The Stranger in the Attic

by Agnes Makoczy

  Well, there was no point in worrying too soon. He wasn’t actually homeless, therefore being asked to move out would only make him sad for not seeing Henrietta again, but it would not be a hardship for him. Although he did feel at home. It was his childhood home after all. Maybe he would offer to buy it if nothing else.

  That agreed upon, he picked up his steps. The weather was so pleasant that he decided to whistle some tunes even if faced with possible adversity, and by the time he turned the corner of Ember Street, he was quite cheerful.

  With a big smile, he walked up to #9. He was already looking forward to seeing Henrietta. There were quite a few things he had discovered from the letters, and he could hardly wait to share them with her.

  But he stopped in his tracks when he got to the bottom of the steps and looked up. There was Alfred—with his young friend Charlie—sitting at the top of the stairs on a pile of snow, with Alfred holding his head in his hands as if it was the end of the world.

  “Good morning, all. Is something wrong?” George asked in the friendliest tone he could muster while he walked up the steps holding on to the banister with a gloved hand.

  “Good morning, Mr. Baxter,” Charlie answered. But Alfred never moved.

  “It would seem like Mr. Jones is troubled, young Charlie. Anything I can help with?”

  “Probably not, sir. You see, Mrs. Jones hasn’t been seen since the day before, and we have no idea where she went.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “That’s Mrs. Jones has vanished.”

  “Have you been to the police?” George Baxter asked.

  “No, sir. Alfred has no desire to go to the police.”

  “But Mrs. Jones could be in trouble. Shouldn’t he be doing something about it?”

  “I’ve tried, Mr. Baxter, but he won’t listen to reason. I was just thinking of going to see the Captain myself. I’m awfully worried about her.”

  “She has red hair, you know.”

  “I do, sir. I’ve noticed. That’s what's having me so worried.”

  “Okay then, young Charlie, I’ll be coming with you. We don’t have time to waste. You grab one side of Alfred, and I’ll grab the other. He needs to report the disappearance of his wife.”

  Arm in arm, the lodger pulled Alfred along, with his heart beating a wild tattoo in his chest. An unexpected abduction. This was no good. There was no reason for it. The red hair business had to be a red herring as Henrietta was too old to fit into the scheme of things.

  George Baxter struggled to keep Alfred going. The man was a dead weight. He tended to slump forward, and he and Charlie had to pull him up and drag him along when he refused to cooperate.

  “Has Alfred said anything?”

  “Not really, Mr. Baxter. I found him like this. He’s been doing some moaning, and he talks to himself, but so softly that I can’t understand what he’s saying.”

  “And why hasn’t he wanted to report Henrietta’s—Mrs. Jones’ disappearance?”

  “I’m not sure. But he’s keeping something to himself. Some sort of a secret. Someone threw a dead bird in front of his front door the other day.”

  “Yes, the dead bird with a note pinned to it,” the lodger said dreamily.

  “That one. How did you know, Mr. Baxter?”

  “Never mind that. What we have to do now is to find her before it’s too late.”

  “Are you thinking what I’m thinking, sir?” Charlie asked with a shaking voice.

  “Yes, I’m afraid so. Oh good, here we are. Come on, Alfred, up the steps.”

  Alfred resisted but George Baxter and Charlie pulled and pulled, and they were soon in the lobby of the Police Department. George saw the Captain exit his office and pointed it out to Charlie who quickly approached him. They chatted on and on, and George dearly wished that they would hurry up. Henrietta’s life could very well be at stake.

  Chapter 75. The Captain

  The Captain had just come back from getting himself a new haircut, and he was admiring his handsome self in the full-length mirror in the lobby when he sighted Charlie, and his spirit sank.

  Charlie looked bashful, and the Captain knew what that meant. He’d been sent on another fool’s errand, poor Charlie. Was he ever going to learn?

  “Charlie, buddy, you’re spending more time in my precinct than at your own business. You should join the police force. I have a feeling that it would be good for you.”

  “I’m sorry to bother you again, I really am…” Charlie said.

  “But? Come on, Charlie, let’s walk and talk.”

  “But something’s happened,” Charlie blurted out as he hurried after the Captain. “Mrs. Jones has vanished.”

  The Captain stopped and turned around. “What do you mean, she has vanished?”

  “She was last seen the day before yesterday. I think that her husband knows something, but he won’t say.”

  “Where is he? The husband?”

  “In the lobby, with George Baxter, who’s keeping him from running away.”

  “You must be kidding me. The same George Baxter y’all brought in a few weeks ago for suspecting him of murder? Dear Lord. What am I going to do with you, Charlie?”

  “I don’t know. All I know is that we have to find her.”

  “No joke, and why the hurry if the husband hasn’t reported her missing?”

  “She has red hair.”

  “Really? All right, then. That sounds serious. Why don’t you go get your friends and bring them to my office? I’ll go find Jeffrey. He’s going to want to hear this.”

  Chapter 76. Trapped

  Henrietta awoke from a deeply disturbing slumber with the terrifying need to use the toilet. Her captor hadn’t been back to give her food and water or to let her use the toilet in many hours. Now the rumbling in her stomach warned her that she was very hungry, but worse than anything, was her need to use the toilet.

