“You can’t stop the calls,” Jerry said, “but you can have some fun with them.”
He had my attention. “How?”
“Come on. I’ll show you.”
We went back to my apartment, and by the time I poured a second glass of Arbor Mist, the phone rang again.
Jerry held up the caller I.D. “Do you recognize the number?”
I shook my head.
He punched the button, and answered in a low, gravely voice, “The job is done, but there’s blood everywhere. What do you want me to do now?”
Silence on the other end, then, “Sorry, I must have the wrong number.”
“Bet that guy won’t be calling back,” he said with a grin.
It’s good to know that Jerry can be a pain in the ass to somebody besides me.
CHAPTER 16
“Now that Hatfield is out of play, how do you want to proceed?” Boris Balakin asked.
“We must act quickly,” Ivan Sokolov replied. “Before the Chinese or North Koreans send agents to acquire the device.”
“Do you have a plan?”
“I see no reason to play games. There is only one guard on duty. Surely three well-trained Russian agents can handle him. We’ll take out the guard, grab the device from Skinner and be on our way.”
Still recuperating from my ordeal in the abandoned meat locker, I slept in. I was awakened by the ringing of the phone. Figuring it was another sales call, I was about to give the jerk the Jerry treatment. Then I noticed the caller was Dr. Skinner.
“Walt, I need you here, now!”
I barely had my eyes open.
“Can you give me an hour? I haven’t even had a cup of coffee.”
I heard a long sigh. “I suppose, but hurry!”
After a quick shower and a cup of coffee, I headed to the treatment center. The guard met me at the door.
“Dr. Skinner is expecting you. He’s in his office.”
“Humph!” he said, looking at his watch. “You said an hour and it’s been seventy minutes.”
I was about to say something nasty, then I remembered his autism.
“Sorry about that. What’s so important?”
“I’m sure you remember our earlier conversation about recidivism. Over 75% of prisoners are rearrested within five years of their release.”
“Yes, I remember.”
“I have found a candidate for my program, a Jeffrey Allen. He’s forty-years old and has been in and out of prison multiple times. Minor offences, burglary, auto theft, possession with intent to sell. He has no family, no job, and no place to live. He wants to turn his life around. He wants a fresh start.”
“He sounds like a great candidate. So what’s the problem?”
“When I explained that his entire memory would be erased, he hesitated. He said he had information about a murder that he should share before it was gone forever.”
I was beginning to see the problem. The guy wanted to clear his conscience, but in doing so it could land him in trouble with the law and delay, if not prevent altogether, his treatment.
“What do you want from me?”
“If I remember correctly, you were a policeman for five years. Talk to him, then tell us what we need to do to move forward.”
“I’ll talk to him, but I don’t know how much help I can be.”
“That’s all I ask. Jeffrey is waiting in one of the treatment rooms.”
Jeffrey Allen looked the part of an ex-con. His face was drawn, his eyes shifty, and his hands and arms were covered with prison tattoos. If Skinner could turn this guy’s life around it would be a miracle indeed.
“Jeffrey,” Skinner said. “This is the man I was telling you about, Walt Williams. Tell him your story.”
“You ever heard of Matt Kemp?” he asked.
I shook my head.
“Back in ’98, he raped and killed an eleven-year-old girl. They caught him, tried him, convicted him, and he got the needle.”
“Sounds like an open and shut case.”
“Except for one thing. They never found the girl’s body. He wouldn’t give it up even when they were strapping him down. I know where it is.”
“Why haven’t you come forward before? Were you involved in the murder?”
“See!” he said. “Right there! Your first thought was that I helped him do it. That’s why I never said anything. I’m an ex-con, for chrissakes. Who would believe me?”
“Then how did you know about the girl?”
“Matt was a friend of mine. He told me the whole thing just before they nabbed him.”
It was indeed a dilemma. The family deserved to have their daughter and give her a decent burial, but if Jeffrey spills the beans, he could be in deep doodoo for withholding evidence all these years.
I was thinking about alternatives when I glanced out the window and saw three men alight from an SUV and head toward the door.
“Dr. Skinner, are you expecting company?”
“No, why do you ask?”
I pointed to the three men.
I saw the look of concern on Skinner’s face, then I remembered that three men had massacred Hatfield and his goons.
“Dr. Skinner, where is the NESD?”
“In the vault, of course.”
“Then we’d better hurry. I think those men may be after it.”
We had just entered the vault room when we heard a gunshot. I looked around for a place to hide, but there was nothing but the vault.
“Quick!” Skinner said. “Get inside!”
“Are you crazy?” Jeffrey said in disbelief. “I ain’t goin’ in there!”
“Trust me!” Skinner said. “And hurry!”
I pushed Jeffrey inside. Skinner grabbed the door and slammed it shut just as the three men entered the vault room. He twirled a dial and I heard the bolts slide shut.
We could hear the men banging on the door, but there was no way they were getting in. We all breathed a sigh of relief.
“I had no idea you could lock one of these things from the inside,” I said.
