The Breeze

"Indoors, get's my vote." she said. First we stopped in unit thirty one for an hour or so, then I left Bunny in the parking lot. As I had expected Bobby was asleep on the sofa when I arrive home at five. I was standing beside him when he finally stirred. I let him return to life slowly before I asked, "Bobby, if I wanted to buy a painting, and I didn't like anything at the park show or the gallery, where could I get one?" I asked.

"Johnny, I don't know. Maybe from an art student or a flea market. Maybe even from a side walk festival." he said.

"Sidewalk festival, what the hell is that?" I asked.

"That's where some promoter organizes and art show for a couple of days. Usually over a weekend. They do a couple a year at the river walk." he informed me.

"Did they have a show over one of the last weeks?" I asked.

"I don't know. I never go to those shows too commercial for me." he said.

"How do I find out?" I asked.

"I guess you could find it in a back copy of last weeks paper. All the art stuff is in a column published on Friday." he suggested.

"Are these just traveling shows or do the artist run their own displays?" I asked.

"The artist are with their displays. They are the ones who actually sell the paintings." he informed me.

"Thanks Bobby you have been a great help, now go home and get some sleep," I suggested. With five hours to kill before the library opened, I stretched out on the same sofa where Bobby had slept. I didn't get anywhere near the five hours sleep. Lori came at eight to relieve Bobby. Instead she relieved me. I drove down to Poppa's for breakfast.

I didn't mention my morning plans to Poppa. He didn't need him to know that I was closing in on the killer. I did call Ruth as soon as I returned to the Motel. She didn't like being awakened at eight am, since she had spent the night doing god only knows what. She did agree to be at the motel by nine thirty. I spent the next hour and a half going over it all in my mind. I was pretty sure we were about to find the artist. It would be a matter of time until we got him into an interrogation room. With his DNA samples, he was sure to fry.

Ruth arrived at nine fifteen. She demanded to tell me the latest from the FBI. The agents were holding Edward Peterson in some upstate jail. Probably Winston Salem since it was where they would have picked him up. He hadn't been charged with the murder yet. His DNA samples had been sent for testing. It would take a while for the results to be reported.

Meanwhile they were offering him deal after deal. He hadn't broken so far. The tax charges they were holding him on were peanuts. A good lawyer could probably get them dismissed. Edward's problem was that he dare not make bail. If he did, the mob would ice him for sure. If he couldn't testify against them, they would be happy. If they were happy Edward was dead. His only hope was that the FBI couldn't pin the murder to his tail. If they couldn't then he could go back to business as usual, or being his usual prick. That at least was the plan.

Meanwhile the FBI was moving heaven and earth to put him in the murderer's shoes. Since they controlled most of the evidence, it was a fair bet he was going to be charged eventually. Ruth was angry that the real killer would walk, just so that Edward would talk about the mob.

"Now, I have heard what they are up to, how about this?" I asked. "I think we can find the artist who sold Kate that last picture."

"How did you do that?" Ruth asked excited.

"I haven't done it yet. We are going to do it today. At least we are going to be hot on his ass after today," I informed her. "Now let's go to the Wilmington Library."

"Why the hell would we want to do that?" she asked.

"Because we are about to begin running the fox to earth," I said.

I found the back newspapers and even found the column about the upcoming art shows for the weekend of Kate's murder. There were no river walk shows that weekend. There was however a mall show. I had never been a big mall fan, so I had no idea artist were allowed to set up shows in the common spaces of the mall.

Ruth and I drove to the mall. We found the mall office closed. The sign informed us the office would be closed until Monday morning. "Let me make a call," Ruth suggested. She found out quickly that the Wilmington Police required more than her assurance that she was on the job, before giving out information on the mall manager. They respectfully asked us to stop at the station for that information.

Ten minutes later we pulled into the parking lot for the second time that week. Ruth and I walked to the desk sergeant for the information. Once he saw her badge, he was willing to cooperate. We left five minutes later with the manager's name and address.

Finding the mall manager at home was just a lucky break. Five minutes later and she would have been on a picnic with her husband and two daughters. I had been afraid she would need to return to the mall for the name of the show's promoter. She gave us both his name and phone number from her computer files. She maintained a copy of the file on line, she explained. It was available at the mall and from home not to mention her cell phone of all things. I often make calls at night to people on mall business," she explained.

