With His Dying Breath (12 page)

             
“Evie,” Charlie said to his wife, “We need to go, hon. I’m tired.”               He stood, encouraging Evelyn to get up from her chair. “Well, everyone, it’s been a most interesting evening. Great fun! Hope you’ll excuse us as we eat and run!”

             
“Charlie, if you can eat and run, after that fine meal, I’d like to see it!” Austin said. Everybody but Jenny laughed.

             
Neither Anne nor Evelyn wanted to let Jenny or Jess leave yet. They definitely wanted to know what Sammi had told Jess, but knowing their husbands as they do, they had to give it up. They did, however, whisper to Jenny about just the girls getting together and talk until “we’re blue in the face!” Jenny warmed a little to think they would include her again. An otherwise fun night ended as the two couples walked to the cars.

             
A lingering conversation about Austin’s lawn had Charlie bending over to grab a handful of grass. “I’ll get some fertilizer for this, Austin, and something that will kill the crab grass and dollar weeds. Some of this looks like you’ve got Bermuda.” The talk of grass continued hoping Jenny and Jess would stay since Jess seemed interested in the lecture as well. Jenny stared at the Brockton house.

             
“Look y’all. Somebody’s in Blake’s study.” Jenny watched what appeared to be a light flash in one of the windows. “Look, see over there. I tell you somebody’s in Blake’s study!” still pointing to the windows on the left side of the door. Anne and Evelyn were more surprised that she would know where the study was than somebody being in the house.

             
“Sure looks like it,” Charlie said as everyone looked toward the house.

             
Austin pushed 9-1-1 and briefly described the situation. Before he could close the flip phone, a police cruiser pulled into the Brockton’s driveway.

             
Easing a little closer to the curb as two more police cars pulled in, they all saw a figure running from a side entrance, through a patch of dogwood trees and disappear down the street. Jess and Austin gave chase after the intruder while Charlie tried to get the attention of the police. 

             
Jess’s legs gave out and he stopped to retrieve a piece of paper that the intruder dropped. It was too dark to read so he stuffed it into his pocket to catch up with Austin. They lost him. “How did he do that?” Austin asked. “I’m on his tail one second, and then he disappears!”

             
“He had to slip under that fence somehow,” offered Austin as a police cruiser pulled up beside them. “I think he must’ve run down this fence, officer, anyway, we lost him.” Two officers picked up the chase as Jess and Austin tried to get their breath. “Let’s get back to the girls, Jess! We really don’t know which way he went!”

             
“Yeah, you said he? Did you get a look at him?”

             
“No, did you? Just figured a man, I guess.”

             
“Yeah, I guess.”

             
Everyone waited anxiously to hear the story of the chase. Anne invited everyone back inside for cool drinks and to wait on the police officers to return with their questions. At one in the morning, after the beer gave out and after two pots of coffee, the police finally returned.

             
Jess handed the piece of paper to a police officer. “He dropped this before we lost him.”

             
The policeman looked at the note and handed it to the second cop who placed it in a clear bag. “Thanks,” he said. “We’ll get it to the detectives. I don’t have a clue what it means.”

             
“What did it say,” Jenny asked.

“Nothing really,” the policeman answered. “
Just a bunch of numbers.”

* * *

              “Jaz, we need some help! We’ve been at this all day and we’re no closer to who killed Blake Brockton than the day we got the call.” Jaz stared at the white board with all the murder clues.

             
“Well, Hilda, what about that team you said you was gonna call? Ever get anybody?”

             
“No, I called two of the ones I know best, but they’re on other cases. It’s just you and me, bud.” Hilda’s frustration was showing as she stared at the board. “Unless you want to ask the Captain for a Bibb team to come in.

“
There’s nobody else to bring in unless they bring somebody in from the State. Do we want that?”

             
“No. Not yet.”

Hilda’s
clothing was disheveled, her makeup had faded, and her hair needed a good shampooing. Her mood equaled her appearance.

             
“We still gotta get the autopsy, some of the crime scene reports, check that gun and that rag from Forsyth. Let’s you and me give it a few more days,” Jasper said.

             
“Yeah, okay, let’s get more of our results.”

