John Locke - Lethal Experiment Страница 9

“How long will we be in Vegas?” I asked.

Callie smirked at me. “Gotta check in with the ‘ol ball and chain?”

I shrugged. “When you’re in a committed relationship, there are certain rules of protocol.”

“So you’ll tell her we’re going to Vegas, just you and me?”

“Full disclosure is not one of the rules.”

“One night.”

“Excuse me?”

“We’ll be in Vegas one night.”

I assumed she had a tricky freelance killing to do that required a second person. If so, I’d need to know a few details before we left.

“What type of equipment should I bring?” I asked.

“A nice suit.”

“That’s it?”

“We’re just going to a show. At the Bellagio.”

“Oh.”

“That’s right.”

“What’s right?”

“ ‘O’.”

“Oh, what?” I said.

“The show is called ‘O.’”

“In that case,” I said, “who’s on first?”

“Does that work for Kathleen?”

“What, humor?”

She looked at me and rolled her eyes.

“Not really,” I said.

We sat there a moment, Callie staring straight ahead, thinking of one thing but talking about another.

“She probably thinks you’re funny,” Callie said. “It’s early in the relationship.”

“That’ll change soon, though, huh Dr. Phil?”

“You’re probably wondering why I want you to see this particular show this particular week,” she said.

“Hey, I’m honored. The reason doesn’t matter.”

“It might, later on.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because after the show you’re going to have to make a life and death decision.”

“My life and death?”

“No,” she said. “Mine.”

Chapter 16

Sunday morning. I was heading to Kathleen’s house when my cell phone rang. I checked the display, saw my daughter was calling, and had my driver raise the privacy partition. Before I clicked on, I reminded myself to start off cheerfully.

“Hi Kitten, what’s up?”

“Oh my God, Daddy, someone’s killed Charlie!”

“What? Who’s been killed?” I said.

“Charlie! My boyfriend! Oh, my God! Someone’s killed Charlie!” Kimberly started sobbing. “Oh, my God!” she screamed.

With each sob I felt a stab of guilt. But also relief. Th at son-of-a-bitch might be hurting her in death, but he would have hurt her far worse by living.

“Kimberly, try to calm down. Tell me what happened.”

“They found a van this morning, in a field. Four boys were shot. One of them is Charley. Oh, God, Daddy!” She started sobbing again. “How can this have happened? Who could possibly want to hurt Charley? He was the greatest guy ever.”

“Are you absolutely sure it was Charlie? Has anyone identified the body?”

She was having trouble catching her breath.

“It’s him, Dad. All four boys were killed.”

“I’m so sorry, Kitten,” I said. “I’m so very sorry.”

We went on like that awhile. Somewhere in there she said, “I wish you could have met him. You would have liked him.”

“I know I would have,” I lied.

She cried some more and I remained on the phone until she was all cried out. I asked if there was anything I could do.

She said, “Is there any way you’d consider coming to the funeral?”

“Of course I will,” I said. “Just tell me when and where.”

I wasn’t worried about being recognized as Callie’s date from the Grantline Bar & Grill the night before. For one thing, all eyes were on Callie. For another, I’d worn elevator shoes that added three inches to my height, a brown wig, glasses and a full beard. The beard covered the scar on my face, and the clothes I wore are long gone. The guns were cleaned and currently in Sal’s possession. There was nothing to tie me to the scene.

Kathleen and I spent the day quietly, commiserating about Kimberly. I had to bite my lip a dozen times as Kathleen kept asking the same questions Kimberly had posed about poor, sweet, wonderful Charlie. It pissed me off that Kathleen assumed the kid she’d never met had been a choir boy. I mean, when four boys are murdered gangland style, wouldn’t you naturally assume there might be something amiss? I kept reminding myself that Kathleen was a civilian. She had no instincts or training that would lead her to suspect that Charlie had murdered one woman and raped a dozen others. I remained neutral on the subject of Charlie, knowing that in the days to come most of the sordid details would be revealed in the news. But I knew I could never tell Kathleen about my involvement in his death, despite the fact that by killing Charlie, Callie and I had saved Kimberly and countless other women. No matter how deep Kathleen and my relationship grew, this would be yet another terrible secret I’d have to keep from her.

“Donovan, is there anything you can do?” she said.

“You mean like trying to find out who did it?”