With the name and number firmly in hand, Ruth and I drove out to lunch. Unfortunately we went to lunch because it was all we could do. The promoter was a company from Raleigh. It was called Mall Productions Inc. Ruth dialed his number from her cell phone while sitting in the mall manager's drive. The message on Mall Productions Inc's phone machine, informed us the office would be closed until Monday.

"So how do we fill the rest of the weekend?" Ruth asked.

"We go back to the mall and ask the people there if they recognize his picture. We didn't do that before because we didn't know he was ever in the mall. We might catch a break." I suggested.

"God that is the longest long shot I ever heard." she said.

After lunch we tried and she was absolutely correct. None of the Mall employees had paid any attention to the paintings or painters. By five we gave up. We were almost to the motel when she pulled over to the side of the highway. "You know who else we never showed the picture to?" she asked.

"I have no idea," I replied.

"Jake the snake," she said.

"Talk about your long shots," I said.

"Well I spent three hours on yours, at least give me a half hour on mine," she demanded.

"Okay, we go rattle Jake's cage again," I said.

Jake opened the door and got half way through a sentence before he realized we weren't who he expected. Not only was his mouth slack with surprise, it held a joint. "Jake, Jake, Jake, that is going to put you right back in the joint." I said.

"Man come on, it's just a little weed," he said.

"Don't worry too much Jake. You tell us what we want to know and I didn't see a thing. If not," I let the sentence tail off.

"What do you want this time. I told you all I know." he said desperately.

"Then you better make up something good," I said. Something about Jake had bothered me the last time and it still did. I suddenly remembered. "The last time we talked, you told me that Kate was too skinny and she was stuck up. You hit on her didn't you. She turned you and your paintings down, didn't she?" I asked.

"You're nuts," he said. "I wouldn't have anything to do with her and that's why she wouldn't buy my paintings.

I turned to Ruth. "You know I'll bet we can take old Jake in on the weed charge. Then we can go to the park and find someone who saw them arguing, or at least find someone who hates Jake enough to say that they were arguing. With that we can pin the tail to his ass, then this thing will be closed. That's all I care about anyway." I said.

"Okay, okay, I hit on the bitch. She said my work wasn't good enough. Which was her way of saying she didn't want to screw me." Jake admitted.

"How did that make you feel?" Ruth asked.

"Hey, don't get the wrong idea. I was pissed sure, but I didn't kill her." he said.

"Did you go to the mall show that weekend?" I asked.

"I was at the park Saturday and Sunday, you can check. But yeah, I went there on Friday just to check out the competition. There really wasn't much." he said.

"Did you see Katherine?" Ruth asked.

"No, was she there?" he asked.

"Did you see this painting?" Ruth asked.

"Sure I saw that piece of crap. Don't tell me that rich bitch bought that junk." he said.

"Do you know who painted it?" I asked.

"Sure I know, some hack from Linville. Let me see, his name was Edgar Stokes. Yeah Edgar Stokes from Linville, you know up in the mountains. He comes down here to sell his crap because there is nobody up there who would buy such garbage."

"Well Jake, I think you just got yourself a buy on the weed," I said turning to go.

"Jake, you better get your ass straight," Ruth said as we left the loft.

In the parking lot Ruth asked, "Well do you need to pack or can we leave now for Linville?"

"Are you kidding, that is an eight hour drive, at least. We won't get there until two in the morning. There is nothing we can do at two am. Go home get a little sleep, then meet me at the motel about four am. We can be there around noon tomorrow. We should be able to talk to our boy, have his ass arrested, then transferred here before nightfall." I suggested.

"No way, we can't bust him until I talk to the chief," she said. "All we can do is question him." she said.

"Then why bother. We have her M.O and he fits right into it. We can place him at the mall with that painting on Friday morning. We can put her with it at lunch. We found it hanging on her wall. We know her past history with artist. I would say it is pretty much a lock." I said.

"Still I have to inform the chief if we are going to make an arrest. If I inform him the FBI is going to be all over it and us." she informed me.

"So what do you suggest?" I asked disgusted by all the politics.

