Small Time Crime (Mercy Watts Mysteries Book 10)

by A W Hartoin

  “You mean like Ghost Hunters and crap like that?” Mosbach asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “What makes you think ghosts are stupid?”

  “Um…I never thought about ghost intelligence one way or another,” I said.

  He looked at me in the rearview again. “Really? Haven’t you met Miss Elizabeth? I thought Lefty said you had.”

  “Oh, well, I guess I have.”

  “Isn’t there a brain at work?”

  Miss Elizabeth had a brain. I wasn’t crazy about it, but she had one.

  “You’re saying that ghosts…decide who’s going to see them and when,” I said. “Irene said that about Miss Elizabeth, but I thought maybe she was unique.”

  “She’s unique but not in that way,” he said. “If Thompson didn’t want you to see him, you wouldn’t. Personally, I think those paranormal hunter people insult them. Like you can just sit in a house with a camera and a ghost will wander by like a mindless moron. Give me a break.”

  “Aren’t they…scary?” Clarence asked.

  “Some aren’t great, but what of it? Live people aren’t always so hot either,” said Mosbach. “Speaking of live assholes, here we are.”

  The deputy pulled into the parking lot of the Shady Glen Retirement Home and parked beside a hearse that had backed up to a ramp.

  “I hope he’s dead,” said Clarence suddenly and then she crossed herself and began praying for forgiveness.

  “Clarence, is it really wrong to wish for the death of a serial killer?” I asked.

  “Yes. Punishment is not for me to say. It’s God’s will and I shouldn’t wish for something like that. I should find it in my heart to forgive.”

  We got out of the squad car as the snow became mixed with ice. Mosbach hurried us up the ramp through a back door and we stomped off an unbelievable amount of snow and ice. My teeth were chattering so hard they hurt.

  An LPN at the desk jerked her head up from a chart and her jaw dropped. “Dallas, what on Earth are you doing here? Wasn’t there a bomb threat at the new high school?”

  “It’s all under control. An arrest’s already been made,” he said.

  A nurse named Stephanie came out to greet us and stopped short. “Oh, my…goodness. Were you going to the hospital? She looks—”

  “Bad?” I asked with what I hoped passed for a smile. My nose had swollen to epic proportions and my entire face had a throbbing ache that went through it at ten second intervals.

  “Well, yes,” she said. “Were you caught in the explosion? Why are you wet? Sister, you’re wet, too. You’ll get hypothermia.”

  Stephanie kicked it into high gear and got us into an empty room. I was out of my Peep wear and into fresh scrubs that were—you guessed it—pink in five minutes. Only Clarence’s feet and stockings were wet, so she got a pair of support hose and slippers.

  I needed help with my incredibly disgusting swollen face and talked Clarence into leaving for the gory part. She wanted to stay, but pointing out the amount of crusty blood I had got her moving. Stephanie wasn’t happy, but she did as I asked. It was pretty easy and I was having coffee in under five minutes.

  “You really have to go to the hospital,” said Stephanie. “We can’t do anything about your pain. Nobody can prescribe.”

  “I want to see Bertram Stott before the FBI gets here,” I said.

  A shiver went through her and she wrapped her arms around her waist. You’d have thought she was soaked to the skin. “He won’t talk to anyone. Didn’t Dallas tell you?”

  “He’ll see me,” I said.

  “Because you’re famous?”

  I could tell the idea bothered her. Some people are impressed by fame, any kind of fame, and others are repulsed. She was in the latter category.

  “No,” I said. “He asked for me.”

  Stephanie turned to Mosbach and he nodded. “He wouldn’t say why.”

  “I know a friend of his,” I said.

  That repulsed everyone.

  “By friend, do you mean someone like him?” she asked. “A murderer?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who?”

  “Kent Blankenship.” I told them as little as possible about my fan, the mass murderer, and Stephanie shrugged. “I don’t see why that would help.”

  “There’s more to it, but we’re on a time crunch here.”

