Murder in the Library (11 page)

We thanked Louie for his
help, allowed him to rejoin his family, something I wished I could have done
for the Colonel. After taking a few more minutes to recompose ourselves, we
remounted the stairs to the let the women know that the house was once again
theirs. Both thanked us for what we had done, even though we hadn't yet solved
the murder.

Since no one else was
home, we decided to wait until Monday to show our pictures around town and
hopefully identify the Colonel's murderer. Lou and I told Martha we were
beginning to get somewhere, hugged the two women goodbye, then left for my
house to go over what clues we had and make plans for Monday. We had made
progress. We had pictures of the murder being committed. But somehow I felt
that we still had a ways to go. I had little confidence that anyone would be
able to identify the person in the photograph.

We knew a little more as
we drove to my house. The murderer was either the hippie from the woods, Daniel
Terloff, or someone wearing a disguise. My guess was the disguise. The other
would turn the case that had been difficult to solve into one that ends
swiftly. Well, as swiftly as we could bring it to a conclusion, having no idea
what woods Terloff was in.

When we arrived at my
house, my next-door neighbor wasn’t within strangling distance, so we hurried
inside, eager to get to work. At least we had no more puzzles to solve. At last
it was down to business as usual.

I laid some candy on the
table, Lou tossed down a couple of bags of M&Ms. The way we did it, it
looked like the card game was about to begin, and both of us were about to ante
up.

“Okay, Lou, let’s look
at what we have. We now know who was murdered and how. We have no idea why,
because each suspect had a different why. Anything you care to say before we begin?”

“I’ll let you lead, Cy.”

“Okay, let’s start with
the easy part. Our murderer is either someone who looks like the man in the
picture, or someone in disguise. If it’s the first, I’d cast a vote for Daniel
Terloff, the guy who’s now living in the woods. We need to check with Sam on
Monday, find the name of someone who knows Terloff, and see if Terloff looks
like our unkempt man.”

“Of course, Cy, there is
the remote possibility that someone who knew the Colonel way back when could
have grown long hair and a beard.”

“That's true, Lou, but,
if so, more than likely it is someone we don't have on our list. The Colonel
mentioned only three people that he'd had a problem with, and one of those is
dead. Besides, I doubt if Carla Bauerman could've grown a beard. The other
suspect is still here in town, and I doubt if he's altered his appearance. I'm
inclined to think that the murderer is someone in disguise. If that's true,
then the most obvious person is Carl Bauerman, the bereaved father of Carla,
who left his teaching job, hightailed it to New York City, started an acting
career, stayed there a while until he uprooted himself and headed to California. The problem is that while he has moved around in California, we have no
evidence that he’s been in our area, or even left that state.”

“Nor, Cy, do we have any
evidence that Terloff has been here? And another thing, why would Bauerman need
a disguise? No one here knows him, and I think we’ve done well to include him
as a suspect. As far as we know, even the Colonel never met him. We never heard
anything about him threatening the Colonel. Just that his daughter and wife
died near the same time, and he became distraught and left the state to start a
new life. Remember, we’ve gone back a ways to find these people.  I doubt if
any of them would think he’d be recognized if he showed up looking like
himself. The people I think would need a disguise are the ones someone would
recognize, because they are in and out of that house on a regular basis or at
least live somewhere in Hilldale.”

“That’s what I like
about you, Lou. You’re always complicating our job. Besides, if we wait a
while, if things go like they usually do, we’ll have a couple more suspects
come Monday.”

“So, what do we do now?”

