Wild Justice (13 page)

33 Andrew Volkov performed his custodial duties at St. Francis Medical Center diligently. Tonight, as he cleaned the floor outside the offices of the Department of Surgery, he moved slowly and deliberately, making certain that his mop covered every inch of the corridor. Volkov was tall, but it was hard to guess his height because he slouched and shuffled as he worked. He rarely spoke and never met the eye of anyone who spoke to him. His own eyes were gray-green, his hair was close-cropped and blond, and he had the broad cheekbones, wide nose and brooding brow of a Slav. Volkov rarely showed any emotion, maintaining a stolid expression that reinforced the impression that he was as much a mule as a man. When told to do something, he obeyed immediately. His superiors had learned quickly to be precise in their instructions because Volkov demonstrated little imagination and followed orders literally. The offices of the Department of Surgery were quiet and deserted at two A.M. Volkov pushed his cart against the wall and straightened slowly. He rested his mop against the wall, checked the corridor and shuffled toward the door to the next office. He opened it and turned on the light. The office was narrow and not very deep, a windowless cubicle, really, hardly wider than a closet. A gunmetal gray desk took up most of the floor. It was covered with medical journals, textbooks, mail and miscellany. Volkov was under strict instructions never to touch anything on a doctor s desk, but he was supposed to empty the wastebasket under the desk. Volkov took a duster from his cart and ran it over the shelves of a bookcase that stood against one wall. When he was through dusting, he looked down at the patch of floor that was not covered by the desk, the bookshelves and the two visitor chairs. It was an area so small that it was hardly worth dealing with, but Volkov s boss had instructed him to clean any surface that could be cleaned, so Volkov shuffled outside, emptied the wastebasket, then took his vacuum cleaner off the cart. He plugged it in and ran it back and forth across the floor. When he was satisfied that he had done all he could do, Volkov placed the vacuum cleaner back on the cart. Volkov reentered the office one last time. He closed and locked the door and drew a pair of latex gloves out of one pocket and a Ziploc bag out of the other. Then he stepped behind the desk and opened the bottom drawer. The coffee mug was right where he had seen it on other nights. Volkov placed the mug in the Ziploc bag, left the office and relocked the door. He placed the bag under a pile of towels along with the gloves. Then he grabbed his mop and began pushing it slowly and deliberately toward the next office.

34 On this moonless Sunday night, even with his high beams on, all Multnomah County sheriff s deputy Oren Bradbury could see through his rain-streaked windshield was the yellow line that divided the two-lane country road and an occasional glimpse of farmland. You know this is a bullshit call, don t you? his partner, Brady Paggett, griped. The place has been deserted since . . . Hell, I can t remember when. It could be kids. On a night like this? Bradbury shrugged. We weren t doing anything anyway. They rode in silence until Paggett pointed toward a rusted mailbox whose post leaned precariously toward the tall grass on the side of the road. There it is. A dilapidated wooden fence bordered the road. Its slats were unpainted. Several had broken loose on one end and dangled from the few nails that were still in place. Bradbury spotted the break in the fence and turned through it. The patrol car bounced along a rutted dirt track. There were tall trees on either side. After a quarter mile the headlights picked up a farmhouse with peeling brown paint and a front yard overgrown with weeds. When they drew closer, the deputies could make out a dim glow through a front window. Maybe this isn t a bullshit call, Paggett said. What exactly did dispatch say again? Bradbury asked. Someone phoned in to report screams. Who? Dispatch couldn t get a name. The caller had to be right here. The next neighbor is half a mile down the road. There s no way you d hear anything if you were driving by, and no one s gonna be walking along the road tonight. As the patrol car swung into the front yard, its light swept across a dark blue Volvo that was parked at the side of the house. Someone s here, Bradbury said just as a person in a hooded jacket and jeans burst through the front door and streaked for the Volvo. Bradbury hit the brakes, and Paggett jumped out of the car with his gun drawn. Stop, police! The runner skidded to a halt and froze in the police car s headlights. Hands in the air, Paggett commanded. Bradbury drew his weapon and got out, keeping the car between him and the hooded apparition. Paggett squinted to keep the rain out of his eyes. Step over to our car, put your hands on the roof and spread your legs. As soon as the person was in position, Paggett reached out and pulled back the hood. A cascade of honey brown hair fell across a woman s shoulders. The deputy kept his gun on her as he patted her down. He noticed that her chest was heaving, as if she had run a distance. Is anyone else inside? Paggett asked. The woman nodded vigorously. I . . . I think he s dead, she managed. The words came out in gasps. Who s dead? Paggett demanded. I don t know. He s in the basement. And who are you? Paggett asked. Dr. Justine Castle. I m a surgeon at St. Francis. All right, Dr. Castle, you can put your hands down. Paggett opened the back door of the police car. Why don t you get in out of the rain and try to calm down. Justine sat down in the backseat. Bradbury walked around the car and joined Paggett at the