Read Shadows in the Night [Hawkman--Book 12] Online
Authors: Betty Sullivan La Pierre
Several asked about his relationship with the police. He explained how he had worked with the detective on solving many cases. They'd become good friends through the years, and worked together often. However, he said, “I never get paid."
The comment brought several chuckles.
"Sure glad the patrol cars aren't lining the street outside,” one of the men said. “It doesn't look good for others to think there's something unlawful going on, even if there is. It's really not any outsider's business. We'd much rather have just one man nosing around."
Hawkman raised a hand. “Don't get your hopes up, as the police may be back next week. It all depends on what we find out about Ms. Spencer's death. Rest assured, we'll be doing everything we can to keep the place safe. I want you to continue your normal everyday activities. If you remember seeing anything unusual or something that bothered you the night in question, please feel free to come to me."
Once he ended the small meeting, he seemed satisfied people felt a bit more comfortable. When he turned around, Perry Foster approached him from the side.
"Thank you, Mr. Casey. Your talk seemed to have put the residents at ease."
"It does seem like the tension subsided a bit. Maybe if any of them have information, they'll come forward."
Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Don Jackson go out the entry leading to the garden. “Excuse me, Mr. Foster."
Hawkman took long strides, and pushed open the door in time to see Jackson go into the other building. “Now where's he going?” he mumbled as he trailed the man into the assisted living area, then observed him going out their main entrance. Hawkman peered through the glass, and watched him trot to an older model, silver gray Honda Accord in the parking lot. Jackson unlocked the door, fetched a clipboard from the back seat, and headed back.
Quickly crossing the room, Hawkman stepped into the elevator and pushed the close button. He stood in the cubicle for a few seconds before tapping the open door knob. When it slid ajar, he spotted Jackson moving toward the independent living side.
Hawkman strolled outside to the Honda. He glanced in the window of the car, and noticed several medium sized boxes cluttering the back seat. He couldn't quite make out the printing, so he took out his small portable camera from his jeans jacket pocket, snapped some pictures, then took a photo of the car and the license plate.
Going back into the building, he moseyed through the garden, noticed a beautiful jasmine plant against the wall, and imagined the fragrance it would throw while in bloom. A cool breeze gusted around him, so he pulled open the glass doors and stepped inside. He observed Jackson speaking with a family of newcomers, and Carmen Sanders who'd joined a group of people in the recreation room, chatting and trying to make them feel comfortable.
Things appeared calm, giving him the opportunity to leave for a while. He wanted to pay May Montgomery a visit, but after seeing the items in the back seat of the Honda, he wanted to make a secret rendezvous to Don Jackson's place. He left Morning Glory Haven and climbed into his vehicle. Reaching under the passenger seat, he removed the briefcase, pulled out Jackson's folder, and wrote down the address. Replacing the file, he slipped the case back under the seat and drove away.
Hawkman found Jackson's apartment complex and classified it as mediocre. The rent probably agreed with his salary. He parked in a visitor's slot, then climbed out of his vehicle. Opening the back door, he rummaged through the duffel bag he always carried, and pulled out a pair of latex gloves, along with a lock pick set. He shoved them into his jacket pocket and locked the 4X4. No security guard appeared on the premises, and he scouted the area as he went inside. The building seemed unusually quiet, but he figured most people were still at their jobs. He'd better put a move on it as it wouldn't be long before the work day ended. Figuring apartment fourteen would be on the first floor, he moved along the corridor and came upon it immediately. Checking both ways to make sure he was alone, he slipped on the gloves, and gave a soft knock. When he received no answer, he maneuvered the lock pick into the key hole and had the door open in a matter of seconds. So far, no one had entered the building, so he slipped inside.
