DRAINED

by Suzanne Ferrell

  “Yes, he was. I was the chief witness who put him on death row and spent the next ten years in witness protection.”

  She set her napkin on the table next to her plate and stood, turning her back to Paula, she slowly unbuttoned the front of her blouse with shaky fingers. Other than the nurses at the hospital and Matt, she’d never allowed anyone to see her back.

  “What are you—”

  Paula’s question stopped on a gasp as Katie let her blouse slide down just enough to reveal her upper back.

  “Oh, dear God,” Paula whispered behind her.

  “My mother took me to live with a monster,” Katie said, willing her voice to be calm and steady.

  She waited a moment longer for Paula to really study the thick ropes of scars that zigzagged across her back, some straight others jagged, before pulling her blouse back up and buttoning it.

  “Are those whip marks?”

  Katie nodded, keeping her face forward until she could control the tears that sprung into her eyes. “He liked to use a bull whip to enforce his rules. And he did it publicly, so everyone in the camp could see his power and control and they’d fear him. If he was willing to punish his own stepdaughter so cruelly, it left no doubt he’d do the same to them.”

  “And what are those other scars from?”

  “That was a special treat.” Her emotions back under control, she looked over her shoulder at Paula. “He let his Pitbull guard dogs attack me.”

  When she resumed her seat, she took a long drink of ice-cold tea before continuing her tale.

  “Is that where you met your husband? The Witness Protection program, not the cult.”

  Katie lifted her lips in a whisper of a smile. “Not exactly. I met him right when the Prophet sent a hitman to kill me.”

  Paula’s eyes widened. “Really?”

  “Yes. Matt, his brother Luke, and the man whose house this is—a former Deputy U.S. Marshal and my handler in WitSec—Frank Castello helped save my life.” She stared straight into Paula’s eyes. “But it’s taken me a long time to trust people, even those close to me, so believe me when I tell you I understand exactly how you feel right now.”

  Nodding, Paula coughed, covering her mouth with her napkin to spit the phlegm from her lungs into it. Katie grabbed two more napkins off the counter and traded them for the contaminated one and tossed it into the covered trash can. Then she washed her hands. As a nurse, it didn’t disgust her.

  Sitting across the table from her, Katie waited patiently. Once Paula’s breathing returned to normal, she began the slow process of walking her into her memories.

  “Do you remember last night talking with Brianna about your friend Art?”

  “Yes. She asked me if I remember seeing him with a reporter. I told her I might’ve, but I never got a really good look at him. Why?”

  Katie poured them both more tea from the pitcher on the table. “Besides doing security and protection for our clients, the agency I work for also does what is known as a cognitive interview with witnesses.”

  “What’s a cognitive interview?” Paula asked, reaching for her tea.

  “It’s a conversation, really,” Katie said, making her voice as relaxed and non-threatening as possible. “People often see more than they think, their subconscious registering information faster than our conscious minds can process it. If you’re willing, we can try it to see if we can get more details about this person.”

  Doubt clouded Paula’s eyes and she slightly shook her head. “I don’t know if that will help. I really just got a glimpse of Art talking to someone and the guy’s back was to me.”

  “I understand that. But you never know. Maybe some little detail, even something you don’t think is important will help Brianna and Aaron find your friend’s killer.” She waited a moment to let that last sentence sink in. “There’s no harm in trying, right?”

  “I guess not,” Paula said, almost sounding like Katie’s nephew Nicky when he was doing something just to please his parents.

  “First think I need you to do is relax and clear your mind,” Katie said. “Close your eyes and just take some slow easy breaths. When you’re ready, you let me know.”

  Paula did as instructed, leaning back in her chair, letting her hands lay loosely in her lap. After three slow breaths, she said, “I’m ready.”

  “Okay, I want you to think back to that day. What kind of day was it? Sunny? Rainy?”

  With her eyes closed, Paula’s mouth curved into a little smile. “Cold and rainy, typical spring in Cleveland.”

