The Instrumental Rabbi (A Professor McCauley Mystery)

by R. D. Abruzzese

  Yet, this is not what was weighing heavily on Jenny. She had a different problem, a much, much bigger problem. Something had happened in the car as they drove.

  As they drove up Route 395 in Connecticut, Stuart McCauley had casually engaged her in conversation. First detailing his suspicions in the case and how he began to look upon the carving up of the girls as an effort to disguise rather than mutilate.

  He discussed how the activity and deaths at RS1 led him to think about Scheiter and his possible motivation. He knew Stockmann and of his close alliance and friendship with Scheiter from his work in that earlier case of the missing Bhermann employee.

  “It simply became a question of what the richest man in the world could possibly want or need from these murders?” said McCauley. “And the answer was clear; he wants what we all want, he wants to live forever.”

  Then McCauley had postulated a scenario where Scheiter’s employees were removing something from the bodies of the young women and disguising the thefts with grotesque mutilations and ritualistic trinkets. He had noticed that none of the victims that he examined seemed to have an intact thymus gland, but this was not surprising given the amount of goring that had occurred.

  However, it was later determined that all of the victims had a clean, almost surgical incision at the base of the thymus gland, a fact verified by Leo Laporte, the cordial and talented head of the Boston Coroner’s office, before McCauley had left for Connecticut.

  McCauley quickly pieced together the motive but needed Stockmann’s reservoir confession to determine the means and opportunity. Chandler, Elsinger, RS1 and Stockmann were now the direct links to Scheiter but it was still not enough to obtain a conviction. The RS1 facility would provide enough DNA evidence for criminal indictments, but not of the “old man” directly.

  McCauley stared out the car window in silence for 15 minutes and then turned to Jenny and said, “I think you should come and work with me, fulltime, when this case is over. You will enjoy the variety of cases that we cover and I could use the help.”

  Then McCauley simply looked back out of the window. Jenny couldn’t breathe. Detective Iaconi almost drove the car off the road. “The “Professor” had always worked alone.” he thought while getting the car back under control.

  Jenny stared at Stuart McCauley, her professor, her mentor, and now, her possible employer. Her mind raced in a thousand different directions and she could only stammer, “I… I don’t know what to say Stuart,” this part was true, “I’ll have to discuss it with the Assistant Investigator and the Commissioner…”

  “Nonsense!” he shot back confidently, “They’ll be delighted for you to progress in your career!”

  Actually that was true. Jenny was a low level assistant at her position but she would be seen as a friend of the Commissioner’s office. Having her working closely with McCauley would be like the Commissioner having access to the Professor full time.

  Time stood still as they drove. The car actually seemed to stop moving. Jenny remembers looking out the window and seeing the sign for exit 4B West, Sutton Avenue, Oxford as clearly as if it were there in front of her now.

  “Progress?” she thought to herself. Being an understudy of the greatest criminal mind today is surely something that every criminal justice graduate would jump at, but is it a career? Could she get along with McCauley? Does he even like her?

  Her mother won’t understand it, her friends will think its weird, the Commissioner will be pleased with it, and her boss won’t care, but Jenny wondered if she could deal with Stuart B. McCauley every single day of the year.

  Chapter 15

  Hancock Drive, Weston, MA

  They were all seated in the magnificent dining hall. The tall ornate wood paneled walls extended thirty feet into the air and rose to meet the fresco lined ceiling.

  The mahogany dining table extended sixty feet and could easily seat a party of sixty guests. Paintings and draperies covered the walls tastefully separated by twenty foot high windows which allowed the afternoon sun to pour in.

  Stuart McCauley, Jenny Smith, Commissioner Paul Rouillard, Detective Iaconi, and the well dressed young gentleman in the dark blue suit were seated in Dr. Albert Scheiter’s residence awaiting the arrival of the elderly businessman.

  While they were seated, the FBI’s Josh Thompson made casual conversation with Jenny Smith, much to the displeasure of Professor McCauley. McCauley, Rouillard, and Iaconi stared silently at the massive entry doors while waiting for Dr. Scheiter to appear.

  “Well, if you are ever in the city, you need to be sure to look me up.” said the smiling Associate Director of the FBI.

  “Thank you Josh, I will.” said Jenny glancing subtly across the table at the subtly scowling McCauley.

  Dr. Scheiter was still waiting for word from Stockmann when he heard that the FBI had arrived at his front gate. Not wanting to appear uncooperative, and knowing that no link could ever be made between the murders and him, he invited them into his home without even considering whether or not to consult with legal counsel.

  After all, he was the great Albert Scheiter, benevolent global industrialist and the world’s richest man. No local authority could touch him and they knew it.

  Still this was strange. He and his staff had been unable to contact Stockmann, Allen, or anyone at the RS1 facility for the past three hours. No phone calls were answered and no electronic communications were returned. It was like they just vanished.

