Classmate Murders
by Bob Moats
Copyright © 2009-2012 by Bob Moats.
All new revisions and edits as of May 3, 2012
Cover design by Bob Moats
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This is a work of pure fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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ISBN # 9781452304458
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My thanks to: All the wonderful people who have read this book and enjoyed the story over the grammar. Prior to May 3, 2012, this book was turned over to a professional editor with many qualifications to do the job. It has been proofread and corrections made. If you have an earlier copy of this book and would like the update, just go to the website murdernovels.com and send a note through the contact link. You will be sent information on obtaining a new copy of this book. Thanks, Bob Moats.
All Jim Richards series books by Bob Moats
(Books in order of series)
"Classmate Murders"
"Vegas Showgirl Murders"
"Dominatrix Murders"
"Mistress Murders"
"Bridezilla Murders"
"Magic Murders"
"Strip Club Murders"
"Made-for-TV Murders"
"Mystery Cruise Murders"
"Talk Show Murders"
"Sin City Murders"
"Black Widow Murders"
"Vegas Vigilante Murders"
"Area 51 Murders"
"Mortuary Murders"
"Hypnotic Murders"
"Sunshine State Murders"
"Blue Suede Murders"
"Honky Tonk Murders"
"Dark Carnival Murders"
"Lipstick Murders"
For a preview or to purchase a book
Visit murdernovels.com
What people are saying about the Murder Novels by Bob Moats
"I went online this morning and read your book. I thought at first that I would only read a few pages, but got sucked into it and read all 11 chapters. You are a very good writer! I read quite a bit and often pick up "Airport" paperback mysteries to read on a plane. Most of them are dreadful, with obvious plots. Classmate Murders is a much better story than most."
Ray Zink, Entrepreneur, Minn.
"I got up to chapter ten of the Classmate Murders and decided then to buy the next two books." ... "Just finished your third book, the Dominatrix Murders. I thought it was the best one of the three, didn't want to put it down till I finished it.
A. Norris, former Naval Corpsman
"Classmate Murders is well written and keeps the reader involved and wondering what will happen next throughout the book. Showgirl Murders keeps the reader involved throughout the story and keeps you guessing as to who the murderer is until very near the end."
G. Shurig, Kalamazoo
"If you like mysteries and action then don't miss reading this book..."
Jan Schneider, avid mystery/crime reader
"I finished the book last night, and really enjoyed it. I can only read a book that fast when it keeps my interest, so that should tell you a lot. I would recommend this book to others. I look forward to reading the next installment of the book."
M. K., retired Chrysler management
"I haven’t finished the book yet, when I enjoy a book, I take my time, but I want to buy the other two books. I compare your writing to a Mickey Spillane novel, and I like your style, very narrative. I’m amazed you don’t have a publisher yet."
Michael Rasah, Professor of History
"Thanks for making me immortal, love the stories, your friend, Buck."
The real "Buck", George Carver
“Your books have been a joy to read. They keep me interested until the last page is turned. Keep up the good Work!
B. Scharmann, Rochester Hills, Michigan
"Bob, I LOVED it. It reminds me a lot of Colombo, I can see Jim as a regular guy, not a smooth talker, but able to outwit the bad guys. The characters were great and I love the way you describe so many of them. Some of your other characters were fun to read about. ."
Joyce Van Houzen-Stacy, M.B.A.
The Classmate Murders
by Bob Moats
Chapter One
Turning 40 and then 50 years old didn't really bother me, but turning 60 was something I just couldn't accept. I ignored it the day it happened, or tried my best to do so despite my family and friend's attempts to make sure I didn't forget. Damn them.
I was now one month past 60, and it still bothered me. The only good thing about it, I was just one year and eleven months closer to social security.
I grumbled around my tiny room tapping the keyboards on my computers, bringing them out of sleep mode, and wishing I had something better to do with my life.
Actually, anything at all would have been better since I was now doing nothing in the present time of my life. I was unemployed due to the stupidity of my former employers, an age-old problem for most good workers, and the state unemployment agency decided I didn't qualify for benefits. Maybe it's the fact that I had quit my job because I really hated it; possibly that was the reason I was denied compensation. I wrote a nice letter in response to their request for more info. I explained that my former employers were jerks, and they were just abusing my good nature and forcing me to abuse my car in the duty of my job.
I had spent the last 22 months as a security guard driving my car around a large suburban Detroit Cadillac dealership midnights from 7 P.M. until 6 A.M. the next morning, guarding car tires that were the main goal for addicts and the poor to steal. They would steal them right off the cars. It amazed me that they would run a huge risk of being caught by hauling in a heavy hydraulic jack, tire irons and concrete blocks to remove about 2-4 tires that they would sell for a couple hundred dollars. I was a good little trooper and managed to stop two attempts at theft, being told by my employer that I would get a whole twenty dollars as a reward, which I never did receive. Not the first lie they told.
My computers finally winked to life and I hooked the laptop to the internet dial-up connection. I checked my email which usually consisted of spam and a number of forwarded jokes, dirty pictures and chain letters from Buck, my former co-worker and the only friend I have. I would delete the spam and the chain letters, then read the jokes, admire the nubile naked bodies of the women in the pictures from Buck, trying to remember the last sex I had about 12 years ago. It was fading from my memory banks, now a wistful image that I could no longer enjoy. Don't get me wrong, I have occasional sex, just not with another human being.
