Hear How They Scream (Chapter 2)

2

Anesthesia, Malpractice, and Another Recording

As they left the diner Ray could only think of two things. The first and foremost being what Ms. Howard had told them about Monica/Angelique’s father running from a cartel, the second being how big of a fool he had made of himself. “I think we should put a pin in the cartel lead for now.”

“I don’t know Ray…the body was pretty beaten up.”

Savage murders did fall into the range of cartel specialties. Still, “it just doesn’t seem likely they’d go to all the trouble to reach her here when they already have her father. Doesn’t make sense. There’s a piece of the puzzle we’re missing, and its right under our noses.” They climbed into the car and Red picked up the mouthpiece for the CB radio. Before clicking the button over to dispatch to check in he asked his friend.

“Then we need to go to option B. We have some kind of a sicko out there looking to make a hobby out of killing people and recording their last moments on Earth. If it wasn’t a revenge killing than it’s a serial killing.”

“Either way it’s ugly business.”

Ray wanted a shower. 

Red wanted an answer.

“Where to?”

“Tell dispatch we’re on our way to St. Josephine’s. We got some more ‘light-reading.’”

Red groaned so loud it felt like it rattled the car. Regardless, he clicked the button on the side of the radio, “dispatch, this is Christen and London, car two-one-oh. Enroute to St. Josephine’s, over.” There was a fuzzy patch of noise as he let go.

“Car two-one-oh this is dispatch, thanks for checking in this time.”

It was the same kid from the day before.

The one who tried to pass the buck to the Chief that they had failed to check in.

“What’s his name?” Said Red pointing to the radio as he turned the engine over and put the Cadillac in the drive.

“Carl…or Craig…something with a “C” in it.” The dispatch guy was new, Ray hadn’t met him properly yet. If the dispatch boy was smart he’d pack up and leave town because Red wasn’t one to back out on promises, and the giant man made a promise next that made Ray extremely glad he wasn’t a Carl or a Craig.

“I’m gonna kick him in the balls.”

 “Oh…you two again. I take it you didn’t find what you were searching for?” It was Dr. Dawkins from the day before. He looked refreshed. He must’ve finally gotten a good night’s sleep and a hot shower.

Ray had never been so envious of something so simple.

“We were just searching for the wrong thing. We’d like to take another look at your records room if that’s okay.”

“By all means. You know the way?” It was a question. He was far less standoffish this time.

Red nodded. “We got it. Thanks for your time doc. When we find her records we may need to speak to some of your staff that may have treated her.”

“Whatever you need gentlemen. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have patients to tend to.” He brushed past them at a brisk pace, taking long strides; a sense of duty about him. He smelled good, he hadn’t been wearing cologne last time, or it had just worn off by the time they arrived to speak to him, either way…

Ray really wanted a shower.

“You think they’d mind if I just popped into one of the stalls for a quick splash?”

“And what would you wear when you got out?” He said motioning at his disheveled suit. “You’d still look like were bucked off a bull.”

He had a point. Still…that was harsh.

They headed down to medical records. All the boxes were repacked and arranged in a true alphabetical format. There was a note on the table that read, “hope this helps guys, in case you needed to take another look! – Diana and Mary”

“I could kiss those girls.”

“You could kiss a goat.”

That was harsh.

Payback’s a bitch.

Ray smiled at his jest and Red put his thumbs to his temples like moose antlers and stuck his tongue out at his friend.

They were so mature.

It didn’t take nearly as long to find what they were looking for this time. All the boxes had been fitted with little yellow papers taped to them with large print handwriting indicating what letter of the alphabet that corresponded to each box. There were only six boxes with the letter “C” on them. While all the files weren’t in chronological order it was still much more approachable then before.

“Crawford, James…Crawford, Katherine…ah! Got it!” Said Red triumphantly pulling a file from his box. “Monica Crawford.” Ray moved over behind his partner and began reading. Sure enough the tumors had been removed just as her choir teacher had said.

“I don’t understand half this bull snot.” Said Red, buffoonishly scratching his head. He honestly reminded Ray of a confused Gorilla right now. 

“You don’t need to. All we need are these…” Ray pointed to the bottom of her medical charts, to the line marked “treated by”. His finger settled on top of the first name on the list. “Dr. Dawkins. He may not remember Angelique, but let’s see if he remembers Monica Crawford.”

Minutes later with the chart in their hands they were standing in the Chief of Medicine’s office waiting patiently for him to return from rounds. After about fifteen minutes they took to sitting down in the plush leather full backed chairs that sat facing his ornate hardwood writing desk. “Kinda wood you think that is?” Said Red drumming his fingers on his knee.

Ray gave the side of it several raps with his knuckles. “Ebony.”

“Don’t be racist.”

Ray dropped his face into his hands, overwhelmed by the sheer idiocy of the comment, “it’s not racist…it’s…for the love of ‘dog’ Radley…” A double whammy.

