Serial Separation

Dick C. Waters

Copyright © 2012 by 
Dick C. Waters

All Rights Reserved.

Published in 2013 by Strategic Book Publishing

ISBN: 978-1609762414

Scott Tucker Series: Book 2

This is strictly a work of fiction; names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental or fictionalized.

“So many men, so little time.”

Mae West

In memory of Ken McFeeters. You are surely missed.

Acknowledgments

To my wife, Mary, for her undying love and support, without whom this book, and many things in my life, would not have been possible.

To Terri (Enos) Johnston, a long-time friend, for her editing and positive feedback—a special thanks.

To my initial readers, Patrick Siano, Dee Dee Smith, and Diana (Imbimbo) Miladin—many thanks for your time and feedback.

“Scott Tucker Series” novels

Listed in the recommended reading sequence:

Branded for Murder

Serial Separation

Scent of Gardenia

Fragrance of Revenge

Foreplay for Murder*

(*The Adult version of Fragrance of Revenge)

Author Page:
http://www.amazon.com/author/DickCWaters

Chapter 1

Cambridge, Massachusetts—December 16, 1964

Attending Harvard has to be one of life’s greatest experiences. The reward of graduating in six months was due to several years of hard work. I sacrificed many things to reach this goal, but my parents sacrificed the most. They were just Maine farmers, but they wanted me to have the best education available. I couldn’t let them down.

I remembered entering the lecture hall early on a very cold day in mid-December. Patrick O’Brien, ‘Paddy,’ as he liked to be called, was the guest lecturer. He joked with us each year about Harvard having very intelligent professors, since someone outside Harvard had to lecture the last week of classes before the winter break. However, the lecture hall was always filled to capacity each year.

I had no idea how life-changing our conversation a year ago would be.

Paddy was the head of the New England Strangler Task Force, which was credited with catching him and another killer, who was killing former camp counselors. Our conversation, which seemed like yesterday, happened when I chased him down after his lecture. Fortunately, he was open to assistance from a twenty-two-year-old Harvard undergraduate studying law.

Whatever his motivation, I thank God for that acceptance. Lisa might have been killed, and I might not have met a good friend—Mike Miller.

The classroom was like many others at Harvard—accommodating easily over a hundred students. A year ago, I was sitting at the same desk. It was dead center in the first row. I recalled testing my voice in the empty room and glad I had, as I needed to suppress the tremble. Despite knowing him, I needed to approach him again to join another task force.

The prior day’s
Boston Herald
reported a second male torso had been discovered washed up on the north shore. The headlines the day of the lecture read, “AG Commissions Torso Task Force,” and Paddy O’Brien had been selected to lead the team of investigators. The two slain men were identified as Paul Maloney of Stoneham and Anthony Sangello of Burlington. They were around my age, seniors and hockey players at Northeastern University.

Sometimes, names are just names, but there was something about those two that forced me to pay more attention, especially regarding hockey players. It quickly became imperative to join the task force—I played hockey with both of these guys.

Chapter 2

In just a matter of moments, my focus changed. I wanted to get on the new task force, but I knew I had to get on it. I knew these murdered men.
Why would anyone want to kill them?
I had a funny taste in my mouth and felt like someone punched me in the gut. Maybe these weren’t the guys I played hockey with . . . no, I know they were from those towns. Maybe I can help the task team understand the connection. I have to tell Paddy I knew these guys.

The room had the echo of other students entering and selecting their seats. Pale light seeped in through the windows on this typical New England winter’s day. It was the last week of classes before the winter break. I heard voices; some of the entering students must have spotted their friends. The girls’ voices reminded me of Lisa and our plans to see each other on Christmas and hopefully ski the following weekend.

My mind quickly jumped from Paddy and the task force to our first skiing adventure. I think Lisa and I went skiing, but we certainly became better acquainted.

Lisa is something special, and, until I met her, I really hadn’t been with other women. I didn’t resist them, but my focus had been on getting high marks in school, so I would be accepted into Harvard. I succeeded, but my experience with women suffered. However, Lisa gave me high marks for how fast I learned my lessons.

