Lust and Murder in Smalltown X
Chapter 6

Copyright© 2004 by MysteryWriter

Sabine knew the area, so he left to visit the repair shops. The writer had to almost force him to take Lucy. The writer had agreed to visit the murder victim's families. He was to try getting more information about them. His first stop was the library. He wanted to rule Doris out as a suspect in the phone call. It would be nice, if simple jealousy had been the motive for the threatening call. He somehow didn't see Doris threatening violence just to get laid. Still, she had been fairly aggressive the last time they went out. He smiled fondly at the memory just as he pulled into the front parking lot of the library.

Doris was sitting at her desk wearing those half frame glasses for which librarians are famous. She looked over them to see the writer enter. She smiled inside herself. It seemed that her little call had worked. She would have to keep her wits about her. She didn't want him to actually nail her for it. Well she definitely wanted him to nail her, but not for the threat. It had been just a ruse to get his attention off that EMT slut and back onto her.

"Doris, I came to apologize for that call last night." He intentionally didn't add anything about the reason for it.

"Well, if you hadn't caught me half asleep, I would have invited you over. Since I sleep in a ratty old gown, I would have had to shower and change for you. I just wasn't up to it."

"Wow, now that is an image to carry around the rest of the day." The writer smiled at her. Remembering the look and feel of her breasts was a pleasant memory. It was one he indulged often those last couple of days.

"So, do you have more questions to ask?" Doris knew whatever excuse he came up with, would be just that an excuse. He had come because of her. She got a pleasant warm feeling from that knowledge.

I just came to see if you had been to lunch yet. So have you?" The writer watched her face. He saw it brighten, even though she tried to hide it. Doris he decided was the stereotypical small town old maid. He did not know that she was also a virgin.

"Not yet, is that an offer or are you just curious?" She smiled. She might not have had a lot of experience at being coy, but she had that basic woman's manipulative ability.

"Well, since I remember about the car payments, how about I go out and bring a picnic lunch in. You can grace my table, while keeping your ability to drive a better car than I drive."

"Fair enough, but deli. none of the colonel's chicken for me."

"No problem, but why is that?" The writer had never intended to buy fast food but he was curious.

"Too much fat," she replied.

The writer realized again how much differently a woman's mind worked. "Fair enough, where is the closest deli?" he asked.

The closest thing to a Deli. within fifty miles is a section in the Buy Mart store on the highway. Go toward Taylortown about five miles. There will be a Grocery store in the large shopping center. The center is called the Crossroads Mall. Of course, it isn't really a Mall. Just a big shopping center with a few specialty stores and the Buy Mart.

It seemed a long way to go for lunch, but he had committed himself, yet again, without first learning the ins and outs of it. It was a hot day, so the drive in the little yellow convertible would be reasonably pleasant.

Picking out the food had been no more than telling the young woman behind the counter, a half pound of this, and a quarter pound of that. He left the deli twenty bucks poorer. It was also with a sure and certain knowledge that he could have taken Doris to the diner a damn sight cheaper.

When he saw the flashing blue lights, it meant nothing to him. The lights came from a state trouper's car parked on the shoulder. The car was parked behind a traveler's car, and off the roadway. Even so the writer slowed down as he passed. That natural urge to see what was going on, often resulted in a rear end collision. It didn't that day. Instead the writer saw the officer giving the woman directions. Well probably not directions, but it looked that way as he waved his hands and pointed this way and that.

The writer drove past the two cars. It was several minutes before it hit him. Son of a bitch, he thought. It made almost perfect sense. Maggie Evan's killer was some kind of cop. He probably pulled her over for speeding. He knew, Maggie was not the most moral of people. She might well have offered to work off her ticket. The cop gave her directions to the lake. It might well have been late enough for the lakeside to be empty. If not, the cop car could have passed as someone checking the place out. The cops must have done that often when bored. Since it was empty, he did his number on Maggie, then killed her. The writer forced himself to relax. If his theory was good, it would hold till later in the day, when he was to meet Sabine and Lucy again.

