Barry Friedman - Dead End (16 page)

“Yes, Mother.”

“Now, start with the date the first of these
patients was admitted and go through the list of discharges from that date
on…” She spent five minutes giving Mary O’Brien detailed instructions on the
data to be retrieved.

When she was finished, she turned to Maharos. The
look on her thin face said: Am I an investigator, or what.

Maharos gave her his most admiring look. It said:
Anytime you’re ready to leave the cloth behind, we’re ready to pin a shield on
you.

Vandergrift glanced sidelong at Maharos and hiked
up her slacks. With all that bullshit floating around…

Five-thirty. Maharos and Vandergrift left the
hospital to grab a quick supper before they went to Vandergrift’s office. Mary
O’Brien’s search would take an hour, perhaps two. Although it was well past her
normal quitting time, she agreed to stay on and get the information for them.
She told them she would call Vandergrift at Sheriff’s Headquarters to report
her findings.

Five minutes after they reached the Sheriff’s
Office, they received O’Brien’s call. “I’ve got three names for you. Each of
them was in 320-West during part of the time that Gibson, Abelson and Graves
were hospitalized.”

The names she gave them were: Cornelius M.
Jarnow, Daniel X. Maloney and Robert T. Banks.

Vandergrift had taken the call. She said, “Then
the fourth bed in that room would have been occupied by one of those three?”

“Well, not exactly.”

“What do you mean?”

“You see, my records show the room these patients
occupied at the time they were discharged. If someone was admitted to 320-West,
but had his room changed while he was in the hospital, his name wouldn’t show
up on my list.”

“Because he would have been discharged from a
different room?”

“Exactly.”

“Does that happen very often?”

“Not really. Most patients stay in the same room
throughout their stay.”

Vandergrift said, “Well, I guess we’ll have to
play the odds on this one. Do you have the addresses of the three names you
gave me?”

“Yes. Now, remember, the addresses are almost
four years old, so I don’t know where these people are now.”

Jarnow and Banks had Canton addresses, Maloney
had been living in North Canton.

The phone book listed Banks at the same address
he had almost four years before. Maloney was not listed in the North Canton
phone book and Jarnow was not in either the Canton phone book or City
Directory.

Although it was now eight o’clock, Maharos felt
they should visit Banks at his home. Early the following day they would try to
track down the other two through the Ohio Department of Motor Vehicles license
registrations.

Vandergrift changed out of her uniform in the
locker room while Maharos waited in the lounge. She came out wearing a brightly
patterned summer dress and carried a large beige handbag that obviously held
her .38
 
caliber snub-nosed revolver. The
purse had no clasp; its Velcro fastener could be opened as fast as Maharos
could reach his shoulder holster. They took Maharos’ unmarked car.

Banks’ listed address was a one-floor bungalow in
a street of tract homes. Except for differences in exterior paint color and
window covering, one house looked the same as the others on the street.

At close to nine o’clock on one of the first days
of July, it was still light enough for two teen-aged boys next door to be
playing one-on-one at a basketball hoop suspended over a garage door. They were
good. They were black. They stopped playing to stare at the two white officers
when they started up the walk, then they resumed play.

Maharos pressed the doorbell and a woman’s voice
from inside shouted, “Who is it?”

“Police officers.”

From inside the house a blaring TV was tuned to a
baseball game. The door cracked open, held by a chain. A woman’s face peered
out. Her eyes, white against her dark skin, were open wide. “Who did you say?”

Maharos showed her his gold shield. “I’m
Detective Maharos. This is Deputy Sheriff Vandergrift. Is this Robert Banks’
residence?”

The door remained open only as far as the chain
would allow. “What you want? Robert ain’t done nothin’ bad.”

“Is he there? We’d like to talk to him.”

Vandergrift had her hand inside the handbag, on
the butt of the revolver.

“Wait a minute.” She shouted toward a room in the
back of the house. “”Robert, it’s the po-lice. They want to talk to you.”

She left the door open a crack and disappeared
inside the house. A moment later, a lean, six-foot man appeared in the opening
in the doorway. He wore a T-shirt and basketball shorts. He had a small mustache,
and a few hairs hung from his chin as a scraggly beard. He could have been any
age from thirty to forty. “Who you lookin’ for?”