She was a different person following her ordeal with Jimmy Ballou, who was the camp counselor murderer. I know she suffered from that ordeal, but I hoped time would heal those wounds. If I hadn’t been on the task force, I wouldn’t have been able to save her from being one of his victims. Maybe our time together over the school break would help us address her understandable sexual reservations. We’d talked about what might become of us after we graduate, but even though it was only a few months away, it seems so far.

I had to focus on joining the new task force. The murdered men were part of a hockey league I belonged to in the past. We weren’t friends, but the fact I knew them gave me strange feelings. I wanted to believe I would be alive for many years, but these murders made me realize how fragile life could be.

I thought about these men, and Lisa’s life-threatening ordeal. You don’t go looking for problems, but fate has a way of finding you.

I realized I could have been killed the night I confronted Jimmy, but I was lucky, and it was Jimmy who fate found. He deserved it, but did that make a difference? I knew Lisa’s parents were grateful I found her and rescued her, but they still agonize over Jimmy’s motivation for those killings and his targeting Lisa.

I had to stay focused on my objective and not that history. Five more minutes and the room would be filled to capacity; Paddy’s booming voice would echo in the room. I knew from experience he would not be late. He might see me, but I now had to see him after his lecture. I felt my heart racing.
What if he rejects my offer to assist on the task force?

Chapter 3

I looked up toward the back of the large room, and it was filled to capacity. The volume in the room changed quickly. I turned and observed Paddy standing at the podium. He looked at his watch and the clock behind him on the wall, smiled, and announced, “Good morning people
.
” He laughed when we yelled back, “Good morning, PADDY!” He observed the crowded hall and placed his fist over his heart.

He spread his arms and roared, “The hall is crowded today . . . are we giving something away?”

I thought to myself,
here’s a man who could be doing something else, possibly kicking off the task force, but he’s here, on time, ready to impart something to over a hundred.

When students come to a lecture before eight o’clock in the morning, on a cold winter day, there’s something special happening. I’m not a morning person, and from what I’ve seen at lectures starting this early, neither is more than half the campus. When I looked at the gathering behind me, I didn’t see one uninterested face.

“Well, I guess if no one’s leaving you must be in the right place. For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Patrick O’Brien, but if you call me Mr. O’Brien or Patrick, I will ignore you . . . please call me Paddy. The last few years, I have had the privilege of addressing you annually at this time. Usually, they schedule me when the weather’s so bad there’s nothing else for you to do. I really want to thank you for attending today, and, hopefully, you will take away something with you, other than someone to keep you warm.”

“I’m here to talk to you about profiling, which has been around for quite some time. I’m not here to talk about its history, but the impact it is having on investigations. We used a profiler on the New England Strangler Task Force, and it paid off, giving us suggestions about what to look for.”

He pulled today’s paper from the podium. “The headlines are: ‘AG Commissions Torso Task Force,’ and for those of you who have been so engrossed in your studies”—he was interrupted immediately with laughing in the gallery—“Please, let me continue . . . for those of you who haven’t heard, we have another potential serial killer, or killers. They are targeting young men, who, other than the fact they are missing hands, feet, head and other parts, were previously in excellent physical condition.”

He continued to talk about the role of a profiler and how it could help lead a team of investigators to “think outside the box.” His lecture made me think of the questions that need to be asked rather than the evidence that might be available. He gave us many things to think about, and I even came up with some questions of my own. I couldn’t help but try to answer his questions, but, before I could, he hit us with another barrage.

He had been talking for forty-five minutes, but it seemed like less. It was hard to listen with my mind constantly reacting to his questions and the points he made. Paddy was in his element lecturing to students. When I worked with him, you didn’t always know what he was thinking, but, here in front of us, you knew exactly where his mind was going.

At the end of his lecture, he asked us, “What kind of person, or persons, do you think is behind this new set of killings? He paused to let that question sit. When you have the skills and experience to answer that question the FBI is looking for you
.
”

“Thank you again for your attendance, your attention and I wish you all a happy holiday season. I hope you all enjoy your vacation time but, more importantly, the special people in your life.”

Before I realized it, he was gone, and I still needed to talk with him.

Chapter 4

My plan was foiled. Paddy had left by the faculty entrance, and the students exited at the top of the room. I was in the last row to get to the exit. I did my best to get out of the classroom, but by the time I made it to the courtyard, he was nowhere in sight.

