The Paper Boy

Garwood Village

 

by

Robert F. Clifton

 

 

PREFACE

 

The reader is advised that this is a work

Of fiction. Any similarity of any persons or the names, places or events are purely coincidental.

 

R.F. Clifton

The Garwood Village

 

Copyright © 2013 by Robert F. Clifton

 

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission from the author.

 

 

DEDICATION

 

This book is dedicated to my “Rockingham Rose”, Sharon Clifton, the lovely lady, living in Australia, who inspired me to write this novel.

 

Thanks Sharon.

Table of Contents

Chapter One 1

Chapter Two 12

Chapter Three 28

Chapter Four 46

Chapter Five 68

Chapter Six 82

Chapter Seven 98

Chapter Eight 113

Chapter Nine 128

Chapter Ten 142

Chapter Eleven 160

Chapter Twelve 176

 

Chapter One

Sounds came to Edna Fisher in the dark bedroom. There was the sound of the ticking alarm clock on the nightstand. The broadcast of running water in the bathroom and the vibration in her trachea as she gasped for air. She wanted to breath. She couldn't inhale and when she tried a stream of dark red blood flowed out of the gaping wound in her throat. She felt her own blood, wet and warm as it streamed on to her shoulder and naked breast. In a panic she tried to rise wanting to get up off of the bed, needing to escape, wishing to live. When her feet touched the floor she tried to stand, but then collapsed. As she began to lose consciousness from the loss of oxygen and blood to her brain the last thing she saw was her killer standing over her smiling.

A slight cool breeze was coming in off the ocean, carrying the scent of salt water as it traveled across the beach and city streets of Nautilus Beach New Jersey. That same breeze blew into the yards of Garwood Village, one of three public housing projects in the city. Walking through the project at six A.M. that morning was Danny Wilcox, age twelve, delivering the morning newspaper as he had been doing for the past two years. Danny enjoyed being a delivery boy. The few dollars he made allowed him to buy the things he wanted. He lived with his mother who as a single parent without skills was forced to accept welfare and there were times when his pay from the newspaper job put food on the table. Danny enjoyed the freedom of the early morning hours. He was free to work at his own pace and free to search, explore and examine.

What he had found over time was the location of the women living alone in the ground floor apartments. Most importantly, he knew which women in ground floor apartments failed to pull the shades completely down at their bedroom window allowing him in those dark morning hours to peek through the glass panes and observe those who either slept in the nude or in flimsy nightgowns. Other times, if he was lucky he would see the women dressing. He knew that what he did was wrong, but still, doing it excited him. One of his favorite places was the apartment of Mrs. Fisher. Her ground floor bedroom window was behind a high, thick, hedge. There, unobserved, he could take his time and peer through the glass and look at her. Sunday mornings were the best.

She would go out on Saturday nights and he guessed that at times she drank too much. Sometimes he would see her sprawled out on her bed fully clothed. Other times nude. Those were the times he preferred. This was Sunday morning and he crossed his fingers as he looked first to the left and then the right. Seeing no one he quickly moved behind the hedge.

He slowly removed the soiled white canvas bag that still contained nine newspapers that he still had to deliver. Setting the bag under the window he lowered himself down to a kneeling position, placing his knees on the bag. Slowly, he lowered his head into place and then looked through the glass. Looking for her first to be on the bed he was disappointed when he didn't see her. He noticed that the light was on in the bathroom and he anticipated that perhaps she was in the shower. He hoped that he would see her nude body as she walked into the bedroom.

Danny waited and as he did the sun rising up over the ocean increased the light shining through the window into the bedroom. Then, he saw her. She was nude. He saw her bare legs and his heart began to pound, Hoping to see more of her body he turned his body and head. Then, he saw her. She lay on her back with her eyes open and a red slash across her throat. Danny felt his mouth go dry. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. He had never seen a dead person, but he knew that he was seeing one now. He picked up the canvas bag and after walking slowly out from behind the high, green hedge began running, running as fast as he could, needing to find and tell someone what he had just seen.

Captain Robert Wallace of the Nautilus Beach Police Department parked the black, unmarked, Chrysler sedan he was driving, shut off the ignition and after opening the driver side door climbed out of the vehicle. He stood looking at the two uniformed officers in the distance, assigned he presumed to guard and protect the crime scene. Wallace turned back to his car and reached inside then removed a white Styrofoam container of coffee. After removing the lid, which he tossed on to the automobile floor, he took a sip and swallowed, then he walked slowly to where a small group of police and reporters stood talking.

When he neared the small crowd of news reporters and curious bystanders those that knew him moved out of his way. Just as he anticipated the press reporters were the first to bombard him with questions. “What can you tell us Captain? Do you know who did this?

We have information it was her ex-husband. What do you think?”

“I think, that since you've been standing here for Christ knows how long that you should have seen me just arrive. So, to answer your first question, I can't tell you anything. To your second question, I don't know who did whatever you think has occurred inside. The third question? I don't know yet who she is, if she was married and if she was, to who? And the last question, What do I think? I think that as usual you're all so damn hungry for news that would allow you to scoop one another that you're willing to manufacture news. Now, get the hell out of the way so I can do my job.”

Wallace walked up the two cement steps and stepped on to the poured concrete porch. He nodded his head as the two uniformed officers saluted him. He then walked into the small living room where Frank Stiles stood waiting for him. “What have we got so far?”, asked Wallace.

Stiles opened his small note pad, glanced at the notes he had recorded and began to speak. “It seems that it was a paper boy that looked through the bedroom window and saw the deceased on the floor. He ran shouting, was heard by a milk man making a delivery. He stopped the boy, listened to him then banged on an apartment door. The resident inside allowed him to use her telephone and he called the police”.

“Do we have the names and addresses of the boy and milkman?”, asked Wallace.

“Yes sir”.

“Alright, then what?”

“The deceased was found by uniformed officers who responded. They were able to get the assistant project manager to unlock the front door of the apartment. The police entered and found the dead body on the bedroom floor”.

“And?”

“The woman appeared to have been murdered”.

“How did someone make that determination?”

“By two stab wounds in the abdomen and a slashed throat that severed the jugular vein”.

“Has anything been touched?”

“Not that I know of Captain”.

Wallace took another swallow of coffee. “OK, let me see what we have”, he said.

“The bedroom's this way”, said Stiles leading the way.

The Captain stood looking first at the nude body on the floor. He looked closely at the wounds in the woman's stomach and

then the gashed injury to the throat. His eyes then went to the bed. The single blanket and sheet had been folded neatly towards the foot of the bed. Two large, blood spots stained the middle of the white sheet covering the mattress. A large drying pool of blood could be seen on the light, yellow pillow case. Wallace glanced at the white painted walls of the bedroom. He noticed blood on the right wall. Looking up, he saw more blood on the ceiling.

“OK. It appears that the killer is right-handed. Notice the blood splatters on the bedroom wall and ceiling. I'm assuming that the first thing the killer did was a stab in the stomach. They withdrew the weapon quickly, then stabbed again, and withdrew the weapon quickly. Moving fast, the first and second stabs caused the victims blood to leave the weapon and it was deposited on the walls. I would guess that the killer stood over the victim and stabbed with an overhand motion. Then, changed the grip on the murder weapon and then slashed the woman's throat from left to right. Notice that when the artery was severed a stream of blood flowed from the carotid artery to her left shoulder and breast”.

“The uniforms reported a severed jugular vein”, said Stiles.

“They should know that an artery, in particular the carotid artery will squirt a stream of blood and that there is a carotid artery on both sides of the neck.” Seeing Detective Myers, he said, “Carol? What do you have?”

“The deceased is known as Edna Fisher. According to what we have found so far, she is unemployed as a seamstress. She's divorced and has been for eight years. Her ex- husband Joseph lives somewhere in Philadelphia. She's forty-one years old, born April 12, 1934.

I spoke to several neighbors who knew her and they told me that she liked to bar hop, dance, drink and occasionally bring home a guy to spend the night with”.

“Thanks”. Looking back at Stiles anything else?”

“Yes sir. It appears that who ever killed Edna Fisher also took the time to use the bathroom. There are indications that they washed up before they left”.

Wallace left the bedroom and walked into the small, bathroom. He stopped and looked at the floor noticing a small puddle of water, then at the sink seeing it neat and clean. Seeing June Campo, Technician In Charge of Crime Scene Evidence Collection Wallace said, “Sergeant, make sure one of your people collect that puddle of water in front of the bathroom washbasin”.

“Yes sir. We left it there for you to see”.

“Thank you”. Turning his attention back to Stiles, Wallace asked, “Anything else I should know?”

“Not right now. I'll send McKenna and Myers door to door interviewing the neighbors”.

“Alright, I'll be back at headquarters. When things are finished here, secure the crime scene just in case we forgot something. One uniformed patrolman can handle that. Send the body to the morgue”.

“Yes sir. Will do”.

Back at his office at police headquarters Captain Wallace seated at his desk reached for the telephone and dialed the number to the Nautilus Beach Hospital. He waited for the switchboard operator to come on line and when she did, he asked for extension 284...the in house number for the city morgue. After two rings, Doctor Manfred Edwards answered. “City Morgue, Doctor Edwards”.

“Doc? Wally here”.

“Now what?”

“You will be receiving the body of one Edna Fisher, victim of a homicide. She should be arriving within the hour”.

“What killed her?”

“Two stab wounds in the abdomen, a slashed throat, severed carotid artery and trachea”.

“Well, what do you want from me? Any of those wounds could cause death”.

“What I want is for you to look for any signs of semen, either in her or on her”.

“Anything else?”

“Not at the moment. If I think of something I'll let you know”.

“Alright, do you feel like eating out tonight?”

“What do you have in mind?”

“Indian or Chinese”.

“Chinese, let's go to the Golden Dragon”.

“Fine, pick me up at seven”.

“See ya then, good by”.

After hanging up the telephone Wallace turned the high back leather chair he was sitting in towards the typewriter. He inserted the paper and began typing his report. In the upper right corner he typed the date. April 23, 1975. Using the roller he scrolled down and typed:

To: Chief of Police, Jerry Monahan

From: Captain of Police Robert Wallace

Subject: Homicide, Edna Fisher, Victim

White female of apartment 1414

Garwood Village, Nautilus beach, N.J.

Sir;

I report that on this date at approximately seven forty five A.M. I did receive a telephone call at my private residence. At that time I was notified that uniformed patrol officers did respond to a complaint of what was considered a murder (homicide) by members of the community of Garwood Village, Nautilus Beach, N.J.

As the commanding officer of the Major Crime Squad I then notified Sergeant Frank Stiles to dispatch Detectives Carol Myers and Thomas McKenna to the crime scene and for Sergeant Stiles to assume command pending my arrival.

Upon my arrival at apartment 1414 Garwood Village I was met by Sergeant Stiles who informed me that the victim was one Edna Fisher (age not confirmed at this time) a single Caucasian female who was found on the floor of her bedroom.

As commanding officer of the Major Crime Squad and with the assigned responsibility to investigate any and all homicides I did then assume command and directed both uniform and plain clothes Nautilus Beach police Officers. I personally viewed and investigated the position of the victims body, the wounds inflicted on the victims body, which appeared to consist of the following: Two stab wounds to the abdomen, a deep laceration of the throat, said laceration appearing to sever the left, carotid artery and the trachea.

After conducting the preliminary investigation I did then leave Sergeant Frank Stiles in command of the crime scene with the order to maintain protection of said crime scene until further orders.

Uniformed officers should be assigned.

Finally, upon my return to headquarters I did make contact with Doctor Manfred Edwards, Nautilus Beach Medical Examiner requesting standard and additional examination of the victims body.

Respectfully submitted

Robert F. Wallace

Captain of Police

Major Crime Squad Commanding.

Manfred Edwards sat at a table in the Golden Dragon Restaurant as he did he studied the face of his friend, Robert Wallace.

What he saw was a man trying to pick an entree' from the menu he held in his hands, but was unable to do so as his mind kept returning to the crime scene at Garwood village.

“Well? Are you going to order something or do you want to tell me about your latest case?”, asked Edwards

“Oh, I'm having the sweet and sour pork. However, since you mentioned it, did you find any semen?”

“No. I examined the body internally and externally. I even shut off the lights in the morgue and used ultra violet, still there was nothing”.

“OK”.

“OK? Just OK. There must be something bugging you”, said Edwards.

“On the bathroom floor in front of the washbasin, there was a puddle of water.”.

“Which means the killer washed up. Nothing unusual about that”.

“True, but it could also indicate the end of a sexual act. If so, then that could be considered to be unusual”.

“Hmm. Good thinking. I think I'll have the Tomato Beef tonight”, said Edwards as he picked up his scotch and soda.

Chapter Two

Wallace stood in the dark, combination den and office of his condo looking out through the glass pane door that led to the balcony.

From that vantage point he had an excellent place to watch the fireworks as they were shot out over the boardwalk and ocean. It was the fourth of July and both the tourists and residents were out in force, most lining the rails of the wooden walkway and some on the beach, all wanting to see and enjoy the show of pyrotechnics. It was Friday and if nothing happened that required him being called in for duty he was off for the weekend.

As he watched the lighted explosions in the night sky his memory went back to his days when he was a patrolman. Then, working on the Fourth of July meant a twelve hour shift. They would then direct traffic before and after any parade. If there was a parade they patrolled the perimeter. If there wasn't then they walked through the crowd maintaining order. When his mind returned to the present he marveled at the ability of the pyrotechnic manufacturers to create colorful displays in the night sky. He watched until the very end of the presentation and when it was over he walked to the floor lamp and turned on the light.

He noticed that it was ten P.M. And that meant it was time for the news. After turning on the television Wallace took a seat in his leather recliner, pushed the side lever stopping when he achieved a comfortable position. The evening news came out of Philadelphia which meant that he had to endure what were meaningless events, meaningless to him at least. Still, as an avid baseball and football fan he tuned in hoping to hear something new about the Phillies or Eagles. As usual there was nothing to report. Not pleased with the broadcast, he turned off the lamp and walked through the dark condominium into his bedroom. He pulled back the covers and slid beneath them and tried to sleep. It was a fitful sleep at best and at two A.M. On the morning of July 5, 1975 he was wide awake.

At two A.M. On the morning of July 5, 1975, Florence Alberson stood in her bedroom at apartment 1219 Garwood Village. She was still nude after having made love and she smiled as her lover standing behind her enveloped her by placing a bare arm across her chest. She closed her eyes as lips kissed her neck then moved to her ear lobe. Then, her eyes opened wide and a scream refused to leave her throat as the point of a knife penetrated her left kidney. In agony she felt the instrument being removed then felt the sharpness of the blade as it moved across her throat from left to right. As the artery in her neck was severed and shock came from the pain in her kidney she began to lose consciousness and slowly collapsed to the floor. Florence Albertson's killer stood over her and smiled.

Wallace stood on the concrete porch at 1219 Garwood Village. He looked at his wristwatch noting the time to be eleven seventeen A.M. He wrote that fact in his notepad then entered the living room passing uniform and plainclothes police officers. Seeing a Police Sergeant he motioned to him. “Yes sir?” said the Sergeant.

“Instead of standing in here and getting in the way get outside and if nothing else keep the damn press away from the doorway”, ordered Wallace.

Stiles walked out of the bedroom and finding the Captain went to him. “Looks like the same guy. Same M.O., a stabbing and then slicing the throat”.

“What do we know about the victim?”

“Florence Alberson, Caucasian female, age fifty. She works part-time as waitress at the Wonder Garden around the corner from here. She's divorced, is the mother of two children both live out-of-town. Myers is trying to get their address so they can be notified.”

“Good, is Campo here?”

“Yes sir”.

“Alright let me see the body”, said Wallace as he walked into the bedroom. When he entered he saw the nude body laying face down. He stood looking, but at the same time making mental notes.

“Who found the body?” asked Wallace.

“A woman next door in 1221. She was out of bread came here, knocked on the door. When there was no answer she figured Florence was in the shower so she opened the door and walked in. She called and when there was no answer walked into the bedroom and found the victim”.

“And, who is the woman next door?”

“Alice Williams”.

“My next question Frank is this. Who touched the body first?”

“I can't say Captain. I was told the uniformed patrolmen found the body”

“Find them, get their names and badge numbers. The way the body is laying face down it had to be moved in order to see the throat wound. They disturbed the crime scene. Better that we report that fact now, instead of looking like a bunch of assholes in court later”.

Wallace then walked into the bathroom. He looked at the floor finding a small puddle of water in front of the washbasin. He found the sink, spotlessly clean. Seeing Sergeant Campo he called to her. “June this is just like the last one. I want that water collected he said, pointing to the wet floor”.

“No problem Captain”, said Campo.

“What did you find in the water from the crime scene at 1414?”

“Ivory soap”.

Turning back to Stiles Wallace asked, “Did we get a time of death?”.

“The coroner established it at between two and three A.M.” said Stiles.

“Is there a telephone here?”, asked Wallace.

“In the living room”, Stiles answered.

“Has it been dusted?”.

“I don't know”.

“June? Have your people dusted the telephone for prints?”, asked Wallace.

“Not yet”.

“How long will it be?”

“You have a choice Captain. The water on the bathroom floor or the telephone. Which is more important to you?”, answered Campos.

“Right now, the telephone”.

Sergeant Campo walked into the living room carrying a field finger print kit. She stood in front of a small end table that held the traditional, black, rotary dial telephone. She opened the kit, removed a glass vial of white powder and dusted the entire phone. Then using the clear lifting tape, removed several latent prints. “I'm finished Captain”, she said.

“Thank you”, said Wallace as he wiped the receiver with his handkerchief. He then dialed the number of the city morgue. When Doctor Edwards answered, Wallace said, “Doc, I've got another, just like the last one. When you get the body check it for semen. Let me know what you find”.

“No problem. I'll call you at home”.

“Good by”.

When the Captain was finished making his call Stiles asked him, “Why the interest in semen?”

“Frank, from what you know of the two cases, is the killer a male or female?”, asked Wallace.

“I'd say male”.

“Based on what evidence?”

Frank Stiles stood silently thinking, trying to remember what information they had that would directly indicate that the murderer was a male. “None Cap. None”.

“Exactly, that's why I'm looking for semen”.

Later that evening Wallace received a telephone call from Doctor Edwards. “I ran all the tests, just as I did in the Fisher case. There is no sign of any semen. Other than that death was caused by asphyxiation when the trachea was severed.”

“I figured that”, said Wallace.

“Any idea of who or why?”, asked Edwards.

“Right now the only idea I have is that there is a potential serial killer loose in Nautilus Beach”.

“If that's true then the killer is one sick son of a bitch”.

“Yeah, but right now, that doesn’t tell me anything that I don't already know”.

“No ideas? No thoughts?”

“Plenty of thoughts, no ideas”, answered Wallace.

“What thoughts?”

“There has been no signs of forced entry, therefore the killer appears to have been invited into the apartments. There are signs that a sexual situation either occurred or was about to occur. The killer washes after the murder indicating that there was either blood on their hands or body and at the same time a puddle of water on the bathroom floor in front of the washbasin could be the result of the killer washing their genitalia”.

“Interesting, but why Garwood Village?”

“Garwood Village is a housing project for the low economic class. Included in the residents are many single parent mothers. women seeking companionship whether it is male or female. After living every day in abject poverty, facing over due bills, trying to put food on the table and tending to one or more kids a social life, no matter how short it is, to them is a relief, an escape from the present”.

“I understand that, but there has to be a connection”.

“Well if there is I haven't found it yet”, said Wallace.

“There are two other housing projects in town, Sidney Arms and Bay Front Village. They have the same conditions as Garwood Village. Why hasn't the killer struck in the other two projects?”, asked Edwards.

“I don't know, but thanks for bringing that fact to my attention”.

“You're welcome”.

On Monday morning Captain Robert Wallace forced his way through the crowd of newspaper and television reporters that lined the hallway leading to his office. With each group he passed he answered their questions with, “No comment!”. He entered his office and took a seat at his desk. Within minutes the rest of the Major Crime Squad came into his office. Carol Myers carried two white paper bags, one containing Styrofoam cups coffee and tea the other donuts and a buttered muffin. Each person selected their choice with Wallace choosing the traditional lemon dough-nut. Finally, Stiles walked to the large chalkboard and drew four interlocking squares. “This represents Garwood Village. As you can see it takes up four city blocks. The outer apartments, those with a one thousand address are located on the streets, such as Edna fisher who lived at 1414 and Florence Alberson, who lived at 1221. After one passes the apartments numbered in the one thousand, next come the subdivisions. Each subdivision has a court yard with the apartments built around it. For instance, the next address for the court yard apartments would be 2000. And so it goes until you enter the fourth and last court yard subdivision which is 4000. does everyone understand?”

Everyone nodded their head.

“Good, what we know right now is that the two murders occurred in the one thousand section, in those apartments located on the street. This could and I emphasize could mean that the killer blended in with any pedestrians when he entered the apartment and did the same upon leaving. In short, the killer did not want to risk the chance of being seen or heard in the court yards”.

“So what you are inferring, is the killer selects the victims because of the location of their dwelling?”, asked Wallace.

“Yes sir”.

“Possible, but unlikely. I would go along with your theory had there been signs of a break in or forced entry. There is nothing to suggest that a struggle took place. Both women were found nude and in their bedroom. Their clothes were neatly placed. To me that's an indication that the victim knew the killer and was invited in. At the same time the Sidney Arms and Bay Front Village housing projects were built by the same contractor and are identical except for the color of the exterior. Yet, and I emphasize the word yet, no attacks or as a matter of fact no crimes or incidents have occurred at either of the other places. I believe that there is a connection between the killer and Garwood Village”. Wallace explained.

“It seems to me that you both have a point”, said Myers

“I'm glad that you see it that way Carol. What I want from you is to go to Garwood Village and talk to the occupants. See what you can learn about both victims. Do they date? Are they promiscuous? Do they drink or use narcotics? Find out as much as you can about them. Then, talk to the superintendent. I want to know of any incidents usual or unusual that have taken place in the past year”.

“Yes sir, got it”.

Turning to Detective Mckenna, Wallace said, “Tom, go to Communications, check the radio logs for, let's see, for the past two years. I want you to look for any calls to Garwood Village. Give me the nature of the call and the results. Also if any names do appear, list them”.

“No problem, Captain.”

“Frank? You and I are going to spend the day going over case files. We'll be looking for any case containing either a sex related incident or anything weird.”

“Practically everyone we deal with is weird”, Stiles replied.

“Yeah, but let's hope someone wrote down names. OK. All of you get going. Frank, I'll be with you when I'm finished meeting with the press. On your way out send in Mary Wagner”.

Robert Wallace was writing notes for the case when Mary Wagner walked into his office. She took a seat and looked at him. He looked at her, but didn't speak.

“Well, is this a personal or professional meeting?”, she asked.

“As far as I'm concerned it can be either. As you know I have to talk to the press and the way I do it is to give you the information first, then it's up to you to do what you want with it”, Wallace replied.

“I know. That's how we met. We were together for a while, dinners, dancing, trips, we even made love under the stars in Tobago.*(Azreal) Then, for some reason, you dumped me.”

“I told you the reason. You're twenty-two. I'm forty-two. At my age you'd be hitting your peak and I'd be running out of gas. You would want children. At age fifty I wouldn't be in good enough shape to toss a baseball or football to a boy ten years old. I'd make a lousy father. You deserve much better than me”.

“That should have been my decision to make, not yours.”

“Sorry, looks like this meeting is going to be professional after all. Ask your questions.”

Perturbed and giving Wallace an angry look, Mary Wagner quickly opened her notebook and taking her pen in hand asked, “Is it true that both victims had their throats cut?”

“Yes, in addition to being stabbed.”

“Were the women raped or sexually abused?”

“So far we have no evidence that either woman was attacked sexually”.

“Do you have any idea why these women were killed?”

“If you mean do we have a motive, as yet the answer is no”.

“How did the killer gain entry. Did he break into the victims apartments?”

“There is no sign of a break in and by using the word he you are assuming that the killer is a male. We don't know the sex of the killer at this time”.

“Well, one would assume that since both victims were female and found in the nude that the murderer is a man”.

“Now you see, that's the fallacy of the press and news reporters, assuming. When you assume you are in fact generally creating the news instead of reporting the news. Could it be possible that the women were killed by a female? Could it be possible that the killer is a lesbian? Could it be possible that there were more than one killer? Could it be possible that the second murder was a copy cat crime committed by another attacker? You see there are many, many assumptions. However, I don't deal with assumptions. I deal in evidence and hard facts”.

“Very well Captain Wallace, tell me, just how much evidence and hard facts do you have?”

“Now you see that's a loaded question. If I tell you that I have plenty of evidence, you in turn will ask the question: when will I make an arrest? On the other hand, if I say that I have insufficient evidence you can and will question my competence.”

