Ashes to Ashes (40 page)

Nodding, Ashe replied, “But now he is
involved with my son. I need to know what you know. I was leaning
toward Franklin Barrett as some kind of pivotal role in this but I
was wrong. I think that Lucky is the center of this…or at least
Scott believes he is. Why?”

“The pill,” Oscar added.

“I have more that I want to know about that
pill,” Ashe said. “So much more. You only found it at a small group
of crime scenes. I don’t get that. Most drugs are mass produced and
spread out over the town or county or state or country. What drug
do you know has
that
little of a user rate? It doesn’t make
any sense.”

“Or does it,” Oscar rebutted. It got Ashe’s
full attention. “Meth and cocaine and ecstasy have a high user rate
and can be found just about everywhere. But those are the ones that
anyone with a chemistry set and a textbook could cook up. But that
isn’t all the drugs that exist. There are back alley drugs,
homemade experiments kept secret from the masses. Most of them are
bull and don’t amount to much. But I’m sure there are those that
are the opposite, those that turn out way different than
intended.”

“And you think that this pill is one of those
drugs?” Ashe asked, turning to him. “A science experiment? A
mistake?”

“Maybe,” Oscar replied, changing lanes to
pass a slow car. “It could even have been made by Lucky Barrett
himself or someone from his crew, anyway. I don’t know. The only
problem with that is I don’t believe that he has ever been linked
or rumored to be linked to drug running. Guns, prostitutes, and
extortion…but never drugs. Which is strange itself, now that I
think about it.”

“That is a little strange,” Ashe agreed. “Why
draw a line at drug running, especially in Northeast Ohio, where
pills and crack brings in stacks of money. Crack owns Warren,
Youngstown, and all the little places the surround them. Why
wouldn’t Lucky want a piece of that action, too?”

“I don’t know,” Oscar replied.

“Me either,” Ashe said, before taking the
subject in a different direction. “I want to look back at the
crimes where the pill or the container was found. The only
connection made was organized crime. Right? Let’s add Lucky Barrett
as another possible connection. How would that look?”

“Like paranoid crazy talk,” Oscar blurted and
groaned. “But not impossible. All families, gangs, and groups are
linked together…somewhere. But I never wanted to put a single face
to all that mess. It would be ugly. Ugly as hell. And a
stretch.”

“True,” Ashe said. “But we are just
talking…chatting on our way to speak to Norman Bones. We can
speculate…we can guess. No big deal.”

“No big deal,” Oscar mimicked, an unsure tone
in his voice. Oscar didn’t like to guess or speculate, but he knew
that his job often called for free talk, a time where rumors and
stretches have to be taken seriously in order for the true and
honest ideas to see the light of day. When evidence fell short,
speculation was all that was left.

“Let’s just say that Lucky has a pill that
made people paranoid and violent, prone to lashing out to those
they fear,” Ashe began. “What would be the motive for giving them
to people like Mathew Windham?”

“Revenge,” Oscar answered. “Or punishment. Or
getting rid of competition. There would be many motives for a crime
boss wanting to take those people out. A crime family in Lucky’s
way. A crooked cop getting a big head or refusing to listen. A
group of gun runners refusing to deal or raising prices. It could
be for many, many reasons.”

“It would make his own hands clean, as well,”
Ashe added. “He would be nowhere near the scene of the crime. The
blood would be on someone else hands, technically.”

“But why his own brother?”

“I looked at your file,” Ashe said, “and I
noticed that Franklin and Lucky were glued to the hip when it came
to business. No. That’s not right. It was more like Franklin was
riding his brother’s choices for his own gain. What if Franklin
Barrett became greedy? No. Not greed. I’ve met with Franklin
Barrett. The man thinks himself to be a shark, just like other
members of his family, but what I saw was far from a shark. I could
see weakness. A frailty. He wanted to be a shark but the power was
fake, pretend, something that Franklin wanted everyone to see but
was never completely there. It is possible that that weakness
worried Lucky and he had to do something before Franklin did
something stupid.”

“He bit a little close to home that time,
though,” Oscar stated.

“Yep,” Ashe replied. “But it could have
backfired. I just don’t understand why Franklin didn’t fear his own
brother, but instead acted out against his wife and son.”

