Gone ,but not forgotten

by Philip Margolin

  For man's best friend, his lawyer.

  You did a bang-up job, A VERY GRATEFUL CLIENT Martin Betsy put down the card. Her excitement turned sour.

  "They're from Darius," she told Ann, hoping her disappointment didn't show.

  "How thoughtful."

  Betsy said nothing. She had wished so hard that the flowers were from Rick. Betsy debated with herself for a moment, then dialed his number.

  "Mr. Tannenbaum's office," Rick's secretary said.

  "Julie, this is Betsy. Is Rick in?"

  "I'm sorry, Mrs. Tannenbaum, He's out of the office all day. Should I tell him you called?"

  "No, thanks. That's okay."

  The line went dead. Betsy held the receiver for a moment, then hung up.

  What would she have said if Rick had taken the call? Would she have risked humiliation and told him she wanted to get together-? What would Rick have said? Betsy closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths to calm her heart. To clear herself, she looked through her phone messages.

  Most could be put off, but one was from Dr. Keene. When Betsy was back in control, she dialed his number.

  "Sue did a good job, Betsy," the pathologist said, when they finally got down to business, "but I've got something for you."

  "Let me get a pad. Okay, shoot."

  "A medical examiner always collects urine samples from the body to screen for drugs. Most labs only do a d.a.u., which screens for five drugs of abuse to see if the victim used morphine, cocaine, amphetamines and so on.

  That's what Sue did. I had my lab do a urine screen for other substances. We came up with strong positive barbiturate readings for the women. I retested the blood.

  Every one of these ladies showed pentobarbital levels that were off scale."

  "What does that mean?"

  "Pentobarbital is not a common drug of abuse, which is why the lab didn't find it. It's an anesthetic."

  "I don't follow."

  "It's used in hospitals to anesthetize patients. This is not a drug these women would take themselves. Someone gave it to them. Now, this is where it gets strange, Betsy.

  These women all had three to four milligrams percent of pentobarbital in their blood. That's a very high level. In fact, it's a fatal level."

  "What are you telling me?"

  "I'm telling you that the three women died from an overdose of pentobarbital, not from their wounds."

  "But they were tortured."

  "They were mutilated, all right. I saw burn marks that were probably from cigarettes and electrical wires, there were cuts made with razor blades, the breasts were mutilated and there's evidence that objects had been inserted into their anus. But there's a chance the women were unconscious when these injuries were inflicted. Microscopic sections from around the wounds showed an early repair process. This tells me death occurred about twelve to twenty-four hours after the wounds were inflicted."

  Betsy was quiet for a moment. When she spoke she sounded confused. "That doesn't make sense, Ray. What possible benefit is there in torturing someone who's unconscious?"

  "Beats me. That's your problem. I'm just a sawbones."

  "What about the man?"

  "Here we have a different story. First, there's no pentobarbital.

  None. Second, there is evidence of repair around several wounds, indicating that he was tortured over a period of time. Death was sometime later from a gunshot wound, just like Sue said."

  "How could Dr. Gregg have been fooled about the cause of death of the women?"

  "Easy. You see a person cut from crotch to chest, the heart torn out, the intestines hanging out, you assume that's what killed 'em. I would have thought the same, if I hadn't found pentobarbital."

  "You've given me a king-size headache, Ray."

  "Take two aspirin and call me in the morning.

  "Very funny."

  "I'm glad I could bring some joy into your life."

  They hung up, but Betsy kept staring at her notes.

  She doodled on the pad. The drawings made as much sense as what Dr.

  Keene had just told her.

  Reggie Stewart's cross-country flight arrived late at JFK, so he had to sprint through the terminal to catch the connecting, upstate flight. He felt ragged by the time the plane landed at Albany County Airport. After checking into a motel near the airport, Stewart ate a hot meal, took a shower, and exchanged his cowboy boots, jeans and a flannel shirt for a navy blue suit, a white shirt and a tie with narrow red and yellow stripes. He was feeling human again by the time he parked his rental car in the lot of Marlin Steel's corporate headquarters, fifteen minutes before his scheduled appointment with Frank Grimsbo.

