Maharos was curious about the murder pattern. “Was the landlady murdered with the two-shot technique we’re seeing now?”
Fiala said, “We’ll never know. They never found the body.”
“So what’s the evidence?”
“For one thing, she was a sixty-year-old widow who’d lived in the same house for thirty years. Steady as a rock. He was her only roomer and they found a meat cleaver with traces of human blood on it in his closet.”
Maharos said, “What was he doing with a meat cleaver?”
“He was working trimming and dressing carcasses in a wholesale butcher factory. For all anybody knows the landlady might have ended up on the shelf in the pet foods section of a supermarket.”
“Nice thought.”
“Anyway, his friend in Lima State was a guy named Willie Jackson. They were a husband-wife team. Jackson’s still there.”
Maharos said, “Does he know where Rankins is?”
“I’m coming to that. The assistant warden I talked to was real helpful. After I told him what we were after, he called Jackson in and called me back on a conference line.”
“You had a chance to question Jackson?”
“Yeah. I gave him some shit about me being a lawyer who was trying to find Rankins because someone had left him some dough.”
“Think he bought it?”
“Who knows? Anyway, he says he hasn’t heard from him since he left the joint. Says if I send him the money, he’ll try to find him and give it to him. I guess he ain’t so crazy even if he is in a nuthouse.”
“Did you ask him how he was going to find him? Maybe he’s got a contact on the outside.”
“Yeah, I asked. He says once in a while he has spiritual contact with him.”
“Uh-huh.”
Fiala said, “Jackson’s keeper says they checked the log book for visitors and the mails. There was no record of Rankins having any contact with Jackson after he left. I don’t think they got around to checking for spiritual visitations.”
“You’ve been a busy little boy, Frankie. Think it’s worthwhile taking a trip out to Lima Sta—Oakwood?”
“I doubt it. Lemme see if there’s anything more in my notes. Oh yeah, when Rankins was there, he worked in the prison lab, his job was listed as ‘Pathology Assistant.’ I think that’s a fancy title for a guy who sweeps the place out. I guess that’s all I have for you.”
“Yeah. You can go back to sleep. You did a good job, Frank.”
Maharos swung his legs out of bed. It was seven o’clock, July 5th. Two more days until the seventh. He had a lot to do in two days.
He finished shaving and splashed Canoe on his cheeks. He inhaled the fragrance. The odor was not sweet. Musty? Lemony? His nostrils tingled. He would later recall that there seemed to be an audible click as his brain synapses made contact.
“Holy Mother of God!”
The sound of his own voice startled him for a second. He threw his clothes on, slammed the door shut and leaped down the stairs, three at a time. His garage was one of a row behind the apartment building. He cursed as he fumbled with the lock on the garage door, threw the door opened and backed out. The tires screeched as he sped out of the driveway and headed downtown.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Detective Sam Emerson was the duty officer at Youngstown P.D. He looked up and said, “Shit, Maharos. It’s Sunday morning. You want me to check all the labs from Marietta to Cleveland?”
“Right.”
“It’ll take a dozen extra men.”
“I don’t care what you need. Do it!”
Maharos was at his desk fifteen minutes later when he got Lieutenant Bragg’s call. “What’s this all about, Al?”
Maharos had expected the call, and the question. “You heard from Emerson?”
“Yeah.”
He explained how he had gotten Fiala’s report that Rankins had been working as a pathologist’s assistant when he was at Lima State. “I don’t know if you remember, Ed, but one of the lab reports, the one on Marlon Graves,—.”
“Which one was he?”
“Graves was the cloak and suit salesman from Talmadge who was killed on his way to see his bookie. They found him in his car near Barberton.”
“When was that?”
“March.”
“Okay. I remember.”
“The lab reported that they found traces of glutaraldehyde in the dirt in his car. It didn’t come from Graves’ shoes.”
“What is that shit?”
“Glutaraldehyde?”
“Yeah.”
