Once Shadows Fall

by Robert Daniels

  Pappas further informed them, “I just got back from speaking with Jerome Haffner’s neighbors.”

  “Anything useful?” Beth asked.

  “Not really. The guy was well liked, divorced about five years ago, and has two kids who visit every other weekend. They were all shocked, of course. I’ll be getting a search warrant for his condo later.”

  “Good,” Beth said. “What about his employer? We need to speak with them.”

  “Haffner worked at Lane-Custis in Atlantic Center as a financial planner. If I can convince his company to cooperate and turn over his client records, I’d like to go through them and see if anyone lost a pile of money. If that happened, could be someone was pissed at him.”

  They both agreed that was a good idea.

  Pappas shrugged. “We gotta start someplace. We’ve got squat so far.”

  “Any criminal history on Haffner?” Beth asked.

  “Clean, apart from a couple of speeding tickets.”

  “Not very helpful,” Jack said.

  “This might be,” Pappas said. “One lady I interviewed remembers a white van being parked across from Haffner’s place a few days before the murder. She thought it might have been a repair man.”

  “Any writing on the van?”

  “Not that Mrs. Abramowitz could recall. I checked with the building manager and Haffner didn’t have any maintenance work scheduled. According to their policy, he’ll let repair people in provided the owner clears it with him first.”

  “That’s the second time we have a white van,” Jack said.

  “Third. Stafford and Mundas spoke with Sandra Goldner’s brother, who shared a house with her. He definitely remembers seeing one two days before Sandra went missing. That makes three people in Jordan.”

  “All right,” Jack said, “let’s review what we know about the killer.”

  “He wears a size twelve shoe, so he’s probably tall,” Beth said.

  “Possibly,” Jack said. “Shoe size doesn’t always correlate to height.”

  “The fucker’s smart,” Pappas said. “He plans things out.”

  “Agreed,” Jack said. “So are we.”

  “If that hair we found on Betsy Anne’s clothes belongs to him, he’s Caucasian,” Beth said.

  Jack looked at Pappas, who nodded his agreement. He walked over to the board and added the note.

  “Anyone think he knows computers?” Pappas asked.

  “Why?” Beth asked.

  “He had to open those flood gates to stash Sandra inside,” Pappas said.

  Jack informed him, “According to the Army, yesterday was the second of two water releases this week. They post the schedule on the Internet.”

  “Brilliant,” Pappas said.

  “Could he have entered the chamber after the inner gate holding the river back had shut?” Jack asked. “The outer door would still be open to allow for drainage.”

  “Maybe,” Pappas said. “There’s a gap of about two minutes.”

  “That might be enough time,” Beth said.

  “Let’s say that’s a possibility,” Jack said, adding another note to the whiteboard. When he was done, he picked up the phone and called Ben Furman at the crime lab.

  “Ben? Jack Kale here. Looks like we have a fourth kidnapping. I just sent you a satchel and some other evidence to look at.”

  “Got it. I was just about to get started.”

  “I’ll be over in a few minutes,” Jack said and disconnected.

  He asked Beth, “Want to see what Ben comes up with? Or are you still on your way to interview Pell?”

  Beth checked her watch. “I’m running late now. Call me if you find anything interesting.”

  Chapter 27

  Two exits past Jordan, Beth pulled off the highway and followed the signs to the Mayfield State Mental Health Institute, a distance of two miles from the town. It was just starting to rain. Within minutes, the pleasant spring shower turned into a full-blown downpour with large, heavy drops the windshield wipers were having a hard time staying ahead of. The sky continued to grow ominous, split by flashes of lightning. Thanks to the local weather forecaster, who promised the day would be a “nine” on his Channel Eleven Weather Meter, she hadn’t bothered with a raincoat that morning.

