by Tim Ellis
‘First of all, you can stop calling me “Sergeant”. I haven’t been one of those for over five years now. If you want to talk to a police Sergeant you should find Detective Sergeant Mona Connelly – one of St Augustine’s finest. A more pleasant, attractive and able police officer I have yet to meet.’ He saw Mona and her new partner – Officer Mason Gubner – arrive out of the corner of his eye.
‘You were telling us what happened?’ someone behind the lights reminded him.
‘Not much to tell really. As well as running my own private investigation agency called – naturally – Tom Gabriel Investigations, I’m also on-site security here in the evenings, so I was just doing my job. The two masked men rushed in waving firearms. The one wearing the Ronald Reagan mask shot and killed my good friend Manuel Alvarez, and the baby was collateral damage. I knew then that I had to do something, but the two men had separated, and there was a lot of innocent people between me and them. Eventually, I was able to get a clear shot and killed the man in the Bill Clinton mask. Then, I was just about to shoot the other robber when the owner – the beautiful and generous Allegre Gabbamonde – came in through the door. Ronald Reagan grabbed her and hid behind her, and regardless of her own safety, Miss Gabbamonde indicated that I should shoot him.’
‘It’s a good job for her you’re a decent shot, Mr Gabriel.’
‘My police training came to the fore.’
He smiled for the cameras and posed for photographs. ‘If I were you, I’d speak to Allegre Gabbamonde – she was the real hero in all of this.’
Mona stepped in then. ‘All right, folks. Mr Celebrity needs to answer some questions.’ She took him by the elbow and led him back into the restaurant.
Inside, the on-call ME – Debbie Weaver – said, ‘When I knew I was coming here, and that you were involved, I knew I’d need more than one body bag.’
He gave her a warm smile. ‘Glad I could be of service, Debbie.’
Mona said, ‘I heard what you said to the press.’
‘What did you think?’
‘You should get a job fronting Beyond Belief. That Jonathan Frakes is getting past it now anyway.’
‘Very kind.’
‘It wasn’t meant as a compliment.’
‘I know.’
Gubner held an evidence bag open in front of him. ‘Gun?’
Tom pulled his gun out of its holster and dropped it in the bag.
‘So, is that the way it happened?’ Mona persisted.
‘You don’t think I’d lie to you, do you? I’m sure you’ll question everybody who was in the restaurant at the time. It happened just like I said. I have a room full of witnesses.’
‘Do you know either of the two men?’ Gubner asked.
He glanced at the faces of the two corpses. They were both Caucasian, in their late twenties with dark hair. ‘Never seen them before.’
‘I’ll need a statement from you,’ Mona said.
‘Of course. Tomorrow morning okay?’
Gubner was about to object, but Mona cut him off at the pass. ‘Fine.’ She looked around. ‘Where’s your new partner?’
He half-laughed. ‘Hardly a partner. More a friend I’ve been helping out.’
‘And?’
‘I have no idea. I expected to see her here, but she seems to be avoiding me.’ He retrieved his cell from the booth. ‘I was about to call her when those two started shooting at me.’
He found Rae’s number in his phonebook and dialled it.
‘A technological wizard with a cell,’ Mona said with a smile. ‘Who’d have thought it?’
‘Not me, that’s for sure. Against my better judgement, I’m being forced into a compromising position.’
He was diverted to voicemail – he didn’t leave a message. Where was she? In all the time he’d been calling her, he’d never been diverted to voicemail. Mabel’s message on the mirror flashed into his mind: TOO LATE. He hadn’t been too late for tonight’s events, but what if the message wasn’t about him at all. What if . . .
He glanced at Mona. ‘I have to go.’
‘Something wrong?’
‘I hope not.’
***
It took him twenty minutes to drive over to Rae’s apartment on Cordova Street, which overlooked the Maria Sanchez Lake.
The door creaked open when he knocked. He reached for his gun, but the holster was empty.
Crap! He’d have to get himself a back-up.
He edged inside.
The hallway was dark. He tried the lights, but nothing happened.
‘Rae?’
No answer.
He tried the kitchen first. It was dark inside. The blind was down. He flicked the light switch – nothing.
The living room was empty, but it was clear that someone had been looking for something. The furniture had been cut open and the stuffing ripped out, drawers had been tipped on the floor and books from the bookcase thrown everywhere. Pictures had been taken from the walls, the backs pulled off and discarded – the room was a disaster area.
The bedroom door was closed. He opened it a crack. ‘Rae?’
Still nothing.
He pushed the door fully open, and saw her lying on the floor. She was filthy and half-naked with a bloody sack on her head.
‘What the . . . ?’
Yanking and pulling the knotted cord around her neck he eventually managed to undo the knot. He pulled the sack off her head and turned her over. She had a two-inch gash on her forehead that had stopped bleeding some time ago, and she was unconscious. He checked her eyes and from the pinpoint pupils he knew she’d been drugged. Grabbing a sheet off the bed, he wrapped her up in it and put his arm under her shoulders.
‘Rae?’ he said, shaking her, but there was no response.
He used his cell to call for an ambulance, then sat on the floor holding Rae and waited for the paramedics to arrive.