“Spammit Ray! Don’t call me Radley!”

“Then don’t be so damn dumb.”

It took an hour for the nurse they had sent off to find the Chief of Medicine in the massive hospital but she finally returned with him in tow. He looked irritated by their request for his presence, “gentlemen…” He didn’t bother hiding his agitation. “I hope this is good, I was just prepping for surgery.” The latex gloves and surgical mask drooping from around his neck gave that away as the truth.

“Then we’ll get right to it. Monica Crawford.”

The doctor just stood there, seeming to wait for more. When it became clear that was the extent of it his agitation melted away to bewilderment. “I beg your pardon? Should I know that name?”

Ray folded his arms and shrugged. Red continued, “I dunno. Should you?” He handed the file over to the doctor and folded his arms across his chest as well. Unlike Ray though, he looked imposing. “That file says you should.”

Dr. Dawkins opened it up and sure enough when his eyes fell on his name at the bottom his expression turned stern. He sighed and handed the folder back to them and said, “that’s dated six years ago detectives, or did that elude your sleuthing skills?” There was the irritation and condescension, rearing its ugly head again.

Fighting fire with fire was Red’s specialty.

“Interfering with a police investigation is a felony, or did that elude your general knowledge of the law.”

“I thought it was common knowledge,” chirped Ray.

But Red wasn’t listening. He was in to it now, “carries a hefty sentence, and pretty boys like you don’t do well in the clink. So I suggest you take another gander at this file and get to spillin’, or you can tell your patient on the slab in there he’s going to need a second consultation while we continue this conversation in my office.”

They probably wouldn’t have to worry about the doctor being a smart-arse again.

He took the file back, visibly shaken by the reality pouring down on him. Ray thought he should soothe some of the tension, “anything you can remember doc,” he said calmly, “was there anything strange about the girl, something that didn’t sit right with you.”

“Well…she certainly wasn’t American.”

So, the good Dr. Dawkins had been aware of her status as well.

“But her credentials checked out and her insurance cleared. I had no reason to question it. I’m an inner city, state funded hospital as I told you before, I don’t have time to check the background of every patient.”

“So you treated her?”

“Not personally, and not alone, several other members of my staff were involved. See,” he said motioning to the other names under his. “Her case was…difficult.”

“I saw that. The report said she had an aneurysm building in between the two hemispheres of her brain and a tumor on the hippocampus. It’s miraculous you were able to remove them.” Said Ray, Red was astonished as he stared at his friend, as if he’d just been struck by lightning, stood up, and solved the secret of cold fusion.

“What the heck is all that?”

“ An aneurysm is a blood clot that grows on the brain and if it blows it’s like a bomb inside your head.” He said to his occasionally oafish partner. He then turned his attention back to Dawkins “The tumor was cancerous, correct?”

 Dr. Dawkins shook his head. “It was benign,” he uttered matter-of-factly, “but yes, it was a miraculous procedure, the only one of its kind that I’ve heard of that’s been successful so far.”

“Geez Ray-man. How’d you know all that stuff?”

“Because I’ve read a book.” Ray grumbled.

“Hey! I read too!”

“Penthouse is not reading material.” That was the doctor. Ray had to laugh.

“Now don’t you start,” he grumbled irritably. “Monica, stay focused Dawkins.” Red was serious.

“Sorry, look I wish I could tell you more but I can’t. She came here, had a surgery, went through recovery and left. Her bills were paid as far as I know. You’ll have to see the other members of my staff who treated her. I’ve no idea who her nurses were but all the physicians who had any oversight of her procedures are listed. Now please, I have to get back to the Amphitheatre. I trust when you find what you need you’ll see your way out?”

“Yeah,” said Ray in a low baritone. “But it doesn’t mean we won’t be back. Have a nice day doc.”

After checking with a few of the receptionists they were able to track down her initial Oncologist. Dr. Arthur VanDross. He seemed an innocent enough fellow, his features akin to a squirrel, large buckteeth, small inset eyes, and a thin set of lips. He was a very comely man, good thing he made big money. He fluffed his comb over with his free hand as he answered their every question.

“Look, I see a lot of patients. This is a hospital. I vaguely remember who she is, but I don’t know how much help I’m going to be.”

“She would’ve been a patient here six years ago. Had a tumor and an aneurysm?” Said Ray.

At the mention of an aneurysm the doctors eyes seemed to twinkle in recognition, “now that I do recall. It was one of the most bizarre cases I could imagine. God…to think she survived that shit just to get killed.”

“We didn’t say anything about murder,” said Red with suspicion.

The doctor raised his hands as if to say ‘woah, don’t shoot the messenger!’.  “I was a legal assistant for three years before I went to medical school guys. They don’t send detectives to gather information on immigrants who piss on dumpsters. And if you’re wonderin’ how I pegged ya as detectives,” he said motioning to Red’s badge hanging from his belt, “I know the shield’s, that and if he ain’t a cop he’s gotta be a bad Vegas act or the Prince of Pimps in that getup.”