Hawkman stood in a small living room with plenty of sunlight coming through the West window so he could make out a sofa, which had newspapers cluttered across the cushions and several pieces had slipped to the floor. A shirt dangled off the back of a chair and a pair of slacks on a hanger hung from a hook on the wall. He shook his head as he moved across the room. A kitchenette occupied one side of the apartment, and a door stood open on the opposite wall. He figured it led to the bedroom and headed in that direction. Covers were tossed in a pile on the mattress, several pillows were stacked at the head of the bed, along with detective magazines strewn across the covers. He noticed a computer on a table and fingered through several sordid murder game CDs alongside the machine. He took his camera and shot several pictures, then went into the bathroom. Shutting the door, he flipped on the light switch and opened the medicine cabinet. He took several more photos, then made his way to the front door. Placing his ear across the wood, he could hear footsteps in the hallway. When they faded, he peered out, stepped into the corridor and closed the door which automatically locked. He hurried out of the building to his vehicle, jumped into the driver's side and quickly left the area.
When he pulled up to the front of the Montgomery's house, the drapes were open and May's car sat in the open garage. He removed the latex gloves and placed them along with the lock pick on the floorboard of the passenger side, climbed out of the 4X4 and strolled up the sidewalk. After he rang the bell, he reached into his pocket and flipped on the recorder.
May opened the door and stepped back startled. “Well, hello, Mr. Casey. This is quite a surprise. If you're looking for Lisa, she's at work."
"Yes, I know. I came to talk with you."
"Oh? What about?"
"Carmen Sanders."
May put a hand to her neck. “I see.” She opened the door wider and gestured for him to enter. “You might as well come inside; no sense in your standing on the porch in the cold."
Hawkman entered a small, but cozy room. A yellow parakeet paced its bar and nodded its head in an elaborate wrought iron cage in the corner. A couch upholstered in a floral pastel green material sat against one wall and two matching chairs faced it, with a small glass topped coffee table in the middle. A tall bronze lamp with a gold shade stood between the two chairs. One large watercolor print of a forest hung above the fireplace.
"Make yourself comfortable. Can I get you something to drink?"
"No, thanks,” he said, sitting down at the end of the sofa. “You have a lovely home."
"Thank you,” May said, taking the chair across from him. “What is it you want to know about Carmen Sanders?"
"I understand you were close friends with her mother, Abby."
May shrugged. “We were friends. Not sure the word ‘close’ fits our relationship. She was not the type of woman I took to public gatherings."
Hawkman frowned. “Why not?"
"She knew nothing about the arts. Taking her to a museum or opera would not have fit well in her life."
"I see. What did you think about Carmen?"
"Quite a little brat growing up. However, I must admit she's turned out okay. However, she's not qualified to work at Morning Glory Haven."
"Oh?"
"Good grief, the child doesn't have any formal education. Many of those folks living there are college graduates, with master's and doctor's degrees. Morning Glory Haven is a high class place."
"What does that have to do with Carmen working there, if she's doing the job?"
May stiffened and harrumphed. “She can't even carry on a knowledgeable conversation."
"I'm sure the residents don't rely on her to let them know where the latest musical is playing. They seem to like her just fine."
"Carmen does tend to mingle with the few more simple-minded ones. They giggle and act silly like school girls. For instance, Hazel Spencer.” She raised a hand. “Forgive me for speaking badly of the dead, but it's true."
"I understand Ms. Spencer was well liked."
"She made people laugh.” May put a finger to her temple and shook her head. “She didn't have it up here where it counts."
"I see. Did you know Gladys Owens?"
"Gladys Owens,” she muttered. “No, I don't recall the name. Does she live at Morning Glory Haven?"
"Not anymore. She passed away."
"I'm sorry. A friend of yours?"
"No. Tell me about the relationship between your daughter and Carmen Sanders."
She opened her eyes wide. “There isn't one."
"Why? They grew up together."
"Not really; there's an age gap and Lisa never cared for Carmen."
"How come?"
"They weren't in the same social class."
Hawkman stood. “Thank you for your time, Mrs. Montgomery. It's been interesting."
She saw him to the door. As he drove back to Morning Glory Haven, he flipped off the recorder and could feel the steam churning inside his head. “What a snob,” he mumbled. He could definitely see where Lisa got her haughty attitude.
