[Sign Behind the Crime 01.0] Gemini

by Ronnie Allen

  “That Indian Chief made a boo-boo. I want to sleep with you.”

  John was ready to pick him up and bring him into the bed, but he received soft tap on the hand from Vicki. “Ricky, turn around and put your hands over your eyes for a minute,” she said. “We’re playing a game.”

  Ricky laughed. “Okay, why?”

  “Just do it, Ricky.” She jumped out of bed, grabbed the dreaded nightgown and a pair of panties from her drawer, and slipped them on as John pulled on his shorts. “John, this isn’t a good--”

  “Just for tonight, right, Ricky?”

  “Right.”

  John lifted him up onto the bed and Ricky plopped his head down on John’s chest with their arms wrapped around each other. They both fell asleep in a millisecond. Vicki didn’t want to lose this moment so she captured it on her smartphone, smiling.

  “He’d make a great dad,” she whispered softly.

  ***

  Esther and Sam were in the kitchen, having a light lunch of tuna salad sandwiches. John, Vicki, and Ricky entered their house around noon. Esther wondered what had happened to their son, having not seen him in over twenty-four hours.

  “And who is this?”

  “Mom, Dad, this is Ricky.”

  Vicki has a son. Looks like her. He doesn’t need this. Deal with an ex-husband.

  “Hi, Ricky. Hungry?”

  “No, ma’am. Vicki made breakfast.”

  He calls his mommy by her name? “What did Vicki make?”

  “Oatmeal pancakes with strawberries an’ bananas and scrambled eggs.”

  “Wow! That sounds yummy.”

  “It was. At first John looked at it an’ said ‘I don’t eat pancakes, too many carbs, whatever that is.’”

  John laughed at the way Ricky expressed himself using his hands as he talked.

  “An’ then Vicki looked up at him an’ said, ‘Hush!’”

  “Really? Vicki told John to ‘hush?’” Esther looked at Sam in bewilderment. Their son was knocked off his throne? Couldn’t be. Not their son.

  “Then he looked at her like you two are looking at each other now.”

  They removed the shocked expressions and poker faces replaced them.

  “And then what?” Esther asked.

  “Vicki told John what was in them an’ he said, ‘Okay then,’ an’ he ate them. Three biggggg ones. I ate only one ’cause my tummy is smaller, but when I’m big like John, I’ll eat three, too. Want to know something?”

  “Sure. What is it, sweetheart?” Esther couldn’t imagine what was to come.

  “John an’ Vicki are my new mommy an’ daddy.”

  His mother, feeling faint, nearly fell off the chair and his father gasped. John disappeared real fast into his suite, laughing.

  His mother strived to be so compassionate, hiding her shock. “What happened to your old mommy and daddy?”

  Vicki smiled. “Go ahead, Ricky. You can tell the whole story.”

  Ricky sat up straight in the chair. Vicki took the chair next to him. Folding their hands on the table, John’s parents waited attentively for Ricky to begin. “John put Mommy an’ Daddy in jail last night.”

  “Oh?” Esther was stunned. What had her son gotten into?

  Sam tried to remain staid. “What happened, Ricky?”

  “I was at Grandma an’ Grandpa’s house with Mommy when Daddy came in with a rifle an’ some guns an’ kept us there ’cause he was mad at Mommy for taking me to Grandma’s house, an’ then the policemans came an’ they couldn’t get Daddy out an’ Daddy said he wanted to talk to John ’cause John made Mommy leave him.”

  “When was that?” Sam asked.

  “At the hospital. Friday night. I had an asthma attack an’ John spoke to Mommy an’ Vicki.”

  Esther shot Sam a glare.

  He couldn’t skip that damn poker game.

  Sam attempted, unsuccessfully, to escape his wife’s wrath. “And then what happened?”

  “John came to Grandma’s house an’ Daddy said ‘I want to blow your head off, Doc.’”

  Vicki placed her hand over her mouth and gasped.

  Ricky noticed Vicki’s reaction. “Yes, I heard him say that,” he continued. “‘I want to blow your head off, Doc.’ Really I did.’” He bobbed his head up and down.

