“No.” Ellie held out. “Whoever killed Dr. Cappes and my daughter will come for me soon enough…maybe Albert…and maybe even you. I’ll wait out my fate.”
Eric stomped on the floor again. “Lady…” he began to yell but caught his voice. Sure, maybe Eric did resemble a killer, but his heart was too weak to ever take a human life. His bag of tricks was his cruel face; intimidation was power. “Nurse Ellie, if you don’t tell me where the gold is hidden, I’m going to—”
“What?” Ellie asked, pushing Eric into a corner. “Will you kill me? Death is a gift to an old woman like me.” Ellie locked eyes with Eric. “Please, save your heart and soul and leave this hospital. Get rid of the hate and greed consuming your heart. Don’t let your end become a dark hole.”
Eric stared into Ellie’s caring eyes. Even though he was threatening her, the old woman was still showing him compassion—a compassion his mother had never showed him before. “Mother will destroy me if I don’t get the gold,” he confessed. “Mother has…my secrets. If I don’t find the gold, she’ll turn the books over to the bank president and…my life will be over. I’ve let myself become caught in her web.”
“You can—”
“I can do nothing except take Mother and find the gold,” Eric told Ellie, forcing his face to become cruel again. “I have a plan for Mother…a plan that will free me of her. But first I need the gold. Now talk.”
“No.” Ellie shook her head. “You’ll have to find the gold some other way.”
Eric closed his eyes and drew in an angry breath. What in the world was he supposed to do? How was he going to get Ellie to confess? His threats were obviously not working. “Lady,” he said, opening his eyes, “I—” The sound of footsteps forced Eric to stop talking. He swung around, studied the kitchen doorway, and then grabbed Ellie out of the chair. “Come on,” he ordered. He ran Ellie back into the pantry and slammed the door closed, leaving Mary in plain sight of whoever was approaching the kitchen.
“Oh dear,” Mary whispered in a panicked voice. She threw her eyes around and then hurried to the back door. It was locked, the kind of lock you needed a key for, even inside. “And I don’t have the key,” Mary whispered in a miserable voice. She hurried back to the pantry door, but the door was now locked. “Oh dear…trapped.”
With no other option but to wait, Mary gripped the wooden rolling pin, pressed her back against the pantry door, and prepared for a fight. When Betty appeared, she almost fainted. “Betty?” she cried out. “I thought you were upstairs watching Uncle Albert.”
“I was,” Betty confessed and ran over to Mary on scared legs. “I decided to check on him, Mary, honest I did. But when I went into his room…gone.”
“Gone?” Mary asked.
“I searched all over,” Betty explained in an earnest voice. “I even searched under his bed. Uncle Albert is missing.”
Mary lowered the wooden rolling pin and leaned her head back against the pantry door. “Where did you go, Uncle Albert?” she whispered.
“I have no idea where he went,” Betty said. “Maybe he crawled out of the window in his room. But…the window is very high up, and I didn’t see a ladder anywhere. Plus, the window was still locked from the inside.”
Mary lifted her head and tossed a thumb at the pantry door. “Eric Dalton…uh, the fella who was going by the name Ralph O’Malley…is in the pantry with Nurse Ellie. My guess is he took Nurse Ellie back down into a cellar hidden under the pantry floor.”
“Golly,” Betty whispered. “What do we do now?”
“I heard Eric Dalton tell Ellie that he locked Sheriff Whitfield in the basement. One of us needs to go unlock the basement door and one of us needs to stand guard,” Mary explained. “Eric Dalton insists he isn’t the killer. He’s only after the gold.”
Betty gulped. “Which…one of us will…stay here in the kitchen and which one of us will go free Sheriff Whitfield?”
“Well,” Mary said and gripped the wooden rolling pin, “we could draw straws, but I think I should go unlock the basement door.” Mary looked toward the kitchen door. “I’ll be as quick as I can. If you encounter a problem—”
“I know,” Betty said in a miserable voice, “don’t faint…and try my best to shoot this gun.”
“That’s my girl,” Mary said. She hurried out of the kitchen, not knowing what she might encounter on the way to the basement.
As Mary hurried away, Albert Malone surfaced in a deep part of the hospital…unseen and unheard.
8
The basement was locked with a key—a key Mary didn’t have. “Sheriff?” Mary called out and knocked on the basement door. “Sheriff, can you hear me?”