“You use to talk to me off the record”.

“That's when you were a cute cub reporter”.

“ What am I now in your estimation?”

“ Oh, you're still cute, but now you're seasoned. You've been corrupted by those you work with. Now, it's anything for a story regardless if it's half bullshit or if it's hurtful to someone or anyone”.

“I don't know what you're talking about?”

“No? How about this? Last year my squad arrested Jose Guzman for statutory rape. The victim was a kid thirteen years old. Even though she consented, believing that she was in love it was still a crime. At the time of the arrest, your newspaper printed the fact that since the person was a minor and a victim of rape the Nautilus Beach Press would protect the identity of the individual. Does that sound familiar?”

“Yes, that's standard procedure”.

“Ah, yes. Then, your paper went on to say in print, The victim, a girl of thirteen who attends Nautilus Beach Junior high School and resides in the Chelsea section of Nautilus Beach is expected to testify in court”.

“What's wrong with that?”

“Well, for one thing, although there are probably two or three hundred thirteen year old girls attending Nautilus Beach Junior High School I'm pretty damn sure that there are less than six that live in the Chelsea section of the city. Your paper should have just put a printed sign on her that read, It's Me! I'm The One. Protect the identity of the individual, my ass!”

“Listen Wally, I didn't write that article, so don't blame me for someone else who did”.

“I'm not blaming you. I merely point out the fact that in all probability the piece was written that way just to sell papers”.

“Reporters have editors, just like you have a Chief”.

“ Yeah, yeah, I've heard it all before. Sorry. I really don't want to report this, but it's my job. Funny how the so called big story is always on the front page, but the retraction is lost in the want ads”.

“I can see that we're getting no where. You asked me in to give me and my newspaper information on the Garwood Slasher. What do you want to tell our readers?”

“So now you put a label on the killer. That should increase circulation. The Garwood Slasher, makes chills go up and down your spine, doesn’t it?”

“How close are you in making an arrest for the past two murders in Garwood Village?”, she asked.

“We're making progress”.

“What kind of progress?”

“We have important evidence”.

“Would you like to elaborate on that statement?”

“No. What I would like to do is to tell your readers that we have set up a hot line at 609 592 0808 for anyone who has information that will aid in the arrest and conviction of the perpetrator of these crimes Just call that number. We have that line operational twenty-four hours a day and you do not have to identify yourself when you call.”

“That's it? That's what you call co-operating with the press? All you are doing is running an ad in our newspaper. We should charge you the going rate for advertising”.

“Well Miss Wagner, that's it for the day. Feel free to share the information I gave you with the other members of your profession. I am sure that by tomorrow morning the public will not only have the chance to read your column but also have the opportunity to read the editorial about the Nautilus Beach Major Crime Squad and its arrogant commanding officer”.

“Oh, you can be sure of that Robert”.

“Good, are there any other questions?”

“Yes, and this is off the record. Will you call me?”

“We'll see”.

After Mary Wagner left his office, Wallace opened one of the two files on his desk. He made a notation listing the date and time that he had met with the press, knowing that eventually, editors and station managers would start complaining to the Director of Public Safety and the Chief of Police about the lack of co-operation between the commanding officer of the Major Crime Squad and the media.

As he closed the file the telephone on his desk rang. He answered it. “Major Crime Squad, Captain Wallace”.

“Robert?”

“Hello Doc”.

“I was just going over my paper work on the two victims. At the time of the autopsy I was able to extract enough blood to run several tests, one of which was blood alcohol”.

“And?”

“And, for your information and for what it's worth Edna Fisher had a blood alcohol reading of 08. Florence Alberson had a reading of .12”.

“So what are you telling me?”

“It seems that both women had been drinking the night they were killed”.

“Interesting. We didn't find any booze in either apartment”.

“Is there a bar in the neighborhood?”

“You know Nautilus Beach. There's a bar on every corner”.

“You might want to check them out”, said Edwards.

“I will Doc, thanks. I'll talk to you later”.

“Bye”.

Chapter Three

A crisp breeze came in off of the ocean on the evening of Friday, October 31, 1975. Hundreds of costumed children, some running others walking carried an assortment of containers. Some had the traditional paper shopping bag, others the store bought, decorated kind or plastic jack o' lanterns and then there were those that carried cloth sacks, such as old pillow cases. It was Halloween and the children of the tenements, like those in other neighborhoods went door to door seeking candy and fruit and at the same time showed off their costumes to their elders for the festivity.

At nine o'clock that evening Amanda Kinshoffer looked at the small bowl holding a few candy bars. These were what was left after it appeared that this Halloween was drawing to a close. The candy would not go to waste, she would eat them herself. She pulled back the curtain on the front room window, peeked out and not seeing any children walked to the front door and flipped the wall switch shutting off the porch light. As she turned to go to the kitchen there was a knock on the door. “Who's there?”, she asked.

“Trick or treat?”

“Oh, wait a minute. Halloween is over. You should be home by now!”, said Amanda as she opened the door.

Amanda's eyes opened wide as she felt the knife penetrate her abdomen. Then, they glazed over as the knife point punctured her aorta. She was dead in less than three minutes.

At nine thirty five on the morning of November 1, 1975 Captain Robert Wallace approached the apartment of eleven seventeen, Garwood Village. As he did he saw Detective Myers seated on the top step of the porch. Frank Stiles stood at the porch railing. Wallace took a look at Carol Myers noticing the gray, ashen, complexion of her face. Looking at Stiles he asked, “What's wrong with her?”

“She's sick to her stomach. It's the first time that she's seen a mutilated body”, said Stiles.

“So, the body has been mutilated”.

“Yep, how many feet of small intestine does the human body hold?”, asked Stiles.

“About twenty-three feet. Why?”

“Because who ever killed this woman pulled out about twenty feet of her intestines and tried to line the hallway with them”.

“Alright, let me see what we have”, said Wallace letting Stiles lead the way.

Wallace walked down the short hallway deliberately avoiding the trail of white intestines on the floor. Entering the single bedroom he saw the milk white nude body of a woman laying upon a blood soaked bed. The eyes were closed, the body cavity had been cut open. Walking closer to the bed the Detective Captain stood studying the corpse. “The throat has been cut, but not like the others. In this case the carotid artery is still intact. To me this more or less indicates that the killer knew that the victim was dead before slicing the pharynx. The question is, why is there a change in method? OK. Tell me what you know of the victim”.

Stiles opened a small notebook and read his notes aloud. “The victim is Amanda Kinshoffer, a Caucasian female, age sixty. She has resided at this address since nineteen fifty-eight. She is unemployed, on welfare and as far as we know has no next of kin”.

“Then I guess it is safe to say robbery wasn't the motive. The killer seems to becoming more violent, more ferocious. Could be who ever it is, was agitated last night. Do we have a time of death?”, asked Wallace.

“ The coroner said between ten and eleven P.M.”

“Even the time is different”.

“What do you make of that Cap?”

“Hard to say. It could be a copy cat crime or they are trying to throw us off. From the look of the victim I'd say the son of a bitch is not only crazy, but also angry”, said Wallace as he walked into the bathroom. He looked at the floor in front of the wash basin. It was dry. Walking to the shower stall he pulled back the heavy plastic curtain. He looked at the shower walls, then the floor. “Where's Sergeant Campo?”

“She's on the way Cap”.

“She should be here now”, said Wallace.

“Hey Cap. It's the weekend, her day off. Cut her some slack.”

“Yes, you're right. When she gets here have her take samples from the shower floor”.

“Anything else?”

“Yeah, when Myers comes out of the shock she's in, send her home. She's not worth a damn here today”.

“Remember, this is her first case where she saw a mutilated body”, said Stiles.

“I am remembering it. I'm also going to send her to autopsy after autopsy until the sight of a dead body, no matter how putrefied or mutilated no longer bothers her. She's too good of an investigator to lose because of a weak stomach”.

Wallace walked back into the living room. “Who did you talk to this morning?”, he asked.

“The woman next door. Her name is Mildred Benson. She has lived next door to Miss Kinshoffer since nineteen sixty five.”.

“Does the Kinshoffer woman have any history of drinking, or bringing men home to spend the night?”

“No. It seems the victim only left the apartment either to shop or go to church”.

“Strange. Very strange. The other two victims had a history of drinking on the weekends. They also liked male companionship, Now, we have a victim who was completely different from the others, introverted and religious”.

As he did every year, Robert Wallace joined Doctor Manfred Edwards for Thanksgiving dinner at the Nautilus Beach Country Club. As they waited to be served Edwards took a sip of his scotch and soda and looked at his friend seated across from him at the table. “I see that you are deep in thought. It must be the three murders that is on your mind”, said Edwards.

“Yeah, and the problem is I'm no further along in an attempt to solve them”, Wallace replied.

“And that frustrates you?”

“You're damn right it does”.

“Let me remind you that this isn't your first homicide investigation. You've been down this road many times. Then all of a sudden a light goes off in your head and you solve the case. This is the same as the last case and the one before that and on and on”.

“No, in the other cases I at least had ideas, opinions, a place to start from. With these cases, I've got nothing”.

Edwards took another sip of his drink. Placing the glass on the table he leaned back in his chair looked at Wallace and said. “I might be able to help you. A very, very, good friend of mine is the leading Forensic Psychologist in Australia. If you can put everything you have on these homicides on an audio cassette I might be able to get her to listen to it and at least give you a profile of the killer or killers”.

“Her? Your very, very, good friend is a woman?”

“Yep, and a damn pretty one at that”.

“Why you old, sly, son of a bitch. You've been holding back on me all of these years”, said Wallace.

“Holding back nothing. It was none of your business”.

“Alright, you old bastard open up. Tell me about this very, very, good friend”.

“Well, there's nothing really to tell. When World War Two started I joined the Navy. I went to Pensacola, Florida for flight training. I was going to be a hot shot Navy carrier pilot. Instead I ended up as an ensign assigned to a P.B.Y. Squadron. PB represented Patrol Bomber and the Y meaning the manufacturer. Eventually, I ended up in Perth, Australia flying Catalina's out of a place called Crawley. Most of the time we flew cargo to either other parts of Australia like up north or escorted convoys coming into port. Actually it was good duty. So, good that liberty meant days off at the beach, or at the officers club. Mostly it meant meeting the Australian women. At the same time I began to think of what I wanted to do after the war. It was then that I decided I wanted to be a doctor.”

“One day, off duty and living at the University of Western Australia which had been turned into the Bachelor Officers Quarters I wanted to see the library there and read some medical text books, just to see for myself how hard a medical curriculum would be. It was in the library that I met Sharon Marshall. She was enrolled at the university studying psychology, but during the war had joined the Australian Navy as a Liaison Officer between the Australian and U.S. Navy. We sort of hit it off. The next thing we knew we were together whenever we were free, her from work, me from duty. Finally, January came and she was free for two weeks. I got leave and we went to Rockingham. Her aunt had a home there but was away serving in the RANNS. That was the Royal Australian Navy Nursing Service. So, Sharon had the key and we had the house for two weeks in January, nineteen forty-three. We had the house, the beach and walks along Mangles Bay. Rationing was in effect, but I was able to purchase, steaks, coffee, butter flour and sugar from the PX(post exchange) on the base. That meant that for those two weeks we ate better at home than if we had gone out to restaurants. We did go out dining and to a couple of clubs at night so we could dance. Those were the days of dance bands. There was Tommy Dorsey, Glenn Miller and Artie Shaw. Rock and roll was years away. In those days when you danced you took the girl in your arms and held her. Even though the war was on we had the big band sound on records.”

“Two weeks went by like two minutes. By that time I was in love. Hell, I even proposed. Guess what? She turned me down. She loved being an Australian more than me. Let me explain. She was smart enough to know that me being a Yank I would never give up living in the United States and settle in Australia. She felt the same way about leaving Australia for America. So, when the war ended we parted. I came home used the G.I. Bill to go to college, enrolled in the University of Pennsylvania and eventually became a doctor, specializing in pathology. Sharon continued her education at the University of Western Australia and got her doctorate and specializes in forensic psychology.”

“For the past thirty years we have corresponded back and forth with me always promising that one day I would return to Australia and when I did we would meet again. Well, guess what? The Australasian Division International Academy Of Pathology will meet between January nineteenth and the twenty-third in Perth, And, you can bet your ass I'm going to be there.”

“At the same time I will be with Sharon and after I make up for thirty years of lost time with her I'll ask her to listen to your tape”.

“ I appreciate that Doc”, said Wallace.

“While I'm at it I've told you some of my past. Now I'll tell you my plans for the future. If she'll have me I plan to propose again. This time I will settle and live in Australia. I've got twenty five years in the job here. That means I can take my pension tomorrow. So, I can retire and live there collecting my pension. Or, I can take the exams and become a practicing physician in Rockingham”.

“You'd do that?”, asked Wallace.

“Yep. Hell I'm fifty-seven years old. What do I have? An old house with a shaggy old cat. A cleaning woman who comes in three days a week and you. In Rockingham I'd have maybe a wife or at least a friend to spend the rest of my life with and most of all someone I care for. If I don't, I might end up like you and damn if I want that”.

“Thanks a lot. When do you plan on leaving?”

“Right after Christmas. Why?”

“A couple of reasons. First, I have to record on tape all that I have in the files. Second, and most important is the fact that this killer has struck just about ninety days a part. However, I can't count on that. I figure that for the Halloween murder the killer used the presence of people on the street enabling who ever, the ability to move from the street to the apartments. My guess, and I hope I am wrong is that the next murder will occur either in December or January. Christmas Eve or New Years Eve are two dates that present opportunity with people either delivering presents or out celebrating the New Year. If it's New Years Eve you'll be in Australia and I won't have you here to listen to my ideas”, said Wallace,

“Right now my plan for News Years Eve is to hopefully celebrate a new life. No disrespect Robert, but if there is another murder either at Christmas or New Years, I'm still going to Australia. The county also has a medical examiner. He can help you”.

“Yeah, you're right Doc. Go, enjoy yourself. Ask that woman to marry you. I wish you all the luck in the world. And, if both of you have time, see if she can give me a profile of the killer”, said Wallace as the waiter brought them their turkey dinners.

“I said I would. It's the least I can do for you, knowing that I won't be solving your cases when I retire”.

“Oh, it is you that solve my cases. I still can't see you sitting on your ass drinking a beer while cheering on an Australian football team”.

“If I do it will be for the Rockingham Rams”, said Edwards.

“Still, they're not the Philadelphia Eagles”, Wallace replied.

“No they're not. The Rams win”.

On December twenty-eight, nineteen seventy five, Robert Wallace stood in the Philadelphia International Airport concourse of United Air Lines. He walked to the large plate glass window and watched the 747 lift into the air carrying Manfred Edwards towards Los Angeles. When the airplane was out of sight Wallace turned and walked away heading for the escalator . He now faced the hour ride back to Nautilus Beach alone. Somehow he welcomed the solitude. Riding alone would give him the opportunity to think, to run the memory of what little facts and evidence he had in relation to the three murders. “Evidence be damned”, he thought to himself as he stepped off of the moving steel steps and headed for the parking garage. “What I need to know is what makes this bastard tick. Is it a he or a she? What's pissing this sick son of a bitch off to the point that they want to kill and kill only women in Garwood Village”?

 

Doctor Manfred Edwards felt the air pressure in the cabin change as his ears began to open and close as the Quantas Airline he was on turned and began to come in low for a landing. Curious, he looked out through the small thick, glass in the window by his seat. Looking down he gazed upon Perth, Australia for the first time in over thirty years. Looking through the clouds he saw the Indian Ocean, then the shoreline and the docks in the bay. It was the same bay that years ago he took off and landed the U.S. Navy PBY he was to pilot during the war. The Quanza aircraft then flew over the oil refinery and storage area situated on filled marshland. This was either new to him or a place that he did not remember. Then looking forward he saw first the outline of the city of Perth, then the houses, the homes, the buildings. Then, there was the screeching sound the aircraft tires made as they touched the concrete landing strip along with the jolt as tons of steel and aluminum contacted earth. The sounds of jet engines increased as the pilot slowed the plane as it began to taxi to the assigned gate. Edwards was again in Perth and she would be waiting for him. His heart began to pound as he stood like the others waiting patiently to disembark.

Manfred stood enduring the long procedure of having his baggage checked by customs after showing his passport and passenger card required by Australian Immigration. As he did he turned his head from time to time looking out into the concourse looking for Sharon. A slight panic feeling came over him. He suddenly realized that she would not appear as the last time he saw her. Thirty years had probably changed them both. He was no longer the tall, slim, Navy officer she once knew and made love with. Now, he was the tall, be speckled doctor with the stomach bulge. Still, he searched for her even though his attention was interrupted by the immigration officer asking him question after question. Finally, he was cleared and after closing his suitcase he picked it up off of the examining table and walked out into the large concourse. Standing near the area separated by maroon velvet ropes stood a woman with a smile on her face. He was right. She too had changed. At age eighteen she had had long, black hair that either draped over both shoulders or hung down her back. Now, at age fifty five although still dark, with only a few gray hairs her hair was cut short with soft waves, appropriate for a woman in her fifties and a professional psychologist. At five feet four inches tall she was still slender. The only wrinkles he could see were under her eyes, a result of years of enjoying the outdoors in the sunlight.

Manfred walked up to her and set his suitcase and shoulder bag on the floor. He knew what to say, but he didn't know what to do. Should he take her in his arms and kiss her? That's what he wanted to do, but after all these years was it appropriate?

“Hello Manny. How was your flight?”, asked Sharon, breaking the silence between them.

“Between Hawaii and Brisbane? Long. From Brisbane to Perth? Quite nice. How are you Sharon? My, you're still as beautiful as the last time I saw you”.

“How nice of you to say that. However, for a man who thirty years ago told me of his love and has repeated it time and time again in his letters to me would, one would think, take me in his arms and kiss me”.

“I thought you'd never ask”, said Edwards as he held her in his arms and kissed her. After the kiss he still held her close. Enjoying the feel of her in his arms and the smell of her hair, remembering those same feelings thirty years ago. Finally, he released her. “How have you been?”, he asked.

“Just fine, busy at times and tired, but it is a good tired. I enjoy my work. Now, instead of standing here in the middle of the airport why don't we go to the car. You can ask all the questions you want on the drive home”, said Sharon.

As they made their way to the parking area they made small talk. Edwards asked questions about things that he remembered when he was last in Australia. Sharon answered with, “It's still there” or “They tore it down in nineteen fifty”. Finally she stopped beside a white, nineteen seventy five Holden Kingswood Sedan. “Here we are”, she said reaching into her pocketbook for her keys.

As Edwards waited for Sharon to open the trunk. He looked over the automobile. “Nice car. One thing's for sure, it's large and wide”, he said.

“I prefer a full size automobile, just as I prefer a Holden”, Sharon replied.

“And, may I say an excellent choice. You do know that the Holden is made by General Motors? What it really is, is a full size Chevrolet”, said Manfred.

“Here we go. You're doing it again”.

“Doing what?”, asked Edwards.

“Implying, that anything American is equal to or better than anything Australian. You did that thirty years ago and I think you did it just to annoy me”.

“If I am and if I did then I'm sorry”.

“You're forgiven. It's not your fault that you were born a Yank”.

Edwards laughed as he placed his luggage in the trunk of the car.

As Sharon drove on the Kwinana Freeway, Edwards looked out of the car window, seeing palm trees in the distance. “Ah, palm trees. I remember them. That's something that doesn't grow in New Jersey”, he said.

“Really? I've seen pictures of palms taken in America”, Sharon replied.

“If you did they were probably growing in Florida or California. New Jersey weather is too cold in the winter for palms to thrive”, Edwards explained.

“There's something that wasn't here when you were”, said Sharon, as she slowed down so he could take in the view.

“You're right. When did they build the golf course?”, he asked.

“Nineteen forty-seven”.

“Stop the car. Are they kangaroos I see on the fairway?”, he asked.

“Oh yes. At times they are a bother and we have to chase them out-of-the-way”.

“Do you play?”, he asked.

“Once in a while and badly I'm afraid”.

Sharon put the car in drive and proceeded on to her destination.

“Does your aunt still live at six Derwent Place?”, he asked.

“Amazing! You even remember the address, but no, she moved to Perth after she married. She sold the house”.

“How could I forget the address. I remember everything about those two weeks we had together. Do you?”

Sharon smiled, and said, “I remember that you took advantage of me. Me being a slip of a girl nineteen years old seduced by a Yank Navy officer”.

“As I recall, you wouldn't leave me alone that first night. I didn't get any sleep at all”.

“Sure blame me, the fallen woman”, said Sharon laughing.

Manfred rode quietly looking at the houses on the streets of Rockingham. When Sharon turned on to Malibu Road he began looking in earnest, searching for number sixty-eight, the address he had sent all of his correspondence to nearly over the past three decades. He smiled as Sharon drove into the paver brick driveway. There before him was a red brick single dwelling home with a tile roof. Manfred noticed the chimney, indicating a fireplace inside. The yard was immaculate. A manicured lawn, neatly trimmed shrubs and two large, blue, ceramic pots containing flowering plants were placed near the doorway.

Sharon shut off the ignition then turned and looked at him. “We're here. This is my home”, she said.

“My oh my. I remember that years ago you sent me a photograph of the place, it was in black and white. That picture didn't do your house any justice”.

“I vaguely remember that photo. It was taken years ago. I've made several improvements to the place since then. Now, I expect that it is the way I've always wanted it. Come, let's get your luggage and go inside”.

Edwards entered Sharon’s home. He stopped and placed his luggage on the white tile floor making sure it was out-of-the-way. Then, he stood looking and admiring the high ceilings and the smoked glass windows that went from floor to ceiling in both the living and dining rooms. As he stood there Sharon walked past him and entered the kitchen. Placing her pocketbook on the counter she opened it and dropped her car keys inside. “Are you hungry Manfred?”, she asked.

“No”, he answered.

“A drink perhaps. Do you still prefer scotch and soda?”

“Not until dark”, he replied.

“How about a beer?”

“Fosters?”

“Certainly'

“I'll pass”.

“Damn particular Yank”, she said as she walked into the living room.

“I think we have a lot of catching up to do Sharon”.

“Yes, we do. Let's go out on the patio. Right now the weather is ideal. Late spring is like that”.

Outside, they both took seats in lounge chairs then leaned back getting comfortable. “So tell me. After all these years why have you returned to Australia?”, she asked.

“Hell, I thought it was obvious. I came back for you”, he answered.

“You will have to explain what you mean by coming back for me”, she replied.

“Sharon, I love you. I've always loved you. Why else would I stay in touch with you all of these years?”

“I don't know Manfred, why?”

“I want you to be my wife”.

“We went all over this thirty years ago. Nothing has changed. I am an Australian and I won't leave.”

“Do you love me?”, he asked.

“Yes, I'm afraid I do”.

“Then let me tell you, there has been a change. I'm willing to live here with you for the rest of my life”.

“Oh My, you do come right to the point don't you?”.

“I don't see any reason to beat around the bush. This is a hell of a way to propose, fresh off of the airplane with my luggage still unpacked, but I'm asking you to marry me”.

“No, not until I'm sure you will be content here. Once I'm sure then my answer will be yes, but not until.”

“Can I at least let them know back home that we're engaged?”

“Yes, however, I will wait a while before I announce it here”.

“Great, now where do I unpack and where do you want to go for dinner?”

“You can unpack in the guest room and I'm not in the mood to dress for dinner, therefore if you don't mind, we'll eat home tonight”.

Chapter Four

At the stroke of mid-night the year nineteen seventy-six began. Manfred stood on the foreshore of Rockingham Beach. He took Sharon in his arms and gave her a long, passionate kiss. “Happy New Year beautiful”, he said.

“I hope it will be darling, for both of us”, she answered.

 

As there is a twelve hour difference from Western Australia and Trenton, New Jersey it was twelve o'clock noon in Nautilus Beach.

While Manfred Edwards held Sharon Marshall in his arms as fireworks exploded in the black, night sky, Captain Robert Wallace stood looking at the eviscerated nude body of another female murder victim.

The body lay on a blood soaked mattress, arms out to the side and the legs spread. The eyes were open and appeared to be staring at the ceiling. The woman's throat had been cut and like the others the incision had been made from right to left. The intestines had been removed, but instead of being pulled out and spread down the hallway, these had been removed and simply dumped on the bedroom floor next to the bed.

When he was finished examining the crime scene Wallace turned to Frank Stiles who had stood patiently waiting for his Captain to question him. “Alright, what have you got?”, asked Wallace.

“The victim has been identified as one Joan Aponte, a Caucasian female age forty-eight. She was an unemployed bartender collecting unemployment. She was last seen last night, New Years Eve at the Dude Ranch Bar and Grill. We found her party hat in the living room. And for further information this is the first hit the killer has made in the two thousand block of the Village.”

