The East Avenue Murders (The Maude Rogers Crime Novels Book 1) (27 page)

Maude lit her first cigarette since she
had arrived at the big house, taking a deep drag and pulling it into her lungs, coughing it out at first. The scene with the little girl was still playing in her memory. The woman on the floor had been identified as Barbara Stanton-Roberts, a socialite and hostess of the elite, member of several local charity organizations in the city of Phoenix. 

The woman was the mother of two children,
the six-year old girl, Alyson Roberts and the other, a boy of eight. The boy’s name was Jason Stanton Roberts, described by the neighbors as a good kid who did well in school. Lieutenant Sorenson of the Homicide division had sent two of his detectives to the scene and after finding out all that Maude knew, they had retired back to the house to finish up their reports.

The information was coming in from the FAA
, about a small six-seat airplane that disappeared in Texas, three hours after its Phoenix departure. Local authorities on the ground in Texas had lost the plane during a thunderstorm somewhere in the vicinity of Buena Vista, Texas. It had not been seen or heard from since. Authorities believed the plane had gone down, possibly crash landing.

The early morning air was clean and clear in Phoenix, still cool from the night before. The news from
Sorenson was brief; Barbara Roberts had died of a gunshot wound to her right temple. The time of her death was around 3:00PM, approximately twenty minutes before the arrival of the Madison Detectives.

Maude felt helpless in the wake of Robert Dawson’s killing spree. There seemed to be no one safe from his violence, not even his wife. The boy that was missing and presumed taken by his father was eight years old,
brown hair and brown eyes, approximately forty eight inches tall. His name, Jason Roberts, was given to officers by the boy’s sister and by his grandmother. The boy was last seen wearing a pair of dark blue jeans, a blue t-shirt and maroon baseball cap. The children’s grandmother, Laura Bell Stanton had taken the girl, Alyson Roberts into her custody. 

Packing the few items she had brought with her took no more than five minutes
. Immediately after a brief breakfast of coffee, a sweet roll, and two unfiltered cigarettes, the detectives returned the rent car to the airport and boarded the flight back home. The plane ride back to Madison was uneventful, with Maude lost in guilty thought that she had not done enough to stop the killer. She believed he had gone back to Texas to gloat and hide out, using the boy for a hostage. It wasn’t the first time that a parent had been ruthless with his children and it wouldn’t be the last.

When the plane arrived in Madison, Joe called for an officer to give them a ride back to the
Cop Shop, where they picked up Maude’s brown beater. Joe was glad to see the old car, its mundane presence somehow comforting. His partner dropped him at his apartment a little after 11:00 AM. After the long trip home, they needed rest and all the paperwork could be done Monday. There was an APB out on Dawson, but Joe knew the man’s resourcefulness at hiding and didn’t put much faith in his capture. At least, Joe thought, I have time to call Susan Lucas.

When Maude arrived at the airport, the familiar sight of home should have made the day better but it didn’t. She realized that the job would be there tomorrow, but it was impossible to stop thinking about Dawson and his recent
murder, one more death to chalk up to the man. The media had it right about him. He didn’t seem to have a conscience at all, nothing was important to the man but his own survival.

Arriving at home during the day seemed strange, she should be back at work, but it was Friday, the end of the work week and her logged hours already exceeded the amount of time she was allowed on the clock.
The days had run together. She vowed to get some rest during the long weekend. The thought that Dawson was back in Texas had to be put aside.

After a long hot shower, Maude fell in the bed and slept straight through for ten hours. She woke at eleven pm, needing to pee and wanting a cigarette.
The floor seemed cold to her feet even though the heat during the day was merciless. Thank God for artificially cold air.

Work just wouldn’t let her alone, she thought. The events of the days in Phoenix kept replaying over
and over in her mind. Why not, she thought after lighting an unfiltered. I’m going to call Sorenson at home. Hope he’s not sleeping.

The phone rang a few times then a male voice sleepily answered, “Sorenson.”

“Lieutenant, sorry to bother you at home but something is bothering me about the crime scene. Dawson, or Roberts, as you call him, kept treasures he took from his victim’s bodies. Did you find anything at the house after I left?”

“What kind of treasures?” the lieutenant said, sounding more alert.

“He took the breast tissue from two women, but left some of it in a box for me,” she said. “He removed a victim’s eyes and tongue, and there may be other parts from victims we are unaware of.” Maude said. “They might have been hidden in the house or somewhere on his property.”

The man was quiet for a minute. “Thanks detective, I’ll get another team out there tomorrow. We’ll look in some hidey holes
since we know what we’re searching for.” Sorenson concluded. “Goodnight, Detective Rogers, I’m going to go back to sleep.”

The night seemed to go on forever with Maude smoking and pacing the floor, thinking of Dawson’s behavior up to then.
What would he do next
? He couldn’t get far on foot with the boy. The best way for Dawson was to get the kid stationed with someone he felt he could trust to keep quiet about his movements. Maude searched her memory for a connection that he might have, someone who had been part of his life at one time. The only person who might fit the bill was his uncle who hated him. She wondered about the town of Buena Vista, if maybe the uncle lived there where Dawson had taken Mary Ellen.

Hoping that Ernest was working the night shift, Maude dialed the Sheriff’s office where the deputy worked.

When he answered the phone, Maude began speaking. “Ernest, it’s Maude Rogers from Madison P.D. How you doing?”

“Wel
l, I’m just fine, Mrs. Maude. What can I do for you?” Ernest was his same friendly helpful self. Maude was grateful for the words of kindness from the young man.

“Well, Ernest, I’m still chasing that son of a
mangy coyote who killed those girls. Bout to get him treed, but I need some information on some folks around your city,” Maude said. “Dawson has an uncle that might live down there. Let me check my notes a minute and get his name for you. Oh yeah, here it is, Farley Dawson, about sixty-five years old, has a family. Know him?”

