Lady Justice and the Broken Hearts

by Robert Thornhill

  The day progressed without incident.

  Since all the murders had taken place at night, we hadn’t really expected anything to happen. I ordered the tortilla crusted tilapia for supper just for old time’s sake. Somehow it wasn’t as tasty as I remembered.

  Around seven, Kevin came by carrying a spray of flowers from the hospital gift shop.

  “So what’s with the posies?” I asked.

  “I’m supposed to be a visitor. Isn’t that what visitors do?”

  He hung around until nine. By that time, Kim had come on as the duty nurse. As soon as no one was around, she sneaked him into one of the vacant rooms.

  The hospital administrator had stopped by and given me the names and photos of every member of the hospital staff that were supposed to be working that evening.

  By ten o’clock, the hallways were quiet as usual. Every half hour or so, I would walk the 5th floor, watching for somebody who didn’t belong. It was just as I remembered when I was an actual patient. Nurses were at their stations staring at monitors or working on computers. Every so often, I would pass a room and see Ox emptying a smelly bedpan. I would give him a little finger wave and he would flag me a bird. At two in the morning, I passed the vacant room where Kevin was hiding and heard his labored breathing, interrupted by occasional snorts. Apparently, my cohort had fallen asleep. A lot of good he would be in a crisis.

  Once, the elevator door opened, but it was Mr. Spencer. I remembered Kim telling me that he worked weird hours, that his mother was on the floor, and he never missed a day stopping by to see her.

  I followed him to her room, and once again, it occurred to me how easy it would be for someone --- anyone --- to come onto the floor and slip unnoticed into someone’s room.

  I roamed the halls until I saw the first rays of the morning sun peek through the east windows. Nothing had happened and I was dead tired. Kim would be leaving soon, so I told her good bye, tucked in bed and went sound asleep.

  The next thing I knew, Marcie was gently shaking my arm. “Hey, sleepy head, sorry to wake you, but it’s time to get your temperature and blood pressure. Also, if you’re planning on getting breakfast, you’d better get it ordered.”

  After she had finished fussing around with me, I picked up the phone to order breakfast. I could see her out in the hall. She was with a young man and they were having an animated conversation. I knew I had seen him somewhere before, but I just couldn’t remember where. He happened to glance into my room and our eyes met briefly. I could see a look of recognition on his face. He turned back to Marcie, said a few parting words and abruptly left.

  A few moments later, I remembered. He was the orderly that mistakenly came into my room late one night. I had also seen him in the hall the night after Malcom McCloud was killed.

  I pressed the call button and a minute or so later, Marcie came into the room. “What can I do for you?”

  “The young man you were just talking to --- who is he?”

  “Oh, that was Jason, my boyfriend. We live together.”

  “I didn’t realize your boyfriend was an orderly here at the hospital.”

  There was a confused look on her face. “Jason doesn’t work here. He’s a student at the Art Institute.”

  Suddenly, everything fell into place. If I hadn’t been lying in bed, my knees would have surely given away.

  If I hadn’t been awake reading that night, it most likely would have been me and not Malcom McCloud that was given the deadly injection of potassium chloride.

  I had been spared by a bout of insomnia and had once again escaped the clutches of the grim reaper.

  CHAPTER 15

  Jason Marks punched the button to the 5th floor, eager to give the message to Marcie.

  Dr. Trimble had called and said that he needed a decision from Marcie. He was short-handed and needed to hire someone for his clinic immediately. He said Marcie was his first choice, but he understood if she wanted to remain at St. Luke’s.

  Surely, he thought, she’ll be ready to leave. The death of twelve-year-old Freddie had sent her to bed, weeping uncontrollably. He had made an outward effort to console her, but it was all an act. He wanted her to suffer so much that going to work became unbearable.

  He saw her coming out of a patient room and called to her.

  “Marcie, Dr. Trimble called this morning. He needs an answer --- today!”

  Marcie looked around, embarrassed. “Jason, this isn’t the time or the place. I’ve got work to do. We’ll discuss this when I get home tonight.”

  “Like hell we will,” he replied, his eyes flashing with anger. “That’s what you always say, but then you beg off because you’re so damned tired. Well, I’m tired too --- of your excuses!”

  “Jason, please. Don’t make a scene.”

  At that moment, he glanced into the room she had just left and saw the old guy in the bed staring at him intently. Their eyes met briefly and he remembered where he had seen the old geezer. He was his first intended victim, but he had been wide awake reading a book.

  Seeing the old man again was unnerving. He could tell that the old dude had recognized him as well, and it sent a chill down his spine. He had been so careful up to this point, and something told him that his presence in one of Marcie’s rooms was more than just a coincidence.

  Quickly, he averted his eyes and turned back to Marcie. “You’re right. I’m sorry. We’ll talk about this tonight. I need to run. Love you.”

  He hurried to the elevator, hit the button to the ground floor, and was just approaching his car when a figure came up behind him. He felt something pressing against his spine and heard the words, “Do as I say or I’ll blow you away right where you stand.”

  Jason nodded.

  The man pushed Jason ahead and as they approached a car, the trunk lid popped open.

