[Sign Behind the Crime 01.0] Gemini

by Ronnie Allen

  The three armed security guards checked out their credentials and unloaded their Glocks, putting them in a concealed locker without taking their eyes off them. The detectives had good luck today. Neither one of them set off the alarm in the metal detector. They pocketed the receipts for their weapons, cell phones, and personal items.

  ***

  The ESU arrived and joined the other members of their team already there. The four men loaded down with equipment set up a station on one of the three tables in the hallway. The hostage negotiators from Manhattan North joined them. Ten law enforcement operatives with special tactical training readied themselves to storm in and take control. It sounded like organized chaos with each team leader shouting orders to their commands. They were just waiting for the signal and Hal would be down.

  Sergeant Shipman started to get information his team needed from the negotiators that were with Trenton.

  “Trenton just went in, couldn’t wait, and he didn’t want one of us--”

  Sergeant Shipman wanted to put a bullet in the man’s head. “What the fuck in the world were you thinking, Wallace? Why the hell did you two let him go in?”

  “Hold on, Sarg. You know the doc. You know him as well as I do. And put a cork in the attitude. You sure as hell ain’t my superior.”

  The sergeant took it down a notch. “All right.”

  “It’s Trenton’s sixth sense that told him he could do this, and he wanted to save his patient at all costs,” Sutton said,

  “Damn. We hit an accident with DOA’s on East Thirty-Fourth,” Shipman muttered. “Ten minutes earlier, this would be over and done with. All right, what have we got? Tell me about the HT.”

  “It’s one of his patients, Hal Martin. Been here last three years and Trenton’s been his doc on and off since he was fourteen in other hospitals. In actuality, he’ll do better with someone he knows and trusts. They all do. Doc could very well talk him out of this.”

  The sergeant let out a deep sigh of relief. “Okay, Wallace, okay. So there’s a history. I feel better about it now. I can deal with him being in. Time frame? Diagnosis?”

  Bill approached them. “In and out. Schizophrenia.”

  “What’s he in for now?”

  “Five counts of murder, Sergeant.”

  Sutton’s face reddened. “What? He failed to tell us that. Dammit, Trenton.”

  Sergeant Shipman fumed at Sutton’s reaction. He was very close to telling his team to bust in there. “And you so ready to defend him. I’ll make sure Carlson hears about this. He’s got to see his department shrink. He’s got a problem, a big one. Puts himself in the face of danger too damn much. One day it’ll cost him his life. Who’d the HT kill?”

  “His family. Three siblings and both parents. Drug induced psychosis.”

  “So Doc got him here on ‘settled insanity’?” Shipman asked.

  “Guess so, according to the law, he’s not competent to stand trial yet. Had a few court dates but Dr. Trenton won out,” Bill said.

  “Weapon of choice?”

  “Knives.”

  “Shit, and he’s in the kitchen! That’s just fucking great. Fucking great. Doc will have to disarm him and that’ll destroy any relationship.” Shipman raced to the other end of the hallway to check the laptop, “What’s going on in there, guys? Let me know, fast!”

  ***

  “Hal.” John waited to get Hal’s eyes focused on him. He signaled with his two fingers, index and middle, to his own eyes to gain Hal’s attention. Hal responded and John didn’t have to try to get his focus again. “Remember the last, and only, time you tried to attack me when you were seventeen at the pool hall?”

  Hal hesitated. He swallowed and closed his eyelids halfway.

  “Tell me what happened, Hal. I see in your eyes that you remember.”

  “My bitch mother called you to go get me. I wasn’t listenin’ to her.”

  “What happened, Hal?”

  “You stuck me in a hospital and gave me those stupid meds and kept me in a room till I would talk to ya.”

  Not exactly, but close enough. “Excellent, Hal, excellent.”

  “Yeah, well, I didn’t have these.” Hal waved the knives up and down with the serrated edges up and toward John, thrusting forward, but not making contact, as if he was an ace at dueling.

