She knew Bryan Adler’s motives and
desires, and she knew the outcome was inevitable but she could understand neither how he could have escaped from the maximum security mental facility where he had been held all these years nor how he had found her home and gained access. He had been on long term injected sedation and a cocktail of anti-psychotic drugs for his entire incarceration so she couldn’t understand how he was able to overcome not only the effects of the drugs but the security measures of possibly the most secure psychiatric institution in the country.
It didn’t matter now anyway.
He ordered Helen to sit in the empty chair opposite and she complied. She was all too familiar with his modus operandi and as he held the girls close to him, his signature drone began. Bethany had been gagged and her hands were bound in front of her since she was older and possibly capable of running from him. Crystal had the look of shock with which Helen was so familiar, from observing child victims of psychological trauma.
“
Had they been forced to watch their father die?” she wondered fearfully. “Will they ever recover from this trauma?”
Her thoughts were completely
detached from her own personal peril and she was only concerned that Bryan would leave her babies unharmed as he had always done with the children in his previous crimes. She was certain that this was an essential component of his psychosis so she steeled herself to follow his instructions without hesitation even though it meant her own death and a life without real parents for her daughters.
Helen knew
Bryan could see the resignation in her eyes, just as she had always felt he could see her inner thoughts in their therapy sessions. A few minutes later, he stood slowly but purposefully, holding Crystal in his left arm, stepped to Helen’s chair. He handed her a sharp knife and calmly returned to his seat.
“
You know what must be done Dr. Benson.”
“
Please don’t hurt my babies.” was all Helen could muster.
She gazed lovingly into her daughters’ eyes for a moment then looked down at the soft skin of her left forearm as tears clouded her vision.
“Mommy loves you my darlings. Take care of your little sister Bethany.”
With that, Helen drew the
knife diagonally across her forearm with the precision of a trained medical doctor and the blood came forth. It flowed faster than expected and she knew it wouldn’t be long before she would go into shock. The coldness would come over her in a wave, then it would wane, then she would become sleepy and weak, eventually lapsing into unconsciousness and finally, death would come.
Helen
looked up into the eyes of her children, who were now sobbing uncontrollably. She wanted so desperately to comfort them and shield them from this violence and pain but she was already feeling the waves of shock come over her body. Blood was quickly pooling on the carpet beneath her chair and as she became more and more drowsy, her daughters and Bryan Adler strangely began to fade from view. As she looked on in confusion, it became evident that there would soon be only vacant chairs and she couldn’t understand what her eyes were telling her. With one final burst of strength, Helen tried to lunge toward the rapidly disappearing image of her girls but she and her chair toppled to the floor. Frantically searching for the sight of her children, her field of vision began darkening into an ever shrinking circle and she vaguely sensed strong hands tugging at her body, and a powerful pressure on her injured arm. She imagined she could hear the panicked voice of her husband Jim but how could that be.
The blood flow was too great
and as she was beginning to drift into unconsciousness, she groaned softly then clearly whispered the name ‘Bryan Adler’. The life flickering from her eyes, she thought she could see her husband’s face come into focus above her, frantic and fearful, as she drifted away into the darkness.
Chapter 2
D
etective Alan Beach sat at his desk in a remote corner of the Homicide Investigation Department of the Columbus, Ohio Division of Police. His slate grey eyes glanced up to survey the room as he ruminated on the wording of his latest report. His fellow detectives went about their business; some working at their desks, others talking or joking with one another here and there. It was a fairly typical day in the department where Alan had become used to being a loner. Not that being ignored by his colleagues particularly bothered him, as he didn’t much care for them anyway but he did find it disappointing that he obviously hadn’t escaped his past and the exclusion it had brought upon him.
An in
telligent looking man in his late thirties, Beach carried a few extra pounds but certainly wasn’t fat. With average height and medium build, he was always impeccably dressed in a well cut, dark suit and tie. His sandy hair was neatly trimmed at the back and sides but the top was slightly tousled. The hair, combined with vaguely chubby cheeks made him appear slightly younger than his age but his eyes betrayed an inner sadness.
H
e had transferred to Columbus three years previously from Boston, where he was a highly respected and successful homicide detective for ten years. Alan had been happy in Boston and had no desire to move - at least not until after ‘the incident’ and the ostracism that followed. His commanding officer in Boston had recommended the move from Massachusetts to Ohio as he feared that out of sheer frustration at the acts of his colleagues, his star detective would either leave the profession altogether or that one of Alan’s calls for backup in emergency situations would be ignored and he might face mortal danger on the job. Alan knew that his boss had his best interests at heart and there was nothing he could do to assuage his colleagues’ aggression toward him so he followed the advice. The Divisional Commander of Investigations at Columbus, an old friend of Alan’s boss in Boston, was happy to have such a skilled investigator on her team and so the deal was struck.
