1 52 Steps to Murder Page 9

  “Our guy Hartley doesn’t waste any time, does he, Lou?”

  “I think if I had to do this route I’d want to get it over with the first thing each morning, too,” Lou replied.

  “Do you see him yet?”

  No sooner had I asked the question than both of us spotted the mailman quickly descending the steps from the third house on the right. We marveled at his speed.

  “Yeah, but let’s see how quickly he goes up the steps,” I uttered, holding out that the mailman would exhibit the same huffing snail’s pace that had become our trademark for climbing those same steps. Lou and I thought we were going to be sick after we saw the mailman quickly mount the steps of the next house.

  “What’s with this guy, anyway? He’s got to be somewhere around our age.”

  “Yeah, but our belts would go around him twice. He can’t have more than a thirty-two inch waist. It’s criminal for a man to be so thin.”

  I nodded in agreement. I knew that surely this mailman deprived himself of the good food Lou and I needed to get through each day. I had nothing against bread and water, as long as a lot of fine foods came with them. Even yogurt was okay. Well, maybe that’s going a little too far. And I wasn’t even going to ask what tofu was. I just knew it wasn’t for me. It sounds like some kind of martial arts, but some people claim they eat the stuff. Better them than me. I think yogurt and tofu are for people who go to classes to learn how to wrap their feet behind their heads. I have no intention of signing up for a pretzel class. If I did, I could just see the guys in the department. They would turn out in force to see Lou and me wearing tights.

  All those thoughts about skinny men, yogurt, and tofu were enough to make me reach in my pocket and pull out a candy bar. I munched a bite or two while we studied our first suspect of the morning. Lou followed suit with a new bag of M&Ms, even though it had been only fifteen minutes since we had devoured our breakfasts, puny as they were.

  As Mr. Hartley trotted down the steps of the last house and rushed to his vehicle, Lou and I opened our car doors and stepped out to talk with him.

  “Mr. Hartley?” I called out as we made our way across the street.

  A thin man of average height and straight, dishwater blond hair turned to face us.

  “That’s right.”

  “Mr. Hartley, I’m Lt. Dekker and this is Sgt. Murdock. We’d like to ask you a few questions.”

  As we reached the postman I showed him my identification.

  “Let me see that, again. I’ve never known a cop to drive something like that,” Mr. Hartley said as he pointed toward Lightning.

  I held my identification closer, so he could see it.

  “You’re right, there, Mr. Hartley. Far too few law enforcement officers take pride in what they drive.”

  I could see Mr. Hartley felt he had more important things to do than talk about modes of transportation. He hurried things along with a question.

  “Is this about Mrs. Nelson’s murder?”

  “That’s right, Mr. Hartley. How did you know?”

  “Well, I saw in the newspaper where she was murdered. I can’t believe it, and to think I saw her only Saturday morning,” Mr. Hartley replied with sadness in his voice.

  “Tell us about that, Mr. Hartley.”

  “Well, a few days before I’d gotten a notice to restart her mail delivery. I assumed that meant that she’d gotten out of the hospital and was back at home. I’d been meaning to stop to see how she was doing. I decided to do just that Saturday morning when I saw the front door to her house standing open. I stepped into the house and called out. Since the door was open, I knew someone else was there with her. In a few minutes Miss Penrod, Mrs. Nelson’s next-door neighbor, came down the stairs.”

  “So did you see Mrs. Nelson that morning?”

  “I did. The poor thing. She looked in terrible shape. I told her I hoped she’d be doing better soon and handed her her mail.”

  “What else can you tell me about Mrs. Nelson? For instance, did she seem alert when you talked to her, or was she sleepy?”

  “She didn’t have much strength, but she was wide awake. Is that what you mean, Lieutenant?”

  “Anything else you can think of?”

  “Nothing comes to mind. Sorry.”

  “That’s okay, Mr. Hartley. After you handed Mrs. Nelson her mail, did you leave right away?”

  “No, I talked to Miss Penrod a few minutes, asked her how she was doing and if she would like for me to give her her mail or put it in her box. Then I left.”

