“Nonsense, Fred; I can’t accept that. You were almost struck down by his car when you were at Flynn’s house. The killer took a great chance to try to eliminate you while he was in plain sight for a moment. His identity might have been found out; the car he was driving could have sustained such damage that it was no longer drivable. I believe the killer is getting desperate, he fears that you are getting much too close; his pattern has been altered. He has become audacious in his recent actions.”
“Boss, I at one time felt the same way you do now, but considering the phenomenal powers this guy has, it may have been one of his puppets driving that car, someone that didn’t even know what he was doing. I don’t disagree that the killer feels my hot breath on his back; but that doesn’t necessarily mean he’s becoming reckless. He may have just altered his MO to deal with the changing circumstances. This person is very intelligent and highly adaptable.”
“Fred, you are beginning to talk as if this guy is demonic. Believe me, he is human and fallible. I told you I once employed a psychic in one of my cases. At first I treated her with disdain and disbelief; but eventually I learned to respect her special talent. I didn’t understand it, but I respected her unique capability. Beyond her special talent, she was a loving person, experiencing the same problems in her life that we all do. We lost our son in a tragic accident. She never got over it. She visited his grave every day, rain or shine. Fred, she had a special talent that you and I don’t share. But believe me, she was human in every other way; and in her case it was in the most positive meaning of the word.”
“Chief, it sounds like you got to know this woman while she worked for you.”
“I must have, I married her. We stayed married for over fifteen blissful years. She has been gone from this good earth for ten years now.” A tear crept into the chief’s eye, he turned away feigning a coughing spell. “Damn cigars,” he muttered, “the smoke can be irritating sometimes.”
Fred was surprised. Another dimension had surfaced in his chief. Fred realized that he didn’t really know anything about his marriage, his son—nothing at all of substance. “I’m sorry, Chief, I didn’t know.”
The chief took a moment to clear his throat so he wouldn’t choke out the words when he spoke. “You weren’t supposed to know, Fred, but I had to give you a little insight into those who possess special powers. I know Cathy, my late wife, only used her powers in a positive way. You, on the other hand have a person who apparently exploits his special talents. But that person still has fears, hang-ups, tendencies, compensations, day dreams, rationalizations and all that goes with being human. You just have to find out what they are. I’m sure the clues are out there—just find them.”
Fred thought, maybe they are out there somewhere but what are they: a massive ego, a master at games, an unwillingness to lose, a continuous feeling of superiority—and what else? Maybe it’s a person who feels so superior that he or she is not capable of making mistakes, believing no one else is intelligent enough to pick up on them.
Again the chief had helped him. He now knew his next step; but he didn’t want to bring it up to the chief yet, if ever. Besides he had to get out of the room; with watering eyes and a clouded view he could hardly see the chief from the other side of his desk.
As Fred departed the room, his eyes unfocused, he bumped soundly into Jim. “Strange meeting you like this, Fred, but you ought to know that I had a chance to check out Dr. Anderson.”
“Any luck?”
“Nothing specific, the only negative record I was able to come up with concerned his medical stint in Naples. What I told you previously is basically what their local police have on him, which is really nothing of substance since the case was dismissed. I talked to his division director at AU, and got nothing out of him. Then I visited Anderson, and you’re right; he is like one of those bobbing dolls in the back of a car window. It didn’t take much to get him shaking, and I’m sure it’s not a physical condition; it’s pure nerves. Before he realized I was a cop, he was very much at ease; and then when I showed him my badge, his whole demeanor changed.
“I tried to get his reaction from a few of the more probing questions I asked; he really lit up when I asked him what record he had of the operations he conducted for AU. Think about it, Fred, that operating table in his area is not in there for nothing. He said he didn’t do any operations. Then I asked him if he had a license to operate. He said no, well, yes. Finally he said his license was applicable to the hospital he worked while he was in Naples. So I said, if you operated here you would be doing so illegally? He said yes, then no, and finally he said he was confused and didn’t know what he was saying.
“What do you think, Fred, should we get a search warrant?” Jim asked.
“Nah, we could never do it. We don’t have adequate justification to even convince a compliant judge to issue it. Let’s cool our heels for awhile and see if something doesn’t come up.”
*
The next day Fred thought about all the possible clues that could help him solve the case: Chanel Number 5, Red Chinese, Atwell’s comment about false clues? He now was sure that he knew who the murderer was; but he also knew that he did not have the necessary evidence to prove it. And without proof to capture the killer, he thought, I believe that Maureen’s life would be in constant danger—if for nothing else, then just for her being my wife to be used by the killer as leverage to get to me.
He drove from his house to the high school in Sarasota that Ford had attended. An hour later he was satisfied that his theory was correct; but the evidence was still legally inadequate for a prosecution’s case.
After he returned home, he completed a note and drove to three separate locations. In case he was wrong about his theory, he had secretly placed an envelope on the desk of three of the people he suspected most likely to have single-handedly been responsible for the city’s crime wave. In each case the outside of the envelope was simply addressed For You. Inside was a folded up piece of white bond computer paper. The note, written in a bold red marker, said,“I know who you are! It was signed ‘Lieutenant Harris.’ The annotation sounded like it sprang from the sophomoric dialogue of a teen movie, but Fred knew it would do its job.