rear passenger door. What are you doing here, Dr. Castle? Paggett asked. Justine s saturated hair hung along her damp face. Her breathing was still not under control. There was a call. He said that he was from St. Francis, that it was about Al Rossiter. Who is Rossiter? Bradbury asked. One of the surgeons. And who was the caller? I m not sure. I think he said that his name was Delaney or Delay. I really don t remember. It wasn t someone I knew. Okay, go ahead. The man said Dr. Rossiter was working on someone who was badly injured and needed my help. He said that it was urgent. He told me to come here and he gave me directions. Do you usually drive to the scene of an injury? No, it s definitely not routine. I asked why they didn t send for an ambulance. I said I would meet them at the hospital. That s where all our equipment and staff are. This Delaney or Delay said that he couldn t explain over the phone but that it was a matter of life and death and I would understand when I got here. He said that the man s condition was desperate. Then he hung up. Where s everyone else? Where s Dr. Rossiter? Paggett asked. Justine shook her head. She looked upset and confused. I don t know. Justine squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep, shuddering breath. Are you okay, Dr. Castle? Paggett asked. Justine nodded slowly, but she did not look okay. Is anyone besides the dead man inside? Bradbury asked. I . . . I don t know. I didn t see anyone. When I saw him . . . Justine swallowed hard. I panicked. I ran. You stay with Dr. Castle, Bradbury said. He walked toward the farmhouse, his gun at the ready. Paggett closed the rear door of the patrol car. There were no handles on the inside. Justine was effectively a prisoner, but she made no protest and seemed content to sit with her eyes closed and her head against the back of the seat. The drops were pounding harder. Paggett put on his hat to keep the rain off. He checked his watch and wondered what was keeping Bradbury. When Oren came out, he looked glassy-eyed and pale. You got to see this, Brady. It s horrible. Paggett and his partner had seen car wreck victims, abused children and other mangled and degraded human beings. It would take a lot to put Oren in this state. He headed for the farmhouse with Bradbury close behind. The first thing that struck him as odd was the cleanliness. Weeds ruled the front yard and the exterior walls were in disrepair, but every inch of the entryway and the front room appeared to have been vacuumed clean. There was no furniture in the entryway and only a cheap coffee table and a straight-back chair in the living room. The stairs to the basement are in the kitchen, Bradbury said. The kitchen lights were on when I came in the house. Those must have been the lights we saw when we drove up. The kitchen was as clean as the other rooms. There was a card table and two straight-back chairs standing on the yellow linoleum floor. Paggett opened one of the cupboards and saw a few plastic plates and cups. A half-filled coffeepot and a coffee mug were on a drain board next to the sink. When Paggett drew closer, he saw that there was still some coffee in the mug. The body is down there, Bradbury said, pointing through the open basement door. His voice was shaky. What s it look like? Bad, Brady. You ll see. As Paggett walked down the wooden steps that led to the basement, he noticed the suffocating odor that permeates the air when death has been a visitor. A bare 40-watt bulb threw dim shadows over the unpainted concrete floor and walls. Paggett could see a mattress next to the furnace. Lying on the mattress was a figure. The light was too dim to make out details, but there was enough light to see that the body was naked and cuffed at the wrists and ankles by manacles that were attached to the wall by lengths of thick chain. Paggett walked slowly toward the corpse. When he was a few feet away he saw the body clearly for the first time and almost lost it. The deputy blinked, not quite trusting his eyes. The mattress was saturated with blood; so much of the body was covered with dried blood that it was very difficult to tell its race. An ear and several digits were missing. Paggett s stomach heaved. He turned away, squeezed his eyes shut and took deep breaths. The smell almost overpowered him, but he struggled to keep his food down. Are you okay? Bradbury asked anxiously. Yeah, yeah. Paggett was bent over with his hands on his knees. Give me a second. When he was ready, Paggett straightened up and took a closer look at the corpse. Holy Jesus, he whispered reverently. Paggett had seen a lot of bad shit in his day, but nothing like this. The deputy turned away from the body, relieved to have it out of his sight, and surveyed the rest of the basement. At first the dimensions of the room confused him. The basement seemed smaller than he expected. Then Paggett realized that a gray concrete wall with a narrow doorway divided the basement in half. He walked through the doorway. Inside a second room was an operating table. A tray of surgical equipment stood next to the table. Among the tools was a scalpel encrusted with blood. Paggett turned and headed back up the stairs. I m gonna check out the rest of this place. You call it in. We need homicide and forensics. What about the woman? After what we saw, I m not letting her out until we know for sure that she didn t do this guy. Paggett shook his head again, as if to clear it of the image of what he had just seen. Bradbury left the house. Paggett took a deep breath and started to explore the main floor. After taking a second look at the kitchen and living room, Paggett walked toward the rear of the house and found two empty rooms with closed doors. They had been vacuumed clean. As