HIGHWAY HOMICIDE (4 page)

Chapter Six

Carl was in a foul mood when he awoke the next morning and looked out of his bedroom window. It was still snowing heavily, thick, fat and wet flakes that had almost buried his cruiser. He didn’t have a garage at his little two bedroom bungalow and consequently he had to park it outside in all weathers.

When he had showered, shaved and was dressed in his uniform, he put in a call to Judy. She would have made it in to the station house, since she only lived a block or so away.

She picked up on the first ring.

“Morning, Carl,” she said cheerfully.

“What’s so good about it,” Carl growled irritably.

“Who said it was good? I just said it was morning,”

“Yeah, okay, sorry, Jude. Have you heard anything else from the
Burlington boys yet?”

“Only that it’
s pretty well impossible to get back to the crime scene from where they are. Roly said to tell you they won’t even be able to get a chopper in the air until all this lot eases up. Are you planning to come in here? Almost called to say he’s on his way but I’m not expecting him for a while yet.”

Still holding the phone, Carl looked out at his cruiser again.

“Yeah, Jude, I’ll be in as soon as I can clear some of this damned mess off of the cruiser. Should be there in about half an hour, max, okay?”

“I’ll have the coffee pot on. You wanna pick up some donuts or something on your way in. I didn’t have time to make myself breakfast today.”

“Will do, Jude,” he said. “See you soon.”

He clicked off the phone and slipped his parka and fur trimmed winter hat on. Then he picked up his gloves and keys and went out, locking the door after him.

As he brushed the snow off from the cruiser with a broom he kept beside the front door, he wondered what this new day would bring. Right now the perp had the advantage of the bad weather. But as Almost had pointed out last night, he too wouldn’t be able to get far in this weather either. So chances were he’d still be holed up somewhere locally. The weather had deteriorated even further after he’d dropped Lisa off last night.

This was a real doozi
e of a storm too; worst one he’d seen in years. Their tiny community just wasn’t equipped to handle anything like this. Any serious emergency services came to them from Burlington, Newport, Montpelier, the State capital, and even the closest one, the Copley Hospital in Morrisville, was still over ten miles away. There was just one medical doctor, one veterinary surgeon and one dentist in Cooper’s Corners. Anyone requiring serious medical or dental surgery would have to go into one of the bigger towns for it. The morgues, medical examiners and the State Troopers were there as well.

Apart from looking like the inspiration for TV’s Mayberry, Cooper’s Corner’s could be described as typical, picturesque rural
America. A friendly little community where everyone knew everyone else. Typically Vermont too, with its rolling hills, beautiful white painted churches, red barns and covered bridges.

And too damned cold
in the wintertime! But it wasn’t a community where one expected murders to be committed either and even this one may have been the result of people just passing through.

Carl and Almost’s main source of normal policing was to apprehend speeders out on the highway. Once, an out of towner had robbed the feed mill’s country store, but had been easily caught.

After hearing about the robbery, Wes Williams had noticed him, a stranger, putting his beer purchases into a feed mill canvas bag. It may have been perfectly innocent, but Wes alerted Judy anyway. The villain was apprehended by Carl no more than twenty minutes after committing his crime. In a community like Cooper’s Corners it pays to have everyone know everyone else. People they don’t know stand out like sore thumbs.

Everyone also knows Errol Scott too. For the last five of his sixty three years, Errol has been almost constantly as drunk as a s
kunk. Everyone also thought they’d known Errol’s wife, Dolly, pretty well too. But without as much as an ‘It’s been nice knowing you’ to Errol, she’d apparently taken off to California.

From her point of view, maybe it hadn’t been so nice knowing Errol after all. Either way, Errol had been totally sloshed almost every day since she had left.

To start with Errol was at least a nice enough drunk, though. He never got abusive or belligerent and when he’d had enough, he just went to sleep. Just about anywhere too. Either Carl or Almost would just bundle him into their cruiser and take him home to dry out.

They’
d never charge him either. In order for them to do that he’d have to be drunk
and
disorderly, or guilty of disturbing the peace. Errol never did either of those things. He was just a nice friendly guy who drank because he had gotten a bad break in his marriage.