“Most, you can’t,” Skinner replied, “but I had this one rigged for exactly this occasion. It can be locked and unlocked from inside. I took every precaution so that the device would never fall into the wrong hands.”
“I don’t suppose you thought about a phone?”
He pointed to the back wall. “Of course I did.”
I dialed Mark.
“Hey, bro, if you hurry, you might get your hands on three Russian agents.”
“Walt! Where are you?”
“Right this moment, I’m locked in the vault at the treatment center with Dr. Skinner and a patient. The Russians are trying to figure a way to get to us, so hurry. Oh yes, bring an ambulance. They shot the guard on the way in.”
“I’m on my way.”
By the time Mark arrived, the Russians were long gone, but during the time we sat in the vault waiting for help to arrive, I thought of a plan to help Jeffrey Allen.
I knew Father Sebastian from a case that Ox and I worked several years ago involving the Mexican drug cartel. A creep by the name of Hector Corazon was recruiting Latino girls to bring drugs from Mexico into the U.S. With Father Sebastian’s help, we were able to put the cartel out of business.
The priest was waiting for me in the rectory.
“Walt! So good to see you again.”
“You too, Father.”
“How may I help you, my son?”
I told the Padre about Dr. Skinner, his work with the NESD, and Jeffrey Allen’s dilemma. When I finished, he sat staring at me in disbelief.
“I’ve been a priest for over twenty years and heard some strange tales, but this one beats them all. This thing can really erase a person’s memory?”
I nodded. “I’ve seen it. It really works.”
“How do I fit into this very strange picture?”
“I need you to come and listen to Jeffrey’s confession. Then you can tell me the location of the little girl�
��s body. When I go to the cops and they ask me where I got the information, I can tell them you heard it in confession. The detective will want to know who confessed and I’ll tell him I don’t know because you couldn’t break the sanctity of the confessional.”
Again, he stared in disbelief. “But that’s not true! We would be lying to the police!”
“Technically, yes, but look at it this way. The body gets found and the family gets closure. Jeffrey clears his conscience and is able to erase his dismal past thanks to Dr. Skinner’s treatment. It’s a win-win for everyone.”
“And you say this Jeffrey had nothing to do with the poor child’s death?”
“Jeffrey was a friend of the man who killed the girl. Just before he was captured, he told Jeffrey where he hid the body. The only thing he’s guilty of, is not coming forward with the information, and given his checkered past, he probably would have been implicated somehow.”
He thought for a moment. “I should pray about this.”
“I understand,” I replied. “When you talk to the Man upstairs, please remind Him that not everything in life is black and white. Sometimes, we have to deal with shades of grey.”
He promised he would get back to me.
That evening, he called.
“I told our Lord what I was planning to do and He didn’t strike me dead, so I guess I’m in.”
We agreed to meet at the treatment center the next day.
“Jeffrey, this is Father Sebastian. He’s here to take your confession.”
I saw the puzzled look on his face. “But I’m not Catholic!”
“You are today, my friend.”
I explained my plan to Jeffrey and Dr. Skinner.
“Brilliant!” Skinner exclaimed. “I knew you would come through.”
For the next hour, Jeffrey told us everything he knew about the murder committed by Matt Kemp and the exact location of the little girl’s body. While he was at it, he threw in a few other transgressions. Although not a Catholic, after he was finished, I could see that a great burden had lifted. Evidently, confession is indeed good for the soul. At least it was for Jeffrey Allen.
Armed with the information I needed, I headed to the precinct for a chat with Detective Derek Blaylock.
During my five years on the force, Ox and I worked many cases with Detective Blaylock. He was a good cop and a good friend. I hated having to lie to him, but I rationalized, believing it was the best thing for everyone involved.
“Walt, what brings you to the precinct? Are you coming back to work?”
“No, Maggie wouldn’t hear of it. I’ve come to give you some information about a cold case.”
“Really? Which one?”
“Do you remember Matt Kemp?”
He thought for a moment. “Kemp? Right! That is an old one. ’98 if I remember correctly. But that’s not a cold case. The guy was convicted and got the needle.”
“But if my information is correct, the cops never found the little girl’s body. Kemp took his secret to the grave.”
He thought a moment more. “That’s right. How is it you know so much about an old case like this?”
“I know where the body is buried.”
His mouth flew open. “How could you possibly know that?”
I spit out my little white lie. “I was contacted by a Catholic priest who is a friend of mine. He got the information in a confessional. The individual had nothing to do with the murder, but knew the location of the body. Kemp told him before he was captured.”
“Who is this guy?”
“The priest wouldn’t tell me. Something about the sanctity of the confessional. We’ve run into this before. It’s like doctor/patient or attorney/client privilege.”
“I’m quite aware,” Blaylock huffed. “I’ve been a cop for a while. Who is the priest?”
“I can’t tell you. He made me promise not to get him involved before he would give me the information.”
“Jesus, Walt!”
“Look, do you want the location of the body or not? That’s all I can give you.”
He sighed. “Okay, deal. Let’s hear it.”
“Do you know where the railroad track goes under 63rd Street just east of Swope Park?”
