The Vortex

by Robert R. Dozier

  Curt looked over from the roll of newspapers he had been examining and saw a picture of a man and woman in wedding attire captioned “Abrums – Aikens.” The news story, printed December 9, 1960 read:

  Elizabeth Morse Abrums exchanged vows with Ronald Bartlett Aikens yesterday at the First Presbyterian Church. Mrs. Aikens is the daughter of Dr. Lewis Abrums of Berkeley, California, and was attended by…”

  “Wasn’t Abrums mentioned in one of Ernesto’s telegrams?” Curt asked.

  “Why, yes – in the second one. He was the possible suicide.”

  “Here,” he said, reaching for the roll of newspapers, “I’ll have this photocopied. You keep looking for the accounts of the accidents.”

  As Curt left, Sheila slipped into his chair and continued turning the pages. By the time he returned, she had found them.

  “Here it is, Curt. On Thursday, January 2, 1961.” The news item, on page two was captioned:

  DOUBLE ACCIDENTS TAKE LIVES OF ALBUQUERQUE COUPLE

  Santa Fe: Automobile and laboratory accidents took the lives of Elizabeth Aikens and her husband, Ronald, late Tuesday night and early Wednesday morning. Mrs. Aikens was killed at 9:30 p.m. when the Aikens car, driven by her husband, went out of control on government road E.4, one mile east of the Kilgore Laboratories. Dr. Aikens, after being treated for minor injuries at Santa Maria Hospital, returned to Kilgore Laboratories where he was killed in an accident at 2:05 a.m. Wednesday morning.

  The Los Alamos security police investigator said that the Aikens car was travelling at a high rate of speed along E4. Attempting to avoid an oncoming government vehicle, Dr. Aikens lost control and the car plunged down the slopes of El Capitan Bluffs. Dr. Aikens was thrown clear, but Mrs. Aikens was trapped in the car. In spite of Dr. Aikens’ attempts to free his wife, during which he severely burned both hands, the car exploded, killing her. Dr. Aikens was taken by the driver of the vehicle he had narrowly missed to Santa Maria Emergency, where he was treated for his injuries and released.

  The investigator stated that at 2:20 a.m. the next morning, he was called to the Kilgore Laboratories by Dr. Frank Barrows and Dr. Lewis Abrums who reported that Dr. Aikens had been killed in an accident fifteen minutes before. The investigator noted that the laboratory equipment was in disarray and that the door of the laboratory had been broken in.

  Funeral services for Elizabeth Aikens will be held Saturday at the First Presbyterian Church. On Sunday, a memorial service will be given for Dr. Aikens.

  “Oh those poor people,” Sheila said with glistening eyes. As Curt took the newspaper roll to have the article copied, she realized why her family didn’t like to talk about her Uncle Ron. It was a tragic, horrible story. Ron and Betty had hardly returned from their honeymoon.

  Curt returned with several pages of copied material and sat down. “We’ve found a lot of answers, Sheila. Let’s go someplace where we can talk about them.”

  They found an empty bench in the plaza in Old Town, and for a few minutes, enjoyed the fine spring weather and the sights of people taking their leisure, feeding the pigeons and talking. Curt looked around idly and saw a man dressed in a business suit sit at one of the benches across the square and open a newspaper. Those bastards are still with us, he thought, scrutinizing other people in the plaza. Maybe an opportunity would arise when he could get his hands on one of them.

  “I think I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” Sheila said flatly. “I’d like to forget it all – get out of Albuquerque and spend some time with you not doing anything.”

  “Not doing anything?”

  “Well, you know what I mean. I’m getting tired playing detective. I want to think about something that has answers.”

  “Maybe you ought to let me go on alone with it,” he answered. “After all, this is my job and I don’t know why I’ve taken you into the gory details.”

  “No, Curt,” she replied dully. “I’m just wishing out loud. This has become far too personal now. It’s not a game of hide and seek. Uncle Ron and Aunt Betty, Aunt Elizabeth - these are all real people to me. I guess I’m afraid that we’ll find out that something terrible has happened to Aunt Elizabeth and I don’t want to let that happen, as if my not knowing about it will keep it from being real.”

