‘Someone will be there to tell you,’ Palmer said. ‘Don’t do anything until you are told.’
‘I know,’ she said. ‘There was a murder in my family five years ago and we couldn’t go into the house for weeks.’
He hung up and sat thinking. Then he made the second call, this one to the correctional facility in Woodbourne, and what he learned from this call made him so impatient, he practically leaped out of his chair the moment Tucker arrived.
‘Man, you look raring to go,’ Tucker said smiling. ‘Someone boost your battery last night?’
‘Something like that. How was your dental visit?’
‘“I would rather be in Philadelphia.” Isn’t that on W.C. Fields’ tombstone?’
Palmer laughed. ‘Have a seat. I don’t want you standing when I give you the news that will help round out your painful day.’
‘Thanks for being considerate,’ Tucker said sitting.
‘First, Gerald Spenser left town without calling in the information we requested.’
‘Left town? For how long?’
‘The housekeeper said he told her he wasn’t coming back. She doesn’t know where he went and it sounds weird. He left most of his clothing and personal things. She said he left in a hurry.’
Tucker nodded, thinking. ‘Well, maybe he headed for his new position in Pittsburgh. Maybe they moved up his starting date.’
‘She didn’t know, but she was adamant that he was leaving for good and he didn’t leave a forwarding address. If it was his new position, why wouldn’t he leave a forwarding address?’
‘Yeah,’ Tucker said nodding. ‘That is strange. How did he leave?’
Palmer described the car and the driver and passenger.
‘We’ll have to get to someone in authority at the church to see what they know.’
‘I’ve got a call in to Monsignor Di Bona.’
‘OK. What else? You look like you’re about to explode.’
‘Since Gerald left without providing the information we asked him to provide, I called the correctional facility to get the dates and times of Father Martin’s visits.’
‘And?’
‘There is no record of any Father Martin visits.’
‘Recently?’
‘No record, period. None, nada.’
‘That’s ridiculous. He had to sign in,’ Tucker said. ‘That’s a maximum security penitentiary.’ Palmer stared at him. ‘Maybe someone just didn’t look in the right place.’
‘No, I was persistent. They checked and double-checked. I even had a brief conversation with the man temporarily assigned to serve as warden.’ He looked at his notes. ‘A Thomas Wilson. He got on the other line and checked as well and then reconfirmed what I was being told.’
‘That’s incredible. It’s almost like someone is anticipating every move we make and cleaning things away before we get there.’
‘Exactly. Just before you walked in, I took a shot at reaching that young Dr Friedman at the ER and he happened to be on duty. He said the meth diagnosis as cause of death for Watson was absolutely accurate. I’ve got Vince Marcus checking to see if the man had any drug history, although I would say that was pretty unlikely in light of whom and what he was.’
‘Absolutely. He was either a brand new, stupid user or …’
‘Or poisoned with it.’
‘Why meth?’
‘It can be ingested, disguised in food. As you know it can produce chest pains and hypertension which can result in cardiovascular collapse and death. Since Crowley was conveniently run over before we could question him about his examination of Watson, we don’t have much else to go by, and I don’t have much confidence in an investigation in a prison to determine who might have poisoned the warden.’
Tucker shook his head, a look of amazement on his face. ‘When we began this, I thought we were in a weird enough case about a psychotic elderly guy. That would have been enough. Let’s get an APB out on this Gerald Spenser.’
‘Done.’
Palmer’s phone rang. ‘Dorian,’ he said, looked at Tucker and then said, ‘we’ll be right there.’ He cradled the receiver. ‘Chief wants to see both of us right now.’
Tucker’s eyebrows suddenly awoke. ‘To what do we owe this invitation to the Papacy?’ he asked.
Palmer smiled and stood. They walked to the office, knocked and entered.
