Shattered 14
An All-Points Bulletin had been broadcast for the car of Norman Bates. Airports, bus and train stations were scoured, and area patrols were on the alert. The State Police were also advised, and while the missing man was not officially called a 'suspect', they were to approach this 'person of interest' with great care.
The home of Connie and Norman Bates was duly investigated. She had been the first to report something wrong with her neighbor, and had told the dispatcher about the phone call. Naturally, the lab was processing all prints found in the Harrison house; oddly enough, there were no prints at all on the phone-- not even those of the decedent, indicating the murderer had thought enough to wipe it clean. While the crowd of police personnel went in and out of the dead woman's home, Ackley and Warman had the Bates place to themselves.
Except for the broken front door, and the obvious evidence of the pregnant woman's illness and fall, the rest of the place seemed in order. However, they were able to piece together a little of the couple's history.
Someone was sleeping in the den regularly, likely the husband, from the clothes found lying around and in the closet. Perhaps they'd had a fight, and it hadn't as yet blown over. A cracked lamp and spaces on the wall where photos were missing made the pair suspect there had been some violence. Had this Bates character been abusing a pregnant woman? With his record concerning women, it was possible.
"Hey." Ackley called his partner into the master bedroom. "Check this out." He slid the closet door open to display very few items hanging on the husband's side. "What do you make of this?"
"She threw him out? There are things in the den, but not as much as seems to be missing here. Maybe he left her?"
"Neighbors say they saw his car in the driveway as recently as yesterday. Mowed the lawn Tuesday. And he helped a Mr. Bernstein across the street unload some wood last week. Apparently, they chatted about the baby-- Norman seemed in good spirits."
"The guy's a nut-job!" Warman smirked. "A regular psycho. You read his file-- normal enough one minute, crazed killer the next."
"I thought you didn't suspect him for Harrison."
"Unless he's changed. Usually, it's a knife-- slash and stab. And an early one was strangled and drowned-- one of the men, too-- but disemboweling and decapitation-- and leaving the scene a mess-- " Warman wanted to believe Bates just finally snapped for the last time, went overboard like Jack the Ripper and once he was located, it would be case closed.
"Well, his total absence is a bit suspicious." Ackley added.
"And there's this."
His partner held out a paper found on the kitchen table. One side was marked with some figures, and on the other side was a note. Ackley read it and shrugged.
"Who knows when that was written? Or if he didn't plant it there to placate the wife while he stalked Harrison?"
"Don't know, but I'll call it in anyway, so the highway patrol can keep an eye out."
The detective's cell phone started ringing and he answered immediately. It was the lab.
"Warman. What have you got?"
Ackley watched him closely, trying to read the gist of the call from the expression on his companion's face. After several seconds, the phone was closed and Warman motioned toward the door with a jerk of his head.
"What's up?"
"Lab processed prints from a kitchen cabinet. They come back to Bates. Let's go"
It would be hours before the crowd dwindled. Plainclothes men were posted down both ends of the block in unmarked cars, to keep surveillance on both properties, and a few neighbors opened their doors to permit patrolmen to keep watch behind the Bates house as well, Meanwhile, the gossip was rife, and people seemed willing to talk about their acquaintance with Norman Bates.
"He was always nice to me and my family. Tossed the football with me and the kids now and then. He and Connie seemed a happy couple. They were here for a barbeque last year."
"My wife never liked him. Thought there was something weird about him. I never knew he was a murderer."
"They didn't socialize much, the pair of them. She's some sort of doctor, still working with the baby on the way. I figured Norman was retired. He would come and go at all hours of the day."
"I knew there was something wrong with him. He gave me the creeps."
"Norman? He seemed like such a quiet, sweet guy. Used to help Mrs. Harrison and some of the older people on the block. You know, ran errands, mowed lawns, made minor repairs."
"The kids liked him-- he was like a big kid himself. Man, to think what might have happened!"
"It's always the quiet ones."
