Damn them, Fred thought, how could they be so careless! Disturbing a crime scene is unforgivable; both should know better by now, and Stewart has just been promoted to detective status.
“Don’t go too hard on them, Lieutenant,” the head of the team said. “It appeared that the prints below theirs were already smudged so we couldn’t have gotten good prints anyway.”
Fred said, “I don’t want you defending them. It was just luck that they didn’t do anything else wrong. Being careless at a crime scene is unacceptable.”
Fred called both of them into his office. It was his policy not to reprimand two officers together, but in this case they had committed the same violation at the same time.
He told them what they had done; “Fortunately, it appears there were no good prints below yours, at least to the best of the forensic team’s judgment. But that’s still no excuse.”
Stewart spoke up, “Sergeant Lewis told me I was leaving too many prints at the scene; I’m sorry, it won’t happen again. But when we entered the trailer, we had no idea it was the place where a kidnapped victim had been held. But again, I’m sorry and it will never happen again.”
“It better not—you can both go.”
Fred left the station for a bite to eat at Joe’s Diner. They had a great Thursday special with turkey, stuffing and cranberry sauce. As he walked down the street, he sensed that someone was following him. He turned, and as he did two men ducked into an alley. The men looked familiar to the ones he had noticed looking at him when he was meeting Debra Black at the diner a couple of days earlier. This time he wasn’t late for any appointment, so he had time to try to find out who they were. He turned around and ran at full speed to the dark alley where the two men had entered just seconds before. The alley opened up to another downtown street at the other end. When Fred exited the alley, both men had disappeared. He decided it wasn’t worth it to continue to try to find them in all the downtown stores they could have entered. But he wondered if they were henchmen of Donna’s.
Chapter 40
Fred called Sergeant Stewart into his office.
“Sergeant, I want you to check the background of Sue Granton for me. Find out where she lived before she moved to Sarasota. Determine if she was married, what her personal worth is, and if she ever had a police record. You know the routine, just be on the lookout for anything out of the ordinary.”
“But boss, that’s a lot of wasted energy. I met her at your house and she seems like a nice person. There’s just no way she would have a dark past. Why don’t you have me investigate someone else more promising as a suspect?”
Fred was mystified. Sergeant Stewart seemed to have his differences with Fred recently, but he had never argued blatantly against an assignment or questioned Fred’s decision making before.
“Sergeant, this is not a discussion. Please get on it right away and brief me as soon as you can on the results.”
Sergeant Stewart turned and walked out of Fred’s office without saying another word.
In the next five minutes Fred watched him from his interior office window, which provided him with a view of the desks of his subordinate personnel. As far as Fred could tell, Stewart was just shooting the breeze with fellow officers; there was no indication that he was in any hurry to start his investigation.
Fred started to call Stewart in to his office and ream him out, but instead he decided to conduct the investigation himself. Later he would deal with his uncooperative subordinate.
After an hour on the phone, it became evident to Fred that Sue’s background was clean. She had no money issues, had been single for at least the last five years, and there was not even the hint of any misconduct. He decided not to go beyond the five-year investigative period since it would likely be overkill.
One of Fred’s favorite expressions was, “Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.” Now, Fred muttered to himself, sometimes a friend is just a friend. I’ll call Maureen and apologize to her about questioning the legitimacy of her friendship with Sue. But I won’t tell her that I investigated Sue. If Sue Granton chose to live in a house surrounded by a huge wall like a fugitive, so be it. It might make her eccentric, Fred mused, but it sure doesn’t make her dangerous.
Fred took his mind off Sue and tried to deal with other things that had been bothering him. Fred’s gut was telling him to try to determine what Mrs. Brown wanted to tell him when he was at her house. He called the local Lancaster police again. They said there was still no progress on the murder of Mrs. Brown. Fred said, “I understand. Do you, or does anyone, have any background on her?”
“Not really, Lieutenant, this is a relatively young police force; and most of us haven’t been in the city for a very long time. All I know is that we never had a disturbance at her house in the past, and that’s about all I know about her.”
Fred’s next call was to Debra Black, his CIA contact.
“Debra, I need a favor from you.”
“What else is new?” she said sarcastically. “What do you need now?”
“I’m investigating the background of a deceased person who I would guess was in her 60’s. I need a copy of census records from the most recent time that it’s available until, let’s say, the 1960 to 1990 period. I admit I’m fishing but it might help.”
“That’s what I like about you, Fred, you never ask for too much. Census records are normally not released to the public for seventy years or so.”
“I know, Debra, but you’re not the public.”
“I’ll do it Fred, but I need the town, the state and the address. And by the way, her name would help as well.”
After Fred provided Debra with the information, she said she would meet him in his office in about an hour.
* * *
As promised she arrived about an hour after his call, her hands full of census record copies from various decades.
“Thanks for your help, Debra. Now take a seat and tell me what you have.”
“I couldn’t get the most recent decades, Fred, because they’re still being compiled; but I got them back to 1960 as you requested. The information varies somewhat based on the decade from which it was taken; but in general it provides limited information about anyone living at a given address.”
