“That would be Dr. Roy Moss, but he’s in conference and doesn’t want to be disturbed. If you would take a seat I will be happy to inform you when he’s free.”
Ignoring the receptionist, Fred walked boldly into the main office.
A man in a white coat sat behind a large oak desk. Seated across from him were a middle-aged man and woman.
The man in the white coat said, “Excuse me, but I am in a private meeting, please leave.”
Fred pulled out his badge. “Not until I get some answers, I want to know where my wife, Maureen Harris is, and I want to know right now.”
The middle-aged couple started to get up to leave. The doctor nervously said, “Please, don’t leave, this will only take a second. Officer, let’s talk about this in my conference room next door.”
In the conference room, the doctor closed the door and asked nervously, “You said Maureen Harris is your wife?”
“Yes, but your receptionist said she was not currently confined to this institution; and that can’t be true.”
“It is true, and I suspect the fact that her record was not in file is because her file is currently in the process of being transferred.”
Fred was noticeably confused. “Transferred to where?”
“Why, to the discharge file. She was released about an hour ago. We had no reason to keep her since she was obviously not a threat to herself or society. She asked to use the phone before she left. She didn’t contact you?”
*
Fred was soon on interstate 75 barreling toward Sarasota at 90 miles an hour. The personal knowledge that Dr. Clinton had pertaining to Maureen’s unique confinement had never been passed on to the institution’s record system. The new doctor explained that, according to the law, he had to release any person who was voluntarily committed if that person asked to be released; and Maureen had asked to be released.
Fred was even more pissed off because no one at the institute could tell him who Maureen had contacted prior to her departure. He wondered if the mysterious death of Dr. Clinton had anything to do with Maureen’s sudden release. Oh, hell, he thought, Maureen could be dead. Tears flowed from Fred’s eyes blurring his vision, and twice he almost went off the road.
*
When Fred reached his house, Maureen was sitting on the front porch.
Tears sprang quickly to his eyes. He asked, “Maureen, why on earth did you leave the institution?”
She said, “Fred, I just couldn’t take another day in that place. When I learned of Dr. Clinton’s death, I felt the only friend I had there was gone. I called both your cell and your office, but got no answer; so I told the new administrator I wanted out and called a taxi to take me home.”
Fred said, “I understand. Honey, believe me I’ve felt God-awful guilty for keeping you there; but I really had no choice.”
She nodded but said nothing.
He then showed her all the home security devices he had installed. Deep down he felt they would have no value whatsoever against a relentless enemy who had extraordinary resources at his command. All he could do, however, was try.
Fred had purchased a weapon for Maureen; he went to the den to retrieve it so that he could show her how to use it. He paused when he entered the living room. Maureen was playing with Molly; he could not tell which of the two were happier. Molly would bring Maureen her three stupid toys and Maureen would throw them across the room for Molly to retrieve. Maureen had created the name “stupid-toys” for the small stuffed animals with faces that did not match their bodies. Half an hour passed and they were both still as actively engrossed as when they first started playing. Fred knew that Maureen hated guns, and he was willing to put off the moment when Maureen had settled down into a normal routine, so he could show her how to use one.
Fred decided he could at least take the time to give Maureen some personal protection; so he called his chief and told him he would not be back for the rest of the day. He told him about the findings in the storage garage and indicated that Jim was checking out the pearl necklace to see if it was stolen.
The chief said, “I understand, Fred, take tomorrow off if you want. It seems to me that you have left the investigation in competent hands.”
Fred was astounded that the chief continued to reflect empathy. The chief’s last words before he hung up were, “I want you to take care of yourself and Maureen. I would hate to lose you!”
Chapter 56
The pearl necklace that Jim was checking on had not been stolen from the Longboat Key home. It was, however, stolen from another home in Siesta Key. Jim investigated further. He scanned police reports of all jewelry stolen in the Sarasota area over the past year. He contacted the owners of each house. In virtually each and every case, Jim could link Ford in some way to each of the households. My God, he thought, this guy must have stolen millions; and he most likely at one time stashed it all temporarily in the storage garage.
His next call was to the Goshen, New York police. He explained that a jewel thief may have relocated to the Goshen area. He further explained that he had obtained a partial house number but no street address. “How big is Goshen anyway?” he asked.
“It’s about 13 thousand,” Sergeant Johnson explained. “You should come up here on vacation sometime. We are only about 50 miles from New York City, and have long been known for horse racing, almost since the beginning of time.”
“I appreciate the offer,” Jim said, “but I believe I prefer living in Florida all year around.”
“Gets very hot during the summer down there, doesn’t it?”
“Gets very cold during the winter up there, doesn’t it?” Jim responded.
Shifting back to the issue at hand Jim asked, “How hard would it be to identify all the houses in Goshen that would have as a minimum a four digit number starting with the numbers 124?”
“Oh, that shouldn’t be difficult at all; most of our streets are only a few blocks long. What do you want me to do, once I come up with the answer?”