“Well, Sam is looking
into the suspects who don’t live in Hilldale. We’ve got the ones who do. I want
to leave the family alone for the time being and look elsewhere. While I plan
to leave them alone, I want to stop by tomorrow after church and show this
picture to everyone who lives in the Colonel’s house and to the other people on
the street. I want to see if the next-door neighbor, Downey, thinks this is the
man he saw enter the Colonel’s house. My guess is they are one and the same,
but I want to know what he has to say. Also, I want to show the picture to the
other neighbors, see if any of them have seen this guy on the street. If that
doesn’t do us any good, we’ll check the street behind the Colonel’s house.
Could be that our murderer cut through the back yard and down the driveway to
keep from being seen. It sounds logical. Remember, Mark Blakeman, the student
who saw someone when he was delivering pizza, said that the guy came from
around the side of the house. Besides, most murderers don’t park in front of
the house or in the driveway of the place where they plan to commit murder at
least not on a street like this, and in the daytime. And not if the murder was
premeditated, and I believe this one was. Let's see if anyone recognizes the
guy, or at least if anyone has seen him before. To save time, I’ll take one
side of the street and give you the other. We’ll each take a copy of the
picture and have at it. It’ll make for a long, tiring afternoon, but more
people are home on Sunday than any other day.”

“And after that?”

“Well, provided neither
of us knock on a door and the woman who answers says, 'Where did you get such a
good picture of my son?' we'll sleep on it until Monday morning. Then, I’ll
call Sam to see if he has anything else on any of our out-of-town birds, then,
after breakfast, we’ll visit A-1 Plumbing and Dunleavy Pest Control, see if
anyone recognizes the man in the picture. If Robert Collins is there when we
visit A-1, we’ll talk to him. I’ll check with Sam to see where Tom Johnson, the
pest control technician, lived. We’ll talk to some of his neighbors, show them
the picture, and see if they  recognize it. I don’t know how much we can get
done in one day, so we’ll play it by ear. We also have Michael Belding to see.
I want to make him nervous, so we’ll show up at the high school at the end of
the school day. We know he had it in for the Colonel, so I won’t spare him
anything. I just won’t do anything that’ll get us in trouble. That leaves us
Blakeman, Earl and Myra Hoskins, and the Colonel’s friend, Joe Guilfoyle. We'll
see Blakeman right after class, and save the Hoskins until they get off work
for the day.”

“It sounds like we’ve
got a busy several days ahead of us, Cy. We’ll need plenty of candy.”

“I’d think so, unless
our murderer comes to us and confesses. Of course, we might pick up something
when we start showing the picture to our suspects and might find someone who
knows the murderer. Maybe someone will give himself or herself away when they
see we have a picture of them committing the murder. Maybe someone will try to
divert suspicion to someone else by saying that the picture looks like it could
be so-and-so in disguise.”

“So, what do you plan
for us the rest of today?”

“Rest and relaxation, my
friend. How would you like to call up the girls, see if they want to accompany
us to The Feed Bucket tonight?”

“Sounds good to me.”

“The girls don’t mind if
we stack three plates high with food for every dainty one they half clean.” 

After I said that, I
wondered if Lou would have one of the dainty, half-clean plates.

+++

Our dinner invitation,
late in coming, was accepted, and I took Lou home to relax, to get his mind off
the case for a while. I returned undetected by my neighbor, plopped down in my
recliner, eager to finish reading
The Alpine Advocate
. After a brief
nap, I picked up where I’d left off. The town of Alpine interested me, tucked
away in the mountains of Washington state. Daheim’s book, the first in a series
that travels through most of the alphabet, much like Sue Grafton’s does,
introduced me to the characters of a small town, and a murder that took place
there. The protagonist is a woman who owns the small-town newspaper. If offered
a choice, I’d choose Carolyn Hart’s
Death On
Demand protagonist, who
owns a bookstore devoted exclusively to mysteries. Still, if the book held up,
as I figured it would, Alpine was a town I wanted to revisit. I just wouldn’t
want the rigors of putting out a newspaper.

+++

At 6:30, right on schedule, Lou pulled up in front of my house in his 1957 red Chevy. While he never
admitted doing so, Lou either polished it or had someone do it, because the car
shined anytime I cast my eyes upon it. Even the white interior gleamed in the
light. By 7:00, we’d picked up the girls and were on our way to The Feed
Bucket.

