And Then There Was One

by Patricia Gussin

  Goddamn. These idiots think that Norman’s connected to the Monroe girls’ kidnapping? Shit, that’s what this was all about. As the questions kept coming, Connie knew that the only way to help Norman was to keep her cool. What good would it do if she broke down? She couldn’t let these bastards sense her fear. Norman had been at the hospital with his mother. He’d called that morning to say that his mother was going to make it, and that they’d head back to Florida right away. No mention of whether he’d be taking her and Tina to see his mother. Had Connie thought that odd? To tell the truth, yes.

  When Katie and Scott returned to their usual conference room, Streeter was all business. No chitchat. No “how did it go.” “Something new just came in,” he said before they’d even sat down. “Dr. Monroe, does the name Norman Watkins mean anything to you?”

  Katie swallowed and grasped the edge of the table to stop her hands from trembling. “Yes,” she finally said. “He tortured his baby daughter. Scalded her, twisted her arms right out of their sockets. Threw her against a wall. Fractured skull, concussion. I still remember her name. Connie. No,” she corrected herself, “that was her mother’s name. The child was Tina.”

  “He’s the one that scared the hell out of you.” Scott moved his chair closer, a protective gesture that Katie appreciated.

  “Bastard,” Streeter spoke through clenched teeth. “How were you involved?”

  “Hillsborough County Child Protection called me in,” Katie said, “but there wasn’t much I could do as a psychiatrist other than to observe the child’s development, which amazingly was okay once Norman went to prison.”

  Katie stopped suddenly and looked up. “Why are you asking about Norman?”

  “Did you testify?”

  “Yes. I did.”

  “Reason we bring him up,” Streeter said, “is that he was released from prison last week. He served ten of a fifteen year sentence in Starke, Raiford State Penitentiary — Florida State Prison.”

  Katie stared at Streeter. They’d put him away when she was pregnant with the triplets. Could it be possible that he was back in her life?

  “Geez, Katie, I remember — Agent Streeter, I’ll never forget how frightened Katie was that day.”

  “Nine years ago. You know, I can hardly remember life before the girls.” And she couldn’t. The triplets were her life. Back then, she and Scott had given up on having children of their own. Then all of a sudden, triplets. She’d been in seventh heaven. Scott, too.

  “Did he threaten you?” Streeter asked.

  “Yes. In court.” Katie felt she would choke. Same sensation she’d had then. “I was pregnant. It was my last day before maternity leave. My friends at the courthouse were having a baby shower for me that day.” Katie felt her muscles tense and reached down with one hand to pat her flat abdomen. “Then Norman Watkins shouted out a terrifying curse. Everyone in the courtroom heard it.”

  Agent Camry had stepped inside and leaned in to take the papers from Streeter. She flipped to the second page, pointed to a section, and handed it back. Streeter read verbatim, “‘The child of the devil grows inside you. Let it be born dead and go straight to hell.’ Nasty stuff for a pregnant woman.”

  “It totally freaked me out. As a professional, I realized the guy’s brain was fried from drug abuse, but I still have nightmares about it.” Katie’s voice escalated in alarm. “Do you think he has anything to do with Alex and Sammie?”

  “We almost missed him on our radar screen,” Streeter admitted. “He was released just last week. Seems the locals take their time to update their databases. We sent an agent to check on his whereabouts, and we found that he was not at home.”

  Scott blurted, very loud, “What the hell? Where —?”

  Streeter continued, “A neighbor saw him leave Saturday morning with his wife and daughter in their station wagon. Later, the neighbor got a call from Connie Watkins asking if they could feed and walk the dog. We were able to trace the call to a pay phone in Gainesville. But here’s the important part. Mrs. Watkins said that they were traveling to Detroit. That Norman’s mother was in the hospital there.”

  “Where is he now?” Scott was on his feet, glancing around.

  “We have him in custody. Hospital prison ward. He had a seizure after we apprehended him. We have questioned his wife. That was his daughter out there.”

  “What?” Katie, too, stood. “He’s here? Jackie’s out there!”

  “I’ll get her.” Scott rushed to the reception area and Katie followed.

  They found Jackie deep in conversation with the young girl they now knew was Tina Watkins.

