The 6:10 To Murder (The Maude Rogers Crime Novels Book 3)

by Linda L. Dunlap

  “Yes, sir, I do, 325 Beecham, over in Esplanade Hills. That is correct, isn’t it?”

  “That’s right, ma’am.”

  Maude grimaced at the ma’am, but let it go. “See you in a half-hour, Mr. Avery.”

  Chapter 12

  Sunday driving was pleasurable, even though she’d already been out once in the minimal traffic of the religious day. Drivers seemed to be calmer, making efforts to obey traffic laws after church. Maude thought it was people’s ways of obeying religious precepts by being more courteous to their fellow man. Just a thought, but it fit. The road to the pawnshop owner’s house was newly paved, a tribute to the owners of the expensive homes on the west side of Madison. Beecham was a short street that had no outlet, and Avery’s house sat smack in the middle at the end of the cul-de-sac. Tall palms and tropical plants outlined the yard, defining it as expensive square footage in the real estate world. The house looked to be quite large inside. Wallace Avery was obviously doing well. When it wasn’t getting robbed, Northside Pawn must be very profitable, Maude thought, as she pulled into the drive of number 325.

  A four-car garage was set off from the house by a breezeway, old-fashioned architecture brought forward into current house design. The effect was to provide a place between the garage and house where lawn furniture sat in filtered light through slatted blinds. Large screened-in windows were open, allowing light and a breeze through their thin protection from the outside. French doors along the side entry allowed entrance into the main house, while the massive wooden front doors rose into an expensive brass and glass transom. The overall look was both expansive and impressive.

  Maude was invited into the house through the front door then ushered by Wallace Avery’s wife, Anna, onto the breezeway, where the pawnbroker was seated with a cup of what appeared to be tea in front of him. Maude’s sensitive nose detected brandy mixed with Earl Grey. For a minute, the smell threw her back to another time.

  Anna Avery was youngish, much more so than her husband. She still had the smooth skin of a woman just south of thirty. Golden streaks were cleverly woven into dark hair that lay straight and shining upon her graceful shoulders, and she wore designer clothing with the aplomb of one born to money. Her smile, like her hair, shone in the morning light with only a hint of spuriousness. She motioned to a chair as Maude stood above her hosts.

  “Tea, detective?”

  “I’d be obliged, but nothing in it,” she said, hoping they understood her meaning.

  Anna smiled again and poured tea into a porcelain cup. “Nothing in it except Earl Grey,” she said enigmatically. “Should you change your mind, we have sugar and milk.”

  “No, this is fine. Thank you,” Maude replied, and sipped the strong brew. “I’ve learned to like sugar in coffee, but not in tea.”

  Wallace Avery leaned back in his chair, allowing the sunlight to pass over Maude’s face. His movements were precise, a way to better assess the woman who sat in the chair across from him. What he saw was a face with a few lines around still-full lips, intelligent blue eyes, and a no-nonsense expression. Avery figured the detective must be near his own fifty years. They’d both been around a while. He hoped for some consideration of his place in society.

  “Detective Rogers, what more can I help you with?”

  Maude sipped her tea, aware that Avery had been taking her measure. She wondered why, unless he had something to hide and hoped she would overlook it.

  “Mr. Avery, that night of the break-in and murder, where were you?”

  “I was home, with my wife and a few friends. Why? Am I now a suspect in the murder?” Avery seemed confused.

  “Just routine questions, Mr. Avery. I’m trying to tie up some loose ends. Can anyone vouch for your presence?”

  Anna answered from across the table. “He was here with me and the Whitehalls from next door, as well as the Howards, across the street. We were hosting a dinner party. I’m sure they would remember it.”

  Maude wrote the information in her small notebook after asking for phone numbers of the neighbors. She thanked them for the tea and began to say her goodbyes. At the last minute, she turned toward Wallace Avery. “What was your relationship with Marlin Thompson?” She had caught him by surprise, as his expression showed.

