Ashes to Ashes (12 page)

When the lab tech’s eyes registered the
identity of his guest, a wide and familiar grin spread across his
face. “Are you lost?” He had a slight Irish accent, one that had
faded over time but refused to be gone completely.

“I could be.” Ashe fidgeted, shifting the
case files from his right hand to his left.

Ginger came over to Ashe and motioned to
shake his hand but didn't complete the greeting. Instead, he showed
the psychologist his latex gloves, which had something wet on the
palms. He shook his head. “I will have to shake your hand in due
time, my friend.”

“Works for me,” Ashe replied and happily
retracted his hand. “How have you been, Ginger?”

“Livin' the dream,” he announced. “You? Still
trying to understand the crazies of the world?”

“Always,” Ashe said. “I'm still expecting you
for our first session.”

“Don't hold your breath.” He laughed. “What
brings you to my floor of the building? I didn't think I would see
you again, not until I was called to process the crime scene of
your murder, that is.”

“My murder?”

“Dealing with all those crazies, pissing in
their Wheaties,” Ginger began, “will only get you shot or stabbed
or all out gutted in the end.”

“Let's hope not,” Ashe replied.

“I look forward to processing your crime
scene, Ashe,” Ginger said. “It would be an honor.”

“Honor would be all mine, I'm sure,” Ashe
replied. “I have a favor to ask.”

“I don't do favors.” He shook his head. But
he didn't turn away.

“A second ago you were talking about
processing my murder site,” Ashe questioned, showing confusion.
“But now you won't do me a simple favor? Make sense to you,
Ginger?”

“It does.”

Ashe was surprised by the turn of the
conversation. He didn’t expect to hit such a solid wall when it
came to the lab tech, at least not only seconds into the meet.
Ginger always had a bullheaded streak, sometime to the point of
annoyance, but he had never refused to help Ashe outright.

The psychologist put a hand in his pants
pocket and felt the black and gold container. He thought about
Scott. “I would appreciate it. If I remember correctly, you owe me
a favor.”

“Do I? I don't recall that.”

“How is your brother doing, Ginger?” Ashe
asked. “I hear that the treatment schedule they have him on over
there at Sunshine is working well. He might even be released within
the next year.”

Ginger groaned and rubbed his red hair.
“Entirely true, buddy.” He was silent for a few seconds. “As long
as this has nothing to do with your son. I can't help on that one,
mate. Oscar would have my goose for dinner. And you know it. He has
warned all of the building against helping you if it involves
Scott. Sorry.”

Ashe didn't take a moment to think. He
immediately blurted, “It's not. I wouldn't ask you to go against
Oscar. I simply wouldn't do that. I'm seeing someone,” he lied,
“and I am not sure about her, yet. I found something while I was in
her house the other day and I hope that you could test it for me. I
want to be sure about her. You…know why. I don't think she does any
drugs, but what I found makes me wonder. It has been a long time
since I put myself out there. I want to be sure. You understand
that, Ginger?”

“I do.”

Taking a chance, Ashe used his free hand and
pulled out the container, while also trying not to drop the case
files Oscar had given him. “It looks like a lipstick container. But
it’s not. I don't know what was in it, but there is a little powder
at the bottom. A little. It might be coke or something else. I
don't know. Will you test it, please. Off the books. I just need to
know. Will you help me?”

Ashe hoped there was enough of the powder at
the bottom of the container for Ginger to test. It might help to at
least narrow down the possibilities. Give him an answer. Give him a
lead. Give him something...more than what he already had.

Two more had been bodies linked to his son
and he was no closer to finding the truth. He wanted to bounce his
head off a nearby wall. But refrained.

“How about it?”

Ginger groaned again. “Yea…okay. It stays
between I and yourself?”

“Definitely.” Ashe handed over the container,
reluctantly.

“I will call you when I know something,”
Ginger told him.

“I've been hearing that a lot lately,” Ashe
mumbled.

“Huh?”

