The Apostle Murders by Laughter Jim

Author:Laughter, Jim [Laughter, Jim]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Deadly Niche Press
Published: 2011-07-15T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Two

Morris instructed Agent Grundy Cooper to drop him off at the Clay Cup Coffee House in downtown Murfreesboro before driving Keller and Benjamin to the newspaper office. He wanted to get a first-hand look at the only place they knew of where the interstate serial killer had been seen.

From the outside, the coffee shop could have been an old-fashioned drug store or bank. The facade was dated to the early 1900s. It looked like any typical small town storefront you’d see anywhere in rural America.

The coffee shop was centrally located in the downtown area close to the courthouse and what appeared to be the main branch of a bank. Other office buildings displayed signs with the names of law firms, bail bondsmen, a payday loan place, and other businesses a person would expect to see in a downtown business district.

Morris pushed through the single glass door into a comfortable and cozy atmosphere. The music playing in the background was from the 1940s, reminiscent of the big band era. There was a scattering of tables and chairs that would seat thirty people comfortably. The walls were tastefully decorated with memorabilia that represented Murfreesboro in her earlier years. Off to one side were four overstuffed chairs arranged around a low coffee table scattered with newspapers and magazines, a place set aside for people to sit, visit, and relax.

Two other things caught Morris’ attention. First, there was no television blasting a football game or any other kind of sporting event or news show to the half dozen or so customers enjoying a quiet moment either alone or with friends. Second was the black and white checker-board tile floor.

I ain’t seen one of those in years.

The people sitting around the tables were all neat and well dressed. Being located downtown near the court house and banks, Morris suspected the shop’s main clientele would be lawyers, paralegals, court officers, bailiffs, and bank tellers–people directly related to the legal and banking professions.

A young man behind the counter watched Morris while he looked around the coffee shop.

“May I help you, sir?”

Morris presented his FBI credentials to the young man.

“I’m Special Agent Duncan Morris with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. I’d like to speak to the owner or manager if he’s available.”

“That’s me.”

The young man extended his right hand. Morris shook his hand and read his nametag—Chris.

“I’m owner, manager, bus boy, chief cook and bottle washer. You name it, I do it.”

Morris only nodded. He wasn’t in the mood for flippancy, not after the morning he’d had at the burn center. He continued to examine the coffee shop, paying very little attention to Chris.

“Is there some place we can sit and talk for a while, Chris?”

Chris called one of his employees from the coffee counter and asked her to watch the front for a while. He then led Morris toward the back of the coffee shop to an empty table in a secluded corner.

“Would you care for a cup of coffee, Agent Morris? Maybe a cappuccino?”

“Coffee. Black.”

“Cream and sugar?”

“Black.

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