MemoryMen

by Michael Binkley

  “So the whole relative safeguard was a rouse. Pretty gutsy bluff for the little guy,” the admiration in Carly's voice sounded genuine.

  “Maybe not so gutsy. He still had a relative.”

  “You said the whole clan died. Didn't they?”

  “They did, but remember he was married, and to the best of my recollection they never divorced, she just left. Khahil never filed papers. I think he felt that as long as they were married in name, his life wasn't as empty as it really was.”

  “I suppose then that Merriwhether didn't even think about it. Langella might have known about the wife, but either he didn't know Hasan had used her as an insurance policy so to speak, or he did and thought it might come in handy for him too. Obviously it didn't, but it just might be the very thing that saves the doctor.”

  Suddenly, bemused by the thought of Merriwhether missing another critical detail, he added, “It might save me. Keep in mind, they have got to know there is a high probability the programming might wear off. Killing me so close to Needlepoint might have been dangerous, but once back in Ft. Collins I could be fair game.”

  “True,” Fred said decisively, “Mrs. Hasan could verify your story, as it would appear that in all likelihood she would be easier to find than Mr. Hasan right now. Your friend Dave might be able to track her.” Calling up the prison personnel office, Fred had the name of a Karla Domenici, who Hasan had listed on his papers as contact in case of an emergency. Her last listed address had been in Colorado Springs.

  While Fred contacted the state police and briefed them on the escape conspiracy theory, Carly was calling Dave Ramirez. Dave answered immediately, seemingly ready to take Carly's call if and when it came. His enormous relief that his friend's excursion into the wilds of central Colorado was replaced by disbelief and astonishment of the disclosure of Merriwhether's role and the likelihood that Dombrowski was alive.

  “I can't believe it, Carly,” he almost screamed into the phone, “we saw that bastard die. Both of us and about twenty others.” However, the role of Dr. Hasan had, made the impossible, possible, but nevertheless still almost unfathomable. As Carly explained the need to locate the missing doctor's wife, Dave assured him he'd call the Colorado Springs police and determine her whereabouts. They both agreed she would still have to be alive, otherwise Hasan would have been dead long before Carly had found him. Hasan could never have sustained a bluff that long, he hadn't been that strong or lucid. Dave agreed to keep everything quiet until they had some solid evidence in hand.

  “After all Carly, I sort of like this Captain’s gig,” he explained nervously. “I start talking about Dombrowski pulling a Lazarus without proof and both of us will be looking for new jobs!”

  As Carly hung up, Fred filled him in on the conversation with the state police. “It seems that there has been a quite a bit of activity up in the high country over the last twenty-four hours. First two men checked into a hospital emergency room in Alamosa, a small town about forty miles south of Needlepoint. Both of them had gunshot wounds! Of course the hospital called the police right away, and both are in custody, at the hospital. One is in intensive care. That sounds like it’s Hasan, and it sounds like he's not going to make it. He lost a lot of blood, probably from when they made a tape so they could fiddle with your brain. If the hospital can stabilize him to any extent they will airlift him to Denver.”

  “I’m surprised they went to a hospital. Someone must have been pretty scared to take the risk. They probably knew Merriwhether would go ballistic if Hasan died.”

  “The other man might be your Brother Damien. Big guy with a goatee and a minor shoulder wound. Right now he won't talk to anybody, not even a public defender. He's not in any trouble medically as it appears he got some pretty good first aide before he ended up in Alamosa.”

  “He's probably afraid to say anything or talk to anyone, lest Merriwhether finds out. He knows he screwed up, first in shooting Hasan then taking him to the hospital,” Carly added almost giggly with relief.

  “In the meantime the state police are going up to the monastery to see if it's the shooting site. I told the officer that one of us might just come up, since it was a potential penal issue.”

  “How can I go? I'm not a prison official.”

