Barry Friedman - Dead End (19 page)

Detective Sam Emerson was the duty officer at
Youngstown P.D. He looked up and said, “Shit, Maharos. It’s Sunday morning. You
want me to check all the labs from Marietta to Cleveland?”

“Right.”

“It’ll take a dozen extra men.”

“I don’t care what you need. Do it!”

Maharos was at his desk fifteen minutes later
when he got Lieutenant Bragg’s call. “What’s this all about, Al?”

Maharos had expected the call, and the question.
“You heard from Emerson?”

“Yeah.”

He explained how he had gotten Fiala’s report
that Rankins had been working as a pathologist’s assistant when he was at Lima
State. “I don’t know if you remember, Ed, but one of the lab reports, the one
on Marlon Graves,—.”

“Which one was he?”

“Graves was the cloak and suit salesman from
Talmadge who was killed on his way to see his bookie. They found him in his car
near Barberton.”

“When was that?”

“March.”

“Okay. I remember.”

“The lab reported that they found traces of
glutaraldehyde in the dirt in his car. It didn’t come from Graves’ shoes.”

“What is that shit?”

“Glutaraldehyde?”

“Yeah.”

“After I got the lab report, I spoke to the chief
technician at the Stark County lab. He told me glutaraldehyde is in the same
family as formaldehyde.”

Bragg said, “You mean that stuff in the Medical
Examiner’s Lab that stinks to high heaven.”

“Uh-huh. In fact, I smelled something and that’s
what got me thinking about the glutaraldehyde. It’s used in labs to prevent
tissue from rotting. They call it ‘a tissue fixative.’ I think he said it’s the
same thing as embalming fluid.”

“You mean like tanning leather?”

“Well—yeah, I guess so.”

“And you think this Rankins may be working
somewhere in a lab and tracked some of that stuff into Graves’ car?”

Maharos said, “Well, at the time, I thought maybe
one of the lab techs might have tracked it in, so I never followed up on it.
After hearing that Rankins had some experience as a lab assistant, I thought
maybe that’s what he’s been doing.”

Bragg was silent for a few seconds before he
spoke. “Yeah. Tell you what you do. Get in touch with McCormack in Vice. Tell
him what we’re on to. Ask him for three of his people. We’re gonna have to get
moving on this thing and we don’t have the manpower in the Detective Squad.
Another thing, this is getting out of our jurisdiction. We can’t be sending our
people all over the state. We don’t know where this guy is. I want you to be
sure you have someone working with you from each of the local police agencies
where you take the hunt. But I want you to stay with it, Al. And remember,
you’re in charge.”

“Okay. Ed.”

Maharos’ jurisdiction stopped at the city limits.
Bragg was making sure that they had arrest powers in each of the localities
that the investigation took them.

Chester McCormack, the head of the Vice and
Criminal Intelligence Unit was with his Sunday foursome, on the golf course. He
called back at noon. Maharos explained the problem and what was needed.
McCormack asked him why they had waited, pursuing the investigation so long
before calling for help.

Maharos said, “Up till now, we thought we could
handle it with the personnel we’ve got. Besides, we haven’t had a viable suspect
until now.”

“You think this Rankins is your man?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. I don’t have three people to spare but
I’ll let you have one.”

“When.”

“This is Sunday, you can have him Tuesday at the
latest.”

“No good. Tuesday’s too late. This guy’s getting
ready to hit. We expect him to do it on the seventh, that’s Tuesday. We’ve got
to locate him before that.”

McCormack’s voice exploded in Maharos’ ear.
“Jesus Christ, Maharos. What kind of fuckin’ deadlines you handing out. You sit
on a case for a month, then expect me to send help yesterday. I’ll do the best
I can, but I’m not making any promises.”

He hung up muttering.

Maharos phoned Vandergrift and told her of his
conversations with Bragg and McCormack. “I’d like you to stay on the case with
me, Karen. Do you see any problem?”

“I’m sure I’ll be able to stay on, and I’m glad
that we’ll be getting help. We can sure use it. We’ve got a lot of ground to
cover.”

“Except I’m not sure when we’ll get it. Unless we
get to this guy before the seventh, we may have another homicide on our hands.”

Vandergrift was silent for a few seconds, then,
“You’ve got a good analytical mind, Al. Based on the people he’s already
killed, who do you think he’s targeted for his next one?”

“I was about to ask you the same question.”

Vandergrift laughed. “I asked first.”

“I’ve been thinking about it, of course. This
guy’s anger seems to be aimed at people connected with his back injury: his
employer, the lawyer who handled his industrial injury claim, the nurse who
took care of him at the hospital and three guys who were in the hospital the
same time he was. If I had to make a bet on who has been left out, I’d say it
was the doctor who operated on him. What do you think?”

Vandergrift said, “I agree. That would be Dr.
Marino.”

“Yeah. We’d better warn him.”

“He’s here in Canton. Want me to do it?”

“Uh-huh. Be sure to emphasize that he’s not to
spread it around. We’ll arrange for close surveillance and protection for him,
at least through the seventh. The best thing, of course would be for him to
quietly leave town for the next couple of days. He’ll probably be a lot safer.”

Vandergrift said, “I’ll see what he says and let
you know.”

After Maharos hung up, he sat staring at the
phone. His conversation with Vandergrift reminded him of a question that had
puzzled him since he had learned that Rankins, Graves, Abelson and Gibson had
all been hospitalized at St. Agnes. While there must have been some contact
between Rankins and the other three, where had it occurred? From all he had
learned, Rankins was not the fourth patient in the room. He made a note to find
out in which hospital room Rankins had been. At the moment, his job was to find
Rankins.