Buck was another guard that I worked with, and he was not a person that thieves would want to have facing them down. Buck was a big, mustachioed biker who carried a nickel-plated .38 in his belt. We were not supposed to carry, but he'd rather be caught with it than without it. Me, I just refused to get out of my car if confronted by criminals. Ok, I'm a coward.
Buck was also a big teddy bear with a soft spot for others. He cared, a rare commodity in people now days. He would fuss over my problems and occasionally buy me a 30 pack of beer in exchange for loaning him my DVD collection of movies. Buck was the only friend I had other than my computers and my beer.
I looked up at the wall clock. It was just now 7:45 in the evening, and all was quiet in the house. My parents were in bed. They usually were in bed by at least 6:30. My dad was ill and my mom was his caregiver. I helped Mom with things she couldn't handle like getting my dad into bed and doing the shopping and odd jobs around the house. It was an arrangement that suited my mom, but being an unemployed, beer drinking 60-year-old man living with his parents, I wasn't exactly a prime candidate for any woman seeking a relationship. God, what a loser I was. I can see the profile in the online dating form: "Well, I live in my old bedroom in my parents’ house, poor credit score, over-weight, balding, gray beard, I drink at least 8 beers a night, I'm unemployed and I just became a senior citizen. I can be the man of your dreams; we just can't meet at my place."
The clock had now run up to 8:00 P.M., and I opened the first of the six beers that I had to cut back to now that I was out of work and money. A thirty pack of beer now lasted five days and kept my expenses down. My mom gave me a bit of money each week for gas to run errands for her, so I divided the allowance between the gas for the car and the fuel for me. I have a cardinal rule. I never drink beer before 8:00 at night, and I never drive even after one can. I've seen the hell a person can go through after a few beers and a cop pullover.
Tonight my email contained the usual crap along with Buck's stuff, but one letter caught my eye. The sender was "DWittenfield@gomail.com" and the subject said in big letters: "JAMES, PLEASE HELP!" I knew a Dee Wittenfield in elementary school, and she always called me James. Actually, I had a huge crush on Dee, and we even went steady for about a month before the school district broke into smaller divisions and she was sent to a different school. I went to the download on my mail program and recovered the letter. It read:
"James, I know it’s been years since we've seen each other, but I talked to Joyce Harper and she said she heard you were working for a detective company. I got your email address off the alumni website, and I don't know who to turn to but I'm afraid for my life. I can't call the police, and I thought you might help me. If you could call me, I'm at 555-3682. I can't even go out of my apartment. Please call, Dee."
I printed out the letter and read it again.
I pulled my trusty Palm Treo cell phone out of my pocket and dialed the number. It rang about four times, then a male voice answered.
"Hello?"
"May I speak with Dee, please?"
"Who's calling?"
"I'm a friend of hers from high school. Can I talk to her please?"
"I'm afraid she can't come to the phone." He paused. "She was murdered earlier today."
Hearing those words sent a shuddering chill through my body.
The voice on the phone asked, "Who are you again?"
I didn't know what to say. "I'm a friend from high school," I blurted out.
"You said that already, but who are you?" he demanded.
"Well, who's asking?" I demanded back.
"Detective Sergeant Will Trapper, Clinton Township Police. Now, you wanna answer my question?"
"Oh." My mind was blank. "Uh, my name is Jim Richards. I knew Dee from high school."
"Yeah, I got that much already. When was the last time you saw Miss Wittenfield?"
"I guess it's been over 40 years." My brain tried to do the math, but I just rounded it off.
"You called now after 40 years? Why?"
"She sent me an email today to call her."
There was a silence for a beat, then he asked, "What did the email say?"
I read it to him from the printout. He was silent again.
"That's all she said?"
I assured him that was it. "What happened to her, may I ask?"
"We're investigating, that's all I can say right now. Wittenfield said in her email that you were with a detective company. Who do you work for?"
"Oh, it's actually a security company. I was a guard. They had a contract with Dooley Cadillac on Eight Mile, and I worked there 4 nights a week watching the cars. I'm not working for them at the moment. I quit."
"Why'd you quit?"
"Long story, be happy to tell you about it sometime, unless you got about 20 minutes now to hear me rant about my employers." He let it go.
He asked how I could be reached, I told him and he said I'd probably be called in to answer some more questions. I don't know what more I could have told him, other than Dee and I went steady for about a month 40 years ago. I hoped that wasn't grounds for suspicion.
I hung up the phone in a daze. A girl I had a super crush on years ago had been murdered, and she wanted me to help her. I sat there for a long while, my mind just numb.
I knew Buck was working the midnight shift tonight at the dealership, so I called him. He and I spoke to each other just about every night on the phone, but since I left working there our calls only happened when he was working, I didn't want to bother him at home.
"Hey, Jimmy, wass up?" His voice was smooth with a touch of southern in it. I never did ask him about that.
"Well, I've got a mystery on my hands."
"Talk to me, man, I'm intrigued." I could hear his smile through the phone.
I told him about the email and the phone call. I read the letter to him, and he was quiet for a bit.
"Wow, a murder mystery. When you gonna start investigating?" The smile came again.
"Buck, she was a long ago love in my life, and now her life is gone. I'm at a loss as to how to feel or what I should do about it."
"Well, she thought you could help her, maybe you should." Buck has this outlook on life to seize the day and damn the torpedoes.