  “Not a problem, just sign a quickie consulting agreement and you can act as my agent.” Laughing, Fred added, “Of course I expect more out of you than the LAPD did.”

  After a quick call back to Dave, just to let him know where he was heading, Carly left the office. As he hurried out the front gate, Carly waved back to the stern muscled man on the catwalk. Captain Fred Hoffman gave a smart salute, a quick grin, and turned briskly as he faded into the bowels of the prison.

  The professor felt relieved. Relieved to know he wasn't as crazy as Merriwhether wished he would appear, relieved to know that his friend on the other side of the prison walls was another insurance policy, and relieved to know that he still had a chance to stop the killing in California. As his car glided back up the river road, he let his mind wander to the brilliant colors of the canyon walls, this time seeing the mountain goats, the teeming river, and wisps of snow topped mountains in the distance.

  Chapter Twelve

  By the time Carly made the three-hour drive back to the monastery, the grounds were inundated with the cars from three sheriff’s deputies, four State Patrol officers, two unmarked forensic vans, along with an ambulance and a large crowd of Needlepoint’s fine citizenry as onlookers. Carly’s respect for Fred’s clout as Captain of the Guard grew immensely. While a shooting victim in Alamosa might have merited some law enforcement concern, only someone with real power could have mobilized such a force to scour the monastery for clues.

  As if seeing the monastery for the first time, Carly scanned the building marveling at the simplistic stone edifice. Setting low on three earth-bermed sides, the remaining wall of glass rose well above the desert’s edge to mightily face the southwestern sun absorbing its heat and the sunset panorama from the San Luis Valley below. The building itself appeared to be adobe brick, but on closer examination Carly saw each brick was actually a hand-cut granite stone meticulously mined from the foot of Needlepoint Peak a half hour away. Adoring the rise, was a simple white washed stone cross. Its simplicity the epitome of its majesty.

  Slowing at the driveway for the uniformed officer, Carly explained who he was and offered the credentials from Fred as a means of introduction. Quickly he was escorted into the hub of activity to meet the local state police commander.

  The half-hour to forty-five minutes between ending his call to Dave and the police arrival at the scene, the Abbott of the monastery was trying to convince the State Patrol Commander, Edgar York that not all of the monks were hired killers and thugs. Additionally, a caretaker was able to persuade the officer that a Brother Paul had indeed provided some exemplary first aid to Dr. Hasan and Brother Damien. The diminutive monk’s efforts more than likely had kept the doctor alive this long, according to the emergency medical technicians who at the scene.

  Commander York, treated Carly with differential respect as he introduced himself with a hearty handshake, as though he had been told the best of treatment for Carly was the only sufficient treatment.

  “Call me Edgar,” he boomed with a slight drawl.

  “You got some friends in high places, cowboy!”

  “Call me Carly,” the Professor offered, relieved to be on an informal level with a man of Edgar’s position.

  “Your friend, the prison Captain said you were in the process of cracking the mystery of the century and he’d appreciate it if we’d give you a free hand. Quite frankly I would hope you could give us a bit of a hand in return. The sheriff in Alamosa has got a seriously wounded man in the hospital there. He’s got a potential shooter who won’t talk, and we’ve got a damn near empty monastery with enough blood stains in here to float a battleship.”

  Stopping for breath, as if the torrent of words was more than he was accustomed
to, he continued on, “So any light you can shed on this whole affair would be mightily appreciated, after all, you know we don’t get a lot of murderous monks in these parts.” With a laugh, he ended, “I’ve got to have some idea of what’s going on before I can find out who’s done what here. It sure would look good on my record if I had a few facts to tie to this case. Don’t you think?”

  Keeping in line with the escape conspiracy he and Fred had concocted, but still maintaining a modicum of truth as he spoke, Carly told Commander York he had come up to interview a former prison doctor about the possible cover up of past escapes at Old Max. While here he had attempted to escort the doctor back to Canon City when they got shanghaied at the monastery. Trying to keep to the facts without revealing his hand, Carly indicated the victim in Alamosa was probably the doctor and the man who brought him in might be the shooter trying to save his hide by keeping the doctor alive.

