“Who is 73’s doctor now?” Maude asked, her stomach aching from the knowledge that Dawson had manipulated events leading to Hopkins’ death. “It’s important that your patient be watched closely now. We believe he’s capable of his old behavior.”
“Nonsense,” Ponder said. “Number 73 is hardly more than a pampered vegetable. His family brings in the occasional item hoping to get a response from him, but nothing penetrates the layers of his psychosis.”
“I want a list of family members who visit him,” Maude said. “I want it today, right now.” She was furious with the stupidity of the doctor. “This man is dangerous, probably the most dangerous inmate you’ve ever encountered.”
Ponder stared hard at the two detectives, fastening his eyes on Joe, looking for reprieve from the woman who held him hostage with her words. When his stare produced no response, Ponder began blustering that Maude’s behavior was out of line.
“Maybe so, but you’ll give me the list of visitors, or you and I will soon be visiting your supervisor. Get it, Doctor Ponder, if you value your position here.”
Joe eyed the doctor and nodded. “I’d get it if I were you,” he said quietly. “You don’t want to rile this woman.”
Ponder turned and stormed toward a room at the end of the hallway. His shoulders were stiff, the set of them disapproving and defiant as his feet carried him away from the two detectives.
“Think he’ll do it?” Maude asked, her well of tolerance nearly empty.
“Maybe. I think you scared him pretty bad,” Joe said with a grin.
“Let’s hope. His life may depend upon it. Meanwhile, call around and find out what you can about Hopkins’ death. Someone must have seen something. Maybe the hospital cops have some information. It’s too convenient, this man dying. I think he knew too much and Dawson had him eliminated after using him for his purposes.”
“You convinced he’s awake?”
“Yes, I am. Before we see him, I want to talk to that nurse, Ellen Goodbody. She sounds like someone who might know what is really going on.”
“Good idea, Maude. Maybe one of the staff will cooperate.”
“Don’t bet on it,” she said, eyeing the frowning woman who operated the doors electronically. “We aren’t loved here.”
“Give me a minute. I’ll be right back,” Joe said, headed toward the frowning woman.
Maude watched from across the room, seeing the operator’s expression changing as her face pinked from something Joe said. “My, my, that man of mine, how he does shine,” Maude said, smiling to herself. In a short time, Joe returned, his green eyes twinkling.
“She’ll be here in about ten minutes,” he said. “Let’s hope the doc returns before then.”
“Joe, you’re wasting your talent. With your winning ways and handsome profile, the world is your oyster, just waiting for you to open it and find a pearl of great price.”
It was Detective Allen’s turn to blush, his head dropping just a bit as Maude teased him. She thought of Joe as both a partner and a friend, and he knew it, but sometimes she managed to get the best of him. Luckily for him, the tide both swelled and receded. His turn came around often enough to keep Maude on her toes. A good working relationship included fair play and a return of harmless barbs.
Beyond the curve of the mirrored tile floor, Doctor Ponder grudgingly made his way toward the two waiting detectives. Without acknowledgement of his right or wrong behavior, the doctor handed a printout to Maude, a list showing four visitors who had made their way to the twenty-second floor. One was Maude Rogers and a companion from the Madison Sheriff’s Department; an incomplete visit was noted in the small log. Another was a person named Mr. Smith, a visitor listed as a relative who had made multiple trips to see Robert Dawson, often staying the maximum time allowed. Smith was allowed in the inmate’s room along with the attending psychiatrist. The last was Laura Bell Stanton, listed as a family relative. Maude was surprised to see the children’s grandmother listed as a visitor. The revelation was intriguing, prompting a later investigation.
“Doctor Ponder, when did you first begin treating Robert Dawson?”
“I don’t have to tell you anything, detective,” he replied. “All you need to know is he is now my patient.”
“Are you aware this inmate is a criminal, having been sentenced by the court to serve his time under harsh supervision?” She eyed him unwaveringly, waiting for his response, hoping the shakes didn’t give her away.
“Doctor Hopkins called me in, asked me to assess the patient,” he said prissily. “I resent your implication that I did anything wrong.”
