Mind Switch

by Lorne L. Bentley

  “By the way, Jan, did you know that normally mass murders do not exclude women from their crimes, that statistically 65% of victims are women? This case would be an exception to the mass murder’s normal tendency.”

  “Wow, that’s a lot to digest.”

  “Yes, and I’m sure that somehow Mr. Ford is the brains behind the killings. The problem is that I still don’t know why or how he did it.”

  “Do you think you should tell the chief about your theory on this?”

  “Yes, up to now I’ve been keeping my theory somewhat to myself; but I believe that now is the time to discuss it with him.”

  Chapter 57

  The Marvel was getting very worried. Whether it’s just blind luck or brilliant police work, Lieutenant Harris is getting much closer to the solution than I ever expected. His death will have to come quickly without the careful planning that I would have desired. Once he is eliminated from the scene, no one else on the force would be able to reassemble the details and put them together as he has. The longer he is alive, the stronger the possibility that he will convince others of his theories. I can’t afford to let that happen.

  Chapter 58

  Jim had decided to spend a few more days in Goshen. The day’s high temperature had dropped to the mid teens; and with a brisk wind the chill factor dropped below zero. Sergeant Johnson was kind enough to lend him one of his heavier coats as well as a pair of fur laden gloves. That wasn’t enough for Jim in this devil’s winter play land. Jim asked for a heavy sweater as well.

  Sergeant Johnson laughed, “Do you think you will ever thaw out after you leave here?” Jim didn’t answer; he wasn’t being impolite, his lips were chattering too much to respond.

  Meanwhile, the local judge they had contacted for a search warrant had been very supportive and in less than a day they had compiled a list of phone calls that Baker had made from his Goshen home. Most of the calls were made to a number in New York City; a couple of the calls were made to Ford’s business in Sarasota.

  The last call that was made to Ford was four days ago, which was the time that the Sarasota police had lost track of Ford.

  “Well,” Jim said to Sergeant Johnson, “the connection between Baker and Ford is now well established. Now we have to find out who was his mystery contact in New York City.”

  “Do you think we have enough on Baker to arrest him?”

  “I’m not sure, and I sure don’t want to scare Ford away. I would guess he’s on his way up here to meet with his associate; and that’s why we have to be especially cautious, so neither of them suspects that we are actively investigating them in the Goshen area.”

  The New York City number Baker had called turned out to be a jewelry store on East 86th Street.

  “That’s it,” Jim said. “That must be his fence. Let’s contact the precinct in New York that handles that area and see if they can be of any help.”

  The New York City precinct that handled the area was the 19th. When Jim told them of his suspicions about the Jewelry store, the officer manning the desk transferred him directly to the burglary division.

  Detective Baxter knew right away about the questionable reputation of the jewelry store owner. He said, “We’ve been investigating that store for almost three months, but unfortunately we’ve had difficulty coming up with anything specific to nail them on. Do you have any detailed identification on the jewelry stolen from the homes in Sarasota that could be traced back to the original owners?”

  “Yes, we believe the thief was responsible for at least ten robberies in the past six months. Fortunately for us, the owners in many cases had engraved many of the expensive pieces that were stolen. A Mr. Ford from Sarasota apparently shipped it to his partner in Goshen; and that person has had direct contact with the owner of the jewelry store on East 86th street.”

  “Ok, Detective, why don’t you take a trip up here? Meanwhile, we’ll get a search warrant for the place.”

  “I’ll be there, but first I want to check out Mr. Baker’s house. He may still have some of the stolen goods hidden there. I believe a simultaneous raid in New York City as well as Baker’s place might be in order so that we can be assured that there will be no advance tip off. By the way, is the City any warmer than Goshen?”

  “Oh, maybe a few degrees, why do you ask?”

  “To determine the type of winter coat I’ll have to buy before I leave here.”

  Baxter laughed, “Oh, I forgot you’re one of those tropical cops. We have the benefit of radiant heat from underground subways and we also generate lots of heat from our heavy traffic. The heat radiates off our blacktops all over the city. Even though we are a bit further north, I think you may be a degree or two warmer here than where you are now.”

  Jim, shivering even in the confines of the police station, hoped that Baxter’s “few degrees” would be enough to sustain him when he got to the City.

  Chapter 59

  Fred had procrastinated as much as he could; he finally set up a meeting in the police conference room with his chief and the DA. He had decided to show them his discoveries on the DVD’s of the bank shooting. Knowing how headstrong his chief could be and how single purpose oriented the DA was, he wasn’t completely sure it was a good idea. But he could no longer continue his secret investigation without their knowledge and support.

  His major objective was to get them to realize that that the shootings had not been random, that their killers had a purpose. And that he believed that purpose was to eliminate division heads the Analysis Unlimited Company.

