by Fox, Stephen
Captain Underwood’s finger circled frantically on the table as he tried to find answers. “Any evidence of tampering with the lock?”
“Plenty of scratches over the years, but nothing fresh.”
“Could the guy have hidden a master key on himself?”
“Possible, but doubtful. Standard operating procedure calls for searching all prisoners before placing them in the cells. The officers say they did this.”
“I assume he was fingerprinted and the prints sent to records. Anything back yet?”
“Yes, sir. I mean no, sir. I mean the suspect was fingerprinted and the prints sent to records. Unless we get lucky it’ll be hours before we can expect to see a match. Then if we don’t get a match, we’ll send them to the FBI Crime Lab. Because of the volume of prints they have to process, it could be a week before they get back to us.”
Commissioner Williams stepped in. “Captain Underwood, keep me posted on any progress. Get a lock expert to check the lock and the door mechanism on that cell. We’re gonna have a tough time proving to Internal Affairs that there was no negligence on the officer’s part, if that lock is functioning properly. I want that man found before the news gets a whiff of it. In the meantime, I want the officers who put the suspect in the cell and the officer in charge suspended, pending an investigation.”
Now the day shift began to trickle in. During the briefing, officers were appraised of the situation and given a photo of the suspect. When the second shift arrived, they too received photos. By now hundreds of policemen, on duty and off, scoured the city looking for the “Blood Man” as some wit had named him. Whenever an officer was in trouble, the “Blue Wall” did their best to help. But the man had vanished.
Night fell as he crouched in the bushes. The girl was young and pretty. And alone. He watched the teenager from the shadows as she walked down the deserted street. The park loomed just one more block ahead. Easy pickings. No witnesses. He smiled grimly as he crossed the street, visible only for seconds before the dark swallowed him once more. Moving faster now, ready for the moment she was most vulnerable, at the clump of bushes covering the entrance to the park, he bided his time.
As she neared the park entrance, he tensed, ready to cover the remaining distance like a cheetah. Just a few more seconds…
Before he could move, a car roared up the road, coming to a stop in front of the young girl. He stepped back into the shadows. A voice cried out, “Hey, Sarah! Can we give you a ride?” The girl walked toward the car as the back door opened. A swirl of skirt, a glimpse of leg and she was gone.
He stood there for a moment, torn between relief and disappointment. Bad luck that the car came just when it did. But good luck that it hadn’t shown up five seconds later. He didn’t want witnesses. There would be another chance. Hopefully it would be soon.
Underwood walked into the commissioner’s outer office. His secretary looked up from the paper she was typing. “Hi, Grace. Is his majesty in?”
She rolled her eyes at his bad boy routine. She had seen it many times before. “Go right in, Captain. He’s expecting you.”
The captain strode into the office. Compared to his office, the commissioner’s seemed like a bus terminal. It took ten steps to get to the plush leather chairs visitors were invited to sit in. “Commissioner, you sent for me?”
“Yes, Captain.” It was never a good sign when the commissioner referred to him by rank.
The man looked solemn as he sat behind the large desk. “It’s like this, Jim. The media’s gotten wind of this missing prisoner thing, and they’re starting to hound me. It’s been thirty-six hours. I need you to give me an update.”
“Well sir, we haven’t made much progress. Detective Gene McElmurray from Internal Affairs is in charge of the investigation, and he claims than no evidence can be found to back up the officers’ stories. The lock was inspected and seems to be in working order.” He shifted in his seat and his finger started circling. “One interesting note, the suspect left no fingerprints anywhere on the door or lock, nor had he wiped his prints clean. About half the officers in the precinct had fingerprints there, so it seems the suspect never touched the door. That’s got McElmurray howling that it’s an inside job. According to him, the suspect must have had a key, or someone let him out of the cell. All of the men on duty that night have been interviewed by I.A., with no leads on how the escape occurred.”
“Speaking of fingerprints, anything new from the lab?” The case would blot the commissioner’s record, as well as the precinct’s, and he wanted results.
“No, sir. As of this morning, our computer failed to match, so the prints were sent to the FBI. Hopefully they should have a report within a few days, whether or not they find a similarity. In the meantime we are searching records for any escapes that would match this one. So far, nothing.”
The phone ringing interrupted the conversation. The commissioner picked up the receiver, listened momentarily and said, “Thank you, Grace.” He handed the phone to Captain Underwood. “It’s for you. Line two.”
The captain got up and reached across the desk for the phone. “Underwood here.” He listened briefly, a look of concentration coming over his face. “Sure, give me what you’ve got.” The concentration turned to bafflement as the person on the other end of the line continued. His finger started doing laps on the commissioner’s desk. “Did you explain why we were inquiring? Are they sure? Do they have an explanation?” Another lengthy pause while he listened and digested the news. “Okay, thanks for the information. Let me know if there are any further developments.”
He put the receiver down and turned toward Commissioner Williams. “This case gets stranger by the minute. The FBI search matched the fingerprints to a suspect named Patrick James. Patrick James, James Patrick. Obviously an alias.”
“Good, now we’re getting somewhere!”