  The last thing he remembered was the searing pain as the man slammed the gun into his head.

  I called Detective Blaylock and when he arrived, the four of us met privately in my room.

  His first reaction was disgust when he saw Kevin. “What the hell is he doing here?”

  “Just an extra set of eyes,” I replied. But that’s not what’s important. I think I know who’s been murdering people on the 5th floor.”

  I shared my experience seeing Jason in the wee hours of the morning dressed in scrubs. The kicker was when I told them that Jason didn’t actually work at the hospital.

  The overall consensus was that Jason could very well be our killer. If that was true, we now knew the ‘how’ and the ‘who,’ but not the ‘why.’

  Something told me that Marcie would shed some light on the ‘why.’

  We brought her into the room and asked her to have a seat.

  She listened intently as I told her how I’d seen Jason in my room dressed in scrubs the night Malcom McCloud was murdered, and then again the night after.

  Suddenly, she put everything together, and the realization of what her lover had done hit her like a sledgehammer. She became ghostly pale, muttered “Oh my God,” and slumped back on the couch.

  I feared that in her weakened condition she might pass out or go into shock. She just sat there stunned, then, as the horror of the situation washed over her, the tears began to flow and she shook uncontrollably. I went to her side and held her until she was physically spent.

  No one said a word and the room was deathly silent after her sobs had subsided. Finally, she took a deep breath, blew her nose and wiped her eyes. “How can I help?”

  “Do you have any idea why Jason would hurt these people?” I asked.

  She nodded, and I thought she might break down again, but she took another deep breath. “He did it because of me. It’s my fault all these people are dead.”

  For the next fifteen minutes, she shared the ups and downs of her rocky relationship with Jason and his insistence on her quitting the cardiac unit and taking the position at Dr. Trimble’s clinic.

  “He killed all those innocent peopl
e knowing it would break my heart and make me want to quit --- and it almost worked. When little Freddie died, it was almost more than I could bear. I had actually made up my mind to leave the unit, then you came in and I promised I wouldn’t quit as long as you were here. I’m so sorry ---!”

  I gave her a hug. “This is not your fault. This is all on Jason. Do you know where we can find him?”

  “He left in a hurry. He must have recognized you. He might be at our apartment or at the Art Institute or at the Westport Coffee House. At lot of his friends from the Art Institute hang out there. If he’s not at any of those places, I have no idea. Evidently I didn’t know him as well as I thought.”

  At that point, Blaylock took over. “Marcie, what kind of car does he drive?”

  “A 2006 Honda Accord. I’m sorry, I don’t know the license.”

  “Not a problem. We’ll get it. I’ll have a team at each of those locations and we’ll put a BOLO out on his car. We’ll find him!”

  “What should I do?” Marcie asked. “I can’t go home until you find him.”

  “Well, you can start by taking this I.V. out of my arm and getting my clothes so I can get out of this damnable gown. After that, I’m guessing you have some real patients that need a wonderful caring nurse to look after them.”

  She nodded. “I do, and right this minute, I just might need them more than they need me. I have a lot to make up for.”

  Once I was a civilian again, Ox, Kevin and I took a moment in my room.

  “So now we know the ‘why,’ Ox said. “Tragic!”

  Kevin nodded. “And the ‘why’ is as old as man himself --- jealousy. It makes some people do crazy things.”

  I couldn’t help but marvel at how complex relationships can be.

  Two people, each with their own set of values, backgrounds and prejudices, living together in harmony is a daunting task under ideal conditions, but there are some vocations that make the adjustment even more difficult. I had been involved in two of them as a realtor and a police officer.

  Any soldier will tell you that unless you have actually been on the battlefield, facing death and seeing your fallen comrades, you will just never understand.

  Some vocations are that way as well.

  As a realtor, I had to work evenings and weekends and often, at the most inopportune times, I would get a call from a client wanting to see a house. It takes a very understanding spouse to not let these distractions undermine their marriage. The divorce rate among realtors is very high. I was fortunate than my sweetie was also a realtor and could relate.

  The same statistics apply to police officers. It is difficult for some spouses to relate to the horrors that these brave men and women face on the streets each and every day.

  After my own experience in the cardiac ward, I had a new respect for the men and women who put in thirteen hour days, dealing with pain, suffering and sometimes death. They too, would need an empathetic partner to support them in their life’s work.

  Jason Marks was not such a partner.

  CHAPTER 16

  Jason was nowhere to be found.

  Blaylock sent uniforms to his apartment, school, and all his usual haunts, but no one had seen him.

  Jason’s information had also been given to all the security officers at the hospital just in case he had ducked into a closet somewhere and was waiting until dark to make a run for it.

  An hour or so after he disappeared, one of the security team making his usual rounds of the parking garage, spotted a car matching the description that had been given him.

  After verifying that it was indeed Jason’s car, Blaylock had Kevin open it up with a slim-jim that he always carried in his trunk. Inside, he found a bag of syringes and a bottle of potassium chloride capsules.

  There was no doubt about it, Jason Marks was our serial killer.

  But where was he.

