When his cell went off in his pocket, he absently removed it and brought it to his ear.
“Hello,” Walter answered.
“Walter, this is Jonathan.” Jonathan was the county coroner.
“So, what’s up Jonathan?”
“We got a slight problem.”
“What problem?” Walter asked.
For several moments he was silent. Walter was just about to speak when Jonathan came back on the line. “You know those two deceased bodies from the restaurant?”
“Yes, what about them?”
“They’re missing.”
CHAPTER 6
He dropped to his knees in a fit of agony. It felt as if thousands of tiny insects were running the length of his body both inside and out. He struggled for breath. His lungs felt deflated. He couldn’t seem to get enough air inside him. He fell over onto his face.
Something had happened to him during his step off, but he wasn’t sure what.
He lay there for several minutes, his face against the ground smelling the dirt and grass below him, wondering if it was about to be over for him. Gradually, though, the air began to seep into his lungs like tiny drops of rain in a bucket.
Finally, feeling the air flowing smoothly into his lungs once more he pushed to his knees. After another minute he felt as though his strength had returned and he stood up.
He instinctively reached for his weapon. It wasn’t there. It should have been on his right side. All that was left were short, shredded pieces of the holster that once held it. He peeled the strips off his belt and dropped them at his feet.
Forgetting about the weapon he looked about to see where he was. At first, nothing looked familiar, but slowly earlier memories began to seep into his brain.
He was standing in a patch of woods on an old fire trail. No one was around. It was as he had expected.
He would follow the fire trail out to the main road as programmed. But first, he had something to do.
A sprawling crab apple tree stood only a few feet from him. It would do nicely.
As he walked over to the tree, he removed a small disc from out of the palm of his hand. He pressed it against the bark of the tree. When he removed his hand, the metal stuck there as though it were glued to it. Almost immediately the surface of the metal began to shimmer and roll as though it were boiling. Then, at once, it began to move inward, sinking into the bark of the tree, like water into a sponge. A few seconds later the metal was gone.
Stone Wilson opened his eyes. At first, he didn’t know where he was or how he had gotten here, only that his neck was a bit stiff and that the sun was in his eyes blinding him. As he sat up the recent past began drifting back to him.
He remembered stopping here last night and sitting for a while to study his driver’s license. Apparently, the day’s toil had worn him down more than he had thought, and he had slipped away into a deep sleep that had taken him through the entire night.
And what sleep it was. It was a sleep filled with odd dreams that he didn’t understand, but that somehow seemed vaguely familiar.
He moved his neck about to work out the kinks and maybe push away the remnants of his strange dreams. As he did, he noticed the cuffs still snapped around each wrist, and the short chain dangling off the right cuff.
He brought his right hand up to the cuff on his left wrist. Remembering how easy it had been to break the handcuff chain just yesterday he thought he might be able to break the cuffs into two pieces and remove them from wrists. But that wasn’t going to happen. The cuffs were a lot stronger than the chain that had bound them, and he was unable to get a good grip on the flat piece of the cuff that surrounded his wrists.
He would have to find some other way to remove them. Strolling around with handcuffs on his wrists wouldn’t exactly be inconspicuous.
He stood up and looked around. He wasn’t certain in what direction he had made it to this point. Everything looked the same. Trees, mostly pine, with sparse patches of brush were scattered in all directions. Nothing caught his attention. There was no rudimentary path that he might have traveled by.
He randomly chose a direction to head off in. He hoped that he wouldn’t inadvertently head back the way he had come and run into the squad of policemen, but If he did he would deal with the situation as needed.
After walking for the better part of a half-hour he finally emerged from the woods. He was at the backside of a residential neighborhood. In front of him, a chain-link fence enclosed the back yard of a small, single-story wood-framed house.
He strode past the fenced yard and into a vacant lot. From there he could make out a portion of the battered blacktop that passed through the neighborhood and abruptly ended about a hundred yards to his left.
As he made his way to the street, he noted that it was deserted. At this time of day, most of the residents would be either at school or at work. He headed down the road to the right, away from the dead end.
The houses were very modest. Some were quaint, single-story brick homes with tiny concrete porches enclosed by black ornamental iron railings. But most of the houses consisted of wood or aluminum siding and large wooden porches. Rusty metal porch swings often sat on one end.
The yards varied greatly. Some were merely combinations of bare ground, weeds, and trash littered about the lawn. Often old cars were perched on cement blocks waiting to be fixed.
On the opposite end of the spectrum were the manicured lawns. Lawns with lush green grass and vibrant colored flowers that decorated the yards. There were only a few of these.
While he strolled down the narrow sidewalk in front of the houses, he suspected that most had no security. That was good because he needed to find something to remove these cuffs from off his wrists. He just had to be certain that no one was at home. There was no telling what kind of weapon a homeowner might have.
