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    Murder At The Pump: A Detective Bass Mystery
    Murder At The Pump: A Detective Bass Mystery
    Murder At The Pump: A Detective Bass Mystery
    Ebook88 pages1 hour

    Murder At The Pump: A Detective Bass Mystery

    By Stephen Randorf

    ()

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    About this ebook

    Marsha Madenridge already had one dead boyfriend.  Why?  That’s what Detective Bass wanted to know.  The body was found strangled in the washroom of a local gas station.  He had no clues until Marsha Madenridge felt threatened.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherStephen Randorf
    Release dateNov 3, 2015
    ISBN9781519986986
    Murder At The Pump: A Detective Bass Mystery
    Author

    Stephen Randorf

    Stephen Randorf grew up in the Midwest region of the U.S.  His education includes history and creative writing.  The Detective Bass Mystery novels and novellas specifically center around Detective Gilbert Bass, a middle-aged, desk-prone police detective who solves the low-profile cases of an urban city.

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      Book preview

      Murder At The Pump - Stephen Randorf

      MURDER AT THE PUMP

      by

      Stephen Randorf

      * * *

      Murder At The Pump

      Copyright © Stephen Randorf

      Cover Design by Jeanine Henning

      All rights reserved.

      This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual places or events now or in the future is coincidental.

      Table of Contents

      Title

      License

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Epilogue

      Chapter 1

      The uniformed police officers had already cordoned off the gas station with yellow police tape by the time Detective Gilbert Bass arrived. It was early morning and he waited near the men’s restroom for his partner, Chet MacIntyre. The usual assortment of police vehicles was at the scene. Their red and blue lights flashed in an otherwise quiet morning.

      His partner approached from across the paved area of the lot. Do they really think he’s been here all night?

      Bass watched the white puffs of the crisp spring air leave his partner’s mouth, and then said, That’s what I’m told, Macky.

      The officer, who was standing next to Detective Bass, opened the restroom door for them to enter. Inside, they saw the body of the victim, a thirty-something male. He was on the floor in the corner, squeezed between the toilet and the wall. His blue flannel shirt and blue jeans made him appear as a crumpled blue mass. From the way his arms and legs were bent awkwardly together, Bass could see the man’s thick, fleshy arms. But he saw no signs of cuts or bruises, other than one. And that one bruise was around the man’s neck, a thick, deep, purple bruise just below the jawline where he had been strangled. The man’s faint, blue eyes were glossed over and stared to the side with a blank expression. He was dead, cold dead. Bass had seen the look before.

      This one seems pretty obvious, Bass said.

      Maybe we’ll get lucky.

      The two detectives moved out of the small washroom so the forensics team could get in.

      Bass stood by one of the taped-off dumpsters and watched the dim flashes of camera work that was occurring inside.

      Have they been in there yet? Macky asked.

      He was eying the dumpster, and Bass knew what his partner meant.

      It’s going to stink, if they don’t do it soon, Macky said. He slipped under the yellow tape and carefully lifted the lid.

      Anything good for breakfast? Bass shouted.

      Not much in here, Macky replied, apparently ignoring the question.

      Anything that could strangle a person?

      Macky peered in again. Possibly. Torn rags?

      The way his neck looked? That’s possible.

      Did you say forensics was in here?

      They were taking pictures before you got here.

      With all this crap, it’ll be a nightmare for them. Macky put down the lid and the two went around the corner to the front.

      Squad cars were already blocking access to the two sets of gas pumps that occupied the center of the concrete service area. The convenience store itself was farther back from the pumps and the street. Its large windows were covered with cigarette advertisements and placards. When Bass opened the door, a bell chimed. He thought the signaling mechanism was in the floor mat, which he had just stepped on. Macky followed him in. The bell chimed again.

      A young man in a wrinkled, white shirt stood nervously behind the counter. Between him and the detectives were displays of lottery tickets and packets of breath mints on a carousel. The youth had sweat stains under his arms and they became more noticeable as he kept pressing his hands and palms down against the sides of his black slacks. Bass could see that he was frightened or nervous or both. It showed in the youth’s face as well, pale and bloodless.

      You here last night? Bass asked, taking the lead.

      The youth nodded.

      He needed a key to get in the washroom, right?

      The clerk’s reply was faint. Yes.

      Do you remember when you gave it to him?

      No, I don’t, he replied. I never saw him before. I don’t think he came in here.

      You’ve seen him, then?

      I was the one who phoned nine-one-one. I found an old key and checked the washroom. Then, I saw him, on the floor like that.

      Macky followed up. So you were the first to see the body?

      The youth nodded.

      How is it that someone could be locked in the washroom for hours and you not know?

      His face still held a dispirited expression. I don’t know.

      Don’t you check? Macky continued.

      It was night. I don’t know if someone is using it or not. I don’t go outside unless I have to. Not when I’m here alone.

      And it didn’t seem unusual for the washroom to be locked for three hours? Four hours? Five hours?

      It could be different people. I don’t know. We want people to lock the doors. We encourage it. For their safety. His last word fell flat as he looked down at the floor.

      Safety, Macky repeated. Huh.

      Bass picked up the questioning. So you don’t remember him?

      He never came in. I swear.

      You remember all your customers? Macky asked, jumping back in to question again. His voice was still edged with irritation.

      The clerk hesitated. No.

      Then he might have come in?

      The clerk hesitated, again. His pale face became red, his lips started to move, as if starting to speak, but then he paused and went silent.

      Bass had been surveying the racks behind the clerk. He took out a five dollar bill from his wallet and placed it on the counter. Why don’t you give me one of those packaged cupcakes? He pointed to the selection. And take out for a medium coffee.

      He turned to Macky. Want one?

      "No, not

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