Mrs. Winslow's Daughter

"Mr. Taft you are a simple man, I know. I want you to watch what a pissed off old lady can do." She lifted the phone from its cradle. Again she dialed several numbers. "This is Nora Winslow, is Mike home?"

She waited a few minutes then said, "Mike I don't have time for your ass kissing right now. I need the name of that research firm we used on the Billings thing. I know it is after work, but you can get it for me." She waited and listened. "Mike, I have a man here who is trying to help me find Robin's killer. We need that name now." She said it calmly but there was a threat in it.

"Okay, you call me back no matter what time it is," she said. She turned to me, "Mike is going to the office for the name. It will take about an hour."

"Those people are going to have a hard time getting all that information without cops to press the gun store's buttons," I suggested.

"Don't you read the papers?" she asked. She went on without an answer. "All sales of handguns are now on a computer somewhere or other. It's a requirement of the Brady Bill."

"But those files are kept by the department of justice," I replied knowing at least a little.

"They are," she agreed without any concern whatsoever.

The call came an hour later. While she spoke to Mike, she wrote a long list of numbers then a phone number. She switched the call to the speaker phone so that I could hear.

"Electronic research," the metallic computer voice answered. Mrs. Winslow began punching in the numbers Mike had given her.

After a few transfer clicks, a man's voice came on the phone. "Mrs. Winslow, how very nice to hear from you again. I read in the papers that the Billings thing worked out well for you."

"It did, I have another task for you."

"The same type things as last time?" he asked.

"Not exactly, I need to know, Hold on a minute. She turned to me after killing the speaker. "What do I need to know?"

"The names and addresses of everyone who purchased a .380 automatic pistol in either North Carolina, South Carolina or Virginia, in the last year," I suggested.

She turned back to the phone, then repeated the information to the man on the other end of the line. "How soon do you need this?" he asked.

She turned to me. "Three days, " I replied.

She again relayed the information. They agreed on a figure that was staggering to me. When she finished the call I said, "Don't ever talk about how much you are paying me again. Between this and the dive crew, I am going to be your least expensive employee."

"I hope you are going to be the best investment I ever made," she said.

"That remains to be seen. I may be wasting your money," I said feeling a little guilty.

"Mr. Taft, for the first time in six months, I feel that I am doing something. Win or loose it is worth every penny," she said.

"If that's the way you feel, I promise you this. If we don't figure this out, it won't be for lack of trying." I made the promise while getting into it myself.

I stopped making promises and turned to the dozen unread pages. The first and only one of interest was a report filed by the SI. The lab's investigator had written that the detectives seemed less than enthusiastic about pursuing the case. In his mind at least, they decided instantly that it was a sex crime. Those kinds of crimes when committed randomly have an almost zero chance of being solved with hard police work. It they ever get solved it is because the culprit gets caught in the act. Or more likely, a victim survives to identify him. Their attitude seemed to be, wait until we get him on something else and he will cop to this one.

The balance of the pages were a rehash and update after four months. It was the report which a new investigator would read when working a case that had been put on the rear burner. It was simply there for reference in case a similar crime occurred. One hopefully with a valid suspect, nobody seemed to want to fool around with a whodunit without a witness. I gave up after an hour of reading with no new information.

I had gotten so used to the cold cabin, that I had a hard time sleeping in the warm house. I did manage to sleep some, but it was only in short bursts. I awoke early, then used the warm bathroom for all my morning things. I had to admit that it was nice to shower first thing and in a warm room.

When I arrived in the kitchen, Mrs. Winslow was sitting at the table over a dirty plate and a coffee cup. "What would you like for breakfast, I can just about cook an egg," she replied with a smile. Her smile was much warmer than the one from the day before.

"To tell you the truth, I don't get to town much. I was kind of hoping to get a biscuit from one of the fast food restaurants," I admitted. I saw the curious look on her face. "It's kind of a nostalgia thing. I would like a cup of coffee though."

I drank the coffee while I worked on the morning paper. Nothing of any real consequence had happened over night. Since I hadn't seen a paper in more than a week, nothing had happened in the last week.

