With His Dying Breath (10 page)

             
Hilda waited outside ReClassyfied at ten to pick up her purchases she left the day of the murder. As the clerk unlocked the doors from the inside, she was excited to see Hilda and get some news. Hilda needed a break. Blake Brockton’s murder had completely filled her mind and her time. She and Jasper left the television station about ten thirty after watching the tape with the Jonas Attaway character repeatedly. Not only did they watch what was shown on television, they viewed about ten minutes that had been cropped from public viewing. They both noticed he avoided the camera.

             
At first, it looked like the basset hound was pulling on the leash to draw him away but now the detectives know differently.

             
The stress had drained her body and mind and she needed a break. She wanted, no she needed, to shop. The clerk fired questions, and               Hilda fired them right back.

             
“Do you have your case solved yet?”

             
“When did this cute outfit come in?” But she noticed it was a twelve.

             
“What about Mrs. Brockton, did she really do it?”

Hilda
flipped through the round clothes rack. She looked up and asked, “Do you have any new fourteens?”  

             
“Why do you think she killed him?” The clerk just would not hush.

             
“When did you get these shoes in?” Her voice was getting a little louder with each response.

             
The clerk finally got the message. “Hilda, we put all of that out yesterday. You don’t want to talk about the murder, do you? Can’t you give me one little clue” Hilda looked up from a rack of heavy winter clothing marked eighty per cent off and walked to the counter.

             
“No, I don’t, and I can’t anyway. Let me just pay you for this….oops.” As Hilda pulled her purse up to the counter, she knocked a basket full of bowties into the floor. “Bowties? Who wears bowties, these days?”

             
“Oh, I doubt we’ll sell those. They’re so dumb looking. I don’t even know where Lois got them. Probably from one of her excursions.”

             
“How long have you had them?”

“Oh,
a couple of weeks, I guess, haven’t sold any.”

             
“Not any?”

             
“Well, I can’t remember, maybe one or two — seems like there were more in there at first. Did you pick them all up off the floor?”

Hilda squatted and looked
under the table of scarves, the rack of belts and the other nearby racks. “Think so, don’t see anymore.”

             
Hilda’s heart was racing. She fiddled with one of the bowties which was identical to the one Jonas Attaway was wearing. “Let me have this one.” Hilda heard a beeping and the smell of bacon filled the room. “Something smells delicious, what is that?”

             
“I found the most delicious frozen foods at that new shop on River Street. You just stick them in the microwave for three minutes and presto. It’s not actually diet food, but it’s low carb and really good. She turned the bacon, egg, and cheese omelet over to nuke for another minute. “Would you like one?”

             
“How nice of you, but no, I need to go on to the station. I’ll be back in a couple of days and check out your new stock. How much do I owe you?”

             
“Oh, that’ll be two dollars and eleven cents.”

             
“But, I need to pay you for the clothes, too! Lois said she’d keep them for me.”

             
“Oh yeah,” the clerk said with an embarrassed look. “Let’s see, just one second.”

             
The total came to $24.88. Hilda dug the money out of her purse.

             
“Here you go, exact change. I’ll be back soon.”

             
“Great, thank you so much, bye now.”

             
“Bye, and enjoy that omelet!” Hilda left the shop and sped toward the TV station. She punched Jasper’s speed dial number.

             
“Nelson” He answered on the second ring expecting the call.

             
“Jasper, that’s twice now you’ve answered me.

             
“Hey, yeah, I know. What’s up?”

             
“A red paisley bowtie!” Hilda headed toward the Channel 7 TV station to view that video for the zillionth time. Maybe this Mr. Jonas Attaway shops at that consignment shop. Has she seen him in there before? Does she know him? Hundreds of questions are popping into her head. This was the biggest break she’s had! Finally, we’re on to something, I hope.

She entered
the ramp for the Interstate, crossed the river all the while running questions and answers through her mind. She was positive she had interviewed the murderer, Jonas Attaway. A false address, volunteer work, basset hound. She would call every vet in town and the nearby towns to find this dog. She would call every charity in town. She would find out who Jonas Attaway was.

             
Hilda turned the AC fan on high. It’s warm today and with the wind from the north, the smell from the paper mill is not near as pleasant as that omelet!

* * *

             
Cain’s boss was intrigued with the clues story, but he suggested they discuss it with the detectives in the murder case and the detectives assigned to the plant explosion. Police investigations were so technical that defense lawyers could get murderers freed on the slightest error. “It’s a sin the way these liberal judges let people go free,” he halfway said to Cain but more in a mumble to himself. Cain was writing the lead paragraph in his mind rather than listening to his boss.

             
“Cain, I’ll call the police captain and set up a meeting with the detectives. I think I met the woman on the Brockton case at a benefit during Christmas. Let’s just offer it to them and make sure we won’t mess anything up. What can you print before the meeting?”

             
“Well, chief, I’ve got some updates on the explosion. Eighteen deaths so far and about fifteen to twenty people still hospitalized. It’s changing as we speak. I have some names of workers who were on the other end of the building and weren’t hurt. I could talk to some of them.”

             
“Good, stay on that. What do we have on Blake Brockton? You knew him pretty good, didn’t you?”

