by Peggy Slocum
“Yeah, as tempting as that is, I’ll pass.” Elliot tosses the brush in the air to Frank.
Frank snatches it with one hand. “Your day’s comin’. I see the way you look at Beth. It’s only a matter of time. Your wild days are soon over.”
“Laugh all you want. You’ll never see me behind the wheel of a minivan,” Elliot says. “I don’t care how cool they try to make ’em, it ain’t goin’ to happen.”
With the brush, Frank points to the chair next to the holding cell. “You stay here in fairy tale land with Captain Hook.” He gestures to their prisoner. “Tinker Bell and I are going down to the lab.”
“Keep makin’ jokes, old man, but the reality is your freedom’s gone, and you drive a minivan,” Elliot says.
“Things change. You’ll see.” Frank disappears down the steps to the lab.
Elliot approaches the window of the holding room and narrows his eyes, regarding the prisoner and biding his time.
The young man paces back and forth in his Air Jordans, his fingers combing his jet-black hair. He stops at one end of the cell and presses his fists against the cement block wall. Without regard, he smashes his right foot into the wall, admonishing his own stupidity. He continues hobbling, while grimacing with every other footfall.
“Don’t let him fool you,” Chip says from across the hall, startling Elliot. “He’s just sorry he got caught.”
“I don’t know. Something doesn’t feel right. He doesn’t fit the profile of the average thug.”
“Clean clothes and a nice haircut only changes the outside. Underneath it all—scum.”
“Chip, urgent call on line two!” a voice booms through the loud speaker.
Chip goes to the wall phone and grabs the receiver.
“Officer Riley. May I help you?”
Elliot is distracted by Frank’s voice from the stairs.
“I think we got our boy, Elliot. They need to run the DNA, but from my experience, it looks like those strands came from the same girl,” Frank says, returning.
Slam!
Chip smashes the phone receiver against the wall. It shatters and drops to the floor. He grabs his temples and screams in agony.
Elliot whirls around. “Chip! What’s wrong?!”
Chip’s unbearable torment shreds away his last bit of sanity. In a torrent of uncaged desperation, Chip lunges toward the holding cell and severs the door from its bolt and hinges with impossible strength. Chip and the door crash against the opposite wall of the cell.
Elliot and Frank are stunned.
Recovering first, Frank starts at a dead run through the empty door frame. “Elliot, snap out of it. We gotta get Chip down.”
Chip springs to his feet and unholsters his side arm as Frank’s mass hits him hard from the side, pinning him against the cell wall. Frank’s hold is relinquished as Chip brushes him aside with ease. Chip brings his side arm back under control.
Elliot lunges at Chip from behind, tackling him to the concrete floor, protecting the wide-eyed prisoner.
Chip’s gun skids across the floor out of his reach.
Frank bellows into the hall. “I need something to calm him down! Get Joanna in here!”
Chip pushes Elliot aside and stands. His eyes are locked on the young, cowering prisoner.
“Get that kid out of here!” Frank shouts to the officer entering the room. Rushing him from the front, Frank grabs Chip at the base of his rib cage, locking his arms at his side and lifting him from the floor.
“No!” Chip yells. Pain drives his adrenal glands to overload. With the strength of seven men, Chip breaks Frank’s hold, drops to the floor and pushes Frank away. Chip drops to a knee, retrieving a second gun from his ankle holster.
“Run!” Elliot yells at the kid as he and Frank take Chip down together.
Bang!
Chip’s gun discharges.
“Somebody, knock him out!” Elliot yells.
“What’s goin’ on?!” A tall brunette rushes into the cell with a syringe.
“Joanna! Thank God. We don’t know. Chip flipped out.” Elliot uses all his strength to hold Chip’s arm still.
Joanna quickly shoots the dose into Chip’s arm. “There ya go.” She tries to calm Chip with her voice.
Chip’s screams fade, and his body begins to relax.
“You guys can let go of him now. He won’t be waking up for a while.”
Elliot pats Frank on the shoulder. “Need help getting up, old man?”
Frank doesn’t move.
“Frank?” With no response from Frank, Elliot rolls him onto his back. Blood is soaking through Frank’s shirt above the center left side of his chest. “Franks been shot! Get an ambulance ASAP!”
