The Monolith Murders (10 page)

“I believe she completed a vigorous 120 hour computer course and an advanced English course as well; and, oh yes, she took some type of medical course.”

“Did you use a single main frame for both the instructional computers and one for your prison files?”

“Again, I know what you’re thinking, Lieutenant. They were contained in the same mainframe, but it was compartmentalized so there was no way that the prisoners taking the computer classes would be able to get into the other area.”

“No way for most prisoners, Warden. But Donna doesn’t fit into the category of most. She’s highly opportunistic and intelligent. If she puts her mind to it, I believe she can do anything including breaking into your fail-safe computer system. Think about it; and if you can come up with anything else that might help, give me call and I will do likewise. One final question, Warden, do you know anything about Donna’s family?”

“No, according to our records both her father and mother are deceased.”

Fred left the prison sure that somehow Donna had erased the segment of the computer dealing with the identification of visitors; and knowing her, the authorities would never be able to retrieve that information again.
 

Chapter 14

Fred took his convertible top down for his ride back to Sarasota. He wasn’t sure the visit had been helpful but at least he had two new descriptions and recent photos that might help him locate Donna. As he merged from the east to west I-10 to I-75 he floored his accelerator, seamlessly blending into the southbound traffic. He maintained seventy miles an hour all the way back home. The warm humid Florida wind shot pleasantly through his hair, and a few persistent bugs found a final domicile on his teeth. He temporarily forgot about Donna and her threat to him and Maureen. He was experiencing the incomparable joy of being in an open convertible on a balmy day. He passed by the rolling soft grassy contours and dales of Ocala; he watched graceful horses galloping carefree through green meadows contained by a seemingly endless flow of white fences. With the car’s top down, he had an unobstructed view of the day’s azure sky and its floating cotton clouds above. He was gradually beginning to have a promising love affair with his used Miata, and he needed to harness the moment. Bonds in life are hard to come by, and one must take advantage of them when they appear.

* * *

While Fred was on his way back to Sarasota, in an RV park near Sarasota, Donna was engaged in energetic sex on a park trailer’s well-worn sofa. Across from her, seated on an equally dilapidated love seat, was a securely bound Dr. Anderson. Jane Doe sat uncomfortably next to him. Donna had no compunction about murder, and she had none about modesty or free love either. Her male partner was in the process of removing Donna’s bra when Jane cried out, “How long do I have to watch this shit, and how much longer are we be going to be trapped in this rat hole? I never got my puppy or my gold badge. You promised, Donna.”

Donna had little time for fools and to Donna, Jane Doe was in all respects a fool. Donna forcefully pushed the heavily panting lover off of her.
 

“What the hell are you doing?” he demanded.
 

“I have to take care of something—hold your horses, Polish.”

Donna walked to a pull- down bar with a single drawer nestled at the bottom of it. She said to Dr. Anderson, “Do you think I’m a good shot?”
 

He said nothing.
 

She said, “I asked you once, I won’t ask again, do you think I’m a good shot?”
 

He said, “Yes . . . I don’t know . . . who the hell cares?”

Donna opened the bottom drawer and grabbed her 45 caliber revolver. “Well, since you don’t give a damn, and I really am a good shot, let me prove it to you.” She aimed her pistol in the direction of the doctor and fired.

The bullet missed the doctor, but it found its directed mark in the middle of Jane’s head.

Her lover jumped up and almost fell over; his pants were still down at his feet. “What in God’s name did you do?” he yelled.

“Just getting rid of complaining excess baggage,” she responded.
 

“But, for God’s sake, she helped you escape, she was your best friend in prison; how the hell could you have done that?”

“Polish, listen, her value was over. Ever since she helped me get out of prison, she’s done nothing but complain. Besides, the cops know what she looks like; so if she was captured she would have turned me in.”

“No way would Jane have turned you in; she adored you.”

“She wouldn’t have turned me in on purpose, but the cops would be able get anything out of her that they wanted; she was so stupid that if brains were gas, she wouldn’t have enough in her to power an ant moped around a marble. She deserved to die.”

In unison both the doctor and Donna’s lover said, “Jesus!”

The doctor said, “If I operate on you and re-introduce that damned device, I know that you would get rid of me soon afterwards as well. What would be my value in your keeping me alive? Once Jane’s usefulness to you was over you got rid of her.”

Donna rebutted, “No, you’re wrong; after you implant that baby in me, there will be no reason to kill you. Because with its power, I will become unstoppable and neither you nor anyone else will be a threat to me.”

“But you were stopped before.”

The expression on Donna’s face soured. “That’s only because a dumb cop got lucky and had expert assistance. That won’t happen the next time.”

Donna’s lover interrupted the conversation, “Now what in hell do we do with the body?” pointing to a lifeless Jane Doe.

“No problem, we’ll get a shovel and take her further out route 70 towards Arcadia. There’s a deserted farm about ten miles out with no houses near by. I found out that the place has been in litigation for two years; it makes for a great quiet grave site. By the way, did you get the computer equipment I asked for?”

“Yes, I still don’t know why you need it; but I put it in the bedroom.”

Donna’s unenthusiastic lovemaking had ended, and not too soon for her. She said, “I have to go somewhere on an errand, I’ll buy a shovel on the way.”
 

“Donna, it’s dangerous for you to go out in public. Why don’t you let me go instead?”

“It’s personal, Polish.”

“Why do you continue to call me Polish, when you know damn well that’s not my name?”
 

“You fool, it’s because of your deep refinement and sophistication.”
 

 
In truth Donna called him Polish simply because his shoes were always shiny. Her real name for him was highly insulting; and for the moment she needed him too much to lose him with an accurate but disparaging description.
 

