Small town police chief calls on his friend at a local university to help solve a perplexing series of apparently random murders.
Ellen was discouraged. At 10:30 P.M., she droopily entered the “Always Inn” diner. She had been in and out of stores and offices all evening, talking with anyone who might possibly have seen someone resembling the police composite drawing that she carried. She had saved the diner for last, in no small part because she had anticipated that she would be ready for coffee and a sandwich by the time she had covered her area.
She was glad that Shea had insisted she finish her work before 11:00 that evening. As the businesses closed, the street began to take on a lonely aspect that made her uncomfortable, bearing in mind the grim reason for the task. Debra Williams was no longer someone remote, like a stranger one might read about in the newspaper. She had become a flesh and blood woman whom someone else had brutally murdered.
During the briefing that had been given at Police Headquarters, Ellen had learned that Debra Williams had grown up in Chicago, and had lived for many years in the shadow of the notorious Robert Taylor Homes project, and that she had been a hard working student. Despite the difficulties imposed by low income, the ever-present danger of the ghetto streets, and the obstacles that minority group status presented to upward mobility, she had excelled in school, encouraged by parents who were able to give her love, but not money. Debra had taken additional secretarial training beyond high school, and had gone to work for the fledgling Midwest Cryogenics Research Laboratory. She had progressed with the company when it expanded dramatically as a result of its involvement in alternative energy research. Then, when the company had been forced to seek larger quarters and decided to relocate to Lackenby, Debra Williams was one of the employees who had been asked to relocate with the c
ompany. She had gladly accepted because the company had offered to pay for her tuition in a management degree program at State Line University. The young company had recognized her potential and chosen to encourage her growth. And it had all come to an end one tragic evening a few short weeks ago with her brutal murder.
Ellen was depressed and edgy. The fear that the killer might strike again at any time had begun to wear on her. Wearily, she decided to take a booth, rather than sit at a counter in the deserted diner. She felt that sitting at the counter would require her to become involved in conversation with any others who wandered into the diner, or with the staff, which included a waitress and a cook. There appeared to be no one else in the diner, although she couldn’t see very much of the kitchen.
Ellen draped her still dripping poncho on the seat next to her. The predicted thunderstorm had been a brief, but violent, thing. Her shoes were soaked, and her slacks were still damp enough to make her uncomfortable. Worse, the storm had not lowered the humidity. If anything, it had become worse since the storm passed through. Even the parts of Ellen that had been protected from the rain had become damp from perspiration. So, Ellen felt miserable, and she welcomed the relatively dry atmosphere of the air-conditioned diner.
Ellen had become particularly upset during the storm when, for a period of approximately twenty minutes, all the lights had been knocked out by lightning. She had huddled in a darkened doorway for the entire period, shrinking a little deeper into the darkness each time she heard someone approach. The darkness of the streets, and the sudden feeling of complete isolation, had served to conjure up images of a cloaked “Jack-the-Ripper” stalking her in the intense darkness. Each time the thunder clapped, she prayed that no nearby flash of lightning would illuminate her hiding place.
It was during that anxious period that Ellen realized that she was afraid that she, herself, might become a victim of the Ripper-killer. Although she tried to convince herself that it was extremely improbable, she couldn’t shake the fear completely, and it was with a deep sense of relief that she welcomed the return of the neighborhood power when the lights came back on, permitting her to resume her work.
Ellen was so discouraged by the time she reached the “Always Inn” diner that she didn’t even ask the waitress, whose name tag identified her as “Sara Mitchell,” to look at the drawing when she came to take Ellen’s order.
“Hi, Hon’,” the waitress greeted her cheerfully, “it’s a good thing you had rain gear tonight — did you get caught in the big downpour?”
“I sure did, ” Ellen answered glumly, “My shoes feel like sponges, and wearing this poncho was like being in a steam cabinet!”
Ellen ordered coffee and a sandwich. Then, she set the notebook in which she had protected the composite drawing on the table next to her. She resisted opening it. She felt that she should be making some kind of record of her experience, but she was too discouraged to try. While she knew that it had been in the realm of pure fantasy to think that she and her teammates might turn up something important where the police hadn’t, Ellen had entertained that hope. But how deeply she had held it she didn’t realize until the full power of disappointment fell on her there in the diner, at the end of her assignment. She felt so bitterly defeated that she was close to tears when the waitress returned with her sandwich and coffee.
Ellen’s face clearly showed her feelings, moving the waitress to ask, “What’s wrong, honey? You look like you just lost your best friend.” Then, she muttered, “Oh, oh, there goes the Midnight Flyer…” and, in a louder voice, she called out to the departing cook, “Don’t leave me alone too long, Louie — some handsome devil might just steal me away from here…”
The man addressed as Louie waved a hand and, without turning around, retorted, “Never!” As he opened the door, he added, “But I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Sara Mitchell muttered, “You keep on slipping off to the gin mill every night and your partners are going to make you sell out, you dummy!” Then, she turned her attention back to Ellen, and it didn’t take her long to get Ellen talking about the reason for her mood. From there, it was but a short step to the showing of the drawing.
“Hey, I’ve seen this guy!” the waitress exclaimed, examining the composite closely. Then, as the possible significance of the situation registered on her, she asked, “Why are you looking for him? Is he in some kind of trouble?”
Read more about Degrees of Murder and Kevin P. Murphy HERE.
Copyright 2008 Kevin P. Murphy. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.
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