Murder and Mayhem in Cedar Falls. Walter Wittmuss

Two

      “It’s a big old place, isn’t it?” Denise remarked.

      “It is big. Have you ever heard how old it really is?”

      “I have heard that the mansion was built by Horance Duncan, the college’s founder. That would make the mansion’s age somewhere in the neighborhood of eighty to a hundred years old. I would love to see the inside of it once.”

      “Does Florence Duncan make her presence felt around campus much?”

      “Not that much. She stays pretty much up in the mansion except when she has board meetings and such. She has to attend them. She is the chairperson of the board of regents.”

      “Do you know if she ever married?”

      “Not that I know of.”

      “That large a house would have to get pretty lonesome for her, I would think. Judging from what you just told me, though, I believe a lot of the lonesomeness she might be experiencing now she probably has brought onto herself.”

      “I suppose so, but I have to feel a little sorry for her,” Denise said sadly. “Well, if you want to get that list turned in today yet, we had better be on our way. The Maintenance Building closes at five, and it is four-forty now.”

      We got in the car and drove to the Maintenance Building. I looked for and found the receiving counter. A young man was behind the counter. He looked up and smiled when I approached the counter.

      “Yes, sir. What can I do for you?”

      “I’m Professor Brennon from the Astrology Department, and I was told that this is where I order any supplies I need and also pick the supplies up here.”

      “You were told right, Professor. I assume you have a list that you need ordered now?”

      “Yes, I do.”

      I fished the list out of my pocket and handed it to him. He looked it over, nodding as he did.

      “Do you have any idea how long it will take to get them items?” I asked.

      “No, sir, I don’t, and the guy that could give you an idea of how long it will take has already left for the day. You could call tomorrow, and he could probably give you an idea.”

      “I’ll do that. Thank you.”

      “Sure, and welcome to Duncan College, Professor.”

      I took Denise home, walking her up to the door. We agreed that I would pick her up the following morning and then said good night. I drove home and had a sandwich for supper. I was feeling restless and decided to go for a short walk.

      The first couple of houses had wide-open front yards. The third house had five-and-a-half-foot-high hedges that ran from the sidewalk to the backyard. The hedge also stretched across the front to the driveway.

      As I walked, flanked by the hedge, my boots made slow thumping sounds on the concrete sidewalk. Then just for an instant, I thought I heard the sounds of struggling. I stopped and listened closely for the sound to repeat itself in the still evening air. I heard the sound a second time. It was coming from the other side of the hedge. I ran down to the driveway and turned into it. As I rounded the end of the hedge, a large figure, dressed all in black, was rising from the ground.

      “Help!” a girl’s terrified voice screamed out from the ground. The black figure bolted toward the backyard along the hedge.

      “Stop! Stop!” I yelled at the fleeing figure. The figure kept on running.

      I decided I had better see if the girl had been hurt instead of going after her attacker. Just as I knelt down, the door of the house flew open, spilling light out into the yard.

      “What’s going on out here?” the voice of an older man behind me gruffly demanded.

      “Call the police! A girl has been assaulted in your front yard. Her attacker is getting away,” I said quickly.

      “What? A girl attacked?” the man stammered.

      “Yes. Call the police. Now!”

      The man disappeared back inside the house. I put my arms around the girl and helped her to a sitting position. She was sobbing hysterically.

      “It’s okay, Miss. Your attacker is gone. The police are coming. It’s okay. You’re safe now,” I said to her softly in the most reassuring manner that I could.

      As I cradled her shaking body, two police cars, an ambulance, and a fire truck arrived with sirens screaming and lights flashing. Police and firemen converged on the girl in my arms and me. Gently the paramedics took the girl from me and laid her down on the gurney. The sheriff himself came over and tapped me on the shoulder, motioning for me to follow him. I followed him to his patrol car.

      “Get in,” he said. I got in the car.

      “Your name?” he began.

      “John Brennon.”

      “Address?”

      “1021 South Fifth Street. Three houses down.”

      “Your place of employment?”

      “Professor at the college.”

      “What happened tonight?”

      “I started out for a walk. I got up by the hedge, and I thought I heard a scuffling sound. I stopped to listen, and I heard it again. I ran down to the driveway and ran around the end of the hedge. A figure clothed all in black had already stood up and took off when he saw me in the driveway.”

      “Can you describe him?”

      “About all I can say is that the guy—I assume a guy because of what he was probably trying to do—was at least six foot tall, maybe a little taller. Like I already said, he was dressed entirely in black. I would say he weighed around 220 to 240 pounds. It was hard to get a good estimate of his height and weight in this low light. Even though his face was covered, I could tell he was white from his mouth, nose, and eyeholes.”

      “Did he limp or anything like that when he ran?”

      “No. His run was steady and quite normal for the very short time that I did see him run. He was also very fast.”

      “Did he say anything when you came around the hedge?”

      “Not a word. He just took off. I just hope the girl will be okay. Hopefully, she might be able to tell you something about his voice—that is, if he said anything to her.”

      “Oh, she’ll be questioned as soon as she can be. Luckily, it looks like he didn’t get the job done.”

      “Will you be testing for DNA on her?”

      “Since it looks like she wasn’t raped, there isn’t any reason to do any DNA test on her.”

      “No, I suppose not.”

      “You said you are a professor at the college, right?”

      “Yes.”

      “What subject do you teach at the college?”

      “Astrology.”

      “Was you ever a police officer or connected with law enforcement in any capacity?”

      “No. Why do you ask?”

      “Generally, I am a pretty good judge of character. Some of your answers gave me the impression that you had worked for the law in the past. Apparently, I am off the mark when it comes to you, though.”

      “Yes and no, Sheriff. I was talking to one of your deputies—Ben, I believe, his name is—the other day in Jim’s Cafe. I happen to mention to him that I have an interest in crime solving. I used to live in Texas, and I was able to help the local police solve a crime or two,” I explained.

      “I don’t want to appear heavy-handed or arrogant, but I think my deputies