Chapter 14

They put some distance between that door and themselves before speaking. Yelina saying, "Did you get all of that?"

Ryan referred to his notebook. "Let's see, she knew Flower Pott from their mutual days in the carnival business. We didn't ask what she did there but I bet it wouldn't be hard to find out. She left when she got pregnant. Apparently people are all friendly in the carnival business so she wasn't surprised to hear our questions about Dowd's amorous advances. The only thing is, there's no angry husband in the picture and if the son was angry, there's no evidence of it."

"Not necessarily. Emotionally disturbed people often fixate. Seeing a clown and his mother together may have stuck with him."

"Seeing my mom getting it on with a clown would sure stick with me."

"I'm wondering why he put himself into a sanitarium."

The grounds around the Huntington Hospital were spacious and park like with great ancient trees and broad expanses of both cut and wild growing grasses. Along the gravel walkways were benches. Beside each bench was a column with a button. When Ryan pushed the button on one of the short stone columns he heard a short description of the location in relation to the hospital and then an assurance that the listener was just fine and in no danger.

Inside the building, the receptionist directed them down the hallway to what she called the 'crafts' room. To get there, they went down a hallway of polished floors and mostly open doors. Some doorways revealed clean bright offices and some plain, neat bedrooms. At the door labeled Crafts, they walked in and were immediately greeted by a variety of stares from about fifteen pairs of eyes. All hands stopped in midaction.

"Can I help you?" A tall man dressed in a nurse' outfit covered in Mickey Mouse and Pluto pictures walked toward them.

Answering their inquiry, as if without a thought, he directed the two officers to a young man at the back of the room seated at a bench. His eyes had been among the first to pull back from them and return to his work. The activity seemed to be a confusion of wires and sticks. He was soldering the wires around the sticks. If any of it made any sense, it was probably only to him.

"Hi! Are you Marky?"

"I am and please don't talk to me as if I'm hard of hearing or aged five." Not raising his eyes, a slight smile played across his attractive features. "I'm emotionally disturbed, not stupid."

In a more serious tone, Ryan continued. "We just came from your mother's house. We were asking her about what she knew of Flower Pott, the clown."

The young patient's hands froze for a second and then continued to work on the mass of wires and ice cream sticks on the bench. "Who?"

"He performed at a couple of your birthday parties."

"Did he? I don't remember. I must have been very young."

"Marky, where were you five or six nights ago?"

"I was here in the hospital, like always."

"Are you sure?"

"Nurse Bill! Make these people go away! Take me to my room! Help!" The lack of affect in Marky's demeanor belied his words

Still, the switch from the calm quiet answers to the loud demands for help was so sudden, both Yelina and Ryan stepped back in unison. They looked powerlessly at the advancing nurse.

"I'm sorry. You'll have to go." He positioned himself between the officers and Marky and there was no doubt who he was protecting from whom.

Helpless in the circumstances, they left the room.

Ryan took a quick look back and saw that Marky had returned to his soldering. "I wonder why they let patients use tools like that?"

Yelina touched Ryan's arm and nodded toward the interior. "We might want to take a look inside that desk. He might be working on more than sticks and wires."

"We can try getting a warrant. I don't think it will be easy. Maybe Marky is as smart as he thinks he is."

Their next stop was the hospital office. Introducing themselves, they wanted to know Marky's whereabouts five nights before and any of several before that. They were disappointed to find that the patients were free to come and go as they chose and no records were kept.

"This is a place of purely voluntary admittance. All of the people seek help from a variety of clinical problems." Mrs. Dennison, the Supervisor, remained seated before them.

"He has that kind of money?"

"Marky Dubois? Heavens no. He qualifies as a complete charity case. To achieve funding status from the government, we have several tiers of qualifications. Those who can pay, do. Those who need help paying are given it and so on. As I recall, Marky has been unable to hold onto a job all of his adult life."

"Wait, I thought his last name was Blaire."

"He's registered as Dubois. I think he used his father's name. He lists it as Marquez Dubois."

Feeling like he was starting all over for about the third time since he'd entered the facility, Ryan asked, "What does he suffer from?"

"Severe depression, some paranoia. He may even be schizophrenic. He came in asking us to stop him from killing himself. Later he admitted he had desires to kill others."

Both Ryan and Yelina spoke at the same time, "Others?"

Mrs. Dennison rolled her eyes. "Oh, you know, the usual list for a paranoid; the mailman, the six year old girl next door, the guy who stalked the shelves at the local supermarket."

"Did he ever mention clowns?" Ryan tried to make it sound as innocent as he could.

"Now that you mention it, a clown was one of the usual suspects missing from his ramblings. I mean, the only reason I know about any of this is he seemed to think I was in charge of who could come in through the front doors. He often stopped by and quizzed me about who came looking for him."