Fred wanted to be close by when the person that he believed was The Marvel opened the envelope. The risk, however, would be too great; he couldn’t chance that. He knew whatever type of emotion reflected on the recipient’s face at the moment the envelope was opened, it still would not elicit any degree of proof that that person was the murderer. What it might do, however, was bring the person out of hiding once and for all.
The chief had said, “Use your intuition,” and that’s what he was doing. Now Fred questioned whether what he was doing was wise. Might he not be releasing the 800 pound gorilla out of its cage with no idea what to do with him? It was too late for reconsideration, someone was entering the area where Fred had placed his last envelope and Fred had to vacate. Good or bad, the deed was done. Although three envelopes had been placed on the desks of suspects, Fred was quite sure he now knew which of the three was definitely the guilty party.
Chapter 74
Early that morning The Marvel noticed something out of the ordinary on the desk. It was an un-mailed envelope. Hmm, very strange, someone must have broken in and placed it there. The Marvel tore it open. Curiosity gave way to shock as the message was read. He knows, damn it he knows, he knows, that fool knows! He is attempting to play games with me. Who do you think you are, Harris? Well, I hope you enjoyed your prank, because I promise this will be the last game on earth that you ever play.
Chapter 75
Fred woke up abruptly, as if some great external disturbance had penetrated his deep sleep. He looked to his left. Maureen was sleeping peacefully, seemingly undisturbed; the slightest hint of a smile had crept into her face. Molly had jumped into their bed sometime during the early hours of the morning, and was now wedged tightly between them dozing comfortably and snoring as only a tiny dog can, likely dreaming of
being endlessly petted while scarfing down a week’s supply of flavored dog biscuits all at once.
He glanced around the room; all was outwardly normal but he knew it really wasn’t. He felt that something was different and foreboding, an internal alarm told him so. And lately internal warnings were more a much more accurate gauge to be heeded than his conscious mind.
Fred dressed quietly, and with shoes in hand tiptoed to the kitchen. The only sound in the house was the steady ticking of the antique wind-up clock resting on the fireplace mantle. Normally that sound provided him with a sense of security, but today he found it ominous. He checked the burglar alarm system; it was working perfectly. Nothing in the house seemed out of the ordinary; Molly had not issued any warnings during the night. But still something was different in the house, and he knew it.
When he entered the foyer, he saw it! It was a large manila envelope sitting on the floor next to the front door. He tested the front door. It was still securely locked from the inside.
Dread was not normally a word that was part of his vocabulary, but he knew deep in his soul that he dreaded opening the envelope.
As he pulled out the contents, he knew immediately its source. The enclosed white bond paper was filled with flowing red handwriting. At the bottom of the single page was a signature made from a heavy red marker. He knew this would not be a warning, the battle between them had moved well beyond that stage. His adversary recognized that a simple warning would not stop his relentless pursuit; Fred had become too effective a foe. The letter read:
Lieutenant, it seems that you have become a constant burden in my life. I respect your resourcefulness, your courage and your relentlessness; believe me, I really do. However, our game cannot continue indefinitely, it is now old sport, and I grow weary of it.
We need to meet and talk about this. I require that our meeting be limited to the two of us. Now I know that your proclivity will be to bring reinforcements. I however hold one advantage, one lever that I will activate to prevent that tendency from being acted upon. Simply stated, it is Maureen. In the past I have spared her life. My goal was just to use her as one of my many weapons against you. I failed. But now my goal will become much easier for me, it will be to eliminate Maureen if you fail to comply with my terms. I think you can appreciate that there is no region of unassailability, no safe harbor in the entire world where you can protect her. Time will always be on my side.
Here are my conditions: Meet me at the Sarasota All Storage Warehouse location on Beneva on Sunday, the 27th at 7 a.m.. That’s three days from now. Enclosed you will find a key to open the main gate. The complex will be unattended, so we can conduct our business without interference. If you attempt to bring reinforcements, I will know and there will be no further meetings between us. Under that scenario Maureen will be dead within a week. If you comply with my terms I promise that Maureen will live peacefully to the ripe old age that her grandparents reached. I look forward to meeting with you and settling our differences.
— The Marvel
Fred was not surprised as to the contents of the letter. Of course, The Marvel’s use of the term “settling differences” was a euphemism for his impending death. He also knew in his heart that he could not protect Maureen from a person with superior talents who was intent on killing her. President Kennedy once said he could not be protected if someone really wanted to kill him, and he died without ever having to face an assassin with such overpowering weapons as Fred would. Fred had few options.
That morning he brought his will up to date with his lawyer’s assistance. He made sure that Maureen was the beneficiary of all his investments. He provided his lawyer with the key to his safe deposit box where his old coins had been stored for over a decade. He advised his lawyer that in the event of his death, the attorney should contact his wife immediately to bring her up to date on the details of his estate. After he completed his final financial transactions, he had two more things to do.
