Garage Sale Stalker (Garage Sale Mysteries)

by Weinert, Suzi

  Major road arteries around America’s largest cities experienced traffic 24/7. Washington, DC and the surrounding Maryland and Virginia suburbs were no exception. Nothing like the paralyzing grind of morning and evening rush hours, yet even in these wee hours, a steady flow of vehicles persisted.

  Moving aggressively, the VW bug wove in and out of traffic, obviously hurrying. Cursing each time the bug switched lanes, Ruger managed to maintain sight of the small vehicle. What are they up to? he wondered, when they finally nosed onto the Gallows Road ramp and a moment later swerved into the hospital’s parking lot.

  While crammed with cars in the daytime, the lot was only partially full at this hour, and he found a spot not far from the bug. Taking a look at himself in the rear view mirror, he poured a trickle from the water bottle onto the corner of the wash cloth and hastily cleaned up his face and the hand he scraped during his earlier dash through the woods. Getting out of his car, he refolded and stuffed the cloth between his wound and his trouser belt, before slipping on the cardigan sweater to cover the washcloth’s bulge and dried blood on his lower shirt. Gathering the pistol and hypodermic case, he slipped them into a sweater pocket.

  Following the two girls as they hurried up the hill to the hospital’s main entrance, he knew he could get near them undetected because he knew them but they had no knowledge of him. He smirked at this advantage because he needed to get very close to use the hypodermic. Maybe he could even take care of them outside? But a look around at bystanders squelched that option. As the girls passed through the automatic doors into the hospital’s lobby, Ruger trailed behind but paused within earshot as Hannah stopped at the information desk.

  Listening over her shoulder, Ruger couldn’t believe his ears when she asked for Tina MacKenzie. He knew that name from the driver’s license in the girl’s purse. She was the one he took before the Shannon woman. Tina, the girl who gave up too easily, who didn’t fight back and whose small purse contained so few uninteresting items: a comb, a lipstick, her license, one credit card and a little cash.

  But he left Tina in the cramped schoolhouse, too close to death to survive. Tomorrow he planned to extricate any last bit of life still in her and bury her in the field with the others, thus emptying the schoolhouse for his next victim, Jennifer Shannon. He grimaced. Now that plan and all his plans were in chaos because of that woman. With disciplined will, he suppressed his rising anger in order to focus clearly and listen carefully.

  The receptionist studied her computer and smiled at the girls. “I’m sorry, but we show no one here by that name.”

  “But she arrived by ambulance only a couple of hours ago. The police told us she’s here and... ”

  “Oh, well that could be a different situation. If it’s a police matter her name might very well not appear on our list. She might be under protection. If that’s the case, you’ll need that information directly from the police.”

  “Thanks” said Becca, while Hannah whipped out her cell phone and punched in Adam’s number.

  When he answered, she briefly described the situation and said to Becca, “He’s finding out. Would you write this down?”

  As Becca fumbled in her purse for pencil and paper and Hannah waited for Adam to come back on the line, both girls eased into waiting room chairs. Ruger picked up a discarded newspaper, slipped into a nearby chair and pretended to read.

  Hannah motioned her sister to write and spoke into her cell phone again. “Okay, she’s in Tower 10 West, Room 1074 and if we’re asked for a password code it’s...” Hannah looked puzzled, “Are you sure? Okay… would you spell that? E-u-p-h-r-a-t-e-s? Euphrates—like the river? Weird. We’re on our way up. Oh, by the way, the signs in the lobby say to turn off cell phones in the hospital.” Pause. “Well, if you’re sure. So we just tell them we have police permission?” Hannah giggled, “Okay, but remember, if we’re caught, we know where to find you!” Snapping off the phone, she was all business again. Motioning Becca to follow, she returned to the information desk.

  “Visiting hours ended at 8:00 p.m.,” said the receptionist. “If you’re going to try anyway, ask for directions on the 10th floor. Elevators are that way,” she pointed the direction.

