Final Cycle, Page 2

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows.

  “But he don’t, of course. He’ll just know what to do.”

  The alley door opened and Calderone and Mahan returned, Mahan carrying the bulky crime scene evidence bag. He placed it on a table a couple of dryer lengths down from Louella Belle’s former place of repose.

  “Thanks, guys,” Elizabeth said. “I don’t know how much meaningful evidence will be in a place with lots of people in and out.”

  “Plus all of us moving around,” Mahan said. He pulled out thin paper shoe covers. “Should we bother with these?”

  She nodded. “Yep. I talked to Grayson here about prints on the dryer. Could be some around the big laundry tub.” Elizabeth nodded to the large sink in the back corner. “My guess is that’s where someone dunked the poor woman.”

  Mahan grimaced. “Think they held her under until she drowned?”

  Elizabeth shrugged. “Lots of options, I guess. They could have killed her with a blow to the head or chest, and want us to think they drowned her. Go ahead and collect hair samples from the dryer and tub area. Calderone, you’re lead. Pursue any of those ideas you studied up in Springfield.”

  Elizabeth didn’t want to appear cavalier, but she didn’t expect to learn much. “You brought Luminal, right?”

  Calderone nodded. “Best blood residue detector in town.” He glanced around the room. "She wasn't obese, but nobody would call Louella Belle a pixie. They had to get her from the laundry tub to the dryer."

  "Another good point." She glanced at the floor. "I don't see any scuff marks."

  "Could've used one of the laundry carts," Mahan said.

  “True," Elizabeth said. "Grayson, work with these guys as long as needed, but get back on patrol as soon as you can. I want you to swing by Louella Belle's place. If it looks as if someone's in there, call in.”

  "She live alone, you think?" Grayson asked.

  Mahan nodded. "No local family, as far as I know. Small bungalow about six blocks from the high school. Kids all knew not to trick or treat there. She gave 'em granola bars."

  "You want us to search it tonight?" Calderone asked.

  "You can work up a warrant for tomorrow, if the state's attorney's county person thinks we need one. She's not going to be accused of anything, and I'd bet her murder was unplanned. I doubt anything in her house will tell us much, but we should check."

  “Where you headed?” Mahan asked.

  “To collect Squeaky, then talk to Marti. I told her to go home and lie down and I’d visit with her there.”

  Calderone shook his head. “When I drove by the diner a minute ago, I looked through the window. She was at the cash register.”

  “Nuts.” Elizabeth wanted her at home partially because Marti’s tears and shaking needed a rest, but also so she wouldn’t talk to a lot of people before Elizabeth got to interview her. “Guess I’ll grab her first.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  ELIZABETH LEFT BY THE ALLEY door to avoid the last few gawkers across from the laundromat. Each of the rear doors to the businesses she passed had back door lights, but the alley had no street lamps. It didn’t look as if any business had added external security cameras recently, so no help from any video.

  She walked briskly. Even in boots, her feet quickly absorbed the cold and she stomped them a couple of times.

  Elizabeth glanced at the tall plastic trash bins and a few recycling tubs. Squeaky’s tub held several bunches of carefully tied wire hangers. A half-rusted bicycle leaned against the brick wall of Gene’s Man Up Tattoos.

  Mid-block, a narrow strip led back to Combine Street. Elizabeth crossed to the Bully Pulpit Diner. Decades earlier, a long-gone owner had remodeled the interior so it had red booths, tile floors, and the traditional lunch counter and stools.

  She entered the Bully Pulpit, sidestepped an artificial Christmas tree a few feet inside the diner, and was pleased to see Squeaky a couple of booths back, nursing a cup of black coffee. No other patrons. Either Christmas shopping or concern about a murder nearby had kept folks away.

  Squeaky's dour expression said he would rather be almost anywhere else, too. He jerked a thumb toward the kitchen.

  Elizabeth walked behind the lunch counter and pushed open the swinging doors that sat directly behind the cash register's spot on the counter. She had not had any reason to be in the diner’s kitchen for months. Steel appliances still lined the walls, but it had less of a hospital kitchen look. It now sported bright yellow wall paint, plus base cabinets that had gone from a sort of dirty tan to mossy green.

