Mission Earth Volume 6: Death Quest

by L. Ron Hubbard

  Graves, who had been threshing about, lay more quietly.

  “What do you know about Delbert John Rockecenter’s wife and son?” she said into the microphone.

  Graves went rigid. From under the helmet came a fearful voice. “Murder. Murder. I will not be blackmailed.”

  “You had better tell me exactly what happened,” said the Countess Krak. “Then you can’t be blackmailed.”

  The old doctor twisted restlessly. “This arthritis is worse than blackmail.”

  “Pay attention,” said the Countess Krak. “Your pains will all go away if you tell me and you will never have them anymore.”

  Dr. Graves, in a hollow, muffled voice, as though it came from some deep tomb, began to talk.

  “I know much of this from the girl and from the woman psychiatrist. And I know full well what happened to them in my own hands.” He halted, restless again.

  “Tell all,” said the Countess Krak. “Begin with who you are.”

  “I am Dr. Tremor Graves, MD, retired many years, a victim of my own drink and drugs and folly. I owned my own hospital in Fair Oakes but now even that is gone.” He fell silent again.

  “Rockecenter and his wife and son,” prompted the Countess Krak.

  “Delbert John Rockecenter kept his marriage secret. According to the girl it was because his family would be furious if they found out he had married someone so poor. The girl was Mary Styles, the only child of Ben and Charlotte Styles who owned a farm near Fair Oakes. She was stage-struck and went north some nineteen years ago. She got a job in the chorus of the Roxy Theater. That was all known in the local town and nobody much approved.

  “Then apparently at a pot party she met Delbert John Rockecenter, then a man of about twenty-five. In a crazy moment they got married in a fast-marriage place. To Rockecenter it was just a joke. To the girl it was her whole life.

  “She used to meet him secretly through the back doors of hotels because he was afraid someone, mainly his Aunt Timantha, would find out.

  “Then she became pregnant and could no longer hide it. She refused an abortion and in panic he sent her to her parents here. And that’s where I came in.” He fell silent, twisting about.

  “What happened?” prompted the Countess Krak.

  “She was only in town a day or two when a psychiatrist showed up, a woman named Agnes P. Morelay, P.h.D., M.D., a newly graduated acid thing. I did not like her.

  “This psychiatrist had some men with her. They grabbed the Styles girl and then I found myself talking to Dr. Morelay. This psychiatrist kept the parents quiet, I do not know how. And she wanted me to kill the girl and say it was suicide. But I wouldn’t because I was afraid they would be able to blackmail me, then, for murder. Then this Morelay wanted an abortion done to the girl. But she was too far along and I said that would be murder, too.

  “So I promised, for money, to hold the girl in a padded cell they hastily built in my hospital and then, for more money, to kill the mother and baby at birth.” He fell silent, very agitated.

  “Go on,” said the Countess Krak.

  “Just before the delivery, news came that the parents had been killed in an auto accident. It was a terrible shock to the girl. But it would have made no real difference. It was a breech birth and she bled to death internally. And I didn’t want to be blackmailed by the psychiatrist for killing the baby, so I didn’t, but I told Dr. Morelay that I had. I have done many evil things in my life,” and the voice became a wail, “but I did not kill the two of them!”

  “What did you do with the baby?” said the Countess Krak.

  “I made it identifiable so I couldn’t be blackmailed and would have some blackmail in my turn if I ever needed it. I tattooed a black dollar mark on the sole of the left foot of the boy and put it in the county poor farm under the name of Richard Roe. I told them it had been found on the hospital doorstep. I filed the mother’s death certificate and never mentioned the child. I know psychiatry is for the rich to keep the poor in line. But if Morelay ever seeks to keep me in line, I can threaten to produce the child.”

  “That has been heard,” said the Countess Krak. “But I will now tell you the additional thing that happened and you will remember it that way. And then you’ll have no more pain. Is that all right?”

  “Yes.”

  “What you have said is all correct except for this: Mary Styles gave birth to twins. They were nonidentical.” She consulted a note she drew from her pocket. “The one that was born first, you put a dollar mark on the right foot sole. You sent this boy to a doctor friend in Georgia that professional ethics will not let you name. You told him to replace a stillborn child whose parents were Agnes and Gerald Wister, and name it Jerome Terrance Wister, and record that it was born in the Macon General Hospital, Bibb County, Georgia. And the other doctor agreed and is since dead. And any date disparity is because of the arrangements you had to make. Now, you remember this clearly.”

  “Yes.”

  “Now that we have all this clear in your mind, you will feel compelled, when you awake, to ease your soul of guilt, to write this all up as a formal confession. And only if you do that will your pains go away. And you will feel no more pain.

  “Now you will forget I put a helmet on you. You will only remember the real incident as I have just told you and feel the compulsion to confess in writing. When I snap my fingers, you will awake.”

  She took the helmet off, turned it off and put it in the shopping bag.

  Bang-Bang slid into the room, making motions.

  The Countess Krak snapped her fingers.

  Graves opened his eyes and looked around with some anxiety.

