by Ronnie Allen
“And you didn’t suspect anything?”
“Wait a minute, John. He’s a new admit. Just in my class a couple of days. I saw something the second day, when he couldn’t sit. He said his Daddy gave him a whipping. I reported it to the counselor and spoke with the mother. You heard what I said to her at the hospital that night. They must have kept him home from school so they wouldn’t be found out. He doesn’t even know the alphabet song and he can’t recognize any letters, not even those in his name.”
Deputies, a male and female, held Ricky’s hand. His eyes darted to Vicki and he escaped to her, hyperventilating in between uncontrollable sobs.
“What happened?” the sheriff asked.
“His grandma called. Said they couldn’t afford to keep him. They packed a bag for him and said they didn’t care if he goes into the system.”
There wasn’t a word to reflect how they all felt. John shot Vicki a warning glare, but she did what she wanted and stepped up to the plate. “He can live with me,” she said as she hugged him.
“Really, Miss Marin?,” Ricky said with glee. “I told you I wanted to.”
“Ricky, you stay with the sheriff and the deputies a minute,” John ordered. “Vicki, over here.” He led her into a private area. “Do you realize what you’re getting yourself into? Yes, he’s a precious little boy, but he’s going to be troubled and have problems you can’t even imagine.”
“He’ll be fine.”
“Vicki, you can’t talk to him or treat him like a regular kid.”
“What does that mean?”
“For one, he’s so physically abused. You’ll have to watch everything you say and do--and how you give consequences when he does deserve it. He’ll need a consistent behavior modification plan and--”
She cut him off. “I understand. John, I’ve been working with this age group for fifteen years. It’ll just be a little while until they can find a relative.”
“Yes. But you haven’t dealt with them as a parent. I’ll stay with you and let’s see how he adjusts.”
They went back to the team and John scooped Ricky up into his arms. “Come on, champ. We’re going to Vicki’s house.”
Ricky held him around his neck for dear life. The warmth of John’s body calmed him. John put his hand on the back of Ricky’s head, as the boy nestled on his shoulder. John was more ready to be in a parental role than he’d ever thought. Not having any nieces or nephews, he was never around little ones much, but it was evident that little Ricky had embedded himself into his heart. And John wanted him.
He tossed Vicki his signature look. “And then you and I need to have a long talk.”
CHAPTER 32
Present Day:
John played the tape of his interview with Mrs. Bennett in Carlson’s office--to Paul, Tony, and Sal. “And you couldn’t find any of this out?”
“Hey, don’t you dare put any of this fucking case on us,” Carlson growled. “You’re the profiler and getting the big bucks. The department hired your fucking analytical brain to put things like this together for us. You’re just doing your fucking job.”
“All right then, Paul. Then why are you fighting me and impeding any progress by not doing the investigations I’ve asked of you?”
“We’re not going to anymore. Okay? Just don’t bring up your fucking Max.”
All of a sudden, the lights flickered.
“What the--”
“You offended him.”
“So he’s here now? Give me a break!”
The lights flickered and turned off.
“Any other explanation?”
Carlson surrendered. “All right, Max, I give up. I’ll listen to you from now on. For Christ’s sake, I can’t believe I’m talking to this, this, whatever he is. Max, turn the damn lights back on. Now!”
The lights glowed.
Tony and Sal laughed, wide-eyed, probably out of nervousness because they didn’t understand what they’d just observed. Very few people did.
“So you really think she offed her twin?”
“Yeah, Tony, I do. Possibly separated at birth, mother gave her up. She had hell. The twin had a great life. Could be her adoptive parents did die just as she said, then foster homes or institutions. Still putting that together. She found out she was a twin, looked for her, and wanted the normalcy.”
“All right, we buy it. How do you prove it?” Sal asked.
“That part is easy. Identical twins have the same blood types, but different fingerprints. The Department of Education would have them from the real Barbara, yes?”
They acquiesced.
“And no,” Tony replied. “We didn’t get them from this one.”
