Ashes to Ashes

by Nathaniel Fincham

Chapter 48

  The sliding glass opened to reveal the waiting area for the emergency room, one that was populated with plastic bucket seats. The majority of the seats were empty. A few of them were being used by waiting figures. As Ashe and Oscar strolled up to the main desk, Ashe caught sight of one man who was holding a white towel to his head. The towel was obviously being used to catch the blood that was leaking from somewhere beneath it. The other waiters didn’t appear to be injured. They were most likely there for someone else.

  Ashe followed behind Oscar, letting the detective take the lead. When it came down to it, Ashe had no authority in the investigation, nor did he have any authority when it came to speaking to Norman Bones. Ashe was nothing more than a shadow following behind the detective, barely seen and barely heard when it came to other people. Without the shiny badge, most people wouldn’t take him seriously, even if he did have a laminate.

  A lot of people didn’t take him seriously for simply being a psychologist. To some people, those who didn’t fully understand the science behind psychology, a psychologist wasn’t far from a wizard or con artist, but that was a barrier that Ashe had to overcome.

  Thankfully, that barrier was getting weaker and weaker as time passes.

  At the main desk, Oscar greeted the plump woman sitting behind a computer. “Evening.” The detective pulled his badge and introduced himself. “My name is Detective Harrison and this is Dr. Walters. We are here on the authority of Detective Phillips to find out the condition of Norman Bones, a gunshot victim who was brought in here not too long ago. We were hoping to ask him a few questions if we could.”

  The receptionist punched a series of keys on the computer’s keyboard. After squinting at the screen, she told them, “Let me get a hold of the doctor.” Picking up a black phone receiver, she dialed a three digit number and waited a few seconds for a response. When someone answered, she mumbled something on the other end and then immediately hung up. “Dr. Webber will be out shortly. He can give you any information you are here for.” Without waiting for a reply from either Ashe or Oscar, the receptionist put her entire attention back on the computer screen.

  The detective and psychologist turned their backs to the desk area.

  “I sure hope that asshole is awake,” Oscar told Ashe. “But I won’t be too heartbroken if that asshole happened to die.”

  “He can’t die,” Ashe insisted. “We need to talk to him. We need answers from that asshole.”

  Oscar grunted.

  “Why do you think they were at that park?” the psychologist asked.

  “Probably some kind of meeting,” Oscar said. “A meeting away from prying eyes. Illegal stuff.”

  Ashe nodded.

  “If that’s true,” Oscar continued, “it would be news in itself. I’ve been under the impression that Lucky Barrett had gone all Howard Hughes…locking himself in his mansion…afraid of his own shadow. But that might be another rumor.”

  Ashe gave Oscar a sharp glance. “Howard Hughes? One of the reasons why someone might lock themselves in their own home is fear…paranoia…of the extreme type. What might explain that, Oscar?”

  “Lucky took his own pill,” Oscar replied. “Another reason to think he just might have done that. But I still don’t believe that he actually saw his own death.”

  “That is not what I’m saying,” Ashe said. “I don’t know what I’m saying.”

  They grew quiet.

  Hearing footsteps coming up to them, Ashe and Oscar turned to see a man in blue scrubs reaching out his freshly washed hands to greet them. They shook the doctor’s hands. The doctor was a great deal younger than both of the men he was greeting but he met the men’s eyes with the same amount of intensity that he was being given. “I’m Dr. Webber. Are you guys from Cleveland Police?”

  Oscar answered, “No. Youngstown department.”

  “Youngstown?” the doctor asked. “I thought he was shot somewhere here in the city?”

  “It’s a joint investigation,” Oscar said. “Norman Bones is a suspect that needs questioned as soon as possible. Will there be any way that we could make that happen, soon, doctor?”

  Ashe hadn’t noticed the clipboard in the Doctor’s hand until he put it up in front of his face. “Mr. Bones came through surgery as expected. No critical damage had occurred and we believe that he will make a full recovery. His vital signs have stabilized. I don’t assume he would be awake just yet, but we can walk back and take a look for ourselves.”

  Ashe had a hunch that the doctor was humoring them and knew that Norman Bones would not be awake for some time. But he went along with it anyway. He wanted to see Norman Bones for himself, even if the man was sleeping off a gunshot.

  Ashe and Oscar followed the doctor through another sliding glass door and into a long hallway. The hallway was plain, pale and cold, as hospital areas tend to be, because the cold kept germs from growing and multiplying. The doctor led the two men from the initial hallway into another narrower one that intersected the current one. The three men didn’t walk for long before they came to a door with the number 112 written on it. But the door was closed and the doctor appeared confused. Dr. Webber glanced back at Ashe and Oscar before turning the knob to open the closed door. The knob wouldn’t turn. It was locked.

  “These doors are never locked,” Dr. Webber said.

  Oscar swiftly pushed Ashe and the doctor to the side. “Why would this door not be closed or locked?”

  “If a patient crashes,” the doctor explained, “we need immediately access to them.”

  “Good point,” Oscar replied, planting himself in front of the door. “Maybe you shouldn’t put locks on the doors, then,” he joked. He patted his hip, which Ashe knew gave the detective constant problems. The kick came suddenly and caused Ashe to flinch. Oscar at once kicked a second time. Kicking a door down was nothing like in the movies, where the hinges collapsed within one or two kicks. Instead, even though he was a large and strong person, it took Oscar many kicks and stomps against the wood of the door in order to gain any form of entry into the room. And it still took a group shove to get the door completely open.

