“You’ll be okay, Joe,” Maude said, trying to keep him awake. “The wound is bleeding, but it isn’t spewing, so no fountain. Seems to be in the meat, and not the bone. Joe, can you hear me?”
Joe opened his eyes and tried to grin. “Of course, you haven’t shut up since I got shot,” he said. “Do I hear an ambulance? Does that mean I lose you for a nurse?” he asked in a whisper, leaning over against her.
“Indeed it does, Joseph Conrad Allen. Indeed it does.” Maude held on to him, waiting for the medical staff to come through the door.
A patrol officer showed up early and Maude told him to watch Stringer who sat mumbling on the kitchen chair, his hands cuffed behind his back. Lola stood to the side and removed the itchy recording device from around her waist. She had been instructed to turn it on when needed, then off afterward to avoid recording anything other than the conversation with the murderer. When the door opened, and Stringer entered, she had reached inside her shirt and restarted the machine. All his threats and admissions had been recorded.
Soon the room was filled with police and emergency personnel who took charge of Stringer Malone as a dangerous prisoner. Joe was wheeled to an ambulance after technicians assessed his condition and reassured Maude they would take care of him. The wound was bad, but the bleeding was under control, they said.
Sammy was put into another bus, and carried along to the hospital, as well, which left Lola and Mrs. Martinez in the house with Bill and Maude.
“Lola, you’ve done well, and I’ll speak to the district attorney on your behalf. Meanwhile, you can’t leave town. You’re out on bond; remember that.” Maude wished she could do more for the woman who had risked her life two different times, doing what the police asked of her. That had to go for something. Sammy’s mother was crying, imagining her baby boy in jail. Maude figured the woman would head down there to see him as soon as they left her house.
“You got place to stay, Lola?” Maude asked her.
“Yeah, I can go to my aunt’s house. Her husband don’t like me, but she does.”
“Make sure you get me an address. You are out on personal bond, so don’t mess it up.”
“Bill, how about a cup of hospital coffee?” Maude asked with a smile.
He smiled back and took her hand, leaving the house for others to analyze and collect the evidence.
Chapter 21
The trauma rooms of Madison hospital were busy, with few open beds left for the injured. Joe Allen was in Room 6E, with drip lines attached to his wrists, and bandages on his leg. The surgeons had worked on the delicate tendons and ligaments, as well as the thick muscle within his thigh. The slug had done some major damage, but the specialists were hopeful that he would heal quickly, with little or no nerve damage. Maude had been right: the artery wasn’t hit by the bullet, but enough had been done to put the young detective out of business for at least six to eight weeks. He was looking at desk duty for a while. Grumbling at the news, Joe lay in the bed, wishing he had done something different and maybe avoided getting shot. Maude had told him not to worry, the time would pass, and that he could be proud of saving Lola’s life, for Stringer had been intent on killing her until Joe attacked him.
Maude was congratulated at work for solving the murder case of Eve Devine, after Lola gave a statement and the recording of Stringer’s confession to murder was taken down and transcribed to reports. He even described the kidnapping of Maude’s niece. Maude was curious about the ease with which it was wrapped up. Stringer had said nothing more afterward, and on Maude’s testimony, he was held without bond as an escape risk, awaiting the grand jury’s indictments.
Before Bill went back to Philadelphia, she surprised him on his last evening by wearing one of her three dresses to go out to dinner. He complimented her so often she vowed to do it again, even though she felt naked when the wind blew beneath the hem. They spent a few hours talking, and making plans for when he moved to Texas. Nothing specific had been said, but she caught him once measuring the size of her fingers with his hand. That gave plenty for both of them to consider.
The house was quiet after he left, but there was work to be done to help fill the void. CID removed the wiring and the listening device from her phone a couple days after the shootings, and Maude’s privacy was finally restored. After that, she went to the jail and asked Sammy about the hole in her backyard, but he wouldn’t talk about it. With Stringer’s silence and Sammy’s refusal to elaborate on any of the details, Maude believed the case was still open. She tried talking to her captain about it, but he told her to calm down, and be glad it was over. Frustrated with the criminals’ code of silence, she began looking for ways to break through the barrier.
