Bicycle Shop Murder by Robert Burton Robinson (fiction novels to read .TXT) đ
- Author: Robert Burton Robinson
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âYes, Maâam.â
âAnd I have an important document for you. I would come up there, but I donât have anyone to drive me. And itâs hard taking a cab because of my wheelchair. You might want to bring the sheriff with you. It could be dangerous.â
âOf course. I have your address here: 207 Maple Street. Weâll get there as soon as we can. Thanks.â
Finally, Andrea would get to do something important.
*
It had been forty-five minutes since Dorothy Spokane had talked to the A.D.A. What was taking so long? The letter in her hand would explain everything. She had already heard about the murder of Troy Blockerman. Word traveled fast in Coreyville.
Although she didnât want Samâs reputation to be tarnished, she had no choice now. The truth had to be told. The killings must stop. In her gut, she knew Arabeth Albertsonâs death had not been an accident. But she hadnât said anything because she was protecting Sam.
The man walking toward her house was dressed in a gas company uniform, but Dorothy didnât recognize him. It wasnât Jimmy or Hoyt. What if her phone had been tapped? At least she was finally doing the right thing. But what good is that if the truth is lost?
She needed to tell someoneâfast. She called the District Attorneyâs office. No answer. She could call a friend. No. She needed someone who knew the details of the trial. Greg Tenorly. Her intuition told her he was honest and smart. She hoped she was right. Hurry, before itâs too late.
She grabbed the Coreyville phone book, found Gregâs home number and dialed as quickly as she could. She wished she had upgraded to a touch-tone phone. The old rotary dialer was dependable, but so slow. She had never needed to dial this fast before. It began to ring. But maybe he was at his studio
ring
or at the church
ring
or at the diner
ring
or riding around in his big red car!
âHello?â
âGreg. This is Dorothy Spokane.â
Greg was not fully awake. He had gone back to sleep after getting the official call about postponing jury deliberations. âOh, Hi.â
âI need to tell you something important.â She sounded frantic.
âWaitâyou know Iâm not supposed to talk to you. Itâs againstââ
ââa man is about to kill me!â
Greg was now fully alert. âWho? What man?â
âJust let me say what Iâve got to say before itâs too late.â
âOkay.â
âItâs Buford. Heâs the one behind all of the killings.â
âBuford?â Greg was confused. Buford who? What killings?
âSomebodyâs at my back door trying to get in!â
âWhat?â
âGet out of my house, you murderer!â
Greg listened in disbelief, as the phone hit the hardwood floor. Then he heard someone walking toward the phone.
A gruff voice said, âWho is this?â
Greg slammed down the phone and was surprised it didnât break. He had no idea who Buford was, but he was going to find out. He ran to his computer and googled âBuford Coreyville.â There it wasâright at the top. An article from the Coreyville Courier, the local paper. He clicked on it and scanned the article quickly.
_Buford Bellowin, who grew up in Coreyville, is now a famous defense attorney practicing in Dallas. Insiders say he is positioning himself to run for governor in a few years. He attended Scarborough Elementary
_blah, blah, blah_
worked at Samâs Bicycle Shop as a teenager. _Whoa. That must be the connection. But how? Why would a big-shot Dallas attorney care about whatâs going on in this little town?
*
âAm I being charged?â
âNo, no, Mrs. Blockerman. Weâre still investigating. I just need to ask you a few questions.â Angela, like most district attorneys, and lawyers in general, had perfected her acting (lying) skills. Why should the good guys play fair? The bad guys donât.
âOkay. I have nothing to hide.â
âWe found no evidence of a breakin at your house, but we did find something curious. The doorknob on your back door had no fingerprints.â
âOkay,â Cynthia said, wondering what the D.A. was getting at.
âDonât you think thatâs a little odd?â
âI guess.â
âDid you wipe off that doorknob after the murder?â
âNo. The _last_ thing I was thinking about was cleaning.â What a weird question.
âI just thought you might have wiped it off after your boyfriend left.â Angela studied Cynthiaâs eyes and face for a reaction. She saw confusion and angerânot the reaction she had hoped for.
âWhat? I donât have a boyfriend. Is this why you called me in hereâto try to trick me into making a confession? I wonât confess to something I didnât do.â
Angela was visibly annoyed by the knock on the door. She yanked it open, frightening the young clerk.
âIâm sorry, Ms. Hammerly, but the A.D.A. said to interrupt you.â
The power is already going to Andreaâs head, thought Angela. Iâve got to set her straight about howâs in charge here.
âDorothy Spokane has been murdered, and her house has been ransacked.â
Angela thanked the clerk and sent her away. She turned back to Cynthia and said, âThanks for coming in. I will need to talk to you again soon, so donât leave town.â
Iâm not talking to you again without an attorney, thought Cynthia. She felt ill as she walked out of the building to her car. Her husband was dead. Sure, the marriage had died many months ago. She didnât love Troy anymore, but she still cared about him. Now she was being accused of either killing him or getting a boyfriend to do it. The D.A. was shameless.
As she drove toward the Holiday Inn, her cell rang.
