“That’s more like house arrest than probation,” Kim observed.
“I’m just guessing at the terms he agreed to abide by to get probation. The probation officer assigned to him ought to be able to tell us more. I have his name and a phone number if one of you wants to follow up. I can find someone to do it if you’re willing to wait a day or so. It’s not my highest priority now that Ridgeway violated his bail agreement. I should add that there are no prints on file for Christian Cursor since he was too badly burned when he was arrested to take prints. I can’t believe his fingerprints weren’t collected while he was in the state hospital, but if they were, no one entered them into the law enforcement database.”
“I’ll contact the probation officer,” Frank said. “This could be the guy we’ve been looking for. I’d rather jump on it since who knows how easy it will be to get an interview with a probation officer assigned to this guy six years ago. He ought to be able to tell us why his prints aren’t on file, and maybe he knows if there are any aliases or other names associated with him.”
“Unless he has no prints,” Laura suggested. The room grew silent, waiting to hear what she had to say. “This isn’t going to be gross, so let’s fix dessert, and then I’ll tell you.”
Brien was on his feet before anyone could object. He began clearing plates like a pro. When he realized we were all watching, he grinned at us.
“Mowing lawns and cleaning pools didn’t always make me enough money. Want to eat? Go where the food is and work as a busboy.”
21 New Chapters to an Old Story
“After one of Louie’s sudden flashes of memory, he claimed that the Cleaner Man had no fingerprints. Jessica asked me to do some research about how a man could have no prints or fingerprints so faint they couldn’t be printed. There’s a very rare genetic disease—adermatoglyphia—in which a person is born with no distinctive prints. It runs in families, and only a small number of families have been identified worldwide, so when I say rare, I mean it. People who regularly work with harsh cleaning chemicals or lye can lose their prints. It’s not usually permanent, so if they switch occupations, most of the time, their prints return. That’s also true for bricklayers whose fingers are in contact with the rough edges of the bricks all day long. Surprisingly, the same thing can sometimes happen to secretaries who handle lots of paper—their prints kind of wear away. I also found information about some chemotherapy drugs that can cause a disorder called hand-foot syndrome as a side effect. The skin peels and can leave a patient with no prints. There’s a case study or two about patients who’ve been left that way indefinitely.”
“Wow, you did do your homework!” Tommy exclaimed, snapping his fingers. “I only caught about half of what you said. It sounds like it’s unlikely but possible that the Cleaner Man is unfingerprintable.”
“Uh, Tommy, before Kim kicks you under the table, I don’t think that’s a real word.” Tommy shrugged.
“Whatever! Kim’s too far away to kick me even if she wanted to.” Before you could repeat unfingerprintable, Kim slid lower in her seat, and Tommy hollered. “Ouch!”
“Double-ouch! Jerry kicked me too! Why isn’t it considered spouse abuse to kick your husband, Kim?”
“Ask Jerry that,” Kim responded in a mischievous tone. “Brien and I aren’t married yet. How much time did you spend in the sun today?”
“Now, kids, don’t make me have to send you to your rooms before you finish your dessert,” Peter warned. “You’ll miss the demonstration on how to use the gas-me-no-more wonder mask.”
“That’s an excellent name for it,” Brien said. “I’d buy one.”
“Your security clearance isn’t high enough, nor is your bank account, dude,” Peter said.
“That’s too bad. I don’t want to miss the demo—or seconds of this delicious chocolate pie.” Brien is such a good-natured guy. His beaming smile lit up his handsome face as he put an arm around Kim.
“I don’t want to spoil dessert, but if everyone else has shared their news, Jessica asked me to share what I told Sacramento about the Cleaner Man. After hearing Laura’s story, I believe you should hear mine. It’s an old story that was told to me while I was still living in a small town between the Yucca Valley and Twentynine Palms years ago.”
“Please tell us.” I didn’t wait for anyone else to speak because I was so eager to hear what Manny had to say.
“My dad was all broken up about the fact that a friend of his had killed himself. His son, Randall Young, was a genius who finished school early and zipped through college. By the time he was in his early twenties, he was already earning an advanced degree and doing research in a top chemistry lab. Randall Young had an incredibly bright future ahead of him, and then it began to unravel. When he quit showing up for classes or at the lab, his thesis advisor called his parents. His dad filed a missing person report with the police and hired a private detective. Randall Young was found, holed up in a shabby hotel room. He’d written chemical formulas all over the walls that he claimed were translations of biblical verses. He believed that if he could finish translating the Christian Bible, the Torah, Koran, Bhagavad Gita, and the world’s most profound spiritual works into chemical formulas, he would save humanity from doom.”
“That hotel room sounds like a scene right out of the movie, A Beautiful Mind,” Jerry said.
“Yes, they concluded the young man had developed schizophrenia. His parents brought him home and found professional help for him. After a couple years, with medication and support, Randall seemed to be improving, and they were talking about his return to college. Then Randall’s mother became ill and began going to doctors. They couldn’t figure out what was wrong with her. She was a diabetic, and her blood sugar went wild—too high—too low. His father realized too late that Randall had been adding things to her insulin in the belief that he could heal her. She was admitted to the hospital but died a few hours later. In despair, the father took his own life, using the tainted insulin. The insulin alone might have been enough to kill him.”
