The Butterfly Forest (Mystery/Thriller) (26 page)

I said, “Molly’s mother, Elizabeth Monroe, is in IC tonight.  Cops say it may be a suicide attempt.  I’d gone to the funeral with her, and then left her at her home a few hours ago.”

“What’s her prognosis?” Dave asked.

I told him what the nurse told me and added, “Elizabeth was depressed, which is natural, but she didn’t seem on the verge of trying to take her life.”

Nick said, “That is not good news.  I pray for her recovery.  Inside the woman’s mind, it’s complicated, you know?”  Both of Nick’s thick eyebrows arched.

I said nothing.

  Nick sighed.  “Even you, Sean, a man who looks into eyes and sees things most people don’t, even you can’t know what makes a woman tick.”

Dave shook his head, “You’ve got more to tell us, Sean, right?  You look like a man who was left at the station and his luggage is on the train leaving him behind.”

I pulled out one of the sketches.  “I want to find this guy.”  I went over everything Luke Palmer had told me.  Dave and Nick listened without interruption.

 Dave puffed his cigar, his mind crunching the implications.  “So, in addition to the Midsummer Night’s Eve fairy fest, Palmer says he ran across devil worshiping, two guys out of the movie
Deliverance
running meth labs, some fairy girl’s grave and the shooting of Molly and Mark, all while pursuing a story from Ma Barker’s 1935 shootout in a house on the edge of the forest.”

“Yes,” I said.  “He’s in county lock up.  Molly’s in a grave and her mother’s in the hospital.” 

 Nick said, “But he didn’t tell you where the loot is buried.”

“No, he didn’t.”      

Dave sipped his Jameson.  “Palmer told you that the fraternity of Lucifer lovers was led by a guy dressed in all black clothes that night.  Maybe he’s part of the three men present when Molly and Mark were killed.”

“Maybe, but I’d think that Palmer would have mentioned that.”

“Could be there wasn’t sufficient light.  Palmer told you that the top warlock wore a hat similar to the farm hats the Amish wear.”  Dave picked up the sketch.  “What if this man is the same one that killed the goat and touched the knife to the girl that was tied to the posts?  Palmer couldn’t have seen his features nearly as well as he could see the shooter in broad daylight.”

Nick said, “At night, nobody but cats and owls see things well.”

I said, “Palmer’s got a good eye.  You’re right, it was dark and he did, no doubt, fear for his own life watching a goat being sacrificed and pissing off a bunch of devil worshipers.  In my former career, I’ve interviewed a dozen witnesses who saw or didn’t see a dozen different things at the same moment a crime happens.  But something tells me the guy in the drawing isn’t in any of the circles Palmer observed in the forest.  The sketch isn’t of the two meth guys.  Palmer would certainly know that.  The man in the drawing probably wasn’t part of the hippie rainbow people because Palmer was there and saw most of them fairly close.  He made a positive ID of Frank Soto.  We saw Soto in the picture from Molly’s camera.  The guy whose face we can’t see in that picture might be the same one that’s in the composite sketch.  We do know the man in the photo wore a gold watch and a wedding band.”

Nick took a puff off his cigar.  “I think we need to send a priest into that fuckin’ forest.  He needs to sprinkle holy water over every tree.  Sean, this is some deep shit, the devil people, the rainbow people, the story you told about the crazy old lady and her son shootin’ it out with the FBI.  This whole damn thing is nothing but a bunch of friggin’ crazies.  You better not go back in that forest unless you take an army with you.”

I smiled.  “How long have you been puffing that cigar?”

Nick looked at his cigar, his eyebrows rose, he shrugged.  “Maybe forty-five minutes.”

“Plenty of time for lots of saliva to soak into the leaves and tobacco.  Lots of Nick Cronus DNA leaving its mark.”

Nick grinned.  “Yeah, and I got cigar smoke in my moustache.  Means nothing.”

