“I wish we could, but she’d want to know where I got them.”
They took their time getting back. Stump knew he’d never forget that night. “Do you think we’d make good PI’s?” he finally asked.
“What’s a PI?”
“A private investigator. They’re like detectives only they mostly work for private people.”
“Oh, yeah. I’ve seen people like that on TV. You might like it, but sneaky things make me nervous.”
“I dunno. I think it’s exciting.” He checked the time on his cell. Nine-twenty. They’d be right on time.
Suddenly flashing red lights came from behind them. “Oh, no,” Maria said. “They found out what we did. We’re going to jail—”
“Can’t be. They would have come right away,” Stump said as a cop car whizzed passed them. Up ahead, he saw additional red lights flashing on the treetops. “Looks like something’s going on at your building. Let’s hurry.”
Moments later they’d reached Cal-Vista, where the cop car they’d seen earlier was parked on the street. They entered the courtyard. At the other end of the pool a small group of people stood over a male’s body lying on its side and facing away. Although Stump had played a key role in solving several murders, he’d never actually seen a dead body, not even at the mortuary when his mother passed away. “You’d better go to your apartment,” he said to Maria. “I’ll come tell you what’s going on a little later.”
“You’re not going over there, are you?”
Stump glanced back toward the pool area and noticed bystanders gathering in the shadows. ”I have to, but you should go inside so you don’t have nightmares.”
“Alright,” she said as she leaned in and kissed him, “but promise me you’ll be careful.”
“I will.” He pivoted and moved toward the action. A few people, including Manuel, Juanita and Mr. Connors from next door were standing above the body, but Dixon wasn’t around. He looked closer. The dead man wore shoes and long pants. It wasn’t Dixon. Stump passed the first two buildings and a trashcan with a KFC box inside. At the halfway point he could see the back of the body, dripping wet and motionless. A glance toward the windows in Dixon’s apartment revealed mostly darkness.
Now, just a few yards from the body, Stump could hear the conversation. “It looks like somebody hit him with a baseball bat,” one of the males speculated.
“Mr. Dixon is the only one I know who’d kill anybody,” Juanita said.
She had a good point. Dixon had a string of enemies and could have been drawn into some sort of quarrel. Stump made his way around the small group and peeked back at the body. Almost instantly his stomach boots kicked him so hard he thought he might puke. The dead man was Rodger Kraft.
Chapter Seventy-One
Rodger Kraft was like a grandpa to Stump. The man was wise, generous and fair, but most importantly, Mr. Kraft believed in Stump. Stump wiped away a tear and observed a deep gutter-shaped indentation, high up, on the back of Mr. Kraft’s skull. Did Dixon do it, and if not, was the killer here now? Stump looked up and down the lines of windows inside the complex to see if anybody appeared suspicious.
Just then a car door slammed in the parking lot. Was that the killer, getting away? Stump rushed toward the lot to get a plate number, just in case. Seconds later, he reached the sidewalk and saw a pudgy, 50ish male open the back door of a black sedan and grab a wrinkled sport coat that he flung over his white shirt and loose-fitting tie. Stump immediately recognized the man from several years earlier. His name was Sergeant Byrdswain.
Before Stump could reintroduce himself the sergeant wobbled into the courtyard. Stump followed along like a duckling trailing its mother.
When the sergeant reached the body he put on rubber gloves, glancing at the group near the body. “Who’s in charge here?” he asked. This seemed to Stump like one of those situations in which Dixon would be underfoot. Stump checked out Dixon’s windows again. As before, there was no sign of him.
“I’m the maintenance man,” Manuel said.
Mr. Connors tipped his head respectfully to the sergeant. “I’m Clyde Connors. I own the building next door.”
Sergeant Byrdswain crouched near Kraft’s head. “Who’s the manager of this building?”
“Dixon Browne,” Manuel said. “He’s in his apartment. I think he’s the killer.”
Very possible, especially after the blow-up that Stump and Maria had heard earlier. Their dispute could have easily resumed after Dixon followed Stump and Maria to the flower shop. Stump wiped another tear from his eye and returned his attention to the sergeant.