  “You’re coming into the shelter—”

  “It’s a church,” Paula corrected her. “East Side Hope Fellowship church. I help serve dinner there on Monday’s and Thursdays.”

  “You like helping people, don’t you?”

  Paula nodded. “It makes me happy.”

  “What were they serving for dinner that night?”

  “It’s been a month since then, I don’t remember.”

  Katie waited a moment. “What do you smell?”

  “Cooked onions and meat. Meatloaf with brown gravy. There’s mashed potatoes and something a little tangy. Collard greens. Oh, and cooked apples and cinnamon. Apple crisp for dessert.” Paula smiled. “Miss Mary was cooking tonight. She’s one of the best cooks at the church. She always flirts with Art and Stanley. Makes the pup his own little bowl of food.”

  “Do you see Art and Stanley come in?”

  She nods. “They’re a little wet. It started sleeting as they got to the door.”

  “How is Art’s mood?”

  “He’s happy. Said he loves Miss Mary’s cooking and wouldn’t miss it even for bad weather. We talk a little and I get to hold Stanley while Art gets his plate filled with food.”

  “Is there a large or small crowd for dinner tonight?”

  “Crowded. The weather and good food always has the church’s social hall packed.”

  “Where do Art and Stanley go to sit?”

  “They leave the line to go sit on the left side of the hall. Art’s friend Bill is there and saved him a spot. They do that. The first one to find a seat saves one for the other. Stanley sits between their feet eating his little plate of food.”

  “What are you doing now?”

  “Loading the plates as the people come through. Mostly regulars tonight, although a new mother with three kids comes through.” Paula’s face softens. “The kids look so scared. I help the mother carry their food to a table.”

  “Do they sit near Art?”

  Paula shakes her head. “No, they go to a table further down the aisle on the other side.”

  “So, you have to walk past Art and Bill to go back to the serving area?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is anyone sitting with them?”

  “Hondo, Yancy, and Carmen are at the same table. Carmen is petting Stanley. There’s two empty chairs between them and Art. I pet Stanley’s head as I pass by.”

  “You’re back at the serving table, what happens next?”

  “We serve the food until it’s gone. Somehow Mary always makes enough so everyone who shows up gets some. Then people start to drift out into the night since there are only a few beds and those are for the people with kids first. We start cleaning things up and throwing out the trash.”

  “Is Art still there?”

  Paula nods. “He’s sitting with Stanley in his lap talking to someone.” She sucks in some air and her eyes pop open. “It’s him, the guy who kills him, isn’t it?”

  “It’s okay, Paula. You’re safe. I’m here with you. He can’t hurt you,” Katie reassured her. “Take another deep breath and close your eyes.”

  She did as Katie asked. Then nodded. “I’m ready.”

  “You can see Art?” She was going to give Paula something happy and non-threatening to focus on first.

  “Yes.”

  “Is Stanley with him?”

  “Sitting in his lap. Art is rubbing his head.”

  “Can you see th
e other man’s face?”

  Paula shakes her head, her brows drawn down in frustration. “He’s got his back to me. All I can see is a little bit of dark brown hair sticking out from under his cap.”

  “It’s okay. Let’s talk about what you can see. What’s he wearing?”

  She sat quiet a minute, her eyes moving behind her closed lids. “A dark sweatshirt, blue, I think. Jeans. And the knit cap was blue, too.”

  “Let’s go back a little. You walked the little family to their seats. When you walked past Art’s table, was the man sitting across from him?”

  Paula was quiet a moment, then shook her head. “No, Bill is still there eating.”

  “Good. So, you walk back to the serving area. What do you do next?”

  “I step back into my spot to serve the mashed potatoes and gravy.”

  “Look over the line of guests. Is the man with the blue knit hat in the line?” Katie asked.

  Again, there was a quiet pause.

  “No. I don’t see him at all.”

