HIGHWAY HOMICIDE (9 page)

Chapter Thirteen

The man who’
d murdered Maria Caspar watched from his car as flames completely consumed David Gates’ house. The blaze had been well under way by the time it had been called in to 911. David had installed smoke alarms throughout the house, but they were no good unless there was someone in the house to hear them.

The murderer, and now arsonist,
smiled with satisfaction. He’d made sure the blaze had gotten a good enough hold to destroy the whole building. Then, and only then, had he called it in from the phone booth he’d just walked away from. As he was making the call he’d been aware of another car that had driven slowly by. Someone else wanted to use the phone perhaps.

When he got back into his car, the other car was gone. He sat in his car for a few more minutes watching the blazing building. Sirens heralded the arrival of the fire department, the police and the paramedics. As they sped past, he pulled away but he chided him
self for being a day late. He’d also been there on the previous evening to set the fire, but as he’d driven by, the police were already entering the house through the open garage.

He’
d been really stupid. He could easily have made enough time to have set the fire before he left with Maria and David. Just a little gasoline spread around, together with a length of gas soaked string and a lighted candle would’ve made an effective enough incendiary tool.

On the plu
s side, he was also certain he’d left nothing at all in the house to connect him to Maria’s death. Anything found eventually would point directly to David Gates, if his plan worked out as he hoped it would.

He’
d still have had enough time for him to have driven David Gates’ car, with both Maria and David in it, before the house went up in flames. As it was, he’d had to wait until he’d returned from dumping them. By then, because the storm had lasted for two days, it was a little too late. In the meantime, the police had searched the house and would certainly have discovered what’d happened there.

One thing puzzled him though. Why would the police be searching David Gates’ house so soon? He doubted whether Gates’ frozen body could have been identified that quickly
, since he’d removed the wallet from Gates’ back jeans pocket himself. He’d also just returned it intact, to the house, to be consumed in the fire.

Unless the unconscious David Gates hadn’t frozen, hadn’t died from exposure and had been found by the police alive. That would have been even better. He would then have to explain what had happened to Maria Caspar, and what he was doing there with her.

The man smiled to himself as he drove, watching the glow from the fire light up the night sky. His only area of doubt or uncertainty was whether or not David Gates had actually seen his face when he’d burst into the room. After a moment or two of contemplation, he shook his head. He was certain Gates had taken one look at Maria Caspar’s dead body on the carpet in front of him and had passed out cold.

Meanwhile, out on the highway near where Maria and David had been dumped, Lisa’s diner was doing its usual brisk trade, now the storm was over. The diner had been built by Lisa’s father and her Uncle Luigi.

Joe and Luigi Bartolini, along with their respective wives, Rosa and Theresa, had come to
America in the early fifties. They’d lived in a small village in Southern Italy and had all grown up together. Initially, they’d settled in New York City, since it was their point of entry into the United States. But after just two years of crowded living, they’d moved to Vermont, looking for something a lot quieter. Specifically to a place like Cooper’s Corners.

In retrospect, the tw
o brothers had often wished they’d located their little diner a little further east. That was where, later on, the Interstate 91 would go on to join the I95 and continue on all the way down to Florida.               The trade off, of course, was they wouldn’t have spent all these pleasant years in Cooper’s Corners. The diner had begun with the two men doing the cooking and their wives waiting tables. As Joe and Rosa’s two girls grew older, they helped out in the diner as well.

Lisa and her younger sister, Rosetta, had both been born there in the little community and had been brought into the world by young Doctor Wayland.

Luigi and Theresa’s children, three boys, Marco, Carlo and Luigi Junior, were also born there and continued to live in Cooper’s Corners.

The boys all had good jobs. Carlo sold new and used cars in
Newport and his brother Luigi Junior had an insurance agency in the Capital. Only Marco had followed in his father’s footsteps in the building trade and did building and home repairs in the area.

In spite of working elsewhere, the two older boys still lived in Cooper’s Corners with their wives. Luigi Junior lived at home with his parents and was currently house sitting.

