“I strangled one of our enemies,” Albert told Ellie in a quick voice as he shuffled the playing cards. “She was a vicious enemy soldier…the worst out of all of them. Or so I thought. Now I know that the sheriff and Mary Holland are the worst because they want to take you away from me.” Albert stared at the office door for a minute and then hurried back to the metal door, closed it tight, and secured the lock with an old key. “They’ll find the door into the tunnel, my sweet Erin. I have to trap them.”
Ellie felt her legs growing weak. She quickly sat down in a wooden chair and bowed her head. “Oh Albert,” she cried, “why did you have to steal the gold?”
“Why, my love?” Albert asked in a shocked voice. “Why, I stole the gold because…because…” Albert began shuffling the playing cards again as his mind returned to a cold, rainy field. He saw himself, much younger in age, standing next to a stone wall holding a shovel and wearing a black trench coat and a German officer’s hat.
“Must hurry,” he whispered as the cold rain stung his face. “Must find the gold.” Albert began digging into a hard ground preparing for a cruel winter. An hour later, he struck a long rectangular metal box that was five feet long, three feet high, and four feet wide; the metal box was hand-crated.
“The gold!” Albert exclaimed. He threw down the shovel, dropped down onto his knees, and pried the lid open. And there, sitting in perfect rows, was the gold. Without wasting a second, Albert ran to a team of strong horses hooked to a wooden wagon and retrieved a chain. He quickly wrapped the chain around the metal box, ran back to the horses, grabbed the reins, and began ordering the horses to move. The horses let out a miserable cry and, with aching muscles, began pulling the metal box full of gold out of the ground. When the box was free, Albert quickly painted the box to make it appear like a medical chest full of supplies.
“The gold is ours,” he grinned as the rain covered his shaking body. “The gold is…ours…all ours, my sweet Erin.” Then Albert stopped, shook his head, and said: “Erin is dead…the gold is mine…”
“Why?” Ellie asked Albert, bringing his mind back into the present moment. “Why did you really steal the gold?”
Albert stared at Ellie. “I…deserved to…I wanted to…stop…hurting,” he whispered. “No more pain…the gold would stop the pain…”
“But the gold didn’t stop the pain,” Ellie insisted. “You could never let go of the guilt, Albert.”
Albert continued to stare at Ellie. For a brief second, he saw a scared woman instead of his wife. But then his mind clouded again. “Oh, Erin, let’s not talk about such ugly matters. Once I defeat our enemies, we’ll be free of this horrible prison.”
“You’ll never be free of this prison, Albert,” Ellie warned. “You’ll always be imprisoned inside of your own heart. The only way you’ll ever be free is to turn yourself over to the sheriff and confess the truth.”
“The truth?” Albert asked. “The truth is that we belong together, my sweet Erin, and we’ll never be apart again.” Albert’s eyes turned dark. “I will not allow anyone to take you from me again. Never.”
“You’re a very sick man,” Ellie told Albert, lowering her eyes down to the floor. “You’re a very, very sick man.”
Albert glared at Ellie. “Why must you oppose me?” he asked in a voice that became hard. “My sweet Erin, you have never opposed me before. I don’t understand why you’re trying to protect the enemy.”
“I’m trying to help you,” Ellie assured Albert.
Before Albert could respond, he saw Ellie change into a German soldier—a cruel, heartless soldier grinning at him. “Erin?” he asked and shook his head. “Erin…” The playing cards slowly dropped out of Albert’s hands and hit the floor. “No…Erin…come back!” he yelled.
“Albert?” Ellie asked in an alarmed voice.
Albert shook his head again. The German soldier vanished. Ellie reappeared. “Oh, Erin, there you are!” he cried. He ran to Ellie and wrapped his arms around her. “I thought I lost you.”
“I was right here,” Ellie said in a confused voice.
“No,” Albert insisted, “you went—” Albert stopped talking. Suddenly he felt the need to tell a joke. After all, he did promise he would never lose his sense of humor. “Erin, why did my brother take a hammer and nails into his bedroom?”
“What?” Ellie asked.
“Because he was told to go make his bed.” Albert chuckled. “See, my love? I’ve retained my humor…just like I promised you. I made people laugh…I…” Albert stopped talking again. Suddenly, the German soldier reappeared. “Get away!” Albert yelled. He pulled a gun from the right pocket of his tuxedo and pointed it at Ellie.