“Mary?” Sheriff Whitfield called from inside the basement door.
“Yes, it’s Mary Holland, Sheriff,” Mary answered, relieved to hear the sheriff’s voice. “The basement door is locked with a key.”
“Yeah, I figured that,” Sheriff Whitfield told Mary, standing at the top of the basement steps with his hunting knife in one hand and the scruff of Sam’s neck in the other. “I was about to begin digging my way out. Do you have the key?”
“I’m afraid not,” Mary told Sheriff Whitfield in a desperate voice. “The door opens to the outside…maybe you can kick it open?”
“Not at the angle I’m standing at, and not with my back,” Sheriff Whitfield answered. “Looks like I’m going to have to dig the doorknob out with my hunting knife.”
“What are you going to do with me?” Sam asked in a scared voice. His tough face was now nothing more than a mess of fear. “I didn’t kill Dr. Cappes…please, don’t let the killer hurt me.”
The sheriff turned and looked down at Sam’s face. The old man was terrified. The thought of being stabbed to death by a deadly killer had paralyzed his ability to remain cruel and heartless. The coward was now showing his true colors. “Mary told me that your wife told her that you loved the war…you thrived on violence and misery. What happened?”
Sam lowered his head in shame. “I…was a coward,” he answered in a low whisper. “I pretended to be…a soldier who took joy in the defeat of his enemies.” Sam kept his head lowered. “When I came across my first real battle…I ran away like a…coward. I…deserted my men and…ran. No one saw me desert my men…I pretended I had been captured by the enemy but managed to escape. My brother knew I was lying and had me transferred to work under him.” Sam slowly raised his eyes. “I was the one who shot my brother…not the enemy.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Sheriff Whitfield asked.
“If I’m going to die…I want to die with a clear conscience,” Sam replied. “But please…don’t let me die. I’m begging you.”
“Yeah,” Sheriff Whitfield replied in a disgusted voice, “the cowards always show their true colors in the end. Mary, stand back! I’m going to start digging my way through the door.”
Mary stepped away from the basement door, looked down a long creepy hallway, and waited. “Hurry,” she begged as a horrible feeling clenched her belly. “Oh, please hurry.”
Sheriff Whitfield told Sam to stand back and then, with a powerful hand, he began digging through the basement door with his hunting knife. Sam watched, debating whether he should turn and run or stay with the sheriff. Even if he did try and run, he thought, the sheriff would only track him down again. The man was a skilled hunter and he was a…coward. “Almost…through,” Sheriff Whitfield grunted as he dug wood away from the doorknob, “not…far to go.”
Mary spotted the tip of Sheriff Whitfield’s hunting knife as it peeked through the basement door. “Hurry,” she pleaded in a desperate whisper, “something tells me the killer is about to strike again.”
Sheriff Whitfield kept digging through the basement door. “There,” he said, finally digging enough wood away from the doorknob.
“What are you going to do?” Sam asked.
“Take the doorknob off,” Sheriff Whitfield explained in a quick voice and began using his hunting knife to re
move the doorknob. A few minutes later, he threw the doorknob down the stairs and yanked the basement door open. “Mary?”
“Right here,” Mary said and hurried over to the basement door. “I—” she began to say but stopped when she saw Sam appear. “You found Sam!”
“I sure did,” Sheriff Whitfield said. “He was hiding behind a stack of crates.”
Sam peered at Mary. “I didn’t kill Dr. Cappes.”
“But you were going to,” Mary pointed out.
“Greta was going to put poison in his coffee,” Sam confessed. “I don’t have the stomach…for killing.”
“Nurse Ellie said—”
“I know what Ellie told you,” Sam snapped and then shook his head. “I lied to her…so did my brother.”
“Save your breath for later,” Sheriff Whitfield ordered Sam. “Mary, where is Betty?”
“In the kitchen. Hurry,” Mary said and ran back to the kitchen, praying she would find Betty safe. When her eyes saw Betty still standing beside the pantry door, she let out a relieved sigh. “You’re okay.”
“I guess I am,” Betty said, thrilled to see Sheriff Whitfield appear. Her joy drained when she saw Sam. “Oh, it’s that creepy old man.”
Sam lowered his head, walked over to the wooden table, and sat down. “I’ll sit right here,” he assured Sheriff Whitfield.