“Well, I don’t want this guy flying the coop; so he can’t get wise to what we are doing. The guy may be using an alias, but the name I know he has been using is Ford, or perhaps Saperstein. How about discreetly checking nearby at each of the addresses, and see if you can identify our suspect? Meanwhile I’ll fax you our artist’s rendition of what he might look like. I’ll take a flight up there tomorrow to assist you.”
“Good, we’re short staffed and could use the help. But I’ll get on it as soon as I possibly can.”
*
Jim arrived at the closest commercial airport to Goshen in Newburgh, just after noon the next day. He rented a dark green Honda Civic from Hertz, arriving in the downtown center of Goshen in less than 45 minutes.
Jim had feared encountering snowbound roads, but the only white patches he saw were in the woods and on the shoulders, providing evidence of a heavy snowfall in the area sometime in the short past. Jim’s kids were born in Florida and had never seen snow except in the movies, and in those Florida towns that manufacture their own during the holiday season. Of course that snow was really some version of soap suds dispelled by special bubble-producing machines. Jim wished he could have taken the kids with him; but he really didn’t have time to baby-sit preschoolers while he was engrossed in police business.
The day was overcast and the wind chill was biting as he emerged from the car in front of the local police station. The station was located in the town square; in the center of the square was a monument dedicated to one of the county’s local heroes.
As Jim entered the station he started to pull out his badge, but was interrupted by a rotund sergeant on the other side of the counter. “You’re Sergeant Jim Hebert, I presume?”
Jim said, “Yes, how did you know?”
“Well up north at this time of the year we have become so pale that we could play the part of the ghosts in Hamlet without the need for makeup. In your case, however, it looks like the southern sunshine has had its way with you.
“But enough small talk, we found only three houses in town that met your description. In one case, the owner just died and the house is in probate. I’ve known the owner most of my life, so that is definitely not the person you are looking for. But the other two are definite possibilities. Both of the owners recently purchased their property, and both reside in New York City during the week. They live in Goshen only during vacations, and on weekends during the summer. Let’s see, one is Tom Peat and the other Johnny Baker. I haven’t had time to check to see if either one has a criminal record.
“I showed the pictures of Ford that you wired me to owners of the houses nearby. Although none of the neighbors recognized them, they also qualified their statements by saying that they couldn’t be sure.”
“I see,” said Jim. “On the plane I had another thought. The packages sent to Goshen, which likely contained stolen jewelry, were sent via Fed-Ex. If there’s a local delivery center in the area, perhaps with any luck we can find the carrier who delivered them.”
“It’s worth a shot!”
*
Jim had lucked out. He had found the Fed-Ex employee who delivered Ford’s packages in Goshen. Fortunately the packages had been delivered recently, so the drop off area was fresh in his mind. He didn’t remember the address but he did remember clearly that they were from Sarasota and they were wrapped more securely then any package he had ever seen.
The delivery man was taken to the two possible addresses where the package may have been delivered. When they arrived at the second house, owned by Baker, he said, “I recognize it; this is definitely it. I even remember the broken board in the porch where my leg almost went through. When I rang the door bell the guy opened it immediately, like he had been expecting the package and that it had been urgent. There were a total of eight packages and he kept asking me if I was sure that I had all of them.
“Like, what did he think; that I put one of the packages in my back pocket? At any rate when I gave him the last one, he slammed the door in my face, no thank you, no nothing.”
Jim said, “Now, tell me, do any of these pictures look like the guy?” Jim hoped that somehow the FEDEX man would recognize Ford.
“No way; he was much older, perhaps in his fifties or sixties. He squinted out of one of his eyes like it had been injured or something. His eyebrows were very thick, unlike the thin ones the guy in your picture has. No, it was definitely a different person.”
Jim said. “Thanks very much, we may need to call on you again.”
When the delivery man left, Jim asked Sergeant Johnson “Do you know a friendly judge? We need to get a search warrant right away.”
“You want a search warrant to be able to look through the house?”
“Not initially, first I want to get access to all the phone calls this guy placed in the past month. He obviously is not the guy from Sarasota that I am looking for, but I suspect he is working with him, perhaps to fence the jewelry that was shipped to him. Maybe we can, using the phone list, find out who his contacts are. I would also love to see the last time he talked to our missing Mr. Ford.”
“I think you’re in luck. I guess you noticed our court house when you arrived; Goshen is the county seat of Orange County and I know a local judge who was a former cop. He went to law school nights to get his degree. He’s hard nosed, but he can be counted on to be on our side.”
“Ok, and I would also appreciate it if you would check to see if Mr. Baker has a record.”
*
Turning down the temptation to take the extra day off, Fred returned to the station the next day. During the period he had been at home, he had shown Maureen how to use the weapon that he purchased for her, not that he believed she would under any condition ever be able to fire at another human being, unless someone else was directing the firing.
Now that his mind was back on the job, Fred realized that he previously had committed to proving that certain people in the bank killings were designated to be eliminated, and others were thrown in for confusion purposes only. Up to now he had been too busy in other areas to seek the proof that he needed. He had decided to watch the bank video one more time to see if he there was anything he had missed in his previous viewings. He asked his secretary to set them up, and join him in the conference room.
