“Why didn’t you just leave?” Sheriff Whitfield asked. “You folks can come and go as you please.”
Albert raised his head and pointed at Mary. “I couldn’t leave Ellie,” he explained. “My sweet niece is a very smart woman. I felt that she would be able to help me escape this hospital with Ellie as my wife.” Albert sighed. “I’m sorry for speaking half-truths when you arrived, my dear. The truth is I’m just a very old man who is a bit insane, I’m afraid. I went insane after I lost my wife…during the war…and grew even worse when Ellie refused to give me her love. Humor…oh humor…kept me from diving into a deep hole.”
“Uncle Albert—”
Albert held up his right hand again. “At times it was unbearable for me to stay at this hospital knowing Ellie would never love me. That’s when I would leave and visit family members and…in order to forget my pain, while keeping a promise to a very sweet dying woman…I would perform my funny acts. The only problem was that I allowed my humor to hide the truth, even when I would return to the hospital. I began…depending on my humor to support my mind. And then one day, my dear, I realized the truth: I had lost my sanity. Ellie…poor Ellie…she knew long before I did.”
Sheriff Whitfield stored Albert’s words into his mind, sidestepped the emotional turmoil, and walked to the office door. “Mr. Malone, do you know who Ralph O’Malley is?” he asked.
Albert grew silent. He watched Betty’s eyes open and then hurried to pick the playing cards up off the floor. “Mary?” Betty grumbled.
“I’m right here, honey,” Mary said and offered a sweet smile. “You fainted again, I’m afraid.”
“Oh dear,” Betty whispered. Mary helped her lean up. “Uncle…Albert?” Betty asked, spotting the old man picking up a deck of spilled playing cards.
“Hello, my dear,” Albert said to Betty in a gentle voice.
“A hand touched my shoulder,” Betty told Mary. “Uncle Albert…was the hand that touched my shoulder yours?”
“Yes, my dear,” Albert confessed. “I’m very sorry I gave you such a fright.”
“Forget the fright,” Sheriff Whitfield demanded. “Mr. Malone, who is Ralph O’Malley?”
Albert stood up and offered Sheriff Whitfield a card. “Pick a card.”
“I’m about to carry you out of this hospital in handcuffs and arrest you for murder if you don’t start talking,” Sheriff Whitfield threatened Albert. “When I do, you’ll never see Ellie again either, and that’s a promise.”
Panic struck Albert’s eyes. “No, please…not Ellie,” he begged.
“Start talking then,” Sheriff Whitfield ordered.
Albert quickly put the playing cards away and sat down. “Ralph O’Malley is Mrs. Dalton’s son,” he said in a hurried voice. The fear of never seeing Ellie again was sending his mind into a deep, horrible panic. “Ralph O’Malley isn’t a real patient at this hospital. Dr. Cappes created a false patient file…Ellie told me so.”
“Why?” Mary asked.
“Gold,” Albert said in his panicked voice. “Dr. Cappes…he was a dear sweet man…but he spent all his money on transforming a very ugly prison into this wonderful hospital. His pockets were growing thin.” Albert closed his eyes. “Dr. Cappes’s wife was a very wealthy woman but when she died three years ago, all of her money died with her. It was that woman’s money that funded this hospital.” Albert cringed. “Dr. Cappes…was a bit insane himself. He was obsessed with this hospital.”
“Why?” Sheriff Whitfield asked.
“No one knows,” Albert answered in an honest voice, keeping his eyes closed. Behind his eyes he saw Ellie’s sweet, painful face. “Some secrets remain hidden forever.”
Sheriff Whitfield looked at Mary and nodded his head. “Mr. Malone, how is Mrs. Dalton involved?”
“Mrs. Dalton is an evil woman,” Albert whispered. “She wants the gold…the gold…oh, that awful gold.” Albert flung his eyes open and pointed at Mary. “You must take the gold…destroy this curse…your heart…so innocent…so purse…destroy the curse…the gold will be my reward for you for helping to leave this hospital with Ellie. The time to escape has arrived.”
Mary hurried over to Albert. “Uncle Albert, it’s all right. Try and calm down,” she pleaded. “We need to understand who Mrs. Dalton is. Please.”
Albert looked up at Mary and began drawing in short, shallow, panicked breaths. “You must take Ellie and leave this place,” he begged as his mind slowly began to slip away. “Leave this place with my sweet Erin…take Erin and leave this place…oh, Erin, don’t die…don’t leave me.”