Donna Willis, an older widow lady and a very good neighbor of Errol’s, tried very hard to mend his break for him. Both she, and Pam Tomaso, who had been in Lisa’s diner when the car thief was there, would both be quite happy to comfort him. But apparently the absent Dolly still seemed to have a strong attraction for him.

Occasionally, one or the other of the ladies would drive him out to the ‘Olde Tyme’ diner for breakfast. They tried to at least get a little food into him before he began his boozing in earnest.

Of the two of them, it was probably Donna who
cared for him the most. She’d go into his place two or three times a week to do his laundry and clean up his place. It was not that he or his home was dirty, just untidy.

Pam’s main contribution was to cash his monthly pension checks for him.
He’d worked in Barre’s huge granite quarries for years until an accident had badly damaged his right leg. He could still walk and work but he’d been pensioned off right afterwards anyway.

Pam would cas
h the checks and make sure his cupboards and refrigerator were well stocked with a month’s supply of food. If somebody hadn’t bothered, he’d have blown the whole month’s check on booze in the first week.

It’s hard to say if either of the ladies was actually romantically interested in Errol. They both just very felt sorry for him and just enjoyed mothering him. After all, it would be pretty hard for any woman to maintain a romantic interest if her intended partner was constantly falling down drunk, wouldn’t it? When they asked him
why
he drank so much, he’d just clam up and refuse to discuss it.

Like other communities everywhere, large or small, Cooper’s Corners had its fair share of teenagers. And an equally
fair share of the problems teenagers can generate for the adults. One of the most notable in recent years was the pregnancy of Bessie Conroy.

The pregnancy was never a secret and neither was the identity of the father. In fact, Jared Thoms
was very proud of the fact he’d fathered a child. The problem, as such, was both kids were barely sixteen when the baby was born. They were also both still in school.

Bessie’s mother and father, finding themselves now as grandparents, had opted to raise the child, a girl, until the kids were old enough to sort themselves out. A further problem arose when, just over a year later, they had themselves another one, a boy this time.

That one was taken care of by Jared’s widowed mother. However, without being specific, both kids were warned there would be dire personal
and
surgical consequences, if they ever even thought of doing it again.

The threat must have worked because they were now both twenty, with Jared gainfully employed by a bank in
Newport. Bessie stayed home in their apartment in Cooper’s Corners with the two kids. Next year they planned to get married and hopefully to each other, their respective families fervently prayed.

Apart from some of the younger school kids stealing candy and cigarettes from the corner store, there was very little other crime in and around Cooper’s Corners. When the kids were caught, Carl or Almost would put the fear of God and the penitentiary into them, and would then drive them home for their parents to deal with. Overall, Cooper’s Corners was a very law abiding community and it always had been.

Up until now, that is, but now Cooper’s Corners had itself a
murder
!

And also, completely unbeknownst to the little community, it now actually had
two
of them!

Chapter Seven

It was several weeks before the highway murder and Errol Cook was having one of his very rare and completely sober moments.

Donna Willis, his good neighbor and equally Good Samaritan, had called by to take him out to Lisa’s diner for breakfast. While she was waiting for him to have a shave, a shower and to dress himself decently, she tidied up his messy kitchen for him.

Although he was no longer allowed to drive, which was a concession to Carl for not arresting him for being drunk, he was quite happy to be driven around by pretty well anyone. On the days when either of the ladies came by to take him out, he always tried to be on his best behavior. T
here was always time enough to get plastered when he got home again, he reckoned.

Actually, completely sober, Errol could sometimes be quite a pleasant companion and could also be a surprisingly good conve
rsationalist at times too. He’d just made Donna and Lisa laugh, telling them about the time he’d cooked Thanksgiving dinner for his and Dolly’s families. It would have been fine too except he’d inadvertently put sugar into everything instead of salt, even in the turkey gravy.

While they were laughing, Errol excused himself politely and headed for the washroom. Neither of the women had noticed the tears streaming down his face. He went into the washroom and locked the door. Then he ran the water in the sink and rinsed his face. Pulling down a clean section of towel from the roller, he dabbed his face dry again with it.

Placing his hands, palms down, on the counter on either side of the sink, he leaned forward until his face was just a few inches from the washroom mirror.