“Albert…what are you doing?” Ellie cried. “Put the gun away.”
Albert stared at Ellie with wide, angry eyes. “Get away from—” Before he could finish his sentence, Ellie reappeared. “Oh, my sweet Erin,” he said in a relieved voice, “you’re back.” Albert licked his lips, looked at the office door, and nodded his head. “We must hurry. The enemy will be back soon.” Albert quickly pulled Ellie to her feet, forced her back into Dr. Cappes’s office, and ordered her into the dirt tunnel. “My sweet Erin, you must stay right here and not move.”
“Albert—”
Albert tucked his gun away and pulled a piece of string out of his left sleeve. “Forgive me, my dear,” he said and quickly tied Ellie’s ankles together. “I can’t risk you endangering the mission.”
Ellie looked down at her ankles, tried to tear the string holding them together, and failed. She was now helpless to walk. “Albert—”
“My sweet Erin,” Albert said, offering Ellie a loving hug, “I will return for you. In the meantime,” Albert pulled a red and white handkerchief from his right sleeve and tied Ellie’s mouth closed, “you must remain hidden and very silent.”
Ellie tried to object but Albert closed the hidden door, locking her inside the dirt tunnel. “Now,” he said, feeling his eyes grow dark again, “it’s time to destroy the rest of my enemies.” Albert pulled his gun back out and hurried out of Dr. Cappes’s office.
Upstairs, Mary eased into Mandy Dalton’s room. “Mrs. Dalton?” she called out. Mandy was still lying unconscious on the floor. “Sheriff, Mrs. Dalton is still hurt.”
Sheriff Whitfield knelt down and checked Mandy for a pulse. “She’s still alive,” he said. “Her pulse is strong for a woman her age. We’ll get her to the hospital later. Right now, we have to catch Albert Malone.”
Mary agreed. “Look at the floor,” she said.
“I know,” Sheriff Whitfield said, “flour…dirt…Albert Malone has been in this room.”
Mary looked around. “The tracks lead to the closet door,” she pointed out.
“Then what are we waiting for?” Sheriff Whitfield asked. He rushed over to the closet door and steadied his gun. “Ready?”
“Ready,” Mary promised.
Sheriff Whitfield nodded his head, cautiously eased the closet door open, and stepped inside. “Here,” he called back to Mary.
Mary hurried into the closet and spotted Sheriff Whitfield standing inside of a metal door with stairs leading down. “You found it.”
Sheriff Whitfield looked back at Mary. “The floor is dirt, but the walls look like some of the old hard wood,” he pointed out, peering down a dimly lit hallway, “and I see a lot of closed doors with bars on them. I think this is where the prisoners were kept.”
“What do you suggest we do?” Mary asked.
Sheriff Whitfield looked down at the floor. “There’s flour on the floor and footprints leading away from the closet.”
“Uncle Albert is trying to…he’s leading us in a circle?” Mary asked.
“I’m not sure what he’s doing,” Sheriff Whitfield confessed. “I think we should follow the hallway and see where it leads. The hallway could branch off and lead outside.”
“Okay,” Mary agreed. “But first let me lock the room door. I don’t want anyone sneaking up
on us.”
“Good idea.”
Mary ran back into the room, checked on Mandy one last time, and then quickly locked the room door and hurried back to Sheriff Whitfield. “We’re all set,” she explained. “Mrs. Dalton looks like she’s breathing normal. I think she’s going to be okay.”
“Then let’s move,” Sheriff Whitfield told Mary and stepped down the stairs and into the hallway. Mary carefully followed behind. “I think this is the hallway where they kept men who were going to be hanged.”
“Oh, how awful,” Mary said, watching Sheriff Whitfield stop at a metal door and glance through the bars. “What do you see?” she asked.
“Come and look.”
Mary hesitated and then walked up to the cell door and looked inside. All she saw was an ugly, tiny room with a broken cot sitting in the middle of the floor. “I can’t imagine…” she whispered.
“This is the end for men who have no souls,” Sheriff Whitfield explained, staring into the tiny room. “Come on, we need to get moving.”
Mary nodded her head and followed after Sheriff Whitfield. She walked past five more tiny cells that were spaced apart and then turned a sharp corner, ending up at the locked metal door leading into the head nurse’s office. “Is the door still locked?” Mary asked, feeling relieved that she had reached the end of the tunnel without encountering any unwanted surprises.
