Elkins opened the medicine chest—toothpaste and floss on the first shelf, makeup, other toiletries on the second shelf, and medications on the top shelf. Everything was neatly arranged alphabetically, all the labels facing the front. He looked at the bottles: aspirin, Tylenol, and two bottles with prescription medications. He could read the label on the first, an antibiotic, the prescription two years out of date. He turned the second bottle. Bobby Jo Hendrickson was typed in following Patient’s Name, and Seconal 100 mg was typed at the bottom of the label. He pointed to the bottle. “You’ll be interested in this. Check it for prints and find out why this guy was prescribing this for Hendrickson. Then we’ll have to try to figure out how Dalton ended up with it.”
Pascoe, with gloved hands, picked up the bottle and dropped it into a plastic evidence bag. “Anything else in here you want?”
“No, that’s all. I’m finished for now, but let’s keep the place secure for a few days, just in case we want to do a bit more work here.”
30
It was after 8:00 P.M. when Ray completed the day’s paperwork, a task that he hadn’t been able to start until after 5:00. As he arranged the folders on his desk, he remembered his promise to check the door locks at Jane Arden’s townhouse and kicked himself for not doing it earlier when he and Pascoe were in the area.
He found her number in the on-line staff directory and called, apologizing for not getting over to her place earlier in the day. Arden inquired whether he had eaten. When he said he hadn’t, she invited him to come over for dinner, adding that she would feel better if she had his advice on the locks, that she wanted to make her place as secure as possible. Ray looked back at the screen to check the address and said that he would be by in about a half an hour. He put the paperwork on his secretary’s desk and had a brief conversation with the evening shift commander. Pascoe had scheduled increased patrols in University Gardens, and Ray wanted to confirm that that request had been implemented.
When he walked back to his office to pick up his jacket, Ray looked at the two boxes Pascoe had dropped off before she left for the day. One contained a new Glock 19 pistol, the other a shoulder holster. Since becoming the acting director of the campus police, Ray had put a uniform weapons policy in place. Under the department’s former leadership, officers had been required to provide their own side arms. Unfortunately, there had been a tendency on the part of a few of the department’s “cowboys” to opt for “Dirty Harry” sized weapons. Ray wanted to get rid of the Hollywood props as he worked to develop a competent and professional police unit.
Ray lifted the pistol, first checking the safety. He hadn’t owned or even handled a pistol or any other kind of weapon for years. He put the Glock back in the box, then thought of his directive that campus police officers should carry their weapons at all times. This too shall pass, he thought as he pulled on the shoulder holster. He looked forward to the time in the near future when he would be relieved of this administrative role and return to teaching.
Pascoe had spent fifteen or twenty minutes helping him adjust the fit of the holster, much of the time he stood with his arms lifted as she fiddled with the straps. Sliding the magazine in the base, he chambered a round, rechecked the safety, and secured the pistol in the holster. Ray pulled on his sport coat, and adjusted the position of the holster. He was bothered by the bulk of his new appendage, sure that its presence would be obvious to even the most casual observer.
By the time Ray got to University Gardens, the last remnants of a sunset had been obliterated by the heavy, black clouds of a storm rapidly approaching from the west. He could see lightening in the clouds, but the flashes were still too far away for the thunder to be heard.
The front door opened just as he was reaching for the bell. Arden unlocked the screen door and ushered him in. Ray noted that the floor plan of Arden’s townhouse was the same as Dalton’s, only reversed. There were four townhouses per unit; the two on the right hand side were oriented one way, the two on the left the other.
Ray looked around the living room. Although the interior space was the same, he was instantly struck by the contrast between Dalton’s and Arden’s decorating. Dalton’s compulsiveness was reflected by cleanliness, order, and a chilling perfection.
Arden’s decorating was warm, colorful, and inviting; the furniture was elegantly simple and tastefully arranged. Oriental rugs covered the hardwood floors, and the two oil paintings were appropriate in size to the wall space they occupied.
Arden was wearing a pastel pink linen dress, the color highlighting her tan and giving her, thought Ray, a softer appearance than she had in his office. She smelled of soap and shampoo.
“Should I start here with the front door?” he asked.
“Well, you can if you want to, but you can also sit down, and I’ll get you a drink.”
“Let me look at the doors and window, then I’ll consider the drink.”
Ray inspected the lock on the front door, then he checked the lock on the entrance from the garage. “Both locks should be replaced,” he announced, “They are old and worn, and deadbolts should be added to each door. What kind of lock does your patio door have?”
“Just that little clip thingamabob on the handle. Most of the time that doesn’t seem to catch.” Arden led him to the patio door at the back of the kitchen. Ray played with the lock. It was damaged and could only be engaged with much jiggling. “This needs to be replaced,” said Ray, “but even when it’s working right, it doesn’t provide much security. You can pop one of these locks with a screwdriver or a tire iron. If you get a length of board and jam it in here…,” Elkins dropped to his knees and showed her where the board should be placed, “it’s almost impossible to open the door.”
“How about windows?” she asked.
