52 Steps to Murder (10 page)

12

As we walked to Mrs. Jarvis’s house, Mrs. Wilkens returned from church. At least, she was dressed like she had been to church. Because she qualified as a member of the neighborhood watch program, I walked on by Mrs. Jarvis’s house to see if Mrs. Wilkens had seen anyone wearing a raincoat the night before. No luck, but she did recommend that I check with Mr. Silverman, who sees everything. I asked her how much she knew about Mr. Silverman. I knew I would get a lengthy reply. I found out that Stanley Silverman worked as a bookkeeper until his mother got sick. Then, he quit work to stay home and take care of her. Also, he never had a hobby. His mother was his hobby, and since his mother’s death, he had no way to pass the time. He talked of going to her grave each day, but Mrs. Wilkens wasn’t sure of that. She seldom noticed Mr. Silverman leave his house. Even if he did visit her grave, he could sit and talk to her only so long each day. He needed another way to occupy his time. Otherwise, he would go crazy, or had he already gone crazy?

We learned that neighbors seldom saw Mr. Silverman before his mother’s death. He would go to work, come home, and disappear into the house never to be seen again until early the next morning. He never raised any type of garden. He never sat on the front porch. He merely came home each night and did who knows what. His mother was a little more visible, but she never talked about Stanley, except to say what a good son he was   and   how   good   he   was with figures.  On those few occasions Mrs. Silverman sat on her porch, she sat alone. Shortly after her passing, one neighbor and then another saw Stanley sitting by the front window starring into space. Each day, he sat there starring at nothing in particular. It became his way of passing the time between getting up each morning and going to bed each evening. In a way, I could identify with his situation.

After Mrs. Silverman’s death, several of the neighbors began to cast an eye in the direction of the Silverman house. An eye, not a visit. An eye, not a dish of food. A few neighbors noticed that Mr. Silverman had bought a pair of binoculars. At first, they noticed he watched the squirrels that scampered from tree to tree at the end of the street. Maybe watching squirrels became monotonous to Mr. Silverman, because more than one neighbor admitted opening her front door only to find Mr. Silverman’s binoculars focused on her. Some of the neighbors got angry, while others merely felt sorry for him. Word got around the neighborhood that Mr. Silverman had bought a second pair of binoculars, one designed to see things at night. This caused a couple of people who had not been used to locking their doors and closing their blinds to start doing so. Of course, that was before Mrs. Nelson was murdered. I doubt if there’s an unlocked window or door now. Hilltop Place has been changed forever.

I was sure Mrs. Wilkens knew of Mrs. Murphy, so I questioned her to see what she knew. Again, Mrs. Wilkens was “helpful.” Mrs. Murphy lived with her husband on Magnolia Lane. She cleaned houses for a living and worked five days a week. She cleaned for two of Hilltop Place’s residents, Mrs. Nelson and Mrs. Jarvis. She came once a week, on Friday, and every other week she brought her daughter, who helped her move all the furniture to clean underneath and behind it. According to Mrs. Wilkens, Mrs. Murphy was a good woman who knew her place, kept to herself, and could be trusted. Mrs. Wilkens saw Mrs. Murphy on Hilltop Place on the day before the murder, but not on the day of the murder.

+++

Lou and I labored our way up the steps to Mrs. Jarvis’s house. I rang and banged, but no one answered the door. Either Mrs. Jarvis was intent on not answering the door no matter who was there, or she was incapable of doing so. It was time to find out which.

I emphasized Mrs. Jarvis’s safety when I pleaded for permission to break into her house. When a phone call from the department to Mrs. Jarvis provided no more success in locating the occupant than Lou and I had had, we received approval to break into the house. Mrs. Jarvis’s house had only a single lock, with no dead bolt, so the two of us were able to force open the front door with little difficulty.

The two of us entered the house. I called out Mrs. Jarvis’s name. There was no response. I noticed that a lamp had been knocked off a table in the hall and a chair had been shoved out of place in the kitchen. Lou looked upstairs while I searched the rest of the main floor. Neither pursuit led us to Mrs. Jarvis or to any other clues of a struggle.