  John backed up a bit. He glanced up through the window and saw ESU with all of their gear on, ready to bust in.

  “No, you had a gun. Remember what I did?”

  “Yeah, you kicked it outta my hand. How’d you do that?”

  “That’s excellent, Hal. You do remember. You’re doing great.”

  “Just try it! Go ahead. Just try it,” Hal said, standing his ground.

  “No. Hal, how much do you weigh?”

  “One thirty.”

  “I’m 220. Think you stand a chance? Come on. Come on, Hal. Think about it.”

  Hal held back tears. He lowered the knives but clutched them to preserve his last bit of dignity.

  “Hal, how about we talk in private?”

  “Now?” Hal’s pitch raised.

  John realized Hal had planned this and that was something no one else was cognizant of yet. “Sure.”

  “With them here?”

  “Well, what do you think we can do about that?” With consistency, and expecting Hal to accept the consequences for actions, John had been able to reach him. And he would continue to be, as long as Hal continued his meds and supplements to keep him clear thinking. John knew Hal wanted the cops to end it for him. This was no psychotic episode. This was an immature attempt to end his life.

  Hal still did not want to let the food prep workers go. “Well, I do need private time.”

  “I’m glad you asked.”

  John got it. He had been preparing Hal for three years to mentally stable enough to stand trial for murder, even though Hal did not know that was the end-result of his progress.

  “Well, I’m here. But you first have to do something for me. Throw the knives over there.”

  “No, I ain’t. Damn you!”

  John had to be aggressive. He saw the ESU right outside the door, waiting for a signal from Sergeant Shipman. Now, the compassionate, therapeutic shrink had left the building. John assessed this side of himself very carefully before he allowed it to appear with the patients. “Excuse me?”

  Hal lowered his beaten-down eyes and stared at the ground between his feet.

  “I’m not backing you into a corner, Hal. Just do it. Come on, Hal, do it.”

  Without looking up, Hal tossed the knives to where John told him.

  “Pick up your shirt, so I can see what you did to yourself.”

  Hal did it like a little kid, with hesitation, and stared down at the wound himself.

  “All right, it’s a little deeper than a surface cut. We’ll take care of it.”

  “I’m gettin’ it for this, ain’t I?”

  John’s strong, protective aura sent out the message. He didn’t have to say a word. Hal could read him after ten years.

  Hal slumped down on the table. “Okay, they can go.”

  John signaled to Stan and Bobby that they could leave. He noticed Stan was breathing easier now. John put his arm around Hal’s shoulder, in case he tried to bolt, but he didn’t.

  Bobby scrambled out into the lobby where Sal and Tony waited. Stan struggled to hold himself upright, looking as if he aged ten years over his sixty.

  ***

  “Wait here,” Tony called to them.

  Stan sat down on the bench. A doctor and Kramer went to him immediately. The doc helped calm him down and Kramer took the report.

  Bobby paced back and forth. Tony and Sal made notes of his behavior.

  Bill approached. “Doc must have done a number on him in there.”

  “Yeah, with just one look.”

  The three men laughed at their private joke.

  ***

  “I’m tired.”

  “Hal, I know you must really
be exhausted. How about going to your room and lying down? You’ll probably sleep for a few hours.”

  Hal nodded. “Okay.”

  “And we’ll talk about this later.”

  “We will?”

  “Come on, Hal, you know we have to.”

  Hal whined like a child. “Okay.”

  “We’re coming out.”

  ***

  John held onto Hal’s arm and handed him off to Bill. “Clean up his cuts. He needs a tetanus shot and then please escort him to his room. See he gets into bed and lock the door. And he--” he said, pointing to Bobby, “--needs the tetanus, too.”

  Hal and Bobby cried out in unison. “I don’t want no shot!”

  The hostage negotiators and ESU unsuccessfully tried to conceal their laughter. Ten men split up. The negotiators escorted Hal to a table where a male doctor waited to check him out, and the ESU escorted Bobby to a table across the hall for the same. They carried on like five-year-olds.

