An Angel of A Different Order: Dr Peter VonNetzer, the bloodletter (Danger Angel Book 1)

by S. R. Rashad

  “Oh look, Laura, here!” holding up a file with the name ‘Sgt. Roberts’ and marked ‘Victim: Joan Stallman’ on it.

  “Yes, Jen. I think that’s it.”

  “You see, I can be focused,” Jen says with a smile.

  “Okay good job, young lady. Now, lets see what are the details of the arrest.”

  Jen opens up the file and begins reading…

  “At 2am, we arrive on the scene. At the home of Joan Stallman 32 Lincoln Rd, officer Rodrigues and I approach the front door…”

  I interrupt her…

  “Jen hon, hmm...is there anything missing here? What is the first thing we want to know?”

  “Well, let me see,” as she runs her finger across the file and continues to read silently.

  “No, Jen…Stop reading… think. Remember, you are a criminal attorney. So think like one, please. As the attorney of the accused, what is the first thing I want to know?”

  She puts the file down and looks around the room, thinking…

  “Oh, oh, of course, how could I miss it. Why? Why are they at Joan Stallman’s house?” she says with excitement.

  “Yes girl, that’s it! We wanna know why. Is there ‘probable cause,’ did they get a call, do they have a ‘warrant.’ These are our first concerns, my fine young attorney.”

  “Now find me something. Look for ‘probable cause,’‘a warrant’, or a transcript of the radio dispatch. Let's focus here.”

  Jen turns the entire box upside down, spreading all the files from the precinct onto the bed. The two of them take their time thumbing through the entire pile. Hours pass, nothing on the dispatch or the reason for the visit to the house is there, and no probable cause, or warrant.

  “Jen, we know from the details in the file what they found when they broke the door down. Ms. Stallman was dead and the doctor was draining her already deceased body, but the report says she was killed by a large knife, not the small surgical scalpel the doc was found with, and there is no true evidence that points to the doc as her killer and she had been dead for sometime when they entered. And they didn't recover the murder weapon. This is highly circumstantial. Why no murder weapon? Who called the police? What tipped them off? Why were they there? All this troubles me. We have a lot of work ahead of us, lady.”

  “Well, Laura. What do you think? cover up or police corruption?”

  “Well, before we go down that road lets go through all the boxes. Maybe, an associate or paralegal at the firm put the file in the wrong box. We need to go through everything first. We need to be very thorough. There needs to be a hundred percent certainty that something just isn't missing from how the stuff was gathered and given to us.”

  Jen stands and looks at all the boxes with her mouth wide open. I go over and rub her back… “You still think we’re having fun, young lady?”

  “Well…I don’t know?” she says with less enthusiasm.

  “No, no, no, girl, don’t you wimp out on me now…I am gonna need my fun and perky Jen, ok, the one who had all the excitement and joy a few hours ago.”

  “Okay,” she says nervously, then gives me a big smile.

  The real fun begins. The real tedious, grueling, exacting work. We go through box after box, file after file, for hours. The task is Herculean to say the least, but when we go through the crime scene photos and the photos of the mutilated remains, the more gross images, shocking to say the least, the stuff in here, is not for the faint of heart, very sobering and shocking for us both. My little doe eyed Bambi is getting a clearer picture of the nature of the crimes, and the depravity involved, the pure sinisterness: bodies cut, ripped apart, torn to pieces, just lumps of bloody flesh, ugly, nasty, inhuman.

  “I think I’m gonna be sick…” she says as she looks at, then drops one of the more gruesome photos on the bed and covers her mouth.

  “Hey, hey don’t do it on the bed, please! Quick, go to the bathroom, now”

  She pulls her hand away from her mouth, clutching her stomach…

  “I think I’ll be fine. But Laura, when you met with him, did he say he did all this? Cause, I don’t know about this…”

  “Well, now things get real, Jen. This is the job. Remember the oath when you passed the bar? This is the kind of stuff we see when we represent criminals that's why the oath.”