“How tragic,” I said. “Are they sure his dad’s death was suicide?”
“Yes, because Randall Young had been arrested by then. His father turned him in when he discovered a lab in an outbuilding on the property—an old barn or storage facility. His son must have set up the working lab during the time they thought he was in recovery. It was stocked with lab equipment, and he’d built up a stockpile of chemicals, as well as vitamins and supplements, plus ordinary stuff you’d find in a pantry like vegetable oil. He’d kept notebooks, mostly full of incoherent sentences with intermittent symbols and formulas, but they were for ‘cleansing and healing humans—mind, body, and spirit.’”
“Where did he get all that lab stuff, and how did he spend so much time out there without his parents knowing?” Bernadette asked.
“My dad said Randall Young never slept and worked in his lab at night. During the day, he had a job at a Walmart and bought or stole what was in his lab. Randall Young’s belief that he had been given a special mission and his collection of chemicals bear some similarity to the story Laura told about Christian Cursor and to the person we’re calling the Cleaner Man. Maybe these are new chapters to Randall Young’s old story. The other thing you need to know is that when he was working at the research lab, he was developing new propellants to replace banned fluorocarbons.” I got my first electric jolt of the evening.
“So, he could have developed a gas like the Cleaner Man uses!” Laura gasped.
“Do you know what happened to him after he was arrested?” I asked.
“No. I never heard of Patton State Hospital before tonight. Randall could have been sent there since it’s in the same county where he was arrested. He would have been admitted as Randall Young. If he was readmitted as Christian Cursor, with a different name and no fingerprints or with scarred fingerprints, maybe no one at the hospital made the connection. When Sacramento asked me about the Cleaner Man and told me what Louie said about him, my
first reaction was that it had to be Randall Young. I warned Sacramento that Louie could be dealing with a very dangerous man. When I told Randall Young’s story, Sacramento was concerned enough to tell Louie to back off. For a while, I tried to get other people involved, but no one wanted to hear what I had to say, so I let it go.”
“According to John Lugo, Sacramento tried to do that too. He went to his dad, who claims he had someone investigate Sacramento’s concerns. I don’t know who he hired or what sort of investigation they conducted, but John Lugo told me they concluded that the Cleaner Man doesn’t exist.” I paused, wishing I’d posed more questions to John Lugo. He was so dismissive, I doubt he asked anyone to do much, especially since Sacramento’s concerns were for his friend, Louie.
“Jerry, maybe the probation officer can find arrest records for both men and compare the information to see if there are details that indicate it’s the same man. In the meantime, I’ll work on speaking to someone at Patton State Hospital. There are so many similarities in the two incidents, even if they occurred years apart, I can’t believe no one at the hospital recognized the man even if with a different name.”
“The two men do seem to have shared many of the same symptoms,” Betsy said. “The clinical records might have personal information from treatment sessions that revealed they were the same man. Surely, if that had happened, Christian Cursor wouldn’t have been released and given probation. The duty to keep client information confidential doesn’t include concealing a history of violence or homicide. I don’t understand how Randall Young was ever released without serving time in prison for murder or manslaughter.”
“I wish I could tell you more. I figured he was charged with murder after his dad turned him in, but I don’t know.”
“You’ve given us some great leads to follow up on. Do you know where Randall Young and his family lived?”
“I do. I’ve thought about visiting the place over the years, but I’ve never been able to do it. I’ll do my best to tell you how to find the place if you want to check it out. I don’t know if it’s vacant or if someone else lives there now.”
“If you give us the address or even the street it’s on, we’ll find it.”
“Now, that that’s settled, let’s have dessert!” Surprisingly, that was Laura, not Brien. “I peeked, so don’t try to tell me it’s chili pie. We have more chocolate. Tonight, it’s chocolate pie with ice cream and cherry sauce.”
“Are you spending the weekend with your parents and the kids?” I asked Frank once we’d settled down with our desserts.
“No, I’ve got to go back to the office tomorrow. I don’t want anyone to believe I’m shirking my responsibilities just because I’m not a hundred percent yet.”
“Why are you worried about that?” I asked. “You’ve always done your share and more.”
“I can’t shake the feeling that some of my coworkers are still suspicious, and think I’ve been slacking off sitting behind the desk and getting full pay.”
“You’re entitled to the pay. You earned every penny of it the hard way. Have you spoken with people or asked anyone if they really think those things about you?”
“Not exactly. Denise asked how I was injured, and I told her I was on the job, investigating a conspiracy and corruption case. She claimed she hadn’t heard much about the case or how I was involved.”
“On the one hand, it got plenty of press when they were making arrests. On the other hand, it has been hush-hush since then. The case is complex, and it’s going to be a long, drawn-out process to prosecute the individuals who’ve been charged. Some of them can afford to hire skilled attorneys, and there are lots of jurisdictions involved that all want a piece of the action.”
“I know that, and you know that, but my colleagues are still in the dark. Denise also said she heard that I’d testified against other cops. Maybe that’s what I’m picking up. I’d be standoffish or wary of a cop if I heard those things.”
