Garwood Village - Robert F. Clifton (free novels .TXT) 📗

said yeah. I figured word would get around and it would be good for business. I hired him as a dishwasher. Hey? How smart do you have to be to wash plates and silverware, dry them and put them away? Anyway, that's what he did. In return I paid him minimal wages, plus two meals a day, lunch and supper. He could have anything he wanted except steak or lobster. He worked from three P.M. To closing. We close at ten in the summer. Most of the time he came in around one o'clock for his lunch. Sometimes he'd stay until it was time to start his shift, other times he'd leave and come back.”

“Then, about September he started to miss work. I called the Haven House and they more or less indicated that Lionel had had a relapse and they asked me to be patient with him. I did, but then Mario, my chef came to me complaining that someone had taken his knife set. Do you have any idea just how much a set of personal knives mean to a chef? Or, the cost of them? Anyway, with him missing work more and more and Mario accusing Lionel of stealing his knives, I thought it best to let him go. With what little business I get in here during the winter, the three of us can wash dishes and we do”, said Stephanie.

“I understand. Could you tell me where he lives?”, asked Wallace.

“Yeah, I've got it somewhere in my office. Listen you sit down and eat your meal. I'll go look for it and when I find it I'll bring it to you”.

“Thanks Stephanie”.

“Don't mention it. I like cops. The coffee is on the house”.

Wallace walked back to the booth and slid in across the bench seat. “Frank, I think we're about to strike gold”. He said.

Later, as the two men were finishing their apple pie, Stephanie walked up to where they sat and handed Wallace a slip of paper.

“Sorry it took me so long sugar, but I had put his address in with the with holding tax information. But, here it is. Lionel Horton, Lincoln Apartments, apartment seven twelve”.

“Thanks Stephanie. Now I need another favor”, said Wallace.

“And, what would that be?”

“Would you call the local police and ask them to come here and to see Captain Wallace of the Nautilus Beach Police Department?”

“I'll tell you what. You call them. Follow me”.

Twenty minutes later, Wallace shook hands with Sergeant Gene Santori of the Caravel, police Department. “Sergeant, I have reason and probable cause to request a search warrant for the residence of one Lionel Horton, believed to be living at apartment seven twelve, Lincoln Apartments, Caravel, New Jersey”, said Wallace.

“No problem Captain. In order to get the warrant we have to go in front of the Magistrate. Fortunately he's working today. If you will follow me I'll take you to the drug store. We'll get the warrant there”, said Santori.

“The Drug Store?”, asked Stiles.

“Yes. Keep in mind that Caravel is in reality just a beach front summer resort. Most of the homes here are only occupied during the summer. The rest of the time they sit vacant, Our job is to patrol and keep the B&E's to a minimum”, said Santori.

“How many men on your department?”, asked Wallace.

“Four, two patrolmen, one sergeant and the Chief”.

“Who is the Chief?”, asked Stiles.

“John Baker. Right now he's in the hospital in Manahawkin recovering from a hemorrhoid operation”.

“Your lucky. Our Chief, is a hemorrhoid”, Stiles replied.

“Then, I assume that you're the only one on duty right now”, said Wallace.

“Correct, but since O.W. Wilson recommends one police officer on patrol for every thousand population we're following police administration protocol . Especially right now. We have about eight hundred and fifty fulltime residents”, said Santori.

“Do you hire summer police?”. Asked Stiles.

“Yes, mostly to keep an eye on the college kids that come in to go to the beach and party”.

“OK. Let's get going”, said Wallace.

One half hour later, armed with a search warrant issued by Henry Baker, the town pharmacist, magistrate and brother of the Chief of Police, Wallace, Stiles and Sergeant Santori waited while the Superintendent of the Lincoln Apartments unlocked the door to apartment seven twelve. Each officer removed their weapons from their holsters and quickly entered moving along the walls with revolvers at the ready. They soon realized that no one, especially Lionel Horton was there.

Stiles entered the bathroom. Then, he called Wallace. “Cap? Looks like our boy is on to us. Look at this”.

Wallace entered the room and Stiles held up an empty bottle of Redken hair dye, color, brown.

Captain Wallace then walked back into the living room. On the coffee table he found three old Public Service bus transfers. He looked at the dates and noticed that each ticket was dated and the dates coincided with the deaths of Kinshoffer, Fleming and Fisher. He then saw the empty box. He leaned forward in order to see it more clearly. When he did he read, “Omark Industries, Sporting Equipment Division, BLAZER 38 special ammunition.” The box was empty.

Turning to Sergeant Santori Wallace asked, “Do you have any type of crime scene equipment in your department?”

“No, we never had the need for it. We figured to use the State Police if we had too. But, I do have a camera in the car that we use for accident investigations. Will that help?”

“Yes it will. Frank, looks like the son of a bitch has changed his appearance and now is carrying a gun”.

Back at headquarters Wallace took a seat at his desk. He was somewhat perturbed. He had anticipated getting information on Horton's mental condition from those at Haven House and after receiving the killers address had hoped to take him into custody. Instead, he didn't get either. He sat and typed his report allowing Stiles to go home.

