CHAPTER TEN
"What's she doing here?" Nancy huffed with her hands set squarely on her rotund hips.
"She informed me about a homicide," Thomas, as his wife called him, answered leaning his putter in the left back corner of the hall closet.
"What's wrong with the telephone…why didn't she just phone you? Did she personally have to drive all the way here to tell you?" her voice became brassier as she followed him to the upstairs bedroom. "I want to know what's going on?" she now demanded.
"Aw, come off it. Just because Sherry is young and nice looking, you don't have to get your dander up every time you see her," he grumbled as he brushed past her.
Opening his closet door, he removed his short sleeve white cotton shirt, a pair of charcoal grey pants and a red and white striped tie. Laying them all on his bed, he stooped down and felt around under the bed for his black laced work shoes that were in need of a good brushing. Then he opened the top dresser drawer and removed a pair of thin black cotton socks; preferring thinner socks to the thicker ones which made his feet sweat and burn. On top of the dresser was a midsized ashtray, in which he now placed his unfinished Camel joining with several other half-smoked cigarette butts.
As he began to change his clothes, Nancy spied a pimple on his right shoulder as he pulled off his T-shirt. She approached her husband who was sitting on the edge of the bed, “You’ve got a pimple with puss on your back so let me take care of it.” She went into the bathroom and retrieved a couple sheets of toilet paper from the roll sitting on the back of the commode.
“I don’t have time for this,” he said knowing full well she was going to pop it, and sop up the ensuing puss and blood no matter what he said. Sitting motionless he braced himself for the slight pain as she positioned herself behind him. As she squeezed the pimple between her thumbs, sure enough it gave way and she wiped up the small mess with the toilet paper. When it popped, he gave a slight flinch and then relaxed, for he had been through this experience many times. He always thought how odd it was for her to pop his pimples, but it seemed to give her some unknown inner pleasure he felt. She threw the paper into the commode, and flushed it down as she watched the swirling water disappear momentarily.
Not missing a beat, Nancy started right back in where she left off; still breathing down his neck as she slammed the bathroom door, "Lately, every time I see her you're not far behind," she sneered as she folded her arms across her chest and stared directly at him.
"Call your sister Stella, and ask her if I'm two-timing you. The only interest I have in Officer Hendrix is that she learns her job, and learns it well. I'm her training officer for this month and that's all. Thank God next week she's going on the night shift," he said as he shoved his .38 caliber Smith and Wesson revolver in its holster. "Maybe then you'll give me some peace."
"She's a hussy and everyone knows it. That's how she got on the police force." Nancy pointed out.
"We'll discuss it later. I have to go; Martha Camp was found murdered this morning," he now decided to inform her.
"Why…I know her," she said now wringing her hands nervously, "that poor woman had everything to live for. She just went back with her crazy husband. She almost divorced him you know. This is a real heartbreak. Did her husband do it?" she asked feigning shock and disbelief, even though she only just barely knew the woman, and had little regard for her at that.
Thomas pulled the top drawer of his dresser open again, and after moving socks and handkerchiefs around he turned to her, "Have you seen my pocket watch?"
"No, I haven't. Why don't you ask officer yum-yum if she's seen it? You spend more time with her than you do with me," she bristled already forgetting her question about Beau being his wife’s killer.
Rolling his eyes, he buttoned his shirt collar, and placed his tie around his neck and fashioned it into a Windsor knot. He liked the larger knot, even though it wasn't as popular as it once was. Lifting his navy knit sport coat off its wooden hanger, he slipped it on. Thomas never wore a hat, being a bit prideful of his wavy, sandy colored short hair which seemed to go well with his green eyes and clean shaven appearance; even though his hairline was receding with each advancing year, which didn’t set well with him. He was not looking forward to his golden years.
Reaching out, he cradled her face in his hands, "Give me a smooch goodbye and stay off the telephone please. Let me solve this case by myself.” His soft kiss and gentle embrace reassured her, for now anyway; as he opened the side door and stepped outside knowing full well she’d be on the telephone, blabbing to everyone she knew about Martha Camp’s murder before he reached the police station.