  “How was Miss Penrod?”

  “About like always.”

  “And how is that?’

  “Nice, but businesslike.”

  “And did Miss Penrod take her mail?”

  “No, she told me that if it was all right with me she preferred that I put it in the mailbox.”

  “So, you left before Miss Penrod left. Is that correct?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Mr. Hartley, do you by any chance have a key to Mrs. Nelson’s house?”

  “I do. Several people have keys to Mrs. Nelson’s house.”

  “And why did you have a key?”

  “Well, I’d always check Mrs. Nelson’s mail to see if there appeared to be anything important. If so, I’d ring the bell.”

  “And did Mrs. Nelson answer the door when you rang the bell?”

  “Sometimes she did, but many mornings I’d find her eating breakfast on her sun porch as she looked out the window and watched the birds do the same thing. Before she fell, she was in pretty good shape for her age. What time she got up depended on how she felt on a particular day. Some days old people feel old. If she was still in bed, she’d buzz me in. She’d do the same thing if she was in the back on the sun porch, so I used my key on occasion.”

  “Mr. Hartley, do you have keys to any of the other houses on this street?”

  “Just to Mrs. Jarvis’s house. I used to have a key to Mrs. Silverman’s house when she was living, but when her son took early retirement to stay home and take care of her I gave the key back.”

  “When’s the last time you saw Mrs. Jarvis?”

  “Oh, it’s been a few days. I’m not sure which day it was.”

  “Mr. Hartley, did you see any of the other neighbors on Saturday morning?”

  “As a matter of fact, I did. I saw Mr. Silverman when I delivered his mail. He was sitting by the window. Then, I moved on down to the end of the street and that Reynolds boy was hiding behind a tree. He made me jump. He did. He’s tetched. He’s not really a boy, but he is mentally. The war did strange things to him. Not that he was one of my favorites before the war, but I cut him some slack then because he lived with his mother. She’s never had a kind word to say to anyone. Anyway, as I turned to leave, his mother opened the door and scared me again. That woman scares me even when she doesn’t say anything. After I saw Miss Penrod and Mrs. Nelson, I ran into Mrs. Wilkens. She was sitting on her front porch.”

  “Mr. Hartley, do you know Bobby Cooper?”

  “Yeah, he’s the grocery boy.”

  “Would you recognize his car if you saw it?”

  “Sure.”

  “Did you see it on Hilltop Place Saturday morning?”

  “No, it wasn’t there when I delivered the mail. Of course he could’ve come later. You don’t think he did it, do you?”

  I avoided the question and asked another one.

  “Mr. Hartley, were you by any chance on this street Saturday night?”

  “Of course not. I’m never on the street at night.”

  “Mr. Hartley, what size shoe do you wear?”

  “Why, did the murderer leave a footprint?”

  “Just answer the question, Mr. Hartley?”

  “Nine and a-half B.”

  “Do you own a yellow raincoat, Mr. Hartley?”

  “No.”

  “Have you ever seen anyone on this street wearing a yellow raincoat?”

  “Can’t say that I have, but t
hen I can’t say that I’ve seen any of these people wearing any kind of raincoat. Are you saying that the murderer wore a yellow raincoat?”

  “No, I’m not saying that. Mr. Hartley, can you think of anyone who might want to see Mrs. Nelson dead?”

  “I’m afraid not, but my guess is that whoever it was was a stranger. I can’t see anyone who knew her killing her. She was just too nice a person. The only thing I can’t figure out is how the killer got into the house in the first place. Mrs. Nelson would never let in anyone that she didn’t know. You don’t think someone sneaked in Saturday morning when her front door was open, do you?”

  “At this point, I don’t know anything. Maybe Mrs. Nelson didn’t let the murderer in. Mr. Hartley, to the best of your knowledge, is there any other way of getting into any of these houses except by going through the front door?”

  He paused, and then answered. “No.”

  “Well, thanks for your time, Mr. Hartley.”

