[Lady Justice 39] - Lady Justice and the Raven

by Robert Thornhill

  I saw Kevin eyeing the dog. “Didn’t our host say his name was Baskerville?”

  “That’s what he said,” I replied. “Why do you ask?”

  “Well, if his name is Baskerville, and that’s his hound, does that remind you of a book?”

  I thought for a moment. “You mean The Hound of the Baskervilles?”

  “Yeah, that’s the one. You said everything tied to this case was related to some books.”

  “I did, but this one doesn’t fit. Everything so far has related to stories by Edgar Allen Poe. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle wrote The Hound of the Baskervilles. Not only that, old Rufus here doesn’t exactly fit the description of the hound in Sir Arthur’s story. That hound was a huge black beast that was trained to kill. Also, the detectives were Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson. Given the circumstances, we don’t exactly measure up to that standard.”

  Rufus lifted his massive head and cocked his ears as if he knew we were talking about him. A big glob of drool fell and puddled on the ground.

  The door to the house opened and Baskerville returned.

  “I’ve figured what I’m going to do with you,” he said. “We’re going back to the pile of rubble that used to be the Unger’s place. The cops have finished their investigation and there’s no reason for anyone to go back up there. I’ll just cover your bodies under the debris and it may be months before anyone finds you. By that time, I’ll be long gone.”

  He untied the rope that bound us to the tree. “Now get to your feet and let’s get moving!”

  Minutes later, we were standing in front of the rubble that had once been the House of Unger.

  “Get up closer,” he ordered, “so I won’t have so far to drag your bodies.”

  I had been desperately trying to figure a way out of our predicament, but with our hands tied and Baskerville with the .45, there just weren’t any options that didn’t end up with one or both of us dead. I looked questioningly at Kevin. He just shrugged and shook his head.

  “On your knees!” Baskerville ordered.

  After we had both complied, he asked, “Any last words?”

  Then I heard a voice coming up the driveway. “Yeah, I might have a few!”

  It was Ox! He and Judy were coming up the driveway, guns drawn. “Put down the gun!” Ox ordered.

  The look on Baskerville’s face turned from shock and surprise to resignation. “I served the House of Unger for twelve long years, and they cast me aside with nothing. I’ll not be denied what is my due. One way or the other, this ends here!”

  He swung his arm to fire at Ox and Judy, but both their guns erupted before he could pull the trigger.

  The moment he hit the ground, I heard a mournful howl coming from the house just down the road. “Owwwww! Owwww!” It was Rufus. Somehow, the hound of Henry Baskerville sensed that his master would be coming home --- nevermore.

  I heard rustling in a nearby tree. Perched on a limb was a huge black raven. He perched, and sat, and nothing more.

  CHAPTER 12

  “How in the world did you find us?” I asked as Ox was cutting the plastic ties.

  He pointed to a figure coming up the driveway. “Mr. Funny Pants. He followed you to Loose Park and when he saw you being abducted, he called Maggie. Maggie called us and we called Jerry, who was following you here.”

  When Jerry arrived, huffing and puffing, I didn’t know whether to hug him or club him.

  “You actually followed us after we said you couldn’t go with us?”

  He looked at the body on the ground. “Really? That’s the thanks I get for saving your sorry asses?”

  “You’re absolutely right,” I said, giving him a hug. “We’ll give you a pass --- just this once.”

  He tugged at his collar. “I just don’t get no respect. When you get kidnapped, you get saved. When I was kidnapped, they sent back a piece of my finger to my father. He said he wanted more proof.”

  Good old Jerry. He just couldn’t help doing Rodney Dangerfield even though a body was bleeding out at his feet.

  “No, seriously,” I said, “I hate to think about what would have happened if Ox and Judy hadn’t shown up when they did. We have you to thank for that.”

  “So what happens now?” he asked. “This is actually pretty cool.”

  “Now we call the cops,” Ox replied. “All of us have a lot of explaining to do.”