Ray bust out laughing again.

“Mother of Mahogany, this whole hospital just packed with part-time standups or somethin’?” Red was growing more and more irritated. Funny commentary or not it was time to settle in with a more serious demure.

“Son, you don’t have to be a wise-ass to know that Zoot Suit shoulda been drug out back and shot 30 years ago.” It was the doctors deadpan delivery and sincerity that made it so funny. Ray hid a snort behind the sound of clearing his throat and before Red could go for the man’s neck he stepped in.

“Look, I hate to cut into this little dance, but we just need to know a couple of things. How well did you know Monica?”

“I just consulted and ran some tests. Dr. Dawkins handled all the MRI’s and the actual surgery itself. Outside of being her physician, no relation whatsoever.”

Ray hated hospital rooms. They sat in an unoccupied unit. The doctor was slunk back in one of the curved metal chairs reserved for visitors raking his comb-over repeatedly with fervor. Ray and Red stood in front of him. He eyed the various instruments on the counter, depressors, cotton balls, scissors; the essentials. It was the sterility he didn’t like. Everything was so pristine and void of all feculence. Surely there should at least be a scuff or two on the tile! Nope, not here, not one speck of dirt. And the smell of antiseptic…give him a fetid corpse in an overheated apartment any day of the week over the smell of germicidal astringents.

Now he was thinking about soap.

Which only made him want a shower even more.

He had to skip a shower during the hottest month on the Michigan calendar.

Neither of them thought this rodent of a man had anything to do with her disappearance, let alone her death. The sheer force by which some of her killing blows were delivered appeared to far surpass the power this man could muster. Nevertheless, they didn’t have much else to go on at the moment, so why not rattle a few cages.

“I believe you,” said Ray, “we just need to check every avenue.”

“Can you recall anything out of the ordinary while she was here? Maybe any strange visitors, ones you didn’t recognize as family?” Inquired Red.

The doctor shook his head. “Just family, as far as I can recall. We keep a visitors logbook at the front desk downstairs, but I have no idea how far back records go. This place used to be a Loony-Bin, so naturally we keep extensive records on visitation. You never be too careful around the nutjobs. But you’d have to check with Marianne about any of that.”

“Marianne?”

“She works at the front desk.”

Ray scribbled that into his notebook.

“What about her family? Any altercations with staff?”

“Woah, slow down, look. You’re going back six years. I’ve seen eight patients this morning. I’ll probably see nine more before I go to bed tonight. Statistically speaking at least six to ten of those patients are going to be of one minority group or another. I’ll admit, Monica was a strange case, and I can remember her face, but can you honestly tell me what you were doing today six years ago?”

“I was at church. Confessing my sins.” Said Red plainly earnest.

Ray reluctantly recalled, “I was on a witness stand, helping solidify Marlow White’s conviction.”

“That was you!” The doctor’s mouth dropped agape.

Marlow White had moved to the Mitten from the Apple and started bringing his own special brand of bon ton crime to the streets of Detroit. It had been the event that had propelled Ray from a beat cop to being partnered with Red so early in his career. It had also been the event that put one hundred and eighty-four stitches in him, killed his partner, and almost drove him over the edge.

Either way, it was a story he didn’t feel like talking about with this guy.

“Yeah, that was me. I get what you’re saying though. Look, if you remember anything, let us know.”

“Will do officers,” he said as they walked out.

“I don’t like the weasel for the murder.”

“He knew she’d been murdered before we said anything.” Said Ray.

Red shrugged, “he coulda been an attorney before, that part may have been true. I mean…he looked weasley enough to me.”

“Yeah,” said Ray still clearly not convinced. “it just didn’t sit right with me.”

“Sorry partner.” Red patted Ray on the shoulder. “He just didn’t set off any alarms.”

He was probably right. If it didn’t set of Red’s sixth sense then it probably wasn’t an avenue worth pursuing. They were on the ground floor now anyway approaching the front desk. There was a young brunette, probably in her early twenties working behind the counter. She had a warm smile and bright crimson lipstick.

“Wanna work your magic on the 40’s pinup knockout?” Said Red jokingly with a wink, still referring to his cringe worthy attempt to ask Aubrey out.

“Not copacetic man.”

“Hey darlin’,” came out of Red’s toothy grin when they hit the counter. She turned to face him, her smile unwavering.

“Afternoon gentlemen. Something I can help you with?”

She had the sweetest voice Ray had ever heard, second to Aubrey’s of course, but it was captivating. “Maybe… we were wondering if we could get a look at your visitor’s logbooks.”

“I’m sorry gentlemen, but that information is strictly confidential.”

They showed her their badges.

“Can I ask what this is about?” Her face curled up into the cutest expression of curiosity Red had ever seen.

