The Menace: A Thriller

Chapter 9

The scent of the delicious supper Helen had prepared — pineapple chicken — was still in the air when Roy met Chief Cutter at the front door. The chief had called and said he had significant information for them, and wanted to come straight over. Roy of course said yes.

Barely inside, a slightly hyper Cutter, Stetson in hand, said quietly, “Is your boy around? I don’t want him to hear any of this.”

“He’s upstairs,” Roy said, frowning, “with your man Jackson, showing him around the work-out set-up...” He dropped his voice to a whisper, not wanting his wife to hear. “...and probably show him how his ‘friend’ is well-positioned to keep an eye on things.”

Cutter managed a little smile. “Glad to get any help in the security department where we can get it.”

Helen took the chief’s windbreaker and hat, then asked if she could get anyone coffee and no one, including herself, took her up on it. She settled again in a straight-back chair with the fireplace — going strong now — at her back and the police chief and her husband on the couch, the two men angled toward each other.

The chief said, “Doctor, does the name Dennis Lee mean anything to you?”

Roy shook his head firmly. “No.”

“Probably a young patient. Possibly a little person.”

“No.”

“The parents, perhaps? Efram Lee? Rosemary Lee?”

Roy sighed, mildly irritated. “No. You have access to my files. My memory is pretty fair, but go ahead and check.”

“We will. And now I have to share some things with you that you may wish you could purge from your memory...”

Roy and his wife listened in shocked silence to the report of what had been recently learned by Detective Hodges about the three murdered doctors, and by Cutter and Hodges at the bizarre crime scene in Timber Lake.

When the chief had finished, Roy asked, “If I’m understanding this, our attacker would be rather young, even now.”

Cutter nodded. “We have the date of birth, which makes him twenty-one. Old enough to vote and to drive and, apparently, to kill.”

Helen, a look of alarm frozen on her features, asked, “Do you think the poor child was born a homicidal maniac, and kept chained up by his parents for their own safety? And his?”

Simultaneously shrugging and shaking his head, Cutter said, “We’re unlikely ever to determine that, unless we capture Dennis Lee and are able to question him. Of course, we don’t even know if he’s capable of speech.”

“Why on earth,” Roy said, appalled, “did these people handle their child in such a reprehensible way?”

“We can only speculate,” Cutter said.

Her brow tense, Helen said, “Well, I wish you would speculate. Frankly, my head is spinning. You can’t drop us into this horror show without some guidance... some professional interpretation.”

“Any educated guesses,” Roy said, leaning toward their guest, “would be greatly appreciated, Blake.”

Cutter was clearly torn. As a doctor, Roy could understand the chief’s hesitance to wade into the kind of conjecture that might come back someday to bite him in the tail.

“Please,” Helen said. She was framed by the glow of flames behind her as she sat forward, her interlaced hands between her knees.

Cutter sighed and nodded. “We know from the medical files of two of the deceased physicians — Carter and Meyer — that the parents did take measures to help the boy. These measures appear to have been radical and ill-considered, and undoubtedly caused the child great discomfort... even agony. But they did try.”

Roy said, “And this torment could have driven Dennis into a state of fury. And madness. Leading to the restraints that at some point were initiated?”

The chief nodded glumly. “My hunch is he was raised for a time in a relatively benign, even normal manner. From the glimpses we’ve had of him on these grounds, and the strength and agility he’s displayed, Dennis must have followed a regular exercise regimen as a child, one he continued throughout his captivity, eventually on his own. It would appear that — later, when they felt it necessary to restrain him at night — he was during the day given more free reign of his little world. With no window and a steel door, why not at least allow him that small freedom?”

Despite the nearby fire, Helen hugged herself as if from the cold. “But a bucket for his... it’s horrible.”

“There was a bathroom on that floor,” Cutter said. “My guess is that for a time he was led there by his nurse. But as time progressed, and he regressed into something less, or perhaps more, than human... he was treated like the caged animal he’d become.”

“Why do you think,” Roy asked, “the child’s very existence was kept secret? Hidden away, like something in a gothic novel?”