After he and Doris spread the Deli lunch over the extra desk in the storeroom, she asked with a pickle in her hand, "Writer, what you gonna do when Martin comes looking for you?"

"If he is that stupid, I will probably kill him." The writer did not show any emotion at all. Doris felt a cold chill run up her spine. She would have hated to admit that it was a sexual excitement, but it was.

"You know the tent doesn't offer much protection," Doris observed.

"No, it isn't a lot but it should do just fine."

"Writer, are you open to a business proposition?" Doris asked it smiling over a sandwich she had made from smoked turkey.

"Well I can't afford to buy you your own library but I am willing to listen."

"You are paying over a hundred dollars a week out at that camp. That is just for water and a bathroom along with a space to pitch that tent. I don't know what fringe benefits there are out there, but if the deal is just the space, I can make you a better offer." She waited for him to respond.

"Oh, what kind of offer?" he asked. He had a pretty good idea but wanted her to spell it out.

"I have told you that Librarians don't make a lot of money in small towns, so here it is. I live in a two-bedroom apartment. I can clean the junk out of the spare room. In other words writer, you can come live at my house."

"So how much do you want?" The writer asked it honestly. He was trying to decide, what the loss of his freedom was worth to him, before he could decide her offer came.

"A hundred a week, payable in advance. And writer, who knows what all you will get for your hundred."

The writer did some calculations while he munched his Danish Ham sandwich. He figured that he was on the right track with the investigation even if it did have to be penned down. He probably would be around long enough for Martin to recover and come looking for him.

"You said yourself, Martin would be looking for me, are you sure you want a piece of that?"

"For a hundred bucks a week writer, I will kill him for you." She grinned so that he knew it was a joke.

"I come and go at weird hours Doris," he explained.

You do now, Doris thought. Instead she said, "I have an extra key."

"I certainly am not in love with the campground." He said. In his mind he added, or anyone in it. "Sure why not?"

"I am paid up out there for a couple of more days. How about I make the move on Friday after you leave work.

I close the library at seven, so I will be home by seven-thirty. You can come by here for a key, if you want to move in earlier.

"Sounds like a plan to me," the writer said.

"Now Writer, I have work to do." She wondered, if he would invite her to dinner before Friday. Probably not she decided. She knew there would be plenty of time to seduce him after he moved in.

The writer left the library to begin talking with family members of murder victims. He found three of them in Small Town X. His questions were based on a different set of parameters. He, Sabine, and Lucy had decided to concentrate on the cars of the victims.

In his interview, the writer found that none of the cars had been recovered. The bodies were found in isolated areas but no car. The writer almost tossed his cop idea. Getting rid of the cars was still a problem. One thing the writer did find, was that in all the cases, the car was a late model car one not likely to have broken down. That information supported his cop theory. He still was puzzled about the disposal of the cars.

At five o'clock the writer returned to the pancake house. He was sitting in a booth, contemplating a big burger and fries, when the others arrived. He watched Sabine put his arm protectively around Lucy. It seemed they had become fast friends. The writer smiled as he thought about the only, slightly over weight but highly sweet Lucy in the arms of the middle-aged, gruff Sabine. It was a nice thought but Lucy chose to sit with the writer in the booth.

"So what did you find out Sabine?" the writer asked. He watched as Lucy smiled.

"Since there are just a couple of shops doing that kind of business it took only a couple of minutes to find out that we got nothing there. We had plenty of time, so we looked over the file again. You didn't notice that all but three of the missing persons went missing in their cars. We decided to eliminate the others and talk to a few of the families."

"Nobody could believe the people went missing, everybody was happy and in love, or so our families say," Lucy was giving the information while Sabine smiled at her. "Writer, none of the cars has shown up. Sabine got the idea to run a national check on the vin numbers, whatever that is."

"Those cars, and your murder victim's cars just disappeared."

"Chop shop?" the writer asked.

"I think so," Sabine said. "I just can't figure how they done it."

"I can," the writer said grinning at them both.

"You can?" Sabine asked.

"Yep, I know who the killer is. Well not the name of him, but the identity." The writer enjoyed Sabine's reaction.

"You have been at this a day and you know. Writer, that makes you either a genius or an arrogant prick."