  It was strange, but not unprecedented. Last year, hurricane Isaac damaged power and communications near Easton and the RS1 facility was offline for over 42 hours. The site’s diesel generators kept the refrigeration units and buildings powered so work was saved and work continued. Only a few servers in the IT room were lost during the power surges of that storm and those were well protected now.

  Today’s blackout had to be a coincidence although he felt a strange sense of foreboding as he tried to dress quickly. Stockmann would have driven far enough away to call in on his mobile phone unless he was still busy with that other matter. He had expected the police to arrive at his doorstep one day ever since the death of poor Juergen Elsinger. Elsinger was too close to Scheiter for this to be avoided.

  McCauley was too clever to overlook the link between the death of Elsinger and the style of the “Slasher” murders, but it was a link that would lead nowhere. There would never be a tie from these murders directly to Albert Scheiter. There would never be enough evidence.

  “Stockmann should have dealt with McCauley in Connecticut by now anyway.” he thought. “Still it would be nice to have a confirmation from him directly.”

  Scheiter also knew that even if Stockmann had failed with disposing McCauley and was captured, he would never talk. There was no need to worry about Karl Heinz Stockmann, he defined loyalty. Scheiter had intervened to rescue Stockmann from shame and scandal when the doping investigations began after the Munich Olympics. Stockmann was eternally grateful and would rot away in a jail cell before he would ever betray Albert Scheiter.

  As he prepared to go downstairs, Scheiter had to have assistance to finish dressing and sitting in his wheelchair. His muscle strength and energy level had begun to fade and a staff nurse was required to help him make the short journey from his room to the dining hall below.

  The Dining Hall, Weston, MA

  “Good afternoon Doctor.” bellowed McCauley as Scheiter was wheeled into the room.

  Doctor Scheiter looked up and was genuinely shocked at the sight of McCauley seated before him. Jenny noticed his reaction immediately.

  Scheiter had expected a small group of Boston policemen accompanying the Associate FBI Director, but no one had mentioned either McCauley or the young girl accompanying him. McCauley had requested that it be done this way.

  This immediately told Scheiter that something was very wrong. Stockmann had failed to stop McCauley and was captured, incapacitated, or dead. None of these alternatives was good news. He would have to be very caref
ul with his responses until he learned more.

  “I’m sorry,” said Scheiter as he strained to recover from seeing McCauley, “I did not expect you Professor.”

  “I know that, we tried to keep it our little secret.” he said as a slight smile appeared on his face.

  McCauley studied the elder businessman and wanted to minimize the small talk. He was here for a reason and then would be done with this case. Since they had left Connecticut, the FBI had raided and shut down the Bhermann RS1 facility and arrested most of the staff on Levels 4 and 5. The cheery but unknowing Ferris Allen had been questioned and was now serving as liaison for the facility and law enforcement personnel under threat of indictment.

  The coordination with the FBI had been Detective Paul Hendrickson’s responsibility and it was one that he performed perfectly. Before the warm body of Karl Heinz Stockmann had been removed from the Hoyden Hill Road turnout, warrants had been obtained and a joint FBI/Connecticut State Police task force had raided the RS1 facility, confiscating everything they found.

  Internet connections were severed prior to the raid and all communications in and out of the buildings were shut down. The FBI’s latest cell phone jamming equipment was employed earlier in the morning, guaranteeing that the raid would be kept secret and silent. Scheiter would not learn of the raid until they wanted him to know.

  “We have come to discuss your knowledge of the “Subway Slasher” murders and the harvesting of the victim’s thymus glands for processing at the Bhermann RS1 facility in Easton, Connecticut.” said McCauley with his eyes focused on Scheiter.

  The experienced negotiator Scheiter rolled toward the table and looked angrily at the Professor. “I’m sorry, but I don’t have the faintest idea what you are talking about.” he lied. “I came down here to accommodate a local police and FBI visit. Do I have to go and bring in my legal counsel now?”

  Scheiter was doing his best to cover the shock that he felt from the sting of McCauley’s opening question. He knew that they had followed the trail of murders to RS1, but he was not prepared to hear that they had discovered the about the glands. Somehow McCauley had found out about the serum production and its source. At that instant, Scheiter realized that they now knew everything.

  “No need for that Doctor,” said Commission Rouillard well aware of the limitations of their evidence and trying to soften the tone a bit, “we simply want to ask about two of your employees, Juergen Elsinger and Karl Stockmann and the type of work being done at Bhermann’s RS1 facility.”

  Scheiter relaxed a bit and sat back in his wheelchair. He feigned a slight smile even though the mere mention of Stockmann’s name had upset him again.

  He was certain that McCauley had figured out exactly what was going on, but it seemed that they still had nothing concrete to link him to it. Otherwise, he reasoned, this would not have been a casual inquiry; it would have simply been an arrest.

  “Juergen was a dear boy and a trusted, long time employee. We were all shocked and saddened by his death. I hoped that you were here today to shed some light on his murder.” said Scheiter to Rouillard.