he started to climb the stairs to the second floor, something occurred to Paggett. He turned around and went through the main floor again. He was right. There weren t any telephones in the house. The deputy wondered if he would find a phone on the second floor. He didn t, but the second floor did yield a discovery. In one of the rooms were a bookcase, an armchair and a single bed with a mattress and a pillow. A lamp stood between the bed and the armchair. There was no sheet on the bed and no pillowcase on the pillow. Paggett guessed that the killer had used the bed but had taken the sheet and pillowcase because they might contain trace evidence like hair or semen stains. Paggett read some of the titles in the bookcase. He found The Torturer s Handbook, Cleansing the Fatherland: Nazi Medicine and Racial Hygiene, and Sweet Surrender: A Sadist s Bible mixed in with medical texts and other books on torture. Also in the bookcase was a black three-ring binder. Paggett used his handkerchief to take it out of the bookcase and open it. A computer had generated the pages. Tuesday: Watched from dark as subject revived. 8:17 P.M.: Subject disoriented. Realizes that she is naked and manacled to wall. Struggles for less than minute before commencing to sob. Screams for help commence at 8:20, end 8:25. Watched subject until 9:00. Went upstairs to eat. When kitchen door opened and closed, subject commenced begging. Listened from kitchen while I ate. No fighting spirit, pathetic, subject may provide little new data. Wednesday: Approached subject for first time. Begging, pleading, questions: Who are you? Why are you doing this? etc. Subject is extremely docile, drew into fetal position at touch. Moved head slightly, but accepted training hood with little struggle. When released from manacles obeyed commands immediately. No challenge. Saturday: After two days without food and with sensory deprivation, subject is weak and lethargic. I am disappointed at lack of resistance. Have decided to commence pain tolerance experiments immediately. 8:25: Remove manacles and lead subject to operating table. No resistance, subject obeys command to mount table and submits to restraints. 8:30: hood removed, subject s head secured to table. Begging, pleading. Subject sobs quietly. I have decided to start with the soles of the feet. Paggett felt light-headed. He could read no further. Let the DA and the homicide detectives find out what happened to . . . It hit him suddenly. The journal referred to the subject as she. The corpse in the basement was a male. Paggett flipped through the journal. There were more entries.

35 It took three rings to drag Amanda out of a deep sleep. The phone rang again, and Amanda groped for the receiver in the dark while reading the bright red 2:13 on her digital clock. Miss Jaffe? Yes? Amanda answered groggily. This is Adele at the answering service. I m sorry to disturb you. That s okay. Amanda swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat up. I have a woman on the line. She s calling from the police station. She asked for your father. Mr. Jaffe is out of town. I know. I told her that you were taking his calls. She said that was okay. Did she say what this is about? No. Just that she had to talk to you. Amanda sighed. The last thing in the world she wanted to do was talk to a drunk driver at two o clock on Monday morning, but middle-of-the-night calls came with the territory when you practiced criminal law. Put her through, Adele. Adele s voice was replaced by Tony Bennett singing I Left My Heart in San Francisco. Amanda closed her eyes and rubbed her lids. Is this Amanda Jaffe? Amanda s eyes opened. She knew that voice. This is Justine Castle. We met several years ago. Amanda felt a chill pass through her. You re Vincent Cardoni s wife. Amanda suddenly flashed on a vision of the doctor descending Tony Fiori s staircase on the evening she had discovered Cardoni s hand. Her hand tightened on the receiver. Why are you calling my father at this hour? Something terrible has happened. Amanda detected a tremor when the doctor spoke. I . . . I ve been arrested. This time the tremor was more pronounced, as if Justine was barely holding herself together. Where are you calling from? The Justice Center. Is anyone with you? Detective DeVore and a deputy district attorney named Mike Greene. Justine had her attention now. DeVore was homicide, and Mike rarely handled anything but capital cases. Are DeVore and Greene listening to this call? Amanda asked. They re in the room. Answer my questions yes or no and do not say anything else unless I say it s okay. Do you understand? Yes. Have you been arrested for a serious crime? Yes. Some type of homicide? Yes. I m coming down. From this point on you are not to speak with anyone but me. Is that clear? Yes, but Dr. Castle, Alex DeVore and Mike Greene are very nice men, but they are also specialists in sending people to death row. One way they do that is by befriending confused and frightened people who are under tremendous stress. These people trust them because they re so nice. They say things to Mike and Alex that they do not realize are going to be used to crucify them in court. Now, I am going to repeat my instructions. Do not I repeat do not talk to anyone about this matter except me unless I say it s okay. Do you understand my instructions? Yes. Good. Please give Mr. Greene the phone. Hi, Amanda, Mike Greene said a moment later. Amanda was in no mood for small talk. Dr. Castle says you ve arrested her. Mind telling me what for? Not at all. Two sheriff s deputies caught her fleeing the scene of a homicide. Did she confess? Claims she didn t do it. But you arrested her anyway? Of course. We always arrest people when we can prove they re guilty.