Deadly Places: A Mapleton Mystery Novella (2 page)

Laurie’s buzz reminding Ed of his appointment with the
Mapleton Weekly
reporter provided a welcome break. She escorted Charlotte Strickland, a reed-thin woman with a pointy chin who reminded Ed of a witch—or was that because he had Halloween on his mind?—to his office. He motioned her to a visitor chair across from his desk. “What can I do for you, Miss Strickland?”

She removed her large black-framed glasses and gave them a quick polish before settling them back onto her nose. After tugging at her skirt and wriggling her bony hips onto the chair, she pulled a notepad and pen from a large black canvas tote bearing the newspaper’s logo. “I’m writing an article about Halloween in Mapleton, and want to include safety tips. They’ll mean a lot more if they’re coming from the new Chief of Police.”

“
Acting
Chief of Police, Miss Strickland. Whatever I can tell you won’t be any different from what Chief Hepler would have told you for previous years.”

She tutted. “I’d still appreciate your take. What should parents be doing, and what kinds of things should they watch for? Will there be an increased police presence? How will you deal with pranksters?”

Ed kept a supportive smile on his face as he ran through the usual and obvious precautions. Trick-or-treat in groups, make sure there’s an adult present, reflective materials on costumes, eat only wrapped candy. “The clinic will be available, as always, to X-ray anything a parent finds questionable, but we’ve never found any razor blades hidden in apples or other unwelcome surprises.”

“With recreational marijuana legalized, what should parents look for in baked goods?” Charlotte Strickland smiled, but her faded blue eyes said she was hoping to turn this into more than a simple safety article. Ed envisioned a headline reading
Beware of Drugged Halloween Treats.
He took a moment to organize his thoughts.

“While I don’t believe we have a marijuana problem in Mapleton, again, I’d remind your readers that
any
non-commercial baked goods should come from trusted friends and neighbors. If a citizen feels there are suspicious treats being handed out, they should call the police department.” He gave the non-emergency number, and stressed 911 should be used only for serious emergencies.

“Of course, if a child is exhibiting symptoms of ingesting marijuana, they should go to the ER immediately. If you need more information, check with the clinic.” He sat straighter, broadening his smile. “You understand, as a conscientious reporter, these events are highly unlikely in Mapleton, where we don’t even have marijuana sales outlets.” He leaned across the desk, his smile gone. “Miss Strickland, I’m answering your questions from an extremist scenario standpoint. The last thing anyone wants is to put ideas into the heads of citizens who would never have thought to step over the lines of both the law and common sense. If you do feel a compulsion to report on this angle, I want you to understand giving drugged edibles to minors is a felony, and we will not hesitate to arrest anyone who does.

“I trust your article will stress Halloween should be a fun time for all, and the best and safest place to be is the Mapleton Main Street Trick or Treat Parade. Merchants, including this department, will be handing out treats, and they’ll all be completely safe. Participants will be displaying special window cards, and all have agreed to follow city guidelines for the event. But I’m sure you’ve seen them, and I assume the paper will be participating as well.”

From her expression, she was unaware whether the
Weekly
was involved, but Ed felt confident if the paper hadn’t signed up, it would be added to the list of merchants very soon. He was tempted to ask if she was aware of any reports of missing downspouts, but decided that was an avenue he didn’t want to explore with the press.

He stood and extended his hand across the desk. “I’m sure you’ll present an informative, interesting, and unbiased article, Miss Strickland. I look forward to reading it.” He walked her as far as Laurie’s desk and let his admin take care of making sure Miss Strickland left the building.

PR. A part of the Chief Stuff he wouldn’t miss. Too bad there was no room in the budget for a Public Information Officer to deal with all this nonsense.

Ed ambled to the break room. He’d been rotating his schedule to make sure he was up to speed on what was going on with all shifts. He’d assigned Vicky McDermott to mid shift leader for two weeks, and he caught her before she was officially on duty.