“I’m really sorry, Dolly my love. I really am. I shouldn’t have done it. I know that now, but you shouldn’t hav
e told me you were running off like that either. Lots of people have asked me if I’ve heard from you, and what am I supposed to tell them, eh? What? You tell me, Dolly honey, you tell me. Maybe I wasn’t the best husband in the world to you, but I was a damned sight better than that bum you said you were running off with would ever be.”

Errol looked away and dabbed at his face again with the towel. It was talking about that damned Thanksgiving dinner that had done it to him, he thought. Those were the good times, the good old days. The days when he
’d loved Dolly and dammit, she’d loved him. He was sure of it.

Errol looked at the haggard, worn and bleary eyed image peering back at him from the mirror. His nose was red, swollen and blue veined and he looked like hell, even cleaned up. Drunks
do
look like hell though, don’t they, and most of them, like him, had some damned good reasons for getting drunk too, he thought.

As far as Errol was concerned, he had two of the best reasons in the whole world for drinking and drowning his sorrows. Reasons that came back to haunt him every day and even more at night,
reasons he could never tell anyone about.

And now, here it was, weeks later and someone had just told him about the murder of the woman out on the highway. Some wo
man from away from here, they’d said.

Errol shook his head but his mind was badly confused today. How could she be out on the highway, he asked himself? That just can’t be right. She wasn’t supposed to be out there at all, was she? She was supposed to be back at home in the garden.
That’s where he’d left her, wasn’t it?

He reached again for his bottle and took a couple of quick slugs from it. After
a while the thoughts he’d been having left him and didn’t come back as the liquor lulled him into his usual state of blissful oblivion.

Chapter Eight

The Big Blizzard, as it had now been dubbed, continued well into the second day, but by the time darkness fell again, it was down to just a few flurries. The winds had dropped too but there were still huge drifts everywhere, some of them many, many feet high. By noon, snow plows had been sent out from
Newport and Burlington to clear the highways.

Jack Tyler had made his way out to Lisa’s diner, bringing her into work. In exchange for a huge country breakfast, Jack had used his pickup with its snow blade
, to clear her parking lot for her. Another couple of inches fell during the afternoon but it wasn’t enough to cause a problem. Once Jack had cleared the bulk of it, the diner’s highway traffic would pack the rest of it down pretty well.

Now
the storm was over and the highways had been plowed and were open, people started to pull into the diner constantly. Over the years it had gained the reputation of being the best place for miles around for a highway break. About noon, Carl pulled in to the parking lot as well.

Several voices called out “Hi, Carl,” “Hi, Sheriff” or “Hi, Chief”, to him. He acknowledged their greetings with a wave, as he took a seat at the counter. This time, without asking, Lisa placed a mug of hot coffee and a bowl of her homemade soup down in front of him. It was his favorite, beef barley. Before he could say anything, she said, “On the house, Carl, payment for the ride home last night.”

Carl reached over and grabbed her hand.

“You know
you, of all people, don’t have to pay me for anything, least of all a ride, Lisa.”

“Okay, well, just
say I’m taking pity on a poor, weary,
bachelor
Keystone Kop then,” she laughed but she’d heavily emphasized the word ‘bachelor’. “Anything new about...?” She didn’t finish the sentence but inclined her head towards the highway instead.

“Nope and there won’t be either. Not from out there at least. Most of the crime scene stakes were drifted over, along with the tape. The
Burlington boys couldn’t have someone just sit out there until the storm ended either. To make matters worse, no one told the plow driver. He didn’t notice anything because it was still snowing and now the whole lot is buried under six feet or more of ice and slush.”

“Gee, I’m sorry, Carl,” Lisa said.

Carl grinned at her.

“You don’t need to be sorry, Lisa. You d
idn’t do it. It just means we’ll just have to come at it from a whole different angle that’s all. Even if there is one. It’s frustrating because we have to act so quickly with these things when they happen.”

Lisa thought it best not to mention that ‘these things’ had never happened in Carl’s jurisdiction before.

Instead, she reached out and put her hand over his.

“Don’t worry, Carl, that guy won’t get far, not with you on his tail. We’ve all got faith in you, haven’t we, folks.”

Her words were followed by several ‘Yeahs’ and nods of agreement from the locals who’d greeted him when he came in.

“I appreciate your confidence, but it would sure help a heap if I knew just where his tail was right now. But I’ve been all around without seeing a single sign of your Honda. I’m really sorry, Lisa.”