Chief of Detectives Carl Foreman hovered over the papers on his desk like a convict protecting his food in the prison cafeteria. He had shoulders padded with deltoid muscles that strained his uniform shirt. Even though he wore a tie, he wore it loose, the collar button undone. Stubborn about refusing to acknowledge any changes in style, Foreman kept his hair cut military short, even when he began to thin out and have a receding forehead. He was fond of saying, ‘I need only spend a second or two on my hair in the morning. I brush it with a washcloth, unlike you pussies who worry you don’t resemble James Bond enough.’
On his office wall were the plaques and citations he had won in college as a champion prize fighter. He was a contender, in fact, for the USA Olympic boxing team.
He looked up.
The man has to have a face of granite, Palmer thought. His six o’clock shadow never lightened or darkened and his lips never quivered. They barely stretched when he smirked or smiled, which was rare. His eyes were pure marble with specks of gray in his brown pupils and his nose couldn’t be straighter if the Creator used a level to design the way it sloped into hard nostrils. His cheekbones were as prominent as the jawbone. Everyone was reluctant to call him heavy or stout because there was a connotation of softness in that word that simply didn’t exist in Foreman’s body. He was hard all over. Palmer wondered if Foreman’s wife thought she was being embraced by a statue, especially in bed.
‘Tell me about this case you’re on,’ he said and sat back, his hands behind his head.
‘It’s not a short story,’ Tucker warned him.
‘Make it one,’ Foreman said. ‘Palmer?’
Palmer began with Ceil Morris’ visit and the events that immediately followed. When he described their trip to Woodbourne, he made sure to add it was something they were doing on their own, after hours.
Foreman didn’t change expression or say anything critical or sarcastic which encouraged Palmer. ‘Go on,’ he pressed.
Tucker took over and described what they had learned in Woodbourne and what had followed just this morning relating to Gerald Spenser and the prison.
‘Give me that description the neighbor provided,’ Foreman said and Palmer went through his notes.
For a long moment, Foreman just stared at them and thought.
‘What’s up, Chief?’ Tucker finally asked.
‘We have another brutal murder that looks associated,’ Foreman said sitting forward.
‘Who?’ Palmer asked quickly. He was anticipating Mrs Lomar.
‘Big time attorney, Jack Temple, was bludgeoned to death this morning. Another homicide, the killing of a custodian, was just discovered as well because his truck was parked in a tow-away zone. The custodian services Temple’s building and offices. His keys were missing. He was killed exactly as was Father Martin and that taxicab driver – throat slit. It looks like the same type knife was used, too.
‘Temple’s secretary provided a description similar to the one you just gave me. However,’ he added looking down at some notes he had written on a pad, ‘she said he also told her his name. He wasn’t shy about it.’
‘Bradley Morris?’ Tucker asked.
‘That’s it.’
‘This is very weird now,’ Palmer said.
Foreman raised his eyebrows. ‘Oh, you find it weird?’ he asked, his voice dry with sarcasm.
‘No, listen, Chief, he was careful about not leaving his prints on the cab when he did the driver, right Tucker?’
‘Forensics said they were wiped clean.’
‘And then he was careful in Father Martin’s to wipe the glass he used clean.’
‘We lucked out with prints on an icon,’ Tucker said. ‘Even though as Palmer told you, we’re having a problem locating Bradley Morris’ prints on file. Wiped out of the FBI files, apparently.’
‘He wouldn’t know that, so he was careful about not being identified. He even denied being Bradley Morris when his mother’s neighbor confronted him.’
‘So why would he brag about who he is now?’ Tucker asked.
‘Unless he is feeling invulnerable,’ Palmer said.
‘Why would he?’ Tucker asked.
Foreman looked from one to the other as if he were just an observer, listening.
‘Delusions of grandeur,’ Palmer suggested. ‘Something’s got him thinking he’s above everything. He’s moved pretty much at will so far and done whatever he set out to do.’
‘These deaths, murders, seem quite unrelated,’ Tucker mused. ‘We need to find the connection.’
‘Are you guys finished?’ Foreman asked them.
They both looked at him as if they had just realized he was there.