After the coffee, we drove to a local dive shop. It was actually part of a sporting goods store. The dive club president worked at the store. I explained what I wanted done. He and his group were up to it, he assured me. He named a per day, per diver, fee to which Mrs. Winslow immediately agreed.

"There is very little current in that lake. If a pistol was tossed in, it is likely to be close to where it landed," he assured us. He also knew the location of the murder scene. He explained that he dived in that lake often so the description in the paper was familiar to him. He had never thought of diving there for a pistol. I was a little surprised that the cops hadn't had divers in the waters near the site of the murder.

Mrs. Winslow and I drove to the coroner's office in the basement of the Greenpoint Hospital. Doctor Shell was such a nice sympathetic man that the Winslow juice wasn't necessary. He and I poured over the pictures. In the end he agreed that the clothes were torn after Robin's death. Why neither of us knew for sure.

"Now what?" Mrs. Winslow asked as we walked to her fire bird.

"Now we go somewhere to have a cup of coffee. While we drink our coffee, you tell me all you have learned about the no good bastard." I replied.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Mrs. Winslow, you are not the kind of woman to have allowed your daughter to marry without a background check on the prospective son-in-law. I also imagine you have had him checked out since the murder." She didn't even bother trying to deny it.

"Okay, I admit I have a couple of reports on Tony," she said dropping the no good bastard phrase.

"So let's get to a place with a coffee pot while you tell me," I suggested.

The place turned out to be one of those restaurant with cute little tablecloths and flowers everywhere. The coffee at least was adequate, if a little weak.

"When Robin met Tony, she was in college. At that time, Tony was a year ahead of her. She dropped out when he graduated. They married just as soon as I got him a job. I wouldn't have him in my company, so I found one of our suppliers to take him. I have been told that he is less than a hard worker. That is why his staying at the office on a Friday night bothers me."

"Does he still work at the same company?" I asked.

"Yes and he will until he gets the insurance money," Mrs. Winslow said bitterly.

I made a note to talk to his boss. I was forced to use a napkin for the note. It wasn't even all that unusual, I had done it often before while still a cop.

"So did your man come up with any girlfriends?" I asked.

"Plenty when he was in college, even one while they were dating. He could find nothing after he and Robin married. Why should he fool around, he would be risking everything?"

"Why would the president of the United States fool around? Some men just can't help themselves." I commented.

"He seems to have been a good boy after the wedding. My man checked carefully," she replied.

"No offense but Tony may have been more careful." I suggested. "He did have a lot at stake."

"I know but Matt would have found out if he was fooling around even after Robin's death," she said.

"Did anyone check his bank records?" I asked.

"I suppose the police did," she suggested.

"I doubt it, they had no probable cause for a warrant," I informed her. The suggestion was like a light going off in her head. I stopped her from calling the bank by informing her that the bank couldn't release that information under penalty of law.

Instead of calling the bank she called Electronic Research again. I finally knew for sure, Electronic Research was a fancy name for some computer hacker or hackers. It made no difference to me. Live and let live, was one of my many mottoes.

I waved to get her attention, "While you are at it get his credit card purchases for the last year."

When she shut off the phone, she asked brightly, "So what else can we do today?"

"We can talk to the detectives who investigated this case. Maybe you can convince the chief of detectives to have their notebooks copied for us."

An hour later we met Detective Riley in yet another restaurant. I was certainly getting a tour of all the restaurants in town. Winslow was actually very good during the interview, both with the coroner and Riley. She knew enough not to ask any questions. She allowed me to ask them all.

"So Riley, what happened to Robin?" I asked.

"She got herself killed," the moderately overweight woman said.

"Exactly what did she do to get herself killed?" I asked.

"You know that jogging is hazardous to your health," she replied with a grin. Either she didn't know who Mrs. Winslow was or more likely she didn't care. She was a civil servant and fairly immune from political pressure. At least civil servants like to think so.

"Okay, then who do you think killed her?" I asked.

"If I had any idea, I would go out and arrest him," she said.

