The Dog Who Attacked the Flintlock
An Adam and Bagel Mystery Book 6
By
Edward J. Coburn
Amazon Edition
Copyright 2019 by Edward J. Coburn. All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the author.
PART 1 - 1985
Chapter 1
She had known early in their relationship that Rupert could be violent, especially if she did or said anything to set him off. Easy enough to do if he’d been drinking, smoking pot, or snorting cocaine. Scarcely a day went by when he hadn’t done at least one of them. She’d stayed with him only because she didn’t dare go anywhere else. She desperately wanted to return home, but Rupert said if she left, he would find her and if she went back to her father, he would kill her father. It was hard not to believe he would because he had held a gun to her head more than once. She had foolishly mentioned to him where she lived in Charleston, West Virginia when she wasn’t attending West Virginia University. Attending school. How she wished she was still attending school. But that was no longer possible because as soon as she’d moved in with Rupert, he made her give him every last dime her father sent her for school. Her father thought she was still in school, so he had still been sending her an allowance to help her with expenses. Any time he called she painted rosy pictures about doing great and having a fine time in school. She didn’t think he expected a thing.
She had started attending West Virginia University a year ago and then met Rupert at a little dive her friends dragged her to. They drank, they laughed, and when her girlfriends left with someone, she ended up going home with Rupert. She knew he had a bit of the bad boy in him but that can sometimes be exciting, and he was cute. However, he had more bad in him then she was ready for. At first, he hid his true nature from her, but after she moved in with him, her college allowance had been used to pay for Rupert’s booze and drugs. He forced her to turn over every bit of the money every time it came in the mail. She didn’t have any left for college, so she had to quit. Sometimes he felt generous and gave her back a few bucks so she could buy their meager supplies of food.
Her fear of Rupert forced her to stay with him even after he started beating her. But the physical abuse wasn’t even the worst. He would scream at her telling her how stupid she was, how she’d never amount to anything, and how utterly worthless she was. He bellowed these untruths at her often enough she’d started to believe them. She felt terrible about wasting her father’s money on Rupert’s drugs, but she dared not get her father involved in her problems. She refused to bring Rupert’s violence to her father’s doorstep even though he was a big, powerful man and she knew he would defend her against any threat. However, whenever she threatened to leave Rupert, he showed her the gun he would use on her father if she should ever decide to leave. Thus, she stayed.
Things climaxed one day when Rupert cornered her in an alley while she was on her way to buy a few things at the store. He was wild-eyed and had trouble standing. He was obviously high on his drug du jour. He seemed reasonably calm until he ordered her to get more money from her father, now, that second.
“He can afford it. You told me before he’s rich.” Rupert slurred.
She had made the mistake of telling him about her dad’s fleet of cars, his speedboat, the houses they’d stayed at in Rome and Paris the summer between her junior and senior years in high school she and her father had spent roaming around Europe. But she couldn’t ask him for more money so Rupert could buy more drugs. She knew her father would give her anything she asked for, but she refused to fuel Rupert's drug addiction any more than she already had—especially not with her father’s money.
She knew Rupert would believe her if she went somewhere so she could pretend to contact her father and lied to him about that contact. She could say her father was wiring the money into her bank account. That might keep Rupert’s ferocity at bay for a few minutes or hours, but she also knew her punishment would be just that much worse when she finally had to tell him she hadn’t actually asked her father for any more money. She couldn’t see any point in postponing the inevitable, so she blurted out, “I can’t ask him for more money. I’d have to tell him I dropped out of college.” She covered her face with her hands knowing her refusal would bring his wrath. She was right. His mood shifted from calm to raving maniac in the space of a few seconds. He screamed at her as she cowered and then, after a vicious slap across her face, he proceeded to beat her until she collapsed at his feet.
He watched her lying on the asphalt for a couple of minutes expecting her to get up. When she didn’t, he wondered if he’d gone too far this time. Not that he cared. She didn’t mean any more to him than the money she’d been providing. He had to admit he would miss the money or more precisely, he would miss the drugs the money paid for.
After a few more moments with no movement, he dragged her behind a dumpster. He returned to where she’d fallen and picked up her purse. He rifled through it finding only twenty dollars. He took the money and then threw the purse in the dumpster in disgust. He turned to where she lay unmoving, ready to force her to her feet when he heard a siren. The possibility of cops caused his addled brain’s fight or flight response to kick in, and he staggered from the end of the alley opposite the direction he’d heard the siren. The police car sped past the alley, but Rupert was already far down the block and didn’t know he was safe from the cops. He wouldn’t have returned to check on her anyway. To his mind, she was already out of his life. No matter, he thought as he entered a small store to buy a pack of cigarettes, she wasn’t worth spit anyway. After paying for the cigarettes, he wandered back out the door and further down the street toward where he expected to find his dealer. He thought he had just enough cash to allow him to get buzzed that afternoon.
Molly lay behind the dumpster until a homeless woman arrived to search the trash for whatever she could find. What she discovered was Molly’s feet sticking out from behind the dumpster. She took one look at Molly’s face, shivered, and decided she had to get help for the poor thing. She wandered back the way she’d come and into a nearby liquor store.