Dave said, “It means something if Sean’s referring to the cigar Luke Palmer said he saw the guy in the back of the car toss out.”

I said, “If it matches the DNA from the cigar found in the shit hole where Molly and Mark were tossed, we know Palmer’s telling the truth.  It would corroborate his story that a car did pass by him in the forest carrying three men, probably the same three present when Molly and Mark were killed.  And, it would at least prove one of them, perhaps the guy in this picture, is the killer.”

Nick whistled and said, “Call the cops, man.  You gotta step out of this shit, Sean.  Those dudes could be mafia or something worst, maybe even freakin’ devils.”      

SIXTY-FIVE

The next morning I drove over to Memorial Hospital.  Sometime earlier in the night, Elizabeth had gained consciousness, clearing her by morning to be transferred to a private room on the seventh floor.  It was a floor, I later learned, especially equipped to handle mental health and suicide patients.  They told me to keep my visiting time down to a half hour.

When I walked into the room, Elizabeth was sleeping.  I stepped to her bed and reached for the hand that didn’t have an IV stuck and taped to it.  Her eyes fluttered open.  “Sean… thank God you’re here.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Like I was hit by a train.  Give me a second.  My head hurts so badly.”  She looked around the room, her eyes squinting.

“Can I get you something?”

“My memory would be nice.  I feel like Rip Van Winkle.  The last thing I remember was taking a sleeping pill.  I awoke very sick.  I literally crawled into the bathroom and vomited until there was nothing but air coming out.  I lay on my back on the bathroom floor, dialed 911 then called my neighbor, Marge.  She held me until the ambulance came.”  

“I should have stayed the night.”

She smiled.  “I wasn’t exactly miss hospitality, though.  I didn’t know sleeping pills would affect me so adversely.”

“They pumped your stomach.”

She said nothing, glancing at the window where the late morning sun spilled inside the room.  Elizabeth looked up at me.  “Do they think I tried to kill myself?”

“Yes.  Did you?”

“No.  I’m depressed beyond comprehension, but I don’t think we have a right to take our own lives any more than we have the right to kill someone.”

“How many pills did you take?”

“One.  I don’t like the tone of this conversation.  You
sound
like a detective.  ”

“I sound like someone who cares deeply about you.  Listen to me.  You came damn close to death.  News media normally don’t run stories about attempted suicides, but because they’ve connected your trip to the hospital to the deaths of three people, maybe the potential work of a serial murderer, this has generated interest.”

“So this is all over the TV and newspapers?”

I said nothing.

“I’m sorry.  God, I’ve got to brush my teeth.  My mouth has the horrible taste of metal, or some weird kind of garlic.  I’ve never used sleeping pills before, and now I know I won’t try them again.”

“Is it a prescription?”

“Yes.”

“When did you get it?”

“Two days ago.”

“Where did you keep the pills?”

“For the first day they were in my car in a Walgreens’ bag.  The next day they were in my home, on the kitchen counter.”   

“Breathe normally, but through your mouth.”  I leaned down close to her.

“Why?  What are you doing? 
Don’t
, Sean, please.”

“I’m not trying to kiss you.”  I smelled her breath.  “Did you have diarrhea, too.”

“Can you tell
that
from my breath?”

“No.”

“I did have some diarrhea.  What does that mean?”

“It means you’ve probably been poisoned.”

“What?”

“Arsenic.”

“Are you certain?”

“A quick test and we’ll know.”

“Did they treat me for it?”

“I don’t think they were looking for it.”

“Can you pee?”

“What?  Yes.  Why?”

“Don’t.  At least not yet.  The hospital needs to get a sample, and check it for levels of arsenic.”

Elizabeth tried to sit up.  “Oh, my head feels like it’s about to fall off.  Who would poison me?  How?”

“Where are the sleeping pills now?”

“On my bathroom counter.”

I looked around Elizabeth’s room, opened the closet and found her purse.  “Are your keys in here?”

“They should be.  I always drop them in my purse after I come home.”

