Jewel of a Murderer

by M. Glenn Graves

I decided that Sam might be a liability in my present task, so I walked him back to the car. I rolled down two windows and let him jump inside and wait for me until I was finished with my potential interviews. He raised no objections and willingly jumped inside the vehicle. Maybe he was ready for a break after our little chat with Miss Sunshine at the first house.

  House to house canvassing was never my strong suit as a patrol officer with the Norfolk gang. I don’t mind bantering with the community folk. I generally held my own even when I encountered some unreasonable people. But I seldom found going house to house to be a valuable process.

  Then again, I could be wrong on some cases.

  No one responded to my knocking at the next two houses. I was collecting my thoughts as well as my engaging magnetism as I approached the fourth house. I could see McGrady two houses down. He was talking to an elderly couple.

  I rang the doorbell and waited. A young man answered. He was maybe in his thirties sporting short hair and holding a can of beer. He was wearing a blue tank top, pajama bottoms, and flip flops.

  “Hello,” he said in a tenor voice. “May I help you?”

  One hundred and eighty degrees different from Miss Personality at the first house. I welcomed his friendliness.

  I gave him my spiel – name and reason for being there. He invited me inside. I refused the beer he offered but I did sit in the chair he pointed to opposite the couch where he sat. Both chair and couch were black vinyl. The chair made considerable noise when I eased into it. I tried to remember not to move too much.

  It was a clean house, neatly arranged with modern furnishings all around. That was my quick estimate as I surveyed the room upon entering. I did spot a pair of binoculars on the kitchen counter that was adjacent to the sliding glass door that led to his back deck. Being the astute detective I have prided myself as being, I decided that those spyglasses were a clue. Maybe. At least more than an idle decoration for the contemporary furnishings.

  He could have been a birdwatcher, but I had some doubts about that.

  “Are you home a lot?” I said.

  “More than I want to be,” he smiled and sipped his beer.

  “Between jobs?”

  “Exactly,” he said with another grin. “Between jobs. Yes, I’ve been looking for work about eight months. Nothing out there, you know.”

  “Has got to be hard,” I agreed.

  “You don’t know the half of it, unless you’ve been searching. You a cop? You don’t act like a cop.”

  “I’m helping the police. Investigator, not a police officer. A friend asked me to work on this case involving the two joggers who were murdered,” I said.

  “Isn’t that just awful? A person can’t be safe anywhere anymore. It’s a real shame, you know. They seemed to have enjoyed jogging.”

  “You knew them?”

  “I knew him,” he said and sipped his beer. His answer seemed to be a bit evasive. He was dodging something.

  “But not her.”

  “Only saw her from a distance. Seemed nice enough, but I didn’t know her.”

  “See her around the neighborhood?”

  “Not this neighborhood. I think she lived over just off Vista Street. Not sure where.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I don’t understand your question,” he said and gulped his beer. He worked hard at avoiding eye contact with me.

  “Well, you said you knew him but not her and that she was not someone who lived in this neighborhood. So, I was simply wondering how you knew where she lived.”

  “Jeffrey told me.”

  “Jeffrey? The man who was killed?”

  “His name was Jeffrey Goodall. Jeff. He was a friend. He knew her. They sometimes jogged together.”

  “Were they an item?”

  “Whatever do you mean?” he finished the beer and crushed the can with his right hand as if agitated. I thought it a strange comeback question. He was old enough to know my meaning.

  “I mean, were they dating or close friends?”

  “They were not dating,” he said emphatically. “Jeff was gay.”

  I nodded.

  “And the two of you were…,” I stopped short of filling in that blank. I waited on him this time.

  “Close,” he said. “I’m also gay.”

  “You were more than good friends?”

  The crumbled can fell to the carpet beneath him. He retrieved it. He looked at me without answering. His eyes were wet. I deduced the answer to my question.

  “And what was her name?” I asked, moving in another direction.

  “Candace.”

  “Last name?”

  “Not sure,” he said. His answer seemed odd, but I decided to let it go for the moment.

  “Did you see anything on the day she was killed?”

  There was a long silence. He looked around his room as if searching for the answer to my question. He stared out the sliding glass door for a minute or so. He was either thinking or deflecting.

  “Can I get you a beer?” he said.

  “I’m working. Better not. Need to keep my wits about me. You can get another one if you need to,” I said.

  He stood up and flip-flopped his way to the refrigerator, retrieved a beer, opened it, took a long gulp and then sat down on the couch once more. Those spongy shoes make a lot of noise if you don’t slide a little as you walk. I tried wearing them without success. Didn’t like the noise or the feel of the rubber between my toes.

  More silence. I waited. In my line of work, it’s best to have great patience with some folks. If you push too hard, too fast, people can become mute. I feed on information. Mimes are really no help at all.

  “I saw a figure out there,” he began and pointed with the beer can in his right hand. “I grabbed the binoculars and could see that a man was dragging her body away from the trail and into the woods.”

  “Did you see the attack?”

  “No. I had stepped away from the door there and saw the…well, I guess it was the aftermath. He was dragging her into the trees and seemed to be heading towards the river.”