  “Dad, Mom,” Jackie said, “this is Tina. Her dad got arrested and it’s not fair. He didn’t do anything wrong. Right, Tina?”

  Katie took a better look at the child. Horribly thin, shivering in that flimsy halter. Then she saw the telltale scars. Scars she’d seen only too often among her small patients — multiple circles the size of a cigarette on the girl’s left arm.

  “Tina?” she asked.

  “Tina Watkins, ma’am,” Tina said, looking up with sad brown eyes.

  Could this be the toddler she’d protected in court? The pitiful child, scalded, broken bones, cigarette burns on all four extremities. Katie stepped forward to look closer at the scars. She had seen to it that this child had been placed in foster care. Months later, she’d concurred with the guardian ad litem that Tina be returned to her mother once the mother successfully completed rehab. And that was the last she heard until today.

  “Mom, why are you staring?” Jackie asked. She’d gotten up to stand next to Scott. “Is something wrong, Dad?”

  “We’re happy to meet you, Tina,” Scott said. “I’m Mr. Monroe, Jackie’s dad and this is her mom.”

  Tina’s eyes got very big. “I saw you on television.” She pointed to Jackie. “You must be the triplet that didn’t get kidnapped.”

  “That’s why we’re here,” Jackie said. “To help the FBI find my sisters.”

  “I hope they find them soon,” Tina said. “Me and my mom and my aunt said prayers for them.”

  Katie was about to ask Tina where her mother was when a woman was buzzed though the security gate into the lobby.

  “Here’s my mom,” Tina announced. “Mom, this is Jackie, the triplet that didn’t get kidnapped. And her mom and dad.”

  Katie and Connie Watkins stared at each other.

  “Dr. Monroe,” Connie spoke first, one hand on her chest, the other tightly clutching her tote bag.

  Agent Camry moved to a position between these two women who had such a bizarre history.

  “Where are my children?” Katie felt Scott’s hand press down on her shoulder.

  “How would I know,” Connie said, shrinking back. “And neither does my husband. He’s in the hospital, for God’s sake. Why are you trying to destroy my family?”

  Agent Camry spoke for the first time. “Easy, now, Mrs. Watkins.”

  Tina now stood protectively in front of her mother.

  “Mom? What’s the matter with you?” Jackie asked. “Tina’s mom doesn’t know where Sammie and Alex are.”

  “Your husband knows,” Katie challenged. “He must. Make him tell us.” She tried to soften her voice. “Please?”

  “Norman has nothing to do with your children, Dr. Monroe. I swear it. He’s a good man. I know he made mistakes. God knows he’s paid for them.”

  “After all these years, he still wants to get back at me?” Katie tried to blunt the hysteria creeping into her voice. “Tell him that I’ll do anything! Anything. Just tell me where they are. Tell me they’re okay. Please!”

  Then Katie felt a surge of hope. They had Norman Watkins in a Detroit hospital. They were questioning him. Right now. It must he him. She’d been wrong about Maxwell Cutty as well as Keith Franklin.

  “I need to see him,” Katie said, “to ask him —”

  “Not possible, Dr. Monroe,” Camry said. “We’ll let you know as soon as we have anything. I p
romise.”

  Connie took a step forward. Shifting her bag to her shoulder, she grabbed both of Katie’s hands. “I swear to you, Dr. Monroe. Norman is a born-again Christian. He would never hurt a child again. My husband is innocent!”

  Connie dropped Katie’s hands and grabbed Tina, spinning the child to face Katie. “You remember how much my little girl has gone through. Now her dad is back. He’s gonna make it all up to her.”

  Katie stared at Tina. Then she turned to Scott. She did not know how to react. Leaning into Scott, she felt her knees buckle.

  “Come on Jackie, let’s take Mom home,” Scott said.

  “Bye, Tina,” Jackie turned, and she and Tina exchanged a feeble wave.

  As soon as the three of them had climbed into the black Suburban, Jackie had started with the questions. She’d been fascinated by Tina’s dad being arrested, and she wanted to know how Katie and Tina’s mom knew each other. Katie, helpless to respond, sank into an inky void. Scott compensated and he and Jackie held a two-way conversation about who-knew-what. Once they were in the house, Scott released Jackie to her grandmother downstairs and took Katie upstairs, insisting that she lie down.

