Sand Bluff Murders

By C.M. Albrecht

Sleepy Sand Bluff hasn't had a murder in twenty years. That's about to change!"

When Jonas McCleary gets the opportunity to join the force in sleepy Sand Bluff, he jumps at it. A cushy job in a little town where nothing ever happens. He can relax and enjoy life, and since Jonas is getting onto thirty, he’s hoping with a little luck, to meet Miss Right. But on his third day in Sand Bluff, another

• Language: English
• Publisher: Write Words Inc.
• Release date: Jun 7, 2013
• ISBN: 9781613861257

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The Sand Bluff Murders

by

C.M. Albrecht

Published by Write Words Inc. at Smashwords

copyright 2012 C.M. Albrecht

Publishers Note: This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of the book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Author or Publisher, excepting brief quotes to be used in reviews.

WARNING: Making copies or distributing this file, either on disk, CD, or over the Internet is a Federal Offense under the U.S. Copyright Act, and a violation of several International Trade Agreements.

"Human nature is much the same in a village as anywhere else, only one has opportunities and leisure for seeing it at closer quarters."

-Jane Marple

Chapter 1

The Body in the Alley

My name is Jonas McCleary. When I came to Sand Bluff I was just thirty so I still hoped to have a future.

A few years earlier I saw an opportunity to become a police officer in a small northern California city.

I get a kick out of the tests all these officious agencies give out. A written test has next to nothing to do with the real-life job you’re seeking. Worse, some people who are possibly well suited to the job lose out because they’re simply terrible at taking written tests.

Luckily, for me, written tests come pretty easy and I breeze through them without much difficulty at all.

Out of about fifty applicants, I came in second and the guy who came in first was well over forty. Someone there told me a man his age didn’t stand a chance because within a year he’d be out on workman’s comp or going on disability.

Next came the physical. I’ve always been on the lean side—well, make that practically skinny—and I was just short of making the weight. The doctor, kindly soul that he was, told me to go out and drink all the water I could hold and then come back. I did, and just made the weight. Then I went to the rest room and peed for five minutes straight. After that came the police academy where I learned why police officers never hit what they’re aiming at.

Being a cop isn’t bad. Most people give you respect, at least to your face. You often get free coffee and occasional other perks that can be considered legitimate. Women seem to admire a man in a uniform.

Mostly my work was small stuff; arresting drunks, breaking up domestic fights, an occasional small drug bust. During my five years in the department no one ever hit me, I never hit anyone and God forbid I should ever draw my duty weapon. Bad as most of the other cops were, I was still the laughing stock of the pistol range.

When the opportunity to apply for a detective job in Sand Bluff came along, I decided to go for it. The thought of wearing plainclothes and playing detective sounded pretty good to me, and the pay would be a little better. I figured what could be so tough about working in a one-horse town like Sand Bluff? I even ordered a snappy dark gray fedora on line and a shoulder holster so I’d look like a real detective.

As usual, I flew through the written test and came out on top of some seven or eight applicants. Also as usual, I only guessed at most of the answers, but when you have three to choose from, and one is patently ridiculous, you end up with a fifty-fifty chance of guessing right. Add to that a bit of judicious thought and it isn’t so difficult.

That’s how I ended up being the Chief Detective (okay…the only detective), in Sand Bluff, California.

My third day on the job I got hit with the big one. Murder.

My boss, Chief Raymond Castillo, a short dark overweight man with the look of an eighth month pregnancy about him, called me into his little office. His thick black hair and mustache, both threaded with white impressed me. He had the look of a man who knew where he was going and what to do when he got there. He favored a silver belly western hat and big bone-handled forty-five Colt 1911 automatic worn at half-cock, which I thought was pretty flashy. It impressed me too.

Yes Chief, I said. You wanted to see me?

We got a serious problem here, son, he told me in his deep soft voice. He sat behind his old oak desk with the window behind him. Chiefs like that because it puts their faces more in the shadow. I think it gives them a feeling of being more in control or something, like wearing mirrored glasses.

I’m thinking: so we have a serious problem. In sleepy Sand Bluff. Okay, have a joke on the new guy. Story of my life.

I sat down on one of the straight chairs before his desk, prepared to listen to a windy account of some sort of misdemeanor. By this, my third day on the job, I was already familiar with Chief Castillo’s rambling fashion of talking.

Early this morning, he said, while you were still sleeping I’m sure, Officer Ackers, on night patrol, came across a corpse in the alley back of the Blu Lite Bar.

A corpse? I smiled. Like a dead body? Oh yeah! I was supposed to take this shit seriously? Only things people killed around Sand Bluff were lots of bottles of beer and the occasional careless cat that got in the way of a speeding pickup. I checked out the town’s reputation before I ever applied for the job. This was supposed to be a cool job with a badge, easy money and little authority in a small town where nothing ever happens—that’s what I signed on for. Okay, let him have his little joke. Maybe this was a sort of initiation or something.