I loved good crime/mystery stories, and I own over a hundred e-books that I read on my Palm TX when I have some free time. I read just about every Alex Cross book by James Patterson, and I was up to my 20th "in Death" book by Nora Roberts writing as J. D. Robb about the futuristic police detective, Eve Dallas. My other crime heroes were Spenser, Sunny Randall and Jesse Stone in separate books by Robert B. Parker, and lately Travis McGee by John D. MacDonald. The thought of being a P.I. intrigued me.
"Ok, so where do we start?" I posed the question.
"Whoa, you offering me a job as junior detective?" he kidded.
I ignored him and was studying the email printout.
"You know, she mentions a mutual friend, Joyce Harper, in her email. Maybe she would know what Dee was afraid of," I commented.
Buck was excited. "When do we start, Kemosabe?"
"I'm not the Lone Ranger, Buck. I'd rather be Spenser." Buck had no idea who I was talking about. "Remember 'Spenser for Hire,' 80's TV show with the late Robert Urich?"
"Oh yeah, and the "Hawk" was his sidekick, one big mean mother fricker. Spen-sahh."
"Yeah, that one." I had to relate Hawk with Buck, now my sidekick in crime solving. I smiled at the "Spen-sahh" reference which was the name Hawk often had called Spenser on the show.
"Ok, so how do you find this Harper woman?" Buck queried.
"Well, for the last 5 years I have been the web guy for my high school alumni website, and I have seen her name on the alumni board. I could go there, get her email address, and contact her that way. Or do a Google search for her. Either way, this town is small enough I can locate her."
"So go look her up and talk to her, man." Caught up in the flow, his excitement came through the phone.
"I'll see what I can do tomorrow to locate her. But tonight I have to get through the fact I lost an old friend, and not to old age."
"Hey, buddy, I understand. I've lost a few friends over the years," he said quietly. Buck was a biker, and I knew he lost some people he knew due to careless and often drunk drivers on the roads. People in cars don't watch out for those smaller vehicles on two wheels.
"Yeah, I know. Well, I'll call you tomorrow night and let you know what happens."
"Well, good night, buddy. You need me, just call! Don't get yourself murdered." He grinned through the phone.
"Not about to. Take care."
I hung up and sat back in my rickety desk chair. It made its annoying squeal that I often worried would wake my parents. I listened and heard nothing. I probably could oil the damn thing, but that would have meant doing physical labor. I wasn't up to it anymore.
I went to my computer's keyboard, brought up Google, and typed in Dee Wittenfield. It came up with just over one million hits which was a bit of a lie since Google looks for every instance of the name "Dee" and every instance of "Wittenfield." That can cover every Dee online, from Dee Wallace-Stone to Dee Dee Myers. My Dee Wittenfield was not to be found even after I searched through about ten pages. I knew then she wasn't a person to be found on the web. I tried Joyce Harper, and she came up on the first page with her real estate agency. I added the address and phone number to my Palm Treo and put my computers back to sleep for the night. I wasn't in any mood now to be looking for more free software to download and pack into my already bloated computer.
I turned off the desk lamp and was left with all the tiny LED lights from numerous computer accessories that made my room look like the starry night sky. I still sat in my aging chair and just took in the lights.
My mind wandered back to a day on the school bus when I passed Dee a note asking if she wanted to go steady with me. I watched her reading the note, and she looked up and smiled, nodding a yes to my note. I was in heaven, but fate took us apart when she was bussed off to a new school in the district just a few weeks later. We lost touch, and then when we all joined back into the big high school, I was afraid to approach her, so I lost her again though she was still close by. She was a beauty, and after graduation I often wondered what had happened to her. Now I knew, and even though I never saw her all these years, I still remembered her as a young beauty.
I plopped down on the bed but didn't get much sleep that night.
*
Chapter Two
I did finally doze off by around 4 A.M., I think; it was the last time I looked at the clock. The alarm on my Palm TX rattled me out of bed playing the James Bond theme that I ripped off the DVD of the latest movie "Quantum of Solace." It had a jazzy attack on what was the thread for every Bond movie beginning with "Dr. No," the gun barrel moving across the screen as Bond walks into view and shoots his weapon. The music blares, our blood stirs as the screen goes red with blood.
I was already dressed since I forgot to get undressed last night, and it was just after nine o'clock. I whizzed out of my room, almost knocking my mother over in the hallway. I said my good mornings and gave a quick excuse for heading out the door, but I did pause long enough to ask her if there was anything she needed while I was out. After a bit of sorting through her gray matter, she said no. I think my mom is tops, but at 80 years old she was becoming a little slow getting her eggs in order.
I refuse to get any older than I am now.
Sitting in my car, I started up the map program on my Palm TX and did a quick find on the Harper Reality address. I got a pinpoint on the location on the tiny road map and headed there. Her business had what they used to call "banker's hours" and didn't open till 10. I wandered over to the restaurant in the shopping plaza where Joyce had set up shop. It was a small diner, and I scooped up the local paper off the counter then went to a booth. The front page screamed out about the murder yesterday of a local woman, giving a bit more detail than what Trapper had provided me with last night which actually was nothing. It said she was killed in her apartment by strangulation, and there were no witnesses. My mind played a gruesome image of her having the breath squeezed out, and I had to shake my head to get rid of that image.
The waitress came over for my order, and I said milk and a donut. I hated coffee since the army tried to make me drink their crap back during my tour of Germany, '69 to '71. I missed going to Vietnam twice after basic training and two Advanced Individual Training sessions. I was a generator operator for a Pershing nuclear missile unit in Germany where I first learned to love beer.