             
“I knew him. We had some pleasant debates about the town, city government, property taxes, you know stuff like that. He was a very likeable guy, had an interesting opinion about everything. I know his wife better, though, mostly because of JJ. Sammi is always so nice to her. Well, Blake was, too. He got her a part time job after school. I think I’d told you that.”

             
“I hadn’t realized that. You are going to be able to stay objective?”

             
“Of course. But I believe I could do a good article on them, when they met, you know, some history.”

             
“Let’s run the factory fire tomorrow and the one about them about Wednesday. Will that work? And then, we need to keep updating the hospital part of the accident. I’ll talk to Captain Butler and get the report. After we know what happened, it will die down, or I’ll need to put more people on it. Let’s keep researching that Skinmore comic, and I’ll try to find out about it from this end.”

             
“I’ll certainly try to have everything done. I’ll need Libby or Gabby to help me research and make some follow-up calls.” 

             
“I’ll give them both to you for a couple of weeks. Let’s run the gamut on both these stories.”

             
“Works for me, thanks!”

             
“I’ll get the meeting set up and let you know. Make sure you have your phone on.”

             
Cain walked back to his office and started typing an update to his first article on the fire. “The worst disaster in local history…eighteen lives…hospital spokesman…fire marshal described …” And on it went, three columns as the lead story for the Daily Monitor Sunday edition. He called Dispatch to confirm a few details, called a neighbor who retired from the City several months earlier to verify a fire rescue procedure, and double-checked with the hospital administrator for the latest tally on survivors.               After talking with her, he changed his story to twenty-one employees who lost their lives. The latest victim was a young mother who had swapped a shift to celebrate her child’s second birthday earlier in the day. Tears welled in his eyes as the administrator relayed these facts. It brought back memories of his wife who left their daughter motherless at the same age. He hit the send key and left the office. Cain needed a change of scenery.

             
As he sat at Yum Yum’s slurping on a root beer float, the clues of Blake Brockton’s murder and the names of the people involved in the explosion bounced around in his head. He watched the families in the diner. A table of old men gathered in the corner booth. Traffic out the window. But he could not unscramble the mess in his head.

             
Cain’s deep thought was interrupted when a woman approached his table.

             
“Mr. Matthews?”

             
“Yes, I’m Cain Matthews.” He stood.

             
“Mr. Matthews, I’m Joan Christian, Dr. Christian. I’m a guidance counselor at the high school. We met during Open House last fall. This is my husband, Everett.”

             
“Yes, hello. I’m sorry. I’m been buried in my work the last few days. I’m a little preoccupied. Won’t you join me?”

             
“Thanks. We’ve read all about it. Just can’t imagine such horrific events in this quiet town. What’s the latest on the fire?”

             
“Well, Dr. Christian, Joan, I just wrote the article for tomorrow’s paper, and I’m afraid there’s been more deaths and probably more to come. Some of the injured have been moved to private rooms and even a few of the injured have been sent home.”

             
“At least there is a little good news. And Mr. Brockton’s murder, I guess JJ has mentioned how he and I just don’t, well, didn’t, seem to connect. I somehow bring out, brought out, his temper. Never understood why he was mad at me. I forgave him years ago. I just saw him Tuesday at the school. How is the investigation coming along?

             
“I’ve not talked…,” Cain was going to answer Dr. Christian when Everett interrupted him with a compliment. Joan walked over to refill their sodas as Everett and Cain continued the conversation.

             
“You’ve been writing some most interesting articles about the recent events,” Everett said in a Southern drawl, and an even deeper Central Georgia dialect. “It’s truly horrible. All that’s happened. Joan and I are concerned about the students as well as how the community will be affected.”

             
“The community?”

             
“Yes, Mr. Matthews,” Everett said. “I have an insurance business in north Macon. And uh, I’ve been, uh, talking to some of the survivors and the families of those fatally injured souls. I’m, uh, I’m just not sure how our town’s gonna accept so many losses. My, uh, company had a lot of those policies and I’ve been scaling back in the last few years. It’s produced a massive workload!”

             
“Where are you from, Everett? You raised here in River Town? Have we met before?”

             
“No, not raised here, but I do feel it’s my home! And I, uh,”               Joan returned with the refills and Everett stopped in mid-sentence.

             
“Well, Dr. Christian, Joan, it was a pleasure to see you again as well as to meet you, Everett. Seems we’re all very busy. I’m sorry but I do have to check on some things.” Cain walked away wondering what Joan Christian meant that she forgave Blake Brockton years ago and why in the world would she be married to such a hick.

             
Cain reached in his pocket for the car keys as his cell phone vibrated—restricted caller. It was ‘it.’ “Second and Cherry, noon.” Cain checked his watch. Eleven forty-five. He dialed dispatch to get some police help, dialed the chief, drove the three blocks to the corner as fast as safely possible with the festival crowds in town. He arrived at the corner of Second and Cherry and found nothing suspicious. Three police cars arrived and parked about fifty feet apart around the corner. Policemen directed walkers to the other side of the street. One minute till noon and quiet. Ring. Ring. Officer Dan Jensen was closest to the corner phone booth.

“Who’s calling?”

              A dog barked into the receiver. What? Thinking some kind of crank, he hung up the phone, dismissing it to Cain as kids playing a joke on him. “It’s typical, Cain, to get these crank calls and false leads when something big has happened.” He radioed in that everything okay—just kids.