             
“Okay, tell you what, it’s one o’clock. You go home and forget about this. We both could stand a good night’s sleep so I’m going home and go to bed. I’m going to church in the morning and then get a sandwich. I’ll get a pad and write down what we got. You do that, too. Let’s meet up at the station tomorrow afternoon and put it all on the board. Forget this thing tonight and let’s go fresh at it tomorrow. Okay?”

             
“Jasper, there’s something we’re missing. It’s here. I swear I can feel it! It’s right here under our noses. I just know it. I can taste it we’re so close.”

             
“Okay, let’s get tapes from everybody, TV stations, radio stations, police photos and spread ‘em out, compare ‘em. We have the gun, we’ll get the autopsy results Monday, we’ll get the lab report tomorrow. How ‘bout this? Let’s go house to house and see who took photos. Maybe we can tell by folks’ reactions when we ask for them, might just give us a new clue.”

             
“Jaz, we’ve made an arrest. What will we say we’re looking for?”

             
“Hilda, you know as well as I do the wrong person’s arrested!”

             
“But Brockton accused his wife on the tape!” Hilda said. “We have the tape of him identifying the killer. We just don’t know why she did it and her fingerprints in the house don’t prove anything. She was in the house during the time but she lived there. Why wouldn’t she be home? We have to come up with something else. Maybe something from their past. What do we really know about her anyway?”

             
“Yeah, okay,” Jasper said. “I’m going to see what all those files and records are turning up. I don’t think the answer’s in there though. He’s been in business for thirty years. He should have an attic full of records.”

             
“That’s what I’ve been thinking, too. Feds may think differently. Kinda odd they’d haul all of that out, huh?”

“You
just never know, Hil.”

Hilda was upset that this case had hit a dead-end. She had
reviewed all the reports so far, and nothing. But the autopsy report should show something. Oh, how I hope it shows something. She didn’t want to admit that she agreed with Jasper that the wrong person was charged with this murder.

             
Hilda felt the vibration of her cell phone in her pocket, who in the world’s calling this late, she asked herself. “Marabell.” She looked at Jasper and mouthed, ‘the station.’

“Okay, thanks, we’
re on it! Come on Jaz, we need to get to the Brockton house. Somebody broke-in!”

Sunday
morning, 3a.
m
.

The Brockton’s
neighbors were fast asleep and did not hear the quiet Prius running.

The man
drove about fifteen minutes south to the Holiday storage facility, locker M14, and eased the car into a ten by twenty locker. He removed an item from his coat pocket and slipped it into the glove compartment. He locked the car and hid the keys. He completely covered the car with a metallic lined tarp. He walked a few blocks to where a red sports car waited. The driver dropped him off at his residence.

             
He went into the downstairs bathroom, undressed and climbed the stairs to crawl in bed besides his wife.

             
“Hi Honey, where’ve you been?” she asked.

             
“I thought I had left water boiling on the stove,” he said. “Must’ve been a dream because the teapot was cold!”

             
“I’m sorry. I hope you can get some sleep,” she said.

             
“I’m sure I will, darling, I’m sure I will.” He smiled.

* *  *

             
“Daddy, breakfast! Let’s eat!”

             
Cain stumbled into the kitchen to where his daughter had prepared a magnificent breakfast. He smelled bacon frying, hot biscuits baking, and coffee brewing. “Good morning. Sweetie, how do you do this?” Cain asked as he kissed her on the cheek. He watched as she flipped an omelet, browned it, and slid it onto a serving plate.

             
“Good morning, Daddy. You’re just working so hard on Sammi’s case, and I want you to eat and not get worn out!”

             
“Well, you are the world’s best daughter, that’s for sure. Is that your famous Tijuana omelet with salsa?” Her dad was trying to make small talk, but she knew he was focused on the case and the upcoming articles.

             
“Yes it is. I didn’t put onion in it though. You’re still teaching that Sunday School class, aren’t you?”

             
“I am. Got two more lessons to finish up King David then we’ll move to Solomon. It’s interesting. I’ve learned things I never knew about him.”

             
JJ removed two matching plates, cups and saucers from the cabinet and set the table. She poured the coffee, grabbed a couple of sweet ‘n low packets for her dad while he placed the silverware and napkins to complete the table setting. Cain started to say a blessing over the breakfast feast as his cell phone rang. He did not recognize the number in the caller ID.

             
“Just a minute, baby. Hello, Cain Matthews.”