  Kevin looked around the garage and spotted a camera. He turned to the guard. “Are the cameras just live feeds or are they recording?”

  “They’re recording, but on a twenty-four hour loop. Each day the cameras record over the previous day. About the only time we use them is if a kid wanders away from his parents.”

  “Not today. Let’s go have a look.”

  The equipment in the monitoring room was not very sophisticated. There were a half-dozen cameras scattered throughout the parking garage. One by one, we rewound the tapes and watched people coming and going on a grainy twelve inch screen.

  On the fourth camera, we spotted Jason.

  “There,” I said. “That’s him. Slow it down.”

  We watched as a tall man in an overcoat moved behind Jason and pressed something into his back.

  “Must be a gun,” Ox speculated. “Did you see the look on the kid’s face?”

  The tall man said something and Jason nodded. They walked a dozen steps and the trunk lid of a Cadillac popped open. The guy in the overcoat whacked Jason on the head and stuffed his body in the trunk. Before climbing into the car, he looked in every direction, making sure no one had seen him. It was the first glimpse we had of his face.

  I was shocked. “I know that guy! That’s Harold McCloud. He’s the son of the first victims. His father and his mother both died in the room next to mine. The next morning, I saw him giving Marcie a ration of shit out in the hall. He couldn’t understand how his father, who had been progressing quite well, had suddenly died. Then to make matters worse, his mother had laid her head on her husband’s chest and joined him in the hereafter.”

  “Jesus, that’s horrible,” Ox muttered. “I’d probably be upset too.”

  “I remember his exact words, ‘I’m going to get to the bottom of this and somebody’s going to pay.’”

  “Looks like that ‘somebody’ is Jason Marks,” Ox observed.

  “Yeah, but how did McCloud know it was Marks?” Kevin asked. “We just found out ourselves, and we sure as hell didn’t know when this recording was made.”

  He had a point.

  Nevertheless, the reason that Blaylock couldn’t find Jason was because he was in Harold McCloud’s trunk.

  Ox called Blaylock and an APB was issued for McCloud and his Caddie.

  It turned out that McCloud was single and was living with his now deceased parents. He was an insurance agent and had a small office in the Brookside area. Like Jason, he was not at either of those locations.

  Blaylock had teams of officers canvassing the neighbors around McCloud’s home and the businesses around his insurance agency, but came up empty.

  Our serial killer and the man who abducted him were in the wind.

  The next morning, Maggie and I were sharing a stack of pancakes and reading the paper when the phone rang.

  “Walt, this is Marcie.”

  “Marcie! Are you all right?”

  “Yes, I’m much better today. I stayed with one of the other nurses last night. She was very supporting and it helped a lot.”

  “Have you heard anything from Jason?”

  “No, not Jason, but there is something else.”

  “What?”

  “When I came into work this morning, there was a vase of flowers that had been delivered by a florist and it was addressed to me. The flowers were all Forget-Me-Nots, which is unusual in itself. There was a card, and it simply said, ‘See how it feels when someone you love is taken from you.’ There was no signature.”

  Suddenly it all made sense.

  Harold McCloud had lost the two most important people in his life and no one could give him a reasonable explanation why. He needed to blame someone, and the people taking care of his dad were the logical choice. In his mind, they must have done something wrong.

  I had heard him venting his frustration on Marcie. Evidently he had stalked her and seen that Jason was her boyfriend. He was getting even by taking the person in her life that she was closest to.

  Unwittingly, he had abducted Jason to get revenge on those he felt were responsible for his parent’s death, n
ot realizing that he had captured his father’s murderer!

  “You did the right thing calling me. Keep an eye on those flowers. I’ll call the detective and he will come get them and try to track down the delivery man. Don’t hesitate to call if you get any more communications from anyone.”

  After we hung up, I started thinking. McCloud had disappeared with Jason, but he wasn’t at any of his usual places. It reminded me of a horrible experience five years ago. Maggie had been abducted by a deranged real estate agent and he was holding her at an old abandoned farm house that he owned. It gave me an idea.

  I called Maggie to the computer and asked her to look up all the property owned by Harold McCloud. I used to know how to do it, but I hadn’t used the program in over five years.

  She typed in the name and we got a big zero.

  Then it occurred to me that McCloud was bunking at his parent’s place. Maybe he was one of those guys that were the perennial sponge, waiting for his folks to kick the bucket to collect his inheritance.

  “Try Malcom McCloud,” I suggested.

  She typed, and three pieces of property popped up. Two of them were the family home and the insurance office. The father owned both and it looked like Harold was indeed a sponge.

  The third one was what I was looking for. It read, ‘Lots 45 & 46, Red Rock Addition, St. Clair County, Missouri.’

  I picked up the phone and called Blaylock.

  “I think I know where McCloud is holding Jason.”

  “Where in the hell is St. Clair County?” Blaylock asked, looking at the printout.

  “About two hours south of Kansas City on Highway 13,” I replied. “Osceola is the county seat.”

  “How do you know so much about the place?” he asked.

  I knew because somehow, I had been involved in three different cases that had led me into that small community tucked away in the Ozark hills on the banks of the Osage River.