“I didn’t say you did something wrong, Doctor Ponder, I asked you if you realized the conditions of this man’s confinement. He is a murderer and a psychological maniac, a torturer of women, and totally unfit to live in society.”
The doctor drew himself up, bristling with dislike for Maude. She had hoped to see his true colors, and believed he was finally showing them. It was obvious that the man had been snookered by Dawson, or bought with his money. Either way, she knew he was not to be trusted for genuine information. She had a feeling Dawson had orchestrated the man’s responses, and was probably having a belly laugh over her troubles with the good doctor.
“There are certain disciplines you as a layman can’t possibly know,” Ponder said, his mouth pursed. “I would not expect you to understand the human psyche, nor do I feel the need to justify myself as a doctor or explain my patient’s condition. Number 73 is locked away from the world, both physically and psychologically. He is unaware that you hate him to such an extent.”
“Perhaps, Doctor Ponder,” Joe interrupted, “we will make that assessment ourselves shortly. We’re here to see your patient. Please make him ready.”
Ponder glared at his new opponent, then nodded, defeated for the moment. “As you wish,” he said. “Follow me.”
Maude glanced at Joe, shrugging, as if to say their bluff had been called. Ellen Goodbody would have to wait. Maybe a trip to her house at the end of her shift would be better. She might speak more freely then.
Number 73 was lying in his bed, a striped blue and white blanket tucked in beneath his feet. The previous months had not been kind to Dawson. Maude’s attention upon the killer was a palpable connection, forcing her to stare at the creature who had taken so many lives, forcing his victims and their families to suffer in retaliation for his own abused childhood. Dawson’s black hair was thin and lifeless, his forehead bereft of the widow’s peak that Maude remembered from his boyhood. She could almost see the small boy whose body needed comforting after the cruelty of his mother’s blows. A light growth of facial hair filled in the hollowness of his cheeks, with scars from the crash between bicycle and automobile visible above the growth. His body was covered, but Maude knew there must be a plethora of old marks from gouges made by the pavement that night. She felt no sympathy, only disgust with the criminal lying in the bed. It was her intent to make him betray himself. Believing that she could influence Dawson and make him react against his will, Maude stood stock still, wondering which button to push.
“Hello, Bobby,” she whispered. “How’s your tummy? Has your mommy punched you today? It’s Maude, your old nanny. I know you’re awake—remember, I can see into you. Have you made messy in your pants today?”
The stillness in the room seemed manufactured. Dawson was cuffed at the wrists and his feet chained to the end of the bed. His body appeared totally limp. For a moment Maude wondered if maybe she had been wrong; maybe she was hoping for the easy solve to her murder case. Then she saw it, the tiny tic above his right eyebrow. One of the several facial muscles above his eye had responded to her questions. Experience with interviews had taught her to watch closely for tics indicating a person’s anxiety. It was only a matter of time before he gave himself away. Joe stood quietly, ready to respond if necessary. Maude felt his protective presence, and was grateful to have him there. The man in the bed had embraced evil, and it radiated
from him as he lay confined. She saw it again, the uncontrolled movement of his facial muscles.
“Doctor Ponder,” Maude said, “do you know who you have here? He’s a cowardly little boy hiding behind a sleep mask, pretending to be unaware of his surroundings, all the while messing his pants and crying for his mommy.”
The dark eyes opened quickly, staring into Maude’s soul. She felt the malice in them, confirming her suspicions. Dawson was alert, his mind working all the while, and she saw the hate behind the sleep mask. His eyes shut again, all sign of life gone from his expression. But it had been enough for her. She glanced at Joe and he nodded, having seen into the inmate’s eyes.
“That’s enough, detective,” Ponder said. “You have proven nothing with your attacks upon my patient.”
“Your patient is fully aware of his surroundings, doctor. You saw him look at me.”
“What I saw was a reflex action. Not at all uncommon in cases similar to Number 73. I must insist you leave now before you destroy all the work that we have done with this patient,” Ponder blustered. “I put in a call to the circuit court. You will be hearing from them with a cease and desist order. My patient may have been a criminal at one time, but now he is helpless and I must protect him.”