  Ok, I can see what I’m saying is not helping the situation. My precious Bambi is turning grey. The shock is overwhelming her…

  “You know what, lady. Lets take a little break. I’ll see if someone can bring us up some of that pot roast that I’ve been hearing so much about and a few beers, ok?”

  “Ok, but I don't think I can eat. But if we watch a movie or a sitcom, for a bit?” She says with a childlike innocence… “just to clear my mind. I need other images in my head about now.”

  “Sure thing, hon. TV, it is. But I do need some food and a beer, maybe two.”

  I flip through the comedy and lighthearted stuff on the movie queue and see ‘Princess Bride.’ This is the one. Since I was a kid, it has always changed my mood.

  “Hey look, hon. We have the Princess Bride. How’s that sound, good?”

  “Yes, absolutely, yes.”

  “Great, it’s settled then. The Princess Bride, a little food and some beers, and then, we’ll see where we’re at, ok…It doesn’t have to be all work, right?”

  “No, it doesn’t!” Jen says with that smile and enthusiasm she’s known for.

  I have to admit, the photos threw me for a loop as well, and some of the reports on the nature of the killings is starting to wear on me also. I know my oath as a Bar member, and i do believe all who request it are due an attorney and ‘due process’ but man, oh man… And the kicker is, he is not remorseful. He has no feelings of guilt. He is not shying away from the fact that these are reprehensible crimes. Now, if it’s clear that there has been some miscarriage of justice here, I am sworn to bring it to the attention of my client, the firm and the courts. We are going to have to be sure of this one. There will be no insanity plea. I was starting to hope for it, once I began to see him for the monster everyone makes him out to be. But if the cops screwed up or If he was wrongfully imprisoned, he will go free. And this will be because I love the law and I worked hard to be good at what I do. Now, that will mean me helping to get this guy off. Shit!

  The pot roast was pretty good, and the beers were needed indeed…

  “Hey Jen, I have the movie queued up. Lets do it…grab me that last beer.”

  We get into the enormous comfy bed and Jen curls up beside me. I am definitely starting to feel like the big sister, here. I think I like it. She laughs at almost every scene in the film. Sometimes, I think it silly, but still, it’s nice. I’m glad Jim suggested I get help. I am too used to working on my own. I forget that we are all here for each other. I don’t have to go it alone. And Jen’s sense of ease, comfort and lightheartedness is what I needed, and didn’t know it. I look over, and halfway through the film, she is asleep. Hell, she even has a smile on her face in her sleep, amazing, just amazing…who couldn’t help but like her, and she’ll make a good lawyer, just not a good criminal defense attorney. There is no way Bambi here is cut out for this. Heck, I'm starting to doubt that I'm cut out for this.

  I stop the movie, tuck her in and continue to look through the remaining files. There is nothing, nothing at all on a radio despatch or the reason for them being there and why did they break the door down? There's no copy of a warrant or mention of probable, here. I have no choice. I have to call Jim in the morning. This is perhaps good for the doctor, but not for the world. I don’t think I want a guy like this roaming free. As a matter of fact, I’m sure of it.

  Chapter 7

  A place to relax

  Peter's prize inheritance is located in his dad's boyhood home, in the woodlands of Michigan's U.P. Mostly forest, it's a dense greenery, wild and rugged land, inhabited by a great deal of wild life, the largest variety of both the hunted and hunters in Michigan. Three percent of
Michigan's residents live here in what is one third of the total area of Michigan's land mass. The Yoopers, as the inhabitants of the land above the bridge like to refer to themselves, are a very proud and private people. They know life in the U.P. is unlike that of the rest of the state and they like it that way. The families here are deeply rooted in old ways and customs that serve their unique lifestyle, part country living, part island living, whose hidden economy is more barter than capital and those that live here like it that way. This is the side of Peter that dominates his bloodline. And here is the proper place for his home away from home to be located. His dad's old hunting cabin has become a special place for him. It's a place he goes to relax and unwind from the riggers of the day to day hustle and bustle. It's a place where he goes to think, to write, to kill. Nearly six generations of VonNetzers have lived and hunted here on this land and although peter hunts a prey of a different sort, he is a true VonNetzer hunter for sure.