  “That we will do.” said McCauley slyly as their eyes met again.

  “Karl Heinz” is one of my oldest employees and a close friend. I personally brought him here after the Olympics in Munich and he has worked for me for all the years since.”

  “Karl Heinz Stockmann is dead.” said Detective Iaconi, delivered with his best deadpan expression.

  “What? How?” gasped Scheiter, genuinely surprised, falling back stunned into his chair.

  “He was shot to death as he attempted to execute Professor McCauley and Miss Smith at the Hemlock Reservoir this morning.” said Iaconi, now glaring at Scheiter. Iaconi had no love for these wealthy bastards who thought that they were above the law. He rather enjoyed delivering bad news to them.

  “Impossible!” shouted Scheiter and the mere effort to resist seemed to suck more of the life out of him.

  “I’m afraid the Detective is right, Doctor.” said McCauley with an informative but sarcastic tone. “Stockmann hired Irwin Chandler to kill and mutilate young girls and then to deliver their thymus glands to your RS1 facility for processing. He admitted as much to us before he died. I might add, it was an unprovoked admission to law officers.”

  “Ridiculous. I… I don’t believe it...” said Scheiter struggling to regain his composure. He had to think fast. He tried to pretend to not understand. “What possible reason would our RS1 facility have for cadaver organs?” he asked.

  “These were not frozen cadaver organs,” said Jenny raising her voice. “These were fresh, warm thymus glands! Tissues ripped from the chests of young living women and kept at body temperature in thermos containers until they could be processed at RS1.”

  “Processed?” said Scheiter now in a daze. His mind raced as the room spun. “Processed for what?” The news about Stockmann’s death and confession had depleted whatever energy he had left from his last treatment. He began to crumble back into his wheelchair.

  “Processed to produce a life sustaining serum.” said Stuart McCauley rising and walking over to the elder man in the wheelchair, “Processed to make a serum to extend a life… your life.”

  McCauley was now hunched over and staring into the eyes of Dr. Albert Scheiter. The two men locked stares as silence filled the room.

  Scheiter glared at the Professor with his cold blue, deeply socketed eyes and said, “I hope you have some evidence to support this wild accusation. I hope that you have some proof when you come into my home and accuse me!” he tried to yell but he did not have the strength.

  McCauley responded by standing up straight and walking away from the doctor. He lowered his voice and said, “Oh, we have some evidence Doctor, just not quite enough…”

  This last comment infuriated the 91 year old Scheiter. He felt a surge of adrenaline race through his body and he sat up erect in the wheelchair and went on the offensive, staring at McCauley with steel in his eyes.

  “How DARE you come into my home and accuse me of murder and participation in some science fiction experiment at my company! Commissioner, I will have your badge! I will have all of your badges!” screamed the elderly Chairman now shaking visibly as he looked around the room. Commissioner Paul Rouillard simply looked back at the man.

  “Even if some of what you say is true, these are employees of a company that I own.” he continued. “I am the Chairman of the Board, which means that I am not involved in the day to day operations of the company or any of the divisions. I have no active role in what they do. I am no more involved in experiments at RS1 than I am in ethanol research in Argentina or steel production in Zhongshan.”

  The visitors all stared at the wealthy businessman in silence. He was confused by their lack of response.

  “I want all of you to leave here immediately and to only contact my legal team when you feel that you have something worthwhile to discuss!” and with that Scheiter collapsed back into his wheelchair and waited for them to leave.

  That last outburst had drained him noticeably. He looked around the room and could not believe what was happening. Not a single person had moved or risen from a chair.

  For over sixty years, when Albert Scheiter gave an order, people jumped and jumped immediately. He looked around the room at each one of the visitors, but his eyes finally came to rest on those of Stuart McCauley.

  “I’m sorry Doctor; did I forget to introduce Mr. Thompson, the Associate Director of the FBI in New York City?” said McCauley again with a slight smile.

  Thompson sat stunned. He had no idea what McCauley was doing right now. He certainly didn’t want to be the focal point or face the wrath and political influence of the world’s richest man.

  “Mr. Thompson’s colleagues paid a visit to your RS1 facility this morning.” said McCauley once again rising to his feet. Thompson breathed a sigh of relief.

  “They arrested most of your Level 4 and 5 personnel, severed all lines of c
ommunication and confiscated all of the computers, hard drives and backup equipment at the facility.” said McCauley as he walked toward Scheiter and watched the blood drain from his face.

  “They have severed all ties from that facility to the outside world,” he said moving closer and closer to the Doctor, “this is undoubtedly why you have been unable to contact anyone there this morning.”

  Scheiter began to tremble uncontrollably. He knew where McCauley was going with this information and he knew what it meant. The thymus research at RS1 was top secret and had been extremely compartmentalized. No record of the process, or any of the work they were doing, was kept anywhere but on Level 5 in Easton.