"Do you know where he was four or five nights ago? I mean, was he here at the hospital?"

"Sorry. Stay here is purely voluntary and they can walk out anytime. If they leave without notice, we give them one week to return and then they forfeit their place. We take the next patient and give them the room. As long as they show up for meds, appointments with the doctors and meals we leave them to themselves."

"Seems sort of haphazard."

"Better than enforced incarceration."

"On what basis was he even admitted?"

"He said he often thought of killing himself and swore he would kill the ones who were after him if they didn't leave him alone. That put him at the top of the list."

"Wouldn't that qualify him for a state mental institution?"

"Only if he had actually taken steps in either direction."

They inquired about the possibility of looking at the desk Marky used in the crafts room. Hearing the drawer's contents were his private property until he left permanently, they left.

Fort-five minutes later, Ryan and Yelina were listening to a young man who hardly looked old enough to be an investment banker.

"It took me a long time to get that image out of my head. Thanks for bringing it back." The frown was negating the gratitude.

"Just how far into, uh, shall we say, embrace were Flower Pott and your mom?"

"Embrace hell! They were doing it! The thing is, I didn't know what they were doing. It looked like this big, ugly-ass clown and my mother were fighting."

"It must have upset you."

Deshawn Wilson looked balefully at Yelina. "Yeah, you could say that."

"Where was your father at this time?"

"He was in the living room playing with the toys I had gotten for my birthday."

"Did you tell him what you'd seen?"

The dark faced young man stared into space, his knuckles against his generous lips as if to keep them from forming words. "He'd heard and told me not to bother them. I did anyway and when I came back and said Mom and the clown were fighting in the bedroom, he shushed me."

"Your dad didn't care?"

Leaning forward, Deshawn shook a finger. "I don't know what he thought. It's been over ten years so why do you care?"

"You ever see Flower Pott after that?"

"I didn't much care for clowns after that. Then Mom and Dad were killed in a car accident and I moved in with my aunt." He leaned back and smiled sadly. "Anyway, she had four kids already so clowns for parties were a bit much and like I said, I did not care!"

Thanking Mr. Wilson, the two drove on.

The next response was more like something they had started their day expecting. "Dead? You know who killed him? Was it a woman? I bet it was a woman. I know I sure wanted to off him a few years ago."

Marva Stowe went on at some length about hiring him seven years previously to perform at her little girl's party. Getting involved in the festivities, she'd been fondled. Demanding an apology, she said he denied everything so she had filed a lawsuit. This brought her some hush money but no satisfaction. "Now that he's dead, I'm going to tell anyone who will listen what a lowlife he was."

An hour later, they were talking with Delilah Stowe, Marva's daughter. "No, I didn't see anything but I remember Mama being really mad at the clown so, of course, I was mad at him too. What I thought was strange was that Daddy didn't want to do anything." The smartly dressed young woman nervously checked her phone messages.

"I bet Mama isn't shedding any tears over Flower Pott's death. I'll have to give her a call."

On the way to the lab, Ryan asked the inevitable question, "Do you think Delilah was mad enough to shear Flower Pott's locks the hard way?"

"Let's take a look at her background. As it is, she's a sales rep for a solar panel company. Unless she's had experience with plastic explosives, I'd say not."

"Marky's crazy enough, or so he says."

"How does he get access to the materials?"

"Well, we know he's got wiring and a soldering gun. When we get inside the desk or his room, we'll have to see if there are any mini-boards or explosives."

"Deshawn?"

"Same as Delilah, we'll have to check on his background."

xxxx

"Calleigh! I think we got a hit on our garden guy." Vince was hanging on the door frame as if a tide were trying to draw him back into the AV lab. The more Calleigh showed her pregnancy, the more nervous he got in her presence.

The very pregnant woman wondered what a normal, single baby pregnancy would have been like. She knew that one fetus grew by leaps and bounds and therefore that two were growing twice as fast. Still, she was always amazed that whenever she moved she felt like she had gained another five pounds. Holding onto the table, she eased herself off of the stool and down to the floor. Determined not to waddle, she made an effort to glide across the hallway.

Looking at the image on the screen she said, "Well, he's definitely younger by twenty years. What makes you think this is him?"

"Not me, the criteria I set up. Finding age relevant photos was the hard part too. I couldn't just look for now pictures but any taken ever at all. So, if he was born in 1972 I'm looking for an infant with gray eyes and curly, brown hair. In 1985 I'm looking for a teen with probably darker hair but these general features and so on. Here he's nineteen and in a community college yearbook getting an associate arts degree."

"But this is a Facebook picture. They didn't have Facebook or any of that kind of thing in 1991."

"This was put in by a girlfriend of his at the time. She has a 'Has Anyone seen These People?' page."

"I'm guessing she had no response?"

"Her page hasn't been active for four years. I'm guessing she lost interest."

