“There’s always something,” he muttered. He took a bite of his sandwich and then threw it back down on the white paper in disgust.
“I’ve had tough cases before, but there was always something. Something that I could go on, something I could follow. But with this, nothing.”
“Maybe you’re not looking hard enough?”
“Where else could I look?”
“Who knows, you won’t unless you look.”
“It’s out of my hands now.”
“Really? Is that why you don’t think about anything else? How much sleep did you get last night?”
“Two hours,” Frank said. His voice was soft, nearly awed by the fact. It was as if he had never thought about it until that point.
“No witnesses, no fibers, no prints, no hair.”
“So the guy was wearing gloves, and what? A hat?”
“Maybe, or maybe he’s bald.”
“Could be. That would make him older. Say forty or so.”
“Yeah, sounds right. If that’s the case, it doesn’t rule out a junkie.”
“No, but if he’s a junkie why go so far away from the junk. I mean that spot was out of the way of the city.”
“Unless he lives by there and he was heading into the city for a fix.”
“But if he has a house, would he have resorted to murder so easily?
“Okay, so maybe he doesn’t live by the freeway, maybe there was another reason he was over by there?”
“If he’s a junkie then maybe he lives in the city?”
“There’s a section just outside the city where some of the hobos and junkies have shanties.”
“You could tell Rick about it.”
“Fuck that,” Frank said, standing up.
39.
Bentley had a lot to do. First there was the question of dress. It was clear from Katie’s actions that this was not the kind of party that he could just show up to in one of the three shirts that he had. Also, he was going to need to shower and shave if he wanted to continue to appear to be a teenager.
On his walk to find a suitable location, he had passed a YMCA, that would take care of the shower and he had enough cash left over from Brandon’s wallet to buy some kind of new outfit.
So, Bentley rose early to run his errands. He wanted to be ready long before the party began. It would be necessary to time his arrival correctly.
Bentley approached the YMCA building. The nice clothes had been forsaken for the urine stained ones that he had worn before.
The door was automatic and whooshed opened as he approached it. There was a large desk on the other side of the door. A young man with a goatee and a white shirt with YMCA stenciled on it in blue sat behind the desk.
The man looked up when the doors opened and his face melted from happy smile to shocked dismay.
“I need a shower,” Bentley said. “You guys still do that, right?”
“Well,” the man began. “I think you really want the…” A voice cut him off. It was older, deeper. It sounded like the voice a preacher in mid sermon.
“Ed, why don’t you let me handle this?”
The young man glanced over. Bentley followed his eyes and saw a tall, thin man with grey hair. It was brushed back from his forehead and gelled to keep it in place. The man’s face was shrunken with lines, but his eyes were still alive and vibrant. They were a blue so deep, that they seemed to be two spotlights that someone had decided to stick on his face.
“Sure Mr. Caruthers, whatever you say.”
The old man stepped forward and extended a hand, Bentley shook it and smiled.
“You can help me?”
“I hope so son, I really do. Why don’t you follow me.”
The old man walked back in the direction that he had entered and Bentley followed him.
They ended up in a small room, that wasn’t really an office. There was only a small child’s school table in the room and posters on the wall, depicting kids playing soccer and football and basketball. One of them had a child in a white robe with a red belt tied around his waist. The kid was in the act of kicking.
“How old are you son?” Caruthers asked.
“Seventeen. How old are you?”
Caruthers laughed. “Old enough, that’s for sure. You don’t have a home do you?”
“No.”
“Where do you stay?”
“Here and there. Listen, I just came in so that I could take a shower, can you guys help me out or not?”
“Oh sure. I can let you use the shower facilities. But what I’m more interested in is getting you some help.”
“I appreciate that, but really I don’t need any help.”
“You’re a minor and you’re on the street, I would say that you could use some help.”
Bentley’s jaw tightened and hand stole to the left pocket of his pants.
“What’s your name son?”
“Brandon.”
“Well Brandon, did you know that there are a lot of programs out there that can get you back on the right path? This doesn’t have to be your life son. There are alternatives.”
“I know,” Bentley said. “But if it’s all the same to you, I’d just like to get my shower and be on my way.”
Caruthers seemed not to hear. “Have you accepted the Lord Jesus Christ as your personal savior?”
Bentley’s hand tightened around the knife. It was all he could do to not pull it out and spill this prick’s blood.
“I really don’t have time for personal saviors, I just want my shower.”
“Ah,” Caruthers said. “But don’t you see you’re just the kind of person that needs a personal savior. No one can come back from the abyss on their own, we all need help, a voice to guide us back to the correct path.”
“Maybe, I should just leave.” Bentley turned.
“No,” Caruthers said. “Don’t leave.”
Bentley turned back. “If you want to keep me here and lecture me about your personal beliefs than I’d rather leave.”
“Do you have something against Jesus?”
“No, I just don’t believe in him.”
“Why is that?”
