by John Burley
‘—any?’
‘Hello, Susan?’
‘Mary, you there?’
‘I’m here,’ she replied. ‘Sorry. I thought we’d lost the—’
‘How many?’
Her brow furrowed. She had no idea what her friend was referring to. ‘How many what?’ she asked.
‘Cops. Sheriff’s deputies, Mary.’ Susan’s tone sounded strained and impatient. ‘How many police officers are at the house?’
Still, the question bewildered her. It seemed to Mary that this was among the least important details of the situation. ‘I, uh … I don’t know. Let me check.’ She went back to the window and peered through the glass. ‘I assume you’re not at home,’ she said.
Susan left the question unanswered. Instead, her neighbor repeated her initial query. ‘How many, Mary?’
Mary counted the vehicles and the people whom she could see. Most, but not all of them, were in uniform. ‘Five – no, six – cars,’ she reported. ‘One white van. Looks like about … I don’t know … twelve to fifteen officers. It’s hard to say. Some of them are still sitting in their cars. It looks like they’re waiting around for something. I thought … I mean, I know it’s a horrible thing to say and all,’ she continued, ‘but … I thought maybe they were waiting for an ambulance.’ Or a hearse, she thought, but omitted this last part. In the back of her mind, she’d been worried that perhaps Ben had suffered a heart attack or even a cardiac arrest. Susan’s husband had been looking like he’d been under a lot of stress lately. He’d seemed too gaunt, too … haunted was the word that popped into her brain. Her body gave an involuntary shudder.
‘—en there?’
‘I’m sorry, sweetheart. What was that?’
‘Is Ben there?’ Her voice sounded tense but controlled, almost – as ridiculous as the idea seemed – as if she’d been expecting this development all along.
‘No,’ she said. ‘I don’t see Ben’s car, and I don’t see him. Maybe they’re waiting for him to get home.’ A thought struck her then, and she was unable to keep the alarm out of her voice. ‘Oh, God, Susan! I hope it’s not the children! I hope nothing’s happened to one of the kids!’
‘The kids are with me,’ Susan replied.
‘Oh, thank God!’ she said. ‘Thank God for that, honey.’
The voice on the other end was quiet for a moment, then responded: ‘Yes. Thank God for that.’
For perhaps five seconds neither one of them spoke. It was a short pause, but within it, Mary was struck with the impression that a decision had been made.
‘I have to go now, Mary,’ Susan said. ‘Thank you for calling. I can’t tell you how important your phone call was, or how much I appreciate it.’
‘Oh, you’re welcome, honey,’ she replied, modestly brushing away the compliment yet pleased with herself for having been such a good friend and neighbor to the Stevensons, and to Susan in particular. Contacting her to make certain that she and her family were okay had just come naturally to Mary. It was the kind of thing neighbors used to do for each other all the time when she was growing up – and in the Midwest, she was proud to imagine, something neighbors still did for one another, no matter how disconnected and self-absorbed the rest of the country had become.
‘You’ve always been a good friend to us, Mary. That friendship has meant a lot to me personally over the years. It still does. Regardless of everything else, I hope we can still have that.’
‘Of course we can, Susan. You know you can come to me no matter what. If there’s anything I can do – anything at all – you just let me know.’
‘Thank you, Mary. Goodbye.’
There was an audible click as the line was disconnected, and Mary returned the phone to its receptacle. She stood in the kitchen for a few moments, turning the conversation over in her mind. She realized that she’d learned very little about what was going on across the street at the Stevensons’ residence. Nevertheless, she decided that she had been able to offer them assistance, and for that she felt grateful. Humming quietly to herself, she went about setting the table for lunch.
Chapter 47
The face of the sheriff’s deputy who appeared in the doorway of Trinity Medical Center’s pathology lab that afternoon belonged to Tony Linwood, a friend of the Stevensons’. Looking up from his microscope, Ben recognized the deputy immediately.
‘Hello, Tony,’ he said, smiling. ‘Nice to see you.’