Nowadays, the four senior Bartolinis wintered together in Sarasota, Florida, whilst Lisa and her sister, Rosetta, ran the diner. Apart from the diehard locals and winter sportspeople, there was less than a quarter of the business for the diner in the wintertime.

At the moment, Rosetta was away for a week
as well, attending a computer course at Johnson State College. Normally, Kathie Parker, a long time friend of Lisa’s, would help out in the diner if Rosetta was away, which was quite likely to be often.

Because Rosetta had to
ld her family quite bluntly she had no intention of slinging hash for the rest of her life, which was why she was taking the computer course.

During the blizzard, and with Rosetta away, Kathie had been unable to get out to the diner by road. Lisa had told her not to w
orry about it. She would be okay on her own because no one was stopping for food anyway.               But Kathie had called Pam Tomaso, who only lived about a half a mile away from the diner. Pam had come right out and had arrived in time to see the mystery car thief. She hadn’t bothered to call ahead to Lisa, because she knew, if she had, Lisa would have just told her to stay home.

Lisa hoped Carl Berger would drop by. She’d had a crush on Carl since they were
both in school together. They’d even dated for a brief period when they were at the University of Vermont together. Without either of them knowing why, they’d just drifted apart after University and had gone their own separate ways for several more years.

Now, both of them were in their early forties, both unmarried and both of them back in Cooper’s Corners. They wer
e always friendly to each other but Lisa often wished Carl would make the first move. She knew she’d be most receptive this time if he did, and if he didn’t, then she’d just have to make a move of her own, wouldn’t sh
e
?

Chapter Fourteen

Iona Cackett was the next person to find one, a body, another murder victim. Well, she didn’t exactly
find
it. She tripped over it!

She’
d just driven home from the Friday evening Bingo in the Holy Cross Church basement and was feeling very pleased with herself. It only takes one card to win, she always said to anyone who’d listen, and she only ever bought one card.

Tonight though, her one card had
paid off big for her, and she’d won three times with it, including the Jackpot! This has got to be my lucky night, she’d thought.

That was until she’
d arrived home, at least, and had driven her old car into her garage. She walked over to her house along her unlighted pathway. It was unlighted because Iona didn’t believe in wasting money on lights when she wasn’t home to use them.

When she tripped over something on the pathway
in the dark, she fell flat on her face in the snow. Her Bingo bag flew out of her hand, spilling dabbers and her numerous good luck charms all over the pathway and surrounding snow.

Iona
said a few choice words that she would never have dreamed of uttering in the church basement. But she’d never fallen flat on her face in the church basement either.

She got painfully to her feet and was about to vent her annoyance on the offending object by kicking it out of
the way, when she realized it was a
foot
.

A man was sprawled on his back in the snow with his head partly under one of her bushes. That damned old fool, she thought
angrily, and immediately assumed the figure on her pathway was Errol Cook. Who else would be lying around drunk like that?

She leaned forward as far as she could in the d
im light, just to make sure it was Errol, and then she’d call Judy to have her boys cart him away. Away anywhere, so long as it was off her pathway.

That was when she saw the ski mask and all the blood. T
hat was also when Iona started to scream.

Moments later, her neighbors came running out to see what all the fuss was about. The first ones to arrive had thrown parkas or fleece lined jackets over their night clothes. Others had waited to dress properly for the winter night.

Bob Chalmers had at least had the presence of mind to call 911. He figured if anyone was screaming that hard, then it was something the police should at least be looking at.

The call had been relayed automatically through to Judy at home. She followed up by calling Carl. If h
e needed Almost as well, he’d call him himself. Five minutes after receiving Judy’s call, Carl was pulling his cruiser up outside Iona’s house.

The scene had been absolute
ly demolished by everyone who’d wanted to take a look. Someone had even pulled the ski mask off of the victim’s head to see who it was.

Forrest Appleyard had been identified as the victim already by
everyone who’d looked. In just the few minutes since Iona had screamed, several theories as to what’d happened had been both expounded and argued.

Once again, Carl was frustrated and angry by the completely contaminated crime scene. Another idiot had even picked what could possibly be the murder weapon up out of the snow, and was proudly waving it around.