Elkins looked at the window behind the sink, a sliding unit with an aluminum frame. “This would also be easy to force. You can get clamps at the hardware store that fasten to the tracks here, bottom and top. They’re inexpensive and effective.”
“Anything else I should do?”
“It’s very important that you become especially vigilant and careful. Try to move about in daylight hours as much as possible so you can see if there is anyone around, and if so who it is. If you come home and there’s a strange car parked in the area, or if you see a light you don’t remember leaving on, anything unusual, don’t go in. Call and we’ll have officers accompany you and check out your home. I’ve increased patrols in this area, and they have specific instructions to keep an eye on your townhouse. Monday, I’ll call maintenance to replace the locks, install deadbolts, and do something for that patio door. And I’ll suggest that they need to check every lock in the entire complex and probably replace most or all of those as well.”
“Lots of luck,” Jane said with a smile. “As I told you this afternoon, the woman at university housing said that if the locks weren’t broken....”
Elkins cut her off. “I’ve had a bit more experience working the bureaucracy. When you make something a safety issue, people tend to get excited and usually take action.”
“I would appreciate that.”
Elkins rested against the counter on the back wall. Jane was directly across from him leaning against the counter that separated the U-shaped kitchen alcove from the living room. As Ray looked at her, he could sense her discomfort.
“Yes?” he prompted, reading in her eyes that a lot was going on.
“Well, there’s so much that’s out of my control. I feel like I’m under house arrest. Without your help, I can’t get locks fixed. You say I should be careful about moving around after dark.” She paused, then continued, her voice and body language showing her frustration. “I’m very self-sufficient. I don’t like this, I don’t like this at all.”
“It’s not a good situation. I’m sorry that you have to put up with it. In a few days we’ll have a better handle on this Merchant character and, hopefully, we’ll have a clearer idea what our options are.”
“I appreciate your efforts. I was feeling very vulnerable. Thank you. You must be starving.” She didn’t wait for a response. “Let me get you a drink. Stephanie says you drink Scotch.”
“I’ll take a pass on the drink now, thank you. Perhaps a glass of wine with dinner,” he responded. Ray noticed the bottle on the counter, the brand he preferred. Stephanie, he thought. He became uncomfortable.
“I have some fresh pasta and pesto and the makings for a salad.”
Elkins nodded. “Anything I can do?”
“How about shredding some Parmigiano?”
“I can do that.”
“The cheese is in the fridge, the grater and bowl are there,” she pointed.
Ray found the hunk of cheese, removed the butcher paper wrapping, and started putting hunks of cheese through the stainless steel mill, sampling a bit in the process.
“And when you finish that, there’s a baguette in the oven that needs to be sliced. Put it in here,” she said, sliding a cloth-lined wicker basket in his direction. The thunder and lightening were intensifying, and the wind suddenly picked up. Jane crossed the room and closed the patio door. The lights flickered, went out, and came on again a few seconds later.
“I think it’s time for candles,” Jane said, first lighting two candles in the kitchen area and then the candelabra on the dinner table. As they began to carry food to the table the lights went out again. This time they didn’t come back on.
“Good timing on your part,” said Ray.
“What can I tell you? In life, timing is everything,” she quipped, giving Ray a warm smile. “Would you like a glass of Merlot,” she asked showing him the label, “or would you prefer something else?”
“Merlot would be fine.”
“And can I take your coat? I should have asked your sooner.”
“I’m a little chilled at the moment. I would like to keep it on, thank you,” Ray said, embarrassed that Jane would see him packing.She seated Ray at a table near the patio door, and she sat across from him. As he sipped the wine, Ray felt warmth beginning to flow through his body. He hadn’t had anything to eat since late morning, a carton of yogurt consumed on the run.
After they began eating, Ray sensed that Jane was beginning to relax. The tension engendered by talk about security and the underlying reason for his visit seemed to vanish. They fell into an easy conversation.
Ray had found Jane attractive the first time they met. By candlelight she was even more so. She told him about her trip to England in June. Ray mentioned the article he had recently read on Cornwall in the travel section of the Times. Jane, with much animation, told him about an extended holiday she had had in Cornwall when she was doing post-doctoral work at the University of London. Elkins watched her and her shadows move. The shadows mimicked her movement, but were made even more spirited by the flickering of the candles. Outside the wind howled and cascading rain pounded on the roof and windows.Arden was in mid-sentence when the glass in the door wall exploded into the room, followed by a blast of cool, wet air. Ray pulled Jane to the floor, asking if she was unharmed, then dialing 911 on his cell phone. He slid through the shattered opening and moved along the side of the building, unholstering his pistol. Lightening flashed, and he saw someone sprinting along the thick hedge that defined the back perimeter of the complex, beyond which was a railroad embankment. As Ray pursued, he saw the figure disappear through the hedge, a dense, tall thicket designed to muffle the sounds of passing trains.
He pushed through the line of shrubs, stumbling as he came down the steep embankment. Lightening flashed again. He could see a dark form sprinting away from him, running in the low area between the two sets of tracks. Ray regained his footing and followed, crossing the first set of tracks, running between the parallel ribbons of steel. He could see the headlight of an approaching locomotive; the figure he was pursuing silhouetted by the brilliant beam. He could hear the locomotive’s bell, the pounding of the huge diesels, and then the blast of the horn sounded almost continuously as the engineer tried to warn away the approaching runners.
