HAMMER RETURNED TO THE station at four-thirty, having finished going through Stanley Buttons' apartment with his son. He dropped into a chair across from Elizabeth's desk. "Nothing that either of us could see. The son got all choked up because the table next to his father's recliner had a bunch of old family photo albums, like he'd been going through them."
Elizabeth didn't comment on the albums, but wondered if Stanley knew he had a cancer diagnosis and was reliving the good times in his life. "Stanley was of an age that he might have had checkbooks with carbons rather than used online banking."
"You're right. We went through a couple books of check carbons, which took us back four months. Steven's going to look through more and let us know if he sees anything odd."
Elizabeth stood." I didn't expect a demand for money or anything, but I kind of hoped the person who sent me bricks had mailed Stanley a note."
CHAPTER NINETEEN
ELIZABETH AWOKE FRIDAY morning with her cat's face at her nose. She stroked its head. "Do you feel a lot better?"
Her meow indicated she wanted food, so Elizabeth filled her bowl with dry food. The cat stared at her.
"I gave you soft food last night because you were getting over your boo-boo." The cat stared, but Elizabeth decided to see if she would eat the dry food. Within a minute, chowing down started.
She put on a small pot of coffee and walked onto the landing outside her door to retrieve the paper. When she saw Jerry Pew's story in the Friday morning paper, she wished she kept wine in the house.
Two Murders in Three Days!
Logland Becomes Southern Illinois Murder Capital
Police report no progress in solving the murders of Louella Belle Simpson, which occurred in the Logland Laundromat on Monday evening, or Stanley Buttons, which occurred in the parking lot of the senior apartments Wednesday, in early evening.
Police Chief Elizabeth Friedman said, "Stanley Buttons' death is a real tragedy, but we don't have a link to Louella Belle Simpson's murder. We will be vigorously investigating both."
Elizabeth fumed. She'd talked to Jerry every time he showed up at the station or called. No point in doing that if he tried to make it sound as if she spoke like a press release.
The article got the chronology of events in the right order, but moved into speculation when it brought up the flyer Louella Belle had done featuring Assistant Principal Maxwell's children.
While no motive is clear in either crime, retired home-ec and health teacher Simpson was known for her passion about what she deemed proper eating habits. She would even walk up to shoppers to suggest that they remove items from their grocery carts and replace them with fresh food.
Her most egregious attempt to sway public opinion was a recent flyer that described some foods as poison and featured local schoolchildren she deemed to be especially well-fed.
Jerry Pew had then inserted a photo of the infamous Louella Belle flyer, with the Maxwell children's heads blotted out.
Aloud, Elizabeth said, "Good God. You'll feel the wrath of Avery Maxwell."
Elizabeth's home phone rang. She answered it with eyes still on the article.
"Uh, Chief? It's Hammer. Listen, I came in early, and there are about twenty voice mails for us. Mostly for you. Some are scared folks, some want to know if we have a vague idea how to catch killers. And they go south from there."
"Thanks, Hammer. I'll get to the station in about half-an-hour." She hung up, sped through her shower, and reached the office in twenty-five minutes.
Calderone sat at Hammer's desk. "He'll be right back. Needed a break from the harsh words."
Elizabeth took off her coat and picked up the two sheets of paper on which Hammer had jotted notes about the messages and phone numbers for return calls. "Can we retain the messages for a couple days in case I want to personally listen to them?"
He nodded. "Digital files. You want me to make copies or something?"
"Do you know how?"
"Heck no, but like you always say, you can teach us old dogs new tricks."
Elizabeth winced. "I'll choose better words next time. I would only want a voice record if one of them is a threat, or maybe a suggested avenue to investigate."
"None of the latter yet. A few insults."
"I can live with those." Elizabeth made copies of the two pages and returned the original to Hammer's desk. As she was about to enter her office to go over the list, Hammer called to her from down the hall.
"Hey Chief, sorry I left my post for a few minutes."