“They’re on the way up,” a voice answers from the hall.
Joanna checks for signs of life. “He’s breathing, Elliot. Stay calm. It will be OK.”
“Come on, Frank. Don’t get lazy on me. You’ve got a lot of work to do.”
In eight minutes paramedics arrive. “We were told you have a hostile for pickup,” one of them says.
“Yeah,” Joanna replies, “but he’ll have to wait. We’ve got a chest wound.” She doesn’t take her eyes off Frank as she directs the paramedics and maintains the pressure on the gauze pad covering his wound.
In twelve minutes the paramedics have Frank stabilized, strapped to a gurney, and loaded into the ambulance, waiting in front of the police station.
“OK, guys. Get back to work,” a deep husky voice entering the cell says. “And put this kid in another holding room.”
“OK, Captain,” an eager officer says.
“Elliot, what’s goin’ on?” Captain Aims says. “Frank’s been keeping me up to date with this mess that you’ve gotten yourself into. And, now I hear he is on the way to the hospital, and his rookie partner is the cause. So I walk in, and here you are. I want answers now.”
Joanna interrupts. “I don’t know about all the other incidents, but I can confirm that Chip’s behavior had nothing to do with Elliot, and it was obvious he was helping Frank.”
“Well, it’s ‘obvious’ that whatever you’ve stumbled onto is bigger than you expected,” Captain Aims says. “Joanna, go over Frank and Chip’s reports for the last couple of days and have Elliot fill in the blanks. Everywhere he goes, you be there. I want answers.”
“Yes sir,” Joanna replies as the captain storms out of the cell, just missing the arriving paramedics dispatched for Chip.
“OK, Elliot, my shift was over an hour ago, and I’m starving.” Joanna says after the paramedics leave. “So buy me a hot dog from Joe’s stand and explain what’s been going on.”
“Yeah, sure. But first we have to check the lab for a DNA test.”
“No need; I have them on speed dial. I’ll call them on the way.”
Chapter 12: The Evidence
Beth lays the newspaper clippings on her cherry desk top in two rows of four, from largest to smallest. “Bring a chair over and read these clippings while I do a search on Walter Freeman,” she says to Symphony.
“The lobotomist? Man! That guy was whack,” Symphony says. “Imagine, paying someone to stick an icepick in your eye for a less than fifty-percent chance of even being able to take care of yourself when you woke up.”
“I’m certain it was more professional than that.”
“No, not really,” Symphony says in her usual monotone voice. “He would operate on victims in his home office and then send them home in a cab.”
“How do you know this?”
“When I was a kid my parents felt it important I didn’t believe in fictional characters,” Symphony answers. “Long story short, while most kids were afraid of the boogie man, I had Walter Freeman to keep me up at night.”
“That’s terrible!” Beth says, not taking her eyes off the computer.
“What bothered me most.” Symphony pauses as she places one of the articles in her hand. “If that was goin’ on publicly, what was goin’ on behind closed
doors?” she asks. “I don’t mean just Walter, but all over the world. As kids we’re afraid to go near scary-looking people. But we had no problem with friendly, well-dressed people. After seeing a picture of Walter Freeman, the lobotomist, I woke up.”
Symphony has Beth’s undivided attention. This explains a lot. “So you’re saying the people who appear like they have it together are the ones you’ve got to watch out for, right?”
“Yeah, like Mrs. Freedman.”
“She does have a certain emotional detachment.” Beth swivels the monitor to show Symphony the Wikipedia article on “Walter Freeman,” pointing to the blue hyperlink for lobotomy. “At least this monster isn’t the guy we’re chasing. No wonder you’re so screwed up.”
“Thanks, Doctor Doyle. That’s comforting news from someone with no secrets.”
Beth pauses and stares at Symphony for a moment as she slouches in her chair to get more comfortable.
* * *
Symphony reads to herself, “Escaping Hitler’s grasp, five refugee scientists and their families arrived by boat yesterday afternoon.” Hitler? What year is this? Where’s the date on this thing? Oh, here it is … 1938. Wow, talk about days gone by. Symphony moves on to the next clipping. “Missing scientist,” the headline reads. “Walter Freeman, scientist … refugee has been missing for three days … last seen at park zoo with family on August 3,1939. Anyone with information, please contact local authorities.” Mrs. Freedman probably fed him to the alligators. No, Mrs. Freedman is too young.