  She agreed to take me to his room, but I could tell she didn’t want to go anywhere near him. Shady Glen had admitted Stott in a fit of compassion, saying that he’d served his time. Yada. Yada. Yada. But they’d been regretting it ever since. People were afraid of him on instinct, even those who didn’t know who he was. Stephanie said he had a thing about him, but she couldn’t describe or explain it. There were no other residents on his hall. Nobody would agree to live near him. The staff went in three at a time and had to be paid double to do it. I’d known a lot of scary dudes, but this was freaking me out. Stott sounded worse than Blankenship and that was hard to imagine.

  Stephanie stopped at Stott’s door with her face flushed. “Are you really going in there?” She looked at the three of us.

  “Just me,” I said.

  “I can do it.” Clarence looked quite brave when she said it, but she didn’t know what “do it” meant.

  “No. He’s going to tell me things that you won’t be able to forget. I wouldn’t do that to you and Aunt Miriam would never forgive me if I did.”

  She bit her lip and nodded.

  Mosbach put his hand on his revolver. “I’m definitely going in. You can’t do it alone. He’s crazy and violent.”

  “That’s nothing new for me,” I said.

  “Someone has to go in with you,” said Stephanie.

  “He won’t talk unless I’m alone. They like me alone. It makes them feel powerful.”

  “You really think he’ll talk to you?” asked Mosbach.

  “I do.”

  “Why?”

  “His is a small world and I’m good company.”

  Stephanie shook her head. “I don’t know what that means.”

  “But he does and that’s the point.” I reached to push the door open, but she cut me off and knocked. There wasn’t an answer.

  “He never answers,” she whispered. “I think he hopes we’ll think he’s dead, so we’ll come in alone.”

  Creepy.

  “He’s going to get his wish,” I said.

  Stephanie knocked a second time and pushed the door open a mere three inches. “Mr. Stott, you have a visitor.”

  No answer.

  “Mr. Stott?”

  I eased her out of the way. “Never mind. I don’t have all day.”

  “But…are you sure?” she asked.

  “No, but it usually works out for me.” I pushed open the door and walked in, letting the door silently close behind me.

  Stott’s room was a cheery yellow with marble-patterned tile on the floor. To my right was a bathroom and past that I could see the foot of a hospital bed with one rail up. It smelled like Vicks VapoRub, a smell that I always found comforting but never would again. The faint odor of unwashed man accompanied the VapoRub, not strong but like an undercurrent ready to overwhelm you at any moment.

  I walked to the edge of the bathroom wall and looked at the bed. It was empty and I had a moment of panic, thinking he was in the bathroom and would come out behind me, but I quickly spotted a figure slumped in the corner. Stott sat in a plain institutional chair with a pillow behind his back and blanket on his lap. He was smaller than I’d expected, probably five six or seven, at most. His gnarled, liver-spotted hands had a TV remote and something else that he’d quickly concealed when I walked in.

  My eyes went up to his face and my stomach went instantly queasy. The old man was smiling at me in a way that was completely predatory and so sexual I could see why no one wanted to be in the room alone with him. I certainly didn’t. The incongruity of that smile in a face that was much older than his seventy-one years was bad enough, but the e
yes got me. He had Blankenship’s crocodile stare. There was a reptile looking at me and he was trying to figure out how to get me closer.

  “Our friend told me it would be you,” he said in a honeyed voice that belonged to a much younger and less frightening man.

  “Friend’s putting it strong,” I said. “Do you actually know Blankenship?”

  His eyes roamed over me, looking to see if I’d concealed a phone or a wire. The scrubs were certainly loose enough, but my hands were empty.

  “Are you going to answer me or should I scoot?” I asked. “I could be at the hospital getting some painkillers right now.”

  “How much pain are you in?” he asked, licking his bluish-grey lips.

  “Plenty.”

  His breathing increased, only a little, but I could see it. Pain excited him. “What happened to your pretty face?”

  “Two explosions and slammed into a floor.”

  “The arm?”

  “Rebroken.”

  “That must be excruciating.”

  “It’s not great,” I said.

