Mind Switch (33 page)

“You might be right. Look into it and see if it matches any of the jewelry that was stolen.”

“Sure, by the way, you must feel good about this, Fred. It now means we finally have something solid to hold Ford on once we locate him. I have to admit I was worried about the all-points you issued, especially when we had nothing on him whatsoever.”

“Yes, I agree. Once we catch him we may be able to put him away for a long time, if you can in any way link him to the jewelry robbery.”

Before Fred left, he talked to the owner of the site. “Would you have any idea where we might find your previous tenant?”

“No, not really, but I do recall that right after he rented my space he was putting some cardboard boxes in the garage. The containers were UPS boxes.”

“Do you remember anything marked on the boxes?”

“All I remember is that the city that he marked delivery to was Goshen, New York. I remember it because I had a neighbor a few years ago, who was from there. When he saw me looking, he quickly picked up the boxes and put them at the far end of the storage site. I was in the warehouse area all day and I believe he was loading the same boxes in his car later that day.”

“Do you recall anything else?”

“No, not really—except the beginning of the address was 124 and I recall there was at least one other digit that followed, but I don’t remember what it was.”

“How on earth did you remember the number?”

“Simple, my wife’s birthday is January 24th; and if I ever forgot it, she would kill me!”

“Thanks so much. If he returns, here is my card with my cell phone, station number and my home number. Please call me anytime, night or day but don’t let him know you’re calling. He is very dangerous.”

“Lieutenant, what do you think are the chances of him returning?”

“I would say about the same chance as one of us winning the Hawaii lottery.”

“Uh, but, Hawaii doesn’t have a lottery.”

“There you go!”

As they were leaving the garage, Fred asked Jim to check out all the addresses in and around Goshen, N.Y. that contained at least four numbers in an address which started with the numbers 124. Jim said, “Are you kidding! There could be thousands!”

“Yes, it could, Jim. But let’s hope that Goshen is a small town; then it may not be that difficult.”

They all departed from the storage site; Jim went back to the station, Fred headed directly to the mental hospital to have Maureen released. He knew he should feel much better than he did, but Ford was still not in custody. The good news was that this was the first solid lead he had on Ford in a long time. With Ford still on the loose, Fred remained afraid for Maureen’s life. But he had promised her when he first dropped her off at the institution, he would get her back home in a week; and the week was almost gone.

* * *

The guard on duty at the sanitarium was a young man in his late twenties. Fred asked, “What happened to the other guard that used to be on duty?”

“Oh, I don’t know, I guess he was discharged.”

When Fred arrived at the main office he was greeted by a young woman wearing a yellow plaid blouse and black slacks. The antiseptic atmosphere he had observed when he had first arrived here, and later, when he visited Maureen, had seemingly disappeared.

“I want to see my wife Maureen Harris, also please tell Dr. Clinton that I want her discharged immediately, Fred said.”

The receptionist fumbled thru her filing records. “Does she go under any other name, the woman asked?”

“No, of course not, what’s the matter?”

“Well we have no record of her in our active file, could she have been released?”

“No, Dr. Clinton knows that she could not be released without my specific authorization.”

“At that moment Fred noticed a phone slip on the receptionist’s desk. He saw the word Maureen on it. Fred said, that was a call for my wife, did she take the call?”

The receptionist said, “That call must have been taken by the previous secretary. I found it on the desk when I took over. I assumed it must have been for someone in the previous staff, since patients are not normally allowed to take phone calls. I just never got around to throwing it away.”

Fred pulled it off the receptionist’s desk. The message said, “I’m looking forward to seeing you again.” It was signed Harry Ford.

“My God,” Fred said. “Where is Dr. Clinton, I must see him now.”

“I started to tell you, Dr. Clinton is no longer with this organization. In fact it is now under new management.”

Fred was frantic. “Where is Dr. Clinton?”

A look of concern was now clearly evident in the woman’s expression. “I never met Dr. Clinton, he was already gone from the institution before I was hired, but I was told that he encountered a terrible accident. I believe he was murdered during an attempted break-in at his home.”

Fred looked at the woman with disbelief. A feeling of total panic overcame him. “I want to see who is in charge here, and I want to see him right now.”

“That would be Dr. Roy Moss, but he’s in conference and doesn’t want to be disturbed. If you would take a seat I will be happy to inform you when he’s free.”

Ignoring the receptionist, Fred walked boldly into the main office.

A man in a white coat sat behind a large oak desk. Seated across from him were a middle-aged man and woman.

The man in the white coat said, “Excuse me, but I am in a private meeting, please leave.”

Fred pulled out his badge. “Not until I get some answers, I want to know where my wife, Maureen Harris is, and I want to know right now.”

The middle-aged couple started to get up to leave. The doctor nervously said, “Please, don’t leave, this will only take a second. Officer, let’s talk about this in my conference room next door.”

In the conference room, the doctor closed the door and asked nervously, “You said Maureen Harris is your wife?”

“Yes, but your receptionist said she was not currently confined to this institution; and that can’t be true.”

“It is true, and I suspect the fact that her record was not in file is because her file is currently in the process of being transferred.”

Fred was noticeably confused. “Transferred to where?”

“Why, to the discharge file. She was released about an hour ago. We had no reason to keep her since she was obviously not a threat to herself or society. She asked to use the phone before she left. She didn’t contact you?”

* * *

Fred was soon on interstate 75 barreling toward Sarasota at 90 miles an hour. The personal knowledge that Dr. Clinton had pertaining to Maureen’s unique confinement had never been passed on to the institution’s record system. The new doctor explained that, according to the law, he had to release any person who was voluntarily committed if that person asked to be released; and Maureen had asked to be released.