“Maybe Mrs. Freedman is this guy’s daughter, and she added a ‘D’ to her name. People do stuff like that all the time,” Symphony says to Beth. Engrossed in the articles, Symphony tunes the incoming ring from the phone out. The excitement in Beth’s voice is harder to ignore, but she succeeds.
She continues to read, “Nazi soldiers are here! … Local farmer finds Nazi in his barn dressed in uniform, practicing Hitler’s salute and march.” She reads the next clipping, “Missing scientist found! After missing for almost three months, Walter Freeman was found wandering the park zoo on October 1, 1939. Claimed his family left without him and he needed to get home. He didn’t want to miss the 4th of July celebration. Investigation in progress.”
Picking each article up, she glances through them. Same … Same … OK, I know this … Ooh different. “Is wife of scientist delirious? ... Mrs. Freeman, wife of recently found scientist, contacted local authorities claiming the man they found was not her husband and requested help and safety for self and ten-year-old son. After a brief encounter with her husband, she became very relaxed and apologized for any inconveniences she had caused, but that she let a recent nightmare get the best of her.”
“Oh,” Symphony says aloud as she reads the next clipping, “Obituary—Margaret Freeman died of sudden heart failure January 12, 1941.” Next. “Local scientist arrested. Walter Freeman was convicted last Tues. June 8, 1949 for unauthorized experiments on homeless patrons.” And next. “Wedding Announcement.” Blah, blah, blah—ooh, “Jeremiah Freedman and Margaret Randell were joined together in marriage on May 7, 1957 at the Freeman estate.” And, the saga continues with Mrs. Freedman resurrecting the nightmare.
Beth interrupts Symphony. “Symphony,” she says, concerned. “That was Elliot. Chip just wigged out. He shot Frank and tried to take out the witness.”
“He OK?”
“He’s on his way to the hospital. When Frank called yesterday, did he tell you about Kelly being abducted?”
“The waitress?”
“Yes, Elliot thinks the guys that took Sarah are the same guys that took Kelly. He’s waiting for a test and then he should know for sure.”
“Wasn’t he with Kelly when she was taken yesterday?”
“Yes, I don’t know why, but those same guys took Elliot’s tires yesterday.”
“Wow,” Symphony says. “People think I have a dark cloud. Doesn’t it seem odd that everywhere Elliot goes, something bad happens?”
“No, when you are working a case, you take the chance of having things happen all around you.”
“I’m just suggesting that more is goin’ on here than bad luck, that’s all.”
“Well, there’s not,” Beth snaps at Symphony. Regaining control of the topic, she says, “Elliot is waiting on a test, and then he is going with an officer to find the connection between Chip and the case. How are you doing with the clippings? Are they any help?”
“Yeah, I think there’s more goin’ on than these clippings can explain, but long story short, this guy seems to be an evil scientist that may have worked for Hitler, and Mrs. Freedman is his daughter-in-law.”
“Yeah, I found something online that said a W. Freeman was trying to recruit Third Reich soldiers in the US, but they couldn’t prove it because all the witnesses died. Could be the same creep.” Beth’s frustration rises. “This is ridiculous. All this has done is make it obvious that we have to find Jade. Is there any way we can talk to her?”
“I doubt she’s still at Maggie’s, but I do know where Maggie keeps her files. If you keep Maggie busy, I can sneak in and find out where she’s at. But getting caught is not an option, so we have to be extremely careful.”
“Relax, I have radios to keep us in contact, and I’m great at coming up with plans. This will be a breeze.” Beth glances at her watch. “It’s after dinner time, and I haven’t eaten anything. You hungry?”
“Yeah.”
“We’ll grab something on the way.”
Chapter 13: What the ?
“Two hots with everything, less one onion,” the man behind the hot dog cart says as Elliot pulls his wallet from his back pocket and pays him.
“No onions, right?” Elliot hands Joanna, who is standing beside him, her hot dog.
