by M. Z. Kelly
Amy reached over and touched my “good” hand. “You’re really down about this, aren’t you? And, just so we’re clear, I’m talking ‘bout your surgery, not your tits.”
“I think...” I exhaled, trying to come to terms with my feelings. “I guess it’s just really sinking in that I’m going under the knife.” I sipped my coffee and changed the subject. “Did you ask around about Reverend Taylor?”
“Yeah, he’s got a place up on the seventh floor, but I thought I’d wait for you.”
“Why is that?”
“I haven’t been to church in a while. I’m afraid he might realize that and burn a cross into my forehead.”
“I doubt that he goes around burning crosses on people.” I stood. “Let’s go see what he has to say.”
The seventh floor had a small chapel, with an adjacent office where we found Reverend Mason Taylor. He was a small rotund man in his fifties, with thinning hair and a pleasant smile.
As we took seats, the reverend said, “I’m assuming you have a family member here in the hospital?”
Amy began making up a story, apparently not worried about the sin of lying, or its repercussions. “It’s my aunt. She’s got cancer and is gonna be in the oncology ward. We was just checking on what services you can offer her.”
“I can make arrangements to stop by her room before surgery and be there for any post-surgical follow-up.” He took a pen and paper. “What’s her name?”
Amy glanced at me, then said, “Lucy Baker.” She looked back at me and shrugged, knowing she’d given him my aunt’s name.
“And her date of admission?” Taylor asked.
“It’s probably gonna be the day after tomorrow. They’re still making arrangements.”
“And what kind of cancer does she have?”
“Ah, I think maybe it’s got something to do with her feet, I’m not really sure.”
“Her feet?”
“Yeah, she was dancing then, all of a sudden, she had trouble walking. The big C reached out and tripped her. She’s never been the same.”
I rolled my eyes, deciding Amy was far from the world’s best liar. I said to the reverend, “The real reason we’re here is we’ve heard some rumors that the oncology ward has some problems.”
“Problems. I’m not sure what you mean.”
I lowered my voice. “People dying unexpectedly. What can you tell us about that?”
Reverend Taylor’s gaze moved off, and he leaned back in his chair. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you anything. This is the first...”
“You know there’s a penalty for lying when you get to heaven,” Amy said, interrupting him.
“I’m sorry?”
“God is watching from a distance, just like that old song says. You need to level with us, cuz he’s up there taking notes, deciding whether you get on the Up or Down elevator. Now tell us, what’s going down on the oncology ward?”
Taylor took a couple of heavy breaths and folded his arms. “There’s just some rumors I’ve heard, that’s all.”
Amy gave him her evil eye, or maybe her formerly evil eye. It was still intimidating. “Tell us about the rumors.”
“There have been some unexpected deaths, mainly patients who were considered terminal.”
“How many patients are we talking about?”
“I’m not sure.”
He was being evasive. Amy was undeterred. “Did you know Jessie Walker? She was a nurse on the oncology ward.”
The reverend’s forehead tightened. “What is this all about?”
“It’s all about wanting the best for the patients here,” Amy said. “Did you know Jessie?”
Taylor shook his head, his gaze moving off again. “Yes.”
“And you know she was murdered?”
A sigh. “I heard about it.”
“She was murdered to cover up what’s been going on downstairs.”
Taylor slowly released another breath. “Maybe. I’m not sure.”
“Did you know her roommate was also murdered?” I said.
Taylor’s eyes narrowed on me. “You’re kidding.”
“We don’t kid,” Amy said. “We know something bad is going on here and we want to stop it. Is Dr. Palmer involved?”
He looked away. “No. At least I don’t think so. He’s more concerned about giving the appearance everything’s okay.”
“Then who’s doing it? You got a killer on the loose and we’re gonna stop him.”
Taylor put his elbows on his desk, cradled his head in his hands, and sighed. His voice was just above a whisper. “When I said that Dr. Palmer is concerned about appearances, there’s a reason for that.”
“What’s that?”
“I think his stepson might be involved in what’s been happening. He’s insane.”
FORTY-TWO
“Tell us about Palmer’s nut kid job,” Amy told the reverend.
Taylor cut his dark eyes to the door. He went over and closed it, then sat down again. “The young man's name is Jonathan Raines. He started accompanying Dr. Palmer on his rounds a few months after he became the administrator on the oncology ward. I spoke to him one day while his father was preoccupied with a patient. He said some strange things.”
“Like what?”
“Most of it didn’t make any sense, but then he said something about suffering, how he was put on this earth to end it.”
“Did he want to be a doctor like his father?” I asked.
Reverend Taylor shook his head. “I don’t think so. His concerns about his father’s patients went beyond anything medical intervention could provide.”
“What do you mean?”
“He said that patients who were terminal needed assistance crossing over. I told him that I tried to help with that when the need arose. He scoffed and told me I was a fake, someone who made false promises to the dying.”
Amy and I exchanged glances. I said, “That’s all pretty strange, but what makes you think he took things into his own hands?”
“I was working late one night and happened to stop by the nurse’s station on my way out. I saw Jonathan accessing the cabinet that contains medications.”