“I know and it pisses me off. I had the entire one thousand block staked out and the bastard got through and hit in the two thousand address. Did we get at time of death?”

“The coroner estimates it to be three o'clock this morning”.

“Alright, send McKenna to the Dude Ranch. See if he can find any witnesses who saw the victim in the bar last night and who if anyone she was with. Send Myers throughout the neighborhood and find out what we can about the victim”.

“I already assigned Myers to do that Cap. I'll send for McKenna”.

“Good and when Sergeant Campo arrives have her look for semen. Now that the city finally gave the department enough money for the ultra violet black light we are now in the twentieth century. At the same time there is a puddle of water on the bathroom floor. Have her collect it. She'll know what to do with it. As for me, I'll be back at headquarters reporting to the Chief and meeting with the press.”

 

Sunlight entered the master bedroom of sixty-eight Malibu Road, Rockingham, Australia. At the same time Manfred Edwards raised up abruptly from his sleep as a terrible sound came from outside. His quick movement woke Sharon who although still half asleep, asked, “What's wrong?”

“What the hell is that noise?”, he asked.

Sharon laughed, “It's just a kookaburra. Have you forgotten how they sound?”

“Yes, I guess I did. Noisy bastard ruined my sleep. Sorry for my waking you love”.

“It's time I was up anyway. I'll put the coffee on. What do you want for breakfast?”

“I don't know.”

“How about pikelets and bangers?”

Edwards sat on the edge of the bed. He searched his memory trying to recall just what pikelets were. Then, it came to him. “If they are the same as American hot cakes and sausage then the answer is yes. If they're not, then surprise me”, he answered.

“I can see it's going to be a lot of fun cooking for a Yank”, Sharon replied.

“Hey, I offered to take you out to eat”.

“Wouldn't make any difference. I'll have to read the menu for you”.

“Do I have time to shower and shave?”

“Yes, I have to mix the batter. Take your time”.

Dressed for the day Doctor Edwards took a seat at the kitchen table. When he did Sharon carried the coffee pot to the table and poured the beverage into his cup. “Do you want coffee whitener?”, she asked.

“Is that the same as artificial creamer ?”, he asked.

“Here we go again. And, you want to live in Australia. How many pikelets would you like?”

“I don't know. How big are they?”

“Suppose I make one as I usually do and you judge?”

“Sounds good”, said Manfred as he stirred his coffee.

“What would you like to do today”,she asked as she poured batter on to the griddle.

“That's up to you. What ever you have in mind.”

“I thought that perhaps you would like to see Mangles Bay again. We use to walk the boardwalk there”.

“Sounds good. Why don't we make a day of it. Do you still like the beach?”

“Yes”.

Sharon placed a large pikelet on his plate. He buttered it and looked for the maple syrup. “What do you need?”, she asked.

“Maple syrup”.

“I'm sorry I don't have any. We eat pikelets with yogurt or fruit”.

“Do you have fruit?”

“No. I'm so sorry”.

“Don't be. How about jam?”

Sharon walked to the pantry and removed a glass container then went to the table and handed the jar to Manfred. “This is all I have at the moment. Remind me when we shop to pick up maple syrup.”, she said.

Edwards looked at the label and read, St Balfour Pineapple and Mango Spread. “This is fine dear. Thank you”, he replied.

“You're welcome. We eat pikelets when they cool”.

“I guess that's why we're different. We call them hot cakes”.

 

Captain Wallace sat at his desk. He looked at the clock on the wall, seeing that it was almost four o'clock. He sat waiting, waiting for results any result. He wanted and needed information, reports from the detectives he had ordered out into the field. What did Myers learn? What did McKenna find out at the tavern? Has Sergeant Campo come up with anything new? Waiting without results aggravated him and he felt his temperament changing. Then, he heard footsteps in the hallway outside of his office. June Campo entered and sat down.

“Let me tell you something Captain. I want you to capture this son of a bitch. Every time I get set to enjoy a holiday this bastard kills someone”.

“Did you find anything?”

“Yep, at last. The black light revealed what appears to be semen”.

“I knew it. It had to be there”, said Wallace.

“Oh, it was there alright, right in the abdomen cavity where he opened her up”.

“What?”

“Yep. Looks like you have yourself not only a sick son of a bitch, but also a sexual pervert. I took several swabs for evidence. At least we now know the killer is a male and we will find out his blood type”.

“Just think, if we had the black light a long time ago we would be ahead in the investigations”.

“True, but what I intend to do is scan the sheets we took from the beds of the other two victims and see what we find. Hopefully, down the line, we'll get a match”.

“Did you get the water from in front of the wash basin?”

“Yes sir, I haven't had time to analyze it yet.”

“Take your time Sergeant, and thanks for the information”.

“You're welcome”.

When Campo left, Wallace wrote down the information she had given him. He then placed the handwritten note in the new file, entitled, “ Joan Aponte-Homicide-Case # 134700”.

 

As Manfred and Sharon walked to the Holden, Edwards said, “By the way while we're out I need a bathing suit if we're going to the beach while I'm here”.

“Fine, no sense in spending a fortune. We can stop at K-Mart”, Sharon answered.

“I didn't know that K-Mart was in Australia”, said Edwards.

“Oh yes, since nineteen sixty-nine I believe. We'll stop at the one in the Rockingham Shopping Center. It's on our way”.

Edwards walked to the passenger side door.

“Wouldn't you like to drive Dear?”, she asked.

“Not really, I can't get use to driving in the left lane”.

Sharon laughed as she got behind the steering wheel. “Now it looks like if you become a citizen here, I not only have to do the cooking, read the menu, but do all the driving. What will you do?”, she asked.

“Sit on my ass and say thank you. Then at every opportunity make love to the most beautiful woman in Australia.”

 

Detective Carol Myers sat in a chair glancing from time to time at her notes as she reported to Captain Wallace. “What I found by talking to the neighbors is that only a few women and one man actually knew the Aponte woman. Her maiden name was Bartlett and was originally from Philadelphia. She met and married a Puerto Rican man three years ago named Ernesto Aponte. He left her and went back to San Juan where he got a divorce. The word is that she began drinking because of it. With her being a bartender she was drinking free and between the amount she was consuming and the bar bills she neglected to collect she was fired. Since she worked at the Dude Ranch she told others that she planned on being with friends on New Years Eve. So, that's where she went”.

“Is that all?”, asked Wallace.

“Yes sir”.

“Good, very good. Take your time, type your report and give it to me. Once you do that you're free until tomorrow morning.”

“Thanks Cap”, said Myers as she left the office.

Wallace turned the high back, black leather chair around allowing him to look out through the window. In the distance he could see the slate colored ocean that matched the gray winter sky of Nautilus Beach, New Jersey . Watching the white capped waves breaking then rolling up on to the beach he wondered what Doc Edwards was up to in Australia. Each day Wallace anticipated information of a psychological profile from Doctor Marshall. Each day he checked the answering service on both his home and office telephone. Each day the message didn't come.

 

The sun was going down over Mangles Bay as Sharon and Manfred sat at their table at Sunsets Restaurant. Sharon sipped a glass of white wine while Edwards nursed a scotch and soda. They both studied the menu. “Do you see anything that you would like dear?”, asked Sharon.

“I'm considering having the paella de Marisco. The menu says that it contains prawns, calamari, mussels and Moreton Bay bugs, whatever the hell they are”, Manfred answered.

Sharon laughed. “To you they're spiny lobster tails”.

“Then why in the hell don't they call them that? Bay bugs my ass”.

Sharon continued to laugh. “And you are going to be an Australian”.

“That's right”.

As they talked a trio of musicians began to play.

“Do you remember that song Sharon?”, he asked.

“I recall the tune, but not the name”.

“That's Dahil Sa Iyo or Because of You. We danced to it at the Officers Club on Saturday nights”.

“Oh yes, it is lovely.”

“So are you”.

“It's none of my business, but what do you intend to do here. You mentioned retirement. Do you think you're ready for that?”, she asked.

“I don't really know. I do plan to register in order to practice.”

“You do know that you have to pass an exam, don't you?”

“So? Don't you think I'll pass? It's fifty questions, equal to what a graduating medical student would take”.

“Have you decided on the type of medicine you would like to practice?”

“I'm flirting with the idea of geriatrics. Originally, in medical school that was going to be my chosen field. But, somehow I drifted into pathology, probably because I feared making a mistake with a living patient. It was that or maybe because I'm too lazy”.

“Geriatrics is a good idea dear. We have elderly people in Australia”, Sharon said, teasing him.

“And, if I don't have any patients, I'll work on myself”, he responded.

“You still have the ability to remain in pathology”.

“Yes, but that means working for someone, a lab or hospital. I'm sort of tired of punching a time clock for some administrator. I think it's time I became my own boss”.

“Well, I'll leave those decisions to you. Now, I believe I will have the Tasmanian Salmon”, said Sharon as she closed the menu and placed it in front of her on the table.

Edwards looked at her, then said, “Well since you inquired about my future, how about you allow me to inquire about your past?”

“Such as? Are you looking to investigate me? Are you curious about my sex life? Was there someone else rather than you?”.

“I can see that it is going to be a lot of fun being married to a psychologist wondering that everything I say is being analyzed”.

“ I am very capable in separating my professional life from my personal life”.

“I'm sure you are”.

“Then what do you want to know?”

“You mention your professional life. Let's start there”.

“Fine. I am a Clinical Psychologist. From my practice I earn a very nice living. My specialty is Forensic Psychology. In that field I more or less assist the police or court in determining the mental state of the accused. At other times I concentrate on the origin, development and manifestations of mental or behavioral disorders”.

“Does that include profiling”. Asked Edwards.

“Yes, although I'm seldom asked to do that. Why?”

“A friend of mine is a Police Captain in charge of investigating homicides. When I left, there had been two murders. Both victims were women. Both lived in the same neighborhood. Both had their throats cut. He asked me to ask you if you could profile the killer?”

“Not by what you just told me. I need more information”.

“He put everything he knows about the cases on audio tape”.

“Interesting. Maybe when I'm finished making up for thirty years of lost loving, I'll take time to listen to it. Now, here comes the waiter. I'm famished”.

 

Sergeant June Campo entered the office of captain Wallace. In her hand she carried a manila file containing reports and photographs of results of recent test she had conducted. Wallace looked up at her from his desk. “Yes? Do you have something?”, he asked.

“Yes sir, a couple of things. I scanned the sheets from the Fisher case looking for semen and found nothing. I did the same with the Alberson case. Still nothing. However, I sent a sample from the Kinshoffer case where I thought we had found semen to the Franklin Laboratory. They confirmed that what we found was semen. At the same time they classified the blood type. Our killer has B negative. That means he is part of one and a half per cent of the population of The United States. It's not much, but it narrows it down for you and, the city owes the lab seventy five dollars”.

“Excellent. This is the first real lead we've had in this case. Thank you”.

Wallace called for Myers and McKenna. When they arrived he gave them their assignments. “Carol, I want you to go to the local blood bank. See if you can come up with anyone listed with them that has type B Negative blood. We're looking for a male with that kind. Tom, you get the hospital. Same thing, look for any possible donor or patient that gave or required that blood type. That will be difficult, due to confidentiality, but try”.

After the two detectives left Captain Wallace looked up to see Howard Stein standing in the doorway. “What do you want?”, asked Wallace.

“Information on the last murder. The word is that the killer is a male”, said Stein.

“When I'm ready to talk to the press. I'll let you know. Right now, no comment”.

“You might as well give me the story Captain. I'd rather say that Captain Wallace in co-operation with the Nautilus Press confirmed confidential information obtained by this reporter. You see, although you and your squad go around closed mouth, I have ways to get to those that don't. For instance, you found semen at the last crime scene. Want to tell me about it?”

Wallace got up from behind his desk and walked to the office doorway where the reporter stood. “Here's what I will do. Seeing you has caused a terrible taste in my mouth. I'm about to spit on that wall directly behind you. Right now I'm advising you that you are in the way. If you don't move and that means get the hell out of here I'll probably spit in your face. Now, what's it going to be?”

Stein, red in the face walked down the hallway.

The Captain closed the door and went back to his desk.

Sharon Marshall sat on her back porch sipping coffee as she listened to the recorded voice of Robert Wallace giving information on two murders that he was investigating. She heard the description of the housing unit, the apartments the victims were found in and the position and wounds to the bodies. She looked up as Manfred Edwards came out on to the porch. “Have you come up with anything?”, he asked.

“Not yet love. I wish he were here. It would be much better if I could question him on certain things.”

“Well, just between you and me, I'm glad he's thousands of miles away”.

“Why?”

“Because I would have to share time with you. I think that a wasted thirty years is enough for anyone, don't you?”

“Yes, thinking back on it we were both foolish. Just imagine what we gave up, what we could have had, careers, a family perhaps”.

“Fortunately we have each other now. Speaking of now what would you like to do today?”, he asked.

“Well we walked about yesterday, went shopping, bought your bathers, had dinner, came home, and made love. I think today could be a day of rest, or we could go to the beach”.

“It's up to you dear. My time is running short here. Soon I have to go back, file for my pension, sell the house, the car, apply for a visa and immigration. I would like to dip in the Indian Ocean one more time”.

“Then, it's off to the beach it is. I'll make some sangers and something to drink and put them in the esky”, she said.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Oh, sorry Yank, I said I'll make a couple of sandwiches and something to drink and put them in the cooler chest”.

“I see, eventually, I'll learn to know what you're talking about”.

“What would you like to drink?”

“What ever the Australian word for Pepsi Cola is”.

“Smart ass”, she said tossing a throw pillow at him. “Here we call it soda”.

“Remember all the Coke's we drank during the war? Coca Cola and beer that's about all there was to drink. Uncle Sam made sure we had enough”.

“You Yanks opened up hot dog and hamburger places. Your military had greater salaries than our boys I remember having to hide the bottles in the trash so my aunt's neighbors wouldn't see them”.

“We couldn't hide the aroma of steaks on the Bar B Q”.

“I told them it was Spam, just with a different sauce that imitated beef', Said Sharon.

“And we danced. We danced in the dark living room and on the back porch”.

“And in the bedroom. That's how you got me in there”, Sharon replied.

“Do you remember the song?”, he asked.

“Yes, Till Then. I still have it”

“Play it”.

“It's a bit scratchy after all of these years. That was 1944”.

“Play it dear”.

Sharon went to the phonograph and turned it on. Next, she carefully removed an old 78 rpm record from its jacket, placed it on the turntable, lifted the arm and needle and placed it on the turning. wax disk. As the words, “Till then, My Darling, Please Wait for Me”, came out of the speakers, She turned and looked at him. He came to her and gently took her in his arms and they danced, just as they had thirty years ago and once again, she had tears of happiness in her eyes.

Manfred held her close and whispered, “There's something I want to say to you”.

“And what's that dear?”

“Thanks for waiting”.

Doc Edwards stepped out on to the thin strip of Rockingham Beach. Behind him were the gray dunes with the remains of crushed, white shells and sparse vegetation. The bright sun shining on the water caused him to squint, even though he was wearing sunglasses. Through half closed eyes he saw the water near the shore. It was as clear as drinking water. He could see the sandy bottom and here and there were submerged rocks with dark green sea moss. Further out where the water was deeper it appeared to be dark blue. As Sharon spread the blanket on the white sand he looked in the distance seeing the grain terminal standing tall on the horizon. “Is that new Sharon?”, he asked pointing to the tall structure across the water.

“Yes, they started construction in nineteen sixty nine and it's still not finished, although they say it is. They built it to handle grain. Seems as though the railroads couldn't keep up with the demand”.

“Interesting. Well, let's see how warm the water is”, he said walking towards the bay.

“It's probably about twenty”, said Sharon.

“I hope you're talking about Celsius and not Fahrenheit”, Doc replied.

“Certainly. You idiot”

“Well, back home the ocean doesn't warm up until late July or early August. Then, it only gets to be seventy-two, seventy-five if you're lucky”.

“You go ahead dear. I'll just sit here and soak up the sun”, said Sharon.

Doc, as was his custom started off with a run towards the water. Entering, his feet splashed then he slowed as the water level reached his knees. Then in one quick move, he dived under a small. Incoming wave. He felt the slight shock of the cold water on his back, as skin warmed by the hot sun was instantly cooled. It was a familiar feeling, one that went back years, years when he as a boy he grew up on the beaches of Nautilus Beach. Each summer he was there everyday weather permitting, swimming, body surfing, riding the waves that crested far from shore. He and others rode them all the way to the beach. There, he would stand again and race out into the deep in order to catch another, hoping that it was larger than the last one he had taken to ride..

As a teenager his daily trips to the beach were for another purpose, girls. Each summer visiting teenage girls flocked to the beach in order to get their summer tan. The young men of Nautilus Beach considered it their sacred duty to meet and attempt to seduce these visitors. Unfortunately, if any seduction did occur it wasn't do to the attempts of Manfred Edwards.

Then the war came. Manfred Edwards enlisted in the Navy. He took the test, passed it and was sent to Pensacola, Florida for flight training. He earned his wings, hoped to be assigned to a carried fighter squadron but shipped out to the Pacific and then on to Australia where he flew PBY patrol bombers. Fortunately, he met Sharon.

Underwater, Doc opened his eyes then was amazed at the visibility. Some type of crab saw him. It raised it's claws as it hurriedly moved sideways out of harms way. Swimming further, pulling himself through the water Doc saw shell fish here and there. Then he felt the need to breath and he pushed himself to the surface. He stood, turned towards the beach and saw Sharon sitting with her arms across her knees. He waved, she raised a hand and waved back. He smiled then dived under the water again.

After a half an hour, Doc swam and then walked to the shore. When he got to where Sharon sat on the blanket she raised her hand holding a towel. He took it from her and dried himself.

“Well, how was it?”, she asked.

“Great. It's amazing just how clear the water is here”, said Doc.

“Hungry?”, she asked.

“I could eat”.

“I made chook excuse me, chicken sangers”.

“Fine, what's to drink?”

“Lemon juice”

“I'm assuming that's lemonade”.

“No, Lemonade is Seven Up”.

“Whatever, is it cold?”

“Yes”.

“Good I'll have what ever you either made in a pitcher or brought in a can or bottle”.

“Still a smart ass Yank, aren't you?”

“Smart enough to love you”.

“True, very true”, said Sharon with a laugh.

As he sat eating a chicken sandwich Doc Edwards took in the view again of the beach. Now, the bright sun beating down on the sand transformed it from a snow white into gold leaf. Beyond the small breaking waves that edged their way on to the shore he saw again the turquoise strip of water under white, powder puff clouds in the sky. Further away he saw the Norfolk Pines growing above the dunes. Then, he noticed the jetty jutting out into the water. “Do they fish off of that jetty?”, he asked.

“I don't know. I do know that one may fish off of the beach and you don't need a license”.

“Do you fish?”, he asked.

“Not since I was a little girl”.

“Fishing is one of my past times. I can teach you”.

“We'll see”.

“How about camping? Do you like the outdoors?”

“Yes, and that's where I want to keep it, outdoors”.

“You mean you've never slept outdoors in a tent, cooked over an open fire, hiked trails through the woods?”

“Certainly. I did that as a Girl Guide. We call it a bushwalk. I did those things when I was young, but I wasn't overly fond of it”.

“Well dear, I think I'll take another swim and if you're ready after that we can head home”.

“You just ate. Aren't you afraid of getting a cramp?”, she asked.

“That's an old wives tale. I'm more concerned about being bit in the ass by a great white shark, then I am of getting a cramp”.

“Oh to be sure, they are out there, but it's been years since anyone has seen one here”.

“That right? Have you read Jaws, by Peter Benchley? After you read that book you don't swim at night”.

“Go swim dear. I'll pack up and when your finished we'll go”.

Doc Edwards jogged down to the shoreline and entered the water. He swam out further from shore this time, needing the swim, needing the exercise. When he had enough he headed in and as he did he saw Sharon shaking the sand out of the blanket then she folded it. He walked up to her hugged her and laughed as his wet cold body touched her dry warm torso and she yelled, trying to get out of his grasp. “Bloody dill”, she said loudly.

While Sharon showered, Doc sat on the back porch, looking at the manicured lawn and the flowers in the garden. Here, near the end of January it was still summer, Back in New Jersey it was cold, damp, rain or snow, windy and usually overcast. New Jersey, he hated to go back, but he had to if he and Sharon were to have the life that he wanted for both of them. That life meant financial independence and in order to have that it meant retiring, collecting a pension, the sale of property and dissolving some stocks and bonds. Then, if everything went right, the opening and successful practice of medicine in Rockingham.

He heard the sound of running water stop. Sharon was finished showering. He would talk to her at dinner, tell her how he had to get back to what he had left and what he had to do at home.

 

Chapter Five

Robert Wallace read and re-read the telegram he held in his hand. I was from Doc Edwards. All it said was, “ARRIVING PHILA. ON UNITED FLIGHT 1452 FROM LA. STOP. PICK ME UP.STOP. EXPECT DELAYS. DOC”.

“Damn it, not a word about a profile. I was depending on him finding something I could go on. He better have something to tell me when I see him”, Wallace thought to himself. He stepped off of the escalator and entered the gate area for United Airlines then looked for arriving flight 1452. A small sign read, 'On time'. “That's bullshit”, He deliberated. Knowing he was early, Wallace took a seat in the waiting area, spotted a used newspaper two seats over and reached for it and picked it up. He then crossed his legs and began to read, starting with the sports section. Thirty five minutes later the United Airlines flight from Los Angeles landed then taxied up to Gate 4 where Wallace waited.

Wallace stood waiting watching the passengers coming through the gate doorway. Some carried carry on luggage. Others no baggage at all. He knew that Doc Edwards would have to go down stairs to the Luggage Claim to retrieve his suitcases, which in all probability would take another half hour. Finally, Robert saw him. He noticed that Doc had acquired a handsome tan on his trip making the man stand out in a crowd of pale faced travelers in early February. He waited patiently for the woman in front of Doc Edwards to pass by, then grabbed and shook the hand of his best friend. “Doc you old son of a bitch, it's good to see you”, he said.

`“Good to see you too. I have someone I want you to meet”, said Edwards as he walked slightly past Wallace and placed an arm around the shoulders of Sharon. “Robert, allow me to introduce you to Sharon Edwards, my wife”.

“Well, I'll be a horses ass! You did it! Congratulations Doc”. Turning to Sharon, Wallace said, “You were all he ever talked about before he left. I can see now why he wanted to go back to Australia.”

“Thank you. Needless to say, I''m glad that he did”.

“Is this your first time in the United States?”, asked Robert.

“Yes, you see I let him leave me and Australia thirty years ago. This time I decided to go with him just so I'd know that he's going back”.

“Well, let's get you luggage”, Wallace replied.

As he drove the four door Ford Maverick down the Expressway towards Nautilus Beach, Robert turned to Doc Edwards and said, “I guess you were too busy courting Sharon to get around to my needing a profile of this killer I have on my hands”.

“He did better than that Robert. He brought me along. I listened to your tapes. The result is that I have some idea of the killer. I still need to ask you some questions however”, said Sharon from the back seat.

“Let me bring you up to date. We now have evidence that the killer is a male”.

“What kind of evidence?”, asked Doc.

“Semen, along with a confirmed blood type, B negative”.

“That's a big step forward”, Doc Replied.

“But not enough. I know this guys a psycho just by the way he kills. I've got to know why, what he's thinking, how does he reason?”, said Wallace.

“All in good time. My wife has just landed and after a long tiring trip. Give her some time to rest and relax.”

Wallace glanced into the rear view mirror and saw that Sharon was peering out of the car window at the scenery. “As I mentioned Robert, I have several questions. I can see that you are anxious for answers. Nonetheless, I think it would be fair to both of us to wait a bit until we have a relaxed, professional setting, you as the investigator and myself as the profiler. I'm sure you agree”, said Sharon.

“Of course. Please excuse me, but right now I have three dead women and the public screaming for my head wanting results”, Wallace answered.

“You should be aware my love, that Robert as excellent investigator is also the most impatient son of a bitch that ever came down the pike”, said Doc.

Wallace changed the subject by saying, “Well, what do you think of America so far?”

“I've only seen two airports and this road. Where are we? New Jersey?”

“Yes”.

“Well, it at the moment appears cold, damp and gray and somewhat crowded. It feels strange to ride in the right lane of the roadway”.

“Now you know how I felt in Rockingham”, said Doc.

After arriving at Manfred Edwards home, Wallace helped by carrying in some of their luggage. When he entered he saw Sharon standing quietly in the living room looking at the rugs, walls, curtains and furniture. Not saying a word she then slowly walked into the dining room, then the kitchen. She turned and walked back into the living room. “Well, sweetheart, what do you think?”, asked her husband.

“I think that you were a bachelor too long.”

“I agree, but what's wrong with it?”, he asked.