Sheriff Whitfield grabbed the rusted doorknob with his left hand and shook it. “Yeah, still locked,” he said and rubbed his beard. “Looks like we’re going back the way we came. Come on.”
“I’m right behind you,” Mary promised and began following Sheriff Whitfield back to Mandy’s room, believing Uncle Albert was far away. But suddenly, she saw Uncle Albert standing in the middle of the hallway in front of them, pointing a gun straight at Sheriff Whitfield.
“Uncle Albert!” she exclaimed. Only, the face of the kind, funny, broken-hearted old man she once knew was now replaced by that of an angry killer.
“Sheriff,” Albert said in a voice that told Sheriff Whitfield his life was in danger, “lower your gun down to the floor or…die.”
Sheriff Whitfield kicked himself for walking into a trap. He dropped his gun and grabbed Mary’s left hand, easing the woman behind his back. “You’re making a mistake,” he told Albert. “Two people are dead. Don’t make this any worse than it has to be.” Sheriff Whitfield nodded toward the tiny cells. “Those cells are meant to hold killers. If you don’t surrender, that’s where you’re going to end up.”
“Oh no,” Albert said and flashed a powerful grin at Sheriff Whitfield, “that’s where you’re going to end up,” he said and pointed toward a tiny cell that had its door open. “If you don’t mind,” he said, backing up, “walk with me.”
Sheriff Whitfield looked at the open cell door and then focused back on Albert. He knew once Albert locked him in the cell, he was dead…and so was Mary. “Mr. Malone, you’re making a horrible mistake,” he said and quickly decided to play a little mind game. “The real killer confessed. I have him locked in the kitchen, handcuffed to the guard.”
Mary looked up at Sheriff Whitfield, read his voice, and then understood his game. “That’s right, Uncle Albert,” she added, forcing her voice to sound caring and sincere even though she was terrified. “Eric Dalton confessed to killing Dr. Cappes and Nurse Greta. You can go to the kitchen yourself and see. He’s handcuffed to the guard. We…came to find you. It’s all over. You can…” Mary quickly searched her mind for any words that would turn Albert back into a friend instead of an enemy. “You can leave with…your wife now.”
Sheriff Whitfield glanced at Mary, studied her desperate eyes, and then nodded his head. “That’s right, Mr. Malone, you can leave with your wife now. So don’t do anything foolish, okay? We have the real killer. If you kill us, you’ll become a wanted man and that wouldn’t be fair to your wife, now would it?”
Albert stared at Mary and Sheriff Whitfield with shocked eyes. “Why…no, my sweet Erin deserves peace,” he said in a voice that slowly began to lose its anger.
“Uncle Albert,” Mary continued, “go upstairs and look in the kitchen. Eric Dalton is handcuffed to the guard. He confessed to the killings. And…he even confessed to trying to strangle poor Mrs. Dalton.”
“Go look for yourself,” Sheriff Whitfield told Albert. “We’ll stay right here while you do.”
Albert slowly began to lower his gun. “I suppose I should,” he said and then stopped when Mary and Sheriff Whitfield suddenly turned into two German soldiers. “No!” he yelled and raised his gun back into the air. “You will not take my wife from me…not ever! Now get into the prison cell this instant!”
Mary and Sheriff Whitfield looked at each other with worried eyes. “What now?” Sheriff Whitfield whispered.
Mary placed her eyes on Albert. “I don’t know,” she whispered, looking at a man who was truly insane.
Sheriff Whitfield locked his eyes on the gun Albert was holding. The old man had his finger on the firing trigger and was prepared to strike at any second. “We can’t let ourselves get locked in a cell,” he whispered. “If we let ourselves get locked in, that old man will shoot us as sure as I’m standing here.”
Mary stared at Albert. “Uncle Albert—”
“In the cell, now!” Albert barked. In his eyes he was seeing two German soldiers who were causing him great pain. “You’ll never hurt another man again…no more cries of pain…no more agony…no more…death!” he yelled as his right hand began to shake.
“Uncle Albert,” Mary said, feeling her heart break for the old man, “it’s Mary Holland. I’m married to your nephew John, remember?”