  She had been a good girl—as her captor said—so he hadn’t tied her up as brutally tight as the first time nor had he put the disgusting wad of cloth in her mouth again. She had been meek and quiet and hadn’t asked any questions. Not by design, but simply by despair.

  Surprisingly, though, she noticed that the chord that bound her hands wasn’t as tight as it had been. Would she be able to free herself and run to the toilet? Or would she have to disgrace herself by having to pee on herself? The thought made her cry. Big, heavy tears ran down her face. Didn’t captors even think about such humiliating things?

  She wiggled her hands and her wrists. She thought she would be able to hold things in for another hour or so, so, technically—if she was clever enough—she would be able to free herself and run to the toilet, which was not far.

  She nibbled on the chord, and she pulled with her teeth, but it didn’t look like she was going to be able to free herself. Despondent, she sat back down on her designated spot and let the tears flow. It wasn’t going to work.

  She wiped her face and leaned back, ready to die. Three minutes without air, three days without water, three weeks without food. And then she would be dead. And nobody would mourn her. Not Alfred—for sure—Alfred, who had obviously not given back what he had stolen, because, otherwise, she would have been freed already. And not George Baxter who was either still in jail and wouldn’t even find out that she had died or had left because Alfred had been such an ass. How she hated Alfred at that moment for having allowed his good and faithful wife to die such a miserable death.

  She wiped her face again and tried to compose herself, but the tears refused to stop coming. Maybe Celia would mourn her. She regretted having been cold to her stepchild at times. After all, the child was the only one who had truly shown her love and kindness. She had not deserved the frequent cold shoulders that Henrietta had given her. Shame that she would never have the chance to make it up to her. She could have been a better mother, a more patient listener, and now she would never see the child again.

  That made Henrietta cry once more, and she was terr
ibly weak with thirst and hunger, and the fates had mercy on her, and she dozed off again.

  Chapter 77. Alfred Confesses

  “Again, Alfred Jones, from the beginning. Mandy here is going to type what you say, and then, you can sign it.”

  “But I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

  “Oh, man up, Mr. Jones. We already have your confession on tape. Let’s just make it official this time.”

  Alfred hung his head. How on earth had this mess gotten started? He shook his head, and he fidgeted, but he finally gave up. The cat was out of the bag.

  “Thirty years ago, give or take. I was in College. I was an Engineer Major. It was a big thing back then, being an Engineer.”

  “It still is, Mr. Jones,” the Captain said coldly. Alfred shrugged.

  “I decided to take a couple of Chemistry classes as electives. I’ve always been interested in Chemistry.”

  What a stupid thing he had done, taking those classes. They changed his life. No. They ruined it. And that stupid woman. What else could he have done?

  “Keep talking, Mr. Jones,” the Captain said, and Alfred was yanked back to the present time.

  “Yes, sorry. The professor was a jerk, but he had this gorgeous young wife. She was a redhead. I’ve always had a thing for redheads. Anyway, she sometimes came with him to class, and she must have been very bored at home because she started to make passes at me.”

  “The professor’s wife? Really?”

  “Oh, yes. We had coffee a couple of times behind his back, but soon we were sleeping together. I was having a good time and nothing more. I was very young, and all I wanted was to see her from time to time, you know, when I wanted to have some fun. But she became obsessed. She kept talking about how abusive her husband was and how she wanted to leave him.”

  “So, did she leave him for you?”

  “Heck, no. I had no interest. Her marriage was her problem. All I wanted to do was keep going to school and get ahead in life. I didn’t want to be poor, like my parents. I wanted something better from life. You know. And I had barely enough money to survive. How could I have fed another mouth? And then she kept going on and on about wanting to have children with me and having a proper family.”

  “She was serious, then.”

  “She was determined. But things were getting out of hand. She suspected that the professor had found out and tried to force the situation, so I decided to break up with her. So, we were in this hotel room one afternoon—naked after making love—and I was just trying to tell her goodbye, and she was begging and crying, when the door opened and there stood the professor, furious, foaming at the mouth, with a huge knife in his hand. He came at me, yelling obscenities and how he was going to cut me to shreds, and as he got close, I reacted by instinct and pulled the woman in front of me.

  “I know you’re thinking that I acted like a coward, but I didn’t give it any thought. I just reacted instinctively. And as the knife went into her naked body the first time, and the blood squirted all over the place, the professor went wild and started stabbing her. I was terrified. I grabbed my clothes and ran out of there, and I never looked back.”

  “And then, what happened?” the Captain asked.

  “Nothing. I don’t know. I couldn’t go back to school, so I quit. I bummed around for a while, traveled, got a job here, a job there, and then I met Henrietta, who came from a good family and had some money, and we got married. That’s about all.”

  “Did you ever hear from the professor again?”

  “No. I moved around for a couple of years and then came back here. My parents, you know. I couldn’t abandon them forever. And actually, after a while, I completely forgot about him. Until the other day, when he found me.”

  “Tell us about that, Mr. Jones.”