  “What happened to you? Why weren’t you here all along?” the veteran officer asked somewhat suspiciously.

  "After the monk shot the doctor, I jumped the monk and I think I shot him just before someone clubbed me from behind. The next thing I knew, I was waking up in a flea bag motel in Salida unable to remember a thing. So I hightailed it back down the canyon to see Captain Hoffman at the prison. By that time, my head started to clear and I was able to put together enough details for Fred so he could make the call to your office.”

  “So who’s who in Alamosa…exactly?”

  “The dying man is probably Dr. Khahil Hasan, former medical officer for the Colorado Department of Corrections. The other guy, the one with the shoulder wound and bad attitude is Brother Damien, the ‘Mad Monk of Needlepoint’. I don’t know who he really is, or what his full story is. I’ve got some speculations that he was here in Needlepoint for the sole purpose of keeping his eye on Dr. Hasan. The good doctor may have been involved in an extensive cover-up regarding at least one prison escape. He had some sort of insurance policy that kept him from getting whacked, so they just kept him under guard up here so to speak. Brother Damien panicked when he saw Hasan was going to leave with me, so he shot him. After they dumped me in Salida, Brother Damien panicked again over what he had done and took Hasan to the hospital.

  The older man, scratched his chin as if he could rub all the information into his head in some logical order, knowing full well there was much more to the story than he was going to find out tonight. However, no one became a state patrol commander without a bit of perseverance. “So how do you fit into all this?” he asked with a sense of obligation to finding out the truth.

  “I knew the prison escapee.”

  “And the escapee was…?”

  Wondering how far he should go in staying with the truth, Carly hedged his bet by explaining, “If I can talk to Brother Damien, I might be able to tell you who it is. Without proof I could be barking up the wrong tree.”

  It didn’t take a degree in psychology for the Commander to understand the situation. “Simply put, you’re not going to tell me. Are you?”

  Carly felt bad but he didn’t know what else to do. This was an honorable man and he deserved better. “No sir, not right now. Maybe later.”

  “Hell, nothing pisses an old cop off worse than a secret. But I’ve got a feeling this is one that bears waiting for. Talk to the monk, then let me know. Okay?” the grizzled commander said with a hint of laughter in his voice. As an afterthought he asked, “Why didn’t the monk kill you?”

  “The reason I stopped at the monastery was to call someone, telling them I was bringing Hasan in. Killing me might have been too messy, so those fools tried scrambling my brains and dumping me, hoping that would give them the time to get away.”

  To Carly’s surprise the Commander retorted, “I suppose that explains the gadgetry in the basement that looks suspiciously like a VR parlor.”

  Carly’s eyes lit up immediately. “You found it! Then I was right, they did try some form of VR on me. When I woke up in the motel I was really confused…getting double memories and the sort. By the time I hit Fred’s office I was starting to recover.” Suddenly Carly looked at the officer and asked incredulously, “How did you know what it was?”

  York smiled slyly, and replied laughingly, “Hell, I was busting illegal VR parlors years ago. I fished enough weirdoes out of them to know what one would look like. I didn’t think they still existed on a private basis anymore, especially at a monastery of all places.”

  “So what was going on here? Carly asked. “This place wasn’t always crooked was it?”

  “No, not by a long shot. I’ve come by this way from time to time and it seemed legit, although I was never inside. I’m a Baptist so this monastic style of life seems a little out of the ordinary for me. As far as when it went awry, we’ve got a caretaker sitting in the main office who is trying to give us an update.”

  Carly and the officer moved into the office where Carly had seen two shootings and his own attack. There sat a small older Hispanic man. As if trying to shrink into himself lest anyone notice him, he sat demurely on the edge of a hard chair, straw hat in hand, staring at the blood stained sofa.