The clerk glanced up, saw her, pointed at the door, and said, “I’ve told you I don’t want you here Bridget. Now get out.”
“But…but I found somebody, Simon,” she stammered.
“What do you mean you ‘found somebody’?” He lowered his arm wondering if this was just a ploy to elicit his sympathy. If that were the case, it wouldn’t work.
“There’s a woman in the alley.”
“So?” He didn’t get it.
“Somebody beat the heck out of her,” Bridget said grabbing her face as if she were hurt.
Now she had his attention. “Is she all right?”
“Don’t know. She wasn’t moving.”
This was far from the first time he’d heard of the homeless beating on each other in this neighborhood. “Is she anyone you know?”
Bridget shook her head. “Never seen her before.”
“Do you think I need to call the cops?” Simon asked reaching for the phone.
“I think you better call somebody.” She nodded vigorously and then grabbed her head as if the nodding made her dizzy.
“That bad, huh?”
“I think so. Somebody beat her something fierce.”
“Okay,” he said picking up the phone and dialing 911. After explaining the situation, the operator put him through to the police, and he explained everything again. The policewoman said she’d dispatch a squad car immediately.
&nb
sp; After hanging up, Simon turned to Bridget. “You’d better hang around so you can show the cops where you found whoever.”
Bridget nodded. “Can I have a little something to warm my bones while we wait?”
He shook his head but had to smile. Maybe it was a ploy. But, if it was, why did Bridget have him call the police. They didn’t take kindly to false reporting. “Now Bridget you know I can’t do that.”
“Ah, well. It was worth a try. So I get no reward for being a good citizen?” She smiled showing her crooked and yellowed teeth.
Simon shook his head. “Not from me, you don’t. I will, however, get a chair so you can rest your bones.” He went to the back room while keeping one eye on Bridget, returning with a folding chair. He opened it and helped her into it.
They waited in silence until a squad car pulled up disgorging two uniformed officers. They came into the store, and one of them glared at Simon as if he’d interrupted their lunch of doughnuts. “You call in about a body in an alley?”
Simon nodded, “I did, but I didn’t find the body. Bridget did.” He pointed at Bridget. “This is Bridget.”
“I’m officer Franks and,” he pointed at his partner, “this is Lannigan. So you spotted a body?” he said to Bridget.
“I did.”
“Can you show us?” Franks asked.
“Likely I can. I know where she was,” Bridget said using the chair to help her stand up before she sat back down when she couldn’t quite make it.
“Let’s go then,” Lannigan said helping her from the chair.
Together they located Molly’s prone figure behind the dumpster. Franks checked her carotid pulse. “She’s still alive.” He turned to Lannigan saying, “Call for an ambulance. She’s hurt bad.”
Lannigan nodded and hurried away returning a few seconds later. “It’s on the way. They figure about ten minutes.”
Franks stood and turned to Bridget who had started to slink away. “Hold on there Bridget.”
“Why? I got things to do.”
“We need to ask you a few questions.”
“I don’t know nothing.” But she stopped knowing she would never be able to get away from them without telling them as much as she knew, which wasn’t much.
Franks took out a notebook and pen. “Do you know who she is?”
“Never seen her before,” Bridget said.
“And what’s your name sweetheart.” He smiled at her.
“You heard Simon. Name’s Bridget, not sweetheart.” She didn’t smile back.
“Bridget what?”
“What you need my name for anyways?”
“It’s just routine. Now, what’s your last name?”
She stared at him for a few beats before she relented. “Thomas.”
He wrote her name down in his notebook. “Did you see anyone else in the alley when you found her?” Franks asked.
“I didn’t.”
“Did you move her?” Lannigan pointed to Molly’s body.
Bridget shook her head vigorously. “I didn’t. I saw her feet when I came over to the dumpster. Then I saw what she looked like. I knew I should get her some help. She’s hurt bad.”
“You’re right about that,” Franks said. “She sure ain’t hurt good. You did right, Bridget. And you’re sure you didn’t see anyone.”
“I’m sure,” Bridget said and cast a glance to the street where an ambulance had just arrived. Lannigan ran to the sidewalk and led the paramedics and their gurney to Molly’s body. A medical kit lay on the gurney. The paramedics checked Molly over, took her vitals, and then put a cervical collar on her before hooking her up to an IV bag which they hung from the holder attached to the gurney.
“We need to transport this poor woman to the hospital immediately,” one of the paramedics said. Together they put her on the gurney.
“We’ll follow you,” Franks said before he turned to Bridget. “Where are you staying, Bridget? We may need to ask you some more questions.”
“I’m staying at the homeless shelter that way,” she pointed north. “I don’t remember what it’s called.”
“I know the one,” Lannigan said.
“Can I go now?”
“I don’t see why not,” Franks said. “We have to follow the ambulance. Come on, Harris. We need to go.”
