“It’s a clue you can follow. Shame that she didn’t name the man. She just called him professor.”
“True, but I’ll read the other letters and papers. I might find his name somewhere.”
“Pardon me for asking, but is George Baxter your original name?”
“Yes. My adoptive parents added theirs, Smith, to the end, so my legal name is George Baxter Smith, but they always reminded me that George Baxter was who I truly was. They hoped that one day I would be able to find my family if I knew my name.”
“Nice, caring people.”
“Yes, they were. You know, I never thought of my mother as being Marie. To me, she was always mom. But now I remember my dad talking to her. My dear Marie, he always called her.”
Henrietta got up from the bench with a sigh. George Baxter seemed immersed in the mystery of his past. Might as well leave him to it. She said her goodbyes and was ready to walk away when she remembered.
“By the way, I think I’m being followed,” she said as she turned back toward the lodger. “And there was a suspicious-looking man yesterday afternoon under the window, staring up at me. Then, before I got a good look at him, he vanished.”
Chapter 71. Crossroads
Henrietta was just walking out of the Police Station as Alfred and Charlie were dragging an angry and reluctant Oscar up the steps. She looked at the scene, startled—absolutely unable to believe her eyes—and noticed that they had tied the poor man’s hands behind his back with a piece of cloth that looked surprisingly like a tie. She stopped and stared, wondering if Alfred was going to turn around and see her, or not. But Alfred seemed oblivious to her, so she kept on walking. She shook her head. Alfred must have gone mad. There could be no other explanation for his behavior.
But to each his own, she told herself. More and more, she felt this chasm that had opened between her and her husband, and she found herself not caring so much about this new Alfred and the crazy things he occupied himself with. Too many bad memories about her marriage had welled up in her heart recently, and her relationship with George Baxter had clouded her judgment in more ways than one. Before she began worrying about her husband and his shenanigans, she had a lot of her own thinking to do.
It was still early, and the sun was shining pleasantly, so she decided to walk not to Market Street, but to the farmer’s market downtown to get some fresh fruits and vegetables. It would be a long walk, but she needed the open space to think. Besides, for some strange reason, she felt a stirring of happiness welling up somewhere in her heart, and a desire to go, go, go. Must be the weather, she told herself cheerfully. Spring was in the air today.
As she headed back home carrying her purchases, happily, she could feel some sort of change. But it wasn’t the weather, no. It was something deeper and more meaningful. It almost felt like she was becoming a person again, after having been a part of Alfred for so long. It was hard to explain. It was like a seed inside her, growing joyfully into a state of personhood. It was suspiciously like growing up.
She smiled at people randomly—something she never, ever, did—and full of energy, she picked up her pace. She had put aside quite a neat little sum of extra money from what her lodger had given her, so she pondered whether she should get herself a new pair of boots, or a more fashionable coat. Before seeing him in the jail courtyard, she had felt a tinge of guilt. Poor George Baxter in jail, and she, Henrietta, gloating over his money. But after today, knowing that he was quite well and already as good as free, she could allow herself to fantasize about what she was going to spend the money on.
At the stoplight, someone bumped into her but quickly apologized. She half-turned and the person muttered a pleasantry, but the light had just turned green, so she didn’t pay much attention.
She crossed the street with a dozen or so other people in a hurry and turned right, taking a last-minute decision to cross through the park. She was going to get herself a hot dog. Hadn’t done that in at least a decade, and she giggled with anticipation.
But there was no hurry. She needed to sit for a few minutes and rest. Her purchases were wearing heavily in her arms. She sat down on the only empty bench by the singing fountain and sighed with pleasure. Then, she closed her eyes and daydreamed with a life in which she could be happy again.
She must have dozed off because she was startled awake by a heavy body plopping itself on the bench, making it shake, too close to her for comfort. An acrid smell of body odor emanated from the stranger, and she turned to face him, disgusted.