“I’ll get them from something she touched at the hospital,” John said. “In the meantime, bring up all the files from the accident twelve years ago. We’ll call her Kellie, for now. But I have a feeling, she has more aliases.”
“When are you going back to the hospital?” Carlson asked without an expletive, for once.
“Have a staff meeting at Manhattan Psych in less than an hour. Otherwise, I’d go there now. Probably tonight.”
***
At his apartment, Clancy positioned himself in front of a well-equipped laptop that Barbara had bought for him. He found the exact address of Morgan Reynolds, his apartment number, and detailed street maps.
“Jaysus, you’re a dope. You put yourself so out there, even your apartment number is listed, 3B, with an outside balcony, and it looks like, from the map, that there’s fire escapes on your line. You must be gone in the head. I wouldn’t go near an apartment like that with a hundred-foot pole. Hope you got a bloody good deal on that one.”
He downloaded the photos he’d taken of Morgan and accessed graphics of religious figures. Then he discovered it. The perfect monk. He superimposed the head of Morgan onto the monk’s outfit. Yes! He liked what he’d created.
He set up the projector component and flashed Morgan, in the monk’s outfit, onto his wall. Very proud of his accomplishments, Clancy gave a hearty laugh. A few more clicks of the keyboard, he had Morgan dancing like a marionette. He found additional color palettes and graphics, he needed for effect, and saved them. “This is going to be such fun. I feel like I’m on a set again. A real-life, state-of-the-art set.”
***
Barbara, dressed in a T-shirt, squishy sweat pants, and sneakers, jogged down the hospital corridor away from Jake. He stood there laughing at her. “Hey, Doc, where ya think ya going?”
Jogging backward, she smiled at him. “I haven’t moved in three days. I’m all edgy.”
Other patients walked slowly, arm in arm with attendants and visitors. She looked both ways to avoid bumping into them.
“Can’t run in the halls, back here. Now.”
He actually thinks I’m going to obey? Just look at them. They’re laughing that this giant can’t control me and I’m less than half his size.
She jogged in place. “You’re kidding, right?”
“No. I’m sure as hell not. Get back here now or you’re confined to your room.”
“You can’t do that to me.”
“Yeah, I can. Dr. Trenton told me I can do whatever is necessary to make you behave.”
“Ooh, that bastard!”
“I’ll be sure to relay the message.”
“Won’t be necessary.” She jogged back. “Want to hold my hand so I’ll be the good little girl?” She gazed up at him like a three year old and batted her eyelashes.
“Don’t be a smart ass. Let’s go.”
As they walked down the hall, Barbara read all the name plates on the doors, counted, and memorized the number of patients and their names in each room. At the end of the hall, she turned the corner to go around to the other side.
“Hey, where ya goin’?”
“Jake, I need to move, please. My legs feel like rubber after being in bed for three days. You look like a gym rat. You’ve got to understand.”
“Okay, once around an
d then to the dining hall.”
“Thank you.” Barbara observed everything. The nurse’s station. The erase board with the shift changes.
8:00 p.m., staff due at 7:40. Jake’s leaving, too. No telling what kind of monster I’ll get. Now it’s 5 p.m. I have to move tonight. No telling what Trenton is finding out. Can’t risk it. I thought I was good at deception but he’s better than me. What a criminal mastermind he would make. Nah. Never happen.
The nameplates on the door, and the recollection of one of them, stopped her dead in her tracks. But she moved to the right, a room over. She stared for a moment in disbelief.
Oh, my God! Today is my lucky day.
Then as they continued to walk, they passed the elevator. “Okay, done now. Ready for dinner. I’m starved.”
“Who did you recognize?”
Damn. He’s too observant.
“No one. Just surprised they have two men on a floor with all women.”
“Yeah, that happens sometimes if the men’s floors are full.”
She had maneuvered out of that one gracefully.
