[Sign Behind the Crime 01.0] Gemini

by Ronnie Allen

***

  Carlson sat at his desk, quite annoyed he had to bother with this. It was nothing but a nuisance case.

  John scanned the five-inch thick folder. “What is all this?”

  “Papers to fucking nowhere.”

  “Come on, she thinks someone made her a target.”

  “We checked everything out. Drew a big zero.”

  “She thinks you didn’t bother to check anything out.”

  “Well, she fucking lied to you,” Carlson snarled. “What a fucking shock. Look, no one hates this woman enough to torment her, yet alone want her dead. She started calling and we just laughed at her. I’ll admit it. We did, at first. The only reason we started to investigate was because neighbors started calling, little old grandma types, reporting commotions in her apartment more than once. Now she’s milking it. Don’t know why.”

  “What kind of commotions?”

  “Montgomery yelling, shouting, ‘Stop that!’ ‘What are you?’ ‘Ugh. That’s disgusting!’ There were no responses. It was as if she was yelling to herself.”

  John rose and walked to the window, peering out as if wanted to find clues in thin air, just to avoid Carlson’s bantering. “What about surveillance? Phone taps?”

  “Are you kidding me? With all the crime in New York City you expect me to waste tax-payers money on a woman who calls every day, claiming someone is after her, but leaves not one shred of evidence? My detectives would die of boredom. Then she doesn’t want to investigate. Then she does. Come on. As far as I’m concerned after what you found out, which is a hell of a lot more than I ever expected, the case is closed and she belongs where she is. And you are now her official doctor on record.”

  “Close the case? You can’t be serious! Too much is going on here, from her moving around a lot and a clinic after only three years residency in New York? Her psychotic episodes interspersed with lucid conversation? Prostitution when she was eighteen and now being a stripper at forty? No, it doesn’t make sense. How can she manage a normal life? No, Paul. This case is not closed, far from it.”

  “Hold on a minute. So she has a vice. Big fucking deal.”

  “A vice? It’s not that simple, for Christ sake.”

  “Yeah? When did you start having sex?”

  “What does that have to do with it?”

  “Answer me.”

  “Fourteen, now--”

  “Prostitution at eighteen, stripper at forty, and you’re seeing Landers for--”

  “It’s not the same thing.”

  “You’re pretty similar in my book. The only difference is that she had an abusive family and you had a loving one. There’s a fine line, John, and you know it. If you weren’t so fucking lucky you’d be pushed over the edge, too, and could have wound up where she is.”

  “I can’t believe we’re having this conversation. It’s not luck. It’s called conscience. And you’re not addressing the case here.”

  “Goes back to family. She’s mentally ill, yes. And that’s your job. This is not a criminal case. I’m only going through this again to entertain you, our almighty shrink.”

  John turned around and addressed Carlson with a tone the man couldn’t ignore. “So entertain me. Doesn’t this double life of hers bother you? What did she say? Let’s just suppose there is a person. What did he or she do?”

  “Phone calls, presents. And no, her double life doesn’t bother me any more than yours does. But it might now that you let Vicki go if you start acting stupid again.”

  “Focus, Paul, focus. Says here decapitated rats. So where are they?”

  “She said she was so repulsed she threw them away. We searched tons of apartment building garbage. Nothing.”

  “What about the pictures on the walls?”

  “Said they were written in disappearing ink. Then messages under her door. We saw blank paper. Disappearing ink again. And then get this one, holograms.”

  “Holograms? Of what?”

  “Now don’t start. We don’t have any direct evidence. Just face the fact that this fellow shrink of yours can’t hack it anymore.”

  John slammed the file down on the desk. “Holograms of what?”

  Carlson’s right hand started to tremble. He dropped his pen. “Ghosts, skeletons, rainbows,” Paul said. “And only she sees them. See? I told you she was crazy. Look, based on all of the abuse in her life, wouldn’t she escape it with hallucinations?”

