Tip a Hat to Murder, Page 2

  “Of course.” Elizabeth watched the picketers for a moment. “I usually like interviewing people, but that debate team spent a research day with us last fall. They never shut up.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  ELIZABETH STAYED AT the diner until Skelly and his ME van left with Ben Addison. She stepped outside and gazed up and down the now quiet road. Combine Street was only two blocks long, running from the small town square to the edge of the college campus.

  She breathed deeply, appreciating the damp air. Because of an imminent thunderstorm—morning ones could be the worst in Illinois--the officers had brought anyone who needed to be questioned to the station.

  The lack of picketers had made the street outside the Bully Pulpit almost silent, except for distant thunder. However, the noise level at the station, which now housed the picketers, was boisterous when she arrived.

  Elizabeth surveyed the large room where her staff greeted the public and did paperwork.

  Calderone called to her over the racket. “The two waiters are in the conference room in the back. I gave ‘em water.” He grinned. “Put the loudmouths in the cells. I think I got ‘em separated right.”

  Elizabeth cocked her head in the direction of the small group of cells. “So I hear.”

  She glanced around the bullpen and saw only four civilians. She recognized most of them. One was a cabbie, two had been walking near the diner when police cars pulled up, and one worked at the bookstore.

  She was about to talk to a couple of them when animated voices came from the locked-up picketers. She moved toward the noise, trying to discern what people were saying.

  The first voice was that of a whiney male. “But you haven’t said why you need tip money to live.”

  That had to be one of the anti-tippers harassing a waiter.

  “Because, you idiot, not everyone has mommy and daddy’s wallets to dip into. Nine dollars an hour is not a liveable…ow!!!”

  Shouts came at Elizabeth as she pulled open the door to the cells.

  “I am not an…”

  “I never owned a wallet in my…”

  She raised her voice above the others. “Shut up! All of you. Right now.”

  All of the roughly twelve to fifteen cell occupants quieted. Elizabeth knew it wouldn’t last.

  “As you learned in kindergarten, no hitting.” She pointed at a young man who had drawn a frown face on the front of a white apron. He had his hand on the right side of his head. “Do you need medical attention?”

  As he shook his head, murmuring started.

  “Did I say you could talk? What the hell is wrong with you people?”

  No response, just glares.

  “I want the pro-tip people on the far wall in their cell, and the cheapskates who don’t want to tip under the window in their cell. Do not reach into the other cell again.”

  This brought sniggers from the pro-tip group, and the guy who had been rubbing his head moved toward the wall in full swagger.

  “I’m going to unlock the cells, and I want those of you who still have picket signs to hand them to me. And don’t be stupid and swing one at me. Assaulting an officer looks like crap on a transcript.”

  “It’s against our constitutional rights to lock us in here.”

  Damn. A debater must have snuck in with the picketers.

  Elizabeth took keys from the drawer of the lone desk that was in the small cell area. “Are you all going to tell me you spoke politely to everyone today, and followed every direction a police officer gave you?”

  Feet shuffled.

  “Because if you were belligerent, you’re going to be on a couple of cameras that were pointed toward the street from businesses near the diner.”

  Elizabeth opened the cell closest to her, and nodded at a camera near the ceiling. “And if you get lawyers, they’ll get to see our homemade movies. Don’t be wiseasses.”

  There were three picket signs in the first cell. Each placard was affixed to what seemed like a piece of picket fence. The first one she took said, “Tips are for racetracks.” Below it was written, “Racetracks suck. Leave us gratuities.”

  Elizabeth thought the sign sent mixed messages, but this wasn’t Cambridge. The other two signs were less original, simply demanding to be paid for good customer service.

  As she shut the door, a timid female voice said, “I really need to go to the bathroom.”

  Elizabeth regarded a woman whose meekness was incongruous with her five-foot-ten frame. “Can you wait ten minutes?”

  The woman nodded.