“Mr. Banks?”

“You sure you got the right Banks?”

“Robert T. Banks?”

“Yeah, I’m Robert Thomas Banks. What you want to
see me ‘bout?”

“Mr. Banks, were you a patient in St. Agnes
Hospital about four years ago?”

Hesitation. “What about it. Workman’s Comp’sation
paid my bill.”

“Mr. Banks, would you mind if we came in and
discussed why we’re here? It’s not about your bill.”

He did not answer, but the door closed, the chain
was removed and the door re-opened. He gestured them inside.

The front door opened directly into a small
living room. It was darkened except for the blue light reflected from a TV
screen on the faces of two small boys who sat on the floor in front of the set.

Banks led Maharos and Vandergrift through a door
from the living room to the kitchen. They sat, the two officers on one side of
the kitchen table, Banks opposite them, a half-scowl on his face. The woman who
had answered the door stood alongside him. Her hand rested on his shoulder.

Vandergrift smiled at her. “Are you Mrs. Banks?”

She nodded without speaking, did not smile back.

Maharos said, “Mr. Banks, when you were a patient
at St. Agnes, do you remember the other men who were in the room with you?

He cocked his head. “Man, you know how long ago
that was? That was ‘bout four years ago. You ‘spec’ me remember who was in the
room with me?”

Maharos said, “Let me give you some names. See if
they are familiar. Marlon Graves?”

Banks shook his head,

“George Gibson?”

“Nope.”

“Ted Abelson?”

“Lemme hear that one again.”

“Abelson, Ted or Theodore Abelson.”

“Maybe that one sound familiar. I’m not sure.
What you want to know for?”

“We’re investigating some—cases. They involve
these men.”

Banks looked more at ease now. Maharos, watching
the man carefully, saw his wariness dissipate. A black man faced by two white
police officers, at first not sure what crime they suspected him of carrying
out. Knowing he had done nothing wrong, he wasn’t a suspect. “Wha’d they do.
Park in a loadin’ zone?”

Mrs. Banks laughed, she also felt the tension
ease.

“This is a homicide investigation.”

Banks’ eyes rolled up. “Uh-oh. One of these guys
off someone?”

Maharos ignored the question. He wasn’t going to
tip his hand yet; although he was already sure Banks was not the fourth man
they were looking for. “Do you remember how many men were in the room with
you?”

Banks pursed his lips in deep thought for a few
seconds. “Three or four. No, three. Yeah, three and me.”

“Do you remember their names?”

“Uh-uh. Only the one you said. Abel-somethin’.
Wait a minute. There was one guy had an Irish name.”

“Maloney?”

“That’s it.”

“How about the fourth?”

“Don’t remember who it was.”

“Does the name Jarnow ring a bell?”

He shook his head.

Mrs. Banks had been standing silently, her arm
around Banks’ shoulder. She said, “Robert, who was that foreign man was in the
room with you?”

Banks looked up. “Oh yeah. Don’t remember his
name though.”

Maharos said, “Cornelius?”

Banks shrugged. “Might be.”

Vandergrift said, “Incidentally, Mr. Banks, why
were you in the hospital?”

“I had a operation. I was ruptured. From lifting.
At Timkin.”

“How long were you there?”

He looked up at his wife. “You ‘member, Sarah?”

“ ‘Bout four, five days, maybe a week.”

Vandergrift said, “Do you remember a male nurse
named Frank Burnstein.”

A wide smile lit up his face. “Swishy guy? Yeah,
I remember him. He was goo-o-o-d. You call for a bedpan, he came right away.
Better than a lot of the lady nurses. Know what I mean?” He suddenly became
serious. “Hey, he didn’t kill nobody, did he?”

Maharos said, “No. As a matter of fact he was
killed. That’s why we’re carrying out this investigation—one of the reasons.”

“He was killed?” Banks appeared shocked. He
glanced up at his wife. “Hear that, Sarah. That nice little faggy nurse was
killed.”

Maharos said, “What do you remember about
Maloney?”

“What you mean?”

“Well, was he young, old? Anything peculiar about
him? How did you get along with him?”

Banks thought for a moment. “’Bout my age, close
to forty. Talked a lot. Yeah, joked around with the nurses—lady nurses. Wasn’t
very sick. Don’t know why he was in the hospital. Maybe like me, you know,
ruptured.”