*
  
*
  
*

Vandergrift parked in the circular driveway in
front of the large, white, Georgian home. Three boys between the ages of three
and ten were wrestling on the spacious lawn in front of the house. When they
saw the car with the large sheriff’s shield decal on the door, they stopped and
warily walked over to it. Their eyes and mouths gaped open. Vandergrift smiled.
They did not smile back.

“Hi, I’m here to see Dr. Marino.”

Silence.

“Is he inside the house?”

Three heads wagged.

The door opened a moment after she rang. A
dark-haired, broad-shouldered man about six feet tall, dressed in blue jeans
and a T-shirt, stood at the door. He appeared to be in his mid-forties. His
eyebrows were slightly raised and he appraised her through piercing dark eyes.

“Hi, I’m Deputy Sheriff Vandergrift. I’m the one
who just called. You are Dr. Marino?”

“Yes. Come on in.” He ushered her into a spacious
hallway. Black and white floor tiles in a checkered pattern led to a staircase
that spiraled gracefully to the center of the hallway. “Let’s go into the
study.” He pointed to a doorway.

A woman’s voice called down from upstairs. “Who is
it, Russ?”

He called up the stairway. “It’s the sheriff who
phoned a little while ago.”

A moment later, a slender woman, late thirties,
straight light brown hair, wearing khaki shorts and a brown halter, bounded
down the stairs. Her Reeboks squeaked on the tile floor. She extended her hand
to Vandergrift, “Hi, I’m Kim Marino. Excuse my appearance. We just got home
when you called. We took the kids to Cedar Point for the weekend.”

Vandergrift smiled. “I’m Karen Vandergrift with
the Stark County Sheriff’s Office. God, Cedar Point! I remember my folks taking
me there when I was a kid. Do they still have the roller coaster and the
rides?”

“Yep. Still there. Did you grow up around here?”

Vandergrift shook her head. “No. We were living
near Columbus.” Her face turned serious. “I’m sorry to disturb you on a holiday
weekend. Maybe we should sit down somewhere.”

The walnut-paneled study was lined with
bookshelves. Under a window was a semi-circular desk. Marino gestured to a
leather-covered armchair, and after Vandergrift was seated, he and his wife sat
in a matching love seat facing her.

Vandergrift said, “Dr. Marino, do you remember a
patient you operated on about three years ago named Ephraim Rankins?”

Kim Marino looked relieved and started to get up.
“I guess this is about one of Russ’ patients. You don’t need me.”

Vandergrift put out her hand. “If you don’t mind,
I’d like you to hear what I have to say, too.”

Marino looked at the ceiling, reflecting.
“Rankins? Offhand I don’t recall anyone by that name. Can you refresh my
memory? What was his problem?”

“I believe you operated on him at St. Agnes for a
ruptured disk.”

A smile came on Marino’s face and he nodded.
“Okay. I know who you mean. A short guy. Looked like a jockey. A little
peculiar, too.”

“What do you mean, ‘peculiar’?”

“Well, maybe I shouldn’t say it, but he was kind
of a religious freak. He came to the hospital with a tape recorder and tapes of
hymns and sermons. We tried to get him to cut down the volume, but he paid no
attention to the nurses or me or anybody. We had him in a four-bed ward until
the other guys in the room got so annoyed by the religious stuff, we had to
move him to a private room and shut the door. What about him?”

He had been moved to a private room. That’s why
the fourth bed in the ward was empty. Like Maharos, she had wondered where
Rankins had come into contact with the other three patients: Gibson, Graves and
Abelson, all of whom were now dead.

Vandergrift said, “We’ve been trying to find him
and question him about a series of homicides.”

Marino laughed. “Oh, come on. You mean that
little squirt is a murderer?”

“I don’t want to make any accusations, but there
is a strong possibility that he may be involved in several murders.”

Marino’s smile disappeared. His brow furrowed.
“Who do you think he killed?”

Vandergrift briefly told them about the homicides
she and Maharos had been investigating and the time pattern of the killings.
“All of the victims have been involved in Rankins back injury. Since you were
the doctor who operated on him, if he is the one who killed the others, we
theorize that you may be a target.”

Marino did not appear worried, although his wife
did. She said, “Do you have any idea where this man is?”

“No. We’re not even sure he’s responsible for the
killings. We won’t know until we find him.”

Kim Marino said, “What do you think we should
do?”

“The previous murders have all taken place on the
seventh of the month. The police psychologist thinks he has an
obsession-fixation on the number seven. If that theory holds up, he’ll strike
on July seventh.”

She put her hands to her face. “My God! That’s
only three days off.”

Marino put his arm over her shoulder. “Come on,
honey. Let’s not get carried away. This thing is one big hypothesis. I wouldn’t
even dignify it with the label ‘theory’. They’re not sure Rankins killed all
those people—they don’t know if he’s in this area. Even if he is the guy
they’re looking for, who knows who his next target may be. Could be anyone. He
probably doesn’t even remember me. As I recall, he got a good result from his
surgery. Why the hell would he want to kill me?”

Vandergrift did not want an argument with this
bullhead. But he didn’t seem to be getting the point. She spoke patiently, “Dr.
Marino, we’re not dealing with someone who thinks normally as you do. This
person is apparently acting out some sort of strange role. He is
unpredictable.”

Marino shook his head. “How can you be inside the
head of someone you don’t even know? Someone who may not even be the person who
has committed these murders. I’m sorry, I can’t buy it.”

Vandergrift nodded gravely. “You may be right. I
hope you are. But we have the duty to inform you that you may be in danger.”

Kim Marino had been listening thoughtfully. Until
now she said nothing. Finally, she said, “Russell, You’re not being fair with
Sheriff Vandergrift. She’s trying to warn us. I think we ought to take her
advice. What do you think we should do, Sheriff?”

“Both Detective Maharos and I feel it would be
advisable for you and your family to quietly leave town until after the
seventh.”