Bicycle Shop Murder by Robert Burton Robinson (fiction novels to read .TXT) đ
- Author: Robert Burton Robinson
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âYes, Sir.â
âWait five minutes, and then bring them in. Ohâand, this is very important: donât tell them I know who they are.â
Millie looked puzzled. âOkay.â
âWe, uhâwouldnât want to spoil the surprise.â
âI understand, Sir.â
After Millie had shut the door, Buford realized he had said too much. If anyone ever found out he was able to guess who was coming to see him from Coreyville, it would make him look highly suspicious. If he was not involved in the Coreyville trial and murders, why would he think Greg and Cynthia would be paying him a visit? It was their only possible connection.
Millie told Greg and Cynthia it would be just a few minutes. Greg decided to have a cup of coffee while they waited. He had taken only two or three sips when Millie walked over to where they were sitting.
âOkay. I will take you to Mr. Bellowinâs office now.â Greg dropped the cup in the trashcan as they followed her down the long hallway.
Buford looked surprised when Millie brought Greg and Cynthia into his office. âMillie told me that a couple of old friends were coming by to see me, butâIâm afraid I donât know either of you.â
Cynthia noticed that Bufordâs secretary seemed confused by his statement.
Greg said, âIâm sorry, Sir. We told your secretary that we were old friends because we thought it was the only way to get an appointment with you today.â
âI see. So, are you even from Coreyville?â
âYes, Sir. That part is true. We have something really important to talk to you about. I hope youâll give us a few minutes, even though we got in on false pretenses.â
âWell, you were resourcefulâIâll say that for you.â Buford laughed. âIâve got to give you a few points for that. And, you are from my hometown. So, sureâIâll hear what you have to say. Can you do it in ten minutes?â
âYes, Sir. Thank you.â Greg couldnât believe how much respect he was giving the apparent mastermind of a murderous rampage. âIâm Greg Tenorly and this is Cynthia Blockerman.â
Buford shook hands with his visitors, taking a long glance at Cynthiaâs cleavage, and offered them a seat. Millie walked out and closed the door.
âSo, what can I help you with today?â Buford sat down behind his desk.
If the executive desk was the yacht of desks, then Bufordâs desk was a battleship. Cynthia wondered what Buford was trying to compensate for.
âIâm serving on a jury in a murder trial in Coreyville, andââ
ââwait. If this is about an ongoing trial, it would be illegal for me to discuss it with you.â
Great, Greg thought. Is this how heâs going to slither out of it? âNo. Actually, I wanted to ask you about something not related to the trial.â
âOkay. But, be careful.â
Weâll never get anything out of this slimy snake, Cynthia thought, as she tried to maintain a pleasant demeanor.
âYes, I will. I donât know whether youâve heard about it, but several people have been murdered in our town this week.â
âWow. Iâve always thought of Coreyville as a safe, quiet little community. Thatâs pretty shocking.â
âSo, I got a call from a woman yesterday. And while she was talking to me, somebody shot her.â
âYouâre kidding me? Is she dead?â
âYes. The killer shot her right after she told me who was behind all of the murders in Coreyville.â
Cynthia was watching Buford for even the slightest reaction.
Buford didnât like where Greg was headed, but what could he do? He had to press on, showing interest, but no particular concern for himself. Besides, Marty was dead. Case solved. Maybe they hadnât heard yet. âSo, what did she say?â
âShe said the person behind all of the murders was YOU.â
âWhat? Thatâs ridiculous. Whatâs the name of this woman who told you that?â
âDorothy Spokane.â
It was slight, almost imperceptibleâbut Cynthia saw it. A quiver of the lip and the lower eyelids. Greg was right!
âWhoa. Now weâre talking about someone whoâs involved in your trial, right? Isnât that the trial for the murderer of Sam Spokane?â
âYes. How did you know?â
âBecause itâs in Coreyville. And Iâm a lawyer.â He must regain control of himself, Buford thought. He must not appear to be nervous. âAnd I worked for Sam as a teenager. So, I knew Dorothy. Iâm so sorry to hear about her. But I canât talk about it anymore.â
âSo, you donât know why she would say that youâre involved in the murders?â
âIâm sorry, but youâve got to leave now, before we cause a mistrial.â
Buford hurried Greg and Cynthia out the door. âMaybe we can visit some other time, when it doesnât put a trial in jeopardy. Goodbye.â
*
It was easy for John X to locate Gregâs big, red Bonneville in the parking garage. He knew he had the right car, even before he checked the license plate. He didnât know whether Buford would want him to chase Greg and Cynthia, but he would be prepared. He took the box out of the paper bag and carefully, almost lovingly, removed the device from the box.
It was a fine piece of electronicsâa GPS tracker, housed in a magnetic case, weighing only seven ounces. He inserted four AA batteries and turned it on. Then he placed it in an ideal spot on the undercarriage, where it couldnât be seen without crawling under the vehicle.