  “There’s a fine line, Doc.”

  “Tell me about it, Sergeant.”

  Debbie handed him Bobby’s file. “Dr. Trenton, it’s not from personnel.”

  He already had an idea about that. “Thanks.”

  Tony and Sal were ready to blast John but they didn’t have the chance.

  “I’m going to review the observation video,” John said. “And I want your complete reports in an hour. Whoever is responsible will be dealt with. Alarm or no alarm.”

  Sal and Tony did not say a word, knowing John had to deal with his staff and they already knew their friend was tough. Even the support teams refrained from coming over to tell him he did a nice job in there. They didn’t want to give him an excuse to smile and break the tension he’d just created with his staff. Everyone knew he meant business, except for Bobby--yet.

  “My office.”

  CHAPTER 5

  “Just another thing to prolong my day.” Barbara jumped up and pushed the young teacher out of the way, knocking her against the wall without even thinking about it. She grabbed her Burberry coat out of her closet, threw it on, grabbed her tote, and ran out of the room.

  ***

  Mrs. Bennett paced the lobby, crying. Her heavy mascara ran down her cheeks and her nose was as chafed as a reindeer’s. Her breathing deepened and she looked wobbly on her feet. She had been the principal here for twenty-five years and Barbara realized the handwriting was on the wall that she really needed to call it quits soon. Mrs. Bennett’s high expectations took their toll on her. She had been walking with a cane the past several months. Barbara couldn’t understand why she was still at it day after day, putting all of her energy into the children and staff. Barbara couldn’t be upset with her. Mrs. Bennett’s love and advocacy for the children was genuine, the opposite of hers.

  “Barbara, Jeremiah, he just disappeared.”

  Barbara showed more compassion than she felt. “Which way did he go? Anyone see him?” She handed Mrs. Bennett her bag. “Please hold onto this for me, Mrs. Bennett.”

  “Sure, Barbara.”

  Frustrated, Barbara took a deep breath and ran out the door and down the ten steps to the front yard.

  ***

  ESU officers from Brooklyn South combed the playground in the front and back of the building and found nothing. The front playground had jungle gyms, benches, a small stone horse, and a wall for climbing, which was now covered with snow.

  “Doc, you stay here. Can’t canvas the whole neighborhood.”

  Barbara stood for a moment. Her gaze darted to the private attached and semi-attached houses on the tree lined side streets and the ones directly across the street from the school. She hurried to the corner to look through the window of the Burger King, to see if Jeremiah had gone in there to beg for food. He hadn’t.

  Diagonally across the street were large co-op apartment buildings, and two blocks down from the main entrance to the left were the low-income projects, where Jeremiah lived. About twelve buildings in the complex ran for three avenues. Looking up the avenue, Barbara didn’t see any children, just some drunks, wobbling and treading in the snow.

  ***

  Inside the co-op ten-year-old Jeremiah, cold and wet from the snow, with his left arm in a cast, hesitated before going up the stairs. He walked up each stairwell, leaning against the wall--not the cleanest, but he didn’t care--looking up to see if anyone could see him. No one did. Up five flights, he opened the door to the rooftop. Shocked that there was no locked gate like in his building, he went onto the roof, feeling free. Walking along the ledge without a care in the world he tried doing a balancing act with his arms spread out wide, one foot in front of the other, very proud of himself.

  It was windy and the snow was falling, but he didn’t care. He was in his own fantasy world where he could be free from the poverty of his life.

  ***

  “Doc, would he have gone home?”

  Barbara looked around and up, giving the ESU officer little attention. “No, I don’t think so. There he is!”

  She watched Jeremiah step on some grating. The metal snapped up and grabbed his foot. He screamed and fell over the edge of the roof with the metal plate, alone, holding onto his ankle. His frayed T-shirt fell down toward his head, as his body swayed and his arms flailed.