A tiny shrug. “I’m afraid the boy’s grandmother was like something, someone, out of a gothic novel — she was vain and valued her place in society, which is fairly pathetic in a town the size of Timber Lake. Why Efram was complicit in all this, I’m afraid we’ll never know. Perhaps he felt the family had a reputation, a respectable facade to maintain. But there you have it.”

“And,” Helen said, a profound sadness taking over her features now, “the boy’s mother was dead. Not there to speak up for him. To defend him.”

“And possibly,” Cutter said, gesturing with an open hand, “to a certain kind of twisted mind, Dennis was the ‘murderer’ of the mother, Lula, who was after all the only child of Efram and Rosemary.”

Helen hunched forward again, folded hands between her legs. “The grandparents got caught up in a vicious spiral of their own creation — the less compassionate and understanding they were of their grandchild, the worse, the more animal he gradually became.”

Cutter nodded. “Again, speculation... though the crime scene speaks for itself. But one thing remains a big, troubling question mark.”

“Which is?” Roy asked.

Head cocked, the chief said, “We almost certainly know why the three doctors were murdered — two of them put the child through hell, and the other one delivered the malformed baby at the cost of the life of Dennis Lee’s mother.”

“Vengeance by definition,” Roy said, “always has a motive.”

“Right.” Cutter looked at him, hard. “So why have you and your son been targeted? You have no connection to the Lee tragedy that we can find or that you seem to know of.”

“‘Seem to know of,’ Blake? You think I’m holding back on you?”

“If you are, now is the time to stop doing so.”

Roy’s laugh was bitter. “I only wish that were the case. Everything you’ve told me is some kind of living nightmare. Nothing to do with me, and sure as hell nothing to do with Richie.”

Helen’s voice came small: “What about... jealousy?”

Cutter looked sharply at her and Roy winced, saying, “What? Why?”

Her shrug arrived in slow motion. “Perhaps he’s jealous of the love and care you take with Richie. Perhaps he’s watched us from a tree or some damn place and resented the normal father-and-son relationship you have.”

Roy said, “That seems crazy to me.”

Cutter, not so sure apparently, said, “And nothing else about this thing seems crazy to you, Roy? But even if Helen’s right about the motive for including Richie in his threat, why is this poor twisted soul looking at you and your boy in the first place? There has to be a connection!”

Roy frowned. Something in his mind sparked. He asked, “What county is Timber Lake in?”

“Fayette,” Cutter said, clearly wondering where Roy was going. “Same as Peachtree Heights.”

Roy leaned toward the chief. “This is before your time around here, Blake. But it was common practice for the medical examiner to be some local physician taking the role on as a sideline.”

Cutter shrugged. “Still is. You looking for extra work, Roy?”

“No. But my father was medical examiner of Fayette County, for about fifteen years. Starting around 1960. Could that be the tie-in?”

The chief was smiling, nodding. “Sure could. I’ll get Detective Hodges right on it. She’s my little bulldog on loan from Buford. If anybody can sniff the connection out, she can.”

“And you’ve looked at my records,” Roy said, “but not my dad’s. Tell her she can have full access.”

Helen’s gaze went to her husband. “Roy, knowing all this... how can we stay here?”

“It’s better than being out in the open,” Roy said. “And I’m impressed with how Blake is handling the situation. Anyway, with what the police working this know now — and thanks to that sketch of yours, Helen — it should be simple enough to find and stop someone who looks like that.”

Helen shifted her gaze to the chief. “My father thinks you’re using our son as bait. It strikes me he might be right.”

“I can understand that,” Cutter admitted. “But with our attacker, we’re talking about someone who has lived much of his life in nearly total isolation. Yet whatever this person is... whatever a horrific upbringing has turned him into... his intelligence would seem to be well above average. Think about it! Looking as he does, thrust into a big wide world he’s never experienced, he’s able to hide himself. Here, at your compound, we have a shot at getting him out in the open with a world of firepower to take him down, alive if possible.”