  “You know what, Scott?” Katie said as she accepted a glass of water. “I’m of no help to the FBI. I can’t concentrate. I just feel like I’m dead inside.”

  “Katie, I know. I’m so scared that I almost can’t breathe, but we have to be here for Jackie.”

  “I feel like I’m failing her, too.”

  “Here, take this.” Scott shook a mint green capsule out of a brown prescription bottle. “What you need is some sleep.”

  Katie accepted the pill, wondering how Scott, who avoided all drugs, had gotten ahold of a scheduled medication. She’d ask him tomorrow. Eventually she did drift into a dream-filled sleep.

  Dreams of Maxwell Cutty and Norman Watkins; dreams of abused children; dreams of evil; and dreams of Keith Franklin.

  After three hours, Katie awoke, still groggy from her drugged sleep, but determined to wake up and find out whether there was any news. She was reminded of that time nine years ago when she’d awakened following the birth of the triplets. Just as he was now, Scott had been sitting in a chair by her side. His face had been grim, his voice hesitant as he’d told her about their tiny, premature daughters.

  “We have three daughters and we think they are identical,” he’d said. Baby A, who turned out to be Sammie, 3 lb. 15 oz; Baby B, Jackie, 3 lb. 9 oz; and Baby C, Alex, just 3 lb. 3 oz. “They’re in the neonatal intensive care unit.”

  She’d been scared then, but she was terrified now.

  “Babe, you awake?” Scott whispered.

  “Scott, has anything —”

  He shook his head. “Nothing.”

  “Jackie?”

  “She’s downstairs.”

  “Oh, Scott,” Katie held out her arms and he moved to sit with her on the bed.

  They held each other for a long time, letting their tears mingle, and their sobs merge.

  “So there’s nothing,” Katie finally whispered. “I am so sorry, Scott, I’m to blame for this. My career — all those sick perverts. I never thought —”

  “Stop right now.” Scott leaned over and held her head between his hands. “None of this is your fault.”

  “And that stuff about Keith. I should have told you before. I was just so ashamed that I got into something like that.”

  Katie watched Scott’s face as he hesitated. “I just don’t want any more secrets between us. Ever.”

  “I swear to you, Scott.”

  “Then that’s it, babe. But Agent Streeter does want to talk to you.”

  “About what?” Katie was already sitting up, swinging her legs off the bed.

  “About Norman Watkins. Something’s going on with him. Streeter didn’t say what. Do you think he took them, Katie?”

  “I can’t trust my judgment,” Katie said. “My first impression was yes, but now I just don’t think so.”

  “So you don’t think he’s capable of that kind of retroactive vengeance?”

  “No,” Katie answered from her heart. Deep inside she didn’t think that a woman like Connie would have stuck by a man that evil. Connie wouldn’t have raised her daughter to love and respect Norman unless he’d become a decent man. Connie said that he was now a different person. The FBI had verified that he’d been the ideal prisoner. Actually helping fellow inmates straighten out their lives.

  “But he was in Detroit at the exact time that Alex and Sammie were taken,” Scott said. “How can that be a coincidence?”

  Katie didn’t know. Could he have repressed all that hate for ten years and then focused it on her children? God, she was supposed to be a psychiatrist, yet she seemed to have no grasp of what was happening to her family.

  CHAPTER 12

  Nine-Year-Old Sammie and Alex Monroe Missing with No Clue.

  — Radio News, Tuesday, June 14

  Spanky was working his hand hard and fast over his crotch when the angry blast of a horn interrupted. With a jerk of the wheel, he pulled the eighteen wheeler back into the center lane, flipping the middle finger of his left hand to the unattractive female driver of the Lexus passing on the right.

  “Slut,” he growled over the background of the Tampa news station, a sexy female radio voice had been going on and on about those missing girls. Nine year olds; one wearing a lavender outfit and the other a multicolored pattern. They had black, wavy hair and one had a ponytail. The reporter sounded sexy with a southern drawl that was too much. She was saying that the young girls had light brown, almost golden skin. What was that all about? He listened more carefully now.