"I suggest we go to Linville. If we can prove he is out man, we call the chief. If he won't go for it we can always give the locals a shot at him."

"It's sure as hell not my idea of an ideal plan, but I guess it will have to do," I suggested.

"Okay, then I'll see you at four am." Ruth replied.

I met Bobby when I entered the lobby. "So Bobby is anything going on?"

"Nothing except the place is full," he informed me. "I couldn't find the switch for the no vacancy sign."

I pointed it out to him, then suggested he go on home. I slept until four when Ruth arrived to wake me. I left a note on the door for Lori, then joined Ruth for the long drive to the North Carolina mountains.

I fell asleep ten minutes after we passed Wilmington. I stayed asleep until we arrived at a truck stop outside Linville. While we ate an especially greasy burger, Ruth got directions to the local Sheriff's sub station. After Ruth showed the local deputy her badge, we got direction to Edgar Stokes' home.

When we arrived at the unpainted farm house, we found an old Ford pickup truck parked in the yard. A woman answered our knock.

"Yes?" the woman asked.

"Hi, we are looking for Edgar," Ruth stated evenly.

"Edgar isn't here," the woman replied. She seemed concerned but not panicky. "What do you want with Edgar."

"Are you Mrs Stokes?" I asked.

"I'm Edger's sister," she replied.

"Does Edgar live with you?" I asked.

"No, Edgar lives in his own cabin. What is it you want with Edgar?" she asked.

"We would really prefer to discuss it with Edgar. It's a private matter." Ruth suggested.

"Well I don't know when he will be back," the sister informed us.

"Well then how do we get to his cabin?" I asked.

"I don't think I should tell you that," she replied cautiously.

"Lady, I'm a cop," Ruth snapped. "Now where does you brother live."

"I want to see your badge," the sister demanded.

Ruth showed it to her. While she did I said, "Ma'am we need to talk to Edgar because he sold a painting to a woman in Wilmington last week. The woman was later killed. We are trying to determine what time she bought the painting. That is the only reason we need to talk to Edgar."

"Well why didn't you say so. There was no need to be so secretive about that." she stated angrily. She had been looking hard at Ruth while she said it.

"I'm sorry we just don't like to say to much. You know you might have been Edger's wife and didn't know where he was last weekend," I said it with a large grin.

"Edgar isn't married and he wouldn't lie even if he were. Edgar is a real Christian man." she informed me more kindly.

"Since he is such a fine man, there is no reason for you not to give us directions to his house," it was Ruth who said it.

"No reason at all," she replied looking at me. Just take the little farm road at the end of my drive. It winds around about half a mile until you come to a little cabin on the right. It is real small."

"Thank you ma'am," I replied. Any idea when he will be home?"

Her look made it clear that she wasn't giving the information to Ruth. "Edgar should be home sometime after midnight."

"Why so late," Ruth asked.

"He is doing a show in Charlotte. If he closes the show at five, he won't make it home until after midnight." she said still looking directly into my eyes.

"When you see him in the morning, tell him we'll be by around lunch," I suggested. Ruth didn't argue with me at all. That was to her credit.

We were in the car and half a mile away when Ruth asked, "Are we really going to wait until noon tomorrow to talk to Edgar?"

"No but if he calls home, I want it to sound like a minor thing. I gave her enough B S, so that maybe she won't put him on alert.

"In the meantime what do we do?" Ruth asked.

"Go back to the truck stop and drink lots of bad coffee. Did you ever check to see if Edger had a record?" I asked it as an after thought.

"Yeah, he is as clean as an eagle scout," she suggested. "Instead of bad coffee how about a picnic we have more than enough time for one."

"That and about anything else you can think of," I agreed.

"Did that mean you would do anything I wanted?" she asked.

"That depends on what you want." I answered.

"First the picnic, then we will see what else I can come up with," she suggested with an evil glint in her eye.

"The only restaurant in town was a fried chicken joint so we had that for our picnic. After the rather uninspired lunch we went to an afternoon movie. The theater itself was old and the movie was too. I shouldn't make it sound like it was from the thirties as the theater was. The movie was no more than six months old, but even in those days it had hit pay per view.

