HIGHWAY HOMICIDE (3 page)

Chapter Four

Carl slewed his cruiser to a stop outside the ‘Olde Tyme’ diner in a spray of slush. Almost’s cruiser was parked alongside and received the brunt of it.

Carl
turned off his lights, got out, trudged over to the door of the diner and shouldered his way inside. He stamped his boots free of snow on the mat inside.

“Hi, Carl,” Lisa called out from behind the counter, “Found my Honda yet?”

“Christ, Lisa, I only just found out someone had swiped it. Give me a break! And better yet, give me a coffee will you, I’m frozen!”

“Okay, Carl, but no Honda, no coffee. How does that sound to you, frozen or not?” Lisa said cheekily.

“Sounds like you’re pretty pissed off,” Carl shot back at her.

“So’s the guy who stole her car, I’ll bet,” Almost chimed in. “He must be a stranger ‘cos you couldn’t
even get anyone from around here to drive that old wreck to the scrap yard. Not even if you paid them.”

“We don’t
have
a scrap yard around here, Almost.” Lisa corrected him.

“That’s right, Lisa honey, the closest one is in
Newport and your old heap wouldn’t make it for even half that distance.”

“Maybe we should have the goddamned thing checked out for roadworthiness then, if we ever find it again,” Carl added meaningfully.

“You wouldn’t
dare
,” Lisa cried.

“Try me,” Carl said, “So, Lisa, how about that coffee?”

“That’s blackmail, Carl Berger, and you know it,” Lisa retorted.

“You just have to do what you have to do,” Carl said with a grin, parking himself on a stool at the counter as Lisa reluctantly handed him a mug of coffee.

“Anyway,” Almost said, “If the perp’s in Lisa’s Honda, at least we know he won’t be far away, don’t we?”

“You’ve got that right, but okay, Lisa, seriously now, have you given Almost a good description of this guy?”

“Well, Carl, if you can call ‘he had the cutest blue eyes’ a good description, then I guess she did,” Almost said, grinning.

“Well, he did,” Lisa snapped back at him.

“Oh, ho, is it a budding romance with a wanted felon we have going here then, Lisa,” Carl said, raising his eyebrows.

“You guys are impossible,” Lisa said, “A regular pair of ‘Keystone Kops’, you two are. You should both be arrested for impersonating real police officers. Anyway, why are you
both
in here drinking my coffee when that guy is off somewhere in my Honda?” Lisa complained.

“Not very far
off, though, Lisa,” Almost said. “Remember it’s your old Honda heap he’s trying to drive.”

“Okay, enough, “Carl said finally. “There’s been a murder out there tonight, so let’s just quit with the cute chit chat? Did Lisa give you a good description of the man who stole her car or not, Deputy Neerly?” Carl asked him.

“Yes, Sheriff Berger. A very good description, sir. So good in fact that I’m sure I’ll know him just as soon as I see him. She must have
really
looked him over,” Almost said, straight faced as Lisa glared at him.

At that moment, Carl’s cell phone twittered.

“Berger,” he said, and listened for a few moments. “Thanks, Roly, appreciate it. I’ll be in touch in the morning.”

He flipped the cell phone closed and clipped it back on to his belt.

“That was Roly calling from the morgue. They’ve ID’d the victim already. Her name is, or was, Maria Caspar. She lived in Rutland and was twenty six, according to her driver’s license.”

Almost raised his eyebrows.

“How’d they get her license,” he asked. “Did you see a handbag out there at the scene?”

“No, I didn’t,” Carl said, “And neither did Roly. They found a
ladies wallet in the pocket of the parka she was wearing when they were preparing her for the autopsy. It had credit cards and about three hundred bucks in cash in it, so the murder obviously wasn’t a robbery gone bad,” Carl said. “Leastways, it doesn’t look like it.”

“Poor girl,” Lisa said, nodding her head towards the highway. “I wonder what happened out there tonight.”

“That’s what we ‘Keystone Kops’ are here to find out,” Carl said, holding out his mug for a refill.

“I know the guy stole my car,” Lisa said as she poured Carl and Almost more coffee, “but he just didn’t seem to be the type to murder anyone to me.”

“Lisa, there is no ‘type’,” Carl said. “Even some of the most gentle and innocent looking people have done it. You can never go by people’s looks. Anyway, Almost, let’s get out of here. There’s nothing more we can do tonight. Just take it easy going home, and Lisa thanks for the coffees. Put your coat on and lock up, there’s a good girl, and this impersonation of a police officer will run you home, okay?”

Lisa went back to get her parka off the hook and then felt in her pocket.

“Shit,” she said, “The diner’s key and my apartment keys were on that key ring. I thought he must have hot wired the car but that creep has stolen all my other keys as well.”

“That would be the creep with the cute blue eyes then, would it?” Carl kidded her.