“Good idea,” Sheriff Whitfield agreed and carefully took his gun back from Betty. “We need to get back upstairs. One of us—”
“Before we do,” Mary said and pointed at the pantry door, “some events have taken place since we parted ways.”
“What events?” Sheriff Whitfield asked.
“Eric Dalton, Mrs. Dalton’s son, is inside that pantry with Nurse Ellie…hidden under the pantry floor in an old cellar, I think.”
“I told Greta the Dalton man would not pass for an Irish man. The name Ralph O’Malley didn’t fit him,” Sam grumbled.
“Be quiet,” Sheriff Whitfield ordered Sam. He walked over to the pantry, prepared his gun, and tried the doorknob. “Locked.”
“Yes, I know,” Mary said and handed Betty the wooden rolling pin. “Sheriff, someone attacked Mrs. Dalton. The woman is alive but unconscious…at least, when I left her.” Mary looked at Sam and then back at Sheriff Whitfield. “She kept mumbling something about how her son betrayed her.”
“Eric Dalton is the killer,” Sheriff Whitfield told Mary. “I’m sure—”
“I don’t think Eric Dalton is the killer,” Mary interrupted in a respectful voice. “I heard Eric Dalton tell Nurse Ellie that he didn’t kill Dr. Cappes or Nurse Greta.” Mary focused her mind on the words Eric Dalton had spoken to Ellie. “Eric Dalton kept insisting that all he wanted was the gold…but he did threaten to kill Uncle Albert…and then he threatened to kill Ellie—”
“Why?” Sheriff Whitfield asked.
“Ellie knows where Uncle Albert hid the stolen gold.”
Sheriff Whitfield nodded his head. “Go on, Mary, you’re doing fine.”
Mary let out a tired breath. “Ellie refused to tell Eric Dalton where the gold is hidden…she knows Eric Dalton isn’t a killer.”
“The man could be lying,” Sheriff Whitfield pointed out.
“Sheriff,” Mary insisted, “I heard his voice clear as day. The voice I heard was speaking the truth.” Mary pointed at the basement door. “Eric Dalton isn’t the killer. I’m certain of that.”
“Then who attacked Mrs. Dalton?” Sheriff Whitfield asked.
Mary drew in a deep breath. “Eric Dalton is wearing a black suit. Uncle Albert is wearing a black tuxedo. Mrs. Dalton was strangled from behind. Eric Dalton wouldn’t have left her alive. Uncle Albert…isn’t as strong as Eric Dalton.”
“No,” Betty gasped, “Uncle Albert can’t be the killer. Why, he’s just a harmless, broken old man. Mary, you have to be wrong.”
“I wish I were wrong,” Mary told Betty and looked at Sheriff Whitfield with sad eyes. “Uncle Albert is killing everyone who is a threat to him…a threat to Ellie.”
“Then why in the world did he call you and ask for help?” Betty asked.
“Uncle Albert…needed someone to protect him,” Mary explained.
“Protect?” Betty asked, confused.
“I think I understand,” Sheriff Whitfield told Mary. “Albert Malone brought you here to make you believe people were out to kill him. In the meantime, he kills his victims, claims innocence, and then escapes with you. Right?”
“Right.” Mary nodded. “Uncle Albert’s first order of business was to make me believe he was innocent…a victim. Once he accomplished that, he would start killing his victims.”
“But we were in the Music Room with Uncle Albert when Nurse Greta burst in,” Betty told Mary. “How could Uncle Albert have killed Dr. Cappes and been in the Music Room at the same time?”
Mary looked at Sheriff Whitfield. “The blood on the back of Dr. Cappes’s shirt was dry when we entered his office with Nurse Greta.”
“I know,” Sheriff Whitfield said. “I tucked that bit of evidence away.”
“I know you did,” Mary said. “When you question people and try to create a timeline of their whereabouts, it’s good to have a…trick up your sleeve.”
“Never show all your cards at once,” Sheriff Whitfield told Mary. “Seems like you’ve learned that trick yourself. I’m impressed.”
