Ring Around the Rosy

by Roseanne Dowell

  “Nice touch on the story this morning, with that nursery rhyme headline.” He patted her back. “Congratulations. Your first big one, wasn’t it?”

  She forced a smile. “Thanks, Gary. Yeah, it was my first big one, but Ernie pulled me off. Hill is taking over.”

  “How can Ernie do that? You were first at the scene. It’s your story. That’s not fair.”

  Susan looked at him and shrugged. Thick glasses covered light-brown eyes that held a spark of something. Desire? She hoped not.

  “So you’re not going to do anything about it?”

  “What’s to do? Ernie can do anything he wants. He runs the paper. He wants a seasoned reporter on it, said it’s too big for someone of my limited experience.” She shrugged. “He did compliment me, though — said it was good work getting it in before the deadline. She turned toward the gardens, looking for Mark. “Come on, let’s get to work.”

  Gary took pictures while she conducted the interview. He was a good photographer, but Susan preferred working with Ray or Gloria. They were more outgoing and fun to work with, especially Gloria. She livened up an otherwise boring assignment, and this one definitely fit the bill.

  Every time Susan tried to make a joke, Gary sighed. Mark virtually ignored her comments, and Jeff apparently took his work so seriously, all she got from him was dirty looks. So much for humor.

  Gloria had a way about her and would have broken through those tough reserves. Obviously, she didn’t have it.

  Susan couldn’t tell a rose from a daisy and didn’t really care. Of course, for the story, she put on a good pretense, and her lengthy research provided her with enough material to at least ask intelligent questions. The gardens, she forced herself to admit, were beautiful. Even though she couldn’t picture herself visiting them, they presented a great backdrop for wedding pictures. She’d focus on that for part of her article.

  The early morning events made it difficult to concentrate, but once settled down, she conducted herself professionally, giving up the idea of humor.

  After the interview, Susan hurried to her car, Thank goodness that was over. Gary followed close behind, trying to strike up a conversation about the murder. Great, like she wanted to discuss this. Nope, not with him or anyone else for that matter. Those phone calls had spooked her, and she didn’t spook easily.

  Whimpering cries came from the pond as they passed it. Gary hurried to the water’s edge, plucked a kitten out of the water and cradled it against his chest. “Poor little thing almost drowned. Wonder where it came from.”

  “Cute little thing,” Susan said. Gary’s tenderness surprised her, maybe because she never thought of him as an animal lover. Course she never much thought of him at all.

  Suddenly, a little girl ran toward them. “That’s my kitty!” She snatched the kitten from Gary’s arms. “Why is he all wet?”

  Gary looked offended. “You should take better care of him. He almost drowned.”

  The little girl’s eyes filled with tears. “My brother let him out.”

  “Well, you be more careful with him from now on.” Gary’s voice softened.

  He shook his head as she walked away. “Cat probably won’t make it to adulthood. Kids today don’t understand responsibility,” he said when the girl was out of earshot.

  Susan half agreed. She waved her goodbye and left.

  Visions of George Lucas’s body and memory of the phone call filled her mind while she drove. She couldn’t get that voice out of her head, no matter how she tried. She tried thinking of the story she’d write, like she usually did when returning from an assignment, but no go. Today, that phone call and evil-sounding voice kept intruding.

  After parking her car, she hurried into her building and caught movement from corner of her eye. It looked like someone sitting in a car across the street, but when she looked again, the car appeared empty. Probably just her imagination working over time.

  Horace came toward her, and she waved at him, bypassed the elevator, and raced up the steps to avoid talking to him. Tired, irritated, and still angry about being taken off her assignment, she didn’t feel much like talking to anyone. Besides, something about that voice still nagged at her. What was it?

  Darn, this could have been her big chance.

  It wasn’t fair. She got there first. She wrote a good story and turned it in before the deadline. Her writing was as good as Dan’s or any of the others. What was the big deal about contacting the police and coroner’s office to find out the cause of death or to see if they had a suspect? It didn’t involve much work. Just because she didn’t have any sources on the police department. How was she supposed to establish a relationship with them if she never had an opportunity?