“You think he got the drugs and ended some of the patients’ suffering permanently,” Amy said.
“I can’t be sure, but...” Taylor ran a hand over his balding head and didn’t go on.
“What about Jessie Walker?” I said. “Both she and her boyfriend, Grady Winston, were murdered. Did you ever see Raines have any contact with either of them?”
“Jessie...” Taylor’s eyes became glassy. “She was such a troubled soul.”
“You knew her well?” Amy asked.
He nodded. “We chatted a few times. She stopped by here one day at the end of her shift. She broke down and confided in me about...about her life before she came to work here.”
“She was a prostitute.”
Taylor’s brows lifted, and he nodded. “Yes. She was sexually abused by her father and fell into a life of drugs and...and then became involved in...what you just said. As you can imagine, she had a lot of guilt.”
“Did she ever mention having any contact with the Raines kid?” Amy asked.
The reverend ran a hand over his cheek and nodded. “She thought Jonathan was accessing the drug cabinet and confronted him about it. She said he became extremely angry and told her to mind her own business.”
“Did she ever tell anyone in authority what happened?”
Taylor shook his head. “The next day she went missing.”
We continued to question the reverend for the next half hour, not getting much more that was useful. As we were getting ready to leave, I asked him if he’d ever spoken to the police about Dr. Palmer or his stepson.
“I heard that the police came by after Jessie died and asked a few questions about her, but I was on vacation and never spoke to them.”
“What about a man named Holmes? Did you ever talk to him?”
“Yes, as a matter of fac
t. Detective Holmes came by here one evening. Some of the patients and nursing staff were a little upset, so I brought him here to my office.”
I looked at Amy, my brows inching closer together. I looked back at the reverend. “Why were they upset?”
It was Taylor’s turn to show surprise. “I assume you’ve never met him?”
I shook my head. “We’ve spoken by phone a few times, that’s all.”
“I see.”
“What are you trying to tell us?” Amy asked, her impatience obvious.
“I think Detective Holmes might have been involved in some kind of terrible accident. He wore a leather mask.”
FORTY-THREE
“A mask?” Amy said, as we left the hospital. “Who does Holmes thinks he is? Batman?”
“I got the impression that the reverend thought he might have been disfigured. He suggested Holmes had a ‘terrible accident’.”
“You ask me, the whole thing is weird as hell. First the Caped Crusader calls you out of the blue, wants to help you find justice for victims, now this. It’s nuts.”
“Yeah, well...sometimes I think the world is nuts. Maybe something bad happened to him and he wants to make up for that, give something back. At least he’s on our side.”
“Whatever.” She checked her phone. “Hey, that Chase guy from GuySwatter wants to meet in some place called Melrose Hall that he’s scouting for a movie location. You ever heard of it?”
“No, but you’d better get some background on it before you agree to meet him there. Make sure it’s in a public place.”
“Thanks, Mom. I’ll do that.” She put her phone away. “We still going to Hoboken?”
“Yeah, I think I’ll call Max when she’s on her lunch break, see what she thinks about what Reverend Taylor told us.”
“You thinking we need to go to the cops on the Raines kid?”
“At some point, but I’d like to know a little more about him beforehand. As you know, the detectives don’t seem too eager to follow up on anything we come up with.”
“Maybe we should tail his father. If junior’s a crazy rotten apple, then daddy’s the tree that grew the nut.”
“Let’s see Jeremy Halsey first, then make some decisions.”
***
Alice’s Restaurant, where Jeremy Halsey worked, was just off Washington Street, not far from Sinatra Park, named for the famous singer who was born in Hoboken. The diner was dated, but the waitress was friendly, as Amy and I slid into a booth and placed our orders. Before she left our table, Amy asked her about Halsey.
“Jeremy? Yeah, he worked here for about a month,” the waitress, who was young and pretty, said. “He quit about a week ago.”
“Any idea where he lives?” Amy asked.
She regarded us. “Is he in some kind of trouble?”
Amy lowered her voice. “Just between us, probably. You know what he’s like.”
She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, he’s a jerk. He hit on me a half-dozen times.” She cut her eyes to the back of the restaurant for an instant. “Let me see if anybody knows where he lives. I’ll let you know.”
After she was gone, I said, “It seems that Mr. Halsey’s reputation hasn’t gone unnoticed.”
“A leopard don’t change its spots, and an asshole don’t change what it’s full of.” Amy’s gaze moved around the restaurant, the street outside our window. “It feels good to be back on my side of the river, where the real people live.”
“How far was your parents’ home from here?”
Amy had her phone out as she answered. “About an hour south, in the burbs of Trenton.” She showed me the screen on her phone. “Hey, that Melrose joint where my GuySwatter guy wants to meet is a park over in Flatbush. It looks like there was a haunted mansion there that was knocked down years ago, but they say the place where it stood is still full of ghosts.”
“Swell. I don’t think this is a good idea.”
She looked at me. “Chase is a producer, scouting the park for a location to shoot a movie.”
“Or a location to murder someone.”
“You been watching too many movies. Or chasing too many bad guys.”
