Elaine sat in her chair and offered the crystal serving dish to Hyrum. “Asparagus, dear?”
Both Hyrum and Elaine ate in silence. Hyrum wondered why Elaine had lied and said they were together on those dreadful nights. Each was emblazoned in his mind. Hyrum knew exactly where he was and what he was doing when his lover, Sylvia, had died. It was the same for Michelle, someone he hated. He stared at his plate and moved his asparagus from side to side. He knew where he was on those nights, but what did Elaine know, and why did she say they were together?
Hyrum pushed his plate toward the center of the table. “I think I’m going to need a day or two to get past this. The death of a patient and an employee, and now the police questioning me, is just too much to handle. I need some time to absorb what’s happened and to regain control of my emotions. Maybe I’ll go to the Cape for a few days.”
“Do you want me to come with you?” Elaine asked, not looking up from her plate.
“No, I’ll probably be lousy company. I’ll have Louise cancel my appointments for Thursday and Friday. You relax, and this will all be over in a few days.”
“Whatever you say,” Elaine said without looking up. She continued cutting her steak.
A confused look contorted Hyrum’s face. That was too easy, he worried, but he said nothing.
31
Samuelsson sat in his dark-blue Ford sedan and stared into a newspaper spread open on the steering wheel. In actuality he was looking at a small video monitor on his lap that provided a view of the front door of Dr. Hyrum Green’s office building. A yellow construction hard hat placed in the back window of the sedan was not as casually placed as one might have thought. It contained a video camera that provided an excellent view of anyone who entered or left the building. He occasionally looked up to check the side door directly. From this position Samuelsson could monitor all activity at both building entrances, even though he appeared to be reading a newspaper and facing away from the front door.
Suddenly he leaned closer to the monitor. A young woman in a micro-miniskirt shimmied her way up the front stairs and entered the front door. Samuelsson snapped his head up and the monitor slid from his lap as his cell phone startled him back to the job at hand. He tapped the screen.
“Samuelsson,” he croaked, clearing his throat.
“Samuelsson, Holloway—what’s happening?”
“Dr. Green went into his office two hours ago, just like he did yesterday and the day before. He parks in the back lot, then walks to the front door. So far all this guy does is go to work and go home. How long does the lieutenant want me to stay with him?” Samuelsson fumbled with the monitor, trying to position it back on his lap.
“Sit tight,” Holloway said and hung up the phone.
Samuelsson exhaled a long, hard breath and continued his surveillance, alternating between the monitor and the side door.
Minutes later a smile parted his lips. The buxom, miniskirted temptress reappeared at the front door. Samuelsson held the monitor with both hands to afford the clearest view. He licked his lips as the woman turned away from the camera and bent to pick up the car keys she had dropped. When she continued to her car, Samuelsson craned his neck to catch a live view of her voluptuous locomotion—then he smiled and grudgingly returned to his monitor and his view of the side door. Two more hours, and he would be relieved.
Samuelsson looked again at the side door. Something wasn’t right. He didn’t know what was wrong, but he had a feeling…“No, no, no!” he cried, then tossed the video monitor onto the passenger seat and leaped from his car. He ran toward the side door. It took only a few seconds to realize what had changed. The sun cast long shadows across the parking lot. For the last hour, he had seen the shadow of Dr. Green’s car protruding from behind the building as he watched the side door. Now, after he’d ogled the sexy blonde walking to her car, the shadow was gone. As he ran, he hoped that the sun had just shifted enough to eradicate the shadow.
“Shit!” he exclaimed, sliding to a stop in front of the empty parking space. Samuelsson looked left and right. Dr. Green’s vehicle was gone. He bolted to the side door, threw it open, and ran down the hall toward Dr. Green’s office. A paper sign taped to the door read: “The office will be closed until Monday. If you need emergency assistance…” Samuelsson ripped the sign from the door and crushed it into a ball. He dropped the paper ball to the corridor floor and ran to the front door of the building.