“I appreciate your help,” Ashe assured him.
“Good to see you.”

“You too. We square when it comes to me
brother?”

“Get me some answers about that powder and we
will be square
with some left over
.”

Chapter 13

On the top of his desk, Ashe had both Scott's
dream journal and the case files of Mr. Barrett sitting in front of
him. He sat there for several minutes simply staring at them as
another headache crept into the back of his mind. It consisted of
lingering pressure, not physical but mental, brought on by
excessive strain and confusion. The building questions brought on
the pressure, which built more and more with each one that went
unanswered.

Reaching out, he first moved his hand toward
Scott's journal, thinking about reading a few more pages of the
fragmented images and thoughts, but changed his mind and instead
snatched up the case files. A distraction. He needed one. Even if
was just another set of questions that may go unanswered.

The files were held in manila colored
folders. On the outside of the folders, written in black marker,
were the words SUE ANN AND KENNEDY BARRETT. Underneath the names of
the victims was the word HOMICIDE. At the bottom was the word
SOLVED. Ashe opened the first folder and pulled out the stack of
documents that were inside.

The stack was a thick grouping of loose and
bound pages. He picked up the top page and began to patiently scan
through the documents. When gathering information and data for an
assessment and diagnosis, which he was administering in regards to
Mr. Franklin Barrett, Ashe would often find himself confronted with
an onslaught of paperwork. But, he knew, among the useless stones
were gems, rubies and diamonds and other jewels from which he could
build his diagnosis. From the diagnosis, a treatment could be
created and put into action. But, that was only if Barrett was
mentally ill. He could be malingering, exaggerating false symptoms.
Ashe had to consider the possibility. He needed to get the man to
speak.

The first meeting was, as he had told the
felon, simply a meet-and-greet, in which to get overall feelings
and impressions. However, any interviews or sessions after the
initial meet were to be far from subtle or simple. Ashe had a
feeling, though, a hunch that when dealing with Franklin Barrett
and the Barrett dynasty of wealthy, entitled, and often shady
individuals, nothing was going to be subtle or simple or by the
book, so to say.

He turned to another page and continued to
read. A picture began to form, a story about Barrett, his wife and
son, along with some other members of his family. And more
importantly, Ashe began to get a vivid understanding of the crime
itself.

The case began with a simple 911 call.

Oscar had gathered together the transcripts
of the call, which was only a single page long. The detective had
noted at the top of the page that the caller, unlike those who
usually called in to the emergency hotline, was neither frantic nor
desperate, but cool and calm, eerily so.

Operator: 911. What is your emergency?

Franklin Barrett: I killed my family. I
stabbed them. Both of them.

Operator: Repeat again. Your family has been
stabbed? Sir?

Franklin Barrett: I stabbed them. I had
to.

Operator: Stay where you are, sir. We have
your address and are sending an ambulance.

Franklin Barrett: Don't bother. They are dead
already.

Operator: You killed them?

Franklin Barrett: Yes. Don't worry. I am not
going to run. I could. I have the money to disappear but I won't.
My name is Franklin Barrett and I murdered my family before they
killed me. I had no choice. You won't believe me. You won't
understand. But I know that God will. That is all the matters. God
will understand why I had to do it. It was his plan.

Operator: Just stay on the line, sir, the
police are on their way.

Franklin Barrett: I am not going
anywhere.

God will understand
, was the phrase
the stuck out to Ashe.
God
. He never considered himself to
be religious. There was too much complexity directly in front of
him, in human thought and behavior, to consider the complexities of
a heaven, hell, sin, faith, God, Satan, and eternal damnation. He
didn't say that those things did not exist, he simply did not try
to unravel
that
mystery. At least, not yet. But he did know
what the belief of God and Satan, and those other things, could do
to an unbalanced psyche. It could be like taking the bottom Ace
from an already wobbling house of cards.

