Dead Boyfriends (10 page)

 

I met Eli Jefferson's sister—her name was Evonne Louise Lowman—at the Mueller Funeral Home in Coon Rapids. The building seemed unnaturally cool and still. The ruby-colored carpet was thick, and I could
barely hear the sound of my own footsteps. They piped organ music throughout the place, but somehow that made it seem even more silent. In the distance I heard voices speaking softly. I followed them, stopping outside a small conference room that was adorned with examples of flower arrangements, headstones, and urns.

Evonne and the director of the Mueller Funeral Home were inside. Listening to their conversation, I learned that Evonne had decided to have her brother cremated. Considering the condition of Eli's body, what with the autopsy and all, an open coffin just didn't seem like the way to go. The funeral director agreed even though he muttered something about losing money on the disposition—immediate cremation, no services, no obituary, just the minimum that the state required, you're talking seven hundred bucks compared to the average disposition of five thousand.

“What do you wish done with your brother's ashes?” he asked.

Evonne didn't care. What did he suggest?

“There's some vacant property owned by the crematorium. We could just scatter his ashes there.”

“Sold,” Evonne said, slapping the tabletop like an auctioneer.

The director produced some forms. Evonne signed them. She was in and out in ten minutes flat, which suited me right down to my toes. Funeral homes made me nervous. On the other hand, Vonnie Lou—she told me to call her Vonnie Lou—found the place quite comforting. Nice tunes, she said.

Vonnie Lou was a tall woman with coarse, disorganized hair and a woodenish body, all straight angles and no curves. Her eyes were small and dark, and she spoke with a pleasant, melodic voice, her sentences going up and down the scale.

“I'm an office temp,” she told me. “That's why I asked you to meet me here during my lunch hour. I really can't afford to take the time from my job.”

I told her I appreciated her agreeing to meet with me.

“Anything new on Merodie?” she asked as we moved from the sedately lit funeral home into bright August sunlight.

“What do you mean?” I asked

Vonnie Lou shielded her eyes with her hand. “Has she been charged with murder yet?”

“I don't think so.”

“Good.”

“Good?” I was surprised by her reaction. “You don't want them to lock her up and throw away the key for killing your brother?”

“Oh, I don't know. I kinda feel sorry for her. I've known Merodie a lot of years, going way back before she even met my brother. The sweetest woman you'd ever want to know. Kind. Generous to a fault. When I was going through my divorce—I was married for about a week to a loser named Mike Lowman—you know what she did? She brought me chicken soup. Do you believe that? Poor girl never seems to catch a break, especially with men. She's just the nicest person, too.”

“Nicest person? The cops think she killed your brother.”

“Yeah, but it's not like he didn't deserve it.”

That stopped me.

Vonnie Lou took two more steps and pivoted on the asphalt toward me. “He was cheating on her,” she said. “Didn't you know that?”

“No.”

“Merodie didn't tell you?”

I shook my head.

“Huh. I figured she would.”

“Did you tell the police?”

“Tell the police what?”

“That Eli was cheating on Merodie.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“For one thing, they didn't ask. For another, I don't want to get Merodie into trouble.”

“Will you talk to me?”

“You work for Merodie's attorney, right? You're trying to help her, right?”

“Right.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Was he cheating on her?” I asked. “Do you know that for a fact?”

“He was using my home.” Vonnie Lou shook her head as if she still couldn't believe it. “Something you have to know about my brother Eli. When he was drinking, every woman looked good to him, he wanted every one he saw, and for a few months before he died, it seemed like he was drinking nearly all the time. It didn't matter if the woman was pretty, ugly, married, single, young, old—Eli, he'd see her, he'd have to hit on her. It was like a compulsion. He didn't have much trouble picking up the women he went after, either. He was so good-looking. Charming. He'd say these incredibly goofy things and women would laugh. They loved him. Especially young women, if you know what I mean.”

“You said he used your house?”

