The Vigilante (18 page)

“According to Deputies Figueroa and Manning, this new guy, Denny Garver by name, has an old, beat up green sedan,” Harris informed him. “A ‘‘92 Pontiac, I believe the report said. We’ll have those girls come down and see if it’s the one their attacker had,” he added with a twinge of excitement in his voice. “They said he kept the thing half-hidden behind a lot of bushes, hard to spot from the street.” He paused and shook his head. “His buddy is none other than Fred Callahan, our resident pedophile and child molester—or was.” He couldn’t stop his grin from spreading as he said it. “Hell Ryan, I’ve got small kids, and I’m glad as hell to know at least one or two of these pedophilic bastards are off the streets, for good.”

“Birds of a feather, eh?” Ryan said. “Hard to get serious hunting for this perp, but we have to take a stab at it, now don’t we?” He sighed long and deep. “Can’t have a for real vigilante running the streets. He may not always get the right man, you know.” He grimaced at the thought.

“How do we know it’s a man?” Harris queried.

“Hell, we don’t, do we?” Ryan looked at the report again. “Could be a lot of people, couldn’t it? These pedophiles never quit with one victim. I wonder about this new bird. Does this Denny Garver own a computer?”

“I’ll order a search warrant,” Ryan said. “Could send out Manning and Figueroa again. They’re already familiar with the surroundings. But you know what? I’d like to take a look myself, a good nosing about around for my own sense of what’s what. I hate to think what’s on his computer. Those things too often tell very sordid, sick stories, ones we don’t ever want to see. We’ll see what the house search turns up.” He scratched his head. “How in hell did the perpetrator know about this man?” he demanded. “Lots of questions and damned few answers. This is one hell of a case, Harris.”

“I’ll ask the ER personnel a few more questions—never know what may turn up.” Harris shrugged. “I’m almost afraid to see this guy’s computer. There’s a huge network of child porn floating around out there, and no doubt this Denny Garver has a shit-load of it on his.”

“You’re right. We don’t know enough about this dude, do we?” Ryan scanned the papers in front of him, over and over. “We’ll need to check the medical backgrounds of anyone remotely connected with either of these two men. There might be a connection, and why the perp used Gentian Violet? Why would he even bother with an anti-infective? Why in hell would he care if his victim got an infection?” Ryan laughed. “Docking, huh, get it, docking? There’s a new word for you.”

Harris laughed. “It’s real new to Garver.”

Ryan had never had a case like this, but then, no case was ever quite the same. Crimes were as different as the humans who caused them. “Looks like our vigilante is not out to kill, just maim a little.” He uttered a soft half-laugh. “Get some people on that and ask around the ER if anyone has seen anything else of significance. Sometimes the oddest detail is the tip off.” Ryan paused and then scratched his head. “They used that purple stuff in the past. Along with a farming background, our busy clipper could be older, too.”

Harris turned to leave Ryan’s office, his face etched with curiosity. “Funny sort of case—this one—isn’t it?”

“Yeah, it’s funny alright,” Ryan replied, as he re-read the reports again. Nothing on the Moulton family. They came out clean. No other recent cases from Callahan. He’d had a rather busy past—these kind always do—but in another location. Could be someone tailed him here, but he wouldn’t know about Denny. Or would he? If the two hung out together? Yeah, they just might. His thoughts covered many areas as he mulled the case in his mind.

***

Martha slept late—very late, but now lying awake, her thoughts swirled with worry.
Where on earth have I been, or what have I done
?
I’m sick of being tired all the time
!
Heading for the shower, she noticed a couple of those purple spots on her left arm. “My God, another one—two! I’ve been somewhere, and done something—I know it! I have a bad feeling about these stains. Why? I can’t tell anyone about them. Should I tell Dr. Carton? Dare I?”

She scrubbed herself thoroughly, but the blue spots did not come off, though they seemed less bright. “Have to use cover stick on this when I go to work this afternoon, or maybe Band-Aids, they’d cover these things,” she murmured, upset at finding the new spots. “I want to call Bob. He always makes me feel safe. I hate to burden Lizzie any further and he’d be wonderful to talk to. I’d like to confide in him, but what reason could I use when I’ve kept it to myself for so long?” She frowned. “He said I could tell him anything. But could I? Would I dare to tell him what I am going through?” She knew she wouldn’t.