  Mayfield’s innocuous name belied its appearance. The cream-colored building, consisting of three floors, was a tribute to government design: utterly without character or charm. Around the perimeter of the property was a fence topped by interlooping coils of razor wire, which did nothing to soften the atmosphere. The place seemed to press down on you almost as soon as you entered the grounds. All the windows had bars.

  At the front gate, a guard in a yellow rain slicker informed Beth the director wanted to speak with her before she saw Howard Pell.

  “No problem,” she said, deciding it was better not to rock the boat.

  “I’ll let him know you’re here. Is this about those people who were murdered over the weekend?”

  “We don’t know yet,” Beth said. “I’m still in the fact-gathering stage.”

  “Good luck,” the guard told her.

  A moment later, the security gate rumbled to life, crawling sideways on rollers across the cement drive. Beth parked directly in front of the main entrance and went in.

  *

  The Soul Eater added the last brick to the course he was working, tapping it into place with the handle of a trowel. In a few hours, the alcove would be completely sealed. To his left were a similar series of arches that had been bricked up.

  No one had been in this part of the city for years. Beneath the streets and out of sight, Atlanta had simply grown over the crumbling old neighborhood. Even the railroad spur that once served the building he was in had been abandoned, broken apart by union soldiers as the city burned more than a hundred and sixty years ago.

  The Soul Eater closed his eyes and let his mind drift to the account of the fire he’d read and reread. He could practically hear the shouts and cries as flames consumed everything in their path. He imagined the searing heat. What a spectacle it must have been. He picked up another brick.

  *

  Inside the alcove, Donna Camp had been awake for nearly fifteen minutes watching her captor with mounting horror as she realized what was happening. Her blouse and one shoe were missing, but that, thank God, was all. She could tell she hadn’t been raped. Near him lay a roll of white linen cloth about eight inches wide.

  Sealing me in. He’s sealing me in.

  The brick wall he was building was nearly three feet high. Very carefully, she moved her legs and confirmed the rope had been cut. She could vaguely remember being led into the dungeon, but it was like trying to recall a dream. She tested her arms and discovered her wrists were still bound. Two wide metal dishes held aloft by a tripod were positioned at either side of the opening, giving the room a templelike appearance.

  As the effects of the drug she’d been given began to wear off, her mind turned to thoughts of escape. In the corner was her purse with the pepper spray. If she could just get her hands free.

  Unfortunately, she had no idea where she was. Someplace dark and musty. Nor did she know why this madman had taken her. Donna’s thoughts shifted to her children, strengthening her resolve to free herself. Little by little, she rotated her wrists, testing the bonds, first one way, and then the other. Yes, there was a little play in the rope. Nearly an hour went by before she worked a hand free.

  The Soul Eater started on the next row of bricks.

  “You’re doing it wrong,” she said, drawing herself into a sitting position.

  The bearded man stopped and looked curiously at her. He didn’t reply. It was as if he was looking at a bug.

  “My husband was a contractor,” Donna said. “You’re doing it all wrong.”

  “Sufficient for my purpose.”

  “That’s what all the losers say before the wall collapses.”

  The Soul Eater frowned and considered the bricks. It was
more work than he thought. Still, any job worth doing was worth doing well. Who said that? Franklin? Probably.

  “Why are you doing this?” Donna said.

  The man gave no indication he heard her. He simply went back to building the wall.

  “I don’t have any money,” she said. “Nobody in my family does, if you’re hoping for a ransom.”

  “Pity.”

  “Tell me what you want.”

  “A little quiet would be appreciated,” he said, tapping another brick into place.

  “I get it,” Donna said, drawing out the words. “You’re one of those guys who’re mad at women. Didn’t your mommy breastfeed you? No? Wife left you? C’mon, you can tell me.”

  The Soul Eater took some mortar off the pallet he was holding and added it to the wall.

  “Cat got your tongue?” Donna asked.

  Unfazed, he continued his work until her laughter stopped him again.

  “It’s really not wise to make me mad,” he said. “Not wise at all.”

  “You don’t frighten me,” Donna said.

