To Probe A Beating Heart

by Wren, John B

  “What’s up guys?”

  As Alex was about to speak, the phone rang. Alex answered, “This is Alex Robertson, yes they are here, I’ll put you on speaker “

  “Gentlemen, my name is Aaron, and I had to do this last call before I retire. You lads did some damn fine police work, and you should feel proud of what you accomplished. We have the proof that we needed to definitely identify the predator, and we are dealing with him now. I know what we are doing is not legal, but it is just and I for one will sleep well tonight. Again, you are to be commended for your efforts. That’s it.” and the phone went silent.

  * * *

  CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT

  Please, get me outta’ here . . .

  Adam’s work was almost done, the team had changed several times watching Averell and waiting for confirmation of the information he had provided. When that came in, Adam returned to the Buffalo building and the team began to take the suite apart. Averell was wakened from a sound sleep, cuffed and a hood placed over his head. As a needle punctured his arm, he passed out and was placed in the rear of a black Suburban with heavily tinted windows. The driver, a large man with broad shoulders and beefy hands, dressed in a dark suit and tie, wearing dark glasses, was a real federal marshal taking a few days off to attend to some “family business”. He was carrying papers that implied he was transporting a prisoner for some legal proceeding in Ohio. Another man, looking very much like the first, also wearing a dark suit and dark glasses, rode in the middle seat and kept watch on their unconscious prisoner. The drive down interstate 90 through Erie, Pennsylvania to an equipment yard outside Mentor, Ohio on Interstate 271took about three hours and was accomplished without a stop. The man drove at the speed limit and never drew the attention of any other drivers or the highway patrol officers.

  The trip was pleasant, their guest was quiet and the weather was perfect, a bit of a chill in the air but the next week was predicted to be warmer than usual. It would be perfect for outdoor activities with temperatures in the high sixties or low seventies during the day and dropping into the fifties at night.

  Ben Creighton met the vehicle in the equipment yard and directed it to a remote spot in the parking area. “Package is inside, still out cold,” said the driver. “Where do you want to transfer him to your vehicle?”

  Ben made sure the yard was all but empty and said, “wait here while I bring my truck over.” He backed his yellow pick-up with state logos on the doors and yellow lights on the roof next to the Suburban. “Let’s dump ‘em in the back.”

  “Then what?” said the driver.

  “Then gentlemen, I will gas your ride and you can head back to Buffalo. We will take it from here, and thanks for your help.”

  “No problem, it was a pleasure being able to assist on this one.”

  “Okay, when you get back, tell Adam that Mr. ‘D’ is secured and

  I will call him in the morning. And be sure to say it that way, he will understand.” Ben then pointed them toward the fuel station and said, “Use the blue nozzle and top ‘er off, then come inside. I just made a fresh pot of coffee and there are bagels in the fridge.” Ben waved to another man standing next to a shed across the parking lot and he approached the truck.

  “Is this our guest?” said the new man as he zipped up his jacket covering his CHPD uniform.

  “That he is, cousin. Now if you would keep an eye on ‘im while I get these fellas back on the road, he should stay out till we give the wake up shot.”

  “Okay, I got him, do I have to be nice?” said Sean with a slight grin.

  “Not if he wakes up,” and Ben went back into the building.

