The Vigilante (6 page)

The questioning went on for two hours before the officers called it quits. “You haven’t given us much to go on here, but we’re checking everything out. We’ve done forensics at the park and we’ll keep you informed on the case.” Harris and Ryan stood to usher the two men out. Both men noted Callahan’s halting, limping gait.

Harris returned after he’d escorted Denny Garver and Fred Callahan to the front. “Well, we haven’t a lot to go on here: men’s boot tracks, purple specks on the ground, same as the ER doctor found on Callahan’s wounds. And let’s not forget the crushed and stomped gonads. Looks like someone wearing men’s boots ground those little bastards into the gravel. Must have been mad as hell at Callahan by the looks of it, all the stomping and grinding they did on those poor damned things.”

Ryan shivered just thinking about it. “Whoever did it used those long hospital-type sanitary pads on him. Are we dealing with someone who has hospital or medical exposure? And why try to prevent infection? Obviously, the perpetrator wasn’t out to kill Callahan.”

“Possible, very possible,” Harris offered. “Definitely looks like revenge, but would a man think of using sanitary pads? I guess a hospital-trained man might. What better sterile dressing than that, easily bought at a hospital supply store, or taken home from work?”

The men sat for a time, pondering possible scenarios. Finally, Ryan said, “It could be revenge taken by some family member. The Moulton kid can’t be the only child this man has gone after. With a child predator, many cases are never reported if family members are involved. Could be a lot of people hated the man, including people we don’t know about. Someone sure as hell had reason enough.” He laughed slightly. “Took the wind out of Callahan’s sails and on a scale of one to ten, I for one, can’t feel more than a minus zero for his sorrow, pain, and suffering.” He paused, chuckled again. “Pain and suffering—sounds like a lawsuit. This whole damned thing tickles the living shit out of me!”

Harris let out a loud guffaw but instantly tried to tone it down. “Brother, you are not alone. I can’t think of a soul around here that isn’t snickering in his chops over this case.”

Ryan didn’t want to sound unprofessional, but after he closed the door, they both let loose for a long moment. It felt damned good—still, he could help but wonder what the hell they were dealing with.

CHAPTER 7

Martha parked in her usual spot in the employee’s lot at Mercy Hospital and checked with the staffing office. The staffing officer handed her the evening’s assignment with a smile. “I hope med-surg is okay with you.”

“It is,” Martha assured her and made her way to 3-West, a surgical floor.
After greeting several of the other staff, she got a coffee and settled in the conference room. It was a quiet area away from the bustle of the busy floor. Sitting there, Martha awaited the taped report from the previous shift. It was usually recorded for the oncoming staff.

Some workers reported in person from hasty notes taken during the shift. Others made individually taped reports on their patients, then left to complete the last remaining tasks of their shift.

The oncoming staff joked and laughed, held coffee cups or sodas, and loaded up on recent gossip while they waited for the details on their own particular patients. The sounds of paper shuffling and chatter filled Martha’s ears, but quieted when the charge nurse, Gracie Monahan, wearing the mien of a no-nonsense person, settled into a chair at the head of the table. Seeing who she had this evening and nodding at her crew, she pushed the button and started the tape. This evening all the reports were taped.

Martha tried to listen attentively and take intelligent notes, but she kept seeing Will’s face before her. Her mind frequently seethed with frustration and helplessness at his suffering.
I hope that bastard burns in hell for what he’s done, and I’m glad he’s the one that got beat-up in the park, too!
She fought off, yet again, the insidious anger that dwelt within her.

“Martha, you take 360 to 366 tonight, okay?”

Shaking herself alert from her funk, Martha replied, “Okay, Gracie, fine with me.” Most of the information lay before her in a print-out. She could fudge the rest, but she knew she’d better pay attention from here on.
This is no place for a screw-up, Lavery.

“Hey, you guys hear about the pool soul who got it in Leesford Park?” a solidly built, red-headed nurse, Mary Mason, asked. “ER said whoever did it fixed the guy real good, and I mean
real
good! It’s all over the hospital.”

