Текст книги "Heartless"

Автор книги: Patrick T. Phelps

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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 17 страниц)

CHAPTER SEVEN

2014

Derek stared blankly into his client’s eyes. Searching to see a hint of something that would let Derek know that either the story he had just heard was the ramblings of an insane person, a joke organized by some members of a police force somewhere in the country or was actually a very bizarre and nearly impossible to understand truth.

“You’re telling me that your twin brother and you were born joined together and that the only heart you two were using is inside of your chest right now?”

“Yes, I swear that’s the truth,” Thomas said.

“And you’re also expecting me to believe that your twin brother, the one that got the short end of the surgery stick, is not only still alive after twenty-two years, but that he killed three people and can’t be located by the local police?”

“Look,” Thomas said, his impatience growing. “I know this sounds like I am making it all up or that I’m crazy, but as God as my witness, it’s all true. Doesn’t the fact that I paid you over three grand already prove anything?”

“Only that you may have some spare money lying around.”

“If I am agreeing to pay you your full fee, which I am, does it really matter to you if you are chasing a figment of my imagination or not? I mean, all I ask is that you help me find my brother and keep my parents and me safe. If you discover that I am making this whole story up, then you just walk away with my money and no damage done. Hell, I’ll even advance you another ten grand if you need more proof that I’m serious.”

Derek kept staring deeply into Thomas’s eyes. He sensed something that told him that the story was true, but he also sensed he wasn’t getting the whole story.

“Where are your parents now?”

“Probably still in the air. They are flying to the Bahamas.”

“So unless your brother is on that plane, sounds to me like they are nice and safe right where they are.”

“For now, yes. But not if we don’t stop my brother. Eventually, he will find them.”

“Curious about one thing. Actually, I’m curious about a whole lot of things, but one in particular. Why aren’t you not looking over your shoulder every three seconds?”

“What do you mean?”

“You told me that you felt you needed me to provide protection for you and for your parents, but here you are, sitting in a public park and the only thing you seem concerned about is getting me to believe your story. Curious.”

Thomas shook his head and readjusted his body on the park bench. “I hired you for your protection. If I don’t feel safe when I am two feet from you, then I may have made a poor hiring decision.”

“Okay. Good answer. I’ll accept that,” Derek said, his response mixed with embarrassment and lingering doubt.

“Well?” Thomas asked. “Will you help me or not? Just say the word and I’ll arrange the money to be transferred today.”

“Where was the murder scene? I guess I should start there.”

“Piseco Lake, up in the Adirondack Mountains of New York.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

Police Chief Ralph Fox arrived at the crime scene a full seven hours after the bodies were discovered. Officer Wayne White called him from the scene and told him that he had better cut his vacation short and get back to Piseco Lake. Ralph was in the middle of a lobster dinner that he had bought fresh from the Maine Seafood Market when the telephone in his rented beach house sounded. He had been in Ogunquit for only two of his seven-day vacation and let Ken White know about it.

“You better be calling me for something damn right important, officer,” he barked in his displaced Texas drawl. “I ain’t had no vacation in five years, and I ain’t ready to call this one off, yet. So, what you got to say better be damn important.”

“Chief, we got a murder. Actually, three. Single crime scene.”

The stress in Wayne White’s voice was abundantly obvious. Ralph had only been the Chief of Police for the town of Arietta New York for six months and didn’t know his officers all that well yet. But the stress and fear, mixed with some dark excitement, was clearly coming through Wayne’s voice.

“Murder?” Ralph questioned, forcing a butter-soaked piece of lobster tail down to his stomach. “Are you breaking my balls?”

“Three bodies, laying right here in the same room I’m talking to you from.”

“Y’all got the killer in the next room, or do we have to go chasing him through those damn woods?”

“We don’t have anyone. Hate to ask, I know you needed this vacation, but...”

“I’m on my way.”