Of course the scuttlebutt
had arrived before Alan so he was unsurprised by the cool welcome he’d received from his new ‘comrades’. One saving grace though, aside from his reduced cost of living, was that his lieutenant, while quite reserved and authoritative in his manner, obviously appreciated the addition to his team of someone with Alan’s level of success in closing cases. Thomas Walker was a big, solid man with sparkling blue eyes, a thick neck, and a heavy jaw. His physical size and military haircut created an imposing appearance and on rare occasion, when he lost his temper and slammed one of his massive fists on a desk, there was no question as to who was in charge of his department.
Columbus ha
d a surprisingly high crime rate and more than one hundred murders per year. Lieutenant Walker was tired of fielding questions from the media and dealing with attacks from the local government about the city’s high murder rate and despite the fact that he had no direct control over crime rates, believed firmly that a high closure rate in his division would increase the deterrent for potential homicides, and reduce pressure on him. Beach was a strong asset and consistently outpaced the rest of the division in case closures, despite not having an assigned partner. Besides, Walker could identify with his new charge and he admired the younger man’s character.
While it was standard operating procedure for detectives to be paired up, both for safety reasons and to increase effectiveness, an exception had to be made in Alan’s case because no one would
willingly work with him. Walker, being a pragmatic man, realized there was no point trying to force the issue as it would only be counterproductive so he let sleeping dogs lie, and Alan had flourished as a lone wolf so everyone was relatively happy.
As he
observed the invisible line of demarcation between his colleagues and himself, Beach’s mind briefly strayed to the day of his arrival at his new post in Columbus and he recalled with disgust, the greeting he had received back then. He remembered how the room had fallen silent upon his arrival and not a soul had greeted him until his new lieutenant showed him to his desk. Not that he’d expected a gushing font of warm handshakes but he had secretly hoped he might have escaped the treatment he was used to in Boston. He had settled into his chair and opened his drawer to find some stationery, only to discover a dead rat lying atop his pen shelf. The creature had congealed blood around its nose and something that resembled viscera trying to escape from its throat and anus, as if someone had stepped on it. While not particularly startled at the sight, he was saddened at this immediate indication that his past had followed him to his new life.
Alan
had then nonchalantly wedged the end of his pencil under the rodent’s incisor teeth, lifted it slowly from its resting place and toward his trash can then dropped it, pencil and all, watching vacantly as it thumped onto the bottom of the receptacle. He’d then calmly turned back to his drawer to withdraw a new pencil, and casually commenced writing his report. He preferred to hand write his reports in pencil before typing them into his computer terminal, finding the old method more familiar and helpful in clarifying details rather than fussing with computer programs and two finger typing.
“What’s up Beach - rat got yer tongue?” Detective Richard Collier
had rasped from across the room. Collier and the other detectives, watching bemused from several feet away, broke out in sneering laughter intended to highlight their disdain toward their new colleague and to try and get under his skin. As much as Alan would have liked to retort and make a fool of Collier, he knew it was pointless. As superior as his intellect was, no one would have been on his side or appreciated his wit so he’d seen no point in playing to an audience of one. He held his tongue and quietly continued his work. Collier, the obvious leader of the pack, had fired a warning shot over his bow and Beach hoped that by keeping his head down and not retaliating, he would make himself an uninteresting target and they would eventually move on. He was right; that first event and the obvious initial aggression had metamorphosed into a collective cold shoulder, with which he could live and work in peace.
Alan
brought himself back to the task at hand and started making headway on his latest report until Lieutenant Walker strode into the room with his usual purposeful pace and called out, “Beach! Suspicious death at ‘The Eleanor’ building; apartment 1404. Uniforms are at the scene. Sounds like a suicide but look at the husband anyway.” he said in his usual gruff tone.
A
lan knew that Walker had to speak to him in this manner so that none of the other detectives would feel that he was playing favorites. His manner of speaking to the others wasn’t much different so he never felt slighted and he knew that Walker tended to throw the more complex cases his way so he nodded in acknowledgement, pushed his report into his filing drawer and got up to leave.
“
Yeah, you go and solve that suicide and leave the real murders to the big boys, Beach.” jibed one of the other detectives.
“
Shut up and get back to work ladies! It’s like a Goddamn sewing circle in here!” shouted Walker at no one in particular as he strode back into his office.
Alan chuckled inwardly as he brushed past his
estranged colleagues and out the door. He had wanted to be a detective since he was a boy and relished any new job, even if it was labeled only a suicide at this point. He knew that things were often not what they seemed and preferred the challenge of cases that weren’t just, ‘slam-dunks’. As he got into his car, he glanced straight at the, “No Smoking” symbol stuck to the dashboard, as there was in all city vehicles, pulled a cigarette from the pack in his pocket and lit it.