I noticed a set of keys on the hall table. Curious, I picked them up and went over to see if any of them fit the front door. One of them did. I dropped the keys into my pocket.

Only the basement had not been checked. I grabbed the doorknob of the basement door, slowly turned it, and opened it. I reached for the light and flipped the switch. Nothing happened. Lou and I reached for our guns and our flashlights. We turned on our flashlights and shined them down the gray, wooden steps. Lou motioned to me that he would go first. I let him pass. Both of us carried our flashlights in our left hands as we clutched our guns in our right. The top step creaked as Lou stepped on it. The sudden noise that interrupted the silence caused both of us to grip our guns a little tighter. Slowly, we descended into the basement. With each step we shined our lights on a larger area. We continued in a cautious manner until we stepped down onto the concrete floor of the large, unfinished basement. We saw no one. We continued to flash our lights up and down the walls. Neither of us noticed anything out of order. Light beams moved from side to side as Lou and I looked for Mrs. Jarvis or any clues as to her whereabouts. We spotted a light fixture, but there was no bulb in the socket. Obviously, the wheelchair-bound Mrs. Jarvis hadn’t removed the bulb. Of course, I had no idea how long it had been since the bulb had been removed. We peered behind each object. We looked in the storage area. We even examined the inside of the furnace. Our pursuit proved futile.

We shined our lights around the basement floor. Our flashlights met at one spot, much like two spotlights zeroing in on an escaping prisoner, and I whistled at what we saw. In one corner of the basement the dust had collected enough so that two rows of narrow tire tracks could be seen leading up to that corner, and no tracks led away. The tracks were thin and spread apart with footprints between them. The tracks and footprints could easily have been made by a wheelchair and the person who pushed it. After we lingered and studied our discovery for a few minutes, Lou and I returned to the main floor, and I placed another call. Within minutes, more police arrived to see what they could find. Cautiously, they went over the first floor and the basement. After careful tests, one of the men came to report their findings to me.

“I think we’re through here, Lieutenant, but we did turn up a few things.”

I smiled and nodded for the man to continue.

“Actually, Lieutenant, we weren’t able to find anything except what you and Sgt. Murdock had already found, but we were able to confirm that the tracks do belong to a wheelchair, and the footprints seem to belong to the person who pushed that chair.”

“Is there anything in the tracks or the footprints that told you whether this appeared to be someone violently pushing a chair against the occupant’s will or merely a leisurely push around the basement?”

“There’s not much to go on, Lieutenant, but judging from the distance between one step and the next I would say that it didn’t seem to be a violent act.”

“Well, were you able to learn anything from the footprints?”

“Yes, I’d say they were made by a man’s size eleven galoshes. There are other less obvious tracks near the washer and dryer, mixed in with what I assume to be yours and Sgt. Murdock’s footprints, but those come from a smaller shoe. My guess is a woman’s size seven.”

“Back to the galoshes. There just happens to be a pair of galoshes matching that description two doors down at Mrs. Nelson’s, the murder victim’s house. Could you check those galoshes and see if the prints match, or not?”

“It’s possible, Lieutenant. We don’t have a lot to go on here, but there might be enough prints to confirm or rule out a match.”

“Did you find anything else?”

“As a matter of fact, yes. We did find a little dirt, both in the basement and on the first floor, but none near the front or back door. To be honest, it’s a little puzzling. It’s like the dirt didn’t come in through either door.”

“Any ideas as to how it got there?”

“No, Lieutenant. In a way it’s a lot like the tire tracks and footprints.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Well, the chair tracks and the footprints seem to go right to the wall and disappear. We don’t know where they go to from there, nor do we know where the dirt begins. With the wheelchair, it’s as if someone picked up Mrs. Jarvis and carried her away. Except for one thing.”

“I bet I can guess your one thing. Since the footprints end there, as well, then the person would have had to have flown away with her. It sounds simple to me. Put out an APB on Superman and Peter Pan. We’ll hold both of them until one of them confesses.”

Everyone enjoyed a good laugh, and then I continued.