“How can you say it was reflex when he opened his eyes and stared at me?” she asked indignantly. “You saw him. He knew me.”
“I saw no such thing, detective. What I saw was the uncontrolled movement of facial and eye muscles. That means nothing. Now you must leave here or I shall be forced to have you removed by security.”
“Oh, I’ll leave. But I’m not through. You are a foolish man, Doctor Ponder. You have positioned yourself in the jaws of a hungry lion. You must listen to me.” Maude was trying to save the man, but then it occurred to her that maybe she was concerned for no reason. If Dawson was planning his own future, he had hired Ponder to take over after Doctor Hopkins. Ponder knew all there was to know about his patient’s condition. As far as she was concerned, he deserved whatever he got. Dawson used people then destroyed them. The doctor would receive no better treatment. His life was in a tenuous place.
Chapter 11
Leaving the hospital without arresting anyone for crimes committed was frustrating for the detectives, but a necessary move. The law was clear. Without evidence to take to a judge, Dawson’s ruse would continue. What they needed was a credible witness. Maybe the nurse Ellen Goodbody could tell them something. Joe had spoken to the sour-faced control-room operator again, and found out the nurse’s schedule. She would be off work at three that afternoon. Normally her schedule was at night, but for a few days she was filling in for someone on vacation. Maude remarked that a normal person would believe a nurse with that much seniority could have her pick of shifts, instead of being the one chosen for vacation relief. She felt an immediate sympathy for her.
Too early for lunch, the next best thing to do was visit the owner of Northside Pawn and see if they could get a few answers to questions concerning the murder. After fingerprints identified Phillip Mason as a visitor and possible suspect in the killing of Marlin Thompson, a warrant for Mason was issued, but he hadn’t been found. Maude could see a trip to Detroit in their immediate future, the home state and last known address of the suspect. Michigan officers had gone to the domicile, but found it unoccupied. Because the man wasn’t wanted in his own state, little time would be spent looking for him. The greater manpower of any police department was needed for solving crimes against local citizens. Maude sighed, knowing the truth of such reasoning. Their only hope was to get other information pointing them to the alleged killer’s location. She had no particular feeling about the state, but the trip loomed ahead as dreary and time-consuming when the man was finally found. With any luck, Mason was still in Texas.
Forty miles and a few speculations later, the two detectives arrived at Northside Pawn to find it back in business, with all signs of violence removed. Wallace Avery was expecting them, and offered coffee and sandwiches. Since lunchtime was near, they took the coffee, but forwent the sandwiches. Even though they were hungry, it didn’t look good when they accepted food or other gifts from someone under investigation. Avery wasn’t a suspect, but that could change on a dime.
“Mr. Avery,” Maude said, then took a second to sip some sweetened coffee, “we have prints identifying Phillip Mason. He had his hands on the counter near your manager. A large piece of the glass was found where he touched or leaned on it. How often is the glass wiped down? Do you have a cleaning person every night?”
“Marlin was a clean freak. He wiped every part of the furnishings several times daily. Couldn’t stand the thought of germs passed by people’s hands. A cleaning person comes in once weekly for the overall ,” Avery took a minute to look off, gathering his thoughts. “He was a good man and will be hard to replace. Right now I have my sister’s husband working, but I don’t trust him out of my sight. Sure, he has a license, still, I know him to be a sneak. Wish I didn’t have to use him, but I’m stuck until I hire someone else.”
“What time of day did you say Mason was here?” Maude asked, sorry to see the bottom of her cup as she spoke.
“Near closing time, 7:00, 7:30. I was on my way out of the building. Marlin mentioned he would be working late, so I locked my door and was about to tell him goodnight when Mason saw me. Guess I was shocked and showed it. As I told you, I spoke to him, but he didn’t say anything before leaving. Excuse me, detectives, but I need to look in on my brother-in-law.”
Joe smirked at Maude, his take on Avery’s worry over a potential thief a comical relief after the morning’s gloomy first visit. She nodded agreement, understanding the worry from the owner, yet seeing the family connection as a joke. Why was it always the brother-in-law?