Now, wherever the car traveled, he could easily track it over the internet with his PDA. If Buford didnât order him to follow them, it was $400 down the drain. But it was just part of the cost of doing business.
He had set his cell phone ringer on vibrate, to avoid alerting anyone to his location. Buford was calling. âIâm ready,â he whispered.
âGood. Wait until they get out of town. And try to make it look like an accident. If you do, it will mean an additional ten for you.â
âSo, thatâs thirty-five altogether, right?â
âRight.â Yeah, whatever, Buford thought. He couldnât afford to quibble over money when his career, and even his freedom, was at stake.
âI already have a tracker on his car, so thereâs no way they can lose me.â
âI donât want to know details. Just do it!â
John X heard people talking, and it sounded like they were walking toward him, so he hid on the other side of the truck that was next to Gregâs car. He soon realized, from their conversation, that it was definitely Greg and Cynthia.
âSo, what was I saying when you saw him flinch?â
âIt was when you told him it was Dorothy Spokane who said he was responsible for all the murders. Something funny happened with his lips and eyes. It wasnât real obvious, but I saw it.
âYeah. Heâs definitely guilty of something.â
âBut, of what? Hiring a killer? And, if so, how do we prove it?â
âI donât know, but Iâm starved. Letâs get some breakfast and talk about it.â
John X heard them shut their doors, and drive away. Now he would need to select a vehicle for following them. The extended cab Silverado truck he was standing beside would work. Greg and Cynthia were stopping for breakfast. He would have plenty of time to catch up with them on the road.
âCancel the rest of my appointments for this morning.â
âBut Sir, Mr. Jacobs is already here, waiting,â whispered Millie.
âI donât care. Make my apologies and reschedule him. And I do not want to be disturbed unless the building is on fire. Do you understand?â
Buford needed time to think things through. Sam was dead. The only witness who saw the murderer at the scene was dead. The bull-headed juror was dead. And he assumed the police now had Martyâs body. They would find his fingerprints at one of the murder scenes. Or there would be someone who had seen him nearby. They could blame the murders on him and close those cases.
Greg Tenorly and Cynthia Blockerman were now Bufordâs greatest concern. But John X had taken care of Marty. Surely he could handle those two.
Then there was Kantrell Jamison. There was still a good chance he would be found âGuilty,â even without Troy on the jury and without Arabeth Albertsonâs testimony.
It had seemed like a good plan. He had personally done research, and selected Kantrell for the job. He was a poor black teenager who probably wouldnât graduate from high school. And Buford was sure he could tempt the boy with cash. Back in March, he had mailed a letter to Kantrell:
Mr. Kantrell Jamison, This letter is private. Please do not share it with anyone. The inner envelope contains five one-hundred dollars bills. This money is yours. There are no strings attached. You can spend it any way you wish.
However, if you would like to earn much more money, please be waiting at the pay phone on the corner near Coreyville Car Wash at 7:30 AM on Saturday, March 18.
At that time, I will offer you a job that will allow you earn a large amount of cash. And youâll only have to work one night. So, think about it. And have fun spending your money!
Kantrell answered the call on that Saturday morning. Buford had used a throwaway cell phone to call him.
âDonât talkâjust listen. Your pay will be $30,000. You will receive it in cash before you do the job. If you take the cash, but donât do the job, a hit man will track you down. You will never be safe. He will find you, and kill you. Since you havenât hung up yet, I will assume youâre still interested.
âThe job is to kill Sam Spokane. You will go into his bicycle shop one night next week when he is alone and murder him. I donât care how you do it. Just make sure heâs dead. Also, you will take all of the money from his wallet and from the cash register. You can keep that money too. Do you want the job?â
Buford had been proud of the scheme he had concocted. He had worn gloves while preparing the envelope and the cash. He had even remembered to wet the stamps with tap water instead of licking them. But he had made one stupid mistake. When he had dropped off the $30,000 envelope at the post office from his car, he had picked up the envelope with his bare hands.
As soon as he had released it into the box, he realized his mistake. But it was too late. Tampering with the U.S. Mail could send him to prison just as quickly as hiring a murderer.
But had Kantrell Jamison saved the envelope? Apparently he had been smart enough to hide the money. But if that envelope had not been destroyed, and the police ever found it, they would check for DNA. If Kantrell were found innocent, everything would be okay. But that outcome now seemed unlikely.
What if Kantrell decided to make a deal with the D.A.? If Kantrell could produce evidence against the person who hired him, he might get a lighter sentence. That envelope kept Buford awake at night.
*
Greg and Cynthia had not traveled far before stopping at an IHop for breakfast. As they were being shown to a booth, it happened again. And Greg was growing accustomed to it. He didnât like it, but he couldnât blame the men for looking. If a shiny, new sports car passed by, you had to check it outâright?
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. So, if beauty is not beheld, is it still beautiful? Greg Tenorly was a musician, not a philosopher. But sometimes
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