  He has spent a good deal of money in remodeling his dad's gem, originally built in the thirties by Peter’s grandfather. Now, for Peter, it’s no longer a stodgy and shabby old hunting lodge. It's a state-of-the-art living and working chateau. A feature he is most proud of is the radiant heated floors through out, for those frosty U.P. mornings, modern living at its finest. And, he added a huge twenty feet high bay window that overlooks the splendor of the mighty Lake Superior, giving this 'A' framed house the look and feel of an old basilica and why not, this has become Peter’s house of worship, more or less.

  In the basement of his getaway, which too has been refined, and most throughly updated, except for his dad's old refrigerated walk-in which he kept intact and preserved for sentimental reasons. As a kid, he would enjoy seeing his dad dismember, skin and quarter deer, rabbit and other assorted game and hang them there in the freezer. Sometime ago, on peter’s first occasion to use this ancient marvel, he had had the Anderson triplets over, each with that special glow that required his most loving and special attention. He could not pass up this wonderful trifecta. After all, the heavens had been teasing him, placing all three in his study lab. After inviting them to his hidden hideaway during a long school break, he managed to lace their cocktails. But now he had all three, knowing he hadn't the time or the strength to do away with all three, just then, he remembered his keepsake, the place his dad put all his dismembered game, saving them for future enjoyment...the walk-in gets its first use since dad's hunting days. His savory delights became the walk-in’s first stored items in 20 years.

  He wired the house with a wonderful Bose sound system. He remembered the way he admired what Jill Hornsby did at her condo many years ago. The way the music filled the place, creating a wonderful homey feel he admired. With strategically place speakers mounted in the walls and furniture, one always feels as though one is in the music. This little touch delighted him. And even in his work area, his otherwise superbly sound proof basement, he placed two speakers over the operating table for his most honored guests to enjoy, in instances where he had to leave them for a bit to make a call, cook dinner or entertain guests upstairs.

  His workroom's sound proofing was well tested. A few weeks ago, it got an unexpected but very welcomed guest with whom peter stumbled across while taking in the best of Mackinaw City. Peter enjoys hanging out and shopping in Mackinaw City, located just on the other side of the bridge that connects upper Michigan proper to the U.P, a great little city to have a good cup'o Joe while enjoying the local sights and sounds along the waterway of the Great Lake.

  She was jogging along a trail just near Peter’s favorite haunt when he spotted her coming toward him, in the distance. The way her skin radiated warmth and light, held his attention from first glance. She didn't have that overpowering glow of a Jill Hornsby but there was enough luminescence in her to get his undivided attention. As she gets closer, peter begins to beam with anticipation. Just the thought of what he wants to do with her; take his time draining her, bathing in her blood, covering himself from head to toe with her crimson essence, brought a joy filled tear to his eye.

  As she nearly passes him by, the urge overtakes him. He yells something at her to get her attention. "So, you're just going to ignore me Alice!” He screams in her direction.

  She turns and looks at him shrugging her shoulders..."my name is not Alice!” She yells.

  "Don't make me embarrass you in front of these people Alice,” he continues.

  She has a look that says what the fuck is this guy's problem on her face. She heads towards Peter…

  “Hey man, what the hell!”

  Peter looks down and puts his hands to his head as if embarrassed."Shit! You're not Alice."

  "Yea, what the hell is this all about!”

  "I'm sorry, as you ran by, you looked just like my old girlfriend, Alice."

  "Oh, okay...well...I'm not."

  "This is extremely embarrassing. it's just that...I don't know, I really had a thing for her and she left without saying good bye. And maybe I kind of hoped that...well...I thought that...I don't know what I'm saying."

  "Well, I'm sorry she hurt you."

  "Ah, fuck, now you think I'm some pathetic sap."