“Detroit Homicide sweetheart. We just need to take a peek, we’ll be out of your hair soon enough.” Lord, he had a charm about him! Thought Ray bitterly. He wished he could talk to Aubrey like that.

“My mistake! I’ll bring those right up for you!” She started off but Red stopped her before she could scuttle away too far.

“How far back do you keep those?”

“I’m sorry?” She asked.

“How far back do your records go?”

She laughed.

Oh…this should be good.

“We’ve kept the records of every visitor in and out of this building since it was built in 1913 as one of the first infirmary’s in Michigan to specialize in psychiatric practices. Naturally, when working with the insane, good records have to be kept.”

“Yeah, but clearly you guys don’t have to sort them.”

The store room looked like a bomb had gone off. There were ledger books stacked from the floor to the ceiling. At the very least the very existence of this room was a fire hazard. “Any particular order?” Asked Red with a heavy hint of dread in his throat. She laughed again.

“Why do you think I laughed at the desk guys? Sorry. I thought at first you just wanted maybe the last week or two. We store up to the beginning of each month in the office. But to go back six years, it’s a snipe hunt. Wish ya all the best!” She quickly sauntered past them, thinking if she lingered too long she’d be roped into helping them sort through the books. Red smiled. He couldn’t blame her.

“I think I’m gonna follow her lead too. You gonna be okay here for a while?”

“Har har.” Ray laughed sarcastically. “Where do you think you’re headed?”

“Down to the courthouse. I’m gonna see if I can find any record of Monica Crawford. You go ahead and sift through your records books.”

“Thanks,” grumbled Ray.

“Any time pal.” He said once again through his toothy grin.

And just like that he was gone.

It was alright. Menial tasks weren’t really his strong suit anyway. He just wished Diana and Mary were available again, but he’d already bothered them enough looking for a non-existent person – well, maybe not non-existent, just not recorded – and they probably had real work to do.

Unlike you. Christ, now I know how a publisher’s office feels.

Everything was handwritten. Dates were illegibly scrawled across the tops. When he came across ones from the year she had been admitted, 1972, he was forced to dig through and look for names that visited her room. If he had thought the dates were written poorly he would’ve happily taken that over the chicken scratch most people scribbled their names with.

Luckily, it was only the really old ones that had likely been shuffled many, many times before that were chaotic and discombobulated. 1972 found itself in a corner in between 1971 and 1973 stacked from the floor to the ceiling. When he’d gone from January to the December he closed the book and stacked them all back up as he’d found them.

Nobody but Juan and Selena and someone else named Carlos had come to visit. No ages were listed but he knew Selena to be the mother and Juan to be the brother they had spoken to on a regular basis. Perhaps it’d be worth a call to the family later to find out who Carlos was. It was likely the Uncle, or perhaps another brother.

He scratched that down in his notebook.

With the task taking far less time than he anticipated he decided to poke around some of the other staff members on Monica’s chart. As he was coming up the stairs to the floor Dr. Dawkins’ office was he actually passed him on the staircase. The man was in a hurry to get downstairs.

“Excuse me doc-“

“Not now!” His steps were hurried and his voice faded away as he moved to the bottom of the steps and hurried down a hallway to the left. Behind him several nurses and two other men in coats followed. He had no idea what was going on but it certainly looked more important than – what was it the receptionist had called it?

“Just a snipe hunt.”

On his own.

He hoped Red was making more headway than him.

The courthouse wasn’t incredibly busy, but that didn’t mean they weren’t going to make Red wait. He knew why. It was petty. He drummed his nails on the wooden desk he stood behind, staring at the clerk chewing his sandwich. When he’d arrived, the clerk had made it quite clear he was on his lunch break and it would not be interrupted.

“You have got to be kidding me Kevin. I had no idea she was your girlfriend.”

He didn’t say anything.

“I married her anyway.”

Still nothing.

“You’re holding up a murder investigation.

He opened his mouth as he chewed slow and loudly.

“This is bull snot,” he grunted.

“Marissa came in today.” His voice was low and cold. There was only one reason Marissa would be down at the courthouse. Kevin didn’t need to say it, but he was going to anyway. “She’s leaving you asshole.”

“Now that language is just uncalled for.”

“Oh it’s plenty called for. There’s other far more called for things I could say but I won’t cause I’ll lose my job. But you should know, you’re a dick.”

“Alrighty then, all outta your system kid? We can work this out at the gym later, I need you to look up some records for me.”

“I’m on lunch.”

“Cheese and rice! I’ve been here for thirty-five minutes. How long do they give you lazy mongrels for lunch?” He growled. He was madder than a hornet, bigger than a Rhino, and more ferocious than a Lion. Kevin was lucky Red had been working so hard on his temper lately. He silently began counting down from ten in his head, taking calming breaths. Just like his counselor had instructed him. It worked…sometimes.

The door swung open and a tall man with a short and well-trimmed full goatee walked in. He pushed his glasses up farther onto his nose and ran a hand through his dark brown hair. With a smile he greeted Red warmly as he swung open the hinged partition and took his place behind the counter. “Hello! How can I help you today?”