  More than likely, Dan complained. Big crybaby. He probably felt threatened. Couldn’t have another reporter taking over his spot. And a woman at that.

  Good thing Ernie didn’t know she was a suspect. A chill ran through her as she recalled Detective Morgan’s suspicions of her. God, she hoped Dan didn’t get wind of that information. “Put it out of your mind, sit down and write this story and get on with life.” Bella flew off the couch at the sound of her angry voice.

  “The heck with it.” Susan slammed her laptop shut, fixed something to eat, and then curled up to read her newest novel for an hour. It was dark when she decided to sit down to write.

  Someone knocked at the door just as she finished faxing the story.

  Looking through the peephole, it surprised her to see Detective Morgan. She opened the door cautiously. What did he want this time? Had he come to arrest her?

  “Since I was still in the neighborhood, thought I’d check in, see how you’re doing.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “I see you haven’t covered those windows yet.” He nodded toward the front windows.

  Oh crap, the shades. She spent so little time in her apartment; it didn’t occur to her she needed them. “Not something on the top of my list when I go out shopping.”

  “Anyone can see into your apartment even though you’re on the third floor. Every time you stood up, I saw your every move.”

  “You watched me?” Had she heard him right? Her cheeks burned, as she thought of what he might have seen. What are you, a peeping Tom?” The gall of this man. She was starting to dislike Detective David Morgan and his cocky grin and bossy attitude.

  “What’s it to you, anyway, if I don’t want my windows covered?” Susan stamped her foot.

  “Look, I’m sorry. I wasn’t watching you. I looked up when I parked my car. You were walking around.”

  The look on his face said he wasn’t going to give up until she agreed to cover them. “Okay, I’ll buy the shades first thing tomorrow.”

  “Why not tonight?” He smiled. “I’ll give you a hand.”

  “Maybe I don’t feel like it tonight.” Could he get any bossier?

  “Look, Susan, quit being so damned stubborn. I’m only trying to help you.”

  She couldn’t figure him out. One minute, he was arrogant, the next he acted concerned and considerate. Maybe she had misread him. Part of the reason she put off buying shades was she didn’t even know how to measure for them. Since she couldn’t think of a good reason to refuse his help, she shrugged. “What the heck. Why not?”

  “Great. And call me Dave, okay? No more of this, ‘detective’ stuff.”

  After taking the measurements, they went to the Wal-Mart store and bought the shades. Shopping with Dave was surprisingly fun. They even stopped for pizza on the way home.

  He still confused the heck out of her. She actually enjoyed his easy, outgoing-in-a-quiet-sort-of-way manner, and he seemed to love teasing her. Part of her enjoyed the teasing, but she couldn’t figure out if he treated her as a friend, or a suspect whose trust he wanted to gain. Cops resorted to that trick all the time.

  As usual, when Susan came into her apartment, she checked for messages. The red light blinked, and she pressed the playback button.

  The
voice came on raspy and harsh. “Tonight, Jack be nimble, look for the candlestick.” Then the line went dead.

  Chills ran up her spine. Her stomach rolled. She couldn’t catch her breath.

  Dave pressed the playback. It was almost ten o’clock. He took the tape out and put it in his pocket.

  “The shades will have to wait. I have to get this to the station. Want to ride along?”

  Chapter Three

  “Jack be nimble, Jack be quick. Look out Jack, I’ve got a candlestick.”

  He tightened his hold on the victim’s neck, squeezing the life out of him, taking pleasure in the way Jack struggled. Jack’s face turned red, then purple as the life slipped out of him. Finally, he released his hands on the breathless body and let it fall.

  He laughed as Jack’s head hit the water fountain.

  “Not so nimble now are you, Jack?”

  Jack opened his eyes, grabbed his throat, and struggled to get up.