  When Derek Blaylock showed up, he looked at the scene obviously bewildered. He turned to Kevin and me. “Somehow, I’m not surprised both of you are involved in this mess, but,” he said, turning to Ox and Judy, “not you two. You’re cops for chrissakes!”

  Ox shrugged. “It’s a long story.”

  “Then we’d better get started,” Blaylock replied. “I’ve got all day.”

  I had to go way back to my first meeting with Roderick Unger, then the subsequent visit when he entrusted me with the letter and map, and our fruitless search for the elusive Jacob Unger.

  “So we opened the letter, found the map to Galen Unger’s hidden money, and that’s when Henry Baskerville showed up and took us hostage.”

  Blaylock shook his head. “This whole cockamamie story sounds like the plot from some twisted novel.”

  I poked Kevin in the arm. “See, I told you so. Edgar Allen Poe.”

  “I guess the next step is to find that ammo box full of money,” Blaylock said.

  We convoyed next door to Baskerville’s house. The minute we stepped out of the car, old Rufus ambled up and sniffed my crotch again.

  “Must be something dead in there,” Kevin quipped. “I hear blood hounds are good at tracking stuff like that.”

  “Very funny,” I replied, prying the dog’s nose from my private parts.

  Baskerville hadn’t spent much time hiding the loot. I’m sure in his mind, he would be coming right back, then taking out for parts unknown.

  Blaylock took the box with him as evidence, but several days later I received a call from him. “Well, Walt, I checked with our legal department. In criminal cases, if the person charged with the crime dies, there is no defendant to prosecute and any charges against him will be automatically dismissed. It’s as if no crime ever took place. Plus, Plaza Bank & Trust closed its doors twenty years ago. It no longer exists. So, according to the District Attorney, it’s ‘finder’s-keepers.’ You can come pick up the money any time.”

  “Really? That’s it?”

  “I suppose I could arrest you and Kevin for defacing public property. You did dig up Loose Park. No, on second thought, it’s not worth the paperwork. Plus, I’d have to look at your ugly mugs again. Please! Stay out of trouble!”

  I promised we would try.

  I picked up the ammo box, and as Kevin and I were examining it in my office, he asked, “What do you think?”

  “If you don’t mind, I’d like to just hold on to it for a while. Something in my gut tells me that Jacob Unger just might turn up. If not, we can always divide it up later. Are you okay with that?”

  He grinned. “Somehow, I thought you might say that.”

  In a related matter, we picked up old Rufus and took him to the local animal shelter. The people there said that blood hounds are a very popular breed and they should have no trouble finding him a good home.

  I just hope his new master is more personable then Henry Baskerville.

  CHAPTER 13

  A few days later, I was at my desk when the phone rang.

  It was Suzanne Romero.

  Suzanne is, in my opinion, the best defense attorney in Kansas City. Over the years, our paths have crossed many times. She successfully defended Ox and me when we were framed for murder by two corrupt cops. She got Mary Murphy off the hook when an over zealous prosecutor charged her with murder for shooting an intruder who threatened her with a knife.

  In return, I have helped with clients of hers, including mob boss, Carmine Marchetti, who was wrongfully accused of killing reporter, Jack Carson, who had been investigating the chemtrail conspiracy.
<
br />   “Suzanne, what can I do for you?”

  “I have a client who needs a reputable private investigator, and, of course, I thought of you. Are you available?”

  “Of course. What’s the case?”

  “Not over the phone. Can you come to my office?”

  “I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”

  Suzanne’s secretary escorted me into her office.

  “Good to see you again, Walt.” Suzanne said, extending her hand. “I’d like you to meet Alice Crawford. Alice, this is the private investigator I was telling you about, Walt Williams.”

  After the introductions, I took a seat next to Alice.

  “Alice is the Executive Officer of Autism Alternatives,” Suzanne said. “I’ll let her take it from here.”

  “Mr. Williams,” Alice began, “are you familiar with autism?”

  “Somewhat,” I replied, “and please call me Walt.”

  “Of course. Let me begin by telling you about the disease. The incidence of autism has increased by 470% since 1989. 1 in 59 children is diagnosed with ASD, and currently, more than 3.5 million Americans live with autism spectrum disorder.”