Without answering him, she went back to the cash register and took a spare key from under the drawer. Then she walked on over to where Carl and Almost were waiting by the door. She locked the diner’s door when the three of them were outside.

“Thanks for the offer of a ride, Carl,” she said. “I
knew my car was gone but it just didn’t register that I didn’t have any wheels to get myself home tonight. Pretty dumb, right?”

“How about getting into your apartment,” Carl asked. “How will you do that?”

“That’s no problem. I always leave a spare key with my next door neighbor, just in case of things like this.”

Carl nodded, “Good plan,” he said.

“Goodnight, Almost,” Lisa called out to the deputy, as he started to brush the accumulated snow off of his cruiser’s windshield.

“Goodnight, Lisa, Carl,” he replied, waving back at them. “See you tomorrow.”

Lisa got into Carl’s cruiser and buckled up as Carl started the car up. His wipers took care of the snow since he’d only been parked there for about fifteen minutes.

Suddenly a thought hit him.

“Lisa, the dishes, cutlery or whatever the guy used, you didn’t wash them, did you? Christ, I hope not!”

“No, Carl, as a matter of fact, I didn’t. I was just about to when Almost showed up and then you came in right afterwards. So everything is still there. Why, is it important?”

“Fingerprints, Lisa,” Carl said. “Those dishes may help us to nail him. I’ll get a fingerprint guy out to you in the morning, okay? And speaking of morning, how will you get back out here if the roads are clear enough tomorrow?”

“I’ll just give Jack Tyler a call
when I get home. I’m sure he’ll drop me off in the morning. Jack will do just about anything for one of my famous breakfasts on the house,” she said smugly. “But if this blizzard doesn’t ease up soon, I may not be able to open up at all. Not much point if no one but crooks and cops are coming in wanting to eat, is there?”   

“If you
were
to close the diner, Lisa, that would bring our little community to a standstill far quicker than any blizzard could, wouldn’t it.” Carl laughed, as they pulled out of the parking lot.

Chapter Five

The man’s knees were trembling and it wasn’t only because of the cold now. He dropped the rifle he was holding back down on to the floor as though it was red hot. Up until today, he’d never seen or even been close to a dead body before. And now he’d seen two in less than three hours, one of which he may have been responsible for.

At least I can’t be held responsible for this one, he thought. The poor soul, whoever it was
, had probably died in their sleep. But as his eyes became more accustomed to the dim light in the room, he could see the skeleton’s skull a little more clearly. It looked as though portions of skin still adhered to it. As he moved nearer, however, even in the semi darkness, he could clearly see the black hole in the centre of the forehead.

Shit, he thought, this one has been murdered too. But when? From the condition of the body, it must have been months, or more likely years ago when it happened.

He turned and looked back down at the rifle lying on the floor behind him, the one that he’d just picked up and held. If the police found him here, they would probably think he’d returned to the scene of the crime. It would be too much of a coincidence that he’d just stumbled on two dead bodies inside of a few hours. He sat himself down on an old wooden chair in the corner of the room, wrapping the drapery more tightly around himself and tried to think.

Just how stupid had he been
, he asked himself. He should’ve stayed and called the police from the diner. Why would he run and why did he even call the police at all? After all he had nothing to hide, or
did
he? He didn’t know and he couldn’t remember what had happened or how he’d gotten out to the highway in the first place. Surely he couldn’t have killed that girl, could he? And why would he? What motive could he possibly have had?

But he
had
been there. That was an indisputable fact, wasn’t it? And dressed only in jeans, a shirt, boots and socks, and a short denim jacket. Nobody but a damned fool would go out on the highway in the wintertime dressed like that, and certainly not with a blizzard expected. Now here he was, sitting in a room with a murdered skeleton, and asking himself a bunch of damned fool questions. None of which he had any answers to.

He didn’t even know what day of the week it was, or where he was. He had just driven through a place called Cooper’s Corners but he had no idea where that was either, or even what high
way he was on. The last day he could remember was a Thursday. He could remember driving home and putting the Chevy wagon away in the garage. He could also remember hanging up his winter parka in the hallway closet and walking into the living room and seeing...… Seeing
what
?

His mind was a blank from that moment on,
until he’d woken up beside the girl’s body out on this highway. He was aware he was wearing the same clothes he had on when he’d entered his house. The same clothes that he’d worn to work on Thursday. But how long ago was that? Was it
still
only Thursday?

The man racked his brain to
try to remember what it was he’d seen in his home, but his mind was as shut tight as the door to this room had been. But he’d gotten that open eventually, hadn’t he?

He knew
he and Maria had agreed to a parting of the ways a week or so before. She’d left, leaving him angry and depressed. After all, they’d been going out together for several years and they’d been talking seriously about marriage for a while now. He hadn’t exactly asked her to marry him or given her an engagement ring but he thought that they’d had an understanding. They’d been living together now for a year and a half already.