My milk and donut came, and I wolfed it down as I read more of the story. It seemed that Dee had returned last year from living in Denver, getting away from her divorced husband. She resumed her maiden name as there were no children, although she had one son from a previous marriage, location unknown. She was working for the local school district as a secretary in the offices of the superintendent of schools. She was also active in helping with the girl's high school volleyball team. I remember Dee was really into sports. I was just into Dee.
The clock on the wall said a couple of minutes before ten, so I paid my bill, left a tip and ambled toward Joyce's office. The steady stride I once had in my younger days was now downgraded to a slow amble. The legs didn't ambulate as easy as they used to. My parents used to warn me about getting old and the body falling apart. I didn't listen, didn't think it would happen to me. As I was approaching the office, I saw Joyce at the door with keys in hand. She seemed to be having problems with the lock.
"Joyce," I called to her.
She whipped around looking spooked and squinted. Then I could tell by her expression she realized it was me although we hadn't seen each other in years.
"Jimmy, damn, you startled me." She looked frazzled.
"Sorry. I was just at the diner waiting for you. Having problems with the lock?"
"Oh, I'm having all kinds of problems today. It started when I heard about Dee." She managed the lock and opened the door for me. We both went in.
"Yeah, I couldn't believe it when I called her place last night and ended up talking to the police."
She gave me a weird look and asked, "You never talked to her about her problem?"
"No, I didn't get her email till almost eight last night, then I called but I was too late," I said quietly.
"Shit, she was hoping to get hold of you. Fuck," Joyce said, sounding like a sailor.
"What was it about? What did she have to be afraid of?"
"She called me here day before yesterday, saying last week she got an email with a warning." She paused, thinking. "It said she was going to be the first classmate to die. She thought it was some kind of joke at first, but then it started to bother her. After a while it just wasn't funny."
"Why didn't she call the police?" I questioned.
"She got a couple more of those threatening letters afterwards, one saying if she told the police she would die faster."
"Dying sooner or later, what's the difference? The police might have kept her alive!"
"You know Dee was never the brightest bulb. She was scared. I told her to call the police, but she just wouldn't listen."
"I don't suppose you saw any of the letters?"
"No, I never saw her in person, just talked to her on the phone. I hate to say it, but my business keeps me so busy I never got to visit her."
"Maybe lucky for you that you didn't," I responded.
"Yeah," she choked. "I thought about that today when I heard it on the news." She looked a bit more shaken. "What are you going to do now?"
"Well, I'm not a cop or a detective, but I may just snoop around a bit to see what I can do to help."
Joyce was getting her office opened as she talked, flitting around turning on computers and lights. She finally sat down at her desk and waited for her computer to boot up.
Joyce looked up at me and said, "I don't have any idea who would want to hurt Dee. She was a really sweet girl. And why was she the first classmate to go? Who's the classmate who wanted her dead, and is there a second classmate to go? This is scary."
I was wandering around her office noticing how successful she was as a realtor by all the plaques on the walls. I heard her make a small chortling sound and turned to see her staring at the computer screen, her face flush. I walked over and looked at the screen where she had opened an email. I read:
"Joyce, congratulations, you are chosen to be the second classmate to die!"
Joyce was still making gurgling noises, and I had to shake her to bring her back to reality.
"Joyce, relax, no harm is going to come to you. We will show this to the police and you will be safe!"
She was still shaking, but looked at me. She was in her 60s also and graying worse than I, but I could almost see the rest of her hair turning a dull white as I spoke.
"This is insane! Who would want to kill me?? I've done no one any harm! Neither did Dee! Who is this sick fuck who is threatening me!?"
I took out my flash drive I always carry and told Joyce to download the email to it. She looked at me with wild eyes but took the drive, plugged it in, copied off the email to the drive and returned it to me. I told her not to mention this to anyone. She sat back and wept. I picked up the phone, dialed information, asked for the Clinton Township police, and asked them to connect me. I waited a bit then got the operator and asked for Detective Sergeant Trapper. It took a bit of waiting, so I went over, locked the front door to the office and rehung the closed sign. Trapper came on the line, and I reminded him who I was then related what had just happened. He told me to set my ass down, that he was on his way.
Joyce and I sat in silence for a bit then she looked to me and asked, "Who would do this? I haven't hurt anyone."
"This could be someone from our school who has serial killer tendencies. For some reason he's snapped and acting out, his sick twisted mind making him do this." I knew it wouldn't soothe her nerves but I had to say something. I probably could have toned it down a bit.
She said no more, and I was at a loss for any more words. A person has been threatened with murder, what do you say? Sgt. Trapper arrived and pounded the door until I opened it and let him in. He gave me a nasty look, like why was I popping up when there was a murder or threat of murder. I spent about an hour in a small room in Joyce's office explaining over and over why I was there and what did I have to do with it. Trapper didn't seem to like me for some reason. I tried to be as polite as possible, but he still had an annoyed look in his eyes when he questioned me. Having read a great number of crime books, I knew police were suspicious of any person in close proximity to a crime. It didn't make me feel any better.
I could see Joyce through the open door. She was holding together better now that the police were there. After a bit they sent me out, brought Joyce into the room and questioned her for a shorter time than they did me. Finally Trapper came out of the room.
"Richards, get out of here but stay available. We'll need you to come in and make an official statement tomorrow."
