Shadows in the Night [Hawkman--Book 12]

by Betty Sullivan La Pierre

  It felt like an hour had passed when suddenly a cool breeze hit him in the face. He jerked around to see a shadowy figure enter the building through the garden, and again he dropped behind the couch. A bright lightning flash coming through the windows gave him full view of the person and the glistening syringe he held in a latex covered hand. Hawkman edged out from behind the sofa, took his gun from the holster, and silently followed the intruder down the corridor.

  When the man reached the door of Patti Cline, he stuck his master key into the hole. Hawkman stepped from the shadows and aimed the gun. “Hold it right there.”

  Don Jackson whirled around. His eyes flashed and his mouth contorted into a nasty grimace. “What are you doing here?”

  “Waiting for you.”

  “Ms. Cline invited me up.”

  “Why didn't you knock instead of using your master key? I'll tell you why. You drugged her drink with Halcion and know she's in a deep sleep. Now you're going to go pump her full of insulin.”

  Jackson gripped the syringe like a knife, then in a quick movement, swung his arm above his head, lurched at Hawkman and brought the needle down on his gun hand, planting it deeply into his arm. Stumbling backwards against a heavy metal trash can, Hawkman snatched the syringe from his flesh and threw it aside. Not wanting to fire his gun within the confines of the building for fear of hurting a resident, he regained his balance, and took after Don down the hallway.

  Jackson had a couple of seconds head start and made it out the door leading into the garden. By the time Hawkman reached the landscaped area, he'd slammed the seldom used wrought iron gate shut. Hawkman struggled to unlatch it and grabbed the card from his back pocket as the door to the other building closed. He jammed the card into the slot and threw open the door. As he passed a wide eyed nurse watching the chase, Hawkman yelled, “Call 911”

  The woman hurried to the reception desk and picked up the phone.

  He ran out the other door, just as Jackson jumped into his car. He aimed his gun at one of the back tires and fired. It immediately went flat, but it didn't prevent Jackson from trying to steer the vehicle toward Hawkman. Taking aim at the front end, Hawkman fired, which forced the car to spin around on the wet pavement, stopping with Jackson looking down the barrel of his .45 pistol.

  “Get out,” Hawkman said.

  Jackson opened the door and slowly moved from under the steering wheel, holding his hands in the air. “How did you know?”

  “You shouldn't leave your murder paraphernalia in plain view in the backseat of your car.”

  About that time two patrol cars, sirens blaring and lights flashing, bounced into the parking lot, and rolled in at an angle in front of the two standing men. The officers jumped out with guns drawn as Jackson yelled, “Don't shoot.”

  “I'm making a citizen's arrest,” Hawkman said. “I want this man booked for attempted murder.”

  One of the officers pushed Jackson against the car and threw on the handcuffs. After reading him the Miranda rights, they shoved him into the back seat of the police car.

  Hawkman holstered his gun, then pointed at the Honda. The lab needs to go through this vehicle, so you better call a tow truck and get it to the police yard. There's a lot of evidence inside. Also, you need to get to his apartment where you'll find other incriminating items.”

  Soon, an unmarked car rounded the corner and Detective Williams climbed out.

  “Looks like you caught our villain?”

  “I'm sure of it. You got a plastic bag on you?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “He tried to hit me with a syringe. I need to go retrieve it out of the hallway.”

  Hawkman took the evidence bag and jogged through the assisted living area, then into the independent living building. He found the needle on the floor of the corridor where he'd tossed it, picked it up by the sharp end and dropped it into the sack. A man opened the door of one of the rooms.

  “What's going on out here?”

  “Nothing for you to be concerned about. It's over and you can go back to bed.”

  Returning to the parking lot, Hawkman handed the plastic container to the detective. “Careful of the needle. My fingerprints are going to be on that too, as he jabbed me good and I had to pull it out.”

  Williams frowned. “What's in it?”

  “Insulin, I'm sure. It's not going to hurt me, as it's still almost full. He didn't have time to plunge much.”

