The East Avenue Murders (The Maude Rogers Crime Novels Book 1) (24 page)

“Yeah.
Makes me look cool,” he said.

“What made you hole up there on
East Avenue. Didn’t you notice anything smelling bad?” Maude asked. She wanted him to volunteer what he had seen and heard, but she had to get him started.

“
Yeah, you know, I’m homeless. Some of the rooms in that old building were empty sometimes. I had to climb in and out the crawl space so no one would see me, but it wasn’t that bad. I ain’t got much meat on me, and I could hide in there when it wasn’t so hot outside. When it got to smelling bad later on, I went out on the roof.” Boy was talking fast, trying to make points with the detective.

“What did you see?” Maude asked. “Don’t lie to me.”

The drug dealer was quiet for a minute and Maude could tell he didn’t want to answer. Finally he took a shaky breath and started talking again. “All I wanted was a place to get high, to sleep. But I saw
him. I saw the Devil.
He scared me so bad I pissed my pants.”

“Da
ng it Boy, I don’t have all day, WHAT DID YOU SEE?” she yelled. Maude knew the terror that the man was feeling; she had glimpsed the evil in Dawson that night in her rent house.

“I saw him drag
two girls into those rooms. It was night and I was sitting on the top of the stairs, trying to get cool. I saw the door open downstairs and the Devil walked in. He had on a long black raincoat and a baseball cap, but I knew. I knew he was bad because it wasn’t raining. He propped the door open real quiet like and pulled the first girl in but she didn’t want to come. He had her gagged even though she was high on something. I could tell when her head kind of fell to her shoulders. The
Devil
looked around and I crawled away from the stoop, while I could, and hid in the room down at the end of the hall. It was empty and I had been sleeping there. I left the door cracked open and watched what he did. That girl sounded like my dog used to when he howled and I could hear her even though he had her mouth covered. He hit her then, I guess to shut her up.”

“Ke
ep going Boy, you’re doing fine,” Maude reassured him.

“The
Devil
carried her to the room and closed the door, then he started laughing and singing real loud. The girl was still moaning, but every now and then she would get a scream out.”

“Did anyone else see that happen, Boy?” Maude asked,

“Sure. There were two people on the second floor saw it. They left though. Ran out of the building. I would have too, but I knew if I did, he would hear me. The
Devil
can hear your heartbeat!”

“You know Almondera,
lived in 507 of that building?” Maude asked, hoping to get a connection to the fugitive.

“Sure
, but he left. Told me he was going to Mexico and I could stay in his room. I never saw him again.” Boy was eager now to please Maude.

“When did you see Almondera?” The pieces of the puzzle were coming together with Boy’s revelations. Maude was
already thinking of her next question.

“He left about three days before the
Devil
got there with the girl. Probably why he took her to Frank’s room.” Boy Parker was scared. His hands were shaking badly and his voice quavered.

“You had a conversation with Almondera?” She asked him.

“Yeah, I gave him some blow because I owed him. Frank said he was leaving on the bus that night. Asked me to go along, but I was broke and besides, my mama lives here.”

“What happened next with the man and the girl?” Maude asked, taking him back to that night.

“Well, I was lying on the floor, praying he wouldn’t see me, knowing that the
Devil
can see everywhere. I heard the door opening out of Frank’s apartment and I heard steps. That’s when I pissed my pants. I knew he could smell it. He walked to the stairs and then he stopped. I was praying he would just go on and leave me alone. In a minute I heard him coming up the stairs again. I was glad I had stayed still. Later, when I knew he was gone, I climbed up in the tunnel and hid until I felt safe to get out of the building.”

“But you went back, Boy. What made you go back?” Maude was pretty sure that Danny Boy Parker was not afraid of many things. He
was streetwise and knew how to get around. She had heard he came to Madison from Houston, hoping to make the big score selling crack cocaine but he had a habit himself and used up his store’s supply, pissing off his suppliers.

“I was hoping the
Devil
was gone so I waited for two days, but I had left my stash there in the tunnel when I got in a hurry to leave. I went back and at first, I didn’t hear anything so I thought he was gone. But I was wrong. The noise was going on in 507 and that room across the hall.”

“Apartment 509, is that the one you mean?” she clarified.

“Yeah. That one.” Boy shuddered at the memory of the violence.

