Read Bob Moats - Jim Richards 01-03- 3 for Murder Box Set Online

Authors: Bob Moats

Tags: #Mystery: Thriller - Senior Sleuth

Bob Moats - Jim Richards 01-03- 3 for Murder Box Set (2 page)

I plopped down on the bed but didn’t get much sleep that night.

Chapter Two

I did finally doze off 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 the same basket.

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,” 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 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’ll 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 young 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: <[email protected]>

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