Time Clock Hero (8 page)

Phoenix arrived at the Granny White Café early, pulled out his phone, and made a second call to Dr. Cain which went unanswered.  He left a message after the beep.  When he finished, he set the phone to vibrate and slid it into his new navy blue blazer.  He sat down on one of the rocking chairs on the front porch of the café and watched the parking lot.  His face was hard and set, and he squinted his eyes against the glare of the sun bouncing from the windshields of passing cars.

Dr. Patrick Carson had recommended the place.  Not quite the diva dive frequented by elites these days, but maybe Dr. Carson didn’t want to be seen with two NPD detectives.  The cafe sat on the corner of Granny White and Woodmont Avenue.  It was an old antebellum mansion, white, with a dark green tin roof and a porch that ran around it on three sides.  Probably ten-thousand square feet, with half of it on the second story.  Phoenix had never been here before, though his wife had once hinted a date to the place might be nice.  But being close to Green Hills, on a corner, and being of limited seating capacity, one could never guess about the menu prices.  But that would be Dr. Carson’s problem, and he’d even said as much.  Phoenix would have been happy to meet him in his office.

At five minutes to eight, Phoenix saw Alaia arrive and step out of her car.  She wore the standard issue khakis, the pleated ones, and a non-descript blue shirt with a collar.  Her gun she’d probably stowed in the glove compartment.  He stood up and walked to the parking lot to greet her.  He smiled and said, “I don’t know how you got this set up this early, but it works for me.”

“I just want the case solved, and get your job, that’s all,” Alaia replied humorously.  She hurried past Phoenix and took the steps to the porch.  “Dr. Carson’s here already.  But I guess I forgot to tell you that.”

Phoenix followed her across the wooden porch and into the front door without saying a word.  The foyer was huge – nothing grand, just huge.  Two large staircases, both identical, both probably chestnut, started at either end of the foyer and wound like serpents to a landing high above their heads.  Period furniture, couches, chairs, and bookshelves ran along the walls in places, creating small intimate alcoves where a handful of people waited.  Two large rooms, one left and one right, were already partially filled with guests.

A young man, impeccably dressed in something a butler might have worn when the Union troops marched by the place in December of 1864, greeted them.  “Mr. Malone and Ms. Jenkins, if you will, please follow me, as a special room has been reserved for you on the upper level.”  He took Alaia’s light jacket and said, “Please, follow me.”

Phoenix leaned over and whispered to Alaia: “Impressive, this kid.  He probably hates this job.”

After climbing the carpet-covered steps, and after passing too many pieces of artwork, all of it paintings of past residents of the place, the butler turned right off the main floor and down a darkly lit hall, and opened the first door on the right.  Dr. Carson stood up when they entered.

“I’m glad to meet you, Detective Jenkins,” Dr. Carson said, bowing slightly.  “And also to meet you, Detective Malone.  You might not know this, but I knew your wife – she’s a brilliant educator.”

“That she … yes she
was
, Dr. Carson,” Phoenix said,  “And thank you.”

“Why don’t we sit down.  I usually reserve this small room for meetings, finding it cozy and private at the same time.”

The room may have been cozy and private, but it looked larger than Phoenix’s apartment.  The light of morning came through two massive doors, both of them opened, that led out to a small balcony.  The carpet was red and the walls, like the walls of the staircase, were covered with paintings.  Two large chandeliers hung from a vaulted ceiling.  The butler stood at attention.

“Breakfast today is steak and eggs, biscuits and gravy, and orange juice,” the butler said.  “We start with fruit, either cantaloupe or a pineapple … wedgie thingy.”

“Will I need to stand up while it eats me?” Phoenix said with a laugh.  “I’ll take it, then.”

Alaia ordered the pineapple.  Dr. Carson smiled a knowing smile at the butler, who nodded, and the butler hurried away.

“I’m all yours,” Dr. Carson said.

Dr. Carson was every bit six-three, tall and stretched, with a nose generously Roman but completely proportional to the rest of his body.  His hair, gray with strands of dying brown, lay combed over, thick and lush.  His face was long and his chin pronouncedly cleft.  His eyes were quick and brightly blue, his smile wide and pleasant.

“As I mentioned to you on the phone,” Phoenix said, watching Dr. Carson closely, “I …
we’re
working on several missing persons’ cases.” 

Dr. Carson smiled and nodded.

“With the exception of a small few, it looks like most of the missing people were generous contributors to a number of your charities and organizations.  So, of course, Ms. Jenkins here wants to know what you did with all of the bodies.”