“
There was a lot of crying and I could tell the girls were trying to talk but it sounded like they had gags on their mouths. For one whole day I stayed in that hot tunnel, not leaving. I could hear him talking to them. Sometimes he would cry then he would start laughing real high. It was too spooky. I stayed there till I felt safe enough to leave the building. I went to the soup kitchen meaning to sneak back later. I used to see that girl there sometimes.” Boy seemed drained, as though he had been going through all of it again.

“Which girl?”

“The one he brought in first. Maria was her name.”

“Did you see the other girl that night
?”

“Yeah. He brought her in like a sack of dog food. Over his shoulder.”

“When was that?”

“Right after he locked up the first one. When I heard him on the stairs he carried her into that other room, but he was kind of quiet. I didn’t hear the girl either.”

“When did you go back the last time?” Maude quietly asked.

“The day you were there I
was sleeping in one of the empty rooms. When you came up the stairs, I hid out then I hit you. I’m real sorry, but I kept my stuff in the tunnel and I needed to get it so I could make a few bucks. Your partner got to my blow before I did and I kind of went crazy and sliced his head a little, even thought about dumping him off the roof. A couple of days later they found me at the Kitchen and brought me here. I dream about him-the
Devil
,” Parker sighed as he thought about what he had said. “I guess I’m in real trouble this time.”

“Fraid so, Boy. But I will need you to identify the man you saw. I have a picture.
If you help me, I’ll help you. Here’s five different shots. Is the man you saw that night, carrying those girls one of these?”

Boy sat still for a minute, a look of terror on his face. “That’s him.” He said, pointing to the younger Robert Dawson. “That’s the
Devil
.”

“You’re sure?” She asked him.

“If you ever see the
Devil
you don’t forget his face,” Boy whispered, a shiver taking him down a lonely road.

Maude saw no reason to continue questioning him and left the jail. Boy Parker’s life had undergone a series of changes, none of them good.

Maude went home and washed a load of laundry, knowing she needed
to grab her suitcase for the trip to Phoenix. Mundane duties kept her mind off Mary Ellen and the tragedy of her murder and mutilation. The loss of the young woman had left a big hole in the private world of Maude Rogers, but it didn’t pay to cry for her losses. It was tough thinking about the times that sweet girl had shown up on Maude’s doorstep asking for advice. And Chris Cole, another innocent, whose crime had been that he cared for Mary Ellen and by luck of circumstance got in the way of the crazed madman. God alone knew the suffering of that young man before he died; one more reason in a list of others to find Dawson and put him away.

The trip to the airport was tense, both detectives aware of the capabilities of the man they hunted. A more devious and intelligent criminal Maude had yet to come across. Robert Dawson had gone from being an abused child to a killer. He was dangerous and she was concerned for her partner, a young man who had not yet lived a full life. Joe’s instincts were good, his training was up to date and so far Maude had a healthy respect for his abilities. But could he fire a weapon and kill another human being? She hoped he could for the time might come when his response would determine whether he lived
, or the perp lived. Life as a cop was really that simple. Sometimes it was kill or be killed.

The last minute booking of the flight had Maude and Joe sitting on opposite sides of the plane
with no way to talk. She hadn’t forgotten about her partner’s fear of heights and airplane travel, but there was no way to help him cope from across the aisle three seats down.

She knew her best contribution at that minute was to
plan how they would capture Robert Dawson. She had the address, 313 Maple Street, Phoenix, Arizona. Some part of her wondered whether the lawyer back in Stillwater was too helpful, maybe he lied to her. Maude remembered, the lawyer told her the address but never let her see the file. Her gut started roiling, the classic response to anxiety since she was a kid. Back when her old man would open the door to her bedroom in the late night hours, and Maude would lie there with her belly hurting, the pain was a precursor to the diarrhea that beset her after the old man had shot his wad and left her alone.

A check on the internet and through local and state agencies had confirmed that Robert Dawson was the owner of
a house at 313 Maple Street in Phoenix, Arizona. The location was in a very nice neighborhood, near shopping and bus lines. When Maude and Joe’s flight was over and they had rented a car from one of the agencies that gave cops a good deal, they bought a local map for getting around the city.