Across the parking lot, the young blond woman was backing her car out of her parking space. Samuelsson sprinted to the back of the car and beat on the trunk with both hands. Tires screeched as the woman slammed on her brakes to avoid backing over him.
“Police,” Samuelsson said, holding his badge high in his left hand. “Please shut off your engine and step out of the car.”
“I didn’t do anything,” she said. “You can’t arrest me.”
Samuelsson now looked more closely at the young woman: the tight, short skirt, ample cleavage, spike-heeled shoes, and not-too-subtle makeup. He finally realized that he was looking at a working girl.
“Who did you come to see?” Samuelsson said, trying to look intimidating.
“I didn’t do anything; you can’t arrest me.”
“We can do this here or at the station. It’s up to you.”
“Look, I got a call from my service to meet a guy in the lobby of this building. He gave me fifty bucks to walk back out the front door and drop my keys. Hey, it was weird, but fifty bucks is fifty bucks. I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“What was the guy’s name?”
“My service must know him or they wouldn’t have sent me, but they told me to call him Mr. Smith. Can I go?”
“Yeah, you can go. Give me your card in case I need to see you—I mean, in case I have more questions.”
“Sure, honey,” she said, reaching into her blouse and pulling a business card from her bra. “Call me anytime.”
Samuelsson returned to his car and dialed his cell phone. He said, “Holloway, Dr. Green is in the wind.”
***
“Boss,” yelled Holloway into Peirce’s open office doorway. “Green skipped out on Samuelsson. He lost him.”
“Call Green’s office and home phones. Maybe his receptionist or his wife knows where he’s gone. And try that Jameson guy. He’s supposed to be a friend of Dr. Green’s. Let me know what you find.” Peirce swiveled his chair toward his computer monitor.
Holloway stared at the back of Peirce’s head for a moment, then said, “Glad to be useful, boss.”
Holloway lifted the receiver on his office cubicle phone and dialed Hyrum Green’s office number.
“This is the office of Dr. Hyrum Green.”
“Yes, this is Sergeant Holloway of the…”
“The office will be closed until November twenty-first. If this is an emergency, plea—” Holloway hung up the phone. “You got me,” he said while running his finger down the list of names and telephone numbers scribbled on his desk blotter.
He lifted the receiver and dialed again, humming a pleasant tune as he dialed.
“This is Hyrum Green.”
“Hello, Dr. Green, we’ve been—”
“I can’t come to the phone right now but—” Holloway hung up the phone a little more forcefully. “Fool me twice, shame on me,” he said, returning to the list on his desk blotter. He located the next number and stabbed it into the keypad. He waited as the phone rang four times.
“Hello, you’ve reached the home of Franklin Jameson.”
Holloway decided, OK, I’ll leave a message. He waited for the tone. Ten seconds later he was still waiting in silence. “Where’s the fucking tone?” he bellowed.
“There is no fucking tone,” Franklin replied. “I’m here; who is this?”
“Wrong number,” Holloway uttered in a deep voice. “Very sorry.” He hung up.
Holloway walked to Lieutenant Peirce’s door. “Franklin Jameson is at home if you want to speak to him. Dr. Gre
en is still MIA. What about the lovely Dr. Klein? Shall I try to locate her?”
“That’s all right. I’ll look for her,” Peirce said, not meeting Holloway’s eyes.
“Why did I know he was going to say that?” Holloway mumbled to himself.
***
Franklin heard the doorbell ring as he stood at the top of the stairs. At the same moment, he heard footsteps in the living room and thought he saw the shadow of someone running toward the kitchen.
“Is someone there?” he shouted. “I saw you go into the kitchen. Come out and face me like a man.” He wasn’t sure what he had seen, but he was sure he heard the creak of the kitchen door opening.
Franklin started down the stairs, bending to look through the balusters into the living room as he descended.
“Dennis, I know it’s you. You’ve been following me for weeks. Why won’t you talk to me?” He stepped off the landing and craned his neck to catch sight of the kitchen door, now closed, as he passed the archway. Resigned to the fact that his visitor had left, he walked to the front door.
