52 Steps to Murder (13 page)

16

Stanley Silverman peered out his window. He watched as Lou and I led a posse of policemen up the street to Mrs. Nelson’s house. Jimmy Reynolds watched too, but from the safety of his front porch instead of the nearest tree.

Once inside, Lou gave me a look, as if to say,
If this thing works, don’t start twisting again. I like my job.
I returned the look, as if to tell Lou,
You have nothing to worry about
.

I led the parade to the pantry and was ecstatic when I twisted the olive jar and watched the back wall slide away.

“It’s all yours, boys,” I said as I turned to face my compatriots.

+++

Many people know Lou and I excel at eating, or grazing, as some call it. Fewer know that we have mastered the art of sitting. Neither of us has a wife to refine us, so each of us had to discover his own method. Most people think we learned from each other. Both of us have learned how to zero in on a chair, lumber over to it, plop down onto it, and sprawl out all over it. It is truly an art that no woman can understand.

On that occasion, even though we didn’t have long to sprawl, Lou and I plopped down in a couple of chairs that beckoned to us. We eagerly anticipated more success than we had at the previous house. Some time later, an expert approached us with his team’s findings.

“We’ve found a little evidence, Lieutenant, but not much. We discovered one set of footprints, which came from the closet in the old lady’s bedroom. Our guess is whoever made them went up the steps in the living room, but came down through the passageway. There were a few more sets just inside the pantry.”

I was puzzled.

“There were no footprints leading up to the bedroom through the passageway? And there weren’t any leading to or from any other room?”

“I’m sorry, sir. That’s all we found.”

“Well, can you tell anything about the tracks near the pantry?”

“That’s another strange thing. There are only a few of them, and all of them came from a size eleven pair of galoshes, but not all of them came from the pair you found in the pantry.”

“So we either have two people with size eleven feet, or one person with two pair of galoshes.”

“Not necessarily, Lieutenant. It could have been someone with smaller feet, or someone with slightly larger feet who removed their shoes.”

“Anything else, Sergeant?”

“Well, there’s one thing that bothers me. The cobwebs have been there for quite some time, but there’s some dirt that appears to be a recent addition. The thing is that I’ve sent men around the exterior of the house, and it doesn’t look like the dirt came from anywhere in this yard. Also, there’s no dirt in the house that matches the dirt in the passageway.”

“Can you tell if it matches the dirt we found at Mrs. Jarvis’s house?”

“Not yet. But it looks similar.”

“Is it possible that there are additional passageways you haven’t found, maybe even ones below the house? Maybe the dirt came from there.”

“Sure, that’s possible, Lieutenant.”

“Well, thanks, and be sure to thank your men. You can go now. Sgt. Murdock and I will lock up when we’re finished.”

+++

Lou and I sat in Mrs. Nelson’s house trying to figure out what we were missing. Surely, there was another clue waiting to be discovered.

“Lou, we have one woman murdered, another woman missing or murdered, and a passageway with dirt but no bodies in it. Any ideas?”

“Someone keeps leaving us clues, but how many of them have to do with this case and how many are red herrings?”

“It makes me think of something else, too. If our murderer’s only intent was to kill Mrs. Nelson, he or she could have easily used a pillow. She wouldn’t have been able to fight off someone. Also, depending on how good of a job he or she did, it’s possible that we might’ve thought that she’d merely died in her sleep. I still think that our murderer wants to play games with us.”

“I see what you mean, Cy.”

“Here’s what we know. Mrs. Nelson was given some pain medication and sleeping pills, and then, after they had taken effect, she was murdered. The lab agrees that the poison came from the glass on the floor beside her bed. We know that someone pushed a wheelchair in Mrs. Jarvis’s basement, probably with Mrs. Jarvis in it, but the wheelchair and the footprints disappeared just like the footprints in the passageway behind Mrs. Nelson’s pantry. No one tried to cover his or her tracks after Mrs. Nelson was murdered, so whoever did it didn’t mind us knowing that a murder had been committed. My guess is that two murders have been committed, because I believe that Mrs. Jarvis is dead. I also believe that there’s a tunnel of some type underneath this street. It’s just a matter of how to find it.”

Lou and I trudged up and down the steps inside the secret passageway for thirty more minutes, but our efforts revealed nothing. When neither of us came up with any new ideas, we both chalked it up to hunger, and headed to the Blue Moon Diner.