“That’s a screwy version of what happened. Who told her that?”
“I don’t know, and it’s driving me bonkers. I’m going to talk to Dad about it before I go home tonight.”
“I hope he talks you into spending the night or the entire weekend. The truth is that you aren’t entirely well. Let your mom baby you or come back over here tomorrow and let us baby you.”
“That’s tempting if you’d do the babying.” He smiled with those luscious lips of his and a gleam in his dark eyes that made a different kind of electricity travel down my spine. The moment passed, and the sweet smile was replaced with a knowing smirk. “That won’t happen because you’re going to visit Louie in the morning, interview Valerie Taylor, and find someone to let you into an insane asylum on a weekend.”
“They don’t call Patton State Hospital that anymore, darling.” I reached under the table and squeezed his hand as I sighed. “You’re right. There are lives at stake.”
“I understand completely, which is why I don’t want to be a shirker in your eyes, either.”
“I’d never think that about you! Your suspicious colleagues are the shirkers. They could find out more about the case you worked easily enough if they were interested in the truth.”
“I agree with you. That bothers me too. Why is it that you and the amateur members of the Cat Pack are more willing to stick your necks out for Louie Jacobs than they are? I can’t believe Denise and Julio weren’t more concerned about how easily Louie was fast-tracked—no, railroaded—into prison. We haven’t been at it that long, and we’ve already found plenty of holes in the case against Louie. Why didn’t my co-workers protest or insist on examining the inconsistencies in Timothy Ridgeway’s timeline? Why not raise questions about the fact that the murder weapon wasn’t turned over with the rest of the evidence?”
“I understand what you’re saying. You can’t expect to return to your job as if nothing’s changed because it has. Right now, you’re suffering from reentry stress—like a diver coming back up to the surface from deep water. Why not slow down, give it a little more time, and see how it goes? If it doesn’t feel more comfortable, you could ask for a transfer. Any department would be happy to have you. You’re a decorated police detective. Don’t your colleagues know that?”
“I have no idea. If they do, no one has said anything about it to me,” Frank replied. “I wonder if I’ll ever be welcome after punching holes in the blue wall of silence. Helping to bring down dirty cops might be worse than being one.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way. You’re doing the right thing to talk this over with your dad. Maybe all cops have moments like these.” Frank’s dad had been a police officer for decades and was nearing retirement. He was never a detective or assigned to work undercover, but he’d worked with lots of officers over the years who had been in those roles. “I’d love to hear what your dad has to say. I’ll go with you if you’d like.”
“If you come with me, I’ll never get out of there. The kids will have questions for you, and Mom will talk your ear off. I’m sure Dad’s caught wind of the fact that you’ve taken on Louie Jacobs’ case. He’ll be upset if we don’t tell him all about the case. If you want me to take it easy, I need to spend a little time with my kids, hug Mom, have a chat with Dad, and then get the heck out of there.”
“Oh, all right, party pooper.”
“Let’s run off and get married, and I’ll show you how much of a party pooper I am.” My heart raced until he leaned over to kiss me and winced from the pain in his ribs. “Maybe I ought to save the big talk for a few more weeks.”
“As long as it’s weeks and not months,” I responded. Frank made me a promise sealed with a kiss that I could tell was going to keep me awake. I had plenty of work to do, starting with the effort to contact Valerie Taylor.
22 One Weird Case
I was up early the next morning to take Louie the books he wanted. It was the start of a gorgeous, hot summer day as Anastasia and I walked along the golf course. It was buzzing with the chink
of golf clubs connecting with golf balls. The whir of passing golf carts, laughter and happy chatter, and an occasional groan that reached us.
It had to be close to triple digits already, so it wasn’t the weather or the setting that made the day seem so lovely. I felt buoyant because Frank had finally revealed what was bothering him. As a child, all Frank ever wanted was to be a good cop like his dad. It had to be galling that some of his colleagues suspected he was a dirty cop after the nightmarish ordeal he’d experienced at the hands of cops who were. Anastasia and I had turned around, heading home when my phone rang.
“Jessica, it’s Laura. Where are you?”
“I’m walking Anastasia and then hopping into my car to visit Louie. What’s up?”
“I spoke to the colleague who told me about Christian Cursor and asked her about Randall Young. She didn’t remember him but gave me the name of someone who might. Ginny Fieldcrest worked at the Patton State Hospital as a nurse before she was hired to work on the psych ward at the San Bernardino Hospital, where my colleague used to work. Ginny retired recently, but my friend has kept in touch with her and gave me her phone number. Ginny’s expecting you to call. She remembers Christian Cursor and has plenty to say about Randall Young too.”
“Wow! You’re a dynamo, Nurse Laura. I’m going to visit Louie, and then I’ll see if Ginny Fieldcrest will meet me for a late lunch someplace close to where she lives in San Bernardino.”
“You won’t have to drive that far. Ginny Fieldcrest retired to Indio in a community called Terra Lago. It’s near the public golf course by that name. I have a number for you. She’s expecting you to call.”
A Dead Nephew Page 24