It had only taken Carl a moment to realize Forrest was dead and that they were perhaps looking at their
fourth
murder this week. It looked like Cooper’s Corners might be going for the record, he thought grimly. Carl sighed. It looked like it was going to be another one of those nights for him.

Someone, Judy most probably, had also called old Doc Wayland. He had lived in Cooper’s Corners for over forty years and despite his age, he responded as first call to most of the local emergencies.

Doc arrived a few minutes after Carl and after talking briefly to him, he was speaking to Iona, assessing her injuries. His on the spot diagnosis was, apart from a couple of scrapes to her hands and knees, the only other damages she’d sustained were to her dignity.

One of the neighboring ladies, Patti Stirling, had picked up
Iona’s Bingo bag and had put all of her scattered good luck charms and dabbers back into it. She also put something else into it that she thought might have fallen out of Iona’s bag.

Over at the crime scene, it was obv
ious to both Doc and Carl how Forrest had been killed. Someone had hit him across the base of his skull with an axe. The same one Iona kept beside her bird bath to break up the ice in it in the wintertime. The same one that had the killer’s fingerprints obliterated by the dumb bastard who’d picked it up, Carl thought angrily.

Cooper’s Corners might be out to break th
e annual
murder
record, but it sure as hell would never win the ‘Most Intelligent Community in America’ title.

It was about five minutes later, at around 11 p.m. when Carl put in a call to
Burlington. He didn’t expect to reach Roly, but he asked the dispatcher to send their crime scene team out as soon as possible. He told them it was a homicide, the victim was definitely dead and it wasn’t an emergency but he still didn’t want to be out there all bloody night.

Carl always kept a few stakes, a short handled sledge hammer and a couple of rolls of police tape in the trunk of his cruiser. When Doc had finished his initial ex
amination and confirmed Forrest was indeed dead, Carl started to set up the tapes.

A couple of
Iona’s male neighbors, those who were fully dressed, offered to help him set them up. Those who weren’t properly dressed for the cold had returned to their homes and back to bed already.

Patti Stirling and another of
Iona’s neighbors, with Carl and Doc’s approval, had taken her inside her own house, to make her a hot drink.

Do
c told Carl he thought Forrest had been struck a hard blow from behind. He added that the blood stained axe was undoubtedly the murder weapon. Rather than shivering in the cold waiting for the team from Burlington to arrive, Carl invited Doc to join him in his cruiser.

The trouble with their kind of community, apart from Carl’s, Almost’s, Doc’s and the local volunteer fire department’s immediate responses, all other services had to come from elsewhere. And if they wanted that kind of support, they had no option but to sit and wait for it. Even with the roads now clear,
Burlington was still a good forty miles away.

If the emergency made it necessary, and the weather allowed it, they would send a chopper over. But Forrest was dead; the crime scene had been destroyed by the damned fool rubberneckers, so there was no emergency.
From here on it was all routine. Carl could hardly believe he was thinking of multiple murders now as
routine!

Carl thanked his helpers and told everyone to go on home. There would be nothing more to see, or screw up, he thought to himself, around here tonight. The neighbors slowly drifted away as Carl and Doc climbed gratefully into the cruiser.

Neither of them could figure out why Forrest had been killed. Attacked maybe. Beaten up perhaps, for being in the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong guy’s wife, daughter or girlfriend. But why
kill
the guy? To silence him? Had he seen something he shouldn’t have seen? Had he been doing something
else
he shouldn’t have been doing? That was far more likely. Forrest was a bit of a local character, much as Errol Cook was, but for a completely different reason.

He was, or had been, a tall, dark haired, slim and very good l
ooking thirty year old, with the look novelists describe as ‘rangy’. Most of the eligible, and many of the not so eligible, ladies in the area would have spelled the word somewhat differently though.

‘Randy’ was a far better description of Forrest in their opinion, a man well known to spread his assets far and wide. There were several ladies, of various ages, who would rather not have their fathers, husbands or boyfriends find out about their dalliances with Forrest Appleyard.

But it was quite possible tonight one of them had. It was also possible this homicide and the one out on the highway were in some way connected. The head trauma to both victims was remarkably similar. Now Burlington had established the skeleton was Jack Finlay, Carl doubted there was any connection between them.