Fred leafed through the pile, not sure what he was really looking for. “Let’s start with the most recent decade, 1990, he said. “I see at that time Mrs. Brown was living alone. Apparently by then her husband had passed away.”
“And that means what, Fred?”
“Not a damn thing. But I note that she and her husband were alone in the house in 1980; however, in 1970, I see that there are other people in the house. My God, that’s interesting!”
“What’s interesting?”
Just then, Fred’s cell phone rang. Fred answered, and said, “Uh-huh. Good, I see. Okay, I’ll be right there.”
He hung up and turned to Debra. “You’ll have to hold that question until I get back. Right now I have to be at the county jail. I understand my kidnap victim is just waking up.”
* * *
A slender woman entered the county prison. She showed her identification to the first guard that she saw. “I’m Dr. Kies, I was asked to come here to see a patient.”
“Oh, you’re the psychologist from the county that Lieutenant Harris called in.”
“Yes, and I can’t believe you have such an emergency that you needed to get me out here this late. I had just gone to bed.”
“Sorry, lady, I don’t make the rules. I’ll escort you to the top floor; that’s where the Dr. Anderson is. Lieutenant Harris wanted to be part of the meeting; I believe he’s on his way. I just called him to report that Dr. Anderson just woke up.”
Lieutenant Harris arrived in a few minutes, and greeted the woman at the entrance to Anderson’s cell. “Thanks so much for responding to my request so quickly.”
Anderson was in the back corner of the cell in an unmoving fetal position. His eyes were wide open, but he didn’t seem
to be able to relate to what was going on around him.
“How long has he been like this?” she asked.
“He was a kidnap victim; he escaped a short time ago from his captors. At the time he was kidnapped, his wife was shot and killed. He is highly fearful that his captors will find him here, so what you are witnessing is his response to all the cumulative negative things that have impacted him in a relatively short time.”
“I see, and you want me to bring him out of his severe emotional state?”
“Yes, we need desperately to interrogate him.”
“Well, I’ll do what I can.”
Fred said, “Please take your time; we’ll leave the cell door open for you.”
Harris went over to the guard’s desk located in the middle of the cell block. After about ten minutes, the woman called Fred to the cell. Anderson was now sleeping comfortably in the cell’s cot.
“Great,” Fred said. “He seems much calmer, I’ll wake him and talk to him.”
“No, you can’t,” replied the woman. “I’ve given him a strong sedative; he’ll be out for at least eight hours.”
“Goddamn it, I told you I had to talk to him.”
“And so you shall, but it won’t be until tomorrow morning. This man needs a lot of rest—and so do I. Now let me go home and get back to bed.”
Fred posted a guard just outside Anderson’s cell. With Donna’s recently enhanced powers, Fred wasn’t certain that the additional security would provide more than a token defense against her. But for the moment that was the extent of what he could do.
Anderson had a restless night; his twilight sleep was sheathed by dreams of Donna entering his cell and pushing him through the tiny slit in the jail wall that substituted for a window. At one point he came just barely awake. He groggily looked outside of his cell bars, and was shocked at what he saw. “She’s here!” he screamed, She’s here!”
The guard went into Anderson’s cell and tried to confront him as a parent would a child who just emerged from a violent nightmare. But Anderson was no child, and he wouldn’t calm down. After about an hour of ranting he moved back to the corner where he had been previously and returned to his protective fetal position.
* * *
The next morning Fred arose early and went to the jail. He was stunned when he saw Anderson. Apparently, he hadn’t rested much; his condition had eroded during the night. He was swaying back and forth, and kept repeating, “Please, Donna, don’t do it. Donna, please don’t do it to me.”
Fred asked the guard, “What the hell happened to him during the night?”
“I have no idea, he just woke up from his sleep and he was immediately frozen with terror.”
Fred thought he knew the answer, but asked it anyway, “Did he have any visitors during the night?”
“No, the only people that were in the area were the police.”
Fred entered the cell, “Dr. Anderson, can you hear me?”
Anderson continued to repeat the words, “Donna, don’t do it.”
“Lieutenant, do you want me to send him to the state psychiatric hospital?”
“No, his life is in danger; he needs protection and we can’t effectively protect him while he’s in the hospital.
“Instead,” Fred said, “let’s get the damn psychologist—Dr. Kies—who treated him here last night over here again.”
“Okay, but he seems out of it to me.”
Dr. Kies arrived in less than an hour. Fred was at the elevator waiting when the door opened.
“Please hurry,” he said, “he’s in the same cell that you saw him in last night.”
As the psychologist looked through the cell bars, seeing him tightly holding himself in a fetal position, she became livid. “What did you do to him, beat him?”
“Hey, nobody touched him; besides he’s not a prisoner, he’s in protective custody. And for your information, we don’t beat prisoners, either.”
“Well, I’ll do what I can but we have to move him to the hospital; he seems much worse than he was when I saw him last night.”