“He trusted Lucky, for some reason,” Oscar
said. “He trusted his brother more than his wife and son.”

Ashe became silent, considering the idea.
Money can do some crazy things to people’s minds, just as crazy as
any street drug. He was not hurting for money but never considered
himself rich by any means. Would that change him? Having money?
Would that make him paranoid of the people he loved most in the
world?

“They must have put that fear in his mind
somehow,” Ashe told Oscar. “I can’t see that kind of aggressive
behavior coming from nowhere. Even Scott didn’t act out of the
clear blue. He was afraid of Owen when Owen was doped beyond any
reasoning. The pill just amplified it beyond any rational
thought.”

“But that doesn’t mean that any actual murder
plot existed,” Oscar rationalized.

“Doesn’t mean there wasn’t,” Ashe replied.
“We may never know.”

Oscar nodded.

“We don’t even know whether or not the pill
came from Lucky to begin with,” he said. “Lucky Barrett could just
be another victim. Remember…we are just speculating.”

“I know,” Ashe said. “But it fits. If Lucky
did have a weapon to make his enemies turn on one another, how
could he not use it?”

Oscar groaned.

Something suddenly occurred to Ashe, like the
metaphorical light bulb going off above his head. “Do you remember
how Lucky got his nickname all those years ago? I mean…even I know
that story…and those similar ones that followed.”

Oscar glanced at the psychologist. “You’re
talking about his wife?”

A shiver caressed Ashe’s neck. He thought
about his own wife. “Yes. And what happened to her many years ago.
It’s a little peculiar, now that I think about it. Anyway, I don’t
think that Lucky was big time enough to have drivers then…or always
insisted that he would drive himself places. I’m not sure and it
doesn’t matter. On that day, for some reason, he let his wife drive
and he lied down in the back seat.”

“I heard that he was sick,” Oscar said.

“Sick,” Ashe continued, “or something. The
point was that Lucky never let anyone drive his cars…not even his
wife.
Never
. But that day he did. On the way to the airport
a motorcycle pulls up next to the car and unloads with an automatic
machinegun. The shooter doesn’t even look to see who is driving,
because he had no doubt that Lucky would be behind the wheel.”

“Mrs. Barrett is wiped out of the world while
her husband is safe in backseat,” Oscar said. “Luck. Those bullets
were meant for Lucky and he sidestepped them because of a sick
stomach or headache.”

“It was luck,” Ashe concurred. “It became
like a myth. Other similar incidents have occurred, as far as I
know. I can’t emphasize that enough. I can’t say that I am an
expert in all things Lucky Barrett.”

“Luck,” Oscar repeated. “Barrett seems to be
full of it. He has dodged his own death a few times over the last
decade, give or take. You said peculiar? Peculiar, how?”

“It’s like he knew that the attacks or
accidents or whatever were coming,” Ashe replied.

“Knew they were coming? ESP?”

“No,” Ashe quickly blurted. “Not at all.” He
became silent for a few seconds. “Visions of the future don’t
exist.” He didn’t want to take the time to consider extraordinary
possibilities. He needed to focus on what he could touch and taste,
namely the fact that the mystery pill created delusions and
hallucinations that caused people to imagine their fears played out
in their minds. With Scott, it played out as a vision of his own
death. But the vision wasn’t real.

“I agree,” Oscar said. “I’m glad that we got
that covered.”

“Absolutely agreed,” Ashe replied. “But don’t
you believe in God?”

“Jesus is my lord and savior,” Oscar told him
matter-of-fact. “He is in my heart…always.”

“But you don’t believe that Lucky could have
seen the future?” Ashe asked.

“No,” Oscar answered.

“Okay…then.”

“None of this speculation answers the
connection with Scott,” Oscar pointed out. Ashe was well aware of
that fact, he just didn’t know any solutions to the problem. “Why
would Lucky Barrett want to get at your son? Is Scott secretly a
gun runner?” He laughed at his own joke.

“I don’t think so,” Ashe replied.

“Could it be his girlfriend?”

“Possibly,” Ashe said and grew silent. ESP.
Extrasensory Perception. The psychologist always considered himself
grounded in science but at the same time open minded to the
possibilities of the human brain. Abnormal abilities, like a memory
ability that almost appeared to be paranormal, could exist inside a
special mind. Studies have shown it to be true. These abilities
could either begin at birth or be accomplished by way of training
or mutation or through unexpected results from damage. The brain
was still beyond full understanding and appreciation, any
scientific mind had to admit.