“Afternoon, Chief.” She gestured to the newly decorated walls and table centerpieces. “Looks like the Halloween elves have been busy.”

“I think they’d be goblins, not elves, but yeah, the civilian patrol wanted to get into the spirit of things.”

“I like it,” Vicky said. “Especially since the stores are already putting out Christmas stuff. Nice to slow things down.”

“Speaking of Halloween, I’d like to address the troops at roll call.”

“Not a problem. Anything else I should be aware of—beyond the notes from the first shift duty officer?”

“Not much. It’s been quiet,” he said.

“The calm before the storm.” She dumped the last inch of scorched coffee from the pot, then proceeded to prepare a fresh one.

“True,” he said. “Gives me a chance to catch up on paperwork, although I can’t say I enjoy that part of the job.”

“Does anyone? And speaking of not liking paperwork, any word on the new computers?”

“Laurie’s got that covered.”

“Bet you used some downtime to work on your Deadbeat Dads, right?” She grinned.

“Let me think.” He held both hands out in front of him, then lifted his left. “Budget reports?” He lowered the left and raised the right, mimicking a balance scale. “Police work? No brainer.”

“Can I ask a question?” she said.

He nodded.

“All this Deadbeat Dad stuff. It’s not a Mapleton case, and technically, you’re out of your jurisdiction. Why the compulsion?”

Ed thought a moment before answering. “It’s a conscience thing, I suppose. Something inside won’t let me ignore such blatant lawbreaking.”

Vicky gave a solemn nod. “I get it. Any progress?”

“Not sure.” He chinned toward the door. “Come into my office a minute. Coffee’s on me. Good coffee.”

“You don’t need to bribe me, Chief.”

“Not a bribe, merely an invitation to share some pumpkin spice coffee my wife gave me.”

Her grin widened. “No need to twist my arm, either.”

Laurie stopped them as they passed her desk. “Good news. The computers have been shipped. I have a tracking number and I’ll be able to follow the progress tomorrow.”

“Fantastic,” Vicky said, almost simultaneously with Ed’s, “Splendiferous.”

“I see you’re still getting those word of the day emails,” Vicky said.

Ed shrugged. After serving Vicky a cup of coffee and refilling his own mug, he settled behind his desk with Vicky sitting across from him. It still felt strange to be on the opposite side of these informal briefings.

He opened with the missing downspout. “We’ve got a complaint of rowdy teens, and it’s possible they took the downspout, but it feels off to me. Papering the house would be more their speed. I talked to Dispatch, and they haven’t fielded any other pranks. However, I’d like your shift to keep an eye out for anything that fits the pattern.”

“Bears,” she said.

Ed’s eyebrows lifted. “What?”

She sipped at her coffee. “I saw it on the Internet—can’t remember exactly where, but there was a video of a bear whacking away at a downspout. Seems a chipmunk had taken cover by running inside the spout, and the bear yanked the whole thing down. Chipmunk got away, though. I’ll alert the shift to keep an eye out for the missing downspout.”

“I think it’d be better to have them looking out for a bear. We don’t need one wandering the streets.”

“Yeah. That, too. I’ll have them watch for trash cans left out, or scattered garbage.”

“Give Animal Control a heads up.”

Vicky set her mug aside and jotted in her notebook. “And do you want to open the briefing? I assume you have something else to cover.”

“I do. Right after roll call. I’ll keep it short.”

Vicky left, taking her coffee, and Ed wrote down the points he wanted to cover. Charlotte Strickland had brought up a new wrinkle, one that hadn’t occurred to him, and Ed was determined to make this the safest Halloween in Mapleton history.

Ten minutes later, he brought the stack of references he’d printed out to the briefing room. He entered as unobtrusively as possible, leaning against the back wall as Vicky McDermott finished roll call. When she caught his eye and he nodded, she introduced him. Everyone stiffened to attention. He strode to the front of the room, took his place behind the lectern, and smiled.