  “Maybe we’re closer to finding Elizabeth now than we’ve ever been,” he replied softly. “Remember those people mentioned in the telegrams? Barrows and Abrums? They were involved in Ronald’s accident and it looks like Elizabeth was looking for them, which could mean a lot of things.”

  “What things?” she said showing some interest.

  “Here’s a wild guess. Supposing Elizabeth recognized the voices in the living room. We really don’t know how many times she heard them – in fact – her last mention of them treated them as if they were nothing unusual, remember?”

  “You mean when she appeared to forget… ?”

  “Precisely. Remember – she loves you very much,” Curt continued, careful not to speak of Elizabeth in the past tense, “and, as she had already told you of her initial contacts, she might be trying to make little of them because she doesn’t want you to worry.”

  “That sounds like Elizabeth,” Sheila said, the worried look on her face disappearing. “And it also explains why she was trying to track down Barrows and Abrums. Elizabeth is a fighter – and I’m sure she wouldn’t just sit there and let all this hocus pocus go on without trying to do something about it.” She was smiling now, her eyes bright with excitement. “Do you think we might catch up with her if we keep looking?”

  “I don’t know,” Curt said, laughing, happy that Sheila had lost her depression, “after all, even though she’s had a six-month’s head start, we’ve got information she couldn’t have.”

  “You mean Baca?”

  “Yes. She couldn’t have knows about him – he only disappeared a few weeks ago.”

  “But maybe he’s not connected.”

  “You’re right. There’s no apparent connection between them, but in a weird way, it all kind of fits. Look. The accident happened at about 9:30 one mile east of the Kilgore Laboratories. That’s about where Baca’s cave is located. The accident could have happened there. I heard the voice there at 9:25. I remember because I had just looked at my watch. Aikens was then treated and released from a hospital in Santa Fe – yet his laboratory accident didn’t happen until over four hours later, around 2:00AM, I believe. That was plenty of time for him to have gone back to Albuquerque, getting there shortly before midnight – the time you’ve heard the voices in your living room. He probably stayed there ten or so minutes, then he, and whoever he was talking to – Barrows? – returned to the laboratory.”

  “Then the conversation in the living room – you think it was held after the… . Wait a minute, Curt, aren’t we getting a bit confused? Surely you don’t mean the voices we heard were those of people who spoke twenty-four years ago?”

  “It does sound silly, doesn’t it? But no matter what is causing those voices, you do have to admit that the patterns they are following were set on that night Ron and Betty were killed.”

  “Well,” Sheila said slowly, “I guess you’re right on that point, but let’s not get into ghosts and…”

  “Wait a minute,” Curt said, sitting up in his seat and taking the photocopies out of his pocket. “Whoever is behind all of this would have to know exactly what happened that night. Look,” he said pointing to the article, “the account in the newspapers does not mention any trip back to Albuquerque. Just from reading this, it could be assumed that Ron went directly back to the laboratory after the accident.”

  “But doesn’t it state also that his hands were burned?”

  “Yes, but Barrows or Abrums, or both, could have driven him there. They reported the accident four hours later.”

  “It all seems far-fetched to me,” She
ila replied. “Why would the husband and the father of someone horribly killed go back to work? In fact, let me read that account again.”

  While Sheila studied the news account, Curt examined the pictures of Ronald and Betty. She had been a short, blonde woman with a vivacious look in her eyes and a smile that made her very pretty. Alfredo Baca didn’t know this, but the Betty he was searching for had died twenty-four years ago in a blazing automobile accident right where his cave was located. What he had heard, and what Curt had heard also, could have been the despairing cries of Ronald Aikens as he struggled to free her from the burning car, or more likely, someone’s re-creation of that scene. While it wouldn’t help Alfredo, Curt knew he had to discover who would do such a thing, why he would do it, and damnably, how the devil did he do it?