Ralph dropped his fork, packed his bags and left the beach house and a half-eaten Maine pounder behind. He figured six hours of “police chief allowed speed driving” if the traffic wasn’t too bad would get him back to Piseco Lake. Seven hours if other vacationers were also leaving abruptly.

When he walked into the log cabin style lodge, several people were barking out what they had found, their suspicions of who the killer was, and apologies for him losing his vacation.

Ralph Fox was a lawman who had seen too much during his twenty-plus years in the business. As a Detective in Dallas, Texas, Ralph had seen what he thought to be everything there was to see.  The stress of his Texas job caused him a heart attack at age forty-four, as well as two divorces, three weeks on probation for excessive force, an ability to drink massive quantities of beer, a bulging stomach, and a need to get out of Texas. While he was visiting a high school friend who lived in Staten Island, Ralph learned that there was an opening for police chief for the small, upstate town. Without hesitation, he quit his job in Texas, submitted his resume for the position and moved to Speculator, New York, a small town nine miles north of Piseco Lake.

Ralph was offered the position of Chief of Police and took office two weeks later.  He made no drastic changes with the office or to his staff, which consisted of four part-time officers, one full-time sergeant, an office manager and an eighty-four-year-old custodian. He immediately enjoyed the slowed-down pace of his new law position and never imagined that he would walk into a big city style murder.

As he walked behind Officer Wayne White through the lodge and into the dorm-like structure attached to the rear of the lodge, Ralph’s keen eyes searched the scene for anything that could be considered a clue. When he passed the fireplace and saw that there were ashes in it, he stopped walking.

“Anyone have the sense to go through that fireplace?” he gently said to Wayne White, who hadn’t realized that the chief had stopped following him and was still talking about how he felt when he first walked into the room with the bodies.

“Yes sir. Looks like someone burned papers in there,” Wayne said.

“Anything left in that pile of ashes?” Ralph asked, in a slow, patient voice.

“All looks pretty burned up to me.”

“Do you carry a comb or a brush on yourself, officer?” he asked with his eyes fixed on the fireplace.

“Huh?” the officer answered, still unsure of Ralph’s question.

“What do you carry, comb or brush?”

“Neither.  I got a crew cut.”

“Well then go and find a bathroom and see if you can’t find yourself a comb in there.”

“Is my hair out of place?” Wayne asked, bewildered by the chief’s order.

“Nope. Not at all. I just want you to go get a comb, bring it back here, and go through this fireplace with it. I don’t like to assume that there ain’t no clues left anywhere’s. Make sure the comb is a fine-toothed one. I’ll find my way to the bodies. You come and get me when you either find something or are damn sure there ain’t nothing to find.  You hear?”

“Yes, sir,” Wayne answered. “Uh, sir?  I don’t really have to go find a comb, do I?”

“Get on your knees and start digging through that pile of ashes,” Ralph ordered, overemphasizing his Texas drawl.

Ralph needed to steel himself before walking into the room with the victims. He had seen gruesome murder scenes before but realized that he was not fully ready to see another. As he entered the room, filled with four officers, the county coroner, a photographer, and three lifeless bodies, Ralph felt his heart skip an important beat. His back found a wall to lean against as he calmed himself by whispering to himself a song he wrote when he was sixteen.

“Texas women are all the same

Ain’t got no need to have a name.

Just give me one to call my own

And my broken heart will finally be sewn.”

As he finished his song, Ralph found his legs again. He walked around the bodies as the deputies started with their questions.

“What do you think, chief?” an officer asked.

“We ain’t never seen anything like this before up here,” another one added.

“I guess that you have seen stuff like this before, huh, chief?”

“Yes boys, I have seen this before,” Ralph replied, thankful that his voice was operational. “And this is what I need everyone to do. Everyone leave the room and wait outside until I call you in here. Everyone but the coroner, whose name I cannot remember.”

“Germane Tamorssi. Nice to meet you again, chief. I only wish we could be meeting at a fund raiser instead of here.”

“Me, too. Okay, everyone else out and don’t go out of hearing range.”