The brown rental had a GPS unit but Maude liked the old fashioned printed map for seeing what else was aroun
d the area. The house on Maple Street was in a sheltered area near the subdivision park and backed up to a green belt. An elementary school was two streets across and one over from the address they were seeking. Those details didn’t come up on the GPS in the vehicle. Maude was puzzled about the location of the house close to a school. It hadn’t occurred to her before that Dawson might have kids of his own. That could prove an even uglier ending to a sordid story.

A large greened out tree made a perfect spot for observing the Dawson house, the two detectives could come and go from the auto and still see the front door of the residence. They had been parked for two hours with nothing going on except it was getting hotter by the minute. Maude had smoked a quarter of a pack of her filtered cigarettes purchased at a local convenience store. Her regular brand of unfiltered smokes w
as not part of the store’s offering, much to Maude’s displeasure.

She sat and smoked outside the car, the edict from the rental agency was ‘no smoking’ inside.
Lately she had been thinking about the selfishness of exposing Joe to secondhand smoke; her new resolve was to keep the county car smoke-free so her partner wasn’t part of her bad habit. Fortunately for the rental agency, Maude had already put her new stringent rule in place before she picked up the vehicle.

At three-thirty in the afternoon
, the first activity at 313 began with a school-age boy opening the front door and entering the residence, followed by a tall woman with blonde hair and sensible low-heeled shoes. The car she drove was last years red sports model convertible coupe with room enough for herself and one other. The shoes belied the woman’s affinity for the stylish car; perhaps it belonged to her husband.

Maude whispered to Joe, “Suppose that’s his wife?”

“Don’t know. She looks good,” he replied, adding, “I like blondes. That’s why I’m in love with you, Maude.”

“Maybe he’s not far behind. I’d sure like to get this over with,” she said, ignoring the teasing.
”My butt starts hurting when I have to sit too long.”

“Not much meat there,” Joe said with a sidelong glance.

“There’s enough,” she growled.

“Look Maude! There’s
another car. Maybe it’s Dawson,” Joe said, moving to a better position to watch the house.

Both detectives tensed, wondering if this was it, the end to a long hunt for the criminal Robert Dawson, the
Heartless Killer.
Maude felt her pulse increase, the adrenalin beginning to surge. She hoped that Dawson was in the car.

When the door to SUV opened, a tall man got out of the vehicle, his salt and pepper hair long at the collar. A handsome
man as far as Maude could tell, but not Robert Dawson.

“That’s not him. Maybe a boyfriend? Joe, I guess we wait some more. Can
you see anything through the glasses?” Maude asked hopefully, watching him position the binoculars.

“Nah, nothing. Drapes buttoned tight. Blinds pulled. West side of the house, blo
cking the sun,” he said, matter-of-factly.

At six o’clock
they grew skeptical. “He isn’t coming,” they both said simultaneously.

“Joe, see if you can get around behind the sedan and get a plate number, then call it in. We might find out who’s driving it.” Maude said with the field glasses in her hand, trying to see anything going on at the house.

“Let’s go, Joe. I’m going to the house. I didn’t come this far to sit in the dark as mosquito bait. You going?,” she asked, legs in motion, headed across the space between them and the house.

“You bet
I’m going. I’ll get the plates when we get there,” Joe answered.

The t
rip across the park was spooky, waiting for gunfire, for the bullet in the head. But it didn’t happen. The house was quiet. Maude went for the door, ducking under any cover she could find.

The evening twilight was settling in, darkness not far behind.

Using her left fist, she began to pound on the door, keeping cover, Joe close by as back-up. The bullet-proof vest felt heavy upon her chest, its protection over the vital parts of her torso. ‘
Don’t take a bullet in the head. Present your body first. Keep your head covered’.
Basic academy training. Her weapon in the right side holster was in reach, the small leather strap undone, waiting till it was needed.

Another knock on the door, “Police, open the door.” Her voice breaking at the last minute, a tribute to the unfiltered cigarettes she
chose to smoke. Again, she knocked, motioning for Joe to go to the back door, to watch for people exiting.

A cacophony of sounds came from the other side of the door; chains being removed, a bolt sliding back, the door knob turning on squeaky ball bearings, all assaultive to Maude’s overly sensitive hearing. The door slowly opening, Maude pulling the weapon from her holster, slow motion memories being made to be viewed later when the gin flowed down her throat.

“May I help you?” the tall man asked, hiding behind the door. “What do you want?”

“Police. Open up
!” Maude commanded, the authority of her job carrying weight.

“Okay,
okay, the door is open,” the man said, standing quietly, a perplexed expression on his handsome face. “May I ask what this is all about?”

The tall blond woman had changed her clothing and sensible shoes for a pair of capris and flip-flops, the between
-the-toe shoes popular in warm climates. Maude had tried wearing them for a day or two, but they wore a blister inside her big toe. She threw them in the garbage after that.

“Excuse me, but what is your name
, and what are you doing in this house?” Maude asked, keeping her hand on the weapon.

“
We rent the house, we’ve been here for two years. We hope to buy the property but so far the owner hasn’t set a price through the leasing company,” the handsome man eagerly informed the detectives. “My name is Donald Brook and this is my wife Kirstin. We moved here from Natchez, Missouri and found the listing in the real estate ads on the internet.”

“Do you know the owner of the house?” Maude asked, making a mental to give the lawyer back in Stillwater a good screwing, just not the kind he was looking for. She knew at the time he gave in much too easily coming forth with Dawson’s address in Phoenix.

“No Ma’am, we never met him. We pay our rent through a management company and direct any maintenance complaints to them,” Brook answered.

“What’s the name of the leasing company?” Maude countered, wishing she
was holding the slimy lawyer’s nuts in a pair of vice grips. “We need a phone number and an address and you are not to try to contact the owner at any time to tell him we’re looking for him. Got that?”

“Yes
ma’am, anything we can do to help. Can I ask if the owner is in some kind of trouble?” Brook asked inquisitively.

“No sir, you may not. This is police business. My name is Detective Maude Rogers and this is Detective Joe Allen, from Madison,
Texas, Police Department,” Maude said, taking the paper with the address from the woman.

“Sorry we didn’t ask you in,” the woman said. “I don’t want to scare the children.”

“Sure, we understand.” Maude said, thinking that too many kids were scared of the police.

“Sorry to have bothered you,” Joe piped up before Maude could say anything more.

“If you hear from the owner, we would appreciate it if you would call this number,” Joe said, handing the man a business card, backing away from the door. He had been standing beside Maude since he’d checked the back door of the house. Taking a bead on his partner’s attitude he knew that it was time to go before she alienated the man and woman.

Driving away from the house and deserted streets of the subdivision, the two detectives sat quietly for a minute then began discussing what they had learned.

“Okay, what do we do now?” Joe asked.

Maude thought a little more then said, “Tonight we check in at the hotel and get some rest. I could use a drink
.”

“Sounds good to me too. Let’s get some dinner and then we can knock back one or t
wo,” Joe said, his stomach growling low and noisily.

“Good idea,
when was the last time we ate? Let’s try the restaurant in hotel.” 

The hotel rooms proved to be the best places they had sta
yed, with firm comfortable beds without lumps, and good pillows that were soft while giving good support. Food was sounding less enticing than the bed, but Maude had promised to meet Joe in the dining room within the hour.

Maude checked out the facilities in the bathroom and discovered the signature of
Porcelain Worx
. The business part of Robert Dawson must have been working overtime considering the size of Phoenix. She wondered where he found the time to create chaos and still work at the salesman’s game, a difficult occupation. Because that is how he found the women, Maude believed.

Even in her own home and rent house, the porcelain company logo could be found. His knowledge of Mary Ellen came through trips spent in the house, setting up the installation
, a perfect cover. Granted, most salesmen would not participate in the installation of their products, but when the killer decided to be a part of the process for his own ends, who would question his presence there.

The two victims on
East Avenue had frequented the soup kitchen in Madison. Maude remembered from seeing some of the invoices from
Porcelain Worx
in Philadelphia the soup kitchen had been part of a group that received donations of equipment from the huge company.

Serial killers, thought Maude,
may be best described as opportunists. The often-used excuse by a thief was the same;
It was there, so I took it.
Robert Dawson didn’t choose his victims, they fell into his view in the same way the thief glimpsed a fat handbag on a woman’s arm.

Mary Ellen was a victim, not only of her killer, but of circumstance. Maude had purchased the new porcelain products from a local company in Madison and when the installation was done, the men who came were like all installers and maintenance personnel. They were shadows who no one ever remembered. Maude took the guilt hit for Mary Ellen’s death. Though she was an innocent in the process that Dawson used to facilitate his victims, she had pr
ovided the opportunity for him. There was no justice for that.