Rune Alignment
Chapter 54
"Thanks for meeting with us, Detective, we have a few questions," said Dr, Patel. "Please, have a seat."
Bobby nodded and sat.
"What can you tell us about the scars on her back?" asked Dr. Creighton.
Bobby looked at the print on the wall to his right, sailboats on a sunny day. He wiped his large right hand over his face and pinched the bridge of his nose. "They were done by a former lover."
"The scars are a result of acid being applied to the skin with some kind of applicator. The design is far too complex and precise for any other way. Do you know who did this?"
"I have a theory."
"Do you know why she allowed it to happen? Was she in a cult or gang?"
Do I tell them she was in a commune as a child? "No, no, nothing like that."
"Then why would she allow something like that to be done to her?"
Bobby shut his eyes and turned his head as if trying to look away from all that he didn't know. "I don't know. Why are you asking me about her scars?"
Dr. Creighton hesitated, looked at Dr. Patel and then said, "Just wondering. We were thinking that maybe the scars had something to do with her erratic heart and fever."
"I found these in her purse." Bobby handed the amber bottle to Dr. Patel.
"Aventyl," he said looking at Dr. Creighton and handing her the bottle. "Well, that explains a lot."
"How much of this has she taken?" Creighton asked.
Bobby looked down at his left hand. He knew so little about this woman. "I . . . I don't know. I'm sorry."
"When was the last time she took any?"
Bobby looked down, looked away and just shook his head.
Patel and Creighton looked at each other. Then Patel asked, "Does she take anything else?"
Bobby stood and said, "I don't know anything. I want to help her, but I don't know anything. I'm sorry."
Dr. Creighton rose and stepped to the tall man. "It's ok," she put a hand on his upper right arm, "it's ok. This helps a lot. Now we know what we have to flush from her system. Sit down. Aventyl can be nasty stuff. A major side effect is bradycardia. This may be what is causing her erratic heartbeat. Detective, you've helped her tremendously."
Bobby sat and looked plaintively from one physician to the other. The three were quiet for a moment. Dr. Patel broke the silence with, "I am not sure the state of your relationship with Ms Wintermantle, but, is it possible to check where she lives and look for other medications?"
"Yes, I can do that. I can go right now."
"There's really no rush," Creighton said today or tomorrow would be fine. "Knowing about the Aventyl is a big step forward."
"Are you going to still take her back to surgery this evening?" Bobby asked.
Dr. Creighton sighed heavily, "We'll have to if her fever doesn't break soon. I don't want to wait if she has live infection inside."
"I would not be surprised if she has surgery," Dr. Patel added.
"I also found her insurance cards in her purse. I didn't have these last night when I filled out the paperwork. What should I do with them?" Bobby began fishing in his right front pocket.
"I guess you'd take them back down to registration and talk with the folks down there," Creighton offered.
"I am sure someone would make a copy of them at the desk out there and then an aide could run it down for him," suggested Patel.
"That's good idea. I'll make sure that happens," said Creighton and reached for the cards Bobby held. "I'll get these back to you."
The three rose together and left.
"I don't see anything down here," Eames said as they made their way around the creepy, dark, damp basement. "How about you guys? Find anything?"
An assortment of 'nothing,' 'huh uh,' and 'nope' came back through the gloom.
"There's nothing down here," Sledge said, "let's get out of here. That ok with you boss?"
Eames looked at him sharply and saw the huge grin on his face. She couldn't help but return the smile.
"All right, let's head out," she called to the others.
"I'm going to find you, you bastard," Bishop muttered to herself as she sought Clive Donohue's roost. She had tried every resource, database, contact she could think of to locate the man in question.
If I were a crazy sleaze ball like him, where would I stay? Somewhere cheap. Somewhere near the university. Bishop entered keywords that would focus a search of cheap motels in the university area. A list of twelve motel names, addresses and phone numbers popped up on her screen. Hot damn, she said to herself, lifting the phone.
The officers working in Elliott's apartment finished up and taped the door. They were coming down the stairs as the other four were coming up from the basement.
"Anything down there?" the shorter officer asked.
"Nothing. You have to wonder where someone could do that without leaving any evidence." Sledge shook his head, opened the door and stepped aside for Eames to leave. The four officers stepped aside as well.