As the room emptied, Ralph was alone with Germane Tamorssi and the three dead bodies. He turned to the coroner while staring at each body individually. He learned from his days in Texas that emotions have no place in an investigation. He stared at the bodies as if they were clues and nothing more.

“Okay, tell me about this one,” Ralph said as he pointed to the hat donor.

“His name is Roger Fay. He’s a yearly.”

“What’s that? A yearly?” Ralph asked, puzzled by both the term and the coroners Northern accent.

“That’s what we call people who live up here year round. We got the summersets and the yearly’s. His name is Roger Fay. Lives over in a trailer near Higgins Bay.”

“Y’all have some strange terms up here,” Ralph said.

The rumors that Ralph was crazy were well known in the town of Arietta. Someone heard that he had snapped while down in Texas and probably brought his insanity up north with him. Despite that possibility, the folks in the town were glad to have Ralph on their side. So after Ralph’s comment, Germane Tamorssi took a small step back and peered at him quizzically.

“They’re only strange if you’re not a local. Anyway, cause of death is obviously a knife wound to the neck. He was killed outside against a tree and then carried in here. His neighbors said that Roger used to walk down this street every day. He was probably just walking past the center when the killer was doing his deeds. Wrong place, wrong time.”

“Where are his shoes?” Ralph asked, noticing that Roger Fay was dead in blood-soaked socks.

“Neighbors tell us that they saw him wearing a black cowboy hat and cowboy boots. Both are missing.”

“Sounds like we have a description of what the killer is wearing, huh?”

“Probably. This one,” Germane said, pointing to the body of Doctor Jacob Curtis, “had his heart ripped out. Chest and everything just ripped through. The heart is over there in that bag,” he said, motioning with his head to a bloodied, clear plastic bag. “His name is Doctor Jacob Curtis. Lives in Manhattan. From what his associates down in the city say, he came up here almost every weekend to work with the owner of this lodge.”

“May I assume that this one here,” Ralph said, pointing to the third body, “is the aforementioned owner of this place?”

“Actually, no. According to his driver’s license and car registration, his name is Doctor Peter Adams. Lives outside of Chicago.”

“And who owns this place?”

“Doctor William Straus. Location, unknown, but his car was spotted tearing down Route 8 around the time we figure these murders happened.”

“We put out an APB on him yet?

“That’s more for your department to handle, chief.”

“I suppose. Starting to like that Straus doctor for this whole scene.”

“That’s not what your officers are saying,” Germane said.

“I’ll deal with that later. Tell me, cause of death of this here Doctor Peter Adams.”

“Cause of death was sharp blow to the skull with a blunt instrument. Maybe a sledge hammer. He didn’t die right away. I guess that the doctors here have been working together for years. I think that...”

“I don’t want to interrupt but please don’t say anything more about what you may think. If I have everyone yapping at me what they all think, then I’ll never get to ask the questions I need to ask. Thank you. Please wait out in the hall with the others and tell whoever done all the fingerprints to come on in.”

Germane Tamorssi left without questioning Ralph and instructed Officer Mark Grace to go see the chief.

“Yes, sir,” Mark said. “You wanted to see me?”

“Did you do the fingerprinting in here?”

“Yes, sir. I did. Found only four sets. Two of the sets belonged to the two doctors here and two other sets from people who aren’t here. The fingerprints are everywhere in both rooms. One thing that is interesting is that the only sets of fingerprints in the bedroom over there,” Mark said as he motioned towards the adjoining room, “are those that probably came from the killer. And I don’t know if you checked out the bedroom yet, but the someone who lived in there was someone that the doctors didn’t want to let out.”

Ralph, surprised that he hadn’t noticed the two-inch thick rope lying stretched across the length of the room’s floor, said “Now what the hell do we have here?”

“We figured it out, chief,” Mark Grace said. “See, the rope attaches to that hook on the bedroom door.” He walked over to the large, steel door that separated the living room where the bodies were found from what appeared to be a bedroom. He expected that his chief would follow him to the door but instead Ralph stood staring at the rope, following it until the rope disappeared into the ceiling.