Fred was even more pissed off because no one at the institute could tell him who Maureen had contacted prior to her departure. He wondered if the mysterious death of Dr. Clinton had anything to do with Maureen’s sudden release. Oh, hell, he thought, Maureen could be dead. Tears flowed from Fred’s eyes blurring his vision, and twice he almost went off the road.

* * *

When Fred reached his house, Maureen was sitting on the front porch.

Tears sprang quickly to his eyes. He asked, “Maureen, why on earth did you leave the institution?”

She said, “Fred, I just couldn’t take another day in that place. When I learned of Dr. Clinton’s death, I felt the only friend I had there was gone. I called both your cell and your office, but got no answer; so I told the new administrator I wanted out and called a taxi to take me home.”

Fred said, “I understand. Honey, believe me I’ve felt God- awful guilty for keeping you there; but I really had no choice.”

She nodded but said nothing.

He then showed her all the home security devices he had installed. Deep down he felt they would have no value whatsoever against a relentless enemy who had extraordinary resources at his command. All he could do, however, was try.
 

Fred had purchased a weapon for Maureen; he went to the den to retrieve it so that he could show her how to use it. He paused when he entered the living room. Maureen was playing with Molly; he could not tell which of the two were happier. Molly would bring Maureen her three stupid toys and Maureen would throw them across the room for Molly to retrieve. Maureen had created the name “stupid-toys” for the small stuffed animals with faces that did not match their bodies. Half an hour passed and they were both still as actively engrossed as when they first started playing. Fred knew that Maureen hated guns, and he was willing to put off the moment when Maureen had settled down into a normal routine, so he could show her how to use one.

Fred decided he could at least take the time to give Maureen some personal protection; so he called his chief and told him he would not be back for the rest of the day. He told him about the findings in the storage garage and indicated that Jim was checking out the pearl necklace to see if it was stolen.

The chief said, “I understand, Fred, take tomorrow off if you want. It seems to me that you have left the investigation in competent hands.”

Fred was astounded that the chief continued to reflect empathy. The chief’s last words before he hung up were, “I want you to take care of yourself and Maureen. I would hate to lose you!”

Chapter 56

The pearl necklace that Jim was checking on had not been stolen from the Longboat Key home. It was, however, stolen from another home in Siesta Key. Jim investigated further. He scanned police reports of all jewelry stolen in the Sarasota area over the past year. He contacted the owners of each house. In virtually each and every case, Jim could link Ford in some way to each of the households. My God, he thought, this guy must have stolen millions; and he most likely at one time stashed it all temporarily in the storage garage.

His next call was to the Goshen, New York police. He explained that a jewel thief may have relocated to the Goshen area. He further explained that he had obtained a partial house number but no street address. “How big is Goshen anyway?” he asked.

“It’s about 13 thousand,” Sergeant Johnson explained. “You should come up here on vacation sometime. We are only about 50 miles from New York City, and have long been known for horse racing, almost since the beginning of time.”

“I appreciate the offer,” Jim said, “but I believe I prefer living in Florida all year around.”

“Gets very hot during the summer down there, doesn’t it?”

“Gets very cold during the winter up there, doesn’t it?” Jim responded.

Shifting back to the issue at hand Jim asked, “How hard would it be to identify all the houses in Goshen that would have as a minimum a four digit number starting with the numbers 124?”

“Oh, that shouldn’t be difficult at all; most of our streets are only a few blocks long. What do you want me to do, once I come up with the answer?”

“Well, I don’t want this guy flying the coop; so he can’t get wise to what we are doing. The guy may be using an alias, but the name I know he has been using is Ford, or perhaps Saperstein. How about discreetly checking nearby at each of the addresses, and see if you can identify our suspect? Meanwhile I’ll fax you our artist’s rendition of what he might look like. I’ll take a flight up there tomorrow to assist you.”

“Good, we’re short staffed and could use the help. But I’ll get on it as soon as I possibly can.”

* * *

Jim arrived at the closest commercial airport to Goshen in Newburgh, just after noon the next day. He rented a dark green Honda Civic from Hertz, arriving in the downtown center of Goshen in less than 45 minutes.

Jim had feared encountering snowbound roads, but the only white patches he saw were in the woods and on the shoulders, providing evidence of a heavy snowfall in the area sometime in the short past. Jim’s kids were born in Florida and had never seen snow except in the movies, and in those Florida towns that manufacture their own during the holiday season. Of course that snow was really some version of soap suds dispelled by special bubble-producing machines. Jim wished he could have taken the kids with him; but he really didn’t have time to baby-sit preschoolers while he was engrossed in police business.

The day was overcast and the wind chill was biting as he emerged from the car in front of the local police station. The station was located in the town square; in the center of the square was a monument dedicated to one of the county’s local heroes.

As Jim entered the station he started to pull out his badge, but was interrupted by a rotund sergeant on the other side of the counter. “You’re Sergeant Jim Hebert, I presume?”

 
Jim said, “Yes, how did you know?”

“Well up north at this time of the year we have become so pale that we could play the part of the ghosts in Hamlet without the need for makeup. In your case, however, it looks like the southern sunshine has had its way with you.

“But enough small talk, we found only three houses in town that met your description. In one case, the owner just died and the house is in probate. I’ve known the owner most of my life, so that is definitely not the person you are looking for. But the other two are definite possibilities. Both of the owners recently purchased their property, and both reside in New York City during the week. They live in Goshen only during vacations, and on weekends during the summer. Let’s see, one is Tom Peat and the other Johnny Baker. I haven’t had time to check to see if either one has a criminal record.