“You can't really expect a woman to appreciate all leather furniture in the lounge room do you?”

“Leather lasts forever”, said Manfred.

“And it looks as though you've had it that long”, Sharon replied.

“I think it's a good time to check on the car. The battery is pretty old. Let's see if it starts”, said Doc.

“It had better. If you expect to eat today we have to go to the supermarket and shop”. Sharon replied.

“Can we at least unpack first?”, asked Doc.

“Yes, if you and Robert would like take away food for a late lunch”.

“And, just what kind of take away food did you have in mind?”, asked Edwards.

“You can go to either Maccers or somewhere where you can purchase a meat and salad roll. I'd like either”.

Doc Edwards could see the look of confusion on the face of Robert Wallace. “Let me translate for you Robert. What she said was, we can either go to MacDonalds or someplace where they sell submarine sandwiches”.

“It's not my fault that you two don't speak English”, Sharon responded.

“Tell you what dear. I'll check the car. The battery probably needs charging. I'll put on the charger then Robert and I will go get lunch. How's that?”

“Fine. While you're away I'll unpack”.

“ We'll got to the White House. They make the best subs in the city. What kind do you want?”, asked Doc.

“What are you getting”, she asked.

“A regular. To you that's Italian meats, cheese, onion, lettuce and tomato's usually with olive oil”.

“That's fine. Small of course”.

“That's a half”.

On Monday morning Wallace sat at his desk filling out a vacation card. He check it, then signed his signature, got up and walked down the hallway to the elevators. When he did he walked past the press room. Looking inside, he saw Mary Wagner seated in front of a typewriter. “Got a hot story?”, he asked.

“No. Actually I'm doing a follow up on an article I wrote six months ago”, she answered.

“Got time for a cup of coffee?”

“I can take time. Do you have something to tell me?”

“Yeah, but not about my cases. It's about you”.

“I wouldn't miss this for the Pulitzer”, she replied as she got up out of the chair.

“I just have to drop this off at the chief's office and we can go to Joe's, across the street”, he said as they entered the elevator car.

As they sat in the booth at the back of the restaurant Mary looked at him and said, “Well, this conversation is supposed to be about me. So, what's on your mind?”

“I'm planning a special dinner party for my best friend and his wife. I want you to go with me”.

“Why?”

“Why? Why do women always have to investigate every word, every invitation?”

“Probably because somewhere in their lives they've been hurt”.

“Here we go again. Now, I've got to hear about how I dumped you after coming back from the islands”. *Azreal

“You did Robert!”

“I wouldn't use the word dump”

“Then what would you call it?”

“A parting of the ways for your own good”.

“Bull! Here we go again. How you're too old for me. How I deserve someone my own age. How you're too old to raise a family. Guess what? That's up to me to decide. Maybe I like you being older than me. Maybe I'm one of those women that's not interested in having children. Did you ever ask? No”.

“I never thought to ask”.

“Also, I heard that you were in love with some private secretary”. *Gifts From The Kasbah

“Listen, I'm not asking you to marry me, just to go to dinner. What's your answer?”

“Yes, you son of a bitch, yes”.

“Good, I'll tell you when and what time”.

“Thank you. Can we go now?”

“No, not until I finish my coffee”.

“Well, while you're finishing it what can you tell me about the slasher?”

“I see you're like the rest of the media, making up names to go along with self invented news. To answer your question, nothing. Nothing is new”.

“You will tell me if something does occur?”

“You'll be the first to know”.

Robert Wallace pulled into the parking lot of the Glass Menagerie Restaurant and parked his Ford Maverick. He then walked to the rear of the building, knowing from experience that the front door was locked. Entering through the kitchen he acknowledged the kitchen staff that greeted him. He then walked to the private office of Manny Hoffman, the owner. Hoffman looked up in surprise. “Robert? Something wrong?”

“No Manny. I need a favor and I'd like to talk to you if you're not too busy”.

“I'm never too busy not to talk to you. What's on your mind?”

“Do you remember Doc Edwards?”

“Yes, a friend of yours isn't he?”

“Yeah, well the old bastard went and got married. He married an Australian girl in Australia. That means I wasn't there. So, now, I'd like to do something special for the bride and groom”.

“And, I'm guessing you want to do it here?”

“Right. I need a table for four”.

“What night?”

“Saturday”.

“No problem, we're booked, but I can squeeze you in”.

“Good, but there's more”.

“Shoot”.

“I'd like a toast from everyone to the couple with champagne”.

Manny Hoffman reached for his calculator on his desk. “The best way to go is by the glass. Judging by the number of patrons that should be in attendance that night, you're looking at a cost of, let's see, eight hundred and seventy five dollars. That's the best I can do Robert. The patrons will each get a glass of Caribbean Champagne. It's a cheap brand but good enough for a toast. Naturally, there will be a bottle of good stuff at your table”.

“Thanks Manny”.

“You're welcome. Anything else?”

“Yes, I'd like Bill Conover and his orchestra to play these two songs that night and right after the toast to play this one so the couple can dance.”

“No problem. It will be taken care of”.

“Thanks again Manny”.

“Thanks for your business”.

“Can I pay by check?”

“Certainly, the waiter will give you the bill”.

“Great...I'll see you Saturday night”.

“Later, Wallace went to his desk telephone and dialed Doc Edwards number. He waited, then heard, “Hello?”

“I don't want you. I called to talk to the good looking Edwards”.

“It isn't bad enough that you pestered me all of these years. Now you're going to start with my wife. What do you want?”

“A decision has to be made on an important issue and since you're married now you can't make any. Put your wife on the phone”.

“Hello Robert”, said Sharon.

“Since I wasn't at your wedding I would like you and Doc to be my guests at dinner Saturday night. It will be sort of a wedding dinner if it's alright with you.”

“Oh how nice. Certainly, but please don't go to a lot of trouble and expense”.

“Everything is arranged. Tell Doc dinner is at the Glass Menagerie. He'll tell you all about the place. Now, I have to make another call. Good bye”.

Wallace dialed the number and waited for her to answer.

“Hello?”

“What are you doing?”

“Watching television and eating ice cream”.

“You'll get fat. Listen, Saturday night, dinner at the Glass Menagerie. I'll pick you up at seven thirty. Sharon and Doc will be with me”.

“Fine. Anything on the murders?”

“Nice try, bye”.

Wallace poured himself a glass of sangria, turned on the phonograph then stood listening to Dahil Sayo as he gazed out at the ocean.

At seven thirty Saturday night Mary Wagner entered the front passenger seat of the Ford Maverick. She smiled at the couple in the back seat and waited for Robert Wallace to climb behind the steering wheel. When he did, he said, “Sharon, allow me to introduce you to Miss Mary Wagner. Mary is a local girl, born and raised here in Nautilus Beach and is also one on the home town newspapers top reporters. Doc, you have already met Mary”.

“Yes I have. Hello”, said Doc.

“So nice to meet you”, said Sharon.

Wallace put the car in gear and pulled away from the curb, heading for the restaurant.

When the couples entered the restaurant they checked their coats. Robert met with the Maitre de, who read the reservation list and showed the pairs to their table. There, they were immediately greeted by their waiter and everyone ordered drinks. Wallace, requested decaf coffee. When the drinks arrived they continued talking. Mary asking questions about Australia and Sharon enjoying herself by answering. As the two women talked, Wallace looked over the crowded dining room. As usual the room was full, just as it was every Saturday night. The sound of a piano playing softly could be heard as it was customary for the orchestra to play after the majority of the patrons had dined. Then, the dancing began and continued until closing, usually by two A.M.

Just before their meals arrived, Manny Hoffman came to their table. He carried a magnum of champagne. “Good evening ladies and gentlemen. I am Manny Hoffman. Welcome to the Glass Menagerie. Robert here has advised me that congratulations are in order. It is my understanding that we have a recent marriage. Doc, congratulations. And, to you Mrs. Edwards, may I say not only welcome to my establishment, but also to Nautilus Beach. Please accept this bottle of champagne as you celebrate your marriage.”

“Thank you Mr. Hoffman. Your restaurant is enchanting”.

“I love to hear those kind of complements. Now, let me see to my other patrons. Enjoy your dinner”.

As the couples dined, Sharon said, “Robert? Do they always serve lamb here?”

“Occasionally, but knowing Manny he probably instructed the chef to have it tonight, just for you”.

“Well, if he did, it's delicious”.

“Glad you like it”, Wallace replied as he saw the waiters going from table to table placing and then filling glasses for each diner. He saw the wait staff talking, knowing they were informing each table of what was about to happen. Then, he turned his head and saw Bill Conover and the members of the orchestra take their seats on the stage.

Conover stepped in front of the upright microphone, tested it to see if it was on then said, “Ladies and gentlemen, we have a special guest with us tonight. A lady who not only is a recent bride, but one who has come to us from what they call, Down Under. Mrs. Edwards, this is in honor of your visit with us tonight”. He then turned and led his orchestra as they played, Waltzing Matilda. Surprisingly many at their tables stood and began to sing, knowing the words.

Robert looked at Sharon and saw the tears of joy in her eyes and the smile on Docs face. When the song ended Bill Conover went to the microphone again. “Now, ladies and gentlemen each table has been presented with a glass of champagne. I ask you now to raise your glass in celebration of the marriage of Mr. and Mrs. Manfred Edwards.” The patrons, now standing, drank the champagne toast to the couple.

“Next, in this celebration is for the bride and groom to be the first to dance and start off the evening so the rest of us can take to the dance floor. Mr. and Mrs. Edwards, it is my understanding that this is your favorite song. I hope you enjoy it.” The orchestra waited until Doc and Sharon walked out on to the dance floor then began to play, 'Till Then'.

Wallace looked at Mary, “Want to dance?”, he asked.

“Certainly”, she answered.

On the dance floor as he held her in his arms she said to him, “This was a lovely thing you did for them Robert. Thank you for allowing me to be a part of it”.

“Doc is my best friend. It is the least I could do for him”.

“What about Sharon?”

“If he loves her, I love her”.

“What about me?”

Robert lowered his head and kissed her forehead. “Time will tell”, he answered.

Chapter Six

Plugging in the extension cord that went with is tape recorder, Wallace took a seat in one of Doc Edwards easy recliners. He then placed a new, hour long audio cassette in the machine then sat back and waited for Sharon to speak. He watched her as she studied the eight by ten inch black and white photographs of the three victims.

Sharon placed the pictures on the end table next to her chair then looking at Robert said, “I'm sure that it comes as no surprise to you that you are dealing with a psychopath. So allow me to start off with the fact that your killer has a personality disorder which includes an anti-social behavior. Naturally, he has no remorse for what he has done or what he intends to do. Actually he has no control of his own behavior.”

“This anti-social behavior probably began in early childhood or early adolescence. He probably kills as a result of occurring anxiety attacks which in this case appears to be a severe mental disorder. What usually transpires is agitation. This then can increase into anger, anger into aggression, aggression into violence, violence into murder.”

“The question is what causes this agitation. Is it the women or is it the setting, the apartments, the tenements? It is possible your killer also suffers from what is called social phobia? If so, one must then look at the symptoms. He would be anxious about being around other people. He feels self-conscious in front of other people and they could be women, all women. He is afraid of how people will judge him and at the same time he could get nauseous and sick around these women. Now, let's examine the possibility of your killer suffering from agoraphobia. That's the fear of a specific object, circumstance or situation”.

“Sorry to interrupt my dear, but it's women who suffer from agoraphobia”, said Doc Edwards.

“True love, however the mother carries that gene and passes it on to her children, including the sons”, Sharon replied.

“Ah, I stand corrected”, said Doc.

“From what you have told me, the women were found nude. This indicates that some kind of sex act took place. The question is does your killer have a sexual perversion or a sexual dysfunction? Since no semen was found at the first two murders, but found at the last murder, and there were no signs of sexual intercourse in either case, I'm leaning to the fact that he suffers from a sexual dysfunction. I see your killer as a misogynist. He hates women. Misogyny can be manifested in many ways, sexual discrimination, or violence towards women.”

“At the same time he is also suffering from gynophobia, or a fear of women, in fact he has a horror of the vagina.”

“A sexual dysfunction can be said to be a disturbance of sexual desire, arousal, or orgasm, sexual pain or difficulties with performance. Again, I'll take the position that he has a problem with performance.”

“Now, let me add up the signs and see what we end up with. First, we have a psychopath with an anti-social behavior that probably began at a young age. He becomes agitated then violent in each case around women, women he is alone with. Women who expected to have sex with him are killed, all with their throats cut.”

“Next, we have the possibility of agoraphobia, the fear of a certain object, circumstance or situation. The object could be the vagina. The situation is the anticipated love making. If he has a sexual dysfunction such as impotence this then could cause his agitation. His partner, mentioning his inability to perform turns his agitation into violence. His violence results in murder. What happens next is his desire to perform, to ejaculate in a vagina, but he can't. To him the victim's vagina prevents him being a normal male. Therefore, he desires the perfect vagina and with his knife he creates one. The slashed throat, the open abdomen cavity with the intestines removed. Even then, even after the first two murders he, in his own mind could not preform sexually. That's why there were no signs of semen. Then, unfortunately, he was successful. He was able to become satisfied sexually. Most likely he masturbates after each murder. I say unfortunately because finding sexual satisfaction he will in all probability increase his activity.”

“So to sum up, the profile of your killer is a young man age eighteen to thirty. He either lives with his mother who raised him absent of any father figure and in a tenement environment or he lives alone. He resents his mother for forcing him to live in a low rent housing unit and any other women who do today. He considers himself socially better than anyone living in Garwood Village, but returns there time and time again because he knows the area and is familiar with the life styles of the female inhabitants. Why? Because he once lived among them. Your killer is employed in a menial job. He could be factitious. He washes his hands at each crime scene. Is he a meat cutter? A butcher? I don't know Robert. I wish I could give you more”, said Sharon.

“One thing I'd concentrate on is the weapon he is using. It's probably a knife honed razor sharp, pointed and long enough to penetrate through the abdominal war to the spine”, said Doc.

“It's something to think about Doc. Thank you”, said Wallace as he unplugged the extension cord then packed the tape recorder.

On the drive home thoughts raced through his mind “ OK, now I have a profile, but as yet, no suspect. Sharon says this guy hates women. I guess so. That's evident by the way he slices them open. He's familiar with Garwood Village. Sharon believes he either lived there at one time or a housing project like Garwood. I'm taking the position that he lived there and he lived there when he was young. Let's see. Garwood Village was built in 1941. That was thirty two years ago. She figures him to be between eighteen and thirty. Today, if he is eighteen that means he was born in 1954. If he is near thirty he was born 1943 or during the war. Something traumatic might have happened to him, but what? I'll be a son of a bitch if I can figure it out”.

When he got home Wallace immediately went to his combination office and den in order to put away his tape recorder. When he got there he saw the blinking red light on his answering machine. He pushed the play back button then stood and listened `to Mary.

“Hi, it's me. Just want to thank you again for a lovely evening of dinner and dancing. I think what you did for Doc and Sharon was wonderful. Call me”.

He dialed her number and when she answered said, “You're welcome”.

“That's all you have to say to me?”

“What would you like me to say?”

“Anything that would indicate that you want to see me again”.

“We've been all over this before”.

“And you're being foolish”.

“I don't think so. When we were dancing people looked at me like I was dancing with my daughter.”

“It didn't bother you when we were together in Tobago.” *Azreal

“I didn't know anyone in Tobago”.

“Oh, so here in Nautilus Beach you're ashamed to be seen with me”.

“Now you're putting words in my mouth. Listen, I'll talk to you later. Bye”, he said as he hung up the telephone.

 

The following Saturday night Sonia Fleming sat alone at a table near the rear of the Dude Ranch Bar And Grill. Normally she was cheerful although at times lonely. She was divorced, had a son in the army who was stationed in Germany and had a steady, paying job as a cashier at K-Mart. Tonight, she wanted company, male company. She needed a man to tell her how nice she was, how good looking she was, how he wanted her. If he appealed to her, gave her the attention she needed she might even consider taking him home and sleep with him.

As she sat at the table nursing a warming glass of beer a man walked up and stood by her. “I've been watching you for some time. By now that beer has to be funky. Can I buy you another one?”, he asked.

Sonia raised her head and looked at the man. She saw a tall, good looking young guy she judged to be in his late twenties or early thirties. He was neatly dressed, but she recognized his attire being inexpensive as day after day she moved the same shirts and pants across the scanner adding up the cost of the customers bill. For some reason she liked him. “Why would you want to buy me a drink? Sweetie, I'm a little bit older than you”, she said.

“Maybe I enjoy the company of mature women. They're so much more interesting than some giggling girl. At the same time it doesn't hurt if the woman is good looking like you.”

“Go on. You're just saying that”. She replied.

“No, I'm sincere. You are a very attractive woman. May I sit down?”, he asked.

“Make yourself comfortable”.

“Thank you. Now, about that drink do you want another beer or something stronger?”

“I'll stick to beer”.

“Good”, he said as he signaled the bartender to pour two drafts. A young waitress soon appeared with two glasses and asked if they wanted anything else.

“So, beautiful lady, what's your name?”

“Sonja. What's yours?”

“They call me Eric”.

“What do you do for a living, Eric?”

“I work for Sterns Super Market in the produce department”.

“Do you like it?”

“Well. All I do all day is unpack crates of vegetables, stock, check what's on display then if I find any bad one's or with spots, I cut them out with my knife. What do you do?”

“I work at K-Mart as a cashier”.

“Then, you're on your feet all day”.

“Better than on my back all night”, she replied.

“True, true. Where do you live Sonia?”

“Garwood Village”.

“Hey? That's a pretty dangerous neighborhood. Women are being brutally murdered there. You'd better let me walk you home”.

“You'd do that for me?”

“Certainly”.

“You sir, are a gentleman”.

“So I've been told”.

“Do you dance?”

“Yes, but badly. Some women have complained about stepped on toes”.

“They're playing Blue Eyes Crying In The Rain, let's dance”, she said.

Captain Robert Wallace double parked his assigned , black, unmarked Chrysler sedan next to a marked patrol vehicle. He got out and walked through a crowd of curious by-standers made up of house wives, children, and old men. Ducking under the yards of yellow, police, crime scene, protection tape strung out to keep people from disturbing evidence he made his way to where two uniformed officers stood. He returned their hand salute and walked into apartment 1437. Frank Stiles met him as he entered the living room.

“OK, report”, said Wallace.

“The victim is one Sonia Fleming, Caucasian female, age, forty-seven. She was employed as a cashier at the local K-MART. She was last seen last night by a Gertrude Sims, a neighbor who stated that Sonja was headed for the Dude Ranch Bar and Grill to drink and dance. This morning Miss Sims came over to borrow a cup of milk and sugar. When she stepped up on to the small porch she saw a bloody object which got her attention. As she took a better look she identified the object as a woman's breast. She ran home screaming and as a result neighbors called the police. Responding officers, Patrolman Anthony Defeo and Patrolman Samuel Pasquale took the following action. Defeo guarded the crime scene while Pasquale went after and found the complex manger who had a pass key. The manager is one Harry Billings and has been on the job here for the past three years. Billings unlocked the front door to apartment 1437 and Pasquale entered. He reported that he followed a trail of what appeared to be human blood from inside the front door into the bedroom. In the bedroom he found the remains of Sonja Fleming. Headquarters called me at home. I called in McKenna and Myers then notified you”.

“Is that it?”, asked Wallace.

“No sir. This guy left his victim different from the rest”.

“What's different?” asked the Captain.

“If you were to take what he left in that back bedroom and placed it alongside a railroad track, no one, not even you could determine the difference of her being hit by a train or disemboweled by a sick psychopath killer”.

Wallace walked in silence down the blood stained hallway, then entered the bedroom. There he saw what used to be a human being. Now, he gazed upon the naked remains of intestines, that had been dumped on the floor. What appeared to be a human liver was placed on the night stand next to the bed. On the woman's bureau was one of her breast. As he walked closer to the body he saw again the sign of the killer. Her throat had been cut, but this time so severely that the victim was almost decapitated. The eyelids had been removed. The nose tip removed. And, there was a crisscross pattern of knife slashes across the face.

Standing in a far corner of the room Wallace noticed Detective Myers standing quietly with an ashen face. “How are you holding up kid?”, he asked.

“I'll be alright Captain”.

“Good, hang in there”. Turing to Stiles he asked, “Where's McKenna?”

“Going door to door talking to neighbors”.

Wallace then entered the small bathroom. Once again he found a small puddle of water on the floor in front of the wash basin. He remembered what Sharon had said, “ He could be factitious. He washes his hands at each crime scene”. Wallace reached for and took the bar of soap off of the soap dish that was mounted on the wall. He looked at it carefully, then turned it over. There on the back of the soap bar was a hair, small, curly and red.

The Captain carefully stepped back away from the water on the floor, then laid the soap on the vanity. He turned in time to see Sergeant Campo. “Same old thing Sergeant. However, this time our killer left something behind. There's a hair on that bar of soap. Photograph it. Collect it. Then, identify it. Is it human or animal? If it's human is it male or female? What part of the body did it come from? I'm betting it's a pubic hair”.

“No problem. Anything else Captain?”, asked Campo.

“As usual, collect the puddle of water on the floor”.

“Yes sir”.

Turning back to Stiles, Wallace asked, “what did the coroner have to say?”

“Nothing, he hasn't arrived yet?”

“Son of a bitch! We're supposed to investigate, arrest and help convict some crazy bastard that's killing women in this city while the politically appointed County Coroner tends to his church congregation. Well, when he gets here have someone get his official opinion on the time of death. Actually that's just a bullshit formality. I can determine it myself. Rigor Mortis is present and appears to be increasing. I'd say it's been between six and eight hours. Notice what appears to be a grimace on the victims face? Actually, that's caused by the stiffening of the small muscles in her face. If you look closer, you'll see it also happened in her shoulders. At the same time look at the bottom of her arms. See the purple color of the skin. That's lividity. When the heart stops the blood in the body reacts to gravity. The victim is on her back, thus the blood in her body, or what's left traveled down and settled. I estimate that Sonja Fleming was killed at approximately three o'clock this morning”.

“Where did you learn all of these things, Captain?”, asked Myers.

“From our local pathologist, Doctor Manfred Edwards. Now Carol, I want you to find Tom McKenna. When you do, both of you go to the Dude Ranch. See what you can find out. Hell, it's possible both of you will have to hit it again tonight, since whoever worked last night is off right now, but see what you can find out. Frank, wait for the coroner. Help Sergeant Campo with anything she needs. I'll be back in my office dealing with the Chief, the prosecutor and the press”.

Back at headquarters Wallace walked into the outer office of Chief of Police Jerry Monahan. “Is he free?”, he asked, questioning Helen Dumont, the Chief's secretary.

“The commissioner is in there with him, but I was told to tell you to go right on in”, she said.

“Thanks Helen”, he replied as he walked to the door, opened it and entered the Chief's office. When he did he calmly took a seat, crossed his legs and made himself comfortable.

“Well, what can you tell us?”

“Not a hell of a lot,”Wallace answered.

“Five women dead, brutally murdered, stabbed, butchered and defiled and you say not a hell of a lot?” said the commissioner.

“Well, I could sit here and bullshit you, tell you I'm close to solving the murders and an arrest is going to be made, but I won't. Instead, I'll tell you what we know and what evidence we have. If that's what you want I'm ready to tell you”.

“We can read your reports Captain”, said the commissioner.

“What you don't seem to understand is that I have not only the press on my ass, but also the chamber of commerce. Nautilus Beach is a resort town. People come here mainly for two reasons, to drink, get laid or both. They won't come if they know some lunatic killer is on the loose. When they don't come the merchants get angry. When they get on my ass I get angry. So, if you don't want me on your ass give me something positive to tell the people”.

“They only solve murders in thirty minutes on television. Now, if you're more qualified than I am in the investigation of homicides, then you go out there and figure out just who this crazy bastard is and arrest him.”

“You are bordering on insubordination Captain”, said Commissioner Maxwell.

“Gentlemen, gentlemen, let's calm down, there's no need for any of us to lose our direction at this point. Let's keep our focus on the main issue and not allow personalities to interfere with the task at hand, which is the investigation”, said Chief Monahan.

“Are you making any progress? I have to have something to tell the public, something that is re-assuring”, asked Maxwell.

“Progress? Maybe. We know the killer is a man. We know his blood type. Little by little we're putting together a personality profile on this lunatic. He's insane, but at the same time he's intelligent. I secured the entire area where he operated. I used plainclothes detectives and uniformed officers in an attempt to ensure the public that they were safe particularly those living in Garwood Village that he couldn't hit again. Then, the son of a bitch got through and killed once more”. Wallace answered.

“You've got to stop him!”, said Maxwell.