  "Thanks for seeing me on such short notice," Stewart said, as soon as the secretary left him alone with the chief of security.

  "Curiosity got the better of me," Grimsbo answered with an easy smile.

  "I couldn't figure out what a private investigator from Portland, Oregon, would want with me." Grimsbo gestured toward his wet bar. "Can I get you a drink?"

  "Bourbon, neat," Stewart said, as he looked out the window at a breathtaking view of the Hudson River.

  Grimsbo's office was furnished with an eight-foot rosewood desk and rosewood credenza. Old English hunting scenes hung from the walls. The couch and chairs were black leather. It was a far cry from the stuffy, converted storage area he had shared with the task force members in Hunter's Point. Like his surroundings, Grimsbo had — also changed. He drove a Mercedes instead of a beat-up Chevy and he'd long since lost his taste for polyester. His conservative, gray pinstripe suits were custom-tailored to conceal what was left of a beer belly that had been dramatically reduced by dieting and exercise. He had also lost most of his hair, but he had gained in every other way. If old acquaintances thought he missed his days as a homicide detective, they were mistaken.

  "So, what brings you from Portland, Oregon, to Albany?" Grimsbo asked as he handed Stewart his drink.

  "I work for a lawyer named Betsy Tannenbaum.

  She's representing a prominent businessman who's been charged with murder."

  "So you told my secretary when you called. What's that have to do with me?"

  "You used to work for the Hunter's Point Police Department, didn't you?"

  "I haven't had anything to do with Hunter's Point P.D. for nine years."

  "I'm interested in discussing a case you worked on ten years ago. The rose killer."

  Grimsbo had been raising his glass to his lips, but he stopped abruptly.

  "Why are you interested in the rose killer? He's ancient history."

  Bear with me and I'll explain in a minute."

  Grimsbo shook his head. "That's a hard case to forget.

  "Tell me about it."

  Grimsbo tilted his head back and closed his eyes, as if he was trying to picture the events. He sipped his scotch.

  "We started getting reports of missing women. No signs of a struggle, nothing missing at the crime scenes, but there was always a rose and a note that said "Gone, But Not Forgotten' left on the women's pillows.

  Then a mother and her six-year-old daughter were murdered.

  The husband found the bodies. There was a rose and a note next to the woman.

  "A neighbor had seen a florist truck at the house of one of the victims, or maybe it was near the house. it's been some time now, so I may not have my facts exactly right. Anyway, we figured out who the deliveryman was.

  It was a guy named Henry Waters. He had a sex offender record. Then an anonymous caller said he was talking to Waters at a bar and Waters told him he had a woman in his basement. Sure enough, we found one of the missing women.

  Grimsbo shook his head. "Man, that was a sight. You wouldn't believe what that bastard did to her. I wanted to kill him right there, and I would have, but fate took over and the son-of-a-bitch tried to escape.

  Another cop shot him and that was that."

  "Was Peter Lake the husband who found the two bodies? The mother and daughter?"r />
  "Right. Lake."

  "Are you satisfied that the deliveryman was the killer?"

  "Definitely. Hell, they found some of the roses and a note. And, of course, there was the body. Yeah, we got the right man."

  "There was a task force assigned to investigate the case, wasn't there?"

  Grimsbo nodded.

  "Was Nancy Gordon a member of the task force?"

  "Sure."

  "Mr. Grimsbo "Frank."

  "Frank, my client is Peter Lake. He moved to Portland about eight years ago and changed his name to Martin Darius. He's a very successful developer. Very respected. About three months ago, women started disappearing in Portland. Roses and notes identical to those left in the Hunter's Point case were found on the pillows of the missing women.

  About two weeks ago the bodies of the missing women and a man were found buried at a Construction site owned by Martin Darius. Nancy Gordon told our district attorney that Darius-Lake-killed them."