  Esther clutched Sam’s hand.

  “Then John wanted Daddy to let me go first before he went into the house an’ Daddy did an’ I ran into Vicki’s car. Then John went to the house with Daddy pointing a rifle at him an’ John kicked the rifle out of Daddy’s hand an’ put handcuffs on him. An’ the policemans took him away. An’ I told John an’ Vicki that Mommy hurts me, too, so John put Mommy in jail, too. An’ then Grandma an’ Grandpa said they can’t keep me so the policemans took me to the police station an’ Vicki said I can stay with her an’ John. So that’s what happened.” Ricky breathed a sigh of relief that he finished the entire story.

  “Oh my! That is some story, Ricky. You expressed that so well.”

  “I know!”

  John reappeared. His parents were infuriated and not afraid to let him know.

  “Come on, Ricky,” John said. “We’re going to the pool. Did you three get acquainted?”

  “More than necessary. You could have been--”

  “Dad--”

  “Come on let’s go. After you swim with John, Ricky, we’ll read a Clifford book.”

  Ricky stared at Vicki with eyes wide open for a minute then, with anxiety overcoming him, collapsed on the floor shaking, screaming and thrashing his arms and legs in fear. “No! No books! I hate books! No books!” He thrashed and bobbed up and down on the hard tile floor, leaving the four adults staring in amazement.

  Esther and Sam looked at John to see how he would handle this one. His mother dared him to stop the tantrum with a smug grin, wanting him to suffer for taking this on.

  Vicki let him take over, too. John got the clear signal from the three of them that it was on him, but he was up for the challenge, even if just to prove his parents wrong. They always challenged him with dares. It was the family games they played and he had always accomplished them.

  John wasn’t tolerating this. He squatted and yelled right in Ricky’s face. “STOP IT!”

  Ricky ceased mid-scream, holding his breath and looking scared. John lifted him up and held him tight against him. Ricky rested his head on John’s shoulder, whimpering. John patted his back.

  “It’s okay. I’m not mad at you, champ. But no more temper tantrums. Got it? You’re a big boy and you can talk. So you tell us what’s bothering you. Okay?” Ricky whimpered but squeezed John close. John massaged his back. “It’s all right. We’ll talk about it. Why don’t you like books?”

  “I don’t like to read.”

  “Reading is fun for me and Vicki and my parents. I couldn’t become a doctor without reading books and Vicki couldn’t become a teacher.”

  “I don’t want to become a doctor or a teacher.”

  “What do you want to be?”

  “Six.”

  CHAPTER 35

  Present Day:

  Where’s the first stop, ma’am?” The taxi driver drove down the street in front of the hospital to the corner. The streetlights were so bright, it appeared to be daytime in Brooklyn. The cabbie waited at the corner for Barbara’s directives.

  “My clinic, Nostrand Avenue between X and Y.”

  The cabbie made a right and drove through the residential area, passing through four main intersections, and caught every light.

  Barbara sweated in the back seat, aggravated that this cabbie couldn’t time his driving. She fidgeted, and he took notice through the rear view mirror.

  “Everytin’ all right, ma’am?” he asked, in his thick Creole accent.

  “Oh, yes. Just a very long day and my paper work is just beginning tonight. A lot of cases on my mind.”

  The cabbie turned onto Nostrand.

  “Stop between X and Y and stay on this side. The next stop is goin
g in this direction.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  ***

  Inside the elevator, John hit the twelfth floor button multiple times. He anticipated a breakthrough and he’d prepared himself for an intense meeting. “Come on, come on, come on.” He paced, not being able to contain himself. The elevator bypassed the twelfth floor and proceeded to the thirteenth. “What the--” he wondered. “Oh crap. Something must have happened.” He depressed the button again for the twelfth and it stopped at the eleventh. He darted out and into the stairwell.

  Holding onto the railing with his right hand midway up the flight, his hand landed in a greasy substance. He examined his palm and fingers and spotted a rust colored residue. He stared at it for a moment, and then his eyes traveled to the step parallel to the handprint. He noticed sneaker treads in the same consistency pointing downward.