"Did you like the husband for it?" I asked.

"I liked him fine, but he had an air tight alibi," she admitted.

"How about a hired hit?" I asked.

"You watch too many TV shows in your retirement. It was an attempted rape gone bad," she said. "You saw the pictures."

I was sure Mrs. Winslow was biting her lip to keep from screaming at the woman. I knew because I was doing the same.

"I don't suppose you did a background on the husband, just to be sure?" I asked.

"Sure we did, he was squeaky clean," she replied.

After she left Winslow said, "No wonder they couldn't solve Robin's murder, they were looking in the wrong place. The no good bastard did it somehow."

"We don't know that, but it would be my guess at the moment. Let's just see how it shakes out before we draw any conclusions. We don't want to fall into the same trap as the cops."

We met with Edwards whose story was the same as Riley's. They had checked out Tony and every known sex offender in the area.

Winslow and I made the lab our last stop. The lab director was expecting us. He escorted us to a small room with a table in the middle. On it lay all the evidence from the crime scene. I didn't bother opening the envelopes with the slugs and shell casings. I did sort through the bags of clothing.

I noticed the portable tape player. I couldn't remember having seen it in any of the pictures of the body. I lifted the evidence tag, but it told me nothing.

"Is your scientific investigator who gathered this stuff working today?" I asked.

"He is on a call," the lab manager said.

"I have only two questions, could you get him on the phone?"

"I guess, what are your questions?"

"Where exactly was the tape player and what was the name of the tape in it," I asked.

"What possible difference could it make?" the lab manager asked.

"None probably, but I would like to know. Also did the husband identify the tape player as his wife's."

"That is three questions but okay," he said escorting us out of the evidence area.

When he returned from his private office he said, "The tape player was found on the path, and her husband identified it. The tape in it was a country and western tape of some kind. If you really need to know the name, Jake can look in his notes when he returns."

"If I need to know, I'll call back," I replied.

Once outside Winslow said, "That couldn't have been Robin's tape player. She hates country and western music. She told me it was too vulgar. She would have been listening to classical music."

"I expected that, not about the music, but I didn't think it was her player," I admitted.

"Why would you say that?" Winslow asked.

"You said Robin was a spoiled brat. That was some Chinese piece of crap tape player. I don't expect anyone like Robin would have been satisfied with anything less than a Sony or a disk player of some kind."

"If Tony identified it as hers, then it proves he had something to do with her murder," Mrs. Winslow said.

"It doesn't prove anything, since we can't prove it wasn't hers. Besides he will just say he was upset and mistaken."

"That no good bastard can't get away with this," she almost sobbed.

"Come on, we have only been at this a day. Give it some time. He may not get away with anything," I admitted.

"I am personally ready to call it a day." I suggested after a pause.

"Why it's only five thirty?" Mrs. Winslow asked.

"Because, I don't know what to do next," I admitted.

Back at the Winslow house, I reread the SI report. It did indeed place the tape player on the path. Further down in the report, I found that an attempt to print the tape player proved useless. There were no prints on either the tape player or the tape inside. The SI had been thorough in his failures.

After dinner, Mrs. Winslow wanted to talk over her evening drink. "Do you plan to talk to the no good bastard tomorrow?" she asked.

"I don't think so," I admitted.

"Why not?" she asked.

"We have his statement from the police. He isn't going to change his story. He has had six months to work on it. What we need is a direction to move. To get that we need information."

"I don't understand?" she admitted.

"If this was a planned murder, and I think it was, then somebody she knew planned it. You say it was Tony and I have no reason to doubt that at all. However, there has to be somewhere for us to begin proving it. All the background checks have been done by the police or your last investigator. Whoever did it knew your daughter and knew her well. We need to find out who she knew. The cops talked to her friends and came up blank, we need to use a different approach." I stated.

"So what's it to be?" she asked.

"We take the advice of every investigator since Watergate, we follow the money. When we get the bank records and the credit card records, we begin there. Those records should give us a pretty good idea of Tony and your daughter's habits. Even those nobody told the cops about."