“Why do you believe in him?”
“Because the bible tells me that he died for our sins on the cross.”
“And what makes your bible so much better than anyone else’s.”
“God divined the true word on a few special souls and they wrote his words for all to see.”
“You do realize that’s exactly what every other religion on Earth believes as well.”
Caruthers sighed. “Well how do you explain the miracles that Jesus performed?”
“Simple magic tricks.”
“He raised Lazarus from the dead.”
“If that’s true.”
“The bible says it is so.”
“The bible also says that we’re all cousins, seeing as we came from the same two people.”
“Well I believe that that is a simple metaphor for the creation of the human race.”
“So now you guys pick and choose what is literal and what is a metaphor? That seems like a pretty easy way to dispel some gaping holes of logic in your little divine book.”
Caruthers smiled. “You don’t seem like you’d be convinced no matter what.”
“I would be convinced if I saw some kind of evidence that proved to me that Jesus was not only the son of God but God himself.”
“But don’t you see son; that would destroy the entire concept of faith.”
“So let me see if I have this right. You believe that a God created us, set up a list of guidelines to follow and created an elaborate plan to have a chosen few to write it all down in a book to follow?”
Caruthers opened his mouth, but Bentley silenced him by holding up his free right hand.
“Not only did he do that but he also engendered the creation of several so-called false sects and books to choose from? So, is God Monte Hall? What do you get if you chose the wrong religion
a two-thousand pound cow?”
“God didn’t create any false deities or prophets, humans did that, son.”
“But your God is all knowing.”
“Yes.”
“So he knew that these things were going to happen. Why would he do that? It all seems like a cruel practical joke, and the thing is, the only thing on the line is the trivial matter of your immortal soul.”
“I know God’s plan may seem…”
“Doesn’t it make more sense to realize that no religion is correct? That if there really was one true God that had imparted his wisdom on us, there would be one true book and maybe a few horrible imitations?”
“Well, I wouldn’t call any other religion horrible, but you could view other books such as the Koran as imitations.”
“You might be able to, if only they hadn’t been created thousands of years ago in varying parts of the globe with nearly no connection to one another. These books were written with no knowledge of the other books that had already been written. They were written by people in their native lands and reflected the cultural biases of their own part of the world at the time. That’s all. Not only that, but your particular version of the one true answer is the newest one on the block, so if any of them were an imitation it would be yours.”
Caruthers’s lips tightened. “Well, you seem like a very intelligent young man; however, I think you have a lot to learn yet.”
“Sure I do,” Bentley said. “Now, can I take my shower or should I go to a synagogue or something?”
Caruthers laughed, it was a dry thing. “No, you can use the facilities; we welcome all kinds around here. I’ll show you the way.”
Caruthers lead him up a narrow flight of wooden steps to the second floor. There was a large metal door with a plaque that read: Men, on it.
“This is it,” Caruthers said. “Take as long as you need, and when you come down I can give you some literature about places that you can go to find a meal and maybe a place to sleep that isn’t on the streets.”
“Thanks,” Bentley said and pushed the door open.
40.
Ed was still behind the desk when Mr. Caruthers made his way down the back steps and walked into the main lobby. Without saying a word, he picked up the phone and dialed.
“What are you doing?” Ed asked.
Caruthers ignored the question. “Hello, yes. This is Mr. Caruthers from the YMCA on Sunset and Paravo. I have a runaway minor here. Yes, if you could send someone over, I would appreciate it. Thank you, goodbye.”
Caruthers hung up the phone and glanced over at Ed.
“What was that?”
“We’re required to notify the authorities when a minor comes in,” Caruthers said. “I can’t, with a clear conscious, let him go out and walk the streets.”
Caruthers walked away, Ed watched him go, he didn’t like the look in Caruthers’s eyes, like he’d just seen the angel of death or something.
41.
Frank pulled up on the outskirts of San Ignace. It was out of his jurisdiction, but what the hell, he wasn’t even assigned to this case anyway, so what did it matter?
The drug trade was strongest in San Ignace, Moravo, and San Stephan, all three cities merged on this location. It seemed likely that if there were a junkie that was willing to kill, he’d be here.
Frank got out of the car and looked at the woods. Woods was probably too grandiose a term for them. There were a few stunted fir trees and maybe a birch or two. The trees were so thin that Frank could see the road on the other side. There were several little shacks built around the area. The cops knew about them, he was sure, but what the hell did they care? For the most part the homeless weren’t much of a problem and this at least kept them out of view at night and off park benches.
Frank stepped towards them, not liking the feeling in his gut. “There’s something here?” He said to himself.
“Yep, definitely something. So let’s go find out what the fuck it is.”
42.
Bentley let the soap wash over him. It had been so long since he’d cleaned his body that he wanted to savor it as long as possible. Hot water ran over his bald head and down his bare body. The skin was smooth and pink, the only place where hair grew were his eyebrows. Everything else had the raw, red look of razor burn. Bentley finished running his knife over his body to clear any stray hairs that he might have missed the last time he showered.