‘Doc.’ Tony nodded. His youthful, often animated face appeared neutral, his body language guarded.
Ben, who had begun making his way around the large desk to greet him, registered the officer’s tone and stopped, his fingers resting lightly on the varnished wooden surface.
‘What brings you all the way down to what we in the business lovingly refer to as the “bowels of the hospital”?’ he asked.
Tony’s feet shifted slightly, a little restlessly. ‘Chief Garston has requested your presence, sir.’
Ben felt his stomach clench. Not again, he thought. And so soon? He couldn’t face another one so quickly after the last autopsy. He simply couldn’t.
‘Has there been another murder?’ he asked apprehensively.
‘I’m not at liberty to discuss things with you further, sir. I’ve just been asked to come get you.’
So formal. So guarded. Suddenly, a thought occurred to him: What if my presence is needed not as the medical examiner, but as the father of the victim? A moment of panic seized him, and he was struck with the nearly overwhelming urge to rush at the deputy, grab him by the front of his uniform, and demand to know what was going on. (‘Is it one of my boys, goddamn it?! DID HE KILL ONE OF MY BOYS?!!’) If he’d taken such an approach, it wouldn’t have gone well for him – family friend or not. When Deputy Linwood had received the call over the radio, the dispatcher had said, ‘Possible suspect in a 187, needed for questioning.’ One-eighty-seven was the radio code for homicide, and in a town that almost never saw such a crime, Tony had little doubt which series of murders the dispatcher was referring to. Any sudden rush by Dr Stevenson would have resulted in Ben lying face-first on the floor with the full weight of the deputy’s knee pressing into the back of his neck.
Fortunately, Ben suddenly recalled that the boys were with their mother and grandparents in Arizona, and thus well out of harm’s way. Which left him with one residual thought: Who’s it going to be this time? He released a sigh of resignation. ‘Okay, let me get my keys.’
‘You can leave your car here, sir,’ Tony advised him. ‘I have instructions that you’re to come with me.’
Ben frowned. ‘I can just follow you, Tony. It’s not a problem.’
‘I’m sorry, sir. I have specific instructions.’
Ben paused for a moment, considering. ‘I have instructions that you’re to come with me,’ Tony had said. ‘I’m not at liberty to discuss things with you further, sir.’ He’d never received a police escort to any of the other crime scenes. So, what was going on here? He was having difficulty making the pieces fit.
‘Tony – Deputy Linwood,’ Ben said carefully, opting halfway through his sentence for the more formal address. ‘Am I under arrest for something?’
‘No, sir,’ the officer responded. ‘Not at this time.’
Chapter 48
The trip in the police cruiser was a short one, and none of them spoke. There had been a second sheriff’s deputy waiting for them just outside the lab, and the officer sat in the front passenger’s seat, with Tony at the wheel. Ben was relegated to the back, where the doors could be opened only from the outside. A thick Plexiglas divide separated him from the officers, and his knees were smashed up against the back of the seat in front of him.
He had no idea whether sheriff’s deputies worked in unison, or whether two officers to a car was the norm. He suspected the former, however, and wondered whether the second officer had been dispatched in case there had been a scuffle. It was hard for him to imagine – ridiculous, even – fighting with the police. What
did they want to question him about? He wasn’t guilty of anything that he could think of. And yet, here he was, sitting in the back of a cruiser like a common criminal.
It didn’t take Ben long to figure out that they were headed for his house. Still, when they rounded the bend in the road and his driveway came into view, he was absolutely stunned by the number of police vehicles parked outside. The cruiser came to a stop several houses up the street. It was the closest they could get given the veritable parking lot of official-looking vehicles stationed along the modest residential street. Several of his neighbors stood on their lawns and front steps, gawking at the spectacle.
‘Wait here,’ the sheriff’s deputy in the front passenger seat, unfamiliar to Ben, instructed him. (As if I have a choice, Ben thought to himself.) Tony remained in the car, hands still gripping the steering wheel, although he’d already turned off the engine. Ben considered asking him again what this was about, but decided against it. If he was truly wanted for questioning regarding what appeared to be a fairly big deal, then perhaps the less he said, the better. He shook his head. He was already starting to think like a defendant. Boy, that hadn’t taken long.
