Life Sentence

by Andrew Neiderman

  ‘Yes, of course. I appreciate the opportunity,’ Simon said moving his papers on his desk. ‘In fact, I already have some new ideas about how to control this immune system problem and—’

  ‘Let’s keep this shut down until we’re more than positive about it,’ Senator Hastings said, interrupting again. ‘But first, handle this situation with the one out there, Henry.’

  ‘We will,’ Dover said.

  Senator Hastings nodded. ‘Are you bullshitting us or do you really think you can make the corrections necessary and get rid of this glitch?’

  ‘I do,’ Simon said with as much confidence as he could manage.

  ‘Well then, we’ll revisit it all when you have something to show us. Get us into a ninety something success ratio. Aging too far around ten percent, or less, of the convict volunteers is something we can live with as long as they don’t rebound and make us look stupid.’

  ‘Exactly,’ Dover said.

  Hastings nodded and smiled at Simon.

  ‘Actually, I’m rooting for you, Dr Oakland. I like the idea very much and I agree. It would be a most significant contribution toward the justice system … worldwide. Being part of something that significant would be a good thing, raise someone’s positive public image as well as make a lot of money.’

  ‘Turn him into a serious presidential candidate in fact,’ Dover suggested.

  Hastings nodded. ‘Yes. It might.’

  Simon took a deep breath and looked at the two men envisioning greater things for themselves. The good old personal ego, alive and well. Probably all scientific and social progress was tied to someone’s personal agenda one way or another. This would be no different. They saw, envisioned, themselves as heroes with great financial gain as a consequence as well.

  And all that depended on him.

  He was still alive after all.

  This time he would not fail.

  Jack Temple’s private office was about as luxurious as any office Bradley could imagine, and it wasn’t only the glitter of the polished brass and the marble. All the furniture looked imported. He knew very little, if anything, about style, but he sensed an Old World European look to the sofas, the chairs, the tables and the desk. To complement that style, Temple had beautiful large oil paintings of recognizable European settings, such as the Eiffel Tower, the Tower of London, the Vatican, and the Spanish Steps in Rome, as well as a beautiful capture of the Venice canals. All the colors were vibrant.

  The office itself looked more like a showcase than an actual working lawyer’s headquarters. Nothing was out of place. Every piece of paper was placed neatly in its stack beside other documents. As far as he could see, the only imperfection in the entire setting was a small smudge on a window panel the custodian had missed.

  ‘Reason enough to kill you,’ Bradley muttered and laughed as he walked about the office, examining the unique looking paperweights that resembled famous statuary, the gold-plated pen and pencil holders, the embossed pewter bookends, anything and everything because it all looked imported and as valuable as anything else in the office.

  The private bathroom was done in a rich, cream marble with specks of rose streaming through the sinks, the counters and the shower stall. The towels and washcloths were embellished with the letters JT in bold red letters and were neatly folded. Just like the office, the bathroom looked showcase perfect, right down to the new bar of scented soap in the soap dish.

  For a moment he was simply envious. What a delightful experience it must be to come to this office every morning, he thought. The view of the city was breathtaking, especially at night. He could clearly see the Empire State Building. Lights from planes leaving and entering the New York area blinked against the background of twinkling stars. Anyone working here, controlling all this, would surely feel superior. It was the lair of arrogance, a place from which to dictate orders that would dramatically change lives, move fortunes, apply and bequeath power.

  Why were some men chosen to have all this? Was it all just a matter of good luck, coincidence, timing, or was there truly a higher power that moved lives, careers, health, all of it in some divine design that human beings couldn’t comprehend? Am I just as another pawn after all? he wondered. That idea reinforced his belief that he was being used to impose this justice on men who dared to tinker with that divine design. Why not? Why not think of himself as more than a mere angry, vengeful man turned loose? It helped him feel important and justify anything and everything he did.

  He strutted across the office to another door and was surprised that it was locked. Running through the ring of keys, he located another that fit and opened the door expecting to see a closet perhaps with something even more valuable, but was surprised instead to see a bedroom that he thought suggested the Playboy mansion more than the Old World look of classic style in the office. There was a fluffy, thick white rugged floor and the furniture was all in laminated black and gold. The bedding was in black with large gold pillows and all the fixtures and lamps were a gaudy-looking brass. What clearly made it look like a sex den were the mirrors on the walls and ceiling.

  From the pictures on Temple’s desk, he concluded the lawyer was married. Bradley thought of this bedroom as being an indoor adultery court. Even if he wasn’t married, it would be the web of a sexual predator. How many women had Jack Temple brought in here? Did he have clandestine cameras capturing the action? I would, Bradley thought, and looked at everything closely, searching for a hidden lens. He couldn’t find any, but still believed it was there.

  He paused. Of course, the bed was inviting, not for its sexual promises, but because he was simply exhausted. He returned to the office, got himself some cold bottled water, took a prolonged leak, washed his face with the scented soap, and then returned to the bedroom. He was sure to lock the door before he lowered himself to the incredibly inviting mattress and fluffy pillows. Sleeping on a cloud couldn’t be any better, he thought. It was his last thought before sinking into his own pool of ink.

  The sounds of muffled voices woke him. He sat up slowly, hesitant and worried that he would find his body had regressed, but instead, he was pleasantly surprised to discover the return of muscle. He was more limber, too and when he looked at himself in the wall mirror, he didn’t see that aged, tired look anymore. He touched his skin. It was softer.

  I’m coming back, he thought. I’m really coming back.

  He rose and put his ear to the door to listen. He heard a female voice, pleasant, young, and then he heard Jack Temple. He was being given a cup of coffee and the newspaper. His day was beginning. He heard the secretary review his appointment schedule, including his conference calls, and then the office grew quiet until the phone rang and Temple answered with a pleasant, ‘Hello, Henry’. Strangely then, he became silent, listening. Bradley heard him say, ‘I see. Well, this isn’t good, no. OK. I’ll change some of my appointments and meet you at the Waldorf for lunch.’

  Bradley then heard him end the call and call his private secretary. He dictated the changes he wanted made in his appointment schedule and she left. Very carefully and slowly, Bradley opened the door to peek out.

  Jack Temple was at least six feet one, about Bradley’s height. He had a John Kennedy classy style appearance, handsome, intelligent and reeking of self-confidence. His light brown hair was perfectly styled, not a single rebellious strand. Like his office, nothing was out of place on his body. Studying him in his seat of power, Bradley suddenly felt quite inadequate. What made him think he could sneak in here and intimidate such a man? When he rose out of that seat to confront him, he might simply blow him away. He thought he felt himself actually tremble for a moment.

  But this was no time to turn back or run with his tail between his legs. He had come too far and had far yet to go. He dipped down into his well of ruthless means, his memories of the kills and the beatings he had successfully committed in the past, many of his victims being men at least as physically formidable as Temple. You just didn’t fight fair, that’s all
. There was nothing polite or gentlemanly about his work.

  He gazed about the bedroom and seized a small black onyx statue of what he imagined represented Venus. This one actually had pubic hair carved into its pelvis and the breasts had perfect, erect nipples. It was so erotic in fact that for a moment he was distracted. He heard Temple make another phone call to someone he called General.

  ‘I have to tell you there has been a setback,’ he began. ‘You know about Father Martin? His clerk called me. No, Dover is not alerting you just yet. He has this idea he can recuperate and perhaps continue, but I don’t like the potential for exposure. I’m seeing him today. I’ll call you afterward. Yes, get on it. Right.’

  Temple cradled the receiver and sat back thinking.

  It’s time, Bradley thought.

  He let the bedroom door swing open a bit more. He watched now through the cracked opening between the door and the frame. The opening startled Temple who just sat there staring for a moment. Then he rose slowly, paused, opened a drawer and took out a thirty-eight snub nose pistol. He glanced at his office door and came around the desk, moving slowly toward the bedroom.

  Bradley crouched like a wildcat preparing to lunge. Temple pushed the door open wider and paused.

  ‘If anyone’s in here, you’d better show yourself,’ he declared.

  Bradley held his breath. He heard Temple take another forward step and then move to his left and pull the door shut to reveal anyone behind it. Bradley was surprised at his speed and agility, but he timed it perfectly so that when he was exposed, he was already in the air, swinging the statue and striking Temple squarely on his forehead. The blow stunned Temple and sent him back into the wall. Bradley slammed the bedroom door closed as he took another step, seized the pistol and twisted it out of Temple’s weakened grip. He struck him again on the top of the head and Temple literally sat, barely able to retain consciousness.

  Blood seeped out around the wound on his forehead and soaked the surrounding skin. It began to trickle in a thin stream down both sides of his nose and over his eyes. He blinked, but didn’t try to wipe it away. He had lost his coordination for the moment and was as helpless as a puppet off its strings. His arms just dangled at his sides.

  Bradley crouched to look into his face. He held the pistol in his left hand and the statue in his right. Temple opened and closed his mouth without speaking.

  ‘Well, hello, counselor,’ Bradley said. ‘Remember me?’

  Jack Temple finally managed to raise his right hand to his forehead. The sight of so much blood on his palm panicked him. He struggled to back away, but Bradley tapped him pretty hard on his right shoulder and stopped him from moving.

  ‘Relax. This is just … what did you call it … a preliminary, exploratory meeting? Yes, it was something like that. The second time was when you had me sign those papers, right? Where are they? Did you burn them or what?’

  Temple shook his head. ‘You’re making a mistake,’ he managed.

  ‘Won’t be the first. After all, I ended up in prison, didn’t I? You don’t end up in there unless you make a mistake and get caught.’

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Start by telling me who General is,’ Bradley said. ‘I overheard you tell him about poor Father Martin.’

  Temple didn’t respond.

  Bradley lifted the pistol and pointed it at Temple’s face. Then he pulled back the hammer. ‘You obviously know what I did to Father Martin. I’m not bluffing here. Old people like myself don’t have much patience, Jack, so you’d better talk fast.’

  ‘He runs the CIA,’ Temple said. ‘So you’re making a mistake, a big mistake.’

  ‘Ooooh,’ Bradley said faking fear. ‘I bet I’m in some danger now. How much money do you have here and don’t bullshit me. If I’m not happy with your answer, I’ll see no reason to waste time.’

  ‘I have eight hundred in my wallet,’ Temple told him.

  Bradley put down the statue and reached into Temple’s suit jacket to pull his wallet out of the inside pocket. He opened it with his one hand and looked at the bills.

  ‘OK, good start. I bet you keep more here.’

  ‘Bottom drawer on the left of my desk … there’s an envelope with two thousand dollars in it. Take it and get out.’

  ‘And the papers I signed?’

  ‘I don’t have them. Dover kept all that.’

  ‘What do you know about what’s happening to me? You just spoke with Mr Dover. What did he say?’

  ‘The process is flawed. Some are aging too fast, too quickly, and some, like you, are rebounding unexpectedly.’

  ‘Rebounding.’ Bradley smiled. ‘It’s true then. What I felt is true. I’m getting better.’

  ‘We don’t know that. You might have other problems as a result. You had better get yourself back to the clinic, and fast,’ Temple said.

  ‘Yes, where is this clinic exactly?’

  ‘You just wait. I’ll make a call and get someone to pick you up.’

  ‘Were you always a man of action, Jack? Always in control?’

  ‘You had better do it. You could just drop dead.’

  Regaining his composure, Temple pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and began to dab his forehead. He then held his handkerchief against the wound.

  ‘There are effects on your heart you don’t even realize,’ Temple added.

  ‘You know, I really appreciate your concern for my welfare, Jack. You were just as convincing at the prison during those meetings.’

  ‘It’s better for everyone if you do what I tell you, especially for yourself. Don’t be stupid. They’ll find you eventually and where can you go anyway?’

  ‘Well, I was thinking seriously of this Greek island. I have some friends there.’ He looked around. ‘How many women you have here, Jack? Ten, twenty, what?’

  Temple didn’t answer. He closed his eyes and took another breath.

  ‘You record any of it? I bet you did.’

  ‘If you’re smart, you’ll just go sit in my outer office. I’ll make the call. They’ll take care of you.’

  ‘Yeah, I know they will.’ He gripped the statue again and stood up.

  ‘Just calm down,’ Temple said. ‘I’ll fix things.’

  He started to struggle to his feet.

  ‘I’m sure you will, Jack,’ Bradley said and swung the statue again. Temple’s chin sagged. ‘You’d fix me fine, you and your powerful friends.’

  He swung it at least five more times, feeling Temple’s skull crack and shatter. Then he kicked him over and caught his breath. He looked at the statue in his hand. ‘What a terrific piece of ass,’ he muttered and tossed it to the floor.

  He straightened his jacket, wiped his hair back with his palms and went out to Temple’s desk to look in the bottom left drawer. The envelope was there.

  ‘What’dya know. You told the truth for once, Jack. Thanks.’

  He pocketed the bills and then he returned to the bedroom door to lock it. After that he walked out of the office as calmly as possible. Jack Temple’s secretary looked up surprised. He paused at her desk.

  ‘Hi. Oh, Jack asked that he not be disturbed for a few hours. I’m Bradley Morris. Me and … what’s her name … were in the bedroom. Now it’s his turn. Thanks,’ he added and walked out. He glanced back as he closed the door and saw the secretary staring with her mouth open.

  ‘Careful,’ he called back to her, ‘or you’ll catch flies.’

  Laughing, he closed the door

  I’m coming back, he thought, I’m really coming back.

  Ten

  Palmer recalled that Tucker was going to an early morning dentist appointment and would be at the precinct later than usual. He was at work early that morning mainly because Tracy had to be on her way early to a building site in Westchester. Beating Tucker to the precinct rarely happened, but it gave him an opportunity to get some calls made. The first call shocked him. He called the rectory where Father Martin had been murdered and a woman answer
ed.

  ‘This is Detective Dorian, NYPD. I’m looking for Gerald Spenser,’ he said.

  ‘Mr Spenser is no longer here,’ she replied.

  ‘What? Who is this?’

  ‘I’m the housekeeper, Rosina Castillo.’

  ‘What do you mean, Mr Spenser is no longer there?’

  ‘He left very early this morning.’

  ‘Where did he go?’

  ‘I don’t know. He didn’t tell me. A car came for him and he left. He said he wouldn’t be back, but …’

  ‘But what?’

  ‘He left some of his things and he didn’t tell me what to do with them.’

  ‘He didn’t tell you where he was going and he didn’t tell you what to do with his things?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Are you sure he said he wouldn’t be back?’

  ‘I arrived just as he was leaving this morning. That was what he told me. He even wished me luck before he left and gave me a small bonus that he said Father Martin had always intended to give me.’

  ‘Did he leave in a taxicab?’

  ‘No. It was a black limousine. I imagine it was one of those car services, although there was another man beside the driver and they were both in suits. Neither man wore a driver’s uniform.’

  ‘He didn’t say he was going to a new position in Pittsburgh?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What did Mr Spenser leave behind? What sort of things?’

  ‘Clothes, shoes, some of his toiletries and all of his books. He reads a lot.’

  ‘Did you see what he took with him?’

  ‘Just one small suitcase,’ she said. ‘Maybe he’ll call or write to tell me where to send everything else. I guess he was just in a big hurry. A very big hurry,’ she added.

  ‘I’m sure that’s a correct guess. Look, take down my number and call me if he gets in touch. This is police business so it’s very important.’ He dictated his number.

  ‘It’s all so terrible,’ she said after writing the number. ‘I feel like crying all the time I’m here now. Do you know when I can go in and clean up the living room? They still have tags and ribbons around the furniture.’