“Or at least get some updated information for Kimberly. I’m sure it would make her feel better.”

“That’s a good idea,” I said. “I’ll put Lou Kelly on it.”

Lou is my right-hand man, the guy that heads up my support team for Sensory Resources. Lou’s geek squad would be able to provide me with up-to-the-minute information from the sheriff's department.

All afternoon the calls went back and forth between Lou and me. By eight p.m. the investigation had made enough progress to give Kimberly a credible report.

“I know you’re hurting honey, but I called in some favors and did some checking. You can’t tell anyone about this, because it’s privileged, but I’ve got some information about the shooting.”

“Thank you, Daddy.” She sounded painfully subdued.

“I’ve got to warn you, you’re probably not going to like what I have to say.”

“Then it’s probably a pack of lies.”

Well, at least there was still a spark there. “It might be, honey, but the evidence they’ve gathered is pretty strong against the boys.”

She was quiet, bristling a little.

“It’s up to you, Kimberly.”

“I want to hear it,” she said. “I’ll find out eventually, so I may as well know now.”

“All right, then. I’ll start talking, and if it gets to be too much, just tell me and I’ll stop. Here goes: all four of the boys were from Darnell. Two of them were shot execution style with a single shot between the eyes. Charlie was one of them, the other was a boy named George Rawlins.”

I paused to let her finish crying.

“Go ahead, Dad. I’m sorry.”

“I know, baby. It’s hard. Maybe this isn’t the best time.”

“No Dad, really. I want to hear.”

“Okay. I’m reading from a memorandum now: ‘The other two, Bickham Wright and Robbie Milford, were wounded first; then finished off with head shots. The driver of the van, Bickham Wright, was shot in the groin. Robbie Milford was shot in the lower chest. Police on the scene speculated the shootings may have been gang related, and likely involved drugs; a conclusion they reached in an effort to tie the crime to the recent disappearance of Bickham Wright’s cousin, Ned Denhollen, also from Darnell.’”

Kimberly said, “Mr. Denhollen was our pharmacist. There’s been a rumor he left his wife. Has he been found?”

“There’s nothing in the report about it,” I said. “Here, I’ll read you what I have: ‘Denhollen is or was a Darnell pharmacist. Friends and neighbors interviewed considered Ned and his wife Anita to be living beyond their means, suggesting possible after-hours drug sales. The kill shots appeared to be professional in nature, suggesting a gangland-style murder or underworld execution.’”

“So far, none of this makes any sense,” Kimberly said. “If Mr. Denhollen was selling drugs, they would have shot him, not Charlie and the others.”

“Let me keep reading,” I said. “It starts to come together: ‘Madison Park police discovered the four bodies Sunday morning. Because the area where the bodies were found encompasses both jurisdictions, police officers from Madison Park and Darnell have joined forces to create a task force to investigate the shootings. All four victims were known to police at the scene and therefore identified simultaneously. At 1:25 p.m. today the task force began a thorough search of the victims’ homes, personal belongings, and computers. They discovered several clear, odorless vials of liquid in a box on the top shelf of Bickham Wright’s bedroom closet, which they turned over to a local medical lab for testing. Riley Cobb, a local computer expert, was able to access Robby Milford’s computer. He was able to uncover hundreds of pornographic downloads, as well as a folder named ‘Fuck Club.’”

I waited to see if she had a comment about that. She didn’t.

“Sorry about the language,” I said.

“Its okay, Daddy,” she said. “I’ve heard the word a million times.”

“There’s a lot of stuff about this,” I said. “Rather than read it, I’ll summarize. The task force found several files in the Fuck Club folder on Robbie’s computer, including seven rules for participating in the club, and photographs of three local girls, all nude, all apparently unconscious.

“Who were they, Dad?”

“I don’t have their names yet, but the task force has identified them as local girls, meaning either Darnell or Madison Park, or both.”

“Why were they unconscious? Were they drunk? I don’t understand.”

“This is the part you’re not going to like. The task force is almost certain that the test results on the vials found in Bickham’s closet will reveal GHB, the date rape drug. Based on the files and photographs they uncovered from Robbie’s computer, and the vials found in Bickham’s closet, it looks like the boys had a club where they were drugging girls and having sex with them.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Kimberly shouted. “I don’t know the others. I mean, I know of them, but I don’t know them. But I do know Charlie. He was gorgeous, Dad. He could’ve had any girl. He didn’t need to drug anyone. If there actually was such a club, Charlie couldn’t possibly have been a part of it.”