It was an older man that she didn’t recognize, unshaved, wearing an old military jacket, the kind you could get at an Army outlet. He smiled, showing several missing teeth, and then he chuckled. And the blood froze in Henrietta’s veins, as the premonition ran through her body with a jolt. The man had the nastiest, most hostile voice she had ever heard, and she gasped, thinking that she needed to get up from the bench immediately and go home. But she was too slow reacting. Before she even had time to make up her mind, the man grabbed her in a vice as strong as iron. Startled and confused, she tried to pull herself free, but it was impossible.
“I’m afraid you’ll have to come with me, Mrs. Jones,” the voice said and yanked her up viciously.
Henrietta stared at him blankly, trying to comprehend what was going on. She looked around, hoping to see other people around her, maybe someone who would help her, who could explain what was happening, but everyone had disappeared. She was all alone with this stranger who now wrenched her arm back behind her back to the point where she thought that it was going to break.
She opened her mouth to scream, but the stranger shoved a piece of cloth in her mouth and pulled her along. It all happened so quickly and so violently that Henrietta didn’t react. She just did as she was told and allowed herself to be pulled along. She looked wildly back toward the bench, still hoping that someone would show up and help her, but all she saw were her groceries, scattered on the ground. The oranges and the apples had rolled away, and the carton of eggs lay open, the little white globes shattered on the floor, their yellows shining under the cheerful sun.
“There’s no need to panic, Mrs. Jones. Do as you’re told, and nobody will harm you. Once your husband returns to me what is mine, I will let you go.”
Henrietta struggled, trying to tell the stranger that she didn’t know what he was talking about, but nothing came out of her mouth but groans. That foul piece of cloth obstructed her mouth, her throat, even the air she was trying desperately to breathe.
“It’s okay, Mrs. Jones,” the voice said. “We’re almost there. Quit struggling. You’ll just hurt yourself. I’m much stronger than you are. You won’t be able to escape.”
Henrietta gave up. She wished she could ask what Alfred had stolen. She wished she could ask if this man was part of her husband’s past. She quietened, hoping that when they got to where the man wanted them to go, he would take that fetid rag out of her mouth and they could talk. Because even in the throes of the fear she was feeling right then, Henrietta had great faith in humanity and the ability of reason to overcome madness.
She struggled to go on. She was exhausted. But the stranger didn’t let up. Whenever she slowed down, he yanked her hard and she was forced to keep going.
After walking steadily for a good twenty minutes, she found herself at the end of the park. She had never come this far, had never had any interest in seeing what was out there. At the foot of the hills, nestled in a dark spot surrounded by tall trees and dense vegetation covered with ice and snow, a derelict building stood rotting away, barely discernable from the rest of the scenery.
She panicked. Somehow, she knew that was where she was being led, and it didn’t seem reasonable at all. She struggled again, getting so desperate. If this man was going to leave her here, he would never come back for her again. It was the old premonition washing over her, the knowledge that this man had no intention of letting her go.
Angry at herself, knowing that it was too late, she t
hrew herself at the man and tried to disentangle her arms. She screamed in silence and she kicked the air. But it was too late. Perhaps earlier, closer to the entrance, someone would have seen her. But here, all the way out here? No. There was nobody.
She darted her head from side to side. They were all alone. It was a secluded, abandoned spot. Fallen tree branches and untrimmed dead bushes surrounded the derelict edifice and Henrietta felt the death of many women emanating from it. She wanted to ask if he had brought them all here because she suddenly knew—with an absolute certainty—that this was the man who had killed all those poor women. But the rag impeded, and all she could do was shake her head and grumble.
“Here we are,” the stranger said opening the door and dragging her inside the dark and humid room. “Now I’m going to tie you to that iron balustrade, and you're going to be a good girl. You won’t be too cold, at least not for a while because I’ll close the door. Look, I even have a nice, comfy spot for you. Now you wait for me here, and I’ll go collect from your husband what’s mine, and then I’ll be back for you. Not to worry. I won’t forget about you.”