The September air was cooling some, even though everyone knew it was temporary, for, after all, it was Texas. Along and in front of the railroad, the Madison-MacArthur Hospital for the Criminally Insane was booming after opening its arms to several new patients, replacing those lost. A few patients had been in accidents, but most had good reason for dying, like sickness and heart attacks. It was the nature of hospitals that some lived and some died. Two men on the twenty-second floor had fallen during their individual showers and broken their skulls, but there was no connection between the two, other than they were both from wealthy families.
Robert Dawson was still believed to be catatonic, and his new doctor supported that belief to the rest of the staff. Doctor Ponder had recently purchased a new Ferrari, and made no attempt to hide it, parking it in the staff lot near the building where he once parked the Porsche. No one wondered how he afforded it, even with two ex-wives in California demanding monthly alimony payments. No one, that is, except his nurse, Ellen Goodbody.
Thursday was always a busy day, with off-site doctors coming to visit, and family sessions for the less-dangerous inmates. Ellen had been working specifically with Doctor Ponder for three and a half weeks; she remembered the day he had asked for her and changed her into a seven-to-three person. She loved the day shift, and never wanted to go back to working nights. Problem was, her conscience was getting the better of her, because she knew her new boss was dead rotten, and hiding the truth about some things. She had asked around, and some of the nurses said there were people who once worked in the hospital who bragged about making side money while on duty. Ellen knew that was wrong, but having no proof of anything, just suspicions, she kept her peace, and her eyes open.
On that Thursday, that busy day, Ellen saw something that made her hair stand straight up. She knew no one would believe her without more than her say-so, but she felt she had to tell somebody what she saw in 73’s room. Out of the blue, pulled to his door by a strong force, Ellen peeked in. There he was sitting in a chair, using the telephone as politely as you please. She ducked down just as his eyes moved toward her hiding place. The devil walked across her grave and a shiver went straight down her spine from the fear of him. Back to work she went, and no one else the wiser.
Later that same day, she heard noises coming from the room and sidled up to the door. It was Doctor Ponder and someone else. All she heard was “My money’s gone!” On Friday, the next day, when she arrived at work, hospital staff were talking about a miracle. Robert Dawson on the twenty-second floor was finally awake and making loud noises and gnashing his teeth. Doctor Ponder had brought in two more specialists who tried to calm him, but it didn’t work.
She heard it again: “My money’s gone!” The rest of the staff speculated on what had happened—how did he wake from such a long sleep, and what was he talking about? Finally, a few days later, Doctor Ponder showed up but the Ferrari didn’t, and it wasn’t long before Ellen was assigned to work with other doctors. Thank God, she thought, I still work the day shift. That was the day Ellen thought she had better find that card the lady detective gave her, because her nose had started itching.
Maude answered her cell phone while she sat at the desk writing reports, doing the necessary duties a detective was required to complete at the end of eac
h case. Even though she didn’t believe it was done, her boss did, and wanted to make sure every loose end was tied up. She took some time to rehash the Horace “Stringer” Malone arrest. The man’s attitude bothered her. His aplomb hadn’t altered since he was cuffed and taken into custody. It was as if the whole incident would be reconciled in a few hours and he could go about his business. Surely, she thought, he’s smarter than that.
Sitting at her desk gave time for remembering the sweetness of Bill’s visit. The few hours they worked together had made her feel young again, and the light banter between them had been that of old friends who tease one another with affection. Maude’s head was suddenly filled with memories of partners long since gone—some dead, some out of the murder business. She shook it all off, determined to get back to the bothersome facts and theories surrounding Robert Dawson. If she were to assume he had orchestrated the murders of Eve Devine and Henry Fonda, she had to figure he had some motive other than capricious revenge. The two victims were unconnected to his welfare; in fact, the murders simply shone a bright light upon him, a situation he had always avoided in the past.