“I will, but I can't tell you when or where or after how many more he kills. Right now I suggest you two do two things. One, remove me from the case. Stiles can command the squad. At the same time you can satisfy the Press who's after my ass as usual. Or two, let me do my job. I don't have time or the desire to be away from my assignment having to account for every move and non-move I make in this investigation. Gentlemen, the ball is in your court”.

Monahan cleared his throat and said, “Captain, thank you for your import. I suggest that you go about your duties. Naturally, time permitting I'd appreciate either written or verbal reports from you. I'm sure you understand”.

“Yes sir. Am I free to go now? I have to talk to the news media”.

“Good luck with that. Better you than me”, said Maxwell.

“The trick commissioner is not to let them control the conversation. That's something that I learned from being around politicians. It's called, baffling them with bullshit”.

Wallace opened his office door and allowed Mary Wagner to enter. “Have a seat”, he said as he walked around his desk to his high back chair.

“Same old rules? You'll let me know what's off the record and on the record?”, she asked.

“Yep. Same old rules. I talk to you and only you. You talk to whoever and whenever you want. OK. On the record. The Nautilus Beach Police Department wants to assure the citizens and visitors to our city that they are safe. Although at present crime is occurring in the community the men and women of the local police department are on duty and on guard to maintain order and safety to everyone.”

“At the same time, all citizens are advised to be cautious in their associations with strangers and aware of their surroundings. Your Police Department is currently looking for a male suspect. He is thought to be a Caucasian male between eighteen and thirty years of age. It is also believed that the subject is either a resident or former resident of Nautilus Beach and is very familiar with the Garwood Village area of the city.”

“IF you or anyone you know has any information in relation to the murders of Edna Fisher, Florence Alberson, Amanda Kinshoffer, Joan Aponte or Sonia Fleming please contact the Nautilus Beach Police Department as soon as possible. A telephone hot line has been established. Anyone can call 766-0093 or 766 0094. if so desired your identity will be safe guarded. There is a two thousand dollar reward for the arrest and conviction of the killer.”

“That's it?”, she asked.

“Yep.”

“That's nothing more than a commercial. The media wants information. The editors aren’t going to settle for this”.

“When I have something, they'll get it”.

Chapter Seven

Wallace sat in front of the typewriter composing a report detailing the actions taken in the Fleming case. As he did Detectives Myers and Mckenna entered the office along with a young woman. Wallace looked up and said, “Do both of you want to see me?”

“Yes sir. Captain this is Miss Helen Milney. Miss Milney is a waitress at the Dude Ranch. She worked the night when the Fleming woman was killed. We thought you'd be interested in what she had to say”, said McKenna.

Captain Wallace stood and said, “Miss Milney, please have a seat. What do you have to tell me?”

“Saturday night I was assigned to wait tables. Usually I tend bar, but the place was busy with a lot of customers, so Bud, Mr. Owens, the owner tended bar and asked me to serve tables,” she said.

“And?”, asked Wallace.

“I brought a glass of beer to Sonia Fleming”.

“Do you know Sonia Fleming?”, asked Wallace interrupting the witness.

“Yes. She is a steady customer. She likes to dance and only drinks beer. At least she used to”, said Milney.

“Go on, sorry to interrupt you”.

“That's OK. Anyway, the next time I saw her a guy was sitting with her at the table. He had ordered two beers and I served them. The table next to theirs was filthy. Four guys had left crushed potato chips and pizza crusts on dirty plates and I had to clean up the mess, so I was there doing it for maybe ten minutes”.

“And what happened?”

“I overheard their conversation”.

“Alright, what did you hear?”

“I heard the guy coming on to Sonia. He said his name was Eric and he worked at Sterns Market in the produce department.”

“What did this Eric guy look like?”, asked Wallace “Well, I'd say he was white, young, maybe twenty five years old. I'd say that he was a lot younger than Sonia”.

“Anything else?”

“He was tall. When he stood up to leave later with Sonia I noticed how tall he was standing next to her. He was maybe six feet tall.”

“Did they leave together?”

“Yes”.

“Do you know where they were going or where they went?”

“All I can tell you is that he asked her where she lived and when she said Garwood Village he said that he would walk her home”.

“I see. Did you happen to notice the color of the man's hair?”

“I would say almost auburn”.

“Think carefully now. Was it auburn or red?”

“It wasn't a real red, red. More like a brown with red highlights”.

“Alright. Is there anything else you can remember about this Eric?”

“No. Not at the moment”.

“Well if you do please call us. I want to thank you for coming in. I appreciate it. I'll have someone take you home. Thanks again.”

“You're welcome”.

After Helen Milney left his office Wallace turned to his three detectives. “Frank, you know what to do. Take McKenna and go pick up this Eric guy. Let's just hope this isn't his day off. Pick him up and bring him in. Take him to one of the interrogation rooms. The press is watching me and who comes and goes in here. When you sit him down make sure he's comfortable, then call me”.

“Yes sir”, said Stiles.

“Why can't I go?”, asked Carol Myers.

“Because I have something else for you to do”, said Wallace.

“And just what will that be?”

“Supposedly, the killer hates women. I want to see how this Eric fellow reacts when you enter the room. So, you just stand by until I call for you”.

An hour later, the telephone on Captain Wallace's desk rang. He reached for it and answered, “Captain Wallace”. Hanging up the receiver, he looked at Detective Myers. “They have the suspect down stairs. Wait here until I call for you. When you come into the room I want you to stand and look at this guy. If possible look him in the eye. If he feels intimidated by you the he should react with disdain.”

“And, if he doesn't?”

“I'll worry about that later. Now, have a seat and wait for my call”.

“Yes sir”.

Wallace walked into the room. He looked at the young man seated behind the Grey painted steel table. There were two chairs in the room. The suspect sat in one and Wallace slowly lowered himself into the other. Looking at Stiles, Wallace asked, “What have we got?”

“Captain this is Eric Fetterman. We picked him up where he works, Sterns Market.”

Looking at Fetterman, Wallace asked, “Mr. Fetterman, do you know why you are here?”

“The detectives told me they wanted to question me about the murders in Garwood Village. But, like I told them, I don't know anything about them”.

“Before we go any further, do you mind if I call you Eric?”

“No, that's fine”.

“Good, now you see Eric we have a witness who claims they saw you in the Dude Ranch Bar and Grill with Sonia Fleming the night she was murdered. So, you can see why we want to talk to you”.

“Sure, I was with Sonia that night. I even walked her home”.

“Did you go inside with her?” asked Wallace.

“No. I walked her as far as the steps, then asked her if she would be at the Dude Ranch next Saturday”.

“And, what did she say?”, asked Wallace.

“She said she might, but couldn't promise”.

“How old are you Eric?”, asked Wallace.

“Twenty-seven”.

“Sonia Fleming was forty-seven, twenty years older than you. Why do you like older women?”

“You know what they say, older women don't yell, don't tell, don't swell and are grateful as hell. I don't like immature young women who always have a problem and cry, complain and are possessive.”

Wallace looked at Stiles. “Call my office and tell Myers to come down here”, he said. Then, turning back to Fetterman asked, “Have you ever lived in Garwood Village?”

“No. I have always lived in the Inlet”.

“Have you ever been in Garwood Village?”

“No”.

“Why does a guy who lives in the Inlet, in a city with a bar on every corner travel eighteen blocks to drink a beer in the Dude Ranch?”, asked Wallace.

“I like country western music”, Fetterman answered.

The interrogation room door opened and Detective Carol Myers entered. Fetterman looked at her and smiled.

“Eric, this is Detective Myers. Miss Myers, meet Eric Fetterman”

Eric rose up out of his chair and while standing said, “It is my pleasure to meet you Miss Myers”.

“Nice to finally see a gentleman in the room”, Myers replied.

After Fetterman took a seat again Wallace asked, “Do you know your blood type Eric?”

“Yes, O positive”.

“Would you be willing to give us a sample?”

“Sure. Do want to take it now?”

“No later. At the same time would you be willing to give as samples of your hair, say from you head, arms legs and pubic area?”.

“No problem. Just tell me when you want it”.

“Alright Eric. I want to thank you for coming in and co-operating with us. Unless you have anything else to tell us, you're free to go. Have your boss call me and I'll reassure them that you're just a witness we had to talk to, OK?”

“Thank you. There is one thing”.

“What's that?”, asked the Captain.

“When I walked Sonia home we walked towards a guy who when he saw us stopped right where he was on the sidewalk. I thought it was someone she knew, like a boy friend or something. We kept walking towards him and when we got to where he stood he turned his body so I couldn't get a good look at his face. I thought that was kinda weird”.

“Can you describe him?”, asked Wallace.

“Like I said, he turned his face away from me. But, he was a white guy, maybe five foot nine or ten, medium build. He probably weighs about a hundred and sixty pounds and dresses weird.”

“What do you mean weird?”

“He was wearing a black heavy winter overcoat that went down almost past his knees, like it was too big for him. And a red Philadelphia Phillies baseball cap. He was carrying a black cloth bag. The bag was shaped funny. It wasn't a traveling bag, or athletic type. It was like, long and narrow”.

“How old do you think he was?”, asked Wallace.

“I don't know. Thirty, thirty five maybe. Like I said, he turned away”.

After Fetterman left Wallace turned to the members of his unit and said, “Nice try, but no cigar. In all probability Fetterman accidentally came in contact with the killer. Now the question is, was the killer originally after Sonia Fleming or did he suddenly decide to kill her after seeing her that night?”

“I thought we had him”, said Stiles.

“Circumstances would suggest that Frank, but as you saw he's not the killer. He's a guy who was with the victim before she was murdered and turned out to be a co-operating witness. He is so co-operative that he offered his blood and hair for analysis. So, we're right back where we started from. All of you talk to your sources, see if they have come up with anything. As for me, I'm going to try to dig deeper into the profile of this sick bastard”, said Wallace.

Sharon Edwards stared at the eight by ten inch, black and white glossy photographs of Sonia Flemings body. “Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear”, she said quietly.

“Pretty gruesome isn't it?”. Asked Wallace.

“Vile would be a better word Robert. May I ask if semen was found again this time?”

“So far, no”.

“Interesting. After what I have already told you in building your suspects profile and after viewing these photographs I feel that I must add more”.

“And just what would that be?”, asked Wallace.

“The fact that your killer suffers from a psycho sexual disorder.”

He has an overwhelming desire to control things and to be able to exert his will on others by any means possible. For some this leads to periodic violent behavior.

“I told you this before, he has a sexual dysfunction which could be lack of desire, arousal, or performance. I thought I had covered this earlier, but after seeing these photographs I now have another concept. The killer is also a sexual sadist. If I were to go to the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders which is used by mental health professionals, I would find that sexual sadism is listed as one of several paraphilias. This could be sexual feelings that may involve partners that are not human, non consenting, or involve suffering by one or both partners.”

“Oddly, in addition to the sexual excitement he gets from inflicting pain he, like others suffering from the same dysfunctional experience, can not perform because of the sadistic behavior or fantasies.”

In regard to his sadistic behavior in this case the women are not willing partners. The fact that they are unwilling in all probability increases his arousal. The sadistic acts performed or fantasized by the killer, to me, reflects a desire for sexual or psychological domination of another person. These acts can range from behavior that is not harmful, such as humiliating the other person, or as urinating upon them to criminal and deadly behavior. This could include paddling, spanking, whipping, burning, beating, cutting, rape, murder and like your suspect, mutilation.”

“You mention mutilation. This is the first time that he has attacked the victims face. He removed her eye lids then slashed her face in a crisscross pattern”, said Wallace.

“I'll take a guess here and say the eyelids were removed in a, Hey! Look At Me! fantasy, The crisscross slashing could be the same act an artist would do if they became dissatisfied with their creation. Remember, I gave you my theory that he wants the perfect vagina so he creates it. Not satisfied, he crosses it out.”

“This chap, although a serial killer is different. Normally the murders are committed in a series of incidents. He's done that, yet typically a killer such as he would kill three people within fourteen days. However, as far as you know your killer attacks at random, it could be every thirty days, sixty days or even ninety days.”

“You must realize that there are different types of serial killers. The one you are after is a combination of Missionary Serial Killer and Lust Killer. With him as a Missionary Killer, he feels that he is responsible to rid the world of a certain specified group of people. In this case middle age women living in Garwood Village. As a lust killer he is driven to murder for sexual motivation.”

“Keep in mind Robert, people like your individual have high IQs, ranging from 105 to 120. Although highly intelligent they most often have a record of poor school performance and are socially inept. They prefer solitude to a social environment and also have trouble holding a job.”

“In my years of practice I have noticed that frequently serial killers come from dysfunctional families where the parents may be divorced or one parent may have abandoned the family. One parent might have been excessively domineering. Many times I found that as a child the serial killer was abused physically or sexually. With that in mind if I were you I would look for someone who was a worrisome, juvenile delinquent in and around the Garwood Village complex.”

“Look for cases where the juvenile set fires or tortured or killed animals. You may find that there is a connection. Right now the only thing that even resembles a connection is the fact that two of the victims, Joan Aponte and Sonia Fleming frequented the Dude Ranch Bar and Grill, but not together,” Wallace replied.

'Your killer has no thought that he will ever be caught and arrested, knowing the odds of getting away with murder. Killers such as he live stable lives, methodical. He kills for the pure purpose of killing. In my opinion he gets sexual pleasure out of murder. He's the type that laughs when he sees a cat get run over by a car. He enjoys the suffering of others and really likes it when he can cause the pain.”

“What concerns me is the fact that I must determine if the killer is organized, disorganized or the mixed killer, one who exhibits both organized and disorganized characteristics. I have already explained your killer as a disorganized individual one killing on impulse. However, if he were to be organized he would then be above average in intelligence and careful about his crimes. This type has friends, a stable job, even a family.”

“Based on what I heard on your tapes, from what you have told me and after viewing the photographs, I have to say that your killer is again, the disorganized type. The crime scene is a mess and there is no attempt to dispose of the body. Actually it appears he wants others to see his handy work.”

Doc Edwards entered the room. “I just ordered a pizza. Anyone want a beer while we wait?”, he asked.

“None for me thanks. How did you make out in Philadelphia?”, asked Wallace.

“Fine. I applied for a visa. I don't foresee any problems. One requirement is graduation from an accredited medical school, which I did. I may have to take an exam. That's no problem, but I do have to decide on just what type of medicine I want to practice.”

“You're a pathologist”.

“So? That doesn't mean I want to continue to be one. I'll make a decision some time down the line. I'm leaning towards geriatrics but being a GP would be OK. There's a possibility that I can hook up with the Rockingham Medical Center. Sharon has her practice in the same shopping center. If I don't, then I'll open my own office or as they say down under, surgery”.

“Hey, what ever makes you happy, as they say”, Wallace responded.

“Speaking of what makes you happy Robert. Why is it that you continue to keep Mary at arms length?”, asked Sharon.

“Is that what she told you?”

“No, and she doesn't have to. I see the love she has for you. It's in the way she looks at you. At the same time I see as well as detect your attitude towards her, an attitude that signals stay away from me”, Sharon explained.

“Maybe it's for her own good”, Wallace answered.

“How could that be? You might appear to be the hard, tough, police officer on the outside, but inside you are soft, and sentimental. Manfred has told me about the difference between the real you rather than the professional you.”

“How you on one hand can spend hours studying a criminal case, going over evidence and witnesses in your mind and on the other hand sit and listen to Rimsky-Korsakov's Scherherazade. How when you were a young patrolman walking your beat one night in the bitter cold took a swagman and bought him a meal of hot soup.”

“Your husband has a big mouth”, said Wallace looking at Doc.

“Not really, nonetheless, out of his friendship and concern for you he did reveal to me the fact that you could still be pining for someone named Jane.” *gifts From The Kasbah

“Pining? Me? I don't think so. If Doc told you about Jane, then he told you that I asked her to marry me. So she turned me down. End of case. End of romance, but not necessarily the end of the relationship”, Wallace replied.

“Robert, I've only known you for a short while and I don't want to interfere in your life, but I think you should know something. I'll let Manfred tell you”, said Sharon.

“And what's that?”, asked Wallace, looking at Doc.

“Two days ago Sharon and I had lunch at the Country Club. While we were there I bumped into Mike Crane. You know Mike, he owns the Crane Plumbing Company. Anyway, it seems that his wife is good friends with Doris Kerr.” *Gifts From The Kasbah

His wife received a letter from Doris telling how she and her husband were enjoying France in general and Paris in particular. Then she added the fact that her personal secretary, Jane Chambers (*Gifts From The Kasbah) became engaged to some French university professor where she was studying art.

“Is that a fact? Oh well, I wish her the best, what more can I say”. Looking at his wristwatch Wallace stood and said, “Well, Sharon, thanks for your input. I'm sure what you have told me will be a big help. Now, I think I'll get out of here and let you two be alone. Good night”, Wallace said, as he left the room.

That night, at home in his condo Robert Wallace sat at his desk. Opening the desk drawer, he removed two photo's. One was a picture of him with Jane taken on the boardwalk by a stranger. He had handed his camera to a man and asked him to photograph them together. The other was a photo taken as they sat at the table while dining at the Glass Menagerie. He looked at both photo's then reaching for an old cigarette lighter, lit it and attached the glowing flame to the corner of each picture. He held them for a while, then placed them in the ashtray watching them burn and curl as the flame ate away the image, just as the pain in his heart let her go.

Chapter Eight

A bright morning sun shining on the tall meadow grass created a field of gold as far as the eye could see. At the same time the cold March wind blowing in short gusts bent the reeds towards the ground then released them, allowing them to stand erect again, only to bend them once more with another blast of air. Wallace watched this action as he drove towards the Mullica Arms Assistant Living Complex located on ten acres near the Mullica River.

It had been a few years since he had been in this area. He and Doc Edwards had tried winter fishing on the river, trying to snag dormant striped bass. They soon realized that the sporting element was absent and quit and motored the rental outboard row boat back to the marina. Now, he was making the trip to the Mullica Arms to see an old friend and mentor, Al Wilson.

Captain Albert Wilson was the commanding officer of the Major Crime Squad when he took Detective Robert Wallace under his wing and taught him how to do police work with honesty and integrity. Wilson like Wallace had come through the ranks achieving promotions from passing high on civil service exams and not through politics. At one time Al Wilson also commanded the Juvenile Division. It was Wilson's time in the Juvenile Division that Wallace wanted to talk about.

Wallace parked the car, locked the doors and entered the building. He stopped at the reception desk and told the receptionist that he was there to see Albert Wilson. In turn the receptionist called Wilson in his three room apartment who then granted permission for his guest to take the elevator to the second floor.

Stepping out of the elevator, Wallace paid particular attention to the numbers on the doors as he walked down the hallway looking for and finally finding number two seventeen. He knocked gently on the wooden panel, then heard the words, “Come In” from inside. He turned the door knob opened the door and walked in.

“Robert! Damn son it's good to see you. Not too many of the guys come to see me. Hell, now that I think about it, not too many of the guys I policed with are still alive. Anyway. Like I said, it's good to see you. Listen it's almost lunch time. How about you be my guest for lunch. I've got an idea why you're here and we can shoot the shit over a sandwich and a cup of coffee. What do ya say?”

“What ever you say Cap”.

“Good, let's go. Now, I suppose you're here about the, what he's being called? The Garwood Village Slasher”?

“Yeah, that's a bull shit title the press has given him in order to sell newspapers”, said Wallace as they took the elevator down to the main floor.

“That figures. Got any leads so far?”, asked Wilson.

“Not too many. I've got a pubic hair and a blood type along with a witness who described who he thought might be the killer, but nothing concrete”, Wallace answered.

Wilson guided Wallace to a table back in a corner of the dining room. “Let's sit here. This way we won't be bothered by people wanting to stop and annoy me”, said Albert.

When both men were seated, Wilson continued the conversation. OK. I only know what I read in the papers and knowing you haven't told the press too much. Am I right?”

“Yep”.

“Good, I see I taught you right. Now, do you have a profile?”

“Yes, and a pretty good one. That's why I'm here. My profiler suggests that this guy as a kid was a juvenile delinquent who more than less was a royal pain in the ass in or around Garwood Village maybe ten or fifteen years ago. I remember that at one time you worked the Juvenile Division. I'm hoping you can remember a troubled kid back then.”

“Ten or fifteen years ago. That would be between nineteen sixty or sixty five. It seems to me that I had two cases that took me into Garwood Village. As I recall the first case that comes to mind is a kid by the name of Paul Souder. The little bastard went around setting fire to the trash in the Dempsey Dumpsters. He got a kick out of watching the fire equipment arrive and put out the flames. The last I heard of him he had joined the army.”

“The other kid was Lionel Horton. Now, this boy was a handful. He bullied other kids. Stole money from the poor box in church, and was a purse snatcher. I sent his little ass to Jamesburg, or as it's better known as, The State training School for Boys. They kept him there for a year then sent him home. Guess what home was? Home was an apartment in Garwood Village where his mother operated as a hooker, sometimes turning tricks right in front of him.”

“As I recall, the next time I got involved with him, he was taken into custody as a juvenile on a complaint of assault and battery from a woman who caught him trying to break into an apartment next to hers. When she confronted him he attacked her, punching her in the face repeatedly. I sent his ass back to the reform school.”

“Finally, the last I heard of him, at least in an official way was when about six months after his release the second time around from Jamesburg we began getting complaints in the summer of, let me see now, the summer of nineteen sixty-three, I think it was. It was either sixty-three or sixty-two, what ever. Anyway we began getting complaints from the women of Garwood village about someone vandalizing their bathing suits. The women would go to the beach during the day. Come home, shower or bathe then wash their swimming suits. They would then hang them on the clotheslines to dry, many of them letting them hang over night. It was during the night that someone took a knife and cut out the crotch pad from the suit. Well, I don't have to tell you that a woman's bathing suit goes for a few bucks and these women of the village were some pissed off when they took the suit off of the line and found the thing had been vandalized.”

“Naturally, we focused in on Lionel and decided to bring him in. This time he fought us. I kicked his ass all the way into the office. I took him into custody again as a Juvenile and recommended to the court that he be sent back to the reform school. But, what does an ignorant cop know? The goody two shoes made up of Social Workers convinced the court that Lionel Horton although a problem was in reality just a miss-guided youth. A young man who with proper guidance could result in being transformed into a proper, upright citizen of the community.”

“Now, if you came here for what I just gave you I hope it helps. However, if you want my opinion all you have to do is ask”, said Wilson.

“Naturally I want your opinion”, Wallace replied.

“OK. Think about it. Lionel Horton grew up in Garwood Village. He was the son of a prostitute who turned sexual acts for money in front of him. This in all probability caused him to hate women. He directed that hate towards the women of Garwood Village, by, one bullying their children, two breaking into their homes and stealing, three an act of aggression destroying their prize possessions namely their bathing suits. And, ask yourself this. How did he do that? Of course the answer is with a knife. Put it all together it spells Lionel. Lionel Horton.”.

“And that makes perfect sense Cap. I think you just handed me my suspect”, said Wallace.

“I hope so. But be careful. This son of a bitch is no longer a kid. He's a deadly killer and insane. Instead of crotch pads he now cuts out intestines. Don't expect him to surrender meekly and take his chances in a court of law. He'll fight you. Just between you and me. You kill him or he kills you”. Wilson advised.

“Thanks Al”.

“Don't mention it. I'm glad you came to see me even though it was a business call. Let's eat”.

As they ate Wallace asked. “Tell me. Do you like it here?”

“Like? I suppose so. At least I'm content here. I got my own place, my own furniture. The foods good, they make my bed and clean the apartment. I pay for them to do my laundry and I can come and go as I please. There are a couple of horny old bitches who want me for company or companionship. I haven't figured out which yet. And, I beat the piss out of the male poker players even though it's for a penny a hand. Like? Yeah I guess I like it here. Where else would I be? Home? No one there but me. No wife. No kids. I didn't have time Robert. The job always came first. Don't make the same mistake I made. If you find a girl that loves you grab her and hold on. Hold on tight. There ought to be someone with a tear in their eye when they play the pipes. Make sure you have someone”.

Wallace nodded his head. “Al, I have another question. When was the last time you saw Lionel Horton?”

“Damn if I know now. Let me think. It was probably in nineteen sixty-something. Sixty-three, sixty-four. Sorry, Robert the old brain is turning to mush”.

“No problem. Do you happen to remember what he looked like?”

“Hell, that's easy. He had bright red hair. Actually that's what made it easy for us to pick him up, usually for purse snatching. The victim would describe their assailant as a young kid with shocking red hair. All we had to do then is send a radio car to pick him up at home and bring him in. Like you said, he was a royal pain in the ass”.

After they finished lunch Robert stood and shook hands with Al Wilson. “Cap, it's been good to see you again. Thanks for your help. I really appreciate it. I'm heading back to headquarters now and we'll start looking for Horton. Hopefully, we'll nail his ass before he kills again. Right now I want to know if there is anything you need, candy, cigarettes, a bottle of booze?”