He walked slowly, furtively eyeing the houses in case someone was watching, trying to decide which one to choose. At one house he noted a short clothesline at the back of the house. There were a few clothes hanging from it. Most of them were men’s clothes. They looked to be about his size. It made him think of his own shirt. The policeman said the big stain on the front of it looked like blood, and he figured it just might be. That was a good enough reason for him to change shirts.
He moved tentatively into the back yard. He wasn’t sure what he’d do if anyone should confront him. He hoped that he would simply walk away, but if it were true about him killing the two people in the restaurant then he might respond somewhat violently. That was the problem with amnesia, you could never be sure what kind of person you really were and how you would respond to conflict.
There were three shirts hanging on the line. Two of the shirts were much too flashy for him. The colors were too bold. He didn’t need to wear anything that might draw attention to himself.
The last one was a plain, faded blue, pullover shirt. It would do nicely. He quickly slipped his stained shirt off and the other one on. It fit a little loose, but that was okay. He went to the edge of the back yard and flung his old shirt into the midst of some tall weeds. Chances were no one would find it for a while and by then he hoped to have everything figured out. Then maybe it wouldn’t matter.
He cut back over to the sidewalk. The street was empty. The morning was relatively silent other than the sound of a dog barking some distance away. He suddenly felt very alone as if he were an unwanted guest.
He was reluctant to break into any of the houses. He wasn’t sure why. His only motive was to find the right tool to remove the cuffs. He had no desire to steal anything or hurt anyone. Even so, the reluctance persisted.
He continued up the blacktop not sure of what he should do. Up ahead a car crossed the intersection. A green T shaped street sign stood on the corner. The side facing him said Langway road.
There was something else at the intersection that caught his attention. Sitting on the opposite side of the street was a church.
It was a s
mall, simple building of rectangular design. The plain, red brick walls were dingy and worn from age. The roof was V-shaped with green gutters. Flanking the church were dingy stained-glass windows. Except for two. These windows were of clear glass, apparently replacements for ones that had been broken some time back. At the front of the building, which faced the street, a slight canopy extended over a set of double doors.
He disliked the idea of breaking into a church a little less than breaking into somebody’s residence. It was less of a personal intrusion and less chance of a confrontation if someone should walk in on him.
He made his way around to the back of the church. Through interstices of foliage, he could descry the back of a house. Apparently, there was a residential neighborhood located to the back of the church. It would be difficult, however, for anyone to spot him through the thick brush.
The church had a back door as he had suspected. He tried the door. It was locked. It was probably a simple lock, and if he could break a set of handcuffs this should present no problem. He slammed into it with his left shoulder. The lock broke and the door swung inward.
He was in a small office, merely meant to be a place for the preacher to pray and study for his sermon. A battered desk sat against one wall. An old, bulky computer took up most of the surface. The rest was filled with sheaves of handwritten paper: reminders, passages of scriptures, and a miscellany of notes. The desk had a single drawer and a hard-back chair that sat under it.
A short, handmade wooden bookshelf was mounted above the desk. It was three tiers crammed with an array of religious books and magazines. Lying across the books on the top shelf, however, was something else.
Reaching up to it Stone pulled down the folded map. It was a local map, just of the county. The advertisement at the top of it indicated that it was from an insurance agency. He started to open it when a wave of dizziness slammed into him. His knees buckled momentarily, and he stumbled backward into the wall. His breathing was suddenly shallow, and he decided he’d better sit down before he passed out. He pushed off the wall, took two steps and flopped down into the straight-backed chair.
His heart was pounding and the room was beginning to spin slowly about him. He closed his eyes and took in a few deep breaths. He had to fight this sudden debilitation. If he were to collapse here in the church he might not be found till the next day of service. By then it could be too late for him.
What was happening to him? Was he sick? Was this an ongoing affliction that he had? It escaped him. It was like trying to diagnose a stranger’s condition just by looking at him.
The spinning of the room began to slow and finally stop. His heartbeat, though still somewhat rapid, was no longer pounding against his chest wall.
He felt as if half his strength had seeped away. He wondered if he had enough strength to stand up. A part of him was afraid to try. Afraid that he would pass out and end up on the floor. He would fight the fear, however. He had no other choice. Though no one may show up till Sunday it wasn’t a guarantee. Someone could stop by to clean the church or to have a little prayer time. No matter the reason, confrontation in his condition could turn out very badly.
He stood up half expecting his legs to give way, but they didn’t. He was shaky, but stronger than he thought he would be.
He had almost forgotten about the map he had been holding. He thought of opening it up then decided against it. It might be a good idea to scout around a bit first and see if he could find anything useful to him. He shoved the map into his back pocket.
He opened the single drawer of the desk. More papers, some scribbled with notes, some blank. A few pens and pencils. A small stapler and some paper clips.
He took out one of the larger paper clips and unfolded it. He quickly picked the lock on the cuff wrapped around his left wrist and let it fall to the floor. He then removed the right cuff.
