Lasting Doubts (The Red Lake Series Book 2)

by Rich Foster

  “You mean this sick hostile S.O.B?”

  “That’d be you!” Harry said with a broad grin.

  From the back of the bar came the sound of a chair scraping on the floor, a ray of sunlight shot across the floor as the rear door opened, and then vanished as the door banged shut.

  Barton walked over and took a stool.

  “Guess he’s gone,” Harry said.

  Barton shrugged, “I didn’t think Toby was that smart.”

  They drank a beer and chatted.

  “I have too many suspects.”

  “Couldn’t we narrow the field with some persuasion?”

  It was an argument they shared since their Afghan days.

  “Making people talk has rather mixed results.”

  “If you squeeze enough melons, you will find a ripe one.”

  “Sure, and bruise the rest!”

  “Collateral damage, brother. We’re all guilty.”

  “I thought people were innocent until proven guilty.”

  “Someone should have told the cops where I grew up. If you were black you were guilty.”

  “Weren’t you?”

  “Not the point, Harry. I was guilty, but that didn’t make every brother and sister in the projects like me.”

  “A lot of things aren’t as they should be.” Harry pushed money across the counter and stood up. “That’s why I won’t squeeze the melons, Dirk.”

  “That’s cuz you believe in the goodness of man.”

  “Bull. Some people are good and some are evil.”

  “You don’t really believe that.”

  Harry started to speak, but Dirk raised one hand to stop him. “Hear me out. Most people are like cattle in the field. They are content to eat and sleep. They don’t perceive danger and when it comes, they are too slow or helpless to do anything but die. But there are those who are the predators and the hunters. They are a threat to the bovine populace, but they serve a function, they cull the herd. Then there are those that serve no function, the poisonous spiders and asps in the world, those you simply kill unless you’re a Buddhist.”

  “You’re oversimplifying the moral dilemma.”

  “Some things you simply have to kill,” Barton said emphatically.

  Harry glanced to where Toby once sat, “Like him?”

  “No, he's one of the stupid cows. He may get eaten up but that is only because it's the cow's destiny; not because his type is dangerous.”

  “So, who are the spiders and snakes?”

  “Who ever killed Allison Albright, would be one. For that matter she would qualify because she was a predatory parasite.”

  “I can’t go with your distinction.”

  “That,” said Barton, clicking his beer bottle against Harry’s, “is because you believe everyone harbors some good. I don’t.”

  The wind was down and the water flat as they crossed the lake. The boat kicked a rooster tail up and the wind whipped their hair. Only once did the boat pound, as they surged another boat’s wake. Neither bothered to speak over the roar of the engine, hours in the rear of military transport planes left them accustomed to loud engines and silent mouths.

  As they idled in toward the dock, Harry saw Paula moving about the kitchen. He felt the familiar pulse of pleasure he got whenever he saw her. The momentary wave of joy mixed with fear of loss still surprised him. He was no romantic but Paula might make him one, yet.

  Coming up the steps, the aroma of something delicious wafted from the house. Paula gave Barton a hug.

  ”Nice to see you again.” She turned to Harry, “Will you set the table?”

  As Harry set the table, Barton softly muttered, “That woman has domesticated you, Harry,”

  “There’s worse things, friend.”

  After dinner, Harry told Paula he needed to go out.

  “Think I’ll join you.” Barton said sliding back his own chair.

  On the road, Barton asked, “Where we going?”

  “To see a doctor. I have something he desperately wants.”

  Harry brought Barton up to date.

  “Think he did her?”

  “Oh yeah, I think he ‘did’ her,” Harry emphasized the word, “but whether or not he killed her is yet to be seen.”

  They parked on the side street. Shadows were growing longer but sunset was still a couple hours off. He slid out of the truck and walked over to the gate. When he glanced back, Dirk was not in sight. The rear door of Oliver’s office was ajar. Harry walked in.

  “Anyone home?”