“Nope, don't need a thing. Good to see you son. You take care and watch your ass”.

“I will...Good by”.

After the drive from the Mullica Arms to Nautilus Beach Wallace walked into his office and summoned his squad. Each detective was then given the assignment to look for Lionel Horton. With no mug shot, rap sheet or fingerprints all they had was a physical description to go on. But, now at least, they had a name.

Wallace looked at Carol Myers. “Carol, I want you to go to Garwood Village. Talk to the rental manager and see if they have any old records of the Horton's living there. I want to know when they moved and where they went. Let's hope there is a forwarding address. Frank? I want you to go back to the Dude Ranch talk to the employees. You take the day shift. Tom, you go there tonight and talk to the night shift. We're looking for Lionel Horton, a Caucasian male, between twenty five and thirty five years old six feet tall, weight unknown with bright red hair and is known as Lionel Horton. Tom, you might want to talk to some of the patrons. The Dude Ranch is a neighborhood bar and has been in the same location for forty years. Somebody might remember the name”.

At home that night Wallace swallowed the last dregs of coffee from his cup. He picked up the aluminum foil tray that held the remains of a frozen turkey dinner and walked to where the trash can under the sink would hold the garbage. He dropped the container into the bin then put the cup and silverware in the dishwasher. Washing his hands he then dried them with the hand towel and turned out the kitchen light as he left the room. Entering the combination living room and den he took a seat at his desk then with a letter opener proceeded to open envelopes that contained bills for electric, telephone and gas. He set those aside, knowing that he would eventually write the checks for each one and mail them. The last envelope he opened caught his attention. It was a small brochure announcing the presentation of dance by Jose Greece sent to him from the Forrest Theater in Philadelphia. He read the leaflet carefully looking for the program. He smiled when he saw the words, “Ravel's Bolero”.

He picked up the telephone receiver, then dialed the number and waited.

“Hello?”

“What are you doing?”, he asked.

“Nothing, getting ready to shampoo my hair”, Mary answered.

“Are you busy Saturday night?”, he asked.

“No. Why?”

“Would you have dinner with me and then take in Jose Greco's Dance Troupe dancing the flamenco at the Forrest Theater in Philadelphia?”

“Yes”.

“Does dining at Bookbinders appeal to you?”

“Anywhere you want is fine with me”.

“Well, the restaurant and theater are on the same street, although a couple of blocks apart. That makes it easier for driving as well as parking”.

“Robert, that's fine. How shall I dress?”

“I'm wearing a suit and tie”.

“Thank you, now I know what to wear”.

“I'll be talking to you before Saturday just in case there are any last minute changes. Meanwhile, I'll call the ticket office tomorrow and reserve our seats”.

“Sounds good. How have you been?”, she asked.

“As you know, busy”.

“Off the record is there anything new?”

“Yes, we're getting closer”.

“Robert?”

“What?”

“Be careful. I have a bad feeling about this case you're on”.

“Stop worrying. I'll be fine. Now, go wash your hair. Good night”.

“Good night”.

The next morning Wallace called headquarters and informed those in the Chief's office that he would be arriving at ten A.M. He then dialed the long distance number of the Forrest Theater and after talking to the agent selected seats one fourteen and one fifteen in row K in the orchestra section. He gave his credit card number, confirmed that his tickets would be waiting at the box office, politely said “Thank you” and hung up the telephone.

Wallace then took the elevator down to the condo parking garage, entered his Ford sedan and drove into the heart of the city. He was in luck as he spotted a parking space directly in front of Angelo's Barber Shop. Angelo catered to bankers, doctors, lawyers, politicians and Wallace.

He parked the car, locked the doors then entered the shop. Angelo was busy using the clippers on a balding fat man and upon seeing Robert greeted him with a, “Good to see you Captain. Someone will be with you shortly”.

“Thank you Angelo”, Wallace replied as he took a seat and picked up the Nautilus Beach Press and turned to the sports section. At this time of the year everything was about basketball, a game that held little interest for him. He scanned the pages looking for any article related to the Phillies or Eagles, but found nothing. Next, he went to the financial pages, checked his stock, smiled at some of his holdings that were up and muttered under his breath at those that had dipped on the market. “What the hell, all this is is sophisticated gambling. You win today you lose tomorrow. I will call Norman Peterson when I get to the office and ask him what the hell has happened to the hot tip he gave me on the Welcome Gold Mine. Looks like the only thing that was welcomed was my money”, He thought to himself.

When an empty chair appeared Wallace got up walked to where Joe Mano stood waiting. “Good morning Joe, just a trim today”, he said.

“No problem Captain. How are things?”

“Busy Joe, busy”.

“Yeah, that's all they print in the paper. The Garwood Slasher this. The Garwood slasher that. It's getting kinda old by now. Do you think you'll ever catch this guy Captain?”

“All I can tell you Joe, is I'm sure as hell going to try”.

Saturday night the waiter held the seat for Mary Wagner. She thanked him as she sat down. Unfolding the napkin she placed it in her lap as Wallace took a seat. She looked around and said, “It doesn't appear to be too busy tonight”.

“What you see is others like us, the early dinner crowd, anxious to dine and get to the theater”.

“Do I look alright? I really had a hard time deciding what to wear”, she asked.

“I don't know why. You only had five nights and four days to make a decision”.

“You're a man. You don't understand”.

“And I doubt that I ever will. You look fine. You're beautiful and you know it”.

“I know no such thing”.

Wallace looked over the menu, mentally made his choices and set the bill of fare on the table.

“That was quick. What are you having?”, she asked.

“Sea Food, clams, scallops, rice”.

“I think I'll have the stuffed flounder”.

“No appetizer or salad?”

“Maybe a shrimp cocktail, but no salad.”

“Soup?”

“Perhaps the shrimp bisque”

“I'm having the usual, clam chowder”.

“Good, here comes the waiter. I think I'll have a whiskey sour to start off with”, she said.

“Have what you want”.

After they both ordered Mary sipped her cocktail and from time to time Wallace took small swallows of coffee from his cup. Mary watched him and asked, “How many times have you seen Jose Greco dance?”

“This is only the second time. I saw him before in New York. It was maybe two or three years ago. Who knows? Time goes by so quickly I can't keep track of it. Have you ever seen him?”.

“Once, on television”.

“Did you enjoy watching him?”

“I guess it was nice. I'm not into the arts as much as you are Robert”.

“Well, I hope you enjoy him this evening”.

After dinner Wallace drove to the parking garage near Walnut Street, took the ticket from the parking attendant and with Mary Wagner walked around the corner to the Forrest Theater. He walked to the ticket window and mentioned his name. He then showed his identification and credit card number verifying that he was indeed the purchaser of two orchestra seats for this evenings show.

An usher escorted them to their seats and once seated they both read the program. “It seems to me that at one time in a conversation you mentioned that Ravel's Bolero is your favorite song”, said Mary.

“I probably said that Ravel's Bolero is one of my favorite songs. I have several favorites”.

“Tell me later”, she said as the house lights dimmed.

The haunting, persistent beat of the bolero began as the lights on stage revealed five women seated, dressed in long gowns. They clapped their hands in time with the rhythm. One woman in the center of the group was dressed in red, while the others were attired in white. She danced in what could be considered almost a solo act. While the four women clapped in unison, the woman in red displayed a large fan. She then gracefully used the device skillfully, drawing attention to herself. Then as the center dancer kept time with the fan the other dancers rose and danced around her,all the time dancing the flamenco and the sounds of the hard heels on their shoes resonated from the stage out into the audience. And the audience watched, afraid they might miss a step performed by the dancers. At the same time they listened, not wanting to miss a note played by the orchestra or the sound of Dancers heels striking the stage floor.

Next came three male dancers and when they did there was a moment of brief applause as the audience recognized the star of the show, Jose Greco. The tempo of the bolero increased and as it did so did the sound now of seven sets of heels making contact with the hard surface on stage. The women now held by the hand by the men were led through the steps of the flamenco and with each stanza the tempo of the music increased as did the rhythmic stepping heels. Both men and women gracefully moved their arms and hands in artistic fashion accenting not only their dancing, but the mood they had created for the audience. And the audience loved it, many sitting on the edge of their seats afraid to take their eyes off of the dancing troupe.

As the women danced they spread-ed their full skirts then waved the hems they held in their hands in time with the music. Then as Jose danced with the woman in the red dress at the crescendo of the bolero it came to an end. When it did Wallace joined others in the theater as he stood and applauded. After three curtain calls, the dance troupe was allowed to retire.

Mary watched Robert as he stood clapping his hands. She saw the look of joy that appeared on his face. She could see the appreciation he had for the artists that had just performed. She had finally seen the other side of his personality, the gentle side, the generous side, giving, not taking and the deep down hidden, artistic side. She loved him. “Will he ever come to love me?”, she asked herself mentally as she watched him.

Chapter Nine

Captain Wallace took a bite from the lemon dough-nut he held in his hand, chewed it,then washed it down with a swig of coffee. He sat silently watching his squad members doing the same. Coffee and dough-nuts was the traditional way to start off the morning for the Major Crime Squad. When he was finished his wiped his mouth and then his hands with a paper napkin, rolled the serviette into a ball and tossed it in the waste basket.

While the detectives ate, Wallace opened the files pertaining to the Garwood Village murders. He read then re-read official reports, looked again at crime scene photographs and removed hand written notes that no longer were correct or of value to the investigation. Finally, seeing that everyone was finished eating he closed the files and said, “OK. Who wants to go first?”

Frank Stiles spoke first. “I hit a brick wall at the Dude Ranch. The daytime crew is made up mostly of one bartender, a waitress and two porters that mop the floors and clean the restrooms. No one knew anything about a guy coming into the place with red hair”.

Wallace then looked at Detective Myers. “Carol? What do you have?”

“Captain I met with the Superintendent of Garwood Village. She pulled two boxes of records dating back to the nineteen fifties. All we found was note from a Mrs. Horton saying that she and her son were moving to Long Beach Island”, Myers reported.

“OK. At least that's something”, Wallace replied. “Tom? Got anything?” he asked turning his attention to McKenna.

“Yes sir, I think so. I hit the Dude Ranch at night, usually after nine. Each time I came up empty. That is, until Friday night. At that time I spotted a guy in what appeared to be a uniform, out-of-place, if you know what I mean. He was sitting at the bar drinking a beer and talking to the bartender. I walked up to him and identified myself. I found out that he was a bus driver, working for Public Service, out of Berlin, New Jersey. I proceeded to question him, asking if he had noticed any guy with red hair hanging around the bus terminal. You see the Dude Ranch is two blocks west of the terminal and Garwood Village is four blocks West of the Dude Ranch. Anyway, he told me that he remembers picking up a guy with red hair at a bus stop in Caravel and the guy got off of the bus here in Nautilus Beach. The last time I looked at a map,Caravel is a small town on Long Beach Island”.

Wallace sat up quickly in his chair. “Damn! Tom you might have just scored. Think, was there anything else the bus driver said?”

“I seem to remember that the red haired guy never had any luggage, just a long, black, narrow bag with a shoulder strap”, McKenna answered.

“And, you do have the name and address of the bus driver, right?”

“Certainly, Ralph Cummings, thirteen hundred Black Horse Pike, Berlin, New Jersey. His Public Service badge number is one, one, seven”.

“Good job, all of you. Now, someone get me a Road Atlas showing the town of Caravel. I haven't been there in years. Caravel is the name of a Portuguese ship and the town adopted that name just like Brigantine, New Jersey did years ago. The last time I was there it was a little piss pot of a place with a small population and Mom-and-Pop stores. Carol, I want you to get on the telephone, see if Information can give you a number or listing for the Chamber of Commerce of Caravel. I want to know the leading businesses in the town. If there is no Chamber of Commerce try for a listing for city Hall or the Municipal Building”, said Wallace.

“What do you need to know about businesses?”, asked Stiles.

“If Horton lives there he has to be either employed or on welfare. If he's employed what's his job and does it require the use of knives?”

Tom Mckenna entered the office carrying a Triple A road Atlas. He laid it on the desk in front of Wallace. Opening the book of maps to New Jersey, Wallace using his index finger went to the column of cities and towns beginning with the letter C. He stopped when he came to Caravel then read the population number next to the name. It was eight hundred and fifty. “Caravel is still a small town but since the last census was probably in nineteen seventy the population is more than likely now over a thousand. More people means more businesses. Something is keeping Horton there, if not his job, what is it?”, asked Wallace.

Carol Myers walked into the office. “I just got off of the telephone with the Public Information Office of Ocean County. According to them the largest employer in Caravel is a place known as, Haven House. Haven House is a half way house for the mentally ill”, she said.

“Damn! It looks like the breaks are starting to come our way. Alright, Tom, you and Carol head for Berlin. Check in with the local police. Then, I want a written statement from Cummings, the bus driver. Make sure he repeats what he told you about transporting a guy with red hair from Caravel to Nautilus Beach. What I really want is him saying he can identify the guy. Frank, you and I are heading for Caravel and Haven House. Let's hope Lionel Horton is there”.

 

Wallace drove the unmarked, black, Chrysler sedan on to the ten acre site and parked in front of the Haven House. He and Stiles got out and after locking the car doors they both walked up the front steps and into the building. They stopped at the reception desk and a young woman with a smile greeted them. Wallace removed his badge case from the inside pocket of his blazer and identified himself and Stiles. “I am Captain Wallace of the Nautilus Beach Police department. This is Sergeant Stiles. I believe we have an appointment with a Mr. Harvey Anderson”, he said.

“Yes Captain. Mr. Anderson is expecting you. If you will follow me I'll show you to his office”, said the woman.

“Thank you”, Wallace replied.

The three walked down a long, but wide hallway. White painted walls gave a sterile status and Wallace noticed the lack of decor.

The young woman stopped in front of a door, knocked, then opened it when she heard the words, “Come In”.

“Captain Wallace and Sergeant Stiles to see you sir”, she said.

“Oh yes. Come in gentlemen. From the short conversation we had on the telephone I get the impression that your visit here is an urgency”.

“It is. I am Captain Robert Wallace. We spoke on the telephone. This is Sergeant Frank Stiles”.

“My pleasure gentlemen. Please have a seat”.

“Thank you. I'll get right to the point Mr. Anderson. We want to know if you have a patient by the name of Lionel Horton?”

“Captain, you use the word patient. We prefer the word, client. You see we provide those with chronic mental illness support and services to acquire community living skills in a congregate setting”, explained Anderson.

“Then, I stand corrected. We want to know if you have a client by the name of Lionel Horton?”, said Wallace.

Anderson smiled. “Captain, you know that we do or you wouldn't have driven up here to meet with me or my staff”. He said.

“And, may I say it's nice to know where we both stand”, Wallace replied.

“Exactly, Mr. Horton is indeed a client and has been for several years. He is at times a resident and at other times he is an out patient”, Anderson responded.

“When you say several years, could you be a little more exact?”, asked Stiles.

“Certainly. Mr. Horton came to us the first time in nineteen sixty-nine”, Anderson answered.

“And he's been treated here for the past six years?”, asked Wallace.

“Treated? If you mean case management then the answer is yes.”.

“Could you elaborate on this, this case management?”, asked Wallace.

“Certainly. The people that come to us, clients, if you will, generally have developmental disabilities. We provide residents with the training and support that allows the individual to communicate and choose for themselves in such things as activities, recreation, vocation if possible and personal growth”.

“You mention activity in a vocation. Is Lionel Horton employed?”, asked Stiles.

“Last year we were able to place Mr. Horton in Stephanie's Restaurant as a dish washer”, Anderson answered.

Stiles wrote in his notebook.

“Is Horton a resident here now?”, asked Wallace.

“No. Mr. Horton is an outpatient.”

“And, just what does that entail?”, asked Wallace.

“We have local clinical providers who offer beds for outpatient care and day services as a short term alternative to psychiatric inpatient care. Usually there is a short stay in a comfortable home-like environment and away from their usual living place. This allows for problem-solving around certain issues that might be causing stress”, said Anderson.

“OK. And, where is this comfortable home-like environment?”, asked Stiles.

“It could be here or in any of our other housing resources”, answered Anderson.

“Mr. Anderson. We are here investigating the heinous murders of several women that occurred in Nautilus Beach. Right now we consider Lionel Horton as a suspect in those murders. What I want to know is first, his mental state and what he's been treated for. After that I want to know where he lives. So far, all you have given us is the text from one of your brochures”.

“I'm sorry you feel that way Captain, but as you know information about our clients is classified. I can't tell you where he lives nor can I tell you about his medical history. However, I can refer you to the United States Army. Perhaps they will give you the information you're after”.

“Yeah. Yeah. I hear that all the time from doctors, lawyers clergy and news reporters who can't reveal their sources. Eventually, they do under oath in a court of law. Right now. I see that you're stonewalling us so let's ease each others pain. Thank you for a half-ass presentation about your facility. Good by”, said Wallace as he and Stiles stood and walked out of the office.

Stiles pulled the car into a parking place in front of Stephanie’s Restaurant. He looked at his watch. “Are we having a late lunch or an early supper?”, he asked.

“Order what you want. Hopefully we'll get some information here. At the same time we can eat”.

Both men entered the restaurant, saw that the place was empty except for a waitress dressed in a pink outfit with a white apron and another woman who appeared to be the cashier. Wallace pointed to a booth. “Can we sit here?”, he asked.

“Sit where you want deary”, said the waitress. She filled two glasses with water and carried them and two menu's to where Wallace and Stiles sat.

“Kinda quiet in here”, said Stiles.

“It's March in Caravel. This is a summer resort. We're lucky that we're still open for business. I'll give you guys some time to read the menu. For your information the special today is the meatloaf and yeah its fresh”, said the waitress.

“I see by the name tag you're wearing that your name is Tilley. Tilley, I'm Captain Wallace of the Nautilus Beach Police Department. This is Sergeant Stiles. We're looking for a man reported to be working here. A man known as Lionel Horton. I understand he's the dishwasher”, said Wallace.

“My name is actually Matilda, Matilda Squires. Tell you what officer. See that lady sitting by the cash register? She's the owner, Stephanie. You go ask her your questions. People think waitresses are dumb. Well right now I am. I don't know nothing”.

“Hey, I understand Matilda. While I'm talking to your boss, you can bring me the meatloaf. Can I get corn with that?”, asked Wallace.

“If we have it. If not, it will be carrots”.

Wallace walked up to the woman called Stephanie, introduced himself, showed his credentials and asked her about Lionel Horton.

“He worked here up to a month ago. I try to be community oriented if you know what I mean. So, when those from the Haven House came in here and asked if I would hire a guy with a mental disability I said yeah. I figured word would get around and it would be good for business. I hired him as a dishwasher. Hey? How smart do you have to be to wash plates and silverware, dry them and put them away? Anyway, that's what he did. In return I paid him minimal wages, plus two meals a day, lunch and supper. He could have anything he wanted except steak or lobster. He worked from three P.M. To closing. We close at ten in the summer. Most of the time he came in around one o'clock for his lunch. Sometimes he'd stay until it was time to start his shift, other times he'd leave and come back.”

“Then, about September he started to miss work. I called the Haven House and they more or less indicated that Lionel had had a relapse and they asked me to be patient with him. I did, but then Mario, my chef came to me complaining that someone had taken his knife set. Do you have any idea just how much a set of personal knives mean to a chef? Or, the cost of them? Anyway, with him missing work more and more and Mario accusing Lionel of stealing his knives, I thought it best to let him go. With what little business I get in here during the winter, the three of us can wash dishes and we do”, said Stephanie.

“I understand. Could you tell me where he lives?”, asked Wallace.

“Yeah, I've got it somewhere in my office. Listen you sit down and eat your meal. I'll go look for it and when I find it I'll bring it to you”.

“Thanks Stephanie”.

“Don't mention it. I like cops. The coffee is on the house”.

Wallace walked back to the booth and slid in across the bench seat. “Frank, I think we're about to strike gold”. He said.

Later, as the two men were finishing their apple pie, Stephanie walked up to where they sat and handed Wallace a slip of paper.

“Sorry it took me so long sugar, but I had put his address in with the with holding tax information. But, here it is. Lionel Horton, Lincoln Apartments, apartment seven twelve”.

“Thanks Stephanie. Now I need another favor”, said Wallace.

“And, what would that be?”

“Would you call the local police and ask them to come here and to see Captain Wallace of the Nautilus Beach Police Department?”

“I'll tell you what. You call them. Follow me”.

Twenty minutes later, Wallace shook hands with Sergeant Gene Santori of the Caravel, police Department. “Sergeant, I have reason and probable cause to request a search warrant for the residence of one Lionel Horton, believed to be living at apartment seven twelve, Lincoln Apartments, Caravel, New Jersey”, said Wallace.

“No problem Captain. In order to get the warrant we have to go in front of the Magistrate. Fortunately he's working today. If you will follow me I'll take you to the drug store. We'll get the warrant there”, said Santori.

“The Drug Store?”, asked Stiles.

“Yes. Keep in mind that Caravel is in reality just a beach front summer resort. Most of the homes here are only occupied during the summer. The rest of the time they sit vacant, Our job is to patrol and keep the B&E's to a minimum”, said Santori.

“How many men on your department?”, asked Wallace.

“Four, two patrolmen, one sergeant and the Chief”.

“Who is the Chief?”, asked Stiles.

“John Baker. Right now he's in the hospital in Manahawkin recovering from a hemorrhoid operation”.

“Your lucky. Our Chief, is a hemorrhoid”, Stiles replied.

“Then, I assume that you're the only one on duty right now”, said Wallace.

“Correct, but since O.W. Wilson recommends one police officer on patrol for every thousand population we're following police administration protocol . Especially right now. We have about eight hundred and fifty fulltime residents”, said Santori.

“Do you hire summer police?”. Asked Stiles.

“Yes, mostly to keep an eye on the college kids that come in to go to the beach and party”.

“OK. Let's get going”, said Wallace.

One half hour later, armed with a search warrant issued by Henry Baker, the town pharmacist, magistrate and brother of the Chief of Police, Wallace, Stiles and Sergeant Santori waited while the Superintendent of the Lincoln Apartments unlocked the door to apartment seven twelve. Each officer removed their weapons from their holsters and quickly entered moving along the walls with revolvers at the ready. They soon realized that no one, especially Lionel Horton was there.

Stiles entered the bathroom. Then, he called Wallace. “Cap? Looks like our boy is on to us. Look at this”.

Wallace entered the room and Stiles held up an empty bottle of Redken hair dye, color, brown.

Captain Wallace then walked back into the living room. On the coffee table he found three old Public Service bus transfers. He looked at the dates and noticed that each ticket was dated and the dates coincided with the deaths of Kinshoffer, Fleming and Fisher. He then saw the empty box. He leaned forward in order to see it more clearly. When he did he read, “Omark Industries, Sporting Equipment Division, BLAZER 38 special ammunition.” The box was empty.

Turning to Sergeant Santori Wallace asked, “Do you have any type of crime scene equipment in your department?”

“No, we never had the need for it. We figured to use the State Police if we had too. But, I do have a camera in the car that we use for accident investigations. Will that help?”

“Yes it will. Frank, looks like the son of a bitch has changed his appearance and now is carrying a gun”.

Back at headquarters Wallace took a seat at his desk. He was somewhat perturbed. He had anticipated getting information on Horton's mental condition from those at Haven House and after receiving the killers address had hoped to take him into custody. Instead, he didn't get either. He sat and typed his report allowing Stiles to go home.

He looked up as the sound of high heels making contact with the hallway floor drew his attention. He saw Myers and McKenna entering his office. “How did you make out?”, he asked.

McKenna handed him a written statement given by Ralph Cummings. “We had to wait until he finished his run. Then, we had to convince him to be a good citizen. Finally, we threatened him with a Grand Jury subpena and he relented. Guess what? Cummings told us he brought this guy down from Caravel two days ago, only this time the guy had brown hair”.

“Yeah, he dyed it. He also now carries a thirty eight”, Wallace replied.

“Nice”, said Myers

“Yeah, nice. He's in our town, armed with both knives which incidentally are a set of Chef's knives that he had stolen. That's the long, narrow, black case that was reported and a gun and we don't know where he is...Nice”, said Wallace.

“Is there anything else you want us to do Captain?”, asked Myers.

“Yes, go home for now, but stand by in case I want you”.

Chapter Ten

The next day as Wallace sat at his desk drinking his morning coffee, members of his squad entered the office one by one. Each one then reached into the white paper bag on the desk, removed a Styrofoam cup along with a dough-nut and took a seat. No one said anything, but they looked up to see Tom Mckenna, the last to arrive.

“You're ten minutes late”, said Wallace.