His solid presence was something she needed right now, and badly. Her heart cried out for the security of his arms.
I shouldn’t be seeing anyone, with all the mental problems facing me. Who needs a psycho for
a girl friend
?

In two days she’d see Dr. Carton again. Icy chills filled her body as she wondered what new horrors he’d drag up from her past. Every visit revealed more from her childhood, and though they never let her know the details, she knew it had to be hideous by the expressions they bore when she awakened. They’d heard unspeakable things while she’d been under.

They felt she couldn’t withstand the truth and kept it from her. She feared they were terribly right about that. There were times, when happenings she remembered nothing about lurked within her mind, ever nearer to the surface. She felt those hidden things coming closer to her, too.

Her own research had proven to her the undeniable probability that she had been subjected to severe sexual tortures as a small child. Those things were known to be almost entirely the cause for a person’s creation of an alter personality.

It was true, it had to be
!
I have
a
n alternate personality—Dr. Carton said none of it was my fault. Does that help
?
What happened to me that I needed that sort of help
?
If the usual causes are sexual abuses of a small child, and those things happened to me, why wouldn’t my parents have
protected me—why didn’t they
?

Martha broke into deep wrenching sobs and fell on her bed, praying for the release of sleep.

CHAPTER 20

At work, Martha, discovered her assignment was the Psych Unit. The thought of dealing with crazies tonight brought her near to a state of hysteria, but stifling those feelings, she took the assignment. Stepping into the elevator, she punched the button much too hard for the fifth floor and Psych.

It was a small ward, and an effort had been made to create a more homelike atmosphere. She stowed her purse, got a coffee, and settled for report. “Maybe I’ll learn something working here that will help me,” she murmured while she read the reports and took information from Susan Dempsey, RN. They enjoyed a cozy one on one type report in this area, which she took along with Jake. He’d been assigned to this unit, she noted without enthusiasm.

Susan began the oral report. “Now, this new woman, Jean M—came in suffering from hysteria, related to the severe trauma she has suffered at the hands of her husband. Well, that’s according to the police report. She has multiple bruising, fractured ribs, and facial lacerations in addition to the loss of several teeth and some of her hair.” Susan sighed then went on. “She’s heavily sedated and has been for three days. They’re bringing her out of it, starting this morning.

“So far, she has awakened enough to cry continually, but hasn’t said anything against her husband, at least, not yet—the bastard. The police would like a statement from her so they can arrest him for assault and battery.” She turned to Martha. “Watch her especially close, tonight, Martha. Maybe she’ll awaken enough to tell the police what happened. They really need her testimony to put that man away.”

“Sure—I’ll see what I can do.” Martha tried to sound brave and sure, but already, she seethed inwardly at a man who’d treat his wife or any woman so despicably. She scribbled her notes and counted off narcotics from Susan while she mentally prepared herself to deal with a battered patient.

“It’s hard to be emotionally detached from battery cases like these, and I haven’t even seen this woman yet,” she said to Jake.

“Hon, don’t get so worked up over it. She’ll go back for more. They always do, you know.”

He shrugged and, noting his assignment, walked away. Jake had little or no empathy for the battered woman in their care.

“Unfeeling guy to work in the medical field,” Martha muttered under her breath. She took up the chart and entered Jean’s room. “Hi, Jean, I see you’re waking up for us.” She saw deep blue eyes, with heavily blood-tinged sclera, appearing from beneath swollen, discolored lids. Martha shuddered inwardly at the pain of the battered woman lying there.

“I’m getting awake. You guys really snowed me. I want to go home now. I have to get home.” Her voice lisped, sounding muffled as a result of the injuries to her mouth and teeth. Her tone revealed deep seated anxiety. Or was it fear?

Martha barely concealed her shock. “I don’t believe your doctor feels you are quite ready for discharge home. Your ribs are broken, some of your teeth are missing, and you have other injuries. You need a few more days.”