  The girls passed through the nighttime security detection point and followed the receptionist’s directions. Ruger waited until they disappeared down the hall and deftly transferred the ceramic pistol from his sweater to his trouser pocket. He knew its unique materials would escape metal detection and that only a very few Special Forces personnel, like him, were issued these state-of-the-art weapons. He approached security himself, where the guard eyed him cautiously.

  “Put your sweater on the belt, please,” and seeing blood the sweater had covered when Ruger complied, the guard added, “You okay, Mister?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” Ruger joked, “just tired and a little roughed up. You should see the other guy.”

  The guard smiled in commiseration. “What’s this?” he pointed to a hypodermic in the sweater’s pocket now pictured on the monitor screen? Prepared for the question, Ruger said without hesitation, “I’m diabetic and carry my insulin with me.” The guard passed him through and he slipped into his sweater again.

  Now in the hospital proper, Ruger scanned the lobby signs to locate a restroom. Following appropriate arrows, he soon stared at himself in the large mirror over a sink in the public men’s room. Pulling a fistful of paper towels from the holder, he dampened them, added liquid soap and cleaned his face and hands. A man at the next sink eyed him curiously as the water in the sink ran red. Hell, this was a hospital. A little blood shouldn’t attract undue attention.

  Whatever the other man thought, he said nothing and averted his eyes when Ruger looked his way. Wetting his comb, Ruger smoothed down his hair. Not bad, if it weren’t for the beard stubble. The other man left and he was alone in the public bathroom.

  Taking advantage of this unobserved moment, he removed, folded and pocketed the Out-of-Order sign from one of the stall doors, being careful to include the tape affixing it. The sign might come in handy or could be easily jettisoned if not. Now for the next step of his plan. Ruger grinned with anticipation: he who looks, finds.

  CHAPTER 61

  “This is 10 East,” the night nurse at the 10th floor desk explained when Hannah and Becca emerged from the elevator. “10 West is at the other end of this floor. Take either the even or odd numbered corridor and when the woodwork color changes from cream to light blue, you’re in 10 West. Be sure to check in at the West desk.”

  The girls hurried down the tweed carpet to the 10 West nurses’ station and gave Tina’s name plus the special password. They waited as the nurse confirmed that it was correct. “You know this is way past regular visiting hours.” The nurse frowned.

  “But this situation is special. Tina’s mother was recently widowed so this is the second terrible blow for her in two months. We’d like to comfort her. Couldn’t you make an exception, please?” she asked.

  The nurse smiled, “Well, this patient is unusual but you know the password so perhaps we can be a bit flexible. Her mother’s alone with her now and I think could use some moral support.” Pointing toward a hallway, she added, “Room 1074 is that way. Our rooms on this floor are all two-bed, but we’ve blocked the other bed in 1074, so your friend is the only patient and you’ll have privacy.”

  Thanking her, the girls hustled down the corridor and eased open the door. Waving silently to Mrs. MacKenzie, they tiptoed in and each gave her a reassuring hug before walking to Tina’s bedside. Shocked at the sight of their friend’s ravaged condition, they choked back their reactions to avoid further upsetting her mother.

  On the far side of the bed, Becca pulled a chair close to Tina’s mother and held her hand, while Hannah stayed on the side nearer the door and peered anxiously at the blotched, swollen face of their sleeping friend. An oxygen canula clung to Tina’s nostrils and an IV cord snaked from the plastic bag hanging above her to the needle taped near her wri
st. A blood pressure cuff encircled one arm, while a telemetry machine monitoring heart activity beeped rhythmically in the otherwise quiet room.

  “They brought her here from the Intensive Care Unit about an hour ago,” whispered Denise. “They say her vital signs are stable now. I think that means her organs no longer show signs of shutting down. Something in the IV helps her sleep, but the bag is nearly empty so she should wake up soon.”

  The girls nodded and Hannah asked, “And what about you? Are you all right?”

  Denise sighed, staring at her hands. “Tina is all...” she fought tears, “…all I have left now that Scott’s gone. When I thought I might lose her too, I... ” Her shoulders shook with silent sobs.

  Becca hugged her again and said with greater conviction than she felt, “At least the worst is over.” Seeing Denise’s concerned face, she added quickly, “She’ll get wonderful care here. We know lots of people who rave about this place. They say that the care is very personal yet very professional at the same time.”