  Only a few thousand people lived in Logland, so it had only a couple of unexpected deaths each decade, usually from something like a fall from the bleachers during homecoming at Sweathog College, or maybe a hit-and-run. To have two murders in a year seemed impossible, and that Marti and Nick had been associated with the two deceased was…odd.

  Not that Elizabeth would initially suspect either of them in Louella Belle’s murder. Considering that the diner was a hub of activity for most local business people and a number of other townspeople, their connection was more likely than that of, say, a dairy farmer just outside of town.

  She nodded to Marti and Nick. He wore a Santa hat at a jaunty angle, and Marti's apron featured a winter scene with a wide-eyed deer. They each sat on a tall stool facing the steel prep table in the center of the large room. Marti dabbed at tear-streaked cheeks, her green eyes bloodshot and dark brown hair now limp, hanging in clusters on her shoulders.

  Elizabeth walked to them and leaned on the table. “How’re you doing, Marti?”

  She sniffed loudly. “I know you told me to go home to rest, but I didn’t want to be by myself.”

  “And I wanted to keep an eye on her,” Nick added.

  Elizabeth stifled a smile as Marti straightened her back. She was usually the take-charge partner, and probably didn’t think she needed anyone to watch out for her – most of the time, anyway.

  Elizabeth pulled up a third stool and took a notebook from her pocket. “That makes sense. I hope you’ve been at least taking it kind of easy. You had a big shock.”

  Marti shrugged. “It’s not like we had a lot of customers.”

  “We talked for a minute when you were at the laundromat, but I’d like to go over things in more detail.”

  Marti pulled a folded piece of paper from her apron pocket. “I tried to think of things.” She shivered. “I remember the kinds of questions you asked when Ben died.”

  Nick’s look at Elizabeth struck her as sort of accusatory.

  “That’s good, Marti. Why don’t you talk about what happened, and I’ll ask questions when you’re done.”

  Marti took a breath. “Okay, so I told you I went over there for the tablecloths I had put in the dryer maybe three hours earlier.”

  “And kitchen towels,” Nick added.

  She nodded. “I was going to head over earlier, but when Louella Belle had her hissy fit…”

  “She was here?” Elizabeth asked.

  Marti glanced at her list. “She left about two?” She looked at Nick, who nodded. "She was here for a late lunch."

  “Left mad,” Nick said. “We wanted her to order and she just wanted to complain about the menu, stuff like that. We didn’t ask her to leave, just to order.”

  “Who else was here when she was?” Elizabeth asked.

  “Us, of course,” Nick said. “The mayor and Doris sat kinda behind Louella Belle. Doris told her she could stop by the bakery for a free sugar-free cookie.”

  Elizabeth jotted notes. “Good. I’ll see if she went there.”

  “Anyway,” Marti continued, “I didn’t see her again until, well, you know.”

  Elizabeth nodded, not wanting to break Marti’s flow.

  “So when I got over there, I could see one of the checkered cloths in the dryer window. I put a quarter in just to fluff them up a bit, and I pushed start. And that’s…that’s when I heard the noise.”

  Elizabeth nodded again. “I think you said kin
d of thumping.”

  “Yes. For a second I thought the lint trap fell into the drum, then I figured that was odd, because it’s kind of at the bottom of the drum, in front. You’d have to put it in the drum on purpose.”

  “I know a guy did that once,” Nick said.

  Elizabeth could do without his interruptions, but she wasn’t about to tell him to shut up.

  Marti straightened her shoulders more. “That’s when I looked in the little window. And I saw…Louella Belle.” She put her arms on the table and laid her head on them, sobbing. “I was so rude to her earlier.”

  Nick patted her shoulder and half shrugged to Elizabeth. “It’ll be okay, Marti.”

  “No, it won’t!”

  Nick sat back, frowning and then raised his eyebrows at Elizabeth.

  Elizabeth stood and walked the few steps to Marti’s stool. “He means at some point you’ll feel somewhat better.” She nodded at Nick. “How about getting Marti some water, or a Dr. Pepper.”

  Marti sniffed into her arms. “Iced tea would be good.”