"Both actually," The writer smiled. Sabine looked as though he might have a hemorrhage. "Okay before Sabine has a heart attack. The killer gets the victim to stop on the highway. The car is fine. He then goes to the car. If the driver fits his profile, he assaults her then kills her right there in her car near the highway. They all died in the middle of the night, I can guarantee you. He puts her body in the trunk of his car then dumps her. He puts in a call to a chop shop. They come by to get the car. It disappears without a trace."

"So, you think the chop shop guys are serial killers, and the victims just stop for them? Writer, you are nuts." Lucy declared

"The chop shop guys don't even know there is a murder. All they know is their contact calls them and they get the car. They probably send him a couple of bucks. Everybody is happy."

"Who would the women stop in the middle of the night for?" Lucy asked.

"Cops," Sabine replied.

Either he was really smart, or Sabine knew more than he admitted, the writer thought.

"It had to be a cop. The women would stop for a cop. He would have stopped hundreds who didn't fit his profile. They would have gotten tickets and been on their way." The writer tried to explain it but Sabine's mind was racing he was thinking out loud.

"Put a red sticker on the window so nobody would bother it till the choppers got there. The car is running fine, so they just drive it off and part it out. With that sticker on the windshield they can drive down here from anywhere to take the car."

"How come you know so much Sabine," the writer asked it suspiciously.

"In one of the missing persons cases. A family member swore he saw her car on the side of the highway. He didn't pay any attention though. He didn't know she was missing at the time. I went back to check and the car was gone. I thought he was seeing things, so I forgot about it after I called the Highway Patrol office. No wonder they didn't have any record of it." Sabine shook his head in disbelief. "A fucking cop goddamn it." Let me make the call to see who fits our profile damn it."

Louis took the writer's phone but walked to his car to make the call. After he stepped out the door, the writer took a sip of his iced tea, then made a face. Unsweetened ice tea was almost as bad as flat coke.

"So Lucy did you and Sabine get on Okay?"

"Well, he is a little harder to get to know than you, but he really is a sweet man, one of those father figure types."

"Careful Lucy honey, us old men have incest on our minds sometimes." She blushed as the writer leered playfully. The writer drank the tea as he watched Sabine walk around the parking lot with the cell phone glued to his ear.

"Well, if we get any cooperation at all, it is going to be a while. It seems that, when you give up your badge you are considered stupid. Can't get anyone to pay any attention to me." Sabine looked pissed as he spoke. He hadn't even bothered to sit. He stood over the booth ominously. "What are you grinning at writer?"

"Just remember how you treated me when I first suggested this to you." Sabine did not look amused.

"Well writer watch this," Sabine said it as he carefully dialed a number on the cell phone. While he dialed, he mumbled obscenities about the size of Japanese men's fingers. "Linda James please?" Sabine smiled over at Lucy.

"Linda, it is Louis Sabine." He paused to determine whether his call was welcome or not. Since he was retired, the reporter might not want to deal with him. "Good to hear from you too. Linda, I need a favor. I need you to call Adam Sims at the Sheriff's department. Just ask him who was on duty the night Maggie Evans died. Then do the same with the Highway Patrol."

Sabine listened a bit then said, "If there is a story in it, you will get it first." More listening, then, "I know you want to move up Linda, I promise I will tell you everything when it is over. You can write a real piece." More listening. "Linda, this is not my investigation, but I will ask." He covered the phone then grinned. Sabine unfolded a finger each second until he had gone through his hand twice. Ten seconds had passed. "Linda, the writer said you could get updates from me, but you have to pull your own weight. I need those names, and since you want in, I want their work history for the last ten years. You can do it Linda and it won't take you long at all." Sabine turned his attention to the table, as he closed the phone. "I should have it in the morning."

Lucy spoke again, "Writer put down that menu. You eat too much junk food. I am going to cook for you both tonight." Lucy knew both of them pretty well. Two older men who lived alone, at least at the moment. She didn't exactly feel sorry for them, but she did feel something. She took another large swallow of the tea made with water from the Small Town X reservoir.