  “How do you know he was heading towards the river?” I said.

  “I ran out the back and across the field yelling at the man!” he said with some force. He was a little more animated as he told me this detail.

  It was the first true emotion that he had expressed. He had been trying hard to hold back and had been successful before this outburst. He took another sip and that seemed to calm him. I waited. Patience was a virtue I was developing.

  “By the time I got close enough, he looked up and saw me running towards him. That’s when he ran off down alongside the river. I stopped to check on her, you know, hoping that she might still be alive. When I looked up, the killer was gone. I looked back at her and thought she was dead.”

  “Did you touch her?”

  “Touch her?”

  “Feel for a pulse or anything like that?”

  “No. No need, I thought. She wasn’t moving and there was some blood on the ground around her.”

  “And the one who attacked her…he ran off alongside the river?”

  “It was the only way he could’ve gone. Well, I guess he could’ve come back towards me. But he didn’t. He just ran away…you know, towards the river…and I couldn’t see him anymore.”

  “And you called the police when you got back home?” I asked the question, knowing the answer was no. I wanted him to know that I already knew this.

  He shook his head and stared at his beer can.

  “I was scared,” he said, “since he saw me. I thought he might come after me.”

  I decided against chastising him for not coming forward. I understood his reticence and maybe I understood his fear as well.

  “And did you see anything on the day that your friend Jeff was killed?”

  “Yeah, I saw the man hiding behind a tree before he attacked Jeff.”

  “Was it the same man who had attacked Candace?”
<
br />   “I’m pretty sure it was, but, you know, I was looking at him through binoculars.”

  “Do you remember anything about the man who attacked Jeff?”

  “He was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt. The sweatshirt had a hood that he had pulled over his head, you know. He was wearing some dirty but flashy tennis shoes…you know the kind that sparkle as you walk. They have little sparkly things on the top, you know, shiny things embedded in them. Sort of gaudy, if you ask me. His shoes were dirty.”

  “You could see this as you approached?” I said.

  “No, I saw that through the binoculars earlier. I guess the sunlight hit his dirty sneakers just right, you know…and they reflected the light, just not the dirt.”

  “Was this guy wearing the same clothes the day before, the day he killed Candace?”

  “Yes, I think he was. I can’t be positive, but he looked the same. I was watching Jeff as he jogged. Then I saw the man and I had a hunch that he would attack Jeff like he had attacked Candace. I had this sick feeling, you know...so I ran out the back door, across the field…yelling at Jeff to stop. But the wind was blowing, and he was too far off. He didn’t hear me. I saw the man attack Jeff. He stabbed him several times in the back. I stopped running and just stood there. I guess I was scared, I don’t know. I froze. But then the man began to drag Jeff’s body into the trees. I started running again, and yelling.”

  “What happened next?” I asked.

  “The man looked up at me and ran out of the woods on the other side.”

  “Close to the river?”

  “Yeah, on the river side of the trees.”

  “And ran alongside the river like he had done the day before?”

  “I didn’t see him do that, but I’m sure that’s what he did. I stopped to check on Jeff.”

  “Did you see anything else?”

  “Not that I can recall,” he said. His voice was still full of emotion. He wiped his eyes with his left hand. He was still holding the can of beer in his right hand.

  “Your attention was on Jeff at this point,” I said.

  “Yeah, I knelt down to see if I could help.”

  “And he was already dead?”

  “No, he died in my hands. I tried to comfort him, but I think he suffocated in his own blood. I’ve never seen anybody die before. I don’t think I want to see that ever again.”

  “I understand. You’ve been helpful,” I said.

  I realized that I was so absorbed in his story and wanting him to talk, that I had forgotten to get his name.

  “I need your name,” I said.

  “Drew. Drew Sizemore. I just couldn’t come forward earlier. No one saw me or came to me. I left both bodies where they had been dragged. No one knew that I was there. I was scared. You understand? Does this mean I’m in trouble for not calling the police?”

  “I understand being fearful, but you could’ve made an anonymous call,” I said.

  “I didn’t think of that,” Drew said. He wiped his eyes again.

  It sounded genuine. Fear does cause many people to stop thinking. Maybe stops them from doing the right thing. Hard to know what goes through a person’s brain when they are scared. Or in shock. Something takes over and folks simply can’t think.

  “So, I’m in trouble now with the cops?” he continued before I said anything else.

  “Not if I can help it. I’ll put in a good word for you. You will have to testify, when we apprehend the killer. Trial and all, you know.”

  “I’ll do that,” he said, “for the sake of Jeff.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “In the meantime, with what you’ve told me, you need protection.”

  “Protection?” he was puzzled. “You think that killer will come back after me?”

  “You said the attacker saw you. More than likely, he saw you twice. Yeah, you need protection now.”

  “Oh, my,” he said. “Will you protect me?”

  “You stay here for the time being. I’ll have a policeman sent over to watch your house. Just don’t leave this place. Don’t open the door unless you know the person well. We might have to move you to another location, but in the meantime, stay here.”