Byrdswain felt Mr. Kraft’s neck for a pulse. “Anybody know the victim?”
“He’s Rodger Kraft,” Mr. Connors said. “The owner of the property.”
“How well did you know him?”
“We’ve been neighbors for years, but we both tend to mind our own business. I just came over a little bit ago when I saw the red lights.”
“Who found the body?”
“I did,” Manuel said. “About a half-hour ago. My wife here is the one who called the police.”
Juanita nodded and Byrdswain rose. “How’d he get out of the pool?”
Once again, Manuel moved first. “He was in the water when I got here. I pulled him out in case I could save him. But there was no breathing. No movement. He was gone.”
“What time was that?”
“About nine.”
Byrdswain gestured toward Mr. Kraft’s head. “Any of you see anything around here that could have been used to hit him?”
Good question. If Stump weren’t so distracted by his own grief, he would have appreciated Byrdswain’s techniques and how the people responded to the questions, both verbally and with their body movements. Stump scanned the courtyard for a potential weapon.
“Nothing like that around here,” Manuel said. “But Dixon could have something in his apartment.”
The sergeant rose. “We’ll have a closer look after we get some pictures. Did any of you see anybody suspicious hanging around when you got here?”
“There were a few folks gathering when I got here,” Mr. Connors said, “but it was dark and I wasn’t paying much attention until I saw the body.”
Sergeant Byrdswain glanced at Stump and then turned to Juanita. “What about you, ma’am? Any of the people watching us right now look suspicious to you?”
Juanita shook her head but didn’t speak.
“Most of these people are good folks,” Manuel said. “They’re just trying to get by without any trouble.”
“Which apartment is Dixon Browne’s?”
Manuel lifted his jaw toward Dixon’s apartment. “Building one, Unit 101. He was out here earlier but went inside.”
“You said he could have killed the victim. What makes you think so?”
That too was a great question. Stump could have given the sergeant a list of reasons why Dixon was capable of such a thing, but he elected instead to hold his tongue until he heard what others thought.
“I heard Dixon and Mr. Kraft arguing,” Manuel said. “They were always fighting. The owner said he was losing money and knew who was taking it.”
That was more or less what Stump thought, but Stump wasn’t aware of any previous battles between Dixon and Mr. Kraft. Of course, Stump was only on site a few hours a day and Kraft usually left the premises shortly after Stump arrived.
Just then Stump heard several cars come into the parking lot. Byrdswain paused for a moment as if he’d heard them too. He returned to Manuel. “Who else, besides you and Dixon, might have seen something?”
“Any of the tenants,” Manuel said as three car doors banged shut in the lot. “There are eighty-four apartments. Most of them have two or three people living in them.”
Several lingerers pivoted toward two men and a woman who joined the courtyard and moved toward the body. “Forensics,” Byrdswain said before addressing Manuel and Connors again. “I need you guys to stay close by
for a couple hours.”
Connors nodded while Manuel pointed across the courtyard. “Juanita and I live on the second floor of that building.”
“Good enough.” Byrdswain reached into his pocket, “Here’s my card in case you think of anything else I should know.”
As Connors and Manuel headed off, Byrdswain swung Stump’s way. “Don’t I know you?”
“Yes, sir. My name’s Stump. I helped you solve some murders three years ago.”
“I thought so. You’re Cooper’s kid, but you’re bigger now. Did you see what went on?”
“No, sir. I wasn’t here when any of this happened. I was with my girlfriend.”
“Girlfriend, huh? I should be so lucky.” He nodded at Stump. “I gotta get back to work, but I want you to know you did an impressive job on the dog park.”
“Thank you,” Stump said looking back to Mr. Kraft. “He was a nice man.”
Sergeant Byrdswain turned toward the new arrivals. “I need you guys to tape off the scene, get some pictures and order an autopsy. I’ll check back with you after I have a talk with the manager.” He pointed his finger at Mr. Kraft. “Oh, yeah, when you’re done, cover him up.”