“Do you remember if he had a wife? Anybody that
might have come to visit him?”

He laughed. “Man, how you spec’ me to remember
all those things?”

“What about Cornelius Jarnow? What was he like?”

“You mean the foreign guy?”

“Yeah.”

“He was a old man—maybe fifty. White-haired.
Spoke funny. He had a wife used to be with him most of the time. He real sick.
Kinda green, know what I mean. He and me didn’t talk much. He didn’t talk to
nobody—even his wife.”

Vandergrift said, “Did you leave the hospital
before any of the others?”

“Lemme see. That Abel guy, he left a day or two
after I got there. I don’t remember about Maloney. The other guy was there when
I got there and he was there when I went home.”

“Do you remember who took the bed Abelson was in
after he left?”

“Nope. I don’t even remember if anyone took his
bed. Seem to me, for a day, maybe two, there was only three of us after Abels
went home.”

“You, Maloney and Cornelius?”

“Right.”

Maharos said, “Well, you’ve been a help. I’m
sorry we came barging in on you like we did, but we’re trying to move along as
fast as we can.”

Banks walked them to the door. “I sure hope you
find who killed that fag nurse. He he’ped me. He he’ped me a lot.”

Back in the car, Maharos said, “What do you
think?”

“Well, I’m sure Banks is not the one we’re
looking for. It’s either Maloney or Jarnow.”

“Or neither.”

She said, “Or someone else we don’t even know
about.”

Shortly after midnight, Maharos walked into his
apartment. He had dropped Karen Vandergrift off at her condo a little more than
an hour ago. At the door they embraced in what could have been prelude to much
more. Vandergrift was first to make the break. “Get out of here, Maharos,
before I change my mind. We’ve got a big day ahead and I have to report at
six-thirty for muster.” She felt Maharos’ hardness against her thigh. She
pushed him away. “Take your friend home. See you tomorrow.”

Reluctantly, Maharos got back in the car. He knew
it was more than sexual attraction with Karen. It certainly was that. But it
was also the desire to have her near him all the time. To tell her his
thoughts, to listen to hers. He could almost forget that his partner was a
woman. Almost. But the camaraderie that he had with some of his male partners
was also there with her. He had confidence in her ability to think, to act, and
if necessary, to protect him, such as he had with only a few of the men with
whom he worked.

He had to report to headquarters in the morning
for a briefing with Bragg. Tomorrow (it was almost that now) was July 3rd. Only
four days left before the seventh. Would it be like that other seventh, “a
date…of infamy”?

*
  
*
  
*

He awakened to the sound of shots, sat up
quickly, then realized it was only some kids getting an early start on Fourth
of July firecrackers someone had smuggled across from Canada.

The face that looked back at him in the mirror
while he shaved, was more haggard than usual this morning. He was getting too
old for late dates, he told himself. The thought of settling down with someone
was more appealing than ever.

At headquarters Ed Bragg was his audience of one
as he reviewed the latest developments in the Horner investigation. It now
involved so many other people, victims as well as suspects, that he had almost
forgotten it had started, for him, with the investigation of George Horner’s
murder.

In Bragg’s office he had set up an easel on which
he placed a large pad of paper. With a Magic Marker pen, he listed the names of
the victims and the dates of their deaths.

Alongside each of the names he listed the
suspects, matching them with the victims:

1/7 Burnstein—?Harwood

2/7 Abelson/Salter—?Chas. Salter

3/7 Graves— ?

4/7 Gibson— ?

5/7 Horner— ?Nancy Taylor, Sally Horner

6/7 Hamberger—?Young

7/7 ? ? ? — ?

Those who were linked to St. Agnes Hospital in
Canton formed a second list:

Burnstein

Graves

Gibson

Horner

Finally, he listed separately, the other three
men known to have occupied Room 320-West at the hospital

Robert Banks

Daniel Maloney

Cornelius Jarnow

He put a line through Banks’ name, explained to
Bragg that he did not consider him a viable suspect. From the description Banks
had given him of the other two, he did believe either of them was the killer he
was looking for.

The lieutenant rocked back and forth in his
chair. “Where do you go from here?”