“Good afternoon. First, let me thank each of you for making this transition as smooth as it’s been, and for all your support. I know Chief Hepler will be proud and pleased that Mapleton is still the best little city in Colorado, but I know you’re all waiting for him to return. I have a couple of things before you hit the streets.”

He glanced at his notes. As duty officer, he’d never felt awkward addressing the shift. Doing it as Acting Chief had him weighing each word. “First, we’re taking one more step toward joining the ranks of the big-time police forces. Laurie informs me the computers are on their way.”

He grinned, waiting for the whistles and applause to die down. “I hope they’ll be here in time for Halloween, which brings me to the reason I’m interrupting your briefing. I had an interesting visit from a reporter with the
Mapleton Weekly
, and she made an important point regarding Halloween.” He summarized the challenges of making sure nobody had been creative with edibles. “It shouldn’t be an issue, but here’s a handout with the symptoms of ingesting marijuana. This is all precautionary and proactive, but I have a feeling the article that will run in the
Weekly
might be … unnecessarily alarming.”

A ripple of laughter, obviously from readers of Charlotte Strickland’s columns, floated through the room. Ed smiled knowingly, then went on.

“Our biggest challenge, as always, is the
too old to trick or treat so let’s find something else to do
crowd. The civilian patrol will be out in full force Halloween night. It’s all about visibility. Let the kids have their fun, but maintain a firm line between harmless and malicious mischief.

“And, speaking of visibility, I’m authorizing overtime—not to exceed one hour per officer—for anyone not on the streets who’d like to hand out candy during the festivities. We’ll have a patrol car parked at the curb, and feel free to let the kids peek inside. Sign up with your duty officer, and I’ll post a schedule. Questions?”

When there were none, Ed added his final point. “Last shift, someone left a message for me on Officer Titchener’s desk. Since this isn’t the normal flow of information, I’m curious about whether unauthorized personnel might be getting into the station, and if so, how. If you see anyone who doesn’t belong, don’t assume someone else authorized it. We’re a small station, and I don’t want to get into the whole Visitor Badge thing, but keep your eyes open.”

Ed marched to his desk and checked last night’s duty roster. He’d totally forgotten the county deputies were new to the way the department ran. They might not remember the way to leave him a personal message was via Laurie’s inbox if he wasn’t in his office.

But right now, the
who
and the
how
weren’t as compelling as the
what
, which was a link to his Deadbeat Dad Killer.

His laptop chimed the tone signaling an incoming email to his deadbeat dad account. Ed swiveled his chair, grabbed the laptop from the credenza, and clicked into that email system. Another invitation to join special edition newsletters from
Paula’s Places
.

Yes! They’d taken the bait.

For now, there was a simple opt in click, saying once he’d joined the list, he’d be added to an elite list of people who helped decide future sites for Paula to visit. His heart thumped as he clicked the
join
button.

He called Colfax. “I got the special newsletter email, but we still don’t have any idea about the secret phrasing.”

“Forward it to me, and I’ll see to it the geeks get it,” the detective said.

“Can you put a rush on it? And make sure there’s no way to trace anything to who I am.”

“The cover they created for you should be solid. Of course that means you have to remember your alternate persona,” Colfax said.

Always with the dig. “I know who I am. And if I forget, I can always refer to the file they sent me.”

Colfax went on. “Let’s hope this email gives them a faster and better way to find those code phrases you wanted.”

“Agreed. Anything on Al Cardona?” Ed asked, not that he’d expected anything this soon.

“I’ve kind of got a few homicides of my own on my plate.” There was none of Colfax’s normal banter tone in his response, and Ed reminded himself that working in homicide for the county meant the pressure level was usually near blowing the top off the cooker.

Ed tapped a pen against the keyboard drawer. “I know you’re busy. If you hook me up with one of your contacts, you won’t have to play middleman. You could do the same with your geek squad. Think of it as a way of getting me off your back.”

“And, since nothing ever happens in Mapleton, you’ll have all the time in the world to play with your pet theories.” The banter was back.