The report had gone out that Norman's prints were the only ones found in the murder house, beside Mrs. Harrison's. He changed from a person of interest to a likely suspect, and further instructions were given for all agencies that he was to be approached with extreme caution and taken into custody.
By the time Norman turned on the radio, it was the concert hour; the news would be broadcast again at 9 pm, and 40 minutes from home he was still oblivious to the horrible turn of events awaiting. It started raining after dark and he was already battling fatigue.
I hope Connie's at work. I just want to catch up on my sleep-- what's that?
Behind him, the lights of a police car blazed. Flashes of red and blue through the rainy darkness flashed in the rearview, and he slowed down to let the car pass. There was a blare of sirens and the car stuck on his tail. Great! What now? I wasn't speeding.
He eased the car onto the shoulder, and parked on the gravel with the police right behind. Quickly, he fished the registration and insurance cards out of the glove compartment, and pulled out his wallet for his license and the usual routine. Strangely, no one came to his window; the officer remained in his car, probably getting his rain slicker on and calling in the plates.
A second car patrol pulled up in front of his, from out of nowhere, and another unmarked vehicle joined it.
Must be a slow night.
He rolled down his window when he heard car doors slam, and was ready to present his papers even before he could be asked.
"Norman Bates?"
A highway patrolman appeared, reluctant to get too close.
"Y-yes, sir?"
The man took the handle suddenly and opened the door.
"Step out of the vehicle, please."
Is he kidding? It's raining! He may have a raincoat, but I don't!
Without thinking, Norman grabbed the door to keep from getting soaked.
"W--what's this about?"
"Out of the car!"
The voice came from a second officer, who was accompanied by a third. These last two had guns drawn and pointed in his direction.
"W-what's going on?"
The door was yanked out of his grip and the demands continued.
"Out of the car, now!"
Connie must have been really pissed, to get the cops involved…
Hands raised defensively, Norman slowly obliged, The portable radios carried by his three captors crackled with news.
"Car 418 en route."
"Suspect apprehended." one of the three on site replied.
"S-suspect? What is this?"
"Down you! Now! On your knees, hands behind your head!"
"What?"
"I said down!"
The first patrolman had also drawn his weapon and now shoved him to his knees. Dazed, Norman did as he was told, kneeling on the wet pavement, hands behind his head like a prisoner of war. Two more cars pulled up, like a scene from some action film. Still no one offered an explanation. One of the men started rifling through the back seat of Norman's car, another was calling for a truck to take the car to impound.
Their suspect made the unfortunate mistake of turning to look, insulted that his personal things were being handled and all this without a reason given.
"You can't do that!"
"Shut up, you!"
Norman started to lower his hands, and the cop nearest him responded by pushing him face down onto the wet gravel.
"Wait!" Norman argued as his hands were pulled behind him. "Th-this has got to b-be a mistake!"
The cuffs were snapped on before he could pull away.
"Norman Bates, you are hereby detained for questioning in the murder of Mrs. Gloria Harrison, and ordered to appear at headquarters forthwith."
Murder?? This is insanity! I just saw her the other day--
"What are you t-talking about? She isn't dead!"
"Nice try, Bates. You wiped off the phone, but you missed a few spots. Your prints were all over the place. Keep resisting and you'll make it worse."
No, no, no!
Norman shook his head blindly. It couldn't be true-- this wasn't real, it wasn't possible. The police rushed around him, as the rain began to pour heavily. No one helped him up, no one explained anything, though the radios chattered back and forth about the capture, the media, the questions left unanswered. Norman was left lying in the mud, the victim once again in what could only be a nightmare of mistaken identity.
Mrs. Harrison is dead?? Why would they think I had anything to do with it-- Connie must have told them I've been away--they must know-- my God, what's happening?
An old terror surfaced. The rage and frustration swelled inside him and came out in the last avenue left. His denials fell on deaf ears. Protests, like his tears, washed away with the rain, and passed to oblivion without the slightest outside notice.