The Hungry Shoes
By Sue Latham
Detective Baxter Scott pushed aside the papers on his desk with a grunt of annoyance. There were no real leads in a recent series of serial murders, so the case had been assigned to him. He knew he should consider this a compliment, but this case looked like it might be the one that cost him his reputation as the force’s miracle worker.
partially devoured post-mortem, but Forensics had yet to find any identifiable teeth or bite marks on any of the victims. He was tired and knew he should call it a day. But something about this case kept bugging him and he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He leafed through the folder again, taking a photograph from each crime scene. When he arranged the crime scene photographs side-by-side, it was suddenly obvious what it was that had been bothering him. There were footprints around each body, and they were identical to those from the previous murders. But the footprints didn’t go anywhere—there were none leading up to or going
Detective Scott puzzled over this fact as he took off his glasses and rubbed his tired eyes. Apparently somebody forgot to tell the Shoe Murderer that serial killers usually targeted victims with similar physical characteristics. Each victim had been beaten to death, but no murder weapon had been found. All had been
SHOES FOR EVERY BUDGET AND OCCASION! proclaimed a sign in the window. Charlie opened the door and went inside cautiously. “Good afternoon,” said a voice in the darkness. “Anything in particular I can help you with?” The man was pleasant looking enough. His clean shirt and tie and shiny shoes made Charlie suddenly conscious of his own shabby appearance.
Aside from the fact that all the victims were men, there was but one similarity between the cases: in every one of the three unsolved cases, the victim was missing his shoes. One of the victims was an elderly homeless man. The other was a young college student who was found in formal clothes—what remained of them, anyway. The most recent victim was an as-yet unidentified man in a business suit. The college student was black; the two other victims were white.
nobody was watching him. It had taken him weeks to accumulate this much money. He needed some new shoes desperately, and if anything happened to this money he would have to make his old ones last somehow until he could save up again. They were his only pair and they weren’t long for this world—he doubted he could coax another two weeks out of them.
“Um, I just need some shoes,” he said lamely. You dumbass, he thought to himself. What a stupid thing to say. Why else would anyone come in here? “Certainly, sir. For a special occasion, or just a good everyday pair?” away from the scene of the crime. Yet the footprints around the body were quite distinct. “Bax, old boy,” he said out loud. “You’re losing it.” He gave up for the night and went home.
Charlie Johnson counted his money again carefully and stashed it in the inside pocket of his grubby jacket. He looked around to be sure
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“For every day. I’m trying to find something really comfortable and, um, affordable.” “Is something like this what you had in mind?” he asked, motioning Charlie to a display. Charlie noticed with relief that there were several pairs of shoes here within his budget. He looked over the display for a minute, then picked up a shoe that looked like it