He was sure that his adversary would not want the ongoing investigation to continue indefinitely, so Fred’s elimination would have to look like suicide. Any hint of another murder would, without question, prolong the investigation. From Fred’s perspective, if Maureen felt that Fred was murdered, she herself would be relentless in keeping the investigation active and focused. He knew The Marvel could not tolerate that, so regardless of past promises, her life would be in constant danger. Besides, Fred was physically hurting badly. He had never fully recovered from the damage inflicted on his body during his various encounters. His body had been in constant pain for weeks, now he was weary and tired. He could no longer protect Maureen. It was time to end this.
Fred’s only alternative was to create a paper trail which would indicate to investigators that he intended to end his own life. He completed a suicide note stating that the constant stresses of his recent promotion, combined with his inability to solve the multiple murders, were the reasons that he chose to end his life. He closed his letter with a sentence indicating his deep love for Maureen. He would mail the letter the day before his meeting, back to his own address; so if under some miracle he survived, he could recover it from the mail before Maureen read it. He also placed a copy of the note in his wallet. He knew that upon his death, the killer would examine his personal affects, read it and be satisfied that the game was over. Maureen would then be safe for the rest of her life.
He now had one remaining job to do; in the arena of probability, its odds for success were minuscule. What the hell he thought, as Sundance had said to Butch Cassidy who feared drowning in the river far below, we will be killed from the fall from the cliff anyway, so go ahead and jump. He made a phone call. When he put down the receiver, he was still not sure what the outcome would be.
Fred spent most of his remaining time with Maureen. They talked and talked some more. They took a stroll on the beach, they enjoyed the maze of flowering tropical plants at the Selby Gardens, they were mesmerized over the genius of Thomas Edison as they strolled though his grounds of his home on the Ft. Myers shoreline. Together they watched a recording of the seniors playing softball at the 17th Street Park; and were amazed at the power of some of the hitters and the acrobatic catches the aging men made. Fred had hoped that some day he could join their ranks after he retired from the police force, but he now knew that would never be.
The last day, Fred rented Abbott and Costello movies from the 40’s and 50’s. He and Maureen laughed uninhibitedly at their crazy antics. They continued to laugh as they watched the two comedians through to the early morning hours. Fred turned off the Christmas tree lights and realized that Christmas had quickly passed by; but with all the excitement, for the first time in their married life neither had exchanged presents. Maureen sleepily said it’s too late to exchange presents tonight, let’s wait until tomorrow. Fred nodded yes, realizing at the same time he would not be alive to exchange presents. At 3 a.m. he carried an exhausted Maureen to bed. He even allowed Molly to officially join them as his final and last treat to her.
With the realization of his impending doom, he could not sleep. At 6:30 on the morning of December 27, Fred rolled over in bed and gradually eased his feet onto the soft bedroom carpet. He dressed silently, made and tasted one last cup of vanilla flavored coffee out of homage to Maureen, and crept out of his house, driving directly to the designated warehouse site.
The card key he had been given opened the large gun metal gates surrounding the site without incident. As he drove through, the gates closed automatically, metaphorically and literally sealing him in impending doom. The front of the warehouse was a monolithic stream of white enamel coated sheet metal. It contained no windows; one single front door and large garage doors provided the only access to its interior. Several cameras were mounted in various sites throughout the exterior of the building.
He moved slowly to the front door, silently turning the door knob. As he expected, it was unlocked. He sensed that The Marvel was already here. Inside were hundreds of boxed
appliances filling the entire length and width of the storage area. After Fred hit the switch, bright fluorescent lights illuminated half of the warehouse.
Fred called out, “Here I am!”
First complete silence and then a voice, from the middle of the building responded. “I know you are; are you armed?”
“No, but I suspect you already knew that. Come on out.”
Forty feet from him a figure appeared; she was tightly holding a gun in her left hand. She causally moved toward Fred, halving the distance between them. She was in no rush; there was much needed critical and final communication to be exchanged before she completed the “act.”
Fred smiled and said, “I knew it would be you!”
“How could you possibly have known that?” she said with obvious disdain.
“Oh, it wasn’t that hard. You made a couple of slips, the first when I spoke to you at your office you had made some very esoteric comments which a person of limited I.Q, that you were pretending to be, could not have made. Nevertheless, the fact that you were hiding your intelligence didn’t prove that you were a murderer; but it did cause me to include you as a suspect.”
“I don’t understand, I am sure that I dumbed down very effectively whenever I spoke to you.”
“When I first met you, Donna, I noticed that you were looking at a strange formula on your desk. You said it came from the Science Division, but I noticed its handwriting was similar to yours. I observed in your written notes that the strange way you wrote the letter “e” was replicated in the formula on your desk. I figured at the time, you had just copied the formula from something that you had received from the Science Division; and its genesis was not of your doing.
“Later, I recalled from my courses in physics that it was Planck’s formula that you had written. Part of his complex theory, as I recall, dealt with the realization that it was not possible to absorb and emit energy in a constant range. That’s why we don’t get sunburned from a hot cup of coffee, which was the clue you gave me.
Mind Switch Page 36