‘If you are, please indulge me by getting your asses up to Temple’s office and then cover the forensic work on this custodian and his truck. I didn’t mean to interrupt. It was quite intriguing.’
‘We’re on it, Chief,’ Tucker said. He glanced at Palmer.
‘What about these missing prints?’ Palmer asked.
‘I’ll look into that myself, but the last resurrection was well into two thousand years ago, so I wouldn’t worry about the actual Bradley Morris,’ he said.
‘Unless that’s not Bradley Morris in the grave, Chief,’ Palmer said.
‘We’re not getting an order to dig up a grave on the basis of the testimony of a dead woman and two coincidental, definitely unrelated, deaths, the doctor and warden.’
‘Even though both deaths are suspicious?’
‘Tucker, keep on point, will you,’ Chief of Detectives Foreman said.
‘I’ll try, Chief,’ Tucker said, ‘but I’m slipping around a bit myself.’
Foreman shook his head and hovered around his paperwork as they left.
Gerald Spenser was surprised to hear directly from Henry Dover. Almost every time Mr Dover called Father Martin, he had a secretary call. In fact, Gerald couldn’t remember ever hearing Henry Dover’s voice. He did look out the window one time when Dover’s limousine arrived for Father Martin and got what he would call a glimpse of the man sitting in the rear, waiting for Father Martin and extending his hand as the door was opened.
Dover began the call by offering condolences. He then told Gerald that he was afraid the murder of Father Martin was related to the work they had been doing. Although Gerald’s knowledge of it was very limited, he understood it was something to be kept highly classified for the time being. The closest Father Martin came to revealing any details about this project was when he told him it would be the most significant alliance between science and religion to defeat Satan ever attempted.
‘As you know, Gerald,’ Father Martin would say, ‘every sinner who redeems himself, frustrates Lucifer. Too often our poor sinners are denied that opportunity. I am enthusiastic about this project because it will give them that chance.’
Gerald wanted to ask more questions, to know more details, but Father Martin told him it was better for now if he didn’t know any more.
‘Not everyone will have the same view as this,’ he explained. ‘There will even be significant opposition within the Church itself. I have to protect those who have faith in me and my judgment. I’m sure you understand.’
He did and he didn’t. He so wanted Father Martin to think of him as more than his clerk, his assistant. He wanted him to think of him more as a brother or a son, perhaps even a soul mate. Although he would deny it to himself, he was enthralled whenever Father Martin touched him, put his arm around him, or merely smiled warmly at him. Father Martin never knew it, but Gerald had actually gone out of town to a church in the suburbs to confess his ‘unclean’ thoughts about his mentor and himself.
‘I have reason to believe you need my protection for a while, Mr Spenser,’ Henry Dover said. ‘Some things have occurred that lead me to believe this.’
‘Oh, really? The police have been here so—’
‘They have no idea what they’re looking for, Gerald,’ Henry Dover interrupted, now addressing him by his first name to get closer to him. ‘They can’t protect you.’
‘You think he’ll be back, this man who killed Father Martin?’
‘I have no doubt he’ll be back. He’s on an insane rampage. You, being such a close confidant of Father Martin, will be seen as a target.’
‘But why didn’t he … try to harm me when he was here?’
Dover was silent a moment and then said, ‘I didn’t want to have to tell you this but I’m sure I can depend on your discretion.’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘Father Martin wanted to involve you more in this project. He wrote some things that I’m afraid have fallen into the killer’s hands.’
‘Involve me?’
‘He was adamant about it, claiming you were his most trusted assistant.’
‘Oh.’
‘He went so far as to claim you and he were more like brothers.’
‘He said that?’
‘He did. I was moving toward approving your exposure to highly classified information. My associates agreed. We wanted Father Martin’s full confidence and assistance. Anyway, Gerald, will you let me protect you until this is over? It won’t be long. We are hot on the trail and expect to have a resolution in a matter of days.’
