Blind Retribution

by K. T. Roberts

“When you say fixed the records, what exactly did you do?”

  Tears sprung from her eyes like a geyser. She covered her face. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I can’t believe what I’ve done. I deserve to die.”

  “Mrs. Chambers, please tell me what you did. Please. Let me help you.”

  She looked at Max with pleading eyes. “I was losing my home, Detective. The home my husband had struggled to afford all his life, and I was the one who was losing it. I couldn’t handle the additional expenses. I thought I could handle it, but I couldn’t. I wasn’t making that much money, but my daughter was going through a divorce, she didn’t have a job, and the father was fighting for custody of the child—a child he’d never wanted. They were all I had left in this world. I knew if he got my granddaughter, both our lives would have been destroyed, so I did an unspeakable thing. The pressure of helping her pay for her divorce, send my granddaughter to a preschool so she didn’t have to deal with the stress, all that plus the expenses of food and electricity, and everything else that goes with maintaining a house and a family on one salary, I got behind in my mortgage payments. Dr. Barrett could see I was depressed, and he played on that when I was most vulnerable. I don’t know how he heard about what was going on in my life, but he did and came to me and offered to help me . . . but he wanted something in return.”

  “Had he told you what it was that he wanted you to do at that time?”

  “No. But just knowing I wasn’t going to lose everything, I accepted his offer.”

  “When did you realize what he wanted in exchange for the money?”

  “After Becky Wiggins died.”

  “And that was to fix the records to make it look like the Wiggins child was a legitimate rejection?”

  “Yes, and now God has punished me. I’ve lost everything that mattered: my daughter, my granddaughter, and my home, all because I took a child away from her family in the name of money. Shame on me. I pray they put me to death, because that’s what I deserve.”

  “Thank you for your help, Mrs. Chambers. One more question and I’ll let you go with the guard. Did you collect your money through a fictitious company called M. C. Party Planning?” Although she never stopped staring at the floor, Chambers gave a slight nod of her head. “Did you receive two hundred thousand dollars?”

  Her head jerked upright. “No, it was one hundred thousand. Why? Are they saying I collected twice?”

  “No, there’s two entries for the dollar amount.” Max shook her head. “And how was the money paid to you?”

  “Then they must have paid someone else too, but I have no idea who that would be.”

  “The money, Mrs. Chambers, how was it paid to you?”

  “It was deposited into my daughter’s checking account, but I never got a dime of it anyway. With it being under her name, her ex-husband became the recipient of the funds.”

  “And his name?”

  “Jason.”

  “Had the divorce been finalized?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then Jason Inghrams did not get one cent of the money. It automatically becomes part of your daughter’s estate, and it will be awarded to your granddaughter. I don’t know what the state will do about that money. It was Barrett’s to begin with. She may just be able to keep that money for her future.”

  “I’d hate for her to know that her grandmother let a child die to collect that money.”

  “One more question, Mrs. Chambers. Did you hide the Wiggins child’s file folder?”

  She blinked her eyes shut. “Yes, I did.” After a few minutes, she swallowed hard, then continued. “You’ll find it hidden in the trunk of my car under the tire well.”

  “And did you also delete the Wiggins’ child’s name from the list, but forgot to delete the cell?”

  “I did.” More tears rolled down her cheeks. Max handed her tissues. “I was so upset that day, even seeing Becky’s name in print sickened me. I hated myself, I hated God, but most of all, I hated Dr. Barrett.”

  “Thank you for being honest. I’m going to have the officer take you back to your cell.” By the time the officer arrived, Melanie Chambers was sitting erect, no longer crying, and her face resembled a shield of stone as though she’d hidden the remorse away.

  The minute she was gone, Max rushed out of the room and over to Riley. “What did you find out about Charles Wiggins?”

  “He was recently released from the military, lives on Second Place, and he hasn’t been to work for a few days.”

  “Then let’s go pay him a visit.”