  Grimsbo shook his head. "Nancy always had a bee in her bonnet about Lake."

  "But 'you don't agree with her?"

  "No. Like I said, Waters was the killer. I have no doubt about that.

  Now, we did think Lake might be the killer for a while. There was circumstantial evidence pointing that way, and I even had bad feelings about the guy. But it was only circumstantial evidence and the case against Waters was solid."

  "What about Lake leaving Hunter's Point?"

  "Can't blame him. If my wife and kid were brutally murdered, I wouldn't want to be reminded of them every day. Leaving town, starting over-sounds like the smart thing to do."

  "Did the other investigators agree that Lake was innocent?"

  "Everyone but Nancy.",

  "Was there any evidence that cleared Lake?"

  "Like what?"

  "Did he have an alibi for the time of any of the disappearances?"

  "I can't recall anything like that. Of course, it's been some time. Why don't you check the file? I'm sure Hunter's Point still has it."

  "The files are missing.

  "How did that happen?"

  "We don't know." Stewart paused. "What kind of a person is Gordon?"

  Grimsbo sipped his scotch and swiveled toward the window. It was comfortable in Grimsbo's office, but there was a thin coating of snow on the ground outside the picture window and the leafless trees were swaying the attack of a chill wind.

  "Nancy is a driven woman. That case got to all of us, but it 'affected her the most. It came right after she lost her fiance. Another cop.

  Killed in the line of duty shortly before her wedding. Really tragic. I think that unbalanced her for a while. Then the women started disappearing and she submerged herself in the case.

  "Now I'm not saying she isn't a fine detective. She is. But she lost her objectivity in that one case."

  Stewart nodded and made some notes.

  "How many women disappeared in Hunter's Point?"

  "Four."

  "And one was found in Waters's basement?"

  "Right."

  "What happened to the other women?" '-They were found in some old farmhouse out in the country, if I remember correctly. I wasn't involved with that. Got stuck back at the station writing reports."

  "How were they found?"

  "Pardon?"

  "Wasn't Waters shot almost as soon as the body was found in the basement?"

  Grimsbo nodded.

  "So, who told you where the other women were?"

  Grimsbo paused, thinking. Then he shook his head.

  "You know, I honestly can't remember. It could have been his mother.

  Waters was living with his mother. Or he might have written something down. I just don't recall."

  "Did any of the survivors positively i.d. Waters as the killer?"

  "They may have. Like I said, I didn't question any of them. They were pretty messed up, if I remember. Barely alive. Tortured. They went right to the hospital."

  "Can you think of any reason why Nancy Gordon wouldn't tell our d.a. there were survivors?"

  "She didn't?"

  "I don't think so."

  "Hell, I don't know. Why don't you ask her?"

  "We can't. She's disappeared."

  "What?" Grimsbo looked alarmed.

  "Gordon showed up at the home of Alan Page, our d.a., late one night and told him about the Hunter's Point case. Then she checked into a motel.

  When Page called her the next morning, she was gone. Her clothing was still in the room, but she wasn't there."

  "Have they looked for her?" Grimsbo asked anxiously.

  "Oh, yeah. She's Page's whole case. He lost the bail hearing when he couldn't produce her."

  "I don't know what to say. Did she return to Hunter's Point?"

  "No. They thought she was on vacation. She never told anyone she was coming to Portland, and they haven't heard from her."

  "Jesus, I hope nothing serious happened. Maybe she took off somewhere.

  Didn't you say Hunter's Point P.D. thought she was on vacation?"

  "If she was going on vacation she wouldn't leave her clothes and makeup."

  "Yeah." Grimsl)o looked solemn. He shook his head.

  Stewart watched Grimsl)o. The security chief was very upset.

  "Is there anything else I can do for you, Mr. Stewart? I'm afraid I have some work to do," Grimsbo asked.

  "No, you've been a big help." Stewart laid his and Betsy's business cards on Grimsbo's desk. "If you remember anything about the case that might help our client, please call me."

  "I will."