"What are you going to do for Joyce?" I needed to know that she was going to be safe.
"She'll get police protection until we wrap this up. Now get lost."
I waved to Joyce and went out the door which was held open by a uniformed officer. I got in my car and sat a minute gathering my thoughts. There was not much to go on. Adding together the little information Joyce provided along with the news article and Trapper's lack of info, I had nothing. I drove out of the plaza and into traffic; I was going back to my room to examine the email on my flash drive.
Traffic was light. I arrived home in a short time, turned into the drive of my parents' modest little house and guided the big Crown Vic into the garage. My mother greeted me at the back door and gave me all the day's news from the home front. I wanted to get into my room to check out the email but I had to give mom her time, too. I found an opening to get away, made it safely into my room, and closed the door. My mom knew that a closed door meant privacy, as a door partly opened was an invitation for her to fill me in on what was going on with her reality shows. I couldn't stand those; I didn't need reality in my TV viewing.
I woke my computer from sleep and plugged in the flash drive then waited for the icon to pop up. I opened the drive, started up my mail program, and imported the email. I opened the letter using the full header mode and studied it. Most people don't know that when an email goes out it picks up a lot of information telling everything from where the mail started, what program created it, where it went through the net from server to server and so forth. Like a postal letter that travels the world, it picks up stamps and info as to where it's been.
The header on this email read:
________________________
Return-path: <whipit@gmail.com>
Envelope-to: joyce@harperreality.com
Delivery-date: Sun, 05 Apr 2009 09:35:13 -0600
Received: from Pompo Deli by box505.Myhost.com with local-bsmtp (Exim 4.69)
(envelope-from <whipit@gmail.com>)
id 1LqUNJ-0004KZ-7o
for joyce@harperreality.com; Sun, 05 Apr 2009 09:35:13 -0600
X-Spam-Checker-Version: SpamAssassin 3.2.4 (2008-01-01) on box505.Myhost.com
Received: from mail-gx0-9.google.com ([209.85.2.159])
by box505.Myhost.com with esmtp (Exim 4.69)
(envelope-from <whipit@gmail.com>)
id 1LqUNI-04Jx-Vp
for joyce@harperreality.com; Sun, 05 Apr 2009 09:35:09 -0600
Received: by gk3 with SMTP id 3s4828gxk.8
for joyce@harperreality.com; Sun, 05 Apr 2009 08:35:08 -0700 (PDT)
MIME-Version: 1.0
Received: by 10.11.4.20 with SMTP id a200ybk.7.123266; Sun,
05 Apr 2009 08:35:08 -0700 (PDT)
Date: Sun, 5 Apr 2009 11:35:08 -0400
Message-ID: <9704f95c@mail.gmail.com>
Subject: Your next
From: <whipit@gmail.com>
To: "Joyce Harper" joyce@harperreality.com
X-user: ::::209.5.217.19:box505.Myhost.com::::::
X-Identified-User: {5214:box505.Myhost.com:Pompodeli.com} {sentby:program running on server}
X-Antivirus: AVG for E-mail 8.0.238 [270.11.39/2038]
Content-Type: multipart/mixed; boundary="=======AVGMAIL-49D8E275======="
__________________________
Well, a bit Greek to anyone who didn't know how to look at a header but it told me a few things. The person who sent it called himself (or herself; I wasn't sexist) "whipit," a flashback to the days of DEVO. Or a bondage freak. It was sent from a place called Pompo Deli, I presume a cyber cafe using a mail program on their server for the web based gmail program through Google. Most likely a faked email setup for just this purpose. It might be hard to track down for me as I'm not a total computer geek, but I now know a bit of where to start.
One thing I noticed, the line: To: "Joyce Harper" joyce@harperreality.com suggests that the person sending the mail has an address book set up since the email printed out the full name of Joyce Harper. I wanted to know who else was in that address book. If I could have only seen the email sent to Dee I might have been able to figure out more. I was sure the police had seen all this, too, and were probably at Pompo Deli right now asking questions. Then again, maybe not. Maybe they hadn't had time to take the email back to their lab for examination.
My cell phone rang, and I answered, "Hello?"
"Richards, Trapper here, did you bring a cup of coffee to Joyce Harper's office, or did she bring it?"
"Well, I hate coffee, and I didn't bring it. I don't even know if she drinks it. She had a bunch of stuff in her arms when she got there, but I didn't see a coffee cup. Why?"
"She took a drink from a cup on her desk and started to convulse. We got an EMT wagon in, but it was too late. We think she was poisoned. Nobody else came into the office before I got here?"
"No, just her and me."
"You need to come down to the station and make a statement. I don't like people dying on my watch, and you seem to keep being around when it happens."
"Yeah, I can come down. I'm not hiding anything. I've told you everything I know which is not much. I'm being sucked into this, too, you know."
"Make sure you get there. I don't want to have to chase you down." His tone wasn't friendly.
He hung up, and I put my computers to sleep again then headed out to the car after checking with Mom for any needs. I was starting to dislike the situation. I just knew I was going to end up a suspect. I hoped my name didn't make it to the papers. My mom wouldn't like that.
*
Chapter Three
Trapper was pacing around Joyce Harper's office, fuming. He looked at the two uniformed officers, Becker and Davis, standing there looking about as vacant as two men could look. The ME people had left with the body of Joyce Harper, and the office was quiet until Trapper exploded.
"How in the hell did a cup of poisoned coffee just materialize without anyone seeing it?"
