it, looked at it and thanked her. She then handed him a small red address book. “He’s in there under ‘G’. There are the names and addresses of some of her other friends in there as well. They can probably tell you more about her than I can too.”

  Carl noticed the trace of bitterness in the last sentence.

  “Thank you, ma’am, but I’m sorry, I’ll need to have you do the identification for two reasons. You’re her sister, a close relative, and you’re here. This David Gates isn’t. I can’t afford the time to go looking for him right now either, so I’ll have to ask you to come with me, okay, ma’am? I’m sure you understand.”

  She nodded reluctantly. “Please don’t keep calling me ‘ma’am’. My name’s Erica and I’ll need to pack a bag. So how long do you think I’ll be away?”

  “Well, it’s about sixty miles or so from here to Burlington. So less than a couple of hours each way if the weather holds up. I could have you back here later on tonight, or early tomorrow if that would be easier on you.” Carl told her.

  “Alright,” she said, and took hold of his hand. Her tears had stopped and her voice was steady now. “Whichever is best for you. I really don’t mind. I’m really sorry I gave you such a hard time when you came to the door. I didn’t mean it but you know how it is when a woman is living alone. You just don’t invite strange men into the house. Not even policemen if you don’t have to. Not these days, you don’t. It wasn’t you, it’s just the times we live in, isn’t it?”

  Carl nodded. “It’s alright, I understand. I’ll go
outside and wait in the cruiser, get it warmed up. You can come on out when you’re ready.”

  She squeezed his hand gratefully and went to pack a bag. Carl went back out and started the cruiser. Then he called Judy on the radio.

  “Hi, Jude, Carl here. Can you hear me okay?”

  “Bit of static, Carl, but, yes, I can hear you well enough. What’s up?”

  “I’m bringing Erica Caspar back up with me. She’s the victim’s sister. She’s agreed to do the ID for us. I’m taking her over to Burlington now and I’ll get Almost to run her back down here in the morning, I think.”

  “What’s she like, Carl?” Judy asked.

  “Nice lady, when you get to know her, I guess. Why do you ask?”

  “Well, Carl, if she’s got to be up here overnight, she can bed down at my place if she wants. I’ve got plenty of room and Almost can pick her up here in the morning. Better yet, why don’t you bring her here for supper as well? I can rustle something for us all while you’re in Burlington. Run it by her and see what she thinks and Carl, call me when you are leaving Burlington so I can time the meal. I think I’ll ask Almost to drop by for a piece of pie and he can meet our guest at the same time. That be alright with you? It must be just terrible to lose a sister like that, poor woman.”

  “Okay and thanks, Jude, that’s very nice of you. I’ll tell her and get back to you.”

  It was very nice of her, Carl thought. One of these days, he was going to have to discuss the economic use of radio time with her as well but not today. Not with one of Jude’s delicious suppers in the offing. Definitely not today!

  Chapter Ten

  Back on the highway, David Gates, the man driving the old red Ford tractor, had reached an intersection. He climbed down from the tractor’s seat and trudged through the snow to a large road sign.