“Don’t worry about my dumb car, Carl, I’ll manage okay. Just you look after yourself. That guy might be dangerous or armed even, or both maybe. Just be careful that’s all.”

“Thanks, Lisa, and thanks too for the coffee and soup. You’d make someone a great wife one of these days, do you know that?”

“You proposing, Carl, making idle conversation or just looking for more free stuff?”

“Gee, Lisa honey, I’ll just have to think about that one for a while, won’t I? The wrong words right now could get me in a whole heap of trouble
couldn’t they?” he said with a grin.

Lisa smiled at him but said nothing. One of these days, Carl Berger, she thought, you might just get around to saying some of the right ones for a change.

“By the way, Lisa, did you put those dishes aside for me like I asked you to?” Carl said and then added, “The print guy should be out from Burlington soon.”

“They’re right there on the tray, Carl, just where I left them. But don’t forget I had to handle them too.”

“I’ll ask him to print you as well then, if that’s alright with you.”

“Sure, of course it is,” she said, “Am I a suspect too then?”

Carl gave her a long hard look.

“Well, you
were
seen consorting with a suspected felon,” he said, with mock severity.

“I was not
consorting
! I was just serving him breakfast, for God’s sake!” she cried.

“Maybe you should choose your friends and your felons a bit more carefully then, Lisa,” one of the locals called out.

“And if you keep that up, fella, I’ll be choosing my
customers
a lot more carefully too, believe me, so watch it!” she called back at him, as they all laughed.

Carl had the address of the victim, Maria Caspar, but there was no listing for her in the
Rutland phone book. He figured the best way to look into this lead was to just go on down there and see what came out of it. He called in to Judy and to Roly in Burlington to tell them both what he was doing and where he was heading.

Just down the highway from Cooper’s Corners, the man in the deserted house had just awakened. Directly opposite the chesterfield, daylight was now streaming in and really showing up how filthy the old house was. The blizzard had stopped now and had left huge drifts halfway up the windows. He’d wasted his time trying to erase his footprints last night, because nature had done it for him. He’d split and hurt his hands for nothing, he thought ruefully.

He got up stiffly from the chesterfield and dressed himself quickly. His clothes were all quite dry now, but the stove had burned itself out during the night. Just as well, he thought, although the room was already freezing cold again.

If anyone stopped or passed by out on the highway now, there would be nothing to indicate his presence in the old house. No smoke to see or smell anymore.

Later tonight, if he was still here, he would get the fire going again. With that thought in mind, he checked out the box of matches beside the stove
. The first one he struck lighted right away.

The man then went on into the kitchen. It had seemed bad enough in the dark but in the daylight it was disgusting. Dirty pots, dirty dishes and dried, dropped food caked on to everything and interspersed with mouse droppings.

Looking at the rusted, unlabelled food cans on the counter, he decided he was still not that hungry, not yet at least. Pulling out one of the remaining two kitchen chairs, he sat himself down at the table. It was time to start seriously thinking about how he was going to get himself out of this mess.

All he knew, apart from hi
s own personal details, was he was in an old deserted house along a secondary highway somewhere. He also knew he’d passed a place called Cooper’s Corners. It was a name he wasn’t familiar with and without a map or some other source of reference, he had no idea where it was, or where he was.

He’
d just been too smart for his own good. If he hadn’t been so scared and so intent on driving the old Honda into a field, he would still have had wheels. It was highly unlikely he’d ever be able to drive it out again now.

He rubbed a sore hand across his forehead and tried to think of what he could do. He already knew very well what he
couldn’t
do! He couldn’t go back out on to the highway and start hitch hiking. That was a certainty.

But, now
the blizzard had stopped, he knew he’d have to get away from here soon, and as far away as possible. As quickly as possible as well.

After pondering for a while, he got up and pushed the chair back from the table. He went back into the
parlor, picked up the drape he’d worn the previous night and wrapped it around himself over his clothes. He used the foot bindings to hold it in place.

Dressed as best as he could be for the weather outside, he went to the kitchen door and opened it. The snow was well over a foot deep in places and had drifted right up the wall of the house.