But Henrietta knew—as he slammed the door shut behind him—that she had seen his face, and now, he would never let her go.
Chapter 72. Oscar Again
Charlie saw his friend the Captain in the front lobby of the Police Station and approached him. He pulled his friend to a quiet corner.
“I see you have your new friend with you again, Charlie,” the Captain said pulling his elbow away from Charlie’s grasp. “What are you guys doing here this time?”
“Alfred brought his neighbor in. Citizen’s arrest.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me. What did the citizen do?”
“Alfred’s convinced that he is the one who committed the murders.”
The Captain looked at Charlie, and Charlie looked at his feet, having a good idea of how foolish he and Alfred looked.
“I’m sorry. I truly am,” Charlie said, leaning toward his friend so that nobody else could hear him. “I wish he had never talked me into all this, but I’m in love with his daughter and…”
“And he got you between the wall and the hard place,” the Captain finished for him.
“Yes, I’m afraid so.”
“Okay, let’s go talk to him.”
The Captain headed straight to Alfred and demanded to know what was going on. Alfred’s explanation got too long and confusing, so Charlie decided to cut in and summarize.
“We followed him to the Hunting Lodge and saw him enter. He walked about with a flashlight, looking for something, and finally found it. When he exited the building, we pounced on him, tied him up, and Alfred did the Citizen’s Arrest thing.”
“I see,” said the Captain. “Okay, guys, come with me.”
They all followed the Captain meekly up and down some corridors until they reached his office and stepped inside after him.
“Sit,” the Captain said, and everyone sat. Then, he faced Oscar. “Before I call the policemen in here and have you all arrested for annoying me, I would like to hear your version of the events, Mr...”
“Oscar, Captain. My name is James Oscar Fent. I’ll be happy to tell you what I was doing in that building, Captain, but could we talk privately? There’s some stuff that I don’t want these two bozos to know.”
Charlie watched the Captain as he considered Oscar’s request. Then, the Captain nodded and waved his hand in dismissal, and Charlie got up from his chair and dragged a reluctant Alfred out of the office.
Chapter 73. The Truth
“All right, Mr. Fent, what happened?”
“Captain, if I tell you this, it’s very important that you give me your word that you will never talk about this with anyone.”
“I’ll give you my promise after I hear your story.”
“Sorry, Captain, no good.” Oscar thought for a second, frowning, then he said, “let me ask you this. What do you think about Mike Wills?”
“The Mayor? I respect him tremendously. He’s made a real difference. May God keep him healthy and in office for a long time. Why?”
“Okay, I guess I’ll have to trust you. Please don’t judge until you hear the whole story.”
“That I can promise.”
Oscar sat back uneasily with his tied hands tightly in his lap and looked at the Captain. It was a tremendous risk that he was about to take. He was going to have to disclose a secret that was not his to tell and put it in the hands of this man sitting across from him that he had never met before. He swallowed hard and then made up his mind to go ahead and talk.
“Well, Mike and I grew up on the same block. Our parents were friends. We went to school together. We played football on the same team, we partied together.
“Then, the last summer before college graduation, there was a big storm here in town. We knew it was coming, and we thought that it would be fun to weather it by having a big party at the Hunting Lodge. You know, like the people who throw hurricane parties in the South.
“But the storm was much worse than we had anticipated, and everyone freaked out. When the wave of thunder and lightning rolled in, everyone got scared, especially the girls, so they all decided to leave while they still could, and so, everyone that had been invited took off. Mike and I had no choice but to stay behind to pick up the mess because we had no permission to be there in the first place, and we would have gotten into a world of trouble if the parents and the owners of the Lodge had found out.
“When the storm arrived, it was worse than either of us had imagined. Trees were bending over in half or being yanked out of the ground and thrown about. The sky became pitch dark, and the electricity went out. Mike and I, we were stuck in the Lodge. It was a terrible deluge. I don’t know if you remember it, about thirty years ago. Several houses were washed away in town when the river overflowed its boundary, and many people died.”