I checked my watch, and as hard as it was for me to prolong my eating quest, we stopped to talk to Mrs. Murphy on the way to eat. I knocked on the door of the small frame house. A woman with light gray hair pulled back and secured with bobby pins answered the door. Her smile went well with her rosy cheeks. I showed my identification and found out the woman was Mrs. Murphy. I told her I had a few questions for her.

“Of course, Lieutenant, but my feet ache. I’ve had a busy day today. Would you mind if we sat down and talked?” asked the woman with a voice that sounded like she had just arrived from Ireland.

We agreed and followed the woman with the puzzled look.

“Mrs. Murphy, I understand that you clean houses for a living.”

“Aye, that’s right. Surely someone hasn’t complained about my work.”

“Not that I know of,” I replied, and then laughed. “Of course, if they did, there wouldn’t be any cause for me to be here. I’m in the homicide division.”

“Oh, you must be here about poor Mrs. Nelson.”

“That’s right, Mrs. Murphy. I understand her house was one of the houses you cleaned regularly.”

“Aye, that’s right, Lieutenant. And I will miss her so.”

“When was the last time you saw her?”

“Friday morning, when I did my regular cleaning. I went up and visited with her a few minutes, then went right to work.”

“And do you also clean for Mrs. Jarvis?”

“Aye, that I do.”

“And did you see her on Friday, too?”

“Aye, of course, Lieutenant. Mrs. Jarvis never goes anywhere.”

“Was there anything different about last Friday?”

“Only that Mrs. Nelson was in bed. My daughter and I got to her house at nine. We cleaned. When my daughter is with me, not only do we clean, but we move the furniture and clean and sweep under it and behind it. We finished at Mrs. Nelson’s around 11:30, ate the lunch we brought, and then went to Mrs. Jarvis’s. Mrs. Nelson is always kind enough to let us eat our lunch at her house.”

“And how was Mrs. Jarvis on Friday?”

“Same as always. Has something happened to her, too?”

“I’m not sure. We can’t find her.”

“Can’t find Mrs. Jarvis? Why Mrs. Jarvis never goes anywhere. Maybe she just didn’t want to answer the door.”

“Maybe that’s it,” I answered, not wanting to reveal all that I knew.

“Have you ever been in Mrs. Jarvis’s basement?”

“Aye, of course, Lieutenant. I do Mrs. Jarvis’s laundry. The basement is where she keeps the washer and dryer.”

“And did you do Mrs. Jarvis’s laundry last Friday?”

“Aye, of course, Lieutenant. Don’t tell me someone’s stolen her laundry?”

I laughed.

“No, Mrs. Murphy. Was the basement light working last Friday?”

“Aye, of course, Lieutenant. At my age I wouldn’t be able to see in the basement in the dark.”

“One other thing, Mrs. Murphy. Where were you on Saturday morning?”

“I was at church all morning. A meeting. There were a lot of women there.”

I thanked Mrs. Murphy for her time, and Sgt. Murdock and I left to tackle some food at the Blue Moon Diner.

Rosie’s shift had ended, so Thelma waited on two detectives who acted as if we hadn’t eaten in days. Thelma, fairly new to the Blue Moon, had only waited on us a couple of times.

“I understand Rosie calls you two Dick Tracy Squared. Mind if I call you that, too?”

“Call us whatever you like as long as you call us when the food’s ready,” I replied.

“So what can I get you? Our specials are Salisbury steak smothered in onions, and beef stroganoff.”

“Sounds good to me,” I replied.

“Which one?”

“You mean I don’t get both?”

“I’d be glad to bring you both.”

“Naw, just bring me the Salisbury steak and bring him the beef stroganoff. That way I can have some of both.”

Lou was used to my habit of straying from my own plate. He didn’t care. What worked for one worked for the other.

In a few minutes Thelma plopped down two full plates and stood back as she watched the two of us eat off each other’s plates. It gave Thelma a chance to experience male bonding in one of its cruder forms. Lou and I figuratively licked our platters clean, but refrained from literally doing so. Thelma returned to find out our choice of dessert. She had been told not to ask us if we wanted desert, but what kind. Lou ordered a banana split. I couldn’t decide between lemon meringue and chocolate pie, so I opted for a piece of each. Lou chuckled as I twisted my tongue in every direction in order to lick sticky meringue from around my lips. I pointed out  the  small  circles  of  hot  fudge  syrup  that  adorned   the counter. I had no idea how it had missed my friend’s shirt on its way to the counter. After letting our desserts settle for a few minutes, Lou and I paid our checks. Thelma appeared at the register to take our money.

