Sheriff Whitfield watched Mary stand up. At the age of sixty-two, he had enough experience to know when a woman was preparing to raise the roof. “My name is Mary Holland, Sheriff,” Mary said in a stern voice. “My Uncle Albert is a patient at this hospital.” Mary turned and looked at Greta with angry eyes. “This woman has accused my uncle of murdering Dr. Cappes and I will not stand for that.”
“I found this card lying on the floor next to Dr. Cappes’s body,” Greta said, forcing her voice to sound professional instead of vicious. She produced the playing card and showed it to Sheriff Whitfield.
Sheriff Whitfield took the playing card, examined it, and then tossed it into his right pocket. “What does a playing card have to do with a killing?” he asked Greta.
“Albert Malone is the only patient at Deep Woods that owns playing cards,” Greta informed Sheriff Whitfield in a voice that told Mary she was keeping one step ahead of her enemies.
Sheriff Whitfield rubbed his thick beard again. The last thing in the world he wanted to do was spend his day trapped at the crazy old mental hospital that gave him the creeps. Sure, the hospital was fancy and sat on a pretty piece of property, but the place still gave Sheriff Whitfield cold chills. Something about people with unstable minds just didn’t sit well with him. However, he was a lawman, and a murder had been committed…and a job was a job. “Okay, let’s go see the body.”
“What about the card?” Greta insisted.
“Card don’t mean a thing,” Sheriff Whitfield explained. “Card could have been left behind in the office, stolen and planted on the floor, all kinds of things.”
“But,” Greta began to argue and then stopped. “Of course,” she said. “I understand.”
Sheriff Whitfield looked at Mary and Betty. “I was told your uncle has been confined to his room. I’ll speak with him after I see the body. In the meantime, I want you to stay right here and don’t move, is that clear?”
“We understand,” Mary assured Sheriff Whitfield.
“Be careful of her,” Greta said in a spiteful voice without realizing she had made a vital mistake, “Mrs. Holland’s husband owns a newspaper. She has threatened to report the murder.”
“Well, that’s what newspaper people do,” Sheriff Whitfield said in a voice that wasn’t too bothered by the news. He looked again at Mary and Betty. Both women reminded him of his own daughters—innocent, sweet…and a bit tough when needed. However, he noticed that Mary was a leader and Betty was a follower; Mary was a fighter and Betty, as sweet as she appeared, was a woman who felt safe inside a warm kitchen baking pies. “What newspaper does your husband own?”
“We’re from Pineville, Tennessee,” Mary explained.
“Pineville, Tennessee?” Sheriff Whitfield asked.
“Yes,” Mary confirmed.
“Why, I have a cousin who lives in Pineville. Do you girls know a man by the name of Ralph McCurdy?”
“Old Man McCurdy?” Mary asked.
“If that’s the same fella who owns the McCurdy farm, then yeah,” Sheriff Whitfield said.
“We know Old Man McCurdy,” Betty told Sheriff Whitfield in a quick voice. She shot to her feet and scooted next to Mary. “Old Man McCurdy sells Mother butter, eggs and milk. Mother doesn’t like getting butter, eggs and milk from Mr. Cunningham’s grocery store. She complains that Mr. Cunningham lets his eggs sit for too long and his milk isn’t as fresh as she would like.”
Sheriff Whitfield smiled. “Well, I’ll be,” he said, “it sure is a small world.”
Mary glanced at Greta. Greta was clearly not pleased that the local sheriff had a relative living in the same town as her enemies. “Sheriff, may we please focus on the murder?” Greta asked in a voice that was becoming very impatient.
“Huh…oh, yeah,” Sheriff Whitfield said. “You two girls—”
“Mary and Betty,” Mary told Sheriff Whitfield, “our names are Mary and Betty.”
“Well then, Mary and Betty, you two sit tight,” Sheriff Whitfield said and looked at Greta. “Okay, nurse, take me to the body.”
Greta threw a hard eye at Mary and then hurried away with Sheriff Whitfield. “We better sit back down,” Mary said.
“I guess so,” Betty said and touched her hungry stomach. “I was so looking forward to my cheeseburger and malt,” she sighed. “I suppose we’ll be eating a later lunch.”