He looked out through the dirty side window next to him. He could see Sam Garston approaching the car, accompanied by the deputy who’d ridden with them from the hospital. Sam looked grim and irritable. ‘What’s he doing in the back of the car?’ he barked in their direction. ‘Let him out.’
Tony jumped out of the driver’s seat and opened the rear passenger door. Ben pulled himself into a standing position beside the cruiser.
‘I’m sorry as hell to have to do this to you, Ben,’ Sam said, drawing one of his large hands across the angle of his lower jaw.
‘I certainly hope so,’ Ben countered, not waiting for the man to finish. ‘Whatever this is about, Sam, I can assure you there’s no need for this sort of …’
‘Ben?’
‘… freak show …’
‘Ben?’
‘… I mean, I’ve got neighbors, for God’s sake! What’re they supposed to—’
‘Ben, shut up,’ Garston said flatly, and that did shut him up. Like a slap across the face.
Sam paused a moment, waiting for another outburst. The two deputies standing next to them glanced at one another, but said nothing. When he was certain that Ben was listening, Chief Garston continued.
‘As I was saying, Ben, I’m sorry as hell to have to do this to you, but before we proceed any further I have to go over your Miranda rights with you.’
‘My Miranda righ—’ Ben began incredulously, but the large man in front of him continued speaking as if he hadn’t noticed.
‘First,’ he advised him, looking Ben directly in the eye to ensure that he was listening, ‘you have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.’
Ben felt as if he were hearing these words from a great distance. Sheriff’s deputies continued to mill about in his driveway and on the front lawn of his house. It seemed to Ben that their movements were slow and surreal, almost as if they were floating from place to place. To his immediate right, his next-door neighbors watched the exchange between him and the officers with fascination. Ben knew them both: Harry and Samantha Caddington. Susan was their family physician. Three years ago, she’d visited their son every day in the hospital while he was being treated for Hodgkin’s lymphoma. She’d sat with them for countless hours at the boy’s bedside during the worst of the illness. They both had. Now, Ben noticed, they wouldn’t even meet his gaze.
‘Second,’ Garston continued, ‘you have the right to an attorney. Are you listening, Ben?’
‘Yes,’ he responded through numb lips, his voice dull and metallic in his own ears.
‘If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you.’ Sam paused for a moment, taking a breath. He appeared to be sweating lightly, despite the cold weather. ‘Do you understand these rights as they have been read to you?’
‘Yes, I understand them,’ Ben said.
‘Good. Now, listen to me. You’re not under arrest, Ben. But we do need to ask you some questions.’
‘Okay,’ he replied weakly. It was all he could manage.
‘We also have a search warrant for your house and property.’
‘A search warrant,’ Ben said, trying to make sense of the words. The term seemed strange and foreign to his ears, as if from a second language he was only just beginning to learn.
‘Yes. Now we’ve been authorized to forcibly enter the house, if necessary. But it would avoid a bit of damage to your front door if you happened to have a key on you.’
Ben fished around in his right front pocket and brought out a small key ring, which he handed to one of the officers.
‘Good,’ Sam commented, nodding his head. He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and produced a piece of paper. ‘You have the right to inspect the search warrant, Ben.’
‘It’s okay. I trust you, Sam.’ He glanced again at his neighbors to the right, who hastily averted their eyes and began inspecting the concrete construction of their own front steps.
‘You shouldn’t,’ Sam said. ‘Not right now. As your friend, Ben, I advise you to take full advantage of your rights. Here, go ahead and read it.’ He handed the form to Ben, who let his eyes wander over the language. It was written in fairly plain English, but the words seemed incomprehensible at the moment. He handed it back.
‘Can we please get out of the street?’ he muttered.
‘Of course,’ Sam replied. ‘Let’s go.’