At that moment Mary understood a very sad truth: Albert wasn’t in love with Ellie. No, Albert had transformed Ellie into his dead wife within a deep, strange, tormented mind. “Uncle Albert, please,” she begged, “who is Mrs. Dalton?”
“I guess he is crazy after all,” Sheriff Whitfield said and patted Albert on his shoulder. “Let’s get him back to his room.”
Mary carefully took Albert’s right arm and helped him stand up. “It’s all right, Uncle Albert,” she whispered, “we’re going to take you back to your room.”
“Erin…my sweet Erin…so young…” Albert mumbled to himself and then, to Mary’s shock, jerked away from her, swung around, and pulled out his deck of playing cards. “Pick a card, my dear,” he exclaimed in an excited voice, “and let me amaze your mind.”
“Goodness,” Betty whispered, “he really is crazy.”
“Not crazy,” Mary told Betty, “tormented.”
Sheriff Whitfield grabbed Albert’s left arm and walked him out of the office. “Back to your room,” he ordered.
Mary took Betty’s hand and followed Sheriff Whitfield as he led Albert back upstairs to his room. When she reached the top of the stairs, she spotted Nurse Greta’s body lying face down on the hallway floor. “Oh dear,” Betty gasped.
Mary looked around for Ellie but didn’t spot her. “Where is Nurse Ellie?” she asked Albert.
Albert stopped walking and spun around on panicked feet. “I hid her away, of course,” he said. “I hid my sweet Erin from the grave.”
“Where?” Sheriff Whitfield demanded.
“From the grave,” Albert whispered and then dashed into his room like a madman and slammed the door. Seconds later, the sounds of singing began floating out into the hallway.
Sheriff Whitfield shook his head. He walked over to Nurse Greta, bent down, and began examining her body. “No sign of violence,” he pointed out with a frown. “I thought maybe she had been strangled.”
Before Mary could respond, Sam appeared at the bottom of the stairs, looked up at Mary, and then ran off into the hospital. “Sam!” Mary yelled.
Sam heard Mary yell at him but, fearful for his life, he hurried—as fast as his old body would let him—down a long hallway. He stopped at a closed door, yanked it open, and vanished down into a deep, dark basement just as Sheriff Whitfield reached the bottom of the stairs. Fortunately for Sam, he managed to escape before Sheriff Whitfield spotted him.
“He’s gone!” Sheriff Whitfield yelled up at Mary and Betty.
Mary looked at Betty with worried eyes. “I’m sorry I brought you here, honey.”
Betty grabbed Mary’s hands. “We’re a team,” she said in a shaky voice. “You have never left my side since we were little girls and I’m not leaving your side.” Betty looked up and down the long hallway. “I just hope we make it out of this hospital alive.”
“Me, too,” Mary said and then heard a door creep open. She threw her eyes down the hallway and spotted Mandy Dalton glaring at her. “Mrs. Dalton?” Mary called out.
Mandy grinned and eased her door closed.
“So creepy,” Betty said and shivered all over.
“Come on, honey,” Mary said and marched down the hallway toward Mandy’s room. “Mrs. Dalton?” she yelled and banged on the door with a hard fist. “Open up right now!”
Sheriff Whitfield hurried back upstairs and arrived just as Mandy opened her door.
“What do you want?” Mandy grinned.
Mary pointed at Nurse Greta’s body. “A woman is dead,” she snapped. “We believe your son is doing the killing.”
Mandy stopped grinning. “How dare you?” she hissed at Mary and actually tried to slap her. Mary caught Mandy’s hand and pushed it away from her face. “My son—”
“Dr. Cappes created a fake patient file for your son,” Mary snapped at Mandy. “Now, the sheriff wants answers right this second before anyone else is killed.”
Mandy spotted Sheriff Whitfield. “Get this woman away from me!” she ordered.
Sheriff Whitfield lowered his gun and walked over to a creepy old woman who was more dangerous than a riled-up rattlesnake. “Ma’am, is Ralph O’Malley your son?” he asked, feeling like his own grandmother was going to appear out of thin air and begin beating him with a stick.
“Eric Dalton is my son,” Mandy answered Sheriff Whitfield in a cold voice.