“I’m afraid so,” Mary said. She looked over at Ellie. Ellie was now looking down at her old hands. Mary felt a strange love for the woman that she couldn’t explain. “I feel very sorry for Nurse Ellie,” she whispered to Betty.
Betty began to agree but a hard hand struck the front door. Ellie jerked, looked up, and then hesitantly rose to her feet and walked over to the front door. “Sam?” she called out.
“It’s me,” Sam’s cold voice answered.
Ellie lowered her eyes, looked at the floor, stood silent for a few seconds, and then unlocked the front door with reluctant hands. Sam stepped through the front door and spotted Mary and Betty sitting on the wooden bench. “Why are you sitting there?” he demanded. “I was told the sheriff was going to make you leave.”
“The sheriff has not asked us to leave,” Mary assured Sam, keeping her voice even. “And we’re not going to leave until my Uncle Albert is safe.”
“Albert Malone killed Dr. Cappes,” Sam hissed. He turned and pushed the front door closed with a hard hand. Even though he was old, his anger was still fierce. “It won’t be long until he is locked away in a prison where he belongs.”
Ellie looked at Sam with scared eyes before walking back to the nurses’ desk and sitting down. “The sheriff is with Greta,” she said.
“Nurse Greta,” Sam told Ellie in a stern voice.
“Oh…yes,” Ellie said, catching her mistake. She glanced at Mary and Betty and then quickly looked down at the desk. “Nurse Greta is with the sheriff.”
Sam scowled at Mary. “Albert Malone is a cold-blooded killer.”
“How do you know that?” Mary demanded.
“I’ve worked here a good many years and I know the mind of a killer,” Sam told Mary without realizing Mary was detecting a faint German accent hidden in his voice—an accent she had not managed to catch earlier.
Mary folded her arms together. “It seems to me that you and Nurse Greta have a very ugly hatred for Albert Malone.”
Ellie raised her eyes, studied Sam’s face, and waited. “Albert Malone is a cold-blooded killer,” Sam said again in an angry voice. “That monster killed a good man.”
“How do you know that?”
“I already—” Sam began to speak.
“You’re speaking your opinion but have no facts to back you up,” Mary quickly interrupted. “There is no evidence against Albert Malone except a playing card found on the floor in Dr. Cappes’s office.”
“That’s evidence enough,” Sam snapped.
“Is it?” Mary asked. She unfolded her arms and stood up. “I’m wondering who really killed Dr. Cappes.”
“What do you mean?” Sam demanded.
“I’m not entirely sure yet,” Mary confessed and decided to throw Sam a curve ball. “It’s possible that someone else killed Dr. Cappes. Then again, maybe my Uncle Albert is the killer. Only time will tell. We just have to wait and let Sheriff Whitfield conduct a very thorough investigation.”
Sam glared at Mary with fury in his eyes. “You dare protect a killer?” he asked.
“A man is innocent until proven guilty,” Mary informed Sam. “Uncle Albert, as it stands, is an innocent man until a court states otherwise. And until the sheriff completes his investigation, I’m not leaving my Uncle Albert alone.” Mary paced. “Uncle Albert will be free to leave this hospital once the sheriff gives him the green light. When that happens, I’m taking him back home with me.”
Sam’s face grew redder than a hot pepper. “Nurse Greta has full authority over—”
“A patient is free to check him or herself out of this hospital at any time,” Mary
reminded Sam. “This is not a prison. Uncle Albert will be free to leave, and you can’t stop him.”
“That’s right,” Betty added and then quickly took Mary’s hand.
Sam eased close to the wooden bench. “Don’t make a bull angry,” he threatened Mary and Betty. “Leave this hospital while you still can.”
“How dare you threaten us!” Mary snapped at Sam.
“No threat…a promise,” Sam whispered and then backed up to the front door. “Send Nurse Greta to see me when she’s available,” he ordered Ellie.
Ellie looked up at Sam. “I will,” she said in an uneasy voice. Sam nodded his head and then walked back out into the falling rain.
“He sure is a creepy man,” Betty told Mary. “And mean, too.”
“And determined,” Mary added. She hurried over to Ellie. “Nurse Ellie?”
“Yes?” Ellie asked.
“Is Sam…your husband?” Mary asked in a very careful voice. The last thing she wanted to do was spook a scared old woman.
