The Homeless Murders

By Bert Brun

Ed Harmens, co-owner with his wife, Meg Yarmouth, of a Seattle bed and breakfast, while jogging comes across a murdered homeless man in a local Park. They meet SPD detective Roosevelt Brown and become involved in the investigation. Two additional murders occur and, as the trail to the surprising killer narrows, Meg is kidnapped. Ed and Brown rescue her just in time to apprehend the murderer and prevent her grisly torture.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bert Brun
• Release date: Feb 2, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476473123

Bert Brun

Retired oceanographer. Also worked as a high school teacher, rubber plantation inspector in Sumatra, and fisheries administrator in New Zealand. Bachelor and master degrees in science from New York state universities. First got the writing bug while in college and have published eight books in last 10 years plus three plays produced. Lived in eight states, most recently in Alabama, with wife Ann, four dogs and seven cats.

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Homeless Murders By Bert Brun

Smashwords Edition Copyright © 2012 by Bert Brun

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Chapter 1

I gently eased the door shut, not wanting to disturb the sleeping bed and breakfast guests.

At the corner of John and l3th, an early Seattle Metro reticulated bus blocked the crossing for the moment. A couple amused faces at the bus window watched as this tall, lanky guy with thinning gray hair began jogging in place. I moved my knees up and down, hoping to get the old joints and muscles cooperating.

Six A.M.? they seemed to shout, You gotta be kidding!

Up the hill to the right the sun attempted to pierce the morning fog behind the Group Health Hospital at the top. I jogged slowly at first, northward on l3th East, heading toward Volunteer Park. My mind lazily went over the breakfast menu Meg and I had agreed upon.

When I returned from my run and had showered, it would be my turn to prepare the morning's meal. I entered the crooked part of l3th East that I liked, past the little place with an oriental roof and the brace of neat stucco cottages to its west and the big white art deco place across the street, then I zipped across the little jog in l3th at Aloha and then up the last curving block coming up to the park. I had barely got inside when I saw the bum, lying under a rhody bush. Nothing new about that, I thought until I noticed the red smear across his dirty gray sweatshirt. I detoured over, not wanting to lose my pace, but with a sudden funny knot in my gut. I got close enough to make out a typical enough face for these guys, forty-ish, bearded, with a wool hat atop his bushy hair. Then I saw the blood on the unmoving chest.

Holy shit, I thought, This guy is dead!

The odd part was that there was only the stain, no other visible marks on the sweatshirt, like a gun or knife wound. Off to one side of the body was a knapsack that he might have been using as a pillow. I looked around; a big jolt of adrenalin had kicked into my blood stream. Nothing. Too early for much traffic. In a few moments there'd doubtless be a car coming up or down Prospect Street and maybe I'd be able to flag it down. On the other hand if I raced back home, I could call the police within five minutes, then gulp down a big belt of scotch. Nothing could be done for this poor devil right now.

The word murder seemed to put a little zip into the response at the l2th Street Seattle Police District office. In a moment, I was talking with Homicide Detective Roosevelt Brown

Yes, Mr. Harmens, you did the right thing. I'll get a car dispatched out to the scene soon as I hang up. I'm on days this week, but I came in a little early to catch up this goddamn paperwork. Any chance I could come see you in the next hour? Maybe go over to the scene with you for a little bit?

Oh...yeah, I guess so. I can get my wife to do the breakfast.

Do the breakfast?

Uh-huh. We run a bed and breakfast at l3th and John.

Think I've seen the place. In about twenty minutes then?

Ok. I'll be looking for you. Still a little early for the guests, so I'll come out.

That would be fine. I'm not a uniformed cop by the way, and I drive an unmarked car.

Good. See you soon. Smart cop it seemed. Knew I might be thinking about the effect on business. All this meant going downstairs and rousting Meg from her sleep, not always an easy matter. The little beauty was sleeping in the raw, as usual. One tantalizing breast had snuck outside the cover.

What...what time is it? She opened gorgeous brown eyes reluctantly.

About 6:30, I kissed her, a longer than usual workaday morning kiss, and she came to life.

Mm, she murmured. Special kiss this morning. She sat up against her big pillow, her long dark hair cascading down to her bare breasts.

More special morning than you know. Sorry babe, you’ll have to do the breakfast.

What's the matter?

"Found a corpse in the Park this morning while I was running.

A bum apparently murdered. Cops are coming by in a few minutes and talk to me at the scene."