“Please, I can’t talk about it!” Bob Chance, a tall, rangy RN with a touch of gray at his temples, shuddered. “It puts my knickers in a twist. I shiver all over just hearing about it.”

“Why, Bob?” Jake, a youngish, blond, male, nurse’s aide, asked. “Hurt you somewhere—the gonads, that it?” His dark-brown eyes twinkled, seeing Bob’s discomfort at the thoughts of something like that. Jake was ready anytime to push a button or two if he saw a chance for it. Gracie gave him a withering glance and pressed the stop button.

Bob shuddered again. “Hell yes, if you want to know. Somebody fixed the guy permanently. I mean, real permanent!”

“Wasn’t he the one accused of child molestation a few months ago?” Mary put in. “Bastard got off on a technicality, after he molested that kid.”

Martha listened, saying nothing, but she felt the ice filling her veins and the outer aspect of her scalp. The gossip, too close to home for her, struck a cord of unease far above her norm. She wasn’t sure if any of these particular staff members knew her connection with Will. Some of the hospital staff did, but as a float nurse, she frequented many wards. What had happened to Will was a subject she felt reticent to mention. It was very painful, and not open for discussion with anyone. About Callahan’s attacker—her head swirled with dreadful shadows and hateful thoughts!

“All right cut the jabbering, we’ve got a lot to do so knock it off, all of you. We’ve got a full house and several post-ops to tend.” Gracie Monaghan shook her head and pressed the play button again. They completed the taped report and the room emptied quickly as each took up their assignments.

Martha’s shift went well enough, though her thoughts dwelt too often on Will and the predator who’d savaged him. And when she wasn’t thinking about that, she was haunted by what she might have done during her blackouts and lost hours. Her mysterious purple stains were hidden with cover-stick and she hoped they went un-noticed. Where they came from and why she felt she had to hide them, she had no idea.

Bob noticed the faint purple stains on Martha’s wrists, and that she’d done her best to disguise them. He knew about her grandson, too. Reticent to speak of it, he kept his interactions with her strictly on a medical level, but he’d had his masculine eye on Martha for quite some time. Having taken in her mature good looks more than once, he’d considered asking her out. They were of similar ages and he’d always been attracted to her trim figure. With those deep greenish eyes, topped with that curling rusty-blond hair, all in a solid package, she’d turned his head more than once. Healing his own wounds, he’d not dated for way too long and getting involved was still too soon for him.

Bob was the kind who never missed a detail of any sort and had all the pertinent details neatly filed away in his mind. Martha suffered acutely this evening. He’d noticed it several times before today. But this evening her distraction and lack of friendly interaction with others on the staff, gave him the feeling she was especially vulnerable. He noted the deep pain in her eyes and wanted to help. But not wishing to intrude on her personal problems, he couldn’t think of a way. He merely asked, “How’s it going?” when he met her in the halls.

“I’m busy enough—my hernia guy is restless, and the gall bladder bled a little from her incisions, tiny though they are.” Sighing, she said, “Thanks for asking.” She didn’t try for a lingering conversation, didn’t have the energy.

Jake had also noticed Martha’s attempt at concealing the purple spots. His buddy worked in the ER and had mentioned finding purple liquid splashed over the cuts on Callahan.
Hmm, tried to cover her funny looking spots,
wonder why. Vanity I suppose, women are funny that way.
But those same spots set off a tiny alarm in his mind. The busy shift buried it under several layers of other concerns. His patients kept him running and, being a male, he was always asked to help with any heavy lifting or unruly patients. He understood it, resented it, often felt used, and groused, “They get the big bucks and I get the shit!”

At eleven thirty, Martha walked to her car and to her surprise, Bob walked beside her. “You doin’ okay?” he asked. “You were awfully quiet this evening, more so than usual.”

She felt his hand touch her elbow and flinched. “I’m okay, but things keep happening with my grandson, Will. I wonder if he’ll ever be all right. I’m sure you know what happened to him.”

“Yes, I know about it, and I’m sorry to hear of it. Wasn’t the guy who did that to your grandson the one who got
fixed
in the Park?”

Martha nodded. “I believe he is. If so, he sure had it coming. Do you know what happened to the man?”