  There was no answer. He walked through what was once the kitchen and now served as a mini lab, storage, and coffee room. He glanced into the bisected living room, the half that served as a lobby was empty. Harry opened the door to Oliver’s office and stepped in.

  Harry figured one of three things had happened. Someone got to Oliver first, or he was in the bathroom, or he was about to put the drop on him.

  It was the third.

  “Put your hands up!”

  Harry felt cold metal against his neck. He might easily take the gun away. The doctor was too close and too slow for the job he was attempting to do.

  “Give me the pictures!”

  “I didn’t bring them,” Harry said. He calmly walked away and sat down in the doctor’s desk chair. Still standing in the doorway, Oliver’s gun trembled in his hand.

  “I want those pictures or I’ll kill you!”

  “Sort of undermines your Hippocratic oath, doctor.”

  “Don’t try to be smart.”

  Barton appeared behind the doctor, standing four feet away and his gun aimed at Oliver’s head.

  “Shoot me, and two things will happen,” Harry calmly said, “One, you will probably miss, and two, the man behind you will blow your brains all over this room. You ever see what a.44 magnum does to a head?”

  “You can’t fool me, Grim.”

  Barton racked the slide on his gun. At the sound, Oliver’s bladder failed him. A spreading wet spot covered his pants.

  “Put the gun down, Doctor,” Harry said contemptuously.

  Oliver lowered the gun. He was a tempestuous child who whined. “Those pictures are mine!”

  “Tell me about them.”

  Oliver shuffled over to a chair and sat down on the edge. Laconically he laid the gun on the end table beside it. He glanced at the doorway. Barton’s gun barrel was still trained on him.

  “Could he put that away?”

  Harry’s head moved slightly and Barton was gone.

  “Tell me about Alison Albright.”

  “She made an appointment to see me. I saw the name in the reservation book. The reason it struck me was I knew a girl in school who married a man named Albright.”

  “Med school, college, high school, or what?”

  Harry knew the answer; he simply wanted to test Oliver’s veracity.

  “High school. Carole Marcotti.” A soft glaze came over Oliver’s eyes. “She was perfect. She was everything I wanted in life. I loved her.”

  He may be slightly mad? Harry thought.

  “When I came into the examination room she was the spitting image of her mother. The same long blond hair, the face, the look in her eyes.”

  Oliver’s face flushed as he spoke.

  “Why did she come to see you?”

  “For the pill. You know that.”

  “But why you?”

  “She said her family doctor would tell her mother, that they were Catholic, and her mother would never approve.”

  “So why not send her to an OBGYN?”

  Oliver grew redder. He remained silent and shrugged.

  Harry looked at him coldly, “You wanted to examine her, didn’t you?”

  Oliver dully nodded. “It was like twenty years had vanished. She was the perfect image of the girl I wanted all through school.”

  “So you checked her out and popped a few snapshots for the old medical file?”

  Oliver grew defensive. He slid around in his chai
r. “Carole… I mean Alison was the one who insisted I examine her!”

  “Do you always take medical advice from a sixteen-year old?”

  The doctor studiously studied the floor tiles. Harry noticed Oliver’s hands shaking and was glad the man was not trying to operate on him.

  “How long before you fucked her?”

  Oliver’s head snapped up. Tears rolled from his eyes. “She came on to me!”

  “She was sixteen and you were her doctor!” Harry feigned indignation he did not feel. Kind of hard to feel sorry for Alison Albright.

  Oliver continued as if he never heard him. “She was everything I ever wanted. Can’t you understand that? Haven’t you ever wanted something so badly you would kill for it?”

  Realizing what he said, he chopped the words off. Harry let the silence hang. Finally he asked, “How many times did you do her before she asked for money?”

  “How’d you know about that?” Oliver was dismayed.

  “She had $10,000 when she disappeared. This is a poor town. You were the most likely source.”

  Illness had overtaken Oliver. “Twice. I asked her for a memento. She demanded fifty dollars for it.”

  “Was that a clipping of pubic hair?”

  Oliver nodded.