Sabine and the writer looked at each other with a smile. Neither of them planned to turn down real food. Besides Lucy had begun to look better all the time, even if she was young.

"Well writer, I think we should accept the young lady's offer. We can't do much till we find out who was working that night."

"Sabine, we need those coroner's reports. We need them right now. Oh yeah, the dinner sounds fine. Lucy you cook, Sabine and I will buy the food."

"Tell you what writer, why don't you take Lucy to the store? I will try to find those reports. I am going to have to go to the station to get them, but I will bring them to dinner,"

Lucy felt a twinge of disappointment, but she didn't know why. It was forgotten as soon as she got inside the writer's convertible. If Lucy had any idea how to be seductive, she would have begun with the writer. She had a strong desire to put her hand on the writer's leg, just to let him know she was willing to play. What has gotten into me? She asked herself. Lucy felt the perspiration on her upper lip. Lucy knew something physical was causing her discomfort. She suddenly fought hard then took a step back. She couldn't see the whole picture, but she did see part of it. She had been horny as hell since she and Jonathan had been transferred to the Small Town X base.

As the landscape moved by slowly outside the car Lucy asked, "Writer, have you noticed anything different about the women in Small Town X?" As she said it, Lucy began remembering all the jokes, about Small Town X, that the men of the Emergency Medical Units told. Women with no panties were common, but only in Small Town X they joked.

The writer thought before he answered. He had noted that he was very popular in Small Town X. He had never been that popular before. He had wanted to think it was his animal magnetism, but he knew deep down that it was something else.

"Well people do seem uh friendly," he replied.

"Yeah, that is a nice way to say the women are all over your ass here. It ain't just you writer. The male EMTs tell me that they love to come here. Women are all over them in the back of the ambulance."

"So why?" he asked.

"I don't know why, but now that I am spending time here, I feel it too. I am beginning to feel absolutely slutty."

"Well, it probably needs some looking into, but one thing at a time. Besides I am going to keep an eye on you. You know just to see how slutty you get." The writer chuckled at his own joke.

"I should be offended but I'm not. See something is wrong here." Lucy smiled, as she threw out her slightly chubby girl's chest. It was the one that could slightly overfill a 36c bra. Other than the full bra, Lucy was pretty straight she had no waist at all. Her hips protruded only slightly past her tummy. Lucy was not offensively chubby. She was pleasingly so, or so she told herself.

Actually the writer found her attractive. It had as much to do with her age as her body. Also, Lucy had a very pleasing personality. The writer gave Lucy and her statement some thought as he drove along. What could be the reason the women in one town being sexier than the women in another, Could it be as simple as the acceptance thing? There was a theory a few years before, it stated that a woman would be as sexual as the culture allowed. Could it be simply that the values of Small Town X were different than those of other towns in the area?

It would definitely be a theory that his shrink friend Smyth would love to indulge. Smyth was perhaps the worlds largest stick in the mud. Hair in a tight bun, glasses thick enough to start a fire, if exposed to the sun for any length of time, no figure at all, Smyth was indeed the perfect investigator for the Small Town X syndrome. He liked the sound of that. A phone call to Smyth might be a good idea, if it proved to be a case of social acceptance of slutty behavior. It might be fun to watch her work on the mystery anyway.

"Tell you what Lucy, do you have a spare room?" the writer asked.

"Writer, I might be a little horny but I am not ready to have you move in. At least not just yet." Lucy smiled her first flirtatious smile at him.

"I had something else in mind, but I like your idea pretty good too. What I had in mind is a social psychologist I know looking into it. She is a really uptight woman. If there is anything to your theory about Small Town X, she will prove it. When she does, no one will question it either."

"She sounds perfect," Lucy suggested. "You want her to stay with me?"

"Well she will never stay in a motel. She thinks they are dangerous, and the only motel in town is dangerous." The writer grinned as he pulled into the parking lot of the same supermarket, where he had bought lunch.

"Okay, she can stay with me, but she should know I am gone a lot. I work 24 hour shifts. If she messes with my stuff, she is out the door."