  “When do you see him next?”

  “When we’re cleaning up and he’s already seated across from Art. I didn’t see him come into the dining hall.”

  Paula clenched her fingers tightly in her lap now, her lips pressed into a thin line even though she kept her eyes closed. Time to calm her down.

  “Let’s relax a moment. Take a deep breath in and exhale slowly.” Katie waited for her to do that. “The man is sitting across from Art and Stanley. Is he a big man or a small man?”

  “I’m five-feet-two, all men are tall to me.”

  Katie smiled. She so knew the feeling being the same height. “Is he sitting straight or hunched over?”

  “Hunched over a little. So, I guess he’s a little taller than average.”

  “Good. Is he heavy or thin?” Katie asked as the motor for the garage door started. Brianna and Aaron must be back.

  “He’s about average. I can’t tell because of his sweatshirt is bulky, but it looks a little big on him.”

  “Does he have any facial hair?”

  The garage door opened. In walked her husband, Brianna and Aaron. Katie held her finger to her lips to let the others know to be quiet, but Stanley let out a yip of happiness at seeing Paula and broke her concentration.

  “Stanley!” she said, opening her arms to catch the terrier mid-jump into her lap.

  “How’d it go?” Matt asked, coming over to pull Katie into his arms and give her a quick hello kiss.

  Would she ever get used to how free and easy this man demonstrated his love for her and their son?

  “I couldn’t see his face,” Paula said, dejection in her voice.

  “Actually,” Katie said, “we learned quite a bit about him.”

  “Like what?” Brianna asked, grabbing a glass and joining them at the table. Aaron pulled out two beers, opened them and handed one to Matt.

  “He’s white, has dark hair, is taller than average, but not too tall. Probably average weight,” Katie said, pouring tea into her friend’s glass. “And he probably knows Paula.”

  28

  Brianna sat back in her seat, stunned and trying to process what Katie had just said. She looked up at Aaron, his facial features hard and his mouth pressed into a thin line. Beside him, Matt’s expression matched his. She swung her gaze to Paula who stared wide-eyed at Katie.

  “I didn’t say I knew him,” Paula blurted out and nearly dropped Stanley as she defended herself. “I told you I never saw his face.”

  “I didn’t say you did,” Katie said calmly. “I said he probably knows you, as well as other members of the volunteer community. It’s why he kept his back to the serving table. Why he wore his hat inside and avoided getting in the line for food.”

  “Because he didn’t want any volunteers to remember he was there.” Aaron set his beer bottle on the counter and pulled out his phone, texting in something.

  “It’s also how he’s finding out about the homeless people’s lives, their histories,” Brianna said, following the dots along the path that Katie had set out. “At some point he’s been a volunteer in the homeless community.”

  “It’s also why they trusted him.” Matt pulled up a chair. “The homeless are very wary of strangers.”

  Paula nodded, relaxing once more, her fingers stroking Stanley’s fur. “You don’t trust anyone who is suddenly wanting to help. They could be a NARC or someone wanting to exploit you. You know, pat themselves on the back in the news at how much they’re helping. Politicians running for office. You make friends slowly, and you only trust those you’ve known a while.” She shifted her sad gaze to Brianna. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

  “Because you’ve been ill. You’ve been grieving. And why would you suspect someone you knew would do this to people you loved?” Brianna laid her hand over Paula’s. “This is not your fault.”

  “No, but maybe we could’ve found him before he killed Art.”

  “We couldn’t have,” Aaron said, coming to join them and setting his phone on the table. “Our killer has had a plan for at least months, given how he preserved Mia’s body until he could use her body.”

  Brianna liked how he still referred to Mia as a person with a gender and a name. Not the impersonalized way some of the other police had called her a victim or body in the meeting earlier. She suspected he did it in deference to Mia being her and Paula’s friend, as well as his own respect for Art and Mia as people.

  “Is he really a journalist?” Paula asked.