The sergeant pulled a cellphone from his coat and tapped at the screen as he went to the quiet end of the pool.
* * *
The read-out on Delores’s phone indicated that her incoming caller was Sergeant Byrdswain. “We’ve got something hot,” he said the instant she answered her phone. “I thought you’d want to know.”
The excitement in his tone filled her with child-like curiosity, but the trained expert inside her urged restraint. She sat forward. “What’s going on?”
“I’m over at Cal-Vista. The owner is dead. The maintenance guy and his wife think your buddy, Dixon Browne, did it.”
Delores’s free hand shot to her cheek. “Rodger Kraft? Oh my God! What happened?”
“A blow to the head, followed by a late-night swim. I would have called you when the call first came in, but I wanted to see what was going on first.”
“No problem. Why was Rodger there so late? He usually goes home in the afternoon.”
“Maintenance guy says he heard Browne and Kraft arguing over money. A little later he found the victim, pulled him out of the pool but Kraft was already dead.”
“Is Dixon still there?”
“I think so. I’m seeing him next.”
“You want me to come help?”
“Not just yet. If you come around now, and Browne didn’t do it, he’ll recognize you and that’ll be the end to your investigation. We can wait a bit.”
“Thanks, boss. It’s nice to know you’ve got my back.”
“On the other hand, a murder has to take priority over your case. How close are you to arresting Browne on those other charges?”
“Ideally, I’d like another week, but I could do it now if we want to tuck him out of the way.”
“He’d probably just lawyer-up. We don’t want you to be shuffling paperwork on a lower-priority case that can wait. Let’s hold off for now. I don’t want to jeopardize either one of these cases.”
“I’m for that.”
“Alright, here’s what I think we should do. I’ll knock on some doors around here and try to figure out which way the wind blows. You stay close by in case I need you. If we’re lucky we might solve a murder and catch Mr. Browne all in short order. Regardless, if Dixon is our murderer, I’ll make sure you’re in on the arrest. You deserve that much.”
“Thanks, boss. I’ll have my cell.”
“Okay then, if you don’t hear from me tonight, meet me in the office first thing in the morning. One more thing. I saw that Stump kid hanging around. You ought to call Cooper. He may want to get his kid out of here.”
“Will do. See you in the morning if not before.”
“Roger that. Oops. Poor choice of words.”
Chapter Seventy-Two
Inside Dixon Browne’s building, Sergeant Byrdswain caught a whiff of fresh-brewed coffee. He knocked forcefully on Dixon’s door. “Palmdale Police. Open up.”
Seconds later a misshapen eye filled the peephole. The sergeant simply held up his badge.
Dixon Browne swung the door inward. He had a bath towel in hand. “I was expecting you,” he said, tossing his towel on a chair.
“You were? Why?”
“C’mon Sergeant. It’s obvious. The owner of the building is killed. I’m the manager and you’re a detective. Just makes sense.”
Byrdswain nodded. “I understand you got a close look at the body.”
“Yeah, but there wasn’t much I could do, and I was sweaty, so I decided to take a shower while I could.”
“I see.” Byrdswain sniffed at the air, then pointed to the kitchen. “I don’t suppose I could bother you for a cup of that coffee.”
Dixon snickered. “Serve yourself.”
Byrdswain seized a mug and filled it. He stared at Dixon, sipped down some coffee and raised his cup. “Now, that’s what I needed.”
“I’d offer you some creamer and sugar but you ain’t staying that long.”
“That’s a nice shiner you’ve got there. I suppose you ran into a door?”
“Something like that.”
Byrdswain took a couple steps down the center hall. “You mind if I look around?”
“My apartment? What for? I ain’t got nothing of interest to you.”
“I just might find a baseball bat with the victim’s hair on it. Or blood in your tub. You got anything to hide?”
Dixon waved his hand. “Why would I have those things?”
“Seems a little odd that you’d leave a crime scene just to take a shower. You sure you’re not destroying evidence? We can find traces of blood in the tub you know.”