  “What the hell is this?” He smelled it, but there was no distinct odor. He was cautious not to touch the handrail again and discerned two more footprints over the next seven steps. He stiffened his fingers and extended his palm straight up, knowing this wasn’t negligent cleaning.

  He grabbed a glove out of his pocket with his fingertips and put it on his left hand. When he reached the eleventh floor, he couldn’t open the door, despite loud banging and pushing on the handle. He heard the signs of trouble inside. Loud feminine screaming. He texted Phil. Open the damn door!

  Phil squeezed past the bystanders outside the death room, marked off with stretched yellow tape, and opened the door just wide enough for John to slither through.

  Phil bombarded John with the news of Barbara’s escape and murder of the nurse. “Dr. Trenton, I don’t know what happened or even how she knew of this,” he said when he’d finished. “After we called you, Jada went in to be with her, too. Barbara took a shower and I thought she’d settled down and was knitting.”

  “What time?”

  “Nine fifteen or so. I finished barricading the perimeter of the scene and I have to start interviewing.”

  “Hold on a few minutes. I need you here.” John pushed his way to the door of the room, but didn’t go under the barricade. “Everyone, back to the nurse’s station, but do not leave the floor.” Some hesitated. “I mean, now!”

  “Dr. Trenton, I’m Sergeant McDonald.” John was bewildered. “She somehow figured out the bathroom medicine cabinet could be removed. No one could possibly think of that and accomplish it. She apparently came into the adjoining room, saw the nurse, and broke her neck.”

  “Anyone move her?”

  “No, Dr. Trenton. That’s the way she was found.”

  From outside the door, John analyzed the position of Valerie’s body. He set his smartphone on record. “From this distance, it looks like the spinal cord is transfected. Barbara’s definitely strong enough to tear it like this. Died instantly from spinal shock. I did not enter the room for closer look of the body. Who was the first one here? Sergeant, you’re being recorded.”

  “That’s fine, Dr. Trenton. Jada and Valerie were going to be on break at the same time. When Valerie didn’t get to the staff room, Jada went to find her and check her patients’ rooms. She saw this door open and the patients in the hall. Then she immediately ran to get Phil. He was the only NYPD officer on this floor. He secured the scene. No one has entered this room or Montgomery’s. Crime scene is about an hour away. Everyone has the instructions not to leave the floor and no one will enter the perimeters. We closed access to the floor. Phil knows exactly what to do.”

  “Tell them to work the stairwell to the ground floor. That was her exit. I need to swab my hand and shoes to see what this is.”

  “I know exactly what that is. Take off your shoes. Bring Dr. Trenton surgical boots.”

  “Hold on.” John photographed the shoes on his feet with them flat on the floor. He handed the phone to the sergeant as Phil returned with the boots. “McDonald, take pictures of my soles. Then see if there’re any tread marks going to the stairwell. You’ll see a difference between mine and what she wore. I’m a size thirteen wide shoe. She’s an eight medium, at most. And they should be pointing in a different direction.”

  McDonald followed all of John’s directions to the T. “Yes, Dr. Trenton, there are some treads visible.”

  “Zoom in. It’s the closest you can get now. Take pics of every angle and relationship of the prints to the door.”

  McDonald shot about twenty.

  “Take pictures of my feet in relationship to the room. The room number. Take pics of every angle, of my feet. I haven’t moved except when I raised my foot.”

  McDonald clicked away. John removed his shoes with his gloved hand.

  The sergeant handed John back his phone, then wrapped his shoes in sterile white paper, and placed them in a manila evidence bag. He recorded John’s name on it as the owner and wearer of the shoes, initialed it, dated it, and wrote the exact location and time.

  John put the surgical booties on. “Now you can show me. Anyone see anything?”

  “No one saw a Barbara Montgomery.”

  “Who did they see?”

  “A doc in a red suit with black shoulder-length hair.”

  “I’m checking out her room, then the nurse’s station. Sergeant, call Carlson and our team to get here.”

  “On the way.”

  John reached her room and leaned over the barricade tape without touching it.

  The boots were lying on the bed with her duffle and knitting bag, and skeins of yarn strewn all over.