Bob laughed. “Hell yes, somebody clipped his gonads for him, molested more than one kid, looks like.” He grunted, “God! Somebody had it in for him alright.” He left for his hunky looking four-wheel drive. “Night, Martha.”

Martha looked at her watch and noticed the purple spots were faintly visible under the concealer. She felt suddenly panicky. Had anyone seen them? And why should it worry her so much if they had? Where had they come from? What had she done? By the time she reached her car, she could scarcely breathe. “What’s happening to me? Something’s been going on these past three months!” White knuckled, she drove home trying to understand, worrying about the missing hours, the smell of smoke in her hair some mornings. “It’s all so weird. I’m losing my mind. I know it!”

Her small home lay in a suburb of Colorado Springs. “Maybe I could see someone in another city,” she mused aloud. “Of course, all doctors have to respect the patient’s right to privacy. If I check around, maybe the right doctor will jump out at me as the right one for my case. I have to see
someone
. These time lapses are driving me out of my mind. Where have I been? What have I been doing during those lost hours? What’s happening to me? I’ve got to know.”

Her thoughts returned to the recent attack on the child molester, Callahan. “Of course I’m glad it was him. He certainly had it coming, but why does it bother me so? Why do I feel so weird about it?” She looked out her window. “Good Lord! I’m driving past that Leesford Park again. I don’t believe it!”

Martha reached home, sighed with relief and, once inside the house, snapped on the TV. She popped some kettle corn and put her feet up. An old
Jane Austen
movie came on and she settled in to watch it. Nearly falling asleep, she jerked awake as the loud blast of breaking news interrupted the sedate quiet of the film.

“This just in! A man near the Craycroft Elementary school tried to entice two young girls into his car earlier today. Terrified, the children ran home from
school and told their mothers, who quickly notified the authorities.”
The announcer went on:
“They told police they screamed real hard and ran away. The little girls provided the police with a description of the man. There is an all-points bulletin out for the arrest of a small, dark-complected male driving an older green sedan. This is the best description they have of the assailant.”

Martha was upset at this latest news. Something about it haunted her until she couldn’t bear thinking about it anymore. She paced about her home for a time.

Sometimes I feel like our world is crashing about our ears
!
Our children are no longer safe, and the authorities only seem to protect the criminal element.
Exhausted from her inner turmoil and feeling suddenly dizzy, she fell onto her bed and passed out.

CHAPTER 8

Two days later Ryan sat at his desk. His thick mop of hair stood awry from sun glasses, he’d forgotten about, carelessly shoved on top of his head during a busy moment. His shirt sleeves were half way rolled up and his shirt was open enough to reveal tough blond chest hairs. He turned to Harris, his favorite detective and definitely his best investigator. “Alan, looks like we’ve got to check out families that have been subjected to Callahan’s crimes.” He thumped the desk with his fist. “But what if there are others in our area that we don’t even know about?”

Harris shuffled the papers in his hands. “He did prison time in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania before he came to our fair city, and then of course, the Moulton kid—got away with that one. So far, we haven’t found anything more on him. These guys just keep on, so who really knows how many little boys he’s
done
?” He couldn’t help the bitter chuckle. “He won’t be
doing
any more. Thank God for whoever it was that took care of that for the bastard.”

Frowning in distaste, Ryan nodded. “Yeah, that’s right enough, but Hell’s bells, now looks like we’ve got to check out the Moulton family. Imagine how happy they’ll be to see we’re diligently prosecuting this particular case.

“Everybody’s a suspect, so when you’re out there, take a good look around. See who might take it into their head to get revenge.” He hesitated. “I hate to add to their pain, especially seeing us trying to find out who fixed the miserable bastard that molested their boy.”

“You got that, right. I sure as hell know what I’d think about it,” Harris snorted, making a face.

“Go check it out, Alan. Let me know what they have to say and what your gut feelings are while you interview them.” Ryan sighed, his forehead furrowed. “Never know. Might be something there, but I hope to hell there isn’t. That’d be tough as hell, finding justice for a criminal when we couldn’t manage it for their kid.”