Jewel of a Murderer

by M. Glenn Graves

  “But I did do some looking into that Stone Higgins name,” she said.

  “Yeah, I do recall that. But the idea of checking on that other possibility simply escaped me by the time I had returned to Norfolk and collapsed. Whenever I came to the next morning, I must have been out of it.”

  “Well, sister, it’s never too late in a murder investigation. You want me to do some looking on that now?”

  “Go for it.”

  “Nothing ventured, nothing gained.”

  “That’s the ticket. You have a lot of those little quotes.”

  “Love the English language, my dear. Fascinating.”

  “Better than zeroes and ones,” I said.

  “For you, maybe. Remember that my zeroes and ones allow me to do a lot of good things.”

  “I suppose,” I said reluctantly.

  “So, we’re getting to end of the line, you know,” Rogers said. “That is, the end of the story of what happened.”

  “All good things.”

  “Well, in this case, maybe not so good.”

  “Funny we know how it ended but are missing so many details.”

  “Not my fault. That would be on you, my dear. If you don’t tell me things, then I can’t really imagine them, at least not in any substantive manner.”

  “Well, as far as the story goes, we’re not at the end of the trail. There are still some things to tell you which you do not know.”

  “Then proceed, please. I want to know. I have this yearning to gather more facts about Sam’s exposure to criminal investigation, Clancy style.”

  “Do I detect some sarcasm in your tone?”

  I knew that I did, but I wanted to see if she was aware of her subtle shift in attitude. The learning curve for the so-called artificial intelligence apparently never ceases. At least it hadn’t for me for more than a decade now.

  “I question whether a canine species has the wherewithal to actually be of some substantive assistance in solving crimes.”

  “And this coming from a machine,” I said.

  “A machine that has no peers, I might add,” she said.

  I waited to see if she was going to laugh. No doubt it was my memory of Reddy Reese who was so prone to laughter.

  “Can you laugh?” I said to Rogers.

  “What kind of laugh would you like? Derisive…a chuckle…perhaps a full-throated or belly laugh? Name your preference.”

  “I should have known better than to ask.”

  I was exhausted by the time Sam and I arrived in Norfolk. He had slept for a good bit of our trip. There were times when I thought maybe I had also slept. I couldn’t remember passing through certain towns on Hwy. 58 in Virginia. I decided not to mention that to anyone.

  It was past ten o’clock the next day when I finally came to my senses. I barely made it to Wineski’s office before lunch time. Eight cups of coffee did not arouse my tired mind and body. These driving trips of more than a few hours were getting to be arduous. Perhaps I needed to increase my workout regime.

  I laughed at my thought of a workout regime. The past several days there had been nothing of a workout.

  Wineski was not in a good humor when I sat down in front of him.

  “Anything to report from McGrady and Andrews?” I said using my warm and fuzzy voice and trying to deflect any chastisement.

  “Zilch,” he said. I watched him pour a cup of coffee from the pot that had been resting in its usual place. However, the unit was not plugged into the wall outlet. I waited to see what reaction he would have to what I was certain would be a cold cup of brew.

  “That’s not going to help your mood,” I said.

  He gulped down a massive swallow.

  “Damn. Why didn’t you warn me?” Wineski said as he slammed his cup down on the desk, sloshing his coffee.

  “I think I just did.”

  He ignored the spilled coffee and sat down.

  “You got nothing, McGrady and Andrews got nothing. Nobody’s got anything on this case. You know, this is not some criminal mastermind behind these murders.”

  “Sticks in my craw, too,” I said. “If he were some comic book criminal genius, then I’d feel much better with my impotence in finding him.”

  “What’s your private detective manual tell you to do when all else has failed?” he said.

  Before I could answer his humorless question, he saw one of the secretaries in the outer room walk by his window. He jumped quickly, opened the door, and got her attention.

  “Janet!” he said louder than necessary. “You gals have any hot coffee out there?”

  Janet looked over at the counter and pointed to a pot that was half-full.

  “May I?” he asked.

  “Help yourself, Captain.”

  He retrieved the hot brew and sighed heavily when he returned to his chair and sat down. He took a swallow. Then a second. He said nothing until after his third large gulp.

  “Ohhhh, this is so good. I wonder if they get a different brand out there. My pot always tastes like dirty socks.”

  “Begs the question,” I said.

  “What question?”

  “How do you know how dirty socks taste?”

  “Don’t be a smartass.”

  “You change the coffee filter?”

  “Yeah. Every month or so I change the filter.”

  “Figures. Back to the manual question. My work-rules tell me to go back to the scene of the original crime and have another look-see.”

  “Do it,” he said.

  “Where are McGrady and Andrews now?”

  He looked at his watch. He shook his head.

  “I have no idea.”

  “Sam and I will proceed then. Back to Barraud Park.”

  “Find something, Clancy. If you don’t, I’ll have to pull the plug on this thing. The brass above me are clamoring more and louder. We have to come up with something soon.”