I was sure he was headed to the task force office, only a few blocks away. It wouldn’t make any sense to interrupt him there, and it might work against me.

My mentor on the last task force was Mike Miller, and we had developed a close friendship. I realized my best plan would be to see Mike and talk with him about helping on the new task force. My hope would be to catch him early the next morning while he was having his first coffee. I’m sure he would be interested in my knowing the two murdered men.

* * *

Walking back to my car from the lecture, snow blew off branches hanging over the snow covered walk, melting when it hit my face. It reminded me of our ski trip last winter. Lisa and I would be skiing again soon and enjoying our time together.

When I arrived at my apartment, a short drive away in Brookline Village, the recent snow had only been disturbed by my car leaving earlier. Mrs. Abbott, who was my landlady, would have been up for hours, so there’d be no worry about making too much noise. Mrs. Abbott had the entire first floor, and my apartment was the only apartment on the second.

The apartment worked well for my studies. Our building was behind other buildings that faced the street, making ours quieter. There were the occasional calls from Lisa, but, for the most part, once I hit my apartment, I could study for hours without interruption.

Lisa had commented on the efficiency of the apartment, a kitchen and eating area on one side of the main entry and the living space on the right. A small hall in the center led to the bedroom and bath.

I took my shoes off to keep the floors from getting wet, immediately rushing to my storage area. I opened my hockey equipment bag, and found what I was looking for. The newspaper clipping was pretty beat up, but I could still make out the players in the picture. It was an earlier article about our hockey league, formed at a new rink in Billerica. The article talked about guys who had to get up at all hours of the night to play and practice, the rink having scheduled prime time slots for public skating or figure skating practice.

There were quite a few guys in the picture with a list of the names. I looked for the names of the men in this morning’s paper and found Paul Maloney and Tony Sangello. I thought about their capabilities and quickly recalled two other guys who played at their level. All four were intimidating on the ice. You had to keep your head up, or they would look for an opportunity to lay a check into you. Practices weren’t bad, but when we had our two feature games on Friday and Saturday nights, the stands were packed with young and old, and they loved rough hitting.

I stared at the picture and felt strange that two guys I knew four years ago were not alive anymore. I thought Mike would have an interest in this connection, but I wondered if I’d have the opportunity to show it to anyone.

* * *

I worked on my class material, which was due this week, and made progress even though I kept thinking about Paul and Tony. I had very strange feelings about men I knew being so brutally murdered. The murders reminded me of Lisa’s ordeal and how lucky we were. I put the article on the bookshelf right next to Lisa’s picture and tried to force my mind to think of her.

I remembered the first time we were at my apartment, and our first dance to the Platters, and our first intimate experience. We were like kids in a candy shop, so much to look at, and so much to devour. Our lives became intertwined from that day on, and we could not get enough of each other.

However, Lisa had been acting differently since her nightmare with Jimmy Ballou. Looking back at the series of events that originally brought us together, it seemed like the odds of us ever getting together were overwhelming. On the day we first met, we both were studying in her school library, and that was the day President Kennedy was shot. That horrific event shocked everyone in the library. There wasn’t a dry eye to be seen. I remember getting up enough courage to comfort both Lisa and her girlfriend Judy. The fact I comforted strangers, and females, still surprised me. I still shudder at the consequences had I not met Lisa that day. I might not have been in a position to save her from being killed by Jimmy.

Jimmy had murdered two former camp counselors and was about to do the same to Lisa. Luckily, working with the last task force, I managed to find where she was being held and rescued her. However, Jimmy spent enough time with her to seriously undermine her comfort level with sex. She told me she recalled his image when we were alone and close. She recoiled inadvertently when I touched her. I knew she was trying to relax, but she was not the same.

I believe my best plan is to do some serious talking about her ordeal when we go away over New Years weekend. I hope I can help her, but maybe it will require professional help. She told me she had not shared any details with her parents, and I believe she has not told me the full extent of her ordeal.

If I manage to get on the task force, I know it will consume more of my school vacation, but my absence might help her. Maybe the lack of anything to do with sex would be the best medicine.

Staring at her picture, I could see her zest for life . . . and I wanted to see it again. Regardless, going forward, I need to let Lisa control our closeness.