“Not really. A half an hour ago I was talking to Eric Fetterman. You remember him. He's the witness we had that got a partial look at the killer, the night he walked the Fleming woman home”, said Mckenna.

“Yeah so what did he have to say?”, asked Wallace.

“He's pretty sure that the guy he saw that night was in the store yesterday”.

“How can he be sure. He stated himself that the guy turned his head and he couldn't get a good look at his face”.

“The overcoat, remember he said the overcoat appeared to be too big for the guy? Well, that what he recognized. He said the guy bought two bags of groceries”.

“Seems like our boy doesn't want to be seen eating in public places. He's decided to cook for himself. The question is where? Carol, look up every motel that have kitchens and give me a list. Tom? I want you to go back to where Fetterman works. See if the market has security cameras. If they do see if they got our guy on film. If we get lucky bring in the tape. We'll make prints and get them out to our patrols on the street. Frank, you come with me. While Myers is compiling that list we've got to get the Chief to give us the manpower to check every motel room with a kitchen. That might mean bringing in the four to twelve shift,” said Wallace.

Sitting in front of the Chief of Police, Wallace told how it was possible that soon they might have enough information to arrest the Garwood Village serial killer.

“And, you want me to bring in another entire platoon in order to arrest one individual. Do you know what that would cost the city in overtime?”, asked Chief Monahan.

“Personally Chief, I don't give a damn about the cost. If he's holed up in one of the motels then we have to move people out of harms way. If you worry about paying overtime, try this. Worry about law suits against the department and the city if any citizen is killed or injured during the arrest”, said Wallace.

“That's the difference between you and me Captain. I have a budget to consider. If I bring in extra personnel and your arrest attempt fizzles I have to explain why to the commissioners. You don't.”

“You get exactly the manpower on duty at the time you make your arrest. I am willing to let you call in the Swat team if and when you need it. That's the best I can do under the circumstances.”

“Fine. Frank. Let's go”, said Wallace as he got up to leave.

When they got back to the office Myers was waiting with a list of motels that offered kitchens for those who wanted to cook their own meals. Wallace took the list from her, then sat down and read it. As he did he read aloud, “Let's see, the Sorento, the Maple Leaf and the Windsor. Frank, what's the address of Stern's Market?”

“I don't know the exact number, but I know that it's on Fairview”.

“Hmmmn, the Sorento is two blocks from there. That's not too far to walk carrying two bags of groceries”, said Wallace.

“And, it's just three blocks from the bus terminal”, said Stiles.

“Carol, call the three motels, see if they registered anyone two nights ago who rented a kitchenette”, Wallace ordered.

“Let's hope that Tom has a tape with the guy in the store”, offered Stiles.

“If he does it means that our luck is about to change. Does he have his radio with him?”, asked Wallace.

“He better have”, Stiles answered.

“Call him. See how he made out”, said Wallace.

Stiles removed the portable radio from the case attached to his belt. He turned it on then spoke. “Sixteen Stiles to Seventeen McKenna”. He waited a minute, then repeated the message. Finally, he heard the vocal response. “Seventeen McKenna”.

“Seventeen, what is your location?”, asked Stiles.

“Ocean Avenue, heading into headquarters”, said McKenna.

“How did you make out?”, asked Stiles.

“Bingo”.

Stiles turned off his radio and looked at Wallace. Both men smiled.

Detective Myers walked into the office. “Captain. The only motel that rented a unit with a kitchenette two nights ago was the Sorento. The customer is registered as one, Harry Anders. He gave his address as seven nineteen Baxter Street, Beach Haven, New Jersey. Anders is in unit one twelve.”, she said.

“That's strange. You have to go through Beach Haven in order to get to Caravel. At the same time the director of Haven House is Harvey Anderson. It's almost as if Lionel Horton changed his address and name by alternating both by just a fraction. Caravel to Beach Haven and Harvey Anderson to Harry Anders”, said Wallace.

“It could just be a coincidence”, said Myers.

“Could be, but I doubt it. Let's wait and see what Tom brings us”, Wallace replied.

Twenty minutes later Detective Thomas McKenna entered Captain Wallace's office. He had a large smile on his face as he handed Wallace the Betamax tape. “They're bringing up the player Cap”.

“I assume you looked at it at the market:”, said Wallace.

“Yep. The only problem is that the tape is short. As a result the store security only operates the recorder if and when they suspect a shoplifter in the store. Fortunately for us Horton was wearing an old, out of style, overcoat with large pockets. This alerted management and they recorded him while he was in there”.

Uniformed patrolmen entered the office carrying the VCR player and television. They placed them on the desk, then left. Stiles ran an extension cord to the outlet across the room then attached the VCR cord to the televison, inserted the Beta tape, turn on the player and pushed the play button.

Wallace and the others watched as the image of Sterns Market interior came into view on the black and white, small television set. The store cameras picked up patrons entering and leaving the store. Another camera recorded the image of a Caucasian male pushing a shopping cart. The man appeared to be about thirty years old, had dark hair and wore a dark overcoat.

“Stop it right there Frank”, said Wallace.

Stiles pushed the STOP button.

Wallace leaned forward and studied the image of the man on the screen. “That coat he's wearing is called a Duffel Coat. Notice the hood. To my knowledge that's the only man's overcoat that has a hood attached to it. Notice the buttons. They're called toggle buttons, made of wood. Originally the coats were made out of coarse wool. The English company that made them originally made duffel bags, then they made a coat out of the same material and the name stuck.”.

Looking at McKenna Wallace asked. “Did you happen to ask about the color of the coat?”

“Yes sir. I was told it was navy blue”, Tom answered.

“Then it was made for the British Navy”, Wallace replied.

“How in the hell could Horton get hold of an English navy overcoat?”, asked Stiles.

“The style was copied here in the U.S. Back in the fifties, Usually they were dyed brown or camel”, said Wallace.

“Well evidently the style didn't last. I don't remember seeing them”, said Myers.

“They didn't go over to well, but I heard they were great for football games. They kept you warm and you could fill the pockets with snacks....Or booze and you had the hood to protect your head,” Wallace replied.

“Well if this is the guy that Fetterman came in contact with at Garwood Village then he was right. The overcoat is too large for Horton”, said Stiles.

“Did you notice anything else?”, asked Wallace.

“No,” answered Stiles.

“Rewind the tape and play it again.”

Stiles did what he was told then paid particular attention to the black and white tape playing in the Betamax player. “I don't see anything different”, he said.

“Do it again. Then watch his reaction to women he meets and passes in the aisles”, said Wallace.

“Son of a bitch. The bastard either turns his back to them or turns around and leaves the aisle when there's either a woman in the aisle or entering the aisle”, said Stiles.

“Now fast forward to where he's at the meat counter”, said Wallace.

Stiles pushed the fast forward button then stopped the tape when Horton came into view as he was about to select a cut of meat.

“I'll be damned”, said Stiles.

“Exactly. Notice, he's looking over what appears to be either steak or pork chops. Then, a woman walks up next to him, reaches around him to pick up a package and he jumps like he's shot out of a cannon. He grabs his cart and leaves in a hurry, only to come back later.”

“He is one weird bastard”. Said Mckenna.

“It only proves that my profiler is right. Horton becomes ill around women. He also suffers from gynophobia, or the fear of women. There's no mistaking it now. The guy you're looking at is the one the press calls, the Garwood Slasher”, said Wallace as he reached up and turned off the Betamax player.

“What do we do next Captain?”, asked Myers.

“We go after Harry Anders at the Sorento Motel”, Wallace answered.

“Do you want any special weapons? Tear gas? Extra manpower?”, asked Stiles.

“Call in the Street Sergeant and the radio car in that district, providing they're free. When they get here I'll brief them. As far as the patrol on the street we'll have to wait and see how it goes. But, have the swat team standing by just in case we need them”, said Wallace.

At three forty-six P.M. Uniformed patrol officer closed off the street stopping traffic from entering the thoroughfare where the Sorento motel was located. The desk clerk of the motel co-operating with the police called each room except one twelve. Those in their rooms were asked to come to the lobby on the pretense that their was a problem with their bill. Finally, when Wallace thought that the general public was safe and conditions were right, he along with Stiles and McKenna made their way to the doorway of unit one twelve. As they stood there they could hear the sound of the television playing in the room. Wallace gave the signal and Mckenna swung the APB battering ram. Striking the brass lock mechanism twice, the door swung open on the second hit. Stiles entered quickly holding the Remington model eight seventy shotgun. Wallace followed with is revolver drawn. The room was empty. No one was there.

Wallace placed his weapon back into his holster, then walked to the closet. It was empty. The only signs that someone had been there were the dirty paper plates, plastic eating utensils and soiled pots and pans which sat on the stove.

Wallace walked over to the small counter where he found two paper bags. He looked inside, then reached into one bag and removed the white paper register receipt from Sterns Market. “The son of a bitch is gone. Somehow he figured we were coming for him. He's either damn smart or damn lucky”, he said.

Detective Myers entered the room. “Nothing? You made me wait in the lobby because you didn't want me to get hurt and you guys came up with nothing? Captain, I'm a police officer. Either treat me as one or transfer me. I'm not hiding in motel lobbies like some little school girl”.

“Myers, shut up! I didn't put you in the lobby to protect you. You were there to keep order with the patrons assembled in the lobby and to protect them if necessary. Did you do that?”, asked Wallace.

“Yes sir, I did”.

“Good, now go back down there and tell everyone they can go back to doing what ever they want”.

The next morning Wallace sat red faced in front of Chief Monahan. “Did you read this mornings paper Captain?”

“No I didn't”.

“Well, the head line reads, “BIG BUST, A BIG BUST!”. Meaning you and the entire department looked like a horses ass out there yesterday. You empty a motel of its patrons, bust in a door, which incidentally the department has to pay for. You stop and prevented vehicle traffic from using Ocean Avenue resulting in the businesses on that street raising hell because they lost customers and you came up empty in front of the local press who is on my ass about these murders”.

“Yeah, but we found evidence that the son of a bitch was there”, Wallace responded.

“Was!, Was! The thing is, he wasn't there and that's what counts. Now, get out of here and catch this son of a bitch and do it with your own squad. I'm not pissing away more money for overtime while you chase windmills like Don Quixote”.

Angry, Wallace left the Chief's office then took the elevator up to his office floor. He passed by the detectives assigned to his squad and ignored their morning greetings. He sat down at his desk and was pleased to see that someone had left him a cup of coffee and a lemon dough-nut. As he sat and ate his mind constantly went over the latest evidence they had on Horton. “The bastards in town. We missed him at the Sorento. Where in the hell is he now?”

He looked at the large, black rimmed clock on the wall, saw that it was nine forty five A.M. And decided to go over all the evidence in the files, once again. As he started to get out of his chair the telephone on his desk rang. He answered it. “Major Crime Squad, Captain Wallace”.

“Captain, this is Harry Billings. I'm one of the managers of Garwood Village. I'm calling because something strange is going on here”.

“What do you mean by strange?”. Asked Wallace.

“One of the residents reported that they saw a man in a dark blue or black overcoat looking out of the front window of apartment one, four, twenty. That unit is vacant, I sent Jose Garza, my custodian to check. That was an hour ago and he has not returned.”

“Thank you very much Mr. Billings. I'm sending a uniformed patrol unit to you. Stay in your office until they arrive”.

Wallace disconnected his call with Billings then dialed the Patrol Captains office. When he heard. “Patrol division, Captain Russel”, Wallace said, “Don I just got word from the manager of Garwood Village that the guy we're looking for might be in unit one four two zero. Send what units you can. Have your street Sergeant place personnel in position to keep people inside their homes, meanwhile have another unit secure the rear of that apartment. I’m on the way with my squad”.

“T.C.O. Do you want SWAT?”

“Yeah notify them. Also have communication alert your cars that there are to be no sirens. This guy might be holding a hostage”.

“Got it. Be careful”.

“I will”.

Twenty minutes later, Wallace turned on the fifteen watt megaphone, pushed the play button and adjusted the volume. There was a slight screeching sound. Wallace waited then spoke into the bull horn.

“LIONEL HORTON. THIS IS CAPTAIN WALLACE OF THE NAUTILUS BEACH POLICE. YOU ARE NOW SURROUNDED. YOU CAN NOT ESCAPE.I WANT YOU TO SEND OUT MR. GARZA. DON'T HURT HIM. YOU HAVE TEN MINUTES TO THROW DOWN YOUR WEAPONS AND COME OUTSIDE WITH YOUR HANDS UP WHERE WE CAN SEE YOU!”.

Five minutes later the custodian appeared at the picture window. Lionel Horton stood behind him holding a revolver to the man's head. Wallace watched Horton move to a smaller window and forced his hostage to open it. When it was open Horton yelled, “NO! LEAVE ME BE! IF YOU DON'T I'LL SHOOT THIS MAN!”

“DON'T DO ANYTHING FOOLISH LIONEL. LET THE MAN GO. PUT DOWN THE GUN AND COME OUTSIDE. IF YOU DO THAT WE CAN HELP YOU”!

“NO ONE CAN HELP ME. I DON'T NEED YOUR HELP. WHAT HAVE I DONE? JUST DESTROYED HARLOTS, CHEAP WHORES THAT SELL THEIR BODIES AND YOU WANT ME TO STOP. YOU WANT TO STOP ME FROM ELIMINATING THESE EVIL SLUTS THAT CONTAMINATE THE EARTH.”

“THESE ARE THE SAME TYPE OF WOMEN THAT WALK THE STREETS AT NIGHT . THE SAME WOMEN THAT YOU PICK UP AND ARREST TIME AFTER TIME. MY WAY PUTS AN END TO THEM. LEAVE ME BE!”

“YOUR TIME IS RUNNING OUT LIONEL. COME OUTSIDE!”

“WHY? SO YOU CAN LOCK ME AWAY? YOU AND THE OTHERS THINK THAT I”M SICK. MENTALLY ILL THEY TELL ME. YOU NEED HELP THEY SAY. YOU'LL PUT ME IN THE LOCKED WARD AGAIN. YOU WANT TO END MY MISSION HERE ON EARTH, SO YOU CAN LET THE WHORES WORK THE STREETS? NO! NEVER!”

“LIONEL, YOU NOW HAVE TWO MINUTES. COME OUT OR WE'LL FORCE YOU OUT”, said Wallace.

Stiles looked at Wallace and said, “Cap, be careful. He's got a hostage in there. If anything happens to him you'll be the one they blame”.

“I have to take that chance. Right now Horton's scared. He never thought that he would be caught like this, trapped in Garwood Village and surrounded by the police. The longer we wait, the more upset and unstable he'll become, that's when he could kill.”

Wallace looked at his wristwatch and when the two minutes were over he signaled to the Sergeant commanding the S.W.A.T. Allowing him to proceed. He watched as one uniformed officer advanced carrying the tear gas gun, saw the man kneel, aim and fire, sending a large projectile through the picture window. There was the sound of glass shattering, a loud thud and soon visible white vapors of gas could be seen filling the room. Lionel Horton turned and moved away from Garza and the window.

The man held hostage placed his head out through the broken window. Then, sensing that his captor had left the room smashed the remaining glass with his bare hands and jumped, landing on the small lawn. He got up, his hands bleeding and ran towards Wallace and the police.

Wallace yelled, “Run! Run!” Then, he saw Horton appear at the broken window again. He saw the crazed look on the killers face, the hatred in his eyes and the thirty eight caliber revolver in his hand. Robert Wallace reached for his own weapon, but before he could get it out of the holster he heard, pop, pop, pop. Then the blow of two bullets striking his body, one bullet hitting him in the left hip with the force to knock him off of his feet. The other entering his abdomen. Then the pain came, a burning sensation began in his stomach and another in his lower back. Just before he lost consciousness he heard five shots fired rapidly.

He heard voices. Everything was dark. Voices were saying, “Will he make it? How is he?” Then a sound that seemed far away as a stretcher was pulled from the rear of an ambulance. He felt his body move. He was lifted then lowered. Suddenly he felt himself moved backwards, “Weird,” he thought to himself. The last thing he heard was the sound of a siren screaming over an over and then he passed out again.

Wallace tried to move his right hand, but he couldn't. His hand refused to move. Then, he tried moving his left hand and the same thing happened. Then, there was a sound, a humming. To him laying in a hospital bed it came as a noise that a small electric motor would make. As he laid there his mind worked, attempting to understand just what the sound was.

There was something in his nose, something that irritated him, something that he wanted to reach for and remove, but his hands wouldn't move. Then, he felt a soft, warm hand brush the hair back away from his forehead and he heard her voice. “Robert? How are you feeling dear?”

He struggled to open his eyes and when he did light gradually allowed him to focus. First there was a blur. Then shapes of things came into view. Looking straight up, he saw the white ceiling. Turning his head he saw Mary. He smiled and tried to speak.

“Don't talk dear. There's a tube that they ran down through your nose and into your intestines to remove bile. You kept trying to pull it out when you were unconscious or asleep. That's why your hands are tied to the bed rails. If you talk all you'll do is aggravate your throat and it will get sore. The doctor who operated on you will be in later to let you know your condition and what you have to do to get well again. I can tell you this. One bullet struck and broke your left hip. That's why you're in a cast. They think that after striking your hip the bullet then tumbled striking your small intestine. The second bullet went into your abdomen and out your back. They're most concerned about the wound to the intestine”.

Wallace nodded his head indicating that he understood.

“Do you have any pain?”, she asked.

He shook his head indicating no.

“Here comes the doctor. I'll get out of his way so he can talk to you”.

He looked up to see a man dressed in green scrubs looking down at him. “How are you feeling Captain? I'm Doctor Fisk”. Wallace gave a thumbs up.

“Good, don't talk. I'm sure this lovely lady told you about the tube in your nose. The tube is hooked up to what we call the Wagensteen suction pump. It's pulling the bile out of you intestines. The tube will be there for a couple of days. You keep trying to pull it out, so I'm sorry to say that your hands are tied to prevent you from doing it. Now, your hip is broken, but we have put pins in it and you should heal quickly and be up and around. However, the bullet that hit you in the hip also broke off a piece of bone. The shot you took in the abdomen fortunately didn't hit any vital organs, It missed your liver and your left kidney. That's about it Captain. All you have to do is let us take care of you and get well. If you need anything write it down on the pad we placed on your table. I'll see you later”.

When Doctor Fisk left the room Mary returned to the bedside. “Now you know that your injuries are serious I hope that you are going to follow their directions. You will have a long recovery Robert. I'm making arrangements for when you get out of the hospital. You'll come to my place. There, I'll be able to take care of you”.

Wallace shook his head, indicated, “No”.

“Shut up Robert. I don't want to hear it. How are you going to take care of yourself at home? You won't be able to cook for yourself, feed yourself or dress yourself, drive to the doctors or change your dressings if necessary. Do you know that you were unconscious for a week? So make sure that you understand me, you will stay with me”, she said as she held his hand. Wallace smiled.

“It's nice that they tied your hands. Now, I can hold it as long as I want”.

Another face appeared beside the bed. Wallace turned his head and looked at Frank Stiles.

“He can't talk Frank”, said Mary.

“No problem Cap. Just listen. I've been here along with Mary checking to see how you're doing day after day. You're looking better. I'll say that. Now, if you want, I'll bring you up to date”, said Stiles. Wallace nodded his head.

“Great. Well, the commissioner went on television and said what a great job Chief Monahan did by removing the cold blooded killer, Lionel Horton from Nautilus Beach and Garwood Village. Excellent police work”, he said.

“The person who removed Horton was Carol Myers. When you went down she stood up, raised her revolver and pumped five shots into the son of a bitch hitting him in the high chest area. Cap, you could have covered the hits with a deck of cards. Come to find out Myers qualifies every year as a distinguished expert on the range.” Wallace smiled and gave the thumbs up sign.

“You might want to make sure she gets a commendation”, added Stiles. Wallace gave a nod of his head.

“Chief Monahan has put me in charge of the Major Crime Squad until further notice. I hope you don't have a problem with that”. Wallace again gave the thumbs up sign.

“OK. Unless you need anything or any orders for me I've got to go”, said Stiles. Wallace nodded his head again in understanding.

Stiles walked up along the side of the bed and placed a hand on Wallace's shoulder. “See you later Cap. Get well and get your ass back to work”, he said, then turned and left the room.

Chapter Eleven

The first week of May, Wallace stood in Mary Wagner's living room and as she stood in front of him he handed her his crutches. He then took a slow step forward. Then two, two more and with no pain and with balance he turned and walked from the living room to the kitchen and back.

“Made it. I don't need the crutches anymore”.

“No, you don't”, Mary said sadly.

“Why so glum? I thought that you'd be happy for me”.

“I am happy that you can walk again. I'm unhappy because now you'll leave me”.

“You can't expect me to live here forever”, said Wallace.

“Why not?”

“Here we go again. We've been over this a thousand times”.

“You're right Robert. I'm tired of it. Tired of asking you to stay, tired of asking for your love and tired of waiting for you to change your mind. Doc and Sharon are coming for dinner tonight. They'll be leaving for Australia soon. For their benefit let's pretend that we're the happy couple. You can tell them by letter later, that you dumped me again”.

“Don't use the word dump. It implies that I used you and cast you aside”.

“Oh, I'm sorry. Do I hurt your feelings? Poor you. Poor, poor you. Excuse me, I have to put a roast in the oven”.

“Besides, it must be time for you to go back to work again. It's been over a month since you took off to take care of me”, said Wallace.

“There's nothing to go back to. I quit the paper a month ago.”

“You quit? Just what the hell are you going to do to make a living?”

“Well, since you won't marry me or live with me I guess I'll just have to fend for myself. Don't worry about it. I can make it as a freelance writer”.

“You're that good?”

“Yes, yes I am”.

“What will you write about?”

“Anything I want. That's the beauty of freelancing . For instance, right now Nautilus Beach wants casino gambling. There are those who support it and those who are against it. I see the possibility of say, two or three articles for a few magazines”.

“What magazines?”

“Oh, let's see. There's Casino life, Casino Gambling International and Casino world, just to mention a few”.

“Got it all figured out, don't you?”

“Yep”

“Do what you want. I need to use your telephone”.

“Go right ahead, like I said, I've got to attend to a roast.”

That evening, Mary served salad of orange and endive, a crown roast of lamb with garlic potatoes, carrots and glazed onions. For desert there was crème brule. “I hope everyone enjoyed their dinner”, said Mary.

“Thank you for choosing lamb Mary. That was very thoughtful of you”, said Sharon.

“I wanted your farewell dinner to be something special”, Mary replied.

“Let's not say farewell. Hopefully we'll see each other again”.

“Hell yes. Maybe this hardheaded son of a bitch will wise up and ask you to marry him. You could spend your honeymoon in Australia”, said Doc Edwards.

“Don't go starting an argument, you old goat”, said Wallace.

“You know, it's a shame that killer didn't shoot you in the head instead of your hip. If he had the bullet would have just have bounced off”, Edwards replied.

“I suppose that you're anxious to get home”, said Mary changing the subject.

“Actually, yes. I have my patients to consider, although they have been seeing an associate of mine. Then there are times when the Western Australia Police ask for me. At the same time Manfred has to get established in Rockingham”, explained Sharon.

“Have you figured out what you are going to do there Doc?”, asked Wallace.

“Hey, Australia is kind enough to let me enter as a pathologist so I'll take whatever job I can find in that field of medicine. At the same time I'll refresh the old brain and catch up on geriatrics, take the test and open a practice”.

“It must be nice to know what the future holds”, said Mary sadly.

“I hope the future has a quick sale of our house here. Manfred was lucky enough to sell his old automobile. He won't tell me just how much he received, but I know he got more than what the car was worth”, said Sharon.

“I got the ongoing price for an antique automobile. The car was a 1956 Packard. That was the last year they were made. I loved that automobile. Even though it was nineteen years old. They don't make them like that any more. That car was all steel, chrome and nickle. Today, you get plastic and fiberglass”, said Doc.

“Did you like it Robert?”, asked Sharon.

“Doc's right. It's a great automobile. Did I like it? Sure. However, every time I was in it when he drove I felt as though I was in an antique parade”. Wallace replied.

“There aren't that many around here to have a parade”, said Doc.

“I'm not referring to the car. I'm talking about you”, said Wallace.

“You asshole. I'm going to miss you pal”, said Edwards.

“Same here Doc. I'm glad you finally found happiness with a great lady. I wish you both the best”, Wallace replied.

“Well, I never thought it would happen, but by marrying Manfred, I became an American citizen and he became an Australian. Nice having dual citizenship”, said Sharon.

“Particularly when the Australians had enough and throw his ass out of the country”, said Wallace.

“I understand that you gave up news reporting and intend now to be a writer. Is that so?”, asked Sharon changing the subject.

“Yes. English was my main course in college. My minor actually was journalism. I wrote some things in college to pay small bills and to buy things. I feel as though I can do it again”.