***
Clancy unclasped the latch on the terrace gate and walked in from the fire escape. The three-story walk-up to the terrace had winded him. He needed to be in better shape. In taking a moment to recoup, he reminded himself to be cautious and not make a stupid mistake. There were no lights and the winter darkness now shielded him. He didn’t see a soul in any bedroom. This was Manhattan and way too early for anyone to be in bed, asleep anyway. He crouched behind a huge planter with an artificial white palm tree so large it concealed him and the equipment he removed from his knapsack. He peered through the sheer curtains into Morgan’s bedroom.
White walls, perfect.
Clancy moved over on the balcony to examine the adjoining room. He spotted Morgan, who was mixing himself a scotch and ginger ale at his bar in the living room. Then Clancy watched him move to a club chair, where he put his bare feet on an ottoman and used the remote to turn on the TV to watch the news. Clancy disliked this apartment in bone, off-white, and stark white. The walls and furniture were without contrast, without boundaries, and projected a very uneasy feeling into Clancy. Very sterile. Even the massive paintings from modern artists didn’t waiver from the monotone color scheme.
Morgan, munching chips and drinking, was an easy target.
Clancy returned to the section of balcony outside Morgan’s bedroom. All of a sudden, there was a spiritually spooky voice.
“Morgan, Morgan.”
Clancy created a combination of feminine pitches alternating with masculine guttural tones to throw Morgan off balance.
Morgan was startled, drunk to boot, and perked up so rapidly on the chair that he spilled his drink on the ottoman. “What the--”
“Morgan, in here, Morgan.”
Morgan couldn’t shake the sudden fear. “Who’s there?” He trembled, attempting to stand.
“In here Morgan. In your bedroom.”
Morgan tumbled over a love seat, wobbled, and staggered into the bedroom, grabbing onto the pole at the footboard of the queen size bed.
***
A hologram of a gold Samurai sword was on the white bedspread. “Who’s in here?”
Noticing the shiny, curved sword, Morgan leaned over to grab the ornate handle, but he couldn’t.
The sword penetrated right through his hand and then disappeared.
In his awkward drunken state, he vomited on his designer bedspread. He keeled over. “Who’s there?”
“Sorry, Morgan, not just yet.”
“Where the hell are you? Tell me now!”
“Okay, if you insist. Turn around.”
Morgan’s image was reflected on the wall, wearing monk’s attire. The hologram depicted him in 3-D and about Morgan’s actual height, five feet, five.
“You’re not going to get to me. If this is a joke, Steve, you’re fired.”
“No, Morgan, it’s you. In your next life.”
“Next life? Yeah right. Who the hell are you?” Morgan lunged toward the hologram, slammed into the wall, banged his forehead, and collapsed on the floor. He curled into the fetal position, taking deep breaths, trying to compose himself. The hologram spun like a tornado in front of his eyes. The different shades of brown in the outfit became darker and darker and, as it landed, standing on its hands on the bed, Morgan lost bowel control. Waste oozed through his pants and onto his white carpet.
Morgan covered his nose and mouth. “Oh my God. Oh, no!”
Clancy grimaced as the odor seeped through the bedroom window, which was open a crack. “Your dump sure stinks. Come on, Morgan. Do some jumping jacks.” The hologram performed jumping jacks on the bed. “Arms out and down, legs together, come on, Morgan!”
“I abhor exercise!”
A wicked-looking hand, with crooked fingers and bulging joints with hair on the skin between the knuckles, clutched the samurai sword and lunged it through Morgan, still crouched against the wall with his knees bent into his chest. He moved his hands rapidly around his body searching for blood as the blade gored him. Not one drop. His screams radiated around the room. The monk then reappeared in front of the bed and clenched the sword, committing Hari-kari on himself. Images of blood poured onto the bed over Morgan’s vomit and flowed down onto the off-white carpet. Morgan reached out to touch the blood, but none spread onto his fingers. He bent back on his knees as the color drained from his face.
Clancy made the hologram spin, turn into a rainbow, and disappear out the window.