He reflected on Donna’s comment. I did go to the opera once, he thought. Of course I fell asleep, and I couldn’t understand in this great country why they sang in a foreign language; but I did go which is more than I can say about most people. Actually, Polish ain’t a bad handle for me. Polish smiled in contentment.
 

Polish realized that, most likely, Donna had delayed in going after Fred because she was worried someone could identify her if she ventured out of the trailer park too often. After all, her photograph had been broadcast on virtually every news channel both day and night. He had constructed a plan which would take care of Fred once and for all. Donna would be finally pleased.
 

* * *
 

Donna’s destination was going to be a secret from Polish. No way am I going to let this fool know what I hid over four years ago, she thought. I wouldn’t even trust him with a hundred dollars, let alone a million. It’s my rightful inheritance, she thought; or at least it’s what I earned staying with that bitch of an aunt for so long.
 

Chapter 15

Fred went directly to his office when he returned to Sarasota. He briefed Jim on the high points of his visit. He was delighted to learn that the rash of burglaries had been solved during his absence. He could now concentrate totally on capturing Donna.
 

Jim said, “At least we now have a good recent photo of Donna, her female partner in the escape, and the person who we now believe to be her male accomplice. I’ve already put out the expanded all-points and the media is cooperating fully by displaying her photo on all the local news stations.”
 

Fred recognized that he needed outside help to capture Donna and he knew who it would be. He called CIA agent Debra Black, whom he had worked with earlier on the theft of the second extra-sensory device which had secretively found its way into Red China.
 

Fortunately, she was in her office when he called.
 

“Debra, this is Lieutenant Fred Harris, remember we worked on the Donna Lang case together?”

“Of course Fred, how have you been?”

“Good, but I need to ask a favor from you; how about meeting me at Joe’s Diner. You name the time.”
 

“Okay Fred, I’m busy until three tomorrow. Is that all right?”

“Fine.”

* * *

At the same time Fred was calling Debra Black, Donna was searching frantically for the spot where she had buried her fortune over four years ago. She had carefully selected a site next to the bicycle path which traveled from Sarasota to Venice, about ten miles distant. The site was owned by the county. In several areas it was bounded by copses of mature oak trees. The county’s ownership extended a quarter of a mile into the path’s adjoining property, so Donna figured it would never leave government hands unless the austerity drive of the current governor was so extreme that county land would wind up in private ownership. She had figured that, unless the bicycle path was widened, an unlikely event, the county would retain the wooded area as a permanent natural green border. But the current governor was so enamored with his holy grail of private ownership, anything was a possibility, she reasoned. Under the circumstances she had to retrieve her fortune as soon as possible.
 

Donna realized she would look very suspicious if she walked the path, shovel in hand, even though with her cap and eyeglasses she felt she would not be recognized. Instead, she drove to the area where the Tamiami Trail closely bordered the bike path. Although the ebb and flow of businesses next to the trail had been significant over the years, she was still able to identify a familiar landmark; a large microwave tower whose presence overwhelmed the placid country side. “That’s it,” she said. She parked her car near the trail and in less than ten minutes she found the spot.

As she was digging, a Sarasota cop on a bicycle was pedaling down the trail. Hearing the noise of the shovel, he pulled his bike off the trail and approached her from behind.

“What the hell are you doing, lady?”

Donna had never heard him approach. She turned and put one hand behind her back, grasping her weapon which was secured by her belt under her jacket. At that moment two more bicycles passed her on the trail.

I can’t afford to kill him unless I have to, she thought, this bike trail is too populated with bikers and joggers. Donna thought fast, even though she had not prepared for this eventuality. “Why, I’m on the county charity scavenger hunt.”
 

“What the heck is that?”

“You must have read about it in the paper, it was organized by the mayor and each participant contributes ten dollars; all the money goes to the homeless. And it’s all kept within the county.”

“What do you get out of it?”

“The winner gets two hundred dollars; I could really use the money with all my college expenses.”

“You seem a bit old to be a college student.”

“Yes, I have a child, and a full time job. But now I’m going back to school after all these years.”

Donna observed the cop closely. He seems to be buying my story, she thought.

“You said something about the scavenger hunt being in the paper, I don’t remember seeing it.”
 

“Well it was on page four of the Sarasota Living section just two days ago. They gave it a pretty good sized article.”

Donna hadn’t read the local paper since she escaped from prison; she hoped that the paper still had a Sarasota Living section.
 

“Well, good luck and make sure you refill that hole you’re digging.”

“I sure will. And we’ll be planting roses after this is done in order to beautify the entire area.”

Why the hell did I say that, she thought. I’m pushing this envelope too far.

The policeman didn’t say anything but waved goodbye and returned to the bike path continuing his journey toward Venice, pedaling past two elderly bicyclists as he took off.

Donna heard a definitive metal clanking sound the next time she pushed her shovel in the ground. As she pushed the dirt away, a rusty metal box started to appear. She didn’t dare open it until she got to her car out of sight from curious bikers. The box was too heavy for her to carry so she pulled it painstakingly inch by inch from the bike path. When she finally was able to open it, she viewed the absolute magnificence of one million dollars in gold bullion. She remembered her aunt often bragging about its fungibility. Donna never knew what that meant until she looked up the word and found that it pertained to its ease of trading as an investment. During the FDR era, gold was purchased by the feds to take it out of private circulation. In fact, at the time it had been illegal to hold gold beyond certain limited amounts. In 1971 Nixon removed the nation’s gold standard, and suddenly gold was made available to the private market. Donna’s aunt followed the strict rules of her sect. She didn’t want to put her money in a bank or to invest it in any form of government currency. So for years she had maintained all of her wealth in gold bullion because she felt that way she would not violate the strict dictates of her religion. It had been undisturbed all these years after it was removed from the house Donna’s deceased aunt had been living in.