  “Why the sudden increase?” I asked.

  “There’s a raging debate going on about that,” she replied. “But that’s for another day. The fact is that it is here, and unfortunately, there is no cure for autism.

  “An estimated 31% of people with ASD are non-verbal, 31% have an IQ of less than 70, and another 25% are borderline with an IQ between 71 and 85. Nearly half of those with autism wander or bolt from safety, and 28% of eight-year-olds with ASD have self-injurious behaviors such as head-banging, arm-biting, and skin scratching. On average, autism costs a family an estimated $60,000 a year through childhood.”

  “I had no idea.”

  “Most people don’t unless someone in their family is afflicted. Again, there is no cure, and the FDA has approved only two drugs for the treatment of autism, risperidone and aripiprazole. Both of these drugs are antipsychotics and are used to treat schizophrenia and bi-polar disorder. Naturally, there are serious side effects such as drowsiness, dizziness, lightheadedness, drooling, nausea, weight gain, or tiredness.

  “That brings me to the reason we’ve called you in today. My organization has been working with a very brilliant man, Dr. Joseph Upton. Dr. Upton is what is known as an autistic savant. While suffering from many of the same symptoms as others with autism, Dr. Upton is borderline genius.”

  I knew exactly what she was talking about. A year or so ago, I had the privilege of working with another autistic savant, Dr. Buford Skinner. He had perfected a device he called the Neuron Encoding Synapse Disruptor. The NESD was used in treating people suffering from alcoholism, drug abuse, and PTSD, by erasing their memories. Unfortunately, there were those who coveted the device for clandestine purposes.

  “Yes,” I replied. “I’m well aware of the syndrome. Have you heard of Dr. Buford Skinner?”

  “Of course.”

  “I worked with him not too long ago. He is a brilliant man.”

  “Wonderful!” she replied. “Then you understand that Dr. Upton has some --- uhh --- idiosyncrasies.”

  “I certainly do. After meeting my wife, Maggie, Dr. Skinner informed us that she had a fine ass for a woman of her age. We accepted it as a compliment.”

  Alice laughed. “Then you do understand. Here is the situation. Dr. Upton has perfected a new drug for the treatment of autism. As I mentioned earlier, the other drugs approved by the FDA, risperidone and aripiprazole, were originally approved for schizophrenia, and only approved for autism because there was nothing else available.

  “Dr. Upton has named the new drug Esperanza, the Spanish word for hope. He is convinced that it will provide symptomatic relief to autism sufferers without the debilitating side effects, thus giving them new hope.”

  “That’s amazing!”

  She sighed. “It would be except for one thing. I am here in Kansas City representing my organization, Autism Alternatives, because Dr. Upton was to grant the patent for Esperanza to us to be disseminated among all the organizations battling autism. Rather than claiming an exclusive on the patent, his wish is that Esperanza be made available to everyone at a reasonable cost.”

  “I’m a bit confused,” I said. “Won’t Esperanza have to go through rigorous drug trials and be approved by the FDA?”

  “No, because Esperanza is not a drug. It is a dietary supplement made of all-natural ingredients.”

  “I guess I’m not seeing the problem.”

  “The problem is this. Big pharma wants to get their hands on the formula. Once they have it, they can tweak it just enough to claim it was developed by their R&D labs. They submit it to the FDA, and once their patent is approved, the supplement will cost hundreds of dollars a dose instead of pennies.

  “A perfect example of this is the drug, mebendazole. It is used to treat the most common worm-like parasitic infection in the U.S. Until 2011, the generic version of mebendazole could be purchased for about $1.60. Then, without explanation, it was taken off the market by the manufacturer. It was reintroduced in 2016 by a company called Impax, who is now the sole provider of mebendazole in the U.S. under the name of Emverm. The average price for two chewable tablets of Emverm is now $430.00. By acquiring the rights to these drugs and effectively cornering the market on approved prescription drugs for pinworms, Impax has basically created a license to steal.”