On the terrace, he set a timer device for two hours, projecting the blood splatter into the room. He placed it inside the planter. It was just enough time for others to see it. Clancy packed up and climbed, in the blackness, down the fire escape without incident.
***
Inside the precinct, Jennifer took a message.
“This is Steven Katz, Mr. Reynolds’s lawyer. I need a team here immediately.”
“Mr. Katz, you’re in Manhattan-Midtown South. This is Brooklyn South.”
“Yes, I know, but Mr. Reynolds is Lieutenant Carlson’s cousin and he trusts him.”
“Okay, I’ll get him the message immediately. He’s here now.” She disconnected and ran to Carlson’s office, handing him the note as he opened the door.
“Call Mandella and Valantino,” he ordered. “Tell them to come here immediately. And call Dr. Trenton. He’s in Manhattan now. Give him the address and tell him to meet us there. He’s got to leave immediately. Tell him it’s a crime scene.”
“Yes, Lieutenant.” She departed without hesitation.
“Damn. I didn’t need this.”
***
John rang the bell to Morgan’s apartment repeatedly. Steve opened the door and three badges were flashed at him.
“I’m Dr. Trenton.”
“Steve Katz. Mr. Reynolds’s attorney.”
“Why do you feel he needs an attorney?” John inquired.
“I’m his friend, too. This time, I wouldn’t let him talk me out of calling you guys.”
“This happened before?” Tony asked.
“Yes, Detective Mandella, last week. Got a present of a condom over the carcass of a rat. Delivered by messenger to his office.” The men stared at each other in recognition. “Come in here.”
The blood looked authentic, wet and three-dimensional. Morgan stumbled in, still intoxicated, but cleaned up. His odor wasn’t that offensive, but John still wrinkled his nose with disgust.
“Mr. Reynolds, what did the hologram look like?” Sal asked.
“Me in a brown, shit-brown, monk’s outfit. He said it was me in my next life.”
“The hologram talked?” Sal asked.
“Mr. Reynolds didn’t make this up. How do you explain all this blood?”
John understood it. He walked into a blood puddle that bubbled, laughing like a little kid.
“Doc, what are you doing?” Tony asked.
John continued laughing. He kicked his feet thr
ough it and not one drop spread onto him. The blood stains mysteriously disappeared, leaving the room spotless. John guessed where the hologram could have originated. He led Sal out to the terrace. John looked around at the stunning Manhattan view, but his gaze kept coming back to the planter.
Sal lifted up the silk leaves and, bingo, there was the projector. Sal took out a small evidence bag and put the device into it. He carried it into the bedroom. “This is where the blood came from. We’ll analyze it and see what comes up. In the meantime, Mr. Reynolds, have another place to stay?”
“He’ll stay with me for a few days,” Steve said.
“Good, we’ll be in touch.” Tony opened the door to the apartment.
In the hall going to the elevator, John asked, “Where’s Paul?”
“Said he couldn’t make it. What are you putting together, John?”
“Got to get that Clancy guy. He has the skills to pull this off. Maybe he heard the machine tape. Morgan called when Clancy was setting up the bomb in her apartment. Maybe he figured Reynolds is the boyfriend, though I seriously doubt that. Something doesn’t feel right.”
“No known address on this Clancy guy. No credit cards, no utility bills,” Tony said.
“Keep looking, Tony,” John demanded. “He exists.”
***
Inside the apartment Morgan was still shaken. “Don’t know why you involved Carlson. This can open up--”
“I wasn’t thinking. Call him and make sure he shreds all the files. He owes me, so he better do it. He’s got as much on the line as us.”
CHAPTER 33
The clock on the wall opposite the bed inside Barbara’s hospital room read 8:10. She stared up at it while sitting on the edge of the bed. Waves of agitation gyrated through her as she rocked back and forth in a slow motion daze in an effort to calm down. Her sweaty hands lay palm down on either side of her on the bed.