  The detectives stood on the front porch of a small bungalow that resembled a beach cottage; the exterior paint showed signs of wear, and children’s toys were scattered over the porch in disarray. Max pushed on the doorbell.

  An elderly short, portly woman wearing a blue-flowered bathrobe answered the door. “Mrs. Wiggins?”

  “Yes,” she said in a timid voice.

  “I’m Detective Max Turner, and this is my partner, Neal Riley, from the Homicide Division of the NYPD.” They returned their badges to their jacket pockets.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “We’d like to speak to your son, Charles.”

  “Is he okay?”

  “We need to talk to him.”

  “He ain’t here. He’s been gone since yesterday morning.”

  “May we come inside?”

  “Yes.” She pulled the door open and ambled back to the living room.

  Inside, the house was tidy, with outdated furniture. The shades were drawn, covering the windows to prevent light from seeping in. She motioned for them to sit, just as a tabby cat jumped on her lap and purred.

  “Does your son go off like this for days at a time very often?” Max asked.

  “No, only since our Becky died.”

  “And how long ago did she die?”

  “She’s been gone since July. You see the dining room in there?” She pointed. “Becky set that up with the red plastic dishes and blue plastic forks for the picnic we were supposed to have on the Fourth of July.” Max and Riley turned in the direction of the room and nodded. A deep sadness made Max shudder, seeing the deflated helium balloons still hanging from the ceiling. “We were going have a picnic to celebrate. It had to be inside, because she couldn’t take the heat, but all the neighbors were coming over to celebrate, and then we got the call that day from the transplant center to come in, they had a heart. I know I should put that stuff away, but our Becky touched it, and I can’t bear to shove it in the cupboards.” Tears rolled down the older woman’s cheeks. “I know she’s not coming back, but I just keep thinking she’s watching from heaven and smiling.” She wiped her tears with her apron. “As a matter of fact, everything has been left exactly as it was the day she died.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss. I’m sure it was difficult to understand how someone so young could die.”

  “Well, she wouldn’t have died if they’d given the heart to her like those bastards promised. And what’s even worse is Charles works there, so you’d think he would have had some clout.”

  “How long has he worked at the hospital?”

  “Probably about eighteen months. He tried and tried to find a job when he got out of the military but couldn’t find anything. One day when he was at the hospital for an appointment with Becky, he heard there was an opening for an orderly, so he took it, figuring it might not be a bad idea because he could keep an eye on Becky when she had to go to the doctor. He also thought she’d get special treatment, but that didn’t work out.” The woman seemed to fade into a trance until she started to grin and explained why. “We used to joke about Becky’s checkups, and he would tell her they were ‘tune-ups’ to make her laugh.”

  “Tell us about the day you received the call about the heart.”

  “It was early morning, and we were told to bring Becky to the hospital right away. Those hearts only last six hours from the time the donor dies, and then the doctor has to harvest it from the dead person to g
et it ready to install it into the patient.”

  Max smiled at her use of the word install, but she wasn’t about to correct an elderly woman in such a fragile state.

  “And did you know they use them big helicopters to fly organs all over the country? The heart that was promised to my granddaughter came here from South Dakota, so there’s no dilly-dallying around when it comes to a transplant. We rushed like crazy, telling Becky this was gonna be her best day ever. No more tubes, no more oxygen, she was gonna be a normal kid so she could play outside with her friends instead of standing by the door watching them. The poor kid has never been able to keep a friendship going, except at the hospital with the other kids who are gonna need transplants, so she pretty much stayed here with me while Charles was serving his country. I raised her like a daughter.”

  “I’ll bet. What happened to her mother?”

  “She died from a heart attack at thirty-three.”

  Max swallowed hard. “Please continue about your experience at the hospital.”

  “So we rushed her to Mount Sinai in time for the surgery, which can take as much as twelve hours.” Her eyes opened wide. “You know, those doctors actually stop the bad heart from beating, even cut most of it out before they can install the new one.” She nodded her head up and down. “So whatever doctor you’ve chosen for such a delicate surgery better know his stuff, because he could lose a patient just like that.” She snapped her fingers.