When Avery returned, he filled them in on the relationship he’d had with Phillip Mason there at the last, when the business was sold. Evidently Mason had been left destitute, not being able to pay his mortgage. The wife had left him soon after. Maude could see how that would stir some ire in the suspect.
“Detectives, if there is nothing else, I need to get back to work. You understand. I hope you find Phillip soon. He was a good man when I knew him.”
The drive from the pawnshop to a favorite burger place took only five minutes. Maude’s stomach was still upset, and a screaming headache had set in. She thought maybe if she could eat something it would help. They had eaten a late breakfast, but her stomach hadn’t held much. Afterward, the headache was still there, and in addition, some heartburn had begun from the hot sauce on the fries. Joe had no trouble finishing her fries and his own. He’s always hungry, Maude thought.
They sat outside in the shade for a few minutes. Any rain that had been predicted for the area had passed them by. All that was left was hot and humid. August was not the best month for Texas weather. Maude shed her blazer while she smoked the second unfiltered of the day. She looked forward to the midday cigarette, even with the hollow feeling created by alcohol deprivation.
“Joe, if I develop diabetes and have to give up pecan pie, would you shoot me, please?”
“Sure.” He chuckled. “Be happy to oblige. A person can’t live without pecan pie anyway.”
“No worry. It’ll be cancer that gets me. Probably in my stomach because of the way I eat.”
“Maude, how you doing with the booze thing?” Joe asked quietly, not wanting to intrude, but concerned for her welfare.
“Give me a minute,” she said. “Okay. Now, wait another minute—that’s how I am with the need. Once in a while I get blessed with a five-minute interval. They tell me it gets better, but it will always be one day at a time in the end. I can live with that, I think. I hope I can. I know what was happening to me before was lots worse.” She fingered the book in her pocket, then pulled it out and opened it to a favorite passage.
Joe watched her for a minute, swearing to himself to cut back on his drinking before it became a problem like Maude’s. He knew the p
ossibility was there. The stressful lives of cops made them vulnerable to the numbing effects of alcohol. For a minute Joe felt fear creep down his spine. He had a lot of years to go before reaching Maude’s age. Who could say what his tolerance would be by then. She seemed willing to talk as he drove, so Joe kept quiet and let her exorcise some ghosts.
“When I was a kid, my old man kept a bottle hidden behind his toolbox. He drank rotgut whisky, the kind his buddies made in their barns. Later he graduated to store-bought. I used to watch him when he went into the garage, because in the beginning I wanted to be wherever he was. The hidden bottle became an obsession with me. I wanted to know what was in it, how it tasted. One day I saw him go in, and I followed then tried to hide behind a low shelf. He saw me, called me over, and put the bottle to my lips. I took a big drink and felt like I was going to die. I must have been about five or six, can’t really remember. He told me I mustn’t say anything to Mom, that to tell her would cause both of us trouble, since I drank some of what was in the bottle. Being a kid, I was torn between loyalty to my mom and the fear of being found out. I kept quiet. That was the beginning of his hold over me. After that, he started coming in my room at night, just staring at me as I pretended to sleep. I could see him sitting on the bed, rustling his clothes, but I was too little to understand what he was doing. I never told my mom about the things he did over the years, but she knew without me saying. Maybe she was afraid of him, or maybe she was afraid of life without him, but she never called him on it. After I threatened to kill him when I was sixteen, he left the house, and never moved back in. I think maybe she finally realized he was a bum she didn’t need.
“The first taste of whiskey stayed with me for a long time. I could feel the burn in my mouth and my stomach. Never cared for the taste as an adult, probably because of the other memories it brought back. Gin was more to my liking, because it was clear and didn’t taste like the old man. My real drinking started when my mother developed cancer. Up until then, I took the occasional drink, but I preferred getting high after Paul, my husband, was killed in Viet Nam. When I took off for California a few years later, that’s what I wanted, to leave my troubles behind, and stay bombed so nothing hurt. Besides, the free love state didn’t require anything at all from me, but it offered everything except reality.
The Maude Rogers Murder Collection Page 63