"But, we have him."

"Indeed we do. His name is Norbert Ditka. He went to the community college in Canby, Minnesota."

"And?"

"He graduated from the high school in the same town. I called and they said they'll get back to us on his previous school records."

"Now, fast forward. How did he get to Miami?"

Vince was letting his hair grow out again. He'd cut the main off and sported trimmed sides for a while. Now it was at the bushy stage. He slowly shook his head. "I have no clue. Would you believe there is no trace of him?"

"Driver's license, social security?"

"I mean nothing. After he got his AA degree, there are no tax records, no drivers' licenses, no property records, marriage licenses, nothing, zip, nada."

"Did he have a drivers' license before?"

"He did. He got one at the age of sixteen but he never renewed it."

Calleigh opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out.

"I'll keep looking."

"See what address you get from the original drivers' license."

"I'm already on it."

Calleigh grinned. "Thanks Vince. Let's hope the high school will be able to tell us something."

Walking from the AV lab to her area, Calleigh noticed Horatio and Yelina in quiet conversation in the central area. Something in their body language said neither one was enjoying the talk.

"Are you sure you want to come to my place?"

"I have a feeling it would be best, Horatio. It will be easier to be candid in private, wouldn't you say?"

"And since you haven't spent much time at my place, it would be considered more neutral territory than your place?"

Yelina smiled playfully. "Are you having reservations about talking?"

Horatio's smile was not quite a grin or a grimace. He glanced up through the thick brows over his eyes and huffed through his nose. "I'll be there by seven."

As soon as Horatio said the words, the playful look left Yelina's face. Seeing Walter approach, she took the opportunity to walk off.

"Horatio, if the McRea's were home, they weren't answering their door. They actually live in a real house. It looks like a rental; not much of a yard, pretty dreary all around. A nice shiny travel trailer in the drive though."

Shifting gears with the ease of years of practice, Horatio stared off to one side considering Walter's words. "Have Frank set up a stake out and call you when they return. Meanwhile, keep digging into any complaints registered about construction gone wrong. You might question Mr. Hennessy about that before you have to cut him loose."

"I'll get on him right now. He may not like me but I'll see to it he answers."

"I'll go in with you. He was at the park when I got hit so I also want some answers."

Walter almost objected. He knew Hennessy's problem with him was that he was black and he wasn't going to let prejudice get in his way. Part of his police training was getting around such narrow points of view and he wanted to exercise some of that knowledge. However, Horatio had a point. He'd been attacked for some reason.

As if reading Walter's mind, Horatio continued, "I'm going to play backup. Seeing that all you want is information and that maybe I want something worse, he'll be more co-operative."

There is nothing worse for a cop than getting nothing out of an interview. At least in an interrogation they are working on some kind of information or evidence. In an interview, they are fishing.

Hennessy was obvious in his lack of willingness to impart information. "Yeah, some of the people I travel with are in some kind of construction business. Don't know what kind though. You'd have to ask them."

As far as the attack on Horatio, he stuck with his story of before; he was too busy being sure he pulled onto the road safely, was too involved with driving the large vehicle, never thought to look across the road. He referred to McCauber, the other one who had gotten a ticket, if they wanted more information. No, he had no idea where he might be now.

Conferring behind the two way mirror as they stared at the man sitting casually slumped in his chair, Walter confessed to his frustration.

"I am too Walter. We're going to have to hope the McReas can give us more information. It could also be there's another path we haven't even come on yet."

Walter's hand dove into his pocket where he'd set his phone to vibrate. Hanging up he said, "Speak of the devil. The McReas are home."

Eric's voice interrupted Horatio's summary thoughts of the previous hour. "H, Thibodeaux' prints are not a match for the one's in that bit of C-4."

"Thank you Eric. Keep running the prints from the RVs please." Another dead end, another challenge. Well, that's the way it went. According to Yelina's report on what she and Ryan had dug up, the only two people they could find who may have had a motive against Dowd was the young man who was self-incarcerated in the hospital and that young woman.

Yelina had said, "Neither Ryan or I are sure about Marky. He could have walked away at any time but is he structured enough to create the bomb and leave very little trace? Delilah is a more likely suspect in that she was with an Air Force Ordinance team. She would have known how to fashion that kind of bomb and would have been able to get into the shops and out."

"Any connection to Crowley?"

"No, but then, so far, neither does Marky. Deshawn Wilson is also in the picture. He doesn't have the background however and doesn't have any connection to Crowley."

"I'm guessing we're barking up the wrong tree on all of them, then. Until we find a connection between Dowd and Crowley, we have nothing in common to anchor them."

Answering his chiming phone, Horatio heard, "I hate to be the bearer of bad news but we've got another guy with the top of his head missing."

"Where Frank?"

"This time it's at a gym. Horatio, we've got a serial killer on our hands."

TBC