  Max didn’t need all the scientific data, but she wasn’t about to cut off this grieving grandmother.

  “Anyways, Becky got to the hospital, was all prepped and ready to go. Charles was walking back and forth like a crazy person, so nervous he could hardly stand it, but then I told him he might be scaring the poor child. So he stopped his pacing and sat with her, telling the child she shouldn’t be afraid. Funny thing is she wasn’t afraid, we were. But he still told her it was going to be all over before she knew it. They checked her test results again to confirm that she was in fact a good match, and she was, and when it was time, they wheeled her down the hall to the OR, and then some woman stopped us; Charles knows who she is. I guess she was the lady in charge, I think he called her Mel, but I can’t remember for sure. You’d think I’d remember the name of someone I hate, and yeah, I know it’s not godly to hate, but I can’t help myself. I pray to God every day begging his help so I won’t hate her.” She made a face. “It’s not easy. So, yeah, this Mel stopped us and said to take Becky back to the room, she wasn’t gonna get the heart after all. I can still picture that woman holding her hand up to the orderly who was taking Becky to the OR, righteous, like she was one of God’s disciples. Sooner or later, the Lord will punish her for her sins, but I’m never gonna forget that face. Never. She killed our Becky.”

  “Did she say why Becky wasn’t getting the heart?” Riley asked.

  “She gave us some cockamamie story about a test not coming back right, after they’d already told us minutes before that she was a perfect match.”

  Mrs. Wiggins’ head wagged in disillusionment. “Charles couldn’t believe that woman Mel. He tried to talk to her about it, but she brushed him off like he was a piece of garbage. Charles demanded a response from her, but she never gave us a good excuse. She just kept saying the blood work doesn’t lie, but we knew she was lying. Becky, the poor little thing, was so weak she could barely hold our hands.

  “Our little Becky was so brave, struggling to stay alive as long as she could—for us, I guess. And then she told us not to cry, she was gonna see her mama up in heaven, and she’d tell her that we all still loved and missed her.” Mrs. Wiggins swiped at the tear rolling down her cheek. “Then she wanted to know what we were going to have to eat for the Fourth, so she could dream about the feast on her way up to heaven. Charles could hardly get the words out. Two hours later, Becky told her daddy she loved him, closed her eyes, and took her last breath . . . and then our little princess was gone forever. I guess the last-minute disappointment was too much for her poor little heart.” Mrs. Wiggins took a deep breath before continuing.

  “And you know, not one of those bastards from the team, or the doctor himself, ever came out to tell Charles how sorry they were.” She sniffed. “And then the next day, there it was in the newspapers—the senator’s daughter got Becky’s heart. A couple days later at the hospital, Charles overheard that Dr. Barrett had been having an affair with the senator for many years and that’s why she got priority treatment. He saved that child so they could live happily ever after, and put the light out on our little girl. Charles heard the nurses on staff were furious, but no one wanted to say anything for fear of losing their jobs. Charles went nuts when he heard that. He tried to get in to see Dr. Barrett, but he wouldn’t see him.

  “My poor son ain’t been right since he came home from the military, and he’s even worse since Becky died. He has a lot of anger inside that head of his. That’s why I don’t say nothing to him about being away overnight. I just hope he’s found some woman and he’s hanging out with her, or he’s talking to Reverend Warren from our church. He needs someone, because, Lord knows, I ain’t gonna be around forever. So . . . maybe that’s where he is. You know, these soldiers see some pretty bad things, especially when they’re constantly blowing up all that stuff, killing them people during combat in Afghanistan—it’s hard to forget.”

  “What did your son do in the military?” Max asked.

  “He built them bombs and blew up the enemies.”

  Max and Riley looked at one another. “Was your son diagnosed with an illness?” she asked.

  “Yeah, the VA hospital said he was suffering with something that starts with the letter T?”

  “Do you mean PTSD?” Riley asked.