"I expect she will spend all her time in Small Town X. I would take her with me, but she is definitely not campground material." He didn't mention that he was going to be staying with Doris for a while. Doris would definitely not approve of his sleeping with Smyth, even if Smyth was sexless.

While Lucy pushed the cart around the store, he made the call. He knew the number, since it was one he had called regularly. The college professor had helped him more than once by profiling a killer. She had a better than 75% record with him. He left a long detailed message on her machine. He gave her directions to call him when she decided.

The first thing that Sabine did, as he walked onto the deck behind Lucy's mobile home, was to take the writers cell phone. He had the reporter's type notepad in his hand, as he dialed his newspaper source.

"Linda, Sabine here, tell me something good?" Sabine held the writer's cell phone on his shoulder as he wrote in his pad. The writer looked on nervously. Some of it was anticipation of the hunt, but most of it was concern for his hundred buck cell phone. Sabine was carelessly moving it about on his shoulder, while making dreadful faces. The phone was too small to wedge in the space between his head and shoulder. Even so Sabine wrote furiously.

"Writer, you got to love computers," Sabine said as he hung up the phone. "Everybody, crams everything into the computer. Checks and cross checks will tell you just about anything you want or need to know. Would you like to hear the saga of how Linda got these names?" It didn't matter what the writer wanted to know Sabine just went on.

"Linda got access to the departments computers. The report on Maggie Evans was written by a patrolman," Sabine consulted his notes. "Morris. Wait, that wasn't the night she was murdered." Sabine held up his hand as he went on." She read the follow ups just like we did. Once they determined when Maggie went missing she pulled up reports written on the day for other things. She found a report by Morris again about a burglary. In her thoroughness, she got a copy of every police report written by every cop that day."

"That will get some of them," the writer interjected. "Some days go by, when you just don't write a case." The writer was more than a little disappointed.

"But, even if you fake it, you turn in a daily summery that supposedly documents your time minute by minute. You are supposed to use it to report on your activities. Most of the time it says just, 'on patrol, ' but it still has to go in for each day your platoon works."

"So Linda had the platoon from the reports and their times?" the writer asked it for Lucy's benefit.

"Yep, there were three deputies working that night, and one highway patrolman assigned to this area."

"You aren't going to check off duty cops?" Lucy asked it in a small bewildered voice.

"Not at first Lucy. We figure, the cop was on duty, because it would be a risk for an off duty cop to stop the wrong person. Somebody might just report him, and that would lead to all kinds of problems. If none of these pan out, we will have to take a look at them all." The writer suggested it but Sabine nodded his agreement. "How about the backgrounds?" the writer asked almost as an after thought

"Linda is checking them out now. It is hard for her without knowing exactly were to look. Even so, she will have them by tomorrow at noon." The writer nodded, while Lucy seemed lost. Both men were happy that she seemed impressed. Lucy suddenly had a different look about her. Then again, it could have been the smell of burning cow flesh.

Lucy removed the three steaks from the fire, along with the three aluminum foil pouches. Each steak was cooked on the rare side of medium rare. Inside the pouches, Lucy had place, the two halves of an ear of corn, onions, green peppers, and a couple of mushrooms, along with a large scoop of real butter. Lucy seemed to throw together the salad. Neither man knew how much thought went into the salad. The thought didn't matter much, neither man did more than flirt with it. After all Lucy's hard work, the hit of the dinner turned out to be the iced tea that the writer had concocted.

After dinner and the cleaning of Lucy's kitchen, the three of them sat on her deck. The mosquito repellant flames burned, as they asked and answered questions. Lucy was the lead interrogator followed closely by the writer. They each had a burning curiosity.

Sabine, on the other hand, seemed to care little about either of them. The writer did catch glimpses of Sabine with his eyes locked on Lucy. She on occasion returned the glare. After an hour of it, the writer finally got the message. He didn't think there was a message going on very long, before he picked up on it. It was his impression that the Lucy-Sabine liaison was one forged over the steak, an agreement reached without words.

"Time for me to go to bed. I am worn out for some reason." The writer wasn't really tired. He was simply looking for an excuse to get away from the other two. The writer drove off, for God only knew where, leaving Sabine and Lucy alone.