“Well, Frank Fitzgerald might tie in, so I’d be helping you out. Seeing how his case is still open.”

“I’ll email my contact and cc you. And you’ll stop bugging me, right?”

“Of course.” Anything to get the information Ed needed. “And if you find any homicides where the victim is a deadbeat dad, let me know, and maybe I can repay the favor.”

Colfax snorted. “Yeah, right. Don’t hold your breath. I’m up to my eyeballs right now.”

Ed forwarded the newsletter. Justifying resource time on Ed’s tenuous theory that Frank Fitzgerald had been killed by the Deadbeat Dad Killer—a killer who existed almost exclusively in Ed’s mind—was an iffy call. Still, Ed hoped one of the geeks was interested enough in the puzzle to spend some extra time on it.

But waiting was unproductive. He grabbed his jacket and let Dispatch and Laurie know he would be on the streets for the next hour or so. Although he defended the time he spent on patrol as part of Mapleton’s manpower needs, getting out of the office for a short time every day or so was a definite mental health priority. He understood now why the Chief appreciated his breaks at Daily Bread—Angie’s presence notwithstanding, of course.

Ed breathed in the familiar, if not overly pleasant, aroma of his vehicle. He’d transported far fewer persons of the odiferous kind since his patrol hours had been cut to almost nothing. But there was the cop car smell, a blend of sweat, greasy fast food, disinfectant, and the pine air freshener dangling from the rearview mirror. He checked the address of the missing downspout complainant and steered in that general direction. If McDermott was right, and a bear had taken the pipe, odds were the animal wouldn’t have dragged it too far once it either caught the critter, or abandoned it as a failed attempt.

Deciding a positive police presence did more for Mapleton’s citizens than filing reports, Ed parked on the street near the complainant’s house, Miss Adele Menard, a newcomer to town. No Halloween decorations in her yard, unless you counted the yellow and gold aspen leaves carpeting the sparse lawn. He let Dispatch know where he was, then strode along the driveway and across the pavers to the front porch.

From the way a woman answered his knock almost before he had his knuckles on the door, Ed assumed she must have been watching his approach. “Good afternoon. I’m Acting Chief of Police Ed Solomon. I’m looking for Adele Menard.”

Her light brown eyes widened. “I’m she. What is this about? Did you catch those rapscallion teenagers who stole my downspout?”

Tall and solidly built, with an ample bosom, Adele Menard wore her steel gray hair pulled in a tight knot atop her head. Light brown eyes were enlarged by frameless glasses. Deep creases at either side of her mouth made it appear as if anything she said was set off in parentheses. Retired third-grade teacher came to mind. No, a physical education teacher. The stern gaze she fixed him with hinted at librarian, although Ed chided himself for jumping to conclusions based on stereotypical appearances. He tried not to stare at the mole on her chin, with four long protruding hairs, but he couldn’t help himself. His first thought was to grab a pair of tweezers. His next was to wonder why she hadn’t.

He stopped speculating and responded to her question. “No, ma’am, we haven’t. I thought you might be able to give me some additional information to help us find whoever—or whatever—made away with your downspout. Officer Gaubatz took your initial report. You told him you’d been reading and you heard a rustling in your yard. Is that correct?”

“It is.”

“But you didn’t see anything.”

“That’s also correct.”

“Have you heard similar rustlings, or had reason to believe there were prowlers in your yard prior to last night? Have your neighbors mentioned any trouble?”

Her eyes went round behind her glasses. “Are you telling me there are prowlers in this neighborhood? My Realtor assured me this was a very safe place to live. I live alone, I always have. I left New Haven after I retired. I wanted a change from big-city life, somewhere less crowded, more peaceful.”

“Mapleton is an extremely safe city, Miss Menard. And part of the reason is that we like to stay one step ahead of trouble. Now that it’s daylight, would you mind if I looked around your yard?”