"I don't understand?" she admitted.

"There will probably be a shop where your daughter bought her clothes, now Tony probably had no idea where she shopped. The cops sure as hell didn't ask the clerks if they knew anything, but we can."

"You are hoping that something from the credit card purchases will tell us something?" she asked skeptically.

"Maybe, or maybe Tony withdrew a couple of grand from the bank around the time of your daughter's death."

Maybe I need to speed up our little research firm?" she suggested.

"The sooner the better," I replied.

She made the call then without another word went to her home computer. Not five minutes later the phone rang again. The computer answered it. Ten minutes later it began vomiting out pages of paper. I sat in my chair marveling at what real money could do.

When I saw the first page, I knew that the research company had been worth whatever she paid them. The purchases were by date even though there were four different cards used. The research company had somehow merged all the cards into one giant list. I couldn't have asked for a better job.

The bank list was done similarly. Every transaction from either of the three bank accounts was listed by date. I began with the bank records. There were no large withdrawals and few withdrawals on a regular basis. The house payments, car payments, and utilities being the notable exceptions. I wasn't too disappointed, since I hadn't expected it to be that easy.

In the credit card list, I found weekly purchases from two different gas stations. It appeared that husband and wife used different brands of gasoline. I also found that one or the other of them belonged to a gym, most likely Robin. I found the name of a small boutique listed several times over the last year. I put it on my list of places to visit.

I noticed a regular charge to the account only on one card and only at a restaurant on the interstate. The restaurant wasn't near anything. The charge was for a hefty fifty bucks twice a week. A lot for me to spend for a meal but probably not too much for Tony or Robin. I wrote the address anyway. I wanted a list of anything either of them did on a regular basis. When the list was finished, I had two retail stores, the restaurant, gas stations, and the gym.

Mrs. Winslow had been reading the pages as I finished them. She checked the bank records and the credit card list a second time while I watched. I could tell she was looking for something.

"What's wrong, Mrs. Winslow?" I asked.

"There is no beauty shop on either of these lists. Every woman goes to the beauty shop."

I might never have thought of that myself. It did seem peculiar. "Why in hell would your daughter put gas on a card, then pay a beauty shop in cash?" I asked.

"She wouldn't without a damned good reason. My daughter loved credit cards."

"Do you happen to know where she had her hair done?" I asked.

"No, she and I didn't talk much after she married the no good bastard," she admitted sadly.

"Do you have any idea who might know?" I asked.

"Her only girl friend was a neighbor. The woman three doors down," she suggested.

"Let's go talk to her first, then we will work on the shops," I suggested.

Laura Duffy was the neighbor and only close friend. We spent almost half an hour with her. She gave us the name of the woman who did both Robin's and her own hair. The story was simple as is usually the case. The woman had been doing Laura's hair for years. The beautician became pregnant and had to quit work at the fancy shop. The woman's husband had built her a small shop at home. She continued to work a few hours a day for her favorite clients In an emergency Robin had used her once. She had continued since she found the woman competent and pleasant to be around. According to Laura, she also loved the woman's baby. Robin would often stay after her appointment to play with the child. The cash was simple, the new mother was trying to beat the IRS. We had to reassure Laura at least ten times that we weren't going to report her friend. She actually seemed more concerned with the woman's availability to work on her hair than any potential legal problems for the beautician.

"You know, women talk to their beauticians, maybe we should see this woman next," Mrs. Winslow suggested.

"That actually sounds like a good idea," I admitted.

The woman's name was Jean Davis, she was a very attractive thirty something woman. She had beautiful blonde hair. I would have expected no less. She seemed to be carrying a little extra weight, from the baby most likely.

I made a large point of introducing Robin's mother before I began asking questions. "Miss Davis, we are having a bit of trouble pinning down exactly how Robin spent her days. Could you help us with that?" I tried to start off easy.

"Jean, please call me Jean. Actually I don't know a lot about Robin, except that she loved children. She sometimes spent an extra hour playing with Mikey." Mike sat in a fishnet playpen in the middle of her small shop's floor.