  This world is full of whack cases!

  “The next week she asked for more money. I gave her another fifty to buy herself a gift.”

  “A pretty cheap whore!”

  Oliver sprang from his chair. “She’s no whore! She’s good and pure and perfect!” Veins bulged at his temples and his fists clenched until the knuckles were white.

  The man is insane. He talks about her in the present tense. Aloud Harry said, “No she was evil and corrupt and a blackmailer.”

  Dr. Oliver grabbed for his gun. Harry’s hand flashed in the air and the pistol flew from Oliver’s fist. He let out a squeal of pain.

  “My God, I think you broke my wrist!”

  “Probably,” Harry said laconically as he picked the pistol up. The safety was on. He pulled the clip. When he checked, the chamber was empty.

  “Sit down, Doctor!”

  Oliver obeyed but began to jabber.

  “Carole was always meant for me. She was the one. And I finally had her!” Victory crowed in his voice. His words tumbled out in a jumble, falling over each other, his breathing ragged and hard. He nervously worried his hands together. “I just don’t know why she turned on me?” His eyes were plaintive and lost in the past.

  Harry tried to bring him back to the present.

  “Alison Albright was sixteen. I think she bleached her hair to resemble her mother and came to you with every intention of seducing you, then squeezed you for all the money she could get. The question that remains is, did you get mad enough to kill her?”

  Harry thought the doctor capable of anything, but the startled shock in Oliver’s eyes was impressive. He never thought he might be a suspect.

  “I… I… would never harm Carole. You should ask Dave Barnes. She was seeing him. I followed her one night. She went out to the old Amber Wood Estate. He was there.”

  He’s gotta mean Alison.

  “Doctor, Carole Albright is old enough to be Dave Barnes' mother.”

  Oliver grew perplexed. “But I saw them together. I peeked through the window.”

  “I think you saw Alison.”

  Oliver looked up still confused. “Yes, I suppose you are right. Carole would never cheat on me!”

  The doctor sat and silently shook his head.

  Harry walked out.

  Behind him, he heard Oliver rush toward the door. He turned ready to defend himself instead Oliver pleaded, “May I have my pictures back?”

  “No.”

  “At least one?” he begged plaintively.

  Harry shook his head. Oliver’s lower lip protruded in a pout. Large tears rolled down his cheeks. He cried like a child that lost its toy.. They faced each other for a moment, then the doctor spun around and went back inside. Harry walked down the path past the roses and over to his car. Barton leaned against the fender.

  “Covered your back.”

  “I didn’t need it.”

  “True, but you knew I would be there.”

  “Always have and always will.”

  They bumped knuckles together.

  “Did he do it?” Dirk asked.

  “He did a lot of things, but I don’t think he killed Alison.”

  “He threatened to put lead in you.”

  “True, but he wasn’t in love with me.”

  Both Harry’s and Barton’s head snapped around at the muffled pop. Guns appeared in their hands almost magically. Harry looked toward the house, the source of the single shot.

  “Damn, I should have seen that coming.” Harry holstered his gun. “It might be best if you get out of here. I’ll need to call the sheriff.”

  “If that was what we both know it was, then why not let the office staff find him?”

  “It will avoid complications if I call.”

  “See you later.” Barton moved off down the street toward the lake.

  Harry walked back to the house. The smell of cordite hung in the air. Near the doctor’s private office it became mingled with the metallic odor of blood.

  Dr. Oliver’s head was tilted back, what medical knowledge it once held was splattered on the wall behind the desk. Blood dripped from the gaping maw of his mouth; his arm with the fractured wrist dangled free, his other arm lay across his gut, the pistol still clutched in his hand. The exit wound was toward the back and side of the head. Evidently he couldn’t shoot too well left handed.

  Harry used his cell phone.

  “911. What is your emergency?” asked a bored female voice.

  “Call the sheriff. I found a gunshot victim.”

  “What is the location of the incident?”