  Jan operated the DVD and Fred narrated, carefully emphasizing the frequency of pauses in the firing, while bringing their attention to the summary of the autopsy reports. He did not bring up the fact that Mr. Slivers, for some unknown reason, had attempted to bypass the women in the bank from his killing spree. Fred had no good reason to introduce that element, since he had no valid explanation and felt it would simply throw unnecessary complexity into what was already a very complex and confusing case. He had determined these two officials had to be brought into this slowly, or his points taken would be lost in a stream of data. Fred showed them the scatter analysis which showed that the victims receiving the greatest number of bullets, both in the bank and the theater, included the two division heads from AU.

  After his presentation there was total silence in the room. The scorn on the chief’s face seemed to indicate that the last 45 minutes were a waste of his time. The DA was the first to speak.

  “Fred, I think you have something there. We now know the objective for the killings, although it may be a bit too subtle for a jury to decipher; in my experience the simpler the message, the better. Juries don’t always consist of the most educated people in our society, so I’ll have to find the least common denominator when I present my case to them. However, let me ask you a question, what connection do our killers have to AU? Perhaps they were former employees who had a grudge? Or maybe they bought some faulty products, or something of that nature?”

  “No,” Fred said. “I can’t make a direct connection up to this point. But I am sure it exists and I’m still investigating it.”

  “Well then, do we have a case of murder for hire? If these complex sets of murders had a single objective, then someone must have really wanted the two division directors dead for a very good reason.”

  “I agree as to the existence of someone’s strong desire to see these two dead, but I don’t think the two killers were on anyone’s payroll for this murder.”

  Fred had decided not to bring up Ford’s name in connection with the case. Although Fred felt he had some circumstantial evidence against Ford, he still could not put all the dots together. Certainly what he had would not fly in any court room. At any rate, he thought, I have to bring the DA and the chief into this slowly. As I gather more incriminating evidence, I will brief them again at the proper time.

  The DA asked the next question, “If they didn’t have any reason to kill, and they weren’t hit men,
then where in hell are we in this case?”

  Fred found the DA asking the same questions he had asked himself frequently over the past week, with no answers forthcoming.

  “I need to continue to investigate, sir. I’ve spoken to the president of AU and to several of his employees. But I’m afraid I haven’t reached any conclusions yet.”

  The DA was obviously uncomfortable with what he just heard. It would have been a much simpler case to prosecute if he had to deal with two mass murders spawned by dysfunctional killers getting revenge on society in some convoluted way. That would have been more preferable a case to prosecute than to convince the jury of the theory that Fred offered. The DA still needed to understand in much greater detail why the murders were committed.

  On the other hand, the DA thought, if we can find out who the mastermind behind these cases is, and the method he used to gain the trust of the surrogate killers, then the very nature of this highly unique case would bring positive headlines for us from all around the world.

  “Okay, Fred, great work; however you need to fill in all the missing details as soon as possible. I agree with your theories, but we have to speed up the investigation. And I need a complete briefing as to where you are by the start of next week. As he got up to leave he patted the chief on the back, “Great work, Dan.”

  The beginning of next week, Fred suddenly realized, was only four days away! And when he says a complete briefing, he really means he wants the case solved by then. What did I get myself into, he thought?

  The last words in the conference room were those of the chief, who said, “Good luck, Fred, but it seems that you are entirely on your own because I have no idea where you need to go from here. In fact, I don’t even have the foggiest idea of where you’ve been!”

  Chapter 60

  The simultaneous raids of the house in Goshen and the jewelry Store in New York City provided benefits much greater than what Jim could have asked for. Some of the missing jewelry was found hidden in the back room of the store on 86th Street. Fortunately, Baker had not yet fenced a couple of the boxes of the jewelry that had been sent to him. Both the New York City and Goshen police were ecstatic.

  Jim was simply cold. The eastern seacoast had encountered a freak arctic freeze extending from Newfoundland to Maryland. Jim wasn’t sure he would be alive long enough to return to Florida. And all he could think of was, Fred, you owe me big time!

  The only other problem facing Jim, as if freezing to death was not significant in itself, was that there was no sign of Ford anywhere. Mr. Baker was only too happy to spill the beans in hopes of a plea bargain: but when it came to Ford, he insisted that he had not seen him. The last he had heard from him was when Ford had called him from Sarasota; and at that time Ford had indicated he would shortly be on his way up to New York. That was four days ago, and Ford had never showed. The phone records of Mr. Baker verified the timing of the last phone call with Ford.

  Jim felt Baker was not lying. There was no evidence to indicate that Ford had ever reached Goshen. Where in hell was he? It would not take him three days to go from Sarasota to Goshen even under the worst of conditions.

  Jim decided to close down shop in the New York area. He told the New York City police, as well as Sgt. Johnson, that he would be available, if needed when the jewelry theft cases came to trial.

  “But, please,” he added, “puleeze make sure the trials are held in summer.”

  Sgt. Johnson laughed. He said, “I was born in Monticello, New York, the heart of the Catskills, and I’ve lived in this region my whole life. I don’t feel good until my breath freezes in chunks and falls heavily to the ground.”