  Curt looked at the picture of Ronald. He was a tall, angular version of Sheila and Elizabeth with laugh lines etched into his face. Nice looking couple, he thought. Who would believe such a terrible fate would claim them?

  “I still think that none of this makes much sense,” Sheila said. “It was New Year’s Eve, what were Uncle Ron and Aunt Betty doing?”

  “Going to a party?” Curt suggested.

  “Could be - but would Uncle Ron, Barrows and Abrums return to a party after that accident?”

  “It doesn’t seem likely, although we’re basing speculations on speculations. For instance, do we really know that Ron was killed?”

  “What would make you think he wasn’t?”

  “For starters, Betty had a funeral; Ron had only a memorial service. You see, one of the differences between the two is the presence of a body. Second, because their deaths were so close in time, why wasn’t there a double funeral? Where was Ron buried? - or cremated? And, last of all, if we want to explain those voices, plus find someone with intimate knowledge of exactly what happened that night, wouldn’t Ron fit the bill? You said he was an imminent scientist – couldn’t he rig some setup…”

  “But Curt,” she protested. “That would mean that Uncle Ron was mad. What possible reason could he have to do all this?”

  “I’ll admit that that’s the weak point in this speculation. I simply don’t know – and I’ll bet that’s what sent Elizabeth off. She’s probably trying to find the same answers.”

  “What should we do?”

  “I can see several options. We can follow Elizabeth’s trail, that is, try to find out whom she wished to contact in Escondido and track the person ourselves. We can try to discover who Ernesto is – maybe Miller and Rodriguez can help us there. On the other hand, we can try to find out more details about Ronald – what happened that night and so forth.”

  “Which do you think we… ?”

  “I’m in favor of both. Let’s get the police report of the accident, interview as many people as we can about this machine – and then let’s track Elizabeth, wherever she is. She seems to know what she’s doing. OK with you?”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ON THE WAY BACK TO Sheila’s house, they stopped at Investigation, Inc.’s office. As soon as they gave their names, the secretary led them into Rodriguez’s office where they were met by a handsome man, impeccably groomed, suave, and appropriate to the TV version of private investigators.

  “So we finally meet, Mr. Jenson,” he said with a warm smile and a handshake. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Cavanaugh.”

  After being seated, Rodriguez brought them up to date.

  “The instrument you wanted us to check out was a type used after WW II as a listening device, mostly by the government and various foreign agents. It is really an antique piece. I estimate it hasn’t worked for over twenty years.”

  “Could you tell whether it was foreign or domestic?” Curt asked.

  “No, but I would guess foreign. Ours were a little better, although not much. But I would certainly say that you have nothing to worry about. ”

  “There’s something else I would like you to do,” Curt interrupted. “Do you know of any agent in town who calls himself ‘Ernesto’?”

  Rodriguez got up and slowly walked back and forth for a few minutes. “I know of no private investigator located in Albuquerque by that name.” He paused, and sat down again, apparently wrestling with something inside himself.

  “There was a local character, Ernesto Ruiz, who used to be involved in all sorts of semi-legal activities. Some thought he was a coyote, bringing aliens in from Mexico – but others thought the name didn’t quite fit. He hasn’t been seen for some time.”

  Curt and Sheila looked at each other and nodded.

  “That’s the man,” she said. “Can you tell us how to get in touch with him?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t.” he said. “There was a similar inquiry about the man about six months ago, and we could not find him then, nor have we heard about him since.”

  “You mean he disappeared?” Sheila asked.

  “Well, ah, you know there are certain risks in his business.”

  “Who made the inquiries?” Curt asked, with foreboding.

  “I can’t tell you that.”

  “I think you can, Rodriguez. Confidentiality doesn’t much matter now, don’t you think? It was Elizabeth Aikens, wasn’t it?”