  Chapter 46

  I went by the apartment and retrieved Sam. He was busy sleeping on the sofa after our late-night arrival. He wasn’t overjoyed when I invited him to join me. He squinted, yawned, and rolled over.

  “Get up, you lazy pooch,” I said, feigning some reproach.

  Sam grunted and put his front paws on the carpet next to the couch. His hindquarters were still perched on the couch. He wasn’t moving. He was staring at the spot in front of his front paws. I actually shared his feelings at that moment.

  “Going to waste some more time?” Rogers said.

  “James Boswell quoted Samuel Johnson when he wrote that all knowledge is of some value,” I said.

  “That assumes you two will find some knowledge out there.”

  “Boswell’s quote of Johnson went on to say that nothing is so tiny or remote that he would rather know it than not.”

  “Actually, the quote says there is nothing so minute or inconsiderable, that I would not rather know it than not,” Rogers informed me.

  “I cleaned it up a little. And, it proves my very existence,” I said. “I am forevermore in search of that obscure and illusive fact that points directly to the guilty one.”

  “You and the dog. He complicit in this search for your illusive knowable fact?”

  “He is usually more than willing to aid the cause.”

  “Except when you keep him out all hours at night,” she said.

  “He is moving slowly,” I said.

  “He’s moving reluctantly, if you ask me,” Rogers noted.

  Sam had finally made it to the apartment door. He yawned again as he waited for my approach. I watched him stretch and then he sat down on his haunches.

  “Where to?” Rogers asked.

  “Barraud Park. Scene of the first two murders.”

  “You actually think you missed something?”

  “Always a margin of error.”

  “Finally admit it, huh?”

  “I don’t follow.”

  “I have no margin of errors. I deal only with what is.”

 
“Fell into that one, didn’t I?… Wait a minute. What about those moments when you hypothesize?”

  “All based on probability. I am, Miss Detective, a math whiz.”

  I was losing again, so I left before the scene got ugly.

  It was afternoon when Sam and I drove into the parking lot of Barraud Park. A city work truck was the singular vehicle in the lot. I parked close to the truck but left a couple of spaces between us. I don’t like dents and dings even in my old car.

  We walked the jogging trail slowly. Sam was finally awake and alert to all odors, sights, and sounds. I needed him to use his considerable instincts, so I moved purposefully to give him ample time to roam and sniff and indulge in whatever he preferred. I gave him plenty of space to do his thing. I meandered while keeping an eye on him as to his location and reactions to whatever struck his fancy. All in all, it was rather boring for me. He seemed to enjoy it. The outside world has a way of awakening him.

  I noticed that dogs do not have a definite plan in mind whenever they do their roaming and sniffing. I should say that I noticed Sam did not have a definite plan in mind. Unless of course his definite plan was to meander and sniff and move about as if he was chasing butterflies. His randomness could have a pattern. Theory of his universe.

  The jogging trail is not a long trail, so we walked it more than once. This is how I came to realize the indefiniteness of Sam’s random scheme. He seldom investigated the same spot or tree or bush twice. The exceptions to my observation were with the spots where he had discovered the small, shiny, faux gems that had likely fallen from the shoes of the assailant. I was still laboring under that notion. He returned to those two spots each time we came around to them as we walked the trail ad nauseam.

  I stop counting our treks after the third venture.

  An hour into our escapade, Sam stood at the spot where the young woman, the first victim, was likely murdered. We were close to centerfield. She had apparently been stabbed before the assailant tried to drag her to the river through the trees without success. Something had stopped him. I figured it was probably Drew Sizemore who had reacted faster to the first attack than he had reacted to the second. It was a working theory.

  Sam was sniffing aggressively in the grass and the pine needles at the base of the pine near the edge of the grove of trees. I was surprised that he could still find some scent that was actually familiar to him. Of course, I had no idea what any scent meant to him.

  “Something familiar to you?” I said.

  He stopped sniffing and looked up. I thought I detected a smile. He barked once.

  This might be a real clue.

  He went back to his ground patrol and forceful inhaling of whatever it was that was calling for his attention. He followed the scent in something of a straight line. Perhaps this was the line which the killer had followed when he was dragging the body of Candace Glover into the woods. I was desperate for some possibility to consider.

  I marveled that he could still detect a scent after all these weeks. There had to be many more people who had run or walked the trail since that time. Talk about the keen senses of the canines. Well, I should say the keen sense of this canine.

  “What do you smell?” I said after watching him move back and forth in that line from centerfield to the wooded area.

  He stopped again and stared at me. Absurd question. It would have been nice if he had just simply told me. Even with sarcasm. His stare was probably acerbic. At least it felt that way in light of my audible question to him.

  “I need to know what you know,” I said.

  He sat down and looked at me rather longingly. If only I could have read his mind. Whatever he was thinking, whatever he knew, I had the feeling that he had the answer that would solve the puzzle of this mystery. Or maybe it was just a hope. Or my imagination running wild.

  If only I could ask the right questions.