“Wherever we are,” Roy said to her, “Dennis Lee will come after Richie and me. Right now we have the advantage.”

“Doesn’t feel like it,” Helen said with a sigh.

Cutter took his leave and they walked him out, the couple remaining on the porch as the chief in his Challenger pulled out of the compound. Two officers on foot patrol were in sight, giving them nods and waves.

The night was cool and lightly breezy, a darkening dusk painting everything a watercolor shade of blue. Forgetting himself for a moment, Roy slipped his arm around his wife’s shoulders, then said, “Sorry,” and withdrew it.

She moved closer to him. “No need. Go ahead. It is a little cold.”

“What we heard from Blake was more than a little cold.”

She nodded, shivered, possibly for more than one reason. “Roy...”

“Yes?”

“Whatever happened to... us?”

“You want my honest opinion?”

She nodded up at him.

“We had it too easy, at first,” he said. “Your father meant well...” That was cutting Parsons considerable slack, but this was the man’s daughter. “...then when Richie came along, and he had those tests made...”

“You felt you had to stand up for your son.”

“Yes. I know you love Richie, too. Good people don’t always see eye-to-eye, even...”

“When they love each other?”

He studied her. “Why? Do we, still? You and I?”

She looked away. “I don’t really know. We’ve been thrown into something the likes of which few... if any married couple... has ever had to deal with. So we kind of have to be on the same team.”

“That’s true.”

She cocked her head. “People can change, you know. For the better.”

“Maybe. But I have to be honest with you, honey. I’m not going to change. Not where Richie’s concerned. And not where I see my life going. This place is my life. This little town. My little practice.”

“I don’t want you to change.”

“You sure of that?”

She nodded firmly. “No more custody battles. We’ll sit down, you and me, no lawyers...”

“No Big Daddy Parsons?”

“No Big Daddy Parsons. And we’ll figure out what’s best for our son. Together.”

He turned her to him and looked at that lovely face and he kissed her. Long and hard and yet soft and deep. Then he smiled at her and said, “You smell so damn good.”

“It’s the pineapple chicken.”

He laughed. “Do I need to apologize for kissing you?”

“No,” and she kissed him. Shorter, lighter than the kiss he’d given her, but she did kiss him and something inside him blossomed.

“This is my favorite custody battle so far,” he said, “and by far.”

They went back inside, hand in hand.

Helen said, “Where’s Richie?”

“He must still be up there with that cop — Jackson. You want help with the dishes?”

Richie pedaled and pedaled and pedaled some more. Finally he climbed down off the stationary bike. He had worked up a good sweat.

He said to Sgt. Jackson, “Not bad, huh?”

The uniformed policeman handed Richie a towel.

Richie had just treated his guest to a full run-through of the daily work-out routine. He did this for the officer even though he’d already been through it this morning. He was really tired but didn’t say anything. He liked having the chance to show what he could do.

“Not bad at all,” the officer said. He had a big grin. “I don’t think I could do a work-out like that.”

“You could work up to it,” Richie said encouragingly. He went over to where he’d set his stethoscope on the weight bench. When he was doing his exercise routine, he didn’t wear the device. But now he put it back on.

“What do you have there, son?” the officer asked.

Richie told him it was a stethoscope.

“You listen to heartbeats and stuff with it,” Richie explained.

The big man frowned. Not mad but he frowned. “You didn’t borrow that from your dad’s medical bag, did you?”

“No, he gave it to me. It’s an old one. But it still works. I’m gonna be a doctor when I grow up.”

The officer laughed. “Are you, now? That takes a lot of school, you know.”

“I like school.”

“Well, good, ‘cause it does. There’s other medical jobs, you know.”

Richie nodded. “Yes. I heard Dad say. Nurse is one. Mostly girls are nurses but there are boy ones, too. And some people at the hospital order things, he said.”

“Order things? Oh... orderlies? Yeah. They’re like male nurses, too. Sort of.”

“Can I hold your gun?”