“I needed to let my mind gather the facts before I decided on what to believe,” Mary explained. “After I heard Eric Dalton tell Nurse Ellie that he was innocent of murder, I thought of Mrs. Dalton and Nurse Greta. Nurse Greta wasn’t killed with a violent hand, but Mrs. Maybrook insisted she heard her struggling with someone in the hallway.” Mary nodded toward the pantry door. “Upstairs in Mrs. Dalton’s room I caught the scent of a faint cologne and managed to track the smell to the kitchen. Uncle Albert said he hid Nurse Ellie, and I heard Eric Dalton confess that he found the poor woman hidden in a cellar under the pantry floor…the same cellar Uncle Albert hid Ellie in.”
“But Uncle Albert can’t be the killer,” Betty insisted. “You said it yourself, Sheriff…Uncle Albert’s hands are too weak…he couldn’t have stabbed Dr. Cappes.”
Sheriff Whitfield rubbed his beard. “Albert Malone was a surgeon during the war. He would know where to plant a knife in a man’s back.”
“But his shaky hands—” Betty began to argue.
“Honey,” Mary said in a sad voice, “deception is the rule of the game.” Mary looked at Sheriff Whitfield. “I do believe Uncle Albert is insane,” she said in a careful voice. “I honestly believe Uncle Albert thinks Nurse Ellie is his wife…in one way or another…and he’s trying to protect her.”
“Crazy or not,” Sheriff Whitfield pointed out, “Albert Malone has to be stopped before he kills again.”
“Poor Uncle Albert,” Betty whispered.
“Don’t feel sorry for Uncle Albert,” Mary told Betty. “He is a very dangerous man that needs to be locked away.”
“I knew he was the killer,” Sam snapped. “You should have listened to me.”
Sheriff Whitfield threw a hard eye at Sam. “Nurse Greta found a three of hearts playing card beside Dr. Cappes’s body. I assumed, at the beginning, the man was being framed for murder.”
“Oh, Greta planted the card,” Sam said and shook his head. “When she found Dr. Cappes dead, she panicked and came to me. I told her what to do…out of fear for myself. I know we broke the law, but we were scared.”
Sheriff Whitfield shook his head. “This is a mighty interesting case of murder,” he said and focused on the pantry door. “Looks like I need to get into that pantry.”
“There’s a dumbwaiter upstairs, sheriff,” Mary explained. “I found it hiding behind a portrait at the end of the upstairs hallway. I believe the dumbwaiter lowers down to the pantry. It’s possible Eric Dalton could have locked Nurse Ellie in the cellar and escaped back to the upstairs level.” Mary looked down at the wooden rolling pin in her hands. “Eric Dalt
on has a gun.”
“Dr. Cappes was a fool to let that man come here,” Sam said. “He was a fool to care so much about this hospital.”
Mary looked at Sam. “Dr. Cappes seemed to have cared about you.”
“Of course he did,” Sam fussed, daring to show a little anger now that the identity of the real killer was out in the open. “Dr. Cappes was my cousin. He helped me escape from Germany with Ellie and Greta. We helped him turn this hospital into what you see today. He was a clever man but very foolish with money. He only wanted the most expensive furnishings…paintings…” Sam shook his head. “He drained his wife’s fortune the way a hungry dog licks up a dry puddle of water.”
“The man is dead now, so show some respect,” Sheriff Whitfield ordered Sam.
“I know,” Sam said and lowered his eyes down to the floor. “He’s dead by one hand and would have died by another.” Sam shook his head. “That man did save my life, but in the end, I betrayed him. Yes, I’ll show him the respect he deserves now and stop being angry at him.”
Mary looked at Betty. “People sure are strange, aren’t they?”
“I’ll say,” Betty replied in a confused voice. “Why, it’s getting so that you don’t know who to trust anymore.” Betty looked at Mary with desperate eyes. “We know who the killer is, Mary. Let’s go home, now. Please. The sheriff can find Uncle Albert and arrest him. Let’s go home.”
Mary wanted to grab Betty’s hand, run to her car, and dash away as fast as she possibly could. However, she knew that leaving Sheriff Whitfield alone wasn’t an option. “Honey, we have a killer to catch, and we can’t leave Sheriff Whitfield alone. I’m sorry. We have to stay until Uncle Albert and Eric Dalton are in custody.”
“I was afraid you were going to say that,” Betty whimpered and quickly grabbed the wooden rolling pin out of Mary’s hand. “Well, I’ve only fainted twice today…so maybe I’ll make it to supper time…I hope.”
Finding a Killer Page 12