“Ellen, you’ve been a great help. I’ll be there within the hour. Don’t attempt to confront the man. He’s a very dangerous person who hates women.” After laying the phone down, Maude checked her weapon then put it in her holster. She didn’t believe in purses or hand-carry holsters; the weapon had to be on the belt of her slacks.
No one else was in the office except Eberhart, and he appeared to be concentrating on a stack of notes and reports.
“Bob, if you can turn loose of what you’re doing, I could use some backup at the asylum. I’d appreciate your riding along with me if Frieda doesn’t need you.”
Eberhart nodded and began rising from the desk, grabbing his coat. “Let’s go,” he said, taking a step toward her. “You driving?”
“Yeah, I go there enough I know a shortcut.”
On the way, Maude briefed the detective on the phone call from Ellen Goodbody, and her own take on Robert Dawson’s possible involvement with the train murder. He had a few comments to make, but agreed they should approach the whole incident with caution.
“If this perp has been able to carry off a pretense that big, it means he’s bought several workers there. They could be dangerous as well.”
“Good thought,” Maude replied, driving the car fast, its red and blue grille lights and siren making their contributions to the rush.
Twenty minutes later, they drove into the back parking lot and entered through the service doors. The elevator was manned by two security guards, who looked at their badges and okayed the two detectives entry.
“Twenty-second floor, and don’t stop for other calls,” Maude said, staring into the eyes of one of the guards. “And if either of you have anything invested in a certain criminal on that floor, know this: I have no compunction about shooting a dirty guard.”
Bob Eberhart spoke up then: “It brings me pleasure to assist in that type of endeavor.” His serious though stilted tone struck Maude as funny, and at another time she would have laughed at the remark.
Smoothly and silently, the large elevator rose twenty-two floors, finally stopping with a slight bump and creak. Ahead of them was a hallway with entry doors into the large kitchen specific to that floor, a busy food preparation area setting up for serving lunch to over one hundred criminals.
Maneuvering through the melee, Maude led the way out into the large dining room, where the bulk of those on the floor would enter within the half-hour. Kitchen staff eyed the two armed officers and gave way, not wishing to become part of whatever the cops were about to do. When they approached the doors into the patient housing, armed guards stood poised, with hands near discreetly placed holsters.
“Stop,” the guard in front called. “Identify yourselves,” the second one said.
“Maude Rogers and Bob Eberhart, Homicide, Madison. We have business here.”
The first guard reached for the telephone, but Maude shook her head. “No,” she said, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. Stand aside or become part of my report.”
The guard shifted his eyes back and forth from the phone to the detectives, but his good sense won over and he stepped back. The other security man simply stood aside, showing he had understood the situation from the first.
“You’ll have no trouble from the authorities for your actions, as long as they don’t include taking bribes from a convicted felon. If that’s part of your résumé, I suggest you get out now before you get caught up in a worse situation. Dying isn’t worth a few bucks.”
The first guard headed for the kitchen, intent on leaving the way the officers had come in the building. Maude glanced at the other one and said, “Be ready to assist us if there’s gunfire.”
They made their way through the housing area as quietly as possible, not wanting to disturb the business of the hospital, but determined to find cell 73. Across the hallway at the end of the run, the office stood unattended—no one was there to greet visitors coming through the front door. Maude looked at Eberhart, motioning him to hug the wall and stay below the line of sight of those in the cells. Moving as fast as she could without calling attention to herself, she edged closer to Dawson’s cell, but upon arriving found it to be empty, with the door open. On the floor were two nurses, either unconscious or dead. Doctor Ponder lay in a prone position, his body still. A trail of blood led to the door of the cell and down the hall. It appeared that Dawson might have been hurt in a scuffle with the victims on the floor. Maude checked the nurses, but neither of them was Ellen Goodbody. It appeared they had both been hit hard with an object, but they were alive.