“After I got the lab report, I spoke to the chief technician at the Stark County lab. He told me glutaraldehyde is in the same family as formaldehyde.”
Bragg said, “You mean that stuff in the Medical Examiner’s Lab that stinks to high heaven.”
“Uh-huh. In fact, I smelled something and that’s what got me thinking about the glutaraldehyde. It’s used in labs to prevent tissue from rotting. They call it ‘a tissue fixative.’ I think he said it’s the same thing as embalming fluid.”
“You mean like tanning leather?”
“Well—yeah, I guess so.”
“And you think this Rankins may be working somewhere in a lab and tracked some of that stuff into Graves’ car?”
Maharos said, “Well, at the time, I thought maybe one of the lab techs might have tracked it in, so I never followed up on it. After hearing that Rankins had some experience as a lab assistant, I thought maybe that’s what he’s been doing.”
Bragg was silent for a few seconds before he spoke. “Yeah. Tell you what you do. Get in touch with McCormack in Vice. Tell him what we’re on to. Ask him for three of his people. We’re gonna have to get moving on this thing and we don’t have the manpower in the Detective Squad. Another thing, this is getting out of our jurisdiction. We can’t be sending our people all over the state. We don’t know where this guy is. I want you to be sure you have someone working with you from each of the local police agencies where you take the hunt. But I want you to stay with it, Al. And remember, you’re in charge.”
“Okay. Ed.”
Maharos’ jurisdiction stopped at the city limits. Bragg was making sure that they had arrest powers in each of the localities that the investigation took them.
Chester McCormack, the head of the Vice and Criminal Intelligence Unit was with his Sunday foursome, on the golf course. He called back at noon. Maharos explained the problem and what was needed. McCormack asked him why they had waited, pursuing the investigation so long before calling for help.
Maharos said, “Up till now, we thought we could handle it with the personnel we’ve got. Besides, we haven’t had a viable suspect until now.”
“You think this Rankins is your man?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. I don’t have three people to spare but I’ll let you have one.”
“When.”
“This is Sunday, you can have him Tuesday at the latest.”
“No good. Tuesday’s too late. This guy’s getting ready to hit. We expect him to do it on the seventh, that’s Tuesday. We’ve got to locate him before that.”
McCormack’s voice exploded in Maharos’ ear. “Jesus Christ, Maharos. What kind of fuckin’ deadlines you handing out. You sit on a case for a month, then expect me to send help yesterday. I’ll do the best I can, but I’m not making any promises.”
He hung up muttering.
Maharos phoned Vandergrift and told her of his conversations with Bragg and McCormack. “I’d like you to stay on the case with me, Karen. Do you see any problem?”
“I’m sure I’ll be able to stay on, and I’m glad that we’ll be getting help. We can sure use it. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover.”
“Except I’m not sure when we’ll get it. Unless we get to this guy before the seventh, we may have another homicide on our hands.”
Vandergrift was silent for a few seconds, then, “You’ve got a good analytical mind, Al. Based on the people he’
s already killed, who do you think he’s targeted for his next one?”
“I was about to ask you the same question.”
Vandergrift laughed. “I asked first.”
“I’ve been thinking about it, of course. This guy’s anger seems to be aimed at people connected with his back injury: his employer, the lawyer who handled his industrial injury claim, the nurse who took care of him at the hospital and three guys who were in the hospital the same time he was. If I had to make a bet on who has been left out, I’d say it was the doctor who operated on him. What do you think?”
Vandergrift said, “I agree. That would be Dr. Marino.”
“Yeah. We’d better warn him.”
“He’s here in Canton. Want me to do it?”
“Uh-huh. Be sure to emphasize that he’s not to spread it around. We’ll arrange for close surveillance and protection for him, at least through the seventh. The best thing, of course would be for him to quietly leave town for the next couple of days. He’ll probably be a lot safer.”
Vandergrift said, “I’ll see what he says and let you know.”