  “…and that the food is good,” Hannah added.

  When Denise’s troubled expression didn’t change, Hannah continued, “You know, being out of the ICU is a really positive sign! And Adam, a policeman I know, says the only trauma center in northern Virginia is right here. So this was the ideal place for the ambulance to bring her.”

  After a long silence, Becca tried even lighter conversation to distract Tina’s mother, who remained on the verge of tears.

  “How did you ever pick that unusual password?” she asked.

  It worked! The woman brightened slightly. “As you know, Tina owns two cats.”

  “That’s right, Tiger and Fraidy,” Hannah said.

  “Ah, but those are only their nicknames. Their real names are Tigris and Euphrates. I tried to select a password nobody could guess.”

  “Well, you sure succeeded.” Becca nodded and after a pause asked, “When did you get here?”

  “The police called me as the ambulance brought her in and I guess I arrived about 30 minutes after that. She was still in the FACT room when I got here.”

  “Excuse me, the ‘what’ room?” asked Hannah.

  “That acronym stands for—let me think if I can remember—Forensic Assessment and Consultation Team. I think that’s it.” She spelled it out, “F-A-C-T.”

  Responding to both girls’ puzzled expressions, she said, “In the emergency room when a crime is involved like… like sexual assaults, they take the person to a special room where the medical care is the same as a regular emergency room; but the FACT people add other procedures.”

  “Like...?” Palms up, Becca gestured her confusion.

  “They try to learn more about the crime… to answer who-where-what-when-and-how questions is the way they explained it to me. If the patient can talk, I guess they ask for those answers and if the patient can’t, I guess they look for those answers. Besides the rape kit, they do other tests like checking under fingernails for evidence, that sort of thing. I... I didn’t actually see them working because they wouldn’t let me in until they finished and then they rushed her away on a stretcher to ICU. I finally got to see her there.”

  The nurse bustled into the room to check Tina’s vital signs. “Looking good,” she said. “I’ll be back in about 30 minutes, but call me if she wakes up sooner. Here’s her call button.” She indicated a button on the bedrail. “Okay?”

  They all nodded.

  Tina’s mother turned to the Shannon girls. “Thank you for coming. It’s good to have someone help shoulder the... ” her eyes misted again and she fell silent.

  “You know you can count on us and our whole family. We’ll help get Tina through this...” Becca searched for the right words, and at last said, “...through this rough patch.”

  CHAPTER 62

  Ruger knew what he needed next, but where to find it without drawing attention?

  He wandered from the public restroom along the main floor corridors. Besides his reason for following the two daughters here, discovering Tina alive posed new risks for him. Externally and internally, her body bore indisputable evidence of his physical brutality. But her ruinous verbal testimony threatened only if she were alive!

  Of course, he must first kill Tina, then the daughters, and then he’d punish the Shannon woman. Pounding his right fist into his open left hand, he again cursed his stupidity in letting her escape.

  Hearing the sound of the slamming fist, a doctor who strolled down the corridor ahead of Ruger looked back. Thinking fast, Ruger said, “Smacked a fly. Got him, too!” The doctor nodded, continued down the hall toward the administrative offices, opened a door and went inside. Reaching that door himself, Ruger read “Men’s Restroom, Staff Only.” Well now, how convenient! Ruger listened outside a moment, then entered and closed the door behind him.

  Inside, Ruger saw two cubicles, two urinals and a clipboard lying on the sink. While the doctor occupied one cubicle, Ruger crafted a quick plan.

  When the doctor emerged and saw Ruger, he said, “The public restroom is down the hall.” He headed to the sink, looked in the mirror, stuck out his chin and rubbed it with one hand. From the pocket of his white lab coat he removed a disposable razor, set it on the sink and washed his hands. “I said the public restroom is down the hall,” he repeated to Ruger’s mirrored reflection.

