Amends for the Dead

A short story by Lois Browne

Lonnie Kuhl had just begun to drift into sleep when he heard a knock on the door. He wasn't happy about it. Sleep didn't come so easily that he could afford to have it interrupted. And besides, at this time of night, the news was never good.  

His instincts were right. Targe Wilkins, one of the high school friends Lonnie had looked up when he returned to his home town, brought bad news. Vonnie Markham, who for a year had lived with Lonnie's family, had been murdered. 

Lonnie hesitated a moment before reaching for his trousers. "Details?"  

Targe told him Vonnie was found about midnight in her house, apparently killed by a burglar. Targe didn't know anything more, but he'd keep his ears open and be in touch. 

When Lonnie arrived at the address, he found that one of the detectives was also an old acquaintance. Frank Pirelli came over to where he was standing on the perimeter of the crime scene. 

To the uniform officer guarding the tape he said, "Let him through." To Lonnie, "This way," and as they headed back up the sidewalk, "How did you find out about this?" 

"A friend," Lonnie said. 

Later, when Pirelli explained to his partner, Stan Federico, why he allowed a civilian access, he mentioned the years they spent together in high school. 

"He knew her well," Pirelli added. "And he's sharp. He may be able to help." 

"He escaped the bad influences too?" asked his partner, who knew the neighbourhood Pirelli had come from. 

"He didn't have to," said Pirelli. "He just stared them down."  

2 

Lonnie, tucking his hands in the pockets of his dark pea jacket, stood in the main doorway and looked. He could see into the kitchen. Vonnie's body was still there, but from this angle, all he could see were her blue-jeaned legs.  

"How was she killed?" 

"Hit hard on the back of the head," said Pirelli.  

Lonnie made no comment.  

"It looks like she was upstairs reading. There's a light on up there and a book. Maybe she heard something. Anyway, she came down, cornered the guy and he hit her." 

Lonnie said nothing and Pirelli continued, "The usual stuff is gone. Small electronics, nothing big." 

He pointed to the living room, to Lonnie's left. "He wasn't very thorough," walking over to a cabinet. Without taking his hands from his pockets, Lonnie leaned in and could see Pirelli opening a door to show an iPad on a shelf. 

In the hallway, to Lonnie's right, a small cabinet squatted. The kind people used to hold bills to be paid, winter hats and gloves, keys, all the things you wanted just before you left the house.  

Pirelli brought him a small plastic bag. Inside was a card advertising a realtor.  

"What's on the card's not important," said Pirelli. "It's where it was kept and where it was found." He pointed to the mirror above the hall cabinet. A variety of business cards and a couple of photos were tucked into the frame. 

Lonnie peered at the card in the plastic bag. He could see a faint mark on one corner that fit the frame. 

"We found it there," said Pirelli, pointing to the floor and a faint dusty boot print showing on the dark hardwood. 

"It was covering the boot print. We figure it was knocked down by the guy who did this."  

He waited for some response from Lonnie, but the man said nothing. He understood what was perplexing Pirelli. Why would a burglar looking for anything worth quick money spend time at this spot?