“St. Agnes seems to be the focal point right now.
First, I’ve got to talk to the widows of Gibson and Graves. See if they
remember who else was in the room with those two men. The next thing is to
locate Maloney and Jarnow. See what they know. Maybe one of them is the person
we’re looking for. Where Hamberger and Horner fit into the picture, I don’t
know.”

“You only got a few more days. I suppose you
could use some help, but right now I don’t have a warm body to give you.
Speakin’ of warm bodies, how you makin’ out with the lady sheriff?”

Maharos ignored the comment. “She’s smart and a
hard worker.”

“Could you get some extra hands from her end?”

Vandergrift had already asked Sheriff McAllister
for some assistance and had been turned down. Bluntly, he told her that two
people were enough for an investigation. Maharos simply told Bragg that her
office could not provide more help.

His first stop, after leaving Bragg was the
Records Office. He gave Karen Hennessy the names of Jarnow and Maloney and
their last known addresses.

“I’d like you to run a check of these through
LEADS.” The Law Enforcement Automated Data Systems connected the police
department with the Bureau of Motor Vehicles.

Hennessy held up the sheet of paper Maharos had
handed her. “You want a driver’s license check or a vehicle license check?”

“Both.”

“Both?”

“And I also want you to run the names through
your Mentioned File.” He was referring to a computerized file that contained
the names, aliases, addresses of anyone mentioned in any case investigation or
filed interview.

 
Hennessy
said, “You want all that?”

“Still asking questions?”

She glared at him for a moment before she
viciously attacked her computer keyboard.

He said, “I’ll phone in for the report in about
an hour.”

 
When
Maharos phoned Bonnie Graves, she answered the phone with a husky voice that
had not fully awakened. It took her a moment to remember him. “Oh, sure. That
cute detective. Boy, you get up early.” It was eight-thirty.

Maharos said, “Bonnie, your husband was a patient
at St. Agnes Hospital in Canton, wasn’t he?”

There was silence for ten seconds. “St. Agnes in
Canton? Oh yeah. Must have been about five years ago. He had a hemorrhoid
operation. What makes you bring that up?”

“Remember, I had asked you where he might have
met Henry Gibson, the man that wrote you the condolence note? Well, in
checking, we found that they had been in the same room in St. Agnes Hospital.
It was about three and one-half years ago.”

“Gee! How’d you find out about that?”

“Plodding, dull leg work, that’s how.”

“Huh?”

“The reason I’m calling you is to see if you
recall the other patients who were in the room with him.”

There was silence at her end.

“Hello. Are you still there?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m thinking. Gee, my head’s a blank
right now. Maybe after I’ve had a cup of coffee I can remember something.”

“All right, let me give you a number where I can
be reached. If I’m not there, leave a message where I can call you back.” He
gave her the number of the Stark County Sheriff’s Office.

When he arrived in Canton, Vandergrift had
already contacted Harriet Gibson.

“She said her husband had been admitted as an
emergency for a bleeding peptic ulcer. She was peed-off that they put him in a
ward instead of a private room, as they had requested. She doesn’t remember
anybody else who was in the room. In fact, she thought there had been only two
others besides Gibson, not three.”

“Did she recognize the names of either Graves or
Abelson?”

“No. I even tried Banks, Maloney and Jarnow.
Negative on all three.”

Maharos shook his head. “We’re making great
progress.”

A deputy stuck his head in the door. “Call for
Detective Maharos.”

It was Karen Hennessy. She was abrupt, no
greeting, simply: “Daniel Maloney has not renewed his driver’s or vehicle
license in Ohio for the past three years. Cornelius Jarnow is deceased. That
all?”

He thanked her. She hung up without responding.

Vandergrift said, “Probably means Maloney has
left the state. Scratch two more prospects.”

“What about Hamberger. Think there may be a St.
Agnes connection there?”

“I called his widow in New Philly before you got
here. There’s no answer at the house. The Tuscarawas County Sheriff’s Office in
New Philadelphia is making inquiries to find out where Mrs. Hamberger went.
They think she’s staying with her sister somewhere in Minnesota.”

The deputy came in to tell Maharos he had another
call. “We’ll start charging you our phone answering service fee.”