             
“Mr. Matthews, this is Everett Christian, how’re you this morning?”

             
Cain looked at JJ shaking his head and grinning as if he was caught in a joke. “Yes, Everett, good morning, what can I do for you?”

             
“Mr. Matthews, I, uh, was wondering if I could meet with you later this afternoon. I have a theory about our recent events around here.”

             
“Well, Everett, I’d certainly like to hear it. How about one o’clock down at Yum Yum’s? We can have lunch and talk at the same time.”

             
“Thank you, Mr. Matthews. That will work fine. Joan visits with her mother, so that will indeed be fine.”

             
“Great, Everett. See you there.” Cain punched off and stared at the phone for a few moments. “Your school counselor. Dr. Christian. That was her husband, Everett. He’s a strange bird.”

             
JJ buttered a biscuit and handed it to her dad. “Strange, how?”

             
“Just strange — takes forever for him to make a sentence. He has a theory he wants to tell me. Of course, I want to hear it. I’ll listen to anybody. Don’t think we accomplished much yesterday.”

             
“Yeah, well, Daddy, I think we did. We just don’t know it yet.” JJ hated her dad to be disappointed. “Let’s go back down there and go through our notes, piece them together, and see what we can figure out.”

             
Both dad and daughter ate as if they were starving. “What about Chip? Is he working today or do you have a date?”

             
“He’s working, well sleeping and working. Got off at seven this morning and has to be back by three. He swapped a shift the other night.” JJ said making a huge frown.

             
“Watch it! You don’t want your face to freeze like that!” Cain said with a grin as he took his last bite. He picked up his plate and took it to the sink. “Honey, that breakfast was absolutely delicious, thank you. If you want to look at this puzzle again, I’d welcome the help. I can call Libby and Gabby and get them down there to help you.”

             
“No, Daddy, let me just get in there and see what I can figure out, okay?” She had the dishwasher loaded and running, table wiped down, and everything back in the refrigerator in just a matter of seconds. Cain marveled at JJ’s multi-tasking to accomplish so much in short a short time.

             
“Sure, hon, how about around two, after we hear Everett’s big theory. Everything is in the safe so I’ll have to get it out for you. Can’t take a risk since the other night. Come on; let’s get ready for Sunday School.”

             
“Race you!”

* * *

              Hilda did not sleep well so she got up and dressed. By eight o’clock, she had checked her favorite Internet site—no comments from the dating sites— eaten a bite of breakfast and left the house. First, she rode down the street Jonas Attaway supposedly lived on. She rode up and down every street in the neighborhood. She saw neighbors walking their dogs and asked each one about the man with the basset hound. She looked in backyards of every street within a mile of the Brockton’s house.

             
Hilda knocked on the door of Anne and Austin Jones. She wanted a first-hand account of the previous night’s events. No answer. She rang the doorbell and still no answer. She assumed the Joneses were a church-going family and would return home around noon or so. However, it was, she glanced at her watch, only nine fifteen. Where would they be?
Maybe in bed where I wish I was.

             
She stopped for a moment and took a seat in a porch rocker for a moment to study the Brockton house.

The house
set at an angle to the street. Sort of facing the curve around the corner. An alcove for Blake’s study was parallel and a little closer to the road. One driveway entered from that corner making a circular loop back to the street. The main drive to enter the three-car garage was off the side road. The garage also had a separate single door to enter or exit. The side door faced the street but the garage doors were not visible from the street or from anywhere else except the back yard.

Something
was odd though. She crossed the street. She walked to the corner of the house and then down the sidewalk to the opposite corner staring at the house the entire time. She must have walked a mile observing the Brockton house from every angle without leaving the sidewalk. On her last turn walking back and forth and over an hour later, she observed the front door and walked straight toward it. She simulated a 9-1-1 call from the front of the house. Only she dialed Jasper.

             
“Nelson, Hilda, what it is?”

             
“Jasper, I’m at the Brockton’s house. I know who did it. I know who the murderer is. Well, I don’t know exactly who it is but it’s Jonas Attaway or whoever was masquerading as Jonas Attaway. He couldn’t have seen the garage!”

             
“Hilda, hold on a second.” Jasper was sitting in church and had to step outside. “Slow down and say all of that again.”