  The two men from Buffalo made their pit stop, accepted the fresh coffee and a few bagels and pointed their suburban north. They left as they came, completely unnoticed. Ben went back to the pick-up, looked at Sean and nudged their guest with a shovel. Averell made a slight grunt but remained quiet and relatively motionless. They pulled a tarp over him, placed a few blocks on the edges to keep it in place, got in the truck and slowly drove out onto the highway. Ben drove a few miles south with his yellow lights flashing, then pulled onto the median strip where it was widening around a large wooded area. He turned right midway between the north and south bound lanes and drove another three hundred feet, into the woods paralleling the highway, to a small clearing at the base of a hill. The median was several hundred feet wide at this point, with dense tree and brush covering everything, including the hill that rose about sixty feet above the road surface and extended almost a half mile down the highway. A driving path, just wide enough for his pick-up allowed Ben to back up close to the top of the hill. He stopped the truck, still surrounded by trees and bushes, set the brake and the two men got out and walked to the back of the truck. Sean looked around, noting that they were not visible from the road way below and nodded his approval. Ben dropped the tailgate and the two men dragged their guest from the truck bed. Averell was now semi conscious, but not yet able to walk unassisted. They set him on the ground and walked another thirty feet into the bushes to an opening in the ground. There was a ladder protruding from the opening and Ben said, “It’s ready, I cleaned it out last week, got rid of the sticks and leaves that were collecting at the bottom.”

  “What about rain, will it hold water in a storm?” asked Sean.

  “This was a test pit for things the contractor was doing when they built the road. Something about the flyover supports and drainage. Anyway they put a sump with a four inch drain at the bottom and another sidewall drain about a foot higher as an overflow. They run about fifty feet to an outfall on either side of the hill. If you didn’t know what to look for, they aren’t going to be found, it is kinda’ dark down there. We had a good rain last week and when I looked, it wasn’t dry, but there wasn’t any water puddled either. Stays damp down there most of the time, but water drains away quick enough, it won’t be a problem.”

  “So the drains are clear, not clogged with leaves?”

  “Oh yeah, forgot to mention, the little critters probably keep the

  drains clear, they run in and out all the time.”

  “So our guest will be having visitors from time to time.”

  Ben laughed, “Reckon he will, mice, squirrels, rats, whatever can crawl through a four inch pipe, just his kind of vermin.”

  “Okay, ready when you are.” The two men dragged Averell over to the edge of the pit. Sean kept Averell on the ground and Ben went back to the truck. He took a rope from the back of the truck over to the edge of the pit and they tied it around Averell’s chest below his arms. Averell coughed and spit inside his hood trying to say something. Ben checked the knot and tied the other end of the rope to the back of the truck. The two men then lowered Averell into the pit and climbed down the ladder. The pit was at least twenty five feet deep and about ten feet in diameter at the bottom. They untied the rope and started to remove Averell’s clothes, cutting his bindings as they went and put everything in a plastic bag. Sean drew a hypodermic needle from his coat pocket and readied it to inject Averell with his wake up shot.

  “Is everything done?”

  “Yeah, finished,” said Ben.

  Sean injected Averell in his upper arm and tossed the used hypodermic needle in a bag with the rest of Averell’s clothing. They waited a few seconds and Averell started barking again in unintelligible sounds, trying to speak. Ben started up the ladder with the bag and Sean reached for the hood over Averell’s head. He pulled it off as Averell was spitting, coughing and about to vomit. Sean climbed the ladder with the hood in hand leaving Averell lying on the floor of the pit, naked and completely vulnerable. They pulled the ladder up as Averell finally finished sputtering and regained some ability to speak.

  “Where am I?” he gasped as he sat up.

  “You’re down there, and we’re up here. And down there you will stay till we let you out,” said Ben as he leaned over the edge.

  Averell had no idea who these people were, he was confused, d
isoriented and terrified. He had no idea what was going on, why he was in a dark, damp, muddy place. Why he was naked and cold? He looked up at the opening almost thirty feet above. He could see the sky through the small opening and he felt the clammy cold of the earth around him and he shivered, he did not understand where he was or why and he yelled, “Where am I, what’s going on, get me outta’ here.” He staggered across the pit reaching for the walls, looking for a way out, there was nothing, no stairs, no door, no way to get to the opening above. He felt sick and began to cough until he vomited, what little was in his stomach was now on the floor of the pit. He stumbled around the perimeter scratching at the walls, trying to find something to grasp, something to help him reach the top, nothing. The walls of the pit were hard clay and as he scratched at the walls his finger nails cracked and broke, his fingers tore and bled. He could not pull down the walls, he was trapped, he was buried, but not covered.

