by N. C. Lewis
"I've inherited a large sum of money from a distant relative. I'd like to rent Rumpus House and Kitty's Café."
Mr. Sartain stood there staring at Mrs. Clawfoot for a couple of minutes and taking it all in. His voice abruptly transformed, now filled with warmth and friendship. "An inheritance, you say… A large sum of money?"
Mrs. Clawfoot grinned like a Cheshire cat. "Oh yeah! Enough cash to keep my business running for years."
He flashed a sweaty grin. "Quarter-by-quarter rental with three months' payment in advance."
"I want a twenty percent discount."
Mr. Sartain's eyes closed as he repeated her offer. "Twenty percent discount with quarterly rental..." Sweat trickled down his ruddy cheeks. Finally, his eyes snapped open, and he nodded vigorously. "You've got yourself a deal."
Mrs. Clawfoot moved forward, and they shook hands. "I'll have the funds wired over on Friday," Her lips curved into a sugar-sweet smile. "Can you get the paperwork to me today?"
Once again, Mr. Sartain nodded vigorously. "Sure thing, Mrs. Clawfoot." Then he turned, and without a sideways glance at Amy or Danielle, scampered out of Kitty's Café.
As the outside door slammed shut Kitty turned to Amy and Danielle.
"Ladies, you asked me about Mrs. Foreman. Well, it is true I got so angry when I found out she had rented my café that I wanted her dead. I suffer from anger management issues, who doesn't? But I didn't dare kill her. That's not who I am. I'm a businesswoman, not a murderer."
For several seconds silence hung in the air as Kitty Clawfoot glanced from Amy to Danielle. Eventually, she raised both hands, palms toward her face.
"Do you see these scratches?" Then she pointed at her eye. "And these gashes? They happened Friday evening, the same night Mrs. Foreman died."
"Go on," Amy urged, bracing herself for a confession. "We are all ears."
"On Friday I had nowhere to go and no money. Fortunately, Dorothy Romine, my bank manager, took me in as her sitter for Molly, her pet cat. Let's just say Molly isn't the friendliest of felines. I spent Friday evening at the emergency department of Saint Mary's. Dorothy can verify that since she drove me to the hospital. Molly would too if she could talk; she was the cause of my visit."
Chapter 24
Nick and Officer Chambers glanced around the office of Mr. Sartain, a tiny cedar-paneled room with a view of the alley behind Domesticated Row. Then they sat down, perched on two wooden chairs, Mr. Sartain facing them behind his desk with the security guard standing at his side.
"It's almost lunchtime," Chambers tried to whisper. "I'm starving. Fancy Moonies hamburgers and fries once we are done here?"
"Shut up," Nick hissed. "Now isn't the time to talk about food." They were there to speak with the security guard on duty the night of Mrs. Foreman's murder.
"If you are looking for a great place to eat," Mr. Sartain suggested staring at Officer Chambers with an uncertain eye, "why not try Jenny's Crab Shack?"
Chambers clapped his hands. "Oh yes! I haven't eaten there in ages. Their deep-fried crab sticks are to die for. What do you say, boss?"
Nick nodded. There was little else he could do. "Okay, now let's get down to business."
The security guard let out a low chuckle. "I can see the city manager spared no resources in sending in Austin's finest to solve the murder of Mrs. Foreman." A broad grin accompanied his mocking tone.
Nick ignored the comments, collected his thoughts, and peered at his notes. He had a voice recorded at the scene of the crime, and reports of a threat from the mysterious Speakeasy. Now all he needed was an identity. After that it would be clear sailing to tie the individual to the audio recording and the scene of the crime. With this thought in mind he turned to the security guard.
"And you are?"
"Duke Savage." He was grinning like a hyena.
"You work as the nighttime security guard for Mr. Sartain?"
"As I told you earlier," Mr. Sartain interrupted, "Mr. Savage patrols these premises between ten at night and six in the morning. At the top of each hour he fills in this logbook." He tapped a finger on a large, black book, about as thick as a day planner. "It's not quite monkey work, but not much different than what you police officers do, I suppose."
Nick ignored the jab, glanced at his watch—a little after noon. "What are you doing here now?" He directed the question to Duke Savage, but Mr. Sartain answered.