  Elizabeth finished locking the cell and carried the signs to the desk. As she placed them there, she said, “You all are in here because you were rowdy. If you didn’t commit a crime other than disobeying an officer’s order, and you didn’t try to hit or spit on the officer, you’ll be out of here soon. I don’t want to fool with the paperwork.”

  Elizabeth went to the second cell. These were the anti-tippers, and their signs were far less polite.

  One said, “You want somthing from me? Bend over and I’ll kiss your ass.”

  Elizabeth took it and studied a sullen man of maybe nineteen. “Take a spelling lesson.”

  The next sign said, “Work good and I’ll tip my hat to you.”

  The woman who handed her that sign appeared to be about twenty-five. “Take a grammar lesson. You a student at Sweathog or just here to rabble rouse?”

  The woman pushed glasses back on her nose and jutted her chin forward. “What’s it to you?”

  Elizabeth stared at her. “Guess it depends on what your fingerprints show.”

  She turned red and tried to jerk her sign back.

  A younger woman grabbed her by the wrist. “Don’t be dumb.”

  “Good advice.” Elizabeth took the sign.

  Two more signs were surrendered quietly. One said, “Gratitude is my gratuity,” and the others said, “Get a real job.”

  Elizabeth regarded that one for a moment and studied the man who handed it to her. “What do you do to earn your money?”

  He was about five-eleven and African American, so it was hard to see if he blushed. He shifted his gaze from Elizabeth to a spot on the wall, and didn’t answer.

  Elizabeth locked the cell and put the additional signs on the desk. Then she turned and faced the now-silent groups. “A man died this morning. I don’t care how much your causes matter to you, that’s more important. Stop fighting like a pack of coyotes.”

  She crooked a finger at the young woman who needed to go to the bathroom. “She’s coming with me. You’ll get out of here faster if you don’t all have to go. It’s one at a time, and it’ll keep us from doing the interviews.”

  Elizabeth unlocked the cell and the woman stepped out. She was easily three inches taller than Elizabeth’s five-seven, but didn’t exhibit any hostility. As Elizabeth closed the cell, the woman said, “Sorry.”

  “No problem. Follow me.”

  They walked back into the bullpen, which now had only two witnesses, both of whom were the right age for college students. Elizabeth pointed to a sign above the lone restroom door. “In there. Don’t take long.”

  Sergeant Frank Hammer was stapling some papers together. At forty, he’d been on the force about ten years, and could be counted on to interact with rowdy students without losing his cool. He did a half-shrug at Elizabeth. “Sorry about the cells. One of the campus cops had a chemistry class to teach and the other one had…I dunno, something. They were keeping the jerks quiet for us.”

  A female witness with a brown ponytail looked up from where she’d apparently been signing her statement. “It was the other one’s day at the ag barn.”

  “Hey, Jen,” Elizabeth said. “Didn’t recognize you at first.”

  Jen Abernathy taught English composition at the college, and was not much older than the students she taught. She also worked part-time at the book store in town. Today her bright blue eyes were red from crying.

  “Why were you downtown this morning?
”

  She raised her eyebrows and had a sort of sheepish expression. “Debate coach.”

  “Jeez. Teach them some manners.”

  She nodded. “Working on it.”

  “See anything that might help us?”

  Jen shook her head. “Don’t think so. People have been avoiding the diner because of the picketers. I wish I’d gone anyway, been more supportive...” Her words trailed off in a sniffle.

  Elizabeth couldn’t ask where Jen was when Calderone found the body. Jen wouldn’t know when that was. Instead, she asked, “Where were you standing when our cars pulled up?”

  “I was about half-a-block down. I parked in front of the antique store. Hadn’t gotten to the kids yet.”

  Kids. When Elizabeth was nineteen she worked a full-time job and took three college classes.

  “Wish I could help more,” Jen added. “It’s all so…impossible to believe. Who gets killed in a town of 3,500 people?”

  “I hope no one else. Keep your ears open.”

  “So, you think it’s safe in town?”