  "Oh, there is one other thin. I want to talk with all the members of the Hunter's Point task force. Do you know where I can find Glen Michaels and Wayne Turner?"

  "I haven't heard from Michaels in years, but Wayne will be easy to find in about two weeks."

  "Oh?"

  "All you gotta do is turn on your TV. He's Senator Colby's administrative assistant. He should be sitting right next to him during the confirmation hearings."

  Stewart scribbled this information into his notebook, thanked Grimsbo and left. As soon as the door closed behind Stewart, Grimsbo went back to his desk and dialed a Washington, D.C., phone number. Wayne Turner answered on the first ring.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Reggie Stewart eased himself into a seat across the desk from Dr. Pedro Escalante. The cardiologist had put on weight over the past ten years.

  His curly black hair was mostly gray. He was still cheerful with patients, but his good humor was not second nature to him anymore.

  They were meeting in the cardiologist's office in the Wayside Clinic. A diploma from Brown University and another from Tufts Medical School hung on one wall. Beneath the diplomas was a child's crayon drawing of a stick-figure girl standing next to a yellow flower that was almost as tall as she was. A rainbow stretched from one side of the picture to the other.

  "That your daughter?" Stewart asked. A photograph of Gloria Escalante holding a little girl on her lap stood on one corner of the doctor's desk. Stewart figured the child for the artist and asked about her as a way of easing into a conversation that was certain to evoke painful memories.

  "Our adopted daughter," Escalante replied sadly.

  "Gloria lost the ability to conceive after her ordeal."

  Stewart nodded because he could not think of a single thing to say.

  "I'm afraid you've wasted your trip, if it was made solely to talk to my wife. We have tried our best to put the past behind us."

  "I appreciate why Mrs. Escalante wouldn't want to talk to me, but this is literally a matter of life and death.

  We have the death penalty in Oregon and there's no doubt that my client will receive it, if he's convicted."

  Dr. Escalante's features hardened. "Mr. Stewart, if your client treated those women the way my wife was treated, the death penalty would be insufficient punishment."

  "You knew my client as Peter lake, Dr. Escalante.

  His wife and
daughter were killed by Henry Waters. He suffered the same anguish you suffered. We're talking about a frame-up of the worst kind, and your wife may have information that can prove an innocent man is being prosecuted."

  Escalante looked down at his desk. "Our position is firm, Mr. Stewart.

  My wife will not discuss what happened to her with anyone. It has taken ten years to put the past behind her and we are going to keep it behind her. However, I may be of some help to you. There are answers to questions I may be able to give you."

  "Any help will be appreciated."

  "I don't want you to think her hard, Mr. Stewart. We did consider your request for an interview most seriously, but it would be too much for Gloria. She is very strong.

  Very strong. Otherwise she would not have survived. But as strong as she is, it is only within the past few years that she has been anything like the woman she used to be.

  Since your call, the nightmares have returned."

  "Believe me, I would never subject your wife to Mod "No, no. I understand why you're here. I don't blame you. I just want you to understand why I can't permit her to relive what happened."

  "Dr. Escalante, the main reason I wanted to talk to your wife was to find out if she saw the face of the man who kidnapped her."

  "if that's why you came, I'm afraid I must disappoint you. She was taken from behind. Chloroform was used.

  During her captivity, she was forced to wear a leather hood with no eyelets whenever… whenever her captor… when he came."

  "She never saw his face?"

  "Never."

  "What about the other women? Did any of them see him?"

  "I don't know."

  "Do you know where I can find Ann Hazelton or Samantha Reardon?"

  "Ann Hazelton committed suicide six months after she was freed. Reardon was in a mental hospital for some time. She had a complete breakdown.

  Simon Reardon, Samantha's husband, divorced her," Escalante said with obvious distaste. "He moved away years ago. He's a neurosurgeon. You can probably locate him through the American Medical Association. He might know where Mrs. Reardon is living."

  "That's very helpful," Stewart said as he wrote the information in his notebook.

  "You could ask the other investigator. He may have located her."

  "Pardon?"