  Elizabeth tore a paper towel from the roll on the counter and placed one in front of Marti’s arms, then touched her shoulder before moving back to her own stool. “When you feel you can, I'd like to continue.”

  Marti sniveled, sat up part way, and blew her nose. “I’m sorry.”

  “Not an I’m sorry thing,” Elizabeth said.

  Nick placed the glass of iced tea in front of Marti.

  “Do we need to make more?” she sniffed.

  Elizabeth smiled. “Tomorrow, I think.”

  “Oh, right.” She blew her nose one more time, and took a sip of tea. She half-smiled at Nick. “Perfect amount of sugar. Thanks.”

  Elizabeth didn’t want to hear about sugar in tea. “After you looked in the dryer, what did you do?”

  “I screamed.”

  “A lot,” Nick said. "At first I couldn't tell where the screaming was coming from."

  Marti hugged herself. "I kept dropping my phone, but I finally got through to the 9-1-1 operator. I should have called the station, but I didn't know the number. The dispatcher man couldn't understand me."

  "Always call 9-1-1," Elizabeth said. "They relay calls to us." She had already heard that the dispatcher had a tough time figuring out where to send anyone. Marti’s garbled words initially sounded more like 'little bat' than 'laundromat.'

  "So," Nick said, "I figured out who was screaming, and got there in like a minute. I mean, once I remembered where Marti'd gone.”

  Elizabeth hadn’t realized Nick had run over. He must have gone back to the diner when her officers arrived. ”Glad to hear it.”

  “And then, let’s see. I know I was sitting on the floor, by the door, when Officer Grayson arrived. Oh, before that I stopped the dryer and opened the door. But I didn’t, I didn’t touch her.”

  “Good.” Elizabeth realized her tone was more emphatic than needed, because Nick and Marti started. More quietly, she said, “Good judgment.”

  “And then, well, I told Officer Grayson some stuff, but I think I was kind of hard to understand, because it took a minute for him to get to look in the dryer.”

  Grayson’s description of their early conversation had been, “Harried and hugely crying.”

  “And then he called more officers,” Nick said. “When they got there, I left. Cause, you know, the diner was still open.”

  “Sure,” Elizabeth said. “Did you give Grayson any information?”

  Nick shook his head. “I told ‘em I didn’t look in the dryer, and only came over when Marti screamed.”

  “Did anyone else come by?” Elizabeth asked. “Did either of you see anyone on the street as you ran over?”

  Nick shook his head. “Most businesses around here were already closed, you know? So Gene, he came over, but he had a guy getting' tattooed in the chair. He said you can stop by, but he doesn’t think he knows anything.”

  Elizabeth couldn’t help but wonder if the lack of attention had to do with holiday preparations away from the center of town, or more because of the victim. Plenty of people would wish Louella Belle gone. Probably not dead, but definitely gone.

  ELIZABETH FINISHED TALKING TO Marti and Nick without learning more – no unknown person had been in the diner, nor had they paid attention to who went in and out of the laundromat before Marti returned for the tablecloths. They did say it was usually busiest Friday night and Saturday morning, when college students did laundry. Mostly older customers during the day.

  Elizabeth knew she could get more general info from Squeaky and moved to the diner’s customer area to sit in one of the red booths, across from him.

  Squeaky's hands shook as he drank his cold coffee. He knew little about the afternoon’s happenings in the laundromat. “I took over that space because the flower shop closed and it was vacant. I got a USDA guaranteed loan, so good interest, you know? I thought the laundry machines would kinda run themselves. Make a little money, but not have to be there, like I’m always at my dry cleaning place.”

  Elizabeth had forgotten that Squeaky talked in paragraphs. “Passive income, I think they call it. So you saw not one person in the laundromat in the late afternoon?”

  I went out to my car to get something, and I saw Grace Whittle and Stanley Buttons in there. They live at the senior apartments."

  "Could you hear them when they were in there?"

  “I had my TV on at the cleaners. You know, I have that box thing, so I don’t have to pay for cable. And since it’s cold, my main door was shut. You know, sometimes I have it open and just the storm door shut.”

  “So, you didn’t hear anything at all?”