The figure crossed over the second track and disappeared into darkness. Ray waited as two massive tandem locomotives lumbered by, the earth shaking, their roar filling his ears. Then he crossed over the second set of tracks and ducked for cover as he was suddenly caught in the beam from the receding engine. Ray felt his right foot become wedged, and then he tumbled violently forward.
31
Within minutes of Elkins’ 911 call, a squad car arrived at Jane Arden’s townhouse in University Gardens. The first officer on the scene, a June graduate of the criminal justice program, adrenalin coursing through his system as he responded for the first time ever to a shooting, secured the area and tried to calm Arden. Two more campus police officers, two sheriff deputies, and Charlene Pascoe followed moments later. Arden told them about creeping to the side of the patio door after Elkins rushed out. She explained how she watched Ray pursue the black-clad shooter across the lawn to the hedge, their trajectory illuminated by strobe-like flashes of lightening. Arden said she could hear the pounding of the passing locomotives and something that might have been a shot.
Pascoe led the way through the heavy rain with four other officers in her wake. Once beyond the hedge, the powerful beam from the locomotive lit the area as it crept back toward the scene. The engine ground to a halt as the officers moved across the track. Pascoe spotted Elkins as soon as she got to the center of the second set of tracks. He was face down in a pile of old railroad ties, chunks of concrete, and other debris below the railroad embankment. As she knelt at his side and felt for a carotid pulse, she could hear someone shouting for EMTs. Then she saw a nylon jacket dropped over his back.
When the EMTs were at her side, she moved out of their way. She retrieved Elkins’ weapon, checking the safety, then zipping it into a jacket pocket. Charlene paused for a moment to gather herself, then climbed the next embankment. With the exception of automobile lights on distant roads, the terrain was cloaked in darkness. Then the lights started to flicker on, and she was able to gain her orientation. In the distance were the football stadium and basketball arena. Other buildings and facilities dotted the square mile area, connected by roads and paved parking lots. Acres of open land, used only on football Saturdays for parking, stretched from where she stood to the brightly lit buildings and lots.“If anyone had a car up here, they’re long gone,” one of the two officers who had joined her observed.
“I want this area closed off,” she said. “No use rummaging through here in the dark, but tomorrow morning we need to see if the shooter left anything behind. Also, I want to see if we can recover any brass.” The rain was still falling, no longer the heavy showers, now just a steady drizzle.
Pascoe moved back to the top of the embankment and watched as Elkins, now secured to a backboard, was carried up the opposite bank toward a waiting ambulance; she could see the unit’s flashers just beyond the wall of shrubbery. Then she carefully negotiated her way down the slippery bank to talk to the railroad engineer, who had been watching the scene for several minutes from the tracks near the front of his idling locomotive. She was quickly able to determine that while the engineer was frantically trying to warn the runners away from his locomotives, he didn’t see either man clearly. Pascoe wrote down his name and phone number and said that she would need to talk to him again.
When she returned to Arden’s apartment, the campus police shift commander, a senior department member—had arrived and taken control of the scene. Jane Arden was just being loaded into a van to be taken to the medical center for attention to a cut on her hand. Charlene discussed with him the areas that needed to be protected until she could process them in the morning, and then she walked to her car and slid behind the steering wheel.
Charlene sat for several minutes in the quiet. She thought about the first time she met Professor Ray Elkins. She was a sophomore in college, nineteen, in a class with twenty men and three women taking the first course
in the curriculum, Criminology and Criminal Justice. Early in the semester one of the men, a burly football player, made a crack about women in police work. Elkins stopped the discussion and said, “Gentlemen, in my time working as a police officer, I have never found anything that a man could do better than a woman.”
“How about physical strength?” the guy asked. She remembered the smug look on his face.
“First, women can be trained to use their physical strength to their advantage. Given the appropriate training, a woman can be just as effective as a man. Second, women tend to use their intelligence, rather than relying on brute strength to get them through difficult situations. If extreme force is necessary, a ninety pound woman is just as deadly as a two hundred pound man.”
She tried to hold back the tears and then let them flow. She knew Elkins wouldn’t call that weakness; he’d call it strength. More than once she had seen his eyes mist over. He was a very sensitive man. That’s what she remembered and admired so much. Charlene also thought about how he seemed different now than when she was first introduced to him more than a decade before, laconic, sometimes taciturn. She knew he was still struggling with a great loss in his life.
Her thoughts flipped back to her encounter with Elkins as a teacher. He was constantly challenging conventional wisdom, forcing his students to confront their beliefs, values, and prejudices. He was persistently pushing them to expand their understanding of the rest of humanity.
She remembered his favorite phrase. “The key to successful investigations is to be open to all the possibilities. If your understanding of humanity is limited, if you are controlled by prejudices and stereotypes, your ability to conduct intelligent investigations will be limited. The more you know, the greater the width of your vision, the more effective you’re going to be.”
Medieval Murders Page 14