"Given recent events and the dismal response of the Austin Police Department, I've asked Mr. Savage to start at noon. My tenants are jittery, and his presence calms things down."
Nick turned to Duke. "And you'll finish at six a.m. tomorrow morning?"
Duke, still grinning, nodded, and again, Mr. Sartain spoke up. "I've extended Mr. Savage's hours for this week until things calm down and"—he glanced at Officer Chambers and pressed his lips together—"um…you guys catch the Beast of MoPac."
Nick opened his notebook and wrote something down. "That's a long shift."
"It is," Mr. Sartain responded, handing Nick the logbook. "And it's all recorded in here."
Nick opened the book and glanced down at the pages. Each date was on a separate page with each line representing a single hour. There was a space to write a check mark and another space to write a comment. He flipped to the evening of Mrs. Foreman's death.
"Mr. Savage, did you work last Thursday evening?"
The grin vanished, a hint of concern flashed across Duke's eyes. "Yes," he grunted with uncertainty, his stale breath sour with alcohol. "I worked that night."
"And the check marks show you completed your rounds?"
"Of course they do," interrupted Mr. Sartain. "That's what I pay him for. He checks the buildings and then checks the book. If he didn't do that, I'd hire a monkey."
Nick didn't appreciate the interruption but didn't let it show. "There is a check mark for every hour between ten and six a.m. Is that correct?"
"Yes," Duke replied, standing as still as a statue, his voice flat and emotionless.
Again, Nick jotted something in his notebook. He was in control of the interview now and took his time. Eventually, he looked up, staring Duke directly in the eyes. "Did you notice anything unusual that evening?"
"If he did, it would be in the comments," Mr. Sartain interrupted again. "There is nothing written in the comments. Mr. Savage didn't see anything. The Beast of MoPac is sly, cunning, and on the rampage…and with you two officers spearheading the case, I wonder…" He glanced sideways, eyes flashing with doubt at Chambers. "Do you think there is any hope you'll catch the fiend before he strikes again?"
Nick wasn't pleased with yet another interruption. He'd had enough of Mr. Sartain, but knowing he was friends with the city manager, had to tread carefully. "Mr. Sartain, If you let me do my job by not interrupting, that would be a great help."
Mr. Sartain stared hard at Nick but said nothing more.
"Mr. Savage," Nick began again, "did you see anything unusual during your shift on the night Mrs. Foreman was murdered?"
"Unusual?" Duke shifted from one leg to the other, eyes darting around the room as if he wanted to escape. "How do you mean?"
"Anything out of the ordinary?"
"It was a regular evening, just like the others."
"So you saw nothing?"
"Nothing."
Nick changed track.
"Has Mr. Sartain told you about Speakeasy?"
Duke folded his arms, glanced at Mr. Sartain. "Yes."
"What has he told you?"
Again Duke shifted from leg to leg, looked at the door as if he wanted to escape. "That a person known as Speakeasy sent threatening letters to Mrs. Foreman."
"Do you know who Speakeasy is?"
"No."
Time was running out. Nick needed answers but was getting nowhere fast. He tapped his pen on his notebook and again changed the direction of the questions. "Tell me about any unusual characters hanging around Domesticated Row."
Duke let out a stale breath. His
body relaxed almost imperceptibly. "How do you mean?"
Nick noticed the change, wrote something in his notebook, then smiled at Duke. "I want you to think back as best you can. Over the past few weeks have you noticed anyone suspicious hanging around outside Rumpus House?"
"Yes," Duke replied in a low voice. "I have."
"What did you see?"
"A man standing by the bridge." Duke's eyes narrowed. "He was staring at Rumpus House."
"A man staring?" Nick sighed with disappointment; this was going nowhere.
"Yes. I see him every day, sometimes with a little dog, an old dachshund, I think."
"Please continue," said Nick dryly, glancing at his watch and thinking he'd wasted his time.
"Now that I think about it, the man always has a funny look in his eyes, almost like he's angry at something or someone." He turned to glance at Mr. Sartain. "I didn’t write anything in the logbook because the man always stayed by the bridge, never came onto the property, just stood there watching with an evil gleam in his eye."
Nick scribbled in his notebook, the pen moving swiftly across the page. "When was the last time you saw him?"