Did Barrett believe that he killed his wife
and son for God? If so, then why lie about the murder plot, about
how his wife and son were going to kill him for his life insurance.
Why lie, when he apparently had God on his side?

The reports state that the first officers
arrived at the Barrett residence at around 3:30 a.m. The YPD
immediately found Franklin standing in his front yard, staring at
the dark night time sky. He didn't respond to the police
presence.

He appeared to be in a daze
, one of
the police officers recorded.

He was grinning
, another officer
reported.

Inside the large home, they found Sue Ann and
Kennedy Barrett, both with twelve stab wounds. They were both dead.
In their beds.

Ashe paused.

Coincidence.

He continued.

Oscar had been able to dig up a general
background on Sue Ann Barrett, formally Sue Ann Wamsley, the single
daughter of Egbert Wamsley, a poor miner from West Virginia. They
lived in a small town called River Creek, a village of scattered
homes and properties near to the coal mine in which her father
slaved away. The house was a one story double-wide, placed on a
spot of land that had been passed down to Sue Ann's father by her
grandfather, who had also lived his entire life as a poor coal
miner.

As far as Ashe could see, nothing about her
life before joining the Barrett family screamed...money.

Sue Ann's mother, Abigail, had died during
childbirth. The birthing process had occurred at the isolated
Wamsley household, because a massive snow storm had trapped Egbert
and his wife in their home. Egbert did the best he could to deliver
his daughter, but complications soon arose and no medical help
would be able to intervene. Sue Ann survived that night while her
mother died of blood loss.

Tragic.

Sue Ann graduated high school and went on to
WVU, paying for the courses with government loans. She majored in
business. Her father had died in a mine collapse half-way into her
sophomore year of college. After two years she graduated with an
Associate’s Degree in Business. It was quite an achievement for a
poor miner’s daughter from West Virginia. But Sue Ann had proven
herself a fighter from day one.

She had then become a secretary.

During a business dinner thrown by her boss,
Mr. Jack Sullivan, CEO of Perk Enterprises, Sue Ann caught the eye
of Franklin Barrett, who was accompanying his older brother Thomas,
an up and coming business tycoon. Franklin and Thomas were riding
the waves of their family name. While Franklin never hit the big
time of business, Ashe knew, Thomas would eventually make a name
for himself...Lucky.

Thomas “Lucky” Barrett. Wealthy and powerful
business man. Possible mobster and criminal. Investigated but never
arrested.

Three months after meeting during that
business dinner, Sue Ann and Franklin were married.

Sue Ann had obviously come from nothing.
Rising from dirt would often make a person humble, grounded, weary
of money and power. A person like that would never plot to murder
their husband for their own personal gain. But there was a yang to
that yin. Sometimes, when a person went from having nothing to
being able to get anything, greed and obsession for money began.
They never had enough. And would do anything to get it...even
murder their own husband.

Which one was Sue Ann Barrett?

Humble?

Or insatiable in her greed?

Ashe couldn't be sure.

If a murder plot could be proven, then
Barrett' story would be based in reality instead of delusion or
paranoia. But, as Oscar noted several times, no evidence of a
murder plot had ever been discovered.

What about the son?

Kennedy Barrett.

Ambitious name, Ashe noted to himself.

Born rich. Private schooling his entire life.
Sports. Debate club. Private trainer. Private tutors. He was bred
to be successful, like a race horse. All he knew was money and
power and the family name. He had the making of a spoiled, rich,
sociopath. But that didn't mean that he had been.

Could he have plotted to murder his own
father?

Again, no evidence.

Within a set of bound documents, Oscar had
put together a brief background of Franklin himself. Most of what
was gathered matched the image that Ashe had had of the man the
moment he had come into Ashe's office. A worm. Pale. Greasy.
According to a group of business documents, Franklin was also a
parasite, latching onto his brother and his brother's success,
milking it for his own needs. There wasn't a business document in
the stack that had Franklin's signature without that of his brother
Lucky directly above it.

Barrett was a leech.

But that did not make him mentally ill.