Ellie’s eyes grew wide with panic. “What makes you ask such a thing?”
“Oh, please don’t get upset,” Mary begged Ellie, “I was only wondering. I mean…I detected a little German accent in Sam, too. I just thought maybe, because your age is so close together, that you two might be married.”
Ellie began fiddling with a pencil lying next to a guest sign-in log. “I…” she began to speak but paused. What was she supposed to say to a complete stranger? Fear and panic grabbed her heart. “I…” she tried to say again but couldn’t form a sentence. It was only when she looked up into Mary’s warm, loving eyes that she managed to speak. “Yes, Sam is my husband,” she said in a miserable voice.
“You don’t seem very happy,” Mary said in a soft voice.
Ellie put down the pencil she was holding and lowered her eyes. “Sam is a cruel man,” she confessed. “I was forced to marry him after his brother died…during the war.”
“World War One?”
Ellie nodded her head. “Sam and his brother both served in the war. I…was in love with Sam’s brother.” Ellie’s voice became consumed with pain. “Hans was a wonderful man. He was loving, caring…so very brilliant…and handsome.”
“What happened to him?” Mary asked, hoping Ellie would continue to reveal vital truths.
“The war,” Ellie said as a single tear slid down her cheek. “Hans and Sam were called into the war. Sam…” Ellie shook her head, “had a thirst for violence. But Hans, he hated the war. His desire was for mankind to live in peace.” Ellie looked up at Mary. “Hans was a brilliant scientist. When the war began, he was forced to begin inventing ways to…kill people. Oh, the letters Hans wrote me.” Ellie lowered her eyes. “Hans would write me very long letters expressing his rage and pain. He hated the war…the men who were forcing him to harm mankind instead of inventing peace.”
“What about Sam?” Mary asked.
“Sam,” Ellie shook her head, “served on the front line. You see, Hans was the brilliant one. Sam,” Ellie sighed, “is a man with very little intelligence, but he possesses a sea of hate.”
Mary reached down and touched Ellie’s hand. “Why do you stay married to such a man?”
Ellie raised her eyes and looked into Mary’s beautiful face. “Because of a promise,” she whispered, “a promise I made to Hans.” Ellie kept her eyes on Mary. “Dear, there is a great danger and many hidden secrets that you are not aware of. Please, for your own safety, leave this hospital.”
“I wish I could,” Mary told Ellie in a soft voice, “but I have to protect Uncle Albert…and you.”
“Me?” Ellie asked in a shocked voice.
Mary nodded her head. “If Sam is your husband, that means that Nurse Greta is your daughter.”
Ellie’s eyes grew wide with fear and panic again. “How did you—”
Mary put her right finger up to her lips. “I’m a newspaper woman,” she whispered. “It’s my duty to figure things out.” Mary looked over her shoulder. “Uncle Albert didn’t kill Dr. Cappes, did he?” Ellie quickly shook her head no. “Did Nurse Greta kill Dr. Cappes?”
“I fear the answer to your question is…yes,” Ellie admitted in a fearful voice. “My daughter…I lost her years ago when hate began consuming her very heart. The woman who lives in her body now is not a woman I recognize. The woman living inside my daughter’s body is…evil.” Ellie grabbed Mary’s hand. “Please, you must never tell her you know the truth. She will kill all of us. I…death would be a sweet mercy for me…but you are still so very young. Please,” Ellie begged Mary, “take that sweet child sitting over there and leave this horrible hospital. Let the past and the present have one last battle and then let the dead rest in peace…oh please.”
Mary watched tears begin falling from Ellie’s tormented eyes. She walked around the desk, put her arms around the old woman, and whispered: “I’m not leaving this hospital until the battle is won,” she promised.
Ellie closed her eyes and rested her head on Mary’s shoulder. “The past is filled with a very ugly truth, dear,” she whispered back as her tears continued to fall, “Albert Malone is tangled up in a horrible darkness that is holding him captive…a darkness that consumes the very heart of my daughter and husband. If you step into that darkness, you may never escape.”
“That’s a chance I’m willing to take,” Mary whispered into Ellie’s ear. She hugged her tight and then walked back to Betty. “Okay, honey, we’re in this fight to stay. You can leave now or pull up your sleeves and prepare to start throwing some punches.”
