Jewel of a Murderer

by M. Glenn Graves

  I met with Wineski in his office early the next morning – post his breakfast offerings of coffee and a pastry from a shop a few blocks from the Captain’s base of operations. McGrady was nowhere to be seen. Much too early, I thought. Wineski was still nursing the remaining coffee.

  “You look spry and sassy this morning,” Wineski said to me.

  “I’m awake. Is that close enough to spry and sassy?”

  “Ballpark. You ready to get back to work?” Wineski said.

  “Beg you pardon,” I said sipping on my own hot brew. “I’ve been working, thank you very much. What’s McGrady into now?”

  “Likely the same thing he was into when you left.”

  “You could fire him,” I said.

  “He used to be a good cop.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “Life happened.”

  “We looking into our own desperate future as we judge him?” I said.

  “Too much philosophy for me. Your job is to help him, nothing more. Help him get through this case. As far as his future is concerned, I have a hunch regarding the hierarchy downtown. They only have so much tolerance.”

  “Him or the case?”

  “Both. Now, tell me what you have learned from your adventures.”

  “You have a good brother.”

  “I wouldn’t know much about that.”

  “Got that part. I would ask why, but you’d just tell me it wasn’t my business.”

  “Your wisdom of such familial things astounds me,” he said and flashed a phony smile.

  “Mostly I told you everything on the phone. My mother did have an interesting directional thought.”

  “Mom. Rachel Evans. The adversarial one.”

  “The very one. She said that the first murder was the real one most likely. The intended one, the one on which we should focus.”

  “And the other two victims?” he said with skepticism in his voice.

  “Collateral damage, perhaps. Or a cover-up likely enough.”

  “What about you?”

  “Me?”

  “Yeah, what do you think?”

  “Drew Sizemore of New Jersey is my focus for now. If Mom is correct, then maybe some history on Sizemore will enhance our case. I want to know more of how he connects with Jeffrey. And if there is a connection, then why does he not connect with Candace since we now know that they were siblings? This just might be the clue that does it.”

  “Other than what we already know…that partnership-thing they had?”

  “That, plus. Relationships can be sticky business. Sometimes they provide motivation enough to kill. Maybe there’s something in Drew’s past that could enlighten us.”

  “Dear old Rachel might have something with her notion, you know,” he said.

  “I’ll keep it in the back of my mind. It’s a possibility, but since I already know that Sizemore and Goodall are connected, Goodall and Glover are twin siblings, that might be enough to tie the three of them. Easy jump for the killer to be aware of those relationships. I just don’t know enough about Sizemore. And I’d like to know how the killer knew of those connections.”

  “I’m all for enlightenment. And alignments. Have at it. You heading north?”

  “After I check in with McGrady.”

  “Take him with you,” Wineski said with an insidious smile for me.

  “A long road trip with McGrady? You really do believe in capital punishment,” I said.

  “He knows the terrain in Jersey. At least he’s been there before. Might come in handy. Take the dog, too.”

  “McGrady doesn’t like Sam.”

  “Point noted. Now get outta here,” he said and waved me away from his desk-throne.

  I called McGrady from the car as I headed in the direction of my apartment to repack my bags and inform Rogers of my impending northern trip.

  McGrady wanted to meet and talk. I set up a rendezvous at a coffee shop around the corner from my place.

  By the time I reached my place, I had several minutes before my scheduled encounter with McGrady. I dashed upstairs and found the door to my apartment ajar. I drew my weapon and gently pushed the door fully open. Sam was sitting on the couch, ears erect, mouth closed, eyes focused upon my entrance. He was motionless.

  “Well, it’s about time you surfaced again,” Rosey said as he entered the living area from my small kitchen. “I think this dog needs a good master.”

  “Sam!” I said as I holstered my weapon and clapped my hands together, readying myself to greet him. He bounded towards me. After we exchanged some kisses – mostly hugs from me and licks from him – he sat down on his haunches and just stared at me.