The doorbell buzzed three times in quick succession. Peirce stood on the front porch, one hand on his hip, the other poking at the little round button.
Franklin looked through the peephole. He pulled his head back in an involuntary response as the police lieutenant thrust his badge into his view.
“It’s Lieutenant Peirce, Mr. Jameson; please open the door.”
“Lieutenant, I’m sorry to make you wait. What can I do for you?” Franklin asked, opening the door wide and looking left and right to see if anyone was running down the street in either direction. Lieutenant Peirce followed Franklin’s glance and then looked him in the eye. Franklin broke eye contact first and motioned for Peirce to come in.
Peirce, now slightly confused by Franklin’s actions, walked slowly into the foyer and followed Franklin into the living room. Franklin wasn’t much of a housekeeper. Sam had assumed that most lunatics were fastidious. That’s one theory shot to hell, he thought. Sam observed a glass and an empty plate on the coffee table, several articles of clothing tossed onto chairs, and an open newspaper lying on the sofa.
“Can I offer you something to drink, Lieutenant?” Franklin asked, beginning to straighten up. As Franklin started to lift the newspaper from the cushion, he noticed something concealed underneath. Rather than expose the veiled items, he turned to block Peirce’s view and deftly tucked the documents inside the folded newspaper. Then he jogged the newspaper into an even package and placed it in a magazine rack.
“Sorry for the mess. I wasn’t expecting company,” Franklin said, looking around the room for any other unexpected surprises.
“This isn’t a social call,” Peirce said. “I have been trying to locate several people, and since you know all of them, I thought you might have some helpful information.” Fat chance, Peirce thought.
“Have you seen Dr. Green or his wife recently?” Peirce continued, glancing up the stairs, and then walking toward the kitchen.
“They’re not here. I’m home alone.”
“Really, I thought I heard you calling to someone as I rang the bell.”
“Yes, I was calling Dennis. He’s a friend who was visiting me. I guess I didn’t realize that he stepped out before you arrived,” Franklin said, trying to concoct a believable story. He thought, The best lies are those that are closest to the truth.
“Does he have a reason to avoid the police?” Peirce asked, half-joking.
“I doubt that. He’s an old friend who I hadn’t seen in years. He left rather suddenly though. Maybe he has some outstanding parking tickets or overdue library books.” Franklin snorted at his own joke.
“Yes, well, I’m not here about your friend,” Sam said. “Would you have any idea where Dr. Green might be? Does he have a weekend or vacation home?”
Franklin opened a small drawer in the hall telephone table and immediately slammed it shut. Peirce watched as Franklin blocked his view once again with his body and carefully opened the drawer a few inches, then quickly closed it again.
“I thought I had a second phone number for Hyrum, but I guess not.
Sam, trying to decide if Franklin was hiding something or if this was just part of his deranged behavior said, “That would have been helpful.
“If you don’t mind, Lieutenant, I have a few things I need to do.” He moved toward the door, hoping that Peirce would follow.
Peirce meandered about the room. He picked up a small acrylic snow globe and held it to the light, squinting at the skyline of New York encased in the sphere. Next he walked toward the telephone table. Franklin rushed between Sam and the table. “I really do need to get some things done,” he said, attempting to usher Peirce to the door.
Peirce made a quick about-face. “Just a few more questions and I’ll let you get back to whatever it was you were doing. Have you heard from Dr. Klein in the last few days?” Hopefully not in a dream, Peirce thought.
“Several days ago I dreamed, had a premonition actually, that she was in the forest and she was in danger.”
“Really? What can you tell me?”
Franklin’s face emitted a newfound glow of enthusiasm. “She’s being stalked by someone. He followed her into the mountains. I’m concerned for her safety.”
“Well, I would like to find her. Was there anything in your dream, like a road sign or a map, that might disclose her location?” I can’t believe I said that, Sam thought, but he was beginning to share Franklin’s concern, and even though Franklin was a looney, you never knew.
“I don’t know how I know this, but I think she’s somewhere in the northern part of the state. The northern part of the state is mostly forest, isn’t it?”