“Oh yeah, I know him. Got a big old house out near the lake.
Sits in a wheelchair. Comes to town about once a week. Crippled in both legs. Guess it was the war. Want me to go out there tomorrow?” Ernest asked eagerly. His duties were mostly stopping drunks from speeding outside the city limits. A little real police work felt good to the man.

“That would be great, Ernest. Be careful though. Our man is a mean piece of work. He took his boy with him. About eight years old. Kid’s name is Jason. Dawson may dump the kid there whether the uncle likes it or not. Blood
is thicker than water you know.”

“Yes
ma’am. I know. He’s lower than a cow patty, but his uncle would take the kid from him if need be. Farley’s a fine man. It might be a real good idea if he knew about his nephew. Course he may already know,” Ernest added, “No telling what might have happened out there.”

Maude felt a little better, trying to close some doors before D
awson could walk through them. If the killer’s uncle kept the kid, then they would know for sure that the man was still alive, that he hadn’t gone down in a thunderstorm.

“Thank you Ernest,” Maude said, “If you find out anything, I’d be pleased to know it.”

“Yes ma’am. I’ll give you a holler,” he said, as Maude disconnected the phone.

The rest of her night was quiet, and sleep returned to her two hours before the alarm sounded. Tired and weary, she climbed from the bed, wishing she could sleep a few more hours. The coffee pot had molded on the bottom over the past few days, the dregs of last week’s
coffee a veritable garden plot for the thick growth. Maude finally settled with her first cup of the day, cigarette in hand, rereading her notebook, looking for some connection between Dawson’s behavior and the prediction of his future movements.

She wished for a degree in psychology. On second thought, she did have access to a person who might understand
psychotic behavior. The shrink who worked with the police department had come to them from her last position at a state level prison for the criminally insane. Doctor Jean Lindsey was as good as they come.

“Doctor Lindsey, please.” Maude said on the phone. “Yes, I can hold,” she said, lighting a cigarette. In just a moment or two, the doctor came on the line.

“Yes, this is Doctor Lindsey. Who are you?” the doctor said, briefly and to the point. Maude liked that about her. Each time Maude had been in the doc’s office and seen her work, she had been impressed with Lindsey’s ability to get right to the heart of a matter.

“Doctor Lindsey, this is Maude Rogers. How are you?” she asked, not forgetting her people skills. Lieutenant Patterson would be poking her with his elbow to remind her if he was sitting there beside Maude.

“Doctor, I wonder if I could impose upon you for a few minutes of your time. It’s about a serial killer who is running loose. I need to have an idea of what he may do next. I wonder if you might give me some pointers?” Maude asked, hoping the doctor had the time and willingness to help.

“Well...I guess I could try to help. I am here at the office, catching up on some files today. If you want
to come by, that would be okay,” Lindsey said, then added as an afterthought, “Bring any notes you have on the person you want to talk about.”

Maude was glad to get out, to do something positive. Saturday was a slow day for traffic in Madison. All the local government offices, schools, and banks were shut down and their employees were at home
, having a barbeque or laying by the pool somewhere. A lucky break, the doc being in and giving away some of her time. Detective work wasn’t always ability, sometimes it was luck. How many times had she heard and said that?

When she arrived at the address for the police psychiatrist, Maude once again admir
ed the decor of the suite of offices where Jean Lindsey ran a successful practice. Pale green against cream colors alternated within the doctor’s working arena, the colors designed to soothe and quieten the savage beasts of the mind. Maude always wanted to snooze when she came in for an evaluation after a shoot and sat down on the cushions of the front office couch.

The need for expedience pushed her toward the doctor’s office door where she gently knocked and was told to
“wait just a minute”. True to her word, Jean Lindsey came to the door after a few seconds and opened it for Maude to go through.

“So what is so important
, detective that gets you out on Saturday when you could be resting at home?” the doctor began.

“Why is it that everyone thinks I need to rest? I’m not that
old yet,” Maude retorted.

“Sorry. You know what I meant,
” Doctor Lindsey interjected.

“Well, yeah, sorry to be so touchy. I’m not used to people looking out for my comfort. My new partner tries to take care of me sometimes, makes me feel old.” Maude said, sitting down in a chair at the doctor’s pointing motion with her right hand.

“You are not old, detective, just deserving of a rest on your days off.” the doctor said. “Now what do you want to ask me. I have other work to do, then I’m going home to rest,” she said, with a slight smile.

“Let me tell you about the subject of my stress right now.
He’s a killer in his early forties, abused by a relative when he was a child; probably his mother. Kills women, removes body parts. Hearts, breasts, tongue, eyes. Just killed his wife, took his son with him, would have taken his daughter but she hid from him thinking they were playing a game. Now he’s in Texas again. Oh yeah, he’s been fixated on me for years. I was his nanny for three months when he was less than three years old. I believe he was being abused then,” Maude was out of breath, talking too fast. She needed a cigarette but knew the doc would throw her out if she lit up.

Lindsey was busy, sorting files, listening to Maude. A small worry frown crept across the doctor’s face. “How did he kill his wife?” She asked.

“Gunshot to the temple. The kid was hiding and heard the gunfire but didn’t come out,” Maude said.

“Good thing. He pro
bably would have killed her too,” the doc said, turning her full attention on Maude. “What do you want out of this?”

“What
do you mean? I want him caught,” Maude answered.

“Then what happens?” The doc asked.

“Then it’s out of my hands, but at least the murdering scum won’t be on the streets.” The answer came from years of training, from knowing how to do the right thing. The police perspective was to catch, not punish, criminals. Emotions had no business in law enforcement, or so they had told her.