  “Marlin was an employee, nothing more. He had worked for me about six months. An older college student, trying to earn money to finish his degree, he needed work that paid well yet didn’t require him to give up his classes during the mornings. He was working toward a career in health. Maybe a doctor, I don’t know.”

  “Did you know him, Mrs. Avery?” Maude asked, staring into the woman’s eyes.

  “Not really,” Anna said. “I saw him, of course, each time I went to the store, but we didn’t speak socially. Just minor pleasantries when I went to see Wallace.”

  “Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Avery, I may have more questions for you later.”

  Walking to her police car, Maude couldn’t help but notice the gardeners working on the grounds. She thought again that the pawnshop business must be a lucrative operation. The door to the car opened easily, and once again she was grateful for the new car with all its conveniences. The in-car computer access to files saved hours of driving time, presenting information on the fly. Like then, when the name Anna Avery was presented to the state and local agencies, the report came back that the young woman had once been arrested for a minor possession charge as well as being a pedestrian in the roadway. To police agencies, that description was usually equated to men or women who sold themselves for money. That put a whole new bearing on Anna Avery, wife to the pawnbroker. It made Maude want to look further into the woman’s past.

  Driving home, she came close to the church where her meetings were held. Even though it wasn’t quite time for it to start, Maude parked the car out of sight, locked it, and went inside, hoping to find someone there. Her badge went in her pocket, and the holster with her gun was tucked out of sight. Off duty, she was still a cop. The few people drinking coffee were talking, and made room for her around a table. One of them, an older man, older than Maude, said his name was Mo and he was carrying a chip for not drinking for thirty years. She nodded and thought about that, wondering if she was going to make thirty days. Mo must have sensed her doubt. He lifted his cup and looked into her eyes.

  “It works. Just keep coming back.”

  She nodded again and finished her coffee. The meeting started and she left quickly after it was over, avoiding questions from people about her life. Back home and still restless, she sat at the table after a quick dinner, and pulled the small notebook from her pocket, looking over the lines she had written. The pawnshop case puzzled her; there was something about it that didn’t ring true. Hopefully, when they located Phillip Mason, the truth would come out. Meanwhile, until he was found, there was little to be done. No other prints were found on the glass or cash register except for Mason’s. A little too convenient, maybe, but the truth was sometimes just that easy to understand. Anna Avery was a puzzle. How did a young woman with her kind of breeding end up with a fifty-something man? She obviously had her share of past mistakes, but what could have pushed her into a relationship with a guy twenty years or so older?

  The phone rang and Maude answered it, wondering who would be calling. She hoped it was one of the Woodsboro detectives. Rightly enough, the voice on the other end identified himself as Detective Blanton from Woodsboro Police Department. Once the introductions were made, Detective Blanton asked what Madison, Texas needed to know from the best state in the union. Maude laughed a little.

  “Detective Blanton, as I said on the phone, I’m curious about a former resident of your city. Actually, two of them: Phillip Mason and Wallace Avery. About ten years ago, those two were partners. Later they busted up. In the meantime, they get arrested for felony theft by your department, but the charges are dropped. I have a murder to solve that concerns both of them. Wonder if you can tell me what happened back in Woodsboro?”

/>   “Damndest thing,” Blanton said, “a fellow here called us out, said someone had taken an item from his safe. A very clear diamond, several carats, worth maybe half a million. Famous stone, lot of people knew about it. He had it insured, of course, but he said it wasn’t just the money. The stone was important to him. Those two yahoos you named were in the jewelry business, and Johnson, the diamond owner, said he believed they stole it from him after finding the combination to his safe. Didn’t make sense to me why such an expensive rock would be kept in the man’s house, but people do those sorts of things. Anyway, after investigating a while, we found prints and evidence connecting Avery and Mason to the crime. Arrested both of them, but they never went to jail. Johnson called back and said there had been a mistake, he remembered someone else had been trying to buy the stone, and he, Johnson, had asked the two jewelry store men to assess the diamond’s value for insurance adjustments.”