+++

Each time we double-date,
we drop Betty off first afterward. Each time, I walk her to the door, we tell
each other we enjoyed the evening, and then give each other a slight embrace.
Lou, on the other hand, would get a peck on the lips before he returned to the
car. While he did so, I’d slip out of the back seat of the car and open the
passenger’s side front door, while pretending I wasn’t watching the romance on
the front porch. While I felt good for Lou that he had someone, each time I saw
him and Thelma Lou hug or kiss, I couldn’t help but think what could’ve been if
my Eunice had lived as long as I.

+++

I was quiet that night
as Lou drove me home. If he’d have asked, I would’ve lied and told him I was
thinking about the case.

When I got home, I was
grateful I had a few more pages to read in Daheim’s book. It would keep my mind
off Eunice.

I always sleep a little
later on Sundays. I am able to do that and still get to church on time for an
ample supply of donuts, and for Lou and me to deposit ourselves in our
customary seats on the back row of the church. I’d found out a long time ago
that our pastor was loud enough that he could be heard on the back row. And
both Lou and I attend church to receive God’s message through the sermon. We
don’t go to be seen, or to drum up business. In our line of work, church isn’t
the best place to drum up new business, and neither Lou nor I are eager to
acquire any more business.

On that Sunday, six days
after the Colonel was murdered, I listened as our pastor talked about Zacchaeus.
The scripture that Sunday was short, just ten verses from Luke, but our
pastor’s message was powerful. I almost wished my next-door neighbor was there,
on the other side of the church, to hear it, too. Almost. I still had some
growing to do. It was hard for me to love my neighbor, and whoever it turned
out murdered my friend.

+++

I wasn’t used to working
on Sunday. Lou and I did it when necessary, but we didn’t make a habit of it.
Because Sunday work was unusual for us, both Lou and I’d forgotten God’s
message for us that day. I mean the message that had to do with the case. 
Actually, Lou hadn’t forgotten it.  He’d merely failed to tell me, but then we
never discuss business until after we leave church. We do our best to focus on
the church service up until then.

We were about to step
into The Rocking Horse Café when Lou remembered he hadn’t shared that day’s
message with me. Even though no one else was around, he grabbed me by the
sleeve and pulled me aside.

“What’s the matter, Lou?
See someone you know? Or did you suddenly decide you want to eat somewhere
else?”

“Maybe I decided that
only one of us knows today’s message.”

“Oh!” I exclaimed.
“Shoot.”

“It is impossible to see
what you have not seen.”

“Really? Care to
explain? Does this mean that we are to forget about the long-haired man in the
picture? Or that neither the next-door neighbor nor the pizza delivery guy
actually saw anyone enter the house?”

I looked at Lou. He
stood with his hands on his hips, and the look on his face wondered if I’d ever
learn that he never knows what the clue means. At least not at the time he
receives it.

I stepped around my
partner and opened the door to the Rocking Horse. I perused the menu then
reflected on the clue of the day while I waited for my food. Suddenly, the
clues were getting as difficult as the ones in the puzzle. Had God decided that
Lou and I were ready for tougher problems? If so, I begged to differ.

+++

Neither Lou nor I saw
any reason to canvass the entire street. We weren’t running for election. Not
every vote counted. I doubted if anyone at the far end of the street would’ve
seen the long-haired man with the beard. In a way I felt like Richard Kimble,
but then I wasn’t being accused of the Colonel’s murder. I merely wanted to
find our murderer, even if he or she was bald.  We would check the few houses
around the Colonel’s house and do the same on the street behind, provided we
hadn’t solved the case by then.

We found everyone at
home at the Colonel’s house. Lou and I had already worked out a plan where I
would show the picture and he would study the face of the person looking at it,
to see if we got a reaction that wasn’t verbalized. Also, as best we could, we
would look from picture to person to see if we could see a resemblance. That
would take some doing if the person who held the picture was a woman.