  “Thank you for being so kind to me.”

  “I’m curious, Drew. Why did you tell me all this now, days after the incidents?” I said.

  “I don’t really know. You seemed like a person who cares, not like some of the police, you know. I guess I didn’t want anyone to know that Jeff and I were…close. Does that have to come out when I’m called to testify?”

  “Doesn’t have to, but it might. That could depend on the lawyers,” I said.

  “It might be hard to testify,” he said. “I really did love him.”

  “Yes, it will be hard, but you can do it.”

  “I appreciate that. I will try… I will try.”

  Chapter 8

  While I was reflecting on the old murder case and Sam’s assistance back then, Rogers interrupted my memories once more.

  “You have a phone call from Wineski,” Rogers said. “You’re now on the speaker mode.”

  “At your service, Captain,” I said.

  “Potentially bad news to report on Connell,” he began.

  “How bad?”

  “Judge moved the trial date up to Friday.”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “Tall, good looking, and intelligent.”

  “Tall, and I’m looking at a calendar.”

  I was looking at Rogers’ monitor after she had just displayed October for me.

  “Doesn’t give much time, does it?” I said.

  “The prosecutor is not overjoyed with this.”

  “You have enough evidence?”

  “I have some. Emphasis on some,” he confessed. “Connell might walk. We found none of the stolen goods either on him or in his hole.”

  “Hole being a description of the place where he resides?”

  “You got that right. Nothing so far. He could’ve fenced everything before we nailed him, so that’s not really definitive, but it does hurt the state’s case.”

  “And?”

  “And what?”

  “I heard an and in there somewhere. There has to be something else that makes you unhappy.”

  “He has an alibi.”

  “Let me guess,” I said slowly, repeating each word succinctly. “A girlfriend.”

  “You incurable romantic. Of course, it’s a girlfriend. How this piece of work could have a female friend, well, that’s beyond my expertise. But I’ve talked with her and despite her lack of commonsense regarding guys like him, she swears that he was with her.”

  “On all occasions?”

  “Lusty love has no boundaries,” he said.

  “You believe her?”

  “Of course not. I don’t believe anybody anymore. No way she’s even close to the truth. It’s simply not in her to handle truthful facts.”

  “Line sounds vaguely familiar.”

  “Yeah, well, I read some like you, you know. But, if she testifies to this, then the judge will likely throw out the whole thing.”

  “Hide and watch,” I said.

  “If this goes south, you might better hide and watch as well. He swore to me, before he was locked up, that you were not one of his favorite people. Stole his dog and refused to compensate him. I’d say you were not high on his list.”

  “I’m high on his other list,” I said.

  “The unfavorable one,” he said.

  “I rate that lack of favorite-people status on several lists.”

  “I seem to recall a course you could take to improve yourself,” he said.

  “Funny man.”

  “It’s really a good course,” Rogers said after Wineski clicked off. “Doesn’t sound too promising for an indictment on Mister Jaz Connell’s ledger.”

  “Wineski is usually correct about these things. Sounds as if I might need to do some digging on Jaz Connell to see what I can find.”

  “If you have time
,” she said.

  “Time…I have time. What are you talking about?”

  “Your reminiscing, love. You’ve been recollecting, as you call it, about Sam and his first case.”

  “Yeah. I guess Connell’s the reason for that as well. Seems like this guy’s heavy on my mind, albeit indirectly.”

  “Why don’t you share some of that recollecting with me?”

  “Tell you what I remember?”

  “I’m a good listener.”

  “Yeah, and an even better rememberer,” I said.

  “I don’t think that’s a word. But I do retain data quite well.”

  “Of course, you do. That’s what makes you dangerous.”

  “And makes you look good,” she quickly added.

  I smiled.

  “Makes me efficient, too, my dear.”

  “We’ll call that one a draw.”

  “So?”

  “So, what?”

  “Fill in the gaps on Sam’s first case,” Rogers said. “I yearn to hear your side of the story.”

  “You’ve read my side of the story, precious,” I said.

  “I have studied your sparse notes and long to have you fill in those significant gaps you left that merely whetted my appetite for more.”

  “You got the gist of the case,” I said. “What more do you need?”

  “As I recall, back when you dictated some items for inclusion in those meager notations, I did not believe that the dog would stay with us long. I had no compelling feeling regarding the canine. I had no reason to include Sam at that time,” Rogers said. Sam raised his head from the couch, grunted in her direction, and then quickly returned to his slumber.

  “Now she confesses,” I said in mocking surprise. “So, you are admitting that you edited my dictation and did not include all that I had told you to note.”

  “That is precisely my job, Sherlock. I am the Watson of your life. Deal with it. But, now that Sam has decided, apparently, to reside with us – a mere eight years now – I think I should add his flavor to that premier investigation to which he was a party.”

  “Well,…okay,” I said, smiling to myself.

  I filled her in on how it happened that McGrady and I were thrown together by Wineski. She knew of my prior history with the Norfolk Police Department. She understood clearly why I would assist my old boss when called upon.