  Spanky knew that Scott Monroe had been a catcher for the Yankees and that he was white. He’d seen him in person one time when the Yankees played the Tigers, that time Mom had surprised him with a ticket to Tiger Stadium for his birthday. So if these missing girls were “brown” then Monroe musta married a black woman or maybe an Asian or even Hispanic. So what? Spanky was not prejudiced. Truth be told, he’d only had white girls, but he’d have nothing against taking a black girl or half-black in this case. And he’d never had two at once. Just the thought made him sweaty with anticipation.

  Spanky — his real name was Samuel Spansky — was midway through the tedious Detroit-to-Miami haul. Couple days off and he’d be heading back. He could have driven I-75 in his sleep and sometimes he almost did. But anytime his boss had asked him if he wanted another route, like to Texas, he’d turned it down. Miami was a hot city and Spanky knew where to go for action.

  Spanky liked his women young. Usually he had to settle for teens on the road, but he preferred little girls. Girls the age of those missing triplets. Just the thought made him salivate, not to mention how hard it made his throbbing cock. Spanky prided himself on his discretion. He wasn’t one of those perverts who messed with real young ones. He liked his little girls old enough to know that he had something special for them and still young enough to be too scared to tell. And if they did? He’d be long gone.

  By the time the Lexus had disappeared out of sight, the news was over and he started flipping the dial around for another one talking about the girls. What he was thinking about was their panties. He wondered whether they were cotton or nylon. Were they the same color as their outfits? Just pondering that question made his erection even stronger. He just had to jerk off. He’d need to pull over.

  No, not now. He forced himself to keep his rig on the road. Pulling over would attract the Florida State Police. But tonight at the truck stop, he’d find negligent parents, ones that let their kid wander while they go to the bar for a couple of beers. Spanky knew that if he ever had kids of his own — and he did want them — eventually he’d find a good woman and settle down — he would watch them constantly.

  Moving his right hand from his huge erection, he reached down under his seat. He pulled out the sandalwood box he kept there, well hidden and secured with a padlock. He couldn’t open it while driving on
I-75 through Tampa, but just the sweet smell of the wood made him nearly ejaculate. Inside the scent would be overwhelming and he craved the smell and the touch inside. The silky, soft touch and the indescribable smell — not musky, like a woman’s, but more earthy or cloying or spicy, he never could exactly place it — of the mementos he’d collected from his little playmates. Tonight before he went out hunting, he’d touch each of them. There were nineteen now.

  In his mind Spanky could remember each pretty little thing, how they’d struggled and tried to squeal through the monogrammed handkerchief he stuffed in their mouth. The same one he now had ready in the pocket of his pants. The initials were not his, but his stepfather’s, the only memento he had of the son of bitch. Pulling it out to finger it, Spanky could feel the wetness of the tears that he’d wiped off their little faces when he was done, and he could see how big their eyes got when he threatened to strangle Mommy and Daddy if they ever told. Still fondling the ratty piece of cloth, with the chatter about the Monroe triplets in the background, Spanky knew he would take another tonight.

  Twenty, a nice round number.

  CHAPTER 13

  The Big 5 Health Care Dilemmas.

  — Time magazine, Wednesday, June 15, 2009

  Norman was not sure why he’d done that. Faked a convulsion. Now as he lay shackled to the bed in Detroit General Hospital, he knew that it had been a mistake, offering him only a temporary reprieve. He should have waited to make his move. His brain wave test and the MRI would be negative, and then they’d know. He’d done this once before, after he’d been inside for a year, and needed to escape an attack from the cell block bully. Copying the jerking movements and tongue lolling from his first cell mate who had authentic epileptic fits, Norman had plunked to the floor and violently contracted his right side in a rapid rhythmic motion, tighten, release, tighten, release. He’d held his breath and bit his tongue until it bled. His attacker held back, but not before kicking him viciously in the flank. After that he’d peed blood for days, but did the penal system get him any medical aid for that? No. He was convinced that he must have a bum kidney. Today he planned to ask that foreign doctor to be sure to check out his kidneys as long as he was in the hospital anyway.