  “Which was how their prints got on the safe,” Maude said, following along.

  “Right. We had to let them go, since there was nothing more to hold ’em. Never found who took the stone, but Johnson shut up. Quit calling the station, acted like he didn’t care much after that. Never made sense to us.”

  “What about the fellow wanting to buy the diamond? He check out okay?”

  “Never found him,” Blanton said. “If he was real, he disappeared into the smog.”

  “So the diamond, did it get written off by the insurance? Did they pay?” she asked, interested in the story.

  “They paid. Four hundred, eighty-nine thousand; a nice chunk of change was picked up by Johnson. Insurance investigators still around, trying to smell out the thieves, recover their property or prove fraud.” Blanton sounded as though he was chewing between sentences. Maude thanked him for the information and asked for a copy of the police report. He agreed to send it on, and added that he never believed the story. He said he sure hoped she might find out something that would be useful to Woodsboro Police Department, help them close the case.

  Lying in bed that night, Maude thought over the events of the day: the open grave that had been dug in her backyard, the interview with the Avery couple, and now, the info from Detective Blanton from Woodsboro. She also noted the animal wasn’t bothering her as much anymore, but habit was strong. Ending her day with cold gin had been a nighttime ritual. Now there was nothing, except the Big Book or the book of Traditions to fall back on. She read a few passages and thought about them, applying the words to her life, wondering if the pages tasted like Gilbey’s.

  The next morning was the beginning of the workweek, but it was also her seventh day sober. Wondering if she could make it through, Maude began her day with a chapter from the Big Book along with her first and second cup of sweetened coffee. She put a few peppermints in her pocket and left the house. Picking up Joe from the apartment was a habit by now, and she drove there without thinking, just honked and waited for him to come to the door. Only a minute passed and there he was, opening the car door, scooting into his seat.

  “Your youth brings back memories,” Maude said, taking her foot off the brake.

  “You mean my good looks and one-color hair?” he asked, speaking over his coffee.

  “No, they have bottles and boxes to take care of that color. Just because I don’t use them right doesn’t mean they don’t work. What I meant was the way you jump in the car, feet first, not thinking about your joints hurting. I do recall those days.”

  Joe glanced out of the corner of his eye toward her. “How you doing”?

  “Sober,” she said. “A pure lunatic, but sober. Someone dug my grave this weekend.”

  “What do you mean?” Joe was smiling, expecting a lesson with a moral.

  “No, serious, a six-by-three hole in the backyard.” She went on to explain the horrible sound of the jackhammer and how it was set up for maximum effect.

  “That SOB. We shook him up. He’s trying to scare you off. He must have forgotten the demented woman on the bicycle,” he said, recalling the way Maude caught Dawson by chasing him on a bicycle in the darkness.

  Maude glanced at her partner, a grin on her face. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Wonder what will be his next act?”

  “Watch yourself, Maude. That’s one hyper-insane creep. No telling what he’ll have his demon buddies do.”

  “Hell’s bells, bring it on is what I say. Dawson is a killer, and I believe he had all to do with this murder on the train. Just haven’t found the tie between him, and the person who did the killing. Brutal people, no doubt.”

  “We’ll get them, Maude. With your determination, and my charm, we can’t lose.”

  She laughed, glad to be on solid ground with Joe. “That charm in the mood for tacos or burritos for breakfast?”

  Later, as they sat across from one another in the Homicide section, Maude passed over the information she had received from Detective Blanton in Woodsboro. Joe read it quickly and looked her way. “What do you think?

  “Well, Joe, I think you and that marvelous charm should take a trip to see Mrs. Anna Avery for a few questions of your own. Find out what you can about the diamond theft. Maybe she’ll tell more than she means to. You know what to ask,” she said, ignoring his quiet laughter. “That girl has no business with Avery, unless it’s monkey business.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I’ll do what I can,” he said, a sudden frown passing over his face. “What about this guy, Johnson? Any intel on him?”

  “Not yet. As far as I can tell, he didn’t know the other two, except for business. There may be something connecting them.”