  “Mr. Lopez,” the Commander barked a bit too sharply, startling the man, “This here is Dr. Carlton Thompson. He is part of the investigation. Why don’t you fill him in on the monastery operations?”

  Carly offered a hand to the nervous man, hoping to befriend him enough to relax him and generate some conversation, he smiled and said, “Call me Carly. I’d be grateful if you can tell me how all this came about. I never thought a monk’s life would include decorating a couch like that one there.”

  Relieved by Carly’s feeble attempt at humor, the little man smiled widely showing a toothy grin and a sparkle of zest in his eyes.

  “My name is Miguel, and no sir, the monastery was not like this at all. Not until Brother Damien came. Before that it was the brothers and their flock. Lots of prayers, retreats, religious studies and such, just like you would expect. I’ve been taking care of the grounds for a long time, since the beginning.”

  With a snicker, he added, “Back when I was young.”

  Appreciatively, Carly smiled in acknowledgement and the man continued. “I live in town and Father Sullivan, the priest who built the monastery hired me and my wife to help him run it. It ran well for a long time, since back before the turn of the century. It was a good church for the San Luis Valley and it was good for those outsiders who came here too. Lots of people came on retreat, many left feeling better, full of soul, if you will.”

  He stopped for a breath and Carly nodded for him to continue when he was ready.

  “Like a lot of the Catholic Church activities, as the people became scarce so did the money.” Shaking his head in regret, he said, “They just lost interest in the church. Eventually Father Sullivan retired and the new Abbott had other ideas. He started bringing in others, not necessarily Catholics though. ‘New-Agers’ and the like, they were. Some of the older monks didn’t like it, but they accepted it. Either they were too old or were too comfortable, or both. It was clear to all of us, either we accepted the changes or we would lose the monastery. Everything really changed though when Brother Damien arrived. He had come begging for solitude and the monastic life as he said he wearied of the secular world.”

  Leaning in towards Carly, the old man whispered in a conspiratorial tone, “I didn’t buy it. The monks took him in though and offered him work, a place to pray and cleanse himself…no questions asked. He brought in a benefactor with him I think, because after Brother Damien arrived the monastery’s finances took a sudden turn for the better. Much better!”

  Getting to the point, Carly queried, “When did the VR hardware come in?”

  “Not long after Brother Damien arrived. He told us it would help us with many of the people who came here seeking rejuvenation of the spirit. The Abbott was concerned, but the money turned his head. I suppose a few folks were helped as they used it sort of like therapy. After a while thoug
h I didn’t hear much about it. The basement became off-limits. Things got odd though.”

  “How so?”

  “Strangers came and left in the middle of the night, others seemed to stay forever. They weren’t introduced around like the religious pilgrims who came here in the beginning.”

  Carly changed the subject, trying to get to matters at hand, “Did you know Dr. Hasan?”

  “I knew of him, I guess. Everyone in town did. We would see him at the store from time to time. A friend of mine did a few repairs at his house, but no one really ‘knew’ him. He kept to himself, plus he was always drunk…not a good mix for being ‘amigos’ in a community whose main business was religion, if you know what I mean.”

  “You talked about the VR equipment and the money that seemed to come in just after Brother Damien arrived. Who brought it in?”

  “A big fancy doctor was here when the equipment arrived. He supervised the unloading and set up. I’m pretty sure he was the moneyman as well, as the Abbott fell all over him when he arrived. I had never seen him and of course no one would introduce the likes of me to someone like him. He was a fussy looking guy. Not real big but he dressed immaculately, almost fancy…not like real people. Not like you and me.”

  Carly took the backhanded compliment graciously, as he surmised the description sure sounded like Merriwhether, he thought nervously.

  Knowing Carly really was listening to him, Miguel added, “People acted afraid of him and he liked it, I could tell. When people are afraid they don’t make friends so like Dr. Hasan, we steered clear of him.”