What the hell had happened to her?
The bedroom was like the living room. What were they looking for? Did they find it?
Rae moaned.
Holding her tight he whispered, ‘It’s all right, Rae. I’m here now. The ambulance is on its way.’
He noticed the livid marks around her wrists and ankles. Had she been tortured? Why was she so dirty? He opened the sheet. There were dark bruises and thin cuts on her thighs and her breasts. What the hell had they done to her? Had she been raped?
‘Hello?’ a woman’s voice called.
‘Down here,’ he answered. Thank God it was a woman, he thought.
A short, fat woman with blonde hair and glasses came into the bedroom carrying a bag.
A younger black man followed her.
‘Tell me what happened,’ the woman said. The name on her badge was Joanne Seed and she wore a round blue patch with Paramedic: Florida sewn on it in yellow.
He told her what he knew and what he suspected.
‘Okay, Sir. If you could just move out of the way, we’ll assess her, make her comfortable and take her to the hospital.’
He stood up and hovered over the proceedings like an expectant father.
The paramedics inserted a plastic airway into Rae’s mouth and an intravenous cannula into the back of her hand.
‘What are these cuts and bruises about?’ the woman asked him.
He shrugged. ‘I have no idea.’
They wrapped Rae in a blanket, strapped her into an emergency stretcher and lifted her up.
‘Where are you taking her?’
‘Flagler Hospital. Are you coming with her?’
‘I’ll grab some toiletries and clothing for her, lock up the apartment and follow you there.’
She nodded and they left.
He looked around quickly, found her rucksack empty on the floor and stuffed some clothes into it. Next, he grabbed her toothbrush, toothpaste and a few other things that looked as though they might be useful in the hospital, and then returned to the bedroom.
Where was her phone and tablet? They were bi
onic extensions of her hands, and yet he couldn’t find them anywhere. He called her number, but it diverted to voicemail again. It must be switched off, he thought.
He found her keys on a hook behind the front door, and when he went to lock it he discovered the tell-tale signs on the locking mechanism of an illegal entry.
Someone had broken in, drugged her and then taken her somewhere. Why? To do what? They’d then rifled through her apartment to find what they were looking for. What? Had they taken her phone and tablet as well?
Was it connected to the John Doe story?
He locked her apartment door, hurried down to his SUV and followed the ambulance to the hospital.
Chapter Eighteen
Sunday, October 14
As he drove to the hospital, he wondered if he should call Mona and tell her what had happened to Rae, but decided against it. For one thing, he had no idea what had happened to her. He would tell her, but he needed more information before he did.
Once he’d parked up in the hospital car park, he called Mary Lou.
‘Hello?’
‘It’s Tom Gabriel. You sound tired.’
‘That’s because it’s quarter to one in the morning.’
He glanced at the clock on the dashboard – it was exactly that time. ‘Sorry. It’s been one of those nights.’
‘Is this going to be a regular occurrence? If it is, then I’ll have to re-negotiate my salary.’
‘No. I was just wondering if you’d found out anything about those two people?’
‘One of them – yes.’
He waited.
‘Do you want me to give you the information now?’
‘That would be good.’
He heard a deep sigh, and guessed she wasn’t happy. Not that he could blame her at quarter to one in the morning.
‘I’ll have to go downstairs and switch on my laptop. I’ll call you back in five minutes.’
The call ended.
But the phone began vibrating immediately.
‘That was quick,’ he said.
‘We pride ourselves on the speed of our service at the St John’s County Medical Examiners’ Office.’
‘Oh, hello Debbie. I thought you were someone else.’
‘Clearly.’
‘Yes?’
‘Oh yes! I’m stripping the clothes from our two armed robbers and guess what I found?’
‘They’re both female?’
She laughed. ‘That would be something, wouldn’t it? No, not that. I’ve been involved in the John Doe case, so I know about the missing labels from his clothes.’
‘Okay.’ He wondered where she was going with this.
‘These two men suffer from the same identity crisis – the labels in their clothes have been removed, and I’m guessing we’ll find no fingerprint or DNA matches on any of the databases either.’
He tried to assimilate this new information. Shock and surprise would be apt descriptions of how he felt. At no point had he imagined that the robbery of the restaurant was connected to the cases he was working on. What was the point of robbing the restaurant? If they’d wanted to kill him, they could simply have shot him where he’d sat.
‘Tom! Are you still there?’
‘Sorry – that sucked the wind out of me.’
‘Don’t talk to me about wind. I don’t know if you know, but I have irritable bowel syndrome?’
‘No, I didn’t know that.’
‘I can’t begin to describe the problems I have with wind. Unknown to me at the time, I chose the right profession. The dead never complain about how windy it gets in the autopsy room, if you know what I mean?’
He had the feeling that she’d probably given him more information about her medical condition than he needed. ‘Yes, I think I have a good idea what you mean. Listen, can you keep this information between the two of us for the time being?’ He imagined what would happen if Allegre found out that the restaurant hold-up was actually to do with a case he was working on. She’d throw him and his belongings out on the street as more trouble than he was worth. It would be the second time in as many months that he’d brought trouble to the hotel.
