Six John Jordan Mysteries by Michael Lister

Author:Michael Lister [Lister, Michael]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pulpwood Press
Published: 2015-04-21T22:00:00+00:00

10

“I still can’t figure out how it was done,” Pete Fortner, the institutional inspector was saying. “I mean, it seems impossible. He’s alone inside a locked cell.”

Tom Daniels and I were sitting across from Pete in his office inside the security building of the institution. Tom had just given Pete the butt-chewing of his correctional life for not taking the flyer about the murder in PM seriously, and to make up for his negligence Pete was now trying to be helpful.

“It’s just impossible,” Pete added.

Daniels nodded. “That’s what I’ll put in my report, Pete. Inspector Fortner says it’s impossible.”

A short, pudgy man with unruly hair and a bushy mustache, Pete Fortner wore glasses, which he blinked behind a lot, out-of-date and too-tight slacks, and black athletic shoes left over from his former life as a coach and teacher at the local high school.

“What if somebody reached through the door?” he offered.

“Reached through the door?” Daniels said. “Solid steel?”

“Through the food slot. If Menge—

He pronounced it as if it rhymed with hinge.

“It’s Menge,” I said. “Like thingy.”

“If Menge was bent over or squatting down near the food slot the way they do, someone could’ve slit his throat while walking by.”

“Sure,” I said, “then Menge lies on the floor, bleeds out, then hops up and gets on his bunk.”

I felt sorry for Pete, but his incompetence also made me angry. Perhaps if I weren’t so sleep-deprived and frustrated I could have shown more patience, but as it was I had none of my usual restraint.

“Well, couldn’t he?” he asked. “I mean not bled out all the way, but—”

I shook my head. “He was dead before he was moved to the bed—and had been for a while. Lividity was fixed.”

“Besides,” Daniels said, “the food tray slot was locked. We checked it.”

“It could’ve been locked afterwards,” Pete said.

“You mean after the guy reached through with his eight-foot Stretch Armstrong arms and lifted the body onto the bed?”

“You’re right. Sorry.”

Slumping in his chair with his head down added extra chins to Pete’s fleshy neck and made him look as if he had C-cup size breasts.

“It was a good thought, Pete,” I said. “We’ve just got to keep tossing them out and working through them until we find one that’ll fit.”

Pete’s office, like most of those in the prison, was cramped and nondescript. Four square cinder block walls painted pale gray, cold tile floor, one window, one door, one desk, one filing cabinet, and three chairs. He was seated behind his dented metal desk, which had been painted pea-green to match the two uncomfortable chairs Daniels and I sat in across from him.

Pete cleared his throat. “Did Potter tell you about the spoon thing?”

“Yeah,” Daniels said. “But it’s irrelevant. We know inmates got out of their cells to go to church. Getting out’s not an issue. How the killer got in Menge’s cell is.”

“What if a spoon was used to keep his cell door from locking?”

“Yeah,” Daniels said. “Menge came in and before he slammed his cell door shut, he put a spoon into the locking mechanism so he could get murdered.

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