‘Yes, of course. Thank you,’ Gerald said and agreed to the arrangements immediately.
‘You understand why you have to be absolutely discreet about it … no details to anyone.’
He did and he was ready. When the car arrived, he let only Father Martin’s housekeeper know he was leaving and he had her convinced he was leaving for good, which was what Mr Dover wanted.
‘If there’s reason to believe you won’t return, our demon, if I can be so bold as to call him that – I’m sure Father Martin would if he were still with us – our demon will give up on you.’
Gerald understood.
It was done as Mr Dover requested.
The men who picked him up were more efficient than friendly, he thought. They said little and he thought it was probably better that he said little himself. He didn’t know how much they knew about the situation.
When they drove over the George Washington Bridge and headed toward the upstate New York area, he almost asked after their ultimate destination, but he wasn’t sure they weren’t told he already knew. He was simply afraid of stirring up any suspicions whatsoever and kept his mouth shut.
Eventually, they pulled into a rather modern building with a sign over the entrance that declared it to be the home of Classic Industries, whatever that meant. Maybe it was Mr Dover’s company, he thought. The passenger in the front took his small suitcase for him.
‘Come along, Mr Spenser,’ the driver said and finally offered a smile.
He nodded and followed them into the building.
The lobby was dimly lit, but obviously pristine. The floor was a dark gray marble and there was a marble counter top to his right and an elevator on his left. On the counter top was a telephone. The driver lifted the receiver, looked at him and then simply said, ‘We’ve arrived with Mr Spenser.’
He cradled the receiver and folded his arms.
‘It’ll be just a moment, Mr Spenser,’ he said.
Gerald looked at the second man. Neither had offered their names, which he thought was some standard operational procedure. He straightened his tie, pulled down on his jacket sleeves and stood straighter, watching the elevator door.
It opened and Simon Oakland stepped out. Gerald couldn’t help but widen his eyes at the sight of such a small man, who was maybe a few inches here and there beyond being a dwarf. He extended his puffy small hand.
�
��Mr Spenser, I’m Dr Oakland. Mr Dover told me to expect you, fill you in and make you comfortable. Please,’ he said, reaching for Gerald’s small suitcase, ‘let me show you around.’
Gerald smiled and nodded. ‘Oh, I can carry that,’ he said.
‘No problem. I need the exercise,’ Simon said. He looked like it was an effort to carry it, however. He led Gerald to the elevator and just before the doors closed, smiled at the two men and said, ‘Thank you, gentlemen.’
They didn’t reply. They were leaving even before the elevator doors closed.
‘I’m sure you’re just full of questions about everything,’ Simon said. ‘We’ll go to my apartment and offices, have a little lunch, and I’ll start explaining the project to you.’
‘Thank you,’ Gerald said.
‘I know you’ve been through a very, very traumatic and difficult time, Mr Spenser. We all appreciate how you’ve handled yourself under the circumstances.’
‘I’m still not over it, not by a long shot,’ Gerald said.
‘Nor would I be,’ Simon told him as the doors opened. ‘Nor would I be. Please,’ he extended his hand and Gerald walked out and into Simon Oakland’s office.
‘Nice view,’ Gerald said looking out the big windows at the landscape below.
‘Yes, a perk for someone who has to spend so much of his time inside. Please, have a seat at the table.’ He put Gerald’s suitcase down. ‘Let’s have something to eat. You like turkey?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good. My housekeeper, Mrs Goodman, makes a wonderfully moist turkey sandwich. Would you like coffee or tea or a cold drink?’
‘Something cold, yes.’
‘Oh, we have fresh lemonade. Would that be OK?’
‘Perfect, thank you,’ Gerald said.
Simon lifted his phone at the desk and called their order in to Mrs Goodman. Then he joined Gerald at the desk.
‘So, what do you know about our work, the work Father Martin supported?’
‘Not very much, I’m afraid. I just know it involved prison inmates and it had something to do with redemption.’
Life Sentence Page 15