  The detective carefully took the syringe and placed it in his vehicle. “How did you know this guy was your man?”

  “I really got suspicious after I followed him to his car one evening and took a gander at what he had in the back seat. Then I checked out his apartment.”

  “Oh, so I won't be able to use you in court without getting you arrested for breaking and entering.”

  Hawkman scratched his sideburn. “Something like that. However, the evidence is still there without any of my fingerprints.”

  Williams grinned. “Figures. What'd you find?”

  He pointed to the car. “In the Honda you'll find a couple of boxes of syringes, carton of latex gloves and a small ice chest, which I assume holds the insulin.”

  “Yeah, but if he's a diabetic, wouldn't that be normal?”

  “Not when he's wearing an insulin pump. He has no need for so many needles. It's possible he might carry an extra syringe if his pump malfunctioned, but not boxes full.”

  “In his apartment?”

  “Several prescriptions of Halcion are in the bathroom medicine cabinet.”

  “Ooh, sweet.”

  “I imagine, if you can get a hold of Ms. Cline's glass before she washes it you'll find residue of the sleep medication.

  “I'll get right on it. Do you have any idea of a motive?”

  “I'm leaving it up to you to find out. His past record is sort of weird. It appears he's messed up. After he got out of the service he got slapped with charges of sexually harassing women at three jobs. Maybe you can question him about why he went after older women in particular.”

  The detective nodded. “No sense in us standing out in this rain any longer. Come with me and we'll check on Ms. Cline before I head for the station to book Jackson.”

  “Hope we can arouse her.”

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  * * *

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  Hawkman and the detective hurried to Ms. Cline's room. When they couldn't get a response, they pounded louder on the door and called her name, causing the residents to come out of their apartments. Hawkman then pointed to an object on the floor.

  “I wonder if Jackson lost his master key?”

  Williams pulled an evidence bag out of his pocket, picked it up by the tip, and dropped it inside. “I can use this, but will probably rub off his prints.”

  About that time, Rose Fletcher scooted up on her walker. “Patti and I share keys to our quarters in case of an emergency.”

  “Thanks,” Hawkman said, taking the key and inserting it.

  Shoving the door open, the two men dashed to Ms. Cline's bedside. Hawkman called her name many times and Williams tried shaking her. They knew she was alive, but no matter how much they tried, they couldn't awaken the woman.

  “I'm calling 911,” the detective said.

  After the paramedics arrived, and Williams told them he suspected she'd been overdosed with Halcion, they hoisted her onto a gurney and took Ms. Cline to the hospital. Hawkman and the detective checked the room and found an empty drink glass at her bedside. Williams carefully put it in a plastic evidence bag.

  “This will tell us what she had to drink.”

  When they left the apartment, the residents were huddled around the door and bombarded them with questions.

  The detective raised his hand. “She's alive and will be fine. We just want her checked out.”

  After all the excitement, Hawkman could feel exhaustion setting in. He trudged to the recreation room, retrieved his thermos from the corner, left
through the front door and climbed into his vehicle. He knew he didn't have time to go home, grab some winks and return by eight, so he drove to his office. Checking the needle jab in his arm, he washed it with a disinfectant, but didn't see any symptoms of infection, and felt no alarming disturbances in his body.

  He crashed on the small couch, but his legs dangled over the end, causing him to thrash about. Finally, he managed to get a couple of hours sleep by curling into a fetus position.

  At seven-thirty, he staggered to the bathroom, washed his face in cold water, brushed his teeth and ran a comb through his mussed hair. He always kept an extra set of clothes in the office, so he changed into a fresh shirt and jeans, then placed the wrinkled clothes into a plastic bag to take home.