Looking at the videos, it was again evident that certain people were being bypassed during the shooting spree. Jan said, “I’ve read about some mass murderers killing those that they didn’t like, and skipping over those that they did.”
“Well, yes, that’s true except that in this case, the only common tie we can find seems to be associated with AU. I believe that was the objective, to kill selective division heads from that company and throw in some additional victims to put noise in the message that we were receiving.”
“Fred, you said that you could prove that the last time we viewed the tapes.”
“Unfortunately, I haven’t had time up until now. Now is as good a time as ever to get started. Jan please bring me the entire file on the bank murders as well as the theater killings. However, I want to keep the data for each location separated. I especially am interested in the autopsy report for each of those slain; and I also need a report from the hospital relative to the wounded.”
“Boss, I don’t get it.”
“You will!”
*
Shortly, his secretary brought the complete files of the autopsies into the conference room. Fred said, “Let’s start with all those killed at the bank. Put down their names and find out in each case how many bullets were found in the body.”
Jan’s brow furrowed. She said, “This effort still makes no sense to me. We know they were all killed and we know how, so what does counting bullets add to our intelligence gathering?”
“I understand how you feel, but please pacify me. You take this group of victims, and I’ll check the rest.”
In less than an hour they had compiled two lists. Next to each name was a number which represented the bullets found in each of the bodies. If a bullet had entered and left the body that was counted as well.
“Aha, quite interesting!” Fred said. “The victims at the bank with the greatest number of bullets in them were the employee from AU and the bank guard. No other victim at the bank had even half as many bullets.”
“Now, let’s compare that with the results of the shooting at the theater.”
Their review shoed that five people, two from the bank and three from the theater shooting, had sustained most of the bullets.
Jan asked, “And your conclusion with this data is?”
“That our killers were compelled to make sure that their two targets were eliminated. They wanted no errors, no heroic life saving antics by medical personnel that would somehow keep them alive. With an average of ten bullets in our victim from AU and the bank guard, that objective could be assured.”
Jan asked. “Why the bank guard?”
“He was the first victim and he had to be eliminated first because he was the sole individual who could have prevented the shooting.”
Jan was still not convinced. “But three people in the theater had roughly the same number of bullets in them. Based on your logic, that would mean each of the three had been earmarked to be killed. And some of those people were not AU employees!”
“Remember, Jan, that unlike the bank, the theater was dark and our killer was shooting a distance away at the upper row of the theater. The target was sitting in the lower row. The killer knew the general location of the AU employee; but in the darkness he had to spray his bullets somewhat to make sure he killed his target. I’m sure we will find that the other two who were killed sat very close to the target. Unfortunately, they became collateral victims based on their proximity to the intended victim.”
“Ok, and what about all the other fatalities?”
“They were thrown in to the mix only to confuse us and divert our thinking.”
Jan said, “Someone who would do that w
ould have to be a sociopath, someone who cares absolutely nothing about the value of human life. He would be an absolute monster.”
“Yes, without question.”
“And how do you explain the fact that Mr. Slivers paused in his shooting?”
“That was deliberate as well. Let me ask you a question, do you know how many males versus females were in the bank at the time?”
Jan thought for a period, “I have no idea.”
“I checked, there were a total of eighteen females and seven males. Do you know how many females were killed?
“I believe you previously told me none were.”
“That’s right, and the women that were wounded in the bank only suffered one gunshot wound each. That was not the case in the theater shooting; but I suspect that the shooter could not easily determine gender in a darkened room. I suspect he knew where his intended victim was sitting and not much else. I firmly believe, however, that in the case of the bank shooting, the women were simply the unfortunate byproduct of an untrained shooter who didn’t know how to handle his weapon.”
Fred then asked a rhetorical question, “Based on what you witnessed on the video, who was Slivers’ last victim?”
“It was a woman.”
“Yes, Jan, but I believe she was never intended to be a victim; and when he realized he had shot her he couldn’t stand it any longer. It set up some terrible conflict in him, a conflict between being compelled to go through with this heinous crime, and an inner value system in which he could not be driven to kill or injure a woman.”
“But if this guy is a sociopath, why would he have any values at all? If he has no regard for human life, why would he make an exception in the case of women?”
“Jan, the first question we have to answer is did Mr. Slivers act on his own, or was he being controlled by another person – a person who dominated him and masterminded his actions? I strongly believe the latter. And if he was being controlled by another person, was the firing up of his conscience and his subsequent burst of emotions stimulated by the fact that he violated his own value system? Or had it been because he had violated the constraints established by someone else? I don’t know the answer to that question; in fact my wife would have the expertise to answer it much better than I. But I believe that even in the worst of mankind some residual good rests in us all. I know it’s a trite observation but it’s true. Even Hitler was kind to his dog and mistress. He just didn’t give a shit about the rest of the world. That doesn’t make him any less of a monster; it just shows that some values are so well embedded in us that they remain even if our psyche over time turns black with evil and becomes totally corrupted.”
Mind Switch Page 25