“The boss likes it when we get men in this place with appetites like yours.”

“Well, a man really needs to keep up his strength when he’s working on a case like we are,” I answered.

“Oh, and what case is that?” Thelma asked, as she tried to find out what we were involved in.

“One for the police department,” I answered.

Thelma smiled and gave us our change. Then, Lou and I went back to the counter and left a tip.

Tired from all the work we had done, Lou and I decided to rest until the next day, hoping that a good night’s sleep might supply us with new ideas.

17

On our way to Lou’s apartment, he and I discussed what we would do when we got home. Lou said he planned to lumber into his apartment, kick off his shoes, plop down, and lean back in his recliner while he decided what he would do until bedtime. For years, Lou had talked about reading some of the great classic novels. He learned about some organization that had compiled a list of what they considered the top one hundred novels of all time.

After we wrapped up our last case, on one of our slow days Lou had me drive him to our local bookstore, where he plucked a few titles from the shelves. 

I looked forward to hearing Lou’s book reviews almost as much as I did his messages from God. Lou began his conquest by reading a novel told from the point of view of one of literature’s most beloved characters, Scout, from
To Kill A Mockingbird.
Lou called it “a delightful book,” and voiced his disappointment that Harper Lee never wrote a second book. Lou said no one could make you feel for his or her characters like Lee could, and Lou embraced Scout, Tom Robinson, and Boo Radley, and if Lou had to go to court, he wanted Atticus Finch by his side.

+++

The bachelor sergeant always stayed up as late as he wished. Lou had lived by himself all of his adult life. He had no one to check with. His actions inconvenienced no one. Much like my life, Lou’s life revolved around his work. Other than when we worked or ate together, Lou spent most of his time by himself unless he and Thelma Lou were out on a date. Many people told him he should get a dog or a cat for company, but he didn’t feel the need for company, nor did he know how long a particular case would keep him away from home. Besides, he had no desire to go outside in a blinding snowstorm just because some dog wanted to go, nor did he want to change a smelly litter box. He didn’t want to move, either, which he would have to do if he owned a pet. His building didn’t allow pets. Goldfish excluded.

+++

I dropped Lou at his apartment, then thought about him all the way home. But once I reached my home turf, my thoughts turned to what I planned to do.

I smiled as I entered the house. Not only did I arrive a little earlier than the night before, but I felt we’d made a little headway in the case, though not as much as I would’ve liked. Besides, we’d enjoyed a good meal, and I didn’t need to open a can of anything in order to eat.

As I said before, for a while after my wife’s death, I made excuses to stay away from home. I buried myself in any case that came up and started eating all of my meals out. It helped that my partner and good friend had no one, either, so we started eating most meals together. Occasionally, each of us ate some type of pastry at home for breakfast, opened a can of something, or fixed a frozen dinner after we returned home from working on another case. However, neither of us did this unless a hunger emergency occurred unexpectedly. I like to eat with Lou. He never tries to tell me what is or isn’t good for me, because his appetite and waistline closely resemble mine. Betty McElroy doesn’t try to tell me how to eat, either, even though her waist bears no resemblance to mine. She isn’t a nag and is good company, so I enjoy eating out with her, too.

+++

I ambled over to my easy chair, picked up the remote. While there are many liabilities from living the single life, not having to share a remote control is one of the benefits. It felt good to leave the rigors of work behind, and I knew that Lucy, Ricky, Ethel, and Fred always made me feel even better. I was a tired cop that night, so I inserted a DVD, pushed the button on my remote, settled back. By the time I called it a night, I’d watched four episodes of
I Love Lucy
, including the pilot, where Lucy donned a costume and replaced a clown who got hurt rehearsing for an appearance in Ricky’s night club act. In addition to the pilot, which never aired on television until 1990, I watched the first three episodes of the show, all of which originally aired in October 1951. I laughed when Ethel taught Lucy how to play poker in two hours. Lucy, who wanted to become pals with Ricky, went to Fred and Ethel’s apartment and beat the guys at poker. As I stopped the DVD for the night, I remembered an episode I had seen on television where Lucy wore a yellow raincoat. Whenever Lucy tried to hide her identity, she was guilty of something. Did that mean whoever Stanley Silverman saw wearing a yellow raincoat was guilty of one murder and possibly two?