The captain ran his fingers through his hair. “Yes and no. The man was a suspect in an investigation in Arizona over twenty-five years ago. It seems that in March of 1973, police discovered him hiding in some bushes. The lady who phoned in the complaint thought he was a peeping Tom. But when the police arrived and found him two blocks away, they found him naked and covered with blood. The officers booked him and placed him in a cell until his lawyer showed up. But when the public defender showed up to meet his client, the suspect had vanished. It took two hours before the lawyer would believe the officers were serious. The ensuing investigation revealed no clues as to how the suspect vanished, and no clues to his whereabouts. No trace of the suspect was ever found … until tonight.”
“Interesting. The profile seems to fit our suspect perfectly.”
“There’s more. Analysis showed that the blood was human blood, type A positive. At the time of the arrest, no source of the blood was found. However four weeks later, the body of a young girl was found in a shallow grave less than a mile from where he was arrested. DNA testing was still in its infancy, so it was not done in this case. No other positive link was ever found, other than the fact that the victim’s blood type was also A positive. The case was reopened but the new search still found no trace of the suspect … until tonight.”
“Fantastic! This information can help the men clear their names.”
Underwood sighed and shook his head. “Not exactly. The problem is that the suspect Patrick James was fifty-three years old in 1968. That would make him seventy-eight today. Our suspect was middle-aged, but certainly nowhere near eighty. His driver’s license listed him as forty-seven and his appearance gave us no reason to question it.”
“Could it be his son?”
“That would explain the ages, but wouldn’t explain the match of the fingerprints. Even identical twins have unique prints.”
“Then how can a forty-seven-year-old man commit a murder twenty-five years ago at the age of fifty-three?”
The captain shrugged, “We’ll leave that up to the lawyers. Right now I’m more concerned with how he can open locks and walk
out of jails. And the only way we’ll find the answer to that is to find James Patrick.”
Underwood sat at his desk trying to keep from being buried under the inevitable paperwork. Each morning he made the attempt to clean his desk, but usually failed. Probably he could get it cleared if he wasn’t constantly interrupted. Sergeant Stomerowski came in with a complaint from the lawyer for a man who had been picked up yesterday driving the wrong way up White Street, a one-way street. The suspect’s blood alcohol level was point one four in a state where you were legally drunk at point zero eight. Now the man was claiming that his religion prohibited him from obeying any written word other than the words of the Bible. Only the Bible contained the truth. Nothing else could be believed, including signs. He wanted his ticket for driving the wrong way on a one-way street thrown out because it denied him his freedom of religion. Furthermore, his citation for DUI should be thrown out also because they wouldn’t have known he was drunk if they hadn’t violated his rights with the first ticket. The lawyer knew that Underwood couldn’t and wouldn’t drop the charges, but his badgering the captain was his way of earning the exorbitant fees he was charging his client. Underwood finally got rid of him with a promise to check with the state department on the legitimacy of his claims. He had barely read one paragraph when the intercom buzzed.
“Yes.”
“Captain, there is a call from the FBI on line three.”
“Thank you, Martha.” He reached for the phone. “Underwood.”
“Captain, I am the secretary for FBI Special Agent Horace Landown. The director has requested a meeting with you and Commissioner Williams this afternoon. Would you be able to attend a 3:30 meeting in the commissioner’s office?
Underwood glanced at his appointment book. “I have a meeting but it can be rescheduled. Tell Agent Landown I’ll be there.”
“Thank you, Captain, I’ll tell him.”
At 3:25 Captain Underwood walked into the commissioner’s outer office. “Good afternoon, Grace.”
“Good afternoon, Captain. Go right in. The commissioner is expecting you.”
Commissioner John Williams met him at the door with a handshake. Tall and black, with an athlete’s body just starting to bulge a little in the middle, Williams had been in office for four years now, since the last commissioner had resigned in disgrace in the middle of a kickback scandal. Williams had quickly cleaned house. Six officers were fired for corruption, and seven more took early retirement within the space of a few months. “Jim, glad you could come. Five minutes early, as usual.”
Underwood grinned. “You know I hate to be late for anything. Any idea what this is about?”
Williams motioned him to a seat. “Haven’t a clue. We’ll just have to wait and see what this guy wants.”
“You don’t really expect to meet Landown, do you? The scuttlebutt is, since he became Special Agent in Charge, he’s too important to meet with just anybody. He usually sends one of his agents with a beg-off.”
William’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “Do you really think he’d do that to us?”
The intercom interrupted before Jim could answer. “Commissioner, Agent Palmer from the FBI is waiting to see you.”
“Thank you, Grace. Send him in.” The commissioner cast a ‘You were right, as usual’ glance toward Jim and turned to the door.
Mario Palmer was tall and well dressed, with a complexion that reminded Underwood of cherry wood paneling. The smile on his face seemed arrogant until his eyes belied the insecurity behind them. The men shook hands and performed the introductions and got down to business.