  Averell fell to the floor and hung his head, trying to think, trying to understand what was happening. Was this a nightmare, was this real? He knew that it was real. But who put him here? And why? The police would have put him in jail, he would have rights, he would get a phone call and he would have an attorney. Averell knew this was not the work of the police. Who was Adam? Was he a cop? He remembered the sessions with Adam. Did Adam put him here? He remembered telling Adam about the people he had killed, and where they could be found. Was that a dream? No, that was also real. But, the question remained, why was he here?

  “Where am I?”

  There was no reply.

  “You said I was here until you let me out, let me out now.”

  No reply.

  The floor of the pit was hard, moist and slippery. As he moved from side to side of the pit, stepping, slipping, stumbling. Averell could hear the insects and worms squishing and crackling under his feet. They were everywhere, and unavoidable. He called up for the men above, “Get me outta’ here! You can’t do this to me!” There was no reply. The insects started to crawl on his feet and up his legs. He brushed them away as much as he could, but they kept coming, crawling, climbing. Averell was screaming for help, begging to be taken out of the pit. “Please, get me outta’ here!” He started to cry as the vomit once again rose in his throat.

  Sean and Ben peered down into the pit, “We’re going to leave now, but not to worry, someone will check on you in a week, or a month, whatever, but we won’t leave you there forever.” With that Ben looked at Sean and they both smiled, stood and walked over to the truck, got in and headed down to the hill. At the bottom of the hill they got out of the truck and dragged some cut brush across the path leading to the pit. They stood silently listening for Averell’s cries and hearing nothing, they got back into the truck and drove back to the equipment yard.

  Ben decided that he would stay late that day and be sure that several things were addressed including the work schedules for the up-coming month. The highway crew that mowed the median and cared for that section of highway was under his direction. He had programmed everybody’s activity for the next month in other areas and with the winter snows coming soon, the crews would be very busy plowing and salting the roadway. There would be no opportunity for any activity on Averell’s hill until spring at the earliest.

  Ben had put in thirty seven years and was ready to retire soon. He would stay on long enough to be sure that Averell’s hill remained undisturbed for a long time and pass the baton on to another cousin who happened to be in line for his job when he did retire.

  When Ben and Sean left him, Averell was alive and well. How long he would stay that way was not up to them, he was now in the good Lord’s hands.

  The Clan had addressed a situation. They did so by stepping out of line several times and if ever accused, they could be prosecuted. They understood that and accepted the risk. They also understood that if the entire Clan cooperated, the secrets that they kept would keep them safe from prosecution. So the matter of Averell Danker was not discussed and those who knew something, said nothing, and those who knew nothing, didn’t ask.

  The objective was to find justice, not to replace the authorities, not to become the police, judge and jury, no, the sole purpose was to provide the justice that the authorities could not or would not deliver.

  Sean and Ben sat in Ben’s office, shared a cup of coffee and talked about the common cousins between them that neither had seen in too many years. Those who stood up and helped in the search for Annette years earlier. And those that would not be mentioned again who helped in other ways.

  “Jim McClarry did a lot of detective work on this long before he was promoted to that level, and thanks to him, we had a lot of information about this character. I wish there was a way to let him know that we have taken care of business.” said Sean.

  Ben thought for a minute and said, “Give it eight years, one for each year that Annette was left alone in a cold unmarked grave, and our guest will be given back to the system. I’ll be long retired and gone by then and the other key players will be well blended back into the woodwork, but our Mr. McClarry will have the satisfaction of knowing that justice was served and he played a part in it.”

  Sean finished his coffee and headed back to Cleveland Heights. Ben checked a few more schedules and made some notes in a logbook and locked up the office. He got into his truck and drove out to the hill with his windows open and listened. He heard nothing. He drove up the road about a mile and turned into a gravel area that was labeled Authorized Vehicles Only and stopped next to a state trooper watching his radar.