  He grabbed the candlestick and bashed Jack over the head. “Not so quick, Jack.” He clasped his hands around Jack’s neck again, squeezed, and finished the job.

  He stood, rubbed his hands together and stared at his victim. “You always thought you were the best, didn’t you? The best receiver on the football team. The best in track. Oh, you were a quick one, all right. You had the speed. And you had every girl in school after you.”

  He pulled a rag from his knapsack and stuffed it into the bowl of the water fountain, turned on the water, and jammed a stick under it to keep it on. Standing back, he watched the water overflow and drip onto Jack’s head.

  Then he picked up Jack’s left hand and curled his fingers around the candlestick. In his right hand, he stuffed the nursery rhyme. “Not such a big shot now, are you?”

  After cleaning up, he turned to leave, stopped, looked at the victim one last time, and smiled.

  “That’s another one to mark off the list.” He hurried out of the park.

  * * *

  Susan couldn’t believe her luck. Spending the evening with Dave was fun, but being involved in a police investigation would be a valuable learning experience. Ernie couldn’t take this away from her. Besides, she liked being with Dave and wasn’t ready for the evening to end. And, to get an inside look at the investigation. Well, that was a no-brainer. And now Dave knew she wasn’t the killer. She couldn’t have planned a better alibi. Not that she liked having to provide one.

  After Dave booked the tape into evidence, he signed it out and took it across the hall.

  “Jim, play this and see if you can get the distortion out. Let’s see if it’s male or female. You know the routine. Oh, this is Susan Weston. Susan — Sergeant Jim Dahl, our voice technician.” He motioned for her to have a seat.

  “Jim will play the tape and try to get a clear voice and distinguish an inflection. We know the calls were made from a phone booth near your apartment. That’s why I asked you to come along.” Dave grinned at her. “I didn’t want to leave you alone there, especially without those shades. This call came shortly before we came back.”

  Susan just couldn’t get a read on this guy. Just when she thought he enjoyed being with her and was maybe a little attracted to her, he ruined it with a comment like that. Dumb jerk. Not that she cared, anyway.

  Did she?

  She’d better watch herself; she was treading on thin ice here. And she was beginning to hate that grin. It seemed like every time he grinned at her that way, it was a putdown of sorts. Hurt and annoyed, Susan glared at him. How stupid. She should have known he couldn’t be attracted to her. She was just his connection to this case, nothing else. Damn these feelings he provoked in her.

  Susan moved away, plopped in a chair and turned her attention to Sergeant Dahl while he listened to the tape with headphones on, turning dials. Her scanner squawked. “All units respond to Ridge Oak Park. Reports of a male body.”

  Dave twirled around and looked for the scanner. Susan held it up, but it wasn’t the type you could respond to. He ran out of the office.

  She raced after him. No way was he leaving her behind. She followed him through the station to his car and jumped into the passenger seat. Dave looked as if he were about to object, but then started the car and sped off.

  They arrived at the scene the same time as several patrol cars. Maple trees lined the park, sheltering it and making it eerily dark after sunset. Dave identified himself, and a police officer directed him to the body.

  “Stay here.” Dave commanded.

  Susan waited until he focused his attention on the victim, and then followed. No one noticed her because everyone concentrated on the victim.

  Stopping a short distance away, she stared at the body propped up against a drinking fountain. Water spilled out of the bowl, splashed onto the victim’s head, and pooled around him. In one hand, he held a brass candlestick. The other hand grasped a note, the words cut out from magazines and newspapers. Jack be nimble, Jack wasn’t quick, OOPS, Jack couldn’t jump over the candlestick. The letters were large enough Susan could just make them out.

  The headline for the next story popped out. Standing well away from the body, she watched Dave and the other officers who had converged on the scene. Someone took out the victim’s wallet and identified him — Jack Murphy. She knew him. Not well, but she had talked to him a couple of times at Meliti’s Market.

  Two officers taped off the crime scene. Another took photographs from all corners, moving closer to the victim as the flashes from the camera lit up the night. Others scoured the area, collecting evidence with gloved hands. Still other officers talked to the crowd that had gathered, looking for potential witnesses.