“Most of the wealthy in Nashville, though I hate to admit this, don’t donate out of the goodness of their hearts,” Dr. Carson said, smiling.  “They give to avoid being taxed.  I’m glad to oblige them by taking their cash, though I’d love to beat it out of them sometimes.”

Alaia looked at Dr. Carson with her head tilted, then she rolled her eyes at Phoenix.

Phoenix felt his phone vibrating in his pocket – a text alert.  He slowly reached for it and hit the home button, keeping the phone below the level of the table.

“And, frankly, my charities are the only ones doing anything worthwhile,” Dr. Carson said.  “They save people.  And I’m sorry some of my benefactors are missing.”

Sam Cotton sent a text, and the text he sent included a list of charities Roxy had helped fund lavishly.  Dr. Marshall’s Family Health Clinic, the place Roxy Cotton had visited prior to her disappearance, topped the list.   Dr. Marshall didn’t own the practice.  Carson Research Labs did.

Dr. Carson tilted his head back and rubbed his chin.  “Take my Family Health Clinic for example.  We recently merged it with another office across town.  It’s a free clinic for the poor – run by donations only.  And it’s better than most high-end clinics in the entire country.  Who else does that except me?”

“You mean the clinic run by Dr. Marshall?” Alaia asked.

“No, he retired,” Dr. Carson said.  “Took everything he owned and joined up with a free clinic somewhere in
Never Never Land
– or some such place.  He left in an awful hurry.”

The fruit arrived – three pineapple wedges – garnished with strawberries, sitting on chilled plates.  Each wedge had been artfully fileted and its core removed.  A single lengthwise cut ran from end to end, then eight cuts from side to side, making eighteen perfect, tinier wedges.

“And we have the Child’s Rescue Mission, the Women’s Refuge, The Nashville Pregnancy Center, and a number of homeless shelters.  And, of course, Carson Research Labs – no doubt you know of them,” Dr. Carson said, and he took a bite of pineapple.

“You may know June Buckner and Roxy Cotton,” Phoenix said.

Dr. Carson swallowed a bite and took a sip of water.  “I know all of our generous donors personally.  Mrs. Buckner and her husband have given large sums, as have Roxy and Sam Cotton.  But the secret there is that their husbands haven’t given us a dime – and that’s off the record.” 

Phoenix reached into his shirt pocket and removed the five-friends photo.  He laid it on the table so that Dr. Carson could easily see it, and he watched him closely. 

Dr. Carson stopped eating and looked at the photo, and smiled.  He put his fork down, wiped his mouth with his napkin, and looked at Phoenix.  “May I?”

Phoenix was in the middle of a bite.  He raised his eyebrows and nodded.  Dr. Carson picked up the photo, his hand jerking just a little.

“I’d forgotten this was ever taken,” Dr. Carson said with a waver in his voice.  “Good friends, all of us.  Just look at us. Mariela, Patrick, Eric, Marcus, and Phillip.  Happier days than now, I’m sorry to say, though better days are on the way.”  He set the picture down and picked up his fork.

“Can you tell me about your research into Psyke,” Phoenix asked.  He looked at Dr. Carson and saw his jaw clench, but ever so slightly.  Clearly this last question annoyed him, maybe even angered him.

“Anybody can make it now,” Dr. Carson said.  “Marcus let the cat out of the bag, people got hurt, and now even more are getting hurt by it.  And yes, they still do make it, contrary to what you might have heard.”

What have I heard?

“Are you still experimenting with Psyke?”  Alaia asked.  “And could we bring our people down to check out your lab?”

Dr. Carson didn’t respond immediately: he stiffened and slowly set his fork down on the table.  He looked at Alaia, his jaw firm, his eyes cold and aggressive, and he inhaled slowly and deeply.

“What I mean is,” Alaia said, “we need to know what Psyke can do – what it’s capable of doing if somebody had the technical know-how.  I didn’t mean to---”

“You’re just going to have to bear with me,” Dr. Carson said.  “You obviously know what happened with Eric Sawyer and Mariela Diaz.  It still takes my breath away thinking about it.”

“Is it true that Psyke can be cocktailed with just about anything?”  Phoenix asked.  “Even viruses?”

“Yes.”

“And have you ever successfully altered Psyke with a virus?”

“Yes, I have,” Dr. Carson asked.  “Why are you asking?  Is there something new hitting the streets?”

“That’s what we think,” Phoenix said.  “What can you tell me about Phillip Mercer?” Phoenix asked. 