Albert didn’t hear Mary. All he heard were the screams of wounded men. “Never again!” he said in a tormented voice. “Now get in the cell…now!”
Mary didn’t know what to do. All she knew was that Albert meant business and was prepared to kill. She had to think. “Think,” she begged in a desperate whisper, “think. Use your critical thinking skills.”
And then an idea struck Mary’s mind. “Ah,” she said.
“What?” Sheriff Whitfield whispered.
“Watch,” Mary whispered back and quickly altered her voice. “Albert, dear, why all this fuss?”
“Huh?” Albert asked in a confused voice.
“It’s me…Erin,” Mary said, feeling guilt strike her heart. But what choice did she have?
“Er…Erin?” Albert asked as the two enemy soldiers in his mind slowly transformed back into Mary and Sheriff Whitfield.
Mary had no idea what Erin Malone’s voice sounded like. All she could do was pray for a miracle. “Albert, dear, the war is over. Now stop all the fuss and put that ugly old gun down and go…get me a warm glass of tea. You know how the…weather is this time of year,” Mary said, struggling to sound like a fussy wife.
Albert stared at Mary. “Erin?” he asked, feeling his mind beginning to crumble into a deep, deep hole. “But it can’t…you can’t…I have you locked in the tunnel. How can you be here?” Albert shook his head. “How can you…”
“Oh, Albert, why all the fuss?” Mary asked again, keeping her voice fussy and beautiful at the same time. “Now put that awful gun down and go get me a glass of warm tea.”
Albert continued to shake his head. “But…you’re in the tunnel…” he whispered and then, before he could say another word, his mind actually transformed Mary’s beautiful face into the sick face of his dying wife. “Oh, Erin, you’re sick. What are you doing out of bed? The weather is awful outside. Oh, you must get back into bed this minute.”
Sheriff Whitfield saw Albert lower the gun he was holding. “It’s working,” he whispered, “keep it up.”
Mary felt tears begin to sting her eyes. “Forgive me, Uncle Albert,” she whispered and then cleared her throat. “Please, Albert my love, put the gun down and go get me some tea. The weather is very unfriendly, and I do wish to have my tea.”
“Of course, my sweet love, b
ut we must get you back into your bed first. Dr. Green will be very upset to find out that you have been out of bed. He gave me direct orders to keep you in bed. You’re a very sick woman.”
Mary nodded her head. “I know what the doctor told you, dear, but…I do wish to have my tea…and I do wish for you to put down that awful gun.” Mary felt a tear roll down her cheek. Maybe Albert was insane—but it was time, pain, and agony that had driven him insane. “Please, my love, put the gun down and go get my tea.”
Albert lowered his eyes, studied the gun in his hand, and then looked back at Mary. “But the enemies, my love, they wish to take you away from me. I can’t let that happen…no, never.” Albert shook his head and then closed his eyes. “Never,” he whispered in an agonized voice. “Never.”
“Albert—”
“Never,” Albert whispered, and, suddenly, his eyes cleared. As they did, the face of his wife vanished and Mary’s face reappeared. “You…it was all a trick,” Albert said in an angry tone. He lifted his gun back into the air and pointed it at Mary. “You tried to trick me…you’re an awful woman…awful…shame on you!”
“Uncle Albert—”
“Get into the cell,” Albert ordered. “Get into—” Albert stopped talking. A strange feeling swept through him. Suddenly he felt the need to start singing a happy song. “Oh, the sky is blue, and the ducks are quaking down by the Old Miller Pond. Oh, the sky is blue, and the ducks are walking one by one into the water…”
Sheriff Whitfield looked at Mary. “I have to charge at him,” he said in a quick voice, “he’s becoming more unstable by the second.”
“No,” Mary whispered in an alarmed voice. “If you do, Uncle Albert will fire his gun. Please, sheriff, we have to be smart about this.”
“What do you suggest we do?” Sheriff Whitfield whispered back. “Sooner or later he’s going to shoot us.”
Mary looked at Uncle Albert. When the old man stopped singing, he shook his head and then locked eyes with her. “Into the cell!” he ordered. “You can’t trick me. I know you’re the enemy. I know you want to take my sweet Erin away from me. I know you want to destroy…humankind with your awful wars…” Tears began to fall from Albert’s eyes. “I won’t let you win…do you hear me…never again…never again…”
Finding a Killer Page 14