“I’m listening. Keep talking,” Ralph said to Mark.

“Well, that rope attaches to this metal hook on this door. The rope runs across the room, into the ceiling then comes back out in the hallway outside. You probably missed it, but there’s a ratcheting contraption in the hallway. The rope runs into the ratchet. We haven’t tested yet, but it looks like once the rope is hooked to this door, the ratchet system pulls the rope tight and makes this door impossible to open. Pretty ingenious.”

“Sounds like whoever was living in that there bedroom was someone that these good doctors wanted to contain.”

“That’s why we all think...”

“Thank you, officer,” Mark said, stopping Mark Grace mid-sentence.”

Ralph inspected every inch of the rope and system and wondered why it was made. He was sure that whoever lived in the bedroom was a suspect, but couldn’t imagine why the doctors would have a prisoner living there. And he wondered where the doctor who owned this lodge was and what may have happened to him.

“The doctors were both psychologists,” Mark added. “Maybe the person who lived in the rooms here was a violent patient.”

“A violent patient who escaped, it looks to me. Did you send those prints to a lab somewhere?”

“Yes, sir. Results aren’t in yet.”

“Thank you, officer. Tell me, who saw the lodge owner tearing down Route 8?”

“Adam Patterson and his wife. They’re yearlys. Live over on South Shore road. And the owners name is Doctor William Straus, in case you forgot.”

“Did the yearlys mention if Doctor William Straus was alone or if he had company in his car?”

“They said he was alone but couldn’t be sure. He was moving at a pretty good clip.”

“Anyone try to find out if Doctor William Straus has a cell phone we could call?”

“Not that I know of, chief. Want me to do some digging?”

“Dig away,” Ralph said, finally removing his gaze off the rope and into Mark’s eyes. “Nice job in here, officer. Now, do me another two favors, would you?”

“Anything, chief.”

“While you’re digging for Doctor William Straus’s cell number, find out what kind of car he drives and send in whoever inspected the rest of the house.”

For the next two hours, Ralph interviewed every person in the cabin. Ralph learned that several things had been taken from the cabin, including the contents of a wall safe, food, clothes, and some medical equipment. When he was done talking to everyone individually, he left the room where the bodies were, told the coroner to inspect the bodies for any other clues, and then assembled his team in the great room of the cabin. He pulled himself to his full five foot seven frame, wrenched his pants up and over his girthy beer belly, and waited for everyone to quiet down.

“Gentlemen, what we have here is a murder. Three murders, all most likely perpetrated by the same person. We can assume that the suspect is the person who lived in that prison-like room. We can assume that the doctors were afraid of him for some reason, and we can assume that they were trying to fix whatever was wrong with the person who lived in that room. We can also assume that the other victim, Roger Fay, was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.  Basically, we can assume a hell of a lot until we find out what the hell was going on in this place.

“Now, I know none of you have ever seen a murder scene before.  And I am sure that some of you may be nervous as hell about your role in this investigation.  I have done this before. Trust me. I know y’all think that I am crazy, but I’m tasking you to trust me. I am only as crazy as I need to be. No more, and no less.

“This cabin is now our headquarters. I like to be close to my work when doing something like this investigation. We cannot forget that we have a whole lot of other people who live in this town who are going to be scared out of their right minds once they hear about these murders. Don’t forget that your job is to protect and to serve.

“Yes, this investigation is going to take up a lot of man-hours, but you cannot neglect your other duties. In order that the other duties don’t get neglected, I am going to ask that officer Mark Grace and I do all the full-time work on this case. Y’all others will be doing some things now and then, but mostly you are going to keep on doing your jobs.

“We will catch this bastard, or if there is more than one, these bastards. I promise you and your families that. I need y’all to keep this quiet for as long as you can. The last thing we need is some type of panic going on. Everyone understand?”

All agreed with Ralph and their roles in the murder investigation.