What? Oh my heavens! That's terrible!

Yeah. Especially for the bum. Bled to death I guess. Or maybe his heart suddenly stopped pumping. Sorry to start you off this way.

No, it's o.k. All right, let me go up and at least start your coffee for you.

Thanks, love. Here give me another kiss...poor baby, she whispered, having to discover that unlucky man.

Yeah. No fun at all. Well, let me get upstairs and get a slice of toast or something before the cop comes. Detective Brown is the name. Roosevelt Brown.

Think he's black?

Maybe. Probably. Doesn't matter. Anyway, he's tactful enough to think about our guests not needing to know, too.

Good. See you later, babe. Oh, you can let the kitties down.

I opened the door to the back porch where the two tortoiseshells slept at night. Kali was complaining as usual. She bounded down the stairs to the basement apartment, followed by the more cautious but always sneaky Kate. By the time I saw Brown's car stop tentatively outside the house, the big coffee urn in the kitchen was just entering its volcanic final belches. I had already slugged down a glass of juice and piece of toast. I went outside, still clad in my running clothes. A large black face covered my trot to the car with interest, and a ham-sized hand was offered through the open window.

You must be Mr. Harmens, he said in a rumbling bass voice. Get in over here. He indicated the passenger seat.

And you're Detective Brown. Call me Ed, o.k.? O.K. And just in case you didn't get time for some coffee, I got a second container at the Seven Eleven on Madison on the way over. If you don't want it, I'll drink it later.

Another addict. Much obliged. I snapped off the drink cover and inhaled – not the greatest quality, but the jolt would be there,-and took a sip.

Yep. I must drink close to ten cups of this rotgut a day. At the precinct I keep some better stuff than this.

This is fine. What do you want to know, I asked, as he eased across the same intersection where I had started jogging only forty minutes ago.

Gonna need some personal stuff for the paperwork later. Right now just tell me a little about finding the body.

Brown eased the car around the little intersection island at East l3th and Thomas. The Space Needle could be seen through the windows on his side of the car. The lights at the top were suddenly extinguished, as if to say, the new day is official. l3th and Prospect, right? asked Brown as the car headed north, pausing for each of the steep cross streets careening down Capitol Hill's west side.

It took less than five minutes to get to the Park. A uniformed officer was there. Brown drove his car up over the curb and onto the sloping grassy hill, parking next to two squad cars. A blanket was over the victim, and a second cop was shooing curious early morning walkers or runners away.

Hello Detective, the cop by the body said, on seeing Brown get out.

Now that Brown had levered himself out of the car, I appreciated how really big he was. Easy six four I figured, only an inch more than me, but add about sixty pounds to my l80. Morning Larry, Forensic folks coming up?

Yup. Said they'd try to get here by seven. Five or ten minutes now.

That's fine. Let's have a look. Oh, this is Mr. Harmens. He discovered the body, called the station.

I nodded at the uniformed cop. I felt torn between shrinking away this time and getting another look.

Brown had squatted to get a close look at the body. Hm, he grunted. What in the hell caused the bleeding, I wonder...don't want to roll this poor sucker over to check an entry wound on the back till the Medical Examiner shows up.

He rose up, and I distinctly heard his knee bones crackle, just like mine. Football injuries, maybe? My knee symphonies were from skiing and volleyball (volleyball!). Brown was almost a classical pro linebacker type, or maybe tight end, before the current behemoths.

He turned to me and said, Now that we're here, can you give me some more details? He had produced a notebook and began writing in it.

Sure. I nodded.

Where did you enter the park? he asked me. Just over there, I gestured toward my right, below a row of sparse rhodies, where the park grass came right to the street side.

You came running, saw the figure on the ground and came over to him. See anyone else around at all?

No. A little too early. I usually don't, and I come this way three mornings a week if I can.

But this morning, nobody.

Right

Show me how you approached the body.

I jogged up and stopped when I saw the blood. I knelt down.

Touch him at all?

No. Just looked closely at his chest. I realized he was dead.

And then what?

Tried to figure out what to do. Decided to run home and call it into your station.

OK. Nice and simple. We'll get it down on paper later, and it would be nice if you'd sign that statement. Can you hold on a few more minutes and I'll get you back home?

Sure.