“I’m going to your house.  I’m calling the Seminole County Sheriff’s office.  Maybe Detective Lewis will meet me there.  He can run tests on the pills in the lab.  The hospital can do a urine analysis.”  I reached over and punched the emergency call button. 

“Sean, I’m so scared.”

I touched Elizabeth’s hand.  “You’ll be fine.  Do you understand that?”

She nodded, her eyes wet.

A nurse and a doctor came into the room.  He was almost my height.  His perfectly combed hair was as dark as his black-framed glasses.  “I’m Doctor Patel,” he said.  “How are you feeling?”

“Not so good.  I have the worst headache of my life.”

I said, “Doctor Patel, I believe she was poisoned.”

 He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.  “Poisoned?”

“I worked homicide with Miami-Dade for thirteen years.  I’ve seen a few of these cases.  She had the symptoms: vomiting, diarrhea, blurred vision.  And her breath has the metallic, garlic-like odor.  A urine analysis, testing for arsenic, will tell us.”

“Per the police report, we thought it was an overdose of prescription sleeping pills.”

“The important thing is that she’s alive.

The doctor nodded, made a note on the chart and turned to the nurse.  “Let’s have the urine test done immediately.  Get it to the lab stat.  Then begin pumping a lot of fluids into Miss Monroe.  We’ll detox fast as possible.  Miss Monroe, do you have any idea how you may have consumed arsenic?”

“I was fine until I took the new sleeping pills I got from Walgreens.”

I said, “Someone must have tampered with her pills.”

Doctor Patel nodded.  “We’ll get you well.  At this point, though, the hospital must notify the police.”

“Okay.  Dr. Patel, I authorize any of my records to be released to Mr. O’Brien.”

He nodded and I said, “I’m going to meet the police at Miss Monroe’s home.  Here’s my cell number, Doctor.  Call me as soon as you get the tox results.  One thing more, don’t allow any visitors into this room.” 

SIXTY-SIX

Detective Lewis met me at Elizabeth’s house.  He brought three CSI people, two men and one woman.  He nodded.  “Looks like a lot has happened since we met in that Walmart lot.”

“I don’t think it’s over,” I said, letting them in the front door.  “Someone either broke into Elizabeth’s home and tampered with the sleeping pills, or they got to them in the front seat of her car.  I have keys to her car.  The pills she took are on the bathroom counter.”

 The CSI people nodded and went to work.  “At this point, who’d want to kill Elizabeth Monroe?” Detective Lewis asked.

“Probably the same people who killed her daughter and boyfriend.”

“Why?”

“I believe the perps think Molly and Mark knew the location of a large marijuana farm hidden somewhere deep in the Ocala National Forest.  Molly had innocently snapped a lot of pictures trying to document the locations of rare plants for her butterfly release.  I think she snapped a shot, and the perps believe she may have captured them in the picture.”

“Did she?”

“One picture captures Frank Soto before he tried to abduct Molly and Elizabeth.  The guy next to him could be the man in this composite.  Do you recognize him?”

“No.  Looks like he might have some Hispanic in him.”

“Maybe.  The witness said he had darker skin.”

“Who’s the witness?”

“Luke Palmer.”

Lewis chuckled.  “The suspect Sheriff Clayton has jailed?”

“That’s the one.  He sketched this.”

“He’s a damn good artist, I’m wondering if he’s a damn good a liar.”

“I believe he’s telling the truth.  I met with him, listened to his story.  The guy’s been wandering the forest looking from some lost treasure, but by default, he’s become a witness to two murders and finds the body of a murdered teenage girl in a grave.”

One of the CSI members, the woman, came around the corner.  She said, “It looks like the sliding glass door lock was compromised.  Scratches at the base of the lock.  I’ll dust for prints.  The door leads into the kitchen.”

I said, “You’ll find my prints in the kitchen.  I was here after the funeral.  I doubt you’ll find prints near the lock.  This guy’s a pro.”