  “Yes, well. I thought it was the postman, but not our usual one. You see, I know our postman. He’s the same one that has been delivering the post for years. And this guy was a stranger.

  “He told me that I seemed familiar, and then he said my name. And at that point, I looked at him closely and I recognized him. He’s gotten much older, lost some teeth, but that nasty sneer and those eyes full of hatred, those are impossible to forget.

  “So, he came over late one night with some letters. He wanted, oh I don’t even know what he wanted. A confession or something. He had some letters that I had written to his wife, and I had left my socks behind the day he stabbed her. They were covered with her blood and my DNA, he said. And we were going to have to talk about all that. Then we argued, and in the struggle, I ended up grabbing the envelope in which he had the socks and the letters. I didn’t even notice that I had done that until he was gone.”

  “And where is that envelope, Mr. Jones?”

  “I hid it especially well.”

  “Did he ever come back?”

  “Oh, yes. Two nights ago. He said that he had Henrietta and that he’d keep her prisoner unless I give him his stuff back.”

  “And why didn’t you?”

  “Oh, for Heaven’s sake, Captain, you know as well as I do, that he’ll never let her go. He’s going to kill her like he killed the others.”

  “What makes you think that he killed the others, Mr. Jones?”

  “The note pinned to the feathers of the dead bird. Charlie was there. He can tell you. I had a feeling that it was him right away, but I checked the notes published in the newspaper anyway. The handwriting is identical. And same paper and same color pen. It can’t be a coincidence.”

  “And you didn’t think to bring all this in?”

  “Why should I have, so that you could blame me for that woman’s death? I’m not stupid.”

  “Because, if you had helped us out, you would have saved these women’s lives. Your daughter’s friend would still be alive.”

  “You don’t know that,” Alfred answered bitterly. “Rosalie was murdered by her boyfriend because she got pregnant and he didn’t want to marry her.”

  “I’m afraid you’re wrong there. Peter—the boyfriend—has been found. There were three types of blood on him, and the way he described how he and Rosalie were attacked, agrees with the blood spatter on his jacket. We believe him. He’s innocent. And he gave us a good description of the killer.”

  “And whose is the third type of blood?”

  “The killer’s, of course. He got hurt as they all struggled. So, Alfred Jones, you give us that name, and we’ll have enough to put him away forever.”

  Chapter 78. The Rush

  Missing for two days was too long unless someone was feeding you and taking relatively good care of you. George Baxter thought about poor Henrietta, swept up in the madness of things. She was a good woman, and she didn’t deserve what had happened to her. He imagined that she was very scared and losing hope fast.

  He headed for the front door of the Police Station in a hurry with long, purposeful steps, and Charlie intercepted him in the lobby with an anxiety-ridden look. He swept the young man to the side, ignoring him, in a hurry to get on with his business. But Charlie called him, waving his arms to catch his attention.

  “Mr. Baxter, please wait for me,” Charlie said loudly, hurrying after him. “Someone has to go find Mrs. Jones, as I’ve been telling everyone, but I’m being ignored. Now that Alfred has been arrested, who’s going to care about finding her?”

  George Baxter stopped and turned around to face Charlie.

  “Young man, your foolish friend deserved to be arrested. But we’re no closer to finding out the identity of the killer unless he’s willing to speak up.”

  “And even if we knew his name, we still wouldn’t know where Mrs. Jones was.”

  “Yes, we do, young Charlie. Think. Every abducted woman was found in the Lodge. That’s where we’ll find Henrietta.”

  “How would you know?”

  “Because the only thing that Alfred Jones confessed to was that the notes found on the dead bird and the murdered women were identical. So, what clues do we have?
”

  Charlie gazed at the lodger with a blank stare.

  “We have two clues, Charlie. One, all the women had red hair. Two, the notes for the victims and the one found pinned to the dead bird were the same. Ergo, the killer has Henrietta. And where else is he going to take her? The place that he knows best. The Hunting Lodge. Right?”

  “But are you certain?”

  “No, not at all. But if I don’t do something to help, I will go mad with worry, so that’s at least a good place to start.”

  “I’m coming with you, then.”

  “No. Stay here and try to get your friend to talk. We need to find out the name of that madman.”

  George Baxter hurried down the front steps of the Police Station before Charlie could stop him again and whistled for a taxi. It would be much faster to be taken to the other side of the park by car as the lodge was much closer to the back entrance. When he offered to double the cab fare, the driver stepped on the accelerator, and narrowly avoiding pedestrians and vehicles of all kinds, he had the lodger at the back entrance of the park within ten minutes.

  George Baxter knew exactly where the lodge was. This was one of his old haunts, from his childhood. Entering the park from the back, at first, all you could see were the hills, rugged, forbidding, and covered with snow. Rarely did you ever see anyone on this side of the park. It had been allowed to decay since the downturn of the economy years earlier, and soon people even forgot that this area even existed. Which made it a very convenient place to hide someone.

  He jogged, narrowly avoiding slipping and falling on the ice a few times, but he knew he had to get to the lodge before the other man did. This had gone far enough. Harming Henrietta was where he drew the line in interfering in the business of others. He had to get her out of there before it was too late.