MASS MURDER (50 page)

“Thanks.”  He pocketed the slip of paper and led Swan towards the door to the waiting room. “Look,” he said over his shoulder, “Poindexter told me today he saw two other people outside that night. He said he saw a monk tucked into the bushes having a cigarette. If he’s telling the truth, then that might have been O’Leary.”

“You think he killed O’Leary?”

“Maybe, if O’Leary saw him kill
Dorman
. He said the monk didn’t see him, but earlier he told me he saw someone from the upstairs window when he was coming back down to dinner. Today, his story changed. He said he saw that person when he was outside by the north door, but that he couldn’
t see the person clearly.”

“Which one is a lie?”

“That’s what I’d like to know. I’ve walked the property several times. Coming from the east side, as Poindexter says he was, nothing blocks your view of the back doorway. But if you’re coming
down
from the hill
…
well, that’s another story. Trees and bushes block you at almost every turn. I think he saw someone, but he didn’t see them clearly because he was coming
down
from the vegetable garden
– after killing
Dorman
.”

Swan shrugged his massive shoulders. “But why make up the story about seeing someone from
the
upstairs
window
?”

“Because he had a piece of information that could lead suspicion away from him in the case of Mallery Olsen, but he had to use it in a way that wouldn’t place him on the hill, just in case
Dorman
was found.”

“And, if he was coming down from the hill
…
” the big cop mused.

“He killed
Dorman
,” Giorgio finished. “He slipped up by giving both answers.
The question is - did he also see Olsen’s killer or just Anya Peters going out for her drug deal?”

Swan let out a hefty sigh. “My, it was a busy place that night.”

“
No kidding,” Giorgio agreed.

They were standing just inside the small emergency room lobby. A woman dressed in sweat pants and a sloppy t-shirt stood beside the counter holding a crying baby. The mother talked earnestly to the nurse who motioned her into the back. Giorgio and Swan stepped aside to allow her through. Giorgio watched the woman disappear thinking about the late night feedings, dirty diapers
,
and trips to the emergency room that would become a part of his life very soon. With a sigh, he turned his attention back to Swan who was still focused on the case.

“So, did Poindexter kill Olsen?” Swan asked.

“I don’t think so. Why would he bury
Dorman
and not the others?”

“Time?” Swan replied, playing devil’s advocate.

“Meaning he had more time to bury
Dorman
than he did the others?”

“Could be.”

“But they were killed around the same time
,
and there’s no evidence that Mallery Olsen was killed in the storeroom,” Giorgio argued. “That means her killer took great risk in carrying her body down there. Why would he do that when he could have just left her in her room?  It’s the same thing with Father O’Leary. The killer could have easily dragged the monk into the trees and at least
delayed
discovery, or even just left him to die on the ground. Instead, O’Leary was purposely pushed into the pond. I think it was some kind of statement. Just like hanging Mallery Olsen in the supply closet and taking her little finger.”

Swan was nodding in agreement when Officer Barnes entered through the automatic doors. “Detective,” he addressed Giorgio, “there’s a man here who wants to see you.”

Giorgio followed him outside where Oliver, the homeless man, was standing next to the ambulance bay, nervously shifting his weight from one foot to the other. The light tucked under the overhang illuminated his droopy skin, patchy with dirt. His long, stringy hair was beginning to roll itself into ringlets
,
and the quilted jacket was torn in several places. The ripe odor of unwashed human flesh had already permeated the air around him. He looked around with a furtive glance as Giorgio approached.

“Oliver,” Giorgio started, “what are you doing here?”

“You okay, Detective?” Oliver clicked his teeth as if he wore dentures.

“I’m fine. Is there something wrong?”

“No.”  The little man watched the other officers
anxiously
as if they might produce handcuffs at any moment. “I jest wanted to make sure you was all right.”

“How did you know I was here?”

“I saw the fire,” he slurred through rotting teeth. “I was w
orking the cans around the park and
I saw that young guy leave in a hurry
. T
hen I smelled the smoke.”

Giorgio grabbed for Oliver’s arm making him jerk away. “Wait. It’s okay. You saw someone leave the theater?”

Oliver relaxed when he realized Giorgio meant no harm. “Some tall guy with
blonde
hair. He practically skidded out of the parking lot. Couple minutes later, I smelled the smoke and hurried to the shelter to call in the fire.”

“What car?” Giorgio pushed him.

“Well, there was only one other car in the lot besides yours. That gray sedan.”

His answer hit Giorgio like a body blow. There could be only one reason why Poindexter would be driving Marvin Palomar’s car.

“Any chance you could identify that man again?” Giorgio asked somberly.