  PART FORTY-SIX

  Chapter 3

  Bang-Bang whispered to the Countess Krak. “That doctor said I couldn’t be cured. But he’s making his evening rounds. We better split!”

  Footsteps sounded. Bang-Bang looked anxiously at the window, apparently to see if it could be dived out of.

  More footsteps.

  Dr. Price walked in!

  He looked very severely at Bang-Bang. “I thought you had left. Maybe I should reexamine you for some other symptom such as snooping. Aha, and what is this young lady doing here?”

  “We couldn’t find the exit!” wailed Bang-Bang.

  Dr. Price went around to the other side of the bed. He gave his black coat a professional twitch. He swept his blond hair out of his eyes. He bent over and took hold of Dr. Graves’ wrist. “If you’ve been disturbing this patient . . .”

  The door opened.

  Stonewall Biggs walked in!

  “What is this?” said Dr. Price. “A camp meeting?”

  “Biggs!” cried Dr. Graves, sitting up and freeing his wrist. “Biggs! ’Fore God, get me a pen and some paper! This arthritis is killing me!”

  Biggs looked startled. Then he looked at the Countess Krak. “You must be th’ young lady . . .”

  “Here,” said the Countess Krak, pushing a pad and a pen into Biggs’ hand.

  “I can’t allow this patient to be disturbed!” said Dr. Price.

  “Give me that paper!” wailed Graves.

  Biggs promptly did so. The Countess Krak pushed a bed table into place. Graves bent over it and furiously began to write.

  Biggs looked at the first words that Graves put down and then he rushed from the room. A moment later he came back, dragging two of the hospital nurses.

  “What is this?” cried Dr. Price, tearing at his blond hair.

  “Shut up,” said Stonewall Biggs. “It do seem that ol’ Tremor heah is busy on a confession. And all of you watch because you’ns is goin’ to be signin’ it as due, propah an’ authentic, done by his own free will an’ accord an’ without no threat of duress!”

  “You can’t invade his privacy!” cried Dr. Price.

  “He’s invadin’ it hisself,” said Stonewall Biggs. “Confession is awful good fo’ th’ soul. An’ as county clerk, ah c’n invade anythin’ ah please. So jus’ stan’ theah an’ watch.�
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  Dr. Graves was writing at a mad rate.

  Suddenly I realized that Heller was unaccounted for. His viewer was tipped a bit away from me and I had been too engrossed to watch it for his fate, which, after all, I considered sealed. The view was of the silly French car, the Karin, seen from a distance in the gloom and I supposed they had intercepted him on the road and now had him standing somewhere securely cuffed. I did not have time to play back the strips. I could enjoy that later.

  Right now the question was, would the Countess Krak get away with this flagrant violation of all legal rules of evidence? Surely men as clever as Price and Biggs, themselves, would see through this: the eagerness of that racing pen would look strange to them. Graves was practically quivering!

  And then I realized something else: the chance Torpedo now had. The Countess Krak was standing across the room from that window. Dr. Price, on the other side of the bed, had his back to it but was not blocking it. All Torpedo had to do was shoot past Dr. Price and he would nail the Countess Krak! No thin windowpane could even deflect a .375 Magnum Holland and Holland elephant slug! Come on, Torpedo!

  Dr. Graves was finished. He signed the confession with a huge signature and then sank back. A beautiful smile suffused his aged face. “Oh,” he said, “what a relief! No pain!”

  Biggs was reading the confession. The Countess Krak was looking over his shoulder. “So!” said Biggs. “Theah were two lahk he said!”

  The nurses were also trying to get a glimpse of what Graves had written. “No, no,” said Biggs. “Th’ rest of you don’ have t’read it. You’ah jus’ heah t’witness that he writ it. So you sign, heah at th’ bottom, each one of you.”

  Dr. Price and the two nurses signed as Biggs thrust it under their noses.

  “Now, Tremor,” said Biggs, “raise yo’ raht han’. Do you solemnly sweah that this is th’ truth, th’ whole truth and nothin’ but th’ truth, so he’p you God?”

  “Oh, yes,” said Dr. Graves. “It’s the only decent thing I ever did in my whole life.”

  “Good,” said Biggs. “Now by th’ powah invested in me as Notary Public of th’ Sovereign State of Virginia, Justice of th’ Peace an’ County Clerk of Hamden County, ah do pronounce this document valid an’ bindin’ on all pahties, so he’p me God, Amen!” He got out a stamp and put a notary form at the document end. He signed it and dated it. He got out a pocket embossing seal and crunched it over the signatures. He took out a little book and recorded the date and number of the paper and then had everybody sign his little book.

  “Now that,” said Biggs, handing it to Krak, “is th’ mostes’ legal document this county evah see!”

  “Thank you, Miss,” said Dr. Graves. “I feel so comfortable, now I can die in peace!”

  CRASH!

  The window shattered!

  The boom of a rifle!

  Everything went into a blur.

  Something hit the Countess Krak!

  She was down on the floor!

  Bang-Bang let go of her.

  He hit another set of legs. “Down! Down!” Bang-Bang was shouting. “Hit the dirt, you rookies!”