He turned and led the procession to the front door. The officer who’d been given Ben’s keys fiddled with the lock for a moment. ‘It should only be the dead bolt,’ Ben advised him, and he nodded. A moment later, there was the sound of the latch retracting into the cylinder. The officer placed his hand on the knob.
WHOOOOOO-WHOOO-WHOO-WHOOO!!!!
The deputy glanced at him, eyebrows slightly raised. ‘Dog?’ he inquired.
‘Oh, yeah,’ Ben said. ‘Alex. Alexander-the-uh … He’s our’ – security system, he was about to say – ‘Great Dane.’
‘Great Dane?’ the officer repeated. From behind the door the howling continued.
‘WHOOOO-WHOOOOO-WHOOOO-WHOO-OOOOO!!!”
‘You’d better let me put him in the basement.’
The officer with his hand on the doorknob looked at Sam, who nodded. ‘I’ll go in with him,’ the chief advised them. ‘Everyone else stay here for a moment.’
The deputy stepped back and raised his right hand in a gesture as if to say, Be my guest.
Ben turned the knob and pushed the door open just enough to squeeze through. ‘Hold on, let me get his collar on,’ he called back to Sam. Ben grabbed the choker chain from where it hung on the wall and slid it over the dog’s massive head. He placed a finger through the metal ring and guided the dog toward the interior door leading to the basement. As he moved the dog away from the front entrance, Sam took the opportunity to slide inside, closing the door behind him. He followed the two of them down the hallway.
Ben stopped at the door to the basement, but did not open it. He turned toward the chief. ‘What’s going on here, Sam?’
The man stared back at him. He looked sick – pale and slightly ashen. ‘It’s serious, Ben. A … a nasty thing.’ He shook his head. ‘I wish to hell it wasn’t.’
‘Tell me. Can you do that? Please, talk to me.’
The chief sighed. ‘Put the dog in the basement. We have to get started here. I’ll bring in the others and we can talk.’
Ben opened the door, flipped on the light switch, and ushered Alex down the steps. Closing the door, he moved to a chair at the kitchen table. He tried to brace himself for what was to come next. He knew himself to be innocent, and he wasn’t concerned about self-incrimination. That left Susan or one of the boys, and he didn’t see how any of them could be involved in anything remotely serious. He knew them too well for that. You live
and interact with the people in your family through all of the joy and nastiness (‘It’s serious, Ben. A … a nasty thing.’) that life has to offer. Along the way, the fabrics of what began as separate individuals are woven together into something new – something organic and inseparable. And the only thought that came to him now was this: Please, don’t let me lose them. If one of them had died, or had suffered some devastating injury, he wasn’t certain he had the strength to face it. Please, don’t let me lose them, he prayed silently to himself, or to God if He was out there and felt like listening. In this moment of confusion and disorder, it was the only sentiment that seemed to matter.
‘Okay,’ he said, his dark eyes watching the officers fan out across the house – his house – and one hand gripped the edge of the table for whatever stability it had to offer. ‘Tell me what this is all about.’
Chapter 49
‘No. You’re clearly out of your fucking mind.’ Ben looked blankly at Detective Schroeder, who remained standing next to the sink, one hand resting on the granite countertop.
The detective returned Ben’s gaze with infuriating equanimity. ‘The evidence is pretty convincing, Dr Stevenson.’
Get your filthy hand off that countertop, Ben wanted to scream at him. My wife cooks there!
‘The evidence is wrong,’ he said instead.
‘The boy’s prints were on the bodies of two of the victims.’
‘The boy’s prints …’ Ben echoed, his voice dry and hollow, trying to make sense of the words. Suddenly, his son – his oldest son, whom he loved with unflinching purity and tenacity – suddenly his son had become simply ‘the boy’ to this man standing in front of him.
‘The boy has a name,’ he advised the detective. ‘I strongly suggest you start using it.’
The three of them – the two detectives and Sam Garston – were silent for a while, allowing the shock of the news to dissipate slightly before proceeding further. They could have waited an eternity as far as Ben was concerned. A few minutes’ respite wouldn’t make a bit of difference to him.