“Oh my…a killer…” Betty whispered and then, to Mary’s horror and Sheriff Whitfield’s shock, she fainted.
“Oh, Betty, no,” Mary begged.
“Oh yes,” a voice hissed from inside the pantry. The owner of the voice hurried away into the bowels of the hospital unseen and unheard.
6
Betty, having recovered from her fainting spell, crept into Dr. Cappes’s office behind Mary. The poor woman was terrified of what might be waiting—or hiding—in the office. “Oh, this is so scary,” she whispered in a shaky voice, her eyes tightly shut.
Mary squeezed Betty’s hand as her eyes studied the office. “No body,” she said in a worried voice.
“No body?” Betty repeated. She eased her eyes open and looked at Dr. Cappes’s desk. “You’re right…no body.”
Sheriff Whitfield lowered the gun in his right hand, put it away, and looked around the office. “We have a missing body and a killer on a long leash,” he said in a steady voice. “The question we have to ask is—”
“Why the killer took the body,” Mary finished for Sheriff Whitfield.
Sheriff Whitfield nodded his head. “Yep.”
Mary let go of Betty’s hand and walked over to Dr. Cappes’s desk. “Ralph O’Malley is in cahoots with either Nurse Greta or Mrs. Dalton,” she told Sheriff Whitfield.
“Which one would be your guess?” Sheriff Whitfield asked, tossing his eyes down onto the floor. He searched for any signs of a blood trail but came up empty.
Mary walked around to the desk and examined the desk chair. “I’m not sure yet,” she confessed. “The way Nurse Greta seems to be protecting who Ralph O’Malley is—”
“It throws guilt in her corner,” Sheriff Whitfield said.
Mary nodded. “But,” she added, “Nurse Greta has released information on the man, which seems out of character for a woman of her…character.” Mary slowly let her eyes walk across the top of the desk and then rotated them back to the desk chair. “Mrs. Dalton is eighty years old. Ralph O’Malley is forty-four. Mrs. Dalton would have been thirty-six or thirty-seven when Ralph O’Malley was born.”
“Which means Mrs. Dalton could be Ralph O’Malley’s mother,” Sheriff Whitfield finished.
“Right.” Mary looked down at the floor and began thinking about the three of hearts playing card Nurse Greta had found. “Whoever killed Dr. Cappes wanted Nurse Greta to believe Uncle Albert was the killer…I’m sure of that. So if Ralph O’Malley is the killer, that would mean he wanted to throw Nurse Greta off his path.”
“Good point,” Sheriff Whitfield complimented Mary. He walked behind the desk and began going through the desk drawers with calm hands. “Let’s say, for now, we assume Ralph O’Malley is Mrs. Dalton’s son and that she’s the woman controlling the bear. If we’re wrong, we can always backtrack and push Nurse Greta in a corner and make her talk.”
Mary agreed and looked at Betty. “Honey, are you okay?”
Betty shook her head. “This is a confusing nightmare,” she answered in an honest voice. “Poor Uncle Albert is trapped in the middle of this ugly nightmare, too. I wish we could take Uncle Albert and leave this hospital.”
“The killer might follow you,” Sheriff Whitfield pointed out. “Right now, the killer is in the same box as we are. If you leave, he may escape.” Sheriff Whitfield closed the top right desk drawer and wandered over to the wooden filing cabinet, pulling the top drawer open. “I have no proof that Ralph O’Malley is the killer,” he said and began going through a line of brown files. He looked at Mary. Mary shook her head. “I know,” he said.
“What do you know?” Betty asked.
Sheriff Whitfield grew silent and searched the files. “This,” he said and held up two empty hands. “Ralph O’Malley’s patient file is missing.”
“I assumed it would be,” Mary said. “I’m assuming Uncle Albert’s file is missing, too.”
“Yep,” Sheriff Whitfield said and took his gun back out. “Mrs. Dalton’s file is present,” he continued. “Either Nurse Greta stole the files or the killer did. My guess is that the killer beat Nurse Greta to the punch.”
“Why would the killer steal Uncle Albert’s file?” Betty asked.
“Blackmail,” Mary explained. “Honey, if the killer wanted Uncle Albert dead, the poor man would be dead. Uncle Albert is needed alive.”