He looked up as the sound of high heels making contact with the hallway floor drew his attention. He saw Myers and McKenna entering his office. “How did you make out?”, he asked.

McKenna handed him a written statement given by Ralph Cummings. “We had to wait until he finished his run. Then, we had to convince him to be a good citizen. Finally, we threatened him with a Grand Jury subpena and he relented. Guess what? Cummings told us he brought this guy down from Caravel two days ago, only this time the guy had brown hair”.

“Yeah, he dyed it. He also now carries a thirty eight”, Wallace replied.

“Nice”, said Myers

“Yeah, nice. He's in our town, armed with both knives which incidentally are a set of Chef's knives that he had stolen. That's the long, narrow, black case that was reported and a gun and we don't know where he is...Nice”, said Wallace.

“Is there anything else you want us to do Captain?”, asked Myers.

“Yes, go home for now, but stand by in case I want you”.

Chapter Ten

The next day as Wallace sat at his desk drinking his morning coffee, members of his squad entered the office one by one. Each one then reached into the white paper bag on the desk, removed a Styrofoam cup along with a dough-nut and took a seat. No one said anything, but they looked up to see Tom Mckenna, the last to arrive.

“You're ten minutes late”, said Wallace.

“Not really. A half an hour ago I was talking to Eric Fetterman. You remember him. He's the witness we had that got a partial look at the killer, the night he walked the Fleming woman home”, said Mckenna.

“Yeah so what did he have to say?”, asked Wallace.

“He's pretty sure that the guy he saw that night was in the store yesterday”.

“How can he be sure. He stated himself that the guy turned his head and he couldn't get a good look at his face”.

“The overcoat, remember he said the overcoat appeared to be too big for the guy? Well, that what he recognized. He said the guy bought two bags of groceries”.

“Seems like our boy doesn't want to be seen eating in public places. He's decided to cook for himself. The question is where? Carol, look up every motel that have kitchens and give me a list. Tom? I want you to go back to where Fetterman works. See if the market has security cameras. If they do see if they got our guy on film. If we get lucky bring in the tape. We'll make prints and get them out to our patrols on the street. Frank, you come with me. While Myers is compiling that list we've got to get the Chief to give us the manpower to check every motel room with a kitchen. That might mean bringing in the four to twelve shift,” said Wallace.

Sitting in front of the Chief of Police, Wallace told how it was possible that soon they might have enough information to arrest the Garwood Village serial killer.

“And, you want me to bring in another entire platoon in order to arrest one individual. Do you know what that would cost the city in overtime?”, asked Chief Monahan.

“Personally Chief, I don't give a damn about the cost. If he's holed up in one of the motels then we have to move people out of harms way. If you worry about paying overtime, try this. Worry about law suits against the department and the city if any citizen is killed or injured during the arrest”, said Wallace.

“That's the difference between you and me Captain. I have a budget to consider. If I bring in extra personnel and your arrest attempt fizzles I have to explain why to the commissioners. You don't.”

“You get exactly the manpower on duty at the time you make your arrest. I am willing to let you call in the Swat team if and when you need it. That's the best I can do under the circumstances.”

“Fine. Frank. Let's go”, said Wallace as he got up to leave.

When they got back to the office Myers was waiting with a list of motels that offered kitchens for those who wanted to cook their own meals. Wallace took the list from her, then sat down and read it. As he did he read aloud, “Let's see, the Sorento, the Maple Leaf and the Windsor. Frank, what's the address of Stern's Market?”

“I don't know the exact number, but I know that it's on Fairview”.

“Hmmmn, the Sorento is two blocks from there. That's not too far to walk carrying two bags of groceries”, said Wallace.

“And, it's just three blocks from the bus terminal”, said Stiles.

“Carol, call the three motels, see if they registered anyone two nights ago who rented a kitchenette”, Wallace ordered.

“Let's hope that Tom has a tape with the guy in the store”, offered Stiles.

“If he does it means that our luck is about to change. Does he have his radio with him?”, asked Wallace.

“He better have”, Stiles answered.

“Call him. See how he made out”, said Wallace.

Stiles removed the portable radio from the case attached to his belt. He turned it on then spoke. “Sixteen Stiles to Seventeen McKenna”. He waited a minute, then repeated the message. Finally, he heard the vocal response. “Seventeen McKenna”.

“Seventeen, what is your location?”, asked Stiles.

“Ocean Avenue, heading into headquarters”, said McKenna.

“How did you make out?”, asked Stiles.

“Bingo”.

Stiles turned off his radio and looked at Wallace. Both men smiled.

Detective Myers walked into the office. “Captain. The only motel that rented a unit with a kitchenette two nights ago was the Sorento. The customer is registered as one, Harry Anders. He gave his address as seven nineteen Baxter Street, Beach Haven, New Jersey. Anders is in unit one twelve.”, she said.

“That's strange. You have to go through Beach Haven in order to get to Caravel. At the same time the director of Haven House is Harvey Anderson. It's almost as if Lionel Horton changed his address and name by alternating both by just a fraction. Caravel to Beach Haven and Harvey Anderson to Harry Anders”, said Wallace.

“It could