A Quiet Case

Officer Jeffords realized that it was a bit late in the day, but he could see no way out of it. He would have to put in the time right away if he wanted to get this solved, put away a guilty man, or woman, and have the press leave him the hell alone. At least the roads were clear at that time of night, although he was beginning to suspect that they would always be that open. For over an hour, he drove down the highway until he reached an exit to a set of service roads that seemed endless. And he saw no one. There was not a single vehicle on the roads. Most of the homes were dark in the twilight and he felt a chill in the car. Keep your fingers crossed, he thought. He was just beginning his investigation.

And this was something different: a dead body, clearly showing signs of wrongful death, had been found, reported to local police (why did he have to be out of that jurisdiction? He felt he could have solved it if he had been authorized), brought to a local coroner (again, another problem), and then a huge effort was made to keep things under wraps, or at least rush the proceedings. But no, someone’s hands got itchy with the promise of money he could make if he gave details to the local news. There was no way a story like this was going to stay quiet, especially with such a victim. Jeffords tried not to smirk as he drove.

The house he rented was not in his name, but he was lucky that there were no questions about him using it. Under the doormat, just like in a bad story, were his key and an envelope. That was definitely Malcolmson; Donald Malcolmson. He knew this town better than anyone else Jeffords talked to before deciding to head here. It was a bungalow at the far end of the place, right by the exit to the highway (a feature that he admired without really understanding why). It was still a bit light and the food he kept in the cooler should last him at least a week, he thought. He had plans to stay for a while.

*

“Police Report No. *******.

“Male, White, 30 to 40 years old; wedding ring – no spouse contacted or found.

“Name: Withheld until further investigation.

“Criminal record: armed robbery; car theft; drunk and disorderly conduct; breaking and entering – homes; local malls; shopping centres; etc.

“Cause of Death: __________?”

Officer Jeffords was a patient man. He would not have become chief of police in his district if he had not learned to develop a sense of humour over certain things. It would not have been a pleasant fifteen years without understanding how stupidity is the most prevalent criminal trait out there, and that it is worth laughing about, if only to avoid crying. But this file was something else. A few pictures were included with the paperwork, but there was not much confidence over the material that was actually written out. Again, he knew that the press would be all over him if they did not solve this fast. The only advantages he had now were that he had somehow managed to come to the town without drawing attention…and that he knew who the dead man was without finding his name in the file. He could work with that. But for now, it was time for bed. The food was packed inside the humming fridge and there were clean sheets on the foldout bed. He wanted to be up early to see what he could see.

*

“No, officer, can’t say I saw anything.”

“No, sir, he was not in town for a while. Was he really a bad guy?”

“Oh, officer, I don’t know anything about that. Would you like a glass of ice tea?”

Jeffords looked over his daily notes and sighed.

He made good notes on what he heard, often transcribing things onto his laptop and checking over names and addresses very carefully before he decided to call it a night. After more than a week of this, he knew that he would soon have to head back home.

And he was not happy.

The biggest problem was his instinct.

He could not get a read on any of these people.

It began from the second day, after encountering a waitress at a café that he began to have breakfast at when he got tired of the oatmeal and corn flakes he brought. He went out in plain clothes – as he would for the rest of his stay (Jeffords did not even like having his badge with him). She was not handling too many customers – he saw two men, later discovered to be truck drivers moving through the area with their deliveries – and smiled when she saw a new face.

“Good to see something different here.”

“Excuse me?”

“Sorry, it’s just that know every face that comes by, and you ain’t one of those faces, my dear.”

A good detective, he thought. Maybe she might know something…?

“You see, I’m an officer.”

She put a clean cup and plate in front of him.

“Ah, you’re here about the case.”

He looked carefully at her. She was dressed in a light blue apron, her head handkerchiefed to keep her blond hair in place. In one hand, there was a pen and well-used pad. He guessed that she had lived in the town most of her life, was between the ages of 25 and 30, not married – no ring, so obviously… There were trays with cakes and muffins at the far end of the counter and he could hear a cook behind the dividing glass where she would place her orders.

Nothing out of the ordinary.

“Yeah, they sent me. I am renting a place and getting a lot of heat over this one.”

“Understood, I get it. But…do you want something to eat?”

“Oh…coffee and…do you have scrambled eggs?”

She did and he noted how they were the best scrambled eggs he had ever had; even his mother never cooked that well, rest in peace. After he finished up the plate and his second cup of coffee, he posed the standard questions and kept mental notes (no need to carry a pad).