Betty began nibbling on her lip as Sheriff Whitfield walked over to a closed closet door and eased it open. “Because of the gold?” she asked Mary.
“I’m afraid so, honey. Only Uncle Albert knows where the stolen gold is hidden.” Mary watched Sheriff Whitfield explore the closet, come up empty-handed, then walk back to the desk. “What now?” she asked.
Sheriff Whitfield rubbed his thick beard. “We have to search the hospital for the body,” he said in a thoughtful voice. “I doubt we’ll find the killer just yet.”
“Which is good, right?” Betty asked in a hopeful voice.
“No,” Sheriff Whitfield explained. He looked into Mary’s face. “You know what I’m thinking.”
“You’re thinking the killer stole the body to send us on a wild goose chase,” Mary told Sheriff Whitfield. “While we’re searching for the body, the killer will go after Uncle Albert.”
“Yep.” Sheriff Whitfield nodded. “That doesn’t mean we still don’t have to search the hospital for the body.”
“Why can’t you bring more men out here?” Betty begged. “Surely there are more policemen in town.”
“Most of the young men are away fighting in the war,” Sheriff Whitfield explained. “Maple Green is like an empty village right now, not that the town was booming with people to begin with.” Sheriff Whitfield looked toward the open office door. “I have one man working with me and he’s out of town visiting his brother. I’m afraid I’m a one-man army.”
Mary studied Sheriff Whitfield’s eyes and realized the man was speaking the truth. Sheriff Whitfield was alone. “I guess we should start searching for Dr. Cappes?” she asked.
“I reckon so.” Sheriff Whitfield reached his hand into the left pocket of his pants and pulled out a handful of flour. “You ladies go on out into the hallway.” Mary hurried out into the hallway with Betty. Together they watched Sheriff Whitfield sprinkle flour all over the office floor. “Ready?” he asked, closing the office door.
Mary pointed toward the head nurse’s office. “I think we should check in there.”
“Why did you—” Betty began to ask.
Sheriff Whitfield quickly put his hand over Betty’s mouth. “Some words are better left under the tongue,” he whispered and winked at her.
“Oh,” Betty mumbled as Sheriff Whitfield removed his hand.
“Come on, honey,” Mary said and walked over to the head nurse’s office. “Sheriff, will you do the honors?”
Sheriff Whitfield reached out and carefully opened a door that led into a dim, gray office. He walked into the office and spotted a simple desk and tall filing cabinet sitting on a cold wooden floor surrounded by blue walls that looked gray and flat. “Not much in here,” he said.
Mary made her way over to the filing cabinet and pulled open the top drawer. “Ralph O’Malley and Uncle Albert’s files are missing,” she told Sheriff Whitfield. “Mrs. Dalton’s file is present.”
“No file means no evidence the man was even a patient here,” Sheriff Whitfield pointed out. “Only Nurse Greta knows who the man is.”
Mary soaked in Sheriff Whitfield’s words. “Goodness,” she said, “could it be possible that Nurse Greta is in danger?”
“She could be,” Sheriff Whitfield said, “if we’re right about Ralph O’Malley being Mrs. Dalton’s son.”
“Nurse Greta insists on leaving,” Betty pointed out as a hand reached the office door and touched her shoulder. Betty froze. Her eyes grew wide and white. And then Betty did what she always did: Betty fainted.
“Betty!” Mary yelled.
“Oh my,” Uncle Albert’s voice spoke in an alar
med tone, “I didn’t mean to frighten the poor dear.”
“Uncle Albert?” Mary asked in a shocked voice. “What are you doing out of your room?”
Sheriff Whitfield stared at Albert with careful eyes. “You were ordered to stay in your room, Mr. Malone.”
Albert looked down at Betty. “Poor dear,” he said and slowly pulled some fake pink roses from his left sleeve and placed them next to Betty’s head. “Rest well.”
“Betty isn’t dead, Uncle Albert,” Mary fussed and ran to Betty. “She only fainted.”
“Well then, that calls for a round of songs,” Albert said and began singing a happy song. “The sun has chased the tears away and now the horses run free…run free…so free…”
“Mr. Malone,” Sheriff Whitfield said over the singing, “what are you doing out of your room?”
“And how did you know where to find us?” Mary asked, fanning Betty’s face with her right hand. “Oh, wake up, honey…wake up.”