Mary bit down on her lower lip and studied Mandy’s face. The old woman was being very selective and clever in her wording. “We were told Ralph O’Malley was your son.”
“By Albert Malone, I suppose,” Mandy complained. “Albert is a sweet man, but his mind wanders off into paths that are filled with lies.”
Mary studied Mandy’s eyes. “You don’t mean that,” she said. “You don’t even like Uncle Albert. No…you…despise him. I can see that truth in your eyes.”
Mandy locked eyes with Mary. “Some secrets are worth playing nice for.” She grinned and began closing her room door.
Mary stuck out her foot and prevented Mandy from vanishing back into her room. “We want answers. If you refuse to talk…why…why, the sheriff will arrest you.”
“Arrest me if you must.” Mandy continued to grin. “But I will win this game, young lady…me and my son.” And with those words, Mandy forced her door shut.
“Sheriff?” Mary pleaded.
“Let her be,” Sheriff Whitfield told Mary. “That old woman ain’t going nowhere.”
“She sure is creepy,” Betty said, quickly backing away from Mandy’s door.
“She sure is,” Sheriff Whitfield agreed. He put his gun away and looked back toward the stairs. “We have a killer on the loose…a missing body…a missing nurse…a missing guard…and a couple of crazy minds. If I had known my day was going to turn out like this, I’d have gone fishing.”
“Me, too,” Betty said and nodded her head up and down, up and down, until it made Mary dizzy.
“What do we do now?” Mary asked Sheriff Whitfield. “We’re being pulled pretty thin.”
“Well, we can’t all be in one place at once,” Sheriff Whitfield explained. “I think the time has arrived for us to split up into two teams.”
“Split up?” Betty gulped. “But you have the gun.”
Sheriff Whitfield looked down at his gun, studied it, and then handed it to Mary. “All you have to do is aim and pull the trigger, Mary.”
Mary took the heavy gun and looked at Sheriff Whitfield. “But what about you?”
“I have my hunting knife on me,” Sheriff Whitfield explained and patted his left side. “Now, you girls stay upstairs. I’m going to take the downstairs. If you encounter any trouble, fire two shots and I’ll come running.”
“What happens if you encounter trouble?” Mary asked in a worried voice.
Sheriff Whitfield walked to the stairs. “If I’m not back in one hour, take your crazy uncle and get out of here,” he replied and then, without saying another word, he vanished down the stairs like a brave soldier running into battle.
As Sheriff Whitfield hurried downstairs, Mandy’s door crept open. “Perfect,” a vicious voice said and eased the door closed before Mary or Betty noticed.
7
Mary decided to check on Sarah Maybrook. “She could be very frightened,” Mary said to Betty, knocking on Sarah’s door. “And also,” Mary added in a hopeful voice, “Sarah might be able to tell us more about Mrs. Dalton.”
Sarah eased her room door open, spotted Mary and Betty, and then looked out into the hallway with nervous eyes. “I heard an awful commotion,” she said. “I heard Nurse Greta pleading with someone to leave her alone…oh, it was so awful.”
Mary glanced at Greta’s body. “Sarah, I’m afraid Nurse Greta is dead.”
“I know,” Sarah whispered, “I opened my door and spotted her body. Oh, the poor woman.” Sarah shook her head. “Nurse Greta had no heart…but she didn’t deserve to be killed.”
“May we come in?” Mary asked.
Sarah looked down at the gun Mary was holding. “Not with that,” she answered. “I despise those awful things.”
“I’m afraid guns are necessary,” Mary explained. “A killer is loose in the hospital, Mrs. Maybrook, and we need a way to defend ourselves.”
Sarah sighed. “I realize that,” she told Mary and then shook her head. “Maybe this once…I’ll make an exception. Please, come in.”
“Betty,” Mary said in a quick voice, “I’m going to leave the room door open. I want you to stand in the doorway and keep watch. If you hear or see anything, let me know.”
“Oh dear,” Betty said. She reluctantly stepped into the doorway after Mary entered Sarah’s room and began walking her eyes up and down the hallway.
“Mrs. Maybrook,” Mary said, forcing her voice to remain steady and patient, “did you see anyone when you opened your door?”
“No,” Sarah answered. “I…was afraid.” Sarah sat down in a sitting chair and nervously put her hands together. “I suppose I should have tried to help Nurse Greta, but I assumed Nurse Ellie…” Sarah shook her head again. “Nurse Ellie was nowhere in sight.”