Brown went over a few things with the uniforms, and we were headed back down l3th before 7:25, by which time the police and forensic and medical people had arrived and fussed around and already removed the body. It was beginning to all seem more acceptable now somehow, procedural, thanks to all the violent garbage Id seen on TV. The shock of seeing a murdered man had almost worn off in less than two hours. If it hadn't been such a short drive, it might have been interesting to start a discussion with Brown about this. However, quickly, we were backing home.

Meg, who always seemed to know when I neared the house, opened the door and quickly came out. In her hand she had a cup and something else that was covered. She came around to the driver's side. Hi, I'm Meg, Ed's wife, as you must have guessed. You're Detective Brown, I know. I just thought you might like this coffee and raisin bran muffin fresh out of the oven.

A delighted gleam came into the big black man's eyes. My--oh--my, he chuckled, us cops don't often get this kind of reception. Much obliged, Miz Harmens.

Oh no, it's Ms Browning, but that's all right. She flashed her wicked feminist smile at Brown. We are nice and married legally though.

Brown had already sniffed the muffin hungrily and started to remove the paper cup around it.Mm-mm! Good muffin, Ma'am. You folks doing all right with this business?

Yep, going great guns, I put in. I got an early out retirement last year, which evened up the work load on Meg. We started three years ago.

You kind of young to be retired? Brown munched large bites quickly, Pac-manning at away the defenseless muffin.

Fifty one. My agency was cutting back. I was more than ready. Twenty five years of bureaucracy will fry your brain.

Know what you're talking about. Speaking of which, I got a date with some paperwork back at the station. Think you could come down in a couple of hours?

Sure, give me a call. Hope you guys can do something with this.

Not real promising. Perpetrator could be anybody. Another homeless, anybody. We'll get some ID for him, hopefully, and go from there. Hey, I got to go. Thanks again, now.

We stood together in front of the gate of the Prince Edward, our B and B, and watched the car cruise on down 13th.

Nice man, said Meg. Let's go in or are you going to run? "

No. I'll just pick up where you are with the breakfast.

Uh-uh. I'm too far along. Get a shower and some coffee and eat with the guests later, why don't you. You can do it all tomorrow.

Meg was a stickler for sharing the load. Fair enough by me.

Chapter 2

I walked down the hill to the police station at Twelfth and Pine. This was the great thing about Capitol Hill, you could walk everywhere, whether it was to the restaurants and shops on 15th or Broadway, the library at Harvard and Republican or whatever.Seattle Police Department, East Precinct read the sign over the doorway. The two story building with its pain’ted gray brick walls and brown flower boxes, hanging like wattles under large plate glass windows, had always puzzled me. The front desk resembled a small hotel lobby. There never seemed to be much going on there either, but if you read the Police Beat column in the Capitol Times, the local community weekly, you'd know differently .Brown's desk was on the second floor. He was surrounded by stacks of paper. I felt sorry for the guy, remembering the nightmare stacks and document stuffed cabinets from my own bureaucratic days. Brr! Was I glad I was rid of that. If there was anything a federal agency did well, it was to generate paper and then lots of stupid, useless rules to handle it.

Sit down, Ed, he said, gesturing to a chair beside the battered wooden desk. Lessee now. Here's a reconstruction of what you told me earlier this morning. You want to look it over? Brown was all business. I did so.

Looks accurate to me, I said.

That’s fine. Just a couple other things-your occupation. You want retired or business owner?

Now that I share all the work, I guess it'd be owner, with my wife.

And the name of your place again?

Prince Edward. Seemed Victorian somehow. Place was built in 1903. The Edward part is from the crown prince son of Queen Victoria.

Yeah. I see that. What's your phone number there?

I pulled out one of our cards. Number's right there, 259-9896.

Brown looked the card over. Mind if I keep this?I shook my head. The Prince Edward, he read. A turn of the century bed and breakfast. The charming, convenient and inexpensive alternative, when you're next in Seattle

What's the matter?

Oh nothing. I just never stayed at a bed and breakfast. Don't know anything about 'em.

Come by some time, and we'll show you around. We've got great views. You could have some coffee and another muffin or two with us. We're big on muffins, got five or six kinds we make.

Brown's face lit up, exactly the same big smile he had produced when he engulfed Meg's bran muffin.

All right! he said.

I could see that this man enjoyed food. I signed the statement he'd produced for me, and we wrapped up our business.

Brown handed me his card.Give me a call if you remember anything else.

Okay, I said, getting up. Detective Brown? His eyebrows rose quizzically."Could you let me know if anything important turns up? I feel kind of connected to this poor guy in some weird way. I never found