“Deal,” she said. “But the clinic can wait for a few minutes more, and you’re not getting away that quick.”
Archie was forced off the bed again.
Ed went back to his hotel room to get cleaned up after Torrie left for the clinic. Before she left, she gave him a spare key and insisted that he check out of the hotel and stay with her for the rest of the time he was going to be in town. That was fine with Ed because he’d already made up his mind to spend as much time with Torrie as he could. It couldn’t have worked out more perfect.
When Ed was in the shower, he began reminiscing about the previous night’s events. The nightmare was the only mar on what otherwise was probably the best night of his entire life. Thinking about the nightmare made him wonder about something else. What’s the full story with Dr. Austin? If he almost lost his license, then it must’ve been serious. Ed made a mental note to ask Uncle Kane if he knew anything about Dr. Austin’s history.
Before he went back to visit Uncle Kane though, Ed wanted to go by the police station again so he could go through the tombs. Even if Officer Moore was working today, there was nothing she could do to keep him out since he’d filled out the necessary form. And if she tried to stop him again, he would make a phone call to the legal department of the paper. Ed was determined to read the case files pertaining to that body he’d seen when he was seven years old.
It turned out that a call to the paper’s legal department wouldn’t be necessary. Sergeant Moore was either off today or her shift hadn’t started. Instead, a twenty-something female officer was taking her place. She was standing behind the counter filing some papers, but Ed could see that she was a tall, thin blond girl with hazel eyes who was attractive enough to be on a runway in Paris. First a librarian, then a model, Ed thought. It seemed that the Edge Key Police Department only assigned police officers who didn’t look like police officers to the dispatcher’s position.
“Hello, Officer Kiebler,” Ed said to her after a quick glance to her name tag.
“Please,” she replied with a roll of her eyes, “call me Stacy. It makes me feel old when someone calls me by my last name, plus I’m not a real officer. See, no gun,” she said as she smiled, put her hands on her hips and placed one leg slightly forward as if posing. Ed smiled back. It seemed his intuition about her being a model might have some basis in fact after all. “I just fill in here part-time as a dispatcher. Can I help you with something?”
“I hope so, Stacy. I was in here yesterday and filled out some paperwork for Officer Moore so I could go into the tombs and pull an old case-file.”
“Shannon made you fill out some paperwork for that? Sometimes I think she takes those sergeant stripes too seriously; she can be a real stickler for procedure at times. If you tell me what you’re looking for, I can punch it into the computer, get the case number and pull the file for you myself. Otherwise, I don’t think you’re gonna have too much luck finding anything back there. Everything’s arranged by case number, so unless you know the case number first, it’ll be like looking for a needle in a haystack.”
“Hmm, that’s the problem. I don’t know exactly what I’m looking for. There was a body discovered over in Vagrant-ville about thirty-four years ago—it was a particularly gruesome find—but that’s about all I remember.”
“You’re gonna be in there for days, unless . . .” Stacy sat down and punched something into her computer. She scrolled through a few screens and then the printer sprang to life. “I don’t know if this’ll help, but since you said that the body was discovered over in Vagrant-ville, I thought that maybe the deceased was a “John Doe,” so I printed out a list of every John Doe discovery for the past forty years. I also printed out a list of every case where a death was investigated for the past forty years. That list’ll have every murder, suicide, death by natural causes, death by unknown causes-”
“Won’t that run into the thousands?!”
“Oh, I doubt it. This isn’t New York City; Edge Key isn’t the biggest place in the world. I can probably count on both hands and feet the number of case files that fit those parameters within the past four to five years I’ve been working here. Besides, it’s better than randomly pulling case files. Plus, you know the approximate time frame you’re looking for, so that should help you narrow it down some more.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right. Thanks,” Ed said, but as he listened to the printer whine, he wasn’t sure how big a help Stacy was. It was a place to start though and he wouldn’t have thought about how to begin. It made him wonder how this part-time dispatcher, part-time model look-alike came up with her solution. “So, Stacy, what do you do when you’re not working here?”
“I’m taking some classes over at the community college towards a degree in computer science.”
Brains to go with beauty, Ed thought but said nothing. The printer had stopped anyway and Stacy was busy tearing pages off the printer.
“Here you go,” she said as she handed him the computer print-out. “Here’s how you read this. The case numbers are on the far left and the first two digits correspond to the last two digits of the year, so, for example, a case number beginning in six, six, dash whatever would be a case from nineteen sixty-six. The next column contains the date the file was opened. The next column will contain the name of the deceased, and the following column will contain the likely cause of death. Ignore everything else or we’ll be here for hours as I give you a seminar in Police 101. In the tombs, all the case numbers are on the outside of the files and the cases are filed numerically.”
“Sounds fairly simple.”
“I hope so, but if you need some help, just come and get me.”
“Don’t you have to man the phones?”
“We don’t get too many calls, especially during the day and the tombs are right down the hall. I just started my shift before you got here and almost everyone is tied up with some sort of excitement from earlier this morning.”
“What sort of excitement?” Ed said, his reporter’s curiosity kicking in.