Each member of the
household studied the picture. Some even covered the beard and the hair, hoping
to come up with a suspect. Jennifer seemed startled when she looked at the
picture, but I couldn’t tell if she recognized the person or not. She handed
the picture back to me, and I handed it to Scott. I wondered if she was
startled because she thought it was her husband, but then they were supposed to
have been together on the afternoon of the murder. I compared the eyes, but
even eyes can be made to look different. I could see no resemblance between
Scott and the long-haired man with the beard, but then I had problems figuring
out all those “firsts” in the second word of our puzzle.

Ten minutes later we
left the house no more informed than when we entered it. I hoped that our visit
with the next-door neighbor would be better.

+++

We shuffled up the walk,
hoping that Bob Downey was at home. As far as we knew, he was the only neighbor
who saw someone enter the Colonel’s house. Not wanting to alert the entire
neighborhood that we were on the prowl, I dispensed of slamming down the brass
knocker, and used a pudgy finger to ring the doorbell. Luck was with us.

Downey
opened the door, and
looked at us like he was having trouble placing us.

“Oh, you’re the one in
charge of the investigation, aren’t you?”

“Very perceptive, Mr.
Downey. You have a mind for faces, which is why we are here.”

“Would you like to come
in?”

“No, this is fine.”

I handed Downey one of the pictures.

“Is this the man you saw
enter the house next door?”

“So, you caught him.
Where did you find him?”

“Just answer the
question please.”

“Well, I can’t say for
sure. I got only a quick glimpse from a distance, but if I were in a court of
law I’d say the preponderance of the evidence says ‘yes.’”

“Wow! That’s a big word,
Mr. Downey. What kind of work did you say you do?”

“Nothing now. For most
of my life, and I do mean most of my life, I was an over the road truck driver.
My momma died when I was eleven. My daddy took me on the road with him and
Uncle Jonas. They took turns driving, and teaching me the things I missed by
not being in school. Kind of like the reverse of home schooling. Then, when I
was sixteen, they taught me how to drive a rig. I continued to do that until I
decided to settle down here a little over two years ago.”

“And what caused you to
choose Hilldale as a place to live?”

“I never had a place to
call home. Daddy, Uncle Jonas, and me, we kept driving, traveling all over the
country. Daddy taught me how to save my money, and I decided that whenever I
got tired of trucking, I’d find me a place and settle down. I was just outside
of Hilldale when I got tired. I always thought that one place was as good as
another, so it didn’t matter where I settled.”

“So, you never married?”

“Nope. I’ve got me some
lady friends around the country, but I never married. I was married to my
truck. Well, at least until I decided to quit.”

“So, where’s your truck
now?”

“Some guy offered to buy
it right after I settled down. It was a new rig. Cost almost half as much as
this house. Well, not quite half, but it cost a bundle.”

“And what happened to
your dad and uncle?”

“Both died. Three years
apart. Cremated both of them, as per their wishes. Put them in a container,
tied it on my rig, and let them blow off into the wind as I drove down the
highway.”

“Seems like there aren’t
a lot of people who know you.”

“Oh, a lot have gotten
to know me over the years. Just haven’t seen many people for too long at a time.”

“Well, we’re gathering
the background on everyone who knew the Colonel. Care to tell me some people we
can check with?”

“The Colonel?”

“The man next door who
died.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize he
was a Colonel. I didn’t really know him. Saw him a few times out in the yard
and we waved back and forth. That’s all. I was never in his house. He was never
in mine. You know how it is with neighbors these days.”

“Still, mind giving me a
few names?”

“Not at all, but
everyone I hauled for is dead except for Art Pickens, and he’s retired. Lives
in Billings. That’s in Montana. Then there’s those lady friends I told you
about. I’d call when I was in the neighborhood. Had one in Santa Fe, one just
outside New Orleans, and one in Omaha. Will that do?”

I indicated that those names
would do fine. He wrote down the four names, addresses, and phone numbers. I
planned to have Sam check them to see if everything checked out.