“No, I did not see a thing. Just heard about it and then the police…well, the other police, showed up and now there’s you. I was here if you want to check on my story…”

“No, no, I believe you. We have some basics on the death but the pieces don’t really fit…”

“Y’know,” she leaned in close and whispered, “the people in this town probably aren’t the ones who did it, if you ask me.”

He leaned in a bit, too. “Why you say that?”

“Well, you know about this place, right?”

“Not much. Just what I was told.”

“Well, let me tell you more: this is a town of yellow-bellies!”

He almost laughed at the term.

“Ma’am?”

“Cowards, weaklings, lily-livered folk, whatever they’re calling it now. People here don’t have the guts to stand up for themselves. No way that a guy like that was taken out by anyone I’ve seen.”

“No one brave enough.”

“No, sir.”

“Not even you?”

He stared hard at her, wanting to catch even the slightest shift in an eyebrow, a twitch of the jaw, or even an untimed eye blink.

And there was only a pleasant smile.

“Like I said, if you want to check on me…”

“No, I apologize. I just wanted… I was sent here to do a job, and I can’t do it. It’s just bothering me.”

She stood back and put the pad on the counter. The place was now empty and he could hear murmurs and the sound of a distant radio from somewhere in the café.

“If you just think about it without rushing it, you are gonna figure it out.”

And he had to smile at that.

“Ma’am, I think that you might be right.”

“Julie.” She put out her hand.

“Jeffords.” He took her hand.

“Hope I see you again before you leave.”

“No guarantees, but I must say, those eggs were a real temptation.”

“Please…”

“Really. I may just come back to have some more. And I owe you…?”

“$4.50.”

“That’s all?”

“Well, it isn’t gourmet, so…”

He put a ten on the counter. “You know you can keep the change.”

“Always with the tourists.” She looked at the bill. “So generous.”

“Good day.”

And that was the most revealing talk he had with anyone in town. And it revealed nothing.

*

He stayed for more than three weeks. After that much time, he would let the local police handle the nonsense and tell the press the usual: we are continuing our investigation to the fullest…; the matter is in the hands of the best we have to offer…; we are looking at every possible lead… Jeffords knew it was over and wanted to be out of there, anyway. There had been nothing to lead him to an arrest or much of an investigation, if invitations to have ice tea and watch kids play intramural baseball and football games counted as investigations.

No, there was nothing left for him here.

On his last night, he packed up the remains of the food he could fit in his cooler – a lot of generosity with casseroles and Tupperware he would try to pay back one day – and closed his laptop. He needed a good night's sleep and wanted to get up early to handle what was about to come.

He would thank Malcolmson when they spoke again. The instructions were clear in the envelope: Leave the keys under that mat and let me know when you are done with the place. No worries there. He had cleaned up a bit a few days before deciding to give up on this one. Another cold case, Jeffords thought. It was a good thing he packed some aspirin.

In the morning, he woke up just as the sun touched the edge of the highway, turning the sky into a rich blue with very few clouds and the promise of a perfect day. From what he saw, there would be very few people around when he left and he would not bother to worry about saying goodbye. That would not be necessary.

But there was something bothering him.

Julie.

He had passed by her café over half-a-dozen times during his stay there. Usually, Jeffords was alone with her and they just made each other laugh as she asked about the case and he admitted his continuing frustration. No breakfast today (he took out a granola bar as looked over what to pack; those eggs really were fantastic). She knew that he would have to leave, but he still felt like he was sneaking out, like a one-night stand when so much more might have been promised.

Ridiculous, Jeffords; so ridiculous. He had at least fifteen years on the girl – young lady? – and there was nothing more there. If it had happened, it would have been…

Right, well, time to go.

He had the laptop in his backpack, the cooler by the front door and one suitcase that he rolled out the front door to his car.

He had guessed right about the weather. A perfect day was coming.

When he put the suitcase and cooler in the trunk, he decided to put the backpack in the back seat. And that was when he noticed it.

There was a note underneath one of his windshield wipers.

Jeffords looked around and saw no traffic and heard no voices. There weren’t even footprints in the dirt and gravel, he noticed. But there was the note.

It was written on a piece of paper.

The kind of paper used in a café to take an order.

Jeffords lifted it carefully from the where it lay flat and damp on the windshield:

“Julie Ain’t Talking No More.

Malcolmson Got Out When He Did.

YOU

GO

NOW.”