One officer offered, "Maybe it was the CSU guy who came to copy the email off the computer, Sarge."
Trapper's eyes glazed. "Just when was there a CSU guy in here, Becker?"
"Right after I let Richards out the door. He came up and told me he was called to extract an email. You and Davis were in the back room with the vic." Becker winced.
"One guy?" Trapper asked.
"Yeah, just one," Becker replied.
"When was the last time you ever saw less than two CSU guys at the scene?"
"Well, now you mention it, I thought it was strange."
Trapper's eyes glazed again. "What was he carrying?"
"One of those cases they all carry, I guess."
"Did you watch him?" Trapper now moved into Becker's personal space, just short of nose to nose.
"No, I was watching you and Davis with the Harper woman. The CSU guy was done in just a couple of minutes, and I let him out." Becker wanted to move back from Trapper, but the desk blocked him.
"Just enough time to leave a cup of spiked coffee and...." He paused, and his face went blank. "Shit," he spit out, went to the computer, and sat at the desk. He looked at the mail program still up on the screen and made a couple of hits on the keyboard. "Shit! The email is gone! He left the coffee and deleted the email. I don't believe this, right in front of us."
Trapper picked up the desk phone and dialed a number. "Yeah, dispatch, this is Trapper. Was there a call for CSU to come to my location in the last couple of hours?...Yeah, OK. Thanks." He hung up the phone. "No one was sent here," he said, speaking mostly to the air. "This was some real ballsy guy to waltz in and do what he did then skate out."
He turned the chair toward Becker. "What did he look like?"
"About my height, dark hair under a CSU cap, tinted glasses. I could tell they were prescription since they made his eyes look huge. He had a mustache and a large nose." Becker strained to remember.
"Glasses, mustache and a big nose, like those gag glasses, mustache and a big nose they sell in a novelty store?" Trapper said sarcastically.
"No, Sergeant, his were real."
Trapper looked frustrated. He stood, walked to the door, turned and said, "You two wait here. Don't touch anything until the real CSU shows up, check their IDs when they do, wait till they are done, then seal the place up. Can you do that?"
They both nodded, and Trapper stormed out.
Back at the police station, I was sitting on a hard wooden chair that was making my butt so sore I had to shift a lot to get comfortable. About three butt turns later Trapper showed up. He led me to his office.
"Well, Richards, you lucked out. It seems the killer dropped in to the Harper office and left a present while we all just stood around." He wasn't smiling as he briefly filled me in on the incident. "He left the coffee and deleted the email. We can't even examine that now."
I hesitated. "Um, I could help you on that. Before you got there I had Joyce copy the email to my flash drive."
He stared at me and grumbled, "You suppressed evidence?!?"
"No, I copied evidence. It's only suppressed if I didn't tell you about it, which I'm doing now. You're lucky I copied it."
"Ok, I don't care, just give me the flash drive!" He bellowed.
I thought this might happen so I had copied the email off to a blank SD card. I handed it to him.
"This is not a flash drive," he observed.
"The email is on there. I moved it," I lied. Joyce's original email was now on my computer. "Oh, and Dee's email to me is on there, too. I cooperate with my police."
"Ok, fine. We got one up on the classmate killer now." He looked hard at me. "I don't approve that you did this, but thanks."
"Are you calling him the classmate killer now?"
"Police have a way of naming perps so we are all on the same page."
"Did anyone see the killer well enough to ID him?" I asked.
"We have a description, but I'm sure he was disguised. What I can't figure is how he knew the routine and how he figured Harper would be the one to drink the coffee."
"Where was it placed?" I asked.
"On the desk, next to her computer."
"Joyce was so shook up, maybe she thought she brought it and needed the caffeine," I theorized. "He must have known Joyce's habits, and he was confident that after Joyce found the email she would have called the police. Your guys would have arrived and done what good cops do, so he waited and did his thing. I'm sure none of your people would have drunk from the cup. He was just snubbing his nose at everyone. Guy's got guts."
"It was planned. He couldn't just get a CSU outfit at the last minute. This was calculated," Trapper said in admiration of a bad deed.
"Dee Wittenfield's murder wasn't very spectacular. Where was the drama in that?" I wondered aloud. "She didn't call the police so the killer had no show to put on. He just did her in to start the ball rolling, I guess."
I thought more on it and said, "But Joyce said that Dee was warned not to call the police. Why would he do that if he wanted to play?"
"Maybe he figured she would call us after another threat. Maybe if she had called us, we would have been guarding her, and he would still have slid in through the crapper window while she was in the shower and strangled her." He went silent and focused his eyes past the walls.
I was almost speechless. "My God! Is that what happened??"
"You didn't hear this." He hesitated then leaned toward me. "I wasn't there. It was a different crew assigned to the case, but after it happened they sent me and my people in to clean up." He went quiet again. "The papers were not told this bit of info, just what we wanted them to know. Same with the Harper case. It will be known that she was found poisoned. I hope you are cooperative about the suppression of certain facts that are to be kept from the press."
"What, that two woman were killed while the police was on guard?" I muttered.
"Just when I was getting to like you, Richards. Don't upset me," he growled.
"I'm sorry. It's just that I'm not involved with murder every day the way you guys are. The lives of two personal friends have been snuffed out, and I don't know any way to do anything about it." I looked into his eyes and saw he understood.
I was feeling tired. "Are you done with me. I missed my afternoon nap." I gave him a fake grin.