"Stressful times, no problem." She waited a few seconds.
Hammer paused a few feet from her. "The one that really got to me was from that lady, Grace. She just sobs about how we need to catch Stanley's killer." Hammer's voice caught and he stopped.
"If that didn't sadden us, I'd be worried." She tried to make her smile encouraging. "I'll go through this list and return a few calls personally, including Grace's. I'll mark what I do."
"Sounds good, Chief."
Elizabeth placed the list on her desk, grabbed her second cup of coffee, and returned to her office to study the calls. About half of the twenty messages expressed fear, and nearly all of those asked for a call back. One said all downtown businesses should close at dark "to be safe," and another suggested armed security guards at the senior apartment building.
"Oh, good," she muttered. "We can have shoot-outs."
Her personal least favorite was one that said Logland had been safer "before we got a lady police chief." Hammer noted he couldn't discern if a man or woman left the message because the voice appeared to be disguised.
The person left no name, and Elizabeth chuckled when she saw the number that Hammer wrote next to it – she recognized Donald Dingle's home number. The old guy probably doesn't know that voicemail has caller ID.
She made several calls to the people who expressed fear, assuring them that the Logland Police Department was actively seeking the killer or killers.
A youngish-sounding woman asked, "Do you think it's safe to let my kids walk to school, when the Christmas holidays are over?"
"If I had kids, I would let them," she answered. "I don't have any reason to think these crimes were random, and they didn't involve children."
Elizabeth left Grace's return call for last.
Grace quavered "Good morning."
"Grace, it's Chief Elizabeth Friedman. I called to check on you. I'm sorry this is such a sad time for you."
"Oh, Chief. I shouldn't have left that message. I couldn't sleep, and I'm just so worried…" Her voice trailed off.
"You can leave a message anytime, Grace. I know Officer Mahan is going to stop by your building around nine-thirty for an update. If you want to be in the lobby for that he'll do his best to answer any questions. The one you'll most want answered, who killed Stanley, he can't tell you yet, I'm afraid."
"We all appreciate that your officers come by. Sergeant Hammer stopped by on his way home last night, just to say hello when a bunch of us were still in the dining room."
Elizabeth swallowed. "He's a good man. One of us will call you personally when we know something. And we will find out who did this to your good friend."
Grace's nose became stuffy. "Thank you, Chief. Merry Christmas."
Elizabeth's phone had been in its cradle for less than five seconds when the intercom buzzed. Hammer said, "Avery Maxwell is on the phone, and she is peeved times four."
"Thanks. I'll take it." She punched the lit button. "Mrs. Maxwell."
The assistant principal's voice shook. "I can't tell you how angry I am with Jerry Pew."
"Me, too. I'm going to call him to say I don't give a tinker's damn about what he says about me or this department, but I'll file a complaint with some journalism professional society if he doesn't get parental permission for any picture that could let kids be identified."
"Oh, good. Is there a law against it? Or implying that the parents of the unidentified kids might have a motive for Louella Belle's murd
er?"
"I don't know the intricacies of privacy laws, but I believe some journalist code of ethics says to avoid identifying kids, other than in a news story or something, where it's relevant. Even then, not if they're victims, of course."
Her anger welled. "Well, I think he's victimizing my kids!"
"Why don't you call and tell him that, and I'll follow up in an hour or so? We'll double-team him."
Maxwell expelled a breath. "Thank you. Are you having any luck…I mean, do you know who killed either of those people?"
"Not yet, but we're following leads and we aren't letting up."
Maxwell's tone grew business-like. "I have every confidence you'll succeed."
Elizabeth hung up and pulled the folder on Stanley's death toward her. In some ways, returning the phone calls, which had taken almost forty minutes, could be considered a waste of time. But, calming citizens was part of her job.
Donald Dingle was another matter. After the holidays she'd put in a request for another officer, and mention the need for someone who could relate to all ages and both sexes. That would give him something to stew about.