Lannigan followed Franks to the street where the paramedics were waiting while they frantically waved to Lannigan and Franks to hurry. Everybody got in their respective vehicles and drove away. Franks turned on his lights while the ambulance turned on their lights and siren.
Chapter 2
Detective Robert Drummond’s mind wasn’t on his paperwork. He was waiting for information on the Jane Doe Franks, and Lannigan had found in the alley. To be more precise, the Jane Doe that had been discovered by a homeless person. He had gone to the hospital several times but had been refused admittance to Jane Doe’s room. She was, apparently, still unconscious anyway. He had caught a glimpse of her lying in her room before a nurse saw him looking in and sternly shooed him away. They had washed a bit of the blood out of her blonde hair after the forensics people had taken samples and otherwise checked her out.
He had talked the hospital staff into calling him when Jane Doe was awake and, though it had been several hours, they still hadn’t called. He knew the hospital didn’t necessarily want cops around so if he didn’t hear from them soon he would have to go back to the hospital anyway.
The crime scene unit had been to the scene, but he had yet to hear from them either. His Jane Doe was still a Jane Doe.
His phone rang, and he picked it up immediately. It was Lieutenant Bridger, head of the crime scene unit.
“What ya got for me, Kirk?”
“We found a purse in the dumpster the vic was behind.”
“Was it hers?”
“Now how am I supposed to know that?” Bridger asked. “I didn’t see the victim. If you come down to my office, I can give her wallet to you and maybe you can find out if it belongs to your Jane Doe.”
Maybe I can, Drummond thought. There was a chance at least even though he’d only caught a brief glimpse of her in her hospital room.
“I’ll be right there,” Drummond said.
“I’ll be here.”
On his way to the stairs, he spotted Franks working at his desk. “CSI found a purse in the dumpster. Do you think you can ID our vic?”
“Not sure. She was pretty beat up.”
“Yeah, I know. I caught a glimpse of her in the hospital, but I figure you saw her a lot closer than I did.”
“I suppose so.”
“Well, come on then.”
“Yes, sir,” Franks said. “You want Lannigan to come too?”
Drummond glanced at Lannigan’s desk. “Where is he?”
“He just went to get some coffee.”
“Okay,” Drummond said. “Let’s walk that way. We’ll take him along.”
They had taken only a few steps when Lannigan returned with two cups of coffee. “What’s up Detective?”
“Crime scene found a purse. I want to see if it might belong to our vic. Come with us.”
“Yes, sir.” Lannigan handed a cup of coffee to Franks.
“Thanks,” Franks said. “Do you want some coffee, Drummond?”
“Nah, let’s just get downstairs and see if we can ID our vic.”
Together the three went down in the elevator and into Bridger’s office. When he saw them come in, he tossed a driver’s license to Drummond who fumbled with it trying not to leave too many prints. “Not to worry,” Bridger said. “It’s already been checked for prints. The only ones on it belong to Molly Archer, the girl in the photo.”
Drummond glanced at the license and shook his head. “She has blonde hair, and our vic has blonde hair, but I can’t be sure it’s her. How about you guys?” He handed the license to Franks.
Franks held it out so both he and Lannigan could see it. “I wouldn’t swear in court it’s her, but it does look like her.�
�� He turned to Lannigan for confirmation.
“I don’t know. Her face was pretty messed up. But I suppose it could be her.”
“We’ll need more than that.” Drummond turned to Bridger. “We’ll keep this.”
“All right with me,” Bridger said. “Let me bag and tag it so we can preserve the chain of evidence.”
“I would expect nothing less,” Drummond said handing the ID back to Bridger.
Drummond, Franks, and Lannigan headed back upstairs, with the license in the evidence bag so that Drummond could check his phone. He was surprised and pleased to find a message from the hospital. The vic was out of danger and had awakened. Drummond immediately left for the hospital not waiting to listen to the rest of the message which stated she could not yet receive any visitors. He would have ignored that part anyway. He wished his partner was back from her court appearance, but he was resigned to continuing to investigate alone.
Though she’d been beaten by Rupert before, Molly couldn’t believe how much she hurt. Her lips and eyes were so swollen she couldn’t see or talk. She knew people had been in and out of her room, assuming she was in a room, but she had no idea if they were doctors, nurses, or janitors. Probably not janitors, she mused.
“How you doing sweetheart?”
The voice was pleasant, and Molly wished she could see who it was and answer, but her lips were so swollen they felt like concrete. She tried to say Are you a nurse?, but all she could manage were a few unintelligible gurgles.
“That’s all right, sweetie. Don’t try to talk. You just rest. I’m Pat. I’m your nurse. The doctors have been in, and they say you’re going to be just fine. It’s going to be a while, but you’re going to be fine.” Pat really wanted to ask her who did this monstrous thing to her but knew it was not her job to ask questions like that. Besides, the fact was, the poor thing couldn’t answer her anyway.
Molly raised her arms slightly and hoped she was pantomiming writing. She wanted to convey who she was.
“You want something to write on?”
The Dog Who Ate The Flintlock Page 1