While I sat and politely half-listened to the chief’s lengthy and involved story, a part of me considered what I knew of Officer Harold Ackers.

Harold Ackers was about twenty-five I think. Decent fellow who hadn’t been on the force more than a month before I came on. That’s why he was working the night shift. That’s where all the fresh meat starts in Sand Bluff—and in most other places I suspect. Being the town’s one and only detective, naturally I had what we nominally called a day watch, but in actuality, I’d be expected to work night and day if anything serious ever came up. At the time of my initial get-acquainted talk, I was thinking: like that’s ever going to happen.

I swallowed as Chief Castillo talked. I began to feel maybe he wasn’t joking after all. Okay, I’d go along with a body, but anyone can drop dead anyplace at just about any time. Maybe the decedent had a bad heart or something. So what? But I couched my remarks more professionally: Does Ackers know what happened?

Chief Castillo stroked his mustache and smiled grimly. Our Officer Ackers didn’t even know the guy was dead. Officer Ackers thought the stiff was just drunk. He dragged the body to his patrol car and brought him in to sober up. Chief Castillo splayed both dark hands on the desk. In doing so of course he totally fucked up the scene and manhandled the body, so I’d say you’ve got your work cut out for you.

My work? Are you saying this is a homicide?

"By God, you are sharp. I can see you’re going to make a good detective, son. Yes, when we get a body with two bullet holes in the back of his head, even here in Sand Bluff, we know it’s a homicide. The blood was pretty matted, so poor Ackers didn’t realize he had blood all over him till he got back here to the station."

I groaned. Evidently this wasn’t a joke after all. What a way to start a new job. A murder case on my third day! And the crime scene essentially destroyed before I could even look at it. My very first murder case and I didn’t have a clue. Working a murder was way out of my scope. I didn’t even know my way around yet, although considering the size of Sand Bluff, that part wouldn’t take long. But still…I almost told Chief Castillo not to be so hasty in his decision to call me a good detective. I mean passing a written test is one thing. This was going to be real.

Well, I thought, on the other hand I’m probably as good at this as anyone else in town. Maybe I’m the best they’ve got.

Okay, I said. Maybe first I should go talk to Ackers. Did he go home?

Chief Castillo nodded. Either that, or more likely, he’s down at Mattie’s eating baked doughnuts Yeah, go talk to Ackers.

I stood up to go.

I like your hat, Chief Castillo mentioned.

Thanks, I said. He probably thought his was better, but I wasn’t as cowboy as Chief Castillo. My hat was dark gray with a two-inch snap-brim. I tried to wear it cocked slightly to one side, but it didn’t want to stay that way.

I got Ackers’ address from Regina Montes, our receptionist. Regina was a very attractive, if slightly frumpy, brunette. She looked about twenty-five, but I had an idea she was older than that. Three kids and no husband. My understanding was that she lived with her mother who baby-sat the kids. I knew Regina was born in Sand Bluff but she still carried that faint trace of Old Mexico in her manner of talking. I thought it was very nice, actually. I also thought she liked my looks, but maybe she was just looking for a husband. The thought of marrying into three kids kind of jarred against my idea of Miss Right. But I’ll get to Miss Right in a jiffy.

Thanks Reggie, I said. She had already told me she didn’t like that name, but when I think I’m being clever I can be agonizingly perverse.

I could have used a city vehicle, but I liked my old seventy-two Chevy half ton with her four-speed tranny. She was old when I bought her, but that thing was a tank. She could handle just about anything. And the six-cylinder engine wasn’t too bad on gas either. I liked the old-fashioned bench seat. Very comfy when you get a girl in there.

Mattie’s Cafe was closer than Ackers’ apartment, so I stopped there first.

Against my better judgment I’d already tried Mattie’s baked doughnuts, but to each his own. She had some kind of handy tabletop machine, something like a waffle iron for doughnuts—made me think of an ‘As seen on TV’ product. Mattie’s place smelled strongly of frying onions. Didn’t matter whether you came in early or late, it always smelled of onions. The onion smell was a lot easier to deal with than the baked doughnuts.

Sure enough, there sat Ackers alongside Sand Bluff’s other cop, Carson Mohr. Mohr was a stocky dude with crew-cut blond hair and pale blue eyes. I don’t normally take a dislike to people until I give them a chance to mess up, but with Mohr I made an exception. There was just something about his attitude, the way he always stood in that ‘cop stance’, his superior ‘I’m in charge’ attitude and his belligerent way of getting a lot of insinuation into everything he said or did. I bet he even wore his mirrored sunglasses to bed at night. He was the kind that pulls over a car for a minor violation and demands, ‘When was the last time you were arrested?’

The cops sat there with their elbows on the pink Formica counter while a fair-skinned black woman named Subira entertained them with her sass. Subira looked to be twenty and I already had noticed there were always men sitting at the counter trying to look suave or whatever it is guys do when they want to impress a chick. Ackers and Mohr were no exception, but I couldn’t really blame them. Everything about Subira was hot except that she was only too aware of it, and came with attitude. Lots of attitude.