“I’ve come to tell you that Nurse Greta is now sleeping under the roses instead of staring down at them from above,” Albert said in a sorrowful voice. “Her body is lying in the upstairs hallway.”
Sheriff Whitfield looked at Mary with worried eyes and then asked Albert: “How did you know our location?”
“This is an old hospital,” Albert explained. “Voices carry in the wind.”
Sheriff Whitfield continued to stare at Albert. “How did you find Nurse Greta’s body?” he demanded.
“I heard a commotion of some kind taking place outside of my room door,” Albert explained as he tucked the fake flowers back up his sleeve. “I grew alarmed and decided to open my door.” Albert sighed. “When I opened the door, I spotted poor Nurse Greta…dead. Of course,” he added, “you would expect me to be pleased at such a turn of events, but I’m not. Nurse Greta may have been a foe…but I suppose the error was mine.”
“Uncle Albert—” Mary began.
Albert held up his right hand. “Nurse Greta was determined to destroy me due to the crime I committed in the past. I created the hatred she shared toward me…yet, my guilt did not allow me to destroy her.”
“What are you talking about?” Sheriff Whitfield demanded. He walked over to Albert, grabbed his right hand, and forcefully sat him down in a hard, wooden chair. “Start talking,” he ordered. “I want straight answers and no funny talk.”
Mary stopped fanning Betty’s face and looked at Albert. “Uncle Albert, if you knew Nurse Greta was connected to the German officer you let die, then why did you continue to come to this hospital?” she asked. “Why didn’t you escape long ago?”
Albert reached into his right pocket and pulled out a stack of playing cards. “Confusion is a strange friend,” he answered and began shuffling the cards.
Sheriff Whitfield slapped the playing cards out of Albert’s hands. “Stop playing crazy,” he snapped. “You’re no more crazy than I am. Sure, you’ve got some problems, but who doesn’t?” Sheriff Whitfield grabbed Albert’s arm. “We’ve all made mistakes in the past and we’ve all lost someone we’ve loved. You’re no different from anyone else and your pain is no deeper than the pain of others. So stop acting like your suffering is special, do you hear me?”
Albert stared up into Sheriff Whitfield’s eyes for a very long time. “You understand pain,” he said.
“My wife died a few years ago of cancer,” Sheriff Whitfield told him. “My son died at the age of five of the fever. I know pain.”
“You know the pain of war as well.”
“I saw men kill each other.” Sheriff Whitfield nodded. “I did my own share of killing, too.”
Albert continued to stare into Sheriff Whitfield’s eyes and then, to Mary’s shock, he shook the man’s hand. “I’ll be a friend.”
Sheriff Whitfield shook Albert’s hand back. “You can be a friend by telling me what’s going on.”
Albert looked at Mary. “First, allow me to answer your question,” he said and closed his eyes. “I was the one who tracked down Ellie,” he said, to Mary’s shock. “No one tracked me down, dear. How could they? I was a gust of wind.” Albert kept his eyes closed. “I learned that Ellie, her husband, and her daughter were working at Deep Woods under the care of Dr. Cappes.”
“Why did you track Ellie down?” Mary asked.
“First let me explain some very important facts,” Albert told Mary. “You see, my lovely, Ellie and her family were forced to leave Germany after the war. They fled to America under false names and have been in hiding ever since.”
“Why did they have to flee Germany?” Mary asked.
“The German officer I let die,” Albert sighed, “was an evil being who committed great crimes. Poor Ellie will argue that this man was a gentle soul being forced to serve monsters, but I know the truth…and deep down, so does Ellie, even though her broken heart refuses to capture the truth and have peace.” Albert sighed again. “Ellie was arrested because the allies thought she knew some very dark secrets. Sam…even though that’s not his real name…managed to help Ellie escape and fled to America along with Nurse Greta.”
Mary studied Albert’s eyes. “The people who arrested Ellie were after the gold.”
Albert nodded. “Yes, my dear,” he said. “If the German officer I had let die had not stolen the gold…and if I had left the gold untouched…Ellie would have been able to remain in Germany. But, as I mentioned, I was very bitter over the death of my own wife…tortured by the deaths of so many young men…filled with hate…” Albert felt tears begin falling from his eyes. “I returned home a torn soul. I…when I visited my wife’s grave and remembered the promise I had made to her…I found a reason to live again.” Albert wiped at his tears. “The gold…oh, I took the gold to…to…”
“To what?” Sheriff Whitfield asked.