Our waitress came over with our drinks and said, “I asked around, and the dishwasher thinks Jeremy lives in a converted flat near 3rd and Clinton. It’s up the street, not too far from here.”
We thanked her, and she soon returned with our food. Amy had a hoagie and something she called Disco Fries.
As I ate my burger, I commented on the fries, which were smothered in a brown sauce. “Why do they call them Disco Fries?”
They’re covered in gravy. Rumor has it, years ago some guy had a plate of DF, then did the disco, and dropped dead from a heart attack.”
“Maybe you should go slow on those.”
She smiled, dangled a fry, dripping with gravy, above her mouth. “I gotta keep my strength up to chase ghosts with Chase.”
After we finished eating, we left the waitress a big tip, and headed up the street. We spent the next hour poking around the businesses and restaurants on 3rd and Clinton, before learning there was a garage behind some of the establishments that had been converted into small living units.
“I wish we had Halsey’s mug,” Amy said, as we approached the area. “How we gonna recognize him if we see him?”
“Maybe somebody will know...”
I stopped talking in mid-sentence as a young man appeared in the doorway an apartment. He lit a cigarette, looked in our direction, then began hurriedly walking away in the opposite direction.
“Excuse me,” I said, calling after him.
Instead of stopping, the man began running down the street.
“You think it’s Halsey?” Amy said, as we began jogging after him.
“Why else would he run?”
We ran down the block and followed him as he turned up the street toward the harbor. He was running faster now, at least a hundred yards ahead of us. We watched as he hailed a cab and got in. It pulled away from the curb just before we got there.
Amy was grabbing her knees, sucking in air. “Damn. I hate doing asshole aerobics.” She looked at me. “What now?”
“Let’s go back to his apartment, see what we can find.”
Ten minutes later, we knocked on Halsey’s door, not getting a response. Amy tried the door, finding it was unlocked.
She looked at me. “I think I heard somebody screaming. We’d better check it out.”
“I didn’t hear anything.”
She pushed the door open. “I got better ears than you.”
The apartment was filthy, with beer bottles and dirty clothes strewn everywhere. It took us about ten minutes to find what we’d come for. Amy brought a notepad into the kitchen, which she’d found in the bedroom.
“It’s got some notes here about Christina, so the runner is our guy. It confirms everything we suspected.”
“What’s it say?” I asked, looking over her shoulder at the pad.
“Dream Lover.”
“What?”
“There’s a note at the bottom that says Shipyard Marina, Berth 19.” Amy looked at me. “I think Christina’s being held prisoner on a boat.”
FORTY-FOUR
After tossing Jeremy Halsey’s apartment, Amy and I went by the Shipyard Marina. We found Berth 19 was empty and asked around about the boat called Dream Lover. After getting nothing worthwhile back, we made our way back to the city and stopped in Brownsville at Darryl and Merrill’s flat. Finding no one home, we went next door to their landlord’s house.
“Our friends are still missing,” Amy told Ansar. “Have you seen them?”
He stroked his beard. “I try to deliver their coffins, but they have not been home. I not sure what is happening.”
Amy cut her eyes to me. “You think something bad happened to them?”
“I hope not.” I looked back at the landlord. “Any idea where they might have gone?”
He shook his head. “No, but one day ago some yo
ung men dressed in black come by. They also be looking for them.”
“Did you talk to them?”
“Yes, they say something about...” He scratched his head. “Death Rapture. I not be understanding what they mean.”
“Did they say anything else?”
He shook his head. “No. They leave right after that.”
After thanking him, Amy and I made our way back to the car.
“Do you think we should call the cops?” Amy asked.
I glanced over at their empty apartment. “Probably. Let’s see if Kat’s heard from them, then decide.”
***
On our way home, I called my friend Janet, who worked out of the 49th Precinct. I asked about the progress the detectives assigned to the Grady Winston homicide were making. I learned that one of the detectives was on vacation, and the other was now working another homicide. I thought about calling him and telling him what Reverend Taylor had told us about Jonathan Raines, but decided against it. What Taylor had said was conjecture, and I knew we needed something more substantial for them to follow up.
Max got home shortly after Amy and me. She stumbled over to the kitchen table with a pizza and a couple bottles of wine. She groaned as she collapsed into a chair.
“Rough day?” I asked.
She kicked off her shoes. “The usual: two three-mile runs and a shitload of PT. The only good news is we get to help with the move next week, so that might put the B-Team torture on hold.”
Amy and I joined her at the table, sharing the pizza and wine. I told her about my upcoming surgery before we filled her in on what Reverend Taylor had told us about Dr. Palmer and his stepson.
“Mads and me are gonna see what we can find out about the Raines kid in the morning,” Amy said. “Right after we go shopping.”
“Shopping?” I said.
She worked on a dripping slice of pizza, licking the sauce off her fingers. “I got that date with Chase in that haunted park. It’s supposed to be freezing, so I gotta wear something hot.”
“Who’s Chase?” Max asked, swirling the wine in her glass.
I answered. “A Brad Pitt lookalike who’s a movie producer. Someone Amy met on GuySwatter.”