  Harry gave her the details including his name. She gave the usual admonitions to touch nothing. After he hung up, he walked outside and sat on the rear porch. He kept his hands within view; it was the best way to avoid getting shot by an overly eager cop.

  I wish I had a drink. Better yet, I wish I were with Paula instead of waiting to answer questions for the cops.

  The cry of a siren came to him from the distance.

  Deputy Gonzales arrived first. He approached Harry with caution.”

  “You carrying?”

  Harry nodded toward his revolver laying on the deck to his left.

  “Move away.”

  Harry complied with a sigh, Gonzales did not like him, but there was no percentage in ticking him off. The deputy picked up Harry’s piece and smelled the barrel.

  I should tell the jerk I cleaned it while I waited but he’d put it into his report.

  “Where’s the body?”

  “Inside, at his desk.”

  Gonzales faced a dilemma, the body was inside but he didn’t want to leave Harry alone. On the other hand he shouldn’t contaminate the crime scene.

  “You sure the victim is dead?”

  “Unless he can breathe with a half liquefied brain, yeah he’s dead.”

  “Then I'll wait for the Sheriff.”

  Gonzales lit a cigarette for something to do. Harry enjoyed the second hand smoke. Five years and it still smells good. When will that ever stop? Maybe never? Some things you never lay down completely.

  Harry reported it as a dead body, so the coroner’s wagon arrived, not an ambulance. Soon after Sheriff Gaines pulled up.

  “Evening, Harry!”

  “Evening, Sheriff.”

  Gonzales bristled at this familiarity between them but remained silent.

  “You find the body?” Gaines asked Harry.

  “Yep.”

  “You kill him?”

  “No. At least not directly.”

  Gaines’s face crinkled into a question. “You want to elaborate?”

  Harry reached into his pocket and brought out the photos. The sheriff thumbed through them quickly
. “Looks like Alison Albright.”

  “It was. The good doctor was seeing her.”

  “As a patient?”

  “As in every square inch of her he could get his hands on.” Harry handed him the plastic bag with the clipping of pubic hair. “The doctor was obsessed.”

  Gaines frowned to himself. “And how did you get these?” he asked, waving the pictures that Gonzales strained to see.

  “Most of them Oliver gave to me.”

  The sheriff could imagine how that came about and dropped that line of questioning. “I’ll be right back.” He stepped past Harry and went inside.

  Gonzales stubbed out his cigarette and threw the butt among the bushes.

  “Contaminating the crime scene aren’t you?” Harry asked.

  Gonzales first appeared annoyed and then worried. He got down on his knees and began to search under the branches. Meanwhile, Gaines returned. He looked quizzically at Gonzales' rump sticking out.

  Harry volunteered, “Deputy Gonzales is searching for evidence.”

  The deputy heard the exchange and hustled to his feet, a butt clamped between two fingers. “I dropped something, Sheriff.”

  “Keep the scene secure until Detective Egan arrives. Tell the coroner’s guy he’ll have to wait until we photograph the scene. And stay on your feet, Gonzales.”

  The sheriff nodded toward the street. “Come on, Harry, let’s go talk in my car.”

  “Can I have my gun back?”

  Gaines looked to Gonzales who produced the weapon.

  “Has it been fired, Gonzales?”

  “No, Sir.”

  “Then give the man his gun. He’s permitted to carry.”

  It was almost dawn before Harry arrived home. In the woods around his cabin the denizens of the night made furtive movements. Amid the trees night birds called. From inside came the sound of Big Band music, a taste Paula acquired from Harry after she moved in. His old classic albums were gone, melted by the flames when his house was blown up, but electronic downloads made it possible to rebuild his library, though he felt they lacked a warmth that was conveyed by the old vinyl.

  Paula lay curled on the couch. The patio doors were open and a dozen mosquitoes spotted the ceiling drawn by the light. He closed the screen doors and used a fly swatter to aid the unwelcome intruders on the path of transmigration. He bent over and kissed Paula’s cheek, her scent tantalized his senses and sent the familiar jolt of pleasure through him.