“Miss,” Fred said, “you have to understand that we would love to move him to a hospital for more intensive care, but the truth is we can’t do it. You must have read about Donna Lang, the mass murderer who recently escaped from prison? Well, we believe she’s after him, and she has resources we don’t begin to have. If we sent him to a hospital, we would be sending him to a death sentence.
“Now, what you have to do is give him something that would at least temporarily let him recover to the degree he can talk to us. If he talks to us, we may be able to get information that will help us get Lang.”
“I must object, he should go to a hospital. But I’ll give him a tranquilizer that should calm him down in the short run. But I will not be responsible for what will happen if he doesn’t go straight to a hospital.”
In a few minutes after getting the shot, Anderson loosened his grip around his body. His head slowly stopped its irregular movement. Fred and the psychologist helped him to his cell cot.
Fred asked, “Dr. Anderson, can you talk to us?”
Anderson said, “You must take me out of here to a place where it’s safe.”
Fred said, biting his lip, “You’re as safe here as you will be anywhere.”
“No! No! I want to go to AU. Big Don will protect me there.”
Fred said, “Big Don can’t protect you any more than we can.”
Anderson grabbed his knees, bringing them up to his chest, and kept repeating, “Don can protect me; Donna was here last night.”
Fred turned to the psychologist, “What’s the hell’s going on with him?”
“He’s experiencing extreme mental trauma; he has regressed to a childlike state.”
“Do you think if we complied with his request he would become more responsive?”
“Who knows, it’s entirely possible. It seems that whoever big Don is, he has confidence in him; and whatever AU is, he considers that a safe haven.”
“But it’s no safer than here; in fact it’s less safe.”
“Maybe in reality, but in his mind that’s not true. You keep forgetting that you’re not dealing with a lucid professional person anymore.”
“Okay, Doctor Anderson,” said Fred. “We will take you to AU and we’ll call Don to make sure he’s there. Do you think you’ll be able to talk to us then?”
At that moment Fred’s cell phone rang.
It was one of the policemen who was assigned to locate the owner of the trailer park where Anderson had been kept captive.
“Yes, what is it?” Fred asked.
“I located the owner of the park, he lives in Venice. Do you want to talk with him?”
“Sure do, give me his address and I’ll go there right away.”
Fred had hopes that the owner might be able to shed some light on Donna’s activities in the period since she escaped from prison. At least the owner would be coherent; there was no telling when Anderson would be able to fully communicate.
Fred turned to Anderson, “Why do you think you will be safer in the AU building than here?”
“Donna was here, but Donna’s not in AU; big Don will protect me from Donna.”
Anderson’s comment didn’t make a lot of sense to Fred, but apparently Anderson had gained some respect for Don as a person during the time they were both employed by AU. It was obvious that he also respected his massive size. Fred reasoned that Anderson’s clarity of thought had been temporarily clouded; but in his present child-like state it appeared that he had plucked out select details from his past that gave him a sense of security, as unrealistic as they might be.
Fred contacted a patrolman at the station to pick up Anderson from the jail cell and take him directly to AU. Fred’s next call was to AU. Fortunately, Don was on duty. Fred advised Don that in a few minutes Dr. Anderson would be arriving. Fred briefed him on Anderson’s mental state and said, “Go easy with him; just let him talk; and realize he is not the pro
fessional Dr. Anderson that you knew when he was working there.”
Fred wanted to be at AU when Anderson was dropped off, but he decided that he would go there right after the interview with the trailer park’s owner. He felt that Anderson might need a short time to adjust to the surroundings that he was familiar with and felt secure in.
Chapter 41
Venice was a short twenty minute drive from Sarasota. The daytime air was cool, almost cold. Fred decided to take his top down, but also turn on his heater to remove the chill from the moving air. People who don’t drive convertibles would never understand this, he thought. But there was no reason not to mix a little pleasure with a lot of business, even if it involved mixing a little cold with a modicum of warmth. Route 41 was busy this time of the tourist season as Fred headed south. By continuously maneuvering his little sports car around the traffic, he arrived on the small island of Venice in record time.
The patrolman who had called Fred was parked outside of the house waiting.
Buzz Stickney was the park’s owner. It was obvious that he had feared that he violated some city ordinance , and believed that was why the cops wanted to see him. No one had told him why they wanted to interview him and that made him even more nervous.
“You have to understand,” he began, “my trailer park has been on the market for over six months, and I rarely get up there to check it out. So if anyone has created any problem, you can’t hold me responsible for it.”
Fred said, “That’s not why we’re here. You rented trailer 5 to a woman and man, who are both fugitives from the law. Do you recall when you rented the trailer, and any conversation that you had with them at the time?”
“Officer, I never would have rented to them had I known they were criminals. I’m a law abiding citizen, yes I am, and you can ask Sara my wife about that.” The woman standing behind Stickney’s chair was nodding her head.
“Look I’m not accusing you of anything. We just want to know about the details of the rental, if you had noticed anything strange—any information at all that might be helpful to us.”
The Monolith Murders Page 18