“You planning on being
around, Mr. Downey?”

“I never did plan much
of anything other than work. Now that I’m retired if I’ve a hankering to go
somewhere, I just pick up and go, come back when I feel like it. As I said, my
daddy taught me well. I never needed money for much of anything, so I’m pretty
well set for my retirement years.”

“No chance of you up and
moving is there.”

“No. Nothing like that.
If I go anywhere, it’d just be for a week or two. I’m still enjoying this nice
little town.”

“So, you think this is
the guy you saw going in the house next door?”

“Well, like I said, I
can’t say for sure, but as far as I can tell the hair is the right color and
length, and the beard looks about the same. It wasn’t like he stood there and
posed for me.”

“And have you ever seen
anyone who looks like this anywhere here in town either before or after that
day he went in the house?”

“Can’t say that I have.
For two reasons. I don’t see a lot of people, and most of the people I’ve seen
around here don’t have long hair and beards. There are a lot more beards up
north, particularly in the winter.”

“And how long did you
say you were a trucker?”

“I’m forty-four now.
Forty-two when I quit. I was eleven when Momma died and Daddy took me on the
road with him. Sixteen when he and Uncle Jonas taught me to drive a rig on
weekends. Eighteen when they let me start sharing a little of the drive with
them. See, truckers are only supposed to drive so much each week, and with
three of us driving we could spend more time on the road.”

“Well, thank you for
your time, Mr. Downey. If you see this man again, be sure and let us know. Just
call the department.”

“I’ll do that, but if
he’s done something bad, I’d say he’s hightailed it out of town by now. Maybe
all the way to Mexico.”

“You could be right.
Well, thanks for your time.”

+++

Lou and I shuffled back
to Lightning, got in, and discussed what we’d learned at the two houses, which
wasn’t much. After a candy break, we resumed our visit with the Colonel’s
neighbors.  No one else on the Colonel’s  street had seen the long-haired man.
We drove away to the street behind the Colonel’s house, and began again.

+++

“I’m Lt. Dekker with the
Hilldale Police Department. I was wondering if you’ve seen this man.”

The elderly gentleman
took the picture, studied it for a minute, and then handed it back.

“I think so.”

Having received a “no”
at every other house, my brain, which was on auto-pilot, almost caused me to turn
to leave. It was then that I realized the man’s answer.

“And when was that?”

“Let me see. It was the
day I went to the doctor. I was coming home, pulled in the drive, and almost
hit this guy running through. He stopped, stunned that I was there, so I got a
good look at him. I’m pretty sure it’s the same guy.”

“And can you tell me
what day it was?”

“Yeah, let me check. I
only went to the doctor once that week, so it was Tuesday, a couple of weeks ago.”

“Are you sure it
couldn’t have been last Monday?”

“No, it wasn’t then. My
wife and I went to our daughter’s for the weekend. Didn’t get back until almost
dark Monday night. No, I’m sure it was on a Tuesday.”

“Do you remember what
time of day it was?”

“I'd say a little before
11:00. Maybe closer to 10:30. I always schedule my doctor's appointments early
in the day, so that I don't have a bunch of people ahead of me. I was Dr.
Wheeler's second patient that day, so I'd say I got home somewhere around 10:30,
give or take a few minutes.”

“What did the man do
when he saw you?”

“Well, he just stood
there a minute, stunned, like I said. Then he took off running down the street.
By the time I got out of the car and walked back to see where he went, he was
gone.

“I never saw him before,
and I’ve never seen him since. Sorry, I can’t be of more help, Lieutenant.”

I took down the man’s
name, phone number. Dick Morrissey. I doubted if I’d need him again, unless we
collared the long-haired man.

I thanked Mr. Morrissey
for his time, turned and finished our canvass. Because one person on the street
had seen the man, we continued our canvass down the street in the direction
Morrissey had indicated. But no one else had seen our long-haired man.