  One of the witnesses said a man wearing a gray shirt and carrying a bag had asked for directions shortly before the police arrived. Several officers copied names and phone numbers and assured them a detective would be in touch.

  Her stomach turned over as the medical examiner took the internal body temperature with something that looked like a meat thermometer. Nausea filled her throat, threatening to erupt and she looked away. She needed to get out of there, needed her laptop or the newspaper office. She had enough info for the story.

  Looking at the faces in the crowd, she spotted Ray off to the side with his camera. “Ray,” she called, “what are you doing here?”

  “I heard the call on my scanner.” He snapped another picture. “I wasn’t far, thought I’d see if I could get some pictures. Are you doing the story?”

  “If I can get to the office and turn it in before anyone else.”

  “Well, come on, I’m on my way there myself. This could be my big break, too, if I can get this film in before the others.” They hurried into his car and sped away. “Hey, maybe your headline will go with my picture,” Ray said on the way.

  Composing the story in her mind, Susan didn’t’ feel like talking and only nodded in reply. What luck. First to be with Dave when the call came, and then for Ray to show up. Chances of her story being the first one turned in and printed looked good.

  Susan suppressed a chuckle. “Too bad, Dan Hill!” Beat him out again..

  When they pulled in front of the building and parked, she jumped out, waved at Ray, and hurried into the newspaper offices without waiting for him. She flipped on a computer and started typing.

  Jack Be Nimble, Jack Wasn’t Quick the headline read.

  Was Jack killed with a candlestick? Towering maple trees cast eerie shadows in the park where Jack Murphy, 32, became the second victim of the Nursery Rhyme murderer. The coroner will rule on the cause of death, but the victim suffered head injuries. Marks on the victim’s neck suggest strangulation. The victim clasped the nursery rhyme “Jack Be Nimble” in his hand.

  Susan leaned back. Best to keep the candlestick out of the story. The public didn’t need to know everything.

  Police received an anonymous phone tip about the body, and a witness reported a man in a gray shirt asking for directions moments before the police arrived. The death has b
een ruled a homicide, and there are no suspects at this time. Is there a serial killer on the loose? This is the second murder in two days with the same M.O.

  She hit send and sent the story down to the editor, sat back, grinned, and punched her fist in the air. “Yes!”

  She did it again. Beat the deadline with minutes to spare. This story superseded Hill’s follow-up story, which they’d probably relegate to the inside pages, if they printed it at all. Now let Ernie try to take this story away from her.

  Ray met her at the door as she got ready to leave. “Did you get your story in?”

  With thumbs up and a grin, she nodded. “How about you? Your pictures turned in?”

  He smiled, nodded, and put his arm around her. “Do you need a ride home?”

  Shoot, she didn’t have her car, hadn’t given it a thought until now. What the heck? She liked Ray. With his blue eyes and easygoing manner, he looked like the fair-haired boy next door — fun to be around. Besides, right now, she loved everybody. She was on her way. No one could stop her.

  The phone rang shortly after she opened her door. Thinking it was Dave, she grabbed it.

  “I told you Jack would be next. Did you get the story in on time?” the voice said. “Watch out for Wee Willie Winkie.” The line went dead.

  Susan steadied herself against the counter. Her heart raced. The room spun, and a wave of nausea swept over her. Slumping down against the cabinet, she slid to the floor.

  She had to get a hold of herself, clear her head, take control.

  It wasn’t like her to fall apart. What kind of reporter couldn’t even deal with a phone call? Placing her head between her knees, she took long, deep breaths. She had to call Dave.

  She found his number on the refrigerator and dialed. Drumming her fingers on the counter, she waited for him to answer. His voice message came on. She hung up and called nine-one-one. “I need to talk to Detective David Morgan, please. He’s at a crime scene. Please hurry, it’s an emergency. I have to talk to him. Tell him it’s Susan Weston. Please hurry.”