“You’re snottin’ me…do you even work here?” He snarled angrily in Kevin’s direction.

“He’s just my assistant. What can I do for you?”

Red was fuming but he pushed his rage back down for now. He’d unleash it on that mouthy dispatch kid later. No…that wouldn’t be fair.

He’d follow Kevin back to his snotty one bedroom and pop him one.

Ten….nine….eight…no…scratch that…one hundred…ninety-nine…

“I’m looking for any records related to “Monica Crawford” as part of a murder investigation.” He shot an angry glare at Kevin who just shrugged and smiled smugly. Eighty-nine...eighty-eight…eighty-seven…

“How long ago?”

“I have no idea.”

“Okay…well let’s see what we can do…” His tone wasn’t very optimistic.  

He headed back into a room out of sight and reappeared fifteen minutes later with a handful of film canisters. “These are all the death records from 1950 to now here in Detroit, alphabetized. These should be all the ones with anyone named Crawford. Follow me to the reader.”

He did. As he walked through the partition and headed toward the archway next to where Kevin was leaning back on two legs of his chair he couldn’t help himself. The mental countdown ceased immediately. Jutting his foot out sharply, he swiped the legs out from underneath the boy and sent him crashing to the ground. He yelped in pain.

You’re lucky Dr. Johnson is good at what he does.

It wasn’t like he had a very genteel nature, but that was still immature, even by his standards. Yet, he couldn’t help but feel good about it when the boy stood up and grumbled, “dick,” under his breath again. Not many people wanted to incite a tussle with a man Red’s size.

He searched through each one of the microfiche records, starting with the current year and working backwards. He figured he’d reach his goal faster that way but he had been wrong. When he reached 1959 his search was finally over. A young woman named Monica Crawford, aged sixteen, had died unexpectedly in her Sunday School class when a blood vessel ruptured in her brain.

Sounds a lot like an Annie-ism to me.

He signed out the canister with the clerk and rang the hospital from the courthouse lobby. He asked the receptionist, the cute brunette from earlier, Marianne, if Ray was still there. “I think I saw him roaming around earlier talking to the Chief of Anesthesiology. Shall I go get him for you?”

“No, no, just let him know I’m on my way if he comes by, thanks.”

And apparently I’m going to be single soon, whatchu you doin’ tonight sugar? It was bitterness. Truth was he had no idea how serious Kevin’s sleight about Marissa filing for a divorce had been. He’d tried to call her last night but it had been two in the morning. A whole bottle of Wild Turkey makes the strangest decisions for a man.

He hung up the phone.

Hopefully Ray was having better luck than him.

It seemed everywhere they turned in this investigation they just ran into another dead end. The family had led them to the school, the school to Monica, and now a hospital full of doctors who vaguely remembered treating her. If Red wasn’t able to turn over another stone soon then it might be time to call the search off for the day, come back tomorrow with fresh perspective.

But for the time being he had one last physician on the chart that was currently working today to question. All he had to do was track him down now. While the hospital wasn’t the largest in the state, it was certainly a big structure for one person to try and hunt down another. Sometimes it felt like an episode of that kid’s show Scooby-Doo, where the kids would walk from one end to the other only to find out the person they were looking for had done the same, but in the opposite direction.

That’s exactly what was happening.

He had probably walked down the same sterile hallways six to seven times before he finally ran across who he was looking for. In one of the rooms piled with bulky electronic equipment and green cylindrical tanks was a man matching the description he’d been given by one of the residents. Ray rapped his knuckles against the door several times. When the man turned around he opened the door and stepped inside.

The room smelled of heavy astringents and other foreign odors that Ray couldn’t quite pinpoint, none of them were exactly pleasant. At the center of it was the doctor, smelling of patchouli and marijuana. Not surprising. He was an anesthesiologist after all; everyone’s numbs the pain one way or another.

“Dr. Roth? Edward Roth?” Inquired Ray as he stuck his hand out. The man nodded. His long, blond hair bobbed back and forth. He didn’t say anything. “I’m detective Ray London, with Detroit Metropolitan P.D. I’d like to ask you a few questions about a patient from a few years ago. A Monica Crawford? Ring any bells?”

It rang a bell alright. The man’s eyes shot up to meet Ray’s. There was something unsettling about his beady green eyes. They were just too green, too eager to suckle information from Ray’s face, to draw any conclusion from any micro-expression he could garner. It gave Ray a strange feeling all over, some of the hairs on his arm prickled up. The man was creepy, not just in appearance, but in demeanor.

“Yes…Monica…She had a tumor? …and an Aneurysm if I’m not mistaken…yes…Monica. Monica Crawford.” He repeated her named. The man was a few eggs shy of a full dozen.

He was young too. Real young, especially considering he had already achieved the prestigious position of Chief of Anesthesiology.