  “Very true. But she’s been a functioning and contributing member of society for many years. So why now? What made her snap? There’s a lot more to this.”

  Carlson’s phone rang. “Lieutenant Carlson. Yeah. What? When? Are you sure? Montgomery is still in the hospital, isn’t she?” he asked John.

  “Yes, I just left her.”

  To the caller, Carlson said, “We’re leaving now.” He slammed down the phone. “Let’s go. Her place has been tossed.”

  ***

  Outside Barbara’s apartment building--a four story, sixteen-unit complex two blocks off the beach in a cul-de-sac--police cars and ambulances had been stationed as the first responders cordoned off the front and two sides of the building from the street access points. John and Carlson drove up to the barricade in an unmarked jeep. The crowds of boisterous bystanders who formed outside the building and across the street were ushered behind police barriers.

  Inside the apartment, ESU officers and crime scene techs searched for the trigger in the living room, the room closest to the front door. Right now, there were more people in here then there was room to hold them. This room had been the only one assaulted.

  Crime scene techs measured and contained one hundred feet beyond the exterior perimeter of the area where the bomb hit. They also set up the path where the investigators could enter or leave. There was one way in and one way out. The outer perimeter of the three hundred square feet of debris had been roped off.

  John had never witnessed a crime scene being set up so expediently.

  Okay, so now they’re damn serious.

  All the other rooms were intact, which surprised John, but he kept that to himself for now. Camera lights flashed, as crime scene photos took the maximum amount of time and primary importance.

  Tony and Sal explored the mess, stepping over glass, while John analyzed the surroundings.

  Gemini posters lay on the floor. Gemini sculptures had been smashed. The Ouija board left on the table, the tarot cards on a shelf, plus psychology and education textbooks all added to the multidimensionality of his patient. Carlson joined him, picking up a Gemini statue without first putting on gloves.

  “Hey, Loo! Lay off, huh?” Sal called. “They already have enough prints here to keep us busy for a decade!”

  “Yeah sure, Sal, sorry. Find anything?”

  Sal stood by the phone. “Yeah. Listen to this.”

  “Come on, Barbara. It’s Morgan. You still can’t be pissed off at me. How about dinner? And you can give me some return on all the money I gave you.”

  Carlson looked away, distracted. Tony and John noticed.

  “Know him, Loo? Who is this guy?” Tony asked.

  “No, I don’t. Just trying to put pieces together. That’s all.”

  John’s annoyance flared that it was he who had to direct the detective. “Tony, check the caller ID.”

  “Smart man. Reynolds Publishing. 212-555-6200.”

  John recorded the number on his pad. “Thanks.”

  “It’s been two weeks and I see you still haven’t taken off your ring,” Tony said.

  “I don’t intend to. Keeps me grounded. And, Tony, that’s your business because?”

  “We’re friends. That’s why. And I’m glad you’re not ready to let go.”

  John ignored his assumption, though it was spot-on. He missed Vicki to no end. He turned toward Carlson. “Still think she did this by herself?”

  “Not convinced yet, but she’s your patient, so you figure it out. This stuff is...weird, like you with your psychosis.”

  “Psy
chosis?”

  “You know what I mean, your psychic stuff.”

  John accepted this humorously. He was aware that Carlson didn’t understand the spirit realm at all. He’d been working with John for five years and still hadn’t grasped it. Carlson was a mainstream conservative guy through and through. Black or white, good or evil, criminal or law abiding. Nothing in between. Even Carlson’s wife, Maria, complained to him about her husband’s inflexibility. “Well, it stands to reason she couldn’t do this herself. She’s been with us two days.”

  Tony and Sal examined the couch. They found the transmitter.

  “Let Arson figure out when this was set and find out who this fucking Morgan character is.” Carlson turned toward John. “Check her for suicidal quirks.”