  Elizabeth thought for a moment. “We don’t know anything yet. But it was a business that handled cash. If someone got killed because a robber broke into their house, I’d be a lot more worried about more…attacks.”

  “I guess that’s reassuring.”

  Hammer called from across the room. “That’s what I told the mayor.”

  Elizabeth smiled briefly at Jen. “Excuse me.” She went toward where Hammer stood at the front counter.

  The public was separated from officers by a large counter with a gate that was the same height as the counter. While it could swing in either direction, it also had a sliding lock at the bottom to keep people from walking back unannounced. Because no one tried, the lock was usually not fastened.

  When she worked in Chicago, some substations had bulletproof glass separating the public from officers. At the very least, officers’ desks and other work areas were behind locked doors. Until now, Elizabeth had liked the small-town feel of her station.

  “Can I wait a couple hours before I call the mayor back?”

  Hammer straightened the now neatly stacked pile of papers. “Yeah. She said she already gave Jerry at the paper a statement about Logland being safe and us following every lead.”

  “I guess that’s good.”

  “I think she’d be all over us, but she has a doc appointment in Springfield.” He nodded his head in the direction of the cells. “You want ‘em all interviewed separately?”

  “Anyone say they saw something?” Elizabeth asked.

  “One of the guys said when the picketers got there, which wasn’t too long before Calderone found the vic, that Ben pulled the blinds down. Doesn’t sound as if anyone saw anything after that, but you never know.”

  Elizabeth tilted her head, thinking. “Let’s write three questions. Before they talk to us, they have to answer them, in writing, and without consulting each other. Tell them it’ll be like taking a test.”

  “What questions?” Jen asked.

  Elizabeth smiled. “Ever the teacher.”

  Jen flushed.

  “Let’s see. What time they got there, if they saw Ben or anyone else in the diner or on the street, and whether any of them have ever had a job where they had to be on their feet all day and listen to people complain about food.”

  Jen laughed and then covered her mouth with one hand. “Not funny.”

  Hammer grinned at her and glanced at Elizabeth. “Sometimes you just have to laugh. I’ll write out a page and make copies. Only take five minutes.”

  Elizabeth pointed in the direction of the room that held Nick and Marti and walked toward it. “Sergeant Hammer, please escort the woman in the bathroom back to the cells when you pass out the papers. Hopefully we won’t get a lot of bathroom requests.”

  “Sure thing.” He bent over and scribbled on paper, Elizabeth assumed writing the questions she wanted picketers to answer. He would know not to include her last one.

  She started for the conference room again and turned back. “And can you get a couple folks to check beyond the downtown area, maybe some of the gas stations near the edge of town? See if anyone who bought gas was belligerent, or maybe couldn’t afford to pay for it? Stuff like that.”

  Hammer kept writing on the paper. “We’ll make all the rounds. You want someone to check Ben’s apartment, right?”

  “Yep. Wearing gloves, of course.”

  As she headed to the conference room, Elizabeth shook her head slightly. When she’d accepted the position of chief of police in a small college town in southern Illinois, she hadn’t expected a murder. She’d seen enough corpses during her five years working in Chicago.

  True, town size was not an exact predictor of relative calm. But a bunch of people studying to be farmers? Come on.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ELIZABETH RAPPED ON THE conference room door jamb and walked in. Marti appeared to have been crying, and Nick was paler than he had been forty-five minutes ago.

  “This won’t take long.” She studied Nick. “Can you keep your stomach together?”

  He nodded. “The cop out there had a pack of Tums.”

  Elizabeth sat. She met Marti’s gaze. “So, when you got to the diner, was anything out of place?”

  “Besides Ben?” Nick asked.

  “Besides Ben.”

  Marti inhaled and let her breath out slowly. “I’ve been thinking more about that. There were some dirty dishes that hadn’t been brought to the wash station in the kitchen. Ben never lets them sit.”

  Nick shrugged. “But somebody coulda just left. Was the beer cooler locked?”

  “I don’t know,” Elizabeth said. “Should it have been?”