“Yeah…that’s the one. What can you tell me about her?”

“She was pretty. Had very smooth skin and a calm aura. Her words could soothe the most vile of monsters, beautiful…lovely singer. Why do you ask detective? Has something happened to dear sweet Monica?” His face was honest but hungry. He had a deep rooted interest in what Ray had to say next, and it felt like far more than just morbid curiosity.

“Yes. I’m afraid she’s been murdered.” He said taking a cautious step back as an eyebrow dipped higher than the other. “We’re just trying to gather as much information as we can. We’re talking to everyone who we know to have had contact with her. We’re really just grasping at straws right now.” The last part was true, painfully true.

“Oh! Heavens! Murdered? My…you don’t say. Well…that’s dreadful.”  Ray couldn’t tell if he was being sincere. The shock seemed as though it was faux but it was impossible to get a read on this man. He reminded Ray of a cliché mad scientist. He could picture him rubbing his rubber-gloved hands together as he readied the vat of acid to dunk Ray and his partner into.

But something told Ray this man wasn’t too surprised.

And it was even weirder that out of all the staff in the building, Roth could recall her so well. But his curiosity was killing him inside.

“I’m sorry, Dr. Roth, but I’m forced to ask. You seem so young. How old are you?”

“Twenty-two.” He said with a crooked grin. His teeth were yellowed and positioned strangely, giving him the jawline appearance of a shark. “And I know what you’re going to ask next. I graduated high school when I was ten, college when I was sixteen, and medical school by eighteen. I did my internship here. Monica was one of my first cases as an anesthetist. Naturally she holds a special place in my heart.” His words were slow, purposeful. Everyone felt as though it had been scripted.

Jesus, you’re fucking creepy…

He pressed on, shifting topics back to the investigation and feeling sorry now he’d diverted, “yeah, look…did you have maybe some kind of, oh I don’t know,” he said tossing his hands around a bit as though he were searching for a word on the tip of his tongue, “maybe have a special relationship with Monica? Something that went beyond that of a typical doctor/patient relationship?”

“You’re asking if we had sex?”

“Not outright. But did you?”

“She was a teenager, what kind of a sicko do you take me for?”

I’d better not answer that…

He was right though. The guy gave him the creeps but he didn’t strike him as a pedophile, just socially inept. He imagined the man wasn’t very popular in high school, probably spent a lot of time pawing through comics and feeding his ant farm. It would make sense considering he graduated at ten. In high school it was all about who had the bigger dick, not the bigger brain.  

Perhaps that was cruel, but Ray couldn’t help how his brain worked at times.

“You offered sir; I’m just along for the ride. But now that it’s in the ether…did you sleep with Monica?”

“No.”

It was the first time in their conversation that Ray felt like he could take him at his word. It wasn’t that everything else sounded insincere, it just seemed like that answer had the most conviction out of all of it.

I can’t get a read on you… The man was complaisant enough, answering all of his questions. But something kept setting off bells and whistles inside his head.

“How did she die?” There was the eagerness again.

More bells. More whistles.

Ray ignored them. He didn’t feel the need to sugar coat her demise like he had for Monica’s teachers. He decided to give the man the full story. All the gritty details, maybe his reaction would change, maybe this guy was the killer, maybe he’d give something away. He was certainly spine-chilling enough.

Jesus! Listen to yourself Ray…the guy couldn’t bench press two popsicle sticks and a stuffed Teddy and you’re trying to convince yourself he brutalized a girl and dumped her body in the river. The man’s physique was probably the most discerning reason he didn’t like him for the murder. It took a lot of power to beat someone to death, a lot of rage. This Hippie-Dippy stoner probably hadn’t raised a fist to do anything except proclaim ‘Fight the Power!’ in several decades.

So why couldn’t he shake this terrible feeling?

“Wow…that’s intense.” Said Dr. Roth when Ray was done telling the chilling tale of the young girl’s demise. The man seemed excited by the information Ray had divulged, not just excited but aroused, not sad or surprised or even mournful in the least. But then he met his eyes and saw a droop of the lower lids, the sag of the lips, the tug on his jaws. Remorse, so this disturbed little fuck isn’t a complete creeper after all.

“So as you can imagine, with how long she was in the river, we have very little evidence to go off of.”

The doctor shook his head as he turned around and went back to tending to his equipment. “Well. I hope you find the monster that did this. It’s a shame the world will never hear her sing again. She had such a lovely voice.”

As he spun his hair moved and Ray caught the glimpse of the side of his face.

The man was missing an ear. The area around was badly scarred, it hadn’t just been cut, it had been burned off. He was trying to find the right wording but decided to just come out with it, he’d probably never have to speak to this weirdo again.

“Excuse me Dr. Roth, but what happened to your ear.”

The man became immediately struck with self-consciousness and raised his hand to cup his deformity from view. Even though his back was to him, Dr. Roth’s posture gave away the fact that this was a very sensitive topic.