Stanley's file now included notes from interviews with the two young clerks at the Hy-Vee. One had checked out Stanley, another had helped him find the red and green sprinkles Grace had asked him to buy for her.
Neither thought he seemed upset, and they didn't notice that anyone followed him to his car. Because it was dinnertime, the store had few customers.
The female clerk had one observation, which Calderone had typed as a direct quote. "One guy left without buying anything. I don't know his name, but I've seen him before. He doesn't usually leave empty-handed."
Elizabeth stared at the wall opposite her desk. Plenty of reasons to walk out without groceries – a wallet left at home, an item out of stock. But a shopper who left without a purchase could also have wanted to follow someone to the lot.
She walked to the bullpen. "Hammer, is Calderone around?"
"Took a patrol car to drive around the square and a couple streets. Increased presence and all that. Need something?"
"No, but when he comes in I'd like to talk to him about the grocery clerks he interviewed. The ones who were in the store when Stanley shopped that night."
Hammer's expression invited her to say more, but Elizabeth returned to her office. Calderone's notes of the conversation didn't give a detailed description of the man who left empty-handed, only that he was “probably early twenties and dressed well," according to the clerk. Calderone likely didn't know any more than he put in the notes, but she wanted to ask him before she headed to Hy-Vee herself.
Back at her desk, she started a new to-do list. She wanted to revisit what they knew and try some new approaches.
Ask out-of-town stores about bricks like the one thrown at my window (Mahan or Taylor)
Ask local high school teachers and maybe Sweathog English teachers if they recognize handwriting on brick notes (Hammer and Taylor)
Visit laundromat as a customer
Visit Louella Belle's house
Talk to store clerks about guy who didn't buy
Stopping by the laundromat and Louella Belle's house were her attempts to see if the two places would bring more to mind. She grinned. Her trunk held a throw-rug that was too big for her washer. She'd been meaning to take it to a different laundromat. Why not Squeaky's?
Calderone rapped on her office doorjamb. "Question, Chief?"
"Have a seat. Before I ask you something about the grocery clerks, when will you hear about prints on Finn Clancy’s bike?”
“Amazingly, I just got an email. Would have probably taken longer, but the guy is heading out for Christmas and was clearing his desk. Even more reason of a quick turnaround is that all prints were Clancy’s.”
“So it means the thief used gloves?”
Calderone shrugged. “Or maybe only Clancy touched it.”
Elizabeth stared at him for several seconds. “So, Clancy may have taken it and returned it. Probably to throw us off something.”
“Could be. Or maybe the thief wore gloves. It’ll be hard to tell.”
“Great. Another uncertainty. So, about the grocery clerks. I read your notes. One thing jumped out at me."
"The guy who left without buying anything?"
"Exactly. I think the clerk thought he was good looking. Anything more than that?"
Calderone shook his head. "I asked. She was a nervous one. Maybe she'd give you a better description."
"Why do you think that?"
"I dunno. Isn't there some female code to describe who's a hunk?"
She rolled her eyes. "Maybe for teens. I'll stop by the store."
"The two clerks I talked to work like four to eight. After-school jobs."
"High school?" she asked.
"Yep. I know the girl's family a bit. Could be why she seemed nervous. Just young."
Calderone left and Elizabeth shrugged into her uniform parka. "Code indeed."
CHAPTER TWENTY
ON HER WAY OUT OF THE STATION late Friday morning, Elizabeth asked Hammer to think about who at the high school or college to ask about the handwriting. "Taylor might be able to help you out at the high school."
"We'll get on it, but with the schools closed, we may not get much right away.
She hadn't thought about that. "Oh, well. Do what you can."
Elizabeth drove her own car from the station to Squeaky Miller's businesses, and first went into the dry cleaners.
Squeaky had the morning paper spread on the counter and quickly closed it. "Morning, Chief. Just reading Jerry's article."