  “Let me see the arm,” he said.

  I held my arm out to show off the swelling, the purplish tinge that was rapidly spreading. I didn’t move any closer. “Back to Blankenship.”

  A flicker of disappointment went through his cold eyes and was quickly replaced by nothing, which was definitely worse. “I’ve never met him personally, but we’re old friends. What took you so long? He claims you’re a smart one. I like the smart ones.”

  “He didn’t tell me you existed,” I said.

  Stott eyed my body again and I swear I could feel it like fingertips tracing over my skin.

  “I’m not wearing a wire,” I said.

  “Come closer and prove it,” he said.

  “Nope. Not gonna happen.”

  “Then you may as well leave.”

  I rolled my eyes and yanked my scrub top up, exposing my naked breasts to him. A girl’s got to do what a girl’s got to do.

  The essence of predator got more intense and he said, “It could be on your lower half.”

  I dropped my scrub bottoms and did a quick spin. I’d taken the precaution of losing my panties and I was glad I did. Stott was satisfied. More than satisfied, so it was worth it.

  I put my palms up. “So?”

  “You’re fatter than I imagined.”

  “And you’re grosser,” I said. “Let’s do this. What do you want to tell me?”

  Stott reached up and tugged at the oxygen line under his nose. “He sent you to my garden. Is it still beautiful? Did you enjoy the view?”

  “I didn’t actually go to Kansas myself.”

  “What a shame. My family does like their work to be acknowledged,” he said.

  “Don’t worry. The FBI’s acknowledging the hell out of your family and they gave me a little gift.”

  The smile got wider. “Come over here.”

  I sighed and rolled my eyes. “How in the world did you ever get close enough to kill anyone?”

  “You don’t like this?” he asked and his face transformed into someone else entirely. Now, instead of looking at an obvious predator, I was seeing a harmless old man with sweet, watery blue eyes and trembling hands.

  “Is that how you sucked Robbie in?” I asked.

  He chuckled. It sounded like a rock on a cheese grater. “It’s easy when they’re sad or stupid. That boy is both.”

  “How long did it take?”

  “Only a few weeks. He was so lonely and desperate for a father. Robert Junior wasn’t the best parent.”

  “And you were? Everyone hates you.”

  He held up a finger with hideously swollen joints. “I get what I want.”

  “Why bother? You couldn’t kill him. Look at the state of you,” I said.

  “But I could own him the way Blankenship owns you.”

  “That’s debatable.”

  “It’s not. I owned his father and his grandfather. Unhappiness runs in that family. It was too easy. I don’t know why people think they’re smart. They’re not.”

  “Did you tell Robert Snider to kill Sister Maggie?” I asked.

  He shook his head and the few hairs he had left waved around in the air like thin tentacles. “I didn’t have to. I’d prepared him to act when the time came and it turned out better than I’d dared to hope.”

  Stott told me how he met Robert Snider. Because of their names, they were usually next to each other in every class. Stott knew a kindred spirit, as he called it, when he saw one. Robert had already been robbing houses and unlocked cars when he met him. Stott only had to introduce Robert to making Molotov cocktails and he was eager to throw them. Killing animals was more difficult, but by then Stott had him cornered. Robert had committed multiple felonies and Stott was willing to go to the police or so Robert believed.

  Stott had been working his way up to kidnapping. He wanted Kathleen Coulter because she was beautiful and ignored him once in the hall at school. That was enough to incite murder, I guess. But before he could get his friend on board, Robert went home for lunch the day before Maggie’s murder and overheard his parents discussing what to do if Sister Maggie reported them to the police. He understood that his parents had been stealing thousands of dollars from the church and his life was about to go under. His reaction was to go out and throw a cocktail into Liquor Mart.