“Nothing like that, Sergeant, I assure you. I went for a walk, worked up a sweat and simply figured it’d be a long night.”
Byrdswain moved down the hall, glanced in the bedroom, bathroom and Dixon’s office before he returned to the living room. “Nice trophies.”
“Just lucky.”
“I didn’t see any signs of a woman.”
“My wife bailed on me. Is that a crime?”
“If it was,” Byrdswain snickered, “we’d all be in jail.”
Dixon pointed toward the courtyard area. “How’s it look out there? Any clues?”
“Just the dent in Kraft’s head. Did you see it?”
“Sure didn’t.”
“Where were you between seven and nine o’clock?”
“Like I told you, I went for a walk.”
“Can anybody verify that?”
“I didn’t talk to anybody, if that’s what you mean.”
“I see. When did you first hear about the victim?”
“When I came back from my walk. There were already some guys standing near the body. I saw he was dead and came inside to call the cops. Then I jumped in the shower.”
“What time was that?”
“Around eight-thirty.”
“How many people live in this complex?”
“Never really counted them, but I’d guess there’s a couple hundred. Why?”
“Do you know all of them?”
“Makes the job easier,” Dixon said, sarcastically.
“It must give a guy a feeling of power to be in charge of so many people,” Byrdswain slid his cup on the counter.
“It’s just a job.”
“But an important one, nonetheless. Must piss you off when things don’t go your way.”
Dixon shrugged. “Not as much as when people don’t rinse out their dirty coffee cups.”
Byrdswain grinned. “You’ll get over it. Your job must pay pretty well to own a Cadillac.”
Dixon scoffed. “What are you getting at, Sergeant? We both know you don’t give a damn about what car I drive.”
“True, but I’ve always put a lot of faith in instincts, first impressions. If you’d lie about a car, you’d certainly lie about k
illing somebody. I’m wondering if your boss caught you with your hand in his cookie jar and threatened to turn you in so you ballpeened him to keep him quiet.”
“I’m afraid you’re fishing in an empty lake, Sergeant.”
“We’ll see. One more thing. I need you to put together a list of any troublemakers around here, anybody who’s been arrested, people who argue a lot or have aggressive visitors.”
“Why would I do that?”
Sergeant Byrdswain stared in Dixon’s eyes. “Because it makes me think you’re trying to help rather than trying to get away with murder. That’s why.”
“Fair enough. I guess I can put in a few minutes for my friends at the almighty Palmdale Police Department.”
“That’s better. If I find you left anybody off the list who should have been on it, it’ll mean I can’t trust you and you don’t want that. Got it?”
“Now why would I do that?”
Chapter Seventy-Three
The next morning at school, Stump slouched down in his seat. Filled with sad thoughts, he found it difficult to concentrate. Then the heavy door at the front corner of the classroom swung open and the Assistant Principal approached the teacher who quickly looked in Stump’s direction. “Neal. It looks like you need to go with Mr. Dunlap.”
Stump shrugged and made his way to the front and then out into the hallway where Myles and Grandma Pauline were waiting. “Sergeant Byrdswain wants to see you,” Myles said.
“Is it about Mr. Kraft?”
“I think so. We’d better get going.”
At the truck, and almost by habit, Stump slid behind the wheel. “I’m glad you brought Grandma Pauline.”
“Had to. Katherine had a doctor’s appointment.”
“Is Detective Sanchez going to be there, too?”
“Oh,” Myles said lifting his hand off his lap. “I didn’t know you remembered her.”
“I saw her at work one day but couldn’t remember how I knew her. But then James and I drove past the police building and saw your truck. I still didn’t put it all together until last night after I spoke with Sergeant Byrdswain. I can tell you one thing. She’s hot.”
“I use to get hot flashes too,” Grandma Pauline said.
Both Stump and Myles grinned.
“It’s a weird coincidence,” Stump said.
“What is?”
“What are the chances Detective Sanchez would be living at the same building where I work and where a murder took place?”