  “Hey Jesse, how’s it going?”

  “Boring night, Ben, but I think that I’ll stay right here for a while anyway.”

  “Try not to fall asleep, if you do I’ll wake you in the mornin’.” They both laughed and Ben pulled back onto the highway and headed home. An hour passed since he was left in the pit and Averell was cold, hungry, scared and completely and utterly alone. He tried talking to his long time companion, Stelian, to no avail. He was truly alone for the first time since he lived in the orphanage in Romania.

  The sun had moved in the sky and light no longer found its way into the pit. Averell could not see, he could not climb out and all that was visible was the opening above. Total darkness came earlier in the pit than the surrounding area and with that darkness came the sounds. The sounds of the little insects scuttling about the floor and walls, crawling on Averell, looking for food. The scratching sounds of animals clawing in the dirt. The sounds of the rats, digging, scratching, in search of food.

  No one knows how long Averell lasted in that pit. How long it took for the first critter to reach him, then the second, third, and the rest, to smell him, to bite him and taste his flesh, then to return and feed on him. How long could he fend them off? How long did it take for his mind to snap? How long before the rest of him died and how long did the critters feast on his remains? It could have been hours or days, no one came to look, to check on him, no one knows, no one cares.

  Adam had finished his cleanup of the Buffalo building and went to the airport. His flight was at 8:45 that evening and he would be back home in Northern Virginia in a few hours. He used his project cell phone and called his contact to give him a final update. Then, the phone was stripped of its battery and memory card, wiped clean and tossed in the trash.

  * * *

  CHAPTER THIRTY NINE

  Do I call you Aaron . . .

  Time passed, September of 2000 saw Averell go into the pit on the Ohio freeway. As was the case with Carl Mason, Averell was left to nature. The insects and other critters that roam the median between the paved lanes going north and south or east and west, found their way to the feast in the pit. Averell was slowly devoured, just how he came to that end is not known. How many crows or roaches or rats participated in the consumption of all but his bones is anybody’s guess. As the years passed and new people came to work for the highway department, nobody had occasion to be near the pit, much less to look inside. Ben Creighton
retired and moved to North Carolina where he lives today and Jesse is still with the Ohio State Police. The several men who participated in each of the teams activities blended back into the world from which they came and Adam was busy back at that un-named agency with other work involving terrorists. Jim McClarry moved up in the ranks of the Cleveland Heights Police department and he and Margo moved into a house and started a family. They now have a son and a daughter and live in the neighborhood where Annette and her family lived. The man called Aaron did catch a flight back to Ireland that night in 2000 and returned to his home near Dublin where he lived for the next three years before finally succumbing to a cancer that had been identified while he was living in America.

  In the Spring of 2009, another call was made to Jimmy O’Leary, now an associate with the O’Leary firm in Boston and well on his way to becoming a partner. His secretary leaned in his office door and said, “There’s a man on the phone who says he wants to talk to you, his name is Aaron.”

  “Whoa, tell Tom that Aaron is on the phone, hurry, I’ll wait a second before picking up.”

  “Okay,” said Kate and she pushed a few buttons on her phone and gave Tom the message. Tom dropped a file on his desk and as he was walked down to Jimmy’s office, he told Kate to get the partners to join them. “This might be interesting.”

  Tom went into Jimmy’s office as he was picking up and putting him on speaker. “This is James O’Leary, how can I help you?”

  “Would you like me to wait a minute while you call the others into your office Jimmy boy?” said Aaron with an Irish brogue.

  “I would appreciate that.”

  “Not a problem, I’m callin’ from a prepaid phone that was given to me for this occasion, so no sense tryin’ to trace the call. When we’re done I’ll be throwin’ it in the trash. You do understand Jimmy boy.”