  ***

  John left them and went to inspect the bedroom. It was a conservative bachelorette room, nothing fancy, nothing to raise a red flag. No personality. It was boring and depressing, with monotone shades of yellow on the walls without any patterns or depth, solid dark yellow comforter on the bed, butterscotch yellow sheets with one pillow.

  This is telling. All yellow. The color of Gemini. And who sleeps with only one pillow on their bed?

  There were no accessories on the night tables, which were a plain, light-toned wood. There was nothing to show that a vibrant, energetic, successful woman lived here. John began to take deep breaths. He focused and stared at the bed, embracing one of his clairvoyant visions. He shivered and felt his spirit guide, Max, jump into his crown chakra and travel through his body on the right side, his psychic side. The energy flowed from the top of his head through his body to his toes. His channels to the unseen opened. He concentrated his focus.

  He tuned in psychically to Barbara who was wearing a long, sleeveless, black nightgown with ruffles around the neckline, tossing and turning. This appeared to be rough nightmare. He heard her screaming and crying with painful emotions that had overtaken her entire being. Real tears. This was more than a nightmare. This illustrated her life. She rolled from side to side on the bed then curled into the fetal position. Her screams of “No! Stop!” vibrated through him as if they arose from him. He felt the heat, sweating in the middle of February. He envisioned a muddy gray irregular chord of ragged-edged light, three inches in diameter, coming from her solar plexus and going down to the floor, attaching itself to the carpet.

  He perceived blood on her hands, dripping onto the floor where the gray light landed as she callously laughed over her victim and then cried.

  Who is that on the floor?

  He couldn’t decipher if it was a man or woman, child or adult. Where was a weapon? How old was Barbara then? At that moment, she looked younger. He couldn’t tell how much younger.

  It was just a hazy cloud. Less than two minutes. That was all Max gave him.

  Carlson, who’d watched him from the doorway the entire time, awakened him. “Hey! psychic boy, wake up!”

  John re-entered reality, so stunned it took a moment to recover. “Paul, you don’t do that to someone. Not when they’re not ready to come back.”

  “Care to share where you went?”

  “No. I need proof first.” John went to her dresser and was about to open the top drawer.

  He still needed to shake off the uneasy feeling from Carlson’s abrupt awakening. He forced himself to open and shut his eyes repeatedly to refocus to the present.

  “Stop. We don’t have a warrant,” Carlson shouted.

  “Don’t need one for this. This is an emergency situation.”

  “Yeah, you do. This is beyond the crime scene parameters. Her place. She doesn’t know we’re here and she expects a reasonable amount of privacy.”

  “Look, Paul. I have to bring her clothes anyway. Tomorrow I have to move her. The seventy-two hours are up. Between tonight and tomorrow, I have to find a way to delay any release. She can’t wear a hospital gown in gen pop. I’m doing her a favor here. See if you can find an overnight bag in her closet.”

  Carlson tossed him a fresh pair of gloves and a big paisley overnight bag. “You can only take the clothes you need and not look under or in things.”

  John studied the disorganized top drawer and pulled out a couple of bras and several panties. In the second drawer, he pulled out socks and some T-shirts. In the third drawer, he found it, the long, sleeveless, black nightgown with ruffles.

  He felt a tingling initiate through his crown chakra and flow through his body.

  “Thanks, Max.” He chose a couple of others to take instead.

  “Who you talking to now?”

  “What?”

  “Who’s Max? In the fucking five years we’ve been working together, I never heard you mention a Max.”

  John was upset that he’d said it audibly and not in thought language. “Just something I was thinking about, never mind.” At the closet, he pulled out sweat pants. Everything had been strewn in without any semblance of order. “She’s a mess.”

  “Hire a housekeeper. Done yet?”

  “No. Come on, Paul. You know a person’s closet is an indication of the structure of their life.”

  “I don’t fucking psychoanalyze everything. Or anything. What else do you need?”

  “Toiletries.”

  ***

  John returned to his office at the hospital and examined Barbara’s file. The MRI, CAT, and PET results were still not in there. He picked up the phone and dialed an extension.