Her cell phone sounded the irritating buzz she had set to get her attention. A too-quiet sound went unnoticed if other activities were going on.
“Maude Rogers, Homicide,” she answered, then waited for someone to speak.
“Detective, this is Ellen Goodbody from the Crazy Hospital. I hope you remember me.”
“Yes, I do. What can I do for you, Ellen?” Maude asked, her blood pressure rising with the thought of the Heartless Killer locked away, yet possibly still doing harm.
“I’m not real sure what’s going on, but you should know, 73 is awake, and seems to be very upset about his money. I overheard him talking to the doctor. I thought you should know,” she repeated.
“When did he make it known he was awake?” Maude asked, getting extra ammunition for her Glock.
“A few days ago, after I came on duty, the rest of the nurses were all agog about the miracle. Of course, I knew he was playing possum all along, but there must be something big to get him up out of the bed. Today he seems worse than ever, and there’s trouble in the other cells.”
“Ellen, you’ve been a great help. I’ll be there within the hour. Don’t attempt to confront the man. He’s a very dangerous person who hates women.” After laying the phone down, Maude checked her weapon then put it in her holster. She didn’t believe in purses or hand-carry holsters; the weapon had to be on the belt of her slacks.
No one else was in the office except Eberhart, and he appeared to be concentrating on a stack of notes and reports.
“Bob, if you can turn loose of what you’re doing, I could use some backup at the asylum. I’d appreciate your riding along with me if Frieda doesn’t need you.”
Eberhart nodded and began rising from the desk, grabbing his coat. “Let’s go,” he said, taking a step toward her. “You driving?”
“Yeah, I go there enough I know a shortcut.”
On the way, Maude briefed the detective on the phone call from Ellen Goodbody, and her own take on Robert Dawson’s possible involvement with the train murder. He had a few comments to make, but agreed they should approach the whole incident with caution.
“If this perp has been able to carry off a pretense that big, it means he’s bought several workers there. They could be dangerous as well.”
“Good thought,” Maude replied, driving the car fast, its red and blue grille lights and siren making their contributions to the rush.
Twenty minutes later, they drove into the back parking lot and entered through the service doors. The elevator was manned by two security guards, who looked at their badges and okayed the two detectives entry.
“Twenty-second floor, and don’t stop for other calls,” Maude said, staring into the eyes of one of the guards. “And if either of you have anything invested in a certain criminal on that floor, know this: I have no compunction about shooting a dirty guard.”
Bob Eberhart spoke up then: “It brings me pleasure to assist in that type of endeavor.” His serious though stilted tone struck Maude as funny, and at another time she would have laughed at the remark.
Smoothly and silently, the large elevator rose twenty-two floors, finally stopping with a slight bump and creak. Ahead of them was a hallway with entry doors into the large kitchen specific to that floor, a busy food preparation area setting up for serving lunch to over one hundred criminals.
Maneuvering through the melee, Maude led the way out into the large dining room, where the bulk of those on the floor would enter within the half-hour. Kitchen staff eyed the two armed officers and gave way, not wishing to become part of whatever the cops were about to do. When they approached the doors into the patient housing, armed guards stood poised, with hands near discreetly placed holsters.
“Stop,” the guard in front called. “Identify yourselves,” the second one said.
“Maude Rogers and Bob Eberhart, Homicide, Madison. We have business here.”
The first guard reached for the telephone, but Maude shook her head. “No,” she said, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. Stand aside or become part of my report.”
The guard shifted his eyes back and forth from the phone to the detectives, but his good sense won over and he stepped back. The other security man simply stood aside, showing he had understood the situation from the first.
“You’ll have no trouble from the authorities for your actions, as long as they don’t include taking bribes from a convicted felon. If that’s part of your résumé, I suggest you get out now before you get caught up in a worse situation. Dying isn’t worth a few bucks.”