  “Are you saying you’re worried big pharma might try to steal Dr. Upton’s formula?”

  She nodded. “They already have. Dr. Upton’s lab is in the basement of his home on Brookside in south Kansas City. The night before I was to meet with Dr. Upton, someone broke into his home, assaulted Dr. Upton, leaving him for dead, and ransacked this house. Dr. Upton survived, but he’s currently in the hospital in a coma.”

  “Jesus! That’s horrible.”

  I knew exactly what big pharma is capable of. A few years ago, a holistic physician, Dr, Martin Mitchell, developed an all-natural supplement for the treatment of high cholesterol that would do the same thing as statin drugs without the side effects. Putnam Pharmaceuticals, the maker of Rolotor, the most widely used statin drug, would lose billions if Dr. Mitchell’s supplement was introduced.

  Putnam sent an assassin to silence Dr. Mitchell and destroy his work. Anything to protect their profits.

  “Did they find the formula for Esperanza?”

  “That’s the thing,” Alice replied. “We don’t think they did. Dr. Upton is no dummy. He knew his work would cost big pharma millions, so he took precautions. He told us that the formula would be hidden away until the day it was presented to us. We think it’s still in his house somewhere. That’s why we called you.”

  “And you’re wanting me to do what?”

  “Find the formula before big pharma does.”

  She held up a key. “This is the key to Dr. Upton’s house. Will you help us?”

  I accepted the key. “We’ll do our best.”

  Kevin listened intently as I told him about our latest assignment.

  When I finished, he looked at me quizzically. “Let me get this straight. This super-smart doctor concocted a new drug in his basement, but before he could turn the formula over to Autism Alternatives, someone, presumably sent by big pharma, sneaks into the house, whacks the doctor, and tears the place to pieces looking for the formula.”

  “That’s it in a nutshell.”

  “Well, if the spook couldn’t find it, what makes you think we can?”

  “O ye of little faith.”

  “That’s all you’ve got?”

  “I guess we won’t know until we try. Are you in?”

  He shrugged. “Sure. Why not?”

  When we opened the door on Brookside Boulevard, it looked like a tornado had ripped through the place.

  Every piece of furniture had been dismantled. Sofa cushions and pillows had been ripped apart. Every drawer had been pulled out and every pict
ure had been taken down and the back pulled off.

  “Holy crap!” Kevin muttered.

  We wandered through the house and discovered that every room had been ransacked just like the living room. The basement was even worse. Dr. Upton’s lab was in shambles. Everything that wasn’t nailed down was taken apart. On closer inspection, even things that had been nailed down were pried up and taken apart.

  “So where do we start?” Kevin asked. “Not much point in looking at the stuff the spook has already torn apart.”

  “I don’t know,” I replied, feeling absolutely helpless. “Maybe we should look for some kind of secret hiding place --- a hollow wall --- a loose brick --- that kind of thing.”

  “Okay by me,” he replied. “I’ll start upstairs and you can check out the basement.”

  For the next two hours, we tapped every wall, looked for loose baseboards, and felt for latches to hidden rooms.

  Nothing!

  Tired and frustrated, we met in the living room.

  “Ready to give up?” Kevin asked.

  “Today anyway,” I replied. “We’re missing something. It’s like the old saying, ‘You can’t see the forest for the trees.’”

  “So what will be different if we come back tomorrow?”

  “Maybe we need a fresh set of eyes,” I replied. “Sometimes one person can see something another person can’t.”

  “Who do you have in mind?”

  “Maybe Dad, Bernice, Jerry. It couldn’t hurt to have them take a look.”

  “Sounds like a recipe for disaster,” he replied, rolling his eyes, “but it’s your call.”

  Back home, I gathered my new recruits in my apartment and explained what I wanted them to do.

  Jerry was ecstatic. “I get to help on a case and I don’t have to sneak this time!”

  Bernice clapped her hands. “Oh goody! This is just like a scavenger hunt.”

  I was beginning to think Kevin was right about the potential for disaster.