I had to bite my tongue not to speak. Because not only was Charlie part of it, he was the worst part of it.

“I’m sure you’re right, Kitten. By the time they finish the investigation maybe they’ll conclude it was the other three, not Charlie.”

“I can guarantee it,” she said.

“Well, you certainly knew him better than me,” I said, “so I’m sure you’re right.”

“Did they find any evidence when they searched the van?”

That’s my daughter, I thought.

“In fact, they have. In addition to blood evidence, they’ve found five shell casings that are almost certainly related to the shooting, hundreds of fingerprints, and they’ve collected dozens of hair and fiber samples. They’ve also found numerous semen stains and other bodily fluid stains on sleeping bags found in the back of the van.”

“They’ll test the semen against the boys, won’t they?” she said.

“They will.”

“And if they find a match to Charlie, they’ll think he was in on it.”

“Not necessarily.”

“What do you mean?”

“From what I understand, Charlie’s father is an outstanding criminal lawyer. I’m sure if Charlie is innocent, his father will be able to make a compelling argument to prove it.”

“You believe me, don’t you Dad? About Charlie?”

“I do, honey.”

“Good. I couldn’t bear it if you didn’t.”

“I understand there’s going to be a vigil tonight,” I said. “At the high school.”

“It starts at nine. We’re all going.”

“Well, you be safe, okay?”

“I will. And thanks for trusting me with all this. I won’t tell anyone.”

“No problem. I love you, Kimberly.”

“I love you too, Dad. And…”

“Yes?”

“I loved Charlie.”

I winced. “I know you did, honey.”

Chapter 17

“Donovan, let’s cut to the chase,” said Dr. Nadine Crouch. “This is our third visit, and so far you’ve refused to talk about your parents or your childhood, you’ve refused to talk about your job, or even what you were doing in the moments before the chest pain occurred. So I have to assume you were doing something illegal or immoral.”

She paused to see if her words stirred a reaction in me.

“Do you deny it?” she said.

“Would it bother you?”

She said, “Suppose you found a bird with a broken wing that needs your help. Is it really important how its wing got broken?”

I paused a moment, trying to follow her train of thought. Giving up, I said, “Maybe you should just tell me what you’re trying to say.”

“It’s not my job to judge you.”

“In that case, I don’t deny it.”

“Very well,” she said. “So you were doing something immoral or illegal when the pain began. Is this an activity you’ve engaged in previously?”

“Hypothetically?”

“Of course.”

“Yes.”

“Would I be right in assuming you haven’t suffered chest pains while performing this activity in the past?”

“You would.”

She pursed her lips. “Normally I wouldn’t make a rush to judgment, but you’re not a typical patient. By helping you, I might be protecting others.”

“I appreciate that,” I said. “So what’s the verdict?”

“We haven’t spent enough time together for me to pronounce this with a high degree of certainty. But at first blush, this seems to be a classic example.”

“Of?”

“Psychologically Induced Pain Syndrome. PIPS, for short.”

“PIPS? I’ve got PIPS? Boy, won’t Gladys Knight be jealous!”

“Psychological pain syndromes are defense mechanisms created by your subconscious mind to cover up unresolved emotional issues. In short, whatever your body was doing the day of the chest pains, your mind wanted no part of it. Your mind fought back the only way it could: by creating pain.”

“Are you being serious?” I said.

“Completely. Your mind creates an intense pain to try to force you to stop doing whatever it is you’re doing. It forces you to focus on the pain. If you don’t, the pain gets worse. Your mind is determined to make you stop doing whatever it is that is so distasteful. If you don’t come to grips with it, it can shut you down altogether.”

I thought about that for a minute. “Is this a common thing?”

“It is, but it typically manifests in back pain.”

“Then why the heart this time?”

“Look at you,” she said. “You’re strong as an ox. I’m guessing you’ve never had the slightest back pain, am I right?”

“You are.”

“So your mind knows you wouldn’t believe a back pain. The subconscious mind is very clever. It won’t create a pain that can be ignored or put off . It takes advantage of you by creating something so convincing, you have to focus on it. In your case I’m going to go out on a limb and guess your father, or someone close to you, died of a heart attack.”