The East Avenue Murders (The Maude Rogers Crime Novels Book 1) by Linda L. Dunlap
Authors: Linda L. Dunlap
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pounds. Charge was minor in possession of marihuana, six months ago, nothing since. Last address: 2231 Bradley Street, Madison, Texas.
Maude sat frozen as Alice read the address off the machine. 2231 Bradley was her address, Mary Ellen’s address. The moment was etched in her brain, the door opening, the sleepy eyed man wi th disarrayed hair, the edge in his voice, a sound of indignity at being questioned. It was all so modulated, so planned. His intimate knowledge of the local school, of sweet Mary Ellen was unclean, a smear of filth on delicate porcelain.
How easily Maude had been pulled into the intricate weave of his trap, a trip back into time. Ten years ago the murderer had left his mark in a terrible way.
Maude had been a veteran cop, ten years on a beat, then the test for detective at Chicago PD. She aced it , once again the model student, always at the top of her class. The years she spent as a street cop had taught her about the evil that strangers do to one another, bar fights that ended with guns or knives taking lives, like little boys comparing the size of their penises to decide who was the biggest. The family violence cases were the sad ones; a husband who slew his wife for looking past him at another. Dead, she looked at no one, not even the kids who sat crying for their mama.
On the day of her fourth anniversary as a detective with Chicago PD, Maude and her senior partner Mason Aldridge, a long time veteran with the PD were sent out on a welfare check. Dispatch had been called by a frantic mother who said her daughter was missing and the last time she had been seen was over two weeks earlier. Mother thought daughter had been upset with her and had not returned her calls just being snippy as she was prone to do. Mother said at first she didn’t think much about it, but after two weeks and no contact, Mother’s gut told her there was something bad wrong with her daughter.
When Detective Aldridge a nd Maude arrived at the address the place showed typical signs of neglect; the grass had grown tall, mail overflowed in the out-going box. A sad-looking cat sat on the front stoop crying for her mistress. Both detectives pulled their weapons and approached the door staying out of the line of fire from the windows along the front of the house. Mason knocked on the door politely at first then harder so he was sure to be heard by anyone inside.
With no response from the house and the obvious signs of neglect of the animal and the yard, Mason signaled to Maude that he was going in if the door was unlocked. They had worked together for three of the four years that Maude had been a detective and knew each other from earlier when she was a beat cop and he was in Homicide. They understood each other without words.
Mason turned the knob on the door and pushed it open then flattened himself against the brick wall siding. A bullet coming from inside the door would probably miss him. Maude understood the tactic and waited patiently with her weapon braced should a shot come from inside the house at any time.
All was quiet, and both detectives knew there was a very ser ious problem- call it instinct, call it whatever you like-but they knew. Mason entered the house first, approaching cautiously, keeping the walls and heavy furniture between him and a possible shooter. Maude went through the door and made her way opposite Mason, a maneuver well practiced by both of them. Still there was nothing.
Just as both the detectives were about to holster their weapons, a shot rang out from the back yard coming through the kitchen window. A moment before the hit the red dot of the laser sight had centered on Mason’s temple. She saw the dot focusing but time messed with her. Things happened as though in slow motion and even though she called his name it was too late. Her partner took the shot and was dead on his feet, the bullet-proof vest unable to save his life this time.
Maude fell to the floor beside Mason and lay there ,
Maude sat frozen as Alice read the address off the machine. 2231 Bradley was her address, Mary Ellen’s address. The moment was etched in her brain, the door opening, the sleepy eyed man wi th disarrayed hair, the edge in his voice, a sound of indignity at being questioned. It was all so modulated, so planned. His intimate knowledge of the local school, of sweet Mary Ellen was unclean, a smear of filth on delicate porcelain.
How easily Maude had been pulled into the intricate weave of his trap, a trip back into time. Ten years ago the murderer had left his mark in a terrible way.
Maude had been a veteran cop, ten years on a beat, then the test for detective at Chicago PD. She aced it , once again the model student, always at the top of her class. The years she spent as a street cop had taught her about the evil that strangers do to one another, bar fights that ended with guns or knives taking lives, like little boys comparing the size of their penises to decide who was the biggest. The family violence cases were the sad ones; a husband who slew his wife for looking past him at another. Dead, she looked at no one, not even the kids who sat crying for their mama.
On the day of her fourth anniversary as a detective with Chicago PD, Maude and her senior partner Mason Aldridge, a long time veteran with the PD were sent out on a welfare check. Dispatch had been called by a frantic mother who said her daughter was missing and the last time she had been seen was over two weeks earlier. Mother thought daughter had been upset with her and had not returned her calls just being snippy as she was prone to do. Mother said at first she didn’t think much about it, but after two weeks and no contact, Mother’s gut told her there was something bad wrong with her daughter.
When Detective Aldridge a nd Maude arrived at the address the place showed typical signs of neglect; the grass had grown tall, mail overflowed in the out-going box. A sad-looking cat sat on the front stoop crying for her mistress. Both detectives pulled their weapons and approached the door staying out of the line of fire from the windows along the front of the house. Mason knocked on the door politely at first then harder so he was sure to be heard by anyone inside.
With no response from the house and the obvious signs of neglect of the animal and the yard, Mason signaled to Maude that he was going in if the door was unlocked. They had worked together for three of the four years that Maude had been a detective and knew each other from earlier when she was a beat cop and he was in Homicide. They understood each other without words.
Mason turned the knob on the door and pushed it open then flattened himself against the brick wall siding. A bullet coming from inside the door would probably miss him. Maude understood the tactic and waited patiently with her weapon braced should a shot come from inside the house at any time.
All was quiet, and both detectives knew there was a very ser ious problem- call it instinct, call it whatever you like-but they knew. Mason entered the house first, approaching cautiously, keeping the walls and heavy furniture between him and a possible shooter. Maude went through the door and made her way opposite Mason, a maneuver well practiced by both of them. Still there was nothing.
Just as both the detectives were about to holster their weapons, a shot rang out from the back yard coming through the kitchen window. A moment before the hit the red dot of the laser sight had centered on Mason’s temple. She saw the dot focusing but time messed with her. Things happened as though in slow motion and even though she called his name it was too late. Her partner took the shot and was dead on his feet, the bullet-proof vest unable to save his life this time.
Maude fell to the floor beside Mason and lay there ,
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