  “How the hell did he--”

  The snow had slowed down the traffic on this wide four-lane avenue. Ambulances and the fire trucks blocked much of it. Barbara dashed across without looking, and cars swerved to avoid her.

  “Bring the bus over there, and you stay here!” the ESU officer yelled at her.

  A local TV network truck arrived and the male photographer got out of the car in the middle of the street with his camera shooting straight up at Jeremiah.

  “No, he doesn’t know you,” she yelled, without looking back. “He’ll be scared to death.” She yanked open the door and vaulted up the steps, reaching the rooftop with record speed.

  ***

  “Stay away from me.” Jeremiah saw the ESU officers, and then Barbara, so he calmed down a bit.

  “Don’t worry, Jeremiah. We’ll get you out soon.”

  “Dr. Barbara, I’m sorry.”

  They pulled Jeremiah up. He sat on the roof, shivering, and they covered him with a blanket. He must have been in pain but he didn’t show it. Barbara knew he was used to pain. He’d had a hard life in the projects with an alcoholic mom and drug-addicted older brother. Barbara was the only person he could talk to about his problems who would listen. The ESU officers examined the grate. They couldn’t move it. They looked at Barbara sending her non-verbal messages to keep him talking while they worked on his release.

  The lead officer whispered to another officer away from Jeremiah. “Looks like it’s broken.”

  Barbara heard them, but the wind blew her long, straight, highlighted-blonde hair across her face so it concealed her worried eyes. “How come you left the building, Jeremiah?”

  “Wanted to see the roof. It’s lower than my building.”

  “We’ll talk about it tomorrow, okay, sweetheart?”

  An ESU officer loosened the grate. Another member of the team picked up Jeremiah and carried him to the waiting elevator. Outside, the officer placed Jeremiah on a stretcher. The photographer took a picture of Barbara hugging the boy before they put him into the ambulance and, with sirens blasting, they sped off to Sheepshead Medical.

  “You did good, Doc.”

  She shook the ESU officer’s hand. “Thanks.”

  “Gotta run, my day’s just beginning.”

  Mrs. Bennett handed Barbara the tote. “Good luck with Reynolds.”

  “Thanks, Mrs. Bennett, I intend to.” With the snow tapering off, she ran to her red Camaro parked around the corner.

  Now to get my payback. Payback for my life. Payback for these last three miserable years. You’re right, Sarah Bennett. I intend to have good luck with Reynolds. Yeah, real good luck for me, but bad for him. I finally found him and he’ll get what’s comin
g to him.

  CHAPTER 6

  As John sat in his ergonomic swivel chair in his office, there was a lot more on his mind than his job. He put his watch back on as Sal and Tony trailed in. He didn’t look up as they made themselves comfortable in the two matching leather club chairs with gold-studded detailing opposite the desk.

  Tony felt the supple leather approvingly. “What a difference from the precinct.”

  John ignored the accolade. “So what brings you to my haven?”

  “And you really don’t follow the rules,” Sal reminded him.

  “Give me a break, I waited long enough. I’ve been working with him for ten years. I know him better than anyone else does. At least, I thought I did. Check this out. He said he’s been killing since he was fourteen. Only the five kills at twenty-one were on his record. Why don’t we have the others?”

  “I don’t know. They couldn’t be sealed if they were homicides.”

  “Well, find out, Sal. He was admitted...” John rose, walked over to file cabinet, and thumbed through to find Hal’s file. “Here it is. He was admitted three times from fourteen to nineteen, and at twenty-one, three years ago. Nothing about any other homicides.”

  “Done, pal,” Sal said. “We know you’d never send us on a wild goose chase.”

  “Thanks. I’ll be re-evaluating Hal by the end of the week and contacting the court. I believe he’s now competent to stand trial.”

  “Whoa, pal! After this?” Sal asked.

  “Without a doubt! This was deliberate, planned, initiated, and carried out, rational and with a motive. He didn’t kill Bobby when he had the chance and he remembered an incident with me seven years ago. These are not the behaviors of a schizophrenic.”