Bob reached for his phone and quickly called dispatch. Murmuring low, he asked for backup at the hospital, advising officers there was at least one dangerous felon loose in the institution. He advised them of the situation on the floor, and the numerous bodies down. Before long, the halls would be filled with cops.
Maude moved from the cell, gun in hand, knowing she had a small amount of time to find Dawson before the doors started opening and cops began yelling orders. The relative isolation of the most dangerous criminals in the hospital made the floor immune to traffic from other staff, except those assigned to the ward. In other words, Maude thought, we’re on our own. She moved slowly down the hallway, seeing at least two other cells open and empty, with more victims lying hurt or dead. She had no time to attend to them, for the situation outside the cells had become a powder keg. They had no idea which way to go to find Dawson and the others; it was a crapshoot no matter where they chose.
Passing one of the small bathrooms used by visitors, Maude heard a noise and was prepared for the worst. Stepping out of the room with a small, old-style hatchet in hand, Nurse Goodbody caught Maude’s eye, and trembled with the effort of controlling her emotions. She motioned to the detectives toward the office where Doctor Ponder had disappeared on Maude’s last visit. She held up three fingers and touched her nose, puzzling Maude for a minute before she remembered Ellen’s particular ability to identify dangerous patients by smell.
Bob Eberhart moved close and Maude gave him the sign that three escapees were in the office ahead. He acknowledged, and looked to her, conceding leadership, ready to assist in the response she chose. Maude motioned for Ellen to stay back, to wait in safety until the detectives entered the room. Just as Bob neared the door, a shot sounded from inside the room. The door flew open, and two men in pajamas ran out, brandishing knives they had somehow stolen and concealed. A long blade flew by Maude’s ear, taking off the top layer of skin. The hand that wielded the weapon shook as the inmate drew back again, aiming at her stomach. He quickly moved and tried stabbing her, but the protective vest she wore repelled the blade. Without waiting any longer, she fired her weapon into the man and pushed him away, watching as he fell to the floor.
Eberhart was in a tussle with the other man, who was bleeding from a wound on his calf, finally overpowering and restraining him. Maude looked through the door, knowing there was one more inside, the worst of the lot. She tried to locate him, but couldn’t see where he had gone. Leaning against the jamb, she opened it outward, just in time to see Robert Dawson come flying out of a side door, taking the detectives by surprise, knocking Maude down. The Glock flew from her hand with the impact of her shoulder against the concrete floor. Dawson leveled a .45-caliber pistol at Maude as the man who was cuffed began begging for Dawson to release him.
Dawson quickly fired the gun into the man and said, “Good riddance, you’re released.” After murdering the man on the floor, Dawson turned to Maude, staring at her with a wild light in his eyes. “At last,” he said, slavering at the right side of his mouth, “old woman, you’re going to get what’s coming to you.” Noticing Eberhart near her, Dawson said quietly, “Put the gun down, Mr. Detective. Or I’ll kill her right now.”
“No, Bob, shoot the son of a buck. Don’t let him get away,” Maude said, trying to get off the floor.
Laying the gun aside, Eberhart looked at Maude and grimaced. He knew the maniac would do as he threatened.
Dawson, now fully Ridge Roberts, grinned, the old scars on his face drawing the skin into a macabre wooden puppet mask effect. “After all that has happened, you’re here. I don’t have time to make killing you fun because my money has been stolen, and I must hurry and find it.”
“What’s wrong, Bobby? Somebody treat you bad?” Maude asked, rising to her knees.
“Shut up! There’s no Bobby. He’s gone. It’s me, Ridge, I’m in charge.”
“You may be in charge, but Bobby is still there. He’s what keeps you from blowing your own head off.”
“Shut up!” he said again. “Keep your mouth shut, shut, shut. No time for you; must go to the airport. My money is gone. It’s going away.”
“Who stole your money, Bobby?” Maude asked. “Is that why you killed Eve Devine? Did she steal your money?”
“Who? Eve Devine? Who is Eve Devine?” He looked surprised, as though he had never heard the name.
“Eve Devine, a nice lady that you told Stringer to kill. What did she do to you?”