What in the world has come over this town, he thought, as he and Doc sat silently in the cruiser? This made the thi
rd homicide in as many days his little group of police had been involved in. And there was still Dolly Cook to wonder about as well.

Doc suddenly said, “I wonder why he was turned over, Carl?”

“What?” Carl said, startled out of his reverie.

“Forrest,” Doc said, “I wonder why his killer turned him over?”

“What makes you think he was turned over, Doc?” Carl asked him curiously.

“He was hit hard from behind, Carl; a left handed blow would be my guess. And a blow like that would have knocked him
forwards
, not backwards,” Doc said.

“I’ve been wondering much the same thing, now that you mention it. How come he was lying face up, with just his head under a bush? As you say, he should have been face
down
somewhere and even then it wouldn’t be under a bush, would it? He would have broken at least a branch or two in his fall surely and I didn’t see any, did you?”

Doc shook his head.

“You’re thinking what I’m thinking, aren’t you,” he said, “That he was killed somewhere else and was dragged over here, right?”

“Yeah, Doc, tha
t’s right, but don’t forget, right now, we believe Iona’s axe to be the murder weapon, so he couldn’t have been dragged too far, could he?”

“Here’s an idea, Carl. How about if the killer was dragging him out to a vehicle to move him someplace else?”

“Why didn’t he just keep on going then? Why leave him under a goddamned bush?” Carl asked.

“I think
Iona came home and interrupted him. My guess is he just dropped the body and ran. That may account for it being face up instead of down. It would also depend on how he was being dragged, of course.” Doc explained.

“Let’s just go and take us a look, Doc,” Carl said, opening the door of the cruiser. Doc got out of the passenger’s side to join him. They skirted around the crime scene area and out into
Iona’s back yard.

Carl shone his flashlight on the snow covered ground around the birdbath.

“Don’t need to go any further, Doc,” Carl said, “There’s what we’re looking for.”

Doc looked over at where Carl’s flashlight beam was illuminating a bright red patch in the snow. Several sets of footprints were visible and so was a large disturbed area beside the red patch. Leading away from it and towards where Forrest had been found was a clear set of tracks. There were also others indicating the arrival of both Forrest and the killer in
Iona’s back garden. It was also very obvious something had been dragged through the snow as well.

Carl nodded with satisfaction as the two men made their way back to the cruiser.

“Doc, if it doesn’t snow again in the next hour or so, we may have just caught ourselves a break here. Christ, Doc, but I’m glad at least one of us was thinking. Thanks, I owe you one.”

Old Doc Wayland was pleased with the compliment. “It’s a pleasure to be able to help, Carl. This has always been such a peaceful little place. I hate to think of things like this happening here.”

“Well,” Carl said, with the hint of a smile, “I’m thinking there are going to be a whole bunch of our local ladies who are going to be mightily upset, when the news of this gets out in the morning. I wonder how many of them will have the nerve to show up at his funeral?”

“And a whole lot of jealous husbands who will be just as mightily glad to see the back of him, remember,” Doc said seriously.

“That’s going to be the main basis of this investigation,” Carl said, “At least to start with, anyway. I’m just wondering why the axe was over here by the path and not where Forrest was actually killed. Why would the perp do that?”

“Maybe he had planned to take the axe with him as well,” Doc said. “Fingerprints, Carl.”

“Yeah, you’re right, but we’ve got a fat chance of getting any now. Christ, Doc, some of these people must have just been born stupid.”

“Don’t say that, Carl,” Doc protested, “
I’m personally responsible for probably half of them being here.”

As Carl started to laugh, Doc quickly added, also with a grin, “Dammit, Carl, you know what I mean. I
only
delivered
them!”

Still smiling, the two men lapsed into silence again and about twenty minutes later they heard the sirens of the ambulance and the
Burlington crime scene vehicle.

Carl shook his head as the vehicles slid to a stop ahead of his cruiser.

“I told them it wasn’t an emergency, but those idiots still come screaming in here, sirens blaring, waking up the whole neighborhood again.”  To confirm his words, lights came on, drapes were drawn back and faces peered out again from the surrounding windows.