Then suddenly she’
d wanted to call everything off. She’d met someone else she said and that was it. She hadn’t even told him who it was. One minute she was there, and the next she’d packed her things and had gone, just as though she’d never been there. But he wasn’t the type to get himself drunk. That didn’t solve anything at all and he sure as hell wasn’t the type to go on out and murder anyone either. He just knew he wasn’t.

He suddenly thought about the girl lying in the
snow out on the highway. She’d been lying face down and partially covered by drifting snow. Her hair had been black just like Maria’s, all covered with blood. But it wasn’t Maria, was it? Surely not?

Stealing the waitress’s car and running from the police was hard
ly going to convince anyone he hadn’t killed her, whoever she was. After all, no one else had been there. Then two other thoughts popped into his head. With no car there, how had they both gotten out there anyway and if he
had
killed the girl, what had he killed her with?

Having added two more to his growing list of unanswerable questions, he looked over once more at the skeletal figure in the bed before him. He shuddered, stood up and backed out through the warped door, closing it as tightly as he could behind him.

As he pulled it shut he thought the door might have been forced open before at some time. And then he made his way shakily back downstairs to the parlor.

He could make out an old black wood stove in the corner and an oil lamp up on a shelf. There was also some wood piled bes
ide the stove. The man felt he could take the risk of making a fire to dry his soaking wet clothes out. But he soon found out that although risking a fire was one thing; actually starting one may be something else entirely.

On a dresser stood a candlestick with a half burned candle in it. Where there are candles, hopefully there are matches or perhaps a lighter, he thought. He rummaged around in the dresser’s drawers in the darkened room until his numb fingers eventually touched a large box of matches.

Eagerly, he opened the box and tried to strike one of the matches. The damp match head disintegrated immediately. Frantically he tried another and another with the same result. Finally, from what must have been the middle of the box, one of the matches suddenly flared.

He quickly lighted the candle and by its light found two others in the room and lighted them as well from the first one. Now he could see a lot better at least. Next, he broke up a wooden box that had probably been used to hold kindling, and fed the wood into the stove.

He added several sheets of damp newspaper. Shivering with the cold still, he spent the next hour trying to get the paper to light, again without success.

Then it suddenly hit him! He just hadn’t been thinking too clearly at all. Going over to the shelf, he reached up and took the oil lamp down and poured some of the contents over the wood and paper in the stove. He picked up one of the lighted candles and thrust it into the stove’s lower opening. Instantly the oil caught fire, then the paper and wood. Moments later he had a good fire going.

He took the candle back out, lighted the oil lamp from it and adjusted the flame. The room now started to take on a warmer glow as he carried the lamp over to the chesterfield to check it out. It looked as though the mice had been long gone from it, thankfully. 

Next, carrying the lamp, he went on into the kitchen. It was disgustingly filthy, but nevertheless, he opened the cupboards. On one of the shelves he found several cans, all of them with the labels either missing or in the process of disintegrating.

Mice had nibbled at the rotting labels as well. Some of the cans were also beginning to show signs of rust. He rummaged around in the drawers under the counter and finally found a can opener. It too was encrusted with dirt but he still placed it on the counter top beside the cans.

Four of the cans probably contained processed meat, corned beef or perhaps Spam. Even though the labels were missing, he could tell from the can’s shape what the contents were likely to be. He remembered reading somewhere that canned goods last for year
s, provided the can itself had not been pierced. Even with a little rust on the outside, the contents would probably be safely edible.

He didn’t really have much choice either, did he? It wasn’t as though he could just go walking into any of the restaurants around here and order himself a steak dinner either, was it?

It wasn’t that he was hungry right now, but he sure as hell would be by morning and even more so if the weather forced him to stay in the house for several days.

In order to save his light source, he doused the oil lamp and two of the candles and placed the box of matches close to the stove. Not too close, but hopefully close enough to dry them all out. He pulled a wooden kitchen chair over in front of the stove and draped his wet jeans, shirt and his socks over it to dry.

His boots, he put under the chair. Then he went back into the kitchen for another chair to drape his denim jacket over.

The stove was slowly starting to warm the room up a little now and he banked it up with as much wood as he could get into it. He thought for a moment and then climbed up the stairs to the upper level again. He went into the first bedroom, stripped the mouse ravaged quilt off of the bed and carried it back downstairs.

When he looked out of the now undraped windows, he could see the blizzard was still raging outside. Even if the police were looking for him, it was unlikely they’d be out before the storm abated, which could be hours or even days from now. At some point though, if they happened to stop out on the highway, they would surely either see or smell the smoke from the wood stove.

Right now though, while the stor
m was still raging, he felt he was safe enough and he had to somehow get himself warm and also get some rest. He laid himself down on the holed, musty chesterfield and pulled the draperies and foul smelling quilt tightly around himself. He doused the last candle and moments later he was fast asleep.