She shrugged. “Be my guest. The downspout is—was—on the east corner of the house.” She closed the door. Ed shook his head and strolled around the house.

If Vicky McDermott’s hunch that it might have been a bear proved correct, Ed counted on the animal not coming around in broad daylight. Carrying a shotgun might alarm the neighborhood. A pistol shot ought to scare the critter off—
if
a bear was hanging around.

But the scattered leaves didn’t reveal anything resembling footprints, bear or human. Or coyote, dog, or mountain lion, for that matter. He wandered around the house, still finding no evidence worth collecting, although he shot a few pictures with his phone in case Adele Menard was watching him.

The missing section of the downspout, assuming it reached the ground, would be about three feet long judging from the gap where it had separated from the piece extending from the gutter. Humans would have carried it off, but an animal would have dragged it. However, lightweight as an aluminum pipe would be, and given the aspen leaf substrate was easily disturbed by a breeze, the gaps in the leaves weren’t conclusive.

He started at the sound of scuffling leaves behind him. One hand on his pistol grip, Ed turned to see Adele Menard coming his way. “Did those scoundrels leave footprints?” she asked.

“No, ma’am, not that I can find here. But I’m going to check those shrubs.” He pointed to the thick stand of junipers along the split-rail fence bordering her property.

“You think there might be some torn clothing, or some blood on a branch? Those are prickly. I’ve scratched myself trying to trim them. Why don’t you call your evidence people? Can’t they find DNA or something?”

Ed bit back a sigh. Another television watcher. “No, ma’am, it doesn’t work that way. And even if it did, we don’t have the budget to call out the Crime Scene Response Team—which has to come from the county. They’re backlogged solving homicides and other major felonies. I’m afraid a missing downspout would be at the end of a long line of cases.”

She exhaled a deep, long breath, but seemed to accept his explanation.

“Wait here, please,” he said, then jogged to his vehicle for his flashlight.

Miss Menard waited, arms folded across her chest.

Ed played the light into the shrubbery. The downspout was dark green, about the same shade as the surrounding foliage.

“Shouldn’t you be wearing gloves?” Miss Menard asked. “So you won’t leave your fingerprints all over it and destroy evidence. You
do
fingerprint people here, don’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am, and mine are on file, so they’ll be easy to eliminate.” Ed wished he’d put on a pair of heavy work gloves. Miss Menard was spot on with the way the juniper needles scratched.

His light caught a glint of metal jammed between two clumps of juniper.

He pulled out the length of pipe and showed it to Miss Menard. Score one for Vicky McDermott. “I think your scoundrel was a bear.” He pointed out the deep scratches and the punctures. “These are tooth marks, and they’re too far apart for a dog.”

“A bear?” She stepped closer, extended an index finger and gingerly traced the gouges. “Tooth marks. Claw marks. My, I do hope he doesn’t come back.”

Her tone belied her words, however. Another resident who thought bears were cute. “Make sure you don’t leave your trash cans on the street any longer than necessary, and make sure you’ve got a tight lid. We’ve notified Animal Control, and if you see him, please call them. My officers will be watching out as well.”

She took the length of pipe from him and studied the ends. “I think I can still use this. My goodness, I’m going to have to take pictures. My friends won’t believe it. A bear. At my house.”

Pleased that he’d solved her problem and deflected her initial animosity, Ed volunteered to reattach the pipe for her. As he shoved it into place, to satisfy his curiosity, he asked her what she’d done in Boston.

“I was a flight instructor. Decided I’d had enough dealing with people who thought flying was going to be like Top Gun.” She smiled, which softened her features. “The small-town life might turn out to be more interesting than I thought.”

After reinforcing his prior warning that these were not cute Disney bears and to give them a wide berth, Ed handed her a card with Animal Control’s number on it. “I’m glad we straightened this out, Miss Menard. Enjoy the rest of your day.” He strolled toward his vehicle.

Flight instructor? Who’d have guessed? Well, he did get the teacher part right.