âHello?â
âCynthia, itâs Greg. How are you doing?â
âIâm okay, I guess, considering I just got dragged through the slime by our wonderful D.A.â
âWhat do you mean?â
âShe accused me of having an affair, and getting my boyfriend to kill Troy. Can you believe it?â
âWhat makes her think you have a boyfriend?â
âShe said the doorknob in the kitchen was wiped clean, and implied I wiped off my boyfriendâs fingerprints after he left.â
âIâm sorry. What a mess.â Apparently, the D.A. had not mentioned Gregâs name. Hopefully she had not recognized him last night.
âYeah.â
âCynthia, Iâve got to make a trip.â
âWhere are you going?â
âI donât want to say over the phone. But Iâm afraid if I donât do this, there will be more murders.â
âSpeaking of murdersâDorothy Spokane is dead.â
âI was afraid of that.â
âWhy?â
âCynthia, you should go with me, and Iâll explain what I know.â
âI canât. The D.A. told me not to leave town.â
âYou could be the next one on the murdererâs list. Come with me.â
âYou know what? I donât care what the D.A. says. Come by and pick me up. Room 112.â
âIâll be there in five minutes.â
Martyâs king size bed, 27-inch color TV, private bathroom, and air conditioning made him feel like a millionaire. He didnât miss prison at all.
Cynthia Blockermanâs room was just below his. With x-ray vision, he could have shot her through the floor from where he stood. He liked her. But he wouldnât hesitate to cut her throat or choke her to death, if necessary. He just wanted to be finished with this job, finished with Buford.
Marty dialed one of Bufordâs unlisted cell numbers. There was a different number to call every few days. Buford was taking special precautions. If Marty was caught, Buford didnât want the police to have a phone record trail leading back to him.
âYes?â
âItâs me. Troy Blockerman is no longer a problem.â
âWhat do you mean? What did you do?â
âHe drank too much beer and passed out in his living room. Then somebody sliced his throat. He wonât be voting âGuiltyâ anymore.â
âWhy did you do that?â
âHeyâyou told me to make sure the kid gets off. Thatâs what Iâm trying to do. Troy Blockerman was determined to hang him, and he was convincing the rest of the jury to go along. I had to stop him.â
âBut who are the police going to blame for his murder? This could take us both down.â
âNah. Right now, the D.A. believes the wife did it. Apparently, good ole boy Troy was knocking her around every night. The D.A. figures Cynthia just got tired of the abuse. And
there was another problem I had to take care of.â
âWhat?â Donât tell me youâve murdered the judge, thought Buford.
âDorothy Spokane called the district attorneyâs office this morning. Good thing I had her house bugged. She asked the A.D.A. to come over so she could give her information about the case. So, I got there first.â
âWhat did she tell you?â
âShe didnât tell me anything. She was on the phone and I heard her say âBuford,â so I shot her.â
âYou shot her! What else did she say?â
âSomething about Buford being responsible for all of the killings.â
âDid she give a last name?â
âNo. And whoever was on the other end of the line hung up. But I couldnât look up their number because she had an old-fashioned rotary phone. I can get a copy of her phone records.â
âThatâs okay. I can take care of that. What did you find in the house?â
âShe had a letter that was written by her husband. It was sitting on the coffee table, so I think she planned to give it to the D.A. He had written on the envelope, Open Upon My Death. So, apparently he suspected somebody might try to kill him.â
âWhat did you do with it? You didnât open it, did you?â
âNo. Iâm holding it for you.â
âBurn it. Donât open it, just burn it.â
âOkay.â
âDo it as soon as you hang up.â
âI understand.â
âBut, Marty, youâre out of control.â
âCome onâyou know I had no choice. She was going to tell them something, and Iâm sure it was something you donât want the D.A. to hear. Look, I donât care what you did, or whatâs in this letter. Iâm just doing my job.â
âYou know what, Marty? Youâre done.â
âWhat do you mean? The trialâs not over. We have a deal. Iâm not going back!â
âItâs okay. I just donât require your services anymore. Your debt is paid. So, slip out of town quietly and go your merry way. Youâre free. But donât forget to burn that letter. Do it now. Goodbye.â
Marty felt like he had just been fired, and he didnât like it. He wanted nothing more than to be done with this job. But he wanted to finish the job. Marty Crumb might have been one of the lowest of the lowlifesâbut he was not a quitter. And he could not allow himself to be fired.
As he walked into the bathroom with Sam Spokaneâs unopened letter, he placed a Marlboro between his cracked lips and flicked his lighter. He lit his cigarette and took a long drag, studying the handwriting on the envelope. What was this horrible secret about Buford? He would burn the letter over the toilet and then flush the ashes.
*
Buford wanted to kick himself for getting involved with Marty. It had seemed like a good ideaâa cheap way to get it done. But Marty had become a loose cannon. If Buford let this go on, everybody connected with the trial would end up dead. And eventually the police would be at his door. He had to take immediate action. He unlocked his lower right drawer and exchanged the cell phone in his hand for a different one.
âYeah?â
âThis is B.B.â
âWhoâs the mark?â
âHang on. Whatâs this going to cost
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