“I came home early from a job. Eli had a key to my place, so I wasn't surprised when I found his car there. I come inside and there he was, doing it with this, this slut, on my bed. My bed. I was pretty upset.”

“I can imagine.”

“So I threw the two of them out. My bed. God. This was, I don't know, a month or so ago.”

“Do you think Merodie found out?”

“If not about her, then about someone else, yeah.”

“Tell me about the woman.”

“I don't know, some bimbo. Good-looking, I suppose. College age.”

“What was her name?”

“We weren't formally introduced. Besides, what did I care what the bimbo's name was? I just wanted her out of my house.”

“Did she give you an argument?”

“Eli gave me one, that's for sure. Kept saying, ‘Ten more minutes, ten more minutes.' I guess he hadn't actually done it yet. Like I cared. The woman, she just gathered up her clothes and left. Never said a word, which was fine with me cuz I kinda had my hands full screaming at Eli.” Vonnie Lou shook her head, smiling slightly. “Eli could be such a piece of work. I gotta be honest, though. If he hadn't been my brother, I probably would have been hot for him, too.”

“Tell me about Merodie.”

“We go back some,” Vonnie Lou said. “We met, I don't know, years ago. We met at a joint called Dimmer's off Highway 169. We used to play softball, and Dimmer's was the sponsor. We'd start playing at six, finish around seven, be at Dimmer's by seven fifteen and close the place down. God, I still don't believe I survived those days.”

“You don't play anymore?”

“No, I quit a couple of years ago when I tore up my knee. Merodie still plays, though.”

“Do you see much of her?”

“On and off. It kinda goes in streaks. I'd see her a couple of times a week and then not for a few months. We started drifting apart after I quit softball. We lost most of what we had in common. Softball and drinking. I don't do much of either anymore.”

“How did Merodie meet your brother?”

“I introduced them, I don't know, maybe a year ago. It was at Dimmer's. Eli and I walked in and there was Merodie and there you go. They started living together about a month later. Listen, McKenzie, I have to get back to my job.”

“I appreciate your talking to me.”

“If you have any more questions, just call or drop by the house. I'm in the book.”

I thanked her and opened her car door. She slid inside and looked up at me.

“My brother. You wouldn't believe what a good-looking guy he was. Right up until Merodie bashed his brains in.”

 

The street where Merodie Davies lived was teeming with young children enjoying their final weeks of summer vacation. I also saw a few stay-at-home moms. Instead of minding the kids, nearly all of them seemed to be intently watching me as I made my way to the Anoka police cruiser parked in Merodie's driveway. I didn't actually hear the words, but I could see them passed from one set of lips to another: “Now what?”

Officer Boyd Baumbach sat alone inside the cruiser, the windows and doors shut tight, the motor running. I tapped on his window, startling him. He quickly lowered it. Cool air lapped against my chest and face.

“McKenzie,” he said.

“What are you doing here?”

“Rollie Briggs, he's the assistant county attorney, he said someone should let you look through the house.”

My inner voice took notice.
Rollie Briggs
—
is he G. K.'s pal in the county attorney's office?

“Why you?” I asked.

Baumbach silenced the car engine and stepped out. He looked directly into my eyes when he spoke. “I apologize for the other day. I had no right getting rough with you, and I should not have abused my authority by arresting you. I apologize. I hope you will forgive me.”

“Wow.” I was so shocked by his words that I nearly laughed in his face. “Moorhead must have really put the screws to you.”

The straight line of Baumbach's mouth told me that it sure wasn't his idea.

“Do you accept my apology?”

“Sure,” I said, although I knew his heart wasn't in it.

“Are you going to report me?”

“Report you to who?”

Baumbach brushed past me and moved to the front door of the house. “The assistant county attorney, Mr. Briggs, he said that the tech guys have been through it a couple of times. So has Human Services, so there's nothing you can foul up for us.”

“Fine.”

Baumbach unlocked the door and opened it. He waited for me to pass him. He took hold of my elbow when I did.

“Is there anything else, Officer?” I asked.

He released my elbow and stepped back.