  Stott claimed that he had nothing to do with that and I believed him. Mainly because he didn’t know how Davis Snider found out that his son had done it. He only knew that Robert wasn’t at school and was waiting for him in the parking lot at lunch with Maggie’s body in the back of his father’s farm truck. Davis had planned to take Robert to St. Vincent’s Mental Hospital for an evaluation and as a kind of punishment, he had made Robert drive it to St. Louis while Davis drove his nice, cushy Bel Air. They went to the asylum first. Davis left Robert in the hall while he tried to talk to Maggie, but she wouldn’t speak to him. She left the office, brushing past Robert and saying something about meeting the bishop. When he looked in the office, he saw his father bent over with his head in his hands, crying, and knew he had to stop her from telling the bishop.

  Robert told Stott that he beat Maggie down the stairs, got a tire iron out of the back of his father’s truck and cracked her skull with it in the parking lot. But she didn’t die like people did on TV, so he strangled her the way Stott had taught him.

  Stott steepled his fingers and smiled that awful smile at me. “Robert was very weak. I admit I was surprised.”

  “Why?” I asked. “He was already a criminal before you showed up.”

  He made a face full of disdain. “Robert was small time. A little boy who wanted Daddy’s attention. He needed me to be serious.”

  “Gross.”

  “I’m pleased you think so.”

  “Why are you telling me all this? Just because of Blankenship?”

  He smiled again. “What are you going to do? Put me on trial? I’m practically dead already.”

  “They’re still putting Nazis on trial, why not you?”

  “The publicity won’t be good. I’ve been running rings around them since I was fifteen.”

  “You started when you were fifteen?” I asked.

  In truth, Stott had started with fires when he was twelve and progressed to robbery and assault at seventeen, which was why he ended up in St. Sebastian. His parents got him out of state because they found out that he assaulted a classmate. It was dark and she couldn’t identify him so they sent him to his grandfather’s brother, Otis Harmon. Otis was at the town meeting and he put it together that his grandnephew came to town and fires started, so he sent him back when the semester ended. Not nearly soon enough.

  “Like I said, running rings around them,” said Stott.

  “Not anymore,” I said.

  “Sadly no,” he said. “If you come closer, I might have another one in me.”

  “I’ll pass.”

  “Pity.” Then his eyes brightened.
“How about you tell me something?”

  I picked some of the crusty blood from under my nose and said, “Why not? I figure the FBI will be here any minute.”

  “Then I better hurry.”

  “That would be good.”

  “How did you connect my garden to me?” he asked for the first time genuinely interested.

  “You left an Easter egg for us to find.”

  His eyes were blank. This time from confusion. “An Easter egg?”

  “Sister Maggie’s St. Brigid medal was found between two of your bodies.”

  “Ah. That’s where it went. I hated to lose it.” He tilted his chin down in a coquettish manner and batted his red-rimmed eyes at me.

  “Barf,” I said. “What happened to you?”

  “Nothing happened to me,” he said. “I happened to other people. Want to hear about it?”

  I lifted one shoulder and sighed. “Fine. Knock yourself out.” That’s what I said, but I didn’t want to hear it. His words would stain me forever, which I suppose was the point.

  “You don’t want to hear about my little family and our good times?” He transformed into a truculent child with a simpering voice and a bottom lip that poked out in a pout.

  “Nailed it,” I said. “I don’t enjoy talking to Blankenship either, by the way. He bites.”

  “Ooh, do tell. Did he really bite you?”

  I told him what happened during my last visit to Hunt Hospital for the Criminally Insane and he practically salivated. “Would you visit me there? I’m sure I’d be a model resident.”

  “I thought you were dying.”

  He smiled. “Eventually. Come closer. I want to show you something.”

  “Would it be the blade in your hand? I’ll pass.”

  “You’re no fun.”

  “Tell me about Kenneth Young,” I said. “And maybe I’ll go into the fishbowl with you strapped to a chair.”

  “Promise?”

  “Why not? I’m considering visiting Harvey the Head Case. I hear he’s interesting,” I said.

  “He’s not as interesting as me.” He started naming names, so many names and places. There’s no way I could remember them all and he knew that by the way he rattled them off.

  “You’re diverse. I’ll give you that,” I said. “But you’re not telling me what I want to know.”