  Advancing swiftly to the sink, Ruger stepped directly behind the doctor and instantly grabbed him in a vice-like chokehold. Ruger had used this basic, effective close-quarters combat technique many times. The beauty of it was that you could either temporarily control or disable or kill with this method, depending upon the amount of pressure and length of its application.

  The startled doctor’s eyes bulged in his reddening face as he gurgled incoherently. His hands clawed frantically, ineffectively, toward his neck, where Ruger’s sinewy forearm pressed relentlessly against his trachea. Increasing the pressure, Ruger gave a sudden snap to the right, instantly breaking his victim’s neck. Neat, quick and no blood, exactly as the Army taught him, Ruger thought as he removed the lab coat from the man’s warm but lifeless body.

  He would also need the doctor’s badge, hanging on a colored string around his neck and, of course, his wallet. Flipping the billfold open, Ruger smiled in appreciation at the ID credentials and cash to grease his escape once his task at the hospital ended.

  Slipping into the lab coat, Ruger dragged the man into the first cubicle, propped him into a sitting position on the commode and eased his lolling head against the wall. He bent the dead man’s limp, compliant legs, forcing them into a secure cross-legged position so someone outside the cubicle couldn’t see them. He exited the cubicle and closed the door. But how to lock it from the inside?

  Standing on the edge of the toilet in the adjacent cubicle, Ruger leaned over the top of that stall’s divider wall and reached his long arms down to lock the doctor’s cubicle door from the inside. Removing the Out-of-Order sign from his sweater pocket, he taped it firmly outside the closed stall’s door and stepped back to survey the result. Perfect!

  Returning to the sink, he picked up the doctor’s razor, soaped his chin from the dispenser and eliminated his own whisker stubble. Substituting clean paper towels for the blood-stained cloth stuffed into his trousers, he examined the badge hanging around his neck.

  “Morton Prescott, MD,” Ruger read aloud. Although he bore little resemblance to Prescott’s photo, who would question him in a hospital where doctors ruled? Into the roomy right lab coat pocket, he transferred the gun and hypodermic case from his cardigan and hid the sweater under papers in the trash. From his left lab coat pocket, Ruger withdrew the stethoscope he found there, draped it around his neck, picked up the clipboard and grinned at his commanding reflection in the mirror. Seconds later, the new Dr. Prescott stepped from the restroom and strode with purpose down the hall toward the elevators to Tower 10 West.

  As the elevator doors opened on the tenth floor, Ruger studied the sign directing him to
the even-numbered hallway and walked briskly to Room 1074. The door stood slightly ajar. Pressing it open, he surveyed the room. Good, no medical personnel inside. He entered the room with confidence, closing the door behind him.

  Tina lay motionless on the closer of two patient beds, the light blue blankets drawn up to her chin. On the far side of the bed sat a woman with one of the Shannon daughters and on the near side of the bed stood the other girl.

  “Ladies,” he addressed them, “I am... Dr. Prescott,” and nodded as the women introduced themselves. Good, this confirmed who they were!

  Studying his clipboard, Ruger said, “I have Tina’s chart here,” and pretended to read it while remembering what he’d heard during their earlier lobby conversation. Looking at the chart, he announced in a low voice, “What this patient needs now is rest and quiet.” He needed to curtail their communication options. “We rely on these machines to monitor her progress. Do any of you have cell phones?”

  Each of them raised a hand.

  “As on an airplane, their frequencies might interfere with our specialized electronic equipment, so please turn those phones off now.”

  He watched sternly while all three complied. Hannah opened her mouth to mention their “police permission,” but remembering the lobby signs, she certainly didn’t want responsibility for a medical machine malfunction compromising her friend’s survival.

  Walking to Tina’s bedside, Ruger touched her forehead above the raw, red scrapes, the bluish swollen cheeks and the puffy black eyes, the irregular splits across her lips and the gash on her chin. But this was only her face. They’d really blanch if he pulled back the blankets to show them the rest of her traumatized body, hidden beneath the covers.

  He thought he remembered the very blows creating these bruises, or did he? Sometimes after the discipline began he became so agitated that he simultaneously lost control and memory. In those instances, he could only recreate what must have taken place by later witnessing the indisputable evidence of his actions.