Sabine had intentionally waited for the writer to leave, before he attempted to leave. He had not wanted the writer to hear his goodbye. "Well Lucy, I should be leaving too."

What got into Lucy even she couldn't imagine. Before Sabine had time to stop her, even if he had wanted to do so, Lucy kissed him. It was not an experienced kiss, but there was a passion to it.

Sabine was amazed by his reaction. He had been with the Goth Chick the night before, who was the first woman in over a year, now this young woman was trying to seduce him. Far from passion, Sabine's reaction was curiosity. Though he and the writer had not discussed it, they both felt as though something was wrong. Sure women had come on to him, when he was a cop, but that was the job, not Sabine. The job was gone but still two young women in as many days. It just didn't feel right.

No matter how it felt, Sabine responded to Lucy. The kiss by the door let to more kissing and groping, then to Lucy's uncomfortable bed, The bed was too soft for Sabine's taste. He didn't mind the soft Lucy though.

The sex was passionate, but not especially fulfilling for either of them. Sabine enjoyed the feel of Lucy's young body almost as much as the release. As for Lucy, she just felt embarrassed after it was over. Lucy was on the point of throwing Sabine out, when he decided to go home. He explained that it was the bed. Lucy didn't much care what the reason, she was just glad Sabine left. It was unlike her, but Lucy giggled as she drifted off to sleep.

Sabine drove the old Crown Vic home. The thoughts ran through his mind at will. He was far too sleepy and just generally drained to stop them. Mainly, he was concerned that Lucy did not get any ideas. After all, he was thirty years older than she, at least. He most definitely did not intend to have a younger wife or any wife for that matter.

The writer pulled the tiny yellow convertible to the rear of the paved parking space. His tent was pitched a few yards to the side. He saw the headlights pull into the park. It wasn't late enough to concern him, but for some reason he did watch them. The spacing of the lights told him the vehicle was a car not a camper. He sat contemplating the job ahead. The manual raising and lowering of the top was a chore, but it also reminded him how lucky he was to be driving the little convertible. The yellow, ragged out, drop top, car had stolen his heart from day one. The other car's headlight swept over him for a second as it turned the curve a few yards from where he sat.

When the strange car slowed down, the writer's years of police training kicked in. He dropped below the profile of the car. He heard the shotgun blast, and felt the car shiver at its contact with the heavy steel pellets. As he heard the revving engine, he rolled from the car. The car was no more than thirty feet away when the writer began writing on his palm. It was the universal pad that all cops use now and again. The writer was beginning to wonder if he needed a gun. The problem with a gun, in the hands of an honest man, was that the need for it had passed before you could bring it into play. However, shooting at a disappearing car did see like a good idea at that moment.

Lights had begun to pop on all over the campground. He postponed the decision about where to sleep until after he talked to the cops, who should be on the way at that moment. He expected the campers all around him to be pouring out to assist him. It would have been in keeping with the camaraderie of the campground myth. His expectations were not met. It took several minutes before the first person appeared.

His first inquisitor was a single mom, with a couple of carrot topped kids, of less than school age.

"What the hell was that?" she asked.

"I am guessing a car backfired." The writer replied, Thinking he might be able to pull it off, since there had been only one shot.

"Well I think you are wrong. Take a look at your little car." The Single mom suggested looking in the direction of the car. Even in the moonlight the rips in the trunk were evident as hell. So were the cracks in the windshield.

"Damn, that rare African metal eating termite has arrived." He didn't want her to know how close his knees were to giving way.

"Thank God, it didn't wake the kids. Kids are lucky, they don't know anything about guns and dying." The young mother seemed intent on staying a while to discuss the event. Since all the danger was passed, others began arriving slowly. No one had rushed out to help. He both understood, and thanked them for it. He had needed those few seconds to get a breath.

 
There is more of this chapter...

When this story gets more text, you will need to Log In to read it

Close
 

WARNING! ADULT CONTENT...

Storiesonline is for adult entertainment only. By accessing this site you declare that you are of legal age and that you agree with our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy.