The East Avenue Murders (The Maude Rogers Crime Novels Book 1) (25 page)

The hotel’s menu choices had gone from basic to extraordinaire. Maude was usually
unconcerned with the gourmet’s selections, a basic food item was usually sufficient for her tastes. That night, however, the
cordon bleu
was something out of the ordinary and she wanted to try it. The chef was a master at his craft, not content with ‘the tasteless product that was bulk packaged’ as he often told his guests. The dish was superb and Maude enjoyed her meal, putting Dawson out of her mind in the pleasure of eating, glad for the decision she had made.

She ventured
the thought that Joe believed he was still in Texas when he ordered a chicken fried steak with gravy and fries. He seemed happy enough with his own choice and sat back afterward drinking a glass of wine that Maude had ordered for them.

“Joe, I think I know how he’s been
doing all this,” Maude told him, after the plates had been cleared. She went on to explain her belief that the killings were opportunities taken and not the result of researching victims. Joe nodded a few times as she laid it out for him, taking blame for the loss of Mary Ellen and her friend Chris Cole.

“Partner, you can’t blame yourself for his atrocities. Dawson has had you in his sights for most of his life, his sickness growing every day. You’ve been living your life, not hurting anyone that didn’t deserve it. The end result is we have to stop him, never mind how he got here. It
’s too late to save Mary Ellen but maybe we can save some other innocent woman.” Joe knew how guilt could debilitate someone and hoped to talk Maude down from hers before it became a problem for her.

“You’re
right,” she said, ordering a gin and tonic from the waiter. “Let’s get out of here and sit beside the swimming pool.”

“Give me a few min
utes and I’ll be in that pool,” Joe said, glad to hear Maude’s tone changing.

“Well, you swim for me. I have some drinking and figuring to do before we get started tomorrow. I need to find our contact at Phoenix PD.
The boss said he’d take care of getting us some help. We need to find the leasing company and discover where Dawson is living now. That’s a good place to start.” Maude already had her notebook out, writing the events of the day as they had happened. She sipped her gin and tonic, determined to stay sober. Her life tomorrow might depend on it.

The night went quickly and the bed called her to its comfort, the guilt and fear waking her
later from a restless sleep. She sat on the edge of the bed, wishing she had a cigarette. The room was a no smoking one, and Maude was on her best behavior, being considerate of the hotel rules. Deciding to go outside for a smoke seemed a good idea. Surely there was a place for smokers in the building.

She
looked at her watch, it was 2:00 AM, and the night was pitch black, the last hint of the moon taking its rest three days earlier. Her weapon on the dresser nodded in the back of her mind, but she ignored it and pulled on a short sleeve shirt and long sweat pants for the trip outside. Those between the toe shoes would be good about right now, she thought, propping her leg on the edge of the bed to tie her tennis shoes.

In front of the
ice machine an ashtray had been set up for the use of smokers. Several butts were sticking out of the sand that filled the container, lipstick stains on some, but most were browned by the nicotine and tars that seeped through the paper. Maude looked long at the color of the paper and thought about her lungs and how they must be colored the same.

That thought nagged at her as she lit up and took her first deep drag from the cigarette. Cancer was a terrible disease, bad in every way. She had watched her mother die from
it without ever smoking a day of her life. Grace Hamilton was as clean living as the Pope, not even sacramental wine polluted her body. Why someone got the disease and others didn’t was a mystery that puzzled doctors and researchers. Maude knew she was obsessed with a fear of cancer, believing that her demise would be from rogue cells in her body.
What the hell. You die from one thing or another, but we all die,
she thought, stubbing out the butt, and looking around the room that had recently emptied.

Outside the air had cooled, even more than it would have been back home, but Maude liked the feel of the breeze. She looked at the full parking lot, curious how so many people could be in one place all together and not recognize each other.

Catering to the fitness generations, the hotel had provided a well-lit hiking trail around its borders, lining it with tall skinny trees that grew and shaded the guests who sweated on the trail. Surrounding the property were fast food drive-ins and small businesses. A pool store’s neon sign was still lit, the image of a beach ball bouncing at the edge of a pool, flashing its come-on to the heated population of a desert city. Across the street, a large mall lit up the darkness, lights on in several buildings indicating late night workers or early morning openings.

Maude decided to walk along the hiking trail to get the stiffness out of her joints, thinking maybe that would help her sleep. She considered going back inside to get her weapon
, but changed her mind, thinking of the hour and the lights on the trail. The brightness was deceptive in its illusion of safety. Who would think of mugging anyone in such bright light.

A short walk around the track and
she was tired, the weight of the day taking its toll on her body. She took a deep breath of the dry air and returned to her room, barely stifling a yawn as she slid the key card through the lock. Sleep was essential for the next day and even a few hours would be enough to get her through.

Breakfast was quick, coffee and rolls, a continental offering by the hotel. Maude felt the need to get in touch with Phoenix PD to advise them that two detectives from Texas were in their jurisdiction. Hopefully they would
be provided an officer when and if they needed help.

Joe was fresh from a long night in bed after swimming in the hotel pool for an hour the night before. He had met two women at the pool and spent time with both of them
, but left them at their hotel door and went to bed. His mother would be proud of him for getting his rest instead of other activities he could have participated in.

The light of day put a different slant on the night before and Joe wondered if maybe he should have gone to the room with the women as they had requested
. Who knew what the day would bring. He might die. But at least he would die well-rested.
The killer they hunted was smart, and Joe believed the man was not without knowledge of their trip to his city. Joe figured the lawyer that Maude spoke to in Stillwater, Oklahoma had informed his client of their approach. Dangerous times lay ahead.

The watch commander at the Phoenix Police Department put Maude through to Lieutenant Sorenson, the contact that James Patterson mentioned. Sorenson was brief with his message.

“
Yeah, I have an officer to help you guys, two if you need them. When you figure out what you need, call me. Meanwhile we can run the name Dawson for you. Maybe we’ll get lucky and he ran a stop sign or two. If he has a history with us, I’ll get back to you.”

Calling in to Madison PD was the same. She got in touch with her lieutenant and he listened to what happened the day before. He seemed disgusted, but familiar with police work enough to know that patience was a requirement for closing a case. Patterson was just tired of sending people out to clean up the mess left behind Dawson and others like him.

“Oh, yeah,
” he said, before disconnecting the phone, “We got a lab report back on the robe you found in that first woman’s apartment. The blood on it belonged to the girl, and that razor was a dead end.” Maude wasn’t surprised; Dawson was too clever to leave incriminating evidence at a murder scene.

A visit to the county clerk’s office
that listed the real property within Phoenix, Arizona, had a surprise waiting for the two detectives. The owner of the house at 313 Maple Street was not Robert Dawson, it was someone named Ridge Roberts, and he had been on the tax roll for eight years. The internet was wrong about the ownership.

“What
do you think, Joe?” Maude asked, “Is this Dawson’s alias or are we barking up the wrong tree?”

“It
’s possible that he has been living here under a false name, free to move around,” Joe said. “Now what?”

“We start over using the new name. Call downtown, run this by the
lieutenant there and get new feedback. Maybe Dawson screwed up under his alias. We deserve a break,” she said.

Maude was thoughtful, the recent finding beginning to make sense. Of course he would choose an alias. His lawyer knew there was something wrong, that
’s why he wouldn’t tell her any more about Dawson. She didn’t think the lawyer knew the truth about his client, but she believed he had intentionally deceived her.

Later in the morning they got lucky.
There was a hit on a white male named Ridge Roberts, no social security number, but an address in Phoenix. Three years earlier a female named Rosa Delgado had filed a stalking complaint against him, but after making the complaint she had never followed up at the police station. The complaint was still on file. Maude asked for an address on Delgado and was given a street and apartment number on the east side of Phoenix.

The two detectives searched their map of Phoenix and programmed the address into the GPS unit in the vehicle. The drive
would take about twenty minutes the unit informed them. Maude asked Joe to negotiate the streets so she could sit and think. What happens when we find him? What if he kills one or both of us? Guess we’ll just have to avoid such an incident because we can’t let him win this one.

“Joe, let me knock on the door. She may be gun
-shy of strange males.” Maude said, hoping the woman still remembered the incident. Any help would be accepted.

The apartment was actually one half of a duplex with a yard, a couple of trees and a patio out back. A large
Rottweiler behind the fence made himself known by his chuff and deep bark. Joe had one before the kids were born, but Sheila thought the big dog was too fierce looking for babies and small children so they gave him to a friend. He still missed his dog. The fierce bark had been a cover for a gentle heart. The dog still came to him when Joe went to visit the family. He would start nuzzling Joe’s fingers after all the years that had passed with a new master and a new home.

It took three knocks and her shield in front of the peephole before the woman pulled the chain back to open the door. Maude beat her to the punch and said, “Hello. My name is Maude Rogers, and this is my partner
, Joe Allen. We’re here from Texas, investigating a crime, looking for Rosa Delgado. If you are her, may we could come in and speak to you?”

“What about? I haven’t ever been
to Texas!” Delgado was defensive, ready to break and run.

“No
, I’m sure you haven’t but we’re here to talk to you about the complaint you filed three years ago. You said a man was stalking you,” Maude said, wanting to get out front and let the woman know they were on her side.

“But I dropped the charge
,” Delgado said more calmly, even though Maude could detect some fear in her voice.

“Yes, we understand. You have done nothing wrong. We would like to hear what happened that made you file a complaint and then not show up at the pol
ice department to press charges,” Joe said, soothing the frightened woman.

“Ms. Delgado, you would help us a great deal to just tell us what happened and then we’ll leave your house and get about our business.” Maude interjected after the woman invited them in and seated them at her couch.

“It was three years ago at a party, Delgado began. I had a couple of glasses of wine and was feeling pretty good then it got late. I met a man there, who he said his name was Ridge Roberts and he was rich. He wanted me to go to bed with him for money. Of course I refused but he wouldn’t listen. He kept following me around at the party, telling me why I should take his money and give him what he wanted.

“
At first I thought he was paying me a compliment, but then he just kept on and on and I got scared. It was his eyes that scared me, the way he stared at me, all glassy, those eyes. Sure he was a good-looking man, but he was not right.

“
Finally, I talked to the couple who gave the party and the husband walked me to my car. I drove home looking in my mirror, thinking I was being stupid, but I couldn’t help it. When I got home, I parked my car and ran into the apartment and locked all the doors. But I saw him.” Delgado was short of breath, still scared.

“When did you see him Rosa?” Maude asked.

“That night, I saw him out on the sidewalk, leaning against his car, watching my house. He stayed a long time then he left. The next morning I called the police and told them about it, and I was supposed to go down there and fill out a form, but I got scared that he would find out. He never came back or I never saw him so I forgot about it after a while. I had talked to the people at the party that night, and asked about the man, but no one knew who had invited him. It was spooky,” the woman concluded.