He was somewhat amazed. He hadn’t realized that he could accomplish such a feat so adroitly. Where had he learned this? And why?
He picked up the two halves of the handcuffs from off the floor. It would probably be best if he didn’t leave evidence of his visit lying around. Let them think that it was a simple breaking and entering. Maybe the authorities would figure it was some kids in the neighborhood up to no good.
He stuck the cuffs in his front pant pocket for now. He would find a place to get rid of them later after he left the church.
He noticed the door in the corner of the office, apparently leading into the heart of the church. He opened the door and found himself at the back of the pulpit. Two steps led up to the raised floor.
He looked around at the empty nave a minute before proceeding to the doors lined up on one side.
He had found what he needed but figured since he was here, he would look around to see if there was anything else of use to him. He headed to the room closest to him.
The room was small and not much was in there. There were several folding chairs lined up in three rows. There was a small podium close to the wall adjacent to one of the newer windows that looked out to the side of the church. There was a single cabinet fastened to the wall. The only contents were Sunday school books and a jar full of pens.
The next two rooms were basically the same.
The last room was much bigger than the other rooms. He could tell by the spacing of the doors. He stepped inside. The room consisted of a long metal table that sat in the center of the room, bordered by straight-backed chairs that were heavily padded. Against the wall was a smaller table, a quarter the length of the other table. A coffee maker and a microwave sat on top of it. In the corner, to the side of the table, was a small refrigerator. At the back of the room was an outside door.
Stone surmised that this must be a conference room, a place to have their business meetings.
He cut across the room to the refrigerator. He opened it to find that it was nearly empty. The only things inside was half a box of peanut butter cookies, an apple, and a can of Sprite. He was hungry. He had no idea when he had last eaten.
He took the food and drink to the long table and slid out one of the chairs that was pushed under the table. Just as he began to sit down, he felt the strength in his body suddenly evaporate and he dropped hard into the chair.
For a few moments, he sat there teetering on the edge of consciousness. Once again, he began the deep breathing, and once again it seemed to help. He needed to eat something. He figured his lack of sustenance was the probable cause of these bouts of infirmity.
He ate the cookies first, downing them with a big swallow of Sprite. It seemed to help a bit. Not enough, but it would have to do. He shouldn’t overstay his time here. He needed to move on. To find out who he was. He took a bite of the apple as he rose to his feet deciding he would take it with him. In an instant, a flood of blackness rolled over him and he crumpled forward collapsing to the floor.
Chapter 7
Walter hated coming here. He wasn’t too crazy about hospitals in general, but especially not morgues. Though, as a detective, he had been to a few of them he never got used to it.
As Walter strolled slowly down the long corridor, he felt instantly chilled though he was fairly certain that the temperature here was about the same as the rest of the corridors.
When he finally reached the door to the morgue, he hesitated a moment to shake away the eeriness that had crept into his bones. Then he opened the door and pushed himself inside.
Jonathan Testler set his notebook on the desk when he saw Walter. He smiled and his large mouth seemed to take up most of his face. He reached his hand out as Walter approached.
Walter stepped over to him and shook his hand.
“How you been doing, Stringbean?” Walter was one of the few who could get away with calling him that though the name did fit him very well. He was six feet four and a pound over one hundred and sixty.
“Very good, Spanky,” he answered. He had chosen the nickname for Walter in mock retaliation, referring to the old Our Gang c
haracter. “How ‘bout you?”
“Can’t complain.” Walter noticed the little break room a few yards behind Stringbean. Enclosed mostly in glass he could see a young man sitting at the one table sipping on a soft drink.
“My nephew,” Stringbean answered his look. “His name is Tanner. He just graduated high school. He’s going to work with me till he can decide what to do with his life.”
Walter nodded and turned his attention back to Stringbean.
“So, what’s all this nonsense about missing bodies?”
“It’s kind of strange,” Stringbean answered. “Never heard of anyone stealing bodies from a morgue in this day and age. At least, it has never happened around here. Not in my thirty-plus years.” He shook his head and began walking toward the rows of drawers where the deceased were temporarily housed. “Come on, I’ll show you where they were.”
He pulled out two drawers, one beside the other. “I doubt that you can tell anything by looking at the empty slots but knowing you you’ll probably want to see them anyway.”
“Yeah, you know, make sure I cover all the bases.”
“The investigators had been here earlier looking around and dusting for prints. They hadn’t found anything significant. The only prints they picked up were from the people who were supposed to be here.”
“Then, why exactly am I here.”
“Because I was told that you had a reputation for solving puzzles when no one else could. So, what is it? Are you magic or something? Or are you like that Monk fellow that used to come on the television.”
Walter laughed. “No, no. I’m not any of that. But I’ll give it a shot.”
Walter moved closer to the first open drawer. It was bare. No obvious evidence was lurking in a corner.. He thought of placing his hands inside to see if any images might flash inside his mind, but with Stringbean watching he might question what he was doing.
The Nexus Page 5