It was Bonnie Graves. “I’m sorry I sounded so
foggy when you called before. You know, I thought and I thought, but I can’t
remember who was in Marlon’s room. I can’t even remember that guy Gibson who
sent the letter. I’m real sorry. I wish I could help you.”

Maharos said, “Do you remember how many other men
were in the room with him?”

“No.”

“Bonnie, maybe it will help if you try to picture
the room he was in. Think where he was in relation to the window and the door.”

“Well, I’m trying to picture the room. Let’s see,
Marlon was over near the window. Then there was another man near the door on
the same side of the room. Then there was another man in the bed directly
across the room from Marlon.”

She stopped, Maharos could hear her muttering to
herself. “You know, I can picture the fourth bed. It was across the room, like
on a diagonal from Marlon. I don’t think there was anybody in that bed. No, I’m
pretty sure there were only three people in that room, although there were four
beds. Does that help any?”

“Maybe it does. Thanks Bonnie.”

“Call me if you need anything else, hear?”

Vandergrift said, “Well?”

Maharos stared at the wall over her shoulder,
scratching his chin. “That’s two of them that say there were only three people
in the room.”

Vandergrift said, “Banks also said there were
only three beds occupied after Abelson was discharged.”

“Right. The point is: they didn’t always fill the
fourth bed.”

“Want me to check with Saint Agatha?”

“You mean Saint Agnes.”

“They just named it after St. Agnes. St. Agatha
runs it.”

He shook his head, “What a heretic. Call me if
you find out anything interesting. I’m going back to Youngstown. Don’t forget
about tomorrow. We’re going to picnic with Annie.”

“I haven’t forgotten. Anything I can bring.”

“No. I’ve ordered a basket from a deli.”

A television sound truck and crew was standing
out on the street in front of police headquarters when he pulled into the
parking lot. Although that was not unusual, when he had left for Canton earlier
there were no police stories on the burner big enough to warrant coverage by
the mobile unit. He recognized Janet Olson, a reporter for Channel 8. She
spotted him as he walked toward the steps leading to the building. Pulling on
the sleeve of the cameraman, she hurried toward Maharos, speaking a lead-in to
the microphone she held as she walked. “Detective Maharos, what can you tell us
about the developments in the Horner murder case?”

Maharos did not break stride. He had known it was
just a matter of time before word of his investigation would become public. He
did not know how much information had leaked. Perhaps there had been some new
development while he was on the road from Canton. He had to get upstairs and talk
to Bragg, find out what the hell was going on. “I have nothing to report at
this time. Our investigation is still underway. I’m sure you can understand the
sensitivity of—“

Olson broke in, “Do you have any suspects in
custody?”

“No.” He was halfway up the steps.

“Is an arrest imminent?”

He had reached the door and hurried inside
without answering.

Fuming, he passed the door to Records on his way
to the squad room. Hennessy was typing at the keyboard of her computer. He
opened the door. She glanced up and immediately returned her eyes to the
keyboard.

He spoke quietly and deliberately. “I know where
the news leak came from. When I get proof, I guarantee you the person
responsible will be looking for work—and the Civil Service Board won’t be able
to do a goddam thing about it.” He slammed the door and took the stairs two at
a time.

Bragg held his hands out, palms up when Maharos
asked him about the leak. “I don’t know any more about it than you. Shelly
Ehrlich called me half an hour ago. Told me he was going with a story that we
suspected Horner was the victim of a serial killer. That we had a good lead and
it was just a matter of time before we made an arrest. Said he knew the trail
of killings led to several other towns and cities in the eastern half of the
state. Shit, the son of a bitch knows as much as we do. I didn’t confirm
nothin’, of course.”

“He’s going with it anyway?”

Bragg pointed to the window and the street below.
The mobile TV crew were packing up and getting ready to leave. “Where do you
think they got it from?”

At his desk, Maharos called Vandergrift and told
her that the news of their investigation had gotten out.

She said, “Tell me about it. I’ve got news people
around here like flies on a pile of manure. I’ve been non-committal, of course.
But it’s going to be tough to move around from here on in. By the way, I spoke
to Mother Agatha. She confirmed that they often have one or two beds open in
that four-bed room on 3-West. The hospital runs pretty fully occupied, but they
use that room for industrial patients and for emergency cases when they don’t
have semi-private or private rooms open and the patient has to be admitted for
some life-threatening condition.”