Joanna closes her cell with a snap. “Nice, you remembered. Anyway, the hair sample’s a match. So what exactly does that mean?” She takes a bite.
“It means,” Elliot mumbles with a full mouth, “that the kid Chip just tried to kill inside was not only involved with abducting Sarah Perkins today, but also Kelly Thompkins yesterday. Sarah is in the hospital, but we still don’t know where Kelly is.”
Joanna reaches in front of Elliot to retrieve some napkins from Joe’s cart and wipes her mouth, removing a smear of chili sauce. “Well, we’re gonna have to go back upstairs and ask our friend a few questions.”
“Sounds like a plan, and on the way I’ll catch you up on what’s been goin’ on.”
* * *
Bang!
A gun shot echoes through the halls of the police station as Elliot and Joanna reach the second floor landing.
“Where did that come from?!” Elliot asks. Blood rushes to his face as he sprints toward his only remaining witness. Elliot bumps into a man while squeezing through the crowd forming outside his witness’s holding cell. “No!” Elliot stares at the lifeless kid with a bullet exit wound clearly visible on the side of his head. “What’s goin’ on?!” He slugs the cement wall and winces.
“Elliot?” Joanna enters the cell and places her hand on his shoulder. “If we’re goin’ to crack this case, we can’t lose our heads.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?!”
“Now isn’t the time for this.” Joanna points at the corpse on the floor. A young, two-hundred-pound-plus officer kneels next to the corpse. He’s obviously in shock. “Hi, I’m Joanna,” she says to the grief-stricken officer while bending down next to him. “What’s your name?”
“Jimmy,” he replies, staring at the kid’s silent body.
“Can you tell me what happened?”
“Yeah, it doesn’t make sense, but I’ll tell ya. I was watching Sean through the window … that’s his name, Sean.”
“Go on,” Joanna says in a tender voice.
“Anyways, he started bangin’ on the door and yellin’, ‘Where’s my lawyer; he should’ve been here by now. I wanna make a phone call.’ So I called the captain, and he said to let him have another call. So, anyway
s, he makes his call. Man … I never saw it comin’.” Jimmy shakes his head.
“What? Jimmy, tell me what happened next. It’s OK, I’m right here.”
“He called this number that he pulled out of his pants pocket and said, ‘This is Sean.’ That’s how I know his name. Anyway, he said, ‘I was told to call this number if I needed help,’ and it happened just like …” Jimmy snaps his fingers.
“What happened?” Joanna asks.
“Sean starts goin’ crazy and hollering, ‘No! No!’ He ripped up the number and tackled me to the floor, grabs my gun, and whacks himself off. I still can’t believe it.” In a daze, Jimmy’s eyes are fixed on the floor.
“He’s a scrawny kid,” Elliot accuses Jimmy. “How could he tackle you?”
“I know, man … that’s what caught me off guard. He had the strength of like seven men.”
“That’s what happened to Chip,” Joanna says.
“Where did he tackle you?” Elliot asks.
“On the floor over there where he made the call.” Jimmy points.
“That’s on the other side of the room,” Elliot says.
“He didn’t get my gun until he threw me against this wall and knocked me down. Like I said, he went wild. There was nothing anyone could’ve done. I fought back the best I could.” Jimmy defends himself.
“Not enough! No one died when Chip lost it, rookie!” Elliot shouts at Jimmy.
“Elliot!” Joanna yells back over her shoulder while she is picking up the small ,torn pieces of paper on the floor. “If you don’t stay calm, you’re out of here.”
“Look, man, I’m tellin’ the truth.” Jimmy pleads his case. “Give me a lie detector test or hypnotize me, I don’t care—you’ll see.”
“OK, hypnotize him,” Elliot says. “Let’s find out exactly what happened.”
“We can’t hypnotize him,” Joanna says. “Sean’s lawyer could say we added false memories.”
“False memories?”
“Yeah, it’s …” Joanna stops in mid-sentence as she places her hand up to her mouth and faces the officer leaning against the door casing. “Karl,” she says, “get this mess cleaned up.” She drops the number, scrambled on torn bits of paper, into his hand. “And, put this number back together. I need an address ASAP. Elliot, we gotta talk to Captain Aims. I may know what’s goin’ on.”