Betty looked up at Mary with scared eyes. “I want to run far, far away,” she confessed but then pointed at Ellie. “How could I leave such a sweet soul behind?” Betty stood up and took Mary’s hand. “Mother is going to be very upset when she learns the truth…but for now, what Mother doesn’t know won’t hurt her.” Betty looked at Ellie. “Some things are more important than eating supper on time.”
Mary wrapped her arms around Betty and hugged her best friend. “You’re my hero,” she said in a loving voice. “I knew you wouldn’t leave me.”
Betty hugged Mary back. “What can be worse than that creepy mansion in Maine?”
“I’m afraid we might just find out,” Mary replied and began wondering what Uncle Albert was thinking about right now.
Upstairs in a fancy, cozy room, Albert Malone was lying on a soft bed tossing cards into a hat, singing a song to himself and forcing his mind to stay away from the doorway of the past—at least for the time being. When the time came, Albert knew, he would walk through the doorway and have one last battle.
4
Sheriff Whitfield followed Mary and Betty up a flight of wooden stairs covered with a soft green carpet that was reminiscent of the Victorian era. When he reached the top of the stairs, he watched Greta storm off to her right and march down a long hallway lined with closed doors. The hallway, to his surprise, was decorated with fine furnishings that stood out of character; after all, he thought, a mental hospital was supposed to be covered with bars and screams, not exquisite furnishings.
“This place is not what I expected,” he told Mary and Betty.
“What did you expect?” Mary asked, walking past a closed door muffling the soft touch of classical music.
Sheriff Whitfield watched Greta come to a stop and yank a set of keys out of her pocket. “A prison,” he admitted. “I’ve heard that this hospital wasn’t your typical run-of-the-mill mental home. I was aware that Dr. Cappes was a strange man who took a prison and turned it into a…sort of a castle, I guess you can say.”
“This hospital used to be a prison?” Betty asked in a shocked voice. She grabbed Mary’s hand and stopped walking.
“Yep.” Sheriff Whitfield nodded. “This place was once the old Woodrow Prison. Built in…let’s see…1877 and was shut down in 1911.” Sheriff Whitfield watched Greta begin unlocking Albert’s room door. “Sat empty until Dr. Cappes bought the place in…oh, I believe it was in 192
0…about twenty-three years ago.”
“Dr. Cappes must have been very young,” Mary said, keeping her distance from Greta.
“Dr. Cappes is…was…seventy-two years old,” Sheriff Whitfield explained. “He would have been…oh…forty-nine or fifty years old, not too young.”
Greta pushed Albert’s room door open. “I insist that I be able to enter the room with you,” she told Sheriff Whitfield in a stern voice.
Sheriff Whitfield shook his head. “I want to speak with Mr. Malone without you being present,” he told Greta.
Greta made a sour face. “Why are they allowed to be in the room?” she demanded, pointing at Mary and Betty.
“Mrs. Holland is his niece,” Sheriff Whitfield explained. “Mr. Malone might become tense at seeing a lawman. I might need Mrs. Holland and her friend to help calm him down.” Sheriff Whitfield walked up to Albert’s door, peeked inside, and spotted a little old man lying on the bed, singing a song and tossing playing cards into a black hat. “If I need your help, nurse, I’ll holler for you.”
Greta locked eyes with Mary, made a vicious face, and then focused back on the sheriff. “That man is a killer,” she snapped. “He deserves to be locked away in a prison…not this fancy retreat.”
“I’ll decide who is a killer and who isn’t,” Sheriff Whitfield snapped in a fierce tone, shocking everyone. “I’ve about had it up to here with your mouth, so do everyone a favor and shut up!”
“How dare you!” Greta yelled.
“Get on downstairs and stay there,” Sheriff Whitfield ordered Greta and then added: “And stop accusing a man of murder when you could just as likely be the one who did the killing.”
Greta’s face twisted into a sour knot. “How dare you accuse me of killing Dr. Cappes!”
“I didn’t accuse you of anything,” Sheriff Whitfield fired back. “All I’m saying is that it’s awful fishy that you’re trying to put a rope around a man’s neck and have him hung without a fair trial. You’re supposed to be a nurse, for crying out loud. A person who cares for people and shows compassion. All I see coming from you is pure hatred. Now get.”
Finding a Killer Page 5