“No, Mr. Fent, I was just a kid thirty years ago, but go ahead. Y’all were stuck in the Lodge.”
“Yes, for almost a whole week it was impossible to leave. The park was underwater and there were so many trees and power lines down that we would have never been able to get out of there alive. Thankfully, we had plenty to eat and drink as we had brought way too much food.”
Oscar looked out of the window sadly. Summer had finally arrived. It was still cold, but the air had that unique clarity that hovers around perfection only a few days a year. And he remembered that wonderful summer, that crazy summer when he had shared a forbidden love that still to this day, he had been unable to forget.
“We were alone, and it got cold that night, and without blankets, we huddled to keep each other warm. We were also very drunk, and so, one thing led inevitably to another.”
“We spent every free moment together that summer. The Lodge was the only place where we could meet in secret and have the privacy that we craved. Funny thing is, Captain, that it wasn’t weird at all. We had been such good friends all our lives that it all happened in the most natural way. Then, after graduation, we went our separate ways, and we both got married and had proper families, and I forgot all about this.”
“What does all this have to do with Alfred and Charlie, Mr. Fent?”
Oscar sighed sadly. “The killings began,” he said.
“The bodies we’ve been finding in the Lodge?”
“Yes. One stupid thing that Mike and I did was to take photographs of ourselves. They call them selfies, these days. But then, you had to set your camera on the timer, and then you adopted a pose, and you were captured. We took many pictures, and of course, we took them home. I eventually burned all of mine, but one day not so long ago, I got a call from Mike, completely out of the blue. A body had been found in the Lodge.”
“So, what, Mr. Fent?”
“That’s what I asked him. Well, it turns out that he had one photograph missing, the one where we were both embracing, naked, staring at the camera with big goofy smiles. A terrible picture, if you think about th
e consequences. He was sure that he had lost it in the lodge, and he was terrified that the Police would find it when they were investigating the murder. Of course, he couldn’t go and look for himself. That’s why he asked me.”
“We never found it.”
“No, but I did. I went back I don’t know how many times to look for it. I scoured the place top to bottom, and I had all but given up until today. It had slipped under one of the tables and it was so covered in dirt that everyone had missed it.”
“And you have it?”
“Yes, Captain. It’s in my shirt pocket if you care to check.”
The Captain walked over to Oscar and put his hand in the man’s pocket. When he saw the photograph, his face registered the horror of what he was looking at.
“We can’t let this fall into anyone’s hand, can we?”
“No, Captain, we can’t. It would ruin Mike’s career and all the good work he’s done. The press would crucify him. His marriage would be ruined, his children would be traumatized. This photograph must be destroyed.”
“You’re right, Mr. Fent. Here you go.” The Captain passed the ashtray and lighter across to Oscar and put the photograph on the desk. Then he freed Oscar’s hands.
Oscar picked up the old Polaroid. He looked at his younger self and the friend that he had so dearly loved. They had been so young and so innocent. Had Mike ever loved him? Probably not. He had gone on to a happy marriage and a lovely family. He, on the other hand, had been miserable all his life. He had never loved again, never smiled at anyone like that again.
This is for you, Mike, he told himself, and with one quick movement ignited the photograph and dropped the burning image in the ashtray before he could change his mind. Then he stood up, shook the Captain’s hand and—without another word—closed the door quietly behind him.
Chapter 74. Vanished
Free at last, George Baxter walked toward Henrietta’s house, his house, also known as #9. He wasn’t sure how things were going to work out. Now that he knew to what extent Alfred hated him, he didn’t know what to expect upon his arrival. Was he going to be allowed to stay? God knew the Joneses desperately needed the extra cash. Or was he going to be asked to leave?
The Stranger in the Attic Page 15
