A Simple Suburban Murder by Mark Richard Zubro Read Free Book Online Page A

never forget that second no-hitter in the World Series. It was fantastic. I watched every pitch on TV. I wish I could have been there."
    "If we go to the Series again maybe I can get you tickets," Scott said. "I came in on the middle of something. How can we help you?"
    "I came because Mr. Mason seems to have been conducting his own investigation of the Evans murder." His voice was more hurt than threatening, now that he was talking to a sports star. "We can't have interference, Mr. Carpenter."
    "Call me Scott."
    The cop swelled with pride of nearness to a hero. I figured him for a stroke in two minutes. I could already hear him telling the boys at the station house about his friend Scott Carpenter.
    I hadn't liked his nasty tone when he started. I hated his fawning tone now. But I figured with him in this mood maybe I could get some information from him.
    Scott said, "You see how it is. Tom's naturally concerned about what happened, knowing the family and the body being in his room."
    "Of course," Robertson agreed.
    I tried a question. "I was wondering, I never did hear, what exactly was it that killed him?"
    The cop gave me a brief suspicious look.
    Scott said, "When Tom described it to me I couldn't believe it. I kept trying to figure it out myself. I'd kind of like to know too, if you can tell us, that is. I know police seldom give out such information, but if you could see your way clear?" Scott's southern drawl was seldom more humble or persuasive.
    The cop smiled. What I saw in that smile was—I'll do anything to please my hero. I might as well not have been there.
    Robertson said, "I guess it wouldn't hurt to tell you a little. Although, really what I'm telling you gets sent to the press later today."
    "We'd appreciate anything," Scott said.
    Robertson began, "He'd been dead several hours when you found him. He was killed with a heavy blunt instrument. Whoever did it crushed his skull with repeated blows, but the medical people think the first blow probably was the one that did it. The killer kept hitting Evans long after he was dead."
    "Do they know where he was killed?" I asked.
    His expansive mood continued. "No. We haven't been able to trace his movements that night. He left home at nine P.M. He never came back. We haven't found his car or figured out what the hell he was doing in your classroom, or how he got there." He scratched his head. "He also had three thousand dollars on him when we examined him."
    "Who do the police think did it?" I asked. The instant after I said it I knew I'd goofed.
    He answered stiffly, "We're checking leads. We don't have anything firm yet."
    "I'm sure you'll get something," Scott soothed quickly.
    "We'll catch whoever did it, that's sure." He added, "Mr. Mason, you have to promise not to do any more interfering."
    Scott spoke up. "I'm sure there won't be any problems."
    I gave an ambiguous nod.
    Robertson stood up. "I don't want to delay your dinner any longer." He spoke to me. "I'm glad I got this chance to talk to you." Then to Scott. "And got a chance to meet you."
    Scott got up and shook the cop's hand. "And it's been a pleasure for me too." He walked the cop to the door.
    Scott came back into the room. "I promised to get his kids an autographed baseball."
    I said, "That son-of-a-bitching asshole."
    "Don't let yourself get all worked up about him. He's an ordinary guy with a job to do."
    "How can you defend him? He practically drooled all over you."
    "You do that sometimes." He gave me a weak grin and sprawled his lanky frame next to me on the couch.
    "At least I didn't start drooling the instant I met you, like he did. That fawning bullshit drives me nuts."
    "You've seen it before."
    "Yeah, and it usually doesn't bother me, but you weren't here for the first part of the conversation." I told him what Robertson said.
    "He's an asshole," Scott agreed when I stopped.
    He put his arm around me and drew me close.
    "He'd be less impressed if he saw us now," I said.
    "Should I ask him