“Well, I think we can definitely say someone other than Mrs. Jarvis has been in this house, since I don’t think she was pushing her own wheelchair. Neither do I think the footprints near the washer and dryer are hers. Nor does a woman who never goes outside put dirt on her floor. Let’s go over to Mrs. Nelson’s house again and check out those galoshes and see if they match the prints downstairs.”

+++

I checked with some of the neighbors to see if any of them knew anything about Mrs. Jarvis, when they had last seen her, and whether or not she had any living relatives. Once again, my efforts proved fruitless. Even Mrs. Wilkens and Mr. Silverman had no idea. Or so they said.

+++

“Where do we go from here, Cy?”

“I don’t know. I’m puzzled. I need to give this some thought. We’ll begin tomorrow morning by talking to Mr. Hartley, the mailman. Let’s be here when he delivers the mail. We’ll watch him a little bit, and then stop him to see what he can tell us. After that, we have an attorney and a grocery boy to check with. Maybe one of them can tell us which way to go next. Tomorrow night we’ll visit with Mrs. Murphy and see what she knows.”

We left and I drove Lou to his place. A few more questions, but no more answers. I hoped the next day would begin to provide some of those answers we sorely needed.

+++

I plopped down in my easy chair, took off my shoes. I cleared my head, decided to give the case one more going over before I put it aside for the night.

Today’s new developments made things tougher, rather than easier. I had more witnesses than I had suspects. If Frank was right, and I never knew Frank to be wrong when he said he was right, no one had enough time to murder Mrs. Nelson. As least no one appeared to have time. Miss Penrod seemed to be the last person to see the victim alive, but according to the witnesses, and Frank’s time constraints, she didn’t have time to give the victim the sedative and the poison. She was not in the house long enough. She left in a cab before she would have had time to administer the poison. So, who else was there? Angela Nelson, but she didn’t have time, either. She didn’t arrive from the airport in time to give her grandmother the sedative and the poison. Plus, two witnesses said she remained outside until Officer Davis arrived and went into the house with her. And Frank said that even though she was out of Officer Davis’s sight for a few seconds, she wasn’t in the house long enough to administer the poison and kill her grandmother. So, who could have done it? And how did he or she do it? Could someone have entered the Nelson house without being seen by either Mrs. Wilkens or Mr. Silverman? And who entered the Nelson house during the night, and why? And how did this person get from the Nelson house to the Jarvis house without being seen? And what happened to Mrs. Jarvis?  Could it be that Mrs. Wilkens and Mr. Silverman were lying? If so, why would both of them lie? Could it be they were in on this together? And if they were lying, why did they give alibis to Angela Nelson and the Reynoldses? You would think that they would want to incriminate as many other people as possible to take away any suspicion from themselves.

I became more confused by the minute. I decided to put the case away until the next morning. Who knows? Maybe the lawyer, the mailman, the grocery boy, or the maid might be able to shed more light on the case.

+++

It was time to relax. Nothing relaxes me more than laughter, and nothing makes me laugh quite like some of the classic TV comedies I grew up with. I bought myself a DVD player last Christmas, and Lou got me a couple DVDs to play on it. When I celebrated my birthday a couple of weeks ago, Lou came through in grand style. While I don’t have DVDs of all my favorite shows, I have a good start. Besides, God willing, I will live to celebrate more birthdays and Christmases.

I rose from the chair and walked to the storage cabinet where I kept my new collection. I perused my choices, selected something to take my mind off my work. I plucked a DVD of
Make Room for Daddy,
starring Danny Thomas. I remember watching the show as a child. Back then, I laughed as Danny’s children and his wife got the best of him in each episode. I put in the DVD and sat back to enjoy. It seems not much has changed in all those years. Real comedy never goes out of style, at least not in my house.

13

Sam Schumann is a good friend and a good cop. He’s a gentle man who can get tough when he needs to. He has no outstanding physical features, which allows him to blend in no matter what the situation. All of this makes him an ideal investigator for the police department. When I want answers, I turn to Sam Schumann. I allowed Sam to spend a peaceful weekend before involving him in the Nelson murder case. Two days off were enough. It was time for Sam go to back to work.