“That’s a matter of public record, Detective Malone,” Dr. Carson said.  “Brilliant triple major – Chemistry, Physics, and Computer Science.  Loner after what happened at St. David’s.  Went to jail for two years for computer-related crimes, died a few years ago.  Face Book it.  You’ll find more there than I can give you.”

Dr. Carson’s phone rang.  “If you’ll excuse me,” he said. 

“Dr. Carson here … yes … yes, just up the amperage a little and that should be … you did already? … Give me an hour.  They’ll be fine when we switch over.  Yes … I’ll be there shortly … not too far away … Okay … goodbye.”  He looked at Phoenix. “We’re testing the breakers over at the lab – the generators.”   He put the phone away and stood up.  “Sorry about this – duty calls.  Just enjoy your breakfast, it’s on me.  And while I’m at it, here are two tickets for the Child’s Rescue Mission banquet tonight.  I’d like for you two to be my guests.  Tomorrow night, seven o’clock at the Schermerhorn Symphony Center.  Come and see what we’re all about – and bring a donation.  Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

Dr. Carson slid his chair back under the table, whispered something to the butler, and left.

The butler walked out and came back in.  He set the second course of the breakfast beside the partially-eaten pineapple plates and left.  Phoenix and Alaia picked up their forks.

“He’s hiding something,” Alaia whispered.

“So you do have an eye for expressions and body language,” Phoenix said.

“He was play acting.  He wanted to look agitated and annoyed – just the opposite of someone trying to play surprised and stupid.”

“It was almost embarrassing to watch,” Phoenix said.  “He’s bold – you saw that, right?”

“But I’m not sure he’s our man.  I think he’s trying to protect someone.”

“No,” Phoenix replied.  “He’s our man.  If he isn’t, then I should never have joined NPD.”

“The CDC is holding Tracy’s body, just like they are Dr. Demachi’s,” Chief Cobb said.  “I’m sorry about that Phoenix, but it’s out of my hands.”

“What about June Buckner?”  Phoenix asked.

“They’ve got her caged up like an animal.  They don’t know what to make of it – or they don’t want to tells us.  She’s off limits, too.”

“I just want to bury her, DeAnte’.”

“Which one?”

“Who do you think?  Hello!  I wasn’t married to June Buckner!”

“Yeah, but you were acting like you did.”

Alaia stepped into Chief Cobb’s office carrying folders, lots of them, in her arms.  “I’ve got fifty missing persons from Nashville, most of them wealthy donors who gave to organizations owned by Dr. Patrick Carson, who is also the best-known Psyke researcher in the world.”  She set the folders down on Chief Cobb’s desk and pulled up one of his leather chairs.  “And there’s something more, thanks to Detective Malone’s insight.”

Chief Cobb eyed Alaia with his head tilted to one side.  Then he looked at Phoenix. 

“Our missing persons list looks like a national Who’s Who convention for the best and brightest,” Alaia said.  “We’ve got architects, biologists, cardiologists, chemists, dentists, educators – everything up to and including zoologists. And every one of them wealthy.”

“How many total again?” Chief Cobb asked.

“Over two hundred when we add missing persons from other cities and states,” she said.

Phoenix sat down in the chair next to Alaia.

Chief Cobb reached up and scratched his temple and glanced around the room.  “I know you two are on top of this investigation, despite the questions I have about Dr. Albin Demachi, June Buckner – and you, Phoenix, blowing your ex-wife---”

“Wife,” Phoenix shot back.

“Shooting your … your dead wife dead,” Chief Cobb said. “And now, I have information that one of the missing persons, Roxy Cotton, left a sizeable fortune to you, Phoenix – and weren’t those your bullets, Jenkins, in Albin’s head and chest?”

“Dr. Patrick Carson’s dirty,” Phoenix said.

“And you have what to prove that?  Dr. Carson is Nashville’s one and only philanthropist!  He doesn’t hurt people, he helps them!”

“But he knows Psyke better than anybody.  He knows what it can do – that it can be hybridized, if that’s the right word.”

“Psyke?  Heck, Phoenix.  My wife put that crap in my drink on our first date and I ended up having to marry her!”

“You’re married?” Alaia asked.

“No, uh, not really.”

“But there’s something else we need to do,” Phoenix said.  He stood up and planted both hands on Chief Cobb’s desk and leaned forward.  “We need you to sign off on an exhumation and get a court order.”

Chief Cobb rubbed his hands over his face.  “Okay.  Who are we digging up?”

“Phillip Mercer – a friend of Dr. Carson’s.”

