52 Steps to Murder (11 page)

“Good morning, Sam.”

“Hi, Cy. You must have something for me. Otherwise you wouldn’t bother me so early on a Monday morning.”

“Your deductive powers are amazing, Sam. That’s the reason I always call you when I need to know something.”

“I’m your man, Cy. What’ve you got?”

“A woman named Ethel Nelson was found dead in her home on Hilltop Place Saturday morning. She was murdered. Poisoned. Codeine. Check with Frank if you have any questions regarding the codeine. Then check around and see if anyone with a Hilltop Place connection bought any codeine. A few days ago an ambulance was dispatched to take Mrs. Nelson to the hospital. She had a broken left arm and leg, plus bruises on her body. See what you can find out about that. Also, see if you can find out if her granddaughter Angela Nelson inherits her estate.”

“Anything else, Cy?”

“Yeah, keep writing, Sam. Numbers 101 and 105 Hilltop Place are vacant. See if you can find out who owns those houses. And I have some other people for you to check on. There’s a Mrs. Reynolds on Hilltop Place. Her son Jimmy lives with her. Jimmy’s not right. Supposedly, he lost it in the war. One of the neighbors said Jimmy came running from Mrs. Nelson’s house screaming the day she suffered her broken bones. See, what you can find out about the Reynoldses.

“I’ve got one more for you to check on. His name is Stanley Silverman. He lived across the street from the murdered woman, and he seems to have seen everything except the murder. See what you can find out about him. Also, check on his mother. She died a few months ago. Find out if she died of natural causes and see what else you can tell me about Stanley and his mother.”

“I’m running out of paper and time, Cy. I hope this is all.”

“It is for the time being. I’m sure there’ll be more.”

“When do you want this, Cy? Two weeks?”

“Take your time, Sam. No hurry. Tomorrow morning will be fine.”

I chuckled as he hung up. I knew Sam well enough to know he was laughing too.

+++

I wondered what the day held for this detective duo. As soon as Lou opened the car door on Monday morning, I could contain myself no longer. I spewed out my question.

“Any messages from God today, Lou?”

“I got some words, if that’s what you mean.”

“Well, go on. Spit it out,” I commanded impatiently.

“Twist and shout.”

“Come again?” I replied quizzically.

“I said ‘twist and shout.’”

“That’s what I thought you said. Is that our message?”

“I guess so.”

I burst out laughing, turned the radio to the oldies station, and started singing as I twisted in my seat. It didn’t matter that Elvis’s rendition of
Love Me Tender
blared from the radio
.

Lou returned the quizzical look that I had given him just a few moments earlier. He hoped his neighbors were not watching, but, if they were, he hoped they would remember him in their prayers. The sergeant shook his head at my teen-like actions, and commented, “Cy, I’ve warned you to buy underwear that’s big enough for you. When you grow, your underwear needs to grow with you.”

I paid no attention to his remark and continued to twist as best my seat belt and aching bones allowed, while Lou merely grinned and shook his head some more. When I regained my senses, at least to the point where they were before Lou got me started, I turned to my partner.

“What’s it mean, Lou?”

“I’m not sure, but I think it means you need to have his medication checked.”

“No, not my gyrations. What’s the message mean?”

“It means we’re to be patient until we find out.”

“I’m no doctor. I don’t do patients.”

I hadn’t revealed anything my friend did not already know.

+++

Lou and I pulled up to the speaker and menu board at one of only a handful of fast-food restaurants in town. I couldn’t decide between a sausage biscuit or a ham biscuit, so I did what I usually did when I had trouble making up my mind on what to order. I ordered both, plus two orders of hash browns, so neither biscuit would be jealous of the other. Following my lead, Lou ordered a steak biscuit, a pork chop biscuit, and two orders of hash browns. The order would keep us from starving until the mailman arrived at Hilltop Place.

We wolfed down our food in transit. All that remained was a little coffee and an inch of a soft drink with some ice. We planned to stake out Hilltop Place until Mr. Hartley arrived. I turned the corner onto Hilltop Place and spotted a US Postal Service vehicle parked in front of the first house.

“Our guy Hartley doesn’t waste any time, does he, Lou?”

“I think if I had to do this route I’d want to get it over with the first thing each morning, too,” Lou replied.

“Do you see him yet?”