  “You okay?” I asked him.

  He was non-committal.

  I rubbed his body thoroughly to see if I could ascertain any cuts, or other sore spots on his anatomy. I detected nothing.

  “How did you find him?” I asked Rosey who was now sitting on the couch.

  “Didn’t. He found me. He was waiting outside your door the day I came by to check on you. I let him inside and Rogers told me where you were. So, I fed and watered him, and then he went to sleep for several hours. I stayed with him until he finally woke up. Then I took him to my place.”

  “And you just happened by today?”

  “Not likely. I’m too busy for that. Rogers phoned me and told me you would likely resurface today, so I brought him home. He seems as healthy as ever.”

  “So you have no idea where he has been,” I said.

  “Sam is what you might say…non-communicative. No clue whatsoever, Miss Detective,” Rosey said.

  “Thanks for taking care of him,” I said.

  “Not a problem. Good dog. Just needs a good master, one who will hold onto him,” he said and departed. Rosey had business elsewhere per usual.

  I was now running late for my appointment with McGrady. Good thing I scheduled it around the corner from my apartment. I gave Sam a generous supply of dog food and then left him to the care of Rogers.

  I walked briskly to the coffee shop only to discover that McGrady had not arrived as yet.

  I was indulging in a mocha latte and a cinnamon roll when McGrady came bustling in the place, spotted me, and ambled over to the booth. He gave me the impression that he was gaining weight. A strong impression. It had only been a few days since I had last seen him.

  He slid into the opposite bench of my booth with some effort. The waitress came immediately, and he ordered black coffee. He asked if they had doughnuts. Why was I not surprised at this? Of course, I like doughnuts as well.

  He ordered three and she left to retrieve them. I pushed the other half of my sweet delight away. I decided to do a half-fast and show restraint.

  “You got anything?” I said.

  “Did some more digging on those fancy shoes we think the killer might have been wearing. Seems that these shiny beads were used a few years back. The clear ones. You remember the NBA star named Iron Man Correlle Stoner?”

  “Pro basketball is not my sport.”

  “Women. Anyway, Correlle Stoner played for several teams and was nicknamed Iron Man because in his fifteen seasons he missed one game due to an injury in his first year.”

  “Nickname fits.”

  “Yeah. Anyway, aside from making a ton of money for playing round ball, like a lotta pros he got another ton of money from an endorsement with Centelle, the tennis shoe people. He helped them develop those Blade Runners.”

  “Yeah, I thought we had all of that.”

  The waitress brought a large plate containing three enormous doughnuts. I could’ve made a meal on half of one. They were each heavy-laden with melted sugar and appeared to be freshly baked. Wow. I saw lust in McGrady’s eyes as he consumed the first one without taking a breath between the two bites. I recognized the lustful look. I felt the craving. Probably had the look myself when I saw the plate full of calories. I noticed my cinnamon delight half-eaten. I considered reconsidering.

  “We
had some of this. But what I found out was that those sneakers he created had the fake stones across the toe of the shoe. Five fake stones. Shiny things,” he said as he licked his index finger and thumb after handling the first doughnut.

  I nodded to help him along.

  “There were three clear ones, supposedly diamonds,” he paused and took a bite of his second doughnut, slurped his coffee, then continued talking while he masticated the pastry. “The other two fake stones were either red ones or blue ones. Or a mixture. So, there were three lines a customer could go with – clear and blue, clear and red, or clear with red and blue.”

  He put the rest of the second doughnut in his mouth. Chewed quickly and then gulped down the remaining coffee in his cup. He raised his hand and gestured for the waitress to come back and refill his empty cup.

  I sat there like a dunce watching this scene unfold and wondering about my reputation in this establishment. I frequented this place and I enjoyed its remote and quiet pleasures. McGrady was a distraction I surely could live without. And a trip to New Jersey with him? The captain surely had some penance in mind for me for something I had done long ago. My mother used to tell me that my sins would find me out. I was beginning to understand her meaning.