Could a plain-Jane pill affect the mind in a
way that caused in an abnormal ability to see the future? Could
that be possible? He kept his thoughts to himself.

The psychologist noticed the lights of the
Cleveland Clinic Hospital appearing up ahead. Oscar signaled their
turn and swerved into the entrance. He entered the visitor’s lot
and found the first available spot to park. The car jerked to a
stop as Oscar slammed on the breaks and threw it into park. Once
parked, both of the men leapt from the vehicle and began their
march toward the nearest pair of automatic doors, ones that would
lead them inside and to Norman Bones.

Chapter 48

The sliding glass opened to reveal the
waiting area for the emergency room, one that was populated with
plastic bucket seats. The majority of the seats were empty. A few
of them were being used by waiting figures. As Ashe and Oscar
strolled up to the main desk, Ashe caught sight of one man who was
holding a white towel to his head. The towel was obviously being
used to catch the blood that was leaking from somewhere beneath it.
The other waiters didn’t appear to be injured. They were most
likely there for someone else.

Ashe followed behind Oscar, letting the
detective take the lead. When it came down to it, Ashe had no
authority in the investigation, nor did he have any authority when
it came to speaking to Norman Bones. Ashe was nothing more than a
shadow following behind the detective, barely seen and barely heard
when it came to other people. Without the shiny badge, most people
wouldn’t take him seriously, even if he did have a laminate.

A lot of people didn’t take him seriously for
simply being a psychologist. To some people, those who didn’t fully
understand the science behind psychology, a psychologist wasn’t far
from a wizard or con artist, but that was a barrier that Ashe had
to overcome.

Thankfully, that barrier was getting weaker
and weaker as time passes.

At the main desk, Oscar greeted the plump
woman sitting behind a computer. “Evening.” The detective pulled
his badge and introduced himself. “My name is Detective Harrison
and this is Dr. Walters. We are here on the authority of Detective
Phillips to find out the condition of Norman Bones, a gunshot
victim who was brought in here not too long ago. We were hoping to
ask him a few questions if we could.”

The receptionist punched a series of keys on
the computer’s keyboard. After squinting at the screen, she told
them, “Let me get a hold of the doctor.” Picking up a black phone
receiver, she dialed a three digit number and waited a few seconds
for a response. When someone answered, she mumbled something on the
other end and then immediately hung up. “Dr. Webber will be out
shortly. He can give you any information you are here for.” Without
waiting for a reply from either Ashe or Oscar, the receptionist put
her entire attention back on the computer screen.

The detective and psychologist turned their
backs to the desk area.

“I sure hope that asshole is awake,” Oscar
told Ashe. “But I won’t be too heartbroken if that asshole happened
to die.”

“He can’t die,” Ashe insisted. “We need to
talk to him. We need answers from that
asshole
.”

Oscar grunted.

“Why do you think they were at that park?”
the psychologist asked.

“Probably some kind of meeting,” Oscar said.
“A meeting away from prying eyes. Illegal stuff.”

Ashe nodded.

“If that’s true,” Oscar continued, “it would
be news in itself. I’ve been under the impression that Lucky
Barrett had gone all Howard Hughes…locking himself in his
mansion…afraid of his own shadow. But that might be another
rumor.”

Ashe gave Oscar a sharp glance. “Howard
Hughes? One of the reasons why someone might lock themselves in
their own home is fear…paranoia…of the extreme type. What might
explain that, Oscar?”

“Lucky took his own pill,” Oscar replied.
“Another reason to think he just might have done that. But I still
don’t believe that he actually saw his own death.”

“That is not what I’m saying,” Ashe said. “I
don’t know what I’m saying.”

They grew quiet.

Hearing footsteps coming up to them, Ashe and
Oscar turned to see a man in blue scrubs reaching out his freshly
washed hands to greet them. They shook the doctor’s hands. The
doctor was a great deal younger than both of the men he was
greeting but he met the men’s eyes with the same amount of
intensity that he was being given. “I’m Dr. Webber. Are you guys
from Cleveland Police?”