Albert closed his eyes. “To ensure I would never have to cut into a human body again,” he whispered. “The gold was taken to allow a drunk surgeon a very early retirement.”
Sheriff Whitfield put his hand on Albert’s shoulder. “War destroys the heart,” he said.
Albert nodded his head. “I wanted to make right for my wrong,” he whispered. “I found Ellie…I told her the truth, but she made me vow to never speak a word to anyone out of fear for her life. She begged me to leave Deep Woods, but I refused. I refused because…I fell in love with her…secretly, of course. Not even Ellie knows my true feelings.” Albert opened his eyes. “It was Nurse Greta who overheard my conversation with dear Dr. Cappes on a cold winter morning. I was in a desperate state to speak the feelings I was hiding for Ellie to someone…I revealed far more than my mouth should have spoken.” Albert lowered his eyes. “Oh, I wanted to give Ellie the gold, but she refused…I wanted to give her my love but she…despised me. And when Nurse Greta confronted me with Sam and set a time limit on my life, I became fearful.” Albert looked at Mary with eyes full of shame. “The gold is cursed, my dear…that’s why I wanted to give it to you…please forgive me.”
Mary didn’t know what to say. So she said nothing.
Albert stood up and wiped at his tears. “Nurse Greta threatened me,” he continued. “I was given a certain amount of time to turn over the gold. But Ellie…oh, my sweet Ellie, she made me promise to never give the gold to Nurse Greta. Ellie understands the gold is cursed, too. Nothing good has ever come from that golden liquid.”
Mary heard Betty moan and quickly began fanning her face again. “Go on, Uncle Albert.”
Albert sighed. “For years, Nurse Greta and Sam assumed I was only a patient,” he continued. “A few months ago, I allowed my mouth to speak many secrets which were overhead by Nurse Greta. Shortly after that, I was paid a visit.” Albert looked around the depressing office. “Nurse Greta and Sam cornered me in the Music Room.”
“What did they do?” Sheriff Whitfield asked.
“What did they do?” Albert asked as a cruel hand began squeezing his tortured mind. “They ordered me to turn over the gold. I refused, of cour
se, wishing to honor Ellie’s desire to keep the gold hidden.” Albert looked down at Betty. “I knew they would not harm me until after I turned over my…cursed treasure…and I allowed as much time to pass as possible, desperately begging Ellie to run away with me. Instead of running away with me…Ellie…out of compassion, confessed a horrible secret.”
“What?” Sheriff Whitfield asked.
“Nurse Greta and Sam were planning to kill poor Dr. Cappes and blame his murder on me unless I turned over the gold. However,” Albert explained, “Ellie also confessed that even if I did turn over the gold, Nurse Greta was going to ensure that I ended up in a prison for the mentally insane.” Albert lifted his hands and studied them. “Perhaps I am insane…”
“You’re not crazy, Uncle Albert,” Mary insisted, “you’re just…well, you hit a few hard bumps in the road that knocked you off balance for a little while, that’s all.”
“I let a man die to steal his gold. Does a rational mind carry out such a hideous act?”
“You let an evil man die,” Mary replied as Betty’s eyes began to flutter open.
“I am not the judge,” Albert told Mary. “We have one Judge and He sits far above. I…let a man die because I wanted his gold, not for the good of humanity, and I will be judged for that…someday.”
Sheriff Whitfield put his hand on Albert’s shoulder. “Someday we’ll all be judged. For now, let’s stay focused on Nurse Greta, okay?”
“As you wish,” Albert said.
“What happened after Ellie told you the truth?” Sheriff Whitfield asked.
“I felt panic enter my heart and…” Albert paused and looked at Mary. “I had no family to depend on. Every family member that called me ‘Uncle’ treated me with a very ugly disrespect…except for dear Mary and her sweet husband. They treated me with love.” Albert bowed his head. “Such love…maybe a love that could turn a cursed treasure into a sweet dream.” Albert kept his head bowed. “I called Mary for help…I wanted her to help me escape.”
Finding a Killer Page 9