  “What about the war? Weren’t Avery and Mason in the Army together? What if Johnson was there, also? Maybe there’s a connection.”

  “Good thinking, partner,” Maude said. “Darned good. Find out what you can. Meanwhile, I want to do some more searching at the train station. Maybe talk to Samuel Blevins. I think he’s off on Mondays.”

  “Sounds like a plan. I’ll get a car from the shop. Meet you back here for lunch. How’s that. You make more money than me, so you can buy.”

  “Deal. My choice where,” she said, headed to Captain Patterson’s office. “Gotta see the boss. May have to take a trip.”

  “Okay,” Joe said loudly, “don’t get him riled this early.”

  James Patterson’s office as captain was much bigger than the one he had used as lieutenant in the Homicide section. A window overlooking City Park was just behind the desk, and the first view to greet visitors who entered the captain’s door. The wide chair was made for a bigger man, but Patterson had kept it to remind him of how you can get too big for your britches as well as your chair. He figured if the chair ever fit him as it did the last captain, he’d gone too far. Most of the cops liked him, but a wrong move would stir up dislike, a thing that could hurt. He was careful to speak to all the officers, no matter their rank. That kept him in good with most.

  Maude sauntered into the office and received a grunt from her captain. He didn’t put on any show for her, for she knew him too well. Almost as much as his wife did. Maybe in a different way, but still, she had his number.

  “Good morning, Detective Rogers. How are we doing on the train murder? Any resolution yet?”

  “No, sir,” she said with a shrug. “Takes time, you know.”

  “Don’t take too long,” he said. “I don’t want to answer questions the press asks about why we can’t find the killer.”

  “No, sir,” she repeated. “We’ll get a break soon. I know it.” Mentioning Robert Dawson was off the table. Nothing would be said about him until there was evidence to back up her statements. “Something happened at my house over the weekend. County came out, but word will spread. Someone dug a grave in my backyard and left a jackhammer running in the hole. Danged strange, but seems to be a harmless prank. Expensive, though. I intend to run it down, find out who rented the equipment. Got to be someone having a little fun at my expense.”

  “Crazy. Make sure you give the sheriff
a heads-up when you find something.”

  “Will do,” she agreed, because her house was located out of the city, in county jurisdiction. “Say, boss, I may have to take a trip out to a place called Woodsboro, Michigan. Fellow there is part of an investigation in the Northside Pawnshop murder. Also, one of the suspects hasn’t been located, and he lives there. Thought I might go for a quick trip and find out what I can. Maybe wrap up this case. May not be necessary, just heads-up if it gets that way.”

  Patterson looked at her for a minute then nodded. “Make it short if you go.”

  “No problem, captain. I’ll do it. We’ll see what turns up.” She was already mentally figuring how far Woodsboro was from Philadelphia. No sense looking a gift horse in the mouth. It might be too far to drive, but maybe not. She hadn’t seen Bill Page for several months. Still, there was always the chance that Joe might turn up enough information to point them in another direction.

  Taking a roundabout trip back to the office, Maude stepped in to thank Alice for breakfast on Sunday and for listening. Their friendship was important to both of them. Leaving the telecommunications office behind, she turned left in the hallway and ran into Eberhart. She smiled at him and said hello. He looked at her face and nodded with a slight smile.

  “Good to see you, Maude. Are you well?” he asked.

  “Getting that way,” she responded. “Going to take a while. Thanks again for your advice.”

  “No problem,” he said. “Glad you’re better.”

  If she could whistle, she would have, but lacking that, Maude hummed a little on the way to the office. There she picked up her blazer and the printouts she needed then headed toward the city car. The garage was dark at that time of day, but she could see the vehicle plainly. A shiver ran across her back at the thought of someone stalking her in the darkness, but that’s all it was, a thought. She hoped Dawson would leave things alone for a while, at least until there was more evidence against him. Meanwhile, she had a job to do and had better get started. With two murder cases to work, there was little time to worry about someone already behind bars.