He parked, but before leaving his vehicle he called Jennifer and told her he'd probably be working all night, so not to worry if he didn't show up. Then he opened the briefcase to make sure he had the connecting cord for his camera. He'd use Morning Glory Haven's computer room later tonight and check out the pictures he'd taken.
When he went inside, he noticed the recreation room was void of residents, but filled with workers putting a stage at one end, adjusting a ceiling spot light and moving chairs into rows. He watched for several minutes, as he'd seen the magician show after all this work had been completed, and wondered how they put it together. Quite a transformation took place before his eyes. Then it dawned on him, he'd seen on the bulletin where a comedian was due to appear tonight. Good, he thought. It will help get the people's minds off of murder.
Hawkman took the elevator up to Hazel Spencer's room, and found the lab team wrapping things up. He talked to them from the doorway. “Find anything out of the ordinary?"
One of the technicians glanced up. “Hi, Casey. We've gone through everything in this room. From what we can tell right now, it appears the fingerprints we've found belong to the individual who lived here."
"Isn't that odd? What about the cleaning crew?"
"We wondered too, so I went down and spoke with the head housekeeper. Their people wear gloves. All I can say is, if someone was in this room with her before she died, they also wore some sort of protection, or did a good job of rubbing everything down. We'll go through the vacuum when we get to the lab, and check the drink residues in the glass next to her bed. We'll know more tomorrow."
"You say there was a glass next to her bed? What kind?"
"Drink type. It contained some sort of liquor, you could tell by the smell. The fingerprints on the outside were very smudged and a napkin was wrapped around it."
Moving out of the way, he watched the lab crew close the door and press yellow security tape from one side to the other in a crisscross fashion.
"Don't want anyone in here before we've run the tests on the rest of the stuff we've collected,” the technician said.
Hawkman strolled along with them, making small talk as they carried their equipment down to the lab van. He waved as they drove off, then decided he'd run into town and grab a sandwich. It was mid-afternoon, and he hadn't had a bite to eat all day. It would be a long night and a thermos of coffee would be good to have available. He hated to go to the dining room, as he knew they wouldn't charge him for a meal or drink, and that just didn't seem right.
He hopped into his 4X4 and took off. While glancing up at the darkening sky and feeling the wind blow against his vehicle in sharp gusts, he almost passed a Togo's. He quickly made a U-turn and pulled into their parking lot. When he got out, he had to grab his hat to keep it from whipping off his head.
Hurrying inside, he ordered a foot long sandwich and had them cut it in half. This way he'd save part for later. He ordered a soda to go with what he'd eat now, and had them fill the thermos. Sitting at one of the small tables, he enjoyed the six inch sandwich, then drove back to Morning Glory Haven. Placing his future meal and his briefcase behind a chair at the far end of the recreation room where it would be safe, he journeyed toward Carmen Sanders’ office.
He knocked lightly on the door, then stuck his head inside. “Hello, Ms. Sanders, do you have a minute?"
"Sure, come on in."
"How's it going with the residents?"
She made a face and wiggled a hand in front of her. “So, so. They're very nervous. Thank goodness we have a good program scheduled for tonight."
"I saw it on the bulletin board. It should help relieve the tension."
"What can I do for you?"
"I'd imagine you'd have a list of all the apartments and who lives in each one. Is there a possibility I could get a copy?"
"Sure.” She opened a folder on her desk, removed a couple sheets of paper, and stepped back to the copying machine. Then she handed him the duplicates. “The information is short coded, but it tells you if the person is a widower or widow, also the floor number and if the person is living here without the spouse."
Hawkman quickly scanned the names. “Perfect. Thank you."
"Is there anything else I can do to help you?"
"No.” He glanced at her. “How long will you be working tonight?"
"Not sure. This is an unusual day and Mr. Foster will let us know when we can go home.” She grimaced. “Hopefully, before midnight."
"This was your weekend off, if I remember right."
"Yes, but I don't mind coming in. Helps my days pass faster and I had nothing planned for this weekend."
"I haven't seen Mr. Jackson since morning."