  “Imaging.”

  “This is Dr. Trenton. I’m waiting for the three scans of my patient, Barbara Montgomery. Taken this morning.”

  “Dr. Trenton, I’m sorry, the radiologist hasn’t looked at them yet. It takes at least twenty-four hours.”

  “I need them ASAP.”

  “I’ll pass that along.”

  “Thank you.” John hung up, irritated. He needed them to put the pieces of the puzzle together. He wanted his intuition to be wrong for once. He prayed for it, counted on it. If what he thought was correct, they would have a monumental problem on their hands and this nuisance case would become a major one, spanning decades.

  The phone rang. “Yeah, Paul, what is it?”

  “The transmitter was set for three-thirty.”

  “When was it set?”

  “Can’t tell. No prints. Whoever set it wore gloves. I’m not sure of anything right now so get her into a safe house.”

  “She’s already in one.”

  ***

  John toted a large bag of Chinese food into Barbara’s room.

  “Um, that smells good.”

  “Don’t get so excited. It’s all steamed. Brown sauce on the side.”

  “Oh, ugh, but why the special treatment?”

  He leveled the serving tray over her bed and removed the containers. “Just want to give you the update on my meeting with Carlson.”

  “Ah, a man of his word. And why the special treatment? I know the drill. This isn’t the usual food.”

  “Nah, I brought you something special. Professional courtesy.”

  “That’s pushing it. Okay, so why the generosity?”

  “Well, it’s nice to find someone like myself who still cares about people.” He didn’t trust her one bit. But, with Barbara, he had to be manipulative to get anywhere. So he played her game.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re not money hungry, trying to sap everyone for what they have.”

  “My clinic is free.”

  Barbara attempted to conceal her true thoughts on that matter. Her aura shouted a black outline at him. She actually thinks I can’t tell when she’s lying? Short memory.

  He lied, too, a bit. “I know. Now who’s Morgan?”

  “Morgan?”

  “Yeah, he called you yesterday.”

  “Wait a minute. How do you know?”

  “I was at your place.”

  “Get to the point.”

  “Okay. You want it blunt. Here is blunt. Your apartment was hit.”

  “Hit
as in blown up? Torn up? Well now, do you believe me? I’ve got to get out of here.”

  Blown up? Torn up? Knowledge of this?

  “No, sorry. That’s not possible now. You’re under police protection. Here is where you’ll stay. At least, until we catch him.”

  Barbara was so enraged she almost tossed a container of food at him.

  He grabbed her arm in time. “Oh no, you don’t. Eat.”

  To his surprise, she accepted the reprimand. She dove into the container of chicken and vegetables using a plastic spork.

  “Who’s Morgan?”

  “My clinic is free for patients, but I pay my counselors.”

  “Okay and...”

  “Look, my counselors have masters and doctorate degrees. They’re not doing this just for community service.”

  “Who’s Morgan?”

  “His publishing company gives me a donation every February from a grant I wrote. I told you about that yesterday. All of it goes to salaries.”

  “You just told me about your drive into Manhattan.”

  “That’s what it was for. No, Morgan wouldn’t do this. He wants me in bed, not to scare me to death. Besides, he’s not smart enough to think of this.”

  “One more thing. There were so many Gemini artifacts around. Why only that sign?”

  “Oh yes. Dr. Psychic. Of course, you’d notice. I’m a Gemini. May thirtieth.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Yes. It’s good energy for me.”

  “What does Gemini mean to you?”

  “Sorry, Doc. You won’t get free associations from me.”

  “Of course not. Silly of me to try.” He focused on her, without changing his gaze, to perceive what she wouldn’t tell him verbally.

  ***

  “If the stock went down, buy ten thousand more shares!” Morgan yelled into a phone, sitting at his desk and being his usual irate self.

  “That’s taking too big a risk.”

  “I don’t care what the risk is. Take it!”