"Yeah, get out of here, but don't leave town." He gave me a fake grin back.
Then we both stopped grinning.
I left his office and the station. Back to my car and out on the road, I was mystified by the events of the last two days. I had two friends go out in violence, and I wasn't prepared for the drama. I got back to the house and into my room. I checked my email online. Thankfully no pleas for help.
I went out to the kitchen and made a light lunch. I never eat big meals which is why I can't figure why I have such a big gut. OK, I guess it would be called a beer belly, and I am proud of it. Back to my room to eat, and then I crashed on the bed. I really feel miserable anymore if I don't catch a nap in the afternoon. I hated it, but I hate feeling miserable more. I slept poorly until it was time to put Dad to bed and back to my room.
Around 7 P.M. I thought about Buck. He wasn't working tonight, but I just had to talk to someone so I called him at home.
Buck answered the phone by the third ring and must have checked his caller ID. "Hey Jimmy, solved the case yet?"
"No, and it got worse," I replied, then went over the details of the last two days. I swore him to secrecy about the suppressed info to the press.
"Wow, man. Must be hard to be in the thick if it," he said, obviously impressed with my story. "I did read about your old girl friend in the paper today. Can't believe he did it right when the cops were there. Guy's got brass."
"Yeah, well, I'm thinking this guy's not done yet. He called Joyce the second classmate to die, like there will be more. I have to find out what Dee and Joyce had in common to make him put them on his list."
"Where you gonna start?" he asked.
"I don't know. I would like to be able to see the emails he sent to Dee, though."
"You'd have to get to her computer to do that, huh?"
"Yeah, but I'm sure the police have her computer by now."
While I was talking with Buck, I was getting my laptop online. I opened my mail program and scanned down the list. My eyes caught an address I recognized. It was from Dee. I felt that chill again and told Buck to hold on. I downloaded it, opened it up and read. I told Buck about it then read it to him.
"James, I'm waiting for the police to come to my place. I just called them. You haven't called so it's OK if you don't. I didn't give you much warning. I got a threatening email, and I put off calling the police, so when Joyce said you worked for some detective company, I thought you might be able to help. After I sent you that last email I got another threat, and I decided to call the police. I've attached the emails so you can see what I was worried about. I know it's been 42 years since I saw you last. I had hoped when we got into high school that you would contact me, but you didn't so I figured you weren't interested anymore. Life sucks, doesn't it? Well, if you'd still like to call, or not, you have my number. Take care, Dee."
"Damn internet, this email was delayed from the first email she sent me. Crap, and she was interested in me back then," I lamented.
"Man, what a cruel blow. But she said she sent you the email threats?"
I was already opening the attachments. There were just two. I read them to Buck.
"Hello, Dee Wittenfield. You don't know me but we are connected. I just wanted to send a friendly warning: You are honored to be the first classmate to die!"
And the second:
"Dee, I've been watching. Hiding in your room won't stop me. Oh, and don't call the police or I'll get rid you sooner."
"He was goading her to call the police," I said, realizing when she didn't call them after the first email he had to get her motivated. "He wanted to have the police there when he did it. Two blows, one to Dee and one to the cops."
I opened up the email headers to see if they were the same and told Buck what I was doing.
"Yep, same headers as before. Came from whipit and sent out of the Pompo Deli. I think I need to take a trip there and check out the set-up," I told Buck.
"Hey buddy, I'll meet you there. It's not far from me." He sounded excited.
"Yeah, well, don't go in till I'm there. See you shortly.” I hung up. I threw on some clothes and left a sticky note on my door in case mom needed me in the night. I quietly slipped out the back door. It was a bit after 8 P.M. and my taste buds were missing that first beer of the night, but I knew they could wait until I got back.
I drove out Groesbeck Hwy. toward Mt. Clemens to where the Pompo Deli was located just below the city limits, putting it in Clinton Twp., which was the jurisdiction of Sgt. Trapper. I had no idea how to reach him this late and I didn't really want him around, to be honest about it. I pulled into the parking lot and spotted Buck's SUV. Big man, big vehicle. He must have spotted me since he got out as I was pulling up.
Buck stood about one head taller than I did and I was five-ten, putting him well over six foot. I hoped he didn't have his .38 in his belt. I asked. He said he didn't, but he then said it was in the car. He was licensed to carry concealed so it didn't bother me, I guess. I wasn't expecting any trouble to need a gun.
We entered the deli. It was about half full of people eating, talking and some working on their laptops. There were six desktop computers along a wall for those who didn't have a computer. Buck and I took a table by the workstations, and the waitress was quickly there. I ordered a Pepsi, and Buck got a Diet Sprite. Why diet, I couldn't figure. He was thin enough, although most of him was muscle.
"This is eerie. The killer was right here sending out his threats," I whispered to Buck.
"Why are you whispering? It's noisy enough in here. No one is even close enough to hear."
"I don't know," I said, louder now. "It just seemed the right thing to do. Besides, the killer could be here right now."
"I hope he is. I'd like to kick his ass right up to his throat," he snarled.
I looked around the room, ruling out people by their size. The killer had to be strong enough to choke Dee to death, so the wimpy geeks were ruled out. Honestly, I wouldn't know what a killer even looked like. All my crime books left that to my imagination. On TV, they were the last person you would suspect, not very outstanding looking. One thing I did check earlier at home was the time and date the emails were sent from here. The waitress came back and dropped our drinks. I stopped her.