  "No...whatever...we have all had people hurt us, no biggie."

  "Cool... can I buy you a coffee before you go?"

  "I really don't have the time."

  "Listen, I'll just get you a to go cup and you can be on your way, payment for me embarrassing you and for making an ass of myself."

  She chuckles a bit..."Ok, for being an embarrassing sappy ass."

  "Indeed,” says Peter as he orders a to go cup for her.

  While waiting for the waitress to come back, she begins to tell him of her last jerky boyfriend and all the crap he put her through. The two of them exchange embarrassing stories, each trying to out do the other. Peter is seeming less and less like a jerk to her. Nearly an hour of laughter and smiles pass between them. Peter suggests they go somewhere private. She says she really has to go. He offers to drive her home.

  "I live in Ann Arbor.”

  "Wait, you ran all that way?"

  She laughs..."no, silly...I'm staying a few miles down the way, at a friend's place and I'm late for dinner." "My truck is just in the lot across the road. Unless you still wanna run?!"

  "I’m too tired, it's too late and I'm too caffeinated."

  “Let's go then,” urges Peter.

  Peter lets her give him directions to her friend's place. They enter a road just off the beaten path. He looks around for other cars or passersby. Not seeing a soul, he decides to act.

  "Hey could you pass me that CD on the backseat?" Peter says.

  As she reaches back, Peter takes his large steel thermos and gives her a swift and impactful blow to the back of her head, knocking her out cold. Peter pulls off the road and goes under the backseat where he keeps a little chloroform for the occasional damsel who has trouble staying knocked out. He places her in the back, duct taping her hands and feet and throws a blanket over her, completely covering her, then heads home.

  Tired from the long drive and worn out from the excitement of his new friend, Peter decides to relax a little on the couch, after securing his new plaything in his workroom.

  Within minutes of Peter locking her in, she begins to come to. (Chloroforming is still not an exact science for Peter. Sometimes they come to, at the most inappropriate times.) Still mostly groggy from the chloroform and the possible concussion, she tries opening her eyes but has the most strange, blurred vision. She closes her eyes again tightly, and counts to ten before opening them again. She concentrates as her vision starts to come into focus. All the while, feeling weighted down, not able to move her arms or legs, she wonders if she is paralyzed.

  “What the hell happened and where the hell am i?" First she draws a total blank, then feeling intense pain in the back of her head, she begins to remember getting into peter’s truck...she believes they must've been in an accident. She tries to sit up but can't. She looks around at wha
t appears to be a hospital operating room and at the leather straps that bind her hands and feet...okay...not paralyzed, but why would they tie me down? It makes no sense...

  The strap to her left hand is a little loose. She can just wiggle her hand free. She does. then she undoes her other hand and her feet. She hopes to find someone who can explain things to her. She climbs down off the the metal table. Her legs are so wobbly she's finding it hard to stand. She grabs hold of the wall, still a little dazed. First seeing some bizarre machine that looks like something from a child's creepiest nightmares, all tentacles, suctions and cutting apparatus, she begins to have the weirdest and frightful thoughts. No windows, no phone or intercom...not good. There also doesn't appear to be a door, really not good. She sees a handle in the corner of the room, but it looks like a refrigerator handle--can't be an exit but she's not sure. She tries it anyway. It's cold to the touch and very difficult to open. She gives it a yank...nothing. She tightens her grip, and she tries again with both hands, pulling hard. It pops open. The frostiest chill rushes forth, quickly sobering her up. "Yup a damn freezer,”she says.

  The lights start to flicker in the cabin. This can mean only one thing...Peter smiles.

  "Someone's up and about...damned chloroform..." he laughs. As a safety measure, Peter rigged all the doors and windows to trigger the lights, (especially the walk-in, on the off chance someone is not all the way dead. Though highly unlikely...safety first!) causing them to flicker when opened. This is his own invention. He's proud of coming up with this too; while family, friends or colleagues are visiting, none but Peter will know someone's trying to break in, but more correctly, that is more frequently, trying to break out.