“I didn’t ask to be here. They just came and got me. My husband will be worried if I’m gone too long. He won’t like that at all. Neighbors must have ratted on us when it was none of their damned business. Jimmy hates stuff like that. He’s had several run-ins with those nosey people before. They refuse to mind their own damned business.”

Sick fear shot through Martha for the life of this patient. Yet she was not surprised that Jean wanted to go back to her batterer. Even in the face of the terrible disfiguring wounds this woman had just suffered, she’d go back and suffer more abuse from her darling Jimmy. There’d be another return to the hospital and likely there’d be a time she wouldn’t survive.

“Have the police spoken to you about this?”

“Oh no, I could never say anything against Jimmy. He loves me so much and for sure he wouldn’t like me doing that. He wouldn’t. That’d
really
make him angry!”

Martha saw her face tighten as she spoke, but her eyes held a sly, vague look, unfathomable to Martha. To her, that strange, off beat look meant she’d go back and be beaten, to return again, likely in worse condition, or dead. Could it be possible this woman, or any woman, actually relished their beatings? Did they get some sort of satisfaction from it? Perhaps in some perverted way, Jean believed she deserved the brutality heaped upon her by her husband.

“Has my Jimmie been here?”

“No, dear, not that I know of.” Martha figured the man feared showing his face where people understood what a batterer he was after seeing and treating the damning evidence of his violence and rage.

She re-dressed Jean’s wounds, helped her rinse her bloodied mouth, and medicated her for pain. Returning to the desk, she felt defeated and placed her head in her hands. “How can you help someone when they willingly suffer the abuse? She won’t tell the police a thing,” she said to Jake. “Won’t speak against her husband, not one word and one day we’ll see her in the ER, nearly dead, I’m sure of it.”

“Hey, that’s her problem. Maybe she asked for it. Who knows, anyway?”

Shocked at the lack of feeling in Jake’s voice, Martha countered, “Jake, that man nearly killed his wife!”

“So? Happens all the time. You work here. You’ve seen it all before. Nothing we can do about it.” He shrugged, his indifference so obvious, it made Martha gasp for breath. She didn’t know how to counteract an attitude like Jake’s.

She walked away. “What a guy! He doesn’t give a rip about these people. It’s just another job to him. God help the patients in his care!” She resolved to put his behavior in a report, but did anyone care as long as staffing filled all the positions for the shift? Did administration know what kind of man they’d hired to care for their patients? Martha had no real answers for these baffling questions.

Her other two patients slept quietly and needed little care during the shift. Martha charted their care leisurely, all the while pondering why some people allowed continual, brutal, physical violence to be committed against them.

She knew her reaction to what she’d seen had been over the top. As a professional, she should be able to handle things like this without getting personally or emotionally involved in cruel events that were not her fault.

Everything affects me in a crazy way these days
!
she thought and kept on charting.

Jake wondered at Martha, getting her knickers in a twist over something she couldn’t change. This couldn’t have been the first case of brutality she’d ever seen. He’d worked closely with Martha before but never had the habit of paying attention to the older broads. He concentrated on the younger nursing staff. He’d found enough friendly females for casual dating, and that was his major concern for the present. In fact, he kept a really busy social calendar, though he always went to
The
Paradisio
alone.

He was only vaguely aware of the older women, but something about Martha caught his attention tonight. When she reached high for a stack of forms, he noticed the blue spots on her left arm, and that she’d carefully covered them with make-up.

“Here, let me help you with that,” he said. He reached high to take the forms and caught a closer glimpse of the spots.
Wonder why
she tries to hide them
?
Female vanity—I wonder.

Martha gave him a tight, thin smile. “Thanks, Jake.”

“What the hell are those blue spots, Martha?”

“Oh, I don’t remember where I got them. I only noticed them this morning. Must be part of my make-up, I guess. Or else I picked up something in the lab.” She hadn’t been in the lab, and she knew it, but something in his voice gave her cause for alarm. Unable to pinpoint her reason for feeling that way, she passed it off.