He nodded.
“The body is buried on the east side of the tracks under 63rd. On the side of a hill.”
“Okay, got it.”
“One more thing. I’d like to go with you. I did give you the tip.”
He thought for a moment. “I wouldn’t let any other schmuck go along, but you were a cop. Just don’t get in the way.”
“I promise,” I said, holding up three fingers. “Scout’s honor.”
Blaylock rolled his eyes.
Early the next morning, I met Blaylock and the K-9 crew with a cadaver dog.
After introductions, we scooted down the steep slope from 63rd to the tracks below. The handler started a search pattern on the east side of the tracks. Twenty minutes later, about thirty feet up the hill, the dog sniffed and howled.
After carefully excavating away twelve inches of soil, a tiny bone was found. The medical examiner was called, and his team began the time-consuming job of sifting through the surrounding soil. By evening, the skeleton of the little girl was unearthed.
Thanks to Dr. Skinner’s device, a family would get the closure they had been denied for twenty years and Jeffrey Allen would get the new start in life he so desperately needed.
Before his death, Ishmael, the man who helped me with the mysterious box, told me the device could be a blessing to mankind in the right hands. I think he was right.
CHAPTER 17
The next day, I received a call from Arnie Goldblume.
“Walt, I hope you haven’t forgotten us.”
“Uhhh, hi Arnie.” I racked my brain trying to remember if I was supposed to do something for him.
“You did forget! You said you would get Nick and I an introduction to Dr. Skinner.”
He was right. I had totally forgotten.
“You got me,” I replied, embarrassed. “Let me give him a call.”
Skinner was a very private guy and wary of strangers, but he owed me for helping Jeffrey Allen. Finally, he reluctantly agreed.
“Arnie, this is Walt. Can you be at the treatment center at two o’clock?”
“You bet we will.”
I filled them in on the success Skinner had achieved using the device.
“A note of caution. If you remember, Skinner is autistic. Sometimes he blurts out strange things.”
“Not a problem. We understand.”
At precisely two o’clock, I escorted Arnie and Nick into Skinner’s office.
I made the introductions and Skinner gave them a quizzical look. “You two look like Simon and Garfunkle.”
I had always thought the same thing, but I had never mentioned it to my friends.
Arnie smiled. “So we’ve been told.”
I quickly changed the subject. “Arnie and Nick head up a group called the Watchers. It’s a ---.”
“I know about the Watchers,” Skinner interrupted. “So it was you boys who embarrassed the hell out of the government by exposing the Echelon program.”
Arnie blushed. “Yes, that was us. I’m surprised you’ve heard about our organization.”
“Quite the contrary. I, too, keep an eye on our Uncle Sam’s shenanigans. Good work!”
“And we’re big fans of your work,” Nick said. “We’ve been following Detrick Von Braun for years. We were fascinated with his experimental work on the NESD, and when we heard that you were actually putting it to work, well, we just had to meet you in person. Walt tells us that it’s worked with alcoholics, drug abusers, felons, and even a prostitute.”
“My goodness,” Skinner replied, “you are well informed. It’s refreshing to talk to someone who understands what we’re doing.”
“I don’t mean to be presumptuous,” Arnie said. “We understand that the NESD completely erases the patient’s
memory. Nick has been doing some research and wondered if you had applied your device to pain management?”
Skinner rubbed his chin. “Hmmm, pain management.” He turned to Nick. “Explain, please.”
“We know that the devise disrupts the connections binding the synapses in the brain. Unfortunately, this totally wipes out their memory.
“Pain is experienced when nerve endings sense injury to the effected part of the body. Sensory neurons send impulses along axons to the spinal cord. The incoming axons form a synapse with neurons that project up to the brain. After processing, the brain sends signals down the spinal cord, which direct motor neurons to the affected part of the body to react to the pain.
“We were wondering what would happen if the electrodes were connected to the affected part of the body. If its impulses could disrupt the synapses sending pain signals to the brain, there would be no sensation of pain. The cause of the pain would still exist, but the suffering would not.”
“Remarkable!” Skinner said, still rubbing his chin.
“If that would work,” Arnie added, “it would be a Godsend. Opioids are now the drug of choice for pain management, and we know how that’s working out. Hundreds of thousands of people are addicted and over 40,000 people die each year of opioid overdose.”
“I abhor the stranglehold that big pharma has on the American people,” Skinner said. “America has 4% of the world’s population, but 27% of the world’s overdose deaths.”
“You’re preaching to the choir,” Nick said. “Both of our fathers died from taking Vioxx. That’s how Arnie and I met.”
“I appreciate your insights,” Skinner said. “I will definitely test your hypothesis on pain management. I am about to begin treatment on Jeffrey Allen. Since you are here and so well-versed in my work, I wonder if you would like to observe?”
Nick and Arnie’s eyes lit up like two kids on Christmas morning.
“Absolutely! Thank you so much.”
Skinner led us to a treatment room. Jeffrey was in bed and a technician had already attached the electrodes to his scalp.
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