The Monolith Murders (15 page)

Fred called Rudy’s father. The father immediately assumed that his son was in some type of trouble.
 

“Why do you believe that?” Fred asked.

“Because it wouldn’t be the first time that it happened. That’s why I paid for his college education, to see if he couldn’t set himself straight.”

When Fred asked about the large sum of money Rudy recently deposited in the bank, Rudy’s father said he knew nothing about it.
 

Fred next contacted the dean of students at New College about Rudy’s attendance over the past week. The dean said he would check into it, and a couple of hours later he called back.

 
“Rudy was taking Psychology 201, which is scheduled for 3 p.m. every weekday. He hasn’t been in class for three days, and we haven’t heard from him. And, by the way, security had reported that his bike is in the rack outside the building where his class meets; it hasn’t been moved for three days.”

* * *

That evening Fred and Jim compared notes on the investigation. Jim said, “I spoke at length to your air conditioning repairman and I believe he’s clean.”

Fred said, “I don’t think that was in doubt, ever since we came across Rudy.”

“Fred, do you think we’ll ever find him?”

“Not a chance, he’s dead and buried somewhere. He never got a chance to use his payment for services rendered. But our investigation has told me one thing; and it’s a very positive thing.”

“And that is?”

“After some reflection I’ve decided that Donna doesn’t yet have the powers she once had. She had to rely on a conventional hit man to act for her. If she had her powers restored there would have been no need for a cash transaction. She would have simply reprogrammed some minds to do her bidding. Jim, I have to go to see Dr. John again. My body is beat, and I need to be tested to see if his antidote for the poison that I ingested is working.”

Chapter 25

Dr. John conducted a thorough blood test on Fred and determined that the viscosity of his blood had almost returned to normal. He directed Fred to take it easy for a few days, a prescription that he knew in advance that Fred would not follow. He also directed Fred to come back in about a week to verify that his blood remained normal.
 

When Fred returned to his office, he made several calls to the Lancaster area. Finally, he contacted the local postmaster in the area in which Amy Brown’s mother last lived and asked him if he had any information about her. The clerk told him that he knew Mrs. Brown, but she did not have a phone. He lived only two doors away from her, and as a favor he had been acting as the contact point for her for the few phone calls she normally received.
 

When Mrs. Brown got to the phone, Fred identified himself and said that he wanted to talk to her about her daughter and would visit her the following day.
 

Fred arrived at the Harrisburg airport around noon the next day. Snow from a recent storm piled up all along the runway, virtually eliminating any traces of shoulders. Fred rented a four-wheel drive SUV at the airport; in less than an hour he arrived at the modest Brown cottage homestead. Chocolate brown paint was peeling from various spots on the enclosed front porch; Fred observed rotten wood at the bottom of the front door. This was certainly not the dwelling of a middle-class individual.

When he knocked on the door, an attractive middle-aged woman, dressed in a loose-fitting, long dark blue dress, opened the door to greet him.
 

“Officer, I’m so happy that you came to bring me news about my daughter.”

“Yes, but first I must ask you a few questions to determine if I even know the person I have information on is your daughter. When was the last time you heard from her?”

“It was about ten years ago. It was right after the murder of my poor daughter Debbie, and just before my dear husband passed away.”
 

“I’m terribly sorry about the death of your loved ones. Where was Debbie murdered?”

“She was murdered in Sarasota in the same house that my sister died in.”
 

“How did your sister die?”
 

“She died of a heart attack.”

“Was an autopsy performed?”

“No, no reason to, her health seemed to be going downhill for a long time before she passed.”

“I must ask you why both of your daughters chose to live with your sister.”

“Money, officer, money. My husband became somewhat disabled and it was during a period of high inflation in the country. We could hardly pay for their clothing, but my sister was much better off. Her husband had invented a labor saving device and it was worth millions.

It’s ironic, isn’t it, an Amish family inventing a labor saving device? Anyway, letting them leave was a difficult decision; we both cried for days when we shipped them off to Florida.”

“What did Amy have to say at the time about her sister’s murder?”

“Not much, she told me she had hid in the hall closet to get away; she never saw the murderer. She made all the difficult arrangements for the shipment of Debbie’s body to our local funeral home. She was supposed to meet us here before the services, but she didn’t show up. We didn’t understand, because she was such a responsible, sweet girl.”

“Did you ever learn why she didn’t meet you?”

“We got a call from a Sarasota policeman who said Amy had gone boating with a friend in the Gulf of Mexico near some island—Siesta Key, I believe he said. A storm suddenly blew in from the west and her small boat capsized. I was told that, after a week’s extensive search, they failed to find either her or her friend. At first I didn’t believe it was Amy. She couldn’t swim, and I was sure she would never in her life have gone out on a boat. But the officer described her perfectly. He stayed in contact with me for about two weeks after Amy disappeared. He was very calming, but unfortunately he had nothing further to report after the accident. He said, as much as he hated to tell me, there were a lot of man-eating sharks in the area; and he knew that after that much elapsed time her body would never be found.”

“Do you remember the name of the officer?”

“No, but he was very helpful, even gave me his cell phone number. He told me not to call him at the station because I might speak to someone that wasn’t familiar with the case and he wanted to save me time. But he said he would be available night or day on his cell phone. We don’t have any modern conveniences, I used the post office to receive and make my phone calls.”

Fred knew the staged death had to have been a sham, but he couldn’t fathom how Amy’s mother wasn’t curious that it was never reported in the media.
 

“What did the papers have to say about the boating deaths?”

“Officer, we don’t read the news, too many earthly things are contained in newspapers and on TV. As you can see, I don’t have a TV or radio.”