  Jim said “Well, I guess masochists hold all sorts of occupations.”

  The only remaining element was to post someone in the house owned by Baker in case Ford showed up. Neither police department would break the news to the media for a couple days to insure that they wouldn’t scare off Ford in case he was still on his way north.

  *

  Jim was warmly ensconced back in Sarasota, in Fred’s office briefing him on his New York visit, when Jan broke in.

  “Lieutenant, you will not believe what just happened! Mr. Flynn – one of the division heads at AU—he’s dead! We just got a report that he committed suicide this morning!”

  Chapter 61

  Fred thought, I can’t believe this! Damn it, Ford is still on the loose, so he’s most likely responsible for the latest death. Maybe that’s why he delayed his trip to Goshen, New York, to take care of some unfinished business in Sarasota. It then struck him, Jan didn’t say murder; she said suicide. At this point Fred could not believe suicide was even a possibility—if it was associated with AU, it just had to be connected to a murder.

  Fred approached the modest house on Mayflower Street where the Flynns lived.

  Several city patrolmen were already at the scene, roping off the area. A middle-aged woman was sitting in the living room on a leather lounge, crying uncontrollably; Fred assumed it was Mrs. Flynn. Her hair was disheveled and she obviously had not used any makeup this morning. Fred guessed that her husband’s body had been found very early in the morning. Mrs. Flynn’s daughter was sitting next to her on an olive green leather sofa, patting Mrs. Flynn gently on the back. Fred hated to interrupt the privacy of the moment. From his experience, the worst emotional time to deal with the death of a loved one is in the first hours of its occurrence. But, unfortunately, that is the time that was most opportune to interrogate witnesses and loved ones, when the memory of what happened is still fresh and clear in their minds.

  “Mrs. Flynn, I am Lieutenant Harris, I really hate to bother you at this moment but I do need to ask you a few questions. I promise I’ll make it short.”

  If looks could kill, Fred was sure that Mrs. Flynn’s daughter had a patent on them. She obviously did not want her mother stressed any more than she had already been. Mrs. Flynn, ignoring her daughter’s protest, said, “Okay, I guess I can answer.” Her daughter sighed as if she had done all that she could do to protect her mother from a barrage of questions from the police.

  “When did you find the … ah, Mr. Flynn?”

  “This morning after I awoke. He had gotten up early but I went back to sleep and awoke an hour later. I called for him and got no answer. He usually does the morning Sudoku puzzle in the daily paper before he leaves for work. However, this morning he wasn’t in the living room. I continued to call for him, and then I found him in the den. He was hanging from a rope. When I cut him down I could see he was … he was dead!” Mrs. Flynn broke down again.

  Fred waited for Mrs. Flynn to recover before he asked his next question. “Was your husband depressed over anything, anything at all?”

  “No, not at all. We in fact had tickets for the opera tonight; and all week long he had been talking about going there. Last night before we went to bed, we had our usual nightcap cocktail; and that was the last we talked to each other.”

  “A couple of more questions, and then I’ll leave you alone. Have you ever seen this man with your husband?” Fred pulled out copies of Ford’s pictures in various disguises. They had become frayed from continuous removal and reinsertion in Fred’s wallet.

  “No I’ve never seen him.”

  “Last question, do you know of anybody at work who had a grudge against your husband?”

  “No, never!”

  “Thank you for your time at this difficult period; you have my deepest sympathy.” Fred tried to avoid eye contract with Flynn’s daughter as he exited the house.

  Fred had recently talked to Flynn; he had seen no evidence of depression. Fred’s mind was totally occupied with thoughts of where in hell was Ford, and was he responsible for this “suicide” as well as the other murders. He was walking across the road at a brisk pace to his Miata, when a car which had been parked about fifty yards down the street, suddenly accelerated in his direction at full speed.

  Fred so was occupied with thoughts of the alleged suicide, that h
e never would have seen the fast advancing Buick, except for the noise it made as the rear wheels spun from its frantic acceleration.

  At the last moment Fred leaped on the front of his Miata; he slid ungracefully across the hood, falling painfully to the cement sidewalk on the other side. The hard fall provided him with a painful awareness that the rib injury and bullet wounds that he had recently sustained were far from healed. The speeding car sideswiped the Miata as it passed, crushing the convertible’s entire left side. The impact had seemingly not caused any steering damage to the larger vehicle; and after a controlled slide it sped down the street and was quickly out of sight. Fred tried to make out the license plate and get a glance at the driver, but by the time he had recovered, the car was well beyond his visibility. He determined only that it was an older model Buick painted light gray.

  The Miata, his favorite car of all time, was demolished. The Buick had creased the entire side of the little car, pushing in the driver’s door almost to the passenger seat. The front wheel had been twisted to a 45 degree angle. Fred almost cried, not because of his near death experience, but because his beloved car of fourteen years was now gone forever.