  Squeaky shook his head. “I got a bell on the front door at the laundromat, but it’s just so people think I know they come in. I don’t hear it when all the doors are shut.”

  “Do you hear the washers and dryers going?”

  “Not so much. If I put my ear on the wall I kinda can feel a shake from the washers when they’re spinning, you know at the end. But I don’t do that regular.” He sat down his cup. “I had too much of this black crap. Makes my stomach hurt.”

  As Elizabeth reached into her pocket, she glanced toward the swinging door that led to the kitchen. “I had planned to order Nick’s chili, so I brought some Tums.”

  “Heh, heh.” For a moment, Squeaky grinned. “He’s a little better’n Ben, but not a lot.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ELIZABETH GOT BACK TO the station at seven-thirty Monday evening. Knowing city officials or media might come by, she glanced behind the counter that separated the public seating area from the bullpen, such as it was.

  A larger department would host a couple dozen desks. Logland’s held five battered wood desks, plus the mail cubbyholes and Sgt. Hammer’s work area of a newer desk and two tables. Given the season, a stuffed reindeer sat in one mail cubby and each desk had gold garland wrapped around its sides.

  Neat enough for outsiders, she decided.

  Her stomach had growled for an hour. The desk behind the customer counter held a stack of subs. She pulled a ten from her pocket, placed it next to the pile, and grabbed what seemed to be a chicken sub.

  No one was in the open bullpen, so she raised her voice. “Anybody around?”

  Mahan called, “In the break room.”

  They usually locked the front door to the station at seven thirty and didn’t staff it overnight unless a festival or homecoming was underway. Elizabeth kept a patrol car on duty, but at night emergency calls routed to the county 9-1-1 call center.

  The county dispatcher knew how to reach the Logland officer on patrol. Elizabeth thought they sometimes woke up Grayson after he pulled into a local park to watch for late-night speeders.

  Since Elizabeth would work late, she planned to leave the station open a little longer tonight. Anxiety over Louella Belle's murder could mean more calls.

  She took a bite of her sandwich as she walked to the break room, which doubled as the supply
closet and copier work space. “You guys finish at the laundromat?”

  “Tony’s there, Grayson’s back on patrol. Sgt. Hammer had a PTA meeting to go to, so I came back here.” Mahan pointed at her sandwich. “Bought those.”

  “Thanks, I left money on Hammer’s desk.”

  He flushed. “I didn’t mean you should pay.”

  Elizabeth smiled and sat across from him. “I know that. You have any thoughts about Louella Belle?”

  He nodded at the yellow pad in front of him. “I’m makin’ a list, like you always say. Lots of people irritated with her, but I don’t think people like Doc Vickers would off her.”

  She grinned briefly. "No, I don't think any pediatrician would do that. What the heck did she do to irritate the good doctor?”

  “She made up a stack of half-page things that talked about not giving kids any starchy foods and sugar, or something like that.” He stood. “Got one in the file we started. Be back.”

  As a former Chicago police officer, Elizabeth had been used to a more formal approach to crime solving than Logland’s. At least more formal record keeping. The guys were thorough in whatever they did, but they didn't used to document most conversations.

  Her thoughts went back to Louella Belle. She hadn’t known the woman well. One day in Alice’s bookstore Louella Belle had come at her waving a book called “Watch What You Eat.” She wanted Elizabeth to let her give a talk to the eight Logland officers so they’d be in what she called “fighting shape.”

  Elizabeth had politely asked if Louella Belle would buy the books, since the police department was already slightly over budget. Nothing more came of it.

  Mahan came back and placed the flyer in front of Elizabeth. In capped, bold print it said, “ARE YOU FEEDING POISON TO YOUR CHILDREN?”

  The bullet points stated the sugar and fat content of several popular breakfast cereals, as well as macaroni and cheese and frozen French fries. The last point said, “STOP BEFORE YOUR CHILDREN BALLOON TO THIS.”

  ‘This’ was a photo of two stocky children about ages eight and ten, a boy and a girl. Though their faces had been blurred, they sported Logland Elementary t-shirts. Elizabeth could not imagine their parents giving permission to use the picture. “Where did you get his?”