“I have two more questions, do you still have the officer’s phone number who contacted you, and do you have any pictures of Amy?”

“As far as his phone number—no, I lost that years ago. But I do have photos of Amy from when she was five until she was thirteen.”
 

Fred looked at the display of photographs. Even in the earlier photos, there seemed to be an innate depravity lurking behind the girl’s outward smile.

“So, officer, have you found my daughter’s body? Have you located the person who killed my other daughter?”

This was a very nice religious woman. Fred didn’t have the heart to tell her, yes, we found your daughter and by the way she’s a cold-blooded murderer and that’s probably why she never sent you Mother’s Day cards. And by the way, I also suspect she killed your other daughter to obtain all of her aunt’s inheritance.

Instead he said, “No, I’m sorry, I have no news concerning your daughter, it was someone else I was looking for. I’m sure, however, that both of your daughters are now resting in heaven.”

“Thank you, officer, that’s very comforting. I have to mention something else that’s important, though I don’t believe it has anything to do with your investigation. But I need to get it off my mind, and you seem to be such a caring person.”

At that moment there was a knock on the door. A man dressed in a postal uniform informed her that her friend Rita was on the phone. She said, “Officer, if you would wait a short time I’ll be back but I have to speak to my friend since she’s having a lot of health problems and needs to speak with me right away.”

“No problem, I’m on my way anyway. It was nice talking with you.”

On the way back to the Harrisburg airport, Fred thought, obviously the person that contacted Mrs. Brown to tell her of the boat accident was using a bogus identity and had been coached to support Donna in her lie. He wondered how many other murders Donna had committed over the years.
 

Chapter 26

In Fort Myers Hospital, the newly hired nurse reported to the neurosurgeon assigned to operating room two. He had three difficult neurological operations scheduled for the day. His new nurse performed well beyond his expectations. She anticipated his needs, handing him the appropriate surgical instrument at the proper moment in each of the complex surgeries. At times she noted something that even the surgeon had overlooked, and she delicately pointed it out to him.

At the end of the day the surgeon congratulated her on a job exceedingly well done. He confessed that he wished she could assist him permanently, if he could only get rid of his regular assistant who was on maternity leave.
 

The next two days she performed just as flawlessly as she had earlier in the week. The following three days, the surgeon she had been assisting was scheduled to be off. That evening after work she returned to her trailer home. She took off her dark wig, letting her flowing blonde hair escape from its day of confinement. “Thank God,” she said, “that wig was damn hot.” She also removed the cloth inserts that she had placed in her cheeks to alter her appearance.

Polish asked, “How did you perform today?”

“Great, a self taught cram course on operating room instruments, a basic understanding of the practice of neurosurgery and familiarity with the hospital’s layout—everything is working out perfectly. I’m already a well-known face there, so the next few steps should be easy.”

She turned to Anderson, and asked, rhetorically, “You don’t mind if we abandon you, do you?” She and Polish went into the bedroom and closed the door.
 

“Now, Polish, this will be a short indoctrination of what I’ve learned. You’re not going to have to know a lot of technical terms or the like; but you need to learn enough to know if our good friend Doc Anderson is doing all the right things when he operates on me. If he tries anything out of the ordinary, I want you to kill him on the spot, understood?”

“Yeah, fine.”

“Good.” She picked up the neurosurgery book she had stolen out of the National Institute of Health Library. She pointed to several photographs in the center of the book. “Okay, to start, this is what neurosurgeons’ instruments look like.”

On into the night she lectured him and then tested him with key questions about the process she was going to go through. Finally, at three in the morning she was exhausted, and he had to be up at seven to go to work. “I’ll go over this one more time when you get home from work,” she said.
 

She had always been a quick study even with the most difficult of subjects; it was stressful for her to remain patient as Polish moved at glacier speed, attempting to pick up the complex process.

“Christ, you’re killing me,” he said. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep my eyes open at work.”
 

“Don’t worry about it, we’re almost there.”

The next day after he returned from work, Donna went over his lessons in greater detail. He was now learning more quickly and satisfactorily enough that she trusted him to watch over her during the operation. After all, she thought, he’s not going to be the one operating on me –thank God.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “but I still don’t understand fully the details of what we’re going to do.”
 

“Its simple, dear. The hospital I selected is the one our friend Dr, Anderson had applied to after he resigned from AU. He has been accepted in the capacity of a neurosurgeon. Two days from now he will be going to work in his new surroundings. I suspect the first day will be one of orientation, completing papers and the like. I will be with him, not as Donna, but as Nurse Sally Ryan. By now, they know me; I will tell them I’m his long time friend. The good Doc will nod yes because I will have a gun positioned next to his side. The beauty of that hospital is that it services the women’s prison nearby. The prison has limited medical facilities, just enough to deal with minor illnesses. That’s the limit of their capability; they have to transfer prisoners to the more sophisticated medical facility where Anderson is employed if the medical problem is more complicated.”
 

“I understand, but how does that get you there for surgery?”
 

 
“I will contact the hospital on the phone as Warden Alice Stevens, who is the warden heading up the Fort Myers prison for women. A policeman will accompany me to the hospital for the removal of a non-malignant brain tumor; it will be an emergency surgery. The urgency of the need for the operation will eliminate the need for any prior bureaucratic paper work. I will be the patient, but I won’t be either Donna or Nurse Sally. Instead I will be wearing a prison uniform, have much shorter hair and contact lenses which will change the color of my eyes. They’re short handed at the hospital, and the neurosurgeon I have been working for will not be on duty that day. Dr. Anderson will be the attending physician.”