  “Well, that’s certainly informative,” I said, trying to move along to more pertinent data concerning our case.

  “I haven’t finished. It seems that there was a flaw whenever they embedded the clear sparkly things into those sneakers back when. The flaw was that the clear ones had this tendency to come out. Fall out. Be thrown out whenever a person might jog or run or whatever movement they did. The blues and reds stayed put.”

  “Didn’t we already know this from the crime scenes and our discoveries?” I decided to leave Sam’s prowess out of the equation for the moment.

  “Yeah. But now we know that if those stone we found came from that Correlle Stoner collection a few years ago, then we are looking for a shoe that still has red jewels or blue jewels or both, depending on our killer’s prior selection.”

  “Okay, the problem I see is that if those shoes have this failing, then that means there are a lotta shoes out there missing the clear diamond stones.”

  “I thought of that,” he said as the waitress poured him another cup of coffee. He gulped the hot, dark liquid and then grabbed the last doughnut as if he hadn’t eaten in a long time.

  I knew that I was correct about McGrady’s weight gain. I waited while he finished the last doughnut, drank down the rest of his coffee, and then chewed a little before speaking again.

  “I had that computer whiz at the station do some checking for me. He discovered that Centelle stopped making this line of shoes, all varieties, about six years ago. That store we visited simply had the old stock still around. They were no longer a hot item. Few people were buying.”

  “Still, it’s a long shot.”

  “Hell, this whole investigation is a long shot, if you ask me. Clues are nothing more than strings we pull on and hope that there’s something attached to the other end that’ll help us get to the next clue.”

  “Some are better than others,” I said.

  “So whatta you got?” he snarled while licking his fingers once more.

  I told him what I learned about Jeffrey and Candace and their relationship. I left out the tracking down of Candace’s erstwhile father in Dan River.

  “So, what are we chasing down now?” he said as if he had no idea what to do next.

  “What would you do? After all, this is still your case?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe…,” he seemed to be thinking, at least that’s what I will give him credit for trying to do. After a few seconds of pondering and staring at his empty coffee cup, he spoke. “Maybe we need to look into Sizemore’s part of this drama. After all, he was killed as well. Maybe there’s more to his death than just the killer tying up loose ends.”

  I was actually pleased that McGrady was close to being in sync with me. There was also a part of me that was disturbed that we might actually be in accord. I feared that my prejudice against him was showing. At least it was evident to me.

  Chapter 29

  As much as it pains me to admit it, I was on the road heading towards New Jersey with Sam in the backseat and McGrady in the front. I informed McGrady that the only way he was going with me was if I drove. McGrady huffed and puffed over that, but finally acquiesced. He informed me every hour or so that he was a capable driver and that he would be happy to spell me. Happy was not a word I would ever use to describe McGrady. I wondered how he might enact happiness. My imagination did not extend that far. I also had some trepidation in finding out.

  Rogers had informed me that New Brunswick, New Jersey was 326 miles from Norfolk. She estimated the driving time to be five hours and 48 minutes. She’s nothing if not exact in most of her findings. I didn’t relish the idea of spending nearly twelve hours of my life in a car with Bill McGrady, but I did need to glean some morsel of info on the deceased Drew Sizemore.

  We arrived in New Brunswick in less than five hours. It was a combination of my superb driving skills and my heavy right foot. It was after 6 p.m.

  “We need a room,” McGrady said.

  “A room?” I snapped.

  “Yeah, you and me. I figured we’d rest the night and start first thing after breakfast tomorrow.”

  “You mean two rooms?” I said for clarification.

  “Well, Captain Wineski did say we were on a tight budget. I’m game for one room if you are, sissy,” he said and grinned.

  “Not in your lifetime.”

  “What, think you’re too good for me? You know, Clancy, you wouldn’t be too bad a broad to sleep with if it wasn’t for your mouth.”