“
Another advantage of having no partner.” he muttered to himself as he drove out of the car park and turned toward The Eleanor. It was only a couple of miles away and the traffic was fairly thin so it wasn’t long before he pulled into the, ‘No Parking’ zone directly in front of the building, slid his windscreen sign identifying his car as a police vehicle into place and walked toward the front doors. There were three marked squad cars and a Coroner’s van parked at different angles around the front of the building and one of the uniformed officers was stationed at the entrance to vet people coming and going.
Alan respected the efficiency and professionalism of the uniforms, as they were called
, and they seemed to realize this and generally treated him with due deference, despite the rumors they’d heard about his reason for coming to Columbus.
“
Good evening Officer.” Alan offered as he entered the building.
“
Detective Beach.” acknowledged the uniform. “It’s straight through to the elevators and up to the fourteenth floor.”
“
Thank you. Any unusual movements since you’ve been here?”
“
No, just owners and tenants going to and from.”
“
Have a good night officer, and do me a favor please?”
“
What’s that?”
“
If you do notice anything unusual, please call me on my cell phone rather than waiting to report it later.”
“
Of course detective, and good luck on the case.”
“
Thank you.” Alan called back as he made his way to the elevators just past the lobby.
The
Eleanor’s lobby security officer sat at his desk and surveyed Alan walking past, as if he were any other stranger in his territory. There were surveillance cameras positioned throughout the lobby and Alan guessed there would be a security room set up with monitors and digital recorders in such an up-market building.
“
Security seems pretty professional.” Alan noted, pushing the up button.
He entered the elevator and immediately spotted the security camera in the
upper left rear corner. Upon reaching the fourteenth floor, he looked at the direction sign on the wall opposite the elevator to see where to find apartment, “1404”. The door was open and Alan flashed his detective’s shield to the uniformed officer as he entered the apartment. He hadn’t met this particular uniform before so he introduced himself before walking in and glancing around the room to get some perspective of the scene. The large kitchen and dining area were off to the right while the living room was to the left of the entrance. The coroner was hunched over the body of the victim in the dining room and Alan could see it was lying in a particularly large pool of blood.
He was
very used to examining murder scenes and certainly didn’t have a weak stomach but was always surprised at just how much blood there could be when a victim completely bled out instead of dying from the damage of a bullet wound or some other trauma before they could completely exsanguinate. There were about ten pints of blood in her body while she was alive and Alan guessed that more than half of that had pooled and sunk into the carpet before her heart had stopped forcing it out of her body.
“
Bit of a mess for you Detective Beach.” the Medical Examiner called out.
“
So I see Dr. Wescott. What’s the damage?”
“
Just the left forearm but both the ulnar and radial arteries were opened so wide, there would have been no stopping it; unless she had done it in a hospital emergency room. Someone really knew what they were doing!”
“
Someone? You don’t think it’s a suicide?”
“
That’s for you to find out Detective Beach. She was a doctor and judging by the wound, and the position of the kitchen knife, it looks self-inflicted but it seems strange that it happened out in the open here, while the husband and kids were home.”
“
Where are they now?”
“
The two young daughters are with a neighbor who sometimes baby-sits for the family and the husband is in the master bedroom but be warned, he was a mess when I got here. Don’t know if he’s calmed down much yet.”
“
Thanks, I’ll go and see him while you finish up then I’d like to have a closer look at the body please.”
“
Your call Detective Beach.”
Alan often wondered why this particular Medical Examiner chose to be polite but so formal as to continually use his full title instead of his first name.
After all, they had known each other for over three years now and since they were usually on the same shift, had worked together many times. He had initially thought it was because of his past in Boston but it had become obvious that the doctor had great respect for Alan and his skills so he wasn’t really sure what to make of his formal approach.
Alan pointed toward the hallway as he looked
questioningly at Dr. Wescott.
“
Yes, down the hall, last door at the end.”
Alan walked down the hall, taking in the details of the layout of the large luxury apartment as he went.
There were four other doorways in the hall, aside from the master bedroom at the end. He guessed one bedroom each for the daughters, one main bathroom and one study or computer room but didn’t bother confirming yet. Entering the master bedroom, he saw the husband sitting on the end of the bed in shock, blood smeared heavily over his arms and clothing, his hands shaking and upturned in his lap. Standing in front of him was a uniformed officer with a notepad, asking questions quietly. Jim Benson looked up weakly each time the officer asked a question and seemed to try to answer but as he tried to form sentences, words would fail him and his speech would tail off into nothing. He had the vacant, expressionless look of a truly broken man - a man facing the most extreme, incomprehensible loss; a look that Alan knew too well.