‘Two days – that’s all I can give you. Mona will want to know who these two guys are. I’ll obfuscate for two days, but then I’ll have to tell her what I know.’
‘Thanks, Debbie.’
He ended the call.
It rang again.
‘Are you playing games with me?’ Mary Lou said, sounding annoyed.
‘As I said earlier, it’s been one of those nights. Okay, I’m all yours.’
‘I planned to look at Blanche Rainey tomorrow as a gesture of goodwill, but I don’t normally work weekends. If you recall, I offered my services because I wanted a life. Working weekends – and through the night come to think of it – is not having a life.’
‘Sorry.’
‘I’ll put it down to ignorance on your part, but if it’s a regular occurrence . . . Anyway, I know where Police Sergeant Neville van Dalen is now.’
‘That’s great. Where?’
‘Lake View Nursing Home on North Rodriguez Street, just before you reach the Evergreen Cemetery, which sounds so . . . I don’t know – romantic I suppose. It’s like a stop-off point to freshen up before you check out of life’s motel.’
‘I might ask if they’ve got any rooms available while I’m there visiting Mr van Dalen.’
‘I already enquired on your behalf when I called them. They said they had nothing at the moment, but to keep an eye on the obituaries.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘I have a wicked sense of humour – especially at one o’clock in the morning.’
He pretended to laugh. ‘I can understand that. Thanks, Mary Lou. I’ll see you on Monday.’
‘Goodnight, Tom.’
‘Good . . .’
The call had ended.
He walked into the busy ER and asked one of the nurses manning the reception desk who he could speak to regarding the unconscious woman the ambulance had just brought in.
‘Are you a relative?’
‘No. I’m her partner. She hasn’t got any relatives.’
‘Her partner?’ She glanced at the computer screen. ‘Miss Raeburn is in her early twenties . . .’
‘Twenty-one,’ he corrected her.
‘Exactly, and you’re how old?’
His lip curled up, and he showed her his ID. ‘I’m a PI. She’s an investigative journalist with the Record. We work together.’
‘I see – working partners?’
‘Yes.’
‘But you’re not a relative?’
‘No, but I’m the nearest person she has to a relative. If she was conscious she’d name me as her next-of-kin.’
‘I’ll speak to the doctor and see what she has to say about your strange relationship.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Please take a seat.’
He moved into the seating area and sat down next to a man with a pet chipmunk that he kept feeding nuts to.
‘Name’s Alvin.’
‘Really?’
‘I’m not sick, ya know.’
‘Oh?’
‘No. Alvin and me come in here to while away some time. We have a different route each night, but I make sure I come in here on a Saturday night because there’s always a good floor show.
’Has it started yet?’
‘Not yet, but it’s still early.’
A doctor with shoulder-length grey hair appeared dressed in scrubs. ‘Mr Gabriel?’
‘Yes,’ he said, standing up.
‘I’m Doctor Ann Swinfen. If you come with me.’
He followed the doctor who took him to Rae’s cubicle.
‘Can you tell me what happened?’
‘Not really. I think she was kidnapped from her apartment and taken somewhere. Where and why – I have no idea. Or, why they brought her back. It’s all a bit confusing at the moment.’
‘I’ve examined Miss
Raeburn, but apart from superficial bruising and cuts . . .’
‘Was she . . . ?’
‘There’s no obvious signs to suggest that she was raped. However, hospital policy dictates that we treat her as a sexual assault victim. As such, forensic evidence samples have been taken as required for further analysis.’
‘Do you know what was used to drug her?’
‘Flunitrazepam – more commonly known as Narcozep, or Rohypnol. Based on the amount found in a sample of her blood, I’d say she was kept in a catatonic state for at least twenty-four hours.’
‘Will she be all right?’
‘Long-term, of course. The drug has no lasting effects. Short-term, however, is a different matter. A recent human study found that the drug was still detectable in urine after four weeks.’
He opened his mouth to speak, but Doctor Swinfen carried on.
‘It has a number of side-effects such as impaired motor skills, confusion, dizziness, disorientation, reduced levels of consciousness, slurred speech, and difficulty in walking and standing, which could explain the wound on her forehead.’
‘I found her on the floor with a bloody sack on her head.’
‘Mmmm! Anyway, Rohypnol has a number of street names. One such name is the “forget-me-drug”. The main side effect is memory loss. She’ll be lucky – or unlucky – if she remembers anything of her ordeal.’
‘Are you saying she’ll never remember what happened?’
‘Never is a long time, Mr Gabriel. Rohypnol is also called the “date-rape-drug”. What surprises me is that she wasn’t raped. Whoever abducted her obviously had another motive.’
‘Thanks, Doctor. How long before she wakes up?’
‘We’ll admit her and keep her under observation for at least twenty-four hours. She should start regaining consciousness in a couple of hours, but don’t expect to get much sense out of her at first. As I said, the drug takes some considerable time to leave the body.’
***
While they admitted Rae and took her to the Emergency Care Centre, he sauntered along to the cafeteria for a coffee. There was no queue, and when he saw the shrivelled food that was on offer he realised that he never did get his blue cheeseburger with fries and coleslaw.