“I don’t know for sure. The girl working the previous shift didn’t say before she rushed out, but like I said, nothing ever happens on the Key. It’s probably just a cat stuck in a tree or something like that. Don’t worry about it. Follow me,” she said as she escorted him down the halls to the tombs.
When they got there, Ed saw that the tombs consisted of one big file storage room with rows of shelves piled from floor to ceiling with boxes containing case files. “Why do they call this the tombs?”
“Because this is where all the dead files end up,” she answered. “Well, happy hunting. I’ve got to get back up to the front, but just come get me if you need anything. Oh, one more thing. Please don’t take anything out of the files, but if you do want to copy something, I can do that for you as long as it’s not too much.”
“Thanks again,” Ed said as Stacy left him alone in the tombs.
Ed looked at the computer print-outs. If he remembered correctly, then he saw his dead body in 1969. He was almost positive that had to be the year. It was also the year of his first kiss . . . and the year his nightmare took place in. Ed was also pretty sure that he knew the name of the deceased—Rico—if Uncle Kane’s story was accurate. Unfortunately, he didn’t see Rico listed next to any of the 1969 cases, but since there were only seven cases in 1969, it wouldn’t take that long to pull them all. As luck would have it, he got the right case on the first try.
Ed went straight to the autopsy report. The name of the deceased was listed as, John Doe. After that, the report described the body prior to the dissection pretty much as Ed remembered, especially the notations relating to the white hair, open mouth and empty eye sockets. Ed continued to read, but nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary as far as he could tell. Under, Probable Cause of Death, it stated: Self-induced trauma caused by non-surgical removal of the optical organs resulting in cardiac arrest/probable suicide.
Ed reread that last part several times—probab
le suicide. Suicide! This was ruled a suicide?! Ed couldn’t imagine how anyone who’d seen that body could even fathom suicide as the cause of death. It didn’t make sense, but then again, Ed wasn’t a medical examiner. But I sure as heck can have someone who is an M.E. look at this. He’d have Stacy make a copy of the autopsy report for him.
The next thing Ed checked was which officers were present at the crime scene. Ed wanted to find the name of the bastard-cop who’d showed him that body. The brief crime scene report listed the name of the detective who wrote the report and no others. The case file was a dead end; there would be no revenge here. Ed was about to give up and take the file down to Stacy to copy the autopsy report when something else occurred to him. There was no mention in the file about Uncle Kane or anybody else being interviewed. What if Uncle Kane saw another body that fit the description?
Ed skimmed the computer print-outs looking for Rico’s name in a different year. After a couple of minutes, he found it under Case Number 66-D-1128. Ed pulled Rico’s file. The autopsy report could’ve been written for the John Doe he’d seen in 1969. It even had suicide listed as a probable cause of death. Ed decided to pull every suicide listed on the computer print-out. He found six more cases with autopsy reports almost identical to John Doe and Rico’s. Ed decided he wanted copies of the complete files on all eight cases.
“Hi, Stacy,” Ed said when he’d walked back out to her counter. “Um, I know you said that you could copy something as long as it wasn’t too much, but, um, it turns out that I’m gonna need the entire files on these eight cases here.”
Stacy frowned when she looked at the eight inches worth of paperwork Ed wanted copied. “I’m sorry, but I can’t copy-”
“Is there a copy service or something where I could send them out to?” Ed offered. “I’ll gladly pay to have them copied out of my own pocket.”
“Honestly, I don’t know what the procedure is for this. Nobody’s ever requested this much to be copied as far as I know. Why don’t you leave your name and number with me and I’ll get back to you when I can find out how to get copies to you.”
“That would be fine, Stacy,” Ed said as he handed her a business card. “My cell phone number’s on there as well as an eight hundred number for my paper . . . and let me give you a local number where I’m staying,” he said and wrote Torrie’s number on the back.
“Manifesto Veritas,” Stacy said as she read the card. “No wonder Shannon gave you such a hard time yesterday.”
“As I told Officer Moore yesterday, if there’s a problem, I’m sure my paper’s legal department-”
“I really don’t care who you work for Mr. ah . . . Nanreit,” she said as she glanced down at his business card. “I don’t even care why you want the files. It doesn’t matter to me. I just have to cover my rear with Shannon, that’s all. I’ll be in touch, okay?”
“Thank you, Stacy . . . for all your help,” Ed said and walked out of the station.
Eight cases—at least—over the past forty years. Plus, The Crash Test Maven. Something big is going on. This story is gonna be huge! Ed almost floated to his car.
His morning mission completed, Ed decided to head over to Ivory Rock to check on Uncle Kane—and to see Torrie. When he arrived, there was a swarm of activity in front of the clinic. There were two police cars parked out front—more than half of the entire police force on duty—and a car from the county coroner’s office. People kept walking in and out of the front door and several people were gathered outside smoking cigarettes. Apparently the morning excitement Stacy referred to was more than a cat stuck in a tree.
Ed parked his car in the visitor’s parking lot and walked up to the front doors, keeping his ears open in the hopes of gathering some information, but all he could make out was talk about “overtime” and “excessive paperwork that’s involved.” No matter. Torrie could give him the scoop. Ed walked through the automatic doors and noticed that there was even more activity inside than outside.
“What’s going on here?” Ed asked the first medical-looking person he saw inside—his curiosity got the better of him and he didn’t want to wait for Torrie’s explanation.
“Um, I’m sorry mister, but they told us not to talk to anyone about last night,” the nurse’s assistant said. She looked tired and frazzled like she’d been here long past her shift.
Ed nodded and continued walking towards the receptionist’s counter. There was a handmade sign on the counter stating: Visitor’s Hours Cancelled Until Further Notice. It looked like seeing Uncle Kane was out, but Ed decided to try Torrie.
“Hi,” Ed said to the girl he recognized from the previous day as the receptionist. “I have an appointment with Dr. Wilson.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” she said without looking up, “but all appointments have been cancelled today.”
“Why? What’s going on?”
She did look up this time. “I’m sorry, sir, but I’m not at liberty to discuss anything at this time. If you’d like to leave a message for Dr. Wilson-”
“Could you at least page her to the front for me? I’m sure she’d want to know I’m here.”
“Really, mister, it’s been a real bad day so far and-”
“Is there a problem here?” an older-looking policeman interrupted. “Only those with official business are allowed on the premises this morning. You don’t look like a doctor and since you’re not bleeding, I’d guess that you’re not a patient—so get lost . . . and quickly, before I get pissed.”
There was something that seemed vaguely familiar about the cop—he did grow up in this town—but Ed couldn’t place it. Instead, he tried another approach. “Hello, officer. Actually, I am here on official business. I’m with the press,” Ed said as he started to reach for his press card.
“Oh, in that case, follow me,” the officer replied as he roughly grabbed Ed’s arm and escorted him outside the clinic. “Walk out past the sidewalk and don’t get any closer or I’ll run your ass in for obstruction.”
“You’ll run me in for obstruction?” Ed repeated as a light went off in his head. “I sure don’t want that to happen, so I’ll be very cooperative, Officer . . .”
“Bischoff. And it’s Lieutenant Bischoff. Lieutenant Eric Bischoff, if you got a problem. Now, get lost,” he finished and watched Ed walk to the sidewalk.
“Didn’t know they made street cops into lieutenants for showing dead bodies to seven year old kids,” Ed mumbled to himself as he walked towards the sidewalk.
As soon as Ed got to the sidewalk, he pulled out his cell phone and dialed Torrie’s number. The call went straight to voice mail. Ed left a quick message for her to call. He watched the commotion in front of the clinic for about ten minutes, but it seemed like whatever happened last night had been over for some time. He’d have to wait until Torrie called him back.
Ed decided to walk down the block to the drug store and get something to eat while he waited for Torrie’s call. Besides, that was the drug store next to Uncle Kane’s alley. The alley of his nightmare. Maybe seeing the alley as an adult would vanish the nightmare once and for all. It was worth a try anyway.
The alley looked smaller than the alley of his dream, but the dumpster was still in the same place. Beyond the dumpster were rows of mostly cardboard boxes mixed in with several semi-permanent wooden structures. The police would tear down the wooden structures periodically, but they were usually rebuilt within twenty-four hours. The give and take between the authorities and the homeless had been going on like this for years in this area of town. This was part of Vagrant-ville; the Edge Key police had little control over this area of town, other than to keep Vagrant-ville from expanding.
When Ed saw the alley, he lost his appetite. It was a combination of memories of a terrible recurring nightmare and the thought of Uncle Kane living this existence for the majority of his life. Ed didn’t see any of the alley’s inhabitants, so he decided to get a closer look of where Uncle Kane lived. Ed turned down the alley, briefly pausing a
s he walked by the dumpster. As he walked along, he glanced into several of the cardboard box homes. About all he could see in any of them were a few grungy blankets or clothes. Not much else. The alley stunk of the smell of body odor, urine, rotting garbage and old booze. Ed only got about halfway down the alley before the stench overtook him and he was forced to turn around.
By the time Ed got out of the alley, he decided that a Coke might be a good idea—to settle his stomach. Ed walked into the drug store and walked up to the fountain counter. He’d barely had time to order his Coke when his cell phone rang.
“Hello,” Ed answered the phone.
“Hi, Eddie, this is Torrie.”
“Hi. I tried to stop by earlier, but some jerk-cop threw me out. What’s going on down there?”
“You wouldn’t believe the morning I’ve had, but I can’t really talk about it right now. I think things are starting to calm down around here and I should be able to get away for lunch. You want to meet for lunch somewhere?”
“That sounds great. Just tell me when and where.”
“I don’t think I’m going to have much time, so it’ll have to be someplace close. You remember that drug store right down the street from the clinic? The one with the fountain in it?”
“Yeah, I think I can find my way there,” he said, not wanting to tell her he happened to be sitting there right now.
“Meet me there in about a half-hour or so and I’ll tell you about my morning. It kinda has something to do with what we were talking about last night, so I know you’ll be interested.”
“You don’t have to sell me on having lunch with you. Just seeing your pretty face is enough to convince me, but could you do me a favor?”
“Sure.”
“Could you check on Uncle Kane for me. They wouldn’t let me in to see him either.”
The Fringe Dwellers Page 10