“Special Agent Landown sends his regrets, but he was unavoidably detained.” Williams cast a furtive look at the captain, and Underwood barely suppressed a snicker. “However he’s briefed me on the case, so if you’re agreeable, we’ll get started. First I would like to get the officers’ versions of what transpired that night. After that, I would like to study all the records of the case. Then, if things look in order, we’ll take this case off your hands.”
Williams and Underwood looked at each other again. Williams spoke first. “Is there something about this case you’re not telling us?”
Agent Palmer had the sense to look embarrassed. “I’m sorry. Officially I’m not at liberty to talk about the case with anyone, even you.”
“You expect us to let you interview our officers, copy our files, bend over backwards, and smile as you pork it to our asses without a word of protest?”
The agent’s smile was weak. “I’m sorry. My instructions are explicit.”
Underwood took over. “Just a minute. We’re in the middle of an ongoing internal investigation into the escape. Three of my officers have their futures hinging upon the findings of that investigation. We aren’t going to jeopardize their reputations by dismissing this case! If you wish to be included as an observer, be my guest. But we’re not going to hand this case over to you without an explanation!”
Palmer’s smile became more uncertain as the tension in the room increased. “There are several points in this case that are confusing, and even a little disturbing. We feel that our office has had more experience dealing with this sort of case and we have more manpower to handle a situation like this one.”
Williams jumped in. “Your office has more experience. So you personally have solved, or at least seen, more cases like this one?”
“Well, not exactly like this, but—”
“Okay, then the Bureau has solved some other cases that resemble this one?”
The agent was squirming in his chair. “No, but we believe that—”
“Then how in the hell do you get off coming in here and telling us to sacrifice three officers’ careers just because you find this case a possible source of good publicity?” By now the commissioner was bellowing. “What is there about this case that makes the FBI want to poke its nose into it?”
The smile vanished completely from Palmer’s face as his eyes bounced from one man to the other, trying to discern whether he had any chance to keep the upper hand over these ‘civilians.’ With a small shrug, he seemed to make up his mind. “The truth is that, after we made the match between your suspect and the case 25 years ago, a second match came up. Now, about ten years ago, the Bureau began collecting unsolved cases from around the country and entering them into our computer during lull hours. Several of these cases were able to be placed in the ‘solved’ category due to the computer matching the M.O. of other cases of the same era. While they were doing this, they obtained a great deal of evidence that was never turned in earlier. This evidence included many fingerprints that either were never turned in to the FBI, or were obtained before fingerprints became legal to use in court.”
“Cut to the chase, Palmer.” Commissioner Williams was out of patience.
“Okay. You thought this case was strange before. But here’s a wild card that takes this case from interesting to bizarre. The FBI computer also made a link between the 1973 case and another case from April, 1947. A young girl’s brutally savaged body turned up near a California highway. The investigation found no good suspects. It seemed to be a random killing. But one bit of evidence existed. They managed to pull up one fingerprint from the murder weapon. A match was never found, until now.” The agent paused, and his mouth turned up in one corner in a sardonic smile. “Give up? We’ve linked your man to a murder that happened four years before he was born.”
Night had fallen once more and he waited in the bushes near the south entrance to the park, like a spider awaiting its prey. The well-dressed black couple was still two blocks away and he could hear every word they said as the argument raged.
“Get away from me!”
“I’m sorry, honey.
“You humiliated me back there. How could you?”
“Aww, baby. You know you’re the only girl for me.”
She twisted around, her red dress swirling as she stuck her finger in his face. “You take me to a party and spend the entire time looking do
wn another girl’s dress. And then you want to go to bed with me? Dream on!”
His voice turned into a whine. “But, Gina! You don’t understand. I was only…”
The argument droned on as they moved closer and closer to the park entrance. He scrunched even deeper in the undergrowth, weighing his options. Could he subdue the two of them without a great deal of noise? Disappointment enveloped him as he realized that it was too risky. Better to wait for a better opportunity than to act stupidly.
“Listen, Gina! If you are gonna act like a little girl, I’ll go back to the party and get a real woman to spend some time with.”
“You would, too, wouldn’t you? Well, Johnny Parker, if you’re that shallow that you would stoop to going to bed with anything that wiggles her boobs at you, you just go ahead. I don’t care.”
“Well then, goodbye, bitch!”
“Good riddance, asshole!”
With those parting shots, the boy turned and began walking back the way they had come. Gina watched him for a few seconds, and began stumbling toward the park, her sobs gaining momentum as she walked.
The man’s need quickly overcame his pity, and he crept silently through the underbrush to get in position. As she tottered down the sidewalk she wished she were dead, unaware that her wish would be granted so quickly.
Frank Rodriguez sighed as his wife’s dachshund, Fritz, passed up another likely spot. He looked forward all week for NCIS to come on, and if the little wiener didn’t do his business soon he would miss the beginning. Mark Harmon and Pauley Perrette really made that show, and this week promised to be even better than the last episode. But instead of sitting in his easy chair with remote in hand, he had to walk this stupid dog who wanted to leave his phone number on every bush in the park. Frank’s anger grew. Ellen knew how much he looked forward to the show, but she decided that Fritz needed to go out. And instead of moving his bowels in a timely fashion the little fart has to wander around cruising for chicks.