No sooner had I asked the question than both of us spotted the mailman quickly descending the steps from the third house on the right. We marveled at his speed.

“Yeah, but let’s see how quickly he goes up the steps,” I uttered, holding out that the mailman would exhibit the same huffing snail’s pace that had become our trademark for climbing those same steps. Lou and I thought we were going to be sick after we saw the mailman quickly mount the steps of the next house.

“What’s with this guy, anyway? He’s got to be somewhere around our age.”

“Yeah, but our belts would go around him twice. He can’t have more than a thirty-two inch waist. It’s criminal for a man to be so thin.”

I nodded in agreement. I knew that surely this mailman deprived himself of the good food Lou and I needed to get through each day. I had nothing against bread and water, as long as a lot of fine foods came with them. Even yogurt was okay. Well, maybe that’s going a little too far. And I wasn’t even going to ask what tofu was. I just knew it wasn’t for me. It sounds like some kind of martial arts, but some people claim they eat the stuff. Better them than me. I think yogurt and tofu are for people who go to classes to learn how to wrap their feet behind their heads. I have no intention of signing up for a pretzel class. If I did, I could just see the guys in the department. They would turn out in force to see Lou and me wearing tights.

All those thoughts about skinny men, yogurt, and tofu were enough to make me reach in my pocket and pull out a candy bar. I munched a bite or two while we studied our first suspect of the morning. Lou followed suit with a new bag of M&Ms, even though it had been only fifteen minutes since we had devoured our breakfasts, puny as they were.

As Mr. Hartley trotted down the steps of the last house and rushed to his vehicle, Lou and I opened our car doors and stepped out to talk with him.

“Mr. Hartley?” I called out as we made our way across the street.

A thin man of average height and straight, dishwater blond hair turned to face us.

“That’s right.”

“Mr. Hartley, I’m Lt. Dekker and this is Sgt. Murdock. We’d like to ask you a few questions.”

As we reached the postman I showed him my identification.

“Let me see that, again. I’ve never known a cop to drive something like that,” Mr. Hartley said as he pointed toward Lightning.

I held my identification closer, so he could see it.

“You’re right, there, Mr. Hartley. Far too few law enforcement officers take pride in what they drive.”

I could see Mr. Hartley felt he had more important things to do than talk about modes of transportation. He hurried things along with a question.

“Is this about Mrs. Nelson’s murder?”

“That’s right, Mr. Hartley. How did you know?”

“Well, I saw in the newspaper where she was murdered. I can’t believe it, and to think I saw her only Saturday morning,” Mr. Hartley replied with sadness in his voice.

“Tell us about that, Mr. Hartley.”

“Well, a few days before I’d gotten a notice to restart her mail delivery. I assumed that meant that she’d gotten out of the hospital and was back at home. I’d been meaning to stop to see how she was doing. I decided to do just that Saturday morning when I saw the front door to her house standing open. I stepped into the house and called out. Since the door was open, I knew someone else was there with her. In a few minutes Miss Penrod, Mrs. Nelson’s next-door neighbor, came down the stairs.”

“So did you see Mrs. Nelson that morning?”

“I did. The poor thing. She looked in terrible shape. I told her I hoped she’d be doing better soon and handed her her mail.”

“What else can you tell me about Mrs. Nelson? For instance, did she seem alert when you talked to her, or was she sleepy?”

“She didn’t have much strength, but she was wide awake. Is that what you mean, Lieutenant?”

“Anything else you can think of?”

“Nothing comes to mind. Sorry.”

“That’s okay, Mr. Hartley. After you handed Mrs. Nelson her mail, did you leave right away?”

“No, I talked to Miss Penrod a few minutes, asked her how she was doing and if she would like for me to give her her mail or put it in her box. Then I left.”

“How was Miss Penrod?”

“About like always.”

“And how is that?’

“Nice, but businesslike.”

“And did Miss Penrod take her mail?”

“No, she told me that if it was all right with me she preferred that I put it in the mailbox.”

“So, you left before Miss Penrod left. Is that correct?”

“That’s right.”

“Mr. Hartley, do you by any chance have a key to Mrs. Nelson’s house?”

“I do. Several people have keys to Mrs. Nelson’s house.”

“And why did you have a key?”

“Well, I’d always check Mrs. Nelson’s mail to see if there appeared to be anything important. If so, I’d ring the bell.”