             
“Jonas Attaway did it. The man who called in the murder did it. Only I don’t think it’s Jonas Attaway. I don’t think that person exists. You can’t see the garage doors from the front walk or from the sidewalks around the Brockton’s house. You have to go around to the back of the house. Jonas Attaway said the garage doors were closed.”

             
“Okay, where you gonna be about twelve fifteen?” The tone in Jasper’s voice was getting louder by the word. As people entered the church, they glanced and winced thinking he was being jilted by his lover.

             
“I came over to the Joneses, you know the man across the street that chased the intruder last night,” Hilda said. She stood at the Brockton’s front door staring at where the garage door would have to be for Jonas Attaway to be able to see it.

             
“Yeah,” Jasper nodded to a couple he had helped with a burglary several months ago walking up the steps to the church.

             
“Well, I still want to talk to him. Why don’t you meet me there?” Hilda suggested.

             
“Gotcha, I’m going back in the church. I’ll see you there.” Jasper walked back into the sanctuary, took his seat and opened up the hymnbook to the song that was playing. Even though he voiced the words, his brain did not hear even one. He had only one thought in his head, who is Jonas Attaway?

* * *

              Sammi rose early Sunday morning her mind overloaded with scenes and conversations from her past. Wilson would pick her up in an hour to go to the house where Blake was murdered. She dreaded going back there to her home. She couldn’t even think I’m going home since in her heart she had no home. She did not ever want to see blood in her home again. She was very mixed. “I don’t want to go,” she said to herself or to whoever might be eavesdropping in the adjacent apartments. She knew a memory was hidden, and it involved an object on the table. She could not see it through the layers her own body was keeping from her. But what was it? Was the memory from murders of her Mom and Dad’s, her old boyfriend’s or Blake’s? Her old boyfriend’s murder. This was the first time she had thought about Kevin in a very long time.

             
The sound of the doorbell brought her back to the present, if only for a moment. “Hi Wilson, I’m ready, let me just get my purse. I’ve still got some coffee. Care for a cup?”

             
“No, thank you Samantha. I’ve had my fill for today, but I tell you, it smells good. I’m trying to cut back. Ready?”

             
Sammi grabbed her purse and walked out the door. Today she was wearing a pair of jeans and a long sleeved knit top. Getting dressed up would not make herself feel better. Wilson locked the apartment door behind them. “Wilson, do you think we’re doing the right thing, taking me back there?”

             
“Are you afraid to go back for some reason?” Wilson noticed her ambience was much younger than her thirty-eight years. She looked like a young girl he was taking to new foster parents.

             
“I’m not afraid, I don’t think. I’m actually not sure what emotion I’m feeling. I’m sad that I’ve lost my husband. I’m angry that I’ve been accused. I’m terrified as to who really killed him and why? You know, just a lot of emotions.”

             
Wilson opened the car door and buckled her seat belt. Samantha was motionless, like a dummy. He sensed the turbulence in her soul just by looking at her face. Her eyes had no sparkle around her ashen face. She stared at the blank wall of the parking garage as he came around, buckled up and backed the car out into the road. There was nothing moving—no traffic, no pedestrians, not even a branch on a tree. If the situation weren’t so serious, he thought it was like a cartoon where the scenes rolled by as the wheels on the car turned without moving. Samantha was still talking so he turned his attention to her.

             
“I have an appointment with River Town Mortuary today at two. Blake won’t be back from Atlanta until Monday, but I’ve still got to make the arrangements. There’s no one else to make them.”

             
“I’m sorry, Samantha, that all of this has happened to you. Isn’t there someone who could be with you?”

             
“Blake’s parents are deceased. He has two sisters. I talked to them briefly right after Maria left the other morning. It’s strange but neither one of them seemed to care. I don’t even know if they are coming to his funeral.”

             
“Do you find that odd?” he asked stopping for a traffic light.

             
“Yes, I find it very odd since Blake always seemed to really love them and care for them. I guess they have their reasons. Just right now, I can’t get involved with their situations. His older sister hasn’t been feeling well, and Barbara who is just a year older than Blake has always been in and out of trouble. Nothing bad. She just can’t handle money and doesn’t take care of her bills. She may show up if she thinks there’s something in it for her. Oh, I shouldn’t say that. I’m sorry.”