  “I should,” he answered quietly.

  The truth was he did scare Donna. Quite a lot. But she could see from the little tick that had started under his right eye that her comments were getting to him. What she was attempting was dangerous. For all she knew, he might change his mind and kill her on the spot.

  “Now I understand,” she said. “That wall’s the only thing you can get up. There are medicines for that, you know.”

  The Soul Eater glanced at her. He took the next brick, jammed it into place, and kept working.

  Donna continued with the only weapon she had. “It’s pretty obvious. You couldn’t do it with me, so you erect something as a substitute. We learned that in psychology.”

  The last comment did it. Donna watched him toss the trowel down and grab a roll of duct tape lying on the floor. He started for her.

  As soon as he bent down to put the tape over her mouth, Donna threw the dirt she’d been holding into his face and lashed out with her foot, catching him squarely in the jaw. With her captor temporarily disabled, she dashed across the room for her purse and the pepper spray.

  *

  Pain exploded across the killer’s face as he fought to clear his vision. He was in agony and could barely see. He stumbled across the room to a water bottle he’d brought with him and splashed it in his eyes. It felt like there was gravel in them. When his vision began to clear, he saw that Donna was gone. He kept still and listened. Outside, he could hear her scrambling over the rubble in the dim building. A smile slowly appeared on his face. She was going the wrong way.

  With a sigh, the Soul Eater bent down and picked up his trowel and went to find her.

  Chapter 28

  The desk in Dr. Charles Raymond’s office was large and impressively free of clutter. In fact, it was free of everything, save for a phone and a yellow legal pad with blue lines. On the wall were framed diplomas from Piedmont College and the University of Guatemala School of Medicine. He managed to keep Beth waiting for more than fifteen minutes before he swept into the room and introduced himself.

  “I’m terribly sorry, Ms. Sturgis. I was tied up on an important conference call to Los Angeles.”

  Beth wondered if he would have mentioned the call if he’d been speaking with someone in Macon, Georgia.

  “It’s quite all right,” she said. “Thank you for arranging the visit.”

  “Not at all. We’re more than happy to work with the authorities. Terrible business about those people who were murdered. I take it that’s why you’re here.”

  “Our investigation’s just getting started,” she replied automatically.

  “That’s essentially what I told the reporters.”

  “Oh?”

  “They’re quite an aggressive lot. Still, the similarities to Pell are intriguing, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “They are, Doctor.”

  Her use of his title seemed to please him. Raymond tented his fingers importantly and informed her. “Both my staff and I are at your disposal. In fact, we, or should I say I, may be able to save you a great deal of time.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Well, obviously, I’ve had a great deal of contact with Pell over the years, which puts me in a unique position. I know the man’s mind and the way he thinks. Believe me, he’ll try to mislead you if he can.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s all a game to him—a sick game, I grant you.”

  “I see.”

  “Pell is what we call a classic sociopath, a person utterly without conscience. On top of that, he’s extremely bright. He may or may not help you.”

  Beth already had a good idea what to expect from studying the file and newspaper accounts about Howard Pell. Nevertheless, she thanked Raymond for his advice and said she’d be careful. It seemed the fastest way to get her interview started.

  Dr. Raymond further advised her, “Caution probably won’t be enough. Trust me, you need a professional to guide you.”

  As he was talking, the doctor’s eyes took in Beth’s legs and then made their way back to her face. She bit her tongue and decided not to comment.

  “That’s very generous of you.”

  Raymond smiled benignly. “What I’m saying is, I’m offering my services, Beth. May I call you Beth?”

  Only if I can call you a pig, she thought.

  “Of course, Doctor,” she smiled.

  “And I’d like it if you would call me Charles.”

  “I’ll certainly discuss your offer with Chief Ritson, Charles.”

  “Do you know, I’ve called him twice since the story broke, but he hasn’t returned my calls yet.”

  “I’m so sorry. I’ll be sure to mention it,” Beth said.