  “Keep going. Don’t let me interfere with your investigation,” I said.

  At that, he turned abruptly and ran into the woods and beyond. He was still on that line from where we concluded Candace to have been attacked initially. I trotted after him. He was too fast for me to keep up. Once I was in the woods, I could easily see that he had passed through the woods and out the other side heading directly alongside of Lafayette River.

  I decided to run faster, not that I had any delusions about catching up with him. I was hoping he would slow down or stop. Thankfully, he did. He stopped.

  I finally came upon him after he had stopped in a flat, sandy area close to the water. He was sniffing, circling the large spot which covered an area of about five feet. He seemed to have lost whatever scent he had been tracking.

  “Disappeared?”

  He barked once.

  “Let’s go back to the spot where you first lost the scent,” I said.

  He trotted towards the trees and then stopped. He sniffed all around a place near the edge of the woods. Moved towards the water, then back to that spot on the edge. He did that a few times and then sat down.

  “So, this is the last place of any trace, right?”

  One bark.

  We were close enough to the water for it to be the likely reason that Sam had lost the scent. I was figuring that our assailant had run through the woods after having stabbed Candace Glover and then partially dragged her body into the woods before Sizemore had interrupted whatever subsequent intent our killer had in mind. Upon leaving the grove of trees, our murderer ran through the water, perhaps even along the edge, and then on to wherever he was headed. Supposition, undoubtedly, but a likely scenario.

  “Maybe our culprit ran along the edge of the river in the water as far as he could, down that way,” I said and pointed.

  Like a shot from a gun, Sam was off in the direction of my point. His speed was impressive. I remained behind waiting to see where he would stop. Just my luck, I stood rather helpless watching him go completely out of sight. I could see where the river no longer created the beach-like effect along the bank. That was a good hundred yards from me. It forced Sam to leave the water area and run on the land entirely. However, just before he left my sight, I saw him stop running, circle an area as if finding his scent once more, and then run off again with a burst of speed.

  I waited about fifteen minutes to see if he would return. No such luck.

  I walked around the spot close to the water just to see if I could find anything. Nada. No sparkly, faux gems hiding in the damp dirt. No clues of any sort.

  Returning to my car in the parking area, I leaned against it for a while waiting on Sam. After that, I sat on the hood just to do something different. I walked around the car a few times, then decided to walk around the parking lot. Five times around that area was sufficient for me, so I came back to the car and leaned against the rider’s side instead of the side I had previously worn out with my leaning. That proved to be as much fun as the other side. Oh, the wonder of my profession.

  Rogers called me while I was beside myself with ecstatic joy.

  “I have found nothing on an older brother of Odem by the name of Stone. If he exists, he has fallen off the planet. I am not sure how someone can exist these days without leaving a digital footprint. You and the dog have anything?” she said.

  “I’m waiting to see if Sam returns with anything useful.”

  “Returns from where?”

  “Wish I could say.”

  “So, the dog has run away from you finally.”

  “Finally?” I said.

  “I figured it was only a matter of time. You’re not the most exciting person with whom to live.”

  “And you know this because of your vast experience of living with how many other people?”

  “I read. Apparently other people have rather exciting lives, unlike yours.”

  “And you know that Sam craves excitement.”

  “That was conjecture.”

  “And a little sarcasm.”

  “A mite. So, you are waiting for the dog to
come back from…,” she held on, waiting for me to fill in the gap.

  “Like I said, I have no idea where he went. I watched him run off and that’s the extent of what I know.”

  “Good to have someone like you in charge,” she said.

  “Full of yourself today.”

  “I have plenty of available space for more.”

  Chapter 47

  “I feel stupid,” I said, interrupting my remembering and retelling.

  “As you compare yourself to my acquired acumen and its ever-increasing depth and breadth?” Rogers asked, probably rhetorically.

  “Not on your sweet life,” I said, doing my best to thwart her attitude in regard to her feeling of superiority. “My stupidity is in reference to the case I’ve been telling you about.”

  “Three murder victims and the dog,” Rogers said.

  “Good guess.”

  “’Splain yourself, as Desi used to say to Lucy.”

  “I never once thought of checking on Odem’s mother, Pearl.”

  “You danced all around it.”

  “I thought your job was to help me with stuff like that.”

  “I can’t do everything for you. I do well to think for myself. Ain’t that the truth, sister?”

  “Aha, a weakness admitted.”

  “I admit to nothing. I simply point out that despite my incredible abilities, dare I say ‘unique,’…despite them, I can only help you so much.”

  “I’ll take that as a confession,” I said. “Still, I can’t believe after all this time, years it’s been…it has now dawned on me that I should’ve tried to find her. I was right there, a veritable stone’s throw from Burnsville, only a few miles away.”

  “Pun intended?” Rogers said.

  “Unintended.”

  “Permit me to run some interference for you. I’ll see what I uncover,” Rogers said.

  “Please, while I consume more coffee and wallow in my failing.”