Mary’s thoughts went to Albert. “Mrs. Maybrook, did you hear anyone open their door?”
Sarah focused her eyes on a painting holding a rainy city landscape. “New York…1928,” she told Mary. “I visited New York on April twelfth…sixteen years after a ship called the Titanic sank. Up until four years ago, I visited the city every year on that same date.”
“I read about the sinking of the Titanic,” Mary told Sarah. “Such a tragedy.”
“I know,” Sarah replied and fought back a tear. “My husband was on that ship…as was I.” Sarah looked up at Mary. “I was placed in a lifeboat…my husband…drowned.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry.”
“So am I,” Sarah told Mary. “After my husband’s death, I never remarried or loved another. Painting became my life.”
Mary wanted to put her arms around Sarah and hug the poor woman but realized she needed to stay on course. “Mrs. Maybrook, did you hear anyone open their door before or after Nurse Greta was killed?”
“Yes,” Sarah whispered. “I heard Albert and Mrs. Dalton both open their doors.”
“When?” Mary asked in a calm tone.
Sarah kept her eyes on the rainy city. “I heard Albert open his door before all the commotion and then…when silence fell…maybe a couple of minutes later…I heard Mrs. Dalton open her door.”
Mary made a quick mental note and moved forward. “Mrs. Maybrook, can you tell me more about Mrs. Dalton? I heard she had a son that was a patient here. A man by the name of Ralph O’Malley.”
Sarah slowly took her eyes away from the rainy city and raised them up to Mary. “I saw the man,” she confessed and quickly hugged her arms. “He seemed very fond of Mrs. Dalton and it didn’t take me long to understand that he was her son.” Sarah lowered her eyes again. “Mrs. Dalton is a proud woman. I’m sure she brought her son here under a false name to protect him as well as her own pride.”
“What did this man look like?” Mary asked.
“Angry,” Sarah explained as a chill crawled down her back. “Very, very angry.”
“What I mean is…” Mary began to say.
“I know what you mean, dear,” Sarah interrupted. “You want me to tell you that Mrs. Dalton’s son had short black hair, a sharp nose, a hard chin, and eyes that held no soul. Those things are
true…but the anger I saw in his eyes…spoke to me the most.” Sarah grew silent for a second. “I never interfere with the dealings of another person,” she finally said. “I mind my own business…but while that awful man was visiting the hospital, I heard him arguing with Dr. Cappes out in the hallway. I had never heard Dr. Cappes raise his voice and was shocked to hear him so angry. I suppose that’s why I listened. I…was supposed to have been down in the art room but I had a headache. No one knew I was in my room.”
“What was the argument?” Mary asked and looked at Betty. “All clear?” she asked.
Betty focused on Nurse Greta’s body. “Except for one dead body,” she said in a nervous voice.
Mary nodded and focused back on Sarah. “Can you tell me what you heard?”
Sarah hesitated. Speaking about matters that were not connected to her own personal affairs made her feel like a two-cent gossip. Yet she felt a deep desire to speak the truth to Mary. “Money,” Sarah told Mary. “Dr. Cappes was demanding Ralph O’Malley…which was certainly not the man’s real name…give him money. Ralph O’Malley told Dr. Cappes that he would get his money once…”
“Once what?” Mary asked.
Sarah shook her head. “You’re going to think I’m crazier than I already am.”
Mary bent down, put Sheriff Whitfield’s gun on the floor, and took Sarah’s hands into her own. “I don’t think you’re crazy,” she said in a loving, sincere voice. “I see a lonely, hurt woman who needs love, not a mental hospital.”
Sarah felt a tear slip out of her eye. “You’re…very kind.”
“I’m only speaking the truth,” Mary whispered and wiped Sarah’s tear away. “Now, tell me, what did Ralph O’Malley tell Dr. Cappes?”
Sarah stared into Mary’s loving eyes. “Gold,” she said. “I heard that awful man tell Dr. Cappes he would get his money once the gold was found. But…”
“But what?” Mary asked.
Sarah shrugged her shoulders. “I heard Dr. Cappes say the Germans want the gold, too…and that the clown will never surrender easily. I’m not sure what Dr. Cappes meant. And to be honest, I blocked his words out of my mind until today. You see, my husband taught me to take care of my own land before offering to help a neighbor plant a tree.”
Finding a Killer Page 10