  That seemed to mollify him. He nodded, then noticed some lint on his sleeve and flicked it off. Despite the office being cool, he had a sheen of sweat on his forehead. Raymond was in his late fifties, and somewhat overweight. The beard he wore was reminiscent of Freud, as was his pattern baldness.

  “I’d love to give you a tour of our little facility,” he said, “if you have the time.”

  “Thank you, Charles. Unfortunately, I’m somewhat pressed at the moment. Perhaps on my next visit. May I see Pell’s visitor list?”

  Raymond was disappointed but said he understood. He then surprised her by asking, “How long do you think we’ll need for the session?”

  “I’m sorry, we?”

  “Well, naturally I assumed you’d want me present. As Pell’s doctor, the therapeutic relationship I’ve developed with him over the years will save you scads of time.”

  “Again, that’s very kind, but I prefer to conduct interviews one on one.”

  “I must warn you, the man’s into mind games. Something I can easily see through. It’s a matter of experience, really.”

  “If I get confused, I’ll call you in,” Beth said, glancing at a clock on the wall. “Or I can consult with Jackson Kale later.”

  “Kale? Yes, I heard his name mentioned on the radio. No disrespect to a colleague, but he’s only a psychologist. I’m a clinically trained physician.”

  “I’ll keep it in mind,” Beth said. “Now if you could take me to him, I’d like to get started. We can pick up the visitor list later.”

  A brief look of annoyance crossed Raymond’s face, but he managed to conceal it and shifted topics. “Very well,” he said, shaking his head. “Perhaps you could join me later for a glass of wine. We’ll go over what you’ve learned.”

  Why me? Beth thought. Like any attractive woman, she had long experience in dealing with persistent men. The best way to deflect them was to smile pleasantly and say how lovely that would be if she could find the time. Which she did.

  Dr. Raymond led her down a long olive-green corridor to a room with a metal table that was bolted to the floor. At opposite ends of the ceiling were two small cameras. The far wall was taken up by a mirror, which Beth guessed
was used for observation.

  Two men were waiting for them. One was a short, powerfully built man in black hospital scrubs, while the other was tall and wore a brown sport coat.

  “This is Dr. Cairo,” Raymond said, introducing the sport coat. “He’s worked with Pell quite a bit. I asked him to be present in case you have any questions. And this is Ron Curry, our psychiatric nurse.”

  Dr. Cairo was probably in his early forties and had brown hair and blue eyes that rarely blinked, something she found disconcerting.

  “We’ll be bringing Pell in in just a minute,” Cairo said. “Here are the rules: Stay in your chair at all times and do not get close to him. Ron will have to lock your gun in the safe until your interview is over.”

  “That’s fine,” Beth said, handing over her weapon to the nurse.

  “Also, if you have anything sharp, like a knife or a pen, please give it to him,” Cairo said.

  Beth did as asked.

  Cairo continued, “I assume you’ve brought a tape recorder.”

  “I have.”

  “It’s fine to use it. We have recording equipment that will pick up everything being said in the room along with cameras for video.”

  “I saw them.”

  “We’ll try to give you as much privacy as possible, but one of us will be in there at all times.”

  Beth started to protest, then changed her mind when he quickly added, “It’s for your own safety.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Very good,” Cairo said. He nodded to the nurse, who relayed the order over his walkie-talkie.

  In the room, Beth took a seat facing the door and watched as two uniform officers, each holding one of Howard Pell’s arms, led him in. He was shorter than she imagined and not physically imposing in any way. Both wrists were manacled and secured to a chain that ran around his waist. Once seated, a second chain was attached from his waist to the floor. One of the uniforms checked to make sure it was properly bolted and then both exited the room. She noticed they both exercised a great deal of caution around the man sitting across from her.

  “Dr. Pell, my name is Elizabeth Sturgis. I’m a detective with the Atlanta Police. Thank you for seeing me.”