“Uh-uh. Stringer killed someone for me? Good. Who was she?”
Maude was puzzled, and even though she knew the nutcase in front of her wanted her dead, she needed to understand what had happened to Eve Devine.
“It wasn’t you who scattered body parts on the Missouri-Pacific tracks? You’re saying you had nothing to do with draining her blood or removing her heart? Come on, Bobby, you like that kind of work.”
Chortling, the demented killer became less coherent. “Stole my money, all my money. I must leave you,” he said, lowering the gun toward Maude’s head.
It came then; the most terrifying screech Maude had ever heard filled the hallway behind her, as Ellen Goodbody sprang from the bathroom and ran toward them, brandishing her hatchet in a continuous circle above her head. Her voice reached full volume just as the wooden handle flew from her hand in a graceful arc, its metal blade connecting center point with the skull ridges between the maddened eyes of Robert Dawson, a.k.a. Ridge Roberts.
With a surprised expression, Dawson dropped to the floor, his clenched fingers discharging the gun harmlessly into the ceiling. Lying there with the metal axe embedded in his forehead, Robert Dawson appeared to be no more or less violent than any other murderer. Maude leaned over him, making sure he was out of commission.
“Dawson, Bobby, who has your money? Whoever it is, he ordered that woman killed, and expected you’d be blamed for it. Who was it?”
Too late, Dawson opened his mouth as if to speak, but was no longer part of the living world. The Heartless Killer was dead, and would never harm another woman.
Ellen could only stand staring at the hatchet that had belonged to her daddy, the one he’d first used to decapitate his brother-in-law then shortly afterward plunged into his own brain. She couldn’t believe what she’d done. Giving Maude a helpless shrug, she said quietly, “I used to practice throwing that thing in the backyard. Hitting trees and knocking bottles off the fence. I never knew I would use it for such a thing as I did today.”
“You saved my life,” Maude said, standing finally, “and I’m never going to forget that. Thank you, Ellen.”
Turning to Eberhart, Maude said in a rush, “The mastermind of this whole thing is at the airport, trying to leave the country. You’ll have to finish it here. I can’t allow a criminal to get away,” she said, hurrying toward the elevator full of cops and emergency trauma people.
Getting back to her car was easy, but all the activity had caused more pain in her joints. She quickly took two ibuprofen, put the car into drive, and headed toward the airport with sirens and lights blazing.
“How could I have missed it?” she asked herself. “It was there all the time, but I was fixed on Dawson and didn’t see it.”
The glass doors were closing when she arrived. After leaving the car in a No Parking area and locking her gun inside the glove box, Maude entered the security section, waiting for them to search her before showing her badge. She explained that it was a matter of life or death, that she needed to be allowed to go through. One of the security men gave her a visitor’s sticker for her blazer, and followed her down the line while she searched the waiting areas for a murderer, one who waited to board a plane to a country without an extradition agreement with the United States.
The chairs were standard, blue, and attached to each other by nuts and bolts in a long line. Sitting passengers waiting to board were eager to be on their way. The third seat from the end she found him, his thin hair covered by a straw hat, and an AMA magazine tucked under his arm. She could tell he was dozing peacefully, oblivious to the hold about to be put on his trip and his life.
The airport police officer was armed, a fact Maude had known ahead of time, the reason she had left her weapon outside. Had she tried to go through the security line with a gun, her quarry would have boarded the plane and left the country before they had cleared her. She nodded to the officer and edged forward, making sure he was close by.
“Ian Hopkins, you are under arrest for murder, for obstruction of justice, for grand theft, and for anything else I can add on to it. You have the right to remain silent. If you give up that right…” She continued on with the Miranda, making sure it was done right. At her insistence, the officer took the doctor into custody and escorted him outside the boarding area. Hopkins was silent and didn’t object to anything. Seeing her there was hard to accept, but he was a practical man.