  I pulled across three lanes of traffic and brought the car to an abrupt halt on the highway shoulder. I cut the engine and turned sideways in my seat to address the idiot that had just spoken.

  “I’ll say this one time, and one time only. If you ever say anything like that again to me on this trip, you’ll walk back to Norfolk. At the very least, you will not be riding in this car with me and the dog. If you don’t believe it, repeat what you just said and watch how fast you exit this vehicle.”

  I waited to see if he was stupid enough to replicate his insult.

  “I was jokin’,” he said as his color became ashen.

  “One more thing, bubba. After we return to Norfolk, if you ever say anything like that again to me or about me, I’ll shoot you. You can guess where I’ll shoot you. And that’s not a geographical place I’m alluding to.”

  “Sheesh, some people can’t take a joke.”

  “Your joke is in poor taste. And yeah, I know I have a mouth. It helps me survive the stupid men I run into from time to time or have to work alongside. If you don’t like the package, keep your opinions to yourself. Two rooms.”

  We stopped at a motel not far from the Rutgers campus. Rogers had printed out a map of the area where we were headed and pinpointed the motel for my convenience. I insisted that McGrady make his own room arrangement. I made my own. Sam stayed with me. When I asked Sam if he wanted to room with McGrady, he simply walked past me without comment.

  I took that to mean no.

  We had nothing more than an address on Drew. It was more than I began with tracking down some other folks in my experience. It was simply a place to start. Comstock Street a few blocks from the heart of Rutgers main campus.

  It was close to ten o’clock the next morning when I parked in front of the house on Comstock. My info was that this was last place Drew Sizemore had lived before he ventured south to Norfolk. I was following my sketchy research as well as that of the Norfolk Police.

  Sam waited in the car with the windows cracked while McGrady and I made inquiries. It was a warm October day in New Brunswick. A woman who appeared to be in her fifties answered the door. I told her my name and nodded in the direction of McGrady who grunted at her without saying a word. Mr. Transparent.

  �
��This is Detective McGrady,” I informed her. “Could we talk with you about Drew Sizemore?”

  “I’m Evelyn,” she said from behind the screen door.

  We stood there awkwardly for a few moments. Finally Evelyn invited us into her house. We followed her into the living room. It was off to the left from the front entrance. We sat down on a burnt orange sofa that was less than comfortable. McGrady sat on one end, I was on the other. The space between us was noticeably wide. I must have scared him in our earlier conversation.

  Evelyn sat across from us in a green armchair that had nothing in common with the burnt orange unless you wanted to discuss the idea of opposites attracting. I could sense no attraction whatsoever between the two pieces of furniture.

  “We need some information about Drew Sizemore,” McGrady abruptly.

  The man had the manner of an ogre. At least I had the raising from my southern roots and knew that pleasantries, even in New Jersey, were a better way to begin.

  “Where’d you say you were from?” she said.

  “Norfolk, Virginia,” I said. “Drew was your son?”

  “For many years, he was.”

  “I don’t understand,” I said.

  “Charlie ran him off,” she said, rubbing the apron she was wearing. She moved her open palms flat against the apron and slid them down her thighs as far as she could reach toward her knees. She looked as if she were cleaning something. She repeated this movement several times. It was an uneasy gesture to be sure.

  “And Charlie would be…,” McGrady said without finishing.

  “Charlie’s my husband. Drew’s daddy…or used to be.”

  “Something happen?” I said.

  “Yes, indeed. Something significant happened. Charlie said he wanted nothing to do with Drew ever again.”

  She was not as forthcoming as I might have desired. At least I wanted her to say a bit more about what had occurred. This was like practicing conversational dentistry, as in pulling verbal teeth.

  “You mind telling us what happened?” I said.

  “Don’t like to talk about it.”

  “We’re trying to find out who killed your son. Anything you could tell us would be helpful,” I said.