“There was a fire…I was very young.” He turned back to Ray now and lifted the sleeves of his lab coat. There were scars running up and down his arms, more burns, but there were others. He knew the difference between burns acquired from a raging inferno, and burns acquired from distinctive sources. There were cigar shaped burns, brands, and multiple lacerations. The man was walking scar tissue. He didn’t know what to say.

“Now if you’ll excuse me…” Finally some emotion entered into the doctors now wavering voice. He turned back to the table, away from Ray.

Somehow he had a feeling their conversation had just ended.

All as well anyway, he didn’t want to talk to Dr. Roth any longer than he absolutely had to. Without a word he saw himself out of the room, leaving the creepy doctor to tend to his equipment.

He checked his watch. Red had only been gone an hour and a half. He probably had plenty of time left to wait for him to get back. He decided he’d go catch up with Dr. Dawkins, see why he’d been in such a rush earlier and maybe get the home addresses of the other employees on the chart that hadn’t been on the schedule to work today. The only one he needed was Tara Muir, the anesthetist’s assistant.

Hopefully she wasn’t half as weird as her boss.

It was three hours later and Red and Ray were back at the precinct down in the morgue with Tony. Dr. Dawkins had been very little help. His collected demeanor from that morning had given way to the distraught man they had found upon their first visit to St. Josephine’s. When asked about Tara Muir’s address he had smarmily said, “I’m not allowed to release personal information about my staff. You’re the police. Get a damned warrant.” Obviously, his surgery had not gone well.

Red had scooped him up outside the hospital on a bench where he had been listening to the eerie recording of the girl’s death over and over again on the same Walkman they had recovered at the scene. It was so bizarre, the body had been dumped further upstream, that was clear by the post mortem scrapes acquired from being drug against the rocky sediment by the current, yet, the killer had known precisely where the body would wash up. He had to have. How else would he have known to place the tape player so exactly? This was their biggest clue right now and he had no idea what the killer was trying to tell him.

The music played over and over in his head. The more he listened the more he realized that it wasn’t Beethoven or Bach. It wasn’t Mozart and Paganini or any of those guys, heck, it wasn’t even Elton John. “It’s his.” He’d said aloud in the car on the way back to the precinct.

“Whose?”

“The killer’s. He wrote the song on the tape.”

“Are you sure?”

“Sure as Polaris shines.”

Which meant they were looking for a musician. While it narrowed the search it was still a huge margin. Welcome to the city where Motown had reigned. There were wannabe musicians on every street corner from Detroit to Flint.

Now they were waiting on Tony to return from dinner. His favorite thing to do was head to the Chinese restaurant around the corner from the precinct. He’d bring back a box of greasy noodles, drown it in hot sauce, and peck at it while he pawed over his most recent corpse. It was disgusting to say the least, but to each their own.

When he came trouncing in he was sure to not disappoint, carrying a white box of steaming noodles in his freakishly skeletal fingers. He wasn’t the least bit surprised to see them standing there. “Righteous, I was just gonna come look for you guys when I got done with this. You’re definitely gonna wanna see this shit.”

He set his noodles down and walked over to the counter where a folder was sitting. He put it in Ray’s hands who opened it up to gruesome pictures of a two week dead teenagers brain. “What in the hell, Tony. I don’t need to see these.”

“Oh yes you do. Or would you rather I pop the top on the live one?” He said jabbing a thumb toward the storage cabinets of death.

“No, no…pictures will do. What am I looking for exactly?”

Tony rolled his eyes as he flipped open the top of his food with a cat-like grace. Readying a loaded chopstick to stuff his face full of noodles he said, “you seriously don’t see that.”

Ray squinted at the photos. They were grainy, hastily developed today, presumably by Tony himself. Photography was a bit of a hobby of his. “Look, I’ve had all the creepiness I can take for one day Tony, so for God’s sake, just out with it already.” Barked Ray.

“Fine, fine, sheesh. Thought you were a detective…” he walked over and pointed to a small section of her brain in one of the photos. “See that raised area there? That isn’t normal.” It was in the back section of her head. “Naturally after having a tumor removed there’s going to be some scar tissue, but not like this.” He slurped another mouthful of noodles and continued. “thumfun slithed er opfen refeetaphee.”

“For the love of Huckleberry Finn, chew your food and swallow first. What are you? Three?” Red’s utterance of disgust was verbatim to Ray’s feeling on the matter. He couldn’t even understand the last part. Tony complied and swallowed his food before repeating himself, this time intelligibly.

“Someone sliced her open repeatedly. They cut, and cut, and cut, and cut, multiple times on various areas of the brain. I mean, this was a methodical procedure.”

“Part of her surgery maybe?”

Tony shook his head. “No way man. I looked through those charts you brought over from her hospital, it was simply slice and go with her. There may have been minimal scarring like I said, but nothing like this. This girl’s brain looks like a pincushion. If I had to guess, you’re looking for someone with a medical background. Someone who really understands how the brain works.”