The first guard headed for the kitchen, intent on leaving the way the officers had come in the building. Maude glanced at the other one and said, “Be ready to assist us if there’s gunfire.”
They made their way through the housing area as quietly as possible, not wanting to disturb the business of the hospital, but determined to find cell 73. Across the hallway at the end of the run, the office stood unattended—no one was there to greet visitors coming through the front door. Maude looked at Eberhart, motioning him to hug the wall and stay below the line of sight of those in the cells. Moving as fast as she could without calling attention to herself, she edged closer to Dawson’s cell, but upon arriving found it to be empty, with the door open. On the floor were two nurses, either unconscious or dead. Doctor Ponder lay in a prone position, his body still. A trail of blood led to the door of the cell and down the hall. It appeared that Dawson might have been hurt in a scuffle with the victims on the floor. Maude checked the nurses, but neither of them was Ellen Goodbody. It appeared they had both been hit hard with an object, but they were alive.
Bob reached for his phone and quickly called dispatch. Murmuring low, he asked for backup at the hospital, advising officers there was at least one dangerous felon loose in the institution. He advised them of the situation on the floor, and the numerous bodies down. Before long, the halls would be filled with cops.
Maude moved from the cell, gun in hand, knowing she had a small amount of time to find Dawson before the doors started opening and cops began yelling orders. The relative isolation of the most dangerous criminals in the hospital made the floor immune to traffic from other staff, except those assigned to the ward. In other words, Maude thought, we’re on our own. She moved slowly down the hallway, seeing at least two other cells open and empty, with more victims lying hurt or dead. She had no time to attend to them, for the situation outside the cells had become a powder keg. They had no idea which way to go to find Dawson and the others; it was a crapshoot no matter where they chose.
Passing one of the small bathrooms used by visitors, Maude heard a noise and was prepared for the worst. Stepping out of the room with a small, old-style hatchet in hand, Nurse Goodbody caught Maude’s eye, and trembled with the effort of controlling her emotions. She motioned to the detectives toward the office where Doctor Ponder had disa
ppeared on Maude’s last visit. She held up three fingers and touched her nose, puzzling Maude for a minute before she remembered Ellen’s particular ability to identify dangerous patients by smell.
Bob Eberhart moved close and Maude gave him the sign that three escapees were in the office ahead. He acknowledged, and looked to her, conceding leadership, ready to assist in the response she chose. Maude motioned for Ellen to stay back, to wait in safety until the detectives entered the room. Just as Bob neared the door, a shot sounded from inside the room. The door flew open, and two men in pajamas ran out, brandishing knives they had somehow stolen and concealed. A long blade flew by Maude’s ear, taking off the top layer of skin. The hand that wielded the weapon shook as the inmate drew back again, aiming at her stomach. He quickly moved and tried stabbing her, but the protective vest she wore repelled the blade. Without waiting any longer, she fired her weapon into the man and pushed him away, watching as he fell to the floor.
Eberhart was in a tussle with the other man, who was bleeding from a wound on his calf, finally overpowering and restraining him. Maude looked through the door, knowing there was one more inside, the worst of the lot. She tried to locate him, but couldn’t see where he had gone. Leaning against the jamb, she opened it outward, just in time to see Robert Dawson come flying out of a side door, taking the detectives by surprise, knocking Maude down. The Glock flew from her hand with the impact of her shoulder against the concrete floor. Dawson leveled a .45-caliber pistol at Maude as the man who was cuffed began begging for Dawson to release him.
Dawson quickly fired the gun into the man and said, “Good riddance, you’re released.” After murdering the man on the floor, Dawson turned to Maude, staring at her with a wild light in his eyes. “At last,” he said, slavering at the right side of his mouth, “old woman, you’re going to get what’s coming to you.” Noticing Eberhart near her, Dawson said quietly, “Put the gun down, Mr. Detective. Or I’ll kill her right now.”
The Maude Rogers Murder Collection Page 75