“And, just what do you intend to write?”, asked Doc.

“Magazine articles, a novel perhaps. Then, there is always the possibility of ghost writing for someone”, Mary answered.

Doc Edwards turned again to Robert. “And when are you going to get off of your lazy ass and go back to work? You've been nursing this hip wound far too long”.

“As a matter of fact I called headquarters today letting them know that I'll be in next week. It might be just light duty sitting behind the desk, but I'll be back where I belong”.

“How is your hip?”, asked Doc.

“Better, all better. No pain. No limp. My Doctor told me that down the road I might develop arthritis, but I'll worry about that when the time comes.”

“What about the other wound, the intestine?”, asked Sharon.

“No problems to speak of right now. In the beginning I had a problem swallowing because of the tube they ran down my nose, but after a special diet and Mary's cooking the problem went away”, Wallace answered.

Doc Edwards looked at his wristwatch. “It's getting late. We still have some packing to do. Then we have to get up early to meet the van that's taking us to the airport”, he said.

“I still don't know why you won't let me take you. I've got nothing else to do”.

“Sure, I'm going to trust my life and that of my wife to a guy recovering from a hip operation. I don't think so. So, Robert, it's time to say good by. Thanks for all the good memories, great fishing, great eating and drinking. Most of all, thanks for the great friendship”, said Edwards as he placed his arms around Wallace and hugged him.

“Hey, you know how I feel. Just enjoy life pal. Enjoy life. It's so short. Sharon, you take care of this ugly bastard”, said Robert.

“I will”, she said as she kissed him on the cheek. “You know you can always fly down to see us”, turning her attention to Mary.

“We'll see”, Mary replied.

After the Edwards left, Mary placed the used dishes in the dishwasher. Wallace walked into the bedroom, open the drawers holding his clothes and after retrieving his suitcases from the closet began packing. Mary heard him and walked softly and slowly into the room. “In a hurry to leave?”, she asked.

“Not in a hurry, but it's time for me to get back home and back to work”, he answered.

“Are you sure that you're well enough?”

“Yeah, me and the police surgeon”.

“You know I want you to stay”.

“I know, but I can't. You know the reason why”.

“Yes, I know, it's because you don't love me”.

“Here we go again”.

“Oh, I'm sorry. I should have known that this is the subject you constantly avoid. I'll leave and let you pack. Let me know when you're ready and I'll drive you home”.

“I can call a cab”.

“Tell you what Buster. I'll call one for you”, Mary responded in anger.

“ Listen, there's no way you can work with me around here constantly. I don't know much about writing, but I do know that there are periods of what they call writers block. With me here, all you would do is worry about me, worry if I'm sick, worry if I'm hungry, most of all worry about if I'm happy. Then, on top of it you would bring up the fact that you and I should be married, even after I've told you a thousand times why we shouldn't”.

“Same old story. Same old excuse. Don't bother to go any further. I've heard it all before. What's your favorite expression? Oh yes, Bullshit. And that's what you're giving me!”, she shouted as she stormed out of the room.

Wallace unlocked the front door to his condo, picked up his suitcase and walked in. The place looked the same. The wastepaper basket next to his desk was still full. Esmeralda hadn't been here to clean sine he was wounded. “Hey, maybe she was like the others, thinking I was going to die”, he thought to himself. He looked at what used to be white, painted walls, stained yellow now by nicotine from the smoke of thousands of cigarettes he had smoked as he had worked at his desk.

He carried his suitcase into the master bedroom and placed it on the floor. Then he went to the kitchen, opened the refrigerator and found nothing but an old dried up head of lettuce and a few onions. He reached for the telephone on the kitchen wall, looked at the number he had written in pencil, dialed the number and when whoever answered, he ordered a pepperoni pizza to be delivered.

Feeling uncomfortable Wallace walked into his combination den and living room. He took a seat in his favorite chair. “What's wrong with me?”, he asked himself mentally. He got up out of the chair and walked to his stereo. Maybe it was music he needed to feel better. At least it was something to do before the pizza arrived. He turned on the set, and looked through his record collection. Not finding anything that he was in the mood for, he switched from phonograph to radio, then walked back to his chair and sat again.

He pushed back the recliner laid back and closed his eyes. Laying there he heard Frank Sinatra sing, “A Day In The Life Of A Fool”. Wallace began to pay attention to the lyrics:

A day in the life of a fool.

A Sad and Lonely Day

I walk the Avenue and hope

I'll run into the welcome sight

of you coming my way

I stop just across from your door

But you're never home any more

So back to my room and there in the gloom

I cry tears of good by

That's the way it will be every day in the life of a fool

He laid there in the chair thinking. “What's my future? Where do I go from here? What do I do next? Same old shit over and over that's what you have to look forward to. Will you try to change things? Will you try to make life better getting more than satisfaction from your job or will you just sit on your ass and throw opportunity after opportunity to be happy out the window?”

“How many times did I have the chance to take a wife, to marry, to raise a family? First, there was Deborah. Deborah Roth. (*Azreal) Nice girl, smart. Educated, like Sharon, a psychologist . She talked marriage all the time. Hell, I made her move to Israel. Then there was Elaine Benson (*House On Timber Lane) a nice wealthy widow with a thriving real estate business. Mary Higgins (*House On Timber Lane) a registered nurse. She was great in the sack. Hell, I don't remember her actually saying the word marriage. She hinted at it though. Then came Miss Jane Chambers. (*Gifts From The Kasbah) Ah, Jane, the one I went ga ga over and she turned me down. Me, one the nicest guys in the world. Keep thinking that bullshit and you'll start believing it. I can't blame her. She is talented, smart and has a great job. Why give that up for a life of washing dishes, dirty diapers, socks and underwear. Then, along came Mary. She was just a kid when I met her. (*Azreal) She still looks like a kid, short, petite, small breasted, freckles on her nose and a page boy hair style. Her eyes fill up with tears when she's sad and they sparkle when she's happy. Hell, it seems that I'm the one that makes her sad most of the time. But, I must admit that I seem to be the one that makes her happy other times. The question arises, can I make her happy all the time?”

His thoughts were interrupted by his ringing telephone. He got up out of the chair and answered it. “Hello?”

“Captain, this is Ben the doorman. Did you order a pizza?”

“Yes I did”.

“Alright, I'll send him up”.

“Thank you Ben”.

Wallace paid the delivery man then carried the box of pizza into the kitchen where he laid it on the table. He filled a tall glass with ice cubes then filled the glass with warm Pepsi Cola out of a can. As he ate. His mind wandered again. “Why in the hell should you care what people think about you if you have a young wife? It's our life. Actually, now that I think of it, it's her life and the life she wants to live is one with me. Well, why not? Why not take her up on it? Both of us have laid the cards on the table many times. I know what she wants,and she knows what she's getting marrying me. There sure as hell can't be any more surprises”.

He ate two slices of the pizza, closed the box lid, then carried it to the refrigerator and placed it inside. Walking back to the living room he went to his desk and pulled open a drawer. Reaching inside he removed first a ring box and then the receipt that came with it the day he bought it. Opening the box he gazed at the engagement ring with the large diamond. He was surprised that he no longer felt any attachment either to the ring, or Jane Chambers (*Gifts From The Kasbah) After closing the box, he looked at the receipt seeing, $5,000.00. He then placed both back in the desk drawer.

The next morning Robert Wallace showered, dressed, drank a cup of coffee then called his office. He heard, “Major Crime Squad, Sergeant Stiles”.

“Frank? Captain Wallace”, said Robert

“Yes sir. How are you?”

“Fine, listen, I'm do in a nine this morning, but I have to run an errand. Cover for me until I get there”.

“Yes sir, no problem”.

“And Frank is Myers still drinking tea and eating crumpets?”

“Yeah, the last time I looked”.

“OK. Tell the gang the Captain is bringing in breakfast”.

“Will do. We're all glad your back sir”.

“Thank you”.

Robert Wallace parked his car in front of Koon's Jewelry Store got out and walked inside. He heard the buzzer working, signaling that someone had entered. As he walked towards the counter Wallace saw Harry Koons coming out of the back room. Harry smiled as he greeted Wallace. “Damn Robert, it's good to see you. How are you feeling? I read in the papers that you got shot”.

“Yeah I sure as hell did”.

“And, now you're OK?”

“So they tell me”.

“So, what can I do for you today?”

Wallace handed Harry the ring and the receipt. “This is the ring I bought from you some time ago. It was never used. As you can see, I paid good money for it. I was wondering if I could trade it in for another one of equal value?”

“Since we made that transaction prices have gone up Robert. I can take it in trade, but the same type of diamond in a different setting will cost you between seventy five or a hundred dollars more”, said Harry.

“I understand, but when you say same type of diamond, do you mean cut or value?”

“Value?”

“Good, I want an entirely different ring, different cut, different setting and I'll pay the difference. Now help me pick one out”, said Wallace.

Back behind his desk Wallace drank coffee from a Styrofoam cup while he listened as Stiles brought him up to date on new orders that had been issued when he was out. He was surprised that no new cases had been assigned to his unit, but then again major crimes were not a large issue in Nautilus Beach. Most of the time he had his unit investigating cold cases.

When Stiles was finished, Wallace made two telephone calls. One to the Glass Menagerie and the other to Mary Wagner. He heard her answer. “Hello?”

“What are you doing?”, he asked.

“Writing, working”.

“How is it going?”

“Rather well. Why? Don't you think I know what I'm doing?”

“Don't get your ass in the air. Are you free tonight?”

“Yes, why wouldn't I be?”

“How about I pick you up at eight and we go to dinner?”

“Where?”

“The Glass Menagerie”.

“What's the occasion?”

“Does there have to be an occasion?”

“There usually is with you”.

“Well did you ever think that maybe I'd like to thank you for all that you did for me?”

“You don't owe me anything Robert”.

“I know, but instead of us bantering back and forth on the damn telephone are you going to go to dinner with me or not?”

“Yes, damn it, yes!”.

“Good. I'll see you at eight”, he said then hung up the telephone.

That night at dinner he sat and watched Mary as she sat with her head down staring into her drink as she twirled the plastic stirrer round and round in her drink. “Something on your mind?”, Wallace asked.

She looked up at him. “Oh I was just thinking about the time we were here just after we came back from Tobago. That was the night that you dumped me. I'm just wondering if your rotten enough to do it again”.

Wallace shook his head. “So that's what you think of me, rotten”.

“Listen Robert, there's something on your mind, so what ever it is say it and get it over with”, said Mary.

“Hear that song? Isn't it one of your favorites?”

“Yes Dahil Sa iyo”.

“I asked them to play it. Let's dance, the orchestra is waiting for us, said Wallace as he took her hand and walked her to the dance floor. He took her in his arms and they danced. As he held her close he closed his eyes realizing that he was holding the one he wanted.”

Mary looked up at him and said, “I know there's something on your mind Robert, say it”.

Wallace smiled, “Actually, I have a question”, he said.

“Alright, what is it?”

“Where would you like to spend your honey moon?”

Mary stopped in the middle of the dance floor. “Are you serious?”, she asked.

Robert reached into his suit coat pocket and removed the ring and opened the box. “Is this serious enough?”

Other dancers on the floor stopped and applauded the couple.

“You still haven't answered my question”, he said.

Mary smiled and said, Tobago dear, let's go back to Tobago. There's where I fell in love with you”.

“If that's what you want that's where we'll go”.

“Wait a minute. What changed your mind?”, she asked.

“Frank Sinatra”.

“Sinatra?”

“Yep. I heard him sing a song and he made me realize what an asshole I've been. I hope you forgive me”.

“Well maybe. After all, when we're married everyone will think you're my sugar daddy”.

“Touche”.

Chapter Twelve

Manfred Edwards sat relaxed in a lounge chair on the veranda. He occasionally turned a page of the Sound Telegraph, reading only the articles in the newspaper that interested him. Once in a while he would stop, pick up the cup of coffee that rested on a glass top end table, take a sip from it, replace the cup and turn a page again.

When Sharon came out on to the porch he looked at her and said, “Good morning love. Did you sleep alright?”

“Yes, yes I did. I see you made your own coffee”, Sharon answered.

“Well, I made something. I can't tell what it is. I'm still not use to instant coffee in the morning. At least it's Maxwell House. Now, if we had a coffee maker I could have had your coffee all made and ready for you”, he replied.

“Too much of a bother, particularly when I must be at the office in the morning. Speaking of work how did it go yesterday. I never did ask you”.

“Well one thing about geriatrics is it's interesting. My first patient couldn't move his bowels. The second patient couldn't stop moving his. The third patient couldn't remember what she came to see me about and that's how it went most of the day, complaints about taking a shit one way or another and the beginnings of Alzheimer disease. The biggest problem is one toilet for all the patients. One is not enough for those with incontinence and loose bowels.”

“You need a dunny”, said Sharon.

“What the hell is a dunny?”

“A dunny is what you probably call an outhouse. We even have a saying about the dunny. When my number 2's are runny, I hate our outdoor dunny. Nights are a pain, as well as the rain, don't laugh, it ain't very funny”.

“You're right. It ain't funny. Besides I don't suppose the local government would allow me to place a dunny in front of my office”.

“Well, since you are an inconsiderate individual, I'll go and make my own coffee. Would you like another cup?”, she asked.

“No. I'm fine and how can you say that I'm inconsiderate? I left the kettle on didn't I?”

“Oh, good for you. Are you looking for something particular in the paper?', she asked.

“Yes, a cleaning service”.

“For your office, I imagine”.

“Yes”.

“Why don't you take on mine? They are efficient and the cost is reasonable.”

“I could, I suppose”.

“If you want I'll mention it to them tomorrow”.

“Good”.

Sharon walked out on the veranda carrying a cup of coffee and a slice of toast.

“I see you're going to eat that Vegemite again”, said Doc.

“Certainly, why wouldn't I”?

“Because it's too damn salty”.

“Only because you spread it on too thick. You think it goes on like peanut butter”.

“It looks and smells like motor oil”.

“Well, I like it, so there”.

“What do you want to do today, my love”.

“Are you in the mood to shop at the farmers market?”

“Which one?”

“Peels in Mandurah”.

“I could go for that. Afterward we can have lunch at Redmanna”.

“Oh good. I do have a question however”.

“What is it?”. He asked.

“When are you going to get a drivers license?”

“When they put automobiles in the right lane, where they belong”.

That afternoon Sharon and Doc walked the paver brick lanes where tall leaf trees shaded the many booths belonging to the vendors. They paused to look at fresh vegetables, baked goods, jellies jams and fruits. Sharon did the shopping and Doc carried the packages containing, eggs, grapefruit, a jar of honey, fresh baked bread and dukkah.

Before Sharon bought the dukkah Doc asked her just what it was. “It's a spice dear. Actually it's a Mediterranean spice. One may use it several different ways. On fish, chicken or in soups”, she said.

“What does it taste like?”, he asked.

“It's somewhat salty”.

“It's a wonder that between eating Vegemite and dukkah all of you Australians don't have high blood pressure”.

“Oh hush. Is there anything that you want?”, she asked.

“Maybe a couple of cantaloupes”.

“You mean rockmelons “

“If you say so. Pick two and let's go I'm getting hungry”.

Doc and Sharon were seated at a window table overlooking Mandjar Bay. They both studied the lunch menu and quickly decided on what they wanted. Sharon ordered the Chicken Noodle Salad while Doc decided on the Chilli Mussels. As they both sipped ice tea, Sharon opened her pocketbook and took out an envelope.

“This was in the letter box. I removed it just before we got in the car. It's from Mary Wagner, addressed to both of us.”, Sharon said.

“Really, open it. Let's see what she has to say”, Doc replied.

Sharon carefully unsealed the envelope and removed the square, white, embossed card. “Oh my goodness!”, she exclaimed.

“Something wrong?”

“No. It's an invitation. She and Robert are getting married”.

“It's about time he got off of his ass and took a wife. When is it?, said Doc.

“Saturday, June the fifth at Saint Nathaniel’s Episcopal Church”. Sharon answered.

“That's going to be interesting. Her side of the church will seat newspaper people. His side will seat cops. That reception is going to be one hell raising donnybrook. I'd love to see that”.

“Tears welled in Sharon's eyes. When Doc noticed her crying he said, “Don't tell me that you are going to sit here and cry tears of happiness for Robert and Mary”.

“Naturally, I'm happy for them, but I'm afraid that if you go back, back to the States for the wedding, you will want to stay there instead of coming back here”.

“Let me put your mind to ease. Pick out something nice and suitable for their wedding gift and we'll ship it up to them with our regrets for not attending. And, I'll tell you something love. I knew I was home when I heard the kookaburra sing”.

Sharon smiled reached across the table and took his hand.

 

Robert Wallace looked at the fifteen homicide investigators that sat in front of him in a classroom at Delaware University. They had come from New Jersey, Maryland, Pennsylvania and New York. Wallace appeared at the University as a lecturer the result of an endowment given to the school for the purpose of educating police officers.

He had just finished lecturing on the importance of using a psychological profiler in cases involving serial killers. Looking at his small group of assembled police officers he said, “Ladies and Gentlemen, I now present to you a question. The question is, Who killed Lionel Horton? And please take your time before you answer”.

After five minutes one student raised his hand.

“Yes”, said Wallace.

“Even though Horton was shot and killed by the police, the laws of the State of New Jersey allowed for deadly force. Therefore the State of New Jersey actually killed Horton”.

“Nice try, good answer, no cigar. Anyone else?”, asked Wallace.

Another student raised her hand.

“Yes, your answer please”, said Wallace.

“The act of Horton being armed, taking a hostage and firing at police was and is paramount to suicide. It is my opinion then that Lionel Horton actually instituted and caused his own death', said the woman.

“Your explanation is interesting and certainly plausible, nonetheless I'm afraid that it's not the answer I'm looking for”, Wallace replied. He waited for someone, anyone to raise their hand and when there were no signs of that happening he walked front and center to the group, stopped, smiled and said, “None of you would or could come up with the answer I'm looking for. The correct answer ladies and gentlemen is WE killed Lionel Horton. You, me, all of us. Why? Because we're members of what is called society. Society killed Lionel Horton. Think about it. Lionel Horton's mother was born into a socially lower class. Uneducated, unskilled, and an unwed mother of a son, she turned to prostitution in order to house and feed both of them. As a prostitute she was arrested several times. The usual result was a fine of fifty dollars. When she paid the fine she was then forced to return to the streets to ply her trade in earnest in order to make up for the lost of fifty dollars to the court. She became a repetitive, arrested time after time and fined time after time.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, the war in Vietnam just ended. When the communist armies entered the city of Saigon they found six hundred women who had worked as prostitutes during the American intervention. The women were rounded up, tested for venereal disease, housed for ninety days and provided with training where they learned skills so that they would be beneficial to society.”

“In Horton's case he was forced to watch his mother sell her body to strange men right in front of him. Is it any wonder that he became schizophrenic? Which brings up another matter, Horton's mental condition. The police became aware of Lionel Horton when he was ten years old. The charge? Juvenile delinquency as a truant. However, why was he a truant. The school never attempted to find out. Neither did the police. He was picked up and shuttled back and forth between the Juvenile Division of the Police Department and the public School system.”

“Let's dwell now on the school system. Ask yourself how an educator can watch for and catch a student chewing gum, smoking in the boys room, cutting classes and being truant yet is unable to notice that there could be a mental problem with that student? Then ask yourself if the educator did indeed consider a mental problem and proper treatment was prescribed and given, would Lionel Horton have developed differently? The answer will never be known.”

“I now refer to Horton and the police. Horton became a criminal although the State of New Jersey would consider him a child until he reached the age of eighteen. First, he became a bully, next was breaking and entering and larceny. These offenses were followed by purse snatching. From that, he graduated into breaking and entering. Finally, his last act as a juvenile was vandalism. In these acts he removed the crutch pad from womens bathing suits using a knife. The police charged him with vandalism. At that time they failed to notice that it was actually a sex crime. Just imagine if they had. Imagine would might have happened if instead of being incarcerated at a reform school Lionel was housed in a facility where he would have been educated and received mental health care. Ask yourself how Lionel might have turned out as an adult if he had been placed in foster care. But, he wasn't. The police operating under the law and with tradition did their job as they believed it to be. They took Lionel into custody and presented him to the court system of the State. There, I must admit one police officer requested that the young man be sent away, hoping that somewhere in the system someone would identify and help with the boy's problem. This time the courts listened to the Social Workers who maintained that Lionel Horton could become a useful citizen of the community if given a chance. So, at age seventeen Lionel Horton was finally placed in a foster home. But,to what avail? The family that he lived with did two things. First, they collected money from the State for taking him in. Second, they used him as labor around the house. He cleaned, washed windows and dishes, scrubbed the floors and took out the trash and garbage. His reward? Three meals a day and a room in a converted attic.”

“At the age of eighteen Lionel enlisted in the army. This is the time of the Vietnam War. If the army found any physiological problems with Horton they either ignored it or failed to recognize it. Lionel was shipped overseas and entered battle soon after his arrival. At last Lionel had a skill and the Army taught him well. They taught him how to kill and he liked doing it. He liked doing it so much that he began taking souvenirs. He cut the ears off of dead Vietnamese and made a belt with them. Finally, fate and the army caught up with him, Lionel was diagnosed as a paranoid schizophrenic. He was sent home and discharged. Once again he had been rejected.”

“He left Fort Dix and traveled to Caravel, New Jersey. There unemployed, rejected by the army and needing help he made contact with Haven House which is a half way house for the mentally ill. It's unclear at this time if he received the help he really needed. Instead of being confined to a place where he could be evaluated on a daily basis, Lionel was allowed to check in and out of the facility whenever he wanted to.”

“Sometime there he began dwelling mentally on Garwood Village. Was it a flashback to his childhood? What ever it was he went back to where his troubles began. He related those troubles to those who lived there, mostly single mothers. And, so he killed. With the first killing came the feeling of acceptance that he had achieved in the military. For the first time in a long time he felt good. And, he killed again and again and again until he had killed five woman. None he knew, but those who he related to as prostitutes, just like his mother.”

“His method of killing was with the use of a knife. Maybe he again related to his time in war when he took the enemy's ears as souvenirs. Maybe he relived that feeling of being accepted by men, men who like him were regarded as warriors. And, then again was it the rejection he felt when he and other returning troops were shouted down and spit upon by American citizens who opposed the war? We will never know. However, put together all the consequences of Lionel Horton's life and it ends up with his death. A death caused by and finalized by Society, our society.”

“Now, I am sure that there are some among you who disagree. You are welcome to your opinion. Nonetheless, I ask you as professional police officers to reflect on your own careers. Think about how many times you yourselves have come upon the mentally ill and have ignored them. Remember back to the domestic violence calls you have responded to and witnessed abject poverty and ignored it. Consider how many times you have taken a juvenile into custody for purse snatching, but never asked why did they do it?”

“Now, in closing I reserve the right of my opinion in relation to Lionel Horton particularly since his crimes were my cases and second because he shot me. However, in reality he did so because he was also a victim. Thank you”.

 

Robert Wallace laid back relaxed in his lounge chair on the beach in front of the Half moon Blue Hotel in Tobago. He took a swig out of the cold bottle of El Presidente beer he held in his hand and watched his wife as she swam just off of the shoreline. He smiled to himself, happy knowing that she was happy and content. She was his wife and that's what she wanted. Now, he finally realized that she was what he wanted.

He raised the sunglasses on his face from his nose to the top of his head and watched her walking towards him. He remembered their last trip together here, then she wore a white bikini. Today it was a pink suit. She walked up to him then took a seat on the lounge next to him, then with a thick towel dried first her hair then her arms and legs. Swinging around she sat upright then held out her hand and said, “Let me have a taste of your beer”.

Wallace handed her the bottle and replied. “Sure I drink maybe three beers a year and now I have to share at least one with you”.

“I've got news for you hotshot. From now on you have to share everything with me”.

“How's the water?”, he asked.

“Really? How's the water? Really? We're in Tobago in June. It's like taking a bath. Do you every think you'll go for a swim?”

“You never know”.

“I know, you don't like getting wet twice, once in the Caribbean and again in the shower”.

“No one told me that as a married man I’d be subject to spousal abuse”.

“Yeah, well get use to it buster”, said Mary laughing.

“Why did you bring that large straw bag to the beach?”, he asked.

“I have to send out thank you cards for all the wedding presents we received. This is a good place to do it. And, just because you love me we can move to the cabana and you can order lunch to be served there and I can sign the cards and address the envelopes”.

“It's going to cost me a fortune just for the postage from here”.

“I couldn't get together fifty carrier pigeons for you”.

“You know, you're becoming a little smart ass”, he said.

“Yes, I know, but you love me”.

“Yes I do. I really do”.

Impressum

Texte: Robert f. clifton
Lektorat: J. William blackmore
Tag der Veröffentlichung: 28.12.2013

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