  Wow. She left these. Must have really thought about this one.

  He put the phone on record. “Okay. Dr. John Trenton, NYPD consultant and Barbara Montgomery’s psychiatrist. I see the paisley lining of the knitting bag pulled inside out.” He zoomed in. “At the top, I see a zipper. I see the lining. It’s a paisley zipper to a hidden compartment--I’m guessing hidden. I see a black hair in the zipper. Suspect it’s a wig. Montgomery’s hair is highlighted-blonde. I also see a nametag lying on the bed to the right of the bag, facing the door in plain sight. Reads Dr. Barbara Montgomery, Chief Psychologist, Gemini Park Clinic. She must have another ID. I’ll speak to the nurses to see what tag she had on.”

  Paul, didn’t you even check this thing? Why is she being so careless? It’s almost like she’s toying with me. What does she want? Does she want this to be over with? How did she get away with all that she did being so blatant? Max, I’ll need you later. You’d better come when I call you tonight.

  The affirmative bolt hit him.

  The bathroom was at an angle to the door. A knitting needle with the rusted tip on the floor lay wrapped in a rust-ridden towel. “She pried it out with this.”

  Damn, Barbara, how did you know?

  “That stuff on your hand is the rust and some grease she used,” Sergeant McDonald said.

  “Damn, shea-butter body cream.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Moisturizer. I gave it to her. Brought it from her apartment. Damn!”

  ***

  “I’ll be back in less than ten,” Barbara informed the cabbie.

  “Take your time, Doc. The meter’s running.”

  There were some vagrants setting down for the night, keeping sharp eyes on their stolen supermarket wagons in the courtyard of the apartment complex. Some teens drank beer hidden in brown paper bags, leaning against the building. She delivered a saccharin-sweet smile to the cabbie, exited the cab on the driver’s side, and raced across the street, stopping in the middle to dodge cars before getting to the other side.

  The cabbie closed the bulletproof windows and made sure the doors were locked.

  ***

  Barbara removed the keys from her tote, opened the door, and vaulted up a flight of stairs to the waiting room of the clinic. She was on a mission and on another plane, right now, in a world she assumed would end soon.

  But if her end was near, she planned to take a lot of people along with her.

  Barbara opened the window, attempting
to substitute polluted Brooklyn winter air for the moldy smell.

  No doubt they’ll be here. It’s the first reasonable place they’d look. Can’t come across as the façade that it is. So what if they discover it’s a façade? As long as they don’t find me.

  She entered her office that had two chairs opposite the modest desk. On the wall was a poster of the star constellation of Castor and Pollux. It was a diagram of H.A. Rey’s depiction, connecting the stars in the constellation, Gemini, with two stick figures of the twins holding hands. Pollux’s left hand held Castor’s right.

  The door key she clutched slipped out of her hand onto the carpet, forcing her gaze to catch the footprint stains as she bent down to pick it up.

  “Oh my God! Why didn’t I see this? All this street shit? How in the hell am I going to remove this fucking crap? I don’t have time for this. How could I have been so stupid? Focus, Barbara, focus. I have to work even faster now. Fuck. I led them right to this. I might as well wait here until they pick me up. Fucking damn. I’m losing it. I’m losing it!”

  She ripped the lithograph from the tiny picture hooks and chucked it hard as she could, toward her desk.

  “Yeah, that’s not going to happen!”

  Behind the lithograph hid a safe. She punched in the code, 1993, the year that signified her first kill when she was eighteen. She removed a fully charged cell phone and a Charter Arms Pink Lady 38-caliber revolver and loaded it with five bullets, its capacity. With its two-inch barrel and light twelve-ounce weight, it was the right choice to carry in her bag. She was so proficient, she didn’t need to use the fixed sights, but she looked through the V-shaped opening aiming at the wall. Smiling, she continued what she started tonight. She closed the safe, picked up the lithograph, cracked glass and all, and returned it to its place.

  She grabbed a long faux fur coat out of the closet before she left her office. Then she made a beeline out of her office into the waiting room and down the stairs. She ran across the street and hopped into the cab. “Next stop, East Thirty-First Street, between Avenues R and S.”