“Thank you. Now, before y’all leave here, I need two deputies to do a little legwork for me. I need one to go to every house on this street and see if anyone saw anything. Other than that, everyone is free to get their asses back to work. Thank you. And remember, quiet on all this for as long as possible.  If the press...Y’all do have a press up here, right?”

“Yes Chief. We even have a paper.”

“Good. Well the press is probably outside this cabin already. Tell them that we are investigating a murder and that you have no further information. That’s all.”

CHAPTER NINE

“How did you find out about the murders and that your twin brother was the prime suspect?”

“I got a call, well, actually, my parents got a call from a Ralph Fox. He’s the chief of police in the town where the murders happened,” Thomas responded.

“And up until that call, neither you nor your parents had any idea that your brother, their son didn’t die in the hospital on the day you two were born?”

“It was quite a surprise. Pissed my dad off, I can tell you that much.”

“I’d imagine,” Derek said. Derek stood up, stretched his back and motioned towards path that led from the nearest parking lot to where he and Thomas were talking. “And these doctors, Rinaldo, Mix, Adams, and Zudak,  have you or your parents had a chat with them yet?

“One of them, Zudak, called my parent’s house last night. They had left already, but I heard the message. Said he wanted to explain everything to them. He left his cell number and said that he won’t be staying in one place for too long until the killer is captured.”

“And the others?”

“No. I haven’t spoken with them. Neither have my parents, as far as I know. As soon as we were told about Alex and that he was suspected in the murders, we figured we better protect ourselves. Honestly, it took a lot of persuasion on my part to get my parents to get out of town.

“Before they left and once I told them that I was staying put, my dad suggested that I talk to my uncle, his brother, about contacting you. So that’s what I did.”

“Did they try to convince you to join them?”

“Of course, but they agreed that I should work with you to get answers.”

Derek began moving towards the path to the parking lot and gestured with his head that Thomas should follow.

“I want to visit with these doctors first. Not that I doubt your story, but I need to confirm things with the people who were there. Any idea where they might be located?”

Thomas thought. “Actually, I do. After I called you and arranged this meeting, I did some searches. Mark Rinaldo retired from Saint Stevens over three years ago but still lives in the area. Stanley Mix got married to a nurse who cared for Alexander while he was in Hilburn. They live outside of Rochester, New York. I don’t know anything about Lucietta or Straus. And I already told you about Zudak.”

“You have addresses?”

“I do. Thought you might need them.”

Thomas handed Derek a folded up sheet of paper that he retrieved from the front pocket of his neatly pressed gabardines.

“But you haven’t contacted them at all?”

“Nope. Not sure if I could contain my anger if I did.”

“Good,” Derek said, as he quickened his pace towards his car. “I’m going to pay a visit to Rinaldo, hoping that he’s at home. Then, I’ll give Zudak a call. Depending on how my calls go, I think I’ll head out to Piseco Lake and check out the crime scene.”

“Why would you go out there?” Thomas asked. “Alexander isn’t there anymore. He’s probably either in Chicago or is heading this way.”

The look of concern was clear on Thomas’s face.

“You may be right, but if I am going to track his movements, I have to start where he started moving. I’ll keep in touch but you need to get somewhere safe. Do you have a place?”

“Yes. I can go to . .”

“Don’t tell me where you’re going. Trust me, I don’t need to know. All I need to know is that I can get in touch with you on your cell phone and that wherever you are headed is safe and that you’ll stay put. Understood?”

“Understood.”

As they reached the parking lot, Thomas stopped in his tracks and said, “What will you do if you find Alexander?”

“I don’t think that far ahead. You just get your ass to wherever it is that you are going, and stay there until I tell you otherwise.”

“Okay. And will you give Mark Rinaldo a message for me?”

“Depends on the message,” Derek said.

“Tell him that no matter what happens to my brother, that he hasn’t heard or seen the last of the O’Connells.”

“Sounds like a threat.”

“No threat. Just a promise that he will pay for the lies he told.  Him and that whole team of his. My father is already in contact with his lawyer. That asshole Rinaldo and the entire team will be behind bars the second this whole mess is cleaned up.”

