I had come in on the second floor from the State Line side.
I looked down the near-empty promenade and about midway, I saw my dad being led away by a younger man.
He struggled and the man struck him in the head.
“DAD!” I yelled, and sprinted toward them.
I had just taken a few steps when a black streak in a maintenance uniform charged and struck the man with a broom handle.
The man released Dad and sprinted toward the far end of the mall.
Dad fell to the floor.
I yelled at Willie, “You take care of Dad. I’ll get this guy.”
The man had run to the far end of the mall. The promenade made a sharp turn to the right into another corridor that led to the movie theatre and the escalator that went down to the Ward Parkway entrance.
I rounded the corner expecting to see the guy barreling down the escalator, but there was no one in sight.
There was nothing there but a playground area with miniature cars, trains and other stuff that kids could ride for fifty cents a pop, a stairway up to the theatre entrance and the escalator.
The guy was nowhere in sight.
I walked past the playground and peered over the rail to the corridor below.
I saw movement out of the corner of my eye and turned in time to see the man charging toward me.
He had been hiding in the cab of a small rocket ship.
I raised my arm to ward off the blow, but it was too late.
I took the blow to the side of my head and saw the proverbial stars.
As I was falling, I saw another man coming up the escalator.
They each grabbed an arm and drug me down to the corridor below, where a gurney was waiting.
They hoisted me onto the gurney.
I tried to struggle, but I was still woozy from the blow to the head.
One guy said, “Hold him down so I can get this into him.”
The second guy pinned my shoulders back and the next thing I saw was a syringe coming toward me.
It was in the hand of the EMT from the Dr. Death crime scenes.
He jabbed the needle into my arm and pushed the plunger.
Within seconds, my jaw went slack, my eyes rolled back in my head and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t move my arms and legs.
They shoved the gurney into the waiting ambulance and the last thing I saw before they closed the door was Willie running down the corridor.
I felt the ambulance accelerate away.
I just hoped that Willie had arrived in time to see them load me in the van. It was my only chance.
I felt the ambulance come to a stop.
When the door opened, I recognized where they had taken me --- the morgue!
The place was deserted at that time of night, so no one saw them wheel me into the autopsy room.
I was still under the influence of the drug they had given me and I could barely keep my eyelids open.
Maybe I should have closed them. What I saw filled me with horror.
They were opening the door of a negative cold chamber.
I remembered touring the morgue as part of my academy training.
The technician had showed us the bodies of the deceased that were being kept in the cold chambers prior to autopsy.
The positive chamber’s temperature was kept just under forty degrees for bodies that were to be cut open soon.
The negative chamber’s temperature was a frosty ten degrees, which was low enough to freeze the body and halt decomposition.
I saw the rolling slab slide out of the chamber next to my gurney.
One guy took my feet and the EMT grabbed me under the arms, and they lifted me onto the cold slab.
The EMT looked into my face. “This may not be the way Dr. Death would have done it, but you’ll be just as dead.”
As they were rolling the slab into the chamber, I heard the second guy say, “Goodnight, copper. Don’t let the bedbugs bite! --- Oh, wait --- there’s no bedbugs in there. They’re all frozen!”
I heard them both laughing as the door slammed shut.
Their words were muffled, but I heard one of them say. “Time to ditch the ambulance and get out of town. We made enough on the last two jobs to hold us for awhile.”
“I agree,” the other said. “You follow me in your car while I ditch the ambulance, then we’ll pick up our stuff from our room at the Randolph and split.”
Then there was nothing but silence --- and total darkness --- and bitter cold.
I’ve never been a phobia kind of guy --- well, heights make me really dizzy, but it’s never kept me from going up on ferris wheels.
Maggie is kind of claustrophobic and tends to avoid tight places, but me, not so much.
Then, from somewhere within that big book in my brain that stores all the meaningless crap, I remembered that taphephobia was the fear of vivisepulture, --- of being buried alive.
I’d never paid much attention to it because, really, what were the chances of being buried alive?
Just my luck. I couldn’t win five bucks on a scratcher ticket, but it seemed that I had just won the vivisepulture lottery.
The good news was that the drug that they had injected was beginning to wear off.
The bad news was that the numbing cold was seeping into every joint in my body.
At ten degrees Fahrenheit, I knew it wouldn’t be long before I became a Walter Williams popsicle.
With a great deal of pain, I lifted my arms and began to feel the boundaries of my confinement.
There was maybe a foot of space on either side and over my head --- just enough room to maneuver my arms.
Everything was, of course, very solid and I was guessing that they hadn’t installed an interior door latch just in case they had made a mistake.
I was about to give up and just surrender to the cold, black void, when I remembered the new cell phone in my pocket.
It took every bit of strength I had left to pull the phone from my pocket.
I figured I had enough left to make one call.
I punched #2 on the speed dial and Ox’s face appeared on the phone.