The officer’s head went back. “Well...” he said. Then he thought about it. Richie could tell he was thinking by the way the man’s eyes moved back and forth. “I suppose that’s all right, but we should probably check with your mom and dad first.”

“Or you could take the bullets out. Then you wouldn’t have to ask.”

The officer laughed again. “That’s very smart, son. But maybe I should ask anyway.”

“Even with the bullets out?”

The big man laughed. It shook some things. Then he emptied the bullets from the gun and put them in his pocket. They jingled. He held the gun out by the barrel with the handle sticking out. The boy reached for it. But the officer held up his other hand. Stop! Like the crosswalk at school.

“Now don’t you point that at anybody,” the officer said, still holding onto the gun.

“Okay. Even if it’s empty?”

“Even if it’s empty.”

“Even at him?”

Richie nodded toward the mummy. The boy’s friend was seated knees-up where the work-out space stopped and storage started. His friend seemed to be watching.

“He’s supposed to be dead,” Richie said.

“Not even at him.”

The officer handed Richie the gun.

“Cool!” Richie said, grinning. He pointed the gun away from the officer. At the air-conditioner making noise in the window.

“It’s not a toy,” the officer said.

“It’s heavier than it looks like on TV.”

“Yes. That’s enough, now.” He held out his palm and Richie gave the gun back. The policeman spun the empty cylinder.

“So cool!” Richie said. “Do that again! But wait a second.”

The boy put the chest piece of the stethoscope over the hole at the end of the gun barrel.

“Now!”

Again the officer spun the cylinder. The sound was really loud! Like some huge machine with great big gears turning and clicking.

“You gotta hear this,” Richie said.

The boy took off the stethoscope and handed it to the officer. The officer smiled and put the stethoscope on. Put the earpieces in his ears. Richie grinned as he held the device’s chest piece to the end of the barrel again.

“Spin it again!” Richie ordered.

The officer did. Then the big man smiled and said, “Say, that’s really something.”

“If you want to hear something really, really cool...” Richie pointed over to his seated friend.

But then somebody hollered. They were yelling up the attic stairs. “Jackson!”

“Yeah?”

“Chief’s on the horn! Wants you five minutes ago!”

“Be right there!”

Richie said, “Don’t you have time to hear something else cool?”

“Not right now,” the officer said. He took off the stethoscope. He handed it to Richie. The boy put the headset back on. “But I’ll be here again tomorrow and we can pick this up.”

“Okay.”

The officer put his hand on Richie’s shoulder. “But till then, kid? You keep out of trouble.”

Adults always said stuff like that.

Richie watched the officer disappear down the stairwell. His footsteps echoed up. Then they faded.

Richie thought, How would I get into trouble in my own house?

“Boy,” he said out loud. “Adults are dumb. They think just because somebody died they’re dead.”

Then Richie walked over to his friend and sat cross-legged before him. He said, “I was just going to show Officer Jackson how you’re still alive.”

The mummy said nothing.

“You are still alive, aren’t you?” Richie asked.

The mummy said nothing.

“I better check,” Richie said. He leaned in. He was right under a clawed hand but that didn’t scare him. Or bother him. He didn’t want to hurt his friend, so he was gentle. Gentle when he held the chest piece to the mummy’s chest.

At first he didn’t hear it. Then he tried a different place. Right against the wispy fabric. Then the heartbeat sound came. It got louder. And faster.

Richie smiled. He drew away a little. He had to duck under the clawed hand. In the dim light at this end of the attic, he saw something.

Eyes in the sockets.

Or anyway something gleaming red.

Richie said, “Yes!”

The mummy said nothing.

Richie said, “Someday they’re going to listen. I sure wish I knew what you were thinking. But you probably only speak Aztec. Maybe you don’t understand my words. But we understand each other. You know I’m your friend.”

Richie got to his feet. Yawned and stretched. Two work-outs today made him real tired.

“Well, better get out of here now,” he told his friend. “If my mom catches me up here talking to you, she’ll give me hell. Or anyway... heck. You know.” He shrugged. “Language.”

The mummy said nothing.

And Richie went down to his room to get ready for bed.