"Morning. Colorful, isn't it?" She had other words to describe the piece, but Squeaky would probably repeat them. "Wanted to let you know I'd be in the laundromat for an hour or so."
He frowned. "Following a new, whaddyacallit, lead?"
"No. I want to get a better sense of the place, so I brought a throw rug to wash."
Squeaky opened the drawer that she knew held laundry tickets and pens. ""Lemme give you some tokens."
Elizabeth held a hand at arm's length, palm facing him. "Nope. Not only am I on duty, but I need to wash the rug anyway."
He shut the drawer. "You won't, uh, turn on your lights or anything will you?"
She shook her head. "Brought my personal car."
"Good. Not too many people been using the place. Don't want anyone to think there's more bad stuff going on."
"Ah. When it's appropriate I'll mention that I've done laundry there since Louella Belle's murder. Let people know it's safe."
Squeaky shrugged. "Not sure much will help until you find her killer. But thanks."
Elizabeth went to her car's trunk and hauled out the multi-colored throw rug. Her cat often slept on it, so she shook it. A mix of brown and yellow cat hair fell to the snow."
She entered the laundromat and picked a machine close to the back of the business. From that vantage point, she'd see anyone who came in, and not everyone would notice her."
While the rug churned in a washer, she took in every inch of the laundromat. Louella Belle had been right about the lackluster cleaning job Squeaky did. If a broom had been handy she would have felt compelled to sweep out the corners.
She walked over to the laundry tub and stared into it. I hope Louella Belle was gone before she was dunked in there.
Next to the tub sat a commercial-sized, tan trash can with a black liner. It brimmed with lint, empty packages of laundry soap, dryer sheets, and food wrappers. She decided to do Squeaky a favor and remove the full bag. He probably had an empty one under it.
She lugged the trash bag from the container, pulled its draw string shut, and placed it by the back door. Then she peered into the bottom of the can. It held a couple of empty can liners, but also something that looked like a black pancake.
Elizabeth tilted the can so she could reach inside to pull out the liners and the flat object. She recognized the brown felt hat with its now-wrinkled feather. Sh
e held it with just her thumb and forefinger and placed it on the folding table where Louella Belle herself had lain a few short days ago.
Elizabeth didn't routinely carry an evidence bag, but she always had a gallon-sized zippered bag. She took it from her coat pocket, opened it, and slid the hat into it pushing with only her thumbnail.
Felt wouldn't be a good source for prints, and Louella Belle's hat likely fell off her head rather than been taken off by her killer. Still, someone had put it in that can, maybe even deliberately placed it under the liner. And she had learned a lesson. Triple search every crime scene.
Elizabeth called Hammer. "I have a present for you." She relayed what she'd found and asked him to send someone over with a proper evidence bag.
"Damn, Chief. We missed it. I’m sorry."
"Key word is we. It's a fluke that I found it. We'll always know to check under the trash can liner from now on."
Calderone walked in ten minutes later, wearing an expression Elizabeth took to be guilt.
"Damn, Chief. We missed it."
"Did you rehearse that line with Hammer?" She smiled.
"No, but I feel terrible." He regarded the hat in its plastic bag. "I don't think she had a head wound, so no blood, right?"
"No. We can ask Skelly, but I think it's useless in terms of clues. But you never know, it may come in handy."
"Meaning what?" he asked.
"No idea. I would never have found it if Squeaky emptied his trash."
Calderone ogled her. "You emptied his trash?"
"Just for fun."
The bell above the laundromat door jingled and Squeaky came in. "I saw Calderone go in. Everything okay?"
Elizabeth and Calderone said, "Yes," and Elizabeth added, "I found Louella Belle's hat. Hadn't even realized it was missing."
Squeaky frowned. "I been in here a few times, didn't see it."
Elizabeth grinned. "Luckily you didn't empty your trash." She tilted her head toward the alley door. "I did."
Squeaky took in the large, full trash bag, and reddened. "I shouldn't let it get so full."
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