Of course, Mohr tried to get in a snappy remark at every opportunity, but Subira wasn’t buying his bull and let her attitude show every time he spoke to her. At least Subira had that in her favor.

A half-finished baked doughnut lay on a plate before Ackers alongside an empty coffee mug.

Hi Subira, I greeted. How about a cup of coffee and I’ll buy refills for Sand Bluff’s finest too. That was just talk. I already knew that Mattie, surgically attached to the register up front, never charged us for coffee.

Smiling and popping her gum, Subira moved indolently over to the coffee station and picked up a coffee pot and a mug.

I looked at Ackers as I got up onto the stool next to him. So I hear you’ve been out picking up dead meat, Harold.

Yah, Mohr said. He goes around scraping stiffs off the street. Nice work, Ackers.

Harold laughed but without mirth. It’s not really funny. Geeze, I didn’t even know the guy was dead till—hell, I never saw a dead man before. I’ve never even been to a funeral.

Mohr looked over at me like I was his conspirator in a make fun of Ackers routine. Where’d this guy find his badge, in a Cracker Jack box?

We both ignored Mohr.

Well, don’t feel bad, I told Harold. I’ve never stumbled across any dead guys either...and I’ve done a lot of stumbling, especially in alleys after the bars close.

Mohr snorted but Harold didn’t laugh. Instead he muttered, I don’t drink.

Subira poured us three coffees.

Doughnut? she asked, giving me a smart-ass look.

Please, no cops and doughnut jokes so early in the morning.

She gave me a supercilious glance and moved off.

So what’s the deal on this body you found in the alley, Harold? Tell me everything you know.

He looked at me for a minute, then remembering that I was, after all, the town’s chief homicide detective, he nodded. Yeah. Well, the Blu Lite closed at two like always. I was passing by in front just a little before two. A couple of customers were coming out the street door. Everything looked okay. Everything right on track, you know? He fingered his half-baked doughnut but wisely decided against another bite. Well, I drove on down to the end of Broadway, past the Quick Stop. ‘Course the lights were on at the Quick Stop but there was no action. I kind of keep an eye on the place because if somebody was going to come through town at night looking for easy money, the Quick Stop would be their target, it being the only place in town that never closes.

And that redhead isn’t hard to look at either, I said. He saw the twinkle in my eye and grinned.

Mohr sipped coffee, snorted under his breath, and gave us a superior look as if he was way ahead of anything we might say or do.

Well, yeah. Okay, I stopped and we talked for a couple of minutes. Nobody came in. Anyways, then I got back in my cruiser and I could see all the way down Broadway. I did notice the time. It was just two sharp. The lights were out at the Blu Lite. There wasn’t even a stray cat wandering around, so I cut in back to take a look at the Blu Lite parking lot. I was driving down the alley and that’s when I found him.

So he was just lying in the alley? Right in the middle, off to one side, what?

Harold scratched his head. He had unruly black hair, but kept it so short it didn’t seem to cause a problem. Okay, I think—no, I’m sure. It was lying just to the side, about a foot from the dumpster back of the Blu Lite.

You have any impression of whether it was placed there, knocked there, just fell there or anything at all?

Ackers thought and swallowed more coffee. No. No, I couldn’t say. He was just there. I told you, I didn’t know he was dead. I just thought he had too much to drink. I didn’t even notice any blood until, you know—later.

What about the parking lot? Any cars?

Harold stared at me. The parking lot? Well, I guess I didn’t really pay any attention. I mean, with that guy on the ground there…I was just looking at him.

Yeah. Listen, after we finish our coffee could you take me over and show me exactly where you found it?

Sure, of course, Harold said. He seemed to have one oar half out of the water, but the more I talked to him, the more I thought we could get along. On the other hand, as we left Mohr still trying to impress Subira, I had a distinct feeling that sooner or later he and I would have a run-in.

On the way out Mattie smiled. I like your hat, she said. In the background Mohr snorted again.

Harold drove an official Crown Vic. He followed my pickup down the alley to the Blu Light. Only a small sign above the rear door admitted this was the Blu Lite, but since this area offered the best parking, the back door was actually the main entrance. A few steps away from the door stood an open green dumpster just like others that lined the east side of the alley.

Chapter 2

The Scene of the Crime

The alley was narrow with a shallow trough running down the center for drainage. A good-sized square of asphalt on the west side formed the Blu Lite parking lot. I counted about a dozen cars parked there. There wasn’t much of anything else on that side of town. A few ramshackle buildings; an old storage facility. Beyond lay open fields that drifted off toward a distant mobile home park. A few sheep stood about in the distance, nibbling away at the grass. An apricot orchard spread out west and north all the way to Highway 5. A lone egret stood on one leg just beyond the edge of the parking lot, apparently waiting. I’m not sure what it was waiting for.