“Yes, that’s very helpful,” Sam said as he worked his way to the door. “If you hear from either Dr. Klein or Dr. Green, please call me.” Sam took one last look up the stairs and walked to the front door. He descended the porch steps, grumbling something about a monumental waste of time.
***
Franklin closed the front door and leaned against it, breathing heavily. He checked the peephole to ensure that Lieutenant Peirce had driven away and then ran to the magazine rack.
“How could you do this to me?” he repeated several times as he unfolded the newspaper and examined the two manila file folders hidden inside: Property of Dr. Ruth Klein—Confidential, the files read.
Franklin noticed that the newspaper was not the current issue. It was several days old. He read the headline, “LOCAL PSYCHOLOGIST’S OFFICE BURGLARIZED, BURGLAR STILL AT LARGE.”
The newspaper with the files inside was planted here to incriminate me, but by whom, he thought. Is this an attempt by Dennis to incriminate me in the burglary? Is this how Dennis would get even with me for rejecting his friendship?
No, he thought. Where would Dennis have found the files, and how would he have gotten in here? And how would he know that Lieutenant Peirce would come to visit? Unless—the papers weren’t intended to incriminate me at all, but were just inadvertently left on the couch. Could Dennis have done that?
Next Franklin opened the drawer in the telephone table. Just as he thought, the folded paper in the drawer was the current month of Dr. Klein’s desk calendar. Franklin ran his finger along the days of the calendar until he reached the previous week: Vacation cabin, Northwest Realty, call to confirm. Whoever left these papers in Franklin’s house knew where Dr. Klein was vacationing. Franklin’s concern for Ruth Klein’s safety now became urgent. He must contact Northwest Realty, find the address of Ruth’s vacation cabin, and warn her about the impending danger.
Dennis’s attempts to make Franklin’s life miserable were one thing, but if someone else, the murderer of Sylvia Radcliffe and Michelle Ackerman, was letting Franklin know that Ruth Klein was going to be his next victim—well, that was a call to action. He would leave at once.
32
Ruth ushered her daughter out of the house for a day of shopping at the nearest small town
. She made a list of needed provisions and checked her map for directions. While Emma buckled her seat belt, Ruth read aloud from the brochure left by the real estate broker: “‘West Haven, a small unincorporated community, is a border town located on Pennsylvania Route 957 east of the borough of Sugar Grove.’ They have an auction house, a dinner theater, a fireworks factory, and Sprinkle’s Ice Cream Parlor. Sounds like everything we need.”
“You can drop me off at Sprinkle’s,” Emma said, “and come get me when it’s time to leave.”
Twenty minutes later Ruth pulled her car to the side of the road and stopped just before a weathered painted sign that read: You are now entering West Haven, Pennsylvania, Population 1,231.
The road gently sloped down to a small village nestled among three hills. Each hill was replete with individual stands of gnarly black cherry, cracked shag sycamore, and tall, slender aspen trees, part of the Allegheny National Recreation Area.
Ruth began to wax sentimental. She placed her hand on Emma’s shoulder and pointed to the oddly picturesque town in the clearing. It was like they had entered a time portal and traveled back to the eighteenth century. Victorian-style stone houses on the outskirts of the town exemplified a look of restrained elegance, a monument to a simpler time.
“You see, Emma,” she said in a somber tone. “It was a time when people were satisfied with the uncomplicated joys of life. Children played on the floor with carved wooden toys. Old folks sat in rocking chairs before a crackling fire. The smell of a stew made from freshly gathered vegetables cooking in a cast-iron kettle floated on cool evening breezes.”
Ruth checked her rearview mirror just before pulling away from the shoulder and noticed a silver sedan parked about one hundred yards behind her car. If she had really thought about it, she might have wondered why a car was parked in the middle of nowhere, but she didn’t. Her cell phone had messages waiting for her, and she was anxious to get the latest news from the outside world. After Ruth and Emma descended the hill to the Farmington turnpike, the main street of the community of West Haven, the silver sedan inched out from the apron and maintained its distance from the two women it followed.
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