  A fusillade of other shots!

  More glass flying through the room!

  I thought that Torpedo must be firing the dead motorcycle cop’s gun now.

  The shots stopped.

  “Anybody hit?” shrilled Bang-Bang.

  “I’m not hit,” said Dr. Price, crawling further under the bed. “It just went through my coat.”

  One of the nurses raised up. She screamed!

  The other nurse got on her knees and looked. She cried, “Dr. Graves is hit!”

  A flick of movement on Heller’s viewer caught my eye. He had glanced up. A hospital window! He was outside! He was creeping through the brush!

  I raged! The dirty sneak had not been caught! He must have decided to be cautious and had remained outside, letting Biggs go in!

  A nurse on her knees at the edge of the bed said, “Dr. Graves is dead!”

  Biggs on the floor muttered, “Ah hope Junior is all raht.”

  The Countess Krak—eyes level with the planks—looked at Biggs. “Junior? You mean my darling is out there?”

  “He saw some kin’ of a French cah in th’ bushes an’ thought Hahvey Lee maht have come heah,” said Biggs. “He sent me in.”

  The Countess Krak got up to her knees and started toward the door.

  Bang-Bang grabbed her, pushed her down. “No, you don’t, Miss Joy. The terrain out there must be swarming with gooks and you ain’t got no helmet.”

  “Holy smokes,” wailed Stonewall Biggs, “aftah all this, ah hope they don’ kill Junior! Ah ain’t got mah new cohthouse yet!”

  PART FORTY-SIX

  Chapter 4

  Out of the night, through the shattered window, the blast of a bullhorn blared. “Come out of there with your hands up!”

  “Good God,” said Stonewall Biggs. “Chief Fawg!” He raised his voice to an outraged shout. “You god (bleeped) fool! Quit shootin’!”

  The bullhorn roared, “The place is surrounded. Throw your guns out the window and come out quietly with your hands up!”

  Biggs howled, “(Bleep) it, Fawg! This is Biggs! Theah ain’t nobody in heah! You jus’ killed Doctah Graves!”

  A nurse screamed, “He’s right!”

  I got Heller’s viewer turned so I could see it better. He was in the brush. He was looking at the backs of three cops and Harvey Lee! Beyond them was the hospital. Heller had that big, fancy Llama .45 automatic pistol in his hand and it was trained right between the shoulder blades of Chief Fawg!

  Biggs inside was yelling, “What th’ hell ah you doin’?”

  Chief Fawg shifted the rifle he held. He lifted the bullhorn. “We’re doin’ our duty. We’re after that criminal that was with you!”

  “Theah ain’t no criminal in heah!” shouted Biggs.

  “You cain’t fool us, Stonewall. We seen him right there with his back to the window!”

  “You (bleeped) fool!” shouted Biggs. “That was Doctah Price an’ you done ruined his coat! Cleah away f’um heah!”

  “No you don’t, Biggs. You’re harboring a criminal an’ a fugitive in there. Last year he beat up two cops. Tonight he done it again and he stole another car from Harvey Lee. We got witnesses and you c’d become a accessory! Send him out or we start firing again!”

  Heller had been moving forward. I had no way to warn them. He was now within two feet of the back of Harvey Lee who was, himself, to the rear of the chief and two officers.

  Suddenly Heller’s hand lashed out and seized Lee. With a jerk, he had Lee standing in front of him as cover. The used-car salesman yelped as some pressure point was pressed.

  The cops whirled. They raised their guns.

  Heller said, “Go ahead and shoot Lee. He’s a thief, aren’t you, Lee?”

  “I’m a thief!” screamed Lee. “Please let go my arm!”

  “Go on,” said Heller, apparently applying more pressure to the spot he was holding the used-car salesman with.

  Lee babbled, “I sold him the car for three hundred dollars and didn’t give him a bill of sale.”

  “Go on,” said Heller.

  Lee screamed, “I thought I could get the car back and keep the money!”

  “Chief,” said Heller, his automatic trained on Fawg from under Lee’s armpit, “this is a Mexican standoff. Now, do we flip a coin to see whether I shoot you or you shoot Lee?”

  Chief Fawg seemed to be shaking with indecision and rage. “You criminal! This won’t do you any good! We always get our man!”

  Suddenly Biggs was behind the chief. “You leave him alone, you hospital shootah! You know (bleeped) well th’ man that done them crimes las’ September was repohted daid by the FBI! You nevah got a good look at him. You said so y’self!”

  Chief Fawg had turned to meet this new onslaught. Biggs was stamping his foot he was so mad.

  Biggs demanded, “Do you know who that boy is?�
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  Fawg sneered, “God, I suppose.”

  “Naw, suh!” cried Biggs. “Higher! That boy theah be Delbert John Rockecenter, Junior!”

  The chief and the two cops glanced toward where Heller was holding Harvey Lee. Then the chief said to Biggs, “Stonewall, you better not try foolin’ me!”

  The Countess Krak was suddenly on the scene. Right out in the open, an easy shot for Torpedo!