“Just to make sure,” Alaia added, standing up.  “It’s just a hunch, but---”

Before Alaia could finish her thought, an officer stepped into the open doorway and knocked.  “Sorry to interrupt you guys, but we have something major over at St David’s.”

Chief Cobb shook his head.  “What now?”

“We’re on it,” the officer said. “We’ve got nine units over there and five or six ambulances.  The officer in charge is requesting the S.W.A.T. team to contain a riot.”

“I got it,” Chief Cobb said. 

The officer left.

“It’s the Psyke, Cobb, just like in Tusculum,” Phoenix said.  “Same thing used on June Buckner, Dr. Demachi, and my wife.  Dr. Cain, at St. David’s, he---” Phoenix stopped.

Chief Cobb opened his eyes wide and gestured with his hands out, trying to hurry the discussion.  “Dr. Cain at St. David’s, and he what?”

“I took the syringe found on June Buckner, the one with my fingerprints on it, and gave it to Dr. Marcus Cain to analyze.  He used a sample on a live rat.  He told me the rat went … well, it went June Buckner on him.”

“And you’re saying?”

“I’m saying that he thinks a virus could have been added to the Psyke – and if there’s rioting at St. David’s, it’s probably viral.  Same thing that happened over in Tusculum.  How many times do you want me to say it?”

Chief Cobb picked up the phone.  “Linda, get the CDC on the line.  And please hurry.  Tell them we have an incident.”  He hung up the phone and stood up, rubbing his eyes and scratching the back of his neck.  He looked at Phoenix and shook his head. “You better be right about this.  Get ready and meet me down in the parking lot because you two are going with me.”

“We need to talk to Dr. Marcus Cain,” Phoenix said.  “Can you call the officer in charge and have them round him up?  His office is in the Lutrell building.”

Phoenix and Alaia, with their briefcases in hand, met Chief Dobbs and a driver on the ground floor behind the police station.  They climbed into the rear seat of the chief’s white Chevrolet Malibu and buckled themselves in, setting their briefcases on the small space between them.

They reached St. David’s twenty minutes later, coming onto campus from Belmont Boulevard, pulling into the circular drive.  They stopped behind the S.W.A.T. van, a dark blue box-like truck, that had arrived only minutes before.  Police cars blocked the drive up near the library.  An ambulance drove away from the campus, crossed the grassy area, fishtailing, spinning its wheels, and it bounced over the curb onto Belmont, nearly tipping over as it sped away.  Other ambulances, some small vans, others larger, box-like vehicles, were parked on the sidewalk in front of the Lutrell building with their lights flashing.

The sound of gunfire rattled out, almost shaking the air, as Phoenix exited the vehicle.  He jumped when he heard it, and he instinctively reached for his pistol; and Alaia, who’d climbed out behind him, equally alert, pressed in close to him.  Another burst of gunfire, bright and staccato, tore through the air, coming from the left. Then Alaia pulled her thirty-eight.

Chief Cobb led them forward across the grassy area at a slow jog.  They crossed the acre lawn in front of the Lutrell building heading for the front steps.

A young man, thin, wearing a blood-stained tee shirt and dark blue jeans, came running towards them with his left hand pressed tightly against his right arm.  Blood ran from his shoulder and streamed down to his hand.  He screamed as he ran, crying, “They’ll kill me! They’ll kill me!”  Chief Cobb tried to stop him, but the boy veered to the right, dodging the chief as quickly and as deftly as any wide receiver on the field, and continued on towards Belmont without slowing.

“Stop!” Chief Cobb yelled.

Nothing.

“Stop! Or I’ll shoot!”  Cobb raised his weapon and then lowered it.  “Hell, I ain’t gonna shoot.”

Alaia grabbed Phoenix’s arm.  “I’m right behind you.”

“Gee, that’s good to know, little miss I’m-on-top-of-that,” Phoenix said with an incredulous look in his eyes.  He called for Chief Cobb.  “Hey! Through the front doors – that’s where I need to go.  A little back-up wouldn’t hurt!”

“I need to find out what’s going on!” Chief Cobb yelled grimly.  “You know what you need to do – why, I don’t know – so just do it.”

“How do we know Dr. Cain is even in there?”  Alaia asked.

“That’s the place to start.  Let’s go.”

Chief Cobb and his driver went left towards the side of the building, in the direction of the gunfire.  Phoenix and Alaia went right, crossed the sidewalk, and ran up the steps to the entrance of the Lutrell building.  Splattered blood and tiny bits of flesh, small particles that seemed to move like hungry maggots through manager’s-special hamburger, covered the glass in the doors, slowly dripping downwards towards the floor.