Detective Miller opened the passenger’s door and plopped down into the cruiser, as Officer Hendrix sat and revved the engine. She sped fearlessly to the North Side Park crime scene. Behind the wheel she was a demon. Miller in the past had cautioned her to slow down, but to no avail. She turned into the North Side Park's parking lot and braked hard to a stop. She expected him to make a comment, but he remained silent.
Already on the scene were Detective Dick Fairchild, and several other uniformed officers. Fairchild served in the air force for four years as a military police officer. Settling in Saint Cloud, he thought a small town would be the best place to raise his only son, Ronald. Mary Beth, his wife, passed a few minutes after giving birth some seventeen years ago. Ronald, and his police officer career were the only important things he placed any real value on in his life.
Dick was a very serious and rather strict father, but the love for his son ran deep within his inner core. One of those fathers who wouldn’t hesitate to trade his life for his son’s.
Det. Fairchild didn’t smoke, drink hard liquor, nor did he use unlawful drugs or seek out the company of lewd woman. Standing over six feet with strong square shoulders and a chin to match; he kept himself in great physical condition. Dark black hair, with only a few gray hairs apparent, fashioned in the military crew-cut style, with deep set blue eyes.
Ronald, who only answered to Ronny, was simply a younger physical version of his dad, except he was two inches shorter; yet they were complete opposites when it came to their personalities. The father being strong minded and a domineering force to say the least, and the son being carefree, independent and seen by many as kind to the elderly and animals, playful, and even a bit rebellious; which mirrored his mother’s temperament undeniably for those who remembered her early on. Dick saw in his son the same qualities which first drew him to his beloved wife.
The area was roped off and one officer was busy taking photographs of the victim, and the surrounding area. Det. Fairchild nodded to Det. Miller as he approached. "She was beaten to death with a claw-hammer; it was found next to her body with blood all over it," he seemed to be reading from his notes.
After surveying the scene, Miller called Hendrix to come closer, "Describe the victim and her clothing."
She stepped closer and studied the bloody corpse. "Brown hair pulled into a bun style. You can see her grey roots, so it must be dyed," she noted. Bending over she observed the victims face. "She has little makeup on; just some facial powder and no lipstick. She has a silver-banded wristwatch on her left wrist, and an imitation-pearl necklace around her neck and a small diamond wedding ring."
“How do you know her necklace is fake?” Miller asked.
Looking her superior in the eyes, “A woman can always tell sir.”
Not sure how to respond, “Ah, alright then, please proceed.”
"She has on a long brown dress, and matching short heeled dress shoes and looks to be in her early to mid-fifties. Her weight looks between a hundred and forty to one hundred and sixty pounds or thereabouts. There are multiple bloody indents in her face, neck and head areas; I’d say they came from the hammer sir."
Det. Fairchild stood listening to her summation; as she finished he rolled his eyes and walked away shaking his head.
"Is anything missing?" Det. Miller asked.
"I don't see her purse sir,"
“How do you know she even had a purse?”
“Most women her age never go anywhere without their purse.”
"Is this a sex crime?"
"No, I don’t think so, her dress isn’t pulled up as if someone tried to get at her." She answered.
"What about robbery?"
"Her purse is missing, but she has other valuables on her person; her rings and whatnot. I'll say no to robbery."
"When you amateurs finish your training, I'd like to complete my investigation," Det. Fairchild said sarcastically as he returned to their side.
"Before we go, I'd like for you to search this area and the parking lot. See if you can locate her purse," Miller instructed Hendrix.
She stood at attention, "Sir, the Chief wants us to inform the victim's husband."
"Alright, after you check the area, we'll give him the bad news," he said as he drew out the last Camel from the pack. Pulling his watch from his pocket and checking the time, he slowly walked to the police cruiser and studied the park. Det. Miller boosted himself up on its front right fender and sat staring at the trees as he recalled the fond memories of his childhood.
Playing on the swings, the wonderful picnics with his parents and hiding from the other kids while playing hide-and-go-seek. They were allowed to make as much noise as they wanted, because the park was isolated from nearby residents.
Officer Hendrix returned to the car and climbed inside as Det. Miller joined her. She made good time crossing town while he sat, still daydreaming of younger and happier times.