  Aaron shook his head. “I don’t think so. He used the article ruse to get close to the homeless. A way to cull the herd until he found his target.”

  “You make him sound like he’s a lion hunting a baby zebra, like I saw on one of those British television shows,” Paula said.

  “He is very much a hunter. A predator searching for the weakest target,” Matt said. “He’s also very intelligent.”

  “Because he’s planned this out to some point he wants to make to us?” Brianna asked.

  Matt nodded. “That and other things. He’s pretended to be a journalist in such a way people want to tell him their stories, reveal their pasts, which the homeless usually like to keep hidden from others, even themselves. Also, he knows quite a great deal about blood collection and processing. He might have some sort of medical or scientific degree.”

  “You think he’s a doctor?” Paula asked.

  Aaron shook his head. “I think our man may have once been in or applied to medical school, but he ended up working in a lab. Possibly a hospital or blood bank lab somewhere in the city. Not because he flunked out or didn’t make the grade, but because he chose to take a different path.”

  “You think this has been on his mind for years?” Brianna asked, wondering how Aaron had come to that conclusion.

  “It was what Carson said in the meeting today.” Aaron pulled a note pad from his pocket and flipped it open a few pages. “He believes that our guy’s deviance from normal occurred when he was young. He blames the homeless possibly for someone in his family dying.”

  “Maybe that person couldn’t get blood because it was used for a homeless person?” Brianna said, understanding where Aaron was going.

  “The person would need a very rare blood type for that to be the case,” Katie said. As a nurse and the lone medical person at the table, she’d have more knowledge than them about blood transfusions. “When a person needs blood STAT and theirs isn’t available, we can give most of them O-negative blood. Majority of the people won’t have a reaction to it.”

  “Most, but not all.” Aaron pushed the idea forward.

  “True. It’s a very rare person that couldn’t use O-neg. That’s why they call it the universal donor type.”

  “So, let’s say this happened when our guy was a teen and he held the homeless at fault for using the blood that would’ve saved his loved one’s life, he’d have plenty of time to conceive and carry out his plan.”

  “That’s a long-rang
e revenge scenario, you’re talking about, Jeffers,” Matt said. “He’d have to be extremely patient and disciplined.”

  “Aaron’s right,” Brianna said, trying not to sound as irritated as she felt with Matt’s semi-dismissiveness to her and Aaron’s line of thought. “He froze my friend’s body for months just to hatch this plan to make his point.”

  Matt nodded. “Okay, then what’s his next move? He’s already got the attention of the police.”

  “He’ll leave another body, soon,” Aaron said, then staring straight at her. “And this time he’s going to want more attention.”

  * * *

  Sitting in his van in the parking lot for the port, he studied the facility across the street, his next spot to display his newest resurrection piece.

  The perfect site. Right at the front entrance to the stadium.

  He chuckled.

  If the former footballer hadn’t tried to cheat by using steroids, he might’ve been coming here to play, hailed as a hero. Instead he’d squandered his talent and ended up a useless piece of human garbage like the vet and the violinist.

  Thanks to him, their lives meant something in the end. People actually living up to their potential, contributing to society, people who mattered, would continue because he’d harvest the life-giving blood for them. People like his mother.

  “It’s such a shame,” said the dark-haired woman in the light blue outfit all the other nurses in the Emergency Room wore.

  He was sitting outside Mommy’s room across from the desk where the nurses and doctors kept moving in and out. Dad was still inside with her. They’d let him give her a kiss and hug then told him to wait on this chair, as if he wouldn’t know what was happening inside the closed door.

  “Such a beautiful woman. She taught me art in high school,” the blonde nurse said.

  “And her life could’ve been saved if we’d just had her blood type.”

  A younger nurse shook her head. “I was the one who had to hang the blood on that homeless alcoholic patient. I wish I’d known we were going to need those two units for her. I would’ve made one unit go in slower. It would’ve bought her some time.”