  Marti leaned forward. “We only serve beer from seven in the evening until two in the morning. Once it’s two AM, Ben locks the cooler and won’t serve.”

  “Only Ben and Steve Johnson can serve it. Me and Marti, and anybody under twenty-one, we have to stay on the food side.”

  “Food side?” Elizabeth asked.

  Marti nodded. “When you go in, there’s the counter in front of you, and three booths on each side. When you turn down the side, you know, to the right as you face the kitchen, that’s the only place you can drink beer.”

  Elizabeth knew there had been initial complaints when Ben applied for a liquor license two years ago. But when he said he wasn’t making enough to stay in business, the other shop owners dropped their protests. They needed a cheap place to buy lunch. Ben compromised by saying he would only serve beer.

  “So, Ben would have been alone last night?”

  Marti and Nick nodded.

  Elizabeth looked from one to the other. “How many customers would you say are in the place after say two AM?”

  Marti’s gazed directly at Elizabeth. “I can’t tell you a number, but if no one robbed the register I’ll know how much money came in last night.”

  “Yeah,” Nick said. “Under the bill tray, you know, in the cash register, we write down how much came in each shift. Ben usually adds it up about six, ‘cause it’s not busy. ”

  Marti added, “And we put some in the deposit bag and leave some for the change.”

  Nick nodded. “And we write how much is left for change.”

  Elizabeth flipped through three pages of her notes. Knowing there should be a tally sheet of sorts was good news.

  “Somebody said the single camera pointed at the cash register.”

  “Yep, just the one,” Nick said. “I think you have to ask the monitoring firm if there’s tapes.”

  Elizabeth didn’t like the sound of that. “If?”

  Nick shrugged. “Not sure if Ben paid the bill lately.”

  Marti tilted her head back and then looked at Elizabeth again. “I think he maybe got caught up. But no one watched the cameras. Ben was supposed to ask if he wanted to see the tape.”

  “Tape? Elizabeth asked. “As in VHS, not digital files?”

 
; She nodded. “And he had to ask fast, ‘cause the company just uses the same couple tapes over and over.”

  Elizabeth stood. “I’ll be right back.”

  She hurried to the bullpen. Calderone now sat at a table near the pigeon holes used for mail, a mug of coffee in front of him. “You know which firm Ben used for security?” When he nodded, she continued. “Marti said they don’t keep the tapes long. We need immediate access.”

  He moved to a nearby desk and picked up the phone. “You got it.”

  Elizabeth strode back to the conference room and again faced Nick and Marti. “Thanks for the security camera info.

  “Sure,” Nick said, and Marti nodded.

  “Any regulars come in overnight?”

  Nick shrugged. “The college library shuts at midnight. Sometimes people come in for a beer before bed.”

  Elizabeth shook her head slightly as she noted this. “That ought to help retention.”

  Marti giggled, and then put both hands over her mouth as her eyes filled with tears.

  Elizabeth tried to soften her expression. “Laughter and grief are pretty close emotions. You aren’t insulting Ben if you laugh.”

  Nick said, “Well, that’s good. I keep thinking of the stupid jokes he used to tell. Like, um, when the legislature did the medical marijuana stuff, Ben said it was ‘cause they stayed up all night passing bills in the joint.”

  When Elizabeth stared at him, Nick added, “You know, the joint meant the state capitol, and they were passing…”

  “Shut up, Nick.” Marti said.

  Elizabeth spoke firmly. “Guys.”

  “Sorry,” they said.

  “To get back on track, were there often long periods at night when Ben was alone? No customers, I mean.”

  “He would usually say if business had been really slow at night. Last couple weeks, it was.”

  Marti added, “I stopped by real late a few times the last year, to get my paycheck. Couple times he was alone. He usually made the next day’s soup at night.”

  Elizabeth had deliberately questioned them together, trying to get them to relax. Relaxed murderers sometimes lowered their guard. So far, she hadn’t seen anything that led her to think either had ended Ben’s life so brutally.