  “Yeah, that’s it.” She pointed a deformed arthritic finger in Riley’s direction. “I don’t even know what that is. All’s I know, he’s pretty angry most of the time.”

  “Is he being treated for it?”

  “He was, but he stopped taking his pills. He said they weren’t helping him, and he didn’t need them.”

  “We’d really like to talk to your son. Can you tell us where we can find him?”

  “I don’t know. I think he’ll be just fine. It’s Becky’s birthday today, you know. He said he wanted to do something special in honor of her birthday so that our little angel could finally rest in peace. I don’t know what that meant, and I suppose I should have asked, but he’s always talking crazy, so I just let it be.”

  Riley and Max looked at one another, the panic filling Max’s insides. “What do you suppose that meant?” Riley questioned Mrs. Wiggins.

  “I don’t know,” she said.

  “Where would she rest in peace? At the cemetery?”

  “Yeah, he goes there quite a lot to talk to Becky and her mama. They’re buried next to one another, you know.”

  “Do you have a picture of your son so we know we’re talking to the right person?” Mrs. Wiggins pointed to the mantel. Riley snapped a picture of the photograph on the mantel with his phone.

  “What’s the name of the cemetery and plot number?”

  “New York City Marble Cemetery.” She got up from her chair, pushing the cat off her lap, and hobbled toward the kitchen. “I need to check the address.”

  “I don’t like the sounds of this, Riley. Let’s thank her and get the hell out of here before he hurts someone else.”

  Riley keyed the name into his phone. “I got the location of the cemetery, Max—72 East Second Street. I’ll call to find out the plot number.”

  “Send a car over right away. I don’t want to chance what he’s about to do. Thank you, Mrs. Wiggins. We’ll keep you posted,” they said on their way out.

  “All right then.”

  Riley rushed outside and keyed in Charles Wiggins’s information in the DMV database and obtained the information he needed, then called dispatch. “This is Detective Riley, badge number 107, and this is an emergency,” he told the operator. “I’m sending yo
u a photo of our suspect. He’s driving a dark blue sedan bearing license plate Alpha Boy Lima 9843. Send a few cars over to the vicinity of New York City Marble Cemetery and apprehend him. If they can’t find him, tell them to drive up and down the rows of gravesites; he could be hiding.”

  “Riley,” Max said, rushing outside toward the car, “this killer is going down the list of anyone dealing with the heart transplant. My best guess is the surgical staff on Barrett’s team is next.” She dialed the lieutenant’s number. “Lieutenant, we need to send SWAT and the bomb squad over to Mount Sinai. We are on the hunt for Charles Wiggins, the father of the child who was denied the heart that went to the senator’s daughter. We believe he is exacting revenge on the heart center at the hospital. He’s trained in explosives, did four tours in Afghanistan, and he’s suffering from PTSD. He told his mother that his daughter would rest in peace after today—it’s the kid’s birthday.” Max continued to fill in the gaps.

  “After my tours in Iraq, I witnessed this firsthand. After so many tours on the front lines, there’s no way these guys come back unaffected. I can almost guarantee you that his mind may be bouncing in and out of combat, killing people he believes to be the enemy. We now believe he’s Helen Barrett’s killer, as well as Candace Morrison’s and Sharlene Chambers-Inghram’s killer. Riley and I have a team heading out to the cemetery where the child is buried to see if he’s there, but we can’t be sure he hasn’t already taken some action. There are too many variables here, Lieutenant. We can’t be sure what more this man will do to avenge his daughter’s death.”

  “I’ll put out an APB to find him and also send reinforcements to you right away. We’ll contact the hospital and get the surgical employees’ names and addresses. You focus on those who are at the hospital, and keep in touch,” Wallace said.

  “Yes, sir.” They disconnected.

  Gunning the engine, Max turned on the lights and whipped around corners on the back streets as she weaved in between cars on the main thoroughfare. Traffic was unusually light and they made good time.

  “We need a miracle, Riley,” Max said.