  “You’re putting me in a difficult situation, Mr. Jenson. Under normal circumstances, I’d throw you out, and the more I think about it, I might throw you out anyway. But I’ve struggled with this problem long before you came to Albuquerque. Yes, Elizabeth Aikens did hire me to find Ernesto, and made me promise never to reveal she had asked. I respected her wishes because I respect her. But circumstances have obviously changed, and because I think so highly of Elizabeth, I’m breaking my promise to her. You see, I didn’t know she was missing until Bob Myers called and hired me to assist you in finding her. She often left Albuquerque for months at a time. But now, for her sake, I think we should cooperate.”

  Rodriguez then told them about how Elizabeth had sent Ernesto Ruiz to Escondido to interview Dr. Ralph Phillips, the last surviving member of the team of scientists who were working at Los Alamos with Ronald Aikens when he was killed. Ernesto had apparently reached Escondido, but had dropped out of sight. It was then that Elizabeth had hired Rodriguez to find Ernesto, and Rodriguez, in Escondido, learned that Phillips was virtually under house siege. The FBI had easily apprehended the detective from New Mexico, and informed him of the dangers of trying to contact Phillips, and that they feared the worst for Ernesto. Phillips knew something that many foreign governments wanted, and no matter how many of the foreign agents were picked up, imprisoned or deported by the FBI, that many more would replace them. If Ernesto had tried to crack into the situation, it was likely he had been eliminated and was buried in the deserts surrounding the town. Rodriguez had been released with a warning to keep his mouth shut.

  “Did you give Elizabeth this information?” Curt asked.

  “Of course. She was my employer. But I tried to warn her not to approach Phillips. It was too dangerous.”

  “Did she try?”

  “If you know Elizabeth, you do not have to ask that question. Of course she did, or at least she went to Escondido. She called me from there with a strange request.”

  “What was that?” Curt snapped back.

  “She wanted me to trace the activities of the emergency room personnel of the Santa Maria Hospital in Santa Fe who were on duty the evening shift, December 31, 1960.”

  “Wasn’t that the hospital where Uncle Ron was treated?” Sheila asked Curt.

  “Yes, and those were the people who treated him,” Curt answered and to Rodriguez, “What did you find out?”

  “There were five on duty that night: a receptionist, one doctor and three nurses. One of the nurses and the receptionist have completely disappeared; the doctor and the other two nurses were committed to the State rest home where a
ll three committed suicide. All of this happened within a six month period. I had a hard time digging up this information because the old building was demolished in February 1961, and the records were scattered around.”

  “Did you send this information to Elizabeth?” Curt asked.

  “About two weeks later. I don’t know if Elizabeth received it or not.”

  “Why didn’t you tell us this before?”

  “I thought about it, but you seemed so inexperienced and so much on the wrong track. After all the commotion in Santa Fe – well, it seemed to me that you didn’t know what you were doing. If you hadn’t asked me about Ernesto… .” He shrugged his shoulders as if there were nothing else to say.

  “Mr. Rodriguez, do you believe my aunt has been killed by those foreign agents?”

  “I’m sorry, Miss Aikens, but there’s a good possibility that she might have been. Frankly, I had always thought that she was more than capable of taking care of herself. But since she hasn’t been seen or heard of, well… , what’s more, if you continue your search, you might find yourselves in great danger.”

  As they drove back to Sheila’s house, neither said anything. It was only after they walked into the living room that she finally broke the silence.

  “I don’t believe he’s right. I think he’s honest and is trying to give us the best advice he can think of, but I think he’s wrong. Elizabeth would not be that easy a person to get rid of.”

  Curt didn’t answer but merely plopped onto the sofa and stretched out wearily. Sheila joined him.

  “Don’t you see? Aunt Elizabeth deals with those kinds of people everywhere and she always knows how to do it. I’ll bet she’s still on the trail, somewhere, tracking down…” She lapsed into silence.

  “Yeah,” he answered. “I’ll go along – but tracking down what?”

  “Uncle Ron, I guess,” she said dejectedly. “It looks like your theory about the mad scientist is right.”