It is something the victim Cora Findings’ neighbor, Mrs. Jackson, said to me during her interview that sends me back to the scene of the crime at Firewood Road.
I track down the apartment building’s landlord, d**k Redding, a Mr. Magoo type: craggy-old and aided with a cane, in the back room of his outhouse size garage-turned-office behind the apartment building.
All he is missing is his four-legged doggy companion.
He is getting behind the wheel of his canary-yellow punch buggy, and mumbling.
I wave at him and knock on the driver’s side window, but he ignores me and shifts the car into reverse.
I tap on the hood loud enough for him to press the break. His lips are moving, regrettably cussing me under his breath. I press my police badge against the glass.
He puts the car in park and r