“Someone like Dr. Dawkins.”

Tony hadn’t met the man. He took another slurp of noodles and asked, “ake ith ees ah bane docther?”

Their detested feeling was unanimous. “Spammit Tony!”

“You got the manners of a cow son…”

 He swallowed.  “Sorry…” he said disingenuously. “Take it this Dawkins guy is some kind of neurosurgeon?”

“I guess so.” Said Red.

Ray sighed at his friend’s inability to grasp certain concepts. He wasn’t dumb, far from it, he just lacked many of the book smarts Ray’s meager college education gave him. “Yes Tony. Dr. Dawkins is a neurosurgeon.”

“’Kay. Cause he’d have to be. Whatever was done to this girl’s brain was delicate, complex, and well-orchestrated. It’s also important to note that it’s been done fairly recently too. Sometime in the last month.” More Lo-Mein slurping. The man had no etiquette. “I mean, we’re talking really good work too. He knew right where to cut into to reach specific nerve centers of the brain.”

“Any idea what he was trying to accomplish?”

“Well, kind of. I was right about it being a bypass. The drugs were just used as stimulants I think to control pain, some kind of home-made Molotov cocktail of downers. The surgery severed several nerve areas of the brain responsible for pain reception. There were also two major nerve centers in her spine that had been surgically altered as well, but decomp is so bad I can’t tell much more than that.”

“So, you’re saying, she didn’t feel anything?” Inquired Red.

“On the contrary!” He said bemused with himself. Ray hated it when the kid got enamored. “She was definitely terrified.”

“Well no snot, ya moron, she was tied up, cut on, and beat to death. You’d be dumpin’ your drawers too.” Said Red harshly.

“Well yeah, but not just that. One of the parts that got cut on real good and tampered with the most it looks like was her Amygdala.”

“Okay, I’m out of the one…” Said Red taking a seat and propping his chin on his big hand.

“Go on Tony.” Encouraged Ray.

“As I was saying… the Amygdala is the part of the brain responsible for the fight or flight mechanism. In short, it decides whether or not something should scare you. While it looks like all physical nerve centers were cut her Amygdala was placed on high fear alert inorganically by repeated surgical procedures.”

“What could the killer have been trying to accomplish?” Ray begged the air or the heavens to give him an answer, but all he received was Tony’s reply.

Tony shrugged. “Hard to say. All I know is I’ve never seen anything like this before.”

“Thanks, Tony. Appreciate the info.” The two men headed upstairs. It was creeping up on eight P.M. and Ray still wanted nothing more than a shower. But for now he’d settle for a cup of coffee at the diner. Maybe Aubrey was still working and he could go for broke on round two.

But all thoughts of showers and coffee were shattered when they got to the top of the staircase and heard Chief Tibbet’s mustache calling for them. “Radley! London! Get in here!”

Another body was discovered.

Another tape was recovered.

London and Christen were specifically requested given their involvement with the first tape. The mustache twitched a few times and the men were off. They climbed into Red’s Cadillac and drove off to the address dispatch had given them. They had no idea what they were walking into, they couldn’t have.

All Ray knew for sure…

…is that it never got any easier.

Not long after they were pulling up to the address they had been given. It was a park, set in the middle of a fairly wealthy section of the city. Complete with monkey bars, swing-sets, and a merry-go-round, it was one of the last places you’d ever want to find the body of a teenage girl.

But alas, they didn’t exactly get to pick where their killers decided to leave their mark. If that was the case no one would ever be able to kill again.

And when they stood above the broken and twisted body of an almost unrecognizable sixteen year old, Caucasian, blonde girl, nobody wished for that to be more possible than Red. His heart dropped into his knees and he stopped breathing for a moment, his mind unable to process what lay in front of him.

When you work side by side with someone like this for a long time you get a feel for them. You tend to pick up on what they’re thinking, but in this instance, Ray didn’t know what to make of it. It certainly wasn’t the first dead teenager they’d ever seen.

“Jesus Christ…” He muttered.

And every bell and siren went off in Ray’s head all at once.

He’d never heard him swear. Not once. Even when a junkie had stabbed him in the arm outside of the Kwik-Go, News Year’s Eve two years ago he hadn't uttered one curse word. He’d managed to string together his usual brand of obscurities.

The other thing that chilled Ray was that he’d never taken the Lord’s name in vain before.

“Red…Red, what’s wrong.”

“I know this girl Ray-man. Dear God, I know this girl…” His voice was quivering, shaking. He thought the man was going to cry as he removed his hat and lowered it over his heart. “Oh man, Ray…”

“Who is she?”

There was a pause.

A long, long, pause.

And Ray wasn’t going to push. Then finally…

“It’s Belle Taylor… Chris’ girlfriend…”

“Chris…you mean Chris as in…”

“Yeah,” he said grimly. “My son.”