After Maharos hung up, he sat staring at the phone. His conversation with Vandergrift reminded him of a question that had puzzled him since he had learned that Rankins, Graves, Abelson and Gibson had all been hospitalized at St. Agnes. While there must have been some contact between Rankins and the other three, where had it occurred? From all he had learned, Rankins was not the fourth patient in the room. He made a note to find out in which hospital room Rankins had been. At the moment, his job was to find Rankins.
* * *
Vandergrift parked in the circular driveway in front of the large, white, Georgian home. Three boys between the ages of three and ten were wrestling on the spacious lawn in front of the house. When they saw the car with the large sheriff’s shield decal on the door, they stopped and warily walked over to it. Their eyes and mouths gaped open. Vandergrift smiled. They did not smile back.
“Hi, I’m here to see Dr. Marino.”
Silence.
“Is he inside the house?”
Three heads wagged.
The door opened a moment after she rang. A dark-haired, broad-shouldered man about six feet tall, dressed in blue jeans and a T-shirt, stood at the door. He appeared to be in his mid-forties. His eyebrows were slightly raised and he appraised her through piercing dark eyes.
“Hi, I’m Deputy Sheriff Vandergrift. I’m the one who just called. You are Dr. Marino?”
“Yes. Come on in.” He ushered her into a spacious hallway. Black and white floor tiles in a checkered pattern led to a staircase that spiraled gracefully to the center of the hallway. “Let’s go into the study.” He pointed to a doorway.
A woman’s voice called down from upstairs. “Who is it, Russ?”
He called up the stairway. “It’s the sheriff who phoned a little while ago.”
A moment later, a slender woman, late thirties, straight light brown hair, wearing khaki shorts and a brown halter, bounded down the stairs. Her Reeboks squeaked on the tile floor. She extended her hand to Vandergrift, “Hi, I’m Kim Marino. Excuse my appearance. We just got home when you called. We took the kids to Cedar Point for the weekend.”
Vandergrift smiled. “I’m Karen Vandergrift with the Stark County Sheriff’s Office. God, Cedar Point! I remember my folks taking me there when I was a kid. Do they still have the roller coaster and the rides?”
“Yep. Still there. Did you grow up around here?”
Vandergrift shook her head. “No. We were living near Columbus.” Her face turned serious. “I’m sorry to disturb you on a holiday weekend. Maybe we should sit down somewhere.”
The walnut-paneled study was lined with bookshelves. Under a window was a semi-circular desk. Marino gestured to a leather-covered armchair, and after Vandergrift was seated, he and his wife sat in a matching love seat facing her.
Vandergrift said, “Dr. Marino, do you remember a patient you operated on about three years ago named Ephraim Rankins?”
Kim Marino looked relieved and started to get up. “I guess this is about one of Russ’ patients. You don’t need me.”
Vandergrift put out her hand. “If you don’t mind, I’d like you to hear what I have to say, too.”
Marino looked at the ceiling, reflecting. “Rankins? Offhand I don’t recall anyone by that name. Can you refresh my memory? What was his problem?”
“I believe you operated on him at St. Agnes for a ruptured disk.”
A smile came on Marino’s face and he nodded. “Okay. I know who you mean. A short guy. Looked like a jockey. A little peculiar, too.”
“What do you mean, ‘peculiar’?”
“Well, maybe I shouldn’t say it, but he was kind of a religious freak. He came to the hospital with a tape recorder and tapes of hymns and sermons. We tried to get him to cut down the volume, but he paid no attention to the nurses or me or anybody. We had him in a four-bed ward until the other guys in the room got so annoyed by the religious stuff, we had to move him to a private room and shut the door. What about him?”
He had been moved to a private room. That’s why the fourth bed in the ward was empty. Like Maharos, she had wondered where Rankins had come into contact with the other three patients: Gibson, Graves and Abelson, all of whom were now dead.
Vandergrift said, “We’ve been trying to find him and question him about a series of homicides.”