"The night Mrs. Foreman died." Duke's voice crackled with an undefinable emotion. His hand flew to his mouth as if to prevent him from revealing a secret. "And I haven't seen him since!"
Nick sat up straight. "Can you describe the individual?"
"I don't need to. I know his name—Marcus Inglenook. He's a barman in one of my old drinking holes, rents a dive on the east side."
Chapter 25
When Nick and Officer Chambers turned up a little after one that afternoon, Marcus let them into his apartment with a resigned shrug. The apartment was every bit as run down and poorly furnished as Nick had imagined. The faded floral wallpaper, fashionable fifty years ago, was bubbled in damp patches and curled limply from the wall at the edges. A kitchen table with four plastic chairs occupied one end of the single room. The small sink was piled with unwashed dishes, and the room had a squalid, damp, sour odor reminiscent of a high school restroom mixed with an empty ashtray.
"I'm Detective King, and this is Officer Chambers." Nick flashed his badge. "Are you Mr. Marcus Inglenook?"
"Yes." He wore shorts and a striped vest as he sat with his leg crossed at the kitchen table like a man found guilty awaiting his sentence. "I am Marcus Inglenook."
Chambers let out a gasp. "Such a high-pitched voice… for such a big guy!"
Marcus reached for the packet of cigarettes on the corner of the kitchen table. He lit a cigarette, inhaled deeply, flicking the ash into an empty cup. "So what's new? I've spoken like this all my life. My voice never broke as a teenager. Officially I'm classified as a soprano, although I can't sing a note."
Chambers turned to Nick and motioned with his mouth, "He's the killer!"
Nick wasn't a fan of Chambers' blabbermouth methods, although on more than one occasion his fire-from-the-hip-ask-questions-later style of policing had delivered results. But Nick was a modern detective; he wanted to build a case before he pulled the guy in. Especially with the city manager and chief involved.
Nick turned to Marcus, eyeing him closely. "Do you know Mrs. Chloe Foreman?"
"Yeah, I know the old hag." Marcus abruptly stood up and glanced from Nick to Chambers. "I get it now. Mrs. Foreman put you up to it, didn't she?"
"Sit down!" Nick ordered. "Or we'll finish this conversation at police department headquarters."
Marcus slumped his large frame into the plastic chair. It buckled under his weight. "That woman's worse than a plague. I should have set fire to Rumpus House when it opened. Mrs. Foreman was trouble from the start." He stubbed his cigarette into the cup. "She set you up to this, didn't she?"
Nick ignored the question. He was on a time constraint and needed answers. "Where were you last Thursday evening between eleven p.m. and two in the morning?"
Marcus let out a hollow laugh. "Do you want me to tell you that? Well, you're the detective, you should know the answer." He looked at Chambers with a dismissive glance. "Now I can see where my tax dollars go!"
Chambers scowled and fired off a question ahead of Nick. "Do you mind if I call you Speakeasy? Or perhaps the Beast of MoPac? Tell me, which do you prefer?"
Marcus grinned and batted his eyelids. "Officer, you can call me anything you like, honey." Then his eyes turned fearful, as they slid along Chambers' wide girth and wobbly chins. "As long as you don't eat me with your fries!" He burst out laughing.
Nick glanced down at his notebook trying not to smile and waited for Marcus to continue. It was a standard tactic, one he'd used before with great success. Suspects didn’t like silence in a conversation, and they often filled the void with words. All he needed was for Marcus to keep talking. A man like that would slipup, they always do. Then Nick would haul him in. With a little luck, Nick thought with growing confidence, Marcus might even confess.
It didn’t work. Marcus blinked but said nothing more.
Chambers, red-faced, tapped Nick on the arm. "Time to haul the punk in. We'll get a confession much sooner at the station."
"I'm not confessing to anything," Marcus yelled, the humor was gone from his voice. "I'm entitled to a lawyer. I know my rights."
Nick ignored the outburst, tried to calm things down. "Let me get one thing clear. You said you wanted Mrs. Foreman dead, is that correct?"
Marcus didn't hesitate. "Yes."