After the movie we finally made it to the truck stop for a couple of hours of bad coffee. The waitress tried to engage us in conversation, but it was no use. Ruth was in no mood to talk to anyone except me. When she spoke to me it was in a shaky voice. She was concerned about her future. If Edgar wasn't the killer her future looked pretty bleak. She had pretty much burnt her bridges with the politically motivated chief. The more she talked the more her anxiety built. By eleven thirty she could contain herself no longer. I was forced to follow her to the car. I did convince her to allow me to buy four large cups of coffee. They would be cold in a short order but it didn't matter. The caffeine was the appeal, not the taste or heat.

Ruth parked on the road leading to the Stokes drive. The sister would surely notice us pull through her drive but maybe not our being parked on the road within sight of it. Three hours in a stakeout car is a long time. Especially if you have spent the whole day with the second person. We had already discussed everything of interest. By three we had both grown quiet. I had to look at her face in the dark to determine that she hadn't fallen asleep.

At three fourteen Edgar Stokes arrived. His new Ford pickup truck passed us then pulled into the drive. Ruth pulled slowly forward without her lights, so that we could watch the truck's lights move through the field then disappear in the woods behind it.

Ruth pulled as quietly as possible into the drive. She drove slowly since she was trying to make it down the farm road without her lights. She almost got stuck a couple of times but managed to make it without the lights. Fortunately the road broke through the trees a pretty good distance from the cabin. It didn't matter the noise of her engine in the still night air gave us away.

Edgar was waiting with a shotgun. Ruth showed him her badge from several yards away. I had moved so that Edgar couldn't get us both at the same time. One of us should have a chance to avenge the other.

Edgar put down the shotgun before he asked, "What the hell you doing sneaking around this time of the night?"

"Because you just got home," Ruth replied.

"Why are you here anyway. I haven't done anything." he replied.

"Why don't we talk about it inside where there is some light," Ruth suggested.

"Sure, let me finish unpacking the truck," he countered. "Why don't you two go on in and wait?"

"I think we will just stay here with you," Ruth said.

"Sure but you don't have to. I'm not going to run away or anything." Edgar said.

I went into the cabin leaving the two of them outside in the warm night air. The cabin was one large box car shaped room. It was divided into areas by the furniture groups. Obviously quite a bit of the cabin was taken by Edger's occupation or hobby which ever it was.

I snooped about quickly but found nothing of interest. Of course I didn't really expect to find anything incriminating in the cabin. Only a complete fool would leave anything lying about. I found a shelf in his living area filled with magazines. It would have been better if they had been porno, but they were just art show rags. I could imagine the appeal they would have to Edgar. They contained the locations and details of art shows in the southeast area. No matter how hard I looked there was just nothing to indicate that Edgar was someone who could stab a woman forty or so times.

Edgar came through the door with a load of paintings. It was his second load of painting along with a couple of loads of stands. "Would you guys like a cup of tea before we begin?" he asked.

"None for me thanks," I replied. Ruth just shook her head.

"Okay," he said moving to the kitchen area. He filled the tea pot with water from a slow running tape. He put it on the stove before he turned his attention to Ruth. "So, what is it I can do for the Holden Beach police?"

"You were in Holden Beach Friday night a week ago weren't you?" she asked.

"I know I was in Wilmington, then somewhere south of there. It could have been Holden Beach, Why?"

"Have you ever seen this woman?" Ruth asked handing him a picture we had taken from her Kate's house.

"Sure that's Kate Peterson." It took him a second to get his mind in gear. "Has something happened to her?"

Ruth might not, but I knew he was for real. At five six or seven and thin as a corpse, he just didn't look like someone who could murder a woman, even if the woman were his own size. Edgar actually looked too gentle to harm anyone. He even looked so gentle, I had to wonder if he could have been the source of Mrs. Peterson's moans."

"What do you know about Kate Peterson?" Ruth asked.

"Come on, surely she isn't saying anything about me. Hell it was her idea." he said angrily.

"What was her idea?" Ruth asked.

"My meeting her in that dump on the beach. She thought it was great fun to 'slum'. That's how she put it anyway."

Ruth winked at me when he said slum. "So what happened at your meeting?" Ruth continued.

"I met her at midnight what do you think happened?"

"You tell me, I'm not good at guessing games," Ruth demanded.