“Nothing,” he said.

“Are you coming inside?”

“If it's all the same to you, I'll wait out here.”

“Sure.”

Baumbach tried to smile, but it was too much effort, so he stopped. “I've been in the house before,” he said.

“Sure.”

 

I stepped inside and was immediately met by a punishing wave of warm, stale, fetid air that smelled strongly of rotting meat. It literally pushed me back against the door.

“Oh, God,” I said, clamping a hand over my mouth.

The Anoka Fire Department had used its enormous fans to pull much of the odor from the house, and the county's Human Services Department had made an honest effort to clean the dwelling of the feces and garbage. Yet the stench, compounded by the August heat, was still so strong that I seriously doubted anyone would ever live there again.

I fished a handkerchief from my back pocket and cupped it over my
nose and mouth. I inspected the nearly empty living room. A faded white chalk outline on the carpet represented the body of Eli Jefferson as he lay in death. Red chalk was used to outline the softball bat. I examined both outlines from several angles, using the CID's Photo Report as a guide. I didn't have any of the actual 147 photographs taken at the scene by the Criminal Investigation Division; however, I did have a sheaf of about fifty photocopies, plus the investigator's narrative describing in sequential order each photo that was taken. By using both, I was able to stand in the exact spot where each photo was taken and see what the camera saw.

Photo #18-22. These are overall photos showing the position and condition of the body as it was found.

 

Photo #29-31. These three photographs depict a softball bat that was found near the body. Note in particular the blood smear that is clearly visible in Photo #31.

Except for the missing body and softball bat, the living room looked exactly as it had in the photos. Cream-colored drapes were open to let in shafts of sunlight swimming with dust motes. Forest green carpet flecked with blue was stained in more places than I could count. A sofa was shoved against the wall; a floor lamp with a dirty white shade sat next to the sofa; a chair was hiding in the corner. The pieces of furniture seemed unrelated to each other and all had a secondhand shabbiness. A black velvet painting of a clown framed in gold hung on the wall, a solitary tear on the clown's cheek. That was it. I checked the report again. Apparently, nothing had been moved, removed, or added to the house since the photos were taken.

I pushed on.

Photo #34. This is an overall photo taken at the top of the stairway showing the condition of the top landing as well as
partially looking into the kitchen. The hallway would be to the right, leading into the living room area.

Photo #42. This is looking through the open doorway of the kitchen off the hallway. Note the bloodstains on the kitchen floor and, in particular, in front of the stove, which is visible to the left center.

Photo #59-81. Overall and close-up photos depicting the condition of the master bedroom. Note in Photo #72 the close-up of the waterbed and, in particular, the rolled-up blanket found on the waterbed. In examining the blanket, it was found to contain what we believe to be human feces.

Photo #90. This is a photo looking down the steps into the basement level.

I found nothing that the police had overlooked, but I was moving quickly, driven onward by the foul odor and the lack of air-conditioning. I lingered only at a small bedroom made up for a young child on the downstairs level. Just one photo had been taken of the room, Photo #96. The narrative said simply:

This bedroom is referred to as a child's bedroom in my previous report.

The room was well cared for. There was no dirt or stains of any kind, only surface dust. It contained one bed, made up with a bedspread featuring characters from a Disney film. The bed was in the corner. Above it, a net was strung from wall to wall, supporting dozens of stuffed animals of every shape and kind. Across from the bed was a white wood dresser. The drawers were empty. I found half a dozen dolls on top of the dresser, along with three photographs of a girl I judged to
be eight or nine years old. The girl was dressed all in white and standing next to a tree in one photograph, sitting in a chair holding a teddy bear in the second, and standing on a diving board, her arms stretched toward heaven, in the third. There were no names or dates written on the photographs. A fourth photograph framed in silver hung from the bedroom wall next to the door. It featured a truly beautiful young woman with chocolate-colored eyes and auburn hair, holding an infant. The young woman was about sixteen. Someone had written across the bottom left corner of the photograph: