The Vigilante

by Ramona Forrest

  “Hey, you guys hear about the pool soul who got it in Leesford Park?” a solidly built, red-headed nurse, Mary Mason, asked. “ER said whoever did it fixed the guy real good, and I mean real good! It’s all over the hospital.”

  “Please, I can’t talk about it!” Bob Chance, a tall, rangy RN with a touch of gray at his temples, shuddered. “It puts my knickers in a twist. I shiver all over just hearing about it.”

  “Why, Bob?” Jake, a youngish, blond, male, nurse’s aide, asked. “Hurt you somewhere—the gonads, that it?” His dark-brown eyes twinkled, seeing Bob’s discomfort at the thoughts of something like that. Jake was ready anytime to push a button or two if he saw a chance for it. Gracie gave him a withering glance and pressed the stop button.

  Bob shuddered again. “Hell yes, if you want to know. Somebody fixed the guy permanently. I mean, real permanent!”

  “Wasn’t he the one accused of child molestation a few months ago?” Mary put in. “Bastard got off on a technicality, after he molested that kid.”

  Martha listened, saying nothing, but she felt the ice filling her veins and the outer aspect of her scalp. The gossip, too close to home for her, struck a cord of unease far above her norm. She wasn’t sure if any of these particular staff members knew her connection with Will. Some of the hospital staff did, but as a float nurse, she frequented many wards. What had happened to Will was a subject she felt reticent to mention. It was very painful, and not open for discussion with anyone. About Callahan’s attacker—her head swirled with dreadful shadows and hateful thoughts!

  “All right cut the jabbering, we’ve got a lot to do so knock it off, all of you. We’ve got a full house and several post-ops to tend.” Gracie Monaghan shook her head and pressed the play button again. They completed the taped report and the room emptied quickly as each took up their assignments.

  Martha’s shift went well enough, though her thoughts dwelt too often on Will and the predator who’d savaged him. And when she wasn’t thinking about that, she was haunted by what she might have done during her blackouts and lost hours. Her mysterious purple stains were hidden with cover-stick and she hoped they went un-noticed. Where they came from and why she felt she had to hide them, she had no idea.

  Bob noticed the faint purple stains on Martha’s wrists, and that she’d done her best to disguise them. He knew about her grandson, too. Reticent to speak of it, he kept his interactions with her strictly on a medical level, but he’d had his masculine eye on Martha for quite some time. Having taken in her mature good looks more than once, he’d considered asking her out. They were of similar ages and he’d always been attracted to her trim figure. With those deep greenish eyes, topped with that curling rusty-blond hair, all in a solid package, she’d turned his head more than once. Healing his own wounds, he’d not dated for way too long and getting involved was still too soon for him.

  Bob was the kind who never missed a detail of any sort and had all the pertinent details neatly filed away in his mind. Martha suffered acutely this evening. He’d noticed it several times before today. But this evening her distraction and lack of friendly interaction with others on the staff, gave him the feeling she was especially vulnerable. He noted the deep pain in her eyes and wanted to help. But not wishing to intrude on her personal problems, he couldn’t think of a way. He merely asked, “How’s it going?” when he met her in the halls.

  “I’m busy enough—my hernia guy is restless, and the gall bladder bled a little from her incisions, tiny though they are.” Sighing, she said, “Thanks for asking.” She didn’t try for a lingering conversation, didn’t have the energy.

  Jake had also noticed Martha’s attempt at concealing the purple spots. His buddy worked in the ER and had mentioned finding purple liquid splashed over the cuts on Callahan. Hmm, tried to cover her funny looking spots, wonder why. Vanity I suppose, women are funny that way. But those same spots set off a tiny alarm in his mind. The busy shift buried it under several layers of other concerns. His patients kept him running and, being a male, he was always asked to help with any heavy lifting or unruly patients. He understood it, resented it, often felt used, and groused, “They get the big bucks and I get the shit!”

  At eleven thirty, Martha walked to her car and to her surprise, Bob walked beside her. “You doin’ okay?” he asked. “You were awfully quiet this evening, more so than usual.”

  She felt his hand touch her elbow and flinched. “I’m okay, but things keep happening with my grandson, Will. I wonder if he’ll ever be all right. I’m sure you know what happened to him.”

  “Yes, I know about it, and I’m sorry to hear of it. Wasn’t the guy who did that to your grandson the one who got fixed in the Park?”

  Martha nodded. “I believe he is. If so, he sure had it coming. Do you know what happened to the man?”

  Bob laughed. “Hell yes, somebody clipped his gonads for him, molested more than one kid, looks like.” He grunted, “God! Somebody had it in for him alright.” He left for his hunky looking four-wheel drive. “Night, Martha.”

  Martha looked at her watch and noticed the purple spots were faintly visible under the concealer. She felt suddenly panicky. Had anyone seen them? And why should it worry her so much if they had? Where had they come from? What had she done? By the time she reached her car, she could scarcely breathe. “What’s happening to me? Something’s been going on these past three months!” White knuckled, she drove home trying to understand, worrying about the missing hours, the smell of smoke in her hair some mornings. “It’s all so weird. I’m losing my mind. I know it!”

  Her small home lay in a suburb of Colorado Springs. “Maybe I could see someone in another city,” she mused aloud. “Of course, all doctors have to respect the patient’s right to privacy. If I check around, maybe the right doctor will jump out at me as the right one for my case. I have to see someone. These time lapses are driving me out of my mind. Where have I been? What have I been doing during those lost hours? What’s happening to me? I’ve got to know.”

  Her thoughts returned to the recent attack on the child molester, Callahan. “Of course I’m glad it was him. He certainly had it coming, but why does it bother me so? Why do I feel so weird about it?” She looked out her window. “Good Lord! I’m driving past that Leesford Park again. I don’t believe it!”

  Martha reached home, sighed with relief and, once inside the house, snapped on the TV. She popped some kettle corn and put her feet up. An old Jane Austen movie came on and she settled in to watch it. Nearly falling asleep, she jerked awake as the loud blast of breaking news interrupted the sedate quiet of the film.

  “This just in! A man near the Craycroft Elementary school tried to entice two young girls into his car earlier today. Terrified, the children ran home from school and told their mothers, who quickly notified the authorities.” The announcer went on: “They told police they screamed real hard and ran away. The little girls provided the police with a description of the man. There is an all-points bulletin out for the arrest of a small, dark-complected male driving an older green sedan. This is the best description they have of the assailant.”

  Martha was upset at this latest news. Something about it haunted her until she couldn’t bear thinking about it anymore. She paced about her home for a time.

  Sometimes I feel like our world is crashing about our ears! Our children are no longer safe, and the authorities only seem to protect the criminal element. Exhausted from her inner turmoil and feeling suddenly dizzy, she fell onto her bed and passed out.

  CHAPTER 8

  Two days later Ryan sat at his desk. His thick mop of hair stood awry from sun glasses, he’d forgotten about, carelessly shoved on top of his head during a busy moment. His shirt sleeves were half way rolled up and his shirt was open enough to reveal tough blond chest hairs. He turned to Harris, his favorite detective and definitely his best investigator. “Alan, looks like we’ve got to check out families that have been subjected to Callahan’s crimes.” He thumped the desk w
ith his fist. “But what if there are others in our area that we don’t even know about?”

  Harris shuffled the papers in his hands. “He did prison time in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania before he came to our fair city, and then of course, the Moulton kid—got away with that one. So far, we haven’t found anything more on him. These guys just keep on, so who really knows how many little boys he’s done?” He couldn’t help the bitter chuckle. “He won’t be doing any more. Thank God for whoever it was that took care of that for the bastard.”

  Frowning in distaste, Ryan nodded. “Yeah, that’s right enough, but Hell’s bells, now looks like we’ve got to check out the Moulton family. Imagine how happy they’ll be to see we’re diligently prosecuting this particular case.

  “Everybody’s a suspect, so when you’re out there, take a good look around. See who might take it into their head to get revenge.” He hesitated. “I hate to add to their pain, especially seeing us trying to find out who fixed the miserable bastard that molested their boy.”

  “You got that, right. I sure as hell know what I’d think about it,” Harris snorted, making a face.

  “Go check it out, Alan. Let me know what they have to say and what your gut feelings are while you interview them.” Ryan sighed, his forehead furrowed. “Never know. Might be something there, but I hope to hell there isn’t. That’d be tough as hell, finding justice for a criminal when we couldn’t manage it for their kid.”

  Ryan frowned. “We need more info on this Callahan while we’re at it. The man’s got to have more priors than what Harrisburg gave us. I’ve got someone checking the national computer register on pedophiles. A man like that has to have a sizable record.”

  “I’ll go see the Moulton’s, maybe find out how the kid’s doing. They won’t like seeing me on this mission—don’t blame ‘em one damned bit.” As Harris took his leave, he added, “So far, we have no strong leads, only a few bits of evidence. And I confess I’ve never been more reluctant to work on a case.”

  ***

  When the doorbell rang, Jeannie answered it. Her eyebrows rose in surprise. She recognized the officer standing there from Will’s case. “Inspector Harris, my goodness, how may I help you?”

  “Sorry, ma’am, we have to ask a few questions. It’s about the man who was attacked in Leesford Park. May I come in?”

  Jeannie let him in and ushered him into the den. “I don’t want Will to see an officer in this house, or any strange man. He’s been through enough.” She closed the door, but not before Harris caught a glimpse of the boy sitting quietly on the floor, listlessly playing with brightly colored Legos, building shapeless creations, using little creative imagination. A sad little guy, one we didn’t help. He hurt inside, seeing the boy sitting like an automaton.

  Jeannie saw the regret on his face, but seeing it did nothing to avert her anger and disgust at this man’s presence.

  “How is your boy? We certainly regret how that case went. You must know that. None of us wanted that to happen.” He took the proffered chair as sweat broke out on his brow. “The arresting officer was a rookie.”

  Jeannie sat opposite him. She saw his discomfort, but had no sympathy for the officer. “What are we supposed to do now? Why are you here questioning us? What’s going on?”

  “Well ma’am, as you must have heard, the man who committed the crime on your son was attacked in the running park. You know, Leesford Park. We have to ask any and all people who might have had a reason to take revenge on him.” He felt the heat rise in his cheeks. “We need to know your whereabouts at the time in question.”

  “If it happened in the morning as they said on the news, we were still in bed, or getting breakfast,” she replied. Her reluctance and distaste in discussing this ugly subject made her voice short, clipped, and angry. “What time are you concerned with exactly?”

  “It happened just as the sun came up. About six thirty, we believe.”

  “We were asleep.” Tears welled in her eyes. “Since this happened to Will, he doesn’t jump out of bed anymore to watch early morning cartoons, not even his favorite, Sponge Bob.” She sighed. “My husband was in Denver attending a conference on cost efficiency and marketing. He works for Bonaventure Corporation, and they keep him jumping. He’s gone a lot, these days, too much, in fact.”

  “Will he be able to prove he was there at the time in question?”

  “Of course. He’ll be home soon. You can ask him yourself. He won’t like seeing you here, helping the man who destroyed our son. You must know our boy will never be the same!”

  The anger and sorrow in her voice apparently added to his discomfort, but Jeannie didn’t care. The time for politeness had passed.

  Harris held his ground to complete the questioning. “It’s not that we want to help the man, it’s that a crime has been committed, and we have to take care of it.” He sighed. “This isn’t easy for us, ma’am. Believe me. We understand your feelings in this matter. We most certainly do.”

  Jeannie’s lips tightened and her face grew rigid at his words, obviously trying valiantly to control her emotions. The man worried she might erupt at any moment.

  The officer’s increasing nervousness pleased Jeannie. “Yes, for him, justice for that filthy bastard, but not for our son. You had no justice for our son, and you never will have!” Her fists clenched tight, her nails dug into the flesh of her palms.

  Harris noticed her body had gone rigid as she rose from her chair. “Please ma’am, we were sorrier than we can say about what happened to Will.” Sweat trickled down his face. “You must know that.”

  She dismissed the nearly pleading tone of Harris’s voice. “Maybe so, but coming here with this business about that horrid man is just too much!” Her tears started falling. “Please leave, I can’t stand this.”

  “Okay ma’am, I will, but ask your husband to give me a call.” He handed her his card. “Just ask him. I’m doing my job, and I have to say, it’s not so pleasant at times, ma’am.” Harris headed to his car as Jeannie slammed the door behind him.

  She wanted to slam it hard enough to break the small, inset glass window, but didn’t. He had a job to do. Understanding that, she went into the den, flung herself into her husband’s chair and cried her heart out. A bit later, she called her mother.

  “Mom, would you believe it? The cops were here questioning us about our whereabouts the other morning, wondering if any of us attacked that monster, Callahan!” She bit off the words as her anger and frustration flared.

  “I don’t believe it!” Martha responded. “They had the unmitigated gall to question you, of all people, about what happened to that sick monster? Oh, Jeannie, sometimes I just can’t bear it!”

  “It was that nice Officer Harris. He said they had to ask anyone remotely connected to the man. Now Martin is required to prove he was at the conference. I told him where Martin was during that time, but that wasn’t good enough to satisfy him. I just can’t take this anymore, Mom.” Jeannie’s voice broke. “Is this hideous nightmare ever going to end and our son become a normal child again? What that man did to him is almost the same as committing a murder. Our happy little boy is gone from us now, and I don’t know if we’ll ever get him back!”

  “I’ll be right over, Jeannie, just you hang on.”

  Martha’s rage seethed within her until she thought her heart would burst. Her mind began spinning as if she were inside a wind tunnel. “I’ve got to hang onto myself. Jeannie needs me these days, more than ever,” she muttered as she took a quick look in the mirror and headed to the car. “Oh Lordy, I hope a psychiatrist can help me, before I go totally off the deep end.”

  She drove too fast, barely avoided jumping a curb or smashing into a tree. At Jeannie’s, she nearly ran to the door.

  Jeannie met her at the door. “Mom, you’re so pale! Come in and let me look at you. You feeling all right?”

  “Yes, of course I am. Your call just put me in a tizzy.” She took a deep breath. “Jeannie, these are tough times
. In a case like this, the police would naturally look at people having reason to avenge themselves on a man like that. In earlier days, he’d have been hung by his balls or shot at the very least. But we are civilized now, so the police give them protection. Seems that way to me, anyway. It’s called Miranda Rights. Do we have Miranda Rights? No, we’ve got nothing!”

  Jeannie led her into the den. Her deep blue eyes appeared dull and lifeless, and her hair hung in a mass of rumpled, tangled curls as she slumped into a chair. “Martin will be home soon; maybe he’ll get this taken care of.”

  Martha saw Will sitting in front of the television. “What’s Will up to?” She gestured at the television and the dull-faced boy sitting there. Isn’t he spending too much time doing that?”

  “I think he is, but he refuses to go for walks in the park like we used to. He’s not even interested in feeding the ducks.” They heard the sound of a car, and Jeannie brightened visibly. “Thank God, Martin’s home.”

  The garage door rumbled as it rolled up.

  Then Martin breezed in. “Hi ya, hon, how’s it going?” He hugged his wife with a bear-like embrace. Noticing Martha, he asked, “Hi, Mom, everything okay?”

  “Martin, the police were here,” Jeannie informed him. “You know that incident in the park?” She sniffed. “The detective came here asking if we knew anything about it! He wants you to prove you were at the conference during that time. I guess he believed I was asleep when it happened, lucky me.”

  “The hell you say!” He stared at her in shock. “Of course I can prove it, but I’d sure as hell like to pin a medal on the guy who fixed that bastard!” He managed a laugh. “Bring those cops on. I hope they find the guy, the whole town will celebrate what he did, and me with them.” Then he sobered and his voice grew quiet. “So, how was our boy today?”

  Jeannie couldn’t hide her frustration. “About the same, going to Biggie’s Burgers the other day seemed to perk him up. It’s the only thing that does.”’