  Dr. Webber rushed inside first. He ran over to Norman Bones and began to check his vitals, even though it was obvious to anyone that Norman Bones was dead. It was obvious because of the large knife that was protruding from Norman’s chest, along with the red stained note that was taped to hilt of the weapon.

  The note was on white paper. It read: TRY AND SEW THIS ONE UP DOC!

  “Son of a bitch,” Oscar exclaimed.

  Ashe was able to get a good enough look to notice something about Norman Bones. His nose. It was obvious that someone had bit down hard on it. He could still see the outline of teeth in the skin. Scott. Ashe recalled something that happened when his son was much young, possibly in fourth or fifth grade. Scott had been being bullied by another student who was much larger than him. Growing fed up with the shoving and hitting, Scott had retaliated by biting the nose of the bully. It was an act that got him suspended, but Scott had made his point and was never bullied by anyone ever again.

  Ashe grounded his son for the action, but he knew that sometimes people get pushed too far and in that moment they become dangerous. Even the mildest mannered people have their breaking points.

  Dr. Webber began to check the machines. “Someone messed with these machines when they unhooked him. They knew what they were doing. That is why none of the machines went off when he died. Why would this happen?”

  Instead of telling the doctor what he wanted to know, he pulled out his phone. “Phillips? Norman Bones is dead. No. Someone got to him and shoved a knife in his ass. Not literally. Get a team over here a.s.a.p. Yes. Yes. Okay.” He hung up the phone and ordered Dr. Webber from the room, which he agreed to storm off angrily down the hall. He motioned for Ashe to leave as well.

  “Phillips is sending guys over,” Oscar to
ld Ashe when they were in hallway. “We need to stick around here until they arrive. Why weren’t there anybody at this door? There should be guns at this door. Why weren’t there any guns at this door guarding Norman Bones until someone spoke with him?”

  “I don’t know,” Ashe replied.

  “I would have done it,” Oscar fumed. “I would have had men on Norman Bones every damned second.”

  “But that wasn’t your call,” Ashe told him.

  “Phillips dropped the ball,” Oscar growled.

  Ashe put his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “There is nothing that we can do, now.” He said, even though he too wanted to scream and kick and break. But that would not help Scott. Even though the only good lead to his son had just been gutted, he knew that blaming a fellow good guy was not the answer. “Phillips didn’t know it would go this way.”

  “He should have.”

  Ashe shrugged. It was true that Detective Phillips should have had two men on Norman’s door, but it was done. Over. And yet he understood how angry Oscar was. It was a big loss. “What do you think happened here?”

  “Lucky Barrett,” Oscar answered. “If the paranoia is true…I say he had Norman killed before he could talk. But how…while being kidnapped and missing…I don’t know.”

  “That is a good question,” Ashe agreed. “I doubt that Scott gave him free reign over the nearest telephone. Someone who is paranoid might have fail safes in place for whenever something happens…anything. Only thing I could come up with. Lucky must have someone in the police force, either in Cleveland or Youngstown, and don’t give me that look, Oscar, even you can’t deny that possibility. When word went out in the department about what took place…that man acted.”

  Oscar sighed.

  A cell phone chirruped to life and startled both Ashe and Oscar. The cell phone was still in the detective’s hand and he snapped it to his ear. “Speak. Ginger. Please tell me that you have some good news for me, because we need it right now. No. Nothing I want to talk about. Hold on.” Pulling the phone from his head, Oscar turned on the speaker. “You are on speakerphone, Ginger. It’s just me and Ashe.”

  “What do you have for us, Ginger?” Ashe inquired, moving closer to Oscar and the phone.

  “I don’t have a lot, friend,” the lab rat admitted. “Clothes. Bedding. Computer with only school work and links to porn. I found some unused ammunition for the handgun, but that would be expected.”

  “Anything useful,” Oscar interrupted.

  “There was a picture hidden in a frame behind another picture,” Ginger said. “It was taken from the newspaper.”

  “Who is in the picture, Ginger?” Ashe asked.

  “The picture is not all here,” Ginger told him. “I think it was a larger picture, but most of it has been cut away. I can see two men standing side by side.”

  “Who?” Ashe wanted to know.

  “Franklin and Lucky Barrett,” Ginger replied.

  “We already know that they are involved in this,” Oscar said. “That doesn’t give us anything new. Damn.”

  “The third clue,” Ashe mumbled.

  Oscar looked to him. “What?”

  “Scott told me that he had left three clues behind,” Ashe replied.

  “Clues,” Oscar exhaled. “I’m tired of chasing shadows. This isn’t a fucking fiction novel. I want answers. Ginger? Can you find me the rest of that picture? I want to know everything about it, who is in it, what articles it is from…everything.” Before Ginger could say yes or no or maybe, Oscar ended the call.

  “What do you want me to do?” Ashe asked his old friend.

  “I’ll stay right here and watch this room,” Oscar replied. “I want you to go and find us some coffee. The night is just getting started.”

  Without arguing or asking Oscar when the last time it was that he had slept, Ashe went down the cold hall in search of caffeine.