“And did Mrs. Nelson answer the door when you rang the bell?”

“Sometimes she did, but many mornings I’d find her eating breakfast on her sun porch as she looked out the window and watched the birds do the same thing. Before she fell, she was in pretty good shape for her age. What time she got up depended on how she felt on a particular day. Some days old people feel old. If she was still in bed, she’d buzz me in. She’d do the same thing if she was in the back on the sun porch, so I used my key on occasion.”

“Mr. Hartley, do you have keys to any of the other houses on this street?”

“Just to Mrs. Jarvis’s house. I used to have a key to Mrs. Silverman’s house when she was living, but when her son took early retirement to stay home and take care of her I gave the key back.”

“When’s the last time you saw Mrs. Jarvis?”

“Oh, it’s been a few days. I’m not sure which day it was.”

“Mr. Hartley, did you see any of the other neighbors on Saturday morning?”

“As a matter of fact, I did. I saw Mr. Silverman when I delivered his mail. He was sitting by the window. Then, I moved on down to the end of the street and that Reynolds boy was hiding behind a tree. He made me jump. He did. He’s tetched. He’s not really a boy, but he is mentally. The war did strange things to him. Not that he was one of my favorites before the war, but I cut him some slack then because he lived with his mother. She’s never had a kind word to say to anyone. Anyway, as I turned to leave, his mother opened the door and scared me again. That woman scares me even when she doesn’t say anything. After I saw Miss Penrod and Mrs. Nelson, I ran into Mrs. Wilkens. She was sitting on her front porch.”

“Mr. Hartley, do you know Bobby Cooper?”

“Yeah, he’s the grocery boy.”

“Would you recognize his car if you saw it?”

“Sure.”

“Did you see it on Hilltop Place Saturday morning?”

“No, it wasn’t there when I delivered the mail. Of course he could’ve come later. You don’t think he did it, do you?”

I avoided the question and asked another one.

“Mr. Hartley, were you by any chance on this street Saturday night?”

“Of course not. I’m never on the street at night.”

“Mr. Hartley, what size shoe do you wear?”

“Why, did the murderer leave a footprint?”

“Just answer the question, Mr. Hartley?”

“Nine and a-half B.”

“Do you own a yellow raincoat, Mr. Hartley?”

“No.”

“Have you ever seen anyone on this street wearing a yellow raincoat?”

“Can’t say that I have, but then I can’t say that I’ve seen any of these people wearing any kind of raincoat. Are you saying that the murderer wore a yellow raincoat?”

“No, I’m not saying that. Mr. Hartley, can you think of anyone who might want to see Mrs. Nelson dead?”

“I’m afraid not, but my guess is that whoever it was was a stranger. I can’t see anyone who knew her killing her. She was just too nice a person. The only thing I can’t figure out is how the killer got into the house in the first place. Mrs. Nelson would never let in anyone that she didn’t know. You don’t think someone sneaked in Saturday morning when her front door was open, do you?”

“At this point, I don’t know anything. Maybe Mrs. Nelson didn’t let the murderer in. Mr. Hartley, to the best of your knowledge, is there any other way of getting into any of these houses except by going through the front door?”

He paused, and then answered. “No.”

“Well, thanks for your time, Mr. Hartley.”

I squinted as I looked toward the sun. Then, I used my hand as a visor and noticed the absence of any other activity on the street. Satisfied that no one was committing any new crimes at that moment, Lou and I waved goodbye to Mr. Hartley, who had already jumped into the mail truck.

The two of us returned to the car and found out that someone had phoned headquarters and left an anonymous tip that dealt with the Nelson case. The dispatcher told us to locate a copy of the local newspaper dated October 20, 1948. What would something that happened over fifty years ago have to do with a murder that was committed only two days ago?

14

Lou and I stopped off at the Midtown Market, a mid-size grocery in a mid-size town. It was the type of establishment that carried most of the items its customers considered necessary, but didn’t stock all brands.

I asked to see Bobby Cooper, but he was out delivering groceries. The manager told us when he expected Bobby to return. I asked him about Bobby’s activities on Saturday, and he told me that Bobby took much too long to make his morning deliveries, then complained of being sick and asked for the afternoon off. I made a note of this and planned to ask Bobby about it when we returned. Then, I asked the manager if he could be a little more specific about Bobby’s deliveries. He said as a matter of fact he could.