Riverside's Perfect Murder

Meet Ollie

Two-Two-Seven Hudson Street was a two-story apartment house that had seen better days. There was a parking area around the back of the building with only two cars in it. Rita parked in a space for an easy run to the street. She always did that without even thinking about it.

The mailbox next to the front door said Mr. Oliver lived on the second floor. "Figures," was all Rita said before heading upstairs. She had barely reached the door with Joe in toe when it opened.

The man who opened the door was five-eleven or six feet tall. Thin, weighing around one-seventy-five and had short white hair with a white neatly trimmed beard.

"Well, Hello Detective Rita Rawlins and Officer Joe Powell how nice of you to drop by, I am Lawrence Oliver." He bowed low and with a great sweeping arc brought his arm in front of him. "The man with two first names."

Rita and Joe exchanged glances, but there was no hiding the look of shock on their faces.

"I have been expecting you," Mr. Oliver said, grinning widely.

Rita collected herself quickly and said, "Mr. Oliver, I wonder if you would accompany us down to the station?" Even though it was posed as a question, she didn't make it sound like one. Rita was not happy with the greeting.

Mr. Oliver stood in the doorway and tilted his head slightly to the left, and said, "Why Detective Rawlins am I under arrest?"

"No, Mr. Oliver, but we do have some questions for you."

"I see." Ollie tilted his head to the right and looked from Rita to Joe. "No. I will, however, invite you into my home, and we can sit in the living room. I will gladly answer any questions you have," he said is a most cheerful voice.

Rita didn't expect that answer.

The man continued, "You could always cuff me and drive me to the station, but my attorney will be waiting on the steps before you get me there. He will never allow me to be questioned. And I am afraid if you were to do that, I would answer none of your questions. So wouldn't it be nicer to sit here in comfort and get the answers you are looking for?" His friendly tone had disappeared.

Rita felt stymied, and it was Joe who said, "Why Mr. Oliver that is a fine idea. May we please come in?"

"Yes, of course. Where are my manners to leave you out on the stoop for so long? Please come in and make yourselves comfortable."

Rita was staring at Joe as he motioned for her to enter. She finally moved and entered the apartment where she presently saw a hat rack with three white Panama style hats hanging as neat as could be.

"You like hats?" Joe asked.

"Yes, I do Joe. May I call you Joe or would you prefer Officer Powell? I am never sure of someone's preference."

"Joe would be fine."

"And Detective Rawlins, may I call you Rita?"

Rita only nodded. Why did she feel this way and why were the hairs standing up on her neck? She turned to look behind her, but nothing was there.

"You may call me Ollie. Why Rita you look like maybe you have seen a ghost. Are you ill?"

"No," was all she managed to say. What the hell is wrong with me.

"Would either of you care for some tea or coffee? I took the liberty of making both."

Joe and Rita exchanged glances as they were sitting on the couch facing a single chair which looks for all the world as it had been set there for this reason.

"Coffee would be fine," Joe said.

"Cream with a little sugar, is that correct Joe?" their host asked.

Joe looked at Rita again. "Yes, that is correct." Joe wanted to ask how he knew, but he wasn't sure he wanted the answer.

"Nothing for me," Rita said.

"All right, Rita, whatever you say."

Their host came out with a tray with Joe's coffee, a glass of milk, and a plate of fig newtons.

"I understand you like milk with your Fig Newtons is that correct, Rita?"

"Thank you," Rita managed to say.

"Jolly good. Now, what are these questions that you would like to ask me?" Their host asked as he sat in the chair opposite the couch.

Rita was silent, but Joe asked, "You do your banking at the Riverside Bank on Main Street?"

"Yes, I have for a year. I like that bank, and the tellers are always very friendly to me. It was a terrible shame that it got robbed and that poor security guard killed. Have you found who did it?"

"Ah no. Mr. Oliver..."

"Ollie, please. We are friends are we not?"

"OK, Ollie, what do you do for a living?"

"What an excellent question, Joe. I am a writer. Fiction mostly, but I am afraid I am not very good. I lack imagination." Ollie smiled like a cat who ate the prize bird.

Joe smiled back while Rita ate a fig and said nothing.

"You don't work; I mean a regular day job?" Joe asked.

"Only occasionally. I am afraid I do not go out much."

"I see. May I ask where you were Wednesday morning?" Joe asked as politely as he could muster.

"Oh, how delightful. You think I am a suspect in a robbery. Very exciting." He rubbed his hands together. "But I am afraid I was here all day on Wednesday."

"In the apartment?"

"That is my recollection. I do not believe I went out at all that day, but I could have I suppose." Ollie shrugged his shoulders, "One-day blends into the next I am afraid. That is the downside of being a writer. You can stay lost in a fantasy world for days and not know what day it is when you leave that world. When I get on a writer's roll, I stay lost for some time. I do hope you understand."

"So, you don't recall going out, but you might have, is that correct?" Joe asked.

"That is what I said. Joe this will get very tiresome if I have to repeat myself." Ollie said sternly.

In the silence that followed, there was a scraping sound at the window. Ollie stood, and Joe and Rita turned toward the window. "I am afraid the birds are hungry. I feed them around this time every day. Could you excuse me for a moment?"

"Lawrence," Rita was coming to life.

Ollie turned at the sound of her voice but didn't look friendly or happy. He didn't say anything as he finished putting out the bird food and then came over and sat back in the chair.

"Please do not call me that," Ollie said as if his words were coming out of the freezer and his eyes became soulless. "I do not like that name."

"Lawrence," Rita repeated, "Don't waste our time. Tell us what you want us to know."

Ollie stood very slowly and had a look that Rita had seen many times before. He had the look of a killer. "The interview is over, and you both need to leave now." Again those words might have come from a freezer for they were so cold or from a grave, as Joe would think later.

Rita and Joe stood, and Rita considered asking another question, but she had already gotten the answer to the most critical issue. Mr. Oliver was their man, and he wanted them to know it, but why?

Joe led the way out of the apartment and Rita was halfway out the door when she turned and was about to say something when Ollie said, "Good day Detective Rita Rawlins."

Rita didn't fail to notice the smile on his face, but she said nothing, turned and left with Joe.

"What was that?" Joe asked, as they left the building and stepped onto the sidewalk.