As the water began to turn cold, he shut the spray off and walked across the tiled floor to grab a towel. When Bentley approached them, he heard voices.
“Yes, he’s up there,” he heard Caruthers say. His voice was loud and animated, as if he’d been explaining the same point over and over again. “He’s taking a shower up there, just wait until he comes down and you can have him.”
“Okay, just calm down sir,” a female voice said. “When he gets down here, if you could lead him out into the lobby we’ll take everything from there.”
Not cops, Bentley thought. Social services. Guess I shouldn’t have insulted the guy’s savior.
Bentley toweled off and opened his backpack. He pulled out a pair of jeans and a shirt and put them on. They clung to his still wet skin, but Bentley didn’t notice. He looked across the shower room.
There must be some other kind of door? How do the people that pay for this place get in here?
At first, Bentley had been preoccupied by the sound of his own shower running and then Caruthers downstairs. Now that he was thinking, he heard more water running. Only it sounded like it was coming from the other side of the far wall.
Bentley walked across the wet floor, in his still bare feet, getting the bottom of his jeans wet.
When he reached the wall, he leaned against it and listened. Yes, there was definitely water running on the other side.
So this is what, for employees?
That made sense. All the walls were tiled to the ceiling, not a single window cut into them.
You sent me to a place where there was only one way out, huh? I bet you’re right on the bottom of those steps just waiting for me to come down. Fucking bastard of an old man.
Bentley spun around, seeing all sides of the little box that he had allowed himself to be locked in.
One thing at a time.
He put on his socks and shoes and laced them up. Then, he pulled the backpack’s strap over his shoulder. The door was the only portal to the room. Bentley walked over and eased it open a crack. He peered out. Caruthers was no where to be seen. Bentley opened the door further and he saw him. He was indeed standing near the bottom of the stairs. Only his back was to it. It seemed like he was looking into the lobby, either trying to appear as if everything were normal, or looking towards the social worker for some kind of sign.
The left brought the steps and a one-way ticket to the social worker. The right offered a better option. The staircase ended at a wooden railing. Above the railing was more brick wall, but about two feet up, a large window allowed the sunlight in.
Bentley pushed the door opened farther and squeezed out. He expected the old wood to scream under his feet, but it didn’t. Once he was out, he eased the door back.
He placed his hands on the rail and hoisted himself up. Once his feet were secure, he reached up and grabbed the sill of the window. It rose easily.
Caruthers, you might be a blind sheep, but at least you keep your house in good condition.
Bentley reached into his pocket and pulled out the knife. He cut a square in the thin screen. It purred easily under the blade. When the hole was cut, Bentley grabbed onto the window and pulled himself up.
Wind ripped around him. There was a thin ledge on the outside of the building and a healthy drop below him. He looked right and then left. The ledge reached out to two separate windows. The one on the right, must be somewhere either over the main lobby or close to it. Either way, there was no guarantee that it had a floor to land on. The other one lead in the direction of the running water that he heard.
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br /> Bentley nodded and eased himself out onto the window. His feet found the ledge and he turned himself around so that his front hugged the building.
Walking wasn’t easy. The ledge was a little wider than it looked from inside the building, but not nearly wide enough. Bentley felt the back of his heels hang out into space. Slowly, he inched his way from one window to the other. At every second he expected to hear a shout from the ground, none came.
It took nearly two minutes, but Bentley finally found his way to the second window. He looked in and saw several men in various stages of undress. There were tan lockers arranged in rows. Bentley put his hands on the window and tried to raise it. When he pressed, his left foot slipped and for a second he lost his battle with gravity. He flung his body back towards the building and grabbed onto the brick.
“Fuck!”
Bentley saw a young man with blonde hair, wearing a pair of boxer shorts and nothing else. He was sitting on one of the long wooden benches in front of the lockers. There was a cell phone in his hand and he appeared to be texting on it.
Bentley raised a fist and knocked on the glass. The boy’s head shot up and looked in Bentley’s direction. His face contorted into shock and confusion. Bentley pointed at him and then tapped on the glass again. The boy stood up and walked over to the window.
Bentley pointed down and made a half-hearted raising motion with his hand. The boy grabbed the sill and raised the window.
“What the hell…” The boy began.
Bentley leaned in and crashed through the screen. It broke under the weight of his body and he spilled into the building, landing on the kid.
“Shit!” The kid screamed underneath Bentley.
Bentley stood up and offered his hand to the kid. He took it and Bentley hoisted him up.
“What were you doing out there, man?”
“No workout like it,” Bentley replied. “There will be a special place in God’s kingdom for you, kid.”
Smiling, Bentley walked to the locker room door and down the steps. He was out and onto the street in less than thirty seconds.
Beneath the Mask of Sanity Page 9