  He called Jennifer, but received no answer. Leaving a message, he assured her he was fine and they'd talk tonight. He left the office, and thought about what faced the people at Morning Glory Haven. Lisa Montgomery's reaction would be interesting. George and Maggie would breath sighs of relief the mess had ended, probably along with many of the other residents. He also had the sordid job ahead of calling the relatives he'd talked to about their deceased loved ones, also to notify the doctors. They would have to decide whether they wanted to pursue charges to find out if their relatives or patients had died of natural causes. Not an easy decision.

  When he pulled into the parking lot of Morning Glory Haven, he saw two police cars and Detective Williams unmarked vehicle parked in the front. Reporters had already gathered and shouted questions at Hawkman as he entered the building. Inside, Julie, at the reception desk, directed him to the conference area where Mr. Mackle was holding a staff meeting. He slipped inside the room, took a seat at the back, and listened to Williams explaining what had happened last night.

  Hawkman watched Lisa Montgomery's body language when the detective mentioned Don Jackson had been arrested for attempted murder. A hand went to her mouth, she turned pale, pursed her lips, and a look of fear crossed her face. Several gasps were heard around the room as people learned one of their own had more than likely committed a horrible crime. Mr. Mackle's expression appeared drawn and serious. Carmen Sanders dropped her head into her hands and softly sobbed.

  When Detective Williams finished, he left the room, leaving Mr. Mackle to conduct his business. Hawkman followed him out.

  “Did you get anything out of Jackson?”

  “Not really. I think he's slipped over the edge. He kept babbling about how women could say sexual things to men and never get in trouble, but males always got thrown to the buzzards. I could never get any sense out of him. I think he's nuts. I have him on suicidal watch because he rattled on about how life isn't worth living now that the cops know he's killed. I've got a psychologist coming in this afternoon. We'll see what sort of results we get from his report.”

  “I might warn you, the reporters are converging on the place.”

  Williams stopped and put his fist on his hips. “Damn, I hate to meet with a bunch of vultures right now.” He strolled over to the two officers waiting on the inside of the front door. “I want you two to stay and keep out the reporters. If they try to force themselves in, arrest their butts. These people are going to have enough to deal with, they don't need harassment too.” He turned to Hawkman. “I'm going to need your statement. Can you come in this afternoon?”

  “Yes, I'll be there.”

  George Hampton limped in the door, looking bewildered. He glanced at Hawkman as he ran his fingers through his unruly hair. “What the hell's going on?”

  “Let's go up to Maggie's apartment and I'll explain.”

  The detective waved as he pushed open the door. “I'll see you later.”

  Hawkman saw the microphones shoved into William's face as the reporters swarmed around him. George leaned on his cane as he watched the scene unfold, shaking his head. The two men rode up the elevator to Maggie's apartment.

  George opened the door and poked his head inside. “You presentable? Got Hawkman with me.”

  “Yes, yes, get yourselves in here and tell me what's going on. My word, sirens, police cars all over the place, shots fired during the night, and officers again this morning. I'm dying to know the story.”

  The Hamptons listened in awe as Hawkman related the events. “Unfortunately, the murderer happened to be someone on the staff. I'm sure this worries Mackle, as he's afraid some people will move out.”

  “I'm very surprised it turned out to be Don Jackson.” Maggie reached over and patted George's hand. “You thought he was okay.”

  He cocked his head. “I really didn't know him well. Only chatted with the guy a couple of times, but he seemed pleasant enough.”

  Maggie raised a finger in the air. “Mr. Mackle might be pleasantly surprised. He might lose one or two residents, but I truly doubt it. Many will be so happy this whole mess is over and the culprit caught, they won't leave. Older people realize a basket of apples usually has a rotten one in the bunch. As long as it's removed, the rest will be fine.”

  “I hope you're right, Maggie,” Hawkman said, rising. “I'm going down to talk with some of the staff and see if I can be of any help.”

  “Guess you're happy to know George and I didn't kill anyone,” she said, grinning.

  Hawkman laughed. “You know, Maggie, I never truly suspected either of you.”