I was running out of steam and the only thing I could think of was to text the number ‘8’ which I had seen on the chamber door.
I pushed 'send,' and hoped that the signal from my phone wouldn’t be buried in the vault along with my frozen body.
I had just enough strength for one more push and I hit #1 on the speed dial.
Maggie’s smiling face came on the screen and I held the phone where I could see it.
If I was going to bite the big one, the last thing I wanted to remember was my sweetie.
I was about to drift off into oblivion when I heard muffled voices.
“He’s got to be in here somewhere! The GPS pinpointed this location.”
Then I heard Ox’s voice. “Eight! He’s texted the number ‘8’!”
“There!” another voice said. “Vault number eight. That has to be it.”
I heard footsteps and then the metallic clunk of the door latch.
The door swung open, light and warmth flooded the chamber and I saw the smiling face of my partner.
Ox and Willie helped me from the cold slab and some guy from the morgue wrapped me in blankets and brought me a cup of hot coffee.
At first, I was too cold to speak.
“You can thank your old pal here for saving your hide,” Ox said. “Willie saw them load you into the ambulance and drive away.
“He called me and I had our tekkie guys track you with the GPS in your new phone --- and --- well --- here we are.”
By this time, the feeling was beginning to return to my extremities and I could finally speak.
“It’s the EMT from the Dr. Death crimes scenes. He’s got a buddy and I know where they’re going --- but we’ve got to hurry!”
“You’re not in any shape to go anywhere,” Ox said.
“The hell I’m not. Just give me a minute. Those guys trie
d to ice me and I’ll be damned if I’m going to miss the opportunity to take them down.”
With the warmth returning to my body, I had the sudden need to urinate.
“Where’s the can?” I said. “I need to drain the lizard.”
“Well, at least your sense of humor didn’t freeze,” the morgue guy said, pointing down the hall.
I made it to the stall just in time.
I was enjoying the pause that refreshes when I happened to look down.
“Holy crap!”
My stream, which is normally the golden hues of Mountain Dew, now more closely resembled Welch’s Grape Juice.
Then I remembered what the coroner had said about the liquid under Fredrick Manning’s chair.
They must have injected me with methocarbamol, and thankfully, it was a temporary condition.
Good thing, I thought.
Maggie is always complaining about the yellow stains in my under shorts.
She asked me once if I was incontinent and needed to start wearing Depends.
I pointed out to her that this was simply one of the idiosyncrasies of the male anatomy and quoted her the verse.
No matter how you jiggle or how you dance,
The last two drops are in your pants.
She didn’t buy it.
I wasn’t sure how I was going to explain the two black smudges on my fly.
After a quick conversation with the captain, we headed to the old Randolph Hotel on Main Street where we were to meet up with guys from the tactical unit.
Once we had determined the location of the perps, the troops would storm the castle and our copycat killers would be behind bars.
The old Randolph was a relic from back in the twenties.
It was probably a fine old hotel in its day, but you could see at first glance that it was about ready for the wrecking ball.
It made the Three Trails look like the Ritz.
We met the tactical guys.
The team leader said that the EMT had been identified as a Warren Meeker.
When the team, in full combat gear, flooded the lobby, the night clerk behind the desk nearly dropped a load in his pants.
“Warren Meeker! What room! NOW!” the leader barked.
The quivering clerk looked at his roster. “N-n-n-number 612. Top floor.”
Two guys took the rickety elevator and two more took the stairs.
Ox and I followed up the stairs.
We actually reached the sixth floor before the elevator arrived.
We huddled outside of 612. The leader gave a nod and one of the guys smashed the battering ram into the door.
Wood splintered and the team rushed in shouting, “POLICE! ON THE GROUND! NOW!”
I entered and saw a guy on his knees with his hands behind his head.
“That’s not Meeker,” I said. “That’s his accomplice.”
“WHERE’S MEEKER?” the leader shouted.
The man just stared straight ahead with an insolent look on his face.
One of the team came into the room.
“Boss. There’s a hole in the bathroom wall. It goes into room 610 next door. He must have gone through there.”
“Quick! Into the hall. Break into 610. Cover the exits.”
I went to the window and looked into the back alley.
A figure had climbed out the window of room 610 and was going down the fire escape.
“He’s out here!” I yelled. “Cut him off at both ends of the alley.”
I looked at the old fire escape just outside the window of room 612.
It was made of cast iron that had nearly rusted through from ninety years of exposure to the elements.
It was held to the wall by big lug nuts screwed into the crumbling mortar between the bricks.
Meeker was almost to the ground and I didn’t know if the tactical unit could seal the alley before he escaped.
I stepped out onto the rungs of the old ladder and it groaned under my weight.
I started climbing down, the rust crumbling between my fingers.
Miraculously, the thing held and I found myself on the third floor landing.
It was a thirty-foot drop to the ground!
What kind of fire escape stops at the third floor? I wondered.