About forty feet away was another old wooden building with a sagging roof. A garage or equipment storage building perhaps, he thought. He trudged across the calf deep snow and pulled the double doors open.

Inside the building, right in front of him was an old Ford tractor. A
very
old Ford tractor! The man thought it had probably been manufactured in the early forties, 1942 or 43. He knew these old Fords had originally been painted cream and red. He’d seen pictures of them. But over the last sixty years or so, someone had repainted it red all over, a bright fire engine red. Although it looked as if it hadn’t been moved in years, the tires appeared to be sound. Along the wall beside were several gasoline cans and above them, on a hook, was a set of keys on a ring.

The man removed the cap from one of the cans and sniffed at it. Kerosene! Then he tried another. That one was gas but it was almost empty. Rather than struggling to open each one unnecessarily, he lifted the next one first. It appeared to be full or close to it.

He opened the cap of that one and sniffed at it. Gasoline and a full can of it. So far, so good, he thought. Next he clambered up on to the tractor’s metal seat. Trying each of the keys in turn, he finally found the one that fitted the tractor’s ignition.

So now he had the ignition key and gasoline but the tractor’s battery was completely flat and looked a bit corroded as well. But leaning up against the wall beside the cans was what he taken to be a tire iron at first glance.
              When he reached over the cans and pulled it out, he realized it was a hand cranking handle for the Ford.

He then took the full can of gas and tipped it carefully into the tractor
’s gas tank. I hope to hell it’s not a diesel engine, he thought as he climbed back into the seat. He put the gear box into neutral and pumped the accelerator pedal several times. Finally he turned the ignition key on.

He climbed back down again,
went around to the front of the tractor and thrust the cranking handle into its hole under the radiator.

Before he did anything else, he looked around the rest of the wall and on the workbench behind the tractor. He picked up an old and worn pair of leather work gloves from
the bench. They were stiff from the cold and disuse, but he managed to get his fingers into them. A minute or two later he was able to flex his fingers inside them.

He moved back to the front of the tractor, grasped the handle and pulled hard on it. The old Ford backfired like a shotgun blast but didn’t start. He gave the handle several more pulls without success. Then he climbed back up into the seat.

He had completely forgotten all about the damned choke! He pulled the choke knob out and pumped the gas a few more times. Quickly jumping down, he went to the front, grasped the cranking handle again and gave it another fast pull. The old engine gave reluctant ‘chug, chug’, and then stopped. He swung the cranking handle hard again and this time he got another ‘chug, chug’ and then the engine caught and started to run.

The man was jubilant until a few seconds later it stopped again. He stood in front of it, angry and bewildered, until the problem dawned on him.
              It was that damned choke again! He remembered now, that once the engine was running properly, the choke had to be pushed back in again or the carburetor would flood.

He scrambled back up onto the seat again, pushed the choke knob halfway in, pumped the gas a couple of times and jumped back down again. This time the engine caught at the first cranking.

He quickly clambered back up into the seat and very slowly eased the choke all the way back in. The tractor was noisy but was now running smoothly.

Leaving it idling to warm up, he got down again and looked around the rest of the old building’s walls. Hanging on hooks on the far side of the shed he found an old plaid hunting jacket, a big one. On the hook beside it was a well worn winter cap with fur trim and ear flaps. The man could hardly believe his luck.

He dropped his drapery covering as he slipped into the jacket and pulled the cap, with the flaps down, on to his head. As he was about to drive the tractor out, he had another thought.

Rough as it might look
the house’s kitchen had cans of food and an opener. There were matches, candles and the oil lamp as well. He would be stupid to leave all that behind. He may not get the chance again.

He n
oticed a bundle on the floor in the corner and picked it up. Someone had dropped an old khaki oilskin and a black sou’wester hat just where they had taken them off.

H
e threw the oilskin and hat into an old wooden crate, picked it up and jammed it under the tractor’s seat. Then he climbed up into the seat, put the tractor in gear and drove it slowly over to the kitchen door of the house.

Wearily, he eased himself down
again from the seat and made several trips into the house to retrieve his treasures. He stowed them in the box on the tractor, then he thought for a moment and dragged the oilskin and hat back out of the box again. He put them both on over the hunting jacket and cap. The result was that he looked bulky as hell, but a lot more like a local farmer now. It was as good a disguise as any.