"Hi, you are?"
"Stacy," she replied.
"Do you get a regular crowd in here, Stacy? I mean a lot of repeat customers?" I asked.
"Yeah, we get a few of the same people. I just don't really get into their lives. They're mostly engrossed with the internet."
"Did you work last Sunday night around 10 P.M.?"
"Yeah, I was here. Seems like I'm always here what with everyone calling in sick. You know they aren't sick, and with jobs at stake nowadays, they shouldn't be messing around. Know what I mean?" she rambled.
"Yeah, I understand. But back to Sunday night, was anyone here on the computers acting strange?"
"Honey, they all act strange. Especially when they are downloading porn. We just look away, so I don't pay much attention. Say, the police were in here this afternoon asking the same questions. You a cop?"
"No, just a concerned citizen. You read today's paper about the woman who was strangled yesterday?" She nodded. "Well, she got a threatening email that looks like it may have been sent from here."
The waitress just stared at me for a moment and then look shocked. "You mean to say the killer was right here? The cops didn't say anything about that!"
"Maybe. It looks that way. Could you help by keeping an eye out for suspicious people and let me know?" I handed her one of my website business cards, and she took it tentatively like maybe I was the killer. "I think he was here three different times and may be back for more."
She didn't speak, just walked away looking distressed.
"I think you got that girl all flustered." Buck smiled.
"Well, if I stir up some people, it may make the killer do something stupid."
"Or do something stupid and kill you." He gave me his trademark big grin, making his mustache flair out like a walrus.
We drank our drinks, and Buck filled me in on everything going on at the dealership, making me more contented that I no longer worked there. After a while, I told Buck that I was a bit tired and had a beer calling me at home, so we said our so longs and went off into the night.
I snuck back into the house, seeing the sticky note still on my door, went in and undressed again. I snapped open a can of beer and opened up my email program again to look at Dee's letters. I did a new scan of my email and noticed a new one had come in while I was gone. What hairs were left on my bald head were tightening up as I saw the sender's name, whipit. I downloaded and read the letter.
"Richards, you're getting too nosey. Drop it or you'll be on the list, too!"
*
Chapter Four
Now I was concerned.
This was getting too close to my home. He didn't say I was going to die, but he implied I would be on the list if I didn't back off. Should I back off, or was this a challenge to me? I figured Buck was still up and called him. I read the letter to him.
"You want me to come down with my pistol and camp out in your drive?" He was concerned.
"No, I'm not on the list yet, and I think he wants to go after that list first without adding to his load." I had just put human life into a load without meaning to do so.
"Well, any suspicious activity around your place, you call and I'll be there!"
"Thanks, Buck, but I'm only three blocks from my local police station. I'm going to call there and see if anyone wants to hear my story," I said to relieve him. We said our good nights, and I called the Clinton Twp. police instead of my local cops. I asked if possibly Sgt. Trapper was around and was told he wasn't. I left my name and cell phone number and asked if they could call him and have him call me. It was an emergency, about the classmate killer. They said they would, and I sat back staring at the email.
About fifteen minutes later my cell phone rang. It came up on caller ID as "private number." I hate to answer those calls but figured Trapper wouldn't want people having his number.
"Hello," I said into the phone.
"Richards, what do you want?" He sounded tired.
I related the whole night from when I left his office, and I could hear his grumbling as I went on.
"Who told you that you could start your own investigation?" he exploded. "You're not even licensed to investigate!"
"I wasn't investigating; I was asking questions for my own benefit. Just to ease my mind," I countered. "Besides, now you have something more to draw him out."
"I'm not using you for bait, Richards, so get that idea out of your head, and don't pursue it anymore!"
"Well, the date-time on the header of my email says that he was in the deli while I was there. He sent it out just after I left." I could imagine what the waitress would have said had she known that. "He would have had to know me, or how would he have sent the email so quickly, and why did he assume I was asking questions about him?" I thought about the waitress. She could have gone around talking to people about my being there.
"Well, I doubt he's still there, but I'll have Becker drive me by there to have a look. We're in the area checking out a few leads on another case. The crap never rests. It will probably just chase him out, if he is still there."
"Ok, do that. Let me know if anything develops," I said with a grin that he couldn't see through the phone.
"Forget it, Richards! You're not part of this, and I don't want to find out you are nosing around again."
"Ok, Sarge, I won't let you find out." I grinned again and hung up before he could reply.
I'm sure I was pissing him off which might not be a good thing, but I had become part of this when the killer threatened me. I had to be careful, though. I didn't want any backlash toward my parents.
I pulled out the local business phone book, looked up the Pompo Deli and added the number to my cell phone book. I dialed the number, and after a couple of rings a female voice came on.
"May I speak to Stacy?" I asked.
"You got her," she replied.
"Stacy, I was in there a couple hours ago. I asked you about suspicious people. I gave you my card."
"Yeah, I remember you and the big bruiser with you," she replied.
Bruiser. I never thought of that word to describe Buck, but I guess it would fit.
"After we left, did anyone ask about me?"
"Yeah, as a matter of fact, some guy asked if your name was Jim, and I said yes since it was on your card. He said he thought it was you and knew you from high school. I showed him your card, and he asked if I knew you. I said, no, I had just met you and told him you were asking me about suspicious people. He was nice and talked a bit but I had to work. He thanked me and went back to his computer. Funny thing, he didn't look as old as you to be in high school with you. No offense to your age."
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