Marino laughed. “Oh, come on. You mean that little squirt is a murderer?”
“I don’t want to make any accusations, but there is a strong possibility that he may be involved in several murders.”
Marino’s smile disappeared. His brow furrowed. “Who do you think he killed?”
Vandergrift briefly told them about the homicides she and Maharos had been investigating and the time pattern of the killings. “All of the victims have been involved in Rankins back injury. Since you were the doctor who operated on him, if he is the one who killed the others, we theorize that you may be a target.”
Marino did not appear worried, although his wife did. She said, “Do you have any idea where this man is?”
“No. We’re not even sure he’s responsible for the killings. We won’t know until we find him.”
Kim Marino said, “What do you think we should do?”
“The previous murders have all taken place on the seventh of the month. The police psychologist thinks he has an obsession-fixation on the number seven. If that theory holds up, he’ll strike on July seventh.”
She put her hands to her face. “My God! That’s only three days off.”
Marino put his arm over her shoulder. “Come on, honey. Let’s not get carried away. This thing is one big hypothesis. I wouldn’t even dignify it with the label ‘theory’. They’re not sure Rankins killed all those people—they don’t know if he’s in this area. Even if he is the guy they’re looking for, who knows who his next target may be. Could be anyone. He probably doesn’t even remember me. As I recall, he got a good result from his surgery. Why the hell would he want to kill me?”
Vandergrift did not want an argument with this bullhead. But he didn’t seem to be getting the point. She spoke patiently, “Dr. Marino, we’re not dealing with someone who thinks normally as you do. This person is apparently acting out some sort of strange role. He is unpredictable.”
Marino shook his head. “How can you be inside the head of someone you don’t even know? Someone who may not even be the person who has committed these murders. I’m sorry, I can’t buy it.”
Vandergrift nodded gravely. “You may be right. I hope you are. But we have the duty to inform you that you may be in danger.”
Kim Marino had been listening thoughtfully. Until now she said nothing. Finally, she said, “Russell, You’re not being fair with Sheriff Vandergrift. She’s trying to warn us. I think we ought to take her advice. What do you think we should do, Sheriff?”
“Both Detective Maharos and I feel it would be advisable for you and y
our family to quietly leave town until after the seventh.”
Marino exploded. “You mean get out of town? That’s impossible. I’ve got elective surgical cases scheduled through the end of July. There are office appointments—you know how long a patient has to wait for an appointment in my office? Two months! I can’t just wave goodbye to these patients.”
Kim Marino said, “What about Ed Lathrop? Can’t he take care of your patients? That’s what you’ve got a partner for, isn’t it?”
Marino brushed the question off with the back of his hand. “Ed’s as booked up as I am. Look, leaving town is out of the question. Let’s not even discuss it. Sheriff, if we assume for the moment that Rankins is the killer, is my family in any danger?”
Vandergrift said, “Honestly, I can’t answer. All I can tell you is that so far the murderer has only gone after men, the ones I told you about, with one exception. That was a woman who was with Abelson. From the evidence we have, we think she was killed because she was in the way.”
“What makes you think that?”
Vandergrift was not about to tell him about the victims’ signature wounds, nor the fact that Frances Salter, Abelson’s paramour, was shot through the head rather than through the spine. She simply said, “I can’t go into any more detail at the moment.”
Marino persisted. “You mean there are some things you haven’t told us?”
She nodded. “We’ve spent a lot of time on this investigation. We’ve gathered a lot of information. Some of it can’t be revealed because if—when we catch the person responsible, we want an airtight case. We don’t want anyone slipping through on a legal technicality.”
The turn in the conversation seemed to have an effect on Marino. He chewed his lower lip for a few seconds. He turned to his wife. “Kim, why don’t you take the kids to Evansville and spend a week with Bud and Helen?”
Kim Marino shook her head vigorously. “I’m not going to run off to my sister’s and leave you here. If you come along, fine. Either we all go or none of us.”
Barry Friedman - Dead End Page 18