  I squinted as I looked toward the sun. Then, I used my hand as a visor and noticed the absence of any other activity on the street. Satisfied that no one was committing any new crimes at that moment, Lou and I waved goodbye to Mr. Hartley, who had already jumped into the mail truck.

  The two of us returned to the car and found out that someone had phoned headquarters and left an anonymous tip that dealt with the Nelson case. The dispatcher told us to locate a copy of the local newspaper dated October 20, 1948. What would something that happened over fifty years ago have to do with a murder that was committed only two days ago?

  14

  Lou and I stopped off at the Midtown Market, a mid-size grocery in a mid-size town. It was the type of establishment that carried most of the items its customers considered necessary, but didn’t stock all brands.

  I asked to see Bobby Cooper, but he was out delivering groceries. The manager told us when he expected Bobby to return. I asked him about Bobby’s activities on Saturday, and he told me that Bobby took much too long to make his morning deliveries, then complained of being sick and asked for the afternoon off. I made a note of this and planned to ask Bobby about it when we returned. Then, I asked the manager if he could be a little more specific about Bobby’s deliveries. He said as a matter of fact he could.

  “It was a slow day for deliveries. Especially for a Saturday. Bobby had only two. Our checking device told us he arrived at the first delivery at 9:45 and the second one at 10:07. Despite the fact that he didn’t have any more deliveries, he didn’t return to the store until a little after 11:00.”

  Lou and I replenished our stock of candy and decided we would ask a few questions of Harry Hornwell, Mrs. Nelson’s attorney, and return later to question the delivery boy.

  Harry Hornwell’s spacious office occupied the second floor of a two-story, red brick building in the downtown area. A couch, two chairs on rollers, and a coffee table occupied space on the right side of the room. Two more chairs faced a desk, and another chair stood behind the desk. Each of the chairs and the couch were covered with cordovan leather. Mr. Hornwell’s large, mahogany desk matched not only the couch and chairs, but the large bookcases that surrounded his office. The Oriental rug beneath our feet looked expensive, and the hardwood floor, visible from the end of the rug to the wall, seemed of fine quality. The entire area screamed that the attorney was well-heeled. Nothing about Mr. Hornwell’s demeanor contradicted what the room seemed to say about him. He answered our questions as quickly as possible, and his attitude seemed to say that he felt his time was more valuable than ours. Mr. Hornwell told us that he didn’t know much about what had happened to Mrs. Nelson, because he spent the weekend at his cabin. He left town late Friday afternoon and didn’t return until Sunday night.

  We left Hornwell’s office and went back to the car. I called DMV and asked them to check on what vehicles Harry Hornwell owned and to give me the license plate numbers. He owned two cars, a truck, and an SUV. We lucked out. We found a black Lincoln Town Car licensed to Hornwell parked beside his office. There was mud on the tires and the lower part of the car’s body. Why would someone who owned a Lincoln Navigator and a Ford F-150 truck take his car into the woods?

  We left Mr. Hornwell’s office and returned to Midtown Market. Bobby Cooper had returned. He answered each of our questions, but seemed nervous doing so. His manner suggested that the young man had something to hide. As I expected, he denied being on Hilltop Place the day of the murder and said that the reason his Saturday morning deliveries took longer than usual was because he wasn’t feeling well.

  +++

  With everyone questioned except Mrs. Jarvis, Miss Penrod, and Mrs. Murphy, Sgt. Murdock and I drove to the newspaper office to see what trinket of information a fifty-plus-year-old newspaper could provide. We arrived and the clerk informed us that we could find the information we wanted on microfiche at the local library. A few minutes later, Lou and I arrived at the library, gave an employee the date of the newspaper we were looking for, and a minute or so later the librarian presented us with a role of microfiche and instructions as to where to go and how to view it. The two of us scanned the newspaper, found the item we wanted in the local news section under the article “The Secrets of Hilltop Place.”

  “So Lou, do you think there’s any truth in this article?”

  “I don’t know, but I know there are two guys who are going to do their best to find out.”