The old man appeared to chew on the inside of his cheek. “I saw him pull in earlier. I asked him for change, but he told me to fuck off!  Yeah, I could probably identify the cheap bastard!”  He grinned a nearly toothless grin.

“Oliver,” Giorgio said, putting his hand on the thin shoulder. “I owe you.
“Will you give an official statemen
t?  Will you do that for me
?”

Oliver clicked his teeth anxiously. “Maybe. Okay, Detective.”
Oliver looked unsure.

“Barnes!” Giorgio addressed the other officer. “Give Oliver a ride to the station and take his statement. Then
,
buy him a big dinner
−
a good dinner
on me.”

Barnes looke
d less than enthused about traveling in an enclosed car with the homeless man, but turned around and led him across the park
ing lot to a waiting squad car.

“Well, well, well,” Swan chided, turning towards his own car. “You have more than a Guardian Angel by your side tonight. You’ve been visited by Lady Luck herself.”

“Swan, I’ve told you a thousand times, good detective work is fifteen percent brains, fifteen percent timing, and seventy percent luck.”

The two men laughed as an ambulance entered the ambulance bay. They glanced over as two emergency medical technicians quickly pulled a gurney
from the back of the
vehicle. Swan turned back to Giorgio and offered him a ride home, but Giorgio declined, saying he’d wait for Angie. As Swan pulled out of the parking lot, a male nurse came running across the parking lot.

“Detective,” the young man said breathlessly. “You need
to come back. It’s your wife.”

But Giorgio had already bolted for the entrance. The
blonde
nurse behind the counter looked up in alarm when he burst through the ambulance bay doors. The mother and sick baby occupied the first treatment area. The second cubicle was empty. Across the central core of the room
,
medical personnel crowded around a third bed
. H
e rushed in that direction. A stout woman intercepted him.

“Detective,” she said, grabbing his good
arm. “Let them do their work.”

“What happened?” he asked, straining to see around her.

His muscles had bunched up
,
and the throbbing in his arm was almost unbearable. He put his hand over the wound as a way to calm the trauma. The nurse was a good three inches shorter, but her hand remained on his elbow as a caution. A stethoscope
hung lifeless around her neck.

“Your wife fell down some stairs,” she replied in a soft voice. “They’re checking for broken bones, internal injuries, maybe a concussion.”

He stared unblinking at her thinking she had probably spent the last twenty years explaining the obvious to anxious family members. He was about ready to step inside the enclosure when the doctor moved, givi
ng Giorgio a glimpse of Angie. Her lustrous eyes were closed
,
and she appeared like a small child in the bed. The brown hair he loved to stroke lay in soft curls on the pillow. She looked so peaceful
−
too peaceful
−
and he wanted to die.

“They’ll probably
send her up for X rays and maybe even a cat scan,” the nurse spoke gently beside him. “She’ll be okay.”

“Tell them to check her abdomen,” he
whispered breathlessly to her.

“What?” the nurse looked confused.

“Her abdomen,” he choked, tears blurring his eyes. “Tell them to take a picture of her abdomen. She’s pregnant.”

Giorgio sat drumming the fingers of his good hand on the armrest of a vinyl chair
in the hospital waiting room
as if drumming would make things happen faster. He’d tried to get information from the nurse, but hospitals were a little like the FBI where information was dribbled out little by little until they thought you were qualified to have it all. The nurse had said the doctor would be there in a few minutes, but how many was a few?  Tony had asked him that question a dozen times growing up, usually when he’d been told he could only have a
“few”
of something. Giorgio’s answer had always been the same. A few is more than a couple but less than you probably want. Now Giorgio wanted to know. How many was a few?

It was almost an hour before the doctor finally came out to join him. The news he had wasn’t good, making the walk to Angie’s room the longest few minutes of Giorgio’s life. The lights
in her room
were off leaving the small room in shadow. A narrow window looked out on the street. He sat by the bed with Angie’s slender fingers laced through his. It was some time before her eyelids fluttered open
,
and a brown eye peeked out from under a long lash. Then both eyes opened dreamily
, and she smiled.

“Joe,” she whispered.

He hushed her like a small child and patted her hand. “Just rest.”

She looked around, allowing her eyes to focus. “Where am I?”  Her voice was weak and her words came out a little garbled.

“You fell. Do you remember?”

Her brows knitted as she tried to recall. Then she nodded slowly, turning her brown eyes to search his face.

“You might have a concussion,”
he said.

He tried t
o maintain eye contact but
dropped his head to stare at the crisp white bed sheet. Slowly, she regained wakefulness and understood without being told. The rich sienna eyes went dull as if looking into a deep well. She turned her head toward the windows
,
and he squeezed her hand as a tear trailed down his cheek.