Finally, he turned to her and asked, “How did you find me?” His shoulders drooped with defeat, for the doctor was not accustomed to the criminal’s way of life.
“Your patient had a last lucid moment before he made the trip to hell. You took his money and he couldn’t stop talking about it.”
Later, on the way to the Cop Shop, Maude asked the doctor what made him go wrong. “You had it all, a good career, respect. Was the money that enticing?”
“He was going to kill me. Told me so then laughed. But I knew he was serious. He’d paid me well to arrange the deception, the coma, but it was coming to an end, so I faked my death then hid out for a while. I paid someone to break the code to Dawson’s bank accounts. The money became the reason I lived, then one day, I was at a coffee shop, just for a minute. Eve Devine came in and sat down across the room. I knew she recognized me from the days she worked as a nurse. I left as quickly as I could, but I caught her staring. She had to die. Stringer took care of it, made it look like something Dawson would do, so he’d catch the blame.”
“Mr. Hopkins, murder was a business you should never have invested in. You should have stayed with healing the sick. One question: why the kid on the phone? Even though it was a brilliant way to get me involved, why bother?”
“Because only you would have connected it all together, the missing heart, the blood. What other cop would have thought beyond the accident with the train? You knew Dawson and would assume he did it all.”
“And Stringer? How did you get him involved? He was Dawson’s man.”
“Money, detective, the root of all evil. Stringer is an egomaniac who believes he can do anything he wants. You have him in custody, but I daresay he seems unconcerned. In his mind, he has power over the situation. He was a good partner, but the time would have come when he would have tried to take everything.”
“Don’t you have some regrets, Doctor Hopkins? Did you kill the man you traded identities with?” Maude asked as an afterthought. He was silent as she made ready to release him to other officers at the station. “Any remorse for any of it?”
“I’m a psychiatrist, detective. I am familiar with aberrant behavior. If you’re asking if I compare myself to others like Dawson, then no, I am not sorry. What I did was necessary, though unfortunate for some. And no, the man on the road had recently died. It was convenient for me that I had friends in a funeral home. For a small charge, they provided me with the body of a homeless man. It was good talking to you, detective, especially off the record. You can never prove any of what I�
�ve told you, but I’m glad you know.”
“I’ll take my chances with the evidence, doctor. My job was to stop you from getting away, and I have.”
The first person she called was Bill—she thought he’d be glad to know the mystery was over. The second was Joe. Even though he was out for a while, she knew he would be called to testify in the shootings. He was very pleased to know his work had been a major contributor to helping close the case.
Going home that night, after all was done, Maude happily noted the animal hadn’t raged for several hours. Her AA sponsor had warned her of those times when the need might release her then come back with a vengeance, and she shouldn’t become overly confident in her own abilities. The best thing to do at those times, Claire had said, was for Maude to go to a meeting at the small church, and express her gratitude. That was what she did, smiling at the world around her, absent of a few more bad guys. There was room for others to take their places, and the gaps would fill quickly, but for that moment, Maude Rogers reveled in the peace that sometimes came after her job was done for the day.
The End
Epilogue
Horace Malone went to prison for ninety-nine years without parole for the murders of Eve Devine and Henry Fonda. He seemed unconcerned at the sentencing. Lola was charged with a misdemeanor and received time served for helping police officers in their duties. Sammy Green went back to prison for his part in the whole ugly scheme. Doctor Ian Hopkins managed to beat some of the charges, but the judge wasn’t impressed with the good doctor. He threw the book at him. Miscellaneous arrests were made at the Madison-MacArthur Hospital for the Criminally Insane. Bribery charges were rampant among security and medical staff.
On a happy note, Joe’s doctor said the wound was healing just fine, but even though his patient believed he was ready to go back to work, an additional week was necessary for him to be off his feet. Maude took the liberty of calling his ex-wife and laying a load of guilt on her for not bringing the kids to see him. She even hinted that some bad things might happen if Sheila kept the attitude.
The 6:10 To Murder (The Maude Rogers Crime Novels Book 3) Page 24