“Not good,” Phoenix said.

Alaia looked to her right and left, and then through the gore-covered glass.

“Pull the right hand door open,” Phoenix said, wrestling with his fear and apprehension.  “I’ll go in, and you cover my rear with something other than your hands.”

Alaia smirked, and she pulled the door open with lightning speed.  Phoenix ran inside, nearly slipping in a pool of dark, red, syrupy blood. Alaia followed him, avoiding the mess by jumping over it, and her eyes scanned the halls as if her life depended on what she might or might not see.

Another student, bleeding from the side of his face, came around a corner from the right, from an open door, screaming, heading for the exit.

More gunfire pounded the air outside.

Phoenix waved for Alaia to follow him to the left, towards the bathrooms and the stairwell.  In front of the men’s restroom lay the body of a woman, her dress torn to shreds, the skin on her face and stomach ripped and flayed like she’d taken a beating with a whip made of barbed wire.  A pool of blood oozed towards the restroom, disappearing under the dark wooden door.

The sound of running came from the stairwell above them and another student, one apparently unhurt, came hurtling down the stairs.  The blonde-haired girl looked at Phoenix and stopped, trying to catch her breath.

“Nashville Police!” Phoenix yelled.  “You’re okay!  Get down here, now!”

The girl grabbed the railing and did as she was told, tripping and falling down the last few steps until Phoenix caught her. 

“What’s happening here?” Phoenix asked her, as he looked up the staircase.

The girl couldn’t breathe.  The tendons in her neck stuck out, and she pressed her elbows into her sides, trying to make herself as small as possible.  She shook her head, covered her face, and started to sob.  “They’re clawing and biting people!  I … I hid in the closet … I hid in the closet!”  She removed her hand from her eyes and she started shaking.  “We’ve got to get out of---”

“Alaia,” Phoenix said.  “Take her out and keep her safe.  I’ve got this.”

Phoenix, Alaia, and the frightened girl turned when more gunfire broke out.  The door at the end of the hall swung open, slamming against the wall, and another student, this one splattered with blood, ran inside, looking frantically at the lock.  He didn’t scream, but he struggled to catch his breath.

Phoenix called out.  “Nashville Police!” 

The student turned around.  “We’ve got to lock the door!”

Phoenix hurried over to the student and stopped.  He looked out through the glass in the door.  Bodies lay everywhere, some missing arms, others missing legs, all probably the result of heavy shotgun blasts.  Three or four police officers remained still on the ground.  Other students, walking erratically, with their heads lolling and bobbling, reminded him of June Buckner, his wife Tracy, and Dr. Demachi. 

He could see Chief Cobb forming a small perimeter in a light cloud of smoke.  Six or so officers stood with him, side by side; and students, students covered with blood, struggled to break through Cobb’s defensive position.  Some crawled like wounded rats, others ran like savage dogs; but they came on relentlessly, oblivious to the shouts of the officers who called for them to stop.

Phoenix called for Alaia.  When she came up, he asked her to keep the two students safe.  He ran up the stairs with his thirty-eight pointed forward and his eyes and ears open, listening for what, he did not know.

As he neared the second floor, Phoenix heard the sound of scuffling and moaning, and he could barely contain the fear ripping through his nervous system.  He’d heard those sounds before, dreading what would come next.  But he heard no cries for help, he heard no screams.

In a flash, Phoenix flew up the last few steps and turned towards the sickening sound he’d just heard.  A person on the floor, lying in his own blood, squirmed and tried to pull himself towards Phoenix, growling and shaking his head like a dog with its head over a glass-covered dish full of Alpo.

Phoenix walked slowly towards the student, careful to keep watch on the surroundings through his peripheral vision.  All around him, except for the student at his feet, he could hear nothing except silence.  He got within a few feet of the student, noticed a leg dangling by tendons, quivering and bloody, and he raised his weapon and fired.  The bullet impacted the student’s skull, and the body fell still.

Phoenix turned towards Dr. Marcus Cain’s office, hurrying, and found the door partly opened.  He called for Dr. Cain and received no answer.  He pushed the door open slowly, cringing with the creaking of the old hinges.

“Is somebody there?” a voice called out. 

“Dr. Cain?” Phoenix shouted.  “You’re safe – I think.  You can come out.”

Phoenix pushed the door back and saw the closet door being opened, and then he saw a face peering out.  “It’s me, Dr. Cain.  You can come out now.”

Dr. Cain emerged from his hiding place.  “I have the test results back, if you’re still interested.  But we really don’t have any more questions, do we?”