  “One thing’s for sure, if all of the houses on Hilltop Place really do have secret passageways that lead from room to room and tunnels underneath that lead from house to house; it sure explains how the killer could have gotten into the house without a key.”

  “What do you say we grab some lunch and check out Mrs. Nelson’s house?”

  +++

  We stuffed ourselves in a way that would make a taxidermist proud, and then left to return to the case. I braked and eased Lightning in front of Mrs. Nelson’s house. Lou and I used one hand for leverage and extracted ourselves from the yellow bubble. As far as we could tell, neither Mr. Silverman nor Jimmy Reynolds was aware that we had returned. We were sure that our reappearance would not remain a secret for long.

  “I wish I knew where that tunnel was, Lou. Then we wouldn’t have to climb all these steps.”

  “I don’t know, Cy. I’d think these steps might be safer than those leading from the tunnel to the house.”

  “You never know. This place might be like a mine shaft. There might be an elevator or a mining car leading to the top. Oh, well, we’re wasting time. Let’s go see if the key works this time.”

  After a few minutes of heavy breathing, Plump and Plumper reached the front porch. I removed the key from my pocket, inserted it into the lock. The key turned and the door opened. Maybe our luck was about to improve. We looked around like two children on Christmas morning, only this time our gifts had been hidden from us.

  “Where do you think we should start, Cy?”

  “I don’t know. Let’s start in the pantry. That’s where we found the boots.”

  To gather strength for our endeavor, Lou and I slid our hands into our coat pockets. I frowned when I noticed the next two nuts almost touched each other. I removed my pocketknife and carefully sliced one almond and a sliver of chocolate away from the remainder of the candy bar. Lou showed no remorse and blew hard enough to make a large opening in his already torn M&M package. He gulped down a satisfactory amount of a rainbow of little pieces.

  The two of us studied a well-stocked section of canned goods. Everything had its place. One shelf contained fruits. Another shelf housed vegetables. Miscellaneous items occupied still another shelf.

  “Any ideas?” Lou asked.

  “Let’s slide our fingers across the edge of each shelf and see if we can find a spring that opens one side or the back wall.”

  We donned gloves to prevent getting a splinter and erasing clues and went to work. A small stepladder helped us to reach the higher shelves. Many minutes later, after a meticulous study of each shelf and
corner, neither of us found a spring, lever, or button that identified a secret passageway.

  “So, what’s Plan B?” Lou asked.

  “I don’t know. Let’s say we remove everything from the shelves and see if we find anything hidden behind them.”

  We plucked one item from the shelves and then another. After we had removed a few items, we were surprised by the depth of each shelf.

  “Why would a single woman living alone have so much on hand?”

  “Beats me. Looks like it was definitely enough to last her a lifetime.”

  “Yeah, and then some.”

  A few minutes later, we had loaded the kitchen table with items taken from the pantry, and still the pantry held an adequate amount of inventory.

  “Think this stuff is still good, Cy?”

  “I don’t know. Lou. Open a jar or a can and take a bite. If something happens to you, I’ll assume that I should throw out the rest of it.”

  “Gee, thanks. That’s awful good of you, Cy.”

  “What can I say? That’s what friends are for.”

  “Remind me to recommend Stanley Silverman to be your partner in case I die.”

  “And I thought you might recommend Heloise Humphert and her walking dust ball.”

  “Maybe the three of you and your mascot could be our department’s first police trio, or would the beast make it a quartet?”

  “If so, I plan to use a squad car and lock the others in the back seat.”

  After what seemed like an eternity, we had removed all the bottles and jars from the pantry.

  “Hey, Lou. Looks like you missed one.”

  “That bottle of olives appears to be stuck, Cy. I couldn’t budge it. I guess it’s been there so long it’s taken up residence.”

  “Just leave it. See anything that might help us?”

  “Not so far.”

  “Well, let’s just push on the wall and see if it moves.”

  After a few more minutes and no results, Lou surmised, “It looks like this pantry is here to stay.”