“Behind bars may be the safest place for them if we don’t stop your brother,” Derek said. “And, by the way, did that Ralph Fox say anything else when he spoke with your parents?”

“Just that they found a list in what they believe was Alex’s bedroom.”

“And what was on that list?”

“Names. Rinaldo, Mix, Zudak, Adams, Lucietta, Straus, Curtis, my parents, and me. Two of the names had been crossed out in what looked like blood. Adams and Curtis, two of the three killed so far.”

“No one else made the list?”

“I haven’t seen the list. Like I said, my parents had the talk with the cop, and they told me everything. At least it seemed like they told me everything.”

Derek opened his car door then paused in thought.

 “You mentioned that there were three murders. Adams and Curtis. Who was the third victim?”

“Don’t know. My parents told me that Fox said the other victim was probably just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Do you know if Ralph Fox contacted the other doctors yet?”

“I have no idea. He just told my parents that he suspected that Alexander is my brother, that he killed three people, that he had a list of names, and that my parents and I were on the list.”

“I don’t understand why your parents made the list. Is there any way that they knew about Alexander and were part of the doctor’s plan?”

“No way. No way in the world,” Thomas said. “You should have seen their faces when they were telling me what Fox told them. That Alexander didn’t die on the operating table at Saint Stevens but was wanted for a triple murder.”

“Why do you think Alexander added your parents to the that list?”

“I have no idea. They weren’t involved at all and are as much of victims as Alexander. You know that my parents, especially my mom, visits the cemetery every week since Alexander died? Or at least, since they were told he died.”

“But I’m sure your parents were part of at least the decision to do the surgery that cut Alexander off from your heart? I’m not a doctor, but I have to believe that your parents had a voice in the decision.”

“Sure, but they have nothing to do with those bastards did after Alexander and I were separated.”

“How much did Fox tell you about what the doctors did?”

“My parents spent at least forty-five minutes on the phone with him. I never spoke with the guy. My parents filled me in with as much information as they could get from the talk with Fox. We still have way more questions than answers at this point.”

“Humor me, please, and tell me as many of the details of the conversation with your parents.”

“Fox told my parents that there was a strong possibility that their son Alexander did not die like the doctors at Saint Stevens said he had. He said that he was reading a lot of notes that went back to 1992 and had a lot of questions for all of the doctors.”

“And did he say what those notes contained?”

“He said that he didn’t know what to make of most of them. He said that it sounds like something ‘fishy’ happened, and he didn’t know what to believe yet. But, he was pretty certain that my brother was not dead. Too many notes referencing the doctors at Saint Stevens and my parents to not think Alexander was still alive.”

“Before your parents left,” Derek said, “you’re sure they didn’t contact any of the doctors from Saint Stevens?”

“The only calls I know they made were to my dad’s lawyer and to the airline.”

“When did their flight leave?” Derek questioned.

“About two hours before I met you here. They should land in another hour. Since I highly doubt Alexander, or whoever is behind these murders, will be able to find them, I don’t think it’s dangerous that you know where they are.”

“You never know, so please don’t tell me where they are staying. I know they’re in the Bahamas, but I don’t need to know exactly where. It’s a big ocean down there and lots of places to be.”

Derek sat behind his steering wheel, turned on the engine of his Buick, and nodded to Thomas.

“I will wait here till I see you get in your car, start it, and drive out of here. I will be in contact as needed. Get to where you’re going and stay there. Understood?”

“Got it. And Derek? Can I call you Derek?”

“Derek is fine.”

“If you do find Alexander, please don’t kill him. He is my brother, you know, and I’d actually like to meet him. I know my parents would too. At least my mom would. Honestly I’m not sure about how my dad feels.”

“You didn’t hire me to kill anyone, and I don’t kill people as a rule. All I care about is keeping you and your parents safe. Now go.”

“Okay. But if things get rough, please don’t kill Alex. Promise me.”