Nick folded his arms and thought for a moment. His mind went over the audio recording, the threats made by Speakeasy, and the medical examiner's mention of the use of extreme strength. Then he looked at Marcus. Was this bedraggled loser the Beast of MoPac? There was only one way to discover the truth, one question left to ask.
"Why Marcus? Why did you do it?"
"Because it was easy."
"Easy?"
"Yes, easy money. A guy I met in a bar. I work late-night shifts as a bartender. Anyway, the guy, I think his name was Duke something or other, mentioned dog walking was an easy way to earn a little extra on the side. It was for a while, then Mrs. Foreman's Rumpus House put an end to my business."
"Is that why you wanted her dead?"
"She killed my dog walking business. I'm out of that now; my last client fired me. What would you do?"
This was going to be straightforward from here on in, Nick thought. It would be a textbook confession of murder as a result of jealousy. He'd have a report on the lieutenant's desk before the evening was out.
Nick waited.
Even Chambers said nothing.
They leaned forward, faces shining with eager anticipation.
Silence.
They'd wait out Marcus. The dam was about to burst. They could sense it.
Silence.
"What would you do?" Marcus screamed suddenly animated, his whole body trembling.
The admission was coming, all it needed was a little prod. Nick lowered his voice to that of a priest in the confessional chamber.
"Is that why you killed her?"
"Killed who?"
"Mrs. Foreman. You killed her because she killed your business, isn't that true?"
Marcus stood up. "I didn't kill nobody! I didn’t know the old hag was dead. You ain't pinning that on me!"
"Sit down!" Nick ordered. So much for the textbook confession! He tried again, using his football coaching voice. "Marcus, it will be easier all around if you confess now. You'll feel so much better. What do you say?"
"I didn't kill Mrs. Foreman!"
Nick slammed his fist on the table. "Where were you Thursday evening?"
Marcus let out a hysterical laugh. "Detective King, you ought to know. I spent the night in the downtown jail. Someone reported me for animal abuse."
Chapter 26
Despite the crowds, the clatter of plates and dishes, the country music that wailed over the speaker system, and despite the gloom of the dining room, Amy spotted Nick the moment he walked into Jenny's Crab Shack.
"Nick
, honey, over here!"
Amy sensed something was wrong. It wasn't obvious to the untrained eye, but even at twenty yards she picked up the slight stoop in his shoulders, the sluggishness in his step, and the hound dog look of his eyes. As he drew close Amy knew it concerned the Mrs. Foreman murder investigation.
"Amy girl, who's the dude with your hubby?" Danielle's lips curled into a plastic smile.
"That's Nick's new partner. They work the lollipop liaison unit."
"Oh!" Danielle replied in a soft voice, eyes all knowing. "That's Officer Chambers!"
Nick's spirit improved on seeing Amy. Even after almost twenty-three years of marriage, his mood lightened when she was around. He slipped into a chair next to his wife, wrapped his arms around her in a quick hug and waved at Danielle.
"Fancy meeting y'all here?" he said in an exaggerated Texan drawl.
The two women laughed.
Officer Chambers sat next to Danielle. He didn’t want company. This was food time, and all he wanted to do was eat, then get back to the office for his afternoon snooze in front of the computer. Running around town and speaking to members of the public about things they'd rather not talk about broke into his usual routine. He'd already missed his eleven o'clock stroll along Congress Avenue to the local donut shack.
"Howdy," he grunted at Danielle, picking up the menu. Then recalling his manners added, "I'm Bob, but everyone calls me Chambers."
A waiter arrived at the table. The women had already eaten their main course and were on to the dessert. Chambers ordered deep-fried crab sticks with french fries and coleslaw. Nick ordered the same, despite his recent heart issues, and the sharp disapproving eye of his wife.
"It's been a challenging morning," Nick added in the way of explanation.
"How so?" Amy asked, already knowing it concerned the police department.
"Got the green light to investigate the Mrs. Foreman murder," Nick replied, picking up a glass of water and taking a sip.
"What?" That was great news, but Amy knew from the empty stare in his eyes there was more. He'd tell her about it later. Right now she wanted to remain on a positive track. "That's great because we spoke with Lizzie Dawson."
Nick looked keenly from Danielle to Amy. Right now he was at a dead end and needed a break. Maybe there was something they had discovered that would help. "What did she say?"