Then I saw it.
It was one of those old escapes I had seen in the movies where a sliding metal ladder drops you the final two stories to the ground.
I could only guess how many years it had been since anyone had tried to use it.
I looked and Meeker had just reached the ground and was heading my direction.
What the hell, I thought and grabbed the rusty ladder.
The thing groaned, then released and I shot down the last two stories just as Meeker passed beneath.
The ladder hit the ground with a ‘thud’ about three feet in front of the sprinting Meeker.
His momentum carried him full force into the ladder, knocking him to the ground.
I pounced on top of him and pinned his arms behind his back.
He looked around and seeing it was me, said, “I ---I thought you were dead.”
I smiled and whacked him on the back of his head.
“The reports of my death are greatly exaggerated.”
I smacked him again.
“Mark Twain said that, you asshole.”
CHAPTER 12
Things were finally on an even keel.
Dad was no worse for wear from is near abduction, the copycat killers were behind bars and my pee was back to bright yellow again.
As the captain had predicted, it seemed that Dr. Death had taken a hiatus.
No more mercy killings had turned up and we were no closer to catching Thanatos than we were before the undercover operation.
I, for one, welcomed the respite.
After being nearly flash frozen and buried alive, I needed a break.
I had discovered that my sixty-eight year old body didn’t bounce back as quick as it used to.
I had taken a few days off to recuperate and was enjoying an evening reading with my sweetie, when there was a knock on the door.
I assumed it was Willie or Jerry, but when I opened the door, a total stranger stood before me.
“Are you Walter Williams?” he asked.
“Yes, I am. Is there something I can help you with?”
“I hope so,” he replied. “My name is Mark Davenport. I’m your brother!”
My mouth dropped open.
“Excuse me?”
At that moment, Maggie came up beside me.
“Then you must be Maggie,” Davenport said.
Maggie looked at me questioningly.
He introduced himself again.
“Maggie, my name is Mark Davenport and I’m Walt’s brother.”
This time, Maggie’s jaw dropped.
“I know this probably comes as a shock,” Davenport said, “but if I could have a minute of your time, I’ll explain.”
Maggie recovered before I did.
“Walt, maybe you should invite Mr. Davenport inside.”
“Call me Mark, please.”
I stood aside and Davenport followed Maggie to the living room.
When we were seated, Davenport spoke first.
“I know this is awkward and I wouldn’t have come but --- there are --- extenuating circumstances.”
“Before we get to 'circumstances,' " I said, “how about telling me what makes you think that I’m your brother.”
“Actually, half-brother,” he replied. “As you know, your dad was a trucker.”
I knew where this was going.
My dad had been an over-the-road trucker and was rarely home.
He had a reputation for being a womanizer.
It was the fifties and my poor mother had looked the other way instead of divorcing the lothario and bringing shame onto the family.
After Mom died, my dad and I drifted apart and I hadn’t seen him in years until a year and a half ago when he was k
icked out of an Arizona assisted living facility for boinking too many of the old ladies.
I hadn’t wanted to take him in, but as it turned out, the old guy had come to his senses and settled down.
Now he was only boinking one woman, my tenant, Bernice.
“Look,” I said. “If this is about my dad, I think he should be here.”
“Well, what I came to talk to you about doesn’t concern your father.”
“There’s a man sitting in my living room telling me that my father sired a child out of wedlock. Yeah, I think he needs to be part of this conversation.”
“As you wish,” he said.
I picked up the phone.
“Dad, can you come up for a minute? ----- No, I don’t think it would be a good idea to bring Bernice.”
We sat in stony silence until Dad entered the room.
Davenport rose and extended his hand.
“Mr. Williams, my name is Mark Davenport.”
“Call me, John,” Dad said, shaking his hand. “Davenport ---- I used to know a Davenport.”
“I don’t suppose it would have been Sarah?” he asked. “Sarah Davenport.”
Dad looked at the man closely. “Yes, Sarah. You have her eyes. Are you her son?”
“Yes, Dad,” I said. “Mark is her son, and according to him, yours too.”
Dad’s knees buckled and I had to help him to a chair.
“How --- why ---?” was all he could mutter.
“Why didn’t she tell you that she was pregnant?” he asked. “Because you were married and had a ten year old son,” he said, looking at me.
By this time Dad had recovered some.
He looked at each of us.
“I was driving the Colorado route. Goodland, Kansas was about halfway. I would always stop at the Blue Moon cafe. That’s where I met Sarah.
“Goodland was this little burg out in the middle of nowhere. I was lonely, being on the road all of the time, and I guess Sarah was lonely too.
“At first, we just talked, but after a while, it became more. I would stop every time I passed through Goodland.”
He looked directly at Mark. “I never led her on. I told her right up front that I was married and had a kid.”
“I know you did,” Mark said. “She told me.”
[Lady Justice 06] - Lady Justice and Dr. Death Page 9