  He left the apartment and went down to the staff offices. Noting Don Jackson's room had the yellow crime scene tape across the door, he peeked inside and saw the lab boys clearing out drawers, files and wastebaskets. He walked on down to Foster's office, but he wasn't in. Hawkman figured Perry and his boss had to plan a strategy to keep the residents from moving out. Knocking on Lisa Montgomery's door, he heard her invitation to enter and stepped inside.

  She glanced up. “I hope you're not going to question me anymore.”

  “No, it won't be me, but I'm sure the police will make an appearance once they get my report.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked, frowning.

  “They always investigate the culprit's lover.”

  She stared at him wide-eyed. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

  Hawkman put his hands on her desk and leaned forward. “Ms. Montgomery, don't play games with me. I followed you and Jackson to his apartment last night. You were very, should I say, friendly with each other. Obviously, your mother didn't know you were having an affair, as I witnessed the two of you talking in the wee hours of the morning in front of your office. My being there and hearing you two will probably save you from being arrested.”

  Tears welled in her eyes as she stared at the top of her desk. “Then I'm glad you were eavesdropping. Don seemed so sweet and kind. I've never been so shocked in my life to hear the news this morning.”

  “I don't suspect you of any wrongdoing, but be prepared to be questioned by the police. I'd also suggest you come clean with your mother. She's going to be mighty upset when the police come to search your home.”

  Lisa wiped the tears from her cheeks with a tissue. “This is going to kill her.”

  “You're both adult women; surely you can solve the problem.”

  She nodded. “Thank you for your warning. I appreciate it. I just pray I don't lose my job.”

  “That's between you and Mr. Mackle. I think if you'll be kinder to Carmen Sanders, things might go easier on you concerning your boss. By the way, how did your mother get a card to get into the building after hours?”

  She glanced up at him and sighed. “Please, don't mention it to Mr. Mackle. I don't want Mr. Foster to get into trouble. I talked him into giving me one for mother, since she's a regular volunteer and has also enticed many residents to move in. I also promise to be more cordial to Carmen.”

  “I wish you luck.”

  When he left her office, he met Carmen in the hallway. “Hello, Ms. Sanders. I noticed you were quite upset at the meeting this morning.”

  “Oh, Mr. Casey, I cried for my uncle. He's worked so hard to make t
his place outstanding, and now this horrible thing has happened. It must hurt him deeply.”

  He patted her on the shoulder. “Your uncle is a strong man and will recover fine. You just keep up your good work.”

  She smiled. “Thank you. I will.”

  As she turned to go into her office, Mr. Mackle's receptionist approached him.

  “Mr. Casey, Mr. Mackle would like to see you in his office.”

  Hawkman followed her and when he stepped inside, he nodded at Perry Foster sitting on one of the chairs. Mr. Mackle stood, came around the desk and extended his hand.

  “I want to thank you for ending this horrible nightmare. It still puts a strain on us to think one of our own staff may have murdered more than one of our residents.”

  “I'm glad it's over too, and I do suspect Jackson killed more. Some bodies may have to be exhumed to prove it. Depends on how many relatives of past residents will want to bring charges. I'm sorry it had to be one of your staff, but at least he's out of here now. I wish you all the luck in the world on keeping your people. It may take some time to regain your excellent reputation, but it will happen.”

  Mackle nodded, his expression sober. “We have our work cut out to restore the good name of Morning Glory Haven. I can also guarantee I will take a much closer look at the resumes I receive to fill his vacancy.”

  “Good idea,” Hawkman said.

  “What was Jackson's motive?” Perry asked.

  Hawkman shook his head. “At this time we don't know, other than he is mentally ill.”

  Perry rose and shook Hawkman's hand. “Thank you for everything, Mr. Casey.”

  “You're more than welcome. I wish all of you the best.”

  Hawkman left the two men and decided to go home. When he approached the recreation room, it was filled to capacity with the residents. To his amazement, as he walked through, they gave him a standing ovation. Maggie and George stood on one end of the room holding a huge hand written banner which read: ‘Thank you, Private Investigator, Tom Casey'.

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