They gathered outside on the front walk. The pairs of officers departed to their respective vehicles and pulled away.
"So, what do you think?" Eames asked Sledge, looking up at him.
Edward thought a minute and then said, "I think we should order in tonight, I pick us up a few DVDs, and I let you boss me around the bedroom. What do you think?" He smiled down at her.
Eames looked up at him, smiled and shook her head. She looked across the street thinking about what Sledge had said. She watched a young couple walk past a brick apartment house, holding hands. An idea began to take shape as Eames looked at the apartment house. She turned and looked back at the house number painted on the lintel above the steps, eleven-sixteen. Murdock.
"Edward."
"Huh?"
"Gleason lives right across the street."
"What? Where?"
"Right there, in that apartment house."
"How do you know?"
"Last night when Bobby and I arrived at Methodist General, we filled out the paperwork for her. Bobby knew her address – eleven twenty-three Murdock."
"Son-of-a-bitch," Sledge said. "Goren must be right, Elliott was the caller. It all fits: the accent, the rage, the porn in his room, not to mention the sick wallpaper and mobiles for decoration. He probably stalked her from right here; you can see that building from his window."
Eames said, "Let's call Jerry and see if any more calls have come in. If there've been more calls, since Elliott suicided, then someone else is out there."
They stood quietly for another moment. Sledge watched her thinking. "So, what do you say about staying in and watching a movie tonight?"
"Come on," she said with a smile, "We'll see."
Still in control, thought Sledge and smiled.
Bishop had called nine of the dozen cheap motels listed in the university area; not one had a Clive Donohue registered. She was dialing number ten when Sledge and Eames turned the corner from the elevators.
Looks like the tiff is over, she thought. "Yes, hello. This is Detective Lynn Bishop of Major Case. Tell me if you have, a Mr. Clive Donohue registered. Yes, I'll wait." Alex and Edward were talking in the coffee room. "Yes, room 14. . . Where is that room, front, back, on an end? What kind of car did he list? Ok, what kind of car does he drive? You've seen him come and go, right?" She listened and made a note. "Got it. . . Thanks. . . Under no circumstances let him know about this call. Understand?"
"Hey, guys," she said standing, "I found him."
Bobby had walked back to Gleason's cubical. She was asleep again. Her tray was gone, but another glass of cranberry juice sat on the portable table. He sat in the chair and stretched out. Jesus, his hand hurt. At least his headache was gone; must have been hungry, he thought; but he had heartburn like never before. Bobby set his right elbow on the arm of the chair and crooked his forehead between the thumb and index finger of his right hand. Suddenly he was tired. He felt depleted. It was so clear how little he knew about Gleason.
He looked up at the monitor screen. Everything looked bad. Her heart rate was so slow, forty-eight, fifty-two, forty-nine, it should be between sixty and a hundred, he said to himself. Her O2 level was seventy- nine, it should be as close to a hundred as possible, he thought. Julie had wrapped an automatic blood pressure cuff to Gleason's upper left arm, he heard the hiss as it inflated, the slight popping as the hook and loop tape expanded, the rapid ticking as it measured her pressure, and then the sigh as the cuff deflated. He watched the blank squares next to BP light up, eighty-five over ninety-two; Jesus, that low?
His gaze moved to Gleason's face, she was sweaty again. Her breathing seemed heavier than before. Don't die, don't die, don't die, became his mantra.
Eames and Sledge stopped talking as Bishop walked into the coffee room. "Everything ok in here? She asked. The pair said nothing. Sledge brought her up to date on what they found at Elliott's apartment.
"Good God, so what becomes of the, the, decor?" she asked.
"Don't know, don't care," Sledge answered.
Eames told her about Elliott living across the street from the professor.
"Right across the street?" Bishop asked incredulously.
"I know; can you believe it?" Eames asked.
"Bet that was no coincidence." Bishop added. "I found Clive Donohue," she offered.
"No kidding, where?" asked Eames.
"He's in a cheap motel in the industrial are near the university. I think we should go pick him up for questioning. What do you say?"
"We should search his place, see if he's there, if he is, we can bring him in." Sledge suggested.
"I'll call Carver's office again. Maybe we can do this today."
Eames added, "Someone should call Bobby."